0^1 n\ ■4- CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 085 ¥2. I m Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924091181085 In compliance with current copyright law, Cornell University Library produced this replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Standard 239.48-1992 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. 2001 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THE WORKS BEN JONSON. ■y 1-1 W c ( f- fjiF ir)> n^ "tVr JfiJ' Ji^: J,l > im'f, rti.) a "!i:!l:t:rV!r;iJii:f W:[ If, I, j[ AM 'l\ I f Y li) il^(3^, y^'y>i^!^S'-^-:l-3. 3. O >T !"» O ST. FA iK il J :-> i(fi Sj'I ;) IX >S "5 ' ,Fi;j:', [!■', 1 ' . THE WORKS BEN JONSON. A BIOGEAPHICAL MEMOIK, WILLIAM GIFFORD. A NEW EDITION. LONDON : EOUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE, FARRINGDON STBBBT; AND 56, WALKER STREET, NEW YORK. 1860. ■LONDON : BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. LL.D. POET LAUKEATB, ETC. ^fife lEljftion THE WORKS or BEN JONSON, IS INSCRIBED THE PUBLISHER. NOTEUBEB, 1838. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. BY WILLIAM GIFFORD. rrO write the Life of Jonson as it has been usuaUy written, would be neither a veiy long 1 nor a very difficult task ; since I should have only to transcribe from former biographers the vague accounts wWch each, in succession, has taken from his predecessor ; and to season the whole with the captious and splenetic insinuations of the critics, and commentators on our dramatic poetry. A due respect for the public seemed to reiuire something more It was fully time to examine into the authenticity of the charges incessantly urged agamst this eminent man ; and this has been, at least, attempted. The result ha. not accorded with the general persuasion concerning him. The reader, therefore, who has the courage to foUow me through these pages, must be prepared to see many of his prejudices over- thrown, to hear that he has been imposed upon by the grossest fabrications, and, (however mortifyingthe discovery may prove,) that many of those who have practised on his "i ^^^^^^ and sZpLi his judgment, are weak at once and worthless, with few pretensions to talents and none to honesty. , „ _ -, « »,„_„ ;« Be^.amx^, or (as the name is usually abbreviated by himself) Bkn Jovsok., --«^^™ J^ the early paxt of the year 1574 1- His grandfather was a ma^ of some family and for>mie. * Jo.so»0 The attacks on our auftor '>««>" ^'^P-^^-jl.^^^^.^^^^^^^^^ penisted in writing it correctly, though "^me of lu9 best fn^d^™8^ntin«^^^ ^^^ ^^^ Britannica,- as " an instance of that "S'otaUonjl^^ f°f°^]^^^%^^Z^sme manner. His '• singn- verance in the right was a family faUmg, for h s "">'?'r^<^ "' ^P^^JlJ^ ^^a "e^ more communicati«-biit larity ■• in this respect, (these writers limk,) ■' 7«?"»™^^™/^^^7^ hfm, yeT^e never find Mm once men- It is obserrable. that though his descent was yery far '"^ '^"/ » "^f"'*?' Z^iSl had unusual good fortune to Honing his family upon any occasion." From cnt.cs so 'i'^P°f^^^°°^° "^j^T* ^^^ *f it to Drum- escape with justlk The fact, however, is that he is «»« ^°'^«^^^^\°°'^^^^3^^„ewhat more liberal of his mond, a^d had it pleased that worthy gcntlenian to be l«s ^^^J °' ^■^^^t^L^^Sw Snfon^ation, we might have obtained enough on this head, to satisfy the most ardent """""'y- t Tke year 1674.] The writers of the Bio. Brit, axe somewhat embarrassed here, by a Ime to the Poem Wl Scotland, in which Jonson says that he had then •' Told seven and forty years." NOW, this, say they, as the poet w. the. to 16.9^^^^^^^^^^^ than is commonly supposed. But these critics should nave looiteu miu ^lu^ which ia not to be found there. In Drummond the Itoe stands, " Told six and forty years;" ana the datesnbjotoed is .^uary. 16,9-^ ~ -^'"^ ^ "'.^"^^^^Jo'if^me'^uny^^^^^ rrn':^rs!vrTj:^:= -- -^^^^^^ MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. originally settled at Annandale, in Scotland, from which place he removed to Carlisle, and was subsequently taken into the service of Henry VIII. His father, who was probably about the court, suffered a long imprisonment under Queen Mary, and was finally deprived of his estat e*. If religion was the cause,. as is universally supposed, persecution only served to increase 'his zeal ; for he entered, some time afterwards, into holy orders, and became, as Antony Wiped informs us, " a grave minister of th-e gospel." Jonson was a posthumous child, and " made his first entry (the Oxford Antiquary says,) a,p the stage of this vain world, about a month after his father's death, within the city of Wea't- minster." FuUer observes, that though he could not, with all his inquiry, find him in h^is cradle, he could fetch him from his long coats. It would seem from this, that the residence iff his father was unknown. Mr. Malone supposes, and on very good groundsf, that his mother' married again in somewhat less than two years after the death of her first husband, and it was: at this period, perhaps, that Fuller's researches found him, " a little child, in Hartshorn-Lanej near Charing Cross." t • f. His-fe thcv-iu - law was a master-bricklayer by profession ; and there is no cause for believing that he was either unable or unwilling to bestow on his new charge such a portion of education as then commonly fell to the children of respectable craftsmen ; and Jonson was accordingly sent, when of a proper age, to a private school in the church of St. Martin in the Fields. From this school it was natural to suppose that he would be taken to follow the occupation of his step-father ; but this was not the case. Respect for the memory of Mr. Jonson, or what is equally probable, a remarkable aptitude in the child for learning, raised him up a friend, who sent him, at his own expense, to Westminster school. Camden, a name dear to literature, was then the second master of this celebrated establishment ; young Jonson naturally fell under his care, and he was not slow in discovering, nor negligent in cultivating, the extraordinary talents of his pupil. "'~No record enables us to state how long he continued with this great man. Mr. Malone supposes that he was taken from him, when he had reached his thirteenth year ; but " lord Winton," (G. Morley, bishop of Winchester, who, as Izaac Walton tells us, knew Ben Jonson very well,) " says he was in the sixth, i. e. the uppermost form in the schoolj," when he was removed ; and he could scarcely have attained this situation, as schools were then constituted, at thirteen. 1619, not in January 1619-25 : it therefore fixes Joneon's birth in 1573. See Mr. D- Laing's remark on Notes of B. Jonson's Conversations with W- Brummond^ «fec. p. 39, printed for the Shakespeare Society. What Jonson told Drummond concerning his family is as follows : — •' His Grandfather came from Carlisle, and, he thought, from Anandale to it : he served King Henry 8, and was a gentleman. His Father losed all his estate under Queen Marie, having been cast in prisson and forfaitted ; at last turn'd Minister ; so he was a minister's son." — Notes, &c., p. 18. If Jonson's grjtadfather came from Annandale, he naust have written his name Johnstone. — A. DycE.] * This is our author's own account ; it is therefore worse than folly to repeat from hook to book, after Aubrey, that " Ben Jonson was a Warwickshire man." Mr. Malone says, that " a collection of poems by Ben Jonson, jun. (the Bon of our author) was published in 1672, with some lines addressed to all the ancient family of the Lucys, in which the writer describes himself as a ' little stream from their clear spring ;' a fact (continues he) which adds support to Dr. Bathurst's account " (the impossible story just quoted from Aubrey) " of his father's birth-place." — Skak., voL ii. p. 3U 1. This is a strange passage. Young Jonson died before his father, in 163-5, and the collection of which Mr. Malone speaks, contains several pieces written after the Kestoration. The very first poem in the book as addressed by the author to John, Earl of Rutland, and his son, Lord Roos, who was not born till both young Jonson and his father were dead ! Had Mr. Malone even looked at the title-page of this little volume, he miist have seen that the name of Ben Jonson, jun. was a mere catch-word ; for the poems are there expressly said to be *' composed by W. S. gent." t On very gooi urounds.'] " I found, in the Register of St. Martin's, that a Mrs. Margaret Jonson was married in November 1575, to Mr. Thomas Fowler."— Malone. Shale., vol. i. p. 622. There cannot, I think, be a reasonable doubt on the person here named ; unquestionably she was the poet's mother. I Letters by Eminent Persons, Cue. 1813. vol. iii. p. 416. There is yet a difficulty. ,Grant was head master from TS72 to 1593, so that if Jonson was in the sixth form, and if the business of the school was' conducted then as it is at pre- sent (which, however, does not appear,) he must have been under him ; yet of Grant he says nothing. It is probable that Camden, who had a great affection for our author, continued to assist his studies. 1 The edition of Shakspeare referred to here, and elsewhere, is uniformly that in fifteen vols. 8vo., published in UDCOCCUI. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. ^onson, who had a warm and affectionate heart, and ever retained an extraordinary degree of jtespect for his old master, thus addresses him in his Epigrams : " Camdeu, most reyerend head, to whom I owe All that I am in arts, and all I know '' and in the dedication of Every Man in his Humour, he tells his "most learned and honoured Mend," that he " is not one of those who can suffer the henefit conferred upon his youth to nerish with his age ; " and he adds that, in accepting the comedy, he will find no occasion to yepent of having been his instructor. All this appears to argue greater maturity, and deeper studies than are usually allowed ; and I should therefore incline to refer the period of his Jleaving Westminster to his sixteenth year. IVom school Jouson seems to have gone, at once, to the University. "^The person who had hitherto befriended him, and whose name is unfortunately lost, gave a farther proof of kind- ness, on this occasion, and, if we may trust Aubrey, procured him an exhibition at Cambridge, where, according to Fuller, " he was statutably admitted into St. John's College * ." No note of his matriculation is to be found. By some accident there is an omission of names in the Univei-sity Register, from June 1589, (when Jonson was in his sixteenth year), to June 1602 ; this may serve to corroborate the opinion given above, that the period fixed upon by Mr. Malone for our author's removal to the University is somewhat too early. The exhibition, whatever might be its value, was found inadequate to his support ; and, aa his parents were evidently unable to assist him, Jonson was compelled to relinquish his situa- tion at Cambridge, and return to the house of his father +. How long he continued at college cannot be known. Fuller says " a few weeks ; " it was more probably many months : he had unquestionably a longer connection with Cambridge than is usually supposed ; and he speaks of his obligations to the members of that University in terms which cannot be justified by a slight acquaintance t- On returning to his parents, he was immediately taken into the business of his father-in-law. These good people have not been kindly treated. "Wood terms the mother a silly woman ; and the father is perpetually reflected on for calling his son home, to work at his own profes- sion. The mother, however, was not "silly ; " on the contrary, she was a high-spirited woman, fully sensible of the rank of her first husband, in life, and of the extraordinaiy merits of her son ; but she was not, apparently, in circumstances to maintain him without labour ; and as his father-in-law had readily acquiesced, for many years, in a mode of his education, which must have occasioned some expense, there seems little cause for the ill humour with which the mention of their names is sure to be accompanied. Jonson, however, who, both froin birth and education, had prbbably been encouraged to look to the church for an establishment, was exceedingly mortified at this new destination. That he worked with a trowel in one hand, and a Horace or a Homer in the other ; that he was admired, pitied, and relieved by Sutton, as Chetwood says, or by Camden, as others say §, and * Aubrey says *• Trinity College ;" and indeed if Jonson had been on the foundation at Westminster, and went, -regularly, to Cambridge, this must have been the College : but his name does not appear among the candidates. -f In how many circumstances may not a resemblance be traced between Jonson and his great namesake ! [•^ Jonson told Drummond that "be was Master of Arts in both the tTniversities, by their favour, not his studie." Ifotes of B. Jonson's Conversations, &c., p. 19 ; and Mr. X>.' Laing, in his note on the passage, observes that ** there is no evidence that he had ever the benefit of an academical education." The probability, 1 think, is, that Jonson spent a short time at Cambridge as an imdergraduate. — A. Dycs:.] § Fuller -tells us that <*some gentlemen, pitying that his parts should be buried under the rubbish of so mean a calling, did by their bounty manumise him freely to follow his own ingenious inclinations." — Worthies of E-nffland, vol. ii. p. 112. This, however, is no better founded than the rest. Another story is told by Wood, (probably, on Aubrey's authority) that Jonson was taken from his father's business to accompany yoimg Raleigh in his travels. Young Kaleigh was at this time unborn — at any rate, be was ** mewling and puking in his nurse's arms :"this, however, signifies nothing-^tbe story is too good to be lost, as it tends to degrade Jonson, and it is therefore served up in every account of his life. " Mr. Camden recommended him to Sir W. Raleigh, who intrusted him with the education of his eldest son, a gay spark, who could not brook Ben's rigorous treatment ; but perceiving one foible in his disposi- tion, made use of that to throw off the yoke of his government, and that was an unlucky habit Ben had contracted, through his love of jovial company, of being overtaJcen with liquor, which Sir Walter did of ail vices most abomi- nate."— And yet Sir Walter, who undoubtedly knew Jonson as well as bis son, trusted this habitual drunkard v/ith b2 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. sent back to his studies, are figments pleasing enongh to merit to be believed ; but, unfoitu- nately, they have no foundation in truth. Neither friend nor admirer followed him to his humble employment ; and he certainly experienced, at this time, no tokens of kindness. — -His' own account is, "that he could not endure the occupation of a bricklayer ;" and, as his aver- sion increased, he made one desperate effort to escape from it altogether, not by retumingr to Cambridge, but by withdrawing to the Continent, and entering, as a volunteer, into the arrpy then employed in Flanders. Such is the simple narrative of Jonson's life till he arrived at tfoe age of eighteen. It is chiefly extracted from his own conversations, and has the merit of bein;^ at once probable and consistent. ! How long our author had continued with his father-in-law, is no where mentioned. It coulfi not be a twelvemonth (though Mr. Malone strangely supposes it to have been five years * ; y. but it was yet long enough to furnish a theme for illiberal sarcasm while he lived. " Let not ', those blush," says the worthy Fuller, " that have, but those that have not, a lawful calling ;" a i piece of advice which was wholly lost upon the poet's contemporaries, who recur perpetually to what Mr. A. Chalmers calls his " degrading occupation." Decker and others, who were, at the very moment, pledging their future labours for the magnificent loan of " five shillings," or writing " penny books " in 'spunging-houses, are high in mirth, at the expense of the " brick- layer," and ring the changes on the "hod and trowel," the "lime and mortar poet," very success- fully, and, apparently, very much to their own satisfaction. Jonson's stay In the Low Countries did not extend much beyond one campaign : he had, however, an opportunity of signalizing his courage ; having, as he told Drummond, encountered and killed an enemy (whose spoils he carried off), in the sight of both armies. This achieve- ment is undoubtedly dwelt upon with too much complacency by the writers of the Bio. Brit. for which they are properly checked by Mr. A. Chalmers, who is not, himself, altogether free from blame. " One man's killing and stripping another (he says) is a degree of military prowess of no very extraordinary kind." Mr. Chalmers does not see that this was not a general action, in which, as he justly observes, such circumstances are sufficiently common ; but a single combat, decided in the presence of both armies. In those days, when great battles were rarely fought, and armies lay for half a campaign in sight of each other, it was not unusual for champions to advance into the midst, and challenge their adversaries. In a bravado of this nature, Jonson fought and conquered ; and though we may question the wisdom his education ! and yet Camden, who-never lost sight of him from his youth, recommended him ! — *' One day, when Ben had taken a plentiful dose, and was fallen into a profound sleep, young Raleigh got a great basket, and a couple of men, who laid Ben in it, and then with a pole carried him between their shoulders to Sir Walter, telling him their young master had sent home his tutor."— (Hdi/s's MS. Holes to Langbaine. This absurd tale, which is merely calculated for the meridian of Mr. Joseph Miller, Mr. Malone quotes at full as an irrefragable proof that *' Jonson was, at some period, tutor to this hopeful youth." As young Raleigh was not bom till 1595, Jonson could not well he tutor to him in 1593, the period usually assigned. In 1603, when the child had barely attained his eighth year. Sir Walter was committed close prisoner to the Tower, where he remained under sentence of death, till March, 1615, a few months before he sailed for Guiana. Of this the story-teller was probably ignorant ; and he therefore talks as familiarly of Raleigh's home, as if he had been always living at large. The " shouldering " of Jonson, in a basket, through the streets of London, the triumphant entrance of the " porters "* (with a train of boys at their heels) into the Tower, then guarded with the most jealous vigilance, and the facility with which they penetrate into the interior apartments, and lay their precious burden at the feet of the state prisoner— all these, and a hundred other improbabilities, awaken no suspicion in the commen- tators, nor, as far as I can find, in the reader ! Mr. A. Chalmers (General Siography) reje«ts Wood's account ; yet he adds—" So many of Jonson's contemporaries have mentioned his connexion with the Raleigh family, that it is probable he was in some shape befriended by them." Hfot one of Jonson's contemporaries has a syllable on the subject ! In fact, Jonson never much admired the moral character of Sir Walter Raleigh : his talents, indeed, he held in great respect, and he was well able to appreciate them, for he was personally acquainted with Sir Walter, and assisted him in writing his Bistorn of the Worlds he also wi'ote some good lines explanatory of the grave frontispiece to that celebrated work. CIt is now ascertamed that Jonson did act as tutor to Sir Walter's son, not indeed in 1593 but in 1613, and that young Raleigh, not in England but in France, did treat him nearly in the manner above mentioned. " Sir W. Raulighe sent him (Jonson) govemour with his Son, anno 1613, to France. This youth being knavishly inolyned, among other pastimes caused him to be drunken, and dead drunk, so that heknew not wher he was, therafter laid him on a carr, which be made to be drawen by pioners through the streets, at every comer showing his govemour Etreetched out, and telling them, that was a more lively image of the Cmcifix then any they had : at which sport yonng Raughlie's mother delyghted much (saying, his father young was so inolyned), though the Father abhorred it."— Sotes of B. Jonson's Conversations, &c. p, 21. — A. Dyce.j * From 1588 to 1593.— S/lu*. vol. i. p. 624. MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. i of ithe exploit, we may surely venture, without much violation of candour, to admit its gal- lan/try. Jonsou himself always talked with complacency of his military career. He loved, he say^ the profession of arms ; and he boldly affirms, in an appeal to " the true soldier," that while he followed it, he "did not shame it by his actions *." .Tonsou brought little from Flanders, (whence he was probably induced to return by the d4ath of his father,) but the reputation of a brave man, a smattering of Dutch, and an empty ?iurse. Nothing, in fact, could be more hopeless than his situation. In the occupation of a iricklayer, he had evidently attained no skill ; at all events, having already sacrificed so much vo his aversion for it, he was not likely to recur to it a second time, and he had no visible ineans of subsistence. His biographers say, that he now went to Cambridge ; but without /money, this was not in his power ; and, indeed, the circumstance appears altogether irapro- / bable. His father-in-law might, perhaps, be no more ; but his mother was still alive, and in London, and in her house he appears to have taken up his abode. He was not of a humour, however, to profit, in long inactivity, of her scanty resources, and he therefore adopted the resolution of turning his education to what account he could, and, like most of the poets, his contemporaries, seeking a subsistence from the stage. He was now about nineteen. " Jonson began his theatrical career," Mr. Malone says, and he is followed by all who have since written on the subject, "as a strolling player, and after having rambled for some time by a play-waggon in the country, repaired to London, and endeavoured, at the Curtain, to obtain a livelihood among the actors, till, not being able to set a good face upon't, he could not get a service among the mimics." Although Mr. Malone gives this, and much more, from the Satiromastic, as if he really believed it, yet nothing is so questionable. What Decker means by " not setting a good face upon't,"''is,easily understood t : Jonson was of a scorbutic habit, and his face might be affected with it at the period of Decker's writing ; but it had not been always so and Aubrey expressly mentions that he was in his youth " of a clear and fair skin : " nor is it easy to be believed that he could not get a service among the wretched mimics in the skirts of the town. " I never," says the Duchess of Newcastle, whom Mr. Malone (upon another occasion indeed,) allows to be a good judge, « I never heard any man read well but my husband ; and I have heard him say, he never heard any man read well but Ben Jonson ; and yet he hath heard many in his time J. " With the advantages, therefore, of youth, person, voice, and somewhat more of Uterature than commonly fell to the share of every obscure actor in a strolling company, Jonson could scarcely fail to get a service among the mimics, notwithstand- ing the grave authority of captain Tucca§. That our author ever ambled by the side of a waggon, and took mad Jeronymo's pwrt, though Mr. Malone repeats it with full conviction II, is also very questionable, or rather false altogether. It cannot have failed to strike every one * It is not improbable that these daring feats were encouraged by the English general. Stanley had delivered up a fort which disgraced, aswdl as dispirited the army; and Vere, who now commanded, made extraordmary efforts of f-'aUaiitry to revive the ancient ardour. He stormed Daventer, and seemed to comt danger. In 1591-2, large reinforcements were sent to Ostend, then held by an English garrison, and with these, I doubt not, Jonson went. * It would be ridiculous to adopt this clumsy piece of wit, and argue from it that Jonson was a bad aetor. Capell, who also ouotes the passage, says, " This is meant of Jonson's uglineu. which is frequently played upon m thw satire."-ScA(.<.! (W Shakspeare, vol. lu. p, 232. That Jonson was ugly is the dream of Capell ; his features were gMd. Decker adds, that he had " a very had /ace for a soldier." Now he certainly did not play this part amiss. His courage was never douhted4-but the qnotation may serve to shew the absurdity of founding positive charges upon such vague expresaons. To do the commentators justice, they were ignorant of the esistenee of this last passage; for they never examme their way, but boldly and blindly fdUow one another. t His house was open to every man of genius and learning for more than half a ceataTy.-LetUrt of the Duchess 0/ ireacattU, foL 1664, p. 362. 8 Tuooa is the oreation.of Jonson. Heis described as a general railer, a man whose whole conversation is made up of scurrilous exaggerations and impossible falsehoods : yet he is the sole authority for this part of Jonson s Me. The «p^to says in Sother place, "When thou rann'st mad for the death of Horatio, thou borrow'dst a gown of Roscius, the stager, and ,senfst itlome lowsy;" upon which the editor (Hawkins) wisely remarks-" Ben Jonson played the part of Jeronymo, as appears from this passage." I "The first observatioA which I shall make on Aubrey's account is, that the latter part of it, which informs us that Ben Jonson wa^la bad actor," {not a good one, is Aubrey's expression), " is incontesUbly confirmed by Decker, (in the passage just quoted).-S*o*. voL a p. 322. It seems to have escaped Mr. Malone. that to repeat a story after another, is not to confirm it Aubrey merely copies Decker. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. ■who has r^ad this production of Kyd, (among whom I do not reckon Mr. Malone,) that the author trusted for a great part of the effect of his tragedy, to the contrast between the diminu- ' tive size of the marshal (Jeronymo) and the strutting of his language and action : " I'll not be long away, As, short my body, short shall be my stay." " My mind 's a giant, though my bulk he small." " I had need wax too ; Our foes -will stride else over me and you." He is thus addressed by Balthazar : " Thou inch of Spain, Thou man, from thy hose downward, scarce so much : Thou very little longer than thy beard, Speak not such big words, they will throw thee down, Little Jeronymo, words greater than thyself."* And he signs himself " liule Jeronymo, marshal." In a word, so many allusions of the most direct kind, are made to this circumstance in every part of the play, that no tall or bulky figure could attempt the character without devoting it to utter ridicule. The fact is, that Jonson was employed by the manager to "write adycions" for this popular drama; and, that was sufficient for Decker's purpose. ^ood rejects the story of his ambling after a waggon, and tells us that upon his retnjn from Cambridge (where he assuredly had not then been), " he did recede to a nursery or obscure play-house, called the Green Curtain t ; -but that his first action and writing there were both iU." Wood's authority, unfortunately, is of little weight in this case, being wholly derived from a vague report picked up by Aubrey from one John Greenhill. It is not too lightly to be credited that Jonson should be singled out for his incapacity amongst the unfledged nestlings of the " Green Curtain in Shoreditch." — But the matter is of little moment ; since wherever he acted or wherever he wrote, his labours were abruptly terminated by an event of a very serious nature, which took place almost immediately after his return from Flanders. It appears that he had some kind of dispute with a person whose rank or condition in life is not known, but who is commonly supposed to be a player f . In conseqtience of this he was called out, or, as he says, " appealed, to a duel." He was not of a humour to decline the invitation. They met, and he killed his antagonist §, who seems to have acted with little lionour ; having brought to the field, as our author told Drummond, a sword ten inches longer than his own. His victory, however, left him little cause for exultation : he was severely wounded in the arm, thrown into prison for murder, and, as he says himself, " brought near the gallows." C* " It is evident," says Mr. Collier, " that if there be any truth in Dekker'a assertion (controverted by GifFord) that Ben Jonson originally performed the part of Jeronimo, he must allude, no't to the tragedy now under consideration [The First Part of Jeronimo], hut to The Spanish Tragedy, where nothing is said regarding the personal appearance of the hero or his representative.'"— Hist of Bng. Dram. Poet. iii. 208. Gifford's reasoning, however, still holds good. The Spanish Tragedy forms aSecond'Part to TheF4rst Part of Jeronimo s and surely an audience, to whom the diminutive hero of the First Part was so familiar, would hardly have tolerated such an absurdity as the personation of that character in the Second Part hy a tall or bulky actor. — A. BvCE.l t Oldys, in his MS. notes to Langbaine, says that Jonson was himself the master of a play-house in the Barbican. — ^He adds, that the poet speaks of his theatre ; and Mr. A. Chalmers repeats from this idle authority, that " in his virritings mention is made of his theatre .'" So the blind lead the blind ! Jonson's theatre is his book of Epigrams. See p. 685. ± I know of no authority for this but captain Tucca. ■' Art not famous enough yet, my mad Harostratus, for killing a player, but thou must eat men alive." Satiromastix. §"He killed," Auhrey says, "Mr. Marlow the poet, on Bunhill, coming from the Green Curtain play-house." Mr. Marlow, the poet, whose memory Jonson held in high estimation, was killed at least two years hefore this period, in a brothel squabble :— but whoever expects a rational account of any fact, however trite, from Aubrey, will meet with disappointment. Had any one told this " maggoty-pated " man that Jonson had lulled " Mr. Shakspeare the poet," he would have received the tale with equal facility, and recorded it with as little doubt of Its truth. In short, Aubrey thought little, believed much, and confused every thing. — [The antagonist whom Jonson killed was named Gabriel (in all probabiUty Gabriel Spenser), an actor belonging to Henslowe's company. They fought in Hozton Fields, in 1S98. See Mr. J. P. Collier's Memoirs of Edward AUeyn, &o., p. 50— printed for the Shakespeare Society. — A. Dvcb.] MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. pere he was visited by a popish priest, who took advantage of the unsettled state of his religious opinions, to subvert his mind, and induce him to renounce the faith in which he had be^n bred, for the errors of the Romish church. This has been attributed by some to his feptrs. " His tough spirit," say the authors of his life, in the Bio. Brit. " sunk into some degree oii melancholy, so that he became a fit object to be subdued by the crafty attacks of a popish jpriest." Others, following the opinion of Drummond, attribute the change to an indifference fibotit all religions. It is probable, that neither was the cause. Such conversions were among jthe daily occurrences of the time ; even among those who had more years than Johson, and tfar more skiU in cpntroversy than he could possibly have. His own account of the matter is /very concise : he took, he says, the priest's word : he did not however always continue in ; this state of ignorance ; and it is to his praise that, at a more mature age, he endeavoured to . understand the ground of his belief, and diligently studied the fathers, and n. Puntarvolo says to Carlo Buffone, '* What, Carlo ! now by the sincerity of my soul, welcome r and how dost thou, thou grand Scourge, or second Untruss of the time ? " The reference, which seems very innocent, is evidently to the title of Marston's Satires ; (the Scowjn o/ Villainies, but this goes no further than a name, for Carlo and Mai'Ston do not possess one feature in common. With respect to captain Haimam, he might talk extravagantly and beg impudently, without possessing the other qualities of that undaunted yet entertaining railer, captain Tucca. i Haleigh was bom in 1552 ; in his youth, therefore, our author must have been in his cradle. 16 MEMOIBS OF BEN JONSON. 1599. The sum of forty sliiUings was advanced to him and Decker for a play which they were writing in conjunction ; a like sum for another in which Chettle was joined with them ; and j a third sum of twenty shillings for a tragedy which he was prohably writing alone*. None of these are now extant ; but Cynthia's Bj&cds, on which he was, at this time, employed, iwas brought out in the following year. ■ \ " This Comical Satire (for so Jonson properly terms it) was evidently directed at the gra^ve and formal manners of the court, to which, indeed, it was subsequently dedicated. After t|he atrocious execution of Mary, "Whitehall appears to have grown extremely dull. Elizabeth herself lost her spirits, and became fretful and morose. The courtiers who coidd not be gEt-y, became affected, and exchanged their former fashions for fantastic and apish refinemenfes, Euphmsme was now in the full tide of prosperity, and the manners were as absurdly pedanti^ as the language. As Jonson lived much with the great, this could not altogether escape him ,, and it is not improbable that he was encouraged by some of those about the queen to direcfcr his satire against the reigning follies. ', Cynthia's Betieh was acted in 1600 "by the ChUdren of the Queen's Chapel." t It was, at, first, as the title-page to the 4to. expresses it, " privately acted." Thepueiile games, the. ceremonious fopperies conducted with such inflexible gravity, might, to those who probably; comprehended both the motive and the objects of the drama, be sufficiently entertaining : for \ its subsequent success, it must have been indebted to the delight which the good citizens took > in seeing the fantastic tricks of the courtiers exposed to ridicule. The prologue to this play is beautifully written : and would seem to have been originally addressed to a select audience ; (perhaps at Whitehall :) the epilogue is in a different strain, and its an»gant conclusion was long remembered to the author's annoyance4r That this drama should give offence to those whose grotesque humours it exposed, was, perhaps, to be expected ; but it does not very clearly appear why the little knot of critics, headed by Marston and Decker, should take any part of it to themselves ; as they manifestly affected to do. The characters which the majority fixed upon, cannot be known ; but the leaders seem to have appropriated to themselves those of Hedon and Anaides. The resem- blance is not obvious to us, and could not, one would think, be very perceptible to the keener optics of those days ; but Marston and Decker were eager to revenge the imaginary insult, * « The Scotts Tragedy." The piece in which he' joined with Chettle and Decker is called " Robert, the second ting of Scottes." t The commentators, who turn every circumstance of Jonson's life into accusations against him, have here dis- covered a notable proof of his " ferocious temper." He must have quarrelled with the " established comedians," they say, (meaning Shakspeare, Binbage, &c.) or he would not have taken his play from their stage to give it to the " Children," &c. These lynx-eyed critics do not perceive that " the Children " were as popular, and as well " esta- blished "as any other company, and that they shared the Blackfriars, at which this play was performed, with the lord chamberlain's servants. Having gratuitously supposed a quarrel, the next step is to make it up. " By the media- tion of friends, and most likely by the good offices of our gentle Shakspeare^ a reconciliation was effected between this surlj/ writer and the comedians." Dram. Mis. vol. ii. p. 83.^-Bnt the '* reconciliation," it seems, did not last long : " some new quarrel with the established comedians, I suppose, caused him to have recourse again to the Children of the Bevels," p. 105. There is not a word of sense in all this. It was no more necessary that Jonson should offer all he wrote to the same company, than any other person: he had not, like Shakspeare, an interest or a property in the - theatre, and he naturally carried his talents wherever they were likely to prove acceptable. The critics who insult over his slowness, and affirm that he was a year or two " about every play," must have excellent notions of ceconomy, , if they suppose that a family could be supported on the sale of it. He wrote, like his contemporaries, for many theatres, and probably mended many plays. ' The theatre, however, with which he was most closely connected at this tim£, was Henslowe's ; and while his enemies are pleased to suppose a succession of quarrels with this and that theatre, he was evidently living on terms of friendship with them all; writing, at one and the same time, for the Rose and tbe Blackfriars, for the Fortune and the Globe. :^ It is-alluded to by the anonymous author of Par Pari, in his address to the reader. " Yet be not proude, though thou their praise dost gaine ; 'Tis for a better pen than mine to say. By 'tis good, and if you lik't you may." To bully critics in similar terms was then the mode. There is enough of it in Decker alone to prove that Jonson was far from singular in this indecent defiance.— But he was probably inflated for the moment with the favourable recep- tion of the court ; and would not allow the city to question its infallibility. In this year Ever;/ Man out of Ms Bumour was given to the press : it is dedicated to the gentlemen of the Inns of Court, and seems to be tbe first of our author's works that was printed. k MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 17 and readily consented to lead the attack now meditated against him. Of this Jonson obtained full information ; for the secret was ill kept by the poets ; and as they persisted in ridiculing . him' on the stage, he found it necessary to draw up the Poetaster, in which, together with the unlfrussing, the whipping, and the stinging, he anticipated and answered many of the accusa- tiqas subsequently brought against him in the Salirmnmtix. The high and magisterial language wtich our author held in the prologue to the first of his acknowledged pieces, has been already noticed j the same langnage (but in a loftier tone) is repeated in CyrUhia's Revels, where, in ipiitation of the parabasis of the old comedy, the poet appears to speak in his own person ; this aovelty on the English stage was probably viewed with peculiar impatience, sinte muc'h of the ppleen of his enemies was directed against the speeches of Asper, and Crites in the last of his comic satires. y The Poetaster was brought out at the Blackfriars, by the Children of the Queen's Chapel, in 1^1601 ;* its object cannot be better given than in his own words : -" three years They did provoke me with their petulant styles On every stage ; and I at last, unwilling, But weary, T confess, of so much trouble, Thought I would try if shame could win upon *em. And therefore chose Augustus Cssar's times. When wit and arts were at their height in Rome, To shew that Virgil, Horace, and the rest Of those great master spirits, did not want Detractors then, or practicers against them : And by this line, although no parallel, hoped at last they would sit down and blush." As Marston and Decker had headed the cabal against him, he introduced them under the respective names of Crispinus and Demetrius ; Marston is very distinctly marked ; Decker might, perhaps, have " sat still unquestioned," at least, with posterity, had not the justice of the satire filled him with rage, and induced him to appropriate the character of Demetrius to himself in an angry recrimination. The Poetaster was written (Jonson says) in fifteen weeks, and it is certainly as creditable to .his talents as his industry. It was favourably received by the public, though it gave offence to some of the military and the law. This could only arise from the slavish condition of the stage, which was then at the mercy of every captious officer who chose to complain to the master of the revels j for the satire, if such it be, is put into the mouths of such speakers as would almost convince an impartial spectator that it was designed for a compliment.f Of the soldiers, Jonson got quit without much difficulty; but the lawyers were not so easily shaken off; and he was indebted, in some degree, for his escape, to the kindness of one of his earliest friends, "the worthy master Kichard Martin,'' who undertook for the innocency of his intentions to the lord chief-justice, and to whom he subsequently dedicated the play. But there was yet a party which could neither be silenced nor shamed. The players, who had so long provoked him with their petulance on the stage, felt the bitterness of his reproof. * In this year '* Bengenty'' was employed by Mr. Henslowe in " writing adycions for Jeronymo." Thej' were so much to the manager's taste, that Mr. AUeyn was authorized to advance xxxx;. on them. Had the records of any other theatres been preserved, we should probably have found the name of our poet among their supporters, for he must have produced much more at this time than has reached us. Every Man in his Humour, as first written, and performed at the Rose, was printed this year. 1 do not believe that it was given to the press by Jonson, who must rather have wished for its suppression, aa the improved play had now been four years before the public. It is evident that whatever he wrote for Mr. Henslowe was purchased outright : — the present copy, therefore, must have stolen into the world, from the prompter's book, as -was not unfrequently the case. — ^It is observable that our author's name is miepelt in the title page. There is not a single instance, I am well persuaded, in which he writes his name Johnson. f Nothing can moreclearlymark the tone of hostility with which every act of Jonson is pursued, than the obloquy which is still heaped on him for these speeches. It would be far more just, as well as generous, in us to applaud the intrepid spirit with which he dared, in slavish times, to vent his thoughts, than to join in a silly clamour against his ** arrogance and ill-nature." He stood forward as a moral satirist, and the abuses, both of the law and the military service, were legitimate objects of reprehension. 18 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. and had address enough to persuade their fellows that all were included in liis satire. Jonson' readily admits that he taxed some of the players, as, indeed, he had a just right to do ; but he adds, that he touched but a few of them, and even those few he forbore to name. He treats their clamours, however, with supreme contempt, and only regrets the hostility of some better natures, whom they had drawn over to their side, and induced to run In tJie same tiUe line with tJiemsehes. By better natures, the commentators assure us that Shakspeare was meant; and Mr. Malone quotes the passage in more than one place to evince the malignity of Jonson — as if it were a crime in him to be unjustly calumniated ! I trust that Jonson was no t exhibited in a. ridiculous light at the Blackfriars' ; and, in any case, it is quite certain that the players on whom he retorts were to be found in the companies of the Swan, the Hope,, the Fortune, and other houses situated on the river, or, as he expresses himself, " on the other side the Tiber." It would not redound greatly to the honour of Shakspeare's humanity, if he should be found to have used his " weight and credit in the scene," to depress a young writer dependent on it for subsistence. I do not, however, think that Shakspeare was meant *. Be this as it may, Jonson was induced, after a few representations, to add to it, what he calls an Apologetical Dialogue, in which he bore the chief part. It was spoken only once, and then laid aside by command f. It is remarkable, the critics say, for nothing but arrogance. It is certainly not wanting in self-confidence ; but it has something besides ■ — a vein of high-toned indignation, springing from conscious innocence and worth ; and a generous burst of pathos and poetry in the concluding speech, to which an equal will not easily be found. If Jonson expected to silence his enemies by giving them " a brave defiance," or even by proving his own innocence, he speedily discovered his mistake. Decker, who had sustained the part of Demetrius, was (apparently to his own satisfaction) put forward by the rest Xj and ■as he was not only a rapid but a popular writer, the choice of a champion was not injudicious. The Satiromastix was produced in 1602. Jonson had played with his subject ; but Decker * There is yet a charge from which it will not be so easy to exculpate Shiikspeai-e. In the Seturnfrom Parnassus, ■written about this time (1602), Kempe and Burbage are introduced, and the former is made to say,—" Few of the University pen plays well ; they smell too much of that \vTiter, Ovid, and that writer Metamorphosis, and talk too ranch of Proserpine and Jupiter. "Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare puts them all down : ay, and Ben Jonson too. O that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving the poets a pill ; but our fellow Shakespeare hath given him a purge that made him bewray his credit.'* To this, Burbage, who seems somewhat ashamed of his ■associate, merely replies, " It's a shrewd fellow, indeed ;" and changes the subject. — "In what manner," Mr. Malone saj's, " Shakspeare put Jonson down, does not appear." I should think it clear enough. He put him down as he put down every other dramatic writer. " Nor does it appear," he continues, "how he made him hewray his credit. His retaliation, we may be well assured, contained no gross or illiberal attack, and, perhaps, did not go beyond a ballad or an epigram." — But with Mr. Malone's leave, if it went as far as either, Shakspeare was greatly to be blamed, for Jonson had given him no oifence whatever, I will take upon myself to affirm that fhePoetaster does not contain a single passage that can be tortured, by the utmost ingenuity of malice, into a reflection on our great poet. It will scarcely be credited, that the sentence last quoted should be immediately followed by these words ; "Shakspeare has, however" (i. e. notwithstanding he had written a ballad against Jonson) " marked his disregard for the calum- niator of his fame" (1. e. for the unoffending object of his ridicule) *' by not leaving him any memorial by hits Will." Shak. vol. i. p. 541. Let Mr. Malone answer for the unforgiving temper with which he has dishonom-ed Shakspeare ; — I believe nothing of it. Kempe is brought forward as the type of ignorance, in this old drama ; but a darker ■quality than ignorance must possess those, who draw from his language any indications of Jonson's '* malignity^' to Shakspeare. And again, with Mr. Malone's permission, how can we be so sure that the ballad or the epraram which is here supposed to be written against Jonson contained nothing gross or illiberal ? Time has spared two specimens of Shakspeare's mode of "attack." It so happens that one of them is a ballad, and the other an epigram ,• the first written on a person whose park he had robbed, and the second on a friend who left him a legacy. If there be nothing " gross or illiberal " in either of these, the '* assurance " may be trusted. f Not in consequence of the interference of the town, as Mr. D'lsraeli thinks ; the town would, probably, have heard it with pleasure. Jonson's ovra account is, that " he was restrained from repeating it 6y authority." These words are found only in the 4to. edit and Mr. D'lsraeli probably consulted the fol.— Qwar. of Authors, vol. iii. p. 135. X Jonson must have been aware of this ; for he makes one of the players say of Decker, "his doublet's a little decayed, otherwise he is a very simple honest fellow, sir, one Demetrius, a dresser of plays about the town, here ; we have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a play ;" p. 118. And, a few lines lower, he makes Tucca promise that " Crispinus (Marston) shall help him." It might have been expected that Marston, who is, in fact, th« Poetaster, would have been the principal in the meditated plan of revenge ; but he was, perhaps, too slow for the wrath of his associates : , it is also possible that he might not be equally exasperated with them ; for it is observable that he is treated with some kind of deference as compared with his " hanger-on," and that more than one allusion ie made to the respectability of his birth. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. ' 19 writes in downright passion, and foams through every page. He makes no pretensions to invention, but takes up the characters of his predecessor, turns them the seamy side mthmt, and produces a coarse and ill-wrought caricature. Tuoca, who, in Jonson's hands, is amusing with all his insolence and rapacity, degenerates with Decker into a mere candidate for Tyburn*. Nor is this the worst. In transferring the scene from the court of Augustus to England, Decker has the inconceivable folly to fix on William Eufus, a rude and ignorant soldier, whom he ridiculously terms "learning's true Msecenas, poesy's king,'' for the ichampion of literature, when his brother, Henry I., who aspired to the reputation of a scholar, I would have entered into his plot with equal facility f . 1^ In the concluding lines of the Apologetical Dialogue, Jonson announces that, " since the 1' comic muse had been so ominous to him, he would try if tragedy had a kinder aspectj." He had two subjects at this time in view. The first, which was written for Mr. Henslowe's § '•. theatre, does not appear; the second, Sejantis, was brought out at the Globe, in 1603. This ' tragedy, in which Shakspeare played a part, met with great opposition on its first pre- sentation, and was withdrawn for a short time from the stage. The author, however, suffered neither in his reputation, nor his peace on the occasion : his fame was too well established to be affected by the fury of a party, and he proceeded, at leisure, to re-modol his play. About this time Jonson probably began to acquire that turn for conviviality for which he •was afterwards noted. Sir Walter Raleigh, previously to his unfortunate engagement with the wretched Cobham and others, had instituted a meeting of heaax esprits at the Mermaid a celebrated tavern in Friday-street. Of this club, which combined more talent and genius, perhaps, than ever met together before or since, our author was a member ; and here, for many years, he regularly repaired with Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Carew, Martin, Donne, and many others, whose names, even at this distant period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect. Here, in the full flow and confidence of friendship, the lively and interesting " wit-combats" took place between Shakspeare and our author ; and hither, in probable allusion to. them, Beaumont fondly lets his thoughts wander, in his letter to Jonson, from the coimtry. 1/ -" What things have we seen, Done at the Mermaid ! beard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame. As If that every one from whom they camef Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest," &c. * Although I cannot avoid thinkine that Decker has failed altogether in the Unirussing of the JTumorous Poet, I do not deem lightly of his general powers. He was a slovenly and a hasty writer, (perhaps from necessity,) but he was a keen and vigorous observer ; and he has occasional flights of poetr^', which would do honour to any talents. We have, I believe, hut the smallest part of what he wrote ; for, with the exception of Heywood, none of our old dramatists were mere prolific. t Hawkins, who, like the rest of his tribe, can see no fault in any one but Jonson, observes on this parody, — " We cannot help being inclined to favour Beclcer, who only meant to retaliate the insults of his rival," — then follows the usual raving about Jonson's envy, &c. But Hawkins chooses to forget, as, indeed, they all do, that Decker was the aggressor, and that, in conjunction with others, he had been ridiculing Jonson on every stage for tkree^earsb^oie he sat down to write the Poetaster. Yet this is your " harmless" fairy / t Jonson does not mean by this, as Upton and others insinuate, that bis comedies had been ill received,— for the contrary was the fact ; — but that the present one (the Poetaster) had subjected him to the censure of the law, the army, &c. § The following notice is taken from Henslowe's memorandum-book. " Lent unto Bengemy Johnsone at the appoyntment of E. AUeyn and Wm. Birde the 22 June 1603, in earnest of a boocke called Richard Crook-back, and for new adycions for Jeronymo, the some of x lb." " This article," Mr. Malone observes, " ascertains that Jonson had the audacity to write a play after our author (Shakspeare) on the subject of lUng Richard IIV Shak. vol. ii. -p. 484. If there be any " aujjacity" in this matter, which I.am not inclined to dispute, it will not, I suspect, be found on the part of Jonson. I cannot discover on what grounds Mr. Malone takes upon himself to question the right of those who never acknowledged his authority, to use their own judgment, and dispose of their own property as they pleased, It might have been supposed that Henslowe and Alleyn, the one a very shrewd and the other a very sensible man, could be trusted with providing pieces for their own stage. It does not seem a necessary consequence that Shakspeare's selecting a particular part of our history should preclude the rest of the world'from touching it ; and he, "who never," as Mr. Malone says, "took up a subject which had not been previously dramatised by others," bad surely the least right to complain of those who acted, or those who wrote on the same theme with himself. From the sum advanced on this play, the managers must have thought well of it. It has perished, like most of the pieces brought out at their theatre ; because they endeavoured to keep them in their dwn hands as lotig as possible. c2 * His friend Drummond. So the commentators delight to call him on all occasions. The term is artfully chosen. It is meant to characterize the superlative infamy of Jonson, which could compel even this generous spirit, in despite of his tender regard for the poet, to blazon his vices, and bequeath them to posterity. t " The king (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.) was no less pedant than pageant vfise; and therefore, Jonson shewed particular address in flattering him by the introduction of several copies of Latin verse," for this, they pro- ceed to ridicule him. The real fact is, that Jonson was very sparing of his " Latin verses" on this occasion, and that Decker has, at least, three for his one.' Where Decker got them, I cannot tell— perhaps from his own stores ; for he had a smattering of Latin, which he is somewhat too fond of showing :— but thus every act of Jonson is perverted by the malice or ignorance of his biographers ! t See p. 539. § Who this " second pen " was, is not known. I have supposed it (vol. iii. p. 6. ed. 18161 to be Fletcher (Shakspearo Is entirely out of thequestion),but, if Beaumont's age would admit of it (he was in his nineteenth year), I should 20 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. Fairer prospects now began to open on Jonson ; Elizabeth was frugal, and paid as grudgingly for her amusements as for her more serious business ; little, besides honour, was therefore derived from her patronage, and the poets were still left to the resources of their own talents ; but James, who acceded to the crown at this period, was liberal to men of merit, and Jonson had the good fortune to be quickly received into his favour. The court and city prepared to receive their new sovereign, in the taste of those times, witl a magnificent display of scenery, speeches, &c., and our author was applied to for the designi^ and execution of the pageant. Those who have been told so often of his " vindictiveness," &o. will be surprised, perhaps, to hear that his associate in this employment was Decker, the person by whom he had been so grossly treated a few months before. Jonson took to himself i two-fifths of this splendid "Entertainment ;" the rest was allotted to his coadjutor. Both seem to have exerted themselves greatly, and both printed an account of their respective parts : our author's description, which is equally learned and elegant, bears no marks of resentment against his late antagonist, who, in his publication, shews himself, in more than one place, yet a little sore of the Poetaster. The truth is, with deference to his "friend" Drummond*, that Jonson, far from being vindictive, was one of the most placable of mankind: he blustered, indeed, and talked angrily ; but his heart was turned to affection, and his enmities appear to have been short-lived, while his friendships were durable and sincere. James was something of a, poet, and more of a scholar ; what he cultivated in himself, he loved in others : he had discrimination enough to distinguish the pure and classical construction of the pageantry which had been displayed before him+ ; as well as the extraordinary merits of the spiritedi " Panegyre on the first meeting of his Parliament;'' (p. 536.) and he appears, from that period, to have taken the poet under his especial protection. In this opinion of his genius as well as learning, he must have been strengthened by the next publication of Jonson, who had been summoned to Althorpe, to prepare a poetical compliment for the recep- tion of the Queen and Prince Henry, when expected there on their journey from Scotland to London. He must have been well acquainted with this family : he terms Sir Robert Spencer his noble friend, and observes that "his principal object" in suffering the Entertainment {4to. 1603,) to come abroad was to do that serviceable right to him which his affection owed, and his lordship's merits challenged." The Spencers have been well-advised to cherish the name of the author of the Fairy Queen, as one of the chief honours of their family. It will not greatly derogate from them to acknowledge, at the same time, that Ben Jonson, in his early days, was among their friends and clients. His next work, as far as any memorial of the date of his writings lias reached us, was still for the gratification of the royal family. May-day had been, from the earliest times, a city holyday of high account, in the celebration of which our monarchs had often joined. James, who loved, above them all, to mingle in sociable converse with his people, had accepted for himself, his queen, and his court, an invitation to keep the festival at the seat of Sir W. Corn- wallis, near Highgate, and Jonson was engaged to give grace and elegance to the " Entertain- ment," by a complimentary effusion J. He did not discredit his employer, and his Majesty must have fpund still further reason to be satisfied with his selection. This year also Jonson revised his Sejanus. As it was first acted, a second pen had good shaire in it% ; on its failure, he. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 21 with equal deUcacy and integrity, determined not to expose his coadjutor to the chance of a secon'd defeat ; but to make himself responsible for the whole. The tragedy, thus recast, was received with applause, and kept possession of the stage till long after the Restoration. "It hath outlived," the author says, in the dedication of liis play to Lord Aubigny, " the malice of the people, and begot itself a greater favour than the subject of it lost, the love of good men." .' " Se/anas" was ushered into the world by several commendatory poems, to which Jonsou refers the reader as explanatory of some points relative to its reception : among these volun- ■ tary vouchers for the merits of the tragedy is Marston, who had long since repented of the part which he took against the author, and resumed his old habits of kindness. The Satiromastix appeared in 1602 ; the Maleoontent was probably written in the following year, as two editions of it were printed so early as 1604. This play Marston dedicated to Jonson in terms that do the highest honour to his friend, as they seem to be expressly selected for the purpose of confuting the calumnies of Decker. BENJAMIN JONSONIO i POETJE ELEGANTISSIMO GRAVISSIMO AMICO SUO CANDIDO ET CORDATO JOHANNES MARSTON MU3ARUM ALUMNUS ASFERA^M HANC SUAM THALIAM S. D. Nor was this all ; for, in the epilogue to this play, he thus adverts to his " liberal and cordial friend," and his meditated tragedy : " Then, til] another's happier muse appears, Till his Thalia feast your learned ears, To whose desert/ul lamps, pleas'd fates impart, Art above nature, judgment above art, Receive this piece, which hope nor fear yet daunteth. He that knows most, knows most how much he wanteth.*' In the succeeding year (1605), Marston again addresses his " most worthy friend," as one whose work (Sejamts) would " even force applause from despairful envy ;" yet the critics affirm that in 1606, when this poet published his SopJtonisbaf, he attacks him upon the score of this very tragedy, which is here declared to be unrivalled. Not a shadow of offence appears on the side of Jonson ; yet because Marston changed his language, therefore, say the commen- tators, " it is probable that Ben's natural arrogance and self-sufficiency J had lessened their more willingly lean to him. Be he who he may, however, he has no reason to be displeased with the liberal acknow- ledgment of his merits. " 1 have rather chosen (Jonson says) to put weaker, and no doubt, less yleasing of mine o^vn, than to defraud so happy a genius of his right by my loathed usurpation." Ibid. The brutal scurrility with which Jonson is assailed on this point, has been noticed elsewhere. " Shakspeare (says Capell, was the happy genius whose pen ' had so good a share in this play ;' for which assistance he is here sneered at by the person he gave it to, was quarrelled with at the time, and opposed and ill-treated ever after " ! School of Shak. p. 479, It is excellently observed by Davies, after much abuse of Jonson — " As this play was universally/ exploded, 1 have a suspicion that the only parts which escaped censure were those written by Shakspeare," vol. ii. p. 85. The only saving part of this universally exploded play being removed, the whole became popular. Such is the logic of Mr. Davies ! who ajids, however — with a face like Ancient Pistol's at his leek, — " Jonson's name stood so high that, at the Restoration, the king's comedians, claiming a prior right to those of the duke of York, seized upon Sejanus and Catiline" * Both Demetrius and Crispinus made their peace with Horace almost immediately after the appearance of this piece. It is simple dotage therefore to talk of this fray, as if it had embroiled the combatants for life. Jonson appeai-s to have had no subsequent dispute with Decker ; whatever might be the case with Marston, who was exceedingly wayward. t It is not very probable that Mr. M. Lewis ever looked into Marston ; yet some of the most loathsome pai'ts of tbo Monk are to be found in this detestable play. ^ This is, no doubt, a translation of Maraton's candido et cordato I 22 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. friendsMp, since we find Marston casting some very severe glances at his Sejamis and Catiiine" As Ccetiline was not in being till 1611, no glances could be cast at it in 1606 ; for the rest, ii Marston did not know his own mind, it seems hard to blame Jonson for it ; since whatever might be the demerits of Sejanm, they could not be greater in 1606, than when he praised it two years before. In a word, if this play be meant, (which is no care of mine,) it will be diffi- cult to acquit Marston of the basest flattery, or the meanest revenge ; the commentatorsi however, can descry no fault but in Jonson. Prior to this publication an event had taken place, which involved Marston in serious diffi- ' cnlties. In conjunction with Chapman, he had brought out a comedy called Eastward Hoe ! The play was well received, as, indeed, it deserved to be, for it is exceedingly pleasant ; but there was a passage in it reflecting on the Scotch, which gave offence to Sir James Murray, who represented it in so strong a light to the king, that orders were given to arrest the authors. It does not appear that Jonson had any considerable share in the composition of this piece ; but as he was undoubtedly privy to its writing, and an " accessary before the fact," he justly considered himself as equally implicated with the rest. He stood in such favour, however, that he was not molested ; but this did not satisfy him ; and he therefore, with a high sense of honour, " voluntabily" accompanied his two friends to prison, determined to share their fate. As usual, the whole blame is thrown upon Jonson, though, in the only record which remains of this transaction, he expressly declares that he had nothing to do with the offensive passage, " Chapman and Marston (as he told Drummond) having written it amongst them.'' " He indulged (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.) the sourness of his disposition, in a satirical comedy, written against the Scots *." And Mr. A. Chalmers adds that " it was indeed a foolish ebulli- tion for a man in his circumstances to ridicule the Scotch nation in the court of a Scotish king." The steady friendship, the generous devotement of Jonson, are studiously kept out of sight, while Marston and Chapman are held up as sacrifices to the " sourness of his disposition." They were not released, the biographers say, without much interest ; and Camden and Selden are supposed to have supplicated the throne in favour of Jonson. This is a mere guess, and, at best, an unlucky one. Had such been needed, our author had far more powerful intercessors at court than either of those, whose influence with the sovereign was by no means equal to his own. It is probable that no very serious punishment was ever meditated ; or if there were, that the desu-e to spare Jonson operated in their favour, and procured an unconditional pardon. "When they were first committed, a report had been propagated, Jonson says, that they should have their ears and noses cut, i. e. slitf. This had reached his mother ; and, at an enter- tainment t which he made on his deliverance, " she drank to him, and shewed him a paper * 'Written against the Scots ! — would not this lead one to suppose that the Scotch were the principal objects of the piece ? Yet the only mention which is made of them occurs in the following pas3age.§ " You shall live freely there" («. e. the new settlement of Virginia) " without Serjeants* or courtiers, or lawyers, or intelligencers ; only a few industrious Scots perhaps, who indeed ai-e dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when they are out on*t, in the world, than they are : and, for my part, I would a hundred thousand of them were there, for we are all one countrymen now, ye know, and we should find ten times more comfort of them there than here." OM PZaj/*, vol. iv. p. 2.50. This little burst of satire, (which is not found in Chetwood's edition,) was probably heard with applause. The times were well inclined to apply it ; and so far its suppression might be expedient With respect to the " sffurness " of Jonson, it would be somewhat difficult to discover any signs of it in Eastward Hoe t which is uncommonly sprightly and good-humoured. — But the critics never looked into it. t It is amusing to read the different versions of this passage. " His Majesty (says the Bio. Bril.") ordered that their ears and noses should be ait off in the ■pillory" And Chetwood, more bloody still, adds, « that it was with the greatest difficulty, and incessant solicitations of the prime nobility, Jonson " (no other culprit is named, or even hinted at) " escaped a severe punishment, that is to say, having his ears nailed to the pillory, and cut off by the com- mon hangman, and perpetual banishment !" Life ofB. Jonson, p. iv. All this is raised upon the simple passage in the text, for there is no other ! What is yet more ridiculous— it is highly probable that, most of those who have maligned Jonson for " writing a satire against the Scotch," had, like Chetwood and the Bio. Brit, an edition of this comedy before them in which the Scotch are not once named, or even hinted- at ! I At this entertainment " Camden, Selden, and others were present." This is the sole authority for their names being selected as intercessors for Jonson's pardon. And thus his Life is written I 5 The words of Drummond are, " he was accused by Sir James Murray to the king for writing something against le Rnnta in a nlav called Easticard Roe ' " the Scots in a play called Eastward Hoe MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 23 which she designed, if the sentence had taken effect, to have mixed with his drink, and it was strong and lusty poison. To shew that she was no churl, Jonson adds, she designed to have first drank of it herself." From such a mother he must have derived no small part of his unconquerahle spirit. Having obtained a pardon *, Mr. A: Chalmers says, Jonson endeavoured to conciliate his , offended sovereign by taxing his genius to produce a double portion of flattery. He had, in the opening of this very paragraph, accused him of a rough and savage disposition which nothing could tame ! The charge of " redoubled flattery," on this account, is also brought against him, but with much more virulence, by the writers of the Sio. Brit. It happens, how- ever, somewhat unluckily for these ingenious speculators, that the masque which he produced on his release was not written at air to flatter the king. The fact is, that there were at this period (1605), several noble and royal foreigners in this country ; and to receive them in a manner worthy of the splendour and magnificence of the English court, the Queen, who had not forgotten the exquisite entertainments of Althorpe and Highgate, "expressly injoined" the poet to prepare a Masque in which she and the prime beauties of the land might bear a part. This gave rise to the Masque of Blackness, in which the king is scarcely noticed, and which those who accuse the writer of " taxing his genius for a double portion of flattery to sooth his offended sovereign," will do well to read before they proceed to belie his character a second time. " Jonson employed a year or two in composing a play+." This judicious remark, which Mr. Malone has introduced among the striking proofs of our author's "malevolence" to Shakspeare, is yet capable of some qualification. "We have seen that this had been rather a busy year with Jonson ; yet he found time to produce the comedy of the Fox, one of the dramas of which the nation may be justly proud. It was written, he says, " in five weeks," and we cannot doubt the truth of his assertion, which was openly made on the stage. No human powers, however, could have completed such a work in such a time, unless the author's mind had been previously stored with aU the treasure of ancient and modem learning, on which he might draw at pleasure t. The triumph of Mr. Malone and others, therefore, over his slowness is somewhat like that of Mr. Thomas Thumb over the giants — "he made them first of gU, and then he kill'd them ! " Before Jonson was three-and-twenty, he had mastered the Greek and Roman classics, and was, at the period of which we are' now speaking, among the first scholars of the age. Did Mr. Malone think that his " studies lay in Green's works?" He had written several of his Masques and Entertainments, and almost the whole of his Epigrams ; he had translated Horace, and, as it would seem, Aristotle's Poetics, and prepared a voluminous body of notes to illustrate them ; he had made prodigious collections in theology, history, and poetry, from the best writers, and, perhaps, drawn up his Grammar ; yet the charge is still repeated, as if it were entitled to full credit. To be just, however, it was first £* If Gifford had lived to reprint the present essay, he would have noticed here a second imprisonment, which, soon after his release, Jonson underwent with Chapman, in consequence, it would seem, of supposed reiiections cast upon some individual in a play of which they were the joint-authors. The letter from Jonson to the Earl of Salisbury, which mentions these particulars, will be found at the end of a note on a later part of this memoir, having been put into Giford's hands by Mr. D'Israeli, " since that note had gone to press." A. Dycb.] t Shak. vol. i. p. 642. ^ Jonson was in the laudable habit of making large extracts from the striking passages, and writing notes, and observations of a critical nature on all the books which he read. His common-place book, therefore, was a repository of every thing valuable. Lord Falkland seems to have been astonished at the extent and variety of his collections. He says ; " His learning such, no author, old or new. Escaped his reading that deserved his view ; And such his judgment, so exact his taste. Of what was best in books, or what books best. That had be join'd those notes his labours took. From each most prais'd and praise-deserving book; And could the world of that choice treasure boast. It need not care though all the rest were lost." 24 ■ MEMOIES OF BEN J.ONSON. brought forward by the poet's contemporaries *, and almost as soon as he began to write : it gave him, however, no concern ; indeed he rather fajls in with it t- When the heroes of the Poetaster, which was written in fifteen weeks, maintained that he scarcely brought forth a play a year, he replied, " 'tis true ; I would they could not say that I did that : '< There's all the joy that I take in their trade ! " — The Fox was received, as it well deserved to be, with general applause. The author's ene- mies however were not inactive : they could not venture to question his talents ; they there- fore turned, as usual, their attacks against his character, and asserted that, under the person of Volpone, he had satirised Sutton, the founder of the Charter-House, his friend and bene- factor!; It is not a little amusing to see the calumniators of our poet in that'age, driven to the same absurdities as those of the present day. Two characters more opposite in every respect than those of Sutton and Volpone are not to be found in the history of mankind. Sutton inherited a large estate ; he was one of the greatest traders of his time, he had agents in every country, and ships on every sea : he had contracts, mines, mills, ploughs ; he was a naval commissioner, and master of the ordnance in the north ; in a word, one of the most * " Mr. Ben JonBon and Mr. Wm. Sh^speare being merrie at a tavern, Mr. Jonson begins this for his epitaph. Here lies Ben Jonson "Who was once one he gives it to Mr. Shakspeare to make up, who presently writte. That, while he liv*d was a slow thing, And now, being dead, is no-thing." This stuff is copied from the Ashmole papers, MS. 38. It is only an additional instance of what has been already observed, that the fabricators of these tbings invariably make Sbatspeare the most severe. It is said by Mr. Malone that the slowness of Jonson is admitted by his friends ; but they do not mean by this word what he does ; — Mr- Malone applies it to a dulness of imagination, a want of power to bring forth without long and difficult labour ; they use it of the patient revision of his productions. They speak of him as a prolific and rapid writer — whose respect for the public made him nicely weigh every word ; , ' and suffer nought to pass. Or, as another has it ; But what could be no better than it was." " Tenture no syllable unto the ear. Until the file would not make smooth but wear,** He was, in truth, too fastidious ; and this couplet of Cartwright furnishes the key to that bareness and rigidity which we have so frequently to regret in some of his writinga t " Jonson justly spums," Mr. Cumberland says, " at the critics and detractors of his day, who thought to convict him of dulness by testifymg in fact to his diligence.— But when he subsequently hoastei of his poetical dispatch he forgot that he liad noted Shakspeare with somethmg less than friendly censure for the very quality he is vauntmir hnnself upon." Observer, No. Ixxv. What Mr. Cumberland Tai^i forgotten, it is hard to say : but this iiauni of Jonson was first made in 1601, while the allusion to Shakspeare occurs m the BiscoverUs, and is probably thirtv years posterior to the passage which Is here placed before it in point of time ! Besides, it is not of the raoidity of Shakspeare s composition that Jonson speaks, but the carelessness— A man may write fast, and yet not wreck a vMsel on the coast of Bohemia. The Fox was rapidly written ; but it is not, therefore, incorrect ; and what Mr Cumber- land adds of It 18 as creditable to his taste as learning. " It must on aU hands be considered as the master-niece of a very capital artist; a work that bears the stamp of elaborate design, a strong, and frequently a sublime vein of poetry, much sterUng wit, comic humour, happy character, moral satire, and unrivalled emdition ; a work Quod nee imber edax, aut Aquilo impotent Possit diru&re," &c. J '■ Sutjon'e biographer (S.Herne) after noticing this report, says-' It is probable the poet never intended what theythmk: for m that age several other men were pointed at, and who was the true person, was then a matter of doubt I Vom. Carthus. P- 42. It « no longer so-we are better judges of these matters than the contemporaries of Button, and decide without difficulty.' Iregret to find Mr. Disraeli ainong the poet's accusers ; for he ism anxious mqunrer after truth, and brings, as far as I have been able to discover, an unprejudiced i^ind to his investigations. His fault IS too great a deference for names unworthy of his trust. This is an evil which' ^very day will contribute to abate. Twice m one page {Quarrels o/ Authors, vol. iii. 134) he charges Jonson with bringing Sutton on the stage. MEMOIRS OF BEN J0N80N. 35 active characters of an active period. Now mark the description of Volpone, as given by himself, in the opening of the play : — ' I glory More in the cunning purchase of my wealth ' Than in the glad possession ; since I gain bfo common way. I use no trade, no venture, I wound no eai'th with plough-shares, fat no beasts To feed the shambles ; haye no mills for iron, Oil, com, or men, to grind them into powder y 1 blow no subtle glass, expose no skips To threatniiigs of the furrow-faced seas ; I turn no monies," &c. &c. Sntton was a meek and pious man, Volpone is a daring infidel ; Suttp,n..w,as.ahstemj.pus,.but kind and charitable ; "Volpone is paintea'astre'SosrselSsEaiii 'unfeeling of voluptuaries : ■ " prepare Me music, dances, banquets, all delights : The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasure Than will Volpone be." Again : Volpone is a creature of ungovernable lust, a monster of seduction ; Sntton was the husband of one wS^^ w]^se"memory he was so tenderly attached, that upon her death, which took place about two years before the date of this piece, he had retired from the world, to a life of strictness and reserve; he was, at this time, nearly fourscore, and bowed down to the grave with sorrow for his loss, whUe Volpone, in the fuU vigour of manhood, exclaims, — " what should I do But cocker up my genius, and live free To all delights ? — See, I am now as fresh. As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight, As when, in that so celebrated scene. For entertainment of the great Yalois I acted young Antinous .' " In a word, the contrast is so glaring, that if the commentators on Shakspeare had not afforded ns a specimen of what ignorance grafted on malevolence can do, we should be lost in wonder at the obliquity of intellect which could detect the slightest resemblance of Sutton in the features of Volpone. The Fox is dedicated, in a strain of unparalleled elegance and vigour, to the two Universities, before whom it had been represented with all the applause which might be anticipated from such distinguished and competent judges of its worth *. The English stage had hitherto seen nothing so truly classical, so learned, so correct, and so chaste. About this time, our author, who had deeply studied the grounds of the controversy between the reformed and catholic churches, and convinced himself, by the aid of those wiser ^uu2es who followed truth alone, of the delusions of popery, made a solemn recantation of his errors, and was re-admitted into the bosom of the church, which he had abandoned twelve years before t. Dnunmond tells us that " he drank out the full cup of wine, at his first communion, in token of his true reconciliation." Jonson's feelings were always strong ; and the energy of his character was impressed upon every act of his life ; but this story is foisted into his con- * There is an allusion to this circumstance in the Terse of Jonson's friend E. S. (Edward Scorey ?) -" now he (the Fox) hath run his train and shown His subtile body, where he best was kno^vn. In both Minerva's cities, he doth yield His well-form'd limbs upon this open field," &c. t Among the works of our author. Wood inserte one printed in 1632, Qyo- and called His Motives* If Jonson really wrote such a book, St might be supposed to relate to this circumstance : but the probability is, that this industrious antiquary mistook the writer's name : of the work itself I have no knowledge whatever. 26 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. versations by his "friend," and has, perhaps, no better foundation than many others wantonly invented to discredit him. It may not, however, be irrelevant to observej that more wine was drank at the altar in the poet's days, than in ours ; and that the vestiges of this custom are not yet entirely obliterated, in remote situations. Jonson had not been inactive between the first representation of the Pox and its publication. The queen's brother (Christian of Denmark) paid her a visit in the summer of 1606, and our poet was called upon to furnish some of the pageantries prepared for his amusement. Of ' these we have little remaining but a few epigrams in Latin verse, which were displayed round the walls of the inner court " at Theobald's," when the Earl of Salisbury received the royal brothers there on the 24th of July. In the subsequent summer (1607) Theobald's was delivered up. to the Queen in exchange for Hatfield Chase. A magnificent entertainment was prepared on the occasion, at whieh James and his Queen, the two princes, the Duke of Lorraine, and all the principal nobility were present ; and the house was transferred to the new possessor in an elegant poetical apologue composed by Jonson, and distinguished by his usual felicity of appropriate character and language. Cecil had done himself honour by his early patronage of our author ; and he, who was one of the most grateful and aifectionate of mankind, embalmed , the ashes of his benefactor in strains that yet live. Previously to' this, however, Jonson had written his beautiful Masque and Barriers for the marriage of the Earl of Essex, which was celebrated at Whitehall with extraordinary magnificence, in the Christmas of 1606. The poet has entered with some complacency into the richness and variety of this exhibition, which seems to have astonished the beholders * : he drops a word too in justification of the strict regard to the pure models of antiquity, after which he usually constructed his fables. P. 552. Hitherto the " fiattery to which Jonson betook himself immediately after his release," has not appeared so " gross " as his biographers choose to represent it. Unfortunately for them, his next Masque, which he calls the Queen's, is still less to their purpose. " Tvx) years (he * We have other evidence than the poet's for -this splendid display. The kindness of Mr. D'Israeli has furnished jne with the foliowing curious and interesting extract froni a MS. letter of Mr. Pory to Sir Bobert Cotton. Sir Robert, like most of the great men, at this time, when absent from court, had a correspondent (generally some secretary) there, who furnished them with regular accoimts of the various occurrences of the day. Sir Robert was fortunate in his informant.! *• Inigo, Ben, and the actors, men and women, didjtheir parts with great commendation. The conceit or soul of the Mask was Hymen bringing in a bride, and Juno Pronuba's priest a bridegroom, proclaiming that those two should be sacrificed to Union : and here the poet made an apostrophe to the Union of the Kingdoms. But before the sacrifice could be performed, Ben Jonson turned the globe of the earth, standing behind the altar, (p. 553.) and within the concave sat the eight men-maskers, representing the four Humours and the four AfTections, who leaped forth to disturb the sacrifice to Union. But amidst their fury. Reason, that sat above them all, crowned with burning tapers, came down and silenced them. These eight, with Reason, their mediator, sat somewhat like the ladies in the Sconop-shell of the last year,' (p. 544.) About the Globe hovered a middle region of clouds, in the centre whereof stood a grand concert of musicians, and upon the cantons sat the ladies, four at one comer and four at another, who descended upon the stage ; not in the downright perpendicular fashion, like a bucket in a well, but came gently sloping down4 These eight, after the sacrifice was ended, represented the Eight Nuptial Powers of Juno Pronuba, who came down to confirm their Union. The men were clad in crimson, and the women in white. They had every one a white plume of the richest hem's feathers, and were so rich in jewels upon their heads as was most glorious. I think they hired and borrowed all the principal jewels and ropes of pearls both in court and city. The Spanish ambassador seemed but poor to the meanest of them.§ They danced all variety of dances, both severally and promiscui, and then the women took the men as named by the Prince (Henry) who danced with as great perfection, and as settled a majesty as could be devised. The Spanish ambassador, the Archduke's ambassador, the Duke, &c. led jut the Queen, the bride, and the greatest of the ladies." Coit. Lib. Julii. c. iii. It appears that Mr. Pory was present at the performance of this Masque on Twelfth-night,16U5-6. t Pory is mentioned with great respect by Hackluyt He had travelled much, and seen a good Seal of courts and public affairs. Jfe was also an excellent scholar. As he was a member of parliament, he must have been a person of some property. t Here Milton found his—" smooth sliding without step : " in truth, he found much more in Jonson's Masques than his editors appear to suspect, or are willing to acknowledge. § This was not wanted to prove the unaccountable folly of Hurd in maintaining that the Masque in the Tempest which Capell, the mere idolater of Shakspeare, afamis to be « weak throughout, faulty in rimes, and faulty in mytbo' logy," &c. Note) on Temp. p. 68. and which was danced and sung by the ordinary performers, to a couple of fiddles, perhaps, in the balcony of the stage, " put to ehame aU the Masques of Jonson not only in its coastruotion, but in' the splendour of its shew." MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 27 says) being now passed that her majesty had intei-mitted those delights, it was her pleasni-a again to glorify the court, and command that I should think on some fit presentment,'' &e. This produced the " Masque of Beauty," (a counterpart to that of " Blackness,") which was performed at court during the Christmas of 1608. In this, as in the preceding one, the performers were the queen, the prince, and the prime nobility of both sexes. At present, we are only told of the rudeness and barbarity of Whitehall ; and Hume is so strangely ignorant of the manners of those times, as to assert that " James affected a rustic contempt of the ^ fair sex, and banished them from his court •." Of his contempt I know nothing ; but, that fl the ladies were not banished from his court, is proved beyond all possibility of doubt by the records of their names in the pages of our author. Year after year, and many times in the course of the same year, (for these masques were often repeated,) the court of James was thronged with all that was distinguished for birth and beauty, for rank and worth, for grace and elegance, and every female accomplishment. The reputation of- Jonson stood so high at this time, that few public solemnities were thought perfect without his assistance. The king, had expressed a wish to dine with the Company of Merchant Tailors, who accordingly met to consult on the most honourable mode of receiving him. Stow has preserved the mimites of the court, which are not a little amusing : " Whereas the Company are informed that the King's most excellent majestie with our gratious Queene, and the noble prince and diners honourable lords and others, determyne to dyne on the day of the eleccion of M. and Wardens, therefore the meeting was appointed to advise and consult how everie thinge may be performde for the reputacion and credit of the company, to his Majesties best lyking and contentment. And sir John Swynnerton " (afterwards lord-mayor) « is intreated to confer with master Benjamin Jonson, the poet, about a speech to be made to welcome his Majestie, and about music and other iuvencions which may give lyking and delight ; by reason that the company doubt that their schoolmaster and sohol- leres be not acquainted with such kinde of entertaynments." This was done ; and Stow tells us that the ''Speeches" were delivered on the 16th of July 1607, in a chamber called "The King's Chamber." It is well known that our author received periodical sums not only from public bodies, but from several of the nobility and gentry ■- these, it has been said, were not bestowed as free gifts, or as honourable testimonies of his superior talents, but extorted from reluctant hands by the dread of his satire +. This is m^ra cerugo. The ever active malice of his most deter- mined enemies has hitherto been unable to discover, either in his own works, or in those of others, a single syllable to justify the infamous calumny. The truth is, that the monarchs of those times, though approached with more awe, and served with more respect than at present, yet lived more among their people. A year seldom passed without some royal progress, and corporate bodies were frequently encouraged to feast their sovereign. On all these occasions, the custom of the time, " And pity 'tis, so good a time had wings To fly away," — * Hist of England, vol. vL p. 28a. f This is boldly advanced by Mr, A. Chalmers, and in the most offensive terms. " Disappointed ^he says) in the hopes of wealth and independence which his high opinion of himself led him to form, Jonson degenerated even to the resources of a libeller, who extorts from fear what is denied to genius." To reciuire from this calumniator of the poet's memory a proof of his assei-tion, would be to no purpose — For he has none. He who produced in the page imme- diately preceding this, a wicked interpolation by Shiels, and fathered it, in direct terms, on Brummond, cannot he complimented with the supposition of recurring to original documents. But the whole of th6 charge is false. Jonson was not disappointed in his hopes of riches. He gave himself no concern about them. Even his " friend" Drummond admits that he was " careless to gain."— Wealth, in short, he heeded not, titles he rejected, and the only ambition which he ever felt was that of which Mr. Chalmers seeks to deprive him, an honest fame. As to independence, Jonson relied on his talents for it. — His story, indeed, furnishes another melancholy proof of the instability of all human things. At the age of fifty-one, he probably felt neither doubts nor fears of his sufficiency ; yet at this period, he was struck with the malady that finally carried him off. In the twelve sad years that followed, during which he did little more than move from his bed to his grave, he felt the evils of dependence ; and let it not be charged on him as a crime that he sought to alleviate them — ^not by " libels," but by humble supplications for xelief^ Of these several are found, of the others not one word was ever in existence. 28 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. called for something more than a bare treat, some introductory compliment that might, as it were, ennoble the entertainment, and gratify at once the judgment and the taste. As thesd ■visits were irregular, and without much previous notice, it became an object of no small importance with those who were to receive them, to have a person always at command on whose abilities they could rely for an Entertainment that should neither disgrace themselves, nor their guests. Hence sprung the several pensions said to have been paid to Jonson, and which should rather be considered in the light of reiairAng fees than gratuitous donations, and i still less, forced tributes to malevolence. Great and generous spirits like Sutton might, indeed, \ think their wealth not misemployed in supplying the deficiencies of fortune ; but that most of what he received was Ime and salary, scarcely admits of a reasonable doubt. ! Be this as it may, he was now called upon for a Masque to celebrate the marriage of Lord Haddington. This, which was probably the most costly and magnificent ever exhibited in this or any other country, was first performed at "Whitehall on Shrove Tuesday, 1608. The Scotch and English nobility vied with each other in splendour of apparel, and the king and queen bore a part in it. Jonson was now busily employed on the Silent Woman, and the Masque of Queens, both of ■which appeared in 1609 ; the former ■written, it seems, to ridioule Antony and Cleopatra, and the latter to rival Macbeth, " of the success of whose witches he was jealous, as he fancied himself to be Shakspeare's superior * !" It will be time enough to exonerate Jonson from this charge when the commentators shall haye ascertained the date of Macbeth, which is very far from being the case at present ; meanwhile, we may venture to observe that the production of two such pieces in one year, is no less creditable to his industry than to his talents and learning. The Masque was published, with an ample commentary, at the request of Prince Henry, who was curious to learn the authorities from which the author had derived his incantations, &c. The critics of our days have been pleased to sneer at Jonson for the attire of his witches. They are always unlucky. "The device of their attire (Jonson says), was master Inigo Jones's f whom, stiU more to confound them, he proceeds to compliment in the warmest terms that the sincerity of friendship could select. P. 574. The year 1610, not less prolific than the preceding one, produced the beautiful Masque of Oberon, and the Barriers, written to celebrate the creation of Henry Prince of Wales, which took place on the 4th of June. The Alchemist, the noblest efibrt of Jonson's genius, appeared about the same time. This comedy he dedicated to Lady Wroth^ the niece of Sir Philip Sidney, with whose family he maintained a constant intercourse of friendship ; and, as if he meant to show his detractors that his obligations to the ancients were those of choice, not of necessity, he constructed the whole of this wonderful drama on the vices and follies of the age, and trusted to the extent and variety of his reading, for such apt allusions and illustra- tions as appear to spring spontaneously from the subject+. Catiline, which followed the Alche>nist,-was brought out in 1611. "It was deservedly damned," * To omit the rest at present, Mr. Davies begins one of his chapters thus. (c. xxziii.) •' Ben Jonson's ridicule on Antony and Cleopatra, — Ben Jonson in his Silent Woman has treated this tragedy as a play full of nothing hut fights at sea I" This good man is a humble follower of Mr. Malone. The sea-fights in Antony and Cleopatra are conSned to a stage direction. " Alarum a/ar oJf,ass.ia. sea-fight," i. e. a cracker was let off, so as to make a faint noise, just to signify fnat there was a fight at a distances and therefore, when Morose, after enumerating a variety of the most horrid dins, adds, that he would even sit out a play that was nothing but fights at sea, he must mean to ridicule Shak- speare, for one that has none I At that very time, too, be it observed, there were scores of plays on the stage in which such fights were really exhibited : Heywood has more ,than one comedy with sea-fights in almost every act ; and in Becker's ^Vhore of Babylon there is a se9.-fight that occupies the whole of a long scene ; yet Jonson, who knew all this far better than ourselves, and who had been Btuuned a hundred times with rude representations of the Spanish Armada on every stage, could not speak of a sea-fight without being accused of directing the whole of his ridicule against a stage direction in Shakspeare ! It is hard to say whether the propagators of these despicable calui&iies, or the believers in them, are best intitled to our scorn. t ""Were. the ancients," Mr. Headley says, "to reclaim their property, Jonson would not have a rag to cover his nakedness." "With deference to this vrise young judge, I am inclined to think that enough would remain to him of the Alchemist alone to obviate the danger of any indecent exposure. It is not a little singular that all the enemies of Jonson, from Dryden downwards, when they have to particularise his obligations to t'ne ancients, refer to his two tragedies, as if he had written nothing besides, or as if they would have had him form a Catiline and S^anus out of hia own imagination .' , MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 29 Mr. Malone says ; but Mr. Malone'a aye and no, too, are no good dmnity, when applied to Jonson. "Without questioniug the accuracy of the term deservedly, it will be suflScieut to state that it was not " damned " at all. It met, indeed, with opposition (like most of his plays) from the persevering enmity which pursued him through life ; but CatUine continued on the stage till driven from it, with every other drama, by the prevailing power of puritanism. The author inscribed it to his great patron, the earl of Pembroke, as being, in his opinion, the best of the tragedies which he had hitherto produced. He calls it " a legitimate poem," and, we may venture, notwithstanding the decision of Hui-d *, (who appears not to have read it) to confirm his judgment. But "we know," says Davies, "from the author's own testimony that the play was condemned." Assuredly, we know no such thing. Jonson evidently took a strange kind of pleasure in exaggerating the opposition which he experienced from his persecutors ; and we are therefore in danger of misleading ourselves, if we adopt his ■ expressions in all their force. It is not necessary to praise his conduct in this instance, which, to say the least of it, savours of a haughty and inilexible spirit ; though it may not be improper to advert to it occasionally. Besides publishing his play, Jonson found leisure this year to amuSe himself with arranging that immense farrago of burlesque " testimonies to the author's merit," which accompanied the first appearance of Coryafs Crudities. In this, he seems to have engaged at the desire of Prince Henry, who found entertainment in laughing at the simple vanity of " the Odcombian Traveller.'' Tom, it is probable, laughed more than any of them. His taste in matters of praise was not very delicate ; and he had cunning enough to discern that, at the expense of some extravagant ridicule, which could not much affect him in his absence, he was amusing his princely patron, spreading the knowledge of his book, and filling his pockets for another course of adventures. Jonson wrote the distichs, and the introductory character of Thomas the Coryate, in the person of " a charitable friend," to which he added some lines on the author's name. He procured verses from all his friends, and, among the rest, from Inigo Jones, whom he seems to have regarded with peculiar kindness, and to have recommended to notice with a degree of affection which deserved a better return from the growing fortunes of the architect than he was doomed to experience. In the succeeding year our author was probably engaged on some of those exquisite Masques which appear in the folio of 1616, and to which no dates are prefixed. The death of Prince Henry threw a gloom over the nation, and saddened, for a short period, the gaiety of the court. Jonson seems to have taken advantage of the temporary cessation of festivity (for he bore no part in the celebration of the marriage of the princess) to make a second trip to the Continent.-t; How long he resided abroad, or what countries he visited, is no where told ; we only know, from an incidental remark in his conversations with Drummond, that he was at Paris in 1613. As he was connected with the court, and in habits of intercourse with all the literary characters of his time, he must have been amply provided with recommendations to the most distin- guished personages abroad. He was introduced to the Cardinal du Perron, who, in compliment to his learning, shewed him his translation of Virgil, which Jonson did not approve. " He treated the Cardinal with all that bluntness which was so much his nature." Drummond merely says that he told him "it was naught ;'' but this might be done without any bluntness of language, were it not a point agreed upon by his biographers, that he must be always " brutal and ferocious." His integrity, however, merits praise. Du Perron was a confirmed bigot, and, at this period, actively engaged in undermining the liberties of the Gallican church ; he had, therefore, little leisure for poetry, and that little was misemployed. In 1614 Jonson produced his Bartholomew Fair, a popular piece, but chiefly remarkable for the obloquy to which it has given birth. " About this time," Mr. A. Chalmers says, " he com- * « Catiline,** he says, ** is a specimen of all tb.e errors of tragedy." Mr. A. Chalmers, who quotes the passage, joins his suffrage to that of the bishop, and speaks of it with very edifying contempt. Ct See addition to note, p. 4. A. Dvca] 30 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. menced a quarrel with Inigo Jones, and made him the subject of his ridicule." It is not so much the business of Mr. Chalmers to inquire as to write : — ^but, indeed, he only repeats what has been said by Steevens and others : ast alii sex Et plures uno conolamant ore sophista. With the exception of Ferabosco, Jonson has spoken with more kindness of Inigo Jones than of any of his coadjutors, as the reader may see, by turning to his Masques. He notices him for the fifth or sixth time, with unusual warmth, in the MasqM of Queens, and we have just seen them playing the fool together in Coryafs Crudities. In the winter of 1612, Jones left this country for Italy, where he resided several years. What quarrel, therefore, could Jonson possibly co7re»>«Bc« with him in 1614 ? In what year Inigo returned from his travels, is not said, but, according to his biographer, (who was also his relation,) it must have been long after the appearance of Bartholomew Fair* In the notes to that comedy, (written before I had read th6 life of the architect,) I was induced, from internal evidence, to express my doubts as to the identity of Lanthorn Leatherhead and Inigo Jones ; at present, I disbelieve it altogether .f That some traits of personality are to be found in the character of Leatherhead I do not mean to deny ; but from a few obscure hints scattered up and down our author's works, I am almost Inclined to think that they point at the master of the revels (whoever he was) or his deputy. Mr. A. Chalmers, however, is so confident of his man, that he rakes into the scurrility of Walpole for fit language to express his sense of the poet's delinquency. " Whoever (says Lord Orford) was the aggressor, the turbulent temper of Jonson took care to be most in the wrong. — In his verses he fully exerted all that brutal abuse which his contemporaries were willing to think wit, and which only serves to shew the arrogance of the man who presumed to satirize Jones and rival Shakspeare." — It nmst be confessed that Shakspeare makes his appearance here somewhat unexpectedly : — much, however, to the satisfaction of the biographer, who subjoins, " If Jonson was the rival of Shakspeare he deserves aU this (abuse :) — but with no other claims than his Cataiine and S^anus, how could he for a moment fancy himself the rival of Shakspeare 1 " How indeed ! but when Mr. Chalmers shall find leisure to read what he prints, he wiU discover, 1st, that Jonson had other "claims ;" and 2dly, that he did not fancy himself the " rival of Shakspeare." As no date is affixed to his minor pieces, we know not how he was employed after the pre duction oi BaHholomew Fair;t till 1616, when he brought out his excellent comedy of the DmJ's an Ass. A considerable time must be allotted for the preparation of the folio volume which was published this year, and contained, besides comedies and tragedies, the first book of his Epigrams, several Masques and Entertainments, and a collection of poems called the Forest. • " After the death of Prince Henry in 1612, our architect made a second tour to Italy, and continued there some years, improving himself in his faTOurite art, till he was recalled by the death of the surveyor-general "—Li/e (if Jones. t The loose reports of the time weigh nothing with me : and those who have noticed the remarks on the imaginai? resemblance of Sutton and Yolpone will, I flatter myself, be inclined to think as lightly of them as myself. X It may be safely assumed, however, that he was engaged either in seeking or imparting useful knowledge. "While his enemies dreana of nothing but his " envy" of some dramatic writer, I find his name, whenever it occurs in the writings of his contemporaries, incessantly connected with subjects of general literature. He appeal's, about this time, (1615,) to have carried on some correspondence with Selden, respecting the precise import of that passage in Deuteronomy, " The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garment, for all that do so are an abomination to the Lord ;*' c. ixii. 5. In conclusion, he desires his friend to put together what he had collected on the subject, and send it to him. Selden's answer is dated on the last day of February. It contains nearly eight folio pages full of the most curious and recondite reading — ^being desirous, he says, *' to shew how ambitious he was not only of Jonson 's love, but also of his judgment." Nothing is more remarkable than the respect which this prodigy of learning constantly shews for the attainments of his friend.—" With regard, (Selden says,) to what the Greeks and Latins have of Adargatis, Derceto, Atargata, Deroe fall one name) &c you best know, being nwst conversant in the recondite parts of human learning," &c. ; and he con- cludes, after a variety of extracts from the Hebrew, Syriac, Greek, &e. : " In the connexion of these no vulgar observations, if they had been Ui a. common learned reader, there had been often room for divers pieces of theology dispersed in Latin and Greek authors, and fathers of the Church, but pour own most choice and able store cannot hut furnish you with whatever is fit that way to be thought. Whatever I have here collected, I consecrate to your love, and end with hope of your instructing judgment." Vol. iv. foL p. 16yi'. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 31 He seems to have meditated a complete edition of all his works ; but he apparently grew weary towards the conclusion of the volume, and never (unless peculiarly called upon) had recourse to the press afterwards. The second folio is a wretched continuation of the first, printed from MSS. surreptitiously obtained, during his life, or ignorantly huM-ied through the press after his death. It bears a variety of dates from 1631 to 1641 inclusive. It is probable that he looked forward to a period of retirement and ease, when he might be enabled to collect revise, and publish his works at leisure ; but the loss of all his MSS. by fire, and the fatal illness which almost immediately afterwards seized him, rendered aU such views abortive. It is remarkable that he calls his Epigrams " Book the first :" he had, therefore, others in his hand j but they have perished. Shakspeare died this year : what the world lost by that event need not be told ; Jonson (the commentators assure us) was freed by it from a' man whom he " hated and feared through life." He had not, however, much leisure to enjoy his good fortune ; for " such was the ermious- ness of his disposition, that he immediately became jealous of Chapman, who mw began to grom into reputation, and being, by the death of Shakspeare, left without a rival, strove to continue so, and endeavoured to suppress as much as possible the rising fame of his friend ! " This ■ medley of malice and stupidity is taken from the Bio. Dram. At the period of Shakspeare's ' death, Chapman had nearly reached his grand climacteric, and, with the exception of one or two pieces, had written the wliole of his dramatic works ; yet this is the reverend youth who " now began to grow into fame," and to excite the jealousy of Jonson ! The reader supposes, perhaps, that I have discovered these facts in some "rare MS. penes me ;" to the disgrace of literature,* they are to be found on ti« very page which furnished the abuse of Jonson ! But we have not yet done with this momentous period. Shakspeare, as we know from the authority of Mr. Malone, (enforced in a hundred places,) was persecuted by Jonson during his life with unceasing malevolence. While I was engaged on these pages, a letter of that gentleman to the Bev. Mr. Whalley, was put into my hands by Mr. Waldron, of which the following is a copy. " Sib, — Having been out of town for some days ; I did not receive your favour till last night. I shall with great pleasure add my mite of contribution to your new edition of Ben Jonson, though I have VSry little hopes of being able to throw any light on what has eluded your researches. At the same time I must honestly own to you that I have never read old Ben's plays with any degree of attention, and that he is an author so little to my taste that I have no pleasure in perusing him. However, as I have just said, you may command, sir, my best services, whenever the volumes are put into my hands : they are at present, I believe, in the possession of Mr. Reed. I agree with you entirely that no ridicule was intended against Shakspeare in the Poetaster for the use of the word clutch, or in the Case is Altered, for the white of an egg ; nor against his hot and moist in Othello. Before I was honoured with your letter, I had observed in a little work of mine that is now in the press, (A Second Appendix to my Supplement to Shakspeare,) that the dates of the respective pieces refute the idea of his sneering at Shakspeare, in these places. And, indeed, I believe that even in those plays of his or Fletcher's, where a direct parody appears, no ridicule may possibly have been intended. But notwithstanding this, I think I have brought together decisive proofs of Jonson's malignity and jealousy of Shakspeare. The Return from Parnassus shews they were at variance so early as 1602, three years only after Shakspeare had patronized him by bringing Every Man in his Humour on the stage. In the prologue to that piece his Winter Tale is, I think, evidently ridiculed. This had always puzzled me, and I conjectured that this prologue was not spoken originally, but added at a subsequent period. On looking into the 4to. edit, which has lately fallen into my hands, I find my conjecture confirmed. This certainly, as well ao the torrent of ridicule thrown out in B. Fair in 1614, adds great strength to your supposition that old Ben's jealousy did not display itself with full force till Shakspeare retired from the stage." Queen Anne Street East, Dec. 28, 1782. * I have Bald nothing of the biographers : — to suppose, indeed, that Mr. Stephen Jones should notice an error {hough as wide at a church door, would be to equal him in folly. Better optics than his, (see the Theatrum Poetarum, p; ial,) when Jonson is concerned, " don't" (as Bustapha well observes,) " Imovr a lie when they see it." 32 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. The case of our author is thus rendered worse than ever ! it now appears that so far from being relieved by the retirement of Shakspeare, his jealousy did not break out in full force till that event took place ; and, as he was besides, tormented by the " rising fame of a new com- petitor," his situation can scarcely be contemplated without dismay. The reader, who has seen that he was of a disposition to stem the torrent of ill fortune, will be naturally anxious to learn by what extraordinary exertions of dramatic power he was enabled to overcome at once his "jealousy" of Shakspeare, and his "fear'' of Chapman. Comedy after comedy, he will imagine, was now brought forward with a rapidity unknown before, teeming, in every act, with the most pointed ridicule, the most envenomed malignity. I anticipate his surprise, therefore, when he hears from me the simple fact — that for the long period of ten years from the "death" of Shakspeare, and the "rise" of Chapman, Jonson did not write one line for the STAGE ! But this surprise will be converted ihto scorn and.iudignation against his base calum- niators when he further hears, that during the same period, in which he is accused of such active malevolence against both, the only memorials of it to be found are, ] st, the pleasing lines under the print of Shakspeare, and the generous burst of affection on his death ; and, 2ndly, a viva voce declaration to Drummond, that " he loved Chapman," and a most kind and complimentary address to him on the completion of his Translation of Hesiod !* A date is the spear of Ithuriel to the enemies of Jonson. Touch their " facts" with it, and they start up in loathsome and revolting deformity. The kindness of James for our poet, which seems to have progressively increased, was this year manifested by a very substantial act of beneficence. In consideration of his services,he con- ferred on him, by letters patent, a pension for life of a hundred marks. In courtesy, this has been termed creating him Poet Laureat ; and, perhaps, it was so.i" Hitherto, the laureatship * As there is not a word of our author respecting Chapman that does not breathe love and esteem for him, the reader may be pleased to see the return to it. '* An Invective against Ben Jonson by Mr. George Chapman :" •' Grcate-leamed wittie Ben, be pleasde to light The world with that three-forked fire ; nor fright All UB, the Eublearn'd with luoiferus boast That thou art most great, learnd— of all the earth As being a thing betwixt a humane birth And an infemall ; no humanytie * Of the divine soul shewing man in thee," &c. Ashmole MSS. Chapman .,whom I am unwilling to believe guilty of this malicious trash) died, I fear, poor and neglected. In another poem among the Ashmole papers, inscribed "The Genius of the Stage deploring the death of Ben Jonson j" after noticing the general sorrow, the writer says. * Why do Apollo's sons Meet in such throngs, and whisper as they go ? — There are no more by sad afdzction hurl'd. And friends' neglect, from this inconstant world ! Chapman alone went so ; He that's now gone, ^ Commands his tomb ; he, scarce a grave or stone." t The attachment of James to our author, is thus noticed by Lord Falkland, in an allusion to the ciroumetance before us. Dorus, he says, would tell " How learned James, Who favoured quiet, and the arts of peace. Which, in his halcyon days found large increase. Friend to the humblest, if deserving, swain. Who was himself a part of Phoebus* train. Declared great Jonson worthiest to receive The garland which the Muses' hands did weave ; And though his bounty did sustain his days. Gave a more welcome pension in his praise." "Of all Uterary tastes (says Mr. Dibdin) James had the most strange and sterile." He probably thought thai there was something more valuable m literature than an imcut catalogue on large paper, and thus far perhaps differed from the cntic: m other respects, James cannot be said to evince much singularity of taste- but it is with this poor prince, as with B'alstaff, "men of aU sorts take a pride to gird at him." There seems no necessity for this. If James was not a wise man, he was very far, indeed, from being a fool ; which is more, perhaps, than can be said of some of his persecutors. •' James," says Mr. D'Israeli, who had just risen, from an examination of his works, » was no more a pedant than the ablest of his contemporaries ; jor abhorred the taste of tobacco, nor MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 33 appears to have been a mere title, adopted at pleasure by those who were employed to write for the court, but conveying no privileges, and establishing no claim to a salary.* Occasional gratuities were undoubtedly bestowed on occasional services ; but an annual and determinate sum seems to have been issued, for the first time, in favour of Jonson. The nominal laureat or court poet, when our author first came into notice, was Daniel, who was long the favourite of Elizabeth and her ladies, and who did not witness the growing popularity of the youthful bard, or hear of his being called upon for those Entertainments which he probably considered as within his own province, with very commendable fortitude. It is a subject of sincere regret that many of the latter days of this amiable poet, and virtuous man, sjiould be overcast with unavailing gloom on this account, and that he should indulge any feeling of resentment against one, who took no undue course to secure the favour from which he had apparently fallen. On the regular appointment of Jonson, Daniel withdrew himself entirely from court. He died about three years afterwards, beloved, honoured, and lamented.^ We now approach the most unfortunate period of our author's life. In consequence of a warm invitation to Scotland, where he had many friends, especially among the connexions of the duke of Lenox, he determined, in the summer of this year, (1618) to pay a visit to that country. His journey was made on foot, and he appears to have spent several months with the nobility and gentry in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. "At Leith (says Taylor, the feared witches, more than they did ; he was a great wit, a most acute disputant," frc. Calam. of Authors, vol. ii. 245. All this is simple truth ; and it is mere dotage to re-echo, at this day, the senseless and savage yell of the non- conformists of James's time. They thirsted for blood, and their rage was kindled against him because his good fortune or his good sense kept him from rushing into a continental war, for which he had neither men nor money ; and which, therefore, by involving him in difficulties, would, as they well knew, leave him at theii" mercy, and thus accelerate that overthrow of the Church and State, for which they so eagerly panted. • Jonson, who was never satisfied without procuring all possible information upon every subject in which he was interested, appears, on this occasion, to have applied to Selden, for assistance in his researches; and Selden, who always found a singular pleasure in gratifying him, drew up expressly, and introduced into the second part of his learned work. Titles CifHonourt along chapter (the forty-third) "on the custom of giving crowns of laurel to poets." At the conclusion of which, he says, " Thus have I, by no unseasonable digression, performed a promise to you, my beloved Ben Jonson. Your curious learning and judgment may correct where I have erred, and add where my notes and memory have left me short. You are - omnia carmina doctus. Et calles mythatn plasmata et historiam. And so you both fully know what concerns it, and your singular excellency in the art most eminently deserves it." t That Jonson's conduct towards Daniel had always been perfectly honourable, may be collected from many quarters. The celebrated John Florio (author of the Vict. Ital.) was brother-in-law to Daniel, and apparently much attached to his interests; yet he always lived on terms of great friendship with our author. In his Majesty's Library is a very beautiful copy of The Fox, which once belonged to Florio, with the following autograph of the poet : " To his loving Father and worthy friend, master John Florio, Ben Jonson seals this testimony of his friendship and love." Sir Tobie Mathews has preserved a letter of Jonson's :— It is an answer to Donne, who had besought him (doubtless on prudential motives) to abstain from justifying himself against some false charge. No name is given ; but I am inclined to think that the person alluded to in the letter was Lucy, countess of Bedford. She had certainly been, at one time, ill disposed towards our author ; and. as it would appear, by the unhappy jealousy of Daniel, whom, as well as Donne, she warmily patronized. In the Epistle to the countess of Rutland, (p. d84.) there is an allusion to some- thing of this kind ; — but whatever be the cause, the letter is honourable to the poet's feelings. If this lady was meant, she was not long in discovering that Jonson had been calumniated. A steady friendship grew between them ; she shewed him many marks of favour, and he wrote some beautiful verses in her praise. Sib, — ^You cannot but believe how dear and reverend your friendship is to me, (though all testimony on my part hath been too short to express me,) and therefore would I meet it with all obedience. My mind is not yet so deafened by injuries, but it hath an ear for counsel. Yet in this point that you presently dissuade, I wonder how I am misunder- stood ; or that you should call that an imaginary right, which is the proper justice that every clear man owes to his innocency. Exasperations I intend none, for truth cannot be sharp but to ill natures, or such weak ones whom the ill spirits suspicion, or credulity still possess. My lady may believe whisperings, receive tales, suspect and condemn my honestj', and I may not answer, on the pain of losing her ! as if she, who had this prejudice of me were not already lost .'—0 no, she will do me no hurt, she will think and speak well of my faculties.— She cannot there judge me ; or if she could, I would exchange all glory (if I had all men's abilities) which could come that way, for honest simplicity. — But there is a greater penalty threatened, the loss of you, my true friend ; for others I reckftn not, who were never had, You have so subscribed yourself. Alas ! how easy is a man accused that is forsaken of defence !— Well, my modesty shall sit down, and (let the world call it guilt or what it will) I will yet thank you that counsel me to a silence in these oppressures, when confidence in my right, and friends may abandon me. And lest yourself may undergo some hazard, for my questioned reputation, and draw jealousies or hatred upon you, I desire to be left to mine own izmocence, which shall acquit me, or heaven shall bo guilty. Your ever true lover, Ben JoNjiu.-f. 34 MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. "Water^poet) I found my long-approved and assured good friend, master Benjamin Jonson, at one master John Stuart's house. I thank him for his great kindness j for, at my taking leave of him, he gave me a piece of gold of two and twenty shillings value to drink his health in England ;* and ■withajl willed me to remember his kind commendations to all his friends. So with a friendly farewell, I left him as well as I hope never to see him in a worse estate ; for he is among nobjemen and gentlemen that know his true worth and their own honours, where with much respective (respectful) love he is entertained." This was about the 20th of September. Jonson probably paid many other visits ; but he reserved the last of them for Mr. "William Drummond, the poet of Hawthornden, with whom he passed the greater part of the month of AprU, 1619.+ It is not known at what period, or in what manner, Jonson's acquaintance with Drummond began j but the ardour with which he cherished his friendship is almost unexampled : he seems, upon every occasion, to labour for language to express his grateful sense of it ; and very depraved must have been the mind that could witness such effusions of tenderness with a determination to watch the softest moment, and betray the confidence of his guest. For this perfidious purpose no one ever afforded greater facilities than .Jonson. He wore his heart upon his sleeve for dams to peck at : a bird of prey, therefore, like Drummond, had a noble quarry before him ; and he could strike at it without stooping. It is much to be lamented that our author did not fall into kindly hands. His learning, his judgment, his love of anecdote, his extensive acquaintance with the poets, statespieu, and eminent characters of the age, of whom he talked without reserve, would have rendered his conversations, had they been recorded with such a decent respect for the characters of the living as courtesy demanded, the mogt valuable body of contemporary criticisnj that had ever appeared. Such was not Druramond's object. He only sought to injure the man whom he had decoyed under his roof ; and he therefore gave his remarks in rude and naked deformity. Even thus, however, without one qualifying word, without one introductory or explanatory line, there is little in them that can be disputed ; while the vigour, perspicuity, and integrity of judgment which they unifonnly display are certainly worthy of commendation. As these " Conversations" form the text from which our author's enemies draw their topics of abuse, and as they have hitherto been unfairly quoted, J I subjoin a faithful copy of the criticisms, from the old folio. What relates to our author's personal history, has been already given. "heads or A CONVEUSATION, &o. " Ben .Tohnson used to say, that many Epigrams were ill, because they expressed in the end what should have been understood by what was said before, as that of Sir John Davies. That * This was a considerable present ; but Jonson's hand and heart were ever open to his acquaintance. All his pleasures were social ; and while health and fortune smiled upon him. he was no niggard either of his time or his talents to those who needed them. There is something striking in Taylor's concluding sentence, when the result of the visit to Drummond is considered : — but there is one evil that walks^ which keener eyes than John's have often failed to discover. Taylor's *' Pennyless Pilgrimage" to Scotland gave rise to some ridiculous reports, and it is curious to see with what a serious air he sets about refuting them. ** Many shallow-brained critics (he says) do lay an aspersion on me — that I was set on by others, or did undergoe this project, either in malice or mockage of master Benjamin Jonson. 1 vow, by the faith of a Christian, that their imaginations are all wide ; for He is a gentleman to whom 1 am so much obliged for many undeserved courtesies that I have received from him, and from others, 6y his favour^ that I durst never be so impudent or ingrateful as to suffer any man's persuasions or mine own instigation, to incite me to make so bad a requital for so much goodness." I have only to add, in justice to this honest man, that his gratitude outlived the subject of it. He paid the tribute of a verse to his benefactor's memory ; — the verse, indeed, was mean : but poor Taylor had nothing better to give. [t No acquaintance seemB to have ejiisted between Jonson and Drummond till some months after the former had reached Edinburgh. The precise time of Jonson's visit to Hawthornden is uncertain, but it was undoubtedly previous to the VJth of January, 1619.— See Mr- D. Laing's Preface to iTotis of B. Jonson's Conversalionst &c. After the remarks which have been drawn forth, in various quarters, by Gifford's furious attack on the poet of Hawthornden, no reader perhaps may now require to be informed that it is altogether unjust ; but whoever wishes to see a complete and circumstantial vindication of Drummond's motives and character, will find it iu the Preface above mentioned. — A. Dycb,] i They have, without any exception, been taken from Gibber's Lives of the Poets. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 35 he had a pastoral intitled the May Lord ; his own name is Alkin, Ethra the Countess of Bedford, Mogbel Overbury, the old Countess of Suffolk, an enchantress ; other names are given to Somerset, his lady, Pembroke, the Countess of Rutland, lady Wroth. In. his first scene Alkin comes in mending his broken pipe. [He brmgeth in, says our author (Drummond) clowns tnaUng mirft amd foolish sports, contrarn/ to all otlier pastorals.] He had also a design to write a Fisher or Pastoral (Piscatory?) play, and make the stage of it in the Lomond lake ; and also to write his foot-pilgrimage hither, and to call it a Discovery. In a poem, he caUed Edinburgh " The Heart of Scotland, Britain's other Eye." That he had an intention to have made a play like Plantus's Amphytrm, but left it off, for that he could never find two so like one to the other, that he could persuade the spectator that they were one. " That he had a design to write an epic poem, and was to call it Chorologia, of the Worthies of his country, raised by Fame, and was to dedicate it to his country : it is all in couplets, for he detested all other rhymes. He said, he had written a Discourse of Poetry, both against Campion and Daniel, especially the last, where he proves couplets to be the best sort of verses, especially when they are broke like hexameters, and that cross rhymes and stanzas, because the purpose would lead beyond eight lines, were all forced. " His censure (judgment) of the English poets was this : that Sidney did not keep a decorum in making every one speak as well as himself. Spenser's stanza pleased him not, nor his matter ; the meaning of the Allegory of his Fairy Queen he had delivered in writing to Sir Walter Raleigh, which was, that by the bleating (blatant) beast, he understood the Puritans, and by the false Duessa, the Queen of Scots. He told, that Spenser's goods were robbed by the Irish, and his house and a little child burnt, he and his wife escaped, and after died for want of bread in King-street : he refused twenty pieces sent him by my Lord Essex, and said he was sure he had no time to spend them. Samuel Daniel was a good, honest man, had no children, and was no poet ;* and that he had wrote the Civil Wars, and yet had not one battle in all his book. That Michael Drayton's Polyolbion, if he had performed what he promised, to write the deeds of aU the Worthies, had been excellent. That he was challenged for intituling one book Mortimeriades: that Sir John Davies played on Drayton in an epigram, who, in his sonnet, concluded his mistress might have been the ninth Worthy, and said, he used a phrase like Dametas in Arcadia, who said his mistress for wit might be a giant. That Silvester's translation of Dn Bartas was not well done ; and that he wrote his verses before he understood to confer ; and these of Fairfax were not good. That the translations of Homer and Virgil in long Alexandrines, were but prose.t That Sir John Hariugton's Ariosto, under all translations, was the worst : that when Sir John desired him to tell the truth of his Epigrams, he answered him, that he loved not the truth, for they were narrations, not epigrams. He said Donne was originally a poet, his grandfather on the mother side was Heywood the epigrammatist : that Donne for want of being understood would perish. He esteemed him the first poet in the world for some things ; his verses of the lost Orchadine he had by heart, and that passage of the Calm, ' that dust and feathers did not stir, all was so quiet.' He affirmed that Donne wrote all his best pieces before he was twenty-five years of age : the conceit of Donne's Transformation, or MET€^i|rt/x«o-«, was that he sought the soul of that apple, which Eve pulled, and thereafter made it the soul of a bitch, then of a she- * JonsoQ explains biznself in what he says helow of Du Barias — " He was no poet, but a vereer, because'Jie wrote not fiction.*' The allusion is to Daniel's narrative poem of the Civil Wars. He elsewhere expressly styles Daniel a verger in this sense. f So Daniel in his answer to Campion : — " 1 find my Homer-Lucan, as if he gloried to seem to have no boundE* passing over the rhyme, albeit be were confined within his measure* to be therein, in my conceit, most happy ; for so thereby, they who care not for verse or rhyme, may pass it over without taking notice thereof, and please them- selves with a well-measured prose." This is pretty nearly what Jonson means : and, indeed, had his remarks been given to us by any but an enemy, we should, I am convinced, have found little to qualify or correct in them. D 2 36 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. wolf, and so of a woman i his general purpose was to have hrought it into all the bodies of the heretics from the soul of Cain, and at last left it in the body of Calvin. He only wrote one sheet of this, and since he was made a Doctor, repented hugely, and resolved to destroy all his poems. He told Donne that his Annkoersary was profane and full of blasphemies ; that if if had been written on the Virgin Mary it had been tolerable : to which Donne answered, that he described the idea of a woman, and not as she was. He said Shakspeare wanted art, and sometimes sense, for, in one of his plays, he brought in a number of men, saying, they had suffered shipwreck in Bohemia, where is no sea near by a hundred miles.* That Sir Walter Raleigh esteemed more fame than conscience. The best wits in England were employed in making his History ; Ben himself had written a piece to him of the Puuick War, which he altered and set in his book. He said there was no such ground for an Heroic Poem as King Arthur's fiction, and that Sir P. Sidney had an intention to have transformed all his Arcadia to the stories of King Arthur. He said Owen was a poor pedantic school-master, sweeping his living from the posteriors of little children, and had nothing good in him, hjs epigrams being bare narrations. Francis Beaumont died before he was thirty years of age, who, he said, was a good poet, as were Fletciier and Chapman, whom he loved. That Sir William Alexander was not half kind to him, and neglected him, because a friend to Drayton : that Sir R. Ayrton loved him dearly .f He fought several times with Marston ; and says, that Marston wrote his father-in-law's preachings, and his father-in-law his comedies."! Such are the remarks of Jonson on his contemporaries ; set down in malice, abridged without judgment, and published without shame, what is there yet in them to justify the obloquy with which they are constantly assailed, or to support the malicious conclusions drawn from them by Drummond % Or who, that leaned with such confidence on the bosom of a beloved friend, who treacherously encouraged the credulous affection — would have passed the ordeal with more honour than Jonson ? — But to proceed. "His judgment of stranger poets was. That he thought not Bartas a poet, but a verser, because he wrote not fiction. He cursed Petrarch for redacting verses into sonnets, which he said was like that tyrant's bed, where some who were too short, were racked, others too long cut short. That Guarini in his Pastor Fido kept no decorum in making shepherds speak as well as himself. That he told Cardinal du Perron (when he was ia France, 1613) who shewed him his translation of Virgil, that it was naught : that the best pieces of Ronsard were his Odes, [But all this was to no purpose, (says our author) for he iKner understood the French or Italian languages.%'\ He said Petronius, Plinius Secundus, and Plautus spoke best Latin ; and that * This is the tritest of all our author's obserrations. No one ever read the play without noticing the *' absurdity," as Dr. Johnson .calls it : yet for this simple truism, for this casual remark in the freedom of conversation, Jonson is held «p to the indignation of the world, as if the blunder was invisible to all but himself, or, as if he had uttered the most deliberate and spiteful .calumny ! t " He was (Aubrey says^ according to Mr. J. Dryden, who had seen his verses in MS. one of the best poets of his ^ time. He was acquainted with all the witts (learned men) of his time in Bngland- Mr. Th.omas Hobbes of Malmbury told me he made use of him, together with Ben Jonson, for an Aristarclius, when he drew up the Epistle Dedicatory for his translation of Thucydides.** Letters, &c. vol. ii. p. 200. X The petty contentions in which Jonson was involved by the captiousness of Marston, have been already noticed. What follows seems a humorous allusion to the sombre air of Maxston's comedies, as contrasted with the cheerful tone of his father-in-law's discourses : — But who was this father-in-law ? Nay, who was Marston ? None of his biographers know any thing of either ; and yet it appears to me that something on the subject of both has been unconsciously, delivered by Wood. "William Wilkes, he tells us, was chaplain to king James, before whom he often preached to his great content. This pei'son " died at Barford S. Martin in Wiltshire, of which he was rector, leaving a daughter named Mary, who was married to John Marston, of the city of Coventry, gentleman. Which John dying 25 June 16.14, was buried in the church belonging to the Temple in London, near to the body of John Marston his father, sometimes a coimsellor of the Middle Temple." I flatter myself that I have here recovered both father and son, since all that is known of the latter corresponds with these particulars. § It is observable that every addition by Drummond is tinctured with spleen : What a tissue of malevolence must the original record of these conversations have been ! When Jonson says that he wrote his praise of Sylvester before be was able to compare the translation with the original, and, fifteen years afterwards, declares tliat he was wrong I should conceive, without more authority, that he bad made himself master of French in the interval. There can indeed, be no doubt of it ; (Drummond's assertion goes for nothing) for he hardly conversed with Cardinal du Perron on the merits of French poetry without understanding the language. In fact, so common an acquirement was not a MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 37 Tacitus wF&te tie seerets of the council and senate, a-s Suetonius did those of the cabinet and court: that Lu<:an, taken in parts, was excellent, but altogether, naught : that Quintilian's 6, 7, and 8 books were not only to be read, but altogether digested : that Juvenal, Horace, and Martial were to be read for delight, and so was Pindar ; but Hippocrates for health. " Of the English nation he said, that Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity was best for ch«rch- matters, and Selden's Titles 0/ Honour for antiquities. — Here our author relates that the censure (judgment) of his verses was — That thej were all good, especially his Epitaph on prince Henry,* save that they smelled too much of the schools, and were not after the fancy of the times : for a child, says he, may write after the fashion of the Greek and Latin verse in running; yet that he wished for pleasing the king, that piece oi Forth Feasting hsi been his own." " As Ben Jooson (say the collectors of Drummond's works,) has been very liberal of his censures (opinions) on all his contemporaries, so our author does not spare him."— But Jonson's censures are merely critical, or, if the reader pleases, hypercritical : and with the exception of Raleigh, who is simply charged with taking credit to himself for the labours of others, he belies no man's reputation, blasts no man's moral character — the apology for the slander of bis host, therefore. ■ who should against his murderer shut the door,. Not bear the knife hioiself,- is weaker than water. " — For he says, Ben Johnson was a great love* and pratser of himself^a contemner and scoriler of others, given rather to lose a friend than a jest, jealous of every word and action of those about him, especially after drink, which is one of the elements in which he lived : a dissembler of the parts which reign in him ; a bragger of some good that he wanted ; thinketh nothing well done but what either he himself or some of his friends have said or done. He is passionately kind and angry, careless either to gain or keep ; vindictive, but if be be well answered at himself ; interprets best sayings and deeds often to the worst. He waa for any religion, as being versed in both ;+ oppressed with fancy which hath overmastered his reason, a general disease in many poets : his inventions are smooth and easy, but above all he excelleth in a translation ,X When the play of the SUent Woman was first acted, there were found verses matter of boast, especially in one so much about the court as Jonson, and in the habit of hearing it spoken by almost every one around hlm.- * ** !Fears on the Death of Itfeliades." ffrum. Podms, folio, p. IS. f To attempt a refutation of the absurd abuse' poured on Jonson by this can&ered h'ypo'crite, would he useless, as the history of the poet's whole life is a refutation of it : but it may not be amiss to call the' attention of the reader to this passage, of which the logic is only to be equalled by the candour — " He was well versed iu theology, Vierefore he was withoilt religion V What religion firummobd was " versed '' in, I know jlot : — eertaifily, not ib that 'vhich says, « Thou Shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbonr.*' X In this place Shiels interpolated the scurrilous passage already given, fp.- 12.) I am not sure. -that Drummond himself is not' indebted fbr some of his popularity to this forged panegyric on Shakspeai'e at the cost of Jonson, which is quoted with such delight by all that poet's biographers. It may not be amiss, however, to observe that Drummond appears to have known or thought as little of Shakspeare as of any writer of* the tune. He never mention^ him but once. — To aiford an opportunity of contrasting the *' censures " of Ben with those of a master hand, his editors kindly subjoin to the passage quoted above, " Mr. Drum- mond's character of several authors." "The authors I have seen," saith he, "on the subject of love are — Sidney, Daniel, Drayton, Spenser, — the last we have are Sir "W. Alexander and Shakspeare, who have lately published their works.'*— folio, p. 226L Not a word more of the latter, though he recurs to itlexander, (whom he places next to Petrarch,) to Daniel, Drayton, Donne, Sylvester, and others. Such is his " character" of Shakspeare f In his letters several poets are mentioiied, and notices of plays occasionally occur ; but of Shakspeare's not a syllable. I much cfuestioa whether Drummond ever read a play of our great poet. That he had no esteem for his writings is tolerably clear ; as it is, that he preferred the dull and lifeless Alexander to him. About the year 1627 Drummond gave " a noble present of books and manuscripts to the college of Edinburgh." — So say the editors of his works, Ifolio 1711.) or I should have termed it, generally speaking, a collection of rubbish not worth the hire of the cart that took it away. Of this rare present a catalogue was published, in which the hooks are carefully arranged under the names of their respective authors. Under that of " William Shakspeare" there appears .—what, does the reader think ? — Love's Labour Lost* 38 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. after on the stage against him, concluding that that play was well named the Silent Woman, becauge there was never one man to say Plaudite to it.'' Drum. Worlcs, folio, 1711, p. 224-6. The writers of Jonson's life in the Bio. Brit, after selecting the most envenomed passages of the " Conversations," (always, however, with due admiration of the exemplary friendship of Drummond,) proceed thus : "In short (adds Drummoud, folio, 1711, p. 222,) Jonson was,"&o. Overcome by the tender enthusiasm of this exquisite burst of friendship, the biographers indulge in a beatific vision of our author's happiness. " He passed," they say, " some months * with this favourite brother poet, this ingenuous fi-iend, to whom he opened his heart with a most unreserved freedom, and confidence, the stceetest gift of friendship ! " It would appear, that in the case of Jonson, words and actions lost their usual import, and that the blackest perfidy, when directed against him, suddenly changed into kindness and liberality. The words put into Drummond's mouth, do not, indeed, belong to him. Of this, however, the critics, who trusted merely to Shiels, and quote a work which they never saw, were ignorant. No matter : there is still enough to justify the rhapsody on the " sweets of friend- ship ! " It must not be concealed, however, that there have been persons free enough to question the purity of Drummond's conduct, and that even the wretched scribbler who inter- polated the passage, cannot avoid saying, "We have inserted Ben's conversations — though, perhaps, it was not altogether fair of Mr. Drummond to commit to writing things that passed over a bottle, and which perhaps were heedlessly advanced. As fewpeople are so wise as not to speak imprudently sometimes, it is not the part of a man who invites another to his table to expose what may drop inadvertently." Cib. Imes, \ol. i. p. 310. This gentle reproof from Lauder the second, is extremely pleasant ! — perhaps, it was a compunotknie msiting. Mr. A. Chalmers too, has an awkward observation : — Drummond's return (he says) to the unreserved conduct of Jonson " has been thought not mrg liberal-^." Is it possible ! Fie, fie ! — " Not very liberal ! " To do Mr. Chalmers justice, he has no doubts of this kind, himself; in tenderness, however, to those who have, he suggests " that this suspicion of illiberality is considerably lessened, when we reflect that Drummond appears not to have intended to publish his remarks," &c % Mr. Chalmers never heard, perhaps, of a legacy of half-a-crown left to a hungry Scotsman to fire ofiF a pistol which the ruflSan, who loaded and levelled it, had not the courage to discharge. At any rate he seems to think that there is nothing unusual or improper in framing a libellous attack on the character and reputation of a friend, keeping it carefully in store for thirty years, and finally bequeathing it, fairly engrossed, to the caprice or cupidity of an executor! The parting scene at Hawthornden was undoubtedly tender ; for Drummond, who had hitherto concealed his malice, was too practised an artificer of fraud, to pull off the mask at such a moment. Ben, therefore, who saw no more than his enemies were pleased to expose to his view, went on his way with a heart overflowing with respect and gratitude, while his host, with a hand yet warm from the pressure of affection, retired to his closet, and having thanked God that he was not a " drunkard," a " dissembler," a " braggard," as other men were, or even one « that interpreted best deeds and sayings to the worst," Kke this Jonson, sat complacently down to destroy his character (as he fondly hoped) for ever. Jonson reached London in the beginning of May, and soon after dispatched the following letter : — * He passed some months.'] This is for ever repeated ; although the persons who had the care of Drummond's papers and who drew up the account of his life, expressly say, that Jonson staid with him about three weeks .' He arrived (p. 34.) at Hawthornden in the beginning of April, 1619, and left it, on his return to London, about the end of the same month. tSee additional Note, p 34. A. Dyc£.J t Full justice will not be done to the niceness of Mr. Chalmers's feelings, on this point, unless we call to mind that he expressly includes the ribaldry of Shiels in Drummond's sketch of Jonson's character. ± I will help Mr. Chalmers to Chetwood's opinion on the subject : " This false friend (Drummond) durst not have declared hia vile sentiments had our author been alive to answer him ; 1 look, therefore, upon all that he has brouEht against him, as the malice and envy of a bad heart." Life of Jonson, p. S5. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 39 " To my worthy, honoured, and beloved friend, Mr. W. Drummond. " Most lo^^iDg " (poor Jonson !) " and beloved sir, against which titles I should most linowingly offend, if I made you not some account of myselfj to come eten with your friendship. I am arrived safely, with a most Catholic welcome, and my reports not unacceptable to his Majesty, He professed (thank God) some joy to see me, and is pleased to hear of the purpose of my book : * to which I most earnestly solicit you for your promise of the inscriptions at Pinky, some things concerning the Loch of Lomond, touching the government of Edinburgh, to urge Mr. James Seotj and what else you can procure for me with all speed — though these requests be full of trouble, 1 hope they shall neither burthen nor weary such a, friendship, whose commands to me, I will ever interpret a pleasure. News we have none here, but what is making against the Queen's funeral^f whereof I have somewhat in hand which shall look upon you with the next. Salute the beloved Fentons, the Nisbets, the Scots, the Levingstons, and all the honest and lionoured names with you, especially Mr. James Wroth, his wife^ your sister, &e. And if you forget yourself, you believe not in] Your most true friend and lover, Ben Jokson. London, Map \Olh, 1619." The answer to this does not appear ; but a second letter which Drumimond seat in conse- quence of another application from our author, begins thus : "Worthy Friend, The uncertainty of your abode Was the cause of my silence— 1 have adventured this packet upon hopes that a man so famous cannot be in any place either of the city or court, J where he shall not be found out. In my last (the missing letter) I sent you a description of Loch Lomond, with a map of Ineh-merionach, which may, by your book, be made most famous," &c. -^ July 1, 1619. We hear nothing further of Drtlmmond till the end of this year, wheil he addressed another letter! "to his worthy friend, master Beu Jonson." " SiR,-^Here you have that Epigram which you desired (p. 692) with another of the like argu- ment. If there be any other thing in this country which my power can reach, command it ; there is nothing I wish more than to be in the catalogue of them that love i/ou.\\ I have heard from court that the late masque «if was not so approved of the King, as in former times, and that your absence was regretted. Such applause hath true worth even of those who are otherwise not for it. Thus, to the next occasion, taking my leave, I remain Your loving friend, W. D." * The " flisoovery," (p. 35.) which was to contain the Description of Scotland^ with the DEipisode of his " Journey thither," &o. This passage is worthy of notice, as it incidentally shews the estimation in which Jonson was held by James. Those who so readily condemn him to, poverty and obscurity are little aware, perhaps, that for the space of twenty years, he was associated with all that was noble, or great, or virluons, or wise : The implicit believers in the commentators on our great poet, are in too forlorn a state of imbecility to encourage any hopes of returning rcison ; bnt'there are others who may one day be expected to discover that there are better authorities for a Life of Jonson than captain Tucca, WilL Eenipey and Shiels, the Scotsman. f Anw died in March. The poem which Jonson wi-ote on the occasion^ is lost.- ± Jonson had left London towards the end of May, and was, at this time, residing at Christ Church, Oxford, with his true friend, Corbet (afterwards bishop of Horwleh) and others of that College. [§ Gifford was not aware that the date of this letter is "January 17, 1619." See Mr. D. Laing's Preface to irotei of B. Jonson's Conversatiom, &c, p. ix.— A. Dvce.] I Hypocrite to the last ! Wbat, the "liar," the " drunkard," the " atheist'' ! This is almost too much. A voluntary plunge in infamy was by no means necessary here j if was not your credulous correspondent (whoever else it might bet **' " interpreted best sayings and deeds to the worst." f I know not who was called in to supply the place of Jonson daring his northern tour. The king was grown some- what fastidious perhaps after those exquisite Entertainments, the Vision of DtligM, and Pleasure reconciled to Virtue ; and talents of no ordinary kind might have fallen short of their excellencies, without much injury to the possessor's reputation. 40 MEMOIUS OF BEN JONSON. Enough of Drummond, with whose "friendship" for our author, the common sense of the reader will, I trust, be no longer insulted, except from the lips of hopeless idiotism— Zon^a manantia labra scdiva. " Crowned with the favour of his sovereign, Jonson saw (say the writers of the Bio, BHu) the most distinguished wits of his time crowding his train, and courting his acquaintance ; and in this spirit he was invited to Christ Church by Dr. Corbet, then senior student of that college *." Here "Wood tells us, he continued some time writing and composing of plays, and was created Master of Arts (July 19) 1619. The historian is wrong in the first part of his assertion. Jonson certainly " composed" no plays at Oxford or elsewhere : this was a labour from which he always delighted to escape, and he was now in such a comparative state of aifluence as to justify his indulging in pursuits 'more congenial to his feelings+. Several of * " Thus," exclaims Mr. Headley, " Jonson was rescued from the arms of a sister University who had long treated the Muses with indignity. We do not find that Ben expressed any regret at the change of situation: companions whose minds and pursuits were similar to his own-were not always to be found in the gross atmosphere of the muddy Cam, though easily met with on the more genial banks of the Isis." Beauties of English Poetry, p. xxxviii. Mr. Headley was an ingenious young man ; but like other ingenious young men, talked sometimes of what he did not understand. He is so ignorant of Jonson 's history as to suppose that he was then resident at Cambridge — this, how- ever, may be easily overUioked ; but his attempt to implicate the poet in his personal quarrels, in his splenetic and vulgar abuse of Cambridge, merits castigation. Jonson neither felt nor expressed any disrespect to Cambridge. — In the Dedication of the Fox to both Universities, he calls them "most noble and most equal sisters ;'* and mentions, in terms of respectful gratitude, his obligations to their "favour and afFeotion." From this language be never varied ; and, unfortunately for Mr. Headley, Cambridge, which had also conferred on him a Master of Arts degree, was fondly remembered by him to the last.^ This critic, as might reasonably be expected, entertains a supreme contempt for Jonson's writings, of which he manifests a surprising knowledge .' "While Drayton (he says) was adopting a style that the present age n^ay peruse, &c. Jonson" (who is always the victim) "unable to digest the mass of his reading, peopled his pages with the heathen mythology," p. lii. Mr. Headley had evidently heard '• of Jonson's learning ;'* the rest followed of course. But how stands the fact ? That of all the writers for the stage, from, old Heywood to Sir Aston Cockayne inclusive, there is not one wliose pages are so free from fable as Jonson's. I will venture to affirm that more of the heathen wythology may be found in a single scene, nay, in a single speech, of Shakspeare, Fletcher, Massinger, and Sbirley, than in the whole of Jonson's thirteen comedies. Nothing is so remarkable as his rigid exclusion of the deities of Greece and Home. Neither as embellishments nor illustrations do they appear in his pages, yet Mr. Headley (and he is net singular, or I should have left him to his foUy) assumes, as the distinguishing characteristic of the author, that they are peopled with them ! But Mr. Headley's candour is as conspicuous as his knowledge. « A strong and original vein of humour (he says) is Ben's pec;uKar/or(e; takeaway that, and he is -undeserving of the fame he has attained"! Ihid, It was well observed by the French tailor, upon the magnificent view from Richmond Hill — ** All this is very fine, to be sure ; — but take away the river and the trees, and it will be nothing" ! t "Both inclination and ambition (say the writers of theS'o. 5W(.) concurred in prompting Jonson to turn from Masques and Entertainments to the graver and weightier works of the drama." This, (which is re-echoed by all his biographers,) like ^yer-^ thing else respecting him, is said at random. '* Ambition" was on the side of the Masques — and with regard to his ■'inclination for the drama," he expressly declares that he had it not. These gentlemen, however, are so pleased with their observation, that they repeat it on the production of the JSew Inn j to the writing of which he was driven by absolute want. So much is said of our author, and so little known ! I have, on several occasions, noted the little pleasure which Jonson apparently took in writing for the stage ; but I hardly expected so decisive a proof of it as has reached me since this note was put to the press. The" ever active kindness of Mr. D'Israeli has just furnished me with the following, letter. It was found among the Hat&eld state papers by Dr. Birch, who was preparing a selection of them, for the press, when he was interrupted by his last illness. The letter is inscribed — " Ben Jonson to the Earl of Salisbury, praying his lordship's protection against some evil reports." It shews (what indeed every circumstance of his life proves) that he was high-spirited, dauntless ; confi- dent in his worth, more confident in his innocence; complaining when wronged, with dignity, and soliciting when afflicted, with decorum. The theatrical records of these times are so imperfect, that the circumstance and the play to which oiu* author alludes, are equally obscure. It would seem that not long after his release, (in the beginning of 1605,) he was accused of reflecting on some one in a play written by Chapman and himself, and again imprisoned with his friend. It would be vain to indulge in farthei conjecture. There are many points of similarity between the letter, and the dedication of the Fox, which may be consulted with advantage. The letter itself is truly admirable, and well deserved the success which, we know, from collateral circimistances, it instantly found. I rejoice in its preservation, and transcribe it with pleasure. " Most truly honourable, 1605. " It hath still been the tyranny of my fortune so to oppress my endeavours that before I can shew myself fratAful t When Dr. Birch was writing the life of Jonson for the Gen. Diet, folio, 1738, he applied to a member of St. John's Collegeforinformationrespecting the residence of the poet, &c. This pers keep their dignity as mine o\vn person, safe. If others have transgressed, let me not be entitled to their follies. Hut lest in being too diligent for my excuse, I may incur the suspicion of being guilty, I become a most humble suitor to your lordship that with the honourable lord Chamberlain,; (to whom I have in like manner petitioned) you will bo plcised to be the grateful means of our coming to answer ; or if in your wisdoms it shall be thought nccessiu-y, that your lordship will be the most honoured cause of our liberty, where freeing us from one prison von will remove us to another ; which is eternally to bind us and our muses to the thankful honoming ol you and years to posterity, as your own vii'tues have by many descents of ancestors ennobled you to thne. Your honour's most devoted in beai't as words, Ben Jonson. " To the most nobly virtuous and thrice honoured Eail of Salishnry. 1605." • lenrij V.] In this history, Jonson tells us in one of his most popular poems, he was assisted by Cotton, C^ew, andScldcn: yet Mr. A. Chalmers gives this rare jnteUigence solely on the authority of Oldys! "See," he says, ' Cldys's manuscript notes to Langbaine in Brit. Mits." t On one of these occasions he had an opportunity of serving Selden, who had grievously offended James by the indi- rect tendency of his arguments on the divine right of tythes. " The storm was blown over," his biographer says, " by the interest of his friend Hen Jonson, with the king." Fresh offence, however, was taken soon afterwards, and Belden was summoned to Theobalds, where his Majesty then was. on his return from Newmarket. " Not being as yet acquainted with the court or witli the king, he got master Bon Jonson, who was then at Theobalds, to intnjduoe him " Lili of Selden. The steadiness of our author's friendsliip calls for no remark : it was a part of his character ; but it should not be omitted that Selden, who is expressly declared by his biographers, " to be, in 1618, yet unac- quainted with the court," is said by all the writers of Jonson's life, to have procured the poet's release from imprison- ment by his interest there, in 1605 ! X In Eaitward Hoe I Sec p. 22. § Thomas Earl of Suffolk. Jonson was not unmindful of his kindness. See p. SIO. 43 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. the office of Master of the Revels. The kiDg, by letters patent dated Oct. 5, 1621, granted him, by the style and addition of " oar beloved servant Benjamin Jonson, gentleman, the said office to be held and enjoyed by him and his assigns, during his life, from and after the death of sir George Buc, and sir Jolin Astley, or as soon as the office should become vacant by resignation, forfeiture, or surrender*." In contemplation, perhaps, of his speedy accession to this office, James was desirous of conferring iipon him the honour of knighthood. Jonson, for whom wealth and title had no charms, and who was well aware that a distinction of this nature would exasperate the envy which -pursued him from his earliest years, shrunk from the meditated kindness of his sovereign, and prevailed on some of his friends about the court to dissuade his royal master from his purpose .+ Jonson received no advantage from the grant specified above, as sir J. Astley survived him : it appears, however, that, finding himself incapable, during his last illness, of perfortning the duties of the office, supposing it to devolve upon him, he had been graciously permitted by Charles to transfer the patent to his son, who died in 1635. Why Mr. Malone should suppose (Shah. vol. ii. p. 311) that he was not on good terms with his father, I cannot tell. Fuller only says that Jonson " was not very happy in his children :" but an indulgent and tender parent like Jonson may be sensibly afflicted by the conduct of a child, without much diminution of affection, or interruption of kindness. From 1621, when the Cfipsies MetamorpJwsed was performed at Windsor, Jonson continued, apparently, to pass his time greatly to his satisfaction. Every Twelfth-night produced a Masque ; and visits to his friends, correspondence with the literati of this and other countries, and occasional pieces of poetry, filled up the rest of his time J; Mr. Malone, who, from his crazy tripod, pronounces that Jonson had " stalked, for two centuries, on the stilts of artificial reputation," was little aware, perhaps, of the extent of his acquaintance with the learned, and of the estimation in which they held his talents : at any rate, the following passage from the Geneva edit, of Farnaby's Martial (and I could produce many such) must have escaped his knowledge : " Martialem solum & clariss. mro Petro Scmerio eTnendatum editumque desiderabam, qaem nulla mea aut a/inisorum cura parare potuit ; ciyus tamen meem non rafp supplevit arnica opera Ben Jonsonii viri (quod qua; ille per ludum scripserit, serio legentibus liquido apparebitj m poetis omniins versatissimi, Uistoriarumj morum, rituum,, antiquitatitm indagatoris exquisUissimij et (quod semper in illo adiierti) non contenti brachio levi tesqua et dignos mndice nodos tranmnittere, sed penitissimos usque sensus ratione, leotione, ingenio eruere desudantis ; digni denique (utcunque & probatis merito probetur suo) meliori theatro quam qua malevolorum invidiam pascat,§ quanquam et hoc regium est posse invidium cum mereri turn pati, IV.e, inquam, miki emendationes aliquot mppeditamt ex C. V. Scriverii Marticde, cujus eopia illi facta Lugduni Bat. a two mm sine doctrines et humanitatis hmorifiea prcefatione nominando Dan. Heinsio, ^c.'' If * Shak. vol* i. p. 626. Mr. Malone observes that " it woBld appear from a plassage* in tbe Saiiroinastix that Ben had made some attempts to procure the reversion of this place before the death of iJlizabeth." Mr* Malone is unquestion- ably right ; though he has failed to draw from it the oiily proper cmiclnsion— namely, that at this period^ Jonson was neither so' obscure rior so unfriended as he wouW have us believe.- t " A friend told me this Faire time (Stourbridge) that Ben Johnson was not knighted, but scaped ft narrowly ■ for that his ttiajestie would have done it, had there not been means made (himself not unwilling) to avoyd it. Sep. 15 1621." Extracted from a letter of the celebrated Joseph Mead of C* Col* Cambridge to sir Martin Stuteville* Baker's MSB. vol. xxxii., p. 355* Sir M* Stuteville was a friend and admirer of Jonson* One of his family has some verses on the poet's death) preserved among the itshmole papers. They are land and laudatory; but merit no particular notice. i He is said to have assisted Middleton and Hefcher in writing The Widoto, whieh must have appeared about this time. This comedy was very popular, and, not undeservedly, for it has a considerable degree of merit. I cannot however," discover many traces of Jonson in it. The authors' names rest, I believe, on the authority of the editor' A. Gough, who sent the play to the press in 1652. * § This learned man, we see, notices the malevolence which incessantly pursued Jonson on the stage. We now hear of nothing but JoEson's envy .—those who lived and conversed with him, speak of the envy of others !— It was then the lowest description of scribblers whieh persecuted him } and I should wrong the modesty of those who abuse him now if I termed them the lights of the age. ' 1 Jonson presented a copy of this edit to Mr. Brlggs, (probably a relation of the celebrated mathematician,) with the following letter written on a blank leaf : MEMOIRS OF BEN JONBON. 43 It has not been hitherto observed that Jonsou was in possession of a most excellent library, which, assisted hy a readiness of memory altogether surprising, facilitated the acquirement of that information for which he was so frequently solicited by his own countrymen, as well as strangers, lie began to collect the best editions of the classics at an early period, and it may be doubted whether any private library in the kingdom was, at that time, so rich in scarce and valuable books as his own. He was ever ready to communicate them to his friends : not only was his study open to their researches * ; but its contents were always at their disposal. It cannot be too often repeated that this writer, who has been described as a mere mass of spleen and ill-nature, was, in fact, the frankest and most liberal of mankind. I am fully warranted in saying that more valuable books given to individuals by Jonson are yet to be met with, than by any person of that age. Scores of them have fallen under my own inspec- tion, and I have heard of abundance of others f. The following passage may amuse the reader from the exquisite absurdity of its conclusion. " In the Upper Library of Trinity College," (it is Warton who speaks,) " is a Vossius's Cheek Histoiians, with a series of MS. notes. It appears, by a Latin mem. in Dr. Bathurst's hand-writing, that this book originally belonged to Ben Jowsoif, who gave it to Dr. Langbaine. — Jonson's name being mentioned, I cannot forbear adding" — (Here I verily expected some compliment to his learning,or liberal- ity) — "that in the character of Volpone, Aubrey teUs us, Jonson intended Sutton, the founder of the Charter-house I " Life of Bathurst, 8vo. p. 148. It seems as if it were indis- pensable that the name of Jonson must always be followed by some stupid calumny f. We.have long lost sight of Inigo Jones ; he now reappears as Jonson's coadjutor in the Masque of Time Vindicated, 1623 §. As none of those pieces which appear in the folio of 1041 were given to the press by Jonson, it is not possible to say whether he shared in any produced " Amico Svmwo D. R. Briocesio. Eccum, iibi librum, mi Brigguiet quern heri, pene cum convitiOt a me ^agitasti, miCto. Voluit ad te afferri eliam kodiey ne diutiits moratuSt me lasi officii reum apud te/aceret. Est Farnabii mei Martialis. Non ille Jesuitarum castratuSy eviratus, et prorsus sine Martiali Martialis, Iste ilium integrum tibi virumque prtEbet^ nee minus castum sed magis virilem. Annoiationes etiam suas apposuiU tales autem ut videri possit sine commentario, commentator. Tufac ut illam perlegas, protegas, et /uveas homini in tanto sale,epulisque Mart, nee insulso necjejuno. IHgnus enim est, qui Virgiliis suis mereatur, ut foret Toto notus in orbe Martialis^ qnod de se ingeniosissimus poeta pradicare ausus sit, et vere j suffragante etiam JONSOWIO TWO. Qui j?o. Aug. M. Dcxxtir. amicitice et studii ergo hoc levidense d.d:' * The learned Selden, in speaking of a book which he had occasion to exiamlne, and T«iiioh was not in his extedsira collection, says—" I presume that I have sufBciently manifested this out of Euripides his Orestes, which when I was to use, not having the scholiast, out of whom I hoped some aid, I went, for this purpose, to see it in the well fumisht librarie of my beloved friend, that singular poet, master Bsw JoNSOrr, whose special wortli in literature, accurate judgment, and performance, known only to that few which are truly able to know him, hath had from me, ever since I began to learn, an increasing admiration." Titles nf Honour, 1614. foL p. 93. t I have great pleasure in copying the following passage from Mr. Clsraeli, because it is the result of conviction acting on a liberal mind. " No poet has left behind him, in MS. so many testimonies of personal fondness as Jonson, by inscriptions and addresses, in the copies of his works, which he presented to his friends : Of these, I have seen more than one, fervent and impressive." Qtior. qf Authors, vol. iii. p. 25. t It may be added here, that Warton appears to have known about as much of Jonson and his writings as Mr. Headley. In his notes on Milton's .Arcades, he says (but with no friendly voice) that "Bcbo/requentlp appears in the masques of Jonson." Frequently ! In Pan's Anniversary (as I think) a musical close is directed to be repeated :— and this is all the Echo. Again : " Jonson was too proud to assist or be assisted," a sentiment quoted for its justice by Mr. Chalmers. Now, Jonson solicited and accepted assistance, or, as he caUs it, " succour," from Selden, Cotton, Carew, and many others ; and h» undoubtedly assisted, or joined with, more writers than any person of the age in which he lived ! § The mention of this Masque gives me an opportunity of noticing a well-known song by G. Wither, "Shall I, wasting in despair," &c published in a little vol. 1625, with an " Answere to each verse by master Johnson. • If the reader will turn to " Time Vindicated," (vol. viii. p. 3 ; ed. 1816,) where I have pointed out, for the first time, the object of the pocfs satire, he wiU need no farther proof that Jonson was little likely to busy himself with parodymg the verses of Wither, however popular. He was not prone, at any time, to mix his heels with other men s heads .■ and least of all, would he have joined in thU kind of chase, with a declared enemy.-That the " Song " is prmted with his ■ name, signifies nothing. It was current with the public ; and he gavo himself no concern about the matter. 44 . MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. previously to the present one. At all events, no symptoms of ill-will are to be fonnd ; and there is good reason to suppose that hitherto nothing had occurred to interrupt their friendship. In Pan's Annwfrsary {I62b), Imgo again assisted Jonson, and his name is duly mentioned in the title-page, where it takes place of the poet's, a circumstance, as it appears, of some moment. This little piece was the last which Jonson had the good fortune to write for James I. who died on the 27th of March in this year, and in whom he lost the most indulgent of masters, the most benevolent of sovereigns. Charles, indeed, both knew and valued Jonson ; but he was not so competent a judge of literary talents, nor was he, either by nature or habit, so familiar with his servants, or so condescending to their affairs, as the easy and good- natured James. A long series of years had now elapsed since our author turned his thoughts to the theatre. From 1616 to 1625, he appears to have forgotten that there was such a plaice*; he was now, however, forcibly reminded of it, and wrote the Staple ofNev>s, a comedy of no ordinary merit. Two evils were, at this time, rapidly gaining upon the poet, want and disease. The first, he certainly might have warded off, at least for some time, had he been gifted with the slightest portion of economy ; but he was altogether thoughtless and profuse, and his long sickness, therefore, overtook him totally unprovided. From the accession to the death of James, nothing is to be found respecting his necessities ; not a complaint, not a murmur, — but other times were at hand, and we shall soon hear of petitionary poems, and supplications for relief. The disease which attacked him about the end of this year, was the palsy. He seems to have laboured from his youth under a scorbutic affection, (derived, probably from his pareats,) and which assailed lum with increasing virulence as his constitution gave way : to this, must be added a tendency to dropsy, not the least of his evils. From the first stroke of the palsy, he gradually recovered, so far, at least, as to be able, in some measure, to pursue his usual avocations ; and, in 1626, produced the pleasant Antimasque of Jopliiel, to vary a preceding Entertainment. The Masques, for the three following years, do not appear ; nor is it known that any were written by our author : indeed, from a hint in the Epilogue to his next play, it seems as if the court had ceased to call on him for the customary contribution. Meanwhile his infirmities rapidly increased, and with them his wants : he was no longer able to leave his room, or to move in it without assistance ; and, in this condition, he applied again to the theatre, and produced the comedy of the New Inn, which was brought out Jan. 19, 1629-30. The fate of this drama is well-known : it was driven from the stagey and pursued with brutal hostility by his ungenerous and unrelenting enemies f. The epilogue forms a melancholy contrast to some of his earlier productions', and cannot, indeed, be contemplated without a feeling of pity : " If you expect more than you Had to-m'ght; The maker is sick and sad J5-— *See,p Si. + Censure of the New Inn. " Thou sayst no palsye doth thy braine-pati ve*, I praye the tell me what an apoplex Thy Pegasus can stirr, yett thy besf care Makes him but shuffle like the parson's mare, WTio from his own side witt sayes thus by mee^ He hath bequeath'd hisbellye unte'thee; To hotde that little learning which is fled Into thy gutts from out thy emptye head," &e. Ashmole MSS. These are the softest lines which I could pick out from about fourscore ; and these, with the verses of Gill .'vol vi t> 123, Ed. 1816.) and Chapman (p,32.> furnish a correct sample of the disposition of those who attacked our author' in his own times. Of all the libels on him which have fallen in my way, I do not recollect one that possessed common humanity or common sense : they never speak iif any injury, or provocation received from the poet • but claim to bo the mere efl^usions of wanton maUce; yet theWalpoles, et id genus omne, dream of nothing but ■• the overnowerini brutality of Jonson." ore X It should be recorded to Iiis praiise, thaf oothing could suppress Ms ardour for improvement. It is in the midst of MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 45 he sent things (it In all the numbers both of verse and wit. If they have not mincarried : if they have, All that his faint and faltering tongue doth crave, Is^ that you not impute it to his brain ; That's yet unhurt, although, set round with pain. It cannot long hold out : all strength must yield ; Yet judgment would the last be in the field, With the true poet." An allusion to the king and queen which follows this extract, awoke the slumbering kindness of Charles, and he instantly sent him a hundred pounds, (a truly royal present,) for which the poet, with an overflowing heart, returned him thanks in three poems, written at short intervals, and all labouring for adequate language to express the fulness of gratitude, respect, and duty*. This timely relief appears to have produced a favourable change in the poet's mind, and encouraged him to apply to the benevolence of his sovereign for an extension of kindness. There is a flow of gaiety and good humour in the little poem which he wrote, and called a humble Petition to the best of monarclis, masters, men, that contrasts very happily with the gloomy and desponding tone of the passage in the preceding page. It is to the honour of Charles, that he not only granted the prayer of the petition, (" that he would be pleased to make the 100 marks of his father 100 pounds,") but liberally added of himself a tierce of canary t, (Jonson's favourite wine,) which has been continued to his successors, and of which the firs.t glass should, in gratitude, be offered by them to the poet's memory. The warrant is given below 5. these afflicting circumstances that he writes a poetical epistle to Howell, earnestly soliciting his aid to procure Davies's Welsh Grammar, for which he was unable to seek himself. Jonson's lines are lost : but Howell htis given his reply to them. Howell notices the extensive collection of grammars, of which Jonson was already possessed. * This transaction is thus wilfully perverted by Shiels. " In 1629 Ben fell side, Charles I. was supplicated in his favour, and sent him ten guineas. When the messenger delivered the sum, Ben said, ■' His majesty has sent me ten guineas becavse I am poor, and live in an alley ; go and tell him, that his soul lives in an alley." This impudent falsehood is still repeated, even by those who have the poet's own acknowledgments for a hundred pounds before them ; and Smollett was eager to insert it in his History 0/ England, because it bore hard upon Charles. The writers of the Bio, Brit, have given one of Jonson's grateful poems to the king — •* not so much," they properly say, » to confute as to shame the story." — But who shames a slanderer * t Milton has been unjustly charged with reflecting on Charles for his attachment to the drama : But though Milton did not urge this as a crime against the king, other writers of that disastrous period did. " Had king Charles (says one of them) but studied scripture half so much as Ben Jonson or Shakspeare, be would -luve learned that when Amaziah," Slu. Appeal to all Bational Men on King Charles's Trial, by J. Cooke, 1649. X CHABLES, R. Charles, by the grace of God, Kinge of England, Scotland, Fraunce, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &c. to the Theasurer, Chancellour, under Theasurer, Chamberlens, and Barons of the Exchequer of vs, our heirsand successours now beinge, and that hereafter shall foe, and to all other the ofBcers and ministers of the said court, and of the receipt, there now beinge, and that hereafter shall be ; and to all others to whom these presents shall come,or to whom it shall or may-apperteyn, greeting. Whereas our late most deare father King James of happy memorie, by his letters pattents under the great seale of England, bearing date at Westminster, the first day of February, in the thirteenth year of his reign of England (for the considerations therein expressed; did give and graunt unto our well beloved servaimt, Benjamin Jonson, one aimnitie or yearly pension of one hundred marks of lawful money of Englande, during hia life, to be paid out of the said Exchequer, at the feast of the Anunciation of the blessed Tiigin Mary, the Nativity of St. John Baptist, St. Michael the Archangel, and the birth of our Lord God, quarterly, as by the said letters patents more at large may appear. Which annuity or pension, together with the said letters patents, the said Benjamin Jonson hath lately surrendered vnto vs. Knowyee nowe, that wee, for divers good considerations vs at this present especially movinge, and in consideration of the good and acceptable service, done vnto vs and oiu* said father by the said Benjamin Johnson, and especially to encourage him to proceede in those services of his witt and penn, which wee have enioined vnto him, and which we expect from him, are graciously pleased to augment and encrease the said annuitie or pension of one hundred marks, vnto an annuitie of one hundred pounds of lawful money of England for his life. And for the better effecting thereof of our especial grace, certen knowledge and meer motion, we have given and graunted, and by these presents for vs, our heirs and successors, upon the surrender aforesaid, do give and graunt unto the said Benjamin Johnson, one annuitie or yearly pension of one hundred pounds of England by the year, to have, hold, and yearly to receive the said annuitie or yearly pension of one hundred pounds of lawful money if England, by the year, unto the said Benjamin Johnson or his assignes, from the feast of ovr Lord God last past, before the date hereof, for and during the natural life of him the said Benjamin Johnson, at the receipt of the Exchequer of vs, our heirs and successours, out of the treasure of vs, our heirs and successours, from time to time there remayning, by the Theasurer and Chamberlens of vs, our heirs, and successours there, for the time beinge, as the foresaid four usual terms of the year (that is to say) at the feast of the Annuniiation of the blessed Virgin Mary, the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, St. Michael the Ai'changel, and the birth of our Lord God, by even and equal IS MEMOIRS OF BJEN JONSON, From 1627, the date of the Fortunate Isles, no masque appears to have been written by our author ; at this period, however, the king, whose kindness had revived in all its force, com- manded him, in conjunction with Inigo Jones, to prepare the usual Entertainments for the festivity of the new year. The first piece was iow's Triumph through CaUipolk, which seems to have been weU received ; the second, which was produced about two mouths after it, was (Moridia, better known by its having given birth to the dispute between these ancient friends, than by any merit of its own. Both masques were printed before the end of the year, and the "Inventors" were said, in the title-page, to be Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones ; a fatal collocation of names for the declining poet. His complaints, meanwhile, increased ; and, with them, his necessities. He rarely went abroad, and, as his helpless state made assistance absolutely necessary, be seems, about this time, to have taken into his service a respectable woman, who managed his little household, and continued with him till he died. It has been already observed, that Jonson was utterly devoid of worldly prudence ; what was liberally given was lavishly spent, and he was seldom free from want. He was, indeed, like his mother, "no churl ;" his table was ever free to his friends ; and we learn from Howell, that he gave repasts even in those evil days, which an epicure might have shared with delight. Wine he always considered as necessary and perhaps it was so — to counteract the occasional influence of that morbid tendency to melancholy generated by a constitutional affection of the scurvy ; which also rendered society desirable, and, in some measure, indispensable to him. Jonson was not called on for a masque in the following year ; and this source of emolument, which he could ill forego, was therefore lost to him. Those who have been accustomed to hear of nothing but his unprovoked persecution of Inigo Jones, will be somewhat startled to iind that this person, forgetful of old attachments, made use of his growing favour at court to depress and ruin a bed-ridden and necessitous friend. For the knowledge of his ungenerous conduct, in this instance, not a little important in the history of our calumniated poet, I am again indebted to ^lie kindness of Mr. DTsraeli. portions quarterly to be paid. The first payment thereof to hegin at the feast of the Annuntiation of the blessed Virgin Mary, next before the date of these presents. Wherefore our will and pleasure is, and we do by these presents for Ts. our heirs and successors, require, command, and authorise the said Theasurer, Chancelloiir. under Theasurer, Chamberlens, and Barons, and other officers and ministers of the said Exchequer, now and for the time being, not only to paie or cause to be paide vnto the said Benjamin Johnson, or his asbignes, the said annuitie oryearly pension of one hundred pounds of lawful money of England according to our pleasure before expressed : and also from time to time to give full allowance of the same, according to the true meaning of these presents. And these presents, and the enrollment thereof, shall be unto all men whom it shall concern, sufficient warrant and discbarge for tbe payinge and allowinge of the same accordingly, without any farther or other wai-rant to be in that behalf procured or obtained. And further know yee, that wee of our more especial grace, certen knowledge and meer motion, have given and granted, and by these presents for us, our heires and successors, do give and graunt ynto the said Benjamin Johnson and his assigns, one terse of Canary Spanish wine yearly : to have, hold, perceive, receivf , and take the said terse of Canary Spanish wine unto the said Benjamin Jonson and his assigns during the term of his natural life out of our store of wines yearly, and from time to time remayninge at or in our cellers within or belonging to our palace of "Whitehall. And for the better effecting of our will and pleasure herein, we do hereby require and command all and singular officers and ministers whom it shall or may conceme, or who shall have the care or charge of our said wines, that they or some one of them do deliver or cause to he delivered the said terse of wine yearly, and once in every year vnto the said Benjamin Johnson or his assignes^ during the terme of his natural life, at such time and times as he or they shall demand or desire tbe same. And these presents or the inrollment thereof shall be unto all men whom it shall conccrne a sufficient warrant and discbarge in that behalf, although express mention, &c. In witness, &c. Ex. per Ro. Heath. Witness, &c. Male it please your most excellent Majestic, ■This oonteyneth your Majestie's^raunte unto Benjamin Johnson, your majestie's servannte, during his life, of a pension of lOOZ. per annuirty and of a terse of Spanish wine yearly out of your majestie's store remaining at White-hall. And is done upim surrender of a former letters patents granted unto him by your late royal father, of a pension of 1 0O marks psr annum. Signified to be your Majestie's pleasure by tbe Lord Theasurer, RO. HEATH. Endorsed thus ilarch )63a Bxpl. artud Westm' viceiimo se-rfu die Martii anno R Ris Caroli quinto. per WINDBBANK. MEM0IB8 OF BEN JONSON. 47 " Extract of a Letter from Mr. Pory to sir Thomas Puckering, Bart. " The last Sunday at night, the king's Mask was acted in the banquetting house, the queen's being suspended till another time, by reason of a soreness which fell into one of her delicate eyes. " The inventor or poet of this Mask was Mr. Aurelian Towushend, sometime toward (steward) to the lord treasurer Salisbury ; Ben Jonson being, for this time, discarded by reason of the predominant powgr of his antagonist Inigo Jones, who, this time twelvemonth, was ano-ry with him formatting his own name before Jiis in the title-page ; which Ben Jonson has made the subject of a bitter satire or two against Inigo," Jm. 12, 163i. I « Whoever was the aggressor," says "Walpole, « the turbulence and brutality of Jonson were sure to place him most in the wrong." This assertion is not quite clear in the present case, in which the magnanimity of Jones is as disputable as his humanity. He seems, indeed, to have persecuted Jonson with implacable malice : — not only /or tliis time was the poet laid aside by his influence, but for the residue of his melancholy existence. His conduct, for the rest, fully justifies the strongest lines in the Expottidation, p. 658 : " O shows, shows, shows ! The eloquence oF masques ! what need of prose^r^- Or verse, or prose to express," &c. since it cannot be denied that whatever ravages disease had made on the faculties of Jonson, he was yet many degrees above master Aurelian Townshend, of whom no one, I believe, ever heard before. The truth is, that Jones wanted, as Jonson has it, to be the Dominm Do-all of theioork, and to engross all the praise. This avarice of credit is not unpleasantly touched in the ridiculous interlude annexed to th£ Tale of a Tub 1 Med. " I have a little knowledge in design, Which I can vary, sir, to injinito. Tub. Ad infinitum, sir, you mean. Med. I do ; I stand not on my Latin : I'll invent ; But I must be alone then, join'd with no man." In fact, Jones had no taste for poetry, and an obscure ballad maker, who could string together a few rhymes to explain the scenery, was more acceptable to him than a man of talent, who might aspire to a share of the praise given to the Entertainment. The cruelty of Jones in depriving our author of the court patronage had an unfavourable efiFect upon his circumstances in many respects. The city, from whom he had been accus- tomed to receive an annual sum by way of securing his services, when occasion called for them, seem to have watched the moment of declining favour, and withdrawn their bounty*. * Of this Jonson complains with great indignation to the Earl of Newcastle, in a petitionary letter-, written with some humour as well as spirit. He calls it their chanderly pension. It deserved a better name, for it was a hundred nohles per ann„ a sum which could ill be spared by him at such a time. The Court of aldermen withdrew it Dec. I9th, 1631. It appears from this letter that Jonson had somewhat recovered from the first stroke of the palsy ; the second, the fatal stroke, he places in 1628. [Gifford was not aware that the " annual sura,*' which Jonson received from the city, was his salary as City Chro- nologer, in which office he succeeded Thomas Middleton the dramatist, — that his salary was for a considerable time withdrawn, because he had presented no " fruits of his labours in that his place," — and that it was afterwards restored with arrearages^ at the intercession of the King. These facts are ascertained by the following entries in the City Becoids : — "Martis Secundo die Septembris 1628 Annoque RBe Caroli Anglia: io quarto. Hamersly Mayor. Item : this daie Beniamyn Johnson Gent is by this Court admitted to be the Gitties Chrono- Kep. No. 42. f. 271. loger in place of Mr. Thomas Middleton deceased, to have hold exercise and enioye the same place and to have and receive for that his service out of the Chamber of London the some of one hundred Nobles per Annum to eontynue duringe the pleasure of this Court and the First quarters payment to begin att Michaelmas next." " Jovis decimo die Novembris 1631 Aimnque Kegni Regis Caroli Angliae &c septimo. Whitmore Mayor. Item ; It is ordered by this Court that Mr. Chamberlen shall forbeare to pay any more fee B«p. N 46. f. 8. or wages unto Beniaraine Johnson the Citties Cbxonologer until he shall haue presented tmto this Court some fruits of his labours in that his place." 48 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. The example was probably followed by many who would not have introduced it, and as his salary was, at all times, irregularly paid, he was once more reduced to extremities, and driven to address a pathetic epistle to the lord treasurer Weston, for relief *. In this, he says, that disease and want, -with their associates, had beset him for five years, and that his muse *' Now lay block'd up and straiteu'd, naiTow'd Id, Fix'd to the bed and boards, unlike to win Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been ! " f This appears to be his last "mendicant epistle," and it was not written in vain. Assistance reached him from various quarters ; and some alleviating circumstances of another kind con- tributed at the same time to smooth the bed of pain, and heal his wounded spirit. He received several copies of complimentary verses from the admirers of his talents ; and his munificent patron, the Earl of Newcastle, who had incidentally heard of it, applied to him for a transcript of some of them. Jonson's answer follows : "My noblest Lord, and my patron by excellence, I have here obeyed your commands, and sent you a packet of my own praises ; which I should not have done if I had any stock of modesty in store : — but * obedience is better than sacrifice/ — and you command it. I am now like an old bankrupt in wit, that am driven to pay debts on my friends' credit ; and, for want of satisfying letters to subscribe bills of exchange. Your devoted Bbn Jonson. iih February^ 1632. To the Right Hon. the Earl of Newcastle." This letter enclosed several poems ; among which were two by the celebrated Lord Falkland, never printed ; a third, printed without a name in Wit JRestored, but here signed Nic. Oldisworth ; and a fourth of considerable length by R. Goodwin, t of which this is the concluding couplet : **,Other oblivion, Ben, thou ne'er wilt find Than that, which, with thee, pvits out all mankind." — " Jovis xviijo die Septembris 1634 Annoque R Rs Caroli Anglix &c decimo. Mowlson Mayor. Item : this day Mr. Recorder and Sir James Hamersley Knight and Alderman declared unto Bep. N. 48, f. 433. this Court His Majesty's pleasure signified unto thorn by the right hon^'e the Earle of Dorsett for and in the behalfe of Beniamine Johnson the Cittyes Chronologer, Whereupon it is ordered by this Court that his yearely pencion of one hundred nobles out of the Chamber of London shalbe continued and that Mr. Chamberlen shall satlsfie ajid pay unto him his arrerages thereof." Jonson, no doubt, continued to hold this office till his death : he was succeeded in it by Francis Quarles. See my Account o/Middleton and Ids Works, pp. xl. — xlii., where the aboTe extracts from the City Records were first printed. — A. Dycb.] ^ The following letter was probably written at this period. My noblest Lord and best Patron, I send no borrowing epistle to provoke your lordship, for I have neither fortune to repay, nor security to engage, that will be taken : but I make a most humble petition to .your lordship's bounty to succour my proseu necessities this good time [festival] of Easter, and it shall conclude all begging requests hereafter on the behalf of your truest beadsman and most thankful sei'vant, B.J To the Earl of H'etocastle, Cno date] iHarl. MSS. 4955.] + About this time Randolph, whom he had adopted, addressed to him, with filial reverence, " a gratulatory pooni *** In which he thus refers to his disease : « " And here, as piety bids me, I intreat Phcebus to lend thee some of his own heat. To cure thy palsie, else I will complain He has no skill in herbs, and we in vain Style him the god of physic : 'twere his praise To make thee as immortal as thy lays," &c, * Of this person 1 know no more than fa found in Aubrey. ** He was (he says) a general aoh{('ar and had a aeiicate MEMOIBS OF BEN J ONSON. 49 Lord Falkland, who is insulted by Walpole for the meanness of his poetry, (which yet is superior to his own,) speaks of it with a modesty which must take away all inclination to censure. I know, he says, " That what I here have wi'it May praise my friendship, but condemn my wit." Our author was now employed upon the Magnaie Lady, which was. brought out in the October term of this year. "It was generally esteemed," Langbaine tells us, "an excellent play, though, in the poet's days, it found some enemies * ; " among whom he specifies the younger Gill, of whose ribaldry a specimen will be found, vol. vi. p. 122, Ed. 1816. I have, elsewhere, noticed the inaccuracy of the dates prefixed to Howell's Letters. He speaks of this drama as in existence in 1629 ; but if the licenser's authority were not sufficient (which it is) for assign- ing it to the present year, there is an incidental passage in'a letter from Mr. Pory to Sir Tho. Puckering, (Sept. 20th, 1632,) which would put it out of dispute. « Ben Jonson, who I thought had been dead, has written a play against the next term, called the Magnetic Lady." Harl.MSS. vol. 7000. "We may collect from this, that Jonson had ceased to appear abroad, and was entirely lost to those who looked for him only at Whitehall and the theatres. Indeed, his maladies had recently increased, and left him as little leisure as power for literary exertions of any kind. Dryden calls his last plays his « dotages + "—they want indeed, much of the freedom and vigour of his early performances ; but they exhibit no signs of mental imbecility, and one of them, the New Inn, has more than one passage of merit J. There is, however, a want of generosity in this triumph over the poet's declining years. His perseverance in writ- ing was, in truth, a misfortune ; but it was forced upon him by the urgent calls of his situation. There were, indeed, intervals of ease and comfort, and in these he wrote with his usual hap- piness ; but he was unable to wait for them, and his " bed-ridden and afflicted muse " was frequently urged to exertions of which she was manifestly incapable. A few trifling pieces of poetry close the melancholy account of this year. It is evident, however, that we have but a small part of what was written. Somethiiig was probably lost in the confusion which followed his death, and more in the wreck of his patron's fortunes ; but, exclusively of these, it appears that we have not all our author's printed works. The following letter, which (though undated) appears to be written about this period, alludes to a work of which nothing is now to be found. "My Lord, The faith of a fast friend with the duties of an humble servant, and the hearty nrayers of a religious beadsman, all kindled upon this altar to your honour, my honourable lady, your hopeful issue, and your right noble brother, be ever my sacrifice ! " It is the lewd printer's fault that I can send your lordship no more of my book. I sent you one piece before the fair by Mr. Witherington, and now I send you this other morsel. The fine gentle- man that walks the town ; the Fiend ; but before he will perfect the rest, I fear, he will come himself to be a part under the title of the absolute knave, which he hath played with me. Witt ; was a great historian and an excellent poet." Letters, vol. iii. 360. The Editors of these letters are at a loss for the meaning of the next sentence. *' The journey into France crept in. Bishop Corbet's poems was made by him." Read it thus, and the difficulty will vanish. " The Journey into France, crept into Bishop Corbet's poems, was made by him." But can this be so ? * There is an amiable trait recorded of Ini^ Jones. He was present at the iirst representation of this play, and made himself remarkable by his boisterous ridicule of it. " He grew fat," Gill says, •* with laughing " ! " Whoever was the aggressor, Jonson always took care to be most in the wrong : such was his bkutality,'' &c. T Meaning, it may be presnmed, the Ifew Inn, the Magnetic Lady, and the Tale of a Tub. :t The good taste of Mr. Lamb has led him to make considerable extracts from this play, which is so unfeelingly ridiculed by the commentators on Shakspeare, who never condescended to open it. He concludes with a remark that does equal credit to his liberality and his judgment. " These, and the preceding extracts, (from the Case is Altered and the Poetaster, )mzy serve to abew the poetical fancy and eleganceof mind of the supposed rugged old bard. A thousand beautiful passages might be added from those numerous court-masques and entertainments, which he was in the daily habit of producing, to prove the same thing ; but they do not fall within my plan." Specimens of the English Dramatic Poets. 60 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. " My printer and I shall afford subject enough for a tragi-comedy ; for with his delays and vexa- tion, I am almost become blind ; and if heaven be so just, in the metamorphosis, to turn him into that creature which he most resembles, a dog with a bell to lead me between Whitehall and my lodging, I may bid the world good night. And so I do. Ben Jonson. To the Earl of Newcastle," iHarl. MS. 4955.] The Tdk of a Tub, the last work of Jonson, that was submitted to the stage, appeared in 1633. It makes no great pretensions to notice ; yet it is correctly and even characteristically written : but though there may be something to amuse, there is little to interest ; and it was probably not often called for. In the last scene of this comedy, Jonson had introduced a ridiculous piece of machinery, at the expense of his powerful enemy, Inigo Jones, who had, however, (as may be easily supposed), sufficient influence with the master of the revels, to pre- vent its appearance. In the spring of this year, Charles visited his native kingdom. He was splendidly entertained on the road by the nobility and gentry ; but by none of them with such lavish magnificence as hy the Earl of Newcastle. Jonson was applied to on the occasion for one of those little congratulatory interludes which usually made a part of the royal entertainments ; and the following letter, from the grateful poet, probably accompanied Lm^s Wdcome at Wdbech *. " My noble Lord, and my best Patron, I have done thebusiness your lordship trusted me with ; and the morning after I received by my beloved friend, master Payne, your lordship's timely gratuity — I style it such, for it fell like the dew of heaven on my necessities — I pray to God my work may have deserved it ; I meant it should in the working it, and I have hope the performance will conclude it. In the mean time, I tell your lordship what I seriously think — God sends you these chargeable and magnificent honours of making feasts, to mix with your charitable succours, dropt upon me your servant ; who have nothing to claim of merit but a cheerful undertaking whatsoever your lordship's judgment thinks me able to perform.f I am in the number of your humblest servants, my lord, and the most willing ; and do joy in the good friendship and fellowship of my right learned friend, master Payne, than whom your lordship could not have employed a more diligent and judicious man, or that hath treated me with more humanity ; which makes me cheerfully to insert myself into your lordship's commands, and so sure a clientele. Wholly and only your lordship's. Ben Jonson. To the Earl of Newcastle." It would be a heart-rending task minutely to trace the progress of our author's decline from the period at which we are arrived. He continued, while his faint and faltering tongue could articulate, to pay his annual duty to his royal master, and he wrote, at the request of the Earl of Newcastle, another little interlude to grace the reception of the king and queen at Bolsover, called also Lme's Welcome ; but this appears to be almost the last of his works, if we except * P. 660. There vras, indeed, another public occasion on which our author was employed to write ; namely, the christening of a son of the earl of Newcastle, to whom some of the royal family stood sponsors. Of this little interlude thitherto unpublished) some account will be foujid in the opening of the last volume Ed. 1816. t In this humble and tbanMul style is conceived all that has reached us of Jonaon's correspondence with his patrons. Gratitude, indeed, was one of the feelings which peculiarly marked his character. I know, says Eliot ( Jonson's personal enemy), in an epistle to the earl of Montgomery, " I know That Jonson much of what he has, does owe To you, aiid to your family, and is never Slow to profess it," &c. Poemt, p. 108. MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. 61 the satires on Inigo Jones, ■which, according to the dates assigned by Howell, were not written tiU 1635*. One bright and sunny ray yet broke through the gloom which hung over his closing hours. In this he produced the Sad Sliepherd, a pastoral drama of exquisite beauty, which may not only be safely opposed to the most perfect of his early works, but to any simUar performance in any age or country. The better half of this drama was unfortunately lost in the confusion that followed his death ; for, that he had put the last hand to it, I see no reason to doubt +. This was apparently the close of his labours. Among his papers were found the plot and opening of a domestic tragedy on the story of Mortimer, Earl of Maa-ch, together with the Discoveries and the Gram/ma/r of the English Language, on both of which he probably continued to write while he could hold a pen. The minute accuracy of the Grammar, and the spirit and elegance, the judgment and learning displayed in every part of the Discoveries, are worthy of all praise. It may, indeed, be said, that they are the recollections of better days ; and, in some measure, this is undoubtedly the case : but no difference of style or manner is anywhere apparent, and it is certain, from internal evidence, that a considerable portion of the latter work must have been written a short time before his dissolution. That event was now rapidly approaching. He had evidently received a religious education from his parents, and his works sufficiently shew that he was not without serious impressions of his duty towards his Maker ; these grew more frequent and strong perhaps in his affliction, and it is gratifying to learn from the Bishop of Winchester, who often visited him during his long confinement, that he expressed the deepest sorrow and contrition for " profaning tlie scripture in his plays." It is proper to observe, however, that the memory of the good Izaac "Walton, (who gives us this part of the bishop's conversation,) must have deceived him in this place. Jonson has no profanations of scripture in his plays : He has, indeed, profanations of the sacred name (like all his contemporaries), and of these he did well to repent " with horror." In this instance, it was good for him to have been afflicted; and, as his remorse was poignant, it is a part of christian charity to hope that it was not in vain. He died on the 6th of August, 1G37, and was buried on the 9th in Westminster Abbey, " in the north aisle, in the path of square stone opposite to the scutcheon of Eobeftus de Ros." A common pavement stone, Mr. A. Chalmers says, was laid over his grave, with the short and irreverent inscription of rare Ben Jonson ! There was nothing irreverent however intended by this brief epiphonema. His friends designed to raise a noble monument to his memory, by subscription, and tiU this was ready nothing more was required than to cover his ashes decently with the stone which had been removed. While this was doing, Aubrey tells us. Sir John Young, of Great Milton, Oxford- shire, whom he familiarly calls Jack Young, chanced to pass through the abbey, and, not enduring that the remains of so great a man should lie at all without a memorial, "gave one of the workmen eighteen-pence to cut the words in question." The subscription was fully successful ; but the troubles which were hourly becoming more serious, and which not long after broke out into open rebellion, prevented the execution of the monument, and the money was returned to the subscribers. Although Jonson had probably experienced some neglect towards the termination of his days, yet the respect for his memory was very general, and his death was long lamented as a public loss. Many of the elegies written on the occasion were collected by Dr. Duppa, Bishop of Winchester, and tutor to the Prince of Wales, and published a few months after the poet's A * Since I have had an opportonity of examining the Museum MSS. I hare'less confidence in these dates than before. Oldys is completely justified in his doubts of their accuracy. t It is not altogether improbable that we owe the loss of this pastoral drama to the circumstance of shutting up the theatres this year. (1636.) There is an allusion to this circumstance in Habington's Elegy on ova author's death : " Heaven, before thy fate. That thou thyself mightst thine own dirges hear. Made the sad stage close mourner for a year," io. jf 2 52 MEMOIES OF BEN JONSON. death,* under the title of Jonsonus Virbids. For this act of pious friendship, Duppa received the thanks of his contemporaries ; and, among the rest, of Davenant, who compliments him on the occasion in a poem of some merit. As the collection is of rare occurrence, and contains several pieces by the most celebrated names of the time, it is reprinted at the end of Jonson's "Works, together with short notices of the respective authors, furnished by the kindness of my liberal and ingenious friend, Octavius Gilchrist, at a moment when kindness is doubly felt ; when I was overwhelmed with affliction for an irreparable loss, and incapable of the slightest exertion. Jonson left no family. His wife appears to have died some time before his journey into Scotland, and he never married again. Most of his children died young, and none survived him. His person was large and corpulent. He had, Aubrey says, been fair and smooth-skinned, but a scorbutic humour appears to have fallen, at an early period, into his face, and to have scarred it in a very perceptible degree : still, however, he must have been, while young, a personable man. Decker, ar we have seen, describes him as a mere monster in the Satiro- mastix ; but this is a scenipal picture, the distorted representation of an exasperated enemy. Randolph and others of his friends and admirers, who could only have known him in his advanced age, trace a resemblance in him to the head of Menander, as exhibited on ancient medals. We are not left, however, to contending reports, as many portraits of him were taken in his own time, several of which are come down to us sufficiently perfect to shew that his features were neither irregular nor unpleasing. After he had attained the age of forty, an unfavourable change took place in his figure, to which we find frequent allusions in his writings. He speaks of his " mountain belly, and his ungracious gait," and is always foremost to jest at what did not, perhaps, escape the pleasantry of his companions. Whalley, who sometimes sacrifices his better judgment to the opinions of others, tells us that " his disposition was reserved and saturnine." This is contradicted by the whole tenour of his life. "He was, moreover, (h« adds) not a little oppressed with the gloom of a splenetic imagination, and, as an instance of it, he told Drummond that he had lain a whole night fancying he saw the Carthaginians and Romans fighting on his great toe."