Scene I.

Vncle, afore I goe in, can you tell me, an' he haue ere a booke of the sciences of hawking, and hunting? I would faine borrow it.

Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?

NO wusse; but I'll practise against next yeere vncle: I haue bought me a hawke, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lacke nothing but a booke to keepe it by.

O, most ridiculous.

Nay, looke you now, you are angrie, vncle: why you know, an'a man haue not skill in the hawking, and hunting-languages now a dayes, I'll not giue a rush for him. They are more studied then the Greeke, or the Latine. He is for no gallants companie without 'hem. And by gads lid I scorne it, I, so I doe, to be a consort for euery hum drum, hang 'hem scroyles, there's nothing in 'hem, i' the world. What doe you talke on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keepe companie with none but the archers of Finsburie? or the citizens, that come a ducking to Islington ponds? A fine iest ifaith! Slid a gentleman mun show himselfe like a gentleman. Vncle, I pray you be not angrie, I know what I haue to doe, I trow, I am no nouice.

Act. I. Scene II.

SAue you, gentlemen.

Nay, we do' not stand much on our gentilitie, friend; yet, you are wel-come, and I assure you mine vncle, here, is a man of a thousand a yeare, Middlesex land: hee has but one sonne in all the world, I am his next heire (at the common law) master STEPHEN, as simple as I stand here, if my cossen die (as there's hope he will) I haue a prettie liuing o' mine owne too, beside, hard-by here.

In good time, sir.

In good time, sir? why! and in a very good time, sir. You doe not stout, friend, doe you?

Not I, sir.

Not you sir? you were not best, sir; an' you should, here bee them can perceiue it, and that quicky to: goe to. And they can giue it a­gaine soundly to, and neede be.

Why, sir, let this satisfie you: good faith, I had no such intent.

Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talke with you, and that presently.

Good master STEPHEN, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.

And so I would sir, good my fancie companion! an' you were out o' mine vncles ground, I can tell you; though I doe not stand vpon my gentilitie neither in't.

Cossen! cossen! will this nere be left?

Whorson base fellow! a mechanicall seruing-man! By this cudgell, and 't were not for shame, I would—

I should enquire for a gentleman, here, one master EDWARD [Page 9] KNO'WELL: doe you know any such, sir, I pray you?

I should forget my selfe else, sir.

Are you the gentleman? crie you mercie sir: I was requir'd by a gentleman i' the citie, as I rode out at this end o' the towne, to deliuer you this letter, sir.

To me, sir! What doe you meane? pray you remember your court'sie.

What might the gentlemans name be, sir, that sent it? nay, pray you be couer'd.

One master WELL-BRED, sir.

Master WELL-BRED! A yong gentleman? is he not?

The same sir, master KITELY married his sister: the rich mer­chant i' the old Iewrie.

You say very true. BRAINE-WORME,

Sir.

Act I.Scene II.

DId he open it, sayest thou?

Yes, o' my word sir, and read the contents.

That scarse contents me. What countenance (pr'y thee) made he, i' the reading of it? was he angrie, or pleas'd?

Nay sir, I saw him not reade it, nor open it, I assure your worship.

No? how know'st thou, then, that he did either?

Marie sir, because he charg'd me, on my life, to tell nobodie, that he open'd it: which, vnlesse hee had done, hee would neuer feare to haue it reueal'd.

That's true: well I thanke thee, BLAYNE-WORME.

O, BRAYNE-WORME, did'st thou not see a fellow here in a what-sha'-call-him doublet! he brought mine vncle a letter e'en now.

Yes, master STEPHEN, what of him?

O, I ha' such a minde to beate him—Where is hee? canst thou tell?

Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master STEPHEN.

Gone? which way? when went he! how long since?

He is rid hence. He tooke horse, at the streete dore.

And, I staid i' the fields! horson scander-bag rogue! Ô that I had but a horse to fetch him backe againe.

Why, you may ha' my m^rs. gelding, to saue your longing, sir.

But, I ha' no bootes, that's the spight on't.

Why, a fine wispe of hay, rould hard, master STEPHEN.

No faith, it's no boote to follow him, now: let him eene goe, and hang. 'Pray thee, helpe to trusse me, a little. He dos so vexe me—

You'll be worse vex'd, when you are truss'd, master STEPHEN. Best, keepe vn-brac'd; and walke your selfe, till you be cold: your choller may foundre you else.

By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't: How dost thou like my legge, BRAYNE-WORME?

A very good leg! master STEPHEN! but the woollen stock­ing do's not commend it so well.

Foh, the stockings be good inough, now summer is comming on, for the dust: Ile haue a paire of silke, again'winter, that I goe to dwell [Page 12] i' the towne. I thinke my legge would shew in a silke-hose.

Beleeue me, master STEPHEN, rarely well,

In sadnesse, I thinke it would: I haue a reasonable good legge.

You haue an excellent good legge, master STEPHEN, but I cannot stay, to praise it longer now, and I am very sorie for't.

Another time wil serue, BRAYNE-WORME. Gramercie for this.

Ha, ha, ha!

Slid, I hope, he laughes not at me, and he doe —

Here was a letter, indeede, to be intercepted by a mans father, and doe him good with him! Hee cannot but thinke most vertuously, both of me, and the sender, sure; that make the carefull Costar'-monger of him in our familiar Epistles. Well, if he read this with patience, Ile be gelt, and troll ballads for M^r. IOHN TRVNDLE, yonder, the rest of my mor­talitie. It is true, and likely, my father may haue as much patience as an­other man; for he takes much physicke: and, oft taking physicke makes a man very patient. But would your packet, master WEL-BRED, had ar­riu'd at him, in such a minute of his patience; then, we had knowne the end of it, which now is doubtfull, and threatens—What! my wise cos­sen! Nay, then, Il efurnish our feast with one gull more to'ard the messe. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: O, for a fourth; Fortune, if euer thou'lt vse thine eyes, I intreate thee—

O, now I see, who hee laught at. Hee laught at some-body in that letter. By this good light, and he had laught at me —

How now, coussen STEPHEN, melancholy'?

Yes, a little. I thought, you had laught at me, cossen.

Why, what an' I had cousse, what would you ha' done?

By this light, I would ha' told mine vncle.

Nay, if you wold ha'told your vncle, I did laugh at you, cousse.

Did you, indeede?

Yes, indeede.

Why, then—

What then?

I am satisfied, it is sufficient.

Why, bee so gentle cousse. And, I pray you let me intreate a courtesie of you. I am sent for, this morning, by a friend i' the old Iewrie to come to him; It's but crossing ouer the fields to More-gate: Will you beare me companie? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, cousse.

Sir, that's all one, and't were; you shall command me, twise so farre as More-gate to doe you good, in such a matter. Doe you thinke I would leaue you? I protest—

No, no, you shall not protest, cousse.

By my fackins, but I will, by your leaue; Ile protest more to my friend, then Ile speake off, at this time.

You speake very well, cousse.

Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me: but I speake, to serue my turne.

Your turne, couss? Doe you know, what you say? A gentle­man of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talke o' your turne i' this companie, and to me, alone, like a tankard-bearer, at a conduit! Fie. A wight, that (hetherto) his euery step hath left the stampe of a great foot behind him, as euery word the fauour of a strong spirit! and he! this man! so grac'd, guilded, or (to vse a more fit metaphore) so tin-foild by na­ture, as not ten house-wiues pewter (again' a good time) shew's more bright to the world then he! and he (as I said last, so I say againe, and still shall say it) this man! to conceale such reall ornaments as these, and shad­dow their glorie, as a Millaners wife do's her wrought stomacher, with a smokie lawne, or a black cypresse? O couss! It cannot be answer'd, goe not about it. DRAKES old ship, at Detford, may sooner circle the world a­gaine. Come, wrong not the qualitie of your desert, with looking downe­ward, couz; but hold vp your head, so: and let the Idea of what you are, be pourtray'd i' your face, that men may reade i' your physnomie, (Here, within this place, is to be seene the true, rare, and accomplish'd monster, or miracle of nature, which is all one.) What thinke you of this, couss?

Why, I doe thinke of it; and I will be more prowd, and melan­choly, and gentleman-like, then I haue beene: I'le ensure you.

Why, that's resolute master STEPHEN! Now, if I can but hold him vp to his height, as it is happily begunne, it will doe well for a suburbe-humor: we may hap haue a match with the citie, and play him for fortie pound. Come, couss.

I'le follow you.

Follow me? you must goe before.

Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you, shew me, good cousin.

Act I. Scene IIII.

I Thinke, this be the house: what, hough?

Who's there? O, master MATTHEW! gi' your worship good morrow.

What! COB! how do'st thou, good COB? do'st thou inhabite here, COB?

I, sir, I and my linage ha' kept a poore house, here, in our dayes.

Thy linage, Monsieur COB, what linage? what linage?

Why sir, an ancient linage, and a princely. Mine ance'trie came from a Kings belly, no worse man: and yet no man neither (by your worships leaue, I did lie in that) but Herring the King of fish (from his belly, I proceed) one o' the Monarchs o' the world, I assure you. The first red herring, that was broil'd in ADAM, and EVE'S kitchin, doe I fetch my [Page 14] pedigree from, by the Harrots bookes. His COB, was my great-great-mighty-great Grand father.

Why mightie? why mightie? I pray thee.

O, it was a mightie while agoe, sir, and a mightie great COB.

How know'st thou that?

How know I? why, I smell his ghost, euer and anon.

Smell a ghost? Ô vnsauoury iest! and the ghost of a herring COB!

I sir, with [...]auour of your worships nose, M^r. MATHEW, why not the ghost of a herring-cob, as well as the ghost of rasher-bacon?

ROGER BACON, thou wouldst say?

I say rasher-bacon. They were both broyl'd o' the col [...]s? and a man may smell broyld-meate, I hope? you are a scholler, vpsolue me that, now.

O raw ignorance! COB, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one Captayne BOBADILL, where his lodging is?

O, my guest, sir! you meane.

Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha.

Why doe you laugh, sir? Doe you not meane Captayne BO­BADILL?

COB, 'pray thee, aduise thy selfe well: doe not wrong the gen­tleman, and thy selfe too. I dare bee sworne, hee scornes thy house: hee! He lodge in such a base, obscure place, as thy house! Tut, I know his dis­position so well, he would not lye in thy bed, if tho'uldst gi'it him.

I will not giue it him, though, sir. Masse, I thought somewhat was in't, we could not get him to bed, all night! Well, sir, though he lye not o' my bed, he lies o' my bench: an 't please you to goe vp, sir, you shall find him with two cushions vnder his head, and his cloke wrapt a­bout him, as though he had neither wun nor lost, and yet (I warrant) he ne're cast better in his life, then he has done, to night.

Why? was he drunke?

Drunke, sir? you heare not me say so. Perhaps, hee swallow'd a tauerne-token, or some such deuice, sir: I haue nothing to doe withall. I deale with water, and not with wine. Gi'me my tankard there, hough. God b'w'you, sir. It's sixe a clocke: I should ha' carried two turnes, by this. What hough? my stopple? come.

Lye in a water-bearers house! A gentleman of his hauings! Well, I'le tell him my mind.

What TIB, shew this gentleman vp to the Captayne. O, an' my house were the Brasen-head now! faith, it would eene speake, Mo fooles yet. You should ha' some now would take this M^r. MATTHEW to be a gentleman, at the least. His father's an honest man, a worshipfull fish­monger, and so forth; and now dos he creepe, and wriggle into acquain­tance with all the braue gallants about the towne, such as my guest is: (Ô, my guest is a fine man) and they flout him invincibly. Hee vseth [Page 15] euery day to a Merchants house (where I serue water) one master KITE­LY'S, i' the old Iewry; and here's the iest, he is in loue with my masters si­ster, (mistris BRIDGET) and calls her mistris: and there hee will sit you a whole after-noone some-times, reading o' these same abomi­nable, vile, (a poxe on 'hem, I cannot abide them) rascally verses, poye­trie, poyetrie, and speaking of enterludes, 'twill make a man burst to heare him. And the wenches, they doe so geere, and ti-he at him—well, should they do so much to me, Ild for-sweare them all, by the foot of PHARAOH. There's an oath! How many water-bearers shall you heare sweare such an oath? Ô, I haue a guest (he teaches me) he dos sweare the legiblest, of any man christned: By S^t. GEORGE, the foot of PHARAOH, the body of me, as I am gentleman, and a souldier: such daintie oathes! and withall, he dos take this same filthy roguish tabacco, the finest, and cleanliest! it would doe a man good to see the fume come forth at 's tonnells! Well, he owes mee fortie shillings (my wife lent him out of her purse, by sixe-pence a time) besides his lodging: I would I had it. I shall ha' it, he saies, the next A­ction. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill a cat, vp-tailes all, and a louse for the hang-man.

Act I. Scene V.

HOstesse, hostesse.

What say you, sir?

A cup o' thy small beere, sweet hostesse.

Sir, there's a gentleman, below, would speake with you.

A gentleman! 'ods so, I am not within.

My husband told him you were, sir.

What a plague—what meant he?

Captaine BOBADILL?

Who's there? (take away the bason, good hostesse) come vp, sir.

He would desire you to come vp, sir. You come into a cleanly house, here.

'Saue you, sir. 'Saue you, Captayne.

Gentle master MATTHEW! Is it you, sir? Please you sit downe.

Thanke you, good Captaine, you may see, I am some-what audacious.

Not so, sir. I was requested to supper, last night, by a sort of gal­lants, where you were wish'd for, and drunke to, I assure you.

Vouchsafe me, by whom, good Captaine.

Mary, by yong WELL-BRED, and others: Why, hostesse, a stoole here, for this gentleman.

No haste, sir, 'tis very well.

Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarse open my eyes, yet; I was but new risen, as you came: how passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.

Faith, some halfe houre to seuen: now trust mee, you haue an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and priuate!

I, sir: sit downe, I pray you. Master MATTHEW (in any case) possesse no gentlemen of our acquaintance, with notice of my lodging.

Who? I sir? no.

Not that I need to care who know it, for the Cabbin is conue­nient, but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited, as some are.

True, Captaine, I conceiue you.

For, doe you see, sir, by the heart of valour, in me, (except it be [...]o some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily ingag'd, as your selfe, or so) I could not extend thus farre.

O Lord, sir, I resolue so.

I confesse, I loue a cleanely and quiet priuacy, aboue all the tu­mult, and roare of fortune. What new booke ha' you there? What! Goe by, HIERONYMO!

I, did you euer see it acted? is't not well pend?

Well pend? I would faine see all the Poets, of these times, pen such another play as that was! they'll prate and swagger, and keepe a stir of arte and deuices, when (as I am a gentleman) reade 'hem, they are the most shallow, pittifull, barren fellowes, that liue vpon the face of the earth, againe!

Indeed, here are a number of fine speeches in this booke! O eyes, no eyes, but fountaynes fraught with teares! There's a conceit! fountaines fraught with teares! O life, no life, but liuely forme of death! Another! O world, no world, but masse of publique wrongs! A third! Confus'd and sil'd with murder, and misdeeds! A fourth! O, the Muses! Is't not excellent? Is't not simply the best that euer you heard, Captayne? Ha? How doe you like it?

'Tis good.

Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this?

This, sir? a toy o' mine owne, in my nonage: the infancy of my Muses! But, when will you come and see my studie? good faith, I can shew you some very good things, I haue done of late—That boot be­comes your legge, passing well, Captayne, methinkes!

So, so, It's the fashion, gentlemen now vse.

Troth, Captayne, an' now you speake o' the fashion, master WELL- [...]RED'S elder brother, and I, are fall'n out exceedingly: this other day, I hapned to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I assure you, both for fashion, and worke-man-ship, was most peremptory-beautifull, [Page 17] and gentleman-like! Yet, he condemn'd, and cry'd it downe, for the most pyed, and ridiculous that euer he saw.

Squire DOWNE-RIGHT? the halfe-brother? was't not?

I sir, he.

Hang him, rooke, he! why, he has no more iudgement then a malt-horse. By S. GEORGE, I wonder youl'd loose a thought vpon such an animal: the most peremptory absurd clowne of christendome, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman, and a souldier, I ne're chang'd wordes, with his like. By his discourse, he should eate no­thing but hay. He was borne for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle! He ha's not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron, and rustie prouerbes! a good commoditie for some smith, to make hob-nailes of.

I, and he thinks to carry it away with his man-hood still, where he comes. He brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I heare.

How! He the bastinado! how came he by that word, trow?

Nay, indeed, he said cudgell me; I term'd it so, for my more grace.

That may bee: For I was sure, it was none of his word. But, when? when said he so?

Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gallant, a friend of mine told me so.

By the foot of PHARAOH, and 't were my case now, I should send him a chartel, presently. The bastinado! A most proper, and sufficient dependance, warranted by the great CARANZA. Come hither. You shall chartel him. I'll shew you a trick, or two, you shall kill him with, at plea­sure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this ayre.

Indeed, you haue absolute knowledge i' the mysterie, I haue heard, sir.

Of whom? Of whom ha' you heard it. I beseech you?

Troth, I haue heard it spoken of diuers, that you haue very rare, and vn-in-one-breath-vtter-able skill, sir.

By heauen, no, not I; no skill i' the earth: some small rudi­ments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I haue profest it more for noblemen, and gentlemens vse, then mine owne practise, I assure you. Hostesse, accommodate vs with another bed-staffe here, quickly: Lend vs another bed-staffe. The woman do's not vnderstand the wordes of Action. Looke you, sir. Exalt not your point aboue this state, at any hand, and let your poynard maintayne your defence, thus: (giue it the gentleman, and leaue vs) so, sir. Come on: O twine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet comely gentleman-like guard. So, indifferent. Hollow your body more sir, thus. Now, stand fast o' your left leg, note your distance, keepe your due proportion of time— Oh, you disorder your point, most irregularly!

How is the bearing of it, now, sir?

O, out of measure ill! A well-experienc'd hand would passe vpon you, at pleasure.

How meane you, sir, passe vpon me?

Why, thus sir (make a thrust at me) come in, vpon the answere, controll your point, and make a full carreere, at the body. The best-pra­ctis'd gallants of the time, name it the passada: a most desperate thrust, beleeue it!

Well, come, sir.

Why, you doe not manage your weapon with any facilitie, or grace to inuite mee: I haue no spirit to play with you. Your dearth of iudgement renders you tedious.

But one venue, sir.

Venue! Fie. Most grosse denomination, as euer I heard. O, the stoccata, while you liue, sir. Note that. Come, put on your cloke, and wee'll goe to some priuate place, where you are acquainted, some tauerne, or so—and haue a bit— Ile send for one of these Fencers, and hee shall breath you, by my direction; and, then, I will teach you your tricke. You shall kill him with it, at the first, if you please. Why, I will learne you, by the true iudgement of the eye, hand, and foot, to controll any e­nemies point i' the world. Should your aduersarie confront you with a pistoll, 'twere nothing, by this hand, you should, by the same rule, controll his bullet, in a line: except it were hayle-shot, and spred. What money ha' you about you, M^r. MATTHEW?

Faith, I ha' not past a two shillings, or so.

'Tis some what with the least: but, come. We will haue a bunch of redish, and salt, to tast our wine; and a pipe of t [...]bacco, to close the ori­fice of the stomach: and then, wee'll call vpon yong WEL-BRED. Per­haps wee shall meet the CORIDON, his brother, there: and put him to the question.

Scene I.

'Sdeynes, I know not what I should say to him, i' the whole world! He values me, at a crackt three-farthings, for ought I see: It will neuer out o' the flesh that's bred i' the bone! I haue told him inough, one would thinke, if that would serue: But, counsell to him, is as good, as a shoulder of mutton to a sicke horse. Well! he knowes what to trust to, for GEORGE. Let him spend, and spend▪ and domineere, till his heart ake; an' hee thinke to bee relieu'd by me, when he is got into one o'your citie pounds, the Counters, he has the wrong sow by the eare, ifaith: and claps his dish at the wrong mans dore. I'le lay my hand o' my halfe-peny, e're I part with 't, to fetch him out, I'le assure him.

Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you, thus.

'S death, he mads me, I could eate my very spur-lethers, for an­ger! But, why are you so tame? Why doe not you speake to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house?

Act II. Scene II.

I Will speake to him—

Speake to him? away, by the foot of PHARAOH, you shall not, you shall not doe him that grace. The time of day, to you, Gentleman o'the house. Is M^r. WELL-BRED stirring?

How then? what should he doe?

Gentleman of the house, it is to you: is he within, sir?

He came not to his lodging to night sir, I assure you.

Why, doe you heare? you.

The gentleman-citizen hath satisfied mee, Ile talke to no sca­uenger.

How, scauenger? stay sir, stay?

Nay, brother DOWNE-RIGHT.

'Heart! stand you away, and you loue me.

Ha? scauenger? well, goe to, I say little: but, by this good day (god forgiue me I should sweare) if I put it vp so, say, I am the rankest cow, that euer pist. 'Sdeynes, and I swallow this, Ile ne're draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street againe, while I liue; Ile sit in a barne, with Madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scauenger? 'Heart, and Ile goe neere to fill that huge tumbrell-slop of yours, with somewhat, and I haue good lucke: your GARAGANTVA breech cannot carry it away so.

Oh doe not fret your selfe thus, neuer think [...] on't.

These are my brothers consorts, these! these are his Cam'rades, his walking mates! hee's a gallant, a Caualiero too, right hang-man cut! Let me not liue, and I could not finde in my heart to swinge the whole ging of 'hem, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieu'd, it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Wel as he brewes, so he shall drinke, for GEORGE, againe. Yet, he shall heare on't, and that tightly too, and I liue, Ifaith.

Act II.Scene III.

Perhaps so, sir, take heed some body haue not them by the belly, for walking so late in the euening.

Sister BRIDGET, pray you fetch downe the rose-water aboue in the closet. Sweet heart, will you come in, to breakefast.

What aile you sweet heart, are you not well, speake good MVSSE.

Alas, how it burnes? MVSSE, keepe you warme, good truth it is this new disease! there's a number are troubled withall! for loues sake, sweet heart, come in, out of the aire.

I pray thee, good sweet heart, come in; the aire will doe you harme in, troth.

Act II. Scene IIII.

S'Lid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see myselfe translated thus, from a poore creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lyes, or my present profession looses the grace: and yet the lye to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit, as the Fico. O sir, it holds for good politie euer, to haue that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inward­ly is most deare to vs. So much, for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my yong, drie foot, ouer More-fields, to London, this morning: now I, knowing, of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracie, and to insinuate with my yong master (for so must we that are blew-waiters, and men of hope and seruice doe, or perhaps wee may weare motley at the yeeres end, and who weares motley, you know) haue got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lye in ambuscado, and in­tercept him, in the mid-way. If I can but get his cloke, his purse, his hat, nay, anything, to cut him off, that is, to stay his iourney, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with Captayne CAESAR, I am made for euer, ifaith. Well, now must I practice to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights, my arme here, and my—yong master! and his cousin, M^r. STEPHEN, as I am true counterfeit man of warre, and no souldier!

So sir, and how then, couss?

'Sfoot, I haue lost my purse, I thinke.

How? lost your purse? where? when had you it?

I cannot tell, stay.

'Slid, I am afeard, they will know mee, would I could get by them.

What? ha' you it?

No, I thinke I was bewitcht, I—

Nay, doe not weepe the losse, hang it, let it goe.

Oh, it's here: no, and it had beene lost, I had not car'd, but for a iet ring mistris MARY sent me.

A iet ring? oh, the poesie, the poesie?

Fine, ifaith! Though fancie sleep, my loue is deepe. Meaning that though I did not fancie her, yet shee loued me dearely.

Most excellent!

And then, I sent her another, and my poesie was: The deeper, the sweeter, Ile be iudg'd by S^t. PETER.

How, by S^t. PETER? I doe not conceiue that!

Mary, S^t. PETER, to make vp the meeter.

Well, there the Saint was your good patron, hee help't you at your need: thanke him, thanke him.

I cannot take leaue on 'hem, so: I will venture, come what will. Gentlemen, please you change a few crownes, for a very excellent good blade, here? I am a poore gentleman, a souldier, one that (in the better state of my fortunes) scorn'd so meane a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessitie, to haue it so. You seeme to be gentlemen, well affected to martiall men, else I should rather die with silence, then line with shame: how euer, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speakes, not my selfe. This condition agrees not with my spirit—

Where hast thou seru'd?

May it please you, sir, in all the late warres of Bohemia, Hunga­ria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? I haue beene a poore seruitor, by sea and land, any time this fourteene yeeres, and follow'd the fortunes of the best Commanders in christendome. I was twice shot at the taking of Alepo, once at the reliefe of Vienna; I haue beene at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatique gulfe, a gentleman-slaue in the galleys, thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maym'd, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scarres, the noted markes of my resolution.

How will you sell this rapier, friend?

Generous sir, I referre it to your owne iudgement; you are a gentleman, giue me what you please.

True, I am a gentleman, I know that friend: but what though? I pray you say, what would you aske?

I assure you, the blade may become the side, or thigh of the best prince, in Europe.

I, with a veluet scabberd, I thinke.

Nay, and 't be mine, it shall haue a veluet scabberd, Couss, that's flat: I'de not weare it as 'tis, and you would giue me an angell.

At your worships pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.

I had rather it were a Spaniard! but tell me, what shall I giue you for it? An' it had a siluer hilt—

Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a shilling fel­low, take thy rapier.

Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so, and there's an­other shilling, fellow. I scorne to be out-bidden. What, shall I walke with a cudgell, like Higgin-Bottom? and may haue a rapier, for money?

You may buy one in the citie.

Tut, Ile buy this i'the field, so I will, I haue a mind to't, be­cause 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.

You shall not buy it, I say.

By this money, but I will, though I giue more then 'tis worth.

Come away, you are a foole.

Friend, I am a foole, that's granted: but Ile haue it, for that words sake. Follow me, for your money.

At your seruice, sir.

Act II. Scene V.

My master? nay, faith haue at you: I am flesht now, I haue sped so well. Worshipfull sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poore soul­dier; I am asham'd of this base course of life (god's my comfort) but ex­tremitie prouokes me to't, what remedie?

I haue not for you, now.

By the faith I beare vnto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinarie custome in me, but only to preserue manhood. I protest to you, a man I haue beene, a man I may be, by your sweet bountie.

'Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.

Good sir, by that hand, you may doe the part of a kind gentle­man, in lending a poore souldier the price of two cannes of beere (a mat­ter of small value) the king of heauen shall pay you, and I shall rest thank­full: sweet worship—

Nay, and you be so importunate—

Oh, tender sir, need will haue his course: I was not made to this vile vse! well, the edge of the enemie could not haue abated mee so much: It's hard when a man hath seru'd in his Princes cause, and be thus— Honorable worship, let me deriue a small piece of siluer from you, it shall not bee giuen in the course of time, by this good ground, I was faine to pawne my rapier last night for a poore supper, I had suck'd the hilts long before, I am a pagan else: sweet honor.

Alas sir, where should a man seeke? in the warres, there's no ascent by desert in these dayes, but—and for seruice, would it were as soone purchast, as wisht for (the ayre's my comfort) I know, what I would say—

Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy, as my ser­uice should be honest.

Yes sir, straight, Ile but garter my hose. Oh that my belly were hoopt now, for I am readie to burst with laughing! neuer was bottle, or bag-pipe fuller. S'lid, was there euer seene a foxe in yeeres to betray himselfe thus? now shall I be possest of all his counsells: and, by that con­duit, my yong master. Well, hee is resolu'd to proue my honestie; faith, and I am resolu'd to proue his patience: oh I shall abuse him intollerably. This small piece of seruice, will bring him cleane out of loue with the souldier, for euer. He will neuer come within the signe of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-rest againe. Hee will hate the musters at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world thinke me a bad coun­terfeit, If I cannot giue him the slip, at an instant: why, this is better then to haue staid his iourney! well, Ile follow him: oh, how I long to bee imployed.

Scene I.

YEs faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seeke you, too.

Oh, I came not there to night.

Your brother deliuered vs as much.

Who? my brother DOWNE-RIGHT?

He. M^r. WELL-BRED, I know not in what kind you hold me, but let me say to you this: as sure as honor, I esteeme it so much out of the sunne-shine of reputation, to through the least beame of reguard, vpon such a—

Sir, I must heare no ill wordes of my brother.

I, protest to you, as I haue a thing to be sau'd about me, I neuer saw any gentleman-like part—

Good Captayne, faces about, to some other discourse.

With your leaue, sir, and there were no more men liuing vpon the face of the earth, I should not fancie him, by S. GEORGE.

Troth, nor I, he is of a rusticall cut, I know not how: he doth not carry himselfe like a gentleman of fashion—

Oh, M^r. MATTHEW, that's a grace peculiar but to a few; quos aquus amauit IVPITER.

I vnderstand you sir.

No question, you doe, or you doe not, sir. NED KNO'WELL! by my soule welcome; how doest thou sweet spirit, my Genius? S'lid I shall loue APOLLO, and the mad Thespian girles the better, while I liue, for this; my deare furie: now, I see there's some loue in thee! Sirra, these bee the two I writ to thee of (nay, what a drowsie humour is this now? why doest thou not speake?)

Oh, you are a fine gallant, you sent me a rare letter!

Why, was't not rare?

Yes, Ile bee sworne, I was ne're guiltie of reading the like; match it in all PLINIE, or SYMMACHVS epistles, and Ile haue my iudge­ment burn'd in the eare for a rogue: make much of thy vaine, for it is in­imitable. But I marle what camell it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtlesse, he was no ordinarie beast, that brought it!

Why?

Why, faiest thou? why doest thou thinke that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning (the sober time of the day too) could haue mis-tane my father for me?

S'lid, you iest, I hope?

Indeed, the best vse wee can turne it too, is to make a iest on't, now: but Ile assure you, my father had the full view o' your flourishing stile, some houre before I saw it.

What a dull slaue was this? But, sirrah, what said hee to it, Ifaith?

Nay, I know not▪ what he said: but I haue a shrewd gesse what hee thought.

What? what?

Mary, that thou art some strange dissolute yong fellow, and I a graine or two better, for keeping thee companie.

Tut, that thought is like the moone in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrha, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang­by's, here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in 'hem if thou hear'st 'hem once goe: my wind-instruments. Ile wind 'hem vp— but what strange piece of silence is this? the signe of the dumbe man?

Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your musique the fuller, and he please, he has his humour, sir.

Oh, what ist? what ist?

Nay, Ile neither doe your iudgement, nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension: Ile leaue him to the mercy o' your search, if you can take him, so.

Well, Captaine BOBADILL, M^r. MATTHEW, pray you know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserue your affection. I know not your name sir, but I shall be glad of any occasion, to render me more familiar to you

My name is M^r. STEPHEN, sir, I am this gentlemans owne cousin, sir, his father is mine vnckle, sir, I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in what soeuer is incident to a gentleman.

Sir, I must tell you this, I am no generall man, but for M^r. WEL-BRED'S sake (you may embrace it, at what height of fauour you please) I doe communicate with you: and conceiue you, to bee a gentleman of some parts, I loue few wordes.

And I fewer, sir. I haue scarce inow, to thanke you.

But are you indeed. Sir? so giuen to it?

I, truely, sir, I am mightily giuen to melancholy.

Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir, your true melancholy, breeds your perfect sine wit, sir: I am melancholy my selfe diuers times, sir, and then doe I no more but take pen, and paper presently, and ouer­flow you halfe a score, or a dozen of sonnets, at a sitting.

Sure, he vtters them then, by the grosse.)

Truely sir, and I loue such things, out of measure.

I faith, better then in measure, Ile vnder-take.

Why, I pray you, sir, make vse of my studie, it's at your seruice.

I thanke you sir, I shall bee bold, I warrant you; haue you a stoole there, to be melancholy' vpon?

That I haue, sir, and some papers there of mine owne doing, at idle houres, that you'le say there's some sparkes of wit in 'hem, when you see them.

Would the sparkes would kindle once, and become a fire a­ [...]ongst 'hem, I might see selfe-loue burn't for her heresie.

Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy inough?

Oh I, excellent!

Captaine BOBADILL: why muse you so?

He is melancholy, too.

Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honorable piece of seruice, was perform'd tomorrow, being S^t. MARKES day: shall bee some ten yeeres, now?

In what place, Captaine?

Why, at the beleag'ring of Strigonium, where, in lesse then two houres, seuen hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their liues vpon the breach. Ile tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best leagure, that euer I beheld, with these eies, except the taking in of—what doe you call it, last yeere, by the Genowayes, but that (of all other) was the most fatall, and dangerous exploit, that euer I was rang'd in, since I first bore armes before the face of the enemie, as I am a gentleman, & souldier.

'So, I had as liefe, as an angell, I could sweare as well as that gentleman!

Then, you were a seruitor, at both it seemes! at Strigonium? and what doe you call't?

Oh lord, sir? by S. GEORGE, I was the first man, that entred the breach: and, had I not effected it with resolution, I had beene slaine, if I had had a million of liues.

'Twas pittie, you had not ten; a cats, and your owne, ifaith. But, was it possible?

'Pray you, marke this discourse, sir.

So, I doe.)

I assure you (vpon my reputation) 'tis true, and your selfe shall confesse.

You must bring me to the racke, first.

Obserue me iudicially, sweet sir, they had planted mee three demi-culuerings, iust in the mouth of the breach; now, sir (as we were to giue on) their master gunner (a man of no meane skill, and marke, you must thinke) confronts me with his linstock, readie to giue fire; I spying his intendment, discharg'd my petrionel in his bosome, and with these single armes, my poore rapier, ranne violently, vpon the Moores, that guar­ded the ordinance, and put'hem pell-mell to the sword.

To the sword? to the rapier, Captaine?

Oh, it was a good figure obseru'd, sir! but did you all this, Cap­taine, without hurting your blade.

Without any impeach, o' the earth: you shall perceiue sir. It is the most fortunate weapon, that euer rid on poore gentlemans thigh: shal I tell you, sir? you talke of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so? tut, I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'hem, I know the vertue of mine owne, and therefore I dare, the boldlier, maintaine it.

I mar'le whether it be a Toledo, or no?

A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.

I haue a countriman of his, here.

Pray you, let's see, sir: yes faith, it is!

This a Toledo? pish.

Why doe you pish, Captaine?

A Fleming, by heauen, Ile buy them for a guilder, a piece, an' I would haue a thousand of them.

How say you, cousin? I told you thus much?

Where bought you it, M^r. STEPHEN?

Of a souruie rogue souldier (a hundred of lice goe with him) he swore it was a Toledo.

A poore prouant rapier, no better.

Masse, I thinke it be, indeed! now I looke on't, better.

Nay, the longer you looke on't, the worse. Put it vp, put it vp.

Well, I will put it vp, but by—(I ha' forgot the Captaynes oath, I thought to ha' sworne by it) an' ere I meet him—

O, it is past helpe now, sir, you must haue patience.

Horson connie-catching raskall! I could eate the very hilts for anger!

A signe of good digestion! you haue an ostrich stomack, cousin.

A stomack? would I had him here, you should see, an' I had a stomack.

It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we goe?

Act III. Scene II.

A Miracle, cousin, looke here! looke here!

Oh, gods lid, by your leaue, doe you know me, sir?

I sir, I know you, by sight.

You sold me a rapier, did you not?

Yes, marie, did I sir.

You said, it was a Toledo, ha?

True, I did so.

But, it is none?

No sir, I confesse it, it is none.

Doe you confesse it? gentlemen, beare witnesse, he has confest it. By gods will, and you had not confest it—

Oh cousin, forbeare, forbeare.

Nay, I haue done, cousin.

Why you haue done like a gentleman, he ha's confest it, what would you more?

Yet, by his leaue, he is a raskall, vnder his sauour, doe you see?

I, by his leaue, he is, and vnder sauour: a prettie piece of ciui­litie! Sirra, how doest thou like him?

Oh, it's a most pretious foole, make much on him: I can com­pare him to nothing more happily, then a drumme; for euery one may play vpon him.

No, no, a childes whistle were farre the fitter.

Sir, shall I intreat a word with you?

With me, sir? you haue not another Toledo to sell, ha' you?

You are conceipted, sir, your name is M^r. KNO'WELL, as I take it?

You are, i' the right? you meane not to proceede in the cate­chisme, doe you?

No sir, I am none of that coat.

Of as bare a coat, though? well, say sir.

Faith sir, I am but seruant to the drum extraordinarie, and in­deed (this smokie varnish being washt off, and three or foure patches re­mou'd) I appeare your worships in reuersion, after the decease of your good father, BRAYNE-WORME.

BRAYNE-WORME! S'light, what breath of a coniurer, hath blowne thee hither in this shape.

The breath o' your letter, sir, this morning: the same that blew you to the wind-mill, and your father after you.

My father?

Nay, neuer start, 'tis true, he has follow'd you ouer the field's, by the foot, as you would doe a hare i' the snow.

Sirra, WEL-BRED, what shall we doe, sirra? my father is come ouer, after me.

Thy father? where is he?

At Iustice CLEMENTS house here, in Colman-street, where he but staies my returne; and then—

Who's this? BRAYNE-WORME?

The same, sir.

Why how, i' the name of wit, com'st thou trans-muted, thus?

Faith, a deuise, a deuise: nay, for the loue of reason, gentlemen, and auoiding the danger, stand not here, withdraw, and Ile tell you all.

But, art thou sure, he will stay thy returne?

Doe I liue, sir? what a question is that?

Wee'le prorogue his expectation then, a little: BRAYNE-WORME, thou shalt goe with vs. Come on, gentlemen, nay, I pray thee, sweet NED, droope not: 'heart, and our wits be so wretchedly dull, that one old plodding braine can out-strip vs all, would we were eene prest, to make porters of; and serue out the remnant of our daies, in Thames-street, or at Custome-house key, in a ciuill warre, against the car-men.

AMEN, AMEN, AMEN, say I.

Act III. Scene III.

Act III Scene IIII.

FAsting dayes? what tell you me of fasting dayes? S'lid, would they were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall bee consum'd with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weekes, and villanous fridayes burnt, in the meane time, and then—

Why, how now COB, what moues thee to this choller? ha?

Collar, master THOMAS? I scorne your collar, I sir, I am none o'your cart-horse, though I carry, and draw water. An' you offer to ride me, with your collar, or halter either, I may hap shew you a jades trick, sir.

O, you'll slip your head out of the collar? why, goodman COB, you mistake me.

Nay, I haue my rewme, & I can be angrie as well as another, sir.

Thy rewme, COB? thy humour, thy humour? thou mistak'st.

Humour? mack, I thinke it be so, indeed: what is that humour? some rare thing, I warrant.

Mary, Ile tell thee, COB: It is a gentleman-like monster, bred, in the speciall gallantrie of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly.

How? must it be fed?

Oh I, humour is nothing, if it bee not fed. Didst thou neuer heare that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour.

Ile none on it: Humour, auant, I know you not, be gone. Let who will make hungrie meales for your monster-ship, it shall not bee I. Feed you, quoth he? S'lid, I ha'much adoe, to feed my selfe; especially, on these leane rascally dayes, too; and't had beene any other day, but a fasting day (a plague on them all for mee) by this light, one might haue done the common-wealth good seruice, and haue drown'd them all i' the floud, two or three hundred thousand yeeres agoe. O, I doe stomack them hugely! I haue a maw now, and't were for S^r BEVIS his horse, against 'hem.

I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of loue with fa­sting-dayes?

Mary that, which will make any man out of loue with 'hem, I thinke: their bad conditions, and you will needs know. First, they are of a Flemmish breed, I am sure on't, for they rauen vp more butter, then all the dayes of the weeke, beside; next, they stinke of fish, and leeke-por­ridge miserably: thirdly, they'le keepe a man deuoutly hungrie, all day, and at night send him supperlesse to bed.

