A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX

COM. SEN. Lingua, these be shrewd allegations, and, as I think, unanswerable. I will defer the judgment of your cause, till I have finished the contention of the Senses.

LIN. Your lordship must be obeyed. But as for them, most ungrateful and perfidious wretches-

COM. SEN. Good words become you better; you may depart, if you will, till we send for you. Anamnestes, run, remember Visus; 'tis time he were ready.

ANA. I go. [Exit ANAMNESTES et redit.] He stays here, expecting your lordship's pleasure.

SCAENA SEXTA.

A page carrying a scutcheon argent, charged with an eagle displayed proper: then VISUS, with a fan of peacock's feathers: next LUMEN, with a crown of bays and a shield with a bright sun in it, apparelled in tissue: then a page bearing a shield before COELUM, clad in azure taffeta, dimpled with stars, a crown of stars on his head, and a scarf resembling the zodiac overthwart the shoulders: next a page clad in green, with a terrestrial globe before TERRA, in a green velvet gown stuck with branches and flowers, a crown of turrets upon her head, in her hand a key: then a herald, leading in his hand COLOUR, clad in changeable silk, with a rainbow out of a cloud on her head: last, a boy. VISUS marshalleth his show about the stage, and presents it before the Bench.

VISUS, LUMEN, COELUM, PHANTASTES, COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORY.

VIS. Lo, here the objects that delight the sight!

The goodliest objects that man's heart can wish!

For all things, that the orb first movable

Wraps in the circuit of his large-stretch'd arms,

Are subject to the power of Visus' eyes.

That you may know what profit light doth bring,

Note Lumen's words, that speaks next following.

LUM. Light, the fair grandchild to the glorious sun,

Opening the casements of the rosy morn,

Makes the abashed heavens soon to shun

The ugly darkness it embrac'd beforn;[258]

And, at his first appearance, puts to flight

The utmost relics of the hell-born night.

This heavenly shield, soon as it is display'd,

Dismays the vices that abhor the light;

To wanderers by sea and land gives aid;

Conquers dismay, recomforteth affright;

Rouseth dull idleness, and starts soft sleep,

And all the world to daily labour keep.

This a true looking-glass impartial,

Where beauty's self herself doth beautify

With native hue, not artificial,

Discovering falsehood, opening verity:

The day's bright eye colours distinction,

Just judge of measure and proportion.

The only means by which each mortal eye

Sends messengers to the wide firmament,

That to the longing soul brings presently

High contemplation and deep wonderment;

By which aspirement she her wings displays,

And herself thither, whence she came, upraise.

PHA. What blue thing's that, that's dappled so with stars.

VIS. He represents the heaven.

PHA. In my conceit

'Twere pretty, if he thundered when he speaks.

VIS. Then none could understand him.

COEL. Tropic, colures, the equinoctial,

The zodiac, poles, and line ecliptical,

The nadir, zenith, and anomalies,

The azimuth and ephimerides,

Stars, orbs, and planets, with their motions,

The oriental regradations,

Eccentrics, epicyctes, and-and-and-

PHA. How now, Visus, is your heaven at a stay,

Or is it his motus trepidationis that makes him stammer?

I pray you, Memory, set him a-gate[259] again.

MEM. I remember, when Jupiter made Amphitryo cuckold, and lay with his wife Alcmena, Coelum was in this taking for three days space, and stood still just like him at a nonplus.

COM. SEN. Leave jesting; you'll put the fresh actor out of countenance.

COEL. Eccentrics, epicyctes, and aspects

In sextile, trine and quadrate, which effects

Wonders on earth: also the oblique part

Of signs, that make the day both long and short,

The constellations, rising cosmical,

Setting of stars, chronic, and heliacal,

In the horizon or meridional,

And all the skill in deep astronomy,

Is to the soul derived by the eye.

PHA. Visus, you have made Coelum a heavenly speech, past earthly capacity; it had been as good for him he had thundered. But I pray you, who taught him to speak and use no action? methinks it had been excellent to have turned round about in his speech.

VIS. He hath so many motions, he knows not which to begin withal.

PHA. Nay, rather it seems he's of Copernicus' opinion, and that makes him stand still.

[TERRA comes to the midst of the stage, stands still

a while, saith nothing, and steps back.

COM. SEN. Let's hear what Terra can say-just nothing?

VIS. And't like your lordship, 'twere an indecorum Terra should speak.

MEM. You are deceived; for I remember, when Phaeton ruled the sun (I shall never forget him, he was a very pretty youth), the Earth opened her mouth wide, and spoke a very good speech to Jupiter.

ANA. By the same token Nilus hid his head then, he could never find it since.

PHA. You know, Memory, that was an extreme hot day, and 'tis likely Terra sweat much, and so took cold presently after, that ever since she hath lost her voice.

HER. A canton ermine added to the field

Is a sure sign the man that bore these arms

Was to his prince as a defensive shield,

Saving him from the force of present harms[260].

PHA. I know this fellow of old, 'tis a herald: many a centaur, chimaera[261], barnacle[262], crocodile, hippopotame, and such like toys hath he stolen out of the shop of my Invention, to shape new coats for his upstart gentlemen. Either Africa must breed more monsters,[263] or you make fewer gentlemen, Master Herald, for you have spent all my devices already. But since you are here, let me ask you a question in your own profession: how comes it to pass that the victorious arms of England, quartered with the conquered coat of France, are not placed on the dexter side, but give the flower-de-luce the better hand?

HER. Because that the three lions are one coat made of two French dukedoms, Normandy and Aquitain.

[PHA.][264] But I pray you, Visus, what joy is that, that follows him?

VIS. 'Tis Colour, an object of mine, subject to his commandment.

PHA. Why speaks he not?

VIS. He is so bashful, he dares not speak for blushing:

What thing is that? tell me without delay.

BOY. That's nothing of itself, yet every way

As like a man as a thing like may be:

And yet so unlike as clean contrary,

For in one point it every way doth miss,

The right side of it a man's left side is;

'Tis lighter than a feather, and withal

It fills no place nor room, it is so small.

COM. SEN. How now, Visus, have you brought a boy with a riddle to pose us all?

PHA. Pose us all, and I here? That were a jest indeed. My lord, if he have a Sphinx, I have an Oedipus, assure yourself; let's hear it once again.

BOY. What thing is that, sir, &c.

PHA. This such a knotty enigma? Why, my lord, I think 'tis a woman, for first a woman is nothing of herself, and, again, she is likest a man of anything.

COM. SEN. But wherein is she unlike?

PHA. In everything: in peevishness, in folly. 'St, boy?

HEU. In pride, deceit, prating, lying, cogging, coyness, spite, hate, sir.

PHA. And in many more such vices. Now, he may well say, the left side a man's right side is, for a cross wife is always contrary to her husband, ever contradicting what he wisheth for, like to the verse in Martial, Velle tuum.

MEM. Velle tuum nolo, Dindyme, nolle volo.

PHA. Lighter than a feather-doth any man make question of that?

MEM. They need not, for I remember I saw a cardinal weigh them once, and the woman was found three grains lighter.

COM. SEN. 'Tis strange, for I have seen gentlewomen wear feathers oftentimes. Can they carry heavier things than themselves?

MEM. O, sir, I remember, 'tis their only delight to do so.

COM. SEN. But how apply you the last verse? it fills no place, sir.

PHA. By my faith, that spoils all the former, for these farthingales take up all the room now-a-days; 'tis not a woman, questionless. Shall I be put down with a riddle? Sirrah Heuresis, search the corners of your conceit, and find it me quickly.

HEU. Eh, [Greek: heureka, heureka] I have it: 'tis a man's face in a looking-glass.

PHA. My lord, 'tis so indeed. Sirrah let's see it, for do you see my right eye here?

COM. SEN. What of your eye?

PHA. O lord, sir, this kind of frown is excellent, especially when 'tis sweetened with such a pleasing smile.

COM. SEN. Phantastes!

PHA. O sir, my left eye is my right in the glass, do you see? By these lips, my garters hang so neatly, my gloves and shoes become my hands and feet so well. Heuresis, tie my shoe-strings with a new knot-this point was scarce well-trussed, so, 'tis excellent. Looking-glasses were a passing invention. I protest the fittest books for ladies to study on-

MEM. Take heed you fall not in love with yourself. Phantastes, as I remember-Anamnestes, who was't that died of the looking disease?

ANA. Forsooth, Narcissus: by the same token he was turned to a daffodil, and as he died for love of himself, so, if you remember, there was an old ill-favoured, precious-nosed, babber-lipped, beetle-browed, blear-eyed, slouch-eared slave that, looking himself by chance in a glass, died for pure hate.

PHA. By the lip of my -- I could live and die with this face.

COM. SEN. Fie, fie, Phantastes, so effeminate! for shame, leave off. Visus, your objects I must needs say, are admirable, if the house and instrument be answerable. Let's hear therefore in brief your description.

VIS. Under the forehead of Mount Cephalou,[265]

That overpeers the coast of Microcosm,

All in the shadow of two pleasant groves,

Stand by two mansion-houses, both as round

As the clear heavens: both twins, as like each other

As star to star, which by the vulgar sort,

For their resplendent composition,

Are named the bright eyes of Mount Cephalon:

With four fair rooms those lodgings are contrived,

Four goodly rooms in form most spherical,

Closing each other like the heavenly orbs:

The first whereof, of nature's substance wrought,

As a strange moat the other to defend,

Is trained movable by art divine,

Stirring the whole compacture of the rest:

The second chamber is most curiously

Compos'd of burnish'd and transparent horn.

PHA. That's a matter of nothing. I have known many have such bed-chambers.

MEM. It may be so, for I remember, being once in the town's library, I read such a thing in their great book of monuments, called "Cornucopia," or rather their "Copiacornu."

VIS. The third's a lesser room of purest glass;

The fourth's smallest, but passeth all the former

In worth of matter: built most sumptuously,

With walls transparent of pure crystalline.

This the soul's mirror and the body's guide,

Love's cabinet, bright beacons of the realm,

Casements of light, quiver of Cupid's shafts,

Wherein I sit, and immediately receive

The species of things corporeal,

Keeping continual watch and sentinel;

Lest foreign hurt invade our Microcosm,

And warning give (if pleasant things approach),

To entertain them. From this costly room

Leadeth, my lord, an entry to your house,

Through which I hourly to yourself convey

Matters of wisdom by experience bred:

Art's first invention, pleasant vision,

Deep contemplation, that attires the soul

In gorgeous robes of flowing literature:

Then, if that Visus have deserved best,

Let his victorious brow with crown be blest.

COM. SEN. Anamnestes, see who's to come next.

ANA. Presently, my lord.

PHA. Visus, I wonder that amongst all your objects, you presented us not with Plato's idea, or the sight of Nineveh,[266] Babylon, London, or some Stourbridge-fair monsters; they would have done passing well. Those motions, in my imagination, are very delightful.

VIS. I was loth to trouble your honours with such toys, neither could I provide them in so short a time.

COM. SEN. We will consider your worth; meanwhile, we dismiss you.

[VISUS leads his show about the stage, and so goeth out with it.

SCAENA ULTIMA.

AUDITUS, &c.

AUD. Hark, hark, hark, hark! peace, peace, O, peace! O sweet, admirable, swanlike, heavenly! hark, O most mellifluous strain! O, what a pleasant close was there! O fall[267] most delicate!

COM. SEN. How now, Phantastes! is Auditus mad?

PHA. Let him alone, his musical head is always full of old crotchets.

AUD. Did you mark the dainty driving of the last point, an excellent maintaining of the song; by the choice timpan of mine ear, I never heard a better! hist, 'st, 'st, hark! why, there's a cadence able to ravish the dullest stoic.

COM. SEN. I know not what to think on him.

AUD. There how sweetly the plain-song was dissolved into descant, and how easily they came off with the last rest. Hark, hark, the bitter'st[268] sweetest achromatic.

COM. SEN. Auditus!

AUD. Thanks, good Apollo, for this timely grace,

Never couldst thou in fitter hour indulge it:

O more than most musical harmony!

O most admirable concert! have you no ears?

Do you not hear this music?

PHA. It may be good; but, in my opinion, they rest too long in the beginning.

AUD. Are you then deaf? do you not yet perceive

The wondrous sound the heavenly orbs do make

With their continual motion? hark, hark,

O honey-sweet!

COM. SEN. What tune do they play?

AUD. Why such a tune as never was, nor ever shall be heard.

Mark now, now mark: now, now!

PHA. List, list, list.

AUD. Hark! O sweet, sweet, sweet.

PHA. List! how my heart envies my happy ears.

Hist, by the gold-strung harp of Apollo,

I hear the celestial music of the spheres,

As plainly as ever Pythagoras did.

O most excellent diapason! good, good.

It plays Fortune my foe,[269] as distinctly as may be.

COM. SEN. As the fool thinketh, so the bell clinketh. I protest I hear no more than a post.

PHA. What, the Lavolta![270] eh? nay, if the heavens fiddle, Fancy must needs dance.

COM. SEN. Prythee, sit still, thou must dance nothing but the passing measures[271]. Memory, do you hear this harmony of the spheres?

MEM. Not now, my lord; but I remember about some four thousand years ago, when the sky was first made, we heard very perfectly.

ANA. By the same token, the first tune the planets played, I remember Venus the treble ran sweet division upon Saturn the bass. The first tune they played was Sellenger's round[272], in memory whereof ever since it hath been called "the beginning of the world."

COM. SEN. How comes it we cannot hear it now?

MEM. Our ears are so well acquainted with the sound, that we never mark it. As I remember, the Egyptian Catadupes[273] never heard the roaring of the fall of Nilus, because the noise was so familiar unto them.

COM. SEN. Have you no other objects to judge by than these, Auditus?

AUD. This is the rarest and most exquisite:

Most spherical, divine, angelical;

But since your duller ears cannot perceive it,

May it please your lordship to withdraw yourself

Unto this neighbouring grove: there shall you see

How the sweet treble of the chirping birds,

And the soft stirring of the moved leaves,

Running delightful descant to the sound

Of the base murmuring of the bubbling brook[274],

Becomes a concert of good instruments;

While twenty babbling echoes round about,

Out of the stony concave of their mouths,

Restore the vanished music of each close,

And fill your ears full with redoubled pleasure.

COM. SEN. I will walk with you very willingly, for I grow weary of sitting. Come, Master Register and Master Phantastes.

[Exeunt OMNES.

ACTUS QUARTUS, SCAENA PRIMA.

MENDACIO, ANAMNESTES, HEURESIS.

MEN. Prythee, Nam, be persuaded: is't not better to go to a feast, than stay here for a fray?

ANA. A feast? dost think Auditus will make the judges a feast?

MEN. Faith, ay. Why should he carry them to his house else?

ANA. Why, sirrah, to hear a set or two of songs: 'slid, his banquets are nothing but fish, all sol, sol, sol.[275] I'll teach thee wit, boy; never go thee to a musician's house for junkets, unless thy stomach lies in thine ears; for there is nothing but commending this song's delicate air, that ode's dainty air, this sonnet's sweet air, that madrigal's melting air, this dirge's mournful air: this church air, that chamber air: French air, English air, Italian air. Why, lad, they be pure camelions; they feed only upon air.

MEN. Camelions? I'll be sworn some of your fiddlers be rather camels, for by their good wills they will never leave eating.

ANA. True, and good reason, for they do nothing all the day but stretch and grate their small guts. But, O, yonder's the ape Heuresis; let me go, I prythee.

MEN. Nay, good-now, stay a little, let's see his humour.

HEU. I see no reason to the contrary, for we see the quintessence of wine will convert water into wine; why therefore should not the elixir of gold turn lead into pure gold? [Soliloquises.]

MEN. Ha, ha, ha, ha! He is turned chemic, sirrah; it seems so by his talk.

HEU. But how shall I devise to blow the fire of beechcoals with a continual and equal blast? ha? I will have my bellows driven with a wheel, which wheel shall be a self-mover.

ANA. Here's old turning[276]; these chemics, seeking to turn lead into gold, turn away all their own silver.

HEU. And my wheel shall be geometrically proportioned into seven or nine concave encircled arms, wherein I will put equal poises: ay, ay; [Greek: heureka, heureka] I have it, I have it, I have it.

MEN. Heuresis!

HEU. But what's best to contain the quicksilver, ha?

ANA. Do you remember your promise, Heuresis?

HEU. It must not be iron; for quicksilver is the tyrant of metals, and will soon fret it.

ANA. Heuresis? Heuresis?

HEU. Nor brass, nor copper, nor mastlin[277], nor mineral: [Greek: heureka, heureka] I have it, I have it, it must be-

ANA. You have, indeed, sirrah, and thus much more than you looked for.

[Snap.

[HEURESIS and ANAMNESTES about to fight,

but MENDACIO parts them.

MEN. You shall not fight; but if you will always disagree, let us have words and no blows. Heuresis, what reason have you to fall out with him?

HEU. Because he is always abusing me, and takes the upper hand of me everywhere.

ANA. And why not, sirrah? I am thy better in any place.

HEU. Have I been the author of the seven liberal sciences, and consequently of all learning, have I been the patron of all mechanical devices, to be thy inferior? I tell thee, Anamnestes, thou hast not so much as a point, but thou art beholding to me for it.

ANA. Good, good; but what had your invention been, but for my remembrance? I can prove that thou, belly-sprung invention, art the most improfitable member in the world; for ever since thou wert born, thou hast been a bloody murderer; and thus I prove it: In the quiet years of Saturn (I remember Jupiter was then but in his swathe-bands), thou rentest the bowels of the earth, and broughtest gold to light, whose beauty, like Helen, set all the world by the ears. Then, upon that, thou foundest out iron, and puttest weapons in their hands, and now in the last populous age thou taughtest a scabshin friar the hellish invention of powder and guns.

HEU. Call'st it hellish? thou liest! It is the admirablest invention of all others, for whereas others imitate nature, this excels nature herself.

MEM. True; for a cannon will kill as many at one shot as thunder doth commonly at twenty.

ANA. Therefore more murdering art thou than the light-bolt[278].

HEU. But to show the strength of my conceit, I have found out a means to withstand the stroke of the most violent culverin. Mendacio, thou saw'st it, when I demonstrated the invention.

ANA. What, some woolpacks or mud walls, or such like?

HEU. Mendacio, I prythee tell it him, for I love not to be a trumpeter of mine own praises.

MEN. I must needs confess this device to pass all that ever I heard or saw, and thus it was-first he takes a falcon, and charges it (without all deceits) with dry powder well-camphired[279], then did he put in a single bullet, and a great quantity of drop-shot both round and lachrymal. This done, he sets me a boy sixty paces off, just point blank over against the mouth of the piece. Now in the very midst of the direct line he fastens a post, upon which he hangs me in a cord a siderite of Herculean stone[280].

ANA. Well, well, I know it well, it was found out in Ida, in the year of the world -- by one Magnes, whose name it retains, though vulgarly they call it the Adamant.

MEN. When he had hanged this adamant in a cord, he comes back, and gives fire to the touchhole: now the powder consumed to a void vacuum-

HEU. Which is intolerable in nature, for first shall the whole machine of the world, heaven, earth, sea, and air, return to the misshapen house of Chaos, than the least vacuum be found in the universe.

MEN. The bullet and drop-shot flew most impetuously from the fiery throat of the culverin; but, O, strange, no sooner came they near the adamant in the cord, but they were all arrested by the serjeant of nature, and hovered in the air round about it, till they had lost the force of their motion, clasping themselves close to the stone in most lovely manner, and not any one flew to endanger the mark; so much did they remember their duty to nature, that they forgot the errand they were sent of.

ANA. This is a very artificial lie.

MEN. Nam, believe it, for I saw it, and which is more, I have practised this device often. Once when I had a quarrel with one of my lady Veritas' naked knaves, and had 'ppointed him the field, I conveyed into the heart of my buckler an adamant, and when we met, I drew all the foins of his rapier, whithersoever he intended them, or howsoever I guided mine arm, pointed still to the midst of my buckler, so that by this means I hurt the knave mortally, and myself came away untouched, to the wonder of all the beholders.

ANA. Sirrah, you speak metaphorically, because thy wit, Mendacio, always draws men's objections to thy forethought excuses.

HEU. Anamnestes, 'tis true, and I have an addition to this, which is to make the bullet shot from the enemy to return immediately upon the gunner. But let all these pass, and say the worst thou canst against me.

ANA. I say, guns were found out for the quick despatch of mortality; and when thou sawest men grow wise, and beget so fair a child as Peace of so foul and deformed a mother as War, lest there should be no murder, thou devisedst poison.

MEN. Nay, fie, Nam, urge him not too far.

ANA. And last and worst, thou foundest out cookery, that kills more than weapons, guns, wars, or poisons, and would destroy all, but that thou invented'st physic, that helps to make away some.

HEU. But, sirrah, besides all this, I devised pillories for such forging villains as thyself.

ANA. Call'st me villain?

[They fight, and are parted by MENDACIO.

MEN. You shall not fight as long as I am here. Give over, I say.

HEU. Mendacio, you offer me great wrong to hold me: in good faith,

I shall fall out with you.

MEN. Away, away, away; you are Invention, are you not?

HEU. Yes, sir; what then?

MEN. And you Remembrance?

ANA. Well, sir, well?

MEN. Then I will be Judicium, the moderator betwixt you, and make you both friends; come, come, shake hands, shake hands.

HEU. Well, well, if you will needs have it so.

ANA. I am in some sort content.

[MENDACIO walks with them, holding them by the hands.

MEN. Why, this is as it should be; when Mendacio hath Invention on the one hand, and Remembrance on the other, as he'll be sure never to be found with truth in his mouth, so he scorns to be taken in a lie. Eh, eh, eh, my fine wags? Whist!

[COMMUNIS SENSUS and the rest are seen to approach.]

ANA. Whist!

HEU. Whist!

SCAENA SECUNDA.

COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORY, PHANTASTES, HEURESIS, ANAMNESTES, take their places on the bench as before, AUDITUS on the stage, a page before him, bearing his target, the field Sable, a heart Or; next him TRAGEDUS apparelled in black velvet, fair buskins, a falchion, &c.; then COMEDUS, in a light-coloured green taffeta robe, silk stockings, pumps, gloves, &c.

COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORY, PHANTASTES, HEURESIS, ANAMNESTES, &c.

COM. SEN. They had some reason that held the soul a harmony, for it is greatly delighted with music; how fast we were tied by the ears to the consort of Voice's power! but all is but a little pleasure; what profitable objects hath he?

PHA. Your ears will teach you presently, for now he is coming. That fellow in the bays, methinks I should have known him; O, 'tis Comedus, 'tis so; but he has become nowadays something humorous, and too-too satirical up and down, like his great grandfather Aristophanes.

ANA. These two, my lord, Comedus and Tragedus,

My fellows both, both twins, but so unlike,

As birth to death, wedding to funeral.

For this, that rears himself in buskins quaint,

Is pleasant at the first, proud in the midst,

Stately in all, and bitter death at end.

That in the pumps doth frown at first acquaintance,

Trouble in the midst, but in the end concludes,

Closing up all with a sweet catastrophe.

This grave and sad, distain'd with brinish tears;

That light and quick with wrinkled laughter[281] painted;

This deals with nobles, kings, and emperors,

Full of great fears, great hopes, great enterprises.

This other trades with men of mean condition:

His projects small, small hopes, and dangers little.

This gorgeous-broider'd with rich sentences:

That fair and purfled round with merriments.

Both vice detect and virtue beautify,

By being death's mirror, and life's looking-glass.

COM[282]. Salutem primum jam a principio propitiam.

Mihi atque vobis, spectatores, nuntio[283]-

PHA. Pish, pish, this is a speech with no action; let's hear Terence, Quid igitur faciam, &c.

