THE WORKS BEN JONSON Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/worksofbenjonsonOOjons_0 S. Jicl'uii'aiv. tOroOH. GEOm ROffTLEDG-E ^ SONS, BROADMT UIDGATE Hill I. O HD O 1?^. ilftM-tDAWW/W, Ltl'llDiiJATiF; JHI 1111.11. THE WOEKS OF BEN JONSON WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR, BY WILLIAM GIFFORD. A NEW EDITION. LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL. NEW YORK : 416, BROOME STREET. 1879 LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTFRS, VVHITEFRI ARS. TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. LL.D POET LAUREATE, ETC. OF THE WORKS OF BEN JONSON, IS INSCRIBED BY THE PUBLISHER. NovEMHEn, 1838. CONTENTS. PAGE BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR 9 ANCIENT COMMENDATORY 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 SE JANUS HIS FALL 137 VOLPONE; OR, THK FOX 173 EPICCENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAX 207 THE ALCHEMIST 238 CATILINE HIS CONSPIRACV 272 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR 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 OF KING James's i:nti:iitainment, in passing to his coronation . . 527 A PANEGYRR ON THE HAPPY ENTRANCE OF JAMES, Ol'R SOVEREIGN, TO HIS FIRST HIGH SESSION OF PARLIAMENT IN THIS HIS KINGDOM .... 535 THE SATYR 536 THE PENATES 53'> THE ENTERTAINMENT OK THE 1 \VU IlINGS OK CllKAl BRITAIN AND DENMARK, AT THEOBALDS 541 AN ENTERTAINMENT OF KING Ja5II;S AND QIEEN ANNK, AT TH EO IJ ALDS, ■\VURN THE HOUSE WAS DELIVERED UP, WITH THE I'OSSESSION, TO Tliii QUERN, m- IHE EARL OP SALISBURY , - . . 542 CONTENTS MASQUES— THE aUEKN's MASaUES— THE MASaUE OF BLACKNESS 544 THE MASaUE OF BEAUTY 547 HYMENTEI ; OR, THE SOLEMNITIES OF MASQUE AND BARRIERS AT A MARRIAGE 552 THE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID 562 THE MASaUE OF QUEENS 566 THE SPEECHES AT PRINCE HENRy's BARRIERS 577 OBERON, THE FAIRY PRINCE 581 LOVE FREED FROM 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 CHRISTMAS 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 MASQUE OF THE METAMORPHOSED GIPSIES 618 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 JONES 658 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 CONVIVALES 726 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS 728 TIMBER ; OR DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER . . .741 THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR 766 JONSONUS VIRBIUS; OR, THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON 7U\ MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. BY WILLIAM GIFFORD. write the Life of Jonson as it has been usually written, would he neither a very long nor a very difficult task ; since I should liave only to transcri])e from former biographers the vague accounts which each, in succession, has taken from liis predecessor ; and to season the wliole with the captious and s])lenetic insinuations of tlie critics, and commentators on our dramatic poetry. A due respect for the })ublic seemed to require something more. It was fully time to examine into the authenticity of the charges incessantly urged against this eminent man ; and this has been, at least, attemjjted. The result has not accorded with the general persuasion concerning him. The reader, therefore, who has the courage to follow me through these pages, must be prej)ared to see many of his prejudices over- thrown, to hear that lie has been imposed u})on by the grossest fabrications, and, (however mortifying the discovery may j)rove,) that many of those who have practised on his integrity and surprised his judgment, are M cak at once and worthless, with few pretensions to talents and none to honesty. Benjamin, or (as the name is usually abbreviated by himself) Bex Jonson*, was born in the early part of the year 1574 f. His grandfather was a man of some family and fortune, * JoNTSov.] Tlie attacks on oiir author begin at a pretty early period. lie knew his own name, it soonis. and persistort in writing it correctly, though " some of his best friends " misspelt it ! This is produced, in the " Jiiofjraphia Britannica," as " an instance of that affectation which bo strongly marks the poet's character " Hut this perse- verance in the right was a family failing, for his mother (as it appears), wrote it in the same manner. His " singu- larity" in this respect, (these writers think,) "would have been discovered, liad he been more communicative— but it is observable, that though his descent was very far from being a discredit to him, yet we never find him once men- tioning his family upon any occasion." l-'rom critics so disposed, Jonson must have had unusual pood fortime to escape with justice. The fact, however, is that he is once found mentioning his family. He talked of it to Drum- mond, and had it pleased that worthy gentleman to be less sparing of his malice, and somewhat more liberal of his information, wo might have obtained enough on this head, to satisfy the most ardent curiosity. t The year 1574.] The writers of the Bio Brit, are somewhat embarrassed here, by a line in the Poem left in Scotland, in which Jonson says that he had then Told seven and forty years." Now, this, say they, as the poet was there in Ifilf), fixes his birth to the year 1572, and makes him two years older than is conmionly supposed. But these critics should have looked into Drummond, instead of reasoning upon a fact which is not to be found there. In Drummond the line stands, " Told six and forty years ;" and the date subjoined is January 1619-20. Jonson was then in liis forty-sixth year : in short, there seems no plea for questioning the received opinion. The second folio is of various dates, and of little authority. That Jonson was born on the eleventh of June, which is also affirmed by those writers, is taken (\n the credit of another blunder in this v(dumc, where, in the verses on Sir Kenelm DIgby, " my birthday," is printed for '« his birthday, ' 4c. In the i2nio. edit., 1640, both the lines stand as here given. [The poem in question was certainly composed in Januaiy ]\tEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. ori-inally 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 estate*. 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 Wood informs us, " a grave minister of the gospel." Jonson was a posthumous child, and "made his first entry (the Oxford Antiquary says,) on the stage of this vain world, about a month after his father's death, within the city of West- minster." Fuller observes, that though he could not, with all his inquiry, find him in his cradle, he could fetch him from his long coats. It would seem from this, that the residence of liis father was unknown. Mr. Malone supposes, and on very good grounds f, 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-Lane, near Charing Cross." His father-in-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 school + ," when he was renioved ; and he could scarcely have attained this situation, as schools were then constituted, at thirteen. if)19, not in January lGU)-2j: it theiefure fixes Jonson's birth in 1573. See Mr. D. Laing's remark on Notes of B. Jonson's Conversations with W. Brimmoml, &c. p. 39, printed for the Shakespeare Society. What Jonson told Dnimmond 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, llis Father losed all his estate under Queen Marie, liaving 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 grandfather came from Annandale, he must have written his name Johnstone.— A. Dyce.] * This is our author's own account ; it is therefore worse than folly to repeat from book to book, after Aubrey, that " Ben Jon.son was a Warwickshire man." Mr. Malone says, that " a collection of poems by IJen Jonson, jun. (the son 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. Bathursfs account " (the impossible story just quoted from Aubrey) " of his father's birth-place."— S/,a/c., vol. ii. p. 311 I. This is a strange passage. Young Jonson died before his father, in 1(]3.5, and the collection of which Mr. JNIalone speaks, contains several pieces written after the Restoration. The very first poem in the book is addressed by the cnilhur to John, Earl of Rutland, and his son, Lord Roos, who was not born till both young Jonson and his father weie dead ! Had Mr. Malone even looked at the title-page of this little volume, he must 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 good (iroun. t 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. §"IIe killed," Aubrey 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 before this period, m a brotlicl squabble :-but whoever expects a rational account of any fact, however trite, from Aubrey, will m«et r/ith disappcuntmcnt. Had any one told this " maggoty-pated" man that Jonson had killed " Mr. Shakspeare the I,oet, ho 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 (m all probabii.ty (Jabriel Spenser), an actor belonging to Henslowe's company. They fought in lloxlou l-ielda, m 15.8. Sec Mr. J. 1\ Collier s Memoirs of Edward AUcyn, &c., p. 50 -printed for the Shakesj/eare Society.— A. UvcE.J » ^ i MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 7 Here 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 been bred, for the errors of the Romish church. This has been attributed by some to his fears. " His tougli spirit," say the authors of his life, in the Bio. Brit. " sunk into some degree of melancholy, so that he became a fit object to be subdued by the crafty attacks of a popish priest." Others, following the opinion of Drummond, attribute the change to an indifference about all religions. It is probable, that neither was the cause. Such conversions were among the daily occurrences of the time ,• even among those who had more years than Jonson, and far more skill in controversy 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 fatiiers, and those iciser guides who i)rcached the words of truth in simplicity *. Wliile he was in prison, there were (as he told Drummond) spies set to catch him ; but lie was put upon his guard by the gaoler, to whose friendly warning he probably owed his life ; as he was the most incautious of men in his conversation. These spies could have nothing to do with the cause of his imprisonment, and must therefore have been employed about him solely on account of his connection with the Popish priest. The years 150.3 and 1504 were years of singular disquietude and alarm. The Catholics, who despaired of effecting anything against the queen by open force, engaged in petty conspiracies to take her off by sudden violence. The nation was agitated by these plots, which were multi])lied by fear ; and sevei-al semi- naries, as the popish priests educated abroad were then called, were actually convicted of attempts to poison the queen, and executed. Jonson revenged himself for the insidious attacks made on his life, by an epigram which he afterwards printed, and which is not one of his best : — " Spies, you are liglits in state, but of base stuflF, Who, when you've burnt yourselves down to the snuff, Stink, and arc thrown aside : — End fair enough I " It is not known to what, or whom, Jonson finally owed his deliverance from prison. Circum- stances were undoubtedly in his favour, for he had received a diallenge, and he had been imfairly opposed in the field : as criminal causes were then conducted, those considerations might not, however, have been sufficient to save him. The ])rosecution was probably drojjt by his enemies. On his release, he naturally returned to his former pursuits, unpromising as they are represented to be. With that happy mode of extricating himself from a part of his difficulties which men of genius sometimes adopt, he now appears to have taken a wife t. She was young, and a Catholic like himself ; in no respect, indeed, does his choice seem to have discredited his judgment ; which is more, perhaps, than can fairly be said for his partner : but slie was a woman of domestic habits, and content, perhaps, to struggle with poverty, for the sake of her children. She was dead when Jonson visited Scotland in 1G18, and in the * 1 know not why Jonson should bo reproached for this change, as he frequently is: far from arguing a total carck'ssnoss, as they say, it would seem rather a proof of the return of a serious mind. Tlie great and good Jeremy Taylor was a convert to popery for a short time ; so was Cliillingworth, and so were a thousimd more of the same description. In fact, young men (and Jonson was at this time a very young mani of a ."^crious way of thinking, of warm imaginations, and of ill-digestcd studies, arc not among the most unfavourable subjects for proselytism. t Jonson was now in his 20th year. I have followed the writers of the Bio. Brit, who suppose that his first child was a daughter. In the beautiful Epitaph on her, beguming, — " Here lies, to each her parents' ruth, IMary, the daughter of their youth :" — she is said, by the poet, to be " his first daughter ;" she might not, however, have been his first child : yet, I beilevo, from other circmnstanccs, that the biographers arc correct. In this case, Jonson's marriage must have taken place, at latest, in \5'M, as wc know that he had a son born in 1596. This date is the first of which wc can speak decidedly; it is tlicrefore of sonie moment in our author's life. From ]5'J6 the years are sufficiently marked : antecciieutly to *his period some latitude must be allowed. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. costive and splenetic abridgment of his conversations with Drummond, she is shortly men- tioned as having been shrewish, but honest (i. e. faithfully attached) to her husband. But what were the pursuits by which Jonson had hitherto been enabled to procure a preca- rious subsistence ?— Assuredly not ambling by a waggon, nor " acting and writing ill " at the Green Curtain. The fortunate j^reservation of ISlr. Ilenslowe's memorandums, amidst the wreck of so much valuable matter through the sloth and ignorance of the members of Dulwich College, has given a sort of precision to this period of dramatic history, which no one was san- guine en o'lgh to expect. From the extracts made by Mr. Malone, and introduced into his excellent History of the English Stage, we are enabled to trace the early part of J onsen's dramatic career with some degree of accuracy ; and we find him, as might be expected, follow- ing the example of contemporary poets, and writing in conjunction with those who were already in possession of the stage : a practice encouraged by the managers, whose chance of loss it diminished *. The notices which Mr. Malone has copied from the MS. respecting the dramatic Avriters, begin with 1597; but he has given a curious account of the pieces performed by Mr. Henslowe's companies, which commences at an earlier period. As we know not the titles of Jonson's first dramas, it is not possible to discover whether any of those mentioned previously to 1596, belong to him. Etery Man in his Humour, is the first piece in the list which we can appropriate ; and this was then a popular play ; having been acted, as IMr. Ilenslowe says, eleven times between the 25th of November 159G, and the 10th of May in the succeeding year. Before this period, however, he must have Avritten for the stage both alone and with others ; and with such success as to induce Ilenslowe and his son-in-law, the celebrated Alleyn, to advance money upon several of his plots in embryo ; a sufficient confutation of the oft-repeated tale of his "ill writing," &c. In this year his wife brought him a son f ; so that he had occasion for all his exertions. In Em-ij Man in his Humour, and in tlie Prologue to it, which breathes a similar spirit, Ave find strong traces of the ennobling idea, which Jonson had already formed of poetry in general, and of the true and dignified office of the Dramatic Muse. " Indeed, if you will look on Poesie, As she appears in many, poor and lame, Patch'd up in remnants, and old worn-out rags, Half-starv'd for want of her peculiar food, Sacred Invention ; then I must confirm Both your conceit and censure of her merit. But view her in her glorious ornaments. Attired in the majesty of art. Set high in spirit with tno precious taste Of sweet pliilosophy, and, wliich is most, Crown'd with the rich traditions of a soul That hates to liavc licr dignity profaned With any relish of an earthly tiiought ; Oh then how proud a presence does she bear ! Then is she like herself; fit to be seen Of none but grave and consecrated eyes ! " These lines, which were probably written before he had attained his twenty-second year, do not discredit him ; and let it be added, to his honour, that he invariably supported, through * They usually hired the writers, and advanced them money upon the credit of their talents, and the progress of their work, which was shewn or reported to them from time to time. + To this child, perhaps, tlic players stood god-fatliers. A foolish story is told in some old jest book, which would flcarcely be worth repeating here, were it not for the notable use which is made of it by the commentators on Hliakspearo. " Shaksneare was god-father to one of Ben Jonson's children, and after the christening, being in deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up ; and asked him why he was so melancholy ? No faith, Ben, says he, not 1 ; but I have been conc-idering a great while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow npon my god-child, and I l.ave resolved at last I prithee what? says he. J'faith, Ben, IMl e'en give her a dozen good Latin (latten^ spo.ms, and tliou Shalt translate them l\u^ jest (it is Capell who speaks) will stand in need of no comment with thosa who are at all aequaintcd with Jonson: it must have cut to the quick ; and endangered the opening some old s<.res about the litter s he it was not written till some time before the appearance of the folio; — thcre^t'ore it ridicules all Shakspeare's plays! That any rational being should persuade liim-elf, or hope to persuade another, that the lines were composed and spoken at this late period, can only be accounted for by the singular power of self-delusion. For many years before and after KilC (the date of the folio), Jonson was in a state of the highest i)rosperity : the favourite of princes, the companion of nobles, the pride and delight of the theatre, yet ho is supposed to say that " tliough poverty made many poets, and himself, among the rest, it should not compel him to disgrace his judgment, &c. ! — Every Man in his Humour had been a stock-play for nearly twenty years, during which it had probably been represented an hundred times, yet the author is imagined to beseech the audience that they would be j)leaseil. to dav, to see one such a play, &c. ! As if all this was not sufficient to fool the credulous reader to the lop of his bent, be is further required to believe, that, after the Fox, the Silent jrowa/i, the Alchemist, in a word, after eleven of his best pieces had obtained full possession of the stage, Jonson came forward, fur the first time, to tell the public on what I)rinciple8 he jiroposed to construct his dranuus— concluding with a hope that the spectators would like the specimen which he was now about to offer them ! — Aiul why is the public called upon to swallow these monstrous absurdities ? Because the commentators cannot otherwise prove that the great object of " Jonson's life was to persecute Sliak- speare." *' If the Prologue was not written about l(jI4," says one of the most furious of them, very ingenuously, " my speculations fall to the ground I" If it be asked why the author did not print the Prologue with the play for which it was written, it may be demanded iu return, why many other things which appear in the folio were not printed in the 4tos. and why much that ap- jx ars iu the 4tos. is not found in the folio ? No better reason, I believe, can be given, than that such was the publisher's pleasure. It is more than time to advert to the proofs produced by the commentators to shew how the Prologue bears on all Shakspeare's plays. •« To make a child new swaddled, to proceed Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed. To fourscore years." " Tin's is a snrcr at the Winter's Tale, written in 1604," in which Perdita, as all the world knows, undergoes these various changes ! t — " with three rusty swords And help of some few foot-and-half foot words. Fight over York's and Lancaster's long jars" — " This is a sneer at Shakspeare's three parts of Henry VI." I have endeavoured, Mr. Malone says, Shak. vol. i. p. 492, to prove that of these three parts were not written originally by Shakspciue." Papa:! Again: There were two t Mr. Malone also proves that the Pu chess of Malfy was written in KIlC, simply because .Tonson .sneers at it in those linos. Shak. vol. xi. p. .'■)4,^. Mr. Steevens, still more maladroit, in a mouuiit of hee(lles>n(ss, iiif(nnis us " that in Lily's Kudymion, which comprises nearly half a ceutiny, all the personages of the drama, with one excep- tion, continue unchanged, wearing the same beard and irecd for more than forty years." These discoteries are \mluckily nuule— iis they may lead those who think at all, to suspect that Jonson might have other persons in viev/ than Perdita. , MEMOIRS OF 13EN JONSON. consequence of it, he braved want and obloquy, whatever may be thought of his prudence, the praise of consistency must, at least, be awarded to him. Wliat else he wrote in 1507 is not known • two suras of " fo" sr pounds," and « twenty shillings," were advanced to him by Mr. Ilenslowe, upon the credi ,of two plays*, which he had then in hand : but their titles do not occur • at least with his name. The "book of which he shewed the company the plotte," prpcedinR dramas, one of which was called the contention of York and Lancaster. W hy l^en might not this be the drama meant '-But were there not two score old plays on this subject on the stage ?-T]ndoubtedly there were : and I could produce numerous passages in which plays on the long jars between the two houses are mentioned, all anterior -But were there not two score old plays on this subject on the stage ?-T]ndoubtedly there were : and e r to this period, " With three rusty swords." t This however with the rest of the quotation, is merely a versification, as Mr. Gilchrist has well observed, of what Sir Philip Sidney had written many years before on the poverty and ignorance of the old stage. Sir Philip, indeed, savs " swords:" of* their " rustiness" he takes no notice, and so far Jonson has shewn his spite to Shakspeare. But how happens it that a yet stronger passage than this escaped the vigiLmt malice of the commentators? to disgrace AVith Mir or five most vile and ragged foils. Right ill-disposed, in brawl ridiculous. The name of Agincourt." Here the sneer is evident ! Here, indeed, as Mr. Malone says, " old Ben speaks out !" Here every thing is changed for the worse : the rusty sword for "a most vile and ragged foil ;" and the long jars of York and Lancaster, for " a ridiculous brawl !" Ecquid, Jupiter, tam lente, avdis .'— " Not to keep the reader in suspense," however, this atro- cious attack on Shakspeare was made-by Shakspeare himself ! It is found in one of his most beautiful choruses to Henry V. One curious circumstance is yet to be noticed : although the commentators dwell upon every trifling expression on which they can possibly raise a note, yet this striking passage is slipped over by them all in solemn silence ; Shak. vol. ix. p. 401 . " There's method in this madness !" The " foot-and-half words" are " a sneer at Richard III., where we find such epithets as childish-fonlish, senseless- obstinate," &c. It is not Jonson's fault if his persecutors prove as ignorant as they are malicious. Before the date of this Prologue (15%) he had probably translated the Art of Poetry : there, the lines Telephus, et Peleus cum pauper et exul uterque, Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba ; are thus rendered : — " Peleus and Telephus, When they are poor and banish'd, must throw by Their bombard phrase, and foot-and-half-foot words." Here the poet, with his wonted accuracy, uses " foot-and-half-foot words"— not for feeble epithets linked togethei by hyphens, but for swelling, vaunting, bombast language. " Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas. Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please, nor tempestuous dmm." There was scarcely a play on the stage when Jonson first came to it, which did not avail itself of a chorus to waft its audience over sea and land, or over wide intervals of time. Enough of both maybe found in Pericles, Fanstus, Fortunatus, and other dramas which yet remain ; to say nothing of those to which allusions are made by the old critics, and which have long since worthily perished. " The creaking throne is a sneer at Cymfieline," in which Jupiter, it seems, " descends on an eagle!" " The tempestuous drum is a ridimle of the Tempest;" and as that comedy was not written till 1(511-12-13, it ascertains the date of the Prologue to a nicety. It is to be regretted that Mr. Malone never read Jonson, as he might have saved himself and Mr. G. Chalmers a world of trouble in dandling this play backwards and forwards, on account of the last-quoted passage. In a Speech according to Horace." (p. 70.9,) undoubtedly subsequent to the Tempest, we find the words " tempestuous grandlings." Here the iillusion is not only to the iiile of the play, but most palpably to Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and, perhaps, to Prospero himself! After such overwlielming proofs it cannot but surprise the reader to hear one of Jonson's critics speak thus doubt- ingly : " Perhaps Shakspeare himself, l)y the help of a proper application, was designed, to be included !" O tlie power of candour ! But far better is the writer's amended judgment. " Other dramatists had indeed written on the jars of York and Lancaster, but Jowson doth not appear to have thought them worthy of his notice"! And best of all is the liberal conclusion of Steevcns: "lihe whole of Ben Jonson's Prologue to Every Man in his Humour is a, malicious sneer at Shakspeare," vol. xiii. p. 249. * "The following curious notices (says Mr. Malone, Shak. vol. ii. p. 484,) occur relative to Shakspeare's old antago- nist, Ben Jonson."— When it is considered that Jonson was at this time scarcely 22, (Shakspeare was 32.) that by Mr. Malone's own account, he was not known to Shakspeare, whom he could in no possible way have offended, the justice of calling him the old antagonist of our great poet is not a little questionable. — The notices are : " Lent unto Benjcinen Johnson player, the 22d of July 1597, in ready money, the some of fower poundes, to be payed yt agen whensoever either I or my sonnc ;Alleyn) shall demand yt." •' Lent unto Benjemen Johnsone the 3d of december 1597, upon a book which he was towritte for us before crysmas nexte after the date here of, which he showed the plotte unto the company : I say lent unto hime in redy money, the some of XX*." t It is observed by Mr. Malone, Shak. vol. ii. p. 220, that " such was the poverty of the old stage, that the same person played two or three parts, and battles, on which the fate of an empire was supposed to depend, were decided by three combatants on a side." Though this be true, yet I hardly expected to find the critic joining our autlior in %mering at Shakspeare. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 71 might have been tlie Case is Altered *. He was now recent from the Roman writers of comedy, and, in this jileasant piece, both Plantus and Terence are laid under frequent contribution. The success of Every Man in his Humour appears to have encouraged the author to attempt to render it yet more popular : accordingly he transferred the scene, which in the former play lay in the neiglibourhood of Florence, to London, changed the Italian names for English ones ; and introduced such appropriate circumstances as the place of action seemed to require. In fact, the attempt v/as to be expected, from the improvement which was visibly taking place in his mind. Young f as he was, when he wrote this drama, it is scarcely to be wondered, that he should fall into the common practice, and while he placed his scene in Italy, draw all his incidents from his own country. It must bo added to his praise, that he did not entirely neglect the decorum of place, even in this performance : but there was yet too much of English man- ners, and the reformation of the piece was therefore well-timed and judicious. Jonson fell into no subsequent incongruities of this kind, for the Fox is without any tincture of foreign customs, and his two tragedies are chastly Roman. "But notwithstanding (Whalley says) the art and care of Jonson to redress the incon- gruities taken notice of, a remarkable instance of Italian manners is still preserved, whicii, in transferring the scene, he forgot to change. It is an allusion to the custom of poisoning, of which we have instances of various kinds, in the dark and fatal revenges of Italian jealousy. Kitely is blaming Well-bred for promoting the quarrel between Bobadil and Downright, and Well-bred offers to excuse himself by saying that no harm had happened from it. Kitely's wife then objects to liim ; ' But what harm might have come of it, brother V to whom Well- bred replies, * Miglit, sister ? so might the good warm clothes your husband wears be poisoned for anything he knows ; or the wholesome wine he drank even now at table.' Kitely's jealous apprehension is immediately alarmed, and he breaks out in a passionate exclamation: — * Now God forbid. 0 me ! now I remember My wife diaiik to me last, and cbangcd the cup ; And bade me wear this cursed suit to-day.' And thus he goes on, imagining that he feels the poison begin to operate upon him. Nothing could be more in chamctcr than this surmise, supposing the persons, as was the case at first, to have been natives of Italy. But had Jonson recollected, it is probable lie would have varied the thought to adapt it more consistently to the genius and manners of the speaker." — Freface^ p. xii. I have given this tedious passage at large, because the happy discovery which it holds forth has been received with vast applause by the critics. In llurd's letter to Mason On the Marks of Imitation, it is said, " The late editor of Jonson's works observes very well the impropriety of * This Comeily is usually assigned to l.'i!)}), principally because of its allusion to Antony Munday, which appeared in the Wit's Treasiirie, published in that year. But Antony might have been called "our best plotter" before Mcnres wrote his pedantic conundrums ; and, indeed, the words have to me the air of a quotation. I am almost inclined to set down this, as the earliest of our author's dramas ; in 1598 it was already a popular piece, and it bears about it the marks of juvenility. It is doubted in the Bio. Dram, whether Jonson be the author of this piece, because, says the writer, it is printed witliout a dedication, which is commonly prefixed to his early plays, &c. I cannot stoop to contend with slieer igno- rance : — but in the first place, the play was not published by Jiinson ; and in the second, his dedications are more frequent in the folio, than in the 4t<)s. t The reader of the present day, who has been aecustomed to hear of nothing but " old Hen," will start, perhaps, to find that ho once was young. The appellation was first given to him by Sir John Suckling, a gay, careless, good- humoured wit of the court, in 163/ : " The next that approached was good old Den." " Good," the commentators arc careful to omit ; but " old Ben" they are never weary of repeating. Jfr. ^Slalone says that this title was not familiarly given to him during his life. In fact, it was never familiarly given to him. till he and his friend Steevens took it up, and applied it as a term of ridicule and contempt in every jiage. That lU-n was termed old on one oceasivm shortly after his death, is scarcely a sufiicient pU a for making the appellation perpetual, or we might confer it on all the writers of his time. We hear of old MasNinger, and old Shirley ; and the i)ublisher3 of Beaumont and Fletcher advertise their readers, "that after they shall have reprinted Jonson's two volumes, they hope to reprint o/J Shakspeare." Seethe Booksellers' address, hA. 1679. \Vliat would -Mr. Alalonc have said if the editors of any of our old dranuitists had nauseated their readers from page to page (on this authority) with a repctitiou of old Shakspeiire ? ,2 ME^rOIRS OF BEN JONSON. ]e^lvin^' a trait of Italian manners in his Every Man in Ms Humour, v/lien he fitted up that play with En^jlish characters. Had the scene been originally laid in England, and that trait been given us, it had convicted the poet of imUatlon;' p. 18. Such solemn absurdity is intolerable. The truth is, that Jonson could not have devised a more characteristic " trait" of the times in uliich he wrote. Toisoning was unfortunately too Avell understood, and too common in this country. Elizabeth had a favourite, who, if he is not greatly belied, did not yield to the subtlest poisoner that Italy ever produced. Osborn says that " he had frequently/ heard Elimlcth blamed for not removing Mary, Queen of Scots, in the Italian fashion, by poisoning her gar- ments," &c., p. 231. And, in fact, Elizabeth herself lived from 1594 to 1598 in constant dread of being taken off in this way ; and many attempts, which kept the people in a state of agita- tion, were actu.'^Uy made to effect it. Two men were hanged in 1598 for poisoning the queen's safldle ; the arm-chair of Essex was found to be rubbed Avith some deleterious mixture ; and several poisoned articles of dress, (among others, a girdle,) and pieces of furniture were publicly burned in Smithfield. According to the custom of the times, Jonson regained the property of his comedy by these nuniei'ous alterations : it was thus acted, for the first time, in 1598, at the Black Friars, and SliaUspeare's name stands at the head of the principal performers in it *. The commentators aj>i)ear to consider this as a mark of peculiar condescension on the part of our great poet, clioosing to forget that he was an actor by profession, and that he derived his fortune from the theatre. lie was not yet so independent of wealth but that he continued on the stage at least sixteen years longer ; and, in the course of that time probably played a part in more than one piece not greatly superior to the present comedy, without suspecting that lie was conferring any very particular obligation on the authors. To this period (1598) is commonly assigned the commencement of our author's acquaint- ance with Shakspcare. " Ben Jonson presented ir/cer?/ Man in his Humour to one of the leading players in tlr^t company of which Shakspoare was a member. After casting his eye over it Kii[)erficially, the comedian was on the point of returning it with a peremptory refusal ; when 8liaksj)eare, who perhaps had never till that instant seen Jonson f, desired he might look into the pliiy. lie was so well pleased with it on perusal, that he recommended the work and the author to his fellows. Notwithstanding this kindness, the prologue to his play is nothing less than a satirical picture of the Tem.pest, Lear, Henry V., &c." — Dram. Miscel., vol. ii. p. 56. " Erery Man in his Humour, (says JMr. Malone, in twenty places,) was acted in 1598 : it appears to be Jonson's first performance, and we may presume that it icas the very play which was brought on the stage by the good offices of Shakspeare, who himself acted in it. Malignant and cntions as Jonson was," Sic.—Shak., vol. i. p. 540. And the writers of our author's life in the Uio. Brit., after giving us the same story a little embellished, are pleased to subjoin— " this goodness of Sliakspeare was the more remarkable, as 'Jonson was, in his personal character, the very reverse of Shakspeare, as surly, ill-natured, proud, and disagreeable, as Shakspeare was gentle, good-natured, easy, and amiable J.' " * The old play probably remained at the Rose, where it had been brought out. ♦ .Mr. Davies is Bubj.ct t.. little fits of inconsistency. He seems to think, and not indeed without cause, that provi.led 1,0 mdulKCs h.s ma >«mty towards .Jonson, the public will n adily forgive the want of truth and sense. " At this n,o. 1.0 sayH e. 1..!.7. a year befo, e Shakspeare (acco, diu, t,. hisown statement) had seen or known anything of our p-ft, to have observed Ik-n Jonson with an assumed countenance of gaiety, and with envv in his he^rt ioin the- jcronpe '^^ 'M".''--!-- "f IV. must have added to the ^lea^re of Bi;l^.s;:fe",S m^d^' ^,h? SouMn . , takenf.u- proved; and the passage is boldly referred to in the Index under the head of ,>::i7t2nuod on'! ! '•''''"^''^•'^'•^ • '"^^ our great poet is written ; and his admirers are A* iMuZ:;^; tdmTn''f.d - r'*^' biographers, with great precision, from the "Works of his V 1 iV: i .^^^^^^^^^ *^ -l">,aft«- repeating the pocfs conversation MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 13 Jonson was at this period struggling for a mere subsistence : — wlion liis persevering pursuit of knowledge, therefore, amidst difficulties of every kind, when liis lofty ideas of poesy, liis moral purpose in dramatic satire, his scorn of the popularity procured by sacrificing to what he deemed the vicious habits of the stage, are taken into consideration, it may almost be wondered why such singular pleasure should be found in combining to overwhelm him with obloquy. With respect to tlie story just quoted, no words, I presume, are needed to prove it an arrant fable. Nor is the variation of it, which is found in Rowe, any thing better. "Shak- speare's acquaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity. Mr. Jonson, who was at that time altogether unhuncn to the icorld, had offered one of his plays to the players to have it acted ; and the person into Avhose hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, was just upon the point of returning it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would be of no service to their company, when Shakspeare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it, as to engage him to read it through, and afterwards to recommend ^Ir, Jonson and his writings to the public favour — Shak., vol. i. p. 12, That .Jonson was altogether " unknown to the world," is a pal])able untruth. At this period, (1590) Jonson was as well known as Shakspeare, and perhaps, better. He was poor, indeed, and very poorf, and a mere retainer of the theatres ; but he was intimately acquainted with llenslowe and Alleyn, and with all the performers at their houses. He was familiar with Drayton and Chapman, and Rowley, and Middleton, and Fletcher ; ho had been writing for three years, in conjunction with INIarston, and Decker, and Ciiettle, and Porter, and Bird, and with most of the poets of the day : he was celebrated by Meares as one of the princi])al writers of tragedy X ; and he liad long been rising in reputation as a scholar and poet among the most distinguished characters of the age. At this moment he was employed on Every Man out of his Humour, which was acted in 1599 ; and, in the elegant Dedication of that comedy to the " Gentlemen of the Inns of Court," he says, " When I wrote this poem, I had friendship with divers in your Societies, who, as they were great names in learning, so were they no less examples of living. Of them and then, that I say no more, it was not desi)ised."— And yet, Jonson was, at this time, "altogether unknown to the world !" and offered a virgin comedy in 1757, the others later. It thus appears, that of all who have so confidently quoted this passage " from Drummond," not one ever looked into him ; and thus has the scurrility of an obscure and hackney scribbler, who lived two centu- ries after Jonson, been palmed upon the public as the express testimony of one " who spoke of the poet from personal knowledge." The detection of this flagrant imposture, "this innocent jeu d'esprit," will be ill-received. A calumny against Jonson is jnecious in the eyes i f tlic commentators. 1 shall be quite satisfied, however, if, wlicn tliey repeat this ribaldry, which they will be sure to do, they give it on the authority of Mr. Robert Shiels, and not on that of " Jonson's friend, Drummond of Ilawthornden." * In the first edition of his Life of Shakspeare, Rowe inserted the iisual charges against Jonson of ingratitude, jealousy, ;my, 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 niaiiy theatres, and probably mended many j'lays. The theatre, however, with which he was most closely connected at this time, was Henslowe's ; and while his eneu.ics are pleased to suppose a succession of quarrels with this and that theatre, he was evidently living on terms of friendsliip with them all; writing, at one and the same time, for the Rose and the Blackfriars, for the Fortune and the Globe. i 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 bnlly critics in similar terms was then the mode. There is enougli of it in Decker alone to prove that Jonson -v^b far fn.m smgular m this indecent dcfinTicc -But he was probably inflated for the moment with the favourable recep- tion of the court ; and would not allow tlie city to question its infallibility. In this year Kvnp Mau out of his Humour was given to the press : it'is dedicated to the gentlemen of the Inns of tourt, and Bccins to be the first of our author's works that was printed. 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 untrussing, the whipping, and the stinging, he anticipated and answered many of the accusa- tions subsequently brought against him in the Satiromastix. The high and magisterial language which our author held in the prologue to the first of his acknowledged pieces, has been already noticed ; the same langwage (but in a loftier tone) is repeated in Cynthia's Eetels, where, in imitation of the parabasis of the old comedy, the poet appears to speak in his own person ; this novelty on the English stage was probably viewed with peculiar impatience, since muc'h of the spleen of his enemies was directed against the speeches of Asper, and Crites in the last of his comic satires. The Poetaster was brought out at the Blackfriars, by the Children of the Queen's Chapel, in 1601 ;* its object cannot be better given than in his own words : *' three years They (Hd provoke me with their petulant styles On every stage ; and I at last, unwilling, But weary, T confess, of so much trouhle. Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em, And therefore chose Augustus CsDsar'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 practiocrs against them : And by this line, although no purallel, I hoped at last they would sit down and blush." AsMarston 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 comjjlain to the master of the revels ; 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 Richard Martin," who undertook for the innocency of his intentions to the lord chief-justice, and to Avhom he subsequently dedicated the play. But there was yet a party which could neither bo silenced nor shamed. The players, who had so long provoked him with their petulance on the stage, felt the bitterness of his rei)roof. * In this year " Bengemy'' was employed by Mr. Ilenslowe in " writing adycions for Jeronymo." They were so much to the manager's taste, that Mr. Alleyn was authorized to advance xxxxj. on tlicm. Had the records of any other tlieatres been preserved, wo should probably have found the name of our poet among their supporters, for ho must have produced much more at this time than has reached us. Every Man in his Hiniioiir, as first written, and performed at the Rose, was printed this year. I do not believe that it was given to tlie press by Jonson, who must rather have wished for its suppression, as the improved play had now been four years before the public. It is evident that whatever he wrote for Air. Ilenslowe 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 mispelt in the title page. There is not a single instance, I am well persuaded, in which he writes his name Johnson. t Nothing can more clearly mark the tone of hostility with which every oct 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 hi* ••arrogance and ill-nature." He stood forward as a moral satirist, and the abuses, both of the law and the milit^rj service, were legitimate objects of reprehension. 18 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. and had address enough to persuade their fellows that all were included in his 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 the same tUe ^me icith themselves. 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 not 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 " weiglit 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 T, 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 Shakspeare. In the Return from Parnassus, written about this time (1602), Kempe and Burbage are introduced, and the former is made to say,—" Few of the UniverBity pen plays well ; they smell too much of that writer, Ovid, and that writer M&iamorpliosis, and talk too much of Proserpine and Jupiter. AVhy, here's our fellow Shakespeare puts them all down : ay, and Ben Jonson too. O that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fi41ow, 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 follow, 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 bewray 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 offence whatever. I will take upon myself to affirm that the Poetaster 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" (i. e. for the unoffending object of his ridicule) " by not leaving him any memorial by his Will." Shak. vol. i. p. 541. Let Mr. Malone answer for the unforgiving temper with which he has dishonoured 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 epipram which is here supposed to be written against Jonson contained nothing gross or illiberal ? Time has spared two specimens of Sliakspeare'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. t Not in consequence of the interference of the town, as Mr. D'Isracli thinks ; the town would, probably, have heard it with pleasure. Jonson's own account is, that " he was restrained from repenting it by authority." These words are found only in the 4to. edit, and Mr. DTsraeli probably consulted the fol.— Qtmr. of Authors, vol. iii. p. 135. % Jonson must have been aware of this ; for he makes one of the players say of Decker, "his doublet's a little decayed, otherwise lie 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 Fines lower, he makes Tucca promise that " Crispinus (Marston) shall lielj) him." It might have been expected that Marston, who is, in fact, the 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 ho is treated with some kind of difference as compared with his " hanger-oa," and that more than one allubion lf> 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 tlie seamy side without, and produces a coarse and ill-M'rought caricature. Tucca, 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 Rufus, a rude and ignorant soldier, whom he ridiculously terms "learning's true Mascenas, poesy's king,'' for the champion of literature, when his brother, Henry I., who aspired to the reputation of a scholar, would have entered into his plot with equal facility f. In the concluding lines of the Apologetical Dialogue, Jonson announces that, " since the comic muse had been so ominous to him, he would try if tragedy had a kinder aspect J." He had two subjects at this time in view. The first, which was written for ^Mr. Henslowe's § theatre, does not appear ; the second, Sejanus, was brought out at the Globe, in 1003. This tragedy, in which Shakspeare played a part, met witli 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-model his play. About this time Jonson probably began to acquire that turn for conviviality for which lie was afterwards noted. Sir Walter Raleigh, previously to his unfortunate engagement with the wretched Cobham and others, had instituted a meeting of beaux esprits at the INIermaid, 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, Care w, 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 country '* What things have we seen. Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one from whom tlicy came, Had meant to put his whole wit in a jt-st," &c. * Although I cannot avoid thinking that Decker has failed altogether in the Untrussinp of the Humorous Poet, I do not deem lightly of his peueral powers. He was a slovenly and a hasty writer, (perhaps from necessity,) but he was a keen and vigorous observer ; and he has occasional fliKhts of poetry, which would do honour to any talents. We have, I believe, but the smallest part of what he wrote ; for, with the exception of Ileywood, none of our old dramatists were more prolific. + 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 Decker, wlio only meant to retaliate the insults of his rival," — tlien follows the usual raving about Jonson *s envi/, &c. liut Hawkins chooses to forgot, as, indeed, they all do, that Dec ker was the aggressor, and that, in conjunction with others, he had been ridiculing Jonson on every stage for thi-ce years before he sat down to write the Poetaster. Yet this is pour " harmless" fairy 1 X Jonson does not mean by this, as Upton and others insinuate, that his comedies had been ill received,— for the contrary was the fact but that the present one (the Poi taster) had subjected him to the censure of the law, the army, &c. § The following notice is taken from Henslowe's memorandum-book. "Lent unto Bengcmy Johnsone at the appoyntment of E. Alleyn and Wni. IJirde the 22 June ir.()2, in earnest of a boocke called Richard Crook-hack, and for new adycions for Jeronymo, the some of x Ih." " This article," Mr. Malone observes, " ascertains that Jonson had the a«/dat?7y to write a play after our author (Shakspeare) on the subject of Kituj Richard 111." Shak.wl. ii. p. 484. If there be any " audacity" 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 docs not seem a necessary consequence that Sliakspeare's selecting a particular part of our history should preclude the rest of the world from touching it ; and he, " wlio never," as Mr. Malone says, " took up a subject which had not been previously dramatised by others," had surely tlie least right to complain of those who acted, or those who wrote on the same tlieme with himself. Prom the sum advanced on this play, the managers must have thought well of it. It h.is perished, like most of the pieces brought out at their theatre ; because they endeavoured to keep them in their own hands as long as possible. 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 tlie 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, with a magnificent display of scenery, speeches, &c., and our author was applied to for the design and execution of the pageant. Those who have been told so often of his " vindictiveness," &c. 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 two-fifths of this splendid " Entertainment the rest was allotted to his coadjutor. Botl 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 himf ; as well as the extraordinary merits of the spirited " Paner/yre 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, wlio 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. 1G03,) 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 has 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 ^. He did not discredit his employer, and his Majesty must have found still further reason to be satisfied with his selection. This year also Jonson revised his Sejamis. As it was first acted, a second pen had good share in it% ; on its failure, he, * 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 B)0. Brit.) was no less pedant than pageant wise; 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 verp sparivg 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 ! X See p. 539. 5 Who this " second pen " was, is not known. I have supposed it (vol. iii. p. 6. ed. 1816) to be Fletcher (Shakspeare is entirdly out of the question), but, if Beaumont's age would admit of it (he was in his nineteenth year), I should MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 2i with equal delicacy and integrity, determined not to expose his coadjutor to the chance of a second 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 his 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." "/%awMs"was ushered into the world by several commendatory poems, to which Jonson 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 Malecontent 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 ELEGANTISSIMO GRAVISSIMO AMICO sue CANDIDO ET CORDATO JOHANNES MARSTON MUSARUM ALUMNUS ASPERAM HANC SUAM THALIA RI D. 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, till another's happier muse appears, Till his Thiilia feast your learned ears, To whose desertful lamps, pleas'd fates impart, yirt above na.tme, jud(/ment above art, Receive this piece, which hope nor fear yet dannteth, He that knows most, knows most how much lie wantelh." In the succeeding year (1605), Marston again addresses his " most worthy friend," as one whose work [Sejanus) would "even force applause from despairful envy ;" yet the critics affirm that in 1606, when this poet published his Sophonisbaf, 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+ had lessened their more willingly lean to him. Be lie who he may, however, he has no reason to be displeased with the liberal acknow- ledgment of his merits. " I have rather chosen (Jonson says) to put tveaher, and no doubt, less pleasing of mine own, 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, lias 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. It is excellently observed by Davies, after much abuse of Jonson — As this play was nniversally exploded, I 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 uuiversally exploded play being removed, the whole became popular. Such is the logic of Mr. Davies ! who adds, 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 appears 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 parts of tho Monk are to be found in this detestable play. % This is, no doubt, a translation of Marston's candido el cordate I 22 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. friendship, since we find MarstOn casting some very severe glances at his Sejanus and Catiline.''* As Catiline was not in being till 1611, no glances could be cast at it in 160f5 ; for the rest, if Marston did not know his own mind, it seems hard to blame Jonson for it ; since whatever might be the demerits of Sejanus, 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 commentators, however, can descry no fault but in Jonson. Prior to this publication an event had taken place, \^ hich involved Marston in serious diffi- culties. 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, " voluntarily" 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.'' " lie 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 desire 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 J 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 passage.§ "You shall live freely there" [i. e. the new settlement of Virginia) " without Serjeants, or courtiers, or lawyers, or intelligencers ; only a few industrious Scots perhaps, who indeed are 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." vol. iv. p. 250. 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 " sourtiess " of Jonson, it would be somewhat difficult to discover any signs of it in Eastward Hoe / 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. Brit.) ordered that their ears and noses should be cut 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 ofiF by the com- mon hangman, and perpetual banishment !" Life of B. 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 ! + 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 ! § The words of Drummond are, " he was accu.sed by Sir James Murra,y to the king for writing sometfiing VkgsAntfi Ihe Scots in a j^lay 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 unconquerable spirit. Having obtained a pardon *, Mr. A. Clialmers 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 Bio. Brit. It happens, how- ever, somewhat unluckily for these ingenious speculators, that the masque which he produced on his release was not written at all 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 3Iasqiie 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 playf." 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 tlie 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 all the treasure of ancient and modern learning, on which he might draw at pleasure J. 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 all, 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 scliolars of the age. Did Mr. ^lalone 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 Avere 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 reflections cast upon some individual in a play of which they were the joint-authors. The letter from Jonson to the Karl of Salisbury, which mentions tliese particulars, will bo found at the end of a note on a later i)art of this memoir, having been put mto Giiford's hands by Mr. D'Israeli, " since that note had gone to press." A. Dyce.] t Shak. vol. i. p. 54i. ^ Jonson was in the laudable habit of making large extracts from tlie striking passages, and •svriting notes, and observations of a critical nature on all the books which he read. His commun-placc 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 ; " Ilis learning such, no author, old or new, Escaped liis 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 he 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 MEMO IRS OF BEN JONSON. brought forward by the poet's contemporaries*, and almost as soon as he began to write : it rjave him however, no concern ; indeed he rather falls in with it f. 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 I " — 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 t 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 Jonson and Mr. Wm. Shakspeare being nierrie 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 «o-thing." This stuff is copied from the Ashmole papers, IMS. 38. It is only an additional instance of what has been already observed, that tlie fabricators of tliese things invariably make Shakspeare 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 witliout long and difficult labour; they use it of the patient revision of his productions. Tliey 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, But what could be no better than it was." Or, as another has it ; *' Venture 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 writings. t " Jonson justly spurns,*' Mr. Cumberland says, "at the critics and detractors of his day, who thought to convict him of dulness by testifying in fact to his diligence. — But when he subsequently boasted of his poetical dispatch, he forgot that he had noted Shakspeare with something less than friendly censure for the very quality he is vaunting himself upon." Observer, No. Ixxv. What Mr. Cumberland had forgotten, it is hard to say : but this vaunt of Jonson was first made in 1601, while the allusion to Shakspeare occurs in the Discoveries, and is probably thirty years posterior to the passage which is here placed before it in point of time ! Besides, it is not of the rapidity of Shakspeare's composition that .Jonson speaks, but the carelessness. — A man may write fast, and yet not wreck a vessel on the coast of Bohemia. The Fox was rapidly written ; but it is not, therefore, incorrect; and what Mr. Cumber- land adds of it is as creditable to his taste as learning. " It must on all hands be considered as the master-piece of a very capital artist ; a work that bears the stamp of elaborate design, a strong, and frequently a sublime vein of poetry, much sterling wit, comic humour, happy character, moral satire, and unrivalled erudition ; a work Quod nee imber edax, aut Aquilo iwpotens Possit diruere," &c. t " Sutton's biographer (S. Herne) after noticing this report, says — ' It is probable the poet never intended what they think : for in th:it age several other men were pointed at, and who was the true person, was then a matter of doubt !' Dom. Carthus. p. 42. It is no longer so — we are better judges of these matters than the contemporaries of Button, and decide without difficulty." I regret to find Mr. D'Israeli among the poet's accusers ; for he is an anxious inquirer after truth, and brings, as far as I have been able to discover, an unprejudiced mind to his investigations. His fault is too great a deference for names unworthy of his trust. This is an evil which every day will contribute to abate. Twice in one page (Quarrels of Authors, vol. iii. 134) he charges Jonson with bringing Sutton on the stage. AlEiMOlKS OF BEN JONSON. 26 active characters of an active i)eriod. Now mark the description of Volpone, as given by himself, in the opening of the play : — " I glory More in the cunninc/ purchase of my wealth Than in the glad possession ; since I gain No common way. I use no trade, no venture, I wound no earth with plough-shares, fat ?io beasts fo feed the shambles ; have no mills for iron, Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder ; I l)low no subtle glass, expose no ships To ihicatnings of the furrow-fuccd seas ; 1 turn DO monies/' &c. &c. Sutton was a meek and pious man, Volpone is a daring infidel ; Sutton was abstemious, but kind and charitable ; Volpone is painted as the most selfish and unfeeling of voluptuaries : prepare Me music, dances, banquets, all delights : The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasure Than will Volpone he." Again : Volpone is a creature of ungovernable lust, a monster of seduction ; Sutton was the husband of one wife, to whose memory he was so tenderly attaclied, 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 tliis time, nearly fourscore, and bowed down to the grave with sorrow for his loss, while Volpone, in the full vigour of manhood, exclaims, — " what should I do But cocker up my genius, and live free 'I'o all delights? — See, 1 am now as fresh, As hot, as higli, and in as jovial pligiit, As when, in that so celebrated scene, For entertainment of the great Valois I acted young Antinous? " In a word, the contrast is so glaring, that if the commentators on Shakspeare had not aflForded us 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 Vol])one. The Fox is dedicated, in a strain of unparalleled elegance and vigour, to the two Universities, before wliom 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 tciser guides who followed truth alone, of the delusions of jjojiery, made a solemn recantation of liis errors, and was re-admitted into the bosom of the church, which he had abandoned twelve years before +. Drummond tells us that " he drank out tlie 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 verse of Jonson's friend E. S. (Edward Soorey ?) " now ho (the Fox) hath run his train and shown Ilis subtile body, where he best was known. In both Minerva's cities, he doth yield His well-form'd limbs upon this open field," oss\h\y commence with him in 1614 t 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 the 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 must 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 all this (abuse :) — but with no other claims than his Cataline and Sejanus, how could he for a moment fancy himself the rival of Shakspeare ? " How indeed ! but when Mr. Chalmers shall find leisure to read what he prints, he will 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 pro- duction of Bartholomew Fair,% till 1616, when he brought out his excellent comedy of iheBeviVs 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 favourite art, till he was recalled by the death of the surveyor-general " — L-i/e of Jones. t The loose reports of the time weigh nothing with me : and those who have noticed the remarks on the imaginary resemblance of Sutton and Volpone will, I flatter myself, be inclined to think as lightly of them as myself. It may be safely assumed, however, that he was engaged either in seeking or imparting useful knowledge. While his enemies dream of nothing but his " envy" of some dramatic writer, I find his name, whenever it occurs in the writings of liis contemporaries, incessantly connected with subjects of general literature. He appears, about this time, (Hjl5,) 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. xxii. 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, Dcrceto, Atargata, Deree (all one name) &c. you best know, being most 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 to 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 yoxir own most choice and able store cannot but 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 youv instructing judgment." Vol. iv. fol. p. 161)1. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. He seems to have meditated a complete edition of all liis 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 hurried through the press after his death. Ik bears a variety of dates from 1631 to 1G4I inclusive. It is probable that he looked forward to a period of retirement and »>ase, 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 lum, rendered all such views abortive. It is remarkable that he calls his Epigrams " Book the first :" he had, therefore, others in his hand ; 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 envious- ness of his disposition, that he immediately became jealous of Chapman, who now began to grovo 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 Sliakspeare's death, Chapman had nearly reached his grand climacteric, and, with the exception of one or two pieces, had written the whole 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 'hl'^. penes me to the disgrace of literature,* they are to be found on the tery 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 those pages, a letter of that gentleman to the Rev. Mr. Whalley, was put into my hands by Mr. Waldron, of which the following is a copy. " Sir, — Haviug 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 very 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 arid 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 said nothing of the biographers :— to suppose, indeed, that Mr, Stephen Jones should notice an error thintijh as wide as a church door, would be to equal him in folly. Better optics than his, (see the Theatnim Poetarum, p. 2.52.) when Jonson is concerned, " don't" (as Bustapha well observes,) "know 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 hy 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 thi: STAGE 1 But this surprise will be converted into scorn and indignation 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, Jst, 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.f 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-learned wittie Ben, be pleasde to light The world with that three-forked fire ; nor fright All us, the sublearn'd with luciferus boast That thou art most great, learnd— of all the earth As being a thing betwixt a humane birth And an infernall ; 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 ;" 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 affliction 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 circutr<«tAXice 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 literary tastes (says Mr. Dibdin) James had the most strange and sterile." He probably thought that there was something more valuable in literature than an uncut catalogue on large paper, and thus far, perhaps, differed from the critic : in other respects, James cannot be said to evince much singularity of taste ; but it is with this poor prince, as with Falstaff, " men of all 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, « w*s no more a pedant than the ablest of his contemporaries ; nor abhorred the taste of tobacco, nor MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. jt., 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, Avith very commendable fortitude. It is a subject of sincere regret that many of the latter days of this amiable poet, and virtuous man, should 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, (1G18) 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," &c. Calam. of Authors, vol. ii. 245. All this is simple truth ; and it is mere dotage to re-eclio, at this day, the senseless and savage yell of the non- conformists of James's time. Tlicy 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 Sclden, for assistimce 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 of Honour, along chapter (the forty-third) "on the custom of giving crowns of laurel tojjoets." At the conclusion of which, he says, "Thus have I, by no unseas^onable 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 doclus, Et calks mythmn plasmata et historiam. And bo 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 Diet. Hal.) was brother-in-law to Daniel, and apparently much attached to his interests; yet lie 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 Fatlier and worthy friend, master John Florio, Hen 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 liad 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 alhided 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, bj' the imhappy jealousy of Daniel, whom, as well as Donne, she warmly patronized. In the Epistle to the countess of Rutland, (p. d84.) there is an allusion to some- thing of this kind ;— but whatever be tlie cause, the letter is honourable to the poet's feelings. If tliis lady was meant, she was not long in discovering that Jonson had been calumniated. A steady friendship grew between them ; she shewed liim many marks of favour, and he wrote some beautiful verses in her praise. Sir,— 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 car 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 riglit, wliieh is the proper justice that every clear man owes to liis innoeency. Exaspcjations 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 honesty, and I may not answer, on the pain of losing her ! as if she, who had this prejudice of me were not already lost !— O no, she will do me no hurt, she will tliink 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 reckon not, who were never had, You have so subscribed yourself. Alas I how easy is a man accused that is forsaken of defence ! — Well, my modesty shall sit down, and (let ihe world call it guilt or what it will) I will yet thank you that counsel nie to a silence in these oppressures, when confidence in my right, and friends may abandon me. And lest yourself may imdergo some hazard, for my questioned reputation, and draw jealousies or hatred upon you, I desire to be left to mine own innocence, which shall acquit me, or heaven shall be gtxilty. Your ever true iovor, % D MEMOIRS OF 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 ; 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 withall 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 noblemen 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 April, lG19.t It is not known at what period, or in what manner, Jon son's acquaintance with Drummond began ; 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 Avitness such elFusions 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 ioore his heart upon his sleeve for daws 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, statesmen, 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 most valuable body of contemporary criticism that had ever appeared. Such was not Druram.ond'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 uniformly 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 CONVERSATION, &C. " Ben Johnson 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 hia 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. I vow, by the faith of a Chribtian, that their imaginations are all wide ; for He is a gentleman to whom I am so much obliged for many undeserved courtesies that I have received from him, and from others, bi/ Ms 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 oad 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 nis benefactor's memory ;— the verse, indeed, was mean ; but poor Taylor had nothing better to give. [t No acquaintance seems to have existed 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 luidoubtedly previous to the \7th of Jamiary, 161!).— See Mr. D. Laing's Preface to Notes of B. Jonson's Conversations, &c. After the remarks which have been drawn fortli, in various quarters, by Gifford's furious attack on the poet of Hawthornden, no reader perhaps mny now require to be informed that it is altogether unjust ; but whoever wishes to sec a complete and circumstantial vindication of Drummond's motives and character, will find it in the Pj eface above mentioned. — A. Dvck.] 4. They liave, without any exception, been taken from Cibbe. 's Lives of the Poets. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. lie had a pastoral intitled the May Lord ; his own name is Alkin, Etlira the Countess of Bedford, Mogbe). 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 bringeth in, says our author (Drummond) clowns making mhih and foolish sports, contrary to all other jjastorals.] 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 tc call it a Discovery. In a poem, he called Edinburgh « The Heart of Scotland, Britain's other Eye." That he had an intention to have made a piay like Plautus's Amphytruo, but left it off, for that he could never find two so like one to the other, that he could persuade the spectator tliat 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 tJie 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 wei e 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 batt-le in all his book. That Michael Drayton's Polyolbion, if he liad performed what he promised, to write the deeds of all 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 Wortliy, 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 Du Bartas was not well done ; and that he wrote his vei*ses before he understood to confer ; and these of Fairfax wei'e not good. That the translations of Homer and Virgil in long Alexandrines, wore biii jjrose.f That Sir John Harington'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, lie 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 Mere/iil/uxwo'iy, was that lie sought the soul of that apple, which Eve pulled, and thereafter made it the soul of a bitch, then of a she- * .Tonson explains liimself in what he says helow of Du Bartas — " He was no poet, but a verser, hecavse he wrote not f ction." The allusion is to Daniel's narrative poem of the Civil Wars. He elsewhere expressly styles Daniel a verser in this sense. t So Daniel in his answer to Campion : — " I find my Homcr-Lucan, as if he gloried to seem to have no bounds, passing over the rhyme, albeit he were confined within his measure, to be therein, in my conceit, most happy ; for 60 thereby, they who care not for verse or rhyme, may pass it over without taking notice thereof, and please them- selves witli 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. me:moirs of ben jonson. wolf, and so of a woman : his general purpose was to have brought 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 Anniversary was profane and full of blasphemies ; that if it had been written on the Virgin Mary it had been tolerable : to which Donne answered, that ho 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 Haleigh 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 Aithur. He said Owen was a poor pedantic school-master, sweeping his living from the posteriors of little children, and had nothing good in him, his epigrams being bare narrations. Francis Beaumont died before he was thirty years of age, who, he said, was a good poet, as were Fletcher and Chapman, whom he loved. That Sir William Alexander was not half Idnd 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."J 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 in 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 never 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 observations. No one ever read the play without noticing the " absurdity," as ])r. Jo)inson calls it ; yet for this simple truism, for this casual remark in the freedom of conversation, Jonson is held up 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 ! f *' He was (Aubrey says; according to Mr. J. Dryden, who had seen his verses in MS. one of the best poets of his time. lie was acquainted with all the witts (learned men) of his time in England. Mr. Thomas Hobbes of Malmbury told me he made use of him, together with Ben Jonson, for an Aristarchus, 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 eaptiousness of Marston, have been already noticed. What follows seems a humorous allusion to the sombre air of IMarston's comedies, as contrasted with the cheerful tone of his father-iji-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 person " 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 2o June 1CM4, was buried in the church belonging to the Temple in London, near to the body of John Marston his father, sometimes a counsellor 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 he was able to compare the translation with the original, and, fifteen years afterwards, declares that he was wrong, I should conceive, without more authority, that he had 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 I MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 37 Tacitus wrote the secrets of the council and senate, as Suetonius did those of the cabinet and court: that Lucan, 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 church- matters, and Selden's Titles of Honour for antiquities. — Here our author relates that the censure (judgment) of his verses was — That they were all good, especially his Epitaph on prince Henry,* save that they snielled 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 of Forth Feasting had been his own." " As Ben Jonson (say the collectors of Drummond's works,) has been very liberal of his censures (oj)inions) 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 v/ith 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 his host, therefore, who should against his murderer shut the door. Not bear the kuife hiuiself, — is weaker than water. " — For he says, Ben Johnson was a great lover and praiser of himself, a contemner and seorner 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 he be well answered at himself ; interprets best sayings and deeds often to the worst. He was for any religion, as being versed in both ;t oppressed with fancy which hath overmastered his reason, a general disease in many poets : his inventions are smooth and easy, but above all he excelletli in a translation. J When the play of the Silent TFomaTi was first acted, there Avere 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 him. * " Tears on the Death of Mcliados." Drum. Poems, folio, p. 15. + To attempt a refutation of the absurd abuse poured on Jonson by this cankered hypocrite, would be useless, aa 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 in theology, there/ore he was without religion !" What religion Drummond was " versed" in, I know not :— certainly, not in that which says, Thou shalt not bear false witness against tliy neighbour." :j: In this place Sliiels interpolated the scurrilous passage already given, (p. 12.) I am not sure that Drummond himself is not indebted for some of his popularity to this forged panegyric on Sliakspeare at the cost of Jonson, which is quoted with such delight by all that poet's biographers. It may not be ami.ss, however, to observe that Drummond appears to have known or thought as little of Shakspearo as of any writer of the time. He never mentions liim but once. — To afford 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. 226. Not a word more of the latter, though he recurs to Alexander, (whom he places next to Petrarch,) to Daniel, Drayton, Donne, Sylvester, and others. Such is his " character" of Shakspeare ! In his letters several poets are mentioned, and notices of plays occasionally occur ; but of Shakspcare's not a syllable. I much question wliether 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 \C)27 Drummond gave " a noble present of books and manuscripts to the college of Edinbiu-gh-"- So say the editors of liis works, (folio 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 books are carefully arranged under the names of their respective authors. Under that of " William Shakspeare" tl'ijre appears —what, does the reader think ?— Xovc'j Labour Lost. 38 MEMOIRS OF BEN JON SON. after on the stage against him, concluding that that play was well named the Silent Womarif because there was never one man to say Plaudite to it.'' Drum. Wo7-ks, 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 Drummcnd,) proceed thus : "In short (adds Drummond, folio, 1711, p. 222,) Jonson was," &c. 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 frund, to whom he opened his heart with a most unreserved freedom, and confidence, the siceetest 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 few people 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. Lives, \o\. i. p. 310. This gentle reproof from Lauder the second, is extremely pleasant ! — perhaps, it was a compunctious visiting. Mr. A. Chalmers too, has an awkward observation : — Drummond's return (he says) to the unreserved conduct of Jonson " has been thought not very liberalf.'^ 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 off a pistol which the rulHan, Avho loaded and levelled it, had not the courage to discharge. At any rate he seems to think that there is nothing unusual or improjier 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," like 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 lette: : — * He passed some months.^ This is for ever repeated ; although the persons who had t)ie 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, l(jl9, and left it, on his x-eturn to London, about the end of the same month. ^See additional Note, p 34. A. Dyce.] 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 his vile sentiments had our author been alive to answer him ; I look, therefore, upon all that he has brought against him, as the malice and envy of a bad heart." Life of Jonson, p. 55. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 30 " To my worthy, honoured, and beloved friend, Mr. W. Drummond. "Most loving " (poor Jonson !) "and beloved sir, against which titles I should most knowingly offend, if I made you not some account of myself, to come even 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 Scot, 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 funerahf 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 honoured names with you, especially Mr. James Wroth, his wife, your sister, &c. And if you forget yourself, you believe not iuj Your most true friend and lover, Ben Jonson. London, May lO/A, 1619." The answer to this does not appear ; but a second letter which Drummond sent in conse- quence of another application from our author, begins thus : "Worthy Friend, The uncertainty of your abode was the cause of ray silence — I 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 Inch-merionach, which may, by your book, be made most famous," &c. July 1, 1619. AVe hear nothing further of Drummond till the-ond of this year, when he addressed another letter § " to his worthy friend, master Ben Jonson." "Sir, — Here you have that Epigram which you desired (p. (192) with another of the like ai'gu- ment. If there be any other thing in this country which my power can reach, command it ; there is 7iolhing I wish more than to be in the catalogue of tltem that love yoii.\\ I have heard from court that the late masque 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 " Discovery," (p. 35.) which was to contain the Description of Scotland, with the Episode of his " Journey thither," &c. This passage is worthy of notice, as it incidentally shews the estimation in which Jonson was held by James. Those who so readily condenm 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 virtuous, 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 reason ; but 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. Kempe, and Shiels, the Scotsman. f Ann died in JMarch. The poem which Jonson wrote on the occasion, is lost. :j: .Jonson had left London towards the end of May, and was, at this time, residing at Christ Church, Oxford, with bis true friend, Corbet (afterwards bishop of Norwich) and others of that College. [§ Gififord was not aware that the date of this letter is "January 17, 1619." See Mr. D. Laing's Preface to Notes of B. Jonson's Conversations, &c., p. ix A. Dvce.] n Hypocrite to the last I What, the "liar," the " drunkard," the " atheist" ! This is almost too much. A vohmtary plunge in infamy was by no means necessary here : it was not your credulous correspondent (whoever else it might be; that " interpreted best sayings and deeds to the worst." % I know not who was called in to supply the place of Jonson during his northern tour. The king was grown some- what fastidious perhaps after those exquisite Entertainments, the Vis'mi of Delight, and Pleasure reconciled to Virtue; and talents of no ordiuary kind might have fallen short of their excellencies without much ixyury to the possessor's reputation. 40 MEMOIRS 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 — longa manantia labra saliva. " Crowned with the favour of his sovereign, Jonson saw (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.) 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 affluence as to justify his indulging in pursuits more congenial to his feelingsf. Several of * <' Thus," exclaims ]\Ir. 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 siiiiation: 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 Enplisfi Pof their dignity as mine own person, safe. If otliers have transgressed, let me not be entitled to their follies. Hut lost 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 h)rd Chamberlain, § (to whom I have in like manner petitioned) you will be pleased to be the grateful means of our coming to answer ; or if in your wisdoms it shall be thought necessary, that your lordship will be the most honoured cause of our liberty, where freeing us from one prison you will remove us to another ; which is eternally to bind us and ctur muses to the thankful honouring ol you and years to posterity, as your own virtues have by many descents of ancestors ennobled you to time. Your honour's most devoted in heart as words, Bkn Jonson. " To the most nobly virtuous and thrice honoured Earl of Salisbury. 1G0.>." * Ilenrij V.] In this history, Jon.son tells us in one of his most popular poems, he was assisted by Cotton, Carew, and Sclden : yet Mr. A. Chalmers gives this rare intelligence solely on the authority of Oldys! "See," he says, • Ghlys's manuscript notes to Langbaine in Brit. Mus." t On one of these occasions he had an opportunity of serving Selden, who had grievously ofTended 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 IJen Jonson, with tiie king." Fresh ofl'enee, however, was taken soon afterwards, and Selden was summoned to Theobalds, where his Majesty then was, on his return from Newmarket- "Not being aa yet acquainted with the court or with the king, he got master Ben Jonson, who was then at Theobalds, to introduce him." Z,(/e 0/ Selden. The steadiness of our author's friendship 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, meat by hia interest there, in 1605 !. t In Easttoard Jloe ! See p. 22. § Thomas Earl of Suffolk. Jonson was not unmindful of his kindness. Sec p. 670. 42 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. the office of Master of the Revels. The king, by letters patent dated Oct. 5, 1621, granted him, by the style and addition of" our 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 John 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 upon 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 .f 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 performing 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 Gijysies Metamorphosed 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 %- Mr. Malone, who, from his cra zy 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 a clariss. tiro Petro Scrkerio emendatim edihmque desideraham, quern mdla mea aut amicorum cura p>arare potult ; cujus tamen vicem non raro suppledit arnica opera Ben Jon son ii viri (quod qua; ille per ludum scrtpserii, serio legentibus liquido apparehit) In poetis omnibus versatisshni, hktoriarum, morum, rituum, antlqidtatum indagatoris exquisitissimi, et ( quod semper in illo adverti) non contenti brachio levi tesqud et dignos vindice nodos transmittere, sed peiiitissimos usque sensus ratione, lectione, ingenlo eruere desudantis ; digni denique ( utcunque a probatis merito probetur suoj meliori theatre quam quo malevolorum invidiam pascat,§ quanquam et hoc regium est posse invidium cum mereri turn pati. Ille, inquam, mihi emendationes aliquot suppeditavit ex C. V. Scriterii Martiale, cujus copia illi facta Lvgduni Bat. a tiro non sine doctrince et humanitatis honorifica prcefatione nominando Dan. Heinsio, ^-o." ll , * Sliak. vol. i. p. 626. Mr. Malone observes that " it would appear from a passage in the Sotiroviastix that Ben had made some attempts to procure the reversion of this place before the death of Elizabeth," Mr. Malone is unquestion- ably right ; though he has failed to draw from it the only proper conclusion — namely, that at this period, Jonson was neither so obscure nor so unfriended as he would have us believe. + " A friend told me this Faire time (Stourbridge) that Ben Johnson was not knighted, but scaped it narrowly, for that his majestic 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 MSS. 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 Ashraole papers. They are kind and laudatory ; but merit no particular notice. X He is eaid to have assisted Middleton and Fletcher in writing The Widow, which must have appeared about this time. Thi3 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 Jonson's those who lived and conversed with him, speak of the e7tvp of others : — It was then the lowest description of scribblers which persecuted him ; and I should wrong the modesty of those who abuse him ni)W, if I termed them the lights of the age. K Jonson presented a copy of this edit, to Mr. Briggs, (probably a relation of the celebrated mathematician,) with the following letter written on a blank leaf : MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 43 It has not been hitherto observed that Jonson was in possession of a most excellent library, which, assisted by 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 "fie 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 othersf. 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 Greek Historians^ 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 Jonsox, 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 tells us, Jonson intended Sutton, the founder of the Charter-house ! " 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 J. "We have long lost sight of Inigo Jones ; he now reappears as Jonson's coadjutor in the Masque of Time Vindicated, 1()23§. As none of those pieces which appear in the folio of 1(541 were given to the press by Jonson, it is not possible to say whether he shared in any produced " AmICO Su.MiMO D. R. Briggesio. Eccum, tibi librum, mi Briggesie, quern fieri, pene cum convilio, a me cfflagitasti, milto. Volute aa ze a^fft,, , , ^tiam hodlc, ne diiUihs moratus, me Uesi officii rcum apnd le /accrct. Est Fartuibii mei Martialis. Non ille Jesitttarum caslratus, eviraius, et prorsus sine Martiali Martialis. Iste ilium integrum iihi virumque prcebet, nec minus casium sed mugis virilem. Annotaliones etiam suas ajiposuit, tales autem ut videri possit sine commentario, commentati>r. Tufac ul illam perlegas, protegas, el /uveas homini in tanio sale,epulisque Mart, nec insvlso nec Jcjuno. Dignus cnim est, qui Virgiliis suis mereatur, ut foret Toto notus in orbe Martialis, quod de se ingeniosissimus poeta prcedicare ausus sit, et vere ; suffrngante etiam JONSONIO TUO. Qui x°. Aug. m. Dcxxirr. amicilice et studii ergo hoc levidense D. D." * The learned Scldcn, in speakini; of a book which he had occasion to examine, and which was not in his extensive collection, says—" I presume that 1 have sufficiently manifested this out of Euripides his Orestes, wliich 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 furnisht librarie of my beloved friend, that singular poet, rnabter Bkn Jonson, whose special worfh in literature, accurate judgment, and performance, known only to that fkw which are truly able to know him, hath had from me, ever since I began to learn, an increasing admiration." Titles of Honour, KiU. fol. p. 93. t I have great pleasure in copying the following passage from Mr. D'lcraeli, 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." Qwar. of Authors, vol. iii. p. 25. % It maybe 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 Arcade-*, he says (but with no friendly voice) that " Echo frequently 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 assiat or be assisted," a sentiment quoted for its justice by Mr. Chalmers. Now, Jonson solicited and accepted assistance, or, as he calls it, " succour," from Seldt n. Cotton, Carew, and many others ; and he 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. I81G,) where I have pointed out, for the first time, the object of the poet's satire, he will need no farther proof that Jonson was little likely to busy himself with parodying 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 this kind of chase, with a declared enemy.-Tliat the " Song" is printed with hi* name, signifies nothing. It was current with the public ; and he gave liimself no concern about the matter 14 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. previously to the present one. At all events, no symptoms of ill-will are to be found ; and there is good reason to suppose that hitherto nothing had occurred to interrupt their friendship. In Pan^s Anniversary (1625), Inigo 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 T Avho 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 1G16 to 1625, he apjDears to have forgotten that there was such a place* ; he was now, however, forcibly reminded of it, and wrote the Staple of News, 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 i^ctitionary 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 parents,) and which assailed hira 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 Jophiel, 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 stage, and jDursued with brutal hostility by his ungenerous and unrelenting enemiesf. The epilogue forms a melancholy contrast to some of his earlier productions, and cannot, indeed, be contemplated without a feeling of j^ity : " If you expect more tlian you had to-night; The maker is sick and sad t: — * See p 32. + Censure of the New Inn. TIiou sayst no palsye dotli thy braine-pan vex, I praye the tell me what an apoplex Thy Pegasus can stirr, yett thy best care Makes him but shuffle like the parson's mare. Who from his own side witt sayes thus by mee, He hath bequeath'd his bcllye unto thee ; To holde that little learning which is fled Into thy gutts from out thy emptye head," &c. Ashmole 3ISS. These are the softest lines which T could pick out from about fourscore ; and these, with the verses of Gill (vol. vi p. U3, 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 : tl.ey never speak of any injury, or provocation received from the poet ; but claim to bo tne mere effusions of wanton malice ; yet the Walpoles, et id genus omne, dream of nothing but " the overpowering brutality of Jonson." f n t It abould be recorded to his praise, that nothing could suppress his ardour for improvement. It is in the midtt of MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 4$ he sent things fit In all the numbers both of verse and wit. If they have not miscarried : 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 caimot long hold out : all strength must yield ; Yet judgment would the last be iu the field, With the true poet." An allusion to the king and queen whicli 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 tlie 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 monarchs, 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 first glass should, in gratitude, be offered by them to the poet's memory. The warrant is given below J. 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 has given his reply to them. Howell notices tlie extensive collection of grammars, of which Jonson was already possessed. * This transaction is thus wilfully perverted by Shiels. " In 1629 Ben fell sick, 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 because 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 of England, because it bore hard upon Charles. The writers of tlie 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 Chaiiea (says one of them) but studied scripture half so much as Ben Jonson or Shakspeark, he would have learned that when Amaziah," &c. Appeal to all Rational Men on King Charles's Trial, by J. Cooke, 1649. t CHARLES, R. Charles, by the grace of God, Kinge of England, Scotland, Fraunee, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &c. to the Thcasurer, Chancellour, under Theasurer, Chamberlens, and Barons of the Exchequer of vs, our heirs and successours, now beinge, and that hereafter shall be, and to all other the officers 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 dcare father King James of hajipy memorie, by his letters pattents under the great scale of England, bearing date at Westminster, the first day of February, in the thirteenth year of his reign of lOnglaud (for the considerations therein expressed) did give and graunt unto our well beloved servaunt, Benjamin Jonson, one annuitie or yearly pension of one hundred marks of lawful money of Englande, during his life, to be paid out of the said Exchequer, at the feast of the Anunciation of the blessed Virgin 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 our 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 liim, are graciously pleased to augment and encrease the said annuitie or pension of one himdred mai'ks, 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, eerten 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 cf 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 Annuntiation of the blessed Virgin iMary, the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, St. Michael the Archangel, and the birth of our Lord God, by even and equal 4fl MEMOIRS OF BEN 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 luigo Jones, to prepare the usual Entertainments for the festivity of the new year. The first piece was Love's Triumph through CallipoUs, which seems to have been well received ; the second, which was produced about two months after it, was CMoridia, 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 Ihem, his necessities. He rarely went abroad, and, as his helpless state made assistance absolutely necessary, he seems, about this time, to have taken into his service a respectable woman, who managed his little household, and continued Avith him till he died. It has been already observed, that Jonson was utterly devoid of worldly prudence; what was liberally given was lavislily 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 alwavs 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 find 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 the kindness of Mr. D'Israeli. portions quarterly to be paid. The first payment thereof to begin at the feast of the Annimtiation 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 vs. cur heirs and successors, require, command, and authorise the said Theasurer, Chancellour, 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 assignes, the said annuitie or yearly 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 discharge for the payings and allcwinge of the same accordingly, without any farther or other warrant to be in that behalf procured or obtained. And further know yee, that wee of our more especial grace, ccrten knowledge and meer motion, have given and granted, and by these presents for us, our heires and successors, do give and graunt unto the said Benjamin Ji)hnson and his assigns, one terse of Canary Spanish wine yearly: to have, hold, perceive, receive, 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 V/hitehall. And for the better effecting of our vyill and pleasure herein, we do hereby require and command all and singular officers and ministers whom it shall or may concerne, or who shall have the care or charge of our said wines, that they or some one of them, do deliver or cause to be 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 the same. And these presents or the inrollment thereof shall be unto all men whom it BhalJ concerne a sufficient warrant and discbarge in that behalf, although express mention, &c. In witness, &c. Ex. per Ro. Heath. Witness, He told Drummond no such thing " as an instance," &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- d'eiprit" Shak. vol. L p. 619. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 53 in low company* and profane conversation." "Would the exemplary Earl of Clarendon have termed this conversation very good 9 or such company, men of most note ? "Were Camden and Selden, and Hawkins and Martin, and Cary and Morrison, were Corbett, and Hackett, and Duppa, and Morley, and King, (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 had wit, or would be thought to have ; How the wise too did with mere wits agree : As Pembroke, Portland, and grave D' Aubigny ; Nor thought the rigid'st senator a shame, To add his praise to so 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, mur h coarseness of manners, and an imgcntlemanly vulgarity of dialect i seem to have distinguished botli." Again : " S)iad- 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 his vulgar and intemperate pleasures." Again : "Shadwell followed Jonson as closely as possible; he was brutal in his conversation, and much addicted to the use of opium," &c. This is the wantonnessof injustice. If the elevation of Dryden made it necessary to overwhelm Shadwell with contempt, tlicre 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, then reeling home to bed, and after a profuse perspiration, arising to his dramatic studies." Li/e of Dryden, p. 265. The passage from which the above is taken, stands thus in Mr. Malone : I liave hoard (Aubrey says) Mr. Lacy the player say that IJon Jonson was wont to wear a coat, like a coachman's coat, with slits uader tlip 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 the public which he always cherished, sent for him to liia sick chamber, to give him a list of words in the Yorkshire dialect for the Sad Shepherd, on which he « as thi n employed. Lacy, who did not leave Yorkshire till l(i31 or could know little of Jonson but the form of his coat, which truly seems very well adapted to one who could barely move from his bed to his "studying chair, which was of straw, such as old women use, and such as Aulus Gillius is drawn in." Bnt, continues Aubrey, — "he would many times exceed in drink, (this is not quite fairly translated, he drank seas of Canary,) then ho would tumble home to bed, and when he had thoroughly perspired, then to study." That Jonson was fond, too fond, if the reader pleases, of good wine and good company, we know; but there is yet a word to be said on this passage. Aubrey leaps at once over forty years of Jonson's life : from 1.596 to 1636, all that he tells us, with tlie exception of the passage just quoted, is, that he died in Westminster, and was buried there I 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 trllinp. 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," «S£C. ? Simply, a character of himself put (in sport) into the mouth of Carlo Bulfone, 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 players, he has caninum appetitum, (marry, at home he keeps a good philosophical t 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'et the ruder age, To speak by grammar, and reform'dst the stage." To these maybe 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) says, " 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." Ilypercritica. 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 imgcntlemanly vulgarity of dialect" ?.% these pieces afford, must be subtracted from the commendations of Edmund Bolton. 54 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. wliole tenour of his life. " For my own part," he says, in his manly appeal to the two Universities, " I can affirm, and from a most clear conscience, that I have ever trembled to think towards the least profaneness 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 " Jonson took every occasion to ridicule religion in his plays, and make it his sport in conversation !" {Gibber's Lives, &.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 will 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 "Whalley 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 tliee, But it must straight my melancholy be ? — I know my state, both full of shame and scorn. Conceived in sin, and unto labour born ; Standing with fear, and must with horror fall, And dcstiu'd unto judgment after all," &;c. p. 686. " It may be offered too (Whalley 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 Avrote : and even Shakspeare, whose modesty is so remarlcaUe, has his peccant redundancies not less in number than those of Jonson." {Life, &c. p. liv.) Where Whalley discovered the " remarkable modesty of Shakspeare,"t 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 butter milk) and will take you off three, four, five of these (draughts of Canary) one after another, and look villainously the while, like a one-headed Cerberus, and then when his belly is 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, ^vhich 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 character, and made, by the poefs 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 tlian t'other, like Clun the player. Perhaps he begott Clunl" Letters, &c. vol. iii. 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 vali^inter, for he durst swear," &c. It should be observed that Anthony Wood's life of Jonson is incorrect in almost every part. He formed it 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 blunderer nevtr existed, as Wood himself discovered when it was too late— he calls him " a roving magolty-pated man ;" and such he truly was. Izaac Walton cannot be mentioned without respect :— but his letter was written 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 must himself, at the date of Izaac's letter, have been verging on ninety. It is not easy to discover what was the bishop's and what was Walton's— but on these Wood constructed his life of Jonson. He brings little of his own but a few dates. t Steevens observes on a note of Warburton, in which he speaks of Shakspeare's delicacy somewhat in the style of Whalley—" Dr. Warburton's recollection must have been weak, or his zeal for his author extravagant. Otherwise, he could not have ventured to countenance him on the score of delicacy ; his offensive metaphors and allusions being undoubtedly more frequent than those of all his dramatic predecessors or contemporaries." Shak. voL vL p. -351. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 55 peccant redundancies too, are delicately contrasted Avith our author's " daring profanation of the Scriptures." The fact is, that the crime which is falsely charged on the one, falls with dreadful effect upon the other. Shakspeare is, in truth, the coryphaeus of profanation. Texts of scrip- ture are adduced by him with the most wanton levity ; and, like his own Hal, he has led to damnable iteration. He too, let us hope, regarded his conduct in this respect " with horror," though no record of it be found on earth. Jonson's guilt was of a different degree :— He tiuTiM no scripture phrabcb to a jest, And was inspired with rapture, not possest ! "— it consisted, as is already observed, of an abuse of the sacred name in idle exclamations. Pro- fane swearing Avas unhappily the vice of the time ; from the monarch on the throne to the peasant in his shed, all were familiarised to oaths of fearful import. Catholicism had intro- duced (as it everywhere does) expressions not to be repeated Avith impunity ; adjurations by limbs, wounds, sufferings ; by attributes, mysteries, &c. which, Avhen they lost the reverence once attached to them, all, in short, that concealed their inherent turpitude, presented features of peculiar deformity. The most offensive of Jonson's dramas, in this respect, are the early 4tos, and of these, the first sketch of Evert/ Man in Ms Humour ; — this, however, was not given to the press by him : — the folio edit, the only one which appears to have experienced his care, is free from many of the blemishes Avhich deform the others. His most usual oath in the latter, Avas an unmeaning exclamation, " by G — d so !" from this, Avhen his Avorks Avere reprinted, he Avithdrew the G, and thus rendered the nonsense harmless. I am not afraid to confess that, in a fcAv instances, Avhere there Avas reason to suppose that he had overlooked it, I have surreptitiously abstracted the same letter. I knoAV the importance of fidelity ; but no considerations on earth can tempt me to the Avanton or heedless propagation of impiety. I have always regarded Avith feelings of peculiar horror that fool-hardy accuracy Avhich with blind and bold irreverence ferrets out every blasphemous Avord Avhich the author's better feel- ings had tliroAvn aside, and felicitates the reader on the pernicious discovery. More than one editor of our old poets might be named — but hjnuti altajaceant nocte!* Jonson's love of conviviality has been already noticed.f His attachment to Avine he never denied ; indeed, in this case, as in many others, he seems to have pleased himself Avith ex- aggerating his foibles, and playing into the hands of his enemies. I know not his motiA-es for this conduct : pride Avas, perhaps, at the bottom of it ; and he appears to act as if he Avould have it thought that the accusations of such characters as Avere banded against him could neither disturb nor disgrace him. With all this, however, it is not true, as Drummond saysj * It may yet be observed that the whole of Jonson's later works (i. e. all the dramatic pieces produced during the last twenty-three yeiirs of his life), arc remarkably free from rasli 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 JSlagnetic Lady is void of all offence : yet for the profane langriago 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, that they confessed themselves " to have introduced the oaths complained of into their respective parts, without his authority or even knowledge." vol. vi. 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 into it, J and who looked on themselves as his "sons," seem to have thought it an act of filial duty to exaggerate the jovial propensities of their " fathei-." Hence a thousand songs, and invocations of this kind — " Fetch me Ben Jonson's scull, and fiU't with sack. Rich as the wine he drank, when the whole pack Of jolly Sisters pledged, and did agree, It was no sin to be as gay i>8 he : — If there be any weakness in the wine. There 's virtue in the cup to mak't divine, ^c," Preparations to Study, 1641. t Even this conferred distinction. One of Shadwell's characters in Bury Fair, makes it his peculiar boast that " he was made Ben Jonson's son in the Apollo." It was not suspected in those days that the founder of this convivi.il e«)ciety would be regarded hereafter as a '* sullen " and " repulsive " misanthrope. MEMOIRS OF 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 coflfee-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. " Jonson 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."t 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 :J — 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 Ilacket, 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) Avas 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 " immeasurable 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 taking his character from Carlo BufFone ! t Wlialley. Life of Jonson, p. Iv. :j: Every act of Jonson's life is perverted. He told Drummond 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 envy of Ben Jonson." Beautiful, indeed, it is :— but if Jonson envied Drummond, so he did "hia beloved" Beaumont : " What fate is mine, that when thou praisest me For writing better, I must envy thee I " so he did Fletcher : " Most knowing Jonson, proud to call him son. In friendly envy swore he had outdone His very self," &c so ho did Cartwright and many others— and it is for this peculiar strain of generous applause, that he is taxed with hatred of all merit ! MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 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 and advice, and all boasted of the pleasure and advantage derived from his society. Innu- merable proofs of this might be accumulated without difficulty, for such was the rank of Jonson, such the space which he occupied in the literary sphere, that his name is found 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 will 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, sufficiently 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 tlie flowery paths loved and frequented by the muses."t 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 Ox on (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 bo 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 haj)j)iest 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 affection 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," ^c. 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 : t on the contrary, as has been more than once observed, he was * The duke of Buckingham (SheflBeld) 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 service with Dryden. + Whal. Li/e, &c. p. Iv. 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, imfortunately, 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. 58 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. lavish of them ; and there are far 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, as 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, Avhich 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 justly,) 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 all around him, and sedulously engaged in decrying their merits. " In conclusion," says Whalley, " he is accused of jealousy and ill-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 " ill-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 bluntness 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.f 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, Avho attacked him at his entrance into public life with a degree of wanton hostility Avhich 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 called 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 Avas 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, is to be found in a letter of Howell to sir Tho. IIawkins,t 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 hav§ but to open his works to be convinced that Marston was the most scurrikms, 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 with 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 are 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. % The date is April 1636 ; but it should probably be corrected, as should the next letter respecting Jonson, also dated 1636, tc 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 usual 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 luy 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 Jonson ; 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 vigourfled, 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 head, The fading wreath for which he bled,' — it will not be necessary to have attained his eminence to admit, that these were apprehensions Avhich 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 turbulence, 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 Shakspeare, " Some to the wars, to try tlieir fortunes there ; Some to discover islands far away; Some to the studious universities ; and the eff^ect of these various pursuits was speedily discernible. Tlie 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 sj)eed 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 upoi the cupidity and curiosity of the times, produced an inconceivable eflFect in diftiising a thirst for novelties among a people, who, no longer driven in hostile array to destroy one anotlicr, 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 in an extraordinary degree, and while it invigorated the fancy, improved the understanding, by making a certain portion of literature necessary to tliose 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^ CO MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. wliieli were indissolubly connected with the old superstitions ; and even the Moralities (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 Avealth 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 particular 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 munificent 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 romances, novels, and poems of both countries, more especially those of the latter, at first do7ie 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 tlian 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 wliicli, 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 Avhom 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 his subject. "From 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 Teele, Marlow, and others whom he names, had received at the two Universities, and in the acknowledged genius which they MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. CI possessed. Peele and Marlow 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 master spirits were now at hand to set the seal of 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 Avith 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 Tamhiirlaine is not a whit more regular, or skilful than that of Gorboduc or Locrine. Beyond Seneca, these writers seldom appear to have looked ; and from him tliey drew little but the tameness of his dialogue, and tlie inflation of his sentiments : their serious scenes were still histories, and sometimes lives ; and their comic ones, though replete witli grotesque liumour, were witliout 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 miglit 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 faitlifully 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 language. 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. rii. 62 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. himself, that of a moral satirist. If the comedies of the contemporaries 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. "VVe 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 JEvery Man in his Humour, 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 Ctesar bestride the narrow world like a colossus; that is his due ; but let not the rest be compelled to walk under his huge legs, and peep about to find themsdtes dishonourable grates. — " Putting aside, therefore, (as Cumberland says,) any further mention of Shakspeare, Avho 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 ai e 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 Ilurd 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 just, 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 still more marked. Congreve designed it, Whalley says, for an imitation of Bobadil : 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. Ixxv. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. G3 In the plots of his comedies, which were constructed fi-om 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 alone 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 liour 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 sock. This system (whether wise or unwise,) naturally led to circumstances which affect 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 liis comedies less amusing than the masterly skill employed upon them would seem to wai-rant 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, liis 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 exhibiting 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 quantum 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 Bartholomew Fair, and the jeerers in the Stcqjh of Neirs, are instances in point. — But furtlier, 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 ; 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 their rational improvement. "At ail the theatres," says ^Ir. Malone, {Shak. 64 MEMOIRS OF BEN JON SON. 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 profit 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 liave 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 all 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 witlidrawn 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. Wliat 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 Sejanus ; 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 drama 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 trngedies 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^ which has all the irregularity of Catiline and Sejanus. Hurd has justly objected to the protracted conclusion of Sejanus. 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 Catiline (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 com])Osition ♦ See p. 137. INrEMOmS OF BEN JONSON. 65 of these lie greatly delighted, and was, as he justly says of himself, an artificer. With him they began, and with him they may be said to have ended; for I recollect but few after his time, iutitled 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 they 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. c. 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 the 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 Affection. AVarton 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 had 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 Trophonius, 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 ci eate, 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 Altliorpe ana eiscwhere, 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 tlie entertainments of the old court, but combined, by the introduction of some ingenious fable, into an harmonious whole. The ground-work was assumed at will ; but our author, to whom the whole mythology of Greece and Rome lay open, generally drew his personages from tiiat 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 afforded 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 cliaraclers ; and it may be justly questioned whether a nobler display of grace and elegance 60 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 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 which tliese 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 and mazes so, The Spring, at first, was taught to go ; And Zephyr, v/lien he came to woo His Flora, had tlieir motions too : And thus did Venus learn to lead The Idalian brawls, and so to tread, As if the wind, not she, did walk. Nor press'd a flower, nor bowM a stalk." It is after witnessing the " measures " liere so beautifully delineated tliat Aurora thus inter- rupts the performers — ** I was not wearier where I lay, Byfi'ozen 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 Antiraasques, (parodies, or 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 ; " Saty^es, Fooles, Wildemen, Antiques, Ethiopes, Pigmies, and 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 tlieatres. In this i)art 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 ajipear, and are not imfrequently the vehicle of useful satire, conveyed witli equal freedom and humour. Whatever they were, however, they were the occasion of much mirth : they were eagerly "hearkened after," as the cook says it 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. ^^"Y 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 case 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."^ If, as the critic will have it, he was a "iitei-ary behemoth," it must be granted that here, at least, he icrithed his lithe proboscis vfiih ♦ P. 606. t Critique ou Every Man in his Humour, p. lii. ^ P. 605. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 1 r.i playfulness and ease. His unbounded learning is merely an adjunct to liis fancy. His mythr^ogical 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 found amusement." That James and his court delighted in them cannot be doubted, and we have only to open the Memoirs of Winwood 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.* ^Mytho- logues of classic purity, in which, as Ilurd 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 wretched ?" 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, to arraign 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. ^lalone is pleased to call taste ? To say nothing of the men, (who were trained to a high sense of decorum and intellectual disceinment 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 gr;i< (» 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 IGliG, 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 monaich ; it declined under his successor; and, notwithstanding all the efforts of Inigo Jones, and his poet, master Aurclian ToAvnshend, 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 Restoration, 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 Kcntlemon of that age), the courtly recreations of gallant gentlemen and ladies of honour, striving to exceed one the other in their measures and changes, and in their repasts of wit, have been beyond the power of envy to disgrace." Iligford's InsUttition of a Gentleman. b'8 MEMOIRS 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 1(>40, 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 16;)2 the whole of his writings 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 1756, 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 means 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 Avord 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 lie round about him see His roses and his lilies bloom ! Long may his only love and he, Joy in ideas of their own !" " 1 have no objection to bloom, 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 weaker side. This * "SVlialley's text was that of the Booksellers' edition, in 8vo, This had been in Theobald's hands, and an incidental remaik by him, of no moment whateyer, here and there appeared in the margin. MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 30 led me to conjecture that maintain was the word designed by the poet, and upon consuhmg the first foUo, 1 found it so to be !" vol. v. 297. " Your fortress who hath bred you to this hour. Fortress is an error. Mr. Syrapson likewise saw the mistake, and ingeniously sent me fautresSf which I should have made use of, had not the old folio prevented me, and read /o5/rm " Wlialley 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 Avith 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 tiiat 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 Jonson ; but want of books, and, perhaps, of sufficient composure of mind, rendered his attempts inefi^ectual, 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 beyond 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. lie appears to have collated Whalley's copy with the early editions ; and, on attentively retracing his steps, previously to tlie arrange- ment of the text for the present publication, I found much to ai)prove 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 w hom 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 Awre 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 believed, 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 tc 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 INIassinger was carefully followed : 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 be an affectation of accuracy at once impertinent and unprofitable. Our author appears, indeed, to affect a derivative mode of spelling ; but his attention frequently relaxes, and the variations of his text are consider- Kble ; 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 of Father Hubbard'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 liis contemporaries, who spoke and wrote the same language as himself. Whalley, as has been just observed, though the modernized impressions of Shaksjieare and others were before him, contented himself Avith 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 scenes 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 madethe slightest claim touniformity or even truth. In fact, the object of the old division would almost appear to be 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 number of the dramatis personic are set down at long intervals, but no hint is given when they appear or disappeai', individually, and much time has been expended in the obscure and humble labour of inserting a name Avhicli, 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 tlie same time ; whereas he has frequently introduced (especially in his Catiline and Sejanus), double, and sometimes treble tliat 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 authorj 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 in treat 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 will 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 OF BEN JONSON. 71 It appears from Mr. Whalieys correspondence, that his enlarged copy had been in the hands of Steevens, Reed, and Malone. Wiiat they took, or what they gave, I am unable to say ; but my first care 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, thougli 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 Ilircius and Spungius !