Indeed, these are faults, COB.

Nay, and this were all, 'twere something, but they are the only knowne enemies, to my generation. A fasting-day, no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to racke, poore cobs they smoke for it, they are made martyrs o'the gridiron, they melt in passion: and your maides too know this, and yet would haue me turne HANNIBAL, and eate my owne fish, and bloud: My princely couz, fear nothing; I haue not the hart to deuoure you, & I might be made as rich as King COPHETVA. O, that I had roome for my teares, I could weepe salt-water enough, now, to preserue the liues of ten thousand of my kin. But, I may curse none but these filthie Alma­nacles, for an't were not for them, these dayes of persecution would ne're be knowne. Ile bee hang'd, an'some Fish-mongers sonne doe not make of hem; and puts in more fasting-dayes then he should doe, because hee would vtter his fathers dryed stock-fish, and stinking conger.

S'light, peace, thou'lt bee beaten like a stock-fish, else: here is M^r. MATTHEW. Now must I looke out for a messenger to my master.

Act III. Scene V.

BEshrew me, but it was an absolute good iest, and exceedingly well carried!

I, and our ignorance maintain'd it as well, did it not?

Yes faith, but was't possible thou should'st not know him? I forgiue M^r. STEPHEN, for he is stupiditie it selfe!

'Fore god, not I, and I might haue been ioyn'd patten with one of the seuen wise masters, for knowing him. He had so writhen himselfe, into the habit of one of your poore Infanterie, your decay'd, ruinous, worme-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as haue vowed to sit on the skirts of the citie, let your Prouost, and his halfe-dozen of halberdeirs doe what they can; and haue translated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fine easie amble, and made it runne as smooth, of the tongue, as a shoue-groat shilling. Into the likenesse of one of these Reformado's had he moulded himselfe so perfectly, obseruing euery tricke of their action, as varying the accent, swearing with an emphasis, indeed all, with so spe­ciall, and exquisite a grace, that (hadst thou seene him) thou would'st haue sworne, he might haue beene Serieant-Maior, if not Lieutenant-Coronell to the regiment.

Why, BRAYNE-WORME, who would haue thought thou hadst beene such an artificer?

An artificer? An architect! except a man had studied begging all his life-time, and beene a weauer of language, from his infancie, for the clothing of it! I neuer saw his riuall.

Where got'st thou this coat, I marl'e?

Of a Hounds-ditch man, sir. One of the deuil's neere kinsmen, a broker.

That cannot be, if the prouerbe hold; for, a craftie knaue needs no broker.

True sir, but I did need a broker, Ergo.

(Well put off) no craftie knaue, you'll say,

Tut, he ha's more of these shifts.

And yet where I haue one, the broker ha's ten, sir,

FRANCIS, MARTIN, ne're a one to be found, now? what a spite's this?

How now, THOMAS? is my brother KITELY, within?

No sir, my master went forth eene now: but master DOWNE­RIGHT is within. COB, what COB? is he gone too?

VVhither went your master? THOMAS, canst thou tell?

I know not, to Iustice CLEMENTS, I thinke, sir. COB.

Iustice CLEMENT, what's he?

Why, doest thou not know him? he is a citie-magistrate, a Iu­stice here, an excellent good Lawyer, and a great scholler: but the onely mad, merrie, old fellow in Europe! I shew'd him you, the other day.

Oh, is that he? I remember him now. Good faith, and he ha's a very strange presence, mee thinkes; it shewes as if hee stood out of the ranke, from other men: I haue heard many of his iests i' vniuersitie. They say, he will commit a man, for taking the wall, of his horse.

I, or wearing his cloke of one shoulder, or seruing of god: a­ny thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.

GASPER, MARTIN, COB: 'heart, where should they be, trow?

Master KITELY'S man, 'pray thee vouchsafe vs the lighting of this match.

Fire on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe? FRAN­CIS. COB.

Bodie of me! here's the remainder of seuen pound, since ye­sterday was seuen-night. 'Tis your right Trinidado! did you neuer take a­ny, master STEPHEN?

No truely, sir? but I'le learne to take it now, since you com­mend it, so.

Sir, beleeue mee (vpon my relation) for what I tell you, the world shal not reproue. I haue been in the Indies (where this herb growes) where neither my selfe, nor a dozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge) haue receiued the tast of any other nutriment, in the world, for the space of one and twentie weekes, but the fume of this simple onely. Therefore, it cannot be, but 'tis most diuine! Further, take it in the nature, in the true kind so, it makes an antidote, that (had you taken the most deadly poyso­nous plant in all Italy, it should expell it, and clarifie you, with as much ease, as I speake. And, for your greene wound, your Balsamum, and your S^t. IOHN'S woort are all mere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your Trinidado: your Nicotian is good too. I could say what I know of the ver­tue of it, for the expulsion of rhewmes, raw humours, crudities, obstru­ctions, with a thousand of this kind, but I professe my selfe no quack-saluer. Only, thus much, by HERCVLES, I doe hold it, and will affirme it (be­fore any Prince in Europe) to be the most soueraigne, and precious weede, that euer the earth tendred to the vse of man.

This speech would ha' done decētly in a tabacco-traders mouth!

At Iustice CLEMENTS, hee is: in the middle of Colman-street.

O, oh?

Where's the match I gaue thee? Master KITELIES man?

Would his match, and he, and pipe, and all were at SANCTO DOMINGO! I had forgot it.

By gods mee, I marle, what pleasure, or felicitie they haue in taking this roguish tabacco! it's good for nothing, but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke, and embers: there were foure dyed out of one [Page 41] house, last weeke, with taking of it, and two more the bell went for, ye­ster-night; one of them (they say) will ne're scape it: he voided a bushell of soot yester-day, vpward, and downeward. By the stocks, an' there were no wiser men then I, I'ld haue it present whipping, man, or woman, that should but deale with a tabacco-pipe; why, it will stifle them all in the end, as many as vse it; it's little better then rats bane, or rosaker.

Oh, good Captayne, hold, hold.

You base cullion, you.

Sir, here's your match: come, thou must needs be talking, too, tho'art well inough seru'd.

Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant you: well it shall be a deare beating, and I liue.

Doe you prate? Doe you murmure?

Nay, good Captayne, will you regard the humour of a foole? away, knaue.

THOMAS, get him away.

A horson filthie slaue, a dung-worme, an excrement! Body o' CAESAR, but that I scorne to let forth so meane a spirit, I'ld ha' stab'd him, to the earth.

Mary, the law forbid, sir.

By PHAROAHS foot, I would haue done it.

Oh, he sweares admirably! (by PHAROAHS foot) (body of CAESAR) I shall neuer doe it, sure (vpon mine honor, and by Saint GEORGE) no, I ha' not the right grace.

Master STEPHEN, will you any? By this aire, the most diuine tabacco, that euer I drunke!

None, I thanke you, sir. O, this gentleman do's it, rarely too! but nothing like the other. By this aire, as I am a gentleman: by—

Master, glance, glance! Master WELL-BRED!

As I haue somewhat to be saued, I protest—

You are a foole: It needes no affidauit.

Cousin, will you any tabacco?

I sir! vpon my reputation—

How now, cousin!

I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no souldier, indeed—

No, Master STEPHEN? as I remember your name is entred in the artillerie garden?

I sir, that's true: Cousin, may I swear, as I am a souldier, by that?

Oh yes, that you may. It's all you haue for your money.

Then, as I am a gentleman, and a souldier, it is diuine tabacco!

But soft, where's M^r. MATTHEW? gone?

No, sir, they went in here.

O, let's follow them: master MATTHEW is gone to salute his mistris, in verse. VVee shall ha' the happinesse, to heare some of his poe­trie, now. Hee neuer comes vnfurnish'd. BRAYNE-WORME?

BRAYNE-WORME? Where? Is this BRAYNE-WORME?

I, cousin, no wordes of it, vpon your gentilitie.

Not I, body of me, by this aire, S. GEORGE, and the foot of PHAROAH.

Rare! your cousins discourse is simply drawn out with oathes.

'Tis larded with 'hem. A kind of french dressing, if you loue it.

Act III. Scene VI.

HA? how many are there, sayest thou?

Mary sir, your brother, master VVELL-BRED—

Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?

Strangers? let me see, one, two; masse I know not well, there are so many.

How? so many?

I, there's some fiue, or sixe of them, at the most.

Then, I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bride-well, then your wor­ships companie, if I saw any bodie to be kist, vnlesse they would haue kist the post, in the middle of the ware-house; for there I left them all, at their tabacco, with a poxe.

How? were they not gone in, then, e're thou cam'st?

Oh no sir.

Spite of the deuill▪ what doe I stay here, then? COB, follow me.

Nay, soft and faire, I haue egges on the spit; I cannot goe yet, sir. Now am I for some fiue and fiftie reasons hammering, hammering re­uenge: oh, for three or foure gallons of vineger, to sharpen my wits. Re­uenge, vineger reuenge: vineger, and mustard reuenge: nay, and hee had not lyen in my house, 't would neuer haue grieu'd me, but being my guest, one, that Ile be sworne, my wife ha's lent him her smock off her back, while his one shirt ha's beene at washing; pawn'd her neckerchers for cleane bands for him; sold almost all my platters, to buy him tabacco; and he to turne monster of ingratitude, and strike his lawfull host! well, I hope to raise vp an host of furie for't: here comes Iustice CLEMENT.

Act III. Scene VII.

WHat's master KITELY gone? ROGER?

I, sir.

'Hart of me! what made him leaue vs so abruptly! How now, sirra? what make you here? what would you haue, ha?

And't please your worship, I am a poore neighbour of your worships—

A poore neighbour of mine? why, speake poore neighbour.

I dwell, sir, at the signe of the water-tankerd, hard by the greene lattice: I haue paid scot, and lot there, any time this eighteene yeeres.

To the greene lattice?

No, sir, to the parish: mary, I haue seldome scap't scot-free, at the lattice.

O, well! what businesse ha's my poore neighbour with me?

And't like your worship, I am come, to craue the peace of your worship.

Of mee knaue? peace of mee, knaue? did I e're hurt thee? or threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?

No, sir, but your worships warrant, for one that ha's wrong'd me, sir: his armes are at too much libertie, I would faine haue them bound to a treatie of peace, an' my credit could compasse it, with your worship.

Thou goest farre inough about for't, I am sure.

Why, doest thou goe in danger of thy life for him? friend?

No sir; but I goe in danger of my death, euery houre, by his meanes: an' I die, within a twelue-moneth and a day, I may sweare, by the law of the land, that he kill'd me.

How? how knaue? sweare he kill'd thee? and by the law? what pretence? what colour hast thou for that?

Mary, and't please your worship, both black, and blew; colour inough, I warrant you. I haue it here, to shew your worship.

What is he, that gaue you this, sirra?

A gentleman, and a souldier, he saies he is, o'the citie here.

A souldier o' the citie? What call you him?

Captayne BOBADIL.

BOBADIL? And why did he bob, and beate you, sirrah? How began the quarrell betwixt you? ha: speake truely knaue, I aduise you.

Mary, indeed, and please your worship, onely because I spake against their vagrant tabacco, as I came by 'hem, when they were taking on't, for nothing else.

Ha? you speake against tabacco? FORMALL, his name.

What's your name, sirra?

OLIVER, sir, OLIVER COB, sir.

Tell OLIVER COB, he shall goe to the iayle, FORMALL.

OLIVER COB, my master, Iustice CLEMENT, saies, you shall goe to the iayle.

O, I beseech your worship, for gods sake, deare master Iustice.

Nay, gods pretious: and such drunkards, and tankards, as you are, come to dispute of tabacco once; I haue done! away with him.

O, good master Iustice, sweet old gentleman.

Sweet OLIVER, would I could doe thee any good: Iustice CLEMENT, let me intreat you, sir.

What? a thred-bare rascall! a begger! a slaue that neuer drunke out of better then pisse-pot mettle in his life! and he to depraue, and abuse the vertue of an herbe, so generally receiu'd in the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabbins of souldiers! ROGER, away with him, by gods pretious—I say, goe too.

Deare master Iustice; Let mee bee beaten againe, I haue de­seru'd it: but not the prison, I beseech you.

Alas, poore OLIVER!

ROGER, make him a warrant (hee shall not goe) I but feare the knaue.

Doe not stinke, sweet OLIVER, you shall not goe, my master will giue you a warrant.

O, the Lord maintayne his worship, his worthy worship.

Away, dispatch him. How now, master KNO'WEL! In dumps? In dumps? Come, this becomes not.

Sir, would I could not feele my cares—

Your cares are nothing! they are like my cap, soone put on, and as soone put off. What? your sonne is old inough, to gouerne himselfe: let him runne his course, it's the onely way to make him a stay'd man. If he were an vnthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a licentious liuer, then you had reason; you had reason to take care: but, being none of these, mirth's my witnesse, an' I had twise so many cares, as you haue, I'ld drowne them all in a cup of sacke. Come, come, let's trie it: I muse, your parcell of a souldier returnes not all this while.

Scene I.

WEll sister, I tell you true: and you'll finde it so, in the end.

Alas brother, what would you haue mee to doe? I cannot helpe it: you see, my brother brings 'hem in, here, they are his friends.

His friends? his fiends. S'lud, they doe nothing but hant him, vp and downe, like a sort of vnluckie sprites, and tempt him to all man­ner of villanie, that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a little thing would make me play the deuill with some of 'hem; and 'twere not more for your husbands sake, then any thing else, I'ld make the house too hot for the best on hem: they should say, and sweare, hell were broken loose, e're they went hence. But, by gods will, 'tis no bodies fault, but yours: for, an' you had done, as you might haue done, they should haue beene per­boyl'd, and bak'd too, euery mothers sonne, e're they should ha' come in, e're a one of 'hem.

God's my life! did you euer heare the like? what a strange man is this! Could I keepe out all them, thinke you? I should put my selfe, against halfe a dozen men? should I? Good faith, you'ld mad the patient'st body in the world, to heare you talke so, without any sense, or reason!

Act IIII. Scene II.

What ayles thy brother? can he not hold his water, at reading of a ballad?

O, no: a rime to him, is worse then cheese, or a bag-pipe. But, marke, you loose the protestation.

Faith, I did it in an humour; I know not how it is: but, please you come neere, sir. This gentleman ha's iudgement, hee knowes how to censure of a—pray you sir, you can iudge.

Not I, sir: vpon my reputation, and, by the foot of PHAROAH.

O, chide your cossen, for swearing.

Not I, so long as he do's not for sweare himselfe.

Master MATTHEW, you abuse the expectation of your deare mistris, and her faire sister: Fie, while you liue, auoid this prolixitie.

I shall, sir: well, In [...]ipere dulce.

How! Insipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a foole, indeed.

What, doe you take Insipere, in that sense?

You doe not? you? This was your villanie, to gull him with a mo [...]te.

O, the Benchers phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba.

S'light, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feele and there be a­ny braine in it!

Well, Ile haue him free of the wit-brokers, for hee vtters no­thing, but stolne remnants.

O, forgiue it him.

A filtching rogue? hang him. And, from the dead? it's worse then sacrilege.

Sister, what ha' you here? verses? pray you, lets see. Who made these verses? they are excellent good!

O, master WEL-BRED, 'tis your disposition to say so, sir. They were good i' the morning, I made 'hem, extempore, this morning.

How? extempore?

I, would I might bee hang'd else: aske Captayne BOBADILE. He saw me write them, at the—(poxe on it) the starre, yonder.

Can he find, in his heart, to curse the starres, so?

Faith, his are euen with him: they ha' curst him ynough alreadie.

Cosen, how doe you like this gentlemans verses?

O, admirable! the best that euer I heard, cousse!

I am vext, I can hold ne're a bone of mee still! Heart, I thinke, they meane to build, and breed here!

Sister, you haue a simple seruant here, that crownes your beau­tie, with such encomions, and deuises: you may see, what it is to be the mi­stris of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that euery bleare eye may looke through them, and see him drown'd ouer head, and eares, in the deepe well of desire. Sister KITELY, I maruaile, you get you not a seruant, that can rime, and doe tricks, too.

Oh monster! impudence it selfe! tricks?

Tricks, brother? what tricks?

Nay, speake, I pray you, what tricks?

I, neuer spare any body here: but say, what tricks?

Passion of my heart! doe tricks?

S'light, here's a trick vyed, and reuyed! why, you munkies, you? what a catter-waling doe you keepe? ha's hee not giuen you rimes, and verses, and tricks?

O, the fiend!

Nay, you, lampe of virginitie, that take it in snuffe so! come, and cherish this tame poeticall furie, in your seruant, you'll be begg'd else, shortly, for a concealement: goe to, reward his muse. You cannot giue him lesse then a shilling, in conscience, for the booke, he had it out of, cost him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? M^r. MATTHEW? Captayne? What? all sonnes of silence? no spirit?

Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wusse: this is no tauerne, nor drinking-schole, to vent your exploits in.

How now! whose cow ha's calu'd?

Mary, that ha's mine, sir. Nay, Boy, neuer looke askance at me, for the matter; Ile tell you of it, I, sir, you, and your companions, mend your selues, when I ha' done?

My companions?

Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here. You must haue your Poets, and your potlings, your soldado's, and foolado's, to follow you vp and downe the ci­tie, and here they must come to domineere, and swagger. Sirrha, you, ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home: or (by this steele) Ile cut off your eares, and that, presently.

S'light, stay, let's see what he dare doe: cut off his eares? cut a whetstone. You are an asse, doe you see? touch any man here, and by this hand, Ile runne my rapier to the hilts in you.

Yea, that would I faine see, boy.

O Iesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR!

Helpe, helpe, THOMAS.

Gentlemen, forbeare, I pray you.

Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pinck your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good hea­uen: Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint GEORGE, Ile not kill him.

Hold, hold, good gentlemen.

You whorson, bragging coystrill:

Act IIII. Scene III.

Come, let's goe: this is one of my brothers ancient hu­mours, this.

I am glad, no body was hurt by his ancient humour.

Why, how now, brother, who en [...]orst this brawle?

A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for god, nor the de­uill! And, they must come here to reade ballads, and rogery, and trash! Ile marre the knot of 'hem ere I sleepe, perhaps: especially BOB, there: he that's all manner of shapes! and Songs, and sonnets, his fellow.

Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentleman of an exceeding faire dis­position, and of verie excellent good parts!

One, they call him master KNO'WELL, a handsome yong gentleman, sir.

Act IIII. Scene IIII.

WHat TIB, TIB, I say.

How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard? O, husband, ist you? what's the newes?

Nay, you haue stonn'd me, I faith! you ha' giu'n me a knock o' the forehead, will stick by me! cuckold? 'Slid, cuckold?

How, the lye? and in my throte too? doe you long to bee stab'd, ha?

Why, you are no souldier, I hope?

O, must you be stab'd by a souldier? Masse, that's true! when was BOBADILL here? your Captayne? that rogue, that foist, that fencing Burgullian? Ile tickle him, ifaith.

Why, what's the matter? trow!

O, he has bast [...]d me, rarely, sumptiously! but I haue it herein black and white; for his black, and blew: shall pay him. O, the Iustice! the honestest old braue Troian in London! I doe honour the very flea of his dog. A plague on him though, he put me once in a villanous filthy feare; mary, it vanisht away, like the smoke of tabacco: but I was smok't soundly first. I thanke the deuill, and his good angell, my guest. Well, wife, or TIB (which you will) get you in, and lock the doore, I charge you, let no body in to you; wife, no body in, to you: those are my wordes. Not Captayne BOB himselfe, nor the fiend, in his likenesse; you are a woman; you haue flesh and bloud enough in you, to be tempted: therefore, keepe the doore, shut, vpon all commers.

I warrant you, there shall no body enter here, without my consent.

Nor, with your consent, sweet TIB, and so I leaue you.

It's more, then you know, whether you leaue me so.

How?

Why, sweet.