COM. _Quid igitur faciam? non eam? ne nunc quidem,

Cum arcessor ultro?[284]

PHA. Fie, fie, fie, no more action! lend me your bays, do it thus-Quid igitur, &c. [He acts it after the old kind of pantomimic action.

COM. SEN. I should judge this action, Phantastes, most absurd, unless we should come to a comedy, as gentlewomen to the Commencement[285], only to see men speak.

PHA. In my imagination, 'tis excellent; for in this kind the hand, you know, is harbinger to the tongue, and provides the words a lodging in the ears of the auditors.

COM. SEN. Auditus, it is now time you make us acquainted with the quality of the house you keep in, for our better help in judgment.

AUD. Upon the sides of fair mount Cephalon

Have I two houses passing human skill:

Of finest matter by Dame Nature wrought,

Whose learned fingers have adorn'd the same

With gorgeous porches of so strange a form,

That they command the passengers to stay.

The doors whereof in hospitality

Nor day nor night are shut, but, open wide,

Gently invite all comers; whereupon

They are named the open ears of Cephalon.

But lest some bolder sound should boldly rush,

And break the nice composure of the work,

The skilful builder wisely hath enrang'd

An entry from each port with curious twines

And crook'd meanders, like the labyrinth

That Daedalus fram'd t'enclose the Minotaur;

At th'end whereof is plac'd a costly portal,

Resembling much the figure of a drum,

Granting slow entrance to a private closet.

Where daily, with a mallet in my hand,

I set and frame all words and sounds that come

Upon an anvil, and so make them fit

For the periwinkling porch[286], that winding leads

From my close chamber to your lordship's cell.

Thither do I, chief justice of all accents,

Psyche's next porter, Microcosm's front,

Learning's rich treasure, bring discipline,

Reason's discourse, knowledge of foreign states,

Loud fame of great heroes' virtuous deeds;

The marrow of grave speeches, and the flowers

Of quickest wits, neat jests, and pure conceits;

And oftentimes, to ease the heavy burthen

Of government your lordship's shoulders bear,

I thither do conduce the pleasing nuptials

Of sweetest instruments with heavenly noise.

If then Auditus have deserv'd the best,

Let him be dignified before the rest.

COM. SEN. Auditus, I am almost a sceptic in this matter, scarce knowing which way the balance of the cause will decline. When I have heard the rest, I will despatch judgment; meanwhile, you may depart.

[AUDITUS leads his show about the stage, and then goes out.

SCAENA TERTIA.

COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORIA, PHANTASTES, ANAMNESTES, HEURESIS, as before; OLFACTUS in a garment of several flowers, a page before him, bearing his target, his field Vert, a hound Argent, two boys with casting-bottles[287], and two censers with incense[288], another with a velvet cushion stuck with flowers, another with a basket of herbs, another with a box of ointment. OLFACTUS leads them about, and, making obeisance, presents them before the Bench.

1ST BOY. Your only way to make a good pomander[289] is this:-Take an ounce of the purest garden mould, cleansed and steeped seven days in change of motherless rosewater; then take the best ladanum, benzoine, both storaxes, ambergris, civet, and musk: incorporate them together, and work them into what form you please. This, if your breath be not too valiant, will make you smell as sweet as my lady's dog.

PHA. This boy, it should seem, represents Odour, he is so perfect a perfumer.

ODOUR. I do, my lord, and have at my command

The smell of flowers and odoriferous drugs,

Of ointments sweet and excellent perfumes,

And courtlike waters, which if once you smell,

You in your heart would wish, as I suppose,

That all your body were transform'd to nose.

PHA. Olfactus, of all the Senses, your objects have the worst luck; they are always jarring with their contraries; for none can wear civet, but they are suspected of a proper bad scent[290]; whence the proverb springs, He smelleth best, that doth of nothing smell.

SCAENA QUARTA.

The Bench and OLFACTUS, as before. TOBACCO, apparelled in a taffeta mantle, his arms brown and naked, buskins made of the peeling of osiers, his neck bare, hung with Indian leaves, his face brown, painted with blue stripes, in his nose swines' teeth, on his head a painted wicker crown with tobacco-pipes set in it, plumes of tobacco leaves, led by two Indian boys naked, with tapers in their hands, tobacco-boxes, and pipes lighted.

PHA. Foh, foh, what a smell is here! Is this one of your delightful objects?

OLF. It is your only scent in request, sir.

COM. SEN. What fiery fellow is that, which smokes so much in the mouth?

OLF. It is the great and puissant God of Tobacco.

TOB. Ladoch guevarroh pufuer shelvaro baggon,

Olfia di quanon, Indi cortilo vraggon.

PHA. Ha, ha, ha, ha! this, in my opinion, is the tongue of the

Antipodes.

MEM. No, I remember it very well, it was the language the Arcadians spake that lived long before the moon.

COM. SEN. What signifies it, Olfactus?

OLF. This is the mighty Emperor Tobacco, king of Trinidado, that, in being conquered, conquered all Europe, in making them pay tribute for their smoke.

TOB. Erfronge inglues conde hesingo,

Develin floscoth ma pu cocthingo.

OLF. Expeller of catarrhs, banisher of all agues, your guts' only salve for the green wounds of a non-plus.

TOB. All vulcam vercu, I parda pora si de gratam, ka famala mora, che

Bauho respartera, quirara.

OLF. Son to the god Vulcan and Tellus, kin to the father of mirth, called Bacchus.

TOB. Viscardonok, pillostuphe, pascano tinaromagas,

Pagi dagon stollisinfe, carocibato scribas.

OLF. Genius of all swaggerers, professed enemy to physicians, sweet ointment for sour teeth, firm knot of good fellowship, adamant of company, swift wind to spread the wings of time, hated of none but those that know him not, and of so great deserts that, whoso is acquainted with him can hardly forsake him.

PHA. It seems these last words were very significant. I promise you, a god of great denomination; he may be my Lord Tappes for his large titles[291].

COM. SEN. But forward, Olfactus, as they have done before you, with your description?

OLF. Just in the midst of Cephalon's round face,

As 'twere a frontispiece unto the hill,

Olfactus' lodging built in figure long,

Doubly disparted with two precious vaults,

The roofs whereof most richly are enclos'd

With orient pearls and sparkling diamonds

Beset at th'end with emerauds and turchis[292],

And rubies red and flaming chrysolites,

At upper end whereof, in costly manner,

I lay my head between two spongeous pillows,

Like fair Adonis 'twixt the paps of Venus,

Where I, conducting in and out the wind,

Daily examine all the air inspir'd

By my pure searching, if that it be pure,

And fit to serve the lungs with lively breath:

Hence do I likewise minister perfume[s]

Unto the neighbour brain-perfumes of force

To cleanse your head, and make your fancy bright,

To refine wit and sharp[293] invention,

And strengthen memory: from whence it came,

That old devotion incense did ordain

To make man's spirit more apt for things divine.

Besides a thousand more commodities,

In lieu whereof your lordships I request,

Give me the crown, if I deserve it best.

[OLFACTUS leads his company about the stage, and goes out.

SCAENA QUINTA.

The Bench as before. A page with a shield Argent, an ape proper with an apple; then GUSTUS with a cornucopia in his hand. BACCHUS in a garland of leaves and grapes, a white suit, and over it a thin sarcenet to his foot, in his hand a spear wreathed with vine leaves, on his arm a target with a tiger. CERES with a crown of ears of corn, in a yellow silk robe, a bunch of poppy in her hand, a scutcheon charged with a dragon.

COM. SEN. In good time, Gustus. Have you brought your objects?

GUS. My servant Appetitus followeth with them.

APP. Come, come, Bacchus, you are so fat; enter, enter.

PHA. Fie, fie, Gustus! this is a great indecorum to bring Bacchus alone; you should have made Thirst lead him by the hand.

GUS. Right, sir; but men nowadays drink often when they be not dry; besides, I could not get red herrings and dried neats' tongues enough to apparel him in.

COM. SEN. What, never a speech of him?

GUS. I put an octave of iambics in his mouth, and he hath drunk it down.

APP. Well done, muscadine and eggs stand hot. What, buttered claret? go thy way, thou hadst best; for blind men that cannot see how wickedly thou look'st-How now, what small, thin fellow are you here? ha?

BOY. Beer, forsooth: Beer, forsooth.

APP. Beer forsooth, get you gone to the buttery, till I call for you; you are none of Bacchus's attendants, I am sure; he cannot endure the smell of malt. Where's Ceres? O, well, well, is the march-pane broken? Ill luck, ill luck! Come hang't, never stand to set it together again. Serve out fruit there.

[Enter boys with a banquet, marmalade, sweets, &c.; deliver it round among the gentlewomen, and go out.]

What, do you come with roast-meat after apples? Away with it. Digestion, serve out cheese. What, but a pennyworth! It is just the measure of his nose that sold it! Lamb's wool, the meekest meat in the world; 'twill let any man fleece it. Snapdragon there!

MEM. O, I remember this dish well: it was first invented by Pluto, to entertain Proserpina withal.

PHA. I think not so, Memory; for when Hercules had killed the flaming dragon of Hesperia with the apples of that orchard, he made this fiery meat; in memory whereof he named it Snapdragon.

COM. SEN. Gustus, let's hear your description?

GUS. Near to the lowly base of Cephalon,

My house is plac'd not much unlike a cave:

Yet arch'd above by wondrous workmanship,

With hewen stones wrought smoother and more fine

Than jet or marble fair from Iceland brought.

Over the door directly doth incline

A fair percullis of compacture strong,

To shut out all that may annoy the state

Or health of Microcosm; and within

Is spread a long board like a pliant tongue,

At which I hourly sit, and trial take

Of meats and drinks needful and delectable:

Twice every day do I provision make

For the sumptuous kitchen of the commonwealth;

Which, once well-boil'd, is soon distributed

To all the members, well refreshing them

With good supply of strength-renewing food.

Should I neglect this nursing[294] diligence,

The body of the realm would ruinate;

Yourself, my lord, with all your policies

And wondrous wit, could not preserve yourself:

Nor you, Phantastes; nor you, Memory.

Psyche herself, were't not that I repair

Her crazy house with props of nourishment,

Would soon forsake us: for whose dearest sake

Many a grievous pain have I sustain'd

By bitter pills and sour purgations;

Which if I had not valiantly abiden,

She had been long ere this departed.

Since the whole Microcosm I maintain,

Let me, as Prince, above the Senses reign.

COM. SEN. The reasons you urge, Gustus, breed a new doubt, whether it be commodious or necessary, the resolution whereof I refer to your judgment, licensing you meanwhile to depart.

[GUSTUS leads his show about the stage, and goes out.

SCAENA SEXTA.

The Bench as before; TACTUS, a page before him

bearing his scutcheon, a tortoise Sable.

TAC. Ready anon, forsooth! the devil she will!

Who would be toil'd with wenches in a show?

COM. SEN. Why in such anger, Tactus? what's the matter?

TAC. My lord, I had thought, as other Senses did,

By sight of objects to have prov'd my worth;

Wherefore considering that, of all the things

That please me most, women are counted chief,

I had thought to have represented in my show

The queen of pleasure, Venus and her son,

Leading a gentleman enamoured

With his sweet touching of his mistress' lips,

And gentle griping of her tender hands,

And divers pleasant relishes of touch,

Yet all contained in the bounds of chastity.

PHA. Tactus, of all I long to see your objects;

How comes it we have lost those pretty sports?

TAC. Thus 'tis: five hours ago I set a dozen maids to attire a boy like a nice gentlewoman; but there is such doing with their looking-glasses, pinning, unpinning, setting, unsetting, formings and conformings; painting blue veins and cheeks; such stir with sticks and combs, cascanets, dressings, purls, falls, squares, busks, bodies, scarfs, necklaces, carcanets, rebatoes, borders, tires, fans, palisadoes, puffs, ruffs, cuffs, muffs, pusles, fusles, partlets, frislets, bandlets, fillets, crosslets, pendulets, amulets, annulets, bracelets, and so many lets, that yet she's scarce dressed to the girdle; and now there is such calling for fardingales, kirtles, busk-points, shoe-ties, &c., that seven pedlars' shops-nay, all Stourbridge fair, will scarce furnish her. A ship is sooner rigged by far, than a gentlewoman made ready.

PHA. 'Tis strange that women, being so mutable,

Will never change in changing their apparel.

COM. SEN. Well, let them pass; Tactus, we are content

To know your dignity by relation.

TAC. The instrument of instruments, the hand,

Courtesy's index, chamberlain to nature,

The body's soldier, and mouth's caterer,

Psyche's great secretary, the dumb's eloquence,

The blind man's candle, and his forehead's buckler,

The minister of wrath, and friendship's sign,

This is my instrument: nevertheless my power

Extends itself far as our queen commands,

Through all the parts and climes of Microcosm.

I am the root of life, spreading my virtue

By sinews, that extend from head to foot

To every living part.

For as a subtle spider, closely sitting

In centre of her web that spreadeth round,

If the least fly but touch the smallest thread,

She feels it instantly; so doth myself,

Casting my slender nerves and sundry nets

O'er every particle of all the body,

By proper skill perceive the difference

Of several qualities, hot, cold, moist, and dry;

Hard, soft, rough, smooth, clammy, and slippery:

Sweet pleasure and sharp pain profitable,

That makes us (wounded) seek for remedy.

By these means do I teach the body fly

From such bad things as may endanger it.

A wall of brass can be no more defence

Unto a town than I to Microcosm.

Tell me what Sense is not beholden to me?

The nose is hot or cold, the eyes do weep,

The ears do feel, the taste's a kind of touching:

Thus, when I please, I can command them all,

And make them tremble, when I threaten them.

I am the eldest and biggest of all the rest,

The chiefest note and first distinction

Betwixt a living tree and living beast;

For though one hear and see, and smell and taste,

If he wants touch, he is counted but a block.

Therefore, my lord, grant me the royalty;

Of whom there is such great necessity.

COM. SEN. Tactus, stand aside. You, sirrah Anamnestes, tell the Senses we expect their appearance.

ANA. At your lordship's pleasure.

[Exit ANAMNESTES.

SCAENA SEPTIMA.

COMMUNIS SENSUS, PHANTASTES, MEMORIA, HEURESIS, ANAMNESTES, _upon the Bench consulting among themselves. _VISUS, AUDITUS, TACTUS, GUSTUS, and OLFACTUS, every one with his shield upon his arm. LINGUA, and MENDACIO with them.

COM. SEN. Though you deserve no small punishment for these uproars, yet at the request of these my assistants I remit it; and by the power of judgment our gracious sovereign Psyche hath given me, thus I determine of your controversies: hum! By your former objects, instruments and reasons, I conceive the state of sense to be divided into two parts; one of commodity, the other of necessity; both which are either for our queen or for our country; but as the soul is more excellent than the body, so are the Senses that profit the soul to be estimated before those that are needful for the body. Visus and Auditus, serve yourselves. Master Register, give me the crown; because it is better to be well, than simply to be, therefore I judge the crown by right to belong to you of the commodity's part, and the robe to you of the necessity's side: and since you, Visus, are the author of invention, and you, Auditus, of increase and addition to the same, seeing it is more excellent to invent than to augment, I establish you, Visus, the better of the two, and chief of all the rest: in token whereof I bestow upon you this crown, to wear at your liberty.

VIS. I most humbly thank your lordships.

COM. SEN. But lest I should seem to neglect you, Auditus, I here choose you to be the lord intelligencer to Psyche her majesty: and you, Olfactus, we bestow upon you the chief priesthood of Microcosm, perpetually to offer incense in her majesty's temple. As for you, Tactus, upon your reasons alleged I bestow upon you the robe.

TAC. I accept it most gratefully at your just hands, and will wear it in the dear remembrance of your good lordship.

COM. SEN. And lastly, Gustus, we elect you Psyche's only taster, and great purveyor for all her dominions both by sea and land, in her realm of Microcosm.

GUS. We thank your lordship, and rest well content with equal arbitrament.

COM. SEN. Now for you, Lingua.

LIN. I beseech your honour, let me speak; I will neither trouble the company, nor offend your patience.

COM. SEN. I cannot stay so long; we have consulted about you, and find your cause to stand upon these terms and conditions. The number of the Senses in this world is answerable to the first[295] bodies in the great world: now, since there be but fire in the universe, the four elements and the pure substance of the heavens, therefore there can be but five Senses in our Microcosm, correspondent to those; as the sight to the heavens, hearing to the air, touching to the earth, smelling to the fire, tasting to the water, by which five means only the understanding is able to apprehend the knowledge of all corporeal substances: wherefore we judge you to be no sense simply: only thus much we from henceforth pronounce, that all women for your sake shall have six senses-that is, seeing hearing, tasting, smelling, touching, and the last and feminine sense, the sense of speaking.

GUS. I beseech your lordship and your assistants (the only cause of our friendship) to grace my table with your most welcome presence this night at supper.

COM. SEN. I am sorry I cannot stay with you: you know we may by no means omit our daily attendance at the court, therefore I pray you pardon us.

GUS. I hope I shall not have the denial at your hands, my masters, and you, my Lady Lingua. Come, let us drown all our anger in a bowl of hippocras[296].

[Exeunt SENSUS omnes exteriores.

COM. SEN. Come, Master Register, shall we walk?

MEM. I pray you, stay a little. Let me see! ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

PHA. How now, Memory, so merry? what, do you trouble yourself with two palsies at once, shaking and laughing?

MEM. 'Tis a strange thing that men will so confidently oppose themselves against Plato's great year.

PHA. Why not?

MEM. 'Tis as true an opinion as need be; for I remember it very readily now, that this time 49,000 years ago all we were in this very place, and your lordship judged the very same controversy, after the very same manner, in all respects and circumstances alike.

COM. SEN. 'Tis wondrous strange.

ANA. By the same token you held your staff in your right hand, just as you do now; and Master Phantastes stood wondering at you, gaping as wide as you see him.

PHA. Ay, but I did not give you a box on the ear, sirrah, 49,000 years ago, did I? [Snap.]

ANA. I do not remember that, sir.

PHA. This time Plato's twelvemonth to come, look you save your cheeks better.

COM. SEN. But what entertainment had we at court for our long staying?

MEM. Let's go, I'll tell you as we walk.

PHA. If I do not seem pranker[297] now than I did in those days, I'll be hanged.

[Exeunt omnes interiores Sensus: manet LINGUA.

SCAENA OCTAVA.

LINGUA, MENDACIO.

LIN. Why, this is good. By Common Sense's means,

Lingua, thou hast fram'd a perfect comedy.

They are all good friends, whom thou mad'st enemies;

And I am half a Sense: a sweet piece of service,

I promise you, a fair step to preferment!

Was this the care and labour thou hast taken

To bring thy foes together to a banquet,

To lose thy crown, and be deluded thus!

Well, now I see my cause is desperate,

The judgment's pass'd, sentence irrevocable,

Therefore I'll be content and clap my hands,

And give a plaudite to their proceedings.

What, shall I leave my hate begun unperfect?

So foully vanquish'd by the spiteful Senses!

Shall I, the embassadress of gods and men,

That pull'd proud Phoebe from her brightsome sphere,

And dark'd Apollo's countenance with a word,

Raising at pleasure storms, and winds, and earthquakes,

Be overcrow'd, and breathe without revenge?

Yet they forsooth, base slaves, must be preferred,

And deck themselves with my right ornaments.

Doth the all-knowing Phoebus see this shame

Without redress? will not the heavens help me?

Then shall hell do it; my enchanting tongue

Can mount the skies, and in a moment fall

From the pole arctic to dark Acheron.

I'll make them know mine anger is not spent;

Lingua hath power to hurt, and will to do it.

Mendacio, come hither quickly, sirrah.

MEN. Madam.

LIN. Hark, hither in thine ear.

MEN. Why do you whisht[298] thus? here's none to hear you.

LIN. I dare not trust these secrets to the earth,

E'er since she brought forth reeds, whose babbling noise

Told all the world of Midas' ass's ears.

[She whispers him in the ear.] Dost understand me?

MEN. Ay, ay, ay-never fear that-there's a jest indeed-

Pish, pish-madam-do you think me so foolish?-Tut, tut, doubt not.

LIN. Tell her, if she do not-

MEN. Why do you make any question of it?-what a stir is here-I warrant you-presently! [Exit MENDACIO.

LIN. Well, I'll to supper, and so closely cover

The rusty canker of mine iron spite

With golden foil of goodly semblances.

But if I do not trounce them-

[Exit LINGUA.

ACTUS QUINTUS, SCAENA PRIMA.

MENDACIO, with a bottle in his hand.

MEN. My Lady Lingua is just like one of these lean-witted comedians who, disturbing all to the fifth act, bring down some Mercury or Jupiter in an engine to make all friends: so she, but in a contrary manner, seeing her former plots dispurposed, sends me to an old witch called Acrasia to help to wreak her spite upon the Senses. The old hag, after many an encircled circumstance, and often naming of the direful Hecate and Demogorgon. gives me this bottle of wine, mingled with such hellish drugs and forcible words that, whosoever drinks of it shall be presently possessed with an enraged and mad kind of anger.

SCAENA SECUNDA.

MENDACIO, CRAPULA, APPETITUS crying.

MEN. What's this, Crapula beating Appetitus out of doors? ha?

CRA. You filthy long crane, you mean slave, will you kill your guests with blowing continual hunger in them? The Senses have overcharged their stomachs already, and you, sirrah, serve them up a fresh appetite with every new dish. They had burst their guts if thou hadst stayed but a thought longer. Begone, or I'll set thee away; begone, ye gnaw-bone, raw-bone rascal![299] [Beats him.

MEN. Then my device is clean spoiled. Appetitus should have been as the bowl to present this medicine to the Senses, and now Crapula hath beaten him out of doors; what shall I do? [Aside.]

CRA. Away, sirrah. [Beats him.

APP. Well, Crapula, well; I have deserved better at your hands than so. I was the man, you know, first brought you into Gustus's service. I lined your guts there, and you use me thus? but grease a fat sow, &c.

CRA. Dost thou talk? Hence, hence; avaunt, cur; avaunt, you dog! [Exit CRAPULA.

APP. The belching gorbelly[300] hath well-nigh killed me; I am shut out of doors finely. Well, this is my comfort, I may walk now in liberty at my own pleasure.

MEN. Appetitus, Appetitus!

APP. Ah, Mendacio, Mendacio!

MEN. Why, how now, man, how now? how is't? canst not speak?

APP. Faith, I am like a bagpipe, that never sounds but when the belly is full.

MEN. Thou empty, and com'st from a feast?

APP. From a fray. I tell thee, Mendacio, I am now just like the ewe that gave suck to a wolf's whelp; I have nursed up my fellow Crapula so long, that he's grown strong enough to beat me.

MEN. And whither wilt thou go, now thou art banished out of service?

APP. Faith, I'll travel to some college or other in an university.

MEN. Why so?

APP. Because Appetitus is well-beloved amongst scholars, for there I can dine and sup with them, and rise again as good friends as we sat down. I'll thither, questionless.

MEN. Hear'st thou? give me thy hand. By this, I love thee: go to, then.

Thou shalt not forsake thy masters thus, I say thou shalt not.

APP. Alas! I am very loth; but how should I help it?

MEN. Why, take this bottle of wine, come on; go thy ways to them again.

APP. Ha, ha, ha! what good will this do?

MEN. This is the Nepenthe that reconciles the gods. Do but let the Senses taste of it, and fear not, they'll love thee as well as ever they did.

APP. I pray thee, where hadst it?

MEN. My lady gave it me to bring her. Mercury stole it from Hebe for her. Thou knowest there were some jars betwixt her and thy masters, and with this drink she would gladly wash out all the relics of their disagreement. Now, because I love thee, thou shalt have the grace of presenting it to them, and so come in favour again.

APP. It smells well. I would fain begin to them.