+ Who does not see that Jonson was giving, in the friendly flow of conversation, an account of some casual aberration of reason, produced by a passing fever, and which no one but his perfidious entertainer would have treasured up, or sought to pervert to an unworthy purpose ! That he had occasional fits of gloom may be readily granted ; and we know whence they sprung : — apart from these, he was frank and unreserved, and it is impossible to read the accounts of the meetings at the Mermaid and the Apollo without amazement at the perversity which could thus misstate his character. Lord Clarendon tells us, that " his conversation was very good, and with men of most note ;" and the excellent Lord Falkland (vol. ix. p. 5. Ed. 1816) observes that, upon a near acquaintance with him, he was doubtful whether his candour or his talents were the greater. No man, in fact, had lived more in the world than Jonson, conversed with a greater variety of characters, was quicker to remark, or abler to retain, the peculiarities of each : this, with his habitual frankness of communication, rendered his society as delightful as it was instructive. The testimony of Lord Clarendon is of the highest authority. He lived, he says, " many years on terms of the most friendly intercourse with our author," and he was, in consequence, no ill judge of the society in which he was to be found : it is therefore not without equal surprise and sorrow that I find the editor^f Drydeu's Works repeatedly accusing him of " delighting * The imprimatur to this little volume is dated Jan. 23, 1631. Gatakcr told Aubrey that the title dijonsonui Virhius was given to it by lord Falkland. t He told Drummond no such thing "as an instancCj" &c. "Whalley, like the rest, looked only to Shiels, who has again interpolated his own ribaldry, and joined two passages together, which, in his author, are perfectly distinct, and relate to different qualities. But enough of this despicable scribbler, whom I gladly abandon to the admiration of those who, with Mr. Malone, think forgery, when employed in the ruin of Jonson's reputation, " an innocent jeu- dapriU" Shaft, vol. i. p. 619. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 63 in low cmnpany* and ^j-o/aTW conversation." "Would the exemplary Earl of Clarendon have termed this conversation wry tyoorf ? or such company, men of most note $ Were Camden and Selden, and Hawkins and Martin, and Cary and Morrison^ were Corbett, and Ilackett, and Duppa, and Morley, and Kingj (all bishops) low company ? Were the Digbys, the Spensers, the Ogles, the Cecils, the Sidneys, the Sackvilles, low company ? "Were Coke and Egerton, and Pembroke and Portland and Aubigny, low company? — Yet with these Jonson lived from youth to age; and even his sick-chamber, and his death-bed, were consecrated by the frequent resort of the wise and good : — *' To HIM how daily flock'd, what reverence gave All that hnd wit, or would be thought to have ; How the wise too did with mere wits agree : As Pembroke, Portland, anil grave D' Aubigny ; Nor thought the rigid'st senator a sliame^ To add his praise to ao deserv'd a fame ! " Falkland's Eel. Such is the language of one who cherished his acquaintance to the last : and yet we arc required to believe, on the word of a writer of the present day, that Jonson delighted in "gross and vulgar society !"+ The charge of "profane conversation" is contradicted by the * This contradicts even the reports of the poet's enemies. The charge against him during his life is not that he delighted in low company, but — that he aspired to society far above his rank. t With the contempt expressed for the poet's talents I have nothing to do ; but I must not suffer his moral character to be defamed, in silence. The object is to debase Jonson by assimilating him to Shadwell. •* Huge corpulence, much coarseness of manners, and an ungcntlemanly vulgarity of dialect ^ seem to have distinguished both-" Again *. " Shad- well seems to have imitated Ben Jonson in gross and coarse sensual indulgence and profane conversation." vol. x. 445. " Again : *' Shadwell resembled Jonson in the brutal coarseness of his conversation, and iiis vulgar and intemperate pleasures." Again: *' Shadwell followed Jonson as cfofeZj/ as possible ,• he was brutal in his conversation, and much addicted to the use of opium," tScc This is the wantonnessof injustice. If the elevation of Dryden made it necessary to overwhelm Shadwell with contempt, there seems to be no absolute necessity for dragging Jonson forward at every turn. Jonson never injured Dryden. If he was praised and loved by Shadwell, it ought not be attributed to him as a crime, for he had long been in his grave. " Jonson is described as wearing a loose coachman's coat, frequenting the Mermaid Tavern, where he drunk seas of Canary t then reeling home to bed, and after a profuse perspiration, arising to his dramatic studies." Life cf Dryderiy p. 265. The passage from which the above is taken, stands thus in Mr. Malone : " I have heard {Aubrey says) Mr. Lacy the player say that Ben Jonson was wont to wear a cuat, like a coachman's coat, with slits under tbp arm -pit." Lacy has good authority for this circumstance; but to what period does it refer? To the last year of Jonson's life ; when the poet, with that respect for ihe public which he always cherished, sent for him to his sick chamber, to give him a list of words in the Yorkshire dialect for the Sad Shepherd, on which he M-as then employed. Lacy, who did not leave Yorkshire till 1631 or 1G32, could know little of Jonson but the form of his coat, which truly seems very well adapted to one who could barely move from bis bed to his "studying chair, which was of straw, such as old women use, and such as AulusGellius is drawn in." Bn:t,coutiuues Aubrey,— "he would many times exceed in drink, (this is not quite fairly translated, he drank seas o/Canaj'p,) then, he would tumble home to bed, and when he had thoroughly perepired, then to study." That Jonson was fond, too fond, if the reader pleases, of good wine and good company, we know ; hut there is yet a word to be said on this passage. Aubrey leaps at once over forty years of Jonson's life : from 1596 to ]636, all that he tells us, with the exception of the passage just quoted, is, that he died in Westminster, and was buried there ! Yet this is the foundation of the endless attacks upon him for brutality and swinish licentiousness. Aubrey knew nothing of our author but what he gathered from conversa- tion, and Kent himself had not a better gift at marring a plain tale in the telling. Even in the short report of Lacy, he confounds the Sad Shepherd with the Tale of a Tub, though he had only to open it. And what does the reader imagine to be the origin of this charge of Jonson's " exceeding in drink, tumbling home to study," &c. ? Simply, a character of himself put (in sport) into the mouth of Carlo Buffone, whom he expressly warns us against, as " a scurrilous and profane jester, as a violent railer, an immeasureable liar, and one that, swifter than Circe, transformed every person into deformity," &c. This is his speech : Carlo. *' When the poet comes abroad (once in a fortnight) and makes a good meal among play^s, he has caninum appetitum, (marry, at home he keeps a good philosophical :(: Vulgarity of dialect ! If this be meant of Jonson's conversation, it is contradicted by the testimony of all his acquaintance : if, of his compositions, — it is sufficient to answer, that Jonson was by far the most correct and elegant prose writer of his time. The last of his works, the Discoveries, may be produced not to confute, as the writers of the Bio. Brit, say, but to shame, such accusations. One of Decker's earliest charges against our author is, the scrupulous accuracy of his language ; and the good bishop of Chichester, (Dr. H. King,) says of him — " It is but truth ; thou taught'st the ruder age. To speak by grammar, and reform'dst the stage." To the& may be added the testimony of E. Bolton, {whom Warton calls " that sensible old English critic," and Ritson, "that man of learning,") who, after stating his opinion of the most celebrated writers down to his own times, (1600) SHys, "But if I should declare mine own rudeness rudely, I should then confess that I never tasted English more to my liking, nor more smart, and put to the height of use in poetry, than in that vital, judicious, and most practi- cable language of master Benjamin Jonson." Hypercritica. It is true that Jonson had not, at this period, written the Silent Woman, the Fox, or the Alchemist ; and therefore as much of " an ungentlemanly vulgarity of dialect " as these pieces afford, must he subtracted from the commendations of Edmund Bolton. 54 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. whole tenour of his life. " For my own paxt," he says, in his manly appeal to the two Universities, " I can affirm, and from a most clewt conscience, that I have ever trembled to thinh towards the least profcmeness ;" and he is borne out by all that remains of his works,* But his enemies rely on the authority of the infamous Shiels, who, not content with the scurrility which he has put into the mouth of Drummond, adds from himself, that " Jonsou took every occasion to ridicule religion in his plays, and make it his sport in conversation !" (fiibber's lAces, &c. vol. i. p. 236.) His plays have been for two centuries before the public, and may be confidently appealed to on the present occasion. There is not a single passage in them which can be construed by the most inveterate of his persecutors into any " ridicule of religion :" — but I wiU not disgrace the poet any farther by defending him against a convicted liar ; though I must be permitted, for the last time, to express my sincere regret that a blind hatred of Jonson should lead so many " better natures" to build their accusations on such authority. The poet's fortunes, like Marc Antony's, have " corrupted honest men." I have already expressed my satisfaction at his repentance. — " He had undoubtedly," as WhaUey says, " a deep sense of religion, and was under its influence." His Epigrams, Under- woods, and other collections of poetry, bear abundant testimony of his serious disposition : sometimes his feelings of duty are rational, solemn, and pathetic ; at other times they partake of his constitutional infirmity, and become gloomy and terrific. " Great and good God ; can I not think of thee, But it must straight mj melancholy be ? — I know my state, both full of shame and scorn, CoDceived in sin, and unto labour born ; Standingwith fear, and must with horror fall, And destin'd unto judgment after all," &c. p. 686. " It may be offered too (WhaUey adds) in his favour, that his offences against piety and good manners are very few. Were authority or example an excuse for vice, there are more indecencies in a single play of the poet's, contemporaries, than in all the comedies which he ever wrote : and even Shakspeare, whose modesty is so remarkable, has his peccant redundancies not less in number than those of Jonson." {Life, Sec. p. liv.) Where WTialley discovered the " remarkable modesty of Shakspeare,"+ as he has not told uS, it would, perhaps, be useless to inquire. Was he aware of the opinion of the poet's contemporaries on this head ? His diet, beans and hutter milk) and will take you off three, four, five of these (draughts of Canary) one after another, and look Tlllainously the while, like a one-headed Cerberus, and then when his belly ia well balaced, and his brains rigged a little, he sails away, as if he would work wonders when he came home." Every Man out of his Humour, And this scurrility, which is given by Jonson as a striking example of the propensity of the speaker to defame " every honourable or revered person who came within the reach of his eye, by adulterate similes,*' {see p. 33.) is taken by Aubrey as a genuine delineation of chai-acter, and made, by the poet's enemies, the distinguishing feature of hia whole life .' Aubrey's addition to this precious story is too curious to be omitted. '^ Ben Jonson had one eie lower than t'other, like Clun the player. Perhaps he begott Clun 1" Lett^Sj '3cc. vol. iiL p. 415. — Had this passage been quoted with the rest, we should have had incontinency added to " brutality and impiety." * And, in his Underwoods, after adjuring his friend Colby, in a high strain of moral philosophy, to shun the usual vices of the army, he adds, as the most momentous charge of all — " And last, blaspheme not. I did never hear Man thought the vahanter, for he durst sweax," &c. It should be observed that Anthony Wood's life of Jonson is incorrect in almost every part. He formed ii on two documents; the MSS. of Aubrey, and the letter of Izaac "Walton, which contains the passage already quoted, and which Aubrey also procured for him. Aubrey's authority is seldom to be relied on. A greater blundei'er never existed, as Wood himself discovered when it was too late — he calls him " a roving magotty-pated man ;" and such he truly was. Izaac Walton cannot be mentioned without respect : — ^but his letter was wi-itten nearly half a century after Jonson 's death, and when the writer was in his eighty-seventh year. It is made up of the common stories of the time, and a few anecdotes procured while he was writing, from the bishop of Winchester, who musi himself, at the date of Izaae's letter, have been verging on ninety. It is not e * It may yet be observed tbat the whole of Jonson's later works (i. e. all the dramatic pieces produced duringthe last twenty-three years of his life), are remarkably free from rash ejaculations. The office-book of Sir Henry Her- bert, however, supplies us with a very curious instance of the danger which he ran, notwithstanding his innocence, of being again charged with <* blasphemy." The Magnetic Lady is void of all offence : yet for the profane langiiage of this play, the author, then sick in bed, was questioned by the Master of the Revels ; and it was not till the per* formers were confronted with him, tbat they confessed themselves ' * to have introduced the oaths complained of into their respective parts, without his authority or even knowledge.*' vol. vL p. 2. Ed. 1816. t It should be observed, however, that most of what we have on this subject, was written after Jonson's death. The celebrity of his name made the Apollo famous, and those who belonged to the club when he died, or were successively admitted mto iUX and who looked on themselves as his **sons," seem to have thought it an act of filial duty to exaggerate the jovial propensiiies of their " father." Hence a thousand songs, and invocations of this kind — " Fetch me Bkn Jonson's scull, and fiU't with sack, Bich as the wine he drank, when the whole pack Of jolly Sisters pledged, and did agree. It was no sin to be as gay as he :— If there be any weakness in the wine. There 's virtue in the cup to mak't divine, &c," Preparationa to Studu, 1641. 1 Even this conferred distinction. One of Shadwell's characters in Burj) Fair, makes it his peculiar boast that " he was made Ben Jonsim's son in the Apollo." It was not suspected in those days that the founder of this convivial Booiety would be regarded hereafter aa a " sullen " and " repulsive " misanthrope. 56 MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. that " drink was one of the elements in -which he lived," or, as has been more recently asserted, that he was " an habitual sot." The immensity of his literary acquisitions,* and the number and extent of his productions, refute the slander, no less than the gravity, dignity, wisdom, and piety of those with whom he passed his life from manhood to extreme old age. That he was frequently found at the Mermaid, in his earlier years, and at his own club (St. Dunstan's) in his declining age, we know ; but so were many of the most wise and virtuous of his contem- poraries. Domestic entertainments were, at that time, rare : the accommodations of a private house were ill calculated for the purposes of a social meeting ; and taverns and ordinaries are therefore almost the only places in which we hear of such assemblies. This, undoubtedly, gives an appearance of licentiousness to the age, which, in strictness, does not belong to it. Long after the period of which we are now speaking, we seldom hear of the eminent cha- racters of the day in their domestic circles ; they constantly appear at coffee-houses, which had usurped the place of ordinaries ; and it was not till the accession of the present royal family, which brought with it the stability of internal peace, that the mansions of the middle class received those advantages which made home the centre of social as well as of individual happiness and comfort. " Jouson hath been often represented as of an envious, arrogant, overbearing temper, and insolent and haughty in his converse ; but these ungracious drawings were the performance of his enemies ; who certainly were not solicitous to give a flattering likeness of the original. But considering the provocations he received, with the mean and contemptible talents of those who opposed him, what we condemn as vanity or conceit, might be only the exertions of con- scious and insulted merit."^ It may be so, but instead of endeavouring to account for the origin of some of those ill qualities, or to apologize for them, it would have been more judicious to deny the existence of them altogether. It is not true that Jonson was envious of his con- temporaries :t — ^he was liberal of commendation ; and more than enough remains to prove that he rejoiced in their merits, and forwarded their success ; he assisted Selden, and Hacket, and Raleigh, and Hobbes, and many others ; in a word, his advice, his skill, his pen were always at the command of his friends, and they were not sparingly employed by them. Neither is it true that he was " insolent and haughty in his converse." His conversation (Lord Clarendon says) was very good ; and it must, in fact, have been so, since he had the faculty of endearing himself to all who approached him. To say nothing of the distinguished characters of both sexes with whom he had grown old in a constant intercourse of friendship and familiarity, the * "While Jonson puts a ridiculous account of himself into the mouth of an " immeasurahle liar," for the purpose of dramatic satire, he thus describes, in his own person, the real nature of his employment : *• I that spend half my nights, and all my days. Here in a cell, to get a dark pale face. To come forth -worth the ivy and the bays ; And, in this age, can hope no other grace," — yet his enemies persist in taldng his character from Carlo Buffone ! t -Whalley. Life (tfjonson^ p. It. i Every act of Jonson's life is perverted. He told Dnraimond that he could have wished the Feasting of the Forth had been his own. This was evidently meant to convey the most cordial approbation ; yet Lord -Woodhouselee cannot advert to the words without attempting to give them a malicious turn. The poem was so beautiful, it seems, that it " attracted the envp of Ben Jonson." Beautiful, indeed, it is :— but if Jonson envied Drummond, so he did "his beloved" Beaumont : ** -What fate is mine, that when thou praisest me For writing better, I must enwy thee ! '* so he did Fletcher : " Most knowing Jonson, proud to call him son. In friendly env^ swore he had outdone His very self," &C. so he did Cartwright and many others— and it ia for this peculiar strain of generous applause, that he is taxed with hatred of all merit I MEMOIRS OF BEN J0N80N. 57 men of genius and talents who succeeded them, the hope and pride of the coming age,* all 'flocked to Jonson, all aspired to become his " sons,'' all looked up to him for encouragement ind advice, and all boasted of the pleasure and advantage derived from his society. Innu- merable proofs of this might be accumulated without difBculty, for such was the rank of Jonson, s\ich the space which he occupied in the literary sphere, that his name is foimd in contact with almost every eminent character of the day. That he had a lofty opinion of himself may be allowed ; indeed, he never affected to conceal it : — but this did not lead to any undue contempt of others, as may be seen by what he says of Camden, Selden, and an infinite number besides, whose names occur in his Underwoods, Epigrams, and smaller pieces. In truth, this self-complacency frequently attends great learning ; and our author's learning was of gigantic bulk. The degree of genius and fancy which a man possesses, he can scarcely be said to ascertain by comparison : — he may, indeed, over-rate it ; but he may also set it too low : and there are instances in which these qualities have been unconsciously possessed. — But no man can be profoundly learned without knowing it : he cannot conceal from himself that the acquisition has been made with infinite labour ; and he can form no very inadequate judgment of its degree, compared with that of others. This wiU account, in some measure, for that over-weening pride in which many of the most celebrated literary characters have indulged, and which, when unsupported by taste and judgment, and the better qualities of the mind, is, in truth, sufSciently offensive. " In his studies Jonson was laborious and indefatigable : his reading was copious and extensive ; his memory so tenacious and strong that, when turned of forty, he could have repeated all that he ever wrote : his judgment was accurate and solid ; and often consulted by those who knew him well, in branches of very curious learning, and far remote from the flowery paths loved and frequented by the muses."f But, however widely diverged his occa- sional excursions might be, he always returned, with renovated ardour, to the companions of his youth, the classics of Greece and Rome, with whom his acquaintance was most familiar. "When I was in Oxon (Aubrey says) Bishop Skinner, who lay at our college, (Trinity,) was wont to say that Ben Jonson understood an author as well as any man in England." Of this there is no doubt ; and it may be fairly questioned whether "England" ever possessed a better scholar than this extraordinary man, whose name is become a bye-word, in our time, for " dulness," and whose character is thought to be of no further importance than as it serves to form a parallel with the " brutality," " sottishness," and " impiety" of Shadwell ! "In his friendships he was cautious and sincere, yet accused of levity and ingratitude to his friends : but his accusers were the criminals, insensible of the charms, and strangers to the privileges of friendship ; for the powers of friendship, not the least of virtues, can only be experienced by the virtuous and the good." This is not one of my predecessor's happiest passages ; but it contains some truths among a few errors. Caution and Jonson should never be coupled together ; the quality, whatever be its value, was unfortunately unknown to him : his whole history proves that he was open and unsuspecting ; eager to trust, and confident no less of the sincerity than of the aifection of his associates. Whalley adds that " Jonson was sparing in his commendations of the works of others : but that when he commends, he commends with warmth and sincerity, and that a man of sense is cautious of giving cha- racters,'' &o. But here again, he should have ascertained the existence of the fact, before he proceeded to account for it. — It is by no means " true," as he expresses it, that Jonson was sparing of his commendations : J on the contrary, as has been more than once observed, he was * The duke of Bnckingham (Sheffield) used to talk with great satisfaction of his being taken to see Jonson, then in hie decline, when he was a boy. He always retained a veneration for the aged poet, which probably did him no Berrlce with Dryden. t Whal. Life, &c. p. It. t Whalley found this in Langbaine : but when the facts are at hand, it is worse than folly to copy the mistakes of former writers. Langbaine has, unfortunately, too many of these blunders : he observes, for instance, from Marston's publisher, that this poet " is free from all ribaldry, obscenity," &c. and he is followed by the editors of the Bio. Dram. 68 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. lavish of them ; and there are fair more laudatory poems by him than by any writer of the age. Sufficient proofs of this will be found in the succeeding volumes, and Whalley must have studied his author with little attention not to discover that too great a promptitude to praise, was one of his besetting faults. " This sparingness (continues the biographer) probably gave occasion to accuse him of envy." The sparingness, aa we have just seen, exists only in the imagination of the critics ; but (suppose it to be real) why should a canon of this nature be enforced against Jonson, which was never applied to any other person ? If silence be a proof of envy, what becomes of Shakspeare ! With a single exception,* I cannot discover that he ever mentioned one of his contemporaries with commendation, or bestowed a line of praise on any publication of his time. Yet he is spoken of (and no doubt j ustly,) as the soul of liberality ; while our author, who found something to approve in every work that appeared, and praised almost every writer by name, is constantly described as envious of aU around him, and sedulously engaged in decrying their merits. " In conclusion," says Whalley, " he is accused of jealousy andiU-nature." It is well that we are arrived at the last of his bad qualities : — but in sober truth they seem to be charged on him with as little justice as the rest. Of what, or of whom could he be "jealous ? " From the accession to the death of James, which comprehends almost the whole period of his active life, he was, as has already appeared, the "beloved servant" of his prince, the companion and friend of the nobility and gentry, and the acknowledged head of the learned part of society. None but those who have looked into the literary memoirs of his age, published as well as unpublished, can form a correct idea of the frequency with which he is named, and the inti^ macy of his connection with the most esteemed writers of the time. Of " iU-nature," he does not appear to have had a spark in him : a constitutional warmth of temper, and great quick- ness of feeling gave indeed a tone of bluutness to his language : but it went no farther ; and while many proofs of the fervour of his friendship may be cited, his whole life does not furnish an instance of one unkind act.+ He adopted a proud and overbearing tone when speaking of his enemies ; — but has it ever been inquired who these enemies were ? As far as we are enabled to judge, they consisted principally of obscure actors and writers, who attacked him at his entrance into public life with a degree of wanton hostility which his subsequent success embittered and envenomed : add to this, that they are spoken of in the mass, and can seldom be recognised but when, in their impatience of truth, they start forward, individually, and claim the resemblance. Opposed to these, he was not likely to be nice in his selection of terms ; and a more temperate and modest person than our author, might have felt a little spleen at being caUed from the studies which he loved, to defend himself against such anta- gonists : but his general deportment was open ; his fits of anger, if violent, were momentary, and his disposition placable, and kind. Age and infirmity had little effect upon the general bent of his temper. Though his pre- vailing complaint, which was of a paralytic nature, must have occasionally affected his mind and debilitated his understanding, yet he continued frank and sociable to the end. The last circumstance recorded of him, fe to be found in a letter of Howell to sir Tho. Hawkins,J from which it appears, that at a " solemn supper given by the poet, when good company, excellent cheer, choice wine, and jovial welcome, had opened his heart and loosened his tongue, he the Theatrum Poetarum^ the Gen. Diet. &c — ^whereas, we have but to open his works to he convinced that Marston was the most scurrilous, filthy, and obscene writer of his time. Such is the negligence or ignorance of those who undertake to treat of our dramatic history ! * He joined mth Jonson in some commendatory verses printed at the end of a little volume of poetry by Robert Chester. t After what has been said of his " ill-nature," it will scarcely be believed that, in all his writings, while hundreds of contemporary names are introduced with praise, there axe not half a dozen to be found accompanied by any mark of reprobation : indeed I recollect no person of any note, but Inigo Jones, whom he has satirized by name. t The date is April 1636 ; but it should probably be corrected, as should the next letter respecting Jonson, also dated 1636, to 1637, for it speaks of his death. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 69 began to raise himself at the expense of others." This incidental trait, in the closing scene of his life, is, with the nsual candour of his biographers, eagerly seized upon as " the leading feature of his character." It was not thus, however, that Howell thought, and acted : — " for my part," he says, " I am content to dispense with this Roman infirmity of Ben, now time hath snowed upon his pericranium." He no where hints that this was the ordinary conduct of Jon'son ; much less that it had been the practice of his better days. And if, (as Mr. Gilchrist justly observes,) " when he was old and bed-ridden, and his former vigour fled, he dwelt with some degree of fondness on his early efforts ; if he experienced some fears, lest 'fickle fame Should twine round some new minion's Lead, The fading wreath for which he bled,' — it wiU not be necessary to have attained his eminence to admit, that these were apprehensions which might be entertained by him without any violent impeachment of his moral character." From a retrospect of what has been said, an opinion may be formed of the frailties and defects, as well as of the excellencies of this eminent man, without much hazard of error : — and I must have made a bad estimate of the human powers as well as of the human heart, if the latter be not found to preponderate ; and if some degree of regret be not expressed by many of those, whom the ignorance or malice of his enemies has hitherto encouraged to calumniate his name. It yet remains to say a few words on his poetical character ; which may, perhaps, be more correctly appreciated if we take a cursory view of the state of dramatic literature, at the period of his first appearance as a writer. The long reign of Elizabeth, though sufficiently agitated to keep the mind alert, was yet a season of comparative stability and peace. The nobility, who had been nursed in domestic tnrbulence, for which there was now no place, and the more active spirits among the gentry, for whom entertainment could no longer be found in feudal grandeur and hospitality, took advantage of the diversity of employment happily opened, and spread themselves in every direction. They put forth, in the language of ShaJispeare, " Some to the wars, to try their fortunes there ; Some to discover islands far away ; Some to the studious universities ; " and the effect of these various ptirsuits was speedily discernible. The feelings, narrowed and embittered in household feuds, expanded and purified themselves in distant warfare, and a high sense of honour and generosity, and chivalrous valour, ran with electric speed from bosom to bosom, on the return of the first adventurers in the Flemish campaigns : while the wonderful reports of discoveries, by the intrepid mariners who opened" the route since so successfully pursued, faithfully committed to writing, and acting at once upon the cupidity and curiosity of the times, produced an inconceivable effect in diffusing a thirst for novelties among a people, who, no longer driven in hostile array to destroy one another, and combat for interests in which they took little concern, had leisure for looking around them, and consult- ing their own amusement. The fluctuating state of religion, from the incoherent Reformation of Henry VIII. to the Protestantism of Edward, the relapse into Popery under Mary, and the return to a purer faith with Elizabeth, interested the hopes and fears of the nation iu an extraordinary degree, and while it invigorated the fancy, improved the understanding, by making a certain portion of literature necessary to those who contended on either side of this important question. About the middle of Elizabeth's reign, the ardour of theological controversy appears to have suffered a considerable abatement, in consequence, perhaps, of the marked preponderancy of the Pro- testant cause : the impulse which had been communicated, however, continued to act upon the public mind, and a craving for mental enjoyment was very widely diffused. The Mysteries^ «0 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. which were indissohibly connected with the old superstitions ; and even the MoraUtie$ (many of which were not without merit,) were yet of too rude a nature, in the present improved state of information, to afford much rational delight. — But this " craving " was most sensibly felt in the metropolis, which began about this time to increase rapidly in population and interest. England, in fact, had been improving from the time of Henry VII. ; the middle class of society had, in almost every county, acquired wealth by trade and commerce, and with it that propensity to dissipation and amusement, and that love of litigation, which always attend the first steps to consequence among a rising people. This brought numbers to the capital at partjcular seasons of the year, for whom it was desirable to provide entertainment ; and happily caterers of every description were at hand. Many of those who had probably entered on a learned education, with a view of being received into the muuiiicent establishments of the old religion, were, by the destruction of monasteries, &c. abandoned to their fortunes, and compelled to seek other modes of subsistence. The taste for reading was sufficiently general to warrant a reliance, in some degree, on the profits of the press ; and London possessed allurements of a powerful nature for the literary adventurer. Many young men of abilities, therefore, deserted the colleges, and flocked to the metropolis, to procure the means of enjoy- ing its advantages by their talents, now first become a source of regular profit. Translation was the great resource, and Spain and Italy supplied the principal part of the materials. The rom.ances, novels, and poems of both countries, more especially those of the latter, at first doyie into English, and, when practice had given somewhat of hardihood, imitated and varied in every possible form, were poured forth with a rapidity which it would be difficult to describe or credit. Meanwhile, a humbler class of writers, or rather of performers, for it is more than probable that both professions were united in the same person, were insensibly gaining upon the public attention by rude attempts at the drama, which they exhibited to admiring crowds in the galleries of inn-yards, halls, and such vacant rooms as they could most readily procure. The popularity of these entertainments quickly attracted the notice of those who were already in some degree of credit with the town for their writings, and opened to view a source of emolument superior to that of their present occupation : they turned their thoughts therefore to the stage, and though their plays were yet unformed and rude, they boasted an evident superiority over those of their immediate predecessors. Small theatres now rose in various parts of the city. Green, Nashe, Lily, Peele, Marlow, Kyd, Lodge, and others, all wrote for them, and irritated and gratified the public curiosity by an endless succession of pieces, of which few perhaps were wholly destitute of merit. Compared with the unlettered and ignorant race which they supplanted, these men must have appeared to their contempo- raries as very extraordinary writers, and hence we may account for the lavish praise which they received in their own times, and which, with respect to some of them, was more fairly obtained than we now seem inclined to allow. Be they what they may, however, they left in the tiring-rooms of the several theatres a countless number of dramas which those who came immediately after them, Munday, Chettle, Hathaway, &c. who, with more knowledge of the stage, fell beneath them in genius and learning, found sufficient encouragement in adapting to the improved state of the times. It was soon after this period that Shakspeare reached London ; and his first employ, like that of most of the poets his contemporaries, was the amending of the productions of others. Jonson followed at no long interval of time, and had recourse to the same means of procuring a subsistence. Shakspeare happily formed a permanent connection with one company, for whom he wrote and acted ; while Jonson was compelled to carry his talents from theatre to theatre, as they were required, and had perhaps as seldom the choice as the conduct of bis subject. "Prom whatever cause it may have arisen, (Mr. Malone says) dramatic poetry a little before Shakspeare appeared, certainly assumed a better though still an exceptionable form." The cause is sufficiently apparent in the education which I'eele, Marlow, and others whom he names, had received at the two Universities, and in the acknowledged genius which they MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. CI possessed. Peele and Mariow had exquisite feelings for poetry ; both excelled in description, to which the former lent beauty, and the latter sublimity, though they occasionally fell into meanness or bombast. Green abounded in narrative, Lodge had humour, and Nash an inex- haustible vein of caustic raillery, never yet surpassed. Even the quaint pedantry of Lily was not without merit, and we are indebted to it for many of the pleasantest parodies of Shak- speare. It was impossible that such men should write in vain, or that those who had witnessed the effect of their productions should return to the former puerilities. The form of their dramas, as Mr. Malone says, was "exceptionable;" but much was done, and masterspirits were now at hand to set the seal o'f perfection to what had been so auspiciously begun. The wonderful powers of Shakspeare, though then but carelessly displayed, must have attracted notice, and prompted the rival theatres to exertions of the most strenuous kind. The demand for novelty was incessant, and the race of dramatic writers was thus multiplied beyond credibility. It is not easy to ascertain with any precision how long Shakspeare had been in possession of the stage when Jonson commenced his dramatic career. Mr. Malone and Mr. G. Chalmers differ as to the period of his first essay, which is placed by the former in 1589, and by the latter two years later. The matter is of no great moment, for the production of such a drama as the First Part of Henry VI. (which is the point in dispute) can confer no distinction on any abilities whatever ; but in 1593, when Jonson, then in his nineteenth year, had begun to Write for the theatres, he was rapidly advancing to pre-eminence. It is somewhat singular that the literary characters who immediately preceded Jonson, should have made no improvement in the construction of their fables ; but the plot of Tamburlaine is not a whit more regular, or skilful than that of Gorbodue or Loarine. Beyond Seneca, these writers seldom appear to have looked ; and from him they drew little but the tameness of his dialogue, and the inflation of his sentiments : their serious scenes were still histories, and sometimes lives ; and their comic ones, though replete with grotesque humour, were without dependence, object, or end. To reform this seemed worthy of Jonson, and to this his earliest as well as his latest efforts were directed. However great might be the talents and genius now employed on the stage, he could not but see that an opening was still left for the introduction of a more regular drama than had hitherto appeared. The superiority of the ancients in this respect was forcibly impressed on his young and ardent mind ; and though his admiration of their productions might be occasionally carried too far, it led to beneficial results. " The poets (Whalley says) when Jonson first appeared, generally drew their plots from some romance, or novel," (or from the rude annals of domestic war- fare,) "and from thence also they derived the different incidents of the various scenes, and the resemblance between the copy and the original was every way exact. The same wildness and extravagance of fable prevailed in both, all the absurdities of the story being faithfully transcribed into the play."* Anomalies like these, our author, to whom the truth-and simplicity of the ancient stage were already familiar, must have regarded with no very favourable eye, and he had no sooner acquired a little credit with the managers, than he resolved to embody his own conceptions, and model his future pieces upon the plan of his classic masters. For this purpose, it was necessary, that he should invent his own plots — We are not acquainted with his earliest essays ; but the piece which stands at the head of his printed works exhibited no" unfavourable specimen of his judgment, taste, and learning ; and was, in fact, the first regular comedy in the English lajpguage. So much has been incidentally said of our author's dramatic powers, in various parts of these volumes, that a very cursory notice of them is required here ; little more, in fact, appears necessary, than a brief mention of those qualities by which he was chiefly distinguished. To do Jonson full justice, we must regard him in the light in which he evidently viewed * Life of Jonson, p. vii. 62 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. himself, that of a moral satirist. If the comedies of the conteaiporaries of his early days effected any beneficial purpose ; if they led to the exposure and detestation of any evil quality, or the correction of any. prevalent folly, it was by accident, not design ; but with Jonson this was the primary object. We see it in the first play which he is known to have written ; and he has himself called our attention to the same circumstance in that which he produced at " the close and shutting up of his circle." With this aim in view, Jonson came to the theatre possessed of many advantages. We may collect from The Case is Altered, and Ewry Man in his Hnmour, that he was recent from the study of Plautus and Terence : but this was little ; all the stores of ancient literature were open to him, and he was familiar not only with the perfect productions of the Greek dramatists, but with the fragments which lie scattered among the works of the sophists and grammarians, and which, in his days, were not to be found without much cost and labour. Nor was he merely learned ; for he appears to have entered with the same ardour into the productions of his own times, and to have acquired a very considerable degree of information on every topic connected with the arts then known and cultivated. Nature had besides given him a quick and almost intuitive faculty of discerning the ridiculous, a powerful and original vein of humour, and a genius, if not sublime, yet occasionally so raised by intense contem- plation of the sublimest models, as to bear no very distant resemblance of it. It has been the practice of the poet's biographers to institute a comparisom between him and Shakspeare. These parallels have not been always "after the manner of Plutarch;" but indeed, their utility in any case will not be very apparent ; unless it should be admitted, that Shakspeare is best set off by throwing every object brought near him into shade, Shakspeare wants no light but his own. As he never has been equalled, and in all human probability never will be equalled, it seems an invidious employ, at best, to speculate minutely on the precise degree in which others fell short of him. Let him with his own Julius Caesar lestride the narrcm world Wee a colossus; that is his due ; but let not the rest be compelled to icallc under his huge legs, and peep about to jvnd themsehies dishonourahle gra/ues. — " Putting aside, therefore, (as Cumberland says,) any further mention of Shakspeare, who was a poet out of all rule, and beyond all compass of criticism, one whose excellencies are above comparison, and whose errors beyond number," * I return to our author. The judgment of Jonson was correct and severe, and his knowledge of human nature extensive and profound. He was familiar with the various combinations of the humours and affections, and with the nice and evanescent tints by which the extremes of opposing qua- lities melt into one another, and are lost to the vulgar eye : but the art which he possessed in perfection, was that of marking in the happiest manner the different shades of the same quality, in different minds, so as to discriminate the voluptuous from the voluptuous, the covetous from the covetous, &c. In what Hurd calls " picturing," he was excellent. His characters are delineated with a breadth and vigour as well as truth that display a master hand ; his figures stand pro- minent on the canvas, bold and muscular, though not elegant ; his attitudes, though some- times ungraceful, are always justi while his strict observation of proportion (in which he was eminently skilled,) occasionally mellowed the hard and rigid tone of his colouring, and by the mere force of symmetry gave a warmth to the whole, as pleasing as it was unexpected. Such, in a word, was his success, that it may be doubted whether he has been surpassed or even equalled by any of those who have attempted to tread in his steps. The striking failure of Decker in Captain Tucca has been already noticed ; that of Congreve in Noll Bluff, is stUl more marked. Congreve designed it, Whalley says, for an imitation of Bohadil : but Noll is a beaten idiot, a character too contemptible for farce, and fit only to amuse the rabble round the stage of a mountebank. Even Ford, if we can suppose for a moment that Shakspeare had Kitely in view, will scarcely be allowed to be either so just, so natural, or so respectable, a character as his prototype, * Observ. No. Izxv. ' MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 63 In the plots of his comedies, which were constructed from his own materials, he is deserving of undisputed praise. Without violence, without, indeed, any visible effort, the various events of the story are so linked together, that they have the appearance of accidental introduction ; yet they all contribute to the main design, and support that just harmony which alonp con- stitutes a perfect fable. Such, in fact, is the rigid accuracy of his plans, that it requires a constant and almost painful attention to trace out their various bearings and dependencies. Nothing is left to chance ; before he sat down to write, he had evidently arranged every circumstance in his mind ; preparations are made for incidents which do not immediately occur, and hints are dropped which can only be comprehended, at the unravelling of the piece. The play does not end with Jonson, because the fifth act is come to a conclusion ; nor are the most important events precipitated, and the most violent revolutions of character suddenly effected, because the progress of the story has involved the poet in difficulties from which he cannot otherwise extricate himself. This praise, whatever be its worth, is enhanced by the rigid attention paid to the unities ; to say nothing of those of place and character, that of time is so well observed in most of his comedies, that the representation occupies scarcely an hour more on the stage than the action would require in real life. With such extraordinary requisites for the stage, joined to a strain of poetry always manly, frequently lofty, and sometimes almost sublime, it may, at first, appear strange that his dramas are not more in vogue ; but a little attention to his peculiar modes and habits of thinking will, perhaps, enable us in some measure to account for it. The grace and urbanity which mark his lighter pieces he laid aside whenever he approached the stage, and put on the censor with the sook. This system (whether wise or unwise,) naturally led to circumstances which aSect his popularity as a writer ; he was obliged, as one of his critics justly observes, " to hunt down his own characters," and, to continue the metaphor, he was frequently carried too far in the chase. But there are other causes which render his comedies less amusing than the masterly skill employed upon them would seem to warrant our expecting. Jonson was the painter of humours, not of passions. It was not his object (supposing it to have been in his power) to assume a leading passion, and so mix and qualify it with others incidental to our common nature, as to produce a being instantly recognized as one of our kind. Generally speaking, his characters have but one predominating quality : his merit (whatever it be) consists in the felicity with which he combines a certain number of such personages, distinct from one another, into a well ordered and regular plot, dexterously preserving the unities of time and place, and exbibiting all the probabilities which the most rigid admirer of the ancient models could possibly demand. Passions indeed, like humours, may be unamiable ; but they can scarcely be uninteresting. There is a natural loftiness and swelling in ambition, love, hatred, &c. which fills the mind, and, when tempered with the gentler feelings, interests while it agitates. Humours are far less tractable. If they fortunately happen to contain.in 'themselves the seeds of ridicule ; then indeed, like the solemn vanity of Bobadil and the fantastic gravity of Puntarvolo, they become the source of infinite amusement ; but this must not always be looked for : nor should we degrade Jonson by considering him in the light of a dramatic writer, bound, like the miserable hirelings of the modern stage, to produce a certain quamtum of laughter. Many humours and modes of common life are neither amusing in them- selves, nor capable of being made so by any extraneous ingenuity whatever : the vapourers in £arilu>lcmev> Pair, and the jeerers in the Staple of JVem, are instances in point. — But further, Jonson would have defeated his own purpose, if he had attempted to elicit entertainment from them : he wished to exhibit them in an odious and disgusting light, and thus to extirpate what he considered as pests, from the commerce of real life. It was in the character of the poet to bring forward such nuisances as interrupted the peace, or disturbed the happiness of private society j and he is therefore careful to warn the audience, in his occasional addresses, that it is less his aim to make their cheeks red with laughter than to feast their understanding, and minister to theii- rational improvement. "At all the theatres," says Mr. Malone, {Shak.' 04 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. VOL ii. p. 177.) " it appears that noise and shew were what^ chiefly attracted an audience." Of these Jonson had little ; indeed, he always speaks of them with dislike : and he was so ' sensible that he must be heard with attention to effect that jproft which he professed to mingle with delight, that his prologues are invariably directed to this end. There is yet another obstacle to the poet's popularity, besides the unamiable and unin- teresting nature of some of his characters, namely a want of just discrimination. He seems to have been deficient in that true tact or feeling of propriety which Shakspeare possessed in full excellence. He appears to have had an equal value for aU his characters, and he labours upon the most unimportant, and even disagreeable of them, with the same fond and paternal assiduity which accompanies his happiest efforts. He seldom appears to think that he has said enough ; he does not perceive that he has wearied his audience, and that all attention is withdrawn from his exertions : and he continues, like the unfortunate lutanist of Dryden, to finger his instrument long after it has ceased to make music to any ear but his. own. What has been said applies chiefly to his comedies. His tragedies, of which two only are come down to us, do not call for much additional remark. Both are taken from the Roman story, and he has apparently succeeded in his principal object, which was to exhibit the characters of the drama to the spectators of his days, precisely as they appeared to those of their own. The plan was scholastic, but it was not judicious. The difference between the dramatis personae and the spectators was too wide ; and the very accuracy to which he aspired would seem to take away much of the power of pleasing. Had he drawn men instead of Romans, his success might have been more assured ; but the ideas, the language, the allusions could only be readily caught by the contemporaries of Augustus and Tiberius ; and it redounds not a little to the author's praise, that he has familiarised us, in some measure, to the living features of an age so distant from our own. Hurd, who is seldom just to our author, has entered into an elaborate examination of his Catiline and Sejanas ; both of which he condemns. It would be tedious to repeat his observa- tions ; but the object of them is to shew that as the laws of the drania confine the poet to a particular action,- it is wrong to dwell on its concomitant circumstances. The critic has totally mistaken the nature of these pieces. He appears to be thinking of the Athenian, instead of the English stage. Jonson's tragedies are not confined to one great event ; they are, in fact, like those of Shakspeare, whom he probably had in view, histories, embracing an indefinite period of time, and shifting, with the action, from place to place. "Why, with his profound knowledge of the ancient models, and with that respect for them which, on other occasions, he appears so forward to enforce, he deviated from them so widely in these instances, it is, perhaps, vain to inquire. He had adverted to this, and, probably, accounted for it, in his " Observations on the Art of Poetry ;" * but these are unfortunately lost ; and we can only discover that the motives which influenced him in the conduct of his earliest tragedies, remained in force when, at the close of life, he drew out the plot of his Mortimer, wliich has all the irregulai'ity of CatUine and Sejanus. Hurd has justly objected to the protracted conclusion of Sejamis. Undoubtedly the curtain should have dropped before the entrance of Terentius. Jonson was so sensible of his error in this respect, that he never lingered over the catastrophe of any of his subsequent pieces. In his censure of the chorus, the critic is not so correct. Jonson expressly disclaims all intention of imitating the chorus of the ancient tragedy, for which, as he says, the English stage could neither afford " state nor splendour ;" the remarks, therefore, do not apply. — The chorus of CatUine (for Sejanus has none,) was never sung, nor intended to be sung, on the stage : it is, in fact, a simple string of moral reflections arising from the subject, as contemplated in the closet ; appropriated to no character, but appended to the play, in mere conformity with the practice of his times. The Masques and Entertainments of Jonson must not be overlooked. In the composition * See p. 137. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 65 of these he greatly delighted, and was, as he justly says of himself, an artificer. nWith him they began, and with him they may be said to have ended ; for I recollect but few after his time, intitled to any particular degree of praise, with the exception of Comus, of whose poeti- cal excellence (for, as a masque, it is defective,) it is scarcely possible to speak too highly. Pageants and masquerades had long been sufficiently familiar to the people of this country. The latter were somewhat more grotesque, perhaps, than those of the present day ; but tliey had no distinguishing feature, and existed in much the same form here as in every other part of Catholic Europe : having in fact one common origin, that of the Processions, which, though seriously, and even piously set on foot, were too commonly tumultuous, farcical, and profane. Pageants (I do not speak of those proud displays of pasteboard giants and monsters which amazed the good citizens on holidays) were the reliques of knight-errantry. The shows were costly and magnificent, but tasteless and laborious, consisting principally of a triumph, i. e. a grand entry of knights decorated with all the pomp of those gaudy days ; broken by an inter- lude taken from some tender adventure of Arthur and his knights, or some pedantic allegory in that store-house of grave absurdity, the Romance of t!ie Rose, in which the pains and pleasures of a love-suit were personified, and Hope and Fear, and Jealousy and Joy fiercely assailed in castles and towers with fantastic names. In these boisterous amusements the ladies bore no great part, though they were sometimes called upon to advance " in measure" to the storm of some refractory Passion or Afifection. Warion says that these shows, which he improperly terms masques, attained their greatest height under Henry VIII. Certain it is that, during the earlier years of this licentious tyrant, the court exhibited an unusual degree of splendour, but neither then, nor during the life of Elizabeth, did the masque acquire that unity of design, that exclusive character which it assumed on the accession of James. With the diffusion of knowledge and taste came the desire of something more worthy the name of courtly entertainment than the dull and unnatural allegories of the metaphysical romance, or the simple introduction of an interlude of " baboons and satyrs." James Iiad more literature than taste or elegance ; but he was frank and sociable ; and inclined to expensive shows. What he wanted, however, his queen possessed in full excellence. She was. Sully says, " a bold and enterprising woman ;" she loved pomp and understood it, and, above all, she was fond of masques and revels. — She aspired to convert Whitehall, which had lately been another cave of Trophpnius, into a temple of delight ; for this purpose, she called around her the most accomplished of the nobility, and associated them with her in those splendid amusements which she proposed to create, and which alone she could fully enjoy, as she never was familiar with the language. The poetical powers of our author were not unknown to her, for she had witnessed them at Althorpe ana elsewhere, and she seems to have engaged him to embody her conceptions, shortly after she arrived at Whitehall. The masque, as it attained its highest degree of excellence in the hands of Jonson, admitted of dialogue, singing, and dancing : — these were not independent of one another, as in the entertainments of the old court, but combined, by the introduction of sonie ingenious fable, into an harmonious whole. The ground- work was assumed at will ; but our author, to whom the whole mythology of Greece and Home lay open, generally drew his personages from that inexhaustible treasury of elegance and beauty : having formed the plan, he called in the aid of the sister arts ; for the essence of the masque was pomp and glory, and it could only breathe in the atmosphere of a court. Thus, while the stage was in a state of absolute nudity, moveable scenery of the most costly and splendid kind was lavished on the mask, the most celebrated masters were employed on the songs and dances, and all that the kingdom afl'orded of voca. and instrumental excellence was employed to embellish the exhibition. Thus magnificently constructed, the masque was not committed to ordinary performers. It was composed, as Lord Bacon says, for princes, and by princes it was played. The prime nobility of both sexes, led on by James and his queen, took upon themselves the respective characters ; and it may be justly questioned whether a nobler display of grace and elegance 66 MEMOIRS OP BEN J0N80N. and beauty was ever beheld than appeared in the masques of Jonson. The songs in these entertainments were probably entrusted to professional men ; but the dialogue, and above all, the dances, which were adapted to the fable, and not acquired without much study and practice, were executed by the court themselves. The skill with wliich these ornaments were designed, and the inexpressible grace with which they were executed, appear to have left a vivid impression on the poet's mind ; and there is, accordingly, no part of his description in which he seems to labour so much for adequate language to mark his admiration, as that of the dances. " In curious knots aud mazes so, The Spring, at first, w-is taught to go ; And ZephjT, ."wlien he came to woo His Flora, had their motions too : And thus did Venus learn to lead The Idalian hrawls, and so to tread. As if the wind, not she, did walk. Nor press'd a flower, nor bow'd a stalk." It is after witnessing the " measures " here so beautifully delineated that Aurora thus inter- rupts the performers — " I was not wearier where I lay. By frozen Tithon's side, to-night, Than I am willing now to stay. And be a part of your delight : But I am urged by the Day, Against my will, to bid you come away." * While Jonson thus laboured to perfect the more elegant parts of these gay fancies, he did not forget to provide amusements of another kind, which he called Antimasques, (parodies, oi oppositesof the main masque,) borrowed, it would seem, from the old masquerade, and already familiar to the people. These were calculated to diversify the entertainment, and to afford a breathing-time to the principal performers. The poet was here tied to no rules ; he might be as wild and extravagant as he pleased : the whole world of fancy was before him ; " Satyres, Fooles, Wildemen, Antiques, Ethiopes, Pigmies, aud Beastes," as Lord Bacon has it, (with an eye perhaps to our author,) came trooping at his call. These were probably played by the menials of the palace, assisted by actors from the regular theatres. In this part of the plot Jonson stands almost alone : his antimasques are not, like those of his contemporaries, mere extravagancies, independent of the main story ; generally speaking, they serve to promote or illustrate it, however fantastic they appear, and are not unfrequently the vehicle of useful satire, conveyed with equal freedom and humour. Whatever they were, however, they were the occasion of much mirth : they were eagerly " hearkened after," as the cook says ir Neptune's Triumph, and always received with pleasure. In these devices, as has been already observed, our author took great delight, and during the life of his royal patron, never failed to exert his best faculties on the composition of them. " Had nature (says Cumberland) been as liberal in her gifts to Jonson as learning was in open- ing her stores to his acquirements, the world might have seen a poet, to whom there had been nothing since the days of Homer, aut simile aut secundum."f But nature had been no step-mother to Jonson ; and when the critic adds, that the poet " stocked his mind with such a mass of other men's thoughts that his imagination had not power to struggle through the crowd," he does not perceive that he has taken up a different question, and proved no part of what he supposed himself to have decided. — But, omitting the consideration of this, whatever may be the ease of the poet in his severer studies, in his masques his imagination is neither oppressed nor obscured. In these, he makes his appearance like his own Delight, " accompanied with Grace, Love, Harmony, Revel, Sport, and Laughter."J If, as the critic will have it, he was a " literary behemoth," it must be granted that here, at least, he writhed his lithe proboscis with * P. 606. t Critique on Every Man in his Humour^ p. lii. ;j; p. gos. MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. 67 playfulness and ease. His unbounded learning is merely an adjunct to Lis fancy. His mythological personages, amid the most scrupulous preservation of their respective attributes,- move with elasticity and vigour ; and while the dialogue is distinguished by a masculine strength, and freedom, the lyrical part of these gay pastimes is clothed with all the richness and luxuriance of poetry. Araspes, the friend and confident of Cyrus, could only account for his perfidy to the man whom he loved and revered, by supposing that he had two souls, one prompting him to evil, the other to good. A notion of a similar kind will sometimes suggest itself to the reader of Jonson, In his tragedies he was cautious and strict, tremblingly appre- hensive of starting from the bounds of regularity, and constantly rejecting every idea which was not supplied by the authorities before him ; in some of his comedies too, and in several of his longer poems the same hardness and severity are displayed ; he perseveres in the ungrate- ful task of compression till the finer parts of his machinery are deprived of play, and the whole stiffened, cramped, and impaired : but no sooner has he taken down his lyre, no sooner touched on his lighter pieces, than all is changed as if by magic, and he seems a new person. His genius awakes at once, his imagination becomes fertile, ardent, versatile, and excursive ; his taste pure and elegant ; and all nis faculties attuned to sprightliness and pleasure. Such were the Masques of Jonson, in which, as Mr. Malone says, " the wretched taste of those times foimd amusement." That James and his court delighted in them cannot be doubted, and we have only to open the Memoirs of Wiuwood and others to discover with what interest they were followed by the nobility of both sexes. — Can we wonder at this ? There were few entertainments of a public kind at which they could appear, and none in which they could participate. Here all was worthy of their hours of relaxation.* MytUo- logues of classic purity, in which, as Hurd observes, the soundest moral lessons came recom- mended by the charm of numbers, were set forth with all the splendour of royalty, while Jones and Lanier, and Lawes and Ferrabosco, lavished all the grace and elegance of their respective arts on the embellishment of the entertainment. But in what was " the taste of the times vyretched ?" In poetry, painting, architecture, they have not since been equalled ; in theology, moral philosophy, they are not even now surpassed ; and it ill becomes us, who live in an age which can scarcely produce a Bartholomew Fair farce, toarraigu the taste of a period which possessed a cluster of writers, of whom the meanest would now be esteemed a prodigy. — And why is it assumed that the followers of the court of James were deficient in what Mr. Malone is pleased to call taste 2 To say nothing of the men, (who were trained to a high sense of decorum a,nd intellectual discernment under Elizabeth,) the Veres, the "Wroths, the Derbys, the Bedfords, the Rutlands, the Cliffords, and the Arundels, who danced in the fairy rings, in the gay and gallant circles of these enchanting devices, of which our most splendid shows are, at best, but beggarly parodies, were fully as accomplished in every internal and external gvwi-e as those who, in our days, have succeeded to their names and honours. Mr. Malone sets down the masques of James, (probably because they were written by Jonson,) as "bungling shews ;" when he has to speak of one produced by Heywood in 1636, he is then disposed to admit that the "art of scenery" was somewhat improved ! This is merely absurd. The art had attained its utmost degree of excellence at the death of this monarch ; it declined under his successor ; and, notwithstanding all the efforts of Inigo Jones, and his poet, master Aurelian Townshend, it gradually lost its distinguishing characteristics, and fell back into the pageant and masquerade from which the genius and learning of our author had so happily reclaimed it. , . A few years after the Bestoration, an attempt was made by Charles II. to revive this species of entertainment. The daughter of James II. (then Duke of York), and many of the young nobility of both sexes, appeared in a masque written by Crowne, called Calisto : but the * " Masques (says one of the completest gentlemen of that age), the courtly recreations of gallant gentlemen and ladies of honour, striviDg to exceed one the other in their measiu*es and changes^ and in their repasts of wit, have been beyond the power of envy to disgrace." Higford's Institution of a Gentlemaiu 68 MEMOIES OF BEN JONSON. passion did not spread ; nor was it possible that it should. Crowne, though not altogether illiterate, was devoid of fancy, and the court itself was too frivolous, too ignorant, and too licentious for the enjoyment of elegant and rational pleasures. We hear of the masque no more. Some time elapsed, after the death of our author, before any of his later productions appeared ; two small editions of his minor pieces were at length sent to the press in 1640, and in the subsequent year a wretched reprint of the first folio, and a second volume of the same size, containing his dramatic pieces from 1612, several masques, and all that could be found of his occasional poetry, were published together. Several of the comedies appear to have been taken from the prompter's book, and surreptitiously printed (but not published) during the author's life ; how the rest were procured, I know not. Such of his dramas as were revived at the Restoration were printed separately ; and in 1692 the whole of his wi-itings were again collected, and published in one huge folio volume. The demand for his works must have been considerable for those days, since in 1715 the booksellers were encouraged to prepare another edition, which they gave the world in six volumes 8vo. This publication was merely a reprint of the old copy, and with this, defective as it was, the town was content till the year 1736, when a more complete edition, in seven volumes 8vo, was published by the Rev. Peter Whalley, LL.B. Mr. Whalley had received an academical education, and he was competent, in some measure, to the undertaking. He did little, however, for the poet ; the form of the old editions was rigidly observed, and though a few notes were subjoined, they were seldom of material import, and never explanatory of the author's general views, though they occasionally touched on his language. It is not a little remarkable that this gentleman, who was master of the Grammar School of Christ's Hospital, and must naturally have been somewhat con- versant with the ancient writers, should not have ventured on one remark of a literary nature, everything of this kind, which occurs in his edition, being, as I discovered with some surprise, taken from Upton and others. Whether Whalley was diffident of himself, or the gentlemen volunteered their assistance, I have no meaos of knowing, but he availed himself occasionally of the aid of Sympson and Seward, (the editors of Beaumont and Fletcher,) who led him astray, and where he would have been simply wrong, if left to himself, rendered him absurd. In one pleasant way of making notes, and swelling the bulk of the book, they all agreed. None of them printed from the earliest editions ;* they took up the latest which they could find, and went smoothly on till they were stopt by some palpable error of the press. This, as the clown says, was meat and drink to them; they immediately set themselves to conjecture what the word should be, and after a little burst of vanity, at which it is impossible to forbear a smile, they turned, for the first time, to the old copy, and invited the public to witness their sagacity, and partake in their triumph. An example or two taken at random from Whalley, will make this clear. " Long may he round about him see His roses and bis lilies bloom I Long may his only love and he, Joy in ideas of their own ! " ' ' I have no objection to hloom, but only as it does not rhyme very exactly with own; I conjectured therefore that it should be blown; and found my conjecture authorized by the old folio." vol. vii. p. 16. " Valour wins applause. That dares but to mention the weaker cause." " No great applause of valour can be due to any one merely for mentioning the wealrer side. This * Whalley's text was that of the Booksellers' edition, in 8to. This had been in Theobald's hands, and an incidental remark by him, of no moment whatever, here and there appeared in the margin. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. e9 led me to conjecture that maintain was the word designed by the poet, and upon consuliing the first folio, 1 found it so to be 1 " vol v. 297. " YouT fortress who hath bred you to this hour. Fortress is an error. Mr. Sympson likewise saw the mistake, and ingeniously sent me faulress, which I should have made use of, had not the old folio prevented me, and read /osireis / " Whalley prefixed to his edition a Life of the author ; not injudicious in the main, but com- posed in a style so uncouth and antiquated, that I could not prevail on myself to reprint it, though I have thought it my duty to make a few extracts from it ; chiefly, however, for the purpose of correcting the mistakes into which the writer had been led by too implicit a reliance on his authorities. The reception of this work was sufficiently favourable to encourage the author to undertake a revision of it preparatory to a second edition. I cannot discover, however, that any sub- stantial improvement was meditated, none at least was introduced, and the text remained in every instance as it stood before. The bulk of the work, indeed, was materially increased by the admission of an immense farrago of parallel passages, taken, for the most part, from the numerous republications of Shakspeare, to which the last century had given birth. He did not proceed with this revision much beyond the comedies ; circumstances, with which I am but imperfectly acquainted, interrupted his literary pursuits, and this among the rest. It is said that the extravagance of a young wife involved him in pecuniary difficulties of a serious kind, and obliged him to leave his home. In this distress he was received into the house of Mr. "Waldron, where he lay concealed for some time ; when the place of his retreat was at length discovered, he took refuge in Flanders, where he died after a few months' residence, in the summer of 1791. Under the hospitable roof of this worthy and amiable man, Whalley resumed the care of Jonscn ; but want of books, and, perhaps, of sufficient composure of mind, rendered his attempts ineffectual, and the manuscript was finally abandoned to his friend ; who, in the year 1792, commenced the publication of it in Numbers. The success apparently fell short of the expectations of the editor, as the work was not continued bej'ond the second number. Mr. Waldron neither possessed, nor pretended to be possessed of, scholastic learning ; but he was laborious, accurate, conversant with the stage, and imbued with a rational love of the ancient drama, which he had studied with success. He appears to have collated Whalley's copy with the early editions ; and, on attentively retracing his steps, previously to the arrange- ment of the text for the present publication, I found much to approve in the caution and judgment with which he had uniformly proceeded. His friendship for Whalley, however, had led him to form far too high an estimate of that gentleman's qualifications ; and beyond the revision which I have just mentioned, he seems to have contemplated no alteration of the papers left in his hands. Many years had elapsed since the failure, last mentioned, when the republication of Jonson was proposed to me by Mr. George Nicol, to whom Whalley's corrected copy had been consigned by Mr. Waldron. I was well aware of the labour and difficulty of the task ; but my objections wiere overcome by the encouragement of my friend, and I undertook the edition, confident that I was not about to encumber the public with a superfluous work, for Jonson had now been long out of the bookseller's hands. — One motive there yet was, which , had some influence on my determination, — a desire, though late, to render justice to the moral character -of the author, and rescue him from the calumnies of his inveterate persecutors. My mind had been prejudiced at an early period, by the commentators on our old dramas, and I verily belie-ved, as they repeatedly assured me, that "the great. object of Jonson's life was the persecution of Shakspeare," nor was it until I became acquainted with the dates of his respective performances, that I ventured to question the accuracy of the critics, or to 70 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. entertain a suspicion that they were actuated by unworthy motives, and could only be relieved from the charge of wanton malevolence, by the plea of incorrigible folly. Previously to the arrangement of the text, it became necessary to collate the old editions. In the execution of this part of the work, the mode adopted in the revision of Massinger was carefully foUowed : if the approbation of the public may be trusted, no change was required. Had any standard of orthoepy obtained among our old writers, it might not be improper to preserve it ; but to copy the vagaries of a careless press, would he an affectation of accuracy at once impertinent and unprofitable. Our author appears, indeed, to affect a derivative mode of spelling ; hut his attention frequently relaxes, and the variations of his text are consider- able ; the first folio differs from the quarto, and the second folio from both. In general, writers trusted entirely to the printers, who, on their parts, piqued themselves but little on justifying this confidence. "I never (says the author o{ Father JETubbmrd's Tales) wisht myself a better fortune than to fall into the hands of a true-spelling printer," — and he was not so lucky. There seems no plausible reason for continuing to present Jonson alone to the public in the uncouth and antiquated garb of his age : the barbarous contractions, therefore, the syncopes and apocopes, which deformed the old folios, (for the quartos are remarkably free from them,) have been regulated, and, in some cases removed, and the appearance of the poet's page assimilated, in a great degree, to that of his contemporaries, who spoke and wrote the same language as himself. Whalley, as has beenjust observed, though the modernized impressions of Shakspeare and others were before him, contented himself with simply reprinting the former text, with all its archaisms and anomalies ; the same word was differently spelt in the same page, and sometimes in the same line ; the pointing was seldom disturbed, the scene's were divided as the old books divided them, and not an exit or entrance was superadded ; yet it could not have escaped him that no part of this arrangement made the slightest claim to uniformity or even truth. In fact, the object of the old division would almost appear to he that of throwing every obstacle in the way of the reader, and making that which could, in no case, be easy, a, matter of extreme difficulty. A certain n amber of the dramatis personae are set down at long intervals, but no hint is given when the}' appear or disappear, individually, and much time has been expended in the obscure and humble labour of inserting a name which, after all, may not be found correctly placed. Jonson, probably, adopted this costive mode from the ancient drama, but it seems to have escaped him that the Greek and Roman stage seldom permitted more than four characters to be present at the same time ; whereas he has frequently introduced (especially in his Catiline and Sejanus), double, and sometimes treble that number. The scenery too, (by which nothing more is intended than the supposed place of action,) was everywhere obscure, and, in the tragedies, perplexed and involved above measure. Our author, like his contemporaries, seems, in these, to have taken advantage of the poverty of the stage, and the easy faith of the audience, to represent events in the same spot, which must, in fact, have occurred in different places. Be this as it may, an attempt has been made to specify the scene in every action ; and it is necessary to intreat the indulgence of the public towards this first effort to give a local habitation and a name, to what before had neither. In this, I have consulted the ease of the reader, who could scarcely be expected to turn the page forward and backward to ascertain the site of every event, especially as the difficulty occurs, for the most part, in those pieces which possess the fewest charms of sentiment, action, or language, to lure him on through -doubt and obscurity to the point of elucidation. That the poet wiU be more read on this account, I dare not flatter myself ; but I venture to hope that he will be comprehended with more facility ; and, in this, I have already found my reward. Slight, however, as the effect may appear, it has not been produced without some pains ; — nor should I have been able to complete it entirely to my own satisfaction, or greatly to the advantage of the reader, had I not fortunately found in Mr. Thomas Turner, (of Mr. Buhner's office,) a friend whose readiness to oblige was only equalled by his professional skill ; and whose acquaintance with various parts of literature, far removed from the common track of reading, has been, beneficially exerted through the course of this undertaking. MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. 71 It appears from Mr. Whalley's correspondence, that his enlarged copy had been in the hands of Steevena, Reed, and Malone. What they took, or what they gave, I am unable to say ; but my first cai-e was to throw it all aside : my objection to an idle accumulation of examples upon every trite or indecorous expression, is by no means weakened since the publication of Massinger, though I have been openly reproved for the nakedness of my pages, and the obstinate refusal to illustrate "after the manner of Mr. Collins," the admired collo- quies of Hircius and Spungius !* What I could find of utility in my predecessor's observa- tions, is retained, though with occasional variations of his language : my own notes have run to a greater length than was originally intended ; but the ground was, in a manner, unbeaten. They are chiefly illustrative of obsolete phrases and customs, of personal and historical notices connected with the subject, together with such incidental touches on the character and conduct of the respective pieces, as the occasion seemed to demand. There will also be found some explanatory remarks on the language of Shakspeare, a part of the work which should have been extended, (as there is nothing which I so much desire as to see him relieved from the ponderous ignorance of his commentators,) had I not once flattered myself that an oppor- tunity might hereafter occur of serving him more eflBCtually : — that day-dream is passed ; and I am left to regret that I was so chary of my observations. There is little to add. Assuredly, I anticipated more gratification from the termination of this undertaking than I seem to experience. I cannot give pleasure where I once hoped to give it ; and fame, or if it must be so, vanity, appears, I know not how, in colours of less seductive brightness : — the fairy vision has receded as I advanced ; and the toilsome way is terminated amidst prospects of no cheering kind : I cannot conceal from myself how little has been done for an author of such exalted claims ; nor how greatly I have fallen short of the justice which I once hoped to render to him. The work is now before the public. It is not exempt from errors, as will easily be discovered ; and the origin of some of them may be found in the lights (all favourable to the poet) which have broken in upon me since its com- mencement ; such as it is, however, it is given with a free and independent spirit. No diffi- culty has been evaded, no labour shunned : neither hopes nor fears of a personal nature have had the slightest influence upon the conduct of the undertaking ; what has been strongly felt has been strongly expressed ; and if, before the occasional warmth of my language be chal- lenged, the violence and injustice which I have had to repel, be examined, I shall not, in this instance at least, be alarmed at the result. What remains is pleasure. The geuerosity by which I was enabled to furnish so correct a text of Massinger has accompanied me with a double portion of frankness on the present occasion. Every early edition of these dramas, and almost every copy, has been tendered to my use. Mr. Kemble, whose kindness is perpetual, opened his vast collection to me with unbounded liberality. Mr. Waldron, who has taken the warmest interest in my success, not only supplied me with much valuable matter, collected from various sources during the long period that his attention was fixed on our author, but procured from Mr. Parke and other gentlemen, notices of scattered poems, plays, &c. which have been used with advantage. Of my friend Ootavius Gilchrist, no particular mention is required here ; his name will be found in various parts of these volumes, in connection with information that will always be received with satisfaction. The Rev. Mr. Bandinell has been already noticed ; and I have now to add the name of Mr. Philip Bliss, who forwarded my researches at the Bodleian with all the alacrity of friendship ; nor must I forget Mr. Petrie, to whose kindness I have been singularly obliged, and to whom I am indebted for the knowledge of many useful MSS. in our public > * After explaining myself so fuUy, as I thought, on tbis siihjeot, it is with pain that I find myself compelled to return to it. I should think no sacrifice on my part too great, if I could but convince the grovelling editors of our old' dramatists that the filth and obscenity which they so sedulously toil to explain, is better understood by ninety- nine out of every hundred readers than by themaelves, and that the turpitude of corrupting the remaining one is » crime for which their ignorance offers no adequate excuse. A plodding cold,-blooded Aretine is despicable ; a sprightly one is detestable ; and both are among the worst pests of society. 72 MEMOIRS OP BEN JONSON. repositories. I forbear to mention more — but I should do violence to my own feelings, in closing this part of the work, without adding that, if the reader has derived either amusement or information from the explanatory notes diffused over these volumes, it is to the unprece- dented kindness of Richard Heber, Esq. that he is mainly indebted. The liberality with which this gentleman communicates the literary treasures of his extensive collection is too well known to be particularly insisted on here ; but he has claims to my thankfulness which must not be passed in silence. To open his library to all my requests was not suflScient in his eyes, he therefore spontaneously furnished me with a number of rare and valuable pieces material to my success, and with several of which I was not acquainted even by name. In diligently availing myself of these aids,I have constantly borne in mind that I was making the return most pleasing to my generous friend, though scarcely full enough to satisfy myself. I have yet to mention the very Reverend the Dean of Westminster. Avocations of a nature far removed from studies of this kind engross his leisure ; yet no one acquainted with any publication of mine, can require to be told that no part of the present work has passed the press without liis anxious revision. — But with what feelings do I trace the words — the Dean of Westminster ! — Five-aud-forty springs have now passed over my head, since I first found Dr. Ireland, some years my junior, in our little school, at his spelling-book. During this long period, our friendship has been without a cloud ; my delight in youth, my pride and consola- tion in age. I have followed, with an interest that few can feel and none can know, the pro- gress of ray friend from the humble state of a curate to the elevated situation which he has now reached, and in every successive change have seen, with inexpressible delight, his reputa- tion and the wishes of the public precede his advancement. His piety, his' learning, his con- scientious discharge of his sacred duties, his unwearied zeal to promote the interests of all around him, will be the theme of other times and other pens : it is sufficient for my happiness to have witnessed at the close of a career, prolonged by Infinite Goodness far beyond my expectations, the friend and companion of my heart in that dignified place, which while it renders his talents and his virtues more conspicuous, derives every advantage from their wider influence and exertion. ANCIENT COMMENDATOKY VEESES ON J O N S O N. ON SEJANUS. So brings the wealth-contracting jeweller Pearls and dear stones from richest stores and streams, As thy aocomplish'd travail doth confer From skiU enriched souls their wealthier gems ; So doth his hand enchase in ammel'd gold. Cut, and adom'd beyond their native merits. His solid flames, as thine hath here inroU'd In more than golden verse, those better'd spirits ; So he entreasures princes' cabinets. As thy wealth wiU their wished libraries ; So, on the throat of the rude sea, he sets TTia vent'roua foot, for his illustrious prize ; And through wUd desarts, arm'd with wilder beasts ; As thou adventur'st on the multitude. Upon the boggy, and engulfed breasts Of hu-elings, sworn to find most right, most rude : And he, in storms at sea, doth not endure. Nor in vast deserts amongst wolves, more danger ; Than we, that would with virtue live secure, Sustain for her in every vice's anger. Nor is this Allegory unjustly rackt To this strange length : only, that jewels are, In estimation merely, so exact : And thy work, in itself, is dear and rare ; Wherein Minerva had been vanquished. Had she, by it, her sacred looms advanc'd. And through thy subject woven her graphic thread. Contending thei-ein, to be more entranc'd ; For, though thy hand was scarce addrest to draw "^The semicircle of Sejanus' life. Thy muse yet makes it the whole sphere, and law To all state-lives ; and boxmds ambition's strife, TGH as a little brook creeps from his spring. With shallow tremblings, through the lowest vales. As if he fear'd his stream abroad to bring, Lest prophane feet should wrong it, and rude gales ; But finding happy channels, and supplies Of other fords mixt with his modest.course. He grows a goodly river, and descries The strength that mann'd him, since he left his source ; Then takes he in delightsome meads and groves. And, with his two-edg'd waters, flourishes G 74 COMMENDATORY VERSES. Before great palaces, and all men's loves Build by his shores, to greet his passages : So thy chaste muse, by virtuous self-mistrust. Which is a true mark of the truest merit ; In virgin fear of men's illiterate lust. Shut her soft wings, and durst not shew her spirit ; Till, nobly cherisht, now thou let'st her fly, Singiuif the sable Orgies of the Muses, And in the highest pitch of Tragedy, . Mak'st her command, all things thy gi-oiind produces. Besides, thy poem hath this due respect. That it lets nothing pass, without observing "Worthy instruction ; or that might correct Rude manners, and renown the well deserving : Performing such a lively evidence In thy narrations, that thy hearers still Thou tum'st to thy spectators ; and the sense That thy spectators have of good or ill. Thou inject'st jointly to thy readers' souls. So dear is held, so deckt thy numerous task. As thou putt'st handles to the Thespian bowls. Or stuck'st rich plumes in the PaUadian cask. AU thy worth, yet, thyself must patronise. By quafSng more of the Castallan head ; In expisoation of whose mysteries. Our nets must still be clogg'd with heavy lead. To make them sink, and catch : for cheerful gold Was never found in the Pierian streams. But wants, and scorns, and shames for silver sold. What, what shall we elect in these extremes ? Now by the shafts of the great Cyrrhan poet. That bear all' light, that is,.about the world ; I would have all dull poet-haters know it. They shall be soul-boun4, and in darkness hurl'iJ, A thousand years (as Satan was, their sire) Ere any, worthy the poetic name, (Might I, that warm but at the Muses' fire. Presume to guard it) should let deathless Fame Light half a beam of all her hundred eyes. At his dim taper, in their memories. Fly, fly, yon are too near ; so, odorous flowers Being held too near the sensor of our sense. Render not pure, nor so sincere their powers, As being held a little distance thence. O could the world but feel how sweet a touch The knowledge hath, which is in love with goodness, (If Poesy were not ravished so much. And her compos'd rage, held the simplest woodness, Though of all heats, that temper human brains. Hers ever was most subtle, high and holy, First binding savage lives in civil chains, Solely religious, and adored solely : If men felt this, they would not think a love. That gives itself, in her, did vanities give ; Who is (in earth, though low) in worth above. Most able t' honour life, though least to Hve. And so, good friend, safe passage to thy freight. To thee a long peace, through a virtuous strife. In which let 's both contend to virtue's height. Not making fame our object, but good life. OEOHaS OHAPUAN. COMMENDATORY VERSES. 75 TO HIS WORTHY FEIEND, BEN JONSON, UPON HIS SEJANUS. In that this book doth deign Sejanus name. Him unto more than Cassar's love it brings : For where he could not with ambition's wings, One quill doth heave him to the height of fame. Ye great ones though (whose ends may be the same) Know, that, however we do flatter kings, Their favours (like themselves) are fading things, With no less envy had, than lost with shame. Nor make yourselves less honest than you are. To make our author wiser than he is : Ne of such crimes accuse him, which I dare By all his muses swiear be none of his. The men are not, some faults may be these times : He acts those men, and they did act these crimes. HUGH HOLLAND. ON SEJANUS. "When I respect thy argument, I see An image of those times : but when I view The wit, the workmanship, so rich, so true, The times themselves do seem retrieVd to mo. And as Sejanus, in thy tragedy, FaUeth from Csesar's grace ; even so the crew Of common play-wrights, whom opinion blew Big with false greatness, are disgrac'd by theo Thus, in one tragedy, thou makest twain : And, since fair works of justice fit the part Of tragic writers. Muses do ordain That all tragedians, ministers of their art. Who shall hereafter follow on this tract, In writing well, thy Tragedy shall act. ON SEJANUS. Sejanus, great, and eminent in Borne, Baised above all the senate, both in grace Of princes favour, authority, and place. And popular dependance ; yet, how soon. Even with the instant of his overthrow, Is all this pride and greatness now forgot, ., By them which did his state not treason know ! His very flatterers, that did adorn Their necks with his rich medals, now in flame Consume them, and would lose even his name. Or else recite it with reproach, or scorn ! This was his Eoman fate. But now thy Muse To us that neither knew his height, nor fall. Hath raised him up with such memorial. All future states and times his name shall use. What, not his good, nor iU could once extend To the next age, thy verse, industrious. And learned friend, hath made illustrious To this. Nor shall Ms, or thy fame have end. o 2 76 COMMENDATORY VERSES. AMICIS, AMICI NOSTRI DIGNISSIMI, B. J. DIGNISSIMIS, BPIGRAMMA. D. JOHANNES MABSTONIUS. Ye ready friends, spare your unneedful bays. This work despairful envy must even praise : Phoetus hath voiced it loud through echoing skies, Sejanus' fall shall force thy merit rise ; For never English shall, or hath before Spoke fuller graced. He could say much, not more. ON SEJANTJS. How high a poor man shows in low estate "Whose base is firm, and whole frame competent. That sees this cedar, made the shrub of fate, Th' one's little, lasting ; th' others confluence spent. And as the lightning comes behind the thunder Prom the torn cloud, yet first invades our sense : So every violent fortune, that to wonder Hoists men aloft, is a clear evidence Of a vaunt-courring blow the fates have given To his forc'd state : swift lightning blinds his eyes. While thunder, from comparison-hating heaven, Dischargeth on his height, and there it lies ! If men will shun swol'n fortune's ruinous blasts. Let them use temperance : nothing violent lasts. WILLIAM STRACHEr. ON SEJANTJS. Thy poem (pardon me) is mere deceit. Yet such deceit, as thou that dost beguile. Art juster far than they who use no wile ; And they who are deceived by this feat. More wise, than such who can eschew thy cheat : For thou hast given each part so just a style. That men suppose the action now on file ; (And men suppose, who are of best conceit.) Yet some there be, that are not mov'd hereby. And others are so quick, that they will spy Where later times are ia some speech unweav'd. Those, wary simples ; and these, simple elves ; They are so dull, they cannot be deceiVd, These so unjust, they will deceive themselves. *IAOS ON SEJANTIS. When in the Globe's fair ring, our world's best stage I saw Sejanus set with that rich foil, I look'd the author should have bom the spoil Of conquest, from the writers of the age : But when I view'd the people's beastly rage. Bent to confound thy grave, and learned toil, That cost thee so much sweat, and so much oil, My indignation 1 could hardly assuage. COMMENDATORY VERSES. 77 And many there (in passion) scarce could tell Whether thy fault, or theirs deserv'd most blame ; Thine, for so shewing, theirs, to wrong the same : But both they left within that doubtful hell. From whence, this publication sets thee free : They, for their ignorance, still damned be. EV. B. AMICISSIMO, ET MERITISSIMO BEN. JONSON, IN VOLPONEM. Quod arte atisus es hie tu&, Poeta, Si auderent hominum deique juris ConsuUi, veteres sequi cemulariirque, O omnes saperemus ad salutem. His sed sunt veteres araneosi ; 7am nemo veterum est sequutor, ut tu Mllos quod sequeris novator audis. Fac tamen quod agis ; tuique primd JLibri canitie induantur hord: Nam chartis pueritia est neganda^ Nascunturqite series^ oportet^ illi Liiri, queis dare vis perennitatem, Priscis, ingenium facit, lahorque Te par em ; hos superes, ut et futures, Em nostrd vitiositate sumas, Qud priseos superamus, et futures. J. DONNE. AD CTRAMQUB ACADBMIAM, DB BENJAMIN JONSONIO, IN VOLPONEM. ffic ille est primus, qui doctum drama Britannia, Graiorum antiqua, et Laiii monimenta theatri, Tanquam exploraior versans, foelicibus ausis Prabebit : magnis cceptis, gemina astra, favete. Alteruira veteres content* laude : Cothurnum hie, Atque pari soccum tractat Sol scenicus arte ; Das Volpone jocos, fletus Sejane dedisti. At si Jonsonias mulctatas limiie musas Angusto plangent quiquam : Vos, dicite, contra, O nimium miseros quibus Anglis Anglica lingua, Aut non sat nota est ; aut queis {seu trans mare nalis) Haud nota omnino ! Vegetet cum tempore vates, Mutabit patriam, fietque ipse Anglus Apollo. E. BOLTON. TO MY SEAR FRIEND MASTER BEN. JONSON, UPON HIS FOX, If it might stand with justice, to allow The swift conversion of all follies ; now. Such is my mercy, that I could admit All sorts should equally approve the wit Of this thy even work : whose growing fame Shall raise thee high, and thou it, with thy name. And did not manners, and my love command - Me to forbear to make those understand. Whom thou, perhaps, hast in thy wiser doom Long since, firmly resolv'd, shall never come To know more than they do ; I would have shewn To all the world, the art, which thou alone 78 COMMENDATORY VERSES. Hast taught our tongue, the rules of time, of place, And other rites, delivered with the grace Of comic style, which only, is far more Than any English stage hath known hefore. But since our subtle gallants think it good To like of nought that may he understood. Lest they should he disproVd ; or have, at best, Stomachs so raw, that nothing can digest But what's obscene, or barks : let us desire They may continue, simply, to admire Kne cloaths, and strange words ; and may live, in age, To see themselves Ul brought upon the stage. And like it. Whilst thy bold, and knowing Muse Contemns all praise, but such as thou wouldst choose'. FBANCIS BEAUMONT. ON TOLPONE. If thou dar'st bite this Fox, then read my rhymes ; Thou guUty art of some of these foul crimes : Which else, are neither his nor thine, but Time's. If thou dost like it, weU ; it wiU imply Thou lik'st with judgment, or best company : And he, that doth not so, doth yet envy The ancient forms reduced, as in this age The vices, are ; and bare-faced on the stage : So boys were taught to abhor seen drunkards rage. T. TO MY GOOD FRIEND MASTER JONSON. The strange new follies of this idle age. In strange new forms, presented on the stage By thy quick muse, so pleas'd judicious eyes ; That th' once admired ancient comedies' Fashions, like clothes grown out of fashion, lay Lock'd up from use : until thy Fox' birth-day. In an old garb, shew'd so much art, and wit. As they the laurel gave to thee, and it. ON TOLPONE. The Fox, that eas'd thee of thy modest fears. And earth'd himself, alive, into our ears Will so, in death, commend his worth, and thee As neither can, by praises, mended be : 'Tis friendly folly, thou may'st thank, and blame, To praise a book, whose forehead bears thy name. Then Jonson, only this (among the rest,) I, ever, have observed, thy last work's best : Pace, gently on ; thy worth, yet higher, raise ; 'Till thou write best, as well as the best plays. COMMENDATORY VERSES, 79 ON VOLPONB. Come, yet, more forth, "Volpone, and thy chase Perform to all length, for thy breath will serve thee ; The usurer shaU, never, wear thy case : Men do not hunt to kill, but to preserve thee. Before the best hounds, thou dost, still, but play ; And, for our whelps, aJas, they yelp in vain : Thou hast no earth ; thou hunt'st the milk-white way ; And, through th' Elysian fields, dost make thy train.' And as the symbol of life's guard, the hare. That, sleeping, wakes ; and, for her fear, was saf t : So, thou shalt be advanc'd, and made g, star, Pole to all wits, believ'd in, for thy craft. In which the scenes both mark, and mystery Is hit, and sounded, to please best, and worst ; To all which, since thou mak'st so sweet a cry. Take all thy best fare, and be nothing curst. ON VOLPONE. "Volpone now is dead indeed, and lies Exposed to the censure of all eyes. And mouths ; now he hath run his train, and shew n His subtle body, where he best was known j In both Minerva's cities : he doth yield, His well-form'd limbs upon this open field. "Who, if they now appear so fair in sight. How did they, when they were endow'd with spriglit Of action 1 In thy praise let this be read, The Fox will live, when all'his hounds be dead. TO BEN JONSON, ON VOLPONB. Forgive thy friends ; they would, but cannot praise, Enough the wit, art, language of thy plays : Forgive thy foes ; they will not praise thee. "Why ? Thy fate hath thought it best, they should envy. Faith, for thy Fox's sake, forgive then those "Who are nor worthy to be friends, nor foes. Or, for their own brave sake, let them be still Fools at thy mercy, and like what they will. ON THE SILENT WOMAN. Hear, you bad writers, and though you not see, I will inform you where you happy be : Provide the most malicious thoughts yon can. And bend them all against some private man. To bring him, not his vices, on the stage ; Your envy shall be clad in some poor rage. And your expressing of him shall be such. That he himself shall think he hath no touch. Where he that strongly writes, although he mean To scourge but vices in a labour'd scene. Yet private faults shall be so well exprest. As men do act 'em, that each private breast. That finds these errors in itself, shall say. He meant me, not my vices, in the play. rJlANCIS BEAUMOKT. TO MY FEIEND BEN JONSON, UPON HIS ALCHEMIST. A master, read in flattery's great skill. Could not pass truth, though he would force his will. By praising this too much, to get more praise In his art, than you out of yours do raise. Nor can fiiU tnith he utter'd of your worth, Unless you your own praises do set forth : None else can write so skilfully, to shew Your praise : Ages shall pay, yet still must owe. AH I dare say, is, you have written well ; In what exceeding height, I dare not tell. GEORGE I,UCY. ON THE ALCHEMIST. The Alchemist, a play for strength of wit. And true art, made to shame what hath heen writ In former ages ; I except np worth Of what or Greeks or Latins have brought forth ; Is now to be presented to your ear. For which I wish each man were a Muse here To know, and in his soul be fit to he Judge of this master-piece of comedy ; That when we hear but once of JoifsoN's name. Whose mention shall make proud the breath of fame, We may agree, and crowns of laurel bring A justice unto him the poet's king. But he is dead : time, envious of that bliss Which we possest in that great brain of his. By putting out this light, ^th dark'ned all The sphere of Poesy, and we let fall At best unworthy elegies on his hearse, A tribute that we owe his living verse ; Which, though some men that never reaoh'd him may Decry, that love all folly in a play. The wiser pew shall this distinction have. To KNBEI., NOT TREAD, UPON HIS HONOUR'd GRAVE. JAMES SHIRLEl-. Jonson, t' whose name wise art did bow, and wit Is only justified by honouruig it : To hear whose touch, how would the learned quire With silence stoop ? and when he took his lyre, Apollo stopt his lute, asham'd to see A rival to the god of harmony, &o. Shirley's Poems, p. 159. TO MY FRIEND BEN JONSON, UPON HIS CATILINE. If thou had'st itch'd after the wUd applause Of common people, and hadst made thy laws In writing, such, as catch'd at present voice, I should commend the thing, but not thy choice. But thou hast squar'd thy rules by what is good, And art three ages, yet, from understood And (I dare say) in. it there lies much wit Lost, tUl the readers can grow up to it. Which they can ne'er out-grow, to find it ill. But must fall back again, or like it still. FRANCIS BEAUMONT. COMMENDATORY VERSES. gl TO Mr WORTHY FRIEND BEN JONSON, ON ms CATILINE. He, that dares ■wrong this play, it should appear Dares utter more than other men dare hear. That have their wits about them ; yet such men. Dear friend, must see your book, and read ; and then Out of their learned ignorance, cry ill, And lay you by, calling for mad Pasquil, Or Green's dear Groatsworth, or Tom Coryate, Or thenew Lexicon, -with the errant pate : And pick away, from all these several ends. And dirty ones, to make their as-wise friends Believe they are translators. Of this, pity I There is a great plague hanging o'er the city j Unless she purge her judgment presently. But, O thou happy man, that must not die. As these things shall ; leaving no more behind But a thin memory, like a passing wind That blows, and is forgotten, ere they are cold. Thy labours shall outUve thee ; and, like gold Stampt for continuance, shall be current, where There is a sun, a people, or a year. __ JOHN FLETCHER. TO HIS WORTHY AND BELOVED FRIEND MASTER BEN JONSON ON HIS CATILTNK. Had the great thoughts of Catiline been good. The memory of his name, stream of his blood. His plots past into acts, (which would have turn'd His infamy to fame, though Rome had bum'd,) Had not begot him equal grace with men. As this, that he is writ by such a pen : Whose inspirations, if great Rome had had, Her good things had been better'd, and her bad Undone ; the first for joy, the last for fear. That such a Muse should spread them, to our ear. But woe to us then ! for thy laureat brow If Rome enjoy'd had, we had wanted now. But, in this age, where jigs and dances move. How few there are, that this pure work approve. Yet, better than I rail at, thou canst scorn Censures that die, ere they be thoroughly born. Each subject, thou, still thee each sul^ect raises. And whosoe'er thy book, himself dispraises. NAT. FIELD. AD T. Ci. BEN. JONSONIDM, CARMEN PROTBEPTICON. Rapiam Threidi lyram Neanthus Pulset ; carmina circulis Palamon Scribat ; qui manibus facit deabus Illotis, metuat Probum. Placers Te doetis juvat auribus, placere Te raris juvat auribus. Carmsnas Cim tottts legerem tuas (Camcente l^am toium rogitant iuce, nee ullam Qui piffri trahat oscitationem, Lectorem) et numeros, acumen, arlem, Mirum judicium, quod ipse censor, JoKsosi, nimium licit malignua. Si doetus simul, exigat, viderem, 82 COMMENDATORY VERSES. Sermonem et nitidum, faceti&sque Dtgnas Mercurio, novasque gnomas Motum sed veterum, tuique juris Quicguid dramaticum tui legebam, Tarn semper fore, tdmque te loquutum, Ui nee Lemnia notior sigillo Tellus, nee macula sacrandus Apis, Non cesto Venus, aut comis Apollo, Quim musa. fueris sciente notus, Qud,m mus& fueris iua notatus, Jlld, qu(B unica, sidus ut refulgens, Striciuras, superat comis, minorum : In mentem subiit Stolonis illud, Lingua Pieridas fuisse Plauti Usuras, Ciceronis atque dictum, Saturno genitum phrasi Platonis, Musce si Latio, Jovisque Athenis Dixissent. Fore jam sed hunc et illas lonsoni numeros puto loguutos, Anglis si fuerini uirique fati. Tarn, mi, tu sophiam doces amosne Sparsim tatnque sophos amosna sternis / Sed, tot delicias, ■miniis placebat, Sparsis distraherent tot in libellis Cerdoi caculce. Volumen unum. Quod seri Sritonum ierant nepotes, Optabam, et thyasus chorisque amantum Musas hoc cupiunt, tui laborum Et quicquid reliquum est, adhuc tuisqiie Servatum pluteis. Tibi at videmur Non tdm quarere quam parare nobis Laudem, dum volumus palam mereniis Tot laurus cupidi reposta scripta ; Dum secernere te tuasque musas Audemus numero nn^ulce liquorem Gustante, et veteres novem sorores Et Sirenibus et sclent cicadis : Dum et secernere posse te videmur, Efflictim petimus novumque librum. Qui nulla sacer haul peiatur cbvo. Qui nullo sacer exolescat cbvo. Qui curis niteat iuis secundis ; Ut nos scire aliquid simul putetur. Atqui hoc macte sies, velutque calpar, Quod diis inferium, tibi sacremus, Vt nobis bene sit ; tudmque frontem Perfundant ederce recentiores Et splendor novus. Invident coronmn Hanc tantam patrtee tibique C quanta ^ternitm a merito iuo superbum Anglorum genus esse possit olim) TantHm qui penitHs volunt amcenas . Sublatas literas, timentve lucem lonsoni nimiam tenebriones. J. SSLDKN. COMMENDATORY VERSES. 83 TO BEN JONSON, ON HIS WOBKS. May I subscribe a name ! dares my bold quill Write that or good or ill, Whose frame is of that height, that, to mine eye, Its head is in the sky ? Yes. Since the most censures, believes, and saith By an implicit faith : Lest their misfortune make them chance amiss, I'U waft them right by this. Of all I know thou only art the man That dares but what he can : Yet by performance shows he can do more Than hath been done before, Or will be after ; (such assurance gives Perfection where it lives.) Words speak thy matter j matter fills thy words : And choice that grace affords. That both are best : and both most fitly placed. Are with new Venus graced From artful method. All in this point meet. With good to mingle sweet. These are thy lower parts. What stands above Who sees not yet mi;st love. When on the base he reads Ben Jonson's name. And hears the rest from fame. This from my love of truth : which pays this due To your just worth, not you. ED. HEYWAKB. ON THE AUTHOR OP THIS TOLXTME, THE POET LAUBEAT, BEN JONSON. Here is a poet ! whose unmuddled strains Shew that he held aU Helicon in 's brains. What here is writ, is sterling ; every line Was well aUow'd of by the Muses nine. When for the stage a drama he did lay. Tragic or comic, he still bore away The sock and buskin ; clearer notes than his No swan e'er sung upon our Thamesis ; For lyric sweetness in an ode, or sonnet. To Ben the best of wits might vail their bonnet. His genius justly, in an entheat rage. Oft lash'd the duU-s,worn factors for the stage : For Alchymy, though 't make a glorious gloss, Compar'd with Gold is bullion and base dross. WILL. HODG.WX. ON HIS ELABORATED PLAYS.— EPIGRAM. Each like an Indian ship or hull appears. That took a voyage for some certain years. To plough the sea, and furrow up the inain. And brought rich ingots from his loaden brain. His art the sun ; his labours were the lines ; His solid stuff the treasure of his mines. WILL. HODGSOX. 84 COMMENDATORY VERSES. IN BBNJAMINUM JONSONUM, POETAM LAUREATUM, ET DRAMATICORUM SDI SECOLX FACILE PRINCIPEM. ToNsoN£^ Angliaece decus immortale CamtBUce, Magne pater vat-am, Aonics CoryphiBe catervae, Benjamine, (tibi nee vanum nominis ometi^J Cui tarn dextera Fallas adest, tarn dexter Apollo ; Laurigeros egit quoiies tua Musa triumphos I Laudibus en quantis, quanta evehit Anglia plausu J'onsonum, pleni moderantem frcsna theatri I Per fe scena loqui didicit : tibi Candida vena, Et jocus innoctius ; nee quern tua fabula mordet Dente Theonino, sed pravis aspera tantum Moribus, insanum muUo sale defricat (svum. Nee fescennino ludit tua carmine Musa ; Nee petulans aures amai incestare theatri, Aut foedare oculos obsccenis improba nugis : Sunt tibi tarn casta: veneres, plenasque pudoris, Scenam nulla tuam perfrictd/ronte puella Jntrat, nee quenquam tenerce capit Ulice vocis^ Nee spectatorem patranti frangit ocello, Dramate tu recto, tu Ungues idiomate puro, Exornas soccosque leves, grandesque cothurnos. Si LgricuSj tu jam Flaccus ; si comicust alter Plautus es ingenio, tersive Terentius oris Anglicus, aut, Grcecos si forte imitere, Menander^ Cujus versu usus, ceu sacro emblemate, Paulus : Sin Tragicus, magni jam prcBceptore Neronis Altius eloqueris, Senecd et pmdivite major, (Ingenii at tantum dives tu divite vend,) Grandius ore tonas, verborum et fulmina vibras. Tu captatores, locupleti /lamata, senique, Munera mitienies, Vulpino decipis astu Callidus incautos, et fraudemfraude retexis : Atque htsredipetas Gorvos deludis Mantes, Vand spe lactans, cera nee scribis in ima. Per te nee leno aut mereirix impune per urbem Grassatur, stolidce et tendit sua retia pubi. Nee mcechus, nee fur, incastigatus oberrat, IllcBSusve^ tucB prudenti verbere scence. Sic vitium omne Tafer tuus ipse ut Horatius olim, Tangis, et admissus circum prsecordia ludis. Perteaudax Catilina, nefas horrendus Alastor Dura struit infandum, ccedesque et funera passim Molitur Romce, facundi consults ore Ingenioque perit ; patria et dum perjidus enses Intentat jugulo, franguntur colla Cethegi ; Quicquid Syllaminax, ipsis efaucibusOrci, Etfortunati demurmuret umbra tyrannij Nenipe faces fiammasque extinguitjiumine lactis Tullius, Angliaco melius sic ore locutus. Culmine tu rapiens magnum devolvis ab alto Sejanum ; ille potens populum, pavid-O-mque senatum Rexerat imperio nuper, dum solus habenas Tractaret Romes, nutu et tremefecerat orbem, CiBsare conflsus ; nunc verso cardine rerum Mole sud miser ipse eadens^ et pondere pressus, Concutit attonitum lapsu graviore iheatrum, Ingentemque trahit turbd plaudente ruinam. COMMENDATORY VERSES. §5 Sic nullum exemplo crimen tu Unguis inulium, Sive et avarities, et amor vesanvs habendi, Sive sit ambitio, et dominandi coeca libido. Crimina sio hominum versu tortore fiagellas, Et vitia exponis toti ludibria plebi ; Protinus ilia tuo sordent essplosa theairo, JOramdque virtutis schola fit, prcelectio scen-a, HistriophilosophuSf momm vel denique censor^ Et ludi, Jonsone, tui sio seria ducunt. Ergo tua effigies, nostris spectanda plateis, ( Quam melius toti ostendit tua Pagina mundo) Non hominis, sed viva Poesios extat imago ; Benjamini icon, capitisque insigne poeta ; Notnen'et ingenii, Jonsoni nomen habelur, * BIB EDWAHD HERBERT, UPON ms FRIEND MR. BEN JONSON, AND HIS TRJJfSLATION. 'Twas not enough, Ben Jonson, to be thought 'Of English poets best, but to have brought In greater state, to their acquaintance, one Made equal to himself and thee ; that none Might be thy second ; while thy glory is To be the Horace of our times, and his. TO BEN JONSON. " 'Tis dangerous to praise ; besides the task "Which to do 't well, will ask An age of time and judgment ; who can then Be prais'd, and by what pen ? Yet, I know both, whUst thee I safely chuse My subject, and my Muse. For sure, henceforth our poets shall implore Thy aid, which lends them more. Than can their tired Apollo, or the Nine i She wits, or mighty wine. The deities are bankrupts, and must be Glad to beg art of thee. Some they might once perchance on thee be'stow ;• But, now, to thee they owe : "Who dost in daily bounty more wit spend. Than they could ever lend. Thus thou didst build the Globe, whicih, but for thee. Should want its axle-tree ; And, like a careful founder, thou dost now Leave rules for ever, how To keep't in reparations, which will do More good, than to build two. It was an able stock, thou gav'st before ; Yet, lo, a richer store ! "Which doth, by a prevention, make us quit With a dear year of wit : Come when it will, by this thy name shall last Until Fame's utmost blast," &c. BARTON HOLYDAV. » Untie Suiseciva J. Duporti, Cantahrigia, 8to. 1676, p. 8. 86 COMMENDATORY VERSES. to master jonson. Ben, The world is much in debt, and though it may Some petty reck'nings to small poets pay : Pardon if at thy glorious sum they stick, Being too large for their arithmetic. If they could prize the genius of a scene, The learned sweat that makes a language clean. Or understand the faith of ancient skill, D'awn from the tragic, comic, lyric quill ; The Greek and Roman denizen'd by thee. And both made richer in thy poetry ; This they may know, and knowing this still grudge, That yet they are not iit of thee to judge. I prophesy more strength to after time, "Whose joy shall call this isle the poets' clime. Because 'twas thine, and unto thee return The borrow'd flames, with which thy Muse shall burn. Then when the stock of others fame is spent. Thy poetry shall keep its own old rent. ZOUCH TOWNLET AD BENJAMINIIM JONSONUM. In jus ie voco, Jonsoxi veriito .• Adsum, qui plagii et malie rapirue Te ad Phcebi peragam reum tribunal, Assidenie choro novem dearwm^ QutBdam dramata scilicet diserta^ Nuper qua Elysii roseti in umbra, Fastivissiinus omnium poeta, Plautus composuit, diisque tandem Stellate exhibuit poli in theatre, Movendo superis leves cachinnos, Mt rises tetrico Jovi ciendo, Axe plausibus intonanie utroque ; Hcsc tu dramata scilicet diserta, Clepsisti superis negotiosis, Quce tu nunc tua venditare pergis : In jus te voco, Jonsoni venito. En pro te pater ipse, Rexque Phabus Assurgit modo, Jonsoni, palamque Testatur, tua serio fuisse Ilia dramata, teque condidisse Sese non modo conscio, at juvante : Unde ergo sibi Plautus ilia tandem Nactus exhibuit, Jovi Deisque ? Maice Films, et Nepos Atlantis, Pennatus celeres pedes, at ungues Viscatus, volucer puer, vaferque, Furto condere quidlibet jocoso, Ut quondam fa^ibus suis Amorem Per Itidos viduavit, et pharetrd, Sic nuper (siquidem solet frequenter Tecum ludere, plaudere, et jocarij Neglectas tibi clepsit has papyrus Secumque ad superos abire jussit : Jam victus taceo-pudore, vincis Phwbo. Judice, Jossonx, et Patronc* * Caroli Fifztjeo/ridi Afan. Oxonics, 16f>l. COMMENDATORY VERSES. g? ON BEN JONSON. Mirror of poets, mirror of our age 1 Which her whole face beholding on thy stage, Pleas'd and displeas'd with her own faults, endures ■ A remedy like those whom music cures. Thou hast alone those various inclinations. Which Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations, So traced with thy all-resembling pen. That whate'er custom has impos'd on men. Or ill-got habit, which deforms them so, That scarce a brother can his brother know. Is represented to the wond'ring eyes Of all that see or read thy comedies ; Whoever in those glasses looks, may find The spots return'd, or graces of his mind : And by the help of so divine an art. At leisure view, and dress his nobler part. Narcissus cozened by that flatt'ring well, Wlich nothing could but of his beauty tell. Had here, discovering the deform'd estate Of his fond mind, preserv'd himself with hate j But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had Beheld what his high fancy once embraced Virtue with colours, speech, and motion graced The sundry postures of thy copious Muse, Who would express a thousand tongues must use : Whose fate's no less peculiar than thy art. For as thou couldst all characters impart : So none could render thine, who still escapes Like Proteus in variety of shapes : Who was, nor this, nor that, but all we find. And all we can imagine in mankind. E. WAI.Xi:!t. ON MASTER BENJAMIN JONSON. After the rare arch-poet Jonson died. The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride. Together with the stage's glory, stood Each like a poor and pitied widowhood. The cirque prophan'd was ; and aU postures rackt : For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act. Then temper flew from words ; and men did squeak. Look red, and blow, and bluster, but not speak : No holy rage, or frantic fires did stir. Or flash about the spacious theatre. No clap of hands, or shout, or praises-proof Did crack the play-house sides, or cleave her roof. Artless the scene was ; and that monstrous sin Of deep and arrant ignorance came in ; Such ignorance as theirs was, who once hist At thy unequaU'd play, the Alchemist : Oh fie upon 'em ! Lastly too, aU wit In utter darkness did, and still will sit ; Sleeping the luckless age out, till that she Her resurrection has again with thee. Herbick's Hetpendes, 1648, p. 173. 88 COMMENDATORY VERSES. ON BEN JONSON. Here lies Jonsoit with the rest Of the poets ; but the best. Reader, would'st thou more have known ? Ask his story, not this stone ; That will speak what this can't teU, Of his glory. So farewell ! /6W. p.342. AN ODE FOB BEN JONSON. Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts, Hade at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ' Where we such clusters had. As made us nobly wild, not mad ; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the froho wine. My BEif Or come agen ; Or send to us Thy wits great over-plus : But teach us yet "Wisely to husband it ; Lest we that talent spend : And having once brought to an end That precious stock ; the store Of such a wit : the world should have no more., IIM. p. 342 CONTENTS. PAGE BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR .,.'......,.. .9 ANCIENT COMMEND ATO'RY VERSES ON BEN JONSON 73 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR . . : . 1 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR 29 CYNTHIA'S REVELS ; OR, THE FOUNTAIN OF SELF-LOVE ... 69 . THE POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT 105 SEJANUS HIS FALL 137 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX . . . . . . . , ... 173 EPICOENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN 207 THE ALCHEMIST . . . . • 238 CATILINE HIS CONSPIRACY 272 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR i . 305 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS , 343 THE STAPLE OF NEWS 375 THE NEW INN; OR, THE LIGHT HEART 406 THE MAGNETIC LADY; OR, HUMOURS RECONCILED 437 A TALE OF A TUB 464 THE SAD SHEPHERD ; OR, A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD ..... 490 THE FALL OF MORTIMER 502 THE CASE IS ALTERED 504 ENTERTAINMENTS— ' "* PART OP KING James's entertainment, in passing to his coronation . . 527 \ a PANEGYRE on the BAPPy ENTRANCE OP JAMES, Ol'R SOVEREIGN, To' HIS FIRST HIGH SESSION OF PARLIAMENT IN THIS HIS KINGDOM . (. . 535 THE SATYR . 536 THE PENATES 539^ * THE ENTERTAINMENT OF THE TWO KINGS OK GREAT BRITAIN AND DENMARK, AT THEOBALDS 541 *»AN ENTERTAINMENT OF KING JAMES AND QUEEN ANNE, AT THEOBALDS, WHEN THE HOUSE TTAS DELIVERED IT. WITH THE POSSESSION, TO THE aUF.^N, BY THE EARL OF SALISBURY 542 CONTENTS. MASQUES— PAGE THE aUBEN's MASaUES. — THE MASaUE OP BLACKNESS 544 THE MASQUE OP BEAUTY 547 HYMEN^I ; OR, THE SOLEMNITIES OP MASftUE AND BARRIERS AT A MARRIAGE 552 I'HE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID 562 THE MASaUB OP QUEENS 566 THE SPEECHES AT PRINCE HENRY's BARRIERS 577 OBERON, THE FAIRY PRINCE 581 LOVE FREED PROM IGNORANCE AND FOLLY 585 LOVE RESTORED 588 A CHALLENGE AT TILT . . 591 THE IRISH MASQUE . . 593 MERCURY VINDICATED FROM THE ALCHEMISTS 595 THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED 598 THE MASQUE OF CHiaiSTMAS 600 THE MASQUE OF LETHE 603 THE VISION OF DELIGHT 605 PLEASURE RECONCILED TO VIRTUE 607 FOR THE HONOUR OF WALES ." 610 NEWS FROM THE NEW WORLD DISCOVERED IN THE MOON 614 A MASaup OF THE METAMORPHOSED GIPSIES 6] 8 THE MASQUE OF AUGURS, WITH THE SEVERAL ANTIMASQUES 630 TIME VINDICATED TO HIMSELF AND TO HIS HONOURS ... ... 635 NEPTUNE'S TRIUMPH FOR THE RETURN OF ALBION . 639 pan's ANNIVERSARY ; OR, THE SHEPHERD'S HOLIDAY ... ... 643 THE MASQUE OF OWLS 646 THE FORTUNATE ISLES, AND THEIR UNION 648 love's TRIUMPH THROUGH CALLIPOLIS 653 CHLORIDIA . 655 AN EXPOSTULATION WITH INIGO JOKES 658 ji love's WELCOME ; THE KING's ENTERTAINMENT AT WELBECK, IN NOTTINGHAM- SHIRE .... 660 • love's WELCOME ; THE KING AND QUEEn's ENTERTAINMENT AT BOLSOVER . 663 EPIGRAMS 665 THE FOREST . . 680 UNDERWOODS 687 LEGES qONVIVALES 726 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS 728 TIMBER ;. OR DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER . . .741 THE EnWsH GRAMMAR 766 JONSONUS ViRBIUS ; OR, THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON . . . . 791 GLOSSARY .... 807 INDEX . , . . . 315 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR TO THE MOST LEARNED, AND MY HONOtmED FRIEND, MASTER CAMDEN,. CILAEENCIEUX. SiR,-^There are, no doubt, a snperoilious race in the worW, who will esteem all office, done you in this kind, an injury; so solemn a vice it is with them to use the authority of their ignorance, to the crying do\vn of Poetry, or the professors : but my gratitude must not leave to correct their error ; since I am none of those that can suffer the benefits conferred upon my youth to perish with my age. It is a frail memory that remembers but present things: and, had the favour of the times so conspired with my disposition, as it could liave brought forth other, or better, you had had the same proportion, and number of the fruits, the first. Now I pray you to accept this ; such wherein neither the con- fession of my manners shall make you blush ; nor of my studies, repent you to have been the instructor : and for the profession of my thanltf ulness, I am sure it will, with good men, find either praise or excuse. Your true lover, Ben Jonson. DRAMATIS PERSON.^. Knowell, on old Gentleman. Edward Knowell, his Son. Brainworji, the Father's Man. George Downright, a plain Squire. Wellbred, his Half-Broiher. ' BJTELY, a Merchant CAPTArN BoBADfLL, a PauVs Man. Master Stephen, a Country Gull. Master Mathew, the Town Gull. Thomas Cash, Eitely's Cashier. Oliver Cob, a Water-bearer. Justice Clement, an old m&-ry Magistrate, Roger Formal, his Clerk. Wellbreds Servant. Dame Kmsj.Y, mtelift Wife. Mistress Bridget, his Sister. Tib, Cob's Wife. Servants, ^c. SCENE,— London. PROLOGUE. Tbongh Deed make many poets, and some such As art and nature have not better'd much ; Yet ours for want hath not so loved the stage, As he dare serve the ill customs of the age, O r purchase your delight at such a rate, As, for it, he himself must justly hate : To make a child now swaddled, to proceed Man , and then shoot up, in one beard and weed. Past threescore years ; or, with three rusty swords, And help of some few foot and half-foot words. Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars. And in the tyring-house bring wounds to scars. He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see One such to-day, as other plays should be ; Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas, Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please : Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard The gentlewomen ■; nor roll' d bullet heard To say, it thunders ; nor tempestuous drum Rumbles, to t«ll you when the storm doth come ; But deed s, and laBgBaggj.&ufih.as.jp.6B-da- use, WKen she would shew au image of the times, And sport with human follies, not with crimes. Except we make them such, by loving still Our popular errors, when we know they're ill. I mean such errors as you'll all confess, i By laughing at them, they deserve no less : Which when you heartily do, there's hope left then, You, that have so grac'd monsters, may l;ke men. ACT I. SCENE I — A Street. Enter Knoweli,, at the door (if his house. Know. A goodly day toward, and a fresh morn- ing. — ^Brainworm ! Enter BiuurwoRM. Call np your young master : bid him rise, sir. Tell Mm, I have some business to employ him. Brai. I wiU, sir, presently. Know. But hear you, sirrah, If he be at his book, disturb him not. Brai. Very good, sir. lExit Know. How happy yet should I esteem myself, Could I, by any practice, wean the boy From one vain course of study he affects. He is a scholar, if a man may trust B EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, The liberal Toice of fame in her report, Of good account in both our Universities, Either of which hath favoured him with graces : But their indulgence must not spring in me A fond opinion that he cannot err. Myself was once a student, and indeed, Fed with the self-same humour he is now, Dreaming on nought but idle poetry. That fruitless and unprofitable art. Good unto none, but least to the professors ; Which then I thought the mistress of all know- ledge : But since, time and the truth have waked my judg- ment. And reason taught me better to distinguish The vain from the useful learnings. Enter Master Stephen; Cousin Stephen, What news with you, that you are here so early ? Step. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you do, uncle. Know. That's kindly done ; you are welcome, coz. Step. Ay, I know that, sir ; I would not have come else. How does my cousin Edward, uncle ? Know. O, well, coz ; go in and see ; I doubt he be scarce stirring yet. Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking and hunting ; I would fain borrow it. . Know. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will yon ? Step. No, wusse ; but I'll practise against next year, uncle. I have Ijought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all ; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by. Know. O, most ridiculous ! Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle : — Why, you know an a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, I'U not give a rush for him : they are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for no gal- lants company without them ; and by gadslid I scorn it, I, so 1 do, to be a consort for every hum- dram : hang them, scroyles ! there's nothing in them i' the world. What do you talk on it ? Be- cause I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury, or the citi- zens that come a ducking to Islington ponds ! A fine jest, i' faith ! 'Slid, a gentleman mun show him- self like a gentleman. ■ Uncle, I pray you be not angry ; I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no novice. Know. You are a prodigal,, absurd coxcomb, go to! Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak; Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you. Have you not yet found means enow to waste That which your friends have leftyou, but you must Go cast away your money on a buzzard. And know not how to keep it, when you have done ? O, it is comely ! this wiU make you a gentleman ! Well, cousin, well, I see you are e'en past hope Of all reclaim : — ay, so ; now you are told oii't, You look another way. Step. What would you ha' me do ? Know, What would I have you do ? I'll teU you, . kinsman ; Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive ; That would I have you do : and not to spend Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, Or every foolish brain that humours you. I would not have you to invade each place, Nor thrust yourself on all societies. Till men's aifections, or your own desert. Should worthily invite you to your rank. He that is so respectless in his courses, Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. Nor would I, you should melt away yourself In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect To make a blaze of gently to the world, A little puff of scorn extinguish it ; And you be left like an unsavoury snuff, Whose property is only to offend. I'd have you sober, and contain yourself. Not that your sail be bigger than your boat ; But moderate your expenses now, at first. As you may keep the same proportion still : Nor stand so much on your gentility. Which is an airy and mere borrow'd thing, From dead men's dust and bones ; and none of Except you make, or hold it. [yours, Enter a Servant. Who comes here ? Serv. Save you, gentlemen! Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gen- tility, friend ; yet you are welcome : and I assure you mine uncle her6 is a man of a thousand a year, Middlesex land. He has but one son in all the world, I am his next heir, at the common law, master Stephen, as simple as I stand here, if my cousin die, as there's hope he will : I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside, hard by here. Serv. ' In good time, sir. Step. In good time, sir! why, and in very good time, sir ! You do not flout, friend, do you ? Serv. Not I, sir. Step. Not you, sir ! you were best not, sir ; an you should, here be them can perceive it, and that (Quickly too ; go to : and they can give it again soundly too, an need be. Serv. Why, sir, let this satisfy you ; good faith, I had no such intent. Step. Sir, an I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently. Serv. Good master Stephen, so you may, sir, at your pleasure. Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy com- panion ! an you were out o' mine uncle's ground, I can tell you ; though I do not stand upon my gentility neither, in't. Know. Cousin, cousin, will this ne'er be left ? ' Step. Whoreson, base fellow! a mechanical serving-man! By this cudgel, an 'twere not for shame, I would Know. What would you do, you peremptory gull? If you cannot be quiet, get you hence. You see the honest man demeans himself Modestly tow'rds you, giving no reply To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion ; And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage As void of wit, as of humanity. Go, get you in ; 'fore heaven, I am ashamed Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me. CExit Master Stephen'. Serv. I pray, sir, is this master Knowell's house ' Know. Yes, marry is it, sir. Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. master Edward Knowell ; do you know any such, sir, I pray you ? Know. I should forget myself else, sir. Serv. Are you the gentleman ? cry you mercy, sir : I was required by a gentleman in the city, as I rode out at this end o' the town, to deliver you this letter, sir. Know. To me, sir ! What do you mean .' pray you remember your court'sy. \_Reads.'] To his most selected friend, master Edward Knowell. What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it ? Nay, pray you be covered. Serv. One master Wellbred, sir. Know. Master Wellbred ! a young gentleman, is he not ? iSeru. The same, sir; master Kitely married his sister ; the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. Know. You say very true. — Brainworm ! Enter Bbaihworu. Brat. Sir. Know. Make this honest friend drink here : pray you, go in. iExamt Brainworm onij Servant This letter is directed to my son ; Yet I am Edward Knowell too, and may, With the safe conscience of good manners, use The fellow's error to my satisfaccion. Well, I will break it ope, (old men are curious,) Be it but for the style's sake and the phrase; To see if both do answer my son's praises, Who is almost grown the idolater Of this young Wellbred. What have we here ? What's this ? [Reads.J Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy friends in the Old Jewry ? or dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit there ? yet, if thou dost, come over, and but see our frippery ; change an old shirt for a wholo sinock with us ; do not conceive that antipathy between lis and Hogsden, as was between Jews and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his green apricots, evening and morning, on the north-west wall : an I had been his son, 1 had saved him the labour long since, if taking in all the young wenches that pass by at the back-door, and codling every kernel of the friiit for them, would have served. But, pr'ythee, come over to me quickly, thia morning; I have such a present for thee .'— our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand Signior, One is a rhymer, sir. of your own batch, your OAvn leaven ; but doth think him himself poet-major of the toivn, willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen. The other — I will not venture his description with you, till you come, because I would have you make hither with an appe- tite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill uf charges, as unconscionable as any Guildhall verdict Will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum. From the Windmill. From the Bordello it might come as well. The Spittle, or Pict-hatch. . Is this the man My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth ! I know not what he may be in the arts, Nor what in schools ; but, surely, for his manners, I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch ; Worse by possession of such great good gifts, Being the master of so loose a spirit. Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ In such a scurrilous manner to a friend ! Why should he think I tell my apricots. Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit, To watch it ? Well, my son, I bad thought you Had had more judgment to have made election Of your companions,than t' have ta'en on trust Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare No argument or subject from their jest. But I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father Brainworm ! Enter BnAiNwcniiL Brat. Sir. Know. Is the fellow gone that brought this letter ? Brai. Yes, sir, a pretty while since. Know. And where is your young master ? Brai. In his chamber, sir. Know. He spake not with the fellow, did he? Brai. No, sir, he saw him not. Know. Take you this letter, and deliver it my son ; but with no notice that I have opened it, on your life. Brai. O Lord, sir ! that were a jest indeed. lExil. Know. I am resolved I will not stop his journey, Nor practise any violent means to stay The unbridled course of youth in him ; for that Restrain'd, grows more impatient ; and in kind Like to the eag^r, but the generous greyhound, Who ne'er so little from his game withheld. Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat. There is a way of winning more by. love. And urging of the modesty, than fear : Force works on servile natures, not the free. He that's compell'd to goodness, may be good. But 'tis but for that fit ; where others, drawn By softness and example, get a habit. Then, if they stray, but warn them, and the same They should for virtue have done, they'll do for shame. isxit. SCENE 11.— A Room in Knowbll's House. Enter B. Ksowsll, with a letter in his hand, followed iy Brainworm. S. Know. Did he open it, say'st thou ? Brai. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the con- tents. E. Know. That scarce contents me. What coun- tenance, prithee, made he in the reading of it ? was he angry, or pleased ? Brai. Nay, sir, I- saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship. E. Know. No ! how know'st thou then that he did either .' Brai. Marry, sir, Secause he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he . open'd it ; which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed. E. Know. That's true : well, I thank thee, Brain- worm. Enter Stephen. Step. O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here in what-sha-call'-him doublet? he brought mine uncle a letter e'en now. Brai. Yej, master Stephen ; what of him ? Step. O, I have snch a mind to beat himr^^ where is he, canst thou tell ? Brai. Faith, he is not of that mind : he is gone, master Stephen. Step. Gone ! which i^ay ? when went he .' how long since ? b 2 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. Brai. He is rid hence ; he took horse at the street-door. Step. And I staid in the fields ! Whoreson scan- derbag rogue ! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again ! Brai. Why, you may have my master's gelding, to save your longing, sir. Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite on't. Brai. Why, a fine wisp of hay, roll'd hard, master Stephen. Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now: let him e'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss me a little : he does so vex me — Brai. You'll be worse vexed when you are trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold ; your choler may founder you else. Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou teU'st me on't : how dost thou like my leg, Brainworm ? Brai. A very good leg, Master Stephen ; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well. Step. Foh '. the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on, forthe dust : I'll have a pair of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk hose — Brai. Believe me. Master Stephen, rarely well. Step. In sadness, I think it would : I have a reasonable good leg. Brai. You have an excellent good leg, master Stephen ; but I cannot stay to praise it longer now, and I am very sorry for it. lExit. Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm. Gramercy for this. JE. Know. Ha, ha, ha; Step. 'Slid, I hope he laughs not at me; an he do— JE. Know. Here was a letter indeed, to be inter- cepted by a man's father, and do him good with him ! He cannot but think most virtuously, both of me. and the sender, sure, that make the careful costermonger of him in our familiar epistles. Well, if he read this with patience I'll be gelt, and troll ballads for Master John Trundle yonder, the rest of my mortality. It is true, and hkely, my father may have as much patience as another man, for he takes much physic ; and oft taking physic makes a man very patient. But would your packet. Master Wellbred, had arrived at him in such a minute of his patience ! then we had known the end of it, which now is doubtful, and threatens (sees Master Stephen. ] What, my wise cousin ! nay, then I'll furnish our feast with one gull more to- ward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: oh, for a fourth. Fortune, if ever thou'lt use thine eyes, I entreat thee Step. Oh, now I see who he laughed at : he laughed at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an he had laughed at me B. Know. How now, cousin Stephen, melan- choly ? Step. Yes, a little : I thought you had laughed at me, cousin. B. Know. Why, what an I had, coz ? what would you have done .' Step. By this light, I would have told mine uncle. E. Know. Nay, if you would have told your uncle, I did laugh at jou, coz. Step. Did you, indeed ? £. Know. Yes, indeed. Step. Why then B. Know. What then? Step. 1 am satisfied ; it is sufficient. B. Know. Why, be so, gentle coz : and, I pray you, let me entreat a courtesy of "ou. I am sent for this morning by a friend in tue Old Jewry, to come to him; it is but crossing over the fields to Moorgate : WiU you bear me company? I pro- test it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, coz. Step. Sir, that's all one an it were ; yon shall command me twice so far as Moorgate, to do you good in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you ? I protest — E. Know. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Step. By my faciangs, but I will, by your leave : — I'll protest more to my friend, than I'll speak of.at this time. E. Know. You speak very well, coz. Step. Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me : but I speak to serve my turn. B. Know. Your turn, coz ! do you know what you say ? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk of your turn in this com- pany, and to me alone, hke a tankard-bearer at a conduit ! fie ! A wight that, hitherto, his every step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, as every word the savour of a strong spirit, and he ! this man ! so graced, gilded, or, to use a more fit metaphor, so tin-foiled by nature, as not ten housewives' pewter, again a good time, shows more bright to the world than he ! and he ! (as I said last, so I say again, and still shall say it) this man ! to conceal such real ornaments as these', and shadow their glory, as a milliner's wife does her wrought stomacher, with a smoaky lawn, or a black Cyprus ! O, coz ! it cannot be answered ; go not about it: Drake's old ship at Deptford may sooner circle the world again. Come, wrong not the quality of your desert, with looking down- ward, coz J but hold up your head, so : and let the idea of what you are be portrayed in your face, that men may read in your physnomy, here with'in this place is to be seen the true, rare, and accomplished monster, or miracle of nature, which is all one. What think you of this, coz? Step. Why, I do think of it-: and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentlemanlike, than I have been, I'll insure you. B. Know. Why, that's resolute, master Stephen! — Now, if I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will do well for a suburb humour : we may hap have a match with the city, and play him for forty pound. — Come, coz. Step. I'll follow you. E. Know. Follow me ! you must go before. Step. Nay, an I must, I will. Pray you shew me, good cousin. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— rAc Lane before Cob's House. Enter Master Mathew. Mat. I think this be the house : what, ho I Enter Cob. Cob. Who's there ? O, master Mathew ! give your worship good morrow. Mat. What, Cob ! how dost thou, good Cob ? dost thon inhabit here, Cob ? SCENE IV. EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. Cob. Ay, sir, I and my lineage have kept a poor house here, in our days. Mat. Thy lineage, monsieur Cob 1 what lineage, what lineage ? Cob. Why, si"- an ancient lineage, and a princely. Mine ance'try caisie from a king's belly, no worse man; and yet no man neither, by your worship's leave, I did lie in that, but herring, the king of fish (from his belly I proceed), one of the mouarchs of the world, I assure you. The first red herring that was broiled in Adam and Eve's kitchen, do I fetch my pedigree from, by the harrot's book. His cob was my great, great, mighty great grandfather. Mat. 'Why mighty, why mighty, I pray thee? Cob. O, it was a mighty while ago, sir, and a mighty great cob. Mat. How know'st thou that ? Cob. How know 1 1 why, I smell his ghost ever and anon. Mat. Smell a ghost 1 O unsavoury jest ! and the ghost of a herring cob ? Cob. Ay, sir : With favour of your worship's nose, master Mathew, why not the ghost of a herring cob, as well as the ghost of Rasher Bacon ? Mat. Roger Bacon, thou would'st say. Cob. I say Rasher Bacon. They were both broiled on the coals ; and a man may smell broiled meat, I hope ! you are a scholar, upsolve me that now. Mat. O raw ignorance ! — Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one captain Bobadill, where his lodging is ? Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mean. Mat. Thy guest ! alas, ha, ha, ha ! Cob. Why do you laugh, sir ? do you not mean captain Bobadill ? Mat. Cob, pray thee advise thyself well : do not wrong the gentleman, and thyself too. I dare be sworn, he scorns thy house ; he ! he lodge in such a base obscure place as thy house ! Tut, I know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed if thou'dst give it him. Cob. I will not give it him though, sir. Mass, I thought somewhat was in it, we could not get him to bed all night : Well, sir ; though he lie not on my bed, he lies on my bench : an't please you to go up, sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak wrapt about him, as though he had neither won nor lost, and yet, I warrant, he ne'er cast better in his life, than he has done to-night. Mat. Why, was he drunk ? Cob. Drunk, sir ! you hear not me say so : per- haps he swallowed a tavern-token, or some such device, sir, I have nothing to do withal. I deal with water and not with wine— Give me my tankard there, ho !— God be wi' you, sir. It's sk o'clock : I should have carried two turns by this. What ho ! my stopple ; come. Enter Tib with a water-tankard. Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house ! a gentle- man of his havings ! Well, I'll tell him my mind. Cob. What, Tib; shew this gentleman up to the captain. [Exit Tib with Master Mathew. ] Oh, an my house were the Brazen-head now ! faith it would e'en speak Moe fools yet. You should have some now would take this Master Mathew to be a gentleman, at the least. His father's an honest man, a worshipful fishmonger, and so forth ; and now does he creep and wriggle into acquaint- ance with all the brave gallants about the town, such as my guest is, (O, my guest is a fine man !) and they flout him invincibly. He useth every day to a merchant's house where I serve water, one master Kitely's, in the Old Jewry ; and here's the jest, he is in love with my master's sister, Mrs. Bridget, and calls her mistress; and there lie will sit you a whole afternoon sometimes, reading of these same abominable, vile (a pox on 'em I I can- not abide them,) rascally verses, poetrie, poetrie, and speaking of interludes ; 'twill make a man burst to hear him. And the wenches, they do so jeer, and ti-he at him — Well, should they do so much to me, I'd forswear them all, by the foot of Pharaoh ! 'There's an oath ! How many water- bearers shall you hear swear such an oath ? O, I have a guest — ^he teaches me — he does swear the legiblest of any man christened : By St. George ! the foot of Fharaoh ! the body of me ! as I am a gentleman and a soldier ! such dainty oaths ! and withal he does take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest ! it would do a man good to see the fume come forth at's tonnels. — Well, he owes me forty shillings, my wife lent him out of her purse, by sixpence at a time, besides his lodg- ing: I would I had it! I shall have it, he says, the next action. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat, up-tails all, and a louse for the hangman ' IBxit. SCENE IV.— .4 Room in Cob's House. Bobadill discovered lying on a iencTi. Bob. Hostess, hostess ! Enter Tib. Tib. What say you, sir ? Bob. A cup of thy small beer, sweet hostess. Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you. Bob. A gentleman I 'odso, I am not within. Tib. My husband told him you were, sir. Bob. What a plague — what meant he ? Mat. (below.) Captain Bobadill ! Bob. Who's there ? — Take away the bason, good hostess ; — Come up, sir. Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. Yoxi come into a cleanly house, here 1 Enter Mathew. Mat. Save you, sir; save you, captain ! Bob. Gentle master Mathew! Is it you, sir? please you to sit down. Mat. Thank you, good captain ; you may see I am somewhat audacious. Bob. Not so, sir. I was requested to supper last night by a sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drunk to, I assure you. Mat. Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain ? Bob. Marry, by young Wellbred, and others. — Why, hostess, a stool here for this gentleman. Mat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well. Bob. Body o' me 1 it was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my eyes yet ; I was but new risen, as you came : how passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell. Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven : Now, trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat and private. Bob. Ay, sir : sit down, I pray you. Master EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. ACT 1 Mathew, in any case possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. Mai. Who, I, sir ? no. Soh. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient ; but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited, as some are. Mai. True, captain, I conceive you. Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me, except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily en- gaged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend thus far. Mai. O Lord, sir! I resolve so. Bob. I confess I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult and roar of fortune. What new book have you there ? What ! Go by, Hiero- nymo? Mat. Ay : did you ever see it acted ? Is't not well penned ? Bob. Well penned ! I would fain see all the poets of these times pen such another play as that was : they'll prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art and devices, when, as I am a gentleman, read 'em, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live upon the face of the earth again. [^While Masteh Mathew read j, Boeadill makes himself ready. Mat. Indeed here are a number of fine speeches in this book. O &y°s, noeyeSy but fountains fraught with tears ! there's a conceit 1 fountains fraught with tears ! O life, no life, but lively form of death! another. O world, no world, but mass of public wrongs I a third. Confused andfill'd with murder and misdeeds ! a fourth. O, the muses ! Is't not excellent ? Is't not simply the best that ever you heard, captain ? Ha ! how do you like it ? Bob. 'Tis good. Mat. To thee, ike purest object to my sense, The most refined essence heaven covers, Send I these lines, wherein I do commence The happy state of turtle-billing lovers. If they prove rough, unpolish'd, harsh, and rude, Haste made the waste : thus mildly I conclude. Bob. Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this ? Mat. This, sir ! a toy of mine own, in my non- age ; the infancy of my muses. But when will you come and see my study .' good faith, I can shew you some very good things I have done of late — That boot becomes your leg passing well, captain, methinks. Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now use. Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak of the fashion, master Wellbred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly : This other day, I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most peremptory beautiful aud gentlemanlike : yet he condemned, and cried it down for the most ■ pied and ridiculous that ever he saw. Bob. Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't not? Mat. Ay, sir, he. Sob. Hang him, rook ! he ! why he has no more judgment than a malt-horse : By St. George, I wonder you'd lose a thought upon such an ani- mal ; the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as 1 am a gentleman and a soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay : he was bom for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle. He has not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron, and rusty proverbs : a good commodity for some smith to make hob -nails of. Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still, where he comes : he brags he will give me the bastinado, as I hear. Bob. How ! he the bastinado ! how came he by that word, trow ? Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me ; I termed it so, for my more grace. Bob. That may be ; for I was sure it was none of his word : but when, when said he so ? Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say ; a young gal- lant, a friend of mine, told me so. Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an 'twere my case now, I should send him a chartel presently. The bastinado ! a most proper and sufficient depend- ence, warranted by the great Caranza. Come hither, you shall chartel him ; I'll show you a trick or two you shall kill him with at pleasure ■ the first stoccata, if you will, by this air. Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in. the mystery, I have heard, sir. Bob. Of whom, of whom, have you heard it, I beseech you ? 3Iat. Troth, I have heard'it spoken of divers, that you have very rare, and un-in-one-breath- utterable skill, sir. Bob. By heaven, no, not I ; no skill in the earth ; some small rndiments in the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have professed it more for noljlemen and gentlemen's use, than- mine own practice, I assure you. — Hostess, accom- modate us with another bed-staif here quickly. Lend us another bed-staff — the woman does not understand the words of action. — Look you, sir : exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and let your poniard maintain your defence, thus : — give it the gentleman, and leave us. lExit Tib.] So, sir. Come on : O, twine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet, comelyi gentleman-Uke guard ; so ! indifferent : hollow your body more, sir, thus : now, stand fast o' your left leg, note your distance, keep your due proportion of time — oh, you disorder your point most irregu- larly. Mat. How is the bearing of it now, sir .' Bob. O, out of measure ill : a well-experienceif ■ hand would pass upon you at pleasure. Mat. How mean you, sir, pass upon me ? Bob. Why, thus, sir, — make a thrust at me — ■ ['Master Mathew pushes at Bobadill.] come in upon the answer, control your point, and make a full career at the body : The best-practised gallants of the time name it the passado ; a most desperate thrust, believe it. Mat. Well, come, sir. Bob. Why, you do not manage your weapon with any facility or grace to invice me. I have no spirit to play with you ; your dearth of judgment renders you tedious. Mat. But one venue, sir. Bob. Venue ! fie ; most gross denomination as ever I heard : O, the stoccata, while you live, sir ; note that. — Come, put on your cloke, and we'll go to some private place where you are acquainted ; some tavern, or so — and have a bit. I'll send for one of these fencers, and he shall breathe you, by EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. my direction ; and then I will teach you your trick ; you shall kill him with it at the first, if you please. Why, I will learn you, by the true judgment of the eye, hand, and foot, to control any enemy's point in the world. Should your adrersary confront you with a pistol, 'twere nothing, by this hand! you should, by the same i-ule, control his bullet, in a line, except it were hail-shot, and spread. What money have you about you, master Mathew ? Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shilling or so. Bob. 'Tis somewhat with the least ; but come ; we will have a bunch of radish and salt to taste our wine, and a pipe of tobacco to close the ori- fice of the stomach : and then we'll call upon young Wellbred : perhaps we shall meet the Corydon hia brother there, and put him to the c|uestion. ACT 11. SCENS I.— Tie Old Jewry. A Hall in Kitelt's House. Enter Kitslv, Cash, and Downiuoht. Kit. Thomas, come hither. There lies a note within upon my desk ; Here take my key : it is no matter, neither. — Where is the boy ? Cash. Within, sir, in the warehouse. Kit. Let him tell over straight that Spanish gold. And weigh it, with the pieces of eight. Do you See the delivery of those silver stuffs To Master Lucar : tell him, if he will. He shall have the grograns, at the rate I told him, And I will meet him on the Exchange anon. Cash. Good, sir. [Exit. Kit. Do you see that fellow, 'brother Down- right? Dow. Ay, what of him ? Kit. He is a jewel, brother. I took him of a chil^up at my door. And christen'd him, gave him mine own name, Thomas ; Since bred him at the Hospital ; where proving A toward imp, I call'd him home, and taught lum So much, as I have made him my cashier, And giv'n him, who had none, a surname, Cash : And find him in his place so full of faith, That I durst trust my life into his hands. Dow. So would not I in any bastard's, brother. As it is like he is, although I knew Myself his father. But you said you had some- what To tell me, gentle brother ; what is't, what is't ? . Kit. Faith, I am very loath to utter it, As fearing it may hurt your patience : But that I know your judgment is of strength. Against the ne&mess of affection Dow. What need this circumstance ? pray you, be direct. Kit. I will not say how much I do ascribe Unto your friendship, nor in what regard I hold your love ; but let my past behaviour. And usage of your sister, [both] confirm How well I have been affected to your Dow. You are too tedious ; come to the matter, the matter. Kit. Then, without further ceremony, thus. My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how, Of late is much declined in what he was, And greatly alter'd in his disposition! When he came first to lodge here in my house, Ne'er trust me if I were not proud of Him : Methought he bare himself in such a fashion. So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage. And what was chief , it show'd not borrow'd in him, But all he did became him as his own. And seem'd as perfect, proper, and possest, As breath with life, or colour with the blood. But now, his course is so irregular. So loose, affected,' and deprived of grace, And he himself withal so far fallen off From that first place, as scarce no note remains, To tell men's judgments where he lately stood. He's grown a stranger to all due respect. Forgetful of his friends ; and not content To stale himself in all societies. He makes my house here common as a mart, A theatre, a public receptacle For giddy humour, and diseasied riot j And here, as in a tavern or a stews. He and his wild associates spend their hours, In repetition of lascivious jests. Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by'night, Control my servants ; and, indeed, what not ? Dow. 'Sdeins, I know not what I should say to him, in the whole world ! He values me at a crack'd three-farthings, for aught I see. .It will never out of the flesh that's bred in the bone. I have told hinii enough, one would think, if that would serve; but counsel to him is as good as a shoulder of mut- ton to a sick horse. Well 1 he knows what to trust to, for George : let him spend, and spend, and domineer, till his heart ake ; an he think to be relieve'd by me, when he is got into one o' your city pounds, the counters,, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i' faith ; and cllaps his dish at the wrong man's door : I'll lay my hand on ray half^Jenny, ere I part with it to fetch him out, I'll assure him. Kit. Nay, good brother, let it r.ot trouble you thus. Dow. 'Sdeath! he mads me; I could eat my very spur-leathers for anger ! But, why are you so tame ? why do not you speak to him, and tell- him how he disquiets your house'.' Kit. O, there are divers reasons to dissuade me. But, would yourself vouchsafe to travailin it, (Though but with plain and easy circumstance,) It would both come much better to his sense, And savour less of stomach, or of passion. You are his elder brother, and that title Both gives and warrants your authority. Which, by your presence seconded, must breed A kind of duty in him, and regard : Whereas, if I should intimate the Jeast, It would but add contempt to bis neglect. Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred. That in the rearing would come tottering down, And in the ruin bury all our love. Nay, more than this, brother ; if I shoiild speak. He" would be ready, from his heat of humour. And overflowing of the vapour in him. To blow the ears of his familiars,- 8 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. ^ith the false breath of telling what disgraces, And low disparagements, I had put upon him. Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable. Make their loose comments upon every word, Gesture, or look, I use ; mock me all over. From my flat cap unto my shining shoes ; And, out of their impetuous rioting phant'sies. Beget some .slander that shall dwell with me. And what would that be, think you ? marry, this : They would give out, because iny wife is fair. Myself but lately married, and my sister Here sojourning a virgin in my house. That I were jealous ! — nay, as sure as death, That they would say : and, how that I had quar- My brother purposely, thereby to find [rell'd An apt pretext to banish them my house. Dow. Mass, perhaps so ; they're like enough to do it. Kit. Brother, they would, believe-it; so should I, Like one of these penurious quack-salvers. But set the bills up to mine own disgrace, And try experiments upon myself; Lend scorn and envy opportunity To stab my reputation and good name Enter Master Mathew struggling with Bobasill. Mat. I will speak to him. Bob. Speak to him ! away ! By the foot of Pharaoh, you shall not ! you shall not do him that grace. — The time of day to yon, gentleman o' the house. Is master Wellbred stirring ? Dow. How then ? what should he do .' Bob. Gentleman of the house, it is to you : is he within, sir ? Kit. He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, I assure you. Dow. Why, do you hear ? you ! Bob. The gentleman citizen hath satisfied me ; 1*11 talk to no scavenger. [Exeunt Bob and Mat. Dow. How ! scavenger ! stay, sir, stay ! Kit. Nay, brother Downright. Dow. 'Heart 1 stand you away, an you love me. Kit. You shall not follow him now, I pray you' brother, goodfaith you shall not; I'will overrule you. Dow. Ha 1 scavenger ! well, go to, I say little : but, by this good day (God forgive me I should swear), if I put it up so, say I am the rankest cow that ever pist. 'Sdeins, an I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again while I live ; I'll sit in a bam with madge- howlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger ! heart I ' — and I'll go near to fill that huge tumbrel-slop of yours with somewhat, an I have good luck : yonf Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so. Kit. Oh, do not fret yourself thus ; never think on't. Dow. These are my brother's consorts, these ! these are his camerades, his walking mates ! he's a gallant, a cavaliero too, right hangman cut ! Let me not live, an I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole gang of 'em, one after an- other, and begin with him first. I am grieved it should be said h« is my brother, and take these courses : Wellj as he brews, so shall he drink, for George, again. Yet he shall hear on't, and that tightly too, an I live, i' faith. Kit. But, brother, let your reprehension, then. Run in an easy current, not o'er high Carried with rashness, or devouring choler ; But rather use the soft persuading way, Whose powers will work more gently, and compose The imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim ; More winning, than enforcing the consent. Dow. Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you. Kit. How now! [Bell rings."] Oh, the bell rings to breakfast. Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife company till I come ; I'll but give order for some despatch of business to my servants. iExit Downright. Ent^r Cob, with, his tankard. Kit. What, Cob ! our maids will have you by the back, i' faith, for coming so late this morning. Cob. Perhaps so, sir ; take heed somebody have not them by the belly, for walking' so late in the evening. [Exit. Kit. Well ; yet my troubled spirit 's somewhat Though not reposed in that security As I could wish : but I must be content, Howe'er I set a face on't to the world. Would I had lost this finger at a venture. So Wellbred had ne'er lodged within my honse. Why't cannot be, where there is such resort Of wanton gallants, and young revellers. That any woman should be honest long. Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve The public weal of chastity unshaken, When such strong motives muster, and make head Against her single peace .' No, no : beware. When mutual appetite doth meet to treat. And spirits of one kind and quality Come once to parley in the pride of blood. It is no slow conspiracy that follows. Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time Had answer'd their affections, all the world Should not persuade me but I were a cuckold. Marry, I hope they have not got that start ; For opportunity hath balk'd them yet, And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears To attend the impositions of my heart. My presence shall be as an iron bar, 'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire : Yea, every look or glance mine eye ejects. Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave, When he forgets the limits of prescription. Enter Dame Kitely and Bridget. Dame K. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rose-water above in the closet. [Exit Bridget.] — Sweet-heart, will you come in to breakfast ? Kit. An she have overheard me now ! — Da,me K. I pray thee, good muss; we stayfor you. Kit. By heaven, I would not for a thousand angels. Dame K. What ail you, sweet-heart ? are you not well ? speak, good muss. Kit. Troth my head akes extremely on a sudden. Dame K. Iputting her hand to his forehead.] 0, the I,ord ! Kit. How now ! What ? Dame K. Alas, how it bums I Muss, keep you warm ; good truth it is this new disease, there's a number are troubled withal. For love's sake, sweet^heart, come in, out of the air. [swers ! Kit. How simple, and how subtle are her an- A new disease, and many troubled with it .' Why true ; she heard me, aU the world to nothing. Dame K. I pray thee, good sweet-heart, come in ; the air will do you harm, in troth. Kit. The air ! she has me in the 'wind. — Sweet- SCENE II. EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. heart, I'll come to you presently ; 'twill away, I hope. - Dame K. Pray Heaven it do. iExit. Kit. A new disease ! I know not, new or old, But it may well be oall'd poor mortals plague ; For, like a pestilence, it doth infect The houses of the brain. First it begins Solely to work upon the phantasy, Filling her seat with such pestiferous air, As soon corrupts the judgment ; and from thence. Sends like contagion to the memory : Still each to other giving the infection. Which as a subtle vapour spreads itself Confusedly through every sensive part. Till not a thought or motion in the mind Be free from the black poison of suspect. Ah ! but what misery is it to know Oiis ? Or, knowing it, to want the mind's erection In such extremes ? Well, I will once more strive, In spite of this black cloud, myself to be, And shake the fever off that thus shakes me. [Exit. SCENE II.— MoORyiELDS. EnUr Br&inworai disguised like a maimed Soldier. Brain. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator ; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace : and yet the lie, to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit as the fico. 0,'sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us : so much for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my young master, dry-foot, over Moorfields to London, this morning ; now, I know- ing of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we that are blue waiters, and men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motley, you know), have got me afore in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscade, and intercept him in the mid-way. If I can but get his oloke, his purse, his hat, nay, any thing to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with captain Csesar, I am made for ever, i' faith. Well, now must I pra.?tise to get the true garb of one of these lance-knights, my arm here, and my Odso ! my young master, and his cousin, master Stephen, as I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier I Enter E. Knowell and Stbphew. ^. Know. So, sir ! and how then, coz ? Step. 'Sfoot ! I have lost my purse, I think. £. Know. How ! lost your pm-se ? where ? when had you it ? Step. I cannot tell ; stay. Brat. 'Slid, I am afeard they will know me : would I could get by them ! E. Know. What, have you it ? Step. No ; I thinJc I was bewitched, I ICries. E. Know. Nay, do not weep the loss ; hang it, let it go. Step. Oh, it's here : No, an it Bad been lost, I had not caired, but for a jet ring mistress Mary sent me. ^. Know. A jet ring ! O the poesie, the poesie ? Step. Fine, i' faith — Though Fancy sleep. My love is deep. Meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly. E. Know. Most excellent ! Step, And then I sent her another, and my poesie was. The deeper the sweeter, ru he judg'd hy St Peter. E. Know. How, by St. Peter ? I do not con- ceive that. Step. Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre. E. Know. Well, there the saint was your good patron, he help'd you at your need; thank him, thank him. Brai. I cannot take leave on 'em so ; I will venture, come what will. [Comes forward.2 Gen- tlemen, please you change a few crowns for a very excellent good blade here ? I am a poor gentle- man, a soldier ; one that, in the better state of my fortunes, scorned so mean a refuge ; but now it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence, than live with shame : however, vouchsafe to remember it is my want speaks, not myself ; this condition agrees not with my spirit E. Know. Where hast thou served ? Brai. May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia, Hungary, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir ? I have been a poor servitor by sea and land any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna ; I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, a gentleman-slave in the gallies, thrice ; where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs ; and yet, being thus maimed, I am void of'-'maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution. Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend ? . Brai. Generous sir, I refer it to your own judg- ment; you are a gentleman, give me what you please. Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend ; but what though ! 1 pray you say, what would you ask ? Brai. I assure you, the blade may become the side or thigh of the best prince in Europe. E. Know. Ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think. Step. Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat ; I'd not wear it as it is, an you would give me an angel. Brai. At your worship's pleasure, sir : nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo. Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard. But tell me, what shall I give you for it? An it had a silver hilt — E. Know. Come, come, you shall not buy it : hold, there's a shilling, fellow ; take thy rapier. Step. Why, but I will bay it now, because you say so ; and thereis another shilling, fellow ; I scorn to be out-bidden. What, sh^l I walk with a cudgel, like HigginbottOm, and may have a rapier for money ! E. Know. You may buy one in the city. 10 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. ' Step. Tut ! I'U buy this i' the field, so I will ; I have a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price. J?. Know. You shall not buy it, I say. Slop. By this money, but 1 will, though I give more than 'tis worth. E. Know. Come away, you are a fool. Slep. Friend, I am ■» fool, that's granted ; but I'll have it, for that word's sake. Follow me for your money. Brai. At your service, sir. lExeunt. SCENE III. — Another Part o/Moorfields. Enter Kkowell. Know. I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter, Sent to my son ; nor leave t' admire the change Of manners, and the breeding of our youth Within the kingdom, since myself was one. — When I was young, he lived not in the stews Durst have conceived a scorn, and utter'd it. On a gray head ; age was authority Against a buffoon, and a man had then A certain reverence paid unto his years, That had none due unto his life : so much The sanctity of some prevail'd for others. But now we all are fallen ; youth, from their fear. And age, from that which bred it, good example. Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even parents. That did destroy the hopes in our own children ; Or they not leam'd our vices in their cradles, And suck'd in our ill customs with their milk ; Ere all their teeth be bom, or they can speak. We make their palates cunning ; the first words We form their tongues with, are licentious jests : Can it call whore ? cry bastard .' O, then, kiss it ! A witty child I can't swear ? the father's darling ! Give it two plums. Nay, rather than't shall learn No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it! — But this is in ths infancy, the days Of the long coat ; when it puts on the breeches. It will put off all this : Ay, it is like. When it is gone into the bone already ! No, no ; this dye goes deeper than the coat. Or shirt, or skin ; it stains into the liver. And heart, in some : and, rather than it should not, Note what we fathers do ! look how we live ! What mistresses we keep ! at what expense. In our sons' eyes ! where they may handle our gifts. Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance. Taste of the same provoking meats with us, To ruin of our states ! Nay, when our own Portion is fled, to prey on their remainder, We call them into fellowship of vice ; Bait 'em with the young chamber-maid, to seal. And teach 'em all bad ways to buy affliction. This is one path : but there are millions more. In which we spoil our own, with leading them. Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he That travell'd with my son, before sixteen, To shew him the Venetian courtezans ; Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made. To my sharp boy, at twelve ; repeating still The rule, Get money ; still, get money, boy ; No matter by what mean.'! ; money will do More, bny, than my lord's letter. Neither have I Drest snails or mushrooms curiously before tim. Perfumed my sauceSj and taught hira to make them ; Preceding still, with my gray gluttony, At all the ord'naries, and only fear'd His palate should degenerate, not his manners. These are the trade of fathers now ; however. My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold None of these household precedents, which ar« strong, And swift, to rape youth to their precipice. But let the house at home be ne'er so clean Swept, or kept sweet from filth, nay dust and cobwebs. If he will live abroad with his companions, In dung and leystals, it is worth a fear ; Nor is the danger of conversing less Than all that I have mention'd of example. Enter Bbatnwokm, disguised as be/ore. Brai. My master! nay, faith, have at you; I am flesh'd now, I have sped so well, [aside.l Wor- shipful sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor soldier ; I am ashamed of this base course of life, — God's my comfort — but extremity provokes me to't: what remedy.' Kno. I have not for you, now. Brai. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been ; a man I may be, by your sweet bounty. Kno. Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied. Brai. Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer, a matter of small value ; the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful : Sweet worship. Kno. Nay, an you be so importunate-^ — Brai. Oh, tender sir ! need will have its course : I was not made to this vile use. Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me so much : it's hard when a man hath served in his prince's cause, and be thus [weeps']. Honourable woi'ship, let rae derive a sinall piece of silver from you, it shall not be grven in the course of time. By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper ; I had suck'd the hilts long before, 1 am a pagan else : Sweet honour Kno. Believe me, I am taken with some wonder, To think a fellow of thy outward presence. Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind. Be so degenerate, and sordid-base. Art thou a man ? and' sham'st thou not to beg. To practise such a servile kind of life ? Why, were thy education ne'er so mean, Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses Offer themselves to thy election. Either the wars might still supply thy wants. Or service of some virtuous gentleman. Or honest labour ; nay, what can I name. But would become thee better than to beg : But men of thy condition feed on sloth. As doth the beetle on the dung she breeds in ; Not caring how the metal of your minds Is eaten with the rust of idleness. Now, afore me, whate'er he be, that should Relieve a person of thy quality, While thou insist'st in this loose desperate course, 1 would esteem the sin not thine, but his. Brai. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so-: — Kno. Ay, You'd gladly find it, hut you will not seek it EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. n Brat. Alas, sir, where should a man seek ? in the wars, there's no ascent by desert in these days ; hnt and for service, would it were as soon purchased, as wished for ! the air's my comfort. — [Sighs.']—! know what I would say. JSTno. What's thy name ? Brai. Please you, Ktz-Sword, sir. Kno. Ktz-Sword! Say that a man should entertain thee now, Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true ? Brai. Sir, by the place and honour of a sol- dier Kno. Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths ; Speak plainly, man, what think' st thou of my words? Brat. Nothing, sir, hut wish my fortunes were as happy as my service should be honest. Kno. Well, follow me; I'll prove thee, if thy deeds Will carry a proportion to thy words. lExit. Brai. Yes, sir, straight ; I'll but garter my hose. Oh that my belly were hoop'd now, for I am ready to burst with laughing ! never was bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus ! now shall I be possest of all his counsels ; and, by that conduit, my young mas- ter. Well, he is resolved to prove my honesty ; faith, and I'm resolved to prove his patience : Oh, I shall abuse him intolerably. This small piece of service will bring him clean out of love with the soldier for ever. He will never come within the sign of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world think me a had counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip at an instant : why, this is better than to have staid his journey : well, I'll follow him. Oh, how I long to be employed ! IJSxit. ACT III. SCENE I.~The Old Jewry. A Boom in the Windmill Tavern. Enter Mastjbr Matbgw, Wellbked, and Bobadilz.. Mat. Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek you too. Wei. Oh, I came not there to-night. Bob. Your brother delivered us as much. Wei. Who, my brother Downright? Bob. He. Mr. Wellbred, I know not in what kind you hold me ; but let me say to you this : . as sure as honour^ I esteem it so much out of the sun- shine of reputation, to throw the least beam of regard upon such a Wei. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother. Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be saved about me, I never saw any gentleman-like part Wei. Good captain, faces about to some other discourse. Bob. With -your leave, sir, an there were no more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George ! Mai. Troth, nor I ; he is of a rustical cut, I know not how : he doth not carry himself like a gentleman of fashion. Wei. Oh, master Mathew, that's a grace pecu- liar but to a few, guos tsquas amavit Jupiter. Mat. I understand you, sir. Wei. No question, you do, — or you do not, sir. Enter E. Khowsll and Master Stefbeh. Ned Knowell ! by my soul, welcome : how dost thou, sweet spirit, my genius ? 'Slid, I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the better, while I live, for this, my dear Fury; now, I see there's some love in thee. Sirrah, these be the two I writ to thee of : nay, what a drowsy humour is this now ! why dost thou not speak ? E. Know. Oh, you are a fine gallant ; you sent me a rare letter. Wei. Why, was't not rare ? E. Know. Yes, I'll be sworn, I was ne'er guilty of reading the like ; match it in Sill Plihy, or Sym- machus's epistles, and I'll have my judgment bum'd in the ear for a rogue : make much of thy vein, for it is inimitable. But I marie what camel it was, that had the carriage of it ; for, doubtless, he was no ordinary beast that brought it. Wei. Why? JE. KnozB. Why, say'st thou! why, dost thou think that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning, the sober time of the day too, could have mistaken my father for me ? Wei. 'Slid, you jest, I hope. E. Know. Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, is to make a jest on't, now ; but I'll assure you, my father had the full view of your flourishing style some hour before 1 saw it. Wei. What a dull slave was this ! but, sirrah, what said he to it, i'faith ? E. Know. Nay, I know not what he said ; but I have a shrewd guess what he thought. Wei. What, what ? E. Know. Marry, that thou art some strange, dissolute young fellow, and I — a grain or two bet- ter, for. keeping thee company. Wei. Tut ! that thought is like the moon in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly : but, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang-by's here ; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in them, if thouhear'st'em once go ; my wind-instruments; I'll wind them up But what strange piece of silence is this, the sign of the Dumb Man .' E. Know, Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music the fuller, an he please ; he has his humour, sir. Wei. Oh, what is't, what is't ? E. Know. Nay, I'll neither do your judgment nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare your appre- hension : I'll leave him to the mercy of your search ; if you can take him, so! Wei. Well, captain Bobadill, master Mathew, pray you know this gentleman here ; he is auriend of mine, and one that will deserve your affection. I know not your name, sir, [to Stephen,] put I shall be glad of any occasion to render me qore familiar to you. Step. My name is master Stephen, sir; I am this gentleman's own cousin, sir ; his father is mir uncle, sir ; I am somewhat melancholy, but you shal 12 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman. Sob. Sir, I mnst tell you this, I am no general man ; bnt for master Wellbred's sake, (you may embrace it at what height of favour you please,) I do communicate with you, and conceive you to be a gentleman of some parts ; I love few words. JE. Know. And I fewer, sir ; I have scarce enough to thank you. Mat. But are you, indeed, sir, so given to it ? Step. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy. Mat. Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir ; your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir, and then do I no more bat take pen and paper, presently, and overflow you half a score, or a dozen of son- nets at a sitting. S. Know. Sure he utters them then by th'e gross. . lAside. Step. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure. -E. Know. I'faith, better than in measure, I'll undertake. Mat. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study, it's at your service. Step. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold . I warrant you ; have you a stool there to be melancholy upon .' Mat. That I have, sir, and some papers there of mine own doing, at idle hours, that you'll say there's some sparks of wit in 'em, when you see them. Wei. Would the sparks would kindle once, and become a fire amongst them 1 I might see self-love burnt for her heresy. [.Aside, Step, Cousin, is it well.' am I radancholy enough ? K. Know. Oh ay, excellent. Wei. Captain Bobadill, why muse you so ? E. Know. He is melancholy too. Bob. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable piece of service, was performed to- morrow, being St. Mark's day, shall be some ten years now. E. Know. In what place, captain ? Bob. Why, at the beleaguering of Strigonium, where, in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gentle- men, it was the first, but the best leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking in of — what do you call it .' last year, by the Geno- ways ; but that, of all other, was the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier ! Step. So 1 I had as lief as an angel I could swear as well as that gentleman. E. Know. Then, you were a servitor at both, it seems ; at Strigonium, and what do you call't .' Bob, O lord, sir ! By St. George, I was the first man that entered the breach ; and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain if I had had a million of lives. E. Know. 'Twas pity you had not ten ; a cat's . and your own, i'faith. But, was it possible? Mat. Pray you mark this discourse, sir. Step. So I do. Bob. I assure you, upon my reputation, 'tisi true, and yoilrself shall confess. E. Know. You must bring me to the rack, first. \.Aside. Boh. Observe me judicially, sweet sir ; they had planted me three demi-culverins just in the mouth of the breach ; now, sir, as we were to give on, their master-gunner (a man of no mean skill and mark, you must think), confronts me with his lin- stock, ready to give fire; I, spying his intendment, discharged iny petronel in his bosom, and with these single arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put 'em pell-mell to the sword. Wei. To the sword! To the rapier,, captain. E, Know. Oh, it was a good figure, observed, sir : but did you all this, captain, withoiit hurting your blade ? \ Bob. Without any impeach o' the earth : you shall perceive, sir. [Shews his rapier.'] It is the most fortunate weapon that ever rid on poor gentle- man's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so ; tut ! I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'em : I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it. Step. I marie whether it he a Toledo or no. Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir. Step. 1 have a countryman of his here. Mat, Pray you, let's see, sir; yes, faith, it is. Bob. This a Toledo ! Pish ! Step. Why do you pish, captain .' Bob. A Fleming, by heaven ! I'll buy them for a guilder a-piece, an I would have a thousand of them. E. Know. How say you, cousin .' I told you thus much. Wrl. Where bought you it, master Stephen ? Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier : a hundred of lice go with him ! He swore it was a Toledo. Bob, A poor provant rapier, no better. Mat, Mass, I think it he indeed, now I look ou't better. E. Know. Nay, the longer you look on't, the worse. Put it up, put it up. Step. Well, I will put if up ; but by — I have forgot the captain's oath, I thought to have sworn by it — an e'er I meet him S Wei, O, it is past help now, sir ; you must have patience. Step, Whoreson, coney-catching rascal I I could eat the very hilts for anger. E. Know. A sign of good digestion ; you have an ostrich stomach, cousin. Step, A stomach ! wonld I had him here, you should see an I had a stomach. VCel. It's better as it is. — Come, gentlemen, shall we go ? Enter EBArNWORar, disguised as bt^fore. E. Know. A miracle, cousin ; look here, look here ! Step. Oh — od's lid ! By your leave, do you know me, sir ? Brai. Ay, sir, I know you by sight. Step. You sold me a rapier, did you not ? Brai. Yes, marry did I, sir. Step, You said it was a Toledo, ha ? Brai. True, I did so. Step. But it is none. Brai, No, sir, I confess it ; it is none. Step. Do you. confess it ? Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confest it : — Od's will, an you had not confest it SCENE 11. EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 13 . E. Kndw. Oh, consin, forbear, forbear ! \Step. Nay, I have done, cousin. / Wei. Why, you have done like a gentleman ; he has confest it, what would you more ? )•' Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his f^wour, do you see. E. Know. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under ^ avour : a pretty piece of civility ! Sirrah, how diost thou like him ? .' Wei. Oh it's a most precious fool, make much og and Cat. Carlo Bupfonb. FAsrrDiDus Brisk,— Cinedu, his Page. Dbliro, Faixacb,— Fldo, their Sei'vant—Musicians. Satiouna. SoKDWOf—His Hind. FuNGOso. — Tailor t Haberdasher^ Slwcmaker- SOGLIARDO. Sntrr.—lttistics. Notary. Clove, Orange.—^ Groom.— X>rawers.~ConstaUe, Grbx.— Cordatus.— Mltis. THE CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS. Asper, He is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses. One whom no servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make to be a parasite, either to time, place, or opinion. Macilente, a man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travelled; who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his merit capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment is sodazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any opposite happiness in another. Puntarvolo, a vain-glorious knight, over-englishing his' travehi, and wholly consecrated to singularity ; the very Jacob's staff of compliment ; a sir that hath lived to see +b» ravojution of time in most of his apparel. Of presence good enougl7. hut so palpably affected to his own praise, that for w^nt of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage of his own-i^mily. He deals upon returns, and strange pe^fo^mances^re^olving, in despite of public de- rision , to stick to hia own particular fashion, phrase, and gesture. Carlo UuFFON£, A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into deformity. A good feast- hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out a sup- per some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, damn him ! ho came in oars, when he was b^ ' wafted over in a sculler. A slave that hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up mive sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His re- ligion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in his respect, whom he studies most to reproach . Fastiajgus Brisk, A neat, spioice, affecting courtier, one that wears clothes well, and in fashion; practit^eth by his glass how to salute ; speaks good renmants, not- withstanding the base viol and tobacco'; swears tersely, ( and with vaiiety ; cures not what lady's favoiu* ho belies, / or great man's familiarity : a good property to peifume the boot of a coach. He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own. Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his mer- chant, only with the gingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand. Deliro, a good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the common-council for his wealth ; a feUow sin- cerely besotted on his own wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply holds hunself unworthy of her. And, in that hood-wiuk'd humour, lives more like a suitor than a husband ; standing in as true dread of her displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice two-pence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her with vil- lanous-outof-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike. Fallace, Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly upon the courtier, as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face to be dishonest. Saviolina, a court-lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit, admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk. SoRDino, A wi'etched hob-nailed chuff, whose recreation is reading of almanacks ; and felicity, foul weather. Ono that never pray'd but for a lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest. FuNGoso, The son of Sordido, and a student ; one that has revelled in liis time, and follows the fashion afar off, Uko a spy. He makes it the whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient means from his wretched father, to put him in the couitiers' cut ; at which he earnestly aims; but so tmluckily, that he still lights short a suit. SooLrAROo, An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so enamoured of the name uf a gentleman, that he will have it, though he buys it. Ho comes up every term to leai-u to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is in hia 30 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. kingdom when he can get himself into company where he may be well laughed at. Shift, A thread-bare sharli; ; one that never was a soldier, yet lives npon lendings. His profession is skeldring and odling, his bank Paul's, and his warehouse Picthateh. Takes up single testons upon oaths, till doomsday. Palls under ezeeutions of three shillings, and enters into five- groat bonds. ■ He way-lays the reports of services, and cons them without book, damning himself he came new from them, when all the while he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay pawned in Ms chamber for rent and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy me- mory, that he will salute one for an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life before. He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he never did, only to get him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff, squiring a cockatrice, and making privy searches for importers. Clovs and Orangb, An inseparable case of coxcombs', city bom ; the Gemini, or twins of foppery ; that like a pair of wooden foils, are fit for nothing but to be prac- tised upon. Being well flattered they'll lend money, and repent when they have done. Then- glory is to invite players, and make suppers. And in company of bettejr rank, to avoid the suspect of insufQciency, will inforce their ignorance most desperately, to set upon the under-- standing of any thing. Orange is the most humorous of the two, (whose small portion of juice being squeezed out,) Clove serves to stick him with commendations. CoRSATOs, The author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the scope and drift of his plot ; of a discreet and understanding judgment ; and has the place of a mo- derator. MiTis, Is a person .of no action, and therefore we have reason to afford him no character. THE STAGE. After the second sounding. Enter Cobdattjs, Asper, and Mitts. Cor. Nay, my dear Asper. Mit. Stay your mind. Asp. Away ! Who is so patient of this impious world, That he can check his spirit, or rein his tongue "i Or who hath such a dead unfeeling sense, That heaven's horrid thunders cannot wake ? To see the earth crack' d with the weight of sin, Hell gaping under us, and o'er our heads Black, ravenous ruin, with her sail-stretch' d wings, Ready to sink us down, and cover us. Who can behold such prodigies as these. And have his lips seal'd up 9 Not I : my soul Was never ground into such oily colours. To flatter vice, and daub iniquity : But, with an armed and resolved hand, I'll strip the ragged follies of the time Naked as at their birth— Cor. Be not too bold. Asp. Vou trouble me — and with u whip of steel. Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs. I fear no mood starnp'd in a private brow. When 1 am pleased t'unmask a public vice. I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab,. Should I detect their hateful luxuries : No broker's, usurer's, or lawyer's gripe. Were I disposed to say, they are all corrupt. I fear no courtier's frown, should I applaud The easy flexure of his supple hams. ^ Tut, these are so innate and popular. That drunken custom would not shame to laugh. In scorn, at him, that should bwt dare to tax 'em, : And yet, not one of these, but knows his works. Knows what damnation is, the devil, and hell ; yet hourly they persist, grow rank in sin. Puffing their souls away in perjurous air. To cherish their extortion, pride, or lusts. Mit. Forbear, good Asper ; be not like your name. Asp. O, but to such whose faces are all zeal. And, with the words of Hercules, invade Such crimes as these I that will not smell of sin, Bui seem as they were made of sanctity I Religion in their garments, and their hair Cut shorter than their eye-brows ! when the con- science Is vaster than the ocean, and devours More wretches than the counters, Mit. Gentle Asper, Contain your spirits in more stricter bounds. And be not thus transported with the violence Of your strong thoughts. Cor. Unless your breath had power To melt the world, and mould it new again. It is in vain to spend it in these moods. Asp. [turning to the stage.] / not observed this thronged round till now ! Gracious and kind spectators, you are welcome ; Apollo and the Muses feast your eyes With graceful objects, and may our Mijierva Answer your hopes, unto their largest strain ! Yet here mistake me not, judicious friends ; I do not this, to beg your patience. Or servilely to fawn on your applause, Like some dry brain, despairing in his merit. Let me be censured by the austerest brow. Where I want art or judgment, tax me freely . Let envious censors, with their broadest eyes, Look through and through me, I pursue no favour ; Only vouchsafe me your attentions. And I will give you music worth your ears. O, how I hate the monstrousness of time, Where every servile imitating spirit, Plagued with an itching leprosy ofiiit. In a mere halting fury, strives io fling His ulcerous body in the The^ian spring. And straight leaps forth a poet ! but as lame As Vulcan, or the founder of Cripplegate. Mit. In faith this humour will come ill to some. You will be thought to be too peremptory. Asp. This humour ? good ! and why this humour, Mitis ? Nay, do not tu'iti, but answer. Mit. Ansj^er, what ? Asp. / will not stir your patience, pardon me, I urged it for some reasons, and the rather To give these ignorant well-spoken days Some laste of their abuse of this word humour. CbT. O, do not let your purpose fall, good Asper ; It cannot but arrive most acceptable, Chi^y to such as have the happiness EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 31 IXailj/ to see Itow the poor innocent word If raok'd and tortured. Mit. Ay, I pray you proceed. Asp. Ha, what ? what is't f (Cor. For the abuse of humour. Asp. O, I crave pardon, I had lost my thoughts, Hliy, humour, as 'tis ens, we thus define it. To be a quality of air, or water, Jind in itself holds these two properties, Jifoisture andfiuxure : as, for demonstration, .'Pour water on this floor, 'twill wet and run : ^Likewise the air, forced through a horn or i trumpet, ''Flows instantly away, and leaves behind A kind of dew ; and hence we do conclude. That whatsoe'er hathfiuxure and humidity. As wanting power to contain itself. Is humour. So in every human body. The choler, melancholy, phlegm, and blood. By reason that they flow continually In some one part, and aire not continent, / Receive the name of humours. Now thus far / It may, by metcphor^^^ply itself -' Unto the general disposition : As when some one peculiar-quality Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw All his affects, his spirits, and his powers. In their confluctions, all to run one way. This may be truly said to be a humour. But that a rook, by wearing a pyed feather. The cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff, A yard of shoe-tye, or the Switeer's knot On his French garters, should affect a humour ! O, it is more than most ridiculous. Cor. He speaks pure truth ; now if an idiot Have but an apish or fantastic strain. It is his humour. Asp. Well, I will scourge those apes. And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror. As large as is the stage whereon we act ; Where they shall see the time's deformity Anatomixed in every nerve, and sinew, Witit constant courage., and contempt of fear.. Mit. Asper, (I urge it as your friend,) take heed. The days are dangerous, full of exception. And men are grown impatient of reproof. Asp. Ha, ha I You might as well have told me, yond' is heaven. This earth, these men, and all had moved alike. — Do not I know the time's condition ? Yes, Mitis, and their souls ; and who they be Tfiat either will or can except against me. None but a sort of fools, so sick in taste. That they contemn all physic of the mind. And, like gall'd camels, kick at every touch. Good men, and virtuous spirits, that loath their vices. Will cherish my free labours, love my lines. And with the fervour of their shining grace Make my brain fruitful, to bring forth more objects, . Worthy their serious and intentive eyes. But why enforce I this 9 as fainting ? no. If any here chance to beheld himself. Let him not dare to challenge me of. wrong ; For, if he shame to have his follies known. First he should shame to act 'em : my strict hand Was made to seize on vice, and with a gripe Squeeze out the humour of such spongy souls. As lick up every idle vanity. Cor. Why, this is right furor poeticus I Kind gentlemen, we hope your patience Will yet conceive the best, or entertain This suppositioii,, that a madman speaks. Asp. frhat, are you ready there ? Mitis, sit down. And my Cordatus. Sound ho ! and begin. I leave you two, as censors, to sit here : Observe what I present, and liberally Speak your opiniotis upon every scene. As it shall pass the view of these spectators. Nay, now y'are tedious, sirs ; for shame begin. And, Mitis, note me ; if in all this front You can espy a gallant of this mark. Who, to be thought one of the judicious. Sits witji his arms thus wreath'd, his hat pulTd here, Cries mew, and nods, then shakes his empty head, Will shew more several motions in his face Than the new London, Some, or Niniveh, And, now and then, breaks a dry biscuit jest. Which, that it may more easily be chew'd. He steeps in his_ own laughter. Cor. Why, will that Make it be sooner swallow' d 9 Asp. 0, assure you. Or if it did not, yet, as Horace sings. Mean cates are welcome still to hungry guests. Cor. 