* What I could find of utility in my predecessor's observa- tions, is retained, thougli witli 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 whicli 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 effectually : — 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 jjleasure 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 tljc 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) Avhicli have broken in upon me since its com- mencement ; such as it is, however, it is given Avith a free and independent spirit. No difK- 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 generosity by which I was enabled to furnish so correct a text of jSIassinger 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 Octavius 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 iiave now to add the name of Mr. Philip Bliss, Avho forwarded my researches at the Bodleian Avith all the alacrity of friendship ; nor must I forget Mr. Petrie, to Avhose 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 fully, as I thought, on this subject, it is with pain that I find myself compelled to return to it. I shojild 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 ninetj-- nine out of every hundred readers than by thenisclvi.'s, and that the turpitude of corrui)ting the remaining one ia a crime for which their ignorance offers no adequate excuse. A plodding cold-blooded Aretine is despicablo ; a sprightly one ia detestable ; and both are among the worst peats of society. ^lEMOIRS OF 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 sufficient 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 liave 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 his anxious revision. — But with what feelings do I trace the words— i/te 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, Avith an interest that few can feel and none can know, the pro- gress of my 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 tlieir wider 'uifluence and exertion. ANCIENT COMMENDATOKY VEESES ON J 0 N S 0 N. ON SEJANUS. So brings the wealth-contracting jeweller Pearls and dear stones from richest stores and streams, As thy accomplish'd travail doth confer From skill enriched souls their wealthier gems ; So doth his hand enchase in ammel'd gold, Cut, and adorn'd beyond their native merits, His solid flames, as thine hath here inroll'd • In more than golden verse, those bettcr'd spirits ; So he entreasures princes' cabinets. As thy wealth will their wished libraries ; So, on the throat of the rude sea, he sets His vent'rous foot, for liis illustrious prize ; And througli Avild desarts, arm'd with wilder beasts ; As thou adventur'st on the multitude, Upon the boggy, and engulfed breasts Of hirelings, 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 j Wherein Minerva had been vanquished. Had she, by it, her sacred looms advanc'd. And through thy subject woven her graphic thread, Contending therein, to be more entrauc'd ; For, though thy hand was scarce addrest to draw The semicircle of Sejanus' life. Thy muse yet makes it the whole spliere, and law To all state-lives ; and bounds ambition's strife. And as a little brook creeps from his spring. With shallow tremblings, tlirough 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, witli his two-edg'd waters, flourishes COMMENDATORY VERSES. Before great palaces, and all men's loves Build by liis 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, Sh;it her soft wings, and durst not shew her spirit ; Till, nobly cherisht, now tliou let'st her fly. Singing the sable Orgies of the J.Iuses, And in the highest pitch of Tragedy, Mak'st her command, all things thy ground produces. Besides, tby 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 turn'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 Palladian cask. All thy worth, yet, thyself must patronise, By quaffing more of the Castalian head ; In expiscation 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 Ave 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-bound, and in darkness luuTd, A thousand years (as Satan was, their sire) Ere any, worthy the poetic name, (Might I, that warm but at the IVIuses' 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, you 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 woi-ld 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 Avas 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 live. ^ - And so, good friend, safe passage to thy freiglit, 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. GEORGE CHAPMAM COMMENDATORY VERSES. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, BEN JONSON, UPON HIS SEJANUS. In that tliis book doth deign Sejanus name, Him unto more than Caesar'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) <'ire fading things, "With no less envy had, than lost Avitli 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 swear bo 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 retriev'd to mo. And as Sejanus, in thy tragedy, Falleth 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, Wlio shall hereafter folloAv on this tract, In writing Avell, thy Tragedy shall act. CYGNUS. ON SEJANUS. Sejanus, great, and eminent in Rome, Raised above all the senate, both in grace Of princes favour, authority, and place. And popular dependance ; yet, how soon, Even with tlie instant of his ovcrtlirow, Is all this pride and greatness now foigot, By them which did his state not treason IcnoT." : His very flatterers, that did adorn Their necks with his rich medals, now iti flame Consume them, and would lose even his name, Or else recite it with reproach, or scorn ! This was his Roman fate. But now thy Muse To us that neither knew his height, nor fall, Ilath raised him up with such memorial, AU future states and times his name shall use. "What, not his good, nor ill could once extend To the next age, thy verse, industrious. And learned friend, hath made illustrious To this. Nor shall his, or thy fame have end. 76 COMMENDATORY VERSES. AMIGIS, AMICI N03TRI DIGNISSIMI, B. J. DIGNISSOIIS, EriGRAMMA. D. JOHANNES MARSTONIUS. Ye ready rriends, spare your unneedful bays, This work despairful envy must even praise : Phoebus hath voiced it loud through echoing skies, Sejanus' fall shall force thy merit rise ; For never English shall, or hath before Spoke fuller graced. lie could say much, not more. ON SEJANUS. 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 From 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 STRACHEi'. ON SEJANUS. 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 tliey will spy Where later times are in some speech unweav'd, Those, wary simples ; and these, simple elves ; They are so dull, they cannot be deceiv'd. These so unjust, they will deceive themselves, *IAOS ON SEJANUS. 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 born the spoil Of conquest, from the writers of the age : But when I vieAv'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 ausus es hie tud, PoetUy Si auderent hominum deique juris ConsuUi, teteres sequi cBmularierque, O omnes super emus ad salutem. His sed sunt vetercs araneosi; Tarn nen o veterum est sequutor, ut tu Jllos quod sequeris novator audis. Fac tamen quod agis ; tuique primd Libri canitie induantur hard: Nam chartis pueritia est ne. D. ON VOLPONE. 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 observ'd, 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. ON VOLPONE. Come, yet, more forth, Volpone, and thy chase Perform to ail length, for thy breath will serve thee ; The usurer shall, never, wear thy case : Men do not hunt to kill, but to j)reserve thee. Before the best hounds, thou dost, still, but play ; And, for our whelps, alas, 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 a star, Pole to all Avits, believ'd in, for thy craft. In which the scenes both mark, and mystery Is hit, and sounded, to jjlease best, and worst ; To all which, since thou mak'st so sweet a cry, Take all thy best fare, and be nothing curst. c. c. 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 shewn His subtle body, where he best was known ; 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 sjn-iglit Of action ? In thy praise let this be read. The Fox will live, when all his hounds be dead. E. S. TO BEN JONSON, ON VOLPONE. Forgive thy friends ; they would, but cannot praise, Enough the wit, art, language of thy plays : Forgive thy foes ; they will not praise thee. AVliy ' 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 thcni bo still Fools at thy mercy, and like what they will. J F. ON THE SILENT WOMAN. Hear, you bad writers, and though you not see, 1 will inform you where you hapi)y be : Provide the most malicious thoughts you 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 yoor rage, And your expressing of him shall be such, That he liimself shall think he hath no touch. Where he that sti'ongly writes, although he moan 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. FRANCIS nE.\UMONT, COMMENDATUKY VERSES. TO MY FRIEND 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 full truth be 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. All I dare say, is, you have written well ; In what exceeding height, I dare not tell. GEORGE LUCY. ON THE ALCHEMIST. The Alchemist, a play for strength of wit. And true art, made to shame what hath been writ In former ages ; I except no worth Of what or Greeks or Latins have brought forth j 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 be Judge of this master-piece of comedy ; That when we hear but once of Jonson'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, hath 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 ; W^hich, though some men that never reach'd him may Decry, that love all folly in a play. The wiser tew shall this distinction have, To KNEEL, NOT TREAD, UPON HIS HONOUR'd GRAVE. JAMES SHIRLEY. Jonson, t' whose name wise art did bow, and wit Is only justified by honouring it : To hear whose touch, how would the learned quire With silence stoop 1 and when he took his lyre, Apollo stopt his lute, asliam'd to see A rival to the god of harmony, &c. Shirley's Poems, p. 159. TO MY FRIEND BEN JONSON, UPON HIS CATILINE. If thou had'st itch'd after the wild 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, till 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. iil TO MY WORTHY FRIEND BEN JONSON, ON HIS 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 the new 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 ! There is a great plague hanging o'er the city ; Unless she purge her judgment presently. But, 0 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 outlive 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 burn'd,) Had not begot him equal grace with men, As this, that he is Avrit by such a pen : "Whose inspirations, if great Rome had bad. Her good things had been better'd, and her bad Undone ; the hrst 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 bad, 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 tliey be thoroughly born. Each subject, thou, still thee each subject raises. And whosoe'er thy book, himself dispraises. NAT. FIELD, AD V. Cl. ben. JONSONIUM, CARMEN PROTREPTICON, Raptam Threicii lyram Neanthiis Pulset ; carmina circulis Palcemon Scribal ; qui manibus facit deabus Illotis, metuat Probum. Placere Te doctis juvat auribus, placere Te raris juvat aiiribns. Camcenas Cum totns legerem tnas ( Camcence Nam toium rogitant tuce, ncc ullam Qui pigre trahat oscitationem, Lector em ) et numeros, acumen, arlem^ Mirum judicium , quod ipse censor ^ J oifsoNi, nimium licet malignus, Si doctus simul, exigat^ viderem, COMMENDATORY VERSES. Sermonem et nitidum, facetiasque D^/jnas Mercurio, novdsque gnomas Moriim sed veterum, iuique juris Quicqjiid dramaticum tiii legebam, Tarn semper fore, idmque te loquutum^ Ut nec Lemnia notior sigillo TelluSf nec macnlci sacrandus Apis, Non cesto Venus, aut comis Apollo, Quam mnsd fueris scienie noius, Quam mus& fueris tu'i iiotatus, Illd, qucB unica, sidus ut refulgens, Stricturas, 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 Jonsoni numeros puto loquuios, Anglis si fuerint utrique fati. Tarn, mi, iu sophiam doces amcene Sparsini tamque sophos amoena sternis ! Sed, tot delicias, minus placebat, Sparsis distraherent tot in libellis Cerdoi caculce. Volumen unum. Quod seri Britonum terant nepotes, Optabam, et thyams chorusqne amantum Musas hoc cupiunt, tui laborum Et quicquid reliqivum est, adhuc tuisque Servaturn pluteis. Tibi at videmur Non idm qua:rere quam parare nobis Laudem, dum volumus palam merentis Tot laurus cupidi reposta scripta ; Dum seccrnere te tuasque musas Audemus numero ungulce liquorem Gustante, et veteres novem sorores Et Sirenibus et sclent cicadis : Dum et secernere posse te videmur, Efflictim petimus novumque librinn, Qui nullo sacer haut petatur cevo. Qui nullo sacer exolescat cevo, Qui curis niteat tuis secnndis ; Ut nos scire aliquid simul putetur. Atqui hoc made sies, velutque calpar, Quod diis inferium, tibi sacretnus, Ut nobis bene sit ; tudmque frontem Perfundant edercs recentiores Et splendor novus. Invident coronam Hanc tantam patriae tibique ( quanta /Etern'km a vierito iuo superbum Anglorum genus esse posbit olim ) Tantum qui penilus volunt amcfuas Sublatas liter as, timentve lucem Tonsont nimiam tenebriones. COMMENDATORY VERSES. TO BEN JONSON, ON HIS WORKS. May I subscribe a name ? dares my bold quill Write that or good or ill, Whose frame is of that height, that, to mine oye, Its head is in the sky ? Yes. Since the most censures, believes, and saitli By an implicit faith : Lest their misfortune make them chance amiss, I'll 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 ; 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 svv^eet. These are thy lower parts. What stands above Who sees not yet must 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 duo To your just worth, not you. ED. IIEYWAllD. ON THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME, THE POET LAUREAT, BEN JONSON. Here is a poet ! whose unmuddled strains Shew that he held all Helicon in 's brains. What here is writ, is sterling ; every line Was well allow'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 tlieir bonnet. His genius justly, in an enthcat rage, Oft lash'd the dull-sworn factors for the stage : For Alchymy, though 't make a glorious gloss, Compar'd with Gold is bullion and base dross. WILL. IIODQSOW. ON HIS ELABORATE j 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 main. 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. II0D090K. 6A COMMENDATORY VERSES. IN BENJAMINUM JONSONUM, POETAM LAUREATUM, ET DRAMA TICORUM SUI SECDLt FACILE PRINCIPEM. ToNsoNE, AngliaccB decus immortale Camoencs, Magne pater vatntn, Aonice Coryphcee catervce, Benjamine, ( tibi nec vanum nominis omen,) Cut tarn dextera Pallas adest, tarn dexter Apollo j Laurigeros egit quo ties tua Musa triumphos ! Laudibus en quaiitis, quanto evehit Anglia plausti Jonsonum, pleni moderantem frasna theatri ! Per te scena loqiii didicit : tibi Candida vena, * Et jociis innocuus ; nec quern tua fabula 77iordet Dente Theonlno, sed pravis aspera tantum Moribits, insanum multo sale defricat cBviim. Nec fescennino ludit tua carmine Musa ; Nec petulans aures amat incestare theatri, Aut f cedar e oculos obscxnis improba nugis : Sunt tibi tarn castce veneres, plencBquv pudoris. Scenam nulla tuam perfricld fronte puella Intrat, nec quenquam tenercB capit illice vocis^ Nec spectatorem patranti frangit ocello, Dramate tu recto, tu linguce idiomate puro, Exornas soccosque leves, grandesque cothurnos. Si Lgricus, tu jam Flaccus ; si comicm, alter Plautus es ingenio, tersive Terentius oris Anglicus, aut, Grcecos si forte i^nitere, Menander^ Cujus versu usus, ecu sacro emblemate, Paulus : Sin Tragicus, magni jam prceceptore Neronis Altius eloqueris, Seneca et prcedivite major, ( Ingenii at tantum dives tu divite vend,) Grandius ore tonus, verborum et fulmina vibras. Tu captatores, locupleti hamata, semque, Munera mittentes, Vulpino decipis astu Callidus incautos, et fraudemfraude retexis : Atque hcsredipetas corvos deludis hianies, Vand spe lactans, cera nec scribis in ima. Per te nec leno ant meretrix impvne per urbem Grassatur, stolidce et tendit sua retia pubi. Nec moechus, nec fur, incastigatus oberraty Illcesusve, tuce prudentiverbere scence. Sic vitium omne vafer tuus ipse ut Horatius o/im, Tangis, et admissus circum prsecordia ludis. Per te audax Catilina, nefas horrendus Alastor Dum struit infandum, ccedesque et funera passim Molitur Romce, facundi consults ore Ingenioque perit ; patrice et dum perfidus enses Intentat jugulo, franguntur colla Cethegi ; Quicquid Sylla minax, ipsis e faucibujOrci, Et fortunati demurmuret umbra tyranni: Nempe faces flammasque extinguit flumine lactis Tullius, Angliaco melius sic ore locutus. Culmine in rapiens magnum devolvis ab alto Sejanum. ; ille potens populum, pavidumque senatum Rexerat imperio nuper, dum solus habenas Tractaret Romce, nutu et iremefecerat orbem, Ccesare confisus ; nunc verso cardine rerum Mole sua miser ipse cadens, et pondere pressuSy Concutit attonitum lapsu graviore theatrum, Ingentemque trahit turbd plaudente ruinam. COMMENDATORY VERSES. 85 Sio nullum exemplo crimen tu Unguis inullum^ Sive et avarities, et amor vesanus habendi, Sive sit ambitio, et dominandi cceca libido. Crimina sic hominum versu tortore Jlagellas, Et vitia exponis toti ludibria plebi ; Protinus ilia tuo sordent explosa theatro, Dramdque virtuiis schola fit, prcelectio scena, Histrio philosophus , morum veldenique censor^ Etludi, Jonsone,, tui sic 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 poetce ; Nomen et ingenii, Jonsoni nomen habetur.* SIR EDWARD HERBERT, UPON HIS FRIEI^D MR. BEN JONSON, AND HIS TRANSLATION. *Twas not enough, Ben Jonson, to be tliouglit 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, Avill ask An age of time and judgment ; wlio can then Be prais'd, and by what pen ? Yet, I know both, whilst 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 She wits, or mighty wine. The deities are bankrupts, and must be Glad to beg art of tliee. Some they might once perchance on thee bestow : 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, which, 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 HOIVDAl » Mu$* gallants. Car. But then you must put on an extreme face of discontentment at your man's negligence. Sog. O, so I will, and beat him too : I'll have a man for the purpose. Mac. You may ; you have land and crowns : O 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 itnpudent 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. Sog. 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'll keep men, an I keep any ; and I'll give coats, that's my humour : but I lack a cullisen. Car. Why, now you ride to the city, you may 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, ol what fashion you will. Sog. By word of mouth, I thank you, signior, SOBNE I. EVERY- MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 05 I'll be once a little prodigal in a humour, i'faith, and have a most prodigious coat. Mac. Torment and death ! break head and brain at once, To be delivered of your fighting issue. Who can endure to see blind Fortune dote thus ? To be enamour'd on this dusty turf, 1 This clod, a whoreson puck -fist ! O G— — ! ; I could run wild with grief now, to behold 1 The rankness of her bounties, that doth breed i Such bulrushes ; these mushroom gentlemen, That shoot up in a night to place and vvorship. Car. [seeingM AcihESTE.] Lethimalone; some stray, some stray. Sog. Nay, I will examine him before I go, sure. Car. The lord of the soil has all wefts and strays here, has he not? Sog. Yes, sir. Car. Faith then I pity the poor fellow, he's fallen into a fool's hands. lAside. 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. [.Aside. Sog. Why, Who am I, sir ? Mac. One of those that fortune favours. Car. The periphrasis of a fool. I'll observe this better. [Aside. Sog. That fortune favours ' how mean you that, friend ? 3Iac. I mean simply : that you are one that lives not by your wits. Sog. By my wits ! no sir, I scorn to live by my wits, I. 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 turn'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 ! Signior, 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 the cork, light, light! [^si^/g/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 you 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, he looks as if he were chop-fallen, with barking at other men's good fortunes : 'ware how you oftend him ; he carries oil and fire in his pen, will scald where it drops : his spirit is like powder, quick, violent ; he'll blow a man up with a jest : I fear him worse than a rotten waU 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. W^hat, 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. [Exit with Sogliardo. Mac. Ay, when I cannot shun you, we will 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 ! I'll observe him. Enter Sordido u'(77i 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 DuU'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 Sord. 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 I Sord. Ha, ha, ha ! I will not sow my grounds this year. Let me see, what harvest shall we have ? June, July? Mac. W^hat, is't a prognostication raps him so? Sord. The 20, 21, 22 days, rain and ivind. O good, good ! the 23, and 24, rain and some ivind, good! the2o, rain, good still! 26, 27, 28, wind and some rain ; would it had been rain and some v;ind ! well, 'tis good, when it can be no better. 29, inclining to rain: inclining to rain! that's not so good now : 30, and 31, ivind 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 ! 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 garners crack with store ! O, 'tis well ; ha, ha, ha ! A plague consume thee, and thy house ! Sord. O 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. August 1, 2, 3, and 4, days, rainy and blustering ; this is well now : 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, rainy, with some thun 36 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT I. (ier ; Ay marry, this is excellent ; the other was false printed sure : the 10 one? 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 still, good still, good still, good still'. 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. 0 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, strength, 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 Sordibo a jiapcr 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 fall upon his barns ; or mice and rats Eat up his grain ; or else that it might rot VVithin the hoary 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 will scarcely look on merit. \_Rises and exit. Sord. 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. Sord. Ay, and the prints of them stick in my flesh. Deeper than in their lettei's : they have sent rne Pills wrapt in paper here, that, should I take 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 follow their prescriptions. Here's a device. To charge me bring my grain unto the markets : Ay, much ! when I have neither barn nor garner. Nor earth to hide it in, I'll 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 life 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, Licentious rogues, and sturdy vagabonds, Bred by the sloth of a fat plenteous 5^ear, Like snakes in heat of summer, out of dung ; And this is all that these cheap times are good for : Whereas a wholesome and penurious dearth Purges the soil of such vile excrements. And kills the vipers up. Hind. O, but master, Take heed they hear you not. Sord. Why so ? Hind. They will exclaim against you. Sord. Ay, their exclaims Move me as much, as thy breath moves a mountain. Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I 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. iExit. Sord. I'll instantly set all my hinds to thi*ashing Of a whole rick of corn, which I will hide Under the ground ; and with the straw thereof I'll stuff" the outsides of my other mows : That done, I'll have them empty all my garners, And in the friendly earth bury my store, That, when the searchers come, they may suppose All's spent, and that my fortunes were belied. 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 will 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 aiid barley. What though a woidd of wretches starve the while ; He that will thrive must think no courses vile. lExit. Cor. Now, signior, how approve you this 9 have the humourists exprest themselves truly or no ? Mit. Yes, if it be well prosecuted, 'tis hitherto happy enough : but methinks Macilente 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 the length as a necessary reason ; but for propriety, the scene would very well have borne it, in my judgment. Cor. O, ivorst 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 alienge feli- citatis, to have our eyes continually fixed upon another man's prosperity, that is, his chief happi- ness, aiid 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 SCENE 1. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. than erwy, as being bred out of a kind of contempt and loathing 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, what he loves in himself ; therefore reprehension is out of his hate. And this distinction 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 37 Sordido, his wealth : so was there not in the other. He stood possest of no one eminent gift, but a most odious and fiend-like disposition, that ivould turn charity itself into hate, much more envy, for the present. Mit. You have satisfied me, sir. O, here comes the fool, and the jester again, methinks. Cor. ' Twere pity they should be parted, sir. Mit. What bright-shining gallanfs that with them 9 the knight they went to ? Cor. No, sir, this is one monsieur Fastidious Brisk, otherwise called the fresh Frenchified courtier. Mit. A humourist too 9 Cor. As humorous as quicksilver ; do but ob- serve him ; the scene is the country still, remember ACT II. SCENE I The Country; before VviiTAKVOLo' s House. Enter Fastidious Brisk, Cinedo, Carlo Bufjtone, 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.f 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-house 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 from 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. Sog. Signior, now you talk of 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 but to shew what a gentleman might do in a humour. Car. O, very good. Mit. Why, this fellow's discourse ivere nothing but for the word humour. Cor. O bear ivith him ; an he should lack mat- ter and words too, 'twere pitiful. Sog. Nay, look you, sir, there's ne'er a o^entleman in the country has the like humours, for the hobby- horse, as I have ; I have the method for the thread- ing of the 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 from finger to finger, and all the humours inci- dent to the quality. The horse hangs at home in my parlour. I'll 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 I Fast. Ay, pleases me: a pox on't I I a.n 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. ACT li tnother garb, another slieaf, I know not how ! I cannot frame me to your harsh vulgar phrase, 'tis against my genius. Sog. Signior Carlo I iTakes him aside. Cor. T/iis is right to that of Horace^ Dum vi- tant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt ; so this gal- lant, labouring to avoid popularity, falls into a habit of affectation, ten thousand times hatefuller than the former. Car. [poi«^i«<7^o 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 h4s 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, [adcancing 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 affections, if you be thus private, i'faith. Enter Cinedo, 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 Puntarvolo reported to be a gentleman of exceed- ing good humour, thou know'st him ; prithee, hov>r is his disposition ? I never was so favoured of my stars, as to see him yet. Boy, do you look to the hobby ? Ciyi. Ay, sir, the groom has set him up. \_As Cinedo is going out, Sogliardo takes him aside. Fast. 'Tis well : I rid out of my way of intent to visit 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 well at tilt ; when he is mounted he looks like the sign of the George, that's all I know ; 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 ner every morning ; this gentleman h.-^s been a spec- tator of it, Si^r.ior InsuL«o. Sog. I am resolvite to keep a page. — Say you, sir } ILeaps/rom ivJdspering icith Cinedo. Car. You have seen Signior Puntarvolo accost his lady ? Sog. O, ay, sir. Fast. And how is the manner of it, prithee, good signior Sog. Faith, sir, in very good sort ; he has his humours for it, sir ; as first, (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 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 I Car. What says he ? be not rapt so. Sog. Says he, — ha, ha, ha, ha ! Fast. Nay, speak, speak. Sog. Ha, ha, ha i — says he, God save you, says he ; — ha, ha ! Car. Was this the ridiculous motive to all this passion ? Sog. Nay, that that comes after is, — ha, ha, ha, ha! Car. Doubtless he apprehends more than he utters, this fellow ; or else lA erij 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. 1^0^. 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. {They stand aside. Enter FvNTAnvoLo, /oUowed hy his Huntsman leading a greyhound. Punt. Forester, give v.'ind 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 ! lA Waiting-gentlewoman appears at the window. PMnt. 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.'] 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 ot your beauties,) are required these three specials ; the gnomon, the puntilios, and the superficies : the superficies is that we call place ; the puntilios, cir- fcOiSNlfi I. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 39 curastance ; and the gnomon, ceremony ; in either of which, for a stranger to err, 'tis easy and facile ; i nd such am I. Car. True, not knowing her horizon, he must needs err ; which I fear he knows too well. Punt. What call you the lord of the castle, sweet face ? Gent. [_above.'\ The lord of the castle is a knight, sir ; signior Puntarvolo. Punt. Puntarvolo ! O Car. Now must he ruminate. Fast. Does the wench know him all this while, Ihen? Car. O, do you know me, man ? why, therein ties the syrup of the jest ; it's a project, a design- tnent of his own, a thing studied, and rehearst as ordinarily at his coming from hawking or hunting, iS a jig after a play. Sog. Ay, e'en like your jig, sir. Pxmt. '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 >and, 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, I 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, raethinks 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. [_ExU Waiting-gentlewoman from the window. Car. That he may erect a new dial of compli- ment, v/ith his gnomons and his puntiiios. 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 Sordjdo end Fungoso Sord. 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, sl'\ 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. Ireappears at the icindou-.'] 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. [Sordido and Fungoso icithdraiv. 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. \_Lady Puntarvolo appears at the window. Punt. What more than heavenly pulchritude is What magazine, or treasury of bliss ? [thid, 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 doth appear ! Fast. How ! in verse ! Car. An extacy, an extacy, man. Ladg P. [above.'] Is your desire to speak with me, sir knight ? Car. He will tell 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 sicch 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 havt, dear madam, escaped by 40 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT II. 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. \_Exitfrom the windoiv. Punt. Most admired lady, you astonish me. [ Walks aside with Sordido 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. Fasi. O let us hear the rest. Car. What! 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 acumeii ingenii, than your gross fare : Why, I'll make you an instance ; your city-wives, but observe 'em, you have not moi-e 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-vjoman. Fast. Peace, here comes the lady. Lady. Gad's me, here's company ! turn in again. lExit 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 Untruss 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 Nymphadoro 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 house 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 1 pray you 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 Sord. Brother, I hunger not for such acquaint- ance : Do you take heed, lest [Carlo comes toward them. 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. F^mg. llooking at Y AST jDiovs Brisk.] By hea- ven, it is a very fine suit of clothes. lAside. Cor. Do you observe that, signior? There's another humour has new-crack'' d the shell. Mit. What! he is enamour' d of the fashion, ishe? Cor. O, 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 'tis exceeding good. [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 Fastidious Brisk,] I was never so pleased with a fashion, days of my Ufe. 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'll see all those devices an I come to London once. Fung. Ods 'slid, an I could compass it, 'twere rare. [Aside.'] — Hark you, 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 law books (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 them ; 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, move it for me. EVERY MAN OUT Sog. That I will: when would you have me do it ? presently ? Fung. O, ay, I pray you, good uncle : [Sogli- ARDO takes Sordido aside.'] — send me good luck, Lord, an't be thy will, prosper it ! O my stars, now, now, if it take now, I am made for ever. Fast. Shall I tell you, sir? by this air, I am the most 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 ? 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 Luculento, 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 anubiquitary 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 flies withal. Punt. O manage your affections. Fast. Well, if thou be'st not plagued for this blasphemy one day Punt. 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, if 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. Sord. 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. OF HIS HUMOUR. 4I Sord. 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. lAside. 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 wUl expose it to you, sir ; Carlo, I am sure, has heard of it. Car. 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, I am determined 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 successful, 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 ! what! dull now ? Car. I w^as 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 huge 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. Thou 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. Sord. Do you know her, sir ? Fast. O Lord, sir ! signior Deliro, her husband, is my merchaat. 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. lExeunt. Mit. Meikinks, Cordatus, he dwell someivhat 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 migho 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. ACT II. they not the same persons in this, as they would 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 better traded ivith these things than /, and therefore I ^11 subscribe to your Judgment ; marry, you shall give me leave to make objections. Cor. O, what else 9 it is the special in tent 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 appears Macilente again 9 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 : make your own observation now, only transfer your thoughts to the city, with the scene : where suppose they speak. SCENE II. — A Room in Deliro's House. Enter Deliro, ^Macilente, and Fido loilh Jloivers and 'perfumes. Deli. I'll tell you by and by, sir, — Welcome, good IMacilente, to my house, To sojourn even for ever ; if my best In cates, and every sort of good entreaty, May move you stay v^^ith me. [_He censeih : Vie hoy slreics flowers. Maci. 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 call'd Chance, Should fawn upon this fellow more than me : I am a man, and I have limbs, flesh, blood, Bones, sinews, and a soul, as well as he : My parts are every way as good as his ; If I said better, v>^hy, I did not lie. Nath'less, his wealth, but nodding on my wants. Must make me bow, and cry, / thank you, sir. lAside. Deli. Dispatch ! take heed your mistress see you not. FiJo. I warrant you, sir, I'U steal by her softly. lExit. 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. [Aside. Re-enter Fido, with more perfumes and flowers. 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, signior Deliro all this censing ? Deli. Cast in more frankincense, yet more ; 0 Macilente, I have such a wife ! [well said. — So passing fair ! so passing-fa-ir-unkind ! But of such worth, and right to be unkind. Since no man can be worthy of her kindness— Maci. What, can there not ? Deli. No, that is as sure as death, No man alive. I do not say, is not, But cannot possibly be worth her kindness, Nay, it is certain, let me do her right. How, said I ? do her right ! as though I could, As though this dull, gross, tongue of mine could utter The rare, the true, the pure, the infinite rights. That sit, as high as I can look, within her ! Maci. This is such dotage as was never heard. Deli. Well, this must needs be granted. Maci. 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. Maci. Is't possible she should deserve so well, As you pretend Deli. Ay, and she knows so well Her own 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. Maci. 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 unsought, 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 find 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 house ; one was too big, she said. Another was not furnish'd to her mind. And so through all ; all which, now, I have alter '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 swee-t nostrils : This have I done, and this I think will please her. Behold, she comes. EVERY MAN OUT Enter Fallace. Fal. Here's a sweet stink indeed ! What, shall I ever be thus crost and plagued, And sick of husband? O, my head doth 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, I have caught the plague ! Belt. Why, gentle wife, is now thy walk too sweet ? Thou said'st of late, 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 thou 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 pnrple flowers ; And since, 1 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, You have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith : And with such judgment have you changed the chambers. Leaving no room, that I 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. Maci. 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 shall I live, ere I be so happy To have a wife of this exceeding form ? lAside. Deli. Away with 'em ! would I had broke a joint When I devised this, that should so dislike her. Away, bear all away. lExit Fido, ivith Jlowers, Sfc. 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, honour'd and ador'd ! — Deli. Why, my sweet heart ? Fal. Sweet heart ! O, better still ! And asking, why? whei-efore? 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, A tid straight he noted it, and gave command All should be ta'en away. Deli. Be they my bane then ! OF HIS HUMOUR. 48 What, sirrali, Fido, bring in those gloves again You took fi-om 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 noi 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 turn'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. lAside Cor. Behold, behold, the translated gallant. Mit. 0, he is welcome. Enter Fungoso, 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 ? Fal. Why should I take you for him ? Fling. Nay, nothing. — I was lately in INIaster Fastidious's company, and metliinks we ar«j vei7 like. Deli. Yon have a fair suit, brother, 'give you joy on't. Fung. Faith, good enough to ride in, brother ; I made it to ride in. Fal. O, now I see the cause of his idle demand was his new svut. Deli. Pray you, good brother, try if you can change her mood. Fung. I warrant you, let me alone : I'll put her out of her dumps. Sister, how hke you my suit ! Fal. O, you are a gallant in print now, brother. Fung. Faith, how like 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, beshrew my heart then. Fung. Good truth, I'll pay you again at my next exhibition. I had but bare ten pound of ray father, and it would not reach to put me wholly into the fashion. Fal. I care not. Fung. I had spurs of mine own before, but they w'ere not ginglers. Monsieui- 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. Y''esterday ; I came acquainted wil h him at Sir Puntarvolo's : nay, sweet sister. Maci. 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, patieace. 44 EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT II. 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 ! lAside. Fal. \_Gives him money.'\ Come, when will you pay me again, now ? Fung. O lord, sister ! Maci. Here comes another. Enter Fastidious Brisk, in a new suit. Fast. Save you, signior Dehro ! 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, Uve 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, sir. Fal. Why look you so pale, brother ? Fung. 'SUd, all this money is cast away now. Maci. Ay, there's a newer edition come forth. Fung. 'Tis but my hard foi'tune ! well, I'll have my suit changed, I'U go fetch my tailor presently, but first I'U devise a letter to my father. Have you any pen and ink, sister? Fal. What would you do withal f Fung. I would use it. 'Slight, an it had come but four days sooner, the fashion. lExit. 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 do 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 thousand pound a year. Deli. Is't possible ? Fast. O, beheve it, sir; your good face is the witch, and your apparel the spells, that bring all the pleasures of the world into their circle. Fal. Ah, the sweet grace of a courtier ! Maci. Well, would my father had left me but a good face for my portion yet ! though I had shai'ed the unfortunate wit that goes with it, I had not cared ; I might have passed for somewhat in the world then. Fast. Why, assure you, signior, rich apparel has strange virtues : it makes 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 ladjes at work, that otherwise 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 travell'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 shovdd 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. Wliy, an he had good clothes, I'd carry him to court with me to-morrow. D.eli. He shall not want for those, sir, if gold and the whole city will furnish him. Fast. You say well, sir : faith, signior Deliro, I am come to have you play the alchemist with me, and change the species of my land into that metal you talk of. Deli. With all my heart, sir ; what sum will serve you.p 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 thither 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 shaU ne'er be rid of him. Bring me a cloak there, one. StiU, upon his grace at court, I am sure to be visited ; I was a beast to give him any hope. WeU, 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 hke winter thus. Here, take my keys, open my counting-houses, spread aU 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 yoilr terms and all ! pray you leave us. Deli. Come, gentlemen. Fast. Adieu, sweet lady. {.Exeunt all hut Fall iCK. 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 her hand io kiss : ah, foolish countess ! he's a man worthy, ii' a woman may speak of a man's worth, to kiss the lijis of an empress. SCENE I. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 45 Re-enter Fungoso, wilh his Tailor. Fung. What's master Fastidious gone, sister ? Fal. Ay, brother. — He has a face like a cherubin ! lAside. Fung. 'Ods me, what luck's this ? I have fetch'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 ! lAside. Fung. How long is't since he went ? Fal. Why, bat e'en now ; did you not meet him? — and a tongue able to ravish any woman in the earth. [_Aside. Fung. O, for God's sake — I'll please you for your pains, [to his Tailor.] — But e'en now, say you.^ Come, good sir : 'slid, I had forgot it too : if any body ask for mine uncle Sogliardo, they shall have him at the herald's office yonder, by Paul's. lExit 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. lExit. Mit. Well, I doubt, this last scene will endure some grievous torture. Cor. How ? you fear "twill he rack'd by some hard constructioti ? Mit. Do not you 9 Cor. JVo, 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 uttered my thought, sir, indeed. Cor. Why, by that proportion, the court might as well take offence 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 you 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. JVo, sir, I do not. Cor. JVo more, assure you, will any grave, wise citizen, or modest matron, take the object of this folly in Dcliro 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 con- tagious comments, who, indeed, come here only to pervert and poison the sense of what they hear, and for nought else. Enter cavalier Shift, with two Si-quisses (bills) in his hand. Mit. Stay, what neiv mute is this, that walks sa suspiciously ? Cor. O, marry, this is one, for whose better illustration, we must desire you to presuppose the stage, the middle aisle in Paul's, and that, the west end of it. Mit. So, sir, and ivhat follows 9 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 PauPs now ? Cor. Troth, as you see, for the advancement oj a si quis, or two ; wherein he has so varied himself , that if any of "em take, he may hull up and dozen in the humorous tvorld a little longer. Mit. It seems then he bears a very changing sail 9 Cor. O, as the ivind, sir : here comes more. ACT III. SCENE l.— The Middle Aisle of St. Paul's. Shift, \coming forward.'] This is rare, I have set up my bills without discovery. Enter Orange. 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 Clove. Clove. Master Apple- John ! you are well met : I when shall we sup together, and laugh, and be fat I mth those good wenches, ha ? j Shift. Faith, sir, I must now leave you, upon a few humours and occasions ; but when you please, sir. lExit. Clove. Farewell, sweet Apple-John! I wonder there are no more store of gallants here, Mit. What be these two, signior f Cor. Marry, a couple, sir, that are mere stran- gers to the ichole scope of our play ; only come to walk a turn or two in this scene of PauVs, hn chance. Orange. Save you, good master Clove 1 Clove. Sweet master Orange. I Mit. How 1 Clove and Orange I Cor. Ay, and they a'^e well met, for 'tis as dnj 4(> EVERY MAN OUT ACT III. mi Orange as 3ver grew : nothing but salutation, and O lord, sir ! and, It pleases you to say so, sir! 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, and Spa- nish, when he understands not a word of eithei if he had the tongues to his suits, h& loere an ex- cellent linguist. Clove. Do you hear this reported for certainty ? Orange. O lord, sir. Enter Puntaijvolo and Carlo, followed hy two Serving- men, one leading a dog, the other hearing a hag. 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 sla/e ; he loves a dog well, I warrant him : I see by his looks, I : — Mass, he's somewhat like Mm. 'Slud [/o 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 you ? Punt. No, I do want yet some fifteen or sixteen hundred pounds ; but my lady, my wife, is Out of her Humour, she does not now go. Car. No ! how then ? Punt. Marry, I am now enfoi-ced 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 vdll 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 ? Car. Ay, and rare ones too ; of as many colours as e'er you saw any fool's coat in your life. I'll go look among yond' bills, an 1 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, Deliro, and Macilente. 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 } Maci. Why, on my feet, sir. Fait. 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. Maci. As if one were frighted ? Fast. Ay, sir. Maci. Which, indeed, a true fear of your mis- tress should do, rather than gum-water, or whites of eggs ; is't not so, sir ? Fast. An ingenious observation. Give me leave to crave your name, sir ? Deli. His name is Macilente, sir. Fast. Good signior Macilente, 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 shall see sweet silent rhetorick, and dumb eloquence speaking in her eye ; but when she speaks herself, such an anatomy of wit, so sinewized and arterized, that 'tis the goodUest 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. Maci. 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 gentlemari., of the age of five or six and twenty at the most , ivho can serve in the nature of a gen tleman-usher, and hath little legs of purpose, and a black satin suit of his oivn, to go before her in ; ivhich suit, for the more sweetening, notv lies in lavender ; and can 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 city, 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 neio come into his 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, ivhich he shall receive or take in here at London, and evaporate at Uxbridge, or farther, ij it please him. If there be any such generous spirit, that is truly enamoured of these good faculties ; may it please him, but by 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, quseso, 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 -^te may be spectators with you. Carlo. Soft, behold who enters here ; SCENE 1. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS RUMOUR. 47 Enter Soomardo. Signior Sogliardo ! save you. Sog. Save you, good sir Puntarvolo ; your dog's in health, sir, I see : How now, Carlo ? Car. We have ta'en simple pains, to choose you out followers here. iSheivshim the bilf-s. Punt. Come hither, signior. Clove. Monsieur Orange, yon gallants observe us; prithee let's talk fustian a little, and gull 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 dsemonologia, approves ScaUger 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! Maci. 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 EsquiHne, and the inter-vallum of the zodiac, besides the ecliptic line being optic, and not mental, but by the contem- plative and theoric 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- sioks) as you may read in Plato's Histriomastix You conceive me, sir? Orange. 0 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, mathematical, 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 my cousin Sogliardo, methinks. Maci. Ay, and his familiar that haunts him, the devil with the shining face. Deli. Let 'em alone, observe 'em not. [Sogliardo, Puntarvolo, and Carlo, tvalk together. 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. Ffaith, 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 armoiy. Sog. Nay, it has as m\ich 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 ! Car. Ay, and rampant too 1 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. IThey salute as theymcet 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 annlets 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 annulets sable. Car. 'Slud, it's a hog's cheek and puddings in a pewter field, this. IHere they shift. Fastidious mixes with Puntar VOLO ; Carlo and Sogliardo ; Deliro anil 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 off 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 of any worth ? Fast. 'Tis signior Deliro, sir. Punt. Is it he ? — Save you, sir I [.They salute. Deli. Good sir Puntarvolo ! Maci. O what copy of fool would this place minister, to one endued vdth patience to observe it ! Car. Nay, look you, 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 tum. Spread yourself upon his bosom pubUcly, whose heart you would eat in private. These be principles, think on them ; I'll come to you again presently. i'Exit. Punt, [to his servant.'] Sirrah, keep close ; yet not so close : thy breath will thaw my ruff. Sog. O, good cousin, I am a little busy, how does my niece.' I am to walk with a knight,-here. Enter FrNGOso with his Tailoi-. Fung. O, he is here ; look you, sir, that's the gentleman. Tai. What, he in the blush-coioured satin ? Fung. Ay, he, sir ; 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 Faat. Why, do you see, sir, they say I am fan- tastical ; why, true, I know it, and I pursue my hum.our still, in contempt of this censorious age. 'Slight, 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, I am careless what the fusty world speaks of me. Puh ! Fung. Do you mark, how it hangs at the knee there ? Tai. I warrant you, sir. Fung. For God's sake do, note all ; 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. lExit tviih his Tailor. Re-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 profession that ever was discovered in Insula Paulina. Fast. Where } where 1 Punt. What is he for a creature 1 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 offei'S 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, uslnrj action to his rapier. Punt. 'Slid, he vented a sigh e'en now, I thought he would have blown up the ch\irch. 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 ! 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 ! I wonder the blade can con- tain itself, being so provoked. Car. With that the moody sqiiire thumpt his breast, And reared 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. OF HIS HUMOUR. Fast. By my faith, and 'tis to be suspected ; I'll ask him. Mac. 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 infelioc paupertas durius in se, Quam quod ridiculos homines facit lExit with Deliro. Fast. Signior. Shift. At your service. Fast. Will you sell your rapier ? Car. He is turn'd wild upon the question ; he looks as he had seen a serjeant. Shift. Sell my rapier ! now fate bless me ! Punt. Amen. Shift. Youask'dme, if I would sell my rapier, sir? Fast. 1 did indeed. Shift. Now, lord have mercy upon me ! Punt. Amen, I say still. Shift. 'Slid, sir, what should you behold in ray 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. Sell 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 ! I will tell you, sir, I have served with this foohsh rapier, whei-e 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'dby my side, sir, the best part of France, and the Low Country : I have seen Flushing, Brill, 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 all the good offices, that shall pertain or belong to gentle- men of your [lowering his voice.^ 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 mj 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. [Sighs.'] Hard is the choice when the valiant must eat their arms, or clem. Sell my rapier ! no, my dear, I will not be divorced from thee, yet ; I have ever found thee true as steel, and You cannot impart, sir ? — Save you, gentlemen ; — nevertheless, if you have a fancy to it, sir — Fast, Prithee away : Is signior Deliro denarteo ' SCENE 1. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 49 Car. Have you seen a pimp outface his own wants better? "^og. 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 ? Fast. After my merchant, signior Deliro, sir. \.Exit. Car. O hinder him not, he may hap lose his tide ; a good flounder, i'faith. Orange. Hark you, signior WhifFe, a word with you. [Okange and Clovk call Shift aside. Car. How ! signior WhifFe ? Orange. What was the difference between chat 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. \_Exit with Orange. 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 a poor esquire about the town here, they call me master Apple- John. Variety of good names does well, sir. j 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. Sog. 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 80 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-waw! Sog. 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. C ar. 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 you 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 quaUty. Where shall we go, signior ? Ptint. Your Mitre is your best house. Shift. I can make this dog take as many whiffes as I list, and he shall retain, orefFume them, at my pleasure. Punt. By your patience, follow me, fellows. Sog. Sir Puntarvolo ! Punt. Pardon me, my dog shall not eat in his company for a million. lExit with his 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 fashion 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's 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. / travail with another objection, signior, which I fear will be enforced against the author, ere I can 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 duhe to be in love ivith a countess, and that countess to be in love with the duhe's son, and the son to love the lady's waiting -maid ; some such cross wooing, with a clown to their scrvingman, better than to be thus near, and familiarly allied to the time. Cor. You say icell, but I tvould fain hear one of these autumn- judynie nls define once, Quid sit co- moedia ? if he 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 mannrrs : if the maker have fail'd in any particle of this, they may worthily tax him but if not, tvhv ■ be you^ that are for them, silent, as 1 will be fur him ; and give way to the actors, -r 50 EVERY MAN OUT SCENE 11.— The Country. Enter Sordido, with a halter about his neck. Sard. Nay, God's precious, if the weather and season be so respectless, that beggars shall 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 ; — '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, and that make shim despair. Mit. Beshrew me, he will be out of 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 vostre 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! 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 of our fathers, the better we are maintained, and that they shall know i f they come up, and have any thing to do in the law ; therefore, good father, these are, for your oivn 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 your blessing, and pray God to bless you. Yours, if his own, [Fungoso.] How's this ! Your^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 ! if this hold, we shall shortly have an excel- OF HIS HUMOUR. lent crop of corn spring out of the high ways : the streets and houses of the town will be hid with the rankness of the fruits, that grow there in spite ot good husbandry. Go to, I'll prevent the sight ot 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 my gold, or so forth ? no ; alive I kept it from them, and dead, my ghost shall walk about it, and preserve it. My son and daughter shall starve ere ihey touch it ; I have hid it as deep as hell from the sight of heaven, and to it I go now. [Flings himself off. Enter Jive or six Rustics, one after another. 1 Rust. Ah me, what pitiful sight is this ! help, help, help ! 2 Rust. How now ! what 's the matter ? 1 Rust. O, here's a man has hang'd himself, help to get him again. 2 Rust. Hang'd himself 1 '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 t, I know him all over. Pwd. .Sir, for signior Sogliardo'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 with 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 within the walls of Europe. Car. The walls of Europe ! take heed what you gay, 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 } Maci. 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 ! 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-hill, 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. W^hat, 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. Maci. A fit trumpet, to proclaim such a person. Car. But can this be possible ? Shift. Why, 'tis nothing, sir, when a man gives his 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. Maci. 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 ? Punt. Faith, let me end it for you, gallants: you 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 Resolution. Car. Mass, he cannot say, good Countenance, now, properly, to him again. Punt. Yes, by an irony. Maci. O, sir, the countenance of Resolution should, as he is. be altogether grim and unpleasant. Enter Fastidious 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. I 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. Maci. You may, sir. Car. He knows some notorious jest by this gull, 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 will ! here are none but friendst Rf^ solution. SCENE r. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 67 Shift. That's all one ; things of consequence must have their respects ; where, how, and to whom. — 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, in despight of fates, to have fed on woodcocks, 1 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. Sog. 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. Maci. He will 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, mixt with some few braves, which I restored, and in fine we met. Now, indeed, sir, I must tell you, he did offer at first 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 recover his guard. Sir, L 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 ray 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, ibandon'd his body to the same danger as before, uid follows me still with blows : but I being loth !:o take the deadly advantage that lay before me of iiis left side, made a kind of stramazoun, ran him up to the hilts through the doublet, through the shirt, and yet miss'd the skin. He, making a reverse blow, —falls upon my emboss'd girdle, 1 had thrown off the hangers a little before— strikes off a skirt of a thick-laced satin doublet I had, Unedwith four taffa- tas, cuts off two panes embroidered with pearl, rends through the drawings-out of tissue, enters the li- nings, and skips the flesh. Car. 1 wonder he speaks not of his wrought shirt. Fast. Here, in the opinion of mutuaf 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 my boot, and, being Spanish leather, and subject to tear, overthrows me, rends me two pair of silk 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 ray wound with a piece of my wrought shirt Car. O ! comes it in there ? Fast. Rid after him, and, lighting at the court gate both together, embraced, and march'd hand in hand up into the presence. Was not this business well carried ? Maci. Well ! yes, and by this we can guess what apparel the gentleman wore. Punt. 'Fore valour, it was a designment begun with much resolution, maintain'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. \_Exeunt all but Macilentb. Maci. 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 fruitless, even as black, as coals ! iExit. Mit. Why, but signior, how comes it that Fun- goso appeared not with his sister's intelligence to 'Brisk .« 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 RoorA in Deliro's House. Enter Fungoso in a new suit, followed by his Tailor, Shoemaker, and Haberdasher. Fung. Gramercy, good shoemaker, I'll put to strings myself. [Exit 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 ? Tai. Excellent, sir, as ever you had any hat ia your life. Fung. Nay, you'll say so all. Habe. In faith, sir, the hat's as good ai any 58 EVERY MAN OUT man iu 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 hk'st thou my suit, haberdasher ? Habe. By my troth, sir, 'tis very rarely well made ; I never saw a suit sit better, I can tell on. Tai. Nay, we have no art to please our friends, we ! Fung. Here, haberdasher, tell this same. \_Gives him money. Habe. 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. Fung. 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. Fling. Farewell, good haberdasher. Well, now., master Snip, let me see your bill. Mit, M.ethhiks he discharges his foUoivers 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 bill 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 Fun.g. 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 haag'd. Let me never breathe again upon this mortal stage, as the philosopher calls it ! 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'll not stick with any gentleman for a trifle : you know what 'tis remains 1 Fung. Ay, sir, and I give you thanks in good faith. O fate, how happy am I made in this good fortune ! 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 I do ? Master Snip, pray 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 OF HIS HUMOUR. 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 by 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. Fung. Good lord, how shall I study to deserve this kindness of you, sir ! Pray let your youth make haste, for I should have done a business an hour since, that I doubt I shall come too late. \^Exit Tailor.] Now, in good faith, I 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 9 Mit. Ay, and to be still a fashion behind with the world, that's the sport. Cor. Slay: O, here they come from seaVd' and deliver'd. — ^ — . SCENE VI. — PuNTARVOLo's Lodgings. Enter Puntarvolo, Fastidious Brisk in a netv 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 la- boui*. Where is Carlo ? Fast. Here he comes. Enter Carlo, Sogliardo, Shift, and Macilente. Car. Faith, gallants, I am persuading this gen- tleman [points to Sogliardo,] 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. O, the 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 quint- 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 imagination, he shall behold ail the delights of the Hesperides, the Insulse Fortunatse, Adonis' Gardens, Tempe, or what else, confined within the amplest verge of poesy, to be mere umbrse, and imperfect figures, conferred with the most essential felicity of your court. Maci. Well, this encomium was not extempo- ral, it came too perfectly off. scKNE vr. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. 59 Car. Besides, sir, you shall never need to go to a hot-house, you shall sweat there with courting your mistress, or losing your money at primero, as well as in all the stoves in Sweden. Marry, this, sir, you must ever be sure to carry a good strong perfume about you, that your mistress's dog may smell you out amongst the rest ; and, in making love to her, never fear to be out ; for you may have 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, you have seen her. Punt. Then can he report no less, out of his judgment, I assure him. Maci. Troth, I like her well enough, but she's too self-conceited, 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 from her other excellences. Maci. Why, it may easily be made to forsake her, in my thought. Fast, Easily, sir ! then are all impossibilities easy. Maci. You qonclude too quick upon me, signior. What will you say, if I make it so perspicuously appear now, that yourself shall confess nothing more possible ? Fast. Marry, I will say, I will both applaud and admire you for it. Pu7it. And I will second him in the admira- tion. Maci. Why, I'll show you, gentlemen. — Carlo, come hither. [Maci. Car. Punt, and Fast, whisper together, Sog. Good faith, I have a great humour to the count. 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 sho-sv excellent there. Shift. Why, you may go with these gentlemen now, and see fashions ; and after, as you shall see correspondence. Sog. You say true. You will go with me, Resolution.^ Shift. I will 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. Sog. Farewell, good Resolution, but fail not to meet. Shift. As I live. lExit. Punt. Admirably excellent ! Maci. If you can but persuade Sogliardo to court, there's all now. Car. O, let me alone, that's my task. [_Goes to Sogliardo. 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. Maci. 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 Fungoso. Sog. What, nephew ! 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 ! ISwoons. Sog. How now, nephew ? Fast. W^ould you speak with me, sir ? Car. Ay, when he has recovered himself, poor Poll ! Punt. Some rosa-solis. Maci. 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 c-it safe ; I'll be the dog's guardian myself. \_Exeunt Servants, Sog. Nephew, will 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. Maci, 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. Maci. 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. I warrant you : would I had one of Kemp's shoes to throw after you. Punt. Good fortune will close the eyes of our jest, fear not : and we shall frolick. [Exeunt Mit. This Macilente, signior., begins to he 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 OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT V, does he, in this calm of his humour, plot, and store up a world of malioious thoughts in his brain, till he is so full with them, that you shall see the very torrent of his envy 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 'tis 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, thotigh I was loth to interrupt the scene, yet I made it a qiiestion 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 approaclieth nearest the life ; especially when in the flame and height of their humours, they are laid fiat, it fills tJie eye better, and with more conteniment. How tedious a sight were it to behold a prowl exalted tree lopt, and cut down by degrees, when it might be felVd in a moment ! and to set the axe to it before it came to that pride and fulness, were, as not to have it grow. Mit. Well, I shall long till I see this fall, you talk of. Cor. To help your longing, signior, let your imagination be swifter than a pair of oars : and by this, suppose Puntarvolo, Brisk, Fungoso, and the dog, arrived at the court-gate, and going up to the great chamber. Macilente and Sogliardo, we'll leave theita on the water, till possibility and natural means may land them. Here come the gallants, now prepare your expectation. ACT V. SCENE I.— The Palace Stairs. Enter Puntarvolo, with his dog , followed hy 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 bestovy 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 known amongst them, to be forth-coming. Fast. 'Slight, how will you do then ? Punt. I must leave him with one that is ignorant of his quality, if I will have him to be safe. And gee ! here comes one that will carry coals, ergo, will hold my dog. Entei- 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, find 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 with good circumstance. On. Fung. Is this the way ? good truth, here be fine hangings. \_Exeunt Punt. Fast, and Fungoso. Groom. Honesty ! sweet, and short I Marry, it shall, sir, doubt you not ; for even at this instant if one would give me twenty pounds, I would not dehver 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. 'Slid, what a mad humorous gentleman is this to leave his dog with me ! I could run away with him now, an he were worth any thing. Enter Macilente and Sogliardo. Maci. Come on, signior, now prepare to court this all-witted lady, most naturally, and like your- self. Sog. Faith, an you say the word, I'll begin to her in tobacco. Maci. O, fie on't ! no ; you shall begin with, Hotv 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 atone 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 itbe without blushing,) 'tis most court-like and well. Sog. But shall I not use tobacco at all ? Maci. O, by no means ; 'twill but make your breath suspected, and that you use it only to con- found the rankness of that. Sog. Nay, I'll be advised, sir, by my friends. MucL Od's my life, see where sir Puntarvolo's dog is. Groom. 1 would the gentleman would return for his follower here, I'll leave him to his fortunes else. Maci. '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. lAside.'\ 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.'] Maci. How now, mine honest friend ! whose dog-keeper art thou ? SCKNK II. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMUUK. 01 Groom. Dog-keeper, sir ! I hope I scorn that, i'faith. Maci. Why, dost thou not keep a dog ? Groom. Sir, now I do, and now I do not : [throws off' the doff.] I think this be sweet and short. Make me his dog-keeper ! ^Exit. Maci. This is excellent, above expectation ! nay, stay, sir; [seizing 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 take my leave of you. Now to the Turk's court in the devil's name, for you shall never go o' God's name. \Kicks him out.] — Sogliardo, come. Sog. 1 have it i'faith now, will sting it. Maci. Take heed you leese it not, signior, ere you come there ; preserve it. ^Exeunt. Cor. How like you this first exploit of his 9 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.— J/i Apartment in the Palace. Enter Saviolina, Pijntarvolo, Fastidious Brisk, and FUNOOSO. Sav. Why, I thought, sir Puutarvolo, you had been gone your voyage ? Punt. Dear and most amiable lady, your divine beauties do bind me to those offices, that 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 are 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 [_Points to Funooso. 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 languages 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 Puutarvolo, you must think every man was not born to have my servant Brisk's fea- ture. 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- man in him, when he does it. Sav. O, monsieur Brisk, be not so tyrannous to confine all wits within the compass of your own ; not find the sparks of a gentleman in him, if he be a gentleman! Fung. No, in truth, sweet lady, I believe you cannot. Sav. 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 talk 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 Macilente and Sogliardo. 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 9 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 stveet lady f in health ? Bona roba, qucBso, que novelles ? que novelles ? sweet creature ! Sav. O excellent ! why, gallants, is this he that cannot be decii)hered 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, knight: 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. Maci. W^hy,has she deciphered him, gentlemen ? Punt. O, most miraculously, and beyond admi- ration. Maci. 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 ? Maci. Nay, lady, do not scorn ns, 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. O, 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 first. 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 : que novelles * que novelles ? Sav. Out, you fool, you ! lExit 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. lExeunt. 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 Fastidious, Puntarvolo, Sogliardo, Fungoso, and Macilextk, 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 1 Punt. Ay me, my dog ! Maci. Where is he ? Fast. 'Sprecious, go seek for the fellow, good signior. [Exit Fungoso 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. Punt. Villain, thou liest. Shift. Lie, sir! s'blood, — you are but 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 mai'le 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- twixt 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. [^mvrkneeU. Sog. What ! kneel to thine enemies ! Shift. Pardon me, good sir ; God is my witness, I never did robbery in all my life. Re-enter Fungoso. Fung. O, sir Puntarvolo, your dog lies giving up the ghost in the wood-yard. Maci. Heart, is he not dead yet ! \_Aside. Punt. O, my dog, born to disastrous fortune 1 pray you conduct me, sir. lExittvith Fungoso. 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 did you swear true, 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 be counted a tall man. Sog. Now out, base viliaco ! 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 I follow me no more, I command thee ; out of my sight, go, hence, speak not ; I will not hear thee : away, camouccio ! lExit Shift. Maci. O, how 1 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. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. C3 SCENE IV. [ Aside.'] ^Nay, gentlemen, why do you not seek out the knight, and comfort him ? our supper at the Mitre must of necessity hold to-night, if you love your reputations. Fast. 'Fore God, I am so melancholy for his dog's disaster — but I'll go. Sog. Faith, and I may go too, but I know I shall be so melancholy. Maci. Tush, melancholy ! you must forget that now, and remember you lie at the mercy of a fury : Carlo will rack your sinews asunder, and rail you to dust, if you c Jine not. lEueunt. Mit. O, then their fear of Carlo, belike, makes them hold their meeting. Cor. Ay, here he comes ; conceive him but to he enter' d the Mitre, and His enough. SCENE IV.— ^ 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 Bulfone. Car. Away, neophite, do as I bid thee, bring my dear George to me : — Enter Gbohok. 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 you, 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 have out of the butt you wot of ; away, you know my meaning, George; quick ! George. Done, sir. iExit. 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 I 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 George with two jugs 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 bounty. Mit. What, will he deal upon such quantities of wine, alone 9 Cor. You will perceive that, sir. Car. [drinks.'] 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 for each oj the cups, and drinking alternately. Cor. This is worth the observation, signior. Car. 1 Cup. 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 withal, 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. [Drinks.] Mit. Whom should he personate in this, signior 9 Cor. Faith, I know not, sir; observe, obseive 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. [Drinks.] 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. Will you, sir ? I'll drink it on my knees, then, by the light. Mit. Why 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. iOverturns wine, pot, cups, and all EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT V. Enter Macilente. Maci. Why, how now Carlo ! what humour's this ? Car. O, my good mischief! art thou come? where are the rest, where are the rest ? Maci. Faith, three of our 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 Resolution. Car. How, how, for the love of wit Maci. Troth, the Resolution is proved i-ecreant ; 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, I had drunk off a good preparative of old sack here ; but will they come, will they come ? Maci. They will assui-edly 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. Maci. Why, my good Germxau tapster, I will. Car. What George 1 Lomtero, Lomtero, ^-c. [Sings and dances. Re-enter George. George. Did you call, master Carlo ? Car. More nectar, George : Lomtero, ^c. George. Your meat's ready, sir, an your com- pany were come. Car. Is the loin of pork enough ? George. Ay, sir, it is enough. lExit. M*aci. Pork ! heart, what dost thou with such a greasy dish } I think thou dost varnish thy face with the fat on't, it looks so like a glue-pot. Car. True, my raw-boned rogue, and if thou wouldst farce thy lean ribs with it too, they would not, like ragged laths, rub out so many doublets as they do ; but thou know'st not a good dish, thou. O, it's the only nourishing meat in the world. No marvel though that saucy, stubborn generation, the Jews, were forbidden it ; for what would they have done, well pamper'd with fat pork, that durst murmur at their Maker ou^t of garlick and onions.' 'Slight ! fed with it, the whoreson strummel- patch'd, goggled-eyed gi-umbledories, would have gigantomachized — Re-enter George with wine. Well said, my sweet George, fill, fill. Mit. This savours too much of profanation. Cor. O Servetur ad imum. Qualis ab incoepto processerit, et sibi constet. The necessity of his vein compels a toleration, for^ bar this, and dash him. out of humour before hit time. Car. ' Tis an axiom in natural philosophy., what comes 7iearest the nature of that it feeds, converts quicker to nourishment, and doth sooner essentiate. Now nothing in flesh and entrails assimilates or resembles man more than a hog or swine. IDrinks. Maci. True ; and he, to requite their courtesy, oftentimes doffeth his own nature, and puts on theirs ; as when he becomes as churlish as a hog, or as drunk as a sow ; but to your conclusion. lDri7iks, Car. Marry, I say, nothing resembling man more than a swine, it follows, nothing can be more nourishing ; for indeed (but that it abhors from our nice nature) if we fed upon one another, we should shoot up a great deal faster, and thrive much better ; I refer me to your usurous cannibals, or such like ; but since it is so contrary, pork, pork, is your only feed. Maci. I take it, your devil be of the same diet ; he would never have desired to have been incorpo- rated into swine else. — O, here comes the melan- choly mess ; upon 'em Carlo, charge, charge ! Enter Puntarvolo, Fastidious Brisk, Sogliardo, and FUNGOSO. Car. 'Fore God, sir Puntarvolo, I am sorry for your heaviness : body o' me, ashrew'd mischance! why, had you no unicorn's horn, nor bezoar's stone about you, ha ? Punt. Sir, I would request you be silent. Maci. Nay, to him again. Car. Take comfort, good knight, if your cat have recovered her catarrh, fear nothing ; your dog's mischance may be holpen. Fast. Say how, sweet Carlo ; for, so God mend me, the poor knight's moans draw me into fellow- ship of his misfortunes. But be not discouraged, good sir Puntarvolo, I am content your adventure shall be performed upon your cat. Maci. I believe you, musk-cod, 1 believe you ; for rather than thou would'st make present repay- ment, thou would'st take it upon his own bare return from Calais. lAside. Car. Nay, 'slife, he'd be content, so he were well rid out of his company, to pay him five for one, at his next meeting him in Paul's. [Aside io Ma cilente.] — But for your dog, sir Puntarvolo, if he be not out-right dead, there is a friend of mine, a quack-salver, shall put life in him again, that's certain. Fung. O, no, that comes too late. Maci. 'Sprecious ! knight, will you suffer this? Punt. Drawer, get me a candle and hard wax presently. \_Exit George. Sog. Ay, and bring up supper ; for I am so melancholy. Car. O, signior, where' s your Resolution ? Sog. Resolution! hang him, rascal: O, Carlo, if you love me, do not mention him. Car. Why, how so ? Sog. O, the arrantest crocodile that ever Christian was acquainted with. By my gentry, I shall think the worse of tobacco while I live, for his sake : I did think him to be as tall a «<;KNK IV. EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUIl. G6 Maol. Nay, Buffone, the knight, the knight. to Cai'.lo. Car. 'Slud, he looks like an image carved out of box, full of knots ; his face is, for all the world, like a Dutch purse, with the mouth downward, his beard the tassels ; and he walks — let me see- as melancholy as one o' the master's side in the Counter. — Do you hear, sir Puntarvolo ? ! Punt. Sir, I do entreat you, no more, but enjoin i you to silence, as you affect your peace. Car. Nay, but dear knight, understand here are none but friends, and such as wish you well, I would have you do this now ; flay me your dog presently, (but in any case keep the head.) and stuff his skin well with straw, as you see these Sead monsters at Bartholomew fair. Punt. I shall be sudden, I tell you. Car. Or, if you like not that, sir, get me some- what a less dog. and clap into the skin ; here's a slave about the town here, a Jew, one Yohan : or | a fellow that makes perukes will glue it on artifi- cially, it shall never be discern' d ; besides, 'twill be so much the warmer for the hound to travel in, you know. Mad. Sir Puntarvolo, death, can you be so patient ! Car. Or thus, sir ; you may have, as you come through Germany, a familiar for little or nothing, shall turn itself into the shape of your dog. or any thing, what you will, for certain hours— — [PvNTAKVOhO strikes him.] 'Ods my life, knight, what do you mean? you'll offer no violence, will you ? hold, hold ! Re-enter Geokob, with wax, and a lighted candle. Punt. 'Sdeath. you slave, you ban-dog, you ! Car. As you love wit, stay the enraged knight, gentlemen. Punt. By my knighthood, he that stirs in his rescue, dies. — Drawer, begone ! iE.x:ii Georue. i Car. Murder, murder, murder ! i Punt. Ay, are you howling, you wolf ? — Gen- tlemen, as you tender your lives, suffer no man to j enter till my revenge be perfect. Sirrah, Buffone, ; He down ; make no exclamations, but down ; down, I you cur, or I will make thy blood flow on my ! rapier hilts. I Car. Sweet knight, hold in thy fury, and 'fore ' heaven I'll honour thee more than the Turk does Mahomet. Punt. Down, I say ! [Carlo lies down..] — Who's there ? \_Knoc\ing ivithin. Cons, [within.] Here's the constable, open the \ doors. j Car. Good Macilente ] Punt. Open no door; if the Adalantado of Spain were here he should not enter : one help me with the light, gentlemen ; you knock in vain, sir officer. Car. Et ta. Brute ! Pv.rd. Sirrah, close your lips, or I will drop it in thine eyes, by heaven. Car. O! O! Cons, [within.] Open the door, or 1 will break it open. Maci. Nay, good constable, have patience a little ; you shall come in presently; we have almost done. [PfNTARVOLO seals vp Carlo's lips. Punt. So, now, are you Out of your Humour, sir? Shift, gentlemen. ITIicij all draiv, and run out, except Fungoso, who conceals himsil/ beneath the table. F Enter Constable and Officers, and seiu Fastibious as he it rushing by. Cons. Lay hold upon this gallant, and pursue the rest. Fast. Lay 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 ? Cons. O, sir, you see he is not in case to answer you, and that makes you so peremptory. lie-enter George and Drawer. Fast. Peremptory ! '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 bold 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. \_Exetint 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. Maci. [pointing to Fungoso.] 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, we have a pawn for 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, 1 pray you tell me, is the constable gone.' George. What, master Fungoso ! Fung. Was't not a good device this same of me, sirs ? George. Yes, faith ; 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 ])ay I 'Slight, I eat not a bit since 1 came into the house, yet. Draw. Why, you may when you please, 'tis all ready below that was bespoken. Fang. 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. Draiv. 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 extremities, my 6G EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR. ACT V 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 ; that mightily discredits your clothes. Fung. As I am an honest man, ray 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 ! George. By and by. {.Exeunt. Cor. Lose not yourself now j signior. SCENE V. — A Room in Deliro's House. Enter Macilente and Deliro. Maci. Tut, sir, you did bear too hard a conceit of me in that ; but I will now make my love to you most ti-ansparent, 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. Dell. Why, I thank you, signior ; but what is that you tell me may concern my peace so much ? Maci. 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 opportunity, 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, 1 acknow- ledge myself exceedingly indebted to you, by this kind tender of your love ; and I am sorry to re- member that 1 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 ? Maci. The Mitre, sir. Deli. O ! Why, Fido ! my shoes.— Good faith, it cannot but please her exceedingly. jB»'Fallace. 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. Whither go you now with him ? Deli. No whither with him, dear wife; I po 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. {Exit. Fal. Nay, an I be not worthy to know whither you go, stay till I take knowledge of your coming back. Maci. Hear you, mistress Deliro. Fal. So, sir, and what say you ? Maci. Faith, lady, my intents will not deserve this slight respect, when you shall know them. Fal. Your intents ! why, what may your intents be, for God's sake } Maci. 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. Maci. Now, therefore, if you can think upon any present means for his delivery, do not foreslow it. A bribe to the officer that committed him will do it. Fal. O lord, sir ! he shall not want for a bribe; pray you, will you commend me to him, and say I'll visit him presently Maci. 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. \^Exit Mkci.'] — 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 hb service. {Exit. Mit. How Macilente sweats in this lusiness, if you mark him I Cor. Ay, you shall see the true picture of spite, anon : here comes the pawn and his redeemer. SCENE Yl.—A Room at the Mure. Enter Deliko, Pungoso, and George. 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 apparel, 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 with so good occasion to shew m) 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. SCENE v: 67 Fung. Let me have a capon's leg saved, now the reckoning is paid. George. You shall, sir. [.Exit. Enter Macii-ente. Maci. Where's signior Deliro ? Deli. Here, Ma-^ilente. Maci. Hark you, sir, have you dispatch'd this game ? Deli. Ay, marry have I. Maci. Well then, I can tell you news ; Brisk is in the Counter. Deli. In the Counter ! Maci. '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. Maci. 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 will, brother. Maci. 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 fiiult with your coming behind the fashion ; nor nothing. Fung. Nay, I am out of those humours now. Maci. Well, if you be out, keep your distance, and be not made a shot-clog any more. — Come, signior, let's make haste. iExeunt. SCENE VII.— T/i^ Counter. Enter Fallace and Fastidious 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. As upon her lips, does she mean ? Mit. 0. this is to be imagined the Counter, hcUhe. 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 with his actions upon you, Lord deliver you ' you are in for one half-a-score year ; he kept a poor man in Lud- 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 this passion ? Fal. O lord, master Fastidious, if you knew how I took up my liusband 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 1 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 Euphues, 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, I 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 Deliro anc7 SIacilents. Fal. O me ! Deli. Ay ! Is it thus ? Maci. 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 ! Maci. Why, look you, sir, I told you, you might iave 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 visits, 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 ! Deli. Out, lascivious strumpet ! [Exit. Maci. V/hat ! did you see how ill that stale vein became him afore, of sweet 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. Maci. O yes, sir ; I can tell you a thing will dis- tract you much better, believe it : Signior Deliro has entered three actions against you, three actions, monsieur ! 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. Maci. 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 ! EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOLR. ACT. V. Mad. What ! do you sigh ? this is to Mss the hand of a countess, to have her coach sent for you , to hang poniards in ladies'' garters, to tvear brace- lets of their hair, and for every one of these great favours to give some slight jewel of five 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 Fastidious, 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 Than 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 ; but let them vanish, va- pours ! Gentlemen, how like you it? has't not been tedious.' Cor. Nay, we have done censuring now, Mit Yes, faith. Maci. How so ? Cor. Marry, because well imitate your actors^ and be out of our humours. Besides, here are those round about you of more ability in censure than we, whose judgments can give it a more satis- fying allowance ; we'll refer yoii to them. [Exeunt Cordatus and Mitis Maci. [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 AmphytriOj for all this, summi Jovis causa 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. L^xit. THE EPILOGUE, AT THE PRESENTATION BEFORE QUEEN 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 hallow'd bowels of the silver Thames, Is check'd by strength and clearness of the river. Till it hath spent itself even at the shore ; So in the ample and unmeasured flood Of her perfections, are my passions drown'd ; 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, IKneels, O heaven, that She, whose presence hath eftected I 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 thpo 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, perfuming, 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 shalt thou find some here, even in the reign of Cynthia,— a Crites and an Arete. Now, under thy Phoebus, it will be 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, Bkn Jonson. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Cynthia. Mkrcury. Hesperus. Crites. Amorphus. ASOTUS. Hedon. Anaides. morphides. Prosaites. MORUS. Cupid. Echo. Arete. Phantaste. Argurion. Philautia. MOKIA. Cos. Gelaia. Phronesis, \ Thauma, \Mutes. Time, J SCENE,— Gargaphie. THE STAGE. After the second sounding, Enter three of the Children struggling. 1 Child. Pray you away ; why, fellows ! Gods so, what do you mean ? 2 Child. Marry, that you shall not speak the prologue, sir. 3 Child. Why, do you hope to speak it? 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. / plead possession of the cloak : gen- ties, your suffrages, I pray you. [Within. 3 iVhy, children! are you not ashamed ? come in there. 3 Child. Slid, F II 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 I offer so prodigally. I 1 Child. No, would I were whipped if I had I any sfxh thought ; try it by lots either. ! 2 Child. Faith, I dare tempt my fortune in a gre-atcr venture than this. 3 Cliild. Well said, resolute Jack ! I am con- tent too, so we draw first. Make the cuts. 1 Child. But IV ill you not snatch my cloak whih. I am stooping ? 3 Child. No, we scorn treachery. 2 Child. Which cut shall speak it? 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. Slay, Jack: 'slid, I' II do somewhat now afore I go in, though it be nothing but to revenge myself on the author : since I speak not his pro- logue, I'll go tell all the argument of his play afore-hand, and so stale his invention to the (\udi~ 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 ReveLs, as any man that halh hope to le saved by his book CYNTHIA'S REVELS. can witness ; the scene Gargaphie, which I do vehfmently suspect for some fustian country ; but let that vanish. Ilere is the cotirt of Cynthia, whither he brin'.js Cupid travelling on foot^ re- solved to turn page. By the way Cupid meets ivilh 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 these 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 art end of her. Now I am to inform you, that Cupid and Mercury do both be- come pages. Cupid attends on Philauda, or Self- love, a court lady : Mercury follows Hedon, the Voluptuous, and a courtier ; one that ranks him- self even icith 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 Amorphics, 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 have 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 fVhetstone 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 tliey 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 Cyjithia's train, thafs 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 ? at a stand ! 2 Child. Come, leave at last, yet. 3 Child. O, the night is come, (' tic as somewhat dark, methought.) and Cynthia intends to come forth ; that helps it a little yet. All the courtiers must provide for revels ; they conclude iipon a masque, the device of ichich is What, will you ravish me ? that each of these Vices, being to appear before Cynthia, icould seem other than indeed they are ; and therefore assume the most neighbouring Virtues as their masking habit Fd cry a rape, but that you are children. 2 Child. Coyne, we'll have no more of this anti- cipation ; to give them the inventory of their cates aforehand, were the discipline of a tavern, and not fitting this presence. 1 Child. Tut, this was hut to shew us the hap- piness of his memory. I thought at first he u'ould have plaid the ignorant critic loith every thing, along as he had gone ; I expected some such device. 3 Child. O, you shall see me do that rarely ; lend me thy cloak. 1 Child. Soft, sir, you'll speak my prologue in it. 3 Child. N'o, would I might never stir then. 2 Child. Lend it him, lend it him. 1 Child. Well, you have sivorn. [Gives him the cloak. 3 Child. / have. 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 abominable able to stretch a man's ears worse than ten pillories and their ditties 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 ivould poison me, I should not dare to come iii at their gates A man were better visit fifteen jails or a dozen or two of hospitals than 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 noio, 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 ask you, Would you have a stool, sir 3 Child. A stool, boy I 2 Child. Ay, sir, if you'll give me sixpence Fll 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 statt 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, gov 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 instant'y to begin. 3 Child. Mofit 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. 7i ure not so officiously htfrienrled hy him, as to have his presence in the tiring-house, to prompt us aloud, stamp at the book-holder, swear for our properties, curse the poor tireman, rail the music out of tune, 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 turned upon thy trust. Jt is in the general behalf of this fair society here that I am to speak, at leas-t the more judicious part of it, which seems much distasted with the immodest and obscene ivriting of many in their plays. Besides, they could wish your poets would^leave to be promoters of other men^s jests, 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 ivholly upon another man's trencher. Again, that feeding their friends toith 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 conches 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 ? 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 umbric 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 (iivay 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, Hnd the tokens upon you, that are of the auditory? As some one civet-wit among you, that knoivs no other learning, than the price of satin and velvets : nor other perfection than the wearing of a neat suit ; a7id yet will censure as desperately as the most profess' d critic in the house, presuming his clothes shoidd bear him out in it. Another, v)hom it hath pleased nature to furnish with more beard than brain, prunes his mustaccio, lisps, and, with some score of affected oaths, sioears down all that sit about him ; " That the old Hierunimo, 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 oj that fashion, because his doublet is still so. A fourth r.iiscalls 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 squeezcth 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 cloali, 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 Third Sounding. PROLOGUE. If gracious silence, siveet attention. Quick sight, and quicker apprehension. The lights of judgments throne, shine any ichere. 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 aiiy 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 \_iwine. What merit is : then cast those piercing rays. Round as a crown, instead of honour' d bays. About his poesy ; which, he knoics, affords Words, above action; matter, above words. ACT I. SCENE I A Grove and Fountain. £nler Cupid, and Mercuhy with his caduceus, on different sides. Cup. Who goes there ? Mer. 'Tis I, blind archer. Cup. Who, Mercury ? Mer. Ay. Cup. Farewell. Aler. Stay, Cupid. Cup. Not in your company, Hermes, except vcur hands were riveted at your back. Mer. Why so, my little rover ? Cup. Because I 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. Cup. Daring! O Janus I what a word is there' CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT 1. why, my light feather-heel'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 sexto ! 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 j^ou 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 lalons 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 perfum'd courtiers keep their casting-bottles, pick-tooths, and shittle-cocks from you, or our more ordinary gallants their tobacco-boxes ; for I am strangely jealous of your nails. ]\[er. 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 breathed 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 all 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 which 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 I 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. [Exit, 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, [below.] Here. Mer. So nigh ! 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 j-ears, 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, [ascends.'] His name revives, and lifts me up from earth, O, 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 grisf I go withal.' See, see, the mourning ^ount, whose springs weep Th' untimely fate of that too beauteous boy, [yet SCENES I. S REVELS, 73 That trophy of self-love, and spoil of nature, Who, now transform'd into this drooping flowei*, Hangs the repentant head, back from the stream, As if it wish'd, Would I had never look'd In such a pattering mirror ! O Narcissus, Thou that wast once, and yet art, my Narcissus, Had Echo but been private with thy thoughts. She would have dropt away herself in tears. Till she had all turn'd water ; that in her. As in a truer glass, thou might'st have gazed And seen thy beauties by more kind reflection. But self-love never yet could look on truth But with blear' d beams ; slick flattery and she A.re 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 hath, 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 turn'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 ! Witness thy youth's dear sweets here spent un- Like a fair taper, with his own flame wasted, [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 1 deny thee. Begin, and more to grace thy cunning voice, The humoui-ous air shall mix her solemn tunes With thy sad words : strike, music, from the spheres. And with your golden raptures swell our ears. Echo [accompanie(l'\. ^low, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears : Vet, slower, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs : List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division, when she sittgs. Droop herbs a7id flowers, 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 withered daffodil. — Mer. Now, have you done ? Echo. Done presently, good Hermes : bide a Suffer my thirsty eye to gaze awhile, [little ; 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. Echo. Here young Acteonfell, pursued and torn By Cynthia's wrath, more eager than his hounds ; And here— ah me, the place is fatal !— see The weeping Niobe, translated hither From Plirygian mountains ; and by Phoebe rear'd, As the proud trophy of her sharp revenge. Mer. Nay, hut 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 thes. So idle worldlings merely made of voice, Censure the Powers above them. Come, away, Jove calls thee hence ; and his will brooks no stay. Echo. O, stay : I hdvb3her cheeks withcil. She would betray her loth'd and leptous face. And fright the enamour'd dotards from themselves : But such is the perverseness of our nature, That if we once but fancy levity. How antic and ridiculous soe'er It suit with us, yet will our muffled thought Choose rather not to see it, than avoid it : And if we can but banish our own sense, We act our mimic tricks with that free license, That lust, that pleasure, that security, As if we practised in a paste-board case. And no one saw the motion, but the motion. Well, check thy passion, lest it grow too loud : While fools are pitied, they wax fat and proud. ACT II. SCENE I.— The Court. Enter Cupid and Mercury, disguised as Pages. Cup. Why, this was most unexpectedly fol- lowed, my divine delicate Mercury ; by the beard of Jove, thou art a precious deity. 3fer. Nay, Cupid, leave to speak improperly; since we are turn'd cracks, let's study to be like cracks ; practise their language and behaviours, and not with a dead imitation : Act freely, carattire, soft beds, a-nd silken thoughts, attend this dear beauty. Amo. So, sir, pray you, away. Aso. More than most fair lady, Let not the rigojxr of your just disdain Thus coarsely censure of your servanVs zeal ; I protest you are the only, and absolute, unap- parell'd Amo. Unparallel'd. Aso. Unparallel'd creature, I do adore, ari':} admire, and respect, and reverence, in this cor- ner of the world or kingdom. Amo. This is, if she abide you. But now, put the case she should be passsjnt when you enter, as thus : you ai'e to frame your gait thereafter, and call upon her, lady, nymph, sweet refiigp, 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 ! are you all alone 9 Amo. We would be, sir, if you ivould leave us. Aso. / am at your beauty's appointment, bright angel; but Amo. fVhat but « Aso. iVo harm, more than most fair feature. Amo. That touch relish'd well. Aso. But, I protest Amo. And why should you protest 9 Aso. For good toill, dear esteemed 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 ruffie 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 faith, madam, whosoever told yoiii 81 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT IV ladyship so, abused you ; but I would be glad to meet your ladyship in a measure. Amo. Me, sir! Belike you measure me by yourself, hen ? Aso. ould I might, fair feature. Amo. And what were you the better, if you might ? Aso. The belter it please you to ask, fair lady. Amo. Why, this was ravishing, and most 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 gal- lant. Convey in your courting-stock, we will in the heat of this go visit the nymphs' chamber. lExeunL ACT SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Phantaste, Philautia, Argurion, Moria, and Cupid. 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'll 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. 3for. They do not peel, sweet charge, do they ? Phi. Yes, a little, guardian. Mor. O, '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 maybe 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 un- measurable strain. Pha. Pray thee sit down, Philautia ; 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 I 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 hira. 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 my 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. IV. 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 & 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 ill 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 son there, Aso- tus ; methinks none of them all come near him. 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 lea and foot, a white hand, a tender voice. Phi. How now, Argurion ! Pha. O, you should have let her alone, she was fCENE 1. CYNTHIA'S llEVELS. 8fi bestowing a copy of him upon us. 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. Pha. 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 young 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 be 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 Bhame-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 j'ou they will all relinquish ; they cannot endure above another year ; I know it out of future experience ; and therefore take 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 wish 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 ; whioh 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 with her horse-keeper, who with her monkey, and who with all ; yes, and ^ho 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 t^eck, and all things in it depending on my look ; IS if there were no other heaven but in my smile, uor 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 huslaand, 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 heartily, 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 a 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 all this, which 1 would call the Book of Humours, and every night read a little piece ere I slept, and laugh at it. — Here comes Hedon. E7iter HEDON, Anaides, and Mercury, who retires with Cupid to the back of the stage, where they 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. 8^5 CYNTHIA'I S REVELS. ACT If Phi. That were the next way to dis-title myself of honour. O, no, rather be still Ambitious, I pray you. Hed. I will be any thing that you please, whilst it pleaseth you to be yourself, lady. Sweet Phan- taste, dear Moria, most beautiful Argurion Ana. Farewell, Hedon. Hed. Anaides, stay, whither go you ? A7ig,. '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 us 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 ? 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. Ana. 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 Amorphus and Asotus. Amo. That was your father's love, the nymph Argurion. I would have you direct all your court- ship thither ; if you could but endear yourself to her aifection, you were eternally engallanted. Aso. 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 pohte 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 oatlis out of his pocket. Arg. But will you 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, and unparallel'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 — yours 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 ! Cup. There are new oaths for him. What ! doth Hermes taste no alteration in all this ? Mer. Yes, thou hast strook Argurion enamour'd on Asotus, methinks. Cup. Alas, no ; 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 richest 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, Shall she not answer for this, to maintain him thus in swearing } Mer. O 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 ! 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 ? 8CENE I. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. Phi. Ay, that. Who begins ? Pha. I have thought ; speak your adjectives, 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. Hed. Yours, signior. Aso. What must I do, sir? Amo. Give forth your adjective with the rest; as prosperous, good, fair, sweet, well Hed. 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 odoriferous 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. W^ell, 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 humble breeches, Argurion ? Arg. Humble ! because they use to be sat upon ; besides, if you tie them not up, their property is to full down about your heels. Mer. She has worn the breeches, it seems, which have done so. Pha. But why white-liver d f 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, Hedon ? 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 all ; 'tis a conceit of that fortune, I am bold to hug my brain for. Pha. How is it, exquisite Amorphus ? Amo. O, I am rapt with it, 'lis so tit, 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 ! Many, 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, &c. 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 9 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 ? Amo. For the delight of ladies. Pha. When, Argurion ? Arg. Last progress. Pha. Where, Anaides ? A7ia. 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 willingly 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 ; I will keep both : pray you let's go see him. Arg. Whither goes my love ? 88 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. AJT IV. Aso. I'll return presently, I go but to see a page with this lady. [Exeunt Asotcs and Moria. 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, Araorphus, 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 " the JTm," Honour ? Phi. Ay, good Ambition. Hedon sings. O, that joy so soon should loaste ! 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 J would it smother. Were I to taste such another ; It should be 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 before 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 occasion, 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 calling upon me, w^ith my name in her lips, she expired. As that (I must mourningly say) ig 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, Cupid? 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, some hour before she departed, she bequeath' d to me this glove : which golden legacy, the emperor himself took care to send after mfe, in six coaches, covered 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, that now 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 ofter 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. Atno. I care not to admit that, since it pleaseth Philautia to request it. Hed. Here, sir. Amo. Nay, play it, I pray you ; you do well, you do well. — [He sirigs 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 intelligent musician, I know, but will affirm to be very rare, extraordinary, and pleasing. Mer. And yet not fit to lament the death of a 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. Re-enter Anaides, Amo. How now, -\naides! what is ife hath con- 1. CYNTHIA S REVELS. 89 jured up this distemperature in the circle of your face ? Ana. Why, what have you to do ? A pox upon your filthy travelling face ! hold your to igue. Hed. 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. Hed. 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. 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. Re-enter Asotus and Moria, with Morus. Aso. Come, sweet lady, in good truth I'll have it, you shall not deny me. Mor\xs, persuade your aunt I may have her picture, by any means. Morus. Yea, Sir : good aunt now, let him have it, he will use m? the oetter ; if you love me do, good aunt. Mor. Well, tell him he shall have it. Morus. 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 off a while. Morus. 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 protest, more than most fair ladies, I 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, : nd this diamond, for my sake ? Avg. O ! Aso. And you, madam, this jewel and pendants Arg. O! Pha. We know not how to deserve these bounties, out of so sUght merit, Asotus. Phi. No, in faith, but tliere'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 Argurion. 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 purchases this must needs bring Argurion to a consumption. Hed. Sir, I shall never stand in the merit oi 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 ! ISwoons. Amo. Help the lady there ! Mor. Gods-dear, Argurion ! madam, how do you ? Arg. Sick. Pha. Have her forth, and give her air. Aso. I come again straight, ladies. \_Exeunt Asotus, Morvs, and Argurion. Mer. Well, I doubt all the physic he has will scarce recover her ; she's too far spent. Re-enter Anaides with Gklaia, Prosaites, and Cos, with 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 jealous now. Gel. That's true, indeed ; pray let's go. 3Ior. 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 1 know not how many cockatrioes and things. 90 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 obsei-vance 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 him 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 : — [knocking within.'] Who's that knocks? look, page. \.ExU Cos. Mor, O, most delicious ; a little of this would make Argurion well. Pha. O, no, give her no cold drink, by any means. Ana. 'Sblood, this water is the spirit of wine, I'll be hang'd else. Re-enter Cos ivith 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 unlocked for device of wit, to entertain her, against she should vouchsafe to grace your pastimes with her presence. Amo. What say you to a masque ? Hed. Nothing better, if the project were new and rare. Are. Why, I'll send for Crites, and have his advice : be you ready in your endeavours : he shall discharge you of the inventive part. Pha. But will 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 with 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 1 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 music 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 do 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. Morns. 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. y/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. SCENE I. CYiNTHIA'S REVELS. 91 Amo. Contain yourself, you were a fortunate young man, if you knew your own good ; which I have now projected, and will presently multiply upon you. Beauties and valours, your vouch- safed applause to a motion. The humorous Cyn- thia hath, 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 ? j All. Excellent, excellent, Amorphus. I Amo. Well, let us then take our time by the 1 forehead : I will instantly have bills drawn, and | advanced in every angle of the court. — Sir, betray j not your too much joy. — Anaides, we must mix j this gentleman with you in acquaintance, monsieur i Asotus. Ana. I am easily entreated to grace any of your [ friends, Amorphus. j Aso. Sir, and his friends shall likewise grace i you, sir. Nay, I begin to know myself now. j Amo. 0, you must continue your bounties. i Aso. Must I ? Why, I'll give him this ruby on my finger. Do you 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. Morus. 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, Morus, 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 but the Page^ Mer. I wonder this gentleman should affect to keep a fool : methinks he makes sport enough with himself. Cup. Well, Prosaites, '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. iExit. 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.'] Sirrah, a torch, a torch ! Pro. O, what a call is there ! I will have a can- zonet made, with nothing in it but sirrah ; and the burthen shall be, I come. lExit. 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 ! Well, I have a plot against these prizers, for which I must presently find out Crites, and with his assistance pursue it to a high strain of laughter, or Mercury hath lost of his metal. \_Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.— The same. Enter Mkrcurv and Chites. 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 form'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, j Th' offence will be return'd with weight on me, That am a creature so despised and poor ; When the whole court shall take itself abused By our 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, W^ho, 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 Phoebus 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 follow'd such a cause, and such a chief. [Exeunt 92 CYNTHIA S REVELS. ACT V. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Asotus and Amorphus. Aso. 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 find 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 gentile 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. 1 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 redoundeth. Aso. Why, sir, what, do you think you 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 with 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 Morphidks. 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 officious 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 Wije. [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 Phantaste, Philautia, Argurion, Moria, Hbdon, and Anaides, introducing two Ladies. Welcome beauties, and your kind shadows. Hed. This country lady, my friend, good sig- nior Amorphus. Ana. And my cockatrice here. Amo. She is welcome. The 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 Wife. My brother. Amo. With whom ? your brother ! Morp. Who is your brother ? Wife. Master Asotus. Amo. Master Asotus ! is he your brother ? he SCENE II. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. is taken up with great persons ; he is not to know you to-night. Re-enter Asotus hastily. Aso. O Jove, master I an there come e'er a citizen gentlewoman in my name, let her have entrance, I pray you : it is my sister. Wife. Brother! Cit. [thrusting 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 Citizen'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 ! iPushes 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 a lantern, brother. Be merry, sister ; I shall make you laugh 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 Philautia, guardian, signior Hedon, signior Anaides, gentlemen all, ladies. All. Thanks, good Amorphus. Amo. I will now call forth my provost, and present him. [Exit. 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, I pray ? I see no reason but w^e should take them down at their own weapons. Phi. Troth, and so we may, if we handle them well. 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. lA Flourish. Pha. Peace, peace ! they come. Re-enter Amorphus, 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 I 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, Acolastus-Polypragmon- Asotus, to play his master's prize, against all masters whatsoever, in this subtile mystery, at these four, the choice and most cjmning weapons of court-compliment^ viz. the BARE ACCOST ; the better regard ; the 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 oj 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 : 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 tips tvag- ging, and never a wise word : for the Perfect Close, a wring by the hand, with a banquet in a corner. And Phoebus 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 ; victi, victce, 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 Mori A to the state.] may we implore you to stand forth, as first term or bound to our courtship. Hed. 'Fore heaven, 'twill shew rarely. Amo. Sound a charge. charge. Ana. A pox on't ! Your vulgar will count this fabulous and impudent now : by that candle, they'll never conceit it. ll'hey act their Accost severally to Mobia, Pha. Excellent well ! admirable I 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. \_A flourish Hed. This weapon is done. Amo. No, we have our two bouts at every wea pon ; expect. Cri. [within.'] Where be these gallants, ana their brave prizer here ? Morp. Who's there ? bear back ; keep the door Enter. Crites, introducing Mercukv fantastically dressed Amo. What are you, sir ? Cri. By your license, grand-master — Come forward, sir. LTo IMkrcury, Ana. Heart ! who let in that rag there amongst us ? Put him out, an impecunious creature. CYNTHIA'! S REVELS. ACT V. Jled. Out with him. Morp. Come, sir. A mo. 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. Amo. Is he a master ? Cri. That, 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 stuff, 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. Well, 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 Mr.RCURy.] 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 'haviour, 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 all 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, all 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.'] This is authen- 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 on 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 us to you, sir. rhi. Believe it, he is a man of excellent silence. Pha. He keeps all his wit for action. Ana. This hath discountenanced our scholaris, most richly. Hed. Out of all emphasis. The monsieur sees we regard him not. Amo. Hold on ; make it known how bitter a thing it is not to be look'd on in court. Hed. '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. 'Shght, what an ass was I to embrace him ! Cri. Illustrio\;s 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 follow) 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 so fool- ish to feel it. Amo. Is it your suit, monsieur, to see som^ prelude of my scholar .'' Now, 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 will 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 Mori a back to the state.] 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 moi;thed wave ? Cri. He is in some distaste of your fellow dis- ciple. Mer. Signior, your scholar might have played v/ell 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. I am prest for the encounter. Amo. Me ! challenge me ! 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. SCENK II. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. A so. Master ! Jmo. Silence 1 I do accept him. Sit you down and observe. Me ! he never profest a thing at more charges. — Prepare yourself, sir. — Challenge me 1 I will prosecute what disgrace my hatred can dictate to me. Cri. How tender a traveller's spleen is ! Com- parison to men that deserve least, is ever most offensive. Amo. You are instructed in our chartel, and know our weapons ? Mer. I appear not without their notice, sir. Aso. But must I lose the prizes, master ? Amo. I will win them for you ; be patient. — Lady, [to Mori a,] vouchsafe the tenure of this ensign. — Who shall be your stickler ? Mer. Behold him. IPolnts to Critks. Amo. I would not wish you a weaker. — Sound, musics. — I provoke you at the Bare Accost. [_A charge. Pha. Excellent comely ! Cri. And worthily studied. This is the exalted foretop. Hed. 0, 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. charge. Pha. Good, believe it ! Phi. An excellent offer ! Cri. This is called the solemn band-string. Hed. Foh, that cringe was not put home. Ana. He makes a face like a stabb'd Lucrece, Aso. Well, he would needs take it upon him, but would I had done it for all this. lie 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 Strious 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. \_A 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 must prefer 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. ^ Ana. Give the monsieur. Amorphus hath lost his 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 ! tie up your tongue, mun- grel. 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. lA 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 ! A7ia. 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. Dallies! 'Slight, see! he'll put him to't in earnesf. — Well done, Amorphus ! Ana. That puff was good indeed. Cri. Ods me ! 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 ; like your rodomontado. 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. 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 tanto obligo per le favor e re- sciuto da lei ; che veramente desidero con tutto il core, d remunerarla in parte: e sicurative, signora mea cai-a, che io sera sempre pronto a servirla, e honoraria. Bascio le mane de vo' signoria. Cri. The Venetian dop this. Pha. Most unexpectedly excellent ! The French goes down certain. do CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT \. Aso. As buckets are put down into a well ; Or as a school-bop Cri. Truss up your simile, jack-daw, and observe. Hed. Now the monsieur is moved. Ana. Bo-peep ! Hed. O, most an tick. Cri. The French quirk, this sir. Ana. Heart, he will over-run her. Mer. Madamoyselle, Je voudroy que pouvoy monstrgr mon affection., maisje suis taut malheu- reuse, ci froid, ci laijd, 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 a fan waving. Ana. They have done doubtfully. Divide. Give the favourable face to the signior, and the light wave to the monsieur. Amo. You become the simper well, lady. Mer. And the wag better. Amo. Now, to our Solemn Address. Please the well-graced Philautia to relieve the lady sentinel ; she hath stood long. Phi. With all my heart ; come, guardian, resign your place. [Morfa 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. lA charge. Mer. Lackey, where's the tailor ? Enter Tailor, Barber, Perfumer, Milliner, Jeweller, and Feather-maker. Tai. Here, sir. Hed. See, thsy have their tailor, barber, per- fumer, milliner, jeweller, feather-maker, all in common I {_7^ey 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 ? Mer. Is this pink of equal proportion to this cut, standing off this distance from it ? Tai. That it is, sir. Mer. Is it so, sir ? You impudent poltroon, you slave, you list, you shreds, you IBeats the Tailor. Hed. Excellent ! This was the best yet. Ana. Why, we must use our tailors thus : this is our true magnanimity. Mer. Come, g(» 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 «m't. I frotted a jerkin for a new- revenued gentleman yielded me three-score crowns but this morning, and the same thillation. Amo. I savour no sampsuchine in it. Per. I am a Nulli-fidian, if there be not three- thirds of a scruple more of sampsuchinum in this confection, than ever I put in any. I'll tell you all the ingredients, sir. Amo. You shall be simple to discover your simples. Per. Simple ! why, sir ? What reck I to whom I discover.^ I have in it musk, civet, amber, Phoenicobalanus, the decoction of turmerick, sesana, nard, spikenard, calamus odoratus, stacte, opobal- samum, amomum, storax, ladanum, aspalathum, opoponax, oenanthe. And what of all these now? 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 suffuraigation. 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 purchase another's delight ? for themselves, who bear the odours, have ever the least sense of them. Yet I do like better the prodigaUty of jewels and clothes, whereof one passeth to a man's heirs ; the other at least wears out time. This presently expires, and, without 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, sir. 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 such 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. You shall give 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 will 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 I 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 ! FCKNE ri. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 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 yon, you'll all say so. Mil. You give me not a penny, sir. Mer. Come, sir, perfume my devant ; Mai/ it ascend, like solemn sacrifice, Into the nostrils of the Queen of Love ! lied. 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 1 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-hill, a draught, seven years, and take them out and wash, them, they shall still retain their first scent, true Spanish. There's ambre in tlie umbre. Mer. Your price, svireet Fig Per. Give me wlaat 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 ia a chain, too, if you like it. Amo. Stay, what are the ingredients to your fucus ? 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, varlet, poltroon. IDeats him. Hed. Excellent, excellent ! Ana. Your French beat is the most natural beat of the world. Aso. O that I had played at this weapon. \_A charge. Pha. Peace, now they come on ; the second part. Amo. Madam, yourheauties being so attractive, I muse you are left thus alone. Phi. Better be alone, sir, thayi ill accompanied. Amo. Nought can he ill, lady, that can come near your goodness. Mer. Siveet madam, on what part of you soever a man casts his eye, he meets with perfection ; you are the lively image of Venus throughout ; all the graces smile in your cheeks ; your beauty nourishes as loell as delights ; you have a tongue steeped in honey, and a breath like a panther ; your breasts and forehead are tvhitcr 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. Your cheeks are Cupid's baths, ivherein 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. Yet I love 7iothing in you more than your innoceyice. ; you retain so native a simplicity, so unblamed a behaviour ! Melhinks, with such a love, I should find 910 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 competicor 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 ; 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. I say you are fair, lady, let your choice be fit, as you are fair. Mer. / 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 flouribli. 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, Crites ! Cri. You suffer them too long. Me7: 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 slate instead o/Philautia. 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 yoiir 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 I am noble Amo. As I am virtuous Mer. Pardon me, sir. Amo. I will die first. Mer. You are a tyrant in courtesy. 08 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. Amo. He is removed.— [.S'/ays Mkrcurv on his movhif^ .'] — Judges, bear witness. Mcr. What of that, sir? Amo. You are removed, sir. Mer. Well. 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. Mir. Right, sir. Amo. And you have still in your hat the former colours. Mer. You lie, sir, I have none : I have pulled tliemout. I meant to jolay discoloured. iAjlourish. Cri. The Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the palpable Dor ! Ana. Heart of ray blood, Amorphus, what have you done ? stuck a disgrace upoa us all, and at your last weapon ! Aso. I could have done no more. Hed. By heaven, it was most unfortunate luck. Ana. Luck ! by that candle, it w'as mere rash- i^ess, and oversight ; would any man have ventured to play so open, and forsake his ward ? D n uie, if he have not eternally undone himself in court, and discountenanced us that were his main countenance, by it. Aino. 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 3rOur touch ; and the bones of her fingers ran out at length when you prest 'em, they are so gently de- licate ! 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. Anu. 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 courtling; nor to have any excellent stroke ut your subtile weapons ; yet if you please, I dare venture a hit with you, or your fellow, sir Dagonet, here. Ana. With me I 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. Ued. 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. A7ia. Are you so confident ! what's your weapon? Cri. At any, I, sir. Mer. The Perfect Close, that's now the best. A7ia. Content, I'll pay your scholarity. Who ofi'ers ? Cri. Marry, that will I : I dare give you that advantage too. Ana. You dare ! well, look to your liberal sconce. Amo. Make your jjlay still, upon the answer, sir. Ana. Hold your peace, you area hobby-horse. AiO. Sit by me, master. M(r. Now, Crites, strike home. LA charoe. Cri. You shall see me undo the assured swag- gererwith a trick, instantly: I will play all his own play before him ; court the wench in his garb, in his phrase, with his face ; leave him not so much as a look, an eye, a stalk, or an imper.fect oath, to express himself by, after me. lAside to MsRCURY. Mer. Excellent, Crites. A/ia. 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 Philaut'ia.] Well, madam, or sweet lady, it is so, I do love you in some sort, do you conceive ? and though I am no monsietir, 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 on" that deals by art, to give you rhetoric and cazises, why it should be so, or make it good it is so 9 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 hoiv it can be no otherwise but so Hed. '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 : Hed. 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, [to Hedon.] 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 cannot reckon them, they are so many ; so you cannot recount them, they are so manifest. Yours, if his own, unfortunate Hoyden, instead of Hedon. IAjlourish. Aso. Sister, come away, I cannot endure them longer. \_Exeunt all but Mkrcury and Critks. Mer. Go, Dors, and you, my madam Courting- Follow your scorned and derided mates ; [stocks, Tell to your guilty breasts, what mere gilt block* You are, and how unworthy 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. Will 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 estatei CYNTHIA'S REVELS. Fancy, and form, and sensual pride have gotten, Will make them blush for anger, not for siiame, And turn shewn nakedness to impudence. Humour is now the test we try things in : AH 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 v^hich 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 unpardon'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. — Sec, here comes Arete ; I'll withdraw myself. iKxlt. Enter Arete. 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 unmeasurable vanity Dance truly in a measure. They agree ! What though all concord's boi n 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 are 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 foUies 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 W^hose 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! Are. Hark, I am call'd. \_Exil Cri. I follow instantly. Phoebus Apollo, if with ancient rites. And due devotions, I have ever hung Elaborate Pseans 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 jierfumed. 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. [/.V»7 — ❖ — SCENE III. Enter IIksperus, Cynthia, Arktk, Time, Piiron'ksis, cdiiI TUAUMA. Music accompanied. IlEsrERUs sincjs. Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now tlie sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair. State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light. Goddess, excellently bright. Karth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Ileav'n to clear, when day did close : Bless us then with ■wished sight, Goddess excellently briglit. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver ; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that niak'st a day of r.iglit, Goddess excellently bright. Cyii. 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 still-repaired shine. And not forbid our virgin-waxen torch To burn and blaze, while nutriment doth last ; That once consumed, out of Jove's treasur/ .\ new we take, and stick it in our sphere, 100 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. ACT V. To give the mutinous kind of wanting men Their look'd-for light. Yet what is their desert ? Bounty is wrong'd, interpreted as due ; Mortals can challenge not a ray, hy 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 ; 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 I'enown 1 But giddy Cupid, Venus' frantic son. Yet, Arete, if by this veiled light \Yq but discover'd (what we not discern) Any the least of imputations stand Heady to sprinkle 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 I Infinite jealousies, infinite regards, Do watch about the true virginity : But Phoebe 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 spoi ts 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 pi-aise ; 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 Aretb. THE FIRST MASaUE. Enter Cupid, disguised as Anteros, /o^o^ved hy Storge, Aglaia, Eupliantaste, and Aplielcia. Cup. Clear pearl of heaven, and, not to he far- ther ambitious in titles, CyntMa ! the fame of thin illustrious night, among others, hath also drawn these four fair virgins from the palace of their queen Perfection, ( a luord which makes no suffi. cient difference betwixt her's and thine,) to visit thy imperial court : for she, their sovereign, not finding ivhere to dwell among men, before her re- turn to heaven, advised them wholly to consecrate themselves to thy celestial service, as in whose 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 knows no commendation is more available ivith thee, than that of proper virtue. Nevertheless she willed them to present this crystal mound, a note of monarch/, 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 ivhatsoever the ivorld hath excellent, hoivsoever 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. The first, in citron colour, is natural affection which, given us to iirocure 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 ivas 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 0}ie'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, ivhose property is to move a kindly delight, and sometime not loithout laughter i her office to entertain assemblies, and keep societies together with fair familiariti/. Her device, within a ring of clouds, a heart with shine about it ; the word curarum nubila pello : an allegory of Cyn- SCENE III. 101 Ihia's light, which no less clears the sky than her fair mirth the heart. The third, in the discoloured mantle spangled all over, is Euphantaste, a well-conceited Witli- ness and employed in honourinci 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 ofioitdoth ever increase, as doth thy growing moon. The fourth, in while, is Apheleia, a nymph as pure and simple as the soul, or as an ahrase table, and is therefore culled Simplicity ; without folds, without plaits, without colour, ivithout counterfeit ; and {to speak plainly) plainness itself. Her de- iice 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. Ml/self, celestial goddess, more fit for the court of Cynthia than the arbours of Cytherea, am called Anteros, or Love's enemy; the more welcome therefore to thy court, and the fitter to conduct this quaternion, loho, 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. lie cnlcr AuETE, ivilh CniTES. 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 unknown power, In virgin's habit, crown' d with laurel leaves, And olive-branches woven in between, On sea-girt rocks, like to a goddess sliiaes ! 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 with 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 flike 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 eclipsed. But not thy praise ; divinest Cynthia 1 How much too narrow for so high a grace, Tliine (save therein) the most unworthy Crites Doth find himself 1 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 MASQUE. Enter Mercury as a page, introducing Eucosmos, Eupa- tlies, Eutolmos, and Eucolos. Mer. Sister of Phoshus, to ichose bright orb we owe, that we not complain of his absence : these four brethren (for they are brethren, and sons of Eutaocia, a lady known, and highly beloved of your resplendent deity) not (%le to be absent, ivhen Cynthia held a solemnity, officiously insinuate themselves into thy presence : for, as there are four cardinal virtues, upon which the whole frame oj 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 J use several symbols, containing the titles of thy imperial dignity. First, the hithermost, in the changeable blue and green robe, is the commendably-fushioned gal- lant, Eucosmos ; whose courtly habit is the grace of the presence, and delight of the surveying eye : whom ladies understand by the names of Neat and Elegant. His symbol is, divae virgini, m which he ivould express thy deity's principal glory, which hath ever been virginity. The second, in the rich accoutrement, and robe of purple, empaled ivith gold, is Eupathes ; who entertains his mind with an harmless, but not in curious variety : all the objects of his senses are sumptuoits, himself a gallant, that, tvifhout excess, can make use of superfluUy, go richly in embroi- deries, jewels, and what not, without vanity, and fare delicately without gluttony ; and therefore (not without cause J is univ rsally Uiought to hi of fine humour. His symbol is. divse optimse : 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, divae viragini ; to express thy hardy courage in chase of savage beasts, which harbour in woods and ivildernesses. The fourth, in watchet tinsel, is the kind and truly benefique Eucolos, who imparteth not ivithoul respect, but yet ivithout difficulty, and halh tli* happiness to make every kindness seem double, by the timely and freely bestowing thereof. Jit is the chief of them, who by the vulgar are said to be oJ 102 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. good nature. His symbol is. divae maximse ; an adjunct to signify thy greatness, ivhich in heaven, earth, and hell, is formidable. Music. A Dance hy the tivo Masques joined, during n'hich Cupid 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 w^ere 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 methinks 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 a bran- dish upon it makes no matter -which of the couples. Phantaste and Amorphus, at you. [^Wavcs 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 antiperistasis about the place, that no heat of thine will tarry with the patient. Cup. It will tarry the rather, for the antipe- ristasis 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, ant be so, I'll give over speaking, and be a spectator only. \_The first 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 learn to do myself right after all this ruffling. \_Mnsic ; they begin the second dance. Mer. How now, Cupid.' here's a wonderful change v/ith your brandish ! do you not hear how they dote ? Cup. What prodigy is this ? no word of love, no mention, no motion ! 3Iei\ 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 Vi ill not work so soon upon some as upon others. It may be the rest are not so resty. Mer. Ex ungxie ; you know the old adage, as these so are the remainder. C^ip. I'll try : this is the same shaft with which I wounded Argurion. \_Wavcs 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. [2V: you. Ha! are we contemn'd ? Is there so little awe of our disdain, Tliat any (under trust of their disguise) Should mix themselves with others of the court. And, without forehead, boldly ]iress so far. As farther none? How apt is lenity To be abused ! severity to be loath'd ! And yet, how much more dotli 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 itnposthumes as Phantaste is Grovv in our palai-e? 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: Dear Mercury, our brother, like a page. To countenance the ambush of the boy 1 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 ; And Mercury bare Cupid company. Cupid, we must confess, this time of mirth, Proclaim'd by us, gave opportunity To thy attempts, althouj^h no privilege : Tempt us no farther ; we cannot endure Thy presence longer ; vanish hence, away ! lExit 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 W^e 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, ^lorus 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 scorn'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, ar.d 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) nnist 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 xinpunished ; for vice Is like a fury to the vicious mind. And turns delight itself to jninishment. 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 What Delia grantetli) 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, And of a stone be called Weeping-cross : Because it standeth cross of Cynthia's way, One of whose names is sacred Trivia. And after penance thus perforra'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 ; W'here, 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. Tliis is your sentence, if the goddess please To ratify it with her high consent : The scope of wise mirth unto fi'uit is bent. Cyn. We do approve thy censure, belov'd Crites ; Which Mercury, thy true propitious friend, (A deity next Jove beloved of us,) Will 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. \_ExeHnt Cynthia and her Nymphp, follou'cd by Arete and Crites : — Amorphus, Phantaste, (ncgo off the stage in pairs, singing the folloiving PALINODE. Aino. From Spanish shrugs, French faces, smirks, irpes, and all affected humours. Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. ACT V. 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. Phn. From perfumed dogs, monkies, sparrows, 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 faces. Chorus. Good Mercury 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 humours, Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. Mercury and Crites sing. Now each one dry his icecping eyes, And to the J Veil of Knotvledge haste ; Where, purged of yoiir maladies, You may of sioeeter waters taste : And, with rejined voice, report The grace of Cynthia, and her court. lExeunt. CYNTHIA'S REVELS. THE EPILOGUE. Gentles, be't known to you, since I went in I am turn'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 you like't, you may.'* Ecce rubct quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit. Hoc volo : nunc nobis carmina nostra placent. THE POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT. TO THE VIRTUOUS, AND MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. RICHARD MARTIN. Sir,— A thankful man owes a courtesy ever ; the unthankful but when he needs it. To make mine own mark appear, and shew hy 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 imdertaker, 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 rcadiiic; of that, without offence, to your name, which so much ignorance and malice of the times then conspired to have Gupprest. Your true lover, Ben Jonson. DRAMATIS PERSON2E. Augustus C^sar. M EC J.N AS. Marc. Ovid. Cor. Gallus. Sex. Propertius. Fus. Aristius, Pub. Ovid. Virgil, Horace. Trebatius. AsiNius Lupus. Pantilius Tucca. Luscus. RuF. Lab. Crispin vs. IIerimcgenes Tigelli'js. Demetrius Fannius. Albius. Minos. HiSTRIO. JEsov. Pyrgi. Lictors, Eqiiitis, Julia. Cytheris. Plautia. Chloe. Maids. SCENE,— Rome. J/tcr the second sounding. Envy arises in the midst of the stage. Light, I salute thee, but with wounded nerves, Wishing thy golden splendor pitchy darkness. What's here? The Arraignment! ay; this, this is it, That our sunk eyes have waked for all this ivhile: Here will he 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 : these fifteen iveeks, So long as since the plot was but an embrion, Havel, with burning lights mixt 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 hulk of Envy can afford : For I am risse here with a covetous hope., To blast your pleasures and destroy your sports, With wrestings, comments, appUcations, Spy -like suggestions, privy whisperings, And thousand such promoting sleights as these. JSIark hoiv I will begin : The scene is, ha ! Rome % 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 ; fie, 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 state ?■ [soul, Are there no players here 9 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 icould help me ; they could ivrest, Pervert, and poison all they hrar or see, With senseless glosses, and allusions. Noio, 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 squeez'd juice flows in your black jaws. Help me to damn the author. Spit it forth Upon his lines, and shew your rusty teeth At every word, or accent : or else choose Out of my longest vipers, to stick down In your deep throats; and let the heads come forth 106 THE rOETASTER. ACT I. At your rank mouths ; that he may see you arni'd With triple malice, to hiss, sting, and tear Ilis'vork and him ; to forge, and then declaim, Traduce, corrupt, apply, inform, suggest ; O, these are gifts ivherein your souls are blest. What! do youhide yourselves^ will none appear 'i None answer ? what, doth this calm troop affright you ? Nay, then I do despair ; doion, sink again : This travail is all lost with my dead hopes. If in such bosoms spite have hft to divell. 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 bo'der foot ; with which ive tread Thy malice into earth : so Spite should die. Despised and scorned by noble Industry. If any muse ivhy I salute the stage, <4h armed Prologue ; know, lis a dangerous age Wherein who writes, had need present hiy scene* Forty-fold proof against the conjurinq means Of base dctracto)-s, and illiterate apes, That fill up rooms in fair and formal shapes. 'Gainst these, have we put on this forcd defence : Whereof the allegory and hid sense Is, that a well erected confidence Can fright their pride, and laugh their folly hence. Here now, put case our author should, once more, Swear that his play tvcre good ; lie doth implore, You ivould 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 ivill allow : Others that take it with a rugged brow. Their moods he rather pities than envies : His mind it is above their injuries. ACT 1. SCENE I. — Scene draws, and discovers Ovid in his study. Ovid. Thm, when this body falls in funeral fire. My name shall live, and my best part aspire. It shall go so. Enter Lvjscus, with a gown and cap. Lusc. Young 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 ! 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 will undo you, by the w-elkin. 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 pre I came from the lodging. Ovid. Why, was he no readier ? Lusc. O no ; and there was the mad skeldering captain, with the velvet arms, ready to lay hold on him as he comes down : he that presses every man lie 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, Pantilius Tucca ? Lus. Ay, he ; and I met little master Lupus, the tribune, going thither too. Ovid. Nay, an he be under their aiTRst, I may wath safety enough read over my elegy before he come. Lus. Gods a' me ! what will you do ? why, young master, you are not Castalian mad, lunatic, frantic, desperate, ha ! Ovid. What ailest thou, Luscus? Lus. God be with you, sir ; I'll leave you to your poetical fancies, and furies. I'll not be giilty, L 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. Em;y, why twifst thou me my time's spent ill, And calVst 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 tiot the tedious laws. And prostitute my voice in every cause 9 Thy scope is mortal ; mine, eternal fame, l>iame. Which through the ivorld shall ever chaunt my Homer will live ivhilst 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 7-ipen'd ear. Callimachus, (hough in invention loiv, Shall still be sung, since he ifi art doth flow. No loss shall come to Sophocles' proud vein ; With sun and moon Aratits shall remain. While slaves be false, fathers hard, and bawds It trhorish, Whilst hai lots flatter, shall JMenaiuler flourish. Eiinius, though rude, and Accius's high-reai'd strain, A fresh applause in every age shall gain, Of Varro's name, what ear shall not be told, Of Jason's Argo and the fleece of gold Then shall Lucretius' lofty numbers die., When earth and seas in fire and flame shall fry. Tityrus, Tillage, JEnee s/iall be read. Whilst Borne of all the conquer' d world is head ! SCENE I. THE POETASTER. 107 Till Cupid's fires be out, and his boiu broken, Thy verses, neat Tibullus, shall bj spoken. Our Gallus shall be known from east to west ; So shall Lycoris, whom he now loves best. The suffering plough-share or thejiint mayicear; But heavenly Poesy no death can fear. Kings shall give place to it, and kingly shows. The banks o'er ivhich gold-bearing Tagus flows. Kneel hinds to trash : me let bright Phabus swell With cups full floiving from the Muses' xvell. Frost-fearing myrtle shall impale my head, And of sad levers 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 f uneral fire. My name shall live, and my best part aspire. Enter Ovid senior, followed by Luscus, Tucca, and Luprs. 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 tp see the pleader, become Ovid the play-maker ! Ovid ju. 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 gull, a rook, a shot-clog, 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. Liis. 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 ? Ovid se. 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 rasca". and not your comrades. lExit 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. Tuc. Thou art in the right, my venerable crop- shia, they will indeed ; the tongue of the oracle never twang'd truer. Your courtier cannot kiss his mistress's slippers in quiet for 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 ; 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 ! Ovid ju. They wrong me, sir, and do abuse yoi: 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. Ovidse. 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 poison, and Ti- bullus and Propertius. But these are gentlemen of means and revenues now. Thou art a younger brother, and hast nothing but thy b;,re 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 aff"ord him so much as a compe- tency. Ay, your god of poets there, whom all of you admire and reverence so much. Homer, he j whose worm-eaten statue must not be 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-houses, 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 smoothlj'' as Propertius' elegies. 108 THE POETASTER. A.',T I. Ovid SC. Propertius' elegies? good I Lnp. 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. Corns, 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 reigns, 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. Tug. 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. Tuc. 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 side for' 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, ai-e my horses come ? Lns. Yes, sir, they are at the gate without. Ovid se. Thafs well. — Asinius Lupus, a word. Captain, 1 shall take my leave of you Tuc. No, my little old boy, dispatch with Co- ihurnus there : I'll attend thee, I — Lus. To borrow some ten drachms : I know his project. lAsUIe. Ovid se. Sir, you shall make me beholding to yon. 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 Mecaenas, old boy. Why shouldst not thou be graced then by them, as well as he is by his poets ? — Enter TYRGts and whispers Tucca. How now, my carrier, what news ? Lns. The boy has stayed within for his cue this naif-hour. [Aside. Tuc. Come, do not whisper to me, but speak it out : what ; it is no treason against the state 1 hope, is it ? Lus. Yes, against the state of my master's purse. \_Aside, and exit. Pyr. {aloud.^ Sir, Agrippa desires you to for- bear him till 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. Tuc. He owes me almost a talent, and he thinks to bear it away v/ith 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. 1 will 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. \_As\de. Tuc. Dost thou hear, my little six and fifty, or thereabouts ? thou art not to learn the liumours 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, [to Lupus] — Pray thee, Roman, when thou comest to town, see me at my lodging, visit me sometimes thou shalt be welcome, old boy. Do not balk me, good swag- gei-er. Jove keep thy chain from pawning ; go thy ways, if thou lack money I'll lend thee some ; I'll leave thee to thy horse now. Adieu. Ovid se. Farewell, good captain. Tuc. Boy, you can have but half a share now, boy. lExit, followed bt/VvRGVS. Ovid se. 'Tis a strange boldness that accompa- nies this fellow. — Come. Ovidju. I'll give attendance on you to your horse, sir, please you. Ovid se. No ; keep your chamber, and fall to your studies ; do so : The gods of Rome bless thee 1 lExit u'ilh Lupus SCENK I. THE POETASTER. 109 Ovid ju. And give me stomach to digest this law : That should have follow'd sure, had I been he. O, sacred Poesy, thou spirit of arts, The soul of science, and the queen of souls ; What profane violence, almost sacrilege, Hath here been offered thy divinities ! That thine own guiltless poverty should arm Prodigious ignorance to wound thee thus ! For thence is all their force of argument Drawn forth against thee ; or, from the abuse Of thy great powers in adulterate brains : When, would men learn but to distinguish spirits, And set true difference 'twixt those jaded wits That run a broken pace for common hire. And the high raptures of a happy muse, Borne on the wings of her immortal thought. That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel, And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs ; They would not then, with such distorted faces, And desperate censures, stab at Poesy. They would admire bright knowledge, and their minds Should ne'er descend on so unworthy objects As gold, or titles ; they would dread far more To be thought ignorant, than be known poor. The time was once, when wit drown'd wealth ; but now, Your only barbarism is t'have wit, and want. No matter now in virtue who excels. He that hath coin, hath all perfection else. Tib. {within.'\ Ovid! Ouic?. Who's there? Come in. Enter Tibullus. Tib. Good morrow, lawyer. Ovid. Good morrow, dear Tibullus ; welcome : sit down. Tib. Not I. What, so hard at it ? Let's see, what's here ? Numa in decimo nono ! Nay, I will see it Ovid. Prithee away Tib. // thrice in field a man vanquish his foe, ' Tis after in his choice to serve or no. How now, Ovid ! Law cases in verse ? Ovid. In troth, I know not ; they run from my pen unwittingly, if they be verse. What's the news abroad ? Tib. Off with this gown ; I come to have thee walk. Ovid. No, good Tibullus, I'm not now in case. Pray let me alone. Tib. How ! not in case ? Slight, thou'rt in too much case, by all this law. Ovid. Troth, if I live, I will new dress the lav/ In sprightly Poesy's habiliments. Tib. The hell thou wilt ! What ! turn law into verse ? Thy father has school'd thee, I see. Here, read that same ; There's subject for you ; and, if I mistake not, A supersedeas to your melancholy. Ovid. How ! subscribed Julia I O my life, my heaven I Tib. Is the mood changed Odd. Music of wit ! note for th' harmonious spheres ! Celestial accents, how you ravish me I Tib. What is it, Ovid ? Ouid. That I must meet my JuKa, the princess Julia. Tib. Where.' Ovid. Why, at Heart, I've forgot ; my passion so transports me. Tib. I'll save your pains : it is at Albius' house. The jeweller's, where the fair Lycoris lies. Ovid. Who ? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus' love ? Tib. Ay, he'll be there too, and my Plautia. Ovid. And why not your Delia ? Tib. Yes, and your Corinna, Ovid. True ; but, my sweet Tibullus, keep that secret ; I would not, for all Rome, it should be thought 1 veil bright Julia underneath that name : Julia, the gem and jewel of my soul. That takes her honours from the golden sky, As beauty doth all lustre from her eye. The air respires the pure Elysian sweets In which she breathes, and from her looks deico nd The glories of the summer. Heaven she is. Praised in hei'self above all praise ; and he Which hears her speak, would swear the tunc ful Turn'd in his zenith only. [orbs Tib. Publius, thou'lt lose thyself. Ovid. O, in no labyrinth can I safelier err, Than when I lose myself in praising her. Hence, law, and welcome Muses, though not rich. Yet are you pleasing : let's be reconciled, And new made one. Henceforth, I promise faith And all my serious hours to spend with you ; With you, whose music striketh on my heart, And with bewitching tones steals forth my spirit, In Julia's name ; fair Julia : Julia's love Shall be a law, and that sweet law Til study. The law and art of sacred Julia's love : All other objects will but abjects prove. Tib. Come, we shall have thee as passiondte as Propertius, anon. Ovid. O, how does my Sextus ? Tib. Faith, full of sorrowfor his Cynthia's death. Ovid. What, still ? Tib. Still, and still more, his griefs do grow upon him As do his hours. Never did I know An understanding spirit so take to heart The common work of Fate. Ovid. O, ray Tibullus, Let us not blame him ; for against such chances The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof. We may read constancy and fortitude To other souls ; but had ourselves been struck With the like planet, had our loves, like his, Been ravish'd from us by injurious death, And in the height and heat of our best days, It would have crack 'd our sinews, shrunk our veins. And made our very heart-strings jar, like his. Come, let's go take him forth, and prove if mirth Or company will but abate his passion. Tib. Content, and I implore the gods it may. lExcunl. 210 IRE POETASTER. A'JT LJ. ACT SCENE l.—A Boom in Albius's House. Enter Alpavs and Crispinus. Alb. Master Crispinus, you are welcome : pray use a stool, sir. Your cousin Cytheris will come down presently. We are so busy for the receiving of these courtiers here, that I can scarce be a mi- nute with myself, for thinking of them : Pray you sit, sir ; pray you sit, sir. Crisp. I am very well, sir. Never trust me, but you are most delicately seated here, full of sweet delight and blandishment ! an excellent air, an excellent air ! Alb. Ay, sir, 'tis a pretty air. These courtiers run in my mind still ; must look out. For J upi- ter's sake, sit, sir ; or please you walk into the garden? There's a garden on the back-side. Crisp. I am most strenuously well, I thank you, sir. Alb. Much good do you, sir. Enter Chloe, u'ith two Maids. Chloe. Come, bring those perfumes forward a little, and strew some roses and violets here : Fie ! here be rooms savour the most pitifully rank that ever I felt. I cry the gods mercy, [ac^s Albius.] my husband's in the wind of us ! Alb. Why, this is good, excellent, excellent ! v/ell said, my sweet Chloe ; trim up your house most obsequiously. Chloe. For Vulcan's sake, breathe somewhere else : in troth, you overcome our perfumes ex- ceedingly ; you are too predominant. Alb. Hear but my opinion, sweet wife. Chloe. A pin for your pinion ! In sincerity, if you be thus fulsome to me in every thing, I'll be divorced. Gods my body ! you know what you were before I married you ; I was a gentlewoman born, I ; I lost all my friends to be a citizen's wife, because I heard, indeed, they kept their wives as fine as ladies ; and that we might rule our hus- bands like ladies, and do what we listed ; do you think I would have married you else ? Alb. I acknowledge, sweet wife : — she speaks the best of any woman in Italy, and moves as mightily ; which makes me, I had rather she should make bumps on my head, as big as my two fingers, than I would offend her. — But, sweet wife Chloe. Yet again ! Is it not grace enough for you, that I call you husband, and you call me wife ; but you must still be poking me, against my will, to things ? Alb. But you know, wife, here are the greatest ladies, and gallantest gentlemen of Rome, to be entertained in our house now ; and I would fain advise thee to entertain them in the best sort, i' faith, wife. Chloe. In sincerity, did you ever hear a man talk so idly? You would seem to be m.aster! you would have your spoke in my cart ! you would advise me to entertain ladies and gentlemen ! Be- cause you can marshal your pack-needles, horse- combs, hobby-horses, and wall-candlesticks in your warehouse better than I, therefore you can tell how to entertain ladies and gentlefolks better than I? II. Alb. O, my sweet wife, upbraid me not with that ; gain savours sweetly from any thing ; he that respects to get, must relish all commodities alike, and admit no difference between oade and frankincense, or the most precious balsamura and a tar-barrel. Chloe. Marry, foil ! you sell snuffers too, if you be remember' d ; but I pray you let me buy them out of your hand ; for , 1 tell you true, I take it highly in snuff, to learn how to entertain gentle- folks of you, at these years, i'faith. Alas, man, there was not a gentleman came to your house in your t'other wife's time, I hope ! nor a lady, nor music, nor masques ! Nor you nor your house were so much as spoken of, before I disbased my- self, from my hood and my farthingal, to these bum-rowls and your whale-bone bodice. Alb. Look here, my sweet wdfe ; I am mum, my dear mummia, my balsamum, my spermaceti, and my very city of She has the most best, true, feminine wit in Rome ! Cris. I have heard so, sir ; and do most vehe- mently desire to participate the knowledge of her fair features. Alb. Ah, peace ; you shall hear more anon : be not seen yet, I pray you ; not yet : observe. \_ExU. Chloe. 'Sbody! give husbands the head a little more, and they'll be nothing but head shortly : What's he there.? 1 Maid. I know not, forsooth. 2 Maid- Who would you speak wath, sir ? Cris. I would speak with my cousin Cytheris. 2 Maid. He is one, forsooth, would speak with his cousin Cytheris. Chloe. Is she your cousin, sir ? Cris. \_coming forward.'] Yes, in trutli, for- sooth, for fault of a better. Chloe. She is a gentlewoman. Cris. Or else she should not be my cousin, I assure you. Chloe. Are you a gentleman born ? Cris. That I am, lady ; you shall see mine arms, if it please you. Chloe. No, your legs do sufficiently shew you are a gentleman born, sir ; for a man borne upon little legs, is always a gentleman born. Cris. Yet, I pray ycu, vouchsafe the sight of my arms, mistress ; for I bear them about me, to have them seen : My name is Crispinus, or Cria- pinas indeed ; which is well expressed in my arms ; a face crying in chief ; and beneath it a bloody toe, between three thorns pungent. Chloe. Then you are welcome, sir ; now yov, are a gentleman born, I can find in my heart to welcome you ; for I am a gentlewoman born ten, and will bear my head high enough, though 'twei t my fortune to marry a tradesman. Cris. No doubt of that, sweet feature ; you; carriage shews it in any man's eye, that is carriiu upon you with judgment. Re-enter Albius, Alb. Dear wife, be not angry. Chloe. Gods my passion ! Alb. Hear me but one thing; let not yoia mald.s , set cushions in the parlour windows, nor in tl- SCKNE I. THE POETASTER. Hi dining- chamber windows; nor upon stools, in either of them, in any case ; for 'tis tavern -like : but lay them one upon another, in some out-room or corner of the dining-chamber. ' Chloe. Go, go ; meddle with your bed-chamber only ; or rather with your bed in your chamber , only; or rather with your wife in your bed only ; or on my faith I'll not be pleased with you only. Alb. Look here, my dear wife, entertain that gentlett-an kindly, I prithee mum. ^ lExit. Chloe. Go, I need your instructions indeed ! anger me no more, I advise you. Citi-sin, quotha! she's a wise gentlewoman, i'faith, will marry herself to the sin of the city. Alb. [re-entering.'] But this time, and no more, by heav'n, wile : hang no pictures in the hall, nor in the dining-chamber, in any case, but in the gal- lery only ; for 'tis not courtly else, o' my word, wife. Chloe. 'Sprecious, never have done! Alb. Wife C^*'<- Chloe. Do I not bear a reasonable corrigible hand over him, Crispinus ? ■Cris. By this hand, lady, you hold a most sweet hand over him. Alb. [jre -entering. 1 And then, for the great gilt andirons Chloe. Again ! Would the andirons were in your great guts for me ! Alb. 1 do vanish, wife. lExil. Chloe. How shrdl I do, master Crispinus here will be all the bravest ladies in court presently to see your cousin Cytheris: O the gods I how might 1 behave myself now, as to entertain them most courtly Cris. Marry, lady, if you will entertain them most courtly, you must do thus : as soon as ever your maid or your man brings you word they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em ! ivhat do they here ? And yet, when tliey come, speak them as fair, and give them the kindest welcome in words that can be. Chloe. Is that the fashion of courtiers, Cris- pinus ? Cris. I assure you it is, lady ; I have observed it. Chloe. For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on ; but it is not so easy to speak fair after, methinks. Alb. [reentering.'] O, wife, the coaches are come, on my word; a number of coaches and courtiers. Chloe. A pox on them ! what do they here ? Alb. How now, wife ! would'st thou not have them come ? Chloe. Come ! come, you are a fool, you. — lie knows not the trick on't. Call Cytheris, I pray you : and, good master Crispinus, you can ob- serve, you say ; let me entreat you for all the ladies' behaviours, jewels, jests, and attires, that you marking, as well as I, we may put both our marks together, when they are gone, and confer of them. Cris. I warrant you, sweet lady ; let me alone to observe till I turn myself to nothing but ob- servation. — Enter Cvthbris. I Good morrow, cousin Cytheris. Cyth. Welcome, kind cousin. What ! are they come ? j Alb. Ay, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ovid, I TibuUus, Propertius, with Julia, the emperor's j daughter, and the lady Plautia, are 'lighted at the door ; and with them Hermogenes Tigellius, the excellent musician. Cyth. Come, let us go meet them, Chloe. Chloe. Observe, Crispinus. Crisp. At a hair's breadth, lady, I warrant you. As they are going out, enter Cornklius Gallus, Ovid, TiBULLus, PROPBkTius, Hebmogenks, Jul!A, aiid Plau- tia. Gal. Health to the lovely Chloe ! you must pardon me, mistress, that I prefer this fair gentle- woman. Cyth. I pardon and praise you for it, sir ; and I beseech your excellence, receive her beauties into your knowledge and favour. Jul. Cytheris, she hath favour and behaviour, that commands as much of me : and, sweet Chloe, know I do exceedingly love you, and that I will approve in any grace my father the emperor may shew you. Is this your husband ? Alb. For fault of a better, if it please your highness. Chloe. Gods my life, how he shames me ! Cyth. Not a whit, Chloe, they all think you politic and witty; wise women choose not hus- bands for the eye, merit, or bii'th, but wealth and sovereignty. Ovid. Sir, we all come to gratulate, forthegcod report of you. Tib. And would be glad to deserve your love sir. Alb. My wife will answer you all, gentlemen ; I'll come to you again presently. iExil. Plau. You have chosen you a most fair com- panion here, Cytheris, and a very fair house. Cyth' To both which, you and all my friends are very welcome, Plautia. Chloe. With all my heart, I assure your lady- ship. Plau. Thanks, sweet mistress Chloe. Jul. You must needs come to court, lady, i'faith,. and there be sure your welcome shall be as great to us. Ovid. She will deserve it, madam ; I see, even in her looks, gentry, and general worthiness. Tib. I have not seen a more certain character of an excellent disposition. Alb. [re-entering. "] Wife! Chloe. O, they do so commend me here, the courtiers ! what's the matter now } Alb. For the banquet, sweet wife. Chloe. Yes ; and I must needs come to court,, and be welcome, the princess says. \_ExitwUh Albius. Gal. Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to welcome your mistress here. Ovid. We find it so, sir. Tib. And thank Cornelius Gallus. Ovid. Nay, my sweet Sextus, in faith thou art not sociable. Prop. In faith I am not, Publius ; nor I cannot. Sick minds are like sick men that burn with fevers, Who when they drink, please but a present taste. And after bear a more impatient fit. Pray let me leave you ; I offend you all. And myself most. Gal. Stay, sweet Propertius. Tib. You yield too much unto your griefs and fate, Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts U3 Prop. O peace, Tibullus ; your philosophy 112 i'HE rOETASTEJl. ACT II, Lends yolx too rough a hand to search my wounds. Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and grieve : The free and unconstrained spirit feels No weight of my oppression. lExil. Ovid. Worthy Roman ! Methinks I taste his misery, and could Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars. Jill. Methinks I love him, that he loves so truly. Ct/th. This is the perfect'st love, lives after death. Gal. Such is the constant ground of virtue still. Plan. It puts on an inseparable face. Re-enter Chloe. Chloe. Have you mark'd every tiling, Crispinus } Cris. Every thing, I warrant you. Chloe. What gentlemen are these.' do you know lliem } Crxs. Ay, they are poets, lady. Chloe. Poets ! they did not talk of me since J vrent, did they Cr'is. O yes, and extolled your perfections to the heavens. Chloe. Now in sincerity they be the finest kind of men that ever I knew : Poets ! Could not one get the emperor to make my husband a poet, think you ? Cris. No, lady, 'tis love and beauty make poets : and since you like poets so well, your love and beauties shall make me a poet. Chloe. What ! shall they ? and such a one as these ? Cris. Ay, and a better than these : I would be sorry else. Chloe. And shall your looks change, and your hair change, and all, like these ? Cris. Why, a man may be a poet, and yet not change his hair, lady. Chloe. Well, we shall see your cunning : yet, if you can change your hair, I pray do. Re-enter KhBivs , Alb. Ladies, and lordlings, there's a slight ban- quet stays within for you ; please you draw near, and accost it. Jul. We thank you, good Albius : but when shall we see those excellent jewels you are com- mended to have ? Alb. At your ladyship's service. — I got that speech by seeing a play last day, and it did me some grace now : I see, 'tis good to collect some- times ; I'll frequent these plays more than I have jone, now I come to be familiar with courtiers. \_Aside. Gal. Why, how now, Hermogenes ? what ailest thou, trow ? Her. A little melancholy ; let me alone, prithee. Gal. Melancholy ! how so ? Her. With riding : a plague on all coaches for me ! Chloe. Is that hard-favour' d gentleman a poet too, Cytheris ? Cyth. No, this is Hermogenes : as humourous as a poet, though : he is a musician. Chloe. A musician ! then he can sing. Cyth. That he can, excellently ; did you never hear him Chloe. O no : will he be entreated, think you ? Cyth. I know not. — Friend, mistress Chloe would fain hear Hermogenes sing : are you inte- rested in him ? Gal. No doubt, his o;vn humanity will com- mand him so far, to the satisfaction of so fair a beauty ; but rather than fail, we'll all be suitors to him. Her. 'Cannot sing. Gal. Prithee, Hermogenes. Her. 'Cannot sing. Gal. For honour of this gentlewoman, to whose house I know thou mayest be ever welcome. Chloe. That he shall, in truth, sir, if he can sing. Ovid. What's that ? Gal. This gentlewoman is wooing Hermogenes for a song. Ovid. A song ! come, he shall not deny her. Hermogenes ! Her. 'Cannot sing. Gal. No, the ladies must do it ; he stays but to have their thanks acknowledged as a debt to his cunning. Jul. That shall not want ; ourself will be the first shall promise to pay him more than thanks, upon a favour so worthily vouchsafed. Her. Thank you, madam ; but 'will not sing. Tib. Tut, the only way to win him, is to abstain from entreating him. Cris. Do you love singing, lady ? Chloe. (), passingly. Cris. Entreat the ladies to entreat me to ping then, I beseech you. Chloe. I beseech your grace, entreat this gen- tleman to sing. Jul. That we will, Chloe ; can he sing excel- lently ? Chloe. I think so, madam ; for he entreated me to enti-eat 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'll 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 of the ditty neither. Gal. The better : Hermogenes himself will be entreated to sing the other. CnispiNTTs sings. If I freely may discover "S^liat would please me in my Icvet, 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. THE POETASTER. 113 SCENK I. Gal. Believe me, sir, you sing most excellently. Ovid. If there were a praise above excellence, the gentleman highly deserves it. Her. Sir, all this doth not yet make me envy you ; for I know I sing better than you. Tib. Attend Hermogenes, now. IIkrmogenes, accompanied, Shcehould be allow'd her passions, So they were but used as fashions ; Sometimes froward, and then frow«ing, Sometimes sickish and then svvowning, Every fit with change still crowning. Purely jealous I would have her, Then only constant when I crave her : 'Tis a virtue should not save her. Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, Neither 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 ; and well thought on, Cornelius Gallus. Her. 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 Albiub. Alb. O, what a charm of thanks was here put upon me I 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, Thad rather want meat, thatt 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 Crispinus: 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 suffice, 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. [.Exit. ACT SCENE I. -The Via Sacra (or Holy Sired). Enter Horace, Crispinus following. Hor. 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 1 '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 Lyceus swim Above the brim : I drink as I would write, Inflowing measure filVd 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 1 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 turn'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 Laberius Crispinus ; we are a pretty Stoic too. III. 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. lAside. 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 — ofi'ering you the CastaUan 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. lAsi'le. 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 all your other ornatures I i 14 THE POETASTER. Hor. Is it not possible to make an escape from iim ? \_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. lAside. Cris. Pray Jove I can 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 you 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 ril dye them into another colour, at pleasure : How many yards of velvet dost thou think they contain ? Hor. 'Heart ! I have put him now in a fresh way To vex me more: — faith, sir, your mercer's book Will tell 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 ; Fll meet you at your lodging, Or where you please : 'till then, Jove keep you, sir 1 Cris. Nay, gentle Horace, stay ; I have it now. Hor. Yes, sir Apollo, Hermes, Jupiter, Look down upon me lAside. 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 a little ; 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 tc wipe my face a little. Cris. Yes, do, good Horace. Hor. Thank you, sir. Death ! 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 I will 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 call'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 aflfected 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 'tia not the worse for him, C^'is. What's his name % where is he lodged ? Hor. Where I shall be fearful to draw you out of your way, sir j a great way hence ; pray, sir^ let's part. Cris. Nay, but where is't ? I prithee say. Hor. 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. Foh ! it is no matter, I 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 his 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, Rhadamanthus, 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 Three 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 wiU never bail any man. Cris. W'ell 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 thac esteem of Varius, or Virgil, or Tibullus, or any of 'em indeed, as now in thy ignorance thou dost ; which I 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 will be 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 ? Cris. 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 urns. Hor. The more their happiness, that rest in peace, Free from the abundant torture of thy tongue : Would I were with them too ! 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 ; 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 wise, she warn'd me shun AU 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. {.Going. Cris. Tut, tut ; abandon this idle humour, 'tis nothing but melancholy. 'Foi'e 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. Hor. O Jupiter 1 me, sir, me, by any means ; I beseech you, me, sir. Cris. No, faith, I'll 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 Meceenas, 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 witb. thy patron. Let me not live, but I think 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, I 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 than 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, follow him, meet him in the street, the highways, run by his coach, never leave him. What ! 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-drawn 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 Fuscus Abistius. Ari. Horace, well 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 cannot 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'll go first and tell Mecsenas. \_Aside. Cris. Come, shall we go ? Ari. The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. \_Aside. Hor. Nay, Aristius ! Ari. Farewell, Horace. iGoing Hor. 'Death ! will he leave me ? Fuscus Aris I 2 116 THE POETASTER. ACT III. tius ! do you hear ? Gods of Rome ! You said you had somewhat to say to me in private. Ari. Ay, but I see you are now employed with that gentleman ; 'twere offence to trouble you ; I'll take some fitter opportunity : farewell. lExit. Hor. Mischief and torment ! O my soul and heart, How are you cramp'd with anguish ! Death itself Brings not the like convulsions. O, this day ! That ever I should view thy tedious face. Cris. Horace, what passion,what humour is this? Hor. 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 ! 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. lExit hastily. Cris. Master Minos ! 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 TirccA 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 ! What are you, sir.^ Min. A citizen of Rome, sir. Tuc. Then you are not far distant from afool, sir. Min. A pothecary, sir. Tuc. I knew thou wast not a physician : foh I 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. lAside. 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 ? IStrikes up hit heels, and seizes his sword. Tuc. Kiss thy hand, my honourable active var- let, and embrace thee thus. 1 Pi/r. O patient metamorphosis ! Tuc. My sword, my tall rascal. Lict. Nay, soft, sir ; some wiser than some. Tuc. What ! and a wit too ? By Pluto, thor must be cherish'd, slave ; here's three drachms fo ; thee ; hold. 2 Pi/r. There's half his lendings gone. Tuc. Give me. Lict. No, sir, your first word shall stand ; I'll hold all. Tuc. Nay, but rogue Lict. You would make a rescue of our prisoner, sir, you. Tuo. I a rescue ! Away, 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, dost not 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 ? 3Iin. 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 Tuc. Thou art one of the centumviri, old boy, art not ? Min. No indeed, master captain. Tuc. Goto, thou shaltbethen; 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, Httle Minos ? Mill. Fourscore sesterties, sir. Tuc. What, no more ! 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 Pi/r. I warrant you, colonel. Tuc. 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 vi'ords 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 taking, if you knew all. iAside. Tuc. Not now, you shall not take, boy. Cris. By my truth and earnest, but he shall, captain, by your leave. Tuc. Nay, an he swear by his truth and earnest, take it, boy : do not make a gentleman 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 ? Tuc. Pass on, my good scoundrel, pass on, I honour thee : \_E3ceunt 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 I 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 Crispinus.] 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 wine, 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. [HiSTRio passes by.'] 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 Histrio. No respect to men of worship, 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 Fortune, 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 shall 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 will, gulch, you will. Then, Wiirt please your worship to have any musicj captain ? Hist. Nay, good captain. Tuc. What, do you laugh, Howleglas ! death, you perstemptuous varlet, I am none of your fel- lows ; I 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. IAside. Hist. If I have exhibited wrong, I'll tender satisfaction, captain. Ticck. Say'st thou so, honest vermin! Give me thy hand ; thou shalt make us a supper one of these nights. Hist. When you please, by Jove, captain, most willingly. Tuc. Dost thou swear ! To-morrow then ; say and hold, slave. There are some of you players honest gentlemen-like scoundrels, and suspected to have some wit, as well as your poets, both 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. Tuc. 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. Rascal, 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 ! 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 trumpet. Hist. Troth, I think I have not so much about me, captain. Tuc. 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 ? Min. Yes, sir. Tuc. Go to then , raise, recover, do ; suffer him not to droop in prospect of a player, a rogue, a stager: put twenty into his hand — twenty sesterces I mean, — and let nobody see ; go, do it — the work shall commend itself; be Minos, I'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 S \tires, 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 ol Pluto ! an you stage me, stinkard, your mansions shall sweat for't, your tabernacles, varlets, your Globes, and your Triumphs. 118 THE POETASTER. ACT III. Hist. Not we, by Phoebus, captain ; do not do us imputation without 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. O doleful days ! O direful deadly dump ! 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 Pyr. 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 conterit her fire : Ay, but her reason masters her desire. Yet might she love me as her beauty^ s thrall : Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all. Tuc. Now, the horrible, fierce soldier, you, sirrah. 2 Pyr. What ! will J 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, ivas 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 tvhat friendship cannot win ; Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals. Villain ! thou diest 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 do 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 ivith Minos, to make himself ready. 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 sapper, 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 wliile 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 ont-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 Asinius 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 -(Esop, 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 Fi'isker, 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 drunk 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 become him, 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 goest. Enter Demetrius 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, Mecaenas, Cornelius Gallus, and the rest. Tuc. And why so, stinkard } Hist. O, it will get us a huge deal of money, captain, and we have need oTi't ; for this winter has made us all poorer than so many starved snakes : nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor a SCENE I THE POETASTER. 119 Tuc. 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 Tuc. Why, my Parnassus here shall help him, if thou wilt". Can thy author do it impudently enough ? . ^ „ Hist. O, I warrant you, captam, and spiterally 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. — [Demethius comes forward. BC'Cnter Minos, with 2 Pyrgus on his shoulders, and stalks backward andforivard, as the boy acts. Well said, boy. 2 Pyr. Where art thou, hoy ? where is Calipolis 9 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. i,Exit HisTRio Dern. Yes, sir. Tnc. '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 ? Tnc. Ay, he ; dost thou know him ? Cris. O, he forsook me most barbarously, I protest. Tuc. Hang him, fusty satyr, he smells 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. Tuc. 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 vnth my little locust here ; 'tis a good vermin, they say. — [Horace and Trebatius pass over the stage.'\ — See, here's Horace, and old Trebatius, the great lawyer, in his company ; let's avoid him now, ho is too well seconded. iExeunt. ACT SCENE \.—A Boom in Albius's House. Enter Chloe, Cttheris, 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, will 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 jow. is much more pure than theirs ; and for your beauty, I can tell you, there's many of them would defy the painter, if they could change with you. Marry, the worst is, you must look to be envied, and endure a few court-frumps for it. Chloe. O Jove, madam, I shall buy them too cheap ! — Give me my muff, and my dog there. — And will the ladies be any thing familiar with me, think you ? Cyth. O Juno ! why you shall see them flock about you with their puff- wings, and ask you where you bought your lawn, and what you paid for \t? 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. — And 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 furr'd IV. with the breath of their compliments, that you cannot catch cold of your head, if you would, in three winters after. 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 shall not pay a far- thing for your board, nor your chambers. Cyth. O, sweet mistress Chloe! Chloe. I'faith you shall not, lady; nay, good lady, do not offer it. Enter Gatxus and Tibullus. Gal. Come, where be these ladies } By your 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 ! \'20 THE POETASTER. ACT IV. 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 court, 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. Cyth. 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 (from 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 virtuous 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 Julia, Juno ; Gallus here, Apollo; you, Cytheris, Pallas; I will be Bacchus ; 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 friend, or so — but, husband ! 'tis like your clog to your marmoset, for all the world, and the heavens. Cyth. Tut, never fear, Chloe ! 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. Enter Horace. Gal. Horace ! welcome. Hor. Gentlemen, hear you the news ? Tib. What news, my Quintus ! Hor. Our melancholic friend, Propertius, Hath closed himself up in his Cynthia's tomb ; And will by no entreaties be drawn thence. Enter Albius, introducing CnispiNUsancf DemetriuSj/oJ lowed hy Tucca. Alb. Nay, good Master Crispinus, pray you bring near the gentleman. Hor. Crispinus ! Hide me, good Gallus ; Ti- buUus, shelter me. iOoing. 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 ! lExit hastily. Tib. 'Slight, I hold my life This same is he met him in Holy-street. Gal. Troth, 'tis hke enough. — This act of Pro- pertius relisheth very strange with me. Tug. By thy leave, my neat scoundrel : what, is this the mad boy you talk'd on ? Cris. Ay, this is master Albius, captain. Tuc. 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 ? Alb. Welcome, captain, by Jove and all tlie gods in the Capitol Tuc. 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. Tuc. A better ! profane rascal : 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. I 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. [ Walks 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. Cyih. Pray you play, if you love me. Cris. Yes, cousin ; you know I do not hate you. Tib. A most subtile wench I 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. Ttic. I'll call her Come hither, cockatrice : here's one will set thee up, my sweet punk, let thee up. Chloe. Are you a poet so soon, sir ? Alb. Wife. mum. 80KNK II. THE POETASTER. 121 Crispisvs plays and sings. Love is blind, and a wanton ; In the whole world, there is scant one —Such another : No, not his mother. He hath pluck'd her doves and sparrows, To feather his sharp arrows, And alone prevaileth, AVhile sick Venus waileth. But if Cypris once recover The wag ; it shall behove her To look better to him : Or she will undo him. Alb. O, most odoriferous music! Tuc. Aha, stinkard ! Another Orpheus, you slave, another Orpheus ! an Arion riding on the hack 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. Tuc. Shew them, bankrupt, shew them ; they have salt in them, and will 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, Tibullus. Gal. It's the name of Horace his witch, as I 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 : thou shalt 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 fury, 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 shall point at him : 'tis all dog, and scorpion ; he carries poison in his teeth, and a sting in his tail. Fough! body of Jove! I'll have the slave whipt one of these days for his Satires and his Humours, by one cashier'd clerk or another. Cris. W^e'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'll give you instructions: I'll be your intelligencer ; we'll all join, and hang upon liim 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 turn'd Pythagoreans then. Gal. What, mute ? Tib. Ay, as fishes, i'faith : 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 ? Ci/ih. Ay, ne. Gal. Yes, if we can invite him along, he shall be Mars. 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 ? 7'ib. 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 I 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, but prevail, 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. I'll go write, sir. Tuc. Do, do : stay, there's a drachm to pur- chase ginger-bread for thy muse. lExeutit. SCENE II. — A Room in Lupus's House. Enter Lupus, Hibtrio, and Lictors. Lup. Come, let us talk here ; here we may be private ; shut the door, lictor. You are a player, you say. Hist. Ay, an't please your worship. Lup. Good ; and how are you able to give this intelligence ? Hist. Marry, sir, they directed a letter to me and my fellow-sharers. Lup. Speak lower, you are not now in your theatre, stager: — ray 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 ! this is good rebellion, now. Re-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. [ Walks in a musing 422 - THE POETASTER. ACT IV. posture."] You shall see, I have fish'd out a cunning piece of plot now : they have had some intelligence, that their project is discovered, and now have they dealt with my pothecary, to poison me ; 'tis so ; knowing that I meant to take physic 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 ! Now fetch in the dog ; and yet we cannot tarry to try experiments now : arrest him ; you shall go with me, sir ; 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. Player, assist me. As they are going out, enter Mecenas and Horace. Meo. Whither now, Asinius Lupus, with this armory ? Lup. I cannot talk nov/ ; I charge you assist me : treason ! treason ! Hor. How! treason? Liip. Ay : if you love the emperor, and the state, follow me. \_Exeunt. SCENE III. — An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Ovid, Juwa, Gallus, Cytheris, Tibullus, Plau- TiA, Albujs, Chloe, Tucca, Crispinus, Herbiogenes, Pyrgus, characteristically habited, as gods and god- desses. Ovid. Gods and goddesses, take your 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 in the line, Crispinus repeats aloud the words of Gallus,] Of his licentious good- ness, Willing to make this feast no fast From ang manner of pleasure ; iVor to bind any god or goddess To he 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 ivomen. And therefore no god Shall need to keep himself more strictly to his goddess Than any man does to his wife: iVor any goddess Shall need to keep herself m.ore 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 he 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, shallinspire. A nd 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 him sit by ; and reach him one of our cates. T^^c. 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. I have read in a book, that to play the fool wisely, is high wisdom. Gal. How now, Vulcan ! 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 will 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 ot them. Punk, kiss me, punk. Ovid. Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee. Chloe. Thank you, good father Jupiter. I Tuc. Why, mother Juno ! gods and fiends ! what, wilt 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 : I must put : you in, must I ? when will you be in good fooling of yourself, fidler, never 1 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 with thee, king cuckold- maker : What, shall the king of gods turn the king of good-fellows, 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 with all the other gods here, bind thee SCENE III. THE POETASTER. 123 hand and foot, throw thee down into the earth and make a poor poetof 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. Tuc. 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 well; gods may grow impudent in iniquity, 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. Jul. Your nose is not long enough to do it, Jupiter, if all thy strumpets thou 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. 0, 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. I'll ply the table with nectar, and make them friends. Her. Heaven is like to have but a lame skinker, then. Alb. Wine and good livers make true lovers : I'll 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, A^ulcan, 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. Momus, 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. Vidcan, you nod, and the mirth of the jest droops. Pyr. He has filled nectar so long, till his brain swims in it. Gal. What, do we nod, fellow-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 Cris. Ay, say, say. IMusic. Alb. Wake ! our mirth begins to die ; Quicken it with tunes and ivine. Raise your notes ; you're out ; fie, fie ! This drowsiness is an ill sign. We banish him the quire of gods, That droops agen : 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 musicj and let Mercury and Momus contend to please and re- vive our senses. IMicsic. Herm. Then, in a free and lofty strain. Our broken tunes we thus repair ; Cris. And we answer thm again, Running division on the panting air ; Ambo. To celebrate this feast of sense. As free from scandal as offence. Herm. Here is beauty for the eye ; Cris. For the ear sweet melody. Herm. Ambrosiac odours, for the smell ; Cris. Delicious nectar, for the taste ; Ambo. For the touch, a lady's waist ; Which doth all the rest excel. Ovid. Ay, this has waked us. Mercury, our herald ; go from oui'self, the great god Jupiter, to the great emperor Augustus Csesar, and command him from us, of whose bounty he hath received the sirname of Augustus, that, for a thank-off"ering 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 Altitonans. 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 ten 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, foi soothing her in her follies. Enter Augustus C^sar, Mbcenas, Horace, Lupus, HiSTRio, Minus, and Lictors. Cas. What sight is this ? Meccenas ! 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 ! 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. ACT IV There is a panther, whose unnatural eyes Will strike thee dead : turn, then, and die on her With her own death. IQffers to kill his daughter. Mec. Hor. What means imperial Caesar ? Cces. 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 be not followed by the scent, master. [^Exeunt Tucca and Pyrgus. Cces. Say, sir, what are you ? Alb. I play Vulcan, sir. CcBS. But what are you, sir.' Alb. Your citizen and jeweller, sir. CcBS. Ar:.d what are you, dame ? Chloe. I play Venus, forsooth. C(ss. I ask not what you play, but what you are. Chloe. Your citizen and jeweller's wife, sir. C vid. Tacit. Lips. edit, quarto ; Ann. Lib. i. p. 11, Lib. ii. p. 28 et .33. * De Titio Sabino, vid. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. s Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 2. * Juv. Sat. i. V. 75. 5 Juv. Sat. iii. v. 49, &c. De Latiari, cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 94, ct Dion. Step. edit. fol. Lib. Iviii. p. 711. Sil. Satrius Secundus, and Pinnarius 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, deprave,^ inform. Smile, and betray ; make guilty men ; then beg 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 sweats ; 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 praetors, yea, the most Of senators, that else not use their voices, ' De Satrio Secundo, et 8 Pinnario Natta, leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. Etde Satrio cons. Senec. Consol. ad Marciam." 9 Vid. Sen. de Bencf. Lib. iii. cap. 2G. If Juv. Sat. iii. ver. 105, &c. 11 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 3. •2 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 69. >3 Pcdarii. SEJA NUS. 139 Start up in public senate and there strive Who shall propound most abject things, and base. So much, as oft Tiberius hath been heard, Leaving the court, to cry,^ 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 born Free, equal lords of the triumphed world, And knew no masters, but affections ; To which betraying first our liberties, We since became the 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 Arruntius. Now, good Cremutius Cordus. 4 Cor. [salutes Sabinus.] Hail to your lordship ! Nat. [whispers Latiaris.] Who's that salutes your cousin ? Lat. 'Tis one Cordus, A gentleman of Rome : one that has writ Annals of late, they say, and very well. Nat. Annals! of what times? Lat. I thiuk of Pompey's,^ And Caius Caesar's ; and so down to these. Nat. How stands he affected to the present state ? Is he or Drusian," or Germanican, Or ours, or neutral ? Lat. 1 know him not so far. Nat. Those times are somewhat queasy to be touch'd. Ha*ve you or seen, or heard part of liis work ? Lat. Not I ; he means they shall be public shortly. Nat. O, Cordus do you call him ? Lat. Ay. lExeunt Natta and Satrius. Sab. But these our times Are not the same, Arruntius.' Jrr. Times ! the men. The men nre 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-like Cato ? he, that durst be good. When Csesar durst be evil ; and had power. As not to live his slave, to die his master ? ' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. G.<>. * Lege Tucit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 24. de Romano, Ilispano, et casteris, ibid, ct Lib. iii. Ann. p. Gl et 02. Juv. Sat. x. v. 87. Suet. Tib. cap. Gl. 3 Vid. Tacit. Ann. i. p. 4, et Lib. iii. p. 62. Suet. Tib. cap. 61. Senec. de Bencf. I ib. iii. cap. 26. * De Ciem. Cordo, vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83, 84. Senec. Cons, ad Marciam. Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 710. Suet. Aug. c. 35. Tib. o. 61. Cal. c. 16. ^ Suet. Aug. cap. 35. ^ Vid. de faction. Tacit. Ann. Lib.ii. p. 39. etLib. iv. p.7£>. ''DeLu. Arrun. isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. (!. et Lib. iii. p. GO. et Dion. Rom. Hist. Lib. 58. Or where's the constant Brutus, that being proof Against all charm of benefits, 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 Roman in us ; nothing good, Gallant, or great : 'tis true that Cordus says, ** Brave Cassius was the last of all that race." Drvsvs passes over the stage, attended by ILvterius, &c Sab. Stand by ! 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. Methinks he bears Himself each day more nobly than other ; And wins no less on men's affections. Than doth his father lose. Believe me, I love him ; And chiefly for opposing to Sejanus.^" Sil. And I, for gracing his young kinsmen so,^' The sons''^ 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 ; And, being dead, without it. O, that man 1 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 fair As was his 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 funerals 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 fell. 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. c. 52. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. G.)SJ. 9 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 62. 10 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. 1 1 Ann. Lib. iv. p. 1^. 76. 12 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. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 694. n Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 1' Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 47, et Dion. Rom. Hist. Lib Ivii. p. 705. UO SEJANUS. Sab. 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, Ceesar'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 hitn 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, W^here they may purge and lessen ; 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. All which snares When his wise cares prevented,* a fine poison Was thought on, to mature their practices. Enter Sejancs talking to Tekentius, follotved fcySATRius, Natta, ^c. Cor. Here comes Sejanus.'* S'd. Now observe the stoops, The bendings, and the falls. Arr. Most creeping base ! Sej. \_to Natta.] 1 note them well : 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 ? Sat. Fifty sestertia.'' • Vid. apud Veil. Paterc. Lips. 4to. p. 35—47, istorura hominum characteres. 2 Vid. Tacit. Lib. ii. Ann. p. 28 et p. 34. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 705. 3 Con. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 3.9. de oecultis mandatis Pisoni, et postea p. 42, 43, 48. Orat. D. Ccleris. Est Tibi Augustae conscientia, est Caesaris favor, sed in occulto, &c. Leg, Suet. Tib. c. 52. Dio. p. 706- ♦ Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 46, 47- Lib. iii. p. 54. et Suet. Cal. c. Iet2. '> De Sejano vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 9. Lib. iv. princip. et per tot. Suet. Tib. Dio. Lib. Ivii. Iviii. et Plin. et Sencc. 6 De Eudemo isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. ' Monetae nostra; 375 lib. vid. Budaeum de asse, Lib. ii. p. 64. ACT I. 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 like 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. 'iExcunt Sejanus, Satrius, Tebentius, ^c. Arr. So ! yet another.^ yet ? O desperate state Of groveling honour ! seest thou this, O sun. And do we see thee after } Methinks, day Should lose his light, when men do lose their shames, 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, born in ensigns ; Commands, disposes every dignity, Centurions, tribunes, heads of provinces, Praetors and consuls ; all 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 prtetorian 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 enterprize 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. 8 De ingenio, moribus, et potentia Sejani, leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 708. f Caius divi Augusti nepos. Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74, et Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 706. 10 Juv. Sat. X. v. 63, &c. Tacit, ibid. Dion. ibid, et sic passim. SCENE II. SEJANUS. 141 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 ambition. Arr. Yet, hath he ambition ? Is there that step in state can make him higher, Or more, or anything he is, but less ? Sil. Nothing but emperor. Jrr. 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 ! 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 undo The knotted bed Sab. You are observ'd, Arruntius. Arr. [turns to Natta, Terentius, ^c."] Death ! I dare tell him so ; and all his spies : You, sir, I would, do you look ? and you. Sab. Forbear. SCENE II. (The former Scene continued.) A Gallery discovered opening into the State Room. Enter Satrius with Eudemus. Sat. Here he will instant be: let's walk a turn; You're in a muse, Eudemus. Eud. Not I, sir. I wonder he should mai-k me out so ! well, Jove and Apollo form it for the best. iAside. Sat. Your^ fortune's made ixnto you 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 — Enter Sejanus. 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 known to so great virtue. — Look, Who is that, Satrius ? [Exit Sat.]— I have a grief, sir, That will desire your help. Y'our name's Eudemus.^* Eud. Yes. Sej. Sir.? Eud. It is, my lord. 1 Nero, Drusus, et Caligula.— Tacit, ibid. ' Lege Terentii defensioncm Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. j, 102. Sej. I hear you are Physician to Livia,^ the princess. Eud. I minister unto her, my good lord. Sej. You minister to a royal lady, then. Eud. She is, rny 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. Sej. 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 ? Eud. Many, my good lord. The great Augusta, * Urgulania,5 Mutilia Prisca,'' and Plancina divers — Sej. And all these tell 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 ? Eud. Else, my lord, we know not How to prescribe the remedies. Sej. Go to, You are a subtile nation, you physicians! 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. Eud. '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 oft", with her clothes, in court? Or, which her hair, whicli her comple?:ion. And, in which box she puts it; These were ques- tions. That might, ])erhaps, have put your gravity To some defence of blush But, I enquired, Which was the wittiest, merriest, wantonnest } Harmless intergatories, but conceits. jNIethinks Augusta should be most perverse, And froward in her fit. Eud. She's so, my lord. Sej. I knew it : and Mutilia the most jocund. Eud. '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, 3 Germanici soror, uxor Drusi. Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv p. 74. * Mater Tiberii. vid. Tacit. Ann 1, 2, 3, 4, moritur 5. Suet. Tib. Dio. Rom. Hist. 37, 5a. s Delicium Augustae. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. et iv. 6 Adultera Julii Posthumi. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. ' Pisonis uxor. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. iii. iv. 8 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib xxix. c. 1. U2 SEJANUS. Acr I. 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 poor, and are as scorn'd as vain : Those deeds breathe honour that do suck in gain. Eud. But, good my lord, if I should thus betray The counsels of my patient, 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 ? St'j. Only the best I swear. Say now that I should utter you my grief, And with it the true cause ; that it were love. And love to Livia ; i you should tell her this : Should she suspect your faith ; I would you could Teil me as much from her ; see if my brain Could be turn'd jealous. £ud. Hapi)ily, my lord, I could in time tell you as much and more; So I might safely promise but the lirst To her from you. Sej. As safely, my Eudemus, I now dare call thee so, as I have put The secret into thee. End. My lord Sej. Protest not, Thy looks are vows to me ; use only speed, And but aifect her with Sejanus' 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? End. Yes. Sej. The place ? Eud. My gardens, whither I shall fetch your lordship. Sej. Let me adore my ^Esculapius. Why, this 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 syrujis, 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. lExit Eudemus. 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 wdt; For Venus hath the smallest share in it. Enter Tiberius and Drusus, attended. Tib. [to Haterius, wJio kneels to him.'] We not endure these flatteries : let him stand ; 1 Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. 2 Tacit, ibiil. 3 Eud. specie artis frequens secrctis. Tacit, ibid. Vid. Flin. Nat. Hist. Lib. xxix. c. L in criminat. mcdicorum. * De initio Tiberii principatus vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib.i.p. tS, Lib. iv. p. 75. ct Suet. Tib. c. 27. De Hatcrio vid. Tacit, Ann. i. p. C. Our empire, ensigns, axes, rods and state Take not away our human nature from us : Look up on us, and fall 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 ! 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 will 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-like to the life. Sab. When power that may com.mand, so much descends. Their bondage, whom it stoops to, it intends. Tib. Whence are these letters ? Hat. From the senate. Tib. So. [Lat. gives him letters. Whence these ? Lat. From thence too. Tib. Are they sitting now ? Lat. They stay thy answer, Ccesar. Sil. If this man Had but a mind allied unto his words, How blest a fate were it to us, and Rome ! We could not think that state for which to change, Although the aim were our old liberty : The ghosts'' 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 virtuous prince : Wish'd liberty Ne'er lovelier looks, than under such a crown. But, when his grace^ is merely but lip-good. And that, 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 with their afflicting sound, As, dead to virtue, he permits himself Be carried like a pitcher by the ears, To every act of vice : this is a case Deserves our fear, and doth presage the nTgTi 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. 50. et Suet. Tib. c. 27 et 29. e Nullam a;que Tiberius ex virtutibus suis quam dissi- mulationem diligebat. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 95. Bruti, Cassii, Catonis, &c. 8 Vid. Dio. Hist. Lib. Ivii. de moribus Tiberii. 9 Tyrannis fere oritur ex nimia procerum adulations in principem. Arist. ToL Lib. v. c. 10, U. et delatorum auc- toritate. Leg. Tacit. Dio. Suet. Tib. per totum. Sub quo decreta accusatoribus pra^cipua praemia. Vid. Suet. Tib. c. CI , et Sen. Benef. Lib. iii. c. C. SCENE II. SEJANUS. 143 Than that and whisperers' grace, who have the time, The place, the power, to make all men offenders. Jrr. He should be 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 woj-se than ravens, that devour The quick, where they but prey upon the dead : He shall be told it. Sab. Stay, Arruiitius, We must abide our ojiportunity ; And practise what is lit, as what is needful. 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 ! In the mean time, I Jove, (Say not, but I do call upon thee now,) Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant ; I And of all tame, a flatterer. Sil. 'Tis well pray'd. Tib. \Jiaving 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 oflice of it to their service, And good of all and 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. i Say then, there can be nothing in their thought Shall want to please us, that hath pleased them ; Our suffrage rather shall prevent than stay 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 deiried Augustus hindered not A temple to be built at Pergaraum, In honour of himself and sacred Rome ; j We, that have all his deeds* and words observed Ever, in place of laws, the rather follow'd That pleasing precedent, because with ours, j The senate's reverence, also, there was join'd. I But as, t' have once received it, may deserve j The gain of pardon ; so, to be adored j 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 b e truly a prince. And, they shall add • Tineas soriccsque Palatii vocat istos Sex. Aurel. Vict, et Tacit. Hist. Lib. i. p. 2.33, qui secretis criminat. infamant ftc^*^"™' incautior deciperetur, palam laudatum, * Vid. Suet. Tib. c. 20. ot Dio. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 606. ' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 84 et 85. ♦ Cons. Strab. Lib. vi. de 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. Than ta'en for living 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. Rare! Sat. Most divine ! Scj. The oracles are ceased, That only Ccesar, with tlieir tongue, might speak. Arr. Let me begone : most felt and open this I Cor. Stay. Arr. What! to hear more cunning and fin? words. With their sound flat'er'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 /Kmilian 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 whicli they have decreed To our Sejanus,''^ to advance his statue In Pompey's theatre, (whose ruining lire His vigilance and labour kept restrain'd In that one loss,) they have therein out-gone Their own great wisdoms, by their skilful 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 flatteri)ig our friend, Let envy know, as from the need to flatter. Nor let them ask the causes of our praise : ^ Tacit. Lib. iii. p. 7L G Fortuna equestris, ibid. 7 Tacit, ibid. 8 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 170. 9 Torquata virgo vestalis, cujas memoriam scrvat mar mor Romae. vid. Lips, comment, in Tacit. 1' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. T\. " Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74—76. SEJANUS. ACT il. 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. lExeunt Tib. Sejan. Natta, Hat. Lax. Officers, ^ c. Arr. Csesar ! Sab. Peace. Cor. Great Pompey's theatre^ was never ruin'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. Dru. Is my father mad,2 Weary of life, and rule, lords ? thus to het.ve An idol up with praise ! make him his mate, His rival in the empire ! Arr. O, good prince. Dru. Allow him statuos,^ titles, honours, such As he himself refuseth 1 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. Dru. We must shortly pray To Modesty, that he will rest contented — Arr. Ay, where he is, and not write emperor. Re-enter Sejanus, Satrius, Latiaris, Clients, %c. Sej. There is your bill, and yours ; bring you your man. [To Satrius.] I have moved for you, too, Latiaris. Dru. 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! excellent, brave prince ! Dru. Nay, come, approach. iDraws his sword. What, stand you off? at gaze.'^ It looks too full of death for thy cold spii-its. 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 ;5 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 ! lExeunt 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 IL SCENE J.— The Garden o/Eudemus. Enter Sejanus, Livia, and Eudemus, Sej. Physician, thou art worthy of a province, For the great favours done imto 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 will see it, shall receive A fit and full reward for his large merit. Er t 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 ? JEud. 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. Hud. True, my lord. For free access and trust are two main aids. Sej. Skilful physician! Liv. But he must be wrought To the undertaking, with some labour'd art. 1 Vid. Sen. Cons. ad. Marc. c. 22. 2 Tacit, Ann. Lib. iv. p. 76. 3 Tacit, ibid. * Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74—76. * Tacit, ibidem. Sfj. Is he ambitious ? Liv. No. Sej. Or covetous ? Liv. Neither. Eud. Yet, gold is a good general charm. Srj. What is he, then ? Liv. Faith, only wanton, light. Sfj. How ! is he young and fair ? Eud. A delicate youth. Sej. Send him to me,^ I'll work him. — Royal lady. Though I have 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 your wisdom, judgment, strength, Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means To your own good and greatness, I protest Myself through i-arified, and turn'd all flame In your aff'ection : such a spirit as yours, Vi'us not created for the idle second To a poor flash, as Drusus ; but to shine 6 Tacit, sequimur Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74, quanqiiam aputl Dionem et Zonaram alitor legitur. ' Servile, apud Romanos, et ignominiosissimum mortis genus erat supplicium criicis, ut ex Liv. ipso. Tacit. Dio. et omnibus fere antiquis, praesertim historicis constet. vid. Plant, in. Mil. Amph. Aulii. Hor. Lib. i. Ser. 3. et Jev. Sat. vi. Pone cruccm servo, &c. s Sic Drusus ob violentiam cognominatus, vid. Dion Eom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 701. » Spadonis animum stupro devinxit. Tacit, ibid. UOExVE I. SEjANUS. 146 Bright as the moon among the lesser lights, And share the sov'reignty of all the world. Then Livia triumphs in her proper sphere, When she and her Sejanus shall divide The name of Csesar, and Augusta's star Be dimm'd with glory of a brighter beam : When Agrippina's' fires are quite extinct, And the scarce-seen Tiberius borrows all His little light from us, whose folded arms Shall make one perfect orb, [Knocking within.'] Who's that? Eudemus, Look. [Exit Eudemus.] 'Tis not Drusus, lady, do not fear. Liv. Not I, my lord : my fear and love of him Left me at once. Sej. Illustrious lady, stay Eud. [within.'] I'll tell his lordship. Re-enter Eudemus. Sej. Who is it, Eude.mus ? Eud. One of your lordship's servants brings you word The emperor hath sent for you. Sej. O ! where is he ? With your fair leave, dear princess, I'll but ask A question and return. lExit. Eud. Fortunate princess ! How are you blest in the fruition Of this unequall'd man, the soul of Rome, The empire's life, and voice of Cresar'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. Eud. Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun, Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse You should have used of the white oil I gave you. Sejanus, for your love ! his very name Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts [Paints her checks. Liv. Nay, now you've made it worse. Eud. I'll 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 ? Eud. Make a light fucus. 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, If't 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 ' Germanici vidua. 2 Cerusua (apud Romanos) inter fictitiores colores erat 8t quae solem ob calorem timebat. vid. Mart. Lib. ii. Epig. a. QuB cretata timet FabuUa nimbum, Cerussata timet Sabella solem. In your clear eye, hath put away his wife,^ The trouble of his bed, and your delights, Fair Apicata, and made spacious room To your new pleasures. Liv. Have not we return'd That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery* Of all his counsels ? Eud. Yes, and wisely, lady. The ages that succeed, and stand far off To gaze at your high prudence, shall admire, And reckon it an act without your sex : It hath that rare appearance. Some will think Your fortune could not yield a deeper sound. Than mix'd with Drusus ; but, when they shal! That, and the thunder of Sejanus meet, [hear Sejanus, whose high name doth strike the stars. And rings about the concave ; great Sejanus, Whose glories, style, and titles are himself. The often iterating of Sejanus : They then will lose their thoughts, and be ashamed To take acquaintance of them. Re-enter Sejanus. Sej. I must make A rude departure, lady : Csesar sends With all his haste both of command and prayer. Be resolute in our plot ; you have my soul, As certain yours as it is my body's. And, wise physician,* so prepare the poison. As you may lay the subtile operation Upon some natural disease of hi.s : Your eunuch send to me. I kiss your hands, Glory of ladies, and commend my love To your best faith and memory. Liv. My lord, I shall but change your words. Farewell. Yet, this Remember for your heed, he loves you not ; You know what I have told you : his designs Are full of grudge and danger ; we must use More than a common speed. Sej. Excellent lady. How you do fire my blood ! Liv. Well, you must go ? The thoughts be best, are least set forth to show. lExit Sejanus. End. When will you take some physic, lady Iav. When I shall, Eudemus : but let Drusus' drug Be first prepared. Eud. Were Lygdus made, that's done ; I have it ready. And to-morrow morning I'll send you a perfume, first to resolve And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath To cleanse and clear the cutis ; against when I'll have an excellent new fucus made, Resistive 'gainst the sun, the rain, or vyind, Which you shall lay on with a breath, or oil. As you best like, and last some fourteen hours. This change came timely, lady, for your health. And the restoring your complexion. Which Drusus' choler had almost burnt up ! W^herein your fortune hath prescribed you better Than art could do. Liv. Thanks, good physician, I'll use my fortune, you shall see, with reverence. Is my coach ready ? Eud. It attends your highness. lExeunt, 3 Ex qua tres liberos genuerat, ne pellici suspectaretur Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. * Leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. Iv. p. 76. » Tacit, ibid, et Dion. Kom. Ilia Lib. Wii. p. 7i De Julio Postumo. vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. 1 Displieere regnantibus civilia filiorum ingenia : neque ob aliud interceptos quam quia Pop. Rom. aequo jure com- plecti, reddita libertate, agitaverint. Nat. Tacit. Lib. ii. Ann. p. 49. 2 Vid. Suet. Tib. c. 54. 3 Tiberium variis artibus devinxit adeo Sejanus, ut )bscuruin adversum alios, sibi uni incautum, intectumquo sfficeret. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. Vid. Dio. Hist Rom. Lib. Ivii. p. 707. * Premere poUiceni, apud Romanos, maximi favoris erat signum. Horat. Epist. ad LoUium. Fautor utroque horum laudabit poUice ludum. Et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib. M8 SEJANUS. ACT II. Sej. When were you there ? Pos, Last night. Sf'j. And what guests found you Pos. Sabinus, Silius, the old list, Arruntius, Fumius, and Gallus. Sej. Would not these talk? Pos. Little : And yet we offer'd choice of argument. Satrius was with me. Sej. Well : 'tis guilt enough Their often meeting. You forgot to extol * The hospitable lady ? Pos. No ; that trick Was well put home, and had succeeded too, But that Sabinus cough'd a caution out ; For she began to swell. Sej. And may she burst ! Julius, I would have you go instantly Unto the palace of the great Augusta, And, by your^ kindest friend, get swift access ; Acquaint her with these meetings : tell the words ^ You brought me the other day, of Silius, Add somewhat to them. Make her understand The danger of Sabinus, and the times, Out of his closeness. Give Arruntius' words Of malice against Caesar ; so, to Gallus : But, above all, to Agrippina. Say, As you may truly, that her infinite pride Propt with the hopes of her too fruitful womb, With popular studies gapes for sovereignty, And threatens Caesar. Pray Augusta then. That for her own, great Caesar's, and the pub- Lic safety, she be pleased to urge these dangers. Caesar is too secure, he must be told, And best he'll take it from a mother's tongue. Alas ! what is't for us to sound, to explore, To watch, oppose, plot, practice, or prevent. If he, for whom it is so strongly labour'd. Shall, out of greatness and free spirit, be Supinely negligent ? our city's now ^ Divided as in time o' the civil war, And men forbear not to declare themselves Of Agrippina's part)'. Every day The faction multiplies ; and will do more, If not resisted : you can best enlarge it. As you find audience. Noble Posthumus, Commend me to your Prisca : and pray her. She will solicit this great business, To earnest and most present execution, With all her utmost credit with Augusta. Pos. I shall not fail in my instructions. \_Fxit. Sej. This second, from his mother, will well ui ge Our late design, and spur on Caesar's rage ; Which else might grow remiss. The way to put A prince in blood, is to present the shapes Of dangers, greater than they are, like late. Or early shadows ; and, sometimes, to feign Where there are none, only to make him fear ? His fear will make him cruel : and once enter'd, He doth not easily learn to stop, or spare Where he may doubt. This have I made my rule. To thrust Tiberius into tyranny, 1 Proximi Agrip. inliciebantur pravis sermonibus tumi- dos spiritus perstimulare. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. 2 Mutilia Prisca, quae in animum Augustae valida. Tac. ibid. Verba Silii immodice jactata,vid.apudTac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. ♦ Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. * Haec apud Tacit, leg. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. And make him toil, to turn aside those blocks, Which I alone could not remove with safety, Drusus once gone, Germanicus' three sons^ Would clog my way ; whose guards have tec much faith To be corrupted : and their mother known Of too, too unreproved a chastity. To be attempted, as light Livia was. Work then, my art, on Caesar's fears, as they On those they fear, 'till all my lets be clear'd. And he in ruins of his house, and hate Of all his subjects, bury his own state ; When with my peace and safety, I will rise, By making him the public sacrifice. ^iLxlt SCENE III. — A Room, in Agrippina's House. Enter Satrius and Natta, Sat. They're grown exceeding circumspect, and wary. Nat. They have us in the wind : and yet Ar- Cannot contain himself. [ruutius Sat. Tut, he's not yet Look'd after ; there are others more desired' , That are more silent. Nat. Here he comes. Away. ^Exeunt. Enter Sabinus, Arruntius, and Cordus. Sab. How is it, that these beagles haunt the Of Agrippina? [house Arr. O, they hunt^, they hunt! There is some game here lodged, which they must To make the great ones sport. [rouse, Cor. Did you observe How they inveigh'd 'gainst Caesar? Arr. Ay, baits, baits. For us to bite at : would I have my flesh Torn by the public hook, these qualified hangmen Should be my company. Cor. Here comes another. [DoM. Afer passes over the Stage, Arr. Ay, there's a man^, Afer the orator ! One that hath phrases, figures, and fine flowers, To strew his rhetoric with,^° and doth make haste, To get him note, or name, by any offer Where blood or gain be objects; steeps his words, When he would kill, in artificial tears : The crocodile of Tyber ! him I love, That man is mine ; he hath my heart and voice When I would curse ! he, he. Sab. Contemn the slaves. Their present lives will be their future graves. [^Exeunt, SCENE IV. — Another Apartment in the same. Enter Silius, Agrippina, Nero, and Sosia. Sil. May't please your highness not forget yourself ; ^ Quorum non dubiasuccessio, neque spargi venenuniiu tres poterat, &c. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. ' Silius, Sabinus, de quibus supra. * Tib. tempor. delatores genus hominum publico exi.lo repertum, et pcenis quidem nunquam satis coercitum, per praemia eliciebantur. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 82. 9 De Domit. Af. vid. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89—93. Quoquo facinore properus clarescere. Tacit, ibid. Lt infra, piosperiore eloquentias quam morum fama fuit. Et p. 93. diu e^ens, et parto nuper praemio male usus, jilura ad flagitia accingeretur. gCENB I. SEJANUS. 141» I dare not, with my manners, to attempt Your trouble farther. Agr. Farewell, noble Silius! Sil. Most royal princess. Agr. Sosia stays with us ? Sil. She is your servant, and doth owe your grace An honest, but unprofitable love. Agr. How can that be, when there's no gain but virtue's ? Sil. You take the moral, not the politic sense. I meant, as she is bold, and free of speech. Earnest ' to utter what her zealous thought Travails withal, in honour of your house ; Which act, as it is simply born in her, Partakes of love and honesty ; but may, By the over-often, and unseason'd use, Turn to your loss and danger ^ : for your state Is waited on by envies, as by eyes ; And every second guest your tables take Is a fee'd spy, to observe who goes, who comes ; What conference you have, with whom, where, when. What the discourse is, what the looks, the thoughts Of every person there, they do extract, And make into a substance. Agr. Hear me, Silius. Were all Tiberius' body stuck with eyes. And every wall and hanging in my house Transparent, as this lawn I wear, or air ; Yea, had Sejanus both his ears as long As to my inmost closet, 1 would hate To whisper any thought, or change an act, To be made Juno's rival. Virtue's forces Show ever noblest in conspicuous courses. Sil. 'Tis great, and bravely spoken, like the spirit Of Agrippina : yet, your highness knows. There is nor loss nor shame in providence ; Few can, what all should do, beware enough. You may perceive ^ with what officious face, Satrius, and Natta, Afer, and the rest Visit your house, of late, to enquire the secrets ; And with what bold and privileged art, they rail Against Augusta, yea, and at Tiberius ; Tell tricks of Livia, and Sejanus ; all To excite, and call your indignation on, That they might hear it at more liberty. Agr. You're too suspicious, Silius. Sil. Pray the gods, I be so, Agrippina ; but I fear Some subtile practice.* They that durst to strike At 80 exampless, and unblamed a life. As that of the renowned Germanicus, W^ill not sit down with that exploit alone : He threatens many that hath injured one. Nero. 'Twere best rip forth their tongues, seal out their eyes, When next they come. Sos. A fit reward for spies. Enter Drusus, jun. Dru. jun. Hear you the rumour ? Agr. What? Dru. jun. Drusus is dying.* Agr. Dying ! Nero. That's strange ! Agr. You were with him yesternight. Dru. jun. One met Eudemus the physician, Sent for, but now ; who thinks he cannot live. Sil. Thinks ! if it be arrived at that, he knows, Or none. Agr. 'Tis quick ! what should be his disease ? Sil. Poison, poison Agr. How, Silius ! Nero. What's that ? Sil. Nay, nothing. There was late a certain blow Given o' the face. Nero. Ay, to Sejanus. Sil. True. Dru. jun. And what of that ? Sil. I'm glad I gave it not. Nero. But there is somewhat else ? Sil. Yes, private meetings. With a great lady [sir], at a physician's, And a wife tum'd away. Nero. Ha ! Sil. Toys, mere toys : WHiat wisdom's now in th' streets, in the common mouth ? Dru. jun. Fears, whisperings, tumults, noise, I know not what : They say the Senate sit.'' Sil. I'll thither straight ; And see what's in the forge. Agr. Good Silius do ; Sosia and I will in. Sil. Haste you, my lords. To visit the sick prince ; tender your loves. And sorrows to the people. This Sejanus, Trust my divining soul, hath plots on all : No tree, that stops his prospect, but must fall. \_Exeunt ACT SCENE I.— The Senate-House. \ Enter Preconcs, Lictores, Sejanus, Varro, LAxrAnis, CoTTA, and Afer. Sej. 'Tis only^ you must urge against him, Varro ; Nor I nor Caesar may appear therein. » Vid. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. « Ibid. p. 77. 3 Tacit, ibid, et pp. 90 et 92. * Suet. Tib. c. 2. Dion. Rom. Hist Lib. Ivii. p. 705. * Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. III. Except in your defence, who are the consul ; And, under colour of late enmity Between your father and his, may better do it. As free from all suspicion of a practice. Here be your notes, what points to touch at ; read : Be cunning in them. Afer has them too. Var. But is he summon'd ? Sej. No. It was debated By Csesar, and concluded as most fit To take him unprepared. • Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 74, 75, 76, 77. ' Vid. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 76. 150 SEJANUS. ACT 111. Afer. And prosecute All under name of treason.* Var. I conceive. Enter Sabinus, Gallus, Lbpicus, and Arruntius. Sab. Drusus being dead, Caesar will not be here. Gal. What should the business of this senate be ? Arr. That can my subtle whisperers tell you : we That are the good-dnll-noble lookers on, Are only call'd to keep the marble warm. What should we do with those deep mysteries, Proper to these fine heads ? let them alone. Our ignorance may, perchance, help us be saved From whips and furies. Gall. See, see, see their action ! Arr. Aj, now their heads do travail, now they work ; Their faces run like shittles ; they are weaving Some curious cobweb to catch flies. Sab. Observe, They take their places. Arr. What,2 so low ! Gal. O yes, They must be seen to flatter Csesar's grief. Though but in sitting. Var. Bid us silence. PrcB. Silence ! Var. Fathers conscript,^ may this our present meeting Turn fair, and fortunate to the common-wealth ! Enter Silius, and other Senators* Sej. See, Silius enters. Sil. Hail, grave fathers ! Lie. Stand. Silius, forbear thy place. Sen. How ! PrcB. Silius, stand forth, •The consul hath to charge thee. Lie. Room for Caesar. Arr. Is he come too ! nay then expect a trick. Sab. Silius accused ! sure he will answer nobly. Enter Tiberius, attended. Tib. We stand amazed, fathers, to behold This general dejection. Wherefore sit Rome's consuls thus dissolved,* as they had lost All the remembrance both of style and place ? It not becomes. No woes are of fit weight, To make the honour of the empire stoop : Though I, in my peculiar self, may meet Just reprehension, that so suddenly. And, in so fresh a grief, would greet the senate, When private tongues, of kinsmen and allies, Inspiicd with comforts, lothly are endured, The face of men not seen, and scarce the day, To thousands that communicate our loss. Nor can I argue these of weakness ; since They take but natural ways ; yet I must seek For stronger aids, and those fair helps draw out From warm embraces of the common-wealth. Our mother, great Augusta, 's struck with time, Our self imprest with aged characters, Drusus is gone, his children young and babes ; > Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. Sed cuncta quaestione ma- jestatis exercita. 2 Tacit, eod. Lib. iv. p. 76. Consulesquesede vulgar i per speciem moestitiae sedentes. 3 Praefatio solennis Consulum Rom. vid. Bar. Briss. de for. Lib. ii. ♦ Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 76. Our aims must now reflect on those that may Give timely succour to these present ills, And are our only glad- surviving hopes, The noble issue of Germanicus, Nero and Drusus : might it please the consul Honour them in, they both attend without. I would present them to the senate's care, And raise those suns of joy that should drink up These floods of sorrow in your drowned eyes. Arr. By Jove, 1 am not (Edipus enough To understand this Sphynx. Sab. The princes come. Enter Nero, and Drusus, junior. Tib. Approach you, noble Nero, noble Drusus. These pri>nces, fathers, when their parent died, I gave unto their uncle, with this prayer. That though he had proper issue of his own, He would no less bring up, and foster these. Than that self-blood ; and by that act confirm Their worths to him, and to posterity. Drusus ta'en hence, I turn my prayers to you, And 'fore our country, and our gods, beseech You take, and rule Augustus' nephew's sons, Sprung of the noblest ancestors ; and so Accomplish both my duty, and your own. Nero, and Drusus, these shall be to you In place of parents, these your fathers, these; And not unfitly : for you are so born, As all your good, or ill's the common-wealth's. Receive them, you strong guardians ; and blest gods. Make all their actions answer to their bloods : Let their great titles find increase by them. Not they by titles. Set them as in place. So in example, above all the Romans : And may they know no rivals but themselves. Let Fortune give them nothing ; but attend Upon their virtue : and that still come forth Greater than hope, and better than their fame. Relieve me, fathers, with your general voice. Senators. May all the gods consent to Ccesar's wish, And add to any honours that may crown The hopeful issue of Germanicus ! Tib. We thank you, reverend fathers, in their right. Arr. If this were true now ! but the space, the space Between the breast and lips— Tiberius' heart Lies a thought further than another man's. \_A.nde. Tib. My comforts are so flowing in my joys, As, in them, all my streams of grief are lost, No less than are land-waters in the sea, Or showers in rivers ; though their cause was such, As might have sprinkled ev'n the gods with tears : Yet, since the greater doth embrace the less, We covetously obey. Arr. Well acted, Csesar. [Aside. Tib. And now I am the happy witness made Of your so much desired affections To this great issue, I could wish, the Fates Would here set peaceful period to my days ; However to my labours, I entreat, And beg it of this senate, some fit ease. Arr. Laugh, fathers, laugh : ^ have yon no spleens about you ? [Aside. * Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 76. Ad vana et toties inrisa revolu* tus de reddenda Rep. utque consules, eeu quis alius regi^ men susciperent. SCENE I. SEJANUS. 151 Tib. The burden is too heavy I sustain On my unwilling shoulders ; and I pray It may be taken off, and reconferred Upon the consuls, or some other Roman, More able, and more worthy. Arr. Laugh on still. [_Asidc. Sab. Why this doth render all the rest suspected ! Gal. It poisons all. Arr. O, do you taste it then ? Sab. It takes away my faith to any thing He shall hereafter speak. Arr. Ay, to pray that, Which would be to his head as hot as thunder, 'Gainst which he wears that charmi should but the Receive him at his word. [court Gal. Hear! Tib. For myself I know my weakness, and so little covet, Like some gone past, the weight that will oppress As ray ambition is the counter-point. [me, Arr. Finely maintained ; good still ! Sej. But Rome, whose blood, Whose nerves, whose life, whose very frame relies On Caesar's strength, no less than heaven on Atlas, Cannot admit it but with general ruin. Arr. Ah ! are you there to bring him oS? lAtide. Sej. Let Caesar No more then urge a point so contrary To Caesar's greatness, the grieved senate's vows, Or Rome's necessity. Gal. He comes about — Arr. More nimbly than Vertumnus. Tib. For the publick, I may be drawn to shew I can neglect All private aims, though I affect my rest ; But if the senate still command me serve, I must be glad to practice my obedience.' Arr. You must and will, sir. We do know it. lAside. Senators. CcBsar, Live long and happy, great and royal Ctesar ; The gods preserve thee and thy modesty, Thy wisdom and thy innocence ! Arr. Where is't ? The prayer is made before the subject. lAside. Senators. Guard His meekness, Jove; his piety, his care. His bounty Arr. And his subtility, I'll put in : Yet he'll keep that himself, without the gods. All prayers are vain for him. \_Aside. Tib. We will not hold Your patience, fathers, with long answer ; but Shall still contend to be what you desire, And work to satisfy so great a hope. Proceed to your affairs. Arr. Now, Silius, guard thee ; The curtain's drawing. Afer advanceth. lAside. Pres. Silence ! Afer. Cite^ Caius Silius. * 'Gainst which he wears a charm.'] Tonitrua praeter modum expavescebat ; et turbatiore ccelo nunquam non toronam lauream capite gestevit, quod fulmine afflari negetur id genus frondis. Suet. Tib. c. 69. Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib. XV. c. 20. * Semper perplexa et obscura orat. Tib. vid. Tacit. Ann. lib. i. p. 5. ' Citabatur reus e tribunali voce praeconis. vid. Bar. Brisson. Lib. 5. de form. PrcB. Caius Silius ! Sil. Here. Afer. The triumph that thou hadst in Germany For thy late victory on Sacrovir, Thou hast enjoy'd so freely, Caius Silius, As no man it envied thee ; nor would Caesar, Or Rome admit, that thou wert then defrauded Of any honours thy deserts could claim. In the fair service of the commonwealth : But now, if, after all their loves and graces, (Thy actions, and their courses being discover'd) It shall appear to Caesar and this senate, Thou hast defiled those glories with thy crimes — Sil. Crimes ! Afer. Patience, Silius. Sil. Tell thy mule of patience ; I am a Roman. What are my crimes ? proclaim Am I too rich, too honest for the times ? [them. Have I or treasure, jewels, land, or houses That some informer gapes for is my strength Too much to be admitted, or my knowledge.^ These now are crimes.'' Afer. Nay, Silius, if the name Of crime so touch thee, with what impotence Wilt thou endure the matter to be search'd ? Sil. I tell thee, Afer, with more scorn than fear ; Employ your mercenary tongue and art. Where's my accuser ? Var. Here. Arr. Varro, the consul ! Is he thrust in ? ( Aside. Var. 'Tis I accuse thee, Silius. Against the majesty of Rome, and Caesar, I do pronounce thee here a guilty cause. First of beginning 5 and occasioning. Next, drawing out the war in ^ Gallia, For which thou late triumph'st ; dissembling long That Sacrovir to be an enemy, Only to make thy entertainment more. Whilst thou, and thy wife Sosia, poU'd the pro- vince : Wherein, with sordid, base desire of gain. Thou hast discredited thy actions' worth. And been a traitor to the state. Sil. Thouliest. Arr. I thank thee, Silius, speak so still and often. Var. If I not prove it, Caesar,7 but unjustly Have call'd him into trial ; here I bind Myself to suffer, what I claim against him ; And yield to have what I have spoke, confirm'd By judgment of the court, and all good men. Sil. Caesar, I crave to have my cause deferr'd. Till this man's consulship be out. Tib. We cannot, Nor may we grant it. Sil. Why ? shall he design My day of trial? Is he my accuser, And must he be my judge ? Tib. It hath been usual, And is a right that custom hath allow'd The magistrate,^ to call forth private men; ♦ Vid. Suet. Tib. Tacit. Die. Senec. * Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. Conscienti& belli, Sacrovir diu dissimulatus, victoria per avaritiam foedata, et uxor Sosia arguebantur. 6 Bellum Sacrovirianum in Gall. erat. Triumph, in Germ. vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 63. ' Vid. accusaudi formulam apud Brisson. Lib. v. ill form. 8 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. Adrersatus est Cuaxr, iuU- 152 SEJANUS. ACT i:i And to appoint their day : which privilege We may not in the consul see infringed, By ^vhose deep watches, and industrious care It is so labour'd, as the common -wealth Receive no loss, by any oblique course. Sil. Csesar, thy fraud is worse than violence. Tib. Silius, mistake us not, we dure not use The credit of the consul to thy wrong ; But only do preserve his place and power, So far as it concerns the dignity And honour of the state. Arr. Believe him, Silius. Cot. Why, so he may, Arruntius. Arr. I say so. And he may choose too. Tib. By the Capitol, And all our gods, but that the dear republic, Our sacred laws, and just authority Are interess'd therein, I should be silent. Afer. 'Please Csesar to give way unto his trial, He shall have justice. Sil. Nay, I shall have law ; Shall I not, Afer ? speak. A fer. Would you have more ? Sil. No, my well-spoken man, I would no more; Nor less : might I enjoy it natural, Not taught to speak unto your present ends. Free from thine, his, and all your unkind handling, Furious enforcing, most unjust presuming. Malicious, and manifold applying. Foul wresting, and impossible construction. Afer. He raves, he raves. Sil. Thou durst not tell me so, Hadst thou not Caesar's warrant. I can see Whose power condemns me. Var. This betrays his spirit : This doth enough declare him what he is. Sil. What am I ? speak. Var. An enemy to the state. Sil. Because I am an enemy to thee, And such corrupted ministers o' the state, That here art made a present instrument To^ gratify it with thine own disgrace. Sej. This, to the consul, is most insolent, And impious ! Sil. Ay, take part. Reveal yourselves, Alas I I scent not your confederacies. Your plots, and combinations 1 I not know Minion Sej anus hates me ; and that all. This boast of law, and law, is but a form, A net of Vulcan's filing, a mere ingine, To take that life by a pretext of justice, Which you pursue in malice ! I want brain. Or nostril to persuade me, that your ends. And purposes are made to what they are. Before my answer ! O, you equal gods, Whose justice not a world of wolf-turn'd men Shall make me to accuse, howe'er provoked ; Have I for this so oft engaged myself? Stood in the heat and fervour of a fight, When Phoebus sooner hath forsook the day Than I the field, against the blue-eyed Gauls, And crisped Germans ? when our Roman eagles Have fann'd the fire, with their labouring wings, A.nd no blow dealt, that left not death behind it ? turn quippe magistratibus diem privatis dicere, nec infiin- gendiim Consulisjus, cujus vigiliis, &c. 1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. Immissusque Varro consul qui paternas inimicitias obtendens, odiis Sejani per dede- cus suum gratificabatur. When I have charged, alone, into the troops Of curl'd Sicambrians,2 routed them, and came Not off, with backward ensigns of a slave ; But forward marks, wounds on my breast and face, Were meant to thee, O Caesar, and thy Rome ? And have I this return ! did I, for this, Perform so noble and so brave defeat On Sacrovir ! O Jove, let it become me To boast my deeds, when he whom they concern. Shall thus forget them. Afer. Silius, SiUus, These are the common customs of thy blood, When it is high with wine, as now with rage : This well agrees with that intemperate vaunt, Thou lately mad'st^ at Agrippina's table, That, when all other of the troops were prone To fall into rebellion, only thine Remain'd in their obedience. Thou wert he That saved the empire, which had then been lost Had but thy legions, there, rebeird, or mutined ; Thy virtue met, and fronted every peril. Thou gav'st to Caesar, and to Rome their surety ; Their name, their strength, their spirit, and their Their being was a donative from thee. [state, Arr. Well worded, and most like an orator. Tib. Is this true, SiUus ? Sil. Save thy question, Caesar ; Thy spy of famous credit hath affirm'd it. Arr. Excellent Roman ! Sab. He doth answer stoutly. Sej. If this be so, there needs no farther cause Of crime against him. Var. What can more impeach The royal dignity and state of Caesar, Than to be urged with 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 ! {.Aside. Sil. Come, do not hunt, And labour 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 will say : Since I have done thee that great service, Caesar, Thou still hast fear'd me ; and in place of grace, Return'd me hatred : so soon all best turns, With doubtful princes, turn deep injuries In estimation, when they greater rise Than can be answer'd. Benefits, with 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 all men slaves To you, but you acknowledging to none. The means that make yourgreatness, must not come In mention of it ; if it do, it takes So much away, you think : and that which hel})'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. 2 Populi Germ, hodie Geldri in Belgica sunt inter Mosam et Rhenum, quos celebrat Mart, Spec. 3. Crinibus in nodum tortis venere Sicambri. 3 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. SK JANUS. ]53 Lat. Let him be censured. Sej. He hath spoke enough to prove him Caesar's foe. Cot. His thoughts look through his words. Sej. A censure. Sil. Stay, Stay, most officious senate, I shall straight Delude thy fury. Sihus hath not placed His guards within 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 Csesar, 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 ; Nor shall my end make me accuse my fate. The coward and the valiant man must fall, Only the cause and manner how, discerns them : Which then are gladdest, 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. \.Stdb$ himself. Var. O desperate act ! 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 are 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. Caesar 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.' \,Aside. 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 Go to the treasure, half unto the children. Lep. With leave of Caesar, 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 humanity. And bounty ; not to force them by their want. Which in their parents' trespass they deserv'd, To take ill courses. Tib. It shall please us. Arr. Ay, Out of necessity. This ^ Lepidus Is grave and honest, and I have observed A moderation still in all his censures. Sah. And bending to the better Stay, who's this } > T.-u-it. Ann. Lib. iv. p. «<» Enter Satrius and Natta, with Cremutics Cordus guarded. Cremutius Cordus ! 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, Caesar. Free. Cremutius Cordus ! Cor. Here. PrcB. Satrius Secundus, Pinnarius Natta, you are his accusers. Arr. Two of Sejanus' blood-hounds, whom he With human flesh, to bay at citizens. [breeds Afer. Stand forth before the Senate, and con- front him. Sat. I do accuse thee here, Cremutius Cordus, To be a man factious and dangerous, A sower of sedition in the state, A turbulent and discontented spirit. Which I will prove from thine own writings, here, The Annals thou hast publish'd ; where thou bit'st The present age, and with a viper's tooth, Being a member of it, dar'st that ill Which never yet degenerous bastard did Upon his parent. Nat. To this, I subscribe ; And, forth a world of more particulars, Instance in only one : comparing men. And times, thou praisest Brutus, and affirm'sl That Cassius was the last of all the Romans. Cot. How ! what are we then ? Var. What is Caesar ? nothing Afer. My lords, this strikes at every Roman's private, In whom reigns gentry, and estate of spirit, To have a Brutus brought in parallel, A parricide, an enemy of his country, Rank'd, and preferr'd to any real worth That Rome now holds. This is most strangely invective, Most full of spite, and insolent upbraiding. Nor is't the time alone is here disprised, But the whole man of time, yea, Citsar's self Brought in disvalue ; and he aimed at most, By oblique glance of his licentious pen. Caesar, if Cassius were the last of Romans, Thou hast no name. Tib. Let's hear him answer. Silence Cor. So innocent I am of fact, my lords, As but my words are argued : yet those words Not reaching either prince or prince's parent : The which your law of treason comprehends. Brutus and Cassius I am charged to have praised ; Whose deeds, when many more, besides myself, Have writ, not one hath mention'd without honour. Great Titus Livius, great for eloquence. And faith amongst us, in his history, With so great praises Pompey did extol. As oft Augustus caird him a Pompeian : Yet this not hurt their friendship. In his book He often names Scipio, Afranius, Yea, the same Cassius, and this Brutus too, As worthiest men; not thieves and parricides. Which notes upon their fames are now imposed. Asinius PoUio's writings quite throughout 2 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83, 84. Dio. Hist. B.om. T,ib Ivii. p. 710 154. SEJANUS. ACT III. Give them a noble memory ; so^ Messala Renown'd his general Cassius : yet both these Lived with Augustus, full of wealth and honours. To Cicero's book, where Cato was heav'd up Equal with Heaven, what else did Csesar answer, Being then dictator, but with a penn'd oration, As if before the judges? Do but see Antonius' letters ; read but Brutus' pleadings : What vile reproach they hold against Augustus, False, I confess, but with much bitterness. The epigrams of Bibaculus and Catullus Are read, full stuft with spite of both the Caesars ; Yet deified Julius, and no less Augustus, Both bore them, and contemn'd them : I not know, Promptly to speak it, whether done with more Temper, or wisdom ; for such obloquies If they despised be, they die supprest ; But if with rage acknowledg'd, they are confest. The Greeks I slip, whose license not alone, But also lust did scape unpunished : Or where some one, by chance, exception took. He words with words revenged. But, in my work, What could be aim'd more free, or farther off From the times scandal, than to write of those. Whom death from grace or hatred had exempted ? Did I, with Brutus and with Cassius, Arm'd, and pcssess'd of the Philippi fields, Incense the people in the civil cause, With dangerous speeches ? Or do they, being slain Seventy years since, as by their images, Which not the conqueror hath defaced, appears, Retain that guilty memory with writers ? Posterity pays every man his honour : Nor shall there want, though I condemned am, That will not only Cassius well approve, And of great Brutus' honour mindful be, But that will also mention make of me. Arr. Freely and nobly spoken 1 Sab. With good temper ; I like him, that he is not moved with passion. Arr. He puts them to their whisper. Tib. Take him hence; 2 We shall determine of him at next sitting. [_Exeunt Ofl&cers with Cobdus. Cot. Mean time, give order, that his books be To the sediles. [burnt, Sej. You have well advised. Afer. It fits not such licentious things should T' upbraid the age. [live Arr. If the age were good, they might. Lat. Let them be burnt. Gal. All sought, and burnt to-day. Free. The court is up ; lictors, resume the fasces. [_Exeunt all but Arruntius, Sabinus, and Lepidus. Arr. Let them be burnt ! O, how ridiculous Appears the senate's brainless diligence. Who think they can, with present power, extinguish The memory of all succeeding times ! Sab. 'Tis true ; when, contrary, the punishment Of wit, doth make the authority increase. Nor do they aught, that use this cruelty Of interdiction, and this rage of burning, But purchase to themselves rebuke and shame. And to the writers ^ an eternal name. 1 Septem dec. lib. Hist, scripsit. vid. Suid. Suet. « Egressus dein senatu vitam abstinentia finivit. Tacit, ibid. Generosam ejus mortem vid. apud Sen. Cons, ad Marc. cap. 22. ' Monserunt ejus libri occultati et edit!. Tacit, ibid. Lep. It is an argument the times are sore, When virtue cannot safely be advanced ; Nor vice reproved. Arr. Ay, noble Lepidus ; Augustus well foresaw what we should suffer Under Tibei'ius, when he did pronounce The Roman race most wretched,* that should live Between so slow jaws, and so long a bruising. lExeimt. SCENE 11.