MEN. Nay, stay no longer, lest they have supped before thou come.

APP. Mendacio, how shall I requite thy infinite courtesy?

MEN. Nay, pray thee leave, go catch occasion by the foretop. But hear'st thou? As soon as it is presented, round[301] my Lady Lingua in the ear, and tell her of it.

APP. I will, I will: adieu, adieu, adieu.

[Exit APPETITUS.

SCAENA TERTIA.

MENDACIO solus.

MEN. Why. this is better than I could have wish'd it;

Fortune, I think, is fallen in love with me,

Answering so right my expectation.

By this time Appetite is at the table,

And with a lowly cringe presents the wine

To his old master Gustus; now he takes it,

And drinks, perchance, to Lingua; she craftily

Kisses the cup, but lets not down a drop,

And gives it to the rest: 'tis sweet, they'll swallow it:

But when 'tis once descended to the stomach,

And sends up noisome vapours to the brain,

'Twill make them swagger gallantly; they'll rage

Most strangely, or Acrasia's art deceives her;

When if my lady stir her nimble tongue,

And closely sow contentious words amongst them,

O, what a stabbing there will be! what bleeding!

SCAENA QUARTA.

LINGUA, MENDACIO.

LIN. What, art thou there, Mendacio? pretty rascal!

Come let me kiss thee for thy good deserts.

MEN. Madam, does't take? Have they all tasted it?

LIN. All, all, and all are well-nigh mad already.

O, how they stare and swear, and fume, and brawl!

Wrath gives them weapons; pots and candlesticks,

Joint stools and trenchers, fly about the room,

Like to the bloody banquet of the centaurs.

But all the sport's to see what several thoughts

The potion works in their imaginations.

For Visus thinks himself a --, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

SCAENA QUINTA.

APPETITUS, MENDACIO, LINGUA.

APP. So ho, Mendacio! so ho, so ho!

MEN. Madam, I doubt they come; yonder is Appetitus. You had best be gone, lest in their outrage they should injure you. [Exit LINGUA.] How now, Hunger? How dost thou, my fine maypole, ha?

APP. I may well be called a maypole, for the Senses do nothing but dance a morrice about me.

MEN. Why, what ails them? Are they not (as I promised thee) friends with thee?

APP. Friends with me! nay, rather frenzy. I never knew them in such a case in all my life.

MEN. Sure, they drank too much, and are mad for love of thee.

APP. They want Common Sense amongst them. There's such a hurlyburly. Auditus is stark deaf, and wonders why men speak so softly that he cannot hear them. Visus hath drunk himself stark blind, and therefore imagineth himself to be Polyphemus. Tactus is raging mad, and cannot be otherwise persuaded but he is Hercules furens. There's such conceits amongst them.

SCAENA SEXTA.

VISUS, APPETITUS, MENDACIO.

VIS. O, that I could but find the villain Outis[302],

Outis the villain, that thus blinded me!

MEN. Who is this? Visus?

APP. Ay, ay, ay; otherwise called Polyphemus.

VIS. By heaven's bright sun, the day's most glorious eye,

That lighteneth all the world but Polypheme.

And by mine eye, that once was answerable

Unto that sun, but now's extinguished-

MEN. He can see to swear, methinks.

VIS. If I but once lay hands upon the slave,

That thus hath robb'd me of my dearest jewel,

I'll rend the miscreant to a thousand pieces,

And gnash his trembling members 'twixt my teeth,

Drinking his live-warm blood to satisfy

The boiling thirst of pain and furiousness,

That thus exasperates great Polypheme.

MEN. Pray thee, Appetitus, see how he grasps for that he would be loth to find.

APP. What's that? a stumblingblock?

VIS. These hands, that whilom tore up sturdy oaks,

And rent the rock that dash'd out Acis' brains,

Bath'd[303] in the stole bliss of my Galatea,

Serve now (O misery!) to no better use,

But for bad guides to my unskilful feet,

Never accustom'd thus to be directed.

MEN. As I am a rogue, he wants nothing but a wheel to make him the true picture of fortune; how say'st? what, shall we play at blind-man's-buff with him?

APP. Ay, if thou wilt; but first I'll try whether he can see?

VIS. Find me out Outis, search the rocks and woods,

The hills and dales, and all the coasts adjoining,

That I may have him, and revenge my wrong.

APP. Visus, methinks your eyes are well enough.

VIS. What's he that calls me Visus? dost not know-

[They run about him, playing with him, and abusing him.

APP. To him, Mendacio, to him, to him.

MEN. There, there, Appetitus, he comes, he comes; ware, ware, he comes; ha, ha, ha, ha!

[VISUS stumbles, falls down, and sits still.

SCAENA SEPTIMA.

MENDACIO, APPETITUS, TACTUS, with a great blackjack in his hand.

MEN. Is this he that thinks himself Hercules?

APP. Ay, wilt see me outswagger him?

MEN. Ay, do, do; I love not to sport with such mad playfellows: tickle him, Appetitus; tickle him, tickle him. [Exit MENDACIO.

TAC. Have I not here the great and puissant club,

Wherewith I conquer'd three-chapp'd Cerberus?

APP. Have I not here the sharp and warlike teeth,

That at one breakfast quail'd thrice-three hogs' faces?

TAC. And are not these Alcides' brawny arms,

That rent the lion's jaws, and kill'd the boar?

APP. And is not this the stomach that defeated

Nine yards of pudding and a rank[304] of pies?

TAC. Did not I crop the sevenfold hydra's crest,

And with a river cleans'd Augaea's stable?

APP. Did not I crush a sevenfold custard's crust,

And with my tongue swept a well-furnish'd table?

TAC. Did not these feet and hands o'ertake and slay

The nimble stag and fierce impetuous bull?

APP. Did not this throat at one good meal devour

That stag's sweet venison and that strong bull's beef?

TAC. Shall Hercules be thus disparaged?

Juno! you pouting quean, you louring trull,

Take heed I take you not; for by Jove's thunder

I'll be reveng'd.

[APPETITUS draws VISUS backward from TACTUS.

APP. Why, Visus, Visus, will you be kill'd? away, away.

[Exit VISUS.

TAC. Who have we here? see, see, the giant Cacus

Draws an ox backward to his thievish den.

Hath this device so long deluded me?

Monster of men, Cacus, restore my cattle,

Or instantly I'll crush thy idle coxcomb,

And dash thy doltish brains against thy cave.

APP. Cacus! I Cacus? ha, ha, ha! Tactus, you mistake me;

I am yours to command, Appetitus.

TAC. Art Appetitus? Th'art so; run quickly, villain;

Fetch a whole ox to satisfy my stomach.

APP. Fetch an ass to keep you company.

TAC. Then down to hell: tell Pluto, prince of devils,

That great Alcides wants a kitchen wench

To turn his spit. Command him from myself

To send up Proserpine; she'll serve the turn.

APP. I must find you meat, and the devil find you cooks!

Which is the next[305] way?

TAC. Follow the beaten path, thou canst not miss it.

'Tis a wide causeway that conducteth thither,

An easy track, and down-hill all the way.

But if the black prince will not send her quickly,

But still detain her for his bedfellow,

Tell him I'll drag him from his iron chair

By the steel tresses, and then sew him fast

With the three furies in a leathern bag,

And thus will drown them in the ocean.

He pours the jack of beer upon APPETITUS.

APP. You had better keep him alive to light tobacco-pipes, or to sweep chimneys.

TAC. Art thou not gone? nay, then I'll send thy soul

Before thee; 'twill do thy message sooner. [Beats him.

APP. Hercules, Hercules, Hercules! do not you hear Omphale? hark how she calls you, hark!

TAC. 'Tis she indeed, I know her sugar'd voice:

Omphale, dear commandress of my life,

My thoughts' repose, sweet centre of my cares,

Where all my hopes and best desires take rest.

Lo! where the mighty son of Jupiter

Throws himself captive at your conquering feet!

Do not disdain my voluntary humbleness:

Accept my service, bless me with commanding.

I will perform the hardest imposition,

And run through twelve new labours for thy sake.

Omphale, dear commandress of my life.

APP. Do you not see how she beckons to you to follow her? Look how she

holds her distaff, look ye?

TAC. Where is she gone, that I may follow her?

Omphale, stay, stay, take thy Hercules!

APP. There, there, man, you are right.

[Exit TACTUS.

SCAENA OCTAVA.

APPETITUS solus.

APP. What a strange temper are the Senses in!

How come their wits thus topsy-turvy turn'd?

Hercules Tactus, Visus Polypheme!

Two goodly surnames have they purchased.

By the rare ambrosia[306] of an oyster-pie,

They have got such proud imaginations,

That I could wish I were mad for company:

But since my fortunes cannot stretch so high,

I'll rest contented with this wise estate.

SCAENA NONA.

APPETITUS: [to him enter] AUDITUS with a candlestick.

APP. What, more anger? Auditus got abroad too?

AUD. Take this abuse at base Olfactus' hands?

What, did he challenge me to meet me here,

And is not come? well, I'll proclaim the slave

The vilest dastard that e'er broke his word.

But stay, yonder's Appetitus.

APP. I pray you, Auditus, what ails you?

AUD. Ha, ha!

APP. What ails you?

AUD. Ha! what say'st thou?

APP. Who hath abused you thus?

AUD. Why dost thou whisper thus? Canst not speak out?

APP. Save me, I had clean forgotten. Why are you so angry, Auditus?

AUD. Bite us! who dare bite us?

APP. I talk of no biting; I say, what's the matter between Olfactus and you?

AUD. Will Olfactus bite me? do, if he dares; would he would meet me here according to his promise! Mine ears are somewhat thick of late; I pray thee, speak out louder.

APP. Ha, ha, ha, ha! this is fine, i'faith: ha, ha, ha! Hear you, have you lost your ears at supper?

AUD. Excellent cheer at supper, I confess it;

But when 'tis sauc'd with sour contentions,

And breeds such quarrels, 'tis intolerable.

APP. Pish, pish, this is my question: hath your supper spoiled your hearing?

AUD. Hearing at supper? tell not me of hearing?

But if thou saw'st Olfactus, bring me to him.

APP. I ask you, whether you have lost your hearing?

AUD. O, dost thou hear them ring? what a grief is this

Thus to be deaf, and lose such harmony.

Wretched Auditus, now shalt thou never hear

The pleasing changes that a well-tun'd chord

Of trolling bells will make, when they are rung.

APP. Here's ado indeed! I think he's mad, as well as drunk or deaf.

AUD. Ha, what's that?

APP. I say you have made me hoarse with speaking so loud.

AUD. Ha, what say'st thou of a creaking crowd?[307]

APP. I am hoarse, I tell you, and my head aches.

AUD. O, I understand thee! the first crowd was made of a horse-head.

'Tis true, the finding of a dead horse-head

Was the first invention of string instruments,

Whence rose the gittern, viol, and the lute:

Though others think the lute was first devis'd

In imitation of a tortoise-back,

Whose sinews, parched by Apollo's beams,

Echo'd about the concave of the shell:

And seeing the shortest and smallest gave shrill'st sound,

They found out frets, whose sweet diversity

(Well-touched by the skilful learned fingers)

Raiseth so strange a multitude of chords.

Which their opinion many do confirm,

Because Testado signifies a lute.

But if I by no means-

APP. Nay, if you begin to critic once, we shall never have done.

[Exit APPETITUS, and carries away AUDITUS perforce.

SCAENA DECIMA.

CRAPULA, a fat-bellied slave, clothed in a light veil of sarsanet, a garland of vine-leaves on his head, &c. SOMNUS in a mantle of black cobweb lawn down to the foot, over a dusky-coloured taffeta coat, and a crown of poppy-tops on his head, a company of dark-coloured silk scarfs in one hand, a mace of poppy in the other, leaving his head upon a pillow on CRAPULA'S shoulders.

CRA. Somnus, good Somnus, sweet Somnus, come apace!

SOM. Eh, O, O; are you sure they be so? oho, oho, oho; eh, waw?

What good can I do? ou, hoh, haw.

CRA. Why, I tell you, unless you help-

[SOMNUS falls down and sleeps.

Soft son of night, right heir to quietness,

Labour's repose, life's best restorative,

Digestion's careful nurse, blood's comforter,

Wit's help, thought's charm, the stay of Microcosm,

Sweet Somnus, chiefest enemy to care:

My dearest friend, lift up thy lumpish head,

Ope thy dull eyes, shake off this drowsiness,

Rouse up thyself.

SOM. O Crapula, how now, how now! O, O, how; who's there?

Crapula, speak quickly, what's the matter?

CRA. As I told you, the noble Senses, peers of Microcosm,

Will eftsoon fall to ruin perpetual.

Unless your ready helping-hand recure them.

Lately they banqueted at Gustus' table,

And there fell mad or drunk, I know not whether;

So that it's doubtful in these outrageous fits,

That they'll murder one another.

SOM. Fear it not.

If they have 'scap'd already, bring me to them

Or them to me; I'll quickly make them know

The power of my large-stretched authority.

These cords of sleep, wherewith I wont to bind

The strongest arm that e'er resisted me,

Shall be the means whereby I will correct

The Senses' outrage and distemperature.

CRA. Thanks, gentle Somnus, I'll go seek them out,

And bring them to you soon as possible.

SOM. Despatch it quickly, lest I fall asleep for want of work.

CRA. Stand still, stand still! Visus, I think, comes yonder.

If you think good, begin and bind him first;

For, he made fast, the rest will soon be quiet.

[Exit CRAPULA.

SCAENA UNDECIMA.

VISUS, SOMNUS.

VIS. Sage Telemus, I now too late admire

Thy deep foresight and skill in prophecy,

Who whilom told'st me, that in time to come

Ulysses should deprive me of my sight.

And now the slave, that march'd in Outis' name,

Is prov'd Ulysses; and by this device

Hath 'scap'd my hands, and fled away by sea,

Leaving me desolate in eternal night.

Ah, wretched Polypheme! where's all thy hope,

And longing for thy beauteous Galatea?

She scorn'd thee once, but now she will detest

And loathe to look upon thy dark'ned face;

Ah me, most miserable Polyphemus!

But as for Ulysses, heaven and earth

Send vengeance ever on thy damned head,

In just revenge of my great injury!

[SOMNUS binds him.

Who is he that dares to touch me? Cyclops, come,

Come, all ye Cyclops, help to rescue me.

[SOMNUS charms him; he sleeps.

SOM. There rest thyself, and let thy quiet sleep

Restore thy weak imaginations.

SCAENA DUODECIMA.

LINGUA, SOMNUS, VISUS.

LIN. Ha, ha, ha! O, how my spleen is tickled with this sport

The madding Senses make about the woods!

It cheers my soul, and makes my body fat,

To laugh at their mischances: ha, ha, ha, ha!

Heigho, the stitch hath caught me: O, my heart!

Would I had one to hold my sides awhile,

That I might laugh afresh: O, how they run,

And chafe, and swear, and threaten one another!

[SOMNUS binds her.

Ay me, out, alas! ay me, help, help, who's this that binds me?

Help, Mendacio! Mendacio, help! Here's one will ravish me.

SOM. Lingua, content yourself, you must be bound.

LIN. What a spite's this? Are my nails pared so near? Can I not scratch his eyes out? What have I done? What, do you mean to kill me? Murder, murder, murder!

[She falls asleep.

SCAENA DECIMA TERTIA.

GUSTUS, with a voiding knife[308] in his hand.

SOMNUS, LINGUA, VISUS.

GUS. Who cries out murder? What, a woman slain!

My Lady Lingua dead? O heavens unjust!

Can you behold this fact, this bloody fact,

And shower not fire upon the murderer?

Ah, peerless Lingua! mistress of heavenly words,

Sweet tongue of eloquence, the life of fame,

Heart's dear enchantress! What disaster, fates,

Hath reft this jewel from our commonwealth?

Gustus, the ruby that adorns the ring,

Lo, here defect, how shalt thou lead thy days,

Wanting the sweet companion of thy life,

But in dark sorrow and dull melancholy?

But stay, who's this? inhuman wretch!

Bloodthirsty miscreant! is this thy handiwork?

To kill a woman, a harmless lady?

Villain, prepare thyself;

Draw, or I'll sheathe my falchion in thy sides.

There, take the guerdon[309] fit for murderers.

[GUSTUS offers to run at SOMNUS, but being

suddenly charmed, falls asleep.

SOM. Here's such a stir, I never knew the Senses in such disorder.

LIN. Ha, ha, ha! Mendacio, Mendacio! See how Visus hath broke his forehead against the oak yonder, ha, ha, ha!

SOM. How now? is not Lingua bound sufficiently? I have more trouble to make one woman sleep than all the world besides; they are so full of tattle.

SCAENA DECIMA QUARTA.

SOMNUS, CRAPULA, LINGUA, VISUS, GUSTUS, AUDITUS pulling OLFACTUS by the nose, and OLFACTUS wringing AUDITUS by the ears.

AUD. O, mine ears, mine ears, mine ears!

OLF. O, my nose, my nose, my nose!

CRA. Leave, leave, at length, these base contentions:

Olfactus, let him go.

OLF. Let him first loose my nose.

CRA. Good Auditus, give over.

AUD. I'll have his life that sought to kill me.

SOM. Come, come, I'll end this quarrel; bind them[310], Crapula.

[They bind them both.

SCAENA DECIMA QUINTA.

TACTUS, with the robe in his hand, SOMNUS,

CRAPULA, LINGUA, GUSTUS, OLFACTUS VISUS, AUDITUS.

TAC. Thanks, Dejanira, for thy kind remembrance,

'Tis a fair shirt: I'll wear it for thy sake.

CRA. Somnus, here's Tactus, worse than all his fellows:

Stay but awhile, and you shall see him rage!

SOM. What will he do? see that he escapes us not.

TAC. 'Tis a good shirt: it fits me passing well:

'Tis very warm indeed: but what's the matter?

Methinks I am somewhat hotter than I was,

My heart beats faster than 'twas wont to do,

My brain's inflam'd, my temples ache extremely; O, O!

O, what a wildfire creeps among my bowels!

Aetna's within my breast, my marrow fries,

And runs about my bones; O my sides! O my sides!

My sides, my reins: my head, my reins, my head!

My heart, my heart: my liver, my liver, O!

I burn, I burn, I burn; O, how I burn

With scorching heat of implacable fire!

I burn extreme with flames insufferable.

SOM. Sure he doth but try how to act Hercules.

TAC. Is it this shirt that boils me thus? O heavens!

It fires me worse, and heats more furiously

Than Jove's dire thunderbolts! O miserable!

They bide less pain that bathe in Phlegeton!

Could not the triple kingdom of the world,

Heaven, earth, and hell, destroy great Hercules?

Could not the damned spite[311] of hateful Juno,

Nor the great dangers of my labours kill me?

Am I the mighty son of Jupiter,

And shall this poison'd linen thus consume me?

Shall I be burnt? Villains, fly up to heaven,

Bid Iris muster up a troop of clouds,

And shower down cataracts of rain to cool me;

Or else I'll break her speckled bow in pieces.

Will she not? no, she hates me like her mistress.

Why then descend, you rogues, to the vile deep.

Fetch Neptune hither: charge him bring the sea

To quench these flames, or else the world's fair frame

Will be in greater danger to be burnt,

Than when proud Phaeton rul'd the sun's rich chariot.

SOM. I'll take that care the world shall not be burnt,

If Somnus' cords can hold you. [SOMNUS binds him.

TAC. What Vulcan's this that offers to enchain

A greater soldier than the god of war?[312]

SOM. He that each night with bloodless battle conquers

The proudest conqueror that triumphs by wars.

CRA. Now, Somnus, there's but only one remaining,

That was the author of these outrages.

SOM. Who's that? is he under my command?

CRA. Yes, yes, 'tis Appetitus; if you go that way and look about those thickets, I'll go hither, and search this grove. I doubt not but to find him.

SOM. Content.

[Exeunt SOMNUS et CRAPULA.

SCAENA DECIMA SEXTA.

APPETITUS IRASCIBILIS with a willow in his hand, pulled up

by the roots, SOMNUS, CRAPULA. The Senses all asleep.

APP. So now's the time that I would gladly meet

These madding Senses that abus'd me thus;

What, haunt me like an owl? make an ass of me?

No, they shall know I scorn to serve such masters,

As cannot master their affections.

Their injuries have chang'd my nature now;

I'll be no more call'd hungry parasite,

But henceforth answer to the wrathful name

Of Angry Appetite. My choler's up.

Zephyrus, cool me quickly with thy fan,

Or else I'll cut thy cheeks. Why this is brave,

Far better than to fawn at Gustus' table

For a few scraps; no, no such words as these-

By Pluto, stab the villain, kill the slave:

By the infernal hags I'll hough[313] the rogue,

And paunch the rascal that abus'd me thus.

Such words as these fit angry Appetite.

Enter CRAPULA.

CRA. Somnus, Somnus, come hither, come hither quickly, he's here, he's here!

APP. Ay, marry is he, sirrah, what of that base miscreant Crapula?

CRA. O gentle Appetitus!

APP. You muddy gulch[314], dar'st look me in the face,

While mine eyes sparkle with revengeful fire? [Beats him.

CRA. Good Appetitus!

APP. Peace, you fat bawson[315], peace,

Seest not this fatal engine of my wrath?

Villain, I'll maul thee for thine old offences,

And grind thy bones to powder with this pestle!

You, when I had no weapons to defend me,

Could beat me out of doors; but now prepare:

Make thyself ready, for thou shalt not 'scape.

Thus doth the great revengeful Appetite

Upon his fat foe wreak his wrathful spite.

[APPETITUS heaveth up his club to brain CRAPULA; but

SOMNUS in the meantime catcheth him behind, and binds him.

SOM. Why, how now, Crapula?

CRA. Am I not dead? is not my soul departed?

SOM. No, no, see where he lies,

That would have hurt thee: fear nothing.

[SOMNUS lays the Senses all in a circle, feet to feet,

and wafts his wand over them.

So rest you all in silent quietness;

Let nothing wake you, till the power of sleep,

With his sweet dew cooling your brains enflam'd,

Hath rectified the vain and idle thoughts,

Bred by your surfeit and distemperature;

Lo, here the Senses, late outrageous,

All in a round together sleep like friends;

For there's no difference 'twixt the king and clown,

The poor and rich, the beauteous and deform'd,

Wrapp'd in the veil of night and bonds of sleep;

Without whose power and sweet dominion

Our life were hell, and pleasure painfulness.

The sting of envy and the dart of love,

Avarice' talons, and the fire of hate,

Would poison, wound, distract, and soon consume

The heart, the liver, life, and mind of man.

The sturdy mower, that with brawny arms

Wieldeth the crooked scythe, in many a swath

Cutting the flowery pride on velvet plain,

Lies down at night, and in the weird[316] folds

Of his wife's arms forgets his labour past.

The painful mariner and careful smith,

The toiling ploughman, all artificers,

Most humbly yield to my dominion:

Without due rest nothing is durable.

Lo, thus doth Somnus conquer all the world

With his most awful wand, and half the year

Reigns o'er the best and proudest emperors.

Only the nurslings of the Sisters nine

Rebel against me, scorn my great command;

And when dark night from her bedewed[317] wings

Drops sleepy silence to the eyes of all,

They only wake, and with unwearied toil

Labour to find the Via Lactea,

That leads to the heaven of immortality;

And by the lofty towering of their minds,

Fledg'd with the feathers of a learned muse,

They raise themselves unto the highest pitch,

Marrying base earth and heaven in a thought.

But thus I punish their rebellion:

Their industry was never yet rewarded:

Better to sleep, than wake and toil for nothing.

[Exeunt SOMNUS and CRAPULA.

SCAENA DECIMA SEPTIMA.

The five Senses, LINGUA, APPETITUS, all asleep and dreaming; PHANTASTES, HEURESIS.