'Tis true; but why should we observe them, Asper ? Asp. 0, I would know 'em / for in such They are more infectious than the pestilence : And therefore I would give them pills to purge. And make them fit for fair societies. How monstrous and detested is't to see A fellow, that has neither art nor brain. Sit like an Aristarchiis, or stark ass, Taking men's lines with a tobacco face. In snuff, still spitting, using his wry'd looks. In nature of a vice, to wrest and turn The good aspect of those that shall sit near him, From what they do behold ! O, 'tis most vile. Mit.' Nay, Asper. Asp. Peace, Mitis, I do know your thought ; You'll say, your guests here will except at this : Pish ! you are too timorous, and full of doubt. Then he, a patient, shall reject all physic, 'Cause the physician tells him, you are sick : Or, if I say, that he is vicious, You will not hear of virtue. Come, you are fond. Shall I be so extravagant, to think. That happy judgmerits, and composed spirits, Will challenge me for taxing such as these $ I am ashamed. Cor. Nay, but good, pardon us ; We must not bear this peremptory sail. But use our best endeavours how to please. Asp. Why, therein I commend your careful And I will mix with you in industry [thoughts. To please : but whom ? attentive auditors. Such as will join their profit with their pleasure, And come to feed their understanding parts : For these Til prodigally spend myself. And speak away my spirit into air ; For these, I'll melt my brain into invention. Coin new conceits, and hang my richest words As polish' d jewels in their bownteous ears ? But stay, I lose myself, and wrong their patience 32 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. /// dwell here, they'll not hegin, I see. Friends, sit you still, and entertain this troop With some familiar and by-conference, ni haste them sound. Novi, gentlemen, I go To turn an actor, and a humorist. Where, ere I do resume my present person. We hope to make the circles of your eyes Flow with distilled laughter : if we fail. We must impute it to this only chance, Art hath an enemy call'd ignorance. [Exit. Cor. How do you like his spirit, Mitis ? Mit. / should like it much better, if he were less confident. Cor. Why, do you suspect his merit 9 Mit. No ; but I fear this will procure him much envy. Cor. O, that sets the stronger seal on his desert : if he had no enemies, I should esteem his fortunes most wretched at this instant. Mit. You have seen his play, Cordatus : pray you, how is it % Cor. Faith, sir, I must refrain to judge ; only this I can say of it, 'tis strange, and of a particu- lar kind by itself, somewhat like Vetus Comoedia ; a work that hath bounteously pleased me ; how it will answer the general expectation, I know not. Mit. Does he observe all the laws of comedy ' in if? Cor. What laws mean you ? Mit. Why, the equal division of it into acts and scenes, according to the Terentian manner ; his true number of actors ; the furnishing of the scene with Grex or Chorus, and that the whole argument fall within compass of a day's busi- ness, e Cor. O no, these are too nice observations. Mit. They are such as must be received, by your favour, or it cannot be authentic. Cor. Troth, I can discern no such necessity. Mit. No! Cor. No, I assure you, signior. If those laws you speak of had been delivered us ab initio, and in their present virtue and perfection, there had been some reason of obeying their powers ; b,ut 'tis extant, that that which we call Comoedia, was at first nothing but a simple and continued song, sung by one only person, till Susario inverited a second; after him, Epicharmus a third; Phor- mus and Chionides devised to have four actors, with a prologue and chorus ; to which Craiinus, long after, added a fifth and sixth : Bupolis, more ; Aristophanes, more than they ; every man in the dignity of his spirit and judgment supplied some- thing. And, though that in him this kind of poem appeared absolute, and fully perfected, yet how is the face of it changed since, in Menander, Philemon, Cecilius, Plaulus, and the rest ! who have utterly excluded the chorus, altered the pro- perty of the persons, their names, and natures, and augmented it with all liberty, according to the elegancy and disposition of those times wherein they wrote. I see not then, but we should enjoy the same license, or free power to illustrate and heighten our invention, as they did; and not be tied to those strict and regular forms which the niceness of a few, who are nothing but form, would thrust upon us. Mit. Well, we will not dispute of this now ; tut what's his scene ? Cor Marry, Insula I'ortunata, sir. Mit. O, tiio Fortunate Island: mass, he his bound himself to a strict law there. \ Cor. Why so ? \ Mit. He cannot lightly alter the scene, withom crossing the seas. S Cor. He needs not, having a whole island io run through, I think. ] Mit. No ! how comes it then, that in some orie play we see so many seas, countries, and kingdoms^, passed over with such admirable dexterity f ; Cor. O, that but shews how well the authors' can travel in their vocation, and outrun the ap- '■ prehension of their auditory. But, leaving this, I would they would begin once : this protrac- tion is able to sour the best settled patience in the tjteatre. [The third EOimdmg, Mit. They have answered your wish, sir ; they sound. Cor. O, here comes the Prologue. Enter Pkologue. Now, sir, if you had staid a little longer, I meant to have spoke your prologue for you, t faith. Prol. Marry, with all my heart, sir, you shall do it yet, and I thank you. [Going. Cor. Nay, nay, stay, stay ; hear you f ■Prol. Vou could not have studied to have done me a greater benefit at the instant ; for I protest to you, I am unperfect, and', had I spoke it, I must of necessity have been out. Cor. Why, but do you speak this seriously ? Prol. Seriously ! ay, wit's my help, do I ; and esteem myself indebted to your kindness for it. Cor. For what 9 Prol. Why, for undertaking the prologue for me. Cor. How! did I undertake it for you ? Prol. Did you ! I appeal to all these gentle- men, whether ' you did or no. Come, come, it pleases you to cast a strange look on't now ; but 'twill not serve. Cor. 'Fore me, but it must serve ; and there- fore, speak your prologue. Prol. An I do, let me die poisoned with some venomous hiss, and never live to look as high as the two-penny room again. [Exit. Mit. He has put you to it, sir. Cor. 'Sdeath, what a humorous fellow is this ! Gentlemen, good faith I can speak no prologue, howsoever his weak wit has had the fortune to make this strong use of me here before you ; but I pro- test Enter Carlo Buffone, followed by a Boy with wine. Car. Come, come, leave these fustiah protesta- tions ; away, come, I cannot abide these grey- headed ceremonies. Boy, fetch me a glass quickly, I may bid these gentlemen welcome ; give them a health here. [Exit Boy.] I mar'le whose wit it was to put a prologue in yond^ sackbut's mouth ; they might well think he'd be out of tune, and yet you'd play upon him too. Cor. Hang him, dull block ! Car. O. good words good words ; a well-timber' d fellow, he would h,ave made a good column, an he had been thought on, when the house was a build- ing— Re-enter Boy with glasses. O, art thou come ? Well said ; give me, boy ; fill, so ! Here's a cup of wine sparkles like a dia- GcuNi: I. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. S3 imond. Gentleteomen (I mm sworn to put them in ^rat) and gentlemen, around, in place of a bad prologue, I drink this good draught to pour health Aere, Canary, the very elixir and spirit of wine. ^Drinks.] This is that our poet calls Castalian liquor, when he comes abroad now and then, once in a fortnight, and makes a good meal among players, where he has caniuum appetitum ; marry, at home he keeps a good philosophical diet, beans and buttermilk ; an honest pure rogue, he will take you off three, four, five of these, one after another, and look villainously when he has done, like a one-headed Cerberus — He does not hear me, I hope — And then, when his belly is well ballaoed, jmd his brain rigged a little, he sails away withal, as though he would work wonders when he comes home. He has made a play here, and he calls it. Every Man out of his Humour : but an he get me out of the humour he has put me in, I'll trust none of his tribe again while I live. Gentles, all I can say for him is, you are welcome. J could wish my bottle here amongst you ; but there's an old rule. No pledging your own health. Marry, if any here be thirsty for it, their best way (that I know J is, sit still, seal up their lips, and drink so much of the play in at their ears. [Exit. Mit. What may this fellow be, Cordatus f Cor. Faith, if the time will suffer his descrip- tion, I'll give it you. He is one, the author calls him Carlo Buffone, an impudent common jester, a violent railer, and an incomprehensible epicure ; one whose company is desired of all men, but be- loved of none ; he will sooner lose his soul than a jest, and profane even the most holy things, to excite laughter : no honourable or reverend per- sonage whatsoever can come within the reach of his eye, but is turned into all manner of variety, by his adulterate similes. . Mit. You paint forth a monster. Cor. He will prefer all countries before his native, and thinks he can never sufficiently, or with admiration enough, deliver his affectionate conceit of foreign atheistical policies. But stay — Enter Macilente. —■ — Observe these : he'll appear himself anon. Mit. O, this is your envious man, Macilente, I think. Cor. The same, sir. ACT I. SCENE I.— The Country. Enter 3lAcu.Etnz, uiith a book. Mad. Viri est, forturuB ciecitatem facile ferre. "Tis true ; but, Stoic, where, in the vast world, Doth that man breathe, that can so much command His blood and his affection } Well, I see I strive in vain to cure my wounded soul j For every cordial that my thoughts apply Turns to a'corsive and doth eat it farther. There is no taste in this philosophy; 'Tis like a potion that a man should drink. But turns his stomach with the sight of it. I am no such pill'd Cynick to believe, That beggary is the only happiness ; Or with a number of these patient fools, To sing : My mind to me a kingdom is, When the lank hungry belly barks for food, I look into the world, and mere I meet With objects, that do strike my blood-shot eyes Into my brain : where, when I view myself. Having before observ'd this man is great. Mighty and fear'd ; that lov'd and highly favour'd : A third thought wise and learn'd ; a fourth rich. And therefore honour'd ; a fifth rarely featur'd ; A sixth admired for his nuptial fortunes : When I see these, I say, and view myself, [ wish the organs of my sight were crack'd ; And that the engine of my grief could cast Mine eyeballs, like two globes of wildfire, forth, To melt this unproportion'd frame of nature. Ob, they are thoughts that have transfiz'd my heart. And often, in the strength of apprehension, Made my cold passion stand upon my face, Like drops of dew on a stiff cake of ice. Cor.. This alludes well to that of the poet, Invidus suspirat,gemit,incutitgue denies, Sudat frigtdus, intuens quqd odit. Mit. O, peace, you break the scene. Enter Sogliardo and Cablo Buffone. Mad. Soft, who be these ? I'll lay me down awhile till they be past. [Lies dmm. Cor. Signior, note this gallant, I pray you. Mit. What is he ? Cor. A tame rook, you'll take him presently ; list. Sag. Nay, look you. Carlo ; this is my humour now 1 I have land and money, my friends left me well, and I will be a gentleman whatsoever it cost me. Car. A most gentlemanlike resolution. Sog. Tut ! an I take an humour of a thing once, I am like your tailor's needle, I go through : but, for my n^e, signior, how think you ? wUl it not serve for a gentleman's name, when the signior is put to it, ha.' Car. Let me hear ; how is it ? Sog. Signior Insidso Sogliardo : methinks it sounds well. Car. O excellent ! tut ! an all fitted to your name, you might very weU stand for a gentleman : I know many Sogliardos gentlemen. Sog. Why, and for my wealth I might be a jus- tice of peace. Car. Ay, and a constable for your wit. Sog. All this is my lordship you see here, and those farms you came by. Car. Good steps to gentility too, marry : but, Sogliardo, if you affect to be a gentleman ind|ea, you must observe all the rare qualities, humours, and compliments of a gentleman. Sog. I know it, signior, and if you please to instruct, I am not too good to learn, I'll assiure you. Car. Enough, sir.-TiU'll make admirable use in the projection of my medicine upon this lump of copper here. [_Aside.'\ — I'll bethink me for you, sir. Sog. Signior, I will both pay you, and pray you, and thank you, and think on you. d 34 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT r> Cor. Is this not purely good ? Mad. S'blood, why should such a prick-ear'd hind as this Be rich, ha ? a fool ! such a transparent gull That may he seen through ! wherefore should he have land, Houses, and lordships ? O, I could eat my entrails. And sink my soul into the earth with sorrow. Car. First, to be an accomplished gentleman, that is, a gentleman of the time, you must give over housekeeping in the country, and live alto- gether in the city amongst gallants ; where, at your first appearance, 'twere good you tum'd four or five hundred acres of your best land into two or three trunks of apparel — you may do it without going to a conjurer — and be sure you mix yourself still with such as flourish in the spring of the fashion, and are least popular ; study their carriage and behaviour in all ; learn to play at primero and passage, and ever (when you lose) have two or three peculiar oaths to swear by, that no man else swears : but, above all, protest in your play, and affirm, Upon your credit, As you are a true gentleman, at every cast ; you may do it with a safe conscience, I warrant you. Sog. O admirable rare ! he cannot choose but be a gentleman that has these excellent gifts : more, more, I beseech you. Car. You must endeavour to feed cleanly at your ordinary, sit melancholy, and pick your teeth when you cannot speak : and when you come to plays, be humorous, look with a good starch' d face, and ruffle your brow like a new boot, laugh at nothing but your own jests, or else as the noble- men laugh. That's a special giace you must ob- serve. Sog. I warrant you, sir. Car. Ay, and sit on the stage and flout, provided you have a good suit. Sog. O, I'll have a suit only for that, sir. Car. You must talk much of your kindred an_ allies. Sog. Lies! no, signior, I shall not need to do so, I have kindred in the city to talk of: I have a niece is a merchant's wife ; and a nephew, my brother Sordido's son, of the Inns of court. Car. O, bat you must pretend alliance vrith courtiers and great persons: and ever when you are to dine or sup in any strange presence, hire a fellow with a great chain, (though it be copper, it's no matter,) to bring you letters, feign'd from such a nobleman, or such a knight, or such a lady, To their worshipful, right rare, and nobly qualified friend and kinsman, signior Tnsulso Sogliardo : give your- self style enough. And there, while you intend cir- cumstances of news, or enquiry of their health, or so, one of your familiars, whom you must carry about you still, breaks it up, as 'twere in a jest, and reads it publicly at the table : at which you must seem to take as unpardonable offence, as if he had torn your mistress's colours, or breath'd upon her picture, and pursue it with that hot grace, as if you would advance a challenge upon it presently. Sog. Stay, I do not like that humour of chal- lenge, it may be accepted ; but I'll tell you what's my humour now, I will do this : I will take occa- sion of sending one of my suits to the tailor's, to have the pocket repaired, or so ; and there such a letter as you talk of, broke open and all shall b^ left ; 0, the tailor will presently give out what If am, upon the reading of it, worth twenty of yous: gallants. I Car. But then you must put on an extreme facfe of discontentment at your man's negligence. , Sog. 0, so I wUl, and beat him too : I'll hav^ a man for the purpose. ] Mac. You may ; you have land and crowns : (> partial fate ! ! Car. Mass, well remember'd, you must keep ! your men gallant at the first, fine pied liveries laid with good gold lace ; there's no loss in it, they may rip it off and pawn it when they lack victuals. Sog. By 'r Lady, that is chargeable, signior, 'twill bring a man in debt. Car. Debt ! why that's the more for your credit, sir : it's an excellent policy to owe much in these days, if you note it Sog. As how, good signior ? I would fain be a politician. . Cor. O ! look where you are indebted any great sum, your creditor observes you with no less re- gard, than if he were bound to you for some huge benefit, and will quake to give you the least cause of offence, lest he lose his money. I assure you, in these times, no man has his servant more obse- . quious and pliant, than gentlemen their creditors : to whom, if at any time you- pay but a moiety, or a fourth part, it comes more acceptably than if you gave them a new-year's gift. Sog. I perceive you, sir : I will take up, and bring myself in credit, sure. Car. Marry this, always beware you commerce not with bankrupts, or poor needy Ludgathians : they are impudent creatures, turbulent spirits, they care not what violent tragedies they stir, nor how they play fast and loose with a poor gentleman's fortunes, to get their own. Marry, these rich fellows that have the world, or the better part of it, sleeping in their counting-houses, they are ten times more placable, they ; either fear, hope, or modesty, restrains them from offering any outrages : but this is nothing to your followers, you shall not run a penny more in arrearage for them, an you list, yourself. Sug. No ! how should I keep 'em then .' Car. Keep 'em! 'sblood, let them keep them- selves, they are no sheep, are they? what, you shall come in houses, where plate, apparel, jewels, and divers other pretty commodities lie negligently scattered, and I would have those Mercuries follow me, I trow, should remember they had not theii fingers for nothing. Sog. That's not so good, methinks. Car. Why, after you have kept them a fortnight, or so, and shew'd them enough to the world, you may turn them away, and keep no more but a boy, it's enough. Sog. Nay, my humour is not for boys, I'U keep men, an I keep any ; and I'U give coats, that's my humour : but I lack a cuUisen. Car. Why, now you ride to the city, you m'Jy buy one ; I'll bring you where you shall have your choice for money. Sog, Can you, sir ? Car. O, ay : you shall have one take measure of you, and make you a coat of arms to fit you, ot what fashion you will. Sog. By word of mouth, I thank you, signior, SfJENE 1. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 36 I'll be once a little prodigal in a humour, i'faith, and have a most prodigious coat. Mao. Torment and death ! break head and brain at once, To be ddiver'd of your lighting issue. V/^ho can endure to see blind Fortune dote thus ? Vo be enamour'd on this dusty turf, Tliis clod, a whoreson puck-fist I O G ! L could run wild with grief now, to behold 'The rankness of her bounties, that doth breed Such bulrushes ; these mushroom gentlemen, ■ That shoot up in a night to place and worship. j I Car. [ieein^MACiLENTE.] Lethimalone; some I / stray, some stray. i ' Sog. Nay, I will ezamine him before I go, sure. I Car. The lord of the soil has all wefts and strays here, has he not ? Soff. Yes, sir. Car. Faith then I pity the poor fellow, he's fallen into a fool's hands. C-^side. Sog. Sirrah, who gave you a commission to lie In my lordship ? Mac. Your lordship ! Sog. How ! my lordship ? do you know me, sir ? Mac. I do know you, sir. Car. He answers him like an echo. lAside. Sog. Why, Who am I, sir ? Mac. One of those that fortune favours. Car. The periphrasis of a fool. I'U observe this better. Idside. Sog. That fortune favours 1 how mean you that, friend ? Mac. I mean simply : that you are one that lives not by your wits. Sog. By my wits 1 no sir, I scorn to live by my wits, X. I have better means, I tell'thee, than to take such base courses, as to live by my wits. What, dost thou think I live by my wits ? Mac. Methinks, jester, you should not relish this well. Car. Ha ! does he know me ? Mac. Though yours be the worst use a man can put his wit to, of thousands, to prostitute it. at every tavern and ordinary ; yet, methinks, you should have tum'd your broadside at this, and have been ready with an apology, able to sink this hulk of ignorance into the bottom and depth of his contempt. Car. Oh, 'tis Macilente ! Siguier, you are well encountered ; how is it? — O, we must not regard what he says, man, a trout, a shallow fool, he has no more brain than a butterfly, a mere stuft suit ; he looks like a musty bottle new wicker'd, his head's thecork,light,light! [^sjrfe/o Macilente.] — I am glad to see you so well return' d, signior. Mac. You are ! gramercy, good Janus. Sog. Is he one of your acquaintance ? I love him the better for that. Car. Od's precious, come away, man, what do you mean ? an yon knew him as I do, you'd shun him as you would do the plague. Sog. Why, sir ? Car. O, he's a black fellow, take heed of him. Sog. Is he a scholar, or a soldier ? Car. Both, both ; a lean mongrel, be looks as if he were chop-fallen, with barking at other men's good fortunes : 'ware bow you offend him ; he carries oil and fire in bis pen, will scald where it drops : his spirit is like powder, quick, violent ; he'U blow a man up with a jest ■ I fear hira worse I than a rotten wall does the cannon ; shake an hour after at the report. Away, come not near him. Sog. For God's sake let's be gone ; an he be a scholar, you know I cannot abide him ; I had as lieve see a cockatrice, specially as cockatrices go now. Car. What, you'll stay, signior ? this gentleman Sogliardo, and I, are to visit the knight Puntar- volo, and from thence to the city ; we shall meet there. lExit with Sogliardo. Mac. Ay, when I cannot' shun you, we wiE meet, 'Tis strange ! of all the creatures I have seen, I envy not this Buffone, for indeed Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it : But I do hate him, as I hate the devil, Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism. O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd cur. That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him. A slave, that to your face will, serpent-like, Creep on the ground, as he would eat the dust, And to your back will turn the tail, and sting More deadly than a scorpion : stay, who's this ? Now, for my soul, another minion Of the old lady Chance's 1 I'U observe him. Enter Sordido with an Almanack in his hand. Sard. O rare ! good, good, good, good, good! I thank my stars, I thank my stars for it. Mac. . Said I not true ? doth not his passion Out of my divination ? O my senses, [speak Why lose you not your powers, and become Dull'd, if not deaded, with this spectacle ? I know him, it is Sordido, the farmer, A boor, and brother to that swine was here. [_Aside. Sard. Excellent, excellent, excellent ! as I would wish, as 1 would wish. Mac. See how the strumpet fortune tickles him. And makes him swoon with laughter, O, O, O ! . Sard. Ha, ha, ha ! I will not sow my grounds this year. Let me see, what harvest shall we have ? June, July f Mac. What, is't a prognostication raps him so ? Sord. The 20, 21, 22 days, rain and wind. O good, good ! the 23, and 24, rain and some wind, good I the 25, rain, good still ! 20, 27, 28, wind and some rain / would it had been rain and some TTind ! well, 'tis good, when it can be no better. 29, inclining to rain ; inclining to rain 1 that's not so good now : 30, and 31, wind and no rain , no rain ! 'slid, stay : this is worse and worse : What says he of St. Swithin's? turn back, look, saint Sivithin's : no rain I Mac. O, here's a precious, dirty, damned rogue, That fats himself with expectation Of rotten weather, and unseason'd hours ; And he is rich for it, an elder brother ! His barns are full, his ricks and mows well trod, His gamers crack with store ! O, 'tis well ; ha, ha, ha! A plague consume thee, and thy house ! Sord. ,0 here, St. Swithin^s, the 15 day, variable weather, for the most part rain, good ! for the most part rain : why, it should rain forty days after, now, more or less, it was a rule held, afore I was able to hold a plough, and yet here are two days no rain ; ha ! it makes me muse. We'll see how the next month begins, if that be better. Augitst 1 , 2, 3, and 4, days, rainy and blustering ; this.i? well now : 5, 6, 7, 8, anrfi), rainy, with some thun- 36 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT k I der ; Ay marry, this is excellent ; the other was false printed sure: the 10 and 11, great store of rain ; O good, good, good, good, good ! the 12, 13, and 14, days, rain ; good still : 15, and 16, rain ; good still: 17 and 18, rain, good still : 19 and 20, good still, good stiH, good still, good still, good stiU! 21, some rain; some rain! well, we must be patient, and attend the heavens' pleasure, would it were more though : the 22, 23, great tem- pests of rain, thunder and lightning, good again, past expectation good ! 1 thank my blessed angel ; never, never Laid I [a] penny better out than this, To purchase this dear book : not dear for price; And yet of me as dearly prized as life, Since in it is contain'd the very life. Blood, strenffth, and sinews, of my happiness. Blest be the hour wherein I bought this book ; His studies happy that composed the book. And the man fortunate that sold the book ! Sleep with this charm, and be as true to me. As I am joy'd and confident in thee. [Puts it up. Enter a Hind, and gives SoRDriJO a paper to read. Mac. Ha, ha, ha ! Is not this good? Is it not pleasing this ? Ha, ha, ha ! God pardon me ! ha, ha ! Is't possible that such a spacious villain Should live, and not be plagued ? or lies he hid Within the wrinkled bosom of the world, Where Heaven cannot see him.' S'blood ! methinks 'Tis rare, and strange, that he should breathe and walk. Feed with digestion, sleep, enjoy his health. And, like a boisterous whale swallowing the poor, ' Still swim in wealth and pleasure ! is't not strange } Unless his house and skin were thunder proof, I wonder at it ! Methinks, now, the hectic, Gout, leprosy, or some such loath'd disease. Might light upon him ; or that fire from heaven Might taH upon his barns ; or mice and rats Gat np his grain ; or else that it might rot Within the boary ricks, even as it stands : Methinks this might be well ; and after all The devil might come and fetch him. Ay, 'tis true ! Meantime he surfeits in prosperity. And thou, in envy of him, gnaw'st thyself : Peace, fool, get hence, and tell thy vexed Spirit, Wealth in this age vrill scarcely look on merit. \Rises and exit Sard. Who brought this same, sirrah ? Hind. Marry, sir, one of the justice's men ; he says 'tis a precept, and all their hands be at it. Sard. Ay, and the prints of them stick in my flesh, Deeper than in their letters : they have sent me Klls wrapt in paper here, that, should J lake them. Would poison all the sweetness of my book. And turn my honey into hemlock-juice. But I am wiser than to serve their precepts. Or foUow their prescriptions. Here's a device. To charge me bring my grain unto the markets : Ay, much ! when 1 have neither bam nor garner, Nor earth to hide it in, I'E bring 't ; till then, Each corn I send shall be as big as Paul's. O, but (say some) the poor are like to starve. ■Why, let 'em starve, what s that to me .' are bees Bound to keep Ufe in drones and idle moths .' no : Why such are these that term themselves the poor, Only because they would be pitied, But are indeed a sort of lazy beggars, j Licentious rogues, and sturdy vagabonds, j Bred by the sloth of a fat plenteous year, ', Like snakes in heat of summer, out of dung ; ,/ And this is all that these cheap times are good for f: Whereas a wholesome and penurious dearth Purges the soU of such vile excrements, j" And kills the vipers up. ! Hind. O, but master, L Take heed they hear you not Sord. Why so? ? Hind. They will exclaim agauist you. ' Sord. Ay, their exclaims _ ' Move me as much, as thy breath moves a mountain. Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst 1 at home Can be contented to applaud myself. To sit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leap. Knocking my head against my roof, with joy To see how plump my bags are, and my barns. Sirrah, go hie you home, and bid your fellows Get all their flails ready again I come. Hind. I will, sir. iBxit. Sord. I'll instantly set all my hinds to thrashing Of a whole rick of corn, which I will hide Under the ground ; and with the straw thereof I'll stuff the ontsides of my other mows : That done, I'll have them empty all my gamers. And in the friendly earth bury my store. That, when the searchers comej they may suppose All's spent, and that my fortunes were behed. And to lend more opinion to my want, And stop that many-mouthed vulgar dog. Which else would still be baying at my door. Each market-day I will be seen to buy Part of the purest wheat, as for my household ; Where when it comes, it shall increase my heaps : 'Twill yield me treble gain at this dear time, Promised in this dear book : I have cast all. TiU then I wiU not sell an ear, I'll hang first. O, I shall make my prices as I list ; My house and I can feed on peas and barley. What though a world of wretches starve the while ; He that will thrive must think no courses vile. iExit. Cor. N'ow, signior, how approve you this ? have the humourists exprest themselves truly or no?- Mit. Yes, if it be well prosecuted, His hitherto happy enough i but methinks Madlente went hence too soon ; he might have been made to stay, and speak somewhat in reproof of Sordido's wretch- edness now at the last. Cor. O, no, that had been extremely improper ; besides, he had continued the scene too long with him, as 'twas, being in no more action. Mit. You may inforce tJte length as a necessary reason ; but for propriety, the scene would very well have borne it, in my judgment. Cor. O, worst of both; why, you mistake his humour utterly then. Mit. How do I mistake it ? Is it not envy ? Cor. Yes, but you must understand, signior, he envies him not as he is a villain, a wolf in the commonwealth, but as he is rich and fortunate ; for the true condition of envy is, dolor aliense feli- citatis, to have . our eyes continually fixed upon another man's prosperity, that is, his chief happi- ness,and to grieve at that. Whereas, if we make his monstrous and abhorr'd actions our object, the grief we take then/Comes nearer the nature of hate EVERY MAN" OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 37 than envy, as being bred out of a kind of contempt and loaifung in ourselves. : Mit. So you'll infer it had been hate, not envy in him, to reprehend the humour of Sordido 9 ', Cor. Right, for what a man truly envies in another, he could always love and cherish in him- self; but no man truly reprehends in another, tohaf he loves in himself; therefore reprehension is out of his hate. And this distinctiori hath he [himself made in a speech there, if you marked it, where he says, I envy not this BufFone, but I hate him. Mit. Stay, sir : I envy not this Buffone, but I / hate him. Why might he not as well have hated Sordido as him 9 Cor. No, sir, there was subject for his envy in Sordido, his wealth : so was there not in the other. He stood possest of no one eminent gift, but a most odious arid fiend-like disposition, that would turn charity itself into hate, much more envy, for the Mit. Vou have satisfied me, sir. 0, here comes the fool, amd the jester again; methinks. Cor. 'Twere pity they should be parted, sir. Mit. IVhat bright-shining gallant's that with them 9 the knight they went to f Cor. No, sir, this is one monsieur Fastidious Brisk, otherwise called the fresh Frenchified courtier. Mit. A humourist too ? Cor. As humorous as quicksilver ; do but ob- serve him ; the scene is the country still, remember ACT II. SCENE I The Country; before Vvntairvolo's House. Enter FAsriDions Brisk, Cinedo, Carlo Buffone, and SOGLIARDO. Fast. Cinedo, watch when the knight comes, and give us word. Cin. I will, sir. [Exit. Fast. How lik'st thou my boy, Carlo ? Car. O, well, well. He looks like a colonel of the Pigmies horse, or one of these motions in a great antique clock ; he would shew well upon a haberdasher's stall, at a corner shop, rarely. Fast. 'Sheart, what a damn'd witty rogue's this! How he confounds with his similes ! Car. Better with similes than smiles : and whi- ther were you riding now, signior ? Fast. Who, I? "What a silly jest's that! Whi- ther should I ride but to the court ? Car. O, pardon me, sir, twenty places more ; your hot-house, or your whore-bouse Fast. By the virtue of my soul, this knight dwells in Elysium here. Car. He's gone now, I thought he would fly out presently. These be our nimble-spirited catsos, that have their evasions at pleasure, will run over a bog like your wild Irish ; no sooner started, but they'll leap firom one thing to another, like a squir- rel, heigh 1 dance and do tricks in their discourse, from fire to water, from water to air, from air to earth, as if their tongues did but e'en lick the four elements over, and away. Fast. Sirrah, Carlo, thou never saw'st my gray hobby yet, didst thou ? Car. No ; have you such a one ? Fast. The best in Europe, my good villain, thou'lt say when thou seest him. Car. But when shall I see him ? Fast. There was a nobleman in the court offered me a hundred pound for him, by this light : a fine little fiery slave, he runs like a — oh, excellent, ex- cellent ! — with the very sound of the spur. Car. How ! the sound of the spur ? Fast. O, it's your only humour now extant, sir; a good gingle, a good gingle. Car. 'Sblood ! you shall see him turn morrice- dancer, he has got him bells, a good suit, and a hobby-horse. Soff. Signior, now you talk tif a liobby -horse, I know where one is will not be given for a brace of angels. Fast. How is that, sir ? Sog. Marry, sir, I am telling this gentleman of a hobby-horse ; it was my father's indeed, and, though I say it Car. That should not say it — on, on. Sog. He did dance in it, with as good humour and as good regard as any man of his degree what- soever, being no gentleman : I have danc'd in it myself too. Car. Not since the humour of gentility was upon you, did you? Sog. Yes, once ; marry, that was hut to shew what a gentleman might do in a humour. Car. O, very good. Mit. Why, this fellow's discourse were nothing but for the word humour. Cor. O bear with him ; an Tie should lack mat- ter and words too, 'twere pitiful. Sog. Nay, look you, sir, there's ne'er a gentleman in the country has the like humours, for the hobby- horse, as I have ; I have the method for the thread- ing of th^ needle and all, the Car. How, the method? Sog. Ay, the leigerity for that, and the whighhie, and the daggers in the nose, and the travels of the egg firom finger to finger, and all the humours inci- dent to the quality. The horse hangs at home in my parlour. I'U keep it for a monument as long as I live, sure. Car. Do so ; and when you die, 'twill be an ex- cellent trophy to hang over your tomb. Sog. Mass, and I'll have a tomb, now I think on't ; 'tis but so much charges. Car. Best build it in your lifetime then, your heirs may hap to forget it else. Sog. Nay, I mean so, I'll not trust to them. Car. No, for heirs and executors are grown damnable careless, 'specially since the ghosts of testators left walking How like you him, signior.' Fast. 'Fore heavens, his humour arrides me ex- ceedingly. Car. Arrides you ! Fast. Ay, pleases me : a pox on't ! I am so haunted at the court, and at my lodging, with your refined choice spirits, that it makes me clean of 38 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. '± another garb, another sheaf, I know not how ! I cannot frame me to your harsh vulgar phrase, 'tis against my genius. Sog. Signior Carlo ! ITaket Urn aside. Cor. This is right to that of Horace, Dum vi- tant stulti vitia, in coliixaria curnmt ; so this gal- lant, labouring to avoid popularity, falls into a habit of affectation, ten thousand times hatefuller than the former. Car. [poinim^io Fastidious.] Who, he? agull, a fool, no salt in him i' the earth, man ; he looks like a fresh salmon kept in a tub ; he'll be spent shortly. His brain's lighter than his feather already, and his tongue more subject to lye, than that is to wag ; he sleeps with a musk-cat every night, and walks all day hang'd in pomander chains for penance ; he has his skin tann'd in civet, to make his complexion strong, and the sweetness of his youth lasting in the sense of his sweet lady ; a good empty puff, he loves you well, signior. Sog. There shall be no love lost, sir, I'll assure you. Fast, [adoaneing to them.'] Nay, Carlo, I am not happy in thy love, I see : pray thee suffer me to enjoy thy company a little, sweet mischief: by this air, I shall envy this gentleman's place in thy nffections, if you be thus private, i'faith. Enter Ciwedo. How now ! Is the knight arrived ? Cin. No, sir, but 'tis guess'd he will arrive pre- sently, by his fore-runners. Fast. His hounds ! by Minerva, an excellent figure ; a good boy. Car. You should give him a French crown for it ; the boy would find two better figures in that, and a good figure of your bounty beside. Fast. Tut, the boy wants no crowns. Car. No crown ; speak in the singular number, and we'll believe you. Fast. Nay, thou art so capriciously conceited now. Sirrah damnation, I have heard this knight Pimtarvolo reported to be a gentleman of exceed- ing good humour, thou know'st him ; prithee, how, is his disposition ? I never was so favoured of my stars, as to see him yet Boy, do you look to the hobby ? Cin. Ay, sir, the groom has set him up. ^As CiNBDO is going out, Sogliardo takes him aside. Fast. 'Tis well : I rid out of my way of intent to risit him, and take knowledge of his Nay, good Wickedness, his humour, his humour. Car. Why, he loves dogs, and hawks, and his wife well ; he has a good riding face, and he can sit a great horse ; he will taint a staff weU at tilt ; when he is mounted he locfks like the sign of the George, that's all I Icnow ; save, that instead of a dragon, he will brandish against a tree, and break his sword as confidently upon the knotty bark, as the other did upon the scales of the beast. Fast. O, but this is nothing to that's delivered of him. They say he has dialogues and discourses between his horse, himself, and his dog ; and that he will court his own lady, as she were a stranger never encounter'd before. Car. Ay, that he will, and make fresh love to her every morning ; this gentleman has been a spec- tator of it, Si^ior Insulso. Sog. I am resolute to keep a page. — Say you! - - - - - 4 sir ? [Leaps from whispering with Cinbdc». . Car. You have seen Signior Puntarvolo accosi his lady ? \ Sog. O, ay, sir. ; Fast. And how is the manner of it, prithee, goodi signior .'■ ', ~~Sog. Faith, sir, in very good sort ; he has his humours for it, sir ; as iiist, (suppose he were now\ to come from riding or hunting, or so,) he has his. trumpet to sound, and then the waiting-gentle- . woman she looks out, and then he speaks, and then 1 she speaks, very pretty? i'faith, gentlemen. •; Fast. Why, but do you remember no particulars, signior ? Sog. O, yes, sir, first, the gentlewoman, she looks out at the window. Car. After the trumpet has summon'd a parle, not before ? Sog. No, sir, not before ; and then says he,— ha, ha, ha, ha ! Car. What says he ? be not rapt so. Sog. Says he, — ha, ha, ha, ha 1 Fast. Nay, speak, speak. Sog. Ha, ha, ha 1 — says he, God save you, says he ; — ha, ha ! Car. Was this the ridiculous motive to all this passion ? Sog. Nayi that that comes after is, — ha, ha, ha, ha! Car. Doubtless he apprehends more than he utters, this fellow ; or else [A cry of hounds within. Sog. List, list, they are come from hunting ; stand by, close under this terras, and you shall see it done better than I can show it- Car. So it had need, 'twill scarce poise the ob- servation else. Sog. Faith, I remember all, but the manner of it is quite out of my head. Fast. O, withdraw, withdraw, it cannot be but a most pleasing object. iThe;/ stand aside. Enter Puntakvolo, /oi?owed by his Huntsman leading a greyhound. Punt. Forester, give wind to thy horn. — Enough ; by this the sound hath touch'd the ears of the inclos'd: depart, leave the dog, and take with thee what thou hast deserved, the horn and thanks. [Exit Huntsman. Car. Ay, marry, there is some taste in this. Fast. Is't not good ? Sog. Ah, peace ; now above, now above ! [A Waifing-gentleujo-inan appears at ike window. Punt. Stay ; mine eye hath, on the instant, through the bounty of the window, received the form of a nymph. I will step forward three paces ; of the which, I will barely retire one ; and, after some little flexure of the knee, with an erected grace salute her ; one, two, and three ! Sweet lady, God save you ! Gent, {above.'l No, forsooth ; I am but the wait- ing-gentlewoman. Car. He knew that before. Punt^ Pardon me : humanum est errare. Car. He learn'd that of his chaplain. Punt. To the perfection of compliment, (which is the dial of the thought, and guided by the sun of your beauties,) are required these three specials ; the gnomon, the puntUios, and the superficies : the superficies is that we call place ; the puntillos, cir- auums I, EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 39 cumstance ; and the gnomon, ceremony ; in either t)f which, for a stranger to err, 'tis easy and facile ; ; nd such am I. j Car. True, not knowing her horizon, he must I needs err ; which I fear he knows too well. 1 Punl. What call you the lord of the castle, sweet face ? Gent, [above.'] The lord of tte castle is a knight, ./sir ; signior Puntarvolo. Punt. Puntarvolo ! O Car. Now must he ruminate. Fast. Does the wench know him all this while, then? Car. O, do you know me, man ? why, therein lies the syrup of the jest ; it's a project, a design- ment of his own, a thing studied, and rehearst as ordinarily at his coming from hawking or hunting, as a jig after a play. Sog. Ay, e'en like your jig, sir. Punt. "Tis a most sumptuous and stately edifice ! Of what years is the knight, fair damsel ? Gent. Faith, much about your years, sir. Punt. What complexion, or what stature bears he ? Gent. Of your stature, and very near upon your complexion. Punt. Mine is melancholy, Car. So is the dog's, just. Punt. And doth argue constancy, chiefly in love. What are his endowments ? is he courteous ? Gent. O, the most courteous knight in Christian land, sir. Punt. Is he magnanimous ? Gent. As the skin between your brows, sir. Punt. Is he bountiful ? Car. 'Slud, he takes an inventory of his own good parts. Gent. Bountiful ! ay, sir, 1 would you should know it ; the poor are served at his gate, early and late, sir. ■ Punt. Is he learned ? Gent. O, ay, sir, he can speak the French and Italian. Punt. Then he has travelled ? Gent. Ay, forsooth, he hath been beyond seas once or twice. Car. As far as Paris, to fetch over a fashion, and come back again. Punt. Is he religious ? Gent. Religious ! I know not what you call reli- gious, but he goes to church, I am sure. Fast. 'Slid, methinks these answers should of- fend him. Car. Tut, no ; he knows they are excellent, and to her capacity that speaks them. Punt. Would I might but see his face ! Car. She should let down a glass from the win- dow at that word, and request him to look in't. Punt. Doubtless the gentleman is most exact, and absolutely qualified ; doth the castle contain him? Gent. No, sir, he is from home, but his lady is within. Punt. His lady ! what, is she fair, splendidious, and amiable ? Gent. O, Lord, sir. Punt. Prithee, dear nymph, intreat her beauties to shine on this side of the building. lExit Waiting-gentleieoman/rom the window. Car. That he may erect a new dial of compli- ment, with his gnomons and his puntilios. Fast. Nay, thou art such another cynic now, a man had need walk uprightly before thee. Car. Heart, can any man walk more upright than he does ? Look, look ; as if he went in a frame, or had a suit of wainscot on : and the dog watching him, lest he should leap out on't. Fast. O, villain 1 Car. Well, an e'er I meet him in the city, I'll have him jointed, I'll pawn him in Eastcheap, among the butchers, else. Fast. Peace ; who be these. Carlo ? Enter Sord/vo and Funooso Sard. Yonder's your godfather ; do your duty to him, son. Sog. This, sir? a poor elder brother of mine, sir, a yeoman, may dispend some seven or eight hundred a year ; that's his son, my nephew, there. Punt. You are not ill come, neighbour Sordido, though I have not yet said, well-come ; what, my godson is grown a great proficient by this. Sord, I hope he will grow great one day, si'. Fast. What does he study ? the law ? Sog. Ay, sir, he is a gentleman, though his fa- ther be but a yeoman. Car. What call you your nephew, signior ? Sog. Marry, his name is Fungoso. Car. Fungoso ! O, he look'd somewhat like a sponge in that pink'd yellow doublet, methought ; well, make much of him ; I see he was never born to ride upon a mule. Gent, [reappears at the window.'} My lady will come presently, sir. Sog. O, now, now ! Punt. Stand by, retire yourselves a space ; nay, pray you, forget not the use of your hat ; the air is piercing. [Soiujroo and Funooso ■withdraw. Fast. What! will not their presence prevail against the current of his humour ? Car. O, no ; it's a mere flood, a torrent carries all afore it. \jiady Puntabvolo appears at the window. Punt. What more than heavenly pulchritude is What magazine, or treasury of bliss ? [this. Dazzle, you organs to my optic sense, To view a creature of such eminence : O, I am planet-struck, and in yon sphere A brighter star than Venus dotii appear ! Fast. How ! in verse ! Car. An extacy, an extacy, man. •Lady P. [above.] Is your desire to speak with me, sir knight ? Car. He will teU you that anon; neither his brain nor his body are yet moulded for an answer. Punt. Most debonair, and luculent lady, I de- cline me as low as the basis of your altitude. Cor. He makes congies to his wife in geometrical proportions. Mit. Is it possible there should be any such humourist ? Cor. Very easily possible, sir, you see there is. Punt. I have scarce collected my spirits, but lately scattered in the admiration of your form ; to which, if the bounties of your mind be any way responsible, I doubt not but my desires shall find a smooth and secure passage. I am a poor knight- errant, lady, that hunting in the adjacent forest, was, by adventure, in the pursuit of a hart, brought to this place J which hart, dear madam, escaped by 40 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. enchantment : the evening approaching, myself and servant wearied, my suit is, to enter your fair castle and refresh me. Lady. Sir knight, albeit it be not usual with me, chiefly in the absence of a husband, to admit any entrance to strangers, yet in the true regard of those innated virtues, and fair parts, which so strive to express themselves, in you ; I am resolved to en- tertain you to the best of my unworthy power ; which I acknowledge to be nothing, valued with what so worthy a person may deserve. Please you but stay while I descend. [,Exit/rom the window. Punt. Most admired lady, you astonish me. [ Walks aside with SoRDmo and his son. Car. What ! with speaking a speech of your own penning ? Fast. Nay, look ; prithee, peace. Car. Pox on't ! I am impatient of such foppery. Fast. O let us hear the rest. Car. Whatl a tedious chapter of courtship, after sir Lancelot and queen Guenever ? Away ! I marie in what dull cold nook he found this lady out ; that, being a woman, she was blest with no more copy of wit but to serve his humour thus- 'Slud, I think he feeds her with porridge, I : she could never have such a thick brain else. Soff. "Why, is porridge so hurtful, signior .' Car. O, nothing under heaven more prejudicial to those ascending subtle powers, or doth sooner abate that which we call acumen ingenii, than your gross fare : Why, I'll make you an instance ; "your city-wives, but observe 'em, you have not more perfect true fools in the world bred than they are generally ; and yet you see, by the fineness and de- licacy of their diet, diving into the fat capons, drinking your rich wines, feeding on larks, sparrows, potato-pies, and such good unctuous meats, how their wits are refined and rarified ; and sometimes a very quintessence of conceit flows from them, able to drown a weak apprehension. Enter Lady Puntarvolo and her Waiting^woman. Fast. Peace, here comes the lady. Lady. Gad's me, here's company ! turn in again. \_Exit with her Woman, Fast. 'Slight, our presence has cut off the con- voy of the jest. Car. All the better, I am glad on't; for the issue was very perspicuous. Come let's discover, and salute the knight [They come forward. Punt. Stay ; who be these that address them- selves towards us ? What, Carlo ! Now by the sin- cerity of my soul, welcome ; welcome, gentlemen : and how dost thou, thou Grand Scourge, or Second Unlruss of the time ? Car. Faith, spending my metal in this reeling world (here and there), as the sway of my affection carries me, and perhaps stumble upon a yeoman- feuterer, as I do now ; or one of fortune's mules, laden with treasure, and an empty cloak-bag, fol- lowing him, gaping when a bag will untie. Punt. Peace, you bandog, peace ! What brisk Nyraphadoro is that in the white virgin-boot there.' Car. Marry, sir, one that I must intreat you to take a very particular knowledge of, and with more than ordinary respect ; monsieur Fastidious. Punt. Sir, I could wish, that for the time of your vouchsafed abiding here, and more real en- tertainment, this my bouse stood on the Muses hill, and these my orchards were those of the Hesperides. Fast. I possess as much in your wish, sir, as if ' I were made lord of the Indies ; and I pray you j believe it. Car. I have a better opinion of his faith, than to think it will be so corrupted. Sag. Come, brother, I'll bring you acquainted with gentlemen, and good fellows, such as shall do you more grace than Sard. Brother, I hunger not for such acquaint- ance : Do you take heed, lest [Carlo comes toward Viem. Sog. Husht ! My brother, sir, for want of edu- cation, sir, somewhat nodding to the boor, the clown ; but I request you in private, sir. Fung, [looking at Fastidious Brisk.] By hea- ven, it is a very fine suit of clothes. [.Aside. Cor. Do you observe that, signior? There's another humour has new-crack' d the shell. Mit. What! he is enamour' d of the fashionjielie? Cor. 0, you forestall the jest. Fung. I marie what it might stand him in. [Aside. Sog. Nephew ! Fung. 'Fore me, it's an excellent suit, and as neatly becomes him. \_Aside.'] — What said you, uncle .'' Sog. When saw you my niece ? Fung. Marry, yesternight I supp'd there. — That kind of boot does very rare too. [Aside. Sog. And what news hear you ? Fung. The gilt spur and all ! Would I were hang'd, but 'tisexceedinggood. [Aside.^ — Say you, uncle ? Sog. Your mind is carried away with somewhat else : I ask what news you hear .' Fung. Troth, we hear none. — In good faith, [^looking at FASTiDions Brisk,] I was never so pleased with a fashion, days of my hfe. O an I might have but my wish, I'd ask no more of heaven now, but such a suit, such a hat, such a band, such a doublet, such a hose, such a boot, and such a [Aside. Sog. They say, there's a new motion of the city of Nineveh, with Jonas and the whale, to be seen at Fleet-bridge. You can tell, cousin .' Fung. Here's such a world of questions with him now ! — Yes, I think there be such a thing, I saw the picture. — Would he would once be satisfied ! Let me see, the doublet, say fifty shillings the dou- blet, and between three or four pound the hose ; then boots, hat, and band ; some ten or eleven pound will do it all, and suit me, for the heavens ! [Aside, Sog. I'U see all those devices an I come to London once. Fung. Ods 'slid, an I could compass it, 'twere rare. ^Aside.] — Hark yon, uncle. Sog. What says my nephew ? Fung. Faith, uncle, I would have desired you to have made a motion for me to my father, in a thing that Walk aside, and I'll tell you, sir ; no more but this : there's a parcel of lawbooks (some twenty pounds worth) that lie in a place for little more than half the money they cost; and I think, for some twelve pound, or twenty mark, I could go near to redeem tbem ; there's Plowden, Dyar, Brooke, and Fitz-Herbert, divers such as I must have ere long ; and you know, 1 were as good save five or six pound, as not, uncle. I pray you, more it for me . SRKNB I. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 41 ■? \g. That I will : when would you hare me do it ? pre. intly ? / ung. O, ay, I pray you, good unde : [Sogli- aruo takes Sordido aside.'} — send me good luck, Xioi i, an't be thy will, prosper It ! O my stars, :QO\^:,"now, if it take now, I am made for ever. . Fast. Shall I tell you, sir? by this air, lam the UM St beholden to that lord, of any gentleman living ; he does use me the most honourably, and with the greatest respect, more indeed than can be utter'd with any opinion of truth. / Punt. Then have you the count Gratiato ? j Fast. As true noble a gentleman too as any / breathes ; I am exceedingly endear' d to his love : By this hand, I protest to you, signior, I speak it not gloriously, nor out of affectation, but there's he and the count Frugale, signior Illustre, signior Luouleuto, and a sort of 'em, that when I am at court, they do share me amongst them ; happy is he can enjoy me most private. I do wish myself sometime an ubiqnitary for their love, in good faith. Car. There's ne'er a one of these but might lie a week on the rack, ere they could bring forth his name ; and yet he pours them out as familiarly, as if he had seen them stand by the fire in the pre- sence, or ta'en tobacco with them over the stage, in the lord's room. Punt. Then you must of necessity know our court-star there, that planet of wit, madona Sa- violina ? Fast. O Lord, sir, my mistress. Punt. Is she your mistress ? Fast. Faith, here be some slight favours of hers, sir, that do speak it, she is ; as this scarf, sir, or this ribbon in my ear, or so ; this feather grew in her sweet fan sometimes, though now it be my poor fortune to wear it, as you see, sir: slight, slight, a foolish toy. Punt. Well, she is the lady of a most exalted and ingenious spirit. Fast. Did you ever hear any woman speak like her ? or enriched with a more plentiful discourse .' Car. O villainous ! nothing but sound, sound, a mere echo ; she speaks as she goes tired, in cob- web-lawn, light, thin ; good enough to catch ilies withaL Punt, O manage your affections. Fast. Well, if thou be'st not plagued for this blasphemy one day Piint. Come, regard not a jester : It is in the power of my purse to make him speak well or ill of me. Fast. Sir, I affirm it to you upon my credit and judgment, she has the most harmonious and mu- sical strain of wit that ever tempted a true ear ; and yet to see ! — a rude tongue would profane heaven, it it could. Punt. I am not ignorant of it, sir. Fast. Oh, it flows from her like nectar, and she doth give it that sweet quick grace, and exornation in the composure, that by this good air, as I am an honest man, would I might never stir, sir, but — she does observe as pure a phrase, and use as choice figures in her ordinary conferences, as any be in the Arcadia. Car. Or rather in Green's works, whence she may steal with more security. Sard. Well, if ten pound will fetch 'em, you shall have it ; but I'll part with no more. Fung, I'll try what that will do, if you please. Sard. Do so ; and when you have them, study hard. Fung. Yes, sir. An I could study to get forty shillings more now ! Well, I will put myself into the fashion, as far as this will go, presently. Sord. I wonder it rains not : the almanack says, we should have store of rain to-day. ZAside. Punt. Why, sir, to-morrow I will associate you to court myself, and from thence to the city about a business, a project I have ; I will expose it to you, sir ; Carlo, I am sure, has heard of it. Cwt. What's that; sir ? Punt. I do intend, this year of jubilee coming on, to travel : and because I will not altogether go upon expense, 1 am deterinined to put forth some five thousand pound, to be paid me five for one, upon the return of myself, my wife, and my dog from the Turk's court in Constantinople. If all or either of us miscarry in the journey, 'tis gone : if we be successfiil, why, there will be five and twenty thousand pound to entertain time withal. Nay, go not, neighbour Sordido ; stay to-night, and help to make our society the fuller. Gentle- men, frolic: Carlo 1 what! dull now .' Car. I was thinking on your project, sir, an you call it so. Is this the dog goes with you .' Punt. This is the dog, sir. Car. He does not go barefoot, does he ? Punt. Away, you traitor, away ! -— Car. Nay, afore God, I speak simply ; he may prick his foot with a thorn, and be as much as the whole venture is worth. Besides, for a dog that never travell'd before, it's a hiige journey to Con- stantinople. I'll tell you now, an he were mine, I'd have some present conference with a physician, what antidotes were good to give him, preservatives against poison ; for assure you, if once your money be out, there'll be divers attempts made against the life of the poor animal. Punt. "Hiou art still dangerous. Fast. Is signior Deliro's wife your kinswoman.' Sog. Ay, sir, she is my niece, my brother's daughter here, and my nephew's sister. Sard. Do you know her, sir .' Fast. O Lord, sir ! signior Deliro, her husband, is my merchant. Fung. Ay, I have seen this gentleman there often. Fast. I cry you mercy, sir ; let me crave your name, pray you. Fung. Fungoso, sir. Fast. Good signior Fungoso, I shall request to know you better, sir. Fung. I am her brother, sir. Fast. In fair time, sir. Punt. Come, gentlemen, I will be your conduct. Fast. Nay, pray you, sir; we shall meet at signior Deliro's often. Sog. You shall have me at the herald's office, sir, for some week or so at my first coming up. Come, Carlo. lExmnt. Mit. Melhinks, Cordatus, he dwelt somewhat too long on this scene ; it hung in the hand. Cor. / see not where he could have insisted less and to have made the humours perspicuous enough. Mit. True, as his subject lies ; but he might have altered the shape of his argument, and ex- plicated them better in single scenes. Cor. That had been single indeed. Why, be 42 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. Mad. What, can there not ? \ Deli. No, that is as sure as death, / No man alive. I do not say, is not, I But cannot possibly be worth her kindness, v Nay, it is certain, let me do her right. ' How, said I ? do her right ! as though I could, i As though this dull, gross, tongue of mine could', utter j The rare, the true, the pure, the infinite rights, / That sit, as high as I can look, within her ! I Mad. This is such dotage as was never heard. Deli. Well, this must needs be granted. Mad. Granted, quoth you ? Deli. Nay, Macilente, do not so discredit The goodness of your judgment to deny it. For I do speak the very least of her : And I would crave, and beg no more of Heaven, For all my fortunes here, but to be able To utter first in fit terms, what she is. And then the true joys I conceive in her. Mad. Is't possible she should deserve so well, As yon pretend ? Deli. Ay, and she knows so well Her ovm deserts, that, when I strive t'enjoy them. She weighs the things I do, with what she merits : And, seeing my worth out-weigh'd so in her graces. She is so solemn, so precise, so froward. That no observance I can do to her Can make her kind to me : if she find fault, I mend that fault ; and then she says, I faulted. That I did mend it. Now, good friend, advise me, How I may temper this strange spleen in her. Mad. You are too amorous, too obsequious, And make her too assured she may command you. When women doubt most of their husbands' loves, They are most loving. Husbands must take heed They give no gluts of kindness to their wives. But use them like their horses ; whom they feed Not with a mangerful of meat together. But half a peck at once ; and keep them so Still with an appetite to that they give them. He that desires to have a loving wife. Must bridle all the show of that desire : Be kind, not amorous ; nor bewraying kindness, As if love wrought it, but considerate duty. Offer no love rites, but let wives still seek them. For when they come ilmsought, they seldom like them. Deli. Believe me, Macilente, this is gospel. O, that a man were his own man so much. To rule himself thus. I will strive, i'faith. To be more strange and careless ; yet I hope I have now taken such a perfect course. To make her kind to me, and live contented, That I shall fihd my kindness well return' d. And have no need to fight with my affections. She late hath found much fault with every room Within my houi^e ; one was too big, she said. Another was not fumish'd to her mind, And so through all ; all which, now, I havealter'd. Then here, she hath a place, on my back-side. Wherein she loves to walk ; and that, she said. Had some ill smells about it : now, this walk Have I, before she knows it, thus perfumed With herbs, and flowers ; and laid in divers places, As 'twere on altars consecrate to her, Perfumed gloves, and delicate chains of amber^ To keep the air in awe of her sweet nostrils : This have I done, and this I think will please her. Behold, she comes. they not the same persons in this, as they wojdd have been in those^ and is it not an object of more state, to behold the scene full, and relieved with variety of speakers to the end, than to see a vast empty stage, and the actors come in one by one, as if they were dropt down with a feather into the eye of the spectators ? Mit. Nay, you are belter traded with these things than I, and therefore I'll subscribe to your Judgment ; marry, you shall give me leave to make objections. Cor. O, what else ? it is the special intent of the author you should do so ; for thereby others, that are present, may as well be satisfied, who haply would object the same you would do. Mit. So, sir; but when appearsMadlente again ? Cor. Marry, he stays but till our silence give him leave : here he comes, and with him signior Deliro, a merchant at whose house he is come to sojourn i make your own observation now, only transfer your tJioughts to the city, with the scene : where suppose they speak. SCENE II. — A Room in Deliko's House. Enter Deliro, Macilente, and PiDo with flowers and perfumes. Deli. I'll tell you by and by, sir, — Welcome, good Macilente, to my house. To sojourn even for ever ; if my best In cates, and every sort of good entreaty. May move you stay with me. \^He censeth : tJie hoy strews jlowers. Mad. I thank you, sir. — And yet the muffled Fates, had it pleased them, Might have supplied me from their own full store. Without this word, / thank you, to a fool. I see no reason why that dog caU'd Chance, Should fawn upon this feEow more than me : I am. a man, and I have Umbs, flesh, blood, Bones, sinews, and a soul, as well as he : My parts are every way as good as his j If I said better, why, I did not lie. Nath'less, his wealth, but nodding on my wants. Must make me bow, and cry, / thank you, sir. \_Aside. Deli. Dispatch ! take heed your mistress see you not. Fido. I warrant you, sir, I'll steal by her softly. [Exit. Deli. Nay, gentle friend, be merry ; raise your Out of your bosom : I protest, by heaven, [looks You are the man most welcome in the world. Maci. I thank you, sir. — I know my cue, I think. iAside. Re-enter Fido, with more perfumes and Jlowers. Fido. Where will you have them burn, sir ? Deli. Here, good Fido. What, she did not see thee ? Fido. No; sir. Deli. That is well. Strew, strew, good Fido, the freshest flowers ; so ! Maci. What means this, Siguier Deliro .' all this censing ? Deli. Cast in more Irankincense, yet more ; Macilente, I have such a wife ! [well said. — So passing fair ! so passing-fair-unkind ! But of such worth, and right to be unkind. Since no man can be worttiy of her kindness— \ 8ci:ne n. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 43 JBntffr Fallacb. Fal. Here's a sweet stink indeed ! What, shall I ever be thus crost and plagued. And sick of husband ? O, my head dotii ache, As it would cleave asunder, with these savours ! All my rooms alter'd, and but one poor walk That I delighted in, and that is made So fulsome with perfumes, that I am fear'd. My brain doth sweat so, \ have caught the plague ! DeS. Why, gentle wife, is now thy walk too sweet ? Thou said'st of )ate, it had sour airs about it. And found'st much fault that I did not correct it. Fal. Why, an I did find fault, sir ? Deli. Nay, dear wife, I know thou hast said tiou hast loved perfumes, No woman better. Fal. Ay, long since, perhaps ; But now that sense is alter'd : you would have me. Like to a puddle, or a standing pool. To have no motion, nor no spirit within me. No, I am like a pure and sprightly river, That moves for ever, and yet still the same ; Or fire, that burns much wood, yet still one flame. Deli. But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden, Smelling on roses, and on purple flowers ; And since, I hope, the humour of thy sense Is nothing changed. Fal. Why, those were growing flowers, And these within my walk are cut and strewed. Deli. But yet they have one scent. Fal. Ay ! have they so ? [ference In your gross judgment. If you make no dif- Betwixt the scent of growing flowers and cut ones. Yon have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith : And with such judgment have you changed the chambers, Leaving no room, that 1 can joy to be in, In all your house ; and now my walk, and all, You smoke me from, as if I were a fox, And long, belike, to drive me quite away : Well, walk you there, and I'll walk where I list. Deli. What shall I do ? O, I shall never please her. Mad. Out on thee, dotard ! what star ruled his birth, That brought him such a Star ? blind Fortune still Bestows her gifts on such as cannot use them : How long shdl I live, ere I be so happy To have a wife of this exceeding form ? iAtide. Deli. Away with 'em! would I had broke a joint When I devised this, that should so dislike her. Away, bear all away. lExit Firo, with Jlouiert, t^e. Fal. Ay, do ; for fear Aught that is there should like her. O, this man, How cunningly he can conceal himself. As though he loved, nay, houour'd and ador'd ! — Deli. Why, my sweet heart ? ■ -' Fal, Sweet heart I O, better still ! And asking, why? wherefore? and looking strangely, As if he were as white as innocence ! Alas, you're simple, you : you cannot change. Look pale at pleasure, and then red with wonder ; No, no, not you ! 'tis pity o' your naturals. I did but cast an amorous eye, e'en now, Upon a pair of gloves that somewhat liked me. And str^ht he noted it, and gave command All should be ta'en away. Deli. Be they my bane then ! What, sirrah, Fido, bring in those gloves again You took from hence. Fal. 'Sbody, sir, but do not : Bring in no gloves to spite me ; if you do Deli. Ay me, most wretched ; how am I mis- construed ! Maci. O, how she tempts my heart-strings with her eye, To knit them to her beauties, or to break ! What mov'd the heavens, that they could not make Me such a woman ! but a man, a beast, That hath no bliss like others ? Would to heaven, In wreak of my misfortunes, I were tum'd To some fair water-nymph, that, set upon The deepest whirl-pit of the rav'nous seas, My adamantine eyes might headlong hale This iron world to me, and drown it all. iAside. Cor. Behold, behold, the translated gallant. Mit. 0, he is welcome. Enter Fukooso, apparelled like Fastidious Brisk. Fung. Save you, brother and sister ; save you, sir ! 1 have commendations for you out o' the country. I wonder they take no knowledge of my suit : \_Aside. ] — Mine uncle Sogliardo is in town. Sister, methinks you are melancholy ; why are you so sad ? I think you took me for Master Fastidious Brisk, sister, did you not ? FcU. Why shoiild I take you for him ? Fung. Nay, nothing. — I was lately in Master Fastidious's comp2iny, and methinks we are very Uke. Deli. You have a fair suit, brother, 'give you joy on't. Fung. Faith, good enpugh to ride in, brother ; I made it to ride in. Fal. O, now I see the cause of his idle demand was his new suit. Deli. Pray you, good brother, try if you can change her mood. Fung. I warrant you, let me alone : I'U jftit het out of her dumps. Sister, how like you my suit ! Fal. O, you are a gallant in print now, brother. Fung. Faith, bow hke you the fashion ? it is the last edition, I assure you. Fal. I cannot but like it to the desert. * Fung. Troth, sister, I was fain to borrow these spurs, I have left my gown in gage for them, pray you lend me an angel. Fal. Now, beskrew my heart then. Fung. Good truth, I'll pay you again at my next exhibition. I had but bare ten pound of my father, and it would not reach to put me wholly into the fashion. Fal. I care not. Fung. I had spm-s of mine own before, but they were not ginglers. Monsieur Fastidious will be here anon, sister. Fal. You jest ! Fung, Never lend me penny more while you live then ; and that I'd be loth to say, in truth. Fal. When did you see him ? Fung. Yesterday ; I came acquainted with him at Sir Puntarvolo's : nay, sweet sister. Mad. I fain would know of heaven now, why yond fool Should wear a suit of satin ? he ? that rook. That painted jay, with such a deal of outside ? What is his inside, trow ? ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! Good heaven, give me patience, patience, patience. 44 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. A number of these popinjays there are, Whom, if a man confer, and but examine Their inward merit, with such men as want ; Lord, lord, what things they are 1 ^Aside. Fal. \^Gives him money.'] Come, when will you pay me again, now ? Funp. O lord, sister ! Mad. Here comes another. Enter Fastidious Bkisk, in a new suit. Fast, ^ave you, signior Deliro ! How dost thou, sweet lady? let me kiss thee. Fung. How ! a new suit ? ah me ! Deli. And how does master Fastidious Brisk ? Fast. Faith, live in court, signior Deliro ; in grace, I thank God, both of the noble masculine and feminine. I must speak with you in private by and by. Deli. When you please, su-. Fal. Why look yon so pale, brotter ? Fung. 'Slid, all this money is cast away now. Mad. Ay, there's a newer edition come forth. Fung. 'Tis but my hard fortune ! well, I'll have my suit changed, I'll go fetch my tailor presently, but first I'll devise a letter to my father. Have you any pen and ink, sister ? Fal. What would you do withal ' Fung. I would use it. 'Slight, an it had come but four days sooner, the fashion. \_ExU. Fast. There was a countess gave me her hand to kiss to-day, i' the presence : did me more good by that light than and yesternight sent her coach twice to my lodging, to intreat me accompany her, and my sweet mistress, with some two or three nameless ladies more : O, I have been graced by them beyond all aim of affection : this is her garter my dagger hangs in : and they do so commend and approve my apparel, with my judicious wearing of it, it's above wonder. Fal. Indeed, sir, 'tis a most excellent suit, and you d6 wear it as extraordinary. Fast. Why, I'll tell you now, in good faith, and by this chair, which, by the grace of God, I intend presently to sit in, I had three suits in one year made three great ladies in love with me : I had other three, undid three gentlemen in imitation : and other three gat three other gentlemen widows of three tliousand pound a year. Deli. Is't possible ? Fast. O, believe it, sir; your good face is the witch, and your apparel the spells, fiiat bring all the / pleasures of the world into their circle. / __i^a?. Ah, the sweet grace of a courtier ! /j Maci. Well, would my father had left me but a / good face for my portion yet ! though I had shared the unfortunate wit that goes with it, I had not cared ; I might have passed for somewhat in the ^orld then. Fast. Why, assure you, signior, rich apparel has' strange virtues : it mices him that hath it without means, esteemed for an excellent wit : he that enjoys it with means, puts the world, in remembrance of his means ; it helps the deformities of nature, and gives lustre to her beauties ; makes continual holi- day where it shines ; sets the wits of ladies at work, that otheiTvise would be idle ; fumisheth your two- shilling ordinary; takes possession of your stage at your new play ; and enricheth your oars, as scorn- ing to go with your scull. Maci. Pray you, sir, add this ; it gives respect to your fools, makes many thieves, as many strumpets, ', and no fewer bankrupts. Fal. Out, out ! unworthy to speak where he , breatheth. Fast. What's he, signior? ', Deli. A friend of mine, sir. Fast. By heaven I wonder at you citizens, what ' kind of creatures you are ! . Deli. Why, sir .> Fast. That you can consort yourselves with such poor seam-rent fellows. Fal. He says true. Deli. Sir, I will assure you, however you esteem of him, he's a man worthy of regard. Fast. Why, what has he in him of such virtue to be regarded, ha ? Deli. Marry, he is a scholar, sir.^ Fast. Nothing else ! Deli. And he is well traveU'd. Fast. He should get him clothes ; I would cherish those good parts of travel in him, and prefer him to some nobleman of good place. Deli. Sir, such a benefit should bind me to you for ever, in my friend's right ; and I doubt not, but his desert shall more than answer my praise. Fast. Why, an he had good clothes, I'd carry bim to court vrith me to-morrow. Dieli. He shall not want for those, sir, if gold and the whole city will famish him. Fast. You say well, sir : faith, signior Deliro, I am come to have you play the alchemist with me, £ind change the species of my land into that metal you talk of. Deli. With all my heart, sir ; what sum will serve you? Fast. Faith, some three or four hundred. Deli. Troth, sir, I have promised to meet a gen- tleman this morning in Paul's, but upon my return I'll dispatch you. Fast. I'll accompany you thither. Deli. As you please, sir ; but I go not thithet directly. Fast. 'Tis no matter, I have no other designment in hand, and therefore as good go along. Deli. I were as good have a quartain fever follow me now, for I shall ne'er be rid of him. Bring me a cloak there, one. Still, upon his grace at court, I am sure to be visited; I was a beast to give him any hope. Well, would I were in, that I am out with him once, and Come, signior Macilente, I must confer with you, as we go. Nay, dear wife, I beseech thee, forsake these moods : look not like winter thus. Here, take my keys, open my counting-houses, spread all my wealth before thee, choose any object that dehghts thee : if thou wilt eat the spirit of gold, and drink dissolved pearl in wine, 'tis for thee. Fal. So, sir ! Deli. Nay, my sweet wife. Fal. Good lord, how you are perfumed in your terms and all ! pray you leave us. Deli. Come, gentlemen. Fast. Adieu, sweet lady. {Exeunt all but Fallacb. Fal. Ay, ay ! let thy words ever sound in mine ears, and thy graces disperse contentment through all my senses ! O, how happy is that lady above other ladies, that enjoys so absolute a gentleman to her servant! A countess gives him Iter hand to kiss : ah, foolish countess ! he's a man worthy, if a woman may speak of a man's worth, to kiss the lips of an empress. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. Re-enter Funooso, with his Tailor. Fung. What's master Fastidious gone, sister ? Fal. Ay, brother. — He has a face like a cherubin ! Fung. 'Ods me, what luck's this ? Ihavefetoh'd my tailor and all : which way went he, sister, can you tell ? Fal. Not I, in good faith — and he has a body like an angel! [Aside. Fung. How long is't since he went ? Fal. Why, but e'en now ; did you not meet him ? — and a tongue able to ravish any woman in the earth. [Aside. Fang. O, for God's sake — I'U please you for your pains, [to his Tulor.] — But e'en now, say you.' Come, good sir : 'slid, I had forgot it too : if aoy body ask for mine uncle Sogliardo, they shall have him at the herald's office yonder, by Paul's. [Exit with his Tailor. Fal. Well, I will not altogether despair : I have heard of a citizen's wife has been beloved of a cour- tier ; and why not I ? heigh, ho ! well, I will into my private chamber, lock the door to me, and think over all his good parts one after another. [Exit. Mit. Well, I doubt, this last scene will endure some grievous torture. Cor. How ? you fear 'twill be rack'd by some hard construction 9 Mit Do not you ? Cor. No, in good faith : unless mine eyes could light me beyond sense. I see no reason why this should be more liable to the rack than the rest : you'll say, perhaps, the city will not take it well that the merchant is made here to doat so perfectly upon his wife ; and she again to be so Fastidiously affected as she is. Mit. You have utter'd my thought, sir, indeed. Cor. Why, by that proportion, the court might as well take offienoe at him we call the courtier, and with much more pretext, by how much the place transcends, and goes before in dignity and virtue : but can yiyu, imagine that any noble or true spirit in court, whose sinewy and altogether unaffected graces, very worthily express him a courtier, will make any exception at the opening of such an empty trunk as this Brisk is? or think his own worth impeached, by beholding his motley inside % Mit. No, sir, I do not. Cor. No more, assure you, will any grave, wise citixen, or modest matron, take the object of this folly in Deliro and his wife ; but rather apply it as the foil to their own virtues. For that were to affirm, that a man writing of Nero, should mean all emperors ; or speaking of Machiavel, compre- hend all statesmen ; or in our Sordido, all farm- ers ; and so of the rest : than which nothing can be uttered more malicious or absurd. Indeed there are a sort of these narrow-eyed decypherers, I confess, that will extort strange and abstruse mean- ings out of any subject, be it never so conspicuous and innocently delivered. But to such, where'er they sit concealed, let them know, the author defies them and their writing-tables ; and hopes no sound or safe judgment will infect itself with their co7i- tagious comments, who, indeed, come here only to pervert and poison the sense of what they hear, and for nought else. Enter cavalier Shift, ivith two Si-quisses (bills) in his hand. Mit. Stay, what new mute is this, that walks so suspiciously ? Cor. O, marry, this is one, for whose better illustration, we must desire you to presuppose the stage, the middle aisle in PauVs, and that, the west end of it. Mit. So, sir, and what follows ? Cor. Faith, a whole volume of humour, and worthy the unclasping. Mit. As how ? What name do you give him first? Cor. He hath shift of names, sir : some call him Apple-John, some signior Whiffe ; marry, his main standing name is cavalier Shift : the rest are but as clean shirts to his natures. Mit. And what makes he in Paul's now ? Cor. Troth, as you see, for the advancement of a si quis, or two ; wherein he has so varied himself , that if any of 'em take, he may hull up and down in the hummous world a little longer. Mit. It seems then he bears a very changing sail ? Cor. O, as the wind, sir : here comes more. ACT III. SCENE I.— The Middle Aisle of St. Paul's. Shift, [coming forward.'] This is rare, I have set up my bills without discovery. Enter Obasos. Orange. What, signior Whiffe ! what fortune has brought you into these west parts ? Shift. Troth, signior, nothing but your rheum ; I have been taking an ounce of tobacco hard by here, with a gentleman, and I am come to spit private in Paul's. 'Save you, sir. Orange. Adieu, good signior Whiffe. [Passes onward. Enter Clovb. Clove. Master Apple-John ! you are well met : when shall we sup together, and laugh, and be fat with those good wenches, ha ? Shift. Faith, sir, I must now leave you, upon a few humours and occasions ; but when you please, sir. . [Exit. Clove. Farewell, sweet Apple- John! I wonder there are no more store of gallants here. Mit. What be these two, signior 9 Cor. Marry, a couple, sir, that are mere stran- gers to the whole scope of our play ; only come to walk u, turn or two in this scene of Paul's, hy chance. Orange. Save you, good master Clove I Clove. Sweet master Orange. Mit. ^010 .' Clove and Orange f Cor. Ay, and they a-<-e well met, for 'tis as dry 46 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. an- Orange as iver grew : nothing hut salutation, and O lord, sir ! and, It pleases you to say so, sir 1 one that can laugh at a jest for company with a most plausible and extemporal grace ; and some hour after in private ask you what it was. The other monsieur. Clove, is a more spiced youth ; he will sit you a whole afternoon sometimes in a book- seller's shop, reading the Greek, Italian, andrSpa- nish, when he understands not a word of either ; if he had the tongues to his suits, he were an ex- cellent linguist. Clove. Do you hear this reported for certainty ? Orange. O lord, sir. Enter Puntakvolo and Carlo, followed hy two Serving- men, one leading a dog, the other bearing a bag. Punt. Sirrah, take my cloak ; and you, sir knave, follow me closer. If thou losest my dog, thou shalt die a dog's death ; I will hang thee. Car. Tut, fear him not, he's a good lean slave ; he loves a dog well, I warrant him ; I see by his looks, I : — Mass, he's somewhat hke him. 'Slud [to the Servant,] poison him, make him away with a crooked pin, or somewhat, man ; thou may'st have more security of thy life ; and — So, sir ; what ! you have not put out your whole venture yet, have -—foaZ Punt. No, I do want yet some fifteen or sixteen hundred pounds j but my lady, my wife, is Out of her Humour, she does not now go. — -nra?."'NoThow then.' Punt. Marry, I am now enforced to give it out, upon the return of myself, my dog, and my cat. Car. Your cat ! where is she ? Punt. My squire has her there, in the bag ; sir- rah, look to her. How lik'st thou my change. Carlo ? Car. Oh, for the better, sir ; your cat has nine lives, and your wife has but one. Punt. Besides, she will never be sea-sick, which vrill save me so much in conserves. When saw you signior Sogliardo .' Car. I came from him but now ; he is at the herald's office yonder ; he requested me to go afore, and take up a man or two for him in Paul's, against his cognizance was ready. Punt. What, has he purchased arms, then ? Cari Ay, and rare ones too ; of as many colours as e'er you saw any fool's coat in your Ufe. I'll go look among yond' bills, an I can fit him with legs to his arms. Punt. With legs to his arms ! Good ! I will go with you, sir. \They go to read the bills. Enter Fastidious, Deliao, and Macilbntb. Fast. Come, let's walk in Mediterraneo: I assure you, sir, I am not the least respected among ladies; but let that pass : do you know how to go into the presence, sir ? Mad. Why, on my feet, sir. Fast. No, on your head, sir ; for 'tis that must bear you out, I assure you ; as thus, sir. You must first have an especial care so to wear your hat, that it oppress not confusedly this your pre- dominant, or foretop ; because, when you come at the presence-door, you may with once or twice stroking up your forehead, thus, enter with your predominant perfect ; that is, standing up stiff. Mad. As if one were frighted .' Fast. Ay, sir. Mad. Which, indeed, a true fear of your mis- tress should do, rather than gum-water, or whites of eggs ; is't not so, sir ? - i Fast. An ingenious observation. Give me leave to crave your name, sir ? , Deli. His name is Macilente, sir. Fast. Good signior MacUente, if this gentleman, signior Deliro, furnish you, as he says he will, with clothes, I will bring you, to-morrow by this time, into the presence of the most divine and acute lady in court ; you shaU see sweet silent rhetorioi, and dumb eloquence speaking in her eye; but when she speaks herself, such an anatomy of wit, so sinewized and arterized, that 'tis the goodliest model of pleasure that ever was to behold. Oh ! she strikes the world into admiration of her ; O, O, O ! I cannot express them, believe me. Mad. O, your only admiration is your silence, sir. Punt. 'Fore God, Carlo, this is good ! let's read them again. iReads the hill. If there be any lady or gentlewoman of good car- riage that is desirous to entertain to her private uses, a young, straight, and upright gentleman, of the age of fme or six and twenty at the most ; who can serve in the nature of a gentleman-usher, and hath little legs of purpose, and a black satin suit of his own, to go before her in ; which suit, for the more sweetening, now lies in lavender ; and ean hide his face with her fan, if need require ; or sit in the cold at the stair foot for her. as well as another gentleman : let her subscribe her name and place, and diligent respect shall be given. Punt. This is above measure excellent, ha ! Car. No, this, this ! here's a fine slave. iReads. If this dty, or the suburbs of the same, do afford any young gentleman, of the first, second, or third head, more or less, whose friends are but lately deceased, and whose lands are but new come intojiis hands, that, to be as exactly qualified as the best of our ordinary gallants are, is affected to entertain the most gentleman-like use of tobacco ; as first, to give it the most exquisite perfume ; then, to know all the delicate ' sweet forms for the' assumption of it ; as also- the rare corollary and practice of the Cuban ebolition, euripus and whiff, which he shall receive or take ht-'hsre at London, and evaporate at Uxbridge, or farther, if it please him. If there he any such generous spirit, that is truly enamoured of these good faculties ; may it please him, but hy a note of his hand to specify the place or ordinary where he uses to eat and lie ; and most sweet attendance, with tobacco and pipes of the best sort, shall be ministered. Stet, quaeso, candide Lector. Punt. Why, this is without parallel, this. Car. Well, I'll mark this fellow for Sogliardo' s use presently. Punt. Or rather, Sogliardo, for his use. Car. Faith, either of them will serve, they are both good properties : I'll design the other a place too, that we may see! him. Punt. No better place than the Mitre, that we may be spectators with you. Carlo. Soft, behold who enters here : SiCENE 1. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS EUMOUR. Enter Soomardo. jSignior Sogliardo ! save you. Sag. Save you, good sir Pimtarvolo ; your 'dog's in health, sir, I see : How now, Carlo? Car. We have ta'en simple pains, to choose ;'you out followers here. [SAeuwAim tlubilit. Punt. Come hither, signior. ;' Clove. Monsieur Orange, yon gallants observe / us ; prithee let's talk fustian a little, and guU them ; make them believe we are great scholars. Orange. O lord, sir ! Clove. Nay, prithee let us, believe me, — you have an excellent habit in discourse. Orange. It pleases you to say so, sir. Clove. By this church, you have, la ; nay, come, begin — Aristotle, m his daemonologia, approves Scaliger for the best navigator in his time ; and in his hypercritics, he reports him to be Heauton- timorumenos : — you understand the Greek, sir .' Orange. O, good sir 1 Mad. For society's sake he does. O, here be a couple of fine tame parrots ! Clove. Now, sir, whereas the ingenuity of the time and the soul's synderisis are but embrions in nature, added to the panch of Esqniline, and the inter- vallum of the zodiac, besides the ecliptic line being optic, and not mental, but by the contem- plative and tbeoric part thereof, doth demonstrate to us the vegetable circumference, and the ven- tosity of the tropics, and whereas our intellectual, or mincing capreal (according to the metaphy- sicks) as you may read in Plato's Histriomastix You conceive me, sir? Orange. O lord, sir ! Clove. Then coming to the pretty animal, as reason long since is fled to animals, you know, or indeed for the more modelizing, or enamelling, or rather diamondizing of your subject, you shall perceive the hypothesis, or galaxia, (whereof the meteors long since had their initial inceptions and notions,) to be merely Pythagorical, matiematical, and aristocratical For, look you, sir, there is ever a kind of concinnity and species Let us turn to our former discourse, for they mark us not. Fast. Mass, yonder's the knight Puntarvolo. Deli. And iny cousin Sogliardo, methinks. Mad. Ay, and his familiar that haunts him, the devil with the shining face. Deli. Let 'em alone, observe 'em not. [SoGLfAiLDO, Puntarvolo, and Carlo, walk togetheri Sog. Nay, I will have him, I am resolute for that. By this parchment, gentlemen, I have been so toiled among the harrots yonder, you will not believe ! they do speak in the strangest language, and give a man the hardest terms for his money, that ever you knew. Car. But have you arms, have you arms ? Sog. I 'faith, I thank them ; I can write myself gentleman now ; here's my patent, it cost me thirty pound, by this breath. Punt. A very fair coat, well charged, and full of armory. Sog. Nay, it has as much variety of colours in it, as you have seen a coat have ; how like you the crest, sir? Punt. I understand it not well, what is't ? Sog. Marry, sir, it is your boar without a head, rampant. A boar without a head, that's very rare I Car. Ay, and rampant too ! troth, I commend the herald's wit, he has decyphered him well : a swine without a head, without brain, wit, anything indeed, ramping to gentility. You can blazon the rest, signior, can you not? Sog. O, ay, I have it in writing here of purpose ; it cost me two shillings the tricking. Car. Let's hear, let's hear. Punt. It is the most vile, foolish, absurd, palpable, and ridiculous escutcheon that ever this eye survised. — Save you, good monsieur Fasti- dious. [They salute as theymtet in the walk. Car. Silence, good knight ; on, on. Sog. [Reads.] Gyrony of eight pieces ; azure and gules ; between three plates, a chevron engrailed checquy, or, vert, and ermins ; on a chief argent, between two ann'lets sable, a'boar's head, proper. Car. How's that ! on a chief argent ? Sog. [ Reads.] On a chief argent, a boar's head proper, between two ann'lets sable. Car. 'Slud, it's a hog's cheek and puddings in a pewter field, this. [^Here they shift. FASTmrous mixes with Puntab voLO ; Carlo and Sogliardo ; Beltro artti Macilente ; Clove and Orange ; four couple. Sog. How like you them, signior ? Punt. Let the word be. Not without mustard : your crest is very rare, sir. Car. A frying-pan to the crest, had had no fellow. Fast. Intreat your poor friend to walk o£f a little, signior, I will salute the knight. Car. Come, lap it up, lap it up. Fast. You are right well encounter' d, sir ; how does your fair dog ? Punt. In reasonable state, sir ; what citizen is that you were consorted with? A merchant oi any wortli ? Fast. 'Tis signior Deliro, sir. Punt. Is it he ? — Save you, sir ! [TSey salute. Deli. Good sir Puntarvolo ! Mad. O what copy of fool would this place minister, to one endued vrith patience to observe it !■ Car. Nay, look yoii, sir, now you are a gentle- man, you must carry a more exalted presence, change your mood and habit to a more austere form ; be exceeding proud, stand upon your genti- lity, and scorn every man ; speak nothing humbly, never discourse under a nobleman, though you never saw him but riding to the star-chamber, it's all one. Love no man ; trust no man : speak ill of no man to his face ; nor well of any man behind his back. Salute fairly on the front, and wish them hanged upon the turn. Spread yoursisWupon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private. These be principles, think on them ; I'll come to you again presently. — t^^^fu-i Punt, [to his servant.'] Sirrah, keep closeTyeT^ not so close : thy breath will thaw my ruff. . \ Sog. O, good cousin, I am anrfffiniHsy7~Eow does my niece ? I am to walk vrith a knight,-here. Enter Fi'ngoso with his Tailor. Fung. O, he is here ; look you, sir, that's the gentleman. Tai. What, he in the blush-coioured satin ? Fung. Ay, he, sic ; though his suit blush, he blushes not, look you, that's the suit, sir : I would have mine such a suit without difference, such stuff, such a wing, such a sleeve, such a skirt, belly and all ; therefore, pray you observe it. Have you a pair of tables .' 48 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. i'oit. Why, do you see, sir, they say I am fan- tastical ; why, true, I know it, and I pursue my humour still, in contempt of this censorious age. 'Sligh't, an a man should do nothing but what a sort of stale judgments about this town will approve in him, he were a sweet ass : I'd beg him, i'faith, I ne'er knew any more find fault with a fashion, than they that knew not how to put themselves into it. For mine own part, so I please mine own appetite, 1 am careless what the f asty world speaks of me. Puh ! Fung. Do you mark, how it hangs at the knee there ? Tai. I warrant you, sir. Fling. For God's sake do, note all j do you see the collar, sir? Tai. Fear nothing, it shall not differ in a stitch, sir. Fung. Pray heaven it do not ! you'll make these linings serve, and help me to a chapman for the outside, will you .' Tai. I'll do my best, sir : you'll put it off pre- sently. Fung. Ay, go with me to my chamber you shall have it ^but make haste of it, for the love of a customer ; for I'll sit in my old suit, or else lie a bed, and read the Arcadia till you have done. l_Exit with his Tailor. Jte-enter Carlo. Car. O, if ever you were struck with a jest, gal- lants, now, now, now, I do usher the most strange piece of military pr ofession that ever was discovered — 'tBr-frcsJUSTSuiina'. — ■ — - Fast, Where ? where ? Punt. What is he for a creature } Car. A pimp, a pimp, that I have observed yon- der, the rarest superficies of a humour ; he comes every morning to empty his lungs in Paul's here ; and offers up some five or six hecatombs of faces and sighs, and away again. Here he comes ; nay, walk, walk, be not seen to note him, and we shall have excellent sport. Enter Shift ; and walks by, using action to his rapier. Punt. 'Slid, he vented a sigh e'en now, I thought he would have blown up the church. Car. O, you shall have him give a number of those false fires ere he depart. Fast. See, now he is expostulating: with his rapier : look, look I Car. Did you ever in your days observe better passion over a hilt .' Punt. Except it were in the person of a cutler's boy, or that the fellow were nothing but vapour, I should think it impossible. Car. See again, he claps his sword o' the head, as who should say, well, go to. Fast. O violence 1 I wonder the blade can con- tain itself, being so provoked. Car. With that the moody squire thumpt his breast, And rear'd his eyen to heaven for revenge. Sog. Troth, an you be good gentlemen, let's make them friends, and take up the matter between his rapier and him. Car. Nay, if you intend that, you must lay down the matter ; for this rapier, it seems, is in the nature of a hanger-on, and the good gentleman would happily be rid of him. Fast. By my faith, and 'tis to be suspected ; I'll ask him. Mao. O, here's rich stuff! for life's sake, let us A man would wish himself a senseless pillar, [go : Rather than view these monstrous prodigies : '\ Nil hahet infelix paupertas durius in se, | Quam quod ridiculos homines facit ' lExit with DELiRot Fast. Siguier. | Shift. At your service. Fast. Will you seU your rapier ? Car. He is tum'd wild upon the question ; he looks as he had seen a Serjeant. Shift. Sell my rapier! now fate bless me! Punt. Amen. Shift. You ask'd me , if I would sell my rapier, sir ? Fast. I did indeed. Shift. Now, lord have mercy upon me ! Punt. Amen, I say still. Shift. 'Slid, sir, what should you behold in my face, sir, that should move you, as they say, sir, to ask me, sir, if I would sell my rapier ? Fast. Nay, let me pray you, sir, be not moved : I protest, I would rather have been silent, than any way offensive, had I known your nature. Shift. SeU my rapier ? 'ods lid ! — Nay, sir, for mine own part, as I am a man that has serv'd in causes, or so, so I am not apt to injure any gen- tleman in the degree of falling foul, but — sell my rapier 1 I will tell you, sir, I have served with this foolish rapier, where some of us dare not appear in haste ; I name no man ; but let that pass. Sell my rapier ! — death to my lungs ! This rapier, sir, has travell'd by my side, sir, the best part of France, and the Low Country: I have seen Flushing, BriD, and the Hague, with this rapier, sir, in my Lord of Leicester's time : and by God's will, he that should offfer to disrapier me now, I would Look you, sir, you presume to be a gentleman of sort, and so likewise your friends here ; if you have any disposition to travel for the sight of service, or so, one, two, or all of you, I can lend you letters to divers officers and commanders in the Low Countries, that shall for my cause do you aU the good offices, that shall pertain or belong to gentle- men of your \lowering his tioice.] Please you to shew the bounty of your mind, sir, to im- part some ten groats, or half a crown to our use, till our ability be of growth to return it, and we shall think ourself 'Sblood ! sell my rapier ! Sog. I pray you, what said he, signior ? he's a proper man. Fast. Marry, he tells me, if I please to shew the bounty of my mind, to impart some ten groats to his use, or so Punt. Break his head, and give it him. Car. I thought he had been playing o' the Jew's trump, I. Shift. My rapier ! no, sir ; my rapier is my guard, my defence, my revenue, my honour ; — if you cannot impart, be secret, I beseech you — and I will maintain it, where there is a grain of dust, or a drop of water. ISighs.^ Hard is the choice when the valiant must eat their arms, or clem. Sell my rapier ! no, my dear, I will not be divorced ii-om thee, yet ; I have ever found thee true as steel, and You cannot impart, sir .' — Save you, gentlemen ; — ^nevertheless, if you have a fency to it, sir — tost. Prithee away: Is signior Deliro departed ? fSOENJi: I, r EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR, 49 Car. Have you seen a pimp outface his own [wants better? Sog. I commend him that can dissemble them so well. Punt. True, and having no better a cloak for it than he has neither. Fast. Od's precious, what mischievous luck is this .' adieu, gentlemen. Punt. Whither in such haste, monsieur Fasti- dious ? /"as*. After my merchant, signiorDeliro, sir. iBxit. Car. O hinder him not, he may hap lose his tide ; a good flounder, i'faith. Orange. Hai-k you, signior Whiffe, a word with yi- [Orawgb and Clovx call Snirr asidt. Car. How! signior Whiffe ? Orange. What was the difference between that gallant that's gone and you, sir ? Shift. No difference ; he would have given me five pound for my rapier, and I refused it ; that's all. Clove. O, was it no otherwise? we thought you had been upon some terms. Shift. No other than you saw, sir. Clove. Adieu, good master Apple-John. lExit wiOt Okahob. Car. How ! Whiffe, and Apple-John too ? Heart, what will you say if this be the appendix or label to both yon indentures ? Punt. It may be. Car. Resolve us of it, Janus, thou that look'st every way ; or thou, Hercules, that hast travelled all countries. Punt. Nay, Carlo, spend not time in invocations now, 'tis late. Car. Signior, here's a. gentleman desirous of your name, sir. Shift, Sir, my name is cavalier Shift : I am known sufficiently in this walk, sir. Car. Shift ! I heard your name varied even now, as I take it. Shift. True, sir, it pleases the world, as I am her excellent tobacconist, to give me the style of sig- nior Whiffe ; as I am u. poor esquire about the town here, they call me master Apple-John. Variety of good names does well, sir. ^ Car. Ay, and good parts, to make those good names ; out of which I imagine yon bills to be yours. Shift. Sir, if I should deny the manuscripts, I were worthy to be banish'd the middle aisle for ever. Car. I take your word, sir : this gentleman has subscribed to them, and is most desirous to be- come your pupil Marry, you must use expedition. Signior Insulso Sogliardo, this is the professor. Soff. In good time, sir : nay, good sir, house your head ; do you profess these sleights in tobacco ? Shift. I do more than profess, sir, and, if you please to be a practitioner, I will undertake in one fortnight to bring you, that you shall take it plau- sibly in any ordinary, theatre, or the Tilt-yard, if need be, in the most popular assembly that is. Punt. But you cannot bring him to the whiffe BO soon ? Shift. Yes, as soon, sir; he shall receive the first, second, and third whiffe, if it please him, and, upon the receipt, take his horse, drink his three cups of canary, and expose one at Hounslow, a second at Stains, and a third at Bagshot. Car. Baw-wawl Soff. You will not serve me, sir, will you ? I'll give you more than countenance. Shift. Pardon me, sir, I do scorn to serve any man. Car. Who ! he serve ? 'sblood, he keeps high men, and low men, he ! he has a fair living at Fullam. ® Shift. But in the nature of a fellow, I'll be your follower, if yon please. Sog. Sir, you shall stay, and dine with me, and if we can agree, we'll not part in haste : I am very bountiful to men of quality. Where shaU we go, signior ? Punt. Your Mitre is your best house. Shift. I can make this dog take as many whiffes as I list, and he shall retain, or effume them, at my pleasure. Punt. By your patience, foUow me, fellows. Sog. Sir Puntarvolo ! Punt. Pardon me, my dog shall not eat in his company for a million. (.Exit with nu Servants. Car. Nay, be not you amazed, signior Whiffe, whatever that stiff-necked gentleman says. Sog. No, for you do not know the humour of the dog, as we do : Where shall we dine. Carlo ? I would fain go to one of these ordinaries, now I am a gentleman. Car. So you may ; were you never at any yet ? Sog. No, faith ; but they say there resorts your most choice gallants. Car. True, and the feishion is, when any stranger comes in amongst 'em, they all stand up and stare at him, as he were some unknown beast, brought out of Africk ; but that will be helped with a good adventurous face. You must be impudent enough, sit down, and use no respect : when anything'a propounded above your capacity, smile at it, make two or three faces, and 'tis excellent; they'll think you have travell'd ; though you argue, a whole day, in silence thus, and discourse in no- thing but laughter, 'twill pass. Only, now and then, give fire, discharge a good full oath, and offer a great wager ; 'twill be admirable. Sog. I warrant you, I am resolute ; come, good signior, there's a poor French crown for your ordinary. Shift. It comes well, for I had not so much as the least portcullis of coin before. Mit. I travail with another objection, signior, which I fear will be enforced against the author, ere lean be deliver' d of it. Cor. WhaCs that, sir ? Mit. That the argument of his comedy might have been of some other nature, as of a duke to be in love with a countess, and that countess to be in lave with the duke's son, and the son to love the lady's waiting-maid ; some such cross wooing, with a clown to their servingman, better than to be thus near, and familiarly allied to the time. Cor. You say well, but I would fain hear one of these autumn-judgments define once. Quid sit co- moedia lifhe cannot, let him content himself with Cicero's definition, till he have strength to propose to himself a better, who would have a comedy to be imitatio vitse, speculum consuetudinis, imago veri- tatis ; a thing throughout pleasant and ridiculous, and accommodated to the correction of manners : if the maker have fail'd in any particle of this, they may worthily tax him ; but if not, wfiv be you, that are for them, silent, as 1 will he fur him i and give way lo the actors. j. 50 EVERY MAN OCT OF HIS HUMOUR. SCENE U.—The Country. Enter Sokdedo, with a Tialter aiout hii neck. Sard. Nay, God's precious, if the weather and season be so respectless, that beggars ^hall live as well as their betters ; and that my hunger and thirst for riches shall not make them hunger and thirst with poverty ; that my sleep shall be broken, and their hearts not broken ; that my coffers shall be full, and yet care; their's empty, and yet merry j — 'tis time, that a cross should bear flesh and blood, since flesh and blood cannot bear this cross. Mit. What, will he hang himself? Cor. Faith, ay ; it seems his prognostication has not kept touch with him, andthat makes himdespair. Mit. Beshrew me, he will be out or his hu- mour then indeed. Sord. Tut, these star-monger knaves, who would trust them ? One says dark and rainy, when 'tis as clear as chrystal ; another says, tempestuous blasts and storms, and 'twas as calm as a milk- bowl ; here be sweet rascals for a man to credit his whole fortunes with ! You sky-staring coxcombs you, you fat-brains, out upon you ; you are good for nothing but to sweat night-caps, and make rug-gowns dear \ you learned men, and have not a legion of devils a voslre service ! a vostre service I by heaven, I think I shall die a better scholar than they : but soft — Enter a Hind, with a letter. How now, sirrah ? Hind. Here's a letter come from your son, sir. Sord. From my son, sir I what would my son, sir,' some good news, no doubt. IReads. Sweet and dear father, desiring you first to send me your blessing, which is more worth to me than gold or silver, I desire you likewise to be adver- tised, that this Shrove-tide, contrary to custom, we use always to have revels ; which is indeed danc- ing, and makes an excellent shew in truth ;■ espe- cially if we gentlemen be well attired, which our seniors note, and think the better vf our fathers, the better we are maintained, and that they shall know if they come up, and have any thing to do in the law ; therefore, good father, these are, for your own sake as well as mine, to re- desire you, that you let me not want that which is fit for the setting up of our name, in the honourable volume of gen- tility, that I may say to our calumniators, with Tully, Ego sum ortus domus mese, tu occasus tuse. And thus, not doubting of your fatherly benevolence, I humbly ash yovr blessing, and pray God to bless you. ( Yours, if his own, [Fungoso.! How's this ! Tour's, if his own ! Is he not my son, except he be his own son .' belike this is some new kind of subscription the gallants use. Well ! wherefore dost thou stay, knave ? away ; go. lExit Hind.] Here's a "letter, indeed ! revels ? and benevolence ? is this a weather to send bene- volence .' or is this a season to revel in .' 'Slid, the devil and all takes part to vex me, I think ! this letter would never have come now else, now, now, when the sun shines, and the air thus clear. Soul 1 if this hold, we shall shortly have an excel- lent crop of com spring out of the high ways ; the streets and houses of the town vrill be hid with the rankness of the fruits, that grow there in spite ot good husbandry. Go to, I'll prevent the sight of it, come as quickly as it can, I will prevent the sight of it. I have this remedy, heaven. [Clam- bers up, and suspends the halter to a tree.] Stay ; I'll try the pain thus a little. O, nothing, nothing. Well now ! shall my son gain a benevolence by my death } or anybody be the better for niy gold, or so forth ? no ; alive I kept it from them, and dead, ray ghost shall walk about it, aiid preserve it. My son and daiighter shall starve ere they touch it ; I have hid it as deep as hell from the sight of heaven, and to it I go now. ^Ftings himself qffl Enter Jive or six Kustics, one after anoilier, 1 Rust. Ah me, what pitiful sight is this ! help, help, help ! 2 Rust. How now ! what 's the matter ? 1 Rust. 0, here's a man has hang'd himself, help to get him again. 2 Rust. Hang'd himself! 'Slid, carry him afore a justice, 'tis chance-medley, o' my word. 3 Rust. How now, what's here to do ? 4 Rust. How comes this .' 2 Rust. One has executed himself, contrary to order of law, and by my consent he shall answer it. [They cut him down. 5 Rtist. Would he were in case to answer it ! 1 Rust. Stand by, he recovers, give him breath. Sord. Oh ! 5 Rust. Mass, 'twas well you went the foot- way, neighbour. 1 Rust. Ay, an I had not out the halter Sord. How ! cut the halter ! ah me, I am un- done, I am undone I 2 Rust. Marry, if you had not been undone, you had been hang'd, I can tell you. Sord. You thread-bare, horae-bread-eating ras- cals, if you would needs have been meddling, could you not have untied it, but you must cut it ; and in the midst too ! ah me ! 1 Rust. Out on me, 'tis the caterpillar Sordido ! how curst are the poor, that the viper was blest with this good fortune ! 2 Rust. Nay, how accurst art thou, that art cause to the curse of the poor ? 3 Rust. Ay, and to save so wretched a caitiff? 4 Rust. Cuirst be thy fingers that loos'd'hjm ! 2 Rusl. Some desperate fury possess thee, that thou may'st hang thyself too ! 5 Rust. Never may'st thou be saved, that saved so damn'd a monster ! Sord. What curses breathe these men ! how; have my deeds Made my looks differ from another man's. That they should thus detest and loath my life ! Out on my wretched humour ! it is that Makes me thus monstrous in true humane eyes. Pardon me, gentle friends, I'll make fair 'mends For my foul errors past, and twenty-fold Restore to all men, what with wrong I robb'd them : My bams and gamers shall stand open still To all the poor that come, and my best grain Be made alms-bread, to feed half-famish'd mouths. Though hitherto amongst you I have lived. Like an unsavoury muck-hill to myself. Yet now my gather'd heaps being spread abroadi Shall turn to better and more fruitful usesi / SCI3NE: III. ^ : EVERY MAif OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 51 Bless tlien this man, curse him no more forssaving My ]ife and soul together. O how deeply \^ The bitter curses of the poor do pierce ! >v I am by wonder changed ; come in with me \ And witness my repentance : now I prove, . . No life is blest, that is not graced with love. \ExW.. 2 ^u^(.-.:QLmif acle l"see 'wEeh a man has Kra"cgfc>' ; 3 Rust. Had it not been pity so~gooH" a man .''should have been cast away ? 2 Rvst. Well, I'll get our clerk put his conver. sion in the Acts and Monuments. 4 Hust. Do, for I warrant him he's a martyr. 2 Rust. O God, how he wept, if yon mark'd it ! did you see how the tears triU'd ? 5 Rust. Yes, believe me, like master vicar's bowls upon the green, for aE the world. 3 Rust. O neighbour, God's blessing o' your heart, neighbour, 'twas a good grateful deed. [Bxeant. Cor. How noxe, Miiis ! whafs that you con- sider so seriously 9 Hit. Trothy thai which doth essentially please me, the warping condition of this green and soggy multitude ,• but in good faith, signior, your author hath largely ouistript my expectation in this scene, I will liberally confess it. For when I saw Sor- dido so desperately intended, I thought I had had a hand of him, then. Cor. What ! you supposed Tie should have hung himself indeed 9 _-- —• 1/ Mit. / did, and had framed my objection to it f ready, which may yet be very fitly urged, and with some necessity ; for though his purposed violence lost the effect, and extended not to death, yet the intent and horror of the object was more than the nature of a comedy will in any sort admit. ^ . Cor. Ay ! what think you of PlautiiiTm his comedy called Cistellaria ? there, where he brings in Alcesimarchus with a drawn sword ready to hill himself, and as he is e'en fixing his breast upon it, to be restrained from his resolved outrage, by Silenium and the bawd ? Is not his authority of power to give our scene approbation ? Mit. Sir, I have this only evasion left me, to say, I think it be so indeed ; your memory is hap- pier than mine : but I wonder, what engine he will use to bring the rest out of their humours ! Cor. That will appear anon, never pre-occupy your imagination withal. Let your mind keep company with the scene still, which now removes itself from the country to the court. Here comes Macilente, and signior Brisk freshly suited ; lose not yourself, for now the epitasis, or busy part of our subject, is in act. — » — SCENE III. — An Apartment at the Court. Enter Macilbnte, FiSTimons, ftotft in a new suit, and CwsDO, with tobacco. Fast. Well, now, signior Macilente, you are not only welcome to the court, but also to my mis- tress's withdrawing chamber. — Boy, get me some tobacco. I'll but go in, and shew I am here, and come to you presently, sir. lExil. Maci. What's that he said.' by heaven, 1 mark'd him not : M'y thoughts and T were of another world. I was admiring mine own outside here. To think what privilege and palm it bears Here, in the court ! be a man ne'er so vile, In wit, in judgment, manners,or what else ; If he can purchase but a silken cover. He shall not only pass, but pass regarded : Whereas, let him be poor, and meanly clad, Though ne'er so richly parted, you shaU have A. fellow that knows nothing but his beef, Or how to rince his clammy guts in beer. Will take him by the shoulders, or the throat. And kick him down the stairs. Such is the state Of virtue in bad clothes ! — ha, ha, ha, ha ! That raiment should be in such high request ! How long should I be, ere I should put off To the lord chancellor's tomb, or the shrives' posts ? By heav'n, I think, a thousand, thousand year. His gravity, his wisdom, and his faith To my dread sovereign, graces that survive him. These I could well endure to reverence. But not his tomb ; no more than I'd commend The chapel organ for the gilt without. Or this base-viol, for the varnish'd face. He-enter Fastidious. Past. I fear I have made you stay somewhat long, sir ; bat is my tobacco ready, boy ? Cin. Ay, sir. Fast. Give me ; my mistress is upon coming, you shall see her presently, sir. [Puffs.2 You'll say you never accosted a more piercing wit. — This tobacco is not dried, boy, or else the pipe is de- fective. — Oh, your wits of Italy are nothing com- parable to her : her brain's a very quiver of jests, and she does dart them abroad with that sweet, loose, and judicial aim, that you would here she comes, sir. _ — ' ^Saviolina looks~in, amf (fi'awW"B'(lc£"'ajram.' Maci. 'Twas time, his invention had bgpn bagged else. Sav. [^within.J Give me my fan there. Maci. How now, monsieur Brisk .' Fast. A kind of affectionate reverence strikes me with a.cold shivering, methinks. Maci. I like such tempers well, as stand before their mistresses with fear and trembling ; and be- fore their Maker, like impudent mountains ! Fast. By this hand, I'd spend twenty pound my vaulting horse stood here now, she might see me do but one trick. Mad. Why, does she love activity ? Cin. Or, if you had but your long stockings on, to be dancing agalliard as she comes by. Fast. Ay, either. O, these stirring humours make ladies mad with desire ; she comes. My good genius embolden me : boy, the pipe quickly. Enter Saviolina. Maci. What ! will he give her music' Fast. A second good morrow to my fair mistress. Sav. Fair servant, I'll thank you a day hence, when the date of your salutation comes forth. Fast. How like you that answer ? is't not ad- mirable ? Maci. I were a simple courtier, if I could not admire triiles, sir. Fas!. [Talks and takes tobacco between the breaks.] Troth, sweet lady, I shdl ipuffsj be prepared to give you thanks for those thanks, and study more oflScious, and obsequious re- gards to your fair beauties. — '-Mend the pipe, boy. 52 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. Maci. I never knew tobacco taken as a paren- thesis before. Fast. 'Fore God, sweet lady, believe it, I do honour the meanest rush in this chamber for your love. Sav. Ay, you need not tell me that, sir ; I do think you do prize a rush before my love. Maci. Is this the wonder of nations I Fast. O, by this air, pardon me, I said/or your love, by this light ; but it is the aecustoined sharp- ness of your ingenuity, sweet mistress, to [takes down the viol, and plays] mass, your viol's new strung, methiuks. Maci. Ingenuity 1 I see his ignoranoe vrill not suffer him to slander her, which he had done most notably, if he had said wit for ingenuity, as he meant it Fast. By the soul of music, lady — hum, hum. Sav. Would we might hear it once. Fast. I do more adore and admire your — hum, hum — predominant perfections, than — hum, hum — ever I shall have power and faculty to express — hum. ' • Sav. Upon the viol de gambo, you mean ? Fast. It's miserably out of tune, by this hand. Sav. Nay, rather by the lingers. Maoi. It makes good harmony with her wit Fast. Sweet lady, tune it. [Saviolina tunes the viol.l — Boy, some tobacco. Maci. 'Tobacco again ! he does court his mis- tress with very exceeding good changes. Fast. Siguier Macilente, you take none, sir ? Maci. No, unless I had a mistress, signior, it were a great indecorum for me to take tobacco. Fast. How like you her wit .' ITalks and takes tobacco between again. Maci. Her ingenuity is excellent, sir. Fast. You see the subject of her sweet fingers there -Oh, she tickles it so, that She makes it laugh most divinely ; I'll tell you a good jest now, and yourself shall say it's a good one : I have wished myself to be that instrument, I think, a, thousand times, and not so few, by hea- ven ! Maci. Not unlike, sir ; but how ? to be cased up and hung by on the wall ? Fast. O, no, sir, to be in use, I assure you ; as your judicious eyes may testify. Suv. Here, servant, if you vrill play, come. Fast. Instantly, sweet lady. In good faith, here's most divine tobacco ! Sav. Nay, I cannot stay to dance after your pipe. Fast. Good ! Nay, dear lady, stay j by this sweet smoke, I think your wit be all fire. Maci. And he's the salamander belongs to it. Sav. Is your tobacco perfumed, servant, that you '■ swear by the sweet smoke ? Fast. Still more excellent ! Before heaven, and these bright lights, I think ^you are made of ingenuity, I Maci. True, as your discourse is. O abominable ! Fast. WUl your ladyship take any.' Sav. O peace, I pray you ; I love not the breath of a woodcock's head. Fast. Meaning my head, lady ? Sav. Nof altogether so, sir j but, as it were fatal to their follies that think to grace themselves with taking tobacco, when they want better entertain- ment, you see your pipe bears the true form of a woodcock's head. Fast. O admirable simile ! Sav. 'Tis best leaving of you in admiration, sir. IBxit. Mad. Are these the admired lady-wits, that having so good a plain song, can run no better division upon it ? All her jests are of the stamp March was fifteen years ago. - Is this the comet, monsieur Fastidious, that your gallants Wonder at so? Fast. Heart of a gentleman, to neglect me afore the presence thus ! Sweet sir, I beseech you be silent in my disgrace. By the musesj I was never in so vile a humour in my life, and her wit was at the flood too ! Report it not for a million, good sir ; let me be so far endeared to your love. iExeunt. Mit. Wtutt follows next, signior Cordatus It thii gallants humour is almost spent ; meihinks. it ebbs apace, with this contrary breath of his mistress. Cor. O, but it will flow again for all this, till there come a general drought of humour among all our actors, and then I fear not but his will fall a,-, low as amy. See who presents himself here I Mit What, in the old case ? Cor. jiy, faith, which makes it the more piti- ful; you understand where the scene is ? ACT IV. SCENE I. — A Room in Deliro's House. Enter Fungoso, FALLACB/oBotoinp 7iim. Fal. Why are you so melancholy, brother ? Fung. I am not melancholy, I thank you, sister. Fal. Why are you not merry then ? there are but two of us in all the world, and if we should not be comforts one to another, God help us ! Fung. Faith, I cannot tell, sister ; but if a man had any true melancholy in him, it would make him melancholy to see his yeomanly father cut his neigh- bours' throats, to make his son a gentleman ; and yet, when he has cut them, he vnll see his son's throat cut too, ere he make him a true gentleman indeed, before death cut his own throat. I must be the first head of our house, wd yet he wiU not give me the head till I be made so. Is any man termed a gentleman, that is not always in the fashion ? I would know but that. Fal. If you be melancholy for that, brother, I think I have as much cause to be melancholy as any one : for I'll be sworn, I live as little in the fashion as any woman in London. By the faith of a gentlewoman, beast that I am to say it ! I have not one friend in the world besides my husband. WTien saw you master Fastidious Brisk, brother? Fung. But a wliile since, sister, I think : I know not well in truth. By this hand I could fight with all my heart, methinks. Fal. Nay, good brother, be not resolute. Fung. I sent hinx a letter, and he vnites me no answer neither. SCENE in. EVERY MAN OUT OP HIS HUMOUR. S3 Fal. Oh, sweet Fastidious Brisk ! O fine cour- tier ! thou art he makest me sigh, and say, how blessed is that woman that hath a courtier to her husband, and how miserable a dame she is, that . hath neither husband, nor friend in the court ! O ■ sweet Fastidious ! O fine courtier 1 How comely I he bows him in his court'sy ! how full he hits a ' woman between the lips when he kisses ! how np- / right he sits at the table ! how daintily he carves ! how sweetly he talks, and tells news of this lord and of that lady ! how cleanly he wipes his spoon at every spoonAil of any whitemeat he eats ! and what a neat case of pick-looths he carries about him still ! O sweet Fastidious ! O fine courtier ! Enter Delibo at a distancet leith Musicians. Deli. See, yonder she is, gentlemen. Now, as ever you'll bear the name of musicians, touch your instruments sweetly ; she has a delicate ear, I tell you : play not a false note, I beseech you. Musi. Fearnot, signior Deliro. Deli. O, begin, begin, some sprightly thing : lord, how my imagination labours with the success ofitl [^They strike up a lively iune.J Well said, good i'faith ! Heaven grant it please her. I'll not be seen, for then she'll be sure to dislike it Fal. Hey da! this is excellent ! I'll lay my life this is my husband's dotage. I thought so ; nay, never play bo-peep vrith me ; I know you do nothing but study how to anger me, sir. Deli, [coming forward.'] Anger thee, sweet wife! why, didst thou not send for musicians at supper last night thyself? Fal. To supper, sir ! now, come up to supper, I beseech you : as though there were no difiierence between supper-time, vrhen folks should be merry, and this time when they should be melancholy. I would never take upon me to take a wife, if I had no more judgment to please her. Deli. Be pleased, sweet wife, and they shall have done ; and would to fate my life were done, if I can never please thee ! {.Exeunt Musicians. Enter Macixbnte. Mad. Save you, lady ; v^here is master Deliro ? Deli. Here, master Macilente : you are welcome from court, sir ; no doubt you have been graced exceedingly of master Brisk's mistress, and the rest of the ladies for his sake. [known Mad. Alas, the poor fantastic I he's scarce To any lady there ; and those that know him. Know him the simplest man of all they know : Deride, and play upon his amorous humours, Though he but apishly doth imitate The gallant'st courtiers, kissing ladies' pumps. Holding the cloth for them, praising their wits, And servilely observing every one May do them pleasure : fearful to be seen With any man, though he be ne'er so vforthy, That's not in grace vrith some that are the greatest. Thus courtiers do, and these he counterfeits. But sets no such a sightly carriage Upon their vanities, as they themselves ; And therefore they despise him : for indeed He's like the zany to a tumbler. That tries tricks after him, to make men laugh. Ftd. Here's an unthankful spiteful vfretch ! the good gentleman vouchsafed to make him bis com- panion , because my husband put him into a few rags, and now see how the unrude rascal backbites him 1 iJitide. Deli. Is he no more graced amongst them then, say you ? Mad. Faith, Uke a pawn at chess : fills up a room, that's all. Fal. O monster of men ! can the earth bear such an' envious caitiff.' {Aside. Deli. Well, I repent me I ever credited him so much : but now I see what he is, and that his mask- ing vizor is off, I'll forbear him no longer. All his lands are mortgaged to me, and forfeited ; besides, I have bonds of his in my hand, for the receipt of now fifty pounds, now a hundred, now two hun- dred ; still, as he has had a fan but wagged at him, he would be in a new suit. Well, I'll salute him by a Serjeant, the next time I see him i'faith, I'll suit him. Mad. Why, you may soon see him, sir, for he is to meet signior Puntarvolo at a notary's by the Exchange, presently ; where he means to take up, upon return. Fal. Now, out upon thee, Judas ! canst thou not be content to backbite thy friend, but thou must betray him ! Wilt thou seek the undoing of any man? and of such a man too." and will you, sir, get your living by the counsel of traitors ? Deli. Dear wife, have patiehce. Fal. The house will fall, the ground will open and swallow us : I'll not bide here for all the gold and silver in heaven. {Exit wiih Fdngoso. Deli. O, good Macilente, let's follow and appease her, or the peace of my life is at an end. {Exit. Mad. Now pease, and not peace, feed that life, vfhose head hangs so heavily over a woman's manger ! {Exit. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter F^ixace and Fdngoso running; she claps to the door. Fal. Help me, brother ! Ods body, an you come here I'll do myself a mischief. Deli. Iwithin."] Nay, hear me, sweet wife ; unless thou wilt have me go, I will not go. Fal. Tut, you shall never have that vantage of me, to say, you are undone by me. I'U not bid you stay, I. Brother, sweet brother, here's four angels, I'll give you towards your suit : for the love of gen- try, and as ever you came of Christian creature, make haste -to the water side, (you know where master Fastidious uses to land,) and give him warn- ing of my husband's malicious intent ; and tell him of that lean rascal's treachery. O heavens, how my flesh rises at him ! Nay, sweet brother, make haste : you may say, I would have writ to him, but that the necessity of the time would not permit. He cannot choose but take it extraordinarily from me : and commend me to him, good brother ; say, I sent you. {Exit. Fung, Let me see, these four angels, and then forty shillings more I can borrow on my gown in Fetter Lane. — ^Well, I will go presently, say on my suit, pay as much money as 1 have, and swear myself into credit with my tailor for the rest. {Exit. SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. Enter SsLmo and Macilehtb. Deli. O, on my soul you wrong her, Macilente. Though she be froward, yet I know she la hone't. 64 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR.- ACT IV,; lHaci. Well, then have I no judgment. Would any woman, but one that were wild in her affec- tions, have broke out into that immodest and violent passion against her husband? or is't possible Deli. If yon love me, forbear ; all the argu- ments i' the world shall never wrest my heart to believe it. lExmnt. Cor. How like you the deciphering of his Mit. 0, strangely : and of the other's envy too, that labours so seriously to sot debate betwixt a man and his wife. Stay, here comes the knight adventurer. Cor. Ay, and his scrivener with him. SCENE IV. — PuNTARVOLo's Lodgings. Enter Puntaevolo, Notary, and Servants with the dog and cat. Punt, I wonder monsieur Fastidious comes not ! But, notary, if thou please to draw the indentures the while, I will give thee thy instructions. Not, With all my heart, sir ; and I'll fall in hand with them presently. Punt. Well then, first the sum is to be under- stood. Not, \writes.'\ Good, sir. Punt, Next, our several appellations, and cha- racter of my dog and cat, must be known. Shew him the cat, sirrah. Not. So, sir. Punt, Then, that the intended bound is the Turk's court in Constantinople ; the time limited for our return, a year ; and that if either of us miscarry, the whole venture is lost. These are general, couceiv'st thou ? or if either of us turn Turk. Not, Ay, sir. Punt, Now, for particulars : that I may make my travels by sea or land, to my best liking; and that hiring a coach, for myself, it shall be lavrful for my dog or cat, or both, to ride with me in the said coach. Not, Very good, sir. Punt, That I may choose to give my dog or cat, fish, for fear of bones ; or any other nutriment thatjby the judgment of the most authentical physicians where I travel, shall be 'bought danger- ous. Not, Well, sir. Punt. That, after the receipt of his money, he shall neither, in his own person, nor any other, either by direct or indirect means, as magici witchcraft, or other such exotic eirts, attempt, practise, or complot any thing to the prejudice of me, , my dog, or my cat : neither shall I use the help of any such sorceries or enchantments, as unctions to make our skins impenetrable, or to travel invisible by virtue of a powder, or a ring, or to hang any three-forked charm about my dog's neck, secretly conveyed into his collar ; (under- stand you .') but that all be performed sincerely, without fraud or imposture. Not. So; sir. Punt. That, for testimony of the performance, myself am to bring thence a Turk's mustachio, my dog a Grecian hare's lip, and my cat the train or tail of a Thracian rat. Not, [writes,'] "lis done, sir. '/ Punt. 'Tis said, sir ; not done, sir. But for- ( ward ; that, upon my return, and landing on the [ Tower-wharf, with the aforesaid testimony, I an^ to receive five for one, according to the proportion ( of the sums put forth. '- Not, WeU, sir. { Punt, Provided, that if before our departure, ( or setting forth, either myself or these be visited I with sickness, or any other casual event, so that i the whole course of the adventure be hindered thereby, that then he is to return, and I am to receive the prenominated proportion upon fair and equal terms. Not, Very good, sir ; is this aU ? Punt, It is all, sir ; and dispatch them, good notary. Not, As fast as is possible, sir. iExit, Enter Cablo. Punt. O Carlo! welcome: saw you monsieur Brisk .' Car, Not I : did he appoint you to meet here ? Punt, Ay, and I muse he should be so tardy ; he is to take an hundred pounds of me in venture, if he maintain his promise. Car, Is his hour past ? Punt, Not yet, but it comes on apace. Car, Tat, be not jealous of him ; he wiU sooner break all tie commandments, than his hour ; upon my life, in such a case trust him. Punt, Methinks, Carlo, you look very smooth, ha! Car, Why, I came but now from a hot-house ; I must needs look smooth. Punt, From a hot-house ! Car, Ay, do you make a wonder on't .' why, it is your only physic. Let a man sweat once a week in a hot-house, and be well rubb'd, and froted, with a good plump juicy wench, and sweet Unen, he shall ne'er have the pox. Punt, What, the French pox ? Car. The French pox ! our pox: we have them in as good a form as they, man ; what ? Punt, Let me perish, but thou art a salt one ! was your new-created gallant there with you, Sogliardo .' Car, O porpoise I hang him, no : he's a leiger at Horn's ordinary, yonder ; his villainous Gany. mede and he have been droning a. tobacco-pipe there ever since yesterday noon. Punt, Who ? signior Tripartite, that would give my dog the whiffe ? Car, Ay, he. They have hired a chamber and aU, private, to practise in, for the making of the patoun, the receipt reciprocal, and a number of other mysteries not yet extant. I brought some dozen or twenty gsdiants this morning to view them, as you'd do a piece of perspective, iii at a key-hole ; and there we might see Sogliardo sit in a chair, holding his snout up like a sow under an apple-tree, while the other open'd his nosti-ils with a poking-stick, to give the smoke a more free delivery. They had spit some three or fourscore ounces between 'em, afore we came away. Punt. JHow ! spit three or fourscore ounces ? Car, Ay, and preserv'd it iii porrengers, as a barber does his blood, wben he opens a vein. Punt. Out, pagan ! how d.?st thou open the vein of thy friend ? SC1!N£ IV. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 55 Car. Friend ! is there any such foolish thing in the world, ha ? 'slid, I never relished it yet. , Punt. Thy humour is the more dangerous. Cor. No, not a whit, signior. Tut, a man must ' keep time in all ; I can oil my tongue when I meet him next, and look with a good sleek fore- head ; 'twill take away all soil of suspicion, and that's enough : what Lynceus can see my heart ? Pish, the title* of a friend ! it's a vain, idle thing, only venerable among fools ; you shall not have one that has any opinion of wit affect it. Enter Delxbo and Maczlshts. Deli. Save you, good sir Puntarvolo. Funt. SignioirDeliro! welcome. Deli, Pray you, sir, did you see master Fasti- dious Brisk ? I heard he was to meet your worship here. Punt. You heard no figment, sir ; I do expect him at every pulse of my watch. ' Deli. In good time, sir. Car. There's a fellow now looks like one of the patricians of Sparta ; marry, his wit's after ten i' the hundred : a good blood-hound, a close- mouthed dog, he follows the scent well ; marry, he's at a fault now, methinks. Punt. I should wonder at that creature is free irom the danger of thy tongue. Car. O, I cannot abide these limbs of satin, or rather Satan indeed, that will walk, like the chil- dren of dai'kness, all day in a melancholy shop, with their pockets full of blanks, ready to swallow up as many poor unthrifts as come within the verge. Punt. So! and what hast thou for him that is with him, now? Car. O, d n me ! immortality ! I'll not meddle with him ; the pure element of fire, all spirit, extraction. Punt. How, Carlo ! ha, what is he, man ? ■Car. A scholar, Macilente ; do you not know him ? a rank, raw-boned smatomy, he walks up and down like a charged musket, no - man dares encounter him: that's his rest there. Punt. His rest ! why, has he a forked head ? Car. Pardon me, that's to be suspended ; you are too quick, too apprehensive. Deli. Troth, now I think on't , I'll defer it till some other time. Mad. Not by any means, signior, you shall not lose this opportunity, he will be here presently now. Deli. ' Yes, faith, Macilente, 'tis best. For, look you, sir, I shall so exceedingly offend my wife in't, that Maei. Your wife ! now for shame lose these thoughts, and become the master of your own spirits. Should I, if I had a wife, suffer myself to be thus jpassionately carried to and fro with the stream of her humour, and neglect, my deepest affairs, to serve her affections ? 'Slight, I would geld myself first. Deli. O, but signior, had you such a wife as mine is, you would Maci. Such a wife ! Now hate me, sir, if ever I discern'd any wonder in your wife yef, with all the speculation I have : I have seen some that have been thought fairer than she, in my time ; and I have seen those, have not been altogether so tall, esteem'd properer women ; and I have seen less I noses grow upon sweeter faces, that have done very well too, in my judgment. But, in good faith, signior, for all this, the gentlewoman is a good, pretty, proud, hard-favour'd thing, marry not so peerlessly to be doted upon, I must confess : nay, be not angry. Deli. Well, sir, however you please to forget yourself, I have not deserv'd to be thus played upon ; but henceforth, pray you forbear my house, for -I can but faintly endure the savour of his breath, at my table, that shall thus jade me for my courtesies. Mam. Nay, then, signior, let me tell you, your wife is no proper woman, and by my life, I suspect her honesty, that's more, which you may likewise suspect, if you please, do you see ? I'll urge you to nothing against your appetite, but if you please, you may suspect it. Deli. Good, sir. iBxit. Maei. Good, sir ! now horn upon horn pursue thee, thou blind, egregious dotard ! Car. O, you shall hear him speak like envy. — Signior Macilente, you saw monsieur Brisk lately : I heard you were with him at court. Mad. Ay, Buffone, I was with him. Car. And how is he respected there ? I know you'll deal ingenuously with us ; is he made much of amongst the sweeter sort of gallants ? Mad. Faith, ay ; his civet and his casting- glass Have helpt him to a place amongst the rest : And there, his seniors give him good slight looks, After their garb, smile, and salute in French With some new compliment. Car. What, is this all ? Mad. Why say, that they should shew the frothy fool Such grace as they pretend comes from the heart, He had a mighty windfall out of doubt ! Why, all their graces are not to do grace To virtue or desert ; but to ride both With their gilt spurs quite breathless, from them- 'Tis now esteem'd precisianism in wit, [selves. And a disease in nature, to be kind Toward desert, to love or seek good names. Who feeds with a good name ? who thrives with Who can provide feast for his own desires, [loving ? With serving others ? — ha, ha, ha ! 'Tis folly, by our wisest worldlings proved, If not to gain by love, to be beloved. Car. How like you him? is't not a good spiteful slave, ha ? Punt. Shrewd, shrewd. Car. D — n me ! I could eat his flesh now ; divine sweet villain ! Mad, Nay, prithee leave : What's he there ? Car. Who ? this in the starched beard? it's the dull stiff knight Puntarvolo, man ; he's to travel now presently : he has a good knotty wit ; marry, he carries little on't out of the land with him. Mad. How then ? Car. He puts it forth in venture, as he does his money upon the return of a dog and cat. Mad. Is this he ? Car. Ay, this is he ; a good tough gentleman : helooks like a shield of brawn at Shrove-tide, out of date, and ready to take his leave ; or a dry pole of ling upon Easter-eve, that has fumish'd the table all Lent, as he has done the city this last vacation. Mad. Come, you'll never leave your stabbing 66 EVERY MAN OUT OP HIS HUMOUR. ACT IV. similes : I shall have you aiming at me with 'em by and by; but Car. O, renounce me then! pure, honest, good devi\, I love thee above the love of women : I could e'en melt in admiration of thee, now. Ods so, look here, man ; Sir Dagonet and his squire ! Enter Sogliardo and SHirr. Sag. Save you, my dear gallantos : nay, come, approach, good cavalier : prithee, sweet knight, know this gentleman, he's one that it pleases me to use as my good friend and companion ; and there- fore do him good offices : I beseech you, gentles, know hin>, I know him all over. .Pmd. ,Sir, for signior SogUardo's sake, let it suffice, I know you. Sog. Why, as I am a gentleman, I thank you, knight, and it shall suffice. Hark you, sir Pun- tarvolo, you'd little think it ; he's as resolute a piece of flesh as any in the world. Punt. Indeed, sir ! Sog. Upon my gentility, sir : Carlo, a word vrith you ; do you see that same fellow, there ? Cor. What, cavalier Shift ? Sog. O, you know him ; cry you mercy : before me, I think him the tallest man living vrithin the walls of Europe. Car. The walls of Europe ! take heed what you Bay, signior, Europe's a huge thing within the walls. Sog. Tut, an 'twere as huge again, I'd justify what I speak. 'Slid, he swagger'd even now in a place where we were — I never saw a man do it more resolute. Car. Nay, indeed, swaggering is a good argu- ment of resolution. Do you hear this, signior ? Mad. Ay, to my grief. O, that such muddy flags, For every drunken flourish should achieve The name of manhood, whilst true perfect valour. Hating to shew itself, goes by despised ! Heart ! I do know now, in a fair just cause, I dare do more than he, a thousand times : Why should not they take knowledge of this, ha ! And give my worth allowance before his ? Because I cannot swagger. — Now, the pox Light on your Pickt-hatch prowess 1 Sog. Why, I tell you, sir ; he has been the only Bid-stand that ever kept New-market, Salisbury- plain, Hockley 'i the Hole, Gads-hiU, and all the high places of any request : he has had his mares and his geldings, he, have been worth forty, three- score, a hundred pound a horse, would ha' sprung you over hedge and ditch like your greyhound : he has done five hundred robberies in his time, more or less, I assure you. Punt. What, and scaped ? Sog. Scaped ! i' faith, ay : he has broken the gaol when he has been in irons and irons ; and been out and in again ; and out, and in ; forty times, and not so few, he. Maei. A fit trumpet, to proclaim such a person. Car. But can this be possible ? Shift. Why, 'tis nothing, sir, when a man gives hjs affections to it. Sog. Good Pylades, discourse a robbery or two, to satisfy these gentlemen of thy worth. Shift. Pardon me, my dear Orestes ; causes have their quiddits, and 'tis ill jesting with bell-ropes. Car. How ! Pylades and Orestes ? Sog. Ay, he is my Pylades, and I am his Orestes : how like you the conceit ? Car. O, 'tis an old stale interlude device : no, I'll give you names myself, look you ; he shall be your Judas, and you shall be his elder-tree to hang on. Mad. Nay, rather let him be captain Pod, and this his motion : for he does nothing but shew him. Car. Excellent : or thus ; you shall be Holden, and he your camel. Shift. You do not mean to ride, gentlemen J Punt. Faith, let me end it for you, gallants : yor shall be his Countenance, and he your Resolution. | Sog. Troth, that's pretty : how say you, cava- lier, shall it be so? Car. Ay, ay, most voices. Shift. Faith, I am easily yielding to any good impressions. Sog. Then give hands, good Eesolution. Car. Mass, he cannot say, good Countenance, now, properly, to him again. Punt. Yes, by an irony. Mad. O, sir, the countenance of Resolution should, as he is, be altogether grim and unpleasant. Enter Pasotdious Brisk. Fast. Good hours make music with your mirth, gentlemen, and keep time to your humours ! — How now, Carlo ? Punt. Monsieur Brisk ? many a long look have I extended for you, sir. Fast. Good faith, I must crave pardon : I was invited this morning, ere I was out of my bed, by a bevy of ladies, to a banquet : whence it was al- most one of Hercules's labours for me to come away, but that the respect of my promise did so prevail with me. 1 know they'll take it very ill, especially one, that gave me this bracelet of her hair but over night, and this pearl another gave me from her forehead, marry she what! are the writings ready? Punt. I will send my man to know. Sirrah, go you to the notary's, and learn If he be ready : leave the dog, sir. [Exit Servant. Fast. And how does my rare qualified friend, Sogliardo ? Oh, signior Macilente ! by these eyes, I saw you not ; I had saluted you sooner else, o' my troth. I hope, sir, I may presume upon you, that you will not divulge my late check, or. dis- grace, indeed, sir. Mad. You may, sir. Car. He knows some notorious jest by this guU, that he hath him so obsequious. Sog. Monsieur Fastidious, do you see this fellow there ? does he not look like a clown ? would you think there were any thing in him ? Fast. Any thing in him ! beshrew me, ay ; the fellow hath a good ingenious face. Sog. By this element he is as ingenious a tall man as ever swagger'd about London : he, and I, call Countenance and Resolution ; but his name is cavalier Shift. Punt. Cavalier, you knew signior Clog, that was hang'd for the robbery at Harrow on the hill ? Sog. Knew him, sir ! why, 'twas he gave all the directions for the action. Punt. How! was it your project, sir? Shift. Pardon me. Countenance, you do me some wrong to make occasions public, which I im. parted to you in private. Sog. God's vrill ! here are none but friends, Rn. • solution. scENfi r. EVERY MAN OlTX Of* HIS HUMOUR, «7 i Shift. That's all one; things of consequence (must have their respects ; . where, how, and to jwhom. — Yes, sir, he shewed himself a true Clog in /the coherence of that affair, sir ; for, if he had managed matters as they were corroborated to him, it had been better for him by a forty or fifty score /of pounds, sir ; and he himself might have lived, ijn despight of fates, to have fed on woodcocks, I with the rest : but it was his heavy fortune to sink, .' poor Clog ! and therefore talk no more of him. Punt. Why, had he more aiders then ? Sog. O lord, sir ! ay, there were some present there, that were the Nine Worthies to him, i'faith. / Shift. Ay, sir, I can satisfy you at more con- venient conference : but, for mine own part, I have now reconciled myself to other courses, and pro- fess a living out of my other qualities. Soff. Nay, he has left all now, I assure you, and is able to live like a gentleman, by his quali- ties. By this dog, he has the most rare gift in tobacco that ever you knew. Car. He keeps more ado with this monster, than ever Banks did with his horse, or the fellow with the elephant. Mad. He vrill hang out his picture shortly, in a cloth, you shall see. Sog. O, he does manage a quarrel the best that ever you saw, for terms and circumstances. Fast. Good faith, signior, now you speak of a quarrel, I'll acquaint you with a difference that happened between a gallant and myself; sir Pun- tarvolo, you know him if I should name him, sig- nior Luculento. Punt. Luculento ! what inauspicious chance in- terposed itself to your two loves ? Fast. Faith, sir, the same that sundered Aga- memnon and great Thetis' son ; but let the cause escape, sir : he sent me a challenge, mizt with some few braves, which I restored, and in fine we met. Now, indeed, sir, I must tell you, he did offer at iirst very desperately, but without judgment : for, look you, sir, I cast myself into this figure ; now he comes violently on, and withal advancing his rapier to strike, I thought to have took his arm, for he had left his whole body to my election, and I was sure he could not recov,pr his guard. Sir, I mist my purpose in his arm, rash'd his doublet-sleeve, ran him close by the left cheek, and through his hair. He again lights me here, — I had on a gold cable hatband, then new come up, which I wore about a murrey French hat I had, — cuts my hat- band, and yet it was massy goldsmith's work, cuts my brims, which by good fortune, being thick embroidered with gold twist and spangles, disap- pointed the force of the blow: nevertheless, it grazed on my shoulder, takes me away six purls of an Italian cut-work band I wore, cost me three pound in the Exchange but three days before. Punt. This was a strange encounter. Fast. Nay, you shall hear, sir: with this we ooth fell out, and breath'd. Now, upon the se- cond sign of his assault, I betook me to the former manner of my defence ; he, on the other side, abandon'd his body to the same danger as before, and follows me still with blows : but I being loth to take the deadly advantage that lay before me of his left side, made a kind of stramazoun, ran him up to the hilts through the doublet, through the shirt, and yet miss'dthe skin. He, making a reverse blow, —falls upon my emboss'd girdle, I had thrown off the hangers a little before — strikes off a skirt of a thick-laced satin doublet I had, lined with four taffa- tas, cuts off two panes embroidered with pearl, rends through the drawings-out of tissue, enters the li- nings, and skips the fiesh. Car. 1 wonder he speaks not of his wrought shirt. Fast. Here, in the opinion of mutual damage, we paused ; but, ere I proceed, I must tell you, signior, that, in this last encounter, not having leisure to put off my silver spurs, one of the rowels catch'd hold of the ruffle of iny boot, and, being Spanish leather, and subject to tear, overthrows me, rends me two pair of sUk stockings, that I put on, being somewhat a raw morning, a peach colour and another, and strikes me some half inch deep into the side of the calf: he, seeing the blood come, presently takes horse, and away : I, having bound up my wound with a piece of my wrought shirt Car. O ! comes it in there ? Fast. Edd after him, and, lighting at the court gate both together, embraced, smd march'd hand in hand up into the presence. Was not this business well carried .' Mad. Well ! yes, and by this we can guess what apparel the gentleman wore. Punt. 'Fore valour, it was a designment begun with much resolution,, malntain'd with as much prowess, and ended with more humanity Re-enter Servant. How now, what says the notary ? Serv. He says, he is ready, sir ; he stays but your worship's pleasure. Punt. Come, we will go to him, monsieur. Gentlemen, shall we entreat you to be witnesses ? Sog. You shall entreat me, sir. — Come, Reso- lution. Shift. I follow you, good Countenance. Car. Come, signior, come, come. iBxeunt all tut Macilsnte. Mad. O, that there should be fortune To clothe these men, so naked in desert ! And that the just storm of a wretched life Beats them not ragged for their wretched souls, And, since as fruifiess, even as black, as coals ! lExit. Mit. Whg, hut signior, how comes it that Fwii- goso appeared not with his sister's intelligence to Brisk 9 Cor. Marry, long of the evil angels that she gave him, who have indeed tempted the good simple youth to follow the tail of the fashion, and neglect the imposition of his friends. Behold, here he comes, very worshipfully attended, and with good variety. SCENE v. — A Room in Deliro's House. Enter Fungoso in a new suit, /olldwed by Ms Tailor, Shoemaker, and Halierdasher. Fung. Gramercy, good shoemaker, I'll put to strings myself. lExit Shoemaker.] — Now, sir, let me see, what must you have for this hat .' Habe. Here's the bill, sir. Fung. How does it become me, well ? roi". Excellent, sir, as ever you had any hat in your life. Fwng. Nay, you'll say so all. Sabe. In faith, sir, the hat's as good as. any 68 EVERY MAN GUI' OF HIS HUMOUll. ACT IVt man in this town can serve you, and will maintain fashion as long ; never trust me for a groat else. Fung. Does it apply well to my suit ? Tai, Exceeding well, sir. Fung. How lik'st thou my suit, haberdasher ? Haie. By my troth, sir, 'tis very rarely well made ; I never saw a sviit sit better, I can tell on. Tai. Nay, we have no art to please our friends, we! Fung. Here, haberdasher, tell this same. \_Crives him money. Haie. Good faith, sir, it makes you have an excellent body. Fung. Nay, believe me, I think I have as good a body in clothes as another. Tai. You lack points to bring your apparel to- gether, sir. J'm»5'. I'll have points anon. How now! Is't right ? Habe. Faith, sir, 'tis too little ; but upon farther hopes Good morrow to you, sir. [Exit. Fung. Farewell, good haberdasher. Well, now, master Snip, let me see your bill. Mit Methinks he discharges Ms followers too thick. Cor. O, therein he saucily imitates some great man. I warrant you, though he turns off them, he keeps this tailor, in place of a page, to follow him still. Fung. This biH is very reasonable, in faith : hark you, master Snip — Troth, sir, I am not al- together so well furnished at this present, as I could wish I were ; but if you'll do me the favour to take part in hand, you shall have all I have, by this hand. Tai. Sir Fufuj. And but give me credit for the rest, till the beginning of the next term. Tai. O lord, sir Fung. 'Fore God, and by this light, I'll pay you to the utmost, and acknowledge myself' very deeply engaged to you by the courtesy. Tai. Why, how much have you there, sir ? Fung. Marry, I have here four angels, and fif- teen shillings of white money : it's all I have, as I hope to be blest. Tai. You will not fail me at the next term with the rest ? . . Fung. No, an I do, pray heaven I be hang'd. Let me never breathe again upon this mortal stage, as the philosopher calls it 1 By this air, and as I am a gentleman, I'll hold. Cor. He were an iron-hearted fellow, in my judgment, that would not credit him upon this vol- ley of oaths. Tai. Well, sir, I'U not stick with any gentleman for a trifle : you know what 'tis remains ? Fung. Ay, sir, and I give you thanks in good faith. • fate; how happy am I made in this good fortune I Well, now Fll go seek out monsieur Brisk. 'Ods so, I have forgot riband for my shoes, and points. 'Slid, what luck 's this ! how shall! do? Master Snip, pra!y let me reduct some two or three shillings for points and ribands : as.I am an honest man, I have utterly disfurnished myself, in the default of memorv; pray let me be beholding to you ; it shall come home in the bill^ believe me. Tai. Faith, sir, I can hardly depart with ready money ; but I'll take up, and send you some b^ my boy presently. What coloured riband would you have ? Fung. What you shall think meet in your judg- ment, sir, to my suit. Tai. Well, I'll send you some presently. ', Fung. And points too, sir ? Tai. And points too, sir. i Fung. Good lord, how shall I study to deserve this kindness of you, sir ! Pray let your youth make haste, for 1 should have done a business an hour since, that I doubt I shall come too late. IFxit Tailor.] Now, in good faith, 1 am exceed- ing proud of my suit. Cor. Do you observe the plunges that this poor gallant is put to, signior, to purchase the fashion ? Mit. Ay, and to be still a fashion behind with the world, that's the sport. Cor. Stay : O, here they come from seal'd and deliver' d. SCENE VI. — PoNTARVOLo's Lodgings. Enter Puntakvolo, Pastidious Brisk in a new suit, and Servants, with the dog. Punt. Well, now my whole venture is forth, I will resolve to depart shortly. Fast. Faith, sir Puntarvolo, go to the court, and take leave of the ladies first. Punt. I care not, if it be this afternoon's In- hour. Where is Carlo ? Fast. Here he comes. Enter Cablo, Sosmakbo, SUict, and Macii.bntb, Car. Faith, gallants, I am persuading this gen- tleman [jpoints to SoGLiXBDO,] to turn courtier. He is a man of fair revenue, and his estate will bear the charge well. Besides, for his -other gifts of the mind, or so, why they are as nature lent him them, pure, simple, without any artificial drug or mixture of these two threadbare beggarly quali- ties, learning and knowledge, and therefore the .more accommodate and genuine. Now, for the life itself Fast. 0,.th6. most celestial, and full of wonder and delight, that can be imagined, signior, beyond thought and apprehension of pleasure ! A man lives there in that divine rapture, that he will think himself i' the ninth heaven for the time, and lose all sense of mortality whatsoever, when he shall behold such glorious, and almost immortal beauties ; hear such angelical and harmonious voices, discourse with such' flowing and ambrosial spirits, whose wits are as sudden as lightning, and humorous as nectar ; oh, it makes a man all qidnt- essence and flame, and lifts him up, in a moment, to the very crystal crown of- the sky,- where, ho- vering in the strength of his imaginaition, he shall behold all the delights of the Hesperides, the Irisulse FortunatEB, Adonis' Gardens, Tempe, or what else, confined within the amplest verge of poesy, to be mere umbrae, and imperfect figures, conferred with the most essential felicity of your court. Mad.. Well, thi? encomium was not eztempo- ral, it came too perfectly off. SCENE VI. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 59 \ Car. Besides, sir, you shall never need to go to i hot-house, you shall sweat there with courting your mistress, or losing your money at piimero, as well as in all the stoves in Sweden. Marry, this, ^.ir, you must ever be sure to carry a good strong perfume about you, that your mistress's dog may iiiaell you out amongst the rest ; and, in making I'.ove to her, never fear to be out ; for you may Ihave a pipe of tobacco, or a bass viol shall hang o' the wall, of purpose, will put you in presently. The tricks your Resolution has taught you in to- ,' bacco, the whiffe, and those sleights, will stand / you in very good ornament there. Fast. Ay, to some, perhaps ; but, an he should come to my mistress with tobacco (this gentleman knows) she'd reply upon him, i'faith. O, by this bright sun, she has the most acute, ready, and fa- cetious wit that- tut, there's no spirit able to stand her. You can report it, signior, yoa have seen her. Punt. Then can he report no less, out of his judgment, I assure him. Mad. Troth, I like her well enough, but she's too self-coDceited, methinks. Fast. Ay, indeed, she's a little too self-conceit- ed ; an 'twere not for that humour, she were the most-to-be-admired lady in the world. Punt. Indeed, it is a humour that takes &om her other excellences. Mad. Why, it may easily be made to forsake Uer, in my thought. Fast. Easily, sir! then are all impossibilities easy. Mad. You conclude too quick upon me, signior.. What win you say, if I make it so perspicuously appear now, that yourself shall confess nothing more possible ? Fast. Marry, I will say, I vriU both applaud and admire you for it. Pant. And I wiU second him in the admira- tion. Mad. Why, I'll show you, gentlemen. — Carlo, come hither. [Maoi. Cab. Pont, and Fast. lohUper together. Sog, Good faith, I have a great humour to the oour*. What thinks my Resolution ? shall I ad- venture ? Shift. Troth, Countenance, as you please ; the place is a place of good reputation and capacity. Sog. O, my tricks in tobacco, as Carlo says, will show excellent there. Shift. Why, you may go with these gentlemen now, and see fashions ; and after, as you shall see correspondence. Soff. You say true. You vrill go • with me, Resolution ? Shift. I wUl meet you. Countenance, about three or four o'clock ; but, to say to go with you, I cannot.; for, as I am Apple- John, I am to go before the cockatrice you saw this morning, and therefore, pray, present me excused, good Coun- tenance. Soff. Farewell, good Resolution, but fail not to meet. SAift. As I live. l^xit. Punt. Admirably excellent ! Mad. If you can but persuade Sogliardo to court, there's all now. Car. O, let me alone, that's my task. IGoet to SoouAiux). Fast, Now, by wit, Macilente, it's above mea- sure excellent ; 'twill be the only court-exploit that ever proved courtier ingenious. Punt. Upon my soul, it puts the lady quite out of her humour, and we shall laugh with judgment. Car. Come, the gentleman was of himself re- solved to go with you, afore I moved it. Mad. Why, then, gallants, you two and Carlo go afore to prepare the jest ; Sogliardo and I will come some while after you. Car. Pardon me, I am not for the court. Punt. That's true ; Carlo comes not at court, indeed. Well, you shall leave it to the faculty of monsieur Brisk, and myself ; upon our lives, we will manage it happily. Carlo shall bespeak supper at the Mitre, against we come back: where we will meet and dimple our cheeks with laughter at the success. Car. Ay, but will you promise to come ? Punt. Myself shall undertake for them; he that fails, let his reputation lie under the lash of thy tongue. Car. Ods so, look who comes here ! Enter Fu^ooso. Sog. What, nephew 1 Fung. Uncle, God save you; did you see a gentleman, one monsieur Brisk, a courtier ? he goes in such a suit as I do. Sog. Here is the gentleman, nephew, but not in such a suit. Fung. Another suit ! iSmoont.. Sog. How now, nephew ? Fast. Would you speak with me, sir ? Car. Ay, when he has recovered himself, poor Poll ! Punt. Some rosa-solis. Mad. How now, signior ? Fung. I am not well, sir. Maci. Why, this it is to dog the fashion. Car. Nay, come, gentlemen, remember your affairs ; his disease is nothing but the flux . of apparel. Punt. Sirs, return to the lodging, keep the cat safe ; I'll be the dog's guardian myself. \Exeunt Servants. Sog. Nephew, wUl you go to court with us? these gentlemen and I are for the court ; nay, be not so melancholy. Fung. 'Slid, I think no man in Christendom has that rascally fortune that I have. Mad. Faith, your suit is well enough, signior. Fung. Nay, not for that, I protest ; but I had an errand to monsieur Fastidious, and I have for- got it. Mad. Why, go along to court with us, and remember it ; come, gentlemen, you three take one boat, and Sogliardo and I will take another ; we shall be there instantly. Fast. Content : good sir, vouchsafe us your pleasance. Punt. Farewell, Carlo : remember. Car. 1 warrant you : would I had one of Kemp's shoes to throw after you. Punt. Good fortune wiU close the eyes of our jest, fear not : and we shall frolick. iExeuni, Mit. This Macilente, signior, begins to be more sociable on a sudden, methinks, than he was before : there's some portent in it, I believe. Cor. O, he's a fellow of a strange nature. Now 60 EVERY MAN OUT OP HIS HUMOtJR. ACT f. does he, in this calm of his humour, plot, and store up a world of malicious thoughts in his brain, till fie is so fall with them, that you shall see the very torrent of his emoy break forth like a land-flood,: and, against the course of all their affections, op- pose itself so violently, that you will almost have wonder to think, how 'Hs possible the current of their dispositions shall receive so quick and strong an alteration, Mit. Ay, marry, sir, this is that, on which my expectation has dwelt all this while ; for I must tell you, signior, though I was loth to interrupt the scene, yet I made it a question in mine own private discourse, how he should properly call it Every Man out of his Humour, when I saw all his actors so strongly pursue, and continue their humours ? Cor. Why, therein his art appears most full of lustre, and approacheth nearest the life ; especially '■ when in the flame and height of their humour^, they are laid flat, it fills the eye better, and wi^h \ more contentment. How tedious a sight were 'lit to behold a proud exalted tree lopt, and cut dovfn by degrees, when it might be felVd in a momenfi! and to set the axe to it before it came to that priaie and fulness, were, as not to have it grow. \ Mit. Well, I shall long till I see this fall, yoi^i talk of. ', Cor. To help your longing, signior, let your: imagination be swifter than a pair of oa/rs : and! by this, suppose Puntarvolo, Brisk, Fungoso, and' the dog, arrived at the court-gate, and goirig up to ; the great chamber. Macilente and Sogliardo, ' we''ll leave them on the water, till possibility and natural means may land them. Here came the gallants, now prepare your expectation. ACT V. SCENE I The Palace Stairs. Bnf£r Pdntahvolo, with his dog, followed &y Fastidious Brisk and Fungoso, Punt. Come, gentles, Signior, you are sufficiently instructed. Fast. Who, I, sir ? Punt. No, this gentleman. But stay, I take thought how to bestow my dog ; he is no compe- tent attendant for the presence. Fast. Mass, that's true, indeed, knight; you must not carry him into the presence. Punt. I know it, and I, like a dull beast, forgot to bring one of my cormorants to attend me. Fast. Why, you were best leave him at the porter's lodge. Punt. Not so ; his worth is too well knovm amongst them, to be forth-coming. Fast. 'Slight, how will you do then ? Punt. Imust leave him with one that is ignoran t of his quality, if 1 will have him to be safe. And see ! here comes one that will carry coals, ergo, willJiold my dog. Snter a Groom, with a basket. My honest friend, may I commit the tuition of this dog to thy prudent care ? Groom. You may, if you please, sir. Punt. Pray thee let me find thee here at my return ; it shall not be long, till I will ease thee of thy employment, and please thee. Forth, gentles. Fast. Why, but will you leave him with so slight command, and infuse no more charge upon the fellow ? Punt. Charge ! no ; there were no policy in that ; that were to let him know the value of the gem he holds, and so to tempt frail nature against her disposition. No, pray thee let thy honesty be sweet, as it shall be short. Groom. Yes, sir. Punt. But hark you, gallants, and chiefly monsieur Brisk : when we come in eye-shot, or presence of this lady, let not other matters carry us from our project ; but, if we can, single her forth *o some place Fast. I warrant you. Punt. And be not too sudden, but let the de- vice induce itself witli good circumstance. On. Fung, Is this the way ? good truth, here be fine hangings. ^Exeunt Punt. Fast, and Fukoobo. Groom. Honesty ! sweet, and short ! Marry, it shall, sir, doubt you not ; for even at this instant if one would give me twenty pounds, I would not deliver him ; there's for the sweet : but now, if any man come offer me but two-pence, he shall have him ; there's for the short now. 'Shd, what a mad humorous gentleman is this to leave his dog viath me I I could run away with him now, an he were worth any thing. Enter Macilente and Sogliardo. Mad. Come on, signior, now prepare to court this all-wltted lady, most naturally, and like your- self. Sog. Faith, an you say the word, I'll begin to her in tobacco. Mad. O, fie ou't ! no ; you shall begin with, How does my sweet lady, or. Why are you so melancholy, madam ? though she be very merry, it's all one. Be sure to kiss your hand often enough ; pray for her health, and tell her, how more than most fair she is. Screw your face at one side thus, and protest : let her fleer, and look askance, and hide her teeth with her fan, when she laughs a fit, to bring her into more matter, that's nothing: you must talk forward, (though it be without sense, so it be without blushing,) 'tis most court-like and well. Sog. But shall I not use tobacco at all? Mad. O, by no means ; 'twill but make your breath suspected, and that you use it only to con- found the rankness of that. Sop. Nay, I'll be advised, sir, by my friends. Mad. Od's my life, see where sir Puntarrolo's dog is. ^. Groom. I would the gentleman would return for his follower here, I'll leave him to his fortunes else. Mad. 'Twere the only true jest in the world to poison him now; ha! by this hand I'll do it, if I could but get him of the fellow. \_Aside.'] Signior Sogliardo, walk aside, and think upon some device to entertain the lady with. Sog. So I do, sir. [ Walks off in a meditating posture.'] Mad. How now, mine honest friend ! whose dog-keeper art thou ? SCENE II. ^ EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUll. CI I Groom. Dog-keeper, sir ! I hope I scorn that! i'faith. I Mad. Why, dost thou not keep a dog ? \ Groom. Sir, now I do, and now I do not: [throws off the dog.'\ I think this be sweet and short. Make me his dog-keeper ! — [gwt . Mad. This is excellent, above expectation ! nay, stay, sir; [seixing the dog."] you'd be travelling ; but I'll give you a dram shall shorten your voyage, here. [Gives him poison.'] So, sir, I'll be bold to itake my leave of you. Now to the Turk's court 'jin the devil's name, for you shall never go o' God's name. [Kicks him out.] — Sogliardo, come. Sog. I have it i'faith now, noil stingvit. Mad. Take heed you leese it not,^ignjorjerj you come there ; preserve it. iExeunt. Cor. How like you this first explmt of his ? Mit. O, a piece of true envy ; but I expect the issue of the other device. Cor. Here they come will make it appear. ■ SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace. Jinter Saviolisa, Funtarvolo, Fastidious Brisk, and FUNGOSO. Sav. Why, I thought, sir Pmitarvolo, you had been gone your voyage .' Punt. Dear and most amiable lady, yoi\r divine beauties do bind me to those offices, tjiat I cannot depart when I would. Sav. 'Tis most court-like spoken, sir ; but how might we do to have a sight of your dog and cat ? Fast. His dog is in the court, lady. Sav. And not your cat? how dare you trust her behind you, sir. Punt. Troth, madam, she hath sore eyes, and she doth keep her chamber ; marry, I have left her under sufficient guard, there ai-e two of my foL lowers to attend her. Sav. I'll give you some water for her eyes. When do you go, sir ? Punt. Certes, sweet lady, I know not. Fast. He doth stay the rather, madam, to pre- sent your acute judgment with so courtly and well parted a gentleman as yet your ladyship hath never seen. Sav. What is he, gentle monsieur Brisk ? not that gentleman ? iPointt to Fimooso. Fast. No, lady, this is a kinsman to justice Silence. Punt. Pray, sir, give me leave to report him. He's a gentleman, lady, of that rare and admirable faculty, as, I protest, I know not his like in Europe; he is exceedingly valiant, an excellent scholar, and so exactly travelled, that he is able, in discourse, to deliver you a model of any prince's court in the world ; speaks the langua|;es with that purity of phrase, and facility of accent, that it breeds astonishment ; his wit, the most exuberant, and, above wonder, pleasant, of all that ever en- tered the concave of this ear. Fast. 'Tis most true, lady ; marry, he is no such excellent proper man. Punt. His travels have changed his complexion, madam. • Sav. O, sir Puntarvolo, you must think every man was not bom to have my servant Biisk's fea- tme. Punt. But that which transcends all, lady ; he doth so peerlessly imitate any manner of person for gesture, action, passion, or whatever Fast. Ay, especially a rustic or a clown, madam, that it is not possible for the sharpest-sighted wit in the world to discern any sparks of the gentle- in him, when he does it. Jav. O, monsieur Brisk, be not so tyrannous to coiiine all wits within the compass of your own ; not find the sparks of a gentleman in him, if he be a gentleman! 'ung. No, in truth, sweet lady, I believe you cqfnnot. 5^01;. Do you believe so ? why, I can find sparks of a gentleman in you, sir. Punt. Ay, he is a gentleman, madam, and a reveller. Fung. Indeed, I think I have seen your lady- ship at our revels. Sav. Like enough, sir ; but would I might see this wonder you tdk of; may one have a sight of him for any reasonable sum ? Punt. Yes, madam, he will arrive presently. Sav. What, and shall we see him clown it .' Fast. I'faith, sweet lady, that you shall ; see, here he comes. Enter ]\£acu,ente and Sogliabdo. Punt. This is he ! pray observe him, lady. Sav. Beshrew me, he clowns it properly indeed. Punt. Nay, mark his courtship. Sog. How does my sweet lady .' hot and moist $ beautiful and lusty % ha ! Sav. Beautiful, an it please you, sir, but not lusty. Sog. O ho, lady, it pleases you to say so, in truth : And how does my sweet lady $ in health ? Sana roba, quceso, que novelles 9 que novelles ? sweet creature ! Sav. O excellent ! why, gallants, is this he that cannot be deciphered ? they were very blear- witted, i'faith, that could not discern the gentleman in him. Punt. But you do, in earnest, lady ? _. Sav. Do I, sir! why, if you had any true court- judgment in the carriage of his eye, and that inward power that forms his countenance, you might perceive his counterfeiting as clear as the noon-day ; alas nay, if you would have tried my wit, indeed, you should never have told me he was a gentleman, but presented him for a true clown indeed ; and then have seen if I could have deci- phered him. Fast. 'Fore God, her ladyship says true, knightl but does he not affect the clown most naturally, mistress ? Punt. O, she cannot but affirm that, out of the bounty of her judgment. Sav. Nay, out of doubt he does well, for a gen- tleman to imitate : but I warrant you, he becomes his natural carriage of the gentleman, much better than his clownery. Fast. 'Tis strange, in truth, her ladyship should see so far into him ! Punt. Ay, is it not ? Sav. Faith, as easily as may be ; not decipher him, quoth you ! Fung. Good sadness, I wonder at it. Mam. Why, has she deciphered him, gentlemen ? Punt. O, most miraculously, and beyond admi- ration. Mad, Is it possible ? 62 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT V Fast. She hath gather'd most infallible signs of the gentleman in him, that's certain. Sav. Why, gallants, let me laugh at you a little : was this your device, to try my judgment in a gen- tleman ? Mad. Nay, lady, do not scorn us, though you have this gift of perspicacy above others. What if he should be no gentleman now, but a clown in- deed, lady ? Punt. How think you of that ? would not your ladyship be Out of your Humour ? Fast. O, but she knows it is not so. Sav. What if he were not a man, ye may as well say ? Nay, if your worships could gull me so, indeed, you were wiser than you are taken for. Maci. In good faith, lady, he is a very perfect clown, both by father and mother ; that I'll assure you. Sav. 0, sir, you are very pleasurable. Maci. Nay, do but look on his hand, and that shall resolve you; look you, lady, what a palm here is. Sog. Tut, that was with holding the plough. Maci. The plough ! did you discern any such thing in him, madam ? Fast. Faith no, she saw the gentleman as bright as noon-day, she ; she deciphered him at iirst. Maci. Troth, I am sorry your ladyship's sight should be so suddenly struck. Sav. O, you are goodly beagles ! Fast. What, is she gone ? Sog. Nay, stay, sweet lady : quo novelles * que novelles ? Sav. Out, you fool, you ! [Exit in anger. Fung. She's Out of her Humour, i'faith. Fast. Nay, let's follow it while 'tis hot, gen- tlemen. Punt. Come, on mine honour we shall make her blush in the presence ; my spleen is great with laughter. Maci. Your laughter will be a child of a feeble life, I believe, sir. [Aside."] — Come, signior, your looks are too dejected, methinks ; why mix you not mirth with the rest .' Fung. Od's will, this suit frets me at the soul. I'll have it alter'd to-morrow, sure. [Exeunt. SCENE III The Palace Stairs. Enter Shift. Shift. I am come to the court, to meet with my Countenance, Sogliardo ; poor men must be glad of such countenance, when they can get no better. Well, need may insult upon a man, but it shall never make him despair of consequence. The world will say, 'tis base : tush, base ! 'tis base to live under the earth, not base to live above it by any means. Enter FASTmious, Puntarvolo, Sogliardo, Fungoso, and Macilente. Fast. The poor lady is most miserably out of her humour, i'faith. Punt. There was never so witty a jest broken, at the tilt of all the court wits christen'd. Maci. O, this applause taints it foully. Sog. I think I did my part in courting. — O, Resolution ! Punt. Ay me, my dog ! Maci. Where is he ? Fast. 'Spreoious, go seek for the fellow, gootl signior. {ExitVmtGosa- Punt. Here, here I left him. Maci. Why, none was here when we came in now, but cavalier Shift ; enquire of him. Fast. Did you see sir Puntarvolo's dog here, cavalier, since you came.' Shift. His dog, sir ! he may look his dog, sir. I saw none of his dog, sir. , Maci. Upon my life, he has stolen your dog, sir, and been hired to it by some that have ven-, tured with you ; you may guess by his peremp- tory answers. Punt. Not unlike; for he hath been a notori- ous thief by his own confession. Sirrah, where is my dog ? Shift. Charge me with your dog, sir ! I have none of your dog, sir. Pu7it. Villain, thou liest. Shift. Lie, sir! s'blood, — you are hut a man, sir. Punt. Rogue and thief, restore him. Sog. Take heed, sir Puntarvolo, what you do ; he'll bear no coals, I can tell you, o'my word. Maci. This is rare. Sog. It's marie he stabs you not : By this light, he hath stabbed forty, for forty times less matter, I can tell you of my knowledge. Punt. I will make thee stoop, thou abject. Sog. Make him stoop, sir! Gentlemen, pacify him, or he'll be kill'd. Maci. Is he so tall a man ? Sog. Tall a man ! if you love his life, stand be- twi-tt them. Make him stoop ! Punt. My dog, villain, or I will hang thee; thou hast confest robberies, and other felonious acts, to this gentleman, thy Countenance Sog. I'll bear no witness. Punt. And without my dog, I will hang thee, for them. [Shift kneels. Sog. What ! kneel to thine enemies ! Shift. Pardon me, good sir ; God is my witness, I never did robbery in all ray life. He-enter Fdngoso. Fung. O, sir Puntarvolo, your dog lies giving up the ghost in the wood-yard. Maci. Heart, is he not dead yet ! [Aside. Punt. 0, my dog, born to disastrous fortune 1 pray you conduct me, sir. [Exit with Fnusoso. Sog. How ! did you never do any robbery in your life .' Maci. O, this is good ! so he swore, sir. Sog. Ay, I heard him : and didyousweartrue, sir? Shift. Ay, as I hope to' be forgiven, sir, I never robbed any man ; I never stood by the highway- side, sir, but only said so, because I would get myself a name, and he counted a tall man. Sog. Now out, base vihaco ! thou my Resolu tion ! I thy Countenance ! By this light, gentle- men, he hath confest to me the most inexorable company of robberies, and damn'd himself that he did 'em : you never heard the like. Out, scoun- drel, out ! follow me no more, I command thee ; out of my sight, go, hence, speak not ; I will not hear thee : away, camouccio ! [Exit Shift. Mad. O, how I do feed upon this now, and fat myself! here were a couple unexpectedly dishu- mour'd. Well, by this time, I hope, sir Puntar- volo and his dog are both out of humour to travel. I SCJENE IV. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. C3 [i<«(ie.] — Nay, gentlemen, why do you not seek o^t the knight, and comfort him ? our supper at ilie Mitre must of necessity hold to-night, if you Icive your reputations. Fast. 'Fore God, I am so melancholy for his d(}g's disaster — but I'll go. Sog. Faith, and I may go too, but I know I siall be so melancholy. Maci. Tush, melancholy ! you must forget that li'ow, and remsmber you lie at the mercy of a fury : Carlo will rack your sinews asunder, and rail you ito dust, if you cjme not. (.Exeunt. ) Mil. O, then their fear of Carlo, helike, makes '. them hold their meeting. I Cor. Ay, here he comes ; conceive him but to he enier'd the Mitre, and 'tis enough. SCENE TV.— A Room at the Mitre. Enter Carlo. Car. Holla ! where be these shot-sharks ? Enter Drawer. Draw. By and by ; you are welcome, good mas- ter Buffone. Car. Where's George ? call me George hither, quickly. Draw. What wine please you have, sir? I'll ilraw you that's neat, master Buffone. Car. Away, neophite, do as I bid thee, bring my dear George to me : — Enter Gborok. Mass, here he comes. George. Welcome, master Carlo. Car. What, is supper ready, George ? George. Ay, sir, almost: Will you have the cloth laid, master Carlo ? Car. O, what else ? Are none of the gallants come yet ? George. None yet, sir. Car. Stay, take me with yon, George ; let me have a good fat loin of pork laid to the fire, pre- sently. George. It shall, sir. Car. And withal, hear you, draw me the biggest shaft you hare out of the butt you wot of; away, you know my meaning, George; quick ! George. Done, sir. lExii. Car. I never hungered so much for anything in my life, as I do to know our gallants' success at court; now is that lean, bald-rib Macilente, that salt villain, plotting some mischievous device, and lies a soaking in their frothy humours like a dry crust, till he has drunk 'em all up : Could the pummice but hold up his eyes at other men's happiness, in any reasonable proportion, 'slid, the slave were to be loved next heaven, above honour, wealth, rich fare, apparel, wenches, all the delights of the belly and the groin, whatever Re-enter Geobgb with two jvgt of wine. George. Here, master Carlo. Car. Is it right, boy ? George. Ay, sir, I assure you 'tis right. Car. Well said, my dear George, depart : [Exit George.] — Come, my small gimblet, you in the false scabbard, away, so ! [Puts forth the Drawer, and shuts the door."] Now to you, sir Burgomaster, let's taste of your boTinty. Hit. What, will he deal upon such quantities of wine, alone 9 Cor. You will perceive that, sir. Car. Idrinks.] Ay, marry, sir, here's purity ; O, George— I could bite off his nose for this now, sweet rogue, he has drawn nectar, the very soul of the grape ! I'll wash my temples with some on't presently, and drink some half a score draughts ; 'twill heat the brain, kindle my imagination, I shall talk nothing but crackers and fire-works to-night. So, sir ! please you to be here, sir, and I here : so. [.Sets the two cups asunder, drinks with the one, and pledges with the other, speaking /or each of the cups, and drinking alternately. Cor. This is worth the oiservation, signior. Car. 1 Ctip. Now, sir, here's to you; and I present you with so much of my love. 2 Cup. I take it kindly from you, sir, [drinks,} and will return you the like proportion ; but with^, sir, remembering the merry night we had at the countess's, you know where, sir. 1 Cup. By heaven, you put me in mind now ol a very necessary office, which I will propose in your pledge, sir ; the health of that honourable countess, and the sweet lady that sat by her, sir. 2 Cup. I do vail to it with reverence [drinks']. And now,' signior, with these ladies, I'll be bold to mix the health of your divine mistress. 1 Cup, Do you know her, sir? 2 Cup. O lord, sir, ay ; and in the respectful memory and mention of her, I could wish this wine were the most precious drug in the world. 1 Cup. Good faith, sir, you do honour me in't exceedingly. [Drinis.] Mit. Whom should he personate in this, signior 9 Cor. Faith, I know not, sir; observe, observe him. 2 Cup. If it were the basest filth, or mud that runs in the channel, I am bound to pledge it re- spectively, sir. [Drinhs.2 And now, sir, here is a replenish'd bowl, which I will reciprocally turn upon you, to the health of the count Frugale. 1 Cup. The count Frugale's health, sir? I'll pledge it on my knees, by this light. [Kneels. 2 Cup. WUl you, sir ? I'll drihk it on my knees, then, by the light, Mit. Whg this is strange. Cor. Have you heard a better drunken dialogue? 2 Cup. Nay, do me right, sir. 1 Cup. So I do, in faith. 2 Cup. Good faith you do not ; mine was fuller. 1 Cup. Why, believe me, it was not. 2 Cup. Believe me it was ; and you do lie. 1 Cup. Lie, sir! 2 Cup. Ay, sir. 1 Cup. 'Swounds! you rascal! 2 Cup, O, come, stab if you have a mind to it. 1 Cup. Stab! dost thou think I dare not? Car. [speaks in his own person.] Nay, I be- seech you, gentlemen, what means this ? nay, look, for shame respect your reputations. lOverturm tMne, pot, cups, and all. fi4 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. Enter Macilbntb. Maei. Wkv, how now Carlo 1 what humour's this ? Car. O, my good mischief! art thou come? where are the rest, where are the rest ? Mad. Faith, three of oxir ordnance are burst. Car. Burst ! how comes that? Maci. Faith, overcharged, overcharged. Car. But did not the train hold ? Maci. O, yes, and the poor lady is irrecoverably blown up. Car. Why, but which of the munition is mis- carried, ha ? Maci. Imprimis, sir Puntarvolo ; next, the Countenance and Besolution. Car. How, how, for the love of wit ? Maci. Troth, the Resolution is proved recreant ; the Countenance hath changed his copy ; and the passionate knight is shedding funeral tears over his departed dog. Car. What ! is his dog dead ? Maci. Poison'd, 'tis thought ; marry, how, or by whom, that's left for some cunning woman here o' the Bank-side to resolve. For my parr. I know nothing more than that we are like to have an exceeding melancholy supper of it. Car. 'Slife, and I had purposed to be extraor- dinarily merry, 1 had drunk off a good preparative of old sack here ; but wiU they come, will they come ? Maci. They will assuredly come ; marry. Carlo, as thou lov'st me, run over 'em all freely to-night, and especially the knight; spare no sulphurous jest that may come out of that sweaty forge of thine ; but ply them with all manner of shot, minion, saker, culverin, or anything, what thou wilt. Car. I warrant thee, my dear case of petrionels ; so I stand not in dread of thee, but that thou'lt second me. Ma/ Enter Constable and Officers, and telze Fastidiuub at he ii rushing by. Cons. Lay hold upon this gallant, and pursue the rest. , Fast, hay hold on me, sir, for what ? Cons. Marry, for your riot here, sir, with the rest of your companions. Fast. My riot I master constable, take heed what you do. Carlo, did I offer any violence .' Com. O, sir, you see he is not in case to answer you, and that makes you so peremptory. Re-enter Gjeorge and Drawer. Fast. Peremptory I 'Slife, I appeal to the drawers, if I did him any hard measure. George. They are all gone, there's none of them will be laid any hold on. Cons. Well, sir, you are like to answer till the rest can be found out. Fast. 'Slid, I appeal to George here. Cons. Tut, George was not here : away with him to the Counter, sirs. — Come, sir, you were best get yourself drest somewhere. ^Exeunt Const, and Officers, with Fast, and Car. George. Good lord, that master Carlo could not take heed, and knowing what a gentleman the knight is, if he be angry. Drawer. A pox on 'em, they have left all the meat on our hands ; would, they were choaked with it for me ! Re-enter Macilente. Maci. What, are they gone, sirs .' George. O, here's master Macilente. Man. [^pointing to Pungoso.] Sirrah, George, do you see that concealment there, that napkin under the table .' George. 'Ods so, signior Fungoso ! Maci. He 's good pawn for the reckoning ; be sure you keep him here, and let him not go away till I come again, though he offer to discharge all . I'll return presently. George. Sirrah, wehaveapawufor the reckoning. Draw. What, of Macilente ? George. No ; look under the table. Fung, [creeping out.] I hope all be quiet now; if I can get but forth of this street, I care not : masters, I pray you tell me, is the constable goue.'^ George. What, master Fungoso ! Fung. Was't not a good device this same of me, sirs ? George. Yes, fiuth ; have you been here all this while? Fung. O lord, ay; good sir,' look an the coast be clear, I'd fain be going. George. All's clear, sir, but the reckoning ; and that you must clear and pay before you go, I assure you. Fung. I pay ! 'Slight, I eat not a bit since I came into the house, yet. Draw. Why, you may when you please, 'tis all ready below that was bespoken. Fung. Bespoken ! not by me, I hope ? George. By you, sir! "I know not that; but 'twas for you and your company, I am sure. Fung. My company ! 'Slid, I was an invited guest, so I was. Draw. Faith we have nothing to do with that, sir : they are all gone but you, and we must be answered ; that's the short and the long on't. Fung. Nay, if you will grow to extremitiesi my 6t> EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. masters, then would this pot, cup, and all were in my belly, if I have a cross about me. George. What, and have such apparel! do not say so, signior j that mightily discredits your clothes. Fung. As I am an honest man, my tailor had all my money this morning, and yet I must be fain to alter my suit too. Good sirs, let me go, 'tis Friday night, and in good truth I have no stomach in the world to eat any thing. Draw. That's no matter, so you pay, sir. Fung. 'Slight, with what conscience can you ask me to pay that I never drank for ? George. Yes, sir, I did see you drink once. Fung. By this cup, which is silver, but you did not ; you do me infinite wrong : I looked in the pot once, indeed, but I did not drink. Draw. Well, sir, if you can satisfy our master, it shall be all one to us. Within. George! iSeorge. By and by. lExeunt. Cor. Lose not yourself now, signior. SCENE V. — A Room in Delibo's House. Enter Macilbnte and Dburo. Mad. Tut, sir, you did bear too hard a conceit of me iu that ; but I will nowmake my love to you most transparent, in spite of any dust of suspicion that may be raised to cloud it ; and henceforth, since I see it is so against your humour, I will never labour to persuade you. Deli. Why, I thank you, signior ; but what is that you tell me may concern my peace so much ? Maoi. Faith, sir, 'tis thus. Your wife's brother, signior Fungoso, being at supper to-night at a tavern, with a sort of gallants, there happened some division amongst them, and he is left in pawn for the reckoning. Now, if ever you look that time shall present you with an happy occasion to do your wife some gracious and acceptable service, take hold of this opportuuity, and pre- sently go and redeem him ; for, being her brother, and his credit so amply engaged as now it is, when she shall hear, {as he cannot himself, but he must out of extremity report it,) that you came, and offered yourself so kindly, and with that respect of his reputation ; why, the benefit cannot but make her dote, and grow mad of your affections. Deli. Now, by heaven, Macilente, I acknow- ledge myself exceedingly indebted to you, by this kind tender of your love ; and I am sorry to re- member that I was ever so rude, to neglect a friend of your importance. — Bring me shoes and a cloak here. — I was going to bed, if you had not come. What tavern is it ? Mad. The Mitre, sir. Deli. O 1 Why, Fido ! my shoes. — Good faith, it cannot but please her exceedingly. Fal. Come, I marie what piece of night-work you have in hand now, that you call for a cloak, and your shoes : What, is this your pander ? Deli. O, sweet wife, speak lower, I would not he should hear thee for a world Fal. Hang him, rascal, I cannot abide him for his treachery, with his wild quick-set beard there. Wlhither go you now with him .' Deli. No whither with him, dear wife; I go ; alone to a place, from whence I will return instantly. ' — Good Macilente, acquaint not her with it by any means, it may come so much the more ac- cepted ; frame some other answer. — I'll comeback , immediately. [^xit. , Fid. Nay , an I be not worthy to know whither you go, stay till I take knowledge of your coming back. , Mad. Hear you, mistress Deliro, Fal. So, sir, and what say you ? Mad. Faith, lady, my intents will not deserve this slight respect, when yon shall know them. Fal. Your intents ! why, what may your intents be, for God's sake ? Mad. Troth, the -time allows no circumstance, lady, therefore know this was but a device to remove your husband hence, and bestow him securely, whilst, with more conveniency, I might report to you a misfortune that hath happened to monsieur Brisk ^Nay, comfort, sweet lady. This night, being at supper, a sort of young gallants committed a riot, for the which he only is apprehended and carried to the Counter, where, if your husband, and other creditors, should but have knowledge of him, the poor gentleman were undone for ever. Fal. Ah me ! that he were. Mad. Now, therefore, if you can think upon anypresent means for his delivery, do not foreslowit. Abribeto the officer that committed him will do it. Fal. lord, sir I he shall not want for a bribe ; pray yon, wiU you commend me to him, and say I'll visit him presently Mad. No, lady, I shall do you better service, in protracting your husband's return, that you may go with more safety. Fal. Good truth, so you may ; farewell, good sir. [JJirii Maoi.] — Lord, how a woman maybe mistaken in a man ! I would have sworn upon all the Testaments in the world he had not loved master Brisk. Bring me my keys there, maid. Alas, good gentleman, if all I have in this earthly world will pleasure him, it shall be at his service. lExit. Mit. How Madlente sweats in this i usiness, if you mark him ! Cor. Ay, you shall see the true picture of spite, anon : here cmnes the pawn and his redeemer. SCENE VI.— ^ Room at the Miiee. Enter DzLnto, Funooso, and GBotLdE. Deli. Come, brother, be not discouraged for this, man; what! Fung. No, truly, I am not discouraged ; but I protest to you, brother, I have done imitating any more gallants either in purse or appai'el, but as shall become a gentleman, for good carriage, or so. Deli. You say well. — This is all in the bill here, is it not ? George. Ay, sir. Deli. There's your money, tell it : and, brother, I am glad I met vrith so good occasion to shew mj love to you. Fung. I will study to deserve it in- good truth an I live. Deli. What, is it right? George. Ay, sir, and I thank you. SCKNB VU. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 6^ Fanff. Let me have a capon's leg saved, now the reckoning is paid. George. You shall, sir, lExit. Enter Macilente. ;' Mad. Where's signior Deliro ? Deli. Here, M^iUente. ■ Mad. Hark you, sir, have you dispatch'd this same ? Zleli. Ay, marry have I. Mad. Well then, I can tell you news ; Brisk is in the Counter. Deli. In the Counter ! Mad. 'Tis true, sir, committed for the stir here to-night. Now would I have you send your brother home afore, with the report of this your kindness done him, to his sister, which will so pleasingly pos- sess her, and out of his mouth too, that in the mean- time you may clap your action on Brisk, and your wife, being in so happy a mood, cannot entertain it ill, by any means. Deli. 'Tis very true, she cannot, indeed, I think. Mad. Think ! why 'tis past thought ; you shall never meet the like opportunity, I assure you. Deli. I will do it. — Brother, pray you go home afore, (this gentleman and I have some private busi- ness,) and tell my sweet wife I'll come presently. Fung. I vrill, brother. Mad. And, signior, acquaint your sister, how liberally, and out of his bounty, your brother has used you, (do you see ?) made you a man of good reckoning ; redeem'd that you never were possest of, credit ; gave you as gentlemanlike terms as might be ; found no fault with your coming behind the fashion ; nor nothing. Fung. Nay, I am out of those humours now. Mad. Well, if you be out, keep your distance, and be not made a shot-clog any more. — Come, signior, let's make haste. [.Exeunt. SCENE YU.—The Counter. Enter Faljuacb and Fastidjous Brisk. ' Fal. O, master Fastidious, what pity is it to see so sweet a man as you are, in so sour a place ! [Kisses him. Cor. jis upon her lips, does she mean ? Mit. O, this is to be imagined the Counter, belike. Fast. Troth, fair lady, 'tis first the pleasure of the fates, and next of the constable, to have it so : but I am patient, and indeed comforted the more in your kind visit. Fal. Nay, you shall be comforted in me more than this, if you please, sir. I sent you wovd by my brother, sir, that my husband laid to 'rest you this morning ; I know not whether you received it or no. Fast. No, believe it, sweet creature, your brother gave me no such intelligence. Fal. O, the lord ! Fast. But has your husband any such purpose ? Fal. O, sweet master Brisk, yes : and therefore be presently discharged, for if he come vrith his actions upon you. Lord deliver you ' you are in for one half-a-score year ; he kept a poor man in Lnd- gate once twelve year for sixteen shillings. Where's -your- keeper? for love's sake call him, let him take a bribe, and despatch you. Lord, how my heart trembles ! here are no spies, are there? Fast. No, sweet mistress. Why are you in tliis passion ? Fal. O lord, master Fastidious, if you knew how I took up my husband to-day, when he said he would arrest you ; and how I railed at him that per- suaded him to it, the scholar there, (who, on my conscience, loves you now,') and what care I took to send you intelligence by my brother; and how I gave him four sovereigns for his pains : and now. how I came running out hither without man or boy with me, so soon as I heard on't ; you'd say I were in a passion indeed. Your keeper, for God's sake ! O, master Brisk, as 'tis in Buphues, Hard is the choice, when one is compelled either by silence to die with grief, or by speaking to live with shame. Fast. Fair lady, 1 conceive you, and may this kiss assure you, that where adversity hath, as it were, contracted, prosperity shall not Od's me ' your husband. Enter DELmo and Macilsntb. Fal. O me ! Deli. Ay! Is it thus.' Mad. Why, how now, signiOr Deliro ! has the wolf seen you, ha? Hath Gorgon's head made marble of you ? Deli. Some planet strike me dead I Mad. Why, look you, sir, I told you, you might :3ave suspected this long afore, had you pleased, and have saved this labour of admiration now, and passion, and such extremities as this frail lump of flesh is subject unto. Nay, why do you not doat now, signior? methinks you should say it were some enchantment, deceptio visus, or so, ha ! If you could persuade yourself it were a dream now, 'twere excellent : faith, try what you can do, signior : it may be your imagination will be brought to it in time ; there's nothing impossible. Fal. Sweet husband I Deli. Out, lascivious strumpet ! [Exit. Mad. What ! did you see how ill that stale vein became him afore, of sweel wife, and dear heart ; and are you fallen just into the same now, with sweet husband ! Away, follow him, go, keep state : what ! remember you are a woman, turn impudent ; give him not the head, though you give him the horns. Away. And yet, methinks, you should take your leave of enfant perdu here, your forlorn hope. \_Exit Fal.] — How now, monsieur Brisk ? what ! Friday night, and in affliction too, and yet your pulpamenta, your delicate morsels ! I per- ceive the affection of ladies and gentlewomen pur- sues you wheresoever you go, monsieur. Fast. Now, in good faith, and as I am gentle, there could not have come a thing in this world to have distracted me more, than the wrinkled fortunes of this poor dame. Mad. O yes, sir ; I can t^U you a thing will dis- tract you much better, believe it : Signior Deliro has entered three actions against you, three actions, monsieur I marry, one of them (I'll put you in com- fort) is but three thousand, and the other two, some five thousand pound together : trifles, trifles. Fast. O, I am undone. Mad. Nay, not altogether so, sir ; the knight must have his hundred pound repaid, that will help too'; and then six score pounds for a diamond, you know where. These be things will weigh, monsieur, they will weigh. Fast. O heaven ! f58 EVKllY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOL'R. Maoi. What ! do you sigh ? this is to kiss the hand of a countess, to hate her coach sent for you, to hang poniards in ladies^ garters, to wear brace- lets of their hair, and for every one of these great , favours to give some slight jeijjel of Jive hundred crowns, or so; why, 'tis nothing. Now, monsieur, you see the plague that treads on the heels o' your foppery : well, go your ways in, remove yourself to the two-penny ward quickly, to save charges, and there set up your rest to spend, sir Puntarvolo's hundred pound for him. Away, good pomander, go ! [Exit FASTiDioua Why, here's a change ! now is my soul at peace : I am as empty of all envy now, As they of merit to be envied at. My humour, like a flame, no longer lasts Thau it hath stuff to feed it ; and their folly Being now raked up in their repentant ashes, Affords no ampler subject to my spleen. I am so far from malicing their states. That I begin to pity them. It grieves me To think they have a being. I could wish They might turn wise upon it, and be saved now. So heaven were pleased j but let them vanish, va- pours ! Gentlemen, how like you it? has't not been tedious.' I Cor. Nay, we have done censuring now, Mit Yes, faith. Mad. How so ? Cor. Marry, because we'll imitate your actors, i, and be out of our humours. Besides, here are L those round about you of more ability in censure r than we, whose judgments can give it a more satis- I ' ' tying allowance ; we'll refer you to them. \ \ [Exeunt Cortatus an^-iTtfis Mad. [coming forward.] Ay, is it even so ? — Well, gentlemen, I should have gone in, and re- turn'd to you as I was Asper at the first ; but by reason the shift would have been somewhat long, and we are loth to draw your patience farther, we'll entreat you to imagine it. And now, that you may see I will be out of humour for company, I stand wholly to your kind approbation, and indeed am nothing so peremptory as I was in the beginning : marry, I will not do as Plautus in his Amphytrio, for all this, summi Jovis causd plaudite; beg a plaudite for God's sake ; but if you, out of the bounty of your good-liking, will bestow it, why, you may in time make lean Macilente as fat as sir John Falstaff. lExit, THE EPILOGUE, AT THE PKESENTATION BEFOHB aUEEN ELIZABETH. BY MACILENTE. Never till now did object greet mine eyes With any light content : but in her graces All my malicious powers have lost their stings. Envy is fled my soul at sight of her. And she hath chased all black thoughts from my bosom. Like as the sun doth darkness from the world- My stream of humour is run out of me, And as our city's torrent, bent t'infect The haliow'd bowels of the silver Thames, Is check'd by strength and clearness of the river, nu it hath spent itself even at the shore ; So in the ample and unmeasured flood Of her perfections, are my passions drown'd j And I have now a spirit as sweet and clear As the more rarefied and subtle air : — With which, and with a heart as pure as fire, Yet humble as the earth, do I implore, [.Kneels, O heaven, that She, whose presence hath effected This change in me, may suffer most late change In her admired and happy government : May still this Island be call'd Fortunate, And rugged Treason tremble at the sound. When Fame shall speak it with an emphasis. Let foreign polity be dull as lead, And pale Invasion come with half a heart. When he but looks upon her blessed soil. The throat of War be stopt within her land, And turtle-footed Peace dance fairy rings About her court ; where never may there come Suspect or danger, but all trust and safety. Let Flattery be dumb, and Envy blind In her dread presence ; Death himself admire her •. And may her virtues make him to forget The use of his inevitable hand. Fly from her. Age ; sleep, Time, before her throne ; Our strongest wall falls down, when she Is gone. CYNTHIA'S REVELS: OR, THE FOUNTAIN OF SELF-LOVE. TO THE SPECIAL FOUNTAIN OF MANNERS, THE COURT. Thou art a bountiful and bravo spring, and waterest all the noble plants of this island. In theo the whole kingdom dresseth itself, and is ambitious to use thee as her glass. Beware then thou render men's figures truly, and teach them no less to hate their deformities, than to love their forms : for, to grace, there should come reverence ; and no man can call that lovely, which is not also venerable. It is not powdering, perfummg, and every day smelling of the tailor, that converteth to a beautiful object : but a mind shining through any suit, which needs no false light, either of riches or honours, to help it. Such sbalt thou find some here, even in the reign of Cynthia, — a Crites and an Arete. Now, under thy Fhcsbus, it will he thy province to make more ; except thou desirest to have thy source mix with the spring of self-love, and so wilt draw upon thee as welcome a discovery of thy days, as was then made of her nights. Thy servant, but not slave, Ben Jonson. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Cynthia. MiGRCURV. HespBAUS. Critbs. Amorphus. ASOTUS. Hedon. An AIDES. MORPHfPES. Frosaites. MORUS. Cupid. Echo. Arete. . Fhantastb. Akouhion. Philautia. MOKTA. Cos. Gelata. Phronesis, Thauma, TlIUB, yMutes. SCENE, — Gargaphie. INDUCTION. THE STAGE. After the second sounding. Enter three of the Chitdren struggling. 1 Child. Pray you away ; why, fellows .' Gods so, what do you mean 9 2 Child. Marry, that you shall not speak the prologue, sir. 3 Child. Vrhy, do you hope to speak 'ii^ 2 Child. Ay, and I think I have most ' right to it : I am sure I studied it first. 3 Child. That's all one, if the author think I can speak it better. 1 Child. I plead possession of the cloak : gen- tles, your suffrages, I pray you. [Within.] Why, children ! are you not ashamed ? come in there. 3 Child. Slid, Til play nothing in the play, un- less 1 speak it. 1 Child. Why, will you stand to most voices of the gentlemen ? let that decide it. 3 Child. O, no, sir gallant ; you presume to have the start of us there, and that makes you offer so prodigally. 1 Child. No, would I were whipped if I had any SKch thought ; try it by lots either. \ 2 Child. Faith, I dare tempt my fortune in a greater venture than this. 3 Chad. Well said, resolute Jack ! I am con- tent too, so we draw first. Make the cuts. 1 Child. But will you not snatch my cloak while I am stooping $ 3 Child. No, we scorn treachery. 2 Child. Which cut shall speak it f 3 Child. The shortest. 1 Child. Agreed : draw. [They draw cuts.] The shortest is come to the shortest. Fortune was not altogether blind in this. Now, sir, J hope I shall go forward without your envy. 2 Child. A spite of all mischievous luck ! I was once plucking at the other. 3 Child. Stay, Jack: ' slid, I' II do somewhat now afore I go in, though it be nothing but to retenge myself on the author : since I speak not his pro- logue, I It go tell all the argument of his play aforehand, and so stale his invention to the iiudi. tory, before it come forth. 1 Child. O, do not so. 2 Child. By no means. 3 Child. [Advancing to the front of the Stige.] First, the title of his play is Cynthia's ReveU, as any man that hath hope to le saved by his book CYNTHIA'S REVELS. can witness ; the scene GargapJiie, which I do vehemently suspect for some fustian country ; but let that vanish. Here is the court of Cynthia, whither he brings Cupid travelling on foot, re- solved to turn page. By the way Cupid meets with Mercury, (as that's a thing to be noted) ; take any of our play-books without a Cupid or a Mercury in it, and burn it for an heretic in poetry [In tliese and the subsequent speeches, at every break, the other two interrupt, and en- deavour to stop him.] Pray thee, let me alone. Mercury, he in the nature of a conjuror, raises up Echo, who weeps over her love, or daffodil. Narcis- sus, a little ; sings ; curses the spring wherein the pretty foolish gentleman melted himself away: and there's an end of her. Now I am to inform you, that Cupid and Mercury do both he- come pages. Cupid attends on Philautia, or Self- love, a court lady : Mercury follows Hedon, the Voluptuous, and a courtier ; one that ranks him- self even with Anaides, or the Impudent, a gal- lant, and that's my part ; one that keeps Laughter, Gelaia, the daughter of Folly, a wench in boy's attire, to wait on him. These, in the court, meet with Amorphus, or the deformed, a traveller that hath drunk of the fountain, and there tells the wonders of the water. They presently dispatch away their pages with bottles to fetch of it, and themselves go to visit the ladies. But I should liave told you — Look, these emmets put me out here — that with this Amorphus, there comes along a citizen's heir, Asotus, or the Prodigal, who, in imitation of the traveller, who hath the Whetstone following him, entertains the Beggar, to be his attendant Now, the nymphs who are mis- tresses to these gallants, are Philautia, Self-love ; Phantaste, a light Wittiness ; Argurion, Money ; and their guardian, mother Moria, or mistress Folly. 1 Child. Pray thee, no more. 3 Child. There Cupid strikes Money in love with the Prodigal, makes her dote upon him, give him jewels, bracelets, carcanets, ^c. All which he most ingeniously departs withal to be made known to the other ladies and gallants ; and in the heat of this, increases his train with the Fool to follow him, as well as the Beggar By this time, your Beggar begins to wait close, who is returned with the rest of his fellow bottlemen. There they all drink, save Argurion, who is fallen into a sudden apoplexy 1 Child. Stop his mouth. 3 Child. And then, there's a retired scholar there, you would not wish a thing to be better contemn' d of a society of gallants, than it is ; and he applies his service, good gentleman, to the lady Arete, or Virtue, a poor nymph of Cynthia's train, that's scarce able to buy herself a gown ; you shall see her play in a black robe anon : a creature that, I assure you, is no less scorn' d than himself. Where am 1 now 9 at a stand ! 2 Child. Come, leave at last, yet. 3 Child. O, the night is come, ('twas somewhat dark, methought,) and Cynthia intends to come forth; that helps it a little yet. All the courtiers must provide for revels ; they conclude upon a masque, the device of which is What, will you ravish me? that each of these Vices, being to appear before Cynthia, would seem other than indeed they are ; and therefore assume the most neighbouring Virtues as their masking habit I'd cry a rape, but that you are children. 2 Child. Come, we'll have no more of this anti- cipation ; to give them the inventory of their cates- aforehand, were the discipline of a tavern, andi not fitting this presence. \ 1 Child. Tut, this was but to shew us the hap-', piness of his memory. I thought at first he would, have plaid the ignorant critic with every thing, '■ along as he had gone ; I expected some such device.. 3 Child. 0, you shall see me do that rarely ; lend me thy cloak. 1 Child. Soft, sir, you'll speak my prologue in it. 3 Child. No, would I might never stir then. 2 Child. Lend it him, lend it him. 1 Child. Well, you have sworn. [Gives him the cloak. 3 Child. / Affltie. Now, sir, suppose I am one of your genteel auditors, that am come in, having paid my money at the door, with much ado, and here I take my place and sit down : I have my three sorts of tobacco in my pocket, my light by me, and thus I begin. [At the breaks he takes his tobacco.] By this light, I wonder that any man is so mad, to come to see these rascally tits play here They do act like so many wrens or pismires not the fifth part of a good face amongst them all. And then their music is -able to stretch a man's ears -pillories and their ditties abominable- worse than ten- T-most lamentable things, like the pitiful fellows that make them poets. By this vapour, an 'twere not for tobacco / think the very stench of 'em would poison me, I should not dare to come in at their gates A man were better visit fifteen jails or a i or two of hospitals th^n once adventure to come near them. How is' t? well? 1 Child. Excellent ; give me my cloak. 3 Child. Stay ; you shall see me do another now, but a more sober, or better-gather' d gallant ; that is, as it may be thought, some friend, or well- wisher to the house : and here I enter. 1 Child. What, upon the stage too ? 2 Child. Yes ; and I step forth like one of the children, and askyou. Would you have a stool, sir ? 3 Child. A stool, boy I 2 Child. Ay, sir, if you'll give me sixpence I'll fetch you one. 3 Child. For what, I pray thee ? what shall I do with it ? 2 Child. O lord, sir ! will you betray your ig- norance so much ? why throne yourself in state on the stage, as other gentlemen use, sir. . 3 Child. Away, wag ; what, would'st thou make an implement of me ? 'Slid, the boy takes me for a piece of perspective, I hold my life, or some silk curtain, come to hang the stage here ! Sir crack, I am, none of your fresh pictures, that use to beautify the decayed dead arras in a public theatre. 2 Child. ' Tis a sign, sir, you put not that con. fidence in your good clothes, and your better face, that a gentleman should do, sir. But I pray you, sir, let me be a suitor to you, that you will quit our stage then, and take a place ; the play is instantly to begin. 3 Child. Most willingly, my good wag ; but I would speak with your author : where is he ? 2 Child. Not this way, I assure you, sir ; we SCENE I. CYNTHIA'S REVELS, n are not so offidousty befriended by him, as to have I Aii presence in the tiring-house, to prompt us { aloud, stamp at the book-holder, swear for our } properties, curse the poor iireman, rail the music ! out oftuTie, and sweat for every venial trespass we commit, as some author would, if he had such fine enghles as we. Well, 'tis but our hard for- tune ! ' 3 Child. Nay, crack, be not dishearten' d. 2 Child. Not I, Sir ; but if you please to con- fer with our author, by attorney, you may, sir ; our proper self here, stands for him. 3 Child. Troth, I have no such serious affair to negotiate with him, but what may very safely be tum'd upon thy trust. It is in the general behalf of this fair society here that J am to speak, at least the more judieious part of it, which seems much distasted with the immodest and obscene writing of many in their plays. Besides, they could wish your poets would leave to be promoters of other men's jesis, and to way-lay all the stale apothegms, or old books they can hear of, in print, or otherwise, to farce their scenes withal. That they would not so penuriously glean wit from every laundress or hackney-man, or derive their best grace, with servile imitation, from common stages, or observation of the company they converse with ; as if their invention lived wholly upon another man's trencher. Again, that feeding their friends with nothing of their own, but what they have twice or thrice cooked, they should not wantonly give out, how soon they had drest it ; nor how many coaches came to carry away the broken meat, besides hobby-horses and foot-cloth nags. 2 Child. So, sir, this is all the reformation you seek 9 3 Child. It is ; do not you think it necessary to be practised, my little wag ? 2 Child. Yes, where any such ill-habited custom is received. 3 Child. O, (I had almost forgot it too,) they say, the umbrae or ghosts of some three or four plays departed a dozen years since, have been seen walk- ing on your stage here; take heed, boy, if your house be haunted with such hobgoblins, 'twill fright awai/ all your spectators quickly. 