—^ Room in the Palace. Enter Tiberius and Sejanus. Tib. This business hath succeeded well, Sejanus, And quite removed all jealousy of practice 'Gainst Agrippina, and our nephews. Now, We must bethink us how to plant our ingine, For th' other pair, Sabinus and Arruntius, And^ Gallus too; howe'er he flatter us, His heart we know. Sej. Give it some respite, Csesar. Time shall mature, and bring to perfect crown, What we, with so good vultures have begun : Sabinus shall be next. Tib. Rather Arruntius. Sej. By any means, preserve him. His frank tongue Being let the reins, would take away all thought Of malice, in your course against the rest : We must keep him to stalk with. Tib. Dearest head, To thy most fortunate design I yield it. Sej. Sir,^ — I have been so long train'd up in grace, First with your father, great Augustus ; since, With your most happy bounties so familiar As I not sooner would commit my hopes Or wishes to the gods, than to your ears. Nor have I ever, yet, been covetous Of over-bright and dazzling honours ; rather To watch and travail in great Caesar's safety, With the most common soldier. Tib. 'Tis confest. Sej. The only gain, and which I count most fair Of all my fortunes, is, that mighty Caesar Has thought me worthy his'^ alliance. Hence Begin my hopes. Tib. Umph ! Sej. I have heard, Augustus, In the bestowing of his daughter, thought But even of gentlemen of Rome : if so, — I know not how to hope so great a favour — But if a husband should be sought for Livia, And I be had in mind, as Caesar's friend, I would but use the glory of the kindred : It should not make me slothful, or less caring For Caesar's state : it were enough to me It did confirm, and strengthen my weak house. Against the now unequal opposition Of Agrippina ; and for dear regard Unto my children, this I wish : myself Have no ambition farther than to end My days in service of so dear a master. Scripserat his Cremut. bella civilia, et res Aug. extantqiio fragmenta in Suasoria sexta Senec. ♦ Vid. Suet. Tib. c.21. 5 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 6. Lib. ii. p. 85. 6 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 85. ' Filia ejus Claudii filio desponsa. SCENt: 11 » SEJANUS. 165 Tib. We cannot but commend thy piety ; Most loved Sejanus, ia acknowledging Those bounties; which we, faintly, such remem- But to thy suit. The rest of mortal men, [ber — In all their drifts and counsels, pursue profit ; Princes alone are of a different sort, Directing their main actions still to fame : We therefore will take time to think and answer. For Livia she can best, herself, resolve If she will marry, after Drusus, or Continue in the family ; besides, She hath a mother, and a grandam yet, Whose nearer counsels she may guide her by : But I will simply deal. That enmity Thou fear'st in Agrippina, would burn more, If Livia's marriage should, as 'twere in parts, Divide the the imperial house ; an emulation Between the women might break forth ; and discord Ruin the sons and nephews on both hands. What if it cause some present difference ? Thou art not safe, Sejanus, if thou prove it. Canst thou believe, that Livia, first the wife To Caiiis Csesar, ^ then my Drusus, now Will be contented to grow old with thee, Born but a private gentleman of Rome, And raise thee with her loss, if not her shame ? Or say that I should wish it, canst thou think The senate, or the people (who have seen Her brother, father, and our ancestors, la highest place of empire) will endure it } The state thou hold'st already, is in talk ; Men murmur at thy greatness ; and the nobles Stick not, in public, to upbraid thy climbing Above our father's favours, or thy scale : And dare accuse me, from their hate to thee. Be wise, dear friend. We would not hide these things. For friendship's dear respect : Nor will we stand Adverse to thine, or Livia's designments. What we have purposed to thee, in our thought. And with what near degrees of love to bind thee, And make thee equal to us ; for the present, We will forbear to speak. Only tiius much BeHeve, our loved Sejanus, we not know That height in blood or honour, which thy virtue And mind to us, may not aspire with merit. And this we'll publish on all watch'd occasion The senate or the people shall present. Sej. I am restored, and to my sense again, Which I had lost in this so blinding suit. Csesar hath taught me better to refuse, Than I knew how to ask. How pleaseth^ Caesar r embrace my late advice for leaving Rome ? Tib. We are resolved. Sej. Here are some motives more, [^Givcs him a Paper. Which I have thought on since, may more confirm. Tib. Careful Sejanus ! we will straight peruse Go forward in our main design, and prosper, [them : [Exit. Sej. If those but take, I shall. Dull, heavy Csesar ! [crimes, Wouldst thou tell me, thy favours were made And that my fortunes were esteem'd thy faults, That thou for me wert hated, and not think I would with winged haste prevent that change, When thou might'st win all to thyself again, By forfeiture of me ! Did those fond words » August, nepoti et M. Vapsanii AgrippiE filio ex Julia. * Tacit. Ann. Lib. iy. p. 85, Dio. Lib. Iviii. Fly swifter from thy lips, than this my brain, This sparkling forge, created me an armour T' encounter chance and thee ? Well, read my charms. And may they lay that hold upon thy senses, As thou hadst snuft up hemlock, or ta'en down The juice of poppy and of mandrakes. Sleep, Voluptuous Caesar, and security Seize on thy stupid powers, and leave them dead To public cares ; awake but to thy lusts, The strength of which makes thy libidinous soul Itch to leave Rome ! and I have thrust it on ; With blaming of the city business, The multitude of suits, the confluence Of suitors ; then their importunacies, The manifold distractions he must suffer, Besides ill-rumours, envies, and reproaches, All which a quiet and retired life. Larded with ease and pleasure, ^ did avoid : And yet for any weighty and great affair. The fittest place to give the soundest counsels. By this I shall remove him both fi-om thought And knowledge of his own most dear affairs ; Draw all dispatches through my private hands ; Know his designments, and pursue mine own ; Make mine own strengths by giving suits and Conferring dignities and offices ; [places, And these that hate me now, wanting access To him, will make their envy none, or less : For when they see me arbiter of all, They must observe ; or else, with Caesar fall. lExiU SCENE 111.— Another Room in the name. Enter Tibekius. Tib. To marry Livia ! will no less, Sejanus, Content thy aims ? no lower object ? well ! Thou know'st how thou art wrought into our trust ; Woven in our design ; and think'st we must Now use thee, whatsoe'er thy projects are : 'Tis true. But yet with caution and fit care. And, now we better think who's there within ? Elder an OfiBccr. Off. Caesar! Tib. To leave our journey off, were sin 'Gainst our decreed delights ; and would appear Doubt ; or, what less becomes a prince, low fear. Yet doubt hath law, and fears have their excuse. Where princes' states plead necessary use ; As ours doth now : more in Sejanus' pride, Than all fell Agrippina's hates beside. Those are the dreadful enemies we raise With favours, and make dangerous with praise ; The injured by us may have will alike, Bnt 'tis the favourite hath the power to strike ; And fury ever boils more high and strong, Heat with ambition, than revenge of wrong. 'Tis then a part of supreme skill, to grace No man too much ; but hold a certain space Between the ascender's rise, and thine own flat, Lest, when all rounds be reach'd, his aim be that. 'Tis thought. [Aside.} — Is* Macro in the palace.' see : If not, go seek him, to come to us. [Exit Oflfi.] — He Must be the organ we must work by now ; 3 Tacit, ibid. * De Macroneisto, vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. 111. p. 718, et Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 109, &c. ]56 SEJANUS. ACT IV Though none less apt for trust : need doth allow What choice would not. I have heard that aconite, Being timely taken, hath a healing might Against the scorpion's stroke : the proof we'll give : That, while two poisons wrestle, we may live. He hath a spirit too working to be used But to the encounter of his like ; excused Are wiser sov'reigns then, that raise one ill Against another, and both safely kill : The prince that feeds great natures, they will sway Who nourisheth a lion must obey him. — [him ; Re-enter Officer, with Macro. Macro, we sent for you. Mac. I heard so, Caesar. Tib. Leave us a while. [Exit Officer.] — When you shall know, good Macro, The causes of our sending, and the ends. You will then hearken nearer; and be pleas'd You stand so high both in our choice and trust. Afac. The humblest place in Caesar's choice or trust. May make glad Macro proud ; without ambition, Save to do Caesar service. Tib. Leave your courtings. W^e are in purpose, Macro, ^ to depart The city for a time, and see Campania ; Not for our pleasures, but to dedicate A pair of temples, one to Jupiter At Capua ; th' other at^ Nola, to Augustus : In which great work, perhaps our stay will be Beyond our will produced. Now since we are Not ignorant what danger may be born Out of our shortest absence in a state So subject unto envy, and embroil'd With hate and faction ; we have thought on thee, Amongst a field of Romans, worthiest Macro, To be our eye and ear : to keep strict watch On Agrippina, Nero, Drusus ; ay, And on Sejanus : not that we distrust His loyalty, or do repent one grace Of all that heap we have conferred on him ; For that were to disparage our election, And call that judgment now in doubt, which then Seem'd as unquestion'd as an oracle — But, greatness hath his cankers. Worms and moths Breed out of too much humour, in the things Which after they consume, transferring quite The substance of their makers into themselves. Macro is sharp, and apprehends : besides, I know him subtle, close, wise, and well-read In man, and his large nature ; he hath studied Affections, passions, knows their springs, their ends, ACT SCENE I. — An Apartment in Agrippina's House. Enter Gallus and Agkippina. GaL You must have patience,^ royal Agrippina. Agr. I must have vengeance, first ; and that were nectar 1 Suet. Tib. c. 4. Dio Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 711. « Suet. Tib. c. 43. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p .91. ' Agrippina semper atrox, tum et periculo propinquo accensa. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89. Which way, and whether they will work : 'tis proof Enough of his great merit, that we trust him. Then to a point, because our conference Cannot be long without suspicion Here Macro, we assign thee, both to spy, Inform, and chastise ; think, and use thy means. Thy ministers, what, where, on whom thou wilt ; Explore, plot, practise : all thou dost in this Shall be, as if the senate, or the laws Had given it privilege, and thou thence styled The saviour both of Caesar and of Rome. We will not take thy answer but in act : Whereto, as thou proceed'st, we hope to hear By trusted messengers. If 't be inquired. Wherefore we call'd you, say you have in charge To see our chariots ready, and our horse. Be still our loved and, shortly, honour'd Macro. lExit Mac. I will not ask, why Caesar bids do this ; But joy that he bids me. * It is the bliss Of courts to be employed, no matter how ; A prince's power makes all his actions virtue. We, whom he works by, are dumb instruments. To do, but not inquire : his great intents Are to be served, not search'd. Yet, as that bow Is most in hand, whose owner best doth know To affect his aims ; so let that statesman hope Most use, most price, can hit his prince's scope. Nor must he look at what, or whom to strike. But loose at all ; each mark must be alike. Were it to plot against the fame, the life Of one, with whom I twinn'd ; remove a wife From my warm side, as loved as is the air ; Practise away each parent ; draw mine heir In compass, though but one ; work all my kin To swift perdition ; leave no untrain'd engin, For friendship, or for innocence ; nay, make The Gods all guilty ; I would undertake This, being imposed me, both with gain and ease The way to rise is to obey and please. He that will thrive in state, he must neglect The trodden paths that truth and right respect ; And prove new, wilder ways : for virtue there Is not that narrow thing, she is elsewhere ; Men's fortune there is virtue ; reason their will ; Their license, law ; and their observance, skill. Occasion is their foil ; conscience, their stain ; Profit their lustre ; and what else is, vain. If then it be the lust of Caesar's power,* To have raised Sejanus up, and in an hour O'erturn him, tumbling down, from height of all ; We are his ready engine : and his fall May be our rise. It is no uncouth thing To see fresh buildings from old ruins spring. lExiU IV. Unto my fanush'd spirits. O, my fortune, Let it be sudden thou prepar'st against nie ; Strike all my powers of understanding blind, And ignorant of destiny to come ! Let me not fear that cannot hope. Gal. Dear princess. These tyrannies on yourself, are worse than Caesar's. * De Macrone et ingenio ejus, cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. pp. 114, 115. 5 Vide Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. hiii. p. 718, &c. SOKNK III. SEJANUS. 167 Agr. Is this the happiness of being born great? Ptill to be aim'd at ? still to be suspected ? To live the subject of all jealousies ? At least the colour made, if not the ground To every painted danger ? who would not Choose once to fall, than thus to hang for ever ? Gal. You might be safe if you would Agr. What, my Gallus ! Be lewd Sejanus' strumpet, or the bawd To Caesar's lusts, he now is gone to practise ? Not these are safe, where nothing is. Yourself, While thus you stand but by me, are not safe. Was Silius safe? or the good Sosia safe? Or was my niece, dear* Claudia Pulchra, safe, Or innocent Furnius ? they that latest have (By being made guilty) added reputation^ To Afer's eloquence ? O, foolish friends. Could not so fresh example warn your loves, But you must buy my favours with that loss Unto yourselves ; and when you might perceive That Caesar's cause of raging must forsake him. Before his will ! Away, good Gallus, leave me. Here to be seen, is danger ; to speak, treason : To do me least observance, is call'd faction. You are unhappy in me, and I in all. Where are my sons, Nero and Drusus ? We Are they be shot at ; let us fall apart ; Not in our ruins, sepulchre our friends. Or shall w^e do some action like offence. To mock their studies that would make us faulty, And frustrate practice by preventing it ? The danger's like : for what they can contrive, They will make good. No innocence is safe, When power contests : nor can they trespass more, Whose only being was all crime before. Enter Nkro, Drusus, and Caligula. Ner. You hear Sejanus is come back from Caesar ? Gal. No. How ? disgraced ? Dru. More graced now than ever. Gal. By what mischance ? Cal. A fortune like enough Once to be bad. Dm. But turn'd too good to both. Gal. What was't? Ner. Tiberius^ sitting at his meat, In a farm-house they call *Spelunca, sited By the sea-side, among the Fundane hills, Within a natural cave ; part of the grot. About the entry, fell, and overwhelm'd Some of the waiters ; others ran away : Only Sejanus with his knees, hands, face, | O'erhanging Caesar, did oppose himself i To the remaining ruins, and was found In that so labouring posture by the soldiers That came to succour him. With which adveutuie, I He hath ^so fix'd himself in Caesar's trust, As thunder cannot move him, and is come With all the height of Caesar's praise to Rome. Affr. And power, to turn those ruins all on us ; And bury whole posterities beneath them. Nero, and Drusus, and Caligula, ' Pulchra et Furnius damnat. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89- * Afer primoribus oratorum additus, divulgato ingenio, Itc. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89. ' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. * Praetorium Suet, appellat. Tib. c. 39. * Praebuitque ipsi materiem cur amicitae constantiaeque S^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 ; '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 womb, and take strong chear ; What we do know will come, we should not fear. lExeunt. SCENE U.— The Street Enter Macro. Mac. Return'd so soon ! renew'd in trust and grace ! Is Caesar then so weak, or hath the place But wrought this alteration with the air ; And he, on next remove, will all repair ? Macro, thou art engaged : and what before Was public ; now, must be thy private, more. The weal of Caesar, fitness did imply ; But thine own fate confers necessity On thy employment; and the thoughts born 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 blov/. lExit SCENE III. — An upper Room of Agrippina's House. Enter Latiabis, Rufus, and Opsius. Lat. It is a service^ lord Sejanus will 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'll now go fetch him. lExiL Ops. W' ith 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 to him, and doth trust him well. Ruf. And he'll requite his trust! s Sabinum aggrediuntur cupidine consulatus, ad queni non nisi per Sejanum aditus, neque Sejani voluntas nisi scelere quaerebatur. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 94. Dio. liist Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 711. ' Eoque apud bonos laudatus, et gravis iniquia. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 94. (58 SE JANUS. ACT IV. Ops. To do an office So grateful to the state, I know no man But would strain nearer bands, than kindred — — Ruf. List! I hear them come. Ops. Shift to our holes^ with silence. [They retire. Re-enter Latiaris and Sabinus. 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 mustvwe. Lat. O Jove, What will become of us or of,the times, Wlien, 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 ; And knowledge made a capital offence ? When not so much, but the bare 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 but 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 concern'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 be 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 ill 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 Ilaud minus turpi latebra quam detestanda fraude, Bese abstiuduut ; foraminibus et rimis aurem admovent. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. o. 69. * Ne nox quidem secura, cum uxor (Neronis) vigilias, Bomnos, suspiria matri Livi«, atque ilia Sejano patefa- leret. 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. Lat. Why we are worse, if to be slaves, and bond To Csesar's slave be such, the proud Sejanus ! He that is all, does all, gives Caesar 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 princes, 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 Di'usus 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 Caesar, 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, all the army have their eyes on him ; That both do long to have him undertake Something of worth, to give the world a hope ; Bids him to court their grace: the easy youth Perhaps gives ear, which straight he writes to Caesar ; And with this comment : See yon dangerous hoy ; Note but the practice of the mother, there ; She's tying him for purposes at hand, With men of sword. Here's Caesar put in fright 'Gainst son and mother. Yet, he leaves not thus. The second brother, Drusus, a fierce natare, 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. Caesar sleeps, And nods at this. Sab. Would he might ever sleep, Bogg'd in his filthy lusts ! [Opsius and Rufus riith in. Ops. Treason to Caesar ! Ruf. Lay hands upon the traitor, Latiaris, Or take the name thyself. Lat. I am for Caesar. 3 Facies ulcerosa ac plerumque medicaminibus inter- stincta. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. * Tacit ibid. Et Rhodi secrete, vitare coetua, recoa* dere voluptates insuerat. 5 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 90. c Tacit. Lib. eod. pp. 91. 92. ' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 91. 92. FCKNE V. SEJANUS. 159 Sab. Am I then catch'd ? Ruf. 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 ! Lat. Hale him away. liuf. To be a spy for traitors, Is honourable vigilance. Sab. You do well,i My most officious instruments of state ; Men of all uses : dri.g me hence, away. The year is well begun, and I fall fit To be an offering to Sejanus. Go ! Ops. Cover him with his garments, hide his face. Sab. It shall not need. Forbear your rude assault. The fault's not shameful, villainy makes a fault. lExeunt. SCENE lY.— The Street before Agrippina's House. Enter Mi^cviO and Caligula. Mac. Sir, but observe how thick your dangers meet In ijis clear drifts ! your^ mother and your brothers. Now cited to the senate ; their friend^ Gallus, feasted to-day by Csesar, since committed ! Sabinus here we met, hurried to fetters : The senators all strookwith 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 sure to be the subject of his hate, As now the object. Cal. What would you advise me ? Mac. To go for CaprcjE 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 full 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 and trust with Csesar gain. Cal. Away then, let's prepare us for our journey. \_Exeunt, SCENE V Another part of the Street, Enter Arruntius. Jrr. Still dost thou suffer, heaven ! will no flame. No heat of sin, make thy just wrath to boil In thy distemper'd bosom, and o'erflow The pitchy blazes of impiety, Kindled 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. s Abinium Gal. eodem die et convivam Tiberii fuisse et *o subornante damnatum narrat Dio. Lib. Iviii. p, 713. * Vid. Tacit. Lib, v. p. 94. Suet. Tib. e. 53. Into thy nostrils ! Jove ! will nothing wake thee } 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 \is 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,« but the plain and passive fortitude. To suffer and be silent ; never stretch These arms against the torrent ; live at home. With my own 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 ? W^ho 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, all 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 ^ De Lepido isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p, 6. Lib. iii. pp. 60, G5, et Lib. iv. p. 81. 6 Scalae Gemonias fuerunt in Aventino, prope templum Junonis reginae a Camillo captis Veiis dicatum ; a planctu et gemitu dictas viilt Rhodig. In quas contumelise causa cadavera projecta ; aliquando a carnifice unco traheban- tur. Vid. Tac. Suet. Dio. Sencc. Juvenal. 7 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 712. Et Tacit. Ann, Lib. iv. p. 94, 8 Tacit. Ann, Lib, iv. p. SO. ICO SEJANUS. ACT IV. Of any person, or for any crime, To be expected ; for 'tis always one : Death, with some little difference of place, Or time What's this ? Prince Nero, guarded ! Enter Laco i and Nero, with Guards. Lac. 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 yourselves for words, were as vain hazard, As unto me small comfort : fare you well. Would all Rome's sufferings in my fate did dwell ! Lac. 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 ? Lac. Drusus ^ is prisoner in the palace. Arr. Ha! I smell it now : 'tis rank. Where's Agrippina ? Lac. 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 born ! Confined, imprison'd, banish'd ? Most tripartite ! the cause, sir ? Lac. Treason. Arr. O ! The ^ complement of all accusings 1 that Will hit, when all else fails. Lep. This turn is strange ! But yesterday the people would not hear, Far less objected, but cried 6 Csesar's letters Were false and forged ; 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 1 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'll 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 1 De Lacon. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718, « Suet. Tib. c. 54. * Suet. ibid. * Suet. ibid. * Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 62. 6 Tacit. Lib. V. p. 98. ' Tiberius in tenebris videret ; testibus Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Ivii. p. 691. Et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib. ii. c. 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 "i 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 all 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 i^" 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, Kill, 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 Unto 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 will sooner rive A senseless oak with thunder than his trunk ! — Re-enter Laco.i^ with Pomponius and Minutius. 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. [Arrunt. and Lepidus 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. 1" Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 106. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. IviL p. 706. Suet. Tib. c. 62, &c. 44. 11 Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 100. Suet. Tib. c. 43, 12 Leg. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 714. 13 De Pomponio et Minutio vid. Tacit. Ann Lib. vL 1* Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 716. SCENE V. S 10,1 AN US. Mm. 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 Sejanus' friends Honour'd by special writ ; and on the morrow Another punish'd Pom. By more special writ. 3fin. This man^ receives his praises of Sejanus, A second but sliglit 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 follow, 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 tell, Sejanus still goes on. And mounts, we see ;^ new statues are advanced, Fresh leaves of titles, large inscriptions read. His fortune sworn by,* himself new gone out Cfesar's' colleague in the fifth consulship ; More altars smoke to him than all the gods : What would we more ? Arr. That the dear smoke would choke liim, That would I more. Lep. Peace, good Arruntius. 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. Mill. 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, Fulcinius Trio, is his own, and sure. — Here comes Terentius. Enter Tekentius. He can give us more. I21ie>/ whiupcr icilh TiiUKNTit'S. Lep. I'll ne'er believe, but Csesar 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 well,'" 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 too great. And with his greatness^ ^ strong; that all the soldiers » Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 716. 2 Dio. ibid. 3 Leg. Tacit. .Ann. Lib. iv. p. 96. * Adulation is pleni omnes ejus Fort unamjurabaut. Dio. Ilist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 714. * Dio. p. 714. Suet. Tib. c. 65. •■' Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. ' De Regulo cons. Dio. ibid. 8 Dio. ibid. 9 Suet. Tib. c. e.*). Dio. p. 720. "Dio. p. 714. Are, with their leaders, made at his devotion; I'hat 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 subtil*:y hath chose this doubling line, To hold him even in : not so to fear liim. As wholly put him out, and 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 swar, 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 jiolitic 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 Ids cares, and hia Sejanus. — Lac. But is that true,'-' it is prohibited To sacrifice unto him ? Ter. Some such thing Csesar makes scruj-de 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 more Here is that letter too. [surety, Arr. How easily Do wretched men believe, what they would have ! Looks this like jjlot ? 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 full contentments iu. Than at this present. Pom. Takes he vrelP' the escape Of young Caligula, with Macro? Ter. Faith, At the first air it somewhat troubled h'.m. Lep. Observe you ? Arr. Nothing ; riddles. Till I see Sejanus struck, no sound thereof strikes me. lExeunt Arrun. and Lkpidus «2 Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 713. IS Dio. ibid. J'Dio. p. 717. M 7f2 SEJANUS. ACT V 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 :2 and he liolds [ploy'd That correspondence there, with all that are Near about Ccesar, as no thought can pass Without his knowledge, thence in act to front him. Pom. I gratulate the news. Lac. But how comes Macro So in trust and favour with Caligula? Pom. O, sir, he has a wife ;^ and the young prince An appetite : he can look up, and spy Flies in the roof, when tliere are fleas i' the bed ; And hath a learned nose to assure his sleeps. Who to be favour'd of tlie 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. lExeitut. ACT V. SCENE I. — An Apartment in Sej anus's House. Enter Skjanus. Sej. Swell, swell, my joys ; and faint not to Yourselves as ample as your causes are. [declare I did not live till now ; this my first hour ; Wherein I see my thouglits reach'd by my power. But this, and gripe my wishes. ^ Great and high, The world knows only two, that's Home 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 Csesar 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 v^'oods or buildings ; great fires die. That want their matter to withstand them : so, It is our grief, and will be our loss, to know Our power shall want opposites ; unless The gods, by mixing in the cause, would bless Our fortune with their conquest. That were worth Sejanus' strife ; durst fates but bring it forth. Enter Terentius. Ter. Safety to great Sejanus ! Sej. Now, Terentius ? Ter. Hears not my lord the wonder ? Sej. Speak it, no. Ter. I meet it violent in the people's mouths, Who run in routs to Porapey'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 : you, go see. And let the head be taken off, to look What 'tis. [^cTjV Terentius.] Someslavehath practised an imposture, To stir the people How now ! why return you ? Re-enter Terentius, icilh Satrius and 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. iDio. p. 717. 2 De Pagoniano, vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. lOJ. alibi Paconiano. 3 Dc fastii Sejaiii leg. Dio. Ilibt. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 715, rt Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 1)6. Uio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. 6 Dio. ibid. 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 ? \\as 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, grown, Foul, spotted, venomous, ugly Sej. O, the fates ! What a wild muster's here of attributes, T' express a worm, a snake ! Ter. But liow that should Come there, my lord ! Sej. What, and you too, Terentius ! 1 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, burden'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 ; And would they had not happened ! As. to-day, The fate of some your^ 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 pro«.perous bird appear'd ; but croaking ravens Flagg'd up and dovrn, and from the sacrifice Flew to the prison, where they sat all night. Beating the air with their obstreperous beaks ! 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 ! 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, For a beeve's fat, or less, be bribed to invert Those long decrees Then think the gods, like flies, ' Are to be taken with the steam of flesh, ^ Tacit, con.s. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 114. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 71-5. 8 Dio. ibid. p. 716. 9 Dio. ibid. 1'' Dio. ibid. SCENE III. 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 hail, And, without pity, lade poor Atlas' back, I knovv not that one deity, but Fortune, To whom I would throw up, in begging smoke, One! grain of incense ; or whose ear I'd buy With thus much oil. Her I, indeed, adore ; And keep lier 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. lExeunt. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter CoTTA and Pomponius. Cot. Pomponius, whither in such speed ? Pom. I go To give ray lord Sejanus notice Cot. What? Pom. Of Macro. Cot. Is he come Pom. Enter' d but now The house of Regulus. * Cot. The opposite consul ! Pom. Some half hour since. Cot, And by night too ! Stay, sir ; I'll bear you company. Pom. Along then lExomt. SCENE III. — A Room in Rkgulus's House. Enter Macro, Regulus, and Attendant. Mac. 'Tis Ctesar's will 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. 3Iac. And tell him it must early be proclaim'd : The place ""Apollo's temple. lExit Attendant. Re(/. That's remember'd. Mac. And at what hour ? Reff. 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, You are a friend most welcome : by and by, ril speak with you. — You must procure this list ' Grani turis. Plaut. Paenu. A, I. Sc. 1. ct Ovid. Fast. Lib. iv. 2 Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. 3 De sacris Fortuna?, vid. Lil. Gro. Gyr. Synt. 17. et Stuch. lib. dc Sacrif. Gent. p. 48. ^ Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 713. ^ Edicto ut plurimiini scnatoics in curiam vocatos constat, ex Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. et Liv. Lib. ii. Fcst. Pon. Lib. XV. vid. liar. Priss. dc Form. Lib. i. ct Lips. 5at. Mcnip. « Pio Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 5 18. " Dio. ibid. Of the praetorian cohorts, with the names Of the centurions, and their tribunes. Reg. Ay. Mac. I bring you ^ letters, and a health from Lac. Sir, both come well. [CjEsar — Mac. And hear you with your note, Vrhich are the eminent men, and most of action. Reg. That shall be done you too. 3Iac. Most worthy Laco, Csesar salutes you. [L' I>x iis, qui Flamines Curialcs diecrentur, vid. Lil. Gre,.!-. Gyr. Synt. I7. ct Onnp. Fanvin. Rep. Rom. Com- ment. 2. * Moris anti(jni erat, Praccones prsecedere, et sacris arccre profunos. Cons. iJriss. Ross. Stuch. Lil. Gyr. &c. Observatum antiquis invenimus, iit qui rem divinam factunis erat, lautus, ac mandus accederet, et ad suas levandas culpas, se imprimis reiim dicere solitum, et noxa" pcenituisse. Lil. Gyr. Synt. 17- 0 In .sacris puras manus, puras vestes, pura vasa, he. antiqui dcsiderabunt ; ut ex Virg. Plant. Tibul. Ovid. &c. phnabus locis con.stat. " Alius ritus sertis aras coronare, et verbenas iniponere. s IhijiKsmodi verbis silentium imperatum fuisseconstat. Vid. Sen. in lib. de beata vita. Serv. et Don. ad eum ver- suia, Lib. v. A^neid. Ore faveteomnes, et cingite tempora ramis. ^ V-Qcabatur hie ritus Libatio. Lege Rosin. Ant. Lib. iii. Has. 15risson. de form. Lib. i. Stuchium de Sacrif. et Lil. Synt. 17. In sacris Fortune lactonon vino libabant. iisdem test. Ta'ia sacrifioia aoUn ct v/i(pccXta. dicta. Hoc est sobria, et vino carentia. which done, he sprinkleth upon the altar, milk then im- poseth the honey, and kindleth his gums, and after cens- ing about th ' altar, placeth his censer thereon, into vJiich they put several " branches of poppy, and the music ceasing, proceeds. Fla. Great ^'^ mother Fortune, queen of human Redress of action, arbilress of fate, [state, To whom all sway, all poioer, all empire bows, Be present, and propitious to our voivs ! PrcB. Favour ^-^ it with your tongues. Min. Be present and jjnipitious 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 ! stiiK some pious rite We have neglected. Yet, heaven be a))peascd, And be all tokens false and void, that speak Thy present wrath ! Sej. Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest : And gather up thyself, with these tliy wares Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or Thy juggling mystery, religion, throw Thus scorned on the earth. [Overturns 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, like a ridiculous cat. Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights, And all these cozening ceremonies : you. Your pure and spiced conscience ! [Exeunt all but Skjanus, Terent. Satrf. and Natta., 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 tliy modesty. — Who's that ? Enter Pompoxius and 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. Wh at's that 11 Hoc rcddere erat ct litare, id est propitiare, ct votum impetrare ; si;cundum Ncnium IMarccllmn. Litare enim Mae. Lib. iii. c. b. expHcat, sacrificio facto placare numen. In quo sens. leg. apud Plant. Senec. Suet. &c. 12 His solemnibus prasfationibus in sacris utcbantur. 13 Quibus, in clausu, populus vol castus a praBConibua favere jubebatur ; id est bona verba fari. Talis enim altera huj us forma; interpretatio apud Briss. Lib. i. extat. Ovid. Lib. i. Fast. Lingui-> animisque favete, Et Metani. Lib. XV. piumqne ^ilneada; praestant et mentc, et voce favorem. 1' Solemnis formula in lonis cuivisnomini offerendis. 1^ Leg. Dio. Rom. Hist. lib. Iviii. p. 717- de hoc sacrificio, I'i Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 9G. 1* Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 716. 18 De Minutio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. iiCENE V. SEJANUS. 105 Ter. Minutius tells us here, my lord, That a new head being set upon your statue, A. * rope is since found wreath 'd about it ! and, But now 2 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 the 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. Sej. Terentius ! Ter. My lord. Sej. Send for the ^ tribunes, we will straight have up More of the soldiers for our guard. S^Ex'it 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. [^j:j7Nat.] Now, Satrius, The time of proof comes on ; arm all our servants. And without tumult. \Exit Sat.] You, Pomponius, Hold some good correspondence with the consul : Attempt him, noble friend. {Exit Pomp.] These things begin To look like dangers, now, worthy my fates. Fortune, I see thy worst : let doubtful states, And things uncertain, hang upon thy will : Me surest death shall render certain still. Yet, why is now my thought turn'd toward death, Whom fates have let go on, so far in breath, Uncheck'd or unreproved "i I,< that did help To fell the lofty cedar of the world, Germanicus ; that at one stroke* cut down Drusus, that upright elm ; wither'd his vine ; Laid^ Silius and' Sabinus, two strong oaks, Flat on the earth ; besides those other shrubs, Cordus^ and" Sosiaj^" Claudia Pulchra, Furnius and " Gallus, wliich I have grubb'd up ; And since, have set my axe so strong and deep Into the root of spreading Agrippina ; Lopt otf and scatter'd her proud branches, Nero, Drusus ; and Caius too, although re-planted. If you will. Destinies, that after all, 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. * Vid. Scncc. Nat. Quest. Lib. i. c. 1. ' Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. ♦ Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 2.3. » Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 74, 75. ct Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 709, « Tacit. Lib. iv. p. f.). Ibid. p. 94. 8 Do Cremut. Cor. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 710. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. 9 De Sosia. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 94. " De Clan, et Furnio. qua;rc Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89. " DeGallo. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 95. ct Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 713. 1^ De Agr. Ner. ct Dm. leg. Siict. Tib. cap. 53, 4. '3 Dc Caio. cons. DL». Lib Iviii. p. 727. Rome, senate, people, all the world have seen Jove, but my equal ; Caesar, but my second. 'Tis then your malice, Fates, who, but your own. Envy and fear to have any power long known. {Exit SCENE Y. — A Room in the same. Enter Teiie.vth;s and Tribunes, Ter. Stay here : I'll give his lordship, you are come. Enter Minutius, tvUh Cotta and Latiakis. 3fin. Marcus Terentius, 'pray you tell my lord Here's Cotta, and Latiaris. Ter. Sir, I shall. iEx!t Cot. My letter is the very same with 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 Gracixus Laco. Nat. Gentlemen, where's my lord ? Tri. We wait him here. Cot. The provost Laco ! what's the news Lat. My lord Enter Seja.nts. Sej. Now, my right dear, noble, and trusted friends, How much I am a captive to your kindness I 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 Unquit when 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 ! the senate ? Lac. Yes. This morning in Apollo's temple. Cot. We Are charged by letter to be there, my lord. Sej. By letter ! ])ray you, let's see. Lat. Knows not his lordship ? Cot. It seems so ! Sej. A senate warn'd! without my knowledge ! And on this sudden ! Senators by letters Required to be there! who brought these Cot. Macro. Sej. Mine'^ enemy! and when.' Cot. This midnight. Sej. Time, With every other circumstance, doth give It hath some strain of engine in't I — How now ? Enter Satrius Sat. My lord, Sertorius INIacro 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. 1 1 Vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p, 718. '■^ Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 166 SEJANUS. ACT ^ 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. \_Exit Sat,] Noble You are our trust ; and till our own cohorts [Laco, Can be brought up, your strengths must be our Now, good Minutius, honour'd Latiaris, [guard. [He salutes them humbly. Most worthy and my most unwearied friends : 1 return instantly. \_Exit. Lat. Most worthy lord , Cot. His lordship is turn'd instant kind, me- I have not observed it in him, heretofore, [thinks; 1 Tri. 'Tis true, and it becomes him nobly. Mi)i. 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 ! Min. And me ! Lat. Who v/ould not spend his life and fortunes, To purchase but the look of such a lord ? Lac. He that would nor be lord s foul, nor the world's. lAsidc. SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same. Enter Sejanvs, Macro, and Satrtus. Sej. Macro ! ' most welcome, a most coveted fi-iend ! Let me enjoy my longings. When arrived you ? Mac. About'^ the noon of night. Sej. Satrius, give leave. \_Exlt Sat. Mac. I have been, since I came, with both the On a particular design from Caesar. [consuls, Sej. How fares it with our great and royal master ? Mac. Right plentifully Vvell ; 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 sua 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 ; A.nd, 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 Mi'ght 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. Mac. If bad, I should for ever loath myself To be the messenger to so good a lord. I do exceed my instructions to acquaint 1 Dio. Hist, Rorn. Lib. Iviii. p. 78. IVIoridies noctis, Varr. Marcipor. viJ, Non. JIar. cap. vi. » Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 78. Your lordship with thus much ; but 'tis m.y venture On yo-ur 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 all 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 follows. 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. \_Asidc. Mac. 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 Capreee, Disgraced ; Tiberius hath not seen him yet : He needs would thrust himself to go witli 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. {_Exit Macro.] — Who's there ? Satrius, Attend my honourable friend foi-th. — O ! How vain and vile a passion is this fear. What base uncomely things it makes men do ! 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, Or 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, Roll all the world in darkness, and let loose The enraged winds to turn up groves and towns ! When I do fear again, let me be struck With forked fire, and unpitied die : Who fears, is worthy of calamity. [,Exit. SCENE VI L — Another Room in the same. Enter Terentius, Minutius, Laco, Cotta, Latiaris, and Po.MPONius; Regui-us, Trio, and others, on differ ttr.i sides. Pom. Is not my lord here ? Ter. Sir, he will be straight. Cot. V/hat 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. c. ti5. SCENE IX. SEJANUS. JG7 Cot. Is't true ? Tru No words, not to your thought : but, sir, Lat. What says the consul ? [believe it. Cot. Speak it not again : He tells me, that to-day my lord Sejanus 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 tell you ; But you must swear to keep it secret. Enter Skjanus. 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 ! Sej. Do you 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 thai stand by. Ter. My lord, What is your pleasure for the tribunes ? Sej. Why, Let them be thank'd and sent away. Min. My lord Lac. Wiirt please, your lordship to command Sej. No : [me You are troublesome. Min. The - mood is changed. Tri. Not speak, Nor look 1 I Lac. Ay, he is wise, will make him friends Of such who never love, but for their ends. \_Excunt. SCENE VIII.— ^ Space before the Temple of Apollo. Enter KuMV^Tivs, and Leitdus, divers Sci\a,tovs passing by them. Arr. Ay, go, make haste ; take heed you be not To tender your ^AU Hail in the wide hall [last Of huge Sejanus : run a lictor's pace : Stay not to \mt your robes on ; but away. With the pale troubled ensigns of great friendship Stamp'd in j^our face ! Now, Marcus Lepidus, You still believe your former augury ! Sejanus must go downward ! You perceive His wane approaching fast! Lep. Believe me, Lucius, I wonder at this rising. Arr. Ay, and that we ' l)io. Rom. Ilibt. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 2 r)io. ibid. 3 Ave, inututina vox salutanti propria, apud Ronianos, vid. Bliss, dc form. Lib. viii. INIust give our suffrage to it. You will say, It is to make his fall more steep and grievous : It may be so. But think it, they that can With idle wishes 'say to bring back time : In cases desperate, all hope is crime. See, see ! what trooi)s of his officious friends Flock to salute my lord, and start before INIy great proud lord ! to get a lord-like nod ! Attend my lord unto the senate-house ! Bring back my lord! like servile 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 ! [Sanquinius and IIaterh;s /(rt^s over the stage, See, * Sanquinius With his slow belly, and his dropsy I look, What toiling haste he makes ! 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 ! the gout returns, and his great carriage. [Lictors, Regulus, Trio, Sejanus, Satrius, and mani^ o^/tcr Senators, pass over the stage. Lict. Give way, make place, room for the consul! San. Hail, Hail, great Sejanus ! Ilut. Hail, my honour'd lord ! Arr. We shall be mark'd anon, for our not Hail. 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 that help'd To the perfection of their dignities ; And hate the men that but refrain them. Arr. O ! There is a farther cause of hate. Their breasts Are guilty, 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 Laco. Mac. When all are enter'd, ^shut the temple doors ; And bring your guards up to the gate. Lac. I will. Mac. If you shall hear commotioa in the senate, Present yourself : and charge on any man Shall ofi'er to come forth. Lac. I am instructed. lExcunt. * De Sanquinio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. et dc Iluterio, ibid. •' Ex Libuniia, magnac ct proccroc statural mittebantiir, qui crant Roni. Lccticarii; test. Juv. Sat. iii. v. 240. Turba cedcnte velietur Dives, et ingenti cui ret super ora Libumo. <• Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. ^ Dio. ibid. p. 718. 1(58 SEJANUS. ACT V. SCENE Z'i.— The Temple of Apollo. Enter IIaterius, Trio, San-quinius, Cotta, Reguhis, Sejanus, Pompoxius, LAxrAiirs, Lepidus, Arruntiiis, and divers other Senators ; Traecones, and Lictors. Hat. How well his lordship looks to-day ! Tri. As if He had been born, 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 all, and more Than bounty can bestow. Tri. This dignity Will make him worthy. Pom. Above Csesar. San. Tut, Csesar is but the "rector of an isle, He of the empire. Tri. Now he will 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 our places. San. Ay, and get more. Lat. More office and more titles. Fom. I will not lose the part 1 hope to share In these his fortunes, for my patrimony. Lat. See, how Arruntius sits, and Lepidus ! Tri. Let them alone, they wdll be mark'd anon. 1 Sen. ril do with 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 ! I^at. 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 his subtle elbow, or wdth a buz Fly-blow his ears ? Prtet. Proclaim the senate's peace, And give last summons by the edict. Pi'cB. Silence ! In name of Csesar, and the senate, silence! Memmius Regulus, and Fulcinius Trio,* con- suls, these present kalends of June, with the first light., shall hold a senate, in the temple of Apollo Palatine:"^ all that are fathers, and are registered \ Vid. acclamation. Senat. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 2 Die. p. 715. 3 Dio. p. 719. ^ Vid. Brissonlum de formul. Lib, ii. et Lipsium Sat. Men'p. I'alatinus, a monte Palatino dictus. fathers, that have right of entering the senate, we tvarn or command you be frequently present, take knowledge the business is the commonwealth's : whosoever is absent, his fine or mulct will he taken., his excuse will not be taken. Tri. Note who are absent, and record theit names. Reg. Fathers conscript,^ may what I am to utter Turn good and happy for the commonwealth ! And thou, Apollo, in whose holy house We here have met, inspire us all with truth, And liberty of censure to our thought ! The majesty of great Tiberius Ceesar Pi'opounds to this grave senate, the bestowing Upon the man he loves, honour'd Sejanus, The ^ tribunitial dignity and power : Here are his letters, signed with 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 Csesar. Lat. And the loi d 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 ! A7-r. O, most tame slavei-y, and fierce f attery ! Free. Silence! Tiberius C^sar to the Senate, greeting. If you, ^conscript fathers, loith your children., he in health, it is abundantly well : we with our friends here are so. The care of the commonwealth, hoivsoever we are removed in person, cannot he absent to our thouglit ; although, oftentimes, even to princes most present, the truth of their own affairs is hid; than which, nothing falls out more miserable to a state, or makes the art oj governing more difficult. But since it hath been our easeful happiness to enjoy both the aids and industry of so vigilant a senate, we profess to have been the more indulgent to our pleasures, not as being careless of our office, but rather secure of the necessity. Neither do these common rumours of many, and infamous libels published against our retirement, at all afflict us ; bdng born more out of men's ignorance than their malice : and will, neglected, find their oivn grave quickly; whereas, too sensibly acknowledged, it would make their obloquy ours. N'or do we desire their authors, though found, he censured., since in a ^^frce state, as ours, all men ought to enjoy both their minds and tongues free. Arr. The lapwing, the lapwing ! Yet in things which shall icorthily and more near concern the majesty of a prince., we shall fear to be so unnaturally cruel to our oivn fame, as to neglect them. True it is, conscript fathers, that ice have 6 Solemnis praefatio consulum in relationibus. Dio. p. 718. 7 Vid. Suet. Tib. cap. Go. 8 Alia formula solemnis, vid. Briss. Lib. ii. et Dio. p. 719- " Solenne exordium epistolar. apud Romanos. cons. Briss. de formul. Lib. viii. 1" Firm lis et patiens subinde jactabat, in civitate libera, linguam mentenique libcras esse debei-e. Suet. Tib. c. 2.S. SCENE X. SEJANUS. 1G9 raised Scjauus from obscure, and almost tinknowii gentry. Sen. How, how ! io the highest nrid most conspicuous point of great- ness, and, we hope, deservinghj ; yet not without danger: it being a most bold hazard in that sorereign, ivlio, by his pui iicular love to one, dares adrenture the hatred of all his other subjects. Arr. This touches; the blood turns. Batweaffy inyour loves and iiud^ r standings, and do no way suspect t/ie merit of our Sejanus, to make cur favours offensive to any. Sen. O ! good, good. Though we could have ivished his zeal had run a cedmer course against Agrippina and our nephe rs, howsoever the openness of their actions declared them delinquents ; and, that he would have remem- bcied, no innocence is so safe, but it rejoiceth to stand in the sight of mercy : the use of which in us, he halh so quite taken away, toicards them, by his loyal f ury, as now our clemency would be thought but icearied cruelty, if we should offer to exercise it. Arr. I thank him ; there I look'd for't. A good fox ! Some there be that ^ would interpret this his public severity to be particular ambition ; and that, tinder a pretext of service to us, he doth but remove his cum lets: alleging the strengths he hath made to himself, by the prcetorian soldiers, by his faction in court and senate, by the offices he holds himself, and confers on others, his popularity and dependents, his urging and almost di'ivirig us to this our u?i~ willing retirement, and, lastly, his asjiiring to be our son-in-law. Sen. This is strange ! Arr. I shall anon believe your vultures, Marcus. Your wisdoms, conscript fathers, are able to ex- amine, and censure these suggestions. But, were they left to our absolving voice, we durst pronounce them , as we think them, most malicious. Sen. O, he has restored all ; list ! Vet are they offered to be averred, and on the lives of the informers. What we should say, or rather what we should not say, lords of the senate, if this be true, our gods and goddesses confound t(s if tve know ! Only we must thinJ,,we have placed our benefits ill ; and conclude, that in our choice, either we were wanting to the gods, or the gods to us. [The Senators shift their places. Arr. The place grows hot ; they shift. We have not been covetous, honoui able fathers, to change ; neither is it now any new lust that alters our affection, or old /olhing ; but those needful jealousies of st ite, that warn wiser pi inces hourly to provide their safely; and do teach them hoia learned a thing it is to beware ff the humblest enemy ; much more of those great ones, ichom their m-n employed favours have made fit for their fears. 1 Sen. Away. 2 Sen. Sit farther. Cot. Let's remove Air. Gods! how the leaves drop off, this little wind ! W e therefore desire, that the offices he holds he first seized by the senate ; and himself suspended from all exercise of place or power Sen. Howl San. [Thrusting by.'] By your leave. ' De hac cpist. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719. et Juv, Sat. X. Arr. Come, porpoise ; where's Haterius.' His gout keeps him most miserably constant; Your dancing shews a tempest. Sej. Read no more. Reg. Lords of the senate, hold your seats : read Sej. These letters they are forged. [on. Reg. A guard 1 sit still. Enter Laco, toith the Guards. Arr. Here's change ! Reg. Bid silence, and read forward. Proe. Silence !- and himself suspended from all exercise of place or poiver, hut till due and mature trial be made of Ids innocency, which yet we can faintly apprehend the necessity to doubt. Jf, 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 ijour justice: either were dishonourable in you, and both uncharitable to ourself. We would willingly be present with your counsels in this bu,siness ; but the danger of so potent a faction, if it should jwove so, forbids our attempting it: except one (f 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 vs to importune so judicious a senate, who know how much they hurt the innocent, that spare the guilty ; and how grateful a sacrifice to the gods is the life of an in grateful person. We reflect not, in this, on Sejanus, (notwithstanding, if you keep ar eye upon him and there is Latiaris, a senator, and Pinnarius Nntta, two of his most trusted ministers, and so professed, whom we desiie not to have apprehend- d, J but as the nteessity 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 ! lExcunt Latiaris and >'atta, 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'd! Where now are all the hails and acclamations ? Enter JLicRO. Mac. Hail to the consuls, and this noble senate f Sej. Is ]Macro here ? O, thou art lost, Sejanus ! \_Aside. Mac. Sit still, and unaffrighted, reverend fathers : Macro, by Caesar's grace, the new-made provost, And now possest of the praetorian 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. Am I call'd « Dio. Kom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719, et Suet. Tn>. J70 SEJANUS. ACT V. Mae. Ay, tliou, 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. Mac. 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 fii'st rebelled ■'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. Reg. Take him hence ; And all the gods guard Caesar ! Tri. Take him hence. Hat. Hence. Cot. To the dungeon with him. San. He deserves it. Sen. Crown all our floors with bays. San. And let an ox. With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led Unto the Capitol — Hat. And sacrificed To Jove, for Ceesar's safety. Tri. All our gods Be present still to Csesar ! Cot. Phoebus. San. Mars. Hat. Diana. San. Pallas. Sen. Juno, Mercury, All guard him ! Mac. Forth, thou prodigy of men ! \_Exit Sejanus, guarded. Cot. Let all the traitor's titles be defaced. Tri. His images and statues be puU'd down. Hat. His chariot-wheels be broken. Arr. And the legs Of the poor horses, that deserved nought, Let them be broken too ! {Exeunt Lictors, Pracones, Macro, Regulus, Trio, IIaterius, SAKQUiNrus : manent Lepidus, Arruntius, and a few Senators. Lep. O violent change. And whirl of men's affections 1 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 ! » Leg. Juv. Sat. x. That had 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. When she doth flatter, that she comes to prey. Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men Had wisdom : we have placed thee so high, By fond belief in thy felicity. [Shout within.] The gods guard Csesar ! All the gods guard Caesar ! Re-enter JIacro, Regulus, and divers Senators. Mac. Now, 2 great Sejanus, you that ?.?:ed the And sought to bring the nobles toyourwhip ; [state. That would be Caesar's tutor, and dispose Of dignities and offices ! 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 1 [^Exeunt all but Arru.vtius and LepidbSi 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 Terentius. 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 decline. But with that speed and heat of appetite, 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 ; first, * they tear them down ; 2 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719, &c. Vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720, Sco. * Vid. Juv. Sat, x. SCENE X. SEJANUS. in Then fastening ropes, drag them along the streets, Crying in scorn, This, this was that rich head Was crown'd with garlands, and witli odours, this That was in Rome so reverenced ! Now The furnace and the bellows shall to work, The great Sejanus crack, and piece by piece Drop in the founder's pit. Lep. O popular rage ! Ter. The whilst the senate at > the temple of Concord jNIake haste to meet again, and thronging cry, Let us condemn him, tread him down in water, While he doth lie M\yon the bank ; away ! While some more tardy, cry unto 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 After his garments, 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 Capreae against him. Did there so ? O, they are satisfied ; no more. Lep. Alas ! They follow ^ 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 have proclaim'd Sejanus emperor. Lep. But what hath foUow'd ? Ter. Sentence ^ by the senate. To lose his head ; which was 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 with age, virgins with shame. Late wives with loss of husbands, mothers of chil- Losing all grief in joy of liis 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 liis brains Sprinkling themselves, their houses and their friends ; Others are met, have ravish'd thence an arm. And deal small pieces of the flesh for favours ; These with a thigh, this hath cut off his hands, And this his feet ; these fingers and these toes ; That hath his liver, he his heart : there w^ants Nothing but room for wratli, and place for hatred! ' Dio. Rom. Ilist. Lib. Iviii, p. 720. * .Tuv. Sat. X. ' Dio. Roni. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. Scnec. lib. dcTranq. Anini. c. 11. Quo die ilium senatus dedu.xcrat, populus in frusta diviwit, «&c. What cannot oft be done, is now o'erdone. The whole, and all of what was great Sejanus, And, next to Caesar, did possess the world, Novv torn and scatter'd, as he needs no grays } Each little dust covers a little part : So lies he no where, and yet often buried! Enter NuNTius. Arr. More of Sejanus ? Nun. Yes. Lep. What can be added ? W^e know him dead. Nun. Then there begin your pity. There is enough behind to melt ev'n Rome, And Cjesar into tears ; since never slave Could yet so highly offend, but tyranny. In torturing him, wo\dd make him 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, unrii)e years, And childish silly innocence was such, As scarce would lend them feeling of their danger : Tlie^ girl so simple, as she often ask'd Where they would lead her for what cause they dragg'd her .''' Cried, " She would do no more :" that she could take Warning with beating." And because our laws Admit no virgin immature to die. The wittily and strangely cruel iVLicro Delivered her to be defiower'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 ! Nun. Their bodies thrown Into the Gemonies, (I know not how, Or by what accident return'd,) the mother. The expulsed-'' Apicata, finds them there ; W^hom when she saw lie spread on the ^ degrees, After a world of fury 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 up 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 tiieir 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 Ctesar and tlie senate, poisou'd Drusus Lep. Confederates with her husband ! * Viil. Sencc. lib. do Tranq. Ani. c. xi. 5 Tac. Ann. Lib. v. p. 9.0. Et Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. <• Lex non t.im virginitati ignotuni cautuiiique voluit quani actati. Cons. Lips, conniicnt. Tac. ' Dio. Lib. Iviii. e. 720. 8 Scalae Genionias in quas erant projocta daninator. cor» pora. 9 Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. 172 SEJANUS. ACT V. Ntin, Ay. Lep. Strange act ! Arr. And strangely open'd : what says now my monster, The multitude ? 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 ! pursues, continues, adds, Confounds with varying her impassion'd moods! Arr. Dost thou hope, Fortune, to redeem thy 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 deny their powers : For, whom the morning saw so great and high, Thus low and little, 'fore the even doth lie. iExeuni VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST EQUAL SISTERS, THE TWO FAMOUS UNIVERSITIES, I- OR THEIR LOVE AND ACCErTANCE SHEWN TO HIS POEM IN THE PRESENTATION; BEN JONSON, THE GRATEFL'L ACKNOWLEPGER, DEDICATES BOTH IT AND HIMSELF. Never, most eqo;il Sisters, had any man a wit so presently excellent, as that it could raise itself ; but there must come both mnttcr, occasion, commendcrs, and favourers to it. If this be true, and tliat 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 tlie benefit of a friend is also defended. Hence is it, that I now render myself grateful, and am studious to justify tlie bounty of your act ; to wliich, tliough j'our mere authority were satisfy- ing, yet it being an age wherein poetry and the professors of it liear so ill on all sides, there will a reason be looked for in tlie subject. It is certain, nor can it with any forehead be opposed, that the too much license of poetasters in this time, hath juuch deformed their mistress ; that, every day, their manifold and manifest ignorance doth stick imnatural reproaches upon her : but for their petulaney, it were an act of the greatest injustice, cither to let the learned sutler, or so divine a skill {whicli indeed should not be attempted with imclean liands) to fall 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 be able to inform young men to all good disciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to childhood, recover them to tlieir first strength ; that comes forth the interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less tlian 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 answered, that tlie writers of these days are other things ; that not only their manners, but their natures, are inverted, and nothing rcmainingwith them of the dignity of poet, but the abused name, which every scribe usurps ; that now, especially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, j^rofanation, blasphemy, all license of offence to God and man is practised. I dare not deny a great part of this, and am sorry I daro not, because in some men's abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light) it is over true : but that all are embarked in this bold adventure for hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more malicious 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 loatiied 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 but hath come into the world with all his teeth ; I would ask of these supercilious politics, 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, baAvd, or buffoon, creatures, for their insolencics, 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 guilty, much less entitle me to other men's crimes. I know, that nothing can be 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 decyphei-ing of every thing: but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to be ovcr- faniiliar witli their fames, who cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice, under other men's simplest meanings. As for those that will (by faults wliich charity hath raked up, or common honesty concealed) maketliem- selves a name with the multitude, or, to draAV tlieir rude and beastly claps, care not whose living faces they intrench 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 blame the wishes of those severe and wise patriots, who pro- viding 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 thewourids of private men, of princes and nations : for, as Horace makes Trebatius speak among tliese, " Sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et edit." And men may justly impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his sports. The increase of whicli lust in liberty, together Avith the present trade of the stage, in all their niiscelline interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor ? where nothing but the filth of tlie time is uttered, and with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry, able to violate the ear of a pagan, and blasphemy, to turn the blood of o christian 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 mark, is, thi-ough their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age ; and those men subject to the petulaney of every vernaculous orator, that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarcns. This it is that hath not only rapt me to present indignation, but made me studious heretofore, and by all my actions, to stand off from them ; Avhich may most appear in this my latest work, which you, most learned Arbitresses, have seen, judged, and to my crown, approved ; wherein I have laboured for their instruction and amendment, to reduce not only the 174 THE FOX. ancient forms, but manners of the scene, the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, wliich ij the prhicipal end of poesi.;, to inform men in the best reason of living. And though my catastrophe may, in the stnct rigour of comic hwv, meet with censure, as turning back to my promise ; I desire the learned and charitable critic to liave 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 punish vice in our interludes, &c., I took the more liberty ; though not without some lines of example, drawn 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 poei 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 me, I shall raise tlie despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out of those rotten and base rags wlierewith 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- 5i)irits 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, u'ith their declamatory and windy invectives ; she shall out of just rage incite her servants (who are fjcnus irritabilc) to spout ink in their faces, that shall eat farther than their marrow into their fames ; and not Cinnamus the barber, with his art, shall be able to take out the brands ; but they shall live, and be read, till the wretches die as thing's worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then of all mankind. ° From my House in the Black-Friars, this nth day of Fehruanj, 1607. DRAMATIS PERSONJi:. VoLPONK, a Magrifco. IMosCA, his Parasite. VoLTORE, an Adi'ocate. CoRBACcio, an old Gentleman. CoRViNO, a Merchant- BoxARio, son to Corbaceio. Sir Politick Would-be, a Knight. PuRKGRiNE, a Gentleman Traveller. N-ANO, a Bicarf. Castuone, an Eunuch. Andkogvno, an llcrmaplirodite. Grege {or Mob.) Commandadori, Officers of Justice. Mercatori, three Merchants. Avocatori, four Magistrates. Notario, the Register. Lady Would-be, Sir Politicli's Wife. Celia, Corvino's Wife. Servitori, Servants, two Waiting- women, ^c-, SCENE,— Venice. THE ARGUMENT. V olpone, childless, rich, feigns side, despairs, O ffers his stale to hopes of several heirs, L ics languishing : his parasite receives P resents of all, assures, deludes ; then weaves O iher cross plots, ivhich ope themselves., are told. N cw tricks for safety are sought ; they thrive : when bold, E ach tempts the other again, and all are sold. PROLOGUE. Now, luck yet send 7is, 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 ivere hid to credit from our poet, IVhose true scope, if you loould know it. In all his poems still hath been litis measure. To mix profit tvith your pleasure ; And not as some, ivhose throats their envy failing. Cry hoarsely, All he ivriles 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 creature, Which ivas two months since no feature ; .ind though he dares give them five lives to mend it, ' Tis known, five weeks fully pennd it. From his own hand, wilhoitt a co-adjutor. Novice, journey-man^ or tutor. Yet thus much I can give you as a token Of his play's worth, no eggs are broken, Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted, Whereivilh 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 fit his fable ; [table. And so presents quick comedy refined. As best critics have designed ; The laivs of time, place, persons he observeth. From no needful rule he siverveth. All gall and copperas from his ink he drainelh, Only a little salt remaineth, Whereivilh hell rub your cheeks, till red, vritk laughter. They .shall look fresh a week after. SCKNE I. THE FOX. l7o ACT L SCENE I. — A Room in Volpone's House. Enter Volpone and IMoscA. folp. Good morning to the day ; and next, my gold ! — Open the shrine, that I may see my saint. [MoscA withdraivs the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jeivcls, t^c. Hail the world's soul, and mine ! more glad than is The teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram, Am I, to view thy splendor darkening his ; That lying here, amongst my other hoards, Shew'st like a flame by night, or like the day Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol, But brighter than thy father, iet me kiss, With adoration, thee, and every relick Of sacred treasure in this blessed room. Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, Title that age which they would have the best ; Thou being the best of things, and far transcending All style of joy, in children, parents, friends. Or any other v/aking dream on earth : Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe, They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids ; Such are thy beauties and our loves ! Dear saint, Riches, the'dumbgod, thatgiv'st all men tongues, Thou canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things ; The price of souls ; even hell, with thee to boot, Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame. Honour, and all things else. "Who can get thee, He shall be noble valiant, honest, wise 3Tos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune A greater good than wisdom is in nature. Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, Than in the glad possession, since I gain No common way ; I use no trade, no venture ; I wound no earth with plough-shares, fat no beasts. To feed the shambles ; have no mills for iron. Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder: I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships To threat' nings of the furrow -faced sea ; I turn no monies in the public bank, Nor usure private. 3fos. No, sir, nor devour Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it ; Tear forth tlie fathers of poor families Out of their beds, and coffin them alive In some kind clasping prison, where their bones May be forth-coming, when the flesh is rotten : But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses ; You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. Vo!p. Right, Mosca ; I do lothe it. Mas. And besides, sir. You are not like the thresher that doth stand With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn, And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain. But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs ; Nor like the merchant, who hath flll'd his vaults With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines, Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar : You will lie not in straw, whilst moths and worms Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds ; You know the use of riches, and dare give now From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer, Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite, Your eunuch, or what other household trifle Your pleasure allows maintenance Volp. Hold thee, Mosca, IGives him motiep. Take of my hand ; thou strik'st on truth in all, And they are envious term thee parasite. Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool. And let them make me sport. [Exit Mos.] What should I do, But cocker up my genius, and live free To all delights my fortune calls me to ? I have no wife, no parent, child, ally, To give my substance to ; but whom I make Must be my heir : and this makes men observe me : This draws new clients daily to my house, Women and men of every sex and age, That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels, With hope that when I die (which they expect Each greedy minute) it shall then return Ten-fold upon them ; whilst some, covetous Above the rest, seek to engross me whole. And counter-work the one unto the other, Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love : All which I suffer, playing with their hopes. And am content to coin them into profit. And look upon their kindness, and take more, And look on that ; still bearing them in hand, Letting the cherry knock against their lips. And draw it by their mouths, and back again. — How now ! Re-eidc^r JSloacA tcitJi Nano, A.vdrogvno, and Castronk. Nan. Noto, room for freah gamesters, who do will 7/on to know, They do bring you neither play nor university show i And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse, May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse. If you ivonder at this, you will wonder more ere ice pass, For know, here is inclosed thesoulof Pythagoras, That juggler divine, as hereafter shall folloiv ; Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo, And teas breath'd into lEthalides, Mercurius his son, Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done. From thence it fied forth, and made quick transmi- gration To gol'dly-lock'd Euphorbus, who was killed in good fashion, At the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta. Jlermotimus teas nejct (/ find it in my charta) To ivhom it did pass, ivhere no sooner it was missing But ivith one Pyrrhus of Delos it learnH to go a fishing ; And thence did it enter the sophist of Greece.^ From Pythagore, sheivent into a beautiful piece^ THE fjiffhl A.ipasia, the mereLrhv ; and the next toss of her Was again of a ivhore, she hecame a philosopher, Crates the cijntck, as it self doth relate it : Since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools gat it, Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock, In all ivhich it hath spoke, as in the cobler's cock. But I come not here to discourse of that matter, Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, By QUATER ! His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh. Or his telling how elements shift , but I Would ask, how of late thou hast suffered trans- lation, And shifted thy coat in these daysof reformation. And. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see, Counting all old doctrine heresie. Nan. But not on thine oivn forbid meats hast thou ventured ? And. On fish, when first a Carthusian I enter' d. Nan. Why, then tliy dogmatical silence hath left thee ? And.- Of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me. Nan. O wonderful change, ic hen sir lawyer forsook thee ! For Pythagore\s sake, what body then took thee ? And. A good dull mule. Nan. And how ! by that means Thotiwert brought to allow of the eating of beans'? And. Ves. Nan. But from the mule into tvhom didst thou pass ? And. Into a very stra)ige beast, by some ivriters call'd an ass ; By others, a precise, pure, illuminate brother, Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another ; And ivill drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity-pie. Nan. A^oiv quit thee, for heaven, of that profane riation, And genlly report thy next transmigration. And. To the same that I am. Nan. A creature of deligJit, And, whatis more thanafool,anhermaphrodite! Noiv, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation. Which body ivouhVst thou choose, to keep up thy station ? And. Troth, this J am in : even here would I tarry. Nan. 'Cause here the delight of each sex thou canst vary ? And. Ahs, those pleasures be stale and forsaken ; No, 'tis your fool ivherewith 1 am so taken, The only one creature that I can call blessed ; For all other forms I have provedmost distressed. Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still. This learned opinion we celebrate will, Fellow eunuch, as behoves us, ivith all our wit and art. To dignify that lohereof ourselves are so great and special a part. Volp. Now, very, very px'etty ! Mosca, this Was thy invention } Mos. If it please my patron, Not else. Volp. it doth, good Mosca. Mos. Then it was, sir. Nano and Castrone sing. Fools, they are tlie only nation Woi tli men's envy or admiration ; FOX. Free from care or sorro-.v-talcin?. Selves and otlicrs n^-erry making: All they .speak or do is sterling. Your fool he is your great man's darliiig. And your ladies' sport and pleasure ; Tongue and bauble are his tre.'iMu-e. E'en his face begetteth laughter, And he speaks truth free from slaughtci- ; lie's the grace of every feast. And sometimes the chiefest guest ; Hath his trencher and his stool, When wit waits upon the fool. O, who would not be He, he, he ? \_Knocking without. Volp. Who's that? Away! [^Exeunt Nano and Castrone.] Look, Mosca. Fool, begone ! \_Exit, Androgyno Mos. 'Tis signior Voltore, the advocate ; I know him by his knock. Volp. Fetch me my gov/n, My furs and night-caps ; say, my couch is changing, And hit him entertain himself awhile Without i' the gallery. \Exit 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 — lie-enter Mosca, it;ith the gown, SjC. 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. [Puts 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 ; Ride 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 call'd the great and learned advocate : And then concludes, there's nought impossible. Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca. 3Tos. 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. 3Tos. Stay, sir ; your ointment for your eyes. Volp. That's true ; Dispatch, dispatch : I long to have possession Of my new present. 3fos. That, and thousands more, I hope to see you lord of. Volp. Thanks, kind Mosca. Mos. And that, when I am lost in blended dust. And hundred such as I am, in succession Volp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca. SCENE I. I'flE Mos. You shall live, Still, to delude these harpies. Volp. Loving Mosca ! 'Tis well : my pillow now, and let him enter. lExit 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. He comes ; I hear him — Uh ! \_coughing uh ! uh! uhl O— Re-enter Mosca, introducing Voltore, 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 but 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. Mas. Yes, Volt. What says he ? 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. Vult. \_putting it into his hands. '\ I'm sorry, To see you still thus weak. Mos. That he's not weaker. lAside. 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 far 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. Am I } Volp. I feel me going ; Uh ! uh ! uh ! uh ! I'm sailing to my port, Uh ! 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: Am I inscribed his heir for certain Mos. Are you ! I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe FOX. 177 To write me in your family. All my hopes Depend upon your worship : I am lost. Except the rising sun 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 "i Mos. Without a partner, sir ; confirm'd this morning : The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce di-y 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 liked 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, with 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 : these men. He knew, would thrive with their humility. And, for his part, he thought he should be blest To have his heir of such a suffering spirit. So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue, And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce Lie still, without a fee ; when every word Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin ! — [Knocking without. W^ho'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, with fatness of the flood, Think on your vassal ; but remember me ; I have not been your worst of clients. Volt. Mosca! Mos. When will you have your inventory brought, sir Or see a copy of the will ? Anon ! — I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone. Put business in your face. [Exit Voltore. Volp. [springing zip.] Excellent Mosca ! Come hither, let me kiss thee. Mos. Keep you still, sir. Here is Corbaccio. Volp. Set the plate away : The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come ! Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep. Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to the rest.'l 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 Corbaccio. Signior Corbnccial Yott*i-e very welcome, sir. n ]:8 THE Corb. How does your patron ? Mos. Troth, as he did, sir ; no amen'ds. Corb. What 1 mends he ? Mos. No, sir : he's rather worse. Corb. That's well. Where is he ? ^los. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleep. Corb. Does he sleep well ? Mos. No wink, sir, all this night. Nor yesterday ; but slumbers. Corb. Good ! he should take Some counsel of physicians : I have brought him An opiate here, from mine own doctor. Mos. He will not hear of drugs. Corb. Why.' I myself Stood by while it was made, saw all the ingredients : And know, it cannot but most gently work : My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. Volp. Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it, lAside. Mos. Sir, He has no faith in physic. Corb. Say you, say you? Mos. He has no faith in physic : he does think Most of your doctors are the greater danger, And worse disease, to escape. I often have Heard him protest, that your physician Should never be his heir. Corb. Not I his heir Mos. Not your physician, sir. Corb. O, no, no, no, I do not mean it. Mos. No, sir, nor their fees He cannot brook : he says, they flay a man, Before they kill him. Corb. Right, I do conceive you. Mns. And then they do it by experiment; For which the law not only dotn absolve them, But gives them great reward : and he is loth To hire his death, so. Corb. It is true, they kill With as much license as a judge. Mos. Nay, more ; For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns, And these can kill him too. Corb. Ay, or me ; Or any man. How does his apoplex ? Is that strong on him still .'^ Mos. Most violent. His speech is broken, and his eyes are set, His face drawn longer than 'twas wont Corb. How ! how ! Stronger than he was wont ? Mos. No, sir : his face Drawn longer than 'twas wont. Corb. O, good ! Mos. His mouth Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. Corb. Good. Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, And makes the colour of his flesh hke lead. Corb. 'Tis good. Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull. Corb. Good symptoms still. Mas. And from his brain Corb. I conceive you ; good. Mos. Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum, Forth the resolved corners of his eyes. Corb. Is't possible ? Yet I am better, ha ! How does he, with the swimming of his head ?• Mos. O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy ; he now FOX. Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. Corb. Excellent, excellent ! sure I shall out- last him : This makes me young again, a score of years. Mos. I was a coming for you, sir. Corb. Has he made his will ? What has he given me ? Mos. No, sir. Corb. Nothing ! ha ? Mos. He has not made his will, sir. Corb. Oh, oh, oh ! What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here ? Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard My master was about his testament ; As I did urge him to it for your good Corb. He came unto him, did he ' I thought so. Mos. Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. Corb. To be his heir ? Mos. I do not know, sir. Corb. True : I know it too. Mos. By your own scale, sir. \_Aside. Corb. Weil, I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look, Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines, Will quite weigh down his plate. Mos. {Taking the bag.] Yea, marry, sir. This is true physic, this your sacred medicine ; No talk of opiates, to this great elixir ! Corb. 'Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile. Mos. It shall be minister'd to him, in his bowl. Corb. Ay, do, do, do. Mos. Most blessed cordial ! This will recover him. Corb. Yes, do, do, do. Mos. I think it were not best, sir. Corb. What? Mos. To recover him. Corb. O, no, no, no ; by no means. Mos. Why, sir, this Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. Corb. 'Tis true, therefore forbear; I'll take my Give me it again. [venture : Mos. At no hand ; pardon me : You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I Will so advise you, you shall have it aU. Corb. How ? Mos. All, sir ; 'tis your right, your own : no Can claim a part : 'tis yours, without a rival, [man Decreed by destiny. Corb. How, how, good Mosca ? Mos. I ll tell you, sir. This flt he shall recover. Corb. I do conceive you. Mos. And, on first advantage Of his gain'd sense, will I re-importune him Unto the making of his testament : And shew him this. IFoiuting to the money. Corb. Good, good. Mos. 'Tis better yet, If you will hear, sir. Corb. Yes, with all ray heart. Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed ; There, frame a will ; whereto you shall inscribe My master your sole heir. Corb. And disinherit My son ! Mos. O, sir, the better : for that cob\ir Shall make it much more taking. SCENE I. THE FOX. 179 Corh. 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 brave, and highly meriting. The stream of your diverted love hath thrown 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. 1 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, bow 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, ^\ 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. iGoing. Mos. Rook go with you, raven! Corb. I know thee honest. Mos. You do lie, sir ! lAside. Corb. Aud 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 liis blessing. Corb. I may have my youth restored to me, why not ? Mos. Yourworship 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. ^Exit. Volp. [leaping from his couch.] O, I shall burst! Let out my sides, let out my sides— Mo.s. 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 I cannot hold ; good rascal, let me kiss thee : 1 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 ; 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 I Feels not his gout, nor palsy ; feigns himself Y'ounger by scores of years, flatters his age With confident belying it, hopes he may. With charms, like ^son, have his youth restored : And with thtse thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he, And all turns air ! {Knocking wiihin.] 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. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. [^Anoint- ing them.] — Who's there ? Enter Corvino. Signior Corvino! come most wish'd for! 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 hitn. — He's here, sir. And he has brought you 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. AIos. Best shew it, sir ; Put it into his hand ; 'tis only there He apprehends : he has his feeling, yet. See how he grasps it ! Corv. '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 he 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 1, n 2 THE FOX. 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 weakness, for consent : and sent home th' others, Nothing bequeath' d them, but to cry and curse. Corv. O, mydearMosca! \_They embrace. '\ 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. \_Shouts inYou'sear. 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 !— 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.'] 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 mouth ? Corv. A very draught. Mos. O, stop it up Corv. 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'll 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. Pub I nor your diamond. What a needless Is this afliicts you ? Is not all here yours } [care Am not I here, whom you have made your creature? That owe ray being to you ? Corv. Grateful Mosca ! 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, — \_Exit Cons. 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 delights ; The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures, Than will Volpone. [Exit 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 — Re-enter Mosca. Who is'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 hath 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, Than 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. \_Excunl SCENE 1. THE FOX. 181 ACT II. SCENE I. — St. Mark's Place ; a retired corner before Corvino's House. Enter Sir Politick Would-be, and Peregrine. Sir P. Sir, to a wise man, all the world's his soil : It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe, That must bound me, if my fates call me forth. Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire Of seeing countries, shifting a religion, Nor 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 quote, 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 ! \ ou 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 1 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 gull me, trow 1 or is guU'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 the 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 knoM'ledge ? Per. Yes, and your lion's whelping in the Tower. Sir P. Another whelp ! 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 ! 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. 1 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 ? Pei\ 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 tlie 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 ! 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 English stage : he that should write But such a fellow, should be thought to feign Extremely, if not maliciously. \_Aside. Sir P. Stone dead ! Per. Dead. — Lord ! how deeply, sir, you ap- He was no kinsman to you ? [prebend 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 w^onder. 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 tb.e 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 : But he could read, and had your languages, And to'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 for fresh employment. !82 THE FOX. ACT IJ. Per. 'Heart! This sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing. \_Aside. It seems, sir, you know all. Sir P. Not all, sir, but I have some general notions. 1 do love To note and to observe : though I 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, 1 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 hy persons ivith 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 fn the dear tongues, never discourse to you Of the Italian mountebanks? Per. Yes, sir. Str P. Why, Here you shall see one. Per. Tliey are quacksalvers ; Fellows, that live by venting oils and drugs. Sir P. Was that the character he gave you of Per. As I remember. [them? Sir P. Pity his ignorance. They are the only knowing men of Europe ! Gi-eat general scholars, excellent physicians, Most admired statesmen, profest favourites, And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes ; The only languaged men of all tlie world ! Per. And, I have heard, they are most lewd 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 3Ios. Scoto of Mantua, sir. [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. 1 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 mountebank Doctor, and followed by a crowd of people. Volp. Mount, zany, [to Nano ] Mob. Follow, follow, follow, follow ! Sir P. See how the people follow him ! he's a man May write ten thousand crowns in bank here. Note, [VoLPONK mounts the Stage. Mark but his gesture : — I do use to observe The state he keeps in getting up. . Per. 'Tis worth it, sir. Volp. Most noble gentlemen, and my rvorthy patrons ! It may seem, strange, that I, your Scoto Mantuano, who was ever wont to fix my bank in face of the public Piazza, near tlie shelter of the Portico to the Procuratia, should noiv, after eight months abse^ice from this illustrioas city of Venice, humbly retire myself into an obscure nook of the Piazza. Sir P. Did not I now object the same? Per. Pe«ce, sir. Volp. Let me tell you : I am not, as your Lom- bard proverb saith^ cold on my feet ; or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, than 1 accustomed : look not for it. Nor that the calum- nious reports of that impudent detractor^ and shame to our profession, (Alessandro Butione, I mean, ) who gave out, in public, I was condemned a sfor- zato to the galleys, for poisoning the cardinal Bem- bo's cook, hath at all attached, much less de- jected me. N'o, no, worthy gentlemen ; to tell you true, I cannot endure to see the rabble of these ground ciarlitani, that spread their cloaks on the pavement, as if they meant to do feats of activity, and then come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the fabulist: some of them discoursing their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the Turks gallies, when, indeed, were the truth knoivn, they 7cere the Christians gallies, u here very temperately they eat bread, and drunk water, as a wholesome penance, enjoined them by their confessors, for base pilferies. Sir P. Note but his bearing, and contempt of these. Volp. These turdy-facy-nasty-paty-lousy-farti- cal rogues, with one poor groaf s worth of unpre- pared antimony, finely wrapt up in several scar- toccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a iveek, and play ; yet, these meagre, starved spirits , who have half stopt tlie organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, want not their favourers among your shrivell'd sallad-eating artizans, who are overjoyed that they may have their half-pe^rth oj physic ; though it purge them into another world, it makes no matter. Sir P. Excellent ! have you heard better lan- guage, sir. Volp. Well, let them go. And, gentlemen, ho- nourable gentlemen, know, that for this time, our bank, being thus removed from the clamours of the canaglia, shall be the scene of pleasure and delight ; for I have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell. Sir P. I told you, sir, his end. Per. You did so, sir. Volp. / protest, I, and my six servants, are not able to make of this precious liquor, so fast as it is fetclid away from my lodging by gentlemen of your city ; strangers of the Terra-firma ; worship- ful merchants ; ay, and senators too : who, ever xince my arrival^ have detained me to their uses, by their splendidous liberalities. And viorthily ; for, what avails your rich man to have his maga- zines stuft with moscadelli, or of the purest grape, when his physicians prescribe him, on pain of death, to drink nothing but water coded tvith ani- seeds ? O, health ! health ! the blessing of the rich ! the riches of the poor ! who can buy thee at too dear a rate, since there is no enjoying this world without thee ? Be not then so sparing of your purses, honourable gentlemen, as to abridge the natural course of life Per. You see his end. Sir P. Ay, is't not good ? Volp. For, when a humid flux, or catarrh, by the mutability of air, falls from your head into an arm or shoulder, or any other part ; take you a ducket, or your chequin of gold, and apply to the place affected : see what good effect it can work. No, no, 'tis this blessed unguento, this rare extrac- tion, that hath only power to disperse all malig- nant humours, that proceed either of hot, cold, moist, or windy causes Per. I would he had put in dry too. Sir P. 'Pray you, observe. Volp. To fortify the most indigest and crude stomach, ay, were it of one that, through extreme weakness, vomited blood, applyi7ig only a warm napkin to the place, after the unction and fricace ; — for the vertigine in the head, putting but a drop into your nostrils, likewise behind the ears ; a most sovereign and approved remedy : the mal caduco, cramps, convulsions, paralysies, epilepsies, tremor- cordia, retired nerves, ill vapours of the spleen, stopping of the liver, the stone, the strangury, her- nia ventosa, iliaca passio ; stops a dysenteria imme- diately ; easeth the torsioii of the small guts ; and cures melancholia hypondriaca, being taken and applied according to my printed receipt. [Pointing to his bill and his vial.] For, this is the physician, this the medicine ; this counsels, t/iis cures ; this gives t/ie direction, this works the effect ; and, in sum, both together may be termed an abstract of the iheorick and practick in the Aisculapian art. 'Twill cost you eight crowns. And, — Zan Fri- tada, prithee sing a verse extempore in honour of it. Sir P. How do you like him, sir ? Per. Most strangely, I I Sir P. Is not his language rare ? Per. But alchemy, I never heard the hke ; or Broughtou's books. Nano sings. ITad old Hippocrates, or Galen, That to their books put nied'cines all in, But known this secret, thej' had never (Of which they will he guilty ever) Been murderers of so iinich paper, Or v/asted many a h artless taper; No Indian drug luul e'er been famed, Tobacco, sassafras not named; Ne yet, of guacum one small stick, sir, Nor Raymund Lully's great elixir. Ne had been known the Danisli Gonswart, Or Paracelsus, with his long sword. Per. All this, yet, will not do ; eight crowns is high. Volp. N'o more. — Gentlemen, if I had hut time >») discourse to you the miraculous effects of this FOX. my oil, surnamed Oglio del Scoto ; with the count- less catalogue of those I have cured of the afore- said, and many more diseases ; the patents and privileges of all the princes and commonwealths oj Christendom ; or but the depositions of those that appeared on my part, before the signlory of the Sanita and most learned College of Physicians ; where I was authorized, tipon notice taken of the admirable virtues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency in matter of rare and unknonrn secrets, not only to disperse them publicly in this famous city, but in all the territories, that happily joy under the government of the most pious and magnificent states of Italy. Bu' may some other gallant fellow say, O, there be divers that make profession to have as good, and as experimented receipts as yours : indeed, very many have assayed, like apes, in imitation of that, ivhich is really and essentially in me, to make of this oil ; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stills, alembecks, continual fires, and preparation of the ingredients, ( as in- deed there goes to it six hujidred several simples, besides some quantity of human fat, for the con- glutination, which we buy of the anatomists,) but, when these practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, p'iff, puff, and all flies in fumo : ha, ha. ha ! Poor wretches ! T rather pity their folly and indiscretion, than their loas of time and money ; for these may be recovered by industry : but to be a fool born, is a disease incurable. For myself , I always from my youth have endea- voured to get the rarest secrets, and book them, either in exchange, or for money : I spared nor cost nor labour, where any thing was tvorthy to be learned. And, gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, J ivill undertake, by virtue of chemical art, out oJ the honourable hat that covers your head, to extract the four elements ; that is to say, the fire, air, water, and earth, and return you your felt tvithout burn or stain. For, whilst others have been at the Balloo, I have been at my book ; and am non- past the craggy paths of study, and come to the floivery plains of honour and reputation. Sir P. I do assure you, sir, that is his aim. Volp. But to our price Per. And that withal, sir Pol. Volp. Vou all know, honourable gentlemen, J never valued this ampulla, or vial, at less than eight crowns ; but for this time, I am content to be deprived of it for six : six croivns is the price, and less in courtesy I know you cannot offer me ; take it or leave it, howsoever, both it and I am at your service. I ask you not as the value of the thing, for then I should demand of you a thousand croicns, so the cardinals Montalto, Fernese, the great Duke of Tuscany, my gossip, with divers other princes, have given me ; but I despise money. Only to shew my affection to you, honourable gentlemen, and your illustrious State here, I have neglected the messages of these princes, mine own offices, framed my journey hither, only to present you tvith the fruits of my travels. — Tune your voices once more to the touch of your instruments, arid give the honourable assembly some delightful recre- ation. Per. What monstrous and most painful circum- stance Is here, to get some three or four gazettes, So)ne three-i)ence in the whole! for that 'UnW come to. 184 THE Nano sings. You that would last long, list to my song, Make no more coil, but buy of this oil. Would you be ever fair and young ? Stout of teeth, and strong of tongue? Tart of palate ? quick of ear ? Sliarp of sight ? of nostril clear ? Moist of hand ? and light of foot ? Or, I will come nearer to't, Would you live free from all diseases ? Do the act your mistress pleases, Yet fright all aches from your bones? Here's a med'cine for the nones. Volp. W ell, T am in a humour at this time to make a present of the small quantity my coffer contains ; to the rich in courtesy, and to the poor for God's sake. Wherefore now mark : I ask'd you six crowns ; and six crowns, at other times, you have paid me ; you shall not give me six crowns, nor five., nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one ; nor half a ducat ; no, nor a moccinigo. Six- pence it will cost you, or six hundred pound expect no lower price, for, by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine, — that I will have, only, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from, amongst you, to shew I am not contemn d by you. Therefore, now, toss your handkerchiejs, cheerfully, cheerfully ; and be advertised, that the first heroic spirit that deigns to grace me with a handkerchief, I will give it a little remembrance of something, beside, shall please it better, than if I had presented it with a double pistolet. Per. Will you be that heroic spark, sir Pol ? [Celia at a ivinduw above, throws down her handkerchief. O, see ! the window has prevented you. Volp. Lady, I kiss your bounty ; and for this timely grace you have done your poor Scoto of Mantua, I ivill return you, over and above my oil., a secret of that high and inestimable nature, shall make you for ever enamour d on thai minute, wherein your eye first descended on so mean, yet not altoge Liter to be despised, an object. Here is a powder conceal' d in this paper, of which, if I should speak to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one page, that page as a line, that line as a word; so short is this pilgrimage of man ( u'hich some call life ) to the expressing of it. W 07ild I reflect on the price ? why, the ivhole world is but as an empire, that empire as a pro- vince, that province as a bank, that bank as a pri- vate purse to the purchase of it. 1 will only tell you ; it is the powder that made Venus a goddess, ( given her by Apollo,) that kept her perpetually young, cleared her ivrinkles, firm'd her gums, fill d her skin, coloured her hair ; from her derived to Helen, and at the sack of Troy unfortunately lost : till now, in this our age, it was as happily reco- vered, by a studious antiquary, out of some ruins of Asia, ivho sent a moiety of it to the court of France, (but much sophisticated,) wherewith the ladies there, now, colour their hair. The rest, at this present, remains with me ; extracted to a quint- esse?ice : so that, wherever it but touches, in youth it perpetually preserves, in age restores the com- plexion ; seats your teeth, did they dance like vir- ginal jacks, firm as a wall ; makes them white as ivory, that were black as Enter CoRvrNo. Cor. Spight o' the devil, and my shame ! come down, here ; FOX. ACT II. Come down ; — No house but mine to make youi scene ? Signior Flaminio, will you down, sir? down? What, is my wife your Franciscina, sir.^^ No windows on the whole Piazza, here, To make your properties, but mine ? but mine? \_Beats aivay Volpone, Nano, ^c. Heart ! ere to-morrow I shall be new-christen'd, And call'd the Pantalone di Besogniosi, About the town. Per. What should this mean, sir Pol ? Sir P. Some trick of state, believe it ; I will home. Per. It may be some design on you. Sir P. I know not, I'll stand upon my guard. Per. It is your best, sir. Sir P. This three weeks, all ray advices, all my They have been intercepted. [letters, Per. Indeed, sir \ Best have a care. Sir P. Nay, so I will. Per. This knight, I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night. \_Exeunt. SCENE II. — // Room in VoLPONii's House. Enter Volpone and Mosca. Volp. O, I am wounded 1 Mos. Where, sir ? Volp. Not without ; Those blows were nothing : I could bear them ever But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes. Hath shot himself into me like a flame ; Where, now, he flings about his burning heat, As in a furnace an ambitious fire, Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within me. I cannot live, except thou help me, Mosca ; My liver melts, and I, without the hope Of some soft air, from her refreshing breath, Am but a heap of cinders. Mos. 'Las, good sir, Would you had never seen her ! Volp. Nay, would tho>i Had'st never told me of her ! Mos. Sir, 'tis true ; I do confess I was unfortunate. And you unhappy : but I'm bound in conscience, No less than duty, to effect my best To your release of torment, and I will, sir. Volp. Dear Mosca, shall I hope ? Mos. Sir, more than dear, I will not bid you to despair of aught Within a human compass. Volp. O, there spoke My better angel. Mosca, take my keys, Gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion ; Employ them how thou wilt ; nay, coin me too : So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca. Mos. Use but your patience. Volp. So I have. Mos. I doubt not To bring success to your desires. Volp. Nay, then, I not repent me of my late disguise. Mos. If you can horn him, sir, you need not. Volp. True: Besides, I never mennt him for my heir. — ■ Is not the colour of nay beard and eyebrows To make me known ? SCENE III. THE FOX. Mos. No jot. Volp. I did it well. 3Ios. So well, would 1 could follow you in mine, With half the happiness ! — and yet J would Escape your epilogue. [Aside. Volp. But were they gull'd With a belief that I was Scoto ? Mos. Sir, Scoto himself could hardly have distinguish'd! 1 have not time to flatter you now ; we'll part ; And as I prosper, so applaud my art. lExeimt. SCENE III. — A Room in Corvino's House. Enter CoRviKO, with his sivord in his hand, dragging in C'klia. Corv. Death of mine honour, with the city's fool ! A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank ! And at a public window ! where, whilst he. With his strain'd action, and his dole of faces, To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, A crew of old, unmarried, noted letchers. Stood leering up like satyrs ; and you smile Most graciously, and fan your favours forth, To give your hot spectators satisfaction ! "What, was your mountebank their call ? their whistle ? Or were you enamour'd on his copper rings, His saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in't, Or his embroider'd suit, with the cope-stitch. Made of a herse cloth ? or his old tilt-feather ? Or his starch'd beard ? Well, you shall have him, He shall come home, and minister unto you [yes ! The fricace for the mother. Or, let me see, 1 think you'd rather mount ; would you not mount ? Why, if you'll mount, you may ; yes, truly, you And so you may be seen, down to the foot. [may : Get you a cittern, lady Vanity, And be a dealer with the virtuous man ; Make one : I'll but protest myself a cuckold, And save your dowry. I'm a Dutchman, I ! For, if you thought me an Italian, You would be damn'd, ere you did this, you whore ! Thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder Of father, mother, brother, all thy race. Should follow, as the subject of my justice. Cel. Good sir, have patience. Corv. What couldst thou propose Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath, And stung with my dishonour, I should strike This steel into thee, with as many stabs. As thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes ? Cel. Alas, sir, be appeased ! I could not think My being at the window should more now Move your impatience, than at other times. Corv. No ! not to seek and entertain a parley With a known knave, before a multitude ! You were an actor with your handkerchief. Which he most sweetly kist in the receipt. And migiit, no doubt, return it with a letter. And point the place where you might meet ; yonr sister's, Your mother's, or your aunt's might serve the turn. Cel. Wliy, dear sir, when do I make these ex- Or ever stir abroad, but to the church [cuses, And that so seldom Corv. Well, it shall be less ; And thy restraint before was liberty. To what I now decrt'e : and therefore mark me. First, I will have this bawdy light damra'd up ; And till't be done, some two or three yards off, I'll chalk a line : o'er which if thou but chance To set thy desperate foot, more hell, more horror. More wild remorseless rage shall seize on thee, Thau on a conjuror, that had heedless left His circle's safety ere his devil was laid. Then here's a lock which I will hang upon thee, And, now I think on't, I will keep thee backwards ; Thy lodging shall be backwards ; thy walks back- wards ; Thy prospect, all be backwards ; and no pleasure. That thou shalt know but backwards: nay, since My honest nature, know, it isyour own, [you force Being too open, makes me use you thus : Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils In a sweet room, but they must snuft" the air Of rank and sweaty passengers. \_K nocking within.'] — One knocks. Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life ; Nor look toward the window : if thou dost Nay, stay, hear this — let me not prosper, whor«e, But I will make thee an anatomy, Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture Upon thee to the city, and in public. Av ay ! — [Exit Ceua. Enter Servant. Who's there ? Serv. 'Tis signior Mosca, sir. Corv. Let him come in. [Exit Serv.] His mas- ter's dead : there's yet Some good to help the bad. — Enter Mosca. My Mosca, welcome ! I guess your news. Mos. I fear you cannot, sir. Corv. Is't not his death ? Mos. Rather the contrary. Corv. Not his recovery ? Mos. Yes, sir. Corv. I am curs'd, I am bewitch'd, my crosses meet to vex me. How ? how ? how how ? Mos. Why, sir, with Scoto's oil ; Corbaccio and Voltore brought of it, W^hilst I was busy in an inner room Corv. Death ! that damn'd mountebank ; but for the law Now, I could kill the rascal : it cannot be, His oil should have that virtue. Have not I Known him a common rogue, come fidling in To the osteria, with a tumbling whore. And, when he has done all his forced tricks, been glad Of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flies in't? It cannot be. All his ingredients Are a sheep's gall, a roasted bitch's marrow, Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars, A little capon's grease, and fasting spittle : I know them to a dram. 3fos. I knov^r not, sir ; But some on't, there, they pour'd into his ears, Some in his nostrils, and recover'd him ; Ajjplying but the fricace. Corv. Pox o' that fricace ! J\Ios. And since, to seem the more officious And flatt'riug of his health, there, they have had, At extreme fees, the college of physicians Consulting on him, how they might restore him ; ACT Where one would have a cataplasm of spices, Another a flay'd ape clapp'd to his breast, A third would have it a dog, a fourth an oil, With wild cats' skins ; at last, they all resolved That, to preserve him, was no other means. But some young woman must be straight sought Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him ; [out, And to this service, most unhappily, And most unwillingly, am I now euiploy'd. Which here I thought to pre-acquaint you with, For your advice, since it concerns you most ; Because, I would not do that thing might cross Your ends, on whom I have my whole dependance, Yet, if I do it not, they may delate [sir : My slackness to my patron, work me out Of his opinion ; and there all your hopes. Ventures, or whatsoever, are all frustrate! I do but tell you, sir. Besides, they are all Now striving, who shall first present him ; there- fore — I could entreat you, briefly conclude somewhat ; Prevent them if you can. Corv. Death to my hopes, This is my villainous fortune ! Best to hire Some common courtezan. Mos. Ay, I thought on that, sir ; But they are all so subtle, full of art — And age again doting and flexible, So as — I cannot tell — we may, perchance, Light on a quean may cheat us all. Corv. 'Tis true. Mos No, no : it must be one that has no tricks, Some simple thing, a creature made unto it ; [sir. Some wench you may command. Have you no kinswoman [think, sir. Odso— Think, think, think, think, think, think, One o' the doctors ofl'er'd there his daughter. Corv. How 1 Mos. Yes, signior Lupo, the physician. Corv. His daughter 1 Mos. And a virgin, sir. Why, alas, He knows the state ofs body, what it is ; That nought can warm his blood, sir, but a fever ; Nor any incantation raise his spii'it : A long forgetfulness hath seized that part. Besides, sir, who shall know it ? some one or two — Corv. I pray thee give me leave. [ Walks aside.] If any man But I had had this luck— The thing in't self, I know, is nothing — M'herefore should not T As well command my blood and my aff'ections. As this dull doctor .'' In the point of honour, The cases are all one of wife and daughter. Mos. I hear him coming. lAside. Corv. She shall do't : 'tis done. Slight ! if this doctor, who is not engaged, Unless 't be for his counsel, which is nothing, Offer his daughter, what should I, that am So deeply in ? I will prevent him : Wretch ! Covetous wretch ! — Mosca, I have determined. Mos. How, sir ? Corv. We'll make all sure. The party you wot Shall be mine own wife, Mosca. [of Mos. Sir, the thing. But that I would not seem to counsel you, I should have motion'd to you, at the first : And make your count, you have cut all their throats. Why, 'tis directly taking a possession ! And in his next fit, we may let him go. 'Tis but to pull the pillow from his head, And he is throttled : it had been done before. But for your scrupulous doubts. Corv. Ay, a plague on't. My conscience fools my wit! Well, I'll be brief, And so be thou, lest they should be before us : Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal And willingness I do it ; swear it was On the first hearing, as thou may'st do, truly, Mine own free motion. Mos. Sir, I warrant you, I'll so possess him with it, that the rest Of his starv'd cUents shall be banish'd all ; And only you received. But come not, sir. Until I send, for I have something else To ripen for your good, you must not know't. Corv. But do not you forget to send now. 3fos. Fear not. lExit, Corv. Where are you, wife ? my Celia ! wife ! Re-enter Celia. — What, blubbering ? Come, dry those tears. I think thou thought'st me in earnest ; Ha ! by this light I talk'd so but to try thee : Methinks the lightness of the occasion Should have confirm'd thee. Come, I am not Cel. No ! [jealous. Corv. Faith I am not, I, nor never was ; It is a poor unprofitable humour. Do not I know, if women have a will, They'll do 'gainst all the watches of the world, And that the fiercest spies are tamed with gold ? Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't; And see I'll give thee cause too, to believe it. Come kiss me. Go, and make thee ready, straight, In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels, Put them all on, and, with them, thy best looks : We are invited to a solemn feast. At old Volpone's, where it shall appear How far I am free from jealousy or fear. If^xcunt. ACT III. SCENE l.-A Street. Enter Mosca. Mos, I fear, I shall begin to grow in love With my dear self, and my most prosperous parts, They do so spring and burgeon ; I can feel A whimsy in my blood : I know not how, Success hath made me wanton. I could skip Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake, I am so limber. O ! your parasite Is a most precious thing, dropt from above, Notbred 'mongstclodsaLd clodpoles, here on earth, I muse, the mystery was not made a science, It is so liberally profest ! almost All the wise world is little else, in nature. But parasites or sub-parasites. — And, yet, I mean not those that have your bare town-art. To know wlio's fit to feed them ; have no house. SCKNL II, THE FOX. 107 No family, no care, and therefore mould Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense ; or get Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts To please the belly, and the groin ; nor those, With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer. Make their revenue out of legs and faces, Echo my lord, and lick away a moth : But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise, And stoop, almost together, like an arrow ; Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star ; Turn short as doth a swallow ; and be here, And there, and here, and yonder, all at once ; Present to any humour, all occasion ; And change a visor, swifter than a thou!>ht ! This is the creature had the art born with him ; Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it Out of most excellent nature : and such sparks Are the true parasites, others but their zanis. Enter Bonario. Who's this? Bonario, old Corbaccio's son? The person I was bound to seek. — Fair sir, You are happily met. Boti. That cannot be by thee. Mos. Why, sir ? Bon. Nay, pray thee, know thy way, and le.ave I would be loth to interchange discourse [me : With such a mate as thou art. Mos. Courteous sir, Scorn not my poverty. Bon. Not I, by heaven ; But thou shalt give me leave to hate tliy baseness. Mos. Baseness ! Bon. Ay ; answer me, is not thy sloth Sufficient argument ? thy flattery ? Thy means of feeding ? Mos. Heaven be good to me ! These imputations are too common, sir, And easily stuck on virtue when she s poor. You are unequal to me, and however Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure : St. Mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman. [ Weeps. Bon. What! does he weep? the sign is soft and good : I do repent me that I was so harsh. lAsidc. Mos. 'Tis true, that, sway'd by strong necessity, I am enforced to eat my careful bread With too much obsequy ; 'tis true, beside, That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment Out of my mere observance, being not born To a free fortune : but that I have done Base offices, in rending friends asunder, Dividing families, betraying counsels, Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises, Train'd their credulity with perjuries, Corrupted chastity, or am in love With mine own tender ease, but would not rather Prove the most rugged, and laborious course. That might redeem my present estimation. Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness. Bon. This cannot be a personated passion. — [_Asidc. I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature ; Prithee, forgive me : and speak out thy business, Mos. Sir, it concei'ns yo-u ; and though I may seem. At first to make a main offence in manners, And in my gratitude unto my master ; Yet, for the pure love, which I bear all right, And hatred of the wrong, 1 must reveal it. This very hour your father is in purpose To disinherit you • Bon. How ! Mos. And thrust you forth, As a mere stranger to his blood ; 'tis true, sir, The work no way engageth me, but, as I claim an interest in the general state Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear To abound in you : and, for which mere respect, Without a second aim, sir, I have done it. Bon. This tale hath lost thee much of the late Thou hadst with me ; it is impossible : [trust I know not how to lend it any thought. My father should be so unnatural. Mos. It is a confidence that well becomes, Your piety ; and forni'd, no doubt, it is From your own simple innocence : which makes Your wrong more monstrous and abhorr'd. But, I now will tell you more. This very minute, [sir, It is, or will be doing ; and, if you Shall be but pleased to go with me, I'll bring you, I dare not say where you shall see, but where Your ear shall be a witness of the deed ; Hear yourself written bastard, and protest The common issue of the earth. Bon. I am amazed ! Mos. Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword, And score your vengeance on my front and face : Mark me your villain : you have too much wrong. And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart Weeps blood in anguish Bon. Lead; 1 follow thee. lExeunU SCENE II. — A Room in roLPONE's House. Enter VoM'ONE. Volp. Mosca stays long, methinks. — Bring forth your sports, And help to make the wretched time more sweet. Enter Nano, Andkogyno, and Castronk. Nan. Divnrf, fool, and eunuch, well met here ive be. A question it ivere now, whether of us three. Being all the knoivn delicates of a rich man. In pleasing him., claim the precedency canf Cas. 1 claim for mi/self. And. And so doth ih- fool. Nan. ' Tis f oolish indeed : let me set you both to school. First for your dwarf, he^s little and witty. And every thing, as it is little, is pretty ; Else why do men say to a creature of my shape. So soon as they see him. It's a pretty little ape 9 And why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation Of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous fashion ? Beside, this feat budy of mine dolh not crave Half the meat., drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have. Admit your fooV s face be the mother of laughter. Yet, for his brain, it must alivays come after: And though that do feed him, it's a pitiful case, His body is beholding to such a bad face. [Knocking witliin. Volp. Who's there my couch; away! look! Nano, see : IL'xc. And. and Cab 188 THE FOX. ACT III. Lady P, [goes to the couch.'] How does my Volpone Volp. Troubled with noise, I cannot sleep; I dreamt That a strange fury enter'd, now, my house, And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath, Did cleave my roof asunder. Lad?/ P. Believe me, and I Had the most fearful dream, could I remember' t — Volp. Out on my fate ! I have given her the occasion How to torment me : she will tell rae her's, \_Aside. Lady P. Me thought, the golden mediocrity, Polite and delicate • Volp. O, if you do love me, No more : I sweat, and suffer, at the mention Of any dream ; feel how I tremble yet. Lady P. Alas, good soul ! the passion of the he-art. Seed-pearl were good now, boil'd with syrup of Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, [apples, Your elicampane root, myrobalanes Volp. Ah me, I have ta'en a grass-hopper by the wing ! \_Aside. Lady P. Burnt silk, and amber: You have mus- Good in the house [cadel Volp. You will not drink, and part? Lady P. No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall not get Some English saffron, half a dram would serve ; Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints, Bugloss, and barley-meal Volp. She's in again ! Before I feign'd diseases, now I have one. \^Aside. Lady P. And these applied with a right scarlet cloth. Volp. Another flood of words ! a very torrent ! \_Asidt. Lady P. Shall I, sir, make you a poultice ? Volp. No, no, no, I'm very well, you need prescribe no more. Lady P. I have a little studied physic; but now, I'm all for music, save, in the forenoons. An hour or two for painting. I would have A lady, indeed, to have all, letters and arts, Be able to discourse, to write, to paint, But principal, as Plato holds, your music. And so does wise Pythagoras, I take it, Is your true rapture : when there is concent In face, in voice, and clothes : and is, indeed, Our sex's chiefest ornament. Volp. The poet As old in time as Plato, and as knowing, Says, that your highest female grace is silence. Lady P. Which of your poets ? Petrarch, or Tasso, or Dante ? Guarini ? Ariosto ? Aretine } Cieco di Hadria I have read them all. Volp. Is every thing a cause to my destruction ? [_Aside. Lady P. I think I have two or three of them about me. Volp. The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand still Than her eternal tongue ! nothing can 'scape it. \^Aside. La'ly P. Here's Pastor Fido Volp. Profess obstinate silence ; That's now my safest. lAsidc Lady P. All our English writers, Give me my caps, first go, enquire. lEjuit Nano.] — Now, Cupid Send it be Mosca, and with fair return ! Nan. [within.'] It is the beauteous madam Vol. Would-be is it : Nan. The same. Vol. Now torment on me ! Sq\ure her in ; For she will enter, or dwell here for ever : Nay, quickly. [Retires to his couch.] — That my fit were past ! 1 fear A second hell too, that my lothing this Will quite expel my appetite to the other : Would she were taking now her tedious leave. Lord, how it threats me what I am to suffer ! Re-enter Nano, with Lady Politick Would-bk. Lady P. I thank you, good sir. 'Pray you sig- Unto your patron, I am here. — This band [riify Shews not my neck enough- — I trouble you, sir; Let me request you, bid one of my women Come hither to me. — In good faith, I am drest Most favourably to-day ! It is no matter : 'Tis well enough. — Enler 1 Waiting-woman. Look, see, these petulant things, How they have done this ! Volp. I do feel the fever Entering in at mine ears ; O, for a charm, To fright it hence ! lAside. Lady P. Come nearer : is this curl In his right place, or this ? Why is this higher Than all the rest? You have not wash'd your eyes, Or do they not stand even in your head ? [yet ! Where is your fellow ? call her. [£'xfn Woman. Nan. Now, St. Mark Deliver us ! anon, she'll beat her women, Because her nose is red. Re-enter 1 ivitli 2 Woman. Lady P. I pray you, view This tire, forsooth : are all things apt, or no ? 1 Worn. One hair a little, here, sticks out, for- sooth. Lady P. Does't so, forsooth! and where was your dear sight. When it did so, forsooth ! What now ! bird-eyed ? And you, too? 'Pray you, both approach and mend it. Now, by that light, I muse you are not ashamed ! 1, that have preachM these things so oft unto you, Read you the principles, argued all the grounds, Disjjuted every fitness, every grace, Call'd you to counsel of so frequent dressings — Nan. More carefully than of your fame or honour. \_Aside. Lady P. Made you acquainted, what an ample dowry The knowledge of these things would be unto you, Able, alone, to get you noble husbands At your return : and you thus to neglect it ! iiesides you seeing what a curious nation The Italians are, what will they say of me ? The English lady cannot dress herself. Here's a fine imputation to our country! Well, go your ways, and stay in the nex-t room. This fucus was too coarse too ; it's no matter. — Good sir, you'll give them entertainment ? [Exeunt Nano and Waiting-women. Volp. The storm comes toward me. SCKNB III. THE FOX. 189 I mean such as are happy in the Italian, Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly : Almost as much as from Motitagnie : He has so modern and facile a vein, Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear ! Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he, In days of sonnetting, trusted them with much : Dante is hard, and few can understand him. But, for a desperate wit, there's Aretine ; Only, his pictures are a little obscene You mark me not, Volp. Alas, my mind's perturb'd, Lodt/ P. Why, in such cases, we must cure our- Make use of our philosophy [selves, Volp. Oh me ! Lady P. And as we find our passions do rebel, Encounter them with reason, or divert them, By giving scope unto some other humour Of lesser danger : as, in politic bodies. There's nothing more doth overwhelm the judg- ment, And cloud the understanding, than too much Settling and fixing, and, as 'twere, subsiding Upon one object. For the incorporating Of these same outward things, into that part. Which we call mental, leaves some certain fteces That stop the organs, and as Plato says, Assassinate our knowledge. Volp. Now, the spirit Of patience help me ! lAside. Lady P. Come, in faith, I must Visit you more a days ; and make you well : Laugh and be lusty. Volp. My good angel save me ! lAtide. Lady P. There was but one sole man in all the world. With whom I e'er could sympathise ; and he Would lie you, often, three, four hours together To hear me speak ; and be sometime so rapt. As he would answer me quite from the purpose. Like you, and you are like him, just. I'll discourse, An't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep. How we did spend our time and loves together, For some six years. Volp. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh ! Lady P. For we were cosetanei, and brought up — Volp. Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me ! Enter Mosca. Mos. God save you, madam I Lady P. Good sir. Volp. Mosca ! welcome, Welcome to my redemption. Mos. Why, sir Volp. Oh, Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there ; My madam, with the everlasting voice : The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion ! The Cock-pit comes not near it. All my house. But now, steam'd like a bath with her thick breath, A lawyer could not have been heard ; nor scarce Another woman, such a hail of words She has let fall. For hell's sake, rid her hence. Mos. Has she presented ? Volp. O, I do not care ; I'll take her absence, upon any price, With any loss. Mos. Madam Lady P. I have brought your patron A toy, a cap here, of mine own work. Mos. 'Tis well. I had forgot to tell you, I saw your knight, Where you would little think it. Lady P. Where ? Mos. Marry, i Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend i Rowing upon the water in a gondole With the most cunning courtezan of Venice. Lady P. Is't true } Mos. Pursue them, and believe your eyes : Leave me, to make your gift. [Exit Lady P. has^ tily.'] — I knew 'twould take : For, lightly, they that use themselves most license, Are still most jealous. Volp. Mosca, hearty thanks. For thy quick fiction, and deliveiy of me. Now to my hopes, what say'st thou ? Re-enter Lady P. Would-be, Lady P. But do you hear, sir ? . Volp. Again ! I fear a paroxysm. Lady P. Which way Row'd they together .'' Mos. Toward the Rialto. Lady P. I pray you lend me your dwarf. Mos. I pray you take him. — [/!:j.v< Lady P Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair, And promise timely fruit, if you will stay But the maturing ; keep you at your couch, Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the Will ; When he is gone, I'll tell you more. [Exit Volp. My blood, My spirits are return'd ; I am alive : And, like your wanton gamester at primero. Whose thought had whisper'd to him, not go less, Methinks I lie, and draw for an encounter. \_The scene closes upon Volpone. SCENE l\.— The Passage leading to Volpone's Chamber. Enter SIosca and Boxario. Mos. Sir, here conceal'd, [shexcs him a closet."] you may hear all. I3ut, pray you, Have patience, sir ; [knocking within.] — the same's your father knocks : I am compell'd to leave you. [,Exit. Bon. Do so. — Yet Cannot my thought imagine this a truth. IGoes into the closet SCENE lU.— Another Part of the same. Enter Mosca and Corvino, C eli a follow i7w. Mos. Death on me ! you are come too soon, Did not I say, I would send ? [what meant you ? Corv. Yes, but I fear'd You might forget it, and then they prevent us, Mos. Prevent 1 did e'er man haste so, for his horns A courtier would not ply it so, for a place. [Aside. Well, now there is no helping it, stay here ; I'll presently return. [Ejcif. Corv. Where ai e you, Celia ? You know not wherefore I have brought you Cel. Not well, except you told me. [hither.' Corv. Now, I will : Hark hither. [Exeunt. TKE SCENE IV. — A Closet opening into a Gallery. Enter MoscA and Bonario. Mos. Sir, your father hath sent word, It will be half an hour ere he come ; And therefore, if you please to walk the while Into that gallery — at the upper end, There are some books to entertain the time : And I'll take care no man shall come unto you, sir. Bon. Yes, I will stay there. — I do doubt this fellow. \_Aside, and exit. Mos. [Looking after him.'] There; he is far enough ; he can hear nothing : And, for his father, I can keep him off. lExit. SCENE V. — Volpone's Chamber. — Volpone on his couch. Mosca sitting by him. Enter CoRvmo, /ore ing in Celia. Corv. Nay, now, there is no starting back, and Resolve upon it : 1 have so decreed. [therefore, It must be done. Nor would I move't afore. Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks, That might deny me. Cel. Sir, let me beseech you. Affect not these strange trials ; if you doubt My chastity, why, lock me up for ever ; Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live, Wiiere I may please your fears, if not your trust. Corv. Believe it, I have no such humour, I. All that I speak I mean ; yet I'm not mad ; Nor horn-mad, see you ? Go to, shew yourself Obedient, and a wife. Cel. O heaven ! Corv. I say it, Do so. Cel. Was this the train ? Corv. I've told you reasons ; What the physicians have set down : how much It may concern me ; what my engagements are ; My means ; and the necessity of those means, For my recovery : wherefore, if you be Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture. Cel. Before your honour ? Corv. Honour ! tut, a breath : There's no such thing in nature : a mere term Invented to awe fools. What is my gold The worse for touching, clothes for being look'd on Why, this 's no more. An old decrepit wretch, That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat With others fingers ; only knows to gape, When you do scald his gums ; a voice, a shadow ; And, what can this man hurt you ? Cel. Lord ! what spirit Is this hath enter'd him ? [Aside. Corv. And for your fame, That's such a jig ; as if I would go tell it, Cry it on the Piazza ! "'••^ shall know it. But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow. Whose lips are in my pocket ? save yourself, (If you'll proclaim't, you may,) I know no other Shall come to know it. Cel. Are heaven and saints then nothing ? Will they be blind or stupid ? Corv. How 1 Cel. Good sir, Be jealous still, emulate them ; and think What hate they burn with toward every sin. Corv. I grant you : if I thought it were a sin, I would not urge you. Should 1 offer this To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints. Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth, And were professed critic in lechery ; And 1 would look upon him, and applaud him, This were a sin ; but here, 'tis contrary, A pious work, mere charity for physic, And honest polity, to assure mine own. Cel. O heaven ! canst thou suffer such a change ? Volp. Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride. My joy, my tickling, my delight ! Go bring them. Mos. [advancing.'] Please you draw near, sir. Corv. Come on, what You will not be rebellious.'' by that light Mos. Sir, Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you. Volp. Ohl Mos. And hearing of the consultation had, So lately, for your health, is come to offer, Or rather, sir, to prostitute Corv. Thanks, sweet Mosca. Mos. Freely, unask'd, or unintreated Corv. Well. Mos. As the true fervent instance of his love, His own most fair and proper wife ; the beauty, Only of price in Venice Corv. 'Tis well urged. Mos. To be your comfortress, and to preserve you. Volp. Alas, I am past, already ! Pray you, thank him For his good care and promptness ; but for that, 'Tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst heaven ; Applying fire to stone — uh, uh, uh, uh ! [coughi/ig.'] Making a dead leaf grow again. I take His wishes gently, though ; and you may tell him. What I have done for him : marry, my state is hopeless. Will him to pray for me ; and to use his fortune With reverence, when he comes to't. Mos. Do you hear, sir? Go to him with your wife. Corv. Heart of my father ! Wilt thou persist thus ? come, I pray thee, come. Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand, I shall grow violent. Come, do't, I say. Cel. Sir, kill me, rather : I will take down poison. Eat burning coals, do any thing. Corv. Be damn'd ! Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair ; Cry thee a strumpet through the streets ; rip up Thy mouth unto thine ears ; and slit thy nose, Like a raw rochet ! — Do not tempt me ; come. Yield, I am loth — Death ! I will buy some slave Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive ; And at my window hang you forth, devising Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters. Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis. And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast. Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it ! Cel. Sir, what you please, you may, 1 am your martyr. Corv. Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it : Think who it is intreats you. 'Prithee, sweet; — Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, SC'ENli V. THE What thon wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him. Or touch him, but. For my sake. — At my suit. — This once. — No 1 not ! I shall remember this. W ill you disgrace me thus Do you lliirst my undoing ? Mos. Nay, gentle lady, be advised. ^orv. No, no. She has watch'd her time. Ods precious, this is scurvy, 'Tis very scurvy ; and you are — Mos. Nay, good sir. Cow. An arrant locust, by heaven, a locust ! Whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared, Expecting how thou'lt bid them flow — • — Mas. Nay, 'pray you, sir 1 She will consider. Cel. Would my life would serve To satisfy— Corxi. S'death ! if she would but sjieak to him, And save my reputation, it were somewhat ; But spightfully to affect my utter ruin ! Mos. Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands. Whyi'faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her. If you were absent, she would be more coming ; I know it : and dare undertake for her. What woman can before her husband? 'pray you, Let us depart, and leave her here. Corv. Sweet Celia, Thou may'st redeem all, yet-, I'll say no more : If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there. [Shuts the door, and exit with Mosca. Cel. O God, and his good angels I whither, whither, Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease, Men dare put off your honours, and their own.-^ Is that, which ever was a cause of life. Now placed beneath the basest circumstance, And modesty an exile made, for money ? Volp. Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds, ILeaping from his couch. That never tasted the true heaven of love. Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee, Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain, He would have sold his part of Paradise For ready money, had he met a cope-man. Why art thou ir .zed to see me thus revived ? Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle ; 'Tis thy great work : that hath, not now alone. But sundry times raised me, in several shapes, .\nd, but this morning, like a mountebank, To see thee at thy window : ay, before « 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 })hght, As when, in that so celebrated scene, At recitation of our comedy, For entertainment of the great Valois, 1 acted young Antinous ; and attracted The eyes and ears of all the ladies present. To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing. [Sings. FOX. Come, my Celia, let us prove, Wliile 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 wc lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Wliy 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 offending face ! [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 Egyptian 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, and lose them: yet remains an ear-ring To purchase them again, an I 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 estriches. 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 dehghts ; 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 with Cretan wines. 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 Mars, and thou like Erycine : So, of the rest, till we have quite run through. And wearied all the fables of the gods. Then will 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 wife ; Or the grand signior's mistress ; and, for change, To one of our most artful courtezans. Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian ; And I will meet thee in as many shapes : I THE FOX. ACT 11; Where we may so transfuse onr wandering souls Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures, ISings. That the curious shall not know IJow to tell them as they flow ; And the envious, when they find ■\Vhat 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 bountiful and kill me. You do know, I am a creature, hither ill betray'd, By one, whose shame I would forget it were : If you will deign me neither of these graces. Yet feed your wrath, 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 ? That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think. I do degenerate, and abuse my nation, To play with opportunity thus long ; I should have done the act, and then have parley'd. Yield, or I'll force thee. ISeizes her. Cel. O ! just God ! Volp. In vain £o/i. [rushing in.] Forbear, foul ravisher, libi- dinous swine ! Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor. But that I'm loth to snatch thy punishment Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst, yet. Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance. Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol. ■ l ady, let's quit the place, it is the den Of villainy ; fear nought, you have a guard : And he, ere long, shall meet his just reward. [Exeunt Bon. 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, toounded and bleeding. Mos. Where shall I run, most wretched shame To beat out my unlucky brains ? [of men, Volp. Here, here. What 1 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 hoj)es, 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 heaiken'd Fo/p. What shall we do? [so.? Mas. I know not ; if my heart Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out. Will you be jileased to hang me, or cat my throat? And I'll requite you, sir. Let's die like Romans, Since we have lived like Grecians. [Knocking ivilhin. 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, hovi^ever. [Vol pone lia down, as before.]— GnWty men Suspect what they deserve still. Enter Corbaccio, Signior 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 Will. 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 ? 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. [im/i/7 Voltore.] How! signior 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, onli/ ? 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. Volt. Come, Put not your foists upon me ; I shall scent them. 3Ios. 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 son, brought, hid him here. Where he might hear his father pass the deed : Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir. (E*'F I. THE FOX. 193 That the unnatiiralness, first, of the act, And then liis father's oft disclaiming in him, (Which I did mean t'help on,) would sure enrage To do some violence ujion his parent, [him On which the law should take sufficient hold, And you be stated in a double hope : Truth be niy comfort, and my conscience, My only aim was to dig you a fortune Out of these two old rotten sepulchres — Volt. I cry thee mercy, Mosca. J\fos. Worth your patience, And your great merit, sir. And see the change ! VolL Why, what success ? Afos. 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? 3Tos. 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, yov see ! and hence, With that pretext he's gone, to accuse his father, Def ime my patron, defeat you Vult. Where is lier 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. Alas. O you do nobly, sir. Alas, 'twas labour'd all, sir, for your good; Nor was tliere want of counsel in the plot : But fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir. Corb. [listeninf/.] \A'hat's that ? Volt. Will'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 couch.'] Need makes devotion : heaven your labour bless ! [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— A Street. Enter Sir Politick 'Would-be and PEr.EGRiNB. 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 you, sir, (Since we are met here in this height of Venice,) Some few particulars I have set down. Only for this meridian, fit to be known Of your crude traveller ; and they are these. I will not touch, sir, at your phrase, 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 I Both of your comj^any, 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, i So as I still might be a saver in them : You shall have tricks else past upon you hourly. And then, for your religion, profess none, But wonder at the diversity, of all : And, for your part, protest, were there no other But simply the laws o' th' land, you could content Nic. Machiavel, and Monsieur Bodin, both [you, Were of this mind. Then must you learii 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 you 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 him. 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. lAsiLe. Sir P. I had read Coiitarene, 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, I 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. Ifl'had But one to wager with, I would lay odds ne w. 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 yeais, 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 })lace, without my thousand aims. I'll not dissemble, sir : where'er I come, o 191 THE I love to be considerative ; and 'tis true, I have at my free hours thought upon Some certain goods unto the state of Veriice, Which I do call my Cautions ; and, sir, which I mean, in hope of pension, to propound To the Great Council, then uriuo 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 commandador. 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 — ISearchinff 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-bo.xes. 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 m.ight 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 lie 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, I Per. Which is one pound sterling. I Sir P. Beside my water- works : for this I do, sir. I First, I bring in your ship 'twixt two brick walls ; ' But those the state shall venture : On the one I I strain me a fair tarpauling, and in that ' I stick my onions, cut in halves : the other Is full of loop-holes, out at which I thi'ust 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 ; FOX. Or else remain as fair as at the first. — Now it is known, 'tis nothing. Per. You are rij^ht, 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 his paper g. 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 had gnawn my spur-leathers ; notwithstand- I put on new, and did go forth : but first {ing^ I threw three beans over the threshold. Item , I went and bought two tooth-picks, lohereof 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 I 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, Nano, 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! IRubbmg her cheeks, 1 Worn. My mastei''s yonder. Lady P. Where ? 2 Worn. With a young gentleman. Lady P. That same's the party ; In man's apparel 1 'Pray you, sir, jog my knight : I will be tender to his reputation, However he demerit. Sir P. ISeeing her."] 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 Per.] 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 ? KENZ II. THE FOX. 195 Lady P. Why, in this habit, sir ; you appre- hend me : — Well, master Would-be, 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 foran oatli ! \_Asldc. Sir P. I reach you not. Lady P. Right, sir, your policy May bear it through thus. — Sir, a word with you. [To Pkr. 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 shun by all means : and however I may deserve from master Vv^ould-be, yet T'have one fair gentlewoman thus be made The unkind instrument to wrong another. And one she knows not, ay, and to perscver ; In my poor judgment, is not warranted From being a solecism iu our sex, If not in manners. Per. How is this ! Sir P. Sweet madam, Come nearer to your aim. Lady 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 gentleman, believe it, is of worth, And of our nation. Lady P. Ay, your White-friars nation. Come, I 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. lExlt. 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 Out of my snare. Per. Why, am I in it, then } Indeed your husband told me you were fair. And s-^ you are ; only your nose inclines. That side that's next the sun, to the queen-apple. Lady P. Tliis cannot be endur'd by any pa- tience. Elder MoscA. Mos. Vv^hat is the matter, madam? Lady P. If the senate Right 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 callet 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, Jjudy P. Is't possible ! how hus my judgment wander'd t 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. 'Fray you, sir, use me ; in faith, The more you see me, the more I shall conceive You have forgot our quarrel. [Exeunt Lady Woi:i.D-nK, MoscA, Nano, ani AVaiting-women. Per. This is rare ! Sir Politick Would-be ? no ; sir Politick Bawd, To bring me thus acquainted with his wife ! 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. {Exit. SCENE W.— The Scrulineo.or Senate-House. Enter Voltore, Coiidaccio, Cohvino, and ISIoscA. Volt. Well, now you know the carriage of the | Your constancy is all that is required [business, j Unto the safety of it. i J\fos. Is the lie | Safely convey'd amongst us ? is that sure ? i Knows every man his burden ? j 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 ! Hang him ; we will but use his tongue, his noise, As we do croakers here. Corv. Ay, what shall he do Mos. When 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, [/o YoLTORE.]to see this buffalo, How he doth sport it with his head .'—I should, If all were well and past. lAside.] — Sir, [to CoR- BACCio.] only you q 2 19G THE FOX. ACT ;y Are lie that shall enjoy the crop of all, And these not know for whom they toil. Corb. Ay, peace. Mos. [turning to Corvino,] But you shall eat it. Much ! {Aside.'] — 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 vvitness, if you need, sir, I can produce. Volt. Who is it ? Mos. Sir, I have her. Enter Avocatori and tal.-e their seats, Bonario, Cet-ia, Notario, Commandadori, Safii, and other Officers 0/ 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 Alloc. The gentlewoman has been ever held Of unreproved name. 3 Avoc. So has the youth. 4 Avoc. The more imnatural 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 ! 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 A'oluptuary Described, but him. 3 Avoc. Appear yet those were cited? JVoi. All but the old magnifico, Volpone. 1 Avoc. W hy is not he here ? Mos. Please your fatherhoods. Here is his advocate : himself's so weak, 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 will see him. 4 Avoc. Fetch him. Volt, Your fatherhoods' fit pleasures be obey'd ; \_Exennt 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. V olt. Then know, most honour'd fathers, I must Discover to your strangely abused ears, [now The most prodigious 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 known 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 ; whose 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 all powers of their gratitude, [placed Began to hate the benefit ; and, in place Of thanks, devise to extirpe the memory Of such an act : wherein 1 pray your fatlierhoods To observe the malice, yea, tiie rage of creatures Discover'd in their evils; and what heait 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 Glowing 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 full 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, designed For the inheritance,) there sought his father : — But with 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 w^as 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 ? Bon. Most honoured fathers, I humbly crave there be no credit given To this man's mercenary tongue. 2 Avoc. Forbear. Bon. His soul moves in his fee. 3 Avoc. O, sir. Bon. 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 will spare his accuser, that would not Have spared his parent ? SCENE II. THE FOX. 197 1 Avoc. Well, produce your proofs. Cel. I would I could forget 1 were a creature. Voli. Signior Corbaccio ! [CoRBAccio comes /or ward. 4 Avoc. What is he ? Volt. The father. 2 Avoc. Has he had an oath ? Not. Yes. Corb. What must I do now ? Not. Your testimony's craved. Corb. Speak to the knave ? I'll have my mouth first stopt with earth; ray 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. Bon. Have they made you to this ? Corb. I will not hear thee. Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide ! Speak not, thou viper. Bo7i. Sir, I will sit down, And rather wish my innocence should suffer. Than I resist the authority of a father. Vole. Signior Corvino ! [Corvino comes /orward. 2 Avoc. This is strange. 1 Avoc. Who's this ? Not. The husband. 4 Avoc. Is he sworn ? Not. He is. 3 Avoc. Speak, then. Co7'v. 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 I 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? lAsidc 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 Avoc. Remove him hence. 2 Avoc. Look to the woman. [Celia swoons. Corv. Rare ! Prettily feign'd, again ! 4 Avoc. Stand from about her. 1 A roc. Give her the air. 3 Avoc. What can you say ? [To Mosca. Mos. 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 v^oman has too many moods. Volt. Grave fathers. She is a creature of a most profest And prostituted lewdness. Co7'v. 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. lExit Mosca. 4 Avoc. These things. They strike with wonder. 3 Avoc. I am turn'd a stone. Re-enter Mosca with Lady "Would-bk. Mos. Be resolute, madam. Lady P. Ay, this same is she. [Pointing to Celia. Out, thou camelion harlot ! now tliine eyes. Vie tears with the hyaena. 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. Ladi/ 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. Madam, we do. Lady P. Indeed you may ; my breeding Is not so coarse 4 Avoc. We know it. Lady P. To offend With pertinacy 3 Avoc. Lady — Lady P. Such a presence ! 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. I Avoc. Nay, then you do wax insolent. Re-enter Officers, bearing Volpo.ve on a couch. Volt. Here, here, The testimony comes, that will convince. And put to 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 THE FOX. ACT V 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 faSars, 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 sufferance, what one ciiizen But owes the forfeit of his life, 5'ea, 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 nostril here. It smell not rank, and most abhorred slander? I crave your care of this good gentleman, Whose life is much endanger'd by their fable ; And as for them, I will conclude with this. That vicious persons, when they're hot andflesh'd In impious acts, their constancy abounds : Damu'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. \_Exciinl Officers 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. I Avoc. You shall hear, ere night, What punishment the court decrees upon them. \_Exeunt Avocat. Not. and Officers with Bonario and Celia. Volt. We thank your fatherhoods. — How like Mos. Rare. [you it ? I'd have your tongue, sir, tipt with gold for this ; I'd have you be tlie 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. Signior 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. Co7'v. Nay, I consider'd tliat : Now it is her fault. Mos. Then it had been yours. Corv. True ; I do doubt this advocate stiU. Mos. I 'faith You need not, I dare ease you of that care. Corv. I trust thee, Mosca. iKxii Mos. As your ovvn soul, sir. Corb. Mosca ! Mos. Now for 3^our business, sir. Coib. How ! have you business ? 3I0S. Yes, youf's sir. Corb. O, none else ? 3fos. None else, not J. Corb. Be careful, then. 3Ios. Rest you with both your eyes, sir. Corb. Dispatch it. Mos. Instantly, Corb. And look that all, Whatever, be ])ut in, jewels, plate, moneys. Household stuff, bedding, curtains. Af.is. Curtain- rings, sir : Only the advocate's fee must be deducted. Corb. I'll 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. [Fxit. Mos. Bountiful bones! What horrid strange offence Did he commit 'gainst nature, in his youth. Worthy this age ? lAside.'\ — You see, sir, [fo Volt.j how I work Unto your ends : take you no notice. Volt. No, I'll leave you. LEjcit Mos. All is yours, the devil and all : Good advocate ! — Madam, I'll bring you home. Lady P. No, I'll go see your patron. Mos. That you shall not : I'll tell you w^hy. My purpose is to urge My patron to reform his Will ; and for The zeal you have shewn to-day, whereas before You were but third or fourth, you shall be now Put in the first ; which would appear as begg'd, If you were present. Therefore Ladi/ P. You shall sway me. lExcunt. ACT V. SCENE I. — A Room hi Volpone's House. Enter Volpone. Volp. Well, I am here, and all this brunt is past. I ne'er was in dislike with my disguise Till this fled moment : here 'twas good, in private ; But in your public, — cave whilst I breathe. Fore God, my left leg 'gan to have the cramp. And I apprehended straight some power had struck me With a dead palsy : Well ! I must be merry, And shake it off. A many of these fears Would put me into some villainous disease, Should they come thick upon me : I'll prevent 'em. Give me a bowl of lusty wine, to fright This humour from my heart. [_Drinks.'] — hum, hum, hum ! 'Tis almost gone already ; I shall conquer. Any device, now, of rare ingenious knavery, That would possess me with a violent laughter, Would make me up again. {^Dr'mks again.'] — So, so, so, so ! This heat is life ; 'tis blood by this time : — Mosca! Enter Mosca. Mos. How now, sir ? does the day look clear again ? scf:nr I. THE FOX. 199 Are we recover'd, and wrought out. of error, Into our way, to see our path before us? Is our trade free once more ? Volp. Exquisite Mosca ! Mos. AVas it not carried learnedly ? Volp. And stoutly : Good wits are greatest in extremities. Mos. It were a folly beyond thought, to trust Any grand act unto a cowardly spirit : You are not taken with it enough, methinks. Volp. O, more than if I had enjoy'd the wench : The pleasure of all woman-kind's not like it. Mos. Why now you speak, sir. We must here be fix'd ; Here we must rest ; this is our master-piece ; We cannot think to go beyond this. Volp. True, Thou hast play'd thy prize, my precious Mosca. Mos. Nay, sir, To gull the court Volp. And quite divert the torrent Upon the innocent. Mos. Yes, and to make So rare a music out of discords Volp. Right. That yet to me's the strangest, how thou hast borne it ! That these, being so divided 'mongst themselves. Should not scent somewhat, or in me or thee, Or doubt their owa side. 3Ios. True, they will not see't. Too much light blinds tliera, I think. Each of them Is so possest and stuft with his own hopes, That any thing unto the contrary, Never so true, or never so apparent, Never so palpable, they will resist it • Volp. Like a temptation of the devil. Mos. Right, sir. Merchants may talk of trade, and your great signiors Of land that yields well ; but if Italy Have any glebe more fruitful than these fellows, I am deceiv'd. Did not your advocate rare .'' Volp. O — 3fi/ most honoured fathei-s, my grave Under correction of your fatherhoods, [fathers, What face of (ruth is here? Jf these strange deeds May pass, most honoured fathers — I had much ado To forbear laughing. Mos. It seem'd to me, you sweat, sir. Volp. In troth, I did a little. Mos. But confess, sir, Were you not daunted ? Volp. In good faith, I was A little in a mist, but not dejected ; Never, but still my self. Mos. I think it, sir. Now, so truth help me, I must needs say this, sir, And out of conscience for your advocate, He has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserv'd, In my poor judgment, I speak it under favour, Not to contrary you, sir, very richly-— Well — to be cozen' d. Volp. Troth, and I think so too. By that I heard him, in the latter end. Mos. O, but before, sir: had you heard him first Draw it to certain heads, then aggravate. Then use his vehement figures — I look'd still When he would shift a shirt : and, doing this Out of pure love, no hope of gain Volp. 'Tis right. I cannot answer him Mosca, as I would. Not yet ; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty, I will begin, even now — to vex them all. This very instant. Mos. Good sir. Volp. Call the dwarf And eunuch forth. Mos. Castrone, Nano ! Elder C.tSTRONE and Nano. Nano. Here. Volp. Shall we have a jig now ? Mos. What you please, sir. Volp. Go, Straight give out about the streets, you two, That I am dead ; do it with constancy, Sadly, do you hear impute it to the grief Of tliis late slander. lExeunt Cast, and NAwa Mos. What do you mean, sir ? Volp. O, I shall have instantly my Vulture, Crow, Raven, come flying hither, on the news, To peck for carrion, my she-wolf, and all. Greedy, and full of expectation — Mos. And then to have it ravish'd from their mouths ! Volp. 'Tis true. I will have thee put on a gown, And take upon thee, as thou wert mine heir : Shew them a will: Open that chest, and reach Forth one of those that has the blanks ; I'll straight Put in thy name. Mos. It will be rare, sir. IGivcs hima papei. Volp. Ay, When they ev'n gape, and find themselves deluded — Mos. Yes. Volp. And thou use them scurvily I Dispatch, get on thy gown. Mos. [p7j,tiing on a gown.'] But what, sir, if they After the body ? [ask Volp. Say, it was corrupted. Mos. I'll say, it stunk, sir ; and was fain to have Coffin'd up instantly, and sent away. [it Volp. Any thing ; what thou wilt. Hold, here's my will. Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink, Papers afore thee ; sit as thou wert taking An inventory of parcels : I'll get up Behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken ; Sometime peep over, see how they do look. With what degrees their blood doth leave their faces, O, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter! Mos. [putting on a cap, and setting out t]\e table, ^-c. ] Your advocate will turn stark dull upon it. Volp. It will take off his oratory's edge. Mos. But your clarissimo, old round-back, he Will crump you like a hog-louse, with the touch. Volp. And what Corvino ? Mos. O, sir, look for him. To-morrow morning, with a rope and dagger, To visit all the streets ; he must run mad. My lady too, that came into the court, To bear false witness for your worship — Volp. Yes, And kiss'd me 'fore the fathers, when my face Flow'd all with oils. Mos. And sweat, sir. Why, your gold Is such another med'cine, it dries up All those offensive savours : it transforms The most deformed, and restores them lovely, As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. Jove 200 THE FOX. ACT V. Could not invent t' himself a shroud more subtle To pass Acrisius' guards. It is the thing Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her Folp. I think she loves me. [beauty. Mos. Who ? the lady, sir ? She's jealous of you. Volj). Dost thou say so ? IK nocking within. Mos. Hark, There's some already. Volp. Look. Mos. It is the Vulture ; He has the quickest scent. Volp. I'll to my place, Thou to thy posture. IGoes behind the curtain. JSIos. I am set. Volp. But, Mosca, Play the artificer now, torture them rarely. Enter Yoltore. Volt. How now, my Mosca ? Mos. [writing.] Turkey carpets, nine Volt. Taking an inventory ! that is well. Mos. Tivo suits of bedding., tissue Volt. Where's the Will ? Let me read that the while. Enter Servants, tcilh Corbaccio in a chair. Corb. So, set me down. And get you home. lExcitnt Servants. Volt. Is he come now, to trouble us ! Mos. Of cloth of gold, two more Corb. Is it done, iMosca ? Mos. Of several velcets eight Volt. I like his care. Corb. Dost thou not hear ? Enter CoiiviNO. Corb. Ha ! is the hour come, Mosca ? Volp. [^peeping over the curtain.'] Ay, now they muster. Corv. What does the advocate here, Or this C kind. Hau. Besides, ladies should be mindful of the approach of age, and let no time want his due use. The best of our days pass first. Mav. We are rivers, that cannot be call'd back, madam : 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 tiie 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 these things ; here be in i)resence have tasted of her favours. Cler. What a neighing hobby-horse is this ! Epi. But not with intent to boast them again, servant. — And have you those excellent receipts, madam, to keep yourselves from 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 tJiBie'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- strophe } 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 fellows, as they have done. 'Twere sin to reform them. Tiue. Well, I will have them fetch 'd, now I think on't, for a private purpose of mine : do, (Herimont, 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 tliiuk'st thou wert undone, if every jest thou mak'st were not published. True. Thou shalt see how unjust thou art pre- sently. Clerimont, say it was Dauphine's plot. [Exit Clerimont.] 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 Amorous. Away ! [^j.'i^ Daup.] John Daw ! [_Goes to Daw's closet and brings him out Daiv. 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 faciendo, 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 con. 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. Believe 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 ! 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. Daiv. 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 ! Re-enter Dauphivk, disguised. No speaking one to another, or rehearsing old mat- ters. Daw. [as Daup. kicks him.'] One, two, three, four, live. 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. [Dauphink kicks 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 otiier bare-faced. Standby: [DAUPPriNR 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 yoi' his sword • 230 THE SILENT WOMAN. La F. I'll receive none on't. Ti-ue. And he wills you to fasten it against a wall, and brer.k 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 blood. True. Will you not? La-F. No. I'll beat it against a fair flat wall, if that will satisfy him : if not, he shaU beat it him- self, for Amorous. True. Why, this is strange starting off, when a man undertakes for you ! I offer'd him another condition ; will you stand to that 1 La-F. Ay, what is't ? True. That you will be beaten in private. La F. Yes, I am content, at the blunt. Enter, above. Haughty, Centatire, Mavis, Mistress Otter, Epiccene, and Trusty. 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 nombre. La-F. I am content. But why must I be blinded? True. That's for your good, sir; 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 you, sir. If he should, [binds his eyes."] — Come, sir. [leads him forioard.] — All hid. Sir John 1 Enter Dauphine, and tweaks him by the nose. La-F. Oh, Sir John, Sir John ! Oh, o-o-o-o-o- Oh True. Good Sir John, leave tweaking, you'll blow his nose off. — 'Tis Sir John's pleasure, you should retire into the study. [PjUs 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, Centaure, Mavis, Mistress Otter, Epicojne, and Trusty, behind. Hau. 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. Mav. I commended but their wits, madam, and their braveries. I never look'd toward their valours. Hau. Sir Dauphine is valiant, and a wit too, it seems. Mav. And a bravery too. JIau. Was this his project.' Mrs. Ott. So master Clerimontintimates, madam. Hau. Good Morose, when you come to the col- lege, will you bring him with you ? beseems a rery 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. Mav. Yes faith, do, and bring sir Dauphine with you. Hau. She has promised that, Mavis. Mav. He is a 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, ano 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 ol our fame, that think to take us with that perfume or with that lace, and laugh at us unconscionablj when they have done. Hau. But Sir Dauphine's carelessness becomei him. Cen. I could love a man for such a nose. Mav. Or such a leg. Cen. He has an exceeding good eye, madam. Mav. And a very good lock. Cen. Good Morose, bring him to my chamber first. Mrs. Olt. Please your honours to meet at my house, madam. True. See how they eye thee, man ! they arr 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 Dauphine's ingine : who, if he have disfurnish'd your ladyshij 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. iThey come forward. Hau. But lam 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, without reason or cause ; 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 you straight. Hau. Will you. master Truewit !}CfONE I. THE SILENT WOMAN. 231 Daiip. 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. True, [goes to the first closet.'] Sir Amorous, sir A.morous! The ladies are here. La-F. \_within.'] Are they? True. Yes; but slip out by and by, as their backs are turn'd, and meet sir John here, as by chance, when I call you. \_Goes to the other.] — Jack Daw. Daw. [tvithin.'] What say you, sir? True. Whip out behind me suddenly, and no anger in your looks to your adversary. Now, now! [hx-Toohe.andY)AW sU%)Out of their respective closets, and salute each other. La-F. Noble sir John Daw, where have you been? Daw. To seek you, sir Amorous. La-F. Me ! I honour you. Daw. 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. Daiip. 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. E)iter Morose, with the two swords, drawn i7i his hands. Mrs. Ott. O me! madam, he comes again, the madman ! Away ! [Ladies, Daw, and La-Foole, runoff. Mor. What make these naked weapons here, gentlemen ? True. O sir ! here hath like to have been murder since you went ; a couple of knights fallen out about the bride's favours I 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. l^Exit Cler. with the two swords. 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, intergatoi ies, 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 you went, to think how you are abused. Go in, good sir, and lock yourself up till we call you ; we'U tell you more anon, sir. Mor. Do your pleasure with me, gentlemen ; 1 believe in you, and that deserves no delusion. iExit. 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 tlie 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. I will. lExeunt. SCENE I. — A Room in Morose's House. Enter La-Foole, Clerimont, and Daw. La-F. Where had you our swords, master Cle- rimoiit ? Cler. Why, Dauphine took them from the madman. La-F. And he 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. V. Cler. Would I knew how to make you so, gen- tlemen ! Daw. Sir Amorous and I are your servant.s, sir. Enter Mavis. 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. lExeunt Daw and MAVia Cler. He has it in the haft of a knife, I believe. •232 THE SILENT WOMAN. La-F. No, he has his box of instruments. 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. Iie-e7iter Daw. Cler. Away ! 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 will, 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 you, and fear you, indeed. You could tell strange stories, my masters, if you would, I know. Daw. Faith, we have seen somewhat, sir. l.a F. That we have velvet petticoats, and wrought smocks, or so. f)aw. Ay, and Cler. Nay, out with it, sir Johij ; do not envy your friend the pleasure of hearing, when you have had the delight of tasting. Doiv. Why — a — Do you speak, sir Amorous. La-F. No, do you, sir John Daw. Duw. V faith, you shall. La-F. V faith, you shall. Diiw. Why, we have been La- F. l\\ 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. D'tw. 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 Oie but one thing truly, as you love me. Daw. If 1 can, I will, sir. Cler. You lay in the san^e 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 know, 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? ha! La-F. Sir John had her maidenhead, indeed. Daw. O, it pieases 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, C/e*-. 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. Why, if he do, we'll fetch them home again, I warrant you. \_Ejcit with Daw. Cler. walks aside. Enter Dauphine and Haughty. 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 flat and dully. C/sn. Iwiihin.'j'Where are you, my lady Haughty? Hau. I come presently, Centaure. — My cham- ber, sir, my page shall 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 Ckntai'rk. Where's Mavis, Centaure ? Cen. Within, madam, a writing. I'll follow you presently : [Ea:it Hau.] I'll but speaK 't 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 ; anr) she's above fifty too, and pargets 1 See her in a forenoon. Here comes Mavis, a worse face than she ! you would not like this by candle-light. StKNK 1 THE SILEN' T WOMAN. 233 Re enter Mavis. If you'll come to ray chamber one o' these morn- ings early, or late in an evening, I'll tell you more. Where's Haughty, Mavis ? Alav. Within, Centaure. Cen. What have you there ? Mao. An Italian riddle for sir Dauphine, — you shall not see it, i'faith, Centaure. — [Exit Cen.] Good sir Dauphine, solve it for me : I'll call for it anon. lExit. Cler. [coming forward.] How now, Dauphine! how dost thou quit thyself of these females.!* Daup. 'Sliglit, 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 : 1 was never so alssaulted. One loves for virtue, and bribes me with this; \_fihews the jewel.'] — another loves me with caution, and so would possess me ; a third brings me a riddle here : and all are jealous, and rail each at other. Cler. A riddle ! pray let me see it. \_Reads. Sir Daiijiliine, I chose this way of intimation for privacy. Tlic liidics 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-dealing, trow Daup. We lack Truewit 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 thou<^ ht 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 will be our sport, I see, still, whether we will or no. E->Uer Truewit. 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 1 have given the bride her instructions, to break in upon him in the I'envoy. O, 'twill be full and twanging ! Away! fetch him. [J^Adi Daui-hine. Enter Otter disguised as a divine, and Cctbkard 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 will : 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 you ! when I cannot see what the profit can be of these words, so lon^ as it is no whit better with him whose affairs are sad and grievous, that he hears this salutation. True. 'Tis true, sir ; we'll go to the matter then. —Gentlemen, master doctor, and master parson, I have accpiainted 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. I love not 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 contain 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 1 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. JSIor. 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 diverlcndo 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 bond, but cause a nullity therein. Mor. I understood you before : good sir, avoid your impertinency of translation. Ott. He cannot open this too much, sir, by your favour. 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 personcB. Ott. If you contract yourself to one person, thinking her another. Cut. Then, error fortunce. Ott. If she be a beggar, and you thought her rich. Cut. Then, error qualitatis. 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. Ay, ante copulam, but not post copulam, sir. Cut. Master parson says right. Nec post nup- tiarum benedictionem. 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 ! Cut. The next is conditio : if you thought her free born, and she prove a bond-woman, there is impediment of estate and condition. Ott. Ay, but, master doctor, those servitudes are sublatw 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 cogiiatio 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 all 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, when the doers may see, and yei not own. ACT I. SCENE I. — A Room in Lovewit's House. Enter Face, iyi a captain's uniform, with his sword drawn, and Subtle vAlh a vial, quarrelling, and followed by DoL Common. Face. Believe 't, I will. Sub. Thy worst. I fart at thee. Dol. 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 ! 1 hear somebody. Face. Sirrah Sub. 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 Ami, my mungrel who am I ? Sub. I'll tell you, Since you know not yourself. Face. 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. Sitb. 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-horn-nose, And your complexion of the Roman wash. Stuck full of black and melancholic worms, Like powder corns shot at the artillery-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 tlireaden cloke. That scarce would cover your no L'jttocks Sub. So, sir ! Face. When all your 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 your 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. Y'es, in your master's house. Y^ou 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-vitae men, [pings, The which, together with your Christmas vails At pont-and-pair, your letting out of counters, Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks. And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs, Here, since your mistress' death hath broke up Face. You nn'ght lalk softlier, rascal. [house. Sub. No, you scarab, I'll thunder you in pieces : T 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, andfix'd thee In the third region, call'd our state of grace Wrougjit thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pain.« I 210 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT 1. Would twice have won me the philosopher's work ? Put thee in words and fashion, made thee fit For more than ordinary fellowships? Giv'n thee thy oaths, thy 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, Told in red letters ; and a face cut 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 1 Face. Out, you dog-leach ! The vomit of all prisons Dol. Will you be Your own destructions, gentlemen ? Face. Still spew'd out For lying too heavy on the basket. Sub. Cheater! Face. Bawd ! Sub. Cow-herd ! Face. Conjurer ! Sub. Cut- purse ! Face. Witch! Dol. O me ! We are ruin'd, lost ! have you no more regai'd 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 Pack's sword.] You'll bring your head within a cockscomb, will you? And you, sir, with your menstrue — ^Dashes Subtle's vial out of Ms hand. Gather it up. — 'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards, Leave off your barking, and grow one again. Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut yoiu* 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 Face. Within the statute ! Who shall take your woid ? A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain, Whom not a Puritan in Bkckfriars will trust So much as for a feather : and you, too, ITo Subtle. Will give the cause, forsooth ! you 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. ISeizes Sub. bp the 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 Pack. Sub. Would I were liang'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 only used those speeches as a spur To him. Dol. I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we ? Face. 'Slid, prove ta-day, who shall shark best. Sub. Agreed. Dol. Yes, and work close and friendly. Siib. 'Slight, the knot Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me. IThey shake hands. Dol. Why, so, my good baboons 1 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 ALCHEMIST. 241 Ere we contribute a new crewel garter To his most worsted worship. Sub. Royal Dol ! 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. \_Bell rings without. Sub. Who's that ? one rings. To the window, Dol : [Hxit 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 : Though we break up a fortnight, 'tis no matter. Re-enter Dol. 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 shall I do ? Face. Not be seen ; away ! [.Exit Dol. Seem you very reserv'd. Sub. Enough. [Exit. Face, [aloud and retiring. '\ 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. [within.'] Captain, I am here. [but — Face. Who's that i* — He's come, I think, doctor. Enter Dapper. 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. Re-enter Subtle, in his velvet Cap and Oown. 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 dare assure you, I'll not be ungrateful. Face. I cannot think you will, sir. But the ia^v Is such a thing and then he says, Read's matter Falling so lately. Dap. Read 1 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's prevail ; This is the gentleman, and he is no chiaus. Sub. Captain, I have return'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 ; 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 diff"erence 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 more 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. IGouuj Sub. Pray you let me speak with you. u 242 THE ALCHEMIST. Acrr I. Dap. His worship calls you, captain. Face. I am sorry I e'er embark'd myself ia sucli a business. Dap. Nay, good sir ; he did call you. 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 law. \_He takes the four angels. Face. Why now, sir, talk. Now I dare hear you with mine honour. Speak. So may this gentleman too. Sub. Why, sir [Offering to whisper Face. Face. No whispering. Sub. Fore heaven, you 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 ! Stib. Yes, and blow up gamester after gamester, As they do crackers in a puppet play. If I do give him a familiar. Give you him all you play for ; never set him : For he will have it. Face. You 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 Dav. 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 shilUngs. Dap. Ay, 'tis true, sir ; But I do think now I shall leave the law, And therefore Face. Why, this changes quite the case. Do you think that I dare move hira ? Dap. If you please, sir ; All's one to him, I see. Face. What I for that money I cannot with my conscience ; nor should you Make the request, methinks. Dap. No, sir, I mean To add consideration. Face. Why then, sir, I'll try. — [Goes to Subtle.] Say that it were for all games, doctor Sub. I say theuj not a mouth shall eat for him At any ordinary, but on the score. That is a gaming mouth, conceive me. Face. Indeed I 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 ! is he ? Sub. Peace. He'll overhear yoa. Sir, should she but see him — Face. What? Sub. Do not you 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 [born to ! 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. [ture : Sub. Why, as you please ; my venture follows yours. Face. Troth, do it, doctor ; think him trusty, and make 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. iTakes 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. I' 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 you be trivial — Doctor, [Dapper gives him V'\ mo^p. When must he come for his familiar ? Dap. Shall I not have it with me ? Sub. O, good sir ! There must a world of ceremonies pass ; You must be bath'd and fumigated 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 ; THE ALCHEMIST. 243 Face. Well, see her grace, Whate'er it cost you, for a thing that I know. It will be somewhat hard to compass ; but However, see her. You are made, believe it, If you can see her. Her grace is a lone woman, A.nd 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 wiirt be done, then ? Face. Let me alone, take you no thought. Do But say to me, captain, I'll see her grace. [you Dap. Captain, Fll see her grace. Face. Enough. {Knocking within. Sub. Who's there ? Anon. — Conduct him forth by the back way. — {Aside to Face. Sir, against one o'clock prepare yourself ; 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. {Exit. Face. Can you remember this ? Dap, I warrant you. Face. Well then, away. It is 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.'] Come in ! Good wives, I pray you forbear me now ; Troth I can do you no good till afternoon — He-enters, followed by Druoger, What is your name, say you, Abel Drugger ? Drug. Yes, sir. Sub. A seller of tobacco ? Drug. Yes, sir. Sub. Umph! Free of the grocers } Drug. Ay, an't please you. Sub. Well 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 corner 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, Sxib. I do, If I do see them Re-enter Face. Face. What! 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, that 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. Sub. 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 ; the midst, to Saturn ; The ring, to Sol ; the least, to Mercury, Who was the lord, sir, of his horoscope, His house of life being Libra ; which fore-show'd. He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance. Face. Why, this is strange I 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 Drug. 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, I have At home, already Sub. Ay, I know you have arsenic, Vitriol, sal-t .rtar. argaile, alkali, r g 244 THE ALCHEMIST. 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 ? Drug. Good captain, What must I give ? {^Aside to Face. 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 ! 'Slight, there was such an offer — Shalt keep't no longer, I'll give't him for thee. Doctor, Nab prays your worship 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 ill days, that I may neither Bargain, nor trust upon them. Face. That he shall. 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. — [Exit Drtjgger. 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 Gol, iry intelli- gence Costs me more money, than my share oft comes to, In these rare works. Sub. You are pleasant, sir. — lie-erder 1)ol. 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, I 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 with him. Sub. Face, go you, and shift. lExit FAcn, 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. — Methinks 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. ACT SCENE T. — AnOuter Room iwLovEwiT's House. Enter Sir Epicure Mammon and Surly. 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 day 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-puuk for the young heir, that must 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 Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloke, To be display'd at madam Augusta's: make II. The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nightSr 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. [JVithin.'] 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 Loth bury For all the copper. Sur. What, and turn that too ? SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 245 Mam. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall, And make them perfect Indies ! you admire now ? Sur. No, faith. Mam. But when you 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 honour, love, respect, long life ; Give safety, valour, yea, and victory, To whom he will. In eight and twenty days, ril 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 you., 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 drugging doctors. I'll undertake, withall, to fright the plague Out of the kingdom in three months. Sur. And I'll Be bound, the players shall sing your praises, then. Without their 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 guU'd. Your stone Cannot transmute me. Mam. Pertinax, [my] Surly, Will you believe antiquity ? records ? rU 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. Sur. 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 siablimed 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 Face, 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 yov 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' aff"ront. — 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 care 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' churches. 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 will lie light upon the rafters, liungs.— 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 waic'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 °. 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 concubines, 24G THE ALCHEMIST, ACT 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 my beds blown up, not stuft: Down is too hard : and then, mine oval room Fill'd with such pictures as Tiberius took From Elephantis, and dull Aretine But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse And multiply the figures, as I walk Naked 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 ; from 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 lawyer, Have a subUmed pure wife, unto that fellow I'll send a thousand pound to be my cuckold. Face. And 1 shall cai'ry 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, and 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-boy 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, and 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. ^Exit. Mam. Do.— My shirts I'U 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 frugif A 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, superstitious, good soul. Has worn his knees 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 Subtle. 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 convei't him. Sub. Son, I doubt 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 ungovern'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 pious uses, and dear charity Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein If you, my son, should now prevaricate. And, to your own particular lusts employ So great and catholic a bliss, be sure A curse will follow, yea, and overtake Your subtle and most secret ways. Mam. I know, sir ; You shall not need to fear me : I but come, To have you confute this gentleman. Sur. Who is, Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief Toward your stone ; would not be guU'd. Sub. Well, son. All that I can convince him in, is this, The WORK IS DONE, bright sol is in his robe. We have a medicine of the triple soul, The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven, And make us worthy of it ! — Ulen Spiegel ! Face, [within.'] Anon, sir. Sub. Look well to the register. And let your heat still lessen by degrees. To the aludels. Face, [within.'] Yes, sir. Sub. Did you look O the bolt's-head yet ? Face, [^within;'] Which ? on D, sir ? Sub. Ay ; What's the complexion ? Face, [within.] Whitish. Sub. Infuse vinegar. To draw his volatile substance and his tincture : And let the water in glass E be filter'd, And put into the gripe's egg. Lute him well ; And leave him closed in balneo. Face, [within.] I will, sir. Sur. What a brave language here is ! next tO canting. Sub. I have another work, you never saw, son That three days since past the philosopher's wheel. In the lent heat of Athanor ; and's become Svdphur of Nature. SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 247 Mam. But 'tis for me ? Sub. What need you ? You have enough in that is perfect. Mam. O but Sub. Why, this is covetise I Mam. No, I assure you, I shall employ it all in pious uses, Founding of colleges and grammar schools, Marrying young virgins, building hospitals, And now and then a church. Re-enter Face. Sub. How now ! Face. Sir, please you, Shall I not change the filter ? Sub. Marry, yes ; And bring me the complexion of glass B. \_Exit Face. Mam. Have you another ? Sub. Yes, son ; were I assured — Your piety were firm, we would not v/ant The means to glorify it : but I hope the best. — I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow, And give him imbibition. Mam. Of white oil } Sub. No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm 1 thank my Maker, in S. Mary's bath, [too, And shews lac virginis. Blessed be heaven ! I sent you of his fseces there calcined : Out of that calx, I have won the salt of mercury. Mam. By pouring on your rectified water } Sub. Yes, and reverberating in Athanor. Re-enter Face. How now ! what colour says it } Face. The ground black, sir. Mam. That's your crow's head ? Sur. Your cock's-comb's, is it not ? Sub. No, 'tis not perfect. Would it were the That work wants something. [crow ! Sur. O, I look'd for this. The hay's a pitching. \_Aside. Sub. Are you sure you loosed them In their own menstrue ? Face. Yes, sir, and then married them. And put them in a bolt's-head nipp'd to digestion, According as you bade me, when I set The liquor of Mar§ to circulation In the same heat. Sub. The process then was right. Face. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake, And what was saved was put into the pelican, And sign'd with Hermes' seal. Sub. I think 'twas so. We should have a new amalgama. Sur. O, this ferret Is rank as any pole-cat. lAsidc. Sub. But I care not : Let him e'en die ; we have enough beside, In embrion. II has his white shirt on ? Face. Yes, sir. He's ripe for inceration, he stands warm, In his ash-fire. I would not you should let Any die now, if I might counsel, sir. For luck's sake to the rest : it is not good. Mam. He says right. Sur. Ay, are you bolted." lAsidc. Face. Nay, I know't, sir, I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three Of fresh materials ? [ounces Mam. Is't no more? Face. No more, sir. Of gold, t'amalgame with some six of mercury. Mam. Away, here's money. What will serve ? Face. Ask him, sir. Mam. How much ? Sub. Give him nine pound : — you may give him Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd, do. [ten. Mam. There 'tis. iGivcs Face the money. Sub. This needs not ; but that you will have it To see conclusions of all : for two [so, Of our inferior works are at fixation, A third is in ascension. Go your ways. Have you set the oil of luna in keraia ? Face. Yes, sir. Sub. And the philosopher's vinegar ? Face. Ay. \,Exit Sur. We shall have a sallad 1 Mam. When do you make projection ? Sub. Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med'cine, By hanging him in balneo vaporoso, And giving him solution ; then congeal him ; And then dissolve him ; then again congeal him : For look, how oft I iterate the work, So many times I add unto his virtue. As, if at first one ounce convert a hundred, After his second loose, he'll turn a thousand ; His third solution, ten ; his fourth, a hundred : After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces Of any imperfect metal, into pure Silver or gold, in all examinations. As good as any of the natural mine. Get you your stuff here against afternoon. Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons. Mam. Not those of iron? Sub. Yes, you may bring them too : We'll change all metals. Sur. I believe you in that. Mam. Then I may send my spits ? Sub. Yes, and your racks. Sur. And dripping pans, and pot-hangers, and Shall he not ? hooks, Sub. If he please. Sur. — To be an ass. Sub. How, sir ! Mam. This gentleman you must bear withal : I told you he had no faith. Sur. And little hope, sir ; But much less charity, should I gull myself. Sub. Why, what have you observ'd, sir, in our Seems so impossible ? [art, Sur. But your whole work, no more. That you should hatch gold in a furnace, sir, As they do eggs in Egypt ! Sub. Sir, do you Believe that eggs are hatch'd so } Sur. If I should ? Sub. Why, I think that the greater miracle. No egg but differs from a chicken more Than metals in themselves. Sur. That caimot be. The egg's ordain'd by nature to that end, And is a chicken in potentia. Sub. The same we say of lead and other metals, Which would be gold, if they had time. Mam. And that Our art doth further. Sub. Ay, for 'twere absurd To think that nature in the earth bred gold Perfect in the instant : something went before. There must be remote matter. 248 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT n. Stir. Ay, what is that ? Sub. Marry, we say — Mam. Ay, now it heats: stand, fathei, Pound him to dust. Sub. It is, of the one part, A humid exhalation, which we call Materia liquida, or the unctuous water ; On the other part, a certain crass and vicious Portion of earth ; both which, concorporate, Do make the elementary matter of gold ; Which is not yet propria materia^ But common to all metals and all stones ; For, where it is forsaken of that moisture, And hath more driness, it becomes a stone : "Where it retains more of the humid fatness, It turns to sulphur, or to quicksilver, Who are the parents of all other metals. Nor can this remote matter suddenly Progress so from extreme unto extreme, As to grow gold, and leap o'er all the means. Nature doth first beget the imperfect, then Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy And oily water, mercury is engender'd ; Sulphur of the fat and earthy part ; the one, Which is the last, supplying the place of male, The other of the female, in all metals. Some do believe hermaphrodeity, That both do act and suffer. But these two Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensive. And even in gold they are ; for we do find Seeds of them, by our fire, and gold in them ; And can produce the species of each metal More perfect thence, than nature doth in earth. Beside, who doth not see in daily practice Art can beget bees, hornets, beetles, wasps, Out of the carcasses and dung of creatures ; Vea, scorpions of an herb, being rightly placed? And these are living creatures, far more perfect And excellent than metals. Mam. Well said, father ! Nay, if he take you in hand, sir, with an argument, He'll bray you in a mortar. Sur. Pray you, sir, stay. Rather than I'll be bray'd, sir, I'll believe That Alchemy is a pretty kind of game, Somewhat like tricks o'the cards, to cheat a man With charming. Sub. Sir.' Sur. What else are all your terms, Whereon no one of your writers 'grees with other ? Of your elixir, your lac virginis, Your stone, your med'cine, and your chrysosperme, Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury, Your oil of height, your tree of life, your blood. Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia. Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your pan- ther ; Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop. Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit, And then your red man, and your white woman, With all your broths, your menstrues, and mate- rials, Of piss and egg-shells, women's terms, man's blood, Hair o' the head, burnt clouts, chalk, merds, and clay, Powder of bones, scalings of iron, glass, And worlds of other strange ingredients, Would burst a man to name ? Sub. And all these named, Intending but one thing : which art our writers Used to obscure their art. Mam. Sir, so I told him — Because the simple idiot should not learn it, And make it vulgar. Sub. Was not all the knowledge Of the Egyptians writ in mystic symbols ? Speak not the scriptures oft in parables ? Are not the choicest fables of the poets. That were the fountains and first springs of wis- Wrapp'd in perplexed allegories ? [dom, Mam. I urg'd that, And clear'd to him, that Sysiphus was damn'd To roll the ceaseless stone, only because He would have made Ours common. [Dol appears at the door.'] — Who is this ? Sub. 'Sprecious ! — What do you mean? go in, good lady, Let me entreat you. [Dol retires.] — Where's this varlet ? Re-enter Face. Face. Sir. Sub. You very knave ! do you use me thus ? Face. Wherein, sir.'' Sub. Go in and see, you traitor. Go ! lExit Face. Mam. Who is it, sir? Sub. Nothing, sir ; nothing. Mam. What's the matter, good sir ? I have not seen you thus distemper'd : who is't ? Sub. All arts have still had, sir, their adversa- But ours the most ignorant. — [ries, Re-enter Face. What now ? Face. 'Twas not my fault, sir ; she would speak with you. Sub. Would she, sir ! Follow me. lExiL Mam. [stopping him.'] Stay, Lungs. Face. I dare not, sir. Man. Stay, man ; what is she ? Face, A lord's sister, sir. Mam. How ! pray thee, stay. Face. She's mad, sir, and sent hither — He'll be mad too — Mam. 1 warrant thee. — Why sent hither ? Face. Sir, to be cured. Sub. [witJiin.] Why, rascal ! Face. Lo you ! — Here, sir! [Exit. Mam. 'Fore God, a Bi-adamante, a brave piece. Sur. Heart, this is a bawdy-house ! I will be burnt else. Mam. O, by this light, no: do not wTong him. Too scrupulous that way : it is his vice. [He's No, he's a rare physician, do him right, An excellent Paracelsian, and has done Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all With spirits, he ; he will not hear a word Of Galen, or his tedious recipes. — Re-enter Face. How now. Lungs ! Face. Softly, sir ; speak softly. I meant To have told your worship all. This must not hear. Mam. No, he will not be "guU'd:" let him alone. Face. You are very right, sir, she is a most rare scholar, And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works. If you but name a word touching the Hebrew, SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 249 She falls into her fit, and will discourse So learnedly of genealogies, As you would run mad too, to hear her, sir. Mam. How might one do t' have conference with her. Lungs ? Face. O divers have run mad upon the confer- I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste, [ence : To fetch a vial. Sur. Be not gull'd, sir Mammon. Mam. Wherein ? pray ye, be patient. Sur. Yes, as you are. And trust confederate knaves and bawds and whores. Mam. You are too foul, believe it. — Come here. One word. [Ulen, Face. I dare not, in good faith. IGoing. Mam. Stay, knave. Face. He is extreme angry that you saw her, sir. Mam. Drink that. [Gives him money.'] "What is she when she's out of her fit ? Face. O, the most atFablest creature, sir ! so merry 1 So pleasant ! she'll mount you up, like quick-silver, Over the helm ; and circulate like oil, A very vegetal : discourse of state. Of mathematics, bawdry, any thing Mam. Is she no way accessible } no means, No trick to give a man a taste of her wit Or so? Suh. [within.'] Ulen ! Face. I'll come to you again, sir. \_Exit. Mam. Surly, I did not think one of your breed- Would traduce personages of worth. [ing Sur. Sir Epicure, Your friend to use ; yet still loth to be gull'd : I do not like your philosophical bawds. Their stone is letchery enough to pay for, Without this bait. Mam. 'Heart, you abuse yourself. I know the lady, and her friends, and means. The original of this disaster. Her brother Has told me all. Sur. And yet you never saw her Till now ! Mam. O yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it, One of the treacherousest memories, I do think, Of all mankind. Sur. What call you her brother ? Mam. My lord He will not have his name known, now I think on't. Sur. A very treacherous memory ! Mam. On my faith Sur. Tut, if you have it not about you, pass it, Till we meet next. Mam. Nay, by this hand, 'tis true. He's one I honour, and my noble friend ; And I respect his house. Sur. Heart ! can it be. That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need, A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus. With his own oaths, and arguments, make hard To gull himself.^ An this be your elixir, [means Your lapis mineralis, and your lunary. Give me your honest trick yet at primero, Or gleek ; and take your lutum sapientis, \o\xr menstruum simplex ! I'll have gold before you, And with less danger of the quicksilver. Or the hot sulphur. Re-enter Facb. Face. Here's one from captain Face, sir, [to Surly.] Desires you meet him in the Temple-church, Some half hour hence, and upon earnest business. Sir, [whispers Mammon.] if you please to quit us, now ; and come Again within two hours, you shall have My master busy examining o' the works ; And I will steal you in, unto the party. That you may see her converse. — Sir, shall I say, You'll meet the captain's worship } Sur. Sir, I will. — I Walks asid^. But, by attorney, and to a second purpose. Now, I am sure it is a bawdy-house ; I'll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me : The naming this commander doth confirm it. Don Face ! why he's the most authentic dealer In these commodities, the superintendant To all the quainter traffickers in town ! He is the visitor, and does appoint. Who lies with whom, and at what hour ; what price; Which gown, and in what smock ; what fall; what Him will I prove, by a third person, to find [tire. The subtleties of this dark labyrinth : Which if I do discover, dear sir Mammon, You'll give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher. To laugh : for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weep. Face. Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget. Sur. I will not, sir. Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. lExit. Mam. I follow you, straight. Face. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. This gentleman has a parlous head. Mam. But wilt thou, Ulen, Be constant to thy promise .'' Face. As my life, sir. Mam. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and And say, I am a noble fellow ? [praise me, Face. O, what else, sir.' And that you'll make her royal with the stone. An empress; and yourself, king of Bantam. Mam. Wilt thou do this ? Face. Will I, sir ! Mam. Lungs, my Lungs ! I love thee. Face. Send your stuff, sir, that my master May busy himself about projection. Mam. Thou hast witch'd me, rogue : take, go. [Gives him money. Face. Your jack, and all, sir. Mam. Thou art a villain — I will send my jack. And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine ear. Away, thou dost not care for me. Face. Not I, sir ! Mam. Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel. Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain With the best lord's vermin of 'em all. Face. Away, sir. Mam. A count, nay, a count palatine Face. Good, sir, go. Mam. Shall not advance thee better : no, nor faster. {^-^ii- Re-enter Subtle and Dol, Sub. Has he bit } has he bit } Face. And swallowed too, my Subtle. I have given him Une, and now he plays, i' faith. Sub. And shall we twitch him? Face. Thorough both the gills. A wench is a rare bait, with which a man No sooner's taken, but he straight firks mad. THE ALCHEMIST. ACT I J. Suh. Dol, my lord Wiiat'ts'hums sister, you Bear yourself statelich. [must now Dol. O let me alone. I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. I'll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud ; Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady, \nd be as rude as her woman. Face. Well said, sanguine ! Sub. But will he send his andirons ? Face. His jack too, A.nd's iron shoeing horn ; I have spoke to him. I must not lose my wary gamester yonder. [Well, Sub. O monsieur Caution, that willnot beguU'd. Face. Ay, If I can strike a fine hook into him, now ! The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle. Well, pray for me. I'll about it. \_Knocking ivithout. Sub. What, more gudgeons ! Dol, scout, scout ! \I>OTu goes to the windoio 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 gold-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. [^Jc^•^^FACE ivith the ffoivn.'] Away, Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. lExit Dol.] 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 me. — Enter Ananias. Where is my drudge ? [Aloud. Re-enter Face. Face. Sir ! Sub. Take away the recipient. And rectify your menstrue from the phlegma. Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucurbite, 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 Lullianist ? a Ripley ? Filius artis ? Can you sublime and dulcify ? calcine? Know you the sapor pontic? sapor stiptic.'' Or what is homogene, or heterogene ? Ana. I understand no heathen language, truly. Sub. Heathen! 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 ! 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. Face. 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 off. To the trine circle of the seven spheres. Sub. What's the proper passion of metals } Face. Malleation. Sub. What's your ultimum supplicium auri 9 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 into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, Hot into dry. Sub. This is heathen Greek to you still ! Your lapis philosophicus 9 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 fly, it flieth. Sub. Enough. IExUVac.k. This is heathen Greek to you 1 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 ? A7ia. 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 ! — I will not trust you, now I think on it, 'Till I 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 may see projection. SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 261 Sub. How! Ana. You have had, For the instruments, as bricks, and lome, and glasses, Already thirty pound ; and for materials, They say, some ninety more : and they have heard That one at Heidelberg, made.it 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 apostles ! Hence, away ! Flee, mischief ! 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 Hem-icus, 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 annuU'd, Thou wicked Ananias ! Ananias.] This will fetch 'em. And make them haste towards their gulling more. A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright Those that are froward, to an appetite. Re-enter Face in his uniform, followed by Druggeb. Face. He is busy with his spirits, but we'll upon him. Sub. How now! what mates, what Baiards have we here ? Fa£e. I told you, he would be furious. — Sir, here's Nab, Has brought you another piece of gold to look on : — We must appease him. Give it me, — and prays You would devise — what is it, Nab ? [you, Drug. A sign, sir. Face. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign. Sub. 1 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 born in Taurus, gives the bull, Or the buH's-head : in Aries, the ram, A poor-device I No, I will have his name Form'd in some mystic character ; 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 light anenst him a dog snarling er ; There's Drugger, Abel Drugger. That's his sign. And here's now mystery and hieroglyphic ! Face. Abel, thou art made. Drug. Sir, I do thank his worship. Face. Six o' thy legs more will not do it. Nab. He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor. Drug. Yes, sir : 1 have another thing I would impart Face. Out with it. Nab. Drug. Sir, there is lodged, hard by me, A rich young widow Face. Good ! a bona roba ? Drug. But nineteen, at the most. Face. Very good, Abel. Drug. Marry, she's not in fashion yet; she A hood, but it stands a cop. [wears Face. No matter, Abel. Drug. And I do now and then give her afucus — Face. What I 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 lid. 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 ! '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 thc^, And seeing so many of the city dubb'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. Yes, sir, to 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 will give him An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring them botli, 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 fellow, 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. Face, He will do't THE ALCHEMIST. ACT III. It is the goodest soul ! — Abel, about it. Thou shalt know more anon. Away, be gone. — lExit Abel. A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese. And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed, Why he came now : he dealt with me in piivate, 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. Sub. 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. 1 fear it. lExeunt, ACT SCENE I. — The Lane before Lovewit's House. Enter Tribulation, Wholesome, and Ananias. 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 bi-other, 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 Or more profane, or choleric, than your glass-men.' More antichristian than your bell-founders ? What makes the devil so devilish, I woidd ask you, 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. You did fault, t'upbraid 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 ; III. Not since the beautiful light first shone on me : And I am sad my zeal hath so offended. 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 entei SCENE II. — A Room in Lovewit's House. Enter Subtle, followed by Tribulation and Ananias. Sub. O, are you come.' 'twas time. Your threescore minutes Were at last thread, you see ; and down had gone Furnus acedice, turris circulatorius : Lembec, bolt's-head, retort and pelican Had all been cinders. — Wicked Ananias ! Art thou re turn' 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 be 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. Though not of mind, and hath her face decay'd SCBNE IT. THE ALCHEMIST. 253 Beyond all cure of paintings, you restore, With the oil of talc: there you have 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, you 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 up [make Your ha ! 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 find 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 shall 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, they 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 stiffness 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 I The art of angels' nature's miracle. The divine secret that doth fly in clouds From east to west ; and whose tradition Is not from 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. Ananias ! 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 ? Sub. Let me see. How's the moon now ? Eight, nine, ten days hence. He w ill be silver potate ; 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. W^hat will the orphan's goods arise to, think you ? Some hundred marks, as much as fill'd three cars. Unladed now : you'll make six millions of them. — But I must have more coals laid in. Tri. How ! Sub. Another load, And then w^e 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 Tri. 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. Tri. Sub. 254 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT m. Tri. Ay ; but stay, This act of coining, is it lawful ? Ana. Lawful ! We know no magistrate ; or, if we did, This is foreign coin. Sub. It is no coining, sir. It is but casting. Tri. Ha ! you distinguish well : Casting of money may be lawful. Ana. 'Tis, sir. Tri. 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. Tri. 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 without. Stib. 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. lExemit Trie, and Ana.] Who is it ? — Face 1 appear. Filter Face, in Jiis uniform. How now ! good prize ? Face. Good pox ! yond' costive cheater Never 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 know him of old. Sub. O, but to have gull'd him, Had been a mastery. Face. Ijet 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.^= Sub. Numbering the sum. Face. How much ? Sub. A hundred marks, boy. [Exit. Face. Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds of Mammon ! Three of my clerk ! a portague of my grocer ! This of the brethren ! beside reversions, And states to come in the widow, and my count ! 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 entrencli'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 ; he shall be brought here fetter'd With thy fair looks, before he sees thee ; and thrown In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon ; Whei-e 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 great 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. — Re-enter Subtle. How now ! have you done ? Sub. Done. They are gone : the sum Is here in bank, my Face. 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 cam'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. Firk, 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 be 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 without.] Who's that ? lExit Dol. Sub. It is not he ? Face. O no, not yet this hour. Re-enter Dol. Sub. Whois't? Dol. Dapper, Your clerk. Face. God's will then, queen of Fairy, SCENE n. THE ALCHEMIST. 255 On with your tire ; [Ea!it Dol.] and, doctor, with Let's dispatch him for God's sake. [your robes. Sub. 'Twill be long. Face. I warrant you, take but the cues I give you. It shall be brief enough. [Goes to the ivindow.'] '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 ! [Exit Sue. 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 ABELf/ullowed hy ICastril. What, honest Nab ! Hast brought the damask ? Drug. No, sir ; here's tobacco. Face. 'Tis well done, Nab : tliou'lt bring the damask too .'' Drug. Yes : here's the gentleman, captain, I have brought to see the doctor, [master Kastril, 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 Face. 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. Kas. 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 duello, The doctor, I assure you, shall inform you, To the least shadow of a hair ; and show you An instrument he has of his own making, Wherewith no sooner sliall 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 on angle blunt, if not acute : All this he will demonstrate. And then, rules To give and take the lie by. Kas. How ! to take it .J* Face. Yes, in oblique he'll show you, or in circle ; But never in diameter. The whole town Study 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 ordinaiy. Kas. No, I'll not come there : you shall pardon Face. For why, sir ? [me. Kas. 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 ! 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 I Face. Ay, forty thousand. Kas. Are there such } Face. Ay, sir. And gallants yet. Here's a young gentleman Is born to nothing, — [Points to i3apper.] forty marks a-year. Which I count nothing : — he is to be initiated. And have a fly of the doctor. He will win 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. Kas. 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. Kas. 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 bedeliver'd, be it pepper, soap. Hops, or tobacco, oatmeal, woad, or cheeses. 25G THE ALCHEMIST ACT All which yDU 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 for rich widows, Yonng gentlewomen, heirs, the fortunat'st man! He's sent to, far and near, all over England, To have his counsel, and to know their fortunes. Kas. God's will, my suster 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 you 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 befoi-e 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 will be free. Kas. I go. \_Exit. Face. Drugger, she's thine : the damask ! — {Exit Abel.] Subtle and I Must wrestle for her. {^Aside.l — Come on, master You see how I turn clients here away, [Dapper, To give your cause dispatch ; have you perform'd The ceremonies were enjoin' 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 will 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. Fare. 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 Subtle, disguised like a priest of Fairy, with a stripe of 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. Sub. And as oft buz ? Face. If you have, say. Dap. I have. Sub. Then, to her cuz, Hoping that he hath vinegar'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, [Theg blind him with the rag,] 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 will part withal as willingly. Upon her grace's word — throw away your purse — As she would ask it ; — handkerchiefs and all — IHe 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. [Aside to Subtle.] — Look, the elves are come [Dol plays on the cittern witliin. 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-ti. In the other pocket. \_Aside to Sub, Sub. Titi, titi, titi, titi, titi. They must pinch him or he will never confess, they say. [.They pinch Mm again. Dap. 0,0! Face. Nay, pray you hold: he is her grace's nephew. Ti, ti, ti? What care you? good faith, you shall care. — SCENE I. THE ALCHEMIST. 2o7 Deal plainly, sir, and shame the fairies. Shew You are innocent. Dap. By this good light, I have nothing. Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti, to, ta. He does equivocate, she says : Ti, ti do ti, ti ti do, ti da ; and swears by the light when he is blinded. Dap, 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. Face. I thought 'twas something. And would you incur Your aunt's displeasure for these trifles ? Come, I had rather you had thrown away twenty half- crowns. [Takes it off. You may wear your leaden heart still — Enter Dol, hastilt/. How now ! Sub. 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 Sub. Why, lay him back awliile, With some device. lie-enter Dol, with Face's clothes. — Ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, ti. Would her grace speak with me ? [ come. — Help, Dol ! IKnocking without. Face. [Speaks through the key -hole.'] Who's there sir Epicure, My master's in the way. Please you to walk Three or four turns, but till his back be turn'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. Face. 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. Sub. Of what? Face. Of gingerbread. Make you it tit. He that hath pleas'd her grace Thus far, shall not now crincle for a little. — Gape sir, and let him fit you. [They thrust a gag 0/ gingerbread in his 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 they perfum'd, and his bath ready ? Sub. All: Only the fumigation's somewhat strong. Face. [Speaking through the keg-hole.'] Sii Epicure, I am yours, sir, by and by. [Exeunt with Dapper ACT SCENE I. — A Room in Lovewit's House. Enter Face and Mammon. Face. O sir, you are come in the only finest Mam. Where's master ? [time. — Face. Now 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. Yes, sir, a little to give beggars. Mam. Where's the lady ? F ace. 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. You know it. IV. 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. [ber 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. [Aside and exit. Mam. Now, Epicure, Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold ; Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops Unto his Danjie ; 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 concumbere gold : I will be puissant, And mighty in my talk to her. — Re-enter Face, with Dot richly dressed. Here she eomes. S THE ALCHEMIST. ACT IT. Face. To him, Dol, suckle him. — This is the I told your ladyship [noble knight, Mam. Madam, with your pardon, I kiss your vesture. Dol. Sir, I were uncivil If I would suffer that ; my lip to you, sir. Mam. I hope my lord your brother be in health, lady. Dol. My lord, my brother is, though I no lady, sir. Face. Well said, my Guinea bird. \_Aside. Mam. Right 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 gat 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, although 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 ! methinks you do resemble One of the Austriac princes. Face. Very like ! 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. \_Aslde and 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 burn 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 air, 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 ! I pray you know 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 1 can extract The so'ils of all things by his art ; call all The virtues, and the miracles of the sun. Into a temperate furnace ; teach dull nature What her own 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 JEsculapius, 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 mould A cloister had done well ; but such a feature That might stand up the glory of a kingdom. To live recluse 1 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 it. You 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. Dol. 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. You are contented, sir 1 Mam. Nay, in true being. The envy of princes and the fear of states. Dol. Say, you so, sir Epicure ? Mam. Yes, and thou shalt prove it, Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty Above all styles. Dol. 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. Dol. 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 court 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- tion' d, Queens may look pale ; and we but shewing our Nero's Poppaea may be lost in story ! [love, Thus will we have it. Dol. 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 For any private subject. Mam. If he knew it. Dol. Yourself do boast it, sir. Mam. To thee, my life. Dol. O, but beware, sir ! you may come to end The remnant of your days in a loth'd prison. By speaking of it. Mam. 'Tis no idle fear : We'll therefore go withal, my girl, and live In a free state, 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 again, 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 ! And thou shalt have thy ward- robe Richer than nature's, still to change thy self, And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she. Or art, her wise and almost-equal servant. Re-enter Face. Face. Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every Into the laboratory. Some fitter place ; [word The garden, or great chamber above. How like you her ? Mam. Excellent! Lungs. There's for thee. [Gives him money. Face. But do you hear ? Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins. Mam. We tliink not on 'em. [Exeunt Mam. and Dol. Face. O, it is well, sir. — Subtle I Enter Subtle. Dost thou not laugh ? Sub. Yes ; are they gone ? Face. All's clear. Sub. The widow is come. F ace. And your quarrelling disciple ? Sub. Ay. F ace. I must to my captainship again then. Stib. Stay, bring them in first. Face. So I meant. What is she ? A bonnibel ? Sub. I know not. Face. We'll draw lots : You'll stand to that ? Sub. What else? Face. O, for a suit. To fall now like a curtain, flap 1 Sub. To the door, man. Face. You'll have the first kiss, 'cause 1 am not ready. S 2 lExit. Sub. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. Face. [within.'\ Who would you speak with ? Kas. [within.'] Where's the captain Face, [within.] Gone, sir, About some business. Kas. [ivithin.] Gone ! Face, [within.] He'll return straight. But master doctor, his lieutenant, is here. Enter I^astril, followed hy Dame Pliant. Sub. Come near, mv worshipful boy, my lerr Yourselves, and you have all the earth beside, A field to exercise your longings in. I see you raised, and read your forward minds High in your faces. Bring the wine and blood You have 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 vdth 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 ! Be firm, my hand, not shed a drop; but pour Fierceness into me with it, and fell thirst Of more 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, with my powers fainting. So may my blood be drawn, and so drunk up. As is this slave's. IDrinks. Lon. And so be mine. Len. And mine. Aut. And mine. Var. And mine. ITfiey 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. ^JDrinks. Cur. So do I. Lec. And I. Bes. And I. Ful. And I. Gab. And all of us. IThey drink. Cat. Why now's the business safe, and each man strengthen'd — Sirrah, what ail you ? Page. Nothing. Bes. Somewhat modest. Cat. Slave, I will strike your soul out with my foot, t-et me but find you again with such a face : You whelp Bes. Nay, Lucius. Cat. Are you coying It, When I command you to be free, and general To aU ? Bes. You'll 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, Remain so long, but its own weight Will ruin it? or is't blind chance, That still desires new states to advance. And quit the old ? else why must Rome 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 ovm : 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 ! Rome 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, Ab 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, Clianged 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 rubb'd, and trimm d, More sleek, more soft, and slacker limb'd ; As prostitute ; so much, that kind May seek itself there, and not find. They eat on beds of silk and gold. At ivory tables, or wood sold Dearer than it ; and leaving plate^ Do drink in stone of higher rate. They hunt all grounds, and draw all seas. Fowl every brook and bush, to please Tln;ir wanton taste ; and in request Have new and rare things, not the best. 278 CATILINE. ACT II. Hence comes that wild and vast expense. That hath enforced Rome's virtue thence, Which simple poverty first made : And now amhition doth invade Her state, with eating avarice, Riot, and every other vice. Decrees are bought, and laws are sold. Honours, and offices, for gold ; The people's voices, and the free Tongues in the senate, bribed be : Such ruin of her manners Rome Doth suffer now, as she's become (Without the gods it soon gainsay) Both her own spoiler, and o^vn prey. So, Asia, art thou cru'lly even AVith us, for all the blows thee given ; When we, whose virtue conquer'd thee. Thus, by thy vices, ruin'd be. ACT II. SCENE I. — A Room in Fulvia's House. Enter Fclvia, Galla, mid 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 Caius Csesar. You are for Clodius still, Or Curius. [Exit Galla.] — Sirrah, if Quintus Curius come, I am not in fit mood ; I keep my chamber : Give warning so without. LExit Servant. Re-enter Galla. 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 up. 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 thou 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 ! 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 thou 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 : well, and how ? Gal. Methought She did discourse the best Ful. Tliat ever thou heard'st ? Gal. Yes. Ful. In thy sleep I 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. Thou 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 vfit 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 liberal too, madam. Ful. What, of her money or her honour, prithee.' Gal. Of both; you know not which she doth Ful. A comely commendation ! [spare least. GaL Troth, 'tis pity She is in years. Ful. Why, GaUa ? 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 ! »!CENE I. CATILINE. 270 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 witli 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 Servant. 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 ! Serv. And comes to see you. Gal. For Venus' sake, good madam, see her. lExit Serv. Ful. Peace, The fool is wild, I think. Gal. And hear her talk, Sweet madam, of state-matters and the senate. Enter Sempronia. 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 ? Ful. I cannot now, in troth ; I have some letters To write and send away. Sem. Alas, I pity thee. 1 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 Will carry it for him. Ful. Does he stand for it } Sem. He's the chief candidate. Ful. Who stands beside i* — 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 Longinus, Quintus Cornificius, 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 will not choose. Ful. No! why.? Sem. It will be cross'd by the nobility. Gal. How she does understand the common business ! lAskle. Sem. Nor were it fit. He is but a new fellow. An inmate here in Rome, as Catiline calls him, And the patricians should do very ill To let the consulship be so defiled As 't would 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 both 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 ! 'Cause he has suck'd at Athens ! and advance him. To our own loss ! no, Fulvia ; there are they Can speak Greek too, if need were. Cjesar 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 1 [now, Ful. Faith, I keep No catalogue of them : sometimes I have one. Sometimes another, 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. Howl 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 fled, a myriad better. [me, Sem. And those one may command. 280 CATILINE. ACT II. Ful. 'Tis true : these lordlings, Your noble Fauns, they are so imperious, saucy, Rude, and as boisterous as centaurs, leaping A lady at first sight. Sent. 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. Sem. Does Csesar give well ? Ful. 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 With a cob-swan, or a high-mounting bull, As foolish Leda and Europa were ; But the bright gold, with Danae. For such price I would endure a rough, harsh Jupiter, Or ten such thund'ring gamesters, and refram To laugh at 'em, till they are gone, with 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. Ful. Why, that's because You affect young faces only, and smooth chins, Sempronia. If you'd love beards and bristles, One with another, as others do, or wrinkles iKnockinq 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. Se7n. I'll not hinder you. 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 ili 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. lExit. Ful. Spight with your courtesy ! how shall I be tortured ! Enter Cvnws. Cur. Where are you, fair one, that conceal yourself, And keep your beauty within 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 ! Ful. The fool's artillery, sir. Cur. Then take my gown off for the encounter. ITakes 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 keep Your furious appetite warm against you have place Cur. What ! do you coy it ? [for't. Ful. No, sir ; I am not proud. Cur. I would you were I 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 shall 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 1 Did you, good dili- gence ? 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 strain'd, sir ; 'Tis very natural. Cur. I have known it otherwise Between the parties, though. Ful. For your foreknowledge. Thank that which made it : It will not be so Hereafter, I assure you. 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 you can hold your servant; 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 ! Cur. 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 ! Cur. Yes, you, 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 : S0KNJ3 1. 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. Ful. 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, 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, Nay, then I must stop your fury, 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 force her, 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 graciously ! Put not up. You'll 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 the 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. Cur. 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 them. 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 with Cur. 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. [_Exit. Ful. Call him again, Galla : lExit Galla. This is not usual. Something hangs on this That I must win out of him. Re-enter Curius. 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. Cur. 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 then. — 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 own revenge, to make thee happy. Ful. 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 — than 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. Cur. 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 hke her bright name. And is herself ! Ful. Nay, answer me, your plot : I pray thee tell 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 ? IKisses andjlatters 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 will 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 mu*^* rise. lExeunt. 282 CATILINE. ACT III, CHORUS. Great father Mars, and greater Jove, By whose high auspice Rome 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 made ; 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 envy, hatred, gifts or fear ; That by their deeds will make it known. Whose dignity they do sustain ; And life, state, glory, all they gain, Count the republic's, not their own. Such the old Bi-uti, 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 country they could do. And to her honour so did knit, As all their acts Avere understood The sinews of the public good ; And they themselves, one soul with it. These men were truly magistrates. These neither practised force nor forms ; Nor did they leave the helm in storms : And such they are make happy states. ACT SCENE I.— The Field of Mars. Enter Cicero, Cato, Catulus, Antonius, Crassus, Cjesar, 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 still 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 have 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 vow to owe it to no title else. Except the Gods, that Cicero is your consul. I have no urns, 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 you have dignified ; and more, in whom You have cut a way, and left it ope for virtue Hereafter to that place : which our great men Held, shut up 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 just year ; preferr'd To all competitors I and some the noblest Cra. [Aside to CiESAR.] 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 1 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 yomselves, and those, to whom you have, III. 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 I make such : but ray 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. Cces. 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 will make them, if there be none. lAside. 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. C(Bs. Cato, you will undo him with your praise. Cato. Csesar will hurt himself with 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. Gusts, storms, and tempests ; when her keel ploughs hell, And deck knocks heaven ; then to manage her, Becomes the name and office 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. Most noble consul ! let us wait him home. lExeunt Cato, Cicero, Lictors, and People. CeBs. Most popular consul he is grown, methinks ! Cras. How the rout cling to him ! Cces. And Cato leads them ! Cras. You, his colleague Antonius, are not Ant.. Not I, nor do I care. [look'd on. Cces. He enjoys rest. And ease the while : let the other's spirit toil. And wake it out, that was inspired for turmoil. Caiu. If all reports be true yet, Caius Caesar, The time hath need of such a watch and spirit. CcBS. Reports! do you believe them, Catulus ? Why, he does make and breed 'em for the people, To endear his service to them. Do you not taste An art that is so common ? Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something. Would you Such an Herculean actor in the scene, [have And not his hydra ? they must sweat no less To fit their properties, than to express their parts. Cras. Treasons and guilty men are made in Too oft, to dignify the magistrates. [states, Calu. Those states be wretched that are forced Their rulers fame with their own infamy, [to buy Cras. We therefore should provide that ours do CcBs. That will Antonius make his care. [not. AnL I shall. CcBs. And watch the watcher. Catu. Here comes Catiline. How does he brook his late repulse ? Cces. I know not, But hardly sure. Catu. Longinus too did stand } Caes. At first : but he gave way unto his friend. Calu. Who's that come ? Lentulus ? Cces. Yes ; he is again Taken into the senate. Ant. And made preetor. Catu. I know't ; he had my suffrage, next the consuls. Cces. True, you were there, prince of the senate, then. Enter Catiline, Longinus, and Lentulus. Cat. Hail, noblest Romans ! The most worthy I gratulate your honour. [consul, Ant. 1 could wish It had been happier by your fellowship. Most noble Sergius, had it pleased the people. Cat. It did not please the Gods, who instruct the people : And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd. They know what's fitter for us than ourselves ; And 'twere impiety to think against them. Catu. You bear it rightly, Lucius ; and it glads To find your thoughts so even. [me, Cat. I shall still Study to make them such to Rome, and heaven. I would withdraw with you a little, Julius. [_Aside to C.esaR. Cces. I'll come home to you : Crassus would not have you To speak to him 'fore Quintus Catulus. {.Aside. Cat. I apprehend you. No, when they shall judge Honours convenient for me, I shall have them, With a full hand ; I know it. In mean time, They are no less part of the commonwealth. That do obey, than those that do command. Catu. O let me kiss your forehead, Lucius. How are you wrong'd ! Cat. By whom ? Catu. Public report ; That gives you out to stomach your repulse, And brook it deadly. Cat. Sir, she brooks not me. Believe me rather, and yourself, now of me : It is a kind of slander to trust rumour. Catu. I know it : and I could be angry with it. Cat. So may not I : Where it concerns himself. Who's angry at a slander makes it true. Catu. Most noble Sergius ! this your temper melts me. Cras. Will you do office to the consul, Quintus ? Cces. Which Cato and the rout have done the other ? Catu. I wait when he will go. Be still yourself. He wants no state, or honours, that hath virtue. \_Excnnt Catulus, Antonius, C/i:sau, Crassus, Lictors, S^c. Cat. Did I appear so tame as this man thinks me ! Look'd I so poor ? so dead ? so like that nothing. Which he calls virtuous ? O my breast, break quickly ; And shew my friends my in-parts, lest they think I have betray' d them. lAside. Lon. Where's Gabinius ? Len. Gone. Lon. And Vargunteius ? Len. Slipt away ; all shrunk : Now that he miss'd the consulship. Cat. I am The scorn of bondmen, who are next to beasts. What can I worse pronounce myself, that's fitter, The owl of Rome, whom boys and girls will hoot ! That were I set up for that wooden god That keeps our gardens, could not fright the crows, Or the least bird, from muting on my head ! \_Aside. Lon. 'Tis strange how he should miss it ! Len. Is't not stranger. The upstart Cicero should carry it so. By all consents, from men so much his masters ? Lon. 'Tis true. Cat. To what a shadow am I melted ! {.Aside. Lon. Antonius won it but by some few voices. Cat. Struck through, like air, and feel it no: ! My wounds Close faster than they're made. iA$ide. Len. The whole design And enterprise is lost by it : all hands quit it. Upon his fail. Cat. I grow mad at my patience : It is a visor that hath poison'd me : Would it had burnt me up, and I died inward, My heart first turn'd to ashes ! Lon. Here's Cethegus yet. 284 CATILINE. ACT 111. Enter Ckthegus. CaL Repulse upon repulse ! an in-mate consul! — That I could reach the axle, where the pins are Which bolt this frame ; that I might pull them out, And pluck all into Chaos, with myself ! Cel. What ! are we wishing now ? Cat. Yes, my Cethegus ; Who would not fall with all the world about him ? Cei. Not I, that would stand on it, when it falls ; And force new nature out to make another. These wishings taste of woman, not of Roman ; Let us seek other arms. Cat. What should we do ? Cet. Do, and not wish ; something that wishes take not : So sudden, as the gods should not prevent. Nor scarce have time to fear. Cat. O noble Caius ! Cet. It likes me better that you are not consul. I would not go through open doors, but break 'em ; j Swim to my ends through blood ; or build a bridge I Of carcasses ; make on upon the heads Of men struck down like piles, to i-each the lives j 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 I 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 own gaunt eagle fly 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. Scrgius, 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 from thee More than thy deeds : 'tis onlyjudgment waits thee. Cat. Whose? Cato's ! shall he judge me? Cato. No, the gods, Who 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 Caius. 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 vdth 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, Will 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.— Cicero'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, O 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 wei-e 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 off ; being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon rehgion, And oflfereth 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 down, good lady ; Cicero is lost In this your fable : for, to think it true Tempteth my reason, it so far exceeds All insolent fictions of the tragic scene ! 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, And utterly extinguish her long name. With so prodigious and unheard of fierceness ! What sink of monsters, wretches of lost minds. Mad after change, and desperate in their states. Wearied and gali'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 the other evils) and lay waste The far triumphed world : for, unto whom Rome is too little, what can be enough ? Fill. 'Tis true, my lord, I had the same dis- course. Cic. 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 wickedness : butthatthat was higher For which they did it ! SCKNE 11. CATILINE. 286 Ful. I assure your lordship, The extreme horror of it almost turn'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 bui'nt me up- Cic. Good Fulvia, Fear not your act ; and less repent you of it. Ful. I do not, my good lord ; T 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 learn' d the difference 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 1 Lict. He's here, my lord. Cic. Go presently. Pray my colleague Antonius I may speak with 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. [aid me ? Enter Curius. Cic. O, my noble lord ! I have to chide you, i'faith. Give me your h;ind, — Nay, be not troubled; it shall be gently, Curius. You look upon this lady ? what ! do you guess My business yet ? 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 turn'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? O, I 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 crime that defends the first. Here is a lady that hath got the start In 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 filPd, 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 ! all 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 ! Ful. Your honour thinks too highly of me. Cic. No ; I cannot think enough, and 1 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 child can be too natural to his i)arent : 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. Ful. 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. O, you are Ful. What am I ? Cur. Speak not so loud. Ful. I am what you should be, \_Lowering Tict 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 all 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. Did 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 madness. 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 Honoured and loved : it were a noble life. To be found dead, embracing her. Know you What thanks, wliat titles, what rewards the senate Will heap upon you, certain, for your service ? 286 CATILINE. ACT III. Let not a desperate action more engage you, Than 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. Cic. Good Curius, It shall be dearer rather ; and because I'd make it such, hear how I trust you more. Keep still 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 I 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 your 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.'] to this fellow. Light them. lExit Servant with Cur. a7id Fulvia. 0 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? 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 vile a thing the author of thy safety. They could have wrought by nobler ways, have struck Thy foes Vv'ith forked lightning, or ramm'd thunder j Thrown hills upon them in the act ; have sent Death, like a damp, to all their families ; Or caus'd their consciences to b\irst them : but When they will 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, v/hat answer ? is he come ? Lict. Your brother Will straight be here, and your colleague, Antonius, Said coldly he would follow me. lExit. 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 unmindAil 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, Shall 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. [Exit. SCENE III.— ^ Room in Catiline's House. Enter C^sar and Catiline. Cces. 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 AcLions 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 ; And vengeance, least : for who, besieged with wants, Would stop at death, or anythiifg beyond it? Come, there was never any great thing yet Aspired, but by violence or fraud : ^CKNE III. CATILINE. 287 And he that sticks for folly of a conscience To reach it Cat. Is a good religious fool. CcBS. 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 you a consul, That watches. What you do, do quickly, Sergius. IGoing. You shall not stir for me. Cat. Excuse me. — Lights there ! C^s. By no means. Cat. Stay then. All good thoughts to Caesar, And like to Crassus. CdBS. Mind but your friends' counsels. lExit. Cat. Or I will bear no miud. — Enter Aurelia. 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 Lecca. Who's that? O, Porcius Lecca! Are they met ? Lec. They are all here. Cat. Love, you have your instructions : I'll trust you with the stuff you have to work on, You'll form it ! \_Ea?it Aurelia.] Porcius, fetch the silver eagle I gave you in charge ; and pray 'em they will enter. [£".1*7 LicrcA. Enter Cethegus, Curius, Lentulus, Vargunteius, Lon- OINUS, GABINIUS, CepARIUS, AUTRONIUS, SfC. Cat. O friends, your faces glad me ! This will Our last, I hope, of consultation. [be Cet. So it had need. Cur. We lose occasion daily. Cat. Ay, and our means ; whereof one wounds me most That was the fairest : Piso 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 swift in. Take your seats, and hear. I have already sent Septimius Into the Picene territory, and Julius, To raise force for us in Apulia ; Manlius, 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 rUe blow at home. Re-enter P. Lecca with the eagle. Behold this silver eagle, 'Twas Marius' 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 handg, 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. Cur. 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 fumed away in vapour. Before our hands be at work : I 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 I Cur. Nay then, more gods and natures, If they took part. Len. When shall the time be first ? Cat. I think, the Saturnals ! Cet. 'Twill 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 All things so safe and ready. Cet. While we are laying, We shall all lie and grow to earth. Would 1 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 Lo7i. And they too no mean aids Cur. Made from their hope Of liberty Len, Or hate unto their lords. 288 CATILINE. ACT JIT. Var. 'Tis sure, there cannot be a time found Moye apt and natural. [out Len. Nay, good Cethegus, Why do your passions now disturb our hopes ? Cet. Why do your hopes delude your certainties ? Cat. You must lend him his way. lAside to Lentulus.] Think for the order, And process of it. Lo7i. 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 ? Var. True. In that confusion must be the chief slaughter. 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. Lec. '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 Cetliegus' house ; so are the weapons. Gabinius, you, with other force, shall stop The pipes and conduits, and kill those 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 alive ; 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, up, 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. 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. I Exit. Cat. Follow him, Vargunteius, and jiersuade, The morning is the fittest time. Lon. The night Will turn all into tumult. Len. And perhaps Miss of him too. Cat. Entreat and conjure him In all our names Len. By all our vows and friendships. [_Exit Vaugunteil's, Enter Sempronia, Aurelia, and Fulvta. Sem. What ! is our council broke up first ? Aur. You say. Women are greatest talkers. [ Whispers loith Cat. while Fui.. takes Ctm. aside, Sem. We have done, And are now fit for action. Lon. Which is passion ; There is your best activity, l;idy. Sem. How Knows your wise fatness that ? Lon. Your mother's daughter Did teach me, madam. Cat. Come, Sempronia, leave him ; He is a giber, and our present business Is of more serious consequence. Aurelia Tells me, you've done most masculinely withiD, 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. Aurelia, take her in. Where's Fulvia? Sem. O, 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 jou- 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 friendshi. 8CENK V. CATILINE. 289 I'll bring you to your coach. Tell him, beside, Of Caesar's coming forth here. Cat. My sweet madam, Will you be gone ? Ful. 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. \_Exeunt all hut Catiline. 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 v/omen ! 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 Lentulus, My stale, with whom I stalk ; the rash Cethegus, My executioner ; and fat Longinus, Statilius, Curius, Ceparius, Cimber, My labourers, pioneers, and incendiaries : With these domestic traitors, bosom thieves, Whom custom hath call'd wives : the readiest helps To strangle headstrong husbands, rob the easy, And 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 Csesar 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 unworthy 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 cruelty 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 the 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 sj)ight, Shall be the work of one, and that my night. lExit. SCENE IV. — A Room in Cicero's House. Enter Cicero, Fulvia, and Attendant. Cic, I thank your vigilance. Where's my bro- ther Quintus } Call all my servants up 1 \_Exit 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 Quintus Cickro. O brother 1 now The enginers I told you of are working, The machine 'gins to move. Where are your wea- Arm all my 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 Flaccus and Pomptinius, the praetors, 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. [£ lots at the lottery : marry, if he drop but si.v pence at the door, and will censure a crown' s-ioorl It, 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 site by him, be he never so first in the commission cj wit ; as also, that he be fixed and settled in his censure that what he approves or not approves to-day, he ivill do the same to-morroiv ; and if to- morroio, the next day, and so the next week, ij need he : and not to be brought about by any thai 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 unexcepted at here, as a man ivhose judgment shoivs it is constant, and hath stood still these fli e- and- twenty or thirty years. Though it be an ignorance it is a virtuous and staid ignorance ; and next to truth, a confirmed error does loell j such a one the author knows ivhere to find him. It is further covenanted, concluded, and agreed^ That how great soevsr the expectation be, no pier- son here is to expect more than he knows, or better itare than a fair loill afford : neither to look back to the sword and buckler age of Smith field, hut content himself ivith the present. Instead of a little Davy, to take toll o' the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse -courser, ivith a leer drimhard, tiro or three to attend him, in as good equipage as you would irish. And then for Kind- heart the tooth drawer, a fine oily pig-ivoman tvith her tapster, to bid you welcome, and a consort of roarers for musick. A wise justice of pea(e meelitant, instead of a juggler with an ape. A civil cutpurse searchant. A sweet singer of nciv ballads allurant : and as fresh an hypocrite, as ever ivas 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 ivith other mert's heels ; let the concupiscence of jigs and dances reign as strong as it will amongst you : yet if the puppets will please any boely, they shall be intreated to come in. In consideration of ivhich, it is finally agreed, by the aforesaid hearers and spectators. That tkty neither in themselves conceal, nor suffer by them to be concealed, any state-decypherer, or politic picJc- lock of the scerie. so solemnly ridiculous, as to search out, who was meant by the gingerbread- woman, who by the hobby-horse man, ivho by tht costard-monger, nay, who by their ivares. Or (hat ivill pretend to affirm on his oivn inspired igno- rance, what Mirror of Magistrates is meant by the justice, what great lady by the pig-woman, ivhat concealed statesman by the seller ( f mouse- traps, and so of the rest. But that .such person, or persons, so found, be left discovered to the mercy of tlie author, as a forfeiture to the stage, a)id your laughter aforesaid. As also sueh 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 pigb'^oth, or of profane- ness, because a madman cries, God quit you. SCENE 1. bless you ! In witness ivhereof, as you have pre- vosterously put to your seals already, which is your money, you will now add the other part of suffrage, your hands. The play shall presently begin. And though the Fair be not kept in the sams region that some here, perhaps, would have it; yet think, that therein the author hath observed 307 a special decorum, the place being as dirty ai Smithfield, and as stinking every whit. Hoivsoever, he prays you to believe, his ware is still the same, else you ivill 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 171 another place. \Exeunt. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT 1. SCENE I. — A Room in Littlewit's House. Enter Littlevvit with a license in his hand. Lit. A pretty conceit, and worth the finding ! I have such luck 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 Wellboi-n, of the said place and county : and when does he take it forth? to-day! the four and twentieth of August J Bartholomew-day ! Bartholomew upon Bartholo- mew ! there's the device ! who would have marked such a leap-frog chance now ! A very - - - - less than ames-ace, on two dice! Well, go thy ways, John Littlewit, proctor John Littlewit: one of the pretty wits 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 0' the archdeacon's court into his kitchen, and make a Jack of thee, instead of a John. There I am again la ! — Enter Mrs. Littlkwit, Win, good-morrow. Win ; ay, marry. Win, now you look finely indeed. Win I this cap does con- 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 AVin, 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, you 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 I not a corn of true salt, not a grain of right mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places, or so, again the next wit-fall, 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 shilHngs beer, and give the law to all the poets and poet -suckers in town :— because they are the play- er's gossips! 