AUD. So ho, Rockwood;[318] so ho, Rockwood; Rockwood, your organ: eh, Chanter, Chanter; by Acteon's head-tire, it's a very deep-mouthed dog, a most admirable cry of hounds. Look here, again, again: there, there, there! ah, ware counter![319]

VIS. Do you see the full moon yonder, and not the man in it? why, methinks 'tis too-too evident: I see his dog very plain, and look you, just under his tail is a thorn-bush of furze.

GUS. 'Twill make a fine toothpick, that lark's heel there: O, do not burn it.

PHA. Boy Heuresis, what think'st thou I think, when I think nothing?

HEU. And it please you, sir, I think you are devising how to answer a man that asks you nothing.

PHA. Well-guessed, boy; but yet thou mistook'st it, for I was thinking of the constancy of women[320]. [APPETITUS snores aloud.] Beware, sirrah, take heed; I doubt me there's some wild boar lodged hereabout. How now? methinks these be the Senses; ha? in my conceit the elder brother of death has kissed them.

TAC. O, O, O, I am stabbed, I am stabbed; hold your hand, O, O, O.

PHA. How now? do they talk in their sleep? are they not awake, Heuresis?

HEU. No, questionless, they be all fast asleep.

GUS. Eat not too many of those apples, they be very flative[321].

OLF. Foh, beat out this dog here; foh, was it you, Appetitus?

AUD. In faith, it was most sweetly-winded, whosoever it was; the warble is very good, and the horn is excellent.

TAC. Put on, man, put on; keep your head warm, 'tis cold.

PHA. Ha, ha, ha, ha? 'st: Heuresis, stir not, sirrah.

APP. Shut the door, the pot runs over, sirrah. Cook, that will be a sweet pasty, if you nibble the venison so.

GUS. Say you so? is a marrow-pie the Helena of meats? give me't; if I play not Paris, hang me. Boy, a clean trencher.

APP. Serve up, serve up; this is a fat rabbit, would I might have the maidenhead of it: come, give me the fish there; who hath meddled with these maids, ha?

OLF. Fie, shut your snuffers closer for shame; 'tis the worst smell that can be.

TAC. O, the cramp, the cramp, the cramp: my leg, my leg!

LIN. I must abroad presently: reach me my best necklace presently.

PHA. Ah, Lingua, are you there?

AUD. Here take this rope, and I'll help the leader close with the second bell. Fie, fie, there's a goodly peal clean-spoiled.

VIS. I'll lay my life that gentlewoman is painted: well, well, I know it; mark but her nose: do you not see the complexion crack out? I must confess 'tis a good picture.

TAC. Ha, ha, ha! fie, I pray you leave, you tickle me so: oh, ha, ha, ha! take away your hands, I cannot endure; ah, you tickle me, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

VIS. Hai, Rett, Rett, Rett, now, bird, now,-look about that bush, she trussed her thereabout.-Here she is, ware wing, Cater,[322] ware wing, avaunt.

LIN. Mum, mum, mum, mum.

PHA. Hist, sirrah, take heed you wake her not.

HEU. I know, sir, she is fast asleep, for her mouth is shut.

LIN. This 'tis to venture upon such uncertainties; to lose so rich a crown to no end, well, well.

PHA. Ha, ha, ha! we shall hear anon where she lost her maidenhead: 'st, boy, my Lord Vicegerent and Master Register are hard by: run quickly; tell them of this accident, wish them come softly.

[Exit HEURESIS.

LIN. Mendacio, never talk farther, I doubt 'tis past recovery, and my robe likewise: I shall never have them again. Well, well.

PHA. How? her crown and her robe, never recover them? hum, was it not said to be left by Mercury, ha? I conjecture here's some knavery,-fast locked with sleep, in good faith. Was that crown and garment yours, Lingua?

LIN. Ay, marry were they, and that somebody hath felt, and shall feel more, if I live.

PHA. O, strange, she answers in her sleep to my question: but how come the Senses to strive for it?

LIN. Why, I laid it on purpose in their way, that they might fall together by the ears.

PHA. What a strange thing is this!

SCAENA DECIMA OCTAVA.

The Senses, APPETITUS, and LINGUA, asleep. PHANTASTES, COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORIA, ANAMNESTES.

PHA. Hist, my lord: softly, softly! here's the notablest piece of treason discovered; how say you? Lingua set all the Senses at odds, she hath confessed it to me in her sleep.

COM. SEN. Is't possible, Master Register? did you ever know any talk in their sleep.

MEM. I remember, my lord, many have done so very oft; but women are troubled especially with this talking disease; many of them have I heard answer in their dreams, and tell what they did all day awake.

ANA. By the same token, there was a wanton maid, that being asked by her mother what such a one did with her so late one night in such a room, she presently said that-

MEM. Peace, you vile rake-hell, is such a jest fit for this company? no more, I say, sirrah.

PHA. My lord, will you believe your own ears? you shall hear her answer me as directly and truly as may be. Lingua, what did you with the crown and garments?

LIN. I'll tell thee, Mendacio.

PHA. She thinks Mendacio speaks to her; mark now, mark how truly she will answer. What say you, madam?

LIN. I say Phantastes is a foolish, transparent gull; a mere fanatic napson[323], in my imagination not worthy to sit as a judge's assistant.

COM. SEN. Ha, ha, ha! how truly and directly she answers.

PHA. Faw, faw, she dreams now; she knows not what she says. I'll try her once again. Madam, what remedy can you have for your great losses?

LIN. O, are you come, Acrasia? welcome, welcome! boy, reach a cushion, sit down, good Acrasia: I am so beholding to you, your potion wrought exceedingly; the Senses were so mad: did not you see how they raged about the woods?

COM. SEN. Hum, Acrasia? is Acrasia her confederate? my life, that witch hath wrought some villainy. [LINGUA riseth in her sleep, and walketh.] How is this? is she asleep? have you seen one walk thus before?

MEM. It is a very common thing; I have seen many sick of the peripatetic disease.

ANA. By the same token, my lord, I knew one that went abroad in his sleep, bent his bow, shot at a magpie, killed her, fetched his arrow, came home, locked the doors, and went to bed again.

COM. SEN. What should be the reason of it?

MEM. I remember Scaliger told me the reason once, as I think thus: the nerves that carry the moving faculty from the brains to the thighs, legs, feet, and arms, are wider far than the other nerves; wherefore they are not so easily stopped with the vapours of sleep, but are night and day ready to perform what fancy shall command them.

COM. SEN. It may be so. But, Phantastes, inquire more of Acrasia.

PHA. What did you with the potion Acrasia made you?

LIN. Gave it to the Senses, and made them as mad as-well, if I cannot recover it-let it go. I'll not leave them thus. [She lies down again.

COM. SEN. Boy, awake the Senses there.

ANA. Ho, ho, Auditus, up, up; so ho, Olfactus, have at your nose; up, Visus, Gustus, Tactus, up: what, can you not feel a pinch? have at you with a pin.

TAC. O, you stab me, O!

COM. SEN. Tactus, know you how you came hither?

TAC. No, my lord, not I; this I remember,

We supp'd with Gustus, and had wine good store,

Whereof I think I tasted liberally.

Amongst the rest, we drunk a composition

Of a most delicate and pleasant relish,

That made our brains somewhat irregular.

SCAENA DECIMA NONA.

The Senses awake, LINGUA asleep, COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORY,

PHANTASTES, ANAMNESTES, HEURESIS drawing CRAPULA.

HEU. My lord, here's a fat rascal was lurking in a bush very suspiciously: his name, he says, is Crapula.

COM. SEN. Sirrah, speak quickly what you know of these troubles.

CRA. Nothing, my lord, but that the Senses were mad, and that Somnus, at my request, laid them asleep, in hope to recover them.

COM. SEN. Why then, 'tis too evident Acrasia, at Lingua's request, bewitched the Senses: wake her quickly, Heuresis.

LIN. Heigho, out alas, ah me, where am I? how came I here? where am I? ah!

COM. SEN. Lingua, look not so strangely upon the matter; you have confessed in your sleep, that with a crown and a robe you have disturbed the Senses, using a crafty help to enrage them: can you deny it?

LIN. Ah me, most miserable wretch! I beseech your lordship forgive me.

COM. SEN. No, no, 'tis a fault unpardonable.

[He consults with MEMORY.

PHA. In my conceit, Lingua, you should seal up your lips when you go to bed, these feminine tongues be so glib.

COM. SEN. Visus, Tactus, and the rest, our former sentence concerning you we confirm as irrevocable, and establish the crown to you, Visus, and the robe to you, Tactus; but as for you, Lingua-

LIN. Let me have mine own, howsoever you determine, I beseech you.

COM. SEN. That may not be: your goods are fallen into our hands; my sentence cannot be recalled: you may see, those that seek what is not theirs, oftentimes lose what's their own: therefore, Lingua, granting you your life, I commit you to close prison in Gustus's house, and charge you, Gustus, to keep her under the custody of two strong doors, and every day, till she come to eighty years of age, see she be well-guarded with thirty tall watchmen, without whose licence she shall by no means wag abroad. Nevertheless, use her ladylike, according to her estate.

PHA. I pray you, my lord, add this to the judgment-that, whensoever she obtaineth licence to walk abroad, in token the tongue was the cause of her offence, let her wear a velvet hood, made just in the fashion of a great tongue. In my conceit, 'tis a very pretty emblem of a woman.

TAC. My lord, she hath a wild boy to her page, a chief agent in this treason: his name's Mendacio.

COM. SEN. Ha! well, I will inflict this punishment on him for this time: let him be soundly whipped, and ever after, though he shall strengthen his speeches with the sinews of truth, yet none shall believe him.

PHA. In my imagination, my lord, the day is dead to the great toe, and in my conceit it grows dark, by which I conjecture it will be cold; and therefore, in my fancy and opinion, 'tis best to repair to our lodgings.

[Exeunt omnes, praeter ANAMNESTES et APPETITUS.

SCAENA VIGESSIMA.

ANAMNESTES, APPETITUS, asleep in a corner.

ANA. What's this? a fellow whispering so closely with the earth? so ho, so ho, Appetitus? faith, now I think Morpheus himself hath been here. Up, with a pox to you; up, you lusk[324]? I have such news to tell thee, sirrah: all the Senses are well, and Lingua is proved guilty: up, up, up; I never knew him so fast asleep in my life. [APPETITUS snorts.] Nay, then, have at you afresh. [Jogs him.

APP. Jog me once again, and I'll throw this whole mess of pottage into your face; cannot one stand quiet at the dresser for you.

ANA. Ha, ha, ha! I think 'tis impossible for him to sleep longer than he dreams of his victuals. What, Appetitus, up quickly: quickly up, Appetitus, quickly, sirrah. [Jogs him.

APP. I'll come presently; but I hope you'll stay till they be roasted: will you eat them raw?

ANA. Roasted? ha, ha, ha, ha! up, up, up, away!

APP. Reach the sauce quickly; here's no sugar: whaw, whaw, O, O, O!

ANA. What, never wake? [Jogs him.] Wilt never be? Then I must try another way, I see.

EPILOGUE

Judicious friends, it is so late at night,

I cannot waken hungry Appetite:

Then since the close upon his rising stands,

Let me obtain this at your courteous hands;

Try, if this friendly opportunity

Of your good-will and gracious plaudite,

With the thrice-welcome murmur it shall keep,

Can beg this prisoner from the bands of sleep.

[Upon the plaudite APPETITUS awakes, and runs in after ANAMNESTES.

THE MISERIES OF ENFORCED MARRIAGE.

EDITIONS.

(1.) The Miseries of Inforst Mariage. As it is now playd by his Maiesties Servants. Qui alios (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London. Printed for George Vincent, and are to be sold at his shop in Woodstreete. 1607, 4to.

(2.) The Miseries of Inforst Marriage. Playd by his Maiesties

Seruantes. Qui Alios, (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London

Printed for George Vincent, and are to be sold at his Shoppe in

Woodstreete. 1611. 4to.

(3.) The Miseries of Inforst Marriage. Playd by his Maiesties Servants. Qui alios (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London, Printed by Aug. Mathewes for Richard Thrale, and are to bee sold at his Shop at Pauls gate, next to Cheape-side. 1629. 4to.

(4.) The Miseries of Inforst Marriage. Playd by his Majesties Servants. Qui alios (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London, Printed by I.N. for Richard Thrale, and are to be sold at his Shop at Pauls gate; next to Cheape-side. M.DC.XXXVII. 4to.

INTRODUCTION.

George Wilkins, like many other minor poets of his time, has had no memorials concerning him transmitted to us. He wrote no play alone, except that which is here reprinted; but he joined with John Day and William Rowley in "The Travels of the Three English Brothers, Sir Thomas, Sir Anthony, and Sir Robert Shirley," an historical play, printed in 4to, 1607[325]. He was also the author of "Three Miseries of Barbary: Plague, Famine, Civill warre." [1603.] 4to. B.L.[326]

[There was a second writer of both these names, probably a son, who published in 1608 a prose novel, founded on the play of "Pericles."[327]]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE[328].

SIR FRANCIS ILFORD.

WENTLOE.

BARTLEY.

WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

THOMAS SCARBOROW, | his brothers

JOHN SCARBOROW, |

SIR JOHN HARCOP.

LORD FALCONBRIDGE.

SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

DOCTOR BAXTER.

GRIPE, the usurer.

Butler.

Clown.

Secretary.

Steward.

Page.

Children.

CLARE, daughter to Sir John Harcop.

KATHERINE, wife to William Scarborow.

Sister to William Scarborow.

THE MISERIES OF ENFORCED MARRIAGE[329].

Enter SIR FRANCIS ILFORD, WENTLOE, and BARTLEY.

BAR. But Frank, Frank, now we are come to the house, what shall we make to be our business?

ILF. Tut, let us be impudent enough, and good enough.

WEN. We have no acquaintance here, but young Scarborow.

ILF. How no acquaintance? Angels guard me from thy company. I tell thee, Wentloe, thou art not worthy to wear gilt spurs[330], clean linen, nor good clothes.

WEN. Why, for God's sake?

ILF. By this hand, thou art not a man fit to table at an ordinary, keep knights company to bawdy-houses, nor beggar thy tailor.

WEN. Why, then, I am free from cheaters, clear from the pox, and escape curses.

ILF. Why, dost thou think there is any Christians in the world?

WEN. Ay, and Jews too, brokers, puritans, and sergeants.

ILF. Or dost thou mean to beg after charity, that goes in a cold suit already, that thou talkest thou hast no acquaintance here? I tell thee, Wentloe, thou canst not live on this side of the world, feed well, drink tobacco[331], and be honoured into the presence, but thou must be acquainted with all sorts of men; ay, and so far in too, till they desire to be more acquainted with thee.

BAR. True, and then you shall be accounted a gallant of good credit.

Enter CLOWN.

ILF. But stay, here is a scrape-trencher arrived:

How now, blue-bottle,[332] are you of the house?

CLOWN. I have heard of many black-jacks, sir, but never of a blue-bottle.

ILF. Well, sir, are you of the house?

CLOWN. No, sir, I am twenty yards without, and the house stands without me.

BAR. Prythee, tell's who owes[333] this building?

CLOWN. He that dwells in it, sir.

ILF. Who dwells in it, then?

CLOWN. He that owes it.

ILF. What's his name?

CLOWN. I was none of his god-father.

ILF. Does Master Scarborow lie here?

CLOWN. I'll give you a rhyme for that, sir-

Sick men may lie, and dead men in their graves.

Few else do lie abed at noon, but drunkards, punks, and knaves.

ILF. What am I the better for thy answer?

CLOWN. What am I the better for thy question?

ILF. Why, nothing.

CLOWN. Why, then, of nothing comes nothing.

Enter SCARBOROW.

WEN. 'Sblood, this is a philosophical fool.

CLOWN. Then I, that am a fool by art, am better than you, that are fools by nature. [Exit.

SCAR. Gentlemen, welcome to Yorkshire.

ILF. And well-encountered, my little villain of fifteen hundred a year. 'Sfoot, what makest thou here in this barren soil of the North, when thy honest friends miss thee at London?

SCAR. Faith, gallants, 'tis the country where my father lived, where first I saw the light, and where I am loved.

ILF. Loved! ay, as courtiers love usurers, and that is just as long as they lend them money. Now, dare I lay-

WEN. None of your land, good knight, for that is laid to mortgage already.

ILF. I dare lay with any man, that will take me up.

WEN. Who list to have a lubberly load. [Sings this.[334]

ILF. Sirrah wag, this rogue was son and heir to Antony Now-now[335] and Blind Moon. And he must needs be a scurvy musician, that hath two fiddlers to his fathers: but tell me, in faith, art thou not-nay, I know thou art, called down into the country here by some hoary knight or other who, knowing thee a young gentleman of good parts and a great living, hath desired thee to see some pitiful piece of his workmanship -a daughter, I mean. Is't not so?

SCAR. About some such preferment I came down.

ILF. Preferment's a good word. And when do you commence into the cuckold's order-the preferment you speak of? when shall we have gloves;[336] when, when?

SCAR. Faith, gallants, I have been guest here but since last night.

ILF. Why, and that is time enough to make up a dozen marriages, as marriages are made up nowadays. For look you, sir; the father, according to the fashion, being sure you have a good living, and without encumbrance, comes to you thus:-takes you by the hand thus:-wipes his long beard thus:-or turns up his moustachio thus:-walks some turn or two thus:-to show his comely gravity thus:-and having washed his foul mouth thus: at last breaks out thus.--

WEN. O God! let us hear no more of this?

ILF.--Master Scarborow, you are a young gentleman; I knew your father well, he was my worshipful good neighbour, for our demesnes lay near together. Then, sir, you and I must be of more near acquaintance, at which you must make an eruption thus:-O God (sweet sir)-

BAR. 'Sfoot, the knight would have made an excellent Zany in an Italian comedy.

ILF. When he goes forward thus: Sir, myself am lord of some thousand a year, a widower (Master Scarborow). I have a couple of young gentlewomen to my daughters: a thousand a year will do well divided among them; ha, will't not, Master Scarborow? At which you out of your education must reply thus: The portion will deserve them worthy husbands: on which tinder he soon takes fire, and swears you are the man his hopes shot at, and one of them shall be yours.

WEN. If I did not like her, should he swear himself[337] to the devil, I would make him foresworn.

ILF. Then putting you and the young pug[338] too in a close room together--

WEN. If he should lie with her there, is not the father partly the bawd?

ILF.--Where the young puppet, having the lesson before from the old fox, gives the son half a dozen warm kisses which, after her father's oaths, takes such impression in thee, thou straight call'st, By Jesu, mistress, I love you!-when she has the wit to ask, But, sir, will you marry me? and thou, in thy cock-sparrow humour, repliest, Ay, before God, as I am a gentleman, will I; which the father overhearing, leaps in, takes you at your word, swears he is glad to see this; nay, he will have you contracted straight, and for a need makes the priest of himself. Thus in one hour, from a quiet life, Thou art sworn in debt, and troubled with a wife.

BAR. But can they love one another so soon?

ILF. O, it is no matter nowadays for love; 'tis well, and they can but make shift to lie together.

WEN. But will your father do this too, if he know the gallant breathes himself at some two or three bawdy-houses in a morning?

ILF. O, the sooner; for that and the land together tell the old lad, he will know the better how to deal with his daughter. The wise and ancient fathers know this rule, Should both wed maids, the child would be a fool. Come, wag, if thou hast gone no further than into the ordinary fashion- meet, see, and kiss-give over; marry not a wife, to have a hundred plagues for one pleasure: let's to London, there's variety: and change of pasture makes fat calves.

SCAR. But change of women bald knaves, sir knight.

ILF. Wag, and thou beest a lover but three days, thou wilt be heartless, sleepless, witless, mad, wretched, miserable, and indeed a stark fool; and by that thou hast been married but three weeks, though thou shouldst wed a Cynthia rara avis, thou wouldst be a man monstrous-a cuckold, a cuckold.

BAR. And why is a cuckold monstrous, knight?

ILF. Why, because a man is made a beast by being married. Take but example thyself from the moon: as soon as she is delivered of her great belly, doth she not point at the world with a pair of horns, as who would say: Married men, ye are cuckolds.

SCAR. I construe more divinely of their sex:

Being maids, methinks they are angels; and being wives,

They are sovereign cordials that preserve our lives,[339]

They are like our hands that feed us; this is clear,

They renew man, as spring renews the year.

ILF. There's ne'er a wanton wench that hears thee, but thinks thee a coxcomb for saying so: marry none of them; if thou wilt have their true characters, I'll give it thee. Women are the purgatory of men's purses, the paradise of their bodies, and the hell of their minds; marry none of them. Women[340] are in churches saints, abroad angels, at home devils. Here are married men enough know this: marry none of them.

SCAR. Men that traduce by custom, show sharp wit

Only in speaking ill; and practice it

Against the best creatures, divine women,

Who are God's agents' here, and the heavenly eye,

By which this orb hath her maturity:

Beauty in women gets the world with child,

Without whom she were barren, faint and wild.

They are the stems on which do angels grow,

From whence virtue is still'd, and arts do flow.

Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP and his daughter CLARE.

ILF. Let them be what flowers they will; and they were roses, I will pluck none of them for pricking my fingers. But soft, here comes a voider for us: and I see, do what I can, as long as the world lasts, there will be cuckolds in it. Do you hear, child, here's one come to blend you together: he has brought you a kneading-tub, if thou dost take her at his hands. Though thou hadst Argus' eyes, be sure of this, Women have sworn with more than one to kiss.

HAR. Nay, no parting, gentlemen. Hem!

WEN. 'Sfoot, does he make punks of us, that he hems already?

HAR. Gallants,

Know old John Harcop keeps a wine-cellar,

Has travell'd, been at court, known fashions,

And unto all bear habit like yourselves-

The shapes of gentlemen and men of sort,

I have a health to give them, ere they part.

WEN. Health, knight! not as drunkards give their healths, I hope: to go together by the ears when they have done?

HAR. My healths are Welcome: Welcome, gentlemen.

ILF. Are we welcome, knight, in faith?

HAR. Welcome, in faith, sir.

ILF. Prythee, tell me, hast not thou been a whoremaster?

HAR. In youth I swill'd my fill at Venus' cup,

Instead of full draughts now I am fain to sup.

ILF. Why then thou art a man fit for my company:

Dost thou hear? (to WEN. and BAR.) he is a good fellow of our stamp.

Make much of this[341] father.

[Exeunt.

Manent SCARBOROW and CLARE.

SCAR. The father and the gallants have left me here with a gentlewoman, and if I know what to say to her, I am a villain. Heaven grant her life hath borrowed so much impudence of her sex but to speak to me first: for, by this hand, I have not so much steel of immodesty in my face to parley to a wench without blushing. I'll walk by her, in hope she can open her teeth. Not a word? Is it not strange a man should be in a woman's company all this while and not hear her tongue. I'll go further. God of his goodness! not a syllable. I think if I should take up her clothes too, she would say nothing to me. With what words, trow, does a man begin to woo. Gentlewoman, pray you, what is't a clock?

CLARE. Troth, sir, carrying no watch about me but mine eyes, I answer you: I cannot tell.

SCAR. And if you cannot tell, beauty, I take the adage for my reply: you are naught to keep sheep.

CLARE. Yet I am big enough to keep myself.

SCAR. Prythee tell me: are you not a woman?

CLARE. I know not that neither, till I am better acquainted with a man.

SCAR. And how would you be acquainted with a man?

CLARE. To distinguish betwixt himself and myself.

SCAR. Why, I am a man?

CLARE. That's more than I know, sir.

SCAR. To approve I am no less, thus I kiss thee.

CLARE. And by that proof I am a man too; for I have kissed you.

SCAR. Prythee, tell me, can you love?