2 Child. Good, sir ; but what will you say now, if a poet, untouch d with any breath of this disease, find the tokens upon you, that are of the auditory ? As some one civet-wit among you, that knows uo other learning, than the price of satin and velvets : nor other perfection than the wearing of a neat suit ; and yet will censure as desperately as the most profess' d critic in the house, presuming his clothes should bear him out in it. Another, whom it hath pleased nature to furnish with more beard than brain, prunes his miistacoio, lisps, and, with some score of affected oaths, swears down all that sit about him ; " That the old Ilieronimo, as it was first acted, was the only best, and judiciously penn'd play of Europe." A third great-bellied juggler talks of twenty years since, and when Mon- sieur was here, and would enforce all wits to be (rf thatfashion, because his doublet is still so. A fourth miscalls all by the name of fustian, that his grounded capacity cannot aspire to. A fifth only shakes his bottle head, and out of his corky brain squeezeth out a pitiful learned face, and is silent. 3 Child. By my faith. Jack, you have put me down : I would I knew how to get off with any in- different grace I here, take your cloak, and promise some satisfaction in your prologue, or, I'll be sworn we have marr'd all. 2 Child. Tut, fear not, child, this will never distaste a true sense: be not out, and good enough. I would thou hadst some sugar candied to sweeten thy mouth. The TTiird Sounding. If gracious silence, sweet attention. Quick sight, and quicker apprehension. The lights of judgment's throne, shine any where. Our doubtful author hopes this is their sphere ; And therefore opens he himself to those. To other weaker beams his labours close, As loth to prostitute their virgin-strain. To every vulgar" and adulterate brain. In this alone, his Muse her sweetness hath, She shuns the print of any beaten path ; And proves new ways to come to learned ears : Pied ignorance she neither loves nor fears. Nor hunts she after popular applause. Or foamy praise, that drops from common jaws : The garland that she wears, their hands must Who can both censure, understand, define [iuiine. What merit is : then cast those piercing rays. Hound as a crown, instead of honour' d bays. About his poesy ; which, he knows, affords Words, above action; matter, above words. ACT I. SCENE I A Grove and Fountain. Enter Cdpid, and Mebouet udlh hit caduceus, on different sides. Cup. Who goes there .' Mer. 'Tis I, blind archer. Cup. Who, Mercury ? Mer. Ay. Cup. Farewell. Mer. Stay, Cupid. Cup. Not in your company, Hermesj except your hands were riveted at your back. Mer. Why so, wiy little rover ? Cup. Because 1 know you have not a finger, but is as long as my quiver, cousin Mercury, when you please to extend it. Mer. Whence derive you this speech, boy ?^ Cup. O ! 'tis your best polity to be ignorant. . You did never steal Mars his sword out of the sheath, you! nor Neptune's trident! nor Apollo's bow ! no, not you ! Alas, your palms, Jupiter knows, they are as tender as the foot of a foun- dered nag, or a lady's face new mercuried they'll touch nothing. Mer. Go to, infant, you'll be daring still. Clip. Daring! O Janus ! what aword is there? CYNTHIA'S REVELS. why, my light feather-heei'd coz, what are you any more than my uncle Jove's pander ? a lacquey that runs on errands for him, and can whisper a light message to a loose wench with some round volubility ? wait mannerly at a table with a tren- cher, warble upon a crowd a little, and fill out nectar when Ganymede's away ? one that sweeps the gods' drinking-room every morning, and sets the cushions in order again, which they threw one at another's head over night ; can brush the car- pets, call the stools again to their places, play the crier of the court with an audible voice, and take state of a president upon you at wrestlings, plead- ings, negociations, &c. Here's the catalogue of your employments, now ! O no, I err ; you have the marshalling of all the ghosts too that pass the Stygian ferry, and I suspect you for a share with the old sculler there, if the truth were known ; but let that scape. One other peculiar virtue you possess, in lifting, or leiger-du-main, which few of the house of heaven have else besides, I must con- fess. But, methinks, that should not make you put that extreme distance 'twixt yourself and others, that we should be said to ' over-dare' in speaking to your nimble deity. So Hercules might challenge priority of us both, because he can throw the bar farther, or lift more join'd stools at the arm's end, than we. If this might carry it, then we, who have made the whole body of divinity trem- ble at the twang of our bow, and enforc'd Saturnius himself to layby his curled front, thunder, and three- fork'd fires, and put on a masking suit, too light for a reveller of eighteen to be seen in Mer. How now ! my dancing braggart in decimo fexlo I charm your skipping tongue, or I'll Cup. What ! use the virtue of your snaky tip- staff there upon us .' Mer. No, boy, but the smart vigour of my palm about your ears. You have forgot since I took your heels up into air, on the very hour I was born, in sight of all the bench of deities, when the silver roof of the Olympian palace rung again with applause of the fact. Cup. O no, I remember it freshly, and by a particular instance ; for my mother Venus, at the same time, but stoop'd to embrace you, and, to speak by metaphor, you borrow'd a girdle of her's, as you did Jove's sceptre while he was laughing ; and would have done his thunder too, but that 'twas too hot for your itching fingers. Mer. 'Tis well, sir. • Cup. I heard, you but look'd in at Vulcan's forge the other day, and entreated a pair of his new tongs along with you for company : 'tis joy on you, i' faith, that you will keep your hook'd talons in practice with any thing. 'Slight, now you are on earth, we shall have you filch spoons and candle- sticks rather than fail : pray Jove the perfam'd courtiers keep their casting-bottles, pick-tooths, and shittle-cocks from you, or our more ordinary gallants their tdbacce-boxes ; for I am strangely jealous of your nails. Mer. Never trust me, Cupid, but you are turn'd a most acute gallant of late ! the edge of my wit is clean taken off' with the fine and subtile stroke of your thin-ground tongue ; you fight with too poig- nant a phrase, for me to deal with. Cup. O Hermes, your craft cannot make me confident. I know my own steel lo be almost spent, and therefore entreat my peace with you, in time : you are too cunning for me to encounter at , length, and I think it my safest ward to close. ,' Mer.' Well, for once, I'll suffer you to win upon ■. me, wag; but use not these strains too often, they'll stretch my patience. Whither might you march, ; now? ;' Cup. Faith, to recover thy good thoughts, I'll discover my whole project. The huntress and .' queen of these groves, Diana, in^regard of some black and envious slanders hourly^jreathed against her, for her divine justice on Acteon, as she pre- tends, hath here in the vale of Gargaphie, pro- claim'd a solemn revels, which (her godhead put off) she will descend to grace, with the full and royal expense of one of her clearest moons : in which time it shall be lawful for all sorts of inge- nious persons to visit her palace, to court her nymphs, to exercise aU variety of generous and noble pastimes; as well to intimate how far she treads such malicious imputations beneath her, as also to shew how clear her beauties are from the least wrinkle of austerity they may be charged with. Mer. But, what is all this to Cupid .' Cup. Here do I mean to put off the title of a god, and take the habit of a page, in whi<;h' dis- guise, during the interim of these revels, I will get to follow some one of Diana's maids, where, if my bow hold, and my shafts fly but with half the wil- lingness and aim they are directed, I doubt not but 1 shall really redeem the minutes I have lost, by their so long and over nice proscription of my deity from their court. Mer. Pursue it, divine Cupid, it will be rare. Cup. But will Hermes second me .' Mer. I am now to put in act an especial de- signment from my father Jove ; but, that perform'd, I am for any fresh action that offers itself. Cup. Well, then we part. ^JExit. Mer. Farewell, good wag. Now to my charge Echo, fair Echo, speak, 'Tis Mercury that calls thee ; sorrowful nymph. Salute me with thy repercussive voice. That I may know what cavern of the earth Contains thy airy spirit, how, or where I may direct my speech, that thou may'st hear. Echo. Ibelow.] Here. Mer. So nigh I Echo. Ay. Mer. Know, gentle soul, then, I am sent from Who, pitying the sad burthen of thy woes, [Jove, Still growing on thee, in thy want of words To vent thy passion for Narcissus' death. Commands, that now, after three thousand years. Which have been exercised in Juno's spite. Thou take a corporal figure, and ascend, Enrich'd with vocal and articulate power. Make haste, sad nymph, thrice shall my winged rod Strike the obsequious earth, to give thee way. Arise, and speak thy sorrows. Echo, rise. Here, by this fountain, where thy love did pine. Whose memory lives fresh to vulgar fame. Shrined in this yellow flower, that bears his name. Echo. [asccTids.J His name revives, and lifts me up from earth, 0, which way shall I first convert myself, Or in what mood shall I essay to speak. That, in a moment, I may be deliver'd Of the prodigious gref I go withal ? See, see., the mourning fount, whose springs weep Th' untimely fate of that too beauteous boy, [yet ISOBNB CYNTHIA'S REVELS, r3 That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature, !Who, novf transform'd into this drooping flowev, iHangs the repentant head, baclc from the stream, j\.s if it wish'd, Would I had never look'd ■In such aflatlering mirror I O Narcissus, Thou that wast once, and yet art, my Narcissus, Had Echo bat been private with thy thoughts. She would have dropt away herself in tears, Till she had all tum'd water j that in her, . As in a truer glassfthou might'st have gazed I And seen thy beauties by more kind reflection, j But self-love never yet could look on truth r But with blear'd beams ; slick flattery and she I Are twin-born sisters, and so mix their eyes, As if you sever one, the other dies. Why did the gods give thee a heavenly form. And earthly thoughts to make thee proud of it ? Why do I ask ? 'Tis now the known disease That beauty bath, to bear too deep a sense Of her own self-conceived excellence. O, hadst thou known the worth of heaven's rich Thou wouldst have tum'd it to a truer use, [gift, And not with starv'd and covetous ignorance. Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem. The glance whereof to others had been more, Than to thy famish'd mind the wide world's store : So wretched is it to be merely rich I Witness thy youth's dear sweets here Spent un- Like afair taper, withhisownflamewasted. [tasted, Mer. Echo, be brief, Saturnia is abroad. And if she hear, she'll storm at Jove's high will. Echo. I will, kind Mercury, be brief as time. Vouchsafe me, I may do him these last rites. But kiss his flower, and sing some mourning strain Over his wat'ry hearse. Mer. Thou dost obtain ; I were no son to Jove, should I deny thee- Begin, and more to grace thy cunning voite. The humourous air shall mix her solemn tunes With thy sad words : strike, music, from the spheres. And with your golden raptures swell our ears. Echo laccompanied}. llow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears : Yet, slower, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs : List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division, when she sings. Droop herbs andjbywers. Fall grief in showers. Our beauties are not ours ; O, I could still. Like melting snow upon some craggy hill. Drop, drop, drop, drop. Since nature's pride is now a wither' d daffodil. — Mer. Now, have you done ? £cho. Done presently, good Hermes : bide a Suffer my thirsty eye to gaze awhile, _ [little j But e'en to taste the place, and I am vanish'd. Mer. Forego thy use and liberty of tongue. And thou mayst dwell on earth, and sport thee there. Hcho. Here young Acteonfell, pursued and torn By Cynthia's wrath, more e^er than his hounds ; And here— ah me, the place is fatal !— see The weeping Niobe, translated hither From Phrygian mountains ; and by Phoebe rear d, As the proud trophy of her sharp revenge. Mer. Nay, but hear.— Echo. But here, O here, the fountain of self-love, In which Latona, and her careless nymphs, Regardless of my sorrows, bathe themselves In hourly pleasures. Mer. Stint thy babbling tongue ! Fond Echo, thou profan'st the grace is done thee. So idle worldlings merely made of voice, Censure the Powers above them. Come, away, Jove calls thee hence ; and his will brooks no .=tay. Echo. O, stay : I have but one poor thought to In airy garments, and then, faith, 1 go. [clothe Henceforth, thou treacherous and murdering spring. Be ever call'd the rouNTAiu op self-love : And with thy water let this curse remain. As an inseparate plague, that who but taste A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch, Grow dotingly enamour'd on themselves. Now, Hermes, I have flnish'd. Mer. Then thy speech Must here forsake thee. Echo, and thy voice, As it was wont, rebound but the last words. Farewell. Echo, [retiring.'^ Well. Mer. Now, Cupid, I sm for you, and your mirth, To make me light before I leave the earth. Enter Amorphus, hastily. Amo. Dear spark of beauty, make not so fast Echo. Away. [away. Mer. Stay, let me observe this portent yet. Amo. I am neither your Minotaur, nor your Centaur, nor your satyr, nor your hyaena, nor your babion, but your mere traveller, believe me. Echo. Leave me. Mer. I guess'd it should be some travelling motion pursued Echo so. Amo. Know you from whom you fly ? or whence ? Echo. Hence. {Ejcit. Amo. This issomewhat above strange: A nymph of her feature and lineament, to be so preposter- ously rude ! well, I will but cool myself at yon spring, and follow her. Mer. Nay, then, I am familiar with the issue : I'll leave you too. iSxit. Amor. I am a rhinoceros, if I bad thought a creature of her symmetry could have dared so im- proportionable and abrupt a digression.— Liberal and divine fount, suffer my profane hand to take of thy bounties. [Takes up some nf the water.] By the purity of my taste, here is most ambvosiac water ; I will sup of it again. By thy favour, sweet fount. See, the water, a more running, subtile, and humourous nymph than she, permit? me to touch, and handle her. What should I infer.' if my behaviours had been of a cheap or customary garb ; my accent or phrase vulgar ; my garments trite ; my countenance illiterate, or un- practised in the encounter of a beautiful and brave attired piece ; then I might, with some change of colour, have suspected my faculties : But, knowing myself an essence so sublimated and refined by travel ; of so studied and well exercised a gesture ; so alone in fashion ; able to render the face of any statesman living ; and to speak the mere extrac- tion of language, one that hath now made the sixth return upon venture ; and was your first'that ever enrich'd his country with the true laws of the duello ; whose optics have drunk the spirit o! beauty in some eight score and eighteen prince's 74 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT i;. courts, where I have resided, and been there fortunate in the amours of three hundred forty and five ladies, all nobly, if not princely descended ; ■ whose names I have in catalogue : To conclude, in all Eo happy, as even admiration herself doth seem to fasten her kisses upon me : — certes, I do neither see, nor feel, nor taste, nor savour the least steam , or fume of a reason, that should invite this foolish, fastidious nymph, so peevishly to abandon me. Well, let the memory of her fleet into air ; my thoughts and I am for this other element, water. Enter Crites and Asotds. Cri. What, the well dieted Amorphus become a water drinker ! I see he means not to write verses then. Aso. No, Crites ! why ? Cri. Because 2^uUa placer e diu, nee vivere carmhia possuntf QuiB scribuntur aquts poforibus, Amo. What say you to your Helicon .' Cri. O, the Muses' well ! that's ever excepted. Amo. Sir, your Muses have no such water, I assure you ; your nectar, or the juice of your nepenthe, is nothing to it ; 'tis above your me- theglin, believe it. Aso. Metheglin ; what's that, sir ? may I be so audacious to demand .' Amo. A kind of Greek wine I have met with, sir, iu my travels ; it is the same that Demos- thenes usually drunk, in the composure of all bis exquisite and mellifluous orations. Cri. That's to be argued, Amorphus, if we may credit Lucian, who, in his Encomio Demosthenis,. affirms, he never drunk but water in any of his compositions. Amo. Lucian is absurd, he knew nothing: I will believe mine own travels before all the Lucians of Europe. He doth feed you with fittons, figments, and leasings. Cri. Indeed, I think, next a traveller, he does prettily well. Amo. I assure you it was wine, I have tasted it, and from the hand of an Italian antiquary, who derives it authentically from the duke of Ferrara's bottles. How name you the gentleman you are in rank with there, sir .' Cri. 'Tis Asotus, son to the late deceased Philargyrus, the citizen. Amo. Was his father of any eminent place or means ? Cri. He was to have been prajtor next year. Amo. Ha! a pretty formal young gallant, in good sooth ; pity he is not more genteelly propa- gated. Hark you, Crites, you may say to him what I am, if you please ; tliongh I affect not popularity, yet I would loth to stand out to any, whom you shall vouchsafe to call friend. Cri. Sir, I fear I may do wrong to your suf- ficiencies in the reporting them, by forgetting or misplacing some one : yourself can best inform him of yourself, sir ; except you had some cata- logue or list of your faculties ready drawn, which you would request me to show him for yon, and him to take notice of. Amo. This Crites is sour: [Aside.'] I will thii^k, sir. Cri. Do so, sir. — O heaven! that anything iu the likeness of man should suffer these rack'd ex- tremities, for the uttering of his sophisticate good Aso. Crites, I have a suit to you ; but you. must not deny me pray you make this gentlemart and I friends. , Cri. Friends ! why, is there any difference bei- tween you .' Aso. No ; I mean acquaintance, to know one' another. Cri. O, now I apprehend you ; your phrase wasi without me before. Aso. In good faith, he's a most excellent rare ; man, I warrant him. Cri. 'Slight, they are mutually enamour'd by this time. " iAside. Aso. Will you, sweet Crites ? Cri. Yes, yes. Aso. Nay, but when ? you'll defer it now, and forget it. Cri. Why, is it a thing of such present neces- sity, that it requires so violent a dispatch ! Aso. No, but would I might never stir, he's a most ravishing man ! Good Crites, you shall endear me to you, in good faith ; la ! Cri. Well, your longing shall be satisfied, sir. Aso. And withal, you may tell him what my father was, and how well he left me, and that I am his heir. Cri. Leave it to me, I'll forget none of your dear graces, I warrant you. Aso. Nay, I know you can better marshal these affairs than I can O gods! I'd give all the world, if I had it, for abundance of such acauaint- ance. Cri. What ridiculous circumstance might I de- vise now to bestow this reciprocal brace of butter- flies one upon another .' [Aside' Amo. Since I trod on this side the Alps, I was not so frozen in my invention. Let me see : to accost him with some choice remnant of Spanish, or ItaUan I that would indifierently express my languages now : marry, then, if he shall faU out to be ignorant, it were both hard and harsh. How else .' step into some ragioni del stato, and so make my induction 1 that were above him too ; and out of his element, I fear. Feign to have seen him in Venice or Padua ! or some face near his in simili- tude ! 'tis too pointed and open. No, it must be a more quaint and collateral device, as stay : to frame some encomiastic speech upon this our metropolis, or the wise magistrates thereof, in which politic number, 'tis odds but his father fiU'd up a room ? descend into a particular admiration of their justice, for the due measming of coals, burn- ing of cans, and such like .' as also their religion, in pulling down a superstitious cross, and advanc- ing a Venus, or Priapus, in place of it.' ha ! 'twill do wpU. Or to talk of some hospital, whose walls record his father a benefactor? or of so many buckets bestow'd on his parish church in his life- time, with his name at length, for want of arms, trickt upon them ? any of these. Or to praise the cleanness of the street wherein he dwelt ? or the provident painting of his posts, against he should have been praetor ? or, leaving his parent, come to some special ornament about himself, as his rapier, or some other of his accoutrements ? I have it : thanks, gracious Minerva ! Aso. Would I had but once spoke to him, and then He comes to me ! Amo. 'Tis a most curious and neatly wrought band this same, as I have seen, sir. .iOENB I. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 75 Aso. O lord, sir ! Amo. You forgive the humour of mine eye, ia observing it. CH. His eye waters after it, it seems. [.Aside. Aso. O lord, sir ! there needs no such apology, I assurS you. CH. I am anticipated ; they'll make a solemn deed of gift of themselves, you shall see. iAside. Amo. Your riband too does most grscefully in i troth. J Aso. "lis the most genteel and received wear now, sir. Amo. Believe me, sir, I speak it not to humour you — I have not seen a young gentleman, generally, put on his clothes with more judgment. Aso. O, 'tis your pleasure to say so, sir. Amo. No, as I am virtuous, being edtogether untravell'd, it strikes me into wonder. Aso. I do purpose to travel, sir, at spring. Amo. I think I shall affect you, sir. This last speech of yours hath begun to make you dear to me. Aso. O lord, sir ! I would there were any thing in me, sir, that might appear worthy the least worthiness of your worth, sir. I protest, sir, I should endeavour to shew it, sir, with more than common regard, sir. Cri. O, here's rare motley, sir. [Aside. Amo. Both your desert, and your endeavours are plentiful, suspect them not : but your sweet dispo- sition to travel, I assure you, hath made you another myself in mine eye, and struck me ena- mour'd on your beauties. Aso. I would I were the fairest lady of France for your sake, sir ? and yet I would travel too. Amo. O, you should digress from yourself else : for, believe it, your, travel is your only thing that rectifies, or, as the Italian. says, vi rendi pronto all' attioni, makes you fit for action. Aso. I think it be great you fall off, and walk some two turns ; in which time, it is to be supposed, your passion hath sufficiently whited your face, then, stifling a sigh or two, eind closing your lips, with a trembling boldness, and bold terror, you advance yourself forward. Prove thus much, I pray you. Aso. Yes, sir; — ^pray Jove I can light on it! H«re, I come in, you say, and present myself? Amo. Good. Aso. And then 1 spy her, and walk off? Amo. Very good. Aso. Now, sir, I stifle, and advance forward ? Amo. Trembling. Aso. Yes, sir, trembling: I shall do it better when I come to it. And what must I speak now? Amo. Marry, you shall say ; Dear Beauty, or sweet Honour, (or by what other title you please to remember her,) melhinks you are melan- choly. This is, if she be alone now, and disoompanied. Aso. Well, sir, I'll enter again ; her title shall be, My dear Lindabrides, Amo. Lindabrides ! Aso. Ay, sir, the emperor Alicandroe's daughter, and the prince Meridian's sister, in the Knight of the Sun ; she should have been married to him, but that the princess Claridiana Amo. O, you betray your reading. Aso. Nay, sir, I have read history, I am a little humanitian. Interrupt me not, good sir. My dear Lindabrides, — my dear Lindabrides, — my dear Lindabrides, methinks you are melancholy. Amo. Ay, and take her by the rosy finger'd hand. Aso. Must I so : O 1 — My dear Lindabrides, methinks you are melancholy. Amo. Or thus, sir. All variety of divine plea- sures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty. Aso. Believe me, that's pretty. All variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty. Amo. And then, offering to kiss her hand, if she shall coily recoil, and signify your repulse, yon are to re-enforce yourself with, More than most fair lady, Let not the rigour of your jvst disdain Thus coarsely censure of your servant's xeal. And withal, protest her to be the only and abso- lute unparallel'd creature you do adore, and ad- mire, and respect, and reverence, in this court, comer of the world, or kingdom. Aso. This is hard, by my faith. I'll begin it all again. Amo. Do so, and I wUl act it for your lady. Aso. Will you vouchsafe, sir ? All variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave^attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty. Amo. So, sir, pray you, away. Aso. More than most fair lady. Let not the rigour of your just disdain Thus coarsely censure of your servant's meal ; I protest you are the only, and absolute, unap' parell'd Amo. Unparallel'd. Aso. Unparallel'd creature, I do adore, and admire, and respect, and reverence, in this cor- ner of the world or kingdom. Amo. This is, if she abide yon. But now, put the case she should be passant when you enter, as thus : you are to frame your gait thereafter, and call upon her, lady, nymph, sweet refuge, star of our court. Then, if she be guardant, here ; you are to come on, and, laterally disposing your- self, swear by her blushing and well-coloured cheek, the bright dye of her hair, her ivory teeth, (though they be ebony,) or some such white and innocent oath, to induce you.. If regardant, then maintain your station, brisk and irpe, show the supple motion of your pliant body, but in chief of your knee, and hand, which cannot but arride her proud humour exceedingly. Aso. I conceive you, sir.. I shall perform all these things in good time, I doubt not, they do so hit me. Amo. Well, sir, I am your lady ; make use of any of these beginnings, or some other out of your own invention ; and prove how you can hold up, and follow it. Say, say. Aso. Yes, sir. My dear Lindabrides. Amo. No, you affect that Lindabrides too much; and let me tell you it is not so courtly. Your pedant should provide you some parcels of French, or some pretty commodity of Italian, to commence with, if you would be exotic and exquisite. Aso. Yes, sir, he was at my lodging t'other morning, I gave him a doublet. Amo. Double your benevolence, and give him the hose too ; clothe you his body, he will help to apparel your mind. But now, see what your pro- per genius can perform alone, without adjection of any other Minerva. Aso. I comprehend you, sir. Amo. I do stand you, sir ; fall back to your first place. Good, passing well: very properly pursued. Aso. Beautiful, ambiguous, and sufficient lady, what I are you all alone 9 Amo. fVe would be, sir, if you would leave us. Aso. / am at your beauty's appointment, bright angel i but Amo. What but? Aso. N'o harm, more than most fair feature, Amo. That touch relish'd well. Aso. But, J protest Amo. And why should you protest ? Aso. For good will, dear esteem'd madam, and I hope your ladyship will so conceive of it: And will, in time, return from your disdain. And rue the suff' ranee- of our friendly pain. Amo. O, that piece was excellent ! If you could pick out more of these play-particles, and, as occasion shall salute you, embroider or damask your discourse with them, persuade your soul, it would most judiciously commend you. Come, this was a. well-discharged and auspicious bout. Prove the second. Aso. Lady, I cannot ruffle it in red and yellow. Amo. Why, if you can revel it in white, sir, 'tis sufficient. Aso. Say you so, sweet lady ! Lan, tede, de, de, de, dant, dant, dant, dante. [Sings and dances.] No, in good fa,ith, madam, whosoever told your 84 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ladyship so, abused you ; but I would Se glad to meet your ladyship in a measure. Amo. Me, sir! Selike you measure me by yourself, hen 9 Aso. Would I might, fair feature. Amo. And what were you the better, if you might ? Aso. The better it please you to asi,fair lady. Amo. Whj, this was ravishing, andlaost acutely continued. Well, spend not your humour too much, you have now competently exercised your conceit : this, once or twice a day, will render you an accomplish'd, elaborate, and well-levell'd gsJ- lant. Convey in your courting-stock, we will in the heat of this go visit the nymphs' chamber. lExeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— An Apartment in the Palace. Enter PHAuriSTE, Phiiaotia, Aksdhiow, Mobia, and Cupm. Pha. I would this water would arrive once, our travelling friend so commended to us. Arg. So would I, for he has left all us in travail with expectation of it. Pha. Pray Jove, I never rise from this couch, if ever I thirsted more for a thing in my whole time of being a courtier. Phi. Nor I, I'U. be sworn : the very mention of it sets my lips in a worse heat, than if he had sprinkled them with mercury. Reach me the glass, sirrah. Cup. Here, lady. Mor. They do not peel, sweet charge, do they ? Phi. Yes, a little, guardian. Mor. 0, 'tis an eminent good sign. Ever when my lips do so, I am sure to have some delicious good drink or other approaching. Arg. Marry, and this may be good for us ladies, for it seems 'tis far fet by their stay. ■ Mor. My palate for yours, dear Honour, it shall prove most elegant, I warrant you. O, I do fancy this gear that's long a coming, with an im- measurable strain. Pha. Pray thee sit dovm, PhUautia ; that re- batu becomes thee singularly. Phi. Is.it not quaint .'' Pha. Yes, faith. Methinks, thy servant He- don is nothing so obsequious to thee, as he was wont to be : I know not how, he is grown out of his garb a-late, he's warp'd. Mor. In trueness, and so methinks too ; he is much converted. Phi. Tut, let him be what he will, 'tis an animal I dream not of. This tire, methinks, makes me look very ingeniously, quick, and spirited ; I should be some Laura, or some Delia, methinks. Mor. As 1 am wise, fair Honours, that title she gave him, to be her Ambition, spoil'dhim : before, he was the most propitious- and observant young novice Pha. No, no, you are the whole heaven awry, guardian ; 'tis the swaggering coach-horse Anaides draws with him there, has been the diverter of him. Phi. For Cupid's sake speak no more of him ; would I might never dare to look in a mirror again, if I respect ever a marmoset of 'em all, otherwise than I would a feather, or mj shuttle- cock, to make sport with now and then. Pha. Come, sit down ; troth, an you be good beauties, let's run over them all now : Which is the properest man amongst them ? I say, the tra- veller, Amorphus. Phi. O, fie on him, he looks like a Venetian trumpeter in the battle of Lepanto, in the gallery yonder ; and speaks to the tune of a country lady, that comes ever in the rearward or train of a fashion. Mor. I should have judgment in a feature, sweet beauties. Pha. A body would think so, at these years. Mor. And I prefer another now, far before him, a million, at least. Pha. Who might that be, guardian ? Mor. Marry, fair charge, Anaides. Pha. Anaides ! you talk'd of a tune, Philautia ; there's one speaks in a key, like the opening of some justice's gate, or a postboy's horn, as if his voice feared an arrest" for some iU words it should give, and were loth to come forth. Phi. Ay, and he has a very imperfect face. Pha. Like a sea-monster, that were to ravish Andromeda from the rock. Phi. His hands too great too, by at least a straw's breadth. Pha. Nay, he has a worse fault than that too. Phi. A long heel ? • Pha. That were a fault in a lady, rather than him : no, they say he puts off the calves of his legs, with his stockings, every night. Phi. Out upon him 1 Turn to another of the pictures, for love's sake. What says Argurion .' Whom does she commend afore the rest ? Cup. I hope I have instructed her sufficiently for an answer. lAside. Mor. Troth, I made the motion to her ladyship for one to-day, i'the presence, but it appear'd she was otherways furnished before : she would none. Pha. Who was that, Argurion ? Mor. Marry, the poor plain gentleman in the black there. Pha. Who, Crites ? Arg. Ay, ay, he : a fellow that nobody so much as look'd upon, or regarded ; and she would have had me done him particular grace. Pha.. That was a true trick of yourself, Moria, to persuade Argurion to affect the scholar. Arg. Tut, but she shall be no chooser for me. In good faith, I like the citizen's sou there, Aso- tus ; methinks none of them all come near liim. Pha. NotHedon? Arg. Hedon ! In troth, no. Hedon's a pretty slight courtier, and he wears his clothes well, and sometimes in fashion ; marry his face is but indif- ferent, and he has no such excellent body. No, the other is a most delicate youth ; a sweet face, a straight body, a well-proportion' d leg and foot, a white hand, a tender voice. Phi. How now, Argurion ! Pha. O, you should have let her alone, shejwaj CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 85 bestowing a copy of him upon ua. Such a nose were enough to make me love a man, now. Phi. And then his several colours, he wears ; wherein he flourisheth changeably, every day. Plut. O. but his short hair, and his narrow eyes ! Phi. Why she doats more palpably upon him than ever his father did upon her. Pha. Believe me, the yoimg gentleman deserves it. If she could doat more, 'twere not amiss. He is an exceeding proper youth, and would have made a most neat barber surgeon, if he had been put to it in time. Phi. Say you so ! Methinks he looks like a tailor already. Pha. Ay, that had sayed on one of his customer's suits. His face is like a squeezed orange, or Arg. Well, ladies, jest on : the best of you both would be glad of such a servant. Mor. Ay, I'll be sworn would they, though he be a little shame-faced. Pha. Shame-faced, Moria ! out upon him. Your shame-faced servant is your only gull. Mor. Go to, beauties, make much of time, and place, and occasion, and opportunity, and favourites, and things that belong to them, for I'll ensure you they will all relinquish ; they cannot endure above another year ; I know it out of future experience ; and therefore talce exhibition and warning. I was once a reveller myself, and though I speak it, as mine own trumpet, I was then esteem'd Phi. The very march-pane of the court, I war- rant you. Pha. And all the gallants came about you like flies, did they not ? Mor. Go to, they did somewhat; that's no matter now. Pha. Nay, good Moria, be not angry. Put case, that we four now had the grant from Juno, to wish ourselves into what happy estate we could, what would you wish to be, Moria ? Mor. Who, I ! let me see now. I would vrish to be a wise woman, and know all the secrets of court, city, and country. I would know what were done behind the arras, what upon the stairs, what in the garden, what in the nymphs' chamber, what by barge, and what by coach. I would tell you which courtier were scabbed and which not ; which lady had her own face to lie with her a-nights and which not; who put off their teeth with their clothes in court, who their hair, who their com- plexion; and in which box they put it. There should not a nymph, or a widow, be got with child in the -verge, but I would guess, within one or two, who was the right father, and in what month it was gotten ; with what words, and which way. I would tell you which madam loved a mon- sieur, which a player, which a page; who slept with her husband, who with her friend, who with her gentleman-usher, who vrith her horse-keeper, who with her monkey, and who with all ; yes, and who jigg'd the cock too. Pha. Fie, you'd tell all, Moria! If I should wish now, it should be to have your tongue out. But what says Philautia ? Who should she be .' Phi. Troth, the very same I am. Only I would wish myself a little more command and sovereign- ty ; that all the court were subject to my absolute beck, and all things in it depending on my look ; as if there were no other heaven but in my smile, nor other hell but in my frown ; that I might send for any man I list, and have his head cut off when I have done with him, or made an eunuch if he denied me ; and if I saw a better face than mine own, I might have my doctor to poison it. What would you wish, Phantaste .' Pha. Faith, I cannot readily tell you what : but methinks I should wish myself all manner of crea- tures. Now I would be an empress, and by and by a duchess ; then a great lady of state, then one of your miscellany madams, then a waiting-woman, then your citizen's wife, then a coarse country gentlewoman, then a dairy-maid, then a shepherd's lass, then an empress again, or the queen of fairies: and thus I would prove the vicissitudes and whirl of pleasures about and again. As I were a shep- herdess, I would be piped and sung to ; as a dairy- wench, I would dance at maypoles, and make syl- labubs ; as a country gentlewoman, keep a good house, and come up to term to see motions ; as a citizen's wife, be troubled with a jealous husband, and put to my shifts ; others' miseries should be my pleasures. As a waiting-woman, I would taste my lady's delights to her ; as a miscellany madam, invent new tires, and go visit courtiers ; as a great lady, lie a-bed, and have courtiers visit me ; as a, duchess, I would keep my state ; and as an em- press, I would do any thing. And, in all these" shapes, I would ever be follow'd with the affec- tions of all that see me. Marry, I myself would affect none ; or if I did, it should not be heartUy, but so as I might save myself in them still, and take pride in tormenting the poor wretches. Or, now I think on't, I would, for one year, wish my- self one woman ; but the richest, fairest, and deli- catest in a kingdom, the very centre of wealth and beauty, wherein all lines of love should meet; and in that person I would prove all manner of suitors, of all humours, and of all complexions, and never have any two of a sort. I would see how love, by the power of his object, could work in- wardly alike, in a choleric man and a sanguine, in a melancholic and >t phlegmatic, in a fool and a wise man, in a clown and a courtier, in a valiant man and a coward ; and how he could vary out- ward, by letting this gallant express himself in dumb gaze ; another with sighing and rubbing his fingers ; a third with play-ends and pitiful verses ; afourth, with stabbing himself, and drinking healths, or writing languishing letters in his blood ; a fifth, in colour'd ribands and good clothes ; with this lord to smile, and that lord to court, and the t'other lord to dote, and one lord to hang himself. And, then, I to have a book made of aU this, which I would call the Book of Humours, and every night read a little piece ere I slept, and laugh at it — Here comes Hedon. Snter IIedow, Ahaides, and Mkbcuby, who retires with Cupid to the tack qf the stage, where then converse together. Hed. Save you sweet and clear beauties ! By the spirit that moves in me, you are all most pleasingly bestow'd, ladies. Only I can take it for no good omen, to find mine Honour so dejected. Phi. You need not fear, sir ; I did of purpose humble myself against your coming, to decline the pride of my Ambition. Hed. Fair Honour, Ambition dares not stoop ; but if it be your sweet pleasure I shall lose that title, I will, as I am Hedon, apply myself to your bounties. 86 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. AOT n Phi. That were the next way to dis-title myself of honovir. O, no, rather be stlU Ambitious, I pray you. Hed. I will be any thing that yon please, whilst it pleaseth you to be yourself, lady. Sweet Phau- taste, dear Moria, most beautiful Arguriou Ana. Farewell, Hedon. Hed. Anaides, stay, whither go you ? Ana. 'Slight, what should I do here? an you engross them all for your own use, 'tis time forme to seek out. Hed. I engross them! Away, mischief; this is one of your extravagant jests now, because I began to salute them by their names. Ana. Faith, you might have spared ns madam Prudence, the guardian there, though you had more covetously aim'd at the rest. Hed. 'Sheart, take them all, man : what speak you to me of aiming or covetous ? 1 Ana. Ay, say you so ! nay, then, have at them : — Ladies, here's one hath distinguish'd you by your names already : It shall only become me to ask how you do. Hed. Ods so, was this the design you travail'd with? Pha. Who answers the brazen head? it spoke 'to somebody. Awi. Lady Wisdom, do you interpret for these puppets ? Mor. In truth and sadness, honours, you are in great offence for this. Go to ; the gentleman (I'll undertake with him) is a man of fair living, and able to maintain a lady in her two coaches a day, besides pages, monkeys, and paraquettoes, with such attendants as she shall think meet for her turn ; and therefore there is more respect re- quirable, howsoe'er you seem to connive. Hark you, sir, let me discourse a syllable with you. I am to say to you,' these ladies are not of that close and open behaviour as haply you may suspend ; their carriage is well known to be such as it should be, both gentle and extraordinary. Mer, O, here comes the other pair. Enter Amorfbus and Asottis. Amo. That was your father's love, the nymph Arguriou. I would have you direct all your court- ship thither ; if you could but endear yourself to her affection, you were eternally engaUanted. Am. In truth, sir ! pray Phoebus I prove fa- voursome in her fair eyes. Amo. All divine mixture, and increase of beauty to this bright bevy of ladies; and to the male courtiers, compliment and courtesy. Hed. In the behalf of the males, I gratify you, Amorphus. Pha. And I of the females. Amo. Succinctly return'd. I do vail to both your thanks, and kiss them ; but primarily to yours, most ingenious, acute, and polite lady. Phi. Ods my life, how he does all-to-bequalify her ! ingenious, acute, and polite ! as if there was not others in place as ingenious, acute, and polite as she. Hed. Yes, but you must know lady, he cannot speak out of a dictionary method. Pha. Sit down, sweet Amorphus. When will this water come, think you ? Amo. It cannot now be long, fair lady. Cup. Now observe. Mercury. Aso, How, most ambiguous beauty ! love you ? that I will, by this handkerchief. Mer. 'Slid, he draws his oaths out of his pocket. Arg. But will yon be constant ? Aso. Constant, madam ! I will not say for con- stantness; but by this purse, which I would be loth to swear by, unless it were embroidered, I protest, more than most fair lady, you are the only absolute, andunparallel'd creature, I do adore, and admire, and respect, and reverence in this court, corner of the world, or kingdom. Methinks you are melancholy. Arg. Does your heart speak all this ? Aso. Say you ? Mer. O, he is groping for another oath. Aso. Now by this watch — I marie how forward the day is — I do unfeignedly avow myself— 'slight, 'tis deeper than I took it, past five-ryours en- tirely addicted, madam. Arg. I require no more, dearest Asotus; hence- forth let me call you mine, and in remembrance of me, vouchsafe to wear this chain and this diamond. Aso. O lord, sweet lady I Cup. There are new oaths for him. What ! doth Hermes taste no alteration in all this ? Mer. Yes, thou hast strook Arguriou enamour'd on Asotus, methinks. Cvp. Alas, no j I am nobody, I ; I can do no- thing in this disguise. Mer. But thou hast not wounded any of the rest, Cupid. Cup. Not yet ; it is enough that I have begun so prosperously. Arg. Nay, these are nothing to the gems I will hourly bestow upon thee ; be but faithful and kind to me, and I will lade thee with my ricliest boun- ties : behold, here my bracelets from mine arms. Aso. Not so, good lady, by this diamond. ' Arg. Take 'em, wear 'em ; my jewels, chain of pearl pendants, all I have. Aso. Nay then, by this pearl you make me a wanton. Cup, ShaE she not answer for this, to maintain him thus in swearing ? Mer. no, there is a way to wean him from this, the gentleman may be reclaim'd. Cup. Ay, if you had the airing of his apparel, coz, I think. Aso. Loving ! 'twere pity an I should be living else, believe me. Save you, sir, save you, sweet lady, save you, monsieur Anaides, save you, dear madam. Ana. Dost thou know him that saluted thee, Hedon ? Hed. No, some idle Fungoso, that hath got above the cupboard since yesterday. Ana. 'Slud, I never saw him till this morning, and he salutes me as familiarly as if we had known together since the deluge, or the first year of Troy action. Amo. A most right-handed and auspicious en- counter. Confine yourself to your fortunes. Phi. For sport's sake let's have some Riddles or Purposes, ho 1 Pha. No, faith, your Prophecies are best, the t'other are stale. Phi. Prophecies ! we cannot all sit in at them ; we shall make a confusion. No ; what call'd you that we had in the forenoon ? Pha. Substantives and adjectives, is it not, Hedon ? SCENfi I, CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 87 Phi. Ay, that. Who begins ? Pha, I have thought ; speak >^our adjectivesj sirs. Phi. But do not you change then. Pha. Not I. "Who says.' Mor, Odoriferous. Phi. Popular. Arg. Humble. Ana. White-livered. Hed. Barbarous. Amo. PythagoricaL Ued. Yours, siguior. Aso. What must I do, sir? Amo. Give forth your adjective with the rest; as prosperous, good, fair, sweet, well Jffed. Any thing that hath not been spoken. Aso. Yes, sir, well spoken shall be mine. Pha. What, have you all done .' All. Ay. Pha. Then the substantive is Breeches. Why odoHferous breeches, guardian ? Mor. Odoriferous, — ^because odoriferous : that which contains most variety of savour and smell we say is most odoriferous ; now breeches, I presume, are incident to that variety, and therefore odori- ferous breeches. Pha. Well, we must take it howsoever. Who's next? Philautia? Phi. Popular. Pha. Why popular breeches ? Pha. Marry, that is, when they are not content to be generally noted in court, but will press forth on common stages and brokers' stalls, to the public view of the world. Pha. Good. Why Aami/e breeches, Argurion ? Arg. Humble! because they use to be sat upon ; besides, if you tie them not up, their property is to fall down about your heels. Mer.- She has worn the breeches, it seems, which have done so. Pha. But why white-liver d? Ana. Why ! are not their linings white ? Be- sides, when they come in swaggering company, and will pocket up anything, may they not pro- perly be said to be white-liver'd ? Pha. O yes, we must not deny it. And why barbarous, Hedou ? Hed. Barbarous ! because commonly, when you have worn your breeches sufficiently, you give them to your barber. Amo, That's good ; but how Pythagorical? Phi. Ay, Amorphus, why Pythagorical breeches .' Amo. O most kindly of aU; 'tis a conceit of that fortune, I am bold to hug my brain for. Pha. How is it, exquisite Amorphus ? Arrm. O, I am rapt with it, 'tis so fit, so proper, so happy Phi. Nay, do not rack us thus. Amo. I never truly relish'd myself before. Give me your ears. Breeches Pythagorical, by reason of their transmigration into several shapes. Mor. Most rare, in sweet troth. Marry this young gentleman, for his well-spoken Pha. Ay, why well-spoken breeches ? Aso. Well-spoken! Marry, well-spoken, be- cause whatsoever they speak is well-taken ; and whatsoever is well-taken is well-spoken. Mor. Excellent ! believe me. Aso. Not so, ladies, neither. Hed. But why breeches, now? Pha. Breeches, quasi bear-riches ; when a gal- lant bears all his riches in his breeches. Amo. Most fortunately etymologized. Pha. 'Nay, we have another sport afore this, of A thing done, and who did it, &o. Phi. Ay, good Phantaste, let's have that : dis- tribute the places. Pha, Why, I imagine, A thing done ; Hedon thinks, who did it ; Moria, with what it was done ; Anaides, where it was done ; Argurion, when it was done ; Amorphus, for what cause was it done ; you, Philautia. what followed upon the doing of it ; and this gentleman, who would have done it better. What ? is it conceived about ? All. Yes, yes. Pha. Then speak you, sir, Who would have done it better ? Aso. How ! does it begin at me ? Pha. Yes, sir : this play is called the Crab, it goes backward. Aso. May I not name myself ? Phi. If you please, sir, and dare abide the ven- ture of it. Aso. Then I would have done it better, what- ever it is. Pha. No doubt on't, sir : a good confidence. What followed upon the act, Philautia? . Phi. A few heat drops, and a month's mirth. Pha. For what cause, Amorphus ? Avw. For the delight of ladies. Pha. When, Argurion ? Arg, Last progress. Pha. Where, Anaides ? Ana. Why, in a pair of pain'd slops. Pha. With what, Moria ? Mor. With a glyster. Pha. Who, Hedon? Hed. A traveller. Pha. Then the thing done was. An oration was made. Rehearse. An oration was made — Hed. By a traveller — Mor. With a glyster — Ana. In.a pair of pain'd slops — Arg. Last progress — Amo. For the delight of ladies — Phi. A few heat drops, and a month's mirth followed. Pha. And, this silent gentleman would have done it better. Aso. This was not so good, now. Phi. In good faith, these unhappy pages would be whipp'd for staying thus. Mor. Beshrew my hand and my heart else. Amo. I do wonder at their protraction. Ana. Pray Venus my whore have not discover'd herself to the rascally boys, and that be the cause of their stay. Aso. I must suit myself with another page : this idle Prosaites will never be brought to wait well. Mor. Sir, I have a kinsman I could vrillingly wish to your service, if you will deign to accept of him. Aso. And I shall be glad, most sweet lady, to embrace him : Where is he ? Mor. I can fetch him, sir, but I would be loth to make you to turn away your other page. Aso. You shall not, most sufficient lady j I will keep both : pray you let's go see him. Arg. Whither goes my love ? 88 CYNTHM'S REVELS. An rv. _ Aso. I'll return presently, I go but to see a page with this lady. lExeunt Asotus and Moeia. Ana. As sure as fate, 'tis so : she has opened all : a pox of all cockatrices ! D — n me, if she have play'd loose with me, I'll cut her throat, within a hair's breadth, so it may be heal'd again. Mer. What, is he jealous of his hermaphrodite ? Cup. O, ay, this will be excellent sport. Phi. Phantaste, Argurion ! what, you are sud- denly struck, methinks ! For love's sake let's have some music till they come : Ambition, reach the lyra, I pray you. Hed. Anything to which my Honour shall di- rect me. Phi. Come, Amorphus, cheer up Phantaste. Amo. It shall be my pride, fair lady, to attempt all that is in my power. But here is an instrument that alone is able to infuse soul into the most me- lancholic and dull-disposed creature upon earth. O, let me kiss thy fair knees. Beauteous ears, attend it. Hed. Will you have " th£ Kiss" Honour ? Phi. Ay, good Ambition. Hedon sings. O, ih^t joy so soon should ivasie I Or so sweet a bliss As a kiss Might not for ever last ! So sugar'd, so melting, so soft, so delicious, The dew that lies on roses, When, the morn herself discloses. Is not so precious. O rather than I would it smother, Were I to taste such another ; It should he my wishing That I might die with kissing. Hed. I made this ditty, and the note to it, upon a kiss that my Honour gave me ; how like you it, sir .' Amo. A pretty air ; in general, I like it well : but in particular, your long die-note did arride me most, but it was somewhat too long. I can show one almost of the same nature, but much beifore it, and not so long, in a composition of mine own. I think I have both the note and ditty about me. Hed. Pray you, sir, see. Amo. Yes, there is the note ; and all the parts, if I misthink not. I will read the ditty to your beauties here ; but first I am to make you familiar with the occasio!>, which presents itself thus. Upon a time, going to take my leave of the emperor, and kiss his great hands, there being then present the kings of France and Arragon, the dukes of Savoy, Florence, Orleans, Bourbon, Brunswick, the Land- grave, count Palatine ; all which had severally feasted me ; besides infinite more of inferior per- sons, as counts and others ; it was my chance (the emperor detained by some exorbitant affair) to wait him the fifth part of an hour, or much near it. In which time, retiring myself into a bay- window, the beauteous lady Annabel, niece to the empress, and sister to the king of Arragon, who having never before eyed me, but only heard the common report of my virtue, learning, and travel, fell into that extremity of passion for my love, that she there immediately swooned : physicians were sent for, she had to her chamber, so to her bed ; where, languishing some few days, after many times nailing upon me, with my name in her lips, she expired. As that (I must mourningly say) is the only fault of my fortune, that, as it hath ever been my hap to be sued to, by all ladies and beauties, where I have come ; so I never yet so- journ' d or rested in that place or part of the world, where some high-born, admirable, fair feature died not for my love; Mer. O, the sweet power of travel ! — Are you guilty of this, Cnpid? Cup. No, Mercury, and that his page Cos knows, if he were here present to be sworn. Phi. But how doth this draw on the ditty, sir ? Mer. O, she is too quick with him ; he hath not devised that yet. Amo. Marry, spme hour before she departed, she bequeath'd to me this glove : which golden legacy, the emperor himself took care to send after me, in six coaches, cover'd all with black velvet, attended by the state of his empire ; all which he freely presented me with : and I reciprocally (out of the same bounty) gave to the lords that brought it : only reserving the gift of the deceased lady upon which I composed this ode, and set it to my most affected instrument, the lyra. Thou more than most sweet glove, Unto my more sweet love. Suffer me to store with kisses This empty lodging, thatnow misses The pure rosy hand, that wear thee. Whiter than the kid that bare thee. Thou art soft, but that was softer ; Cupid's self hath kiss'd it after Than e'er he did his mother's doves. Supposing her the queen of loves. That was thy mistress, best of gloves. Mer. Blasphemy, blasphemy, Cupid ! Cup. I'll revenge it time enough, Hermes. Phi. Good Amorphus, let's hear it sung. Amo. I care not to admit that, since it pleaseth -i Philautia to request it. Hed. Here, sir. Amo. Nay, play it, I pray you ; you do well, you do well. — \^He sings it.'] How like you it, sir .' Hed. Very well, in troth. Amo. But very well ! O, you are a mere mam- mothrept in judgment, then. Why, do you not observe how excellently the ditty is affected in every place .' that I do not marry a word of short quantity to a long note .' nor an ascending syllable to a descending tone ? Besides, upon the word best there, you see how I do enter with an odd minum, and drive it through the brief; which no inteUigent musician, I know, but will affirm to be very rare, extraordinary, and pleasing. Mer. And yet not fit to lament the death of » lady, for all this. Cup. Tut, here be they will swallow anything. Pha. Pray you, let me have a copy of it, Amorphus. Phi. And me too ; in troth, I like it exceedingly. Amo. I have denied it to princes ; nevertheless, to you, the true female twins of perfection, I am won to depart withaL Hed. I hope, I shall have my Honour's copy. Pha. You are Ambitious in that, Hedon. lU-enUr Anaides, Amo. How now, .Anaides ! what is it hath con- SCENE I. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 89 jured up this distemperature in the circle of your &ce? \ Ana. Why, what have you to do ? A pox upon '. your filthy traTelling face ! hold yoiu: tongue. \ flerf. Nay, dost hear, Mischief? /' Ana. Away, musk-cat ! ' Amo. 1 say to thee thou art rude, debauch'd, impudent, coarse, unpolish'd, a frapler, and base. Ued. Heart of my father, what a strange altera- tion has half a year' s haunting of ordinaries wrought in this fellow ! that came with a tufftaffata jerkin to town but the other day, and a pair of pennyless hose, and now he is turn'd Hercules, he wants but a club. Ana. Sir, you with the pencil on your chin ; I will garter my hose with your guts, and that shall be all. IBxit. Mer. 'Slid, what rare fireworks be here ? flash, flash. Pha. What's the matter, Hedon ? can you tell ? Hed. Nothing, but that he lacks crowns, and thinks we'll lend him some to be friends. Ht-vnivr AsoTUS ati^, Moria, with Morus. Aso. Come, sweet lady, in good truth I'll have it, you shall not deny me. Moras, persuade your aunt I may have her picture, by any means. Morus. Yea, Sir : good aunt now, let him have it, he will use me the oetter ; if you love me do, good aunt. Mor. Well, tell him he shall have it. Moms. Master, you shall have it, she says. Aso. Shall I ? thank her, good page. Cup. What, has he entertain'd the fool ? Mer., Ay, he'll wait close, you shall see, though the beggar hang ofE a while. Mentis. Aunt, my master thanks you. Mor. Call him hither. Morus. Yes ; master. Mor. Yes, in verity, and gave me this purse, and he has promised me a most fine dog ; which he will have drawn with my picture, he says : and desires most vehemently to be known to your ladyships. Pha. Call him hither, 'tis good groping such a gull. Morus. Master Asotus, master Asotus ! Aso. For love's sake, let me go : you see I am call'd to the ladies. Arg. Wilt thou forsake me, then? Aso. Od so ! what would you have me do ? Mor. Come hither, master Asotus. — I do ensure your ladyships, he is a gentleman of a very worthy desert : and of a most bountiful nature. — ^You must shew and insinuate yourself responsible, and equiva- lent now to my commendment. — Good honours grace him. Aso. I pfotest, more than most fair ladies, / do wish all variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, sweet music, rich fare, brave attire, soft beds, and. silken thoughts, attend these fair beauties. Will it please your ladyship to wear this chain of pearl, and this diamond, for my sake ? Axg. Ol Aso. And you, madam, this jewel and pendants ? Arg. O! Pha. We know not how to deserve these bounties, out of so slight merit, Asotus. Phi. No, in faith, but there's my glove for a favour. Pha. And soon after the revels, I will bestow a garter on you. Aso. O lord, ladies ! it is more grace than ever I could have hoped, but that it pleaseth your lady, ships to extend. I protest it is enough, that you but take knowledge of my if your ladyships want embroider'd gowns, tires of any fashion, re- batues, jewels, or carcanets, any thing whatsoever, if you vouchsafe to accept — ■ — Cup. And for it they will help you to shoe-ties, and devices. Aso. I cannot utter myself, dear beauties, but you can conceive Arg. O! Pha. Sir, we will acknowledge your service, doubt not — henceforth, you shall be no more Asotus to us, but our goldfinch, and we your cages. Aso. O Venus ! madams ! how shall I deserve this ? if I were but made acquainted with Hedon, now, — I'll try : pray you, away. [To Arguricv. Mer. How he prays money to go away from him ! Aso. Amorphus, a word with you ; here's a watch I would bestow upon you, pray you make me known to that gallant. Amo. That I will, sir. — Monsieur Hedon, I must entreat you to exchange knowledge with this gentleman. Hed. 'Tis a thing, next to the water, we expect, I thirst after, sir. Good monsieur Asotus. Aso. Good monsieur Hedon, I would be glad to be loved of men of your rank and spirit, I protest. Please you to accept this pair of bracelets, sir ; they are not worth the bestowing Mer. O Hercules, how the gentleman pm-chases this must needs bring Argurion to a consumption. Hed. Sir, I shall never stand in the merit of such bounty, I fear. Aso. O Venus, sir ; your acquaintance shall be sufficient. And, if at any time you need my bill, or my bond Arg. O ! O ! [Skioo7ij. Amo. Help the lady there ! Mor. Gods-dear, Arguiion ! madam, how do you ? Arg. Sick. Pha. Have her forth, and give her air. Aso. I come again straight, ladies. iExeunt Asotus, Morus, and Arguk/on. Mer. Well, I doubt all the physic he has will scarce recover her ; she's too far spent. Be-enter Anaides with Gelaia, Prosaites, and Cos, wWi the bottles. Phi. O here's the water come ; fetch glasses, page. Gel. Heart of my body, here's a coil, indeed, with your jealous humours ! nothing but whore and bitch, and all the villainous swaggering names you can think on ! 'Slid, take your bottle, and put it in your guts for me, I'll see you pox'd ere I follow you any longer. Ana. Nay, good punk, sweet rascal; d n me, if I am jeslous now. Gel. That's true, indeed ; pray let's go. Mor. What's the matter there ? Gel. 'Slight, he has me upon interrogatories, (nay, my mother shall know how you use me,) where I have been ? and why I should stay so long, and, how is't possible ? and withal calls me at his pleasure I know not how many cockatrices, and things. OQ CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT IV. Mor. In truth and sadness, these are no good epitaphs, Anaides, to bestow upon any gentle- woman; and I'll ensure you if I had known you would have dealt thus with my daughter, she should never have fancied you so deeply as she has done. Go to. . Ana. Why, do you hear, mother Moria ? heart ! Mor. Nay, I pray you, sir, do not swear. Ana. Swear ! why ? 'sblood, I have sworn afore now, I hope. Both you and your daughter mistake me. I have not honour' d Arete, that is held the worthiest lady in court, next to Cynthia, with half that observance and respect, as I have done her in private, howsoever outwardly I have carried myself careless, and negligent. Come, you are a foolish punk, and know not when you are well employed. Kiss me, come on ; do it, I say. Mor. Nay, indeed, I must confess, she is apt to misprision. But I must have you leave it, minion. , Re-enter Asotus. Amo. How now, Asotus ! how does the lady ? Aso. Faith, ill. I have left my page with her, at her lodging. Hed. O, here's the rarest water that ever was tasted : fill liim some. Pro. What ! has my master a new page ? Mer. Yes, a kinsman of the lady Moria's : you must wait better now, or you are cashiered, Pro- saites. Ana. Come, gallants, you must pardon my foolish humour ; when I am angry, that any thing crosses me, I grow impatient straight. Here, I drink to you. Phi. O, that we had five or six bottles more of this liquor ! Pha. Now I commend your judgment, Amor- phus : — [kTeocMn^ ioithin.1 Who's that knocks ? look, page. [.Exit Cos. Mor. O, most delicious ; a little of this would make Argurion well. Pha. O, no, give her no cold drink, by any means. Atuz. 'Sblood, this water is the spirit of wine, I'll be hang'd else. Re-enter Coswith Arete. Cos. Here's the lady Arete, madam. Are. What, at your bever, gallants.' Mor. Will't please your ladyship to drink? 'tis of the New Fountain water. Are. Not I, Moria, I thank you.— Gallants, you are for this night free to your peculiar delights ; Cynthia will have no sports : when she is pleased to come forth, you shall have knowledge. In the mean time, I could wish you did provide for solemn revels, and some unlooked for device of wit, to entertain her, against she should vouchsafe to grace your pastimes vrith her presence. Amo. What say you to a masque ? Hed. Nothing better, if the project were new and rare. Are. Why, I'U send for Crites, and have his advice : be you ready in your endeavours : he shall discharge you of the inventive part Pha. But wiU not your ladyship stay ? Are. Not now, Phantaste. lExit. Phi. Let her go, I pray you, good lady Sobriety, I am glad we are rid of her. Pha, What a set face the gentlewoman has, as she were still going to a sacrifice ! Phi. O, she is the extraction of a dozen of Puritans, for a look. Mor. Of all nymphs i' the court, I cannot away vrith her ; 'tis the coarsest thing ! Phi. I wonder how Cynthia can affect her. so above the rest. Here be they are every way as fair as she, and a thought fairer, I trow. Pha. Ay, and as ingenious and conceited as she. Mor. Ay, and as politic as she, for all she sets such a forehead on't. Phi. Would I were dead, if I would change to be Cynthia. Pha. Or I. Mor. Or I. Amo. And there's her minion, Crites : why his advice more than Amorphus ? Have not I inven- tion afore him ? learning to better that invention above him ? and infanted with pleasant travel Ana. Death, what talk you of his learning.' he understands no more than a schoolboy ; I have put him down myself a thousand times, by this air, and yet I never talk'd with him but twice in in my life : you never saw his like. I could never get him to argue with me but. once ; and then because I could not construe an author I quoted at first sight, he went away, and laughed at me. By Hercules, I scorn him, as I do the sodden nymph that was here even now, his mistress, Arete : and I love myself for nothing else. Hed. I wonder the fellow does not hang him- self, being thus scorn'd and contemn'd of us that are held the most accomplish'd society of gallants. Mer. By yourselves, none else. Hed. I protest, if I had no musit^ in me, no courtship, that I were not a reveller and could dance, or had not those excellent qualities that give a man life and perfection, but a mere poor scholar as he is, I think I should make some desperate way with myself ; whereas now, — would I might never breathe more, if I dp know that creature in this kingdom with whom I would change. Cup. This is excellent ! Well, I must alter all this soon. Mer. Look you do, Cupid. The bottles have wrought, it seems. Aso. O, I am sorry the revels are crost. I should have tickled it soon. I did never appear till then. 'Slid, I am the neatliest-made gallant i' the company, and have the best presence ; and my dancing well, I know what our usher said to me last time I was at the school : Would I might have led Philautia in the measures, an it had been the gods' will ! I am most worthy, I am sure. Re-enter MoRus. Morus. Master, I can tell you news ; the lady kissed me yonder, and played with me, and says she loved you once as well as she does me, but that you cast her off. Aso. Peace, my most esteemed page. Morus. Yes. ^so.What luck is this, that our revels are dash'd! now was I beginning to glister in the very highway of preferment. An Cynthia had but seen me dance a strain, or do but one trick, I had been kept in court, I should never have needed to look towards my friends again. EOBNE I, CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 91 , jimo. Contain yourself, you were a fortunate 'young man, if you knew your own good ; which I have now projected, and will presently multiply fcipon you. Beauties and valours, your Touch- safed applause to a motion. The humorous Cyn- ythia hati, for this night, withdrawn the light of ' your delight. Pha. 'Tis true, Amorphus ; what may we do to redeem it ? Amo. Redeem that we cannot, but to create a new flame is in our power. Here is a gentleman, my scholar, whom, for some private reasons me specially moving, I am covetous to gratify with title of master in the noble and subtile science of courtship : for which grace, he shall this night, in court, and in the long gallery, hold his public act, by open challenge, to all masters of the mystery whatsoever, to play at the four choice and princi- pal weapons thereof, viz., the Bare Accost, the Bet- ter Regard, the Solemn Address, and the Perfect Close. What say you ? All. Excellent, excellent, Amorphus. • Amo. 'WeU, let us then take our time by the forehead : I will instantly have bills drawn, and advanced in every angle of the court.— Sir, betray not your too much joy. — ^Anaides, we must mix this gentleman with you in acquaintance, monsieur Asotus. Ana. I am easily entreated to grace any of your friends, Amorphus. Aso. Sir, and his friends shall likewise grace you, sir. Nay, I begin to know myself now. Amo. 0, you must continue your bounties. Aso. Must I ? Why, I'll give him this ruby on my finger. Do yon hear, sir ? I do heartily wish your acquaintance, and I partly Know myself worthy of it ; please you, sir, to accept this poor ruby in a ring, sir. The poesy is of my own device, Let this blush for me, sir. Ana. So it must for me too, for I am not asham'd to take it. Moras. Sweet man ! By my troth, master, I love you; will you love me too, for my aunt's sake.= I'll wait well, you shall see. I'll still be here. Would I might never stir, but you are a fine man in these clothes ; master, shall I have them when . you have done with them ? Aso. As for that. Morns, thou shalt see more hereafter ; in the meantime, by this air, or by this feather, I'll do as much for thee, as any gallant shall do for his page, whatsoever, in this court, corner of the world, or kingdom. ^Exeunt all hut the Pages. Mer. I wonder this gentleman should affect to keep a fool : methinks he makes sport enough with himself. Cup. Well, Prosaltes, 'twere good you did wait closer. Pro. Ay, I'll look to it ; 'tis time. Cos. The revels would have been most sumptuous to-night, if they had gone forward. {.Exit. Mer. They must needs, when all the choicest singularities of the court were up in pantofles ; ne'er a one of them but was able to make a whole show of itself. Aso. [within.l Sirrah, a torch, a torch ! Pro. O, what a call is there ! I wUl have a can- zonet made, with nothing in it but sirrah ; and the burthen shall be, I come. iExit. Mer. How now, Cupid, how do you like this change ? Cup. Faith, the thread of my device is crack'd, I may go sleep till the revelling music awake me. Mer. And then, too, Cupid, without you had prevented the fountain. Alas, poor god, that remembers not self-love to be proof against the violence of his quiver ! WeU, I have a plot against these prizers, for which 1 must presently find out Crites, and with his assistance pursue it to a high strain of laughter, or Mercury hath lost of his metal. \JB.veunt. ACT V. SCENE I.— The same. Enter Mbkcory and Ckites. Mer. It is resolved on, Crites, you must do it. Cri. The grace divinest Mercury hath done me, In this vouchsafed discovery of himself. Binds my observance in the utmost term Of satisfaction to his godly will : Though I profess, without the affectation Of an enforced and fonn'd austerity, I could be willing to enjoy no place With so unequal natures. Mer. We believe it. But for our sake, and to inflict just pains On their prodigious follies, aid us now : No man is presently made bad with ill. And good men, like the sea, should still maintain Their noble taste, in midst of all fresh humours That flow about them, to corrupt their streams. Bearing no season, much less salt of goodness. It is our purpose, Crites, to correct. And punish, with our laughter, this night's sport, Which our court-dors so heartily intend : And by that worthy scorn, to make them know How far beneath the dignity of man Their serious and most practised actions are. Cri. Ay, but though Mercury can warrant out His undertakings, and make all things good, Out of the powers of his divinity, Th' offence wUl be return'd with weight on me, That am a creature so despised and poor ; When the whole court shall take itself abused By OUT ironical confederacy. Mer. You are deceived. The better race in court, That have the true nobility call'd virtue. Will apprehend it, as a grateful right Done to their separate merit ; and approve The fit rebuke of so ridiculous heads, Who, with their apish customs and forced garbs Would bring the name of courtier in contempt. Did it not live unblemish'd in some few. Whom equal Jove hath loved, and Fhcebus form'd Of better metal, and in better mould. Cri. Well, since my leader-on is Mercury, I shall not fear to follow. If I fall, My proper virtue shall be my relief, That foUow'd such a cause, and such a chief. {ExeunU 92 CYNTHIA S REVELS. ACT v. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Asoros and Amorphus. ■liso. No more, if you love me, good master ; you are incompatible to live withal : send me for the ladies ! Amo. Nay, but intend me. Aso. Fear me not ; I warrant you, sir. Amo. Render not yourself a refractory on the sudden. I can allow, well, you should repute highly, heartily, and to the most, of your own endowments ; it gives you forth to the world the more assured : but with reservation of an eye, to be always turn'd dutifully back upon your teacher. Aso. Nay, good sir, leave it to me. Trust me with trussing all the points of this action, I pray. 'Slid, I hope we shall iind wit to perform the science as well as another. Amo. I confess you to be of an apted and doci- ble humour. Yet there are certain punctilios, or (as I may more nakedly insinuate them) certain intrinsecate strokes and wards, to which your acti- vity is not yet amounted, as your gentUe dor in colours. For supposition, your mistress appears here in prize, ribanded with green and yellow; now, it is the part of every obsequious servant, to be sure to have daily about him copy and variety of colours, to be presently answerable to any hourly or half-hourly change in his mistress's re- volution Aso. I know it, sir. Amo. Give leave. I pray you — which, if your antagonist, or player against you, shall ignorantly be without, and yourself can produce, you give him the dor. Aso. Ay, ay, sir. Amo. Or, if you can possess your opposite, that the green your mistress wears, is. her rejoicing or exultation in his service ; the yellow, suspicion of his truth, from her height of affection : and that he, greenly credulous, shall withdraw thus, in pri- vate, and from the abundance of his pocket (to displace her jealous conceit) steal into his hat the colour, whose blueness doth express trueness, she being not so, nor so affected ; you give him the dor. Aso. Do not I know it, sir ? Amo. Nay, good swell not above your un- derstanding. There is yet a third dor in colours. Aso. 1 know it too, I know it. Amo. Do you know it too ? what is it ? make good your knowledge. Aso. Why it is no matter for that. Amo. Do it, on pain of the dor. Aso. Why ; what is't, say you ? Amo. Lo, you have given yourself the dor. But I will remonstrate to you the third dor, which is not, as the two former dors, indicative, but deli- berative : as how ? as thus. Your rivalis, with a dutiful and serious care, lying in his bed, meditating how to observe his mistress, dispatcheth his lacquey to the chamber early, to know what her colours are for the day, with purpose to apply his wear that day accordingly : you lay wait before, preoccupy the chambermaid, corrupt her to return false co- lours ; he follows the fallacy, comes out accoutred to his believed instructions ; your mistress smiles, and you give him the dor. Aso. Why, so I told you, sir, I knew it. Amo. Told me ! It is a strange outrecuidance : your humour too much redoundethi Aso. Why, sir, what, do you think yon know more ? Amo. I know that a cook may as soon and pro-; perly be said to smell well, as you to be wise. I know these are most clear and .clean strokes. But; then, you have your passages and imbrocatas in^ courtship ; as the bitter bob in wit ; the reverse in face or wry-mouth ; and these more subtile and secure offenders. I will example unto you : Your opponent makes entry as you are engaged with your mistress. You seeing him, close in her ear vrith this whisper. Here comes your baboon, disgrace him ; and withal stepping off, fall on his bosom, and turning to her, politicly, aloud say. Lady, re- gard this noble gentleman, a man rarely parted, second to none in this court ; and then, stooping over his shoulder, your hand on his breast, your mouth on his backside, you give him the reverse stroke, with this sanna, or stork's-bill, which makes up your wit's bob most bitter. Aso. Nay, for heaven's sake, teach me no more. I know all as well "Slid, if I did not, why was I nominated .' why did you choose me .' why did the ladies prick out me .' I am sure there were other gallants. But me of all the rest ! By that light, and, as I am a courtier, would I might never stir, but 'tis strange. Would to the lord the ladies would come once ! Enter Morphidbs. Morp. Signior, the gallants and ladies are at hand. Are you ready, sir ? Amo. Instantly. Go, accomplish your attire: [Exit AsoTus.] Cousin Morphides, assist me to make good the door with your ofScious tyranny. Citizen, [within.^ By your leave, my masters there, pray you let's come by. Pages, [within.'] You by! why should you come by more than we ? Citizen's Wife, [within^ Why, sir ! because he is my brother that plays the prizes. Morp. Your brother ! Citizen, [within.'] Ay, her brother, sir, and we must come in. Tailor, [within.] Why, what are you ? Citizen, [within.] I am her husband, sir. Tailor, [within.] Then thrust forward your head. Amo. What tumult is there ? Morp. Who's there ? bear back there ! Stand from the door ! Amo. Enter none but the ladies and their hang- byes. — Enter Phantastb, Phxlautu, Argurion, Moria, Hedon, and Anaides, introducing two Ladies. Welcome beauties, and your kind shadows. Hed. This country lady, my friend, good sig- nior Amorphus. Aha. And my cockatrice here. Amo. She is welcome. Tlie Citizen, .and his Wife, Pages, S[C. appear at the door. Morp. Knock those same pages there ; and, goodman coxcomb the citizen, who would you speak withal ? TVife. My brother. Amo. With whom ? your brother ! Morp. Who is your brother ? IVife. Master Asotus. Amoi Master Asotus ! is he your brother .' he SC£NE II. CYNTHIA'S REVELS, 93 is taken up with great persons ; he is not to know you to-night. , Se-enUr Asotus hattili/. ^ Aso. O Jove, master 1 an there come e'er a ^itizen gentlewoman in my name, let her have pntrance, I pray you : it is my sister. I tVife. Brother! i Cii. Ithrusting in.'] Brother, master Asotus ! Aso. Who's there ? Wife. 'Tis I, brother. Aso. Gods me, there she is ! good master, in- trude her. Morp. Make place ! bear back there ! Enter Citiam's Wife. Amo. Knock that simple fellow there. Wife. Nay, good sir, it is my husband. Morp. The simpler fellow he. — Away ! back with your head, sir ! [PmjAm the Citizen back. Aso. Brother, you must pardon your non-entry : husbands are not allow'd here, in truth. I'll come home soon with my sister ; pray you meet us with it lantern, brother. Be merry, sister ; I shall make you iaugh anon. lExit. Pha. Your prizer is not ready, Amorphus. Amo. Apprehend your places ; he shall be soon, and at all points. ■ Ana. Is there any body come to answer him ? shall we have any sport .' Amo. Sport of importance; howsoever, give me the gloves. Hed. Gloves ! why gloves, signior ? Phi. What's the ceremony ? Amo. [distributing gloves^.'] Beside their re- ceived fitness, at all prizes, they are here properly accommodate to the nuptials of my scholar's 'haviour to the lady Courtship. Please you ap- parel your hands. Madam Phantaste, madam fhilantia, guardian, signior Hedon, signior Anaides, gentlemen all, ladies. All. Thanks, good Amorphus. Amo. I wiU now call forth my provost, and present him. IBxit. Ana. Heart ! why should not we be masters as well as he ? Hed. That's true, and play our masters prizes as well as the t'other ? Mor. In sadness, for using your court- weapons, methinks you may. Pha. Nay, but why should not we ladies play our prizes, 1 pray ? I see no reason but we should take them down at their own weapons. Phi. Troth, and so we may, if we handle them weU. Wife. Ay, indeed, forsooth, madam, if 'twere in the city, we would think foul scorn but we would, forsooth. Pha. Pray you, what should we call your name ? Wife. My name is Downfall. Hed. Good mistress Downfall 1 I am sorry your husband could not get in. Wife. 'Tis no matter for him, sir. Ana. No, no, she has the more liberty for herself. {A Flourish. Pha. Peace, peace ! they come. Se-enter Amobphhs, introducing Asotus in a full-dress suit. Amo. So, keep up your ruff; the tincture of your neck is not all so pure, but it will ask it. Maintain your sprig upright ; your cloke on your half-shoulder falling ; so : I will read your bill, advance it, and present you. — Silence ! Be it known to all that profess courtship, by these presents {from the white satin reveller, to the cloth of tissue and bodkin) that we, Ulysses-Polytropus- Amorphus, master of the noble and subtile science of courtship, do give leave and licence to our pro- vost, Acolasius-Polypragmon-Asotus, to play his master's prize, against all masters whatsoever, in this subtile mystery, at these four, the choice and most cunning weapons of court-compliment, vix. the BARB ACCOST ; the better ksqard ; tlie SOLEMN ADDRESS ; and the perfect close. These are therefore to give notice to all comers, that he, the said Acolastus-Polypragmon-Asotus, is here present {by the help of his mercer, tailor, milliner, sempster, and so forth) at his designed hour, in this fair gallery, the present day of 'this present month, to perform and do his uttermost for the achievement and bearing away of the prizes, which are these i viz. For the Bare Ac- cost, two wall-eyes in a face forced : for the Better Regard, a face favourably simpering, with a fan waving ; for the Solemn Address, two lips wag- ging, and never a wise word : for the Perfect Close, a wring by the hand, laith a banquet in a corner. And Phaibus save Cynthia ! Appeareth no man yet, to answer the prizer ? no voice ? — Music, give them their summons. {^Music. Pha. The solemnity of this is excellent. Amo. Silence ! Well, I perceive your name is their terror, and keepeth them back. Aso. I'faith, master, let's go ; no body comes. Victus, victa, victum ; liicti, victte, victi let's be retrograde. Amo. Stay. That were dispunct to the ladies. Rather ourself shall be your encounter. Take your state up to the wall ; and, lady, [leading MoRiA to the state,^ may we implore you to stand forth, as first term or bound to our courtship. ffed. 'Fore heaven, 'twill shew rarely. Amo. Sound a charge. [-4 charge. Ana. A pox on't ! Your vulgar will count this fabulous and impudent ndw ; by that candle, they'll never conceit it. [,Theii act their Accost severdUy to Mokia. Pha. Excellent well ! admirable 1 Phi. Peace! Hed. Most fashionably, believe it. Phi. O, he is a well-spoken gentleman. Pha. Now the other. Phi. Very good. Hed. For a scholar. Honour. Ana. O, 'tis too Dutch. He reels too much. lAJlourish Hed. This weapon is done. Amo. No, we have our two bouts at every wea pon ; expect. Cri. [within.] Where be these gallants, anO their brave prizer here ? Morp. Who's there ? bear back ; keep the door Enter. Cwtes, introducing JiBBCVKi/antattically dressed Amo. What are you, sir ? Cri. By your Ucense, grand-master — Come forward, sir. [roMBRcmv. Ana. Heart ! who let in that rag there amongst us ? Put him out, an impecunious creature. 94 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ITed. Out with him. Morp. Come, sir. Amo. You must be retrograde. Cri. Soft, sir, I am truchman, and do flourish before this monsieur, or French-behaved gentle- man, here; who is drawn hither by report of your, chartels, advanced in court, to prove his fortune with your prizer. so he may have fair play shewn him, and the liberty to choose his stickler. Atno. Is. he a master ? Cri. Tiiat, sir, he has to shew here ; and con- firmed under the hands of the most skilful and cun- ning complimentaries alive : Please you read, sir. IGives him a certificate. Amo. What shall we do ? Ana. Death ! disgrace this fellow in the black stuif, whatever you do. Amo. Why, but he comes with the stranger. Hed. That's no matter : he is our own country- man. Ana. Ay, and he is a scholar besides. You may disgrace him here with authority. Amo. Weil, see these first. Aso. Now shall I be observed by yon scholar, till I sweat again ; I would to Jove it were over. Cri. [to Mercury.] Sir, this is the wight of worth, that dares you to the encounter. A gen- tleman of so pleasing and ridiculous a carriage ; as, even standing, carries meat in the mouth, you see ; and, I assure you, although no bred court- ling, yet a most particular man, of goodly havings, well fashion' d 'havionr, and of as hardened and excellent a bark as the most naturally qualified amongst them, inform'd, reform'd, and trans- form'd, from his original citycism ; by this elixir, or mere magazine of man. And, for your spec- tators, you behold them what they are : the most choice particulars in court : this tells tales well ; this provides coaches ; this repeats jests ; this pre- sents gifts ; this holds up the arras ; this takes down from horse ; this protests by this light ; this swears by that candle ; this delighteth ; this adoreth : yet aU but three men. Then, for your ladies, the most proud, witty creatures, all things apprehending, nothing understanding, perpetually laughing, curious maintainers of fools, mercers, and minstrels, costly to be kept, miserably keep- ing, aU disdaining but their painter and apothecary, 'twixt whom and them there is this reciprock com- merce, their beauties maintain their painters, and their painters their beauties. Mer. Sir, you have plaid the painter yourself, and limn'd them to the life. I desire to deserve before them. Amo. [returning the certificate.'] Thisisauthen- tic. We must resolve to entertain the monsieur, howsoever we neglect him. Hed. Come, let's all go together, and salute him. Ana. Content, and not look dn the other. Amo. Well devised ; and a most punishing dis- grace. Hed. On. Amo. Monsieur, we must not so much betray ourselves to discourtship, as to suffer you to be longer unsaluted : please you to use the state or- dain'd for the opponent.; in which nature, without envy, we receive you. Hed. And. embrace you. Ana. And commend ua to you, sir. Phil Believe it, he is a man of excellent silence. Pha. He keeps all his wit for action. Ana. This hath discountenanced our scholaris, i most richly. Hed. Out of all emphasis. The monsieur sees we regard him not, , >, Amo. Hold on ; make it knpwn how bitter a'. thing it is not to be look'd on in court. /f erf. 'Slud, will he call him to him yet! Does not monsieur perceive our disgrace .' Ana. Heart ! he is a fool, I see. We have done ourselves wrong to grace him. . Hed. 'Slight, what an ass was I to embrace him ! Cri. lUnstrious and fearful judges^ Hed. Turn away, turn away. Cri. It is the suit of the strange opponent (to whom you ought not to turn your tails, and whose noses I must foUow) that he may have the justice, before he encounter , his respected adversary, to see some light stroke of his play, commenced with some other. Hed. Answer not him, but the stranger ; we will not believe him. Amo. I will demand him, myself. Cri. O dreadful disgrace, if a man were sq fool- ish to feel it. Amo. Is it your suit, monsieur, to see some prelude of my scholar ? Novv, sure the monsieur wants language Hed. And take upon him to be one of the accomplished ! 'Slight, that's a good jest ; would we could take him with that nullity — Non sapete voi parlar' Italiano ? Ana. 'Sfoot, the carp has no tongue. Cri. Signior, in courtship, you are to bid your abettors forbear, and satisfy the monsieur's request. Amo. Well, I vrill strike him more silent with admiration, and terrify his daring hither. He shall behold my own play with my scholar. Lady, with the touch of your white hand, let me reinstate you. [Leads Moria back to the state-l Provost, [to AsoTus.] begin to me at the Bare Accost. [A charge.] Now, for the honour of my discipline. Hed. Signior Amorphus, reflect, reflect; what means he by that mouthed wave ? Cri. He is in some distaste of your fellow dis- ciple. Mer. Signior, your scholar might have played well still, if he could have kept his seat longer ; I have enough of him, now. He is a mere piece of glass, I see through him by this time. Amo. You come not to give us the scorn, mon- sieur ? Mer. Nor to be frighted with a face, signior. I have seen the lions. You must pardon me. I shall be loth to hazard a reputation with one that has not a reputation to lose. Amo. How! Cri. Meaning your pupil, sir. Ana. This is that black devil there. Amo. You do offer a strange affront, monsieur. Cri. Sir, he shall yield you. all the honour of a competent adversary, if you please to undertake him. Mer. 1 am prest for the encounter. Amo. Me I challenge me I Aso. What, my master, sir ! 'Slight, monsieur, meddle with me, do you hear : but do not meddle with my master. Mer. Peace, good squib, go out. Cri. And stink, he bids you. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 9P Aso. Master ! . ^imo. Silence 1 I do accept him. Sit you down and obserre. Me ! he never profest a thing at miore charges. — Prepare yourself, sir. — Challenge n^e ! I will prosecute what disgrace my hatred can dictate to me. '. Cri. How tender a traveller's spleen is ! Com- jparison to men that deserve least, is ever most offensive. ' Amo. You are instructed in our chartel, and ,' know our weapons ? ■ Mer. I appear not vrithout their notice, sir. / Aso. But must I lose the prizes, master ? 1 Amo. I will win them fbr you ; be patient. — . Lady, {to Moria,] vouchsafe the tenure of this I ensign. — ^Who shall be your stickler ? Mer. Behold him. IPoints to Ciutes. Amo. I would not wish you a weaker. — Sound, l'/ musics. — I provoke you at the Bare Accost. lA charge. Pha, Excellent comely ! Cri. And worthily studied. This is the exalted foretop. Hed. O, his leg was too much produced. Ana. And his hat was carried scurvily. Phi. Peace ; let's see the monsieur's Accost : Rare! Pha. Sprightly and short. Ana. True, it is the French courteau : he lacks out to have his nose slit. Hed. He does hop. He does bound too much. \_A flourish. Amo. The second bout, to conclude this weapon . tA charge. Pha. Good, believe it ! Phi. An excellent ofifer ! Cri. This is called the solemn band-string. Hed. Fob, that cringe was not put home. Ana. He makes a face like a stabb'd Lucrece. Aso. Weir, he would needs take it upon him, but would I had done it for all this. He makes me sit still here, like a baboon as I am. Cri. Making villainous faces. Phi. See, the French prepares it richly. Cri. Ay, this is ycleped the Serious Trifle. Ana. 'Slud, 'tis the horse-start out o'the brown study. Cri. Rather the bird-eyed stroke, sir. Your observance is too blunt, sir. [^ flourish. Amo. Judges, award the prize. Take breath,, sir. This bout hath been laborious. Aso. And yet your critic, or your besogno, will think these things foppery, and easy, now ! Cri. Or rather mere lunacy. For would any reasonable creature make these his serious studies and perfections, much less, only live to these ends .' to be the false pleasure of a few, the true love of none, and the just laughter of all ? Hed. We musfprefer the monsieur, we courtiers must be partial. Ana. Speak, guardian. Name the prize, at the Bare Accost. Mor. A pair of wall-eyes in a face forced; Aria. Give the monsieur. Amorphus hath lost Ills eyes. Amo. I! Is the palate of your judgment down ? Gentles, I do appeal. Aso. Yes, master, to me : the judges be fools. Ana. How now, sir I tie up your tongue, mun- e;rel. He cannot appeal. Aso. Say, you sir?' Ana. Sit you still, sir. Aso. Why, so I do ; do not I, I pray you ? Mer. Remercie, madame, and these honourable censors. Amo. Well, to the second weapon, the Better Regard. I will encounter you better. Attempt. Hed. Sweet Honour. Phi. What says my good Ambition ? Hed. Which take you at this next weapon ? I lay a Discretion with you on Amorphus's head. Phi. Why, I take the French behaved gentle- man. Hed. 'Tis done, a Discretion. Cri. A Discretion ! A pretty court-wager ! Would any discreet person hazard his wit so ? Pha, I'll lay a Discretion with you, Anaides. Ana. Hang 'em, I'll not venture a doit of Dis- cretion on either of their heads. Cri. No, he should venture all then. Ana. I like none of their plays. tA charge. Hed. See, see ! this is strange play ! ' Ana. 'Tis too full of uncertain motion. He hob- bles too much. Cri. 'Tis call'd your court-staggers, sir. Hed. That same fellow talks so now he has a place! Ana. Hang him ! neglect him. Mer. Your good ladyship's affectioned. Wife. Ods so! they speak at this weapon, brother. Aso. They must do so, sister ; how should it be the Better Regard, else .' Pha. Methinks he did not this respectively enough. Phi. Why, the monsieur but dallies with him. Hed. DaUies I 'Slight, see ! he'll put him to't in earnest. — Well done, Amorphus ! Ana. That puff was good indeed. Cri. Ods me I this is desperate play : he hits himself o'the shins. Hed. An he make this good through, he carries it, I warrant him. Cri. Indeed he displays his feet rarely. Hed. See, see ! he does the respective leer damnably well. Amo. The true idolater of your beauties shall never pass their deities unadored : I rest your poor knight. Hed. See, now the oblique leer, or the Janus : he satisfies all with that aspect most nobly. [A flourish. Cri. And most terribly he comes off j like your rodomontade. Pha. How like you this play, Anaides ? Ana. Good play; but 'tis too rough and bois- terous. Amo. I will second it with a stroke easier, wherein I will prove his language. L^ charge. Ana. This is filthy, and grave, now. Hed. O, 'tis cool and wary play. We must not disgrace our own camerade too much. Amo. Signora, ho lanto obligo per le favore re- sciuto da lei ; che veramente desidero con tutto il core, aremuncrarla in parte: e sicurative, signora mea cara, che io sera sempre pronto h servirla, e honoraria. Basoio le mane de vo' signoria. Cri. The Venetian dop this. Pha, Most unexpectedly excellent I The French goes down certain. 96 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. Aso. As buckets are put down into a well; Or as a schooUboy Cri. Truss up your simile, jaok-daw, and observe. Hed. Now the monsieur is moved. Ana. Bo-peep I Hed. O, most antick. Cri. The French quirk, this sir. Ana. Heart, he will over-run her. Mer. Madamoyselle, Je voudroy que pouvoy monstrer man affection, maisje suis tant malheu- reuse, ci froid, ci layd, ci Je ne scay qui de dire excuse moi, Jesuis tout vostre. {_A flourish. Phi.. O brave and spirited ! he's a right Jovialist. Pha. No, no : Amorphus's gravity outweighs it. Cri. And yet your lady, or your feather, would outweigh both. Ana. What's the prize, lady, at this Better Regard ? Mor. A face favourably simpering, and ^ fan waving. Ana. They have done doubtfully. Divide. Give the favourable face to the signior, and the light wave to the monsieur. Arm. Yon become the simper well, lady. Mer. And the wag better. Amo. Now, to our Solemn Address. Please the well-graced Philantia to relieve the lady sentinel ; she hath stood long. Phi. With all my heart ; come, guardian, resign your place. [Moria comes from the state. Amo. Monsieur, furnish yourself with what solemnity of ornament you think fit for this third weapon ; at which you are to shew all the cunning of stroke your devotion can possibly devise. Mer. Let me alone, sir. I'll sufficiently deci- pher your amorous solemnities. — Crites, have pa- tience. See, if 1 hit not all their practic observ- ance, with which they lime twigs to catch their fantastic lady-birds. • Cri. Ay, but you should do more charitably to do it more openly, that they might discover them- selves mock'd in these monstrous affections. \_A charge. • Mer. Lackey, where's the tailor .' Enter Tailor, Barber, Perfumer, Milliner, Jeweller, and Feather-maj£er. Tai. Here, sir. Hed. See, they have their tailor, barber, per- fumer, milliner, jeweller, feather-maker, all in common ! [They make themselves ready on the stage. Ana. Ay, this is pretty. Amo. Here is a hair too much, take it off. Where are thy mullets ? Me)\ Is this pink of equal proportion to this cut, standing off this distance firom it ? Tai. That it is, sir. Mer. Is it so, sir.' You impudent poltroon, you slave, you list, you shreds, you . . [Beats the Tailor. Hed. Excellent ! This was the best yet. Ana. Why, we must use our tailors thus : this is our true magnanimity. Mer. Come, go to, put on ; we must bear with you for the times sake. Amo. Is the perfume rich in this jerkin ? Per. Taste, smell ; I assure you, sir, pure ben- jamin, the only spirited scent that ever awaked a Neapolitan nostril. You would wish yourself all nose for the love on't. I fretted a jerkin for a new- revenued gentleman yielded me three-score crowns but this morning, and the same titillation. Amo. I savour no sampsuchine in it. i Per. I am a Nulli-fidian, if there be not three- thirds of a scruple more of sampsuchinum in thfe confection, than ever I put in any. I'll tell yort^ all the ingredients, sir. j' Amo. You shall be simple to discover yourl simples. Per. Simple ! why, sir ? What reck I to whom I discover.' I have in it musk, civet, amber, Pboenicobalanus,thedecoctionofturmerick,sesana, I nard, spikenard, calamus odoratus, stacte, opobal- samum, amomum, storaz, ladanum, aspalathum, opoponax, cenanthe. And what of all thesenow ? what are you the better ? Tut, it is the sorting, and the dividing, and the mixing, and the temper- ing, and the searching, and the decocting, that makes the fumigation and the suffumigation. Amo. Well, indue me with it. Per. I will, sir. Hed. An excellent confection. Cri. And most.worthy a true voluptuary, Jove ! what a coil these musk-worms take to piirchase another's delight ? for themselves, who bear the odours, have ever the least sense of them. Yet I do like better the prodigality of jewels and clothes, whereof one passethto a man's heirs ; the other at least wears out time. This presently expires, and, vrithout continual riot in reparation, is lost : which whoso strives to keep, it is one special argument to me, that, affecting to smell better than other men, he doth indeed smell far worse. Mer. I know you will say, it sits well, sii'. Tai. Good faith, if it do not, sir, let your mistress be judge. Mer. By heaven, if my mistress do not like it, I'll make no more conscience to undo thee, than to undo an oyster. Tai. Believe it, there's ne'er a mistress in the world can mislike it. Mer. No, not goodwife tailor, your mistress ; that has only the judgment to heat your pressing- tool. But for a court-mistress that studies these decorums, and knows the proportion of every cut to a hair, knows why such a colour is cut upon sxich a colour, and when a satin is cut upon six taffataes, will look that we should dive into the depth of the cut Give me my scarf. Shew some ribands, sirrah. Have you the feather ? Feat. Ay, sir. Mer. Have you the jewel ? Jew. Yes, sir. 'Mer. What must I give for the hire on't ? Jew. Youshallgive me six crowns, sir. Mer. Six crowns ! By heaven • 'twere a good deed to borrow it of thee to shew, and never let thee have it again. Jew. I hope your worship wiU not do so, sir. Mer. By Jove, sir, there be such tricks stirring, I can tell you, and worthily too. Extorting knaves, that live by these court-decorums, and yet What's your jewel worth, I pray .' Jew. A hundred crowns, sir. Mer. A hundred crowns, and six for the loan on't an hour ! what's that in the hundred for the year? These impostors would not be hang'd! Your thief is not comparable to them, by Hercules. Well, put it in, and the feather ; you will have it and you shall, and the pox give you good on't I SCKNB U. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 97 Amo. Give me my confects, my moscadini, and place those colours in my hat. Mer. These are Bolognian ribands , I warrant you. Mil. In truth, sir, if they be not right Granado \ silk Mer. A pox on you, you'll all say so. Mil. You give me not a penny, sir. Mer. Come, sir, perfume my devant ; May it ascend, like solemn sacrifice. Into the nostrils of the Queen of Love ! Sed. Your French ceremonies are the best. Ana. Monsieur, signior, your Solemn Address is too long ; the ladies long to have you come on. Amo. Soft, sir, our coming on is not so easily prepared. Signior Fig ! Per. Ay, sir. Amo. Can you help my complexion, here ? Per. O yes, sir, I have an excellent mineral fucus for the purpose. The gloves are right, sir ; you shall bury them in a muck-hiU, a draught, seven years, and take them out and wash them, they shall still retain their first scent, true Spanish. There's ambre in the umbre. Mer. Your price, sweet Fig? Per. Give me what you will, sir ; the signior pays me two crowns a pair; you shall give me your love, sir. Mer. My love ! with a pox to you, goodman Sassafras. Per. I come, sir. There's an excellent diapasm in a chain, too, if you like it. Amo. Stay, what are the ingredients to your fucas ? Per. Nought but sublimate and crude mercury, sir, well prepared and dulcified, with the jaw- bones of a sow, burnt, beaten, and searced. Amo. I approve it Lay it on. Mer. I'll have your chain of pomander, sirrah ; what's your price ? Per. We'll agree, monsieur ; I'll assure you it was both decocted and dried where no sun came, and kept in an onyx ever since it was balled. Mer. Come, invert my mustachio, and we have done. Amo. 'Tis good. Bar. Hold still, I pray you, sir. Per. Nay, the fucus is exorbitant, sir. Mer. Death, dost thou burn me, harlot ! Bar. I beseech you, sir. Mer. Beggar, variet, poltroon. IBeats Mm. Hed. Excellent, excellent ! Ana. Your French beat is the most natural beat of the world. Aso. O that I had played nt this weapon. [A charge. Pha. Peace, now they come on ; the second part. Amo. Madam, your beauties being so attractive, I muse you are left thus alone. Phi. Better be alone, sir, than ill accompanied. Amo. Nought can be ill, lady, that can come near your goodness. Mer. Sweet madam, on what part of you soever a man casts his eye, he meets with perfection ; you a/re the lively image of Venus throughout ; all the graces smile in your cheeks ; your beauty nourishes as well as delights ; you have a tongue steeped in honey, and a breath like a panther ; your breasts and forehead are whiter than goats milk, or May blossoms ; a cloud is not so soft as your skin Hed. Well strook, monsieur ! He charges like a Frenchman indeed, thick and hotly. Mer. YoTir cheeks are Cupid's baths, wherein he uses to steep himself in milk and nectar : he does light all his torches at your eyes, and instructs you how to shoot and wound with their beams. Vet I love nothing in you more than your innocence ; you retain so native a simplicity, so unblamed a behaviour ! Methinks, with such a love, I should find no head, nor foot of my pleasure : you are the very spirit of a lady. Ana. Fair play, monsieur, you are too hot on the quarry ; give your competitor audience. Amo. Lady, how stirring soever the monsieur's tongue is, he will lie by your side more dull than your eunuch. Ana. A good stroke j that mouth was excellently put over. Amo. You are fair, lady Cri. You offer foul, signior, to close; keep your distance ; for all your bravo rampant here. Amo. Isay you are fair, lady, let your choice befit, as you are fair. Mer. I say ladies do never believe they are fair, till some fool begins to doatupon them. Phi. You play too rough, gentlemen. Amo. Your frenchified fool is your only fool, lady : I do yield to this honourable monsieur in all civil and humane courtesy. [A flourish. Mer. Buz! Ana. Admirable. Give him the prize, give him the prize : that mouth again was most courtly hit, and rare. " Amo. I knew I should pass upon him with the bitter bob. Hed. O, but the reverse was singular. Pha. It was most subtile, Amorphus. Aso. If I had done't, it should have been better. Mer. How heartily they applaud this, Critesl Cri. You suffer them too long. Mer. I'll take off their edge instantly. Ana. Name the prize, at the Solemn Address. Phi. Two lips wagging. Cri. And never a wise word, I take it. Ana. Give to Amorphus. And, upon him again ; let him not draw free breath. Amo. Thanks, fair deliverer, and my honour- able judges. Madam Phantaste, you are our, worthy object at this next weapon. Pha. Most covetingly ready, Amorphus. IShe takes the state instead ofBaihAtniA.. Hed. Your monsieur is crest-fallen. Ana. So are most of them once a year. Amo. You will see, I shall now give him the gentle Dor presently, he forgetting to shift the colours, which are now changed with alteration of the mistress. At your last weapon, sir. The Perfect Close. Set forward. \_A charge.'] Intend your approach, monsieur. Mer. 'Tis yours, signior. Amo. With your example, sir. Mer. Not I, sir. Amo. It is your right. Mer. By no possible means. Amo. You have the way. Mer. As 1 am noble—— Amo. As I am virtuous Mer. Pardon me, sir. Amo. I will die first. Mer. You are a tyrant in courtesy. &8 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT V. Amo. He is removed. — [i'tays Mercury on his moving.'] — Judges, bear -witness. Mer. What of that, sir? Amo. You are removed, sir. Mer. WeU. Amo. I challenge you ; you have received the Dor. Give me the prize. Mer. Soft, sir. How, the Dor ? Amo. The common mistress, you see, is changed. Mer. Right, sir. Amo. And you have still in your hat the former colours. Mer. You lie, sir, I have none : I have pulled them out. I meant to play discoloured. {A flourish. Cri. The Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the Dor, th^. Dor, the palpable Dor ! , Ana, Heart of my blood, Amorphus, vphathave you done .' stuck a disgrace npOH us all, and at your last weapon ! Aso. I could havo done no more.- Hed. By heaven, it was most unfortunate luck. Ana. Luck ! by that candle, it was mere rash- ness, and oversight ; would any man have ventured to play so open, and forsake his ward ? D n me, if he have not eternally undone himself in court, and discountenanced us that were his main countenance, by it. Amo. Forgive it now : it was the solecism of my stars. Cri. The wring by the hand, and the banquet, is ours. Mer. O, here's a lady feels like a wench of the first year ; you would think her hand did melt in your touch ; and the bones of her fingers ran out at length when you prest 'em, they are so gently de- licate 1 He that had the grace to print a kiss on these lips, should taste wine and rose-leaves. O, she kisses as close as a cockle. Let's take them down, as deep as our hearts, wench, till our very souls mix. Adieu, signior : good faith I shall drink to you at supper, sir. Ana. Stay, monsieur. Who awards you the prize .' Cri. Why, his proper merit, sir ; you see he has played down your grand garb-master, here. _ Ana. That's not in your logic to determine, sir : you are no courtier. This is none of your seven or nine beggarly sciences, but a certain mystery above them, wherein we that have skill must pronounce, and not such fresh men as you are. Cri. Indeed, I must declare myself to you no profest com-tling ; nor to have any excellent stroke at your subtile weapons ; yet if you please, I dare venture a hit with yon, or your fellow, sir Dagonet, here. Ana. With me ! Cri. Yes, sir. Ana.- Heart, I shall never have such a fortune to save myself in a fellow again, and your two reputa- tions, gentlemen, as in this. I'll undertake him. Hed. Do, and swinge him soundly, good Anaides. Ana. Let me alone ; I'll play other manner of play, than has been seen yet. I would the prize lay on't ! Mer. It shall if you will, I forgive my right. Ana. Are you so confident ! what's yourweapon? Cri. At any, I, sir. Mer. The Perfect Close, that's now the best. Ana, Content, I'll pay your scholarity. Who ofi'era ; Cri. Marry, that will I : I dare give you that advantage too. Ana. You dare! well, look to your liberal sconce. Amo. Makeyourplaystill, upon the answer, sir. Ana. Hold your peace, you area hobby-horse. Aso. Sit by me, master. Mer. Now, Crites, strike home. lA charge. Cri. You shall see me undo the assured swag- gerer with a trick, instantly: I will play all his own play before him ; court the wench in his garb, in his phrase, vrith his face ; leave him not so much as a look, an eye, a stalk, or an imperfect oath, to express himself by, after me. \_Aside to Mercury. Mer. Excellent, Crites. Ana. When beginyou, sir.' have you consulted ? Cri. To your cost, sir. Which is the piece stands forth to be courted.' O, are you she.' [To PJiilautia.'] Well, madam, or sweet lady, it is so, I do love you in some sort, do you conceive ? and though I am no monsieur, nor no signior, and do want, as they say, logic and sophistry, and good words, to tell you why it is so ,■ yet by this hand and by' that candle it is so ; and though I be no book-worm, nor one that deals by art, to give you rhetoric and causes, why it should be so, or make it good it is so ? yet, d n me, but I know it is so, and am assured it is so, and I and my sword shall make it appear it is so, and give you reason sufficient how it can be no otherwise but so Med. 'Slight, Anaides, you are mocked, and so we are all. Mer. How now, signior ! what, suffer yourself to be cozened of your courtship before your face ? Sed. This is plain confederacy to disgrace us : let's be gone, and plot some revenge. Amo. When men disgraces share, The lesser is the care. Cri. Nay, stay, my dear Ambition, [^oHedon.] I can do you over too. You that tell your mis- tress, her beauty is all composed of theft ; her hair stole from Apollo's goldy-locks ; her white and red, lilies and roses stolen out of paradise ; her eyes two stars, pluck'd from the sky; her nose the gnomon of Love's dial, that tells you how the clock of your heart goes : and for her other parts, as you cajinot reckon them, they are so many; so you cannot recount them, they are so manifest. Yours, if his own, unfortunate Hoyden, instead of Hedon. [AfiourUh. Aso. Sister, come away, I cannot endure them longer. {^Exeunt all iut Msrcury and Crites. Mer. Go, Dors, and you, my madam Courting- FoUow your scorned and^ derided mates ; [stocks, Tell to your guilty breasts, what mere gilt blocks You are, and how imworthy human states. Cri. Now, sacred God of Wit, if you can make Those, whom our sports tax in these apish graces. Kiss, like the fighting snakes, your peaceful rod : These times shall canonize you for a god. Mer. Why, Crites, think you any noble spirit, Or any, worth the title of a man, WiU be incensed to see the enchanted veils Of self-conceit, and servile flattery, Wrapt in so many folds by time and custom. Drawn from his wronged and bewitched eyes ? Who sees not now their shape and nakedness, Is blinder than the son of earth, the mole ; Crown'd with no more humanity, nor soul. Cri. Though they may see it, yet the huge estate, SCENE MI. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 09 Fancy, and form, and sensual pride have gotten, Will make them blush for anger, not for shame, And turn shewn nakedness to impudence. Humour is now the test we try things in : AU power is just : nought that delights is sin. And yet the zeal of every knowing man Opprest with hills of tyranny, cast on virtue By the light fancies of fools, thus transported, Cannot but vent the ^tna of his fires, T'inflame best bosoms with much worthier love Than of these outward and effeminate shades ; That these vain joys, in which their wills consume Such powers of wit and soul as are of force To raise their beings to eternity, May be converted on works fitting men : And, for the practice of a forced look, An antic gesture, or a fustian phrase. Study the native frame of a true heart. An inward comeliness of bounty, knowledge. And spirit that may conform them actually To God's high figures, which they have in power ; Which to neglect for a self-loving neatness, Is sacrilege of an nnpardon'd greatness. Mer. Then let the truth of these things strengthen In thy exempt and only man-like course ; [thee, Like it the more, the less it is respected : Though men fail, virtue is by gods protected. — See, here comes Arete ; I '11 withdraw myseM (.Exit. Enter Axets. Are. Crites, you must provide straight for a 'Tis Cynthia's pleasure. [masque, Cri. How, bright Arete ! Why, 'twere a labour more for Hercules : Better and sooner durst I undertake To make the different seasons of the year, The winds, or elements, to sympathize. Than their uumeasurable vanity Dance truly in a measure. They agree ! What though all concord's born of contraries ; So many follies will confusion prove. And like a sort of jarring instruments. All out of tune ; because, indeed, we see There is not that analogy 'twixt discords, As between things but merely opposite. Are. There is your error : for as Hermes' wand Charms the disorders of tumultuous ghosts ; And as the strife of Chaos then did cease, When better light than Nature's did arrive : So, what could never in itself agree, Forgetteth the eccentric property, And at her sight turns forthwith regular. Whose sceptre guides the flowing ocean : And though it did not, yet the most of them Being either courtiers, or not wholly rude, Respect of majesty, the place, and presence, Will keep them within ring, especially When they zxe not presented as themselves, But masqued like others : for, in troth, not so To incorporate them, could be nothing else, Than like a state ungovern'd, without laws, Or body made of nothing but diseases : The one, through impotency, poor and wretched ; The other, for the anarchy, absurd. Cri. But, lady, for the revellers themselves, It would be better, in my poor conceit, That others were employ'd ; for such as are Unfit to be in Cynthia's court, can seem No less unfit to be in Cynthia's sports. Are. That, Crites, is not purposed without Particular knowledge of the goddess' mind ; Who holding true intelligence, what follies Had crept into her palace, she resolved Of sports and triumphs, under that pretext. To have them muster in their pomp and fulness, That so she might more strictly, and to root. Effect the reformation she intends. Cri. I now conceive her heavenly drift in all, And will apply my spirits to serve her will. O thou, the very power by which I am, And but for which it were in vain to be. Chief next Diana, virgin heavenly fair. Admired Arete, of them admired Whose souls are not enkindled by the sense, Disdain not my chaste fire, but feed the flame Devoted truly to thy gracious name. Are. Leave to suspect us : Crites well shall find, As we are now most dear, we'll prove most kind. [Within.] Arete I Are. Hark, I am call'd. [Exit. Cri. I follow instautly. Phoebus Apollo, if with ancient rites. And due devotions, I have ever hung Elaborate Paeans on thy golden shrine, Or sung thy triumphs in a lofty strain, Fit for a theatre of gods to hear : And thou, the other son of mighty Jove, Cyllenian Mercury, sweet Maia's joy, If in the busy tumults of the mind My path thou ever hast illumined. For which thine altars I have oft perfumed, And deck'd thy statues with discolour'd flowers : Now thrive invention in this glorious court. That not of bounty only, but of right, Cynthia may grace, and give it life by sight. iExit. SCENE in. Enter Hespsbus, Cynthia, Abetb, Time, Phronbsis, and Thauma. Music accompanied. Hesperus sings. Queen and huntress, cliaste and fair. Now the sua is laid to sleep. Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light. Goddess, excellently bright. ' Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heav'n to clear, when day did close : Bless us then with wished sight. Goddess excellently bright Lay thy bow of pearl apart. And thy crystal shining quiver j Give unto the iiying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night. Goddess excellently bright. Cyn. When hath Diana, like an envious wretch, That glitters only to his soothed self. Denying to the world the precious use Of hoarded wealth, withheld her friendly aid ? Monthly we spend our stiU-repaired shine, And' not forbid our virgin -waxen torch To bum and blaze, while nutriment doth last; That once consumed, out of Jove's treasury .\ new we take, and stick it in our sphere, 100 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT V. To give tte mutinous kind of wanting men Their look'd-for light. Yet what is their desert ? Boanty is wrong'd, interpreted as due ; Mortals can challenge not a ray, by right, Yet do expect the whole of Cynthia's light. But if that deities withdrew their gifts For human follies, what could men deserve But death and darkness ? It behoves the high, For their own sakes, to do things worthily. Are. Most true, most sacred goddess ; for the heavens Receive no good of all the good they do : Nor Jove, nor you, nor other heavenly Powers, Are fed with fumes which do from incense rise, Or sacrifices reeking in their gore s Yet, for the care which you of mortals have, (Whose proper good it is that they be so,) You well are pleased with odours redolent : But ignorant is all the race of men, Which still complains, not knowing why, or when. Cyn. Else, noble Arete, they would not blame, And tax, or for unjust, or for as proud. Thy Cynthia, in the things which are indeed The greatest glories in our starry crown ; Such is our chastity, which safely scorns, Not love, for who more fervently doth love Immortal honour, and divine renown ? But giddy Cupid, Venus' frantic son. Yet, Arete, if by this veiled light We but discover'd (what we not discern) Any the least of imputations stand Ready to sprmkle our unspotted fame With note of lightness, from these revels near ; Not, for the empire of the universe, Should night, or court, this whatsoever shine. Or grace of ours, unhappily enjoy. Place and occasion are two privy thieves. And from poor innocent ladies often steal The best of things, an honourable name ; To stay with follies, or where faults may be, Infers a crime, although the party free. Are. How Cynthianly, that is, how worthily And like herself, the matchless Cynthia speaks ! Infinite jealousies, infinite regards, Do watch about the true virginity : But Phcebe lives from all, not only fault. But as from thought, so from suspicion free. Thy presence broad-seals our delights for pure ; What's done in Cynthia's sight, is done secure. Cyn. That then so answer'd, dearest Arete, What th' argument, or of what sort our sports Are like to be this night, I not demand. Nothing which duty, and desire to please, Bears written in the forehead, comes amiss. But unto whose invention must we owe The complement of this night's furniture ? Are. Excellent goddess, to a man's, whose worth, Without hyperbole, I thus may praise ; One at least studious of deserving well. And, to speak truth, indeed deserving well. Potential merit stands for actual, Where only opportunity doth want, Not will, nor power ; both which in him abound. One whom the Muses and Minerva love ; For whom should they, than Crites, more esteem, Whom Phoebus, though not Fortune, holdeth dear ? And, which convinceth excellence in him, A principal admirer of yourself. Even through the ungentle injuries of Fate, And difficulties, which do virtue choke. Thus much of him appears. What other things Of farther note do lie unborn in him, Them I do leave for cherishment to shew, And for a goddess graciously to judge. Cyn. We have already judged him. Arete; Nor are we ignorant how noble minds Suffer too much through those indignities Which times and vicious persons cast on them. Ourself have ever vowed to esteem As virtue for itself, so fortune, base ; Who's first in worth, the same be first in place. Nor farther notice. Arete, we crave Than thine approval's sovereign warranty : Left be thy care to make us known to him; Cynthia shall brighten what the world made dim. {_Exit Arbtk. THE FIKST MASaUE. EnUr Cupro, disguised as Aj^\stoa, followed by Storge, Aglaia, Euphantaste, and Apheleia. Cup. Clear pearl of heaven, and, not to be far- ther ambitious in titles, Cynthia ! the fame of this illustrious night, among others, hath also drawn these four fair virgins from the palace of their gueen Perfection, (a word which makes no suffi- cient difference betwixt Tier's and thine,) to visit thy imperial court : for she, their sovereign, not finding where to dwell among men, before her re- turn to heaven, advised them wholly to consecrate themselves to thy celestial service, as in wltose clear spirit (the proper element and sphere of virtue) they should behold not her alone, their ever-ho- noured mistress, but themselves (more truly them- selves) to live enthronized. Herself would have commended them unto thy favour more particu- larly, but that she knovjs no commendation is more available with thee, than that of proper virtue. Nevertheless she willed them to present this crystal mound, a note of monarchy, and symbol of perfec- tion, to thy more worthy deity ; which, as here by me they most humbly do, so amongst the rarities thereof, that is the chief to shew whatsoever the world hath excellent, howsoever remote and va- rious. But your irradiate judgment will soon discover the secrets of this little crystal world. Themselves, to appear more plainly, because they know nothing more odious than false pretexts, have chosen to express their several qualities thus in several colours. Th^ first, in citron colour, is natural affection which, given us to procure our good, is sometime called Storge ; and as every one is nearest to him- self, so this handmaid of reason, allowable Self- love, as it is without harm, so are none without it : her place in the court of Perfection was to quicken minds in the pursuit of honour. Her device is a perpendicular level, upon a cube or square ; the word, se suo modulo ; alluding to that true mea- sure of one's self, which, as every one ought to make, so is .it most conspicuous in thy divine example; The second, in green, is Aglaia, delectable and pleasant conversation, whose property is to move a kindly delight, and sometime not without laughter : her office to entertain assemblies, and keep societies together with fair familiarity. Her device, within a ring of clouds, a heart with shine about it ; the word curarum nubila pello : an allegory of Cyn- soekje: III, CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 101 thia's light, which no less clears the shy than her fair mirlh the heart. The third, in the discoloured mantle spangled all over, is Euphantaste, a well-conceited Witti- ness, and employed in honourinff the court with the riches of her pure invention. Her device, upon a Petasus, or Mercurial hat, a crescent ; the word, sic laus ingenii ; inferring that the praise and glory of wit doth ever increase, as doth thy growing moon. The fourth, in white, is Apheleia, a nymph as pure and simple as the soul, or as an abrase table, and is therefore called Simplicity ; without folds, without plaits, without colour, without counterfeit ; and {to speak plainly) plainness itself. Her de- vice is no device. The word under her silver shield, omnis abest fucus ; alluding to thy spotless self, who art as far from impurity as from mor- tality. Myself, celestial goddess, more fit for the court of Cynthia than the arbours of Cytherea, am called Anleros, or Love's enemy ; the more welcome therefore to thy court, and the fitter to conduct this quaternion, who, as they are thy professed vota- ries, and for that cause adversaries to Love, yet thee^ perpetual virgin, they both love, and vow to love eternally. Re-enter Abete, vnth Cbites. Cyn. Not without wonder, nor without delight, Mine eyes have view'd, in contemplation's depth. This work of wit, divine and excellent : What shape, what substance, or what xmknown power, In virgin's habit, crown'd with laurel leaves. And olive-branches woven in between. On sea-girt rocks, like to a goddess shines ! O front ! O face ! O all celestial, sure. And more .than mortal ! Arete, behold Another Cynthia, and another queen, Whose glory, like a lasting plenilune, Seems ignorant of what it is to wane. Nor under heaven an object could be found More fit to please. Let Crites make approach. Bounty forbids to pall our thanks vrith stay, Or to defer our favour, after view : The time of grace is, when the cause is new. Are. Lo, here the man, celestial Delia, Who dike a circle bounded in itself) Contains as much as man in fulness may. Lo, here the man, who not of usual earth,. ■But of that nobler and more precious mould Which Phoebus self doth temper, is composed ; And who, though all were wanting to reward. Yet to himself he would not wanting be : Thy favour's gain is his ambition's most, And labour's best ; who (humble in his height) Stands fixed silent in thy glorious sight. Cyn. With no less pleasure than we have beheld This precious crystal work of rarest wit. Our eye doth read thee, now instiled, our Crites ; Whom learning, virtue, and our favour last, Exempteth from the gloomy multitude. With common eye the Supreme should not see : Henceforth be ours, the more thyself to be. Cri. Heaven's purest light, whose orb may be eclijpsed, But no', thy praise ; divinest Cynthia ! How'mnch too narrow for so high a grace, TMne (save therein) the most unworthy Crites Doth find himself I for ever shine thy fame ; Thine honours ever, as thy beauties do. In me they must, my dark world's chiefest lights, By whose propitious beams my powers are raised To hope some part of those most lofty points. Which blessed Arete hath pleased to name. As marks, to which my endeavour's steps' should bend : Mine, as begun at thee, in thee must end. THE SECOND MASftCE. llnter Memory as a page, introducing Euoosmos, Eupa- thea, Eutolmos, and Eucolos. Mer. Sister of Phcebus, to whose bright orb we owe, that we not complain of his absence : these four brethren {for they are brethren, and sons of Eutaxia, a lady known, and highly beloved of your resplendent deity) not able to be absent, when Cynthia held a solemnity, officiously insinuate themselves into thy presence : for, as there are four cardinal virtues, upon which the whole frame of the court doth move, so are these the four cardinal properties, without which the body of compliment moveth not. With these four silver javelins, (which they hear in their hands) they support in princes courts the state of the presence, as by office they are obliged; which, though here they may seem superfluous, yet, for honour's sake, they thus presume to visit thee, having also been employed in the palace of queen Perfection. And though to them that would make themselves gracious to a goddess, sacrifices were fitter than presents, or impresses, yet they both hope thy favour, and (in place of either) use several symbols, containing the titles of thy imperial dignity. First, the hithermost, in the changeable blue and green robe, is the commendably-fashioned gal- lant, Eucosmos 1 whose courtly habit ii the grace of the presence, and delight of the surveying eye : whom ladies understand by the names tf Neat and Elegant. His symbol is, divse virgin!, in which he would express thy deity's principal glory, which hath ever been virginity. The second, in the rich accoutrement^ and robe of purple, empaled with gold, is Eupathes ; u-ho entertains his mind with an harmless, but not in- curious variety : all the objects of his senses are sumptuous, himself a gallant, that, without excess, can make use of superfluily, go richly in embroi- deries, jewels, and what not, without vanity, and fare delicately without gluttony ; and therefore (not without cause) is univ: rsally thought to be of fine humour. His symbol is. divse optimje ; an attribute to express thy goodness, in which thou so resemblest Jove thy father. The third, in the blush-coloured suit, is Eutol- mos, as duly respecting others, as never neglecting himself; commonly known by the title of good Audacity ; to courts and courtly assemblies a guest most acceptable. His symbol is, divse viragini ; to express thy hardy courage in chase of savage beasts, which harbour in woods and wildernesses. The fourth, in watchet tinsel, is the kind and truly benefique Eucolos, who imparteih not without respect, but yet without difficulty, and hath the happiness to make every kindness seem double, by the timely and freely bestowing thereof. He is the chief of them, who by the vulgar are said to be of 102 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. good nature. His symbol is, divse maxima; ; an adjunct to signify thy greatness, which in heaven, earth, and hell, is formidable. Music. A Dance hy the two Masques joined, during which CuptD and Mercury retire to the side of the stage. Cup. Is not that Amorphus, the traveller? Mer. As though it were not ! do you not see how his legs are in travail with a measure ? Cup. Hedon, thy master is next. Mer. What, will Cupid turn nomenclator, and cry them ? Cup. No, faith, but I have a comedy toward, that would not be lost for a kingdom. Mer. In good time, for Cupid will prove the comedy. Cup. Mercury, I am studying how to match them. Mer. How to mismatch them were harder. Cup. They are the nymphs must do it ; I shall sport myself with their passions above measure. Mer. Those nymphs would be tamed a little indeed, but I fear thou hast not arrows for the purpose. Cup. O yes, here be of all sorts, flights, rovers, and butt-shafts. But I can wound with a brandish, and never draw bow for the matter. Mer. I cannot but believe it, my invisible archer, and yet methints you are tedious. Cup. It behoves me to be somewhat circum- spect, Mercury ; for if Cynthia hear the twang of my bow, she'll go near to whip me with the string ; therefore, to prevent that, I thus discharge afcan- dish upon it makes no matter which of the couples. Phantaste and Amorphus, at you. IWaves his arrow at them. Mer. Will the shaking of a shaft strike them into such a fever of affection ? Cup. As well as the wink of an eye : but, I pray thee, hinder me not with thy prattle. Mer. Jove forbid I hinder thee ; Marry, all that I fear is Cynthia's presence, which, with the cold of her chastity, casteth such an antipevistasis about the place, that no heat of thine will tarry with the patient. Cup. It will tarry the rather, for the antipe- listasis will keep it in. Mer. I long to see the experiment. Cup. Why, their marrow boils already, or they are all turn'd eunuchs. Mer. Nay, an't be so, I'll give over speaking, and be a spectator only. IThefirst dance ends. Amo. Cynthia, by my bright soul, is a right ex- quisite and splendidious lady; yet Amorphus, I think, hath seen more fashions, I am sure more countries ; but whether I have or not, what need we gaze on Cynthia, that have ourself to admire ? Pha. O, excellent Cynthia ! yet if Phantaste sat where she does, and had such attire on her head, (for attire can do much,) I say no more — but god- desses are goddesses, and Phantaste is as she is 1 I would the revels were done once, I might go to my school of glass again, and leam to do myself right . after all tUs ruffling. [Music 1 they begin the second dance, Mer. How now, Cupid? here's a wonderful change with your brandish ! do you not hear how they dote ? Cup. VOiat prodigy is this ? no word of love, no mention, no motion ! Mer. Not a word, my little ignis fatue, not a word. Cup. Are my darts enchanted ? is their vigour gone ? is their virtue Mer, What! Cupid turned jealous of himself? ha, ha, ha ! Cup. Laughs Mercury ? Mer. Is Cupid angry ? Cup. Hath he not cause, when his purpose is so deluded ? Mer. A rare comedy, it shall be entitled Cupid's ? Cup. Do not scorn us, Hermes. Mer. Choler and Cupid are two fiery things ; I scorn them not. But I see that come to pass which I presaged in the beginning.. Cup. You cannot tell : perhaps the physic will network so soon upon some as upon others. It may be the rest are not so resty. Mer. Ex ungue ; you know the old adage, as these so are the remainder. Cup. I'll try :■ this is the same shaft with which I wounded Argurion. [Waves his arrow again. Mer. Ay, but let me save you a labour, Cupid : there were certain bottles of water fetch'd, and drunk off since that time, by these gallants. Cup. Jove strike me into the earth ! the Foun- tain of Self-love ! Mer. Nay, faint not, Cupid. Cup. I remember'd it not. Mer. Faith, it was ominous to take the name of Anteros upon you ; you know not what charm or enchantment lies in the word> you saw, I durst not venture upon any device in our presentment, but was content to be no other than a simple page. Your arrows' properties (to keep decorum) Cupid, are suited, it should seem, to the nature of him you personate. Cup. Indignity not to be borne ! Mer. Nay rather, an attempt to have been forborne. t^'he second dance ends. Cup. How might I revenge myself on this in- sulting Mercury ? there's Crites, his minion, he has not tasted of this water. [ Waves his arrow at Crites.] It shall be so. Is Crites turn'd dotard on himself too ? Mer. That follows not, because the venom of your shafts cannot pierce him, Cupid. Cup. As though there were one antidote for these, and another for him. Mer. As though there were not ; or, as if one effect might not arise of divers causes ? What say you to Cynthia, Arete, Phronesis, Tim4, and others- there ? Cup. They are divine. Mer. And Crites aspires to be so. [Music; they begin the third dance. Cup. But that shall not serve him. Mer. 'Tis like to do it; at this time. But Cu- pid is grown too covetous, that will not spare one of a multitude. Cup. One is more than a multitude. Mer. Arete's favour makes any one shot-proof against thee, Cupid. I pray thee, light honey- bee, remember thou art not now in Adonis' garden, but in Cynthia's presence, where thorns lie in garrison about the roses. Soft, Cynthia speaks. Cpn, Ladies and gallants of our court, to end, And give a timely period to our sports, Let us conclude them with declining night ; SO£N£ III, CYNTHIA'S REVELS. lOti Our empire is but of the darker half. And if you judge it any recompence For your fair pains, t' have eam'd Diana's thanks, Diana grants them, and bestows their crown To gratify your acceptable zeal. For you are they, that not, as some have done, Do censure us, as too severe and sour. But as, more rightly, gracious to the good ; Although we not deny, unto the proud. Or the profane, perhaps indeed austere : For so Actffion, by presuming far. Bid, to our grief, incur a fatal doom ; And so, swoln Niobe, comparing more Than he presumed, was trophseed into stone. But are we therefore judged too extreme .' Seems it no crime to enter sacred bowers. And haUow'd places, with impure aspect, Most lewdly to pollute ? Seems it no crime To brave a deity ? Let mortals learn To make religion of offending heaven, And not at all to censure powers divine. To men this argument should stand for firm, A goddess did it, therefore it was good : We are not cruel, nor delight in blood. — But what have serious repetitions To do vrith revels, and the sports of court ? We not intend to sour your late delights With harsh expostulation. Let it suffice Th?t we take notice, and can take revenge Of these calumnious and lewd blasphemies. For we are no less Cynthia than we were. Nor is our power^but as ourself, the same : Though we have now put on no tire of shine. But mortal eyes undazzled may endure. Years are beneath the spheres, and time makes weak Things under heaven, not powers which govern And though ourself be in ourself secure, [heaven. Yet let not mortals challenge to themselves Immunity.from thence. Lo, this is all : Honour hath store of spleen, but wanteth gall. Once more we cast the slumber of our thanks On your ta'en toil, which here let take an end. And that we not mistake your several worths, Nor yon our favour, from yourselves remove What makes you not yourselves, those clouds of Particularpains particular thanks do ask. [masque ; IThe dancers unmask* How ! let me view you. Ha ! are we contemn'd ? Is there so little awe of our disdain, That any (under trust of their disguise) Should mix themselves with others of the court. And, without forehead, boldly press so far. As farther none ? How apt is lenity To be abused ! severity to be loath'd ! And yet, how much more doth the seeming face Of neighbour virtues, and their borrow'd names. Add of lewd boldness to loose vanities ! Who would have thought that Philautia durst Or have usurped noble Storge's name, Or with that theft have ventured on our eyes ? Who would have thought, that all of them should So much of our connivence, as to come [hope To grace themselves with titles not their own .' Instead of med'cines, have we maladies ? And such imposthumes as Phantaste is Grow in our palace ? We must lance these sores. Or all will putrify. Nor are these all, For we suspect a farther fraud than this : Take off our veil, that shadows may depart, And shapes appear, beloved Arete So, Another face of things presents itself, Than did of late. What ! feather'd Cupid masqued, And masked like Anteros ? And stay ! more strange I Dear Mercury, our brother, like a page. To countenance the ambush of the boy I Nor endeth our discovery as yet : Gelaia, like a nymph, that, but erewhile, In male attire, did serve Anaides ? — Cupid came hither to find sport and game. Who heretofore hath been too conversant Among our train, but never felt revenge ; Arid Mercury bare Cupid company. Cupid, we must confess, this time of mirth, Proclaim'd by us, gave opportunity To thy attempts, although no privilege : Tempt us no farther ; we cannot endure Thy presence longer ; vanish hence, away ! (jExit Cupid. You, Mercury, we must entreat to stay. And hear what we determine of the rest ; For in this plot we well perceive your hand. But, (for we mean not a censorian task, And yet to lance these ulcers grown so ripe,) Dear Arete, and Crites, to you two We give the charge ; impose what pains you please: Th' incurable cut off, the rest reform. Remembering ever what we first decreed, Since revels were proclaim'd, let now none bleed. Are. How well Diana can distinguish times, And sort her censures, keeping to herself The doom of gods, leaving the rest to us ! Come, cite them, Crites, first, and then proceed. Cri. First, Philautia, for she was the first, Then light Gelaia in Aglaia's name, Thirdly, Phantaste, and Moria next. Main Follies all, and of the female crew : Amorphus, or Eucosmos' counterfeit. Voluptuous Hedon ta'en for Eupathes, Brazen Anaides, and Asotus last, With his two pages, Moms and Prosaites ; And thou, the traveller's evil. Cos, approach. Impostors all, and male deformities Are. Nay, forward, for I delegate my power. And will that at thy mercy they do stand,- Whom they so oft, so plainly soom'd before. 'Tis virtue which they want, and wanting it. Honour no garment to their backs can fit. Then, Crites, practise thy discretion. Cri. Adored Cynthia, and bright Arete, Another might seem fitter for this task, Than Crites far, but that you judge not so : For I (not to appear vindicative, Or mindful of contempts, which I contemn'd. As done of impotence) must be remiss ; Who, as I was the author, in some sort, To work their knowledge into Cynthia's sight. So should be much severer to revenge The indignity hence issuing to her name : But there's not one of these who are unpain'd. Or by themselves unpunished ; for vice Is like a fury to the vicious mind. And turns delight itself to punishment. But we must forward, to define their doom. You are offenders, that must be confess'd ; Do you confess it ? All. We do. Cri. And that you merit sharp correction ? All. Yes. Cri. Then we (reserving unto Delia's grace Her farther pleasure, and to Arete 104 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT V. What Delia granteth) thus do sentence you : That from this place (for penance known of all, Since you have drunk so deeply of Self-love) You, two and two, singing a Palinode, March to your several homes by Niobe's stone. And offer up two tears a-piece thereon, That it may change the name, as you must change, Aod of a stone be called Weeping-cross : Because it standeth cross of Cyathia's way, One of whose names is sacred Trivia. And after penance thus perform'd you 'pass In like set order, not as Midas did. To wash his gold off into Tagus' stream ; But to the well of knowledge, Helicon ; Where, purged of your present maladies, Which are not few, nor slender, you become Such as you fain would seem, and then return. Offering your service to great Cynthia. This is your sentence, if the goddess please To ratify it with her high consent : The scope of wise mirth unto fruit is bent. Cyn. We do approve thy censure, belov'd Crites ; Which Mercury, thy true propitious friend, (A deity next Jove beloved of us,) WiU undertake to see exactly done. And for this service of discovery, Perform'd by thee, in honour of our name. We vow to guerdon it with such due grace As shall become our bounty, and thy place. Princes that would their people should do well. Must at themselves begin, as at the head ; For men, by their example, pattern out Their imitations, and regard of laws : A virtuous court, a world to virtue draws. {Exeunt Cynthia and her Nymphs, followed by Arete and Crites : — Amorphus, Phawtastb, &.c.go qff'the stage in pairs, singing the following PALINODE. Amo. FromSpanish shrugs, French faces, smirks, irpes, and all affected humours. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Pha. From secret friends, sweet servants, loves, doves, and such fantastic humours, Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Amo. From stabbing of arms, flap- dragons, healths, whiffs, and all such swaggering humours. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Pha. From waving fans, coy glances, glicks, cringes, and all such simpering humours. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Amo. From making love by attorney, courting of ^ puppets, and paying for new acquaintance, Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Pha. From perfumed dogs, monkies, sjparrows, dildoes, and paraquettoes, Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Amo. From wearing bracelets of hair, shoe-ties, gloves, garters, and rings with poesies. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Pha. From pargetting, painting, slicking, glaz- ing, and renewing old rivelled fanes. Chorus. Good Mercuiy defend us. Amo. From 'squiring to tilt yards, play-houses, pageants, and all such public places. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Pha. From entertaining one gallant to gull another, and making fools of either. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Amo. From belying ladies' favours, noblemen's countenance, coining counterfeit employments, vain- glorious taking to them other men's services, and all self -loving humoiirs, Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Mercury and Crites sing. Now each one dry his weeping eyes. And to the Well of Knowledge haste ,- Where, purged of your maladies. You may of sweeter waters taste : And, with refined voice, report The grace of Cynthia, and her court. lExeunt. THE EPILOGUE. Gentles, be't known to you, since I went in I am tum'd rhymer, and do thus begin. The author (jealous how your sense doth take His travails) hath enjoined me to make Some short and ceremonious epilogue ; But if I yet know what, I am a rogue : He ties me to such laws as quite distract My thoughts, and would a year of time exact. I neither must be faint, remiss, nor sorry. Sour, serious, confident, nor peremptory ; But betwixt these. Let's see ; to lay the blame Upon the children's action, that were lame. To crave your favour, with a begging knee. Were to distrust the writer's faculty. To promise better at the next we bring. Prorogues disgrace, commends not any thing. Stiffly to stand on this, and proudly approve The play, might tax the maker of Self-love. I'll only speak what I have heard him say, " By 'tis good, and if yoii like't, you may." Ecce ruhet quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit. Hoc volo : nunc nobis carmina nostra placent. THE POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT, TO THE ■VTBTXJOTTS, AND MY 'WOIITHY FEIEND, MR. RICHARD MARTIN. Sra,— A thankful man owes a courtesy ever ; the unthanWul but when he needs it. To make mine o^vn mark appear, and shew by which of these seals I am known, I send you this piece of what may live of mine ; for whose innocence, as for the author's, you were once a noble and timely undertaker, to the greatest justice of this kingdom. Enjoy now the delight of your goodness, which is, to see that prosper you preserved, and posterity to owe the reading of that, without offence, to your name, which so much ignorance and malice of the times then conspired to have fiupprest. Your truo lover, Bkn Johsoh. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Augustus C^sar. Mec^nas. MARa Ovid. Cob. Gallus. Sex. FBOPER-mjs. Fus. Aristius. Pub. Ovin. . VlEGU.. Horace. Trebatius. AsiNius Lupus. FAHTI1.IUS TUCCA. Luscos. KuF. Lab. Crispin us. Hermooenes Tigellius. Demetrius Fanhius. A1.BIUS. Minos. HiSTRlO. MSOT. Pyrgi. Lictort, EguitU, SfC. Julia. cvtheris. Pijhtta. Chlob. Maids, SCENE,— :RoME. ji/ler the second sounditig. Envy arises in the midst of the sta^e. Light, I salute thee, hut with wounded nerves, Wishing thy golden splendor pitchy darkness. What's here ? The Abkaignment ! ay ; this, this is it. That our sunk eyes have waked for all this while: Here will be subject for my snakes and me. Cling to my neck and wrists, my loving worms. And cast you round in soft and amorous folds. Till I do bid uncurl ; then, break your knots. Shoot out yourselves at length, as your forced stings Would hide themselves within his maliced sides. To whom I shall apply you. Stay ! the shine Of this assembly here offends my sight ; I'll darken that first, and outface their grace. Wonder not, if I stare : th^se fifteen weeks. So' long as since the plot was but an embrion, Save I, with burning lights miset vigilant thoughts, In expectation of this hated play. To which at last I am arrived as Prologue. Nor would I you should look for other looks. Gesture, or compliment from me, than what The infected bulk of Envy can afford : For I am risse here with a covetous hope. To blast your pleasures and destroy your sports, , With wrestings, comments, applications, Spy-like suggestions, privy whisperings. And thousand such promoting sleights as these. Mark how I will begin : The scene is, ha J Some ? Rome ? and Rome ? Crack, eye-strings, and your balls Drop into earth : let me be ever blind. I am prevented ; all my hopes are crost. Check' d, and abated ; Jie, a freezing sweat Flows forth at all my pores, my entrails burn : What should I do? Rome ! Rome ! O my vext How might I force this to the present stale ? [soul, Are there no players here ? no poet apes. That come with basilisk's eyes, whose forked tongues Are steep'd in venom, as their hearts in gall ? Either of these would help me ,• they could wrest, Pervert, and poison all they hear or see. With senseless glosses, and allusions. Now, if you be good devils, fly me not. You know what dear and ample faculties I have endowed you with ; I'll lend you more. Here, take my snakes among you, come and eat. And while the sgueex'd juice flows in your black jaws. Help me to damn the author. Spit it forth Uptin his lines, and shew yotir rusty teeth At every word, or accent : or else choose Out of my longest vipers, to slick down. In your deep throats s and let the Tieads come forth 106 THE POETASTER. At your rank mouths ; that he may see you arm'd With triple malice, to hiss, sting, and tear His worie and him ; to forge, and then declaim. Traduce, corrupt, apply, inform, suggest ; O, these are gifts wherein your souls are blest. What ! do you hide yourselves? will none appear? None answer ? what, doth this calm troop affright you ? N'ay, then I do despair ; down, sink again : This travail is all lost with my dead hopes. If in such bosoms spite have left to diliell, Envy is not on earth, nor scarce in hell. [Descends slowly. The third sounding. As she disappears, enter Prologue hastily, in armour. Stay, monster, ere thou sink — thus on thy head Set we our bolder foot ; with which we tread Thy malice into earth : so Spite should die. Despised and scorn' d by noble Industry. ' If any muse why I salute the stage. An armed Prologue ; know, tis a dangerous age ; Wherein who writes, had need present his scenet Forty-fold proof against the conjuring means Of base detractors, and illiterate apes. That fill up rooms in fair and formal shapes. 'Gainst these, have we put on this forced defenoe : Whereof the allegory and hid sense Is, that a well erected confidence Can fright their pride, and laugh their foUy hence. Here now, put case our author should, once more, Swear that his play were good ; he doth implore. You would not argue him of arrogance : Howe'er that common spawn of ignorance, Our fry of writers, may beslime his fame. And give his action that adulterate name. Such full-blown vanity he more doth loth. Than base dejection ; there's a mean 'twixt both, Which with a constant firmness he pursues. As one that knows the strength of his own Muse. And this he hopes all free souls will allow : Others that take it with a rugged brow. Their moods he rather pities than erivi^s : His mind it is above their injuries. ACT I. SCENE I. — Scene draws, and discovers Ovid in his study. Ovid. Then, when this body falls in funeralfire. My name shall live, and my best part aspire. It shall go so. Enter Luscus, with a gown and cap. 'Lusc. Toung master, master Ovid, do you hear ? Gods a'me .' away with your songs and son- nets, and on with your gown and cap quickly : here, here, your father will be a man of this room presently. Come, nay, nay, nay, nay, be brief. These verses too, a poison on 'em ! I cannot abide them, they make me ready to cast, by the banks of Helicon 1 Nay, look, what a rascally untoward thing this poetry is ; I could tear them now. Ovid. Give me ; how near is my father ? Lusc. Heart a'man : get a law book in your hand, I will not answer you else. [Ovid puts on his cap and gown.'] Why so ! now there's some formality in you. By Jove, and three or four of the gods more, I am right of mine old master's humour for that ; this villainous poetry vrill undo you, by the welkin. Ovid. What, hast thou buskins on, Luscus, that thou swearest so tragically and high .' Lusc. No, but I have boots on, sir, and so has your father too by this time ; for he call'd for them ere I came from the lodging. Ovid. Why, was he no readier ? Lusc. O no ; and there was the mad skeldering captain, vrith the velvet arms, ready to lay hold on him as he comes dovni : he that presses every man he meets, with an oath to lend him money, and cries Thou must do't, old boy, as thou art a man, a man of worship. Ovid. Who, PantUius Tucca ? Lus. Ay, he ; and I met little master Lupus, the tribune, going thither too. Ovid. Nay, an be be under their arrest, I may with safety enough read over my elegy before he come. Lus. Gods a' me ! what vrill you do .' why, young master, you are not Castaliau mad, lunatic, frantic, desperate, ha ! Ovid. What ailest thou, Luscus .' Liis. God be with you, sir ; I'll leave you to your poetical fancies, and furies. I'll not be guilty, I. lExit. Ovid. Be not, good ignorance. I'm glad th'art For thus alone, our ear shall better judge [gone ; The hasty errors of our morning muse. Envy, why twit'st thou me my time's spent ill. And caWst my verse, fruits of an idle quill ? Or that, unlike the line from whence I sprung. War's dusty honours I pursue not young ? Or that I study not the tedious laws. And prostitute my voice in every cause ? Thy scope is mortal ; mine, eternal fame, \name. Which through the world shall ever chaunt my Homer will live whilst Tenedos stands, and Ide, Or, to the sea, fleet Simois doth slide: And so shall Hesiod too, while vines do bear. Or crooked sickles crop the rijien'd ear, CallimachuSj though in invention low, Shall still be sung, since he in art doth flow. No loss shall come to Sophocles' proud vein ; With sun and moon Aratus shall remain. While slaves be false, fathers hard, and bawds be whorish, Whilst harlots flatter, shall Menander flourish. Ennius, though rude, and Accius's high-rear'd strain, A fresh applause in every age shall gain, Of Varro's name, what ear shall not be told, Of Jason's Argo andthe fleece of gold ? Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die. When earth and seas in fire and flame shall fry. Tityrus, Tillage, JEnee shall be read. Whilst Rome of all the conquer' d world is head ! THE POETASTER. 107 Till Cupid's fires be out, and his iow broken, Thy verses, neat Tibullus, shall be spoken. Our Gallus shall be known from east to west ; So shall Lyooris, whom he now loves best. The suffering plough-share or the /lint may wear ; But heavenly Poesy no death can fear. Kings shall give place to it, and kingly shows, The banks o'er which gold-bearing Tagus flows. Kneel hinds to trash : me let bright Phcebus swell With cups full flowing from the Muses' well. Frost-fearing myrtle shall impale my head. And of sad lovers I be often read. Envy the living, not the dead, doth bite ! For after death all men receive their right. Then, when this body falls in funeral fire. My name shall live, and my best part aspire. Enter Ovid senior, followed by Luscus, TuccA, and Lupus. Ovid se. Your name shall live, indeed, sir ! you say true : but how infamously, how scorn'd and contemn'd in the eyes and ears of the best and gravest Romans, that you think not on ; you never so much as dream of that. Are these the fruits of all my travail and expenses ? Is this the scope and aim of thy studies ? Are these the hope- ful courses, wherewith I have so long flattered my expectation from thee ? Verses ! Poetry ! Ovid, whom I thought to see the pleader, become Ovid the play-maker ! Ovidju. No, sir. Ovid se. Yes, sir ; I hear of a tragedy of yours coming forth for the common players there, call'd Medea. By my household gods, if I come to the acting of it, I'll add one tragic part more than is yet expected to it : believe me, when I promise it. What ! shall I have my son a. stager now ? an enghle for players ? a guU, a rook, a shot-cldg, to make suppers, and be laugh'd at ? Publius, 1 will set thee on. the funeral pile first. Ovidju. Sir, I beseech you to have patience. Lus. Nay, this 'tis to have your ears damm'd up to good counsel. I did augur all this to him be- forehand, without poring into an ox's paunch for the matter, and yet he would not be scrupulous. Tuc. How now, goodman slave ! what, rowly- powly? all rivals, rascal.' Why, my master of worship, dost hear ? are these thy best projects ? is this thy designs and thy discipline, to suffer knaves to be competitors with commanders and gentlemen ? Are we parallels, rascal, are we pa- rallels ? Ovidse. Sirrah, go get my horses ready. You'll still be prating. Tuc. Do, you perpetual stinkard, do, go ; talk to tapsters and ostlers, you slave ; they are in your element, go ; here be the emperor's captains, you raggamuffin rascal, and not your comrades. iExit Luscus. Lup. Indeed, Marcus Ovid, these players are an idle generation, and do much harm in a state, corrupt young gentry very much, I know it ; I have not been a tribune thus long and observed nothing : besides, they will rob us, us, that are magistrates, of our respect, bring us upon their stages, and make us ridiculous to the plebeians ; they will play you or me, the wisest men they can come by still, only to bring us in contempt with the vulgar, and make us cheap. Tttc. Thou art in the right, my venerable crop- ghin, they will indeed ; the tongue of the oracle never twang'd truer. Your courtier cannot kiss his mistress's slippers in quiet &r them ; nor your white innocent gallant pawn his revelling suit to make his punk a supper. An honest decayed commander cannot skelder, cheat, nor be seen in a bawdy-house, but he shall be straight in one of their wormwood comedies. They are grown licen- tious, the rogues ; libertines, flat libertines. They forget they are in the statute, the rascals ; they are blazon' d there ; there they are trick' d, they and their pedigrees j they need no other heralds, I wiss. Ovid se. Methinks, if nothing else, yet this alone, the very reading of the public edicts, should fright thee from commerce with them, and give thee distaste enough of their actions. But this betrays what a student you are, this argues your proficiency in the law ! Ovidju. They wrong me, sir, and do abuse you more. That blow your ears with these untrue reports. I am not known unto the open stage, Nor do I traffic in their theatres : Indeed, I do acknowledge, at request Of some near friends, and honourable Romans, I have begun a poem of that nature. Ovid se. You have, sir, a poem ! and where is it ? That's the law you study. Ovid ju. Cornelius Gallus borrowed it to read. Ovid se. Cornelius Gallus ! there's another gal- lant too hath drunk of the same poisoli, and Ti- buUus and Propertius. But these are gentlemen of means and revenues now. Thou art a younger brother, and hast nothing but thy bare exhibition ; which I protest shall be bare indeed, if thou for- sake not these unprofitable by-courses, and that timely too. Name me a profest poet, that his poetry did ever afford him so much as a compe- tency. Ay, your god of poets there, whom all of you admire and reverence so much. Homer, he whose worm-eaten statue must not he spewed against, but with hallow'd lips and groveling ado- ration, what was he .' what was he ? Tuc. Marry, I'll tell thee, old swaggerer ; he was a poor blind, rhyming rascal, that lived ob- scurely up and down in booths and tap-bouses, and scarce ever made a good meal in his sleep, the whoreson hungry beggar. Ovid se. He says well : — nay, I know this nettles you now ; but answer me, is it not true .' You'll tell me his name shall live ; and that now being dead his works have eternized him, and made him divine : but could this divinity feed him while he lived ? could his name feast him ? Tuc. Or purchase him a senator's revenue, could it .' Ovid se. Ay, or give him place in the common- wealth ? worship, or attendants ? make him be carried in his litter ? Tuc. Thou speakest sentences, old Bias. Lup. All this the law will do, young sir, if you'll follow it. Ovid se. If he be mine, he shall follow and ob- serve what I will apt him to, or I profess here openly and utterly to disclaim him. Ovidju. Sir, let me crave you will forego these I will be any thing, or study any thing ; [moods ■ I'll prove the unfashion'd body of the law _ Pure elegance, and make her rugged'st strains Run smoothly as Propertius' elegies. 108 THE POETASTER. Ovid sc. Propertius' elegies ? good ! Lup, Nay, you>take him too quickly, Marcus. Ovid se. Why, he cannot speak, he cannot think out of poetry ; he is bewitch'd with it. Lup. Come, do not misprize him. Ovid se. Misprise ! ay, marry, I would have him use some such words now ; they have some touch, some taste of the law. He should make himself a style out of these, and let his Propertius' elegies go by. Lup. Indeed, young Publius, he that will now hit the mark, must shoot through the law ; we have no other planet reignSj and in that sphere you may sit and sing with angels. Why, the law makes a man happy, without respecting any other merit ; a simple scholar, or none at all, may be a lawyer. Tue. He tells thee true, my noble neophyte ; my little grammaticaster, he does : it shall never put thee to thy mathematics, metaphysics, philo- sophy, and I know not what supposed sufficiencies ; if thou canst but have the patience to plod enough, talk, and make a noise enough, be impudent enough, and 'tis enough. Lup. Three books will furnish you. Tuo. And the less art the better : besides, when it shall be in the power of thy ohevril conscience, to do right or wrong at thy pleasure, my pretty Alcibiades. Lup. Ay, and to have better men than himself, by many thousand degrees, to observe him, and stand bare. Tuc. True, and he to carry himself proud and stately, and have the law on his sidefor't, old boy. Ovid se. Well, the day grows old, gentlemen, and I must leave you. Publius, if thou wilt hold my favour, abandon these idle, fruitless studies, that so bewitch thee. Send Janus home his back face again, and look only forward to the law: intend that. I will allow thee what shall suit thee in the rank of gentlemen, and maintain thy society with the best; and under these conditions I leave thee. My blessings light upon thee, if thou respect them; if not, mine eyes may drop for thee, but thine own heart will ache for itself ; and so fare- well ! What, are my horses come ? Lus. Yes, sir, they are at the gate without. Ovid se. That's welL — Asinius Lupus, a word. Captain, 1 shall take my leave of you .' Tuc. No, my little old boy, dispatch with Co- thurnus there : I'll attend thee, I — Lus. To borrow some ten drachms : I know his project. lAside. Ovidse. Sir, you shall make me beholding to you. Now, captain Tucca, what say you ? Tuc. Why, what should I say, or what can I say, my flower o' the order ? Should I say thou art rich, or that thou art honourable, or wise, or va- liant, or learned, or liberal ? why, thou art all these, and thou knowest it, my noble Lucullus, thou knowest it. Come, be not ashamed of thy virtues, old stump : honour's a good brooch to wear in a . man's hat at all times. Thou art the man of war's Mecsenas, old boy. Why shouldst not thou be graced then by them, as well as he is by his poets ? — Enter Pvrgus and whispers Tucca. How now, my carrier, what news ? Lus. The boy has stayed within for his cue this half-hour. [Aside. Tuc. Come, do not whisper to me, but speak it out : what ; it is no treason against the state I hope, is it ? Lus. Yes, against the state of my master's purse. lAside, and exit. Pyr. \aloud.'\ Sir, Agrippa desires you to for- bear him tUl the next week ; his mules are not yet come up. Tuc. His mules ! now the bots, the spavin, and the glanders, and some dozen diseases more, light on him and his mules ! What, have they the yel- lows, his mules, that they come no faster .' or are they foundered, ha ? his mules have the staggers belike, have they ? Pyr. O no, sir : — then your tongue might be suspected for one of his mules. [Aside. Tub. He owes me almost a talent, and he thinks to bear it away with his mules, does he .' Sirrah, you nut-cracker, go your ways to him again, and tell him I must have money, I : I cannot eat stones and turfs, say. What, will he clem me and my followers ? ask him an he will clem me ; do, go. He would have me fry my jerkin, would he ? Away, setter, away. Yet, stay, my little tumbler, this old boy shall supply now. Iwill not trouble him, I cannot be importunate, I ; I cannot be impudent. Pyr. Alas, sir, no ; you are the most maidenly blushing creature upon the earth. [Aside. Tuc. Dost thou hear, my little six and fifty^^ or thereabouts ? thou art not to learn the humours and tricks of that old bald cheater. Time ; thou hast not this chain for nothing. Men of orth have their chimeras, as well as other creatures ; and they do see monsters sometimes, they do, they do, brave boy. Pyr. Better cheap than he shall see you, I war- rant him. [Aside. Tuc. Thou must let me have six — six drachms, I mean, old boy : thou shalt do it ; I tell thee, old boy, thou shalt, and in private too, dost thou see ? — Go, walk off : \to the Boy] — There, there. Six is the sum. Thy son's a gallant spark, and must not be put out of a sudden. Come hither, Callimachus ; thy father tells me thou art too poetical, boy : thou must not be so ; thou must leave them, young novice, thou must ; they are a sort of poor starved rascals, that are ever wrapt up in foul linen ; and can boast of nothing but a lean visage, peering out of a seam-rent suit, the very emblems of beggary. No, dost hear, turn lawyer, thou shalt be my solicitor. — 'Tis right, old boy, is't ? Ovid se. You were best tell it, captain. Tuc. No ; fare thou well, mine honest horse- man ; and thou, old beaver.' [, passingly. Cris. Entreat the ladies to entreat me to sing then, I beseech you. Chloe. I beseech your grace, entreat this gen- tleman to sing. Jul. That we vrill, Chloe ; can he sing excel- lently ? Chloe. I think so, madam ; for he entreated me to entreat you to entreat him to sing. Cris. Heaven and earth ! would you tell that ? Jul. Good, sir, let's entreat you to use your voice. Cris. Alas, madam, I cannot, in truth. Pla. The gentleman is modest : I warrant you he sings excellently. Ovid. Hermogenes, clear your throat : I see by him, here's a gentleman will worthily challenge you. Cris. Not I, sir, I'll challenge no man. Tib. That's your modesty, sir ; but we, out of an assurance of your excellency, challenge him in your behalf. Cris. I thank you, gentlemen, I'll do my best. Her. Let that best be good, sir, you were best. Gal. O, this contention is excellent ! What is't you sing, sir ? Cris. If I freely may discover, sir ; I'U sing that. Ovid. One of your own compositions, Hermo- genes. He ofFers you vantage enough. Cris. Nay, truly, gentlemen, I'll challenge no man. — I can sing but one staff olf the ditty neither. Gal. The better : Hermogenes himself will be entreated to sing the other. Crispinhs sings. If I freely may discover What would please me in my level, I would have her fair and witty. Savouring more of court than city ; A little proud, but full of pity : Light and humourous in her toying. Oft building hopes, and soon destroying, Long, but sweet in the enjoying ; Neither too easy nor too hard : All extremes I would have barr'd. SCUNB I. THE POETASTER. 113 Gal. Believe me, sir, you sing most excellently. Ovid. If there were a praise above excellence, the gentleman highly deserves it. Her. Sir, all Qiis doth not yet make me envy you ; for I know I sing better than you. Tii. Attend Hermogenes, now. HsBMoOBNES, accompanied. She should be allov'd her passions. Bo they were but used as fashions ; Sometimes froward, and then fro'vmins, Sometimes siokish and then swowning. Every fit with change still crowning. Purely jealous 1 would have her. Then only constant when I crave her: 'Tls a virtue should not save har. Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, Keither her peevishness annoy me. Jul. Nay, Hermogenes, your merit hath long since been both known and admired of us. Her. You shall hear me sing another. Now will I begin. Gal. We shall do this gentleman's banquet too much' wrong, that stays for us, ladies. Jul. 'Tis true j and well thought on, Cornelius Gallus. Ser. Why, 'tis but a short air, 'twill be done presently, pray stay : strike, music. Ovid. No, good Hermogenes ; we'll end this difference within. Jul. 'Tis the common disease of all your mu- sicians, that they know no mean, to be entreated either to begin or end. Alb. Please you lead the way, gentles. All. Thanks, good Albius. [.Exeunt all but Albius. Alb. O, what a charm of thanks was here put upon me 1 O Jove, what a setting forth it is to a man to have many courtiers come to his house ! Sweetly was it said of a good old housekeeper, J had rather want meat, than want guests ; especially, if they be courtly guests. For, never trust me, if one of their good legs made in a house be not worth all the good cheer a man can make them. He that would have fine guests, let him have a fine wife ! he that would have a fine wife, let him come to me. Re-enter Caispimjs: Cris. By your kind leave, master Albius. Alb. What, you are not gone, master Crispinus ? Cris. Yes, faith, I have a design draws me hence: pray, sir, fashion me an excuse to the ladies. Alb. Will you not stay and see the jewels, sir } I pray you stay. Cris. Not for a million, sir, now. Let it suflSce, I must relinquish ; and so, in a word, please you to expiate this compliment. Alb. Mum. [Exit. Cris. I'll presently go and enghle some broker for a poet's gown, and bespeak a garland : and then, jeweller, look to your best jewel, i'faith. lExit. ACT III. SCENE 1,-The Via Sacra (or Holy Street). Enter Horace, Crispjnus following . Hot. Umph ! yes, I will begin an ode so ; and it shall be to Mecaenas. Cris. 'Slid, yonder's Horace ! they say he's an excellent poet : Mecsenas loves him. I'll fall into his acquaintance, if I can ; I think he be com- posing as he goes in the street ! ha I 'tis a good humour, if he be : I'll compose too. Hor. Swell me a bowl with lusty wine. Till I may see the plump Lyteus swim, Above the brim : I drink as J would write, Inflowing measure fill' d with flame and sprite. Cris. Sweet Horace, Minerva and the Muses stand auspicious to thy designs ! How farest thou, sweet man ? frolic .' rich ? gallant ? ha ! Hor. Not greatly gallant, sir ; like my fortunes, well : I am bold to take my leave, sir ; you'll nought else, sir, would you } Cris. Troth, no, but I could wish thou didst know us, Horace ; we are a scholar, I assure thee. Hor. A scholar, sir ! I shall be covetous of your fair knowledge. Cris. Gramercy, good Horace. Nay, we are new tum'd poet too, which is more ; and a satirist too, which is more than that : I write just in thy vein, I. I am for your odes, or your sermons, or any thing indeed ; we are a gentleman besides ; our name is Rufus Laberiug Crispinus ; we are a pretty Stoic too. Hor. To the proportion of your beard, I think it, sir. Cris. By Phoebus, here's a most neat, fine street, is't.not ? I protest to thee, I am enamoured of this street now, more than of half the streets of Rome again ; 'tis so polite and terse ! there's the front of a building now ! I study architecture too : if ever I should build, I'd have a house just of that pro- spective. Hor. Doubtless, this gallant's tongue has a good turn, when he sleeps. [Aside. Cris. I do make verses, when I come in such a street as this : O, your city ladies, you shall have them sit in every shop like the Muses — offering you the Castalian dews, and the Thespian liquors, to as many as have but the sweet grace and auda- city to sip of their lips. Did you never hear any of my verses ? Hor, No, sir ; — ^but I am in some fear I must now. . [Aside. Cris. I'll tell thee some, if I can but recover them, I composed even now of a dressing I saw a jeweller's wife wear, who indeed was a jewel her- self : I prefer that kind of tire now ; what's thy opinion, Horace? Hor. With your silver bodkin, it does well, sir. Cris. I cannot tell; but it stirs me more than all your court-curls, or your spangles, or your tricks : I affect not these high gable-ends, these Tuscan tops, nor your coronets, nor your arches, nor your pyramids ; give me a fine, sweet ^little delicate dressing with a bodkin, as you say ; and a mushroom for sdl your other ornatures 1 i 114 THE POETASTEB, Hor. Is it not possible to make an escape from him ? ^Aside. Cris. I have remitted my verses all this while ; I think I have forgot them. Hor. Here's he could wish you had else. lAtide. Cris. Pray Jove I caa entreat them of my memory ! Hor. You put your memory to too much trouble, sir. Cris. No, sweet Horace, we must not have thee think so. Hor. I cry yon mercy ; then they are my ears That must be tortured : well, you must have pa- tience, ears. Cris. Pray thee, Horace, observe. Hor. Yes, sir ; your satin sleeve begins to fret at the rug that is underneath it, I do observe : and your ample velvet bases are not without evident stains of a hot disposition naturally. Cris. O I'll dye them into another colour, at pleasure : How many yards of velvet dost thou thiak they contain ? Hor. 'Heart ! I have put him now in a fresh way To vex me more: — ^faith, sir, your mercer's book Will teU you with more patience than I can : — For I am crost, and so's not that, I think. Cris. 'Slight, these verses have lost me again ! I shall not invite them to mind, now. Hor. Rack not your thoughts, good sir ; rather defer it To a new time ; I'll meet you at your lodging, Or where you please : 'till then, Jove keep you, sir! Cris. Nay, gentle Horace, stay ; I have it now. Hor. Yes, sir. Apollo, Hermes, Jupiter, Look down upon me ! iAside. Cris. Rich was thy hap, sweet dainty cap, There to be placed ; Where thy smooth black, sleek white may smack, And both be graced. White is there usurp'd for her brow ; her fore- head : and then sleek, as the parallel to smooth, that went before. A kind of paranomasie, or ag- nomination : do you conceive, sir ? Hor. Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, and leave you. Cris. Why, what haste hast thou ? prithee, stay 1 '.ttle ; thou shalt not go yet, by Phoebus. Hor. I shall not ! what remedy ? fie, how I sweat with suffering ! Cris. And then Hor. Pray, sir, give me leave to wipe my face a Uttle. Cris. Yes, do, good Horace. Hor. Thank you, sir. Death 1 I must crave his leave to p — anon ; Or that I may go hence with half my teeth : I am in some such fear. This tyranny Is strange, to take mine ears up by commission, (Whether 1 vrill or no,) and make them stalls To his lewd solecisms, and worded trash. Happy thou, bold Bolanus, now I say ; Whose freedom, and impatience of this fellow, Would, long ere this, have caU'd him fool, and fool. And rank and tedious fool ! and have flung jests As hard as stones, till thou hadst pelted him Out of the place ; whilst my tame modesty Suffers my wit be made a solemn ass, To bear his fopperies — [Aside. Cris. Horace, thou art miserably affected to be gone, I see. But — ^prithee let's prove to enjoy thee a while. Thou hast no business, I assure me. Whither is thy journey directed, ha .' Hor. Sir, I am going to visit a friend that's sick. Cris. A friend! what is he; do not I know him ? Hor. No, sir, you do not know him ; and 'tis not the worse for him. Cris. What's his name ? where is he lodged ? Hor. Where I sbaU be fearful to draw you out of your way, sir ; a great way hence ; pray, sir, let's part. Cris. Nay, but where is't .' I prithee say. Hnr. On the far side of all Tyber yonder, by Csesar's gardens. Cris. O, that's my course directly ; I am for you. Come, go ; why stand'st thou ? Hor. Yes, sir : marry, the plague is in that part of the city ; I had almost forgot to tell you, sir. Cris. Fob I it is no matter, 1 fear no pestilence ; I have not offended Phoebus. Hor. I have, it seems, or else this heavy scourge Could ne'er have lighted on me. Cris. Come along. Hor. I am to go down some half mile this way, sir, first, to speak with Ms physician ; and from thence to his apothecary, where I shall stay the mixing of divers drugs. Cris. Why, it's all one, I have nothing to do, and I love not to be idle ; I'll bear thee company. How call'st thou the apothecary ? Hor, O that I knew a name would fright him now ! — Sir, Rhadamanthus, Rhadamauthus, sir. There's one so called, is a just judge in hell, And doth inflict strange vengeance on all those That here on earth torment poor patient spirits. Cris. He dwells at the Tttfee Furies, by Janus's temple. Hor. Your pothecary does, sir. Cris. Heart, I owe him money for sweetmeats, and he has laid to arrest me, I hear : but Hor. Sir, I have made a most solemn vow, I will never bail any man. Cris. Well then, I'll swear, and speak him fair, if the worst come. But his name is Minos, not Rhadamanthus, Horace. Hor. That may be, sir, I but guess'd at his name by his sign. But your Minos is a judge too, sir. Cris. I protest to thee, Horace, (do but taste me once,) if I do know myself, and mine own virtues truly, thou wilt not make that esteem of Varius, or Virgil, or Tibullus, or any of 'em indeed, as now in thy ignorance thou dost ; which 1 am content to forgive : I would fain see which of these could pen more verses in a day, or with more facility, than I; or that could court his mistress, kiss her hand, make better sport with her fan or her dog Hor. I cannot bail you yet, sir. Cris. Or that could move his body more grace- fully, or dance better ; you should see me, were it not in the street Hor. Nor yet. Cris.. Why, I have been a reveller, and at my cloth of silver suit, and my long stocking, in my time, and willlie again — Hor. If you may be trusted, sir. Cris. And then, for my singing, Hermogenes SCENE I. THE POETASTER. 115 himself envies me, that is your only master of music you have in Rome. Hor. Is your mother living, sir ? CrU. Au! convert thy thoughts to somewhat else, I pray thee. Hor. You have much of the mother in you, sir: Your father is dead ? Cris. Ay, I thank Jove, and my grandfather too, and all my kinsfolks, and well composed in their \mns. Hot. The more their happiness, that rest in peace. Free from the abundant torture of thy tongue : Would I were with them too I Cris. What's that, Horace ? Hor. I now remember me, sir, of a sad fate A cunning woman, one Sabella, sung, When in her urn she cast my destiny, I being but a child. Cris. What was it, I pray thee ? Hor. She told me I should surely never perish By famine, poison, or the enemy's sword i The hectic fever, cough, or pleurisy, Should never hurt me, nor the tardy gout : But in my time, I should be once surprised By a strong tedious talker, that should vex And almost bring me to consumption : Therefore, if I were vrise, she warn'd me shun All such long-winded monsters as my bane ; For if I could but 'scape that one discourser, I might no doubt prove an old aged man. — By your leave, sir. iGoing. Cris. Tut, tut ; abandon this idle humour, 'tis nothing but melancholy. 'Fore Jove, now I think on't, I am to appear in court here, to answer to one that has me in suit : sweet Horace, go with me, this is my hour ; if I neglect it, the law pro- ceeds against me. Thou art familiar with these things ; prithee, if thou lov'st me, go. Hor. Now, let me die, sir, if I know your laws, Or have the power to stand still half so long In their loud courts, as while a case is argued. Besides, you know, sir, where I am to go. And the necessity Cris. 'Tis true. Hor. I hope the hour of my release be come : he will, upon this consideration, discharge me, sure. Cris. Troth, I am doubtful what I may best do, whether to leave thee or my affairs, Horace. ^or. O Jupiter I me, sir, me. by any means ; I beseech you, me, sir. Cris. No, faith, I'U venture those now ; thou shalt see I love thee — come, Horace. Hor. Nay, then I am desperate : I follow you, sir. 'Tis hard contending with a man that over- comes thus. Cris. And how deals Mecaenas with thee ? libe- rally, ha ? is he open-handed? bountiful ? Hor. He's still himself, sir. Cris. Troth, Horace, thou art exceeding happy in thy friends and acquaintance ; they are all most choice spirits, and of the first rank of Romans : I do not know that poet, I protest, has used his fortune more prosperously than thou hast. If thou wouldst bring me known to Mecsenas, I should second thy desert well ; thou shouldst find a good sure assistant of me, one that.would speak all good of thee in thy absence, and be content with the next place, not envying thy reputation with thy patron. Let me not live, but I thmk thou and I, in a small time, should lift them all out of favour, both Virgil, Varius, and the best of them, and enjoy him wholly to ourselves. Hor. Gods, you do know it, I can hold no longer ; This brize has prick'd my patience. Sir, your silkness Clearly mistakes Mecsenas and his house. To think there breathes a spirit beneath his roof, Subject unto those poor affections Of undermining envy and detraction, Moods only proper to base grovelling minds. That place is not in Rome, 1 dare affirm. More pure or free from such low common evils. There's no man griev'd, that this is thought more rich, Or this more learned ; each man hath his place, And to his merit his reward of grace. Which, with a mutual love, they all embrace. Cris. You report a wonder : 'tis scarce credible, this. Hor. I am no torturer to enforce you to believe it ; but it is so. Cris. Why, this inflames me with a more ardent desire to be his, than before ; but I doubt I shall find the entrance to his familiarity somewhat more t^an difficult, Horace. Hor. Tut, you'll conquer him, as you have done me ; there's no standing out against you, sir, I see that : either your importunity, or the intimation of your good parts, or Cris. Nay, I'll bribe his porter, and the grooms of his chamber ; make his doors open to me that way first, and then I'll observe my times. Say he should extrude me his house to-day, shall I there- fore desist, or let fall my suit to-morroW ? No ; I'll attend him, foUow him, meet him in the street, the highways, run by his coach, never leave him. What 1 man hath nothing given him in this life without much labour — Hor. And impudence. Archer of heaven, Phoebus, take thy bow. And with a full-i-awn shaft nail to the earth This Python, that I may yet run hence and live : Or, brawny Hercules, do thou come down. And, tho' thou mak'st it up thy thirteenth labour, Rescue me from this hydra of discourse here. Enter Fosccs AmsTins. ' Art. Horace, weU met. Hor. O welcome, my reliever ; Aristius, as thou lov'st me, ransom me. Ari. What ail'st thou, man ? Hor. 'Death, I am seized on here By a land remora ; I caimot stir. Nor move, but as he pleases. Cris. Wilt thou go, Horace ? Hor. Heart ! he cleaves to me like Alcides' shirt. Tearing my flesh and sinews : O, I've been vex'd And tortured with him beyond forty fevers. For Jove's sake, find some means to take me from him. Ari. Yes, I will;— but I'U go first and tell Mecsenas. ^Aside. Cris. Come, shall we go ? K Ari. The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. lAiide. Hor. Nay, Aristius ! Ari. Farewell, Horace. {Going. Hor. 'Death ! will he leave me ? Fuscus Aris- I 2 316 THE POETASTER. tius ! do you hear ? Gods of Rome I You said you had somewhat to say to me in private. Ari Ay, but I see yon are now employed with that gentleman; 'twere offence to trouble you ; I'll take some fitter opportunity : farewell. [_Bxit. Hot. Mischief and torment 1 O my soul and heart, How are yon cramp'd with anguish ! Death itself Brings not the like convulsions. O, this day I That ever I should view thy tedious face. Cris. Horace, what passion , what humour is this ? flbr. Away, good prodigy, afflict me not. — A friend, and mock me thus ! Never was man So left under the axe. Enter Minos with two Lictors. How now ? Min. That's he in the embroidered hat, there, with the ash-colour'd feather : his name is Labe- rius Crispinus. Lict. Laberius Crispinus, I arrest you in the emperor's name. Cris. Me, sir I do you arrest me .' Lict. Ay, sir, at the suit of master Minos the apothecary. Hor. Thanks, great Apollo, I will not slip thy favour offered me in my escape, for my fortunes. [Exit hastily. Cris. Master Minos I I know no master Minos. Where's Horace .' Horace ! Horace ! Min. Sir, do not you know me ? Cris. O yes, I know you, master Minos ; cry you mercy. But Horace ? God's me, is he gone ? Min. Ay, and so would you too, if you knew how. — Officer, look to him. Cris. Do you hear, master Minos .' pray let us be used like a man of our own fashion. By Janus and Jupiter, I meant to have paid you next week every drachm. Seek not to eclipse my reputation thus vulgarly. Min. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you; you know I have forborne you. long. Cris. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, do not exhale me thus, remember 'tis but for sweetmeats Lict. Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. Come along. Cris. Sweet master Minos, I am forfeited to eternal disgrace, if you do not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious. Enter TuccA and Pyrgi. Tuc. Why, how now, my good brace of blood- hounds, whither do you drag the gentleman ? You mongrels, you curs, you ban-dogs ! we are captain Tucca that talk to you, you inhuman pilchers, Min. Sir, he is their prisoner. Tuo. Their pestilence I What are you, sir? Min. A citizen of Rome, sir. Tuc. Then you are not far distant from afool, sir. Min. A pothecary, sir. Tuo. I knew thou wast not a physician : foh ! out of my nostrils, thou stink'st of lotium and the syringe; away, quack-salver! — Follower, my sword. 1 Pyr. Here, noble leader ; you'll do no harm with it, I'll trust you. [Aside. Tuc. Do you hear, you goodman, slave ? Hook, ram, rogue, catchpole, loose the gentleman, or by my velvet arms Lict. What will you do, sir ? [Strikes up his heels, and seizes his sword. Tuc. Kiss thy hand, my honourable active var- let, and embrace thee thus. 1 Pyr. O patient metamorphosis ! Tuc. My sword, my tall rascal. Lict. Nay, soft, sir ; some vriser than some. Tuc. What 1 and a wit too ? By Pluto, thou must he cherish'd, slave ; here's three drachms for thee ; hold. 2 Pyr. There's half his lendings gone. Tuc. Give me. Lict. No, sir, your first word shall stand ; I'll hold all. Two. Nay, but rogue— t — Lict. You would make a rescue of our prisoner, sir, you. Tuc. I a rescue ! kyisj, inhuman varlet. Come, come, I never relish above one jest at most ; do not disgust me, sirrah ; do not, rogue ! I tell thee, rogue, do not. Lict. How, sir ! rogue ? Tuc. Ay; why, thou art not angry, rascal, art thou ? Lict. I cannot tell, sir ; I am little better upon these terms. Tuc. Ha, gods and fiends ! why. dost hear, rogue, thou .' give me thy hand ; I say unto thee, thy hand, rogue. What,.dostnot thou know me .' not me, rogue .' not captain Tucca, rogue ? Min, Come, pray surrender the gentleman his sword, officer ; we'll have no fighting here. Tuc. What's thy name ? Min. Minos, an't please you. Tuc. Minos ! Come hither, Minos ; thou art a wise fellow, it seems ; let me talk with thee. Cris. Was ever wretch so wretched as unfortu- nate 1 1 Tuo. Thou art one of the centumviri, old boy, art not ? Min. No indeed, master captain. Tuc. Go to, thou shalt be then ; I'll have thee one, Minos. Take my sword from these rascals, dost thou see,! go, do it ; I cannot attempt with patience. What ' does this gentleman owe thee, little Minos ? Min. Fourscore sesterties, sir. Tiu:. What, no more 1 Come, thou shalt release him, Minos : what, I'll be his bail, thou shalt take my word, old boy, and cashier these furies : thou shalt do't, I say, thou shalt, little Minos, thou shalt. Cris. Yes ; and as I am a gentleman and a re- veller, I'll make a piece of poetry, and absolve all, within these five days. Tuc. Come, Minos is not to learn how to use a gentleman of quality, I know My sword : If he pay thee not, I will, and I must, old boy. Thou shalt be my pothecary too. Hast good eringos, Minos ? Min. The best in Rome, sir. Tuc. Go to, then Vermin, know the house. 1 Pyr. I warrant you, colonel. Tvc. For this gentleman, Minos — Min. I'll take your word, captain. Tuc. Thou hast it. My sword. Min, Yes, sir : But you must discharge the arrest, master Crispinus. Tuc. How, Minos ! Look in the gentleman's face, and but read his silence. Pay, pay ; 'tis honour, Minos. Cris. By Jove, sweet captain, you do most infi- nitely endear and oblige me to you. SCENE I. THE POETASTER. 117 Tuc. Tut, I cannot compliment, by Mars ; but, Jupiter love me, as I love good words and good clothes, and there's an end. Thou shalt give my boy that girdle and hangers, when thou hast worn them a little more. Cris. O Jupiter! captain, he shall have them now, presently : — Please you to be acceptive, young gentleman. 1 Pyr. Yes, sir, fear not ; I shall accept ; I have a pretty foolish humour of taJdng, if you knew all. {Aside. Tuc. Not now, you shall not tajce, boy. Cris. By my truth and earnest, but he shall, captain, by your leave. / ., • Tuc. Nay, an he sweaHjyiltStruth and earnest, take it, boy : do not make a gemtleman forsworn. Lict. Well, sir, there's your sword; but thank master Minos; you had not carried it as you do else. Tuc. Minos is just, and you are knaves, and — Lict. What say you, sir ? Ttic. Pass on, my good scoundrel, pass on, I honour thee : [^Exevnt Lictors.] But that I hate to have action with such base rogues as these, you should have seen me unrip their noses now, and have sent them to the next barber's to stitching ; for do you see 1 am a man of humour, and 1 do love the varlets, the honest varlets, they have wit and valour, -and are indeed good profitable, errant rogues, as any live in an empire. Dost thou hear, poetaster? [To Crispintis.] second me. Stand up, Minos, close, gather, yet, so ! Sir, (thou shalt have a quarter-share, be resolute) you shall, at my request, take Minos by the hand here, little Minos, I will have it so ; all friends, and a health ; be not inexorable. And thou shalt impart the vrine, old boy, thou shalt do it, little Minos, thou shalt ; make us pay it in our physic. What ! we must live, and honour the gods sometimes ; now Bac- chus, now Comus, now Priapus ; every god a little. [HiSTBio passes by.l What's he that stalks by there, boy, Pyrgus ? You were best let him pass, sirrah ; do, ferret, let him pass, do 2 Pyr. 'Tis a player, sir. Tuc. A player! call him, call the lousy slave hither ; what, will he sail by. and not once strike, or vail to a man of war ? ha ! — Do you hear, you player, rogue, stalker, come back here ! — Enter Hktrio. No respect to men of warship, you slave ! what, you are proud, you rascal, are you proud, ha ? you grow rich, do you, and purchase, you two- penny tear-mouth ? you have Foktune, and the good year on your side, you stinkard, you have, you have ! Hist. Nay, sweet captain, be confined to some reason ; I protest I saw you not, sir. Tuc. You did not ? where was your sight, (Edipus .' you walk with hare's eyes, do you ? I'll have them glazed, rogue ; an you say the word, they sheill be glazed for you : come we must have you turn fiddler again, slave, get a base viol at your back, and march in a tawny coat, with one sleeve,' to Goose-fair ; then you'll know us, you'll see us then, you vpill, gulch, you will. Then, Will'i please yotir worship to have any music, captain f Hist. Nay, good captain. Tuc. What, do you laugh, Howleglas ! death, you perstemptuous varlet, I am none of your fel- lows ; 1 have commanded a hundred and fifty such rogues, I. 2 Pyr. Ay, and most of that hundred and fifty have been leaders of a legion. [Aside. Hist. If I have exhibited wrong, I'll tender satisfaction, captain. Tuck. Say'st thou so, honest vermin ! Give me thy hand; thou shalt make us a supper one of these nights. Hist. When you please, byjove, captain, most willingly. Tuc. Dost thou swear ! To-morrow then ; say and hold, slave. There are some of you pfayers honest gentlemen-like scoundrels, and suspected to have some wit, as well as your poets, bofh at drinking and breaking of jests, and are compa- nions for gallants. A man may skelder ye, now and then, of half a dozen shillings, or so. Dost thou not know that Pantalabus there ? Hist. No, I assure you, captain. Tuo. Go ; and be acquainted with him then ; he is a gentleman, parcel poet, you slave ; his father was a man of worship, 1 tell thee. Go, he pens high, lofty, in a new stalking strain, bigger than half the rhymers in the town again ; he was bom to fill thy mouth, Minotaurus, he was, he will teach thee to tear and rand. Sascal, to him, cherish his muse, go ; thou hast forty — forty shil- lings, I mean, stinkard ; give him in earnest, do, he shall write for thee, slave 1 If he pen for thee once, thou shalt not need to travel with thy pumps full of gravel any more, after a blind jade and a hamper, and stalk upon boards and barrel heads to an old crack'd txumpet. Hist. Troth, I tlunk I have not so much about me, captain. Tvji. It's no matter ; give him what thou hast, stiff-toe, I'll give my word for the rest ; though it lack a shilling or two, it skills not : go, thou art an honest shifter ; I'll have the statute repeal'd for thee. — Minos, I must tell thee, Minos, thou hast dejected yon gentleman's spirit exceedingly ; dost observe, dost note, little Minos ? Miri. Yes, sir. Tuc. Go to then , raise, recover, do ; suffer him not to droop in prospect of a player, a rogue, a stager : put twentyinto his hand — twenty sesterces I mean, — and let nobody see ; go, do it — the work shall commend itself; be Minos, f'll pay. Min. Yes, forsooth, captain. 2 Pyr. Do not we serve a notable shark ? [Aside. Tuc. And what new matters have you now a- foot, sirrah, ha? I would fain come with my cockatrice one day, and see a play, if I knew when there were a good bawdy one ; but they say you have nothing but Humours, Revels, and Satires, that gird and f — t at the time, you slave. Hist. No, I assure you, captain, not we. They are on the other side of "Tyber : we have as much ribaldry in our plays as can be, as you would wish, captain : all the sinners in the suburbs come and applaud our action daily. Tuc. I hear you'll bring me o'the stage there ; you'll play me, they say ; I shall be presented by a sort of copper-laced scoundrels of you: life of Pluto ! an you stage me, stinkard, your mansions shall sweat for't, your tabernacles, varlets, your Globes, and your Triumphs. H8 THE POETASTER. Hist. Not we, by Phoebus, captain ; do not do us imputation mtbout desert. Tuc. I will not, my good twopenny rascal ; reach me thy neuf. Dost hear ? what wilt thou give me a week for my brace of beagles here, my little point-trussers ? you shall have them act among ye. — Sirrah, you, pronounce. — Thou shalt hear him speak in King Darius' doleful strain. 1 Pyr. doleful days . I O direful deadly dvmp ! O wicked world, and worldly wickedness ! How can I hold my. fist from crying, thump, In rue of this right rascal wretchedness ! Tuc. In an amorous vein now, sirrah : peace ! 1 tyr. O, she is wilder, and more hard, withal, Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall. Yet might she love me, to uprear her state : Ay, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate. Yet might she love me, to content Tier fire : Ay J but her reason masters her desire. Yet might she love me as her beauty's thrall : Ay, but I fear she cannot lof)e at all. Tuc. Now, the horrible, fierce soldier, you, sirrah. 2 Pyr. What ! will I brave thee ? ay, and beard thee too ; A Roman spirit scorns to bear a brain So full of base pusillanimity. Hist. Excellent! Tuc. Nay, thou shalt see that shall ravish thee anon ; prick up thine ears, stinkard. — ^The ghost, boys ! 1 Pyr. Vindicta ! 2 Pyr. Timoria ! 1 Pyr. Vindicta ! 2 Pyr, Timoria ! 1 Pyr. Veni ! 2 Pyr. Veni ! Tuc. Now thunder, sirrah, you, the rumbling player. 2 Pyr. Ay, but somebody must cry, Murder ! then, in a small voice. Tuc. Your fellow-sharer there shall do't : Cry, sirrah, cry. 1 Pyr. Murder, murder ! 2 Pyr. Who calls out murder % lady, was it you? Hist. O, admirable good, I protest. Tuc. Sirrah, boy, brace your drum a little straiter, and do the t'other fellow there, he in the what sha' call him and yet stay too. 2 Pyr. Nay, an thou dalliest, then I am thy foe, And fear shall force what friendship cannot win ; Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals. Villain! thou dies t for more respecting her 1 Pyr. O stay, my lord. 2 Pyr. Than me : Yet speak the truth, and I will guerdon thee ; But if thou dally once again, thou diest. Tuc. Enough of this, boy. 2 Pyr. Why, then lament therefore: d — n'd be thy guts Unto king Pluto's Hell, and princely Erebus ; For sparrows must have food Hist. Pray, sweet captain, let one of them do a little of a lady. Tuc. O! he will make thee eternally enamour'd of him, there : do, sirrah, do ; 'twill allay your fellow's fury a little. 1 Pyr. Master, mock on ; the scorn thou givest Pray Jove some lady may return on thee. [me, 2 Pyr. Now you shall see me dp the Moor : master, lend me your scarf a little. Tuc. Here, 'tis at thy service, boy. 2 Pyr. You, master Minos, hark hither a little. lExit mth Mraos, to make himself read!/. Tuc. How dost like him ? art not rapt, art not tickled now .' dost not applaud, rascal ? dost not applaud ? Hist. Yes : what will you ask for them a week, captain. Tuc. No, you mangonizing slave, I will not part from them ; you'll sell them for enghles, you : let's have good cheer to-morrow night at supper, stalker, and then we'll talk ; good capon and plover, do you hear, sirrah? and do not bring your eating player with you there ; I cannot away with him : he will eat a leg of mutton while I am in my porridge, the lean Poluphagus, his belly is like Barathrum ; he looks like a midwife in man's apparel, the slave : nor the villanous out-of-tune fiddler, .^nobarbus, bring not him. What hast thou there ? six and thirty, ha ? Hist. No, here's all I have, captain, some five and twenty : pray, sir, will you present and ac- commodate it unto the gentleman ? for mine own part, I am a mere stranger to his humour ; besides, I have some business invites me hence, with mas- ter Asioius Lupus, the tribune. ■> Tuc. Well, go thy ways, pursue thy projects, let me alone with this design ; my Poetaster shall make thee a play, and thou shalt be a man of good parts in it. But stay, let me see ; do not bring your JBsop, your politician, unless you can ram up his mouth with cloves ; the slave smells ranker than some sixteen dunghills, and is seventeen times more rotten. Marry, you may bring Frisker, my zany ; he's a good skipping swaggerer ; and your fat fool there, my mango, bring him too ; but let him not beg rapiers nor scarfs, in his over-familiar playing face, nor roar out his barren bold jests with a tormenting laughter, between dnink and dry. Do you hear, stiff-toe ? give him warning, admoni- tion, to forsake his saucy glavering grace, and his goggle eye ; it does not becomehim, sirrah ; tell him so. I have stood up and defended you, I, to gen- tlemen, when you have been said to prey upon puisnes, and honest citizens, for socks or buskins ; or when they have call'd you usurers or brokers, or said you were able to help to a piece of flesh 1 have sworn, I did not think so, nor that you were the common retreats for punks decayed in their practice ; I cannot believe it of you. Hist. Thank you, captain. Jupiter and the rest of the gods confine your modem delights without disgust. Tuc. Stay, thou shalt see the Moor ere thou Enter Demeikius at a distance. What's he with the half arms there, that salutes us out of his cloak, like a motion, ha ? Hist. O, sir, his doublet's a little decayed ; he is otherwise a very simple honest fellow, sir, one Demetrius, a dresser of plays about the town here ; we have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a play, with all his gallants, as Tibullus, Mecsenas, Cornelius GaUus, and the rest. Tuc. And why so, stinkard ? Hist. O, it will get us a huge deal of money, captain, and we have need on't ; for this winter has made us all poorer than so many starved snakes : nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor a SOENE I THE POETASTER. 119 Tue. But you know nothing by him, do you, to make a play of ? Hist. Faith, not much, captain ; but our author will devise that that shall serve in some sort. Tuo, Why, my Parnassus here shall help him, if thou wilt. Can thy author do it impudently enough? Hist. O, I warrant you, captain, and spitefully enough too ; he has one of the most overflowing rank wits in Rome ; he will slander any man that breathes, if he disgust him. Tuc. I'll know the poor, egregious, nitty rascal ; an he have these commendable qualities, I'll che- rish him— stay, here comes the Tartar — I'll make a gathering for him, I, a purse, and put the poor slave in fresh rags ; tell him so to comfort him. — [Dembtrics covks forward. Re-enter Minos, aith 2 Pyrgus on hit shoulders, and stalks backward and forward, as the hoy acts. Well said, boy. 2 Pyr. Where art thou, hoy ? where w Calipolis ? Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth, And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades ; Some foul contagion of the infected heavens Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops The dismal night raven and tragic owl Breed and become forerunners of my fall! Tuc. Well, now fare thee well, my honest penny- biter : commend me to seven shares and a half, and remember to-morrow. — If you lack a service, you shall play in my name, rascals ; but you shall buy your own cloth, and I'll have two shares for my countenance. Let thy author stay with me. \,Eicit HisTBio Dem. Yes, sir. .Tuc. 'Twas well done, little Minos, thou didst stalk well : forgive me that I said thou stunk' st, Minos ; 'twas the savour of a poet I met sweating in the street, hangs yet in my nostrils. Cris. Who, Horace ? Tuc. Ay, he ; dost thou know him .> Cris. O, he forsook. me most barbarously, I protest. Tuc. Hang him, fusty satyr, he sniells all goat ; he carries a ram under his arm-holes, the slave : I am the worse when I see him. — Did not Minos impart ? [_Aside to Crispinds. Cris. Yes, here are twenty drachms he did convey. Tvj). Well said, keep them, we'll share anon ; come, little Minos. Cris. Faith, captain, I'll be bold to show you a mistress of mine, a jeweller's wife, a gallant, as we go along. Tuc. There spoke my genius. Minos, some of thy eringos, little Minos ; send. 'Come hither, Parnassus, I must have thee familiar with my little locust here ; 'tis a good vermin, they say. — [Horace and Tbebatius pass over the stage.'\ — See, here's Horace, and old Trebatius, the great lawyer, in his company ; let's avoid him now, he is too well seconded. LExeunU ACT IV. SCENE \.—A Room in Albits's House. Enter Cblob, Ctthejus, and Attendants. Chloe. But, sweet lady, say ; am I well enough attired for the court, in sadness ? Cyth. Well enough ! excellent well, sweet mis- tress Chloe ; this strait-bodied city attire, I can tell you, wiU stir a courtier's blood, more than the finest loose sacks the ladies use to be put in ; and then you are as well jewell'd as any of them ; your ruff and linen about you is much more pure than theirs ; and for your beauty, I can tell you, there's many of them would defy ike painter, if they could change with you. Marry, the worst is, you must look to be envied, and endure a few court-frmnps for it. Chloe. O Jove, madam, I shall buy them too cheap ! — Give me my muflf, and my dog there. — And will the ladies be any thing familiar with me, think you ? Cyth. O Juno 1 why you shall see them flock about you with their puff-wings, and ask you where you bought your lavra, and what you paid for it? who starches you ? and entreat you to help 'em to some pure laundresses out of the city. Chloe. O Cupid !— Give me my fan, and my mask too. — .\nd will the lords, and the poets there, use one well too, lady ? Cyth. Doubt not of that ; you shall have kisses from them, go ])it-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, upon your lips, as thick as stones out .of slings at the assault of a city. And then your ears will be so ftur'd with the breath of their compliments, that you cannot catch cold of your head, if you would, in three winters eitter. Chloe. Thank you, sweet lady. O heaven ! and how must one behave herself amongst 'em ? You know all. Cyth. Faith, impudently enough, mistress Chloe, and well enough. Carry not too much under thought betwixt yourself and them ; nor your city- mannerly word, forsooth, use it not too often in any case ; but plain, Ay, madam, and no, madam : nor never say, your lordship, nor your honour ; but, you, and you, my lord, and my lady: the other they count too simple and minsitive. And though they desire to kiss heaven with their titles, yet they will count them fools that give them too humbly. Chloe. O intolerable, Jupiter ! by my troth, lady, I would not for a world but you had lain in my house ; and, 'ifaith, you shaU not pay a far- thing for your board, nor your chambers. Cyth. O, sweet mistress Chloe ! Chloe. I'faithyou shall not, lady; nay, good lady, do not offer it. Enter Gauus and Tibullds. Gal. Come,- where be these ladies ? By youi leave, bright stars, this gentleman and I are come to man you to court ; where your late kind enter- tainment is now to be requited with a heavenly banquet. Cyth. A heavenly banquet, Gallus ! 120 THE POETASTER. Gal. No less, my dear Cytheris. Tib. That were not strange, lady, if the epithet were only given for the company invited thither ; your self, and this fair gentlewoman. Chloe. Are we invited to conrt, sir .' Tib. You are, lady, by the great princess Julia ; who longs to greet you with any favours that may worthily make you an often courtier. Chloe. In sincerity, I thank her, sir. You have a coach, have you not ? Tib. The princess hath sent her own, lady. Chloe. O Venus ! that's well : I do long to ride in a coach most vehemently. Cyih. But, sweet Gallus, pray you resolve me why you give that heavenly praise to this earthly banquet ? Gal. Because, Cytheris, it must be celebrated by the heavenly powers : all the gods and goddesses will be there ; to two of which you two must be exalted. Chloe. A pretty fiction, in truth. Cyth. A fiction, indeed, Chloe, and fit for the fit of a poet. Gal. Why, Cytheris, may not poets ffrom whose divine spirits all the honours of the gods have been deduced) entreat so much honour of the gods, to have their divine presence at a poetical banquet ? Cyth. Suppose that no fiction ; yet, where are your habilities to make us two goddesses at your feast? Gal. Who knows not, Cytheris, that the sacred breath of a true poet can blow any virtiibus hu- manity up to deity ? Tib. To tell you the female truth, which is the simple truth, ladies ; and to shew that poets, in spite of the world, are able to deify themselves ; at this banquet, to which you are invited, we in- tend to assume the figures of the gods ; and to give our, several loves the forms of goddesses. Ovid will be Jupiter ; the princess Jufia, Juno ; Gallus here, Apollo; you, Cytheris, Pallas; I will be Bacchus J and my love Plautia, Ceres : and to in- stall you and your husband, fair Chloe, in honours equal with ours, you shall be a goddess, and your husband a god. Chloe. A god ! — O my gods ! Tib. A god, but a lame god, lady ; for he shall be Vulcan, and you Venus : and this will make our banquet no less than heavenly. Chloe. In sincerity, it will be sugared. Good Jove, what a pretty foolish thing it is to be a poet ! but, hark you, sweet Cytheris, could they not pos- sibly leave out my husband ? methinks a body's husband does not so well at court ; a body's iriend, or so — but, husband! 'tis like your clog to your marmoset, for all the world, and the heavens. Cyth. Tut, never fear, Chloe 1 your husband will be left without in the lobby, or the great cham- ber, when you shall be put in, i'the closet, by this lord, and by that lady. Chloe. Nay, then I am certified ; he shall go. EnUr Horace. Gal. Horace ! welcome. Hot. Gentlemen, hear you the news ? Tib. What news, my Quintus ! Hot. Our melancholic friend, Propertius, Hath closed himself up in his Cynthia's tomb ; And win by no entreaties be drawn thence. Enter Auuus, introducing Crispinus and DBMBTHius,/oi- lowed by Tucca. Alb. Nay, good Master Crispinus, pray you bring near the gentleman. Hot. Crispinus ! Hide me, good Gallus ; Ti- bullus, shelter me. [Going. Cris. Make your approach, sweet captain. Tib. What means this, Horace ? Hor. I am surprised again ; farewell. Gal. Stay, Horace. Hor. What, and be tired on by yond' vulture ! No: Phoebus defend me ! [Exit hastil}/. Tib. 'SUght, I hold my life This same is he met him in Holy-street. Gal. Troth, 'tis like enough.— This act of Pro- pertius relisheth very strange with me. Tun. By thy leave, my neat scoundrel : what, is this the mad boy you talk'd on ? Cris. Ay, this is master Alblus, captain. Tuo. Give me thy hand, Agamemnon ; we hear abroad thou art the Hector of citizens : What sayest thou ? are we welcome to thee, noble Neop- tolemus .' jilb. Welcome, captain, by Jove and all the gods in the Capitol Tuo. No more, we conceive thee. Which of these is thy wedlock, Menelaus ? thy Helen, thy Lucrece ? that we may do her honour, mad boy. Cris. She in the little fine dressing, sir, is my mistress. Alb. For fault of a better, sir. Tuo. A better ! profane rasc^ : I cry thee mercy, my good scroyle, was't thou .' Alb. No harm, captain. Tuc. She is a Venus, a Vesta, a Melpomene : come hither, Penelope; what's thy name. Iris? Chloe. My name is Chloe, sir ; I am a gentle- woman. Tuc. Thou art in merit to be an empress, Chloe, for an eye and a lip ; thou hast an emperor's nose • kiss me again : 'tis a virtuous punk ; so ! Before Jove, the gods were a sort of goslings, when they suffered so sweet a breath to perfume the bed of a stinkard : thou hadst ill fortune, Thisbe ; the Fates were infatuate, they were, punk, they were. Chloe. That's sure, sir : let me crave your name, I pray you, sir. Tuc. 1 am known by the name of captain Tucca, punk ; the noble Roman, punk : a gentleman, and a commander, punk. Chloe. In good time : a gentleman, and a com- mander ! that's as good as a poet, methinks. IWalks aside. Cris. A pretty instrument ! It's my cousin Cy- theris' viol this, is it not ? Cyth. Nay, play, cousin ; it wants but such a voice and hand to grace it, as yours is. Cris. Alas, cousin, you are merrily inspired. Cyth. Pray you play, if you love me. Cris. Yes, cousin ; you know I do not hate you. Tib. A most subtile wench 1 how she hath baited him with a viol yonder, for a song ! Cris. Cousin, 'pray you call mistress Chloe ! she shall hear an essay of my poetry. Tuc. I'll call her Come hither, cockatrice : here's one will set thee up, my sweet punk, set thee up. Chloe. Are you a poet so soon, sir ? Alb. Wife, mum. SOENK II. THE POETASTER. 121 dasmma plas/s and sings. Love is blind, and a wanton ; In the whole world, there is soant one — Such another ; No, not his mother. He hath pluolc'd her doves and sparrows. To feather his sharp arrows. And alone prevaileth, "While sick Venus waileth. But if Cypris once recover The wag ; it shall behove her To look better to him : Or she will undo him. Ali. O, most odoriferous music ! Tuc. Aha, stinkard! Another Orpheus, you slave, another Orpheus ! an Arion riding on the back of a dolphin, rascal ! Gal. Have you a copy of this ditty, sir ? Cris. Master Albius has. Alb. Ay, but in truth they are my wife's verses ; I must not shew them. Tiic. Shew them, bankrupt, shew them ; they have salt in them, and wiU brook the air, stinkard. Gal. How !■ To his bright mistress Canidia ! Cris. Ay, sir, that's but a borrowed name ; as Ovid's Corinna, or Propertius his Cynthia, or your Nemesis, or Delia, TibuUus. Gal. It's the name of Horace his witch, as 1 remember. Tib. Why, the ditty's all borrowed ; 'tis Ho- race's : hang him, plagiary ! Tuc. How ! he borrow of Horace ? he shall pawn himself to ten brokers first. Do you hear, Poetasters ? I know you to be men of worship He shall write with Horace, for a talent ! and let Mecsenas and his whole college of critics take his part : thoushalt do't, young Phoebus ; thou shalt, Phaeton, thou shalt. Dem. Alas, sir, Horace ! he is a mere sponge ; nothing but Humours and observation ; he goes up and down sucking from every society, and when he comes home squeezes himself dry again. I know him, I. Tuc. Thou say'st true, my poor poetical fiiry, he will pen all he knows. A sharp thorny-tooth'd satirical rascal, fly him ; he carries hay in his horn : he will sooner lose his best friend, than his least jest. What he once drops upon paper, against a man, lives eternally to upbraid him in the mouth of every slave, tankard-bearer, or waterman ; not a bawd, or a boy that comes from the bake-house, but sh^ point at him : 'tis all dog, and scorpion ; he carries poison in his teeth, and a sting in his tail. Fough 1 body of Jove ! I'U have the slave whipt one of these days for his Satires and his Humours, by one cashier'd clerk or another. Cris. We'll undertake him, captain. Dem. Ay, and tickle him i'faith, for his arro- gancy and his impudence, in commending his own things; and for his translating, I can trace him, i'faith. O, he is the most open fellow living ; I had as lieve as a new suit I were at it. Tuc. Say no more then, but do it ; 'tis the only way to get thee a new suit ; sting him, my little neufts ; I'U give you instructions : I'll be your intelligencer ; we'll all join, and hang upon him like so many horse-leeches, the players and alL We shall sup together, soon ; and then we'll conspire, i'faith. Gal. O that Horace had stayed still here ! Tib. So would not I ; ' for both these would have tum'd Pythagoreans then. Gal. What, mute? Tib. Ay, as fishes, i'faitli : come, ladies, shall we go ? Cyth. We wait you, sir. But mistress Chloe asks, if you have not a god to spare for this gen- tleman. Gal. Who, captain Tucca ? Cffth. Ay, ne. Gal. Yes, if we can invite him along, he shall be Mar;. Chloe. Has Mars any thing to do with Venus ? Tib. O, most of all, lady, Chloe. Nay, then I pray let him be invited : And what shall Crispinus be ? Tib. Mercury, mistress Chloe. Chloe. Mercury ! that's a poet, is it ? Gal. No, lady, but somewhat inclining that way ; he is a herald at arms, Chloe. A herald at arms ! good ; and Mercury ! pretty : he has to do with Venus too ? Tib. A little with her face, lady ; or so. Chloe. 