'SHd ! other men have wives as fine as the players, and as well drest. Come hither. Win ! IKisscs her. Enter Winwife. Winw. Why, how now, master Littlewit ! mea- suring of lips, or moulding of kisses ? which is it? Lit. Troth, I am a 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 challenge 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 Winwift kiss you. He comes a wooing to our mother. Win, and may be our father perhaps, Win. There's no harm in him. Win. Winw. None in the earth, master Littlewit. \_Kisses her Lit. I envy no man my delicatcs, sir. Wimo. Alas, you have the garden where they grow still 1 A wife here with a strawberry breath, cherry-lips, apricot cheeks, and a soft velvet head, like a melicotton. Lit. Good, i'faith ! now dulness upon me, that I had not that before him, that I should not light on't as well as he ! velvet head ! JVinw. But my taste, master Littlewit, tends to fruit of a later kind ; the sober matron, }our 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 as fast in it as here are a couple ! Win would fain have a fine young father i'law, with a feather ; that her mother might hood it and chain it with mistress Overdo. But you do not take the right course, master Winwife. Wimo. No, master Littlewit, why ? Lit. You are not mad enough. Winw. How ! is madness a right course ? TAt. I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You have a friend, one master Quarlous, comes here sometimes. Winw. Why, he makes no love to her, does he? Lit. Not a tokenworth that ever I saw, I assure you : but Winiv. What? Lit. He is the more mad-cap of the two. You do not apprehend me. Mrs. Lit. You have a hot coal in your mouth, now, you cannot hold. Lit. Let me out with it, dear Win. Mrs. Lit. I'll tell him myself. Lit. Do, and take all the thanks, and much good do thy pretty heart. Win. Mrs. Lit. Sir, my mother has had her nativity- water cast lately by the cunning-men in Cow-iane, and they have told her her fortune, and do ensure her, she shall never have happy hour, unless she I marry within this sen'night ; and when it is, it must be a madman, they say. I Lit. Ay, but it must be a gentleman madman. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT 1. Mrs. Lit. Yes, so the t'other man of Moorfields says. Winw. But does she believe them ? Lit. Yes, and has been at Bedlam twice since every day, to inquire if any gentleman be there, or to come there mad. Wimv. Why, this is a confederacy, a mere piece of practice upon her by these impostors. Lit. I tell her so ; or else, say I, that they mean some young madcap gentleman ; for the devil can equivocate as well as a shop keeper : and therefore would I advise you to be a little madder than master Quarlous hereafter. Winw. Where is she, stirring yet ? Lit. Stirring! yes, and studying an old elder come from Banbury, a suitor that puts in here at meal tide, to praise the painful brethren, or pray that the sweet singers may be restored ; says a grace as long as his breath lasts him ! Some time the spirit is so strong with him, it gets quite out of him, and then my mother, or Win, are fain to fetch it again with malmsey or aqua coelestis. Mrs. Lit. Yes, indeed, we have such a tedious life with him for his diet, and his clothes too ! he breaks his buttons, and cracks seams at every saying he sobs out. Lit. He cannot abide my vocation, he says. Mrs. Lit. No; he told my mother, a proctor was a claw of the beast, and that she had little less than committed abomination in maiTying me so as she has done. Lit. Every line, he says, that a proctor writes, when it comes to be read in the bishop's court, is a long black hair, kemb'd out of the tail of Anti- christ, Winw. When came this proselyte ? Lit. Some three days since. Enter Quarlous. Quar. O sir, have you ta'en soil here ? It's well a man may reach you after three hours' running yet ! What an umercifui companion art thou, to quit thy lodging at such vmgentlemanly hours ! none but a scattered covey of fidlers, or one of these rag-rakers in dunghills, or some marrow-bone man at most, would have been up when thou wert gone abroad, by all description. I pray thee what ailest thou, thou canst not sleep ? hast thou thorns in thy eye-lids, or thistles in thy bed IVinw. I cannot tell : it seems you had neither in your feet, that took this pain to find me. Quar. No, an I had, all the lime hounds o 'the city should have drawn after you by the scent rather. Master John Littlewit ! God save you, sir, 'Twas a hot night with some of us, last night, John : shall we pluck a hair of the same wolf to-day, proctor John } Lit. Do you remember, master Quarlous, what we discoursed on last night ? Quar. Not I, John, nothing that I either dis- course OF do ; at those times 1 forfeit all to forget- fulness. Lit. No ! not concerning Win.^ look you, there she is, and drest, as I told you she should be : hark you, sir, [whispers him.'] had you forgot .'' Quar. By this head I'll beware how I keep you company, John, when I [am] drunk, an you have this dangerous memory : that's certain. Lit. Why, sir.? i^uar. Why ! we were all a little stained last night, sprinkled with a cup or two, and I agreed with proc- tor John here, to come and do somewhat with Win (I know not what 'twas) to-day ; and he puts me in mind on't now ; he says he was coming to fetch me. Before truth, if you have that fearful quality, John, to remember when you are sober, John, what you promise drunk, John ; I shall take heed of you, John. For this once I am content to wink at you. Where's your wdfe come hither, Win. [Kisses her. Mrs. Lit. Why, John ! do you see this, John ? look you ! help me, John. Lit. O Win, fie, what do you mean. Win.? be womanly, Win ; make an outcry to your mother, W^in ! master Quarlous is an honest gentleman, and our worshipful good friend. Win ; and he is master Winwife's friend too : and master Winwife comes a suitor to your mother, W^in ; as I told you before. Win, and may perhaps be our father. Win : they'll do you no harm, Win ; they are both our worshipful good friends. Master Quarlous ! you must know master Quarlous, Win ; you must not quarrel with master Quarlous, Win, Quar. No, we'll kiss again, and fall in. IKisses her again. Lit. Yes, do, good Win. Mrs. Lit. In faith you are a fool, John. Lit. A fool-John, she calls me; do you mark that, gentlemen .? pretty Littlewit of velvet a foci- John. Quar. She may call you an apple -John, if you use this. lAside. iKisses her again. Wimv. Pray thee forbear, for my respect, some- what. Quar. Hoy-day! how respective you are become o'the sudden? 1 fear this family will turn you re- formed too ; pray you come about again. Because she is in possibility to be your daughter-in-law, and may ask you blessing hereafter, when she courts it to Totenham to eat cream 1 Well, I will forbear, sir ; but i'faith, would thou wouldst leave thy ex- ercise of widow-hunting once ; this drawing after an old reverend smock by the splay-foot 1 There cannot be an ancient tripe or trillibub in the town, but thou art straight nosing it, and 'tis a fine occu- pation thou'lt confine thyself to, when thou hast got one ; scrubbing a piece of buff, as if thou hadst the perpetuity of Pannier-ally to stink in ; or per- haps worse, currying a carcass that thou hast bound thyself to alive. I'll be sw^orn, some of them that thou art, or hast been suitor to, are so old, as no chaste or married pleasure can ever become them ; the honest instrument of procreation has forty years since left to belong to them ; thou must visit them as thou wouldst do a tomb, with a torch or three handfuls of link, flaming hot, and so thou may'st hap to make them feel thee and after come to inhe- rit according to thy inches. A sweet course for a man to waste the brand of life for, to be still raking himself a fortune in an old woman's embers ! We shall have thee, after thou hast been but a month married to one of them, look like the quartan ague and the black jaundice met in a face, and walk as if thou hadst borrow'd legs of a spinner, and voice of a cricket. I would enJui'e to hear fifteen ser- mons a week for her, and such coarse and loud ones, as some of them must be ! I would e'en de- sire of fate, I might dwell in a drum, and take in my sustenance with an old broken tobacco-pipe and a straw. Dost thou ever think to bring thine eai:s or stomach to the patience of a dry grace^as SOENE 1. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 80& long as thy table-cloth ; and droned out by thy son here (that might be thy father) till all the meat on thy board has forgot it was that day in the kitchen ? or to brook the noise made in a question of predestination, by the good labourers and pain- ful eaters assembled together, put to them by the matron your spouse ; who moderates with a cup of wine, ever and anon, and a sentence out of Knox between ? Or the perpetual spitting before and after a sober-drawn exhortation of six hours, whose better part was the hum-ha-hum ? or to hear pray- ers, groaned out over thy iron chests, as if they were charms to break them ? And all this for the hope of two apostle-spoons, to suffer ! and a cup to eat a caudle in ! for that will be thy legacy. She'll have convey'd her state safe enough from thee, an she be a right widow. IVinw. Alas, I am quite off that scent now. Quar. How so ? JViniv. Put off by a brother of Banbury, one that, they say, is come here, and governs all al- ready. Quar. What do you call him ? I knew divers of those Banburians when I was in Oxford. Winiv. Master Littlewit can tell us. Lit. Sir ! — Good Win go in, and if master Bar- tholomew Cokes, his man, come ♦or the license, (the little old fellow,) let him speak with me. [£.vit Mrs. Littlewit.] — What say you, gentlemen ? Winw. What call you the reverend elder you told me of, your Banbury man ? Lit. Rabbi Busy, sir ; he is more than an elder, he is a prophet, sir Quar. O, I know him ! a baker, is he not ? Lit. He was a baker, sir, but he does dream now, and see visions ; he has given over his trade. Quar. I remember that too ; out of a scruple he took, that, in spiced conscience, those cakes he made, were served to bridals, may-poles, morrices, and such profane feasts and meetings. His christian-name is Zeal-of-the-land. Lit. Yes, sir ; Zeal-of-the-land Busy. Win?v. How ! what a name's there ! Lit. O they have all such names, sir ; he was witness for Win here, — they will not be call'd godfathers — and named her AVin-the-fight : you thought her name bad been Winnifred, did you not ? IVinw. I did indeed. Lit. He would have thought himself a stark reprobate, if it had. Quar. Ay, for there was a blue-starch woman of the name at the same time. A notable hypocri- tical vermin it is ; I know him. One that stands upon his face, more than his faith, at all times : ever in seditious motion, and reproving for vain- glory ; of a most lunatic conscience and spleen, and affects the violence of singularity in all he does : he has undone a grocer here, in Newgate- market, that broke with him, trusted him with currants, as arrant a zeal as he, that's by the way : — By his profession he will ever be in the state of innocence though, and childhood ; derides all antiquity, defies any other learning than inspira- tion ; and what discretion soever years should afford him, it is all prevented in his original igno- rance : have not to do with him, for he is a fellow of a most arrogant and invincible dulness, I assure you. — Who is this ? Re-enter Mrs. Littlewit wiih Waspe. Waspe. By your leave, gentlemen, with all my heart to you; and god give you good morrow! — master Littlewit, my business is to you : is this license ready ? Lit. Here I have it for you in my hand, mastei Humphrey. Waspe. That's well : nay, never open or read it to me, it's labour in vain, you know. I am no clerk, I scorn to be saved by my book, i' faith, I'll hang first; fold it up on your word, and give it me. What must you have for it } Lit. We'll talk of that anon, master Humphrey. Waspe. Now, or not at all, good master Proc- tor ; I am for no anons, I assure you. Lit. Sweet Win, bid Solomon send me the little black-box within in my study. Waspe. Ay, quickly, good mistress, T pray you ; for I have both eggs on the spit, and iron in the fire. \_Ea:it Mrs. Littlewit.] — Say what you must have, good master Littlewit. Lit. Why, you know the price, master Numps. Waspe. I know ! I know nothing, I : what tell you me of knowing? Now I am in haste, sir, I do not know, and 1 will not know, and I scorn to know, and yet, now I think on't, I will, and do know as well as another ; you must have a mark for your thing here, and eight-pence for the box; I could have saved two-pence in that, an 1 had bought it myself ; but here's fourteen shillings for you. Good Lord, how long your little wife stays 1 pray God, Solomon, your clerk, be not looking i.n the wrong box, master proctor. Lit. Good i' faith ! no, I warrant you Solomon is wiser than so, sir. Waspe. Fie, fie, fie, by your leave, master Littlewit, this is scurvy, idle, foolish, and abomin- able, with all my heart ; I do not like it. [ Walks aside. Winw. Do you hear I Jack Littlewit, what business does thy pretty head think this fellow may have, that he keeps such a coil with ? Quar. More than buying of gingerbread in the cloister here, for that we allow him, or a gilt pouch in the fair ? Lit. Master Quarlous, do not mistake him ; he is his master's both-hands, I assure you. Quar. What ! to pull on his boots a mornings or his stockings, does he ? Lit. Sir, if you have a mind to mock him, mock him softly, and look t'other way : for if he aj)pre- hend you flout him once, he will fly at you presently. A terrible testy old fellow, and his name is Waspe too. Quar. Pretty insect! make much on him. Waspe. A plague o' this box, and the pox too, and on him that made it, and her that went for't, and all that should have sought it, sent it, or brought it ! do you see, sir. Lit. Nay, good master Waspe. Waspe. Good master Hornet, t — in your teeth, hold you your tongue : do not I know you ? your father was a 'pothecary, and sold clysters, more than he gave, I wusse : and t — in your little wife's teeth too — here she comes — Ke-enter Mrs. Littlewit, with the box. 'twili make her spit, as fine as she is, for ali her velvet custard on her head, sir. 310 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR, ACT I. Lit. O, be civil, master Numps. Was'pe. Why, say I have a humour not to be civil ; how then ? who shall compel me, you ? Lit. Here is the box now. Waspe. Why, a pox o' your box, once again ! let your little wife stale in it, an she will. Sir, I would have you to understand, and these gentle- men too, if they please Winw. With all our hearts, sir. Waspe. That I have a charge, gentlemen. Lit. They do apprehend, sir. Waspe. Pardon me, sir, neither they nor you can apprehend me yet. You are an ass. — I have a young master, he is now upon his making and marring ; the whole care of his well-doing is now mine. His foolish schoolmasters have done nothing but run up and dovvn the country with him to beg puddings and cake-bread of his tenants, and almost spoil'd him ; he has learn'd nothing but to sing catches, and repeat Rattle bladder, rattle ! and O Madge ! I dare not let him walk alone, for fear of learning of vile tunes, which he will sing at supper, and in the sermon-times ! If he meet but a carman in the street, and I find him not talk to keep him off on him, he will whistle him and all his tunes over at night in his sleep ! He has a head full of bees ! I am fain now, for this little time I am absent, to leave him in charge with a gentle- woman : 'tis true she is a justice of peace his wife, and a gentlewoman of the hood, and his natural sister ; but what may happen under a woman's government, there's the doubt. Gentle- men, you do not know him ; he is another m^an- ner of piece than you think for : but nineteen years old, and yet he is taller than either of you by the head, God bless him ! Quar. Well, methinks this is a fine fellow. Winiv. He has made his master a finer by this description, I should think. Quar. 'Faith, much about one, it is cross and pile, whether for a new farthing. Waspe. I'll tell you, gentlemen Lit. Will't please you drink, master Waspe. Waspe. Why, I have not talk'd so long to be dry, sir. You see no dust or cobwebs come out o' my mouth, do you } you'd have me gone, would you? Lit. No, but you were in haste e'en now, master Numps. Waspe. What an I vv^ere ! so I am still, and yet I will stay too ; meddle you with your match, your Win there, she has as little wit as her husband, it seems : I have others to talk to. Lit. She's my match indeed, and as little wit as I, good ! Waspe. We have been but a day and a half in town, gentlemen, 'tis true; and yesterday in the afternoon we walked London to shew the city to the gentlewoman he shall marry, mistress Grace ; but afore 1 will endure such another half day with liim, I'll be drawn with a good gib-cat, through the great pond at home, as his uncle Hodge was. Why, we could not meet that heathen thing all tlie day, but staid him ; he would name you all the signs over, as he went, aloud: and where he s];ied a parrot or a monkey, there he was pitched, with all the little long coats about him, male and female ; no getting him away ! I thought he would have run mad o' the black boy in Bucklcrsbury, tL-it takes the scurvy, roguy tobacco there. Lit. You say true, master Numps ; there's such a one indeed. Waspe. It's no matter whether there be or no, what's that to you } Quar. He will not allow of John's reading at any hand. Enter Cokes, Mistress Overdo, and Grace. Cokes. O Numps ! are you here, Numps look where I am, Numps, and mistress Grace too! | Nay, do not look angerly, Numps : my sister is here and all, I do not come without her. Waspe. What the mischief do you come with her ; or she with you ? Cokes. We came all to seek you, Numps. W aspe. To seek me ! why, did you all think I was lost, or run away with your fourteen shillings worth of small ware here } or that I had changed it in the fair for hobby-horses ? S'precious to seek me ! Mrs. Over. Nay, good master Numps, do you show discretion, though he be exorbitant, as master Overdo says, and it be but for conservation of the peace. Waspe. Marry gip, goody She-justice, mistress Frenchhood ! t — in your teeth, and t — in your Frenchhood's teeth too, to do you service, do you see 1 Must you quote your Adam to me ! you think you are madam Regent still, mistress Overdo, when I am in place ; no such matter, I assure you, your reign is out, when I am in, dame. Mrs. Over. I am content to be in abeyance, sir, and be governed by you ; so should he too, if he did well ; but 'twill be expected you should also govern your passions. Waspe. Will it so, forsooth! good Lord, how sharp you are, with being at Bedlam yesterday ! Whetstone has set an edge upon you, has he ? Mrs. Over. Nay, if you know not what belongs to your dignity, I do yet to mine. Waspe. Very well then. Cokes. Is this the license, Numps ? for love's sake let me see't ; I never saw a license. Waspe. Did you not so ? why, you shall not see't then. Cokes. An you love me, good Numps. Waspe. Sir, I love you, and yet I do not love you in these fooleries : set your heart at rest, there's nothing in it but hard words ; — and what would you see it for ? Cokes. I would see the length and the breadth on't, that's all ; and I will see it now, so I will. Waspe. You shall not see it here. Cokes. Then I'll see it at home, and I'll look upon the case here. Waspe. Why, do so ; a man must give way to him a little in trifles, gentlemen. These are errors, diseases of youth ; which he will mend when he comes to judgment and knowledge of matters. I pray you conceive so, and I thank you : and I pray you pardon him, and I thank you again. Quar. Well, this dry nurse, I say still, is a delicate man. Mrs. Lit. And I am, for the cosset his charge : did you ever see a fellov/'s face more accuse him for an ass ? Quar. Accuse him ! it confesses him one without accusing. What pity 'tis yonder wench should marry such a Cokes ! Winw 'Tis true. SCENE I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 311 Quar. She seems to be discreet, and as sober as she is handsome. Winw. Ay, and if you mark her, what a restrained scorn she cas*:s upon all his behaviour and speeches ? Cokes. Well, Numps, I am now for another piece of business more, the Fair, Numps, and then Waspe. Bless me \ deliver me ! help, hold me ! the Fair ! Cokes. Nay, never fidge up and down, Numps, and vex itself. I am resolute Bartholomew in this ; I'll make no suit on't to you ; 'twas all the end of my journey indeed, to shew mistress Grace my Fair. I call it my Fair, because of Bartholomew : you know my name is Bartholomew, and Bar- tholomew Fair. Lit. That was mine afore, gentlemen ; this morning. I had that, i'faith, upon his license, believe me, there he comes after me. Quar. Come, John, this ambitious wit of yours, I am afraid, will do you no good in the end. Lit. No ! why, sir ? Quar. You grow so insolent with it, and over- doing, John, that if you look not to it, and tie it up, it will bring you to some obscure place in time, and there 'twill leave you. Winw. Do not trust it too much, John, be more sparing, and use it but now and then ; a wit is a dangerous thing in this age ; do not over-buy it. Lit. Think you so, gentlemen? I'll take heed on't hereafter. Mrs. Lit. Yes, do, John. Cok€s. A pretty little soul, this same mistress Littlewit, would I might marry her ! Grace. So M ould I ; or any body else, so 1 might scape you. lAside. Cokes. Numps, I will see it, Numps, 'tis decreed: never be melancholy for the matter. Waspe. Why, see it, sir, see it, do, see it : who hinders you ? why do you not go see it? 'slid see it. Cokes. The Fair, Numps, the Fair. Waspe. Would the Fair, and all the drums and rattles in it, were in your belly for me ! they are already in your brain. He that had the means to travel your head now, should meet finer sights than any are in the Fair, and make a finer voyage on't ; to see it all hung with cockle shells, pebbles, fine wheat straws, and here and there a chicken's feather, and a cobweb. Qnar. Good I'aith, he looks, methinks, an you mark him, like one that were made to catch flies, with his sir Cranion-legs. Winw. And his Numps, to flap them away. Waspe. God be wi' you, sir, there's your bee in a box, and much good do't you. IGii'cs Cokes the boa;. Cokes. Why, your friend, and Bartholomew ; an you be so contumacious. Quar. What mean you, Numps ? 12'akcs Waspe aside as he is going out. Waspe. I'll not be guilty, I, gentlemen. Over. You will not let him go, brother, and lose him ? Cokes. Who can hold that will away ? I had rather lose him than the Fair, I wusse. Waspe. You do not know the inconvenience, gentlemen, you persuade to, nor what trouble I have with him in these humours. If he go to the Fair, he will buy of every thing to a baby there ; and household stuff for that too. If a leg or an arm on him did not grow on, he would lose it in the press. Pray heaven I bring him off with one stone 1 And then he is such a ravener after fruit ! — you will not believe what a coil I had t'other day to compound a business between a Cather'ne- pear woman, and him, about snatching: 'tis in- tolerable, gentlemen. Winw. O, but you must not leave him novv^ to these hazards, Numps. Waspe. Nay he knows too well I will not leave him, and that makes him presume : Well, sir, will you go now ? if you have such an itch in your feet, to foot it to the Fair, why do you stop, ami [o'j your tarriers ? go, will you go, sir ? why do you not go ? Cokes. O Numps, have I brought you about ? come mistress Grace, and sister, I am resolute Bat, i'faith, still. Gra. Truly, I have no such fancy to the Fair, nor ambition to see it; there's none goes thither of any quality or fashion. Cokes. O Lord, sir ! you shall pardon me, mis- tress Grace, we are enow of ourselves to make it a fashion ; and for qualities, let Numps alone, he'll find qualities. Quar. What a rogue in apprehension is this, to understand her language no better ! Winw. Ay, and offer to marry her! Well, I will leave the chase of my widow for to-day, and directly to the Fair. These flies cannot, this hot season, but engender i;s excellent creeping sport. Quar. A man that has but a spoonful of brain would think so. — Farewell, John. lExeimt QuARLous and AVinwjfb. Lit. Win, you see 'tis in fashion to go to the Fair, Win ; we must to the Fair too, you and I, \\'in. I have an affair in the Fair, Win, a puppet- play of mine own making, say nothing, that I writ for the motion-man, which you must see, Win. Mis. Lit. I would I might, John ; but my mother will never consent to such a j)rofane motion, she will call it. Lit. Tut, we'll have a device, a dainty one : Now Wit, help at a pinch, good Wit come, come good Wit, an it be thy will ! I have it, Win, I have it i'faith, and 'tis a fine one. Win, long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, in the Fair, do you see, in the heart of the Fair, not at Pye-corner. Your mother will do any thing. Win, to satisfy your longing, you know ; pray thee long presently ; and be sick o' the sudden, good Win. I'll go in and tell her ; cut thy lace in the mean time, and play the hypocrite, sweet Win. Mrs. Lit. No, I'll not make me unready for it: I can be hypocrite enough, though I were never so strait-laced. Lit. You say true, you have been bred in the family, and brought up to't. Our mother is a most elect hypocrite, and has maintained us all this seven year with it, like gentlefolks. Airs. Lit. Ay, let her alone, John, she is not a wise wilful widow for nothing ; nor a sanctified sister for a song. And let me alone too, I have somewhat of the mother in me, you shall see ; fetch her, fetch her — [Exit Littj.ewit.] Ah 1 ah ! [_Secms to swoon. Re-enter LiTThEwiT u ilh Dame Purecraft. Pure. Now, the blaze of the beauteous disci- 312 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT I. pline, fright away this evil from our house ! how now, Win-the-fight, child! how do you? sweet child, speak to me. Mrs. Lit. Yes, forsooth. Pure. Look up, sweet Win-the-fight, and stiffer not the enemy to enter you at this door, remember that your education has been with the purest : What polluted one was it, that named first the unclean beast, pig, to you, child? Mrs. Lit. Uh, uh ! Lit. Not I, on my sincerity, mother? she longed above three hours ere she would let me know it. — Who was it, Win ? Mrs. Lit. A profane black thing with a beard, John. Pure. O, resist it, Win-the-fight, it is the tempter, the wicked tempter, you may know it by the fleshly motion of pig ; be strong against it, and its foul temptations, in these assaults, whereby it broacheth flesh and blood, as it were on the weaker side ; and pray against its carnal provoca- tions ; good child, sweet child, pray. Lit. Good mother, I pray you, that she may cat some pig, and her belly full too ; and do not you cast away your own child, and perhaps one of mine, with your tale of the tempter. How do you do. Win, are you not sick ? Mrs. Lit. Yes, a great deal, John, uh, uh ! Pure. What shall we do? Call our zealous brother Busy hither, for his faithful fortification in this charge of the adversary. [Exit Littlewit.] Child, my dear child, you shall eat pig ; be com- forted, my sweet child. Mrs. Lit. Ay, but in the Fair, mother. Pure. I mean in the Fair, if it can be any way made or found lawful. — Re-enter Littlewit. Where is our brother Busy ? will he not come ? Look up, child. Lit. Presently, mother, as soon as he has cleansed his beard. I found him fast by the teeth in the cold turkey- pie in the cupboard, with a great white loaf on his left hand, and a glass of malmsey on his right. Pure. Slander not the brethren, wicked one. Lit. Here he is now, purified, mother. Enter Zeal-of-the-land Busy. Pure. O brother Busy ! your help here, to edify and raise us up in a scruple : my daughter Win- the-fight is visited with a natural disease of women, called a longing to eat pig. Lit. Av sir, a Bartholomew pig; and in the Fair. Pure. And I would be satisfied from you, reli- giously-wise, whether a widow of the sanctified assembly, or a widow's daughter, may commit the act without offence to the weaker sisters. Busy. Verily, for the disease of longing, it is a disease, a carnal disease, or appetite, incident to women ; and as it is carnal and incident, it is natural, very ratural : now pig, it is a meat, and a meat that is nourishing and may be longed for, and so consequently eaten ; it may be eaten ; very exceeding well eaten ; but in the Fair, and as a Bartholomew pig, it cannot be eaten ; for the very calling it a Bartholomew pig, and to eat it so, is a spice of idolatry, and you make the Fair no better than one of the high-places. This, I take it, is the state of the question : a high-place. Lit. Ay, but in state of necessity, place should give place, master Busy. I have a conceit left yet. Pure. Good brother Zeal-of-the-land, think to make it as lawful as you can. Lit. Yes, sir, and as soon as you can ; for it must be, sir : you see the danger my little wife is in, sir. Pure. Truly, I do love my child dearly, and I would not have her miscarry, or hazard her first- fruits, if it might be otherwise. Bus. Surely, it may be otherwise, but it is subject to construction, subject, and hath a face of offence with the weak, a great face, a foul face ; but that face may have a veil put over it, and be shadowed as it were ; it may be eaten, and in the Fair, I take it, in a booth, the tents of the wicked: the place is not much, not very much, we may be religious in the midst of the profane, so it be eaten with a reformed mouth, with sobriety and humble- ness ; not gorged in with gluttony or greediness, there's the fear : for, should she go there, as taking pride in the place, or delight in the unclean dressing, to feed the vanity of the eye, or lust of the palate, it were not well, it were not fit, it were abominable, and not good. Lit. Nay, I knew that afore, and told her on't; but courage. Win, we'll be humble enough, we'll seek out the homeUest booth in the Fair, that's certain ; rather than fail, we'll eat it on the ground. Pure. Ay, and I'll go with you myself, Win- the-fight, and my brother Zeal-of-the-land shall go with us too, for our better consolation. Mrs. Lit. Uh, uh ! Lit. Ay, and Solomon too, W^in, the more the merrier. Win, we'll leave Rabbi Busy in a booth. [Aside to Mrs. Lit.] — Solomon ! my cloak. Enter Solomon tvith the 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 will 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 little one will be like me, that cries for pig so in the mother's belly. Bus. Very likely, exceeding likely, very exceed- ing likely. lExeunt. SOKN£ !• BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 313 ACT SCENE I.— The Fair. A number of Booths, Stalls, &c. set out. Lanthorn LEA.THERHEAD, JoAN Trash, and othcrs, sitting hy their wares. Enter Justice Overdo, at a distance, in disguise. Over. Well, ia justice name, and the king's, and for the commonwealth! 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, that eagle's eye, that pierc- ing Epidaurian serpent (as my Quintus Horace calls 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-killer, ia 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 the 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 do it hims^f. 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 our 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 mistake 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 intelHgencers 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 ; under 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 mcthinks ; people come not abroad to-day, whatever the mat- ter is. Do you hear, sister Trash, lady of the II. 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 stuff 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 bi'ead, 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 Pie-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 is doing of justice. ^Aside. lA number of People pass over the Stage. Leath. What do you lack ? what is't you buy what do you lack ? rattles, drums, halberts, horses, babies o' the best, fiddles of the finest ? Enter Coatard-mongcrJ'oUoircd hy Nightingale. Cost. Buy any pears, pears, fine, very fine pears ! Trash. Buy any gingerbread, gilt gingerbread ! Niyht. 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 Bartlc ! The drunkards they are wading, The punks and cliapnicn trading ; Who'd see the Fair witliout his lading ? Buy any ballads, new ballads ? Enter Ursula, her Booth. 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 ; and 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 } what Zekiel ? Night. Zekiel Edgworth, the civil cutpurse ya-i BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT II. 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, icith 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 fill'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 six and twenty shillings 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 your 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 ! this must all down for enormity, all, every whit on't. \_Asidc. \_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-bellied 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 foricard.']— 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-horn ! 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. lAside. Enter Knock EM. Knock. 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 Holbourn, 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 ! good words, good words, Urse. Over. Another special enormity. A cutpurse of the sword, the boot, and the feather 1 those are his marks. lAside. Re-enter Mooncalf, with the ale, S^c. Urs. You are one of those horse-leaches that gave out I was dead, in TurnbuU-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 1 [Exit Vrsvla. Over. Dost thou hear, boy? There's for thy ale, and the I'emnant for thee. — Speak in thy faith of a faucet, now ; is this goodly person before us here, this vapours, a knight of the knife? ^CENE I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 316 Moon, What mean you 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 lier 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 nov/, and have put a fool's blot upon myself, if I had not played an after game of discretion ! lAside. lie-enter Ursula, dropping. Knock. Alas, poor Urse! this is an ill season for thee. Urs. Hang yourself, hackney-man ! Knock. How, how, Urse ! vapours ? motion breed vapours ? Urs. Vapours 1 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 shall not fright 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 iiis inches, as any is in the Fair ! has still money in his purse, and will pay all, with a kind heart, and good vapours. Edg. That I will indeed, willingly, master Knockem ; fetch some ale and tobacco. \_Exit Moon. — People cross the stage. Leath. 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 Nightingale, with Corn-cutter, and Blousetrap- inan Corn. Have you any corns in your feet and toes ? Movs.e. 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 buy for your money. A delicate ballad o' the ferret and the co)}.ey. A 'preservative again' the punkas evil. Another of goose-green starch, and the devil. A dozen of divine points, and the godly garters : The fairing of good coicnsel, of an ell and three quarters. What is't you buy ? The ivindmill hloiun doivn by the tvitch's fart, saint George, that, O ! did break the dragon'' s heart. Re-enter Mooncalf, with ale and tobacco. Edg. Master Nightingale, come hither, leave your mart a little. Night. O my secretary ! what says my secre- tary ? {.They walk into the booth. Over. Child of the bottles, what's he ? what's he ? {Points to EncwoRTK. 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 young 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 bin, and I warrant him a quick hand. Moon. A very quick hand, sir. ■ {Exit. Edg. [Whispering with Nightingale and Ursula.] All the purses, and purchase, I give you to-day by conveyance, bring hither to Ursula's presently. Here we will meet at night in her lodge, and share. Look you choose good places foi your standing in the Fair, when you sing, Night- ingale. Urs. Ay, near the fullest passages : and shift them often. Edg. And in your singing, 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. Uis. 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 I 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 afford, Zekiel, if bawd Whit keep his word.— Re-enter Mooncalf. How do the jjigs, Mooncalf ? Jifoon. 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, Jamque opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis, &c. {Aside. Knock. Here, Zekiel, here's a health to Ursula, and a kind vapour ; thou hast money in thy purse still, and store ! hov/ dost thou come by it ? pray thee vapour thy friends some in a courteous vapour Eds/. Half I have, master Dan. Knockem, is always at your service. L-^'"^^* out his purse. 310 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT 11 Over. Ha, sweet nature ! what goshawk would prey upon such a lamb ? {_Aside. Knock. Let's see what 'tis, Zekiel; count it, come, fill him to pledge me. Enter Winwife ajid Quarlous. Winw. We are here before them, methinks. Quar. All the better, we shall see them come in now. Leath. What do you lack, gentlemen, what is't you lack ? a fine horse ? a lion ? a bull ? a bear ? a dog, or a cat ? an excellent fine Bartholomew- bird ? or an instrument ? what is't you lack ? Quar. 'Slid ! here's Orpheus among the beasts, with his fiddle and all ! Trash. Will you buy any comfortable bread, gentlemen ? Quar. And Ceres selling her daughter's picture, in ginger-work. Winw. 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 ? Quar. 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. [^0 Edgworth.] How much is't? thirty shillings ? Who's yonder ! Ned Winwife and Tom Quarlous, I think ! yes : (give me it all, give it me all.) — Master Winwife 1 Master Quarlous ! will you take a pipe of tobacco with us ? — Do not discredit me now, Zekiel. lEDGWORTH^ives him his purse. Winw. Do not see him : he is the roaring horse-courser, pray thee let's avoid him : turn down this way. Quar. 'Slud, I'll see him, and roar with him too, an he roared as loud as Neptune ; pray thee go with me. Winw. You may draw me to as likely an incon- venience, when you please, as this. Quar. Go to then, come along ; we have nothing to do, man, but to see sights now. [They advance to the booth. Knock. Welcome, master Quarlous, and master Winwife ; will you take any froth and smoke with us ? Quar. Yes, sir ; but you'll pardon us if we knew not of so much familiarity between us afore. Knock. As what, sir ? Quar. To be so lightly invited to smoke and froth. Knock. A good vapour ! will you sit down, sir ? this is old Ursula's mansion ; how like you her bower.'' Here you may have your punk and your pig in state, sir, both piping hot. Quar. I had rather have my punk cold, sir. Over. There's for me : punk ! and pig ! lAside. Urs. [within.] What, Mooncalf, you rogue! Moon. By and by, the bottle is almost off, mis- tress ; here, master Arthur. Urs. [ivithin.'] Til part you and your play-fel- low there, in the garded coat, an you sunder not the sooner. Knock. Master Winwife, you are proud, me- thinks, you do not talk, nor drink ; are you proud } Winw. Not of the company I am in, sir, nor the place, I assure you. Knock. You do not except at the company, do you ! are you in vapours, sir? Moon. Nay, good master Daniel Knockem, re- spect my mistress's bower, as you call it ; for the honour of our booth, none o' your vapours here. Enter Ursula with a Jire-brand. Urs. Why, you thin, lean polecat you, an they have a mind to be in their vapours must you hinder 'em ? What did you know, vermin, if they would have lost a cloke, or such trifle ? must you be draw- ing the air of pacification here, while I am tor- mented within i' the fire, you w^easel ? [_Aside to Mooncalf. Moon. Good mistress, 'twas in behalf of your booth's credit that I spoke. Urs. Why ! would my booth have broke, if they had fallen out in't, sir? or would their heat have fired it ? In, you rogue, and wipe the pigs, and mend the fire, that they fall not, or I'll both baste and roast you 'till your eyes drop out like them. — Leave the bottle behind you, and be curst awhile ! \_Exit Moon. Quar. Body o' the Fair ! what's this ? mother of the bawds ? Knock. No, she's mother of the pigs, sir, mother of the pigs. Winw. Mother of the furies, I think, by her fire-brand. Quar. Nay, she is too fat to be a fury, sure some walking sow of tallow ! Winw. An inspired vessel of kitchen stuff ! Quar. She'll make excellent geer for the coach- makers here in Smithfield, to anoint wheels and axletrees with. [.She drinks this while. Urs. Ay, ay, gamesters, mock a plain plump soft wench of the suburbs, do, because she's juicy and wholesome ; you must have your thin pinched ware, pent up in the compass of a dog-collar, (or 'twill not do) that looks like a long laced conger, set upright, and a green feather, like fennel in the joli on't. Knock. Well said, Urse, my good Urse ! to 'em, Urse ! Quar. Is she your quagmire, Daniel Knockem ? is this your bog ? Night. We shall have a quarrel presently. Knock. How ! bog ! quagmire ? foul vapours ! humph ! Quar. Yes, he that would venture for't, I assure him, might sink into her and be drown'd a week ere any friend he had could find where he were. Winw. And then he would be a fortnight weigh- ing up again. Quar. 'Twere like falling into a whole shire of butter ; they had need be a team of Dutchmen should draw him out. Knock. Answer 'em, Urse : where's thy Bartho- lomew wit now, Urse, thy Bartholomew wit? Urs. Hang 'em, rotten, roguy cheaters, I liope to see them plagued one day (pox'd they are already, I am sure) with lean playhouse poultry, that has the bony rump, sticking out like the ace of spades, or the point of a partizan, that every rib of them is like the tooth of a saw ; and will so grate them with their hips and shoulders, as (take 'em altogether) they were as good lie with a hurdle. Quar. Out upon her, how she drips ! she's able to give a man the sweating sickness with looking on hex*. Urs. Marry look off, with a patch on your face, and a dozen in your breech, though they be of SCENE I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 317 scarlet, sir! I have seen as fine outsides as either of yours, bring lousy linings to the brokers, ere now, twice a week. Quar. Do you think there may be a fine new cucking-stool in the Fair, to be purchased ; one large enough, I mean ? I know there is a pond of capacity for her. Urs. For your mother, you rascal ! Out, you rogue, you hedge-bird, you pimp, you pannier- man's bastard, you! Quar. Ha, ha, ha ! Urs. Do you sneer, you dog's-head, you tren- dle-tail ! you look as you were begotten a top of a cart in harvest time, when the whelp was hot and eager. Go, snufF after your brother's bitch, mis- tress Commodity ; that's the livery you wear, 'twill be out at the elbows shortly. It's time you went to't for the t'other remnant. Knock. Peace, Urse, peace, Urse ; — they'll kill the poor whale, and make oil of her. Pray thee, go in. Urs. I'll see them pox'd first, and piled, and double piled. Winw. Let's away, her language grows greasier than her pigs. Urs. Does it so, snotty -nose ? good lord ! are you snivelling ? You were engendered on a she- beggar in a barn, when the bald thrasher, vour sire, was scarce warm. Winw. Pray thee let's go. Quar. No, faith ; I'll stay the end of her now ; I know she cannot last long : I find by her smiles she wanes apace. Urs. Does slie so ? I'll set you gone. Give me my pig-pan hither a little : I'U scald you hence, an you will not go. lExit. Knock. Gentlemen, these are very strange vapours, and very idle vapours, I assure you. Quar. You are a very serious ass, we assure you. Knock. Humph, ass ! and serious ! nay, then pardon me my vapour. I have a foolish vapour, gentlemen : Any man that does vapour me the ass, master Quarlous — Quar. What then, master Jordan ? Knock. I do vapour him the lie. Quar. Faith, and to any man that vapours me the lie, I do vapour that. iStrikeshim. Knock. Nay then, vapours upon vapours. ITheijfght. Re-enter Ursula, with the dripping-pan. Eilg. Night. 'Ware the pan, the pan, the pan ! she comes with the pan, gentlemen! [Ursula falls with the pan.] — God bless the woman. Urs. Oh ! lExeujit Quaiilous and Winvvife. Trash, [runs in.] What's the matter ? Over. Goodly woman ! Moon. Mistress! Ui-s. Curse of hell ! that ever I saw these fiends ! oh ! I have scalded my leg, my leg, my leg, my leg ! I have lost a limb in the service I run for some cream and sallad-oil, quickly. Are you under-peering, you baboon ? rip off my hose, an you be men, men, men. Moon. Run you for some cream, good mother Joan. I'll look to your basket. lExit Thash. Leath. Best sit up in your chair, Ursula. Help, gentlemen. Knock. Be of good cheer, Urse ; thou hast hindered me the currying of a couple of stallions here, that abused the good race-bawd of Smith- field ; 'twas time for them to go. Night. I 'faith, when the pan came, — they had made you run else. This had been a fine time for purchase, if you had ventured. \_Aside to EDawoRXH. Edg. Not a whit, these fellows were too fine to carry money. Knock. Nightingale, get some help to carry her leg out of the air : take off her shoes. Body o' me ! she has the mallanders, the scratches, the crown scab, and the quitter bone in the t'other leg. Urs. Oh, the pox ! why do you put me in mind of my leg thus, to make it prick and shoot r Would you have me in the hospital afore my time .'' Knock. Patience, Urse, take a good heart, 'tis but a blister as big as a windgall. I'll take it away with the white of an egg, a little honey and hog's grease, have thy pasterns well roU'd, and thou shalt pace again by to-morrow. I'll tend thy booth, and look to thy afiairs the while : thou shalt sit in thy chair, and give directions, and shine Ursa major. iExcitnl Knockkm and Mooncalf, with Ursula in her chair. Over. These are the fruits of bottle-a^e and tobacco ! the foam of the one, and the fumes of the other ! Stay, young man, and despise not the wisdom of these few hairs that are grown grey in care of thee. Edg. Nightingale, stay a little. Indeed I'll hear some of this ! Enter Cokks, with his h03J, Waspk, Mistress Overdo, and Grace. Cokes. Come, Numps, come, where are you? Welcome into the Fair, mistress Grace. Edg. 'Slight, he will call company, you shall see, and put us into doings presently. Over. Thirst not after that frothy liquor, ale ; for who knows when he openeth the stopple, wliat may be in the bottle ? Hath not a snail, a spider, yea, a newt been found there? thirst not after it, youth ; thirst not after it. Cokes. This is a brave fellow, Numps, let's hear him. Waspe. 'Sblood! how brave is he ? in a garded coat ! You were best truck with him ; e'en strip, and truck presently, it will become you. Why will you hear him? because he is an ass, and may be a-kin to the Cokeses ? Cokes. O, good Numps. Over. Neither do thou lust after that tawney weed tobacco. Cokes. Brave words I Over. Whose complexion is like the Indian's that vents it. Cokes. Are they not brave words, sister? Over. And who can tell-, if before the gathering and making up thereof, the AUigarta hath not piss'd thereon } Waspe. 'Heart ! let 'em be brave words, as brave as they will ! an they were all the brave words in a country, how then ^ Will you away yet. have you enough on him? Mistress Grace, come you away ; I pray you, be not you accessary. If you do lose your license, or somewhat else, sir, with listening to his fables, say Numps is a witch, with all my heart, do, say so. Cokes. Avoid in your satin doublet, Numps. Over. The creeping venom of which subtle ,318 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT III serpent, as some late writers affirm, neither the cutting of the perilous plant, nor the drying of it, nor the lighting or burning, can any way persway or assuage. Cokes. Good, i'faith ! is it not, sister ? Over. Hence it is that the lungs of the tobacco- nist are rotted, the liver spotted, the brain smoked like the backside of the pig-woman s booth here, and the whole body within, black as her pan you saw e'en now, without. Cokes. A fine similitude that, sir ! did you see the pan ? JErfg. Yes, sir. Over. Nay, the hole in the nose here of some tobacco-takers, or the third nostril, if I may so call it, which makes that ttiey can vent the tobacco out, like the ace of clubs, or i-ather the fiower-de- lis, is caused from the tobacco, the mere tobacco 1 when the pooi- innocent pox, having nothing to do there, is miserably and most unconscionably slan- dered. Cokes. Who v/ould have missed this, sister ? Mrs. Over. Not any body but Numps. Cokes. He does not understand. Edg. IFicks Cokes' s pocket of his purse.l Nor you feel. lAside. Cokes. What would you have, sister, of a fellow that knows nothing but a basket-hilt, and an old fox in't ? the best musick in the Fair will not move a log. Edg. [Gives the purse aside to Night.'] In, to Ursula, Niglitingale, and carry her comfort : see it told. This fellow was sent to us by Fortune, for our first fairing. \_Exit Night, Over. But v»'hat speak I of the diseases of the body, children of the Fair } Cokes. That's to us, sister. Brave, i'faith ! Over. Hark, D you sons and daughters of Smithfield ! and hear what malady it doth the mind : it causeth swearing, it causeth swaggering, it causeth snuffling and snarling, and now and then a hurt. Mrs, Over. He hath something of master Overdo, me thinks, brother. Cokes. So methought, sister, very much of my brother Overdo : and 'tis when he speaks. Over. Look into any angle of the town, the Streights, or the Bermudas, where the quarrelling lesson is read, and how do they entertain the time, but with bottle-ale and tobacco ? The lecturer is o' one side, and his pupils o' the other ; but the seconds are still bottle-ale and tobacco, for vv'hich the lecturer reads, and the novices pay. Thirty pound a week in bottle-ale ! forty in tobacco ! and ten more in ale again. Then for a suit to drink in, so much, and, that being slaver'd, so much for another suit, and then a third suit, and a fourth suit ! and still the bottle-ale slavereth, and the tobacco stinketh. Waspe. Heart of a madman ! are you rooted here ? will you never away ? what can any man find out in this bawling fellow, to grow here for? He is a full handfull higher sin' he heard him. Will you fix here, and set up a booth, sir? Over. I will conclude briefly Waspe. Hold your ])eace, you roaring rascal, ni run my head in your chaps else. You were Dest build a booth, and entertain him ; make your will, an you say the word, and him your heir ! heart, I never knew one taken with a mouth of a peck afore. By this light, I'll carry you away on my back, an you will not come. [J/e gets Cokks up on pick-hack Cokes. Stay, Numps, stay, set me down : I have lost my pui'se, Numps. O my purse ! One of my fine purses is gone ! Mrs. Over. Is it indeed, brother ? Cokes. Ay, as I am an honest man, would I were an arrant rogue else ! a plague of all roguy damn'd cut-purses for me. lExamines his pockets. Waspe. Bless 'em with all my heart, vathall my heart, do you see ! now, as I am no infidel, that I know of, I am glad on't. Ay, I am, (here's my witness,) do you see, sir ? I did not tell you of his fables, I ! no, no, I am a dull malt horse, I, I know nothing. Are you not justly served, in your con- science, now, speak in your conscience.'^ Much good do you with all my heart, and his good heart that has it, with all my heart again. Edg. This fellow is very charitable, would he had a purse too ! but I must not be too bold all at a time. [Aside. Cokes. Nay, Numps, it is not my best purse. Waspe. Not your best ! death ! why should it be your worst ? why should it be any, indeed, at all.' answer me to that, give me a reason from you, why it should be any } Cokes. Nor my gold, Numps ; I have that yet, look here else, sister. [Shews the other purse. Waspe. Why so, there's all the feeling he has ! 3Irs. Over. 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. Faith, and he'll try ere you be out o' the Fair. [Aside. Cokes. Come, mistress Grace, prithee be not melancholy for my mischance ; sorrow will not keep it, sweet heart. Grace. I do not think on't, sir. Cokes. '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 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, v,'hom I will beat to begin with. [Beats Overdo. Over. Hold thy hand, child of wrath, and heii 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 ! [Exeunt SCENE I. 519 ACT III. SCENE I.— The Fair. Lantiiorn Leathbruead, Joan Trash, and others, sii- ting by their wares, as before. Enter Val. Whit, Haggise, and Bristle. Whit. Nay, tisli all gone, now ! dish tish, phen tou wilt not be phitin call, master offisher, phat ish a man te better to lishen out noyshes for tee, and tou art in an oder orld, being very sliuffishient 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 I 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 w^atch- man knows what a clock it is. Whit. Shleeping orvaking : ash well as te clock Uimshelf, or te Jack dat shtrikes him. Bri. Let's enquire of master Leatherhead, or Joan Trash here. — Master Leatherhead, do you hear, master Leatherhead ? Whit. If it be a Ledderhead, ti^h a very tick Ledderhead, tat sho mush noish vill 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 she-emest to be. Trash. Why, what an you have, captain Whit ? I he has his choice of jerkins, you may see by that, ! imd his caps too, I assure you, when he pleases to I be either sick or employed. Leath. God-a-mercy Joan, answer for me. j Whit. Away, be not sheen in my company, here i be shentlemen, and men of vorship. \_Exeunt Haggise and Bristle. Enter Quarlous and Winwife, Quar. We had wonderful ill luck, to miss this I prologue o' the purse : but the best is, we shall i have five acts of him ere night : he'll be spectacle I enough, I'll answer for't. j Whii. 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. Winiv. Why, there's twelve pence, pray thee wilt thou begone .'' WJiit. Tou art a vorthy man, and a vorshipful man still. Quar. Get you gone, rascal. Whit. I do mean it, man. Prinsh Quarlous, if tou hasht need on me, tou shalt find me here at Ursla's, I vill see phat ale and punque ish i' te pigsty for tee, bless ty good vorship. \_Exit. Quar. Look ! who comes here : John Littlewit ! Wiyiio. And his wife, and my widow, her mo- ther : the whole family. Quar. 'Slight, you must give thern all fairings now. Wimv. Not I, 1 '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, Dame Purecraft, John Littlewit, and Mrs. Littlkwit. 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 youi 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 F Busy. 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. Winiv. Rather driving them to the pens* tor he I will let them look upon nothing. Enter Knocke.m and Vv hit from Ursula's booth. Knock. Gentlewomen, the w^eather'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 ; \^Foints to the sign, a pig's head, u-ith 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, httle mistress, with . shweet sauce, and crackling, like de bay-leaf i' de 320 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT in. fire, la! tou 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 best 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, itee, wee ! Busy. No, but your mother, religiously-wise, conceiveth it may offer 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 it 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. Littlewit, Busy, and Purecraft. 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 cliarge. \_Exit Whit. Busy, \_within.] A pig prepare presently, let a pig be prepared to us. Enter Mooncalf and Ursula. Moon. 'Slight, who be these } Urs. Is this the good service, Jordan, you'd do me.^ Knock. Why, Urse, why, Urse ? thou'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 I 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 Mooncalf."] 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. C the right breed, thou shalt try 'em by the teeth, Urse ; where's this Whit ? Re-enter Whit. 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 I in, and /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 Knockem, 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. ril warrant thee, then, no wife out of the widow's hundred : if I 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 s-tung 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 will, 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 ! and they shall have it 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; but 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 the BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. S21 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 cloke ; 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. Winiv. 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, a)id Grace Wellborn, followed by Waspe, loaded with toys. Cokes. Come, mistress Grace, come, sister, here's more fine sights yet, i' faith. Od's 'lid, where's Nuraps ? Leath. What do you lack, gentlemen ? what is't you buy? fine rattles, drums, babies, little logs, and birds for ladies ? what do you lack ? Cokes. Good honest Numps, keep afore, 1 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 would but watch the goods. Look you now, the treble fiddle was e'en almost like to be lost. Waspe. 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 are 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 a 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 ; let's in and comfort him. [They 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 1 Quar. 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 1 '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 1 know'twell 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. Wi7iw. How melancholic mistress Grace is yonder ! pray thee let's go enter ourselves in grace with her. Cokes. Those six horses, friend, I'll have Waspe. How ! Cokes. And the three Jews-trumps ; and half a dozen o' birds, and that drum, (1 have one drum already) and your smiths ; I like that device of your smiths, very pretty well ; and four halberts and, let me see, that fine painted great lady and her three women for state, I'll have. Waspe. No, the shop ; buy the whole shoj), it will be best, the shop, the shop I Leath. 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 masqi;e 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. [,Runs to her stop. Tlrtspe. There's the t'other springe, y .'^22 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT 111. 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, would you ? what's the price on you, jerkin and all, as you stand ? have you any qualities ? Trash. Yes, good-man, 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 .J' Trash. 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 ; and he engrosses all, 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 ! there's a stately thing ! Numps ? sister.!* — and my wedding gloves too I 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 ! and then Til have this poesie put to them, 1^ or 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 wise&t act that ever ' did in my wardship. Waspe. Like enough! I shall say any thing, I ! Enter Edgworth, Nightingale and People, followed, 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 which 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. \_Askle. Edg. [To NiGHTiNGALK.] Youdcr he is buying of gingerbread ; set in quickly, before he part with too much of his money. Night. [Advancing and singing.] My masters, and f riends, 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 M'i A 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 devil ; they say he walks hereabout ; 1 would see him walk now. Look you, sister, here, here, \^He shews his purse boastingli/.'] 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 SCENE I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 323 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. Cckes. So I heard them say ! Pray thee mind him not, fellow ; he'll have an oar in every 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.] My 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. And 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 both give you warning, for, and the cut-purse. Youth, youth, thou had'st better been starved 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 9 As if they regarded or places or time ! Examples have been Of some that were seen In Westminster-hall, yea the pleaders betiveen ; Then why should the judges be free from this curse. More than my poor self, for cutting the purse 9 Cokes. God a mercy for that ! why should they be more free indeed ? Night. Youth, youth, thou had'st better been starved 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 I I would fain rub mine elbow now, but I dare not pull out my hand. — On I pray thee ; he that made this ballad shall be poet to my masque. Night. At Worcester 'tis known 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 or worse, Are those that so venture their necks for a purse! 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 poetry so well a good while. [_Aside. Cokes. Youth, youth, <§-c. ; where's this youth now ? a man must call upon him for his own good, and yet he will not appear. Look here, here's for him ; [Shews his purse."] handy dandy, which hand will he have ? On, I pray thee with the rest ; I 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 the gallows at executions, They stick not the stare-abouts purses to take. Nay one without grace, At a f/flr] better place. At court, and in Christmas, before the hinges 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. {^Sings.'] 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 ! 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 hi" longing. Cokes. Look you, sister, [Shews his purse again.] here, here, where is't now ? which pocket is't in, for a wager ? 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. [Aside. 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. [As Nightingale sings, Edgworth yets up to Cokes, and tickles him in the ear with a straw 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 I O he has lighted on the wrong pocket y 2 324 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT 111. 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 sound, And know that you ought not, by honest men's fall. Advance your own fortunes, to die above ground; And though you go gay In silks, as you may. It is not the highway to heaven ( as 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 starved by thy nurse. Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. All. An excellent ballad ! an excellent ballad I Edg. Friend, let me have the first, let me have the first, I pray you. {^As Nightingale reaches out the ballad, 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 ? Edg. 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 but e'en now, at Youth, youth. Night. I hope you suspect not me, sir ? Edg. Thee ! that were a jest indeed ! dost thou think the gentleman is foolish } where hadst thou hands, I pray thee ? Away, ass, away ! \_Exit Night. Over. I 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 fellow : you shall suspect him. He was at your t'other purse, you know! 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. [_Thcy 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 ! I thought you a simple fellow, when my man Numps heat you in the morning, and pitied you. Mrs. Over. So did T, 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 likei swords ! lAsidf., 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 him,'] you'll go and crack the vermin you breed now, will you.^ 'tis very fine ; will you have the truth on't ? they are such retchless flies as you are, that blow cut- purses abroad in every corner ; your foolish having of money makes them. An 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 Hill, again, if I travel any more, call me Coriat with all my heart. \_Exeunt Waspe, Cokes, and Mrs. Overdo, followed by Edgworth. Quar. [Stops Edgworth.] Stay, sir, I must have a word with you in private. Do you hear ? Edg. With me, sir 1 what's your pleasure, good sir? Quar. 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 with 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, sirrah, 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. Where shall I find you ? Quar. Somewhere i' the Fair, hereabouts : dis- patch it quickly. [Exit Edgworth.] I would SOENK I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. {325 fain see the careful fool deluded! Of all beasts, I love the 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 guardian, justice Overdo, who is answerable to that description in every 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 will 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 you are fallen into, lady, I wonder you can endure them. Grace. Sir, they that cannot work their fetters off must wear them. Winw. You see what care they have on you, to leave you thus. Grace. Faith, the same they have of themselves, sir. I cannot greatly complain, if this were all the plea I had against them. Winw. 'Tis true : but wiU you please to with- draw 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 yourself 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'll not be seen by him. Quar. No, you were not best, he'd tell 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 ? lExeunt. Enter Littlewit /rom Ursula's booth, followed bp Mrs. Littlewit. Lit. Do you hear. Win, Win } Mrs. Lit. What say you, John } Lit. While they are paying the reckoning, Win, I'll tell 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 in the great lawyer's mouth, after an eloquent pleading ? I assure you, they longed, Win ; good Win, go in, and long. [Exeunt Littlewit and Mrs. Littlewit. Trash. I think we are rid of our new customer. brother Leatherhead, we shall hear no more oi 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 Knockem and Busy. Knock. Sir, I 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 vanity. 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 0/ 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. Purecraft. 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 pig! 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. Thou art the seat of the beast, O Smithfield, and I will leave thee ! Idolatry peepeth out on every side of thee. [Goes forward. Knock. An excellent right hypocrite ! now his belly is full, he falls a railing and kicking, the jade. A very good vapour 1 I'll in, and joy Ursla, with telling how her pig works ; 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 thou, the Nebu- chadnezzar, the proud Nebuchadnezzar of the Fair, that sett'st it up, for children to fall down to, ani worship. Leath. Cry you mercy, sir ; will you buy a fid- dle to fill up your noise ? Re-enter Littlewit and his Wife. Lit. Look, AVin, 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, ai.d 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. 320 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT IV Busy. The sin of the Fair provokes me, I cannot be silent. Pure. Good brother Zeal ! heaths 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 Leatherhead, Busy \_to Mrs. Purecraft]. 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 trust with them. Busy. And this idolatrous grove of images, this flasket of idols, which I will pull down {^Overthrows the gingerbread basket. Trash. O my ware, my ware ! God bless it ! Busy. In my zeal, and glory to be thus exer- cised. Re-enter JjEAJHEnHEAD, with Bristle, Haggise, and other Officers. Leath. Here he is, pray you lay hold on his zeal ; we cannot sell a whistle for him in tune. Stop his noise first. Busy. Thou canst not ; 'tis a sanctified noise : 1 will make a loud and most strong noise, till I have daunted the profane enemy. And (or thia cause Ijeath. Sir, here's no man afraid of yyu, oi yor.r cause. You shall swear it in the stocks, sir. Busy. I will thrust myself into the stocks, upon the pikes of the land. [They seize him. Leath. Carry him away. Pure. What do you mean, wicked men ? Busy. Let them alone, I fear them not. {Exeunt Officers with Bvsv, followed by Dame Purecrakt. Lit. Was not this shilling well ventured, 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 'urn, John. {Whispers him. Lit. O, is that all, Win ? we'll go back to cap- tain Jordan, to the pig-woman's. Win, he'll 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 Littlewit 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. {ExcimU ACT IV. SCENE 1.— The Fair. Booths, Stalls, a pair of Stocks, &c. Enter Cokes, Bristle, Haggise, and Pocher, with Overdo, followed by Troubleall. 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 1 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 ? 1 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. Hag. ' What is he ? — Bring him up to the stocks there. Why bring you him not up ? [Overdo is brought forivard. Re-enter Troubleall. 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 you ; you might keep them, and save pics, I wuss. {Exit Trouijleall, 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 will beget 1 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. lAsidt BOBNK I. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Hag. Come, sir, here's a place for you to preach in. Will you put in your leg ? Over. That I will, cheerfully. IThei/put him in the Stocks. Bri. O' my conscience, 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 Nuraps. Hag. You may, sir, I warrant you ; where's the t'other bawler ? fetch him too, you shall find them both fast enough. lExit Cokes. Over. In the midst of this tumult, 1 will 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. lAsidc. 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. lEj^lt. Bri. He is a fellow that is distracted, they say ; one Troubleall : he was an officer in the court of pie-poudres here last year, and put out of his place by justice Overdo. Over. Ha! iAside. 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 will 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. IJsidc. Re-enter Troubleall. Tro. If you cannot shew me Adam Overdo, I am in doubt of you; I am afraid you cannot answer it. lExit. 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 lAsidc. Sri. He will sit as upright on the bench, an you raai-k him, as a candle in the socket, and give light to the whole court in every business. Hag. But he will burn blue, and swell like a boil, God bless us, an he be angry. Bri. Ay, and he will 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. lAsidc. Hag. Well, take him out o' the stocks again ; we'll go a sure way to work, we'll have the ace of hearts of our side, if we can. IThey take Overdo out. Enter Pocher, and Officers with Busy, foUotved bp Mrs. PURKCRAFT. Poch. Come, bring him away to his fellow there. — Master Busy, we shall rule your legs, I hope, though we cannot rule your tongue. Busy. 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 Troubleall. 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 tlie word, to give thanks for removing any scorn intended to the brethren. \_Exeunt all but Troubleall. 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 Edgworth and Nightingale. Pdg. Come away, Nightingale, I pray thee. Tro. Whither go you where's your warrant Bdg. 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. lExit. Edg. What means he ? Ni(jht. A madman that haunts the Fair ; 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 corner 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. iWhistles. Cokes. By this 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, 1 pray thee ? nay, on with thy tune ; I have no such haste for an answer : I'll practise with thee. Enter Costard-monger, with a Basket of Pears. Cos. Buy any pears, very fine pears, pears fine [Nightingale sets his foot afore him, and he fail! with his Basket. 328 BARTHOLO MEW FAIR. ACT l\r Cokes. Ods so! a muss, a muss, a muss, a muss! \_Falls a scrambling for 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 trouble.s you. Cokes, Do, and my cloke an thou wilt, and my hat too. Edg. A delicate great boy ! 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. Edg. Purse ! 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. Edg. Away, Nightingale ; that way. [NiGHTiNGALa ruus off withhis sword, cloke, and hat. Cokes. I think I am furnish'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 hat ; ha! ods 'lid, is he goue.^ thieves, thieves ! help me to cry, gentlemen. \_Exit liastily. 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 enough 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 I think the gentleman would have a reversion of, that spoke to me for it so earnestly. \_Exit. 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 in'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 wiU triumph now ! — Enter Troubleall. 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 111 please thee ; I have money enough there. 1 have lost myself, and my cloke, and my hat, and uiy fine sword, and my sister, and Numps, and mistress Grace, a gentlewoman that I should nave married, and a cut-work handkerchief she Kave 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 a wise fellow indeed ? as if a man need a warrant to lose any thing with Tro. Yes, Justice Overdo's warrant, a man maj get and lose with, I'll stand to't. Cokes. Justice Overdo ! dost thou know him 1 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 Adam Overdo underneath, (here I'll stay you,) I'll obey you, and I'll 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 you hear ? Tro. I think I am ; if justice Overdo sign to it, I am, and so we are all : he'll quit us all, multii)ly us all. [Exeunt SCENE II.— Another part of the Fair. Enter Grace, Quarlous, and Winwife, ivith 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 quarrell'd for, or have my name or fortune made the question of men's swords. Quar. 'Sblood, Wv^ love you. Grace. If you both love me, as you pretend, your own reason will tell you, but one can enj.iy 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 a friend 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 he, 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. Qitar. Why, wherefore should you not.' what should hinder you Grace. If you would not jpre it to my modesty, •tcEzMS ni. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. allow it yet to my wit ; give me so much of woman and cunning, as not to betray myself impertinently. How can I 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. Quar. Would I were put forth to making for you then. Grace. It may be you are, you know not what is toward you: 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 may be 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. Winw. 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 yoi.r endea- vours to work together friendly and jointly each to the other's fortune, and ha"ve 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 ; Arffalus. Winw. And mine out of the Play Falemon. {They write. Enter Tkoiibleall. Tro. Have you any warrant for this, gentle- men ? Quar. Winw. Ha 1 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 ! Tro. Heaven quit you, gentlemen ! Quar. 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 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. [Marks 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 conscience ; 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. Wirnv. How now, lime-twig, hast thou touch'd ? Edi). Not yet, sir ; except you would go with me and see it, it is not worth speaking on. The act is nothing without a witness. 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 Pupny, 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, that you may strip him of his clothes, if you will. I'll under- take to geld him for yr>w, if you had but a surgeon ready to sear him. And mistress Justice there, is the goodest woman ! 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. 'Shght, 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 rxiean time ; I'll bring the license. — Lead, which way is't Edg. Here, sir, you are on the backo'the booth already ; you may hear the noise. \_Excunt. SCENE III.— Another part of the Fair, Ursula's Booth as before. Knockem, Whit, Northern, Puppy, Cuttino, Waspk, and Mrs. Overdo, discovered, all in a state of in- toxication. Knock. Whit, bid Val. Cutting continue the vapours for a lift, Whit, for a lift. lAtide to Whit. JVor. I'll ne mare, I'll ne mare ; the eale's too meeghty. Knock. How now ! my gaUoway 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. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT IV. 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. \_They 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 theie. Enter behind, Edgworth luith Quarloi's. £dff. They are at it still, sir ; this they call va- pours. Whit. He shall not pardon dee, captain : dou shalt not be pardoned. Pre'dee, shweet-heart, do not pardon him. Cut. '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 meensh, 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 leny 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'll stand to it. Whit. Yes, I tink it dosh shtink, captain : all vapour dosh shtink. Waspe. Nay, then it does not stink, sir, aAd 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. iThcy drink again. Pup. Vriend, will you mind this that we do ? [.Offering 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 ? Ed(/. You shall see, sir. [Goes up to Waspe. Nor. I'll ne mare, my waimb warkes too mickle with this auready. Pdg. 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 ? does no man mind me, say you ? Cut. Yes, sir, every man here minds you, but how ? Waspe. Nay, 1 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 ! 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 rae, 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, tvhile Edgworth steals the license out of the box, and exit. Mrs. Over. Why gentlemen, why gentlemen, I charge you upon my authority, con-serve 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. Ctit. In some sort vou may, and in some sort you may not, sir. SCKNK HI. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. .33 i 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. Waspe. No exceeding neither, sir. Knock. No, that vapour is too lofty. Qnar. 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 in circle. 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 turn'd up, sir. Quar. How, rascal ! are you playing with my beard ? I'll break circle with you. i,Thcj/ all draw and fight. Pup. Nor. Gentlem-en, gentlemen ! Knock. [Aside to Whit.] Gather up, Whit, ga- ther up, Whit, good vapours. [Exit, while W hit takes up the swords, clokes, SfC. 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 Q,uarlous and Cuttinq. 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's 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 pitied by your tuft-tuffata 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 other "Watchmen. What are you, sir ? Bri. We be men, and no infidels ; 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 1 '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 your fleas and your flock- beds, you rogues, your kennels, and lie down close. Bri. Down ! yes, we will down, I warrant you : down with him, in his majesty's name, down, down with him, and carry him away to the pigeon-holes. [.Some 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. Whit. Stay, Bristle, here ish anoder brash of drunkards, but very quiet, special drunkards, will pay de five shilUngs very well. [Points to North- ern and Puppy, drunk, and asleep, 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 todei' 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 taik him hensh, and make ty best on him. [Exeunt Bristle and the rest of the Watch with Northern and Puppy.] — How now, woman o'shilk, vat ailsh ty shwect 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 [ Wh ispers 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 Ursula. Ui-s. How now, rascal ! what roar you for, old pimp ? Whit. Here, put up de clokes, Ursh ; de pur- chase. Pre de now, shweet Ursh, help dis good brave voman to a jordan, an't be. Urs. 'Slid call your captain Jordan to her, can you not ? Whit. Nay, pre de leave dy consheits, and bring the velvet woman to de Urs. I bring her ! 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'll stay her time, so. [£"^ (7. 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 Knockejm. 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 vitis 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 ])eace's wife, I do love men of war, and the sons of the sword, when they come before my husbandv Knock. Say'st thou so, filly? thou shalt liav) 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 Ursula, /oWowed by Littlewit, and Mrs. LiTTLEWIT. Lit. Good ga'mere Urse, Win and I aie ex 532 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT ZV. 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 then 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. lExit. 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- worth, 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. lExit 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, short 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 ; de honest woman's life is a scurvv 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 vill 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 Rum ford 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 hornsh, la. Knock. Yes, and wear a dressing, top and top- gallant, 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 like 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.l Help, help here ! Knock. How now ? what vapour's there ? ; , lie-enter Ursula. Urs. O, you are a sweet ranger, and look well to your walks ! Yonder is your punk of Turnbuil, ramping Alice, has fallen upon the poor gentle- woman within, and puU'd her hood over her ears, and her hair through it. Enter Alice, beating and driving in Mrs. Overdo. 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-taffata haunches. Knock. How now, Alice ! Alice. The poor common whores can have no traffic for the privy rich ones ; 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 ! Urs. Thou tripe of Turnbuil ! 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 ruff, slit waistcoat, make rags of petticoat, ha ! go to, vanish for fear of vapours. Whit, a kick, Whit, in the parting vapour. [They kick out Alice.] Come, brave woman, take a good heart, thou shalt be s lady too. Whit. Yes fait, dey shall all both be ladies, and write madam : I vill 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 I 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 Ursula, Mrs. Littlewit, and Mrs. Overdo.] — Hide and be hidden, ride and be ridden, says the vapour of experience. Enter Tboubleall. 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. I Tro. I may not drink without a warrant, 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. I pre dee now, be very brief, captain ; for de new ladies stay for dee. lExit, and re-enters with a can BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. SCENE IV. Knock. O, as brief as can be, here 'tis already. f Gives Trouble ALL apaper.^ Adam Overdo. Tro. Why now I'll pledge you, captain. Knock. Drink it off, I'll come to thee anon ijgain. \_Exeunt. SCENE lY.— The back of Ursula's Booth. OvKRDo in the stocks, People, &c. Enter Quarlous with the license, and Edgworth. Quar. Well, sir, you are now discharged ; be- ware of being spied hereafter. Edg. Sir, will it please you, enter in here at Ursula's, and take part of a silken gown, a velvet petticoat, or a wrought smock ; 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 trade of life. lExit Edg- worth.] — I am sorry I employ 'd this fellow, for he thinks me such ; /acinus quosinquinat, cequat. But it was for sport ; and would I make it s; rious, 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 Watch, with Waspb. Waspe. Sir, you are a Welsh cuckold, and a prating runt, and no constable. Bri. You say very well.— Come, put in his leg in the middle roundel, and let him hole there. [Theyput him in the stocks. Waspe. You stink of leeks, methegUn, 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. Quar. 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 Haggise. Bri. How now, neighbour Haggise, what says \ustice Overdo's woi-ship to the other offenders ? Hag. Why, he sayys just nothing ; what should he say, or where should he say ? He is not to bo 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 Watch tvith Busy. 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- bour Haggise ; come, sir, [to Wasp^:.] here is company for you ; heave up the stocks. \_As they open the stocks, Waspe puts his shoe on his hand, and slips it in for his leg. Waspe. I shall put a trick upon your Welsh diligence perhaps. lAside. Bri. Put in your leg, sir. [To Busy. 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. [/o Overdo.] And do you sigh and groan too, or rejoice in your affliction ? Over. I 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, neqne mors, neque viucula, terrent. And therefore, as another friend of tliine says, I think it be thy friend Persius, Nan te qnce- siveris extra. Quar. What's here ! a stoic in the stocks ? the fool is turn'd philosopher. Busy. Friend, I will leave to communicate my spirit with you, if I hear any more of those super- stitious relics, those Usts of Latin, the very rags of Rome, and patches of popery. Waspe. Nay, an you begin to quarrel, gentle- men, I'll leave you. I have paid for quarrelling too lately : look you, a device, but shifting in a hand for a foot. God be wi' you. ISlips out his hand. Busy. Wilt thou then leave thy brethren in tribulation ? Waspe. For this once, sir. [_Exit, runniiui. Busy. Thou art a halting neutral ; stay him there, stop him, that will not endure the heat of persecution. Bri. How now, what's the matter ? Busy. He is fled, he is fled, and dares not sit it out. Bri. What, has he made an escape ! which way follow, neighbour Haggise. [_Exeunt II AOGisE and Watch. Enter Dame Purecraft. Pure. O me, in the stocks ! have the wicked prevail 'd ? Busy. Peace, religious sister, it is my calling, comfort yourself; an extraordinary calling, and done for my bcLier standing, my surer standing, hereafter. 334 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT V. Enter Troobleall, with a can. Tro. By whose warrant, by whose warrant, this ? Quar. O, here's my man dropt in I look'd for. Over. Ha ! Pure. O, good sir, they have set the faithful here to be wonder'd at ; and provided holes for the holy of the land. Tro. Had they warrant for it ? shew'd they justice Overdo's hand ? if they had no warrant, they shall answer it. Re-enter Haggish, Bri. Sure you did not lock the stocks suffi- ciently, neighbour Toby. Hag. No ! see if you can lock them better. Bri. They are very sufficiently lock'd, and truly ; yet something is in the matter. Tro. True, your warrant is the matter that is in question; by what warrant ? Bri. Madman, hold your peace, I will put you in his room else, in the very same hold, do you see ? Quar. How, is he a madman ! Tro. Shew me justice Overdo's warrant, I obey you. Hag. You are a mad fool, hold your tongue. lExeiint Haggise and Bristle. Tro. In justice Overdo's name, I drink to you, and here's my warrant. IShews his can. Over. Alas, poor wretch ! how it yearns my heart for him ! lAside. Quar. If he be mad, it is in vain to question him. I'll try him though. — Friend, there was a gentlewoman shew'd you two names some hours since, Argalus and Palemon, to mark in a book ; which of them was it you mark'd ? Tro. I mark no name but Adam Overdo, that is the name of names, he only is the sufficient ma- gistrate ; and that name I reverence, shew it me. Quar. This fellow's mad indeed : I am further off now than afore. Over. 1 shall not breathe in peace till I have made him some amends. [_Aside. Quar. Well, I will make another use of him is come in my head : I have a nest of beards in my trunk, one something like his. Re-enter Bristle and Haggise. Bri. This mad fool has made me that I know not whether I have lock'd the stocks or no ; I think I lock'd them. [Tries the locks. Tro. Take Adam Overdo in your mind, and fear nothing. Bri, 'Slid, madness itself! hold thy peace, and take that. IStrikes him. Tro. Strikest thou without a Avarrant ? take thou that. [_They fight, and leave open the stocks in the scuffle. Busy. We are delivered by miracle ; fellow in fetters, let us not refuse the means ; this madness was of the spirit : the malice of the enemy hath mock'd itself. [Exennt Busy and Overdo. Pure. Mad do they call him ! the world is mad in error, but he is mad in truth : I love him o' the sudden (the cunning man said all true) and shall love him more and more. How well it becomes a man to be mad in truth ! O, that I might be his yoke-fellow, and be mad with him, what a many should we draw to madness in truth with us 1 lEjsit. Bri. How now, all 'scaped ! where's the woman } it is witchcraft ! her velvet hat is a witch, o' my conscience, or my key ! the one. — The madman was a devil, and I am an ass ; so bless me, my place, and mine office 1 [Exeunt, affrighted. ACT V. SCENE I.— The Fair, as before. A Booth. Lanthorn Leatherhead, dressed as a puppet-show man, FiLCHER, a7td Sharkwell with a flag. Leath. Well, luck and Saint Bartholomew ! out with the sign of our invention, in the name of wit, and do you beat the drum the while : all the foul i' the Fair, I mean all the dirt in Smithfield, — that's one of master Littlewit's carwhitchets now — will be thrown at our banner to-day, if the matter does not please the people. O the motions that I Lanthorn Leatherhead have given light to, in my time, since my master Pod died ! Jerusalem was a stately thing, and so was Nineveh, and the city of Norwich, and Sodom and Gomorrah, with the rising of the prentices, and pulling down the bawdy-houses there upon Shrove-Tuesday ; but the Gun-powder plot, there was a get-penny ! I have presented that to an eighteen or twenty pence audience, nine times in an afternoon; Your home- bom projects prove ever the best, they are so easy and familiar ; they put too much learning in their things now o'days : and that I fear will be the Fpoil of this. Littlewit ! I say, Micklewit ! if not too mickle ! look to your gathering there, goodman Filcher. Filch. I warrant you, sir. Leath. An there come any gentlefolks, take two- pence apiece, Sharkwell. Shark. I warrant you, sir, three-pence an we can. [Exeunt. — ♦ — SCENE II.-— Another part of the Fair. Enter Overdo, disguised like a Porter. Over. This latter disguise, I have borrow'd of a porter, shall carry me out to all my great and good ends; which however interrupted, were never destroyed in me : neither is the hour of my seve- rity yet come to reveal myself, wherein, cloud-like, I will break out in rain and hail, lightning and thunder, upon the head of enormity. Two main works I have to prosecute : first, one is to invent some satisfaction for the poor kind wretch, who is out of his wits for my sake, and yonder I see him coming, I will walk aside, and pi-oject for it. Enter Winwife and Grace. Winw, I wonder where Tom Qnarlous is, thai le returns not : it may be he is struck in here to s,eek u8. { Grace. See, hera's mx nr.adiuan again. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. Enter Q,i!AHfXjvs, in Troubleall's clothes , followed bp Dame Purecraft. Quar. I have made myself as like him, as his gowu and cap will give me leave. Jhire. Sir, I love you, and would be glad to be mad with you in truth. Winw. How ! my widow in love with a madman ? Pure. Verily, I can be as mad in spirit as you. Qtiar. By whose warrant ? leave your canting. Gentlewoman, have I found you [To mistress Grace.] save ye, quit ye, and multiply ye! Where's your book ? 'twas a sufficient name I mark'd, let me see't, be not afraid to shew't me. Grace. What would you with it, sir } Quar. Mark it again and again at your service. Grace. Here it is, sir, this was it you mark'd. Quar. Palemon ! fare you well, fare you well. Winio. How, Palemon ! Grace. Yes, faith, he has discovered it to you now, and therefore 'twere vain to disguise it longer ; I am yours, sir, by the benefit of your fortune. Winw. And you have him, mistress, beUeve it, that shall never give you cause to repent her benefit : but make you rather to think that in this choice she had both her eyes. Grace. I desire to put it to no danger of protes- tation, [_Exeunt Grace and Winwike. Quar. Palemon the word, and Winwife the man! Pure. Good sir, vouchsafe a yoke-fellow in your madness, shun not one of the sanctified sisters, that would draw with you in truth. Quar. Away, you are a herd of hypocritical proud ignorants, rather wild than mad ; fitter for woods, and the society of beasts, than houses, and the congregation of men. You are the second part of the society of canters, outlaws to order and dis- cipline, and the only privileged church-robbers of Christendom. Let me alone : Palemon the word, and Winwife the man 1 Pure. I must uncover myself unto him, or I shall never enjoy him, for all the cunning men's promises. [^Aside.'] Good sir, hear me, I am worth six thousand pound, my love to you is become my rack ; I'll tell you all and the truth, since you hate the hypocrisy of the party-coloured brotherhood. These seven years I have been a wilful holy widow, only to di-aw feasts and gifts from my entangled suitors : I am also by office an assisting sister of the deacons, and a devourer, instead of a distribu- tor of the alms. I am a special maker of mar- riages for our decayed brethren with our rich widows, for a third part of their wealth, when they are mar- ried, for the relief of the poor elect : as also our poor handsome young virgins, with our wealthy bachelors or widowers ; to make them steal from their husbands, when I have confirmed them in the faith, and-got all put into their custodies. And if 1 have not my bargain, they may sooner turn a scolding drab into a silent minister, than make me ^eave pronouncing reprobation and damnation unto them. Our elder, Zeal-of the-laud, would have had me, but I know him to be the capital knave of the land,makiughimself richjby being made afeoffee in trust to deceased brethren, and cozening their heirs, by swearing the absolute gift of their inherit- ance. And thus having eased my conscience, and utter'd my heart with the tongue of niylove; enjoy all my deceits together, I beseech you. I should not have revealed this to you, but that in time I think you are mad, and I hope you II think me so too, sir.' Quar. Stand aside, I'll answer you presently, [//e walks by.'] Why should I not marry this six thousand pound, now I think on't, and a good trade too that she has beside, ha? The t' other wench Winwife is sure of ; there's no expectation for me there. Here I may make myself some saver yet, if she continue mad, there's the question. It is money that I want, why should not I marry the money when 'tis offer'd me } I have a license and all, it is but razing out one name, and putting in another. There's no playing with a man's for- tune ! I am resolved : I were truly mad an I would not ! — Well, come yoiir ways, follow me, an yon will be mad, I'll shew you a warrant ! [_Takes her along with him. Pure. Most zealously, it is that I zealously desire. Over. [Stopping him. 1 Sir, let me speak with you. Quar. By whose warrant ? Over. The warrant that you tender, and respect so ; Justice Overdo' s. I am the man, friend Trou- bleall, though thus disguised (as the careful magis- trate ought) for the good of the republic in the Fair, and the weeding out of enormity. Do you want a house, or meat, or drink, or clothes ? speak whatsoever it is, it shall be supplied you ; what want you ? Quar. Nothing but your warrant. Over. My warrant ! for what ? Quar. To be gone, sir. Over. Nay, I pray thee stay ; I am serious, and have not many words, nor much time to exchange with thee. Think what may do thee good. Quar. Your hand and seal will do me a great deal of good ; nothing else in the whole Fair tliat I know. Over. If it were to any end, thou shouldst have it willingly. Quar. Why, it will satisfy me, that's end enough to look on ; an you will not give it me, let me go. Over. Alas! thou shalt have it presently; I'll but step into the scrivener's here by, and bring it. Do not go away. \_Exit. Quar. Why, this madman's shape will prove a very fortunate one, I think. Can a ragged robe produce these effects } if this be the wise justice, and he bring me his hand, I shall go near to make some use on't. Re-enter Overdo. He is come already ! Over. Look thee ! here is my hand and seal, Adam Overdo ; if there be any thing to be written above in that paper that thou want'st now, or at any time hereafter, think on't, it is my deed. I deliver it so ; can your friend write ? Quar. Her hand for a witness, and all is well. Over. With all my heart. lUe urges her to sign it. Quar. Why should not I have the conscience to make this a bond of a thousand pound now, or what I would else {_AsiJe. Over. Look you, there it is, and I deliver it as my deed again. Quar. Let us now proceed in madness. lExeunl QuARLOUS and Dame Purecbakt. Over. Well, my conscience is much eased ; I have done my part, though it doth him no good 530 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT V yet Adam hath offered satisfaction. The sting is removed from hence! Poor man, he is much al- tered with his affliction, it has brought him low. Now for my other work, reducing the young man, I have follow'd so long in love, from the brink of his bane to tlie centre of safety. Here, or in some such like vain place, I shall be sure to find him. I will wait the good time. [Exit. SCENE III. — Another part of the Fair. The Puppet-show Booth, as before. Enter Sharkwell and Filcher, tvith bills, and Cokes in his doublet and hose,fuUowcd by the Boys of the Fair. Cokes. How now! what's here to do, friend? art thou the master of the monuments Shar. 'Tis a motion, an't please your worship. Enter Overdo behind. Over. My fantastical brother-in-law, master Bartholomew Cokes ! Cokes. A motion ! what's that ! \^Reads.'\ The ancient modern history of Hero and Leander, otherioise called the Touchstone of true Love, with as true a trial of friendship betiveen Damon and Pythias, two faithful friends o' the Bank-side. — Pretty, i' faith, what's the meaning on't.' is't an interlude, or what is't ? Filch. Yes, sir, please you come near, we'll take your money within. Cokes. IBack with these children; they do so follow me up and down ! Enter Little wit. lAt. By your leave, friend. Filch. You must pay, sir, an you go in. Lit. Who, I ! I perceive thou know'st not me ; call the master of the motion. Shark. What, do you not know the author, fel- low Filcher.' You must take no money of him ; he must come in gratis : master Littlewit is a vo- luntary ; he is the author. Lit. Peace, speak not too loud, I would not have any notice taken that I am the author, till we see how it passes. Cokes. Master Littlewit, how dost thou 1 Lit. Master Cokes ! you are exceeding well met : wh&t, in your doublet and hose, without a cloke or a hat } Cokes. I would I might never stir, as I am an honest man, and by that fire ; I have lost all in the Fair, and all my acquaintance too : didst thou meet any body that I know, master Littlewit ? my man Numps, or my sister Overdo, or mistress Grace } Pray thee, master Littlewit, lend me some money to see the interlude here ; I'll pay thee again, as I am a gentleman. If thou'lt but carry me home, I have moiiey enough there. Lit. O, sir, you shall command it ; what, will a crown serve you Cokes. I think it will ; what do we pay for coming in, fellows ? Filch. Two-pence, sir. Cokes. Two-pence! there's twelve-pence, friend: nay, I am a gallant, as simple as I look now ; if you see me with my man about me, and my artil- lery again. Lit. Your man was in the stocks e'en now, sir. Cokes. Who, Numps? Lit. Yes, faith. Cokes. For what, i' faith ? I am glad o' that ; remember to tell me on't anon ; I have enough now. What manner of matter is this, master Littlewit? what kind of actors have you ? are they good actors ? Lit. Pretty youths, sir, all children both old and young; here's the master of 'em Enter Leatherhead, Leath. [aside to Littlewit.] Call me not Lea- therhead, but Lantern. Lit. Master Lantern, that gives light to the business. Cokes. In good time, sir ! I would fain see them, I would be glad to drink with the young company ; which is the tiring-house ? Leath. Troth, sir, our tiring-house is somewhat little ; we are but beginners yet, pray pardon us ; you cannot go upright in't. Cokes. No ! not now my hat is off? what would you have done with me, if you had had me feather and all, as I was once to-day? Have you none of your pretty impudent boys now, to bring stools, fill tobacco, fetch ale, and beg money, as they have at other houses ? Let me see some of your actors. Lit. Shew him them, shew him them. Master Lantern, this is a gentleman that is a favourer of the quality. [Exit Leatherhead. Over. Ay, the favouring of this licentious qua- lity is the consumption of many a young gentle- man ; a pernicious enormity. [Aside. Re-enter Leatherhead, with a basket. Cokes. What ! do they live in baskets ? Leath. They do lie in a basket, sir, they are o' the small players. Cokes. These be players minors indeed. Do you call these players ? Leath. They are actors, sir, and as good as any, none dispraised, for dumb shows : indeed, I am the mouth of them all. Cokes. Thy mouth will hold them all. I think one tailor would go near to beat all this company with a hand bound behind him. Lit. Ay, and eat them all too, an they were in cake-bread. Cokes. I thank you for that, master Littlewit ; a good jest ! Which is your Burbage now.^* Leath. What mean you by that, sir ? Cokes. Your best actor, your Field ? Lit. Good, i'faith ! you are even with me, sir. Leath. This is he, that acts young Leander, sir : he is extremely beloved of the womenkind, they do so affect his action, the green gamesters, that come here I and this is lovely Hero ; this with the beard, Damon ; and this pretty Pythias : this is the ghost of king Dionysius in the habit of a scrivener ; as you shall see anon at large. Cokes. Well, they are a civil company, I like 'em for that ; they offer not to fleer, nor jeer, nor break jests, as the great players do : and then, there goes not so much charge to the feasting of them, or making them drunk, as to the other, by reason of their littleness. Do they use to play perfect? are they never fluster'd? Leath. No, sir, I thank my industry and policy for it ; they are as well govern'd a company, though I say it And here is young Leander, is as proper an actor of his inches, and .shakes his head like an hostler. Cokes. But do you play it according to the printed book ? I have read that. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 337 Leath. By no means, sir. Cukes. No ! how then ? Leath. A better way, sir ; that is too learned and poetical for our audience : what do they know what Hellespont is, guilty of true love's blood ? or what Abydos is ? or the other, Sestos hight? Cokes. Thou art in the right ; I do not know myself. Leath. No, I have entreated master Littlewit to take a little pains to reduce it to a more familiar strain for our people. Cokes. How, T pray thee, good master Littlewit ? Lit. It pleases him to make a matter of it, sir; but there is no such matter, I assure you : I have oniy made it a little easy, and modern for the times, sir, that's all. As for the Hellespont, I imagine our Thames here ; and then Leander I make a dyer's son about Puddle-wharf : and Hero a wench o' the Bank-side, who going over one morning to Old Fish-street, Leander spies her land at Trig-stairs, and falls in love with her. Now do I introduce Cupid, having metamorphosed himself into a drawer, and he strikes Hero in love with a pint of sherry ; and other pretty passages there are of the friendship, that will delight you, sir, and please you of judgment. Cokes. I'll be sworn they shall : I am in love with the actors already, and I'll be allied to them presently. — They respect gentlemen, these fellows : — Hero shall be my fairing : but which of my fair- ings ? — let me see — i' faith, my fiddle ; and Leander my fiddle-stick : then Damon my drum, and Pythias my pipe, and the ghost of Dionysius my hobby-horse. All fitted. Enter Winwife and Grace. Winw. Look, yonder's your Cokes gotten in among his play-fellows ; I thought we could not miss him at such a spectacle. Grace. Let him alone, he is so busy he will never spy us. Leath. Nay, good sir ! [To Cokes, who is handling the puppets. Cokes. I warrant thee I will not hurt her, fellow ; what, dost thou think me uncivil ? 1 pray thee be not jealous ; I am toward a wife. Lit. Well, good master Lantern, make ready to begin that I may fetch my wife ; and look you be perfect, you undo me else, in my reputation. Leath. 1 warrant you, sir, do not you breed too great an expectation of it among your friends ; that's the hurter of these things. JM. No, no, no. lExit. Cokes, ril stay here and see ; pray thee let me see. Winw. How diligent and troublesome he is ! Grace. The place becomes him, raethinks. Over. My ward, mistress Grace, in the company of a stranger ! I doubt I shall be compell'd to discover myself before ray time. liAside. Enter Knockem.Edgworth, and Mrs. JjiiTL^vin, followed hy Whit supporting Mrs. Overdo, masked. Filch. Two-pence apiece, gentlemen, an excel- .ent motion. Knock. Shall we have fine fire-works, and good vapours ? Shark. Yes, captain, and water-works too. IVhit. I pree dee take care o' dy shmall lady there, Edgworth; I will look to dish tall lady myself. Z Zea^A. Welcome, gentlemen, welcome, gentlemen. Whit. Predee mashtero' the monshtersh, help a very sick lady here to a chair to shit in. Leath. Presently, sir. [_A chair is brought in for Mrs. Overdo. Whit. Good fait now, Ursula's ale and acqua- vitae ish to blame for't ; shit dov.-n, shweet-heart, shit down and sleep a little. Edg. [To Mrs. Littlewit.] Madam, you are very welcome hither. Knock. Yes, and you shall see very good vapours. Over. Here is my care come ! I like to see him in so good company : and ^et I wonder that per- sons of such fashion should resort hither. \_Aside, Edg. There is a very private house, madam. Leath. Will it please your ladyship sit, madam? Mrs. Lit. Yes, goodman. They do so all-to- be-madam me, I think they think me a very lady. Edg. What else, madam ? Mrs. Lit. Must I put off my mask to him ? Edg. O, by no means. Mrs. Lit. How should my husband know me then ? Knock. Husband ! an idle vapour ; he must not know you, nor you him : there's the true vapour. Over. Yea! I will observe more of this. [Aside.'\ Is this a lady, friend ? Whit. Ay, and dat is anoder lady, shweet- heart ; if dou hasht a mind to *em, give me twelve-pence from tee, and dou shalt have edei oder on 'em. Over. Ay, this will prove my chiefest enormity I will follow this. lAside. Edg. Is not this a finer life, lady, than to be clogg'd with a husband Mrs. Lit. Yes, a great deal. When v»'ill they begin, trow, in the name o' the motion ? Edg. By and by, madam ; they stay but for company. Knock. Do you hear, puppet-master, these are tedious vapours, when begin you ? Leath. We stay but for master Littlewit, the author, who is gone for his wife : and we begin presently. Mrs. Lit. That's I, that's I. Edg. That was you, lady ; but now you are no such poor thing. Knock. Hang the author's wife, a running vapour ! here be ladies will stay for ne'er a Delia of them all. Whit. But hear me now, here ish one o' de ladish ashleep, stay till shee but vake, man. Enter Waspk. Waspe. How now, friends ! what's here to do ? Filch. Two-pence apiece, sir, the best motion in the Fair. Waspe. I believe you lie ; if you do, I'll have my money again, and beat you. Mrs. Lit. Numps is come ! Waspe. Did you see a master of mine come in here, a tall young 'squire of Harrow o' the Hill, master Bartholomew Cokes ? Filch. I think there be such a one within. Waspe. Look he be, you were best : but it is very likely : I wonder I found him not at all th« rest. I have been at the Eagle, and the Black Wolf, and the Bull with the five legs and two pizzles : — he was a calf at Uxbridge fair two vears agone — and at the dogs that dance the morrice 338 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. I ACT V I and the hare of the Tabor ; and mist him at all these ! Sure this must needs be some fine sight that holds him so, if it have him. Cokes. Come, come, are you ready now ? Leath. Presently, sir. Waspe. Hoyday, he's at work in his doublet and hose ! do you hear, sir, are you employed, that you are bare-headed and so busy ? Cokes. Hold your peace, Numps ; you have been in the stocks, I hear. Waspe. Does he know that ! nay, then the date of my authority is out ; I must think no longer to reign, my government is at an end. He that will correct another must want fault in himself. Winw. Sententious Numps ! I never heard so much from him before. Leath. Sure master Littlewit will not come ; please you take your place, sir ; we'll begin. Cokes. I pray thee do, mine ears long to be at it, and my eyes too. O Numps, in the stocks, Numps ! where's your sword, Numps ! Waspe. I pray you intend your game, sir, let me alone. Cokes. Well then, we are quit for all. Come, sit down, Numps ; I'll interpret to thee : did you see mistress Grace ? It's no matter, neither, now I think on't, tell me anon. Winw. A great deal of love and care he ex- presses ! Grace. Alas, would you have him to express more than he has ? that were tyranny. Cokes. Peace, ho ! now, now. Leath. Gentles, that no longer your expec- tations may wander, Behold our chief actor, amorous Leander. With a great deal of cloth, lappd about him like a scarf. For he yet serves his father, a dyer at Puddle- wharf ; Which place we'll make hold with, to call it our Abydus, As the Bankside is our Sestos ; and let it not be deny'd us. Now as he is beating to make the dye take the fuller, Who chances to come by, but fair Hero in a sculler ; And seeing Leander^ s naked leg and goodly calf, Cast at him from the boat a sheep's eye and au half. Noiv she is landed, and the sculler come back, By and by you shall see what Leander doth lack. Lean. Cole, Cole, old Cole ! Leath. That is the sculler's name without con- troul. Lean. Cole, Cole, I say. Cote ! Leath. We do hear you. Lean. Old Cole. ■Jjeath. Old Cole ! is the dyer turn'd collier ? how do you sell ? Lean. A pox o' your manners, kiss my hole here, and smell. Leath. Kiss your hole and smell! there's manners indeed. Lean. Why, Cole, I say, Cole ! Leath. Is't the sculler you need? Lean. Ay, and be hanged. I^eath. Be hang'd ! look you yonder. Old Cole, you must go hang with master Leander. Cole. Where is he? Lean. Here, Cole: what fairest offairSf Was that fare that thou landedst but now at Trig- stairs Cokes. What was that, fellow ? pray thee tell me, I scarce understand them. Leath. Leander does ask, sir, what fairest oj fairs. Was the fare he landed hut now at Trig-stairs 9 Cole. It is lovely Hero. Lean. Nero ? Cole. No, Hero. Leath. It is Hero Of the Bankside, hesaith, to tell you truth without erring. Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh herring. Leander says no more, hut as fast as he can. Gets on all his best clothes, and will after to the Cokes. Most admirable good, is't not.^ \^Swan. Leath, Stay, sculler. Cole. What say you ? Leath. You must stay for Leander, And carry him to the ivench. Cole. You rogue, I am no pander. Cokes. He says he is no pander. 'Tis a fine language ; I understand it now. Leath. Are you no pander, goodman Cole 9^ here's no man says you are ; Yoii'll grow a hot cole, it seems ; pray you stay for Cole. Will he come away ? {your fare. Leath. What do you say ? Cole. I'd have him come away. Leath. Would you have Leander come away ? ivhy, pray sir, stay. You are angry, goodman Cole ; I believe the fair maid Came over with you a' trust : tell us, sculler, arc you paid ? Cole. Yes, goodman Hogrubber of Pickthatch. Leath. How, Hogrubber of Pickthatch. Cole. Ay, Hogrubber of Pickthatch. Take you that. [Strikes him over the pate. Leath. O, my head ! Cole. Harm watch, harm catch ! Cokes. Harm watch, harm catch, he says ; very good, i'faith : the sculler had like to have knock'd you, sirrah. Leath. Yes, but that his fare call'd him away. Lean. Row apace, row apace, row, row, roiv, row, row. Leath. You are knavishly loaden, sculler., take heed where you go. Cole. Knave in your face, goodman rogue. Lean. Row, row, roiv, row, row. Cokes. He said, knave in your face, friend. Leath. Ay, sir, I heard him ; but there's no talking to these watermen, they will have the laft word. Cokes. Od's my life ! I am not allied to the scul- ler yet ; he shall be Dauphin my boy. But my fiddle-stick does fiddle in and out too much : I pray thee speak to him on't ; tell him I would have him tarry in my sight more. Leath. I pray you be content; you'll have enough on him, sir. Now, gentles, I take it, here is none of you so stupid, But that you Jiavt heard of a little god of love call'd Cupid ; Who out of kindness to Leander, hearing he but saw her. This present day and hour doth turn himself U) a drawer. SCENE III. BARTHOLOMEV^ FAIR. 339 And because he would have their first meeting to be merr^j, He /strikes Hero in, love to him with a pint of sherry ; Which he tells her from amorous Leander is sent her, Who after him into the room of Hero doth venture. [Leander goes into Mistress Hero's room. Jonas. A pint of sack, score a pint of sack in the Coney. Cokes. Sack ! you said but e'en now it should be sherry. Jonas. Why, so it is ; sherry, sherry, sherry. Cokes. Sherry, sherry, sherry ! By my troth he makes me merry. I must have a name for Cupid too. Let me see, thou might'st help me, now, an thou would'st, Numps, at a dead lift : but thou art dreaming of the stocks still. — Do not think on't, I have forgot it ; 'tis but a nine days' wonder, man ; let it not trouble thee. Waspe. I would the stocks were about your neck, sir ; condition I hung by the heels in them till the wonder were off from you, with all my heart. Cokes. Well said, resolute Numps ! but hark you, friend, where's the friendship all this while between my drum Damon, and my pipe Pythias ? Leath. You shall see by and by, sir. Cokes. You think my hobby-horse is forgotten too ; no, I'll see them all enact before I go ; I shall not know which to love best else. Knock. This gallant has interrupting vapours, troublesome vapours ; Whit, puff with him. Whit. No, I pree dee, captain, let him alone ; he is a child, i'faith, la. Leath. Now, gentles, to the friends, who in number are tioo, And lodged in that ale-house in which fair Hero does do. Damon, for some kindness done him the last week, Fs come, fair Hero, in Fish-street, this morning to seek : Pythias dors smell the knavery of the meeting. And now you shall see their true-friendly greeting. Pythias. You whore-masterly slave, you. Cokes. Whore -masterly slave you ! very friendly and familiar, that. Damon. Whore-master in thy face, Thou hast lain with her thyself, I'll prove it in this place. Cokes. Damon says, Pythias has lain with her nimself, he'll prove't in this place. Leath, They are whore-masters both, sir, thafs a plain case. Pythias. You lie like a rogue. Leath. Do I lie like a rogue ? Pythias. A pimp and a scab. Leath. A pimp and a scab. I say, between you, you have both but one drab. Damon. You lie again. Leath. Do I lie again ? Damon. Like a rogue again. Leath. Like a rogue again ? Pythias. And you are a pimp again. Cokes. And you are a pimp again, he says. Damon. A7id a scab again. Cokes. And a scab again, he says. Leath. And I say again, you are both whore- masters, again. And you have both but one drab again. Damon and Pythias. Dost thou, dost thou, dost thou ? [They fall upon him. Leath. Wtiat, both at once ? Pythias. Down with him, Damon. Damon. Pink his guts, Pythias. Leath. What, so malicious ? Will ye murder me, masters both, in my own house $ Cokes. Ho ! well acted, my drum, well acted, my pipe, well acted still ! Waspe. Well acted, with all my heart. Leath. Hold, hold your hands. Cokes. Ay, both your hands, for my sake ! for you have both done well. Damon. Gramercy, pure Pythias. Pythias. Gramercy, dear Damon. Cokes. Gramercy to you both, my pipe and my drum. Pythias and Damon. Come, now tvell together to breakfast to Hero. Leath. ' Tis well you can now go to breakfast to Hero. You have given me my breakfast, with a hone and honero. Cokes. How is't, friend, have they hurt thee.' Leath. O no : Between you and I, sir, we do but make show. — Thus, gentles, you perceive, without any denial, 'Twicct Damon and Pythias here, friendship's true trial. Though hourly they quarrel thus, and roar each with other. They fight you no more than docs brother with brother ; But friendly together, at the next man they meet. They let fly their anger, as here you might see't. Cokes. Well, we have seen it, and thou hast felt it, whatsoe'er thou sayest. What's next, what's next } Leath. This ichile young Leander loith fair Hero is drinking, And Hero grown drunk to any man's thinking ! Yet was it not three pints of sherry could flaie her, Till Cupid distinguished like Jonas the draivcr. From under his apron, where his lechery lurks, Put love in her sack. Now mark how it works. Hero. O Leander, Leander, my dear, my dear Leander, ril for ever be thy goose, so thou'lt be my gander. Cokes. Excellently well said. Fiddle, she'll ever be his goose, so he'll be her gander ; was't not so ? Leath. Yes, sir, but mark his answer now. Lean. And sweetest of geese, before I go to bed, ril swim over the Thames, my goose, thee to tread. Cokes. Brave ! he will swim over the Thames, and tread his goose to-night, he says. Leath. Ay, peace, sir, they'll be angry if they hear you eaves-dropping, now they are setting their match. Lean. But lest the Tliames should be dark, my goose, my dear friend. Let thy tvindow be provided of a candle's end. Hero. Fear not, my gander, T protest I should handle My matters very ill, if J had not a whole candle. Lean. Well then, look to't, and kiss me to boot. Leath. Noiv here come the friends again, Pythias and Damon, And under their clokes they have of bacon a gayn^ mon. Pythias, Drawer, fill some loine here, Leath. How, some wine there ! There's company already, sir, pray forbear. 340 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT V'< Damon. Tw Hero. Leath. Yes, but she will not to be taken. After sack and fresh herring, with your Dunmow- hacon. Pythias. You lie, it's Westfabian. Leath. Westphalian you should say. Damon. If yo\i hold not your peace, you are a coxcomb, I would say. [Leander and Hero kiss. WhaCs here, what's here ? kiss, kiss, upon kiss ! Leath. Ay, ivherefore should they not ? ivhat *Tis mistress Hero. [harm is in this ? Damon. Mistress Hero's a whore. Leath. Is she a whore ? keep you quiet, or, sir, knave, out of door. Damon. Knave out of door ? Hero. Yes, knave out of door. Damon. Whore out of door. [They fall together by the ears. Hero. / say, knave out of door. Damon. / say, whore out of door. Pythias. Yea, so say I too. Hero. Kiss the whore o' the a — . Leath. Noiv you have something to do : You must kiss her o' the a — , she says. Damon a7id Pythias. So we will, so ive will. [They kick her. Hero. O my haunches, O my haunches, hold, Leath. Stand'st thou still! [hold. Leander, where art thou ^ stand' st thou still like a sot. And not offer' st to break both their heads with a pot 9 See who's at thine elbow there ! puppet Jonas and Cupid. Jonas. Upon' em, Leander, be not so stupid. Lean. You goat-bearded slave ! Damon. You whore-master knave ! [They fight. Lean. Thou art a whore-master. Jonas. Whore-masters all. Leath. See, Cupid with a word has tane up the Knock. These be fine vapours ! [brawl. Cokes. By this good day, they fight bravely ; do they not, Numps } Waspe. Yes, they lack'd but you to be their second all this while. Leath. This tragical encounter falling out thus lo busy us, It raises up the ghost of their friend Dionysius ; Not like a mo7iarch, but the master of a school, In a scrivener' s furr'd gown, which shews he is 710 fool : For therein he hath wit enough to keep himself warm. O Damon, he cries, and Pythias, what harm Hath poor Dionysius done you in his grave, That after his death you should fall out thus and rave, And call amorous Leander whore-master knave ? Damon. / cannot, I will not, I promise you, endure it. Rabbi Busy rushes in. Busy. Down with Dagon ! down with Dagon ! 'tis 1, I will no longer endure your profanations. Leath. What mean, you, sir ? Busy. I will remove Dagon there, I say, that idol, that heathenish idol, that remains, as I may say, a beam, a very beam, — not a beam of the sun, nor a beam of the moon, nor a beam of a balance, neither a house- beam, nor a weaver's beam, but a beam in the eye, in the eye of the brethren ; a very great beam, an exceeding great beam ; such as are your stage-players, rimers, and morrice- dancers, who have v/alked hand in hand, in con- tempt of the brethren, and the cause ; and been born out by instruments of no mean countenance. Leath. Sir, I present nothing but what is licensed by authority. Busy. Thou art all license, even licentiousness itself, Shimei ! Leath. I have the master of the revels' hand for't, sir. Busy. The master of the rebels' hand thou hast. Satan's ! hold thy peace, thy scurrility, shut up thy mouth, thy profession is damnable, and in pleading for it thou dost plead for Baal. I have long opened my mouth wide, and gaped ; I have gaped as the oyster for the tide, after thy destruc- tion : but cannot compass it by suit or dispute ; so that I look for a bickering, ere long, and then a battle. Knock. Good Banbury vapours ! Cokes. Friend, you'd have an ill match on't, if you bicker with him here ; though he be no man of the fist, he has friends that will to cuffs for him. Numps, will not you take our side .'' Edg. Sir, it shall not need ; in my mind he offers him a faii'er course, to end it by disputation : hast thou nothing to say for thyself, in defence of thy quality } Leath. Faith, sir, I am not well-studied in these controversies, between the hypocrites and vis. But here's one of my motion, puppet Dionysius, shall undertake him, and I'll venture the cause on't. Cokes. Who, my hobby-horse ! will he dispute with him ? Leath. Yes, sir, and make a hobby-ass of him, I hope. Cokes. That's excellent ! indeed he looks like the best scholar of them all. Come, sir, you must be as good as your word now. Busy. I will not fear to make my spirit and gifts known : assist me zeal, fill me, fill me, that is, make me full ! Winw. What a desperate, profane wretch is this ! is there any ignorance or impudence like his, to call his zeal to fill him against a puppet ? Quar. I know no fitter match than a puppet to commit with an hypocrite! Busy. First, I say unto thee, idol, thou hast no calling. Dion. You lie, I am call'd Dionysius. Leath. The motion says, you lie, he is call'd Dionysius in the matter, and to that calling he answers. Busy. I mean no vocation, idol, no present lawful calling. Dion. Is yours a lawful calling ? Leath. The motion asketh, if yours be a lawful calling. Busy-. Yes, mine is of the spirit. Dion. Then idol is a lawful calling. Leath. He says, then idol is a lawful calling; for you call'd him idol, and your calling is of th« spirit. Cokes. Well disputed, hobby-horse. Busy. Take not part with the wicked, young gallant : he neigheth and hinnieth ; all is bu» SCKNE III. 341 hinnying sophistry. I call him idol again ; yet, I say, his calling, his profession is profane, it is pro- fane, idol. Dion. It is not profane. Leath. It is not profane, he says. Busy. It is profane. Dion. It is not profane. Busy. It is profane. Dion. It is not profane. Leath. Well said, confute him with Not, still. You cannot bear him down with your base noise, sir. Busy. Nor he me, with his treble creeking, though he creek like the chariot wheels of Satan ; I am zealous for the cause Leath. As a dog for a bone. Busy. And I say, it is profane, as being the page of Pride, and the waiting-woman of Vanity. Dion. Yea ! what say you to your tire-women, then ? Leath. Good. Dion. Or feather-mahers in the Friers, that are of your faction of faith? are not they with their verukes, and their puffs, their fans, and their huffs, as much pages of Pride, and waiters upon Vanity ? What say you, what say you, what say yon ? Busy. I will not answer for them. Dion. Because you cannot, because you cannot. Is a bugle-maker a lav.ful calling ? or the con- fect-makers ? such you have there ; or your French fashioner ? you would have all the sin within yourselves, would you not, would you not ? Busy. No, Dagon. Dion. What then, Dagonet f is a puppet worse than these ? Busy. Yes, and my main argument against you is, that you are an abomination ; for the male, among you, put teth on the apparel of the female, and the female of the male. Dion. Vou lie, you lie, you lie abominably. Cokes. Good, by my troth, he has given him the lie thrice. Dion. It is your old stale argument against the players, but it will not hold against the puppets ; ^or we haxie neither male nor female amongst us. And that thou may'st see, if thou wilt, like a malicious purblind zeal as thou art. [Takes up his garment. Edg. By my faith, there he has answer'd you, friend, a plain demonstration. Dion. Nay, I'll prove, against e'er a Rabbinof them all, that my standing is as lawful as his ; that I speak by inspiration, as well as he ; that I have as little to do with learning as he ; and do scorn her helps as much as he. Busy. 1 am confuted, the cause hath failed me. Dion. 7'hen be converted, be converted. Leath. Be converted, I pray you, and let the play go '^n ! Busy. Let it go on ; for I am changed, and will become a beholder with you. Cokes. That's brave, i'faith, thou hast carried it away, hobby-horse ; on with the play. Oter. [Discovering himself] Stay, now do I forbid ; I am Adam Overdo ! sit still, I charge you. Cokes. What, my brother-in-law ! Grace. My wise guardian ! Eda. Justice Overdo ! Over. It is time to take enormity by the fore- head, and brand it ; for I have discovered enough. Enter Quarlous in Troubleall's clothes, as be/ore, and Dame Purecraft. Quar. Nay, come, mistress bride ; you must do as I do, now. You must be mad with me, in truth. I have here justice Overdo for it. Over. Peace, good Troubleall ; come hither, and you shall trouble none. I will take the charge of you, and your friend too ; you also, young man, \to Edgworth.] shall be my care ; stand there. Edg. Now, mercy upon me. Knock. Would we were away, Whit, these are dangerous vapours ; best fall off with our birds, for fear o' the cage. IThey attempt to steal aicay. Over. Stay, is not my name your terror ? Whit. Yesh fait, man, and it ish for tat we would be gone, man. Enter Littlkwit. Lit. O, gentlemen! did you not see a wife of mine I have lost my little wife, as I shall be trusted ; my little pretty Win, I left her at the great woman's house in trust yonder, the pig- woman's, with captain Jordan, and captain Whit, very good men, and I cannot hear of her. Poor fool, I fear she's stepp'd aside. Mother, did you not see Win Over. If thisprave matron be your mother, sir, stand by her, et digilo compesce labdlum ; I may perhaps spring a wife for you anon. Brother Bartholomew, I am sadly sorry to see you so lightly given, and such a disciple of enormity, with your grave governor Humphrey : but stand you both there, in the middle place ; I will reprehend you in your course. Mistress Grace, let me rescue you out of the hands of the stranger. Winw. Pardon me, sir, I am a kinsman of hers. Over. Are you so ! of what name, sir ? Winiv. Winwife, sir. Orer. Master Winwife ! I hope you have won no wife of her, sir; if you have, I will examine the possibility of it, at fit leisure. Now, to my enor- mities : look upon me, O London ! and see mc, O Smithfield ! the example of justice, and Mirrour of Magistrates ; the true top of formality, and scourge of enormity. Hearken unto my labours, and but observe my discoveries ; and compare Hercules with me, if thou dar'st, of old ; or Columbus, Magellan, or our countryman Drake, of later times. Stand forth, you weeds of enor- mity, and spread. First, Rabbi Busy, thou su- perlunadcal hypocrite ; [/o Leatherhkad.] Next thou other extremity, thou profane professor of puppetry, little better than poetry: [to Whit.] Then thou strong debaucher and seducer of youth ; witness this easy and honest young man, [pointing to Edge.] [to Knock.] Now, thou esquire of dames, madams, and twelve-penny ladies ; — Now, my green madam herself of the price ; let me unmask your ladyship. \^Discovers Mrs. Lit. Lit. O my wife, my wife, my wife ! Over. Is she your wife redde fe Harpocralevu Enter Troubleall, with a dripping-pan, followed by Ursula and Nightingale. Trou. By your leave, stand by, my masters, hi uncover'd. 342 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. ACT V Urs. O stay him, stay him, help to cry, Night- ingale ; my pan, my pan ! Over. What's the matter? Night. He has stolen gammar Ursula's pan. Tro. Yes, and I fear no man but justice Overdo. Over. Ursula ! where is she ? O the sow of enormity, this ! welcome, stand you there ; you, songster, there. Urs. An't please your worship, I am in no fault : a gentleman stripped him in my booth, and bor- rowed his gown, and his hat ; and he ran away with my goods here for it. Over. [To Quarlous.] Then this is the tme madman, and you are the enormity ! Qiiar. You are in the right : I am mad but from the gown outward. Over. Stand you there. Quar. Where you please, sir. Mrs. Over. \_Waking.'\ O, lend me a bason, I am sick, I am sick ! where' s master Overdo .'' Bridget, call hither my Adam. Over. How ! [_He is shamed and silenced. Whit. Dy very own wife, i' fait, worshipful Adam. Mrs. Over. Will not my Adam come at me ? shall I see him no more then ? Quar. Sir, why do you not go on with the enormity? are you oppressed with it? I'll help you : hark you, sir, in your ear — Your innocent young man, you have ta'en such care of all this day, is a cut-purse, that hath got all your brother Cokes' things, and helped you to your beating and the stocks ; if you have a mind to hang him now, and shew him your magistrate's wit, you may : but I should think it were better recovering the goods, and to save your estimation in him. 1 thank you, sir, for the gift of your ward, mistress Grace ; look you, here is your hand and seal, by the way. Master Winwife, give you joy, you are Palemon, you are possessed of the gentlewoman, but she must pay me value, here's warrant for it. And, honest madman, thei'e's thy gown and cap again ; I thank thee for my wife. Nay, I can be mad, sweet-heart, Ito Mrs. Pure.] when I please still ; never fear me ; and careful Numps, where's he? I thank him for my hcense. Waspe. How ! Quar. 