CLARE. O Lord, sir, three or four things: I love my meat, choice of suitors, clothes in the fashion, and, like a right woman, I love to have my will.

SCAR. What think you of me for a husband?

CLARE. Let me first know what you think of me for a wife?

SCAR. Troth, I think you are a proper gentlewoman.

CLARE. Do you but think so?

SCAR. Nay, I see you are a very perfect proper gentlewoman.

CLARE. It is great pity then I should be alone without a proper man.

SCAR. Your father says I shall marry you.

CLARE. And I say, God forbid, sir! alas, I am a great deal too young.

SCAR. I love thee, by my troth.

CLARE. O, pray you do not so; for then you stray from the steps of gentility; the fashion among them is to marry first, and love after by leisure.

SCAR. That I do love thee, here by heaven I swear, And call it as a witness to this kiss.

CLARE. You will not enforce me, I hope, sir?

SCAR. Make me this woman's husband! thou art my Clare:

Accept my heart, and prove as chaste as fair.

CLARE. O God! you are too hot in your gifts; should I accept them, we should have you plead nonage some half a year hence, sue for reversement, and say the deed was done under age.

SCAR. Prythee, do not jest.

CLARE. No (God is my record), I speak in earnest: and desire to know

Whether ye mean to marry me, yea or no?

SCAR. This hand thus takes thee as my loving wife.

CLARE. For better, for worse.

SCAR. Ay, till death us depart,[342] love.

CLARE. Why, then, I thank you, sir, and now I am like to have

That I long look'd for-a husband.

How soon from our own tongues is the word said

Captives our maiden-freedom to a head!

SCAR. Clare, you are now mine, and I must let you know,

What every wife doth to her husband owe:

To be a wife, is to be dedicate,

Not to a youthful course, wild and unsteady,

But to the soul of virtue, obedience,

Studying to please, and never to offend.

Wives have two eyes created, not like birds

To roam about at pleasure, but for[343] sentinels,

To watch their husbands' safety as their own.

Two hands; one's to feed him, the other herself:

Two feet, and one of them is their husbands'.

They have two of everything, only of one,

Their chastity, that should be his alone.

Their very thoughts they cannot term their own.[344]

Maids, being once made wives, can nothing call

Rightly their own; they are their husbands' all:

If such a wife you can prepare to be,

Clare, I am yours: and you are fit for me.

CLARE. We being thus subdued, pray you know then,

As women owe a duty, so do men.

Men must be like the branch and bark to trees,

Which doth defend them from tempestuous rage,

Clothe them in winter, tender them in age:

Or as ewes love unto their eanlings gives,[345]

Such should be husbands' custom to their wives.

If it appear to them they've stray'd amiss,

They only must rebuke them with a kiss;

Or clock them, as hens chickens, with kind call,

Cover them under wing, and pardon all:

No jars must make two beds, no strife divide them,

Those betwixt whom a faith and troth is given,

Death only parts, since they are knit by heaven:

If such a husband you intend to be,

I am your Clare, and you are fit for me.

SCAR. By heaven-

CLARE. Advise, before you swear, let me remember you,[346]

Men never give their faith and promise marriage,

But heaven records their oath: if they prove true,

Heaven smiles for joy; if not, it weeps for you:

Unless your heart, then, with your words agree,

Yet let us part, and let us both be free.

SCAR. If ever man, in swearing love, swore true,

My words are like to his. Here comes your father.

_Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP, ILFORD, WENTLOE, BARTLEY, and Butler.

HAR. Now, Master Scarborrow.

SCAR. Prepar'd to ask, how you like that we have done:

Your daughter's made my wife, and I your son.

HAR. And both agreed so?

BOTH. We are, sir.

HAR. Then long may you live together, have store of sons!

ILF. 'Tis no matter who is the father. [Aside.]

HAR. But, son, here is a man of yours is come from London.

BUT. And brought you letters, sir.

SCAR. What news from London, butler?

BUT. The old news, sir. The ordinaries are full of cheaters, some citizens are bankrupts, and many gentlemen beggars.

SCAR. Clare, here is an unwelcome pursuivant;

My lord and guardian writes to me, with speed

I must return to London.

HAR. And you being ward to him, son Scarborow,

And no ingrate,[347] it fits that you obey him.

SCAR.[348] It does, it does; for by an ancient law

We are born free heirs, but kept like slaves in awe.

Who are for London, gallants?

ILF. Switch and Spur, we will bear you company.

SCAR. Clare, I must leave thee-with what unwillingness,

Witness this dwelling kiss upon thy lip;

And though I must be absent from thine eye,

Be sure my heart doth in thy bosom lie.

Three years I am yet a ward, which time I'll pass,

Making thy faith my constant looking-glass,

Till when-

CLARE. Till when you please, where'er you live or lie,

Your love's here worn: you're present[349] in my eye.

Enter LORD FALCONBRIDGE and SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

LORD. Sir William,

How old, say you, is your kinsman Scarborow?

WIL. Eighteen, my lord, next Pentecost.

LORD. Bethink you, good Sir William,

I reckon thereabout myself; so by that account

There's full three winters yet he must attend

Under our awe, before he sue his livery:

Is it not so?

WIL. Not a day less, my lord.

LORD. Sir William, you are his uncle, and I must speak,

That am his guardian; would I had a son

Might merit commendations equal[350] with him.

I'll tell you what he is: he is a youth,

A noble branch, increasing blessed fruit,

Where caterpillar vice dare not to touch:

He bears[351] himself with so much gravity,

Praise cannot praise him with hyperbole:

He is one, whom older look upon as on a book:

Wherein are printed noble sentences

For them to rule their lives by. Indeed he is one,

All emulate his virtues, hate him none.

WIL. His friends are proud to hear this good of him.

LORD. And yet, Sir William, being as he is,

Young and unsettled, though of virtuous thoughts

By genuine disposition, yet our eyes

See daily precedents, [how] hopeful gentlemen,

Being trusted in the world with their own will,

Divert the good is look'd from them to ill;

Make their old names forgot, or not worth note:

With company they keep such revelling,

With panders, parasites, prodigies of knaves,

That they sell all, even their old fathers' graves.

Which to prevent we'll match him to a wife:

Marriage restrains the scope of single life.

WIL. My lord speaks like a father for my kinsman.

LORD. And I have found him one of noble parentage,

A niece of mine; nay, I have broke with her,

Know thus much of her mind, that[352] for my pleasure,

As also for the good appears in him,

She is pleased of all that's hers to make him king.

WIL. Our name is bless'd in such an honoured marriage.

Enter DOCTOR BAXTER.

LORD. Also I have appointed Doctor Baxter,

Chancellor of Oxford, to attend me here:

And see, he is come. Good Master Doctor.

BAX. My honourable lord.

WIL. I have possess'd you[353] with this business, Master Doctor.

BAX. To see the contract 'twixt your honoured niece

And Master Scarborow?

LORD. 'Tis so, and I did look for him by this.

BAX. I saw him leave his horse, as I came up.

LORD. So, so.

Then he will be here forthwith: you, Master Baxter,

Go usher hither straight young Katherine,

Sir William here and I will keep this room,

Till you return.

[Exit DOCTOR.

Enter SCARBOROW.

SCAR. My honourable[354] lord.

LORD. 'Tis well-done, Scarborow.

SCAR. Kind uncle.

WIL. Thanks, my good coz.

LORD. You have been welcome in your country Yorkshire?

SCAR. The time that I spent there, my lord, was merry.

LORD. 'Twas well, 'twas very well! and in your absence

Your uncle here and I have been bethinking,

What gift 'twixt us we might bestow on you,

That to your house large dignity might bring,

With fair increase, as from a crystal spring.

Enter DOCTOR and KATHERINE.

SCAR. My name is bound to your benificence,

Your hands have been to me like bounty's purse,

Never shut up, yourself my foster nurse:

Nothing can from your honour come, prove me so rude,

But I'll accept, to shun ingratitude.

LORD. We accept thy promise, now return thee this,

A virtuous wife: accept her with a kiss.

SCAR. My honourable lord!

LORD. Fear not to take her, man: she will fear neither,

Do what thou canst, being both abed together.

SCAR. O, but my lord-

LORD. But me? dog of wax! come kiss, and agree,

Your friends have thought it fit, and it must be.

SCAR. I have no hands to take her to my wife.

LORD. How, sauce-box?

SCAR. O, pardon me, my lord; the unripeness of my years,

Too green for government, is old in fears

To undertake that charge.

LORD. Sir, sir, and sir knave, then here is a mellowed experience knows how to teach you.

SCAR. O God.

LORD. O Jack,

Have[355] both our cares, your uncle and myself,

Sought, studied, found out, and for your good,

A maid, a niece of mine, both fair and chaste;

And must we stand at your discretion?

SCAR. O good my lord,

Had I two souls, then might I have two wives:

Had I two faiths, then had I one for her;

Having of both but one, that one is given

To Sir John Harcop's daughter.

LORD. Ha, ha! what's that? let me hear that again.

SCAR. To Sir John Harcop's Clare I have made an oath:

Part me in twain, yet she's one-half of both.

This hand the which I wear, it is half hers:

Such power hath faith and troth 'twixt couples young,

Death only cuts that knot tied with the tongue.

LORD. And have you knit that knot, sir?

SCAR. I have done so much that, if I wed not her,

My marriage makes me an adulterer:

In which black sheets I wallow all my life,

My babes being bastards, and a whore my wife.

Enter SECRETARY.

LORD. Ha, is't even so? my secretary there,

Write me a letter straight to Sir John Harcop,

I'll see, sir Jack, and if that Harcop dare,

Being my ward, contract you to his daughter.

[Exit SECRETARY.

Enter STEWARD.

My steward too, post you to Yorkshire,

Where lies my youngster's land; and, sirrah,

Fell me his wood, make havoc, spoil and waste. [Exit STEWARD.

Sir, you shall know that you are ward to me,

I'll make you poor enough: then mend yourself.

WIL. O cousin!

SCAR. O uncle!

LORD. Contract yourself, and where you list?

I'll make you know me, sir, to be your guard.

SCAR. World, now thou seest what 'tis to be a ward.

LORD. And where I meant myself to have disburs'd

Four thousand pounds, upon this marriage

Surrendered up your land to your own use,

And compass'd other portions to your hands,

Sir, I'll now yoke you still.

SCAR. A yoke indeed.

LORD. And, spite of them[356] dare contradict my will, I'll make thee marry to my chambermaid. Come, coz. [Exit.

BAX. Faith, sir, it fits you to be more advis'd.

SCAR, Do not you flatter for preferment, sir?

WIL. O, but, good coz!

SCAR. O, but, good uncle, could I command my love,

Or cancel oaths out of heaven's brazen book,

Engross'd by God's own finger, then you might speak.

Had men that law to love, as most have tongues

To love a thousand women with, then you might speak.

Were love like dust, lawful for every wind

To bear from place to place; were oaths but puffs,

Men might forswear themselves; but I do know,

Though, sin being pass'd with us, the act's forgot,

The poor soul groans, and she forgets it not.

WIL. Yet hear your own case.

SCAR. O, 'tis too miserable!

That I, a gentleman, should be thus torn

From mine own right, and forc'd to be forsworn.

WIL. Yet, being as it is, it must be your care,

To salve it with advice, not with despair;

You are his ward: being so, the law intends

He is to have your duty, and in his rule

Is both your marriage and your heritage.

If you rebel 'gainst these injunctions,

The penalty takes hold on you; which for himself

He straight thus prosecutes; he wastes your land,

Weds you where he thinks fit:[357] but if yourself

Have of some violent humour match'd yourself

Without his knowledge, then hath he power

To merce[358] your purse, and in a sum so great,

That shall for ever keep your fortunes weak,

Where otherwise, if you be rul'd by him,

Your house is rais'd by matching to his kin.

Enter FALCONBRIDGE.

LORD. Now, death of me, shall I be cross'd

By such a jack? he wed himself, and where he list:

Sirrah malapert, I'll hamper you,

You that will have your will, come, get you in:

I'll make thee shape thy thoughts to marry her,

Or wish thy birth had been thy murderer.

SCAR. Fate, pity me, because I am enforc'd:

For I have heard those matches have cost blood,

Where love is once begun, and then withstood.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

Enter ILFORD, and a PAGE with him.

ILF. Boy, hast thou delivered my letter?

BOY. Ay, sir, I saw him open the lips on't.

ILF. He had not a new suit on, had he?

BOY. I am not so well acquainted with his wardrobe, sir; but I saw a lean fellow, with sunk eyes and shamble legs, sigh pitifully at his chamber door, and entreat his man to put his master in mind of him.

ILF. O, that was his tailor. I see now he will be blessed, he profits by my counsel: he will pay no debts, before he be arrested-nor then neither, if he can find e'er a beast that dare but be bail for him; but he will seal[359] i' th' afternoon?

BOY. Yes, sir, he will imprint for you as deep as he can.

ILF. Good, good, now have I a parson's nose, and smell tithe coming in then. Now let me number how many rooks I have half-undone already this term by the first return: four by dice, six by being bound with me, and ten by queans: of which some be courtiers, some country gentlemen, and some citizens' sons. Thou art a good Frank; if thou purgest[360] thus, thou art still a companion for gallants, may'st keep a catamite, take physic at the spring and the fall.

Enter WENTLOE.

WEN. Frank, news that will make thee fat, Frank.

ILF. Prythee, rather give me somewhat will keep me lean; I have no mind yet to take physic.

WEN. Master Scarborow is married, man.

ILF. Then heaven grant he may (as few married men do) make much of his wife.

WEN. Why? wouldst have him love her, let her command all, and make her his master?

ILF. No, no; they that do so, make not much of their wives, but give them their will, and its the marring of them.

Enter BARTLEY.

BAR. Honest Frank, valorous Frank, a portion of thy wit, but to help us in this enterprise, and we may walk London streets, and cry pish at the serjeants.

ILF. You may shift out one term, and yet die in the Counter. These are the scabs now that hang upon honest Job. I am Job, and these are the scurvy scabs [aside]; but what's this your pot seethes over withal?

BAR. Master Scarborough is married, man.

WEN. He has all his land in his own hand.

BAR. His brother's and sister's portions.

WEN. Besides four thousand pounds in ready money with his wife.

ILF. A good talent,[361] by my faith; it might help many gentlemen to pay their tailors, and I might be one of them.

WEN. Nay, honest Frank, hast thou found a trick for him? if thou hast not, look, here's a line to direct thee. First draw him into bands[362] for money, then to dice for it; then take up stuff at the mercer's; straight to a punk with it; then mortgage his land, and be drunk with that; so with them and the rest, from an ancient gentleman make him a young beggar.

ILF. What a rogue this is, to read a lecture to me-and mine own lesson too, which he knows I have made perfect to nine hundred fourscore and nineteen! A cheating rascal! will teach me!-I, that have made them, that have worn a spacious park, lodge, and all on their backs[363] this morning, been fain to pawn it afore night! And they that have stalked like a huge elephant, with a castle on their necks, and removed that to their own shoulders in one day, which their fathers built up in seven years-been glad by my means, in so much time as a child sucks, to drink bottle-ale, though a punk pay for't. And shall this parrot instruct me?

WEN. Nay, but, Frank-

ILF. A rogue that hath fed upon me and the fruit of my wit, like pullen[364] from a pantler's chippings, and now I have put him into good clothes to shift two suits in a day, that could scarce shift a patched shirt once in a year, and say his prayers when he had it-hark, how he prates!

WEN. Besides, Frank, since his marriage, he stalks me like a cashiered captain discontent; in, which melancholy the least drop of mirth, of which thou hast an ocean, will make him and all his ours for ever.

ILF. Says mine own rogue so? Give me thy hand then; we'll do't, and there's earnest. [Strikes him.] 'Sfoot, you chittiface, that looks worse than a collier through a wooden window, an ape afraid of a whip, or a knave's head, shook seven years in the weather upon London Bridge[365]-do you catechise me?

WEN. Nay, but valorous Frank, he that knows the secrets of all hearts knows I did it in kindness.

ILF. Know your seasons: besides, I am not of that species for you to instruct. Then know your seasons.

BAR. 'Sfoot, friends, friends, all friends; here comes young Scarborow.

Should he know of this, all our designs were prevented.

Enter SCARBOROW.

ILF. What! melancholy, my young master, my young married man? God give your worship joy.

SCAR. Joy of what, Frank?

ILF. Of thy wealth, for I hear of few that have joy of their wives.

SCAR. Who weds as I have to enforced sheets,

His care increaseth, but his comfort fleets.

ILF. Thou having so much wit, what a devil meant'st thou to marry?

SCAR. O, speak not of it,

Marriage sounds in mine ear like a bell,

Not rung for pleasure, but a doleful knell.

ILF. A common course: those men that are married in the morning to wish themselves buried ere night.

SCAR. I cannot love her.

ILF. No news neither. Wives know that's a general fault amongst their husbands.

SCAR. I will not lie with her.

ILF. Caeteri volunt, she'll say still;

If you will not, another will.

SCAR. Why did she marry me, knowing I did not love her?

ILF. As other women do, either to be maintained by you, or to make you a cuckold. Now, sir, what come you for?

Enter CLOWN.

CLOWN. As men do in haste, to make an end of their business.

ILF. What's your business?

CLOWN. My business is this, sir-this, sir-and this, sir.

ILF. The meaning of all this, sir?

CLOWN. By this is as much as to say, sir, my master has sent unto you; by this is as much as to say, sir, my master has him humbly commended unto you; and by this is as much as to say, my master craves your answer.

ILF. Give me your letter, and you shall have this, sir, this, sir, and this, sir. [Offers to strike him.

CLOWN. No, sir.

ILF. Why, sir?

CLOWN. Because, as the learned have very well instructed me, Qui supra nos, nihil ad nos, and though many gentlemen will have to do with other men's business, yet from me know the most part of them prove knaves for their labour.

WEN. You ha' the knave, i'faith, Frank.

CLOWN. Long may he live to enjoy it. From Sir John Harcop, of Harcop, in the county of York, Knight, by me his man, to yourself my young master, by these presents greeting.

ILF. How cam'st thou by these good words?

CLOWN. As you by your good clothes, took them upon trust, and swore I would never pay for them.

SCAR. Thy master, Sir John Harcop, writes to me,

That I should entertain thee for my man.

His wish is acceptable; thou art welcome, fellow.

O, but thy master's daughter sends an article,

Which makes me think upon my present sin;

Here she remembers me to keep in mind

My promis'd faith to her, which I ha' broke.

Here she remembers me I am a man,

Black'd o'er with perjury, whose sinful breast

Is charactered like those curst of the blest.

ILF. How now, my young bully, like a young wench, forty weeks after the loss of her maidenhead, crying out.

SCAR. Trouble me not. Give me pen, ink, and paper;

I will write to her. O! but what shall I write

In mine excuse?[366] why, no excuse can serve

For him that swears, and from his oath doth swerve.

Or shall I say my marriage was enforc'd?

'Twas bad in them; not well in me to yield:

Wretched they two, whose marriage was compell'd.

I'll only write that which my grief hath bred:

Forgive me, Clare, for I am married:

'Tis soon set down, but not so soon forgot

Or worn from hence-

Deliver it unto her, there's for thy pains.

Would I as soon could cleanse these perjur'd stains!

CLOWN. Well, I could alter mine eyes from filthy mud into fair water: you have paid for my tears, and mine eyes shall prove bankrouts, and break out for you. Let no man persuade me: I will cry, and every town betwixt Shoreditch Church and York Bridge shall bear me witness. [Exit.

SCAR. Gentlemen, I'll take my leave of you,

She that I am married to, but not my wife,

Will London leave, in Yorkshire lead our life. [Exit.

ILF. We must not leave you so, my young gallant; we three are sick in

state, and your wealth must help to make us whole again. For this saying

is as true as old-

Strife nurs'd 'twixt man and wife makes such a flaw,

How great soe'er their wealth, 'twill have a thaw.

[Exeunt.

Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP with his daughter CLARE, and two younger brothers, THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

HAR. Brothers to him ere long shall be my son

By wedding this young girl: you are welcome both.

Nay, kiss her, kiss her; though that she shall be

Your brother's wife, to kiss the cheek is free.

THOM. Kiss, 'sfoot, what else? thou art a good plump wench, I like you well; prythee, make haste and bring store of boys; but be sure they have good faces, that they may call me uncle.

JOHN. Glad of so fair a sister, I salute you.

HAR. Good, good, i' faith, this kissing's good, i' faith,

I lov'd to smack it too when I was young,

But mum: they have felt thy cheek, Clare, let them hear thy tongue.

CLARE. Such welcome as befits my Scarborow's brothers,

From me his trothplight wife be sure to have,

And though my tongue prove scant in any part,

The bounds be sure are full large[367] in my heart.

THOM. Tut, that's not that we doubt on, wench; but do you hear, Sir John? what do you think drew me from London and the Inns of Court thus far into Yorkshire?

HAR. I guess, to see this girl shall be your sister.

THOM. Faith, and I guess partly so too, but the main was-and I will not lie to you-that, your coming now in this wise into our kindred, I might be acquainted with you aforehand, that after my brother had married your daughter, I his brother might borrow some money of you.

HAR. What, do you borrow of your kindred, sir?

THOM. 'Sfoot, what else? they, having interest in my blood, why should I not have interest in their coin? Besides, sir, I, being a younger brother, would be ashamed of my generation if I would not borrow of any man that would lend, especially of my affinity, of whom I keep a calendar. And look you, sir, thus I go over them. First o'er my uncles: after, o'er mine aunts: then up to my nephews: straight down to my nieces: to this cousin Thomas and that cousin Jeffrey, leaving the courteous claw given to none of their elbows, even unto the third and fourth remove of any that hath interest in our blood. All which do, upon their summons made by me, duly and faithfully provide for appearance. And so, as they are, I hope we shall be, more entirely endeared, better and more feelingly acquainted.[368]

HAR. You are a merry gentleman.

THOM. 'Tis the hope of money makes me so; and I know none but fools use to be sad with it.

JOHN. From Oxford am I drawn from serious studies,

Expecting that my brother still hath sojourn'd

With you, his best of choice, and this good knight.

HAR. His absence shall not make our hearts less merry,

Than if we had his presence. A day ere long

Will bring him back, when one the other meets,

At noon i'th' church, at night between the sheets.

We'll wash this chat with wine. Some wine! fill up;

The sharp'ner of the wit is a full cup.

And so to you, sir.

THOM. Do, and I'll drink to my new sister; but upon this condition, that she may have quiet days, little rest o' nights, have pleasant afternoons, be pliant to my brother, and lend me money, whensoe'er I'll borrow it.

HAR. Nay, nay, nay.

Women are weak, and we must bear with them:

Your frolic healths are only fit for men.

THOM. Well, I am contented; women must to the wall, though it be to a feather-bed. Fill up, then. [They drink.

Enter CLOWN.

CLOWN. From London am I come,

Though not with pipe and drum,

Yet I bring matter

In this poor paper

Will make my young mistress,

Delighting in kisses,

Do as all maidens will,

Hearing of such an ill,

As to have lost

The thing they wish'd most,

A husband, a husband,

A pretty sweet husband,

Cry O, O, O,

And alas, and at last

Ho, ho, ho,

As I do.

CLARE. Return'd so soon from London? what's the news?

CLOWN. O mistress, if ever you have seen Demoniseacleer, look into mine eyes: mine eyes are Severn, plain Severn; the Thames nor the river of Tweed are nothing to them: nay, all the rain that fell at Noah's flood had not the discretion that my eyes have: that drunk but up the whole world, and I have drowned all the way betwixt this and London.

CLARE. Thy news, good Robin.

CLOWN. My news, mistress? I'll tell you strange news. The dust upon London way being so great, that not a lord, gentleman, knight, or knave could travel, lest his eyes should be blown out: at last they all agreed to hire me to go before them, when I, looking but upon this letter, did with this water, this very water, lay the dust, as well as if it had rained from the beginning of April till the last of May.