'Tis very well ; pray let us go, I long to be at it. Cyth. Gentlemen, shall we pray your companies along ? Cris. You shall not only pray, butprevail, lady. — Come, sweet captain. Tuc. Yes, I follow : but thou must not talk of this now, my little bankrupt. Alb. Captain, look here, mum, Dem.'l'll go write, sir. Tuc. Do, do ! stay, there's a drachm to pur- chase ginger-bread for thy muse. ZExeunt. SCENE II, — A Room in Lupus's House. Enter Lupus, Hibtbio, and Lictors, Lup. Come, let us talk here ; here we may be private ; shut the door, lictor. You are a player, you say. JHist. Ay, an't please your worship. Lup. Good i and how are you able to give this intelligence ? jffist. Marry, sir, they directed a letter to me and my fellow-sharers. Lup. Speak lower, you are not now in your theatre, stager: — my sword, knave. They directed a letter to you, and your fellow-sharers : forward. Hist. Yes, sir, to hire some of our properties ; as a sceptre and crown for Jove ; and a caduceus for Mercury ; and a petasus Lup. Caduceus and petasus ! let me see your letter. This is a conjuration ; a conspiracy, this. Quickly, on with my buskins : I'll act a tragedy, i'faith. Will nothing but our gods serve these poets to profane ? dispatch ! Player, I thank thee. The emperor shall take knowledge of thy good service. [A knocking within.] Who's there now ? Look, knave. [Exit Lictor.] A crown and a sceptre I this ia-good rebellion, now. Me-enter Lictor. Lie. 'Tis your pothecary, sir, master Minos. Lup. What tell'st thou me of pothecaries, knave ! Tell him, I have affairs of state in hand ; I can talk to no apothecaries now. Heart of me ! Stay the pothecary there. IWalks in a musing 122 THE POETASTER. posture.^ You shall see, I have fish'd out a cunning piece of plot now : they have had some intelligence, that their project is discover'd, and now haTe they dealt with my pothecary, to poison me ; 'tis so ; knowing that I meant to take physio to-day : as sure as death, 'tis there. Jupiter, I thank thee, that thou hast yet made me so much of a politician. Enter Minos. You are welcome, sir ; take the potion from him there ; I have an antidote more than you wot of, sir ; throw it on the ground there : so I Now fetch in the dog ; and yet we cannot tarry to try experiments now : arrest him ; you shall go with me, sir i I'll tickle you, pothecary ; I'll give you a glister, i'faith. Have I the letter ? ay, 'tis here. — Come, your fasces, lictors : the half pikes and the halberds, take them down from the Lares there. Flayer, assist me. As they are going out, enter Mhc^nas and Horace. Mec. "Whither now, Asinius Lupus, with this armory ? Lup. I cannot talk now ; I charge you assist me : treason ! treason ! Hor. How! treason? Lup. Ay : if you love the emperor, and the state, follow me. lExeunt. SCENE III. — An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Ovid, Julia, G-allus, Cttheris, Tibdixus, Plau- TiA, Albius, Chloe, Tucca, CaisPDnjs, Heemogenes, Pyrgus, characteristically habited, as gods and god- desses, Ovid. Gods and goddesses, take yoiir several seats. Now, Mercury, move your caduceus, -and, in Jupiter's name, command silence. Cris. In the name of Jupiter, silence. Her. The crier of the court hath too clarified a voice. Gal. Peace, Momus. Ovid. Oh, he is the god of reprehension ; let him alone : 'tis his office. Mercury, go forward, and proclaim, after Phoebus, our high pleasure, to all the deities that shall partake this high banquet. Cris. Yes, sir. Gal. The great god, Jupiter, [Here, and at every break iu the line, Crispinus repeats aloud the words of Gallus.] Of his licentious good- ness, frilling to make this feast no fast From any manner of pleasure ; N'pr to hind any god or goddess To 'be any thing the more god or goddess, for their names : He gives them all free license To speak no wiser than persons of baser titles ; And to be nothing better, than common men, or women. And therefore no god Shall need to keep himself more strictly to his goddess Than any man does to his wife: Nor any goddess Shall need to keep herself more strictly to her god Than any woman does to her husband. But, since it is no part of wisdom, In these days, to come into bonds ; It shall be lawful for every lover To break loving oaths, To change their lovers, and make love to others, As the heat of every one' s blood, And the spirit of our nectar, shall inspire. And Jupiter save Jupiter ! Tib. So; now we may play the fools by authority. Her. To play the fool by authority is wisdom. Jul. Away with your mattery sentences, Momus ; they are too grave and wise for this meeting. Ovid. Mercury, give our jester a stool, let Mm sit by ; and reach him one of our cates. Tuc. Dost hear, mad Jupiter ? we'll have it enacted, he that speaks the first wise word, shall be made cuckold. What say'st thou ? Is it not a good motion ? Ovid. Deities, are you all agreed ? All. Agreed, great Jupiter. Alb. 1 have read in a book, that to play the fool wisely, is high wisdom. Gal. How now, Vulcan I will you be the first wizard ? Ovid. Take his wife. Mars, and make him cuckold quickly. Tuc. Come, cockatrice. Chloe. No, let me alone with him, Jupiter : I'll make you take heed, sir, while you live again ; if there be twelve in a company, that you be not the wisest of 'em. . Alb. No more ; I vrill not indeed, wife, here- after ; I'll be here : mum. Ovid. Fill us a bowl of nectar, Ganymede : we will drink to our daughter Venus. > Gal. Look to your wife, Vulcan : Jupiter be- gins to court her. Tib. Nay, let Mars look to it : Vulcan must do as Venus does, bear. Tuc. Sirrah, boy ; catamite : Look you play Ganymede well now, you slave. Do not spill your nectar ; carry your cup even : so ! You should have rubbed your face with whites of eggs, you rascal ; till your brows had shone like our sooty brother's here, as sleek as a horn-book : or have steept your lips in wine, till you made them so plump, that Juno might have been jealous of them. Punk, kiss me, punk. Ovid. Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee. Chloe. Thank you, good father Jupiter. Tmc. Why, mother Juno I gods and fiends ! what, wUt thou suffer this ocular temptation ? Tib. Mars is enraged, he looks big, and begins to stut for anger. Her. Well played, captain Mars. Tuc. Well said, minstrel Momus : T must put you in, must I ? when will you be in good fooling of yourself, fidler, never ? Her. O, 'tis our fashion to be silent, when there is a better fool in place ever. Tuc. Thank you, rascal. Ovid. Fill to our daughter Venus, Ganymede, who fills her father with affection. Jul. Wilt thou be ranging, Jupiter, before my face ? Ovid. Why not, Juno? why should Jupiter stand in awe of thy face, Juno ? Jul. Because it is thy wife's face, Jupiter. Ovid. What, shall a husband be afraid of his wife's face ? will she paint it so horribly ? we are a king, cotquean ; and we will reign in our plea- sures ; and we will cudgel thee to death, if thou find fault with us. Jul. I will find fault vrith thee, king cuckold- maker : What, shall the king of gods turn the king of good-feUows, and have no fellow in wickedness ? This makes our poets, that know our profaneness, live as profane as we : By my godhead, Jupiter, I will join wi& all the other gods here, bind thee THE POETASTER. 123 hand and foot, throw thee down into the earth and make a poor poeCof thee, if thou abuse me thus. Gal. A good smart-tongued goddess, a right Juno ! Ovid. Juno, we will cudgel thee, Juno : we told thee so yesterday, when thou wert jealous of us for Thetis. Pyr. Nay, to-day she had me in inquisition too. Tttc. Well said, my fine Phrygian fry ; inform, inform. Give me some wine, king of heralds, I may drink to my cockatrice. Ovid. No more, Ganymede ; we will cudgel thee, Juno ; by Styx we will. Jul. Ay, 'tis weE ; gods may grow impudent in iaiquity, and they must not be told of it Ovid. Yea, we will knock our chin against our breast, and shake thee out of Olympus into an oyster-boat, for thy scolding. Jill. Your nose is not long enough to do it, Jupiter, if all thy strumpets &ou hast among the stars took thy part. And there is never a star in thy forehead but shall be a horn, if thou persist to abuse me. Cris. A good jest, i'faith. Ovid. We tell thee thou angerest us, cotquean ; and we will thunder thee in pieces for thy cot- queanity. Cris. Another good jest. Alb. O, my hammers and my Cyclops ! This boy fills not wine enough to make us kind enough to one another. Tuc. Nor thou hast not collied thy face enough, stinkard. Alb. m ply the table with nectar, and make them friends. £ter. Heaven is like to have but a lame skinker, then. Alb. Wine and good livers make true lovers : I'U sentence them together. Here, father, here, mother, for shame, drink yourselves drunk, and forget this dissension; you two should cling together before our faces, and give us example of unity. Gal. O, excellently spoken, Vulcan, on the sudden ! Tib. Jupiter may do well to prefer his tongue to some office for his eloquence. Tuc. His tongue shall be gentleman-usher to his wit, and still go before it. Alb. An excellent fit office ! Cris. Ay, and an excellent good jest besides. Her. What, have you hired Mercury to cry your jests you make .' Ovid. MomuE, you are envious. Tuc. Why, ay, you whoreson blockhead, 'tis your only block of wit in fashion now-a-days, to applaud other folks' jests. Her. True ; with those that are not artificers themselves. Vulcan, you nod, and the mirth of the jest droops. Pi/r. He has filled nectar so long, tUl his brain swims in it. Gal. What, do we nod, feUow-gods! Sound music, and let us startle our spirits with a song. Tuc. Do, Apollo, thou art a good musician. Gal. What says Jupiter ? Ovid. Ha ! ha ! Gal. A song. Ovid. Why, do, do, sing. Pla. Bacchus, what say you ? Tib. Ceres? Pla. But, to this song ? Tib. Sing, for my part. Jul. Your belly weighs down your head, Bac- chus ; here's a song toward. Tib. Begin; Vulcan. Alb. What else, what else ? Tuc. Say, Jupiter Ovid. Mercury Cm. Ay, say, say. IMuHc. Alb. Wake ! our mirth begins to die ; Quicken it with tunes and wine. Raise your notes ; you're out ; fie, fie ! This drowsiness is an ill sign. We banish him the quire of gods, That droops agen s Then all are men, For here's not one but nods. Ovid. I like not this sudden and general heavi- ness amongst our godheads ; 'tis somewhat omi- nous. Apollo, command us louder music, and let Mercury and Momus contend to please and re- vive our senses. IMuiic. Herm. Cris. Ambo. Herm. Cris. Herm. Cris. Ambo. Then, in a free and lofty strain. Our broken tunes we thus repair ; And we answer them again. Running division on the panting air ; To celebrate this feast of sense. As free from scandal as offence. Here is beauty for the eye j For the ear sweet melody. Ambrosiac odours, for the smell ; Delicious nectar, for the taste ; For the touch, a lady's waist ; Which doth all the rest excel. Ovid. Ay, this has waked us. Mercury, our herald ; go from ourself, the great god Jupiter, to the great emperor Augustus Csesar, and command him from us, of whose bounty he hath received the simame of Augustus, that, for a thank-offering to our beneficence, he presently sacrifice, as a dish to this banquet, his beautiful and wanton daughter Julia : she's a curst quean, tell him, and plays the scold behind his back ; therefore let her be sacri- ficed. Command him this. Mercury', in our high name of Jupiter Altitouans. Jul. Stay, feather-footed Mercury, and tell Au- gustus, from us, the great Juno Saturnia ; if he think it hard to do as Jupiter hath commanded him, and sacrifice his daughter, that he had better do so tsa times, than suffer her to love the well- nosed poet, Ovid ; whom he shall do well to whip, or cause to be whipped, about the capitol, for soothing her in her follies. Enter Augustus C^sar, MECiENAs, Hobacb, Lupus, UisTBio, Minus, a-nd Liotors. Ctss. What sight is this ? Mecaenas ! Horace ! Have we our Senses ? do we hear and see .' [say.' Or are these but imaginary objects Drawn by our phantasy ! Why speak you not? Let us do sacrifice. Are they the gods ? [Ovid and the rest kneel. Reverence, amaze, and fury fight in me. What, do they kneel 1 Nay, then I see 'tis true I thought impossible : O, impious sight! Let me divert mine eyes ; the very thought Everts my soul with passion : Look not, man, 124 THE POETASTER. There is a panther, whose unnatural eyes Win strike thee dead : turn, then, and die on her With her own death. [Offers to kin his daughter. Mee. Hor, What means imperial Csesar ? CiBS. What would you have me let the strumpet That, for this pageant, earns so many deaths ? [live Tuc. Boy, slink, boy. Pyr. Pray Jupiter we he not followed by the scent, master, [Exeunt Tucca and Pyhgus. CtBs. Say, sir, what are you ? Alb. I play Vulcan, sir. CcES. But what are you, sir? Alb. Your citizen and jeweller, sir. Cies. And what are you, dame ? Chloe. I play Venus, forsooth. C(BS. I ask not what you play, but what you are. Chloe. Your citizen and jeweller's wife, sir. Ctes. And you, good sir .' Cris. Your gentleman parcel-poet, sir. [Exit. Cos. O, that profaned name ! — And are these seemly company for thee, [To Julia. Degenerate monster ? AU the rest I know, And hate all knowledge for their hateful sakes. Are, you, that first the deities inspired With skill of their high natures and their powers. The first abusers of their useful light ; Profaning thus their dignities in their forms, And making them, like you, but counterfeits ? O, who shall foUow Virtue and embrace her. When her false bosom is found nought but air ? And yet of those embraces centaurs spring, That V7ar with human peace, and poison men. — • Who shall, with greater comforts comprehend Her unseen beiug and her excellence ; When you, that teach, and should eternize her, Live as she were no law unto your lives, Nor lived herself, but with your idle breaths ? If you think gods but feign' d, and virtue painted. Know we sustain an actual residence, And with the title of an emperor. Retain his spirit and imperial power ; By which, in imposition too remiss, Licentious Naso, for thy violent wrong. In soothing the declined affections Of our base daughter, we exile thy feet From all approach to our imperial court. On pain of death ; and thy misgotten love Commit to patronage of iron doors ; Since her soft-hearted sire cannot contain her. Mec. O, good my lord, forgive ! be like the gods. Hor. 'Let royal boianty, Caesar, mediate. Cas. There is no bounty to be shew'd to such As have no real goodness : bounty is . A spice of virtue ; and what virtuous act Can take effect on them, that have no power Of equal habitude to apprehend it, But live in worship of that idol, vice. As if there were no virtue, but in shade Of strong imagination, merely enforced ? This shews their knowledge is mere ignorance, Their far-fetch' d dignity of soul a fancy. And all their square pretext of gravity A mere vain-glory ; hence, away with them ! I will prefer for knowledge, none but such As rule their lives by it, and can becalm All sea of Humour with the marble trident Of their strong spirits : others fight below Vith gnats and shadows ; others nothing know. [Exeunt. SCENE Y.—A Street before the Palace. Enter Tdcca, Grispinus, and Pyrgus. Tuo. What's become of my little punk, Venus, and the poult-foot stinkard, her husband, ha ? Cris. O, they are rid home in the coach, as fast as the wheels can run. Tuc. God Jupiter is banished, I hear, and his cockatrice Juno lock'd up. 'Heart, an all the poetry in Parnassus get me to be a player again, I'll sell 'em my share for a sesterce. But this is Humours, Horace, that goat-footed envious slave ; he's tum'd fawn now ; an informer, the rogue 1 'tis he has betray'd us all. Did you not see him with the emperor crouching ? Cris. Yes. Tuc. Well, follow me. Thou shalt libel, and I'll cudgel the rascal. Boy, provide me a trun- cheon. Revenge shall gratulate him, tarn, Marti, quam Mercuric. Pyr. Ay, bnt master, take heed how you give this out ; Horace is a man of the sword. Cris. 'Tis true, in troth ; they say he's valiant. Tzic. Valiant? so is mine a — . Gods and fiends ! I'll blow him into air when I meet him next : he dares not fight with a puck-fist. [Horace passes over the stage. Pyr. Master, he comes ! Tue. Where ? Jupiter save thee, my good poet, my noble prophet, my little fat Horace. — I scorn to beat the rogue in the court ; and I saluted him thus fair, because he should suspect nothing, the rascal. Come, we'll go see how far forward our journeyman is toward the untrussing of him. Cris. Do you hear, captain ? I'll write nothing in it but innocence, because I may swear I am innocent. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Entffr Horace, Mbc^nas, Lupus, Histbio, and Lictora. Hor. Nay, why pursue you not the emperor for your reward now. Lupus ? Mec. Stay, Asinius ; You and your stager, and your band of lictors : I hope your service merits more respect. Than thus, without a thanks, to be sent hence. His. Well, well, jest on, jest on. Hor. Thou base, unworthy groom ! Lup. Ay, ay, 'tis good. [plot, Hor. Was this the treason, this the dangerous Thy clamorous tongue so bellow'd through the Hadst thou no other project to encrease [court ? Thy grace with Caesar, but this wolfish train. To prey upon the life of innocent mirth And harmless pleasures, bred of noble wit ? Away ! I loath thy presence s such as thou. They are the moths and scarabs of a state. The bane of empires, and the dregs of courts ; Who, to endear themselves to an employment, Care not whose fame they blast, whose life they en- And, under a disgvdsed and cobweb mask [danger ; Of love unto their sovereign, vomit forth Their own prodigious malice ; and pretending To be the props and columns of their safety. The guards unto his person and his peace. Disturb it most, with their false, lapwing-cries. Lup. Good! Csesar shall know of this, believe it. Mec. Caesar doth know it, wolf, and to his knowledge, SCKNE VII. THE POETASTER. 126 He will, I liope, reward your base endeavours. Princes that will but hear, or give access To such officious spies, can ne'er be safe : They take in poison with an open ear, And, free from danger, become slaves to fear. lExeunt. SCENE VII An open Space before the Palace. Enter Ovid. Banish'd the court '. Let me be banish'd life, Since the chief end of life is there concluded : Within the court is all the kingdom bounded, And as her sacred sphere doth comprehend Ten thousand times so much, as so much place In any part of all the empire else; So every body, moving in her sphere, Contains ten thousand times as much in him, As any other her choice orb excludes. As in a circle, a magician then Is safe against the spirit he excites ; But, out of it, is subject to his rage, And loseth all the virtue of his art : So I, exiled the circle of the court, Lose all the good gifts that in it I 'joy'd. No virtue current is, but with her stamp, And no vice vicious, blanch'd with her white hand. The court's the abstract of all Rome's desert, And my dear Julia the abstract of the coiirt. Methinks, now I come near her, I respire Some air of that late comfort I received ; And while the evening, with her modest veil, Gives leave to such poor shadows as myself To steal abroad, I, like a heartless ghost. Without the living body of my love, Will here walk and attend her : for I know Not far from hence she is imprisoned. And hopes, of her strict guardian, to bribe So much admittance, as to speak to me, And cheer my fainting spirits with her breath. Julia, [appears above at her chamber window.^ Ovid ? my love ? Ovid. Here, heavenly Julia. [doth play Jul. Here ! and not here ! O, how that word With both our fortunes, differing, like ourselves, Both one ; and yet divided, as opposed ! I high, thou low : O, this our plight of place Doubly presents the two lets of our love, Local and ceremonial height, and lowness : Both ways, I am too high, and thou too low. Our minds are even yet; O, why should our bodies. That are their slaves, be so without their rule ? I'U cast myself down to thee ; if I die, I'll ever live with thee : no height of birth, Of place, of duty, or of cruel power. Shall keep me from thee ; should my father lock This body up within a tomb of brass, Yet I'll be with thee. If the forms I hold Now in my soul, be made one substance with it ; That soul immortal, and the same 'tis now ; Death cannot raze the affects she now retaineth : And then, may she be any where she will. The souls of parents rule not children's souls. When death sets both in their dissolv'd estates ; Then is no child nor father ; then eternity Frees all from any temporal respect. I come, my Ovid ; take me in thine arms. And let me breathe my soul into thy breast. Ovid. O stay, my love ; the hopes thou dost con- Of thy quick death, and of thy future life, [ceive Are not anthenticaL Thou choosest death, So thou might'st 'joy thy love in the other life : But know, my princely love, when thou art dead, Thou only must survive in perfect soul ; And in the soul are no affections. We pour out our affections with our blood, And, with our blood's affections, fade our loves. No life hath love in such sweet state as this ; No essence is so dear to moody sense As flesh and blood, whose quintessence is sense. Beauty, composed of blood and flesh, moves more, And is more plausible to blood and flesh, Than spiritual beauty can be to the spirit. Such apprehension as we have in dreams, When, sleep, the bond of senses, locks them up. Such shall we have, when death destroys them quite. If love be then thy object, change not life ; Live high and happy still : I still below, Close with my fortunes, in thy height shall joy. Jul. Ay me, that virtue, whose brave eagle's wings. With every stroke blow stars in burning heaven, Should, like a swallow, preying towards storms, Fly close to earth, and with an eager plume. Pursue those objects which none else can see, But seem to all the world the empty air ! Thus thou, poor Ovid, and all virtuous men, Must prey, like swallows, on invisible food. Pursuing flies, or nothing : and thus love, And every worldly fancy, is transposed By worldly tyranny to what plight it list. father, since thou gav'st me not my mind. Strive not to rule it ; take but what thou gav'st To thy disposure : thy affections Rule not in me ; I must bear all my griefs, Let me use all my pleasures ; virtuous love Was never scandal to a goddess' state. — But he's inflexible 1 and, my dear love. Thy life may chance be shorten'd by the length Of my unwilling speeches to depart. Farewell, sweet life ; though thou be yet exiled The officious court, enjoy me amply stiU : My soul, in this my breath, enters thine ears, And on this turret's floor will I lie dead. Till we may meet again : In this proud height, 1 kneel beneath thee in my prostrate love, And Idss the happy sands that kiss thy feet. Great Jove submits a sceptre to a cell, And lovers, ere they part, wiE meet in hell. Ovid. Farewell all company, and, if I could. All light with thee 1 hell's shade should hide my brows. Till thy dear beauty's beams redeemed my vows. Jul. Ovid, my love ; alas ! may we not stay A little longer, think'st thou, undiscem'd? Ovid. For thine own good, fair goddess, do not Who would engage a firmament of fires [stay. Shining in thee, for me, a falling star ? Be gone, sweet life-blood ; if I should discern Thyself but touch'd for my sake, I should die. Jul. I wUl begone, then ; and not heaven itself Shall draw me back. iBoing. Ovid. Yet, Julia, if thou wilt, A little longer stay. Jul. I am content. Ovid. O, mighty Ovid I what the sway of heaven Could not retire, my breath hath turned back. Jul. Who shall go first, my love? my passionate Will not endure to see thee turn from me. [eyes 126 THE POETASTER. Ovid. If thou go first, my soul will follow thee. Jul. Then we must stay. Ovid. Ay me, there is no stay In amorous pleasures ; if both stay, both die. I hear thy father j hence, my deity. [Julia retires from the windotB. Fear forgeth sounds in my deluded ears ; I did not hear him ; I am mad with love. There is no spirit under heaven, that works With such Illusion ; yet such witchcraft kill me, Ere a sound mind, without it, save my life ! Here, on my knees, I worship the West place That held my goddess ; and the loving air. That closed her body in his silken arms. Vain Ovid ! kneel not to the place, nor air ; She's in thy heart ; rise then, and worship there. The truest wisdom silly men can have, Is dotage on the follies of their flesh. [_Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace. Enter CfflSAB, Mecj-itas, Gallus, Tibullus, Horace, and Equites Romanl. C A critic, thai all the world bescumbers With satirical humours and lyrical num\rs : Tuc. Art thou there, boy ? And for the most part, himself doth advance With much self-love, and more arrogance. Ttic. Good again ! And, but that I would not be thought a prater, I could tell you he were a translator. I know the authors from whence he has stole. And could trace him too, but that I understand them not full and whole. Tuc. That line is broke loose from all his fel- lows : chain him up shorter, do. The best note I can give you to know him by, Is, that he keeps gallants' company ; Whom X could wish, in time should him fear. Lest after they buy repentance too dear. Deme. FanNius. Tuc. WeU said I This carries palm with it. Hor. And why, thou motley gull, why should they fear ? When hast thou known us wrong or tax a friend .' I dare thy malice to betray it. Speak. Now thou curl'st up, thou poor and nasty snake, And shrink'st thy poisonous head into thy bosom : Out, viper ! thou that eat'st thy parents, hence 1 Rather, such speckled creatures, as thyself. Should be eschew'd, and shunn'd ; such as will bite Andgnaw their absent friends, not cure their fame ; Catch at the loosest laughters, and affect To be thought jesters ; such as can devise Things never seen, or heard, t'impair men's names. And gratify their credulous adversaries ; WiU carry tales, do basest offices, Cherish divided fires, and still encrease New flames, out of old embers ; will reveal Each secret that's committed to their trust : These be black slaves ; Romans, take heed of these. Tue. Thou twang'st right, little Horace : they be indeed a couple of chap-tall'n curs. Come, we of the bench, let's rise to the urn, and con- demn them quickly. Virg. Before you go together, worthy Romans, We are to tender our opinion ; And give you those instructions, that may add Unto your even judgment in the cause : Which thus we do commence. First, you must know, That where there is a true and perfect merit, There can be no dejection ; and the scorn Of humble baseness, oftentimes so works In a high soul, upon the grosser spliit, That to his bleared and offended sense. There seems a hideous fault blazed in the object ; When only the disease is in his eyes. Here-hence it comes our Horace now stands tax'd Of impudence, self-love, and arrogance. By those who share no merit in themselves ; And therefore think his portion is as small. For they, from their own guilt, assure their souls, If they should confidently praise their works, In them it would appear inflation : Which, in a full and well digested man. Cannot receive that foul abusive name. But the fair title of erection. And, for his true use of translating men. It still hath been a work of as much palm. In clearest judgments, as to invent or make. 9CENB I. TH^ POETASTER. 131 His sharpness, — that is most ezcusahle ; As heing forced out of a sufiFeiing -virtue, Oppressed with the license of the time : And howsoever fools or jerking pedants, Players, or such like buffoon barking wits, May with their beggaiiy and barren trash Tickle base vulgar ears, in their despite ; This, like Jove's thunder, shall their pride control, " The honest satire hath the happiest soul." Now, Romans, you have heard our thoughts ; withdraw when you please. Tib. Remove the accused from the bar. Tiic. Who holds the urn to us, ha ? Fear no- thing, I'll quit you, mine honest pitiful stinkards ; I'll do't. Cris. Captain, you shall eternally girt me to you, as I am generous. Tue. Go to. • CtBs. Tibullus, let there be a case of vizards privately provided; we have found a subject to bestow them on. Tib. It shall be done, Ceesar. Cies. Here be words, Horace, able to bastinado a man's ears. Hor. Ay. Please it, great Csesar, I have pills about me, Milt with the whitest kind of hellebore, Would give him a light vomit, that should purge His brain and stomach of those tumorous heats : Might I have leave to minister unto him. CtBs. O, be his ^sculapius, gentle Horace ! You shaU have leave, and he shall be your patient. Virgil, Use your authority, command him forth. Virg. Ctesar is careful of your health, Crbpinus ; And hath himself chose a physician To minister unto you : take his pills. Hor. They are somewhat bitter, sir, but very wholesome. Take yet another ; so : stand by, they'll work anon. Tib. Romans, return to your several seats : lie- tors, bring forward the urn ; and set the accused to the bar. Tiic. Quickly, you whoreson egregious varlets ; come forward. What ! shall we sit all day upon you .' You make no more haste now, than a beggar upon pattens ; or a physician to a patient that has no money, you pilchers. Tib. Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demeirius Fannius, hold up your hands. You have, accord- ing to the Soman custom, put yourselves upon trial to the urn, for divers and sundry calumnies, whereof you have, before this time, been indicted, and are now presently arraigned s prepare your- selves to hearken to the verdict of your tryers. Caius Cilnias MecS 'i - &- V -Drusus junior. Caligula. Lucius Arruntius. Caius Silius. Tmos Sabikus. Marcos Lepidus. CBEMurrus Cordus, AsiNius Gallus. Rbgulus. TERBNTtDS. Gracenus I^ca EUDEMUS. /t-*J , ■"■' counsels, his means, his ends, sounds the affections of the senators, divides, distracts them : at last, when Sqa- nus least looketh, and is most secure; with pretext of doing him an unwonted honour in the senate, he trains him from his guards, and with a long doubtful letter, in one day hath him suspected, accused, condemned, and torn in pieces by the rage of the people. DRAMATIS PERSONJE. J 7 J, P RUFOS. Opsius. i- , ,."■>, Sejanus.'>' liATlABlS. Tribuni. Vakro. Prtxcones. Sertorids Macbo. Flamen. COTTA. • TvMdnes. DoMiTius Afbb. Huntiut. HATERroS. Lictores. SANftUINIOS. Minutri. POWPONIUS. Tibicines. Julius Posthumds. Servi, SfC. FuLcrmus Trio. MiNUTlUS. Agrippika Satrius Secundos.* LiVIA. PiNNABIUS NATTA. tl'- SOSIA. SCENE, — Rome. ACT I. SCENE I. — A State Room in the Palace. Enter Sabinus and Sumjs, followed by Latiaris. Sah. Hail, Cams' Silius! Sil. Titlus Sabinus," hail! You're rarely met in conrt Sab. Therefore, well met. [sphere. Sil. 'Tis true : indeed, this place is not our Sab, No, Silius, we are no good inginers. We want their fine arts, and their thriving use. Should make us graced, or favoiir'd of the times : We have no shift of faces, no cleft tongues, No soft and glutinous bodies, that can stick. Like snails on painted walls ; or, on our breasts. Creep up, to fall from that proud height, to which We did by slavery,^ not by service clunb. We are no guilty men, and then no great ; We have no place in court, office in state. That we can say, * we owe unto our crimes : We bum with no black secrets,* which can make Us dear to the pale authors ; or live fear'd Of their still waking jealousies, to raise Ourselves a fortune, by subverting theirs. We stand not in the lines, that do advance To that so courted point. Enter Satrtus and Natta, at a distance. Sil. But yonder lean A pair that do. Sab. [salutes Latiaris.] Good cousin Latia- ris. ' 1 De Caio Sillo, vid. Tacit. Lips. edit, quarto ; Ann. Jjib. i. p. 11, Lib. ii. p. 28 et 33. ' De Titio Sabino, vid. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. ' TaciETtoaJiib. J. p. 2. * Juv. Sat. i. v."7a / * Juv. Sat. iii. v. 49, &c. / ' De Latiari, cons. Ta^ilf Aui). Lib. iv. p. 94, et Dion. Step. edit. fol. Lib. Iviii. J,ill. Sil. Satrius Secundus,' and Pinnarins Natta,' The great Sejanus' clients : there be two. Know more than honest counsels ; whose close breasts; Were they ripp'd up to light, it would be found A poor and idle sin, to which their trunks Had not been made fit organs. These can lie, Flatter, and swear, forswear, depj'ave,' inform. Smile, and betray ; make guilty men ; then heg The forfeit lives, to get their livings ; cut Men's throats with whisperings; sell to gaping suitors The empty smoke, that flies about the palace ; Laugh when their patron laughs ; sweat when he Be hot and cold with him ; • change every mood. Habit, and garb, as often as he varies ; Observe him, as his watch observes his clock ; And, true, as turquoise in the dear lord's ring, Look well or ill with him : '° ready to praise His lordship, if he spit, or but p — fair. Have an indifferent stool, or break wind well ; Nothing can 'scape their catch. Sab. Alas ! these things Deserve no note, conferr'd with other vile And filthier flatteries,^' that corrupt the times ; When, not alone our gentries chief are fain To make their safety from such sordid acts ; But all our consuls, '^ and no little part Of such as have been prsetors, yea, the most Of senators,'' that else not use their voices, ' De Satrio Secundo, et 8 Pinnarlo Natta, leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. Et de Satrio cons. Senec. Consol. ad Marciam.' ' Vid. Sen. de Bencf. Lib. iii. cap. 26. '" Juv. Sat. iiL ver. 105, &c. " Vid. Tacit. Ana. Lib. i. p. 3. " Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 69. 13 Pedarii. SEJANUS. 139 Start np in public senate and there strive Who shall propound most abject things, and base. So much, as olt Tiberius hath been heard, Leaving the court, to cry.i O race of men, Prepared for servitude !— which shew'd that he, Who least the public liberty could like, As lothly brook' d their flat servility. Sil, Well, all is worthy of us, were it more, Who with our riots, pride, and civil hate, Have so provok'd the justice of the gods : We, that, within these fourscore years, were bom Free, equal lords of the triiimphed world, And knew no mastersj^'ut affectionsj* To which betraying first our libertieSf We since became die slaves to one man's lusts ; And now to many : ' every minist'ring spy That will accuse and swear, is lord of you, Of me, of all our fortunes and our lives. Our looks are call'd to question,' and our words. How innocent soever, are made crimes ; We shall not shortly dare to tell our dreams. Or think, but 'twill be treason. Sab. Tyrants arts Are to give flatterers grace ; accusers, power ; That those may seem to kill whom they devour. Enter Cordcs and AiutmrnDS. Now, good Cremutius Cordus. * Cor. Isalutes Sabinus.] Hail to your lordship 1 Nat. [whispers Latiaris.] Who's that salutes your cousin ? Lat. 'Tis one Cordus, A gentleman of fiome : one that has writ Annals of late, they say, and very well. l^at. Annals 1 of what times ? Lat. I think of Pompey's,' And Caius Csesar's ; and so down to these. . Nat. How stands he affected to the present state .' Is he or i)rusian,° or Germanican, Or ours, or neutral ? Lat. I know him not so far. Nat. Those times are somewhat queasy to be touch'd. Have you or seen, or heard part of his work .' Lat. Not I ; he means they shall be public shortly. Nat. O, Cordus do you call him ? Lat. Ay. lExeuni Natta and Satwus. Sab. But these our times Are not the same, Arruntius.^ jirr. Times ! lie men, The men are not the same : 'tis we are base, Poor, and degenerate from the exalted strain • Of our great fathers. Where is now the soul Of god-Uke Cato ? he, that durst be good, When Caesar durst be evil ; and had power, As not to live his slave, to die his master ? > Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 69. ' Lege Tacit. Ann. Lib. 1. p. 24. de Romano, Hispano, et cateris, ibid, et Lib. iii. Ann. p. 61 et 62. Jut. Sat. x. T. 87. Suet. Tib. cap. 61. » Vid. Tacit. Ann. i. p. 4, et Lib. iii. p. 62. Suet. Tib. cap. 61. Senec. de Benef. Lib. iii. cap. 26. * De Crem. Cordo, vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83, 84. Senec. Cons, ad Marciam. Bio. Lib. Ivii. p. 710. Suet. Aug. c. 35. Tib. 0. 61. CaL c. 16. ^ Suet. Aug. cap. 35. • Tid. de faction. Tacit. Ann. Lib.ii. p. 39. etLib. iv. p.79. ^DeLu. Arrun. isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 6. et Lib. iii. p. 60. et Dion. Bom. Hist. Lib. 5S. Or Where's the constant Brutus, that being proof Against all charm of beneiits, did strike . So brave a blow into the monster's heart That sought unkindly to captive his country ? O, they are fled the light ! Those mighty spirits Lie raked up with their ashes in their urns, And not a spark of their eternal fire Glows in a present bosom. All's but blaze, • Flashes and smoke, wherewith we labour so, There's nothing Koman in us ; nothing good, Gallant, or great : 'tis true that Cordus says, " Brave Cassius was the last of all that race." Dausus passes over the stage, attended by Haterius, ^e. Sab. Stand by 1 lord Drusus.' Hat. The emperor's son ! give place. Sil. T like the prince well. Arr, A riotous youth ;' There's little hope of him. Sab. That fault his age Will, as it grows, correct. Metbinks he bears Himself each day more nobly than other ; And wins no less on men's affections, Than doth his fathrr lose. Believe me, I love him ; And chiefly for opposing to Sejanus.'" Sil. And I, for gracing his young kinsmen so," The sons'2 of prince Germanicus :'^ it shews A gallant clearness in him, a straight mind. That envies not, in them, their father's name. Arr. His name was, while he lived, above all envy f And, being dead, without it. O, that roan t If there were seeds of the old virtue left, They lived in him. Sil. He had the fruits, Arruntius, More than the seeds :'* Sabinus, and myself [him. Had means to know him within ; and can report We were his followers, he would call us friends ; He was a man most like to virtue ; in all, And every action, nearer to the gods. Than men, in nature ; of a body as &xr As was bis mind ; and no less reverend In face, than fame :" he could so use his state. Tempering his greatness with his gravity, As it avoided all self-love in him, And spite in others. What his ftmerals lack'd In images and pomp, they had supplied With honourable sorrow, soldiers' sadness, A kind of silent mourning, such, as men, Who know no tears, but from their captives, use To shew in so great losses. Cor. I thought once, Considering their forms, age, manner of deaths, The nearness of the places where they feU, To have parallel'd him with great Alexander : For both were of best feature, of high race, Year'd but to thirty, and, in foreign lands. By their own people alike made away. 8 Lege de Druso Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 9. Suet. Tib. a 52. Die. Bom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 699. » Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 62. i» Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. >i Ann. Lib. iv. p. 7!^. 76. '2 Nero, Drusus, Caius, qui in castris genitus, et Caligula nominatus. Tacit. Ann. Lib. 1. 13 De Germanico Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 14. et Dion. Bom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 694. 1* Tid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. Iv. p. 79. IS Tacit. Ann. Lib. iL p. 47, et Dion. Bom. Hist. Lib. iTJi. p. 70S. 140 SEJANUS. -SoJ. I know not, for his death, how you might wrest it : But, for his life, it did as much disdain Comparison, with that voluptuous, rash, Giddy, and drunken Macedon's, as mine Doth with my bondman's. All the good in him. His valour and his fortune, he made his ; But he had other touches of late Romans, That more did speak.him :' Pompey's dignity. The innocence of Cato, Csesar's spirit. Wise Brutus' temperance ; and every virtue. Which, parted unto others, gave them name, Flow'd mix'd in him. He was the soul of good- ness ; And all our praises of him are like streams Drawn from a spring, that still rise full, and leave The part remaining greatest. Arr. I am sure He was too great for us,' and that they knew Who did remove him hence. Sab. When men grow fast Honour'd and loved, there is a trick in state, Which jealous princes never fail to use, How to decline that growth, with fair pretext. And honourable colours of employment. Either by embassy, the war, or such, To shift them forth into another air. Where they may purge and lessEb ; so was he ■? And had his seconds there, sent by Tiberius, And his more subtile dam, to discontent him ; To breed and cherish mutinies ; detract His greatest actions ; give audacious check To his commands ; and work to put him out In open act of treason. Ail which snares When his wise cares prevented,* a fine poison Was thought on, to mature their practices. BnUr SjsjAjfOS taVcingto Tbrentius, followed dy Sateids, Natta, 4-c. Cor. Here comes Sejanus.' Sil. Now observe the stoops, The bendings, and the falls. Arr. Most creeping base ! Sej. [to Natta.] I note them weU : no more. Say you .' Sat. My lord. There is a gentleman of Rome would buy Sej. How call you him you talk'd with ? Sat. Please your lordship. It is Eudemus,* the physician To Livia, Drusus' wife. Sej. On with your suit. Would buy, you said Sat. A tribune's place, my lord.. Sej. What will he give ? SatJ Fifty sestertia.' ^ 1 Vid. apud Veil. Paterc. Xips. 4to. p. S5 — 47, istorum hommum characteres. 2 Vid. Tacit. Lib. ii. Ann. p. 28 et p. 34. Dio. Eom. Hist Lib. l™. p. 705. 3 Con. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 39. de occulils mandatis Pisoni, et posteap. 42, 43, 48. Orat. D. Celeris. Est Tibi Augustas conscientia, est Cxsaris favor, sed in occulto, &o. Leg. Suet. Tib. o. 52. Dio. p. 706. * Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 46, 47. Lib. iii. p. 54. et Suet. Cal. o. Iet2. * De Sejajio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 9. Lib. iv. princip. et per tot. Suet. Tib. Dio. Lib. Ivii. Iviii. et Plin. et Senec. fi De Eudemo isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. ' Monet£ nostrx 375 lib. vid. Budsum de asae. Lib. ii. p. 61, Sej. Livia's physician, say you, is that fellow ? Sat. It is, my lord : Your lordship's answer. Sej. To what ? Sat. The place, my lord. 'Tis for a gentleman Your lordship will well Uke of, when you see him ; And one, that you may make yours, by the grant. Sej. Well, let him bring his money, and his name. Sat. 'Thank your lordship. He shall, my lord. Sej. Come hither. Know you this same Eudemus ? is he learn'd ? Sat. Reputed so, my lord, and of deep practice. Sej. Bring him in, to me, in the gallery ; And take you cause to leave us there together : I would confer with him, about a grief On. [Exeunt Sejanus, Satmhs, TEBEimns, ifc. Arr. So ! yet another .' yet ? O desperate state Of groveling honour ! seest thou this, O sun, And do we see thee after ? Methiaks, day Should lose his light, when men do lose their And for the empty circumstance of life. Betray their cause of living. Sil. Nothing so.* Sejanus can repair, if Jove should ruin. He is now the court god ; and well applied With sacrifice of knees, of crooks, and cringes ; He will do more than all the house of heaven Can, for a thousand hecatombs. 'Tis he Makes us our day, or night ; hell, and elysium Are in his look : we talk of Rhadamanth, Furies, and firebrands ; but it is his frown That is all these ; where, on the adverse part, His smile is more, than e'er yet poets feign'd Of bliss, and shades, nectar Arr. A serving boy ! I knew him, at Caius' trencher,' when for hire He prostituted his abused body To that great gormond, fat Apicius ; And was the noted pathic of the time. Sab. And, now,'" the second face of the whole world ! The partner of the empire, hath his image Rear'd equal with Tiberius, bom in ensigns ; Commands, disposes every dignity. Centurions, tribunes, heads of provinces, Prsetors and consuls ; ail that heretofore Rome's general suffrage gave, is now his sale. The gain, or rather spoil, of all the earth, One, and his house, receives. Sil. He hath of late Made him a strength too, strangely, by reducing All the prstoriau bands into one camp. Which he commands : pretending that the soldiers, By living loose and scatter'd, fell to riot ; And that if any sudden enteiprize Should be attempted, their united strength Would be far more than sever' d ; and their life More strict, if from the city more removed. Sab. Where, now, he builds what kind of forts he please, Is heard to court the soldier by his name, Woos, feasts the chiefest men of action. Whose wants, not loves, compel them to be his. B De ingenio, znoribus, et potentia Sejani, leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. ' Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 708. ° Caius divl Augusti nepos. Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74, et Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 706. •» Juv. Sat. X. v. 63, &c Tacit, ibid. Dion. ibid, et sic passim. SCKNE II. SEJANUS. UI And though he ne'er were liberal by kind, Yet to his own dark ends, he's most profuse. Lavish, and letting fly, he cares not what To his ambitioiu Arr. Yet, hath he ambition ! Is there that step in state can make him higher, Or more, or anything he is, bnt less ? Sil. Nothing but emperor. Arr. The name Tiberius, I hope, will keep, howe'er he hath foregone The dignity and power. Sil. Sure, while he lives. Arr. And dead, it comes to Drusus. Should he fail, To the brave issue of Germanicus ; And they are three ■^ too many — ha ? for him To have a plot upon 1 Sab. I do not know The heart of his designs ; but, sure, their face Looks farther than the present. Arr. By the gods. If I could guess he had but such a thought. My sword should cleave him down from head to heart. But I would find it out : and with my hand I'd hurl his panting brain about the air In mites, as small as atomi, to imdo The knotted bed Sab. You are observ'd, Arruntius. Arr. [turnsto Natta, Terentius, ^c] Death ! I dare teU him so ; and all his spies : You, sir, I would, do you look ? and you. Sab. JForbear. SCENE II. (The former Scene continued.) A Gallery discovered opening into the State Room. Enter Satrius with Eudsmus. Sat. Here he will instant be : let's walk a tnm ; You're in a muse, Eudemus. Bud. Not I, sir. I wonder he should mark me out so 1 well, Jove and Apollo form it for the best. lAtide. Sat. Your* fortune's made unto jou now, Eu- demus, If you can but lay hold upon the means ; Do but observe his humour, and— believe it — He is the noblest Roman, where he takes — Snter Sjsjanus. Here comes his lordship. Sej. Now, good Satrius. Sat. This is the gentleman, my lord. Sej. Is this ? Give me your hand — we must be more acquainted. Report, sir, hath spoke out your art and learning : And I am glad I have so needful cause,- However in itself painful and hard, To make me knovra to so great virtue. — Look, Who is that, Satrius ? [Sail Sat.] — I have agrief, sir. That will desire your help. Your name's Eudemus? JEud. Yes. Sej. Sir? £tid. It is, my lord. ^ Nero, Drusus, et Caligula. — Tacit, ibid. ' Lege Terentii defensionem Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. f 102. > Sej. I hear you are Physician to Livia,' the princess. Eud. 1 minister unto her, my good lord. Sej. You minister to a royal lady, then. JEtid. She is, my lord, and fair. Sej. That's understood Of all their sex, who are or would be so ; And those that would be, physic soon can make them : For those that are, their beauties fear no colours. Eud. Your lordship is conceited, ^e;. Sir, you know it. And can, if need be; read a learned lecture On this, and other secrets. 'Pray you, tell me. What more of ladies besides Livia, Have you your patients ? Sud. Many, my good lord. The great Augusta, * Urgulania.s Mutilia Prisca,6 and Plaucina ;' divers— Sej. And all these teU you the particulars Of every several grief.' how first it grew. And then increased ; what action caused that ; What passion that : and answer to each point That you will put them ? JBud. Else, my lord, we know not How to prescribe the remedies. Sej. Go to. You are a subtile nation, you physicians I And grown the only cabinets in court, ° To ladies privacies. Faith, which of these Is the most pleasant lady in her physic ? Come, you are modest now. £ud. 'Tis fit, my lord. Sej. Why, sir, I do not ask you of their urines. Whose smell's most violet, or whose siege is best. Or who makes hardest faces on her stool? Which lady sleeps with her own face a nights .' Which puts her teeth off, with her clothes, in court? Or, which her hair, which her complexion. And, in which box she puts it ; These were ques- tions. That might, perhaps, have put your gravity To some defence of blush . But, I enquired. Which was the wittiest, merriest, wantonnest ? Harmless intergatories, but conceits. Methinks Augusta should be most perverse. And froward in her fit. JEud. She's so, my lord. Sej. I knew it : and Mutilia the most jocund. £ud. 'Tis very true, my lord. Sej. And why would you Conceal this from me, now ? Come, what is Livia ' I know she's quick and quaintly spirited, And will have strange thoughts, when she is at She tells them all to you. [leisure : Eud. My noblest lord. He breathes not in the empire, or on earth. Whom I would be ambitious to serve In any act, that may preserve mine honour, Before your lordship. Sej. Sir, you can lose no honour, n Germajiici soror, uxor Drusi. Yid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv p. 74. * Mater Tiberii. vid. Tacit. Ami 1, 2, 3, 4, moritur 5. Suet. Tib. Dio. Bom. Hist. S7, S8. & Delictum Augusts. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. et iv. B Adultera Jiilii Posthumi. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77> ' Pisonis uxor. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. iii. iv. » Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib xxiz. c, 1. 142 SEJANUS. By trusting aught to me. The coarsest act Done to my service, I can so requite, As all the world shall style it honourable : Your idle, virtuous definitions, Keep honour jjoor, and are as scom'd as vain : Those deeds breathe honour that do suck in gain. End. But, good my lord, if 1 should thus betray The counsels of my jjatient, and a lady's Of her high place and worth ; what might your lordship. Who presently are to trust me with your own. Judge of my faith ? Sej. Only the best I swear. Say now that I should utter you my grief, And with it the true cause s that it were love. And love to Livia ; i you should teU her this : Should she suspect your faith ; I would you could TeU me as much from her ; see if my brain Could be turn'd jealous. Eud. Happily, my lord, I could in tune tell you as much and more ; So I might safely promise but the first To her &om you. Sej. As safely, my Eudemns, I now dare call thee so, as I have put The secret into thee. Eud. My lord — — Sej. Protest not. Thy looks are vows to me ; use only speed. And but affect her with Sejauus' love,^ Thou art a man, made to make consuls. Go. . Eud. My lord, I'll promise you a private meeting This day together. Sej. Canst thou? Eitd. Yes. Sej. The place ? Eud. My gardens, whither I shall fetch .your lordship. Sej. Let me adore my .Ssculapius. !Why, tliis indeed is physic ! and outspeaks The knowledge of cheap drugs, or any use Can be made out of it ! more comforting Than all your opiates, juleps, apozems. Magistral syrups, or Be gone, my friend. Not barely styled, but created so ; Expect things greater than thy largest hopes, - To overtake thee : Fortune shall be taught To know how ill she hath deserv'd thus long, To come behind thy wishes. Go, and speed. Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need. These fellows, ^ by the favour of their art, Have still the means to tempt ; oft-times the power. If Livia will be now corrupted, then Thou hast the way, Sejanus, to work out His secrets, who, thou know'st, endures thee not. Her husband, Drusus : and to work against them. Prosper it, Pallas, thou that better'st wit ; For Venus hath the smallest share in it. Enter Tibbbidb and Bbcsub, attended. Tib. [to Haterius, uiho kneels to Aim.] We not endure these flatteries ; let him stand ; ^ Cons. Tacit. Ami. Lib. iv. p. 74. » Tacit, ibid. 3 Eud. specie artis frequens secretis. Tacit, ibid. Yid. Plin. Nat Hist Lib. xzix. o. 1. in oriminat. medicorum. * De initio Tiberii principatuB vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 13, Lib. iv. p. 75. et Suet. Tib. c. 27. De Hatcrio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 6. Our empire, ensigns, axes, rods and state Take not away our human nature from us : Look up on us, and faU before the gods. Sej. How like a god speaks Caesar ! Arr. There, observe! He can endure that second, that's no flattery. O, what is it, proud slime will not believe Of his own worth, to hear it equal praised Thus with the gods 1 Cor. He did not hear it, sir. Arr. He did not ! Tut, he must not, we think meanly. 'Tis your most courtly known confederacy, To have your private parasite redeem What he, in public, subtilely vriil lose. To making him a name. Hat. Right mighty lord— — IGives him letters. Tib. We must make up our ears 'gainst these assaults Of charming tongues ;' we pray you use no more These contumelies to us ; style not us Or lord, or mighty, who profess ourself The servant of the senate, and are proud T' enjoy them our good, just, and favouring lords. Cor. Rarely' dissembled! Arr. Prince-Uke to the life. Sa f. Wly po, power that may command, so much Their bondage, whom it stoops to, it intends. Tib. Whence are these letters ? Hat. From the senate. Tib. So. [Lat. glvei him letteri. Whence these ? Lat. From thence too. Tib. Are they sitting now ? Lat. They stay thy answer, Ceesar. iS't^. If this man Had but a mind allied unto his words, How blest a fate were it to us, and Romel We could not think that state for which to change, Although the aim were our old liberty : The ghosts T of those that fell for that, would grieve Their bodies lived not, now, again to serve. Men are deceived, who think there can be thrall Beneath a virtuqus prince : Wish'd liberty Ne'er lovelier looks, than under such a crown. But, when his grace" is merely but lip-good, And tha^t, no longer than he airs himself Abroad in public, there, to seem to shun "The strokes and stripes of flatterers, which within Are lechery unto him, and so feed His brutish sense vrith their afilicting sound. As, dead to virtue, he permits himself Be carried like a pitcher by the ears. To eveiy act of vice : this is a case Deserves our fear, and doth presage the nigh And close approach of blood and tyranny. Flattery is midwife' unto prince's rage : And nothing sooner doth help forth a tyrant. 5 Cons. Tacit Ann. Lib. ii. p. SO. et Suet Tib. o. 27 et 29. 6 Nullam seque Tiberius ex virtutibus suiB quam dissi- mnlationem diligebat Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 95. 7 Bruti, Cassii, Catonis, &c. ' Tid. Dio. Hist Lib. Ivii. de moribus Tiberii. 9 Tyrannis fere oritur ex nimia procerum adulatione in principem. Arist Pol. Lib. v. o. 10, 11. et delatorum auc- toritate. Leg. Tacit Dio. Suet Tib. per totum. Sub quo decreta accuBatoribus-prxcipuapraemia. Yid.' Suet Tib. c. 61, et Sen. Benef. Lib. iii. c. 6. SCEME II. SEJANUS. 143 Than that and whisperers' grace, who have the time, The place, the power, to make all men offenders. ■firr. He shouldbe told this; and be bid dissemble With fools and blind men : we that know the evil. Should hunt the palace-rats,' or give them bane ; Fright hence these worse than ravens, that devour The quick, where they but prey upon the dead : He shall be told it. Sab. Stay, Arruntius, We must abide our opportunity ; And practise what is fit, as what is needflil. It is not safe t' enforce a sovereign's ear : Princes hear well, if they at all will hear. Arr. Ha, say you so ? well 1 In the mean time, Jove, (Say not, but I do call upon thee now,) Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant j And of all tame, a flatterer. Sil. 'Tis well pray'd. Tib. {having read the letters.'] Return the lords this voice, We are their creature, And it is fit a good and honest prince, Whom they, out of their bounty, have instructed ^ With so dilate and absolute a power. Should owe the office of it to their service. And good of all emd every citizen. Nor shall it e'er repent us to have wish'd The senate just, and favouring lords unto us. Since their free loves do yield no less defence To a prince's state, than his own innocence. Say then, there can be nothing in their thought Shall want to please us, that hath pleased them ; Our suffrage rather shall prevent thanstay Behind their wills : 'tis empire to obey, Where such, so great, so grave, so good determine. Yet, for the suit of Spain,* to erect a temple In honour of our mother and our self, We must, with pardon of the senate, not Assent thereto. Their lordships may object Our not denying the same late request Unto the Asian cities : we desire That our defence for suffering that be known In these brief reasons, with our after purpose. Since deified Augustus hindered not A temple to be built at Pergamum, In honour of himself and sacred Rome ; We, that have all his deeds* and words observed .^ver, in place of laws, the rather follow'd Tiat pleasing precedent, because with ours, The senate's reverence, also, there was join'd. But as, t' have once received it, may deserve The gain at pardon ; so, to be adored With the continued style, and note of gods, Through all the provinces, were wild ambition, And no less pride : yea, even Augustus' name Would early vanish, should it be profaned With such promiscuous flatteries. For our part. We here protest it, and are covetous Posterity should know it, we are mortal ; And can but deeds of men : 'twere glory enough, Could we be truly a prince. And, they shall add 1 Tineas soricesque Palatii vocat istos Sex. Aurel. Vict, et Tadt. Hist. Lib. i. p. 233, qiii secretis criminat. infamant ignaram, et quo incautior deciperetur,palam laudatum, Sc. ' Vid.Suet. Tib. c. 20. et Dio. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 696. 9 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 84 et 85. > Cona. Stiab. Lib. vL Ae Tib. Abounding grace unto our memory. That shall report us worthy our forefathers. Careful of your affairs, constant in dangers, And not afraid of any private frown For public good. These things shall be to us Temples and statues, reared in your minds, The fairest, and most during imagery : For those of stone or brass, if they become Odious in judgment of posterity. Are more contemn'd as dying sepulchres, Thau ta'en for hving monuments. We then Make here our suit, alike to gods and men ; The one, until the period of our race. To inspire us with a free and quiet mind. Discerning both divine and human laws ; The other, to vouchsafe us after death. An honourable mention, and fair praise, To accompany our actions and our name : The rest of greatness princes may command. And, therefore, may neglect ; only, a long, A lasting, high, and happy memory They should, without being satisfied, pursue : Contempt of fame begets contempt of virtue. Nat. Rarel Sat. Most divine ! Sej. The oracles are ceased. That only Caesar, with their tongue, might speak. Arr. Let me be gone : most felt and open this ! Cor. Stay. Arr. What ! to hear more cunning and fine words. With their sound flatter'd ere their sense be meant .' Tib. Their choice of Antium,5 there to place the gift Vow'd to the goddess* for our mother's health, We will the senate know, we fairly like ; As also of their grant' to Lepidus, For his repairing the iBmilian place. And restoration of those monuments : Their grace' too in confining of Silanus To the other isle Cithera, at the suit Of his religious' sister, much commends Their policy, so temper'd with their mercy. But for the honours which they have decreed To our Sejanus,'" to advance his slatH6__— . In Pompey's theatre, (whose mining fire His vigilance and labour kept restrain'd In that one loss,) they have therein out-gone Their own great wisdoms, by their skilfiil choice, And placing of their bounties on a man. Whose merit more adorns the dignity. Than that can him ; and gives a benefit. In taking, greater than it can receive. Blush not, Sejanus,'' thou great aid of Rome, Associate of our labours, our chief helper ; Let us not force thy simple modesty With offering at thy praise, for more we cannot, Since there's no voice can take it. No man here Receive our speeches as hyperboles : For we are far from flattering our fiiend, Let envy know, as from the need to flatter. Nor let them ask the causes of our praise : s Tacit Lib. iii. p. 71. 6 Fortuna cquestris, ibid. ' Tacit, ibid. 8 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 170. 9 Torquata virgo vestalis, cujas memoriam servut mar- mor Bomae. vid. Lips, comment, in Tacit. >° facit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 71. " Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74—76. 144 SEJANUS. ACT II. Princes have still their grounds rear'd with them- selves, Above the poor low flats of common men ; And who will search the reasons of their acts, Must stand on equal bases. Lead, away : Our loves unto the senate. {_Exeunt Tib. Sejan. Natta, Hat. Iat. Officers, ^c. Arr. Cgesar ! Sab. Peace. Cor. Great Pompey's theatre' was never min'd Till now, that proud Sejanus hath a statue Rear'd on his ashes. Arr. Place the shame of soldiers, Above the best of generals .' crack the world. And bruise the name of Romans into dust, Ere we behold it 1 Sil. Check your passion ; Lord Drusus tarries. Dtu. Is my father mad,^ Weary of life, and rule, lords ? thus to heave An idol up with praise 1 make him his mate. His rival in the empire I Arr. O, good prince. Dru. Allow him statues,' titles, honours, such As he himself refuseth ! Arr, Brave, brave Drusus ! Dru. The first ascents to sovereignty are hard ; But, entered once, there never wants or means. Or ministers, to help the aspirer on. Arr. True, gallant Drusus. Dtu. We must shortly pray To Modesty, that he will rest contented — Arr. Ay, where he is, and not write emperor. Re-enter Sbjanus, Satrius, Latiabis, Clients, Ssc. Sej, There is your bill, and yours ; bring you your man. [To Satrivs.] I have moved for you, too, Latiaris. Dm. What! Is your vast greatness grown so blindly bold, That you will over us ? Sej. Why then give way. Dru. Give way. Colossus ! do you lift ? advance you? Take that !* IStrikes him. Arr. Good ! brave 1 excellent, brave prince ! Dru. Nay, come, approach. IBraws his sword. What, stand you off ? at gaze ? It looks too full of death for thy cold spirits. Avoid mine eye, dull camel, or my sword Shall make thy bravery fitter for a grave, Than for a triumph. I'll advance a statue O' your own bulk ; but 't shall be on the cross ;* Where I will nail your pride at breadth and length. And crack those sinews, which are yet but stretch'd With your swoln fortune's rage. Arr. A noble prince ! All. A Castor,' a Castor, a Castor, a Castor ! ^Exeunt all but Sejanus. Sej. He that, with such wrong moved, can bear it through With patience, and an even mind, knows how To turn it back. Wrath cover'd carries fate : Revenge is lost, if I profess my hate. What was my practice late, I'll now pursue. As my fell justice : this hath styled it new. lExit. ACT II. SCENE I. — The Garden o/Eodemus. Enter Sjejanus, Livia, and Eudemus. Sej. Physician, thou art worthy of a province, For the great favours done unto our loves ; And, but that greatest Livia bears'a part In the requital of thy services, I should alone despair of aught, like means, To give them worthy satisfaction. Liv. Eudemus, I vrill see it, shall receive A fit and full reward for his large merit. But for this potion' we intend to Drusus, No more our husband now, whom shall we choose As the most apt and able instrument, To minister it to him ? Eud. I say, Lygdus.' Sej. Lygdus ? what's he ? Liv. An eunuch Drusus loves. Eud. Ay, and his cup-bearer. Sej. Name not a second. If Drusus love him, and he have that place, We cannot think a fitter. Evd. True, my lord. For free access and trust are two main aids. Sej. Skilful physician I Liu. But he must be wrought To th6 undertaking, with some lahour'd art. ' Vjd. Sen. Cons. ad. Marc. c. 22. > Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 76- ' Tacit, ibid. * Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74—76. ^ Tacit, ibidem. Sej. Is he ambitious ? Liv. No. Sej. Or covetous ? Liv. Neither. Eud. Yet, gold is a good general charm. Sej. What is he, then .' Liv. Faith, only wanton, light. -/ Sej. How 1 is he young and fair ? ' Eud. A delicate youth. Sej. Send him to me,' I'll work him. — Royal lady, Thoughlhave loved you long, and with that height Of zeal and duty, like the fire, which more It mounts it trembles, thinking nought could add Unto the fervour which your eye had kindled ; Yet, now I see yom' wisdom, judgment, strength, . Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means To your own good and greatness, I protest Myself through rarified, and tum'd all flame In your affection : such a spirit as yours, Was not created for the idle second To a poor flash, as Drusus ; but to shine * Tacit, eequimur Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74, quanqtiam apud Bionem et Zonaxam aliter legitur. ^ Serviie, apud Romanes, et ignominiosissimum mortis genus erat supplicium crucis, ut ex Liv. ipso. Tacit. Dio. et omnibus fere antiquis, praesertim historicis constet. vid. Flaut. in. Mil. Amph. Aulii. Eor. Lib. i. Ser. 3. et Jev. Sat. vi. Pone crucem servo, &c. ^ Sic Drusus ob yiolentiam cognominatus, rid. Dion. Eom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 701. » Spadonis animum stupro devinxjt. Tacit, ibid. SCENE I, SEJANUS. J4£ Bright as the moon among; the lesser lights, And share the sov'reignty of all the world. Then Livia triumphs in her proper sphei'e, When she and her Sejanus 'j^Jjjjff^'* The name of Caesar, and Augusta's star Be dimm'd with glory of a brighter beam : When Agrippina's' fires are quite extinct, And the scarce-seen Tibenus borrows all His little light from us, whose folded arms Shall make one perfect orb. ^Knocking within.'] Who's that ? Eudemus, Look. lExit Eudemus.] 'Tis not Drusus, lady, do not fear. Lio. Not I, my lord : my fear and love of him Left me at once. Sef. Illustrious lady, stay Eud. [withia.'i Til tell his lordship. Se^enter Edssmcs. Sej: Who is it, Eudemus ? Efid. One of your lordship's servants brings you word The emperor hath sent for you. iS^'. O ! where is he? With your fidr leave, dear princess, I'll but ask A question and return. ISxit. Bud. Fortunate princess 1 How are you blest in the fruition Of this unequall'd man, the soul of Rome, The empire's life, and voice of Csesar's world ! Liv. So blessed, my Eudemus, as to know The bliss I have, with what I ought to owe The means that wrought it. How do I look to-day ? Eud. Excellent clear, believe it. This same Was well laid on. [fucus Liv. Methinks 'tis here not white. End. Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun, Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse ;' You ^ould have used of the white oil I gave you. Sejanus, for your love ! his very name Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts \PainU her cheeks. Liv. Nay, now you've made it worse. Eud. I'U help it straight And but pronounced, is a sufficient charm Against all rumour ; and of absolute power To satisfy for any lady's honour. Liv, What do you now, Eudemus ? Etid. Make a light fncus. To touch you o'er withal. — Honour'd Sejanus ! What act, though ne'er so strange and insolent. But that addition will at least bear out, irt do not expiate ? Liv. Here, good physician. Eud. I like this study to preserve the love Of such a man, that comes not every hour to greet the world. — 'Tis now well, lady, you should Use of the dentifrice I prescribed you too, To clear your teeth, and the prepared pomatum, To smooth the skin : — ^A lady cannot be Too curious of her form, that still would hold The heart of such a person, made her captive. As you have his : who, to endear him more 1 Germanici vidua. 2 Cerussa (apud Romanos) inter fictitiores colores Than to be urged vrith a benefit He cannot pay ? Cot. In this, all Caesar's fortune Is made unequal to the courtesy. Lat. His means are clean destroyed that should requite. Gal. Nothing is great enough for Silius' merit. Arr. Gallus on that side too ! iAside. Sil. Come, do not hunt. And laboiir so about for circumstance, To make him guilty whom you have foredoom'd : Take shorter ways, I'll meet your purposes. The words were mine, and more I now vrill say : Since I have done thee that great service, Caesar, Thou still hast fear'd me ; and in place of grace, Retum'd me hatred : so soon all best turns, With doubtful princes, turn deep injinies In estimation, when they greater rise Than can be answer'd. Benefits, vrith you. Are of no longer pleasure, than you can With ease restore them ; that transcended once. Your studies are not how to thank, but kill. It is your nature, to have aU men slaves To you, but you acknowledging to none. The means that make your greatness, must not come In mention of it ; if it do, it takes So much away, you think : and that which help'd, Shall soonest perish, if it stand in eye, Where it may front, or but upbraid the high. Cot. Suffer him speak no more. Var. Note but his spirit. Afer. This shews him in the rest. ^ Populi Germ, bodie Geldri in Belgica simt inter Mosam et Rhenum, quos celebrat Mart. Spec. 3. Crinibus in nodum tortis venere Sicambri. 3 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. SOENK I. SEJANUS. ]53 Lot. Let him be censured. Sej. He hath spoka enough to prove him Csesar's foe. Cot. His thoughts look through his words. Sq. A. censure. Sil. Stay, Stay, most officious senate, I shall straight Delude thy fury. Silius hath not placed His guards widiin him, against fortune's spite. So weakly, but he can escape your gripe That are but hands of fortune : she herself, When -virtue doth oppose, must lose her threats. All that can happen in humanity. The frown of Caesar, proud Sejanus' hatred, Base Varro's spleen, and Afer's bloodying tongue, The senate's servile flattery, and these Muster'd to kill, I'm fortified against ; And can look down upon : they are beneath me. It is not life_whereof I stand enamour'd j Nor sKSn my~Snd^ake ine accuse my fate. "" le coward and the val iAnt mim mn-it full, _^__£causej^djaannflr hasr^ discerns them : WhiBivBten arr. gJaadest, when they cost us dearest. Romans, if any here be in this senate, Would know to mock Tiberius' tyranny. Look upon Silius, and so learn to die. [.Stabs Mmseif. Var, O desperate act 1 Arr. An honourable hand ! Tib. Look, is he dead ? Sab. 'Twas nobly struck, and home. Arr. My thought did prompt him to it. Farewell, Silius, Be famous ever for thy great example. Tib. We af e not pleased in this sad accident. That thus hath stalled, and abused our mercy, Intended to preserve thee, noble Roman, And to prevent thy hopes. Arr. Excellent wolf! Now he is full he howls. {Aside. Sej. CsBsai" doth wrong His dignity and safety thus to mourn The deserv'd end of so profest a traitor. And doth, by this his lenity, instruct Others as factious to the like offence. Tib. The confiscation merely of his state Had been enough. Arr. O, that was gaped for then ? lAside. Var. Remove the body. Sej. Let citation Go out for Sosia. Gal. Let her be proscribed : And for the goods, I think it fit that half 60 to the treasure, half unto the children. Lep. With leave of Csesar, I would think that fourth, The which the law doth cast on the informers, Should be enough ; the rest go to the children. Wherein the prince shall shew himiauity. And bounty ; not to force them by their want. Which in their parents' trespass they deserv'd, To take iU courses. Tib. It diall please us. Arr. Ay, Out of necessity. This ' Lepidus Is grave and honest, and I have observed . A moderatidu still in all his censures. Sab. And bending to the better Stay, who's this? > Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 80. Enter Satkius and Natta, with Ckehijtids Cordds guarded. Cremutius Cordus I What ! is he brought in ? Arr. More blood into the banquet! Noble Cordus,' I wish thee good : be as thy writings, free, And honest. Tib. What is he? Sej. For the Annals, Csesar. Prce. Cremutius Cordus ! Cor. Here. Pr. ' Some of the waiters ; others ran away : [ Only Sejanus with his knees, hands, face, O'erhanging Csesar, did oppose himself To the remaining ruins, and was found In that so labouring posture by the soldiers That came to succour him. With which adventure, He hath 'so fix'd himself in Csesar's trust, As thunder cannot move him, and is come With" all the height of Csesar's praise to Rome. Agr, And power, to turn tiiose ruins all on us ; And bury whole posterities beneath them, y Nero, and Drusus, and Caligula, 1 Pulclua et FuTziius damnat. Tacit. Aim. Lib. iv. p. 89. ' Afer primoribus oratorum additus, divulgate ingenio, fee. Tacit. Ami. Lib. iv. p. 89. » Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. * Frztorium Suet, appellat. Tib. c. 39. & Prsbnitqne ipsi materiem cur amidtse constantiaeque Sq'ani magis fideret. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv, p. 91 . Your places are the next, and therefore most In their offence. Think on your birth and blood, Awake your spirits, meet their violence j 'Tis princely when a tyrant doth oppose. And is a fortune sent to exercise Your virtue, as the wind doth try strong trees, Who by vexation grow more sound and firm. After your father's fall, and uncle's fate, What can you hope, but all the change of stroke That force or sleight can give? then stand upright ; And though you do not act, yet suffer nobly : Be worthy of my wombj and take strong chear ; What we do know will come, we should not fear. \^Bxeant. ♦ — SCENE n.— The Street. Enter Macko. Mao. Retum'd so soon ! renew'd in trust and grace! Is Csesar then so weak, or hath the place But wrought this alteration with the air ; And he, on next remove, wiU all repair ? Macro, thou art engaged : and what before Was public ; now, must be thy private, more. The weal of Csesar, fitness did imply ; But thine own fate confers necessity On thy employment ; and the thoughts bom nearest Unto ourselves, move swiftest still, and dearest. If he recover, thou art lost ; yea, all The weight of preparation to his fall Will turn on thee, and crush thee : therefore strike Before he settle, to prevent the like Upon thyself. He doth his vantage know, That makes it home, and gives the foremost blow. lExit. SCENE III. — An upper Hoom of Agrippina's House. Enter Latiabis, Rufus, and Opsius. Lat. It is a service^ lord Sejanus vriU See well requited, and accept of nobly. Here place yourself between the roof and ceiling ; And when I bring him to his words of danger. Reveal yourselves, and take him. Ruf. Is he come ? Lat. I'U now go fetch him. lEmt. Ops. With good speed. — I long To merit from the state in such an action. , Ruf. I hope, it will obtain the consulship For one of us. Ops. We cannot think of less. To bring in one so dangerous as Sabinus. Ruf. He was a follower of Germanicus, And still is an observer of his wife And children,'' though they be declined in grace ; A daily visitant, keeps them company In private and in public, and is noted To be the only client of the house : Pray Jove, he will be free to Latiaris. Ops. He's allied tohim, and doth trust him well. Ruf. And he'll requite his trust I 5 Sabinum aggrediuntur cupidine consulatus, ad quern non nisi per Sejanum aditus, neque Sejani voluntas nisi soelere quaerebatnr. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 94. Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 71 1. 7 Boque apud bonos laudatus, et gravis iniqnia. Taoit. Lib. iv. p. 94. 158 SEJANUS. ACT IV. Ops. To do ah office So grateful to the state, I know no man But would strain nearer bands, than kindred Ruf. Listl I hear them come. Ops. Shift to our holes' with silence. [Tftfiy retire. Re-enter Latiaris and Saeinos. Lat. It is a noble constancy you shew To this afflicted house ; that not like others, The friends of season, you do follow fortune, And, in the winter of their fate, forsake The place whose glories warm'd you. You are just. And worthy such a princely patron's love, As was the world's renown'd Germanicus : Whose ample merit when I call to thought, And see his wife and issue, objects made To so much envy, jealousy, and hate ; It makes me ready to accuse the gods Of negligence, as men of tyranny. Sab. They must be patient, so mustiwe. Lat. O Jove, What will become of us or of the times. When, to be high or noble, are made crimes, When land and treasure are most dangerous faults ? Sab. Nay, when our table, yea our bed^, assaults Our peace and safety ? when our writings are. By any envious instruments, that dare Apply them to the guilty, made to speak What they will have to fit their tyrannous wreak ? When ignorance is scarcely innocence j And knowledge made a capital offence ? When not so much, but the have empty shade Of liberty is reft us ; and we made The prey to greedy vultures and vile spies. That first transfix us with their murdering eyes Lat. Methinks the genius of the Roman race Should not be so extinct, but that bright flame Of liberty might be revived again, (Which no good man hut with his life should lose) And we not sit like spent and patient fools. Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal, Held on by hope till the last spark is out. The cause is public, and the honour, name, The immortality of every soul. That is not bastard or a slave in Rome, Therein concem'd : whereto, if men would change The wearied arm, and for the weighty shield So long sustain'd, employ the facile sword, ' We might soon have assurance of our vows. This ass's fortitude doth tire us all : It must he active valour must redeem Our loss, or none. The rock and our hard steel Should meet to enforce those glorious fires again. Whose splendor cheer'd the world, and heat gave life. No less than doth the sun's. Sab. 'Twere better stay In lasting darkness, and despair of day. No iU should force the subject undertake Against the sovereign, more than hell should make The gods do wrong. A good man should and must Sit rather down with loss, than rise unjust. 1 Haud minus turpi latebra quam detestanda fraude, sese abstnidunt ; foramiiiibus et rimis aurem admovent. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. c. 69. * Ne nox quidem secura, cum uxor (Neronis) vigilias,' somnos, susplria. matri Liviae, atque ilia Sejano patefa- ceret. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 92. Though, when the Romans first did yield them- selves To one man's power, they did not mean their lives. Their fortunes and their liberties, should be His absolute spoil, as purchased by the sword. Lai. Why we are worse, if to be slaves, and bond To Caesar's slave be such, the proud Sejanus ! He that is all, does all, gives Csesar leave To hide his ^ulcerous and anointed face, With his bald crown at *Rhodes, while he here stalks Upon the heads of Romans, and their pnnces. Familiarly to empire. Sab. Now you touch A point indeed, wherein he shews his art, As well as power. Lat. And villainy in both. Do you observe where Livia lodges ? how Drusus came dead? what men have been cut off.' Sab. Yes, those are things removed : I nearer Into his later practice, where he stands [look'd Declared a master in his mystery. First; ere Tiberius went, he wrought his fear To think that Agrippina sought his death. Then put those doubts in her ; sent her oft word, Under the show of friendship, to beware Of Csesar, for he laid to 'poison her : Drave them to frowns, to mutual jealousies, Which, now, in visible hatred are burst out. Since, he hath had his hired instruments To work^ on Nero, and to heave him up ; To tell him Caesar's old, that all the people. Yea, aU the army have their eyes on him ; That both do long to have him undertake Something of worth, to give the wiorld a hope ; Bids him to court their grace: the easy youth Perhaps gives ear, which straight he writes to ^/i And with this comment : See yon dangerous boy ; Note but the practice of the mother f there ; She's tying him for purposes at hand, With men of sword. Here's Csesar put in fright 'Gainst son and mother. Yet, he leaves not thus. The second brother, Drusus, a fierce nature, And fitter for his snares, because ambitious And full of envy, him' he clasps and hugs, Poisons with praise, tells him what hearts he wears, /How bright he stands in popular expectance ; That Rome doth suffer with him in the wrong \ His mother does him, by preferring Nero : Thus sets he them asunder, each 'gainst other. Projects the course that serves him to condemn. Keeps in opinion of a friend to all. And all drives on to ruin. Lat. Csesar sleeps. And nods at this. Sab. Would he might ever sleep, Bogg'd in his filthy lusts ! [Opsrus and Rufus rugh in. Ops. Treason to Caesar ! Ruf. Lay hands upon the traitor, Latiaris, Or take the name thyself. Lat. I am for Csesar. ^ Facies ulcerosa ac plerumque medicaminibus inter. Btincta, Tacit, Ann. Lib. iv, p, 91, ' Tacit ibid, Bt Rhodi secrete, vitare c<£tus, rtxaa- dere voluptates insuerat. 5 Tacit. Ann, Lib, iv. p, 90. 6 Tacit. Lib. eod, pp. 91, 92. ' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 91. 92. SOKNB V. SEJANUS. 159 Sab, Am I then catcli'd ? Jiuf. How think you, sir? you are. Sab. Spies of this head, so -white, so full of years ! Well, my most reverend monsters, you may live To see yourselves thus snared. Ops. Away with him ! Lot. Bale him away, Bvf. To be a spy for trutors, Is honourable vigilance. Sab. You do well,' My most ofScious instruments of state ; Men of all uses : drjig me hence, away. The year is well begun, and I fall fit To be an offering to Sejanus. Go ! Ops. Cover himvrith his garments, hide his face. Sab. It shall not need. Forbear your rude assault. The fault's not shameful, viUainy makes a fault. IBxeunt. * — SCENE lY.— The Street before Agmppina's ITouse. Enter 'Macro and Cauqvla. Mae. Sir, but observe how thick your dangers meet In his clear drifts ! your^ mother and your brothers. Now cited to the senate ; their friend^ Gallus, Feasted to-day by Cffisar, since committed ! Sabinus here we met, hurried to fetters : The senators all strook with fear, and silence, Save those whose hopes depend not on good means, But force their private prey from public spoil And you must know, if here you stay, your state Is sore to be the subject of his hate, As now the object. Cat. What would yoa advise me ? Mac. To go for Caprese presently ; and there Give up yourself entirely to your uncle. Tell Csesar (since your* mother is accused To fly for succours to Augustus' statue. And to the army with your brethren) you Have rather chose to place your aids in him. Than live suspected ; or in hourly fear To be thrust out, by bold Sejanus' plots : Which, you shall confidently urge to be Most fim of peril to the state, and Csesar, As being laid to his peculiar ends. And not to be let run with common safety. All which, upon the second, I'll make plain, So both shall love smd trust with Ceesar gain. Cal. Away then, let's prepeire us for our journey. [_Exeunt. J SCENE V Another part of the Street, Enter Auruntius. Arr. Still dost thou suffer, heaven ! will no fiamej No heat of sin, make thy just wrath to boil In thy distemper'd bosom, and o'erfiow The pitchy blazes of impiety, KincUed beneath thy throne ! Still canst thou sleep. Patient, while vice doth make an antick face At thy dread power, and blow dust and smoke > Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 94. 95. » Tacit. Ann. Lib. v. p. 98. 3 Asiniam Gal. eodem die et conviram Tiberii fuisse et eo sDbornante damuatum naxrat Dio. Lib. Iriii. p. 713. ♦ Vid. Tacit. Lib. v. p. 94. Suet. Tib. c. S3. Into thy nostrils ! Jove ! will nothing wake thee I Must vile Sejanus pull thee by the beard, Ere thou wilt open thy black-lidded eye, And look him dead ? Well ! snore on; dreaming And let this last of that proud giant-race [gods; Heave mountain upon mountain, 'gainst your state — Be good unto me, Fortune and you powers, Whom I, expostulating, have profaned ; I see what's equal with a prodigy, A great, a noble Roman, and an honest. Live an old man ! — Enter Lepidus. O Marcus" Lepidus, When is our turn to bleed ? Thyself and I, Without our boast, are almost all the few Left to be honest in these impious times. Lep. What we are left to be, we will be, Lucius ; Though tyranny did stare as wide as death, To fright us from it. Arr. 'T hath so on Sabinus. Lep. I saw him now drawn from the ' Gemonies, And, what increased the direness of the fact. His faithful' dog, upbraiding all us Romans, Never forsook the corps, but, seeing it thrown Into the stream, leap'd in, and drown'd with it. Arr. O act, to be envied him of us men ! We are the next the hook lays hold on, Marcus : What are thy arts, good patriot, teach them me. That have preserved thy hairs to this white dye. And kept so reverend and so dear a head Safe on his comely shoulders ? Lep. Arts, Arruntius ! None,8 but the plain and passive fortitude. To suffer and be silent ; never stretch These arms against the torrent ; live at home. With my owli thoughts, and innocence about me. Not tempting the wolves' jaws : these are my arts. Arr. I would begin to study 'em, if I thought They would secure me. May I pray to Jove In secret and be safe ? ay, or aloud. With open wishes, so I do not mention Tiberius or Sejanus ? yes, I must. If I speak out. "Tis hard that. May I think. And not be rack'd ? What danger is't to dream. Talk in one's sleep, or cough ? Who knows the law? May I shake my head without a comment ? say It rains, or it holds up, and not be thrown Upon the Gemonies ? These now are things. Whereon men's fortune, yea, their faith depends. Nothing hath privilege 'gainst the violent ear. No place, no day, no hour, we see, is free. Not our religious and most sacred times, From some one kind of cruelty : all matter. Nay, aU occasion pleaseth. Madmen's rage. The idleness of drunkards, women's nothing. Jester's simplicity, all, all is good That can be catcht at. Nor is now the event B De Lepido isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 6. Lib. iii. pp. 60, 6S, etLib. iv. p. 81. 6 Bcalse Gemonis fuerunt in Aventino, prope templutn Junonis reginae a Camillo capiis Veiis dicatum ; a planctu et gemitu diotas vult Rhodig. In quas contumelise causa cadaveraprojecta; SiUquandoa camifice unco traheban- tur. Vid. Tao. Suet. Dio. Senee. Juvenal. ' Bio. Eom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 712. Bt Tacit. Ami. Lib. iv. p. 94. « Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. SO. :< 160 SEJANUS. Of any person, or for saiy crime, To be expected ; for 'tis always one : Death, with some little difference of place. Or time What's this ? Prince Nero, guarded I ^^^^ Enter Laco i and Nebo, with Ghiards. Lao. On, lictors, keep your way. My lords, forbear. On pain of Caesar's wrath, no man attempt Speech with the prisoner. Nero. Noble friends, be safe ; To lose yourselTCs for words, were as vain hazard. As unto me small comfort : fare you well. Would all Rome's sufferings in my fate did dwell ! Lao. Lictors, away. Lep. Where goes he, Laco ? Lac. Sir, He's banish'd into^ Pontia by the senate. Arr. Do I see, hear, and feel? May I trust. Or doth my phant'sie form it ? [sense, \ Lep. -Where's his brother ? y Lac. Drusus ' is prisoner in the palace. Arr. Ha ! I smell it now : 'tis rank. Where's Agrippina ? / Lao. The princess is confined to * Pandataria. Arr. Bolts, Vulcan ; bolts for Jove ! Phoebus, thy bow ; Stem Mars, thy sword : and, blue-ey'd maid, thy Thy club, Alcides : all the armoury [spear ; Of heaven is too little ! — Ha I — to guard The gods, I meant. Fine, rare dispatch ! this same Was swiftly bom ! Confined, imprison' d, banish'd ? Most tripartite ! the cause, sir ? Lac. Treason. Arr. O ! The ^ complement of all accusings 1 that Win hit, when all else faUs. Lep. This turn is strange ! But yesterday the people would not hear, Far less objected, but cried * Caesar's letters Were false and forged j that all these plots were * And that the ruin of the prince's house [malice ; Was practised 'gainst his knowledge. Where are now Their voices, now, that they behold his heirs Lock'd up, disgraced, led into exile ? Arr. Hush'd, Drown'd in their bellies. Wild Sejanus' breath Hath, like a whirlwind, scatter'd that poor dust. With this rude blast. — We'U talk no treason, sir, [Turns to Laco and the rest. If that be it you stand for. Fare you well. We have no need of horse-leeches. Good spy. Now you are spied, be gone. {Exeunt Laco, Nero, and Guards. Lep. I fear you wrong him : He has the voice to be an honest Roman. Arr. And trusted to this office ! Lepidus, I'd sooner trust Greek Sinon, than a man Our state employs. He's gone : and being gone, I dare tell you, whom I dare better trust, That our night-eyed ' Tiberius doth not see • De Lacon. vid. Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. < Suet. Tib. 0.54. » Suet. ibid. ♦ Suet. ibid. ' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 62. ' Tacit. Lib. v. p. 98. ^ Tiberius in tenebris Tideret ; testibus Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Ivij. p. 691. Et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib. ii. o. 37. His minion's drifts ; or, if he do, he's not So arrant subtile, as we fools do take him ; To breed a mungrel up, in his own house. With his own blood, and, if the good gods please, At his own throat, flesh him, to take a leap. I do not beg it, heaven ; but if the fates Grant it these eyes, they must not wink. Lep. They must Not see it, Lucius. Arr. Who should let them ? Lep. Zeal, And duty : with the thought he is our prince. Arr. He is our monster : forfeited to vice So far, as no rack'd virtue can redeem him. His loathed person * fouler than all crimes : An emperor, only in his lusts. Retired, From £dl regard of his own fame, or Rome's, Into an ' obscure island ; where he lives /Acting his tragedies with a comic face, Amidst his route of Chaldees :'" spending hours. Days, weeks, and months, in the unkind abuse Of grave astrology, to the bane of men, Casting the scope of men's nativities, And having found aught worthy in their fortune, ICiU, or precipitate them in the sea. And boast, he can mock fate. Nay, muse not : these Are far from ends of evil, scarce degrees. He hath his slaughter-house at Caprese ; Where he doth study murder, as an art ; And they are dearest in his grace, that can Devise the deepest tortures. Thither, too. He hath his boys, and beauteous girls ta'en up Out of our noblest houses, the best form'd, Best nurtured, and most modest; what's their good. Serves to provoke his bad. Some are '' allured. Some threaten'd ; others, by their friends detained. Are ravish'd hence, like captives, and, in sight Of their most grieved parents, dealt away XTnto his spintries, sellaries, and slaves. Masters of strange and new commented lusts, For which wise nature hath not left a name. To this (what most strikes us, and bleeding Rome) He is, with all his craft, become'^ the ward To his own vassal, a stale catamite : Whom he, upon our low and suffering necks, Hath raised from excrement to side the gods. And have his proper sacrifice in Rome : Which Jove beholds, and yet wiU sooner rive A senseless oak with thunder than his trunk ! — Re-enter Laco.^' with Pompowius and Minctjds. Lac. These '* letters make men doubtful what t' expect. Whether his coming, or his death. Pom. Troth, both : And which comes soonest, thank the gods for. Arr. List ! Their talk is Caesar ; I would hear all voices. [AiUtUNT. and Lbpidds stand aside. 8 Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. (Juv. Sat. 4.) ' 9 Vid. Suet. Tib. de secessu Caprensi, c. 43. Dio. p. 715. Juv. Sat. 10. i» Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 106. Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. IviL p. 706. Suet. Tib. o. 62, &c. 44. " Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 100. Suet. Tib. o. 43. 12 Leg. Dio. Kom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 714. 13 De Fomponio et Minutio vid. Tacit. Ami. Lib. vi. 1* Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 716. SKJANUS. 161 Afiti^ One day,' he's well ; and will return to Rome ; The next day, sick ; and knows not when to hope it. Lac. True ; and to-day, one of Sejanns' friends Honour'd by special writ ; and on the morrow Another punish'd Pom. By more special writ. Min, This man' receives his praises of Sejanus, A second but slight mention, a third none, A fourth rebukes : and thus he leaves the senate Divided and suspended, all uncertain. Lac. These forked tricks, I understand them not: Would he would tell us whom he loves or hates. That we might foUow, without fear or doubt. Arr. Good Heliotrope! Is this your honest man? Let him be yours so still ; he is my knave. Pom. I cannot teU, Sejanus still goes on, Aud mounts, we see ;^ new statues are advanced, Fresh leaves of titles, large inscriptions read. His fortune sworn by,* himself new gone out Cassar's' coUeagne in the fifth consulship ; More altars smoke to him than all the gods : What would we more ? Arr. That the dear smoke would choke him, That would I more. Lep. Peace, good Arnintius. Lat. But there are^ letters come, they say, ev'n now, Which do forbid that last. Min. Do you hear so ? Lac. Yes. Pom. By Castor, that's the worst. Arr. By Pollux, best. Min. I did not like the sign, when^ Regulus, Whom all we know no friend unto Sejanus, Did, by Tiberius' so precise command, Succeed a fellow in the consulship : It boded somewhat. Pom. Not a mote. His' partner, Pnlcinius Trio, is his own, and sure. — Here comes Tereutius. £:nter Tebentius. He can give us more. [Tftey whisper with Tkrentius. Lep. I'll ne'er believe, but Cssar hath some scent Of bold Sejanus' footing.' These cross points Of varying letters, and opposing consuls, Mingling his honours and his punishments. Feigning now ill, now weU,'" raising Sejanus, And then depressing him, as now of late In all reports we have it, cannot be Empty of practise: 'tis Tiberius' art. For having found his favourite grown t09,great,_..^ And with his greatness'' strong ; that all the soldiers I Dio. Bom. Hist Lib. IviiL p. 716. ' Dio. ibid. 3 Leg. Tacit. Aim. Lib. ir. p. 96. * Adulatlonia pleni omnes ejus Fortunam jurabant. Dio. ETist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 714. 5 Dio. p. 714. Suet. Tib. c US. « Dio. Lib. Ivili. p. 718. "^ De Regulo cons. Dio. ibid. 8 Dio. ibid. ' Suet. rib. 0. ea. >» Dio. p. 726. " Dio. p. 714. Are, with their leaders, made at his devotion ; That almost all the senate are his creatures, Or hold on him their main dependencies. Either for benefit, or hope, or fear ; And that himself hath lost much of his own, By parting unto him ; and, by th' increase Of his rank lusts and rages, quite disarm'd Himself of love, or other public means, To dare an open contestation ; His subtilty hath chose this doubling line. To hold him even in : not so to fear him. As wholly put him out, aud yet give check Unto his farther boldness. In mean time. By his employments, makes him odious Unto the staggering rout, whose aid, in fine, He hopes to use, as sure, who, when they sway. Bear down, o'erturn all objects in their way. Arr. You may be a Lynceus, Lepidus : yet I See no such cause, but that a politic tyrant. Who can so well disguise it, should have ta'en A nearer way : feign'd honest, and come home To cut his throat, by law. Lep. Ay, but his fear Would ne'er be mask'd, allbe his vices were. Pom. His lordship then is still in grace ? Ter, Assure you, Never in more, either of grace or power. Pom. The gods are wise and just. Arr. The fiends they are, To suffer thee belie 'em. Ter. I have here His last and present letters, where he writes him. The partner of his cares, and his Sejanus. — Lac. But is that true," it is prohibited To sacrifice unto him ? Ter. Some such thing Csesar makes scruple of, but forbids it not ; No more than to himself : says he could wish It were forborn to all. Lac. Is it no other ? Ter. No other, on my trust. For your mora Here is that letter too. [surety, Arr. How easily Do wretched men believe, what they would have I Looks this like plot ? Lep. Noble Arruntius, stay. Lac. He names him here'^ without his titles Lep. Note ! Arr. Yes, and come off your notable fool. I will. Lac. No other than Sejanus. Pom. That's but haste In him that writes : here he gives large amends. Mar. And with his own hand written ? Pom. Yes. Lac. Indeed ? Ter. Believe it, gentlemen, Sejanus' breast Never received more fuU contentments in. Than at this present. Pom. Takes he well'* the escape Of young Caligula, with Macro .' Ter. Faith, At the first air it somewhat troubled Mm. Lep. Observe you ? Arr. Nothing ; riddles. Till I see Sejanus struck, no sound thereof strikes me. IBxeunt Arbun. and hnviDUk. "Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 1' Dio. ibid. » Dio. p. 717. M 162 SEJANUS. Pom. I like it not. I muse he would not attempt Somewhat against him in the' consulship. Seeing the people 'gin to favour him. Ter. He doth repent it now ; but he has em- Pagonianus after him :^ and he holds [ploy'd That correspondence there, with all that are Near about Caesar, as no thought can pass Without hia knowledge, thence in act to front him. Pom. I gratulate the news. Lao. But how comes Macro So in trust and favour with Caligula? Pom. O, sir, he has a wife f and the young prince An appetite : he can look up, and spy Flies in the roof, when there are fleas i' the bed j And hath a learned nose to assure his sleeps. Who to be favour' d of the rising sun. Would not lend little of his waning moon ? It is the saf St ambition. Noble Terentius ! Ter. The night grows fast upon us. At your service. lExeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. — An Apartment in Sejanus's House. Enter Sejanus. Sy. Swell, sweU, my joys ; and faint not to Yourselves as ample as your causes are. [declare I did not live tiU now ; this my first hour ; Wherein I see my thoughts reach'd by my power. But this, and gripe my wishes.^ Great and high, The world knows only two, that's Rome and I. My roof receives me not ; 'tis air I tread ; And, at each step, I feel my advanced head Knock out a star in heaven ! rear'd to this height, All my desires seem modest, poor, and slight, That did before sound impudent : 'tis place, Not blood, discerns the noble and the base. Is there not something more than to be Caesar ? Must we rest there .■' it irks t' have come so far. To be so near a stay. Caligula, Would thou stood'st stiff, and many in our way ! Winds lose their strength, when they do empty fly. Unmet of woods or buildings ; great fires die, That want their matter to withstand them : so, It is our grief, and wiU be our loss, to know Our power shall want opposites ; unless The gods, by mixing in the cause, would bless Our fortune with their conq.uest. That were worth Sejanus' strife ; durst fates but bring it forth. Enter Tebentius. Ter. Safety to great Sejanus ! Sej. Now, Terentius ? Ter. Hears not my lord the wonder ? Se}. Speak it, no. Ter. I meet it violent in the people's mouths. Who run in routs to Pompey's theatre, To view your statue,* which, they say, sends forth A smoke, as from a furnace, black and dreadful. Sej. Some traitor hath put fire in : jou, go see, lk.T\.i let the head be taken ofi', to loo£> What 'tis. [JSiTJi Terentius.] Someslavehath practised an imposture. To stir the people How now ! why return you ? Ite-e7iter Terentius, with Satkius aTid Natta. Sat. The head,* my lord, already is ta'en off, I saw it ; and, at opening, there leapt out A great and monstrous serpent. 1 Dio. p. 717. ' De Pagoniano, vid. Tacit. Aim. Lib. vi. p. 101. alibi Paconiano. ' De fastu Sejani leg. Dio. Hist. Rom. lib. Iviii. p. 715, nt Tacit. Arm Lib. iv. p. 96. ' Dio. Hist. Bom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. ' Dio. iWd. Sej. Monstrous ! why." Had it a beard, and horns ? no heart .' a tongue Forked as flattery ? look'd it of the hue. To such as live in great men's bosoms .' was The spirit of it Macro's ? Nat. May it please The most divine Sejanus, in my days, (And by his sacred fortune, I affirm it,) I have not seen a more extended, gi'own. Foul, spotted, venomous, ugly Sej. O, the fates ! What a wild muster's here of attributes, T' express a worm, a snake ! Ter. But how that should Come there, my lord 1 Sej. What, and you too, Terentius ! I think you mean to make 't a prodigy In your reporting. Ter. Can the wise Sejanus Think heaven hath meant it less ? Sej. O, superstition ! Why, then the' falling of our bed, that brake This morning, burdeu'd with the populous weight, Of our expecting clients, to salute us ; Or running' of the cat betwixt our legs, As we set forth unto the Capitol, Were prodigies. Ter. I think them ominous j And would they had not happened ! As. to-day, The fate of some youi"^ servants : who, declining Their way, not able, for the throng, to follow, Slipt down the Gemonies, and brake their necks ! Besides, in taking your last'" augury. No prosperous bird appear' d ; but croaking ravens Flagg'd up and down, and from the sacrifice Flew to the prison, where they sat all night. Beating the air with their obstreperous beaks 1 I dare not counsel, but I could entreat. That great Sejanus would attempt the gods Once more with sacrifice. , Sej. What excellent fools \ Religion makes of men 1 Believes Terentius, ' If these were dangers, as I shame to think them. The gods could change the certain course of fate ? Or, if they could they would, now in a moment, ^OT a beeve's fat, or less, be bribed to invert I Those long decrees ? Then think the gods, like flies, lAre to be taken with the steam of flesh, « Tacit, cons. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 114. ' Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 715. 8 Dio. ibid. p. 716. 9 Dio. ibid. >° Dio. ibid. SOENE HI. SEJANUS. 163 Or blood, diffused about their altars : think Their power as cheap as I esteem it small. Of all the throng that fill th' Olympian hall, And, vrithout pity, lade poor Atlas' back, T l-;-".Y Tur^ thnt nnr jritj, b at Fortim e, To whoTTi y wnnlH t^^r^ w uP. In begginsf sm oki One'" grain of incense ; or whose ear Id Day With thus mudi oil. Her I, indeed, adore ; And keep her grateful" image in my house. Sometime belonging to a Roman king. But now call'd mine, as by the better style : To her I care not, if, for satisfying Your scrupulous phant'sies, I go offer. Bid Our priest prepare us^ honey, milk, and poppy. His masculine odours, and night-vestments : say. Our rites are instant ; which perform'd, you'll see How vain, and worthy laughter, your fears be. [_Exeunt — *■= — SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. JBnter Cotta and Pomponius. Cot. Pomponius, whither in such speed ? Pom. I go To give my lord Sejanus notice Cot. What? PoTn. Of Macro. Cot. Is he come ? Pom. Enter' d but now The house of Regains.* Cot. The opposite consul ! Pom. Some half hour since. Cot. And by night- too ! Stay, sir ; I'll bear you company. Pom. Along then ZExeunt. SCENE III.-^^ Room in, Reoulus's House. Enter Macso, Begdi.us, and Attendant. Mac. 'Tis Caesar's wiU to have a frequent senate ; And therefore must your 'edict lay deep mulct On such as shall be absent. Reg. So it doth. Bear it my fellow consul to adscribe. Mac. And tell him it must early be proclaim'd : The place 'Apollo's temple. [Exit Attendant. Reg. That's remember'd. Mao. And at what hour ? Reg. Yes. Mac. You do 'forget To send one for the provost of the watch. Reg. I have not : here he comes. Enter Laco. Mac. Gracinus Laco, Yon are a friend most welcome : by and by, I'll speak with yon. — ^You must procure this list » Grani tnxia. Plant. Pamn. A. I. So. 1. et Ovid. Fast. Lib, iv. 2 Dio. Hist. Bom. lib. Iviii. p. 717. 3 De sacris Fortmiae, vld. Lil. Gre. Gyr. Synt. 17. et Stuch. lib. de Sacrif. Gent. p. 48. * Dio. Hist. Sam. Iiib. Iviii. p. 718. & Edicto nt plurimnm senatores in ciu*iam vocatos constat, ex Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. et Liv. Lib. ii. Fest. Pon. Lib. XV, vid. Bar, Brias, de Form, Lib, i, et Iiips. Sat, Menip, s Sio. Kom. Hist. Lib. Ivii, p, 718. ' Dio, ibid. Of the praetorian cohorts, with the names Of the centurions, and their tribunes. Reg. Ay. Mac. 1 bring you » letters, and a health from Lac. Sir, both come well. [Csesar Mac. And hear you ? with your note, Which are the eminent men, and most of action. Reg. That shall be done you too, Mac. Most worthy Laco, Ctesar salutes you, [Exit Regulfs.] — Consul ! death and furies ! Gone now I — The argument will please you, sir. Ho ! Regulus 1 The anger of the gods Follow your diligent legs, and overtake 'em. In likeness of the gout ! — Re-enter Rsgulus. O, my good lord, We lack'd you present ; I would pray you send Another to Fulcinius Trio, straight, To tell him you will come, and speak with him : The matter we'll devise, to stay him there. While I with Laco do survey the watch. [_Exii Rbgui/Us. What are your strengths, Gracinus ? Lac. ^ Seven cohorts. Mao. You see what Caesar writes ; and Gone again ! H' has sure a vein of mercury in bis feet. — Know you what store of the praetorian soldiers Sejanus holds about him, for his guard .' Lac. I cannot the just number ; but, I think. Three centuries. Mac. Three! good. Lac. At most not four. Mac. And who be those centurions ? Lac. That the consul Can best deliver you. Mac. When he's away ! Spite on his nimble industry — Gracinus, You find what place you hold, there, in the trust Of royal Csesar .' Lac. Ay, and I am Mac. Sir, The honours there proposed are but beginnings Of his great favours. Lac. They are more Mac. I heard him When he did study what to add. Lac. My life. And all I hold Mac. You were his own first choice : Which doth confinti as much as you can speak ; And will, if we succeed, make more Your guards Are seven cohorts, you say .' Lac. Yes. Mac. Those we must Hold still in '" readiness and undischarged. Lac I understand so much. But how it can — Mao. Be done without suspicion, you'll object ? Re-enter Beoui.us. Reg. What's that ? Lac. The keeping of the watch in arms. When morning comes. Mac. The senate shall be met, and set 8 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718, 9 Deprefecto vigilumvid. Eos, Antiq, Rom, Lib, vii. et Dio, Rom, Hist. Lib. Iv. i» Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivni, p. 718, M 2 164 SEJAITOS- Acr V. So early in the temple, as all mark Of that shall be avoided. Reg. If we need, We have commissicm to ' possess the palace, Enlarge prince Drusus, and make him our chief. Mac. That secret would have bumthis reverend month. Had he not spit it out now : by the gods, You carry things too Let me borrow a man Or two, to bear these ^That of freeing Drusus, Csesar projected as the last and utmost ; Not else to be remember' d. Enter Servants, Reg. Here are servants. Mac. These to Arruntius, these to Lepidus ; This bear to Cotta, this to Latiaris. If they demand you of me, say I have ta'en Fresh horse, and am departed. [_Exeunt Servants. Yon, my lord, To your colleague, and be you sure to hold him With long narration of the new fresh favours, Meant to Sejanus, his great patron ; I, With trusted Laco, here, are for the guards : Then to divide. For, night hath many eyes. Whereof, though most do sleep, yet some are spies. {Exeunt. SCENE IV.— ^ Sacellum Cor Chapel) in Sejanus' s IToase. EnterVrseeones,^ Flamen, s Tuticines, Tibicines, Ministri, Sejanus, Tbrentius, Satrius, Natta, ^c. Pne. * Be att profane far hence ; fly, fly far off: Be absent far ; far hence he all profane t [Tub. and Tib. '^ scmnd while the Flamen washeth. Fla. We have been faulty, but repent us now, And bring pure s hands, pure vestments, and pure 1 Mm. Pure vessels. [minds. 2 Min. And pure offerings. 3 Min. Garlands pure. Fla. Bestow your ^ garlands : and, with reve- The vervin on the altar. [rence, place Pr.i& dicta. Hoc est sobria, et Tinocaxentia. which done, he sprinkleth upon the altar, milk ; then im- poseth the honey, and kindteth his gums, and after cens- ing about the altar, placeth his censer thereon, into which they put several " tranches of poppy, and the music ceasing, proceeds. Fla, Great '^ mother Fortune, queen of human Redress of action, arbitress of fate, [stale, To whom all swap, all power, all empire bows, Be present, and propitious to our vows I Prce. Favour's jj -^^^ ygyj tongues. Min. Be present and propitious to our vows ! Omnes. Accept our " offering and be pleased, great goddess. Ter. See, see, the image stirs ! Sat. And turns away ! Nat. Fortune'" averts her face. Fla. Avert, you gods, The prodigy. Still ! stiU, some pious rite We have neglected. Yet, heaven be appeased. And be all tokens false and void, that speak Thy present wrath I Sej. Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest : And gather up thyself, with these thy wares Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw Thus scorned on the earth. Ifiverturns the statue and the altar. Nay, hold thy look Averted till I woo thee turn again ; And thou shalt stand to all posterity. The eternal game and laughter, with thy neck Writh'd to thy tail, hke a ridiculous cat. Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights. And all these cozening ceremonies : you. Your pure and spiced conscience ! {Exeunt all but Sejanus, Terent. Satei. and Naita. I, the slave And mock of fools, scorn on my worthy head ! That have been '^ titled and adored a god, Yea," sacrificed unto, myself, in Rome, No less than Jove : and I be brought to do A peevish giglot, rites ! perhaps the thought And shame of that, made fortune turn her face. Knowing herself the lesser deity. And but my servant. — ^Bashful queen, if so, Sejanus thanks thy modesty. — Who's that ? Enter Pomponius and '9 Minutius. Pom. His fortune suffers, till he hears my news : I have waited here too long. Macro, my lord Sej. Speak lower and withdraw. {Takes him aside. Ter. Are these things true ? Min. Thousands are gazing at it in the streets. Sej. What's that ? 11 Hoc reddere erat et litare, id est propitiare, et votnm impetrare ; secundum Nonium Marcellmn. Litare enim Mac. Lib. iii. c. 5. expHcat, sacrificio faeto placare numen. In quo sens, leg, apud Plant. Senec. Suet. &c. 12 His solenmibus pr^fationibus in sacris utebantur. IS Quibus, in clausn, populus vel catus a praeconibus favere jubebatur; id est, bona verba fari. Talis enim altera hujus forma interpretatio apud Briss. Lib. i. extat. Ovid. Lib. i. Fast. Linguis animisque favete, Bt Metam, Lib, XV. — piumque .^neadse praestant et mente, et voce favorem, 1^ Solenmisformulain donis cuivisnomini offerendis. IS l^eg. Dio. Rom.Hist, Lib. Iviii. p. 717, de hoc sacrificio. 1' Tacit. Aim. Lib. iv. p. 96. " Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 716. '» De Minutio vid. Tacit, Arm. Lib, vi. SOENK V. SEJANUS. 165 Ter. Minutius tells us here, my lord, That a new head being set upon your statue, A > rope is since found wreatii'd about it ! and. But now ' a fiery meteor in the form Of a great ball was seen to roll along The troubled air, where yet it hangs unperfect, The amazing wonder of flie multitude ! Sej. No more. That Macro's come, is more Ter. Is Macro come? [than all ! Pom. I saw him. Ter. Where ? with whom ? Pom. With Regulus. S^. Terentiua ! Ter. My lord. S^. Send for the ' tribunes, we will straight have up More of the soldiers for our guard. \_Ea:U Ter.] We pray you go for Cotta, Latiaris, [Minutius, Trio the consul, or what senators You know are sure, and ours. {Exit Min.] You, my good Natta, For Laco, provost of the watch. [£a;i cut down Drusus, that upright dm ; wither'd his vine ; Laid' Silius and' Sabinus, two strong oaks, Flat on the earth ; besides those other shrubs, Cordus » and" Sosia," Claudia Pnlchra, Fnmias and '' Gallus, which I have grubb'd up ; And since, have set my axe so strong and deep Into the root of spreading '^ Agrippina ; Lopt oif and scatter'd her proud branches, Nero, Drusus ; and ^ Caius too, although re-planted. If you will, Destinies, that after 5l, I faint now ere I touch my period, You are but cruel ; and I already have done Things great enough. All Rome hath been my slave ; The senate sate an idle looker on. And witness of my power ; when I have blush'd More to command than it to suffer : all The fathers have sate ready and prepared, To give me empire, temples, or their throats, When I would ask 'em ; and what crowns the top, • Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. « Tid. Seneo. Nat. Quest. Lib. i. c. 1. » Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Ivlil. p. 718. « Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 23. ■ Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 74, 1&. et Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 709. « Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. ' Ibid. p. 94. ' De Cremnt. Cor. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 710. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. » De Sosia. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 94. "• De Clan, et Pumio. quaere Tacit. A tit. Lib. iv. p. 89. u DeGallo. Ta«it. Lib. Iv.p. flS. etDio. Lib. Iviij. p. 713. , '2 De Agr. Ner. et Dm. leg. Suet. Tib. cap. 63, 4. " De Cajo. cons. Din. Lib. Ivlii. p. 727. Rome, senate, people, all the world have seen Jove, but my equal j Coeaar, but my second. 'Tis then your malice. Fates, who, but your own. Envy and fear to have any power long known. lExit, — ♦ — SCENE y.—A Room in the same. Enter TEnENTiDS and Tribunes, Ter. Stay here : I'll give his lordship, you are come. JSnter Mraonos, toitn Cotta and Latukis. Min. Marcus Tereutius, 'pray you tell my lord Here's Cotta, and Latiaris. Ter. Sir, I shall. lEMt. Cot. My letter is the very same vrith yours ; Only requires me to be present there. And give my voice to strengthen his design. Lat. Names he not what it is ? Cot, No, nor to you. Lat. 'Tis strange and singular doubtful ! Cot. So it is. It may be all is left to lord Sejanus. Enter Natta and Gracinus Laco. N'at. Gentlemen, where's my lord ? Tri. We wait him here. Cot. The provost Laco ! what's the news ? Lat. My lord Enter SzjAinis. Sej. Now, my right dear, noble, and trusted friends, HoV much I am a captive to your kindness ! Most worthy Cotta, Latiaris, Laco, Your valiant hand ; and, gentlemen, your loves. I wish I could divide myself unto you ; Or that it lay within our narrow powers. To satisfy for so enlarged bounty. Gracinus, we must pray you, hold your guards Unquitwhen morning comes. Saw you the consul? Min. Trio will presently be here, my lord. Cot. They are but giving" order for the edict, To warn the senate. Sej. How 1 the senate .' Lac. Yes. This morning in Apollo's temple. Cot. We Are charged by letter to be there, my lord. Sej. By letter ! pray yon, let's see. Lat, Knows not his lordship ? Cot. It seems so ! Sej. A senate warn'd! vrithout my knowledge ! And on this sudden ! Senators by letters Required to be there ! who brought these ? Cot. Macro. Sej. Mine i' enemy! and when? Cot. This midnight. Sej. Time, With every other circumstance, doth give It hath some strain of engine in't 1 — How now ? Enter SATRms Sat. My lord, Sertorius Macro is without, Alone, and prays t' have private conference In business of high nature with your lordship. He says to me, and which regards you much. Sej. Let him come here. " Tid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. »" Dio. Lib, Iviii. p. 718. 166 SEJANUS. Sat. Better, my lord, withdraw : You will betray what store and strength of friends Are now about you ; which he comes to spy. Sej. Is he not arm'd ? Sat. We'll search him. Sej. No ; but take. And lead him to some room, where you conceal'd May keep a guard upon us. [Sxit Sat.] Noble You are our trust ; and till our own cohorts [Laco, Can be brought up, your strengths must be our Now, good Miuutius, honour'd Latiaris, [guard. CHe salutes them humbly. Most wortby and my most unwearied friends : I return instantly. {Exit. Lat. Most worthy lord ; Cot. His lordship is tum'd instant kind, me- I have not observed it in him, heretofore, [thinks; 1 Tri. 'Tis true, and it becomes him nobly. Min. I Am wrapt withal. 2 Tri. By Mars, he has my lives. Were they a million, for this only grace. Lac. Ay, and to name a man ! Lat. As he did me I Min. And me I Lat. Who would not spend his life and fortunes, To purchase but the look of such a lord ? Lac. He that would nor be lord's fool, nor the world's. lAside. SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same. Enter Sejanus, Macro, and Satrius. Sej. Macro ! > most welcome, a most coveted friend 1 Let me enjoy my longings. When arrived you ? Mac. About^ the noon of night. Sej. Satrius, give leave. [Exit Sat. Mao. I have been, since I came, with both the On a particular design from Csesar. [consuls, Sej. How fares it with our great and royal master ? Mao. Right plentifully weU ; as, with a prince. That still holds out^ the great proportion Of his large favours, where his judgment hath Made once divine election : like the god That wants not, nor is wearied to bestow Where merit meets his bounty, as it doth In you, already the most happy, and ere The sun shall climb the south, most high Sejanus. Let not my lord be amused. For, to this end Was I by Csesar sent for to the isle. With special caution to conceal my journey ; And, thence, had my dispatch as privately Again to Rome ; charged to come here by night ; And only to the consuls make narration Of his great purpose ; that the benefit Might come more full, and striking, by how much It was less look'd for, or aspired by you. Or least informed to the common thought. Sej. What may this be? part of myself, dear Macro, If good, speak out ; and share with your Sejanus. Mao. If bad, I should for ever loath myself To be the messenger to so good a lord. I do exceed my instructions to acquaint ' Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 78. 2 Meridies noctis, Varr. Marcipor. vid. Non. Mar. cap. vi, ' Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 78. Your lordship with thus much ; but 'tis my venture On your retentive wisdom : and because I would no jealous scruple should molest Or rack your peace of thought. For I assure My noble lord, no senator yet knows The business meant : though aU by several letters Are warned to be there, and give their voices. Only to add unto the state and grace Of what is purposed. Sej. You take pleasure, Macro, Like a coy wench, in torturing your lover. What can be worth this suffering ? Mac. That which foUows, The* tribunitial dignity and power : Both which Sejanus is to have this day Conferr'd upon him, and by public senate. Sej. Fortune be mine again ! thou hast satisfied For thy suspected loyalty. lAside. Mao. My lord, I have no longer time, the day approacheth, And I must back to Csesar. Sej. Where's Caligula ? Mac. That I forgot to tell your lordship. Why, He lingers yonder about Caprese, Disgraced ; Tiberius hath not seen him yet : He needs would thrust himself to go with me, Against my wish or will ; but I have quitted His forward trouble, with as tardy note As my neglect or silence could afford him. Your lordship cannot now command me aught, Because I take no knowledge that I saw you ; But I shall boast to live to serve your lordship : And so take leave. Sej. Honest and worthy Macro ; Your love and friendship. \_Esnt Macro.] — Who's there .' Satrius, Attend my honourable frieiid f«fej^^XJ._ How vain and vile a passion isfthisieSS) What base uncomely things it iSslies^en do 1 Suspect their noblest friends, as I did this, Flatter poor enemies, entreat their servants, Stoop, court, and catch at the benevolence Of creatures, unto whom, within this hour, I would not have vouchsafed a quarter-look, +JOr piece of face ! By you that fools call gods, Hang all the sky with your prodigious signs. Fill earth with monsters, drop the scorpion down. Out of the zodiac, or the fiercer lion, Shake off the loosen'd globe from her long hinge, RoU all the world in darkness, and let loose The enraged-wi^ds to turn up groves and towns I When I dorfearltgain, let me be struck With^fiajteoHfe, and unpitied die : Wiwyears^ worthy of calamity. [Exit SCENE VII. — Another Room in the same. Enter Terentius, Miwutius, Laco, Cotta, Latiaris, and PoMPONius; Begulus, Trio, and others^ on different sides. Pom. Is not my lord here ? Ter. Sir, he will be straight Cot. What news, Fulcinius Trio ? Tri. Good, good tidings ; But keep it to yourself. My lord Sejanus Is to receive this day in open senate The tribunitial dignity. * Dio. Lib. Iviii p. 78. vid. Suet, de oppress. Sejan. Tib. SCENE IX. SEJANUS.- 3C7 Cot. Is'ttrue? Tri. No words, not to your thought : but, sir, Lat. What says the consul ? [believe it. Cot. Speak it not again : He tdls me, that to-day my lord Sejanns Tri. I must entreat you, Cotta, on your honour Not to reveal it. Cot. On my life, sir. Lat. Say. Cot. Is to receive the tribunitial power. But, as you are an honourable man, Let me conjure you not to utter it ; For it is trusted to. me with that bond. Lat. I am Harpocrates. Ter. Can you assure it ? Pom. The consul told it me, but keep it close. Min. Lord Latiaris, what's the news ? Lat. I'll teU you ; But you must swear to keep it secret. Enter Sejanus. Sej. I knew the Fates had on their distaff left More of our thread, than so. Reg. Hail, great Sejanus ! Tri. Hail, the 'most honour'd! Cot. Happy! Lat. High Sejanus 1 Sej. Do yon bring prodigies too ? Tri. May all presage Turn to those fair effects, whereof we bring Your lordship news. Reg. May't please my lord withdraw. Sej. Yes : — I will speak with you anon. {To some that stand ty. Ter. My lord, What is your pleasure for the tribunes ? Sej. Why, Let them be thank'd and sent away. Min. My lord Lac. Will't please your lordship to command Sej. No : [me You are troublesome. Min. The 'mood is changed. Tri. Not speak. Nor look ! Lac. Ay, he is wise, will make him friends Of such who never love, but for their ends. lExeunU ♦ — SCENE VIII.— .rf Space before the Temple of Apollo. Enter AARUvrnrs and LEPmus, divers Senators jja^m'Tt^ by then. Arr. Ay, go, make baste ; take heed you be not To tender your 'AU HaU in the wide haJl ' [last Of huge Sejanus : run a lictor's pace : Stay not to put your robes on ; but away. With the pale troubled ensigns of great friendship Stamp'd in your face I Now, Marcus Lepidus, You still believe your former augury ! Sejanus must go downward ! You perceive His wane approaching fast ! Lep. BeUeve me, Lucius, I wonder at this rising. Arr. Ay, and that we > ])lo. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 2 Pio. ibid. 3 Ave, matutina vox ealutanti propria, apud Romanos, vid. Bliss, de form. Lib. viil. Must give our suffrage to it. You wiU say, It is to make his fall more steep and grievous : It may be so. But think it, they that c^u With idle wishes 'say to bring back time : In cases desperate, all hope is crime. See, seel what troops of his officious friends Flock to salute my lord, and start before My great proud lord ! to get a lord-like nod ! Attend my lord unto the senate-house ! Bring back my lord ! like servilp ushers, make Way for my lord! proclaim his idol lordship, More than ten criers, or six noise of trumpets ! Make legs, kiss hands, and take a scatter'd hair From my lord's eminent shoulder ! CSANQcraius and Hat£rids jiofi over (he stage. See, 'Sanquinius With his slow belly, and his dropsy ! look. What toiling haste he makes I yet here's another Retarded with the gout, will be afore him. Get thee 'Liburnian porters, thou gross fool, To bear thy obsequious fatness, like thy peers. They are met 1 the gout returns, and his great carriage. [Lictois, Begvlus, Trio, Sejahtis, Satbtos, and man^ other SensitoiB, pass over the stage. Lict. Give way, make place, room for the consul ! San. Hail, Hail, great Sejanus ! Hat. Hail, my honour'd lord ! Arr. We shall be mark'd anon, for our not HaU. Lep. That is already done. Arr. It is a note Of upstart greatness, to observe and watch For these poor trifles, which the noble mind Neglects and scorns. Lep. Ay, and they think themselves Deeply dishonour'd where they are omitted, As if they were ° necessities thathelp'd To the perfection of their dignities ; And hate the men that but refrain them. Arr. O 1 There is a farther cause of hate. Their breasts Are gnilty, that we know their obscure springs. And base beginnings ; thence the anger grows. On. Follow. SCENE IX. — Another part of the same. Enter Macro and I/Ago. Mae. When all are enter'd, 'shut the temple doors ; And bring your gaards up to the gate. Lac. I will. Mac. If you shall hear commotion in the senate, Present yourself : and charge on any man Shall offer to come forth. Lae. I am instructed. {Exeunt. 4 De Sanquinio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. et de Haterio, ibid. ^ Ex Libumia, magnae et procers stature mittebantur, qui erant Bom. Lecticarii ; test. Juv. Sat. iii. v. 240. Turba cedente vehetur Dives, et ingenti cmret super ora Liburno, s Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. ' Dio. ibid. p. 718. 168 SEJANUS. SCENE X.—The Temple of Apollo. Enter HATERinS} Trio, Sanquinius, Cotta, Begulus, Sejanus, Pomfonius, Latiabib, Lepidus, Abruntius, and divers other Senators ; Pracones, and Lictors. Mat. How well his lordship looks to-day ! Tri. As if He had been bom, or made for this hour's state. Cot. Your fellow consul's come about, methinks ? Tri. Ay, he is wise. San. Sejanus trusts him well. Tri. Sejanus is a noble, ^ bounteous lord. Hat. He is so, and most valiant. Lat. And most wise. 1 Sen. He's every thing. Lat. Worthy of sJl, and more Than bounty can bestow. Tri. This dignity Will make him worthy. Pom. Above Csesar. San. Tut, Caesar is but the ^rector of an isle, He of the empire. Tri. Now he vrill have power More to reward than ever. Cot. Let us look We be not 'slack in giving him our voices. Lat. Not I. San. Nor I. Cot. The readier we seem To propagate his honours, will more bind His thoughts to ours. Hat. I think right with your lordship ; It is the way to have us hold cur places. San. Ay, and get more. Lat. More office and more titles. Pom. I will not lose the part I hope to share In thesS his fortunes, for my patrimony. Lat. See, how Arruntius sits, and Lepidus ! Tri. Let them alone, they vrill be mark'd anon. 1 Sen. m do vrith others, 2 Sen. So will I. 3 Sen. And I. Men grow not in the state, but as they are planted Warm in his favours. Cot. Noble Sejanus ! Hat. Honour'd Sejanus ! Lat. Worthy and great Sejanus ! Arr. Gods ! how the sponges open and take in, And shut again ! look, look ! is not he blest That gets a seat in eye-reach of him ? more. That comes in ear, or tongue-reach .' O but most, Can claw bis subtle elbow, or vrith a buz Fly-blow his ears ? Prat. Proclaim the senate's peace, And give last summons by the edict. Prte. Silence ! In name of Csesar, and the senate, silence! Memmiiis Regulus,'a/nd Fuloinius Trio,* con- suls, these present kalends of June, with the first light, shall hold a senate, in the temple of Apollo Palatine .-s all that are fathers, and are registered 1 Vid. acclamation. Senat. Dio. Kom. Hist. Lib, Iviii. p. 719. 2 Dio.p. 71S. s Dio. p. 719. * Tid. Brissonlum de formul. Lib. ii. et Lipsium Sat. Men'p. A I'alatimis, a monte Palatino dictns. fathers, that have right of entering the senate, we warn or command you be frequently present, take knowledge tKe business is the commonuiealth's : whosoever is absent, his fine or mulct will be taken, his excuse will not be taken. Tri. Note who are absent, and record theii names. Seg. Fathers conscript,^ may what I am to utter Turn good and happy for the commonwealth I And thou, Apollo, in whose holy housfe We here have met, inspire us all with truth, And liberty of censure to our thought 1 The majesty of great Tiberius Csesar Propounds to this grave senate, the bestovring Upon the man he loves, honour'd Sejanus, The ' tribunitial dignity and power : Here are his letters, signed vrith his signet. What 'pleaseth now the fathers to be done ? Sen. Read, read them, open, publicly read them. Cot. Caesar hath honour'd his own greatness In thinking of this act. [much Tri. It was a thought Happy, and worthy Caesar. Lat. And the lord As worthy it, on whom it is directed ! Hat. Most worthy I San. Rome did never boast the virtue That could give envy bounds, but his : Sejanus — 1 Sen. Honour'd and noble ! 2 Sen. Good and great Sejanus 1 Arr. O, most tame slavery, and fierce flattery ! Pr De hac-epist. vid. Sio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719. et Juv. Sat, z. Arr. Come, porpoise ; where's Haterius ? His gout keeps him most miserably constant ; Your dancing shews a tempest Sej. Bead no more. Reg. Lords of the senate, hold your seats : read Sej. These letters they are forged. [on. Reg. A guard ! sit still. Enter Laco, uiitn tlte Buards. Arr. Here's change ! Reg. Bid silence, and read forward. Prce. Silence ! cmd himself suspended from all exercise of place or power, but till due and mature trial be made of his innocency, which yet we can faintly apprehend the necessity to doubt. If, conscript fathers, to your more searching wisdoms, there shall appear farther cause or of farther proceeding, either to seizure of lands, goods, or more it is not our power that shall limit your authority, or our favour that must corrupt your justice: either were dishonourable in j/oa, and both uncharitable to ourself. We would ' willingly be present with your counsels in this business ; but the danger of so potent a faction, if it should prove so, forbids our attempting it : except one of the consuls would be entreated for our safety, to under- take the guard of us home ; then we should most readily adventure. In the mean time, it shall not be fit for us to importune so judicious a senate, who know how much they hurt the innocent, that spa re the guilty ,• and how grateful a sacrifice to the gods _ ] is the life of an ingrateful person. We reflect not, in this, on Sejanus, (notwithstanding, if you keep an eye upon him and there is Latiaris, a senator, and Pinnarius Natta, two of his most trusted ministers, and so professed, whom we desire not to have apprehended,) but as the necessity of the cause exacts it. Reg. A guard on Latiaris ! Arr. O, the spy. The reverend spy is caught ! who pities him ? Reward, sir, for your service : now, you have done Your property, you see what use is made ! [Exeunt Latiabis aTid Natta, guarded. Hang up the instrument. Sej. Give leave. Lac. Stand, stand! He comes upon his death, that doth advance An inch toward my point. Sej. Have we no friends here ? Arr. Hush'dl Where now are all the hails and acclamations .' Enter Macro. Mac. Hail to the consuls, and this noble senate \ Sej. Is Macro here ? O, thou art lost, Sejanus ! iAHde. Mac. Sit still, and unaffrighted, reverend fathers : Macro, by Csesar's graee, the new-made provost, And now possest of the prsetorian bands, An honour late belong'd to that proud man. Bids you be safe : and to your constant doom Of his deservings, offers you the surety Of all the soldiers, tribunes, and centurions, Received in our command. Reg. Sejanus, Sejanus, Stand forth, Sejanus ! Sej. Amlcall'd? 1 Dio. Bom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719,et Suet. Tib. 170 SEJANTIS. ACT V. Mac. Ay, thou, Thou insolent monster, art bid stand. Sej. Why, Macro, It hath been otherwise between you and I ; This court, that knows us both, hath seen a differ- And can, if it be pleased to speak, confirm [ence, Whose insolence is most. MoAi. Come down, Typhoeus. If mine be most, lo ! thus I make It more ; Kick up thy heels in air, tear off thy robe. Play -with thy beard and nostrils. Thus 'tis fit (And no man take compassion of thy state) To use th' ingrateful viper, tread his brains Into the earth. Reg. Forbear. Mac. If I could lose All my humanity now, 'twere well to torture So meriting a traitor. — ^Wherefore, fathers, Sit you amazed and silent; and not censure This wretch, who, in the hour he first rebell'd 'Gainst "Caesar's bounty, did condemn himself? Phlegra, the field where all the sons of earth Muster'd against the gods, did ne'er acknowledge So proud and huge a monster. V' Reg. Take him hence ; " And all the gods guard Csesar ! TH. Take him hence. Hat. Hence. Cot. To the dnngeon with him. San. He deserves it. Sen. Crown all our ' doors with bays. San. And let an ox, With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led Unto the Capitol — Hat. And sacrificed To Jove, for Caesar's safety. Tri. All our gods Be present stiU to Cassar ! Cot. Phoebus. San. Mars. Hat. Diana. San. Pallas. Sen. Juno, Mercury, AH guard him ! Mao. Forth, thou prodigy of men ! lExit Sbjawus, guarded. Cot. Let all the traitor's titles be defaced. Tri. His images and statues be pull'd down. Hat. His chariot-wheels be broken. Arr. And the legs Of the poor horses, that deserved nought, Let them be broken too ! lExeunt Lictors, Praecones, Macro, Kegolds, Trto, Hatbrius, and SA^QDrKnus : manent Lepidds, Arbuntitjs, and a few Senators. Lep. O violent change. And whirl of men's affections ! Arr. Like, as both Their bulks and souls were bound on Fortune's And must act only with her motion. [wheel, Lep. Who would depend upon the popular air. Or voice of men, that have to-day beheld That which, if all the gods had fore-declared. Would not have been believed, Sejanus' fall ? He, that this morn rose proudly, as the sun, And, breaking through a mist of clients' breath. Came on, as gazed at and admired as he, When superstitious Moors salute his light ! 1 Leg. Juv. Sat. x. That bad our servile nobles waiting him As common grooms ; and hanging on his look. No less than human life on destiny ! That had men's knees as frequent as the gods ; And sacrifices ' more than Rome had altars : And this man fall ! fall ? ay, without a look That durst appear his friend, or lend so much Of vain relief, to his changed state, as pity ! Arr. They that before, like gnats, play'd in his beams. And throng'd to circumscribe him, now not seen. Nor deign to hold a common seat with him ! Others, that waited him unto the senate, Now inhumanely ravish him to prison. Whom, but this morn, they follow'd as their lord ! Guard through the streets, bound like a fugitive. Instead of wreaths give fetters, strokes for stoops, Blind shames for honours, and black taunts foi Who would trust slippery chance ? [titles Lep. They that would make Themselves her spoil ; and foolishly forget, ^ Ji^hen she doth flatter, that she comes to prey. Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men I Had wisdom : we have placed thee so high, Lgy fond belief in thy felicity. \_Skout within.'] The gods guard Csesar ! All the gods guard Caesar ! Rz-RnUr Macro, Begulus, and divers Senators. Mac, Now, ' great Sejanus, you that awed the And sought to bringthe nobles to your whip ; [state. That would be Caesar's tutor, and dispose Of dignities and ofiices ! that had The public head still bare to your designs. And made the general voice to echo yours ! That look'd for salutations twelve score off, And would have pyramids, yea temples, rear'd To your huge greatness ; now you lie as flat. As was your pride advanced ! Reg. Thanks to the gods ! Sen. And praise to Macro, that hath saved Liberty, liberty, liberty ! Lead on, [Rome ! And praise to Macro, that hath saved Rome ! [Exeunt all but Arbuntius and Lepipus. Arr. I prophesy, out of the senate's flattery. That this new fellow. Macro, will become A greater prodigy in Rome, than he That now is fallen. Enter Tekbntius. Ter. O you, whose minds are good. And have not forced all mankind from your breasts ; That yet have so much stock of virtue left, To pity guilty states, when they are wretched : Lend your soft ears to hear, and eyes to weep, Deeds done by men, beyond the acts of furies. The eager multitude (who never yet Knew why to love or hate, but only pleased T' express their rage of power) no sooner heard The murmur of Sejanus in dedine. But with that speed and heat of Etppetite, With which they greedily devour the way To some great sports, or a new theatre, They fiU'd the Capitol, and Pompey's Cirque, Where, like so many mastiffs, biting stones, As if his statues now were sensitive Of their wild fury j first, * they tear them down ; * Dio. Horn. Hist. Lib. Ivlii . p. 719. to. s Vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720, Sec ' Tid. Juv. Sat. x. SCENE X. SEJANUS. 171 Then fastening ropes, drag them along the streets, Crying in scorn, This, this was that rich head Was cronn'd with garlands, and with odours, this That was in Rome so reverenced ! Now The furnace and the beUows shall to work, The gresat Sejanus crack, and piece by piece Drop in the founder's pit. Lep. O popvdar rage ! Ter. The whilst the senate at ' the temple of Concord Make haste to meet again, and thronging cry, Let us condemn him, tread him down in water. While he doth lie upon the hank ; away 1 While some more tardy, cry imto their bearers, He will be censured ere we come ; run, knaves. And use that furious diligence, for fear Their bondmen should inform against their slack- And bring their quaking flesh unto the hook : [ness, The rout they follow with confused voice, Crying, they're glad, say, they could ne'er abide him. Enquire what man he was, what kind of face, What beard he had, what nose, what lips ? Protest They ever did presage he'd come to this ; \ They never thought him wise, .nor valiant ; ask 1 After his gsirments, when he dies, what death ; And. not a beast of all the herd demands, What was his crime, or who were his accusers, / Under what proof or testimony he fell ? / There came, says one, a huge long-worded letter From Caprese against him. Did there so ? O, they are satisfied ; no more. Lep. Alas 1 They tbUow ^ Fortune, and hate men condemn'd, Guilty or not. Arr. But had Sejanus thrived In his design, and prosperously opprest The old Tiberius ; then, in that same minute. These very rascals, that now rage like furies, Would haveproolaim'd Sejanus emperor. Lep. But what hath follow'd ? Ter. Sentence ^ by the senate. To lose his head ; which vras no sooner off, But that and the unfortunate trunk were seized By the rude multitude ; who not content With what the forward justice of the state Officiously had done, with violent rage Have rent it limb from limb. A thousand heads, A thousand hands, ten thousand tongues and voices, Employ'd at once in several acts of malice ! Old men not staid vrith age, virgins with shame, , yiiate wives with loss of husbands, mothers of chil- c '^ Losing aU grief in joy of his sad fall, [dren, Run quite transported with their cruelty ! These mounting at his head, these at his face. These digging out his eyes, those with his brains Sprinkling themselves, their houses aud their Mends; Others are met, have ravish'd thence an arm. And deal small pieces of the flesh for favours ; These vrith a thigh, this hath cut ofl^his hands. And this his feet ; these fingers and these toes ; That hath his liver, he his heart : there wants Nothing but room for vrrath, and place for hatred ! I Sio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivlii. p. 720. * .Tut.' Sat. x. ' Dio. Horn. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. Senee. lib. de Tranq. Anim. c. 11. ^uo die ilium senatus deduxerat, populus ill frusta divieit, &c. What cannot oft be done, is now o'erdone. The whole, and aU of what was great Sejanus, And, next to Csesar, did possess the world, Now torn and scatter'd, as he needs no gravej Each little dust covers a little part : So lies he no where, and yet often buried ! EnUr NuNTJua. Arr. More of Sejanus ? Nun. Yes. Lep. What can be added ? We loiow him dead. Nun. Then there begin your pity. There is enough behind to melt ev'u Rome, And Ceesar into tears ; since never slave Could yet so highly offend, but tyranny. In torturing him, would make l^m worth lament- ing.— A son and daughter to the dead Sejanus, (Of whom * there is not now so much remaining As would give fast'ning to the hangman's hook,) Have they drawn forth for farther sacrifice ; Whose tenderness of knowledge, unripe years. And childish silly innocence was such. As scarce would lend them feeling of their danger : The ' girl so simple, as she often ask'd " Where they would lead her ? for what cause they dragg'd her?'' Cried, " She would do jio more,:" that she could take " Warning with beating." And because our laws Admit no virgin ° immature to die, The vrittily and strangely cruel Macro Ddiver'd her to be deflower'd and spoil'd, By the rude lust of the licentious hangman. Then to be strangled with her harmless brother. Lep. O, act most worthy hell, and lasting night, To hide it from the world I Nun. Their bodies thrown Into the Gemonies, (I know not how. Or by what accident return'd,) the mother. The ejpulsed.' A^icata, finds them there ; WTiom when she saWlie spread on the ' degrees. After a world of fiiry on herself. Tearing her hair, defacing of her face. Beating her breasts and womb, kneeling amaz'd, Crying to heaven, then to them ; at last, Her drowned voice gat np above her woes. And with such black and bitter execrations, As might affright the gods, and force the sun Run backward to the east ; nay, make the old Deformed chaos rise again, to o'erwhelm Them, us, and all the world, she fills the air. Upbraids the heavens with their partial dooms, Defies their tyrannous powers, ° and demands. What she, and those poor innocents have trans- gress'd, That they must suffer such a share in vengeance. Whilst Livia, Lygdus, and Eudemus live, Who, as she says, and firmly vows to prove it To Csesar and the senate, poison'd Drusus ? Lep. Confederates with her husband ! ^ Tid. Senec. lib. de Tranq. Ani. c. xi. 5 Tao. Aim. Lib. v. p. 99. Et Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. 6 Lex nun tarn virginitati ignotmn cautumque volnit quam set&ti. Cons. Lips, comment. Tac. ' Dio. Lib. Iviii. o. 720. 8 Scala Gemoniae in quas erant projecta damnator. cor- pora. ' Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. 172 SEJANUS. Nun. Ay.- Lep. Strange act ! Arr. And strangely open'd : what says now my monster, The mnltitade ? they reel now, do they not ? Nun. Their gall is gone, and now they 'gin to weep The mischief they have done. Arr. I thank 'em, rogues. Nun. Part are so stupid, or so flexible, As they believe him innocent ; all grieve : And some whose hands yet reek with his warm blood. And gripe the part which they did tear of him, Wish him collected and created new. Lep. How Fortune plies her sports, when she begins To practise them t pursues, continues, adds. Confounds with varying her impassion'd nioods! Arr. Dost thou hope, Fortune, to redeem th; crimes, To make amend for thy ill placed favours, With these strange punishments .' Forbear, you things That stand upon the pinnacles of state, To boast your slippery height ; when you do fall, You pash yourselves in pieces, ne'er to rise ; And he that lends you pity, is not wise. Ter. Let this example move the insolent man,' Not to grow proud and careless of the gods. It is an odious wisdom to blaspheme. Much more to slighten, or deay their powers : For, whom the morning saw so great and high. Thus low and little, 'fore the even doth lie. lExeant, VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST EQUAL SISTERS, THE TWO FAMOUS UNIVERSITIES, FOR THEIR LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE SHEWN TO HIS POEM IN THE PRESENTATION; BEN JONSON, THE GRATEFUL ACKNOWLSSGfiR, DEDICATES BOTH IT AND HIMSELF. NsvsRt most equal Sisters, had any man a wit so presently excellent, aa that it could r^e itself ; but there must come both matter, occasion, commenders, and favourers to it. If this be true, and that the fortune of all writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to provide well towards these accidents ; and, having acquired them, to preserve that part of reputation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended. Hence is it, that I now render myself grateful, and am studious to justify the bounty of your act ; to which, though your mere authority were satisfy- iug, yet it being an age wherein poetry and the professors of it hear so ill on all sides, there will a reason be looked for in the subject. It is certain, nor can it with any forehead, be opposed, that the too much licoise of poetasters in this time, hath much deformed their mistress ; that, every day, their manifold and manifest ignorance doth stick unnatural reproaches upon her : but for their petulancy, it were an act of the greatest injustice, either to let the learned suffer, or BO divine a skill (which indeed should not be attempted with imdean hands) to faU under the least contempt. For, if men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to them- selves the impossibility of any man's being the good poet, without first being a good man. He that is said to he able to inform young men to all good disciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, Seep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to childhood, recover them to their first strength ; that comes forth the interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less than human, a master in manners ; and can alone, or with a few, effect the business of mankind : this, I take him, is no subject for pride and ignorance to exercise their railing rhetoric upon. But it will here be hastily ajiswered, that the writers of these days are other things ; that not only their manners, but their natures, are inverted, and nothing remainingwith them of the dignity of poet, but the abused name, which every scribe xisurps ; that now, especially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation, blasphemy, all license of offence to God and man is practised. I dare not deny a great part of this, and am sorry I dare not, because in some men's abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light) it is over true : hut that all are embarked in this bold adventure for hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more inalicious slander. For my particular, I can, and from a most clear conscience, affirm, that I have ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness ; have loathed the use of such foul and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene : and, how- soever I cannot escape from some, the imputation of sharpness, but that they will say, I have taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my youngest infant hut hath come into the world with all his teeth ; I would ask of these supercilious politico, what nation, society, or general order or state, I have provoked ? "What public person ? Whether I have not in all these preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe ? My works are read, allowed, (I speak of those that are intirely mine,) look into them, what broad reproofs have I used ? where have I been particular ? where personal ? except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon, creatures, for their insolencies, worthy to be taxed ? yet to which of these so pointingly, as he might not either ingenuously have confest, or wisely dissembled his disease? But it is not rumour can make men giiilty, much less entitle me to other m^'s crimes. I know, that nothing can he so innocently writ or carried, but may be made obnoxious to construction ; marry, whilst I bear mine innocence about me, I fear it not. Application is now grown a trade with many ; and there are that profess to have a key for the decyphering of every thing : but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to he over- familiar with their fjvmes, who cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice, under other men's simplest meanings. As for those that will (by faults which charity hath raked up, or conunon honesty concealed) make them- selves a name with the multitude, or, to draw their rude and beastly claps, care not whose living faces they intrraich with their petulant styles, may they do it without a rival, for me ! I choose rather to live graved in obscurity, than share with them in ,!so preposterous a fame. Nor can I blaxue the wishes of those severe and wise patriots, who pro- riding the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a state, desire rather to see fools and devils, and those antique relics of barbarism retrieved, with all other ridiculous and exploded follies, than behold the wounds of private men, of princes and nations : for, a^ Horace makes Trebatius speak among these, } ** Sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et odit." Aud men may justlyv impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his sports. The increase of which lust in liberty, together with the pre^t trade of the stage, in all their miscelline interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor ? where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, and with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearSi of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry, able to violate the ear of a pagan, and blaBphemy,\to turn the hlo4)d of a ohrietiaji to water. I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my fame, and the reputation of divers honest and learned are the question ; when a name so full of authority, antiquity, and all great taiark, is, throizgh their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age ; and those men subject to the petulancy of everV vemaculous orator, that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarciiD. This it is that hath not only rap* me to present indignation, but made me studious heretofore, and by all my actions, lo stand off from them ; which maV most appear in this my latest work, which you, most learned Arbitresses, have seen, judged, and to my crown, approve^ :^herein I have labomred for their instruction and amendment, to reduce not only the j 174 THE FOX. ancient forms, but manners of the scene, the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last^ the doctrine, which ia the principal end of poesie, to inform men. in the host reason of living. And though my catastrophe may, in the strict rigour of comic law, meet ■with censm-e, as turning haok to my promise ; I desiro the learned and charitable critic, to have so much faith in me, to think it was done of industry : for, with what ease I could have varied it nearer his scale (but that I fear to boast my own faculty) I could here insert. But my special aim being to put the snaffle in their mouths, that cry out. We never pimish vice in our interludes, &c., I took the more liberty ; though not without some lines of example, dra'wn even in the ancients themselves, the goings out of whose comedies are not always joyful, but oft times the bawds, the servants, the rivals, yea, and the masters are mulcted ; and fitly, it being the office of a comic poet to imitate justice, and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle affections ; to which I shall take the occasion elsewhere to speak. \ For the present, most reverenced Sisters, as I have cared' to be thankful for your affections past, and here made the understanding acquainted with some ground of your favours ; let me not despair their continuance, to the maturing of some worthier fruits; wherein, if my muses be true to mie, I shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out of those rottai and base rags where^vith the times have adulterated her form, restore her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced and kist of all the great and master- spirits of our world- As for the vile and slothful, who never affected an act worthy of celebration, or are so inward with their own vicious natures, as they worthily fear her, and think it an high point of policy to keep her in contempt, with their declamatory and windy invectives ; sflie shall out of just rage incite her servants (who are genus irritabile) to spout ink in their faces, that shall eat farther than their marrow into their fames ; and not Cinnamus the barbei-, with his art, shall be able to take out the brands ; but they shall live, and be read, tiU the wretches die, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then of all mankind. From my House in the Black-Friarsy this llth day of February^ 1607. DRAMATIS PERSONiE, ToLPONE,.a Magnifico* MoscA, his Parasite. VoLTORK, an Advocate, CoRBAccio, an old Gentleman. CoRviNo, a Merchant. BoNARio, son to Corbaccio. Sib Politick Would-be, a Knight Pbregrinb, a Gentleman Traveller. Nano, a Dwarf. Castrone, an Eunuch. Andhogyno, an HermapJirodite. Grege {or Mob.) Coramandadori, Officers of Justice. Mercatori, three Merchants. Avocatori, four Magistrates. Notario, the Register. Lady Would-be, Sir PoUtick's Wife. Ceua, Corvino*s Wife. Servitori, Servants, iioo Waiting-women, ^c* SCENE,— Venice. THE ARGUMENT. V olponej childless, rich, feigns sick, despairsj Offers his state to hopes of several heirs j L ies languishing : his parasite receives P resents of all, assures, deltides ; then weaves O ther cross plots j which ope themselves^ are. told. \ N ew tricks for safety are sought ; they thrive : when bold, }- E ach tempts the other again, and all are sold, J PROLOGUE. N'ow, luck yet send us, and a little wit Will serve to make our play hit ,* ./According to the palates of the season) Here is rhime, not empty of reason. This we were bid to credit from oxer poet, Whose true scope, if you would know it. In all his poems still hath been this measure, To mix profit with your pleasure ; And not as some, whose throats their envy failing^ Cry hoarsely, All he writes is railing : And when his plays come forth, think they can flout them. With saying, he was a year about them. To this there needs no lie, but this his creaturcj Which was two months since no feature ; And though he dares give them five lives to mend it, ' Tis known, five weeks fully penn'd it. From his own hand, without a co-adjuior, Novice, journey-man, or tutor. Yet thus much I can give you, as a token Of his play's worth, no eggk are broken f Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrightedj Wherewith your rout are so delighted ; Nor hales he in a gull old ends Reciting, To stop gaps in his loose writing ; With such a deal of monstrous a?id forced action. As might make Bethlem a faction : Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each But makes jests to Jit his fable/; [table. And so presents quick comedy fefined. As best critics have designed ; The laws of time, place, persJtns he observeth. From no needful rule he s{verveth. All gall and copperas from his ink he draineth, Only a little salt remainetm. Wherewith he'll rub your cjfieeks, till red, with laughter, / They shall look fresh R0GYN0. Mos. 'Tis signior Voltore, the advocate ; I know him by his knock. Volp. Fetch me my gown, My furs and night-caps ; say, my couch is changing, And let him entertain himself awhile Without i' the gallery. l£xit Mosca.] Now, now, my clients Begin their visitation ! Vulture, kite. Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey. That think me turning carcase, now they come ; I am not for them yet. — Re-enter Mosca, with the gown, Sfc. How now ! the news ? Mos. A piece of plate, sir. Volp. Of what bigness ? Mos. Huge, Massy, and antique, with your name Inscribed, And arms engraven. Volp. Good ! and not a fox Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive sleights, Mocking a gaping crow .' ha, Mosca ! Mos. Sharp, sir. Volp. Give me my furs. \_Pnts on his sick dress."] Why dost thou laugh so, man ? Mos. I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend What thoughts he has without now, as he walks : That this might be the last gift he should give ; That this would fetch you ; if you died to-day. And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow ; What large return would come of all his ventures ; How he should worship'd be, and reverenced ; Kide with his furs, and foot-cloths ; waited on By herds of fools, and clients ; have clear way Made for his mule, as letter'd as himself ; Be caird the great and learned advocate : And then concludes, there's nought impossible. Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca. Mos. O, no : rich Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple^ So you can hide his two ambitious ears, And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor. Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch him in. Mos. Stay, sir ; your ointment for your eyes. Volp. That's true ; Dispatch, dispatch i I long to have possession Of my new present. Mos. That, and thousands more, I hope to see you lo^d of. Volp. Thanks, kinij Mosca. Mos. And that, wheri I am lost in blended dust, And hundred such as I am, in succession Volp. Nay, that were tbo much, Mosca. SCEME I. THE FOX. 177 Mos. You shall live^ Still, to delude these harpies. Volp. Loving Mosca ! 'Tis well : my pillow now, and let him enter. [_Exit Mosca. Now, my feign'd cough, my phthisic, and my gout. My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs, Help, with your forced functions, this my posture. Wherein, this three year, I have milk'd their hopes. Becomes; I hear him — Uh! \ooughing.'\ uh ! uh ! uh ! O— He-enter Mosca, introducing Voltobe, with a piece of Plate. Mos. You still are what you were, sir. Only you, Of all the rest, are he commands his love, And you do wisely to preserve it thus. With early visitation, and kind notes Of your good meaning to him, which, I know, Cannot hut come most gratefuL Patron ! sir ! Here's signior Voltore is come Volp. [faintly.] What say you ? Mos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning To visit you. Volp. I thank him. Mos. And hath brought A piece of antique plate, bought of St. Mark, With which he here presents you. Volp. He is welcome. Pray him to come more often. Mos. Yes, Volt. What says he I Mos. He thanks you, and desires you see him Volp. Mosca. [often. Mos. My patron ! Volp. Bring him near, where is he ? I long to feel his hand. Mos. The plate is here, sir. Volt. How fare you, sir ? Volp. I thank you, signior Voltore ; Where is the plate ? mine eyes are bad. Volt, [putting it into his hands. "[ I'm soriy, To see you still thus weak. Mos. That he's not weaker. lAslde. Volp. You are too munificent. Volt. No, sir ; would to heaven, I could as well give health to you, as that plate ! Volp. You give, sir, what you can : I thank you. Your love Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer'd : I pray you see me often. Volt. Yes, I shall, sir. Volp. Be not fsir from me. Mos, Do you observe that, sir ? Volp. Hearken unto me still ; it Will concern you. Mos. You are a. happy man, sir; know your good.. Volp, I cannot now last long Mos. You are his heir, sir. Volt. Ami? Volp. I feel me going ; Uh ! uh ! uh ! uh ! I'm sailing to my port, ' Vh ! uh ! uh 1 uh ! And I am glad I am so near my haven.. Mos. Alas, kind gentleman! Well, we must all Volt. But, Mosca [go Mos. Age will conquer. Volt. 'Pray thee, hear me r Am I inscribed his heir for certain ? Mos. Are you ! I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe To write me in your family. All my hopes Depend upon your worship : I am lost. Except the rising suu do shine on me. Volt. It shall both shine, and warm thee, Mosca, Mos. Sir, I am a man, that hath not done your love All the worst offices : here I wear your keys, See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd, Keep the poor inventory of your jewels. Your plate and monies ; am your steward, sir, Husband your goods here. Volt. But am I sole heir ? Mos. Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning : The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry Upon the parchment. Volt. Happy, happy, me ! By what good chance, sweet Mosca .' Mos. Your desert, sir ; I know no second cause. Volt. Thy modesty Is not to know it ; well, we shall requite it. Mos. He ever Uked your course, sir ; that first took him. I oft have heard him say, how he admired Men of your large profession, that could speak To every cause, and things mere contraries, Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law ; That, vrith most quick agility, could turn, And [re-] return ; [could] make knots, and undo Give forked counsel ; take provoking gold [them ; On either hand, and put it up t these men, He knew, would thrive with their humihty. And, for his part, he thought he should be blest To have his heir of such a suffering spirit. So wise, so grave, of soperplex'd a tongue. And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce Lie stiUr vrithout a fee ; when every word Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin i — [Knocking without. Who's that ? one knocks ; I would not have you seen, sir. And yet — pretend you came, and went in haste : I'll fashion an excuse — ^and, gentle sir. When you do come to swim in golden lard. Up to the arms in honey, that your chin Is borne up stiff, vrith fatness of the flood, Think on your vassal ; but remember me : I have not been your worst of clients. Volt. Mosca ! Mos. When vrill you have your inventory brought, sir? Or see a copy of the vrill ? Anon ! — I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone. Put business in your face. IJBxit Voltobb. Volp. [springing up.'\ Excellent Mosca ! ■ Come hither, let me kiss thee. Mos. Keep you stUl, sir. Here is Corbaccio. Fo/p. Set the plate away : The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come 1 Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep. Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to the rest."] Now, shall we see A wretch who is indeed more impotent Than this can feign to be ; yet hopes to hop Over his grave — Enter Cobbaccio. Signior Corbaccio I Yon're very welcome, sir. h 178 THK FOX, ACT 1. Corh. How does your patron ? Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: Mos. Troth, as he did, sir ; no amends. You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. Corb. What ! mends he ? Corb. Excellent, excellent! sure I shall out- Mos. No, sir : he's rather worse. last him : Corb. That's well. Where is he? This makes me young again, a score of years. 3Ios. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleep. Mos. I was a coming for you, sir. Corb. Does he sleep well ? Corb. Has he made his will ? Mos. No wink, sir, all this night. What has he given me ? Nor yesterday ; but slumbers. Mos. No, sir. Corb. Good ! he should take Corb. Nothing! ha? Some counsel of physicians : I have brought him Mos. He has not made his vnll, sir. An opiate here, from mine own doctor. Corb. Oh, oh, oh! Mos. He will not hear of drugs. What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here ? Corb. Why? I myself Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard Stood by while it was made, saw all the ingredients : My master was about liis testament ; And know, it cannot but most gently work : As I did urge him to it for your good My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. Corb. He came unto him, did he ? I thought so. Volp. Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it. Mos. Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. Uside. Corb. To be his heir ? Mos. Sir, Mos. I do not know, sir. He has no faith in physic. Corb. True: Corb. Say you, say you ? I know it too. Mos. He has no faith in physio : he does think Mos. By your own scale, sir. i_Aside. Most of your doctors are the greater danger, Corb. Well, And worse disease, to escape. I often have I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look. Heard him protest, that your physician Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines. Should never be his heir. Will quite weigh down his plate. Cori..NotIhisheir? Mos. [ Talcing the bag.'] Yea, marry, sir. Mos. Not your physician, sir. This is true physic, this your sacred medicine ; Corh. O, no, no, no, No talk of opiates, to this great elixir ! I do not mean it. Corb. 'Tis aurum palpabUe, if not potabile. Mos. No, sir, nor their fees Mos. It shall be minister'd to him, in his bowl. He cannot brook : he says, they flay a man, Corb. Ay, do, do, do. Before they kill him. Mos. Most blessed cordial I Corb. Right, I do conceive you. This will recover him. Mos. And then they do it by experiment ; Corb. Yes, do, do, do. Por which the law not only doth absolve them. Mos. I think it were not best, sir. But gives them great reward : and he is loth Corb. What? To hire his death, so. Mos. To recover him. Corb. It is true, they kill Corb. O, no, no, no ; by no means. With as much license as a judge. Mos. Why, sir, this Mos. Nay, more ; Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns, Corb. 'Tis true, therefore forbear ; I'll take my And these can kill him too. Give me it again. [venture : Corb. Ay, or me ; Mos. At no hand ; pardon me : Or any man. How does his apoplex ? You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I Js that strong on him still .' Will so advise you, you shall have it all. Mos. Most violent. Corb. How? His speech is broken, and his eyes are set, Mos. AU, sir ; 'tis your right, your ovra : no His face drawn longer than 'twas wont Can claim a part : 'tis yours, without a rival, [man Corb. How! how! Decreed by destiny. Stronger than he was wont ? Corb. How, how, good Mosca ? Mos. No, sir : his face Mos. ru tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover. Dravm longer than 'twas wont. Corb. I do conceive you. Corb. 0, good! Mos. And, on first advantage Mos. His mouth Of his gain'd sense, vrill I re-importune him Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. Unto the making of his testament : Corb. Good. And shew him this. iPointing to the moneif. Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints. Corb. Good, good. And makes the colour of his flesh like lead. Mos. 'Tis better yet. Corb. 'Tisgood. If you vrill hear, sir. Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull. Corb. Yes, with all my heart. Corb. Good symptoms still. Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home Mas. And from his brain with speed ; Corb. I conceive you ; good. There, frame a vrill ; whereto you shall inscribe Mos, Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum, My master your sole heir. Forth the resolved corners of his eyes. Corb. And disinherit Corb. Is't possible ? Yet I am better, ha ! My son ! How does he, with the swimming of his head ? Mos. O, sir, the better : for that colour Mos. 0, sir, 'tis past the scotomy ; he now Shall make it much more taking. THE FOX. 179 Corb. O, but colour ? Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me. Now, when I come to inforce, as I will do, Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, Your more than many gifts, your this day's present, And last, produce your will; where, without thought, Or least regard, unto your proper issue, A son so hrave, and highly meriting. The stream of your diverted love hath throvm you Upon my master,, and made him your heir : He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead. But out of conscience, and mere gratitude Corb. He must pronounce me his ? Mos. 'Tis true. Corb. This plot Did I think on before. Mos. I do believe it. Corb. Do you not believe it.' Mos. Yes, sir. Corb. Mine own project. Mos, Which, when he hath done, sir Corb. Publish'd me his heir ? Mos. And you so certain to survive him Corb. Ay. Mos. Being so lusty a man Corb. 'Tis true. Mos. Yes, sir Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he should be The very organ to express my thoughts ! Mos. You have not only done yourself- a Corb. But multiplied it on my son. [good Mos. 'Tis right, sir. Corb. Still, my invention. Mos. 'Las, sir ! heaven knows. It hath been all my study, all my care, (I e'en grow gray withal,) how to work things Corb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca. Mos. You are he. For whom I labour here. Corb. Ay, do, do, do : I'll straight about it. ZSoing. Mos. Rook go vrith you, raven ! Corb. I know thee honest. JIfoi. You do lie, sir! lAside. Corb. And Mos, Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir. Corb. I do not doubt, to be a father to thee. Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing. Corb. I may have my youth restored to me, why not .' Mos. Yonrworship is a precious ass ! Corb. What say'st thou .' " Mos, I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis done ; I go. l^xit. Volp. [leaping from his couohj] O, I shall burst ! Let out my sides, let out my sides — Mos. Contain Your flux of laughter, sir : you know this hope Is such a bait, it covers any hook. Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it ! I cannot hold ; good rascal, let me kiss thee : I never knew thee in so rare a humour. Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught ; Follow your grave instructions ; give them words ; Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence. Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punish- Is avarice to itself ! [ment Mos. Ay, with our help, sir. Volp. So many cares, so many maladies. So many fears attending on old age, Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Can be more frequent with them, their limbs faint, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them j yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, failing them : Yet this is reckon'd life ! nay, here was one. Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer 1 Feels not his gout, nor palsy ; feigns himself Younger by scores of years, flatters his age With confident belying it, hopes he may. With charms, like ^son, have his youth restored : And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he, And all turns air ! [Knocking wHhin.'\ Who's that there, now ? a third ! Mos. Close, to your couch again ; I hear his It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. [voice : Volp. [lies down as before.'] Dead. Mos. Anotherbout, sir, with your eyes. [ArtoinU ing them.] — ^Who's there ? Enter Cokvino. Signior Corvino ! come most vrish'd for 1 O, How happy were you, if you knew it, now ! Corv. Why ? what ? wherein ? Mos. The tardy hour is come, sir. Corv. He is not dead ? Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good ; He knows no man. Corv. How shall I do then ? Mos. Why, sir? Corv. I have brought him here a pearl. Mos. Perhaps he has So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir : He still calls on you ; nothing but your name Is in his mouth. Is your pearl orient, sir ? Corv. Venice was never owner of the like. Volp. [faintly.'] Signior Corvino ! Mos. Hark. Volp, Signior Corvino ! Mos, He calls you; step and give it him. He's here, sir, And he has brought yon a rich pearl. Corv. How do you, sir ? Tell him, it doubles the twelfth caract. Mos. Sir, He cannot understand, his hearing's gone ; And yet it comforts him to see you Corv. Say, I have a diamond for him, too. Mos. Best shew it, sir ; Put it into his hand ; 'tis only there He apprehends : he has his feeling, yet. See how he grasps it ! Core. 'Las, good gentleman ! How pitiful the sight is ! Mos. Tut ! forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter Under a visor. Corv. Why, am I his heir ? Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the will Till be be dead ; but here has been Corbaccio, ' Here has been Voltore, here were others too, I cannot number 'em, they were so many ; All gaping here for legacies : but I, 180 THE FOX. ACT 1. Taking the vantage of his naming you, Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino, took Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him, Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who Should be executor ? Corvino. And, To any question he was silent to, I still interpreted the nods he made, Through vreakness, for consent : and sent home th' others. Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse. Con). O, mydearMosca! ITheyemirace.J Does he not perceive us ? Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man. No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Who 'twas that fed him last, or gave him drink : Not those he hath begotten, or brought up, Can he remember. Corv. Has he children ? Mos. Bastards, Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk. Knew you not that, sir ? 'tis the common fable. The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his ; He's the true father of his family. In all, save me : — but he has given them nothing. Corv. That's well, that's well ! Art sure he does not hear us .' Mos. Sure, sir ! why, look you, credit your own sense. [_Shauts in Vol.'s ear. The pox approach, and add to your diseases, If it would send you hence the sooner, sir. For your incontinence, it hath deserv'd it Thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to boot 1 — . You may come near, sir. — Would you would once close Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime. Like two frog-pits ; and those same hanging cheeks, Cover'd with hide instead of skin — Nay, help, sir — That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end ! Corv. [aloud.2 Or like an old smoked wall, on Ran down in streaks ! [which the rain Mos. Excellent, sir ! speak out : You may be louder yet ; a culverin Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it. Corv. His nose is like a common sewer, still running. Mos. 'Tis good ! And what his month ? Corv. A very diaught. Mos. O, stop it up Coro. By no means. Mos. 'Pray you, let me : Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow. As well as any woman that should keep him. Corv. Do as you will ; but I'U begone. Mos. Be so : It is your presence makes him last so long. Corv. I pray you, use no violence. Mos. No, sir ! why ? Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir ? Corv. Nay, at your discretion. Mos. Well, good sir^ begone. [pearl. Corv, I will not trouble him now, to take my Mos. Puh ! nor your diamond. What a needless Is this afflicts you ? Is not all here yours ? [care Am not I here, whom you have made your creature ? That owe ray being to you ? Corv. Gratefiil Mosoa ! Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes, Mos. Excepting one. Corv. What's that ? Mos. Your gallant wife, sir, — lExit Conv. Now is he gone : we had no other means To shoot him hence, but this. Volp. My divine Mosca ! Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. [^Knocking within.'] — Who's there .' I will be troubled with no more. Prepare Me music, dances, banquets, all dehghts ; The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures. Than will Volpone. {ilint Mos.] Let me see ; a pearl ! A diamond ! plate ! chequines ! Good morning's purchase. Why, this is better than rob churches, yet ; Or fat, by eating, once a month, a man — Be-ent&r Mosca. Whois't? Mos, The beauteous lady Would-be, sir, Wife to the English knight, sir Politick Would-be, (This is the style, sir, is directed me,) Hath sent to know how you have slept to-night. And if you would be visited ? Volp. Not now : Some three hours hence — Mos. I told the squire so much. Volp. When I am high with mirth and wine ; then, then : 'Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour Of the bold English, that they dare let loose Their wives to all encounters I Mos. Sir, this knight Had not his name for nothing, he is politick, And knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs, She hatfii not yet the face to be dishonest : But had she signior Corvino's wife's face — Volp. Has she so rare a face .' Mos. O, sir, the wonder, The blazing star of Italy ! a wench Of the first year ! a beauty ripe as. harvest ! Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over, Thau silver, snow, or lilies ! a soft lip. Would tempt you to eternity of kissing! And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood ! Bright as your gold, and lovely as your gold ! Volp. Why had not I known this before ? Mos. Alas, sir, Myself but yesterday discover'd it. Volp. How might I see her ? Mos. O, not possible ; She's kept as warily as is your gold ; Never does come abroad, never takes air, But at a window. All her looks are sweet. As the first grapes or cherries, and are watch'd As near as they are. Volp. I must see her. Mos. Sir,- There is a guard of spies ten thick upon her, All his whole household ; each of which is set Upon his fellow, and have all their charge. When he goes out, when he comes in, examined. Volp. I will go see her, though but at her Mos. In some disguise, then- [window. Volp. That is true ; I must Maintain mine own shape still the same : we'll think. {.Exeunt. THE FOX. 181 ACT 11. SCENE I. — St. Mark's Place ; a retired corner before Corvino's House. Enter Sir Politick Would-bj!, and Pbregbine. iSir P. Sir, to a wise man, all the world's his soil : It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe, That most bound me, if my fates call me forth. Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire Of seeing countries, shifting a religion, Kor any disaffection to the state Where I was bred, and unto which I owe My dearest plots, hath brought me out ; much less. That idle, antique, stale, gray-headed project Of knowing men's minds and manners, with But a peculiar humour of my wife's [Ulysses ! Laid for this height of Venice, to observe, To quotCj to learn the language, and so forth — I hope you travel, sir, with license ? Per. Yes. Sir P. I dare the safelier converse How Since you left England ? [long, sir. Per. Seven weeks. Sir P. So lately! You have not been with my lord ambassador ? Per. Not yet, sir. Sir P. Pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate ? 1 heard last night a most strange thing reported By some of my lord's followers, and I long To hear how 'twill be seconded. Per. What was't, sir ? Sir P. Marry, sir, of a raven that should build In a ship royal of the king's. Per. This fellow, Does he guU me, . trow ? or is gull'd ? \^Aside.'\ Your name, sir. Sir P. My name is Politick Would-be. Per. O, that speaks him. — [Aside'\. A knight, sir ? Sir P. A poor knight, sir. Per. Your lady Lies here in Venice, for intelligence Of tires, and fashions, and behaviour, Among ihe courtezans ? the fine lady Would-be ? Sir P. Yes, sir ; the spider and the bee, oftimes. Suck from one flower. Per. Good sir Politick, I cry you mercy ; I have heard much of you : "Tis true, sir, of your raven. Sir P. On your knowledge ? Per. Yes, and your lion's whelping in the Tower. Sir P. Another whelp 1 Per. Another, sir. Sir P. Now heaven ! What prodigies be these ? The fires at Berwick ! And the new star ! these things concurring, strange, And full of omen ! Saw you those meteors ? Per. I did, sir. Sir. P. Fearful 1 Pray you, sir, confirm me. Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, As they give out ? Per. Six, and a sturgeon, sir. Sir P. I am astonish'd. Per. Nay, sir, be not so ; I'll tell you a greater prodigy than these. Sir P. What should these things portend ? Per. The very day (Let me be sure) that I put forth from London, There was a whale discover'd in the river. As high as Woolwich, that had waited there. Few know how many months, for the subversion Of the Stode fleet. Sir P. Is't possible ? believe it, 'Twas either sent from Spain, or the archdukes : Spinola's whale, upon my life, my credit I Will they not leave these projects ? Worthy sir. Some other news. Per. Faith, Stone the fool is dead, And they do lack a tavern fool extremely. Sir P. Is Mass Stone dead ? Per. He's dead, sir ; why, I hope You thought him not immortal ? — O, this knight. Were he well known, would be a precious thing To fit our EngUsh stage : he that should write But such a fellow, should be thought to feign Extremely, if not maliciously. lAside. Sir P. Stone dead ! Per. Dead. — Lord ! how deeply, sir, you ap- He was no kinsman to you ? [prehend it ? Sir P. That I know of. Well ! that same fellow was an unknown fool. Per. And yet you knew him, it seems ? Sir P. I did so. Sir, I knew him one of the most dangerous heads Living within the state, and so I held him. Per. Indeed, sir? Sir P. While he lived, in action. He has received weekly intelligence, Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries, ' For all parts of the world, in cabbages ; And those dispensed again to ambassadors. In oranges, musk-melons, apricocks, Lemons, pome-citrons, and such-like ; sometimes In Colchester oysters, and your Selsey cockles. Per. You make me wonder. Sir P. Sir, upon my knowledge. Nay, I've observed him, at your public ordinary. Take his advertisement from a traveller, A conceal'd statesman, in a trencher of meat ; And instantly, before the meal was done. Convey an answer in a tooth-pick. Per. Strange ! How could this be, sir ? Sir P. Why, the meat was cut So like his character, and so laid, as he Must easily read the cipher. Per. ' I have heard. He could not read, sir. Sir P. So 'twas given out. In policy, by those that did employ him : Bat he could read, and had your languages. And ta't, as sound a noddle Per. I have heard, sir. That your baboons were spies, and that they were A kind of subtle nation near to China. Sir P. Ay, ay, your Mamaluchi. Faith, they had Their hand in- a French plot or two ; but they Were so extremely given to women, as They made discovery of all : yet I Had my advices here, on Wednesday last. From one of their own coat, they were return'd. Made their relations, as the fashion is, ■ And now stand fair tor fresh employment. 182 THE FOX. Per. 'Heart! This sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing. i,Aside. It seems, sir, you know aU. Sir P. Not aU, sir, but I have some general notions. 1 do love To note and to observe : though 1 live out, Free from the active torrent, yet I'd mark The currents and the passages of things, For mine own private use ; and know the ebbs And flows of state. Per. Believe it, sir, I hold Myself in no small tie unto my fortunes, For casting me thus luckily upon you. Whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it. May do me great assistance, in instruction For my behaviour, and my bearing, which Is yet so rude and raw. •Sir P. Why, came you forth Empty of rules for travel ? Per. Faith, I had Some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar. Which he that cried Italian to me, taught me. Sir P. Why this it is that spoils all our brave bloods. Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants, Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race : I not profess it, but my fate hath been To be, where I have been consulted with. In this high kind, touching some great men's sons. Persons of blood and honour. Enter Mosca and Nano disguised, followed by persons with materials/or erecting a Stage. Per. Who be these, sir ? Mos. Under that window, there 't must be. The same. Sir P. Fellows, to mount a bank. Did your instructor In the dear tongues, never discourse to you Of the Italian mountebanks ? Per. Yes, sir. Sir P. Why, Here you shall see one. Per. They are cpiacksalvers ; Fellows, that live by venting oils emd drugs. Sir P. Was that the character he gave you of Per. As I remember. [them? Sir P. Pityhis ignorance. They are the only knowing men of Europe ! Great general scholars, excellent physicians. Most admired statesmen, profest favourites, And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes ; The only languaged men of all the world 1 Per. And, I have heard, they are most levpd impostors ; Made all of terms and shreds ; no less beliers Of great men's favours, than their own vile med'cines ; Which they will utter upon monstrous oaths : Selling that drug for two-pence, ere they part, Which they have valued at twelve crowns before. Sir P. Sir, calumnies are answer'd best with silence. Yourself shall judge. — ^Who is it mounts, my ilfo«. Scoto of Mantua, sii'. [friends? Sir P. Is't he ? Nay, then I'll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold Another man than has been phant'sied to you. I wonder yet; that he should mount his bank, Here in this nook, that has been wont t'appear In face of the Piazza ! — Here he comes. Enter Volpone, disguised as a mountetank Doctor, and followed by a crowd qf people. Volp. Mount, zany. [ .zed to see me thus revived .' Ilather applaud thy beauty's miracle ; 'Tis thy great work : that hath, not now alone. But sundjy times raised me, in several shapes, And, but this morning, like a mountebank, To see thee at thy window : ay, before I would have left my practice, for thy love. In varying figures, I would have contended With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood. Now art thou welcome. Cel. Sir! Volp. Nay, fly me not. Nor let thy false imagination That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so : Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh. As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight. As when, in that so celebrated scene. At recitation of our comedy. For entertainment of the great Yalois, I acted young Antinons ; and attracted The eyes and ears of all the ladies present. To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing. ISings. Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever ; Spend not then his gifts in vain ; Suns, that set, may rise again ; But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. "Why should we defer our joys ? Fame and rumour are but toys. Cannot we delude the eyes ' Of a few poor household spies ? Or his easier ears beguile. Thus removed by our wile ? — 'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal ; But the sweet thefts to reveal ; To be taken, to be seen. These have crimes accounted been. Cel. Some serene blast me, or dire lightning This my offetiding face 1 [strike ■ Volp, Why droops my Celia ? Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found A worthy lover : use thy fortune well. With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold. What thou art queen of; not in expectation. As I feed others : but possess'd and crown'd. See, here, a rope of pearl ; and each, more orient Than that the brave Mgjptma queen caroused : Dissolve and drink them. See, a carbuncle. May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark ; A diamond, would have bought LoUia Paulina, When she came in like star-light, hid with jewels; That were the spoils of provinces ; take these. And wear, smd lose them : yet remains an ear-ring To purchase them again, and this whole state. A gem but worth a private patrimony. Is nothing : we will eat such at a meal. The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales, The brains of peacocks, and of estriohes. Shall be our food : and, could we get the phoenix. Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish. Cel. Good sir, these things might move a mind affected With such delights ; but I, whose innocence Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying, And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond Cannot be taken with these sensual baits : [it, If you have conscience Volp. 'Tis the beggar's virtue ; If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia. Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers, Spirit of roses, and of violets. The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath Gather'd in bags, and mixt vrith Cretan vrines. Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber ; Which we will take, until my roof whirl round With the vertigo : and my dwarf shall dance. My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic. Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales. Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove, Then I like Mai's, and thou hke Grycine : So, of the rest, till we have quite run through. And wearied all the fables of the gods. Then vrill I have thee in more modern forms. Attired like some sprightly dame of France, Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty ; Sometimes, unto the Persian sophy's vrife ; Or the grand Siguier's mistress ; and, for change, To one of our most artful courtezans. Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian ; And I vrill meet thee in as many shapes : l&£ THE FOX. Where we may so transfuse onr wandering souls Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures, [Sings. That the curious shall not Imow How to tell them as they flow ; And the envious, when they find "UTiat their number is, be pined, Cel. If you have ears that will be pierced— or eyes That can be open'd — a heart that may Be touch' d — Or any part that yet sounds man about you — If you have touch of holy saints — or heaven — Do me the grace to let me 'scape — if not, Be bountifal and kill me. You do know, I am a creature, hither ill betray'd. By one, whose shame I would forget it were : If yon vrill deign me neither of these graces. Yet feed your vprath, sir, rather than your lust, (It is a vice comes nearer manliness,) And punish that unhappy crime of nature, Which you miscall my beauty : flay my face, Or poison it with ointments, for seducing . Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands. With what may cause an eating leprosy, E'en to my bones and marrow : any thing. That may disfavour me, save in my honour — And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health ; Report, and think you virtuous Volp. Think me cold. Frozen and impotent, and so report me ? TMfl.had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think. I,-do degenerate, and abuse my nation, To;.play with opportunity thus long ; I shofild. have done the act, and then have parley'd. Yield, or I'll force thee. ISeaes her. Cel. O ! just God ! Volp. In vain Bon. [rushing in.'\ Forbear, foul ravisher, libi- dinous swine ! Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor. But that I'm loth to snatch thy pimishment Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst, yet. Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance. Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol. Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den Of villainy ; fear nought, you have a guard i And he, ere long, shall meet his just reward. [Exeunt Bow. and Cel. Volp. Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin ! Become my grave, that wert my shelter ! O ! I am unmask'd, unspirited, undone, Betray'd to beggary, to infamy Enter MoscA, wounded and hleeding. Mos. Where shaU I run, most wretched shame To beat out my unlucky brains ? [of men, Volp. Here, here. What L dost thou bleed ? Mos. O that his well-driv'n sword Had been so courteous to have cleft me down Unto the navel, ere I lived to see My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all Thus desperately engaged, by my error ! Volp. Woe on thy fortune ! Mos, And my follies, sir. Volp. Thou hast made me miserable. Mos. And myself, sir. Who would have thought he would have hearken'd Volp. What shall we do ? [so? Mos. I know not ; if my heart Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out. Will you be pleased to hang me, or cut my throat ? And i'U requite you, sir. Let's die like Romans, Since we have lived like Grecians. [Knocking within, Volp. Hark ! who's there ? I hear some footing ; officers, the saffi. Come to apprehend us ! I do feel the brand Hissing already at my forehead ; now. Mine ears are boring. Mos. To your couch, sir, you. Make that place good, however. [Volpone lies doion, as before.^ — GuEty men Suspect what they deserve still. Enter Corbaccio. Siguier Corbaccio ! Corb. Why, how now, Mosca ? Mos. O, undone, amazed, sir. Your son, I know not by what accident. Acquainted with your purpose to my patron. Touching your Will, and making him your heir, Enter'd our house with violence, his sword drawn Sought for you, call'd you wretch, unnatural, Vow'd he would kill you. Corb. Me ! Mos. Yes, and my patron. Corb. This act shall disinherit him indeed ; Here is the WiU. Mos. 'Tis well, sir. Corb. Right and well : Be you as careful now for me. Enter Voltore, behind. Mos. My life, sir. Is not more tender'd ; I am only yours. Corb. How does he i will he die shortly, think'st Mos. I fear " [thou ? He'll outlast May. Corb. To-day? Mos. No, last out May, sir. Corb. Could'st thou not give him a dram ? Mos. O, by no means, sir. Corb. Nay, I'll not bid you. Volt, [coming forward.'] This is a knave, I see. Mos. [seeing YouiosiE/] How! Siguier Voltore ! did. he hear me ? [Aside. Volt. Parasite! Mos. Who's that.' — O, sir, most timely wel- come — Volt. Scarce, To the discovery of your tricks, I fear. You are his, only ? and mine also, are you not? Mos. Who? I, sir? Volt. You, sir. What device is this About a Will ? Mos. A plot for you, sir. Voll. Come, Put not your foists upon me ; I shall scent them. Mos. Did you not hear it? Volt. Yes, I hear Corbaccio Hath made your patron there his heir. Mos. 'Tis true. By my device, drawn to it by my plot,. With hope Volt. Your patron should reciprocate ? And you have promised ? Mos. For your good,. I did, sir. Nay, more, I told his soi^ brought, hid him here. Where he might hear his father pass the deed i Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir, SCEYF I. THE FOX. 193 That the unnaturalness, first, of the act, And then his father's oft disclaiming in him, (Which I did mean t'help on,) would sure enrage To do some violence upon his parent, [him On which the law shoi^d take sufficient hold, And you be stated in a double hope : Truth be my comfort, and my conscience, My only aim weis to dig you a fortune Out of these two old rotten sepulchres — Volt. I cry thee mercy, Mosca. Mas. Worth your patience, And your great merit, sir.' And see the change ! Volt. Why, what success ? Mos. Most hapless ! you must help, sir. Whilst we expected the old raven, in comes Corvino's wife, sent hither by her husband — Volt. What, with a present ? iWos. No, sir, on visitation ; (I'll tell you how anon ;) and staying long, The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth, Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear (Or he would murder her, that was his vow) To affirm my patron to have done her rape : Which how unlike it is, you see ! and hence. With that pretext he's gone, to accuse his father, Defame my patron, defeat you Volt. Where is her husband ? Let him be sent for straight. Mos. Sir, I'll go fetch him. Volt. Bring him to the Scrutineo. Mos. Sir, I will. Volt. This must be stopt. Mos. O you do nobly, sir. Alas, 'twas labonr'd all, sir, for your good ; Nor was there want of counsel in the plot : But fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir. Corb. [listening.} What's that ? Volt. WiU't please you, sir, to go along ? lExit CoRBAccio, followed by Voltore. Mos. Patron, go in, and pray for our success. Volp. [rising from his cottch.'] Need makes devotion : heaven your labour bless ! {Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I.— A Street. Enter Sir Politick Wouid-bk and Febegrinb. Sir P. I told you, sir, it was a plot ; you see What observation is ! You mention'd me For some instructions : I will tell yon, sir, (Since we are met here in this height of Venice,) Some few particulars I have set down, Only for t£is meridian, fit to be known Of your crude traveller ; and they are these. • I will not touch, sir, at your phnise, or clothes, For they are old. Per. Sir, I have better. Sir P. Pardon, I meant, as they are themes. Per. O, sir, proceed : I'll slander you no more of wit, good sir. Sir P. First, for your garb, it must be grave and serious. Very reserv'd and lock'd ; not tell a secret On any terms, not to your father; scarce A fable, but with caution : make sure choice Both of your company, and discourse; beware You never speak a truth Per. How ! Sir P. Not to strangers, For those be they you must converse with most ; ' Others I would not know, sir, but at distance, So as I still might be a saver in them : You shall have tricks else past upon you hourly. And then, for yonr religion, profess none. But wonder at the diversity, of all : And, for your pai-t, protest, were there no other But simply the laws o' th' land, you could content Nic. Machiavel, and Monsiear Bodin, both [you. Were of this mind. Then must you learn the use And handling of your silver fork at meals, The metal of your glass ; (these are main matters With your Italian ;) and to know the hour When yon must eat your melons, and your figs. Per. Is that a point of state too ? Sir P. Here it is ! For your Venetian, if he see a man Preposterous in the least, he has him straight ; He has ; he strips hini. I'll acquaint you, sir, I now have lived here, 'tis some fourteen months Within the first week of my landing here. All took me for a citizen of Venice, I knew the forms so well Per. And nothing else. {Aside. Sir P. I had read Contarene, took me a house. Dealt with my Jews to furnish it with moveables — Well, if I could but find one man, one man To mine own heart, whom I durst trust, 1 would— Per. What, what, sir ? Sir P. Make him rich ; make him a fortune : He should not think again. I would command it. Per. As how ? Sir P. With certain projects that I have ; Which I may not discover. Per. If I had But one to wager with, I would'lay odds now. He tells me instantly. Aside. Sir P. One is, and that I care not greatly who knows, to serve the state Of Venice with red herrings for, three years, And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam, Where I have correspondence. There's a letter, Sent me from one o' the states, and to that purpose : He cannot write his name, but that's his mark. Per. He is a chandler ? Sir P. No, a cheesemonger. There are some others too with whom I treat About the same negociation ; And I will undertake it : for, 'tis thus. I'll do't with ease, I have cast it all : Your hoy Carries but three men in her, and a boy ; And she shall make me three returns a year : So, if there come but one of three, I save ; If two, I can defalk : — but this is now. If my main project faiL Per. Then you have others ? Sir P. I should be loth to draw the subtle air Of such a place, without my thousand aims. I'll not dissemble, sir : where'er I come, o 194- THE FOX. ACT IVr I love to be considerative ; and 'tis true, I have at my free hours thought upon Some certain goods unto the state of Venice, Which I do call my Cautions ; and, sir, which I mean, in hope of pension, to propound To the Great Council, then unto the Forty, So to the Ten. My means are made already — Per. By whom ? Sir P. Sir, one that, though his place be obscure, Yet he can sway, and they will hear him. He's A commaudador. Per. What ! a common Serjeant .' Sir P. Sir, such as they are, put it in their mouths, What they should say, sometimes ; as well as greater : I think I have my notes to shew you — [Searching Ms pockets. Per. Good sir. Sir P. But you shall swear unto me, on your Not to anticipate — [gentry, Per. I, sir! Sir P. Nor reveal A circumstance My paper is not with me. Per. O, but you can remember, sir. Sir P. My first is Concerning tinder-boxes. You must know, No family Is here without its box. Now, sir, it being so portable a thing. Put case, that you or I were ill affected Unto the state, sir ; with it in our pockets, Might not I go into the Arsenal, Or you, come out again, and none the wiser ? Per. Except yourself, sir. Sir P. Go to, then. I therefore Advertise to the state, how fit it were. That none but such as were known patriots, • Sound lovers of their country, should be suffer'd ' To enjoy them in their houses ; and even those Seal'd at some office, and at such a bigness As might not lurk in pockets. Per. Admirable! [resolv'd, Sir P. My next is, how to enquire, and be By present demonstration, whether a ship. Newly arrived from Soria, or from Any suspected part of all the Levant, Be guilty of the plague : and where they use To fie out forty, fifty days, sometimes, About the Lazaretto, for their trial ; I'll save that charge and loss unto the merchant, And in an hour clear the doubt. Per. Indeed, sir ! Sir P. Or 1 will lose my labour. Per. 'My faith, that's much. Sir P. Nay, sir, conceive me. It will cost me in Some thirty livres [onions, Per. Which is one pound sterling. Sir P. Beside my water- works : for this I do, sir. First, I bring in your ship 'twixt two brick walls ; But those the state shall venture : On the one I strain me a fair tarpauling, and in that I stick my onions, cut in halves : the other Is fuU of loop-holes, out at which I thrust The noses of my bellows ; and those bellows I keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion. Which is the easiest matter of a hundred. Now, sir, your onion, which doth naturally Attract the infection, and your bellows blowing The air upon him, will show, instantly. By his changed colour, if there be contagion ; Or else remain as fair as at the first. — Now it is known, 'tis nothing. Per. You are right, sir Sir P. I would I had my note. Per. 'Faith, so would I : But you have done well for once, sir. Sir P. Were I false. Or would be made so, I could show you reasons How I could sell this state now to the Turk, Spite of their gallies, or their lExamining hU papers. Per. Pray you, sir Pol. Sir P. I have them not about me. . Per. That I fear'd : They are there, sir. Sir P. No, this is my diary, Wherein I note my actions of the day. Per. Pray you, let's see, sir. What is here? Notandum, [Reads. A rat Ttadgnawn my spur-leathers ; notwithstand- I put on new, and did go forth : hut first ling, I threw three beans over the threshold. Item, I went and bought two tooth-picks, whereof one I burst immediately, in a discourse With a Dutch merchant, 'bout ragion del stato. From him I went and paid a moccinigo For piecing my silk stockings ; by the way 1 cheapen d sprats ; and at St. Mark's I urined. 'Faith these are politic notes ! Sir P. Sir, I do slip No action of my life, but thus I quote it. Per. Believe me, it is wise ! Sir P. Nay, sir, read forth. Enter, at a distance, Lady Politick "Would-be, Nako, and two Waiting-women. Lady P. Where should this loose knight be. trow ? sure he's housed. Nan. Why, then he's fast. Lady P. Ay, he plays both with me. I pray you stay. This heat will do more harm To my complexion, than his heart is worth. (I do not care to hinder, but to take him.) How it comes off! IRuWnng her cheeks. 1 Worn. My master's yonder. Lady P. Where ? 2 Worn. With a young gentleman. Lady P, That same's the party ; In man's apparel ! 'Pray you, sir, jog my knight : I will be tender to his reputation, However he demerit. Sir P. \_Seeing her.J My lady ! Per. Where? Sir P. 'Tis she indeed, sir ; you shall know her. She is, Were she not mine, a lady of that merit. For fashion and behaviour ; and for beauty I durst compare Per. It seems you are not jealous, That dare commend her. Sir P. Nay, and for discourse Per. Being your wife, she cannot miss that. Sir P. [introducing Feb.] Madam, Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly ; He seems a youth, but he is Lady P. None. Sir P. Yes, one Has put his face as soon into the world Lady P. You mean, as early ? but to-day ? Sir P. How's this ? SCENE U. THE FOX. 195 Lady P. Why, in this habit, sir j you appre- hend me : — Well, master Would-he, this doth not become you ; I had thought the odour, sir, of your good name Had been more precious to you ; that you would not Have done this dire massacre on your honour ; One of your gravity and rank besides ! But knights, I see, care little for the oath They make to ladies ; chiefly, their own ladies. Sir P. Now, by my spurs, the symbol of my knighthood, — Per. Lord, how his brain is humbled for an oath ! liAside. Sir P. I reach you not. Xodjr P. Right, sir, your policy May bear it through thus. — Sir, a word with you. [To Per. I would be loth to contest publicly With any gentlewoman, or to seem Froward, or violent, as the courtier says ; ' It comes too near rusticity in a lady. Which I would shim by all means : and however I may deserve from master Would-be, yet T'have one fair gentlewoman thus be made The mikind instrument to wrong another. And one she knows not, ay, and to persever ; In my poor judgment, is not warranted From being a solecism in our sex. If not in manners. Per. How is this ! Sir P. Sweet madam. Come nearer to your aim. Ladff P. Marry, and will, sir. Since you provoke me with your impudence. And laughter of your light land-syren here. Your Sporus, your hermaphrodite Per. What's here ? Poetic fury, and historic storms ! Sir P. The gentlemem, believe it, is of worth, And of our nation. Ladj/ P. Ay, your White-friars nation. Come, 1 blush for you, master Would-be, I ; And am asham'd you should have no more fore- Than thus to be the patron, or St. George, [head, To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice, A. female devil, in a male outside. Sir P. Nay, An you be such a one, I must bid adieu To your delights. The case appears too liquid. lExit. Lady P. Ay, you may carry't clear, with your state-face! — But for your carnival concupiscence, Who here is fled for liberty of conscience, From furious persecution of the marshal. Her will I dis'ple. Per. This is fine, i'faith ! And do you use this often ? Is this part Of your wit's exercise, 'gainst you have occasion ? Madam Lady P. Go to, sir. Per. Do you hear me, lady ? Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts. Or to invite me home, you might have done it A nearer way, by far. Lady P. This cannot work you Qut of my snare. ■Per. Why, am I in it, then ? Indeed your husband told me you were fair, And so you are ; only your nose inclines, That side that's next the sun, to the queen-apple. Lady P. This cannot be endur'd by any pa- tience. Enter Mosca. Mos. What is the matter, madam? Lady P. If the senate Bight not my quest in this, I will protest them To all the world, no aristocracy. Mos. What is the injury, lady ? Lady P. Why, the caUet You told me of, here I have ta'en disguised. Mos. Who? this! what means your ladyship? the creature I mention'd to you is apprehended now. Before the senate ; you shall see her Lady P. Where." Mos. I'll bring you to her. This young gentle- I saw him land this morning at the port. [man, Lady P. Is't possible ! how bus my judgment wander'd ? Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have err'd ; And plead your pardon. Per. What, more changes yet ! Lady P. I hope you have not the malice to re- A gentlewoman's passion. If you stay [member In Venice here, please you to use me, sir Mos. Will you go, madam ? Lady P. 'Pray you, sir, use me ; in faith, The more you see me, the more I shall conceive You have forgot our quarrel. [Exeunt Lady Would-be, Hosca, Nano, and "Waiting-women. Per. This is rare ! Sir Politick Would-be .' no i sir Politick Bawd, To bring me thus acquainted with his wife I Well, wise, sir Pol, since you have practised thus Upon my freshman-ship, I'll try your salt-head, What proof it is against a counter-plot lExit. SCENE II. — The Scrutineo,or Senate-House. Enter Yoltore, Corbaccxo, Gobvino, and Mosca. Volt. Well, now you know the carriage of the Your constsmcy is all that is required [business. Unto the safety of it. Mos. Is the lie Safely convey'd amongst us ? is that sure ? Knows every man his burden ? Corv. Yes. Mos. Then shrink not. Corv, But knows the advocate the truth ? Mos. O, sir. By no means ; I devised a formal tale. That salv'd your reputation. But be valiant, sir. Corv. I fear no one but him, that this his plead- Should make him stand for a co-heir [ing Mos. Co-halter I Hang him ; we will but use his tongue, his noise, As we do croakers here. Corv. Ay, what shall he do ? Mos. Wien we have done, you mean ? Corv. Yes. Mos. Why, we'll think : Sell him for mummia ; he's half dust already. Do you not smile, [2o VoLTORE.jtoseethis buffalo, How he doth sport it with his head ? — I should, If all were well and' past. lAside.J — Sir, [to CoK- BAccio.] Mily you q 2 196 THE FOX. Are he that shall enjoy the crop of all, And these not know for whom they toiL Corb. Ay, peace. Mos. [turning to Corvino.] But yon shall eat it. Much! [^«8(fe.]— Worshipful sir, [to VOLTORE.] Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue, Or the French Hercules, and make your language As conquering as his club, to beat along. As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries ; But much more yours, sir. Volt. Here they come, have done. Mos. I have another witness, if you need, sir, I can produce. Volt. Who is it ? Mos. Sir, 1 have her. Enter Avocatori and take their seats, BoNARro, Celia, Notario, Commandadori, Saffi, and other Officers of Justice. 1 Avoc. The like of this the senate never heard of. 2 Avoc. 'Twill come most strange to them when we report it. 4 Avoc. The gentlewoman has been ever held Of unreproved name. 3 Avoc. So has the youth. 4 Avoc. The more unnatural part that of his 2 Avoc. More of the husband. [father. 1 Avoc. I not know to give His act a name, it is so monstrous 1 4 Avoc. But the impostor, he's a thing created To exceed example ! 1 Avoc, And all after-times ! 2 Avoc. I never heard a true voluptuary Described, but him. 3 Avoc. Appear yet those were cited ? Not. All but the old magnifico, Volpone. 1 Avoo. Why is not he here ? Mos. Please your fatherhoods. Here is his advocate : himself's so wealc, So feeble 4 Avoc What are you ? Bon. His parasite. His knave, his pandar : I beseech the court. He may be forced to come, that your grave eyes May bear strong witness of his strange impostures. Volt. Upon my faith and credit with your vir- He is not able to endure the air. [tues, 2 Avoc. Bring him, however. 3 Avoc. We "mil see him. 4 Avoc. Fetch him. Volt. Your fatherhoods' fit pleasures be obey'd ; [Exeunt Officers. But sure, the sight will rather move your pities. Than indignation. May it please the court. In the mean time, he may be heard in me : I know this place most void of prejudice. And therefore crave it, since we have no reason To fear our truth should hurt our cause. 