Act IIII. Scene V.

Ifaith, now let thy spirits vse their best faculties. but, at any hand, remember the message, to my brother: for, there's no other meanes, to start him.

I warrant you, sir, feare nothing: I haue a nimble soule ha's wakt all forces of my phant'sie, by this time, and put 'hem in true motion. What you haue possest mee withall, Ile discharge it amply, sir. Make it no question.

Forth, and prosper, BRAYNE-WORME. Faith, NED, how dost thou approue of my abilities in this deuise?

Troth, well, howsoeuer: but, it will come excellent, if it take.

Take, man? why, it cannot choose but take, if the circum­stances miscarrie not: but, tell me, ingenuously, dost thou affect my sister BRIDGET, as thou pretend'st?

Friend, am I worth beliefe?

Come, doe not protest. In faith, shee is a maid of good orna­ment, and much modestie: and, except I conceiu'd very worthily of her, thou shouldest not haue her.

Nay, that I am afraid will bee a question yet, whether I shall haue her, or no?

Slid, thou shalt haue her; by this light, thou shalt.

Nay, doe not sweare.

By this hand, thou shalt haue her: Ile goe fetch her, presently. Point, but where to meet, and as I am an honest man, I'll bring her.

Hold, hold, be temperate.

Why, by—what shall I sweare by? thou shalt haue her, as I am—

'Pray thee, be at peace, I am satisfied: and doe beleeue, thou wilt omit no offered occasion, to make my desires compleat.

Thou shalt see, and know, I will not.

Act IIII. Scene VI.

Mary, peace be my comfort, where I thought I should haue had little comfort of your worships seruice.

How so?

O, sir! your comming to the citie, your entertainement of me, and your sending me to watch—indeed, all the circumstances either of your charge, or my imployment, are as open to your sonne, as to your selfe!

Nay, sir, I cannot tell; vnlesse it bee by the black art! Is not your sonne a scholler, sir?

You should rather aske, where they found me, sir, for, Ile bee sworne I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when (of a sud­dain) a voice calls, M^r KNO-WEL's man; another cries, souldier: and thus, halfe a dosen of 'hem, till they had cal'd me within a house where I no soo­ner came, but thy seem'd men, and out flue al their rapiers at my bosome, with some three or foure score oathes to accompanie 'hem, & al to tel me, I was but a dead man, if I did not confesse where you were, and how I was imployed, and about what; which, when they could not get out of me (as I protest, they must ha' dissected, and made an Anatomie o'me, first, and so I told 'hem) the lockt mee vp into a roome i' the top of a high house, whence, by a great miracle (hauing a light heart) I slid downe, by a bottom of pack-thred, into the street, and so scapt. But, sir, thus much I can as­sure you, for I heard it, while I was lockt vp, there were a great many rich merchants, and braue citizens wiues with 'hem at a feast, and your sonne, M^r. EDWARD, with-drew with one of 'hem, and has pointed to meet her anon, at one COBS house, a water-bearer, that dwells by the wall. Now, there, your worship shall be sure to take him, for there he preyes, and faile he will not.

I sir, there you shall haue him. Yes? Inuisible? Much wench, or much sonne! 'Slight, when hee has staid there, three or foure houres, trauelling with the expectation of wonders, and at length be deliuer'd of aire: ô, the sport, that I should then take, to looke on him, if I durst! But, now, I meane to appeare no more afore him in this shape. I haue another trick, to act, yet. O, that I were so happy, as to light on a nupson, now, of this Iustices nouice. Sir, I make you stay somewhat long.

Not a whit, sir. 'Pray you, what doe you meane? sir?

I was putting vp some papers—

You ha' beene lately in the warres, sir, it seemes.

Mary haue I, sir; to my losse: and expence of all, almosst—

Troth sir, I would be glad to bestow a pottle of wine o'you, if it please you to accept it—

O, sir—

But, to heare the manner of your seruices, and your deuices in the warres, they say they be very strange, and not like those a man reades in the Romane histories, or sees, at Mile-end.

No, I assure you, sir, why, at any time when it please you, I shall be readie to discourse to you, all I know: and more too, somewhat.

No better time, then now, sir; wee'll goe to the wind-mill: there we shall haue a cup of neate grift, wee call it. I pray you, sir, let mee request you, to the wind-mill.

Ile follow you, sir, and make grift o'you, if I haue good lucke.

Act IIII. Scene VII.

SIr, did your eyes euer tast the like clowne of him, where we were to day, M^r. WEL-BRED's halfe brother? I thinke, the whole earth cannot shew his paralell, by this day-light.

We were now speaking of him: Captayne BOBADIL tells me, he is fall'n foule o'you too.

O, I, sir, he threatned me, with the bastinado.

I, but I thinke, I taught you preuention, this morning, for that— You shall kill him, beyond question: if you be so generously minded.

Indeed, it is a most excellent trick!

O, you doe not giue spirit enough, to our motion, you are too tardie, too heauie! Ô, it must be done like lightning, hay?

Rare Captaine!

Tut, 'tis nothing, and 't be not done in a—punto!

Captaine, did you euer proue your selfe, vpon any of our ma­sters of defence, here?

O, good sir! yes, I hope, he has.

I will tell you, sir. Vpon my first comming to the citie, after my long trauaile, for knowledge (in that mysterie only) there came three, of foure of 'hem to me, at a gentlemans house, where it was my chance to be resident, at that time, to intreat my presence at their scholes, and with­all so much importun'd me, that (I protest to you as I am a gentleman) I was asham'd of their rude demeanor, out of all measure: well, I told 'hem, that to come to a publike schoole, they should pardon me, it was opposite (in diameter) to my humour, but, if so they would giue their attendance at my lodging, I protested to doe them what right or fauour I could, as I was a gentleman, and so forth.

So, sir, then you tried their skill?

Alas, soone tried! you shall heare sir. Within two or three daies after , they came; and, by honestie; faire sir, beleeue mee, I grac't them exceedingly, shew'd them some two or three tricks of preuention, haue purchas'd 'hem, since, a credit, to admiration! they canot denie this: and yet now, they hate mee, and why? because I am excellent, and for no other vile reason on earth.

Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous natures, but note, sir. They haue assaulted me some three, foure, fiue, sixe of them together, as I haue walkt alone, in diuers skirts i' the towne, as Turne-bull, White-chappell, Shore-ditch, which were then my quarters, and since vpon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my ordinarie: where I haue driuen them afore me, the whole length of a street, in the open view of all our gallants, pittying to hurt them, beleeue me. Yet, all this lenitie will not ore-come their spleene: they will be doing with the pismier, raysing a hill, a man may spurne abroad, with his foot, at pleasure. By my selfe, I could haue slaine them all, but I delight not in murder. I am loth to beare any other then this bastinado for 'hem: yet, I hold it good politie, not to goe disarm'd, for though I bee skilfull, I may bee oppress'd with multitudes.

I, beleeue me, may you sir: and (in my conceit) our whole nation should sustaine the losse by it, if it were so.

Alas, no: what's a peculiar man, to a nation? not seene.

O, but your skill, sir!

Indeed, that might be some losse; but, who respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of priuate, and vnder seale; I am a gentleman, and liue here obscure, and to my selfe: but, were I knowne to her Maiestie, and the Lords (obserue mee) I would vnder-take (vpon this poore head, and life) for the publique benefit of the state, not only to spare the intire lines of her subiects in generall, but to saue the one halfe, nay, three parts of her yeerely charge, in holding warre, and against what enemie soeuer. And, how would I doe it, thinke you?

Nay, I know not, nor can I conceiue.

Why thus, sir. I would select nineteene, more, to my selfe, throughout the land; gentlemen they should bee of good spirit, strong, and able constitution, i would choose them by an instinct, a character, that I haue: and I would teach these nineteene, the speciall rules, as your Punto, your Reuerso, your Stoccata, your Imbroccata, your Passada, your Montanto: till they could all play very neare, or altogether as well as my selfe. This done, say the enemie were fortie thousand strong, we twentie would come into the field, the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and wee would chal­lenge twentie of the enemie; they could not, in their honour, refuse vs, well, wee would kill them: challenge twentie more, kill them; twentie more, kill them; twentie more, kill them too; and thus, would wee kill, euery man, his twentie a day, that's twentie score; twentie score, that's two hundreth; two hundreth a day, fiue dayes a thousand; fortie thou­sand; fortie times fiue, fiue times fortie, two hundreth dayes kills them all vp, by computation. And this, will I venture my poore gentleman-like carcasse, to performe (prouided, there bee no treason practis'd vpon vs) by faire, and discreet manhood, that is, ciuilly by the sword.

Why, are you so sure of your hand, Captaine, at all times?

Tut, neuer misse thrust, vpon my reputation with you.

I would not stand in DOWNE-RIGHTS state, then, an' you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London.

Why, sir, you mistake me! if he were here now, by this wel­kin, I would not draw my weapon on him! let this gentleman doe his mind: but, I will bastinado him (by the bright sunne) where-euer I meet him.

Faith, and Ile haue a [...]ling at him, at my distance.

Gods so', looke, where he is: yonder he goes.

What peeuish luck haue I, I cannot meet with these bragging raskalls?

It's not he? is it?

Yes faith, it is he?

Ile be hang'd, then, if that were he.

Sir, keepe your hanging good, for some greater matter, for I assure you, that was he.

Vpon my reputation, it was hee.

Had I thought it had beene he, he must not haue gone so: but I can hardly be induc'd, to beleeue, it was he, yet.

That I thinke, sir. But see, he is come againe!

O, PHAROAHS foot, haue I found you? Come, draw, to your tooles: draw, gipsie, or Ile thresh you.

Gentleman of valour, I doe beleeue in thee, heare me—

Draw your weapon, then.

Tall man, I neuer thought on it, till now (body of me) I had a warrant of the peace, serued on me, euen now, as I came along, by a wa­ter-bearer; this gentleman saw it, M^r. MATTHEW.

'Sdeath, you will not draw, then?

Hold, hold, vnder thy fauour, forbeare.

Prate againe, as you like this, you whoreson foist, you. You'le controll the point, you? Your consort is gone? had he staid, he had shar'd with you, sir.

Well, gentlemen, beare witnesse, I was bound to the peace, by this good day.

No faith, it's an ill day, Captaine, neuer reckon it other: but, say you were bound to the peace, the law allowes you, to defend your selfe: that'll proue but a poore excuse.

I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction, in faire sort. I ne­uer sustain'd the like disgrace (by heauen) sure I was strooke with a plan­net thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon.

I, like inough, I haue heard of many that haue beene beaten vnder a plannet: goe, get you to a surgean. 'Slid, an' these be your tricks, your passada's, and your mountanto's, Ile none of them. O, manners! that [Page 56] this age should bring forth such creatures! that Nature should bee at lei­sure to make hem! Come, cousse.

Masse, Ile ha' this cloke.

Gods will, 'tis DOWNE-RIGHT'S.

Nay, it's mine now, another might haue tane vp, aswell as I: Ile weare it, so I will.

How, an' he see it? hee'll challenge it, assure your selfe.

I, but he shall not ha' it; Ile say, I bought it.

Take heed, you buy it not, too deare, cousse.

Act IIII. Scene VIII.

No harme done, brother, I warrant you: since there is no harme done. Anger costs a man nothing: and a tall man is neuer his owne man, till he be angrie. To keepe his valure in obscuritie, is to keepe him­selfe, as it were, in a cloke-bag. What's a musitian, vnlesse he play? what's a tall man, vnlesse he fight? For, indeed, all this, my wise brother stands vpon, absolutely: and, that made me fall in with him, so resolutely.

I, but what harme might haue come of it, brother?

Might, sister? so, might the good warme clothes, your husband weares, be poyson'd, for any thing he knowes: or the wholesome wine he drunke, euen now, at the table—

Beshrew your heart-bloud, brother WELL-BRED, now; [Page 57] for putting such a toy into his head.

Is a fit simile, a toy? will he be poyson'd with a simile? Brother KITELY, what a strange, and idle imagination is this? For shame, bee wi­ser. O' my soule, there's no such matter.

M^r. KITELY, my master, Iustice CLEMENT, salutes you; and desires to speake with you, with all possible speed.

No time, but now? when, I thinke, I am sicke? very sicke! well, I will wait vpon his worship. THOMAS, COB, I must seeke them out, and set 'hem sentinells, till I returne. THOMAS, COB, THOMAS.

This is perfectly rare, BRAYNE-WORME! but how got'st thou this apparell of the Iustices man?

Mary sir, my proper fine pen-man, would needs bestow the grist o'me, at the wind-mil, to hear some martial discourse; where so I marshal'd him, that I made him drunke, with admiration! &, because, too much hear was the cause of his distemper, I stript him starke naked, as he lay along a­sleepe, and borrowed his sute, to deliuer this counterfeit message in, lea­uing a rustie armor, and an old browne bill to watch him, till my returne: which shall be, when I ha' pawn'd his apparell, and spent the better part o' the money, perhaps.

Well, thou art a successefull merry knaue, BRAYNE-WORME, his absence will be a good subiect for more mirth. I pray thee, returne to thy yong master, and will him to meet me, and my sister BRIDGET, at the tower instantly: for, here, tell him, the house is so stor'd with iealousie, there is no roome for loue, to stand vpright in. We must get our fortunes committed to some larger prison, say; and, then the tower, I know no better aire: nor where the libertie of the house may doe vs more present seruice. Away.

Hee's euer calling for COB! I wonder, how hee imployes COB, so!

Indeed, sister, to aske how hee imploies COB, is a necessarie question for you, that are his wife, and a thing not very easie for you to be satisfied in us: but this Ile assure you, COBS wife is an excellent bawd, sister, and, often-times, your husband hants her house, mary, to what end, I can­not altogether accuse him, imagine you what you thinke conuenient. But, I haue knowne, faire hides haue foule hearts, E're now, sister.

Neuer said you truer then that, brother, so much I can tell you for your learning. THOMAS, fetch your cloke, and goe with me, Ile after him presently: I would to fortune, I could take him there, ifaith. Il'd returne him his owne, I warrant him.

So, let hem goe: this may make sport anon. Now, my faire sister in-law, that you knew, but how happie a thing it were to be faire, and beautifull?

That touches not me, brother.

That's true; that's euen the fault of it: for indeede, beautie stands a woman in no stead, vnlesse it procure her touching. But, sister, whether it touch you, or no, it touches your beauties; and, I am sure, they will abide the touch; an' they doe not, a plague of all ceruse, say I: and, it touches mee to in part, though not in the — Well, there's a deare and respected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly, and worthily affected toward you, and hath vow'd to inflame whole bone-fires of zeale, at his heart, in honor of your perfections. I haue alreadie engag'd my promise to bring you, where you shall heare him confirme much more. NED KNO'WELL is the man, sister. There's no exception against the partie. You are ripe for a husband; and a minutes losse to such an occasion, is a great trespasse in a wise beautie. What say you, sister? On my soule hee loues you. Will you giue him the meeting?

Faith, I had very little confidence in mine owne constancie, brother, if I durst not meet a man: but this motion of yours, sauours of an old knight-aduenturers seruant, a little too much, me thinkes.

What's that, sister?

Mary, of the squire.

No matter if it did, I would be such an one for my friend, but see! who is return'd to hinder vs?

Act III. Scene IX.

I Wonder, Captayne, what they will say of my going away? ha?

Why, what should they say? but as of a discreet gentleman? quick, warie, respectfull of natures faire lineaments: and that's all?

Why, so! but what can they say of your beating?

A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind of grosse batterie vs'd, laid on strongly, borne most paciently: and that's all.

I, but, would any man haue offered it in Venice? as you say?

Tut, I assure you, no: you shall haue there your Nobilis, your Gentelezza, come in brauely vpon your reuerse, stand you close, stand you firme, stand you faire, saue your retricato with his left legge, come to the assalto with the right, thrust with braue steele, defie your base wood! But, wherefore doe I awake this remembrance? I was fascinated, by IVPITER: fascinated: but I will be vn-witch'd, and reueng'd, by law.

Doe you heare? ist not best to get a warrant, and haue him ar­rested, and brought before Iustice CLEMENT?

It were not amisse, would we had it.

Why, here comes his man, let's speake to him.

Agreed, doe you speake.

Saue you, sir.

With all my heart, sir?

Sir, there is one DOWNE-RIGHT, hath abus'd this gentleman, and my selfe, and we determine to make our amends by law; now, if you would doe vs the fauour, to procure a warrant, to bring him afore your [Page 60] master, you shall bee well considered, I assure you, sir.

Sir, you know my seruice is my liuing, such fauours as these, gotten of my master, is his only preferment, and therefore, you must con­sider me, as I may make benefit of my place.

How is that? sir.

Faith sir, the thing is extraordinarie, and the gentleman may be, of great accompt: yet, bee what hee will, if you will lay mee downe a brace of angells, in my hand, you shall haue it, otherwise not.

How shall we doe, Captayne? he askes a brace of angells, you haue no monie?

Not a crosse, by fortune.

Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two pence, left of my two shil­lings in the morning for wine, and redish: let's find him some pawne.

Pawne? we haue none to the value of his demand.

O, yes. I'll pawne this iewell in my eare, and you may pawne your silke stockings, and pull vp your bootes, they will ne're be mist: It must be done, now.

Well, an' there be no remedie: Ile step aside, and pull 'hem off.

Doe you heare, sir? wee haue no store of monie at this time, but you shall haue good pawnes: looke you, sir, this iewell, and that gen­tlemans silke stockings, because we would haue it dispatcht, e're we went to our chambers.

I am content, sir; I will get you the warrant presently, what's his name, say you? DOWNE-RIGHT?

I, I, GEORGE DOWNE-RIGHT.

What manner of man is he?

A tall bigge man, sir; hee goes in a cloke, most commonly, of silke russet, laid about with russet lace.

'Tis very good, sir.

Here sir, here's my iewell?

And, here, are stockings.

Well, gentlemen, Ile procure you this warrant presently, but, who will you haue to serue it?

That's true, Captaine: that must be consider'd.

Bodie o' me, I know not! 'tis seruice of danger?

Why, you were best get one o' the varlets o' the citie, a serieant. Ile appoint you one, if you please.

Will you, sir? why, we can wish no better.

Wee'll leaue it to you, sir.

This is rare! now, will I goe pawne this cloke of the Iustice's mans, at the brokers, for a varlets sute, and be the varlet my selfe; and get either more pawnes, or more mouie of DOWNE-RIGHT, for the arrest.

Act IIII. Scene X.

Slid, in my house? my master KITELY? Who wrongs you in my house?

How? bawd? Is my house come to that? Am I prefer'd the­ther? Did I charge you to keepe your dores shut, Is 'BEL? and doe you let 'hem lie open for all commers?

Nay, I will goe. Ile see, an' you may bee allow'd to make a bundle o' hempe, o' your right and lawfull wife thus, at euery cuckoldly knaues pleasure. Why doe you not goe?

A bitter queane. Come, wee'll ha' you tam'd.

Act IIII. Scene XI.

WEll, of all my disguises, yet, now am I most like my selfe: being in this Serjeants gowne. A man of my present profession, neuer counterfeits, till hee layes hold vpon a debter, and sayes, he rests him, for then hee brings him to all manner of vnrest. A kinde of little kings wee are, bearing the diminutiue of a mace, made like a yong artichocke, that alwayes carries pepper and salt, in it selfe. Well, I know not what danger I vnder-goe, by this exploit, pray heauen, I come well of.

See, I thinke, yonder is the varlet, by his gowne.

Let's goe, in quest of him.

'Saue you, friend, are not you here, by appointment of Iustice CLEMENTS man.

Yes, an't please you, sir: he told me two gentlemen had will'd him to procure a warrant from his master (which I haue about me) to be seru'd on one DOWNE-RIGHT.

It is honestly done of you both; and see, where the partie comes, you must arrest: serue it vpon him, quickly, afore hee bee aware—

Beare backe, master MATTHEW.