CLARE. A letter from my Scarborow I give it thy mistress.

CLOWN. But, mistress-

CLARE. Prythee, begone,

I would not have my father nor these gentlemen

Be witness of the comfort it doth bring.

CLOWN. O, but mistress-

CLARE. Prythee, begone,

With this and the glad news leave me alone.

[Exit CLOWN.

THOM. 'Tis your turn, knight; take your liquor, know I am bountiful;

I'll forgive any man anything that he owes me but his drink, and that

I'll be paid for.

CLARE. Nay, gentlemen, the honesty of mirth

Consists not in carousing with excess;

My father hath more welcomes than in wine.

Pray you, no more.

THOM. Says my sister so? I'll be ruled by thee then. But do you hear? I hope hereafter you'll lend me some money. Now we are half-drunk, let's go to dinner. Come, knight. [Exeunt.

Manet CLARE.

CLARE. I am glad you're gone.

Shall I now open't? no, I'll kiss it first,

Because this outside last did kiss his hand.

Within this fold (I'll call't a sacred sheet)

Are writ black lines, where our white hearts shall meet.

Before I ope this door of my delight,

Methinks I guess how kindly he doth write

Of his true love to me; as chuck, sweetheart,

I prythee do not think the time too long

That keeps us from the sweets of marriage rites:

And then he sets my name, and kisses it,

Wishing my lips his sheet to write upon;

With like desire (methinks) as mine own thoughts

Ask him now here for me to look upon;

Yet at the last thinking his love too slack,

Ere it arrive at my desired eyes,

He hastens up his message with like speed,

Even as I break this ope, wishing to read.

O, what is here? mine eyes are not mine own;

Sure, sure, they are not. [O eyes,]

Though you have been my lamps this sixteen years,

[Lets fall the letter.

You do belie my Scarborow reading so;

Forgive him, he is married, that were ill:

What lying lights are these? look, I have no such letter,

No wedded syllable of the least wrong

Done to a trothplight virgin like myself.

Beshrew you for your blindness: Forgive him, he is married!

I know my Scarborow's constancy to me

Is as firm knit as faith to charity,

That I shall kiss him often, hug him thus,

Be made a happy and a fruitful mother

Of many prosperous children like to him;

And read I, he was married! ask'd forgiveness?

What a blind fool was I; yet here's a letter,

To whom, directed too? To my beloved Clare.

Why, la!

Women will read, and read not that they saw.

'Twas but my fervent love misled mine eyes,

I'll once again to the inside, Forgive me, I am married;

William Scarborow. He has set his name to't too.

O perjury! within the hearts of men

Thy feasts are kept, their tongue proclaimeth them.

Enter THOMAS SCARBOROW.

THOM. Sister, God's precious, the cloth's laid, the meat cools, we all stay, and your father calls for you.

CLARE. Kind sir, excuse me, I pray you, a little;

I'll but peruse this letter, and come straight.

THOM. Pray you, make haste, the meat stays for us, and our stomach's

ready for the meat; for believe this-

Drink makes men hungry, or it makes them lie,[369]

And he that's drunk o'er night, i'th'morning's dry:

Seen and approved. [Exit.

CLARE. He was contracted mine, yet he unjust

Hath married to another: what's my estate, then?

A wretched maid, not fit for any man;

For being united his with plighted faiths,

Whoever sues to me commits a sin,

Besiegeth me; and who shall marry me,

Is like myself, lives in adultery. O God,

That such hard fortune should betide my youth!

I am young, fair, rich, honest, virtuous,

Yet for all this, whoe'er shall marry me,

I'm but his whore, live in adultery.

I cannot step into the path of pleasure

For which I was created, born unto:

Let me live ne'er so honest, rich or poor,

If I once wed, yet I must live a whore.

I must be made a strumpet 'gainst my will,

A name I have abhorr'd; a shameful ill

I have eschewed; and now cannot withstand it

In myself. I am my father's only child:

In me he hath a hope, though not his name

Can be increas'd, yet by my issue

His land shall be possess'd, his age delighted.

And though that I should vow a single life

To keep my soul unspotted, yet will he

Enforce me to a marriage:

So that my grief doth of that weight consist,

It helps me not to yield nor to resist;

And was I then created for a whore? a whore!

Bad name, bad act, bad man, makes me a scorn:

Than live a strumpet, better be unborn.[370]

Enter JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. Sister, pray you, will you come? Your father and the whole meeting stays for you.

CLARE. I come, I come; I pray, return; I come.

JOHN. I must not go without you.

CLARE. Be thou my usher, sooth, I'll follow you. [Exit.

He writes here to forgive him, he is married:

False gentleman, I do forgive thee with my heart;

Yet will I send an answer to thy letter,

And in so short words thou shalt weep to read them,

And here's my agent ready: Forgive me, I am dead.

'Tis writ, and I will act it. Be judge, you maids

Have trusted the false promises of men:

Be judge, you wives, the which have been enforc'd

From the white sheets you lov'd to them ye loathed:

Whether this axiom may not be assured,-

Better one sin than many be endured:

My arms embracing, kisses, chastity,

Were his possessions; and whilst I live,

He doth but steal those pleasures he enjoys,

Is an adulterer in his married arms,

And never goes to his defiled bed,

But God writes sin upon the tester's head.

I'll be a wife now, help to save his soul

Though I have lost his body: give a slake

To his iniquities, and with one sin,

Done by this hand, and many done by him.

Farewell the world then, farewell the wedded joys

Till this I have hop'd for from that gentleman!

Scarborow, forgive me; thus thou hast lost thy wife,

Yet record, world,[371] though by an act too foul,

A wife thus died to cleanse her husband's soul.

[Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP.]

HAR. God's precious for his mercy, where's this wench?

Must all my friends and guests attend on you?

Where are you, minion?

CLARE. Scarborow, come, close mine eyes; for I am dead.

HAR. That sad voice was not hers, I hope:

Who's this?

My daughter?

CLARE. Your daughter,

That begs of you to see her buried,

Prays Scarborow to forgive her: she is dead. [Dies.

HAR. Patience, good tears, and let my words have way!

Clare, my daughter! help, my servants, there!

Lift up thine eyes, and look upon thy father,

They were not born to lose their light so soon:

I did beget thee for my comforter,

And not to be the author of my care.

Why speakest thou not? some help, my servants, there!

What hand hath made thee pale? or if thine own,

What cause hadst thou, that wert thy father's joy,

The treasure of his age, the cradle of his sleep,

His all in all? I prythee, speak to me:

Thou art not ripe for death; come back again.

Clare, my Clare, if death must needs have one,

I am the fittest: prythee, let me go.

Thou dying whilst I live, I am dead with woe.

Enter THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

THOM. What means this outcry?

JOHN. O ruthful spectacle!

HAR. Thou wert not wont to be so sullen, child,

But kind and loving to thy aged father:

Awake, awake! if't be thy lasting sleep,

Would I had not sense for grief, nor eyes to weep.

JOHN. What paper's this? the sad contents do tell me,

My brother writ he hath broke his faith to her,

And she replies for him she hath kill'd herself.

HAR. Was that the cause that thou hast soil'd thyself

With these red spots, these blemishes of beauty?

My child, my child! was't perjury in him

Made thee so fair act now so foul a sin?

Hath[372] he deceived thee in a mother's hopes,

Posterity, the bliss of marriage?

Thou hast no tongue to answer no or ay,

But in red letters write,[373] For him I die.

Curse on his traitorous tongue, his youth, his blood,

His pleasures, children, and possessions!

Be all his days, like winter, comfortless!

Restless his nights, his wants remorseless![374]

And may his corpse be the physician's stage,

Which play'd upon stands not to honour'd age!

Or with diseases may he lie and pine,

Till grief wax blind his eyes, as grief doth mine!

[Exit.

JOHN. O good old man, made wretched by this deed,

The more thy age, more to be pitied.

Enter SCARBOROW, his wife KATHERINE, ILFORD,

WENTLOE, BARTLEY, and BUTLER.

ILF. What, ride by the gate, and not call? that were a shame, i'faith.

WEN. We'll but taste of his beer, kiss his daughter, and to horse again.

Where's the good knight here?

SCAR. You bring me to my shame unwillingly.

ILF. Shamed of what? for deceiving of a wench! I have not blushed,

that have done't to a hundred of 'em?

In women's love he's wise that follow this,

Love one so long, till he[375] another kiss.

Where's the good knight here?

JOHN. O brother, you are come to make your eye

Sad mourner at a fatal tragedy.

Peruse this letter first, and then this corpse.

SCAR. O wronged Clare! accursed Scarborow!

I writ to her, that I was married,

She writes to me, Forgive her, she is dead.

I'll balm thy body with my faithful tears,

And be perpetual mourner at thy tomb;

I'll sacrifice this comet into sighs,[376]

Make a consumption of this pile of man,

And all the benefits my parents gave,

Shall turn distemper'd to appease the wrath

For this bloodshed, that[377] I am guilty of.

KATH. Dear husband!

SCAR. False woman, not my wife, though married to me:

Look what thy friends and thou art guilty of,

The murder of a creature equall'd heaven

In her creation, whose thoughts (like fire)

Never look'd base, but ever did aspire

To blessed benefits, till you and yours undid her:

Eye her, view her; though dead, yet she does look

Like a fresh frame or a new-printed book

Of the best paper, never look'd into

But with one sullied finger, which did spot her,

Which was her own too; but who was cause of it?

Thou and thy friends, and I will loathe thee for't.

Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP.

HAR. They do belie her that do say she's dead;

She is but stray'd to some by-gallery,

And I must have her again. Clare; where art thou, Clare?

SCAR. Here laid to take her everlasting sleep.

HAR. He lies that says so;

Yet now I know thee, I do lie that say it,

For if she be a villain like thyself,

A perjur'd traitor, recreant, miscreant,

Dog-a dog, a dog, has done't.

SCAR. O Sir John Harcop!

HAR. O Sir John villain! to betroth thyself

To this good creature, harmless, harmless child:

This kernel, hope, and comfort of my house:

Without enforcement-of thine own accord:

Draw all her soul in th'compass of an oath:

Take that oath from her, make her for none but thee-

And then betray her!

SCAR. Shame on them were the cause of it.

HAR. But hark, what thou hast got by it:

Thy wife is but a strumpet, thy children bastards,

Thyself a murderer, thy wife accessory,

Thy bed a stews, thy house a brothel.

SCAR. O, 'tis too true!

HAR. I made a wretched father, childless.

SCAR. I made a married man, yet wifeless.

HAR. Thou the cause of it?

SCAR. Thou the cause of it? [To his wife.

HAR. Curse on the day that e'er it was begun,

For I, an old man, am undone, undone. [Exit.

SCAR. For charity, have care upon that father,

Lest that his grief bring on a more mishap.

[Exeunt THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.[378]

This to my arms my sorrow shall bequeath,

Though I have lost her, to the grave I'll bring;

Thou wert my wife, and I'll thy requiem sing.

Go you to the country, I'll to London back:

All riot now, since that my soul's so black.

[Exit, with CLARE.

KATH. Thus am I left like sea-toss'd mariners.

My fortunes being no more than my distress;

Upon what shore soever I am driven,

Be it good or bad, I must account it heaven:[379]

Though married, I am reputed no wife,

Neglected of my husband, scorn'd, despis'd:

And though my love and true obedience

Lies prostrate to his beck, his heedless eye

Receives my services unworthily.

I know no cause, nor will be cause of none,

But hope for better days, when bad be gone.

You are my guide. Whither must I, butler?

BUT. Toward Wakefield, where my master's living lies.

KATH. Toward Wakefield, where thy master we'll attend;

When things are at the worst, 'tis hop'd they'll mend.

Enter THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

THOM. How now, sister? no further forward on your journey yet?

KATH. When grief's before one, who'd go on to grief?

I'd rather turn me back to find some comfort.

JOHN. And that way sorrow's hurtfuller than this,

My brother having brought unto a grave

That murder'd body whom he call'd his wife,

And spent so many tears upon her hearse,

As would have made a tyrant to relent;

Then, kneeling at her coffin, this he vow'd

From thence he never would embrace your bed.

THOM. The more fool he.

JOHN. Never from hence acknowledge you his wife:

Where others strive t'enrich their father's name,

It should be his only aim to beggar ours,

To spend their means should be his only pride:

Which, with a sigh confirm'd, he's rid to London,

Vowing a course,[380] that by his life so foul

Men ne'er should join the hands without the soul.

KATH. All is but grief, and I am arm'd for it.

JOHN. We'll bring you on your way in hope thus strong:

Time may at length make straight what yet is wrong.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

An Inn.

Enter ILFORD, WENTLOE, BARTLEY.

WEN. He's our own, he's our own! Come, let's make use of his wealth, as the sun of ice: melt it, melt it.

ILF. But art sure he will hold his meeting?

WEN. As sure as I am now, and was dead drunk last night.

ILF. Why then so sure will I be arrested by a couple of serjeants, and fall into one of the unlucky cranks about Cheapside, called Counters.

BAR. Withal, I have provided Master Gripe the usurer, who upon the instant will be ready to step in, charge the serjeants to keep thee fast, and that now he will have his five hundred pounds, or thou shalt rot for it.

WEN. When it follows, young Scarborow shall be bound for the one; then take up as much more. We share the one-half, and help him to be drunk with the other.

ILF. Ha, ha, ha!

Enter SCARBOROW.

BAR. Why dost laugh, Frank?

ILF. To see that we and usurers live by the fall of young heirs, as swine by the dropping of acorns. But he's come. Where be these rogues: shall we have no 'tendance here?

SCAR. Good day, gentlemen.

ILF. A thousand good days, my noble bully, and as many good fortunes as there were grasshoppers in Egypt, and that's covered over with good luck. But nouns, pronouns and participles! where be these rogues here? what, shall we have no wine here?

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Anon, anon, sir.

ILF. Anon, goodman rascal, must we stay your leisure? give't us by and by, with a pox to you.

SCAR. O, do not hurt the fellow.

[Exit DRAWER.

ILF. Hurt him! hang him, scrapetrencher, stair-wearer,[381] wine-spiller, metal-clanker, rogue by generation. Why, dost hear, Will? If thou dost not use these grape-spillers as you do their pottle-pots, quoit them down-stairs three or four times at a supper, they'll grow as saucy with you as serjeants, and make bills more unconscionable than tailors.

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Here's the pure and neat grape, gentlemen, I assure you.[382]

ILF. Fill up: what have you brought here, goodman rogue?

DRAW. The pure element of claret, sir.

ILF. Have you so, and did not I call for Rhenish, you mongrel?

[Throws the wine in the DRAWER'S face.

SCAR. Thou need'st no wine; I prythee, be more mild.

ILF. Be mild in a tavern? 'tis treason to the red lattice,[383] enemy to their sign-post, and slave to humour: prythee, let's be mad.

_Sings this.

Then fill our heads with wine

Till every pate be drunk, then piss i'the street,

Jostle all you meet,

And swagger with a punk_-

As thou wilt do now and then: thank me, thy good master, that brought thee to it.

WEN. Nay, he profits well; but the worst is, he will not swear yet.

SCAR. Do not belie me: if there be any good in me, that's the best. Oaths are necessary for nothing; they pass out of a man's mouth, like smoke through a chimney, that files[384] all the way it goes.

WEN. Why then I think tobacco to be a kind of swearing; for it furs our nose pockily.

SCAR. But, come, let's drink ourselves into a stomach afore supper.

ILF. Agreed. I'll begin with a new health. Fill up.

_To them that make land fly,

By wines, whores, and a die:

To them that only thrives

By kissing others' wives:

To them that pay for clothes

With nothing but with oaths:

Care not from whom they get,

So they may be in debt.

This health, my hearts! [Drinks.

But who their tailors pay,

Borrow, and keep their day,

We'll hold him like this glass,

A brainless, empty ass,

And not a mate for us_.

Drink round, my hearts!

WEN. An excellent health.

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Master Ilford, there's a couple of strangers beneath desires to speak with you.

ILF. What beards have they? gentlemenlike-beards, or brokerlike-beards?

DRAW. I am not so well acquainted with the art of face-mending, sir: but they would speak with you.

ILF. I'll go down to them.

WEN. Do; and we'll stay here and drink tobacco.[385]

SCAR. Thus like a fever that doth shake a man

From strength to weakness, I consume myself.

I know this company, their custom vile,

Hated, abhorr'd of good men, yet like a child

By reason's rule, instructed how to know

Evil from good, I to the worser go.

Why do you suffer this, you upper powers,

That I should surfeit in the sin of taste,

Have sense to feel my mischiefs, yet make waste

Of heaven and earth?

Myself will answer, what myself doth ask.

Who once doth cherish sin, begets his shame,

For vice being foster'd once, comes impudence,

Which makes men count sin custom, not offence:

When all like me their reputation blot,

Pursuing evil, while the good's forgot.

Enter ILFORD, led in by a couple of SERJEANTS, and GRIPE the usurer.

SER. Nay, never strive, we can hold you.

ILF. Ay, me, and the devil too,[386] and he fall into your clutches.

Let go your tugging; as I am a gentleman, I'll be your true prisoner.

WEN. How now: what's the matter, Frank?

ILF. I am fallen into the hands of Serjeants: I am arrested.

BAR. How, arrested? a gentleman in our company?

ILF. Put up, put up; for sin's sake put up; let's not all sup in the

Counter to night; let me speak with Master Gripe the creditor.

GRIPE. Well, what say you to me, sir?

ILF. You have arrested me here, Master Gripe.

GRIPE. Not I, sir; the serjeants have.

ILF. But at your suit, Master Gripe: yet hear me, as I am a gentleman.

GRIPE. I rather you could say as you were an honest man, and then I might believe you.

ILF. Yet hear me.

GRIPE. Hear me no hearing; I lent you my money for goodwill.

ILF. And I spent it for mere necessity. I confess I owe you five hundred pound, and I confess I owe not a penny to any man, but he would be glad to ha't [on my word]: my bond you have already, Master Gripe; if you will, now take my word.

GRIPE. Word me no words! officers, look to your prisoner. If you cannot either make me present payment, or put me in security-such as I shall like, too-

ILF. Such as you shall like, too: what say you to this young gentleman? he is the widgeon that we must feed upon. [Aside.]

GRIPE. Who, young Master Scarborow? he's an honest gentleman for aught I know; I ne'er lost a penny by him.

ILF. I would be ashamed any man should say so by me, that I have had dealings withal [Aside]: but, my enforced friends, will't please you but to retire into some small distance, whilst I descend with a few words to these gentlemen, and I'll commit myself into your merciless hands immediately.

SER. Well, sir, we'll wait upon you. [They retire.

ILF. Gentlemen, I am to prefer some conference and especially to you, Master Scarborow: our meeting here for your mirth hath proved to me thus adverse, that in your companies I am arrested. How ill it will stand with the flourish of your reputations, when men of rank and note communicate that I, Frank Ilford, gentleman, whose fortunes may transcend to make ample gratuities future, and heap satisfaction for any present extension of his friends' kindness, was enforced from the Mitre in Bread Street to the Counter in the Poultry. For mine own part, if you shall think it meet, and that it shall accord with the state of gentry to submit myself from the feather-bed in the master's side[387] or the flock-bed in the knight's ward, to the straw-bed in the hole, I shall buckle to my heels, instead of gilt spurs, the armour of patience, and do't.

WEN. Come, come, what a pox need all this! this is mellis flora, the sweetest of the honey: he that was not made to fat cattle, but to feed gentlemen.

BAR. You wear good clothes.

WEN. Are well-descended.

BAR. Keep the best company.

WEN. Should regard your credit.

BAR. Stand not upon't, be bound, be bound.

WEN. Ye are richly married.

BAR. Love not your wife.

WEN. Have store of friends.

BAR. Who shall be your heir?

WEN. The son of some slave.

BAR. Some groom.

WEN. Some horse-keeper.

BAR. Stand not upon't; be bound, be bound.

SCAR. Well, at your importunance,[388] for once I'll stretch my purse;

Who's born to sink, as good this way as worse.

WEN. Now speaks my bully like a gentleman of worth.

BAR. Of merit.

WEN. Fit to be regarded.

BAR. That shall command our souls.

WEN. Our swords.

BAR. Ourselves.

ILF. To feed upon you, as Pharaoh's lean kine did upon the fat. [Aside.]

SCAR. Master Gripe, is my bond current for this gentleman?

ILF. Good security, you Egyptian grasshopper, good security.

[Aside.]

GRIPE. And for as much more, kind Master Scarborow,

Provided that men, mortal as we are,

May have-

SCAR. May have security.

GRIPE. Your bond with land conveyed, which may assure me of mine own again.

SCAR. You shall be satisfied, and I'll become your debtor

For full five hundred more than he doth owe you.

This night we sup here; bear us company,

And bring your counsel, scrivener, and the money

With you, where I will make as full assurance

As in the law you'd wish.

GRIPE. I take your word, sir,

And so discharge you of your prisoner.

ILF. Why then let's come

And take up a new room, the infected hath spit in this.

He that hath store of coin wants not a friend;

Thou shalt receive, sweet rogue, and we will spend.

[Aside. Exeunt.

Enter THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. Brother, you see the extremity of want

Enforceth us to question for our own,

The rather that we see, not like a brother,

Our brother keeps from us to spend on other.

THOM. True, he has in his hands our portions-the patrimony which our father gave us, with which he lies fatting himself with sack and sugar[389] in the house, and we are fain to walk with lean purses abroad. Credit must be maintained, which will not be without money; good clothes must be had, which will not be without money; company must be kept, which will not be without money; all which we must have, and from him we will have money.

JOHN. Besides, we have brought our sister to this town,

That she herself, having her own from him,

Might bring herself in court to be preferr'd

Under some noble personage; or else that he,

Whose friends are great in court by his late match,

As he is in nature bound, provide for her.

THOM. And he shall do it, brother, though we have waited at his lodging longer than a tailor's bill on a young knight for an old reckoning, without speaking with him. Here we know he is, and we will call him to parley.

JOHN. Yet let us do't in mild and gentle terms;

Fair words perhaps may sooner draw our own

Than rougher course,[390] by which is mischief grown.

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Anon, anon. Look down into the Dolphin[391] there.

THOM. Here comes a drawer, we will question him. Do you hear, my friend? is not Master Scarborow here?

DRAW. Here, sir! what a jest is that! where should he be else? I would have you well know my master hopes to grow rich,[392] before he leave him.

JOHN. How long hath he continued here, since he came hither?

DRAW. Faith, sir, not so long as Noah's flood, yet long enough to have drowned up the livings of three knights, as knights go nowadays-some month, or thereabouts.

JOHN. Time ill-consum'd to ruinate our house;

But what are they that keep him company?

DRAW. Pitch, pitch; but I must not say so; but, for your further satisfaction, did you ever see a young whelp and a lion play together?

JOHN. Yes.

DRAW. Such is Master Scarborow's company.[393] [Within, Oliver! Anon, anon, look down to the Pomegranate[394] there.

THOM. I prythee, say here's them would speak with him.

DRAW. I'll do your message. Anon, anon, there.

[Exit.

JOHN. This fool speaks wiser than he is aware.

Young heirs left in this town, where sin's so rank,

And prodigals gape to grow fat by them,

Are like young whelps thrown in the lions' den,

Who play with them awhile, at length devour them.

Enter SCARBOROW.

SCAR. Who's there would speak with me?

JOHN. Your brothers, who are glad to see you well.

SCAR. Well.

JOHN. 'Tis not your riot, that we hear you use

With such as waste their goods, as tire[395] the world

With a continual spending, nor that you keep

The company of a most leprous rout,

Consumes your body's wealth, infects your name

With such plague sores that, had you reason's eye,

'Twould make you sick to see you visit them-

Hath drawn us, but our wants to crave the due

Our father gave, and yet remains with you.