3 Avoc. Speak free. Volt. Then know, most honour'd fathers, I must Discover to your strangely abused ears, [now The most prodigidus and most frontless piece Of solid impudence, and treachery. That ever vicious nature yet brought forth To shame the state of Venice. This lewd woman, That wants no artificial looks or tears To help the vizor she has now put on. Hath long been knovra a close adulteress To that lascivious youth there ; not suspected. I say, but known, and taken in the act With him ; and by this man, the easy husband, Pardon'd ; who.;e timeless bounty makes him now Stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person, That ever man's own goodness made accused. For these not knowing how to owe a gift Of that dear grace, but with their shame ; being So above aU powers of theii- gratitude, [placed Began to hate the benefit ; and, in place Of tbanks, devise to extirpe the memory Of such an act : wherein 1 pray your fatherhoods To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures Discover'd in their evils ; and what heart Such take, even from their crimes : — but that anon Will more appear. — This gentleman, the father, Hearing of this foul fact, with many others, Which daily struck at his too tender, ears. And grieved in nothing more than that he could Preserve himself a parent, (his son's ills [not Growing to that strange flood,) at last decreed To disinherit him. 1 Avoc. These be strange turns ! 2 Avoc. The young man's fame was ever fair and honest. Volt. So much more fuU of danger is his vice, That can beguile so under shade of virtue. But, as I said, my honour'd sires, his father Having this settled purpose, by what means To him betray'd, we know not, and this day Appointed for the deed ; that parricide, I cannot style him better, by confederacy Preparing this his paramour to be there, Enter'd Volpone's house, (who was the man, Your fatherhoods must understand, design'd ' -. For the inheritance,) there sought his father : — But vrith what purpose sought he him, my lords ? I tremble to pronounce it, that a son Unto a father, and to such a father, Should have so foul, felonious intent ! It was to murder him : when being prevented By his more happy absence, what then did he ? Not check his wicked thoughts ; no, now new deeds ; (Mischief doth never end where it begins) An act of horror, fathers ! he dragg'd forth The aged gentleman that had there lain bed-rid Three years and more, out of his innocent couch, Naked upon the floor, there left him ; wounded His servant in the face : and, with this strumpet The stale to his forged practice, who was glad To be so active, — (I shall here desire Your fatherhoods to note but my collections. As most remarkable, — ) thought at once to stop His father's ends,' discredit his free choice In the old gentleman, redeem themselves. By laying infamy upon this man. To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives. 1 Avoc. What proofs have you of this ? Son. Most honoured fathers, I humbly crave there be no credit given To this man's mercenary tongue. 2 Avoc. Forbear. Son. His soul moves in his fee. 3 Avoc. O, sir. Son. This fellow. For six sols more, would plead against his Maker. 1 Avoc. You do forget yourself. Volt. Nay, nay, grave fathers. Let him have scope : can any man imagine That he vrill spare his accuser, that would not Have spared Us parent ? SCENE II. THE FOX. 197 1 Avoo. Well, produce your proofs. Cel. I would I could forget 1 were a creature. Vott. Signior Corbaccio 1 [CoRBAccio comes /orward^ 4 Avoc. What is lie ? Volt. The&ther. 2 Avoc. Has he had an oath ? Not. Yes. Corb. What must I do now ? Not. Your testimony's craved. Corb. Speak to the knaye ? I'll have my mouth first stopt with earth ; my heart Abhors his knowledge : I disclaim in him. 1 Avoc. But for what cause ? Corb. The mere portent of nature ! He is an utter stranger to my loins. JBon. Have they made you to this ? Corb. I will not hear thee. Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide ! Speak not, thou viper. Son. Sir, I will sit down. And rather wish my innocence should suffer. Than I resist the authority of a father. Volt. Signior Corvino ! [Corvino comes forward. 2 Avoc. This is strange. 1 Avoc. Who's this ? Not. The hnsband. 4 Avoc. Is he sworn ? Not. He is. 3 ^coo. Speak, then. Corv. This woman, please your fatherhoods, is a whore. Of most hot exercise, more than a partrich, ■ Upon record-^ 1 Avoc. No more. Corv. . Neighs like a jennet. Not. Preserve the honour of the court. Corv. I shall. And modesty of your most reverend ears. And yet I hope that t may say, these eyes Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar. That fine well-timber'd gallant ; and that here The letters may be read, thorough the horn, That make the story perfect. Mos. Excellent ! sir. Corv. There is no shame in this now, is there? lAside to Mosca. Mos. None. Corv. Or if I said, I hoped that she were onward To her damnation, if there be a hell Greater than whore and woman ; a good catholic May make the doubt. 3 Avoc. His grief hath made him frantic. 1 Avoo. Remove him hence. 2 Avoc. Look to the woman. ICelu swoons. Corv. Rare ! Prettily feign'd, again ! 4 Avoc. Stand from about her. 1 Avoc. Give her the air. 3 Avoc. What can you say ? [To Mosca. Mo3. My wound, May it please your wisdoms, speaks for me, re- in aid of my good patron, when he mist [ceived His sought-for father, when that well-taught dame Had her cue given her, to cry out, A rape ! Bon. O most laid impudence ! Fathers^ '3 Avoc. Sir, be silent ; you had your hearing free, so must they theirs. 2 Avoc. I do begin to doubt the imposture here. 4 Avoc. This voman has too many moods. Volt. Grave fathers. She is a creature of a most profest And prostituted lewdness. Corv. Most impetuous. Unsatisfied, grave fathers ! Volt. May her feignings Not take your wisdoms : but this day she baited A stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes. And more lascivious kisses. This man saw them Together on the water, in a gondola. Mos. Here is the lady herself, that saw them Without ; who then had in the open streets [too ; Pursued them, but for saving her knight's honour. 1 Avoc. Produce that lady. 2 Avoc. Let her come. {ExWULosa*.. 4 Avoo. These things. They strike with wonder. 3 Avoc. I am tum'd a stone. Re-enter Mosca with Lady 'WoDLD-Ba. Mos. Be resolute, madam. Lady P. Ay, this same is she. [Pointing to Celia. Out, thou camelion harlot ! now thine eyes Vie tears with the hysena. Dar'st thou look Upon my wronged face ? — I cry your pardons, I fear I have forgettingly transgrest Against the dignity of the court 2 Avoc. No, madam. Lady P. And been exorbitant^ 2 Avoc. You have not, lady. 4 Avoc. These proofs are strong. Lady P. Surely, I had no purpose To scandalize your honours, or my sex's. 3 Avoc. We do believe it. Lady P. Surely, you may believe it 2 Avoc. Msidam, we do. Lady P. Indeed you may ; my breeding Is not so coarse 4 Avoc. We know it. Lady P. To offend With pertineicy 3 Avoc. Lady — Lady P. Such a presence I No surely. 1 Avoc. We well think it. Lady P. You may think it. 1 Avoc. Let her o'ercome. What witnesses To make good your report r [have you Bon. Our consciences. Cel. And heaven, that never fails the innocent. 4 Avoc. These are no testimonies. Bon. Not in your courts. Where multitude, and clamour overcomes. 1 Avoc. Nay, then you do wax insolent. Re-enter Officers, bearing Tolpone on a couch. Volt. Here, here. The testimony comes, that will convince, And put CO utter dumbness their bold tongues . See here, grave fathers, here's the ravisher. The rider on men's wives, the great impostor, The grand voluptuary ! Do you not think These limbs should affect venery ? or these eyes Covet a concubine ? pray you mark these hands ; Are they not fit to stroke a lady's breasts ? — Perhaps he doth dissemble ! Bon. So he does. Volt. Would you have him tortured ? Bon. I would have him proved. [irons ; Volt. Best try him then with goads, or burning 198 THE FOX. Put him to the strappado : I have heard The rack hath cured the gout ; 'faith, give it him, And help him of a malady ; be courteous. I'll undertake, before these honour'd fathers, He shall have yet as many left diseases, As she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets. — O, my most equal hearers, if these deeds. Acts of this bold and most exorbitant strain, May pass with snffersince, what one citizen But owes the forfeit of his life, yea, fame, To him that dares traduce him .' which of you Are safe, my honour'd fathers ? I would ask, With leave of your grave fatherhoods, if their plot Have any face or colour like to truth ? Or if, unto the dullest nostrU here, It smell not rank, and most abhorred slander ? I crave your care of this good gentleman, Whose fife is much endanger' d by their fable ; And as for them, I will conclude with this. That vicious persons, when they're hot and flesh'd In impious acts, their constancy abounds : Damn'd deeds are done with greatest confidence. 1 Avoc. Take them to custody, and sever them. 2 Avoc. 'Tis pity two such prodigies should live. 1 Avoc. Let the old gentleman be return'd with care. {_Bxeunt OfBcers with Volpone. I'm sorry our credulity hath wrong' d him, 4 Avoc. These are two creatures ! 3 Avoc. I've an earthquake in me. 2 Avoc. Their shame, even in their cradles, fled their faces. 4 Avoc. You have done a worthy service to the state, sir, In their discovery. [To Volt. 1 Avoc. You shall hear, ere night. What pimishment the court decrees upon them. tExeunt AvocAT. Not. and Officers with Bonabio and Ceiax. Volt. We thank your fatherhoods. — How like Mos. Rare. [you it ? I'd have your tongue, sir, tipt with gold for this j I'd have you be the heir to the whole city ; The earth I'd have want men, ere you want living : They're bound to erect your statue in St Mark's. Siguier Corvino, I would have you go And shew yourself, that you have conquer'd. Corv. Yes. Mos. It was much better that you should pro- fess Yourself a cuckold thus, than that the other Should have been proved. 1 Com. Nay, I consider'd that : Now it is her fault. Mos. Then it had been yours. Corv. True ; I do doubt this advocate still Mos. I'faith You need not, I dare ease you of that care. Corv. I trust thee, Mosca. IKxiU Mos. As your own soul, sir. Corb. Mosca ! Mos. Now for your business, sir. Corb. How ! have you business ? Mos. Yes, your's sir. Corb. O, none else ? Mos. None else, not I. Corb. Be careful, then. Mos. Rest you with both your eyes, sir. Corb. Dispatch it. Mos. Instantly. Corb. And look that all. Whatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys. Household stuff, bedding, curtains. Mos. Curtain-rings, sir : Only the advocate's fee must be deducted. Corb, I'U pay him now ; you'll be too prodigal. Mos. Sir, I must tender it. Corb. Two chequines is well. Mos. No, six, sir. Corb. 'Tis too much. Mos. He talk'd a great while ; You must consider that, sir. Corb. Well, there's three Mos, I'll give it him. Corb. Do so, and there's for thee. lExit. Mos. Bountiful bones ! What horrid strange offence Did he commit 'gainst nature, in his youth, Worthythis age.' [^iirfe.] — ^Yousee, sir, [«e. Daup. We are invited to dinner together, he and I, by one that came thither to him, sir La-Foole. Cler. O, that's a precious mannikin I Daup. Do you know him ? Cler. Ay, and he will know you too, if e'er he saw you but once, though you should meet him at chiifch in the midst of prayers. He is one of thp braveries, though he be none of the wits. He will salute a judge upon the bench, and a bishop in the pulpit, a lawyer when he is pleading at the bar, and a lady when she is dancing in a masque, and put her out. He does give plays, and suppers, and invites his guests to them, aloud, out of his window, as they ride by in coaches. He has a lodging in the Strand for the purpose : or to watch when ladies are gone to the china-houses, or the Exchange, that he may meet them by chance, and give them presents, some two or three hundred pounds worth of toys, to be laugh'd at. He is never without a spare banquet, or sweet-meats in his chamber, for their women to alight at, and come up to for a bait. Daup. Excellent ! he was a fine youth last night ; but now he is much finer ! what is his .Christian name ? I have forgot. Se-enUr Page. Cler. Sir Amorous La-Foole. Page. The gentleman is here below that owns that name. Cler. 'Heart, he's come to invite me to dinner, I hold my life. Daup, Like enough : prithee, let's have him up. Cler. Boy, marshal him. Page. With a truncheon, sir ? Cler. Away, I beseech you. \_Ea)it Page.] — I'll / make him tell us his pedigree now ; and what meat he has to dinner ; and who are his guests ; and the whole course of his fortunes ; with a breath. Bntur Sir Aaiorous La-Foolb. La-F. 'Save, dear sir Dauphine ! honoured master Clerimont! Cler. Sir Amorous! y ou^ave very much honested my lodging with your presence. La-F. Good faith, it is a fine lodging: almost .-- as delicate a lodging as mine. Cler. Not so, sir. La-F. Excuse me, sir, if it were in the Strand, I assure you. I am come, master Clerimont, to entreat you to wait upon two or three iadies, to dinner, to-day. Cler. How, sir I waituppu them ? did you ever see me carry dishes ? La-F. No, sir, dispense with me ; I meant, to bear them company. Cler. O, that I will, sir : the doubtfulness of your phrase, believe it, sir, would breed you a quarrel once an hour, with the terrible boys, if you should but keep them fellowship a day. La-F. It should be extremely against my will, sir, if I contested with any man. Cler. I believe it, sir : Where hold you your feast ? La-F. At Tom Otter's, sir. SCENE I. THE SILENT WOMAN. Daup. Tom Otter I what's he ? La-F. Captaia Otter, sir; he is a kind of gamester, but he has had command both by sea and by land. Daup. O, then he is animal amphihium % La-F. Ay, sir: his wife was the rich china- woman, that the conrtiers visited so often ; that gave the rare entertainment. She commands all at home. Cler. Then she is captain Otter. La-F. You say very well, sir ; she is my kins- woman, a La-Foole by the mother-side, and will invite any great ladies for my sake. Daup. NotoftheLa-Foolesof Essex? La-F. No, sir, the La-Pooles of London. Cler. Now, he's in. ZAsHe. La-F. They all come out of our house, the La- Fooles of the north, the La-Fooles of the west, the La-Fooles of the east and south—we are as ancient a family as any is in Europe — but I myself am descended lineally of the French La-Fooles— and, we do bear for our coat yellow, or or, checker'd azure, and gules, and some three or four coloiirs more, which is a very noted coat, and has, some- times, been solemnly worn by divers nobility of our house — ^but let that go, antiquity is not re- spected now. — I bad's brace of fat does sent me, gentlemen, and half a dozen of pheasants, a dozen or two of godwits, and some other fowl, which I would have eaten, while they are good, and in good company : — there will be a great lady or two, my lady Haughty, my lady Centaure, mistress Dol Mavis — and Aey come o' purpose to see the silent gentlewoman, mistress Epicoene, that honest sir John Daw has promised to bring thither and 211 tten, mistress Trusty, my lady's woman, wiU be there too, and this honourable knight, sir Dau- phine, with yourself, master Clerimonf^and we'll be very merry, and have fidlers, and dance X have been a mad wag in my time, and have spent some crowns since I was a page in court, to my lord liotty, and after, my lady's gentleman-usher, who got me knighted in Ireland, since it pleased my elder brother to die — I had as fair a gold jerkin on that day, as any worn in the island voyage, or at Cadiz, none dispraised ; and I came over in it hither, shew'd myself to my friends in court, and after went down to my tenants in the country, and surveyed my lands, let new leases, took their money, spent it in the eye o' the land here, upon ladies :— and now I can take up at my pleasure. Daup. Can you take up ladies, sir ? Cler. O, let him breathe, he has not recover'd. Daup. Would I were your half in that commo- dity ! La-F. No, sir, excuse me: I meant money, which can take up any thing. I have another guest or two, to invite, and say as much to, gentlemen. I'll take my leave abruptly, in hope you will not fail ^Your servant. [Exit. Daup. We will not fail yon, sir precious La- Foole ; but she shall, that your ladies come to see, if I have credit afore sir Daw. Cler. Did you ever hear such a wind-subker, as this? Daup. Or such a rook as the other, that will betray his mistress to be. seen ! Come, 'tis time we prevented it. Cler. Go. iBxmnt. ACT II. SCENS I. — A Room I»Mob.ose's House. EnterllOBOSB, with a tube in hit hand, fottowed by Mutb. _ Mar. Cannot I, yet, find out a more compen- dious method, than by this trunk, to save my servants the labour of speech, and mine ejirs the discords of sounds ? Let me see : all discourses but my own afSict me; they seem harsh, imper- tinent, and irksome. Is it not possible, that thou shonldst answer me by signs, and I apprehend thee, fellow? Speak not, though I question you. You have taken the ring off from the street dooi-, as I bade you ? answer me not by speech, but by silence ; unless it be otherwise [Mute makes a leg.'] — ^very good. And you have fastened on a thick quilt, or flock-bed, on the outside of the door ; that if they knock vrith their daggers, or with brick-bats, they can make no noise.'— But with your leg, your answer, unless it be othervrise. [makes a leg]—Yerj good. This is not only fit modesty in a servant, but good state and discretion in a master. And you have been with Cutbeard the barber, to have him come to me ? [makes a leg.] —Good. And, he will come presently? Answer me not but vrith your leg, unless it be otherwise : if it be otherwise, shake your head, or shrug. [makes a leg.]— So I Your Italian and Spaniard are vrise in these : and it is a frugal and comely gravity. How long will it be ere Cutbeard come? Stay; if an hour, hold up your whole hand ; if half an hour, two fingers j if a quarter, one ; [holds up a finger 6erat]_Good : half a quarter? 'tis well. And have you given him a key, to come in without knocking? [makes a leg.]— good. And, is the lock oil'd, and the hinges, to-day ? [makes a leg.] —good. And the quilting of the stairs no where worn out and bare ? [makes a leg.] — ^Very good. I see, by much doctrine, and impulsion, it may ba effected; stand by. The Turk, in this diviii„ discipline, is admirable, exceeding aU the poten- tates of the earth; still waited on by mutes; and all his commands so executed; yea, even in the war, as I have heard, and in his marches, most of his charges and directions given by signs, and with silence : an exquisite art ! and I am heartily ashamed, and angry oftentimes, that the princes of Christendom should suffer a barbarian to transcend them in so high a point of felicity. I will practise it hereafter. [A horn winded within.] — ^How now? oh I oh ! what villain, what prodigy of mankind is that? look. [Eii!itMT!TB.]—[iromagain.]—Ohl cut his throat, cut his throat! what murderer, hell-hound, devil can this be ? iie-«»t«rMuTE. Mute. It is a post from the court Mor. Out, rogue ! and must thou blow thy horn too ? Mute. Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, that says, he must speak with you, pain of death— i. Mor. Pain of thy life, be silent 1 212 THE SILENT WOMAN. ACT II. Ejiier Trubwit with a post-horn, and a halter in his hand. True. By your leave, sir; — I am a stranger here : — Is your Dame master Morose ? is your name master Morose ? Fishes ! Pythagoreans all 1 This is strange. What say you, sir .' nothing I Has Harpocrates been here with his club, among you ? Well, sir, I will believe you to be flie man at this time : I will venture upon you, sir. Your friendg at court commend them to you, sir Mor- O men ! O manners ! was there ever such an impudence ? True. And are extremely solicitous for you, sir. Mor. Whose knave are you ? True. Mine own knave, and your compeer, sir. Mor. Fetch me my sword True. You shall taste the one half of my dagger, if you do, groom ; and you the other, if you stir, sir : Be patient, I charge you, in the king's name, and hear me without insurrection. They say, you are to marry ; to marry ! do you mark, sir ? Mor. How then, rude companion ! True. Marry, your friends do wonder, sir, the Thames being so near, wherein you may drown, so handsomely ; or London-bridge, at a low fall, with a fine leap, to hurry you down the stream ; or, such a delicate steeple in the town, as Bow, to Tault from ; or, a braver height, as Paul's : Or, if you affected to do it nearer home, and a shorter way, an excellent garret-window into the street ; or, a beam in the said garret, with this halter ]_shews him the halter.'] — which they have sent, and desire, that you would sooner commit your grave head to this knot, than to the wedlock noose ; or, take a little sublimate, and go out of the world like a rat ; or a fly, as one said, with a straw in your arse : any way, rather than follow this goblin Matrimony. Alas, sir, do you ever think to find a chaste wife in these times ? now ? when there are so many masques, plays, Puritan preachings, mad. folks, and other strange sights to be seen daily, private and public? If you had lived in king Efieldred's time, sir, or Edward the Confessor, you might, perhaps, have found one ia some cold country hamlet, then, a dull frosty wench, would have been contented with one man : now, they vrill as soon be pleased vrith one leg, or one eye. I'll tell you, sir, the monstrous hazards you shall run with a wife. Mor. Good sir, have I ever cozeu'd any friends of yours of their land ? bought their possessions ? taken forfeit of their mortgage ? begg'd a reversion from them? bastarded their issue? What have I done, that may deserve this ? True. Nothing, sir, that I know, but your itch of marriage. Mor. Why, if I had made an assassinate upon your father, -vitiated your mother, ravished your sisters True. I would kill you, sir, I would kill you, if you had. Mor. Why, you do more in this, sir : it were a vengeance centuple, for all facinorous acts that could be named, to do that you do. True. Alas, sir, I am but a messenger : I but tell you, what you must hear. It seems your friends are careful after your soul's health, sir, and would have you know the danger : (but you may do your pleasure for all them, I persuade not, sir.) If, after you are married, your wife do run away with a vaulter, or the Frenchman that walks ! upon ropes, or him that dances the jig, or a fencer for his. skill at his weapon; why it is not their fault, they have discharged their consciences ; when you know what may happen. Nay, suffer valiantly, sir, for I must tell you all the perils that you are obnoxious to. If she be fair, young and vegetous, no sweetmeats ever drew more flies ; all the yellow doublets and great roses in the town wm be there. If foul and crooked, she'll be with them, and buy those doublets and roses, sir. If rich, and that you marry her dowry, not her, she'll reign in your house as imperious as a widow. If noble, all her kindred will be your tyrants. If fruitful, as proud as May, and.humorous as April ; she must have her doctors, her midwives, her nurses, her longings every hour ; though it be for the dearest morsel of man. If learned, there was never such a parrot ; all your patrimony will be too Uttle for the guests that must be invited to hear her speak Latin and Greek ; and you must lie with her in those languages too, if you will please her. If precise, you must feast all the silenced brethren, once in three days ; salute the sisters ; entertain the whole family, or wood of them ; and hear long-winded exercises, singings and cate- chisings, which you are not given to, and yet must give for ; to please the zealous matron your wife, who for the holy cause, will cozen you over and above. You begin to sweat, sir 1 but this is not half, i'faith : you may do your pleasure, not- withstanding, as I said before : I come not to persuade you. [Mute is stealing away."] — Upon my faith, master serving-man, if you do stir, I will beat you. Mor. O, what is my sin ! what is my sin ! True. TTien, if you love your wife, or rather dote on her, sir ; O, how she'll torture you, and take pleasure in your torments I you shall lie with her but when she lists ; she wiE not hurt her beauty, her complexion ; or it must be for that jewel, or that pearl, when she does : every half hour's pleasure must be bought anew, and with the same pain and charge you woo'd her at first. Then you must keep what servants she please ; what company she will ; that friendmust not visit you without her license ; and him she loves most, she will seem to hate eagerliest, to decline your jealousy ; or, feign to be jealous of you first ; .and for that cause go live with her she-friend, or cousin at the college, that can instruct her in all the mys- teries of writing letters, corrupting servants, taming spies ; where she must have that rich gown for such a great day ; a new one for the next ; a richer for the third ; be served in silver ; have the chamber fill'd vrith a succession of grooms, foot- men, ushers, and other messengers ; besides em- broiderers, jewellers, tire-women, sempsters, fea- thermen, perfumers ; whilst she feels not how the land drops away, nor the acres melt ; nor foresees the change, when the mercer has your woods for her velvets; never weighswhat her pride costs, sir ; so she may kiss a page, or a smooth chin, that has the despair of a beard : be a stateswoman, know all the news, what was done at Salisbury, what at the Bath, what at court, what in progress ; or, so she may censure poets, and authors, and styles, and compare them ; Daniel vrith Spenser, Jonson with the t'other youth, and so forth : or be thought cunning in controversies, or the very knots of divinity ; and have often in her mouth the state of h THE SILENT WOMAN. 213 the question ; and then skip to the mathematics, and demonstration : and answer in religion to one, in state to another, in bawdry to a third. Mot. 0,0! True. All this is very true, sir. And then her going in disguise to that conjurer, and this cunning woman : where the first question is, how soon you shall die ? next, if her present servant love her ? next, if she shall have a new servant ? and how many ? which of her family would make the best bawd, male or female ? what precedence she shall have by her next match ? and sets down the answers, and believes them above the scriptures. Nay, perhaps she'll stndy the art. Mor. Gentle sir, have you done ? have you had your pleasure of me ? I'll think of these things. True. Yes, sir : and then comes reeking home of vapour and sweat, with going a foot, and lies in a month of a new face, all oil and birdlime ; and rises in asses' milk, and is cleansed with a new fucus : God be wi' you, sir. One thing more, which I had almost forgot. This too, with whom you aj-e to marry, may have made a conveyance of her virginity afore hand, as your wise widows -do of their states, before they marry, in trust to some friend, sir : Who can tell ? Or if she have not done it yet, she may do, upon the wedding-day, or the night before, and antedate you cuckolds The like has been heard of in nature. 'Tis no devised, impossible thing, sir. God be wi' you : I'll be bold to leave this rope with you, sir, for a remembrance. — Farewell, Mute! lExit. Mor. Come, have me to my chamber : but first shut the door. [Truewit winds the horn without.'] O, shut the door, shut the door ! is he come again ? , Enter Cutbbard. Cut. 'Tis I, sir, your barber. Mor. O, Cutbeard, Cntbeard, Cutbeard! here has been a cut- throat with me : help me in to my bed, and give me physio with thy counsel. \Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Sir John Daw's House. Enter Daw, Clebimont, Daufhdtb, and Epiccbne, Daw. Nay, an she will, let her refuse at her own charges j 'tis nothing to me, gentlemen : but she will not be invited to the like feasts or guests every day. Cler. O, by no means, she may not refuse to stay at home, if you love your reputation : 'Slight, you are invited thither o' purpose to be seen, and laughed at by the lady of the college, and her sha- dows. This trumpeter hath proclaim'd you. lAride to 'En. Baup. You shall not go ; let him be laugh'd at in your stead, for not bringing you : and put him to his extemporal faculty of fooling and talking ■ loud, to satisfy the company. {Aside to Em. Cler. He will suspect us; talk aloud. — 'Pray, mistress Epicoene, let's see your verses ; we have sir John Daw's leave ; do not conceal your servant's merit, and your own glories. £pi. They'll prove my servant's glories, if you have his leave so soon. ' Daup. His vain-glories, lady ! Daw. Shew them, shew them, mistress ; I dare own them. £p». Judge you, what glories. Daw. Nay, I'll read them myself too : an author must recite his own works. It is a madrigal of Modesty. Modest and fair, for fair and good ara near Neighbours, howe'er.— Daup. Very good. Cler. Ay, is't not ? Daw. JVo noble virtue ever was alone. But two in one. Daup. Excellent! Cler. That again, I pray, sir John. Daup. It has soioething in't like rare wit and sense. Cler. Peace. Daw. No noble virtue ever was alone. But two in one. Then, when I praise sweet modesty, I praise Bright beauty's rays: And having praised both beauty and modesty, I have praised thee. Daup. .^.dmirable ! Cler. How it chimes, and cries tink in the close, divinely ! Daup. Ay, 'tis Seneca. Cler. No, I think 'tis Plutarch. Daw. The dor on Plutarch and Seneca ! I hate it : they are mine own imaginations, by that light. I wonder those fellows have such credit with gen- tlemen. Cler. They are very grave authors. Daw. Grave asses ! mere essayists : a few loose sentences, and that's all. A man would talk so, his whole age: I do utter as good things every hour, if they were collected and observed, as either of them. Daup. Indeed, sir John I Cler. He must needs.; living among the wits and braveries too. Daup. Ay, and being president of them, as he is. Daw. There's Aristotle, a mere common-place fellow ; Plato, a discourser ; Thucydides and Livy, tedious and dry ; Tacitus, an entire knot : some- times worth the untying, very seldom. Cler. What do you think of the poets, sir John? Daw. Not worthy to be named for authors. Homer, an old tedious, prolix ass, talks of curriers, and chines of beef; Virgil of dunging of land, and bees ; Horace, of I know not what. Cler. I think so. Daw. And so, Pindarus, Lycophron, Anacreon, Catullus, Seneca the tragedian, Lucan, Propertius, Tibullus, Martial, Juvenal, Ausonius, Statius, Po- litian, Valerius Flaccus, and the rest Cler. What a sack full of their names he has got I Daup. And how he pours them out! Folitian with Valerius Flaccus ! Cler. Was not the character right of him ? Daup. As could be made, i'faith. Daw. And Persius, a crabbed coxcomb, hot to be endured. Datip. Why, whom do you account for authors, sir John Daw ? Daw. Syntagma juris civilis ; Corpus juris civi- lis ; Corpus juris canonici ; the king of Spain's bible. Daup. Is the king of Spain's bible an author t Cler. Yes, and Syntagma. Daup. What was that Syntagma, sir? Daw. A civil lawyer, a Spaniard. Daup. Sure, Corpus was a Dutchman ■214 THE SILENT WOMAN. Cler. Ay, both the Corpuses, I knew 'em : they were very corpulent authors. Daw. And then there's Vatablus, Pomponatius, Syxnancha : the other are not to be received, within the thought of a scholar. Daup. 'Fore God, you have a simple learned servant, lady, — ^iu titles. iAside. Cler. I wonder that he is not called to the helm, and made a counsellor. Daup. He is one extraordinary. Cler. Nay, but in ordinary: to say truth, the state wants such. Daup. Why that will follow. Cler. I muse a misti'ess can be so silent to the dotes of such a servant. Daw. 'Tis her virtue, sir. I have written some- what of her silence too. Daup. In verse, sir John ? Clear. What else? Daup. Why, how can you justify your own being of a poet, that so slight all the old poets ? Daw. Why, every man that writes in verse . is not a poet ; you have of the wits that write verses, and yet are no poets : they are poets that live by it, the poor fellows that live by it. Daup. Why, would not you live by your verses, sir John ? Cler. No, 'twere pity he should. A knight live by his verses ! he did not make them to that end, I hope. Daup. And yet the noble Sidney lives by his, and the noble family not ashamed. Cler. Ay, he profest himself ; but sir John Daw has more caution : he'll not hinder his own rising in the state so much. Do you think he wiU? Your verses, good sir John, and no poems. Daw. Silence in woman, is like speech in man; Deny'l who can. Daup. Not I, believe it : your reason, sir. Daw. Nor is 't a tale, That female vice should be a virtue male, Or masculine vice a female virtue he : You shall it see Prov'd with increase ; I know to speak, and she to hold her peace. Do you conceive me, gentlemen ? Daup. No, faith : how mean you with increase, sir John ? Daw. Why, with increase is, when I court her for the common cause of mankind, and she says nothing, but consentire videtur ; and in time is gravida. Daup. Then this is a baUad of procreation ? Cler. A madrigal of procreation ; you mistake. JEpi. 'Pray give me my verses again, servant. Daw. If you'll ask them aloud, you shall; \_Walks aside with 1M papers. Enter Thuewit with Ms horn. Cler. See, here's Truewit again ! — Where hast thou been, in the name of madness, thus accoutred with thy horn ? True. Where the sound of it might have pierced your senses with gladness, had you been in ear- reach of it. Dauphine, fall down and worship me ; I have forbid the bans, lad : I have been with thy virtuous uncle, and have broke the match. Daup. You have not, I hope. True. Yes, faith ; an thou shouldst hope other- wise, I should repent me : this horn got me en- trance ; kiss it. I had no other way to get in, but by feigning to be a post ; but when I got in once, I proved none, but rather the contrary, tum'd him into a post, or a stone, or what is stiffer, with thundering into him the incommodities of a wife, and the miseries of marriage. If ever Gorgon were seen in the shape of a woman, he hath seen her in my description : I have put him off o' that scent for ever. — ^Why do you not applaud and adore me, sirs .' why stand you mute ? are you stupid ? You are not worthy of the benefit. Daup. Did not I tell you ? Mischief! — Cler. I would you had placed this benefit some- where else. True. Why so ? Cler. 'Slight, you have done the most inconsi- derate, rash, weak thing, that ever man did to his friend. Daup. Friend ! if the most malicious enemy I have, had studied to inflict an injury upon me, it could not be a greater. True. Wherein, for God's sake? Gentlemen, come to yourselves again. ^ Daup. But I presaged thus much afore to you. Cler. Would my lips had been solder'd when I spake on't ! Slight, what moved vou to be thus impertinent ? True. My masters, do not put on this strange face to pay my courtesy ; off with this vizor. Have good turns done you,. and thank 'em this way !' Daup. 'Fore heaven, you have undone me. That which I have plotted for, and been mJrtimng now these four months, you have blasted in a-^inute : Now I am lost, I may speak. ThiF'gentlewomau was lodged here by me o' purpose, and, to be put upon my uncle, hath profest this obstinate silence for my sake ; being my entire friend, and one that for the requital of such a fortune as to marry him, would have made me very ample conditions ; where now, all my hopes are utterly ndscarried by this iinlucky accident Cler. Thus 'tis when a man will be ignorantly officious, do services, and not know his why: I wonder what courteous itch possest you. You never did absurder part in your life, nor a greater trespass to firiendship or humanity. Daup. Faith, you may forgive it best; 'twas your cause principally. Cler. I know it ; would it had not. Enter COTBEARD. Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! what news ? Cut. The best, the happiest that ever was, sir. There has been a mad gentleman with your uncle this morning, {seeing Tbuewit.] — I think this be the gentleman — ^that has almost talk'd him out-of his wits, with threatening him from marriage Daup. On, I prithee. Cut. And your uncle, sir, he thinks 'twas done by your procurement; therefore he will see the party you wot of presently ; and if he like her, he says, and that she be so inclining to dumb as 1- have told him, he swears he will marry her to-day, instantly, and not defer it a minute longer. Daup. Excellent ! beyond our expectation ! True. Beyond our expectation ! By this light, I knew it would be thus. Daup. Nay, sweet Truewit, forgive me. True. No, I was ignorantly officious, imperii, nenf ; this was the absurd, weak part, Cler. Wilt thou ascribe that to merit now, was mere fortune 1 THE SILENT WOMAN. 215 True. Fortune ! mere providence. Fortune had not a finger in't. I saw it must necessarily in nature fall out so . my genius is never false to me in these things. Shew me how it could be otherwise. J)aup. Nay, gentlemen, contend not; 'tis well now. , ^ True. Alas, I let him go on with inconsiderate, and rash, and what he pleased. Cler. Away, thou strange justifier df thyself, to be wiser than thou wert,,'by--■ -' ' •■' ' " True. Nay, Jackj' best friends he h: Where's his mistrs is she gone ? Daw, Is mistres Cler. Gone afore to the place. Trtte. Gone afori a disgrace and a festival-time as too! Cler. Tut, he' better read in Jvl a disgrace, is o& Daw. Nay, I and be dumb i> John Daw, I ^ Cler. No, does not ref Good faith, T\ into his head. True. Sir, ever you min^ swear to sp< Dam. By True. Nor Daw. Nay, I' Cler. It had been an excellent happy condition for the company, if you could have drawn him to it. ^Atide. Daw. I'll be very melancholy, i'faith. Cler. As a dog, if I were as you, sir John. True. Or a snail, or a hog-louse : I would roU myself up for this day ; in troth, they, should not unwind me. Daw. By this pick-tooth, so I will'. Cler. 'lis well done : He begins already to be angry with his teeth. DaWi Will you go, gentlemen ? Cler. Nay, you must walk alone, if you be right melancholy, sir John. True. Yes, sir, we'll dog you, we'll follow you afar off. iExitVAw. Cler. Was there ever such a two yards of knight- hood measured out by time, to be sold to laughter ? True, A mere talking mole, hang him ! no mushroom was ever so fresh, A fellow so utterly nothing, as he knows not what he would be. Cler. Let's follow him: but first let's go to Dauphine, he's hovering about the house to hear what news. True. Content. lExeutiL SCENE III. — A Room in Morose's House. ETtter MoBoss and Mute, fottoaed iy Cotseasd with EpicaiNB. Mor. Welcome, Cutbeard ! draw near with yo* fair charge : and in her ear softly entreat hy unmask. [Epi. takes off her masft.]— :Soj^^ door shut? [Mute moftes o &y.] — En<}> ^ Cutbeard, with the same discipl^y femily, , I will question you. ^^^■^ beard, this gentlewoman J" and brought, in ho»>- ' ' and perso" your 1 216 THE SILENT WOMAN. Epi. [softlt/.'} Judge you, forsooth. Mor. .What say you, lady? Speak out, I beseech you. JEpi. Judge you, forsooth. Mor. On ray judgment, a divine softness ! But can you naturally, lady, as I enjoin these by doctrine and industry, refer yourself to the search of my judgment, and, not taking pleasure in your tongue, which is a woman's chlefest pleasure, think it plausible to answer me by silent gestures, so long as my speeches jump right with what you con- ceive? [Eti. curtsies.'] — ^Excellent! divine 1 if it were possible she should hold out thus !—^Peace, Cutbeard, thou art made for ever, as thou hast made me, if this felicity have lasting: but I will try her further. Dear lady, I am courtly, I tell you, and I must have mine ears banquetted with pleasant and witty conferences, pretty girds, scoffs, and dalliance in her that I mean to choose for my bed-phere. The ladies in court think it a most desperate impair to their quickness of wit, and good carriage, if they cannot give occasion for a man to court 'em ; and when an amorous discourse is set on foot, minister as good matter to continue it, as himself : And do you alone so much differ from all them, that what they, with so much cir- cumstance, affect and toil for, to seem leam'd, to seem judicious, to seem sharp and conceited, you can bury in yourself with silence, and rather trust -'our graces to the fair conscience of virtue, than to ■> world's or your own proclamation ? vi. [softlg-l I should be sorry else. -. What say you, lady? good lady, speak •'d be sorry else. — -V doth fill me with gladness. -vy above mankind ! pi-ay -"If^ ,1 will only put **entioa of quarrels, though you be staunch in fighting. If activity, be seen on your barbary often, or leaping over stools, for the credit of your back. If she love good clothes or dressing, have your learned council about you every morning, your French tailor, barber, linener, &c. Let your powder, your glass, and your comb be your dearest acquaintance. Take more care for the ornament of your head, than the safety ; and wish the commonwealth rather troubled, than a hair about yon. That will take her. Then, if she be covetous and craving, do you promise any thing, and perform sparingly ; so shsdl you keep her in appetite still. Seem as you would give, but be like a barren field, that yields little ; or unlucky dice to foolish and hoping gamesters. Let your gifts be slight and dainty, rather than precious. Let cunning be above cost. Give cherries at time of yesir, or apricots ; and say, they were sent you out of the country, though you bought them in Cheap- side. Admire her tires : like her in all fashions ; compare her in every habit to some deity j invent excellent dreams to flatter her, and riddles; or, if she be a great one, perform always the second parts to her : like what she likes, praise whom she praises, and fail not to make the household and servants yours, yea the whole family, and salute them by their names, ('tis but light cost, if you can pur- chase them so,) and make her physician your pe;a- sioner, emd her chief woman. Nor will it be out of yoiu: gain to make love to her too, so she follow, not usher her lady's pleasure. All blabbing is taken away, when she comes to be a part of the crime. Daup. On what courtly lap hast thou late slept, to come forth so sudden and absolute a courtling ? True. Good faith, I should rather question you, that are so hearkening after these mysteries. I begin to suspect yom: diligence, Daupblne. . Speak, art thou in love in earnest ? Daup. Yes, by my troth, am I ; 'twere ill dis» sembling before thee. True. With which' of them, I prithee ? Daup. With all the collegiates. Cler. Out on thee ! We'll keep you at home, believe it, in the stable, an you be such a stallion. 224 THE SILENT WOMAN. True. No ; 1 like him well. Men should love wisely, and all women ; some one for the face, and let her please the eye ; another for the skin, and let her please the touch ; a third for the voice, and let her please the ear ; and where the objects mix, let the senses so too. Thou would'st think it strange, if I should make them all in love with thee afore night ! 'Hawp. \ would say, thou hadst the best philtre in the world, and couldst do more than madam Medea, or doctor Foreman. True. If I do not, let me play the mountebank for my meat, while I live, and the bawd for my drink. Dauf. So be it, I say. Enter Otter, viith JtU three Cups, Daw, and La-Foole. Ott. O lord, gentlemen, how my knights and I have mist you here ! Cler. Why, captain, what service, what service ? Ott. To see me bring up my buU, bear, and horse to fight. Dan). Yes, faith, the captain says we shall be his dogs to bait them. Daup. A good employment. True. Come on, let's see your course, then. La-F. I am afraid my cousin will be offended, if she come. Ott. Be afraid of nothing. — Gentlemen, I have placed the drum and the trumpets, and one to give them the sign when you are ready. Here's my bull for myself, and my bear for sir John Daw, and my. horse for sir Amorous. Now set your foot to mine, and yours to his, and IiO-F. Pray God my cousin come not. Ott. St. George, and St Andrew, fear no cousins. Come, sound, sound! \_Drum and trumpets sound.'] Et rauco sirepuerunt comua cantu. [.They drink. True. Wefl. said, captain, i'faith ; well fought at the bull. Cler. Well held at the bear. True. Low, low ! captain. Daup. O, the horse has kick'd off his dog already. La-F. I cannot drink it, as I am a knight. True. Ods so I off with his spurs, somebody. La-F. It goes against my conscience. My cousin will be angry with it. Daw. I have done mine. True. You fought high and fair, sir John. Cler. At the head. Daup. Like an excellent bear-dog. Cler. You take no notice of the business, I hope ? Daw. Not a word, sir ; you see we are jovial. Ott. Sir Amorous, you must not equivocate. It must be puU'd down, for all my cousin. Cler. 'Sfoot, if you take not your drink, they'll think you are discontented with something ; you'll betray all, if you take the least notice. La-F. Not I ; I'll both drink and talk then. Ott. You must pull the horse on his knees, sir Amorous ; fear no cousins. Jaota est alea. True. O, now he's in his vein, and bold. The least hint given him of his wife now, will make him rail desperately. Cler. Speak to him of her. True. Do you, and I'll fetch her to the hearing of it. lExit. Daup. Captain He-Otter, your She-Otter is coming, your wife. Ott. Wife ! buz ? titivilitium ! There's no such thing in nature. I confess, gentlemen, I have a cook, a laundress, a house-drudge, that serves my necessary turns, and goes under that title ; but he's an ass that will be so uxorious to tie his affections to one circle. Come, the name dulls appetite. Here, replenish again ; another bout. \_Filh the cups again.'] Wives are nasty, sluttish animals. Daup. O, captain. Ott. As ever the earth bare, tribus verbis. — Where's master Truewit? Daw. He's slipt aside, sir. Cler. But you must drink and be joviaL Daw. Yes, give it me. La-F. And me too. Daw. Let's be jovial. La-F. As jovial as you will. Ott. Agreed. Now you shall have the bear, cousin, and sir John Daw the horse, and I'll have the bull still. Sound, Tritons of the Thames ! [Drum, and trumpets sound again.'] Nuno est bibendum, nunc pede libero Mor. [above.] Villains, murderers, sons of the earth, and traitors, what do you there .' Cler. O, now the trumpets have waked him, we shall have his company. Ott. A wife is a scurvy clogdogdo, an unlucky thing, a very foresaid bear-whelp, without any good fashion or breeding, mala besiia. Re-enter Tbdewit behind, with Mistress Otteb. Daup. Why did you marry one then, captain ? Ott. A pox 1 1 married with six thousand pound, I. 1 was in love with that. I have not kissed my Fury these forty weeks. Cler. The more to blame you, captain. True. Nay, mistress Otter, hear him a little first. Ott. She has a breath worse than my grand- mother's, profeclo. . Mrs. Ott. O treacherous liar! kiss me, sweet master Truewit, and proye him a slandering knave. True. I'U rather believe you, lady. Ott. And she has a peruke that's like a pound of hemp, made up in shoe-threads. Mrs. Ott. O viper, mandrake ! Ott. A most vile face ! and yet she spends me forty pound a year in mercury and hogs-bones. AH her teeth were made in the Black-friars, both her eye-brows iii the Strand, and h^r hair in Sil- ver-street. Every part of the town owns a piece of her. Mrs. Ott. [comes forward.] I cannot hold. Ott. She takes herself asunder still\when she goes to bed, into some twenty boxes ;,iUid about next day noon is put together again, b'lei a grea'. German clock : and so comes forth, aiid ^ings a tedious larum to the whole house, and then ijs quiet again for an hour, but for her quarters-f-HavVs you done me right, gentlemen ? \ Mrs. Ott. [falls upon him, and beats him.] No, sir, I'll do you right with my qaarters, With, my quarters. \ Ott. O, hold, good princess. True. Sound, sound ! iVrum and trumpets soifnd. Cler. A battle, a battle ! Mrs. Ott. You notorious stinkardly bearwird, does my breath smell .' / J Ott. Under correction, dear priacess. — Lool: to my bear and my horse, gentlemeUi' ' THE SILENT WOMAN. 226 Mrs. OU. Do I want teeth, and eyebrows, thou boll-dog ? True. Sound, sound stiU. IThey sound again. Olt. No, I protest, under correction — Mrs. OU. Ay, now you are under correction, you protest : but you did not protest before cor- rection, sir. Thou Judas, to offer to betray thy princess ! I'll make thee an example — IBeats Mm. Mnter Moross vriOi his long sword. Mor. I will hare no such examples in my house, lady Otter. Mrs. OU. Ah! [Mrs. Otter, Daw, and La-Foous, run off. Mor. Mistress Mary Ambree, your examples are dangerous. — Rogues, hell-hounds, Stentors ! out of my doors, you sons of noise and tumult, begot on an ill May-day, or when the gaUey-foist is afioat to Westminster! [Drives out the musicians.] A trumpeter could not be conceived but then. Daup. What ails you, sir ? Mor. They have rent my roof, walls, and all my windows asunder, with their brazen throats. [J^'nt. Trve. Best follow him, Dauphine. Daup. So 1 will. iEx-it. Cler. Where's Daw and La-Foole ? Ott. They are both run away, sir. Good gen- tlemen, help to pacify my princess, and speak to the great ladies for me. Now must I go lie with the bears this fortnight, and keep out of the way, till my peace be made, for this scandal she has taken. Did you not see my bull-head, gentlemen ? Cler. Is't not on, captain ? True. No ; but he may make a new one, by that is on. Ott. O, here it is. An you come over, gentle- men, and ask for Tom Otter, we'll go down to Ratoliff, and have a course i'faith, for all these disasters. There is bona spes left. True. Away, captain, get off while you are well. ZBxit Ottsr. Cler. I am glad we are rid of him. True. You had never been, unless we had put his wife upon him. His humour is as tedious at last, as it was ridiculous at first. {Exeunt. SCENE II. — A long open Gallery in the same. Enter Lady Haoohtv, Mistress Otter, Mavis, Daw, La-Foolk, Centaurs, ar^d Epiccbnr. Hau. We wonder'd why you shriek'd so, mis- tress Otter. Mrs. Ott. O lord, madam, he came down with a huge long naked weapon in both bis hands, and look'd so dreadfully ! sure he's beside himself. Mav. Why, what made you there, mistress Otter ? . Mrs. Ott. Alas, mistress Mavis, I was chastising my subject, and thought nothing of him. Daw. Faith, mistress, you must do so too : learn to chastise. Mistress Otter corrects her husband so, he dares not speak but under cor- rection. La-F. And with his hat off to her : 'twould do you good to see. Bau. In sadness, 'tis good and mature counsel ; practise it. Morose. I'll call you Morose still now, as I call Centaure and Mavis.; ¥e four will be all one. Q Cen. And you'll come to the coUege, and live with us ? Uau. Make him give milk and honey. Mav. Look how you manage him at first, you shall have him ever after. Cen. Let him allow you your coach, and four horses, your woman, your chamber-maid, your page, your gentleman-usher, your French cook, and four grooms. Hau, And go vnth us to Bedlam, to the china- houses, and to the Exchange. Cen. It vrill open the gate to your fame. Hau. Here's Centaure has immortalized herself, with taming of her wild male. Mav. Ay, she has done the miracle of the king- dom. Enter Ci.erimont and Truswit. Hpi, But, ladies, do you count it lawful to have such plurality of servants, and do them all graces ? Hau. Why not.' why should women deny their favours to men ? are they the poorer or the worse ? Dam. Is the Thames the less for the dyers' water, mistress ? La-F. Or a torch for lighting many torches ? True. Well said, La-FooIe ; what a new one he has got ! Cen, They are empty losses women fear in this kind. Hau. Besides, ladies should be mindful of the approach of age, and let no time want his due use. The best of oar days pass first. Mav. We are rivers, that cannot be call'd back, madsun : she that now excludes her lovers, may live to lie a forsaken beldame, in a frozen bed. Cen. 'Tis true, Mavis : and who will wait on us to coach then ? or write, or tell us the news then, make anagrams of our names, and invite us to the Cockpit, and kiss our hands all the play-time, and draw their weapons for our honours ? Hau. Not one. Daw. Nay, my mistress is not altogether unin- telligent of tiiese things ; here be in presence have tasted of her favours. Cler. What a neighing hobby-horse is this ! Epi. But not wit£ intent to boast them again, servant. — And have you those excellent receipts, madam, to keep yourselves &om bearing of chil- dren ? Hau. O yes. Morose : how should we maintain our youth and beauty else ? Many births of a wo- man make her old, as many crops make the earth barren. Enter Morosb and Dacpbihb. Mor. O my cursed angel, that instructed me to this fate ! Daup. Why, sir ? Mor. That I should be seduced by so foolish a devil as a barber will make ! Daup. I would I had been worthy, sir, to have partaken your counsel; you should never have trusted it to such a minister. Mor. Would I could redeem it with the loss of an eje, nephew, a hand, or any other member. Daup. Marry, God forbid, sir, that you should gdd yourself, to anger your wife. Mor. So it wouldrid me of her ! — and, that I did supererogatory penance in a belfry, at West- minster-hall, in the Cockpit, at the fall of a stag, the Tower-wharf— what place is there elsei" — London- bridge, Paris-garden, BiUinsgate, when 226 THE SILENT WOMAN. the noises are at their height, and loudest. Nay, I would sit out a play, tbat were nothing but fights at sea, drum, trumpet, and target. Daup. X hope there shall be no such need, sir. Take patience, good uncle. This is but a day, and 'tis well worn too now. Mor. O, 'twill be so for ever, nephew, I foresee it, for eyer. Strife and tumult are the dowry that comes with a wife. True, I told you so, sir, and you would not believe me. Mor. Alas, do not rub those wounds, master Truewit, to blood again: 'twas my negligence. Add not afliction to afSictiou. I have perceived the effect of it, too late, in madam Otter. Epi. How do you, sir ? Mor. Did you ever hear a more unnecessary question ? as tf she did not see ! Why, I do as you see, empress, empress. Epi. You are not well, sir ; you look very ill : something has distemper'd you. Mor. O horrible, monstrous impertinencies ! would not one of these have served, do you think, sir ? would not one of these have served ? True. Yes, sir; but these are but notes of female kindness, sir ; certain tokens that she has a voice, sir. Mor. O, is it so ! Come, au't be no otherwise What say you ? Epi. How do you feel yourself, sir ? Mor. Again that ! True. Nay, look you, sir, you would be friends with your wife upon unconscionable terms ; her silence. Epi. They say you are run mad, sir. Mor. Not for love, I assure you, of you; do you see ? Epi. O lord, gentlemen ! lay hold on him, for God's sake. What shall I do ? who's his physi- cian, can you tell, that knows the state of his body best, that I might send for him ? Good sir, speak ; I'll send for one of my doctors else. Mor. What, to poison me, that I might die intestate, and leave you possest of all 1 Epi. Lord, how idly he talks, and how his eyes sparkle ! he looks green about ttie temples ! do you see what blue spots he has I . / Cler. Ay, 'tis melancholy. Epi. Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake, counsel me. Ladies ; — servant, you have read Pliny and Para- celsus ; ne'er a word now to comfort a poor gen- tlewoman ? Ay me, what fortune had I, to marry a distracted man I Daw. I'U tell you, mistress True. Howrarely she holds it up ! [Aside to Cibb. Mor. What mean you, gentlemen ? Epi. What will you tell me, servant ? Dare. The' disease in Greek is called ^awa, in Latin insan.ia,furor, vel eostasis melanchoHca, that is, egressio, when a man ex melancholico evadit fanaticus. Mw. Shall I have a lecture read upon me alive ? Daw. But he may be but phreneticus yet, mis- tress ; and phreneiis is only deliriumj or so. Epi. Ay, that is for the disease, servant ; but what is this to the cure ? We are sure enough of the disease. Mor. Let me go. True. Why, we'll entreat her to hold her peace, sir. Mor. O no, labour not to stop her. She is like a conduit-pipe, that will gush out with more force when she opens again. Sfau. I'U tell you. Morose, you must talk divinity to him altogether, or moral philosophy. La-F. Ay, and there's an excellent book of moral philosophy, madam, of Reynard the Fox, and all the beasts, called Doni's Philosophy. Cen. There is indeed, sir Amorous La-Foole. Mor. O misery ! La-F. I have read it, my lady Centaure, all over, to my cousin here. Mrs. Ott. Ay, and 'tis a very good book as any is, of the moderns. Daw. Tut, he must have Seneca read to him, and Plutarch, and the ancients ; the moderns are not for this disease. Cler, A^y, you discommended them too, to- day. Sir John. Daw. Ay, in some cases : but in these they are best, and Aristotle's ethics. Mav. Say you so, Sir John? I think you are deceived ; you took it upon trust. Hau. Where's Trusty, my woman? I'll end this difference. I prithee. Otter, call her. Her father and mother were both mad, when they put her to me. Mor, I think so. — Nay, gentlemen, I am tame. This is hut an exercise, I know, a marriage cere- mony, which I must endure. Hau. And one of them, I know not which, was cured with the Sick Man's Salve, and the other with Green's Groat's-worth of Wit. True. A very cheap cure, madam. Enter Trustv. Bau. Ay, 'tis very feasible. Mrs. Ott. My lady call'd for you, mistress Trusty : you must decide a controversy. Hau. O, Trusty, which was it you said, your father, or your mother, that was cured with the Sick Man's Salve ? Trus. My mother, madam, with the Salve. True, Then it was the sick woman's salve ? Trus, And my father with the Groat's-worth of Wit. ■ But there was other means used : we had a preacher that would preach folk asleep still ; and so they were prescribed to go to church, by an old woman that was their physician, thrice a week Epi, To sleep ? Trus. Yes, forsooth : and every night they read themselves asleep on those books. Epi, Good faith, it stands with great reason. 1 would I knew where to procure those books. Mar, Ohl La-F. I can help you with one of them, mis- tress Morose, the Groat's-worth of Wit. Epi. But I shall disfumish you, sir Amorous : can you spare it ? La-F, O yes, for a week, or so ; I'll read it myself to him. Epi. No, I must do that, sir ; that must be my ofSoe. Mor. Oh, oh ! Epi. Sure he would do well enough, if he could I sleep. \) Mor. No, I should do well enough, if you could sleep. Have 1 no friend that will make her drunk, or give her a little laudanum, or opium ? True. Why, sir, she talks ten times worse in her sleep.' SCEN£ II. THE SILENT WOMAN. 227 Mor. How ! Cler. Do you not know that, sir ? never ceases all night True. And snores like a porpoise. Mor. O redeem me, fate ; redeem me, fate ! For how many causes may a man be divorced, nephew ? Daup. I know not, truly, sir. True. Some divine must resolve you in that, sir, or canon-lawyer. Mor. I will not rest, I will not think of any other hope or comfort, till I know. [Exit uriOt DACFHiirs. Cler. Alas, poor man ! True. You'll make him mad indeed, ladies, if you pursue this. Hau. No, we'll let him breathe now, a quarter of an hour or so. Cler. By my faith, a large truce ! Hau. Is that his keeper, that is gone with him .' Daw. It is his nephew, madam. La-F. Sir Dauphine Eugenie. Cen. He looks like a very pitiful knight Daw. As can be. This marriage has put him out of alL La-F. He has not a penny in his purse, madam. Daw. He is ready to cry all this day. La-F. A very shark; he set me in the nick t'other night at Primero. True. How these swabbers talk ! Cler. Ay, Otter's wine has swell'd their humours above a spring-tide. Hau. Good Morose, let's go in again. I like your . couches exceeding well ; we'll go lie and talk there. [Exeunt Hau. Ckh. ALlv. Tbds. La-Fools, and Daw. Bpi. [following tltem.'] I wait on you, madam. True, [stopping tier.'] 'Slight, I will have them as silent as signs, and their post too, ere I have done. Do you hear, lady-bride ? I pray thee now, as thou art a noble wench, contiaue this discourse of Dauphine within ; but praise him exceedingly : magnify him with all the height of affection thou canst; — I have some purpose in't: and but beat off these two rooks, Jack Daw and his fellow, with any discontentment, hither, and I'll honour thee for ever. Epi. I was about it here. It angered me to the soul, to hear them begin to talk so malepert. True. Pray thee perform it, and thou winn'st me an idolater to thee everlasting. Fpi. Will you go in and hear me do't ? True. No, I'll stay here. Drive them out of your company, 'tis all I ask ; which cannot be any way better done, than by extolling Dauphine, whom they have so slighted. Bpi. I warrant you ; you shall expect one of them presently. [Exit. Cler. What a cast of kestrils are these, to hawk after ladies, thus I True. Ay, and strike at such an eagle as Dauphine. Cler. He will be mad when we tell him. Here he comes. Re-enter Dattphine. Cler. O sir, you are welcome. Triie. Where's thine uncle .' Daup. Kun out of doors in his night-caps, to talk with a casuist about his divorce. It works admirably. True. ThoQ wouldst have said so, an thou hadst been here ! The ladies have laugh'd at thee most comically, since thou went'st, Dauphine. Cler. And ask'd, if thou wert thine uncle's keeper. True. And the brace of baboons answer'd, Yes ; and said thou wert a pitiful poor fellow, and didst live upon posts, and hadst nothing but three suits of apparel, and some few benevolences that the lords gave thee to fool to them, and swagger. Daup. Let me not live, I'll beat them : I'll bind them both to grand-madam's bed-posts, and have them baited with monkies. True. Thou shalt not need, they shall be beaten to thy hand, Dauphine. I have an execution to serve upon them, I warrant thee, shall serve ; trust my plot. Daup, Ay, you have many plots I so you had one to make all tie wenches in love with me. True. Why, if I do it not yet afore night, as near as 'tis, and that they do not every one invite thee, and be ready to scratch for thee, take the mortgage of my wit. Cler. 'ForC God, I'll be his witness thou shalt have it, Dauphine : thou shalt be his fool for ever, if thou dost not. True. Agreed. Perhaps 'twill be the better estate. Do you observe this gallery, or rather lobby, indeed ? Here are a couple of studies, at each end one : here will I act such a tragi-comedy between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, Daw and La-Foole which of them comes out first, will I seize on ; — you two shall be the chorus behind the arras, and whip out between the acts and speak — If I do not make them keep the peace for this rem- nant of the day, if not of the year, I have failed once 1 hear Daw coming: hide, [they with- draw'] and do not laugh, for God's sake. Re-enter Daw. Daw. Which is the way into the garden, trow ? True. O, Jack Daw ! I am glad I have met with you. In good faith, I must have this matter go no further between you : I must have it taken up. Daw. What matter, sir ? between whom ? True. Come, you disguise it : sir Amorous and you. If you love me. Jack, you shall make use of your philosophy now, for this once, and deliver me your sword. This is not the wedding the Centaurs were at, though there be a she one here. [Takes his sword.] "the bride has entreated me I will see no blood shed at her bridal : you saw her whisper me erewhile. Daw. As I hope to finish Tacitus, I intend no murder. True. Do you not wait for sir Amorous ? Daup. Not I, by my knighthood. True. And your scholarship too ? Daw. And my scholarship too. True. Go to, then I return you your sword, and ask you mercy ; but put it not up, for you will be assaulted. I understood that you had apprehended it, and walked here to brave him ; and that you had held your life contemptible, in regard of your honour. Daw. No, no ; no such thing, I assure you. He and I parted now, as good friends as could be. True. Trust not you to that visor. I saw him since dinner with another face : I have known many men in my time vex'd with losses, with deaths, and vrith abuses ; but so offended a wight £28 THE SILENT WOMAN. ACT IV as sir Amorous, did I never see or read of. For taking away his guests, sir, to-day, that's the cause ; and he declares it behind your back with such threatenings and contempts He said to Dauphine, you were the arrant'st ass Daw. Ay, he may say his pleasure. True. And swears you are so protested a coward, that he knows you will never do him any manly or single right ; and therefore he will take his course. Daw. I'll give him any satisfaction, sir — ^but fighting. True. Ay, sir : but who knows what satisfaction he'll take : blood he thirsts for, and blood he will have ; and whereabouts on you he will have it, who knows but himself ? Daw. I pray you, master Truewit, be you a mediator. Triie. Well, sir, conceal yourself then in this study till I return. \^Puts him into the study-l Nay, you must be content to be lock'd in ; for, for mine own reputation, I would not have you seen to receive a public disgrace, while 1 have the matter in managing. Ods so, here he comes ; keep your breath close, that he do not hear you sigh. — In good faith, sir Amorous, he is not this way ; I pray you be merciful, do not murder him ; he is a Christian, as good as you : you are arm'd as if you sought revenge on all his race. Good Dauphine, get him away from this place. I never knew a man's choler 8o high, but he would speak to his friends, he would hear reason. — Jack Daw, Jack ! asleep 1 Daw. [within.^ Is he gone, master Truewit ? True. Ay ; did you hear him ? Daw. O lord ! yes. True. What a quick ear fear has ! Daw. [comes out of the oloset.'\ But is he so arm'd, as you say ? True. Arm'd ! did you ever see a fellow set out to take possession ? Daw. Ay, sir. True. That may give you some light to conceive of him ; but 'tis nothing to the principal. Some false brother in the house has furnish'd him strangely ; or, if it were out of the house, it was Tom Otter. Daw. Indeed he's a captain, and his wife is his kinswoman. True. He has got some body's old two-hand sword, to mow you off at the knees ; and that sword hath spawn'd such a dagger ! — But then he is so hung with pikes, halberds, petronels, calivers and muskets, that he looks like a justice of peace's haU ; a man of two thousand a-year is not cess'd at so many weapons as he has on. There was never fencer ch^enged at so many several foils. You would think he meant to murder all St. Pulchre's parish. If he could but victual himself for half a-year in his breeches, he is sufficiently arm'd to over-run a country. Daw. Good lord ! what means he, sir ? I p ay you, master Truewit, be you a mediator. True. Well, I'll try if he will be appeased with a leg or an arm ; if not you must die once. Daw. I would be loth to lose my right arm, for writing madrigals. True. Why, if he will be satisfied with a thumb or a little finger, all's one to me. You must think, I'll do my best. l^Shuts him up again. Daw. Good sir, do. [Clerimont and Dauphine come/orward. Cler. What hast thou done ? True. He will let me do nothing, he does all afore ; he offers his left arm. Cler. His left wing for a Jack Daw. Daup. Take it by all means. True. How 1 maim a man for ever, for a jest? What a conscience hast thou ! Daup. 'Tis no loss to him ; he has no employ- ment for his arms, but to eat spoon-meat. Beside, as good maim his body as his reputation. True. He is a scholar and a wit, and yet he does not think so. But he loses no reputation with us ; for we all resolved him an ass before. To your places again. Cler. I pray thee, let be me in at the other a Uttle. True. Look, yon'U spoil all ; these be ever your tricks. Cler. No, hut I could hit of some things that thou wilt miss, and thou wilt say are good ones. True. I warrant you. I pray forbear, I'll leave it off, else. Daup. Come away, Clerimont. [Daup. and Ci,sb. aithdratt as t^ore. Enter La-Foole. True. Sir Amorous ! La-F. Master Truewit. True. Whither were you going ? La-F. Down into the court to make water. True. By no means, sir ;. you shall rather tempt your breeches. La-F. Why, sir ? True. Enter here, if yon love your life. [Opening the door of the other study. La-F. Why .9 why? True. Question till your throat be cut, do: dally till the enraged soul find you. La-F. Who is that ? True. Daw it is : will you in ? La-F. Ay, ay, I'll in : what's the matter ? True. Nay, if he had been cool enough to tell us that, there had been some hope to atone you ; but he seems so implacably enraged 1 La-F. 'Slight, let bim rage I I'll hide myself. True. Do, good sir. But what have you done to him within, that should provoke him thus ? You have broke some jest upon him afore the ladies. La-F. Not I, never in my life, broke jest upon any man. The bride was praising sir Dauphine, and he went away in snuff, and I followed him ; unless he took offence at me in his drink erewhile, that I would not pledge aU the horse full. True. By my faith, and that may be ; you remember well : but he walks the round up and down, through every room o' the house, with a towel in his hand, crying, Where's La-Foole .' Who saw La-Foole ? And when Dauphine and I demanded the cause, we can force no answer from him, but — O revenge, how sweet art thou ! I will strangle him i» this towel — which leads xis to con- jecture that the main cause of his fury is, for bringing your meat to-day, with a towel about you, to his discredit. La-F. Like enough. Why, an he be angry for that, I'll stay here til] his anger be blown over. True. A good becoming resolution, sir ; if you can put it on o' the sudden. La-F. Yes, I can put it on: or, I'll away into the country presently. True. How will you go out of the house, sir ? SCENE II. THE SILENT WOMAN. 229 he knows you are in the house, and he'll watch this se'ennight, but he'll have you : he'U outwait a Serjeant for you. La-F. Why, tiien I'll stay here. True. You must (ihink how to -victual yourself in time then. La-F. Why, sweet master Truewit, will you entreat my cousin Otter to send me a cold venison pasty, a bottle or two of wine, and a chamber-pot ? True. A stool were better, sir, of sir Ajax his invention. La-F. Ay, that will be better, indeed ; and a pallat to lie on. True, O, I would not advise yon to sleep by any means. La-F. Would you not, sir? Why, then I will not. True. Yet, there's another fear La-F. Is there ! what is't ? True. No, he cannot break open this dobif'wit^' his foot, sure. La-F. I'll set my back against it, sir. I have a good back. True. But then if he should batter. La-F. Batter ! if he dare, I'll have an action of battew against him. Tilie. Cast you the worst. He has sent for powder already, and what he will do with it, no man knows : perhaps blow up the comer of the house where he suspects you are. Here he comes ; in quickly. [TArttsis m La-Foole and shuts the door.'] — I protest, sir John Daw, he is not this way : what will you do .' Before God, you shall hang no petard here : I'll die rather. Will you not take my word ? I never knew one but would be satisfied. — Sir Amorous, [spealcs through the key-hole,] there's no standing out : he has made a petard of an old brass pot, to force your door. Think upon some satisfaction, or terms to offer him. La-F. [_within.'] Sir, I'll give him any satisfac- tion : I dare give any terms. True. You'll leave it to me then ? La-F. Ay, sir : I'U stand to any conditions. True, [beckoning forward Cler. and Dauph.] How now, what think you, sirs ? wese't not a diffi- cult thing to determine which of these two fear'd most ? Cler. Yes, but this fears the bravest : the other a whiniling dastard. Jack Daw ! But La-Foole, a brave heroic coward ! and is afraid in a great look and a stout accent ; I like him rarely. True. Had it not been pity these two should have been concealed? Cler. Shall I make a motion ? True. Briefly : for I must strike while 'tis hot. Cler. Shall I go fetch the ladies to the cata- etrophe ? True. Umph ! ay, by my troth. Daup. By no mortal means. Let them continue in the state of ignorance, and err still ; think them wits and fine feUows, as they have done. 'Twere sin to reform them. Trtte. Well, I will have them fetch 'd, now I think on't, for a private purpose of mine: do, Clerimont, fetch them, and discourse to them all that's past, and bring them into the gallery here. Daup, "This is thy extreme vanity, now : thou think'st thou wert undone, if every jest thou mak'st were not published. True. Thou shalt see how unjust thou art pre- sently. Clenmont, say it was Dauphine's plot. [^OTt Clbrimont.] Trust me not, if the whole drift be not for thy good. There is a carpet in the next room, put it on, with this scarf over thy face and a cushion on thy head, and be ready when I call Amorons. Away ! [Exit Daup.] John Daw I l^" *o Daw's closet and iringi Mm out, Daw. What good news, sir ? True. Faith, I have followed and argued with him hard for you. I told him you were a knight, and a scholar, and that you knew fortitude did consist magis patiendo quam faeiendo, magis fe- rendo quam feriendo. Daw. It doth so indeed, sir. True. And that you would suffer, I told him : so at first he demanded by my troth, in my conceit, too much. Daw. What was it, sir? True. Your upper lip, and six of your fore-teeth. Daw. 'Twas unreasonable. True. Nay, I told him plainly, you could not spare them all. So after long argument pro et am. as you know, I brought him down to your two but- ter-teeth, and them he would have. Daw, O, did you so ? Why, he shall have them. True. But he shall not, sir, by your leave. The conclusion is this, sir : because you shall be very good friends hereafter, and this never to be remem- bered or upbraided ; besides, that he may not boast he has done any such thing to you in his own per- son ; he is to come here in disguise, give you five kicks in private, sir, take your sword from you, and lock you up in that study during pleasure : which will be but a little while, we'll get it released pre- sently. Daw. Five kicks ! he shall have six, sir, to be friends. True, BeUeve me, you shall not over-shoot yourself, to send him that word by me. Daw. Deliver it, sir ; he shall have it with all my heart, to be friends. True. Friends I Nay, an he should not be so, and heartily too, upon these terms, he shall have me to enemy while I live. Come, sir, bear it bravely. Daw. O lord, sir, 'tis nothing. True. True : what's six kicks to a man that reads Seneca ? Daw. I have had a hundred, sir. True. Sir Amorous ! Be-enter DAuranrE, disguiied. No speaking one to another, or rehearsing oldmat- ters. Daw. [as Daup. Moles him.] One, two, three, four, five. I protest. Sir Amorous, you shall have six. Tru. Nay, I told you, you should not talk. Come give him six, an he will needs, f Dauphine kichs him again.] — ^Your sword, [takes his sword. ] Now return to your safe custody ; you shall pre- sently meet afore the ladies, and be the dearest friends one to another. [Puts Daw into the study.] — Give me the scarf now, thou shalt beat the other bare-faced. Standby: [Dauphine retires, and Truewit goes to the other closet, and releases La- FooLE.] — Sir Amorous ! La-F, What's here ! A sword ? True. I cannot help it, without I should take the quarrel upon myself. Here he has sent you his sword 230 THE SILENT WOMAN. La-F. I'll receive none on't. True. And he wills yon to fasten it against a ■Ball, and break your head in some few several places against the hilts. La-F. I will not : tell him roundly. I cannot endure to shed my own hlood. True. Will you not? La-F. No. I'll beat it against a fair flat wall, if that will satisfy him : if not, he shall beat it him- self, for Amorous. True. Why, this is strange starting off, when a man undertakes for you ! I offer'd hiTti another condition ; will you stand to that ? La-F. Ay, what is't .' TrJie. That you will be beaten in private. La-F. Yes, I am content, at the blunt. Enteri aJ>ove, Haughty, Centaube, Mavis, Mistress Ott£r, Ef;c(bne, and Tausty. True. Then you must submit yourself to be hoodwinked in this scarf, and be led to him, where he will take your sword from you, and make you bear a blow over the mouth, gules, and tweaks by the nose sans nomhre. La-F. I am content. Bat why must I be blinded? True. That's for your good, sir j because, if he should grow insolent upon this, and publish it here- after to your disgrace, (which I hope he will not do,) you might swear safely, and protest, he never beat you, to your knowledge. La-F. O, I conceive. True. I do not doubt but you'll be perfect good friends upon't, and not dare to utter an ill thought one of another in future. La-F. Not I, as God help me, of him. True. Nor he of yon, sir. If he should, \binds his eyes."] — Come, sir. [leads him forward.'] — All hid. Sir John ! Enter DAopmNE, and tweaks him by the nose. La-F. Oh, Sir John, Sir John ! Oh, o-o-o-o-o- Oh Trtie. Good Sir John, leave tweaking, you'll blow his nose off. — 'Tis Sir John's pleasure, you should retire into the study. [Puts him up again.] — Why, now you are friends. All bitterness be- tween you, I hope, is buried ; you shall come forth by and by, Damon and Pythias upon't, and embrace with all the rankness of friendship that can be I trust, we shall have them tamer in their language hereafter. Dauphine, I worship thee. — God's will, the ladies have surprised us ! Enter Haughty, Centauke, Mavis, Mistress Otter, Eficcenb, and Tbusty, tiehind. Bau. Centaure, how our judgments were im- posed on by these adulterate knights ! Cen. Nay, madam, Mavis was more deceived than we ; 'twas her commendation utter'd them in the college. Man. I commended but their wits, madam, and their braveries. X never look'd toward their valours. Hau. Sir Dauphine is valiant, and a vrit too, it seems. Man. And a bravery too. Hau. Was this his project ? Mrs. Ojf. So master Clerimontintimates, madam. Hau. Good Morose, when you come to the col- lege, will you bring him with you ? he seems a very perfect gentleman. Epi. He is so, madam, believe it. Cen. But when will you come. Morose ? Epi. Three or four days hence, madam, when I have got me a coach and horses. Hau. No, to-morrow, good Morose ; Centaure shall send you her coach. Man. Yes faith, do, and bring sir Dauphine with you. Hau. She has promised that, Mavis. Mav. He is ^ very worthy gentleman in his exteriors, madam. Hau. Ay, he shews he is judicial in his clothes. Cen. And yet not so superlatively neat as some, madam, that have their faces set in a brake. Hau. Ay, and have every hair in form" Mav. That wear purer linen than ourselves, and profess more neatness than the French hermaphro- dite ! Epi. Ay, ladies, they, what they tell one of us, have told a thousand ; and are the only thieves of our fame, that think to take us with that perfume, or with that lace, and laugh at us unconscionably when they have done. Hau. But Sir Dauphine's carelessness becomes him. Cen. I could love a man for such a nose. Mav. Or such a leg. Cen. He has an exceeding good eye, madam. Man. And a very good lock. Cen. Good Morose, bring him to my chamber first. Mrs. Ott. Please your honours to meet at my house, madam. True. See how they eye thee, man ! they are taken, I warrant thee. [Haughty comes forward , Hau. You have unbraced our brace of knights here, master Truewit. True. Not I, madam ; it was Sir Daufihine's ingine : who, if he have disfomish'd your ladyship of any guard or service by it, is able to make the place good again in himself. Hau. There is no suspicion of that, sir. Cen. God so, Mavis, Haughty is kissing. Mav. Let us go too, and take part. {They come forward. Hau. But I am glad of the fortune (beside the discovery of two such empty caskets) to gain the knowledge of so rich a mine of virtue as Sir Dau- phine. Cen. We would be all glad to style him of our friendship, and see him at the college. Mav. He cannot mix with a sweeter society, I'll prophesy ; and I hope he himself will think so. Daup. I should be rude to imagine otherwise, lady. True. Did not I tell thee, Dauphine! Why, all their actions are governed by crude opinion, vrithout reason or caiise ; they know not why they do any thing ; but, as they are inform'd, believe, judge, praise, condemn, love, hate, and in emula- tion one of another, do all these things alike. Only they have a natural inclination sways them generally to the worst, when they are left to them- selves. But pursue it, now thou hast them. Hau. Shall we go in again, Morose ? Epi. Yes, madam. Cen. We'll entreat sir Dauphine's company. True. Stay, good madam, the interview of the two friends, Pylades and Orestes : I'll fetch them out to yon straight. Hau, Will you, master Truewit ? SCENE J. THE SILENT WOMAN, 231 Oaup. Ay, but noble ladies, do not confess in your countenance, or outward bearing to them, any discovery of their follies, that we may see how they will bear up again, with what assurance and erection. Hau. We will not, sir Dauphine. Cen. Mav. Upon our honours, sir Dauphine. Tme. [goes to the first closet.} Sir Amorous, sir Amorous ! The ladies are here. La-F. [within.'] Are they? True. Yes; but slip out by and by, as their backs are tum'd, and meet sir John here, as by chance, when I call you. [Goes to the other.'] Jack Daw. Date, [teiihin.] What say you, sir? True. Whip out behind me suddenly, and no anger in your looks to your adversary. Now, now I [La-Fools and Daw >2tp oui of their respective closets, and salute each otJter. La-F. Noble sir John Daw, where have you been? Vaw.^ To seek you, sir Amorous. La-F. Me ! I honour you. Data. I prevent you, sir. Cler. They have forgot their rapiers. True. O, they meet in peace, man. Daup. Where's your sword, sir John .' Cler. And yours, sir Amorous ? Daw. Mine ! my boy had it forth to mend the handle, e'en now. La-F. And my gold handle was broke too, and my boy had it forth. Daup. Indeed, sir ! — How their excuses meet ! Cler. What a consent there is in the handles ! True. Nay, there is so in the points too, I warrant you. Enter Mokose, with the two swords, drawn in his hands. Mrs. Ott. O me ! madam, he comes again, the madman! Away I ' [Ladies, Daw, and La-Foole, run off. Mor. What make these naked weapons here, gentlemen ? Triie. O sir! here hath like to have been murder since you went ; a couple of knights fallen out about the bride's favours ! We were fain to take away their weapons ; your house had been begg'd by this time else. Mnr. For what? Cler. For manslaughter, sir, as being accessary. Mor. And for her favours ? True. Ay, sir, heretofore, not present — Cleri- mont, carry them their swords now. They have done all the hurt they will do. [.Exit ChzR, with the two swords. I Daup. Have you spoke with the lawyer, sir? Mor. O no ! there is such a noise in the court, that they have frighted me home with more violence than I went ! such speaking and counter- speaking, with their several voices of citations, appellations, allegations, certificates, attachments, intergatories, references, convictions, and afflictions indeed, among the doctors and proctors, that the noise here is silence to't, a kind of calm midnight I Tru. Why, sir, if you would be resolved indeed, I can bring you hither a very sufficient lawyer, and a learned divine, that shall enquire into every least scruple for you. Mor. Can you, master Truewit? True. Yes, and are very sober, grave persons, that will dispatch it in a chamber, with a whisper or two. Mor. Good sir, shall I hope this benefit from you, and trust myself into your hands ? True. Alas, sir ! your nephew and I have been ashamed and oft-times mad, since yon went, to think how you are abused. Go in, good sir, and lock yourself up till we call you ; we'll tell you more anon, sir. Mor. Do your pleasure with me, gentlemen ; I believe in you, and that deserves no delusion. IBxit. True. You shall find none, sir;— but heap'd, heap'd plenty of vexation. Daup. What wilt thou do now, Wit? True. Recover me hither Otter and the barber, if you can, by any means, presently. Daup. Why ? to what purpose ? True. O, I'll make the deepest divine, and gravest lawyer, out of them two for him Daup. Thou canst not, man ; these are waking dreams. _ True. Do not fear me. Clap but a civil gown with a welt on the one, and a canonical cloke with sleeves on the other, and give them a few terms in their mouths, if there come not forth as able a doctor and complete a parson, for this turn, as may be wish'd, trust not my election : and I hope, without wronging the dignity of either profession, since they are but persons put on, and for mirth's sake, to torment him. The barber smatters Latin, I remember. Daup. Yes, and Otter too. True. Well then, if I make them not wrangle out this case to his no comfort, let me be thought a Jack Daw or La-Foole or anything worse. Go you to your ladies, but first send for them. Daup. 1 will. lExeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. — A Room in Mobose's House. Enter La-Foole, Clebimont, and Daw. La-F, Where had you our swords, master Cle- rimont? Cler. Why, Dauphine took them from the madman. La-F. And be took them from our boys, I warrant you. Cler. Very like, sir. La-F. Thank you, good master Clerimont. Sir John Daw and I are both beholden to you. Cler. Would I knew how to make you so, gen- tlemen ! Daw. Sir Amorous and I are your servants, sir. Enter Mavts. Mav. Gentlemen, have any of you a pen and ink ? I would fain write out a riddle in Italian, for sir Dauphine to translate. Cler. Not I, in troth, lady; I am no scrivener. Daw. I can furnish you, I think, lady. [Exeunt Daw and Mavis. Cler. He has it in the haft of a knife, I believe. 232 THE SILENT WOMAN. La-F. No, he has his box of instriiments. Cler. Like a surgeon ! La-F. For the mathematics : his square, his compasses, his brass pens, and black-lead, to draw maps of every place and person where he comes. Cler. How, maps of persons ! La-F. Yes, sir, of Nomentack when he was here, and of the prince of Moldavia, and of his mistress, mistress Epicoene. Ite-enter Daw. Cler. .Aiway ! he hath not found out her latitude, I hope. La-F. You are a pleasant gentleman, sir. Cler. Faith, now we are in private, let's wanton it a little, and talk waggishly.— Sir John, I am telling sir Amorous here, that you two govern the ladies wherever you come ; you carry the feminine gender afore you. Daw. They shall rather carry us afore them, if they vrill, sir. Cler. Nay, I believe that they do, withal — but that you are the prime men in their affections, and direct all their actions — Daw. Not I ; sir Amorous is. La-F. I protest, sir John is. Daw. As I hope to rise in the state, sir Amo- rous, you have the person. La-F. Sir John, you have the person, and the discourse too. Daw. Not I, sir. I have no discourse — and then you have activity beside. La-F. I protest, sir John, you come as high from Tripoly as I do, every whit : and lift as many join'd stools, and leap over them, if you would use it. Cler. Well, agree on't together, knights ; for between you, you divide the kingdom or common- wealth of ladies' affections : I see it, and can per- ceive a little how they observe yon, and fear you, indeed. You could tell strange stories, my masters, if you would, I know. Daw. Faith, we have seen somewhat, sir. La-F. That we have velvet petticoats, and wrought smocks, or so. Daw. Ay, and Cler. Nay, out with it, sir John ; do not envy your friend the pleasure of hearing, when you have had the delight of tasting. Daw. Why — a — Do you speak, sir Amorous. La-F. No, do you, sir John Daw. Daw. V faith, you shall. La-F. V faith, you shall. Daw. Why, we have been La-F. In the great bed at Ware together in our time. On, sir John. Daw. Nay, do you, sir Amorous. Cler. And these ladies with you, knights ? La-F. No, excuse us, sir. Daw. We must not wound reputation. La-F. No matter — they were these, or others. Our bath cost us fifteen pound when we came home. Cler. Do you hear, sir John ? You shall tell me but one thing truly, as you love me. Daw. If I can, I will, sir. Cler. You lay in the same house with the bride here? Daw. Yes, and conversed with her hourly, sir. Cler. And what humour is she of? Is she com- ing and open, free ? Daw. O, exceeding open, sir. I was her servant, and sir Amorous was to be. Cler. Come, you have both had favours from her : I knpw, and have heard so much. Daw. O, no, sir. La-F. You shall excuse us, sir ; we must not wound reputation. Cler. Tut, she is married now, and you cannot hurt her with any report; and therefore speak plainly : how many times, i' faith? which of you led first? hal La-F. Sir John had her maidenhead, indeed. . Daw. O, it pleases him to say so, sir ; but sir Amorous knows what's what, as well. Cler. Dost thou, i' faith. Amorous ? La-F. In a manner, sir. Cler. Why, I commend you, lads. Little knows don Bridegroom of this ; nor shall he, for me. Daw. Hang him, mad ox 1 Cler. Speak softly; here comes his nephew, with the lady Haughty : he'll get the ladies from you, sirs, if you look not to him in time. La-F. V/hy, if he do, we'U fetch them home again, I warrant you. {Exit with Daw. Cleb. walks aside. Enter Dauphinb on!* HAnoHTv. Hau. I assure you, sir Dauphine, it is the price and estimation of your virtue only, that hath embark'd me to this adventure ; and I could not but make out to tell you so : nor can I repent me of the act, since it is always an argument of some virtue in our selves, that we love and affect it so in others. Daup. Your ladyship sets too high a price on my weakness. Hau. Sir I can distinguish gems from pebbles — . Daup. Are you so skilful in stones? lAside. Hau. And howsoever I may suffer in such a judgment as yours, by admitting equality of rank or society with Centaure or Mavis Daup. You do not, madam; I perceive they are your mere foils. Hau. Then, are you a friend to truth, sir ; it makes me love you the more. It is not the outward, but the inward man that I affect. They are not apprehensive of an eminent perfection, but love fiat and dully. Cen. [within. ] Where areyou, my lady Haughty ? Hau. I come presently, Centaure My cham- ber, sir, my page shaU shew you ; and .Trusty, my woman, shall be ever awake for you : you need not fear to communicate any thing with her, for she is a Fidelia. I pray you wear this jewel for my sake, sir Dauphine — Enter Centaitie. Where's Mavis, Centaure ? Cen. Within, madam, a writing. I'U follow you presently : [Escit Hau.] I'll but speak a word with sir Dauphine. Daup. With me, madam ? Cen. Good sir Dauphine, do not trust Haughty, nor make any credit to her whatever you do be- sides. Sir Dauphine, I give you this caution, she is a perfect courtier, and loves nobody but for her uses ; and for her uses she loves all. Besides, her physicians give her out to be none o' the clearest, whether she pay them or no, heaven knows ; and she's above fifty too, and pargets I . See her in a forenoon. Here comes Mavis, a worse face than she ! you would not like this by candle-light. SOBNE I. THE SILENT WOMAN. 233 fU-€nter Matis. If you'll come to my chamber one o' these morn- ings early, or late in an evening, I'll tell you more. Where's Haughty, Mavis ? Mav. Within, Centaure. Cen. What have you there ? Mav. An Italian riddle for sir Danphine, — you shall not see it, i'faith, Centa.ure.— [Exit Cen.] Good sir Dauphine, solve it for me : I'll call for it anon. lExtt. Cler. [cominff forward.'] How now, Dauphine! how dost thou quit thyself of these females ? Daup. 'Slight, they haunt me like fairies, and give me jewels here ; 1 cannot be rid of them. Cler. O, you must not tell though. Daup. Mass, I forgot that: I was never so assaulted. One loves for virtue, and bribes me with this ; {shews the jewel.] — another loves me with caution, and so would possess me ; a third brings me. a riddle here : and iill are jealous, and rail each at other. Cler. A riddle ! pray let me see it. iReadt. Sir Daupbine, I chose tliis way of intimation for privacy. The ladies here, I know, have both hope and purpose to make a collegiate and servant of you. If I might be so honoured, as to appear at any end of so noble a work, I would enter into a fame of taking physic to-morrow, and continue it four or five days, or longer, for your visitation. Mavis. By my faith, a subtle one ! Call you this a rid- dle ? what's their plain-deiling, trow ? Daup. We lack Tmewit to tell us that. Cler. We lack him for somewhat else too : his knights reformadoes are wound up as high and insolent as ever they were. Daup. You jest. Cler. No drunkards, either with wine or vanity, ever confess'd such stories of themselves. I would not give a fly's leg in balance against all the women's reputations here, if they could be but thought to speak truth : and for the bride, they have made their affidavit against her directly Daup. What, that they have lain with her ? Cler. Yes ; and tell times and circumstances, with the cause why, and the place where. I had almost brought them to affirm that they had done •it to-day. Daup. Not both of them ? Cler. Yes, faith ; with a sooth or two more I had effected it. They would have set it down under their hands. Daup. Why,. they wiU be our sport, I see, still, whether we will or no. Enter Tkuewit. True. O, are you here ? Come, Dauphine ; go call your uncle presently : I have fitted my divine and my canonist, dyed their beards and all. The knaves do not know themselves, they are so exalted and altered. Preferment changes any man. Thou shalt keep one door and I another, and then Cleri- mont in the midst, that he may have no means of escape from their cavilling, when they grow hot once again. And then the women, as I have given the bride her instructions, to break in upon him in the I'envoy. O, 'twill be full and twanging ! Away ! fetch him. iExii Dauphinb. Enter Otteb diiguiied at a divine, and Cdibeahii as a canon lawyer. Come, master doctor, and master parson, look to your parts now, and discharge them bravely ; you are well set forth, perform it as well. If you chance to be out, do not confess it with standing still, or humming, or gaping one at another ; but go on, and talk aloud and eagerly ; use vehement action, and only remember your terms, and you are safe. Let the matter go where it wiU : you have many will do so. But at first be very solemn and grave, like your garments, though you loose your selves after, and skip out like a brace of jugglers on a table. Here he comes : set your faces, and look superciliously, while I present you. Re-enter Dauphine with Morose. Mor. Are these the two learned men ? True. Yes, sir ; please you salute them. Mor. Salute them ! I had rather do any thing, than wear out time so unfruitfully, sir. I wonder how these common forms, as God save you, and You are welcome, are come to be a habit in our lives : or, / am glad to see gou 1 when I cannot see what the profit can be of these words, so long as it is no whit better with him whose affairs are sad and grievous, that he hears this salutation. True. 'Tis true, sir ; we'U go to the matter then. — Gentlemen, master doctor, and master parson, I have acquainted you sufficiently with the business for which you are come hither ; and you are not now to inform yourselves in the state of the question, I know. This is the gentleman who expects your resolution, and therefore, when you please, begin. Ott. Please you, master doctor. Cut. Please you, good master parson, Ott. I would hear the canon-law speak first. Cut. It must give place to positive divinity, sir. Mor. Nay, good gentlemen, do not throw me into circumstances. Let your comforts arrive quickly at me, those that are. Be swift in affording me my peace, if so I shall hope any. 1 love nbt your disputations, or your court-tumults. And that it be not strange to you, I will tell you : My father, in my education, was wont to advise me, that I should always collect and contjiin my mind, not suffering it to flow loosely ; that I should look to what things were necessary to the carriage of my life, and what not; embracing the one and eschewing the other : in short, that I should endear myself to rest, and avoid turmoil ; which now is grown to be another nature to me. So that I come not to your public pleadings, or your places of noise ; not that I neglect those things that make for the dignity of the commonwealth ; but for the mere avoiding of clamours and impertinences of orators, that know not how to be silent. And for the cause of noise, am I now a suitor to you. You do not know in what a misery I have been exercised this day, what a torrent of evil ! my very house turns round with the tumult I I dwell in a windmill : the perpetual motion is here, and not at Eltham. True. Well, good master doctor, will you break the ice .' master parson will wade after. Cut. Sir, though unworthy, and the weaker, I will presume. Ott. 'Tis no presumption, domine doctor. Mor. Yet again ! Cut. Your question is. For how many causes a man may have divortium legitimum, a lawful di- vorce .' First, you must understand the nature of the word, divorce, A divertendo 234 THE SILENT WOMAN, Mor. No excursions upon words, good doctor ; to the question briefly. Cut. I answer then, the canon law affords di- vorce but in few cases ; and the principal is in the common case, the adulterous case : But there are duodecim impedimenta, twelve impediments, as we call them, all which do not dirimere contractum, but irritum reddere matrimonium, as we say in the canon law, not take away the hand, but cause a nullity therein. Mor. I understood you before : good sir, aroid your Impertinency of translation. Ott. He cannot open tbis too much, sir, by your feyour. Mor. Yet more ! True. O, you must give the learned men leave, sir. — To your impediments, master doctor. Cut. The first is impedimentum erroris, Ott. Of which there are several species. Cut. Ay, as error persona. Ott. If you contract yourself to one person, thinking her another. Cut. Then, error fortams. Ott. If she be a beggar, and you thought her rich. Cut. Then, error gualitatis. Ott. If she prove stubborn or head-strong, that you thought obedient. Mor. How ! is that, sir, a lawful impediment ? One at once, I pray you, gentlemen. Ott. Ayy ante copulam, but not post copulam, sir. Cut. Master parson says right. Nee post nup- iiarum benedictionej/i. It doth indeed but irrita reddere sponsalia, annul the contract ; after mar- riage it is of no obstancy. True. Alas, sir, what a hope are we fallen from by this time I Cut. The next is conditio : if you thought her free bom, and she prove a bond-woman, there is impediment of estate and condition. Ott. Ay, but, master doctor, those servitudes are sublatts now, among us Christians. Cut. By your favour, master parson Ott. You shall give me leave, master doctor. Mor. Nay, gentlemen, quarrel not in that ques- tion ; it concerns not my case : pass to the third. Cut. Well then, the third is votum : if either party have made a vow of chastity. But that prac- tice, as master parson said of the other, is taken away among us, thanks be to discipline. The fourth is cognatio ; if the persons be of kin within the degrees. Ott, Ay : do you know what the degrees are, sir ? Mor. No, nor I care not, sir ; they offer me no comfort in the question, I am sure. Cut. But there is a branch of this impediment may, which is cognatio spiritualis: if you were her godfather, sir, then the marriage is incestuous. Ott. That comment is absurd and superstitious, master doctor : I cannot endure it. Are we not aU brothers and sisters, and as much akin in that, as godfathers and god-daughters ? Mor. O me ! to end the controversy, I, never was a godfather, I never was a godfather in my life, sir. Pass to the next. Cut. The fifth is crimen adulterii ; the known case. The sixth, cultus disparitas, difference of religion : Have you ever examined her, what re- ligion she is of ^ Mor. No, I would rather she were of none, than be put to the trouble of it. Ott. You may have it done for you, sir. Mor. By no means, good sir ; on to the rest : shall you ever come to an end, think you ? True. Yes, he has done half, sir. On to the rest — Be patient, and expect, sir. Cut. The seventh is, vis : if it were upon com- pulsion or force. Mor. O no, it was too voluntary, mine ; too voluntary. Cut, The eighth is, ordo ; if ever she have taken holy orders. Ott. That's superstitious too. Mor. No matter, master parson ; Would she would go into a nunnery yet. Cut. The ninth is, ligamen ; if you were bound, sir, to any other before. Mor. I thrust myself too soon into these fetters. Cut. The tenth is, publico honestas ; which is inchoata qutsdam affinitas. Ott. Ay, or affinitas orta ex sponsalibus ; and is but leve impedimentum. Mor. I feel no air of comfort blowing to me, in all this. Cut. The eleventh is, affinitas ex fomicatione. Ott. Which is no less vera affinitas, than the other, master doctor. Cut, True, qu^ oritur ex legitime matrimonio. Ott. You say right, venerable doctor: and, nascitur ex eo, quod per conjugium dues persome efficiuntur una caro True. Hey-day, now they begin ! Cut. I conceive you, master parson : ita per fornicationem mque est verus pater, qui sic gene- rat Ott. Et vere filius qui sic generatur Mor. What's all this to me ? Cler. Now it grows warm. Cut. The twelfth and last is, si forte coire ne- Ott. Ay, that is impedimentum gravissimums it doth utterly annul, and annihilate, that. If you have Tnanifestam frigiditatem, you are well, sir. True. Why, there is comfort come at length, sir. Confess yourself but a man unable, and she will sue to be divorced first. Ott. Ay, or if there be morbus perpetuus, et in- sanabilis ; as paralysis, elephantiasis, or so Daup. O, but frigidiias is the fairer way, gen- tlemen. Ott. You say troth, sir, and as it is in the canon, master doctor — Cut. I conceive you, sir. Cler. Before he speaks ! Ott. That a boy, or child, under years, is not fit for marriage, because he cannot reddere debitum. So your omnipotentes True. Your impotentes, you whoreson lobster ! {.Aside to Ott. Ott. Your impotentes, I should say, are minime apti ad contrahenda m.atrimtmium. True. Matrimonium ! we shall have most un- matrimoaial Latin with you ; matrimoniaf and be hang'd. Daup. You put them out, man. Cut. But then there will arise a doubt, master parson, in our case, post matrimonium : that fru giditate praditus — do you conceive me, sir? Ott. Very weE, sir. 80ENE I. THE SILENT WOMAN. 23':; Cut. Who cannot iiH uxore pro uxore, may habere earn pro sorore. Ott. Absurd, absurd, absurd, and merely apo- statical ! Cut. You shall pardon me, master parson, I can prove it. Ott. You can prove a will, master doctor ; you can prove nothing else. Does not the verse of your own canon say, HiBC soeianda vetant connubia, facia retraetant 9 Cut. I grant you ; but how do they reiractare, master parson ? Mor. O, this was it I feared. Ott. In (Btemum, sir. Cut. That's false in divinity, by your favour. Ott. 'Tis false in humanity to say so. Is he not prorsus inutilis ad thorum 9 Can he pnsstare fidem datum 9 I would fain know. Cut. Yes ; how if he do convalere f Ott. He cannot convalere, it is impossible. True. Nay, good sir, attend the learned men ; they'll think you neglect them else. Cut, Or, if he do simulare himself frigidum, odio uxoris, or so ? Ott. I say, he is adulter man{festus then. JOaup. They dispute it very learnedly, i'faith. Ott. A.Jii prosHtutor uxoris ; and this is positive. Mor. Good sir, let me escape. True. You will not do me that wrong, sir ? Ott. And, therefore, if he be manifeste frigidus, sir — Cut. Ay, if he be manifeste frigidus, I grant yon — Ott. Why, that was my conclusion. Cut. And mine too. True. Nay, hear the conclusion, sir. Ott. Then, frigiditatis causa Cut. Yes, causa frigiditatis Mor. O, mine ears ! Ott. She may have libellum divortii against you. Cut. Ay, divortii libellum she will sure have. Mor. Good echoes, forbear. Ott. If you confess it Cut. Which I would do, sir Mor. I wiU do any thing. Ott. And clear myself in foro consdentia Cut. Because you want indeed Mor. Yet more ! Ott. Exercendi potestate. EpjcoiNB ruslies in,/oUotved hp Haughty, C3bntat)BK, Mavis, idittress Ottbe, Daw, and IjA-Fools. Bpi. I will not endure it any longer. Ladies, I beseech yon, help me. This is such a wrong as never was offered to poor bride before : upon her marriage-day to have her husband conspire against her, and a couple of mercenary companions to be brought in for form's sake, to persuade a separation 1 If you had blood or virtue in you, gentlemen, you would not suffer such earwigs about a husband, or scorpions to creep between man and wife. Mor. O the variety and changes of my torment 1 Hau. Let them be cudgell'd out of doors by our grooms. Cen. I'll lend yon my footman. Mav. We'll have our men blanket them in the hall. Mrs. Ott. As there was one at our house, madam, for peeping in at the door. Daw. Content, i' faith. True. Stay, ladies and gentlemen; you'll' hear before you proceed ? r ' Mav. I'd have the bridegroom blankefjted too. Cen. Begin with him first. HaUi Yes, by my troth. Mor. O mankind generation ! .' Daup. Ladies, for my sake forbeji'r. JSau. Yes, for sir Dauphine's saJke. Cen. He shall command us. /' La-F. He is as fine a gentlen^/an of his inches, madam, as any is about the to'wn, and wears as good colours when he lists. ' True. Be brief, sir, and confess your infirmity : she'll be a-fire to be quit ofj you, if she but hear that named once, you shall riot entreat her to stay : she'll fly you like one that! had the marks upon him. '( Mor. Ladies, I must crave all your pardons — True. Silence, ladies. Mor. For a wrong I have done to your whole sex, in marrying this fair arid virtuous gentle- woman Cler. Hear him, good ladies. Mor, Being guilty of an infirmity, which, before I conferred with these learned men, I thought I might have concealed — True. But now being better informed in his conscience by them,. he is to declare it, and give satisfaction, by asking your public forgiveness. Mor. I am no man, ladies. All. Howl Mor. Utterly unabled in nature, by reason of frigidity, to perform the duties, or any the least office of a husband. Mav. Now out upon him, prodigious creature ! Cen. Bridegroom uncamate ! Hau. And would you offer it to a young gen- tlewoman ? Mrs. Ott. A lady of her longings ? Epi. Tut, a device, a device, this! it smells rankly, ladies. A mere comment of his own. True. Why, if you suspect that, ladies, you may have him search'd — Daw. As the custom is, by a jury of physicians. LorF, Yes, faith, 'twill be brave. Mor. O me, must I undergo that ? Mrs. Ott. No, let women search him, madam ; we can do it ourselves. Mor. Out on me ! worse. Bjn. No, ladies, you shall not need, I'll take him with all his faults. Mor. Worst of all! Cler. Why then, 'tis no divorce, doctor, if she consent not ? Cut, No, if the man he frigidus, it is de parte uxoris, that we grant libellum divortii, in the law. Ott, Ay, it is the same in theology. Mor, Worse, worse than worst ! True. Nay, sir, be not utterly disheartened ; we have yet a small relic of hope left, as near as our comfort is blown out. Clerimont, produce your brace of knights. What was that, master parson, you told me in errore qualitatis, e'en now.' — Dauphine, whisper the bride, that she carry it aa if she were guilty, and ashamed. ^Atide. Ott. Marry, sir, in errore qualitatis, (which master doctor did forbear to urge,) if she be found corrupta, that is, vitiated or broken up, that was pro virgine despansa-, espoused for a maid Mor. What then, sir ? .236 THE SILENT WOMAN. Ott. It doth dirimere eontraciwm, and irritum redder' too. Tniir-. If this be true, we are happy again, sir, once mwre. Here sire an honourable brace of knights, t'lat shall aflSrm so much. Daw. Phrdon us, good master Clerimont La-F. Yii;u shall excuse us, master Clerimont. Cler. Nay,-, you must make it good now, knights, there is no renjedy ; I'll eat no words for you, nor no men : you Icnow you spoke it to me. Daw. Is this gentleman-like, sir ? True. Jack Diw, he's worse than sir Amorous ; fiercer a great deal. [Aside to Daw.] — Sir Amo- rous, beware, there be ten Daws in this Clerimont. \ [Aside to La-Foole. La-F. I'll confess* it, sir. Daw. Will you, sir Amorous, will you wound reputation ? La-F. I am resolved. True. So should you be too. Jack Daw : what should keep you off? she's but a woman, and in disgrace : he'll be glad on't. Daw. Will he ? I thought he would hare been angry. Cler. You will dispatch, knights ; it must be done, i'faith. True. Why, an it must, it shall, sir, they say : they'll ne'er go back. — Do not tempt his patience. [Aside to them. Daw. Is it true indeed, sir ? La-F. Yes, I assure you, sir. Mor. What is true, gentlemen? what do you assure me ? Daw. That we have known your bride, sir La-F. In good fashion. She was our mistress, or so Cler. Nay, you must be plain, knights, as you were to me. Ott. Ay, the question is, if you have camaliter, or no ? La-F. Camaliter .' what else, sir? Ott. It is enough ; a plain nullity. Epi. 1 am undone, I am undone ! JIfor. O let me worship and adore you, gen- tlemen ! Fpi. I am undone. [Weeps. Mor. Yes, to my hand, I thank these knights. Master parson, let me thank you otherwise. [Gives him money. Cen. And have they confess'd .' jyfav. Now out upon them, informers ! Trjie. You see what creatures you may bestow your favours on, madams. Hau. I would except against them as beaten knights, wench, and not good vritnesses in law. Jtfrs. Ott. Poor gentlewoman, how she takes it ! Sau. Be comforted. Morose, I love you the better for't. Cen. So do I, I protest Cut. But, gentlemen, you have not known her since matrimonium ? Daw. Not to-day, master doctor. La-F. No, sir, not to-day. Cut. Why, then I say, for any act before, the matrimonium is good and perfect; unless the worshipful bridegroom did precisely, before witness, demand, if she were virgo artte nuptias. Epi. No, that he did not, I assure you, master doctor. Cut. If he cannot prove that, it is raium con- jugium, notwithstanding the premisses ; and they do no way impedire. And tiiis is my sentence, this I pronounce. Ott. I am of master doctor's resolution too, sir ; if you made not that demand ante nuptias. Mor. O my heart ! wilt thou break ? wilt thou break ? this is worst of all worst worsts that hell could have devised ! Marry a whore, and so much noise ! Daup. Come, I see now plain confederacy in this doctor and this parson, to abuse a gentleman. You study his affliction. I pray be gone, compa- nions. — And, gentlemen, I begin to suspect you for having parts with them.— Sir, will it please you > hear me ? Mor. O do not talk to me ; take not from me the pleasure of dying in silence, nephew. Daup. Sir, I must speak to you. I have been long your poor despised kinsman, and many a hard thought has strengthened you against me : but now it shall appear if cither I love you or your peace, and prefer them to all the world beside. I will not be long or grievous to you, sir. If I free you of this unhappy match absolutely, and instantly, after all this trouble, and almost in your despair, now — Mor. It cannot be. Daup. Sir, that you be never troubled with a murmur of it more, what shall I hope for, or deserve of you ? Mor. O, what thou wilt, nephew! thou shalt deserve me, and have me. Daup. Shall I have your favour perfect to me, and love hereafter ? Mor. That, and any thing beside. Make thine own conditions. My whole estate is thine ; manage it, I will become thy ward. Daup. Nay, sir, I wiU not be so unreasonable. Epi. Will sir Dauphine be mine enemy too ? Daup. You know I have been long a suitor to you, uncle, that out of your estate, which is fifteen hundred a-year, you would allow me but five hun- dred during life, and assure the rest upon me after ; to which I have often, by myself and friends, ten- dered you a writing to sign, which you would never consent or incline to. If you please but to effect it now Mor. Thou shalt have it, nephew: I will do it, and more. Daup. If I quit you not presently, and for ever, of this cumber, you shall have power instantly, afore all these, to revoke your act, and I will become whose slave you vrill give me to, for ever. Mor. Wbere is the writing ? I vrill seal to it, that, or to a blank, and write thine own conditions. Ejn. O me, most unfortunate, vn-etched gentle- woman ! Hau. Will sir Dauphine do this ? Epi. Good sir, have some compassion on me. Mor. O, my nephew knows you, belike ; away, crocodile ! Cen. He does it not sure without good ground. Daup. Here, sir. [Cfives him the parchments. Mor. Come, nephew, give me the pen ; I wiU subscribe to any thing, and seal to what thou wilt, for my deliverance. Thou art my restorer. Here, I deliver it thee as my deed. If there be a word in it lacking, or writ with false orthography, I pro- test before [heaven] I will not take the advantage. [Returns the writings. Daup. Then here is your release, sir. [takes off THE SILENT WOMAN. 2iJ7 Epicosne's peruke and other disguises.1 You have married a boy, a gentlemain's sou, that I have brought up this half year at my great charges, and for this compositioii, which I have now made with you. ^What say you, master doctor? This isjustum imptdimentmn, X hope, error personuB t Oit, Yes, sir, in primo gradu. Cut. In prima gradu. Daup. I thank you, good doctor Cutbeard, and parson Otter, [pulls their false beards and gowns off.2 You are beholden to them, sir, that have taken this pains for you ; and my friend, master Truewit, who enabled them for the business. Now you may go in and rest ; be as private as you will, sir. [Eivit Morose.] I'll not trouble you, till you trouble me with your funeral, which I care not how soon it come. — Cutbeard, I'll make your lease good. Thank me not, but mith your leg, Cutbeard. And Tom Otter, your princess shall be reconciled to you. — How now, gentlemen, do you look at mc ? Cler. A boy ! Daup. Yes, mistress Epicoene. True. Well, Dauphine, you have lurch'd your friends of the better half of the garland, by con- cealing this part of the plot : but much good do it thee, thou deserv'st it, lad. And, Clerimont, for thy unexpected bringing these two to confession, wear my part of it freely. Nay, sir Daw and sir La-Foole, you see the gentlewoman that has dona you the favours ! we are all thankful to you, and so should the woman-kind here, specially for lying on her, though not with her ! you meant so, I am sure. But that we have stuck it upon you to-day, in your own imagined persons, and so lately, this Amazon, the champion of the sex, should beat you now thriftily, for the common slanders which ladies receive from such cuckoos as you are. Yott are they that, when no merit or fortune can make you hope to enjoy their bodies, will yet lie with their reputations, and make their fame suffer/ Away, you common moths of these, and all ladies' honours. Go, travel to make legs and faces, and come home with some new matter to be laugh'd ■ at ; you deserve to live in an air as corrupted as that where- with you feed rumour. [Exeunt Daw and La- FoOLE.] — Madams, you are mute, upon this new metamorphosis ! But here stands she that has vin- dicated your fames. Take heed of such insects hereafter. And let it not trouble you, that you have discovered any mysteries to this young gentle- man : he is almost of years, and will ma&e a good visitant within this twelvemonth. In the mean time, we'll all undertake for his secrecy, that can speak so well of his silence. {Coming forward."] — Spectators, if you like this comedy, rise cheerfully, and now Morose is gone in, clap your Jumds. It may be, that noise will cure him, at least please him. [Exeunt THE ALCHEMIST. TO THE LADY MOST DESEBVING HER NAME AND BLOOD, LADY MARY WROTH. Madam,— In the age of sacrifices, the truth of religion was not in the greatness and fat of the offerings, hut in the devotion and zeal of the sacrificers : else what could a handful of gums have done in the sight of a hecatomh ? or how might I appear at this altar, except with those afTections that no less love the light and witnras, than theyhave'the con- science of your virtue ? If what I offer bear an acceptable odour, and hold the first strength, it is your value of it, which Femembers where, when, and to whom it was kindled. Otherwise, as the times are, there comes rarely forth that thing so full of authority or example, but by assiduity and custom grows less, and loses. This, yet, safe in your judgment {which is a Sidney's) is forbidden to speak more, lest it talk or look like one of Ihe ambitious faces of the tune, who* the more they paint, are the less themselves. your ladyship's true honourer, Ben Jonson. TO THE READER. If thou beest more, thou art an understander, and then I trust thee. If thou art one that takest up, and but a pretender, beware of what hands thou receivest thy com- modity ; for thou wert never more fair in the way to be cozened, than in this age, in poetry, especially in plays : wherein, now the concupiscence of dances and of antics so relgneth, as to run away from nature, and be afraid of her, is the only point of art that tickles the spectators. But how out of purpose, and place, do I name art? When the professors are grown so obstinate contemners of it, andpre- sumers on their own naturals, as they are deridcrs of all diligence that way, and, by simple mocking at the terms, when they understand not the things, think to get off wit- tily with their ignorance. Nay, they are esteem.ed the more learned, and sufficient for this, by the niany, through their excellent vice of judgment. For they commend writers, as they do fencers or wrestlers ; who if they come in robust- uously, and put for it with a great deal of violence, are received for the braver fellows : when many times their own rudeness is the cause of their disgrace, and a little touch of their adversary gives all that boisterous force the foil. I deny not, but that these men, who always seek to do more than enough, may some time happen on some thing that is good, and great ; hut very seldom : and when it comes it doth not recompense therest of their ill. It sticks out, perhaps, and Is more eminent, because all is sordid and Tile about it : as lights are more discerned in a thick darkness, than a faint shadow. I speak not this, out of a hope to do good to any man against his will ; for I know, if it were pu t to the question of theirs and mine, the worse would find more suffrages : because the most favour com- mon errors. But I give thee this warning, that there Is a great difference between those, that, to gain the opinion of copy, utter all they can, however unfitly ; and those that use election and a mean. For it is only the disease of the unskilful, to think rude things greater than polished ; or scattered more numerous than composed. DRAMATIS PERSONJE. Subtle, the Alchemist. Pace, the Housekeeper. DoL Common, their CoUeagtte. Dapper, a Lawyer's Clerk. DRUGaER,'a Tobacco Man. LovEwrr, Master of the Souse. Sib Epicure Mammon, a Knight. Scene," Pertinax Surly, a Gamester. TRrsuLATioN Wholesomb, a Pastor of Amsterdam, Ananias, a Deacon there. BIastbill, the angry. Boy. Dame Pliant, his Sister» a Widow. Neighbours. Officers, Attendants, &c. LONDON. > ARGUMENT. T he sickness hotf a master quitj for fear^ H is house in town^ and left one servant there ; E ase him corrupted^ and gave means to know A Cheater, and his punk ; vjho now brought low, L eaving their narrow practice, were become C ozeners at large ; and only wanting some H mise to set up^ with him they here contractf E achfor a share^ and all begin to act. M uch company they draw, and much abuse, I n casting Jigur.es, telling fortunes, news, S elling of flies, flat bawdry with the stone, T ill it, arid they, and all in fume are gone. SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 230 Poriune, that favours fools, these iao short hours, We toish ateatf, both for your sokes and ours, Judging spectators } and desire, in place. To the author justice, to ourselves but grace. Our scene is London, 'cause we would make knoten. No country's mirth is better than our own : JVb efims breeds better matter for your whore. Bawd, squire, impostor, many persona more, Whosemanners, now call' d humours Jeed the stage ; And which have still been subject for the rage Or spleen of comic writers. Though this pen Sid never aim to grieve, but better men ; PROLOGUE. Howe'er the age he lives in doth endure The vices that she breeds, above their cure. But when the wholesome remedies are sweet, And in their working gain and profit meet, He hopes to find no spirit so mtwh diseased. But will with such fair correctives be pleased: For here he doth not fear who can apply. If there be any that will sit so nigh Unto the stream, to look what it doth run. They shall find things, they'd think or wish were They are so natural follies, but so shown, [done ; As even the doers may see, and yet nol own. ACT I. SCENE I. — A Room in Lovewit'3 House. Snler Face, in a captain's uniform, mitti his sword drawn, and SuBTLB with a vial, quarrelling^ and followed by Doi. Common. Voce. Believe 't, I will. Sub. Thy worst. I fart at thee. Del. Have you your wits ? why, gentlemen ! for love — Face, Sirrah, I'll strip you Sub. What to do ? lick figs Out at my Face. Rogue, rogue ! — out of all your sleights. Dol. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you madmen ? Sub. O, let the wild sheep loose. I'll gum your With good strong water, an you come. [silks Dol. Will you have The neighbours hear you ? will you betray all ? Hark ! I hear somebody. Face. Sirrah Svh. I shall mar All that the tailor has made, if you approach. Face. You most notorious whelp, you insolent Dare you do this ? [slave. Sub. Yes, faith ; yes, faith. Face. Why, who Am I, my mungrel ? who am I ? Sub. I'UteUyou, Since you know not yourself. Fajx. Speak lower, rogue. Sub. Yes, you were once (time's not long past) the good, Honest, plain, livery-three-pound-thrum, that kept Your master's worship's house here in the Friars, For the vacations Face. Will you be so loud ? Sub. Since, by my means, translated suburb- Face. By your means, doctor dog I [captain. Sub. Within man's memory, All this I speak of. Face. Why, I pray you, have I Been countenanced by you, or you by me ? Do but collect, sir, where I met you first. Sub. I do not hear well. Face. Not of this, I think it. But I shall put you in mind, sir ; — at Pie-comer, Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks' stalls, Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk Piteously costive, with your pinch'd-hom-nose, And your complexion of the Roman wash. Stuck full of black and melancholic worms. Like powder corns shot at the artUlery-yard. Sub. I wish you could advance your voice a little. Face. When you went pinn'd up in the several rags You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day; Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes ; A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloke. That scarce would cover your no buttocks Sub. So, sir ! Faf:e. When all yom: alchemy, and your algebra. Your minerals, vegetals, and animals. Your conjuring, cozening, and your dozen of trades, Could not relieve your corps with so much linen Would make you tinder, but to see a fire ; I gave you countenance, credit for youi: coals. Your stills, your glasses, your materials ; Built you a furnace, drew you customers, Advanced all your black arts ; lent you, beside, A house to practise in Sub. Your master's house ! Face. Where you have studied the more thriving Of bawdry since. [skill Sub. Yes, in your master's house. You and the rats here kept possession. Make it not strange. I know you were one could keep The buttery-hatch still lock'd, and save the chip- Sell the dole beer to aqua-vitse men, [pings, The which, together with your Christmas vaUs At post-and-pair, your letting out of counters, Made ^ou a pretty stock, some twenty marks. And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs. Here, since your mistress' death hath broke up Face. You might talk softlier, rascal, [house. Sub. No, you scarab, I'll thunder you in pieces : I will teach you How to beware to tempt a Fury again, That carries tempest in his hand and voice. Face. The place has made you valiant. Sub. No, your clothes. — Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung, So poor, so wretched, when no living thing Would keep thee company, but a spider, or worse ? Rais'd thee from brooms, and dust, and watering- pots. Sublimed thee, and exalted thee, andfiz'd thee In the third region, call'd our state of grace ? Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pMus 240 THE ALCHEMIST. Would twice have won me the philosopher's work ? Put thee in words and fashion, made tiee fit For more than ordinary fellowships ? Giv'n thee thy oaths, tiy quarrelling dimensions, Thy rules to cheat at horse-race, cock-pit, cards, Dice, or whatever gallant tincture else ? Made thee a second in mine own great art ? And have I this for thanks ! Do you rebel. Do you fly out in the projection ? Would you be gone now ? Dol. Gentlemen, what mean you ? Will you mar all? Sub. Slave, thou hadst had no name Dol. Will you undo yourselves with civil war ? Sub. Never been known, past equi clibanum, The heat of horse-dung, under ground, in cellars. Or an ale-house darker than deaf John's ; been lost To all mankind, but laundresses and tapsters. Had not I been. Dol. Do you know who hears you, sovereign ? Face. Sirrah Dol. Nay, general, I thought you were civil. Face. I shall turn desperate, if you grow thus Sub. And hang thyself, I care not. [loud. Face. Hang thee, collier. And all thy pots, and pans, in picture, I will, Since thou hast moved me Dol. O, this will o'erthrow all. Face. Write thee up bawd in Paul's, have all thy tricks Of cozening with a hollow cole, dust, scrapings. Searching for things lost, with a sieve and sheers, Erecting figures in your rows of houses, And taking in of shadows with a glass, Told4n red letters ; and a face ciit for thee. Worse than Gamaliel Ratsey's. Dol. Are you sound ? Have you your senses, masters ? Face. I will have A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures. Shall prove a true philosopher's stone to printers. Sub. Away, you trencher-rascal ! Face. Out, you dog-leach ! The vomit Of all prisons Dol. Wai you be Your own destructions, gentlemen ? Face. Still spew'd out For lying too heavy on the basket. Sub. Cheater 1 Face. Bawd ! Sub. Cow-herd I Face. Conjurer ! Sub. Cut-purse! Face. Witch! Dol. O me ! We are ruin'd, lost ! have you no more regard To your reputations? where's your judgment? 'slight. Have yet some care of me, of your republic Face. Away, this brach I I'll bring thee, rogue. The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio [within Of Harry the Eighth : ay, and perhaps, thy neck Within a noose, for laundring gold and barbing it. Dol. [Snatches Face's sword."} You'll bring your head within a cockscomb, will you ? And you, sir, with your menstrue — ^Dashes Subtlb's vial out of his hand. Gather it up.— 'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards, Ijeave off your barking, and grow one again. Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut your throats, I'll not be made a prey unto the marshal. For ne'er a snarling dog-bolt of you both. Have you together cozen'd all this while. And all the world, and shall it now be said, You've made most courteous shift to cozen your- selves .' You will accuse him ! you will bring him in ITo Facb. Within the statute ! Who shall take your word ? A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain. Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust So much as for a feather : and you, too, ilo Subtle. Will give the cause, forsooth I yon will insult, And claim a primacy in the divisions ! You must be chief ! as if you only had The powder to project with, and the work Were not begun out of equality ? The venture tripartite ? all things in common ? Without priority ? 'Sdeath ! you perpetual curs, Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly, And heartily, and lovingly, as you should. And lose not the beginning of a term. Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too. And take my part, and quit you. Face. "Tis his fault ; He ever murmurs, and objects his pains, And says, the weight of all lies upon him. Sub. Why, so it does. Dol. How does it ? do not we Sustain our parts ? Sub. Yes, but they are not equal. Dol. Why, if your part exceed to-day, I hope Ours may, to-morrow, match it. Sub. Ay, they may. Dol. May, murmuring mastiff! ay, and do. Death on me ! Help me to throttle him. {Seizes Sub. 631 (he throat. Sub. Dorothy ! mistress Dorothy ! 'Ods precious, I'll do any thing. What do you mean? Dol. Because o' your fermentation and cibation ? Sub. Not I, by heaven Dol. Your Sol and Luna ^help me. [To Face. Sub. Would I were hang'd then ! I'll conform myself. Dal. Will you, sir? do so then, and quickly: Sub. What should I swear ? [swear. Dol. To leave your faction, sir. And labour kindly in the common work. Sub. Let me not breathe if I meant aught beside. I o^ly used those speeches as a spur To him. Dol. I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we ? Face. 'Slid, prove ta-day, who shaU shark best. Sub. Agreed. Dol. Yes, and work close and friendly. Sub. 'Slight, the knot Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me. {They shake hands. Dol. Why, so, my good baboons I Shall we go A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbours, [make That scarce have smiled twice since the king came A feast of laughter at our follies ? Rascals, [in. Would run themselves from breath, to see me ride. Or you t' have but a hole to thrust your heads in, For which you should pay ear-rent ? No, agree. And may don Provost ride a feasting long. In his old velvet jerkin and stain'd scarfs. My noble sovereign, and worthy general, SCENE I. THE ALCHEAIIST. 2*. Ere we contribute a new crewel garter To his inost worsted worship. Sub. Royal Del! Spoken like Claridiana, and thyself. Face. For which at supper, thou shalt sit in triumph, And not be styled Dol Common, but Dol Proper, Dol Singular : the longest cut at night. Shall draw thee for his Doll Particular. CBeU riTiffs without. Sub. Who's that ? one rings. To the window, Dol : [£jri< Dol.] — pray heaven. The master do not trouble us this quarter. Face. O, fear not him. While there dies one a week O' the plague, he's safe, from thinking toward Lon- Beside, he's busy at his hop-yards now ; [don : I had a letter from him. If he do, He'll send such word, for airing of the house, As you shall have sufficient time to quit it i Though we break up a fortnight, 'tis no matter. Re-entet Hol, Sub. Who is it, Dol? Dol. A fine young quodling. Face. O, My lawyer's clerk, I lighted on last night. In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have (I told you of him) a familiar. To rifle with at horses, and win cups. Dol. O, let him in. Sub. Stay. Who shall do't ? Face. Get yoU Your robes on : I will meet him as going out. Dol. And what shaU I do ? Face. Not be seen ; away ! lExit Doi. Seem you very reserv'd. Sub. Enough. lExit. Face, [aloud and retirinff.l God be wi' you, sir, I pray you let him know that I was here : His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, Dap. [teithin.'] Captain, I am here. [but — Face. Who's that .' — He's come, I think, doctor. Enter Dappbb. Good faith, sir, I was going away. Dap, In truth, I am very sorry, captain. Face. But I thought Sure I should meet you. Dap. Ay, I am very glad. I had a scurvy writ or two to make. And I had lent my watch last night to one That dines to-day at the sheriff's, and so was robb'd Of my past-time. Be-enter SubtlEj in his velvet Cap and Gown. Is this the cunning-man ? Face. This is his worship. Dap. Is he a doctor ? Face. Yes. Dap. And you have broke with him, captain ? Face. Ay. Dap. And how ? Face. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so I know not what to say. [dainty Dap. Not so, good captain. Face. Would I were fairly rid of it, believe me. Dap. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should \ you wish so ? I dar& assure you, I'll not be tmgrateful. Face. I cannot think you will, sir. But the law Is such a thing and then he says. Read's matter Falling so lately. Dap. Read ! he was an ass, And dealt, sir, with a fool. Face. It was a clerk, sir. Dap. A clerk ! Face. Nay, hear me, sir, you know the law Better, I think Dap. I should, sir, and the danger : You know, I shew'd the statute to you. Face. You did so. Dap. And will I tell then! By this hand of flesh, Would it might never write good court-hand more. If I discover. What do you think of me, That I am a chiaus ? Face. What's that ? Dap. The Turk was here. As one would say, do you think I am a Turk ? Face. I'll tell the doctor so. Dap. Do, good sweet captain. Face. Come, noble doctor, pray thee let'sprevail ; This is the gentleman, and he is no chiaus. Sub. Captain, I have retum'd you all my answer. I would do much, sir, for your love But this I neither may, nor can. Face. Tut, do not say so. You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor, , One that will thank you richly ; and he is no chiaus i Let that, sir, move you. Sub. Pray you, forbear—— Face. He has Four angels here. Sub. You do me wrong, good sir. Face. Doctor, wherein ? to tempt you with these spirits ? Sub. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my periL Fore heaven, I scarce can think you are my friend. That so would draw me to apparent danger. Face. I draw you ! a horse draw you, and a You, and your flies together [halter. Dap. Nay, good captain. Face. That know no difference of men. Sub. Good words, sir. Face. Good deeds, sir, doctor dogs-meat. 'Slight, I bring you No cheating Clim o' the Cloughs, or Claribels, That look as big as five-and-fifty, and flush ; And spit out secrets like hot custard — Dap. Captain ! Face. Nor any melancholic under-scribe. Shall tell the vicar ; but a special gentle, That is the heir to forty marks a year. Consorts with the small poets of the time. Is the sole hope of his old grandmother ; That knows the law, and writes you six fair hands, Is a fine clerk, and has his cyphering perfect. Will take his oath o' the Greek Testament, If need be, in his pocket ; and can court His mistress out of Ovid. Dap. Nay, dear captain Face. Did you not tell me so ? Dap. Yes ; but I'd have you Use master doctor with some mofe respect. Face. Hang him, proud stag, . with his broad velvet head ! — But for your sake, I'd choak, ere I would change An article of breath with such a puckfist : Come, let's be gone. IGoing, Sub. Fray you let me speak with you. £ -42 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT I. Dap. His worship calls yon, captain. Face. I am sorry 1 e'er embark'd myself in such a business. Dap. Nay, good sir ; he did call yon. Face. Will he take then ? Sub. First, hear me Face. Not a syllable, 'less you take. Sub. Pray you, sir Face, Upon no terms, but an assumpsit. Sub. Your humour must be lavr. IHe takes the/our angels. Face. Why now, sir, talk. Now I dare hear yon with mine honour. Speak. So may this gentleman too. Sub. Why, sir [Offering to whisper Facb. Face. No whispering. Sub. Fore heaven, yon do not apprehend the You do yourself in this. [loss Face. Wherein ? for what ? Sub. Marry, to be so importunate for one, That, when he has it, will undo you all : He'll win up all the money in the town. Face. How ! Sub. Yes, and blow up gamester after gamester, As they do crackers in a puppet play. If I do give him a familiar. Give yoa him all you play for ; never set him : For he will have it. Face. Yon are mistaken, doctor. Why he does ask one but for cups and horses, A rifling fly ; none of your great familiars. Dap. Yes, captain, I would have it for all games. Sub. I told you so. Face. [Taking XitLP. aside.'] 'Slight, that is a new business ! I understood you, a tame bird, to fly Twice in a term, or so, on Friday nights, When you had left the office, for a nag Of forty or fifty shillings. Dap. Ay, 'tis true, sir ; But I do think now I shall leave the law, ■ And therefors Face. Why, this changes quite the case. Do you think that I dare move him ? Dap. If you please, sir j All's one to him, I see. Faoe, What I for that money ? I cannot with my conscience j nor should you Make the request, methinks. Dap. No, sir, I mean To add consideration. Face. Why then, sir, I'll try. — [Goes to SttbtIE.] Say that it were for all games, doctor? Sub. I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him At any ordinary, but on the score, That is a gaming mouth, conceive me. Face. Indeed ! Sub. He'll draw you all the treasure of the realm, If it be set him. Face. Speak you this from art ? Sub. Ay, sir, and reason too, the ground of art. He is of the only best complexion, The queen of Fairy loves. Face. What 1 is he ? Sub. Peace. He'll overhear yoa. Sir, should she bnt see him — Face. What.' Sub. Do not yoa tell him. Face, Will he win at cards too ? Sub, The spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac, You'd swear were in him ; such a vigorous luck As cannot be resisted. 'Slight, he'll put Six of your gallants to a cloke, indeed. , Face, A strange success, that some man shall be Sub. He hears you, man [bom to I Dap. Sir, I'll not be ingrateful. Face. Faith, I have confidence in his good na- You hear, he says he will not be ingrateful. f ture : Sub, Why, as you please ; my venture follows yours. Face. 'Troth, do it, doctor; think him trusty, and inake him. He may make us both happy in an hour ; Win seme five thousand pound, and send us two Dap. Believe it, and I will, sir. [on't. Face. And you shall, sir. [Taleet him aside. You have heard all ? Dap, No, what was't.' Nothing, I, sir. Face. Nothing ! Dap, A little, sir. Face. Well, a rare star Reign'd at your birth. Dap. At mine, sir ! No. Face. The doctor Swears that you are — ^—— Sub. Nay, captain, you'll tell all now. Face. Allied to the queen of Fairy. Dap. Who ? that I am ? Believe it, no such matter Face. Yes, and that You were born with a cawl on your head. Dap. Who says so ? Face. Come, You know it well enough, though you dissemble it. Dap. I'fac, I do not : you are mistaken. Face. How ! Swear by your fac, and in a thing so known Unto the doctor ? How shall we, sir, trust you In the other matter .' can we ever think. When you have won five or six thousand pound. You'll send us shares in't, by this rate ? Dap. By Jove, sir, I'll win ten thousand pound, and send you half. 1' fac's no oath. Sub. No, no, he did but jest. Face, Go to. Go thank the doctor : he's your To take it so. [friend, Dap. I thank his worship. Face. So! Another angel. Dap. Must I ? Face. Must you ! 'slight, What else is thanks ? will yon be trivial? — Doctor, [Dapper gives him the money. When must he come for his familiar ? Dap, Shall I not have it with me ? Sub. O, good sir I There must a world of ceremonies pass ; You must be bath'd and fnmigated first : Besides the queen of Fairy does not rise Till it be noon. Face. Not, if she danced, to-night Sub. And she must bless it. Face. Did you never see Her royal grace yet ? Dap. Whom? Face. Your aunt of Fairy ? Sub. Not since she kist him in the cradle, I can resolve you that. [captain j SCENE I, THE ALCHEMIST. 248 Face. Well, see her grace, Whatc'er it cost you, for a thing that I know. It will be soiDenhat hard to compass ; but However, see her. You are made, believe it. If yon can see hen Her grace is a lone woman, And very rich ; and if she take a fancy, She will do strange things. See her, at any hand. 'Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has : It is the doctor's fear. Dap. How wiU't be done, then ? Face. Let me alone, take you no thought. Do But say to me, captain, I'll see her grace. [you Dap. Captaiji, I'll see her grace. Face. Enough. IKnocliing within. Sub. Who's there ? Anon. — Conduct him forth by the back way. — lAside to Faca. Sir, against one o'clock prepare yourself j Till when you must be fasting ; only take Three drops of vinegar in at your nose^ Two at your mouth, and one at either ear ; Then bathe your fingers ends and wash your eyes, To sharpen your five senses, and cry hum Thrice, and then buz as often ; and then come. iExit. Face. Can yon remember this ? jDap. I warrant you. Face. Well then, away. Itis but your bestowing Some twenty nobles 'mong her grace's servants, And put on a clean shirt : you do not know What grace her grace may do you in clean linen. [^Exeunt Face and Dapper. Sub. [within.2 Come in ! Good wives, I pray you forbear me now ; Troth I can do you no good till afternoon — Se.mters,fottouKd hy Drdooer. What is your name, say you, AbelDrugger ? Drug. Yes, sir. Sub. A seller of tobacco ? Drug. Yes, sir. Sitb. Umph ! Free of the grocers ? Drug. Ay, an't please yon. Sub. WeU Your business, Abel.' Drug. This, an't please your worship ; I am a young beginner, and am building Of a new shop,-an't like your worship, just At comer of a street:— Here is the plot on't — And I would know by art, sir, of your worship. Which way I should make my door, by necro- mancy, And where my shelves ; and which should be for boxes, And which for pots. I would be glad to thrive, sir : And I was wish'd to your worship by a gentleman. One captain Face, that says you know men's And their good angels, and their bad. [planets, Sub. I do. If I do see them Be-enter Fact. Face. What I my honest Abel ? Thou art well met here. Drug. Troth, sir, I was speaking, Just as your worship came here, of your worship : I pray you speak for me to master doctor. Face. He shall do anything.— Doctor, do you This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow ; [hear ! He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not Sophisticate it with sack -lees or oil. Nor washes it in muscadel and grains. Nor buries it in gravel, under ground, Wrapp'd up in greasy leather, or piss'd clouts ; But keeps it in fine lily pots, that, open'd. Smell like conserve of roses, or French beans. He has his maple block, his silver tongs, Winchester pipes, and fire of Juniper : A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith. Sub. He is a fortunate fellow, thar I am sure on. Face. Already, sir, have you found it ? Lo thee. Sub. And in right way toward riches — [Abel ! Face. Sir ! Sub. This summer He will be of the clothing of his company. And next spring call'd to the scarlet ; spend what Face. What, and so little beard ? [he can. Svh. Sir, you must think. He may have a receipt to make hair come : But he'll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for't ; His fortune looks for him another way. Face. 'Slid, doctor, how canst thou know this I am amused at that ! [so soon ? Sub. By a rule, captain, In metoposcopy, which I do work by ; A certain star in the forehead, which you see not. Your chesnut or your olive-colour'd face Does never fail : and your long ear doth promise. I knew't by certain spots, too, in his teeth, And on the nail of his mercurial finger. Face. Which finger's that ? Sub. His little finger. Look. You were born upon a Wednesday ? Drug. Yes, indeed, sir. Sub. The thumb, in chiromancy, we give Venus ; The fore-finger, to Jove j the midst, to Saturn ; The ring, to Sol ; the least, to Mercuiy, Who was the lord, sir| of his horoscope, His house of life being Libra i which fore-show'd. He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance. Ftice. Why, this is strange ! Is it not, honest Nab? Sub. There is a ship now, coming from Ormus, That shall yield him such a commodity Of drugs This is the west, and this the south ? {Pointing to the plan. Drug. Yes, sir. Sub. And those are your two sides ? Drvg. Ay, sir. Sub. Make me your door, then, south; your broad side, west : And on the east side of your shop, aloft. Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat ; Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel. They are the names of those mercurial spirits. That do fright flies from boxes. Drug, Yes, sir. Sub. And Beneath your threshold, bury me a load-stone To draw in gallants that wear spurs : the rest, They'll seem to follow. Face. That's a secret. Nab 1 Sub. And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice And a court-fucus to call city-dames : You shall deal much with minerals. Drug. Sir, 1 have At home, already-^ Sub. Ay, I know you have arsenic. Vitriol, gal-tartar, argaile, alkali, b 2 244 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT n. Cinoper : I know all. — This fellow, captain, Will come, in time, to be a great distiller, And give a say — I will not say directly. But very fair — at the philosopher's stone. Face. Why, how now, Abel ! is this true ? Drtig. Good captain, What must I give ? lAside to Facb. Face. Nay, I'll not counsel thee. Thou hear'st what wealth (he says, spend what Thou'rt like to come to. [thou canst,) Drug. I would gi' him a crown. Face. A crown ! and toward such a fortune ? heart. Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold about thee? Drug. Yes, I have a portague, I have kept this half year; Face. Out on thee, Nab I 'Slight, there was such an offer — Shalt keep't no longer, I'll give't him for thee. Doctor, Nab prays your iforship to drink this, and swears He will appear more grateful, as your skill Does raise him in the world. Drug. I would .entreat Another favour of his worship. Face. What is't. Nab ? Drug. But to look over, sir, my almanack. And cross out my iU days, that I may neither Bargain, nor trust upon them. Face. That he shaU, Nab ; Leave it, it shall be done, 'gainst afternoon. Sub. And a direction for his shelves. Face. Now, Nab, Art thou well pleased. Nab ? Drug. 'Thank, sir, both your worships. Face. Away. — [SxU BmioaeR. Why, now, you smoaky persecutor of nature ! Now^do you see, that something's to be done. Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters. Your crosslets, crucibels, and cucurbites .' You must have stuff brought home to you, to work And yet you think, I am at no expense [on : In searching out these veins, then following them. Then trying them out. 'Fore God, ay intelli- gence Costs me more money, than my share oft comes to. In these rare works. Sub. You are pleasant, sir.^ Se-enier Doi. How now ! What says my dainty Dolkin ? Dol. Yonder fish- wife Will not away. And there's your giantess, The bawd of Lambeth. Sub. Heart, 1 cannot speak with them. Dol, Not afore night, I have told them in a voice. Thorough the trunk, like one of your familiars. But I have spied sir Epicure Mammon Sub. Where? Dol. Coming along, at far end of the lane. Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue To one that's whh him. Sub. Face, go you, and shift. lExit Facz, Dol, you must presently make ready, too. Dol. Why, what's the matter ? Sub. O, I did look for him With the sun's rising : 'marvel he could sleep. This is the day I am to perfect for him The magisterium, our great work, the stone ; And yield it, made, into his hands : of which He has, this month, talk'd as he were possess'd. And now he's dealing pieces on't away. — Methiuks I see him entering ordinaries, Dispensing for the pox, and plaguy houses, Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers. And offering citizens' wives pomander-bracelets, As his preservative, made of the elixir ; Searching the spittal, to make old bawds young ; And the highways, for beggars,; to make rich : I see no end of his labours. He will make Nature asham'd of her long sleep : when art. Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she. In her best love to mankind, ever could : If his dream lasts, he'll turn the age to gold. CExeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. — AnOuterRoom inljO'v^wiT's House. Enter Sir Eptcdre Mammon and Sxjrly. Mam. Come on, sir. Now, you set your foot In Novo Orbe ; here's the rich Peru : [on shore And there within, sir, are the golden mines, Great Solomon's Ophir ! he was sailing to't. Three years, but we have reach'd it in ten months. This is the day, wherein, to all my friends, I will pronounce the happy word, Be rich ; This bay you shall be spectatissimi. You shall no more deal with the hollow dye. Or the frail card. No more be at charge of keeping The livery-punk for the young heir, that most Seal, at all hours, in his shirt : no more. If he deny, have him beaten to't, as he is That brings him the commodity. No more ShaU thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger Of velvet entrails for a nide-spun cloke, To be display'd at madam Augusta's, make The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights. Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets : Or go a feasting after drum and ensign. No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys. And have your punks, and punketees, my Surly. And unto thee I speak it first. Be rich. Where is my Subtle, there ? Within, ho ! Face. [ Within.'] Sir, he'll come to you by and by. Mam. That is his 'fire-drake. His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals. Till he firk nature up, in her own centre. You are not faithful, sir. This night, I'll change All that is metal, in my house, to gold : And, early in the morning, will I send To all the plumbers and the pewterers, And buy their tin and lead up ; and to Lothbury For all the copper. Sur. What, and turn that too ? SORNB I. THE ALCHEMIST. 245 Mam. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall, And make them perfect Indies ! yon admire now ? Sur. No, feith. Mam. But when yon see th' effects of the Great Medicine, Of which one part projected on a hundred Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon, Shall turn it to as many of the sun ; Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum : You will believe me. Sur. Yes, when I see't, I will. But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I Giving them no occasion, sure I'll have A whore, shall piss them out next day. Mam. Ha! why? Do you think I fable with you? I assure you. He that has once the flower of the sun. The perfect ruby, which we call elixir, Not only can do that, but, by its virtue. Can confer hononr, love, respect, long life ; Give safety, valour, yea, and victory. To whom he wiU. In eight and twenty days, 1 11 make an old man of fourscore, a child. Sur. No doubt ; he's that already. Mam. Nay, I mean, Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle. To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daughters, Young giants ; as our philosophers have done, The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood. But taking, once a week, on a knife's point, The quantity of a grain of mustard of it ; Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids. Sur. The decay'd vestals of Pict-hatch would That keep the fire alive, there. [thank yoo, Mam. 'Tis the secret Of nature naturiz'd 'gainst all infections. Cures all diseases coming of all causes ; A month's grief in a day, a year's in twelve ; And, of what age soever, in a month : Past all the doses of your dragging doctors. I'll undertake, withall, to fright the plague Out of the kingdom in three months. Sztr. And I'll Be bound, the players shall sing your praises, then. Without theii- poets. ^ Mam. Sir, I'll do't. Mean time, I'll give away so much unto my man. Shall serve the whole city, with preservative, Weekly ; each house his dose, and at the rate — Sur. As he that built the Water- work, does with Mam. You are incredulous. [water ? Sur. Faith I have a humour, I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone Cannot transmute me. Mam. Pertinax, [my] Surly, Wm you believe antiquity ? records ? I'll shew you a book where Moses and his sister, And Solomon have written of the art ; Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam — Sur. How ! Mam. Of the philosopher's stone, and in High Dutch. Sw. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch ? Mam. He did ; Which proves it was the primitive tongue. ■ Sur. What paper? Mam. On cedar board. Sur. O that, indeed, they say, Will last 'gainst worms. Mam. 'Tis like your Irish wood, "Gainst cob-webs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece. Which was no other than a book of alchemy, [too, Writ in large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum. Such was Pythagoras' thigh, Pandora's tub, And, all that fable of Medea's charms, The manner of our work ; the bulls, our furnace. Still breathing fire ; our argent- vive, the dragon : The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate. That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting; And they are gather'd into Jason's helm. The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field. And thence sublimed so often, till they're fix'd. Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story, Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes, Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more, All abstract riddles of our stone. — Enter Facs, as a Servant. How now ! Do we succeed .' Is our day come ? and holds it ? Face. The evening will set red upon you, sir ; You have colour for it, crimson : the red ferment Has done his office ; three hours hence prepare you To see projection. Mam. Pertinax, my Surly, Again I say to thee, aloud. Be rich. This day, thou shalt have ingots ; . and, to-morrow. Give lords th' affront.-^Is it, my Zephyrus, right ? Blushes the bolt's-head ? Face. Like a wench with child, sir. That were but now discover'd to her master. Mam. Excellent witty Lungs ! — my only cai» is, Where to get stuff enough now, to project on ; This town will not half serve me. Face. No, sir ! buy The covering off o' churchee. Mam, That's true. Face. Yes. Let them stand bare, as do their auditory ; Or cap them, new, with shingles. Mam. No, good thatch : Thatch wiH lie light upon the rafters. Lungs.— Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace ; I will restore thee thy complexion, Puffe, Lost in the embers ; and repair this brain, Hurt with the fume o' the metals. Face. I have blown, sir. Hard for your worship ; thrown by many a coal, When 'twas not beech ; weigh'd those I put in, just. To keep your heat still even ; these blear'd eyes Have wak'd to read your several colours, sir. Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow. The peacock's tail, the plumed swan. Mam. And, lastly. Thou hast descry'd the flower, the sanguis agni ? Face. Yes, sir. Mam. Where's master ? Face. At his prayers, sir, he ; Good man, he's doing his devotions For he success. Mam. Lungs, I will set a period To all thy labours ; thou shalt be the master Of my seraglio. Face. Good, sir. Mam. But do you hear ? I'll geld you, Lungs. Face. Yes, sir. Mam. For I do mean To have a list of wives and oonrnbineii. 246 THE ALCHEMIST. Equal with Solomon, who had the stone Alike with me ; and I will make me a back With the elixir, that shall be as tough As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night. — Thou art sure thou saw'st it blood ? Face. Both blood and spirit, sir. Mam^ I will have all mybeds blown up, notstuft: Down is too hard : and then, mine oval room Fill'd with such pictures as Tiberias took From Elephantis, and dull Aretine But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse Aud multiply the figures, as I walk N«ked between my succubse. My mists I'll have of perfume, vapour'd 'bout the room. To lose ourselves in ; and my baths, like pits To fall into ; fiom whence we will come forth, And roll us dry in gossamer and roses Is it arrived at ruby .' Where I spy A wealthy citizen, or [a] rich lavfyer. Have a sublimed pure wife, unto that fellow I'll send a thousand pound to be my cuckold. Face. Aud i shall carry it .' Mam. No. I'll have no bawds, But fathers and mothers : they will do it best, Best of all others. And my flatterers Shall be the pure and gravest of divines. That I can get for money. My mere fools, Eloquent burgesses, and then my poets The same that writ so subtly of the fart. Whom I will entertain still for that subject The few that would give out themselves to be Court and town -stallions, and, each-where, bely Ladies who are known' most innocent for them ; Those will I beg, to make me eunuchs of: And they shall fan me with ten estrich tails A-piece, made in a plume to gather wind. We will be brave, Puffe, now we have the med'cine- My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells, Dishes of agat set in gold, and studded With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies. The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels, Boil'd in the spirit of sol, aud dissolv'd pearl, Apicius' diet, 'gainst the epilepsy : And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber. Headed with diamond and carbuncle. My foot-boj shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmons. Knots, godwits, lampreys : I myself will have The beards of barbels served, instead of sallads ; Oil'd mushrooms ; and the swelling unctuous paps Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, Drest with an exquisite, aud poignant sauce ; For which, I'll say unto my cook, There's gold, Go forth, and be a knight. Face. Sir, I'll go look A little, how it heightens: iExU. Mam. Do My shirts I'll have of taffeta-sarsnet, soft and light As cobwebs ; and for all my other raiment. It shall be such as might provoke the Persian, Were he to teach the world riot anew. My gloves of fishes and birds' skins, perfumed With gums of paradise, and eastern air Sur. And do you think to have the stone with this? Mam. No, I do think t' have all this with the stone. Sur. Why, I have heard, he must be homo frugi, X pious, holy, and religious man, One free from mortal sin, a very virgin. Mam. That makes it, sir ; he is so : but I buy it ; ■ My venture brings it me. He, honest wretch, A notable, superstitions, good soul, Has worn his kiiees bare, and his slippers bald, With prayer and fasting for it : and sir, let him Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes. Not a profane word afore him : 'tis poison. — Enter Suetie. Good morrow, father. Sub. Gentle son, good morrow. And to your friend there. What is he, is with you? Mam. An heretic, that I did bring along, In hope, sir, to convert him. Sub. Son, I duubt You are covetous, that thus you meet your time In the just point : prevent your day at morning. This argues something, worthy of a fear Of importune and carnal appetite. Take heed you do not cause the blessing leave you, With your ungovem'd haste. I should be sorry To see my labours, now even at perfection. Got by long watching and large patience. Not prosper where my love and zeal hath placed them. Which (heaven I call to witness, with your self. To whom I have pour'd my thoughts) in all my ends. Have look'd no way, but unto public good, To pioiohgoes to the window.'} Stay, Face, you must go to the door, 'Pray God it be my anabaptist. — Who is't, Dol ? Dol, I know him not : he looks like a golH-end- man. Sub, Ods so ! 'tis he, he said he would send what call you him ? The sanctified elder, that should deal For Mammon's jack and andirons. Let him in. Stay, help me off, first, with my gown. [Exit Face with the gown.'] Xway, Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. lExit Doi.] Now, In a new tune, new gesture, but old language — This fellow is sent from one negociates with me About the stone too ; for the holy brethren Of Amsterdam, the exiled saints ; that hope To raise their discipline by it. I must use him In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire Muter Ananias. Where is my drudge ? [Aloud. Re-enter Pace. Face. Sir ! Sub. Take away the recipient. And rectify your menstrue from the phlcgma. Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucmbite, And let them macerate together. Face. Yes, sir. And save the ground ? Sub. No : terra damnata Must not have entrance in the work. — ^Who are you? Ana. A faithful brother, if it please you. Sub. What's that? A Lullianiit ? a Ripley ? Filius artis ? Can you sublime and dulcify ? calcine? Know yon the sapor pontic ? sapor stiptic ? Or what is homogene, or heterogene? Ana. I understand no heathen language, truly. Sub. Heathen 1 you Knipper-doling ? is Ars Or chrysopoeia, or spagyrica, [sacra, Or the pamphysic, or panarchic knowledge, A heathen language? Ana: Heathen Greek, I take it. Sub. How I heathen Greek ? Ana. All's heathen but the Hebrew. Sub. Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him, Like a philosopher : answer in the language. Name the vexations, and the martyrizations Of metals in the work. Faoe. Sir, putrefaction. Solution, ablution, sublimation, Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and Fixation. Sub. This is heathen Greek, to you, now ! — And when comes vivification ? Face. After mortification. Sub. What's cohobation? Face. 'Tis the pouring on Your aqua regis, and then drawing him ofT, To the trine circle of the seven spheres. Sub. What's the proper passion of metals ? Face. Malleation. Sub. What's your itltimum supplicium auri9 Face. Antimonium. Sub. This is heathen Greek to you ! — And what's your mercury ? Face. A very fugitive, he will be gone, sir. Sub. How know you him ? Face. By his viscosity. His oleosity, and his suscitability. Sub. How do you sublime him ? Face. With the calce of egg-shells. White marble, talc. Sub. Your magisterium, now, What's that? Face. Shifting, sir, your elements, Dry iuto cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, Hot into dry. Sub. This is heathen Greek to you still ! Your lapis philosophicus ? Face. 'Tis a stone. And not a stone ; a spirit, a soul, and a body : Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolved ; If you coagulate, it is coagulated; If you make it to fiy, it flieth. Sub. Enough. [ExitVicx. This is heathen Greek to your I What are you, sir ? Ana. Please you, a servant of the exiled bre- thren. That deal with widows and with orphans' goods ; And make a just account unto the saints : A deacon. Sub. O, you are sent from master Wholsome, Your teacher ? Ana. From Tribulation Wholsome, Our very zealous pastor. Sub. Good ! I have Some orphans' goods to come here. Ana. Of what kind, sir. Sub. Pewter and brass, andirons and kitchen- Metals, that we must use our medicine on : [ware. Wherein the brethren may have a pennyworth. For ready money. Ana. Were the orphans' parents Sincere professors ? Sub. Why do you ask ? Ana. Because We then are to deal justly, and give; in truth. Their utmost value. Sub. 'Slid, you'd cozen else, And if their parents were not of the faithful Ir— I will not trust you, now 1 think on it, 'Till 1 have talk'd with your pastor. Have you To buy more coals ? [brought money Ana. No, surely. Sub. No! how so? Ana. The brethren bid me say unto you, sir. Surely, they will not venture any more, Till they taay see projection. SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST, 261 Sub. How 1 Ana, You have had, For the instruments, as bricks, and lome. and glasses, Alre&df thirty pound ; and for materials, They say, some ninety more : and they have heard That one at Heidelberg, madeit of an egg, [since. And a small paper of pin-dust. Sub. What's your name ? Ana. My name is Ananias. Sub. Out, the varlet That cozen'd the apostfes ! Hence, away I Flee, mischief I had your holy consistory No name to send me, of another sound. Than wicked Ananias ? send your elders Hither to make atonement for you quickly. And give me satisfaction ; or out goes The fire ; and down th' alembics, and the furnace, Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch ! Both sericon and bufo shall be lost. Tell them. All hope of rooting out the bishops. Or the antichristian hierarchy, shall perish, If they stay threescore minutes : the aqueity, Terreity, and sulphureity Shall run together again, and all be annull'd. Thou wicked Ananias I [j?jn7 Ananias.] This will fetch 'em. And make them haste towards their guUing more. A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright Those that are froward, to an appetite. Jie.enier Facb in his uniform, followed by Druggbb. Face. He is busy with his spirits, but we'll upon him. Sub. How now 1 what mates, what Bsiiards have we here ? Face. I told you, he would be furious. — Sir, here's Nab, Has brought you another piece of gold to look on : —We most appease him. Give it me, — and prays You would devise — what is it. Nab ? [y'"^» Drug. A sign, sir. Face. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign. Sub. I was devising now. [doctor. Face. 'Slight, do not say so. He will repent he gave you any more — What say you to his constellation, doctor. The Balance ? Sub. ' No, that way is stale, and common. A townsman bom in Taurus, gives the bull. Or the bull's-head : in Aries, the ram, A poor-device ! No, I will have his name Form'd in some mystic charactf r ; whose radii, Striking the senses of the passers by. Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections, That may result upon the party owns it : As thus Face. Nab ! Sub. He shall have a bel, that's Abel; And by it standing one whose name is Dee, In a rug gown, there's D, and Rug, that's drug : And right anenst him a dog snarling er ; There's Drugger, Abel Drugger. That's his sign. And here's now mystery and hieroglyphic ! Fa£e. Abel, thou art made. Drug. Sir, I do thank his worship. Face. Six o' thy legs more will not do it. Nab. Be has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor. / Drug. Yes, sir : I have another thing I would impart Faoe. Out with it. Nab. Drug. Sir, there is lodged, hard by me, A rich young widow Face. Good! abonaroba? Drug. But nineteen, at the most. Face. Very good, Abel. Drug. Marry, she's not in &shion yet; she A hood, but it stands a cop. [wears Face. No matter, Abel. Drug. And I do now and then give her a fucus— Face. What! dost thou deal. Nab? Sub. I did tell you, captain. Drug. And physic too, sometime, sir; for which she trusts me With all her mind. She's come up here of purpose To learn the fashion. Face. Good (his match too !) — On, Nab. Drug. And she does strangely long to know her fortune. Face. Ods hd. Nab, send her to the doctor, hither. Drug. Yes, I have spoke to her of his worship But she's afraid it will be blown abroad, [already ; And hurt her marriage. Face. Hurt it I 'tis the way To heal it, if 'twere hurt ; to make it more Follow'd and sought : Nab, thou shalt tell her this. She'll be more known, more talk'd of; and your Are ne'er of any price till they be famous ; [widows Their honour is their multitude of suitors : Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What ! Thou dost not know. Drug. No, sir, she'll never marry Under a knight : her brother has made a vow. Face, What! and dost thou despair, my little Nab, Knowing what the doctor has set down for tbe/^ And seeing so many of the city dabb'd ? One glass o' thy water, with a madam I know. Will have it done. Nab : what's her brother, a. knight? Drug. No, sir, a gentleman newly warm in his land, sir. Scarce cold in his one and twenty, that does His sister here ; and is a man himself [govern Of some three thousand a year, and is come up To learn to quarrel, and to live by his wits. And will go down again, and die in the country. Face. How ! to quarrel ? Drug. If es, sir, Co carry quarrels. As gallants do ; to manage them by line. Face. 'Slid, Nab, the doctor is the only man In Christendom for him. He has made a table. With mathematical demonstrations, Touching the art of quarrels : he wiH give him An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring them both. Him and his sister. -And, for thee, with her The doctor happ'ly may persuade. Go to : 'Shalt give his worship a new damask suit Upon the premises. Sub. O, good captain ! Face. He shall ; He is the honestest feUow, doctor. — Stay not. No offers ; bring the damask, and the parties. Drug. I'll try my power, sir. Face. And thy will too. Nab. Sub. 'Tis good tobacco, this! what is't an ounce? Face. He'll send you a pound, doctor. Sub. O no. Faoe. He will do't 252 THE ALCHEMIST; It is the goodest soul ! — AbeJ, about it. Thou shalt know more anon. Away, be gone. — ZExit Abel. A miserable rogne, and lives with cheese, And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed. Why he came now : he dealt with me in private, To get a med'cine for them. Sub. And shall, sir. This works. Face. A wife, a wife for one of us, my dear Subtle ! We'll e'en draw lots, and he that fails, shall have The more in goods, the other has in tail. Stib. Rather the less : for she may be so light She may want grains. Face. Ay, or be such a burden, A man would scarce endure her for the whole. Sub. Faith, best let's see her first, and" then determine. Face. Content : but Dol must have no breath on't. Sub. Mum. Away you, to your Surly yonder, catch him. Face. 'Pray God I have not staid too long. Sub. I fear it. iExeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. — The Lane before liOvii-WTi's House. Enter TbibulatioN|,'Wholbsomb, and Abtanias. Tri. These chastisements are common to the And such rebukes, we of the separation [saints, Must bear with willing shoulders, as the trials Sent forth to tempt our frailties. Ana. In pure zeal, I do not like the man, he is a heathen. And speaks the language of Canaan, truly. Tri. I think him a profane person indeed. Ana. He bears The visible mark of the beast in his forehead. And for his stone, it is a work of darkness, And with philosophy blinds the eyes of man. Tri. Good brother, we must bend unto all means That may give furtherance to the holy cause. Ana. Which his cannot : the sanctified cause Should have a sanctified course. Tri. Not always necessary : The children of perdition are oft-times Made instruments even of the greatest works : Beside, we should give somewhat to man's nature. The place he lives in, still about the fire, And fume of metals, that intoxicate The brain of man, and make him prone to passion. Where have you greater atheists than your cooks ? pr more profane, or choleric, than your glass-men ? More antichristian than your bell-founders ? What makes the devil so devUish, I would ask yon, Sathan, our common enemy, but his being Perpetually about the fire, and boiling Brimstone and arsenic .' We must give, 1 say. Unto the motives, and the stirrers up Of humours in the blood. It may be so, When as the work is done, the stone is made, This heat of his may turn into a zeal. And stand up for the beauteous discipline. Against the menstruous cloth and rag of Rome. We must await his calling, and the coming Of the good spirit. Yon did.fault, t'npbraid him With the brethren's blessing of Heidelberg, weigh- What need we have to hasten on the work, [ing For the restoring of the silenced saints. Which ne'er will be, but by the philosopher's stone. And so a learned elder, one of Scotland, Assured me ; aurum potabile being The only med'cine, for the civil magistrate, T' incline him to a feeling of the cause ; And must be daily used in the disease. Ana. I have not edified more, truly, by man ; Not since the beautiful light first shone on me : And I am sad my zeal hath so ofiended. Tri. Let us call on him then. Ana. The motion's good. And of the spirit ; I will knock first. [Knocks.'^ Peace be within ! {The door is opened^ and they enter. SCENE II. — A Room in Lovbwit's House. Enter Subtle, followed by Tribolation and Anantas. Sub. O, are you come? 'twas time. Tour threescore minutes Were at last thread, you see ; and down had gone Furnus oceditB, turris circulatorius : Lembec, bolt's-head, retort and pelican Had all been cinders. — ^Wicked Ananias ! Art thou retum'd? nay then, it goes down yet Tri. Sir, be appeased ; he is come to humble Himself in spirit, and to ask your patience, If too much zeal hath carried him aside From the due path. Sub. Why, this doth qualify ! Tri. The brethren had no purpose, verily, To give you the least grievance : but are ready To lend their willing hands to any project The spirit and you direct. Sub. This qualifies more ! Tri. And for the orphan's goods, let them be valued, Or what is needful else to the holy work. It shall he numbered ; here, by me, the saints, Throw down their purse before you. Sub. This qualifies most ! Why, thus it should be, now you understand. Have I discours'd so unto you of our stone. And of the good that it shall bring your cause ? Shew'd you (beside the main of hiring forces Abroad, drawing the Hollanders, your friends. From the Indies, to serve you, with all their fleet) That even the med'cinal use shall make you a faction. And party in the realm ? As, put the case. That some great man in state, he have the gout. Why, you but send three drops of your elixir. You help him straight : there you have made a Another has the palsy or the dropsy, [friend. He takes of your incombustible stuff. He's young again : there you have made a friend. A lady that is past the feat of body. Thongh not of mind, and hath her face decay'd SCJSNB II. THE ALCHEMIST. •26a Beyond all cvire of paintings, you restore, with the oil of talc: there you hare made a friend; And all her friends. A lord that is a leper, A knight that has the bone-ache, or a squire That hath both these, yoa make them smooth and sound, With a bare fricace of your med'cine : still You increase your friends. Tri. Ay, it is very pregnant. Sub. And then the turning of this lawyer's pewter To plate at Christmas. ' Ana. Christ- tide, I pray you. Sub. Yet, Ananias. ! Ana. I have done. Sub. Or changing His parcel gilt to massy gold. You cannot But raise you friends. Withal, to be of power To pay an army in the field, to buy The king of France out of his realms, or Spain Out of his Indies. What can you not do Against lords spiritual or temporal, That shall oppone you ? Tri. Verily, 'tis true. We may be temporal lords ourselves, I take it. Sub. You may be any thing, and leave off to Long-winded exercises'; or suck np [make Your Ao / and hum / in a tune. ' I not deny, But such as are not graced in a state. May, for their ends, be adverse in religion, And get a tune to call the flock together : For, to say sooth, a tune does much with women, And other phlegmatic people ; it is your bell. Ana. Bells are profane ; a tune may be religious. Sub. No warning with you ! then farewell my patience. 'Slight, it shall down : I will not be thus tortured. Tri. I pray, you, sir. Sub. All shall perish. I have spoke it. Tri. Let me iind grace, sir, in your eyes ; the He stands corrected : neither did his zeal, [man But as your self, allow a tune somewhere, [need. Which now, being tow'rd the stone, we shsJl not Sub. No, nor your holy vizard, to win widows To give you legacies ; or make zealous wives To rob their husbands for the common cause : Nor take the start of bonds broke but one day, And say, tbey were forfeited by providence. Nor shall you need o'er night to eat' huge meals, To celebrate your next day's fast the better ; The whilst the brethren and the sisters humbled. Abate the stiffiiess of the flesh. Nor cast Before your hungry hearers scrupulous bones ; As whether a Christian may hawk or hunt. Or whether matrons of the holy assembly May lay their hair out, or wear doublets. Or have that idol starch about their linen. Ana. It is indeed an idoL Tri. Mind him not, sir. I do command thee, spirit of zeal, but trouble, To peace within him ! Pray, you, sir, go on. Sub. Nor shall you need to libel 'gainst the prelates, And shorten so your ears against the hearing Of the next wire-drawn grace. Nor of necessity Rail against plays, to please the alderman Whose daily custard you devour : nor lie With zealous rage till you are hoarse. Not one Of these so singular arts. Nor call your selves By names of Tribulation, Persecution, Restraint, Long-patience, and such like, affected By the whole family or wood of you, Only for glory, and to' catch the ear Of the disciple. Tri. Truly, sir, they are Ways that the godly brethren have invented. For propagation of the glorious cause. As very notable means, and whereby also Themselves grow soon, and profitably, famous. Sub. O, but the stone, all's idle to it! nothing! The art of angels' nature's miracle. The divine secret that doth fly in clouds From east to west ; and whose tradition Is not fi-om men, but spirits. Ana. I hate traditions ; I do not trust them. Tri. Peace! Ana. They are popish all. I will not peace : I will not Tri. Ansmias ! Ana. Please the profane, to grieve the godly ; I may not. Sub. Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome. Tri. It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir ; But truly, else, a very faithful brother, A botcher, and a man, by revelation. That hath a competent knowledge of the truth. Sub. Has he a competent sum there in the bag To buy the goods within ? I am made guardian. And must, for charity, and conscience sake. Now see the most be made for my poor orphan ; Though I desire the brethren too good gainers : There they are within. When you have view'd, and bought 'em, And ta'en the inventory of what they are. They are ready for projection ; there's no more To do : cast on the med'cine, so much silver As there is tin there, so much gold as brass, I'll give't you in by weight. Tri. But how long time. Sir, must the saints expect yet .' Sttb. Let me see, How's the moon now? Eight, nine, ten dnya hence. He will be silver potato ; then three days Before he citronise : Some fifteen days. The magisterium will be perfected. Ana. About the second day of the third week. In the ninth month ? Sub. Yes, my good Ananias. Tri. What will the orphan's goods arise to, think you ? Sub. Some hundred marks, as much as fill'd three cars, Unladed now. : you'U make six millions of them.— ■ But I must have more coals laid in. Tri. How! Sub. Another load, And then we have finish'd. We must now increase Our fire to ignis ardens, we are past Fimus equinus, balnei, cineris, And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse Should with this draught fall 'low, and that the Do need a present sum, I have a trick [saints To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly. And with a tincture make you as good Dutch As any are in Holland. [dollars TH. Can you so ? Sub. Ay, and shall 'bide the third examination. Ana. It will be joyful tidings to the brethren. Sub. But you must carry it secret. 254 THE ALCHEMIST. TH. Ay J but stay. This act of coining, is It lawful ? Ana. Lawful! We Icnow no magistrate ; or, if we did. This is foreign coin. Sub. It is no coining, sir. It is but casting. TH. Ha ! you distinguish well : Casting of money may be lawful. Ana. 'Tis, sir. TH. Truly, I take it so. Sub. There is no scruple. Sir, to be made of it ; believe Ananias : This case of conscience he is studied in. TH. I'll make a question of it to the brethren. Ana. The brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not. Where shall it be done ? ^Knocking vsithmt. Sub. For that we'll talk anon. There's some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you. And view the parcels. That's the inventory. I'll come to you straight. \^Bxeunt Trib. and Ana.} Who is it ? — Face ! appear. Enter Yace, in his uniform. How now ! good prize ? Face. Good pox ! yond' costive cheater Kever came on. Sub. How then .> Face. I have walk'd the round Till now, and no such thing. Sub. And have you quit him ? Face. Quit him ! an hell would quit him too, he were happy. Slight ! would you have me stalk like a mill-jade. All day, for one that will not yield us grains i I know him of old. Sub. O, but to have gull'd him, Had been a mastery. Face. Let him go, black boy ! And turn thee, that some fresh news may possess A noble count, a don of Spain, my dear [thee. Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd, Who is come hither private for his conscience, And brought munition with him, six great slops, Bigger than three Dutch hoys, beside round trunks, Furnished with pistolets, and pieces of eight. Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath, (That is the colour,) and to make his battery Upon our Dol, our castle, our cinque-port. Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she ? She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen. The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit. For she must milk his epididimis. Where is the doxy ? Sub. I'll send her to thee: And but dispatch my brace of little John Leydens, And come again my self. Face. Are they within then f Sub. Numbering the sum. Face. How much ? Sub. A hundred marks, boy. [^Exit. Face, Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds of Mammon I Three of my clerk I a portague of my grocer I This of the brethren 1 beside reversions. And states to come in the widow, and my count I My share to-day will not be bought for forty Enter Dol. Dol. What? Face. Pounds, dainty Dorothy! art thou so near ? Dol. Yes ; say, lord general, how fares our camp ? Face. As with the few that had entrench'd themselves Safe, by their discipline, against a world, Dol, And laugh'd within those trenches, and grew fat With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in Daily by their small parties. This dear hour, A doughty don is taken with my Dol ; . And thou mayst make his ransom what thou wilt, My Dousabel j he shall be brought here fetter'd With thy fair looks, before he sees thee ; and thrown In a dovm-bed, as dark as any dungeon ; Where thou shalt keep him waking with thy drum ; Thy drum, my Dol, thy drum ; till he be tame As the poor black-birds were in the gi-eat frost. Or bees are with a bason ; and so hive him In the swan-skin coverlid, and cambric sheets. Till he work honey and wax, my little God's-gift. Dol. What is he, general ? Face. An adalantado, A grandee, girl. Was not my Dapper here yet ? Dol. No. Face. Nor my Drugger ? - Dol. Neither. Face. A pox on 'em, They are so long a furnishing ! such stinkards Would not be seen upon these festival days. — Se-enter Subtlb. How now I have you done ? Sub. Done. They are gone : the sum Is here in bank, my Pace. I would we knew Another chapman now would buy 'em outright. Face. 'Slid, Nab shall do't against he have the To furnish household. [widow, . Sub. Excellent, well, thought on : Pray God he come ! Face. I pray he keep away Till our new business be o'erpast. Sub. But, Face, How cara'st thou by this secret don .' Face. A spirit Brought me th' intelligence in a paper here. As I was conjuring yonder in my circle For Surly ; I have my flies abroad. Your bath Is famous. Subtle, by my means. Sweet Dol, You must go tune your virginal, no losing O' the least time : and, do you hear ? good action. Pirk, like a flounder ; kiss, like a scallop, close ; And tickle him with thy mother-tongue. His great Verdugoship has not a jot of language ; So much the easier to he cozen'd, my Dolly. He will come here in a hired coach, obscure, And our own coachman, whom I have sent as guide. No creature else. [Knocking mthoul.} Who's that ? lExil Sol, Sub. It is not he ? Face. O no, not yet this hour. Re-enter Dol. Sub. Who is't ? Dol. Dapper, Your clerk. Face. God's will then, queen of Fairy, 8CENB n. THE ALCHEMIST. 265 On with your tire ; ^Exit DoL.] and, doctor, with Let's dispatch him for God's sake. [ your robes. A««. 'Twill be long. Face. I warrant you, take but the cues I give you, It shall be brief enough. [Goes to the windotu.'] 'Slight, here are more ! Abel, and I think the angry boy, the heir. That fain would quarrel. Sub. And the widow ? Face. No, Not that I see. Away ! lExit Sub. Enter Dapper. — O sir, you are welcome. The doctor is within a moving for you ; 1 have had the most ado to win him to it ! — He swears you'll be the darling of the dice : He never heard her highness dote till now. Your aunt has given you the most gracious words That can be thought on. Dap. Shall I see her grace ? Face. See her, and kiss her too. — Enter ABEL,/uUowed hy Kastril. What, honest Nab I Hast brought the damask ? Drug. No, sir ; here's tobacco. Face. 'Tis well done. Nab : tliou'lt bring the damask too ? Vrug. Yes: here's the gentleman, captain, I have brought to see the doctor, [master Kastnl, Face. Where's the widow ? Drug. Sir, as he likes, his sister, he says, shall come. Face. O, is it so ? good time. Is your name Kastril, sir.' Kas. Ay, and the best of the Kastrils, I'd be sorry else. By fifteen hundred a year. Where is the doctor? My mad tobacco-boy, here, tells me of one That can do things : has he any skill ? Fare. Wherein, sir? Kas. To carry a business, manage a quarrel Upon fit terms. [fairly. Face. It seems, sir, you are but young About the town, that can make that a question. Kae. Sir, not so young, but I have heard some speech Of the angry boys, and seen them take tobacco ; And in his shop ; and I can take it too. And I would fain be one of 'em, and go down And practise in the country. Face. Sir, for the dueUo, The doctor, I assure you, shall inform yon, To the least shadow of a hair ; and show yon An instrument he has of his own making. Wherewith no sooner shall you make report Of any quarrel, but he will take the height on't Most instantly, and tell in what degree Of safety it lies in, or mortality. And how it may be borne, whether in a right line, Or a half circle ; or may else be cast Into OD an<>:le blunt, if not acute : All this he will demonstrate. And then, rules To give and take the lie by. Zas. How! to take it? Face. Yes, in oblique he'll show you, or in circle ; But never in diameter. The whole town Stady his theorems, and dispute them ordinarily At the eating academies. Kas. But does he teach Living by the wits too ? Face. Anything whatever. You cannot think that subtlety, but he reads it. He made me a captain. I was a stark pimp, Just of your standing, 'fore I met with him ; It is not two months since. I'll tell youhis method : First, he will enter you at some ordinary. Kaa. No, I'll not come there : you shall pardon Face. For why, sir ? [me. Kaa. There's gaming there, and tricks. Face. Why, would you be A gallant, and not game? Kas. Ay, 'twill spend a man. Face, Spend you 1 it will repair you when you are spent : How do they live by their wits there, that have Six times your fortunes ? [vented Kas. What, three thousand a-year 1 Face. Ay, forty thousand. Kaa. Are there such ? Face. Ay, sir, And gallants yet. Here's a young gentleman Is bom to nothing, — [Pointa to JDAFPifK.] forty marks a-year. Which I count nothing : — ^he is to be initiated, And have a fly of the doctor. He will wjn you, By unresistible luck, within this fortnight, Enough, to buy a barony. They will set him Upmost, at the groom porters^ all the Christmas : And for the whole year through, at every place. Where there is play, present him with the chair; The best attendance, the best drink ; sometimes Two glasses of Canary, and pay nothing ; The purest linen, and the sharpest knife. The partridge next his trencher : and somewhere The dainty bed, in private, with the dainty. You shall have your ordinaries bid for him, As play-houses for a poet ; and the master Pray him aloud to name what dish he affects, Which must be butter'd shrimps : and those that drink To no mouth else, will drink to his, as being The goodly president mouth of all the board. Kaa. Do you not gull one ? Face. 'Ods my life ! do you think it ? You shall have a cast commander, (can but get In credit with a glover, or a spurrier, For some two pair of cither's ware aforehand,) Will, by most swift posts, dealing [butj with him, Arrive at competent means to keep himself. His punk and naked boy, in excellent fashion. And be admired for't. Kaa. Will the doctor teach this ? Face. He will do more, sir : when your land is gone. As men of spirit hate to keep earth long, In a vacation, when small money is stirring, And ordinaries suspended till the term. He'll show a perspective, where on one side You shall behold the faces and the persons Of all sufficient young heirs in town. Whose bonds are current for commodity; On th' other side, the merchants' forms, and others. That without help of any second broker. Who would expect a share, will trust such parcels : In the third square, the very street and sign Where the commodity dwells, and does but wait To be deliver'd, be it pepper, soap, Hops, or tobacco, oatmeal, woad, or cheeses. 256 THE ALCHEMIST ACT m All which you may so handle, to enjoy To your own use, and never stand obliged. Kas. I 'faith! is he such a fellow ? Face. Why, Nab here knows him. And then for making matches forrich widows, Young gentlewomen, heirs, the forlunat'st man! He's sent to, far and near, all over England, To have his counsel, and to know their fortunes. JTffls. God's will, my susW shall see him. Face. I'll tell you, sir, \ What he did tell me of Nab. It's a strange thing : — By the way, you must eat no cheese, Nab, it breeds melancholy. And that same melancholy breeds worms ; but pass it : — ' He told me, honest Nab here was ne'er at tavern But once in's life ! Drug. Truth, and no more I was not. Face. And then he was so sick — Drug. Could he tell yoa that too ? Face. How should I know it ? Drug. In troth we had been a shooting, And had a piece of fat ram-mutton to supper. That lay so heavy o' my stomach — Face. And he has no head To bear any wine ; for what with the noise of the fidlers. And care of his shop, for he dares keep no servants — Drug. My head did so ach — Face. As he was fain to be brought home, The doctor told me : and then a good old woman — Drug. Yes, faith, she dwells in Sea-coal-lane, — did cure me, With sodden ale, and pellitory of the wall ; Cost me but two-pence. I had another sickness Was worse than that. Face. Ay, that was with the grief Thou took'st for being cess'd at eighteen-pence. For the water-work. Drug. In truth, and it was like T' have cost me almost my life. Face. Thy hair went off ? Drug. Yes, sir ; 'twas done for spight. Face. Nay, so says the doctor. Kas. Pray thee, tobacco-boy, go fetch my suster ; I'll see this learned boy before I go ; And so shall she. Face. Sir, he is busy now : But if you have a sister to fetch hither. Perhaps your own pains may command her sooner ; And he by that time wUl be free. Kas. I go. lExit. Face. Drugger, she's thine : the damask ! — {Exit Abel.] Subtle and I Must wrestle for her. [Aside.^ — Come on, master You see how I turn clients here away, [Dapper, To give your cause dispatch ; have you perform'd The ceremonies were enjoiu'd you ? Dap. Yes, of the vinegar. And the clean shirt. Face. 'Tis well : that shirt may do you More worship than you think. Your aunt's a-fire. But that she wUl not show it, t' have a sight of you. Have you provided for her grace's servants ? Dap. Yes, here are six score Edward shillings. Face. Good! Dap. And an old Harry's sovereign. Face. Very good ! Dap. And three James shillings, and an Eliza- Just twenty nobles. [beth groat, Face. O, you are too just. I would you had had the other noble in Maries. Dap. I have some Philip and Maries. Face. Ay, those same Are best of all : where are they ? Hark, the doctor. Enter Subii.e, disguised like a priest of Fairy, with a stripe o/cloth. Sub. [In a feigned voice.] Is yet her grace's cousin come ? Face. He is come. Sub. And is he fasting ? Face. Yes. Sub. And hath cried hum ? Face. Thrice, you must answer. Dap. Thrice. Sul. And as oft buz ? Face. If you have, say. Dap. I have. Sub. Then, to her cuz. Hoping that he hath vinftgar'd his senses, As he was bid, the Fairy queen dispenses. By me, this robe, the petticoat of fortune ; Which that he straight put on, she doth importune. And though to fortune near be her petticoat. Yet nearer is her smock, the queen doth note : And therefore, ev'n of that a piece she hath sent. Which, being a child, to wrap him in was rent ; And prays him for'a scarf he now will wear it. With as much love as then her grace did tear it. About his eyes, [ The;/ blind him with the rag, J to shew he is fortunate. And, trusting unto her to make his state. He'll throw away all worldly pelf about him ; Which that he will perform, she doth not doubt him. Face. She need not doubt him, sir. Alas, he has nothing. But what he wiU part withal as willingly. Upon her grace's word — throw away your purse — As she would ask it ; — ^handkerchiefs and all — \lHe throws away, as they bid him. She cannot bid that thing, but he'll obey. — If you have a ring about you, cast it off. Or a silver seal at your wrist ; her grace will send Her fairies here to search you, therefore deal Directly with her highness : if they find That you conceal a mite, you are undone. Dap. Truly, there's all. Face. All what ? Dap. My money ; truly. Face. Keep nothing that is transitory about you. Bid Dol play music. [Jside to Subtle.] — Look, the elves are come CDoi. plays on the cittern utithin. To pinch you, if you tell not truth. Advise you. [,They pinch him. Dap. O ! I have a paper with a spur-ryal in't. Face. Ti, ti. They knew't, they say. Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti. He has more yet. Face. Ti, ti-ti-ii. In the other pocket. [Aside to Sdb. Sub. Titi, titi, titi, titi, titi. They must pinch him or he will never confess, they say. [They pinch him again. Dap. O, O ! Face. Nay, pray you hold : he is her grace's nephew. Ti, ti, ti 7 What care you ? good faith, you shall care. — BcmrB I. THE ALCHEMIST. 257 Deal plainly, sir, and shame the fairies. Shew You are innocent. Dap. By this good light, I have nothing. Sub. Ti, H, H, ti, to, ta. He does equivocate, she says : Ti, ti do ti, ti ti de, ti da ; and swears by the light when he is blinded. Oap, By this good dark, I have nothing but a half-crown Of gold about my wrist, .that my love gave me ; And a leaden heart I wore since she forsook me. JPace. I thought 'twas something. And would you incur Your aunt's displeasure for these trifles ? Come, 1 had rather you had thrown away twenty half- crowns. [7aAw it qff-. You may wear your leaden heart still. Enter Dm., luutag. How now 1 Stib. What news, Dol ? Dol. Yonder's your knight, Sir Mammon. Face. 'Ods lid, we never thought of him till now! Where is he ? Dol. Here hard by : he is at the door. Sub. And you are not ready, now! Dol, get his suit. lExit Dol. He must not be sent back. Face. O by no means. What shall we do with this same puffin here, Now he's on the spit ? Siib. Why, lay him back awhile, With some device. Re-enter Dot, uifh Fack's clothee. —Ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, ti. Would her grace speak vrith me.' I come — Help, Dol! {Knocking leitlumt. Face. [Speaks through the key-hole.^ Who's there i sir Epicure, My master's in the way. Please you to walk Three or four turns, but tiU his back be tum'd, And I am for you. — Quickly, Dol ! Sub. Her grace Commends her kindly to you, master Dapper. Dap. I long to see her grace. Sub. She now is set At dinner in her bed, and she has sent you From her own private trencher, a dead mouse. And a piece of ginger-bread, to be merry withal. And stay your stomach, lest you faint with fasting- Yet if you could hold out till she saw you, she says, It would be better for you. Fcice. Sir, he shall Hold out, an 'twere this two hours, for her highness ; I can assure you that We will not lose All we have done. Sub. He must not see, nor speak To any body, till then. Face. For that we'll put, sir, A stay in's mouth. A^'ai. Ofwhat? Face. Of gingerbread. Make you it fit. He that hath pleas'd her grace Thus far, shall not now crincle for a little.— Gape sir, and let him fit you. iThey thrutt a gag o/gingertread in hie mouth Sub. Where shall we now Bestow him ? Dol. In the privy. Sub. Come along, sir, I now must shew you Fortune's privy lodgings. Face. Are thiey perfiim'd, imd his bath ready ? Sub. All: Only the fumigation's somewhat strong. Face. [Speaking through the key-hole.} Sir Dpicure, I am yours, sir, by and by. [,Exeunt with Dappbb. ACT IV. SCENE I — A Room in Lovewit's House. Enter Facs and Mammok. Face. O sir, you are come in the only finest Mam. Where's master ? [time.— Face. "Havi preparing for projection, sir. Your stuff will be all changed shortly. Mam. Into gold? Face. To gold and silver, sir. Mam. Silver I care not for. Face. Yea, sir, a little to give beggars. Mam. Where's the lady? Face. At hand here. I have told her such brave things of you. Touching your bounty, and your noble spirit — Mam. Hast thou.' Face. As she is almost in her fit to see you. But, good sir, no divinity in your conference. For fear of putting her in rage. — Mam. I warrant thee. Face. Six men [sir] will not hold her down : and If the old man should hear or see you [then, Mam. Fear not. Face. The very house, sir, would run mad. Yon know it. How scrupulous he is, and violent, 'Gainst the least act of sin. Physic, or mathema- Poetry, state, or bawdry, as I told you, [tics, She will endure, and never startle ; but No word of controversy. Mam. I am school'd, good Ulen. Face. And you must praise her house, remem- And her nobility. [her that. Mam. Let me alone : No herald, no, nor antiquary. Lungs, Shall do it better. Go. Face. Why, this is yet A kind of modern happiness, to have Dol Common for a great lady. lAside and exit. Mam. Now, Epicure, Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold ; Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops Unto his Danae ; shew the god a miser. Compared with Mammon. What ! the stone will do't. She shall feel gold, taste gold, hear gold, sleep gold; Nay, we will concwmbere gold : I wUl be puissant, And mighty in my talk to her. — Be-enter 'Bism, wttA Dol ricHy dreeied. Here she comes. ^ 2;>8 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT JVi Face. To him, Dol, suckle him. — ^This is the I told your ladyship [noble knight, Mam. Madaim, with your pardon, I kiss your vesture. Dol. Sir, 1 were uncivil If I would suffer that ; my lip to you, sir. Mam. I hope my lord your brother be in health, lady. T)ol. My lord, my brother is, though I no lady, sir. face. Well said, my Guinea bird. \A.Hie. Mam. Eight noble madam Face. O, we shall have most fierce idolatry. \Aside. Mam. 'Tis your prerogative. Dol. Rather your courtesy. Mam. Were there nought else to enlarge your virtues to me, These answers speak your breeding and your blood. Dol. Blood we boast none, sir, a poor baron's daughter. Mam. Poor ! and jat you ? profane not. Had Slept all the happy remnant of his life [your father After that act, lien but there still, and panted, He had done enough to make himself, his issue. And his posterity noble. Dol. Sir, altliough We may be said to want the gilt and trappings. The dress of honour, yet we strive to keep The seeds and the materials. Mam. I do see The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost> Nor the drug money used to make your compound. There is a strange nobility in your eye, This lip, that chin I melhinks you do resemble One of the Austriao princes. Face. Verylike ! Her father was an Irish costarmonger. iAside. Mam. The house of Valois just had such a nose, And such' a forehead yet the Medici Of Florence boast. Dol. Troth, and I have been liken'd To all these princes. Face. I'll be sworn, I heard it. Mam. I know not how ! it is not any one. But e'en the very choice of all their features. Face. I'll in, and laugh. ^Aside mid exit. Mam. A certain touch, or air. That sparkles a divinity, beyond An earthly beauty ! Dol. O, you play the courtier. Mam. Good lady, give me leave "• Dol. In faith, I may not, To mock me, sir. Mam. To bum in this sweet flame ; The phoenix never knew a nobler death. Dol. Nay, now you court the courtier, and destroy What you would build : this art, sir, in your words. Calls your whole faith in question. Mam. By my soul Dol. Nay, oaths are made of the same Sir, sir. Mam. Nature Never bestow'd upon mortality A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature ; She play'd the step-dame in all faces else : Sweet Madam, let me be particular Dol. Particular, sir 1 I pray you tnoflr your distance. Mam. In no ill sense, sweet lady ; but to ask How your fair graces pass the hours ? I see You are lodg'd here, in the house of a rare man. An excellent artist ; but what's that to you ? Dol. Yes, sir ; I study here the mathematics. And distillation. Mam. O, I cry your pardon. He's a divine instructor ! can extract The soils of all things by his art ; call aU The virtues, and the miracles of the sun, Into a temperate furnace ; teach dull nature What her ovm forces are.- A man, the emperor Has courted above Kelly ; sent his medals And chains, to invite him. Dol. Ay, and for his physic, sir Mam. Above the art of .ffisculapius, That drew the envy of the thunderer ! I know all this, and more. Dol. Troth, I am taken, sir, Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature. Mam. It is a noble humour ; but this form Was not intended to so dark a use. Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse Would, A cloister had done well ; but such a feature That might stand up the glOry of a kingdom. To live recluse ! is a mere soloecism. Though in a nunnery. It must not be. I muse, my lord your brother will permit it : You should spend half my land first, were I he. Does not this diamond better on my finger. Than in the quarry ? Dol. Yes. Mam. Why, you are like \t% Yon were created, lady, for the light. Here, you shall wear it ; take it, the first pledge Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me. Dot. In chains of adamant ? Mam. Yes,, the strongest bands. And take a secret too — here, by your side, Doth stand this hour, the happiest man in Europe. Dol. Yon are contented, sir I Mam. Nay, in true being. The envy of princes and the fear of states. Dol. Say, you so, sir Epicure .' Mam. Yes, and thou sbglt prove it. Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye Upon thy form, and I vrill rear this beauty Above all styles. t)6l. You mean no treason, sir ? Mam. No, I will take away that jealousy. I am the lord of the philosopher's stone. And thou the lady. Dol. How sir ! have you that ? Mam. I am the master of the mastery. This day the good old wretch here o'the house Has made it for us; now he's at projection. Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it ; And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower. But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge. To get a nation on thee. t>ol. You are pleased, sir. To work on the ambition of our sex. Mam. I am pleased the glory of her sex should know, This nook, here, of the Friers is no climate For her to live obscurely in, to learn Physic and surgery, for the constable's wife Of some odd hundred in Essex ; but come forth, And taste the air of palaces ; eat, drink The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice ; Tincture of pearl, and coral, gold and amber ; Be seen at feasts and triumphs ; have it ask'd, SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 259 What miracle she is ? set all the eyes Of coui-t a-fire, like a burning glass, And work them into cinders, when the jewels Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light Strikes out the stars ! that when thy name is men-i tion'd. Queens may look pale j and we but shewing our Nero's Poppfta may be lost in story !* [lovej Thus will we have it. Dot. I could well consent) sir. But, in a monarchy^ how will this be ? The prince will soon take notice, and both seize You and your stone, it being a wealth unfit Por any private subject. Mam. If he knew it; Dol. Yourself do bqast it, sirl Mam. To thee, my life. Dol. O; but beware, sir ! you may coine to end The remnant of your days in a loth'd prison, By speaking of it Mami 'Tis no idle fear : We'll therefore go withal, my girl, and live In a free statCj where we will eat our mullets, Soused in high-country wines, sup pheasants' eggs, And have our cockles boil'd in silver shells; Our shrimps to swim agaiui as when they liv'd, In a rare butter made of dolphin's milk, Whose cream does look like opals ; and with these Delicate meats set ourselves high for pleasure) And take us down again, and then renew Our youth and strength with drinking the elixir, And so enjoy a perpetuity Of life and lust 1 And thou shalt have thy ward- robe Richer than nature's, stiU to change thy se}f. And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she, Or art, her wise and almost-equal servant. Se-enter FAcs. Face. Sir; you are too loudi I hear yoii evfery Into the laboratory. Some fitter place j [word The garden, or great chamber above; How like yoli her ? Mamt Excellent I Lungs. There's for thee. {Gives him monet/. Face. But do you hear ? Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins. Mam. We think not on 'em. [Exeunt Mam. and Dol, Facet O, it is well, sir. — Subtle I Enter SbBiia. Dost thou not laugh ? Sub. Yes ; are they gone ? Face. All's clear. Sub. The widow is come. Face. And your quarrelling diseiple ? Sub. A.J. Face. I must to my captainship again then. Sub. Stay, bring them in first. Face. So I meant; What is she? A bonnibel ? Sub. I know not. Face. We'll draw lots i You'll stand to that ? Sub. Wbat else? Face. O, for a suit, To fall now like a curtain^ f ap 1 Sub. To the door, man. Face. You'll have the first Mss, 'cause 1 ain not ready. s 2 iExit. Sub. Yes) and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. Fade, {within.l Who would you speak with ? Kas. {within.] Where's the captain? Face. \_within.'\ Gone, sir, .\bout some business. Kas. [within.'] Gone! Face. Iwithin.] Heil return straight. But master doctor, his lieutenant, is here; Enter Kastiiii,, folltaed bji Dame Piiant. Sub. Come near, my worshipful boy, my terrct ■ . M, That is, my boy of land ; make thy approaches : Welcome ; I know thy lustsj and thy desires. And I will serve and satisfy them; Begin, Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line ; Here is my centr.e : ground thy quarrel. Kaa. You lie. Sub. How, child of wrath and anger ! the loud For what, my sudden boy ? [lie ? Kas. Nay, that look you to, I am afore-hand. Sub. Oj this is no true grammar^ And as ill logic ! You must render causes, child. Your first and second intentions, know your canons And your divisions, moods, degrees, and differ-" ences, Your predicaments, substance, and accident. Series, extern and intern, with their causes. Efficient, material, formal, final, And have your elements perfect ? Kas. What is this 1 The angry tongue he talks in ? ' LAsida S7ib. That false precept, Of being afore-hand, has deceived a number, And made them enter quarrels, often-times. Before they were aware ; and afterward. Against their wills. Kas. How must I do then, sir ? Sub. I cry this lady mercy : she should first Have been sainted; [Kisses her."] I do call you Because you are to be one, ere't be long, [lady, My soft and buxom widow. Kas. Is she, i 'faith ? Sub. Yes, or my art is an egregious liar Kas. How know you .' Sub. By inspection on her forehead. And subtlety of her lip, which must be tasted Often, to make a judgment. [Kisses her again.] 'Slight, she melts Like a myrobolane : — here is yet a line. In rivo frontis, tells me he is no knight. Dame P. What is he then, sir ? Sub. Let me see your hand; O, your linea fortuna makes it plain ; And Stella here m monte Veneris. Bnt, most of all, junotura annularis. He is a soldier, or a man of art, lady. Bat shall have some great honour shortly. Dame P. Brother, He's a rare man, believe me ! He-enter Facb, in his uniform. Mas. Hold your peace. Here comes the t' other rare man. — 'Save you, captain. Face. Good master Kastril ! Is this your sister? Kas. Ay, sir. Please you to kuss her, and be proud to know her 260 THE ALCHEMIST. Face. I stall be proud to know you, lady. \Kissei her. Dame P. Brother, He calls me lady too. Kas. Ay, peace : I heard it. ITahes Jier aside. Face. The count is come. Sub. Where is he ? Face. At the door. Sub. Why, you must entertain him. Face. What will you do With these the while ? Sub. Why, have them up, and shew them Some fustian book, or the dark glass. Face. Fore God, She is a delicate dab-chick ! I must have her. lExit. Sub. Must you ! ay, if your fortune will, you must. — Come, sir, the captain will come to us presently : I'll have you to my chamber of demonstrations, Where I will shew you both the grammar, and logic, And rhetoric of quarrelling ; my whole method Drawn out in tables ; and my instrument, That hath the several scales upon't, shall make you Able to quarrel at a straw's-breadth by moon-light. And, lady, I'll have you look in a glass. Some half an hour, but to clear your eye-sight, Against you see your fortune ; which is greater. Than I may judge upon the sudden, trust me. {Exitt followed by Kast. and Dame P. Re-enter Pace. Face. Where are you, doctor ? Sub. [within.'] I'll come to you presently. Face. I will have this same widow, now I have On any composition. [seen her. Re-enter Subtlb. Sub. What do you say ? Face. Have you disposed of them. Sub. I have sent them up. Face. Subtle, in troth, I Sub. Is that the matter .' Face. Nay, but hear me. Sub. Go to. If you rebel once, Dol shall know.it all : Therefore be quiet, and obey your chance. Face. Nay, thou art so violent now — Do but conceive, Thou art old, and canst not serve Sub. Who cannot ? I ? 'Slight, I will serve her with thee, for a— — Face. Nay, But understand ; I'll give you composition. Sub. I will not treat with thee ; what ! sell my fortune ? 'Tis better than my birth-right. Do not murmur : Win her, and carry her. If you grumble, Dol Knows it directly. Face. Well, sir, I am silent. Will you go help to fetch in Don in state ? lExit. Sub. I follow you, sir: we must keep Face in Or he will over-look us like a tyrant. [awe, Re-enterFAcs, introducing Surly disguised as a Spaniard, Brain of a tailor ! who comes here ? Don John 1 Sur. Senores, beso las manos a vuestras mer- cedes. Sub. Would you had stoop'd a little, and kist our anos ! Face. Peace. Subtle. needs must have this [widow. Sub. Stab me ; I shall never hold, man. He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a platter, Serv'd in by a short cloke upon two trestles. Face. Or, what do you say to a collar of brawn, cut down Beneath the souse, and wriggled with a knife ? Sub. 'Slud, he does look too fat to be a Spaniard Face. Perhaps some Fleming or some Hollander got him In d' Alva's time ; count Egmont's bastard. Sub. Don, Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome. Sur. Gratia. Sub. He speaks out of a fortification. Pray God he have no squibs in those deep sets. Sur. For dioSj senores, muy linda casa ! Sub. What says he ? Face. Praises the house, I think; I know no more but's action. Sub. Yes, the casa, My precious Diego, will prove fair enough To cozen you in. Do you mark ? you shall Be cozen'd, Diego. Face. Cozen'd, do you see, My worthy Donzel, cozen'd. Sur. Entiendo. Sub. Do you intend it ? so do we, dear Don. Have you brought pistolets, or portagues, My solemn Don ? — Dost thou feel any ? Face. [Feels his pockets.] Full. Sub. You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and Dry, as they say. [drawn Face. Milked, in troth, sweet Don. Sub. See all the monsters ; the great lion of all, Don. Sur. Con licencia, se puede ver a esta senora 9 Sub. What talks he now? Face. Of the sennora. Sub. O, Don, That is the lioness, which you shall see Also, my Don. Face. 