Master DOWNE-RIGHT, I arrest you, i'the queenes name, and must carry you afore a Iustice, by vertue of this warrant.

Mee, friend? I am no DOWNE-RIGHT, I. I am master STEPHEN, you doe not well, to arrest me, I tell you, truely: I am in no­bodies bonds, nor bookes, I, would you should know it. A plague on you heartily, for making mee thus afraid afore my time.

Why, now are you deceiued, gentlemen?

He weares such a cloke, and that deceiued vs: But see, here a comes, indeed! this is he, officer.

Why how now, signior gull! are you turn'd filtcher of late? come, deliuer my cloke.

Your cloke, sir? I bought it, euen now, in open market.

Master DOVVNE-RIGHT, I haue a warrant I must serue vpon you, procur'd by these two gentlemen.

These gentlemen? these rascals?

Keepe the peace, I charge you, in her Maiesties name.

I obey thee. What must I doe, officer?

Goe before, master Iustice CLEMENT, to answere what they can obiect against you, sir. I will vse you kindly, sir.

Come, let's before, and make the Iustice, Captaine—

The varlet's a tall man! afore heauen!

Gull, you'll gi' me my cloke?

Sir, I bought it, and I'le keepe it.

You will.

I, that I will.

Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him.

Master STEPHEN, I must arrest you.

Arrest mee, I scorne it. There, take your cloke, I'le none ou't.

Nay, that shall not serue your turne, now, sir. Officer, I'le goe with thee, to the Iustices: bring him along.

Why, is not here your cloke? what would you haue?

I'le ha'you answere it, sir.

Sir, I'le take your word; and this gentlemans, too: for his ap­parance.

I'le ha' no words taken. Bring him along.

Sir, I may choose, to doe that: I may take bayle.

'Tis true, you may take baile, and choose; at another time: but you shall not, now, varlet. Bring him along, or I'le swinge you.

Sir, I pitty the gentlemans case. Here's your money againe.

'Sdeynes, tell not me of my money, bring him away, I say.

I warrant you he will goe with you of himselfe, sir.

Yet more adoe?

I haue made a faire mash on't.

Must I goe?

I know no remedie, master STEPHEN.

Come along, afore mee, here. I doe not loue your hanging looke behind.

Why, sir. I hope you cannot hang mee for it. Can hee, fellow?

I thinke not, sir. It is but a whipping matter, sure!

Why, then, let him doe his worst, I am resolute.

Scene I.

NAy, but stay, stay, giue me leaue: my chaire, sirrha. You, master KNO'WELL, say you went thither to meet your sonne.

I, sir.

But, who directed you, thither?

That did mine owne man, sir.

Where is he?

Nay, I know not, now; I left him with your clarke: And appointed him, to stay here for me.

My darke? about what time, was this?

Mary, betweene one and two, as I take it.

And, what time came my man with the false message to you, master KITELY?

After two, sir.

Very good: but, mistris KITELY, how that you were at Cons? ha?

An' please you, s [...]r, Ile tell you: my brother, WEL-BRED, told me, that COBS house, was a suspected place—

So it appeares, me thinkes: but, on.

And that my husband vs'd thither, daily.

No matter, so he vs'd himselfe well, mistris.

True sir, but you know, what growes, by such hants, of­ten-times.

I see, ranke fruits of a iealous braine, mistris KITELY: but, did you find your husband there, in that case, as you suspected?

I found her there, sir.

Did you so? that alters the case. Who gaue you knowledge, of your wiues being there?

Marie, that did my brother WEL-BRED.

How? WEL-BRED first tell her? then tell you, after? where is WEL-BRED?

Gone with my sister, sir, I know not whither.

Why, this is a meere trick, a deuice; you are gull'd in this most grosly, all! alas, poore wench, wert thou beaten for this?

Yes, most pittifully, and 't please you.

And worthily, I hope: if it shall proue so.

I, that's like, and a piece of a sentence. How now, sir? what's the matter?

Sir, there's a gentleman, i' the court without, desires to speake with your worship.

A gentleman? what's he?

A souldier, sir, he saies.

A souldier? take downe my armor, my sword, quickly: a soul­dier speake with me! why, when knaues? come on, come on, hold my cap there, so; giue me my gorget, my sword: stand by, I will end your matters, anou—Let the souldier enter, now, sir, what ha'you to say to me?

Act V. Scene II.

BY your worships fauour—

Nay, keepe out, sir, I know not your pretence, you send me word, sir, you are a souldier: why, sir, you shall bee answer'd, here, here be them haue beene amongst souldiers. Sir, your pleasure.

Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman, and my selfe, haue beene most vnciuilly wrong'd, and beaten, by one DOWNE-RIGHT, a course fellow, about the towne, here, and for mine owne part, I protest, being a man, in no sort, giuen to this filthie humour of quarrelling, he hath a [...]aulted mee in the way of my peace; dispoil'd mee of mine honor; dis-arm'd mee of my weapons; and rudely, laid me along, in the open streets: when, I not so much as once offer'd to resist him.

O, gods precious! is this the souldier? here, take my armour of quickly, 'twill make him swonne, I feare; hee is not [...]it to looke on't, that will put vp a blow.

An't please your worship, he was bound to the peace.

Why, and he were, sir, his hands were not bound, were they?

There's one of the varlets of the citie, sir, ha's brought two gentlemen, here, one, vpon your worships warrant.

My warrant?

Yes, sir. The officer say's, procur'd by these two.

Bid him, come in. Set by this picture. What, M^r. DOWNE-RIGHT! are you brought at M^r. FRESH-WATERS suite, here!

Act V. Scene III.

I Faith, sir. And here's another brought at my suite.

What are you, sir?

A gentleman, sir? Ô, vncle!

Vncle? who? master KNO'W [...]LL?

I, sir! this is a wise kinsman of mine.

God's my witnesse, vncle, I am wrong'd here monstrously, hee charges me with stealing of his cloke, and would I might neuer stirre, if I did not find it in the street, by chance.

O, did you find it, now? you said, you bought it, ere-while.

And, you said, I stole it; nay, now my vncle is here, I'll doe well inough, with you.

Well, let this breath a while; you, that haue cause to com­plaine, there, stand forth: had you my warrant for this gentlemans apprehension?

I, an't please your worship.

Nay, doe not speake in passion so: where had you it?

Of your clarke, sir?

That's well! an' my clarke can make warrants, and my hand not at 'hem! Where is the warrant? Officer, haue you it?

No, sir, your worship's man, master FORMAL, bid mee doe it, for these gentlemen, and he would be my discharge.

Why, master DOWNE-RIGHT, are you such a nouice, to bee seru'd, and neuer see the warrant?

Sir. He did not serue it on me.

No? how then?

Mary, sir, hee came to mee, and said, hee must serue it, and hee would vse me kindly, and so—

O, gods pittie, was it so, sir? he must serue it? giue me my long-sword there, and helpe me of; so. Come on, sir varlet, I must [...]ut off your legs, sirrha: nay, stand vp, Ile vse you kindly; I must [...]ut off your legs, I say.

O, good sir, I beseech you; nay, good master Iustice.

I must doe it; there is no remedie. I must cut off your legs, sirrha, I must cut off your eares, you rascall, I must doe it; I must cut off your nose, I must cut off your head.

O, good your worship.

Well, rise, how doest thou doe, now? doest thou feele thy selfe well? hast thou no harme?

No, I thanke your good worship, sir.

Why, so! I said, I must cut off thy legs, and I must cut off thy armes, and I must cut off thy head; but, I did not doe it: so, you said, you must serue this gentleman, with my warrant, but, you did not serue him. You knaue, you slaue, you rogue, doe you say you must? sirrha, a­way with him, to the iayle, Ile teach you a trick, for your must, sir.

Good, sir, I beseech you, be good to me.

Tell him he shall to the iayle, away with him, I say▪

Nay, sir, if you will commit mee, it shall bee for committing more then this: I will not loose, by my trauaile, any graine of my fame certaine.

How is this!

My man, BRAYNE-WORME!

O yes, vncle. BRAYNE-WORME ha's beene with my cossen EDWARD, and I, all this day.

I told you all, there was some deuice!

Nay, excellent Iustice, since I haue laid my selfe thus open to you; now, stand strong for mee: both with your sword, and your ballance.

Bodie o'me, a merry knaue! Giue me a bowle of sack: If hee belong to you, master KNO'WELL, I bespeake your patience.

That is it, I haue most need of. Sir, if you'll pardon me, only; I'll glorie in all the rest, of my exploits.

Sir, you know, I loue not to haue my fauours come hard, from me. You haue your pardon: though I suspect you shrewdly for being of counsell with my sonne, against me.

Yes, faith, I haue, sir; though you retain'd me doubly this mor­ning, for your selfe: first, as BRAYNE-WORME; after, as FITZ-SWORD. I was your reform'd souldier, sir. 'Twas I sent you to COBS, vpon the errand, without end.

Is it possible! or that thou should'st disguise thy language so, as I should not know thee?

O, sir, this ha's beene the day of my metamorphosis! It is not that shape alone that I haue runne through, to day. I brought this gentle­man, master KITELY, a message too, in the forme of master Iustices man, here, to draw him out o' the way, as well as your worship: while master WELL-BRED might make a conueiance of mistris BRIDGET, to my yong master.

How! my sister [...]olne away?

My sonne is not married, I hope!

Faith, sir, they are both as sure as loue, a priest, and three thou­sand pound (which is her portion) can make 'hem: and by this time are readie to bespeake their wedding supper at the wind-mill, except some friend, here, preuent 'hem, and inuite 'hem home.

Marie, that will I (I thanke thee, for putting me in mind o [...]'t.) Sirrah, goe you, and fetch 'hem hither, vpon my warrant. Neithers friends haue cause to be [...]orrie, if I know the yong couple, aright. Here, I drinke to thee, for thy good newes. But, I pray thee, what hast thou done with my man FORMALL.

Faith, sir, after some ceremonie past, as making him drunke, first with storie, and then with wine (but all in kindnesse) and stripping him to his shirt: I left him in that coole vaine, departed, sold your worships warrant to these two, pawn'd his liuerie for that varlets gowne, to serue it in; and thus haue brought my selfe, by my actiuitie, to your worships consideration.

And I will consider thee, in another cup of sack. Here's to thee, which hauing drunke of, this is my sentence. Pledge me. Thou hast done, [Page 69] or assisted to nothing, in my iudgement, but deserues to bee pardon'd for the wit o' the offence. If thy master, or anie man, here, be angrie with thee, I shall suspect his ingine, while I know him for't. How now? what noise is that!

Sir, it is ROGER is come home.

Bring him in, bring him in. What! drunke in armes, against me? Your reason, your reason for this.

Act V. Scene IIII.

I Beseech your worship to pardon me; I happen'd into ill companie by chance, that cast me into a sleepe, and stript me of all my clothes—

Well, tell him, I am Iustice CLEMENT, and doe pardon him: but, what is this to your armour! what may that signifie?

And 't please you, sir, it hung vp 'i the roome, where I was stript; and I borrow'd it of one o' the drawers, to come home in, because I was loth, to doe penance through the street, i' my shirt.

Well, stand by a while. Who be these? O, the yong compa­nie, welcome, welcome. Gi' you ioy. Nay, mistris BRIDGET, blush not; you are not so fresh a bride, but the newes of it is come hither a [...]ore you. Master Bridegroome, I ha' made your peace, giue mee your hand: so will I for all the rest, ere you forsake my roofe.

Act V. Scene V.

WE are the more bound to your humanitie, sir.

Only these two, haue so little of man in 'hem, they are no part of my care.

Yes, sir, let mee pray you for this gentleman, hee belongs, to my sister, the bride.

In what place, sir?

Of her delight, sir, below the staires, and in publike: her poet, sir.

A poet? I will challenge him my selfe, presently, at extempore.

Hee is not for extempore, sir. Hee is all for the pocket-muse, please you command a sight of it.

Yes, yes, search him for a tast of his veine.

You must not denie the Queenes Iustice, Sir, vnder a writ o' rebellion.

What! all this verse? Bodie o' me, he carries a whole realme, a common-wealth of paper, in's hose! let's see some of his subiects!

How? this is stolne!

A Parodie! a parodie! with a kind of miraculous gift, to make it ab [...]urder then it was.

Is all the rest, of this batch? Being me a torch; lay it together, and giue [...]e. Clense the aire. He was enough to haue infected, the whole citie, if it had not beene taken in time! See, see, how our Poets glo­rie shines! brighter, and brighter! [...]ull it increases! Ô, now, it's at the highest: and, now, it declines as fast. You may see. Sic transi [...] gloria mundi.

There's an embleme for you, sonne, and your studies!

Nay, no speech, or act of mine be drawne against such as pro­fesse it worthily. They are not borne eu [...]rie yeere, as an Alderman. There goes more to the making of a good Poet, then a Sheriffe, M^r. KITELY. You looke vpon me! though, I liue i' the citie here, amongst you, I will doe more reuerence, to him, when I meet him, then I will to the Major, out of his yeere. But, these paper-pedlers! these inke-dablers! They cannot expect reprehension, or reproch. They haue it with the fact.

Sir, you haue sau'd me the labour of a defence.

It shall be discourse for supper; betweene your father and me, if he dare vnder-take me. But, to dispatch away these, you signe o' the Souldier, and picture o' the Poet (but, both so false, I will not ha' you hang'd out at my dore till midnight) while we are at supper, you two shal penitently fa [...] it out in my court, without; and, if you will, you may pray there, that we may be so merrie within, as to forgiue, or forget you▪ when we come out. Here's a third, because, we tender your safetie, shall watch you, he is prouided for the purpose. Looke to your change, sir.

And what shall I doe?

O! I had lost a sheepe, an he had not bleated! Why, sir, you shall giue M^r. DOWNE-RIGHT his cloke: and I will intreat him to take it. A trencher, and a napkin, you shall haue, i' the buttrie, and keepe COB, and his wife companie, here; whom, I will intreat first to bee reconcil'd: and you to endeuour with your wit, to keepe 'hem so.

Ile doe my best.

Why, now I see thou art honest, TIB, I receiue thee as my dea [...]e, and mortall wi [...]e, againe.

And, I you, as my louing, and obedient husband.

Good complement! It will bee their bridale night too. They [Page 71] are married anew. Come, I coniure the rest, to put of all discontent. You, M^r. DOWNE-RIGHT, your anger; you, master KNO'WELL, your cares; master KITELY, and his wife, their iealousie.

Sir, thus they goe from me, kisse me, sweet heart.

I ha' learn'd so much verse out of a iealous mans part, in a play.

'Tis well, 'tis well! This night wee'll dedicate to friendship, loue, and laughter. Master bride-groome, take your bride, and leade: e­uery one, a fellow. Here is my mistris. BRAYME-WORME! to whom all my addresses of courtship shall haue their reference. Whose aduentures, this day, when our grand-children shall heare to be made a fable, I doubt not, but it shall find both spectators, and applause.

Scene I.

Act I. Scene II.

NAy looke you CARLO: this is my Humour now! I haue land and money, my friends left me well, and I will be a Gentleman what­soeuer it cost me.

Tut, and I take an humour of a thing once, I am like your tay­lors needle, I goe through: but, for my name, Signior, how thinke you? will it not serue for a gentlemans name, when the Signior is put to it? Ha?

Let me heare: how is't?

Signior In [...]ulso Sogliardo: me thinkes it sounds well.

O excellent! tut, and all fitted to your name, you might very well stand for a gentleman: I know many Sogliardos gentlemen.

Why, and for my wealth I might be a Iustice of Peace.

I, and a Constable for your wit.

All this is my Lordship you see here, and those Farmes you came by.

Good steps to gentility too, mary: but SOGLIARDO, if you affect to be a gentleman indeede, you must obserue all the rare qualities, humours, and complements of a gentleman.

I know it, signior, and if you please to instruct, I am not too good to learne, He assure you.

Inough sir: Ile make admirable vse i'the proiection of my me­dicine vpon this lumpe of copper here. Ile bethinke me, for you sir.

Signior, I will both pay you, and pray you, and thanke you, and thinke on you.

First (to be an accomplisht gentleman, that is, a gentleman of the time) you must giue o're house-keeping in the countrey, and liue al­together in the city amongst gallants; where, at your first apparance, 'twere good you turn'd foure or fiue hundred acres of your best land into two or three trunks of apparel (you may doe it without going to a coniu­rer) and be sure, you mixe your selfe stil, with such as flourish in the spring of the fashion, and are least popular; studie their carriage, and behauiour in all: learne to play at Primero and Passage, and (euer when you lose) ha'two or three peculiar othes to sweare by, that no man else sweares: but aboue all, protest in your play, and affirme, Vpon your credit; As you are a true gentleman (at euery cast) you may doe it with a safe conscience, I warrant you.

O admirable rare! he cannot choose but be a gentleman, that ha's these excellent gifts: more, more, I beseech you.

You must endeuour to feede cleanly at your Ordinarie, sit me­lancholy, and picke your teeth when you cannot speake: and when you come to Playes, be humorous, looke with a good startch't face, and ruffle [Page 90] [...] [Page 91] [...] [Page 92] your brow like a new boot; laugh at nothing but your owne iests, or else as the Noblemen laugh. That's a speciall grace you must obserue.

I warrant you, sir.

I, and [...]it o'the stage, and stout: prouided, you haue a good suit.

O, I'le haue a suit only for that, sir.

You must talke much of your kinred, and allies.

Lies! no Signior, I shall not neede to doe so, I haue kinred i'the city to talke of: I haue a neece is a marchants wife; and a nephew, my brother SORDIDOS sonne, of the Innes of Court.

O, but you must pretend alliance with Courtiers and great per­sons: and euer when you are to dine or suppe in any strange presence, hire a fellow with a great chaine (though it be copper it's no matter) to bring you letters, feign'd from such a Nobleman, or such a Knight, or such a Ladie, To their worshipfull, right rare, and noble qualified friend or kins­man, Signior In [...]ulso Sogliardo; giue your selfe stile enough. And there (while you intend circumstances of newes, or enquiry of their health, or so) one of your familiars (whom you must carry about you still) breakes it vp (as 'twere in a iest) and reades it publikely at the table: at which, you must seeme to take as vnpardonable offence, as if he had torne your Mi­stris colours, or breath'd vpon her picture; and pursue it with that hot grace, as if you would aduance a challenge vpon it presently.

Stay, I doe not like that humour of challenge, it may be accep­ted; but I'le tell you what's my humour now: I will doe this. I will take occasion of sending one of my suites to the Taylors to haue the pocke [...] repaired, or so; and there such a letter, as you talke of (broke open and all) shall be left: O, the Taylor vvill presently giue out what I am, vpon the reading of it, vvorth twentie of your Gallants.

But then you must put on an extreme face of discontentment at your mans negligence.

O, so I vvill, and beat him too: I'le haue a man for the purpose.

You may; you haue land and crownes: O partiall fate!

Masse well remembred, you must keepe your men gallant, at the first, fine py [...]d liueries, laid vvith good gold lace, there's no losse in it, they may tip't off and pawne it, vvhen they lacke victuals.

By'r Ladie, that is chargeable Signior, 'twill bring a man in debt.

Debt? why, that's the more for your credit sir: it's an excellent policy to owe much in these daies, if you note it.

As how good Signior? I would faine be a Polititian.

O! looke where you are indebted any great summe, your credi­tor obserues you with no lesse regard, then if hee were bound to you for some huge benefit, and will quake to giue you the least cause of offence, lest he loose his money. I assure you (in these times) no man has his ser­uant more obsequious and pliant, then gentlemen their creditors: to whom (if at any time) you pay but a moitie, or a fourth part, it comes more acceptedly, then if you gaue them a new-yeares gift.

I perceiue you, sir: I will take vp, and bring my selfe in credit sure.