THOM. Our birthright, good brother; this town craves maintenance; silk stockings must be had, and we would be loth our heritage should be arraigned at the vintner's bar, and so condemned to the vintner's box. Though, while you did keep house, we had some belly timber at your table or so; yet we would have you think we are your brothers, yet no Esaus, to sell our patrimony for porridge.

SCAR. So, so; what hath your coming else?

JOHN. With us our sister joins in our request,

Whom we have brought along with us to London,

To have her portion, wherewith to provide

An honour'd service or an honest bride.

SCAR. So then you two my brothers, and she my sister, come not, as in duty you are bound, to an elder brother out of Yorkshire to see us, but like leeches to suck from us.

JOHN. We come compelled by want to crave our own.

SCAR. Sir, for your own? then thus be satisfied,

Both hers and yours were left in trust with me,

And I will keep it for ye: must you appoint us,

Or what we please to like mix with reproof?

You have been too saucy both, and you shall know

I'll curb you for it: ask why? I'll have it so.

JOHN. We do but crave our own.

SCAR. Your own, sir? what's your own?

THOM. Our portions given us by our father's will.

JOHN. Which here you spend.

THOM. Consume.

JOHN. Ways worse than ill.

SCAR. Ha, ha, ha!

Enter ILFORD.

ILF. Nay, nay, nay, Will: prythee, come away, we have a full gallon of sack stays in the fire for thee. Thou must pledge it to the health of a friend of thine.

SCAR. What dost think these are, Frank?

ILF. Who? They are fiddlers, I think. If they be, I prythee send them into the next room, and let them scrape there, and we'll send to them presently.

SCAR. They are my brothers, Frank, come out of Yorkshire

To the tavern here, to ask their portions:

They call my pleasures riots, my company leprous;

And like a schoolboy they would tutor me.

ILF. O, thou shouldst have done well to have bound them 'prentices when they were young; they would have made a couple of good saucy tailors.

THOM. Tailors?

ILF. Ay, birdlime tailors. Tailors are good men, and in the term-time they wear good clothes. Come, you must learn more manners: as to stand at your brother's back, to shift a trencher neatly, and take a cup of sack and a capon's leg contentedly.

THOM. You are a slave,

That feeds upon my brother like a fly,

Poisoning where thou dost suck.

SCAR. You lie.

JOHN. O (to my grief I speak it), you shall find

There's no more difference in a tavern-haunter

Than is between a spital and a beggar.

THOM. Thou work'st on him like tempests on a ship.

JOHN. And he the worthy traffic that doth sink.

THOM. Thou mak'st his name more loathesome than a grave.

JOHN. Livest like a dog by vomit.

THOM. Die a slave!

[Here they draw, WENTLOE and BARTLEY come in, and the two vintner's boys with clubs. All set upon the two brothers. BUTLER, Scarborow's man, comes in, stands by, sees them fight, takes part with neither.

BUT. Do, fight. I love you all well, because you were my old master's sons, but I'll neither part you, nor be partaker with you. I come to bring my master news; he hath two sons born at a birth in Yorkshire, and I find him together by the ears with his brothers in a tavern in London. Brother and brother at odds, 'tis naught: sure it was not thus in the days of charity. What's this world like to? Faith, just like an innkeeper's chamber-pot, receives all waters, good and bad. It had need of much scouring. My old master kept a good house, and twenty or thirty tall sword-and-buckler men about him, and i'faith his son differs not much, he will have metal too; though he hath not store of cutler's blades, he will have plenty of vintner's pots. His father kept a good house for honest men his tenants, that brought him in part; and his son keeps a bad house with knaves that help to consume all. 'Tis but the change of time; why should any man repine at it? Crickets, good, loving, and lucky worms, were wont to feed, sing, and rejoice in the father's chimney, and now carrion crows build in the son's kitchen. I could be sorry for it, but I am too old to weep. Well then, I will go tell him news of his offspring. [_Exit.

Enter the two brothers, THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW, hurt, and SISTER.

SIS. Alas! good brothers, how came this mischance?

THOM. Our portions, our brother hath given us our portions, sister, hath he not?

SIS. He would not be so monstrous, I am sure.

JOHN. Excuse him not; he is more degenerate,

Than greedy vipers that devour their mother,

They eat on her but to preserve themselves,

And he consumes himself, and beggars us.

A tavern is his inn, where amongst slaves

He kills his substance, making pots the graves

To bury that which our forefather's gave.

I ask'd him for our portions, told him that you

Were brought to London, and we were in want;

Humbly we crav'd our own; when his reply

Was, he knew none we had: beg, starve, or die.

SIS. Alas!

What course is left us to live by, then?

THOM. In troth, sister, we two to beg in the fields,

And you to betake yourself to the old trade,

Filling of small cans in the suburbs.

SIS. Shall I be left then like a common road,

That every beast that can but pay his toll

May travel over, and, like to camomile,[396]

Flourish the better being trodden on.

Enter BUTLER, bleeding.

BUT. Well, I will not curse him: he feeds now upon sack and anchovies, with a pox to him: but if he be not fain, before he dies, to eat acorns, let me live with nothing but pollard, and my mouth be made a cucking-stool for every scold to set her tail on.

THOM. How now, butler, what's the meaning of this?

BUT. Your brother means to lame as many as he can, that when he is a beggar himself, he may live with them in the hospital. His wife sent me out of Yorkshire to tell him that God had blessed him with two sons; he bids a plague of them, a vengeance of her, crosses me o'er the pate, and sends me to the surgeon's to seek salve: I looked, at least he should have given me a brace of angels for my pains.

THOM. Thou hast not lost all thy longing; I am sure he hath given thee a cracked crown!

BUT. A plague on his fingers! I cannot tell, he is your brother and my master; I would be loth to prophesy of him; but whosoe'er doth curse his children being infants, ban his wife lying in childbed, and beats his man brings him news of it, they may be born rich, but they shall live slaves, be knaves, and die beggars.

SIS. Did he do so?

BUT. Guess you? he bid a plague of them, a vengeance on her, and sent me to the surgeon's.

SIS. Why then I see there is no hope of him;

Some husbands are respectless of their wives,

During the time that they are issueless;

But none with infants bless'd can nourish hate,

But love the mother for the children's sake.

JOHN. But he that is given over unto sin,

Leproused therewith without, and so within-

O butler, we were issue to one father!

BUT. And he was an honest gentleman.

JOHN. Whose hopes were better than the son he left

Should set so soon unto his house's shame.

He lives in taverns, spending of his wealth,

And here his brothers and distressed sister,

Not having any means to help us with.

THOM. Not a Scots baubee (by this hand) to bless us with.

JOHN. And not content to riot out his own,

But he detains our portions, suffers us

In this strange air, open to every wrack,

Whilst he in riot swims to be in lack.

BUT. The more's the pity.

SIS. I know not what in course to take me to;

Honestly I fain would live, what shall I do?

BUT. Sooth, I'll tell you; your brother hath hurt us; we three will hurt you, and then go all to a 'spital together.

SIS. Jest not at her whose burden is too grievous,

But rather lend a means how to relieve us.

BUT. Well, I do pity you, and the rather because you say you would fain live honest, and want means for it; for I can tell you 'tis as strange here to see a maid fair, poor, and honest, as to see a collier with a clean face. Maids here do live (especially without maintenance) Like mice going to a trap, They nibble long, at last they get a clap. Your father was my good benefactor, and gave me a house whilst I live to put my head in: I would be loth then to see his only daughter, for want of means, turn punk. I have a drift to keep you honest, have you a care to keep yourself so: yet you shall not know of it, for women's tongues are like sieves, they will hold nothing they have power to vent. You two will further me?

JOHN. In anything, good honest Butler.

THOM. If't be to take a purse, I'll be one.

BUT. Perhaps thou speakest righter than thou art aware of. Well, as chance is, I have received my wages; there is forty shillings for you, I'll set you in a lodging, and till you hear from us, let that provide for you: we'll first to the surgeon's.

To keep you honest, and to keep you brave,

For once an honest man will turn a knave.

[Exeunt.

Enter SCARBOROW, having a boy carrying a torch with him: ILFORD, WENTLOE, and BARTLEY.

SCAR. Boy, bear the torch fair: now am I armed to fight with a windmill, and to take the wall of an emperor; much drink, no money: a heavy head and a light pair of heels.

WEN. O, stand, man.

SCAR. I were an excellent creature to make a punk of; I should down with the least touch of a knave's finger. Thou hast made a good night of this: what hast won, Frank?

ILF. A matter of nothing, some hundred pounds.

SCAR. This is the hell of all gamesters. I think, when they are at play, the board eats up the money; for if there be five hundred pound lost, there's never but a hundred pounds won. Boy, take the wall of any man: and yet by light such deeds of darkness may not be.

[Put out the torch.

WEN. What dost mean by that, Will?

SCAR. To save charge, and walk like a fury with a firebrand in my hand: every one goes by the light, and we'll go by the smoke.

Enter LORD FALCONBRIDGE.

SCAR. Boy, keep the wall: I will not budge[397] for any man, by these thumbs; and the paring of the nails shall stick in thy teeth. Not for a world.

LORD. Who's this? young Scarborow?

SCAR. The man that the mare rid on.

LORD. Is this the reverence that you owe to me.

SCAR. You should have brought me up better.

LORD. That vice should thus transform man to a beast!

SCAR. Go to, your name's lord; I'll talk with you, when you're out of debt and have better clothes.

LORD. I pity thee even with my very soul.

SCAR. Pity i' thy throat! I can drink muscadine and eggs, and mulled sack; do you hear? you put a piece of turned stuff upon me, but I will-

LORD. What will you do, sir?

SCAR. Piss in thy way, and that's no slander.

LORD. Your sober blood will teach you otherwise.

Enter SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

SIR WIL. My honoured lord, you're happily well-met.

LORD. Ill met to see your nephew in this case,

More like a brute beast than a gentleman.

SIR WIL. Fie, nephew! shame you not thus to transform yourself?

SCAR. Can your nose smell a torch?

ILF. Be not so wild; it is thine uncle Scarborow.

SCAR. Why then 'tis the more likely 'tis my father's brother.

SIR WIL. Shame to our name to make thyself a beast,

Thy body worthy born, and thy youth's breast

Till'd in due time for better discipline.

LORD. Thyself new-married to a noble house,

Rich in possessions and posterity,

Which should call home thy unstay'd affections.

SIR WIL. Where thou mak'st havoc.

LORD. Riot, spoil, and waste.

SIR WIL. Of what thy father left.

LORD. And livest disgraced.

SCAR. I'll send you shorter to heaven than you came to the earth. Do you catechise? do you catechise? [He draws, and strikes at them.

ILF. Hold, hold! do you draw upon your uncle?

SCAR. Pox of that lord!

We'll meet at th'Mitre, where we'll sup down sorrow,

We are drunk to-night, and so we'll be to-morrow.

[Exeunt.

LORD. Why, now I see: what I heard of, I believed not,

Your kinsman lives-

SIR WIL. Like to a swine.

LORD. A perfect Epythite,[398] he feeds on draff,

And wallows in the mire, to make men laugh:

I pity him.

SIR WIL. No pity's fit for him.

LORD. Yet we'll advise him.

SIR WIL. He is my kinsman.

LORD. Being in the pit, where many do fall in,

We will both comfort him and counsel him.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

A noise within, crying Follow, follow, follow! then enter BUTLER, THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW, with money-bags.

THOM. What shall we do now, butler?

BUT. A man had better line a good handsome pair of gallows before his time, than be born to do these sucklings good, their mother's milk not wrung out of their nose yet; they know no more how to behave themselves in this honest and needful calling of pursetaking, than I do to piece stockings.

WITHIN. This way, this way, this way!

BOTH. 'Sfoot, what shall we do now?

BUT. See if they do not quake like a trembling asp-leaf, and look more miserable than one of the wicked elders pictured in the painted cloth.[399] Should they but come to the credit to be arraigned for their valour before a worshipful bench, their very looks would hang 'em, and they were indicted but for stealing of eggs.

WITHIN. Follow, follow! This way! Follow!

THOM. Butler.

JOHN. Honest butler.

BUT. Squat, heart, squat, creep me into these bushes, and lie me as close to the ground as you would do to a wench.

THOM. How, good butler? show us how.

BUT. By the moon, patroness of all pursetakers, who would be troubled with such changelings? squat, heart, squat.

THOM. Thus, butler?

BUT. Ay so, suckling, so; stir not now: if the peering rogues chance to go over you, yet stir not: younger brothers call you them, and have no more forecast, I am ashamed of you. These are such whose fathers had need leave them money, even to make them ready withal; for, by these hilts, they have not wit to button their sleeves without teaching: close, squat, close. Now if the lot of hanging do fall to my share, so; then the old father's[400] man drops for his young masters. If it chance, it chances; and when it chances, heaven and the sheriff send me a good rope! I would not go up the ladder twice for anything: in the meantime preventions, honest preventions do well, off with my skin; so; you on the ground, and I to this tree, to escape the gallows. [Ascends a tree.]

WITHIN. Follow, follow, follow!

BUT. Do: follow. If I do not deceive you, I'll bid a pox of this wit, and hang with a good grace.

Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP, with two or three others with him.

HAR. Up to this wood they took: search near, my friends, I am this morn robbed of three hundred pound.

BUT. I am sorry there was not four to make even money. Now, by the devil's horns, 'tis Sir John Harcop.

HAR. Leave not a bush unbeat nor tree unsearch'd;

As sure as I was robb'd, the thieves went this way.

BUT. There's nobody, I perceive, but may lie at some time, for one of them climbed this way.

1ST MAN. Stand, I hear a voice; and here's an owl in an ivy-bush.

BUT. You lie, 'tis an old servingman in a nut-tree.

2D MAN. Sirrah, sir, what make you in that tree?

BUT. Gathering of nuts, that such fools as you are may crack the shells, and I eat the kernels.

HAR. What fellow's that?

BUT. Sir John Harcop, my noble knight; I am glad of your good health; you bear your age fair, you keep a good house, I have fed at your board, and been drunk in your buttery.

HAR. But sirrah, sirrah, what made you in that tree?

My man and I, at foot of yonder hill,

Were by three knaves robb'd of three hundred pound.

BUT. A shrewd loss, by'r Lady, sir; but your good worship may now see the fruit of being miserable: you will ride but with one man to save horse-meat and man's meat at your inn at night, and lose three hundred pound in a morning.

HAR. Sirrah, I say I have lost three hundred pound.

BUT. And I say, sir, I wish all miserable knights might be served so; for had you kept half a dozen tall fellows, as a man of your coat should do, they would have helped now to keep your money.

HAR. But tell me, sir, why lurked you in that tree?

BUT. Marry, I will tell you, sir. Coming to the top of the hill where you (right worshipful) were robbed at the bottom, and seeing some a-scuffling together, my mind straight gave me there were knaves abroad: now, sir, I knowing myself to be old, tough, and unwieldy, not being able to do as I would, as much as to say rescue you (right worshipful)-I, like an honest man, one of the king's liege people, and a good subject-

SER. But he says well, sir.

BUT. Got me up to the top of that tree: the tree (if it could speak) would bear me witness, that there I might see which way the knaves took, then to tell you of it, and you right worshipfully to send hue and[401] cry after them.

HAR. Was it so?

BUT. Nay, 'twas so, sir.

HAR. Nay, then, I tell thee they took into this wood.

BUT. And I tell thee (setting thy worship's knighthood aside) he lies in his throat that says so: had not one of them a white frock? did they not bind your worship's knighthood by the thumbs? then faggoted you and the fool your man back to back.

MAN. He says true.

BUT. Why, then, so truly came not they into this wood, but took over the lawns, and left Winnowe steeple on the left hand.

HAR. It may be so. By this they are out of reach;

Well, farewell it.

BUT. Ride with more men, good knight.

HAR. It shall teach me wit.

[Exit. HARCOP with followers.

BUT. So, if this be not played a weapon beyond a scholar's prize, let me be hissed at. Now to the next. Come out, you hedgehogs!

THOM. O butler! thou deserv'st to be chronicled for this.

BUT. Do not belie me, if I had any right, I deserve to be hanged for't.

But come, down with your dust, our morning's purchase.[402]

THOM. Here 'tis; thou hast played well; thou deserv'st two shares in it.

BUT. Three hundred pound! a pretty breakfast: many a man works hard all his days, and never sees half the money. But come, though it be badly got, it shall be better bestowed. But do ye hear, gallants? I have not taught you this trade to get your livings by. Use it not; for if you do, though I 'scaped by the nut-tree, be sure you'll speed by the rope. But for your pains at this time, there's a hundred pounds for you; how you shall bestow it, I'll give you instructions. But do you hear? look ye, go not to your gills, your punks, and your cock-tricks with it. If I hear you do, as I am an honest thief, though I helped you now out of the briars, I'll be a means yet to help you to the gallows. How the rest shall be employed, I have determined, and by the way I'll make you acquainted with it. To steal is bad, but taken, where is store; The fault's the less, being done to help the poor.

[Exeunt.

Enter WENTLOE, BARTLEY, and ILFORD with a letter in his hand.

ILF. Sure, I have said my prayers, and lived virtuously o' late, that this good fortune's befallen me. Look, gallants, I am sent for to come down to my father's burial.

WEN. But dost mean to go?

ILF. Troth, no; I'll go down to take possession of his land: let the country bury him, and they will. I'll stay here a while, to save charge at his funeral.

BAR. And how dost feel thyself, Frank, now thy father is dead?

ILF. As I did before, with my hands; how should I feel myself else? but

I'll tell you news, gallants.

WEN. What's that? dost mean now to serve God?

ILF. Faith, partly; for I intend shortly to go to church, and from thence do faithful service to one woman.

Enter BUTLER.

BUT. Good! I have met my flesh-hooks together. [Aside.]

BAR. What, dost mean to be married?

ILF. Ay, mongrel, married.

BUT. That's a bait for me. [Aside.]

ILF. I will now be honestly married.

WEN. It's impossible, for thou hast been a whoremaster this seven year.

ILF. 'Tis no matter; I will now marry, and to some honest woman too; and so from hence her virtues shall be a countenance to my vices.

BAR. What shall she be, prythee?

ILF. No lady, no widow, nor no waiting gentlewoman, for under protection

Ladies may lard their husbands' heads,

Widows will woodcocks make,

And chambermaids of servingmen

Learn that they'll never forsake.

WEN. Who wilt thou wed then, prythee?

ILF. To any maid, so she be fair:

To any maid, so she be rich:

To any maid, so she be young:

And to any maid-

BAR. So she be honest.

ILF. Faith, it's no great matter for her honesty, for in these days that's a dowry out of request.

BUT. From these crabs will I gather sweetness: wherein I'll imitate the bee, that sucks her honey, not from the sweetest flowers, but [from] thyme, the bitterest: so these having been the means to beggar my master, shall be the helps to relieve his brothers and sister. [Aside.]

ILF. To whom shall I now be a suitor?

BUT. Fair fall ye, gallants.

ILF. Nay, and she be fair, she shall fall sure enough. Butler, how is't, good butler?

BUT. Will you be made gallants?

WEN. Ay, but not willingly cuckolds, though we are now talking about wives.

BUT. Let your wives agree of that after: will you first be richly married?

ALL. How, butler? richly married?

BUT. Rich in beauty, rich in purse, rich in virtue, rich in all things. But mum, I'll say nothing, I know of two or three rich heirs. But cargo![403] my fiddlestick cannot play without rosin: avaunt.

WEN. Butler.

ILF. Dost not know me, butler?

BUT. For kex,[404] dried kex, that in summer has been so liberal to fodder other men's cattle, and scarce have enough to keep your own in winter. Mine are precious cabinets, and must have precious jewels put into them, and I know you to be merchants of stock-fish, dry-meat,[405] and not men for my market: then vanish.

ILF. Come, ye old madcap, you: what need all this? cannot a man have been a little whoremaster in his youth, but you must upbraid him with it, and tell him of his defects which, when he is married, his wife shall find in him? Why, my father's dead, man, now; who by his death has left me the better part of a thousand a year.

BUT. Tut, she of Lancashire has fifteen hundred.

ILF. Let me have her then, good butler.

BUT. And then she, the bright beauty of Leicestershire, has a thousand, nay, thirteen hundred a year, at least.

ILF. O, let me have her, honest butler.

BUT. Besides, she the most delicate, sweet countenanced, black-browed gentlewoman in Northamptonshire, in substance equals the best of them.

ILF. Let me have her then.

BAR. Or I.

WEN. Or I, good butler.

BUT. You were best play the parts of right fools and most desperate whoremasters, and go together by the ears for them, ere ye see them. But they are the most rare-featured, well-faced, excellent-spoke, rare-qualitied, virtuous, and worthy-to-be-admired gentlewomen.

ALL. And rich, butler?

BUT. Ay, that must be one, though they want all the rest [Aside]; -and rich, gallants, as are from the utmost parts of Asia to the present confines of Europe.

ALL. And wilt thou help us to them, butler?

BUT. Faith, 'tis to be doubted; for precious pearl will hardly be bought without precious stones, and I think there's scarce one indifferent one to be found betwixt you three: yet since there is some hope ye may prove honest, as by the death of your fathers you are proved rich, walk severally; for I, knowing you all three to be covetous tug-muttons, will not trust you with the sight of each other's beauty, but will severally talk with you: and since you have deigned in this needful portion of wedlock to be ruled by me, Butler will most bountifully provide wives for you generally.

ALL. Why, that's honestly said. [He walks with each apart.

BUT. Why so: and now first to you, sir knight.

ILF. Godamercy.

BUT. You see this couple of abominable woodcocks here.

ILF. A pox on them! absolute coxcombs.

BUT. You heard me tell them I had intelligence to give of three gentlewomen.

ILF. True.

BUT. Now indeed, sir, I have but the performance of one.

ILF. Good.

BUT. And her I do intend for you, only for you.

ILF. Honest butler.

BUT. Now, sir, she being but lately come to this town, and so nearly watched by the jealous eyes of her friends, she being a rich heir,[406] lest she should be stolen away by some dissolute prodigal or desperate-estated spendthrift, as you have been, sir-

ILF. O, but that's passed, butler.

BUT. True, I know't, and intend now but to make use of them, flatter them with hopeful promises, and make them needful instruments.

ILF. To help me to the wench?

BUT. You have hit it-which thus must be effected: first by keeping close your purpose.

ILF. Good.

BUT. Also concealing from them the lodging, beauty, and riches of your new, but admirable mistress.

ILF. Excellent.

BUT. Of which your following happiness if they should know, either in envy of your good or hope of their own advancement, they'd make our labours known to the gentlewoman's uncles, and so our benefit be frustrate.

ILF. Admirable, butler.

BUT. Which done, all's but this: being, as you shall be, brought into her company, and by my praising your virtues, you get possession of her love, one morning step to the Tower, or to make all sure, hire some stipendiary priest for money-for money in these days what will not be done, and what will not a man do for a rich wife?-and with him make no more ado but marry her in her lodging, and being married, lie with her, and spare not.

ILF. Do they not see us, do they not see us? let me kiss thee, let me kiss thee, butler! let but this be done, and all the benefit, requital and happiness I can promise thee for't, shall be this-I'll be thy rich master, and thou shalt carry my purse.

BUT. Enough, meet me at her lodging some half an hour hence: hark, she lies-[407]

ILF. I ha't.

BUT. Fail not.

ILF. Will I live?

BUT. I will, but shift off these two rhinoceros.

ILF. Widgeons, widgeons: a couple of gulls!

BUT. With some discourse of hope to wive them too, and be with you straight.

ILF. Blessed day! my love shall be thy cushion, honest butler.

[Exit.