'Tis true, Numps. Waspe. I'll be hang'd then. Quar. Look in your box, Numps. — Nay, sir, \to Overdo.] stand not you fix'd here, like a stake in Finsbury, to be shot at, or the whipping-post in the Fair, but get your wife out o' the air, it will make her worse else ; and remember you are but Adam, flesh and blood ! you have your frailty, for- get your other name of Overdo, and invite us all to supper. There you and I will compare our dis- coveries ; and drown the memory of all enormity in your biggest bowl at home. Cokes. How now, Numps, have you lost it ? I warrant 'twas when thou wei t in the stocks : Why dost not speak ! Waspe. I will never speak while I live again, for aught I know. Over. Nay, Humphrey, if I be patient, you must be so loo ; this pleasant conceited gentleman hath wrought upon my judgment, and prevail'd : I pray you take care of your sick friend, mistress Alice, and my good friends all Quar. And no enormities. Over. I invite you home wnth me to my house to supper : I will have none fear to go along, for my intents are ad correctionem, non ad destruc- tionem ,• ad cedijicandum, non ad diruendum : so lead on. Cokes. Yes, and bring the actors along, we'll have the rest of the play at home. lExeunt. EPILOGUE. Your Majesty hath seen the play, and you Can best allow it from your ear and view. You know the scope of writers^ and what store Of leave is given them, if they take not more, And turn it into license : you can tell If we have us'd that leave you gave us well t Or lohether we to rage or license break. Or be profane, or make profane men speak : This is your power to judge, great sir, and not The envy of a few. Which if we have got. We value less what their dislike can bring, If it so happy be, t' have pleased the King* THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. DRAMATIS PERSONJ!. Satan, the great Devil. Pug, the less Devil. Iniquity, the Vice. Fabian Fitzdottrel, a Squire Q, Meercraft, the Projector. EvERiLL, ?iis Champion. WiTTiPOL, a yonnp Gallant. Eustace Manly, his Friend. Engine, a Broker. Trains, the Projector's Man. Thomas Gilthead, a Goldsmith. Plutarchus, his Son. Norfolk. Sir Paul Eitherside, a Lawyer, and Juitioc Ambler, Gentleman-Usher to Lady Ta)lbit;;h. Sledge, a Smith, the Constable. Shackles, Keeper of Newgate. Mrs. Frances Fitzdottrel. Lady Eitherside. Lady Tailbush, the Lady Projectrcss. Pitfall, her Woman. Serjeants, Officers, Servants, Uiiderkeepers, //all to sharing. Meer. Soft, sir. Ever. Marry, and fciir too then ; I'll no delay- Meer. But you will hear 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, yt is. Ever. Come, give me Ten pieces more, then. ^ Meer. Why.? Ever. For Gilthead, sir ! Do you think I'll allow him any sm-.h stiare ? Meer. You must. 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 &b& made } Fitz. Devil of Derbyshire. Lady E. Bless us from him ! Lady T. Devil! Call him De-vile, sweet madam. Mrs. Fitz. What you please, ladies. Lady T. De-vile's a prettier name. Lady E. And sounds, methinks, As it came in with the conqueror Man. Over smocks ! What things they are ! that nature should be at leisure Ever to make them ! My wooing is at an end. l_Aside, and exit tcitJ* indignation. 30G THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. ACT JV JViL What can lie do ? Lady E. Let's hear him. Lady T. Can he manage ? Fitz. Please you to try him, ladies. — Stand forth, Devil. Pug. Was all this but the preface to my torment? \^Aside. Fitz. Come, let their ladyships see your honours Lady E. O, He makes a wicked leg. Lady T. As ever I saw. Wit. Fit for a devil. Lady T. Good madam, call him De-viie. Wit. De-vi!e, what property is there most re- in your conceit now, in the escudero ? [quired, Fitz. Why do you not speak ? FiKj. A settled discreet pace, madam. Wit. 1 think, a barren head, sir, mountain-like, To be exposed to the cruelty of weathers Fitz. Ay, for his valley is beneath the waist. And to be fruitful there, it is sufficient, [madam. Dullness upon you ! could not you hit this ? \_Strikes him. Pug. Good sir Wit. He then had had no barren head : You draw him too much in troth, sir. Fitz. I must walk With the French stick, hke an old verger, for you. Pug. O chief, call me to hell again, and free me ! \_Aside. Fitz. Do you murmur now ? Pug. Not I, sir. Wit. What do you take. Master De-vile, the height of your employment, In the true perfect escudero ? Fitz. When ! What do you answer .'' Pug. To be able, madam, First to enquire, then report the working Of any lady's physic, in sweet ])hrase. Wit. Yes, that's an act of elegauce and impor- But what above [tance : Fitz. O, that I had a goad for him. Pug. To tind out a good corn-cutter. Lady T. Out on him ! Lady E. Most barbarous ! L'itz. Why did you do this now ? Of purpose to discredit me, you damn'd devil ! Pug. Sure, if I be not yet, I shall be. — All My days in hell were holidays, to this ! lAsitU. Lady T. 'Tis labour lost, madam. Lady E. He is a dull fellow, Of no capacity. Lady T. Of no discourse, O, if my Ambler had been here ! Lady E. Ay, madam, You talk of a man ; where is there such another ? Wit, Master De-vile, put case one of my ladies here Had a fine brach, and would employ you forth To treat 'bout a convenient match for her ; What would you observe } Pug. The colour and the size, madam. Wit. And nothing else ? Fitz. The moon, you calf, the moon ! Wit. Ay, and the sign. Ijady T. Yes, and receipts for proneness. Wit. Then when the puppies came, what would Pug. Get their nativities cast. [you do 1 Wit. This is veil. What more ? Pug. Consult the almanac-man which would Which cleanliest. [be least. Wit. And v.'hich silent'st ? This is well, madam. And while she were with puppy ? Pug. Walk her out, And air her every morning. Wit. Very good ! And be industrious to kill her fleas ? Pug. Yes. Wit. He will make a pretty proficient. Pug. Who, Coming from hell, could look for such a cate- chising ? The Devi! is an Ass, I do acknowledge it. \_Aside. Fitz. The top of woman ! all her sex in abstract! I love her, to each syllable falls from her. lAside, and looking aiWiTxiPOL, La hj T. Good madam, give me leave to go And try him a little. [aside with him, Wit. Do, and I'll withdraw, madam, With this fair lady, read to her the while. Lady T. Come, sir. Pug. Dear chief, relieve me, or I perish! \_Aside, Wit. Lady, we'll follow. — You are not jealous, sir Fitz. O, madam, you shall see Stay, wife ; — I give her up here absolutely to you ; [behold, She is your own, do with her what you will : Melt, cast, and form her as you shall think good ; Set any stamp on : I'll receive her from you As a new thing, by your own standard. \_ExU. Wit. Well, sir ! [Exeunt Wittipol wiih Mrs. Fitz. and Tailbush and ElTHERSIDE, tvith FVG. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Meercraft a7id Fitzdottrel. Meer. But what have you done in your depen- dence since Fitz. O, it goes on ; I met your cousin, the master — Meer. You did not acquaint him, sir.' Fitz. Faith but I did, sir, And, upon better thovight, not without reason. He being chief officer might have taken it ill else, As a contempt against his place, and that In time, sir, have drawn on another dependence : No, I did find him in good terms, and ready To do me any service. Meer. So he said to you ! But, sir, you do not know him. Fitz. Why, I presumed, Because this bus'ness of my wife's required me, I could not have done better : and he told ^ Me, that he would go presently to your counsel, A knight here in the lane Meer. Yes, justice Eitherside. Fitz. And get the feoff'ment drawn, with a letter For livery and seisin. [of attorney, Meer. That I know's the course. But, sir, you mean not to make him feoffee Fitz. Nay, that I'll pause on. Enter Pjtfall. Meer. How now, little Pitfall ! Pit. Your cousin, master Everill, would com* in — But he would know if master Manly were liere. SCENE III. THE DE\ IL IS AN ASS. 307 Meer. No, tell him ; if he were, I have made his peace. — i^^^it Pitfall. He's one, sir, has no state, and a man knows not How such a trust may tempt him. Fiiz. I conceive you. Enter Everill and Plutarchus. Ever. Sir, this same deed is done here. Meer. Pretty Plutarchus ! Art thou come with it and has sir Paul view'dit? Flu. His hand is to the draught. Meer. Will you step in, sir. And read it ? Fitz. Yes. Ever. I pray you, a word with you. {_Aside to Fitz. Sir Paul Eitherside will'd me give you caution Whom you did make feoffee ; for 'tis the trust Of your whole state ; and though my cousin here Be a worthy gentleman, yet his valour has At the tall board been question'd ; and we hold Any man so impeacliM of doubtful honesty. I will not justify this, but give it you To make your profit of it ; if you utter it, I can forswear it. Filz. I believe you, and thank you, sir. lExeunt. SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. Enter Wittipol and Mrs. Fitzdottrel. Wit. Be not afraid, sweet lady ; you are trusted To love, not violence, here : I am no ravisher, But one whom you by your fair trust again May of a servant make a most true friend. Manly enters beJiiiid. Mrs. Fitz. And such a one I need, but not this way. Sir, I confess me to you, the mere manner Of your attempting me this morning, took me ; And I did hold my invention, and my manners. Were both engaged to give it a requital, But not unto your ends : my hope was then. Though interrupted ere it could be utter'u, That whom I found the master of such language. That brain and spirit for such an enterprize. Could not, but if those succours were demanded To a right use, employ them virtuously, And make that profit of his noble parts Which they would yield. Sir, you have now the To exercise them in : I am a woman [ground That cannot speak more wretchedness of myself. Than you can read ; match'd to a mass of folly. That every day makes haste to his own ruin ; The wealthy portion that I brought him, spent, And, through my friends' neglect, no jointure made me. My fortunes standing in this precipice, 'Tis counsel that I want, and honest aids ; And in this name I need you for a friend ; Never in any other ; for his ill Must not make me, sir, worse. Manly [comes forivr.rd.'] O, friend, forsfike not The brave occasion virtue offers you To keep you innocent : I have fear'd for both, And watch'd you, to prevent the ill I fear'd. But since the weaker side hath so assured me, Let not the stronger fall by his own vice, Or be the less a friend, 'cause virtue needs him. Wit. Virtue shall never ask my succours twice ; Most friend, most man, your counsels are com- mands. — Lady, I can love goodness in you, more Than I did beauty ; and do here intitle Your virtue to the power upon a life You shall engage in any fruitful service, Even to forfeit. Enter Meercraft. Meer. Madam ; Do you hear, sir } \_Aside to WimroL. We have another leg strain' d for this Dottrel. He has a quarrel to carry, and has caused A deed of feoffment of his whole estate To be drawn yonder : he has't within ; and you Only he means to make feoffee. He is fallen So desperately enamour'd on you, and talks Most like a m.adman : you did never hear A phrenetic so in love with his own favour ! Now you do know, 'tis of no validity In your name, as you stand : therefore advise him To put in me ! — Enter Fitzdottrel, Everill, and Plutarchus. He's come here. You shall share, sir. Fitz. Madam, I have a suit to you ; and afore- hand I do bespeak you ; you must not deny me, I will be granted. Wit. Sir, I must know it, though. Fitz. No, lady, you must not know it : yet you must too, For the trust of it, and the fame indeed, Which else were lost me. I would use your name, But in a feoffment, make my whole estate Over unto you : a trifle, a thing of nothing. Some eighteen hundred. Wit. Alas ! I understand not Those things, sir ; I am a woman, and most loth To embark myself Fitz. You will not slight me, madam.'' Wit. Nor you'll not quarrel me ? Fitz. No, sweet madam. I have Already a dependence ; for which cause 1 do this : let me put you in, dear madam, I maybe fairly kill'd. Wit. You have your friends, sir, About you here for choice. Ever. She tells you right, sir. Fitz. Death, if she do, what do I care for that ' Say, I would have her tell me wrong ! Wit. Why, sir. If for the trust you'll let me have the honour To name you one. Fitz. Nay, you do me the honour, madam. Who is't > Wit. This gentleman. iroint>ngto'MAtiL\. Fitz. O no, sweet madam. He's friend to him with whom I have the depen- Wit. Who might he be } [dence. Fitz. One Wittipol, do you know him ? Wit. Alas, sir, he ! a iDy : this gentleman A friend to him ! no more than I am, sir. Fitz. But will your ladyship undertake that, madam } Wit. Yes, and what else, for him, you will Fitz. What is his name } [engage me. Wit. His name is Eustace Manly. Fitz. Whence does he write himself? Wit. Of Middlesex, esquire. 308 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. ACT Fiiz. Say nothing, madam. — Clerk, come hither ; [To Plutarchus. Write Eustace Manly, squire of Middlesex. Meer. What have you done, sir ? lAside to Wit. Wil. Named a gentleman, That I'll be answerable for to you, sir : Had I named you, it might have been suspected ; This vi^ay 'tis safe. Fitz. Come, gentlemen, your hands For witness. Man. What is this ? Ever. You have made election Of a most worthy gentleman ! Man. Would one of worth Had spoke it ! but now whence it comes, it is Rather a shame unto me than a praise. Ever. Sir, I will give you any satisfaction. Man. Be silent then : Falsehood commends not truth. Plu. You do dehver this, sir, as your deed, To the use of master Manly ? Filz. Yes: and sir [2'o Manly. When did you see young Wittipol ? I am ready For process now : sir, this is publication. He shall hear from me ; he would needs be court- My wife, sir. [ing Man. Yes ; so witnesseth his cloke there. Fitz. Nay, good sir — Madam, you did under- Wit. What? [take— Fitz. That he was not Wittipol's friend. Wit. I hear, Sir, no confession of it. Fiiz. O, she knows not ; Now I remember. — Madam, this young Wittipol Would have debauch'd my wife, and made me cuckold Thorough a casement ; he did fly her home To mine own window; but, I think, I sous'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. IDiscovers himself. Filz. Ha! Wittipol! Wit. Ay, sir ; no more lady now. Nor Spaniard. Man. No indeed, 'tis Wittipol. Fitz. Am I tlie 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 Snoreditch with a project. Fitz. Thieves ! ravishers I Wit. Cry but another note, sir, I'll mar the tune of your pipe. Fitz. Give me my deed then. Wit. Neither : that shall 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. [Baffles him, and exit tvith Manlv. 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 her practice ! Meer. Sir, we are all abused. Fitz. And be so still ! who hinders you, I pray you ? Let me alone, 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 tliis. 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. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. — A Room in Tailbush's House. Enter Ambler and Pitfall. Amb. But has my lady miss'd me ? Pit. Beyond telling. Mere 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 with him. [Exit Pitfall. This most unlucky accident will go near be the loss of my place, I am in doubt. Enter Meercraft. Meer. With me!— What say you, master Ambler? Am,b. Sir, I would beseech your worship, stand between Me and my lady's displeasure, for my absence. Meer. 6, 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 3CENE III. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. Too honest for my 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 should not) trust myself to a common house ; [Tells this with extraordinary speed. But got the gentlewoman to go with me, And carry her bedding to a conduit-head, Hard by the place toward Tyburn, which they call My Lord Mayor's banqueting-house. Now, sir, this morning Was execution ; and I never dreamt on't, Till I 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. [Hejiags. Meer. Nay, 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. iExit. SCENE 11. — Another Room in the same. Enter Puo, 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, making 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 Such as I have within. There is no hell 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 him. Amb. This is my suit, and those the shoes and roses ! [Aside. Pug. 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 ? [Aside. 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. I ask not of the time, but of your name, sir. Pug. I thank you, sir : yes, it does hold, bi.-, 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. A7nb. Pox o' your gleek. And three-pence ! give me an answer. Ptig. Sir, My master is the best at it. Amb. Your master ! 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. Only a couple of cocks, sir ; If we can get a vddgeon, 'tis in season. Amb. He hopes to make one of these scipticf of me, (I think I name them right,) and does not fly me ; I wonder at that : 'tis a strange confidence ! I'll prove another way, to draw his answer. [Exeunt severalli , SCENE III. — A Room in Fitzdottrel's House, Enter Meercraft, Fitzdottbel, and Everill. 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 Burton, and the seven in Lan- cashire, Somers at Nottingham ? all these do teach it. And we'll give out, sir, that your wife has bewitch'd you. Ever. And practis'd with 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. ACT V. Ever. To have done strange things, sir, One as tde 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'll be revenged at Ever. Upon them all. [height. Meer. Yes, faith, and since your wife Has run the way of woman thus, e'en give her — Fitz. 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 hke yourself still, in potentia. Enter Gilthead, Plutarchus, Sledge, and Serjeants. Meer. Gilthead ! what news ? Fitz. O, sir, my hundred pieces ! 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 gi'oat. Plu. Pardon me, father, 1 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. But now you have prevented me, and I thank you. Sledge. Sir, I will bail you, at mine own apperil. 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 you 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 Gilt, and Plut, Enter Ambler, dragging in Pug. Amb. O, master Sledge, are you here ? I have 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 Fitzdottrel. Amb. 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 will 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 morn- 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 wretch, avaunt ! Do you think to gull me with your ^sop's fables ? Here, take him to you, I have no part in him. Pug. Sir— Fitz. Away ! T do disclaim, I will not hear you. [Exit Sledge with Pua. Meer. What said he to you, sir ? Fitz. Like a lying rased, Told me he was the Devil. Meer. How ! a good jest. Fitz. And that he would teach me such fine For our new resolution. [devil's tricks Ever. O, pox on him 1 '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 8CENE IV. THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 371 Till after, that yon hare a fit ; and all Confirm'd within. Keep you with the two ladies, [To EVERILL. 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 empldy out all 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, I'll begin to practise. And scape the imputation of being cuckold. By mine own act. Meer. You are right. lExit Fitz. JEver. Come, you have put Yourself to a simple coil here, and your friends, By dealing with new agents, in new plots. Meer. No more of that, 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 Bove e-la 9 Meer. I had 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.— ^ Cell in Newgate. Enter Shackles, with Pug in chains. Ska. Here you are lodged, sir ; you must send If you'll be private. [your garnish, Pug. There it is, sir : leave me. Shackles. To Newgate brought ! how is the name of devil Discredited in me ! what a lost fiend Shall I be on return ! 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, 1 have it with my fact. Enter Iniquity. 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. Iniq. 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 Tyburn the plentiful gazes. Pug. He is a devil, and may be our chief, The great superior devil, for his malice ! 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 could do nothing. Enter Satan. 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 flesh 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 aturn'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 tbee 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 ! Bane of your itch. And scratching for employment 1 I'll have brin:- 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 — [iNiQurrv takes him on his back. Iniq. Mount, dearUngof 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 [-^ explosion, smoke, d:c. 372 THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. -ACT V. Enter Shackles, and the Under-keepers, affrighted. Shack. O me ! 1 Keep. What's this ? 2 Keep. A piece of Justice-hall Is broken down. 3 Keep. Fough ! 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 Cutpurse, was hans^'d out this morning. Shack. 'Tis he ! 2 Keep. The devil sure has a hand in this ! 'S Keep. What shall we do ? Shack. Carry the news of it Unto the sheriffs. 1 Keep. And to the justices. 4 Keep. This is strange. 3 Keep. And savours of the devil strongly. 2 Keep. I have the sulphur of hell-coal in my 1 Keep. Fough ! [nose. Shack. Carry him in. 1 Keep. Away. 2 Keep. How rank it is ! \_Exmnt with the body. SCENE V. — A Room in Fitzdottrel's House. FiTZDOTTRKL discovcred in bed Lady Eithbrsidk, Tail- bush, Ambler, Trains, and Pitfall, standing hy him. Enter Sir Paul Eitherside, Meercraft, and Everill. 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. Lady E. Let master Eitherside alone, madam. Sir P. Eith. Do you hear? Call in the constable, I will have him by j He's the king's officer : and some citizens Of credit ; I'll discharge 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 should be sworn : so did you, Eitherside. Lady E. Yes, by that light, would I might ne'er stir else, Tailbush. Lady T. And the other, a civil gentleman. Ever. But, madam, You know what I told your ladyship. Lady 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, j This morning. Lady T. How! I Meer. I'll tell you more anon, i Fitz. Give me some garliC) garlic, garlic, garlic ! I [He begins his fit. Meer. Hark, the poor gentleman, how lie is tormented ! Fitz. My wife is a whore, II kiss her no more : and why 9 May'st not thou be a cuckold as well as 19 Ha, 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! \yjis. Fitz. And a cuckold is. Wherever he put his head, with a wannion, If his horns be forth, the devil's companion. Look, look, look, else! Meer. How he foams ! Ever. And swells ! Lady T. O me, what's that there rises in his belly ? Lady E. A strange thing : hold it down. Tra. Pit. We cannot, madam. Sir P. Eith. 'Tis too apparent this ! Fitz. Wittipol, Wittipol! Enter ■Wittipol, 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 ! 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, buz, buz ! [awhile. Lady T. 'Las, poor gentleman. How he is tortured I Mrs. Fite. [goes to him.^ Fie, master Fitz- What do you mean to counterfeit thus ? [dottrel Fitz. O, 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 : Sir P. Eith. Woman, forbear. [Oh, oh ! Wit. What, sir ? Sir P. Eith. A practice foul For one so fair. Wit. Hath this, then, credit with you ? Man. Do you believe in'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 will prove the merrier Man. This is most strange, sir. [man. Sir P. Eith. Come not to confront Authority with impudence ; I tell you, I do detest it. — Re-enter Ambler, with Sledge and Gilthkad. 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 ! most unnatural 1 abominable I Ever. You do not tumble enough. .ftf^^r. Wallow, gnash. [They whisv4r Man THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 373 Lady T. O, how he is vexed ! .S% P. Eith. 'Tis too manifest. Ever. Give him more soap to foam with. [To Meer.] Now lie still. Meer. And act a little. Lady 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. Yellow, yellow, yellow, 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. Why 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 o' good meat, I'll feast them and their trains, a justice head Shall be the first. — [and 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 whole Sir. P. Eith. Be not you troubled, sir, the devil speaks it. Fitz. Yes, wis, knight, shite, Poul, joul, owl, foul, troul, boul ! Eir P. Eith. Crambo! another of the devil's games. Meer. Speak, sir, some Greek, if yoii can. [Aside to Fitz.] Is not the justice A solemn gamester ? Ever. Peace. Fitz. O) /jLot, KaKoSalfiwv, Kal TpicTKaKohaifxcov, Ka\ Ttrpi,Ki%, kolI irevraKis, Kal 5a)5eKa)cts Koi fivpidKis. Sir P. Eith. He curses In Greek, I think. Ever. Your Spanish, that I taught you. lAside to 1'\ta Fitz. Quebrdmos 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 fatamene 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. £n: !i 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 removed. But to the music, nor a drop of wine Mixt with his water, without harmony. Pec. You are a courtier, sir, or somewhat more, That have this tempting language. Ci/m. 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. 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 ! lAside. Band. Pity the gentleman is not immortal. Waic. As he gives out the place is by descrip- tion. Fit. A very paradise, if you saw all, lady. JVax. 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, alderinan Security, 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 bis deputy, but assure his life For one seven years — Sta. And see what we'U do for him, Upon his scarlet motion. ^and. 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 ! 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 fill all Christendom 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 turn'd The church's miller, grinds the catholic grist With every wind ; and Tilly takes the toll. 4 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 May-day 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. And I. 3 Cust. And I. 4 Cust. And I. 5 Cust. And I. Cym. Sir, I desire to be excused ; [to P. jutl.] and, madam, I cannot leave my office the first day. My cousin Fitton here shall wait upon you, And emissary Picklock. P. jun. And Tom Clericus ? Cym. I cannot spare him yet, but he shall follow vou. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 393 When they have order'd the rolls. Shut up the vVhen you have done, till two o'clock. [office, [_Exeunt all but Thomas and Nath. Enter Shunfield, Albianac, and MADRroAL. Shun. By your leave, clerks, A'^here shall we dine to-day.' do you know? Nath. The jeerers Aim. Where is my fellow Fitton ? Tho. New gone forth. Shun. Cannot your office tell us, what brave fellows Do eat together to-day, in town, and where .'^ Tho. Yes, there's a gentleman, the brave heir, Dines in Apollo. [young Pennyboy, Mad. Come, let's thither then, I have supt in Apollo. Aim. With the Muses ? Mad. No, But with two gentlewomen, call'd the Graces. Aim. They were ever three in poetry. Mad. This was truth, sir. Tito. 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 1 The glory of the kitchen 1 that holds cookery A trade from Adam, quotes his broths and sallads. 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 cookery. Shun. Tut, he maintains more heresies than that. He'll draw the magisterium from a minced-pie, And prefer jellies to your julaps, doctor. Aim. I was at an oUa podrida of his making, Was a brave piece of cookery : at a funeral ! But opening the pot-lid, he made us 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 in such a posture, As all the world would take him for a dolphin. Mad. He's a rare fellow, without question 1 but He holds some paradoxes. Aim. Ay, and pseudodoxes. Marry for most, he's orthodox in the kitchen. Mad. And knows the clergy's taste ! Aim. Ay, and the laity's 1 Shun. You think not of your time ; we shall come too late, If we go not presently. Mad. Away then. Shun. Sirs, Vou 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 you. 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. V/hy not? 'Slid, I despair not to be master ! lExeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Pennyboy senior's House. Enter Pbnnvbov sen. and Broker, 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 liave 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. Bro. 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. lExit Broker, and returns with Cvwbal. 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. [_Exit Brokkb. Go on, sir. Crjm. 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 ! 1 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 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 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 304 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 stocks, Had their minds 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 ! Bate of the use ! I am mad with this time's manners. \_VehemenUy 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, IStarls/rom Ms chair. The fury of men's gullets, and their groins What fires, what cooks, what kitchens might be spared ? What stews, ponds, parks, coops, garners, maga- zines .'' What velvets, tissues, scarfs, embroideries. And laces they might lack } They covet things Superfluous still ; when it were much more honour They could 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. \_Aside. F, sen. All that excess Appeared as little yours, as the spectators : tt scarce fills up the expectation Of 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. P. 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. Cym. 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. sen. 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 Pennyboy ! right city -bred ! Mirth. In Silver-street, the region of money, a ' good seat for an usurer. Tat. He has rich ingredients in him, I iv arrant you, if they were extracted; a true receipt to make an alderman, an he were well wrought upon, according io art. Expect. / would fain see an alderman in chimia, that is, a treatise of aldermanity truly written ! Cen. To sheiv how much it differs from urbanity. Mirth. Ay, or humanity. Either would appear in this Pennyboy, an he were rightly distilVd. But hoiv like you the news ? you are gone from that. Cen. O, they are monstrous ! scurvy, and stale, and too exotic ! ill cook'd and ill-dish' d! Expect. They were as good, yet, as butter could make 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 Alm'ries, 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 came there ; and which boy rode upon doctor Lamb in the like- ness of a roaring lion, 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 old ; who told her, the master left out his conjuring book 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, anH be once out, and a-foot : how should we entertain the time else, or find ourselves in fashionable discourse, for all companies, if we do not credit all, and make more of it in the reporting 9 Cen. Por my part, I believe it : an there were no wiser than I, I would have ne'er a cunning schoolmaster in England. I mean, a cunning man a schoolmaster ; that is, a conjurer, or a poet, or that had any acquaintance with a poet. They make all their scholars play-boys ! Is't not a fine sight, to see all our children made interluders 9 Do we pay our money for this 9 we send them to learn their grammar and their Terence, and they learn their play-books ! Well, they talk ire shall have no more parliaments, God bless us ! but an we have, I hope, Zeal-of-the-land Busy and my gossip Rabbi Troubletruth will start up, and see tee shall have painful good ministers to keep school, and catechise our youth, and not teach them to speak plays, and act fables of false neivs, in thi^ m.anner, to the super-vexation of town and country with a wannion. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT IV. SCENE I The Devil Tavern. The Apollo. Pennyboy jun. Fitton, Shunfikld, Almanac, JIadrigal, Pbnnyboy Canter, and Picklock, discovered at table, P. jun. Come, gentlemen, let's breathe from healths awhile. This Lickfinger has made us a good dinner, For our Pecunia : what shall's do with ourselves, "While the women water, and the fidlers eat ? Fit. Let's jeer a little. P. jun. Jeer ! what's that ? Shun. Expect, sir. Aim. We first begin with ourselves, and then Shun. A game we use. [at you. Mad. We jeer all kind of persons We meet withal, of any rank or quality. And if we cannot jeer them, we jeer ourselves. P. Can. A pretty sweet society, and a grateful ! Pick. Pray let's see some. Shun. Have at you then, lawyer. They say there was one of your coat in Bethlem lately. Aim. I wonder all his clients were not there. Mad. They were the madder sort. Pick. Except, sir, one Like you, and he made verses. Fit. Madrigal, A jeer ! Mad. I know. Shun. But what did you do, lawyer, When you made love to Mistress Band, at dinner? Mad. Why, of an advocate, he grew the client. P. jun. Well play'd, my poet. Mad. And shew'd the law of nature Was there above the common-law. Shun. Quit, quit! P. jun. Call you this jeering ! I can play at this, 'Tis hke a ball at tennis. Fit. Very like ; But we were not well in. Aim. It is indeed, sir, When we do speak at volley, all the ill We can one of another. Shun. As this morning, (I would you had heard us,) of the rogue your Aim. That money- bawd. [uncle. Mad. We call'd him a coat-card, Of the last order. P. jun. What is that, a knave ? Mad. Some readings have it so, my manuscript Doth speak it varlet. P. Can. And yourself a fool Of the first rank, and one shall have the leading Of the right-hand file, under this brave commander. P. jun. What say'st thou. Canter. P. Can. Sir, I say this is A very wholesome exercise, and comely. Like lepers shewing one another their scabs, Ov flies feeding on ulcers. P. jun. What news, gentlemen. Have you any news for after dinner ? methinks We should not spend our time unprofitably. P. Can. They never lie, sir, between meals ; 'gainst supper You mav have a bale or two brought in Fit. this Canter Is an old envious knave ! Aim. A very rascal ! Fit. I have mark'd him all this meal, he has done nothing But mock, with scurvy faces, all we said. Aim. A supercilious rogue! he looks as if He were the patrico Mad. Or arch-priest of Canters. Shun. He is some primate metropolitan rascalj Our shot-clog makes so much of him. Aim. The law. And he does govern him. P. jun. What say you, gentlemen ? Fit. We say, we wonder not, your man of law Should be so gracious with you ; but how it comes, This rogue, this Canter — P. jun. O, good words. Fit. A fellow That speaks no language Aim. But what jingling gypsies, And pedlars trade in Fit. And no honest Christian Can understand P. Can. Why, by that argument You are all Canters, you, and you, and you: All the whole world are Canters, I will prove it In your professions. P. jun. 1 would fain hear this : But stay, my princess comes ; provide the while I'll call for it anon. Enter Lickfinger, Pecunia, Statute, Band, Wax, and Mortgage. How fares your grace ? Lick. I hope the fare was good. Pec. Yes, Lickfinger, And we shall thank you for it, and reward you. Mad. Nay, I'll not lose my argument. Lick • Before these gentlewomen, I affirm, [finger: The perfect and true strain of poetry Is rather to be given the quick cellar, Than the fat kitchen. [P. jun. takes Pecunia aside and courts her. Lick. Heretic, I see Thou art for the vain Oracle of the Bottle. The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus. Thence flows thy muse's spring, from that hard Seduced poet, I do say to thee, [hoof. A boiler, range, and dresser were the fountains Of all the knowledge in the universe. And they're the kitchens, where the master- cook Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou know him. Till thou hast serv'd some years in that deep school. That's both the nurse and mother of the arts, And hear'st him read, interpret and demonstrate — A master-cook ! why, he's the man of men. For a professor I he designs, he draws. He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies, Makes citadels of curious fowl and fish, Some he dry-dishes, some motes round with broths ; Mounts marrow bones, cuts fifty-angled custards, Rears bulwark pies, and foi his outer works. He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust ; And teacheth all the tactics, at one dinner : What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in ; The whole art militaiy. Then he knows The influence of the stars upon his meats, S96 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT III. And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, And so to fit his relishes and sauces. He has nature in a pot, 'bove all the chymists^ Or airy brethren of the Rosie-cross. He is an architect, an engineer, A soldier, a physician, a philosopher, A general mathematician. Mad. It is granted. Lick. And that you may not doubt him for a poet — Aim. This fury shews, if there were nothing else. And 'tis divine ! I shall for ever hereafter Admire the wisdom of a cook. Band. And we, sir. P. jun. O, how my princess draws me with her And hales me in, as eddies draw in boats, [looks. Or strong Charybdis ships, that sail too near The shelves of love ! The tides of your two eyes, Wind of your breath, are such as suck in all That do approach you. Pec. Who hath changed my servant ? P. jun. Yourself, who drink my blood up with your beams. As doth the sun the sea ! Pecunia shines More in the world than he ; and makes it spring Where'er she favours ! please her but to show Her melting wrists, or bare her ivory hands. She catches still ! her smiles they are love's fetters ! Her breasts his apples ! her teats strawberries ! Where Cupid, were he present now, would cry. Farewell my mother's milk, here 's sweeter nectar ! Help me to praise Pecunia, gentlemen ; She is your princess, lend your wits. Fit. A lady The Graces taught to move 1 Aim. The Hours did nurse ! Fit. Whose lips are the instructions of all lovers. Aim. Her eyes their lights, and rivals to the stars ! Fit. A voice, as if that harmony still spake ! Aim. And polish'd skin, whiter than Venus' foot ! Fit. Young Hebe's neck, or Juno's arms ! Aim. A hair. Large as the morning's, and her breath as sweet As meadows after rain, and but new mown ! Fit. Leda might yield unto her for a face ! Aim. Hermione for breasts ! Fit. Flora for cheeks ! Aim. And Helen for a mouth ! P. jun. Kiss, kiss 'em, princess. [Pecunia kisses them. Fit. The pearl doth strive in whiteness with her neck — Aim. But loseth by it : here the snow thaws One frost resolves another. [snow; Fit. O, she has A front too slippery to be look'd upon ! Aim. And glances that beguile the seer's eyes ! P. jun. Kiss, kiss again. [Pecunia kisses Alm. and Fit.] What says my man of war ? Shun. I say she 's more than fame can promise of her, A theme that 's overcome with her own matter ! Praise is struck blind and deaf and dumb with her: She doth astonish commendation! P. jun. Well purap'd, i'faith, old sailor : kiss him too. Though he be a slug. IShe kisses him."] What says my poet-sucker ? He 's chewing his muse's cud, I do see by him. Mad. I have almost done. I want but e'en '•o finish. Fit. That's the ill luck of all his works still. P. jun. What? Fit. To begin many works but finish none. P. jun. How does he do his mistress' work ? Fit. Imperfect. Aim. I cannot think he finished that. P. jun. Let 's hear. Mad. It is a madrigal ; I affect that kind Of poem much. P. jun. And thence you have the name. Fit. It is his rose, he can make nothing else. Mad. I made it to the tune the fiddlers play'd, That we all liked so well. P. jun. Good ! read it, read it. Mad. The sun is father of all metals, you know, Silver and Gold. P. jun. Ay, leave your prologues, say. Mad. As bright as is the sun her sire, Or earth., her mother., in her best attire, Or Mint, the midwife, with her fire, Comes forth her grace ! P. jun. That Mint, the midwife, does well. The splendour of the wealthiest mines, The stamp and strength of all imperial lines, Both majesty and beauty shines. In her sweet face I Fit. That's fairly said of money. Look hoiv a torch of taper light, Or of that torch's Jiame, a beacon bright ; P. jun. Good ! Mad. Now there, I want a line to finish, sir. P, jun. Or of that beacon's fire, moonlight. Mad. So takes she place ! Fit. 'Tis good. Mad. And then I have a saraband She makes good cheer, she keeps full boards, She holds a fair of knights and lords, A market of all offices, And shops of honours more or less. According to Pecunia's grace. The bride hath beauty, blood, and places The bridegroom virtue, valour, wit, And wisdom as he stands for it. P. jun. Call in the fiddlers. Enter the Fiddlers and Nicholas. Nick the boy shall sing it. Sweet princess, kiss him, kiss them all, dear madam, [Pecunia kisses them. And at the close vouchsafe to call them cousins. Pec. Sweet cousin Madrigal, and cousin Fitton, My cousin Shunfield, and my learned cousin — Pick. Al-manach, though they call him Al- manac. P. Can. Why, here 's the prodigal prostitutes his mistress ! lAside. P. jun. And Picklock, he must be a kinsman My man of law will teach us all to win, [loo. And keep our own. — Old founder ! P. Can. Nothing, I sir. I am a wretch, a beggar : She the fortunate. Can want no kindred; we the poor know none. Fit. Nor none shall know by my consent. Aim. Nor mine. SCENE I. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ,397 P. jun. Sing, boy, stand here. Nich. [sings.} As bright, ^c. iMicsic. P. Can. Look, look, how all their eyes Dance in their heads, observe, scatter' d with lust. At sight of their brave idol ! hew they are tickled With a light air, the bawdy saraband ! They are a kind of dancing engines all, And set by nature, thus to run alone To every sound ! all things within, without them, Move, but their brain, and that stands still 1 mere monsters, Here in a chamber, of most subtile feet, And make their legs in tune, passing the streets ! These are the gallant spirits of the age. The miracles of the time ! that can cry up And down men's wits, and set what rate on things Their half-brain'd fancies please ! now, pox upon See how solicitously he learns the jig, [them ! As if it were a mystery of his faith. lAside. Shun. A dainty ditty ! Fit. O, he's a dainty poet, When he sets to it ! P. jun. And a dainty scholar ! Aim. No, no great scholar; he writes like a Shun. Pox o' your scholar ! [gentleman. P. Can. Pox o' your distinction 1 As if a scholar were no gentleman. With these, to write like a gentleman, will in time Become all one, as to write like an ass. These gentlemen! these rascals ; I am sick Of indignation at them. [_Atide. P. jun. How do you like't, sir ? Fit. 'Tis excellent ! Aim. 'Twas excellently sung ! Fit. A dainty air ! P. jun. What says my Lickfinger ? Lick. I am telling mistress Band and mistress Statute, What a brave gentleman you are, and Wax, here ! How much 'twere better, that my lady's grace Would here take up, sir, and keep house with you. P. jun. What say they ? Sta. We could consent, sir, willingly. Band. Ay, if we knew her grace had the least liking. Wax. We must obey her grace's will and pleasure. P. jun. I thank you, gentlewomen. — Ply them. Give mother Mortgage, there [Lickfinger. Lick. Her dose of sack. I have it for her, and her distance of hum. Pec. Indeed therein, I must confess, dear I am a most unfortunate princess. [cousin, Aim. And You still will be so, when your grace may help it ! IThe gallants gather all about Pecunia. Mad. Who'd lie in a room with a close-stool, and garlic, And kennel with his dogs that had a prince, Like this young Pennyboy, to sojourn with ! Shun. He'll let you have your liberty Aim. Go forth. Whither you please, and to what company Mad. Scatter yourself amongst us P. jun. Hope of Parnassus ! Thy ivy shall not wither, nor thy bays ; Thou shalt be had into her grace's cellar, And there know sack and claret, all December : Thy vein is rich, and we must cherish it. Poets and bees swarm now a-days ; but yet There are not those good taverns, for the one sort, As there are flowery fields to feed the other. Though bees be pleased with dew, ask little wax, That brings the honey to her lady's hive : The poet must have wine ; and he shall have it. Enter Fennyboy sen. hastily/. P. sen. Broker ,' wnat. Broker ! P. jun. Who's that, my uncle ? P. sen. I am abused ; where is my knave, my Broker ? Lick. Your Broker is laid out upon a bench, yonder ; Sack hath seized on him, in the shape of sleep. Pick. He hath been dead to us almost this hour. P. sen. This hour 1 P. Can. Why sigh you, sir? 'cause he's at rest P. sen. It breeds my unrest. Lick. Will you take a cup. And try if you can sleep ? P. sen. No, cogging Jack, Thou and thy cups too, perish. IStrikes the cup out of his hand. Shun. O, the sack ! Mad. The sack, the sack ! P. Can. A madrigal on sack ! Pick. Or rather an elegy, for the sack is gone. Pec. Why do you this, sir? spill the wine, and For Broker's sleeping } [rave, P. sefi. What through sleep and sack. My trust is wrong'd : but I am still awake. To wait upon your grace, please you to quit This strange lewd company, they are not for you. Pec. No, guardian, I do like them very well. P. sen. Your grace's pleasure be observ'd ; but you. Statute, and Band, and Wax will go with me ? Sta. Truly, we will not. Band. We will stay, and wait here Upon her grace, and this your noble kinsman. P. sen. Noble ! how noble ! who hath made hira noble ? P. jun. Why, my most noble Money hath, or shall, My princess here ; she that, had you but kept And treated kindly, would have made you noble. And wise too : nay, perhaps have done that for you. An act of parliament could not, made you honest. The truth is, uncle, that her grace disUkes Her entertainment, 'specially her lodging. Pec. Nay, say her jail ! never unfortunate princess Was used so by a jailor. Ask my women : Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has used me. Kept me close prisonei , under twenty bolts Sta. And forty padlocks Band. All malicious engines A wicked smith could forge out of his iron ; As locks and keys, shackles and manacles, To torture a great lady. Sta. He has abused Your grace's body. Pec. No, he would have done ; That lay not in his power : he had the use Of our bodies. Band and Wax, and sometimes Statute's : But once he would have smothered me in a chest. And strangled me in leather, but that you Came to my rescue then, and gave me air. 898 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT III. Sta. For which he craram'd us up in a close box, All three together, where we saw no sun In one six months. Wax. A cruel man he is ! Band. He has left my fellow "Wax out in the cold — Sta. Till she was stiff as any frost, and crumbled Away to dust, and almost lost her form. Wax. Much ado to recover me. P. sen. Women jeerers ! Have you learn'd too the subtle faculty ? Come, I will shew you the way home, if drink Or too full diet have disguised you. Band. Troth, We have not any mind, sir, of return Sta. To be bound back to back Band. And have our legs Turn'd in, or writh'd about Wax. Or else display'd Sta. Be lodged with dust and fleas, as we were Band. And dieted with dogs-dung. [wont — P. sen. Why, you whores, My bawds, my instruments, what should I call you, Man may think base enough for you ? P. jun. Hear you, uncle : I must not hear this of my princess' servants, And in Apollo, in Pecunia's room. Go, get you down the stairs ; home, to your kennel. As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogs, The Lares of your family ; or believe it, The fury of a footman and a drawer Hangs over you. Shun. Cudgel and pot do threaten A kind of vengeance. Mad. Barbers are at hand. Aim. Washing and shaving will euBue. Fit. The pump Is not far off ; if 'twere, the sink is near, Or a good Jordan. Mad. You have now no money. Shun. But are a rascal. P. sen. I am cheated, robb'd, Jeer'd by confederacy. Fit. No, you are kick'd. And used kindly, as you should be. Shun. Spurn'd From all commerce of men, who are a cur. [They kick him. Aim. A stinking dog in a doublet, with foul Mad. A snarling rascal, hence ! [linen. Shun. Out! P. sen. Well, remember, I am cozen'd by my cousin, and his whore. Bane o' these meetings in Apollo ! Lick. Go, sir. You will be tost like Block in a blanket, else. P. jun. Down with him, Lickfinger. P. sen. Saucy Jack, away : Pecunia is a whore. P. jun. Play him down, fidlers. And drown his noise. [^Exeunt P. sen. and Lick- finger.] — Who's this ? Enter Piedmantle with Pecunia's pedigree. Fit. O, master Piedmantle! Pie. By your leave, gentlemen. Fit. Her grace's herald ? Aim. No herald yet, a heraldet. P. jun. What's that } P. Can. A canter. P. jun. O, thou saidst thou'dst prove us all so ! P. Can. Sir, here is one will prove himself so, So shall the rest, in time. [straight ; Pec. My pedigree ? I tell you, friend, he must be a good scholar Can my descent : I am of princely race ; And as good blood as any is in the mines Runs through my veins. I am, every limb, a princess ! Dutchess of mines was my great-grandmother ; And by the father's side, I come from Sol : My grandfather was duke of Or, and malch'd In the blood-royal of Ophir. Pie. Here is his coat. Pec. I know it, if I hear the blazon. Pie. He bears In a field azure, a sun proper, beamy, Twelve of the second. P. Can. How far is this from canting } P. jun. Her grace doth understand it. P. Can. She can cant, sir. Pec. What be these, bezants ? Pie. Yes, an't please your grace. Pec. That is our coat too, as we come from Or. What line is this ? Pie. The rich mines of Potosi, The Spanish mines in the West Indies. Pec. This ? Pie. The mines of Hungary, this of Barbary. Pec. But this, this little branch ? Pie. The Welsh mine that. Pec. I have Welsh blood in me too ; blaze, sir that coat. Pie. She bears, an't please you, argent, three leeks vert. In canton or, and tassell'd of the first. P. Can. Is not this canting ? do you understand him ? P. jun. Not I ; but it sounds well, and the whole thing Is rarely painted : I will have such a scroll, Whate'er it cost me. Pec. Well, at better leisure We'U take a view of it, and so reward you. P. jun. Kiss him, sweet princess, and style him a cousin. Pec. 1 will, if you will have it. — Cousin Pied- mantle. [.She kisses him. P. jun. I love all men of virtue, from my prin- Unto my beggar here, old Canter. On, [cess On to thy proof ; whom prove you the next canter P. Can. The doctor here ; I will proceed with When he discourseth of dissection, [the learned. Or any point of anatomy ; that he tells you Of vena cava, and of vena porta. The meseraics, and the mesenterium : What does he else but cant ? or if he run To his judicial astrology. And trowl the Trine, the Quartile, and the Sextile Platic aspect, and Partile, with his Hyleg, Or Alchochoden, Cuspes, and Horoscope ; Does not he cant ? who here does understand him Aim. This is no canter, though ! P. Can. Or when my muster- master Talks of his tactics, and his ranks and files, His bringers-up, his leaders-on, and cries Faces about to the right hand, the left, Now, as you were ; then tells you of redoubl^^, Of cats, and cortines ; doth not he cant ? 8CENE I. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. P. jun. Yes, faith. P. Can. My egg-chin'd laureat here, when he comes forth With dimeters, and trimeters, tetrameters, Pentameters, hexameters, catalectics. His hyper and his brachy-catalectics, His pyrrhics, epitrites, and choriambics . What is all this, but canting ? Mad. A rare fellow ! Shun. Some begging scholar ! Fit. A decay'd doctor, at least ! P. jun. Nay, I do cherish virtue, though in rags. P. Can. And you, mas courtier— ITo Fitton. P. jun. Now he treats of you, Stand forth to him fair. P. Can. With all your fly-blown projects, And looks-out of the politics, your shut faces, And reserv'd questions and answers, that you game with ; as, IsH a clear business will it manage well 9 My name must not be used else. Here 'tivill dash — Your business has received a taint, — give off, I may not 'prostitute myself. Tut, tut. That little dust I can blow off at pleasure. — Here' s no such mountain, yet, in the whole work, But a light purse may level. — / will tide This affair for you ; give it freight, and pas- sage : — And such mint phrase, as 'tis the worst of canting, By how much it affects the sense it has not. Fit. This is some other than he seems ! P. jun. How like you him ? Fit. This cannot be a canter ! P. jun. But he is, sir, And shall be still, and so shall you be too : We'll all be canters. Now I think of it, A noble whimsy's come into my brain : I'll build a college, I and my Pecunia, And call it Canters College : sounds it well? Aim. Excellent 1 P. jun. And here stands my father rector, And you professors ; you shall all profess Something, and live there, with her grace and me, Your founders : I'll endow it with lands and means, And Lickfinger shall be my master-cook. What, is he gone ? P. Can. And a professor ? P. jun. Yes. P. Can. And read Apicius de re culinaria To your brave doxy and you ! P. jun. You, cousin Fitton, Shall, as a courtier, read the politics ; Doctor Almanac he shall read Astrology ; Shunfield shall read the military arts. P. Can. As carving and assaulting the cold custard. P. jun. And Horace here, the art of poetry. His lyrics and his madrigals ; fine songs, Which we will have at dinner, steep'd in claret, And against supper, soused in sack. Mad. In troth, A divine whimsy I Shun. And a worthy work, Fit for a chronicle 1 P. jun. Is it not ? Shun. To all ages. P. jun. And Piedmantle shall give us all our arms : But Picklock, what wouldst thou be ? thou canst cant too. Pick. In all the languages in Westminster-hall Pleas, Bench or Chancery. Fee-farm, fee-tail, Tenant in dower, at will, for term of life, By copy of court-roll, knights service, homage, Fealty, escuage, soccage, or frank almoigne, Grand serjeantry, or burgage. P. jun. Thou appear'st, Kot' e|oxV, a canter. Thou shalt read All Littleton's Tenures to me, and indeed. All my conveyances. Pick. And make them too, sir : Keep all your courts, be steward cf your lands, Let all your leases, keep your evidences. But first, I must procure and pass your mortmain, You must have license from above, sir. P. jun. Fear not, Pecunia's friends shall do it. P. Can. But I shall stop it. \_Throws off his patched cloke, Sjc. and discovers himself. Your worship's loving and obedient father., Your painful steivard, ^nd lost officer ! Who have done this, to try how you would use Pecunia when you had her ; which since I see, I will take home the lady to my charge, And these her servants, and leave you my cloke. To travel in to Beggars -bush 1 A seat Is built already, furnish'd too, worth twenty Of your imagined structures. Canters College. Fit. It is his father ! Mad. He's alive, methinks. Aim. I knew he was no rogue. P. Can. Thou prodigal. Was I so careful for thee, to procure And plot with my learn'd counsel, master Picklock, This noble match for thee, and dost thou prostitute, Scatter thy mistress' favours, throw away Her bounties, as they were red-burning coals. Too hot for thee to handle, on such rascals, W^ho are the scum and excrements of men ! If thou hadst sought out good and virtuous persons Of these professions, I had loved thee and them : For these shall never have that plea against me, Or colour of advantage, that I hate Their callings, but their manners and their vices. A worthy courtier is the ornament Of a king's palace, his great master's honour ; This is a moth, a rascal, a court-rat, [Points to Fitton, That gnaws the commonwealth with broking suits, And eating grievances ! so, a true soldier, He is his country's strength, his sovereign's safety. And to secure his peace, he makes himself The heir of danger, nay the subject of it, And runs those virtuous hazards that this scarecrow Cannot endure to hear of. Shun. You are pleasant, sir. P. Can. With you I dare be! here is Piedmantle ; 'Cause he's an ass, do not I love a herald. Who is the pure preserver of descents. The keeper fair of all nobility. Without which all would run into confusion ? Were he a learned herald, I would tell him He can give arms and marks, he cannot honour; No more than money can make noble : it may Give place, and rank, but it can give no virtue : And he would thank me for this truth. This dog- leach, You style him doctor, 'cause he can compile An almanack, perhaps erect a scheme For my great madam's monkey, when't has ta'en 400 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT IV, A glys'cer, and bewray'd the Ephemerides. Do I despise a learn'd physician, In calling him a quacksalver? or blast The ever-living garland, always green, Of a good poet, when I say his wreath Is pieced and patch'd of dirty wither'd flowers ? — Away ! I am impatient of these ulcers, That I not call you worse. There is no sore Or plague but you to infect the times : I abhor Your very scent. — Come, lady, since my prodigal Knew not to entertain you to your worth, I'll see if I have learn'd how to receive you, With more respect to you, and your fair train here. Farewell, my beggar in velvet, for to-day ; To-morrow you may put on that jjrave robe, IPoiiits to his patch'd cloke. And enter your great work of Canters College, Your wo3-k^ and worthy of a chronicle ! [.Exeunt. Tat. Why, this was the worst of all, the cata- strophe ! Cen. The matter began to be good but noiv ; and he has spoiled it all with his beggar there ! Mirth. A beggarly Jack it is, I warrant him, and akin to the poet. Tat. Like enough, for he had the chiefest part in his play, if you mark it. Expect. Absurdity on him, for a huge overgrown play-maker ! why should he make him live again, when they and we all thought him dead ? if he had left him to his rags, there had been an end of him. Tat. Ay, but set a beggar on horseback^ he'' II never lin till he be a gallop. Cen. The young heir grew a fine gentleman in this last act. Expect. So he did, gossip, and kept the best company. Cen. And feasted them and his mistress. Tat. And shewed her to themall: was not jealous f Mirth. But very communicative and liberal, and began to be magnificent, if the churl his father would have let him alone. Cen. It was spitefully done of the poet, to make the chuff take him off in his height, when he was going to do all his brave deeds. Expect. To found an academy. Tat. Erect a college. Expect. Plant his professors, and water his lec- tures. Mirth. With wine, gossips, as he meant to do ; — and then to defraud his purposes ! Expect. Kill the hopes of so many towardly young spirits. — Tat. As the doctors — Cen. And the courtiers ! I protest I was in love with master Fitton : he did wear all he had, from the hatband to the shoe-tie, so politically, and u ould stoop, and leer ! Mirth. And lie so in wait for a piece of wit, like a mouse -trap ! Expect. Iti deedy gossip, so wotdd the little doctor ; all his behaviour was mere glyster. O' my con- science, he would make any party's physic in the world work with his discourse. Mirth, / wonder they would suffer it ; a foolish old fornicating father to ravish away his soi's mistress. Cen. And all her wome^i at once, as he did. Tat. / would have flown in his gypsy's face, i' faith. Mirth, It was a plain piece of political incest, and worthy to be brought afore the high commis- sion of wit. Siippose we were to censure him ; you are the youngest voice, gossip Tattle, begin. Tat. Marry, I would have the old coney -catcher cozen' d of all he has, in the young heirs dt fence, by his learned counsel, master Picklock ! Cen, / would rather the courtier had found out some trick to beg him for his estate ! Expect. Or the captain had courage enough to beat him ! Or the fine Madrigal-man in rhyme, to have run him out of the country, like an Irish rat. Tat. No, I would have master Piedmantle, her grace's herald, to pluck down his hatchments, re- verse his coat armour, and nullify him for no gen- tleman. Expect Nay. then, let master doctor dissect him, have him opened, and his tripes translated to Lick- finger, to make a probation-dish of. Cen. Tat. Agreed, agreed ! Mirth. Faith, I would have him flat disinherited by a decree of court, bound to make restitution of the lady Pecunia, and the use of her body, to his son. Expect. And her train to the gentlemen. Cen. And both the poet, and himself, to ask them all forgiveness ! Tat. And us too. Cen. In two large sheets of paper Expect. Or to stand in a skin of parchment, which the court please. Cen. And those fill'd with news ! Mirth. And dedicated to the sustaining of the Staple ! Expect. Which their poet hath let fall most abruptly. Mirth. Bankruptly indeed. Cen. You say wittily, gossip ; and therefore let a protest go out against him. Mirth. A mournival of protests, or a glcek, at least. Expect. In all our names. Cen. For a decay" d wit Expect. Broken Tat. Non-solvent Cen. And for ever forfeit Mirth. To scorn of Mirth ! Cen. Censure ! Expect. Ea'pectation ! Tat. Subsigii'd, Tattle- Stay, they come again. SOKNE I. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. m ACT V. SCENE I. — Pennyboy's Lodgings. Enter Pennyboy jun. in the patched and ragged cUikf. his father left him. P. jun. Nay, they are fit, as they had been made for me, And I am now a thing worth looking at, The same I said I would be in the morning ! No rogue, at a comitia of the canters, Did ever there become his parent's robes Better than I do these. Great fool and beggar ! Why do not all that are of those societies Come forth, and gratulate me one of theirs ? Methinks I should be on every side saluted, Dauphin of beggars, prince of prodigals ! That have so fallen under the ears, and eyes. And tongues of all, the fable of the time. Matter of scorn, and mark of reprehension ! I now begin to see my vanity Shine in this glass, reflected by the foil ! — Where is my fashioner, my feather man, My linener, perfumer, barber, all That tail of riot follow'd me this morning ? Not one ! but a dark solitude about me. Worthy my cloke and patches ; as I had The epidemical disease upon me ; And I'll sit down with it. [.Seats himself on thejloor. Enter Tho. Barber. Tho. My master, maker ! How do you ? why do you sit thus on the ground, Hear you the news ? [sir ? jun. No, nor I care to hear none. Would 1 could here sit still, and slip away The other one and twenty, to have this Forgotten, and the day razed out, expunged In every ephemerides, or almanac! Or if it must be in, that time and nature Have decreed ; still let it be a day Of tickling prodigals about the gills. Deluding gaping heirs, losing their loves. And their discretions, falling from the favours Of their best friends and parents, their own hopes. And entering the society of canters. Tho. A doleful day it is, and dismal times Are come upon us ! I am clear undone. P. jun. How, Tom ? Tho. Why, broke, broke ; wretchedly broke. P. jun. Ha! I Tho. Our Staple is all to pieces, quite dissotv'n. f P. jun. Ha ! Tho. Shiver'd, as in an earthquake! hea Pick. Shew me a defiance ! If I can now commit father and son, And make my profits out of both ; commence A suit with tlae old man for his whole state, And go to law with the son's credit, undo Both, both with their own money, it were a piece Worthy my night-cap, and the gown I wear, A Picklock's name in law.— Where are you, sir? What do you do so long ? d d 402 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT Y. Re-enter Penwyboy jun. P. fun. I cannot find Where I have laid it ; but I have laid it safe. Pick. No matter, sir ; trust you unto my Trust, 'Tis that that shall secure you, an absolute deed ! And I confess it was iu trust for you. Lest any thing might have happen'd mortal to him : But there must be a gratitude thought on, And aid, sir, for the charges of the suit. Which will be great, 'gainst such a mighty man As is your father, and a man possest Of so much land, Pecunia and her friends. I am not able to wage law with him, Yet must maintain the thing, as my own right, Still for your good, and therefore must be bold To use your credit for moneys. P. jun. What thou wilt. So we be safe, and the trust bear it. Pick. Fear not, 'Tis he must pay aiTearages in the end. We'll milk him and Pecunia, draw their cream Before he get the deed into his hands. [down, My name is Picklock, but he'll find me a padlock. Enter Pennvboy Canter. P. Can. How now! conferring with your learned counsel Upon the cheat! Are you of the plot to cozen me ? P. jun. What plot ? P. Can. Your counsel knows there, master Will you restore the trust yet ? [Picklock, Pick. Sir, take patience And memory unto you, and bethink you. What trust? where does't appear? I have your deed ; Doth your deed specify any trust ? Is it not A perfect act, and absolute in law, Seal'd and deliver'd before witnesses, The day and date emergent ? P. Can. But what conference, What oaths and vows preceded ? Pick. I will tell you, sir. Since I am urged of those ; as I remember, You told me you had got a grown estate, By griping means, sinisterly — P. Can. How ! Pick. And wfcre Even waary cf it ; if the parties lived From whom you had wrested it P. Can. Ha ! Pick. You could be glad To part with all, for satisfaction : But since they had yielded to humanity, And that just Heavenhadsent you for a punishment, You did acknowledge it, this riotous heir. That would bring all to beggary in the end. And daily sow'd consumption where he went — P. Can. You would cozen both then ? your con- federate too ? Pick. After a long mature deliberation. You could not think where better how to place P. Can. Than on you, rascal ? [it ^ Pick. What you please, in your passion ; But with your reason, you will come about. And think a faithful and a frugal friend To be preferr'd. P. Can. Before a son ? Pick. A prodigal, A tub without a bottom, as you term'd him 1 For which 1 might return you a vow or two, And seal it with an oath of thankfulness, I not repent it, neither have I cause ; yet P. Can. Forehead of steel, and mouth of brass, hath impudence Polish'd so gross a lie, and dar'st thou vent it ? Engine, composed of all mixt metals ! hence, I will not change a syllable with thee more. Till I may meet thee at a bar in court, Before thy judges. Pick. Thither it must come, Before I part with it to you, or you, sir, ^ P. Can. I will not hear thee. P. jun. Sir, your ear to me though — Not that I see through his perplexed plots, And hidden ends ; nor that my parts depend Upon the unwinding this so knotted skean, Do I beseech your patience. Unto me. He hath confest the trust. Pick. How 1 I confess it P. jun. Ay, thou false man. P. Can. Stand up to him, and confront him. Pick. Where, when, to whom } P. jun. To me, even now, and here : Canst thou deny it ? Pick. Can I eat or drink, Sleep, wake, or dream, arise, sit, go, or stand, Do any thing that's natural.^ P. jun. Yes, lie It seems thou canst, and perjure ; that is natural. Pick. O me, what times are these of frontlesa carriage ! An egg of the same nest 1 the father's bird ! It runs in a blood, I see. P. jun. I'll stop your mouth. Pick. With what ? P. jun. With truth. Pick. With noise ; I must have witness : Where is your witness ? you can produce witness ? P. jun. As if my testimony were not twenty, Balanced with thine 1 Pick. So say all prodigals, Sick of self-love ; but that's not law, young Scat. I live by law. [tergood : P. jun. Why, if thou hast a conscience, That is a thousand witnesses. Pick. No court Grants out a writ of summons for the conscience, That I know, nor subpoena, nor attachment. I must have witness, and of youi producing, Ere this can come to hearing, and it must Be heard on oath and witness. P. jun. Come forth, Tom ! Re-enter Tho. Barber. Speak what thou heard'st, the truth, and the whole truth, And nothing but the truth. What said this varlet ? Pick. A rat behind the hangings ? Tho. Sir, he said. It was a trust ! an act, the which your father Had will to alter ; but his tender breast Would not permit to see the heir defrauded^ And, like an alien, thrust out of the blood. The laws forbid that he should give consent To such a civil slaughter of a son P. jun. And talk'd of a gratuity to be given, And aid unto the charges of the suit ; Which he was to maintain in his own narae> But for my use, he said. P. Can. It is enough. SCENE I. THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 403 Tho. And he would milk Pecunia, and draw Her C7'eam, before you got the trust again, [down P. Can. Your ears are in my pocket, knave, go The little while you have them. [shake 'em Pick. You do trust To your great purse. P. Can. I have you in a purse-net. Good master Picklock, with your worming brain, And wriggling engine-head of maintenance. Which I shall see you hole with very shortly ! A fine round head, when those two lugs are olf, To trundle through a pillory ! You are sure You heard him speak this ? P- jun. Ay, and more. Tho. Much more. Pick. I'll prove yours maintenance and combi- And sue you all. [nation, P. Can. Do, do, my gowned vulture. Crop in reversion ! I shall see you quoited Over the bar, as bargemen do their billets. Pick. This 'tis, when men repent of their good deeds, And would have 'em in again — They are almost mad : But I forgive their lucida intervalla. Enter Lickfinger. O, Lickfinger! come hither. IComes forward with LiCKFrNOEB ; while P. jun. discovers the plot, aside, to his father, and that he is in possession of the deed. Where's my writing." Lick. I sent it you, together with your keys. Pick. How? Lick. By the porter that came for it from you, And by the token, you had given me the keys, And bade me bring it. Pick. And why did you not ? Lick. Why did you send a countermand ? Pick. Who, I ? Lick. You, or some other you, you put in trust. Pick. In trust ! Lick. Your trust's another self, you know ; And without trust, and your trust, how should he Take notice of your keys, or of my charge ? Pick. Know you the man? Lick. I know he was a porter. And a seal'd porter ; for he bore the badge On his breast, I am sui-e. Pick. I am lost : a plot ! I scent it. Lick. Why, and I sent it by the man you sent, Whom else I had not trusted. Pick. Plague on your trust 1 I am truss'd up among you — P. jun. Or you may be. Pick. In mine own halter ; I have made the noose. lExit. P. jun. What was it, Lickfinger ? Lick. A writing, sir. He sent for't by a token ; I was bringing it, But that he sent a porter, and he seem'd A man of decent carriage. P. Can. 'Twas good fortune ! To cheat the cheater, was no cheat, but justice. Put off your rags, and be yourself again : This act of piety and good atfection Hath partly reconciled me to you. P. jun. Sir — P. Can. No vows, no promises ; too much protestation Makes that suspected oft, we would persuade. Lick. Hear you the news ? P. jun. The office is down, how should we J* Lick. But of your uncle ? P. jun. No. Lick. He is run mad, sir. P. Can. How, Lickfinger ? Lick. Stark staring mad, your brother, He has almost kill'd his maid — P. Can. Now heaven forbid ! Lick. But that she is cat-lived and squirrel- limb'd. With throwing bed-staves at her : he has set wide His outer doors, and now keeps open house For all the passers by to see his justice. First, he has apprehended his two dogs, As being of the plot to cozen him ; And there he sits like an old worm of tlie peace, Wrapp'd up in furs, at a square table, screwing. Examining, and committing the poor curs To two old cases of close-stools, as prisons : The one of which he calls his Lollard's tower, T'other his Block-house, 'cause his two dogs' Are Block and Lollard. [names P. jun. This would be brave matter Unto the jeerers. P. Can. Ay, if so the subject Were not so wretched. Lick. Sure I met them all, I think, upon that quest. P. Can. 'Faith, like enough : The vicious still are swift to show their natures. I'll thither too, but with another aim. If all succeed well, and my simples take. {Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Boom in Pennycoy senior's House, Pknnvboy sen. discovered sitting at table with papers, ^c. before him ; Porter, and Block and Lollard (two dogs., P. sen. Where are the prisoners ? Por. They are forth-coming, sir. Or coming forth, at least. P. sen. The rogue is drunk. Since I committed them to his charge. — Come hither. Near me, yet nearer ; breathe upon me. [//^ smells Aim.] Wine ! Wine o' my worship ! sack, Canary sack ! Could not your badge have been drunk with fulsom Or beer, the porters element but sack! [ale, Por. I am not drunk ; we had, sir, but one pint. An honest carrier and myself. P. sen. Who paid for't ? Por. Sir, I did give it him. P. sen. What, and spend sixpence ! A frock spend sixpence ! sLxpenoe ! Por. Once in a year, sir. P. sen. In seven years, varlet! know'st thou what thou hast done. What a consumption thou hast made of a state ? It might please heav'n (a lusty knave and young) To let thee live some seventy years longer. Till thou art fourscore and ten, perhaps a hundred. Say seventy years ; how many times seven in seventy Why seven times ten, is ten times seven, mark me, I will demonstrate to thee on my fingers. Sixpence in seven year, use upon use. Grows in that first seven year to be a twelve-peuce ,• 404 THE STAPLE OF NEWS. ACT V That, in the next, two shillings ; the third, four shillings ; The fourth seven year, eight shillings ; the fifth, sixteen ; The sixth, two and thirty; the seventh, three pound four ; The eighth, six pound and eight ; the ninth, twelve pound sixteen ; A.nd the tenth seven, five and twenty poujnd Twelve shillings. This thou art fall'n from by thy riot, Should'st thou live seventy years, by spending sixpence Once in the seven : but in a day to waste it ! There is a sum that number cannot reach ! Out of my house, thou pest of prodigality, Seed of consumption, hence ! a wicked keeper Is oft worse than the prisoners. There's thy penny. Four tokens for thee. Out, away ! [Exit Por.] My dogs May yet be innocent and honest ; if not, I have an entrapping question or two more, To put unto them, a cross intergatory, And I shall catch them. Lollard ! Peace : {_He calls forth Lollard. What whispering was that you had with Mortgage, When you last lick'dher feet ? the truth now. Ha ! Did you smell she was going ? Put down that. And not, Not to return ? You are silent : good I And when Leap'd you on Statute? As she went forth? Consent ! There was consent, as she was going forth. 'Twould have been fitter at her coming home, But you knew that she would not ? To your tower : You are cunning, are you ? I will meet your craft. \_Commits him again. Block, show your face ; leave your caresses : tell me, \_Calls forth Blot^k. And tell me truly, what affronts do you know Were done Pecunia, that she left ray house? None, say you so ? not that you know ?■ or will knoiv 9 I fear me, I shall find you an obstinate cur. Why did your fellow Lollard cry this morning ? ' Cause Broker kicked him ? Why did Broker kick him ? Because he pist against my lady's goivn ? Why, that was no affront, no, no distaste. Yon knew of none 9 you are a dissembling tyke. To your hole again, your Block-house. [Commits him.'] Lollard, arise. Where did you lift your leg up last, 'gainst what ? Are you struck dummerer now, and whine for mercy? Whose kirtle was't you gnaw'd too, mistress Band's ? And Wax's stockings 9 Who? Did Block be- scumber Statute s white suit, with the parchment lace there ; And Broker's satin doublet ? All will out, They had offence, offence enough to quit me. Appear, Block, fob ! 'tis manifest ; he shows it, Should he forswear't, make all the affidavits Against it, that he could afore the bench And twenty juries, he would be convinced. He bears an air about him doth confess it. Enter Cymbal, Fitton, Shunfield, Almanac, and Madrigal behind. To prison again, close prison. Not you, Tiollard ; You may enjoy the liberty of the house : And yet there is a quirk come in my head, For which I must commit you too, and close. Do not repine, it will be better for you — Cym. This is enough to make the dogs mad too : Let's in upon him. [.The^j come forward. p. sen. How now, what's the matter ? Come you to force the prisoners ? make a rescue ? Fit. We come to bail your dogs. P. sen. They are not bailable. They stand committed without bail or mainprise, Your bail cannot be taken. Shun. Then the truth is, We come to vex you. Aim. Jeer you. Mad. Bait you, rather, Cym. A baited usurer will be good flesh. Fit. And tender, we are told. P. sen. Wlao is the butcher, Amongst you, that is come to cut my throat ? Shun. You would die a calf's death fain ; but Is meant you. ['tis an ox's Fit. To be fairly knock' d o' the head. Shun. With a good jeer or two. P. sen. And from your jaw-bone, Don Assinigo ? Cym. Shunfield, a jeer ; you have it. Shun. 1 do confess, a swashing blow ; but, Snarl, You that might play the third dog, for your teeth You have no money now ? Fit. No, nor no Mortgage. Aim. Nor Band. Mad. Nor Statute. Cym. No, nor blushet Wax. P. sen. Nor you no office, as I take it. Shun. Cymbal, A mighty jeer ! Fit. Pox o' these true jests, I say ! Mad. He'll turn the better jeerer. Aim. Let's upon him. And if we cannot jeer him down in wit ATad. Let's do't in noise. Shun. Content. Mad. Charge, man of war. Aim. Lay him aboard. Shun. We'll give him a broadside first. Fit. Where is your venison now? Cym. Your red-deer pies ? Shun. With your baked turkeys ? Aim. And your partridges ? Mad. Your pheasants and fat swans ! P. sen. Like you, turn'd geese. Mad. But such as will not keep your Capitol. Shun. You were wont to have your breams — Aim. And trouts sent in. Cym. Fat carps and salmons. Fit. Ay, and now and then. An emblem of yourself, an o'ergrown pike. P. sen. You are a jack, sir. Fit. You have made a shift To swallow twenty such poor jacks ere now. Aim. If he should come to feed upon poor John — Mad. Or turn pure Jack-a-lent after all this ? Fit. Tut, he will live like a grasshopper Mad. On dew. Shun. Or like a bear, with licking his own claws. Cym, Ay, if his dogs were away. SCENE II. 405 Aim. He'll eat them first, While they are fat. Fit. Faith, and when they are gone. Here's nothing to be seen beyond. Cym. Except His kindred spiders, natives of the soil. Aim. Dust he will have enough here, to breed fleas. Mad. But by that time he'll have no blood to rear them. Shun. He will be as thin as a lanthorn, we shall see through him. Aim. And his gut colon tell his intestina. P. sen. Rogues ! rascals 1 [The dogs hark. (Bow, wow !) Fit. He calls his dogs to his aid. Aim. O, they but rise at mention of his tripes. Cym. Let them alone, they do it not for him. Mad. They bark se defendendo. Shun. Or for custom. As commonly curs do, one for another. Enter Liokfinger. Lick. Arm, arm you, gentlemen jeerers! the old Canter Is coming in upon you with his forces. The gentleman that was the Canter. Shun. Hence! Fit. Away ! Cym. What is he ? Aim. Stay not to ask questions. Fit. He is a flame. Shun. A furnace. Aim. A consumption, Kills where he goes. [Cym. Fit. Mad. Alm. and Shun, run off. Lick. See ! the whole covey is scatter'd ; 'Ware, 'ware the hawks ! I love to see them fly. Enter Pennyboy Canter, PENNvnoy jun., Pecunia, Sta- tute, Band, Wax, and Mortgage. P. Can. You see by this amazement and dis- traction. What your companions were, a poor, affrighted. And guilty race of men, that dare to stand No breath of truth ; but conscious to themselves Of their no-wit, or honesty, ran routed At every panic terror themselves bred. Whei-e else, as confident as sounding brass, Their tinkling captain, Cymbal, and the rest. Dare put on any visor, to deride The wretched, or with buffoon license jest A.t whatsoe'er is serious, if not sacred. P. sen. Who's this ? my brother ! and restored to life ! [wits ; P. Can. Yes, and sent hither to restore your If your short madness be not more than anger Conceived for your loss ! which I return you. See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and Wax, Without your Broker, come to abide with you, And vindicate the prodigal from stealing Away the lady. Nay, Pecunia herself Is come to free him fairly, and discharge All ties, but those of love unto her person, To use her like a friend, not like a slave, Or like an idol. Superstition Doth violate the deity it worships. No less than scorn doth ; and believe it, brother, The use of things is all, and not the store : Surfeit and fulness have kill'd more than famine. The sparrow with his little plumage flies. While the proud peacock, overcharg'd with pens, Is fain to sweep the ground with his grown train, And load of feathers. P. sen. Wise and honour'd brother ! None but a brother, and sent from the dead. As you are to me, could have alter'd me : I thank my destiny, that is so gracious. Are there no pains, no penalties decreed From whence you come, to us that smother money In chests, and strangle her in bags ? P. Can. O, mighty, Intolerable fines, and mulcts imposed. Of which I come to warn you : forfeitures Of whole estates, if they be known and taken. P. sen. I thank you, brother, for the light you have given me ; I will prevent them all. First, free my dogs. Lest what I have done to them, and against law, Be a praemunire ; for by Magna Charta They could not be committed as close prisoners, My learned counsel tells me here, my cook : And yet he shew'd me the way first. Lick. Who did? I ! I trench the liberty of the subjects ! P. Can. Peace, Picklock, your guest, that Stentor, hath infected you, Whom I have safe enough in a wooden collar. P. sen. Next, I restore these servants to theii lady, Wifh freedom, heart of cheer, and countenance ; It is their year and day of jubilee. Omnes. We thank you, sir. P. sen. And lastly, to my nephew I give my house, goods, lands, all but my vices. And those I go to cleanse ; kissing this lady. Whom I do give him too, and join their hand?. P. Can. If the spectators will join theirr,, we thank 'em. P. jun. And wish they may, as I, enjov Pecunia Pec. And so Pecunia herself doth wis i, That she may still be aid unto their uses. Not slave unto their pleasures, or a ty ant Over their fair desires ; but teach them all The golden mean ; the prodigal how t o live ; The sordid and the covetous how to die : That, with sound mind ; this, safe frugality. lExeunt. THE Thus have you seen the maker'' s double scope, To profit and delight ; wherein our hope Isy though the clout we do not always hit, It will not he imputed to his wit : — A tree so tried, and bent, as Uwillnot start: Nor doth he often crack a string of art ; Though there may other accidents as strange Happen, the weather of your looks may change, Or some high wind of misconceit arise, To cause an alteration in our skies : If so, we are sorry, that have so misspent Our time and tackle ; yet he's confident. And vows, the next fair day hell have us shoot The same match o'er for him, if you'll come to't. THE NEW INN; Oil, THE LIGHT HEART. TO THE READER. If thou bo such. I make thee my patron, and dedicate the piece to thee : if not so much, would I had been at the charge of thy better literature. Howsoever, if thou canst but spell, and join my sense, there is more hope of thee, than of a hundred fastidious impertinents, who were there present the first day, yet never made piece of their prospect the right way. What did they come for, then ? thou wilt ask me. I will as punctually answer : To see, and to be seen: to make a general muster of themselves in their clothes of credit; and possess the stage against the play: to dislike all, but mark nothing. And by their confidence of rising between the acts, in oblique lines, make affidavit to the whole house, of their not understanding one scone. Armed with this prejudice, as the stage furniture, or arras- clothes, they were there, as spectators, away : for the faces in the hangings, and they, beheld alike. So I wish they may do ever ; and do trust myself and my book, rather to thy rustic candour, than all the pomp of their pride, and solemn ignorance to boot. Fare thee well, and fall to. Read. -j^^^ Jonson But first, THE ARGUMENT. The Lord Frampul, a noble gentleman, well educated, and bred a scholar in Oxford, Avas married young, to a virtuous gentlewoman, Sylly's daughter of the South, whose worth, though he truly enjoyed, he never could rightly value ; but, as many green husbands, (given over to their exti-avagant delights, and some peccant humours of their own,) occasioned in his over-loving wife so deep a melancholy, by his leaving her in the time of her lying-in of her second daughter, she having brought him only two daughters, Frances and Lretitia : and (out of her hurt fancy) inter- preting that to be a cause of her husband's coldness in affection, her not being blest with a son, took a resolution with herself, after her month's time, and thanksgiving rightly in the church, to quit her home, with a vow never to return, till by reducing her lord, she could bring a wished happiness to the family. He in the mean time returning, and hearing of this departure of his lady, began, though over-late, to resent the injury he had done her : and out of his cock-brain'd resolution, entered into as solemn a quest of her. Since Avhen, neither of them had been heard of. But tlie eldest daughter, Frances, by the title of Lady Frampul, enjoyed the estate her sister being lost young, and is the sole relict of the family. Here begins our Comedy. ACT I. Tliis lady, being a brave, bountiful lady, and enjoying this free and plentiful estate, hath an ambitious disposi- tion to be esteemed the mistress of many servants, but loves none. And hearing of a famous New-Inn, that is kept by a merry host, call'd Goodstock, in Barnet, invites some lords and gentlemen to wait on her thither, as well to see the fashions of the place, as to make themselves merry, with the accidents on the by. It happens there is a melancholy gentleman, one Master Lovel, hatli been lodged there some days before in the inn, who (unwilling to be seen) is surprised by the lady, and invited by Prudence, the lady's chambermaid, who is elected go- verness of the sports in the inn for that day, and install'd their sovereign. Lovel is persuaded by the host, and yields to the lady's invitation, which concludes the fiist act. Having revealed his quality before to the host. ACT n. In this. Prudence and her lady express their anger con- ceiv'd at the tailor, who had promised to make Prudence a new suit, and bring it home, as on the eve, against this day. But he failing of his word, the lady had com- manded a standard of her own best apparel to be brouglit down ; and Prudence is so fitted. The lady being put in mind, that she is there alone without other company of women, borrows, by the advice of Prue, the host's son of the house, Avhom they dress, with the host's consent, like a lady, and send out the coachman with the empty coach, as for a kinswoman of her ladyship's, Mistress Latitia Sylly, to bear her company : who attended with his nurse, an old charewoman in the inn, drest odly by the host's counsel, is believed to bo a lady of quality, and so receiv'd, entertain'd, and love made to her by the young Lord Hcaufort, &c. In the mean time the Fly of the Inn is discover'd to Colonel Glorious, with the Militia of the house, below the stairs, in the Drawer, Tapster, Cliambei- lain, and Hostler, inferior Ofiicers ; with the Coachman Trundle, Ferret, &c. And the preparation is made to the lady's design upon Lovel, his upon her, and the sovereign's upon both. ACT HI. Here begins the Epitasis, or business of the Play. Lovel, by the dexterity and wit of the sovereign of the sports, Prudence, having two hours assign'd him of free colloquy, and love-making to his mistress, one after dinner, the other after supper, the covu-t being set, is de- manded by the Lady Frampul, what love is : as doubting if there were any such power, or no. To whom he, first by definition, and after by argument, answers; proving and describing the effects of love so vively, as she who had derided the name of love before, hearing his discourse, is now so taken both with the man and liis matter, as she confesseth herself enamour'd of him, and, but for the ambition she hath to enjoy the other hour, had presently declared herself: which gives both him and the spectators occasion to think she yet dissembles, notwithstanding the payment of her kiss, which he celebrates. And the court dissolves, upon news brought of a new lady, a newer coach, and a new coachman call'd Barnaby. ACT IV. The house being put into a noise, with the rumour of this new lady, and there being drinking below in the court, the colonel. Sir Glorious, Avith Bat Burst, a broken citizen, and Hodge Huffle, his cliampion ; she falls into their liands, and being attended but Avith one footman, is uncivilly entreated by them, and a quarrel commenced, but is rescued by the valour of Lovel ; Avhich belield by the Lady Frampul, from the AvindoAV, she is invited up for safety, Avhcre coming, and conducted by the host, her ROAvn is first discovered to bs the same Avith the whole THE NEW INN. 407 suit, which was bespoken for Prue, and she herself, upon examination, found to be Pinnacia StufiF, the tailor's wife, who was wont to be pre-cccupicd in all his customers' best clothes, by the footman her husband. They are both con- demned and censm-ed, she stript like a doxy, and sent home a-foot. In the interim, the second hour goes on, and the question, at suit of the Lady Frampul, is changed from love to valour ; which ended, he receives his second kiss, and, by the rigour of the sovereign, falls into a fit of melancholy, worse, or more desperate than the first. ACT V. Is the catastrophe, or knitting up of all, where Fly brings word to the host of the Lord Beaufort's being married privately in the New Stable, to the supposed lady, his son ; which the host receives as an omen of mirth ; but complains that Level is gone to bed melan- cholic, when Prudence appears drest in the new suit, applauded by lier lady, and employed to retrieve Lovel. The host encounters them, with this relation of Lord Beaufort's marriage, which is seconded by the Li/rfl Lati- mer, and all the servants of the house. In this while. Lord Beaufort comes in, and professes it, calls for his bed and bride-bowl to be made ready ; the host forbids both, shews whom he hath married, and discovers him to be his son, a boy. The lord bridegroom confounded, the nurss enters like a frantic bedlamite, cries out on Fly, says she is undone in her daughter, who is confessed to be the Lord Frampul's child, sister to the other lady, the host to be their father, she his wife. He finding his children, bestows them one on Lovel, the other on the Lord Beaufort, the Inn upon Fly, who had been a gypsy with him ; offers a portion with Prudence, for her wit, which is refused ; and she taken by the Lord Latimer, to wife ; for the crown of her virtue and goodness. And all are contented. DRAMATIS PERSONS. WITH SOME SHORT CHARACTEKISM OF THE CHIEF ACTORS. GooDSTOCK, the Host, (play'd ivell,) alias the Lord Fram- pul. He pretends to be a gentleman and a scholar, neg- lected by the times, turns host, and keeps an Inn, the sign of the Light-Heart, in Barnet : is supposed to have one only son, but is fotind to have none, but tu-o daugh- ters, Frances, and L^titia, who ivas lost young, ^c. Lovel, a complete Gentleman, a soldier and a scholar, is a melancholy guest in the Inn : first quarreU'd, after much honoured and beloved by the host. He is known to hare been Page to the old Lord Beaufort, follow'd him in the French wars, after a companion of his studies, and left guardian to his son. He is assisted in his love to the Lady Frampul, by the host and the chambermaid Prudence. He was one that acted tvell too. Ferret, who is called Stote and Vermin, is Lovel's Ser- vant, a fellow of a quick, nimble wit, knou's the manners and affections of people, and can make profitable and timely discoveries of them. Frank, supposed a boy, and the host's son, borrowed to be drest for a lady, and set up as a stale by Prudence, to calch Beaufort or Latimer, proves to bcljie.TmA., sister to Frances, and Lord Frampul's younger daughter, stolen by a beggar woman, shorn, put into boy's apparel, sold to the host, and brought up by him as his son. Nurse, a poor Chare-Woman in the Inn, with one eye, that tends the boy, is thought the Irish beggar that sold him, but is truly the Lady Frampul, ivho left her home melancholic, and jealous that her lord loved her iiot, be- cause she brought him none but daughters; and lives unknown to her husband, as he to her. Frances, supposed the Lady Frampul, being reputed his sole daughter and heir, the barony descending upon her, is alady of great fortune, and beauty, but phantastical ; thinks nothing a felicity, but to have a mullitude of ser- vants, and be call'd mistress by them, comes to the Inn to be merry, with a chambermaid only, and her servants her guests, Sjc. Prudence, the Cliambermaid, is elected sovereign of the sports in the Inn, governs all, commands, and so orders, as the Lord Latimer is exceedingly taken with her, and takes her to his wife, in conclusion. Lord Latimer, and Lord Beaufort, are a pair of young lords, servants and guests to the Lady Frampul ; but as Latimer falls enamour'd of Prudence, so doth Beau- fort on the boy, the host's son, set up for L.'etitia, the younger sister, which she proves to be indeed. Sir Glorious Tipto, a Knight, and Colonel, hath the luck to think well of himself, without a rival, talks gloriously of any tiling, but very seldom is in the right. He is the lady's guest, and her servant too ; but this day utterly neglects his service, or that him. For he is so enamour'd on the fly of the Inn, and the Militia below stai7-s, icith Hodge Huffle and Bat Burst, guests that come in, and Trundle, Barnabv, ^ c. as no other society relisheth with him. Fly, is the Parasite of the Inn , visitor-general of the house, one that had been a strolling gypsy, but now is reclaim'd, to be inflamer of the reckonings. Pierce, the Drawer, knighted by the Colonel, styled Sir Pierce, and Young Anon, one of the chief of the in- fantry. Jordan, the Chamberlain, another of the Militia, and an Officer, commands the terlia of the beds. 3m, the Tapster, a thoroughfare of netcs. Peck, the Hostler. Bat Burst, a broken Citizen, an in-and-in man. Hodge Huffle, a Cheater, his Champion. Nick Stuff, the Ladies' Tailor. Pinnacia Stuff, his Wife, Trundle, a Coachman. Barnaby, a hired Coachman, Staggers, the Smith, Tree, the Sadler, only talked on. SCENE,— Barnet.. THE PROLOGUE. Vou are welcome, welcome all to the New Inn : Though the old house, we hope our cheer will win Your acceptation : we have the same cook Still, and the fat, who sai/s, you shall not look Long for your bill of fare, but every dish Be served in i' the time, and to your wish : any thing be set to a wrong taste, 'Tis not the meat there, but the mouifl's displaced, Remove but that sick palate, all is well. For this the secure dresser bade me tell, Nothing more hurts just meetings, than a erotcd ; Or, when the expectation's grown too loud : That the nice stomach would have this or that. And being ask'd, or urged, it knows not what 408 THE NEW INN. When sharp or sweet, have been too much a feast, And both outlived the palate of the guest. Beware to bring such appetites to the stage, They do confess a weak, sick, queasy age ; And a shrewd grudging too of ignorance. When clothes and faces ^bove the men advance : Hear for your health, then, but at any hand, Before you judge, vouchsafe to understand. Concoct, digest : if then, it do not hit. Some are in a consumption of wit. Deep he dares say, he will not think, that all For hectics are not epidemical. ACT I. SCENE I,— A Room in the Inn. Enter Host, followed ly Fekret. Host. I am not pleased, indeed, you are in the right ; Nor is my house pleased, if my sign could speak, The sign of the Light Heart. There you may So may your master too, if he look on it. [read it ; A heart weigh'd with a feather, and outweigh'd too : A brain-child of my own, and I am proud on't ! And if his worship think, here, to be melancholy, In spite of me or my wit, he is deceived ; I will maintain the rebus against all humours, And all complexions in the body of man, That is my word, or in the isle of Britain ! Fer. You have reason, good mine host. Host. Sir, I have rhyme too. Whether it be by chance or art, A heavy purse makes a light heart. There 'tis exprest : first, by a purse of gold, A heavy purse, and then two turtles, makes, A heart with a light stuck in it, a Light Heart. Old abbot Islip could not invent better. Or prior Bolton with his bolt and ton. I am an inn-keeper, and know my grounds, And study them ; brain o' man 1 I study them. I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs, And whistling boys to bring my harvest home. Or I shall hear no flails thwack. Here, your master And you have been this fortnight, drawing fleas Out of my mats, and pounding them in cages Cut out of cards, and those roped round with pack thread Drawn thorough birdlime, a fine subtility ! Or poring through a multiplying-glass. Upon a captived crab-louse, or a cheese-mite To be dissected, as the sports of nature. With a neat Spanish needle ! speculations That do become the age, I do confess ! As measuring an ant's eggs with the silk-worm's, By a phantastic instrument of thread, Shall give you their just difference to a hair ! Or else recovering of dead flies with crumbs, Another quaint conclusion in the physics. Which I have seen you busy at, through the key- hole But never had the fate to see a fly Enter Lovel. Alive in your cups, or once heard, Drink, mine host ! Or such a cheerful chirping charm come from you. Lov. What's that, what's that? Fer. A buzzing of mine host About a fly ; a murmur that he has. Host. Sir, I am telling your Stote here, monsieur Ferret, For that I hears his name, and dare tell you, sir. If you have a mind to be melancholy, and musty. There's Footman's inn at the town's end, the stocks. Or Carrier's place, at sign of the Broken Wain, Mansions of state ! take up your harbour there. There are both flies and fleas, and all variety Of vermin, for inspection or dissection. Lov. We have set our rest up here, sir, in youi Heart. Host. Sir, set your heart at rest, you shall not Unless you can be jovial. Brain of man ! [do it, Be jovial first, and drink, and dance, and drink. Your lodging here, and with your daily dumps. Is a mere libel 'gain my house and me ; And, then, your scandalous commons — Lov. How, mine host! Host. Sir, they do scandal me upon the road A poor quotidian rack of mutton, roasted [here, Dry to be grated ! and that driven down With beer and butter-milk, mingled together, Or clarified whey instead of claret ! It is against my freehold, my inheritance, My Magna Charta, cor IcBtificat, To drink such balderdash, or bonny-clabber ! Give me good wine, or catholic, or christian, Wine is the word that glads the heart of man : And mine's the house of wine : Sack, says my bush. Be merry, and drink sherry ; that's my posie ! For I shall never joy in my light heart. So long as I conceive a sullen guest. Or any thing that's earthy. Lov. Humorous host ! Host. I care not if I be. Lov. But airy also ! Not to defraud you of your rights, or trench Upon your privileges, or great charter, For those are every hostler's language now. Say, you were born beneath those smiling stars, Have made you lord and owner of the Heart, Of the Light Heart in Barnet : suff"er us Who are more saturnine, to enjoy the shade Of your round roof yet. Host. Sir, I keep no shades Nor shelters, I, for either owls or rere-mice. Enter Frank. Fer. He'll make you a bird of night, sir. Host. Bless you child ! — \_Asidc to Fra nk You'll make yourselves such. Lov. That your son, mine host? Host. He's all the sons I have, sir. Lov. Pretty boy ! Goes he to school? Fer. O lord, sir, he prates liatin. An it were a parrot, or a play-boy. Lov. Thou Commend'st him fitly ! Fer. To the pitch he flies, sir. He'll tell you what is Latin for a looking-glass, A beard-brush, rubber, or quick-warming pan. SCENE I. TPIE NEW INN. 409 Lov. What's that ? Fer. A wench, in the inn-phrase, is all these ; A looking-glass in her eye, A beard-brush with her lips, A rubber with her hand, And a warming-pan with her hips. Host. This, in your scurril dialect : but my inn Knous no such language. Fer. That's because, mine host, You do profess the teaching him yourself. Host. Sir, I do teach him somewhat : by degrees, And with a funnel, I make shift to fill The narrow vessel ; he is but yet a bottle. Lov. O let him lose no time though. Host. Sir, he does not. Lov. And less his manners. Host. I provide for those too Come hither, Frank, speak to the gentleman In Latin ; he is melancholy : say, I long to see him merry, and so would treat him. Fra. Subtristis vis-",' es esse aliquantulum patri, qui te laute excipere, etiam ac tractare gestit. Lov. Fulchre. Host. Tell him, I fear it bodes us some ill luck, His too reservedness. Fra. Veretur pater, ne quid nobis mail ominis apportet iste nimis prcBclusus vultus. Lov. Belle. A fine child ! You will not part with him, mine host ? Host. Who told you I would not ? Lov. I but ask you. Host. And I answer To whom ? for what ? Lov. To me, to be my page. Host. I know no mischief yet the child hath To deserve such a destiny. [done, Lov. Why? Host. Go down, boy. And get your breakfast. [Exeunt Frank and Ferret.] — Trust me, I had rather Take a fair halter, wash my hands, and hang him Myself, make a clean riddance of him, than Lov. What.? Host. Than damn him to that desperate course of life. Lov. Call you that desperate, which by a line Of institution, from our ancestors, Hath been derived down to us, and received la a succession, for the noblest way Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms. Fair mein, discourses, civil exercise, And all the blazon of a gentleman ? Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence, To move his body gracefuller, to speak His language purer, or to tune his mind, Or manners, more to the harmony of nature. Than in these nurseries of nobility } Host. Ay, that was when the nursery's self was And only virtue made it, not the market, [noble, That titles were not vented at the drum, Or common out-cry ; goodness gave the greatness. And greatness worship : every house became An academy of honour, and those parts We see departed, in the practice now Quite from the institution. Lov. Why do you say so. Or think so enviously? do they not still Learn there the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace, To ride ? or Pollux' mystery, to fence i The Pyrrhic gC'Stures, both to dance and spring In armour, to be active for the wars To study figures, numbers, and proportions. May yield them great in counsels, and the arts Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised. To make their English sweet upon their tongue, As reverend Chaucer says ? Host. Sir, you mistake ; To play sir Pandarus, my copy hath it, And carry messages to madam Cressid, Instead of backing the brave steed, o' mornings, To mount the chambermaid ; and for a leap Of the vaulting-horse, to ply the vaulting-house : For exercise of arms, a bale of dice. Or two or three packs of cards to shew the cheat, And nimbleness of hand ; mistake a cloak From my lord's back, and pawn it ; ease his pocketi Of a superfluous watch, or geld a jewel Of an odd stone or so ; twinge three or four buttons From off my lady's gown : these are the arts. Or seven liberal deadly sciences Of pagery, or rather paganism. As the tides run ! to which, if he apply him He may, perhaps, take a degree at Tyburn, A year the earlier ; come, to read a lecture Upon Aquinas at St. Thomas a Waterings, And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle ! Lov. You are tart, mine host, and talk above your seasoning. O'er what you seem : it should not come, me- thinks. Under your cap, this vein of salt and sharpness, These strikings upon learning, now and then. How long have you, if your dull guest may ask it, Drove this quick trade, of keeping the Light Heart, Your mansion, palace, here, or hostelry? Host. Troth, I was born to somewhat, sir, above it. Lov. I easily suspect that: mine host, your name.'' Host. They call me Goodstock. Lov. Sir, and you confess it. Both in your language, treaty, and your bearing. Host. Yet all, sir, are not sons of the white hen : Nor can we, as the songster says, come all To be wrapt soft and warm in fortune's smock. When she is pleas'd to trick or tromp mankind. Some may be coats, as in the cards ; but, then. Some must be knaves, some varlets, bawds, and As aces, duces, cards of ten, to face it [ostlers. Out in the game, which all the world is. — Lov. But, It being in your free-will (as 'twas) to choose What parts you would sustain, methinks a man Of your sagacity, and clear nostril, should Have made another choice, than of a place So sordid, as the keeping of an inn : Where every jovial tinker, for his chink, May cry, Mine host, to crambe ! Give us drink ; And do not slink, but sJdnk, cr else you stink. Rogue, bawd, and cheater, call you by the surnames, And known synonyma of your profession. Host. But if I be no such, who then's the rogue. In understanding, sir, I mean ? who errs, Who tinkles then, or personates Tom Tinker ? Your weazel here may tell you I talk bawdy, And teach my boy it ; and you may believe him ; But, sir, at your own peril, if I do not ; And at his too, if he do lie, and affirm it, No slander strikes, less hurts, the innocent. If I be honest, and that all the cheat 410 THE NEW INN. Be of myself, in keeping this Light Heart, Where, I imagine all the world's a play ; The state, and men's affairs, all passages Of life, to spring new scenes ; come in, go out, And shift, and vanish ; and if I have got A seat to sit at ease here, in mine inn, To see the comedy ; and laugh, and chuck At the variety and throng of humours And dispositions, that come justling in And out still, as they one drove hence another ; Why will you envy me my happiness ? t?e?-;iuse you are sad and lumpish ; carry a load- stone In your pocket, to hang knives on ; or jet rings. To entice young straws to leap at them ; are not With the alacrities of an host ! 'Tis more, [taken And justlier, sir, my wonder, why you took My house up, Fidlers-hall, the seat of noise, And mirth, an inn here, to be drowsy in. And lodge your lethargy in the Light Heart : As if some cloud from court had been your harbinger. Or Cheapside debt-books, or some mistress' charge, Seeing your love grow corpulent, gave it a diet, By absence, some such mouldy passion ! Lov. 'Tis guess'd unhappily. lAside. lie-enter Fbuuet. Fer, Mine host, you're call'd. Host. I come, boys. [_ExU. Lov. Ferret, have not you been ploughing With this mad ox, mine host, nor he with you ? Fer. For what, sir ? Lov. Why, to find my riddle out. Fer. 1 hope you do believe, sir, I can find Other discourse to be at, than my master, With hosts and hostlers, Lov. If you can, 'tis well : Go down, and see, who they are come in, what guests ; And bring me word. iExH Ferret. Lov. O love, what passion art thou ! So tyrannous and treacherous ! first to enslave. And then betray all tbat in truth do serve thee ! That not the wisest, nor the wariest creature. Can more dissemble thee, than he can bear Hot burning coals, in his bare palm, or bosom : And less conceal, or hide thee, than a flash Of enflamed powder, whose whole light doth lay it Open to all discovery, even of those Who have but half an eye, and less of nose. An host, to find me ! who is, commonly. The log, a little of this side the sign-post ; Or at the best some round-grown thing, a jug Faced with a beard, that fills out to the guests. And takes in from the fragments of their jests ! But I may wrong this out of sullenness. Or my mistaking humour : pray thee, phant'sy, Be laid again : and, gentle melancholy, Do not oppress me ; I will be as silent As the tame lover should be, and as foolish. * Re-enter Host. Host. My guest, my guest, be jovial, I beseech thee. I have fresh golden guests, guests of the game. Three coachful ! lords ! and ladies ! new come in ; And I will cry them to thee, and thee to them, So I can spring a smile but in this brow, That, like the rugged Roman alderman. Old master Gross, surnam'd ^kyiXaaros, Was never seen to laugh, but at an ass. Re-enter Ferret. Fer. Sir, here's the lady Frampul. Lov. How ! Fer. And her train. Lord Beaufort, and lord Latimer, the colonel Tipto, with mistress Prue, the chambermaid, Trundle, the coachman Lov. Stop — discharge the house. And get my horses ready ; bid the groom Bring them to the back gate. iExit Ferret, Host. What mean you, sir ? Lov. To take fair leave, mine host. Host. I hope, my guest. Though I have talk'd somewhat above my share, At large, and been in the altitudes, the extrava- gants, Neither my self nor any of mine have given you The cause to quit my house thue on the sudden. Lov. No, I affirm it on my faith Excuse me From such a rudeness ; I was now beginning To taste and love you : and am heartily sorry. Any occasion should be so compelling. To urge my abrupt departure thus. But Necessity's a tyrant, and commands it. Host. She shall command me first to fire my bush ; Then break up house : or, if that will not serve, To break with all the world ; turn country bankrupt In mine own town, upon the market-day, And be protested for my butter and eggs. To the last bodge of oats, and bottle of hay. Ere you shall leave me I will break my Heart ; Coach and coach-horses, lords and ladies pack : All my fresh guests shall stink. I'll pull my sign down. Convert mine Inn to an alms-house, or a spittli For lazars, or switch-sellers ; turn it to An academy of rogues ; or give it away For a free-school to breed up beggars in. And send them to the canting universities. Before you leave me ! Lov. Troth, and I confess I am loth, mine host, to leave you : your exprisa- sions Both take and hold me. But, in case I stay, I must enjoin you and your whole family To privacy, and to conceal me ; for The secret is, I would not willingly See, or be seen, to any of this ging. Especially the lady. Host. Brain o' man! What monster is she, or cockatrice in velvet, That kills thus ? Lov. O good words, mine host. She is A noble lady, great in blood and fortune. Fair, and a wit ! but of so bent a phant'sy. As she thinks nought a happiness, but to have A multitude of servants ; and to get them, Though she be very honest, yet she ventures Upon these precipices, that would make her Not seem so, to some prying narrow natures. We call her, sir, the lady Frances Frampul, Daughter and heir to the lord Frampul. Host. Who ! He that did live in Oxford, first a student, And after, married with the daughter of • Lov. Sylly. THE NEW INN. 411 Host. Right. Of whom the tale went, to turn puppet-master. Lov. And travel with young Goose, the motion- man. Host. And lie and live with the gipsies half a year Together, from his wife. Lov. The very same : The mad lord Frampul ! and this same is his daughter, But as cock-brain'd as e'er the father was ! There were two of them, Frances and Loetitia, But Lsetitia was lost young; and, as the rumour Flew then, the mother upon it lost herself; A fond weak woman, went away in a melancholy. Because she brought him none but girls, she thought Her husband loved her not : and he as foolish, iToo late resenting the cause given, went after, In quest of her, and was not heard of since. Host. A strange division of a family ! Lov. And scattered as in the great confusion ! Host. But yet the lady, the heir, enjoys the land ? Lov. And takes all lordly ways how to consume it As nobly as she can : if clothes, and feasting. And the authorised means of riot will do it. Host. She shews her extract, anc' I honour her for it. Re-enter Ferret. Fer. Your horses, sir, are ready ; and the house Dis Lov. — Pleased, thou think'st? Fer. I cannot tell ; discharged I am sure it is. Lov. Charge it again, good Ferret, And make unready the horses ; thou know'st how. Chalk, and renew the rondels, I am now Resolved to stay. Fer. I easily thought so. When you should hear what's purposed. Lov. What? Fer. To throw The house out of the window. Host. Brain o' man, I shall have the worst of that ! will they not throw My household stuff out tirst, cushions and carpet. Chairs, stools, and bedding ? is not their sport my ruin? Lov. Fear not, mine host, I am not of the fellowship. Fer. I cannot see, sir, how you will avoid it ; They know already, all, you are in the house. Lov. Who know ? Fer. The lords : they have seen me, and enquired IjOV. Why were you seen ? [it. Fer. Because indeed I had No medicine, sir, to go invisible : No fern seed in my pocket ; nor an ojial Wrapt in bay-leaf, in my left fist, to ?>Hrm Their eyes with. Host. He does give you reasons, [sir,] As round as Gyges' ring ; which, say the ancients, Was a hoop ling ; and that is, round as a hoop. Lov. You will have your rebus still, mine host. J lost. I must. Fer. My lady too look'd out of the window, and call'd me. And see where secretary Prue comes from her, Fsaploy'd upon some embassy unto you. Host. I'll meet her if she come upon employ- ment : — Enter Prudence. Fair lady, welcome, as your host can maKe you ! Pru. Forbear, sir ; I am first to have mine audience, Before the compHment. This gentleman Is my address to. Host. And it is in state. Pru. My lady, sir, is glad of the enco unter To find a servant here, and such a servant, Whom she so values ; with her best respects, Desires to be remembered ; and invites Your nobleness to be a part, to-day, Of the society, and mirtli intended By her, and the young lords, your fellow-servants. W^ho are alike ambitious of enjoying The fair request ; and to that end have sent Me, their imperfect orator, to obtain it. Which if I may, they have elected me, And crown'd me, with the title of a sovereign Of the day's sports devised in the inn, So you be pleased to add your suffrage to it. Lov. So I be pleased, my gentle mistress Prudence ! You cannot think me of that coarse disposition, To envy you any thing. Host. That's nobly said, And like my guest ! Lov. I gratulate your honour, And should, with cheer, lay hold on any handle That could advance it : but for me to think, I can be any rag or particle Of your lady's care, more than to fill her list. She being the lady, that professeth still To love no soul or body, but for ends, Which are her sports ; and is not nice to speak this, But doth proclaim it, in all companies — Her ladyship must pardon my weak counsels, And weaker will, if 1 decline to obey her. Pric. O, master Love!, you must not give credit To all that ladies publicly profess, Or talk o' the vol^e, unto their servants. Their tongues and thoughts oft-times lie far asunder. Yet when they please, they have their cabinet- counsels. And reserv'd thoughts, and can retire themselves As well as others. Host. Ay, the subtlest of us. All that is Ijorn within a lady's lips Pru. Is not the issue of their hearts, mine host Host. Or kiss, or drink afore me. Pru. Stay, excuse me ; Mme errand is not done. Yet, if her ladyship's Slighting, or disesteem, sir, of your service. Hath formerly begot any distaste. Which I not know of; here I vow unto you, Upon a chambermaid's simplicity, Reserving still the honour of my lady, I will be bold to hold the glass up to her. To shew her ladyship where she hath err'd^ And how to tender satisfaction ; So you vouchsafe to prove but the day's venture. Host. What say you, sir ? where are you, are 5'ou within ? [Strikes Lovel on the IreatL Lov. Yes, I will wait upon her and the com- pany. THE NEW INN. ACT II. Host. It is enough, queen Prudence ; I will bring him : And on this kiss. — \_Kisses her. Exit Prudence.] I long'd to kiss a queen. Lov. There is no life on earth, but being in love ! There are no studies, no delights, no business, No intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul. But what is love ! I was the laziest creature. The most unprofitable sign of nothing, The veriest drone, and slept away my life Beyond the dormouse, till I was in love ! And now, I can outwake the nightingale. Out-watch an usurer, and out-walk him too ; Stalk like a ghost, that haunted 'bout a treasure, And all that phant'sied treasm-e, it is love. Host. But is your name Love-ill, sir, or Love- I would know that. [well ? Lov. I do not know't myself, Whether it is ; but it is love hath been The hereditary passion of our house. My gentle hose, and, as I guess, my friend : The truth is, I have loved this lady long. And im potently, with desire enough, But no success : for I have still forborne To express it, in my person, to her. Host. How then ? Lov. I have sent her toys, verses, and ana- grams. Trials of wit, mere trifles she has commended, But knew not whence they came, nor could she guess. Host. This was a pretty riddling way of wooing ! Lov. I oft have been too in her company ; And look'd upon her a whole day ; admired her ; Loved her, and did not tell her so ; loved still, Look'd still, and loved ; and loved, and look'd, and sigh'd : But, as a man neglected, I came off, And unregarded Host. Could you blame her, sir. When you were silent, and not said a word ? Lov. O but I loved the more; and she might Best in my silence, had she been [read it Host. As melancholic. As you are ! Pray you, why would you stand mute, sir Lov. O, thereon hangs a history, mine host. Did you e'er know, or hear of the lord Beaufort, Who serv'd so bravely in France ? 1 was his page, And ere he died, his friend: I foUow'd him, First, in the wars, and, in the times of peace, I waited on his studies ; which were right. He had no Arthurs, nor no Rosicleers, No knights o' the sun, nor Amadis de Gauls, Primalions, Pantagruels, public nothings ; Abortives of the fabulous dark cloyster. Sent out to poison courts and infest manners • But great Achilles, Agamemnon's acts. Sage Nestor's counsels, and Ulysses' slights, Tydides' fortitude, as Homer wrought them In his immortal phant'sy, for examples Of the heroic virtue. Or, as Virgil, That master of the epic poem, limn'd Pious JEneas, his religious prince. Bearing his aged parent on his shoulders. Rapt from the flames of Troy, with his young son : And these he brought to practice, and to use. He gave me first my breeding, I acknowledge. Then shower'd his bounties on me, like the Hours, That open-handed sit upon the clouds, And press the liberality of heaven Down to the laps of thankful men ! But then The trust committed to me at his death, Was above all, and left so strong a tie On all my powers, as time shall not dissolve, Till it dissolve itself, and bury all ! The care of his brave heir, and only son : Who being a virtuous, sweet, young, hopeful lord. Hath cast his first aff"ections on this lady. And though 1 know, and may presume her such, As, out of humour, will return no love ; And therefore might indiff'erently be made The courting-stock, for all to practice on. As.. she doth practice on alius, to scorn : Yet, out of a rehgion to my charge, And debt profess'd, I have made a self-decree, Ne'er to express my person, though my passion Burn me to cinders. Host. Then you are not so subtle Or half so read in love-craft as I took you ; Come, come, you are no phoenix ; an you w^ere, I should expect no miracle fi*om your ashes. Take some advice. Be still that rag of love. You are : burn on till you turn tinder. This chambermaid may hap to prove the steel, To strike a sparkle out of the flint, your mistress, May beget bonfires yet ; you do not know. What light may be forced out, and from what darkness. Lov. Nay, I am so resolv'd, as still I'll love, Though not confess it. Host. That's, sir, as it chances ; We'll throw the dice for it : cheer up. Lov. I do. lExeunU ACT 11. SCENE I. — A Room in the Inn. En ter Lady Frampul, and Prudence pinning on her ladp's gown. LadyF. Come, wench, this suit will serve; — dispatch, make ready ; It was a great deal with the biggest for me. Which made me leave it off after once wearing. How does it fit ? will it come together Pru. Hardly. Lady F. Thou must make shift with it ; pride feels no pain. I Girt thee hard, Prue. Pox o' this errant tailor, He angers me beyond all mark of patience 1 These base mechanics never keep their word, In any thing they promise. Fru. 'Tis their trade, madam, To swear and break ; they all grow rich by break- ing More than their words ; their honesties and credits, Are still the first commodity they put off. Lady F. And worst, it seems ; which makes them do it so often. SCENE I. THE NEW INN. 413 If he had but broke with me, I had not cared, But with the company ! the body politic ! Pru. Frustrate our whole design, having that time, And the materials in, so long before ! Lady F. And he to fail in all, and disappoint us \ The rogue deserves a torture Pru. To be cropp'd With his own scissors. Lady F. Let's devise him one. Pru. And have the stumps sear'd up with his own searing candle. Lady F. Close to his head, to trundle on his pillow. — I'll have the lease of his house cut out in measures. Pru. And he be strangled with them. LadyF. No, no life I would have touch'd, but stretch'd on his own yard He should be a little, have the strappado — Pru. Or an ell of taffata Drawn through his guts, by way of glyster, and fired With aqua vitse. Lady F. Burning in the hand With the pressing-iron, cannot save him. Pru. Yes, Now I have got this on ; I do forgive him, What robes he should have brought. Lady F. Thou art not cruel, Although strait-laced, I see, Prue. Pru. This is well. Lady F. 'Tis rich enough, but 'tis not what I meant thee I would have had thee braver than myself, And brighter far. 'Twill fit the players yet. When thou hast done with it, and yield thee somewhat. Fru. Thatwere illiberal, madam, and mere sordid In me, to let a suit of yours come there. Lady F. Tut, all are players, and but serve the scene, Prue : Dispatch ; I fear thou dost not like the province, Thou art so long a fitting thyself for it. Here is a scarf to make thee a knot finer. Pru. You send me a-feasting, madam. Lady F. Wear it, wench. Pru. Yes ; but with leave of your ladyship, I would tell you. This can but bear the face of an odd journey. Lady F. Why, Prue ? Pru. A lady of your rank and quality. To come to a public inn, so many men, Young lords and others, in your company. And not a woman but myself, a chamber-maid ! LadyF. Thou doubt'st to beo'erlaid, Prue, fear it not, I'll bear my part, and share with thee in the venture. Pru. O but the censure, madam, is the main. What will they say of you, or judge of me. To be translated thus, above all the bound Of fitness or decorum Lady F. How now, Prue ! Turn'd fool upon the sudden, and talk idly In thy best clothes ! shoot bolts and sentences To affright oabies with ! as if I lived T" ^v»y oihe.r scale than what's my own, sou^'it myself, without myself, from home ! Pru. I our ladyship will pardon me my fault ; I have over-shot, I'll shoot no more. Lady F. Yes, shoot again, good Prue ; I'll have thee shoot. And aim, and hit ; I know 'tis love in thee, And so I do interpret it. Pru. Then, madam, I'd crave a farther leave. Lady F. Be it to license, It shall not want an ear, Prue. Say, what is it ? Pru. A toy I have, to raise a little mirth To the design in hand. Lady F. Out with it, Prue, If it but chime of mirth. Pr^i. Mine host has, madam, A pretty boy in the house, a dainty child, His son, and is of your ladyship's name, too, Francis, Whom if your ladyship would borrow of him. And give me leave to dress him as I would. Should make the finest lady and kinswoman, To keep you company, and deceive my lords, Upon the matter, with a fountain of sport. Lady F. I apprehend thee, and the source of That it may breed ; but is he bold enough, [mirth The child, and well assured Pru. As I am, madam : Have him in no suspicion, more than me. Here comes mine host ; will you but please to ask Or let me make the motion ? [him. Lady F. Which thou wilt, Prue. Enter Host. Host. Your ladyship, and all your train are wel- Lady F. I thank my hearty host. [come. Host. So is your sovereignty, Madam, I wish you joy of your new gown. T.ady F. It should have been, my host; but Stuff, our tailor. Has broke with us ; you shall be of the counsel. Pru. He will deserve it, madam. My lady has heard You have a pretty son, mine host, she'll see him. Lady F. Ay, very fain ; I pray thee let me see him, host. Host. Your ladyship shall presently. — [Goes to the door. Bid Frank come hither anon, unto my lady. — It is a bashful child, homely brought up, In a rude hostelry : but the Light Heart Is now his father's, and it may be his. Here he comes Enter Frank. Frank, salute my lady. Frank. I do What, madam, I am design'd to do, by my birth- right. As heir of the Light Heart, bid you most welcome. Lady F. And I believe yowr most, my pretty boy, Being so emphased by you. Frank. Your ladyship, madam, If you believe it such, are sure to make it. Lady F. Prettily answered ! Is your name Frank. Yes, madam. [Francis? Lady F. I love mine own the better. Frank. If 1 knew yours, I should make haste to do so too, good madam. Lady F. It is the same with yours. Frank. Mine then acknowledges The lustre it receives, by being named after. Lady F. You will win upon me in compliment, Frank. By silence. 414 THE NEW INN. ACT IT. Lady F. A modest and ix fair well-spoken child. Host. Her ladyship shall have him, sovereign Or what I have beside ; divide my Heart [Prue, Between you and your lady : make your use of it : My house is yours, my son is yours. Behold, I tender him to your service ; Frank, become What these brave ladies would have you. Only this, There is a chare- woman in the house, his nurse, An Irish v/oman, I took in a beggar, That waits upon him, a poor, silly fool, But an impertinent and sedulous one As ever was ; will vex you on all occasions. Never be off, or from you, but in her sleep ; Or drink which makes it : she doth love him so. Or rather doat on him. Now, for her, a shape, And we may dress her, and I'll help to fit her, With a tuft-taffata cloke, an old French hood, And other pieces, heterogene enough. Pru. We have brought a standard of apparel Because this tailor fail'd us in the main. [down, Host. She shall advance the game. Pi-u. About it then. And send but Trundle hither, the coachman, to me. Host. I shall : but, Prue, let Lovel have fair quarter. lAside. Pru. The best. lExit Host. Lady F. Our host, methinks, is very gamesome. Pru. How like you the boy ? Lady F. A miracle 1 Pru. Good madam. But take him in, and sort a suit for him. I'll give our Trundle his instructions ; And wait upon your ladyship in the instant. Lady F. But, Prue, what shall we call him, when we have drest him ? Pru. My lady Nobody, any thing, what you will. Lady F. Call him Leetitia, by my sister's name, And so 'twill mend our mirth too we have in hand. lExit. Enter Trundle. Pru. Good Trundle, you must straight make ready the coach, And lead the horses out but half a mile, Into the fields, whither you will, and then Drive in again, with the coach-leaves put down, At the back gate, and so to the back stairs. As if you brought in somebody to my lady, A kinswoman that she sent for. Make that answer. If you be ask'd ; and give it out in the house so. Trun. What trick is this, good mistress secre- You'd put upon us ? [tary, Pru. Us ! do you speak plural ? Trun. Me and my mares are us. Pru. If you so join them. Elegant Trundle, you may use your figures : I can but urge, it is my lady's service. Trun. Good mistress Prudence, you can urge I know you are secretary to my lady, [enough ; And mistress steward. Pru. You will still be trundling, And have your wages stopt now at the audit. Trun. 