Mary this, alwaies beware you commerce not with bankrupts, or poore needie Ludgathians ▪ they are impudent creatures, turbulent spi­rits, they care not what violent tragedies they stirre, nor how they play fast and loose with a poore gentlemans fortunes, to get their owne. Mary, these rich fellowes (that ha' the vvorld, or the better part of it, sleeping in their counting-houses) they are ten times more placable, they; either feare, hope, or modestie, restraines them from offering any outrages: but this is nothing to your followers, you shall not run a penny more in arrerage for them, and you list your selfe.

No? how should I keepe 'hem then?

Keepe 'hem? Sbloud let them keepe themselues, they are no sheepe, are they? What? you shall come in houses, where plate, apparrell, iewels, and diuers other pretie commodities lye negligently scattered, and I would ha' those Mercuries follow me (I trow) should remember they had not their fingers for nothing.

That's not so good, me thinkes.

Why, after you haue kept 'hem a fortnight, or so, and shew'd 'hem ynough to the world, you may turne 'hem away, and keepe no more but a boy, it's ynough.

Nay, my humour is not for boyes, Ile keepe men, and I keepe a­ny; and Ile giue coats, that's my humour: but I lacke a cullisen.

Why, now you ride to the citie, you may buy one, Ile bring you where you shall ha' your choise for money.

Can you, sir?

O, I: you shall haue one take measure of you, and make you a Co [...] of armes, to fit you of vvhat fashion you vvill.

By word of mouth, I thanke you, Signior; Ile be once a little prodigall in a humour, i' faith, and haue a most prodigious coat.

Faith, then I pitty the poore fellow, he's falne into a fooles hands.

Sirrah, who gaue you commission to lye in my lordship?

Your lordship?

How? my lordship? doe you know me, sir?

I doe know you, sir.

S'heart, he answeres him like an eccho.

Why, who am I, Sir?

One of those that fortune fauours.

The Perphrasis of a foole; Ile obserue this better.

That fortune fauours? how meane you that, friend?

I meane simply. THat you are one that liues not by your vvits.

By my wits? No sir, I scorne to liue by my wits, I. I haue bet­ter meanes, I tell thee, then to take such base courses, as to liue by my wits. Sbloud, doest thou thinke I liue by my wits?

Me thinkes, Iester, you should not relilsh this well.

Ha? does he know me?

Though yours bee the worst vse a man can put his wit to, of thousands, to prostitute it at euery tauerne and ordinarie; yet (mee thinkes) you should haue turn'd your broad side at this, and haue beene readie with an Apologie, able to sinke this hulke of ignorance into the bot­tome, and depth of his contempt.

Sbloud 'tis MACILENTE! Signior, you are well encountred, how is't? O, we must not regard what he saies man, a trout, a shallow foole, he ha's no more braine then a butter-flie, a meere stuft suit, he looks like a mustie bottle, new vvickerd, his head's the corke, light, light. I am glad to see you so well return'd, Signior.

You are? Gramercie, good IANVS.

Is he one of your acquaintance? I loue him the better for that.

Gods precious, come away man, what doe you meane? and you knew him as I doe, you'ld shun him, as you'ld doe the plague?

Why, sir?

O, hee's a blacke fellow, take heed on him.

Is he a Scholler, or a Souldier?

Both, both; a leane mungrell, he lookes as if he were chap­falne, with barking at other mens good fortunes: 'ware how you offend him, he carries oile and fire in his pen, vvill scald vvhere it drops: his spi­rit's like powder, quick, violent: hee'le blow a man vp with a jest: I feare him vvorse then a rotten wall do's the cannon, shake an houre after, at the report. Away, come not neere him.

For Gods sake let's be gone, and he be a Scholler, you know I cannot abide him, I had as leeue see a Cockatrice, specially as cockatrices goe now.

What, you'le stay, signior? this gentleman SOGLIARDO, and I, are to visit the knight PVNTARVOLO, and from thence to the citie, wee shall meet there.

Act I. Scene III.

O Rare! good, good, good, good, good! I thanke my Starres, I thanke my Starres for it.

Excellent, excellent, excellent! as I vvould wish, as I vvould vvish.

Ha, ha, ha, I vvill not sow my grounds this yeere. Let mee see, vvhat hauest shall vve haue? Iune, Iuly, August?

The xx, xxi, xxij, daies, raine and vvinde, O good, good! the xxiij, and xxiiij, raine and some winde, good! the xxvi, raine, good still! xxvi, xxvij, xxviij, winde and some raine; vvould it had been raine and some vvinde: vvell 'tis good (when it can be no better) xxix, inclining to raine: inclining to raine? that's not so good now. xxx, and xxxi, vvinde and no raine: no raine? S'lid stay; this is vvorse and vvorse: what saies he of S. Swithins? turne back, looke, S. Swithins: no raine?

O here, S. Swithins, the xv day, variable vveather, for the most part raine, good; for the most part raine: Why, it should raine fortie daies after, now, more or lesse, it vvas a rule held, afore I vvas able to hold a plough, and yet here are two daies, no raine; ha? it makes me muse. Weele see how the next moneth begins, if that bee better. September, first, se­cond, third, and fourth daies, rainy, and blustering; this is vvell now: fift, sixt, seuenth, eight, and ninth, rainy, vvith some thunder; I mary, this is excellent; the other was false printed sure: the tenth, and eleuenth, great store of raine; O good, good, good, good, good! the twelth, thir­teenth, and fourteenth daies, raine; good still: fifteenth, and sixteenth, raine; good still: seuenteenth, and eighteenth, raine, good still; nineteenth, and twentieth, good still, good still, good still, good still, good still! one and twentieth, some raine; some raine? vvell, vve must be patient, and at­tend the heauens pleasure, vvould it vvere more though: the one and tvventieth, tvvo and tvventieth, three and tvventieth, great tempest of raine, thunder, and lightning.

Mary, sir, one of the Iustices men, he saies 'tis a precept, and all their hands be at it:

Scene I.

CINEDO, watch when the knight comes, and giue vs word.

I will, sir.

How lik'st thou my boy, CARLO?

O, well, well. He lookes like a colonell of the Pigmies horse, or one of these motions, in a great antique clock: he would shew well vp­on a hab [...]erdashers stall, at a corner shop, rarely.

S'heart, what a damn'd witty rogne's this? how he confounds with his simile's?

Better with simile's, then smiles: and whither were you riding now, Signior?

Who, I? what a silly iest's that? whither should I ride, but to the court?

O, pardon me, sir, twentie places more: your hot-house, or your whore-house—

By the vertue of my soule, this knight dwels in Elizium, here.

Hee's gone [...]ow, I thought he would flie out presently. These be our nimble-spirited Ca [...]so's, that ha' their euasions at pleasure, will run [Page 100] ouer a bog like your wild Irish: no sooner started, but they'le leape from one thing to another, like a squirrell, heigh: dance! and doe tricks i' their discourse, from fire to water, from water to aire, from aire to earth, as if their tongues did but e'en licke the foure elements ouer, and away.

Sirrha, CARLO, thou neuer [...]aw'st my grey-hobbie yet, didst thou?

No: ha' you such a one?

The best in Europe (my good villaine) thou'lt say, when thou seest him.

But when shall I see him?

There was a noble man i' the court offered me 100. pound for him, by this light: a fine little fiery slaue, he runs like a (oh) excellent, excellent! with the very sound of the spurre.

How? the sound of the spurre?

O, it's your only humour now extant, sir: a good gingle, a good gingle.

Sbloud, you shall see him turne morris-dancer, he ha's got him bels, a good sute, and a hobby-horse.

Signior, now you talke of a hobby-horse, I know where one is, will not be giuen for a brace of angels.

How is that, Sir?

Mary, sir, I am telling this gentleman of a hobby-horse, it was my fathers indeed, and (though I say it—

That should not say it) on, on.

He did dance in it, with as good humour, and as good regard, as any man of his degree what soeuer, being no gentleman: I haue danc't in it my selfe too.

Not since the humour of gentilitie was vpon you? did you?

Yes, once; mary, that was but to shew what a gentleman might doe, in a humour.

O, very good.

Nay, looke you, sir, there's ne're a gentleman i' the countrey has the like humours, for the hobby-horse, as I haue; I haue the method for the threeding of the needle and all, the—

How, the method.

I, the leigeritie for that, and the wigh-hie, and the daggers in the nose, and the trauels of the egge from singer to singer, all the humours incident to the quality. The horse hangs at home in my parlor. I'le keepe it for a monument, as long as I liue, sure.

Doe so; and when you die, 'twill be an excellent trophee, to hang ouer your tombe.

Masse, and I'le haue a tombe (now I thinke on't) 'tis but so much charges.

Best build it in your life time then, your heires may hap to for­get it else.

Nay, I meane so, Ile not trust to them.

No, for heires, and executors, are growne damnably carelesse, specially, since the ghosts of testators left walking: how like you him, Signior?

Fore heauens, his humour arrides me exceedingly.

Arrides you?

I, pleases me (a pox on't) I am so haunted at the count, and at my lodging, with your refin'd choise spirits, that it makes me cleane of an­other garbe, another sheafe, I know not how! I cannot frame me to your harsh vulgar phrase, 'tis against my genius.

Signior CARLO.

Who, hee? a gull, a foole, no salt in him i' the earth, man: hee looks like a fresh salmon kept in a tub, hee'le be spent shortly. His braine's lighter then his feather already, and his tongue more subiect to lie, then that's to wag: he sleepes with a muske-cat euery night, and walkes all day hung'd in pomander chaines for penance: he ha's his skin tan'd in ciuet, to make his complexion strong, and the sweetnesse of his youth lasting in the sense of his sweet lady. A good emptie puffe, he loues you well, Signior.

There shall be no loue lost, sir, Ile assure you.

Nay, CARLO, I am not happy i' thy loue, I see: pr'y thee suffer me to enioy thy company a little (sweet mischiefe) by this aire, I shall enuy this gentlemans place in thy affections, if you be thus priuate, yfaith. How now? is the knight arriu'd?

No, sir, but 'tis guest he will arriue presently, by his fore-run­ners.

His bounds! by MINERVA an excellent figure; a good boy.

You should giue him a french crowne for it: the boy would finde two better figures i' that, and a good figure of your bounty beside.

Tut, the boy wants no crownes.

No crowne: speake i' the singular number, and wee'le beleeue you.

Nay, thou art so capriciously conceited now. Sirra (damnation) I haue heard this knight PVNTARVOLO, reported to bee a gentleman of [Page 102] exceeding good humour; thou know'st him: pr'ythee, how is his dispo­sition? I ne're was so fauour'd of my starres, as to see him yet. Boy, doe you looke to the hobby?

I, sir, the groome has set him vp.

'Tis well: I rid out of my way of intent to visit him, and take knowledge of his— Nay, good wickednesse, his humour, his humour.

Why, he loues dogs, and hawkes, and his wife, well: he has a good riding face, and he can fit a great horse; hee will taint a staffe well at tilt: when he is mounted, he lookes like the signe of the George, that's all I know; saue, that in stead of a dragon, he will brandish against a tree, and breake his sword as con [...]idently vpon the knottie barke, as the other did vpon the skales of the beast.

O, but this is nothing to that's deliuerd of him. They say hee has dialogues, and discourses betweene his horse, himselfe, and his dogge: and that he will court his owne lady; as shee were a stranger neuer encoun­ter'd before.

I, that he will, and make fresh loue to her euery morning: this gentleman has beene a spectator of it, Signior Insulso.

I am resolute to keepe a page: say you sir?

You haue seene Signior Puntaruolo accost his lady?

O, I sir.

And how is the manner of it, pr'ythee, good Signior?

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 gentlewoman, shee lookes out, and then hee speakes, and then shee speakes—very pretty yfaith, gentle­men.

Why, but doe you remember no particulars, Signior?

O, yes sir: first, the gentlewoman, shee lookes out at the win­dow.

After the trumpet has summon'd a parle? not before?

No, sir, not before: and then saies he—ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.

What saies he? be not rapt so.

Saies he—ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Nay, speake, speake.

Ha, ha, ha, saies he: God saue you, saies he: ha, ha, &c.

Was this the ridiculous motiue to all this passion?

Nay, that, that comes after, is—ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Doubtlesse, he apprehends more then he vtters, this fellow: or else.

List, list, they are come from hunting: stand by, close vnder this [...], and you shall see it done, better then I can shew it.

So it had need, 'twill scarce poize the obseruation else.

Faith I remember all, but the manner of it is quite out of my head.

O, with-draw, with-draw, it cannot bee but a most pleasing obiect.

Act. II. Scene II.

FOrrester, giue winde to thy borne. Inough, by this, the sound hath toucht the eares of the enclosed: Depart, leaue the dogge, and take with thee what thou hast deseru'd, the horne, and thankes.

I, mary, there's some taste in this.

Is't not good?

Ah, peace, now aboue, now aboue!

Stay: mine eye hath (on the instant) through the bountie of the window, receiu'd the forme of a Nymph. I will step forward three pa­ses: 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 saue you.

No, forsooth: I am but the waiting gentlewoman.

He knew that before.

Pardon me: Humanum est errare.

He learn'd that of his chaplaine.

To the perfection of complement (which is the Diall of the thought, and guided by the Sunne of your beauties) are requir'd these three specials: the gnomon, the puntilio's, and the superficies: the superficies, is that we call, place; the puntilio's, circumstance; and the gnomon, ceremo­ny: in either of which, for a stranger to erre, 'tis easie and facile, and such am I.

True, not knowing her horizon, he must needes erre: which I feare, he knowes too well.

What call you the lord of the castle? sweet face.

The lord of the castle is a knight, sir; Signior PVNTAR­VOLO.

PVNTARVOLO? O.

Now must he ruminate.

Does the wench know him all this while, then?

O, doc you know me, man? why, therein lies the sirrup of the iest, it's a proiect, a designement of his owne, a thing studied, and re­hearst as ordinarily at his comming from hawking, or hunting, as a jigge after a play.

I, e'en like your jigge, sir.

'Tis a most sumptuous and stately edifice! of what yeeres is the knight, faire damsell?

Faith, much about your yeeres, sir.

What complexion, or what stature beares he?

Of your stature, and very neere vpon your complexion.

Mine is melancholy:

So is the dogges, iust.

And doth argue constancie, chie [...]ly in loue. What are his en­dowments? Is he courteous?

O, the most courteous knight in Christian land, sir.

Is he magnanimous?

As the skin betweene your browes, sir.

Is he bountifull?

'Slud, he takes an inuentory of his owne good parts.

Bountifull? I, sir, I would you should know it; the poore are seen'd at his gate, early, and late, sir.

Is he learned?

O, I sir, he can speake the French, and Italian.

Then he is trauail'd?

I, forsooth, he hath beene beyond-sea, once, or twise.

As far as Paris, to fetch ouer a fashion, and come back againe.

Is he religious?

Religious? I know not what you call religious, but hee goes to church, I am sure.

S'lid, methinkes, these answeres should offend him.

T'ut, no; he knowes they are excellent, and to her capacity, that speakes 'hem.

Would I might see his face.

Shee should let down a glasse from the window at that word, and request him to looke in't.

Doubtlesse, the gentleman is most exact, and absolutely qua­lified? doth the castle containe him?

No, sir, he is from home, but his lady is within.

His lady? what, is shee faire? splendidious? and amiable?

O, Lord, sir!

Pr'ythee, deare Nymph, intreat her beauties to shine on this side of the building.

That he may erect a new dyall of complement, with his gno­mons, and his puntilio's.

Nay, thou art such another Cinique now, a man had need walke vprightly before thee.

Heart, can any man walke more vpright then hee does? Looke, looke; as if he went in a frame, or had a sute of wanescot on: and the dogge watching him, let he should leape out on't.

O, villaine!

Well, and e'er I meet him in the city, I'le ha'him ioynted, I'le pawne him in east cheape, among the butchers else.

Peace, who be these, CARLO?

Act II. Scene III.

YOnder's your god-father; doe your duty to him, sonne.

This, sir? a poore elder brother of mine, sir, a y [...]oman, may dispend some seuen or eight hundred a yeere: that's his son, my nephew, there.

You are not ill-come, neighbour SORDIDO, though I haue not yet said, well-come: what, my god-sonne is growne a great proficient by this?

I hope he will grow great one day, sir.

What does he studie? the law?

I sir, he is a gentleman, though his father be but a yeoman.

What call you your nephew, signior?

Mary, his name is FVNGOSO.

FVNGOSO? O, he lookt somwhat like a spunge in that pinck [...] yellow doublet, me thought: well, make much of him; I see he was ne­uer borne to ride vpon a moile.

My lady will come presently, sir.

O, now, now.

Stand by, retire your selues a space: nay, pray you, forget not the vse of your hat; the aire is piercing.

What? will not their presence preuaile against the current of his humour?

O, no: it's a meere floud, a torrent, carries all afore it.

How? in verse!

An extasie, an extasie, man.

Is your desire to speake with me, sir knight?

He will tell you that anon; neither his braine, nor his body, are yet moulded for an answere.

Most debonaire, and luculent lady, I decline mee low, as the basis of your altitude.

I haue scarse collected my spirits, but lately scatter'd in the ad­miration [Page 106] of your forme; to which (if the bounties of your minde be any way responsible) I doubt not, but my desires shall finde a smooth, and se­cure passage. I am a poore knight errant (lady) that hunting in the adja­cent forrest, was by aduenture in the pursuit of a hart, brought to this place; which hart (deare Madame) escaped by enchantment: the eue­ning approching (my selfe, and seruant wearied) my suit is, to enter your faire castle, and refresh me.

Sir knight, albeit it be not vsuall with me (chiefly in the absence of a husband) to admit any entrance to strangers, yet in the true regard of those innated vertues, and faire parts, which so striue to expresse them­selues, in you; I am resolu'd to entertaine you to the best of my vnworthy power which I acknowledge to bee nothing, valew'd with what so wor­thy a person may deserue. Please you but stay, while I descend.

Most admir'd lady, you astonish me!

What? with speaking a speech of your owne penning?

Nay, looke; pry thee peace.

Pox on't▪ I am impatient of such fopperie.

O, let's heare the rest.

What? a tedious chapter of courtship, after sir LANCELOT, and queene GVEVENER? away. I mar'le in what dull cold nooke he found this lady out? that (being a woman) shee was blest with no more copie of wit, but to serue his humour thus. 'Slud, I thinke he feeds her with por­ridge, I: shee could ne're haue such a thick braine else.

Why, is porridge so hurtfull, signior?

O, nothing vnder heauen more preiudiciall to those ascending subtile powers, or doth sooner abate that which we call, acumen ingenij, then your grosse fare: why, I'le make you an instance: your city wiues, but obserue 'hem, you ha'not more perfect true fooles i' the world bred, then they are generally; and yet you see (by the finenesse and delicacy of their diet, liuing into the far capons, drinking your rich wines, feeding on larkes, sparrowes, potato-pies, and such good vnctuous meats) how their wits are refin'd, and rarefi'd! and sometimes a very quintessence of conceit flowes from 'hem, able to drowne a weake apprehension.

Peace, here comes the lady.

Gods me, here's company: turne in againe.

Slight, our presence has cut off the conuoy of the iest.

All the better; I am glad on't: for the issue was very perspicu­ous Come, let's discouer, and salute the knight.

Stay: who be these that addresse themselues towards vs? what, CARLO? now, by the sincerity of my soule, welcome; welcome gentle­men: and how doest thou, thou grand scourge; or, second vntrusse of the rime?

Faith, spending my mettall, in this reeling world (here and there) as the sway of my affection carries me, and perhaps stumble vpon a yeoman pheuterer, as I doe now; or one of Fortunes moiles, laden with [Page 107] treasure, and an empty cloke-bagge following him, gaping when a bagge will vntie.

Peace, you, ban-dogge, peace: what briske Nimfadoro is that in the white virgin boot there?

Mary, sir, one, that I must entreat you take a very particular knowledge of, and with more then ordinary respect: Monsieur FASTI­DIVS.

Sir, I could wish that for the time of your vouchsaft abiding here, and more reall entertainment, this my house stood on the Muses hill; and these my orchards were those of the Hesperide's.