'Slid, Subtle, how shall we do ? Sub. For what ? Face. Why Dol's employ'd, you know. Sub. That's true. 'Fore heaven, I know not : he must stay, that's all. Face. Stay ! that he must not by no means. Sub. No! why? Face. Unless you'll mar all. 'Slight, he will suspect it : And then he will not pay, not half so well. This is a travelled punk-master, and does know All the delays ; a notable hot rascalj And looks already rampant. Sub. 'Sdeath, and Mammon Must not be troubled. Face. Mammon I in no case. Sub. What shall we do then? Face. Think : you must be sudden. Sur. Entiendo que la senora es tan hermosa, que codicio tan verla, como la bien aventurauxa dt mi vida. Face. Mi vida ! 'Slid, Subtle, he puts me io mind o' the widow. What dost thou say to draw her to it, ha ! And tell her 'tis her fortune ? all our venture Now lies upon't. It is but one man more. Which of us chance to have her : and beside. There is no maidenhead to be fear'd or lost. What dost thou think on't. Subtle? BOBNI: II. THE ALCHEMIST. 2G] Sub. "Who, I ? why Face, The credit of our house too is engaged. Sub. You made me an offer for my share ere- What wilt thou give me, i'faith? [while. Face. O, by that light I'll not buy now : You know your doom to me. E'en take your lot, obey your chance, sir j win her, And wear her out, for me. Sub. 'Slight, I'll not work her then. Face. It is the common cause ; therefore bethink Col else must know it, as you said. [you. Sub. I care not. Sur. Senores, porgue se tarda tanto ? Sub. Faith, I am not fit, I am old. Face. That's now no reason, sir. Sur. Puede ser de hazer burla de mi amor 9 Face. You hear the Don too ? by this air, I call. And loose the hinges : Dol ! Sub. A plague of hell Face. Will you then do ? Sub. You are jire a terrible rogue ! I'll think of this : will you, sir, call the widow ? Face. Yes, and I'll take her too with all her Now I do think on't better. [faults. Sub. With till my heart, sir ; Am I discharged o' the lot ? Face. As you please. Sub. Hands. ITIiei/ take hands. Face. Remember now, that upon any change. You never claim her. Sub. Much good joy, and health to you, sir. Marry a whore ! fate, let me wed a witch first. Sur. Pot estas honradas barbas Sub. He swears by his beard. Dispatch, and call the brother too. ZExit Facb. Sur. Tengo duda, senores, que no me hagan alguna traydon. Sub. How, issue on? yes, prsesto, sennor. Please ErUhratha the chambrata, worthy don : [you Where if you please the fates, in your bathada. You shall be soked, and stroked, and tubb'd, and rubb'd, And scrubb'd, and fubb'd, dear don, before you go, You shall in faith, my scurvy baboon don. Be curried, claw'd and fiaw'd, and taw' d, indeed. I will the heartlier go about it now, And make the widow a punk so much the sooner. To be revenged on this impetuous Face : The quickly doing of it, is the grace. [Exeunt Sub. and Subly, SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Tacs, Kastbu., and Dame Pliant. Face. Come, lady : I knew the Doctor would not leave, Till he had found the very nick of her fortune. Kas. To be a countess, say you, a Spanish countess, sir .' Dame P. Why, is that better than an English countess ? Face. Better! 'Slight, make you that a question, lady?. Kas. Nay, she is a foolj captain, you must par- don her. Face. Ask from your courtier, to your inns-of- court-man. To your mere milliner ; they will tell you all, Your Spanish .gennet is the best horse ; your Spanish Stoup is the best garb : your Spanish beard Is the best cut ; your Spanish ruffs are the best Wear ; your Spanish pavin the best dance ; Your Spanish titillation in a glove The best perfume : and for your Spanish pike. And Spanish blade, let your poor captain speak — Here comes the doctor. Enter Subtle, with a paper. Sub. My most honour'd lady. For so I am now to style you, having found By this my scheme, you are to undergo An honourable fortune, very shortly. What will you say now, if some Face. I have told her all, sir ; And her right worshipful brother here, that she shall be A countess; do not delay them, sir: a Spanish countess. Sub. Still, my scarce-worshipful captain, you can keep No secret ! Well, since he has told you, madam, Do you forgive him, and I do. Kas. She shall do that, sir ; I'E look to't, 'tis my charge. Sub. Well then : nought rests But that she fit her love now to her fortune. X>ame P. Truly I shall never brook a Spaniard. Sub. No ! Dame P. Never since eighty-eight could I abide them. And that was some three year afore I was born, in truth. Sub. Come, you must love him, or be miserable; Choose which you wilL Face. By this good rush, persuade her. She will cry strawberries else within this twelve- month. Sub. Nay, shads and mackarel, which is worse. Face. Indeed, sir! Kas. Ods lid, you shall love him, or I'll kick Dame P. Why, [you. I'U do as you will have me, brother. Kas. Do, Or by this hand I'll maul you. Face. Nay, good sir, Be not so fierce. Sub. No, my enraged child ; She vfill be ruled. What, when she comes to taste The pleasures of a coimtess I to be courted Face. And kiss'd, and ruffled ! Sub. Ay, behind the hangings. Face. And then come forth in pomp ! Sub. And know her state ! Face. Of keeping all the idolaters of the chamber Barer to her, than at their prayers ! Sub. Is serv'd Upon the knee ! Face. And has her pages, ushers, Footmen, and coaches Sub. Her six mares Face. Nay, eight ! Sub. To hurry her through London, to the Ez- Bethlem, the china-houses [change. Face. Yes, and have The citizens gape at her, and praise her tires. And my lord's goose-turd bands, that ride with her Kas. Most brave 1 By this hand, you are not If you refuse. [my sustcr, Dame P. I will not refuse, brother. 2(52 THE ALCHKMIST. Enter Surly, Sur. Que es esto, senores, que no venga $ Estn tardanza me mata ! Face. It is tlie count come : The doctor knew he would be here, by his art, Sub. En gallanta madama, Don t gaUuntissima I Sur. Pot todo.s los dioses, la mas acabada herma- sura, que he visio en m,i vida ! Face. Is'tnotagallantlanguagethattheyspeak .' Kas. An admirable language ! Is't not French ? Face. No, Spanish, sir. Kas. It goes like law-French, And that, they say, is the courtliest language. Face, List, sir. Sur. El sol ha perdido su lumhre, can el esplan- dor que trae esla dama ! Valgame di«s ! Face. He admires your sister. Kas. Must not she make curt'sy .' Sub. Ods will, she must go to him, man, and It is the Spanish fashion, for the women [kjss him ! To make first court. Face. 'Tis true he tells you, sir : Ilis art knows all. Sur. Porque no se acude ? Kas. He speaks to her, I think. Face. That he does, sir. Sur. Por el amor de dies, que es esto que se tarda 9 Kas, Nay, see : she will not understand him ! Noddy. - [gull, Dame P. What say you, brother ? Kas. Ass, my suster. Go kuss him, as the cunning man would have you ; I'll thrust a pin in your buttocks else. Face. no, sir. Sur. Seuora mia, mi persona esia muy indigna de allegar a tanta hermosura. Face. Does he not use her bravely? Kas. Bravely, i'faith 1 Fajie. Nay, he will use her better. Kas. Do you think so .' Sur. Senora, si sera servida, enlremonos. lEifit with Dame Puast. Kas. Where does he carry her ? Face. Into the geurden, sir ; Take you no thought : I must interpret for her. Sub. Give Dol the word, [jiside to Faoi?, who goes oitt.'] — Come, my fierce child, advance, We'll to our quarrelling lesson again. Kas. Agreed. I love a Spanish boy with all my heart. Sub. Nay, and by this means, sir, you shall be To a great count. [brother Kas. Ay, I knew that at first. This match will advance the house of the Kastrils. Sub. 'Pray God your sister prove but pliant ! Kas. Why, Her name is so, by her other husband. Sub. Howl Kas. The widow Pliant. Knew you not that ." Sub. No faith, sir ; Yet, by erection of her figure, I guest it. Come, let's go practise. Kas. Yes, but do you think, doctor, I e'er shall quarrel well? Sub. I warrant you. iExeunt. SCENE Til.— Another Room in the same, Enter Dol in her fit of raving, /ollowed bif Maiwom . Dol. For after Alexander's death-^ Ma/m. Good lady Dol. That Perdiccas and Antigonus, wereslaiHt The two that stood, Seleuo', and Ptolomee—. — Man. Madam. Dol. Made up the two legs, and the fourth beast. That was Gog-north, and Egypt-south s which after Was calVd Gog-iron-leg, and South-iron-leg— r-^ Mam. Lady DoL And then Gog-horned, SowasE,gypt,loO! Then Egypt-clay-leg, and Gag-clay-leg — =- Mam. Sweet madam. Dol. And last Gog-dust, and Egypt-dust, which fall In the last link of the fourth chain. And these I!e stars in stqry, which none see, or look a l . ui Mam. What shall I do? Dol. For, as he says, except We call the r^ibbins, and the heathen Greeks Mam, Dear lady. Dol. To come from Salem, and from Athens, And teach the people of Great Britain =- Enter Face, hastily, in his Servant^s Dress. Face.' What's the matter, sir ? Dol. To speak the tongue of Eber, andjavan — Mam. O, She's in her fit. Dol. We shall Tcrkow nothing r- Face. Death, sir. We are undone ! Dol. Where then a learned linguist Shall see the ancient used communion Of vowels and consonants Face. My master will hear ! Dol. A wisdom, which Pythagoras held most Mam. Sweet honorable lady ! \high — Dol. To comprise ^11 sounds of voices, in few marks of letters Face. Nay, you must never hope to lay her now. [They aU speak together. Dol. And so we may arrive by Talmud skill. And profane Greek, to raise the building up Of Helen's house against the Ismaelite, King of Thogarma, and his habergions Brirtistony, blue, and fiery ; and the force Of king Abaddon, and the beast of Cittim : Which rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos, And Aben Exra do interpret Rome. Face. How did you put her into't ? Mam. Alas 1 I talk'd Of a fifth monarchy I would erect. With the philosopher's stone, by chance, and she Falls on the other four straight. Fajie. Out of Broughton ! I told you so. 'Slid, stop her mouth. Mam. Is't best ? Face. She'll never leave else. If the old man We are but fseces, ashes. [hear her, Sub. [Within.] What's to do there? Face. O, we are lost ! Now she hears him, she is quiet. Enter Svbile, they run different ways. Mam. Where shall I hide me ! Sub. How ! what sight is here ? Close deeds of darkness, and that shun the It^'at ! soENi: .rv. THE ALCHEMIST. 2(53 Bring him again. Wloishe? What, my son! O, I have lived too long. Mam. Nay, good, dear father, There was no unchaste purpose. Sub. Not ! and flee me, When I come in ? Mam: That was my error. Sub. Error 1 Guilt, guilt, my sou : give it the right name. No marvel. If I found check in our great work within, When such affairs as these were managing ! Mam. Why, have you so ? Sub. It has stood still this half hour : And all the rest of our less works gone back. Where is the instrument of wickedness, My lewd false drudge ? Mam. Nay, good sir, blame not him ; Believe me, 'twas against his will or knowledge : I saw her by chance. ■ Sub. Will you commit more sin, To excuse a varlet .' Mam. By my hope, 'tis true, sir. Stib. Nay, then I wonder less, if you, for whom The blessing was prepared, would so tempt heaven. And lose your fortunes. Mam. Why, sir? Sub. This will retard The work, a month at least Mam. Why, if it do. What remedy ? But think it not, good father : Our purposes were honest. Sub. As they were. So the reward will prove.— [-^ load explosiaa witltia. How now ! ah me 1 God, and all saints be good to us. — He-enter Face. What's that? Face. O, sir, we are defeated ! aU the works Are flown in fumo, every glass is burst : Furnace, and all rent down ! as if a bolt Of thunder had been driven through the house. Ketorts, receivers, pelicans, bolt-heads, All struck in shivers ! [Bustle fallg down as in a swoon. Help, good sir ! alas. Coldness, and death invades him. Nay, sir Mam- Do the fair offices of a man I you stand, [mon, As you were readier to depart than he. ISnockinguithin. Who s there ? my lord her brother is come. Mam. Ha, Lungs ! Face, His coach is at the door. Avoid his sight, For he's as furious as his sister's mad. Mam. Alas ! Face. My brain is quite undone with the fume, I ne'er must hope to be mine own man again, [sir. Mam. Is all lost. Lungs ? will nothing be pre- Of all our cost ? [serv'd Face. Faith, very little, sir ; A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir. Mam. O my voluptuous mindl I am justly Face. And so am I, sir. [punish'd. Mam. Cast from all my hopes Face. Nay, certainties, sir Over us still, and will not fall, O justice. Upon us, for this wicked man ! Face. Nay, look, sir. You grieve him now with staying in his sight : Good sir, the nobleman wiU come too, and take And that may breed a trasedv. fvnn Mam. I'll go. ' "-^ • Face. Ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be, For some good penance you may have it yet ; A hundred pound to the box at Eethlem Mam. Yes. Face. For the restoring such as— have their wits. Mam. I'U do't. Face. I'll send one to you to receive it. Mam. Do. Is no projection left? Face. AU flown, or stinks, sir. Mam. Will nought be sav'd that's good for med'cine, think'st thou ? Face. I cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps, Something about the scraping of the shards. Will cure the itch,— though not your itch of mind, sir. iAside It shall be saved for yon, and sent home. Good This way, for fear the lord should meet you. [sir, i-BxitMAiman. Sub. [Haisinff his Aeai/.] Face ! Face. Ay. Sub. Is he gone ? Face. Yes, and as heavily As all the gold he hoped for were in's blood. Let us be light though. Sub. [Leaping up.] Ay, as balls, and bound And hit our heads against the roof for joy : There's so much of our care now cast away. Face. Now to our don. Sub. Yes, your young widow by this time Is made a countess, Face ; she has been in travail Of a young heir for you. Face. Good sir. Sub. Oif with yoAir case. And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should. After these common hazards. Face. Very well, sir. Will you go fetch don Diego off, the while ? Sub. And fetch him over too, if you'll be pleased, sir: Would Dol were in her place, to pick his pockets now ! Face. Why, you can do't as well, if you would I pray you prove your virtue. [set to't. Sub. For your sake, sir. [Exeunt, — — jj , V... Mam. By mine own base affections. . Sub. ISeeming to come to himself.] O, the curst Mam. Good father, [fruits of vice and lust ! It was my sin. Forgive it Sub. Hangs my roof SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. Enter Surly and Dame Pliant. Sur. Lady, you see into what hands you are faU'n ; 'Mongst what a nest of villains 1 and how near Your honour was t'have catch d a certain clap. Through your credulity, had I but been So punctually forward, as place, time, . And other circumstances would have made a man ; For you're a handsome woman : would you were I am a gentleman come here disguised, [wise too ! Only to find the knaveries of this citadel ; And where I might have wrong'd your honour, and have not, I claim some interest in your love. You are. They say, a widow, rich ; and I'm a batohelor. 264 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT IV. ■Worth nought : your fortunes may make me a man, As mine have preserv'd you a woman. Think upon And whether I have deserv'd you or no. [it, Dame P. I will, sir. Sur. And for these household-rogues, let me To treat with them. [alone Ent,er Shbtl-b. Sub. How doth my noble Diego, And my dear madam countess ? hath the count Been courteous, lady ? liberal, and open ? Donzel, methinks you look melancholic, After your coitum, and scurvy : truly, I do not like the dulness of your eye ; It hath a heavy cast, 'tis upsee Dutch, And says you are a lumpish whore-master. Be lighter, I will make your pockets so. [AttempU to pick them. Sur. [Throws open his cloak.] Will you, don bawd and pick-purse? [strileeshim down.'\ how now ! reel you ? Stand up, sir, you shall find, since I am so heavy, I'll give you equal weight. Sub. Help ! murder ! Sur. No, sir. There's no such thing intended : a good cart, And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear. I am the Spanish don that should be cozen'd, Do you see, cozen'd I Where's your captain Face, That parcel brdter, and whole-bawd, all rascal 1 Enter Face, in hU uniform, face. How, Surly! Sur. O, make your approach, good captain. I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns. 'Twas here you leam'd t' anoint your boot with brimstone. Then rub men's gold on't for a kind of touch, And say 'twas naught, when you had changed the colour, That you might have't for nothing. And this doc- Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he [tor. Will close you so much gold, in a bolt's-head, And, on a turn, convey in the stead another With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the heat. And fly out all in fumo I Then weeps Mammon ; Then swoons his worship. [Face slips aut.J Or, he is the Faustus, That casteth figures and can conjure, cures Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides. And holds intelligence with all the bawds And midwives of three shires : while you send in — Captain — what ! is he gone ? — damsels vrith child, Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid With the green sickness. [Seizes SimTLE as he is retiring. Nay, sir, you must tarry. Though he be scaped ; and answer by the ears, sir. Re-enter Face, imtTi Kastbil. Face. Why, now's the time, if ever you will quar- Well, as they say, and be a true-born child : [rel The doctor and your sister both are abused. Kas. Where is he ? which is he? be is a slave, Whate'er he is, and the son of a whore. — ^Are you The man, sir, I would know ? Sur. I should be loth, sir. To confess so much. Kas. Then you lie in your throat. Sur. How! • Face. \to Kastkil.] A very errant rogue, sir, Employ'dhere by another conjurer [and a cheater. That does not love the doctor, and would cross him. If he knew how. Sur. Sir, you are abused. Kas. You lie : And 'tis no matter. Face. Well said, sir ! He is The impudent'st rascal Sur. You are indeed : Will you hear me, sir ? Face. By no means : bid bim be gone. Kas. Begone, sir, q.uickly. Sur. This 's strange ! — Lady, do you inform your brother. Face. There is not such a foist in all the tovm, The doctor had him presently; and finds yet. The Spanish count will come here. — Bear up, Subtle. lAHde. Sub. Yes, sir, he must appear within this hour. Face. And yet this rogue would come in a dis- By the temptation of another spirit, [guise. To trouble our art, though he could not hurt it ! Kas. Ay, I know — Away, Ito his Sisler,J you talk like a foolish mauther. Sur. Sir, all is truth she says. Face. Do not believe him, sir. He is the lying' st swabber ! Come your ways, sir. Sur. You are vaUant out of company ! Kas. Yes, how then, sir ? Enter Druoobr, toith a piece of damask. Face. Nay, here's an honest fellow, too, that knows him. And all his tricks. Make good what I say, Abel, This cheaterwould have cozen'd thee o' the widow. — [Aside to Druo. He owes this honest Dmgger here, seven pound. He has had on him, in two-penny'orths of tobacco. Drug. Yes, sir. And he has damn'd himself three terms to pay me. Face. And what does he owe for lotium ? Drug. Thirty shillings, sir ; And for six syringes. Sur. Hydra of villainy ! Face. Nay, sir, you must quarrel him out o' the house. Kas. I will : — Sir, if you get not out o' doors, you lie ; And you are a pimp. Sur. "Why, tiiis is madness, sir, Not valour in you ; I must laugh at this. Kas. It is my humour : you are a pimp and a trig. And an Amadis de Gaul, or a Don Quixote. Drug. Or a knight o' the curious coxcomb, do you see ? Enter Axanias. Ana. Peace to the household ! Kas. I'll keep peace for no man. Ana. Casting of dollars is concluded lawfuL Kas. Is he the constable .' Sub. Peace, Ananias. Face. No, sir. Kas. Then you are an otter, and a shad, a whit A very tim. Sur. You'll hear me, sir? Kas. I will not. Ana. What is the motive? SCENE rv. THE ALCHEMIST. 265 Sub. Zeal in the young gentleman. Against his Spanish slops. ■^na. They are profane, Lewd, superstitious, and idolatrous breeches. Sur, New rascals 1 Sits. Will you begone, sir? jiTia. Avoid, Sathan ! Thou art not of the light : That ruff of pride About thy neck, betrays thee ; and is the same With that which the unclean birds, in seventy-seven. Were seen to prank it with on divers coasts : Thou look'st like antichrist, in that lewd hat. Sur. I must give way. Kas. Be gone, sir. Sur. But I'U take A coiurse with you ^na. Depart, proud Spanish fiend ! Sur. Capttun and Doctor. Ana. Child of perdition ! Kas. Hence, sir ! [,ExU Sumy. Did I not quarrel bravely .' Face. Yes, indeed, sir. Kas. Nay, an I give my mind to't, I shall do't. Face. O, you must follow, sir, and threaten him He'll turn again else. [tame : Kas. I'll re-turn him then. [Exit. [Subtle takeg Ananias tuide. Face. Drugger, this rc^ue prevented us for thee : We had determin'd that thou should' st have come In a Spanish suit, and have ceirried her so ; and he, A brokerly slave'! goes, puts it on himself. Hast brought the damask ? J)rvg. Yes, sir. Face. Thou, must borrow A Spanish suit : hast thou no credit with the players ? Drug. Yes, sir ; did you never see me play the Fool? Face. I know not. Nab : — ^Thou shalt, if I can help it \Asiie. Hieronimo's old cloak, ruff, and hat will serve ; I'll tell thee more when thou bring'st 'em. [Exit Dbugoer. Ana, Sir, I know The Spaniard hates the brethren, and hath spies Upon their actions : and that this was one I make no scruple. — But the holy synod Have been in prayer and meditation for it ; And 'tis reveal'd no less to them than me. That casting of money is most lawful. Svh. True, But here I cannot do it ; if the house Shou'd chance to be suspected, all would out. And we be lock'd up in the Tower for ever. To make gold there for the state, never come out ; And then are yon defeated. Ana. I will tell rhis to the elders and the weaker brethren, rhat the whole company of the separation May join in humble prayer again. Sub. And fasting. Ana. Yea, for some fitter place. The peace of mind Rest with these walls ! [,Bxit. Sub. Thanks, courteous Ananias. Face. What did he come for? Sub. About casting dollars, Presently out of hand. And so I told him. A. Spanish minister came here to spy, Against the faithful Face. I conceive. Come, Subtle, Thou art so down upon the least disaster ! How wouldst thou ha' done, if I had not help't thee out ? Sub. 1 thank thee, Face, for the angry boy, i' faith. Face. Who would have look'd it should have been that rascal. Surly? he had dyed his beard and alL Well, sir. Here's damask come to make you a suit. Sub. Where's Drugger? Face. He is gone to borrow me a Spanish habit ; I'll be the connt, now. Sub. But Where's the widow ? Face. Within, with my lord's sister: madam Is entertaining her. £Dol Sub. By your favour. Face, Now she is honest, I will stand again. Face. You will not offer it Sub. Why.' Face. Stand to your word. Or — here comes Dol, she knows Sub. You are tyrannous stilL Enter Dozi, hastily. Face. Strict for my right How now, Dol Hast [thou] told her. The Spanish count will come ? Dol. Yes ; but another is come, You Uttle look'd for! Face. Who is that ? Dol. Your master; The master of the house. Sub. How, Dol ! Face. She lies. This is some trick. Come, leave your qniblins, Dorothy. Dol. Look out, and see. [Face ;o« to Me window. Sub. Art thou m earnest ? Dol. 'Slight, Forty o' the neighbours are about him, talking. Face. 'Tis he, by this good day. Dol. 'Twill prove ill day For some on us. Face. We are undone, and taken. Dol. Lost, I'm afraid. Sub. You said he would not come. While there died one a week within the liberties. Face. No : 'twas within the walls. Sub. Was't so ! cry you mercy. I thought the liberties. What shall we do now, Face? Face. Be silent : not a word, if he call or knock. I'll into mine old shape again and meet him. Of Jeremy, the butler. In the mean time. Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase, That we can csirry in the two trunks. I'll keep him Off for to-day, if I cannot longer : and then At night, I'll ship you both away to Ratcliff, Where we will meet to-morrow, and there we'll share. Let Mammon's brass and pewter keep the cellar ; We'll have another time for that. But, Dol, 'Prythee go heat a Uttle water quickly ; Subtle must shave me : all my captain's beard Must off, to make me appear smooth Jeremy. You'U do it? Sub. Yes, I'll shave you, as well as I can. Face. And not cut my throat, but trim me ? Sub. You shall see, sir. [Ei. some as brave as lords, 4 Nei. Ladies and gentlewomeiv 5 JVeJ. Citizens' wives. 1 Nei. And knights. 6 Nei; In coaches. 2 Nei. Yes, and oyster women, 1 Nei, Beside other gallants. 3 Nei. Sailors" wives. 4 Nei. Tobacco men. 5 Nei. Another Pimlioo ! Love. What should my knave advance, To draw this company ? he hung out no bawers Of a strange calf with five legs to be seen, Or a huge lobster with six claws .' 6 Nei. No, sir. 3 Nei. We had gone in then, sir. Love. He has no gift Of teaching in the nose that e'er I knew of. You saw no bills set up that promised cure Of agues, or the tooth-ach ? 2 Nei. No such thing, sir. Love. Nor heard a drum struck for baboons or 5 Nei. Neither, sir. [puppets? Love. What device should he bring forth now ? I love a teeming wit as I lave my nourishment : 'Fray God he have not kept such open house. That he hath sold my hangings, and my bedding ! I left him nothing else. If he have eat them, A plague o' the moth, say I ! Sure he has got Some bawdy pictures to call all this ging ! The friar and the nun ; or the new motion Of the knight's courser covering the parson's mare ; The boy of sii year old with the great thing : Or 't may be, he has the fleas that run at tilt Upon a table, or some dog to dance. When saw you him ? 1 Nei. Who, sir, Jeremy ? 2 Nei. Jeremy butler .' We saw him not this mouth. Love. How 1 4 Nei. Not these five weeks, sir. 6 Nei. These six weeks at the least. Love. You amaze me, neighbours ! 5 Nei. Sure, if your worship know not where He's slipt away. [he is, 6 Nei. Pray God, he be not made away. Love. Ha! it's ^o time to question, then. {^Knocks at the Door. 6 Nei. About Some three weeks since, I heard a doleful cry, As I sat up a mendii\g my wife's stockings. JOove. 'Tis strange that none will answer ! Didst A cry, sayst thou ? [thou hear 6 Nei. Yes, sir, like unto a man That had been strangled an hour, and could not 2 jyei.' i heard it too, just this day three weeks. Next morning. [at two o'clock Love. These be miracles, or you make them so ! A man an hour strangled, and could not speak, And both you heard him cry ? 3 Nei. Yes, downward, sir. Love. Thou art a wise fellow. Give me thy What trade art thou on ? [hand, I pray thee, 3 Nei. A smith, an't please your worship. L.ove. A smith ! then lend me thy help to get this door open. 3 Nei. That I wiE presently, sir, but fetch my tools — iExit. 1 Nei. Sir, best to knock again, afore you break Love. [Knacks again.] I will. [it- Enter Face, in his butler^s Uvery. Face. What mean you, sir ? 1 , 2, 4 Nei. O, here's Jeremy ! Face. Good sir, come from the door. Love. Why, what's the matter ? Face. Yet farther, you are too near yet. Love. In the name of wonder. What means the fellow ! Face. The house, sir, has been visited. Love. What, with the plague ? stand thou then farther. Face. No, sir, I had it uot. Love. Who had it then ? I left None else but thee in the house. Face. Yes, sir, my fellow. The cat that kept the buttery, had it on her A week before I spied it ; but I got her Convey'd away in the night : and so I shut The house up for a month Love. How ! Face. Purposing then, sir, T'have burnt rose-vinegar, treacle, and tar. And have made it sweet, that you shou'd ne'er have known it ; Because I knew the news would but afflict you, sir. Love. Breathe less, and farther off 1 Why this is stranger : The neighbours tell me aU here that the doors Have still been ope n Face. How, sir ! Love. Gallants, men and women, And of all sorts, tag-rag, been seen to Hock here In threaves, these ten weeks, as to a second Hogsden, In days of Pimlico and Eye-bright. Face. Sir, Their wisdoms will not say so. Love. To-day they speak Of coaches, and gallants ; one in a French hood Went in, they tell me ; and another was seen In a velvet gown at the window : divers more Pass in and out. Face. They did pass through the doors then. Or walls, I assure their eye-sights, and their spectacles ; For here, sir, are the keys, and here have been, In this my pocket, now above twenty days : And for before, I kept the fort alone there. But that 'tis yet not deep in the afternoon, I should believe my neighbours had seen double Through the black pot, and made these apparitions ! For, on my faith to your worship, for tiiese three weeks And upwards the door has not been open'd. Love. Strange ! 1 Nei. Good faith, I think I saw a coach. MISNE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 267 2 ATet. And I too, I'd have been sworn. Love. Do you but tbink it now ? And but one coaph ? 4 JVei. We cannot tejl, sir : Jeremy- Is a very hopest fellow. Face, Did you spe me at all ? 1 2fei. No ; that we are sure on- 2 Ifei. I'll be sworn o' that. Love. Fine rogues to have your tegtimpnies built on ! Se-tnttr Third Neigjibonr, with hit Toolt. 3 JVej. Is Jeremy come ! 1 ^ei. O, yes ; yon may leaye your tools ; We were deceive(l, he says. 2 ffei. He has had the keys ; And the door has been shut these three weeks. 3 Nei. Like enough. Love. Peace and get hence, you changelings. Enter BuBLV and SLuuuuh. Faoe. Surly come ! And Mammon made acquainted ! they'll tell ajl. How shall I beat them off? what shall I do ? Noflung's more wrptched than a guilty conscience. „ ,, . , Z-^t'ile- Sur. No, sir, he was a great physipjan. This, It was no bawdy house, but a mere chancel ! You knew the lord and his sister. Mam. Nay, good Surly^— Sur. The happy word, Be b.ich-=^ Mam. Play not the tyrant. — iSur. Should be to-day pronounced to all your friends. And where be yonr andirons now ? and your brass pots. That should have been gqlden flagons, and great wedges ? Mam. Let me but breathe. What, they have shuf their doors, Methinks-I . Sur. Ay, now 'tis holiday with them. Mam. Ilognes, £Ke and Scsly JmocJ;, Cozeners, impostors, bawds ! Face. What mean you, sir ? Mam. To enter if we can. Face. Another man's house ! Here is the owner, sir : turn yon to him, And spesik your business. Mam. Are you, sir, the owner .' Love. Yes, sir. Mam. And are those knaves within.your cheaters.' Love. What knaves, what cheaters ? Mam. Subtle and his Lungs, Face. The gentleman is distracted, sir! No lungs, Nor lights have been seen here these three weeks, Within these doors, upon my word. [sir, Sur. Your word, Groom arrogant I Face. Yes, sir, I am the housekeeper, And know the keys have not been out of my hands. Sur. This is a new Face. Face. You do mistake the house, sir : What sign was't at ? Sur. You rascal ! this is one Of the confederacy. Come, let's get ofScers, And force the door. Love. 'Pray you stay, gentlemen. Sur. No, sir, we'll come with warrant. Mam. Ay, and then We shall have your doors open. lExamt Mau ami Son. Love. What means this ? Face. I cannot tell, sir. 1 Nei. These are two of the gallants That we do think we saw. Face. Two of the fools ! You. talk as idly as they. Good faith, sir, I think the moon has crazed 'em all,-.,.0 me. Enter Ka^bii,. The angry boy epme too ! He'll make a noise. And ne'er away till he have betray'dus all. lAilde. Kas. [hnocUng.1 What rogues, bawds, slaves, you'll open the door, anon ! Punk, cockatrice, my suster ! By tbis light I'll fetcb the marshal to you. You are a whore To keep your castle Face. Who would you speak with, sir ? Kas. The bawdy dpptor, and the cozening eap- And puss my suster. [tain. Love. iThis is something, sure, Face. Upon my trust, the doors were never open, sir. Kas. I have heard all their tricks told me twice By the fat knight and the lean gentleman, [over, Love. Here comes another. Enter Amakias and Trieujlatiom. Face. Ananias too ! And his pastor ! Tn. [beating at the door,^ The doors are shut against us. Ana- Come forth, you seed of sulphur, sons of Your stench it is broke forth ; abomination [fire 1 Is in the house. Kas. Ay, my suster's there. Ana. Tbe place. It is become a cage of unclean birds. Kas. Yes, I will fetch the scavenger, and the Tri. You shall do well. [constable. Ana. We'll join to weed them out. Kas. You win not come then, punk devise, my sister ! Ana. Call her not sister ; she's a harlot verily. Kas. I'll raise the street. Love, Good gentleman, a word. Ana. Satan avoid, and hinder not our zeal ! \Exeunt Aka. Tbib. arid Kast, Love. The world's turn'd Bethlem. Face. These are all broke loose. Out of St. Katherine's, where they use to keep The better sort of mad-folks. 1 Nei. All these persons We saw go in and out here. 2 Nei. Yes, indeed, sir. 3 NH. These were the parties. Face. Peace, you drunkards ! Sir, I wonder at it : please you to give me leave To touch the door, I'll try an the lock be chang'd. Love. It mazes me ! Face. \_Goes to the door."] Good faith, sir, I believe There's no such thing : 'tis all deceptio visus — Would I could get him away. lAiide. Dap. Iwithin.'] Master captain ! master doctor ! Love. Who's tiiat ? Face. Our clerk within, that I forgot ! lAside.2 I know not, sir. Dap. Iwithin.'} For God's sake, when will her Face. Ha 1 [grace be at leisure ? 2fi8 THE ALCHEMIST. Illusions, some spirit o' the air' — His gag is melted, And now he sets out the throat. [.Aside. Dap. [within^'] I am almost stifled Face. Would you were altogether. [Aside. Love. 'Tis in the house. Ha! list JFace. Believe it, sir, in the air. Love. Peace, you. Dap. [within.'] Mine aunt's grace does not use Sub. [within.'] You fool, [me well. Peace, you'll mar all. Face, [speaks through the key-hole, while Love - WIT advances to the door unobserved."] Or you will else, you rogue. Looe. O, is it so ? then you converse with spirits !— Come, sir. No more of your tricks, good Jeremy, The truth, the shortest way. Face. Dismiss this rabble,^ir. — What shall I do ? I am orftch'd. [AiiOe. Love. Good neighbours, I thank you aU. You may (^part. [ExeuntTXeig'iiboMis.'] — Come sir. You know that I am an indulgent master ; And therefore conceal nothing. What's your medicine. To draw so many several sorts of vrild fowl ? Face. Sir, you were wont to affect mirth and wit — But here's no place to talk on't in the street Give me but leave to make the best of my fortune. And only pardon me the abuse of your house : It's all I beg. I'll help you to a widow. In recompence, that you shall give me thanks for. Will make you seven years younger, and a rich one. 'Tis but your putting on a Spanish cloak : I have her within. You need not fear the house ; It was not visited. Love. But by me, who came Sooner than you expected. Face. It is true, sir. ' 'Pray you forgive me. Love. Well : let's see your widow. lExeunt. SCENE II. — A Soom in the same. Enter Subtle, leading in Bafper, with his eyes bound as hefore. Sub. How I have you eaten your gag ? Dap. Yes faith, it crumbled Away in my mouth. Sub. You have spoil'd all then. Dap. No! I hope my aunt of Fairy vrill forgive me. Siih. Your aunt's a gracious lady ; but in troth You were to blame. Dap. The fume did overcome me, And I did do't to stay my stomach. 'Pray you So satisfy her grace. Enter Face, in his uniform. Here comes the captain, Face. How now ! is his mouth down ? Sub. Ay, he has spoken ! Face. A pox, I heard him, and you too. — He's undone then. — I have been fain to say, the house is haunted With spirits, to keep churl back. Sub. And bast thou done it ? Face, Sure, for this night. Sub. Why, then triumph and sing Of Face so famous, the precious king Of present vrits. 2<'aee, Did you not hear the coil About the door ? Sub. Yes, and I dvrindled vrith it. Fnce. Shew him his aunt, and let him be dis- patch'd : I'll send her to you. [Exit Pace. Sub. Well, sir, your aunt her grace Will give you audience presently, on my suit, And the captain's word that you did not eat your gag In any contempt of her highness. lUnbinds his eyes. Dap. Not I, in troth, sir. Enter Doz., like the Queen of Fairy. Sub. Here she is come. Down o' your knees and wriggle : She has a stately presence, [Dapper kneels, and shuffles towards Her.'] Good ! Yet nearer, And bid, God save you! Dap. Madam ! Sub. And your aunt. . , Dap. And my most gracious aunt, God save your grace. Dol. Nephew, we thought to have been angry with you ; But that sweet face of yours hath turn'd the tide. And made it flow with joy, that ebb'd of love. Arise, and touch our velvet gown. Sub. The skirts. And kiss 'em. So ! Dol. Let me now stroak that head. Much, nephew, shalt thou win, much shalt thou spend. Much shalt thou give away, much shalt thou lend. Sub. Ay, much ! indeed. [Aside.] Why do you not thank her grace ? Dap. I cannot speak for joy. Sub. See the kind wretch I Your grace's kinsman right. Dol. Give me the bird. Here is your fly in a purse, about your neck, cousin ; Wear it, and feed it about this day sev'n-night. On your right wrist Sab. Open a vein with a pin. And let it suck but once a week ; till then, You must not look on't. Dol. No : and kinsman. Bear yourself worthy of the blood you come on. Sub. Her grace would have you eat no more Woolsack pies. Nor Dagger frumety. Dol. Nor break his fast In Heaven and Hell. Sub. She's vrith you every where ! Nor play with costarmongers, at mum-chance, tray-trip, God make you rich ; (when as your aunt has done But keep it ;) The gallant'st company, and the best games Dap. Yes, sir. Sub. Gleek and primero : and what you get, be true to us. Dap. By this hand, I will. Svi). You may bring's a thousand pound Before to-motrow night, if but three thousand Be stirring, an you will. Dap. I swear I will then. SOENE 11. THE ALCHEMIST. Sub. Your fly will leam'you all games. Face. [unVAin.] Have you done there ? Sub. Your grace will command him no more J)ol. No: [duties? But come, and see me often. I may chance To leave him three or four hundred chests of trea- sure, And some twelve thousand acres of fairy land. If he game well and comely with good gamesters. Sub. There's a kind aunt ! kiss her departing But you must sell your forty mark a year, now. Dap. Ay, sir, I mean. Sub. Or, give 't away ; pox on't ! Dap. I'U give 't mine aunt : I'll go and fetch the writings. HExit Sub. 'Tis well— away ! Se-mter Facb. Face. Where's Subtle? Sub. Here : what news r Face. Drugger is at the door, go take his suit. And bid him fetch a parson, presently ; Say, he shall marry the widow. Thou shalt spend A. hundred pound by the service I IFait Subtle.] Now, queen Dol, Hare you pack'd up all ? Dol. Yes. Face. And how do you like The lady Pliant ? Dol. A good dull innocent. In the good passage of our stock-affairs. Face. Drugger has brought his parson; take him in, Subtle, And send Nab back again to wash his face. Sub. I will : and shaveiimself. iSxil. Fttee. If-you can get him. Dol. Yon are hot upon it, Face, whate'er it is 1 Face. A trick that Dol shall spend ten pound a month by. .Re-enter Subtle. Is he gone ? Sub. The chaplain waits you in the hall, sir. Face. I'll go bestow him. lExit Dol. He'll now marry her, instantly. Sub. He cannot yet, he is not ready. Dear Dol, Cozen her of all thou canst. To deceive him Is no deceit, but justice, that would break Such an inextricable tie as ours was. Dol. Let me alone to fit him. Re-enter SuBixfi. Sub. Here's your Hieronimo's cloak and hat. Face. Give me them. Sub. And the ruff too? Face. Yes ; I'll come to you presently. [Exit. Sub. Now he is gone about his project, Dol, I told you of, for the widow. Dol. 'Tis direct Against our articles. Sub. Well, we will fit him, wench. Hast thou gull'd her of her jewels or her bracelets ? Dol. No ; but I will do't. Sub. Soon at night, my Dolly, When we are shipp'd, and ail our goods aboard. Eastward for Satcliff ; we will turn our course To Brainford, westweird, if thou sayst the word, And take our leaves of this o'er-weening rascal. This peremptory Face. Dol. Content, I'm weary of him. Sub. Thou'st cause, when the slave will run a wiving, Dol, Against the instrument that was drawn between Dol. I'll pluck his bird as bare as I can, [us Sub. Yes, tell her. She must by any means stddress some present To the cunning man, make him amends for wrong- His art with her suspicion ; send a ring [ing Or chain of pearl ; sbe will be tortured else Extremely in her sleep, say, and hare strange things Come to her. Wilt thou ? Dol. Yes. Sub. My fine flitter-mouse, My bird o' the night! we'll tickle it at the Pigeons, When we have all, and may unlock the trunks. And say, this's mine, and thine ; and thine, and mine. iTKei/ kiit. Re-enter Face. Face. What now! a billing? Sub. Yes, a little exalted Re-enter Fags. Face. Come, my venturers. You have pack'd up all? where be the trunks? Sub. Here. [bring forth. Face. Let us see them. Where's the money? *«6. Here, In this. Face. Mammon's ten pound ; eight score before : The brethren's money, this. Drugger's and Dap- What paper's that ? [per's. Do/. The jewel of the waiting-maid's. That stole it from her lady, to know certain Face. If she should have precedence of her mis- Dol. Yes. [tress * Face. What box is that ? Sub. The fish-wives' rings, I think. And the ale-wives' single money. Is't not, Dol? Dol. Yes ; and the whistle that the sailor's wife Brought you to know an her husband were with Ward. Face. We'll wet it to-morrow ; and ojir silver- beakers And tavern cups. Where be the French petticoats. And girdles and hangers ? Sub. Here, in the trunk. And the holts of lawn. Face. Is Drugger's damask there. And the tobacco ? Sub. Yes. Face. Give me the keys. Dol. Why you the keys? Sub. No matter, Dol ; because We shall not open them before he comes. Face. 'Tis true, you shall not open them, indeed ; Nor have them forth, do you see ? not forth, Dol.' Dol. Nol Face. No, my smock rampant.* The right is, my master Knows all, has pardon'd me, and he will keep them ; Doctor, 'tis true — ^you look — for all your figures : I sent for him indeed. Wherefore, good partners, Both he and she be satisfied ; for here Determines the indenture tripartite 'Twixt Subtle, Dol, and Face. All I can do Is to help you over the wall, o' the back-side. Or lend you a sheet to save your velvet gown, Dol. Here will be officers presently, bethink you Of some course suddenly to 'scape the dock : For thither you will come else. \^Loud knocking,} Hark you, thunder. 270 THE ALCHEMIST. Sub. You are a preoioDS fiend ! Offi. [without.] Open the door. Face. Dol, 1 am sorry for thee, i' faith; but hear'st thou ? It shall go hard but T will place thee somewhere : Thou shalt ha*e my letter to mistress Amo-^ jDoI. Hang you ! Pace. Or madam C£Ssarean> Doll Pox upon you, rogue, Would I had but time to beat thee ! Paog. Subtle, Let's know where you set up next ; I will send ycW A customei' now and then, for old acquaiutande : What new course have you ? Sub. Kogue, I'll hang myself ; That I may walk a greater devil than thoU, And hlunt thee in th6 flock-bed Etnd the buttefy. SCENE III — Art outer Rodm in the Same. Enter LtJvEwiT in the Spanish dresi, with the Pargon. ILoud kndcking at the door.] Love. What do ydu mean, my masters ? Mam. [tiithout.2 Open your door. Cheaters, bawds, corijurers. Offi. [iDithout.'] Or we will break it opeilt Lovffi What warrant have you ? Offi. [tSithout.l Wirrant enough, sir, doubt not, If you'll not open it. Love. Is there an officer, there ? Offi. livilhout.'] Yes, two or thfee for failing. Love. Have but pitience. And I will open it strSiight. Entei^ Face, as butlei*. Faee, Sir, have you done ? Is it a marriage ? perfect ? Love. Yes, Iny brain. Face. Off with your ruff and doak thed ! be yourself, sir. Sar. ItDithoilt.} DoWn with the door. Kas. [without.'] 'SKght, ding it openi Love, [opening the dvor>] Hold, Hold, gentlemen, what means this violence ? Mammon, Surly, Kastril, Ananias, TBiBiJLAfroNi and Officers, 'rush in. Mam. Where is this collier ? Sur. And my captain Pace ? Mam. These day owlsi Sur. That are birding in men's purses. Mam. Madam suppository. Kas. Doxy, my suster. Ana. Ijocusts Of the foul pit. Tri. Profane as Sfel dnd the dragOn. Ana. Worse than the grasshoppers, or the lice bf Egypt. Love. Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you And cannot stay this violence ? [officers, 1 Offi. Keep the peace. Love. Gentlemen, what is the matter ? whom do you seek } Mam. The chemical cozener. Sur. And the captain pander. Kas. The nun my suster.' Mam. Madam Rabbi Ana. Scorpions, And caterpillars. Love. Fewer at once, I pray you. 2 OJfi. One after another, gentlemen, 1 charge By virtue of my staff. [yon> Ana. They are the vessels Of pride, lust, and the cart. , Love. Good zeal, lie still A little while. Tri. Peace, deacon Ananias. LoisS. The house is mine herej and the doors dre open ; If there be any such persons as you seek for, Use your authority, search on o^ God's name. I am but newly come to town, and finding ■rtiis tuttiult 'bout my door, to tell you true. It somewhat mazed me ; till my man, here, fearing My mbre displeasure, told me he had done Somewhat an insdlent part, let out my house (Belike, presuming on my known aversion From any air 0' the town while there was sick- ness,) To a doctor and a captain : who, what they are Or where they.be, he knows not. Mam. Are they gone ? Love. You may go in and search, sir. [MAtn- MON, Ana. and Trie. i?» ift.] Here, I find The empty walls worse than I left them, smoak'd. A few crack'd pots, and glasses, and a farnace : The ceiling fiU'd with poesies of the candle, And madam with a dildo writ o' the walls : Only one gentlewoman, I met here, That is within, that said she was a widow KcU. Ay, that's my suster ; I'll go thump her. Where is she ? [Goes in. Love. And should have married a Spanish count, but he, When he came to't, neglected her so grossly. That I, a widOwerj am gone through with her. iSun How ! have I lost her then ? Love. Were you the don, sir .' Good faith, now, she does blame you extremely, and says You swdre, and told her you had taken the pains To dye your beard, and umbre o'er your face. Borrowed a suit, and ruff, all for her love ; And then did nothing. What an oversight. And want Of putting forward, sir, was this I Well fare an old harqilebuzier, yet. Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit, All in a twinkling ! Be^ffnier Kaumon. Maiti: The whole nest are fled ! Love. What sort of birds were they ? Mam. A Mnd of ehotighs. Or thievish daws, sir, that have pick'd my purse Of eight score and ten pounds within tiese five Beside my first materials ; and my goods, [weeks. That lie in the cellar, which I am glad they have I may have home yet. [left, LoVe. Think you so, sir ? Mam. Ay. Love. By "order of law, sir, but not otherwise. Mam. Not mine own stuff! Love. Sir, I can take no knowle'dge That they are yoUrs, but by public means. If you can bring certificate that you were guU'd of Or any formal writ out of a court, [them. That you did cozen your self, I will not hold them. Mam. I'll rather lose them. Love. That you shall not, sir, SCENE in. THE ALCHEMIST. 271 By me, in troth : upon tbese terms, they are yours. What! should they have been, sir, turn'd into gold, Mam. No, [all? I cannot tell — It may be they should — What then ? Love, What a great loss in hope have ytDu sus- Mam. Not I, the common-wealth has. [taiu'd I Face. Ay, he wOuld have built The city new ; and made a ditch about it Of silver, should have rtm with cream from Hogsden ; That, every Sunday, in Moor-fields, the younkers, And tits and tom-boys should have ffed on, gratis. Mam. I will go mount a turnip-cart, and preach The end of the world, within these two months. What ! in a dre!am ? [Surly, Sur. Must I needs che&t myselfj With that same foolish vice of honesty ! Come, let us go and hearken out the rogues : That Face I'll mark for mine, if e'er 1 meet him. Face. If I can hear of him, sir> I'll bring yOu wordi Unto your lodging; for in troth, they were strangers To me, I thought them honest as my self, sir. [^Exeuni Mam. and SbR. Se-tnter AwAsiAs and TkibuIation. TH. 'Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. And get some carts — ^- [Go, Zove. For what, my zealous friends ? Antf. To bear away the portion of the righteous Out of this den of thieves. Love. What is that portion ? jina. The goods sometimes the orfjhan's, that Bought with their silver pence. [the brethren jOove. .What, those in.the cellar. The knight sir Mammon claims ? Ana. I do defy The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren, Thou profane man ! I ask thee with what conscience Thou canst advance that idol against us, That have the seal? were not the shillings num^ ber'd. That made the pounds ; were not the pounds told Upon the second day of the fourth week, [out, In the eighth month, upon the table dormant. The year of the last patience of the saints, Six hundred and ten ? Love. Mine earnest vehement botcher, And deacon also, I cannot dispute with yon : But if you get you not away the sooner, I shall con&te you with a cudgel. Ana. Sir! Tri. Be patient, Ananias. Ana. I am strong. And wiU stand up, well girt, against an host That threaten Gad in exile. Love. 1 shall send you To Amsterdam, to your cellar. Ana. I win pray there, Against thy house: may dogs defile thy walls, And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof, This seat of falsehood, and this cave of cozenage ! [Exeunt Aiu. and Trib. Mnter DbdgoeB. Love. Another too ? Drug. Not I, sir, I am no brother. Lmie. [beats Aim.] Away, you Harry Nicholas ! do you talk ? CS«< Dm-o- Faoe. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good sir, go, [3'6tAe Parson. And satisfy him ; tell him all is done : He staid too long a washing of his face. The doctor, he shall hear of him at West-chester ; And of the captain, tell him, at Yarmouth, or Some good port-town else, lying for a wind. \^Exii Parson. If you can get off the angry child, now, sir-- — Enter KASTMt, dragging in Mi siHer. Kat. Come on, you ewe, you have match'd most sweetly, have you not ? Did not I say, I would never have you tupp'd But by a dubb'd boy^ to make you a lady-tom ? Slight, you are a mammet ! O, I could touse you. Death, mun' you marry, with a pox ! [now. Loiie. You lie, boy ; As sound as you j and I'm aforehand with you. Kas. Anon ! Love. Come, will you quarrel ? I will feize you, Why do you not buckle to your tools ? [sirrah ; kas. Od's light, This is a fine old boy as e'er I saw I Loie. What, do you change your copy now? proceed, Here stands my dove : stoop at her, if you dare. Kas. 'Slight, I must love him ! I cannot choose, i' faith, An I should be hang'd for't ! Suster^ I protest, I honour thee for this match. Low. Oj do you so, sir ? Ka/3. Yes, an thou canst take tobacco and drink, old boy) I'll give her five hundred pound more to her Than her own state. [marifiage, ioue. Fill a pipe full, Jeremy. Face. Yes ; but go in and take it, sir. Love. We will — I will be ruled by thee in anything, Jeremy. Kas. 'Slight, thoa art not hide-bound, thou art a jovy boy ! Come, let us in, I pray thee, aiid take our whiffs. Love. Whiff in with your sister, brother boy. [Exeunt Kas. and Dame P.] That mastei; That had received such happiness by a servant. In such a widow, and with so much wealth, Were very ungrateful, if he would not be A little indulgent to that servant's wit, And help his fortune, though with some small strain Of his own candour. [ad9ancing.'}^Therefore, And kind spectators, if X have outstript An old man's gravity, or strict canon, think What a young wife and a good brain may do ,- Stretch age's truth sometimes, and crack it too. Speak for thy self, knave. Face. So I will, sir. [advancing to the front of the stage.] Gentlemen, My part a little fell »7t this last scene, Yjet 'twas decorum. Ahid though I am clean Got off from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Dol, Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all With whom I traded : yet I put my self On you, that are my country : and this pelf. Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests To feast you often, and invite new guests. (Bxeunt. CATILINE HIS CONSPIRACY. TO THE GREAT EXAMPLE OF HONOUR AND VIRTUE, THE MOST NOBLB WILLIAM, EARL OF PEMBROKE, LORD CHAMBERLAIN, ETC. Hy LoRD,^-Ia 50 thick and dark an ignoranqe, as now ^most covers the age, I crave leave to stand near your light, and by that to he read. Posterity may pay your "benefit the honour and thanks, when it shall know, that you dare, in these jig-giyen times, to countenance a legitimate Poem. I call it so, against all noise of opinion ; from whose crude and airy reports, I appeal to the great and singular faculty of judgment in your lordship, able to vindicate truth from error. It is the first, of this race, that ever I dedicated to any person ; and had I not thought it the best, it should have been taught a less ambition. Now it approacheth your censure cheerfully, and with the same assurance that iimocency would appear before a magistrate. Your lordship's most faithful honourer, Bbn Jonson. TO THE READER IN ORDINARY. The muses forbid that I should restrain your meddling, whom I see already busy with the title, and tricking over the leaves : it is your o^VQ. I depai-ted with my right, when I let it first abroad ; aAd now, so secure an interpreter I am of my chance, that neither praise nor dispraise from you can affect me. Though you commend the two &est acts, with the people, because they are the worst ; and dislike the oration of Cicero, in regard you read some pieces of it at school, and understand them not yet: I shall find the way to forgive you. Be any thing you will be at your own charge. Would I had deserved but half so well of it in translation, as that ought to deserve of you in judgment, if you have any. £ know you will pretend, whosoever you are, to have that, and more : but all pretensions are not just claims. The commendation of good things may fall within a many, the approbation but in a few ; for the most commend out of affection, self-tickling, an easiness, or imitation : but men judge only out of knowledge^ That is the trying.faculty : and to those works that will bear a judge, nothing is more dangerous than a foolish praise. Yon will say, I shall not have yours therefore ; but rather the contrary, all vexation of censure. If I were not above such molestations now, I had great cause to think unworthily of my studies, or they had so of me. But I leave you to your exercise. Begin. TO THE READER EXTRAORDINARY. You I would nndenetand to be the better man, though places in court go otherwise : to you I submit myself and work. Farew^. Ben Jonsoh. DRAMATIS PERSONJS. Sylla's Ghost. L. Seroius Gatiltitb. PDBLins Lentultts. Caios Cethegus. AuTKOrrn's. quintus cumus. Vargunteius. Lucius Gassius Lonoinus-. PoRcius Lecca. FULVIUS. Lucius Bestia. Gabjnius Cimber. Statilius. Ceparius, c. coaneuus. VOLTXTRTIUa, Cicero. Caius Antonids. Cato. CATULUa. Crassus. , CiBSAR. Qu. Cicero. Syllanus. Plagcus. pomtintus. Q,. Fabius Samoa. ' ' ' Pbtreius. Senators. Allobroges. AuRELIA ORBSTfLLA. FULVIA. Sempronia.. Galla. Soldiers, Porters, Lictors^ ServantB, Pag^ 4a Chorus, SCENE, PARTLY AT RoME^ AMD PARTLY IN FeSULX. ..SOEKE I. CATILINE. 273 ACT I. SCENE I. — A Room in Catiline's House. The Ghost tfS-njLi. riset. Dost thou not feel me, Aome ? not yet I is night So heavff an thee, and tny weight so light ? Can Sglla'a ghost arise within thy walls. Less threatening than an earthquake, the quick falls Of thee and thine? Shake not the frighted heads Of thy steep towers, or shrink to their first beds $ Or, as tlteir ruin the large Tyber fills. Make that swell up, and drown thy seven proud hills 9 What sleep is this doth seize thee so like death. And is not it 9 wake, feel her in my breath r Behold, I come, sent from the Stygian sound. As a dire vapour that had cleft the ground. To ingender with the night, and blast the day ; Or like a pestilence that should display Infection through the world : which thus J do. — [The curtain draws, and Catiline is discovered in his study. Pluto be at thy counsels, and into Thy darker bosom enter Sylla's spirit ! All that was mine, and bad, thy breast inherit. Alas, how weak is that for Catiline I Did I but say — vain voice I — dfl that was mine- ? — All that the Gracchi, Cinna, Marius would, What now, had I a body again, I could. Coming frmn hell, what fiends would wish should And Hannibal could not have wish'd to see, \be. Think thou, and practise. IiCt the long-hid seeds Of treason i» titee, now shoot forth in deeds '. Ranker than horror ; and thy former facts Not fall in mention, but to urge new acts. Conscience of them provoke thee on to more s C Be still thy incests, murders, rapes, before I Thy sense ; tJiy forcing first a vestal nun ; Thy parricide, late, on thine own only son^ I After his mother, to make empty way r For thy last wicked nuptials ; worse than they, That blaze that act of thy incestuous life. Which got thee at once a daughter and a wife. I leave the slaughters that thou didst for me. Of senators ; for which, I hid for thee Thy murder of thy brother, being so bribed. And writ him in the list of my proscribed After thy fact, to save thy little shame ; I Thy incest with thy sister, J not name : These are too light ; tfate will have thee pursue Deeds, afterjghich no. naschiej^ can be new ; The ruin of ihycguntry : T hou wert built For such a work, and born for no less guilt. What though defeated' once thou'st been, and ' ktiown, Tempt it again : That is thy act, or none. What all the several ills that visit earth. Brought forth by night with a sinister birth. Plagues, famine, fire, could not reach unto. The sword, nor surfeits ; let thy fury do : Make all past, present, futiXVe ill thine own ; And conquer all example «» thy one. Nor let thy thought find any vacant time To hate an old, but still a fresher crime Drown thejremembrance ; let not mischief cease, BuTwhBeti is in punishing, increase ; Conscience and c^rejiie in thee ; and be free ^ Not heaven itself from thy impiety : Let night grow blacker with thy plots, and day, At shewing but thy head forth, start away From this half -sphere ; and leave Rome's blindea walls To embrace lasts, hatreds, slaughters, funerals, \ And not recover sight till their own flames ■J)o light them to their ruins ! All the names Of thy confederates too be no less great In hell than here : that when we would repeat Our strengths in muster, we may name you all. And furies upon you for furies call I Whilst what you do may strike them into fears, Or make them grieve, and wish your mischief theirs . [Sinks. CJATiLtNS rises, dnd coxites forward. Cat. It is decreed : nor shall thy'fate, O Rome, Resist my vo^T'TrKongh hills were set on hills, And seas met seas to guard thee, I would through ; Ay, plough up roeks, steep as the Alps, in dust, And laSre the Tyrrhene waters into clouds, But 1 would reach thy head, thy head, proud city ! The ills that I have done cannot be safe But by attempting greater ; and I feel A spirit within me chides my sluggish hands, And says, they have been innocent too long. Was I a man bred great as Rome herself. One form'd for all her honours, all her glories, Equal ip all her titles ; that could stand Close up with Atlas, and sustain her name As strong as he doth heaven ! and was I, Of all her brood, mark'd out for the repulse By her no-voice, when I stood candidate To be commander in the Pontic war ' I will hereafter call her step-dame ever. ilf she can lose her nature, I can lose JMy piety, and in her stony entrails 'Dig ine a seat ; where I wiU live again. The labour of her womb, and be a burden Weightier than all the prodigies and monsters That she hath teem'd vrith,' since she first knew Mars — Enter Aurelia Orestiixa. Who's there ? Aur. 'Tis I. Cat. Aurelia? Aur. Yes. Cat. Appear, And break Uke day, my beauty, to this circle : Upbraid thy Phoebus, that he is so long In mounting to that point, which should give thee Thy proper splendour. Wherefore frowns my sweet ? Have I too long been absent from these lips. This cheek, these eyes .' [Kisses them.^ What is my trespass, speak .' Aur. It seems you know, that can accuse your Cat. I will redeem it [self. Aur. Still you say so. When ? Cat. When Orestilla, by her bearing well These my retirements, and stol'n times for thought. Shall give their effects leave to call her queen Of all the world, in place of humbled Rome. Aur. You court me now. Cat. As I would always, love, By this ambrosiac kiss, and this of nectar, Wouldst thou but hear as gladly as I speak. 274 CATILINE. ACT 1. Could my Aurelia think I meant her less, When, wooing her, I first removed a wife, And then a son, to make my bed and house Spacious and fit to embrace her ? these were deeds Not to have begun with, but to end with more And greater : He that, building, stays at one Floor, or the second, hath erected none. 'Twas how to raise thee I was meditating, To make some act of mine answer thy love ; That love, that, when my state was now quite sunk, Came with thy wealth and weigh'd it up again, And made my emergent fortune once more look Above the main ; which now shall hit the stars,. And stick my Orestilla there amongst them, If any tempest can but make the billow, And any billow can but lift her greatness. But I must pray my love, she wUl put on Like habits with myself; I have to do With many men, and many natures : Some That must be blown and sooth'd ; as Lentulus, Whom I have heav'd with magnifying his blood, And a vain dream out of the Sybil's books. That a third man of that great family Whereof he is descended, the Comelii, Should be a king in Rome : which I have hired The flattering augurs to interpret Him, Cinna and Sylla dead. Then bold Cethegus, Whose valour I have tum'd into his poison, And praised so into daring, as he would Go on upon the gods, kiss lightning, wrest The engine from the Cyclops, and give fire At face of a full cloud, and stand his ire. When I would bid him move. Others there are, Whom envy to the state draws, and puts on For contumelies received, (and such are sure ones,) As Curius, and the forenamed Lentulus, Both which have been degraded in the senate. And must have their disgraces still new rubb'd, To make them smart, and labour of revenge. Others whom mere ambition fires, and dole Of provinces abroad, which they have feign'd To their crude hopes, and I as amply promised : These, Lecca, Vargunteius, Bestia, Autronius. Some whom their wants oppress, as the idle cap- tains Of Sylla's troops ; and divers Roman knights, The profuse wasters of their patrimonies, So threaten'd vrith their debts, as they will now Run any desperate fortune for a change. These, for a time, we must relieve, Aurelia, And make our house their safeguard : like for those That fear the law, or stand within her gripe. For any act past or to come ; such will. From their own crimes, be factious, as from ours. Some more there be, slight aiilings, vrill be won With dogs and horses, or perhaps a whore ; Which must be had : and if they venture lives For us, Aurelia, we must hazard honours A httle. Get thee store and change of women. As I have boys ; and give them time and place, And all connivance : be thy self, too, courtly ; And entertain and feast, sit up, and revel ; Call all the great, the fair, and spirited dames Of Rome about thee ; and begin a fashion Of freedom and community: some will thank thee, Though the sour senate firown, whose heads must ache In fear and feeling too. We must not spare Or cost or modesty : It can but shew Like one of Juno's or of Jove's disguises, In either thee or me : and will as soon. When things succeed, be thrown by, or let fall, As is a veil put off, a visor changed. Or the scene shifted in our theatres — [^yoUe laithin. Who's that ? It is the voice of Lentulus. Aur. Or of Cethegus. Cat. In, my fair Aurelia, And think upon these arts : they must not see How far you're trusted with these privacies. Though on their shoulders, necks and heads you rise. iExit AvRKLiA. Enter Lentulus, in discourse wUh Cbtheous. Lent. It is, methinks, a morning full of fate ! It riseth slowly, as her sullen car Had all the weights of sleep and death hung at it ! She is not rosy-finger'd, but swoll'n black ; Her face is like a water tum'd to blood. And her sick head is bound about with clouds, As if she threaten'd night ere noon of day ! It does not look as it would have a hail Or health wish'd in it, as on other moms. Cet. Why, all the fitter, Lentulus ; our coming Is not for salutation, we have business. Cat. Said nobly,' brave Cethegus! Where's Cet. Is he not come ? [Autronius ? Cat. Not here. Cet. Nor Vargunteius ? Cat. Neither. Cet. A fire in their beds and bosoms, That so will serve their sloth rather than virtue ! They are no Romans, — ahd at such high need As now 1 Len. Both they, Longinus, Lecca, Curius, Fulvius, Gabinius, gave me word, last night, By Lucius Bestia, they would all be here. And early. Cet. Yes ; as you, had I not call'd you. Come, we all sleep, and are mere dormice ; flies A little less than dead : more dullness hangs On us than on the morn. We are spirit-bound In ribs of ice, our whole bloods are one stone. And honour cannot thaw us, nor our wants. Though they bum hot as fevers to our states. Cat.' I muse they would be tardy at an hour Of so great purpose. Cet. If the gods had call'd Them to a purpose, they would just have come With the same tortoise speed ; that are thus slow To such an action, which the gods will envy. As asking no less means than all their powers, Conjoin'd, to effect! I would have seen Rome burnt By this time, and her ashes in an urn ; The kingdom of the senate rent asunder. And the degenerate talking gown run frighted Out of the air of Italy. Cat. Spirit of men I Thou heart of our great enterprise ! how much I love these voices in thee ! Cet. O, the days \ Of Sylla's sway, when me free sword took leave To act all that it woidd'! Cat. And was familiar With entrails, as our augurs. Cet. Soils kill'd fathers. Brothers their brothers. SOENS I. CATILINE. 276 / Cat. And had price and praise. (All hate had license given it, all rage reins. Cet. Slaughter bestrid the streets, and stretch'd himself To seem more huge ; whilst to his stained thighs The gore he drew flow'd up, and carried down "Whole heaps of limbs and bodies through his arch> No age was spared, no sez. Cat. Nay, no degree. Cet. Not infants in the porch of life were free. The sick, the old, that could but hope a day Longer by nature's bounty, not let stay. Virgins, and iridows, matrons, pregnant wives, All died. Cat. 'Twas crime enough, that they had lives : To strike but only those that could do hurt. Was duU and poor : some fell to make the number) As some the prey. Cet. The rugged Charon fainted, And ask'd a navy, rather than a boat, To ferry over the sad world that came : The maws and dens of beasts could not receive The bodies that those souls were frighted from ; And e'en the graves were fill'd with men yet living, Whose flight and fear had mix'd them with the dead. Cat. And this shall be again, and more, and Now LentulusT the third Coro'eHus, [more. Is to stand up in Rome. Lent. Nay, urge not that Is so uncertain. Cat. How! Lent. I mean, not clear'd. And therefore not to be reflected on. Cat. The Sybil's leaves uncertain! of the comments Of our grave, deep, divining men not clear Lent. All prophecies, you know, suffer the torture. Cat. But this already hath confess'd, without ; And so been weigh' d, examined and compared, As 'twere malicious ignorance in him Would faint in the belief. Lent. Do you believe it ? Cat. Do I love Lentulug, or pray to see it ? Lent. The augurs all are constant 1 am meant. Cat. They had lost theii- science else, ien/. They count from Cinna. Cat. And Sylla next, and so make you the third } All that can say the sun is risen, must think it. Lent. Men mark me more of late, as I come forth. Cat. Why, what can they do less ? Cinna and SyUa Are set and gone ; and we must turn our eyes On him that is, and shines. Noble Cethegus, But view him with me here ! he looks already As if he shook a sceptre o'er the senate. And the awed purple dropp'd their rods and axes: The statues melt again, and household gods In groans confess the travail of the city ; The very walls sweat blood before the change. And stones start out to ruin ere it comes. Cet. But he, and we, and all are idle still. Lent. I am your creature, Sergius; andwhate'er The great Cornelian name shall win to be, It is not augury nor the Sybil's books, But Catiline that makes it. Cat. I am shadow To honour'd Lentulus and Cethegus here, Who are the heirs of Mars. Cet. By Mars himself , T2 Catiline is more my parent ; for whose virtue Earth cannot make a shadow great enough. Though envy should come too. INoise within.'] O, here they are. Now we shall talk more, though we yet do nothing. Enter Atoraomcs, Taroonteids, Lohoihus, Cdbius, Licak. Bbstia, FuLvitJS, Gabinius, &o. and Servants Aut. Hail, Lucius Catiline. Var. Hail, noble Sergius. Lon. Hail, PubUus Lentulus. Cur. Hail, the third Cornelius. Lea. Caius Cethegus, hail. Cet. HjuI, sloth and words, Instead of men and spirits i Cat. Nay, dear Caius Cet. Are your eyes yet unseel'd ? dare they look In the dull face ? [day Cat. He's zealous for the affair. And blames your teu'dy coming, gentlemen. Cet. Unless we had sold ourselves to sleep and And would be our slaves' slaves-^ [ease, Cat. Pray you forbear. Cet. The north is not so stark and cold. Cat. Cethegus £es. We shall redeem all if your fire will let us. Cat. You are too full of lightning, noble Caius. Boy, see all doors be shut, that none approach us On this part of the iouse. [JEieit Servant.] Go you, and bid The priest, he kill the slave I mark'd last night. And bring me of bis blood, when I shall call him : I'iU then, wait all without. iExeunt Servants. Var. How is't, Autronius ? Aut. Longinus? Lon. Curiusi* Cur. Lecca ? Var. Feel you nothing ? Lon. A strange unwonted horror doth invade I know not what it isi [me, {A darkness comes over the plane. Lee. The day goes back. Or else my senses ! Cur. As at Atreus' feast ! Ful. Darkness grows more and more ! Len. The vestal flame, I think, be out. {A groan of many people is heard under ground. Gat. What groan was that i Cet. Our phant'sies : Strike fire out of ourselves, and force a day. [A second groan. Aut. Again it sounds I Bes. As all the city gave it ! Cet. We fear what ourselves feign. [_A fiery light appearst Var. What light is this ? Cur. Look forth. Len. It still grows greater ! ieci From whence comes it ? Lon. A bloody arm it is that holds a pine Lighted above the capitol I and now It waves unto us ! Cat. Brave, and ominous I Our enterprise is seal'd. Cet. In spite of darkness, That would discountenance it. Look no more ; We lose time and ourselves. To what we came Speak, Lucius, we attend you. [for, — Cat. Noblest Romans, If you were less, or that your faith and virtue 276 CATILINE. Did not hold good that title, with your blood, I should not now unprofitably spend My self in words, or catch at empty hopes, By airy ways, for solid certainties ; But since in many, and the greatest dangers, I still have known you no less true than valiant, And that I taste in you the same affections, To will or ml, to think things good or bad, Alike with me, which argues your firm friendship ; I dare the boldlier with yon set on foot, Or lead unto this great and goodhest afition. What I have thoiight of it afore, you all Have heard apart : I then express'd my zeal Unto the glory j now, the need inflames me. When I forethink the hard conditions Our states must undergo, except in time We do redeem our selves to liberty, And break the iron yoke forged for our necks ; For what less can we call it, when we see, The common-wealth engross'd so by a few, The giants of the state, that do by turns Enjoy her, and defile her ! all the earth, Her kings and tetrachs, are their tributaries ; People and nations pay them hourly stipends ; The riches of the world flow to their coffers. And not to Rome's. While, (but those few,) the rest, However great we are, honest, and valiant, Are herded with the vulgar, and so kept, As we were only bred to consume com. Or wear out wool ; to drink the city's water ; TJngraced, without authority or mark, Trembling beneath their rods ; to whom, if all Were well' in Rome, we should come forth bright All places, honours, offices are theirs, £axes. Or where they will confer them : they leave us The dangers, the repulses, judgments, wants-; WTiich how long will you bear, most valiant spirits ? Were we not better to fall once with virtue. Than draw a wretched and dishonour'd breath. To lose with shame, when these men's pride wUl laugh ? I call the faith of Gods and men to question, The power is in our hands, our bodies able. Our minds as strong; o' the contrary, in them All things grown aged, with their wealth and years : There wants but only to begin the business, The issue is certain. Cet. Lon. On I let us go on ! Cur. Bes. Go on, brave Sergius ! Cat. It doth strike my soul, And who can scape the stroke, that hath a soul. Or but the smallest air of man within him ? To see them swell with treasure, which they pour Out in their riots, eating, drinking, building, Ay, in the sea ! planing of hills with valleys, And raising valleys above hiUs ! whilst we Have not to give our bodies necessaries. They have their change of houses, manors, lord- ' ships ; We scarce a fire, or a poor household Lar ! They buy rare Attic statues, Tyrian hangings, Ephesian pictures, and Corinthian plate, Attalic garments, and now new-found gems. Since Pompey went for Asia, which they purchase At price of provinces I the river Phasis Cannot afford them fowl, nor Lucrine lake . Oysters enow : Circei too is search'd. To please the witty gluttony of a meal ! Their ancient habitations they neglect. And set up new ; then, if the echo like not In such a room, they pluck down those, build Alter them too ; and by aU frantic ways, [newer, Vex their wild wealth, as they molest the people, From whom they force it I Yet they cannot tame, Or overcome their riches ! not by making Baths, orchards, fish-pools, letting in of seas Here, and then there forcing them out again With mountainous heaps, for which the earth hath Most of her ribs, as entrails ; being now [lost Wounded no less for marble, than for gold ! We, all this while, like calm benumb'd spectators, Sit till our seats do crack, and do not hear The thund'ring ruins ; whilst at home our wants, Abroad, our debts do urge us ; our states daily Bending to bad, our hopes to worse ; and what Is left but to be crush'd? Wake, wake, braVe friends, And meetj;he liberty you oft have wish'd for. Behold, renown, fi^ies, ailifglorycourtyou! Fortune holds out these to you, as rewards. Methinks, though I were dumb, the affair itself, The opportunity, your needs, and dangers. With the brave spoil the war brings, should invite Use me, your general, or soldier: neither [you. My mind nor body shall be wanting to you : And, being consul, I not doubt to effect AU that you wish, if trust not flatter me, And you'd not rather' still be slaves, than free. Cet. Free, Free! Lon. 'Tis Freedom. Cur. Freedom we all stand for. Cat. Why these are noble voices ! Nothing wants. But that we take a solemn sacrament, [then, To strengthen our design. Cet. And most to act it : Deferring hurts, where powers are so prepared. Aut. Yet, ere we enter into open act, With favour, 'twere no loss, if't might be inquired, What the condition of these arms would be. Var. Pi.j, and the means to carry us through. Cat. How, friends ! Think you that I would bid you grasp the wind , Or call you to th' embracing of a cloud ! Put your known valours on so dear a business. And have no other secondthan the danger, Nor other garland than the loss ? Become Your own assurances. And for the means. Consider, first, the stark security The commonwealth is in now ; the whole senate Sleepy, and dreaming no such violent blow ; Their forces all abroad ; of which the greatest, That might annoy us most, is farthest off. In Asia, under Pompey ; those near hand. Commanded by our friends ; one army in Spain, By Cneus Piso ; the other in Mauritania, By Nucerinus ; both which I have firm. And fast unto our plot. My self, then, standing Now to be consul, with my hoped colleague Caius Antonius, one no less engaged By his wants, than we ; and whom I've power to melt. And cast in any mould : beside, some others, That will not yet be named, both sure, and great ones. Who, when the time comes, shall declare themselves Strong for our party ; so that no resistance In nature can be thought. For our reward then, First, all our debts are paid ; dangers of law. Actions, decrees, judgments against us, quitted ; CATILINE. The rich men, as in Sylla's times, proscribed, And publication made of all their goods : That boose is yours ; that land is his ; those waters, Orchards, and walks, a third's ; he has that honour, And he that office : such a province falls To Vargunteius ; this to Autronius ; that To bold Cethegus ; Rome to Lentulus. You share the world, her magistracies, priesthoods, Wealth and felicity, amongst you, friends ; (^And Catiline your servant. Would you, Curius, Revenge the contumely stuck upon you, In being removed from the senate ? now. Now is your time. Would Publius Lentulus Strike for the like disgrace ? now is his time. Would stout Longinus walk the streets of Rome, Facing the Prietor ? now has he a time To spurn and tread the fasces into dirt. Made of the usurers' and the lictors' brains. Is there a beauty here in Rome you love ? An enemy you would kill ? what head's not your's ? Whose wife, which boy, whose daughter, of what race. That the husband, or glad parents, shall' not bring And boasting of the office ? only spare [you. Yourselves, and you have all the earth beside, A field to exercise your longings in. I see yoa raised, and read your forward niinds HigEiii your faces. Bring the wine and blood -Youhave prepared there. - Enter Servants, with a bowl, Lon. How! Cat. I have kill'd a slave. And of his blood caused to be mix'd vrith wine : Fill every man his bowl. There cannot be A fitter drink to make this sanction in. Here I begin the sacrament to all. O for a clap of thunder now, as loud As to be heard throughout the universe. To tell the world the fact, and to applaud it I Be firm, my hand, not shed a drop; but pour Fiercenessjnto me with it, and fell thirst OTmore and more, till Rome be left as bloodless As ever her fears made her, or the sword. And when I leave to wish this to thee, step-dame. Or stop to affect it, vrith my powers fainting, /So may my blood be drawn, and so drunk up. (.As is this slave's. Z^Drinlti. Lon. And so be mine. Len. And mine. Aut. And mine. For. And mine. {They drink. Cet. Swell me my bowl yet fuller. Here, I do drink this, as I would do Cato's, Or the new fellow Cicero's, with that vow Which Catiline hath given. ^Drinks. Cur. So do I. Leo. And I. Ses. And I. Ful. And I. Gab. And all of us. IThet/ drink. Cat. Why now's the business safe, and each man strengthen'd — Sirrah, what ail you ? Page. Nothing. Ses. Somewhat modest. Cat. Slave, I vrill strike your soul out vrith my foot. Let me but find you again vrith such a face : You whelp 2^ JBes, Nay, Lucius. Cat, Are you coying it, When I command you to be free, and eeneral ToaU? ^ Bes. You*U be observed. Cat. Arise ! and shew But any least aversion in your look To him that bourds you next; and your throat opens. — Noble confederates, thus far is perfect. Only your,.suffrages I will expect At the assembly for the choosing consuls, And all the voices you can make by friends To my election : then let me work out Your fortunes and mine own. Meanwhile, all rest Seal'd up and silent, as when rigid frosts Have bound up brooks and rivers, forced wild beasts Unto their caves, and birds into the woods, Clowns to their houses, and the country sleeps : That, when the sudden thaw comes, we may break Upon them like a deluge, bearing down Half Rome before us, and invade the rest With cries, and noise, able to wake the urns Of those are dead, and make their ashes fear. The horrors that do strike the world, should come Loud, and unlook'd for ; till they strike, be dumb. Cet. Oraculous Sergius ! Len. God-like Catiline ! lExeunt. CHORUS. Can nothing great, and at the height, Kemain so long, hut its own weight Will ruin it ? or is't hlind chance. That still de&ires new states to advance, .And quit the old? else why must Home Be by itself now overcome ? Hath she not foes enow of those Whom she hath made such, and enclose Her round about ? or are they none. Except she first become her own : O wretchedness of greatest states. To be obnoxious to these fates ! That cannot keep what they do gain ; And what they raise so ill sustain I Borne now is mistress of the whole World, sea and land» to either pole ; And even that fortune will destroy The pow'r that made it : she doth joy So much in plenty, wealth, and ease. As now th' excess is her disease. She builds in gold, and to the stars. As if she threaten'd heav'n with wars ; And seeks for hell in quarries deep. Giving the fiends, that there do keep, A hope of day. Her women wear The spoils of nations in an ear. Changed for the treasure of a shell ; And in their loose attires do swell. More light than sails, when all winds play : Yet are the men more loose than they More kemb'd« and bath'd, and nibb'd, and trinun'd. More sleek, more soft, and slacker limb'd ; As prostitute ; go much, that kind May seek itself there, and not find. They eat on beds of silk and gold. At ivory tables, or wood sold Bearer than it ; and leaving plate. Do drink in stone of higher rate. Tbeyhimt all groimds, and draw all seas. Fowl every brook and bush, to please Their wanton taste ; and in request Have new and rare things, not the best. 278 CATILINE. ACT II. Hence comes that wild and vast expense. Tongues in the senate, bribed be : That hath enforced Home's virtue thence. Sach ruin of her manners Borne Which simple poverty first made : Doth suffer now, as she's become And now ambition doth invade (Without the gods it soon gainsay) Her state, with eating avarice. Both her own spoiler, and own prey. Riot, and every other vice. So, Asia, art thou oru'lly even Decrees are bought, and laws are sold. With us, for all the blows thee given ; Honours, and offices, for gold ; When we, whose virtue conquer'd the», The people's voices, and the free Thus, by thy vices, ruin'd be. ACT II. SCENE I A Room in Fulvia's House. Enter FuLviA, Gaixa, and Servant Ful. Those rooms do smell extremely. Bring And table hither.^Galla ! [my glass Gal. Madam. Ful. Look Within, in my blue cabinet, for the pearl. I had sent me last, and bring it. Gal. That from Clodius ? Ful. From Cains Caesar. Yon are for Clodius still, Or Curins. [Exit Galla.] — Sirrah, if Quintus Curius come, J am not in fit mood ; I keep my chamber : Give -warning so without. lExit Servant. Se-enter Gaixa. Gal. Is this it, madam ? Ful. Yes ; help to hang it in mine ear. Gal. Believe me, It is a rich one, madam. Ful. I hope so : It should not be worn there else. Make an end, And bind my hair np. Gal. As 'twas yesterday .> Ful. No, nor the t'other day : when knew you me Appear two days together in one dressing .' Gal. Will you have't in the globe or spire ? Ful. How thou wilt ; Any way, so thon wilt do It, good impertinence. Thy company, if I slept not very well A-nights, would make me an arrant fool, with ques- Gal. Alas, madam [tions. Ful. Nay, gentle half o' the dialogue, cease. Gal. I do it indeed but for your exercise. As your physician bids me. Ful. How 1 does he bid you To anger me for exercise ? Gal. Not to anger you, But stir your blood a little ; there is difference Between lukewarm and boiling, madam. Ful. Jove ! She means to cook me, I think. Pray you, have Gal. I mean to dress you, madam. [done. Ful. O, my Juno, Be friend to me! offering at wit too ? why, Galla, Where hast thoa been ? Gal. Why, madam ? Ful. What hast thou done With thy poor innocent self ? Gal. Wherefore, sweet madam ? Ful. Thus to come forth, so suddenly, a wit- worm ? Gal. It pleases you to flout one. I did dream Of lady Sempronia Ful. O, the wonder's out ! That did infect thee : weD, and how ? Gal. Methought She did discourse the bes t Ful. That ever thou heafd'st? Gal. Yes. Ful. In thy sleep 1 of what was her discourse ? Gal. Of the republic, madam, and the state. And how she was in. debt, and where she meant To raise fresh sums : she's a great stateswoman ! Ful. Thon dream'st all this ? Gal, No, but you know she is, madam ; And both a mistress of the Latin tongue, And of the Greek. Ful. Ay, but I never dreamt it, Galla, As thou hast done ; and therefore you must pardon Gal. Indeed you mock me, madam. [me. Ful. Indeed, no : Forth with your learned lady. She has a wit too? Gal. A very masculine one. Ful. A she-critic, Galla ? And can compose in verse, and make quick jests, Modest, or otherwise ? Gal. Yes, madam. Ful. She can sing too .' And play on instruments ? Gal. Of all kinds, they say. Ful. And doth dance rarely ? Gal, Excellent ! so well. As a bald senator made a jest, and said, 'Twas better than an honest woman need. Ful. Tut, she may bear that : few wise women's Will do their courtship hurt. [honesties Gal. She's Bberal too, madam. Ful. What, of her money or her honour, prithee? Gal. Of both; you know not which she doth Ful. A comely commendation I [spare least. Qal. Troth, 'tis pity She is in years. Ful. Why, Galla ? Gal. For it is. Ful. O, is that all! I thought thou'dst had a reason. Gal. Why, so I have : she has been a fine lady, And yet she dresses herself, except you, madam. One of the best in Rome ; and paints, and hides Her decays very well. Ful, They say, it is Rather a visor, than a face, she wears. Gal. They wrong her verily, madam ; she doth sleek With crumbs of bread and milk, and lies a-nights In as neat gloves ^But she is fain, of late. To seek, more than she's sought to, the fame is. And so spends that way. Ful, Thou know'st all ! but, Galla, What say you to Catiline's lady, Orestilla ? There Is the gallant ! CATILINE. 279 Gal. She does well. She has Very good suits, and very rich ; but then She cannot put them on ; she knows not how To wear a garment. You shall have her all Jewels and gold sometimes, so that her self Appears the least part of herself. No, in troth, As I live, madam, you put them all down With your mere strength of judgment, and do draw, too. The world of Rome to follow you ! You attire Your self so diversly, and with that spirit. Still to the noblest humours, they could make Love to your dress, although your face were away, they say. Ful. And body too, and have the better match Say they not so too, Galla ? [on't. Re-enter Serrant. Now ! what news Travails your countenance with ? Serv. If t please you, madam, The lady Sempronia is lighted at the gate. Gal. Castor, my dream, my dream 1 Serv. And comes to see you. Gal. For Venus' sake, good madam, see her. iExit Serv. Ful. Peace, The fool is wild, I think. Gal. And hear her talk, Sweet madam, of state-matters and the senate. Ent-er Sbupronia. Sem. Fulvia, good wench, how dost thou ? Ful. Well, Sempronia. Whither are you thus early addrest ? Sem. To see Aurelia Orestilla : she sent for me. I came to call thee with me ; wilt thou go ? Fid. I cannot now, in troth; I have some letters To write and send away. Sem. Alas, I pity thee. I have been writing all this night, and am So very weary, unto all the tribes, And centuries, for their voices, to help Catiline In his election. We shall make him consul, I hope, amongst us. Crassus, I, and Csesar Win carry it ifor him. Ful. Does he stand for it ? Sem. He's the chief candidate. Ful. Who stands beside ? — Give me some wine and powder for my teeth. Sem. Here's a good pearl, in troth. Ful. A pretty one. Sem. A very orient one ! — there are competi' tors, Caius Antonius, Publius Galba, Lucius Cassius Longinns, Qnintas Comificius, Caius Licinius, and that talker Cicero. But Catiline and Antonius will be chosen ; For four of the other, Licinius, Longinus, Galba and Cornificius, will give way : And Cicero they wUl not choose. Ful. No! why? Sem. It will be cross'd by the nobility. Gal. How she does understand the common business ! {^Aside. Sem. Nor were it fit. He is but a new fellow, An inmate here in Bome, as Catiline calls him, And the patricians should do very ill To let the consulship be so defiled As 'twould be, if he obtain'd it! a mere upstart, That has no pedigree, no house, no coat, No ensigns of a family ! Ful. He has virtue. Sem. Hang virtue! where there is no blood, 'tis vice, And in him sauciness. Why should he presume To be more learned or more eloquent Than the nobility ? or boast any quality Worthy a nobleman, himself not noble ? Ful. 'Twas virtue only, at first, made all men noble. Sem. I yield you, it might at first, in Rome's poor age. When botii her kings and consuls held the plough. Or garden'd well ; but now we have no need To dig, or lose our sweat for't. We have wealth. Fortune, and ease : and then their stock to spend Of name, for virtue ; which will bear us out [on, 'Gainst all new comers, and can never fail us. While the succession stays. And we must glorify A mushroom ! one of yesterday ! a fine speaker 1 'Cause he has suck'd at Athens I and advance him. To our own loss ! no, Fulvia ; there are they Can speak Greek too, if need were. Caesar and I, Have sat upon him ; so hath Crassus too, And others. We have all decreed his rest. For rising farther. Gal. Excellent rare lady ! Ful. Sempronia, you are beholden to my woman She does admire you. [here, Sem. O good Galla, how dost thou ? Gal. The better for your learned ladyship. Sem. Is this grey powder a good dentifrice ? Ful. You see I use it. Sem. I have one is whiter. Ful. It may be so. Sem. Yet this smells welL Gal. And cleanses Very well, madam, and resists the crudities. Sem. Fulvia, I pray thee, who comes to thee Which of our great patricians ? [now, Ful. Faith, I keep No catalogue of them : sometimes I have one. Sometimes Smother, as the toy takes their bloods. Sem. Thou hast them all. Faith, when was Thy special servant, here ? [Quintus Curius, Ful. My special servant ! Sem. Yes, thy idolater, I call him. Ful. He may be yours. If you do like him. Sem. How! Ful. He comes not here ; I have forbid him hence. Sem. Venus forbid ! Ful. Why? Sem, Your so constant lover ! Ful. So much the rather. I would have change ; so would you too, I am sure : And now you may have him. . Sem. He's fresh yet, Fulvia ; Beware how you do tempt me. Ful. Faith, for me He's somewhat too fresh indeed ; the salt is gone. That gave him season : his good gifts are done. He does not yield the crop that he was wont : And for the act, I can have secret fellows, With backs worth ten of him, and they shall please Now that the land is fied, a myriad better, [me, Sem. And those one may command. 280 CATILINE. Fill. 'Tis trae : these lordlings, .Your noble Fauns, they are so imperious, saucy, Kude, and as boisterous as centaurs, leaping A lady at first sight. Sem. And must be borne Both with and out, they think. Ful. Tut, I'll observe None of them all, nor humour them a jot Longer than they come laden in the hand, And say, Here's one for t'other. S^m. Does Csesar give well ? Fill. They shall all give and pay well, that come here. If they will have it ; and that, jewels, pearl, Plate, or round sums to buy these. I'm not taken I With a cob-swan, or a high-mounting bull, I As foolish Leda and Europawere ; i But the bright gold, with Danae. For such price I I would endure a rough, harsh Jupiter, I Or ten such thnnd'ring gamesters, and refram To laugh at 'em, till they are gone, vrith my much suffering. Sem. Thou'rt a most happy wench, that thus / canst make ( Use of thy youth and freshness, in the season ; And hast it to make use of. Ful. Which isthe happiness. Sem. I am now fain to give- to them, and keep And a continual table to invite them. [music, Ful. Yes, and they study your kitchen more than you. Sem. Eat myself out with usury, and my lord And all my officers, and friends besides, [too, To procure money for the needful charge I must be at, to have them ; and yet scarce Can I achieve them so. Ftil. Why, that's because You affect young faces only, and smooth chins, Sempronia. If you'd love beards and bristles. One withanoUier, as others do, or wrinkles [Knocking within. Who's that ? look, GaUa. Gal. 'Tis the party, madam. Ful. What party ? has he no name ? Gal. 'Tis Quintus Curius. Ful. Did I not bid them say, I kept my chamber ? Gal. Why, so they do. Sem. I'll leave you, Fulvia. , Ful. Nay, good Sempronia, stay. Sem. In faith, I will not. Ful. By Juno, I would not see him. Sem. I'll not hinder yon. Gal. You know he will not be kept out, madam. .Sem. No, Nor shall not, careful Galla, by my means. Ful. As I do live, Sempronia Sem. What needs this ? Ful. Go, say I am asleep, and ill at ease. Sem. By Castor, no, I'll tell him, you are awake ; And very well : stay, Galla ; farewell, Fulvia, I know my manners. Why do you labour thus, With action against purpose .' Quintus Curius, She is, i' faith, here, and in disposition. [Exit. Ful. Spight with yottr courtesy ! how shall I be tortured ! Enler Curius. Cur. Where are you, fair one, that conceal yourself. And keep your beauty vrithin locks and bars here, Like a fool's treasure .' Ful. True, she was a fool, When first she show'd it to a thief. Cur. How, pretty suUenness, So harsh and short ! Fvi. The fool's artillery, sir. Cur, Then take my gown off for the encounter. [Takes off his gown. Ful. Stay, sir, I am not in the mood. Cur. I'll put you into 't Ful. Best-put yourself in your case again, and Your furious appetite warm against you have place Cur. What 1 do you coy it ? [for't. Ful. No, sir ; T am not proud. Cur. I would you were ! You think this state becomes you, By Hercules, it does not. Look in your glass now, And see how scurvily that countenance shows ; You would be loth- to own it. Ful. I $hall not change it. Cur. Faith, but you must, and slack this bended brow ; And shoot less scorn : there is a Fortune coming Towards you, dainty, that will take thee thus. And set thee aloft, to tread upon the head Of her own statue here in Rome. Ful. I wonder Who let this promiser in I Did you, good dili- genoe ? Give him his bribe again : or, if you had none, Pray you demand him, why he is so venturous, To press thus to my chamber, being forbidden, Both by myself and servants ? Cur. How ! this is handsome. And somewhat a new strain 1 Ful. 'Tis not straiu'd, sir ; 'Tis very natural. Cwr. I have knovm it otherwise Between the parties, though. Ful, For your foreknowledge, Thank that which made it : It will not be so Hereafter, I assure yon. Cur, No, my mistress ! Ful. No ; though you bring the same materials. Cur. Hear me. You over-act when you should under-do. A little call your self again, and think. If you do this to practise on me, or find At what forced distance youcan hold your sei-vant ; That it be an artificial trick to inflame. And fire me more, fearing my love may need it, As heretofore you have done, why, proceed. Ful. As I have done heretofore ! Cu/r. Yes, when you'd feign Your husband's jealousy, your servants' watches. Speak softly, and run often to the door. Or to the window, from strange fears that were not : As if the pleasure were less acceptable. That were secure. Ful. You are an impudent fellow. Cur. And, when you might better have done it To take me in at the casement. [at the gate, Ful. I take you in ! Cv/r, Yes, yon, my lady. And then, being a-bed with you. To have your well-taught waiter here come run ning. And cry, her lord ! and hide me without cause, Crush'd in a chest, or thrust up in a chimney : CATILINE. 281 When he, tame crow, was winking at his farm ; Or, had he been here, and present, would have kept Both eyes and beak seel'd up, for six sesterces. Fill. You have a slanderous, beastly, unwash'd tongue In your rude mouth, and savouring yourself, Unmanner'd lord. Cur. How now ! Ful. It is your title, sir ; Who, since you've lost your own good name, and know not What to lose more, care not whose honour you wound, I Or fame you poison with it. You should go ' And vent your self in the region where you live, ;Among the suburb-brothels, bawds, and brokers, Whither your broken fortunes have design'd you. Cur. is ay; 'then I must stop your fiiry, I see ; and pluck The tragic visor off. Come, lady Cypris, Know your own virtues, quickly. I'll not be Put to the wooing of you thus, afresh. At every turn, for all the Venus in you. Yield, and be pliant, or by Pollux [Offers to forceher,she draws her knife. '] Hownow! Will Lais turn a Lucrece ? Ful. No, but by Castor, Hold off your ravisher's hands, I pierce your heart else. I'll not be put to kill myself, as she did. For you, sweet Tarquin. What ! do you fall off? Nay, it becomes you grstcionsly ! Put not up. You'n sooner draw your weapon on me, I think it, Than on the senate, who have cast you forth Disgracefully, to be the common tale Of die whole city ; base, infamous man ! For, were you other, you would there employ Your desperate dagger. Cur. Fulvia, you do know The strengths you have upon me : do not use Your power too like a tyrant ; I can bear. Almost until you break me. Ful. I do know, sir. • So does the senate too know, you can bear. Cw. By all the gods, that senate will smart deep For your upbraidings. I should be right sorry To have the means so to be venged on you, At least, the will, as I shall shortly on ijiem. But go you on still : fare you well, dear lady ; You could not still be fair, unless you were proud. You will repent these moods, and ere't be long, too: I shall have you come about again. ■ Ful. Do you think so ? Cur. Yes, and I know so. Ful. By what augury .' Car. By the fair entrails of the matron's chests. Gold, pearl, and jewels here in Rome, which Fulvia Will then, but late, say that she might have shared ; And grieving miss. Ful. Tut, all your promised mountains, And seas, I am so stalely acquainted vrith Cut. But, when you see the universal flood Run by your coffers ; that my lords, the senators, Are sold for slaves, their wives for bondwomen. Their houses, and fine gardens, given away. And all their goods, under the spear at outcry. And you have none of this, but are still Fulvia, Or perhaps less, while you are thinking of it ; You will advise then, coyness with your cushion. And look on your fingers ; say, how you were wish'd — And so he left you. [,Ex!t, Ful. Call him again, Galla : lExit Gaua. This is not usual. Something hangs on this i That I must win out of him. | lU-tnter Cmuns. Cur. How now, melt you ? Ful. Come, you will laugh now, at my easiness : But 'tis no miracle : doves, they say, will bill, After their pecking and their murmuring. Cv/r. Yes, And then 'tis kindly. I would have my love Angry sometimes, to sweeten off the rest Of her behaviour. Ful. You do see, I study How I may please you tiien. — But you think, Curius, 'Tis covetise hath wrought me ; if you love me, Change that unkind conceit. Cur. By my loved soul, I love thee, like to it ; and 'tis my study. More than mine ow^ revenge, to make thee happy. FvL And 'tis that just revenge doth make me happy To hear you prosecute ; and which, indeed, Hath won me to you, more than all the hope Of what can else be promised. I love valour Better than any lady loves her face. Or dressing — ^Uian my self does. Let me grow StiU where I do embrace. But what good means Have you to effect it ? shall I know your project } Cur. Thou shalt, if thou'lt be gracious. Ful. As I can be. Car. And wilt thou kiss me then ? Ful. As close as shells Of cockles meet. Cur. And print them deep ? Ful. Quite through Our subtle lips. Cur. And often ? Ful. I will sow them Faster than you can reap. What is your plot ? Cur. Why now my Fulvia looks like her bright name. And is herself ! Fid. Nay, answer me, your plot : I pray thee till me, Quintus. Cur. Ay, these sounds Become a mistress. Here is harmony ! When you are harsh, I see the way to bend you Is not with violence, but service. Cruel, A lady is a fire ; gentle, a light. Ful. Will you not tell me what I ask you ? ^Kisses andjlattert him along still. Cur. All That I can think, sweet love, or my breast holds, I'll pour into thee. Ful. What is your design then ? Cur. I'll tell thee; Catiline shall now be consul : But you wiU hear more shortly. Ful. Nay, dear love Cur. I'll speak it in thine arms ; let us go in. Rome will be sack'd, her wealth will be our prize ; By public ruin private spirits must rise. (.Sxeum. 282 CATILINE. ACT nz. CHORUS. Great father Mars, and greater Jove, By whose high auspice Kome hath stood So long ; and first was built in blood Of your great nephew, that then strove Not with his brother, but your rites : Be present to her now, as then, And let not proud and factious men Against your wills oppose their mights. Our consuls now are to be inade ; O, put it in the public voice To make a free and worthy choice; Excluding such as would invade The commonwealth. Let whom we name Have wisdom, foresight, fortitude, Be more with faith than face endued. And study conscience above fame. Such as not seek to get the start In state, by power, parts or bribes, Ambition's bawds ; but move the tribes By virtue, modesty, desart. Such as to justice will adhere. Whatever great one it offend : And from th' embraced truth not bend For eovy, hatred, gifts or fear ; That by their deeds will make it known, WliDse dignity they do sustain ; And life, state, glory, all they gain. Count the republic's, not their own. Such the old Bruti, Decii were. The Cipi, Curtii, who did give Themselves for Rome, and would not live As men, good only for a year. Such were the great Camilli too ; The Fabii, Scipios ; that still thought No work at price enough was bought. That for their coimtry they could do. Ajid to her honour so did knit. As all their acts were understood The sinews of the public good ; And they themselves, one soul with it. These men were truly magistrates. These neither practised force nor forma ; Nor did they leave the helm in storms : And such they are make happy states. ACT III. SCENE I.— Th^ Field of Mars. Enter Cicbbo, Cato, Catulus, AiraoNius, Cbasshs, C^sar, Lictors, and People. Cic. Great honours are great burdens, but on whom They are cast with envy, he doth bear two loads. His cares must stiU be double to his joys. In any dignity ; where, if he err, He finds no pardon : and for doing well A most small praise, and that wrung out by force. I speak this, Romans, knowing what the weight Of the high charge, you hare trusted to me, is : Not that thereby I would with art decline The good, or greatness of your benefit ; For I ascribe it to your singular grace, And TOW to owe it to no title else. Except the Gods, that Cicero is your consuL I have no nms, no dusty monuments. No broken images of ancestors, Wanting an ear, or nose ; no forged tables Of long descents, to boast false honours from, Or be my undertakers to your trust ; But a new man, as I am styled in Rome, Whom yon have dignified ; and more, in whom You hare cut a way, and left it ope for virtue Hereafter to that place : which our great men Held, shut np with all ramparts, for themselves. Nor have but few of them in time been made Your consuls, so ; new men, before me, none : At my first suit, in my jnst year ; preferr'd To all competitors .' and some the noblest Cra. [Aside to C^sar.] Now the vein swells 1 Cces. Up, glory. Cic. And to have Your loud consents from your own utter'd voices, Not silent books ; nor from the meaner tribes, But first and last, the universal concourse ! This is my joy, my gladness. But my care, My industry and vigilance now must work. That still your counsels of me be approved. Both by yourselves, and those, to whom you have. With grudge, preferr'd me : Two things I must labour. That neither they upbraid, nor you repent you ; For every lapse of mine will now be call'd Your error, if 1 make such : but my hope is. So to bear through, and out, the consulship, As spite shall ne'er wound you, though it may me. And for myself, I have prepared this strength. To do so well, as, if there happen ill Unto me, it shall make the gods to blush ; And be their crime, not mine, that I am envied. CtBs. O confidence ! more new than is the man. Cic. I know well in what terms I do receive The commonwealth, how vexed, how perplex'd : In which there's not that mischief, or ill fate. That good men fear not, wicked men expect not. I know, besides, some turbulent practices Already on foot, and rumours of more dangers — Cras. Or you wiU make them, if there be none. {_Aside. Cic. Last, I know 'twas this, which made the envy and pride Of the great Roman blood bate, and give way To my election. Cato. Marcus Tullius, true ; Our need made thee our consul, and thy virtue. Ctes. Cato, you will undo him with your praise. Cato. Caesar will hurt himself vrith his own envy. People. The voice of Cato is the voice of Rome. Cato. The voice of Rome is the consent of heaven 1 And that hath placed thee, Cicero, at the helm. Where thou must render now thyself a man. And master of thy art. Each petty hand Can steer a ship becalm'd ; but he that will Govern and carry her to her ends, must know His tides, his currents ; how to shift his sails ; What she will bear in foul, what in fair weathers ; Where her springs are, her leaks; and how to stop 'em; What sands, what shelves, what rocks do threaten her; The forces and the natures of all winds. SCENE I. CATILINE. ana Gusts, storms, and tempests ; when her keel ploughs hell, And deck knocks heaven ; then to manage her. Becomes the name and ofSce of a pilot. Cic. Which I'll perform with all the diligence And fortitude I have ; not for my year, But for my life ; except my life be less, And that my year conclude it ; if it must. Your will, loved gods. This heart shall yet employ A day, an hour is left me, so for Rome, As it shall spring a life out of my death, To shine for ever glorious in my facts : The vicious count their years, virtuous their acts. People. Host noble consul ! let us wait him home. [£:reunt Cato, Cicbro, Lictors, and People. C Swim to my ends through blood ; or build a bridge \ Of carcasses ; make on upon the heads t Of men struck down like piles, to reach the lives Of those remain and stand : then is't a prey. When danger stops, and ruin makes the way. Cat. How thou dost utter me, brave soul, that may not At all times shew such as 1 am, but bend Unto occasion ! Lentulus, this man, if all our fire were out, would fetch down new, Out of the hand of Jove ; and rivet him To Caucasus, should he but frown ; and let His owa gaunt eagle fiy at him, to tire. Len. Peace, here comes Cato. Cat. Let him come, and hear ; I will no more dissemble. Quit us all ; I, and my loved Cethegus here, alone Will undertake this giants' war, and carry it Re-enter Cato. Len. What needs this, Lucius ? Lon. Sergius, be more wary. Cat. Now, Marcus Cato, our new consul's spy, What is your sour austerity sent to explore ? Cato. Nothing in thee, licentious Catiline ; Halters and racks cannot express &om thee More than thy deeds : 'tis only judgment waits thee. Cat. Whose? Cato's! shall he judge me.' Cato. No, the gods, Wbo ever follow those, they go not with ; And senate, who with fire must purge sick Rome Of noisome citizens, whereof thou art one. Be gone, or else let me. 'Tis bane to draw The same air with thee. Cet. Strike him. Len. Hold, good Cains. Cet. Fear'st thou not, Cato ? Cato. Rash Cethegus, no. 'Twere wrong with Rome, when Catiline and thou Do threat, if Cato fear'd. Cat. The fire you speak of. If any flame of it approach my fortunes, I'll quench it not with water, but with ruin. Cato. You hear this, Romans. lExit. Cat. Bear it to the consul. Cet. I would have sent away his soul before him. You are too heavy, Lentulus, and remiss ; It is for you we labour, and the kingdom Promised you by the Sybils. Cat. Which his prsetorship. And some small flattery of the senate more, WiU make him to forget. Len. You wrong me, Lucius. Lon. He will not need these spurs. Cet. The action needs them ; These things, when they proceed not, they go Len. Let us consult then. [backward, Cet. Let us first take arms : They that deny us just things now, will give All that we ask, if once they see our swords. Cat. Our objects must be sought with wounds,, not words. lExeunt. SCENE II.— CibERo's House. Enter Cicero and Fulvia. Cic. Is there; a heaven, and gods ? and can it be They should so slowly hear, so slowly see ! Hath Jove no thunder, or is Jove become Stupid as thou art, near-wretched Rome, When both thy senate and thy gods do sleep. And neither thine, nor their own states do keep ! What will awake thee, heaven ? what can excite Thine anger, if this practice be too light ? His former drifts partake of former times. But this last plot was only Catiline's ; O, that it were his last ! but he before Hath safely done so much, he'll still dare more. Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back ; And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put ofi' ; being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforcetli All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, And offereth violence to nature's self. But here is that transcends it ! A black purpose To confound nature ; and to ruin that. Which never age nor mankind can repair ! — Sit dovm, good lady ; Cicero is lost In this your fable : for, to think it true Tempteth my reason, it so far exceeds AU insolent fictions of the tragic scene t The common-wealth yet panting underneath The stripes and wounds of a late civil war. Gasping for life, and scarce restored to hope ; To seek t' oppress her with new cruelty, A And utterly extinguish her long name, \ With so prodigious and unheard of fierceness ! V What sink of monsters, wretches of lost minds*-^ Mad after change, and desperate in their states', Wearied and gall'd with their necessities. For all this I allow them, durst have thought it? Would not the barbarous deeds have been believed, Of Marius and Sylla, by our children. Without this fact had risse forth greater for them .' All that they did was piety to this ! They yet but murder'd kinsfolk, brothers, parents, Ravish'd the virgins, and perhaps some matrons ; They left the city standing, and the temples : The gods and majesty of Rome were safe yet ! — These purpose to fire it, to despoil them, (Beyond tie other evils) and lay waste The far triiimphed world : for, unto whom Rome is too little, what can be enough ? Fill. 'Tis true, my lord, I had the same dis- course. Cio. And then, to take a horrid sacrament In human blood, for execution Of this their dire design ; which might be call'd • The height of vrickedness : butthatthat was higher For which they did it t CATILINE. '286 Ful. I assure your lordship, The extreme horror of it almost tum'd me To air, when first I heard it ; I was all A vapour when 'twas told me, and I long'd To vent it any where : 'twas such a secret, I thought it would have burnt me up. do. Good Fulvia, Fear not your act ; and less repent you of it. Ful. I do not, my good lord ; I know to whom I've utter'd it. Cic. You have discharged it safely. Should Rome, for whom you've done the happy service. Turn most ingrate, yet were your virtue paid In conscience of the fact : so much good deeds Reward themselves ! - Ful. My lord, I did it not To any other aim but for itself ; ': To no ambition. ' Cic. You have leam'd the diflFerence Of doing office to the public weal. And private friendship : and have shewn it, lady. Be still your self. I have sent for Quintus Curius, And for your virtuous sake, if I can win him Yet to the commonwealth, he shall be safe too. Ful. I'll undertake, my lord, he shall be won. Cic. Pray you join with me then, and help to work him. Enter a Lictor. Cic. How now ! Is he come ? Xict. He's here, my lord. Cic. Go presently. Pray my colleague Antonius I may speak wi& him, About some present business of the state ; And, as you go, call on my brother Quintus, And pray him, with the tribunes, to come to me. Bid Curius enter. [Exit Lict.] — Fulvia, you will Ful. It is my duty. [md me ? Enter CfjBius. Cic. O, my noble lord ! 1 have to chide you, i'faith. Give me your hand, — Nay, be not troubled; it shall be gentiy, Curius. You look upon this lady ? what ! do you guess My businessjiSt ? come, if you frown, I thunder ; Therefore put on your better looks and thoughts : There's nought but fair and good intended to you ; And I would make those your complexion. Would you, of whom the senate had that hope As, on my knowledge, it was in their purpose. Next sitting to restore you, as they had done The stupid and ungrateful Lentulus, — Excuse me, that I name you thus together. For yet you are not such — would you, I say, A person both of blood and honour, stock'd In a long race of virtuous ancestors. Embark your self for such a hellish action. With parricides and traitors, men tum'd furies. Out of the waste and ruin of their fortunes ? (For 'tis despair that is the mother of madness,) Such as want that, which all conspirators. But they, have first, mere colour for their mischief? 0, 1 must blush with you. Come, you shall not labour To extenuate your guilt, but quit it clean : Bad men excuse their faults, good men will leave them. / He acts the third cidme that defends the first. j ,Here is a lady that hath got the start Cin piety of us all, and for whose virtue I could almost turn lover again, but that Terentia would be jealous. What an honour Hath she achieved to herself! what voices. Titles, and loud applauses will pursue her Through every street ! what windows will be fill'd. To shoot eyes at her! what envy and grief in matrons. They are- not she, when this her act shall seem Worthier a chariot, than if Pompey came With Asia chain'd ! aU this is, while she lives ; But dead, her very name will be a statue, Not wrought for time, but rooted in the minds Of all posterity ; when brass and marble. Ay, and the Capitol itself is dust I Ful. Your honour thinks too highly of me. Cic. No; I cannot think enough, and I would have Him emulate you. 'Tis no shame to follow The better precedent. She shews you, Curius, What claim your country lays to you, and what You owe to it : be not afraid to break [duty With murderers and traitors, for the saving A life so near and necessary to you. As is your country's. Think but on her right No cluld can be too natural to his parent : She is our common mother, and doth challenge The prime part of us ; do not stop, but give it. He that is void of fear, may soon be just ; And no religion binds men to be traitors. Fal. My lord, he understands it, and will follow Your saving counsel ; but his shame yet stays him. I know that he is coming. Cur- Do you know it ? Ful. Yes ; let me speak with you. [^Takes him aside. Cur. 0, you are Ful. What am I ? Cur. Speak not so loud. ' Ful. I am what you should be. [^Lowering Act voice. Come, do you think I'd walk in any plot Where madam Sempronia should take place of me. And Fulvia come in the rear, or on the by ? That I would be her second in a business, Though it might vantage me aU the sun sees ? It was a silly phant'sy of yours. Apply Yourself to me and the consul, and be wise ; Follow the fortune I have put you into : You may be something this way, and with safety Cic. Nay, I must tolerate no whisperings, lady. Ful. Sir, you may hear : I tell him in the way Wherein he was, how hazardous his course was. Cic. How hazardous ! how certain to all ruin. Sid he, or do yet any of them imagine The gods would sleep to such a Stygian practice. Against that commonwealth which they have founded With so much labour, and like care have kept, Now near seven hundred years .' It is a madnesSj Wherewith heaven blinds them, when it would confound them. That they should think it. Come, my Curius, I see your nature's right ; you shall no more Be mention'd with them : I will call you mine. And trouble this good shame no farther. Stand Firm for your country, and become a man Honour'd and loved : it were a noble life. To be found dead, embracing her. Know yon What thanks, what titles, what rewards the senate Will heap upon you, certain, for your service ? 286 CATILnSTE. ACT m. Let not a desperate action more engage you, Thau safety should ; and wicked friendship force, What honesty and virtue cannot work. Ful He tells you right, sweet friend: 'tis saving counsel. Cur. Most noble consul, I am yours and hers, I mean my country's ; you have form'd me new, Inspiring me with what I should be truly : And I entreat, my faith may not seem cheaper For springing out of penitence. Cia. Good Curius, It shall be dearer rather ; and because I'd make it such, hear how I trust you more. Keep stiU your former face, and mix again With these lost spirits ; run all their mazes with them ; For such are treasons : find their windings out, And subtle turnings ; watch their snaky ways. Through brakes and hedges, into woods of dark- ness Where they are fain to creep upon their breasts In paths ne'er trod by men, but wolves and panthers. Learn, beside Catiline, Lentulus, and those Whose names X have, what new ones they draw in ; Who else are likely ; what those great ones are They do not name ; what ways they mean to take ; And whether their hopes point to war, or ruin By some surprise. Explore all their intents ; And what you find may profit the republic, Acquaint me with it, either by your self, Or this youi" virtuous friend, on whom I lay The care of urging you : I'll see that Rome Shall prove a thankful and a bounteous mother. Be secret as the night. Cur. And constant, sir. Cic. I do not doubt it, though the time cut off All vows : The dignity of truth is lost With much protesting. Who is there .' Enter a Servant, This way. Lest you be seen and met. And when you come, Be this your token {whispers with him.J to this fellow. Light them. ^Exit Servant with Cub. and Fulvia. Rome, in what a sickness art thou fallen ! How dangerous and deadly, when thy head Is drown'd in sleep, and all thy body fevery ! No noise, no pulling, no vexation wakes thee, Thy lethargy is such : or if, by chance, Thou heav'st thy eye-lids up, thou dost forget. Sooner than thou wert told, thy proper danger. 1 did unreverently to blame the gods, Who wake for thee, though thou snore to thy self. Is it not strange thou should'st be so diseased. And so secure ? but more, that the first symptoms Of such a malady should not rise out From any worthy member, but a base And common strumpet, worthless to be named A hair, or part of thee 1 Think, think, hereafter. What thy needs were, when thou must use such means; And lay it to thy breast, how much the gods Upbraid thy foul neglect of them, by making So vUe a thing the author of thy safety. They could have wrought by nobler ways, have struck Thy foes with forked lightning, or ramm'd thunder ; Thrown hills upon them in the act ; have sent Death, like a damp, to all their families ; Or caus'd their consciences to burst them : but When they vrill shew thee what thou, art, and make A scornful difference 'twixt their power and thee. They help thee by such aids as geese and harlots^^ Re-enter Lictor. How now, what answer ? is he come .' Lid. Your brother Will straight be here, and your colleague, Antonius, Said coldly he would follow me. iExit. Cic. Ay, that Troubles me somewhat, and is worth my fear. He is a man 'gainst whom I must provide, That, as he'll do no good, he do no harm. He, though he be not of the plot, will like it, And wish it should proceed ; for, unto men Prest with their wants, all change is ever welcome, I must with offices and patience win him. Make him by art that which he is not born, A friend unto the public, and bestow The province on him, which is by the senate Decreed to me ; that benefit will bind him : 'Tis well) if some men will do well for price; So few are virtuous when the reward's away. Nor must I be unmindful of my private ; For which I have call'd my brother and the tri- bunes, My kinsfolks, and my clients, to be near me. He that stands Up 'gainst traitors, and their ends, ShaU need a double guard, of law, and friends Especially in such an envious state, That sooner will accuse the magistrate. Than the delinquent ; and will rather grieve The treason is not acted, than believe. lExiL SCENE lU.—A Room in CiTiline's House. Enter C^sAjt and CAiivms. C(BS. The night grows on, and you are for your meeting ; I'll therefore end in few. Be resolute. And put your enterprise in act. The more Actions of depth and danger are consider'd, The less assuredly they are perform'd : And thence it happeneth, that the bravest plots. Not executed straight, have been discover'd. Say, you are constant, or another, a third. Or more ; there may be yet one wretched spirit, With whom the fear of punishment shall work 'Bove all the thoughts of honour and revenge. You are not now to think what's best to do, As in beginnings, but what must be done. Being thus enter' d ; and slip no advantage That may secure you. Let them call it mischief ; When it is past, and prosper' d, 'twill be virtue. They're petty crimes are punish' d, great rewarded. Nor must you think of peril, since attempts Begun with danger, still do end with glory ; And, when need spurs, despair will be call'd wisdom. Less ought the care of men, or fame to fright you ; For they that win, do seldom receive shame Of victory, howe'er it be achieved j And vengeance, least: for who, besieged with wants, Would stop at death, or anything beyond it? Come, there was never Jiny great thing yet Aspired, but by violence or fraud : SCENE III. CATILINE. 287 And he that sticks for folly of a conscience To reach it Cat. Is a good religious fool. CtBs. A superstitious slave, and will die beast. Good night. You know what Crassus thinks, and By this. Prepare your wings as large as sails, [I, To cut through air, and leave no print behind you. A serpent, ere he comes to be a dragon, Does eat a bat ; and so must yon a consul, Tliat watches. What you do, do quickly, Sergius. {_Ooinff, You shall not stir for me. Cat. Excuse me. — Lights there ! Ctss. By no means. Cat. Stay then. AH good thoughts to Ctesar, And like to Crassus. Cas. Mind but your friends' counsels. lExiL Cat. Or I will beeir no mind Enter Adiueua. How now, Aurelia ! Are your confederates come, the ladies ? Aur. Yes. Cat. And is Sempronia there ? Aur. She is. Cat. That's well. She has a sulphurous spirit, and will take Light at a spark. Break with them, gentle love, About the drawing as many of their husbands Into the plot, as can ; if not, to rid them : That will be the easier practice unto some, Who have been tired with them long. Solicit Their aids for money, and their servants' help, In firing of the city at the time Shall be design'd. Promise them states and empires, And men for lovers, made of better clay Than ever the old potter Titan knew. Enter LzccA. Who's that? O, Porcius Lecca! Are they met? Lee. They are all here. Cat. Love, you have your instructions i 111 trust you with the stuff yon have to work on. You'll form it ! [Exit Aubelia.] Porcius, fetch the silver eagle I gave you in charge ; and pray 'era they will enter. iEmt LsncA. Enter Cbthegits, Curius, Lentulus, Vargtjnteids, Lon- OnTDS, GABINIUS, CfPARlUS, AUTROmUS, ^c. Cat. O friends, your faces glad me ! This will Our last, I hope, of consultation. [be Cet. So it had need. Cwr. We lose occasion daily. Cat. Ay, and our means ; whereof one wounds me most That was the fairest : Fiso is dead in Spain. Cet. As we are here. Lon. And, as 'tis thought, by envy Of Pompey's followers. Len. He too's coming back. Now, out of Asia. Cat. Therefore, what we intend We must be s?rift in. Take your seats, and hear. I have already sent Septimius Into the Picene territory, and Julius, To raise force for us in Apulia ; Manlins, at Fesulae is by this time up, With the old needy troops that follow'd Sylla : And all do but expect when we will give The blow at home. Reenter P; Lbcca ««"(» the eagle. Behold this silver eagle, Twas Manns' standard in the Cimbrian war, Fatal to Rome ; and as our augurs tell me. Shall still be so : for which one ominous cause, I've kept it safe, and done it sacred rites, As to a godhead, in a chapel built Of purpose to it. Pledge then all your hands, To follow it with vows of death and ruin, , Struck silently and home. So waters speak When they run deepest. Now's the time, this year, The twentieth from the firing of the Capitol, As fatal too to Rome, by all predictions ; And in which honour'd Lentulus must rise A king, if he pursue it Cwr. If he do not. He is not worthy the great destiny. Len. It is too great for me ; but what the gods And their great loves decree me, I must not Seem careless of. Cat. No, nor we envious, We have enough beside ; all Gallia, Belgia, Greece, Spain and Africk. Cur. Ay, and Asia too. Now Pompey is returning. Cat. Noblest Romans, Methinks our looks are not so quick and high. As they were wont. Cur. No ! whose is not ? Cat. We have No anger in our eyes, no storm, no lightning: Our hate is spent, and filmed away in vapour. Before our hands be at work :■! can accuse Not any one, but all, of slackness. Cet. Yes, And be yourself such, while you do it Cat. Ha! 'Tis sharply answer'd, Caius. Cet. Truly, truly. Len. Come, let us each one know his part to do, And then be accused. Leave these untimely quarrels. Cur. I would there were more Romes than one Cet. More Romes ! more worlds, [to ruin 1 Cur. Nay then, more gods and natures, If they took part. Len. When shall the time be first ?" Cat. I think, the Saturnals ! Cet. 'TwiU be too long. Cat. They are not now far off, 'tis not a month. Cet. A week, a day, an hour is too far off: Now were the fittest time. Cat. We have not laid AU things so safe and ready. Cet. While we are laying. We shall all lie and grow to earth. Would I Were nothing in it, if not now : these things, They should be done, ere thought. Cat. Nay, now your reason Forsakes you, Caius. Think but what commodity That time will minister ; the city's custom Of being then in mirth and feast Len. Loos'd whole In pleasure and security Aut. Each house Resolved in freedom Cur. Every slave a master Lon. And they too no mean aid o Cur. Made irom their hope Of liberty Len. Or hate unto their lords. 288 CATILINE. Var. 'Tis sure, there cannot be a time found More apt and natural. [out Len. Nay, good Ceihegns, Why do your passions now disturb our hopes ? Cet. Why do your hopes delude your cer^nties ? Cat. You must lend him his way. \_Aside to Lentulus.] Think for the order, And process of it. Lon. Yes. Len. I like not fire, 'Twill too much waste my city. Cat. Were it embers, There will be wealth enough raked out of them, To spring a new. It must be fire, or nothing. Lon. What else should fright or terrify them ? f Var. True. In that confusion must be the chief slaughter. J - Cur. Then we shall kill them bravest. Cep. And in heaps. Aut. Strew sacrifices. Cur. Make the earth an altar. Lon. And Rome the fire. Lee. 'Twill be a noble night. Var. And worth all Sylla's days. Cur. When husbands, wives, Grandsires, and nephews, servants, and their lords, Virgins, and priests, the infant and the nurse, Go all to hell together in a fleet. Cat. I would have you, Longinus and Statilius, To take the charge o' the firing, which must be. At a sign given with a trumpet, done In twelve chief places of the city at once. The flax and sulphur are already laid In, at Cethegus' house ; so are the weapons. Gabinius, you, with other force, shall stop The pipes and conduits, and kill &ose that come For water. Cur. What shall I do ? Cat. All will have Employment, fear not : ply the execution. Cur. For that, trust me and Cethegus. Cat. I will be At hand with the army, to meet those that scape : And, Lentulus, begirt you Pompey's house, To seize his sons sdive ; for they are they Must make our peace with him : all else cut off, As Tarquin did the poppy-heads, or mowers A field of thistles ; or else, np, as ploughs Do barren lands, and strike together flints And clods, th' ungrateful senate and the people ; Till no rage gone before, or coming after. May weigh with yours, though horror leap'd herself Into the scale : but, in your violent acts, The fall of torrents and the noise of tempests, The boiling of Charybdis, the sea's wildness, The eating force of flames, and wings of winds. Be all out-wrought by your transcendant furies. It had been done ere this, had I been consul ; We had had no stop, no let. Len. How find you Antonius ? Cat. The other has won him, — lost : that Cicero Was born to be my opposition, v,And stands in all our ways. ^ Cur. Remove him first. Cet. May that yet be done sooner .' Cat. Would it were done. Cur. Var. I'll do't. Cet. It is my province ; none usurp it. Len. What are your means ? Cet. Enquire not. He shall die. Shall, was too slowly said ; he's dying : that Is yet too slow ; he's dead. Cat. Brave, only Roman, Whose soul might be the world's soul, were that dying; Refuse not yet the aids of these your friends. Len. Here's Vargunteius holds good quarter with Cat. And under the pretext of clientele [him. And visitation, with the morning hail, Will be admitted. Cet. What is that to me? Var. Yes, we may kill him in his bed, and safely. Cet. Safe is your way then, take it: mine's mine own. lExU. Cat. Follow him, Vargunteius, and persuade, The morning is the fittest time. Lon. The night Will turn all into tnmulti Len. And perhaps Miss of him too. Cat. Entreat and conjure him In all our niiiaes — ' — Len. By all our vows and friendships. lExit VAnauNTErcs. Enter Sempronia, Aurblia, and Folvta. Sem. What! is our council broke up first ? Aur. You say. Women are greatest talkers. [ Whispers with Cat. while Fui« Cakes Cub. aside, Sem. We have done, ' And are now fit for action. Lon. Which is passion ; Therei is your best activity, lady. Sem. How Knows your wise fatness that .' Lon. Your mother's daughter Did teach me, madam. Cat, Come, Sempronia, leave him ; He ia a giber, and our present busiaess Is of more serious consequence. Aurelia Tells me, you've done most masculinely within, And play'd the orator. Sem. But we must hasten To our design as well, and execute ; Not hang still in the fever of an accident. Cat. You say well, lady. Sem. I do like our plot Exceeding well ; 'tis sure, and we shall leave Little to fortune in it. Cat. Your banquet stays. Avu-elia, take her in. Where's Fulvia ? Sem. 0, the two lovers are coupling. Cur. In good faith, She's very ill with sitting up. Sem. You'd have her Laugh, and lie down. Ful. No, faith, Sempronia, I am not well ; I'll take my leave, it draws Toward the morning. Curius shall stay with you. Madam, I pray you pardon me ; my health I must respect. Aur. Farewell, good Fulvia. Cur. [Aside to Fulvia.] Make haste, and bid him get his guards about him ; For Vargunteius and Cornelius Have underta'en it, should Cethegus miss : Their reason, that they think his open rashness Will suffer easier discovery Than their attempt, so veiled under &iendshi.. rniBMB V. CATILINE. 28U I'D bring you to your coach. Tell him, beside, Of Csesar's coming forth here. Cat. My sweet madam, Will you be gone ? Pul. I am, my lord, in truth,. In some indisposition. Cat. I do wish You had all your health, sweet lady. Lentulus, You'll do her service. Len. To her coach, — and duty. lExeunt all l>ni Catilikb. Cat. What ministers men must for practice use. The rash, the ambitious, needy, desperate. Foolish and wretched, e'en the dregs of mankind. To whores and women 1 still it must be so. Each have their proper place, and in their rooms They are the best. Grooms fittest kindle fires, Slaves carry burdens, butchers are for slaughters, Apothecaries, butlers, cooks, for poisons ; As these for me : dull stupid Leutulus, My stale, with whom I stalk ; the rash Cethegus, My executioner ; and fat Longinus, Statilius, Curias, Ceparius, Cimber, My labourers, pioneers, and incendiaries : With these domestic traitors, bosom thieves. Whom custom hath caU'd wives : the readiest helps ^To strangle headstrong husbands, rob the easy, LAnd lend the moneys on returns of lust. Shall Catiline not do now, with these aids. So sought, so sorted, something shall be call'd Their labour, but his profit ? and make Caesar Repent his venturing counsels to a spirit So much his lord in mischief.' when all these Shall, like the brethren sprung of dragons' teeth. Ruin- each other, and he fall amongst them. With Crassus, Pompey, or who else appears But like, or near a great one. May my brain Resolve to water, and my blood turn phlegm, My hands drop off tinworthy of my sword, And that be inspired of itself to rip My breast for my lost entrails, when I leave A soul that will not serve ; and who will, are The same with slaves, such clay I dare not fear. The ccuelty I mean to act, I wish Should be call'd mine, and tarry in my name ; Whilst after-ages do toil out themselves In thinking for the like, but do it less : And were ihe power of all the fiends let loose. With fate to boot, it should be still example. When, what the Gaul or Moor could not effect. Nor emulous Carthage, with their length of spight. Shall be the work of one, and that my night. iExit. SCENE IV A Boom in Cicero's House. Enter Cicero, FuIiVfa, and Attendant. Cie. I thank your vigilance. Where's my bro- ther Quiutus ? CaU all my servants up! [J?;rj7 Attendant.], Tell noble Curius, And say it to yourself, you are my savers : But that's too little for you ; you are Rome's, What could I then hope less ? Enter Quzntus Cicsito. O brother 1 now 'The enginers I told you of are working. The machine 'gins to move. Where are your wea- Arm allmy household presently, and charge [pons ? The porter, he let no man in till day. Qui. Not clients, and your friends ? Cic. They wear those names. That come to murder me. Yet send for Cato, And Quintus Catulus ; those 1 dare trust ; And Flaccns and Pomptiuius, the prsetors. By the back way. Qui. Take care, good brother Marcus, Your fears be not form'd greater than they should ; And make your friends grieve, while your enemies laugh. Cic. 'Tis brother's counsel, and worth thanks. But do As I entreat you. [£xi< ftciNTUs.] I provide, not Was Caesar there, say you? [fear. — Ful, Curius says he met him Coming from thence. Cic. O, so. And had you a council Of ladies too ? who was your speaker, madam ? Ful. She that would be, had there been forty more ; Sempronia, who had both her Greek and figures, And ever and anon vjould ask us, if The witty consul could have mended that, Or orator Cicero could have said it betfer? Cie. She is my gentle enemy. Would Cethegus Had no more danger in him I But my guards Are you, great Powers, and the unbated strengths Of a firm conscience, which shall arm each step Ta'en for the state ! and teach me slack no pace For fear of malice. Jte-enter Quintus. How now, brother? Qui. Cato, And Quintus Catulus were coming to yon, Ahd Crassus with them. I have let them in By the garden. Cie. What would Crassus have ? Qui. I hear Some whispering 'bout the gate, and making doubt Whether it be not yet too early or no ? But I do think, they are your friends and clients. Are fearful to disturb you. Cic. You will change To another thought anon. Have you given the The charge I will'd you ? [porter Qui. Yes. Cic. Withdraw and hearken. iExeunt. SCENE \.—The Street before Cicero's House. Enter Yarountsius and Cornelius, with armed men, Varg. The door's not open yet. Cor. You were best to knock. Varg. Let them stand close then ; and, when we are in, Rush after us. Cor. But Where's Cethegus .' Var.. He Has left it, since he might not do't his way. [Knockt, For. [within ] Who's there ? Var. A friend, or more. For. [within.'] I may not let Any man in, till day. Var. No ! why .' Cor. Thy reason? For. [within.1 I am commanded so. Var. By whom ? Cor. I hope W e are not discover' d. ^ 290 CATILINE. Var. Yes, by revelation ! — Pray thee, good slave, who has commanded thee ? For. lioithin.'j He that may best, the consvd. Var. We are his friends. Por. [within.] All's one. Cor. Best give your name. Vur. Dost thou hear, fellow ? I have some instant business with the consul. My name is Vargunteius. Cic. {^appears at the window abovey with Cato, Catulus, and Ckasscs.] "True, he knows it. And for what friendly office you etre sent. Cornelius too is there — Var. We are betray'd. Cic. And desperate Cethegus, is he not ? Var. Speak you, he knows my voice. Cic. What say you to't .' Cor. You are deceived, sir. Cic. No, 'tis you are so ; Poor misled men. Your states are yet worth pity, If you would hear, and change your savage minds. Leave to be mad ; forsake your purposes Of treason, rapine, murder, fire, and horror: The commonwealth hath eyes that wake as sharply Oyer her life, as yours do for her ruin. Be not deceived, to think her lenity Will be perpetual ; or, if men be wanting, The gods will be to such a calling cause. Consider your attempts, and while there's time. Repent you of them. It doth make me tremble. There should those spirits yet breathe, that when they cannot Live honestly, would rather perish basely. Cato. You talk too much to 'em, Marcus ; they Go forth, and apprehend them. [are lost : Catu. If you prove This practice, what should let the commonwealth To take due vengeance ? Var. Let us shift away ! The darkness hath conceal'd us yet. We'll say. Some have abus'd our names. Cor. Deny it all. ZSxeunt below. Cato. Quintus, what guards have you ? call the tribunes' aid. And raise the city. Consul, you are too mild. The foulness of some facts takes thence all inercy ; Report it to the senate. [/< thunders and lightens violently on a sudden.] Hear ! the gods Grow angry vrith your patience. 'Tis their care. And must be yours, that guilty men escape not : As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself. {Exeunt above. CHOKUS. What is it, heavena, you prepare With so much swiftness, and so sudden rising ? There are no eons of earth that dare, Again, rebellion ? or the gods' surprising ? The world doth shaliie, and- nature fears ; Yet is the tumult and the horror greater Within our minds, than in our ears ; So much Home's faults (now grown her fate) do threat her. The priests and people run about. Each order, age, and sex amazfd at other ; And at the ports all thronging out. As if their safety were to quit their mother : Yet find they the same dangers there, From which they maJse such haste to be preserved : For guilty states do ever bear The plagues about them which they have deseived. And till those plagues do get above The mountain of our faults, and there do sit. We see them not : thus stiU we love ,, Th' evil we do, until we suflFer it. :' ) But most ambition, that near vice To virtue, hath the fate of Rome provoked ; And made that now Rome's self ['s^ no price To free her from the death wherewith she's yoked. That restless iU that still doth build Upon success, and ends not in aspiring : But there begins ; and ne'er is flll'd While ought remains that seems but worth desiring. Wherein the thought, unlike the eye. To which things fax seem smaller than they are. Deems all contentment placed on high ; And thinks there's nothing great but what is far. O, that in time Rome did not cast Her errors up this fortime to prevent ! To have seen her crimes ere they were past. And felt her faults before her punishment. ACT IV. SCENE l.—A Street at the foot of the Capitol. {The Storm continued."] Enter the Allobrogian Ambassadors. Divers Senators pass by them, quaking and trembling. 1 Am. Can these men fear, who are not only ours, But the world's masters ! Then I see the Gods Upbraid our suffrings, or would humble them, By sending these affrights while we are here ; That we might laugh at their ridicvJous fear. Whose names we trembled at beyond the Alps. Of all that pass, I do not see a face Worthy a man ; that dares look up and stand One thunder out : but downward all, like beasts. Running away from every flash is made. The falling world could not deserve such baseness. Are we employed here by our miseries. Like superstitions fools, or rather slaves. To plain our griefs, wrongs, and oppressions, To a mere clothed senate, whom our folly Hath made, and still intends to keep, our tyrants ? It is our base petitionary breath That blows them to this greatness ; which this prick {Points to his sword. Would soon let out, if we were bold and wretched. When they have taken all we have, our goods. Crop, lands and houses, they will leave us this : A weapon and an arm will still be found. Though naked left, and lower than the ground. Enter Cato, Catulus, and Cicero. Cato. Do ; urge thine anger still, good heaven and just ! Tell guilty men what powers are above them. In such a confidence of wickedness, 'Twas time they should know something fit to fear. Catu. I never saw a morn more full of horror; SCENE II. CATILINE. 291 Cato. To Catiline and his : but to just men, Though heaven should speak with all his wrath at once, That with his breath the hinges of the world Did crack, we should stand upright and unfear'd. Cic. Why so we do, good Cato. Who be these? Catu. Ambassadors from the Allobroges, I take them, by their habits. 1 Am. Ay, these men Seem of another race ; let's sue to these. There's hope of justice with their fortitude. Cic. Friends of the senate and of Rome, to-day We pray yon to forbear us : on the morrow. What suit you have, let us, by Fabius Sanga, Whose patronage your state doth use, but know it. And on the consul's word, you shall receive Dispatch, or else an answer worth your patience. 2 Am. We could not hope for more, most worthy consul. ^Exeunt Cato, Catdlbs, and CrcsRO. This magistrate hath struck an awe into me. And by his sweetness won a more regard Unto his place, than all the boist'rous moods- That ignorant greatness practiseth, to fill . , The large, unfit authority it wears. VHow easy is a noble spirit discern'd jfFrom harsh and sulphurous mattery that flies out In contumelies, makes a noise, and stinks ! May we find good and great men : that know how To stoop to wants and meet necessities, And will not turn from any equal suits ! Such men, they do not succour more the cause They undertake with favour and success. Than by it their own judgments they do raise, In turning just men's needs into their praise. \Exeuni. ♦ — SCENE II. — The Temple of Jupiter Slator. Enter Cicebo, Antowids, Cato, Catulus, Cesar, Ckassos, and many other Senators, Fr^tor, Officers, 4-c. Pra. Room for the consuls I Fathers, take your places. Here in the house of Jupiter the Stayer, By edict from the consul, Marcus Tullius, You're met, a frequent senate. Hear him speak. Cic. What may be happy and auspicious still To Rome and hers ! HonoTir'd and conscript fibers. If I were silent, and that all the dangers Threat'ning the state and you, were yet so bid In night, or darkness thicker in their breasts, That are the black contrivers, so that no Beam of the light could pierce them ; yet the voice Of heaven, this morning hath spoke loud enough T' instruct you with a feeling of the horror. And wake you from a sleep as stark as death. I have of late spoke often in this senate Touching this argument, but still have wanted Either your ears or faith ; so incredible Their plots liave seem'd, or I so vain, to make These things for mine own glory and fsJse greatness, As hath been given out. Bnt be it so. When they break forth, and shall declare them- selves By their too foul effects, then, then the envy Of my just cares will find another name. For me, I am but one, and this poor life, So lately aim'd at, not an hour yet since, They cannot with more eagerness pursue, Than I with gladness would lay down and lose To buy Rome's peace, if that would purchase it. But when I see they'd make it but the step To more and greater ; unto yours, Rome's, all ; I would with those preserve it, or then fall. Cas. Ay, ay, let you alone, cunning artificer ! See how his gorget peers above his gown. To tell the people in what danger he was. It was absurdly done of Vargunteius, To name himself before he was got in. \,Aside to Crassus. Cras. It matters not, so they deny it all : And can but carry the lie constantly. Will Catiline be here ? CtBs. I have sent for him. Crai. And have you bid him to be confident ? Cas. To that his own necessity will prompt him. Crai. Seem to believe nothing at all that Cicero Relates us. Caa. It will mad him. Cras. O, and help The other party. Enter CI. CicEBOi with t%e Tribunes and Guards. Who is that, his brother ? What new intelligence has he brought him now ? C^s. Some cautions from his wife, how to behave him, Cie. Place some of them without, and some bring in. ■phank their kind loves : it is a comfort yet, That all depart not from their country's cause. Cas. How nowj what means this muster, consul Antonius ? Ant. I do not know ; ask my coUeagne, he'll tell you. There is some reason in state that I must yield to. And I have promised him ; indeed he has bought it, With giving me the province. Cic. I profess. It grieves me, fathers, that I am compell'd To draw these arms, and aids for your defence ; And more, against a citizen of Rome, Born here amongst you, a patrician, A man, I must confess, of no mean house. Nor no small virtue, if he had employ'd Those excellent gifts of fortune and of nature. Unto the good, not ruin of the state. But being bred in his father's needy fortunes. Brought up in his sister's prostitution, Confirm'd in civil slaughter, entering first The commonwealth with murder of the gentry ; Since, both by study and custom conversant With all licentiousness, what could be hoped In such a field of riot, but a course Extreme permcious ? though I must protest, I found his mischiefs sooner with mine eyes Than with my thought ; and with these hands of Before they touch'd at my suspicion. [mine, Ctes, What are his mischiefs, consul? you declaim Against his manners, and corrupt your own : No wise maA should, for hate of guilty men. Lose his own innocence. Cic. The noble Caesar Speaks god-like truth. But when he hears I can Convince him, by his manners, of his mischiefs, He might be silent ; and not cast away ^ ^ 292 CATILINE. ACT IV. Ills sentences in vain, where they scarce look Toward his subject. Enter Catiline, and sits down by Cato, who quits his place. Cato. Here he comes himself- If he be worthy any good man's voice, That good man sit down by him : Cato will not. Catu. If Cato leave him, I'll not keep aside. IRises. Cat. What face is this the senate here puts on Against me, fathers ? give my modesty Leave to demand the cause of so much strange- ness. CcBS. It is reported here, you are the head To a strange faction, Lucius. Cic. Ay, and will Be proved against him. Cat. Let it be. Why, consul. If in the commonwealth there be two bodies. One lean, weak, rotten, and that hath a head, The other strong and healthful, but hath none ; If I do give it one, do I offend ? Restore your selves unto your temper, fathers, And, without perturbation, hear me speak. Remember who I am, and of what place. What petty fellow this is that opposes ; One that hath exercised his eloquence Still to the bane of the nobility, A boasting, insolent tongue-man ! — Cato. Peace, lewd traitor, Or wash thy mouth. He is an honest man, And loves his country ; would thou didst so too. Cat. Cato, you are too zealous for him. Cato. No ; Thou art too impudent. Catu. Catiliue, be silent. Cat. Nay then, I easily fear my just defence Will come too late to so much prejudice. Cws. WiU he sit down ? lAside. Cat. Yet let the world forsake me, My innocence must not. Cato. Thou innocent ! So are the furies. Cic. Yes, and Ate too. Dost thou not blush, pernicious Catiline, Or hath the paleness of thy guilt drunk up Thy blood, and drawn thy veins as dry of that. As is thy heart of truth, thy breast of virtue .' Whither at length wilt thou abuse our patience .' Still shall thy fury mock us ! to what license Dares thy unbridled boldness run itself ! Do all the nightly guards kept on the palace. The city's watches, with the people's fears. The concourse of all good men, this so strong And fortified seat here of the senate, The present looks upon thee, strike thee nothing? Dost thou not feel thy counsels all laid open, And see thy wild conspiracy bound in With each man's knowledge? Which of all this order Canst thou think ignorant, if they will but utter Their conscience to the right, of what thou didst Last night, what on the former, where thou wert. Whom thou didst call together, what your plots O age and manners I this the consul sees, [were ? The senate understands, yet this man lives ! — Lives ! ay, and comes here into council with us, Partakes the public cares, and with his eye Marks and points out each man of us to slaughter, ^d we, good men, do satisfy the state, ' If we can shun but this man's sword and madness. There was that virtue once in Rome, when good men Would, with more sharp coercion, have restrain'd A wicked citizen, than the deadliest foe. We have that law still, Catiline, for thee ; An act as grave as sharp : the state's not wanting, Nor the authority of this senate ; we, We that are consuls, only fail ourselves. This twenty days the edge of that decree We have let dull and rust ; kept it shut up, As in a sheath, which drawn, should take thy head. Yet still thou liv'st : and liv'st not to lay by Thy wicked confidence, but to confirm it. I could desire, grave fathers, to be found Still merciful, to seem, in these main perils Grasping the state, a man remiss and slack ; But then I should condemn myself of sloth. And treachery. Their camp's in Italy, Pitch'd in the jaws here of Hetruria ; Their numbers daily increasing, and their general Within our walls ; nay, in our council ! plotting Hourly' some fatal mischief to the public. If, Catiline, I should command thee now. Here to be taken, kill'd ; I make just doubt. Whether all good men would not think it done Rather too late, than any man too cmel. Cato. Except he were of the same meal and batch. Cic. But that which ought to have been done long since, I will, and for good reason, yet forbear. Then will I take thee, when no man is found So lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself. But shall profess, 'tis done of need and right. While there is one that dares defend thee, live ; Thou shalt have leave, but so as now thou liv'st ; Watch'd at a hand, besieged, and opprest From working least commotion to the state. I have those eyes and ears shall still keep guard, And spial on thee, as they've ever done, And thou not feel it. What then canst thou hope ? If neither night can with her darkness hide Thy wicked meetings, nor a- private house Can, in her walls, contain the guilty whispers Of thy conspiracy : if all break out. All be discover' d, change thy mind at last, And lose thy thoughts of ruin, fiame, and slaughter. Remember how I told here to the senate. That such a day thy lictor, Cains Manlius,- Would be in arms. Was I deceived, Catiline, Or in the fact, or in the time, the hour .' I told too in this senate, that thy purpose Was, on the fifth o'the kalends of November, To have slaughter'd this whole order : which my caution Made many leave the city. Canst thou here Deny, but this thy black design was hinder'd That very day, by me .' thy self closed in Within my strengths, so that thou could'st not move Against a public reed ; when thou wert heard To say upon the parting of the rest, Thou would'st content thee with the murder of us That did remain.' Hadst thou not hope beside. By a surprise by night to take Prseneste ? Where when thou cam'st, didst thou not find the place Made good against thee with my aids, my watches t SCENE II. CATILINE. 293 My garrisons fortified it. Thou dost nothing, Sergius, Thou caiist endeavour nothing, nay, not think, But I both see and hear it: and am with thee. By and before, about and in thee too. Call but to mind thy last night's business — Come, I'll use no circumstance — at Lecca's house, The shop and mint of your conspiracy, ' Among your sword-men, where so many associates Both of thy mischief and thy madness met. Dar'st thou deny this ? wherefore art thou silent ? Speak, and this shall convince thee : here they are, I see them in this senate, that were with thee. O, ye immortal Gods ! in what clime are we. What region do we live in, in what air ? What commonwealth or state is this we have ? Here, here, amongst us, our own number, fathers, In this most holy council of the world They are, that seek the spoil of me, of you, Of ours, of all ; what I can name's too narrow : Follow the sun, and find not their ambition. These I behold, being consul : nay, I ask Their counsels of the state, as from good patriots : Whom it were fit the axe shoidd hew in pieces, I not so much as wound yet with my voice. Thou wast last night with Lecca, Catiline, Your shares of Italy you there divided ; Appointed who, and whither each should go ; What men should stay behind in Rome, were chosen , Your offices set down ; the parts mark'd out, And places of the city, for the fire ; Thyself, thou affirm'dst, wast ready to depart. Only a little let there was that stay'd thee. That I yet lived. Upon the word, stepp'd forth Three of thy crew, to rid thee of that care ; Two undertook this morning, before day, To kill me in my bed. All this I knew, Your convent scarce dismiss'd, arm'd all my ser- vants, Call'd both my brother and friends, shut out your clients You sent to visit me ; whose names I told To some there of good place, before they came. Cato. Yes, I, and Quintus Catnlus can affirm it. ttei. He's lost and gone ! His spirits have for- sook him. lAtide. Cic. If this be so, why, Catiline, dost thou stay ? Go where thou mean'st. The ports are open ; forth! . The camp abroad wants thee, their chief too long. Lead with thee all thy troops out ; purge the city. Draw dry that noisome and pernicious sink. Which, left behind thee, would infect the world. Thou wilt free me of all my fears at once, To see a wall between us. Dost thou stop To do that, now commanded, which, before, Of thine own choice, thou wert prone to ? Go ! the consul Bids thee, an enemy, to depart'the city : Whither, thou'lt ask, to exil? ? I not bid Thee, that : but ask my counsel, I persuade it. What is there here in Rome, that can delight thee ? Where not a soul, without thine own foul knot, But fears and hates thee. What domestic note "Of private filthiness, but is burnt in Into thy life, what close and secret shame,. But is grown one with thine own infamy? What lust was ever absent from thine eyes. What lewd fact from thy hands, what wickedness From thy whole body ? where's that youth drawn Within thy nets, or catch'd up with thy baits, [in Before whose rage thou hast not borne a sword. And to whose lusts thou hast not held a torch.' Thy latter nuptials I let pass in silence, Where sins incredible on sins wereheap'd; Which I not name, lest in a civil state So monstrous facts should either appear to be, Or not to be revenged. Thy fortunes too I glance not at, which hang but till next ides. I come to that which is more known, more public j The life and safety of us all, by thee Threaten'd and sought. Stood'st thou not in the field, -• When Lepidus and Tullus were our consuls. Upon the day of choice, arm'd, and with forces, To take their lives, and our chief citizens ? When not thy fear, nor conscience changed thy mind. But the mere fortune of the commonwealth Withstood thy active malice ? Speak but right. How often hast thou made attempt on me? How many of thy assaults have I declined With shifting but my body, as we'd say ? Wrested thy dagger from thy hand, how oft ? How often hath it fallen, or slipt, by chance ? Yet can thy side not want it : which, how vow'd. Or with what rites 'tis sacred of thee, I know not, That still thou mak'stit a necessity, To fix it in the body of a consul. But let me lose this way, and speak to thee, Not as one moved with hatred, which I ought, But pity, of which none is owing thee. Cato: No more than unto Tantalus or Tityus. Cic. Thou cam'st erewhile into this senate : Who Of such a frequency, so many friends And kindred thou hast here, saluted thee ? Were not the seats made bare upon thy entrance ? Risse not the considar men, and left their places, So soon as thou sat'st down, and fled thy side, Like to a plague or ruin, knowing how oft They had by thee been mark'd out for the shambles 5 How dost thou bear this ? Surely, if my slaves At home fear'd me with half the affright and hor- That here thy fellow-citizens do thee, [ror, I should soon quit my house, and think it need too, Yet thou dar'st tarry here ! go forth at last, Condemn thyself to flight and solitude. Discharge the commonwealth of her deep fear. — Go ; into banishment, if thou wait'st the word : Why dost thou look ? they all consent unto it. Dost thou expect the authority of their voices. Whose silent wills condemn thee ? while they sit, They approve it ; while they suffer it, they decree it j And while they are silent to it, they proclaim it. Prove thou there honest, I'll endure the envy. But there's no thought thou shouldst be ever he, Whom either shame should call from filthiness. Terror from danger, or discourse from fury. Go ; I entreat thee : yet why do I so ? When I already know they are sent afore, That tarry for thee in arms, and do expect thee On the Aurelian way. I know the day Set down 'twixt thee and Manlius, unto whom The silver eagle too is sent before ; Which I do hope shall prove to thee as baneful As thou conceiv'st it to the commonwealth. But, may this wise and sacred senate say, What mean'st thou, Marcus TuUius? if thou know'st That Catiline be look'd for to be'chij^ 294 CATILINE. Of an intestine war ; that he's the author Of such a wickedness : the caller out Of men of mark in mischief, to an action Of so much horror ; prince of such a treason ; Why dost thou send him forth ? why let him 'scape? This is to give him liberty and power : Rather thou should'st lay hold upon him, send him To deserv'd death, and a just punishment. To these so holy voices thus I answer : If I did think it timely, conscript fathers, To punish him with death, I would not give The fencer use of one short hour to breathe ; But when there are in this grave order some. Who, with soft censures, still do nurse his hopes ; Some that, with not believing, have confirm'd His designs more, and whose authority The weaker, as the worst men too, have follow'd, 1 would now send him where they all should see Clear as the light, his heart shine ; where no man Could be so wickedly or fondly stupid, But should cry out, he saw, touch'd, felt, and grasp'd it. Then, when he hath run out himself, led forth His desperate party with him, blown together Aids of all kinds, both shipwreck'd minds and fortunes ; Not only the grown evil that now is sprung And sprouted forth, would be pluck'd up and weeded. But the stock, root, and seed of all the mischiefs Choking the commonwealth: where, should we take, Of such a swarm of traitors, only him, Our cares and fears might seem awhile relieved, But the main peril would bide still inclosed Deep in the veins and bowels of the state. As human bodies labouring with fevers, While they are tost with heat, if they do take Cold water, seem for that short space much eased, But afterward are ten times more afflicted. Wherefore, I say, let all this wicked crew Depart, divide tiiemselves from good men, gather Their forces to one head ; as I said oft. Let them be sever'd from us with a wall ; Let them leave off attempts upon the consul In his own house ; to circle in the prsetor ; To gird the court with weapons ; to prepare Fire and balls, swords, torches, sulphur, brands ; In short, let it be writ in each man's forehead What thoughts he bears the public. I here pro- Fatiers conscript, to you, and to myself, [mise, That diligence in us consuls, for my honour'd Colleague abroad, and for myself at home ; So great authority in you ; so much Virtue in these, the gentlemen of Rome, Whom I could scarce restrain to-day in zeal From seeking out the parricide, to slaughter ; So much consent in all good men and minds. As on the going out of this one Catiline, All shall be clear, made plain, oppress'd, reveng'd. And with this omen go, pernicious plague ! Out of the city, to the wish'd destruction Of thee and those, that, to the ruin of her. Have ta'en that bloody and black sacrament. Thou, Jupiter, whom we do call the Stayek. Both of this city and this empire, wilt, With the same auspice thou didst raise it first, Drive from thy altars, and all other temples, And buildings of this city, from our walls, Lives, states and fortunes of our citizens, This fiend, this fiiry, with his complices. ' And all th' offence of good men, these known trai- Unto their country, thieves of Italy, . [tors Join'd in so damn'd a league of mischief, thou Wilt with perpetual plagues, alive and dead. Punish for Rome, and save her innocent head. Cat. If an oration, or high language, fathers, Could make me guilty, here is one hath done it : He has strove to emulate this morning's thunder, With his prodigious rhetoric. But I hope This senate is more grave than to give credit Rashly to all he vomits, 'gainst a man Of your own order, a patrician. And one whose ancestors have more deserv'd Of Rome than this man's eloquence could utter, Tum'd the best way ; as stiU it is the worst. Cato. His eloquence hath more deserv'd to-day, Speaking thy ill, than all thy ancestors Did, in their good ; and that the state will find, Which he hath saved. Cat. How, he ! were I that enemy That he would make me, I'd not wish the state More wretched than to need his preservation. What do you make him, Cato, such a Hercules ? An Atlas ? a poor petty inmate ! Cato. Traitor' Cat, He save the state ! a burgess' son of Arpinum. The gods would rather twenty Romes should perish Than have that contumely stuck upon them, That he should share with them in the preserving A shed, or sign-post Cato. Peace, thou prodigy ! Cat. They would be forced themselves again, and In the first rude and indigested heap, [lost Ere such a wretched name as Cicero Should sound with theirs. Catu. Away, thou impudent head. Cat, Do you all back him ? are you silent too ? Well, I wiU leave you, fathers, I will go. {He turns suddenly on Cicero. But — my fine dainty speaker Cie. What now, fury. Wilt thou assault me here ? Omnes. Help, aid the consul. Cat. See, fathers, laugh you not? who threat- en'd him ? In vain thou dost conceive, ambitions orator, Hope of so brave a death as by this hand. Caio. Out of the court with the pernicious traitor ! Cat, There is no title that this flattering senate, Nor honour the base multitude can give thee, Shall m^e thee worthy Catiline's anger. Cato. Stop, Stop that portentous mouth. * Cat. Or when it shall, I'll look thee dead. Cato. Win none restrain the monster ? Catu. Parricide ! Qui. Butcher ! traitor 1 leave the senate. Cat. I am gone to banishment, to please you,. Thrust headlong forth ! [fathers, Cato. Still dost thou murmur, monster ?. Cat. Since I am thus put out, and made a Cic. What.' Catu. Not guiltier than thou art. Cat. I will not bum Without my funeral pile. Cato. What says the fiend ? * Cat. I vrill have matter, timber. " Cato. Sing out, screech-owl. SCENE IV. CATILINE. 295 Cat. It shall be in Caiu. Speak thy imperfect thoughts. Cat. The common fire, rather than mine own : For falll will with all, ere fall alone. {Rushes out of the Senate. Cra. He's lost, there is no hope of him. [vln'de to CssKR. Cat. Unless He presently take arms, and give a blow Before the consul's forces can be levied. Cte. What is your pleasure, fathers, shall be done? Catu. See, that the commonwealth receive no loss. Cato. Commit the care thereof unto the consuls. Cra. 'Tis time. Cees. And need. iGou aside with Ckassds. Cte. Thanks to this frequent senate. But what decree they unto Curius, And Fulvia ? Catu. What the consul shall think meet. Cte. They must receive reward, though it be not known ; Lest when a state needs ministers, they've none. Cato. Yet, Marcus Tullius, do not I believe. But Crassus and this Caesar here ring hollow. Cie. And would appear so, if that we durst prove them. Cato. Why dare we not ? what honest act is that. The Roman senate should not dare and do ! Cie. Not an unprofitable dangerous act, To stir too many serpents up at once. Cssar and Crassus, if they be ill men. Are mighty ones ; and we must so provide. That while we take one head from this foul hydra. There spring not twenty more. Cato. I approve your counsel. Cio. They shall be watch'd and look'd to. Till they do Declare themselves, I will not put them out By any question. There they stand. I'll make Myself no enemies, nor the state no traitors. ZExeunt. ♦ — SCENE III.— Catiline's House. Enter C^Tums, JiZVTpws, Cethbgus, Cukids, Gabiotcs, LoHoiiras, and Statiuus. Cat. False to ourselves ? all our designs disco- To this state-cat ? [verd Cet. Ay ; had I had my way, He had mew'd in flames at home, not in the senate ; I had singed his fiirs by this time. ♦ Cat. Well, there's now No time of calling back, or stauding still. Friends, be yourselves ; keep the same Roman hearts And ready minds you had yester-night. Prepare To execute what we resolv'd ; and let not Labour, or danger, or discovery fright you. I'll to the army ; you, the while, mature Things here at home : draw to you any aids That you think fit, of men of aU conditions, Of any fortunes, that may help a war. I'll bleed a life, or win an empire for you. Within these few days look to see my ensigns Here, at the walls : be you but firm within. Mean time, to draw an envy on the consul, Antlt-give a less suspicion of our course. Let it be given out here in the city, That I am gone, an innocent man, to exile Into MassiUa ; willing to give way To fortune and the times ; being unable To stand so great a faction, without troubling The commonwealth ; whose peace I rather seek, Than all the glory of contention, Or the support of mine own innocence. Farewell the noble Lentulus, Longinus, Curius, the rest ! and thou, my better genius, The brave Cethegus : when we meet again, We'll sacrifice to liberty. Cet. And revenge ; That we may praise our hands once. Len. O ye fates. Give fortune now her eyes, to see with whom She goes along, that she may ne'er forsake him. Cur. He needs not her nor them. Go but on, Sergius : A valiant man is his own fate and fortune. Lon. The fate and fortune of us all go with him Gab. Sta. And ever guard him ! Cat, I am all your creature. [fi'-'it. Len. Now, friends, 'tis left with us. I have al. ready Dealt by Umbrenus with the Allobroges Here resiant in Rome ; whose state, I hear, Is discontent with the great usuries They are oppress'd with : and have made complaints Divers unto the senate, but all vain. These men I have thought (both for their own op- As also that by nature they're a people [pressious, Warlike and fierce, still watching after change. And now in present hatred with our state,) The fittest, and the easiest to be drawn To our society, and to aid the war : The rather for their seat ; being next borderers On Italy ; and that they abound with horse, Of which one want our camp doth only labour : And I have found them coming. They will meet Soon at Sempronia's house, where I would pray All to be present, to confirm them more. [you The sight of such spirits hurts not, nor the store. Gab. I will not fail. Sta. Nor I. Cur. Nor I. Cet. Would I Had somewhat by myself apart to do ; I have no genius to these many counsels : Let me kill all the senate for my share, I'll do it at next sitting. Len. Worthy. Caius, Your presence will add much. Cet. I shall mar more. \.Exeunt. SCENE IV.— TAeifoKseo/ Brutus. Enter Cicero and Sanga. Cie. The state's beholden to you, Fabius Sanga, For this great care : and those Allobroges Are more than wretched, if they lend a listening To such persuasion. San. They, most worthy consul. As men employ'd here from a grieved state. Groaning beneath a multitude of wrongs. And being told there was small hope of ease To be expected to their evils from hence, Were vrilling at the first to give an ear To anything that sounded liberty: But since, on better thoughts, and my urg'd reasons, 296 CATILINE. They're come about, and won to the true side. The fortune of the comiEonwealth has conquer' d. Cic. What is that same Umbrenus was the San. One that hath had negociation [agent ? In Gallia oft, and known unto their state- Cio. Are the ambassadors come with you ? San. Yes. Cic. Well, bring them in ; if they be firm and Never'had men the means so to deserve [honest. Of Rome as they. [£xi 298 CATILINE. 1 Amb» We are the Allobroges, And friends of Rome. Pom. If you be so, then yield Yourselves unto the prsetors, who, in name Of the whole senate, and the people of Rome, Yet till you clear yourselves^ charge you of practice Against the state. Vol. Die, friends ; and be not taken. Fla4s. What voice is that ? down with them all. 1 Amh, We yield. Pom. What's he stands out? Kill him .there. Vol. Hold, hold, hold. I yield upon conditions. Flac, We give none To traitors ; strike him down. Vol. My name's Volturtius, I know Pomtinius. Pom, But he knows not you, While you stand out upon these traitorous terms. Vol. I'll yield upon the safety of my life. Pom. If it be forfeited, we cannot save it. Vol. Promise to do your best. I'm not so guilty As many others I can name, and will. If you will grant me favour. Pom. All we can, Is to deliver you to the consul ^Take him, And thank the Gods diat thus have saved Rome. {Exeunt, CHORUS. Now do our ears, 'before our eyes. Like men in naists. Discover who'd the state surprise. And who resists ? And as these clouds do yield to light. Now do we see Our thoughts of things, how they did fight. Which seem'd t* agree ? Of what strange pieces are we made. Who nothing know ; But as new airs our ears invade, Still censure so ? That now do hope and now do fear. And now env^ ; And then do hate and then love dear. But know not why : Or if we do, it is so late. As our best mood. Though true, is then -thought out at date. And empty of good. How have we changed and come about In every doom. Since wicked Catiline went out. And quitted Bome ? One while we thought him .innocent ; And then we accused The consul, for his malice spent. And power abused. Since that we hear he is in arms. We think not so : Yet charge the consul with our harms. That let h^m go. So in our censure of the state. We still do wander; And make the careful magistrate The mark of slander. What age is this, where honest. men, Placed at the helm, > A sea of some foul mouth or pen Shall overwhelm ? And call their diligence, deceit ; ^ Their vh'tue, vice ; ' Their watchfulness, but lying in wait ; ioid blood, the price ? O, let us pluck this evil seed Out of our spirits : And give to every noble deed The name it merits. Lest we seem fallen, if this endures. Into those tinaes, To love disease, and brook the cures Worse than the crimes. ACT V SCENE I Etrhiiia. The Country near'F^svi.M. Enter Petreius, marching, at the head (if his Army. . Pet. It is my fortune and my glory, soldiers, This day, to lead you on ; the worthy consul Kept from the honovir of it by disease : And I am proud to have so brave a cause To exercise your arms in. We not now Fight for how long, how broad, how great, and large Th' extent and bounds o' the people of Rome shall Bnt to retain what our great ancestors, [be ; With all their labours, counsels, arts, and actions, For ns, were purchasing. so. many years. The quarrel is not now of fame, of tribute, Or of wrongs done unto confederates. For which the army of the people of Rome Was wont to mpve : but for your own republic, For the raised temples of the immortal Gods, For all your fortunes, altars, and your fires, For the deaJ souls of your loved wives and chil- dren. Your parents' tombs, your rites, laws, liberty, kni, briefly, for the safety of the world ; igainst such men, as only by their crimes Are known ; thrust out by riot, want, or rashness. One sort, Sylla's old troops, left here in Fesulse, Who, suddenly made rich in those dire times, Are since, by their unbounded, vast expense. Grown needy and poor ; and have but left to expect From Catiline new bills, and new proscriptions. These men, they say, are valiant : yet, I think them Not worth your pause : for either their old virtue Is in their sloth and pleasures lost ; or, iif It tarry with them, scf ill match to yours, As they are short in number or in cause. The second sort are of those city-beasts. Rather than citizens, who, whilst they reach After our fortunes, have let fly their own ; These whelm'd in wine, swell'd up with meats, £ind weaken'd With hourly whoredoms, never left the side Of Catiline in Rome ; nor here are loosed From his embraces : such as, trust me, never In riding or in using well their arms, Watching, or other military labour. Did exercise their youth ; but leam'd to love, Drink, dance, and sing, make feasts, and be fine gamesters : SCENE rv. CATILINE, 290 And these will wish more hurt to you than they bring you. The rest are a mixt kind, all sorts of furies, Adulterers, dicers, fencers, outlaws, thieves, The murderers of their parents, all the sink And plague of Italy met in one torrent, To take, to-day, from us the punishment, Due to their mischiefs, for so many years. And who in such a conse, and 'gainst such fiends. Would not now wish himself all arm and weapon. To cut such poisons from the earth, and let Their blood out to be drawn away in clouds, And pour'd on some inhabitable place. Where the hot sun and slime breeds nought but monsters ? Chiefly when this sure joy shall crown our side. That the least man that falls upon our party This day, (as some must give their happy names To fate, and that eternal memory Of the best death, writ with it, for their country,) Shall walk at pleasure in the tents of rest ; And see far off, beneath him, all their host Tormented after life ; and Catiline there Walking a wretched and less ghost than he. I'll urge no more : more forward with your eagles. And trust the senate's andRome's cause toheaven. Omnes. To thee, great father Mars, and greater Jove ! lExeunt. ShaU know, the consul wiU not, for their grudge. Have any man accused or named falsely. Qain Not falsely: but if any circumstance. By the AUobroges, or from Volturtius, Would carry it Cie. That shall not be sought by me. If it reveal itself, I would not spare You, brother, if it pointed at you, trust me. Caio. Good Marcus Tnllius, which is more than Thou had'st thy education with the Gods, [great, Cic. Send Lentulus forth, and bring away the rest. THs office I am sorry, sir, to do you. iExeunt. SCENE II. — Rome. A Street near the Temple of Concord. Enter Cesar and Crassus. Ctes. 1 ever look'd for this of Lentulus, When Catiline was gone. Cras. I gave them lost, any days since. CF-THE-LAm) BuSY, SuitOT to DaXaC PURBT- CRAFT, a Banbury Man. WiNWiFE, his rival, a Gentleman. Tom Q,uarlous, companion to Winwifs, a Game- ster. Bartholomew Cokes, an Esquire of Harrow. HuMPBREv Waspb, his Man. Adam Overdo, a Justice of Peace. "Laxitboks Leatmerhead, a Hobby-Horsc Seller, (Toyman). EzBCHiBL Edgworth, a Cutpurse, Nightingale, a Ballad-Singer. Mooncalf, Tapster to Ursula. Ban. Jordan Knockeat, a Horse-Courser y and a Ranger of Tumbull. Val, Cutting, a Roarer , or Bully. Captain Whit, a Bawd. Taoubls-ale, a Madman. PocHSR, a Beadle. Shahkwbu,, ]^<><>^*«tper' to the Puppet-Sheie. Soz.OHo>r, LiTTLKWiT's Man. Northern, a Clothier, fa Northern Man). Puppy, a Wrestler, (a Western Man). "Wlw-THE-FlGHT LlTTLEWTr. Dame Puhecraft, her Mother, and a Widow. X>AME OVERDQ. Grace Wellborn, Ward to Justice Overdo. Joan Trash, a Gingerbread-Woman. Ursula, a Pig-Woman. Alice, Mistress o* the game, Costard-Monger, Mousetrap-Man, Com-Cutter, Watehj Porters, Puppets, Passengers, Mob, Boys, Ijc. PROLOGUE. TO THE KING'S MAJESTY. Your Majesty is welcome to a Fair ; Such place, such men, such language, an4 such ware You must expect : with these, the xealous noise Of your lania faction, scandalized at toys, As babies, hobby-horses, puppet-plays. And such like rage, whereof the petulant ways Yourself have known, and have been vext with long. These for your sport, without particular wrong, Or.j ust complaint of any private man. Who of himself, or shall think well, or can. The maker doth present : and hopes, to-night To give you for a fairing, true delight. THE INDUCTION. THE STAGE. Enter the Stage-keeper. Stage. Gentlemen, have a little patience, they are e'en npon coining, instantly. He that should begin the play, master Littlewit, the proctor, has a stitch new fallen in his black silk stocking ; 'twiU be drawn up ere you can tell twenty : he plays one o' the Arches that dwells about the hospital, and he has a very pretty part. But for the whole play, will you have the truth on't ? — I am looking, lest the poet hear me, or his man, master Brome, behind the arras — it is like to be a very conceited scurvy one, in plain English. When't comes to the Fair once, you were e'en as good go to Virginia, for anything there is of Smith- field. He has not hit the humours, be does not know them : he has not conversed with the Bar- tholomew birds, as they say ; he has ne'er a sword and buckler-man in his Fair ; nor a little Davy, to take toll o' the bawds there, as in my time ; nor a Kindheai-t, if any body's teeth should chance to ache in his play ; nor a juggler with a well-educated ape, to come over the chain for a king of England, and back again for the prince, and sit still on his arse for the pope and the king of Spain. None of these fine sights ! Nor has he the canvas-cut in the night, for a hobby-horse-man to creep into his she- neighbour, and take his leap there. Nothing ! No : an some writer that I know had had but the pen- ning o' this matter, he would have made you such a jig-a-jog in the booths, you should have thought an earthquake had been in the Fair I But these master poets, they will have their own absurd courses j they will be informed of nothing. He has (sir reverence) kick'd me three or four times about the tiring-house, I thank him, for but offering to put in with my experience. I'll be judged by you, gentlemen, now, but for one conceit of mine : would not a fine pomp upon the stage have done well, for a property now ? and a punk set under upon hei head, with her stem upward, and have 306 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. been soused by my witty young masters o' tbe Inns of Court ? What think you of this for a show, now ? he will not hear o' this !- 1 am an ass ! I ! and yet I kept the stagein master Tarleton's time, I thank my stEurs. Ho ! an that man had Uved to have played inBartholomew.Fair, you should have seen him have come in, and have been cozen'd in the doth-quarter, so finely ! and Adams, the rogue, have leaped and capered upon him, and have dealt his vermin about, as though they had cost him nothing ! and then a substantial watch to have stolen in upon them, and taken them away, with mistaking words, as the fashion is in the stage- practice. Enter the Bookliolder vnth a Scrivener. Book. How now ! what rare discourse are you fallen upon, ha ? have you found any familiars here, that you'are so free ! what's the business ? Stage. Nothing, but the understanding gentle- men o' the ground here ask'd my judgment. Bock. Your judgment, rascal ! for what .' sweep- ing thfc stage, or gathering up the broken apples for the bears withm ? ■ Away, rogue, it's come to a fine degree in these spectacles, when such a youth as you pretend toa judgment. [Exit Stage-Keeper.] — And yet he may, in the most of this matter, i' faith : for the author has writ it just to his meridian, and the scale of the grounded judgments here, his play-fellows in wit. — Gentlemen, [comes forward] not for want of a prologue, but by way of a new one, I am sent out to you here, with a scrivener, and certain articles drawn out in haste between our author and you ; which if you please to hear, and as they appear reasonable, to approve of ; the play will follow presently. — Read, scribe; give me the counterpane. Scriv. Articles of agreement, indented,- between the spectators or hearers, at the Hope on the Bankside in the county of Surry, on the one party ; and the author of Bartholomew Fair, in the said place and county, on the other party : the one and thirtieth day 0/ October, 1614, and in the twelfth year of the reign of our sovereign lord, James, by the grace of God, king of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith ; and of Scotland the seven and fortieth. Imprimis. It is covenanted and agreed, by and betweenthe parlies aforesaid, and the said specia. tors and hearers, as well the curious and envious, as the favouring and judicious, as also the grounded ■ judgments and understandings, do for themselves severally covenant and agree to remain in the places their money or friends have put, them in, with patience, for the space of two hours and an half, and somewhat more. In which time the author promiseth to present them by us, with a new sufficient play, called Bartholomew Fair, merry, and as full of noise, as sport: made to delight all, and to offend none ; provided they have either the wit or the honesty to think well of themselves. It is further agreed, that every person here have his or their free-will of censure, to like or dislike at their own charge, the author having now de- parted with his right : it shall be lawful for any man to judge his tixpen'worth, his twelve-pen' - worth, so to his eighteen-pence, two shillings, half a crown, to the value of his place ; provided always kis place get not above his wit. And if he pay for half a dozen, he may censure for all them too, so that he will undertake that they shall be silent. He shall put in for censures here, as they do for lots at the lottery: marry, if he drop but six pence at the door, and will censure a crown' s-worth, it is thought there is no conscience or justice in that. It is also agreed, that every man here exercise his own judgment, and not censure by contagion, or upon trust, from another's voice or face, that sits by him, be he never so first in the commission of wit ; as also, that he be fixed and settled in his censure, that what he approves or not approves to-day, he will do the same to-morrow ; and if to- morrow, the next day, and so the next week, if need be ;■ and not to be brought about by any that sits on the bench with him, though they indite and arraign plays. daily. He that will swear, Jero- nimo or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall pass unexceptfid at here, as a man whose judgment shows it is constant, and hath stood stilt these five- and-twenty or thirty years. Though it be an ignorance it is a virtuous and staid ignorance ; and riext to truth, a confirmed error does well ; such a one the author knows where to find him. It is further covenanted, concluded, and agreed. That how great soever the expectation he, no per- ' son here is to expect more than he knows, or better jtare than a fair will afford : neither to look back to the sword and buckler age of Smithjield, but content himself with the jpresent. Instead of a little Davy, to take toll 0' the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse-courser, with a leer drunkard, two or three to attend him, in as good equipage as you would wish. And then for Kind- heart the tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman with her tapster, to bid you welcome, and a consort Oj roarers for musick. A wise justice of peace raeditant, instead of a juggler with an ape. A civil cutpurse searchant. A sweet singer of new ballads allurant : and as fresh an hypocrite, as ever was broached, rampant. If there be never a servant- monster in the fair, who can help it, he says, nor a nest of antiques ? he is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget tales, tempests, and such like drolleries, to mix his head with other men's heels ; let the concupiscence of jigs and dances reign as strong as it will amongst you : yet if the puppets utill please any body, they shall be intreated to come in. In consideration of which, it is finally agreed, by the aforesaid hearers and spectators. That they neither in themselves conceal, nor suffer by them to be concealed, any state-decypherer, or politic pick- lock of Ike scene, so solemnly ridiculous, as to search out, who was meant by the gingerbread- woman, who by the hobby-horse man, who by the costard-monger, nay, who by their wares. Or that will pretend to affirm on his own inspired igno- rance, what Mirror of Magistrates is meant by the justice, what great lady by the pig-woman, what concealed statesman by the seller of mouse- traps, and so of the rest. Bui that such person, or persons, so found, be left discovered to the mercy of the author, as a forfeiture to the stage, and your laughter aforesaid. As also such as shall so des- perately, or ambitiously play the fool by his place aforesaid, to challenge the author of scurrility, because the language somewhere savours of Smith- field, the booth, and the pigbroth, or of profane- ness, because a madman cries, God quit you, or SCENE I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 307 bless you ! In toitness whereof , as you have pre- vosterouslff put to pour seals already, which is your money, you will now add the other part of suffrage, your hands. The play shall presently begin. And tltough the Fair be not kept in the sams region that some here, perhaps, would have it; yet think, that therein the author hath observed a special decorum, the place being as dirty as Smitlifield, and as stinking every whit. Howsoever, he'prays you to believe, his ware is still the same, else you will make him justly suspect that he that is so loth to look on a baby or an hobby- horse here, would be glad to take up a commodity of them, at any laughter or loss in another place. iExeunt. ACT I. SCENE I. — A Room in LiTtlewit's House. Enter taTTLSwiT ioith a license in his hand. Lit. A pretty conceit, and worth the finding ! I have such lock to spin out these fine things still, and, like a silk-worm^ out of my self; Here's master Bartholomew Cokes, of Harrow o' the Hill, in the county of Middlesex^ esquire, takes forth his license to marry mistress Grace Wellborn, of the said place and county : and when does he take it forth P to-day ! the four and twentieth of August ! Bartholomew-day ! Bartholomew upon Bartholo- mew I there's the deTlce ! who would have marked such a leap-frog chance now ! A very - - - - less than ame».ace, on two dice ! Well, go thy ways, John Littlewit, proctor John Littlewit : one of the pretty nits of Paul's, the Littlewit of London, so thou art called, and something beside. When a quirk or a quiblin does 'scape thee, and thou dost not watch and apprehend it, and bring it afore the constable of conceit, (there now, I speak quib too,) let them carry thee out o' the archdeacon's court into his kitchen, smd make a Jack of thee> instead of a John. There I am ageiin la ! — Entir Mrs-. JjTrrhBwit. Win, good-morrow. Win ; ay, marry. Win, now you look finely indeed. Win I this cap does coni vince ! You'd not have worn it. Win, nor have had it velvet, but a rough country beaver, with a cop- per band, like the coney-skin woman of Budge- row ; sweet Win, let me kiss it ! And her fine high shoes, like the Spanish lady ! Good Win, go a lit- tle, I would fain see thee pace, pretty Win ; by this fine cap, I could never leave kissing on't. Mrs. Lit. Come indeed la, you are such a fool still! . - Lit. No, but half a one, Win,yott are the t'other half : man and wife make one fool. Win. Good ! Is there the proctor, or doctor indeed; in the dio- cese, that ever had the fortune to win him such a Win ! There I am again ! I do feel conceits com- ing upon me, more than I am able to turn tongue to. A pox o' these pretenders to wit ! your Three Cranes, Mitre and Mermaid men ! not a com of true ssdt, not a grain of right mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places, or so, ag^n the next vrit-faU, and pay two-pence in a quart more for their canary than other men. But give me the man can start up a justice of wit out of six shillings beer, and give the law to all the poets and poet -suckers in town : — because they are the play- er's gossips ! 'Slid ! other men have wives as fine as the players, and' as well drest. Come hither, Win ! [Xistei her. Enter yfmwitx. Winw. Why, how now, master Littlewit! mea- snring of lips, or moulding of kisses? which is it? Lit. Troth, I am tt little taken with my Win's dressing here : does it not fine, master Winwife ? How do you apprehend, sir ? she would not have worn this habit 1 chedlenge all Cheapside to shew such another : Moor-fields, Pimlico-path, or the Exchange; in a summer evening, with a lace to boot, as this has. Dear Win, let master Winwife kiss you. He comes a wooing to our mother. Win, and may be our father perhaps. Win; There's no harm in him, Wini Wiriw. None in the earth, master Littlewit. {Kisses her. Lit. I envy no man my delicates, sir. Winw. Alas, you have the garden where they grow still I A wife here with a strawberry breath, cherry-lips, apricot cheeks, and a Soft velvet head^ like a melicotton. Lit. Good, i'faith ! how dulness upon me, that I had not that before him, that I should not light on't as well as he ! velvet head ! Wirtw. But my taste, master Littlewit, tends to fruit of a later kind ; the ■ sober matron, jouir wife's mother. Lit. Ay) we know you are a suitor, sir ; Win and I both wish you well : By this license here, would you had her, that your two names were aa fast in it as here are a couple I Win would fain have a fine young father i'law, mon with tlte cloak. Sal. Here, sir. Bus. In the way of comfort to the weak, I will go and eat. I will eat exceedingly, and prophesy ; there may be a good use made of it too, now I think on't : by the public eating of swine's flesh, to profess our hate and loathing of Judaism, whereof the brethren stand tax'd. I will therefore eat, yea, I wiU eat exceedingly. Lit. Good, i'faith, I will eat heartily too, be- cause I will be no Jew, I could never away with that stiff-necked generation : and truly, I hope my Lttle one will be like me, that cries for pig so in the mother's beUy. Bus. Very likely, exceeding likely, very exceed- ing likely. lExeunt. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 813 ACT II. SCENE I The Fair. A number of Booths, Stalls, &c. set out. Lahthorn Lkatberbbao, Joan Tkash, and others, sitting by iheir wares. Enter Justice Ovsbbo, at a distance, in disguise. Over. Well, in justice name, and the king's, and for the eommonnealth ! defy all the world, Adam Overdo, for a disguise, and all story ; for thou hast fitted thyself, I swear. Fain would I meet the Linceus now, th«t eagle's, eye, that pierc- ing Epidaurian serpent (as my Quintus Horace radls him) that could discover a justice of peace (and lately of the Quorum) under this covering. They may have seen many a fool in the habit of a justice ; but never till now, a justice in the habit of a fool. Thus must we do though, that wake for the public good ; and thus hath the wise magis- trate done in all ages. There is a doing of right out of wrong, if the way be found. Never shall I enough commend a worthy worshipful man, some- time a capital member of this city, for his high wisdom in this point, who would take you now the habit of a porter, now of a carman, now of the dog-kiUer, in this month of August ; and in the winter, of a seller of tinder-boxes. And what would he do in all these shapes ? marry, go you into every alehouse, and down into every cellar ; measure tke length of puddings; take the gage of black pots and cans, ay, and custards, with a stick ; and their circumference with a thread ; weigh the loaves of bread on his middle finger ; then would he send for them home ; give the puddings to the poor, the bread to the hungry, the custards, to his children ; break the pots, and burn the cans him- self : he would not trust his corrupt officers, he would doit himself. Would all men in authority would follow this worthy precedent ! for alas, as we are public persons, what do we know ? nay, what can we know ? we hear with other men's ears, we see with other men's eyes. A foolish constable or a sleepy watchman, is all bur information ; he slanders a gentleman by the virtue of his place, as he calls it, and we, by the vice of ours, must believe him. As, a. while agone, they made me, yea me, to mistsike an honest zealous pursuivant for a seminary ; and a proper young bachelor of musick, for a bawd. This we are subject to that live in high place ; all our intelligence is idle, and most of our intelligencers knaves ; and, by your leave, our- selves thought little better, if not arrant fools, for believing them. I, Adam Overdo, am resolved therefore to spare spy-money hereafter, and make mine own discoveries. Many are the yearly enor- mities of this Fair, in whose courts of Pie-poudres I have had the honour, during the three days, sometimes to sit as judge. But this is the spe- cial day for detection of those foresaid enor- mities. Here is my black book for the purpose ; this the cloud that hides me ; imder this covert I shall see and not be seen. On, Junius Brutus. And as I began, so I'll end ; in justice name, and the king's, and for the commonwealth ! ^Advances to the Booths, and stands aside. Leath. The Fair's pestilence dead methinks ; people come not abroad to-day, whatever the mat- ter is. Do you hear, sister Trash, lady of the basket ? sit farther with your gingerbread progeny there, and hinder not the prospect of my shop, or I'll have it proclaimed in the Fair, what stufif they are made on. Trash. Why, what stuff are they made on, bro- ther Leatherhead .' nothing but what's wholesome, I assure you. Leath. Yes, stale bread, rotten eggs, musty gin- ger, and dead honey, you know. Over, Ay ! have I met with enormity so soon .' [Aside. Leath. I shall mar your market, old Joan. Trash. Mar my market, thou too-proud pedlar ! do thy worst, I defy thee, I, and thy stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost : an thou wrong'st me, for all thou art parcel-poet, and an inginer, I'll find a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattle all over. Are you puft up with the pride of your wares ? your arsedine ? Leath. Go to, old Joan, I'll talk with you anon ; and take you down too, afore justice Overdo : he is the man must charm you, I'll have you in the Ke-poudres. Trash. Charm me ! I'll meet thee face to face, afore his worship, when thou darest : and though I be a little crooked o' my body, I shall be' found as upright in my dealing as any woman in Smith- field, I ; charm me ! Over. I am glad to hear my name is their terror yet, this b doing of justice. [Aside. [A mimber of People pass over the Stage. Leath. What do you lack ? what is't you buy ? what do yon lack ? rattles, drums, halberts, horses, babies o' the best, fiddles of the finest ? Enter Costsai-mouger JbUouted by Nightjnoale. Cost. Buy any pears, pears, fine, very fine pears ! Trash. Buy any gingerbread, gUt gingerbread ! Night. Hey, iSings. Now the Fair's a filling ! O, for a tune to startle The birds o' the booths here billing. Yearly with old saint Bartle ! The drunlcards they are wading. The punks and chapmen trading; Who'd see the Fair without his lading ? Buy any ballads, new ballads ? Enter Ursula, Jrom her BooiJt. Urs. Fie upon't : who would wear out their youth and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that had any cooler vocation ? hell's a kind of cold cellar to't, a very fine vault, o' my conscience ! — What, Mooncalf ! Moon, [within.'] Here, mistress. Night. How now Ursula ? in a heat, in a heat ? Urs. My chair, you false faucet you ; sind my morning's draught, quickly, a bottle of ale, to quench me, rascal. I am all fire and fat, Night- ingale, I shall e'en melt away to the first woman, a rib again, I am afraid. I do water the ground in knots, as I go, like a great garden pot ; you may follow me by the SS. I make. Night. Alas, good Urse ! was Zekiel here this morning ? Urs. Zekiel i what Zekiel ? Night. Zekiel Edgworth, the civil cutpurse jau 814 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. know him well enough ; he that talks bawdy to you still : I call him my secretary. Urs. He promised to be here this morning, I rememoer. Night. When he comes, bid him stay : I'll be back again presently. Urs. Best take your morning dew in your belly, Nightingale. — Enter Mooncalf, with the Chair. Come sir, set it here ; did not I bid you should get a chair let out o' the sides for me, that my hips might play? you'll never think of anything, till your dame be rump-gall'd ; 'tis well, changeling : because it can take in your grasshopper's thighs, you care for no more. Now, you look as you had been in the corner of the booth, fleaing your breech with a candle's end, and set fire o' the Fair. Fill, Stote, fill. Over. This pig-woman do I know, and I will put her in, for my second enormity ; she hath been before me, punk, pinnace, and bawd, any time these two and twenty years upon record in the Pie-poudres. Aside. Urs. Fill again, you unlucky vermin ! Moon. 'Pray you be not angry, mistress, I'll have it widen'd anon. Urs. No, no, I shall e'en dwindle away to't, ere the Fair be done, you think, now you have heated me : a poor vex'd thing I am, I feel myself drop- ping already as fast as I can ; two stone o' suet a day is my proportion. I can but hold life and soul together, with this, (here's to you, Nightingale,) and a whiff of tobacco at most. Where's my pipe now ? not fiU'd ! thou arrant incubee. Night. Nay, Ursula, thou'lt gall between the tongue and the teeth, with fretting, now. Urs. How can I hope that ever he'll discharge his place of trust, tapster, a man of reckoning under me, that remembers nothing I say to him ? [Exit Night.] but look to't sirrah, you weie best. Three-pence a pipe-full, I will have made, of all my whole half-pound of tobacco, and a quarter of pound of colts-foot mixt with it too, to [eke] it out. I that have dealt so long in the fire, will not be to seek in smoke, now. Then sir and twenty shUlings a barrel I will advance on my beer, and fifty shillings a hundred on my bottle ale; I have told you the ways how to raise it. Froth your cans well in the filling, at length, rogue, and jog your bottles o' the buttock, sirrah, then skink out the first glass ever, and drink with all companies, though you be sure to be drunk ; you'll misreckon the better, and be less ashamed on't. But yoiu- true trick, rascal, must be, to be ever busy, and mistake away the bottles and cans, in haste, before they be half drunk off, and never hear any body call, (if they should chance to mark you,) till you have brought fresh, and be able to forswear them. Give me a drink of ale. Over. This is the very womb and bed of enor- mity ! gross as herself 1 this must all down for enormity, all, every whit on't. iAside. [Knocking within. Urs. Look who's there, sirrah : five shillings a pig is my price, at least; if it be a sow pig, six- pence more ; if she be a great-belUed wife, and long for't, sixpence more for that. Over. O tempora ! O mores ! I would not have lost my discovery of this one grievance, for my place, and worship o' the bench. How is the poor subject abused here ! Well, I will fall in with her, and with her Mooncalf, and win out wonders of enormity. [Comes forward.'] — By thy leave, goodly woman, and the fatness of the Fair, oily as the king's constable's lamp, and shining as his shoo- ing-hom ! hath thy ale virtue, or thy beer strength, that the tongue of man may be tickled, and his palate pleased in the morning ? Let thy pretty nephew here go search and see. Urs. What new roarer is this ? Moon. O Lord! do you not know him, mis- tress ? 'tis mad Arthur of Bradley, that makes the orations. — Brave master, old Arthur of Bradley, how do you .> welcome to the Fair ! when shall we hear you again, to handle your matters, with your back against a booth, ha ? I have been one of your little disciples, in my days. Over. Let me drink, boy, with my love, thy aunt, here ; that I may be eloquent : but of thy best, lest it be bitter in my mouth, and my words fall foul on the Fair. Urs. Why dost thou not fetch him drink, and offer him to sit ? Moon. Is it ale or beer, master Arthur ? Over. Thy best, pretty stripling, thy best ; the same thy dove drinketh, and thou drawest on holydays. Urs. Bring him a sixpenny bottle of ale : they say, a fool's handsel is lucky. Over. Bring both, child. [^Sits down in the booth.'] Ale for Arthur, and Beer for Bradley. Ale for thine aunt, boy. [Exit Moon.] — My disguise takes to the very wish and reach of it. I shall, by the benefit of this, discover enough, and more : and yet get off with the reputation of what I would be : a certain middling thing, between a fool and a madman. [Aside. Enter 'Ksocejs.k. KnocJe. What ! my little lean Ursula ! my she- bear ! art thou alive yet, with thy litter of pigs to grunt out another Bartholomew Fair ? ha ! Urs. Yes, and to amble a foot, when the Fair is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up the heavy hill Knock. Of Holboum, Ursula, meanst thou so .' for what, for what, pretty Urse .' Urse. For cutting halfpenny purses, or stealing little penny dogs out o' the Fair. Knock. O I good words, good words, Urse. Over. Another special enormity. A cutpurse of the sword, the boot, and the feather ! those are his marks. [Aside. Re-enter Mooncalf, witlt t3ie ale, ^c. Urs. You are one of those horse-leaches that gave out I was dead, in Turnbull-street, of a sur- feit of bottle-ale and tripes ? Knock. No, 'twas better meat, Urse : cows udders, cows udders ! Urs. Well, I shall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day. Knock. What ! thou'lt poison me with a newt in a bottle of ale, wilt thou.' or a spider in a tobacco-pipe, Urse ? Come, there's no malice in these fat folks, I never fear thee, an I can scape thy lean Mooncalf here. Let's drink it out, good Urse, and no vapours ! [Exit Ubsula. Over. Dost thou hear, boy ? There's for thy ale, and the remnant for thee. — Speak in thy faith of a faucet, now ; is this goodly person before us here, this vapours, a knight of the knife ? SCENE I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 31 fi Moon. What mean yon by that, master Arthur ? Over. I mean a child of the horn-thumb, a babe of booty, boy, a cutpurse. Moon. O Lord, sir ! far from it. This is master Daniel Knockem Jordan : the ranger of Turnbull. He is a horse-courser, sir. Over. Thy dainty dame, though, call'd him cutpurse. Moon. Like enough, sir ; she'll do forty such things in an hour (an you listen to her) for her recreation, if the toy take her in the greasy ker- chief: it makes her fat, you see ; she battens with it. Over. Here I might have been deceived now, and have put a fool's blot upon myself, if I had not played an after game of discretion ! iAtide. Re-enter Ursula, dropping. Knock. Alas, poor Urse! this is an ill season for thee. Urs. Hang yourself, hackney-man 1 Knock. How, how, Urse ! -vapours ? motion breed vapours ? Urs. Vapours I never tusk, nor twirl your dibble, good Jordan, I know what you'll take to a very drop. Though you be captain of the roarers, and fight well at the case of piss-pots, you shaUt not Mght me with your lion-chap, sir, nor your tusks ; you angry ! you are hungry. Come, a pig's head will stop your mouth, and stay your stomach at all times. Knock. Thou art such another mad, merry Urse, still ! troth I do make conscience of vexing thee, now in the dog-days, this hot weather, for fear of foundering thee in the body, and melting down a pillar of the Fair. Pray thee take thy chair again, and keep state ; and let's have a fresh bottle of ale, and a pipe of tobacco ; and no vapours. I'll have this belly o' thine taken up, and thy grass scoured, wench. — Enter Edgworth. Look, here's Ezekiel Edgworth ; a fine boy of His inches, as any is in the Fair ! has still money in his purse, and wUl pay all, with a kind heart, and good vapours. Sdg. That I will indeed, vriUingly, master Knockem ; fetch some ale and tobacco. ^Eant Moon. — People cross the stage. Leaih. What do you lack, gentlemen? maid, see a fine hobby-horse for your young master ; cost you but a token a-week his provender. Re-enter Nightinoale, with Com-cutter, and Monsettap- Com. Have you any corns in your feet and toes ? Movse. Buy a mousetrap, a mousetrap, or a tormentor for a flea .' Trash. Buy some gingerbread? Night. Ballads, ballads ! fine new ballads : Hear for your love, and but/ for your mxmty. A delicate ballad o' the ferret and the coney. A preservative again,' the punk's evil. Another of goose-green starch, and the devil. A dozen of divine points, and the godly garters : The fairing of good counsel, of an ell and three quarters. What is't you buy ? The windmill hlouin down by the witch's fart. Or saint George, that, O I did break the dragon's heart. Re-enter Mooncalf, loith ale and tobacco. Edg. Master Nightingale, come hither, leave your mart a little. Night. O my secretary ! what says my secre- t^'T • iThey walk into the booth. Over. Child of the bottles, what's he ? what's "^ ' iPoints to EnGwoBTH. Moon. A civil young gentleman, master Arthur, that keeps company with the roarers, and disburses all still. He has ever money in his purse ; he pays for them, and they roar for him ; one does good offices for another. They call him the secretary, but he serves nobody. A great friend of the ballad-man's, they are never asunder. Over. What pity 'tis, so civil a yoimg man should haunt this debauched company ? here's the bane of the youth of our time apparent. A proper pen- man, I see't in his countenance, he has a good clerk's look with him, and I warrant him a quick hand. Moon. A very quick hand, sir. lExit. Edg. [WJiispering with Nightingale and Ursula.] All the purses, and purchase, I give you to-day by conveyance, bring hither to UrsiJa's presently. Here we will meet at night in her lodge, and share. Look you choose good places for your standing in the Fair, when you sing, Night- ingale. Urs. Ay, near the fidlest passages ; and shift them often. Edg. And in your singmg, you must use your hawk's eye nimbly, and fly the purse to a mark still, where 'tis worn, and on which side ; that you may give me the sign with your beak, or hang your head that way in the tune. Urs. Enough, talk no more on't : your friend- ship, masters, is not now to begin. Drink your draught of indenture, your sup of covenant, and away : the Fair fills apace, company begins to come in, and 1 have ne'er a pig ready yet. Knock. Well said ! fill the cups, and light the tobacco ! let's give fire in the works, and noble vapours. Edg. And shall we have smocks, Ursula, and good whimsies, ha ! Urs. Come, you are in your bawdy vein ! — the best the Fair will afiFord, Zekiel, if bawd Whit keep his word. — Re-enter Mooncai.p. How do the pigs. Mooncalf ? Moon. Very passionate, mistress, one of 'em has wept out an eye. Master Arthur o' Bradley is melancholy here, nobody talks to him. Will you any tobacco, master Arthur ? Over. No, boy ; let my meditations alone. Moon. He's studying for an oration, now. Over. If I can with this day's travail, and all my policy, but rescue this youth here out of the hands of the lewd man and the strange woman, I will sit down at night, and say with my friend Ovid, Ja/mque opus exegi, quod nee Jovis ira, nee ignis, &c. iAside. Knock. Here, Zekiel, here's a health to Ursula, and a kind vapour ; thou hast money in thy purse still, and store ! how dost thou come by it ? pray. thee vapour thy friends some in a courteous vapour. Edg. Half I have, master Dan, Knockem, is always at your service. IPullt out his purse. 316 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Over.- Ha, sweet nature ! what goshawk would prey upon such a lamb ? lAside. Knock. Let's see what 'tis, Zekiel; count it, come, fill him to pledge me. Enter Winwife and Quarlous. Winw. "We are here before them, methinks. Quar. AU the better, we shall see them come in now. Leaih, What do you lack, gentlemen, what is't you lack ? a fine horse ? a hon ? a bull ? a bear .' a dog, or a cat ? an excellent fine Bartholomew- bird ? or an instrument ? what is't you lack ? Qziar. 'Slid ! here's Orpheus among the beasts, with his fiddle and all ! Trash. Will you buy any comfortable bread, gentlemen ? Qwar. And Ceres selling her daughter's picture, in ginger-work. TVinw. That these people should be so ignorant to think us chapmen for them ! do we look as if we would buy ginger-bread, or hobby-horses ? Qiiar. Why, they know no better ware than they have, nor better customers than come : and our very being here makes us fit to be demanded, as well as others. Would Cokes would come ! there were a true customer for them. Knock. [ there's all the feeling he has ! Mrs. Oiier. I pray you, have a better care of that, brother. Cokes. Nay, so I will, I warrant you ; let him catch this that catch can. I would fain see him get this, look you here. Wasp. So, SO', so, so-, so, so, so, so! very good. Cokes. I would have him come again now, and but offer at it. Sister) will you take notice of a good jest ? I will put it just where the other was, and if we have good luck, you shall see a delicate fine trap to catch the cut-purse nibbling. Edg. Faithj and he'H try ere you be out o' the Fair. [Aside. Cokes. Come, mistress Grace, prithee be not melancholy for my mischance J sorrow will not keep it, sweetheart. Grace. I do not think on't, sir. Cokesi 'Twas but a little scurvy white money, hang it ! it may hang the cut-purse one day. I have gold left to give thee a fairing yet, as hard as the world goes. Nothing angers me but that no body here look'd like a cut-purse, unless 'twere Numps. Waspe. How I I, I look like a cut-purse ? death ! your sister's a cut-purse ! and your mother and father, and all your kin were cut-purses ! and here is a rogue is the bawd o' the cut-purses, whom I will beat to begin with. [Beats Overdo. Over. Hold thy hand, child of wrath, and heir of anger, make it not Childermass day in thy fury, or the feast of the French Bartholomew, parent of the massacre. Cokes. Numps, Numps! Mrs. Over. Good master Humphrey ! Waspe. You are the Patrico, are you ? the pa- triarch of the cut-purses ? You share, sir, they say ; let them share this with you. Are you in your hot fit of preaching again ? I'll cool you. [Beats him again. Over. Murther, murther, murther I [Exeant, £at!N£ 1. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 319 ACT III. SCENE I.— The Fair. LiNTHOHN IiEATHBSHKAD, JoAK Tkash, and Others, sit- ting by their viares, as before. Enter Tai..' 'Whit, Haooise, and Bmstm. Whit. Nay, tish all gone, now ! dish tish, phen tou wilt not be phitin caJl, master ofSsher, phat ish a man te better to lishen out noyshes for tee, and tou art in an oder orld, being very shuflBshient noyshes and gallantsh too ? one o' their brabblesh would have fed ush all dish fortnight, but tou art so bushy about beggersh still, tou hast no leshure to intend shentlemen, and't be. Hag. Why, 1 told you, Davy Bristle. Bri, Come, come, you told me a pudding, Toby Haggise ; a matter of nothing ; I am sure it came to nothing. You said, let's go to Ursula's, indeed ; but then you met the man with the monsters, and 1 could not get you from him. An old fool, not leave seeing yet ! Hag. Why, who would have thought any body would have quarrell'd so early ; or that the ale o' the fair would have been up so soon ? Whit. Phy, phat a clock toest tou tink it ish, man ? Hag. I cannot tell. Whit. Tou art a vish vatchman, i' te mean teem. Had. Why, should the watch go by the clock, or the clock by the watch, I pray .' Bri. One should go by another, if they did well. Whit. Tou art right now ! phen didst tou ever know or hear of a shuffishient vatchment, but he did tell the clock, phat bushiness soever he had ? Bri. Nay, that's most true, a sufficient watch- man knows what a clock it is. Whit. Shleeplngorvaking : ash well as te clock himshelf, orte Jack dat shtrikes him. Bri. Let's enquire of master Leatherhead, or Joan Trash here. — Master Leatherhead, do you bear, master Leatherhead ? Whit. If it be a Ledderhead, titi a very tick Ledderhead, tat sho mush noish viU not piersh him. Leath. I have a little business now, good friends, do not trouble me. Whit. Phat, because o'ty wrought neet-cap, and ty phelvet sherkin, man ? phy ! I have sheeue tee in ty ledder sherkin, ere now, mashter o' de hobby- horses, as bushy and stately as tou sheemest to be. Trash. Why, what an you have, captain Whit ? he has his choice of jerkins, you may see by that, and his caps too, I assure you, when he pleases to be either sick or employed. Leath. God-a-mercy Joan, answer for me. Whit. Away, be not sheen in my company, here be shentlemen, and men of vorship. [Exeunt Haggise and Bristle, Enter Quaklous and Wixwife. Quar. We had wonderful ill luck, to miss this prologue n' the purse : but the best is, we shall have five acts of him ere night : he'll be spectacle enough, I'll answer for't. Whit. O creesh, duke Quarlous, how dosht tou ? tou dosht not know me, I fear : I am te vishesht man, but justish Overdo, in all Bartholomew Fair now. Give me twelve pence from tee, I vill help tee to a vife vorth forty marks for't, and't be. Quar. Away, rogue ; pimp, away. Whit. And she shall shew tee as fine cut orke for't in her shmock too as tou cansh* vish i'faith ; vilt tou have her, vorshipful Vinvife ? I vill help tee to her here, be an't be, into pig-quarter, gi' me ty twelve pence from tee. Winw. Why, there's twelve pence, pray thee wilt thou begone ? Whit. Tou art a vorthy man, and a vorshipful man still. Quar. Get you gone, rascal. Whit. I do mean it, man. Prinsli Quarlpus, if tou hasht need on me, tou shalt find me here at TJrsla's, I vill see phat ale and punque ish i' te pigsty for tee, bless ty good vorship. ZExit. Quar. Look ! who comes here : John Littlewit ! Winw. And his wife, and my widow, her mo- ther : the whole family. Quar. 'Slight, you must give them all fairings now. Winw. Not I, I '11 not see them. Quar. They are going a feasting. What school- master's that is with 'em ? Winw. That's my rival, I believe, the baker. Enter Rabbi Busy, J)a7ne Purecraft, John Littlewit, and Mrs. Littlewit. Busy. So, walk on in the middle way, fore-right, turn neither to the right hand nor to the left ; let not your eyes be drawn aside with vanity, nor your ear with noises. Quar. O, I know him by that start. Leath. What do you lack, what do- you buy, mistress ? a fine hobby-horse, to make your son a tilter ? a drum to make him a soldier ? a fiddle to make him a reveller? what is't you lack." little dogs for your daughters? or babies, male or female r Busff. Look not toward them, hearken not ; the place is Smithfield, or the field of smiths, the grove of hobby-horses and trinkets, the wares are the wares of devils, and the whole Fair is the shop of Satan : they are hooks and baits, very baits, that are hung out on every side, to catch you, and to hold you, as it were, by the gills, and by the nostrils, as the fisher doth ; therefore you must not look nor turn toward them. — The heathen man could stop his ears with wax against the harlot of the sea ; do you the like with your fingers against the bells of the beast. Winw, What flashes come from him ! Quar, O, he has those of his oven ; a notable hot baker 'twas when he plied the peel ; he is lead- ing his flock into the Fair now. Winw, Rather driving them to the pens ; for he win let them look upon nothing. Enter Knockem and WmT from TTrsula's booth. Knock. Gentlewomen, the weather's hot; whi- ther walk you ? have a care of your fine velvet caps, the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet delicate booth, with boughs, here in the way, and cool yourselves in the shade ; you and your friends. The best pig and bottle-ale in the Fair, sir. Old Ursula is cook, there you may read ; [Poitits to the sign, a pig's head, with a large writing under it.'\ the pig's head speaks it. Poor soul, she has had a string, halt, the maryhinchco ; but she's prettily amended- Whit. A delicate show-pig, little mistress, with shweet sauce, and crackling, like de bay-leaf 1' de 320 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. JlCT IH. fire, la! toil shalt ha' de clean side o' de table-clot, and di glass vasli'd with phatersh of dame Annesh Cleare. Lit. [Gazing at the inscription.'] This is fine verily. Here be the beat pigs, and she does roast them as well as ever she did, the pig's head says. Knock. Excellent, excellent, mistress ; with fire o' juniper and rosemary branches ! the oracle of the pig's head, that, sir. Pure. Son, were you not warn'd of the vanity of the eye ? have you forgot the wholesome admo- nition so soon ? Lit. Good mother, how shall we find a pig, if we do not look about for't : will it run off o'the spit, into our mouths, think you, as in Lubber- land, and cry, «e«, wee ! Busy. No, but your mother, religiously-wise, conceiveth it may ofifer itself by other means to the sense, as by way of steam, which I think it doth here in this place — ^huh, huh — yes, it doth. [He scents after tt like a hound.'] And it were a sin of obstinacy, great obstinacy, high and horrible obsti- nacy, to decline or resist the good titillation of the famelic sense, which is the smell. Therefore be bold — huh, huh, huh — follow the scent : enter the tents of the unclean, for once, and satisfy your ■wife's frailty. Let your frail wife be satisfied ; your zealous mother, and my suffering self, will also be satisfied. Lit. Come, Win, as good winny here as go far- ther, and see nothing. Busy. We scape so much of the other vanities, by our early entering. Pure. It is an edifying consideration. Mrs. Lit. This is scurvy, that we must come into the Fair, and not look on't. Lit. Win, have patience. Win, I'll tell you more anon. [Exeunt, into the booth, Littlewit, Mrs. JjITTlewtt, Busy, and Pubecraft. Knock. Mooncalf, entertain within there, the best pig in the booth, a pork-like pig. These are Banbury-bloods, o' the sincere stud, come a pig- hunting. Whit, wait, Whit, look to your charge. [Exit Whit. Busy, [within.] A pig prepare presently, let a pig be prepared to us. E7iter Mooncalf and TTbsula. Moon. 'Slight, who be these ? Urs. Is this the good service, Jordan, you'd do me? Knock. Why, Urse, why, Urse ? thon'lt have vapours i' thy leg again presently, pray thee go in, it may turn to the scratches else. Urs. Hang your vapours, they are stale, and stink like you ! Are these the guests o'the game you promised to fill my pit withal to-day .' Knock. Ay, what ail they, Urse ? Urs. Ail they ! they are all sippers, sippers o' the city ; they look as they would not drink off two pen'orth of bottle-ale amongst 'em. Moon. A body may read that in their small printed ruffs. Knock. Away, thou art a fool, Urse, and thy Mooncalf too : in your ignorant, vapours now ! hence ! good guests, I say, right hypocrites, good gluttons. In, and set a couple o' pigs on the board, and half a dozen of the biggest bottles afore 'em, and call Whit. [Exit Moonoalv."] I do not love to hear innocents abused : fine ambling hypocrites ! and a stone puritan with a sorrel head and beard .' good mouth'd gluttons ; two to a pig, away. Urs. Are you sure they are such ? Knock. O' the right breed, thou shalt try 'em by the teeth, Urse ; where's this Whit ? Re-enter Wh[t. Whit. Behold, man, and see, What a worthy man am ee ! With the fury of my sword. And the shaking of my beard, I will make ten thousand men afeard. Knock. Well said, brave Whit! in, 4nd /ear the ale out o' the bottles into the bellies of the breth- ren, and * * * the sisters drink to the cause, and pure vapours. [Exeunt ICnockem, Whit, and "Ursula. Quar. My roarer is turn'd tapster, methinks. Now were a fine time for thee, Winwife, to lay aboard thy widow, thou'lt never be master of a bet- ter season or place ; she that will venture herself into the Fair and a pig-box, will admit any assault, be assured of that. Winw. I love not enterprises of that sudden- ness though. Quar. I'll warrant thee, then, no wife out of the widow's hundred : if 1 had but as much title to her, as to have breathed once on that straight stomacher of hers, I would now assure myself to carry her, yet, ere she went out of Smithfield; or she should carry me, which were the fitter sight, I confess. But you are a modest undertaker, by circumstances and degrees ; come, 'tis disease in thee, not judg- ment ; I should offer at all together. — Enter Overdo. Look, here's the poor fool again, that was stung by the Waspe erewhile. Over. I will make no more orations, shall draw on these tragical conclusions. And I begin now to think, that by a spice of collateral justice, Adam Overdo deserved this beating; for I, the said Adam, was one cause (a by- cause) why the purse was lost ; and my wife's brother's purse too, which they know not of yet. But I shall make very good mirth with it at supper, that will be the sport, and put my little friend, master Humphrey Waspe's choler quite out of countenance : when, sitting at the upper end of my table, as I use, and drinking to my brother Cokes, and mistress Alice Overdo, as I wiU, my wife, for their good affection to old Bradley, I deliver to them, it was I that was cudgeled, and show them the marks. To see what bad events may peep out o' the tail of good purposes ! the care I had of that civil young man I took fancy to this morning, (and have not left it yet,) drew me to that exhortation, which drew the company indeed ; which drew the cut-purse ; which drew the money ; which drew my brother Cokes his loss; which drew on Waspe's anger; which drew on my beating : a pretty gradation I and they shall' have ij; in their dish, i' faith, at night for fruit ; I love to be merry at my table. I had thought once, at one special blow he gave me, to have revealed myself; hut then (I thank thee, fortitude) I remembered that a wise man, and who is ever so great a part of the commonwealth in himself, for no particular disaster ought to abandon a public good design. The husbandman ought not, for one unthankful year, to forsake ths SOGNt: I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 321 plough ; the shepherd ought not, for one scabbed sheep, to throw by his tar-box ; the pilot ought not, for one leak in the poop, to quit the helm ; nor the alderman ought not, for one custard more at a meal, to give up his clofce ; the constable ought not to break his staff, and forswear the watch, for one roaring night ; nor the piper of the parish, ut parvis componere magna solebam, to put up his pipes for one rainy Sunday. These are certain knocking conclusions ; out of which, I am resolved, come what come can, come beat- ing, come imprisonment, come infamy, come banishment, nay, come the rack, come the hurdle, (welcome all,) I will not discover who I am, till my due time ; and yet still, all shall be, as I said ever, in justice name, and the king's, and for the commonwealth. Winw. What does he talk to himself, and act so seriously, poor fool ! Quar. No matter what. Here's fresher argu- ment, intend that. Enter Cokes, Mistress Overdo, and Grace Welz-born, followed by 'Waspe, loaded uyiOt toys. Cokes. Come, mistress Grace, come, sister, here's more fine sights yet, i' faith. Od's 'lid, where's Numps ? Leaih. What do you lack, gentlemen ? what is't you buy ? fine rattles, drums, babies, little dogs, and birds for ladies ? what do you lack ? Cokes. Good honest Numps, keep afore, I am so afraid thou'lt lose somewhat ; my heart was at my mouth, when I mist thee. Waspe. You were best buy a whip in your hand to drive me. Cokes. Nay, do not mistake, Numps ; thou art so apt to mistake I I would but watch the goods. Look you now, the treble fiddle was e'en almost like to be lost. Waspi. Pray you take heed-you lose not your- self ; your best way were e'en get up and ride for more surety. Buy a token's worth of great pins, to fasten yourself to my shoulder. Leath. What do you lack, gentlemen? fine purses, pouches, pin-cases, pipes ? what is't you lack ? a pair o' smiths to wake you in the morn- ing ? or a fine whistling bird ? Cokes. Numps, here be finer things than any we have bought by odds ! and more delicate horses, a great deal ; good Numps, stay, and come hither. Waspe. Will you scourse with him ? you eire in Smithfield, you may fit yourself with a fine easy going street-nag, for your saddle, again Michael- mas term, do : has he ne'er a little odd cart for you to make a caroch on, in the country, with four pied hobby-horses ? Why the measles, should you stand here, with your train, cheapning of dogs, birds, and babies ? you have no children to bestow them on, have you ? Cokes. No, but again I have children, Numps, that's all one. Waspe. Do, do, do, do ; how many shall you have, think you ? an I were as you, I'd buy for all my tenants too, they are a kind of civil savages, that will part with their children for rattles, pipes, and knives. You were best buy a hatchet or two, and truck with 'em. Cokes. Good Numps, hold that little tongue o' thine, and save it -d. labour. I am resolute Bat, thou know'st. Waspe, A resolute fool you are, I know, and a very sufficient coxcomb ; with all my heart ; — nay you have it, sir, an you be angry, t in your teeth, twice ; if I said it not once afore, and much good do you. Winw. Was there ever such a self-affliction, and so impertinent ? Quar. Alas, his care will go near to crack him j let's in and comfort him- ZThey come forward. Waspe. Would I had been set in the ground, all but the head on me, and had my brains bowled at, or threshed out, when first I underwent this plague of a charge I . Q«or. How now, Numps ! almost tired in your protectorship ? overparted, overparted ? Waspe. Why, I cannot tell, sir, it may be I am ; does it grieve you ? Quar, No, I swear does't not, Numps ; to satisfy you. Waspe. Numps ! 'sblood, you are fine and familiar: how long have we been acquainted, I pray you ? Quar. I think it may be remembered, Numps, that ; 'twas since morning, sure. Waspe, Why, I hope I know't well enough, sir ; I did not ask to be told. Quar, No ! why, then? Waspe. It's no matter why ; you see with your eyes now, what I said to you to-day : you'll believe me another time ? Quar. Are you removing the Fair, Numps ? Waspe. A pretty question, and a civil one ! yes faith, I have my lading, you see, or shall have anon ; you may know whose beast I am by my burden. If the pannierman's jack were ever better known by his loins of mutton, I'll be flayed, and feed dogs for him when his time comes. Winw. How melancholic mistress Grace is yonder ! pray thee let's go enter ourselves in grace vrith her. Cokes. Those six horses, friend, I'll have Waspe. How ! Cokes. And the three Jews-trumps ; and hall a dozen o' birds, and that drum, (I have one drum already) and your smiths ; I like that device of your smiths, very pretty w«ll ; and four halberts and, let me see, that fine painted great lady and her three women for state, I'U have. Waspe. No, the shop ; buy the whole shop, i< will be best, the shop, the shop I Leaih. If his worship please. Waspe. Yes, and keep it during the Fair, Bobchin. Cokes. Peace, Numps Friend, do not meddle with him, an you be wise, and would shew your head above board ; he will sting thorough your wrought night-cap, believe me. A set of these violins I would buy too, for a delicate young noise I have in the country, that are every one a size less than another, just like your fiddles. I would fain have a fine young masque at my marriage, now I think on't : But I do want such a number of things ! — And Numps will not help me now, and I dare not speak to him. Trash. Will your worship buy any gingerbread, very good bread, comfortable bread ? Cokes. Gingerbread ! yes, let's see. \_Rum to ker itop, Waspe, There's the t'other sprinee. 32a BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Leath. Is this well, goody Joan, to interrupt my market in the midst, and call away my cus- tomers ? can you answer this at the pie-poudres ? Trash, Why, if his mastership has a mind to buy, I hope my ware lies as open as another's ; I may shew my ware as well as you yours. Cokes. Hold your peace ; I'll content you both : I'll buy up his shop, and thy basket Waspe. Will you, i' faith ? Leath. Why should you put him from it, friend ? Waspe. Cry you mercy! you'd be sold too, 4 1 would you ? what's the price on you, jerkin and all, as you stand ? have you any qualities P Trash. Yes, goodrman, angry-man, you shall find he has qualities, if you cheapen him. Waspe. Od's so, you have the selling of him ! What are they, will they be bought for love or money ? Trash. No indeed, sir. Waspe. For what then, victuals ? Trash. He scorns victuals, sir ; he has bread and butter at home, thanks be to God ! and yet he will do more for a good meal, if the toy-take him in the belly ; marry then they must not set him at lower ends, if they do, he'll go away, though he fast : but put him a-top o' the table, where his place is, and he'll do you forty fine things. He has not been sent for, and sought out for nothing, at your great city-suppers, to put down Coriat and Cokely, and been laughed at for his labour ; he'll play you all the puppets in the town over, and the players, every company, and his own company too ; he spares nobody. Cokes. I' faith." Trath. He was the first, sir, that ever baited the fellow in the bear's skin, an't like your wor- ship : no dog ever came near him since. And for fine motions 1 Cokes. Is he good at those too ? can he set out a masque, trow .' . Trash. O lord, master ! sought to far and near for his inventions j and he engrosses ail, he makes all the puppets in the Fair. Cokes. Dost thou, in troth, old velvet jerkin ? give me thy hand. Trash. Nay, sir, you shall see him in his velvet jerkin, and a scarf too at night, when you hear him interpret master Littlewit's motion. Cokes. Speak no more, but shut up shop pre- sently, friend, I'll buy both it and thee too, to carry down with me; and her hamper beside. Thy shop shall furnish out the masque, and her's the banquet : I cannot go less, to set out anything with credit. What's the price, at a word, of thy whole shop, case and all as it stands .' Leath. Sir, it stands me in six and twenty shillings seven-pence halfpenny, besides three shillings for my ground. Cokes. Well, thirty shillings will do all, then ! and what comes yours to? Trash. Four shillings and eleven-pence, sir, ground and all, an't like your worship. Cokes. Yes, it does like my worship very well, poor woman ; that's five shillings more : what a masque shall I furnish out, for forty shillings, twenty pound Scotch, and a banquet of ginger- bread I there's a stately thing I Numps? sister." — and my wedding gloves too 1 that I never thought on afore ! All my wedding gloves ginger- bread ? O me ! what a device will there be. to make 'em eat their fingers ends ! and delicate brooches for the bridemen and all 1 and then I'll have this poesie put to them, tor the best grace, meaning mistress Grace, my wedding poesie. Grace. I am beholden to you, sir, and to your Bartholomew wit. Waspe. You do not mean this, do you ? Is this your first purchase ? Cokes. Yes, faith : and I do not think, Numps, but thou'lt say, it was the wisest act that ever I did in my wardship. Waspe. Like enough ! I shall say any thing, I ! Enter EDawoBTH, Niohttngale and Peopte, /allowed, at a distance, by Overdo. Over. I cannot beget a project, with all my political brain yet : my project is how to fetch off this proper young man from his debauched com- pany. I have followed him all the Fair over, and still I find him with this songster, and I begin shrewdly to suspect their familiarity; and the young man of a terrible taint, poetry ! with whic);. idle disease if he be infected, there's no hope of him, in a state-course. Actum est of him for a com- monwealth's-man, if he go to't in rhyme once. liAside. Edg. [To Nightingale.] Yonder he is buying of gingerbread ; set in quickly, before he part with too much of his money. Night. [Advancing and singing.] My masters, and friends, and good people, draw near Cokes. [Runs to the ballad-man.'] Ballads ! hark 1 hark ! pray thee, fellow, stay a little ; good Numps, look to the goods. What ballads hast thou ? let me see, let me see myself. Waspe. Why so ! he's flown to another lime- bush, there he will flutter as long more ; till he have ne'er a feather left. Is there a vexation like this, gentlemen ? will you believe me now, here- after, shall I have credit with you? Quar. Yes, faith- shalt thou, Numps, and thou art worthy on't, for thou sweatest for't I never saw a young pimp-errant and his squire better match' d. Winw. Faith, the sister comes after them well too. Grace. Nay, if you saw the justice her husband, my guardian, you were fitted for the mess, he is such a wise one his way Winw. I wonder we see him not here. Grace. O ! he is too serious for this place, and yet better sport then than the other three, I assure you, gentlemen, wherever he is, though it be on the bench. Cokes. How dost thou call it .' .<# caveat against cut-purses ! a good jest, i'faith, I would fain see that demon, your cut-purse you talk of, that deli- cate handed devU ; they say he walks hereabout J 1 would see him walk now. Look you, sister, here, here, [He shews his purse boastingly.] let him come, sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, does any cut-purses haunt hereabout ? pray thee raise me one or two ; begin, and shew me one. Night. Sir, this is a spell against them, spick and span new ; and 'tis made as 'twere in mine own person, and I sing it in mine own defence. But 'twill cost a penny alone, if you buy it. Cokes, No matter for the price ; thou dost not know me, I see, I am an odd Bartholomew. Mrs. Over. Has it a fine picture, brother ? Cokes. O, sister, do you remember the ballads SVKNG I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. S23 over the nursery chimney at home o' my own pasting up : there be brave pictures, other manner of pictures than these, friend. Waspe. Yet these will serve to pick the pictures out of your pockets, you shall see. Cokes. So J heard them say ! Pray thee mind him not, fellow ; he'll have an oar in eveiy thing. Night. It was intended, sir, as if a purse should chance to be cut in my presence, now, I may be blameless though ; as by the sequel will more plainly appear. Cokes. We shall find that in the matter : pray thee begin. Night. To the tune of Paggington's pound, sir. Cokes. [Sings.] Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la ! Nay, I'll put thee in tune and all ! mine own country dance ! Pray thee begin. Night. It is a gentle admonition, you must know, sir, both to the purse-cutter and the purse- bearer. Cokes. Not a word more out of the tune, an thou lov'st me ; Fa, la la la, la la la, fa, la la la. Come, when? Night, [sings.] Mt/ masters, and friends, and good people, draw near. And look to your purses, for that I do say ; Cokes. Ha, ha, this chimes ! Good counsel at first dash. Night. Jtnd tho' little money in them you do bear. It costs more to get, than to lose in a day. Cokes. Good ! Night. Vou oft have been told. Both the young and the old, And bidden beware of the cut-purse so bold ; Cokes. Well said ! he were to blame that would not, i'faith. Night. Then if you take heed not, free me from the curse. Who loth give you warning, for, and the cut-purse. Youth, youth, thou had'st better been starv'd by thy nurse. Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. Cokes. Good i'faith ; how say you, Numps, is there any harm in this ? Night. It hath beenupbraided to men of my trade. That oftentimes we are the cause of this crime ; Cokes. The more coxcombs they that did it, I wusse. Night. Alack and for pity, why should it be said ? As if they regarded or places or time I Examples have been Of some that were seen In Westminster-hall, yea the pleaders between ; Then why should the judges be free from this curse, More than my poor self, for cutting the purse $ Cokes. God a mercy for that 1 why should they be more free indeed ? Night. Youth, youth, thou had'st better been starv'd by thy nurse. Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. Cokes. That again, good ballad-man, that again. [He sings the burden with him.] O rare 1 I would fain rub mine elbow now, but I dare not pull out my hand On I pray thee ; be that made this ballad shall be poet to my masque. Night. At Worc'ster 'tis knoKn well, and even in the jail, A knight of good worship did there shew his face, Against the foul sinners, in zeal for to rail. And lost ipso facto his purse in the place. Cokes. Is it possible ? Night. Nay, once from the seat Of judgment so great, A judge there did lose a fair pouch of velvete. Cokes. I'faith? Night. O Lord for thy mercy, how wicked m worse, Are those that so venture their n^cks for a purse t Youth, youth, thou had'st better been starv'd by thy nurse. Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. Cokes. [Sings after him.] Youth, youth, ^c. — Pray thee, stay a little, friend. Yet o' thy con- science, Numps, speak, is there any harm in this ? Waspe. To tell you true, 'tis too good for you, less you had grace to follow it. Over. It doth discover enormity, I'll mark it more : I have not liked a paltry piece of poeti-y so well a good while. {Aside. Cokes. Youth, youth, ^o. ; where's this youth now ? a man must call upon him for his own good, and yet he will not appear, liook here, here's for him ; [Shews his purse."] handy dandy, which hand will he have .' On, I pray thee with the rest ; 1 do hear of him, but I cannot see him, this master youth, the cut-purse. Night. At plays, and at sermons, and at the sessions, ' Tis daily their practice such booty to make. Yea under tlie gallows at executions. They stick not the stare-abouts purses to take. Nay one without grace. At a [far] better place. At court, and in Christmas, before the king's face. Cokes. That was a fine fellow ! I would have him now. Night Alack then for pity must I bear the curse. That only belongs to the cunning cut-purse ? Cokes. But where's their cunning now, when they should use it ? they are all chain'd now, I warrant you. ISings.] Youth, youth, thou hadst better — The rat-catchers' charms are all fools and asses to this : a pox on them, that they will not come I that a man should have such a desire to a thing, and want it ! Quar. 'Fore God I'd give half the Fair, an 'twere mine, for a cut-purse for him, to save his longing. Cokes. Look you, sister, [Shews his parse again.] here, here, where is't now ? which pocket is't in, for a w^ager ? Waspe. I beseech you leave your wagers, and let him end his matter, an't may be. Cokes. O, are you edified, Numps ! Over. Indeed he does interrupt him too much : there Numps spoke to purpose. ZAside. Cokes. Sister, I am an ass, I cannot keep my purse ! [Shews it again, and puts it up.] — On, on, I pray thee, friend. Night. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv'd by thy nurse. Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. lAi NiGHTiNGALB sinfft, Edgwobth gets up to Cokes, and tickles him in the ear with a ttraw twice to draw his hand out of his pocket. Winw. Will you see sport ? look, there's a fel- low gathers up to him, mark. Quar. Good, i' faith 1 O he has lighted on the wrong pocket 324 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Winw. He has it ! 'fore God, he is a brave fellow : pity he should be detected. Night. But O, you vile nation of cut-purses all. Relent and repent, and amend and be sottnd, A nd know thai you ought not, by honest men's fall. Advance your orwn fortunes, to die above ground; And though you go gay In silks, as you may. It is not the highway to heaven fas they say.) Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse. And kiss not the gallows for cutting a purse. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv'd by thy nurse. Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. All. An excellent ballad ! an excellent ballad I Sdg. Friend, let me have the first, let me have the first, I pray you. ^As NiGHTiNGALa reackcs out the baUad, Edgworth slips the purse into his hand. Cokes. Pardon me, sir ; first come first serv'd ; and I'll buy the whole bundle too. Winw. That conveyance was better than all, did you see't ? he has given the purse to the ballad- singer. Quar. Has he ? £dg. Sir, I cry you mercy, I'll not hinder the poor man's profit ; pray you, mistake me not. Cokes. Sir, I take you for an honest gentleman, if that be mistaking ; I met you to-day afore : ha ! humph ! O Lord ! my purse is gone, my purse, my purse, my purse ! Waspe. Come do not make a stir, and cry your- self an ass thorough the Fair afore your time. Cokes. Why, hast thou it, Numps ? good Numps, how came you by it, 1 marie ? Waspe. I pray you seek some other gamester to play the fool with ; you may lose it time enough, for all your Fair wit. Cokes, By this good hand, glove and all, I have lost it already if thou hast it not ; feel else, and mistress Grace's handkerchief too, out of the t'other pocket. Waspe. Why, 'tis well, very well, exceeding pretty and well. Edg. Are you sure you have lost it, sir ? Cokes. O Lord ! yes ; as I am an honest man, I had it bat e'en now, at Youth, youth. Night. I hope you suspect not me, sir ? Edg. Thee ! that were a jest indeed 1 dost thou think the gentleman is foolish ? where hadst thou hands, I pray thee ? Away, ass, away I iExit Nioht. Over. 1 shall be beaten again, if I be spied. [_Aside, retiring. Edg. Sir, I suspect an odd fellow, yonder, is stealing away. Mrs. Over. Brother, it is the preaching feUow: you shall suspect him. He was at your t'other pnrse, you know ! [^Seizes Overdo.] — Nay, stay, sir, and view the work you have done ; an you be beneficed at the gallows, and preach there, thank your own handy-work. Cokes. Sir, you shall take no pride in your pre- ferment, you shall be silenced quickly. IThey seize Overdo. Over. What do you mean, sweet buds of gen- tility ? Cokes. To have my pennyworths out on you, bud. No less than two purses a day serve you 1 I thought you a simple fellow, when my man Numps heat you in the morning, and pitied you. Mrs. Over. So did I, I'll be sworn, brother ; but now I see he is a lewd and pernicious enormity, as master Overdo calls him. Over. Mine own words tum'd upon me like swords ! [Aside. Cokes. Cannot a man's purse be at quiet for you in the master's pocket, but you must entice it forth, and debauch it ! [Overdo is carried off. Waspe. Sir, sir, keep your debauch, and your fine Bartholomew terms to yourself, and make as much on 'em as you please. But give me this from you in the mean time ; I beseech you, see if I can look to this. Cokes. Why, Numps ? Waspe. Why ! because you are an ass, sir, there's a reason the shortest way, an you will needs have it : now you have got the trick of losing, you'd lose your breech an 'twere loose. I know you, sir, come, deliver, [ Takes the box from Mm,'] you'll go and crack the vermin you breed now, will you.' 'tis very fine ; wiU you have the truth on't ? they are such retchless flies as you are, that blow cut- purses abroad in every comer ; your foolish having of money makes them. \n there were no wiser than I, sir, the trade should lie open for you, sir, it should, i' faith, sir. I would teach your wit to come to your head, sir, as well as your land to come into your hand, I assure you, sir. Winw. Alack, good Numps ! Waspe. Nay, gentlemen, never pity me, I am not worth it : Lord send me at home once to Har- row o' the HUl, again, if I travel any more, call me Coriat with all my heart. [Exeunt Waspe, Cokes, and Mrs. Oterdo, followed by Edoworth. Quar. [Stops Edgworth.] Stay, sir, I must have a word with you in private. Do you hear ? Edg. With me, sir ! what's your pleasure, good sir? Q^iar. Do not deny it, you are a cut-purse, sir, this gentleman here and I saw you : nor do we mean to detect you, though we can sufficiently in- form ourselves toward the danger of concealing you ; but you must do us a piece of service. Edg. Good gentlemen, do not undo me ; I am a civil young man, and but a beginner indeed. Quar. Sir, your beginning shall bring on your ending for us : we are no catchpoles nor constables. That you are to undertake is this : you saw the old fellow vrith the black box here ? Edg. The little old governor, sir .' Quar. That same : 1 see you have flown him to a mark already. I would have you get away that box from him, and bring it us. Edg. Wou'd you have the box and all, sir, or only that that is in't ? I'll get you that, and leave him the box to play with still, which will be the harder of the two, because I would gain your wor- ship's good opinion of me. Winw. He says well, 'tis the greater mastery, and 'twill make the more sport when 'tis mist. Edg. Ay, and 'twill be the longer a missing, to draw on the sport. Quar. But look you do it now, sirrab, and keep your word, or Edg. Sir, if ever I break my word with a gentle- man, may I never read word at my need. AVhere shall I find you ? Quar. Somewhere i' the Fair, hereabouts : dis- patch it quickly. lExit Edgworth.] I would BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 326 fain see tlie careful fool deluded ! Of all teasts, I love tlie serious ass ; he that takes pains to be one, and plays the fool with the greatest diligence that can be. Grace. Then you would not choose, sir, but love my guai'dian, justice Overdo, who is answerable to that description in erery hair of him. Quar. So I have heard. But how came you, mistress Wellborn, to be his ward, or have relation to him at first .' Grace. Faith, through a common calamity, he bought me, sir ; and now he t/AR marry me to his wife's brother, this wise gentleman that you see ; or else I must pay value o' my land. Quar. 'Slid, is there no device of disparagement, or so ? talk with some crafty fellow, some pick- lock of the law : would I had studied a year longer in the Inns of court, an 't had been but in your case. Winw. Ay, master Quarlous, are you proffering ! {Aside. Grace. You'd bring but little aid, sir. Winw. I'll look to you, in faith, gamester. — \Aside.^ An unfortunate foolish tribe yon are fallen into, lady, I wonder you can endure them. Grace. Sii", they that cannot work their fetters off must weai- them. Winw. You see what care they have on you, to leave you thus. Grace. Faith, the same they have of themselves, sii-. I cannot greatly complain, if this were all the plea I had against them. Winw. 'Tis true : hut will you please to with- ilraw with us a little, and make them think they have lost you. I hope our manners have been such hitherto, and our language, as will give you no cause to doubt yom'self in our company. Grace. Sir, I will give myself no cause ; I am so secure of mine own manners, as I suspect not yours. Quar. Look where John Littlewit comes. Winw. Away, I'U not be seen by him. Quar. No, you were not best, he'd teU his mo- ther, the widow. Winw. Heart ! what do you mean ? Quar. Cry you mercy, is the wind there ? must not the widow be named .' {^ExmnU Enici' Littlewit /rtwn "Ubsula's booth, followed by Mrs. LlTl'LETVIT. Lit. Do you hear. Win, Win ? Mrs. Lit. What say yon, John ? Lit. AVhile they are paying the reckoning. Win, I'lJ, teU you a thing. Win ; we shall never see any sights in the Fair, Win, except you long still. Win : good Win, sweet Win, long to see some hobby- horses, and some drums, and rattles, and dogs, and fine devices. Win. The bull with the five legs, Win ; and the great hog. Now you have begun with pig, you may long for any thing, Win, and so for my motion, Win. Mrs. Lit. But we shall not eat of the bull and the hog, John ; how shall I long then ? Lit. O yes. Win : you may long to see, as well as to taste. Win : how did the pothecary's wife, Win, that longed to see the anatomy. Win ? or the lady. Win, that desired to spit iu the great lawyer's mouth, after an eloquent pleading ? I assure you, they longed, Win ; good Win, go in, and long. \_Bxeunt Littlewit and Jlrs. Littlewit. Trash. I think we are rid of our new customer. brother Leatherhead, we shaE hear no more of him. Leath. All the better ; let's pack up all and be- gone, before he find us. Trash. Stay a little, yonder comes a company ; it may be we may take some more money. Enter Knoceem and Busy. Knock. Sir, 1 will take your counsel, and cut my hair, and leave vapours : I see that tobacco, and bottle ale, and pig, and Whit, and very Ursla her- self, is all vauil^-. Busy. Only pig was not comprehended in my admonition, the rest were : for long hair, it is an ensign of pride, a banner ; and the world is full of those banners, very full of banners. And bottle ale is a drink of Satan's, a diet-drink of Satan's, devised to puff us up, and make us swell in this latter age of vanity ; as the smoke of tobacco, to keep us in mist and error : but the fleshly woman, which you call Ursla, is above all to be avoided, having the marks upon her of the three enemies of man ; the world, as being in the Fair ; the devil, as being in the fire ; and the flesh, as being herself. Enter Mrs. FimECRAFT. Pure. Brother Zeal-of-the-land ! what shall we do." my daughter Win-the-fight is fallen into her fit of longing again. Busy. For more pigl there is no more, is there? Pure. To see some sights in the Fair. Busy. Sister, let her fly the impurity of the place swiftly, lest she partake of the pitch thereof. I'hou art the seat of the beast, O Smithfield, and I will leave thee ! Idolatry peepethout on every side of thee. {_Gocs forward. Knock. An excellent right hypocrite ! now his belly is full, he falls a railing and kicking, the jade. A very good vapour ! I'll in, and joy Ursla, with telling how her pig works j two and a half he eat to his share ; and he has drunk a pail- full. He eats with his eyes, as well as his teeth. [Exit. Leath. What do you lack, gentlemen ? what is't you buy.' rattles, drums, babies Busy. Peace, with thy apocryphal wares, thou profane publican ; thy bells, thy dragons, and thy Tobie's dogs. Thy hobby-horse is an idol, a very idol, a fierce and rank idol ; and tbou, the Nebu- chadnezzar, the proud Nebuchadnezzar of the Fair, that sett'st it up, for children to fall down to, and worship. Leath. Cry you mercy, sir ; will yon buy a fid- dle to fin up your noise ? Re-enter Littlewit and his Wife. Lit. Look, Win, do, look a God's name, and save your longing. Here be fine sights. Pure. Ay, child, so you hate them, as our bro- ther Zeal does, you may look on them. Leath. Or what do you say to a drum, sir? . Busy. It is the broken belly of the beast, and thy bellows there are his lungs, and these pipes are his throat, those feathers are of his tail, and thy rattles the gnashing of his teeth. Trash. And what's my gingerbread, I pray you ? Busy. The provender that pricks him up. Hence with thy basket of popery, thy nest of images, and whole legend of ginger-work. Leath. Sir, if you be not quiet the quicklier, I'll have you clapp'd fairly by the heels, for disturbing the Fair. 32C BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT IT. Busy. The siu of the Fair provokes me, I cannot be silent. Pwe. Good brother Zeal ! Leath. Sir, I'll make you silent, believe it. Lit. I'd give a shilling you could, i'faith, friend. [Aside to Leatherhead. Leath. Sir, give me your shilling, I'll give you my shop, if I do not ; and I'll leave it in pawn with you in the mean time. Lit. A match, i'faith ; but do it quickly then. [Exit Leathekhbad. Busy [to Mrs. Poreckaft]. Hinder me not, woman. I was moved in spirit, to be here this day, in this Fair, this wicked and foul Fair ; and fitter may it be called a Foul than a Fair ; to protest against the abuses of it, the foul abuses of it, in re- gard of the afflicted saints, that are troubled, very much troubled, exceedingly troubled, with the open- ing of the merchandise of Babylon again, and the peeping of popery upon the stalls here, here, in the high places. See you not Goldylocks, the purple strumpet there, in her yellow gown and green sleeves ? the profane pipes, the tinkling timbrels .' a shop of relicks ! [Attempts to seize the toys. Lit. Pray you forbear, I am put in trast with them. Busy. And this idolatrous gi-ove of images, this f asket of idols, which I will pull down ■ [Overthrows the gingerlixad basket. Trash. O my ware, my ware ! God bless it ! Busy. In my zeal, and glory to be thus exer- cised. He-enter JjEAraEitBBAD, with Bristle, Haggise, and other Officers. Leath. Here he is, pray you lay hold on his zeal ; we cannot seE a whistle for him in tune. Stop his noise first. Busy. Thou canst not ; 'tis a sanctified noise : I will make a loud and most strong noise, till I have daunted the profane enemy. And fur this cause Leath. Sir, here's no man afraid of you, or your cause. You shall swear it in the stocks, sir. Busy. I will thrust myself into the stocks, upon the pikes of the land. [Thei/ seize him. Leath. Carry him away. Pure. What do you mean, wicked men ? Busy. Let them alone, I fear them not. [Exeunt Officers with Busy, followed hf/ Dame Purecra ft. Lit. Was not this shilling well ventm-ed, Win, for our liberty .'' now we may go play, and see over the Fair, where we list ourselves : my mother is gone after him, and let her e'en go, and lose us. Mrs. Lit. Yes, John ; but I know not what to do. Lit. For what. Win ? Mrs. Lit. For a thing I am ashamed to tell you, i' faith ; and 'tis too far to go home. Lit. I pray thee be not ashamed. Win. Come, i'faith, thou shalt not be ashamed : is it any thing about the hobby-horse man? an't be, speak freely. Mrs. Lit. Hang him, base Bobchin, I scorn him ; no, I have very great what sha' call 'um, John. [Whis-pers him. Lit. O, is that all. Win ? we'll go back to cap- tain Jordan, to the pig-woman's, Win, he'U help us, or she, with a dripping-pan, or an old kettle, or something. The poor greasy soul loves you, Win ; and after we'll visit the Fair all over, Win, and see my puppet-play. Win ; you know it's a fine matter. Win. [Exeunt LriTLEWiT and Mrs. Littlewit. Leath. Let's away ; I counsell'd you to pack up afore, Joan. Trash. A pox of his Bedlam purity ! He has spoiled half my ware : but the best Is, we lose nothing if we miss our first merchant. Leath. It shall be hard for him to find or know us, when we are translated, Joan. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— The Fair. Booths, Stalls, a pair of Stoclirs, &c. Entei' Cokes, Bristle, Haggise, and Focher, with Overdo, followed 63/ Thoitileall. Tro. My masters, I do make no doubt, but you are officers. Bri. What then, sir. Tro, And the king's loving and obedient subjects. Bri. Obedient, friend! take heed what you speak, I advise you ; Oliver Bristle advises you. His loving subjects, we grant you ; but not his obedient, at this time, by your leave ; we know ourselves a little better than so ; we are to com- mand, sir, and such as you are to be obedient.. Here's one of his obedient subjects going to the stocks ; and we'll make you such another, if you talk. Tro. You are all wise enough in your places, I know. Bri. If you know it, sir, why do you bring it in question .' Tro. I question nothing, pardon me. I do only hope you have warrant for what you do, and so quit YOU, and so multiply you. [Exit. Sag. What is he ? — Bring him up to the stocks there. Why bring you him not up .' [Overdo is brought forward. Re-enter Troueleall. Tro. If you have justice Overdo's warrant, 'tis well ; you are safe : that is the warrant of war- rants. I'll not give this button for any man's warrant else. Bri. Like enough, sir ; but let me tell you, an you play away your buttons thus, you will want them ere night, for any store I see about yon ; you might keep them, and save pics, I wuss. [Exit Troublball. Over. What should he be, that doth so esteem and advance my warrant ? he seems a sober and discreet person : It is a comfort to a good con- science to be followed with a good fame in his sufferings. The world will have a pretty taste by this, how I can bear adversity ; .and it wiU beget a kind of reverence towards me hereafter, even from mine enemies, when they shall see, I carry my calamity nobly, and that it doth neither break me, nor bend me. ^ Aside. SOKNl:! I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 327 Hag. Come, sir, here's a place for you to preach in. Will you put in your leg ? Over. That I will, cheerfully. \_ThtyputMm in the Stocks. Bri. O' my co^oscience, a seminary ! he kisses the stocks. Cokes. Well, my masters, I'll leave him with you ; now I see him bestowed, I'll go look for my goods, and Numps. Hag. "Yon may, sir, I warrant you ; where's the t'other bawler ? fetch him too, you shall find them both fast enough. lExit Cokss. Over. In the midst of this tumult, I wUl yet be the author of mine own rest, and not minding their fury, sit in the stocks in that calm as shall be able to trouble a triumph. iAside. Re-enter Troubleall. Tro. Do you assure me upon your words ? May I undertake for you, if I be asked the question, that you have this warrant ? Hag. What's this fellow, for God's sake? Tro. Do but shew me Adam Overdo, and I am satisfied. [_Exit. Bri. He is a fellow that is distracted, they say ; one Troubleall : he was an officer in the 20urt of pie-poudres here last year, and put out of his place by justice Overdo. Over. Ha ! {Aside. Bri. Upon which he took an idle conceit, and is run mad upon't : so that ever since he will do nothing but by justice Overdo's warrant ; he vrill not eat a crust, nor drink a little, nor make him in his apparel ready. His wife, sir-reverence, cannot get him make his water, or shift his shirt, without his warrant. Over. If this be true, this is my greatest dis- aster. How am I bound to satisfy this poor man, that is of so good a nature to me, out of his wits ! where there is no room left for dissembling. {Aside. Re-enter Tboubleajji. Tro. If you cannot shew me Adam Overdo, I am in doubt of you ; I am afraid you cannot answer it. {Exit. Hag. Before me, neighbour Bristle, — and now I think on't better, — ^justice Overdo is a very parantory person. Bri. O, are you advised of that ! and a severe justicer, by your leave. Over. Do I hear ill o' that side too ? {Aside. Bri. He will sit as upright on the bench, an you mark him, as a candle in the socket, and give light to the whole court in every business. Hag. But he will bum blue, and swell like a boil, God bless us, an he be angry. Bri. Ay, and he vrill be angry too, when he lists, that's more ; and when he is angry, be it right or wrong, he has the law on's side ever : I mark that too. Over. I will be more tender hereafter. I see compassion may become a justice, though it be a weakness, I confess, and nearer a vice than a virtue. {Aside. Hag. Well, take him out o' the stocks again ; well go a sure way to work, we'll have the ace of hearts of our side, if we can. {They take Ovbrdo out. Enter Poohbb, and OflScers with Bvsv, /ollouied iy Mrs. I'DBECRilT. rueh. Come, bring him away to his fellow there. — Master Busy, we shall rule your legs,. I hope, though we cannot rule your tongue. Bitsy. No, minister of darkness, no ; thou canst not rule my tongue ; my tongue it is mine own, and with it I will both knock and mock down your Bartholomew abominations, till you be made a hissing to the neighbouring parishes round about. Hag. Let him alone, we have devised better upon't. Pure. And shall he not into the stocks then .' Bri. No, mistress, we'll have them both to jus- tice Overdo, and let him do over 'em as is fitting : then I, and my gossip Haggise, and my beadle Pocher, are discharged. Pure. O, I thank you, blessed honest men ! Bri. Nay, never thank us ; but thank this mad- man that comes here ! he put it in our heads. Re-enter Thodbleall. Pure. Is he mad.' now heaven increase his madness, and bless it, and thank it. — Sir, your poor handmaid thanks you. Tro. Have you a warrant .' an you have a war- rant, shew it. Pure. Yes, I have a warrant out of the word, to give thanks for removing any scorn intended to the brethren. {Exeunt all but Troubl£Ai.l. Tro. It is justice Overdo's warrant that I look for ; if you have not that, keep your word, I'll keep mine. Quit ye, and multiply ye. Enter Edowokth and Niohtinsai.e. Edg. Come away. Nightingale, I pray thee. Tro. Whither go you .' where's your warrant ? Edg. Warrant ! for what, sir ? Tro. For what you go about, you know how fit it is ; an you have no warrant, bless you, I'll pray for you, that's all I can do. {Exit. Edg. What means he .' Night. A madman that haunts the Pair ; do you not know him ? It's marvel he has not more fol- lowers after his ragged heels. Edg. Beshrew him, he startled me : I thought he had known of our plot. Guilt's a terrible thing. Have you prepared the costard-monger ? Night. Yes, and agreed for his basket of pears ; he is at the comer here, ready. And your prize, ■he comes down sailing that way all alone, without his protector ; he is rid of him, it seems. Edg. Ay, I know ; I should have followed his protectorship, for a feat I am to do upon him : but this offered itself so in the way, I could not let scape : here he comes, whistle ; be this sport call'd Dorring the DottereL Re-enter Cokes. Night. Wh, wh, wh, wh, &c. {Whistles. Cokes. By tiis light, I cannot find my ginger- bread wife, nor my hobby-horse man, in all the Fair now, to have my money again : and I do not know the way out on't, to go home for more. Do you hear, friend, you that whistle .' what tune is that you whistle .' Night. A new tune I am practising, sir. Cokes. Dost thou know where I dwell, I pray thee ? nay, on with thy tune j I have no such haste for an answer : I'll practise with thee. Enter Costard-honojsa, with a Basket of Pears. Cos. Buy any pears, very fine pears, pears fine ! [NjOHTiNOALK sets his f 001 afore him, and he /alls with his Basket. 328 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Cokes. Ods so ! a muss, a muss, a muss, a muss ! [Falls a scrambling/or the Pears. Cos. Good gentlemen, my ware, my ware ; I am a poor man. Good sir, my ware. Night. Let me hold your sword, sir, it troubles you. Cokes. Do, and my cloke an thou wilt, and my hat too. Edff. A delicate great hoy ! methinks he out- scrambles them all. I cannot persuade myself, but he goes to grammar-school yet, and plays the truant to-day. Night. Would he had another purse to cut, Zekiel. JSdg. Purse I a man might cut out his kidneys, I think, and he never feel 'em, he is so earnest at the sport. Night. His soul is half way out on's body at the game. JEdg. Away, Nightingale ; that way. [Nightingale runs qff'with his sword, cloke, and hat Cokes. I think I am fumish'd for cather'ne pears, for one under-meal : Give me my cloke. Cos. Good gentleman, give me my ware. Cokes. Where's the fellow I gave my cloke to ? my cloke and my ^at ; ha ! ods 'lid, is he gone ? thieves, thieves ! help me to cry, gentlemen. lExit hastily, Edg. Away, costardmonger, come to us to Ursula's. [Exit Cost.] Talk of him to have a soul ! 'heart, if he have any more than a thing given him instead of salt, only to keep him from stinking, I'll be hang'd afore my time, presently : where should it be, trow ? in his blood .'' he has not so much toward it in his whole body as will main- tain a good flea ! and if he take this course, he will not have so much land left as to rear a calf, within this twelvemonth. Was there ever green plover so puU'd! that his little overseer had been here now, and been but tall enoagh to see him steal pears, in exchange for his beaver-hat and his cloke thus ! I must go find him out next, for his black box, and his patent, it seems, he has of his place ; which 1 think the gentleman would have a reversion of, that spoke to me for it so earnestly. lExit. Re-enter Cokes. Cohes. Would I might lose my doublet, and- hose, too, as I am an honest man, and never stir, if I think there be any thing but thieving and cozen- ing in this whole Fair. Bartholomew Fair, quoth he ! an ever any Bartholomew had that luck iu't that I have had, I'll be martyr'd for him, and in Smithfield too. I have paid for my pears, a rot on 'em ! I'll keep them no longer ; [throws away his pears.'] you were choke-pears to me : I had been better have gone to mum-chance for you, I wuss. Methinks the Fair should not have used me thus, an 'twere but for my name's-sake ; I would not have used a dog o' the name so. O, Numps vrill triumph now ! — Enter Tboobleaix. Friend, do you know who I am, or where I lie .' I do not myself, I'll be sworn. Do but carry me home, and Til please thee ; I have money enough there. I have lost myself, and my cloke, and my hat, and my fine sword, and my sister, and Numps, and mistress Grace, a gentlewoman that I should nave married, and a cut-work handkerchief she gave me, and two purses, to-day ; and my bargain of hobby-horses and gingerbread, which grieves me worst of all. Tro. By whose warrant, sir, have you done all this? Cokes. Warrant! thou art awise fellow indeed,- as if a man need a warrant to lose any thing with Tro. Yes, Justice Overdo's warrant, a man nia^ get and lose with, I'll stand to't. Cokes. Justice Overdo ! dost thou know him ? I lie there, he is my brother-in-law, he married mj sister : pray thee shew me the way ; dost thou know the house ? Tro. Sir, shew me your warrant : I know nothing without a warrant, pardon me. Cokes. Why, I warrant thee ; come along : thou shalt see I have wrought pillows there, and cambric sheets, and sweet bags too. Pray thee guide me to the house. Tro. Sir, I'll tell you ; go you thither yourself first alone, tell your worshipful brother your mind, and but bring me three lines of his hand, or his clerk's, with .\dam Overdo underneath, (here I'll stay you,) I'll obey you, and I'U guide you pre- sently. Cokes. 'Slid, this is an ass, I have found him ; pox upon me, what do I talking to such a dull fool ! farewell ! you are a very coxcomb, do yon hear? Tro. I think I am ; if justice Overdo sign to it, I am, and so we are all : he'll quit us all, multiply us alL lExeunt SCENE II. — Another part of the Fair. Enter Grace, Quarlous, and Winwife, with their swords drawn. Grace. Gentlemen, this is no way that you take ; you do but breed one another trouble and offence, and give me no contentment at all. I am no she that affects to be quanell'd for, or have my name or fortune made the question of men's swords. Quar. 'Sblood, wo love you. Grace. If you both love me, as you pretend, your own reason will tell you, but one can enjoy me : and to that point there leads a directer line, than by my infamy, which must follow, if you fight. 'Tis true, I have profest it to you ingenuously, that rather than to be yoked with this bridegroom is appointed me, I would take up any husband almost upon any trust ; though subtlety would say to me, I know, he is a fool, and has an estate, and I might govern him, and enjoy afriend beside : but these are not my aims ; I must have a husband I must love, or I cannot live with him. I shall ill make one of these politic wives. Winw. Why, if you can like either of us, lady, say, which is be, and the other shall swear instantly to desist. Quar. Content, I accord to that willingly. Grace. Sure you think me a woman of an ex- treme levity, gentlemen, or a strange fancy, that, meeting you by chance in such a place as this, both at one instant, and not yet of two hours acquaintance, neither of you deserving afore the other of me, I should so forsake my modesty (though I might affect one more particularly) as to say, this is he, and name him. Quar. Why, wherefore should you not? what should hinder you ? Grace. If you would not give it to my modesty, BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 329 allow it yet to my wit ; give me so much of woman and cunning, as not to betray myself impertinently. How can 1 judge of you, so far as to a choice, without knowing you more ? You are both equal, and alike to me yet, and so indifferently affected by me, as each of you might be the man, if the other were away : for you are reasonable creatures, you have understanding and discourse ; and if fate send me an understanding husband, I have no fear at all but mine own manners shall make him a good one. Quor. Would I were put forth to making for you then. Grace. It may be you are, you know not what is toward yoii: will you consent to a motion of mine, gentlemen? Winw. Whatever it be, we'll presume reason- ableness, coming from you. Quar. And fitness too. Grace. I saw one of you buy a pair of tables, e'en now. Winw. Yes, here they be, and maiden ones too, unwritten in. Grace. The fitter for what they maybe employed in. You shall write either of you here a word or a name, what you like best, but of two or three syllables at most ; and the next person that comes this way, because Destiny has a high hand in business of this nature, I'll demand which of the two words he or she doth approve, and, according to that sentence, fix my resolution and affection without change. Quar. Agreed ; my word is conceived already. Winui. And mine shall not be long creating after. Grace. But you shall promise, gentlemen, not to be curious to know which of you it is, taken ; but give me leave to conceal that, till you have brought me either home, or where I may safely tender myself. Winw. Why, that's but equaL Quar. We are pleased. Grace. Because I will bind both yo'.J: endea- vours to work together friendly and jointly each to the other's fortune, and have myself fitted with some means, to make him that is forsaken a part of amends. Quar. These conditions are very courteous. Well, my word is out of the Arcadia, then ; Argalus. Winw. And mine out of the Play Palemon. [They write. Enter Thoitbleau.. Tro. Have you any warrant for this, gentle- men .' Quar. Winw. Ha ! Tro. There must be a warrant had, believe it. Winw. For what ? Tro. For whatsoever it is, any thing indeed, no matter what. Quar. 'Slight, here's a fine ragged prophet dropt down i' the nick I Tro. Heaven quit you, gentlemen ! Qujir. Nay, stay a little : good lady, put him to the question. Grace. You are content then ? Winw. Quar. Yes, yes. Grace. Sir, here are two names written Tro. Is justice Overdo one ? Grace. How, sir! I pray you read them to I yourself ; it is for a wager between these gentle- men ; and with a stroke, or any difference, mark which you approve best. Tro. They may be both worshipful names foi aught I know, mistress ; but Adam Overdo had been worth three of them, I assure you in this place, that's in plain English. , Grace. This man amazes me : I pray you like one of them, sir. Tro. IMarks the book.] I do like him there, that has the best warrant, mistress, to save your longing, and (multiply him) it may be this. But I am still for justice Overdo, that's my consfience ; and quit you. Winw. Is it done, lady ? Grace. Ay, and strangely, as ever I saw : what fellow is this, trow ? Quar, No matter what, a fortune-teller we have made him : which is it, which is it? Grace. Nay, did you not promise not to in ■ quire? Enter Edgworth. Quar. 'Slid, I forgot that, pray you pardon me. — Look, here's our Mercury come ; the license arrives in the finest time too I 'tis but scraping out Cokes his name, and 'tis done. Winw. How now, lime-twig, hast thou touch'd ? Edy. Not yet, sir ; except you would go with me and see it, it is hot worth speaking on. The act is nothing without a vritness. Yonder he is, your man with the box, fallen into the finest com- pany, and so transported with vapours ! they have got in a northern clothier, and one Puppy, a western man, that's come to wrestle before my lord mayor anon, and captain Whit, and one Val. Cut- ting, that helps captain Jordan to roar, a circling boy ; with whom your Numps is so taken, thatyou may strip him of his clothes, if you wilL I'll under- take to geld him for jnn, if you had but a surgeon ready to sear him. And mistress Justice there, is the goodest woman I she does so love them all over in terms of justice and the style of authority, with her hood upright that — I beseech you come away, gentlemen, and see't. Quar. 'Slight, I would not lose it for the Fair ; what will you do, Ned ? Winw. Why, stay hereabout for you : mistress Wellborn must not be seen. Quar. Do so, and find out a priest in the mean time ; I '11 bring the license. — Lead, which way is't ? JEdg. Here, sir, you are on the backo'the booth already ; you may hear the noise. lExeunU SCENE III Anotlier part of the Fair. Ursula's Booth as before. KjfocKEM, Whit, Northern, Puppy, Cbttino, Waspic, and Mrs. Overdo, discovered^ all in a state of in^ toxication. Knock. Whit, bid Val. Cutting continue the vapours for a Hft, Whit, for a lift. lAside to Whit. Nor. I'll ne mare, I'll ne mare ; the eale's too meeghty. Knock. How now ! my galloway nag the stag- gers, ha ! Whit, give him a slit in the forehead. Chear up, man ; a needle and thread to stitch his ears. I'd cure him now, an I had it, with a little butter and garlick, long pepper and grains. Where's my horn ? I'll give him a mash presently, shall take away this dizziness. 360 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Pup. Why, where are yoU; zurs ? do you vlinch, and leave us in the zuds now ? Nor. I'll ne mare, I is e'en as vull as a paiper's bag, by my troth, I. Pup. Do my northern cloth zhrink i' the wet- ting, ha? Knock. Why, well said, old flea-bitten ; thou'lt never tire I see. iThey fall to their vapours again. Cut. No, sir, but he may tire if it please him. Whit. Who told dee sho, that he vuld never teer, man? Cut. No matter who told him so, so long as he knows .« Knock. Nay, I know nothing, sir, pardon me thei'e. Enter iehindf Eboworth with Q,UAiu.oi's. JEdg. They are at it still, sir ; this they call va- pours. Priiit. He shall not pardon dee, captain : dou shalt not be pardoned. Pre'dee, shweet-heart, do not pardon him. CiU. 'Slight, I'll pardon him, an I list, whoso- ever says nay to't. Quar. Where's Numps ? I miss him. Waspe. Why, I say nay to't. Quar. O, there he is. Knock. To what do you say nay, sir ? Waspe. To any thing, whatsoever it is, so long as I do not like it. Whit. Pardon me, little man, dou musht like it a little. Cut. No, he must not like it at all, sir : there you are i' the wrong. Whit. I tink I bee ; he musht not like it indeed. Cut. Nay, then he both must and will like it, sir, for all you. Knock. If he have reason, he may like it, sir. Whit. By no meensb, captain, upon reason, he may like" nothing upon reason. Waspe. I have no reason, nor I will hear of no reason, nor I will look for no reason, and he is an ass that either knows any, or looks for't from me. Cut. Yes, in some sense you may have reason, sir. Waspe. Ay, in some sense, I care not if I grant you. Whit. Pardon me, thou ougsht to grant him nothing in no shensh, if dou do love dyshelf, angry man. • Waspe. Why then, I do grant him nothing ; and I have no sense. Cut. 'Tis true, thou hast no sense indeed. Waspe. 'Slid, but I have sense, now I think on't better, and I will grant him any thing, do you see. Knock. He is in the right, and does utter a suf- ficient vapour. Cut. Nay, it is no sufficient vapour neither, I deny that. Knock. Then it is a sweet vapour. Cut. It may be a sweet vapour. Waspe. Nay, it is no sweet vapour neither, sir, it stinks, and i'U stand to it. Whit. Yes, I tink it dosh shtink, captain : all vapour dosh shtink. Waspe. Nay, then it does not stink, sir, and it shall not stink. Cut. By your leave it may, sir. Waspe. Ay, by my leave it may stink, 1 know that. Whit. Pardon me, thou knowesht nothing, it cannot by thy leave, angry man. Waspe. How can it not ? Knock. Nay, never question him, for he is in the right. Whit. Yesh, I am in de right, I confesh it, so ish de little man too. Waspe. I'll have nothing confest that concerns me. I am not in the right, nor never was in the right, nor never will be in the right, while I am in my right mind. Cut. Mind ! why, here's no man minds you, sir, nor any thing else. [.They drink again. Pup. Vriend, will you mind this that we do ? lowering Northern the cup. Quar. Call you this vapours ! this is such belch- ing of quarrel as I never heard. Will you mind your business, sir ? Edg. You shall see, sir. ictoes up to Waspe. Nor. I'll ne mare, my waimb warkes too mickle with this auready. Edg. Will you take that, master Waspe, that nobody should mind you .' Waspe. Why, what have you to do? is't any matter to you ? Edg. No, but methinks you should not be un- minded, though. Waspe. Nor I wu' not be, now I think on't. Do you hear, new acquaintance i does no man mind me, say you ? Cut. Yes, sir, every man here minds you, but how? Waspe. Nay, I care as little how as you do ; that was not my question. Whit. No, noting was ty question, tou art a learned man, and 1 am a valiant man, i'faith la, tou shalt speak for me, and I will fight for tee. Knock. Fight for him, Whit I a gross vapour, he can fight for himself. Waspe. It may be I can, but it may be I wu' not, how then .' Cut. Why then you may choose. Waspe. Why, then I'll choose whether I choose or no. Knock. I think you may, and 'tis true ; and I allow it for a resolute vapour. Waspe. Nay then, I do think you do not think, and it is no resolute vapour. Cut. Yes, in some sort he may allow you. Knock. In no sort, sir, pardon me, I can allow him nothing. You mistake the vapour. Waspe. He mistakes nothing, sir, in no sort. Whit. Yes I pre dee now, let him mistake. Waspe. A t — in your teeth, never pre dee me, for I will have nothing mistaken. Knock. T — ! ha, t — ? a noisome vapour : strike, Whit. [Aside to Whit. [They fall together by the ears, while 'Edqworts steals the license out of the box, and exit. Mrs. Over, Why gentlemen, why gentlemen, I charge you upon my authority, conserve the peace. In the king's name, and my husband's, put up your weapons, I shall be driven to commit you myself, else. . Quar. Ha, ha, ha ! Waspe. Why do you laugh, sir ? Quar. Sir, you'll allow me my christian liberty. I may laugh, I hope. Cut. In some sort tou mav, and in some sort you may not, sir. SL'HNG III. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 331 Knock. Nay in some sort, sir, he may neither laugh nor hope in this company. Waspe. Yes', then he may both laugh and hope in any sort, an't please him. Quar. Faith, and I will then, for it doth please me exceedingly. IVaspe. No exceeding neither, sir. Knock. No, that vapour is tod" lofty. Quar. Gentlemen, I do not play well at your game of vapours, I am not very good at it, but Cut. [draws a circle on the ground.'] Do you hear, sir? I would speak with you incirde. Quar. In circle, sir ! what would you with me in circle? Cut. Can you lend me a piece, a Jacobus, in •circle ? Quar. 'Slid, your circle will prove more costly than your vapours, then. Sir, no, I lend you none. Cut. Your beard's not well tum'd up, sir. Qtiar. How, rascal ! are you playing with my beard ? I'll break circle with you. IThey aJl draw and fight. Pup. Nor. Gentlemen, gentlemen ! Knock. [Aside to Whit.] Gather up, Whit, ga- ther up, Whit, good vapours. [Exit, while Whit taJies up the swords, clokes, ^c. and conceals them. Mrs. Over. What mean you ? are you rebels, gentlemen ? shall I send out a Serjeant at arms, or a writ of rebellion, against you ? I'll commit you upon my woman-hood, for a riot, upon my justice- hood, if you persist. {Exeunt QuARLous and Ciranwo. Waspe. Upon my justice-hood ! marry s — o' your hood : you'll commit ! spoke like a true jus- tice of peace's wife indeed, and a fine female lawyer ! t — in your teeth for a fee, now. Mrs. Over. Why Numps, in master Overdo'a name, I charge you. Waspe. Good mistress Underdo, hold your tongue. Mrs. Over. Alas, poor Numps ! Waspe. Alas ! and why alas from you, I beseech you? or why poor Numps, goody Rich? Am I come to be j)itied by your tuft-taffata now ? Why, mistress, I knew Adam the clerk, your husband, when he was Adam Scrivener, and writ for two- pence a sheet, as high as he bears his head now, or you your hood, dame. — Enter Bristle and otber 'Watchmen. What are you, sir? Bri. We be men, and no iniidels ; what is the matter here, and the noises, can you tell ? Waspe. Heart, what ha' you to do? cannot a man quarrel in quietness, but he must be put out on't by you ! what are you ? Bri. Why, we be his majesty's watch, sir. Waspe. Watch ! 'sblood, you are a sweet watch indeed. A body would think, an you watch' d well a nights, you should be contented to sleep at this time a day. Get you to yoiir fleas and your flock- beds, you rogues, your kennels, and lie down close. Bri. Down ! yes, we 'wiU down, I warrant you : down with him, in his majesty's name, down, down with him, and carry him away to the pigeon-holes. iSome of the Watch seize Waspe, and carry him off. Mrs. Over. I thank you, honest friends, in the behalf o' the crown, and the peace, and in master Overdo's name, for suppressing enormities. Wliit. Stay, iSristle, here ish anoder brash of drunkards, but very quiet, special drunkards, will pay de five shillings very well. [Points to North- ern and Puppy, dnmk, andasleep, on the bench."] Take 'em to de, in de graish o'God : one of hem do's change cloth for ale in the Fair, here ; te toder ish a strong man, a mighty man, my lord mayor's man, and a wrastler. He has wrashled so long with the bottle here, that the man with the beard hash almosht streek up hish heelsh. Bri. 'Slid, the clerk o' the market has been to cry him all the Fair over here, for my lord's service. Whit. Tere he ish, pre de talk him hensh, and make ty best on him. [Exeunt Bristle artd the rest of the Watch with Northern and Ptippy.] —How now, woman o'shilk, vat ailsh ty shweet faish ? art tou melancholy ? Mrs. Over. A little distempered with these enormities. Shall I entreat a courtesy of you, captain ? Whit. Entreat a hundred, velvet voman, I vill do it, shpeak out. Mrs. Over. I cannot with modesty speak it out, but [ Whispers him. Whit. I vill do it, and more and more, for de. What Ursla, an't be bitch, an't be bawd, an't be ! Enter IThsoi-a. Urs. How now, rascal I what roar you for, old pimp ? Whit. Here,i put up de clokes, Ursh; de pur- chase. Pre de iow, shweet Ursh, help dis good brave voman to a Jordan, an't be. Urs. 'Slid call your eaptain Jordan to her, can you not ? Whit. Nay, pre de leave dy consheits, and bring the velvet woman to de Urs. I bring her I hang her : heart, must I find a common pot for every punk in your pur- lieus ? Whit. O good voordsh, Ursh, it ish a guest o' velvet, i' fait la. Urs. Let her sell her hood, and buy a spunge, with a pox to her ! my vessel is employed, sir. I have but one, and 'tis the bottom of an old bottle. An honest proctor and his wife are at it within ; if she'U stay her time, so. lExit. Whit. As soon as tou cansht, shweet Ursh. Of a valiant man I tink I am te patientsh man i' the world, or in all Smithfield. Re-enter Knockem. Knock. How now, Whit ! close vapours, steal- ing your leaps ! covering in corners, ha ! Whit. No, fait, captain, dough tou beesht a vishe man, dy vit is a mile hence now. I vas pro- curing a shmall courtesie for a woman of fashion here. Mrs. Over. Yes, captain, though I am a justice of peace's vrife, I do love men of war, and the sons of the sword, when they come before my husband. Knock. Say'st thou so, filly? thou shalt have a leap presently, I'll horse thee myself, else. Urs. [ Within.] Come, will you bring her in now, and let her take her turn ? Whit. Gramercy, good Ursh, I tank de. Mrs. Over. Master Overdo shall thank her. lExit. Re-enter TjBavLA,/ollowed hy LiiiLEwrr, and Mi-s. LinXEWTT. Lit. Good ga'mere Urse, Win and I are ex- 332 BARTHOLOMEW^ FAIR. ACI IV. Knock. How now ? what vapour's there ? Be-enter TJhsula. Urs. O, you are a sweet ranger, and look well to your walks ! Yonder is your punk of Tnmbnll, ramping Alice, has fallen upon the poor gentle- woman within, and puU'd her hood over her ears, and her hair through it. Enter Ajjce, beating and driving in Mrs. Ovbrdo. Mrs. Over. Help, help, in the king's name ! Alice. A mischief on you, they are such as you are that undo us and take our trade from us, with your tuft-ta£fata haunches. Xnock. How now, AUce-l Alice. The poor common whores can have no traffic for the privy rich ones j your caps and hoods of velvet call away our customers, and lick the fat from us. Urs. Peace, you foul ramping jade, you Alice. Od's foot, you bawd in grease, are you talking ? Knock. Why, Alice, I say. Alice. Thou sow of Smithfield, thou ! Vrs. Thou tripe of Turnbull ! Knock. Cat-a-mountain vapours, ha ! Urs. You know where you were taw'd lately; both lash'd and slash'd you were in Bridewell. Alice. Ay, by the same token you rid that week, and broke out the bottom of the cart, night-tub. Knock. Why, lion face, ha ! do you know who I am ? shall I tear rulf, slit waistcoat, make rags of petticoat, ha! go to, vanish for fear of vapours. Whit, a kick, Whit, in the parting vapour. [ They hick out Alice.] Come, brave woman, take a good heart, thou shalt be a lady too. Whit. Yes fait, dey shall all both be ladies, and write madam : I viU do't myself for dem. Do is the word, and D is the middle letter of madam, DD, put 'em together, and make deeds, without which all words are alike, la. Knock. 'Tis true : Ursula, take them in, open thy wardrobe, and fit them to their calling. Green gowns, crimson petticoats, green women, my lord mayor's green women ! guests o' the game, true bred. I'll provide you a coach to take the air in. Mrs. Lit. But do you think you can get one? Knock. O, they are common as wheelbarrows where there are great dunghills. Every petti- fogger's wife has 'em ; for first he buys a coach that he may marry, and then he marries that he may be made cuckold in't : for if their wives ride not to their cuckolding, they do them no credit. [Exeunt Uksola, Mrs. Littlewit, and Mrs. OvERno.] — Hide and be hidden, ride and be ridden, says the vapour of experience. Enter Trox^bleaix. Tro. By what warrant does it say so ? Knock. Ha, mad child o' the pie-poudres ! art thou there ? fill us a fresh can, Urse, we may drink together. Tro. I may not drink without awarrant, captain. Knock. 'Slood, thou'lt not stale without a war- rant shortly. Whit, give me pen, ink, and paper, I'll draw him a warrant presently. Tro. It must be justice Overdo's. Knock. I know, man ; fetch the drink, Whit. Whit. 1 pre dee now, be very brief, captain j for de new ladies stay for dee. {Exit, and re-enters with a can ceedingly beholden to you, and to captain Jordan, and. captain Whit — ^Win, I'll be bold to leave you, in this good company, Win ; for half an hour or so. Win ; while I go and see how my matter goes forward, and if the puppets be perfect ; and 5ien I'll come and fetch you, Win. Mrs. Lit, Will you leave me alone with two men, John ? Lit. Ay, they are honest gentlemen. Win, captain Jordan and captain Whit ; they'll use you very civilly, Win. God be wi' you. Win. IBxit. Urs. What, is her husband gone ? Knock. On his false gallop, Urse, away. Urs. An you be right Bartholomew birds, now show yourselves so : we are undone for want of fowl in the Fair, here. Here will be Zekiel Edg- wortb, and three or four gallants with him at night, and I have neither plover nor quail for them : per- suade this between you two, to become a bird o' the game, while I work the velvet woman within, as you call her. Knock. I conceive thee, Urse : go thy ways. [Kxit Ursula.] — Dost thou hear, Whit .' is't not pity, my delicate dark chestnut here, with the fine lean head, large forehead, round eyes, even mouth, sharp ears, long neck, thin crest, close withers, plain back, deep sides, short fillets, and full flanks ; with a round belly, a plump buttock, large thighs, knit knees, strait legs, ^ort pasterns, smooth hoofs, and short heels, should lead a dull honest woman's life, that might live the life of a lady ? Whit. Yes by my fait and trot it is, captain j de honest woman's life is a scurvy dull life indeed, la. Mrs. Lit. How, sir, is an honest woman's life a scurvy life .' Whit. Yes fait, shweet heart, believe him, de leef of a bond-woman ! but if dou vilt hearken to me, I viU make tee a free woman and a lady ; dou shalt live like a lady, as te captain saish. Knock. Ay, and be honest too sometimes ; have her wires and her tires, her green gowns and velvet petticoats. Whit. Ay, and ride to Ware and Rumford in dy coash, shee de players, be in love vit 'em : sup vit gallantsh, be drunk, and cost de noting. Knock. Brave vapours ! Whit. And lie by twenty on 'em, if dou pleash, shweet heart. Mrs. Lit. What, and be honest still ! that were fine sport. Whit. Tish common, shweet heart, tou may'st do it by my hand : it shall be justified to thy hus- band's faish, now : tou shalt be as honesht as the skin between his homsh, la. Knock. Yes, and wear a dressing, top and top- gaBant, to compare with e'er a husband on 'em all, for a foretop : it is the vapour of spirit in the wife to cuckold now a days, as it is the vapour of fashion in the husband not to suspect. Your pry- ing cat-eyed citizen is an abominable vapour. Mrs. Lit. Lord, what a fool have I been ! Whit. Mend then, and do every ting Uke a lady hereafter; never know ty husband from another man. Knock. Nor any one man from another, but in the dark. Whit. Ay, and then it ish no digsrash to know any man. Urs. [ Within.'] Help, help here ! SCENE IV. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 333 Knock. O, as brief as can be, here 'tis already. [Gives Trouble ALL a paper.'] Adam Overdo. Tro. Why now I'll pledge you, captsiin. Knock. Drink it off, I'll come to thee anon again. iExeunt. * SCENE TV.— The back of Ursula's Booth. Overdo in the stocks, People, &o. Enter Quakloos with the tieenae, and Edqworth. Quar. Well, sir, you are now discharged ; be- ware of being spied hereafter. £dg. Sir, will it please yon, enter in here at Ursula's, and take part of a silken gown, a velvet petticoat, or a wrought smock j I am promised such, and I can spare a gentleman a moiety. Quar. Keep it for your companions in beastli- ness, I am none of them, sir. If I had not already forgiven you a greater trespass, or thought you yet worth my beating, I would Instruct your manners, to whom you made your offers. But go your ways, talk not to me, the hangman is only fit to discourse with you ; the hand of beadle is too merciful a punishment for your ti-ade of life. lExit Edg- WORTH.]— I am sorry I employ'd this fellow, for he thinks me such ; Jacintis quos ingruinai, teguat. But it was for sport ; and would I make it serious, the getting of this license is nothing to me, without other circumstances concur. I do think how im- pertinently I labour, if the word be not mine that the ragged fellow mark'd : and what advantage I have given Ned Winwife in this time now of work- ing her, though it be mine. He'll go near to form to her what a debauched rascal I am, and fright her out of all good conceit of me : I should do so by him, I am sure, if I had the opportunity. But my hope is in her temper yet ; and it must needs be next to despair, that is grounded on any part of a woman's discretion. I would give, by my troth now, all I could spare, to my clothes and my sword, to meet my tatter'd soothsayer again, who was my judge in the question, to know certainly whose word he has damn'd or saved ; for till then I live but under a reprieve. I must seek him. Who be these ? Enter Bristle and some of the Watcli, with Waspb. Waspe. Sir, yon are a Welsh cuckold, and a prating runt, and no constable. Bri. You say very well. — Come, put in his leg in the niiddle roundel, and let him hole there. \*lltey'put him in the stocki. Wa.ipe. You stink of leeks, metheglin, and cheese, you rogue. Bri. Why, what is that to you, if you sit sweetly in the stocks in the mean time ? if you have a mind to stink too, your breeches sit close enough to your bum. Sit you merry, sir. Quar. How now, Numps ? Waspe. It is no matter how ; pray you look off. Qaar. Nay, I'll not offend you, Numps ; I thought you had sat there to be seen. Waspe. And to be sold, did you not ? pray you mind your business, an you have any. Quar. Cry you mercy, Numps ; does your leg lie high enough ? Enter Hagoise. Bri, How now, neighbour Haggise, what says (ostice Overdo's worship to the other offenders ? Hag. Why, he says just nothing ; what should he say, or where should he say ? He is not to be found, man ; he has not been seen in the Fair here all this live-long day, never since seven a clock i' the morning. His clerks know not what to think on't There is no court of pie-poudres yet. Here they be return'd. Enter others of the Watoh aith Bdsv. Bri. What shall be done with them, then, in your discretion ? Hag. I think we were best put them in the stocks in discretion (there they will be safe in dis- cretion) for the valour of an hour, or such a thing, till his worship come. Bri. It is but a hole matter if we do, neigh- hour Haggise ; come, sir, [to Waspe.] here is company for you ; heave up the stocks. C^x they open the stocks, Waspe puts his shoe on his hand, and slips it in for his leg. Waspe. I shaE put a trick upon your Welsh diligence perhaps. iAside. Bri. Put in your leg, sir. CToBusv.. Quar. What, rabbi Busy ! is he come .' Busy. I do obey thee ; the lion may roar, but he cannot bite. I am glad to be thus separated from the heathen of the land, and put apart in the stocks, for the holy cause. Waspe. What are you, sir ? Busy. One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth here to prophesy the destruction of fairs and May-games, wakes and Whitson-ales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation of these abuses. Waspe. \_to Overdo.] And do you sigh and groan too, or rejoice in your affliction ? Over. 1 do not feel it, I do not think of it, it is a thing without me : Adam, thou art above these batteries, these contumelies. In te manca ruit fortuna, as thy friend Horace says ; thou art one, Quern neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula, ierrent. And therefore, as another friend of thine says, I think it be thy friend Persius, Non te qu Under your favour, friend, for I'll not quarrel. I look'd on your feet afore, you cannot cozen me, Your shoe's not cloven, sir, you are whole hoof'd. Pug. Sir, that's a popular error, deceives many : But I am that I tell you. Fitz. What's your name ? Pug. My name is Devil, sir. Fitz. Say'st thou tiue ? Pug. Indeed, sir. Fitz. 'Slid, there's some omen in this ? What countryman ? • Pug. Of Derbyshire, sir, about the Peak. Fitz. That hole Belong'd to your ancestors? Pug. Yes, Devil's arse, sir. Fitz. I'U entertain him for the name sake. Ha '. And turn away my t'other man, and save Four pound a year by that 1 there's luck and thrift too 1 The very Devil may come hereafter as well. lAside. Friend, I receive you : but, withal, I acquaint you Aforehand, if you offend me, I must beat you. It is a kind of exercise I use ; And cannot be without. Pug. Yes, if I do not Offend, you can, sure. 346 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. Fitz. Faith, Devi], very hardly : I'll call you by your surname, 'cause I love it. EnteTt iehindf Engike, toitk a cloke on his arm.WnripoL, and Manly. Enff. Yonder he walks, sir, I'll go lift him for you. Wit. To him, good Engine, raise him up by Gently, and hold him there too, you can do it. Shew yourself now a mathematical broker. Eng. I'll warrant you, for half a piece. Wit. 'Tis done, sir. {^Engin€ goes to Fii^doitrel, and takes him aside. Man. Is't possible there should be such a man ! VP'it. You shall be your own witness ; I'll not To tempt you past your faith. [labour Man. And is his wif6 So very handsome, say you ? Wit. I have not seen her Since I came home from travel ; and they say She is not alter'd. Then, before I went, I saw her once ; but soj as she hath stuck Still in my view, no object hath removed her. Man. 'Tis a fair guest, friend, beauty ; and once lodged Deep in the eyes, she hardly leaves the inn. How does he keep her ? Wit. Very brave ; however Himself be sordid, he is sensual that way : In every dressing he does study her. Man. And furnish forth himself so from the ~ brokers ? Wit. Yes, that's a hired suit he now has on. To see the Devil is an Ass, to-day, in. This Engine gets three or four pound a week by He dares not miss a new play or a feast, [him — What rate soever clothes be at ; and thinks Himself stiU new, in other men's old. Man. But stay, Does he love meat so ? Wit. Faith, he does not hate it. But that's not it : his belly and Ms palate Would be compounded with for reason. Marry, A wit he has, of that strange credit with him, 'Gainst all mankind ; as it doth make him do Just what it list : it ravishes him forth Whither it please, to any assembly or place. And would conclude him ruiu'd, should he scape One public meeting, out of the belief He has of his own great and catholic strengths, In arguing and discourse. It takes, I see : He has got the cloke upon him. Fitz. [after saying on the cloke. ] A fair garment, By my faith. Engine ! Eng. It was never made, sir. For threescore pound, I assure you : 'twill yield thirty. The plush, sir, cost three pound ten shillings ayard : And then the lace and velvet ! Fitz. I shall, Engine, Be look'd at prettily, iu it : art thou sure The play is play'd to-day ? Eng. O here's the biU, sir : {He gives him the play^bill. I had forgot to give it you. Fitz. Ha, the Devil ! I will not lose you, sij-rah. But, Engine, think you The gallant is so furious in his folly, So mad upon the matter, that he'll part With's cloke upon these terms . Eng. Trust not your Engine, Break me to pieces else, as you would do A rotten crane, or an old rusty jack, That has not one true wheel in him. Do but talli with him. Fitz. 1 shall do that, to satisfy you. Engine, And myself too. Icomes forward.} — With your leave, gentlemen, Which of you is it, is so mere idolater To my wife's beauty, and so very prodigal Unto my patience, that, for the short parley Of one swift hour's quarter, with my wife. He will depart with (let me see) this cloke here. The price of folly ? — Sir, are you the man ? Wit. I am that venturer, sir. Fitz. Good time ! your name Is Wittipol ? Wit. The same, sir. Fitz. And 'tis told me You have travell'd lately ? Wit. That I have, sir. Fitz. Truly, Your travels may have alter'd your complexion ; But sure your vrit stood still. Wit. It may well be, sii* ; All heads have not like growth. Fitz. The good man's gravity, That left you land, your father, never taught you These pleasant matches. Wit. No, nor can his mirth. With whom I make them, put me off. Fitz. You are Resolved then ? Wit. Yes, sir. Fitz. Beauty is the saint, You'U sacrifice yourself into the shirt to ? Wit. So I may still clothe and keep warm your Fitz. You lade me, sir ! [wisdom. Wit. I know what you will bear, sir. Fitz. Well, to the point. 'Tis only, sir, you say. To speak unto my wife ? Wit. Only to speak to her. Fitz. And in my presence ? Wit. In your very presence. Fitz. And in my hearing ? Wit. In your hearing ; so You interrupt us not. Fitz. For the short space You do demand, the fourth part of an hour, I think I shall, with some convenient study, And this good help to boot, [shrugs himself up in the clohe.'] bring myself to't. Wit. I ask no more. Fitz. Please you, walk toward my house, Speak what you list ; that time is yours ; my right I have departed with : but not beyond A minute, or a second, look for. Length, And drawing out may advance much to these And I except all kissing : kisses are [matches. Silent petitions still with willing lovers. Wit. Lovers ! how falls that o' your phantasy ? Fitz. Sir, I do know somewhat ; I forbid all lip-work. Wit. I am not eager at forbidden dainties : Who covets unfit things, denies himself. Fitz. You say well, sir ; 'twas prettily said, thai same : He does indeed. I'll have no touches therefore, Nor takings by the arms, nor tender circles Cast 'bout the waist, but all be done at distance. SGENI! III. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 347 Love is brought up with those softmigniard hand- His pulse lies in his palm ; and I defend [lings : AU melting joints and fingers, that's my bargain, I do defend them any thing like action. But talk, sir, what you wiU. Use all the tropes And schemes, that prince Quintilian can afford you : And much good do your rhetoric's heart You are welcome, sir. iOpent the door qf hit Tunae. Engine, God be wi' you ! Wit. Sir, I must condition To have this gentleman by, a witness. Fitz. WeU, I am content, so he be silent. Man. Yes, sir. Fitz. Come, Devil, I'll make you room straight : but I'll shew you First to your mistress, who's no common one. You must conceive, that brings this gain to see hen I hope thou'st brought me good luck. Piiff. I shall do't, sir. [TAey all enter the house. SCENE III. — A Roomin'FiTZDOTTB.Ei.'sHtmse. Enter 'WrmpoL, Mawly, and Engine. Wit. Engine, you hope of yom: half piece? 'tis there, sir. Be gone. lEseit Engine.]— Friend Manly, who's within here ? fixed ! IKnocks Mm on the breast. Man. I am directly in a fit of wonder What will be the issue of this conference. Wit. For that ne'er vex yourself till the event How like you him ? Man. I would fain see more of him. Wit. What think you of this ? Man. 1 am past degrees of thinking. Old Afric, and the new America, With all their fruit of monsters, cannot shew So just a prodigy. W'it. Could you have believed. Without your sight, a mind so sordid inward. Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad. To all the show that ever shop or ware was .' Man. I believe any thing now, though I confess His vices are the most extremities I ever knew in nature. But why loves he The devil so ? Wit. O, sir ! for hidden treasure He hopes to find ; and has proposed himself So infinite a mass, as to recover. He cares not what he parts with, of the present. To his men of art, who are the race may coin him Promise gold mountains, and the covetous Are still most prodigal. Man. But have you faith. That he will hold his bargain ? Wit. O dear sir ! He will npt off on't ; fear him not : I know him. One baseness still accompanies another. See ! he is here already, and his wife too. Man. A wondrous handsome creature, as I live ! ^'nierFiTZDOTTREi, witli Mrs. Frances, his Wife. Fits!. Come, wife, this is the gentleman ; nay, blush not. Mrs. Fitz. Why, what do you mean, sir, have Fitz. Wife, [you your reason ? I do not know that I have lent it forth To any one ; at least, without a pawn, vrife : Or that I have eat or drunk the thing, of late, lliat should corrupt it Wherefore, gentle wife, Obey, it is thy virtue ; hold no acts Of disputation. Mrs. Fitz. Are you not enough The talk of feasts and meetings, but you'll still Make argument for fresh ? Fitz. Why, careful wedlock. If I have a longing to have one tale more Go of me, what is that to thee, dear heart ? Why shouldst thou envy my delight, or cross it, By being solicitous, when it not concerns thee > Mrs. Fitz. Yes, I have share in this : the scorn wiUfall As bitterly on me, where both are laugh'd at. Fitz. Laugh'd at, sweet bird ! is that the scru. pie ? come, come. Thou art a niaise. Which of your great houses, (I vrill not mean at home here, but abroad,) Your families in France, wife, send not forth Something within the seven year, may be laugh'd at? I do not say seven months, nor seven weeks, Nor seven days, nor hours ; but seven year, wife : I give them time. Once within seven year, I think they may do something may be laugh'd at ; In France, I keep me there still. Wherefore, wife, Let them that list laugh still, rather than weep For me. Here is a cloke cost fifty pound, wife. Which I can sell for thirty, when I have seen All London in't, and London has seen me. To-day I go to the Blackfriars play-house, Sit in the view, salute all my acquaintance, Rise up befrffeen the acts, let fall my cloke, Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit. As that's a special end why we go thither. All that pretend to stand for't on the stage : The ladies ask, who's that ? for they do come To see us, love, as we do to see them. Now I shall lose all this, for the false fear Of being laugh'd at ? Yes, vrasse. Let them laugh. Let me have such another cloke to-morrow, [wife. And let them laugh again, vrife, and again. And then grow fat with laughing, and then fatter. All my young gallants, let 'em bring their friends too; Shall I forbid them ? No, let heaven forbid them : Or wit, if it have any charge on 'em. Come, thj ear, wife. Is all I'll borrow of thee. — Set your watch, sir. — Thou only art to hear, not speak a word, dove, To aught he says : that I do give you in precept, No less than counsel, on your wivehood, wife. Not though he flatter yon, or make court, or love, As you must look for these, or say he rail ; Whate'er his arts be, wife, I will have thee Delude them with a trick, thy obstinate silence. I know advantages ; and I love to hit These pragmatic young men at their own weapons. Is your watch ready ? Here my sail bears for you : Tack toward him, sweet pinnace. [He disposes his wife to her place.'] Where's your watch ? Wit. I'll set it, sir, with yoiu-s. Mrs. Fitz. I must obey. ZAeide. Man. Her modesty seems to suffer with her And so, as if his foUy were away, [beauty. It were worth pity. Fits. Now they are right ; begin, sir. But first, let me repeat the contract briefly. 1 am, sir, to enjoy this cloke I stand in. Freely, and as your gift ; upon condition You may as freely speak here to my spouse. Your quarter of an hour, always keeping 348 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. The measured distance of your yard or more, From my said spouse ; and in my sight and hear- This is your covenant ? [ing. Wii. Yes, but you'll allow For this time spent now ? Fitz. Set them so much back. IVit. I think I shall not need it. Fitz. Well, begin, sir. There is your bound, sir ; not beyond that rush. Wit. If you interrupt me, sir, I shall discloke you. — The time I have purchased, lady, is but short ; And therefore, if I employ it thriftily, I hope I stand the nearer to my pardon. I am not here to tell you, you are fair. Or lovely, or how well you dress ynu, lady ; I'll save myself that eloquence of your glass. Which can speak these things better to you than I. And 'tis a knowledge wherein fools may be As wise as a court-parliament. Nor come I With any prejudice or doubt, that you Should, to the notice of your own worth, need Least revelation. She's a simple woman. Knows not her good, whoever knows her ill. And at all caracts. That you are the wife To so much Wasted flesh, as scarce hath soul, Instead of salt, to keep it sweet ; I think. Will ask no witnesses to prove. The cold Sheets that you lie in, vrith the watching candle, That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty '' Pieces and quarters, half and whole nights some- times. The devil-given eMn squire, your husband, Doth leave you, quitting here his proper circle. For a much worse, in the walks of Lincoln's-inn, Under the elms, t' expect the fiend in vain there. Will confess for you Fitz. I did look for this jeer. Wit. And what a daughter of darkness he does Lock'd up from all society, or object ; [make you, Your eye not let to look upon a face. Under a conjurer's, or some mould for one. Hollow and lean like his, but by great means. As I now make ; your owa too sensible sufferings, Without the extraordinary aids Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, lady. For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice, I work by no false arts, medicines, or charms To be said forward and backward. Fitz. No, I except — Wit. Sir, I shall ease you. {_He offers to dUcloke him. Fitz. Mum. Wit. Nor have I ends, lady, Upon you, more than this : to tell you how Love, Beauty's good angel, he that waits upon her At all occasions, and, no less than Fortune, Helps the adventurous, in me makes that proffer, Which never fair one was so fond to lose, Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedom. On the first sight I loved you, since which time, Though I have travell'd, I have been in travail More for this second blessing of your eyes, Which now I've purchased, than for all aims else. Think of it, lady, be your mind as active As is your beauty : view your object well, : — Examine both my fashion and my years ; Things that are like, are soon familiar : An? nature joys still in equality. Let not the sign of the husband fright you, lady ; But ere your spring be gone, enjoy it. Flowers, Though fair, are oft but of one morning ; think. All beauty doth not last until the autumn : You grow old while I tell you this ; and such As cannot use the present, are not wise. If Love and Fortune will take care of us, Why should our will be wanting : This is all. What do yon answer, lady ? Fitz. Now the sport comes. Let him still wait, wait, wait ; while the watch goes, And the time runs, wife I Wit. How ! not any word.' Nay, then I taste a trick iu't. — Worthy lady, I cannot be so false to my own thoughts Of your presumed goodness, to conceive This, as your rudeness, which I see's imposed. Yet, since yoiu: cautelous jailor here stands by you, And you are denied the liberty of the house. Let me take warrant, lady, from your silence, Which ever is interpreted consent. To make your answer for you ; which shall be To as good purpose as I can imagine, And what I think you'd speak. Fitz. No, no, no, no. Wit. I shall resume, sir. Man. Sir, what do you mean ? Wit. One interruption more, sir, and you go Into your hose and doublet, nothing saves you : And therefore hearken. This is for your wife. Man. You must play fair, sir. Wit. Stand for me, good friend. — {_Sets Manly in his placet and speaks /or the Lady. Troth, sir, 'tis more than true that you have utter'd Of my unequal and so sordid match here, With all the circumstances of my bondage. I have a husband, and a two-legg'd one, But such a moonling, as no wit of man, Or roses can redeem from being an ass. He's grown too much the story of men's mouths, To scape his lading : should I make't my study, And lay all ways, yea, call mankind to help To take his burden off ; why, this one act Of his, to let his wife out to be courted. And at a price, proclaims his asinine nature So loud, as I am weary of my title to him. But, sir, you seem a gentleman of virtue. No less than blood ; and one that every way Looks as he were of too good quality. To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her. Since you have paid thus dear, sir, for a visit, And made such venture on your wit and charge Merely to see me, or at most, to speak to me, I were too stupid, or, what's worse, ingrate Not to return your venture. Think but how 1 may with safety do it, I shall trust My love and honoiir to you, and presume You'll ever husband both, against this husband ; Who, if we chance to change his liberal ears To other ensigns, and with labour make A new beast of him, as he shall deserve. Cannot complain he is unkindly dealt with. This day he is to go to a new play, sir. From whence no fear, no, nor authority. Scarcely the king's command, sir, will restrain him, Now you have fitted him with a stage-garment. For the mere name's sake, were there nothing else; And many more such journeys he will make ; Which, if they now, or any time hereafter, Offer us opportunity, you hear, sir. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 343 Who'll be as glad and forward to embrace, Meet, and enjoy it cheerfully, as you. [^Shifts to hU oum place affain, I humbly thank you, lady Fitz. Keep vour ground, sir. Wit. WiU you be lighten'd? Fitz. Mum. Wit. And but I am, By the said contract, thus to tnke my leave of yew At this so envious distance, I had taught Our lips ere this, to seal the happy mixture Made of our souls : but we must both now yield, To the necessity. Do not think yet, lady, But I can kiss, and touch, and laugh, and whisper. And do those crowning courtships too, for which Day, and the public, have allow'd no name ; But now, my beui^ain binds rae. 'Twere rude injury To imp6rtune more, or urge a noble nature. To what of its own bounty it is prone to : Else I should speak But, lady, I love so well. As I will hope you'll do so too. — I have done, sir. Fitz. Well, then I have won .' IVit. Sir, and I may win too. Fitz. O yes ! no doubt on't. I'll take careful order. That she shall hang forth ensigns at the window. To tell you when I am absent ! Or I'll keep Three or four footmen, ready still of purpose. To run and fetch you at her longings, sir ! I'll go bespeak me straight a gilt caroch. For her and you to take the air in : yes. Into Hyde-park, and thence into Blackfriars, Visit the painters, where you may see pictures. And note the properest limbs, and how to make them ! Or what do you say unto a middling gossip. To bring you ay together, at her lodging, Under pretext of teaching of my wife Some rare receipt of drawing alinond-milk, ha ? It shall be a part of my care. Good sir, God be wi' you ! I have kept the contract, and the cloke's mine own. Wit. Why, much good do't you, sir : it may fall out, Thatyou have bought it dear, though I've not sold it. lExit. Fitz. A pretty riddle ! fare you well, good sir. Wife, your face this way ; look on me, and think You had a wicked dream, wife, and forget it. Man. This is the strangest motion I e'er saw. [.Exit. Fitz. Now, wife, sits this fair cloke the worse upon me For my great sufferings, or your little patience, ha ? They laugh, you think ? Mrs. Fitz. Why, sir, and you might see't. What thought they have of you, may be soon col- By the young gentleman's speech. [lected Fitz. Young gentleman ! Death, you are in love with him, are you ? could he not Be named the gentleman, without the young ? Up to your cabin again. Mrs. Fitz. My cage, you were best To caU it. Fitz. Yes, sing there. You'd fain be making Blanc-manger with him at your mother's ! I know you. Go, get you up.^ iExit Mrs. FiTl. Enter Poo. How now ! what say you. Devil ? Pug. Here is one Engine, sir, desires to speak with you. Fitz. I thought he brought some news of a broker ! well. Let him come in, good Devil ; fetch him else. \_Exit Puo. lie-enter Engine. O, my fine Engine ! what's the affair, more cheats .' Fng. No, sir, the wit, the brain, the great pro- I told you of, is newly come to town. [jector, Fitz. Where, Engine ? Eng. I have brought bim (he's without) Ere he pull'd off his boots, sir ; but so follow'd For businesses ! Fitz. But what is a projector ? I would conceive. Eng. Whyi one, sir, that projects Ways to enrich men. Or to make them great, By suits, by marriages, by undertakings : According as. he sees they humour it. Fitz. Can he not conjure at all ? Eng. I tbink he can, sir. To tell you true. But you do know, of late. The state hath ta'en such note of 'em, and com- pell'd 'em To enter such great bonds, they dare not practise. Fitz. 'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't the while ! Eng. O, sir, you'll grow the richer for the rest. Fitz. I hope I shall : but. Engine, you do talk Somewhat too much o' my courses : my cloke-cus- Could tell me strange particulars. [tomer Eng. By my means .' Fitz. How should he have them else ? Eng. You do not know, sir, What he has ; and by what arts : a money'd man, sir, And is as great with your almanack-men as you Fitz. That gallant ! [are. Eng. You make the other wait too long here ; And he is extreme punctual. Fitz. Is he a gallant ? Eng. Sir, you shall see : he's in his riding suit, As he comes now from court : but hear him speak ; Minister matter to him, and then tell me. iExeunt. ACT 11. SCENE I. — A Room in Fitzdottkel's House. Enter Fitzuottrel, Engine, and yizznciiATT, followed by Tkains, with a bag, and three or four Attendants. Meer. Sir, money is a whore, a bawd, a drudge ; Fit to run out on errands : let her go. Via, pecunia ! when she's run and gone, &.nd fled, and dead ; then will I fetch her again With aqua vita, out of an old hogshead ! While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer, I'll never want her 1 Coin her out of cobwebs, Dust, but I'll have her ! raise wool upon egg-shells. Sir, and make grass grow out of marrow-bones. To make her come.— Commend me to your mis- tress, [ro 1 Attendant 350 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready, And it is done. [Exit 1 Atten.] — I would but see the creature Of flesh and blood, the man, the prince indeed. That could employ so many millions As I would'help him to, Fitx. How talks he ? millions 1 Meer. [to 2 Atten.] I'll give you an account of tills to-morrow. iExit 2 Atten. —Yes, I will take no less, and do it too ; If they were myriads : and without the Devil, By direct means, it shall be good in law. Bng. Sir. Meer. [,and Pidtabchos. Ever. Come, give me. [They fall to sharing. Meer. Soft, sir. Ever. Marry, and fair too then ; I'll no delay- Meer. But you will hear .' [ing, sir. Ever. Yes, when I have my dividend. Meer, There's forty pieces for you. Ever. What is this for ? Meer. Your half: you know that Gilthead must have twenty. Ever. And what's your ring there ? Shall I have none o' that ? Meer. O, that is to be given to a lady. Ever. Is it so .' Meer. By that good light. It is. Ever. Come, give me Ten pieces more, then. Meer. Why ? Ever. For Gilthead, sir ! Do you think I'll allow him any such share ? Meer. Yon must. I Ever. Must I ! do you your musts, sir, I'll do . mine : You will not part with the whole, sir, will you .' Give me ten pieces ! [Go to, Meer. By what law do you this ? Ever. Even lion-law, sir, I must roar else. Meer. Good! Ever. You have heard how the a&s fliade 2ti debauch' d my wife, and made me cuckold A Thorough a casement ; he did fly her home To mine own window; but, i thinkj I sdiis'd him, And ravish'd her away out of his pounces. . I have sworn to have him by the ears : I fear The toy will not do me right. Wit. No ! that were pity -.'• > What right do you ask, sir ? here he is will do't you. [^Discovers himself. Fitz. Ha! Wittipol! Wit. Ay, sir ; no more lady now, Nor Spaniard. Man. No indeed, 'tis WittipoL Fitz. Am I the thing I fear'd? Wit, A cuckold! No, sir; But you were late in possibility, I'll tell you so much. Man, But your wife's too virtuous. Wit. We'll see her, sir, at home, and leave you here. To be made duke of Shoreditch with a project. Fitz. Thieves ! ravishers 1 Wit. Cry but another note, sir, I'll mar the tune of your pipe. Fitz. Give me my deed then. Wit. Neither: that shaU be kept for your wife's Who will know better how to use it. [good, Fitz. Ha! To feast you with my land .' Wit. Sir, be you quiet. Or I shall gag you ere I go ; consult Your master of dependences, how to make this A second business, you have time, sir. '■'' {Boiffles Tiimt arid exit vtiili'MAiiLV, Fitz. Oh! What will the ghost of my wise grandfather. My learned father^ with my worshipful mother, Think of me now, that left me in this world In state to be their heir ? that am become A cuckold, and an ass, and my wife's ward ; Likely to lose my land, have my throat cut ; All by herpracticgJ- Meer. Sir, we are all abused. Fitz. And be sb still ! who hinders you, I pray you? Let me alope, I would enjoy myself. And be, the duke of Drown'd-land you have made me. Meer. Sir, we must play an after-game of this. Fitz. But I am not in case to be a gamester, I tell you once again Meer. You must be ruled, And take some counsel. Fitz. Sir, I do hate counsel, As I do hate my wife, my wicked wife ! Meer. But we may think how to recover all. If you will act. Fitz. I will not think, nor act, Nor yet recover ; do not talk to me : I'll run out of my wits, rather than hear; I will be what I am, Fabian Fitzdottrel, Though all the world say nay to't lExit. Meer, Let us follow him. iExeunt, ACT V. SCENE I. — A Room in Tailbush's House. Enter Aacbler and Pitfall, Amh. But has my lady miss'd me ? Pit. Beyond tellmg. Here has been that infinity of strangers ! And then she would have had you, to have sampled ■you With one within , that tney are now a teaching, And does pretend to your rank. Amb. Good fellow Pitfall, Tell master Meercraft I entreat a word vrith him. {Exit Pitfall. This most unlucky accident will go near To be the loss of my place, I am in doubt Enier Mbbrcraft, Meer, With me! — What say you, master Ambler? Amb. Sir, I would beseech your worship, stand between Me and my lady's displeasure, for my absence. Meer. O, is that all ! I warrant you. Amb. I would tell you, sir, But how it happen'd. Meer. Brief, good master Ambler, Put yourself to your rack ; for I have task Of more importance. Amb. Sir, you'll laugh at me : But (so is truth) a very friend of mine. Finding by conference with me, that I lived Too chaste for my complexion, and indeed SCENE HI. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 360 Too honest for mj place, sir, did advise me, If I did love myself, — as that I do, I must confess — Meer. Spare your parenthesis. Amb. To give my body a little evacuation Meer, Well, and you went to a whore ? Amb. No, sir, I durst not (For fear it might arrive at somebody's ear It sho4dd not) trust myself to a common house ; {Tetts this with extraordinary/ speed. But got the gentlewoman to go with me, And carry her bedding to a conduit-head. Hard by Uie place toward TybuDn, which they call My Lord Mayor's banqueting-house. Now, sir, this morning Was execution ; and I never dreamt on't. Till 1 heard the noise of the people, and the horses ; And neither I, nor the poor gentlewoman, Durst stir, till all was done and past : so that, In the interim, we fell asleep again. [He flags. Meer. tiaj, if you fall from your gallop, I am gone, sir. Amb. But when I waked, to put on my clothes, I made new for the action, it was gone, [a suit And all my money, with my purse, my seals, My hard-wax, and my table-books, my studies. And a fine new device I had to carry My pen and ink, my civet, and my tooth-picks, All under one. But that which grieved me, was The gentlewoman's shoes, (with a pair of roses, And garters, I had given her for the business,) So as that made us stay till it was dark : For I was fain to lend her mine, and walk In a rug, by her, barefoot, to St. Giles's. Meer. A kind of Irish penance ! Is this all, sir ? Amb. To satisfy my lady. Meer. I will promise you, sir. Amb. I have told the true disaster. Meer. I cannot stay with you. Sir, to condole ; but gratulate your return. lExit. Amb. An honest gentleman ; but he's never at leisure To be himself, he has such tides of business. iBxit. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Poo. Pug. O call me home again, dear chief, and put To yoking foxes, milking of he-goats, [me Pounding of water in a mortar, laving The sea dry with a nut-shell, gathering all The leaves are fallen this autumn, drawing farts Out of dead bodies, ig^king ropes of sand. Catching the winds together in a net, Mustering of ants, and numbering atoms ; all That hell and you thought exquisite torments, rather Than stay me here a thought more : I would sooner Keep fleas within a circle, and be accomptant A thousand year, which of them, and how far, Out-leap'd the other, than endure a minute Sncb as I have within. There is no bell To a lady of fashion ; all your tortures there Are pastimes to it ! 'Twould be a refreshing For me, to be in the fire again, from hence — Enter Ambler, and surveys Mm. Amb. This is my suit, and those the shoes and roses ! tAside. Puff. They have such impertinent vexations, A general council of devils could not hit Ha ! [sees Ambler.] this is he I took asleep with his wench, And borrow'd his clothes. What might I do to balk him ? iAiide. Amb. Do you hear, sir ? Pug. Answer him, but not to the purpose. [Aside. Amb. What is your name, I pray you, sir? Pug-. Is't so late, sir ? Amb. J ask not of the time, but of your name, sir. Pug. I thank you, sir : yes, it does hold, sir, certain. Amb. Hold, sir! what holds? I must both hold, About these clothes. [and talk to you. Pug. A very pretty lace ; But the tailor cozen'd me. Amb. No, I am cozen'd By you ; robb'd. Pug. Why, when you please, sir ; I am, For three-penny gleek, your man. Amb. Vox o' your gleek. And three-pence I give me an answer. Pug. Sir, My master is the best at it. Amb. Your master 1 Who is your master ? Pug. Let it be Friday night. Amb. What should be then .' Pug. Your best song's Tom o' Bethlem. Amb. I think you are he. — Does he mock me trow, from purpose, Or do not I speak to him what I mean ?— Good sir, your name. Pug. Oblj a couple of cocks, sir ; If we can get a widgeon, 'tis in season. Amb. He hop6s to make one of these sciptics of me, (I think I name them right,) and does not fly me ; 1 wonder at that : 'tis a strange confidence 1 I'll prove another way, to draw his answer. [Exeunt severaUy. SCENE III. — A Room in Fitzdottbel's House. Enter Meercraft, Fitzdottrbl, and Evssill. Meer. It is the easiest thing, sir, to be done. As plain as fizzling : roll but with your eyes. And foam at the mouth. A little castle-soap Will do't, to rub your lips ; and then a nut-shell, With tow, and touch-wood in it, to spit fire. Did you ne'er read, sir, little Darrel's tricks With the boy of JSurton, and the seven in Lan- cashire, Somers at Nottingham ? all these do teach it. And we'll give out, sir, that your vrife has bewitch'd you. Ever. And practis'd vrith those two as sorcerers. Meer. And gave you potions, by which means you were Not compos mentis, when you made your feoffment. There's no recovery of your state but this ; This, sir, will sting. Ever. And move in a court of equity. Meer. For it is more than manifest, that this was A plot of your wife's, to get your land. Fitz. I think it. Ever. Sir, it appears. Meer. Nay, and my cousin has known These gallants in these shapes— 370 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS., Ever. To have done strange things, sir, One as the lady, the other as the squire. Meer. How a man's honesty may be fool'd ! I A very lady. [thought him Fitz. So did I ; renounce me else. Meer. But this way, sir, you'E be revenged at Ever. Upon them aU. [height. Meer. Yes, faith, and since your wife Has run the way of woman thus, e'en give her — Fiiz. Lost, by this hand, to me; dead to all joys Of her dear Dottrel ; I shall never pity her, That could [not] pity herself. Meer. Princely resolv'd, sir, And like yourself still, in potentia. Enter Gilthead, Plutarchus, Sledge, and Seijeimts. Meer. Gilthead ! what news .> Fitx. O, sir, my hundred pieces 1 Let me have them yet. Gilt. Yes, sir. — Officers, Arrest him. Fitz. Me! 1 Serj. I arrest you. Sledge. Keep the peace, I charge you, gentlemen. Fitz. Arrest me ! why ? Gilt. For better security, sir. My son Plutarchus Assures me, you are not worth a groat. Flu. Pardon me, father, I said his worship had no foot of land left : And that I'll justify, for I writ the deed. Fitz. Have you these tricks in the city ? Gilt. Yes, and more: Arrest this gallant too, here, at my suit [Points to Meercraft. Sledge. Ay, and at mine : he owes me for his Two year and a quarter. [lodging Meer. Why, master Gilthead, — ^landlord. Thou art not mad, though thou art constable, Puft up with the pride of the place. Do you hear, Have I deserv'd this from you two, for all [sirs. My pains at court, to get you each a patent.' Gilt. For what .' Meer. Upon my project of the forks. Sledge. Forks! what be they? Meer. The laudable use of forks. Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy, To the sparing of napkins : that, that should have made Your bellows go at the forge, as his at the furnace. I have procured it, have the signet for it. Dealt with the linen-drapers on my private. Because I fear'd they were the likeliest ever To stir against, to cross it : for 'twill be A mighty saver of linen through the kingdom. As that is one o' my grounds, and to spare washing. Now, on you two had I laid all the profits : Gilthead to have the making of all those Of gold and silver, for the better personages ; And you, of those of steel for the common sort : And both by patent. I had brought you your seals in, Bnt now you have prevented me, and I thank you. Sledge. Sir, I will bail you, at mine own apperU. Meer. Nay, choose. Plu. Do you so too, good father. Gilt. I like the fashion of the project well. The forks ! it may be a lucky one ! and is Not intricate, as one would say, but fit for Plain heads, as ours, to deal in. — Do yon hear. Officers, we discharge you. [Exeunt Serjeants. Meer. Why, this shews A little good-nature in you, I confess ; But do not tempt your friends thus. — Little Gilt- head, Advise your sire, great Gilthead, from these courses : And, here, to trouble a great man in reversion, For a matter of fifty, in a false alarm ! Away, it shews not well. Let him get the pieces And bring them : you'll hear more else. Plu. Father. [Exeunt Gmr. atid Piut. Enlvr Ambler, dragging in Puo. Amh. O, master Sledge, are you here ? I liive been to seek you. You are the constable, they say. Here's one That I do charge with felony, for the suit He wears, sir. Meer. Who ? master Fitzdottrel's man ! Ware what you do, master Ambler. Enter Fitzdottrbl. Ami. Sir, these clothes I'll swear are mine ; and the shoes the gentle- woman's I told you of : and have him afore a justice I will. Pug. My master, sir, will pass his word for me Amb. O, can you speak to purpose now ? Fitz. Not I, If you be such a one, sir, I wiU leave you To your godfathers in law : let twelve men work. Pug. Do you hear, sir, pray, in private. [Takes him aside. Fitz. Well, what say you .' Brief, for I have no time to lose. Pug. Truth is, sir, I am the very Devil, and had leave To take this body I am in to serve you ; Which was a cut-purse's, and hang'd this mom- And it is likewise true, I stole this suit [ing ; To clothe me with ; but, sir, let me not go To prison for it. I have hitherto Lost time, done nothing ; shown, indeed, no part Of my devil's nature : now, I will so help Your malice, 'gainst these parties ; so advance The business that you have in hand, of witchcraft, And your possession, as myself were in you ; Teach you such tricks to make your belly swell. And your eyes turn, to foam^ to stare, to gnash Your teeth together, and to beat yourself. Laugh loud, and feign six voices Fitz. Out, you rogue ! You most infernal counterfeit wrfetch, avaunt ! Do you think to gull me with your jEsop's fables .' Here, take him to you, I have no part in him. Pug. Sir— Fitz. Away ! I do disclaim, I will not hear you. [Exit Sledge wit?t Pua. Meer. What said he to you, sir? Fitz. Like a lying rascal, Told me he was the Devil. Meer. How I a good jest. Fitz. And that he would teach me sUch fine For our ne^ resolution. [devil's tricks Ever. O, pox on him ! 'Twas excellent wisely done, sir, not to trust him. Meer. Why, if he were the Devil, we shall not need him. If you'll be ruled. Go throw yourself on a bed, sir, And feign you ill. We'll not be seen with you SCENE IV. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 371 Till after, that yon have a fit ; and all Confirm'd within. Keep you with the two ladies, [To EvBRILZ,, And persuade them. I will to justice Eitherside, And possess him with all. Trains shall seek .out Engine, And they two fill, the town with't ; every cable Is to be veer'd. We must employ out aU Our emissaries now. Sir, I will send you Bladders and bellows. Sir, be confident, 'Tis no hard thing t'outdo the Devil in ; A boy of thirteen year old made him an ass. But t'other day. Fitz. Well, ru begin to practise, And scape the imputation of being cuckold, By mine own act. Meer. You are right. IBxit Frrz. Ever. Come, you have put Yourself to a simple coil here, and your friends. By dealing with iiew agents, in new plots. Meer. No more of &at, sweet cousin. Ever. What had you To do with this same Wittipol, for a lady ? Meer. Question not that ; 'tis done. Ever. You had some strain Sove e-la ? Meer. I Bad indeed. Ever. And now you crack for't. Meer. Do not upbraid me. Ever. Come, you must be told on't ; You are so covetous stUl to embrace More than you can, that you lose all. Meer. 'Tis right : What would you more than guilty ? Now, your succours. [^Exeunt. SCENE IV.— .<4 Cell in Newgate. Enter Shackles, viiGi Fug in chains. Sha. Here yon are lodged, sir ; you must send If you'U be private. [your garnish. Pug. There it is, sir : leave me. \Exit Shackles. To Newgate brought ! how is the name of devil Discredited in me ! what a lost fiend Shall I be on retnm ! my chief will roar In triumph, now, that I have been on earth A day, and done no noted thing, but brought That body back here, was hang'd out this morning. Well ! would it once were midnight, that I knew My utmost. I think Time be drunk and sleeps, He is so still, and moves not ! I do glory Now in my torment. Neither can I expect it, I have it with my fact. EnUr Isiourrv. Iniq. Child of hell, be thou merry : Put a look on as round, boy, and red as a cherry. Cast care at thy posterns, and firk in thy fetters : They are ornaments, baby, have graced thy betters : Look upon me, and hearken. Our chief doth salute thee. And lest the cold iron should chance to confute thee. He hath sent thee grant-parole by me, to stay longer A month here on earth, against cold, child, or Pug. How! longer here a month? [hunger. Jniq. Yes, boy, till the session. That so thou mayst have a triumphal egression. Pug. In a cart to be hang'd ! Iniq. No, child, in a car. The chariot of triumph, which most of them are. And in the meantime, to be greasy, and bouzy. And nasty, and filthy, and ragged, and lousy, With damn me! renounce me! and all the fine phrases. That bring unto Ty^"™ the plentiful gazes. Pug. He is a devil, and may be our chief. The great snperior devil, for his malice I Arch-devil! I acknowledge him. He knew What I would suffer, when he tied me up thus In a rogue's body ; and he has, I thank him. His tyrannous pleasure on me, to confine me To the unlucky carcase of a cut-purse, Wherein I coiUd do nothing. Enter Satah. Sat. Impudent fiend. Stop thy lewd mouth. Dost thou not shame and tremble To lay thine own dull, damn'd defects upon An innocent case there ? Why, thou heavy slave ! The spirit that did possess that fiesh before, Put more true life in a finger and a thumb. Than thou in the whole mass : yet thou rebell'st And murmur'st ! What one proffer hast thou made, Wicked enough, this day, that might be call'd Worthy thine own, much less the name that sent thee? First, thou didst help thyself into a beating. Promptly, and with't endangered'st too thy tongue : A devil, and could not keep a body entire One day ! that, for our credit : and to vindicate it, Hinder'dst, for aught thou know'st, a deed of darkness : Which was an act of that egregious folly. As no one, toward the devil, could have thought on. This for your acting. — But, for suffering ! — why Thou hast been cheated on, with a false beard. And at~uni'dcloke : faith, would your predecessor The cut-purse, think you, have been so ? Out upon thee! The hurt thou hast done, to let men know their strength. And that they are able to outdo a devil Put in a body, will for ever be A scar upon our name ? Whom hast thou dealt with, Woman or man, this day, but have outgone thee Some way, and most have proved the better fiends ? Yet you would be employ'd ! yes ; hell shall make you Provincial of the cheaters, or bawd-ledger. For this side of the town ! no doubt, you'll render A rare account of things I Bane of your itch. And scratching for employment I I'll have brim- stone To allay it sure, and fire to singe your nails off. — But that I would not such a damn'd dishonour Stick on our state, as that the devil were hang'd. And could not save a body, that he took From Tyburn, but it must come thither again; You snould e'en ride. But up, away with him — [Iniquity takes him on his back. Jniq. Mount, dearling of darkness, my shoulders are broad : He that carries the fiend is sure of his load. The devil was wont to carry away the Evil, But now the Evil outcarries the devil. [Exeunt B B 2 [-^ '""'' explositx, smoke, 4ic 372 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. j»cr V. Enter Shackibs, and the TJnaer-keiiperB, affrighted. Shack. O me ! 1 Keep. What's this ? 2 Reep. A piece of Justice-hall Is broken down. 3 Keep. Foagh ! what a steam of brimstone Is here ! 4 Keep. The prisoner's dead, came in but now. Shack. Ha! where? 4 Keep. Look here. 1 Keep. 'Slid, I should know his countenance : It is Gill Cotpurse, was hane'd out this morning. Shack. 'Tishe! 2 Keep. The devil sure has a hand in this ! 3 Keep. What shall we do ? Shack. Carry the news of it Unto the sheriffs. 1 Keep. A nd to the justices. 4 Keep. This is strange. 3 Keep. And savours of the devil strongly. 2 Keep. I have the sulphiir of hell-coal in my 1 Keep. Fough ! [nose. Shack. Carry him in, ' 1 Keep. Away. 2 Keep. How rank it is ! iSxeunt with the body. SCENE V. — A Room in Fitzdottrel's House. FrraDoiTRKi. discovered in bed: Lady Eitberside, Taii^ BUSH, AftisLER, Trains, and PiTFAiL, standing by him. Enter Sir Paul Eitherside, Meerckaft, and Everdll. Sir P. Eith. This was the notablest conspiracy That e'er I heard of. ' Meer. Sir, they had given him potions, That did enamour him on the counterfeit lady Ever. Just to the time o' delivery of the deed. Meer. And then the witchcraft 'gan to appear. He fell into his fit. [for straight Ever. Of rage at first, sir. Which since has so increased. Lady T. Good sir Paul, see him. And punish the impostors. Sir P. Eith. Therefore I come, madam. Ladii E. Let master Eitherside alone, madam. Sir P. Eith. Do you hear ? Call in the constable, I will have him by ; He's the king's officer : and some citizens Of credit ; I'll discbarge my conscience clearly. Meer. Yes, sir, and send for his wife. Ever. And the two sorcerers, By any means. [Exit Ambler. Lady T. I thought one a true lady, I sliould be sworn : so did you, Eitherside. Lady E. Yes, by that light, would I might ne'er stir else, Tailbush. I,ady T. And the other, a civil gentleman. Ever. But, madam. You know what I told your ladyship. I.ady T. I now see it. I was providing of a banquet for them. After I had done instructing of the fellow, De-vile, the gentleman's man. Meer. Who is found a thief, madam. And to have robb'd your usher, master Ambler, This morning. Lady T. How! Meer. I'll tell you more anon. Fitz. Give me some garlic, garlic, garlic, garlic I [He begins liisfiL Meer. Hark, the poor gentleman, how he is tormented ! Fitz. My wife is a whore, I'llkiss her no more s and why ? May'st not thou be a cuckold at well as I!f Haj ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! Sir P. Eith. That is the devil speaks and laughs Meer. Do you think so, sir? [in him. Sir P. Eith. I discharge my conscience. Fitz. And is not the devil good company ? yes, Ever. How he changes, sir, his voice ! [_wis. Fitz. And a cuckold is. Wherever he put his head, with if wannion, If his horns be forth, the devil's companioa. Look, look, look, else! Meer. How he foams ! Ever. And swells ! Lady T. O me, what's that there rises in bis beUy? Lady E. A strange thing : hold it down. Tra. Pit. We cannot, madam. Sir P. Eith. 'Tis too apparent this 1 Fitz. Wittipol, Wittipol! Enter WrrripoL, Manly, and Mrs. Fitzdottrei., Wit. How now ! what play have we here ? Man. What fine new matters ? Wit. The cockscomb and the coverlet. Meer. O strange impudence. That these should come to face their sin 1 Ever. And outface Justice ! they are the parties, sir. Sir P. Eith. Say, nothing. Meer. Did you mark, sir, upon their coming How he call'd Wittipol } [in, Ever. And never saw them. Sir P. Eith. I warrant you did I : let them play Fitz. Buz, buz, bux, buz ! [awhile. Lady T. 'Las, poor gentleman. How he is tortured I Mrs. Fitz. [goes to him.'] Fie, master Fitz- What do you mean to counterfeit thus ? [dottrel ! Fitz. 0,0! She comes with a needle, and thrusts it in. She pulls out that, and she puts in a pin. And now, and now, I do not know how, nor where. But she pricks me here, and she pricks me there s Sir P. Eith. Woman, forbear. lOh, oh I Wit. What, sir ? Sir P. Eith. A practice foul For one so fair. Wit. Hath this, then, credit wifli you ? Man. Do you believe iu't ? Sir P. Eith. Gentlemen, I'll discharge My conscience : 'tis a clear conspiracy, A dark and devilish practice ! I detest it. Wit. The justice sure vrill prove the merrier Man. This is most strange, sir. [man. Sir P. Eith. Come not to confront Authority with impudence ; I teU you, I do detest it. — Re-enter Ambler, with Sledge and Gtlthead. Here comes the king's constable, And with him a right worshipful commoner. My good friend, master Gilthead. I am glad I can, before such witnesses, profess My conscience, and my detestation of it. Horrible I most unnatural I abominable '. Ever. You do not tumble enough. Meer. Wallow, gnash. ITkey whUper him. SCENE V. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 373 Lady T. O, how he is vexed ! Sir P. Eith. 'Tis too maDifest. Ever. Gi»e him more soap to foam with. [To Heer.] Now lie still. Meer. And act a little. Ladff T. What does he now, sir ? Sir P. Eith. Shew The taking of tobacco, with which the devil Is so delighted. Fitz. Hum! Sir P. Eith. And calls for hum. You takers of strong waters and tobacco, Mark this. Fitz. Yellata, yellow, yelloio, yellow ! Sir P. Eith. That's starch ! the devil's idol of that colour. He ratifies it with clapping of his hands ; The proofs are pregnant. Gilt. How the devil can act ! Sir P. Eith. He is the master of players, master Gilthead, And poets too : you heard him talk in rhyme, I had forgot to observe it to you, erewhile ! Lady T. See, he spits fire ! Sir P. Eith. O no, he plays at figgum ; The devil is the author of wicked figgum. Man. A^y speak you not unto him ? Wit. If I had All innocence of man to be endanger'd, And he could save or ruin it, I'd not breathe A syllable in request, to such a fool He makes himself. Fitz. O they whisper, whisper, whisper. We shall have more of devils a score, To come to dinner, in me the sinner. Lady E. Alas, poor gentleman ! Sir P. Eith. Put them asunder ; Keep them one from the other. Man. Are you phrenetic, sir ? Or what grave dotage moves you to take part With so much villainy ? we are not afraid Either of law or trial ; let us be Examined what our ends were, what the means To work by, and possibility of those means : Do not conclude against us ere you hear us. Sir P. Eith. I will not hear you, yet I will con- Out of the circumstances. [elude Man. Will you so, sir .' Sir P. Eith. Yes, they are palpable. Man. Not as your folly. Sir P. Eith. I will discharge my conscience. To the meridian of justice. [and do all, Gilt. You do well, sir. Fitz. Provide me to eat, three or four dishes 0' good meat, I'll feast them and their trains, u justice head Shall be the first. — [^atid brains Sir P. Eith. The devil loves not justice, There you may see. Fitz. A spare rib of my wife, And a whore's purtenance ; a Gilthead whoee Sir. P. Eith. Be not you troubled, sir, the devil speaks it. Fitz. Yes, wis, knight, shite, Poul, joul, owl, foul, trout, boul! Sir P. Eith. Crambo 1 another of the devil's games. Meer. Speak, sir, some Greek, if yon can. [Aside to FiTz.l Is not the justice A solemn gamester i Ever. Peace. Fitz. Ol fio), KaKoSal/uui', Kal TpuTKaKoSaiVciii', Ka! TtTpdKtS, Kol nevriKis, Kal SiuScKii/ci; Kal invpiixis. Sir P. Eith. He curses In Greek, I think. Ever. Your Spanish, that I taught you. [Atidt to Vivt. Fitz. Quebrimos el ojo de burlas. Ever. How ! — your rest Let's break his neck in jest, the devil says. Fitz. Di gratia, signor mio, se havete denari fatamine parte. Meer. What ! would the devil borrow money : Fitz. Ouy, ouy, monsieur, un pauvre diable, diabletin. Sir P. Eith. It is the devil, by his several lan- guages. ^nter Shackles, with the things found, on the hodyqf the Cut-purse. Shack. Where's sir Paul Eitherside ? Sir P. Eith. Here ; what's the matter ? Shack. O, such an accident fallen out at New- gate, sir : A great piece of the prison is rent down ! The devil has been there, sir, in the body Of the young cut-purse, was hang'd out this morning. But in new clothes, sir ; every one of us know him. These things were found in his pocket. Amb. Those are mine, sir. Shack. I think he was committed on your charge, For a new felony. [sir, Amb. Yes. Shack. He's gone, sir, now. And left us the dead body ; but withal, sir. Such an infernal stink and steam behind. You cannot see St. Pulchre's steeple yet : They smell't as far as Ware, as the wind lies. By this time, sure. Pitz. Istartsup.'] Is'this upon yourcredit, friend? Shack. Sir, you may see, and satisfy yourself. Fitx. Nay then, 'tis time to leave off counter- feiting. Sir, I am not bewilch'd, nor have a devil. No more than you ; I do defy him, I, And did abuse you : these two gentlemen Put me upon it. (I have faith against him.) They taught me all my tricks. I will tell truth. And shame the fiend. See here, sir, are my bellows, And my false belly, and my mouse, and all That should have come forth. Man. Sir, are you not ashamed Now of your solemn, serious vanity ? Sir P. Eith. I will make honourable amends to truth. Fitz. And sp will I. But these are cozeners still. And have my land, as plotters, with my wife ; Who, though she be not a witch, is worse, a whore. Man. Sir, you belie her : she is chaste and vir- And we are honest. I do know no glory [tuous, A man should hope, by venting his own follies ; But you'll still be an ass in spite of providence. Please you go in, sir, and hear truths, then judge 'em, And make amends for your late rashness : when Yon shall but hear the pains, and care was taken To save this fool from ruin, his Grace of Drown'd- fitz. My land is drown'd indeed [land- er P. Eith. Peace. 374 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. ACT r. Man. And how much His modest aad too worthy wife hath suffer'd By misconstruction from Mm, you will blush. First, for your own belief, more for his actions- His land is his ; and neTer by my friend, Or by. myself, meant to another use, But for her succours, who hath equal right. If any other had worse counsels in it, (I know I speak to those can apprehend me) Let them repent them, and be not detected. It is not manly to take joy or pride In hnman errors : we do all ill things ; They do them worst that loTe them, and dwell there. Till the plague comes. The few that have the Of goodness left, will sooner make their way To a true life, by shame, than punishment. \Ht coma forward for the Epilogue. Thus the projector here is overthrown ; But I have now a project of mine own. If it mat/ pasSf that no man would invite The poet from us, to sup forth to-night, If the play please. If it displeasant be. We do presume that na man will, nor we. [EseimL THE STAPLE OF NEWS. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Penntboy, the Son, the Beir and Suitor. Pbsntboy, the Father, the Canter. PsNirtBov, Riclier, the Uncle, the Usurer. Cymbai,, Xaeter of the Staple, and Prime Jeerer. Frrrow, Emissary Court, and Jeerer. AuuNAc, Doctor in Physic, and Jeerer. Skunfizld, Sea Captain, and Jeerer. Madrigal, Poetaster, and Jeerer. Picklock, Man o' Law, and Emissary Westminster. PiEDMANTLE, Pursuivant at Arms, and Heraldet. Begister, cf the Staple, or Office. Nathaniel, I^rst Clerk of the Office. Thomas, Barber, Second Clerk of the Office. Bbokek, Secretary, and Gentleman-Usher to Pbctmia. LiCKFDioER, Master-Cook, and Parcel-Poet. Fashioner, the Tailor of the times. Lkatherleo, Shoemaker. Linener. Haberdasher. Bputrier. Customers, Male ana Female. Porter, Block and Ijollard, tvjo Dogs. Buz, AjiBLEB, Grooms; Fiddlers, Singing-Boy, Attendants, ^c. Intbrmean or Chorus. eo»«p* — Mirth, Tattle, Expbctatiok, and Censure. Fbcunia, Infimta of the Mines, Mortgage, her Nurse. Statute, First Woman. Band, Second Woman. Wax (Rose), Chambermaid. SCENE,— London. THE INDUCTION. THE STAGi:. Enter Prologue. Fro. For pour own sokes, not his Enter Gossip Mirth, Gossip Tattle, Gossip Expectation, and Gossip CBNSVRK,/our Gentlewomen, lady-like attired. Mirth. Come, gossip, be not ashamed. The play is The Staple of News, and you are the mis- tress and lady of Tattle, — let's have your opinion of it — Do you hear, gentleman 9 what are you, gentleman-usher to the play 9 Pray you help us to some stools here. Pro. Where ? on the stage, ladies ! Mirth. Yes, on the stage ; we are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen. My gossip Tattle here, and gossip Expectation, and my gossip Censure, and I am Mirth, the daughter of Christmas, and spirit of Shrovetide. They say. It's merry when gossips meet ; / hope your play will be a merry one. Pro. Or you will make it such, ladies. Bring a form here. [A bench is brought in.] Biit what will the noblemen think, or the grave wits here, to see you seated on the bench thus 9 Mirth. JVhy, what should they think, but that they had mothers as we had / and those mothers had gossips (if their children were christened) as we are ; and such as had a. longing to see plays, and sit upon them, as we do, and arraign both them and their poets 9 Pro. O, is that your purpose I Why, mistress Mirth and madam Tattle, enjoy your delights freely. Tat. Look your News be new and fresh, master Prologue, and untainted ; I shall find them else, if they be stale or fly-blown, quickly. Pro. We ask no favour from you ; only we would entreat of madam Expectation Expect. What, master Prologue ? Pro. That your ladyship would expect no more than you understand. Expect. Sir, I can expect enough. Pro. I fear, too much, lady ; and teach others to do the like. Expect. / can do that too, if I have cause. Pro. Cry you mercy, you never did wrong, but with just cause. What's this, lady ? Mirth. Curiosity, my lady Censure. Pro. O, Curiosity ! you come to see who wears the new suit to-day ; whose clothes are bestpenn'd, whatever the part be ; which actor has the best leg and foot ; what king plays without cuffs, and his queen without gloves ; who rides post in stockings, and dances in boots. Cen. Yes, and which amorous prince makes lave in drink, or does over-act prodigiously in beaten satin, and having got the trick on't, will be mon- strous still, in despite of counsel. Book-holder, [within.] Mend your lights, gen. tlemen. — Master Prologue, begin. Enter the Tike-men to mend the lights. Tat. Jh me ! ' Expect. Who's that ? Pro. Nay, start not, ladies ; these carry no fire- works to fright you, but a torch in their hands, to give light to the business. The truth is, there are a set of gamesters within, in travail of a thing 376 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT 1. called a play, and would fain he deliver' d of it : and they have entreated me to be their man mid- wife, the prologue; for they are like to have a hard labour on'i. Tat. Then the poet has abused himself, like an ass as he is. Mirth. No, his actors will abuse him enough, or I am deceived. Yonder he is within (J was in the tiring-house awhile to see the actors drest) rolling himself up and down like a tun in the midst of them, and purges, never did vessel of wort or wine work so I his sweating put me in mind of a good Shroving-dish (and I believe would be taken up for a service of state somewhere, an't were known), a stewed poet ! he , doth sit like an un- braced drum, with one of his heads beaten out ; for that you must note, a poet hath two heads, as a drum has ; otic for making, the other repealing ! and his repeating head is all to pieces ; they may gather it up in the tiring-)iouse ; for he hath torn the book in a poetical fury, and put himself to silence in dead sack, which, were there no other vexation, were sufficient to make him the most miserable emblem of patience. Cen. The Prologue, peace. PROLOGUE. (for the stage.) For your own sokes, not his, he bad me say, Would you were come to hear, not see a play. Though we his actors, must provide for those Who are our guests here, in the way of shows. The maker hath not so ; ke^d have you wise. Much rather by your ears, than by your eyes ; And prays you'' II not prejudge his play for ill. Because you mark it not, arid sit not still ; But have a longing to salute, or talk With such a female, and from her to walk With your discourse, to what is done, and where, }Jow, and by whom, in all the town, but here. Alas ! what is it to his scene, to know How many coaches in Hyde-park did'show Last spring, what fare to-day at Medley's was. If Dunstan or the Phoenix best wine has ? They are things — but yet the stage might stand as well. If it did neither hear these things, nor tell. Great noble wits, be good unto yourselves, And make a difference 'twixt poetic elves. And poets : all that dabble in the ink, And defile quills, are not those few can think, Conceive, express, and steer the souls of men. As with a rudder, round thus, with their pen. He must be one that can instruct your youth, And keep your acme in the state of truth. Must enterprise this work : mark but his ways. What fiight he makes, how new : and then he says. If that not like you, that he sends to-night, ' Tis you have left to judge, not he to write. (for A work not smelling of the lamp, to-night. But fitted for your Majesty's disport. And writ to the meridian of your court. We bring ; and hope it may produce delight. The rather being offered as a rite. To scholars, that can judge, and fair report The sense they hear, above the vulgar sort Of nut-crackers, thai only come for sight. PROLOGUE. COUKT.) Wherein although our title, sir, be News, We yet adventure here to tell you none. But shew you common follies, and so known. That though they are not truths, the innaent Muse, Hath made so like, as phant'sy could them state. Or poetry, without scandal, imitate. ACT I. SCENE I. — The Lodgings o/Pf.nntboy, jun. Enter Pbnntboy, jwn. and liEATHERLBG with a new pair of boots. F. jun. [Leath. pulls on his boots-"] Gramercy, Leatherleg : get me the spurrier, And thou hast fitted me. Leath. I'll do it presently. \_Bxit. P. jun. [walksup and down in his gown, waist- coat, and trowses, expecting his tailor.] Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, land, That is, look on me, and with all thine eyes, Male, female, yea, hermaphroditic eyes, .4nd those bring all your helps and perspicils, To see me at best advantage, and augment My form as I come forth ; for I do feel I will be one worth looking after shortly ; Now, by and by, that's shortly, — [draws forth his watch, and sets it on the table.] It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest ; Would thou couldst make the time to do so too : I'll wind thee up no more. The hour is come So long expected ! there, there, drop my wardship. {^Throws off his gouin. 'ill'j pupillage and vassalage together. And, Liberty, come throw thyself about me, In a rich suit, cloke, hat, and band, for now SCENE I. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 377 I'll sue out no man's livery, but mine own ; I stand on my own feet, so much a year, Kight round and sound, the lord of mine own ground. And (to rhyme to it) threescore thousand pound ! Not come ? not yet ?—lGoes to thi:daor and looh.^ Tailor, thou art a vermin, Worse than the same thou prosecat'st, and prick'st In subtle seam — Go to, I say no more Thus to retard my longings, on the day I do write man, to beat thee 1 One and twenty Since the clock struck, complete! and thou wilt feel it. Thou foolish animal ! 1 could pity him, An I were not heartily angry with him now. For this one piece of folly he bears about him, To dare to tempt the fury of an heir T' above two thousand a year, yet hope his custom > WeU, master Fashioner, there's some must break— A head, for this your breaking JSnter Pashionbb. Are you come, sir? J^as/i. Crod give your worship joy ! P. jun. What ! of your staying. And leaving me to stalk here in my trowses, Like a tame her'nsew for you ? Fash. I but waited Belowj till the clock struck. P. jun. Why, if you had come Before a quarter, would it so have hurt you, In reputation, to have waited here ? Fash. No, but your worship might have pleaded nonage. If you had got them on, ere I could make Just affidavit of the time. P. jun. That jest Has gain'd thy pardon, thou hadst lived con- demn'd To thine own hell else, never to have wrought Stitch more for me, or any Pennyboy, 1 could have hinder'd thee : but now thou art mine. For one and twenty years, or for three lives, Choose which thouvpilt, I'll make thee a copy- holder, And thy first bill unquestion'd. Help me on. Fash. Presently, sir : [sai/s his suit.J I am bound unto your worship. P. jun. Thou shalt be, when I have seal'd thee a lease of my custom. Fash. Your worship's barber is without. P. jun. Who ? Tom ! — Come in, Tom. Enter Thomas, Barber. Set thy things upon the board. And spread thy cloths, lay all forth in proeinctu. And tell's what news ? Tho. O sir, a Staple of News I Or the New Staple, which you please. P. jun. What's that? Fash. An office, sir, a brave young office set up : I had forgot to tell your worship. P. jun. For what ? Tho. To enter all the News, sir, of the time. Fanh, And vent it as occasion serves : a place Of huge commerce it will be ! P. jun. Pray thee, peace ; I cannot abide a talking tailor : let Tom (He is a bsirber} by his place relate it. What is't, an office, Tom ? ' Tho. Newly erected Here in the house, almost on the same floor. Where all the news of all sorts shall be brought, And there be examined, and then register'd. And so be issued under the seal of the office. As Staple News ; no other news be current. P. jun. 'Fore me, thou speak'st of a brave business, Tom. Fash. Nay, if you knew the brain that hatch'd it, sir — P. jun. I know thee well enough : give him a loaf, Tom ; Quiet his mouth, that oven will be venting else. Proceed Tho. He tells you true, sir j master Cymbal Is master of the office, he projected it. He lies here, in the house ; and the great rooms He has taken for the office, and set up His desks and classes, tables and his shelves. Fash. He is my customer, and a wit, sir, too. But he has brave wits under him Tho. Yes, four emissaries. P. jun. Emissaries? stay, there's a fine new word, Tom? Pray God it signify any thing! what are emissa- ries ? Tho. Men employ'd outward, that are sent abroad To fetch in the commodity. Fash. From all regions Where the best news are made. Tho. Or vented forth. Fash. By way of exchange, or trade. P. jwn. Nay, thou wilt speak Fash. My share, sir, there's enough for both. P. jun. Go on then, Speak all thou canst : methinks the ordinaries Should help them much. Fash. Sir, they have ordinaries. And extraordinaries, as many changes. And variations, as there are points in the compass. Tho. But the four cardinal quarters. P. jun. Ay those, Tom Tho. The Court, sir, Paul's, Exchange, and Westminster-hall. P. jun. Who is the chief? which hath prece- dency ? Tho. The governor of the Staple, master Cvm- bal. He is the chief ; and after him the emissaries : First emissary Court, one master Fitton, He is a jeerer too. P. jun. What's that ? Fash. A wit. Tho. Or half a wit, some of them are half-wits, Two to a wit, there are a set of them. Then master Ambler, emissary Paul's, A fine-paced gentleman, as you shall see walk The middle aisle : and then my froy Hans Buz, A Dutchman ; he is emissary Exchange. Fash. I had thought master Burst, the merchant, Tho. No, [had had it. He has a rupture, he has sprung a leak. Emissary Westminster's undisposed of yet; Then the examiner, register, and two clerks. They manage all at home, and sort, and file. And seal the news, and issue them. P. jun. Tom, dear Tom, What may my means do for thee ? ask and have it, I'd fain be doing some good : it is my birthday. And I would do it betimes, I feel a grudging 378 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. A01' I. Of bounty, and I would not long lie fallow. I pray thee think and speak, or wish for some- thing. Tho. I would I had hut one of the clerks' places In this News-oiEce. P. jun. Thou shalt have it, Tom, If silver or gold will fetch it ; what's the rate ? At what is it set in the market ? Tho. Fifty pound, sir. P. jun. An 'twere a hundred, Tom, thou shalt not want it. Posh. O noble master ! [Leaps and embraces him. P. jun. How now, ^sop's ass ! Because I play with Tom, must I needs run Into your rude embraces ? stand you still, sir ; Clowns' fawnings are a horse's salutations How dost thou like my suit,. Tom ? TAo. Master Fashioner Has hit your measures, sir, he has moulded you. And made you, as they say. Fash. No, no, not I, I am an ass, old ^sop's ass. P. jun. Nay, Fashioner, I can do thee a good turn too ; be not musty. Though thou hast moulded me, as little Tom says : — I think thou hast put me in mouldy pockets. [Draws out his pockets. Fash. As good. Right Spanish perfume, the lady Estifania's ; — They cost twelve pound a pair. P. jun. Thy bill will say so. I pray thee tell me. Fashioner, what authors Thou read'st to help thy invention : Italian prints ? Or arras hangings ? they are tailors' libraries. Fash. I scorn such helps. P. jun. O 1 though thou art a silkworm. And deal'st in satins and velvets, and rich plushes, Thou canst not spin all forms out of thyself ; They are quite other things : I think this suit Has made me wittier than I was. Fash. Believe it, sir, That clothes do much upon the wit, as weather Does on tlie brain ; and thence [sir] comes your proverb. The tailor makes the man : I speak by experience Of my own customers. I have had gallants. Both court and country, would have fool'd you up In a new suit, with the best wits in being. And kept their speed as long as their clothes lasted Handsome and neat ; but then as they grew out At the elbows again, or had a stain or spot. They have sunk most wretchedly. P. jun. What thou report'st, Is but the common calamity, and seen daily ; • And therefore you've another answering proverb, A broken sleeve keeps the arm back. Fash. 'Tis true, sir. And thence we say, that such a one plays at peep- arm. P. jun. Do you so .' it is wittily said. I wonder, gentlemen And men of means will not maintain themselves Fresher in wit, I mean in clothes, to the highest : For he that's out of clothes is out of fashion. And out of fashion is out of countenance. And out of countenance is out of witL Is not rogue haberdasher come ? Enter Haberdasher, Linener, and Hatter and Shoemaker. ffab. Yes, here, sir, I have been without this half hour. P. jun.- Give me my hat. Put on my girdle, rascal : fits my ruff well ? Lin. In print. P. jun. Slave ! Lin. See yourself. P. jun. Is this same hat Of the block-passant ? Do not answer me, I cannot stay for an answer. I do feel The powers of one and twenty, like a tide. Flow in upon me, and perceive an heir Can conjure up all spirits in all circles. Rogue ! rascal ! slave 1 give tradesmen their true And they appear to him presently. [names, Lin. For profit P. jun. Come, cast my cloke about me, I'll go see This office, Tom, and be trimm'd afterwards. I'll put thee in possession, my prime work ! Enter Spurrier. Ods so, my spurrier I put them on, boy, quickly ; I bad like to have lost my spurs with too much speed. .Enier Fennyeoy Canter, in a patched and ragged cloke, singing. P. Can. Good morning to my joy ! my jolly Pennyboy ! The lord, and the prince of plenty ! I come to see what riches, thou bearest in thy breeches, The first of thy one and twenty. What, do thy pockets jingle ? or shall we need to mingle Our strength both of foot and of horses ! These fellows look so eager, as if they would An heir in the midst of his forces ! I hope they be no Serjeants, that hang upon thy This rogue has the joul of a jailor ! P. jun. [answers in tune.] O founder, no suck matter, my spurrier, and my hatter, My linen-man, and my tailor. Thou should'st have been brought in too, shoe. maker. If the time had been longer, and Tom Barber. How dost thou like my compauy, old Canter ? Do I not muster a brave troop, all bill-men.'' Present your arms beforemy founder here. This is my Founder, this same learned Canter ! He brought me the first news of my father's death, I thank him, and ever since I call him founder. Worship him, boys ; I'll read only the sums, And pass them straight. Sho. Now ale Sest. And strong ale bless him. P. jun. Ods so, some ale and sugar for my founder ! Good bills, sufficient bills, these bills may pass. [Puts them in his pockets. P. Can. I do not like these paper-squibs, good master. They may undo your store, I mean, of credit, And fire your arsenal, if case you do not In time make good those outer-works, your pockets. And take a garrison in of some two hundred, To beat those pioneers off, that carry a mine Would blow you up, at last. Secure your casa- mates. THE STAPLE OP NEWS. 370 Here, master Picklock, sir, your man of law, And learn'd attorney, has sent you a bag of mu- P. jun. [«aA:e$ the bag."] What is't ? [nition. f. Can. Three hundred pieces. P. jun. I'll dispatch them. P. Can. Do; I would hare your strengths lined, and perfamed With gold, as well as amber. P. jun. God-a-mercy, Come, ad solvendum, boys 1 there, there, and there, I look on nothing but totalis. LPapi da their Ulls. P. Can. See! The difference 'twixt the covetous and the pro- digal ! The covetous man never has money, and The prodigal will have none shortly ! lAiide. P. jun. Ha, What says my founder ? {They make legs to Am.] I thank you, I thank yon, sirs. All. God bless your worship, and your worship's Canter! IBxeunt Shoemaker, Lmener, Eaber. and Hatter. P. Can. I say 'tis nobly done, to cherish shop- keepers, And pay their biUs, without examining thus. P. jun. Alas I they have had a pitiful hard time on't, A long vacation from their cozening. Poor rascals ! I do it out of charity : I would advance their trade again, and have them Haste to be rich, swear and forswear wealthily. What do you stay for, sirrah ? ITo Oe Spurrier. Spur. To my box, sir. P. jun. Yotir box! why, there's an angel; if my spurs Be not right Rippon Spur. Give me never a penny If I strike not thorough your bounty with the rowels. iExit. P. jun. Dost thou want any money, founder ? P. Can. Who, sir, I? Did I not tell you I was bred in the mines. Under sir Bevis Bullion. P. jun. That is true, I quite forgot, you mine-men want no money. Your streets are pnv'd with't : there the molten Runs out like cream on cakes of gold. [silver P. Can. And rubies Do grow like strawberries. P. jun. 'Twere brave being there ! — Come, Tom, we'll go to the office now. P. Can. What office? P. jun. News-office, the New Staple ; thou shalt go too ; 'Tis here in the house, on the same floor, Tom says : . Come founder, let us trade in ale and nutmegs. lExeunt. — ♦ — SCENE II. — Another part of the same. An outer Boom of the Office. Enter Register and Nathahux. Reff. What, are those desks fit now? Set forth the table, The carpet and the chair ; where are the news That were examined last? have you filed them up ? Naih. Not yet, I had no time. Reff. Are those news registered That emissary Buz sent in last night. Of Spinola and his eggs ? Nath. Yes, sir, and filed. Reg. What are you now upon ? Nath. That our new emissary Westminster gave us, of the golden heir. Reg. Dispatch; that's news indeed, and of importance. — Enter a CouctrywOTnau, What would you have, good woma^n ? Worn. I would have, sir, A groatsworth of any news, I care not what. To carry down this Saturday to our vicar. Reg. O! you are a butter- woman; ask Nathanid, The clerk there. Nath. Sir, I tell her she must stay Till emissary Exchange, or Paul's send in, And then I'll fit her. Reg. Do, good woman, have patience ; It is not now, as when the captain lived. Nath. Yon'll blast the reputation of the office Now in the bud, if you dispatch these groats So soon : let them attend, in the name of policy. Enter Cymbax. and Fnrofr, introducing F£NNirBov,^un. P. jun. In troth they are dainty rooms; what place is this ? Cgm. This is the outer room, where my clerks sit, And keep their sides, the register in the midst ; The examiner, he sits private there, within ; And here I have my several rolls and files Of news by the alphabet, and all put up Under their heads. P. Jan. But those too subdivided ? Ct/m. Into authentical, and apocryphal Fit. Or news of doubtful credit, as barbers news — Ct/m. And tsulors' news, porters' and water- men's news. Fit. Whereto, besides theCoranti, andGazetti — Ct/m. I have the news of the season — Fit. As vacation-news, Term-news, and christmas-news. Cym. And news of the faction. Fit. As the reformed-news ; Protestant-news; — Cym. Andpontificial-news; of all which several, The day-books, characters, precedents are kept. Together with the names of special friends Fit. And men of correspondence in the coun- try— Cf/m. Yes, of all ranks, and all religions. Fit. Factors and agents Ct/m. Liegers, that lie out Through all the shires of the kingdom. P. jun. This is fine. And bears a brave relation ! But what saya Mercurius Britannicus to this ? Ct/m. O sir, he gains by't half in half. Fit. Nay more, I'll stand to't. For where he was wont to get In hungry captains, obscuie statesmen^ — Cpm. Fellows To drink with him in a dark room in a tavern. And eat a sausage Fit. We have seen it. Cgm. As fain to keep so many politic pens Going, to feed the press Fit. And dish out news, Were't true or false 380 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. Cym. Now all that charge is saved. The public chronicler — Fit. How do yoa call him there ? Cym. And gentle reader — Fit. He that has the maidenhead Of all the books. Cym. Yes, dedicated to him — Fit. Or rather prostituted — P. jun. You are right, sir. Cym. No more shall be abused ; nor country Of the inquisitiou, nor busy justices [parsons Trouble the peace, and both torment themselves, And their poor ignorant neighbours, with enquiries After the many and most innocent monsters, That never came in the counties they were charged with. P. jun. Why, methiuks, sir, if the honest com- mon people Will be abused, why should not they have their pleasure. In the believing lies are made for them ; As you in the office, making them yourselves ? Fit. O, sir 1 it is the printing we oppose. Cym. We not forbid that any news be made, But that it be printed ; for when news is printed, It leaves, sir, to be news ; while 'tis but written — Fit. Tho' it be ne'er so false, it runs news still. P. jun. See divers men's opinions ! unto some The very printing of 'em makes them news ; That have not the heart to beheve anything, But what they see in print. Fit. Ay, that's an error Has abused many ; but we shall reform it, As many things beside, (we have a hope,) Are crept among the populai' abuses. Cym. Nor shall the stationer cheat upon the time, By buttering o'er again Fit. Once in seven years. As the age doats Cym. And grows forgetful of them, His antiquated pamphlets with new dates : But all shall come from the mint. Fit. Fresh and new-stamp'd. Cym. With the ofBce-seal, staple commodity. Fit. And if a man will insure his news, he may j Two-pence a sheet he shall be warranted, , And have a policy for it. P. jun. Sir I admire The method of your place : all things within't Are so digested, fitted, and composed, As it shews Wit had married Order. Fit. Sir. Cym. The best we could to invite the times. Fit. It has Cost sweat and freezing. Cym. And some broken sleeps, Before it came to this. P. jun. I easily think it. Fit. But now it has the shape Cym. And is come forth — P. jun. A most polite neat thing, vrfth all the As sense can taste ! [limbs, Cym. It is, sir, though I say it. As well begotten a business, and as fairly Help'd to. the world. P. jun. You must be a midwife, sir, Or else the sou of a midwife (pray you pardon me) Have help'd it forth so happily ! — ^What news have you ? News of this morning ? I would fain hear some, Fresh from the forge ; as new as day, as they say. Cym. And such we have, sir. Reg. Shew him the last roll, Of emissary Westminster's, The hair. Enter Barber. P. jun. Come nearer, Tom ! Nath. There is a brave young heir Is come of age this morning., master Pennyboy. P. jun. That's I ? lAside. Nath. His father died on this day seven-night. P. jun. True! lAside. Nath. At six a' the clock in the morning, just a Ere he was one and twenty. [week P. jun. I am here, Tom ! — Proceed, I pray thee. Nath. An old canting beggar Srought him, first news, whom he has entertained To follow him since. P. jun. Why, you shall see him ; — Founder ! Come in — Enter Pennyboy Canter, No follower, but companion : I pray thee put him in, friend; [ [_Exit Madrioaii with Bbok£b. Shun. He's gone, methinks ; where is he ? — Madrigal ! P. sen. He has an odd singing name ; is he an Fit. An heir to a fair fortune. [heir ? ■ Aim. And fuU hopes : A 3ainty scholar, and a pretty poet ! P. sen. You have said enough. I have no money, gentlemen, An he go to't in rhyme once, not a penny. lae tn^fi again. Shun. Why, he's of years, though he have little beard. P. sen. His beard has time to grow : I have no money. Let him still dabble in poetry. No Pecunia Is to be seen. Aim. Come, thou lov'st to be costive Still in thy courtesy ; but I have a pill, A golden pill, to purge away this melancholy. Shun, ^s nothing but his keeping of the house With his two drowsy dogs. [here Fit. A drench of sack At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet, Would cure him. Lick. Nothing but a young heir in white-broth ; I know his diet better than the doctor. Shun. What, Lickfinger, mine old host of Ram- You have some market here. [alley ! Aim. Some dosser of fish Or fowl, to fetch off. Pit. An odd bargain of venison To drive. P. sen. Will you go in, knave ? Lick. I must needs, You see who drives me, gentlemen. [P. sen. thrustsMm in. Aim. Not the deviL Fit. He may in time, he is his agent now- P. sen. You are all cogging Jacks, a covey of wits. The jeerers, that still call together at meals. Or rather an aiery ; for you are birds of prey, And fly at all ; nothing's too big or high for you ; And are so truly fear'd, but not beloved One of another, as no one dares break Company from the rest, lest they should fall Upon him absent. Aim, O, the only oracle That ever peep'd or spake out of a doublet I Shun. How the rogue stinks ! worse than a fish- Fit. Or currier's hands. [monger's sleeves. Shun. And such a parboil'd visage ! Fit. His face looks like a dyer's apron, just. Aim. A sodden head, and his whole brain a posset-curd. P. sen. Ay, now you jeer, jeer on ; I have no money. Aim. I wonder what religion he is of. Fit. No certain species sure : a kind of mule, That's half an ethnic, half a Christian ! P. sen. I have no money, gentlemen. Shun. This stock. He has no sense of any virtue, honour. Gentry, or merit. P. sen. You say very right. My meritorious captain, as I take it. Merit will keep no house, nor pay no house-rent. Will mistress Merit go to market, think you, Set on the pot, or feed the famUy ? Will gentry clear with the butcher, or the baker, Fetch in a pheasant, or a brace of partridges. From good-nife poulter, for my lady's supper ? Fit. See this pure rogue ! P. sen. This rogue has money though ; My worshipful brave courtier has no money ; No, nor my valiant captain. Shun. Hang you, rascal. P. sen. Nor you, my learned doctor. I loved you While you did hold your practice, and kill tripe- wives, And kept you to your urinal; but since your thumbs Have greased the Ephemerides, casting figures. And turning over for your candle- rents, And your twelve houses in the zodiac, With your almutens, alma-cantaras. Troth you shall cant alone for Pennyboy. Shun. I told you what we should find him, a Fit. A rogue, a cheater. [mere bawd. P. sen. What you please, gentlemen : I am of that humble nature and condition, Never to mind your worships, or take notice Of what you throw away thus. I keep house here, Like a lame cobler, never out of doors. With my two dogs, my friends : and, as you say, Drive a quick pretty trade, still. 1 get money : And as for titles, be they rogue or rascal. Or what your worships fancy, let them pass. As transitory things ; they are mine to-day, And yours to-morrow. Aim. Hang thee, dog! Shun. Thou cur ! P. sen. You see how I do blush, and am ashamed Of these large attributes ! yet you have no money. Aim. Well, wolf, hyena, you old pocky rascal. You will have the hernia fall down again Into your scrotum, and I shall be sent for : I will remember then, that, and your fistula In ano, I cured you of. P. sen. Thank your dog-leech craft ! They were wholesome piles afore you meddled vrith them. Aim. What an ungrateful wretch is this ! Shun. He minds A courtesy no more than London bndge What arch was mended last. o o 386 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. J'ii. He never thinks, More than a log, of any grace at court A man may do him ; or fiiat such a lord Reach'd him his hand. P. sen. O yes I i{ grace would strike The brewer's tally, or my good lord's hand Would quit the scores: but, sir, they will not do it ; Here is a piece, my good lord Piece doth all ; Goes to the butcher's, fetches in a mutton ; Then to the baker's, brings in bread, makes fires. Gets wine, and does more real courtesies Than all my lords I know : my sweet lord Piece ! IHolds up a piece (if gold. You are my lord, the rest are cogging Jacks, Under the rose. Shun. Rogue, I could beat you now. P. sen. True, captain, if you durst beat any other, 1 should believe you ; but indeed you are hungry ; You are not angry, captain, if I know you Aright, good captain. No Pecunia Is to be seen, though mistress Band would speak. Or little blushet Wax be ne'er so easy ; I'll stop mine ears with her, against the Syrens, Court, and philosophy. God be wi' you, gentle- men! Provide you better names, Pecunia is for you. lExit. Fit. What a damn'd harpy it is ! Where's Is he sneak'd hence ? [Madrigal ? Shun. Here he comes with Broker, Pecunia's secretary. Re-enter Madbiqal andBsoKBR. Aim. He may do some good With him perhaps. — ^Where have you been. Madrigal ? Mad. Above, with my lady's women, reading verses. Fit. That was a favour. — Good morrow, master Secretary I Shun. ' Good morrow, master Usher ! Aim. Sir, by both Your worshipful titles, and your name, mas Broker, Good morrow ! Mad. I did ask him if he were Amphibion Broker. Shun. Why? Mad. A creature of two natures. Because he has two ofiSces. Bro. You may jeer, You have the wits, young gentlemen : but your Of Helicon will never carry it here, [hope With our fat family ; we have the dullest. Most unbored ears for verse amongst our females ! I grieved you read so long, sir; old nurse Mortgage She snored in the chair, and Statute, if you mark'd her. Fell fast asleep, and mistress Band she nodded. But not with any consent to what you read. They must have somewhat else to chink than rhymes. If you could make an epitaph on your land, (Imagine it on departure,) such a poem Would wake them, and bring Wax to her true Mad. I'faith, sir, and I'll try, [temper. Bro. It is but earth, Fit to make bricks and tiles of. Shun. Pox upon't. !Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best. If it would keep us in good tobacco-pipes — Bro. It were worth keeping. Fit. Or in porcelain dishes. There were some hope. Aim. But this is a hungry soil. And must be help'd. Fit. Who would hold any land, To have the trouble to marie it ? Shun. Not a gentleman. Bro. Let clowns and hinds affect it, that lovt ploughs, And carts and harrows, and are busy still In vexing the dull element. Aim. Our sweet songster Shall rarify't into air. Fit. And you, mas Broker, Shall have a feeling. Bro. So it supple, sir. The nerves. Mad. O, it shall be palpable, Make thee run thorough a hoop, or a thumb-ring. The nose of a tobacco-pipe, and draw Thy ductile bones out like a knitting-needle. To serve my subtile turns. Bro. I shall obey, sir. And run a thread, like an hour-glass. Re-enter Pbnhyboy sen. P. sen. Where is Broker } Are not these flies gone yet ? Pray quit my house, I'll smoke you out else. Fit. O the prodigal ! Will you be at so much charge with us, and loss .' Mad. I've heard you have offer' d, sir, to look up smoke. And calk your windows, spar up all your doors. Thinking to keep it a close prisoner with you. And wept when it went out, sir, at your chimney. Fit. And yet his eyes were drier than a pumice. Shun. A wretched rascal, that will bind about The nose of his bellows, lest the wind get out When he's abroad. Aim. Sweeps down no cobwebs here. But sells them for cut fingers ; and the spiders. As creatures rear'd of dust, and cost him nothing. To fat old ladies' monkeys. Fit. He has offer'd To gather up spilt water, and preserve Each hair falls from him, to stop balls withal. Shun. A slave, and an idolater to Pecunia ! P. sen. You all have happy memories, gentle- men, In rocking my poor cradle. I remember too. When you had lands and credit, worship, friends, Ay, and could give security : now you have none, Or will have none right shortly. This can time. And the vicissitude of things ! I have All these, and money too, and do possess them. And am right heartily glad of all our memories. And both the changes. Fit. Let us leave the viper. iExeuni alt but P. sen. and Broker. J', sen. He's glad he is rid of his torture, and so soon. — Broker, come hither : up, and tell your lady. She must be ready presently, and Statute, Band, Mortgage, Wax : my prodigal young kins- man Will straight be here to see her ; top of our house. sOEira 1. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 387 The flourishing and flaunting Pennyboy ! We were but three of us in all the world. My brother Francis, whom they call'd Frank Pennyboy, Father to this ; he's dead : this Pennyboy Is now the heir! I, Richer Pennyboy, Not Richard, but,pld Harry Pennyboy, And, to make rhyme, close, wary Pennyboy, I shall have all at last, my hopes do tell me. Go, see all ready; and where my dogs have faulted, Remove it with a broom, and sweeten all With a slice of juniper, not too much, but sparing, We maybe faulty ourselves else, and turn prodigal. In entertaining of the prodigaL [£xt( Broker. Here he is, and with him — what? a clapper- dudgeon I That's a good sign, to have the beggar follow him So near, at his first entry into fortune. Enter Psnntboy jmi. Penkitboy Canter, and Picklock. P. jun. How now, old uncle ! I am come to see thee. And the brave lady here, the daughter of Ophir, They say thou keep'st. P. sen. Sweet nephew, if she were The daughter of the Sun, she's at your service, And so am I, and the whole family, Worshipful nephew. P. jun. Say'st thou so, dear uncle ! Welcome my friends then i here is dominie Pick- My man of law, solicits all my causes, fleck, Follows my business, msikes and compounds my quarrels Between my tenants and me ; sows all ray strifes. And reaps them too ; troubles the count^ for me, And vexes any neighbour that I please. P. sen. But with commission ? P. jun. Under my hand and seal. P. sen. A worshipful place I Pick. I thank his worship for it P. sen. But what is this old gentleman ? P. Can. A rogue, A very canter, I sir, one that maunds Upon the pad : we should be brothers though ; For you are near as wretched as myself, You dare not use your money, and I have none. P. sen. Not use my money, cogging Jack 1 who uses it At better rates, lets it for more in the hundred Than I do, sirrah ? P. jun. Be not angry, uncle. P. sen. What ! to disgrace me, with my queen, I did not know her value. [as if P. Can. Sir, I meant, You durst not to enjoy it. P. sen. Hold your peace. You are a Jack. P. jun. Uncle, he shall be a John, An you go to that ; as good a man as you are : And I can make him so, a better man ; Perhaps I will too. Come, let us go. iBoing. P. sen. Nay, kinsman, My worshipful kinsman, and the top of our house, Do not your penitent uncle that affront, For a rash word, to leave his joyful threshold. Before you see the lady that you long for. The Venus of the time and state, Fecunia ! 1 do perceive youi" bounty loves the man. For some concealed virtue that he hides Under those rags. P. Can. I owe my happiness to him. The waiting on his worship, since I broughthim The happy news welcome to all young heirs. jP. jun. Thou didat indeed, for which I thank thee yet. Your fortunate princess, uncle, is long a coming. P. Can. She is not rigg'd, sir; setting forth some lady Will cost as much as furnishing a fleet — Here she is come at last, and like a galley Gilt in the prow. Enter Fecditia in state, attended hy Broksr, Statdts, Band, Wax, and AIortoaoe. P. jun. Is this Pecunia ? P. sen. Vouchsafe my toward kinsman, gracious The favour of your hand. [madam, i'ec. Nay, of my lips, sir, iKusethim. To him. P. jun. She kisses like a mortal creature. lAiUe. Almighty madam, I have long'd to see you. Pec. And I have my desire, sir, to behold That youth and shape, which in my dreams and I have so oft contemplated, and felt Warm in my veins, and native as my blood, When I was told of your arrival here, I felt my heart beat, as it would leap out In speech ; and all my face it was a flame : Bat how it came to pass, I do not know. P. jun. O, beauty loves to be more proud than That made you blush. I cannot satisfy [nature. My curious eyes, by which alone I am happy. In my beholding you. [Kisses her. P. Can. They pass the compliment Prettily well. Pick. Ay, he does kiss her, I like him. P. jun. My passion was clear contrary, and doubtful, I shook for fear, and yet I danced for joy, I had such motions as the sun-beams make Against a wall, or playing on a water, Or trembling vapour of a boiling pot P. sen. That's not so good ; it should have been a crucible With molten metal, she had understood it P. jun. I cannot talk, but I can love you, madam : Are these your gentlewomen ? I love them too. [£un» them. And which is mistress Statute ? mistress Band ? They all kiss close, the last stuck to my lips. Bro. It was my lady's chamhermud, soft Wax. P. jun. Soft lips she has, I am sure on't Mother Mortgage I'll owe a kiss, till she be younger. Statute, Sweet mistress Band, and honey little Wax, We must be better acquainted. iKisses them again. Sla. We are but servants, sir. Sand. But whom her grace is so content to We shall observe. [grace, Wax. And with all fit respect. Mor. In our poor places. Wax. Beinj; her grace's shadows. P. jun. A fine, well-spoken family' — ^What's Bro. Broker. [thy name? P. jun. Metbinks my uncle should not need thee, * Who is a crafty knave enough, believe it. [Aside to Brokbb. Art thou her grace's steward ? o c 2 388 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. Bro. No, her usher, sir. P. jun. What, of the hall ? thou hast a sweeping Thy beard is like a broom. [face, Bro. No barren chin, sir. I am no ennuoh, thongh a gentleman-usher. P. jun. Thou shalt go with us. — Uncle, I must My princess forth to-day. [have P. sen. Whither you please, sir ; You shall command her. Pec. I will do aU grace To my new serrant. P. sen. Thanks unto your bounty ; He is my nephew and my chief, the point. Tip, top, and tuft of all our family ! — But, sir, condition'd always you return Statute and Band home, with my sweet soft Wax, And my good nurse, here, Mortgage. P. jun. O, what else? P. sen. By Broker. P. jun. Do not fear. P. sen. She shall go with you. Whither you please, sir, any where. P. Can. I see A money-bawd is lightly a flesh-bawd too. Pick. Are you advised ? Now, on my faith, this Canter Would make a good grave burgess in some barn. P. jun. Come, thou shalt go with us, uncle. P. sen. By no means, sir. jP. jun. We'll have both sack and fidlers. P. sen. I'll not draw That charge upon your worship. P. Can. He speaks modestly, And like an uncle. P. sen. But mas Broker here. He shall attend you, nephew ; her grace's usher. And what you fancy to bestow on him. Be not too lavish, use a temperate bounty, I'll take.it to myself. P. jun. I will be princely, While I possess my princess, my Pecunia. P. sen. Where is't you eat ? P. jun. Hard by, at Kcklock's lodging. Old Lickfinger's the cook, here in Ram-aUey. P. sen. He has good cheer ; perhaps I'll come and see you. P. Can. O fie ! an alley, and a cook's shop, gross ! 'Twin savour, sir, most rankly of them both : Let your meat rather follow you to a tavern. [To P. jun. Pick. A tavern's as unfit too for a princess. P. Can. No, I have known a princess, and a great Come forth of a tavern. [one. Pick. Not go in, sir, though. P. Can. She must go in, if she came forth : the Pokahontas, as the historian calls her, [blessed And great king's daughter of Virginia, Hath been in womb of tavern ; — and besides, Your nasty uncle will spoil all your mirth, And be as noisome. — Pick. That is true. P. Can. No 'faith, *<■ Dine in Apollo with Pecunia, At brave duke Wadloe's, have your friends about And make a day on't. [you, P. jun. Content, i'faith ; • Our meat shall be brought thither : Simon the king Will bid us welcome. Pick. Patron, I have a suit. P. jun. What's that? Pick. "That you will carry the Infanta To see the Staple; her grace will be a grace To all the members of it. P. jun. I will do it. And have her arms set up there, with her titles, Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta, And in Apollo ! Come, sweet princess, go. P. sen. Broker, be careful of your charge. Bro. I warrant you. /- [Exeunt.' Cen. Why this is duller and duller i intolerable, scurvy, neither devil nor fool in this play I pray God some on us be not a witch, gossip, toforespeak the matter thus. Mirth. / fear we are all such, an we were old enough : but we are not all old enough to make one witch. How like you the Vice in the play $ Expect . Which is he ? Mirth. Three or four .- Old Covetousness, the sordid Penny-boy, the Money-bawd, who is a Jiesh-bawd too, they say. Tat. But here is never a fiend to carry him away. Besides, he has never a wooden dagger .' / would not give a rush for a Vice, that has not a wooden dagger to snap at every body he meets. Mirth. That was the old way, gossip, when Jni- guityca7ne in like Hokos Pokes, in a juggler's jer- kin, with false skirts, like the knave of clubs ; but now they are attired like men and women of the ' time, the vices male and female. Prodigality, like a young heir, and his mistress Money, {whose fa- vours he scatters like counters,) pranked up like a prime lady, the Infanta of the mines. Cent Ay, therein they abuse an honourable princess f it is thought. Mirth. By whom is it so thought ? or where lies the abuse 9 Cen. Plain in the styling her Infanta, and giving her three names. Mirth. Take heed it lie not in the vice of your interpretation; what have Aurelia, Clara, Pecunia, to do with any person ? do ihey any more but ex- press the property of Money, which is the daughter of Earth, and drawn out of the mines ? Is there nothing to be calfd Infanta, but what is subject to exception $ why not the infanta of the beggars, or infanta of the gypsies, as well as king of beggars, and king of gypsies ? Cen. Well, an there were no wiser than I, I would sew him in a sack, and send him by sea to his princess. Mirth. Faith, an he heard you. Censure, he would go near to stick the ass's ears to your high dressing, and perhaps to all ours for hearkening to you. Tat. By'r Lady, but he should not to mine ; I would hearken, and hearken, and censure, if I saw cause, for the other princess' sake Pokahontas, surnamed the Blessed, whom he has abused indeed, and I do censure him, and will censure him : — -To say she came forth of a tavern, was said like a paltry poet^ Mirth. That's but one gossip's opinion, and my gossip Tattle's too ! but what says Expectation here ? She sits sullen and silent. Expect. Troth, I expect their office, their great office, the Staple, what it will be 1 they have talk'd on't, but we see it not open yet. — Would Butter would come in, and spread itself a little to us ! SCENE 1. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 889 Mirth. Or the butter-box. Buz, the emissary. Tat When it is churn'd and dish'd we shall hear of it. Ezpect. If it be fresh and sweet butler ; but saff U be sour and wheyish 9 Mirth. Then it is worth nothing, mere pot but- ter, fit to be spent in suppositories, or greasing coach-wheels, stale stinking butter, and suoh, I fear, it is, by the being 'barrelled up so long. Expect. Or rank Irish butter. Cen. Have patience, gossip ; say that, contrary to our expectation, it prove right, seasonable, salt butter $ Mirth. Or to the time of year, in Lent, delicate almond butler 1 I have a sweet tooth yet, and I will hope the best, and sit down as quiet and calm as butter, look smooth and soft as butter, be merry and melt like butler, laugh and be fat like butter: so butter answer my expectation, and be not mad butler ; ■ — " if it be, . It shall both July and December see ! " I say no more, but Dixi ACT III. SCENE I.— The Office of the Staple. Enter Firms, Cymbai., Register, Clerk, and Tho. Barber. Fit. You hunt upon a wrong scent still, and think The air of things will carry them ; but it must Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds, My cousin Cymbal, must get you this lady. You have entertain'd a pettyfogger here, Picklock, with trust of an emissary's place, And he is all for the young prodigal ; You see he has left us. Cym. Come, you do not know him, That thus speak of him : he will have a trick To open us a gap by a trap-door. When they least dream on't. Here he comes. Enter Picklock. What news ? Pick. Where is my brother Buz, my brother Ambler ? The register, examiner, and the clerks ? Appear, and let us muster all in pomp. For here will- be the rich Infanta presently, To make her visit. Pennyboy the heir. My patron, has got leave for her to play With all her train, of the old churl her guardian. Now is your time to make all court unto her, That she may first but know, then love the place. And shew it by her frequent visits here : And afterwards get her to sojourn with you. She will be weary of the prodigal quickly. Cym. Excellent news I Fit. And connsel of an oracle ! . Cym. How say you, cousin Fitton ? Fit. Brother Picklock, I shall adore thee for this parcel of tidings. It vrill cry up the credit of our office Eternally, and make our Staple immortal ! Pick. Look your addresses then be fair and fit. And entertain her and her creatures too, With all the migniardise, and quaint caresses You can put on them. Fit. Tiou seem'st by thy language, No less a courtier than a man of law. I must embrace thee. Pick. Tut, I am Vertumnns, On every change, or chance, upon occasion, A true camelion, I can colour for it. I move upon my axle like a turnpike, Fit my face to the parties, and become Straight one of them. Enter Nathamibl, Tho. Barber, and Begister. Cym. Sirs, up into your desks, And spread the rolls upon the table, — so ! Is the examiner set ? Reg. Yes, sir. Cym. Ambler and Buz Are both abroad now. Pick. We'll sustain their parts. No matter, let them ply the affairs without, Let us alone within, 1 Uke that well. On with the doke, and you with the Staple gown, [Frr. putt on the qffice cloke, and Cvm. the goon. And keep your state, stoop only to the Infanta ; We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band, And hard but we'll bring Wax to the retrieve : Each know bis several province, and discharge it. [They take their seate. Fit. I do admire this nimble engine. Picklock. Cym, Coz, what did I say ? Fit. You have rectified my error. Enter Peknybov jun., P. Canter, Peconia, Statdtb, BANn, Mortgage, Wax, and Broker. P. jun. By your leave, gentlemen, what news ? good, good still. In your new oflSce ? Princess, here's the Staple ! This is the governor, kiss him, noble princess. For my sake. — Tom, how is it, honest Tom.' How does thy place, and thou." — my creature, princess, This is my creature, give him your hand to kiss, He was my barber, now he writes clericus.! X bought th& place for him, and gave it him. P. Can. He should have spoke of that, sir, and Two do not do one office well. [not you : P. jun. 'Tis true. But I am loth to lose my courtesies. P. Can. So are all they that do them to vain ends ; And yet you do lose when you pay yourselves. P. jun. No more of your sentences, Canter, they are stale ; We come for news, remember where you are. I pray thee let my princess hear some news, Good master Cymbal. Cym. What news would she hear .' Or of what kind, sir .' P. jun. Any, any kind. So it be news, the newest that thou hast, Some news of state for a princess. Cym. Read from Rome there. Tho. They write, the king of Spain is chosen P. jun. How ! [pope. Tho. And emperor too, the thirtieth of February, P. hm. Is the emjieror dead .' S90 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. Cym. No, but he has resign'd, And trails a pike now under Tilly. Fit. For penance. P. jun. These will beget strange turns in Christ- endom ! Tho. And Spinolais made general of the Jesuits. P. jun. Stranger I Fit. Sir, all are alike true and certain. Cym. All the pretence to the fifth monarchy Was held but vain, until the ecclesiastic And secular powers were united thus. Both in one person. Fit. It has been long the aim Of the house of Austria. Cym. See but Maximilian His letters to the baron of Bouttersheim. Or Scheiter-huyssen. Fit. No, of Leichtenstein, Lord Paul, I think. P. jun. I have heard of some such thing. Don Spinola made general of the Jesuits ! A priest ! Cym. O, no, he is dispens'd withal And the whole society, who do now appear The only enginers of Christendom. P. jun. They have been thought so long, and .rightly too. Fit. Witness the engine that they have pre- sented him. To wind himself with up into the moon. And thence make all his discoveries 1 Cym. Read on. Tho. And Vitellesco, he that was last general, Being now turn'd cook to the society, Has drest his excellence such a dish of eggs P. jun. What, potch'd ? Tho. No, powder'd. Cym. All the yolk is wild-fire. As he shall need beleaguer no more towns, But throw his egg in. Fit. It shall clear consume Palace and place : demolish and bear down All strengths before it 1 Cym. Never be extinguish' d, Till all become one ruin ! Fit. And from Florence. Tho. They write was found in GaliliBo's study, A burning glass, which they have sent him. too, To fire any fleet that's out at sea. Cym. By moonshine, is't not so ? Tho. Yes, sir, in the water. P. jun. His strengths will be unresistible, if this hold. Have you no news against him on the contrary ? Nath. Yes, sir. They write here, one Cornelius- Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel [■Sore, To swim the haven at Dunkirk, and sink all The shipping there. P. jun. Why have not you this, Tom ? Cym. Because he keeps the pontificial side. P. jun. How ! Change sides, Tom, 'twas never in my thought To put thee up against ourselves. Come down, Quickly. Cym. Why, sir ? P. jun. I ventured not my money Upon those terms : if he may change, why so !. I'll have him keep his own side, sure. Fit. Why, let him, It is but writing so much over again* P. jun. For that I'll bear the charges : there's two pieces. Fit. Come, do, not stick with the gentleman. Cym. I'll take none, sir. And yet he shall have the place. P. jun. They shall be ten then. Up, Tom, and the office shall take them. Keep your side, Tom. [Tho. changes hit side. Know your own side, do not forsake your side, Tom. Cym. Read. Tho. They write here one Cornelius-Son Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel To swim the haven at Dunkirk, and sink all The shipping there. P. jun. But how is't done ? Cym. I'll shew you, sir. It is an automa, runs under water. With a snug nose, and has a nimble taU Made like an auger, with which tail she wriggles Betwixt the costs of a ship, and sinks it straight. P. jun. Whence have you this news? Fit. From a right hand, I assure you. The eel boats here, that lie before Queen-hythe, Came out of Holland. P. jun. A most brave device, To murder their flat bottoms. Fit. I do grant you : But what if Spinola have a new project. To bring an army over in cork-shoes. And land them here at Harwich ? all his horse Are shod with cork, and fourscore pieces of ord- nance, Mounted upon cork carriages, with bladders Instead of wheels, to run the passage over At a spring tiale. P. jun. Is't true ? Fit. As true as the rest. P. jun. He'll never leave his engines : I would Some curious news. [hear now Cym. As what ? P. jun. Magic or alchemy. Or flying in the air, I care not what. Nath. They write from Libtxig (reverence to your ears) The art of drawing farts out of dead bodies. Is by the brotherhood of the Rosie Cross Produced unto perfection, in so sweet And rich a tincture Fit. As there is no princess But may perfume her chamber with the extraction. P. jun. There's for you, princess ! P. Can. What, a fart for her ? P. jun. I mean the spirit. P. Can. Beware how she resents it. P. jun. And what hast thou, Tom? Tho. The perpetual motion, Is here found out by an ale-wife in Saint-Kathe- At the sign of the Dancing Bears. {Tine's, P. jun. What, from her tap .' I'll go see that, or else I'll send old Canter : He can make that discovery. P. Can. Yes, in ale. {.Noise without. P. jun. Let me have aU this news made up and seal'd. [sir, Reg. The people press upon us. Please you, Withdraw with your fair princess : there's a room Within, sir, to retire to. P. jwn. No, good register. We'll stand it out here, and observe your office ; What news it issues. THE STAPLE OF NE^VS. 391 Reg. "Tis the House of Fame, sir, Where both the curious and the negligent. The scrupulous and careless, wild and stay'd, The idle and laborious, all do meet, To taste the cornu-copise of her rumours, Which she, the mother of sport, pleaseth to scatter Among the vulgar : baits, sir, for the people ! And they Tvill bite like fishes, EnUr a crowd q^ Customers. P. jun. Let us see it. 1 Cust. Have you in your profane shop any Of the saints at Amsterdam ? [news Seg. Yes ; how much would you ? 2 Cust. Six penny-worth. Reg. Lay your money down. — Read, Thomas. Tho. The saints do write, they expect a prophet The prophet Baal, to be sent over to them, \_shortly. To calculate a time, and half a time. And the whole time, according to Naometrg. p. jun. What's that.' Tho. The measuring of the temple ; a cabal Found out but lately, and set out by Archie, Or some suqh ]iead, of whose long coat they have And, being bl^'£k, desire it. [heard, 1 Cust. Peace be with them ! Reg. So there had need, for they are still by the One with another. [ears 1 Cust. It is their zeal. Reg. Most likely. 1 Cust. Have you no other of that species ? Reg. Yes, But dearer ; it vrill cost yon a shilling. 1 Cust. Verily, There is a nine pence, I will shed no more. Reg. Not to the good of the saints ? 1 Cust. I am not sure That man is good. Reg. Read from Constantinople Nine penn'orth. Tho. Tfiey give out here, the grand signior Is certainly tum'd Christian ; and to clear The controversy ^ttvixt the pope and him. Which is the Antichrist, he means to visit The church at Amsterdam this very summer And quit all marks of the beast. 1 Cust. Now joyful tidings ! Who brought in this ! which emissary? Reg. Buz, Your cotintryman. 1 Ciist. Now, blessed be the man. And his whole family, with the nation ! Reg. Yes, for Amboyna, and the justice there ! This is a Dopper, a she Anabaptist ! Seal and deliver her her news, dispatch. 2 Ctist. Have you any news from the Indies ? any miracle Done in Japan by the Jesuits, or in China ? Nath. No, but we hear of a colony of cooks To be set ashore on the coast of America, For the conversion of the cannibals. And making them good eating Christians. Here comes the colonel that undertakes it. Enter Lickpingek. 3 Cust. Who, captain Lickfinger? Lick. News, news, my boys I am to fumitih a great feast to-day, ^ nd I would have what news the office affords. Nath. We were venting some of you, of your new project. Reg. Afore 'twas paid for! you were somewhat too hasty. P. jun. What, Lickfinger! wilt thou convert With spit and pan divinity .' [the cannibals Lick. Sir, for that I will not urge, but for the fire and zeal To the true cause ; thus I have undertaken With two lay brethren, to myself, no more One of the broach, the other of the boiler. In one sis months, and by plain cookery, , No magic to it, but old Japhet's physic, • The father of the European arts. To make such sauces for the savages. And cook their meats with those enticing steams. As it would make our cannibal-christians Forbear the mutual eating one another. Which they do do more cunningly than the wild Anthropopbigi, that snatch only strangers, Like my old patron's dogs there. P. jun. O, my uncle's 1 * Is dinner ready, Lickfinger ? Lick. When you please, sir, I was bespeaking but a parcel of news, To strew out the long meal withal, but it seems You are furnished here already. P. jun. O, not half. Lick. What court news isithere ? any proclama- Or edicts to come forth ? [tions T?to. Yes, there is one, That the king's barber has got, for aid of our trade, Whereof there is a manifest decay. A precept for the wearing of long hair. To run to seed, to sow bald pates withal. And the preserving fruitful heads and china To help a mystery almost antiquated. Such as are bald and barren beyond hope. Are to be separated and set by For ushers to old countesses : and coachman To mount their boxes reverently, and drive Like lapwings, with a shell upon their heads Thorough the streets. Lick. Have you no news of the stage ? They'll ask me about new plays at dinner-time. And I should be as dumb as a fish. Tho. O, yes. There is a legacy left to the king s players. Both for their various shifting of their scene. And dextrous change of their persons to all shapes And all disguises, by the right reverend Archbishop of Spalato. Lick, He is dead That play'd him ! Tho. Then he has lost his share of the legacy. Lick. What news of Gondomar ? Tho. A second fistula, . Or an excoriation, at the least. For putting the poor English play, was writ of To such a sordid use, as, is said, he did, [ftim. Of cleansing his posteriors. Lick. Justice ! justice ! Tho. Since when, he lives condemn'd to his share at Bruxels And there sits filing certain politic hinges. To hong the states on he has heaved off the hooks. Lick. What must you have for these ? P jun. Thou shalt pay nothing, But reckon them in the bill. [Exit hicK.'] There's twenty pieces, Her grace bestows upon the office, Tom : Write thou that down for news. 392 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT «I. Reg. We may well do't, We have not many such. i*. jun. There's twenty more, If yon say so ; my princess is a princess ! And put that too under the office seal. Cym. ITakes Pecunia aside, while Fitton courts the Waiting-women.] If it will please your grace to sojourn here, A.nd take my roof for covert, you shall know T^e rites belonging to your blood and birth, •Which few can apprehend : these sordid servants, Which rather are your keepers, than attendants. Should not come near your presence. I would have You waited on by ladies, and your train Born up by persons of quality and honour ; Your meat should be served in with curious dances, And set upon the board with virgin hands. Tuned to their voices ; not a dish reowved. But to the music, nor a drop of wine Mixt with his wsfter, without harmony. Pec. You are a courtier, sir, or somewhat more, That have this tempting language. Cym. I am your servant, Excellent princess, and would have you appear That which you are : come forth the state and wonder Of these our times, dazzle the vulgar eyes, And strike the people blind with admiration. P. Can. Why that's the end of wealth ! thrust riches outward. And remain beggars within ; contemplate nothing But the vile sordid things of time, place, money. And let the noble and the precious go : Virtue and honesty; hang them, poor thin mem- branes Of honour ! who respects them ? O, the fates. How hath all just true reputation fallen. Since money, this base money 'gan to have any ! {_Aside. Band. Kty the gentleman is not immortal. Wax. As he gives out the place is by descrip- tion. Fit. A very paradise, if you saw all, lady. Wax. I am the chamber-maid, sir, you mistake. My lady may see all. Fit. Sweet mistress Statute, gentle mistress Band, And mother Mortgage, do but get her grace To sojourn here. Pick. I thank you, gentle Wax. Mor. If it were a chattel, I would try my credit. Pick. So it is, for term of life, we count it so. Sta. She means inheritance to him and his heirs : Or that he could assure a state of years ; I'll be his Statute staple. Statute-merchant, Or what he please. Pick. He can expect no more. Band. His cousin, alderman Seciirity, That he did talk of so, e'en now Sta. Who is The very brooch of the bench, gem of the city. Band. He and lis deputy, but assure his life For one seven years — Sta. And see what we'll do for him, Upon his scariet motion. Band. And old chain, That draws fhe city ears. Wax. When he says nothing. But twirls it thus. . Sta. A moving oratory ! Band. Dumb rhetoric, and silent eloquence I As the fine poet says. Fit. Come, they all scorn us : Do you not see't ? the family of scorn 1 Bro. Do not believe him : gentle master Pick- lock. They understood you not ; the gentlewomen. They thought you would have my lady sojourn with you. And you desire but now and then a visit. Pick. Yes, if she pleased, sir, it would much advance Unto the office, her continual residence : I speak but as a member; Bro. 'Tis enough. I apprehend you : and it shall go hard, But I'll so work, as somebody shall work her. Pick. Pray you change with our master but a word about it. . P. jun. Well, Lickfinger, see that our meat be Thou hast news enough. [ready. Lick. Something of Bethlem Gabor, And then I am gone. Tho. We hear he has devised A drum, to Jill all ChristendoTn with the sound: But that he cannot draw his forces near it, To march yet, for the violence of the noise. And therefore he is fain, by a design. To carry them in the air, and at some distance, ' Till he be married, then they shall appear. Lick. Or never ! well, God be wi' you ! stay, who's there ? A little of the Duke of Bavier, and then — Nath. He has taken a grey habit, and is tum'd The churches miller, grinds the catholic grist With every wind ; and Tilly takes the toll. i Cust. Have you any news of the pageants to send down Into the several counties ? All the country Expected from the city most brave speeches. Now, at the coronation. Lick. It expected More than it understood ; for they stand mute. Poor innocent dumb things : they are but wood. As is the bench, and blocks they were wrought on : yet If Mayrday come, and the sun shine, perhaps. They'll sing like Memnon's statue, and be vocal. 5 Cust. Have you any forest news ? Tho. None very wild, sir. Some tame there is, out of the forest of fools. A new park is a making there, to sever Cuckolds of antler, from the rascals. Such Whose wives are dead, and have since cast their heads, Shall remain cuckolds pollard. Lick. I'll have that news. 1 Cust. And I. 2 Cust. Audi. 3 Cust. And I. 4 Cust. And I. 5 Cust. And I. Cym. Sir, I desire to be excused ; [to P. jun.] and, madam, I cannot leave my office the first day. My cousin Fitton here shall wait upon yon, And emissary Picklock. P. jun. And Tom Clericus ? Cym. I cannot spare him yet, but he shall follow you. SCENE a. THE STAPLE OF NEVTS. 393 When they have order'd the rolls. Shut up the When you have done, till two o'clock. [ofSce, ^JBxeunt all but Tbomas and Nath. Enitr Bhvsfjkld, Aluanac, and Madrioal, Shun. By your leave, clerks, Where shall we dine to-day ? do you know ? N'aih. Thejeerers Aim. Where is my fellow Fitton ? 77u>. New gone forth. Shun. Cannot your office tell us, what brave fellows Do eat together to-day, in town, and where? TTio. Yes, there's a gentleman, the brave heir, Dines in Apollo. [young Pennyboy, Mad. Come, let's thither then, I have snpt in Apollo. Aim. With the Mnses ? Mad. No, But with two gentlewomen, call'd the Graces. Aim. They were ever three in poetry. Mad. This was tnUh, sir. 77*0. Sir, master Fitton's there too. Shun. All the better. Aim. We may have a jeer, perhaps. Shun. Yes, you'll drink, doctor, If there be any good meat, as much good wine As would lay up a Dutch Ambassador. [now, Tho. If he dine there, he's sure to have good For Lickfinger provides the dinner. [meat, Aim. Who ! The glory of the kitchen I that holds cookery A trade from Adam, quotes his broths and saUads, And swears he is not dead yet, but translated In some immortal crust, the paste of almonds ! Mad. The same. He holds no man can be a poet. That is not a good cook, to know the palates, And several tastes of the time. He draws all arts Out of the kitchen, but the art of poetry. Which he concludes the same with cookeiy. Shun. Tut, he maintains more heresies than that. He'll draw the magisterinm from a minced-pie, And prefer jellies to your julaps, doctor. Aim. 1 was at an olla podrida of his making, Was a brave piece of cookery : at a funeral ! But opening the pot-lid, he made ns laugh. Who had wept all day, and sent us such a tickling Into our nostrils, as the funeral feast Had been a wedding-dinner ! Shun. Give him allowance, And that but a moderate, he will make a syren Sing in the kettle, send in an Arion, In a brave broth, and of a watery green. Just the sea-colour, mounted on the back Of a grown conger, but lu such a posture. As all the world would take him for a dolphin. Mad. He's a rare fellow, without question ! but He holds some paradoxes. Aim. Ay, and pseudodozes. Marry for most, he's ortbodoz in the kitchen. Mad. And knows the clergy's taste ! Aim. Ay, and the laity's ! Shun. You think not of your time ; we shall come too late, If we go not presently. Meld. Away then. Shun. Sirs, You must get of this news, to store your office, Who dines and sups in the town; where, and with whom ; It will be beneficial : when you are stored. And as we like our fare, we shall reward yon. Nath. A hungry trade, 'twill be. Tho. Much like duke Humphry's, But, now and then, as the wholesome proverb says, 'Twill obsonare famem ambulando. Nath. Shut up the office, gentle brotherThomas, Tho. Brother Nathaniel, I have the wine for you. I hope to see us, one day, emissaries. Nath. Why not? 'Slid, I despair not to be master ! iBxamt. SCENE II. — A Room in Pennyboy senior's House. Enter Pinnybov sen. and Brokbr, at different doors. P. sen. How now I I think I was born under Hercules' star, Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppress me! Why come you back ? where is your charge? Bro. I have brought A gentleman to speak with you. P. sen. To speak with me ! You know 'tis death for me to speak with any man. What is he ? set me a chair. Sro. He is the master Of the great office. P. sen. What ? Bro. The Staple of News, A mighty thing, they talk six thousand a-year. P. sen. Well, bring your six in. Where have you left Pecunia ? Bro. Sir, in Apollo, they are scarce set P. sen. Bring six. IBxit Broker, and returns with Cymbal. Bro. Here is the gentleman. P. sen. He must pardon me, I cannot rise, a diseased man. Cym. By no means, sir ; ' Respect your health and ease. P. sen. It is no pride in me, But pain, pain : What's your errand, sir, to me ? Broker, return to your charge, be Argus-eyed, Awake to the affair you have in hand. Serve in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus. lExit Brokkb. Go on, sir. Cym. I am come to speak with you. P. sen. 'Tis pain for me to speak, a very death ; But I will hear you. Cym. Sir, you have a lady, That sojourns with you. P. sen. Ha ! I am somewhat short In my sense too Cym. Pecunia. P. sen. O' that side Very imperfect ; on- Cym. Whom I would draw Oftener to a poor office, I am master of P. sen. My hearing is very dead, you must speak quicker. Cym. Or, if it please you, sir, to let her sojourn, In part with me ; I have a moiety We will divide, half of the profits. P. sen. Ha I I hear you better now. How come they in ? Is it a certain business, or a casual ? For I am loth to seek out doubtful courses. 3M THE STAPLE OF NEWS. Run any hazardous paths ; I love straight ways, A just and upright man ! now all trade totters; The trade of money is fall'n two in the hundred : That was a certain trade, while the age was thrifty, And men good husbands, look'd unto their stoclcs; Had their miuds bounded ; now the public riot Prostitutes all, scatters away in coaches. In footmen's coats, and waiting women's gowns, They must have velvet haunches, with a pox ! Now taken up, and yet not pay the use ! Bats of the use ! I am mad with this time's manners. [ Vehemenily and loud, Cym. You said e'en now, it was death for you to speak. P. sen. Ay, but an anger, a just anger, as this Puts life in man. Who can endure to see [is, \_Staris/rom his chair. The fury of men's gullets, and their groins ? What fires, what cooks, what kitchens might be spared ? AVhat stews, ponds, parks, coops, garners, maga- zines .' What velvets, tissues, scarfs, embroideries, And laces they might lack ? Tbey covet things Superfluous still ; when it were much more honour They cuuld want necessary : what need hath nature Of silver dishes, or gold chamber-pots ? Of perfumed napkins, or a numerous family To see her eat .' poor, and wise, she requires Meat only ; hunger is not ambitious : Say, that you were the emperor of pleasures. The great dictator of fashions, for all Europe, And had the pomp of all the courts, and kingdoms. Laid forth unto the shew, to make yourself Gazed and admired at ; you must go to bed. And take your natural rest : then all this vanisheth. Your bravery was but shown ; 'twas not possest : While it did boast itself, it was then perishing. Cym. This man has healthful lungs. iAside. jf. sen. All that excess Appear'd as little yourS, as the spectators: tt scavce fills up the expectation ' )f a few hours, that entertains men's lives. Cym. He has the monopoly of sole-speaking. [Aside. Why, good sir, you talk all. P. sen. [angrily.'] Why should I not? Is it not under mine own roof, my ceiling ? Cym. But I came here to talk with you. JP. sen. Why, an I will not Talk with you, sir ! you are answer'd ; who sent Cym. No body sent for me [for you? P. sen. But you came ; why then Go as you came, here's no man holds you ; there, There lies your way, you see the door. Cym. This is strange ! P. sen. 'Tis my civility, when I do not relish The party, or his business. Pray you be gone, sir, I'll have no venture in your shop, the office, Your bark of six, if 'twere sixteen, good sir. Cjim. You are a rogue. P. sen. I think I am, sir, truly. Cym. A rascal, and a money-bawd. P. sen. My surnames. Cym. A wretched rascal — P. sen. You will overflow, And spill all. Cym. Caterpillar, moth, Horse-leech, and dung-worm P. iSrtj Still you lose your labour. I am a broken vessel, all runs out : A shrunk old dryfat. Fare you well, good six! \_Exeunt. Cen. A notable tough rascal, this old Pennyloy ! right city-bred ! Mirth. In Silver-street, the region of money, a good seat for an usurer. Tat. He has rich ingredients in him, J warrant you, if they were extracted; a true receipt to make an alderman, an he were well wrought upon, according to art. Expect. / would fain see an alderman in chimia, that is, a treatise of alder manity truly written / Cen. To sheio how much it differs from urbanity. Mirth. Ay, or humanity. Either would appear in this Pennyboy, an he were rightly distill'd. But how like you the news ? you are gone from that. Cen. 0, they are monstrous t scurvy, and stale, and too exotic ! ill cook'd and ill-dish'd! Expect. They were as good, yet, as butter could Tnake them ! Tat. In a word, they were beastly buttered : he shall never come on my bread more, nor in my mouth, if I can help it. I have better news from the bake-house, by ten thousand parts, in a morn- ing ; or the conduits in Westminster : all the news of Tuttle-street, and both the AlmWies, the two Sanctuaries, long and round Wool-staple, with King's-street, and Canon-row to boot. Mirth. Ay, my gossip Tattle knew what fine slips grew in Gardener' s-lane ; who kist the butcher's wife with the cow's breath ; what matches were made in the Bowling-alley, and what bets were won and lost ; how much grist went to the mill, and what besides : who conjured in Tuttle- fields^ and how many, when they never eame there ; and which boy rode upon doctor Lamb in the like- ness of a roaring Hon, that run away with him in his teeth, and has not devour'd him yet. Tat. Why, I had it from my maid Joan Hear- say ; and she had it from a limb o' the school, she says, a little limb of nine year ol'l ; who told her, the master left out his conjuring booh one day, and he found it, and so the fable came about. But whether it were true or no, we gossips are bound to believe it, an't be once out, and a-foot ; how shouldwe entertain the time else, or find ourselves in fashionable discourse, for all companies, ifioe do not credit all, and make more of it in the reporting ? Cen. For my part, I believe it : an there were no wiser than I, I would hat