'Tis true, you are gentlewoman o' the horse too ; Or what you will beside, Prue. I do think it My best t' obey you. Pru. And I think so too. Trundle. iExeunt. SCENE II. — Another Room in the sant^. Elder Lord Beaufort and Lard Latimer. Lord B. Why, here's return enough of both our If we do make no more discovery. [ventures, LordL. What.' Than of this parasite Lord B. O he's a dainty one ! The parasite of the house. Lo7-d L. Here comes mine host. Enter Host. Host. My .lords, you both are welcome to the Lord B. To the Light Heart, we hope. [Heart. Lord L. And merry, I swear. We never yet felt such a fit of laughter, As your glad Heart hath offered us since we enter'd. Lord B. How came you by this property ? Host. Who, my Fly } Lord B. Your Fly, if you call him so. Host. Nay, he is that, And will be still. Lord B. In every dish and pot.' Host. In every cup and company, my lords, A creature of all liquors, all complexions, Be the drink what it will, he'll have his sip. Lord L. He's fitted with a name. Host. And he joys in it. I had him when I came to take the Inn here, Assigned me over in the inventory. As an old implement, a piece of household itufF, And so he doth remain. Lord B. Just such a thing We thought him. Lord L. Is he a scholar ? Host. Nothing less ; But colours for it as you see ; wears black, And speaks a little tainted, fly-blown Latin, After the school. Lord B. Of Stratford o' the Bow : For Lillie's Latin is to him unknown. Lord L. What calling has he ? Host. Only to call in still, Enflame the reckoning, bold to charge a bill, Bring up the shot in the rear, as his own word is. Lord B. And does it in the discipline of the house, As corporal of the field, maestro del campo ? Host. And visiter general of all the rooms : He has form'd a fine militia for the Inn too. Lord B. And means to publish it ? Host, With all his titles ; Some call him deacon Fly, some doctor Fly ; Some captain, some lieutenant : but my folks Do call him quarter-master Fly, which he is. Enter Colonel Tipto and Fly, Tip. Come, quarter-master Fly. Host. Hei-e's one already Hath got his titles. Tip. Doctor. Fly, Noble colonel, No doctor, yet a poor professor of ceremony, Here in the Inn, retainer to the host, I discipline the house. Tip. Thou read'st a lecture Unto the family here : when is the day ? Fly. This is the day. Tip. I'll hear thee, and I'll have thee a doctor, Thou shalt be one, thou hast a doctor's look. A face disputative, of Salamanca. SCENE II. THE NEW INN. 415 Host. Who's this ? L(rd L. The glorious colonel Tipto, hobl. Lord B. One talks upon his tiptoes, if you'll hear him. Tip. Thou hast good learning in thee ; made, Fly. And I say made to my colonel. [Fly- HosL Well maded of them both. Lord B. They are match'd, i' faith. Tip. But, Fly, why made ? Fly. Quasi magis aude, My honourable colonel. Tip. What a critic ! Host. There is another accession, critic Fly. Lord L. I fear a taint here in the mathematics. They say, lines parallel do never meet ; He has met his parallel in wit and school-craft. Lord B. They side, not meet, man ; mend your metaphor. And save the credit of your mathematics. Tip. But Fly, howcam'st thou to be here, com- Unto this Inn ? [mitted Fli/. Upon suspicion of drink, sir. I was taken late one night here with the tapster, And the under officers, and so deposited. Tip. I will redeem thee, Fly, and place thee With a fair lady. [better, Fli/. A lady, sweet sir Glorious ! Tip. A sovereign lady. Thou shalt be the bird To sovereign Prue, queen of our sports, her Fly, The Fly in household and in ordinary ; Bird of her ear, and she shall wear thee there, A Fly of gold, enamell'd, and a school-fly. Host. The school then, are my stables, or the Where he doth study deeply, at his hours, [cellar, Cases of cups, I do not know how spiced With conscience, for the tapster and the hostler ; as Whose horses may be cosen'd, or what jugs Fill'd up with froth ? that is his way of learning. Tip. What antiquated feather's that that talks ? Fly. The worshipful host, my patron, master Goodstock, A merry Greek, and cants in Latin comely, Spins like the parish top. 7\p. I'll set him up then. — Art thou the Dominu.' ? Host. Fac-totum here, .sir. Tip. Host real of the house, and cap of main- tenance ? Host. The lord of the Light Heart, sir, cap- a-pie ; Whereof the feather is the emblem, colonel, Put up with the ace of hearts. Tip. But why in cuerpo ? I hate to see an host, and old, in cuerpo. Host. Cuerpo! what's that? Tip. Light-skipping hose and doublet. The horse-boy's garb ! poor blank and half blank They relish not the gravity of an host, [cuerpo. Who should be king at arms, and ceremonies, In his own house ; know all, to the gold weights. Lord B. Why, that his Fly doth for him here, your bird. Tip. But I would do it myself were I my host, I would not speak unto a cook of quality. Your lordship's footman, or my lady's Trundle, In cuerpo : if a dog but stay'd below. That were a dog of fashion, and well nosed. And could present himself ; I would put on The Savoy chain about my neck, the ruff ^nd cuffs of Flanders, then the Naples hat, With the Rome hatband, and the Florentine agaf^ The Milan sword, the cloke of Genoa, set With Brabant buttons ; all my given pieces, Except my gloves, the natives of Madrid, To entertain him in ; and compliment With a tame coney, as with a prince that sent it. Host. The same deeds, though, become not every man ; That fits a colonel will not fit an host. Tip. Your Spanish host is never seen in cuerpo. Without his paramentos, cloke and sword. Fhj. Sir, He has the father of swords within, a long sword ; Blade Cornish st3ded of sir Rud Hughdebras. Tip. And why a long sword, bully bird ? thy sense ? Fly. To note him a tall man, and a master of fence. Tip. But doth he teach the Spanish way of don Fl/j. No, the Greek master he. [Lewis? Tip. What call you him ? Fly. Euclid. Tip. Fart upon Euclid, he is stale and antic ! Give me the moderns. Fly. Sir, he minds no moderns. Go by, Hieronimo ! Tip. What was he ? Fly. The Italian, That play'd with abbot Antony in the Friars, And Blinkinsops the bold. Tip. Ay, marry, those Had fencing names ; What is become of them ? Host. They had their times, and we can say, they were. So had Caranza his ; so had don Lewis. Tip. Don Lewis of Madrid is the sole master Now of the world. Host. But this of the other world, Euclid demonstrates. He ! he is for all : The only fencer of name, now in Elysium. Fly. lie does it all by lines and angles, colonel ; By parallels and sections, has his diagrams. Lord B. Wilt thou be flying, Fly ? Lord L. At all, why not 'i The air's as free for a fly as for an eagle. Lord B. A buzzard ! he is in liis contemplation. Tip. Euclid a fencer, and in the Elysium ! Host. He play'd a prize last week with Archi- And beat him, I assure you. [medes, Tip. Do you assure me ? For what 1 Host. For four i' the hundred. Give me five, And I assure you again. Tip. Host peremptory. You may be ta'en. But where, whence had you this ? Host. Upon the road. A post that came from thence. Three days ago, here, left it with the tapster. Fly. Who is indeed a thoroughfare of news, Jack Jug with the broken belly, a witty fellow 1 Host. Your bird here heard him. Tip. Did you hear him, bird ? Host. Speak in the faith of a Fly. lExit, Fly. Yes, and he told us Of one that was the prince of Orange' fencer. Tip. Stevinus } Fly. Sir, the same had challenged Euclid At thirty weapons more than Archimedes E'er saw, and engines ; most of his own inveationo THE NEVy INN. ACi' li. Tip. This may have credit, and chimes reason, If any man endanger Euclid, bird, [this ! Observe, that had the honour to quit Europe This forty year, 'tis he. He put down Scaliger. /Vy. And he was a great master. Lord B. Not of fence, Fly. Tip. Excuse him, lord, he went on the same grounds. Lord B. On the same earth, I think, with other mortals. Tip. I mean, sweet lord, the mathematics. Basta ! When thou know'st more, thou wilt take less green honour. He had his circles, semicircles, quadrants — Fly. He writ a book of the quadrature of the Tip. Cyclometria, I read [circle — Lord B. The title only. Lord L. And indice. Lord B. If it had one ; of that, quaere ? — What insolent, half-witted things these are ! Lord L. So are all smatterers, insolent and Lord B. They lightly go together, [impudent. Lord L. 'Tis my wonder Two animals should hawk at all discourse thus, Fly every subject to the mark, or retrieve I^ord B. And never have the luck to be in the Lord L. 'Tis some folks fortune. [right ! Lord B. Fortune is a bawd, And a blind beggar ; 'tis their vanity, And shews most vilely. Tip. 1 could take the heart now To write unto don Lewis into Spain, To make a progress to the Elysian fields Next summer Lord B. And persuade him die for fame, Of fencing with a shadow I Where's mine host ? I would he had heard this bubble break, i'faith. Re-enter Host, with Prudence richly dressed, Frank as a lady. Nurse, and Lady Frawpul. Host. Make place, stand by, for the queen- regent, gentlemen ! Tip. This is thy queen that shall be, bird, our Lord B. Translated Prudence ! [sovereign. Pru. Sweet my lord, hand off : It is not now, as when plain Prudence lived, And reach'd her ladyship Host. The chamber pot. Pru. The looking-glass, mine host : lose your house metaphor ! You have a negligent memory indeed. Speak the host's language. Here is a young lord Will make't a precedent else. Lord L. Well acted, Prue. Host. First minute of her reign ! What will she Forty years hence, God bless her 1 [do I*ru. If you'll kiss, Or compliment, my lord, behold a lady, A stranger, and my lady's kinswoman. Lord B. I do confess my rudeness, that had To have mine eye directed to this beauty. [need Frank. It was so little, as it ask'da perspicil. Lord B. Lady, your name ? Frank. My lord, it is Lsetitia. Lord B. Lsetitia ! a fair omen, and I take it : Let me have still such Lettice for my lips. But that of your family, lady? Frank. Sylly, sir. Lord B. My lady's kinswoman? Frank. I am so honour'd. Host. Already it takes. iAside to Lady F. Lady F. An excellent fine boy. Nurse. He is descended of a right good stock, Lord B. What's this, an antiquary ? [sir. Host. An antiquity. By the dress, you'd swear ! an old Welsh herald's widow : She's a wild Irish born, sir, and a hybride. That lives with this young lady a mile off here. And studies Vincent against York. Lord B. She'll conquer If she read Vincent. Let me study her. Host. She's perfect in most pedigrees, most descents. Lord B. A bawd, I hope, and knows to blaze a coat. \_Aside. Host. And judgeth all things with a single eye. Fly, come you hither ! no discovery Of what you see, to your colonel Toe, or Tip, here, But keep all close ; though you stand in the way o' preferment. Seek it off from the road ; no flattery for't, No lick-foot, pain of losing your proboscis. My liquorish fly. \_Aside to Fi,y. Tip. What says old velvet-head ? Fly. He will present me himself, sir, if you will not. Tip. Who, he present ! what ? whom ? an host, a groom. Divide the thanks with me share in my glories "i Lay up : I say no more. Host. Then silence, sir, And hear the sovereign. Tip. Hostlers to usurp Upon my Sparta or province, as they say I No broom but mine ! Host. Still, colonel, you mutter. Tip. I dare speak out, as cuerpo. Fly. Noble colonel Tip. And carry what I ask Host. Ask what you can, sir, So it be in the house. Tip. I ask my rights and privileges ; And though for form I please to call't a suit, I have not been accustomed to repulse. Pru. No, sweet sir Glorious, you may still command — Host. And go without. Pru. But yet, sir, being the first. And call'd a suit, you'll look it shall be such As we may grant. Lady F. It else denies itself. Pru. You hear the opinion of the court. Tip I mind no court opinions. Prit 'Tis my lady's, though. Tip My lady is a spinster at the law, And my petition is of right. Pru. What is it ? Tip. It is for this poor learned bird. Host. The fly. Tip. Professor in the Inn, here, of small mat- Lord L. How he commends him ! [ters Host. As to save himself in him. Lady F. So do all politics in their commenda- tions. Host. This is a state-bird, and the verier fly. Tip. Hear him problematize. Pru. Bless us, what's that ? Tip. Or syllogize, elenchize. SCENK II. THE NE\r IKN. 417 Ijttdy F. Sure, petards To blow us up. Lord L. Some enginous strong words. Host. He means to erect a castle in the air, And make his fly an elephant to carry it. Tip. Bird of the arts he is, and Fly by name. Pru. Buz ! Host. Blow him off, good Prue, they'll mar all else Tip. The sovereign's honour is to cherish learn- Pru. What in a fly ? [ing. Tip. In any thing industrious. Pru. But flies are busy. Lady F. Nothing more troublesome, Or importune. Tip. There's nothing more domestic, Tame or familiar, than your fly in cuerpo. Host. That is when his wings are cut, he is tame indeed, else Nothing more impudent and greedy ; licking — Lady F. Or saucy, good sir Glorious. Pru. Leave your advocateship, Except that we shall call you orator Fly, And send you down to the dresser and the dishes. Host. A good flap that ! Pru. Commit you to the steam. Lady F. Or else condemn you to the bottles. Pru. And pots. There is his quarry. LTost. He will chirp far better, Your bird, below. Ljady F. And make you finer music. Pru. His buz will there become him. Tip. Come away, Buz, in their faces : give them all the buz, Dor in their ears and eyes, hum, dor, and buz I I will statuminate and under-prop thee. If they scorn us, let us scorn them — We'll find The thoroughfare below, and quaere him ; Leave these relicts, buz : they shall see that I, Spite of their jeers, dare drink, and with a fly. \_Excunt TiPTO and Fly. Lord L. A fair remove at once of two imperti- nents ! Excellent Prue, I love thee for thy wit, No less than state. Pru. One must preserve the other. Enter Lovel. L.ady F. Who's here Pru. O Lovel, madam, your sad servant. Lady F. Sad ! he is sullen still, and wears a cloud About his brows ; I know not how to approach him. Pru. I will instruct you, madam, if that be all ; Go to him, and kiss him. Lady F. How, Prue ! Pru. Go, and kiss him, I do command it. Lady F. Thou art not wild, wench. Pru. No, y me, and exceeding tame, but still your sovereign. Lady F. Hath too much bravery made thee mad? Prxi. Nor proud. Do what I do enjoin you. No disputing Of my prerogative, with a front, or frown ; Do not detract ; you know the authority Is mine, and I will exercise it swiftly, If you provoke me. Lady F. I have woven a net e e To snare myself in I — [To Lovel.] Sir, I am en- To tender you a kiss : but do not know [join'd Why, or wherefore, only the pleasure royal Will have it so, and urges Do not you Triumph on my obedience, seeing it forced thus. There 'tis. \_Kisscs him. Lov. And welcome. — Was there ever kiss That relish' d thus ! or had a sting like this, Of so much nectar, but with aloes mixt ! lAside. Pru. No murmuring nor repining, I am fixt. Lov. It had, methinks, a quintessence of either, But that which was the better, drown'd the bitter. How soon it pass'd away, how unrecover'd! The distillation of another soul Was not so sweet ; and till I meet again That kiss, those lips, like relish, and this taste, Let me turn all consumption, and here waste. \_Aside, Pru. The royal assent is past and cannot alter. Lady F. You'll turn a tyrant. Pru. Be not you a rebel. It is a name is alike odious. Lady F. You'll hear me ? Pru. No, not on this argument. Would you make laws, and be the first that break The example is pernicious in a subject, [them? And of your quality, most. Lord Jj. Excellent princess ! Host. Just queen ! Lord L. Brave sovereign ! Host. A she Trajan, this ! LordB. Whatis't.!* proceed, incomparable Prue: I am glad I am scarce at leisure to applaud thee. Lord L. It's well for you, you have so happy expressions. Lady F. Yes, cry her up with acclamations, do, And cry me down ; run all with sovereignty : Prince Power will never want her parasites Pru. Nor murmur her pretences : master Lovel, For so your libel here, or bill of complaint. Exhibited, in our high court of sovereignty. At this first hour of our reign, declares Against this noble lady, a disrespect You have conceived, if not received, from her. Host. Received ; so the charge lies in our bill. Pru. We see it, his learned counsel, leave your We that do love our justice above all [planing. Our other attributes, and have the nearness, To know your extraordinary merit. As also to discern this lady's goodness, And find how loth she'd be to lose the honour And reputation she hath had, in having So worthy a servant, tho' but for few minutes ; Do here enjoin — Host. Goodl Pru. Charge, will, and command Her ladyship, pain of our high displeasure, And the committing an extreme contempt Unto the court, our crown, and dignity — Host. Excellent sovereign, and egregious Prue! Pru. To entertain you for a pair of hours. Choose, when you please, this day, with all rtspects, And valuation of a principal servant. To give you all the titles, all the privileges, The freedoms, favours, rights, she can bestow — Host. Large ample words, of a brave latitude I Pru. Or can be expected, from a lady of honour Or quality, in discourse, access, address — Host. Good ! Pru. Not to give ear, or admit conference THE NEW INN. ACT II, With any person but yourself : nor there, Of any other argument but love, And the companion of it, gentle courtship. For which your two hours' service, you shall take Two kisses. Host. Noble! Pru. For each hour a kiss, To be ta'en freely, fully, and legally. Before us ; in the court here, and our presence. Host. Rarel Pru. But those hours past, and the two kisses The binding caution is, never to hope [paid, Renewing of the time, or of the suit. On any circumstance. Host. A hard condition ! Lord L. Had it been easier, I should have The sovereign's justice. [suspected Host. O you are [a] servant, My lord, unto the lady, and a rival : In point of law, my lord, you may be challenged. Lord L. I am not jealous. Host. Of so short a time Your lordship needs not, and being done in foro. Pru. What is the answer } Host. He craves respite, madam, To advise with his learned council. Pru. Be you he. And go together quickly. [LovEL and Host ivalk aside. Lady F. You are no tyrant ! Pru. If I be, madam, you were best appeal me. Lord L. Beaufort Lord B. I am busy, prithee let me alone ; I have a cause in hearing too. Lord L. At what bar ? Lord B. Love's court of Requests. Lord L. Bring it into the sovereignty, It is the nobler court, afore judge Prue; The only learned mother of the law. And lady of conscience, too ! Lord B. 'Tis well enough Before this mistress of requests, where it is. Host. Let them not scorn you : bear uji, master Lovel, And take your hours and kisses, they are a fortune. Lov. Which I cannot approve, and less make use of. [use of ? Host. Still in this cloud ! why cannot you make Lov. Who would be rich to be so soon undone? The beggar's best is wealth he doth not know ; And, but to shew it him, inflames his want. Host. Two hours at height ! Lov. That joy is too, too narrow, Would bound a love so infinite as mine ; And being past, leaves an eternal loss. Who so prodigiously affects a feast. To forfeit health and appetite, to see it } Or but to taste a spoonful, would forego All gust of delicacy ever after ? Host. These, yet, are hours of hope. Lov. But all hours following Years of despair, ages of misery ! Nor can so short a happiness, but spring A world of fear, with thought of losiug it ; Better be never happy, than to feel A little of it, and then lose it ever. Host. I do confess, it is a strict injunction ; But then the hope is, it may not be kept. A thousand things may intervene ; we see The wind shift often, thrice a day sometimes : Decrees may alter upon better motion. And riper hearing. The best bow may start, And the hand vary. Prue may be a sage In law, and yet not sour ; sweet Prue, smooth Prue, Soft, debonaire, and amiable Prue, May do as well as rough and rigid Prue ; And yet maintain her, venerable Prue, Majestic Prue, and serenissimous Prue. Try but one hour first, and as you like The loose of that, draw home and prove the other. Lov. If one hour could the other happy make, I should attempt it. Host. Put it on ; and do. Lov. Or in the blest attempt that I might die ! Host. Ay, marry, there were happiness indeed! Transcendent to the melancholy, meant. It were a fate above a monument, And all inscription, to die so 1 A death For emperors to enjoy, and the kings Of the rich East to pawn their regions for ; To sow their treasure, open all their mines, Spend all their spices to embalm their corps, And wrap the inches up in sheets of gold. That fell by such a noble destiny I And for the wrong to your friend, that fear's away. He rather wrongs himself, following fresh light. New eyes to swear by. If lord Beaufort change, It is no crime in you to remain constant, And upon these conditions, at a game So urg'd upon you. Pru. Sir, your resolution ? Host. How is the lady affected ? Pru. Sovereigns use not To ask their subjects' suffrage where 'tis due. But where conditional. Host. A royal sovereign ! Lord L. And a rare stateswoman ! I admire her In her new regiment. [bearing Host. Come, choose your hours, Better be happy for a part of time, Than not the whole ; and a short part, than never. Shall I appoint them, pronounce for you } Lov. Your pleasure. [dinner ; Host. Then he designs his first hour after His second after supper. Say ye, content l Pru. Content. LadijF. I am content. Host. Content. Frank. Content. Lord B. What's that t I am content too. Lord L. You have reason, You had it on the bye, and we observed it. Nur. Trot' I am not content : in fait' I am not. [nien ? Host. Why art not thou content, good Shelee- Niirse. He tank so desperate, and so debausht, So baudy like a courtier and a lord, God bless him, one that tak'th tobacco. Host. Very well mixt ! What did he say ? Nurse. Nay, nothing to the purposh, Or very little, nothing at all to purposh. Host, Let him alone. Nurse. Nurse. I did tell him of Serly Was a great family come out of Ireland, Descended of O Neal, Mac Con, Mac Dermot, Mac Murrogh, but he mark'd not. Host. Nor do I ; Good queen of heralds, ply the bottle, and sleep. ^Exeunt SCENE I. THE NEW INN. 419 SCENE I A Lower noowi in the Inn. Enter Col. Tipto, Fly, and Juo, Tip. I like the plot of your militia well. It is a fine militia, and well order'd, And the division's neat ! 'twill be desired Only, the expressions were a little more Spanish ; For there's the best militia of the world. To call them tertias— tertia of the kitchen, Tertia of the cellar, tertia of the chamber, And tertia of the stables. Fly. That I can, sir ; And find out very able, fit commanders In every tertia. Tip. Now you are in the right. As in the tertia of the kitchen, yourself. Being a person elegant in sauces, There to command, as prime maestro del campo. Chief master of the palate, for that tertia, Or the cook under you ; 'cause you are the marshal. And the next officer in the field, to the host. Then for the cellar, you have young Anon, Is a rare fellow — what's his other name ? Fly. Pierce, sir. Tip. Sir Pierce, I'll have him a cavalier. Sir Pierce Anon will pierce us a new hogshead. And then your thoroughfare. Jug here, his alfarez : An able officer, give me thy beard, round Jug, I I take thee by this handle, and do love \ One of thy inches. In the chambers, Jordan here; He is the don del campo of the beds. And for the stables, what's his name ? Fly. Old Peck. Tip. Maestro del campo, Peck ! his name is curt, A monosyllable, but commands the horse well. ! Fly. O, in an inn, sir, we have other horse. Let those troops rest awhile. Wine is the horse, That we must charge with here. Tip. Bring up the troops, Or call, sweet Fly ; 'tis an exact militia, And thou an exact professor ; Lipsius Fly Thou shait be call'd, and Jouse : — Enter VERn-RTandTRVNDh^. ! Jack Ferret, welcome. Old trench-master, and colonel of the pioneers. What canst thou bolt us now ; a coney or two Out of Tom Trundle's burrow, here, the coach This is the master of the carx'iages. How is thy driving, Tom, good, as it was ? ! Trun. It serves my lady, and our officer Pruc. Twelve miles an hour ! Tom has the old trundle still. Tip. I am tafcen with the family here, fine Viewing the muster-roll. [fellows ! Trun. They are brave men. Fer. And of the Fly-blown discipline all, the quarter-master. Tip. The Fly is a rare bird in his profession. Let's sip a private pint with him : I would have hi)u Quit this light sign of the Light Heart, my bird. And lighter hou-se. It is not for his tall And growing gravity, so cedar-like. To be the second to an host in cuerpo, That knows no elegances : uie his own Dictamen, and his genius : I would have him Fly high, and sti'ike at all. — Enter Pikrce. Here's young Anon too. Pierce. What wine is't, gentlemen, white or Tip. White, [claret? My brisk Anon. Pierce. I'll draw you Juno's milk That dyed the lilies, colonel. lExit. Tip. Do so, Pierce. Enter Veck. Peck. A plague of all jades, what a clap he has Fly. Why, how now, cousin.' [gi'ei^ me ! Tip. Who's that.^ Fer. The hostler. Fly. What ail'st thou, cousin Peck } ITakes him aside. Peck. O me, my hanches ! As sure as you live, sir, he knew perfectly I meant to cozen hiin. He did leer so on me, And then he sneer'd, as who would say, take heed, sirrah ; And when he saw our half-peck, which you know Was but an old court-dish, lord, how he stamp'd, I thought 't had been for joy : when suddenly He cuts me a back-caper with his heels, And takes me just o' the crupper. Down come I And my whole ounce of oats ! Then he neigh'd out, As if he had a mare by the tail. Fly. Troth, cousin. You are to blame to use the poor dumb Christians So cruelly, defraud 'em of their diviensum. Yonder's the colonel's horse (there I look'd in) Keeping our Lady's eve ! the devil a bit He has got, since he came in yet ! there he stands And looks and looks, but 'tis your pleasure, coz, He should look lean enough. Peck. He has hay before him. Fly. Yes, but as gross as hemp, and as soon will choke him, Unless he eat it butter'd. He had four shoes. And good ones, when he came in : it is a wonder, With standing still, he should cast three. Peck. Trotli, quarter-master, This trade is a kind of mystery, that corrupts Our standing manners quickly : once a week, I meet with such a brush to mollify me, Sometimes a brace, to awake my conscience, Yet still I sleep securely. Fly. Cousin Peck, You must use better dealing, faith, you must. Peck. Troth, to give good example to my suc- cessors, I could be well content to steal but two girths. And now and then a saddle-cloth, change a bridle, For exercise ; and stay there. Fly. If you could. There were some hope on you, coz : but the fate is, You are drunk so early, you mistake whole saddles ; Sometimes a horse. Peck. Ay, there's Re enter PiivKck with uihe. Fly. The wine ! come, coz, I'll talk with you anon. 2 e 2 come /ur ward 420 THE NEW INN. ACT III. Peck. Do, lose no time, Good quarter-master. Tip. There are the horse, come, Fly. Fit/. Charge, in boys, in — Enter Jordan. Lieutenant of the ordnance. Tobacco and pipes. Tip. Who's that ? Old Jordan ! good. A comely vessel, and a necessary. New scour'd he is : Here's to thee, marshal Fly ; In milk, my young Anon says. IDrinks. Pierce. Cream of the grape, That dropt from Juno's breasts and sprung the lily! f can recite your fables, Fly. Here is, too, The blood of Venus, mother of the rose ! IMusic ivithin. Joy. The dinner is gone up. Jug. I hear the whistle. Jor. Ay, and the fidlers: We must all go wait. Pierce. Pox o' this waiting, quarter-master Fly. Fly. When chambermaids are sovereigns, v^'ait their ladies ; Fly scorns to breathe. — Peck. Or blow upon them, he. Pierce. Old parcel Peck, art thou there ? how now, lame ! Peck. Yes faith : it is ill halting afore cripples ; I have got a dash of a jade here, will stick by me. Pierce. O you have had some phant'sy, fellow Some revelation [Peck, Peck. What.? Pierce. To steal the hay Out of the racks again. Fli/. I told him so, Wlien the guests' backs were turn'd. Pierce. Or bring his peck, The bottom upwards, heap'd with oats j and cry. Here's the best measure upon all the road ! when, You know, the guest put in his hand to feel, And smell to the oats, that grated all his fingers Upon the wood Peck. Mum ! Pierce. And found out your cheat. Peck. I have been in the cellar. Pierce. Pierce. You were then there. Upon your knees, I do remember it. To have the fact conceal'd. I could tell more, Soaping of saddles, cutting of horse-tails. And cropping — pranks of ale, and hostelry Fli/. Which he cannot forget, he says, young knight. No more than you can other deeds of darkness, Done in the cellar. Tip. Well said, bold professor. Fer. We shall have some truth explain'd. Pierce. We are all mortal, And have our visions. Peck. Truly, it seems to me, That every horse has his whole peck, and tumbles Up to the ears in litter. Fit/. When, indeed, There's no such matter, not a smell of provender. Fer. Not so much straw as would tie up ahorse- tail. Fly. Nor anything in the rack but two old cobwebi5, A.nd so much rotten h>^y as had been a hen's nest, Trun. And yet he's ever apt to sweep the Fer. But puts in nothing. [mangers ! Pierce. These are fits and fancies, Which you must leave, good Peck. Fly. And you must pray It may be reveal'd to you at some times. Whose horse you ought to cozen ; with what con- science ; The how, and when : a parson's horse may suffer — Pierce. Whose master's double beneficed ; put in that. Fly. A little greasing in the teeth ; 'tis whole- And keeps him in a sober shuffle. [some ; Pierce. His saddle too May want a stirrup. Fly. And, it may be sworn, His learning lay o' one side, and so broke it. Peck. They have ever oats in their cloke-bags, to affront us. Fly. And therefore 'tis an office meritorious, To tithe such soundly. Pierce. And a grazier's may Fer. O, they are pinching puckfists ! Trun. And suspicious. Pierce. Suffer before the master's face, some- times. Fly. He shall think he sees his horse eat half a bushel — Pierce. When the slight is, rubbing his gums with salt Till all the skin come off, he shall but mumble. Like an old woman that were chewing brawn, And drop them out again. Tip. Well argued, cavalier. Fly. It may do well ; and go for an example. But, coz, have a care of understanding horses, Horses with angry heels, nobility horses. Horses that know the world ; let them have meat Till their teeth ake, and rubbing till their ribs Shine like a wench's forehead : they are devils else, Will look into your dealings. Peck. For mine own part. The next I cozen of the pamper'd breed, I wish he may be foundred. Fly. Foun-der-ed. Prolate it right. Peck. And of all four, I wish it, I love no crupper-compliments. Pierce. Whose horse was it? Peck. Why, master Burst's. Pierce. Is Bat Burst come ? Peck. An hour He has been here. Tip. What Burst ? Pierce. Mas Bartolmew Burst. One that hath been a citizen, since a courtier, And now a gamester : hath had all his whirls. And bouts of fortune, as a man would say, Once a bat and ever a bat ! a rere-mouse, And bird of twilight, he has broken thrice. Tip. Your better man, the Genoway proverb Men are not made of steel. {^'^^^ '■ Pierce. Nor are they bound Always to hold. Fly. Thrice honourable colonel, Hinges will crack. Tip. Though they be Spanish iron. Pierce. He is a merchant still, adventurer, At in-and-in ; and is our thoroughfare's friend. Tiv. Who, Ju^'s ? 6CENE II. THE NEW INN. 421 Pierce. The same : and a fine gentleman Was with him. Peck. Master Huffle. Pierce. Who, Hodge Huffle ! Tip. What's he? Pierce. A cheater, and another fine gentleman, A friend o' the chamberlain's, Jordan's. Master He's Burst's prot^ection. [Huffle, Fli/. Fights and vapours for him. Pierce. He will be drunk so civilly — Fly. So discreetly — Pierce. And punctually ! just at this hour. Fl//. And then Call for his Jordan with that hum and state, As if he piss'd the politics. Pierce. And sup With his tuft-taffata night gear, here, so silently ! Fly. Nothing but music. Pierce. A dozen of bawdy songs. Tip. And knovv'S the general this ? Fly. O no, sir ; dormit, Dormii patronus still, the master sleeps, They'll steal to bed. Pierce. In private, sir, and pay The fidlers with that modesty, next morning. Fly. Take a dejeune of muskadel and eggs. Pierce. And pack avi^ay in their trundling cheats, like gipsies. Trun. Mysteries, mysteries, Ferret. Fer. Ay, we see. Trundle, What the great officers in an inn may do; I do not say the officers of the Crown, But the Light Heart. Tip. I'll see the Bat and Huffle. Fer. I have some business, sir, I crave your Tip. What? [pardon — Fer. To be sober. * {Exit. Tip. Pox, go get you gone then. Trundle shall stay. Trun. No, I beseech you, colonel. Your lordship has a mind to be drunk private, With these brave gallants ; I will step aside Into the stables, and salute my mares. \_E:cit. Pierce. Yes, do, and sleep with them. — Let him go, base whip-stock ; He is as drunk as a fish now, almost as dead. Tip. Come, I will see the flicker- mouse, my | Fly. lExcunt. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same, fur- nished as a Tribunal, ^c. Music. Enter the Host, ushering Prudence, u-ho takes her scat of judicature, assisted by lord Beaufort, and lord Latum KR ; the Nurse, Frank, Jug, Jordan, Trun- dle, and Ferret. Pru. Here set the hour ; but first produce the parties ; And clear the court : the time is now of price. Host. Jug, get you down, and. Trundle, get you You shall be crier ; Ferret liere, the clerk. [up, Jordan, smell you without, till the ladies call you; Take down the fidlers too, silence that noise, Deep in the cellar, safe. lExeuut Jug, Jordan, and Musicians. Pru. Wiio keeps the watch ? Host. Old Sheelinin, here, is the madam Tell- clock. Nurse. No fait' and trot', sweet maister, I shall I' fait', T shall. [sleep ; Lord B. I prithee do then, screech-owl. She brings to mind the fable of the dragon. That kept the Hesperian fruit. Would I could charm her ! Host. Trundle will do it with his hum. Come, Precede him Ferret, in the form. [Trundle ; Fer. Oyez, oyez, oyez. Trim. Oyez, oyez, oyez. Fer. Whereas there hath been awarded. Trun. Whereas there hath, &c. \_As Ferret proclaims, Trundle repeats after him, at the breaks here, and through the rest 0/ this scene. Fer. By the queen regent of love, In this high court of sovereignty, Two special houi-s of address, To Herbert Lovel, appellant, Against the lady Frampul, defendant. Herbert Lovel come into the court, Make challenge to thy first hour, And save thee and thy bail, Trun. And save thee, &c. Enter Lovel, aiid ranges himself on the one side. Host. Lo, louting, where he comes into the court ! Clerk of the sovereignty, take his appearance. And how accoutred, how design'd he conies ! Fer. 'Tis done. Now, crier, call the lady Frampul, And by the name of Frances, lady Frampul, defendant, Trun. Frances, lady Frampul, &c. Fer. Come into the court. Make answer to the award, And save thee and thy bail, Trun. And save thee, &c. Enter Lady Frampul, and takes her place on the other side Host. She makes a noble and a just appearance. Set it down likewise, and how arm'd she comes. Pru Usher of Love's court, give them [both] their oath. According to the form, upon Love's missal. Host. Arise, and lay your hands upon the book. Herbert Lovel, appellant, and lady Frances Frampul, defendant, you shall swear upon the liturgy of Love, Ovid de arte amandi, tliat you neitlicr have, ne will have, nor in anywise bear about you, tiling or things, pointed, or blunt, within these lists, other than what are natural and allow'd by the court : no inchanted arms, or weapons, stones of virtue, herb of grace, charm, character, spell, philtre, or other power than Love's only, and the justness of your cause. So help you Love, his mother, and the con- | tents of this book : kiss it. [Lev. kisses the book. 1 Return unto your seats. — Crier, bid silence. Trun. Oyez, oyez, oyez, oyez. Fer. In the name of the sovereign of Love, — Trun. In the name of thee, &c. Fer. Notice is given by the court, To the appellant, and defendant, That the first hour of address proceeds, And Love save the sovereign, Trun. And Love save, &c. Every man or woman keep silence, pain of im- prisonment. Pru. Do your endeavours in the name of Love. Lov. To make my first approaches, then, in love. Lady F. Tell us what love is, that we may be sure There's such a thing, and that it is in nature. Lov. Excellent lady, I did not expect 422 THE KE\V^ INN. ACT I!. To meet an infidel, mucliless an atheist, Here in Love's list ! of so much unbelief To raise a question of his being ! Host. Well charged 1 Lov. I rather thought, and with religion think, Had all the characters of love been lost, His lines, dimensions, and whole signature Razed and defaced, with dull humanity, That both his nature, and his essence, miglit Have found their mighty instanration here ; Here, where the confluence of fair and good Meets to make vxp all beauty. For what else Is love, but the most noble, pure affection Of what is truly beautiful and fair, Desire of union with the thing beloved ? Lord B. Have the assistants of the court their votes, And writ of privilege, to speak them freely? Fru. Yes, to assist, but not to interrupt. Lord B. Then I have read souiev>'here, that man and woman Were, in the first creation, both one piece, And being cleft asunder, ever since Love was an appetite to be rejoin'd. As for example [_Kisses Frank, Nurse. Cramo-cree! what mean'sh tou ? Lord B. Only to kiss and part. Host. So much is lawful. Lord L. And stands with the prerogative of Love's court. Lov. It is a fable of Plato's, in his banquet, And utter'd there by Aristophanes. Host. 'Tis well remember'd here, and to good use. But on with your description, what love is : Desire of union with the thing beloved. Lov. I meant a definition. For I make The efficient cause, what's beautiful and fair ; The formal cause, the appetite of union : The final cause, the union itself. But larger if you'll have it ; by description, It is a flame and ardour of the mind. Dead, in the proper corps, quick in another's ; Transfers the lover into the be-loved. The he or she that loves, engraves or stamps The idea of what they love, first in themselves : Or like to glasses, so their minds take in The forms of their beloved, and then reflect. It is the likeness of affections, Is both the parent and the nurse of love. Love is a spiritual couphng of two souls, So much more excellent, as it least relates Unto the body ; circular, eternal. Not feign'd, or made, but born ; and then so precious, As nought can value it but itself ; so free, As nothing can command it but itself ; And in itself so round and liberal, As where it favours it bestows itself. Lord B. And that do I ; here my whole self I According to the practice of the court. [tender, [2'o Frank. Nurse. Ay, 'tisli a naughty practish, a .ewd practish, Be quiet man, dou shalt not leip her here. Lord B. Leap her ! I lip her, foolish queen at arms, Thy blazon's false : wilt thou blaspheme thine office ? T.ov. But we must take and understand this love, Along still, as a name of dignity ; Not pleasure. Host, Mark you that, my light young lord } ITo Loid B Lov. True love hath no unworthy thought, no Loose, unbecoming appetite, or strain, [litiht But fixed, constant, pure, immutable. Lord B. I relish not these philosophical feasts ; Give me a banquet of sense, like that of Ovid : A form to take the eye ; a voice mine car ; Pure aromatic to m.y scent : a soft. Smooth, dainty hand to touch ; and for my taste, Ambrosiac kisses to melt down the palate. Lov. They are the earthly, lower form of lovers, Are only taken with what strikes the senses ; And love by that loose scale. Although I grant, We like what's fair and graceful in an object. And, true, would use it, in the all we tend to, Both of our civil and domestic deeds ; In ordering of an army, in our style. Apparel, gesture, building, or what not : All arts and actions do affect their beauty. But put (he case, in travel I may meet Some gorgeous structure, a brave frontispiece, Shall I stay captive in the outer court. Surprised with that, and not advance to know Who dwells there, and inhabiteth the house ? There is my friendship to be made, within, With what can love me again: not with the walls, Doors, windows, architraves, the frieze, andcornice. My end is lost in loving of a face, An eye, lip, nose, hand, foot, or other part, Whose all is but a statue, if the mind Move not, which only can make the return. The end of love, is to have two made one In will, and in affection, that the minds Be first inoculated, not the bodies. Lord B. Give me the body, if it be a good one. [Kisses Frank. Frank. Nay, sweet, my lord, I must appeal the sovereign For better quarter, if you hold your practice. Trun. Silence, pain of imprisonment ! hear the court. Lov. The body's love is frail, subject to change, And alters still v/ith it ; the mind's is firm. One and the same, proceedeth first from weighing, And well examining what is fair and good ; Then what is like in reason, fit in manners ; That breeds good-will : good-will desire of union. So knowledge first begets benevolence. Benevolence breeds friendship, fiiendship love: And where it starts or steps aside from this. It is a mere degenerous appetite, A lost, oblique, depraved affection. And bears no mark or character of love. Lady F. How am I changed ! by what al(;hemy Of love, or language, am I thus translated ! His tongue is tipt with the philosopher's stone, And that hath touched me through every vein ! I feel that transmutation of my blood, As I were quite become another creature, And all he speaks it is projection. Prue. W^ell feign'd, my lady : now her ])arts Lord L. And she will act them subtily. [begin. Fru. She fails me else, Lov. Nor do they trespass within bounds of pardon, That giving way, and license to their love, Divest him of his noblest ornamentg, SCENE I. THE NEW INN. 423 Which are his modesty and shamefacedness : And so they do, that have unfit designs Upon the parties they pretend to- love. For what's more monstrous, more a prodigy, Than to hear me protest truth of affection Unto a person that I would dishonour ? And what's a more dishonour, than defacing Another's good with forfeiting mine own ; And drawing on a fellowship of sin ? From note of which, though for awhile, we may Be both kept safe by caution, yet the conscience Cannot be cleans'd : for what was hitherto Call'd by the name of love, becomes destroy'd Then, with the fact ; the innocency lost, The bateing of affection soon will follow ; And love is never true that is not lasting : No more than any can be pure or perfect, That entertains more than one object. Dixi. Lady F. O speak, and speak for ever ! let mine Be feasted still, and filled with this banquet ! [ear No sense can ever surfeit on such truth, It is tbe marrow of all lovers' tenets ! Who hath read Plato, Heliodoi-e, or Tatius, Sidney, D'Urfe, or all Love's fathers, like him ? He's there the Master of the Sentences, Their school, their commentary, text, and gloss, And breathes the true divinity of love ! Pru. Excellent actor, how she hits this passion ! Lady F. Where have I lived, in heresy, so long Out of the congregation of Love, And stood irregular, by all his canons ? Lord L. But do you think she plays ? Pru. Upon my sovereignty ; Mark her anon. Lord L, I shake, and am half jealous. Lady F. What penance shall I do to be received, And reconciled to the church of Love ? Go on procession, barefoot, to his image, And say some hundred penitential verses, There, out of Chaucer's Troilus and Cressid ? Or to his mother's shrine, vow a wax-candle As large as the town May-pole is, and pay it ? Enjoin me any thing this court thinks fit, For I have trespass' d, and blasphemed Love : I have, indeed, despised his deity, Whom (till this miracle wrought on me) I knew Now I adore Love, and would kiss the rushes [not. That bear this reverend gentleman, his priest. If that would expiate but I fear it will not. For, though he be somewhat struck in years, and Enough to be my father, he is wise, [old And only wise men love, the other covet. I could begin to be in love with him, But will not te ll hini yet, because I hope To enjoy the other hour with more delight, And prove him farther. Pru. Most Socratic lady. Or, if you will ironic I give you joy Of your Platonic love here, master Lovel ! But pay him his first kiss yet, in the court. Which is a debt, and due : for the hour's run. Lady F. How swift is time, and slily steals away From them would hug it, value it, embrace it ! I should have thought it scarce had run ten minutes. When the whole hour is fled. Here, take your kiss, sir. Which I most willingly tender you in court. IKisses Lov. Lord B. And we do imitate. IK isscs Fuat^k. Lady F. And I could wish, It had been twenty — so the sovereign's Poor narrow nature had decreed it so But that is past, irrevocable, now : She did her kind, according to her latitude Pru. Bewaie you do not conjure up a spirit You cannot lay. Lady F. I dare you, do your worst : Shew me but such an injustice ; I would thank you To alter your award. Lord L. Sure she is serious ! I shall have another fit of jealousy, I feel a grudging. Host. Cheer up, noble guest, We cannot guess what this may come to yet ; The brain of man or woman is uncertain. Lov. Tut, she dissembles ; all is personated. And counterfeit comes from her ! if it were not, The Spanish monarchy, with both the Indies, Could not buy off the treasure of this kiss, Or half give balance for my happiness. Host. Why, as it is yet, it glads my Light Heart To see you rouzed thus from a sleepy humour Of drowsy, accidental melancholy ; And all those brave parts of your soul awake, That did before seem drown'd, and buried in you. That you express yourself as you had back'd The Muses' horse, or got Bellerophou's arms — Elder Fi.Y. What news with Fly ? Fly. News of a newer lady, A finer, fresher, braver, bonnier beauty, A very bona-roba, and a bi.uncer. In yellow, glistering, gulden satin. Lady F. Prue, Adjourn the court. Pru. Cry, Trundle. Trun. Oycz, Any man, or woman, that hath any personal attendance To give unto the court ; keep tlie second hour. And Love save the sovereign 1 lE.Keunt. ACT SCENE I.— A Room in the Inn. | Enter Jug, Barnaby, and Joudan, j Jug. OBarnaby! Jor. Welcome, Barnaby ! where hast thou been? Bar. In the foul weather. Jug. Which has wet thee, Barnaby. Bar. As dry as a chip. Good Jug, a cast of thy well as thy office : two jugs. [name, IV. Jug. By and by. lExit. Jor. What lady's this thou hast brought here ? Bar. A great lady ! I know no more ; one that v.ill try you, Jordan ; She'll find your gage, your circle, your capacity. How does old Staggers the smith, and Tree the Keep they their penny club still? [sadler? Jor. And the old catch too. Of Whoop-Barnahy ! 424 TPIE NEW INN. 13ar. Do tliey sing at me ? Tor. They are reeling at it in the parlour now. Re-enter Jug with wine. Bar. I'll to them : give me a drink first, \ Brinks J or. Where's thy hat ? Bar. I lost it by the way — Give me another. Jug. A hat ! Bar. A drink. [Drinks. Jug. Take heed of takin^f cold, Bar Bar. The wind blew't off at Highgate, and my Would not endure me light to take it up ; [lady But made me drive bareheaded in the rain. Jor. That she might be mistaken for a countess ? Bar. Troth, like enough : she might be an For aught I know. [o'ergrown dutchess, Jug. What, with one man ! Bar. At a time. They carry no more, the best of them. Jor. Nor the bravest. Bar. And she is very brave. Jor. A stately gown And petticoat, she has on ! Bar. Have you spied that, Jordan ? You are a notable peerer, an old rabbi, At a smock's hem, boy. Jug. As he is chamberlain, He may do that by his place. Jot. What is her squire ? Bar. A toy, that she allows eight-pence a- day, A slight mannet, to port her up and down : Come, shew me to my play-fellows, old Staggers, And father Tree. Jor. Here, this way, Barnaby. {Exeunt. SCENE \\.— The Court of the Inn. Enter Tipto, Burst, IIuffle, and Fly. Tip. Come, let us take in fresco, here, one quart. [stinted. Burst. Two quarts, my man of war, let's not be Hvf. Advance three Jordans, varlet of the house. Tip. I do not like your "B irst, bird ; he is saucy : Some shop-keeper he was ? Fig. Yes, sir. Tip. I knew it, Abroke-wing'd shop-keeper? I nose them straight. He had no father, I warrant him, that durst own him ; Some foundling in a stall, or the church-porch ; Brought up in the hospital; and so bound prentice; Then master of a shop ; then one o' the inquest ; Then breaks out bankrupt, or starts alderman : The original of both is a church-porch Fly. Of some, my colonel. Tip. Good faith, of most Of your shop citizens : they are rude animals ! And let them get but ten mile out of town, They out-swagger all the wapentake. Fly. Vv hat's that ? Tip. A Saxon word to signify the hundred. Burst. Come, let us drink, sir Glorious, some LTpon our tip-toes. [brave health Tip. To the health of the Bursts. Burst. Why Bursts 1 Tip. Why Tiptos ? Burst. O, I cry you mercy! Tip. It is sufficient. Huf. What is so sufficient ? 'Tip. To drink to you is sufficient. JIuf. On what terms ? Tip. That you shall give security to pledge me. Huf. So you will name no Spaniard, I will pledge you. [ever, Tip. I rather choose to thirst, and will thirst Than leave that cream of nations uncried up. Perish all wine, and gust of wine ! IThroivs the wine at him. Huf. How! spill it? Spill it at me ? Tip. I reck not ; but I spilt it. Fly. Nay, pray you be quiet, noble bloods. Burst. No Spaniards, I cry, with my cousin Huffle. Huf Spaniards I pilchers. [sleeps, Tip. Do not provoke my patient blade ; it And would not hear thee : Huffle, thou art rude, And dost not know the Spanish composition. Burst. What is the recipe ? name the ingre- Tip. Valour. [dients. Burst. Two ounces! Tip. Prudence. Burst. Half a dram ! Tip. Justice. Burst. A pennyweight ! Tip. Religion. Burst. Three scruples 1 Tip. And of gravidad. Burst. A face-full. Tip. He carries such a dose of it in his looks, Actions and gestures, as it breeds respect To him from savages, and reputation With all the sons of men. Burst. Will it give him credit With gamesters, courtiers, citizens, or tradesmen? Tip. He'll borrow money on the stroke of his Or turn of his mustaccio ! his mere cuello, [beard, Or ruff about his neck, is a bill of exchange In any bank in Europe : not a merchant That sees his gait, but straight will furnish him Upon his pace. Huf. I have heard the Spanish name Is terrible to children in some countries ; And used to make them eat their bread and butter, Or take their worm-seed. Tip. Huffle, you do shuffle. Enter Stuff, and Pinnacia his loi/e richly habited. Burst. 'Slid, here's a lady! Huf. And a lady gay ! Tip. A well-trimm'd lady ! Huf. Let us lay her aboard. Burst. Let's hail her first. Tip. By your sweet favour, lady. Stuff. Good gentlemen be civil, we are stranger.s. Burst. An you were Flemings, sir — Huf. Or Spaniards — Tip. They are here, have been at Sevil in their And at Madrid too. [days Pin. He is a foolish fellow, I pray you mind him not, he is my Protection. Tip. In your protection he is safe, sweet lady. So shall you be in mine. Huf. A share, good colonel. Tip. Of what? Huf. Of your fine lady : I am Hodge, My name is Huffle. Tip. Huffling Hodge, be quiet. Burst. And I pray you, be you so, glorious Hodge Huffle shall be quiet. [colonel SCENE 111. THE NEW INN. 425 Huf. [singing.] A lady gay , gay : [gay. For ilie is a lady gay, gay, gay. For she is a lady Tip. Bird of the vespers, vespertilio Burst, Vou are a gentleman of the first head ; But that head may be broke, as all the body is — Burst, if you tie not up your Huffle quickly. Huf. Tie dogs, not men. Burst. Nay, pray thee, Hodge, be still, ["^ain. Tip. Tins steel here rides not on this thigh in Huf. Shew'st thou thy steel and thigh, thou glorious dirt ! Then Hodge sings Samson, and no ties shall hold. {They fight. Enter Pierce, Jug, and Jordan. Fierce. Keep the peace, gentlemen : what do you mean ? Tip. I will not discompose myself for HufHe. lExeuntall (butSrvrp a7id PinJ fighting. Pin. You see what your entreaty and pressure Of gentlemen, to be civil, doth bring on : [still A quarrel, and perhaps man-slaughter. You Will carry your goose about you still, your planing-iron ! Your tongue to smooth all ! is not here fine Stuff. Why, wife ? [stuff ! Fin. Your wife ! have not I forbidden you that ? Do you think I'll call you husband in this gown, Or any thing, in tliat jacket, but protection? Here, tie my shoe, and shew my velvet petticoat, And my silk stocking. Why do you make me a If I may not do like a lady in fine clothes ? [lady, Stuff. Sweet heart, you may do what you will with me. Fin. Ay, I knew that at home ; what to do with you ; But why was 1 brought hither? to see fashions ? Stuff. And wear them too, sweet heart ; but this wild company Fin. Why do you bring me in wild company ? You'd have me tame and civil in wild company ! I hope I know wild company are fine company, And in fine company, where I am fine myself, A lady may do any thing, deny nothing To a fine party, I have heard you say it. lie-enler Pierce. Fierce. There are a company of ladies above Desire your ladyship's company, and to take The surety of their lodgings from the affront Of these half beasts were here e'en now, the Fin. Are they fine ladies .'' [Centaurs. Pierce. Some very fine ladies. Pin. As fine as I ? Pierce. I dare use no comparisons, Being a servant, sent Fin. Spoke like a fine fellow! I would thou wert one ; I'd not then deny thee : But, thank thy lady. lExit Piercf. Enter Host. Host. Madam, I must crave you To aftbrd a lady a visit, would excuse Some harshness of the house, you have received From the brute guests. Fin. This is a fine old man ! I'd go with him an he were a little finer. Stiff. You may, sweetheart, it is mine host. Pin. Mine host ! Host. Yes, madam, I must bid you welcome. Fin. Do, then Stuff. But do not stay. Pin. I'll be advised by you I yes. lExeunt. SCENE III A Room in the same. Enter Lord Latimer, Lord Beaufort, Lady Frami'ul, Prudence, Frank, and Nurse. Lord L. What more than Thracian barbarism was this ? Lords. The battle of the Centaurs with the Lapithes ! Lady F. There is no taming of the monster, drink. Lord L. But what a glorious beast our Tipto shew'd ! He would not discompose himself, the don ! Your Spaniard ne'er doth discompose himself. LordB. Yet, how he talk'd, and roar'd in the beginning ! Pru. And ran as fast as a knock'd marrow- bone. LordB. So they did at last, when Lovel went And chased them 'bout the court. [down, Lord L. For all's don Lewis, Or fencing after Euclid. LadyF. I ne'er saw A lightning shoot so, as my servant did, His rapier was a meteor, and he waved it Over them, like a comet, as they fled him. I mark'd his manhood ! every stoop he made Was like an eagle's at a flight of cranes : As I have read somewhere. Lord B. Bravely exprest. Lord L. And like a lover. Lady F. Of his valour, I am. He seem'd a body rarified to air j Or that his sword, and arm were of a piece, They went together so ! — Mere comes the lady. Enter Host, tcilh Pinnacia. Lord B. A bouncing bona-roba ! as the Fly said. Frank. She is some giantess : I will stand ofT, For fear she swallow me. Lady F. Is not this our gown, Pruc, That I bespoke of Sttiff? Pru. It is the fashion. Lady F. Ay, and the silk ; feel : sure it is the same ! Pru. And the same petticoat, lace and all ! Lady F. I'll swear it. How came it hither.'' make a bill of enquiry. Pru. You have a fine suit on, madam, and a Lady F. And of a curious making, [rich one. Pru. And a new. Pin. As new as day. Lord L. She answers like a fish-wife. Pin. I put it on since noon, I do assure you. Pru. Who is your tailor Lady F. Pray you, your fashioner's name Pin. My fashioner is a certain man of mine own ; He is in the house : no matter for his name. Host. O, but to satisfy this bevy of ladies, Of which a brace, here, long'd to bid you welcome. Pin. He is one, in truth, I title my Protection : Bid him come up. Host, [calls.'] Our new lady's Protection ! What is your ladj'ship's style Pin. Countess Pinnacia. Host. Countess Pinnacia's man, come to your lady! THE NEW INN. ACT IV Enier Stuff. Pru. Your ladyship's tailor ! master Stuff ! Lady F. How, Stuff! He the Protection ! • Host. Stuff looks like a remnant. Stuff. I am undone, discover'd. i Falls on his knees. Pru. 'Tis the suit, madam, Now, without scruple : and this some device To bring it home wtrh. Pin. Why upon your knees? Is this your lady godmother ? Stuff. Mum, Pinnacia. It is the lady Frampul ; my best customer. Lady F. What shew is this that you present us with ? Stuff. I do beseech your ladyship, forgive me ; She did but say the suit on. Larh/ F. Who ? which she ? Stuff. My wife, forsooth. Lady F. How ! mistress Stuff, your wife ! Is that the riddle ? Prti. We all look'd for a lady, A dutcliess, or a countess at the least. Stuff. She's my own lawfully begotten wife. In wedlock : we have been coupled now seven years. Lady F. And why thus mask'd ? you like a foot- And she your countess ! [man, ha ! Pill. To make a fool of himself, And of me too. Stuff. I pray thee. Pinnace, peace. Pin. Nay, it shall out, since you have call'd me wife, And openly dis-ladied me : Though I am dis- countess'd I am not yet dis-countenanced. These shall see. Host. Silence ! Pin. It is a foolish trick, madam, he has ; For though he be your tailor, he is my beast : I may be bold with him, and tell his story. When he makes any fine garment will fit me, Or any rich thing that he thinks of price, Tlien must I put it on, and be his countess, Before he carry it home unto the owners, A coach is hired, and four horse ; he runs In his velvet jacket thus, to Rumford, Croydon, Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy road : And takes me out, carries me up, and throws me Upon a bed — • LadyF. Peace, thou immodest woman! — She glories in the bravery of the vice. Lord L. It is a quaint one. Lord B. A fine species Of fornicating with a man's own wife, Found out by — what's his name.' Lord L. Master Nic. Stuff, Host. The very figure of pre-occupation In all his customers' best clothes. Lord L. He lies With his own succuba, in all your names. Lord B. And all your credits. Host. Ay, and at all their costs. Lord L. This gown was then bespoken for the sovereign. Lord B. Ay, marry was it. Lord L. And a main offence Committed 'gainst the sovereignty ; being not brought Home in the time : beside, the profanation Which may call on the censure of the court. Host. Let him be blanketted. Call up the Deliver him o'er to Fly, [quarter-master. Enter Fly. Stuff. O good, my lord. Host. Pillage the Pinnace. Lady F. Let his wife be sti ipt. Lord B. Blow off her upper deck. Lord L. Tear all her tackle. Lady F. Pluck the polluted robes over her ears ; Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire of them. Pru. To rags and cinders burn th' idolatrous vestures. Host. Fly, and your fellows, see that the whole Be thoroughly executed. [censure Fly. We'll toss him bravely, Till the stuff stink again. Host. And send her home. Divested to her flannel, in a cart. Lord L. And let her footman beat the bason Fly. The court shall be obey'd. [afore her. Host. Fly, and his officers, Will do it fiercely. Stuff. INIerciful queen Prue ! Prn.. I cannot help you. [Exit Fly, with Stuff and Pinnacia, Lord B. Go thy ways, Nic. Stuff, Thou hast nickt it for a fashioner of venery. Lo7-d L. For his own hell ! though he run ten mile for it. Pru. 0,here comes Lovel, for his second hour. Lord B. And after him the type of Spanish valour. Enter Lovel with a Paper, /oUoivcd hy Tipto. Lady F. Servant, what have you there ? Lov. A meditation. Or rather a vision, madam, and of beauty, Our former subject. Lady F. Pray you let us hear it. Lov. It was a beauty that I saw, So pure, so perfect, as the frame Of all the universe was lame, To that one fig ure, could I dra w, Or give least line of it a law ! A sliein of silk without a knot, A fair march made loithout a halt., A curious form without a fault, A printed book without a blot. All beauty, and without a spot ! Lady F. They are gentle words, and would de- Set to them, as gentle. [serve a notc; Lov. I have tried my skill. To close the second hour, if you will hear them ; My boy by that time will have got it perfect. Lady F. Yes, gentle servant. In what calm he After this noise and tumult, so unmoved, [speaks, With that serenity of countenance, As if his thoughts did acquiesce in that Which is the object of the second hour, And nothing else. Pru. Well then, summon the court. Lady F. I have a suit to the sovereign of Love, If it may stand with the honour of the court, To change the question but from love to valour To hear it said, but what true valour is, Which oft begets true love. Lord L. It is a question soKNE nr. THE NEW INN. 427 Fit for the court to take true knowledge of, And hath my just assent. Pru. Content. Lord B. Content. Frank. Content. I am content, give him his oath. Host. Herbert Lovel, Thou shall swear upon the Testament of Love, to mahe answer to this question propowided to thee by the court, What tr7ie valour is ? and therein to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help thee Love, and thy bright sword at 7ieed. Lov. So help me, Love, and my good sword at It is the greatest virtue, and the safety [need. Of all mankind, the object of it is danger. A certain mean 'twixt fear and confidence : No inconsiderate rashness or vain appetite Of false encountering formidable things ; But a true science of distinguishing What's good or evil. It springs out of reason, And tends to perfect honesty, the scope Is always honour, and the public good : It is no valour for a private cause. Lord B. No ! not for reputation ? Lov. That's man's idol, Set up 'gainst God, the maker of all laws, Who hath commanded us we should not kill ; And yet we say, we must for reputation. What honest man can either fear his own, Or else will hurt another's reputation ? Fear to do base unworthy things is valour ; If they be done to us, to suffer them, Is valour too. The office of a man That's truly valiant, is considerable, Three ways : the first is in respect of matter, Which still is danger ; in respect of form. Wherein he must preserve his dignity ; And in the end, which must be ever lawful. Lord L. But men, when they are heated, and in Cannot consider. [passion, Lov. Then it is not valour. I never thought an angry person valiant : Virtue is never aided by a vice. What need is there of anger and of tumult ; When reason can do the same things, or more ? Lord B. O yes, 'tis profitable, and of use ; It makes us fierce, and fit to imdertake. Lov. Why, so will drink make us both bold and rash, Or phrensy if you will : do these make valiant ? They are poor helps, and virtue needs them not. No man is valianter by being angry, But he that could not valiant be without ; So that it comes not in the aid of virtue, But in the stead of it. Lord L. He holds the right. Lov. And 'tis an odious kind of remedy, To owe our health to a disease. Tip. If man Should follow the dictamcn of his passion, He could not 'scape Lord B. To discompose himself. Lord L. According to don Lewis ! Host. Or Caranza ! Lov. Good colonel Glorious, whilst we treat of Dismiss yourself. [valour. Lord L. You are not concern'd. Lov. Go drink, And congregate the hostlers and the tapsters, The under-officers of your regiment ; Compose with them, and be not angry valiant. {_Exit TiPTO, Lord B. How does that differ from, true valour Lov. Thus. In the efficient, or that which makes it : For it proceeds from passion, not from judgment : Then brute beasts have it, wicked persons ; there It ditfers in the subject ; in the form, 'Tis carried rashly, and with violence : Then in the end, where it respects not truth, Or public honesty, but mere revenge. Now confident, and undertaking valour. Sways from the true, two other waj'^s, as being A trust in our own faculties, skill, or strength. And not the right, or conscience of the cause. That works it : then in the end, which is the vic- And not the honour. [tory, Lord B. But the ignorant valour, That knows not why it undertakes, but doth it To escape the infamy merelj' Lov. Is worst of all : That valour lies in the eyes o' the lookers on ; And is called valour with a witness. Lord B. Right. Lov. The things true valour's exercised about, Are poverty, restraint, captivity, Banishment, loss of children, long disease : The least is death. Here valour is beheld. Properly seen ; about these it is present : Not trivial things, which but require our confidence. And yet to those we must object ourselves, Only for honesty ; if any other Respects be mixt, we quite put out her light. And as all knovvled^^e, when it is removed, Or separate from justice, is call'd craft. Rather than wisdom ; so a mind afleiiting. Or undertaking dangers, for ambition, Or any self-pretext not for the public. Deserves the name of daring, not of valour. And over-daring is as great a vice, As over-fearing. Lord L. Yes, and often greater. Lov. But as it is not the mere punishment. But cause that makes a martyr, so it is not Figliting or dying* but the manner of it. Renders a man himself. A valiant man Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger, But worthily, and by selected ways : He iindertakes with reason, not by chance. His valour is the salt to his other virtues, Tbey are all unseasoned without it. The waiting- maids, Or the concomitants of it, are his patience, His magnanimity, his confidence, His constancy, security, and quiet ; He can assure himself against all rumour. Despairs of nothing, laughs at contumelies. As knowing himself advanced in a height W^here injury cannot reach him, nor aspersioi Touch him with soil ! Lady F. Most manly utter'd all ! As if Achilles had the chair in valour. And Hercules were but a lecturer. Who would not hang upon those lips for ever, That strike such music ! I could run on them ; But modesty is such a school- mistress To keep our sex in av\ e — Pru. Or you can feign ; My subtle and dissembling lady mistress. 428 THE NEW INN. ACT IV. I Lord L. I fear she means it, Prue, in too good earnest. Lov. The purpose of an injury 'tis to vex Antl trouble me ; now nothing can do that To him that's valiant. He that is affected With the least injury, is less than it. It is but reasonable to conclude That should be stronger still which hurts, than that Which is hurt. Now no wickedness is stronger Than what opposeth it : not Fortune's self, When she encounters virtue, but comes off Both lame and less ! why should a wise man then Confess himself the weaker, by the feeling Of a fool's wrong ? There may an injury Be meant me. I may choose, if I will take it. But we are now come to that delicacy. And tenderness of sense, we think an insolence Worse than an injur}', bearwords worse than deeds ; We are not so much troubled with the wrong, As with the opinion of the wrong ; like children, We are made afraid witli visors : such poor sounds As is the lie or common words of spite. Wise laws thought never worthy a revenge ; And 'tis the narrowness of human nature, Our poverty, and beggary of spirit, To take exception at these things. He laugh'd at He broke a jest ! a third took place of me ! [me ! How most ridiculous quarrels are all these ? Notes of a queasy and sick stomach, labouring With want of a true injury : the main part Of the wrong, is our vice of taking it. Lord L. Or our interpreting it to be such. Lov. You take it rightly. If a woman, or child Give me the lie, would I be angry ? no. Not if I were in my wits, sure, I should think it No spice of a disgrace. No more is theirs, If I will think it, who are to be held In as contemptible a rank, or worse. I am kept out a masque, sometime thrust out, Made wait a day, two, three, for a great word, Which, when it comes forth, is all frown and fore- head : What laughter should this breed, rather than anger! Out of the tumult of so many errors. To feel with contemplation, mine own quiet! If a great person do me an affront, A giant of the time, sure I will bear it Or out of patience, or necessity : Shall I do more for fear, than for my judgment ? For me now to be angry with Hodge Huffle, Or Burst, his broken charge, if he be saucy, Or our own type of Spanish valour, Tipto, Who were he now necessited to beg, Would ask an alms, like Conde Olivares, Were just to make myself such a vain animal As one of them. If light wrongs touch me not. No more shall great ; if not a few, not many. There's nought so sacred with us but may find A sacrilegious person, yet the thing is No less divine, 'cause the profane can reach it. He is shot free, in battle, is not hurt. Not he that is not hit : so he is valiant. That yields not uuto wrongs ; not he that 'scapes them. They that do pull down churches, and deface The holiest altars, cannot hurt the Godhead. A calm wise man may shew as much true valour, Amidst these popular provocations. As can an able captain shew security By his brave conduct, through an enemy's country. A wise man never goes the people's way : But as the planets still move contrary To the world's motion ; so doth he, to opinion. He will examine, if those accidents Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him Deservedly or no 1 Come they deservedly, They are no wrongs then, but his punishments : If undeservedly, and he not guilty. The doer of them, first, should blush, not he. Lord L. Excellent ! Lord B. Truth, and right ! Frank. An oracle Could not have spoken more ! Lady F. Been more believed ! Pru. The whole court runs into your sentence, And see your second hour is almost ended. [sir : Lad?/ F. It cannot be ! O clip the wings of time, Good Prue, or make him stand still with a charm. Distil the gout into it, cramps, all diseases To arrest him in the foot, and fix him here : O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks, Or make the sun forget his motion ! — If I but knew what drink the time now loved, To set my Trundle at him, mine own Barnaby ! Prue. Why, I'll consult our Shelee-nien Thomas. IShakes her. Nurse. Er grae Chreest. Lord B. Wake her not. Nurse. Tower een ciippaw D'' usque -hagh, doone. Pru. Usquebaugh's her drink, But 'twill not make the time drunk. Host. As it hath her. Away with her, my lord, but marry her first. [_Exit Lord B. ivilh Frank Pru. Ay, That will be sport anon too for my lady, But she hath other game to fly at yet. — The hour is come, your kiss. Lady F. My servant's song, first. Pru. I say the kiss, first ; and I so enjoin'd it : At your own peril, do, make the contempt. Lady F. Well, sir, you must be pay'd, and legally. \_Kisses Lovel. Pru. Nay, nothing, sir, beyond. Lov. One more 1 except. This was but half a kiss, and I would change it. Pru. The coui't's dissolv'd, removed, and the play ended. No sound, or air of love more, I decree it. Lov. From what a happiness hath that one word Thrown me into the gidph of misery ! To what a bottomless despair ! how like A court removing, or an ended play. Shews my abrupt precipitate estate, By how much more my vain hopes were increased By these false hours of conversation ! Did not I prophesy this of myself, And gave the true prognostics ? O my brain, How art thou turned ! and my blood congeal'd, My sinews slacken'd, and my marrow melted, That I remember not where I have been, Or what I am ! only my tongue's on fire ; And burning downward, hurls forth coals and cinders, To tell, this temple of love will soon be ashes ! Come, indignation, now, and be my mistress. No more of Love's ungrateful tyranny ; His wheel of torture, and his pits of birdlime, His nets of nooses, whirlpools of vexation. eCENK I. THE NEW INN. 429 His mills to grind his servants into powder — I will go catch the wind first in a sieve, Weigh smoak, and measure shadows : plough the water, A.nd sow my hopes there, ere I stay in love. Lord L. My jealousy is off, I am now secure. lAside and exit. Lov. Farewell the craft of crocodiles, women's piety. And practice of it, in this art of flattering, And fooling men ! I have not lost my reason, Though I have lent myself out for two hours. Thus to be baffled by a chambermaid, And the good actor, her lady, afore mine host Of the Light Heart, here, that hath laugh'd at Host. Who, I ? [all Lov. Laugh on, sir, I'll to bed and sleep. And dream away the vapour of love, if tlie house And your leer drunkards let me. lExeunt all but Lady F., Prudence, aiid Nurse. Lad?/ F. Prue ! Pru. Sweet madam. Lady F. Why would you let him go thus } Pru. In whose power Was it to stay him, properer than my lady's ? Lady F. Why in your lady's ? are not you the sovereign ? Pru. Would you in conscience, madam, have His patience more ? [me vex Lady F. Not, but apply the cure, Now it is vext. Pru. That's but one body's work ; Two cannot do the same thing handsomely. Lady F. But had not you the authority absolute? Pru. And were not you in rebellion, lady From the beginning ? [Frampul, Lady F. I was somewhat froward, I must confess, but frowardness, sometime Becomes a beauty, being but a visor Put on. You'll let a lady wear her mask, Prue ! Pru. But how do I know, when her ladyship is To leave it off, except she tell me so ? [pleased Lady F. You might have known that by my looks, and language. Had you been or regardant, or observant. One woman reads another's character Without the tedious trouble of deciphering. If she but give her mind to't ; you knew well, It could not sort with any reputation Of mine, to come in first, having stood out So long, without conditions for mine honour. Pru. I thought you did expect none, you so And put him off with scorn. [jeer'd him, Lady F. Who, I, with scorn ? I did express my love to idolatry rather, And so am justly plagued, not understood. Pru. I swear I thought you had dissembled, madam. And doubt you do so yet. Lady F. Dull, stupid wench ! Stay in thy state of ignorance still, be damn'd, An idiot chambermaid ! Hath all my care. My breeding thee in fashion, thy rich clothes, Honour, and titles wrought no brighter effects On thy dark soul, than thus ? Well ! go thy ways ; Were not the tailoi-'s wife to be demohsh'd, Ruin'd, uncased, thou should'st be she, I vow. Pru. Why, take your spangled properties, your gown And scarfs. [Tearing off her govcn. Lady F. Prue, Prue, what dost thou mean Pru. I will not buy this play-boy's bravery At such a price, to be upbraided for it, Thus, every minute. Lady F . Take it not to heart so. Pru. The tailor's wife ! there was a word of scorn ! Lady F. It was a word fell from me, Prue, by chance. Pru. Good madam, please to undeceive yourself, I know when Avords do slip, and when they are darted With all their bitterness : uncased, demolished \ An idioi chambermaid, stupid and dull ! Be damn'd for ignorance ! I will be so ; And think I do deserve it, that, and more. Much more I do. Lady F. Here comes mine host : no crying, Good Prue ! — Re-enter Host. Where is my servant Level, host? Host. You have sent him up to bed, would you would follow him, And make my house amends ! Lady F. Would you advise it ? Host. I would I could command it! INIy light Should leap till midnight. [heart Lady F. Pray thee be not sullen, I yet must have thy counsel. Thou shalt wear, The new gown yet. [Prue, Pru. After the tailor's wife ! Lady F. Come, be not angry or grieved : I have a project. [Exeunt Lady F. and Pnu. Host. Wake Shelee-nien Thomas ! Is this your heraldry, And keeping of records to lose the main ? Where is your charge } Nurse. Grae Chreest ! Host. Go ask the oracle Of the bottle, at your girdle, there you lost it : You are a sober setter of the watch ! [Ejccunt, ACT V. SCENE I.— A Room in the Inn. Enter Host and Fly. Host. Come, Fly and Legacy, the bird o' the Heart : Prime insect of the Inn, professor, quarter-master. As ever thou deserved'st thy daily drink, Padling in sack, and licking in the same, Now shew thyself an implement of price, And help to raise a nap to us out of nothing. — Thou saw'st them married } Fly. I do think I did. And heard the words, / Philip, take thee Lcetice. I gave her too, was then the father Fly, And heard the priest do his part, far as five noblea Would lead him in the lines of matrimony. Host. Where were they married ? Fly. In the new stable. 430 THE NEW INN. ACT V. Host. Ominous ! I have known many a church been made a stable, But not a stable made a church till now : I wish them joy. Fly, was he a full priest ? Fly. He belly'd for it, had his velvet sleeves, And his branch'd cassock, a side sweeping gown, All his formalities, a good cramm'd divine ! I went not far to fetch him, the next inn, Where he was lodged, for the action. Host. Had they a license ? Fly. License of love ; I saw no other ; and purse To pay the duties both of church and house : The angels flew about. Host. Those birds send luck ; And mirth will follow. 1 had thought to have sacrificed To merriment to-night in my Light Heart, Fly, And like a noble poet, to have had My last act best ; but all fails in the plot. Lovel is gone to bed ; the lady Frampul And sovereign Prue fall'n out : Tipto and his regiment Of mine-men, all drunk dumb, from his whoop Barnaby, To his hoop Trundle : they are his two tropics. No project to rear laughter on, but this. The marriage of lord Beaufort with Lsetitia. Stay, what is here ? the satin gown redeem'd, And Prue restored in't to her lady's grace! Fly. She is set forth in't, rigg'd for some employ- Host. An embassy at least. [ment ! Fly. Some treaty of state. Host. 'Tis a fuie tack about ; and worth the observing. iTlmj stand aside. Enter Lady Frampul, and Prudence maynificentli; dressed. Lady F. Sweet Prue, ay, now thou art a queen indeed ! These robes do royally, and thou becom'st them ! So they do thee ! rich garments only fit The parties they are made for ; they shame others. How did they shew on goody tailor's back Like a caparison for a sow, God save us ! Thy putting 'em on hath purged and hallow'd them From all pollution meant by the mechanics. Pru. Hang him, poor snip, a secular shop-wit ! He hath nought but his sheers to claim by, and his measures : His prentice may as well put in for his needle, And plead a stitch. iMdy F. They have no taint in them Now of the tailor. Pru. Yes, of his wife's hanches, Thus thick of fat ; I smell them, of the say. Lady F. It is restorative, Prue : with thy but chafing it. A barren hind's grease may work miracles. — Find but his chamber-door, and he will rise To thee ; or if thou pleasest, feign to be The wretched party herself, and com'st unto him In forma pauperis, to crave the aid Of his knight-errant valour, to the rescue Of thy distressed robes : name but thy gown, And he will rise to that. Pru. I'll fire the charm first, I had rather die in a ditch with mistress Shore, Without a smock, as the pitiful matter has it.. Than owe my wit to clothes, or have it beholden. Host. Still spirit of Prue ! Fly. And smelling of the sovereign I Pru. No, I will tell him, as it is indeed ; I come from the fine, froward, frampul lady. One was run mad with pride, wild with self-love, But late encountering a wise man who scorn'dher, And knew the way to his own bed, without Borrowing her warming-pan, she hath recover'd Part of her wits ; so much as to consider How far she hath trespass'd, upon whom, and how, And now sits penitent and solitary. Like the forsaken turtle, in the volary Of the Light Heart, the cage, she hath abused, Mourning her folly, weeping at the height She measures with her eyes, from whence she h fall'n. Since she did branch it on the top o' the wood. LadyF. I prithee, Prue, abuse me enough, that's use me As thou think'st fit, any coarse way, to humble me, Or bring me home again, or Lovel on : Thou dost not know my sufferings, what I feel, My fires and fears are met ; I burn and freeze, My liver's one great coal, my heart shrunk up With all the fibres, and the mass of blood Within me, is a standing lake of fire, Curl'd with the cold wind of my gelid sighs. That drive a drift of sleet through all my body. And shoot a February through my veins. Until I see him, I am drunk with thirst. And surfeited with hunger of his presence. I know not wher I am, or no ; or speak, Or whether thou dost hear me. Pru. Spare expressions. I'll once more venture for your ladyship. So you will use your fortunes reverently. Lady F. Religiously, dear Prue : Love and his mother, I'll build them several churches, shrines, and altars, And over head, I'll have, in the glass windows. The story of this day be painted, round, For the poor laity of love to read : I'll make myself their book, nay, their example. To bid them take occasion by the forelock, And play no after-games of love hereafter. Host, [coming forioard loith Fly.] And here your host and's Fly witness your vows, And like two lucky birds, bring the presage Of a loud jest ; Lord Beaufort's married. LadyF. Ha! Fly. All to-be-married. Pru. To whom, not your son Host. The same, Prue. If her ladyship could take truce A little with her passion, and give way To their mirth now running — Lady F. Runs it mirth ! let it come. It shall be well received, and much made of it. Pru. We must of this, it was our own concep- tion. AJwierLord Latimer. Lord L. Room for green rushes, raise the fid- lers, chamberlain. Call up the house in arms ! Host. This will rouse Lovel. Fly. And bring him on too. Lord L. Sheelee-nien Thomas Runs like a heifer bitten with the brize. About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing. SCENE I. THE NEW INN. Fly. For what, my lord ? Lord L. You were best hear that from her, It is no office, Fly, fits my relation. Here come the happy couple ! — EjiicrLordBEArKORT, Frank, Ferret, Jordan, And Jug, Fiddlers, Servants, S^c. Joy, lord Beaufort ! Fly. And my young lady too. Host. Much joy, my lord ! Lord B. I thank you all ; I thank thee, father Madam, my cousin, you look discomposed, [Fly. I have been bold with a sallad after supper, Of your own lettice here. Lady F. You have,' my lord : But laws of hospitality, and fair rites, Would have made me acquainted. Lord B. In your own house, I do acknowledge ; else I much had trespass'd. But in an inn, and public, where there is license Of all community ; a pardon of course May be sued out. LordL. It will, my lord, and carry it. I do not see, how any storm or tempest Can help it now. Pru. The thing being done and past. You bear it wisely, and like a lady of judgment. LordB. She is that, secretary Prue. Pru. Why secretary, My wise lord } is your brain [too] lately married ! Lord B. Your reign is ended, True, no sovereign now : Your date is out, and dignity expired. Pru. I am annuU'd ; how can I treatwith Lovel, Without a new commission } LadyF. Thy gown's commission. Host. Have patience, Prue, expect, bid the lord joy. Fru. And this brave lady too. I wish them joy ! Pierce. Joy ! J or. Joy ! Jug. All joy! Host. Ay, the house full of joy. Fly. Play the bells, fiddlers, crack your strings with joy. iMusic. Pru. But, lady Ljetice, you shcw'd a neglect Un-to-be-pardon'd, to'ards my lady, your kins- Not to advise with her. [woman, Lord B. Good politic Prue, Urge not your stare-advice, your after-wit ; 'Tis near upbraiding. Get our bed ready, cham- berlain. And host, a bride-cup ; you have rare conceits, And good ingredients ; ever an old host, Upon the road, has his provocative drinks. Lwd L. He is either a good bawd, or a physi- cian. Lord B. 'Twas well he heard you not, his back was turn'd. A bed, the genial bed! a brace of boys, To-night, I play for. Pric. Give us points, my lord. Lo7-d B. Here take them, Prue, my cod-piece point, and all. I have clasps, my Laetice' arms ; here take them, bovs. IThrou's off his dotd/let, SfC. What, is the chamber ready.' Speak, why stare On one another. [you Jor. No, sir. Lord B. And why no? Jor. My master has forbid it : he yet doubts, That you are married. Lord B. Ask his vicar-general, His Fly, here. Fly. I must make that good ; they are married. Host. But I must make it bad, my hot young lord.-- Give him his doublet again, the air is piercing ; You may take cold, my lord. See whom you have Your host's son, and a boy ! [married, IPuUs oJT Frank's head-dress. Fly. You are abused. Lady F. Much joy, my lord 1 Pru. If this be your La^titia, She'll prove a counterfeit mirth, and a clipp'd lady. Ser. A boy, a boy, my lord has married a boy ! Lord L. Raise all the house in shout and laughter, a boy ! Host. Stay, what is here ! peace, rascals, stop your throats. — E)i(er Nurse, hastihj. Nurse. That maggot, worm, that insect ! O my child. My daughter ! where's that Fly ? I'll fly in his face, The vermin, let me come to him. Fly. Why, nurse Sheelee ? Nurse. Hang thee, thou parasite, thou son of crumbs And orts, thou hast undone me, and my child, My daughter, my dear daughter ! Host. What means this? Nurse. O, sir, my daughter, my dear child ig ruin'd. By this your Fly, here, married in a stable, And sold unto a husband. Host. Stint thy cry, Harlot, if that be all ; didst thou not sell him To me for a boy, and brought'st him in boy's rags Here to my door, to beg an alms of me.^ Nurse. I did, good master, and I crave your But 'tis my daughter, and a girl. [pardon : Host. Why saidst thou It was a boy, and sold'st him then to me With such entreaty, for ten shillings, carlin? N^urse. Because you were a charitable man, I heard, good master, and would breed him well ; I would have given him you for nothing gladly. Forgive the lie of my mouth, it was to save The fruit of my womb. A parent's needs are urgent. And few do know that tyrant o'er good natures : But you relieved her, and me too, the mother, And took me into your house to be the nurse, For which heaven heap all blessings on your head, W'hilst there can one be added. Host. Sure thou speak 'st Quite like another creature than thou hast lived Here, in the house, a Sheelee-nien Thomas, An Irish beggar. Nttrse. So I am, God help mc. Host. What art thou ? tell : the match is a good match. For aught I see ; ring the bells once again. IMutic. Lord B. Stint, I say, fidlers. Lady F. No going oft", my lord. Lord B. Nor coming on, sweet lady, things thus standing. Fly. But what's the heinousness of my offence Or the degrees of wrong you suflVr'd ha it ? 482 THE NEW INN. In having your daughter match'd thus happily, Into a noble house, a brave young blood, And a prime peer of the realm ? Lord B. Was that your plot, Fly ? Give me a cloke, take her again among you. I'll none of your Light Heart fosterlings, no inmates, Supposititious fruits of an host's brain. And his Fly's hatching, to be put upon me. There is a royal court of the Star-chamber, Will scatter all these mists, disperse these vapours, And clear the truth : Let beggars match with beg- That shall decide it ; I will try it there. [gars — Nurse. Nay then, my lord, it's not enough, I see, You are licentious, but you will be wicked. You are not alone content to take my daughter, Against the law ; but having taken her. You would repudiate and cast her off, Now at your pleasure, like a beast of power. Without all cause, or colour of a cause. That, or a noble, or an honest man. Should dare to except against, her poverty ; Is poverty a vice Lord B. The age counts it so. Nurse. God help your lordship, and your peers that think so. If any be ; if not, God bless them all, And help the number of the virtuous. If poverty be a crime '. You may object Our beggary to us, as an accident. But never deeper, no inherent baseness. And I must tell you now, young lord of dirt, As an incensed mother, she hath more. And better blood, running in those small veins, Than all the race of Beauforts have in mass, Though they distil their drops from the left rib Of John o' Gaunt. Host. Old mother of records, Thou know'st her pedigree then : whose daughter is she ? Nurse. The daiighter and co-heir to the lord This lady's sister. [Frampul, Lady F. Mine ! what is her name ? Nurse. Lsetitia. LadyF. That was lost ! Nurse. The true Lsetitia. Lady F. Sister, O gladness ! Then you are our Nurse. I am, dear daughter. [mother? Lady F. On my knees I bless The light I see you by. Nurse. And to the author Of that blest light, I ope my other eye, Which hath almost, now, seven years been shut. Dark as my vow was, never to see liglit. Till such a light restored it, as my children, Or your dear father, who, I hear, is not. Lord B. Give me my wife, I own her now, and will have her. Host. But you must ask my leave first, my young lord. Leave is but light. — Ferret, go bolt your master, Here's gear will startle him. \_Exit Ferret.] — 1 cannot keep The passion in me, I am e'en turn'd child. And I must weep. — Fly, take away mine host, \_Pulls off his disguise. My beard and cap here from me, and fetch my lord. — iExit Fly. I am her father, sir, and you shall now Ask my consent, before you have her Wife ! VIy dear and loving wife! my honour'd wife ! Who here hath gain'd but I I am lord Frampwl. The cause of all this trouble ; I am he Have measured all the shires of England over, Wales, and her mountains, seen those wilder nations Of people in the Peak, and Lancashire ; Their pipers, fidlers, rushers, puppet-masters. Jugglers, and gipsies, all the sorts of canters, And colonies of beggars, tumblers, ape- carriers ; For to these savages I was addicted. To search their natures, and make odd discoveries: And here my wife, like a she-Mandevile, Ventured in disquisition after me. Re-enter Fly, ivilli Lord Frampul's robes. Nurse. I may look up, admire, I cannot speak Yet to my lord. Host. Take heart, and breathe, recover. Thou hast recover'd me, who here had coffin'd Myself alive, in a poor hostelry. In penance of my wrongs done unto thee. Whom I long since gave lost. Nurse. So did I you. Till stealing mine own daughter from her sister, I lighted on this error hath cured all. Lord B. And in that cure, include my trespass, And father, for my wife [mother, Host. No, the Star-chamber. Lord B. Away with that, you sour the sweetest Was ever tasted. [lettice Host. Give you joy, my son ; Cast her not off again. — Enter Lovel. O call me father, Lovel, and this your mother, if you like. But take your misti-ess, first, my child ; I have power To give her now, with her consent ; her sister Is given already to your brother Beaufort. Lov. Is this a dream now, after my first sleep, Or are these phant'sies made in the Light Heart, And sold in the New Inn ? Host. Best go to bed. And dream it over all. Let's all go sleep. Each with his turtle. Fly, provide us lodgings. Get beds prepared ; you are master now of the inn, The lord of the Light Heart, I give it you. Fly was my fellow-gipsy. All my family, Indeed, were gipsies, tapsters, ostlers, chamberlains, Reduced vessels of civility. — But here stands Prue, neglected, best deserving Of all that are in the house, or in my Heart, Whom though I cannot help to a fit husband, I'll help to that will bring one, a just portion : I have two thousand pound in bank for Prue, Call for it when she will. Ijord B. And I as much. Host. There's somewhat yet, four thousand pound ! that's better, Than sounds the proverb, four bare legs in a bed. Lov. Me and her mistress, she hath power to Up into what she wiU. [coin Lady F. Indefinite Prue 1 Lord L. But I must do the crowning act of Host. What's that, my lord? [bounty Lord L. Give her myself, which here By all the holy vows of love I do. Spare all your promised portions ; she's a dowry So all-sufficient in her virtue and manners, That fortune cannot add to her. Pru. My lord. THE NEW INN. Your praises are instructions to mine ears, Whence you have made your wife to live your servanL Host. Lights ! get us several lights ! Lou. Stay, let my mistress But hear my vision sung, my dream of beauty, Which I have brought, prepared, to bid us joy, ] And light us all to bed, 'twDl be instead Of airing of the sheets with a sweet odour. Host. 'Twill be an incense to our sacrifice Of love to-night, where I will woo afresh. And like Maecenas, having but one wife, I'll marry her every hour of life hereafter. 1 [Exeunt with a song. EPILOGUE. Plays ill themselves have neither hopes nor fears ; Their fate is only in their hearers'' ears : If you expect more than you had to-night^ The maker is sick, and sad. But do him right : He meant to please you : for he sent things fit. In all the numbers both of sense and wit ; If they have not miscarried ! 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 a true poet. He could have haled in The drunkards, and the noises of the Inn, In his last act ; if he had thought it fit To vent you vapours in the place of wit : But bp.tter 'twas that they should sleep, or spue. Than in the scene to offend or him or you. This he did think ; and this do you forgive: Whene'er the carcass dies, this art vnll live. And had he lived the care of king and queen, His art in something mo^-eyet had been seen ; But mayors and shrieves may yearly fill the stage: A king's, or poet's birth doth ask an age. ANOTHER EPILOGUE THERE WAS, MADE FOR THE PLAY, IN THE POET S DEFENCE. BUT THE PLAY LIVED NOT, IN OPINION, 10 HAVE IT SPOKEN. A jovial host, and lord of the New Inn, 'Clept the Light Heart, with all that past therein, Hath been the subject of our play to-night. To give the king, and queen, and court delight. But then we mean the court above the stairs, And past the guard ; men that have more of cars. Than eyes to judge us : such as will not hiss. Because the chambermaid was named Cis. We think it would have served our scene as true, If, as it is, at first we hadcalVd her Prue, For any mystery we there have found, Or magic in the letters, or the sound. She only meant was for a girl of wit, To whom her lady did a province fit : Which she would have discharged, and done 's. Pol. What a brave man's a doctor. To beat one into health ! I thought his blows Would e'en have kill'd him ; he did feel no more Than a great horse. Sir Moth. Is the wild captain gone, That man of murder ? Bias. All is calm and quiet. Sir Moth. Say you so, cousin Bias, then alTs Pal. How quickly a man is lost ! [well. Bias. And soon recover'd ! Pol. Where there are means, and doctors learned men. And there apothecaries, who are not now, As Chaucer says, their friendship to begin. Well, could they teach each other how to win In their swath bands Rut. Leave your poetry, good gossip. Your Chaucer's clouts, and wash your dishes with We must rub up the roots of his disease, [them ; And crave your peace a while, or else your absence. Pol. Nay, I know when to hold my peace. Rut. Then do it.— Give me your hand, sir Moth. Let's feel your It is a pursiness, a kind of stoppage, [pulse ; Or tumour of the purse, for want of exercise. That you are troubled with : some ligatures In the neck of your vesica, or marsupium, Are so close knit, that you cannot evaporate ; And therefore you must use relaxatives. Beside, they say, you are so restive grown. You cannot but with trouble put your hand Into your pocket to discharge a reckoning, And this we sons of physic do call chirogra, A kind of cramp, or hand-gout. You shall purge for't. Item. Indeed your worship should do well to advise him To cleanse his body, all the three high-v;ays ; That is, by sweat, purge, and phlebotomy. Rut. You say well, learned Tim; I'll first pre- scribe him To give his purse a purge, once, twice a-week At dice, or cards; and when the weather is open. Sweat at a bowling-alley ; or be let blood In the lending vein, and bleed a matter of fifty Or threescore ounces at a time ; then put yout thumbs Under your girdle, and have somebody else Pull out your purse for you, tiU with more ease, And a good habit, you can do it yourself. And then be sure always to keep good diet, And have your table furnish'd from one end Unto the t'other ; it is good for the eyes : SCENE IV. THE MAGNETIC LADY. 451 But feed you on one dish still, have your diet- Ever in bottles ready, which must come [drink From the King's-head : I wiU prescribe you nothing, But what I'll take before you mine ownself ; That is my course with all my patients. Pal. Very methodical, secundum artem. Bias. And very safe pro captu recipientis. Pol. All errant learned men, how they 'spute Latin ! Rut. I had it of a Jew, and a great rabbi, Who every morning cast his cup of white-wine With sugar, and by the residence in the bottom. Would make report of any chronic malady. Such as sir Moth's is, being an oppilation In that you call the neck of the money-bladder, Most anatomical, and by dissection Enter Nurse Keep, hastily. Keep. O, master doctor, and his 'pothecary, Good master Item, and my mistress Polish, We need you all above I she's fallen again In a worse fit than ever. Pol. Who? Keep. Your charge. Pol. Come away, gentlemen. Sir Moth. This fit with the doctor Hath mended me past expectation. [_Exeunt all iut Bias. Enter Compass, Sir Diaphanous Silkworm, ond Practice. Com. O sir Diaphanous ! have you done ? Sir Dia I have brought it. Prac. That's well. Com. But who shall carry it now ? Sir Dia. A friend : I'll find a friend to carry it ; master Bias here \^ ill not deny me that. Bias. What is't ? Sir Dia. To carry A challenge I have writ unto the captain. Bias. Faith, but I will, sir ; you shall pardon me For a twi-reason of state : I'll bear no challenges ; I will not hazard my lord's favour so ; Or forfeit mine own judgment with his honour, To turn a rufiian : I have to commend me Nought but his lordship's good opinion; And to it my kalligraphy, a fair hand, Fit for a secretary : now you know, a man's hand Being his executing part in fight, Is more obnoxious to the common peril. Sir Dia. You shall not fight, sir, you shall only My antagonist ; commit us fairly there [search Upon the ground on equal terms. Bias. O, sir. But if my lord should hear I stood at end Of any quarrel, 'twere an end of me In a state-course 1 I have read the politics ; And heard the opinions of our best divines. Com. The gentleman has reason. Where was first The birth of your acquaintance, or the cradle Of your strict friendship made ? Sir Dia. We met in France, sir. Com. In France I that garden of humacity, The very seed-plot of all courtesies : I wonder that your friendship suck'd that aliment, The milk of France ; and see this sour eifect It doth produce, 'gainst allj;he sweets of travel. There, every gentleman professing arms. Thinks he is bound in honour to embrace The beasing of a challenge for another, Without or questioning the cause, or asking Least colour of a reason. There's no cowardice, No poltronery, like urging why ? wherefore ? But carry a challenge, do the thing, and die. Bias. Why, hear you, master Compass, I but crave Your ear in private : [^takes him aside.'\ I would carry his challenge. If I but hoped your captain angry enough To kill him ; for, to tell you truth, this knight Is an impertinent in court, we think him, And troubles my lord's lodgings, and his table With frequent, and unnecessary visits. Which we, the better sort of servants, like not : Being his fellows in all other places. But at our master's board ; and we disdain To do those servile offices, oft-times. His fooUsh pride and empire will exact, Against the heart, or humour of a gentleman. Com. Truth, master Bias, I would not have you I speak to flatter you ; but you are one [think Of the deepest politics I ever met. And the most subtly rational. I admire you. But do not you conceive in such a case, That you are accessary to his death, From whom you carry a challenge with such pur- pose ? Bias. Sir, the corruption of one thing in nature, Is held the generation of another ; And therefore, I had as lief be accessary Unto his death, as to his life. Com. A new Moral philosophy too ! you'll carry it then ? Bias. If I were sure 'twould not incense his To beat the messenger. [choler Com. O, I'll secure you ; You shall deliver it in my lodging, safely. And do your friend a service worthy thanks. Enter Ironside. Bias. I'll venture it upon so good induction, To rid the court of an impediment, This baggage knight. Iron. Peace to you all, gentlemen. Save to this mushroom, who I hear is menacing Me with a challenge ; which I come to anticipate, And save the law a labour. — Will you fight, sir? Sir Dia. Yes, in my shirt. [Throtcs off his doublet. Iron. O, that's to save your doublet ; I know it a court-trick ; you had rather have An idcer in your body, than a pink More in your clothes. Sir Dia. Captain, you are a coward, If you'll not fight in your shirt. Iron. Sir, I do not mean To put it off for that, nor yet my doublet : You have cause to call me coward, that more fear The stroke of the common and life-giving air, Than all your fury, and the panoply — Prac. Which is at best, but a thin linen armour I think a cup of generous wine were better. Than fighting in your shirts. Sir Dia. Sir, sir, my valour. It is a valour of another nature. Than to be mended by a cup of wine. Com. I should be glad to hear of any valours, Differing in kind ; who have known hitherto. Only one virtue they call fortitude, W^orthy the name of valour. g g 2 452 THE MAGNETIC LADY. ACT 111. Iron. Which who hath not, Is justly thought a coward ; and he is such. Sir Dia. O, you have read the play there, the New Inn, Of Jonson's, that decries all other valour. But what is for the public. IroJi. I do that too, But did not learn it there ; I think no valour Lies for a private cause. Sir Dia. Sir, I'll redargue you "By disputation. Com. O, let's hear this : i long to hear a man dispute in his shirt Of valour, and his sword drawn in his hand ! Prac. His valour will take cold, put on your doublet. Com. His valour will keep cold, you are de- ceived ; And relish much the sweeter in our ears ; It may be too, in the ordinance of nature. Their valours are not yet so combatant, Or truly antagonistic, as to fight, But may admit to hear of some divisions Of fortitude, may put them off their quarrel. Sir Dia. I would have no man think me so un- Or subject to my passion but I can [govern'd, Read him a lecture 'twixt my undertakings And executions : I do know all kinds Of doing the business, which the town calls valour. Com. Yes, he has read the town. Town-top's Your first ? [his author ! Sir Dia. Is a rash headlong unexperience. Com. Which is in children, fools, or your street- Of the first head. [gallants Prac. A pretty kind of valour ! Com. Commend him, he will spin it out in's Fine as that thread. [shi'",, Sir Dia. The next, an indiscreet Presumption, grounded upon often scapes. Com. Or the insufficiency of adversaries And this is in your common fighting brothers, Your old Perdue's, who, after time, do think. The one, that they are shot-free, the other sword- Your third ? [free. Sir Dia. Is nought but an excess of choler, That reigns in testy old men Com. Noblemen's porters, And self-conceited poets. Sir Dia. And is rather A pevishness, than any part of valour. Prac. He but rehearses, he concludes no valour. Com. A history of distempers as they are prac- tised, His harangue undertaketh, and no more. Your next } Sir Dia. Is a dull desperate resolving. Com. In case of some necessitous misery, or Incumbent mischief. Prac. Narrowness of mind, Or ignorance being the root of it. Sir Dia. Which you shall find in gamesters quite blown up. Com. In bankrupt merchants, and discovered traitors. Prac. Or your exemplified malefactors. That have survived their infamy and punishment. Com. One that hath lost his ears by a just sentence Of the Stnr-cliamber, a right valiant knave— ' And is a histrionical contempt Of what a man fears most ; it being a mischief In his own apprehension unavoidable. Prac. Which is in cowards wounded mortally, Or thieves adjudged to die. Com. This is a valour T should desire much to see encouraged ; As being a special entertainment For our rogue people, and make '>ft good sport Unto them, from the gallows to the ground. Sir Dia. But mine is a judicial resolving, Or liberal undertaking of a danger Com. That might be avoided. Sir Dia. Ay, and with assurance. That it is found in noblemen and gentlemen Of the best sheaf. Com. Who having lives to lose, Like private men, have yet a world of honour And public reputation to defend. Sir Dia. Which in the brave historified Greeks, And Romans, you shall read of. Com. And no doubt. May in our aldermen meet it, and their deputies. The soldiers of the city, valiant blades, Who, rather than their houses should be ransack'd, Would fight it out, like so many wild beasts ; Not for the fury they are commonly arm'd with. But the close manner of their fight and custom Of joining head to head, and foot to foot. Iron. And which of these so well-prest resolu- Am I to encounter now ? for commonly, [tions Men that have so much choice before them, have Some trouble to resolve of any one. Bias, There are three valours yet, which sir Hath, with his leave, not touch'd. [Diaphanous Sir Dia. Yea ! which are those ? Prac. He perks at that. Com. Nay, he does more, he chatters. Bias. A philosophical contempt of death Is one ; then an infused kind of valour, Wrought in us by our genii, or good spirits ; Of which the gallant ethnics had deep sense. Who generally held that no great statesman, Scholar, or soldier, e'er did any thing Sine divino aliquo afflatu. Prac. But there's a christian valour 'hove these Bias. Which is a quiet patient toleration [two. Of whatsoever the malicious world With injury doth unto you ; and consists In passion more than action, sir Diaphanous. Sir Dia. Sure, I do take mine to be christian valour. Com. You may mistake though. Can you justify, On any cause, this seeking to deface The di\ine image in a man ? Bias. O, sir, Let them alone : is not Diaphanous As much a divine image, as is Ironside ? Let images fight, if they will fight, a God's name. Enter Nurse Keep, hastily. Keep. Where's master Needle ? saw you master We are undone. [Needle ? Com. What ails the frantic nurse ? Keep. My mistress is undone ! she's crying out ! Where is this man trow, master Needle ? Enter Needle. Nee. Here. {Takes her aside. Keep. Run for the party, mistress Chair, the midwife. ICENB I. THE MAGNETIC LADY. 453 Nay, look how the man stands as he were gowk'd ! She's lost if you not haste away the party. Nee. Where is the doctor? Keep. Where a scoffing man is, And his apothecary little better ; They laugh and jeer at all : will you dispatch, And fetch the party quickly to our mistress ? We are all undone ! the tympany will out else. \Excunt Needle and Keep. Enter Sir Moth Interest. Sir Moth. News, news, good news, better than butter'd news ! My niece is found with child, the doctor tells me, And fallen in labour. Com. How! lExii. Sir Moth. The portion's paid, The portion O the captain ! is he here ? {.Exit. Prac. He has spied your swords out : put them up, put up, You have driven him hence, and yet your quarrel's Iron. In a most strange discovery. [ended. Prac. Of light gold. Sir Dia. And cracked within the ring. I take As a good omen. [the omen Prac. Then put up your sword, And on your doublet. Give the captain thanks. Sir Dia. I have been slurr'd else. Thank you, Your quarrelling caused all this. [noble captain! Iron. Where's Compass ? Prac. Gone, Shrunk hence, contracted to his centre, I fear. Iron. The slip is his then. Sir Dia. I had like t' have been Abused in the business, had the slip slurr'd on rne, A counterfeit. Bias. Sir, we are all abused. As many as were brought on to be suitors ; And we vi'iW join in thanks all to the captain, And to his fortune that so brought us off. [_Exmnl. Dam. This was a pitiful poor shift of your poet, boy, to make his prime woman with child, and fall in labour, just to compose a quarrel. Boy. With whose borrowed ears have you heard, sir, all this while, that you can mistake the cur- rent of our scene so ? The stream of the argu- ment threatened her being with child from the very beginning ; for it presented her in the first of the second act with some apparent note of infirmity or defect, fn>m knowledge of which the auditory ivere rightly to be suspended by the author, till the quar- rel, which was but the accidental cause, hastened on the discovery of it, in occasioning her affright, which made her fall into her throes presently, and within that compass of time allowed to the comedy : wherein the poet exprest his prime artifice, rather than any error, that the detection of her being with child should determine the quarrel, which had produced it. Pro. The boy is too hard for you, brother Dam- play ; best mark the play, and let him alone. Dam. / care not for marking the play ; I'll damn it, talk, and do that I come for. I will not have gentlemen lose their privilege, nor I myself my prerogative, for never an overgrown or super- annuated poet of them all. He shall not give me the law : I will censure and be witty, and take my tobacco, and enjoy my Magna Charta of reprehen- sion, as my predecessors have done before me. Boy. Even to license and absurdity. Pro. Not now, because the gentlewoman is in travail, and the midwife may come on the sooner, to put her and us out of our pain. Dam. Well, look to your business afterward, boy, that all things be clear, and come properly forth, suited and set together ; for I will search what follows severely, and to the nail. Boy. Let your nail run smooth then, and not scratch, lest the author be bold to pare it to the quick, and make it smart : you'll find him as severe as yourself. Dam. A shrewd boy, and has me every where ! The midwife is come, she has made haste. ACT IV. SCENE I. — A Room in Lady Loadstone's House. Enter Mother Chair and Needle. Chair. Stay, master Needle, you do prick too fast Upon the business, I must take some breath ; Lend me my stool ; you have drawn a stitch upon In faith, son Needle, with your haste. [me, Nee. Good mother, Piece up this breach ; I'll give you a new gown, A new silk grogoran gown : I'll do it, mother. Enter Nurse Keep. Keep. What will you do ! you have done too much already, With your prick-seam, and through -stitch, master I pray you sit not fabling here old tales, [Needle. Good mother Chair, the midwife, but come up. [_Exeunt Chair and Needle. Enter Compass and Practice. Com. How now, Nurse 1 where's my lady ? Keep. In her chamber, Lock'd up, I think : she'll speak with nobody. Com. Knows she of this accident ? Keep. Alas, sir, no : Would she might never know it ! (_Exit. Prac. I think her ladyship Too virtuous, and too nobly innocent. To have a hand in so ill-form'd a business. Com. Your thought, sir, is a brave thought, and a safe one : The child now to be born is not more free From the aspersion of all spot than she. She have her hand in a plot 'gainst master Prac- tice, If there were nothing else, whom she so loves. Cries up, and values ! knows to be a man Mark'd out for a chief justice in his cradle, Or a lord paramount, the head of the hall. The top, or the top-gallant of our law ! Assure yourself she could not so deprave The rectitude of her judgment, to wish you Unto a wife might prove your infamy, 4.64 THE MAGNETIC LADY, ACT TI. Whom she esteem'd that part of the commonwealth. And had [raised] up for honour to her blood. Prac. I must confess a great beholdingness Unto her ladyship's offer, and good wishes : But the truth is, I never had affection, Or any liking to this niece of hers. Com. You foresaw somewhat then ? Prac. I had my notes, And my prognostics. Com. You read almanacs, A.nd study them to some purpose, I believe. Prac. I do confess I do believe, and pray too, According to the planets, at some times. Com. And do observe the sign in making love .' Prac. As in phlebotomy. Com. And choose your mistress By the good days, and leave her by the bad ? Prac. I do and I do not. Com. A little more Woiild fetch all his astronomy from Allestree. Prac. I tell you, master Compass, as my friend, \nd under seal, I cast my eyes long since Upon the other wench, my lady's woman, I Another manner of piece for handsomeness, Than is the niece : but that is sub sigillo, And as I give it you, in hope of your aid And counsel in the business. Com. You need counsel ! The only famous counsel of the kingdom. And in all courts ! That is a jeer in faith, Worthy your name, and your profession too, Sharp master Practice. Prac. No, upon my law. As I am a bencher, and now double reader, \ meant in mere simplicity of request. Com. If you meant so, the affairs are now i perplex'd, And full of trouble ; give them breath and settling, j I'll do my best. But in meantime do you Prepare the parson. — I am glad to know This ; for myself liked the young maid before, And loved her too. \Aside.'\ — Have you a license.^ Prac. No ; But I can fetch one straight. Com. Do, do, and mind The parson's pint, to engage him [in] the business; knitting cup there must be. Prac. I shall do it. \_Exit. Filter Bias a7id Sir Moth Interest. JBias. 'Tis an affront from you, sir ; you here Unto my lady's, and to woo a wife, [brought me Which since is proved a crack' d commodity: She hath broke bulk too soon. Sir Moth. No fault of mine. If she be crack 'd in pieces, or broke round : It was my sister's fault that owns the house Where she hath got her clap, makes all this noise. I keep her portion safe, that is not scatter' d ; The monies rattle not, nor are they thrown. To make a muss yet, 'mong the gamesome suitors. Com. Can you endure that flout, close master And have been so bred in the politics .'^ [Bias, The injury is done you, and by him only : He lent you imprest money, and upbraids it; Furnish'd you for the wooing, and now waves you. Bias. Tlaat makes me to expostulate the wrong So with him, and resent it as I do. Com. But do it home then. Bias, Sir, my lord shall know it. Com. And all the lords of the court too. Bias. WHiat a Moth You are, sir Interest ! Sir Moth. Wherein, I entreat you. Sweet master Bias ? Com. To draw in young statesmen, And heirs of policy into the noose Of an infamous matrimony. Bias. Yes, Infamous, quasi in communem famam : And matrimony, quasi matter of money. Com. Learnedly urged, my cunning master Bias. Bias. With his lewd known and prostituted niece. Sir Moth. My known and prostitute ! hovf you mistake. And run upon a false ground, master Bias ! Your lords will do me right. Now she is prostitute, And that I know it, please you understand me, I mean to keep the portion in my hands. And pay no monies. Com. Mark you that, don Bias ? And you shall still remain in bonds to him, For wooing furniture, and imprest charges. Sir Moth. Good master Compass, for the sums he has had Of me, I do acquit him ; they are his own : Here, before you, 1 do release him. Com. Good ! Bias. O sir — Com. 'Slid, take it ; I do witness it : He cannot hurl away his money better. Sir Moth. He shall get so much, sir, by my acquaintance. To be my friend ; and now report to his lords As I deserve, no otherwise. Com. But well ; And I will witness it, and to the value : Four hundred is the price, if I mistake not, Of your true friend in court. Take hands, you have And bought him cheap. [bought him. Bias. I am his worship's servant. Com. And you his slave, sir Moth, seal'd and deliver'd. Have you not studied the court-compliment ? — \_Excunl Sir Moth and Bias. Here are a pair of humours reconciled now, That money held at distance, or their thoughts, Baser than money. Enter Polish, driving in Nurse Keep. Pol. Out, thou caitiff witch, Bav/d, beggar, gipsey ; any thing, indeed. But honest woman ! Keep. What you please, dame Polish, My lady's stroker. Com. What is here to do ! The gossips out 1 iAside. Pol. Thou art a traitor to me, An Eve, the apple, and the serpent too A viper, that hast eat a passage through me, Through mine own bowels, by thy recklessness. Com. What frantic fit is this ? I'll step aside. And hearken to it. iRciires Pol. Did I trust thee, wretch. With such a secret, of that consequence. Did so concern me, and my child, our livelihood, And reputation ! and hast thou undone us, By thy connivance, nodding in a corner. And suffering her be got with child so basely } SCENE 1. THE MAGNETIC LADY. 455 Sleepy, unlucky hag ! — tliou bird of night, And all mischance to me ! Keep. Good lady empress, Had I the keeping of your daughter's clicket In charge, was that committed to my trust ? Com. Her daughter ! [Aside. Pol. Softly, devil, not so loud : You'd have the house hear and be witness, would you ? Keep. Let all the world be witness : afore I'll Endure the tyranny of such a tongue, And such a pride Pol. What will you do ? Keep. Tell truth. And shame the she-man-devil in pufF'd sleeves ; Run any hazard, by revealing all Unto my lady ; how you changed the cradles, And changed the children in them. Pol. Not so high ! Keep. Calling your daughter Pleasance there Placentia, And my true mistress by the name of Pleasance. Com. A horrid secret this ; worth the discovery, Pol. And must you be thus loud ? Keep. I will be louder. And cry it through the house, through every ro And every office of the laundry-maids, Till it be borne hot to my lady's ears : Ere I will live in such a slavery, I'll do away myself. Pol. Didst thou not swear To keep it secret ! And upon what book ? — I do remember now, The Practice of Piety. Keep. It was a practice of impiety, Out of your wicked forge, I know it now. My conscience tells me : first, against the infants. To rob them of their names and their true parents ; To abuse the neighbourhood, keep them in error ; But most my lady ; she has the main wrong, And I will let her know it instantly. Repentance, if it be true, ne'er comes too late. lExlt. Pol. "What have I done ? conjured a spirit up, I shall not lay again ! drawn on a danger And ruin on myself thus, by provoking A peevish fool, whom nothing will pray off Or satisfy, I fear ! her patience stirr'd. Is turn'd to fury. I have run my bark On a sweet rock, by mine own arts and trust ; And must get off again, or dash in pieces. [Exit. Com. [coming forward.] This was a business worth the listening after. Enter rLEASANCE. Plea. O master Compass, did you see my mother ? Mistress Placentia, my lady's niece. Is newly brought to bed of the bravest boy ! Will you go see it ? Com. First, I'll know the father, Ere I approach these hazards. Plea. Mistress midwife Has promised to find out a father for it, If there be need. Com. She may the safelier do it, By virtue of her place. — But, pretty Pleasance, I have a nev/s for you I think will please you. Plea. W^hat is it, master Compass ? Co7n. Stay, you must Deserve it ere you know it. Where's my lady ? Plea. Retired unto her chamber, and shut up. Com. She hears of none of this yet ? Weil, do Command the coach, and fit j^ourself to travel [you A little way with me. Plea. Whither, for God's sake ? Com. Where I'll entreat you not to your loss, If you dare trust yourself. [believe it. Plea. With you the world o'er. Com. The news will well requite the pains, I assure you, And in this tumult you will not be miss'd. Command the coach, it is an instant business, Will not be done without you. [Exit Pleasanck. Enter Palate. Parson Palate ! Most opportunely met ; step to my chamber ; I'll come to you presently : there is a friend Or two will entertain you. [Exit Palatb Enter Practice. Master Practice, Have you the license Prac. Here it is. Com, Let's see it : Your name's not in it. Prac. I'll fill that presently. It has the seal, which is the main, and register'd ; The clerk knows me, and trusts me. Com. Have you the parson.^ Prac. Tliey say he's here, he 'pointed to come hither. Com. I would not have him seen here for a v.-orld, To breed suspicion. Do you intercept him, And prevent that. But take your license with you, And fill the blank ; or leave it here with me, I'll do it for you ; stay you for us at his church. Behind the Old Exchange, we'll come in the coach, And meet you there within this quarter at least. Prac. I am much bound unto you, master Compass ; You have all the law and parts of squire Practice For ever at your use. I'll tell you news too : Sir, your reversion's fallen ; Thinwit's dead. Surveyor of the projects general. Com. When died he ? Prac. Even this morning ; I received it From a right hand. Com. Conceal it, master Practice, And mind the main affair you are in hand with. [Exit Ppacticb. Re-enter Pleasance. Plea. The coach is ready, sir. Com. 'Tis well, fair Pleasance, Though now we shall not use it ; bid the coachman Drive to the parish church, and stay about there. Till master Practice come to him, and employ him. [Exit Plkasance. I have a license now, which must have entry Before ray lawyer's. — Re-enter Palate. Noble parson Palate, Thou shalt be a mark advanced ; here is a piece, [Gives him money And do a feat for me. Pal. What, master Compass ? Com. But run the words of matrimony over My head and mistress Pleasance's in my chamber; There's captain Ironside to be a witness. And here's a license to secure thee. — Parson What do you stick at ? Pal. It is afternoon, sir ; THE MAGNETIC LADY. ACT IV Directly against the canon of the church : You know it, master Compass : and beside, I am engaged unto your worshipful friend, The learned master Practice, in that business. Com. Come on, engage yourself : who shall be To say you married us but in the morning, [able The most canonical minute of the day, If you affirm it ? That's a spiced excuse, And shews you have set the canon law before Any profession else, of love or friendship. Re-enter Pleasance. Come, mistress Pleasance, we cannot prevail With the rigid Parson here ; but, sir, I'll keep you Lock'd in my lodging, till't be done elsewhere, And under fear of Ironside. Pal. Do you hear, sir } Com. No, no, it matters not. Pal. Can you think, sir, I would deny you any thing, not to loss Of both my livings ? I will do it for you ; Have you a wedding ring ? Com. Ay, and a posie : Annulus hie nobis, quod sic uterque, dahit. Pal. Good! This ring will give you what you both desire. I'll make the whole house chant it, and the parish. Com. Why, well said, parson. Now, to you my news, That comprehend my reasons, mistress Pleasance. {,Exeunt. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Mother Chair with a child, Polish, Keep, and Needle. Chair. Go, get a nurse, procure her at what rate You can ; and out of the house with it, son Needle ; It is a bad commodity. Nee. Good mother, I know it, but the best would now be made on't. [,Exit with the child. Chair. And shall. You should not fret so, mistress Polish, Nor you, dame Keep ; my daughter shall do well; When she has ta'en my caudle. I have known Twenty such breaches pieced up and made whole. Without a bum of noise. You two fall out, And tear up one another ! Pol. Blessed woman ! Blest be the peace-maker ! Keep. The pease-dresser ! I'll hear no peace from her. I have been wrong'd, So has my lady, my good lady's worship, And I will right her, hoping she'll right me. Pol. Good gentle Keep, I pray thee mistress Pardon my passion, I was misadvised ; [nurse, Be thou yet better, by this grave sage woman, Who is the mother of matrons and great persons. And knows the world. Keep. I do confess, she knows Something and I know something Pol. Put your somethings Together then. Chair. Ay, here's a chance fallen out \ou cannot help; less can this gentlewoman; I can, and will, for both. First, I have sent By-chop away ; the cause gone, the fame ceaseth. Then by my caudle and my cullice, I set My daughter on her feet, about the house here ; She's young, and must stir somewhat for necessity Her youth wiU bear it out. She shall pretend To have had a fit o' the mother ; there is all. If you have but a secretary laundress. To blanch the linen — Take the former counsels Into you ; keep them safe in your own breasts. And make your market of them at the highest. Will you go peach, and cry yourself a fool At grannam's cross ! be laugh'd at and despised 1 Betray a purpose, which the deputy Of a double ward, or scarce his alderman. With twelve of the wisest questmen could find out, Employed by the authority of the city ! Come, come, be friends ; and keep these women- matters. Smock-secrets to ourselves, in our own verge : We shall mar all, if once we ope the mysteries Of the tiring-house, and tell what's done within. No theatres are more cheated with appearances, Or these shop -lights, than the ages, and folk in That seem most curious. [them, Pol. Breath of an oracle I You shall be my dear mother ; wisest woman That ever tipp'd her tongue with point of reasons, To turn her hearers ! Mistress Keep, relent, I did abuse thee ; I confess to penance, And on my knees ask thee forgiveness. \_Kneels. Chair. Rise, She doth begin to melt, I see it. Keep. Nothing Grieved me so much as when you call'd me bawd : Witch did not trouble me, nor gipsey ; no. Nor beggar : but a bawd was such a name ! Chair. No more rehearsals ; repetitions Make things the worse : the more we stir — you The proverb, and it signifies — a stink. [know What's done and dead, let it be buried : New hours will fit fresh handles to new thoughts. lExeunt. SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. Enter Sir Moth Intereitt and Servant. Sir Moth. Run to the church, sirrah ; get all the drunkards To ring the bells, and jangle them for joy : My niece has brought an heir unto the house, A lusty boy ! \_Ewit Servant.] Where is my sister Loadstone ? — Enter Lady Loadstone. Asleep at afternoons ! it is not wholesome ; Against all rules of physic, lady sister. The little doctor will not like it. Our niece Is new deliver'd of a chopping child, Can call the father by the name already. If it but ope the mouth round. Master Compass, He is the man, they say, fame gives it out, Hath done that act of honour to our house, And friendship, to pump out a son and heir That shall inherit nothing, surely nothing From me, at least. Enter Compass. I come to invite your ladyship To be a witness ; I will be your partner. And give it a horn spoon, and a treen-dish, Bastard, and beggar's badges, with a blanket For dame the doxy to march round the circuit. With bag and baggage. SCENE UI. THE MAGNETIC LADY. 457 Com. Thou malicious knight, Envious sir Moth, that eats on that which feeds thee, And frets her goodness that sustains thy being ! What company of mankind would own thy bro- But as thou hast a title to her blood, [therhood. Whom thy ill-nature hath chose out t' insult on. And vex thus, for an accident in her house, As if it were her crime, good innocent lady ! Thou shew'st thyself a true corroding vermin. Such as thou art. Sir Moth. Why, gentle master Compass ? Because I wish you joy of your young son. And heir to the house, you have sent us ? Corn. I have sent you ! I know not what I shall do. Come in, friends : Enter Ironsjce, Sir Diaphanous Silkworm, Palate, and Pleasance. Madam, I pray you be pleased to trust yourself Unto our company. Lady L. I did that too late ; Which brought on this calamity upon me, With all the infamy I hear ; your soldier, That swaggering guest. Com. Who is return'd here to you, Your vowed friend and servant ; comes to sup with you, (So we do all,) and will prove he hath deserv'd That special respect and favour from you, As not your fortunes, with yourself to boot, Cast on a feather-bed, and spread on the sheets Under a brace of your best Persian carpets. Were scarce a price to thank his happy merit. Sir Moth. What impudence is this ! can you To hear it, sister? [endure Com. Yes, and you shall hear it, Who will endure it worse. What deserves he, In your opinion, madam, or weigh'd judgment, That, things thus hanging as they do in doubt, Suspended and suspected, all involv'd. And wrapt in error, can resolve the knot ? Redintegrate the fame first of your house, Restore your ladyship's quiet, render then Your niece a virgin and unvitiated, And make all plain and perfect as it was, A practice to betray you, and your name ? Sir Moth. He speaks impossibilities. Com. Here he stands, Whose fortune hath done this, and you must thank him. To what you call his swaggering, we owe all this : And that it may have credit with you, madam, Here is your niece, whom I have married, witness These gentlemen, the knight, captain, and parson, And this grave politic tell-troth of the court. Lady L. What's she that I call niece then ? Com. Polish's daughter : Her mother, goody PoHsh, has confess'd it To grannam Keep, the nurse, how they did change The children in their cradles. Lady L. To what purpose "i Com. To get the portion, or some part of it. Which you must now disburse entire to me, sir. I f I but gain her ladyship's consent. Lady L. I bid God give you joy, if this be true. Com. As true it is lady, lady, in the song. The portion's mine, with interest, sir Moth ; I will not bate you a single Harrington, Of interest upon interest : In mean time, I do commit you to the guard of Ironside, My brother here, captain Rudhudibrass ; From whom I will expect you or your ransom. Sir Moth. Sir, you m.ust prove it, and the pos- Ere I believe it. [sibility, Com. For the possibility, I leave to trial. Enter Practice. Truth shall speak itself. O, master Practice, did you meet the coach? Prac. Yes, sir, but empty. Com. Why, I sent it for you. The business is dispatch'd here ere you come : Come in, I'll tell you how ; you are a man Will look for satisfaction, and must have it. All. So we do all, and long to hear the right. \_Excunt. Dam. Troth, I am one of those that labour with the same longing, for it is almost pucker'' d, and pulled into that knot by your poet, which I cannot easily, with all the strength of my imagination, untie. Boy. Like enough, nor is it in your office to be troubled or j)erplea:ed with it, but to sit still, and expect. The more your imagination busies itself, the more it is intanglcd, especially if ( as I told in the beginning ) you happen on the ivrong end. Pro. He hath said sufficient, brother Damplay : our parts that are the spectators, or should hear a comedy, are to wait the process and events oj things, as the poet presents them, not as we would corruptly fashion them. We come here to behold plays, and censure them, as they are made, and fitted for us ; not to beslave our own thoughts, with censorious spittle tempering the poet's clay, as we were to mould every scene anew : that ivere a mere plastic or potter's ambition, most unbe- coming the name of a gentleman. No, let us 1 mark, and not lose the business on foot, by talking. Follow the right thread, or find it. Dam. Why, here his play might have ended, if he would have let it ; and have spared us the vexation of a fifth act yet to come, which every one here knoics the issue of already, or may in part conjecture. Boy. That conjecture is a kind of figure-fl'ing' ing, or throwing the dice, for a meaning was never in the poefs purpose perhaps. Stay, and see his last act, his catastrophe, how he will perplex that^ or spring some fresh cheat, to entertain the spec- tators, with a convenient delight, till some unex- pected and new encounter break out to rectify all, and make good the conclusion. Pro. Which ending here, would have shown dull, flat, and unpointed : without any shape or sharpness, brother Damplay. Dam. Well, let us expect then : and wit be with us, on the poet's part. 458 THE MAGNETIC LAD.. ACT V ACT V. SCENE I. — A Room in Lady Loadstone's House. Enter Needle and Item. Nee. Troth, master Item, here's a house divided, And quarter'd into parts, by your doctor's ingine. He has cast o.ut such aspersions on ray lady's Niece here, of having had a child ; as hardly Will be wiped off, I doubt. Item. Why, is't not true ? Nee. True! did you think it ? Item. Was she not in labour, The midwife sent for Nee. There's your error now! You have drunk of the same water. Item. I believed it, And gave it out too. Nee. More you wrong'd the party ; She had no such thing about her, innocent creature! Item. What had she then? Nee. Only a fit of the mother : They burnt old shoes, goose-feathers, assafoetida, A few horn-shavings, with a bone or two, And she is well again, about the house. Item. Is't possible Nee. See it, and then report it. Item. Our doctor's urinal judgment is half- crack'd then. Nee. Crack'd in the case most hugely with my And sad sir Moth, her brother; who is now [lady, Under a cloud a little. Item. Of what disgrace } Nee. He is committed to Rudhudibrass, The captain Ironside, upon displeasure, From master Compass ; but it will blow off. Item. The doctor shall reverse this instantly, And set all right again ; if you'll assist But in a toy, squire Needle, comes in my noddle now. Nee. Good i Needle and noddle ! what niay't be ? I long for't. Item. Why, but to go to bed, feign a distemper. Of walking in your sleep, or talking in't A little idly, but so much, as on it The doctor may have ground to raise a cure For his reputation. Nee. Any thing, to serve The worship of the man I love and honour. \_Exeunt. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. EriUr Polish and, Pleasance. Pol. O ! give you joy, mademoiselle Compass, You are his whirlpool now : all-to be-married. Against your mother's leave, andv/ithout counsel! He has fish'd fail", and caught a frog, I fear it. What fortune have you to bring him in dower 1 You can tell stories now ; you know a world Of secrets to discover. Plea. I know nothing But what is told me, nor can I discover Any thing. Pol. No, you shad not, I'll take order. Go, get you in there: [E