I possesse as much in your wish, sir, as if I were made lord of the Indies; and I pray you, beleeue it.

I haue a better opinion of his faith, then to thinke it will be so corrupted.

Come, brother, I'le bring you acquainted with gentlemen, and good fellowes, such as shall doe you more grace, then—

Husht: my brother, sir, for want of education, sir, somewhat nodding to the boore, the clowne: but I request you in priuate, sir.

By heauen, it's a very fine sute of clothes!

I mar'le what it might stand him in!

Nephew?

'Fore mee, it's an excellent sute, and as neatly becomes him. What said you, vncle?

When saw you my neece?

Mary, yester-night I supt there. That kinde of boot does very rare too!

And what newes heare you?

The guilt spurre and all! would I were hang'd, but 'tis exceeding good. Say you, vncle?

Your minde is carried away with somewhat else: I aske what newes you heare?

Troth, we heare none. In good faith, I was neuer so pleas'd with a fashion, daies of my life! O (and I might haue but my wish) I'ld aske no more of god now, but such a suit, such a hat, such a band, such a doublet, such a hose, such a boot, and such a—

They say, there's a new Motion of the city of Niniueh, with [Page 108] IONAS, and the whale, to be seene at Fleet-bridge? you can tell, cousin?

Here's such a world of question with him, now: Yes, I thinke there be such a thing, I saw the picture: would he would once be satisfi'd. Let me see, the doublet, say fifty shillings the doublet, and betweene three or foure pound the hose; then bootes, hat, and band: some ten or eleuen pound would doe it all, and suit me for the heauens.

I'le see all those deuices, and I come to London once.

Gods s'lid, and I could compasse it, 'twere rare: harke you, vncle.

What saies my nephew?

Faith vncle, I'ld ha' desir'd you to haue made a motion for me to my father in a thing, that—walke aside and I'le tell you, sir, no more but this: there's a parcell of law—bookes, (some twenty pounds worth) that lie in a place for little more then halfe the money they cost; and I thinke for some twelue pound, or twenty marke, I could goe neere to redeeme 'hem; there's PLOWDEN, DIAR, BROOKE, and FITZ-HERBERT, di­uers such, as I must haue ere long: and you know, I were as good saue fiue or sixe pound as not, vncle. I pray you, moue it forme.

That I will: when would you haue me doe it? presently?

O, I, I pray you, good vncle: God send mee good luck; Lord (and [...]t be thy will) prosper it: O, my starres, now, now, if it take now, I am made foreuer.

Shall I tell you, sir? by this aire, I am the most beholding to that lord, of any gentleman liuing; hee does vse mee the most honorably, and with the greatest respect, more indeed, then can be vtter'd with any opini­on of truth.

Then, haue you the count GRATIATO?

As true nobles gentleman too, as any breathes; I am excee­dingly endear'd to his loue: by this hand (I protest to you, signior, I speake it not gloriously, nor out of affectation, but) there's hee, and the count FRVGALE, signior ILLVSTRE, signior LVCVLENTO, and a sort of 'hem; that (when I am at court) they doe share me amongst 'hem. Happy is he can enioy me most priuate. I doe wish my selfe sometime an vbiquitarie for their loue, in good faith.

There's ne're a one of these, but might lie a weeke on the rack, ere they could bring forth his name; and yet he powres them out as fami­liarly, as if he had scene 'hem stand by the fire i' the presence, or ta [...]ne ta­bacco with them, ouer the stage, i' the lords roome.

Then you must of necessity know our court-starre there? that planet of wit, MADDONA SAVIOLINA?

O, lord sir! my mistris.

Is shee your mistris?

Faith, here be some slight fauours of hers, sir, that doe speake it, shee is: as this scarfe, sir, or this ribb and in mine eare, or so; this feather grew in her sweet sanne sometimes, though now it be my poore fortunes to weare it, as you see, sir: flight, flight, a foolish toy.

Well, shee is the lady of a most exalted, and ingenious spirit.

Did you euer heare any woman speake like her? or enricht with a more plentifull discourse?

O, villanous! nothing but sound, sound, a meere eccho; shee speakes as shee goes tir'd, in cob-web lawne, light, thin: good enough to catch flies withall.

O, manage your affections.

Well, if thou beest not plagu'd for this blasphemie, one day—

Come, regard not a iester: it is in the power of my purse, to make him speake well, or ill, of me.

Sir, I affirme it to you (vpon my credit, and iudgement) shee has the most harmonious, and musicall straine of wit, that euer tempted a true eare; and yet to see, a rude tongue would profine heauen, if it could.

I am not ignorant of it, sir.

Oh, it flowes from her like nectar, and shee doth giue it, that sweet, quick grace, and exornation in the composure, that (by this good aire, as I am an honest man, would I might neuer stirre, sir, but) shee does obserue as pure a phrase, and vse as choise figures in her ordinary confe­rences, as any be i' the Arcadia.

Or rather in Greenes workes, whence she may steale with more security.

Well, if ten pound will fetch 'hem, you shall haue it, but I'le part with no more.

I'le trie what that will doe, if you please.

Doe so: and when you haue 'hem, studie hard.

Yes, sir. And I could studie to get forty shillings more now! well, I will put my selfe into the fashion, as farre as this will goe presently.

I wonder it raines not! the Almanack saies wee should haue store of raine, today.

Why, sir, to morrow I will associate you to court my selfe; and from thence to the city, about a businesse, a proiect I haue, I will ex­pose it to you, sir: CARLO, I am sure, has heard of it.

What's that, sir?

I doe intend, this yeere of Iubile, comming on, to trauaile: and (because I will not altogether goe vpon expence) I am determined to put forth some fiue thousand pound, to be paid me, fiue for one, vpon the re­turne of my selfe, my wife, and my dog, from the Turkes court in Constan­tinople. If all, or either of vs miscarry in the iourney, 'tis gone: if we be successefull, why, there will be fiue and twenty thousand pound, to enter­taine time withall. Nay, goe not neighbour SORDIDO, stay to night, and helpe to make our societie the fuller. Gentlemen, frolick: CARLO? what? dull now?

I was thinking on your proiect, sir, and you call it so: is this the dog goes with you?

This is the dogge, sir.

He do' not goe bare-foot, does he?

Away, you traitor, away.

Nay, afore god, I speake simply; he may pricke his foot with a thorne, and be as much as the whole venter is worth. Besides, for a dog that neuer trauail'd before, it's a large iourney to Constantinople: I'le tell you now (and he were mine) I'ld haue some present conference with a physicion, what antidotes were good to giue him, preseruatiues against poison: for (assure you) if once your money be out, there'll be diuers at­tempts made against the life of the poore animal.

Thou art still dangerous.

Is signior DELIROS wife your kinswoman?

I, sir, shee is my neece, my brothers daughter here, and my ne­phewes sister.

Doe you know her, sir?

O, God sir, Signior DELIRO, her husband, is my marchant.

I, I haue seene this gentleman there, often.

I crie you mercy, sir: let me craue your name, pray you.

FVNGOSO, sir.

Good signior FVNGOSO, I shall request to know you bet­ter, sir.

I am her brother, sir.

In faire time, sir.

Come, gentlemen, I will be your conduct.

Nay, pray you, sir; we shall meet at signior DELIRO'S often.

You shall ha' me at the Heralds office, sir, for some weeke or so, at my first comming vp. Come, CARLO.

Act II. Scene IIII.

Act II. Scene V.

SAue you brother, and sister, saue you, sir; I haue commendations for you out ī the countrey: (I wonder they take no knowledge of my sute:) mine vncle SOCLIARDO is in towne. Sister, me thinkes, you are melancholy: why are you so sad? I thinke you tooke me for ma­ster FASTIDIVS BRISLE (sister) did you not.

Why should I take you for him?

Nay, nothing—I was lately in master FASTIDIVS his compa­ny, and, me thinkes, we are very like.

You haue a faire sute, brother, 'giue you ioy on't.

Faith, good ynough to ride in, brother, I made it to ride in.

O, now I see the cause of his idle demand, was his new suit.

Pray you good brother, trie, if you can change her mood.

I warrant you, let mee alone. I'le put her out of her dumps. Sister, how like you my suit?

O, you are a gallant in print now, brother.

Faith, how like you the fashion? it's the last edition, I assure you.

I cannot but like it, to the desert.

Troth, sister, I was faine to borrow these spurres, I ha' le [...]t my gowne in gage for'hem, pray you lend me an angell.

Now, beshrow my heart, then.

Good truth, I'le pay you againe at my next exhibition: I had but bare ten pound of my father, and it would not reach to put me whol­ly into the fashion.

I care not.

I had spurres of mine owne before, but they were not ginglers. Monsieur FASTIDIVS will be here anon, sister.

You iest?

Neuer lend me penny more (while you line then) and that I'ld be loth to say, in truth.

When did you see him?

Yesterday, I came acquainted with him at sir PVNTARVO­LO'S: nay, sweet sister.

Act II. Scene VI.

SAue you, signior DELIRO: how do'st thou, sweet lady? Let mee kisse thee.

How? a new sute? Ayme.

And how do's master FASTIDIVS BRISKE?

Faith, liue in court, signior DELIRO; in grace, I thanke god, both of the noble masculine, and feminine. I must speake with you in priuate, by and by.

When you please, sir.

Why looke you so pale, brother?

S'lid, all this money is cast away, now.

I, there's a newer edition come forth.

Tis but my hard fortune! well, I'le haue my sute chang'd, I'le goe fetch my taylor presently, but first I'le deuise a letter to my father. Ha' you any pen, and inke, sister?

What would you doe withall?

I would vse it. S'light, and it had come but foure daies sooner, the fashion.

There was a countesse gaue me her hand to kisse to day, i' the presence: did me more good by that light, then—and yesternight sent her coach twise to my lodging, to intreat mee accompany her, and my sweet mistris, with some two, or three namelesse ladies more: O, I haue beene grac't by 'hem beyond all aime of affection: this 's her garter my dagger hangs in: and they doe so commend, and approue my apparell, with my iudicious wearing of it, it 's aboue wonder.

Indeed sir, 'tis a most excellent sute, and you doe weare it as ex­traordinary.

Why, I'le tell you now (in good faith) and by this chaire, which (by the grace of god) I intend presently to sit in, I had three sutes in one [Page 117] yeere, made three great ladies in loue with me: I had other three, vn-did three gentlemen in imitation: and other three, gat three other gentlemen widdowes of three thousand pound a yeere.

Is't possible?

O, beleeue it, sir; your good face is the witch, and your ap­parell the spells, that bring all the pleasures of the world into their circle.

Ah, the sweet grace of a courtier!

Well, would my father had left mee but a good face for my portion yet; though I had shar'd the vnfortunate wit that goes with it, I had not car'd: I might haue past for somewhat i' the world then.

Why, assure you, signior, rich apparell has strange vertues: it makes him that hath it without meanes, esteemed for an excellent wit: he that enioyes it with means, puts the world in remembrance of his means: it helps the deformities of nature, and giues lustre to her beauties; makes continuall holy-day where it shines; sets the wits of ladies at worke, that otherwise would be idle: furnisheth your two-shilling ordinarie; takes possession of your stage at your new play; and enricheth your oares, as scorning to goe with your scull.

Pray you, sir, adde this; it giues respect to your fooles, makes many theeues, as many strumpets, and no fewer bankrupts.

Out, out, vnworthy to speake, where he breatheth.

What's he, signior?

A friend of mine, sir.

By heauen, I wonder at you, citizens, what kinde of creatures you are!

Why, sir?

That you can consort your selues, with such poore seame-rent fellowes.

He saies true.

Sir, I will assure you (how euer you esteeme of him) he's a man worthy of regard.

Why? what has he in him, of such vertue to be regarded? ha?

Mary, he is a scholler, sir.

Nothing else?

And he is well trauail'd.

He should get him clothes; I would cherish those good parts of trauaile in him, and preferre him to some nobleman of good place.

Sir, such a benefit should bind me to you for euer (in my friends right) and, I doubt not, but his desert shall more then answere my praise.

Why, and he had good clothes, I'ld carry him to court with me to morrow.

He shall not want for those, sir, if gold and the whole city will furnish him.

You say well, sir: faith, signior DELIRO, I am come to haue [Page 118] you play the Alchymist with me, and change the species of my land, into that mettall you talke of.

With all my heart, sir, what summe will serue you?

Faith, some three, or foure hundred.

Troth, sir, I haue promist to meet a gentleman this morning, in Par [...]les, but vpon my returne I'le dispatch you.

I'le accompany you thither.

As you please, sir; but I goe not thither directly.

'Tis no matter, I haue no other designement in hand, and therefore as good goe along.

I were as good haue a quartane feauer follow me now, for I shall ne're bee rid of him: (being mee a cloke there, one) Still, vpon his grace at court, am I sure to bee visited; I was a beast to giue him any hope. Well, would I were in, that I am out with him, once, and— Come, signior MACILENTE, I must conferre with you, as wee goe. Nay, deare wife, I beseech thee, forsake these moods: looke not like winter thus. Here, take my keyes, open my counting houses, spread all my wealth before thee, choose any obiect that delights thee: If thou wilt eate the spirit of gold, and drinke dissolu'd pearle in wine, 'tis for thee.

So, sir.

Nay, my sweet wife.

Good lord! how you are perfum'd! in your termes, and al! pray you leaue vs.

Come, gentlemen.

Adiew, sweet lady.

I, I! Let thy words euer sound in mine eares, and thy graces disperse contentment through all my senses! O, how happy is that lady aboue other ladies, that enioyes so absolute a gentleman to her seruant! A countesse giue him her hand to kisse? ah, foolish countesse! hee's a man worthy (if a woman may speake of a mans worth) to kisse the lips of an empresse.

What's master FASTIDIVS gone, sister?

I, brother (he has a face like a Cherubin!)

Gods me, what lucke's this? I haue fetcht my taylor and all: which way went he, sister? can you tell?

Not I, in good faith (and he has a body like an angell!)

How long is't since he went?

Why, but e'en now: did you not meet him? (and a tongue able to rauish any woman i' the earth!)

O, for gods sake (I'le please you for your paines:) but e'en now, say you? Come, good, sir: S'lid, I had forgot it too: Sister, if any body aske for mine vncle SOGLIARDO, they shall ha' him at the Heralds office, yonder by Paules.

Well, I will not altogether despaire: I haue heard of a citizens wife, has beene belou'd of a courtier; and why not I? heigh, ho: well, I [Page 119] will into my priuate chamber, locke the dore to mee, and thinke ouer all his good parts, one after another.

Scene I.

THis is rare, I haue set vp my bills, without discouery.

What? Signior WHI [...]E? what fortune has brought you into these west parts?

Troth, signior, nothing but your rheume; I haue beene ta­king an ounce of tabacco hard by here, with a gentleman, and I am come to spit priuate, in Pau [...]es. Saue you sir.

Adieu, good signior WHI [...]E.

Master APPLE IOHN? you are well met: when shall we [...]up together; and laugh, and be fat with those good wenches? ha?

Faith, sir, I must now leaue you, vpon a few humours, and occasions: but when you please, sir.

Farewell, sweet APPLE IOHN: I wonder, there are no more store of gallants here!

Same you, good master CLOVE.

Sweet master ORANGE.

Doe you heare this reported, for certainty?

O god, sir.

Act III. Scene II.

SIrrah, take my cloke: and you sir knaue, follow mee closer. If thou losest my dogge, thou shalt die a dogs death; I will hang thee.

Tut, feare him not, hee's a good leane slaue, he loues a dog well, I warrant him; I see by his lookes, I: masse hee's somwhat like him. Slud poison him, make him away with a crooked pinne, or somewhat, men; thou maist haue more security of thy life: and so sir, what? you ha' not put out your whole venter yet? ha' you?

No, I doe want yet some fifteene, or sixteene hundred pounds: but my lady (my wife) is out of her humour; shee does not now goe.

No? how then?

Mary, I am now enforc't to giue it out, vpon the returne of my selfe, my dogge, and my cat.

Your cat? where is shee?

My squire has her there, in the bag: Sirrah, looke to her: How lik'st thou my change, CARLO?

Oh, for the better, sir; your cat has nine lines, and your wife ha' but one.

Besides, shee will neuer bee sea-sicke, which will saue mee so much in conserues: when saw you signior SOGLIARDO?

I came from him but now, he is at the Heralds office yonder: he requested me to goe afore, and take vp a man or two for him in Paules, against his cognisance was ready.

What? has he purchast armes, then?

I, and rare ones too: of as many colours, as e're you saw any [...]ooles co [...] in your life. I'le goe looke among youd [...] bille, and I can fit him with legs to his armes—

With legs to his armes! Good: I will goe with you, sir.

Act III. Scene III.

COme, let's walke in Mediterraneo: I assure you, sir, I am not the least respected among ladies; but let that passe: doe you know how to goe into the presence, sir?

Why, on my feet, sir.

No, on your head, sir: for 'tis that must beare you out, I assure you: as thus, sir. You must first haue an especial care so to weare your hat, that it oppresse not confusedly this your predominant, or fore-top; be­cause (when you come at the presence dore) you may, with once or twice stroking vp your fore-head thus, enter, with your predominant perfect: that is, standing vp stiffe.

As if one were frighted?

I, sir.

Which indeed, a true feare of your mistris should doe, rather than gumme water, or whites of egges: is't not so, sir?

An ingenious obseruation: giue mee leaue to craue your name, Sir.

His name is, MACILENTE, sir.

Good signior MACILENTE: if this gentleman, signior DE­LIRO, furnish you (as he saies he will) with clothes, I will bring you, to morrow by this time, into the presence of the most diuine, and acute lady in court: you shall see sweet silent rhetorique, and dumbe eloquence spea­king in her eye; but when shee speakes her selfe, such an anatomie of wit, so sinewiz'd and arteriz'd, that 'tis the goodliest modell of pleasure that e­uer was to behold. Oh! shee strikes the world into admiration of her; (ô, ô, ô) I cannot expresse 'hem, beleuue me.

O, your onely admiration, is your silence, sir.

'Fore god, CARLO, this is good; let's reade 'hem againe. ‘If there be any lady, or gentlewoman of good carriage, that is desi­rous to entertaine (to her priuate vses) a yong, straight, and vpright gentleman, of the age of fiue, or sixe and twenty at the most: who can serue in the nature of a gentleman vsher, and hath little legges of purpose, and a blacke satten fute of his owne, to goe before her in: which fute (for the more sweetning) now lies in lauander: and can hide his face with her fanne, if neede require: or sit in the cold at the staire foot for her, as well as another gentleman: Let her sub­scribe her name and place, and diligent respect shall be giuen.’ This is above measure exellent! ha?

No, this, this! here's a fine slaue.

‘IF this city, or the suburbs of the same, doe affoord any yong gentleman, of the first, second, or third head, more or lesse, whose friends are but lately deceased, and whose lands are but new come to his hands, that (to bee as exactly qualified as the best of our ordinary gallants are) is affected to entertaine the most gentlemanlike vse of tabacco: as first, to giue it the most exquisite perfume; then, to know all the delicate sweet formes for the assumption of it: as also the rare corollarie, and practice of the Cuban ebolition, EV­RIPVS, and whiffe; which hee shall receiue, or take in, here at London, and euaporate at Vxbridge, or farder, if it please him. If there be any such generous spirit, that is truly enamour'd of these good faculties: May it please him, but (by a note of his hand) to spe­cifie [Page 123] the place, or ordinarie where hee vses to eate, and lie; and most sweet attendance, with tabacco, and pipes of the best sort, shall be ministred: STET QVAESO CANDIDE LECTOR.’

Why this is without paralell, this!

Well, I'le marke this fellow for SOGLIARDO'S vse presently.

Or rather, SOGLIARDO, for his vse,

Faith, either of 'hem will serue, they are both good properties: I'le designe the other a place too, that we may see him.

No better place, then the Mitre, that we may bee spectators with you, CARLO. Soft, behold, who enters here: Signior SOGLIARDO! saue you.

Act III. Scene IIII.

SAue you, good sir PVNTARVOLO; your dogge's in health, sir, I see: how now, CARLO?

Wee haue ta'ne simple paines, to choose you out fol­lowers here.

Come hither, signior.

Monsieur ORANGE, yond' gallants obserue vs; pr'y thee let's talke fustian a little, and gull 'hem: make 'hem beleeue vve are great schollers.

O lord, sir.

Nay, pr'y thee let's, beleeue me, you haue an excellent habit in discourse.

It pleases you to say so, sir.

By this church, you ha' la: nay, come, begin: ‘ARISTOTLE in his Daemonologia, approues SCALIGER for the best Nauigator in his time: and in his Hypercritiques, he reports him to be Heautontimorumenos:’ you vn­derstand the Greeke, sir?

O god, sir.

For societies sake he does. O, here be a couple of fine tame parrats.

Now, sir, vvhereas the Ingenuitie of the time, and the soules Synderisis are but Embrions in nature, added to the panch of Esquiline, and the Inter-vallum of the Zodiack, besides the Eclipticke line being opticke, and not mentall, but by the contemplatiue & theoricke part thereof, doth demon­strate to vs the vegetable circumference, and the ventositie of the Tropicks and whereas our intellectuall, or mincing capreall (according to the Metaphisicks) as you may reade in PLATO's Histriomastix—You conceiue me, sir?

O lord, sir.

Then comming to the pretty Animall, as Reason long since is fled to animalls, you know, or indeed for the more modellizing, or enamelling, [Page 124]or rather diamondizing of your subiect, you shall perceiue the Hipothesis, or Galaxia, (whereof the Meteors long since had their initiall inceptions and notions) to be meerely Pithagoricall, Mathematicall, and Aristocraticall— For looke you, sir, there is euer a kinde of concinnitie and species— Let vs turne to our former discourse, for they marke vs not.

Masse, yonder 's the knight PVNTARVOLO.

And my cousin SOGLIARDO, me thinkes.

I, and his familiar that baunts him, the deuill vvith a shi­ning face.

Let 'hem alone, obserue 'hem not.

Nay, I will haue him, I am resolute for that. By this parch­ment, gentlemen, I haue beene so toil'd among the Harrots yonder, you will not beleeue, they doe speake i' the strangest language, and giue a man the hardest termes for his money, that euer you knew.

But ha' you armes? ha' your armes?

Y faith, I thanke god, I can write my selfe gentlemen now, here's my pattent, it cost me thirtie pound, by this breath.

A very saire coat, well charg'd, and full of armorie.

Nay, it has as much varietie of colours in it, as you haue seene a cost haue, how like you the crest, sir?

I vnderstand it not well, what is't?

Mary, sir, it is your Bore without a head Rampant.

A Bore without a head, that's very rare!

I, and rampant too: troth, I commend the Heralds wi [...], hee has decyphered him well: A Swine without a head, without braine, wit, any thing indeed, ramping to gentilitie. You can blazon the rest, signior? can you not?

O, I, I haue it in writing here of purpose, it cost me two shil­lings the tricking.

Let's heare, let's heare.

It is the most vile, foolish, absurd, palpable, & ridiculous escut­cheon, that euer this eye survis'd. Saue you, good monsieur FASTIDIVS.

Silence, good knight: on, on.

GVRONY, of eight peeces; AZVRE and GVLES, betweene three plates; a CHEV'RON, [...]grailed checkey, OR, VERT, and ERMINES; on a cheefe ARGENT betweene two ANN'LETS, sables; a Bores head, PROPER.

How's that? on a cheefe ARGENT?

On a cheefe ARGENT, a Bores head, PROPER betweene two ANN'LETS sables.

S'lud, it's a Hogs-cheeke, and puddings in a pewter field this.

How like you 'hem, signior?

Let the word bee, Not without mustard; your crest is very rare, sir.

A frying pan to the crest had had no fellow.

Intreat your poore friend to walke off a little, signior, I will salute the knight.

Come, lap't vp, lap't vp.

You are right well encountred, sir, how do's your saire dog?

In reasonable state, sir: what citizen is that you were consor­ted with? a marchant of any worth?

'Tis signior DELIRO, sir.

Is it he? Saue you, sir.

Good sir PVNTARVOLO.

O, what copie of foole would this place minister, to one en­dew'd with patience, to obserue it?

Nay, looke you sir, now you are gentleman, you must carry a more exalted presence, change your mood, and habit, to a more a [...]stere forme, be exceeding proud, stand vpon your gentilitie, and scorne euery man. Speake nothing humbly, neuer discourse vnder a nobleman, though you ne're saw him butriding to the Starre-chamber, it's all one. Loue no man. Trust no man. Speake ill of no man to his face: nor well of any man behind his backe. Salute fairely on the front, and wish 'hem hang'd vpon the turne. Spread your selfe vpon his bosome publikely, whose heart you would ca [...]e in priuate. These be principles, thinke on 'hem, I'le come to you againe presently.

Sirra, keepe close; yet not so close: thy breath will thawmy ruffe.

O, good cousin, I am a little busie, how do's my neece? I am to walke with a knight, here.

Act III. Scene V.

O He is here, looke you sir, that's the gentleman.

What, he i'the blush-colour'd sattin?

I, he sir: though his sute blush, hee blushes not, looke you, that's the sute, sir: I would haue mine, such a sute without difference, such stuffe, such a wing, such a sleeue, such a skirt, belly, and all; there­fore, pray you obserue it. Haue you a paire of tables?

Why, doe you see, sir? they say I am phantasticall: why, true, I know it, and I pursue my humour still, in contempt of this censorious age. S'light, and a man should doe nothing, but what a sort of stale iudge­ments about this towne will approue in him, he were a sweet asse: I'ld beg him yfaith. I ne're knew any more find fault with a fashion, then they that knew not how to put themselues in to't. For mine owne part, so I please mine owne appetite, I am carelesse what the fustie world speakes of me. Puh.

Doe you marke, how it hangs at the knee there?

I warrant you, sir.

For gods sake, doe, note all: doe you see the collar, sir?

Feare nothing, it shall not differ in a stitch, sir.

Pray heau'n, it doe not, you'le make these linings serue? and helpe me to a chapman for the out-side, will you?

I'le doe my best, sir: you'le put it off presently?

I, goe with mee to my chamber, you shall haue it—but make haste of it, for the loue of a customer, for I'le fit i'my old sute, or else lie a bed, and reade the Arcadia, till you haue done.

O, if euer you were strucke with a iest, gallants, now, now. I doe vsher the most strange peece of militarie profession, that euer was dis­couer'd in Insula Paulina.

Where? where?

What is he, for a creature?

A pimpe, a pimpe, that I haue obseru'd yonder, the rarest su­perficies of a humour; hee comes euery morning to emptie his hangs in Paules here: and offers vp some fiue, or sixe Hecatomb's of faces, and sighes, and away againe. Here he comes; nay, walke, walke, be not seene to note him, and we shall haue excellent sport.

Act III. Scene VI.

S'Lid, hee vented a sigh [...]'ne now, I thought he would haue blowne vp the church.

O, you shall haue him giue a number of those false fires ere hee depart.

See, now he is expostulating with his rapier! looke, looke.

Did you euer, in your daies, obserue better passion ouer a hilt?

Except it were in the person of a cutlers boy, or that the fel­low were nothing but vapour, I should thinke it impossible.

See, againe, he claps his sword o'the head, as who should say, well, goe to.

O violence! I wonder the blade can containe it selfe, being so prouokt.

Troth, and you be good gentlemen let's make 'hem friends, and take vp the matter, betweene his rapier, and him.

Nay, if you intend that, you must lay downe the matter, for this rapier (it seemes) is in the nature a hanger on, and the good gentle­man would happily be rid of him.

By my faith, and 'tis to be suspected, I'le aske him.

Signior.

At your seruice.

Will you sell your rapier?

Sbloud, he is turn'd wild vpon the question, hee lookes as hee had seene a serjeant.

Sell my rapier? now fate blesse me.

Amen.

You ask't me, if I would sell my rapier, sir?

I did indeed.

Now, lord haue mercy vpon me.

Amen, I say still.

S'lud sir, what should you behold in my face, sir, that should moue you (as they say, sir) to aske me, sir, if I would sell my rapier?

Nay (let me pray you, sir) bee not mou'd: I protest, I would rather haue beene silent, then any way offensiue, had I knowne your nature.

Sell my rapier? 'ods lid! Nay, sir (for mine owne part) as I am a man that has seru'd in causes, or so, so I am not apt to injure any gentle­man in the degree of falling foule, but (sell my rapier?) I will tell you sir, I haue seru'd with this foolish rapier, where some of vs dare not appeare in haste, I name no man: but let that passe. (Sell my rapier?) death to my lungs. This rapier, sir, has trauail'd by my side, sir, the best part of France and the low Countrey: I haue seene V [...]ishing Brill, and the H [...]ghe, with this rapier, sir, in my lord of Leysters time: and (by gods will) he that should offer to disrapier me now, I would— Looke you sir, you presume to be a gentleman of sort, and so likewise your friends here, if you haue any dis­position to trauell, for the sight of seruice, or so, one, two, or all of you, I can lend you letters to di [...]ers officers and commanders in the low Coun­tries, that shall for my cause doe you all the good offices, that shall pertaine or belong to gentlemen of your— Please you to shew the bountie of your minde, sir, to impart some ten groates, or halfe a crowne to our vse, till our abilitie be of grow'th to returne it, and we shall thinke our selfe— Sbloud! sell my rapier?

I pray you, what said he, signior, hee's a proper man.

Mary, he tells me, if I please to shew the bountie of my mind, to impart some ten groats to his vse, or so.

Breake his head, and giue it him.

I thought he had beene playing o' the Iewes trump, I.

My rapier? no sir: my rapier is my guard, my defence, my re­uenew, my honour: (if you cannot impart, be secret, I beseech you) and I will maintaine it, where there is a graine of dust, or a drop of water. [Page 128] (Hard is the choise when the valiant must eat their armes, or clem:) Sell my rapier? no, my deare, I will not bee diuorc't from thee, yet, I haue euer found thee true as steele—and (you cannot impart sir?) Saue you gen­tlemen: (neuerthelesse if you haue a fancie to it, sir.)

Pr'y thee away: is Signior DELIRO departed?

Ha'you seene a pimpe out-face his owne wants better?

I commend him, that can dissemble 'hem so well.

True, and hauing no better a cloke for it, then he has neither.

Gods precious, what mischieuous lucke is this! adiew gen­tlemen.

Whither? in such haste, Monsieur FASTIDIVS?

After my marchant, signior DELIRO, sir.

O hinder him not, hee may hap lose his tide, a good flounder i'faith.

Harke you, signior WHIFFE, a word with you.

How? signior WHIFFE?

What was the difference betweene that gallant that's gone, and you, sir.

No difference: he would ha'giu'n mee fiue pound for my ra­pier, and I refus'd it; that's all.

O, was't no otherwise? wee thought you had beene vpon some termes.

No other then you saw, sir.

Adieu, good Master APPLE-IOHN.

How? WHIFFE, and APPLE-IOHN too? Heart, what'll you say if this be the appendix, or labell to both youd' indentures?

It may be.

Resolue vs of it, IANVS, thou that look'st euery way: or thou HE [...]CVLES, that hast trauail'd all countries.

Nay, CARLO, spend not time in inuocations now, 'tis late.

Signior, here's a gentleman desirous of your name, sir.

Sir, my name is CAVALIER SHIFT: I am knowne sufficient­ly in this walke, sir.

SHIFT? I heard your name varied e'en now, as I take it.

True, sir, it pleases the world (as I am her excellent Tabbacco­nist) to giue me the stile of signior WHIFFE: as I am a poore esquire about the towne here, they call mee Master APPLE-IOHN. Varierie of good names does well, sir.

I, and good parts, to make those good names: out of which I imagine yond' bils to be yours.

Sir, if I should denie the manuscripts, I were worthie to be banisht the middle I'le, for euer.

I take your word, sir: this gentleman has subscrib'd to 'hem, and is most desirous to become your pupill. Mary you must vse expediti­on. Signior Insulso Sogliardo, this is the professor.

In good time, sir, nay, good sir, house your head, doe you pro­fesse those sleights in tabacco?

I, doe more then professe, sir, and (if you please to bee a pra­ctitioner) I wil vndertake in one fortnight to bring you, that you shal take it plausibly in any ordinarie, theatre, or the tilt-yard, if need be, i'the most popular assembly that is.

But you cannot bring him to the whiffe so soone?

Yes, as soone, sir, hee shall receiue the first, second, and third whiffe, if it please him, and (vpon the receit) take his horse, drinke his three cups of Canarie, and expose one at Hounslow, a second at Stanes, and a third at Bogshot.

Baw-waw!

You will not ser [...]e mee, sir, will you [...] I'le giue you more then countenance.

Pardon me, sir, I doe scorne to serue any man.

Who? he serue? Sbloud he keepes high men, and low men, he; he has a faire liuing at Fullam.

But in the nature of a fellow, I'le bee your follower, if you please.

Sir, you shall stay, and dine with mee, and if wee can agree, weele not part in haste: I am verie bountifull to men of qualitie. Where shall we goe, signior?

Your Miter is your best house.

I can make this dogge take as many whiffes as I list, and hee shall retaine, or efume them at my pleasure.

By your patience, follow me, fellowes.

Sir, PVNTARVOLO!

Pardon mee, my dogge shall not eate in his companie for a million.

Nay, bee not you amaz'd, signior WHIFFE, what e're that stiffeneckt gentleman say's.

No, for you doe not know the humour of the Dogge, as wee doe: where shall we dine, CARLO? I would faine goe to one of these or­dinaries, now I am a gentleman.

So you may, were you neuer at any yet?

No faith, but they say, there resorts your most choise gallants.

True, and the fashion is, when any stranger comes in among'st 'hem, they all stand vp and stare at him, as he were some vnknowne beast, brought out of Affrick, but that'll bee help't with a good aduenturous face, you must be impudent ynough, sit downe, and vse no respect; when any thing's propounded aboue your capacitie, smile at it, make two or three faces, and 'tis excellent, they 'le thinke you haue trauail'd: though you argue a whole day in silence thus, and discourse in nothing but laugh­ter, 'twill passe. Onely (now and then) giue fire, discharge a good full oth, and offer a great wager, 'twill be admirable.

I warrant you, I am resolute: come, good signior, there's a poore french crowne, for your ordinarie.

It comes well, for I had not so much as the least portcullice of come before.

Act III. Scene VII.

NAy, gods precious, if the weather and season bee so respectlesse, that beggers shall liue as well as their betters; and that my hun­ger, and thirst for riches, shall not make them hunger and thirst with pouertie; that my sleepes shall be brokes, and their hearts not bro­ken; that my coffers shall bee full, and yet care; theirs emptie, and yet merry! Tis time, that a crosse should beare flesh and bloud, since flesh and bloud cannot beare this crosse.

Tut, these star-monger knaues, who would trust 'hem? one saies, darke and rainy, when 'tis as cleere as christall; another saies, tempestuous blasts, and stormes, and 'twas as calme as a milke-bowle; here bee sweet rascals for a man to credit his whole fortunes with: You skie-staring cocks-combs you, you fat braines, out vpon you; you are good for no­thing [Page 131] but to sweat night-caps, and make rug-gownes deare! You lear­ned men, and haue not a legion of deuils, a vostre seruice! a vostre seruice! by heauen, I thinke I shall die a better scholler then they! but soft, how now, sirra.

Here's a letter come from your sonne, sir.

From my sonne, sir? what would my sonne, sir? some good newes, no doubt.

How's this? Yours, if his owne? is he not my sonne, except he be his owne sonne? Belike this is some new kinde of subscription the gallants vse. Wel, wherefore doest thou stay, knaue? Away: goe. Here's a letter indeede; ie [...]els? and beneuolence? is this a weather to send beneuolence? or is this a season to reuell in? Slid the deuil and all takes part to vexe me, I thinke! this letter would neuer haue come now else, now, now, when the sunne shines, and the aire thus cleere. Soule, if this hold, we shall shortly haue an excellent crop of corne spring out of the high waies: the streets, and houses of the towne will be hid with the ranknesse of the fruits, that grow therein spight of good husbandry. Goe to, I'le preuent the [...]ight of it, come as quickly as it can, I will preuent the sight of it. I haue this reme­die, heauen. Stay; I'le trie the paine thus a little, Ô, nothing, nothing. Well now, shall my sonne gaine a beneuolence by my death? or any body be the better for my gold, or so forth? No, aliue, I kept it from 'hem, and (dead) my ghost shall walke about it, and preserue it, my son and daugh­ter shall starue ere they touch it, I haue bid it as deep as hell from the sight of heauen, and to it I goe now.

Act III. Scene VIII.

AYe me, what pittifull sight is this! help, help, help.

How now? what's the matter?

O, here's a man has hang'd himselfe, helpe to get him againe.

Hang'd himselfe? Slid carry him afore a iustice, 'tis chance medley, o' my word.

How now, what's here to doe?

How comes this?

One has executed himselfe, contrary to order of law, and by my consent he shall answer't.

Would he were in case, to answere it.

Stand by, he recouers, giue him breath.

Oh.

Masse, 'twas well you vvent the foot-way, neighbour.

I, and I had not cut the halter.

How! cut the halter? Aye me, I am vndone, I am vndone.

Mary, if you had not beene vndone, you had beene hang'd, I can tell you.

You thred-bare horse-bread-eating rascals, if you vvould needes haue beene meddling, could you not haue vntied it, but you must out it? and in the midst too! Aye me.

Out on me, 'tis the catterpiller SORDIDO! how cursed are the poore, that the viper was blest, vvith this good fortune?

Nay, how accurst art thou, that art cause to the curse of the poore?

I, and to saue so wretched a caytife?

Curst be thy fingers that loos'd him.

Some desperate furie possesse thee, that thou maist hang thy selfe too.

Neuer maist thou be sau'd, that sau'd so damn'd a monster.

O miracle! see vvhen a man ha's grace!

Had't not beene pitty, so good a man should haue beene cast away?

Well, I'le get our clarke put his conuersion in the Acts, and Monuments.

Doe, for I warrant him hee's a Martyr.

O god, how he wept, if you mark't it! did you see how the teares trill'd?

Yes, beleeue me, like master vicars bowles vpon the greene, for all the world.

O neighbour, god's blessing o' your heart, neighbour, 'twas a good gratefull deed.

Act III. Scene IX.

WEll, now, signior MACILENTE, you are not onely welcome to the court but also to my mistris with­drawing chamber: Boy, get me some tabacco, I'le but goe in, and shew I am here, and come to you presently, sir.

I feare I haue made you stay somewhat long, sir, but is my ta­bacco readie, boy?

I, sir.

Giue me, my mistris is vpon comming, you shall see her pre­sently, sir,

you'le say you neuer accosted a more piercing wit. This [...]abacco is not dryed, boy, or else the pipe's defectiue. Oh, your wits of [Page 135] Italie are nothing comparable to her! her braine's a verie quiuer of iests! and she do's dart them abroad with that sweete loose, and iudiciall aime, that you would—here she comes sir.

'Twas time, his inuention had beene bogd else.

Giue me my fanne there.

How now, Monsieur BRISKE?

A kind of affectionate reuerence strikes mee with a cold shiue­ring (me thinkes.)

I like such tempers well, as stand before their mistresses with feare and trembling, and before their maker, like impudent mountaines.

By this hand, I'ld spend twentie pound my vauting-horse stood here now, she might see me doe but one tricke?

Why, do's she loue actiuitie?

Or if you had but your long stockings on, to be dancing a gal­liard, as she comes by.

I eyther. O, these stirring humours make ladies mad with de­sire [...] shee comes. My good GENIVS embolden me, boy, the pipe quickly.

What? will he giue her musicke?

A second good morrow to my faire mistresse.

Faire seruant, I'le thanke you a day hence, when the date of your salutation comes forth.