BUT. So now to my t'other gallants.

WEN. O butler, we have been in passion at thy tediousness.

BUT. Why, look you, I had all this talk for your good!

BAR. Hadst?

BUT. For you know the knight is but a scurvy-proud-prating prodigal, licentious, unnecessary-

WEN. An ass, an ass, an ass.

BUT. Now you heard me tell him I had three wenches in store.

BAR. And he would have had them all, would he?

BUT. Hear me. Though he may live to be an ox, he had not now so much of the goat in him, but only hopes for one of the three, when indeed I have but two; and knowing you to be men of more virtue, and dearer in my respect, intend them to be yours.

WEN. We shall honour thee.

BAR. But how, butler?

BUT. I am now going to their place of residence, situate in the choicest place of the city, and at the sign of the Wolf, just against Goldsmith's Row, where you shall meet me; but ask not for me, only walk to and fro, and to avoid suspicion you may spend some conference with the shopkeeper's wives[408]; they have seats built a purpose for such familiar entertainment-where, from a bay-window[409] which is opposite, I will make you known to your desired beauties, commend the good parts you have-

WEN. By the mass, mine are very few. [Aside.]

BUT. And win a kind of desire, as women are soon won, to make you be beloved; where you shall first kiss, then woo, at length wed, and at last bed, my noble hearts.

BOTH. O butler!

BUT. Wenches, bona robas[410], blessed beauties, without colour or counterfeit. Away, put on your best clothes, get you to the barber's, curl up your hair, walk with the best struts you can: you shall see more at the window, and I have vowed to make you-

BAR. Wilt thou?

BUT. Both fools [Aside]; and I'll want of my wit, but I'll do't.

BAR. We will live together as fellows.

WEN. As brothers.

[Exeunt.

BUT. As arrant knaves, if I keep you company.

O, the most wretched season of this time!

These men, like fish, do swim within one stream,

Yet they'd eat one another, making no conscience

To drink with them they'd poison; no offence

Betwixt their thoughts and actions has control,

But headlong run, like an unbiass'd bowl.

Yet I will draw[411] them on; but like to him,

At play knows how to lose, and when to win.

Enter THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

THOM. Butler.

BUT. O, are you come,

And fit as I appointed? so, 'tis well,

You know your cues, and have instructions

How to bear yourselves: all, all is fit,

Play but your part, your states from hence are firm.

[Exit.

JOHN. What shall I term this creature? not a man,

[Betwixt this BUTLER leads ILFORD in.

He's not of mortal's temper, but he's one

Made all of goodness, though of flesh and bone:

O brother, brother, but for that honest man,

As near to misery had been our breath,

As where the thundering pellet strikes, is death.

THOM. Ay, my shift of shirts and change of clothes know't.

JOHN. We'll tell of him, like bells whose music rings

On coronation-day for joy of kings,

That hath preserv'd their steeples, not like tolls,

That summons living tears for the dead souls.

Enter BUTLER and ILFORD above[412].

BUT. God's precious, see the hell, sir: even as you had new-kissed, and were about to court her, if her uncles be not come.

ILF. A plague on the spite on't.

BUT. But 'tis no matter, sir; stay you here in this upper chamber, and I'll stay beneath with her: 'tis ten to one you shall hear them talk now of the greatness of her possessions, the care they have to see her well-bestowed, the admirableness of her virtues, all which for all their coming shall be but happiness ordained for you, and by my means be your inheritance.

ILF. Then thou'lt shift them away, and keep me from the sight of them?

BUT. Have I not promised to make you?

ILF. Thou hast.

BUT. Go to, then, rest here with patience, and be confident in my trust; only in my absence you may praise God for the blessedness you have to come, and say your prayers, if you will. I'll but prepare her heart for entertainment of your love, dismiss them for your free access, and return straight.

ILF. Honest-blessed-natural-friend, thou dealest with me like a brother, butler. [Exit BUTLER.] Sure, heaven hath reserved this man to wear grey hairs to do me good. Now will I listen-listen close to suck in her uncles' words with a rejoicing ear.

THOM. As we were saying, brother[413],

Where shall we find a husband for my niece?

ILF. Marry, she shall find one here, though you little know't. Thanks, thanks, honest butler.

JOHN. She is rich in money, plate, and jewels.

ILF. Comfort, comfort to my soul.

THOM. Hath all her manor-houses richly furnished.

ILF. Good, good; I'll find employment for them.

BUT. within. Speak loud enough, that he may hear you.

JOHN. I take her estate to be about a thousand pound a year.

ILF. And that which my father hath left me will make it about fifteen hundred. Admirable!

JOHN. In debt to no man: then must our natural care be,

As she is wealthy, to see her married well.

ILF. And that she shall be as well as the priest can; he shall not leave a word out.

THOM. I think she has-

ILF. What, a God's name?

THOM. About four thousand pound in her great chest.

ILF. And I'll find a vent for't, I hope.

JOHN. She is virtuous, and she is fair.

ILF. And she were foul, being rich, I would be glad of her.

BUT. Pish, pish!

JOHN. Come, we'll go visit her, but with this care,

That to no spendthrift we do marry her.

[Exeunt.

ILF. You may chance be deceived, old greybeards; here's he will spend some of it; thanks, thanks, honest butler! Now do I see the happiness of my future estate. I walk me as to-morrow, being the day after my marriage, with my fourteen men in livery-cloaks after me, and step to the wall in some chief streets of the city, though I have no occasion to use it, that the shopkeepers may take notice how many followers stand bare to me. And yet in this latter age, the keeping of men being not in request, I will turn my aforesaid fourteen into two pages and two coaches. I will get myself into grace at court, run headlong into debt, and then look scurvily upon the city. I will walk you into the presence in the afternoon, having put on a richer suit than I wore in the morning, and call, boy or sirrah. I will have the grace of some great lady, though I pay for't, and at the next triumphs run a-tilt, that when I run my course, though I break not my lance, she may whisper to herself, looking upon my jewel: well-run, my knight. I will now keep great horses, scorning to have a queen to keep me; indeed I will practise all the gallantry in use; for by a wife comes all my happiness.

Enter BUTLER.

BUT. Now, sir, you have heard her uncles, and how do you like them?

ILF. O butler, they have made good thy words, and I am ravished with them.

BUT. And having seen and kissed the gentlewoman, how do you like her?

ILF. O butler, beyond discourse, beyond any element; she's a paragon for a prince, rather than a fit implement for a gentleman.[414]

BUT. Well then, since you like her, and by my means, she shall like you, nothing rests now, but to have you married.

ILF. True, butler, but withal to have her portion!

BUT. Tut, that's sure yours, when you are married once, for 'tis hers by inheritance; but do you love her?

ILF. O, with my soul.

BUT. Have you sworn as much?

ILF. To thee, to her; and have called heaven to witness.

BUT. How shall I know that?

ILF. Butler, here I protest, make vows irrevocable.

BUT. Upon your knees?

ILF. Upon my knees, with my heart and soul I love her.

BUT. Will live with her?

ILF. Will live with her.

BUT. Marry her and maintain her?

ILF. Marry her and maintain her.

BUT. For her forsake all other women?

ILF. Nay, for her forswear all other women.

BUT. In all degrees of love?

ILF. In all degrees of love, either to court, kiss, give private favours, or use private means. I'll do nothing that married men, being close whoremasters, do, so I may have her.

BUT. And yet you, having been an open whoremaster, I will not believe you till I hear you swear as much in the way of contract to herself, and call me to be a witness.

ILF. By heaven, by earth, by hell, by all that man can swear, I will, so

I may have her.

BUT. Enough.

Thus at first sight rash men to women swear,

When, such oaths broke, heaven grieves and sheds a tear.

But she's come; ply her, ply her.

Enter SCARBOROW'S SISTER.

ILF. Kind mistress, as I protested, so again I vow,

I'faith, I love you.

SIS. And I am not, sir, so uncharitable,

To hate the man that loves me.

ILF. Love me then,

The which loves you as angels love good men;

Who wisheth them to live with them for ever,

In that high bliss, whom hell cannot dissever.

BUT. I'll steal away and leave them, as wise men do; Whom they would match, let them have leave to woo. [Exit BUTLER.

ILF. Mistress, I know your worth is beyond my desert; yet by my praising of your virtues, I would not have you, as women use to do, become proud.

SIS. None of my affections are pride's children, nor akin to them.

ILF. Can you love me then?

SIS. I can; for I love all the world, but am in love with none.

ILF. Yet be in love with me; let your affections

Combine with mine, and let our souls

Like turtles have a mutual sympathy,

Who love so well, that they die together.

Such is my life, who covets to expire,

If it should lose your love.

SIS. May I believe you?

ILF. In troth you may:

Your life's my life, your death my dying-day.

SIS. Sir, the commendations I have received from Butler of your birth and worth, together with the judgment of mine own eye, bids me believe and love you.

ILF. O, seal it with a kiss. Bless'd hour! my life had never joy till this.

Enter WENTLOE and BARTLEY beneath.

BAR. Hereabout is the house, sure.

WEN. We cannot mistake it; for here's the sign of the Wolf, and the bay-window.

Enter BUTLER above.

BUT. What, so close? 'Tis well I have shifted away your uncles, mistress. But see the spite of Sir Francis! if yon same couple of smell-smocks, Wentloe and Bartley, have not scented after us.

ILF. A pox on them! what shall we do then, butler?

BUT. What, but be married straight, man?

ILF. Ay, but how, butler?

BUT. Tut, I never fail at a dead lift; for, to perfect your bliss, I have provided you a priest.

ILF. Where? prythee, butler, where?

BUT. Where but beneath in her chamber? I have filled his hands with coin, and he shall tie you fast with words; he shall close your hands in one, and then do clap yourself into her sheets, and spare not.

ILF. O sweet!

[Exit ILFORD with SCARBOROW'S SISTER.[415]

BUT. Down, down, 'tis the only way for you to get up.

Thus in this task for others' good I toil,

And she, kind gentlewoman, weds herself,

Having been scarcely woo'd, and ere her thoughts

Have learn'd to love him that, being her husband,

She may relieve her brothers in their wants;

She marries him to help her nearest kin:

I make the match, and hope it is no sin.

WEN. 'Sfoot, it is scurvy walking for us so near the two Counters; would he would come once!

BAR. Mass, he's yonder: now, Butler.

BUT. O gallants, are you here? I have done wonders for you, commended you to the gentlewomen who, having taken note of your good legs and good faces, have a liking to you; meet me beneath.

BOTH. Happy butler.

BUT. They are yours, and you are theirs; meet me beneath, I say.

[Exeunt WENTLOE and BARTLEY.

By this they are wed; ay, and perhaps have bedded.

Now follows whether, knowing she is poor,

He'll swear he lov'd her, as he swore before.

[Exit BUTLER.

ACT V.

Enter ILFORD with SCARBOROW'S SISTER.

ILF. Ho, sirrah, who would have thought it? I perceive now a woman may be a maid, be married, and lose her maidenhead, and all in half an hour. And how dost like me now, wench?

SIS. As doth befit your servant and your wife,

That owe you love and duty all my life.

ILF. And there shall be no love lost, nor service neither; I'll do thee service at board, and thou shalt do me service a-bed: now must I, as young married men use to do, kiss my portion out of my young wife. Thou art my sweet rogue, my lamb, my pigsny, my playfellow, my pretty-pretty anything. Come, a buss, prythee, so 'tis my kind heart; and wots thou what now?

SIS. Not till you tell me, sir.

ILF. I have got thee with child in my conscience, and, like a kind husband, methinks I breed it for thee. For I am already sick at my stomach, and long extremely. Now must thou be my helpful physician, and provide for me.

SIS. Even to my blood,

What's mine is yours, to gain your peace or good.

ILF. What a kind soul is this! Could a man have found a greater content in a wife, if he should have sought through the world for her? Prythee, heart, as I said, I long, and in good troth I do, and methinks thy first child will be born without a nose, if I lose my longing: 'tis but for a trifle too; yet methinks it will do me no good, unless thou effect it for me. I could take thy keys myself, go into thy closet, and read over the deeds and evidences of thy land, and in reading over them, rejoice I had such blessed fortune to have so fair a wife with so much endowment, and then open thy chests, and survey thy plate, jewels, treasure; but a pox on't, all will do me no good, unless thou effect it for me.

SIS. Sir, I will show you all the wealth I have

Of coin, of jewels, and possessions.

ILF. Good gentle heart, I'll give thee another buss for that: for that, give thee a new gown to-morrow morning by this hand; do thou but dream what stuff and what fashion thou wilt have it on to-night.

SIS. The land I can endow you with's my Love:

The riches I possess for you is Love,

A treasure greater than is land or gold,

It cannot be forfeit, and it shall ne'er be sold.

ILF. Love, I know that; and I'll answer thee love for love in abundance: but come, prythee, come, let's see these deeds and evidences-this money, plate, and jewels. Wilt have thy child born without a nose? if thou be'st so careless, spare not: why, my little frappet, you, I heard thy uncles talk of thy riches, that thou hadst hundreds a year, several lordships, manors, houses, thousands of pounds in your great chest; jewels, plate, and rings in your little box.

SIS. And for that riches you did marry me?

ILF. Troth, I did, as nowadays bachelors do: swear I lov'd thee, but indeed married thee for thy wealth.

SIS. Sir, I beseech you say not your oaths were such,

So like false coin being put unto the touch;

Who bear a flourish in the outward show

Of a true stamp, but truly[416] are not so.

You swore me love, I gave the like to you:

Then as a ship, being wedded to the sea,

Does either sail or sink, even so must I,

You being the haven, to which my hopes must fly.

ILF. True, chuck, I am thy haven, and harbour too,

And like a ship I took thee, who brings home treasure

As thou to me the merchant-venturer.

SIS. What riches I am ballast with are yours.

ILF. That's kindly said now.

SIS. If but with sand, as I am but with earth,

Being your right, of right you must receive me:

I have no other lading but my love,

Which in abundance I will render you.

If other freight you do expect my store,

I'll pay you tears: my riches are no more.

ILF. How's this? how's this? I hope you do but jest.

SIS. I am sister to decayed Scarborow.

ILF. Ha!

SIS. Whose substance your enticements did consume.

ILF. Worse than an ague.

SIS. Which as you did believe, so they supposed.

'Twas fitter for yourself than for another

To keep the sister, had undone the brother.

ILF. I am gulled, by this hand. An old coneycatcher, and beguiled! where the pox now are my two coaches, choice of houses, several suits, a plague on them, and I know not what! Do you hear, puppet, do you think you shall not be damned for this, to cosen a gentleman of his hopes, and compel yourself into matrimony with a man, whether he will or no with you? I have made a fair match, i'faith: will any man buy my commodity out of my hand? As God save me, he shall have her for half the money she cost me.

Enter WENTLOE and BARTLEY.

WEN. O, have we met you, sir?

BAR. What, turned micher, steal a wife, and not make your old friends acquainted with it?

ILF. A pox on her, I would you had her!

WEN. Well, God give you joy! we can hear of your good fortune, now 'tis done, though we could not be acquainted with it aforehand.

BAR. As that you have two thousand pounds a year.

WEN. Two or three manor-houses.

BAR. A wife, fair, rich, and virtuous.

ILF. Pretty, i'faith, very pretty.

WEN. Store of gold.

BAR. Plate in abundance.

ILF. Better, better, better.

WEN. And so many oxen, that their horns are able to store all the cuckolds in your country.

ILF. Do not make me mad, good gentlemen, do not make me mad: I could be made a cuckold with more patience, than endure this.

WEN. Foh! we shall have you turn proud now, grow respectless of your ancient acquaintance. Why, Butler told us of it, who was the maker of the match for you.

ILF. A pox of his furtherance! gentlemen, as you are Christians, vex me no more. That I am married, I confess; a plague of the fates, that wedding and hanging comes by destiny; but for the riches she has brought, bear witness how I'll reward her. [Kicks her.

SIS. Sir!

ILF. Whore, ay, and jade. Witch! Ill-faced, stinking-breath, crooked-nose, worse than the devil-and a plague on thee that ever I saw thee!

BAR. A comedy, a comedy!

WEN. What's the meaning of all this? is this the masque after thy marriage!

ILF. O gentlemen, I am undone, I am undone, for I am married! I, that could not abide a woman, but to make her a whore, hated all she-creatures, fair and poor; swore I would never marry but to one that was rich, and to be thus coney-catched! Who do you think this is, gentlemen?

WEN. Why, your wife; who should it be else?

ILF. That's my misfortune; that marrying her in hope she was rich, she proves to be the beggarly sister to the more beggarly Scarborow.

BAR. How?

WEN. Ha, ha, ha!

ILF. Ay, you may laugh, but she shall cry as well as I for't.

BAR. Nay, do not weep.

WEN. He does but counterfeit now to delude us. He has all her portion of land, coin, plate, jewels, and now dissembles thus, lest we should borrow some money of him.

ILF. And you be kind, gentlemen, lend me some; for, having paid the priest, I have not so much left in the world as will hire me a horse to carry me away from her.

BAR. But art thou thus gulled, i'faith?

ILF. Are you sure you have eyes in your head?

WEN. Why, then, [it is] by her brother's setting on, in my conscience; who knowing thee now to have somewhat to take to by the death of thy father, and that he hath spent her portion and his own possessions, hath laid this plot for thee to marry her, and so he to be rid of her himself.

ILF. Nay, that's without question; but I'll be revenged of 'em both.

For you, minx:-nay, 'sfoot, give 'em me, or I'll kick else.

SIS. Good, sweet.

ILF. Sweet with a pox! you stink in my nose, give me your jewels: nay, bracelets too.

SIS. O me most miserable!

ILF. Out of my sight, ay, and out of my doors: for now what's within

this house is mine; and for your brother,

He made this match in hope to do you good,

And I wear this, the[417] which shall draw his blood.

WEN. A brave resolution.

BAR. In which we'll second thee.

[Exit with WENTLOE.

ILF. Away, whore! out of my doors, whore!

[Exit.

SIS. O grief, that poverty should have that power to tear

Men from themselves, though they wed, bed, and swear.

Enter THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW with BUTLER.

THOM. How now, sister?

SIS. Undone, undone!

BUT. Why, mistress, how is't? how is't?

SIS. My husband has forsook me.

BUT. O perjury!

SIS. Has ta'en my jewels and my bracelets from me.

THOM. Vengeance, I played the thief for the money that bought 'em.

SIS. Left me distressed, and thrust me forth o' doors.

THOM. Damnation on him! I will hear no more.

But for his wrong revenge me on my brother,

Degenerate, and was the curse of all,

He spent our portion, and I'll see his fall.

JOHN. O, but, brother-

THOM. Persuade me not.

All hopes are shipwreck'd, misery comes on,

The comfort we did look from him is frustrate,

All means, all maintenance, but grief is gone;

And all shall end by his destruction. [Exit.

JOHN. I'll follow, and prevent what in this heat may happen:

His want makes sharp his sword; too great's the ill,

If that one brother should another kill. [Exit.

BUT. And what will you do, mistress?

SIS. I'll sit me down, sigh loud instead of words,

And wound myself with grief as they with swords.

And for the sustenance that I should eat,

I'll feed on grief, 'tis woe's best-relish'd meat.

BUT. Good heart, I pity you,

You shall not be so cruel to yourself,

I have the poor serving-man's allowance:

Twelve pence a day, to buy me sustenance;

One meal a day I'll eat, the t'other fast,

To give your wants relief. And, mistress,

Be this some comfort to your miseries,

I'll have thin cheeks, ere you shall have wet eyes.

[Exeunt.

Enter SCARBOROW.

SCAR. What is a prodigal? Faith, like a brush,

That wears himself to furbish[418] others' clothes,

And, having worn his heart even to the stump,

He's thrown away like a deformed lump.

O, such am I: I have spent all the wealth

My ancestors did purchase, made others brave

In shape and riches, and myself a knave.

For though my wealth rais'd some to paint their door,

'Tis shut against me saying I am but poor:

Nay, even the greatest arm, whose hand hath grac'd

My presence to the eye of majesty, shrinks back,

His fingers clutch, and like to lead,

They are heavy to raise up my state, being dead.

By which I find spendthrifts (and such am I)

Like strumpets flourish, but are foul within,

And they (like snakes) know when to cast their skin.

Enter THOMAS SCARBOROW.

THOM. Turn, draw, and die; I come to kill thee.

SCAR. What's he that speaks like sickness? O, is't you?

Sleep still, you cannot move me: fare you well.

THOM. Think not my fury slakes so, or my blood

Can cool itself to temper by refusal:

Turn, or thou diest.

SCAR. Away.

THOM. I do not wish to kill thee like a slave,

That taps men in their cups, and broach[es] their hearts,

Ere with a warning-piece they have wak'd their ears;

I would not like to powder shoot thee down

To a flat grave, ere thou hast thought to frown:

I am no coward, but in manly terms

And fairest oppositions vow to kill thee.

SCAR. From whence proceeds this heat?

THOM. From sparkles bred

By thee, that like a villain-

SCAR. Ha!

THOM. I'll hollow it

In thine ears, till thy soul quake to hear it,

That like a villain hast undone thy brothers.

SCAR. Would thou wert not so near me! yet, farewell.

THOM. By Nature and her laws make[419] us akin-

As near as are these hands, or sin to sin-

Draw and defend thyself, or I'll forget

Thou art a man.

SCAR. Would thou wert not my brother!

THOM. I disclaim thee[420].

SCAR. Are we not offspring of one parent, wretch?

THOM. I do forget it; pardon me the dead,

I should deny the pains you bid for me.

My blood grows hot for vengeance, thou hast spent

My life's revenues, that our parents purchas'd.

SCAR. O, do not rack me with remembrance on't.

THOM. Thou hast made my life a beggar in this world,

And I will make thee bankrupt of thy breath:

Thou hast been so bad, the best that I can give[421].

Thou art a devil: not with men to live.

SCAR. Then take a devil's payment

Here they make a pass one upon another, when at Scarborow's back come in ILFORD, WENTLOE, and BARTLEY.

ILF. He's here; draw, gentlemen.

WEN., BART. Die, Scarborow.

SCAR. Girt round with death!

THOM. How, set upon by three! 'Sfoot, fear not, brother; you cowards, three to one! slaves, worse than fencers that wear long weapons. You shall be fought withal, you shall be fought withal.

[Here the brothers join, drive the rest out, and return.

SCAR. Brother, I thank you, for you now have been

A patron of my life. Forget the sin,

I pray you, which my loose and wasteful hours

Hath made against your fortunes; I repent 'em,

And wish I could new-joint and strength your hopes,

Though with indifferent ruin of mine own.

I have a many sins, the thought of which

Like finest[422] needles prick me to the soul,

But find your wrongs to have the sharpest point.

If penitence your losses might repair,

You should be rich in wealth, and I in care.

THOM. I do believe you, sir: but I must tell you,

Evils the which are 'gainst another done,

Repentance makes no satisfaction

To him that feels the smart. Our father, sir,

Left in your trust my portion: you have spent it,

And suffered me (whilst you in riot's house-

A drunken tavern-spill'd my maintenance,

Perhaps upon the ground with o'erflown cups;)

Like birds in hardest winter half-starv'd, to fly

And pick up any food, lest I should die.

SCAR. I pr'ythee, let us be at peace together.

THOM. At peace for what? For spending my inheritance?

By yonder sun that every soul has life by,

As sure as thou hast life, I'll fight with thee.

SCAR. I'll not be mov'd unto't.

THOM. I'll kill thee then, wert thou now clasp'd

Within thy mother, wife, or children's arms.

SCAR. Would'st, homicide? art so degenerate?

Then let my blood grow hot.

THOM. For it shall cool.

SCAR. To kill rather than be kill'd is manhood's rule.

Enter JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. Stay, let not your wraths meet.

THOM. Heart! what mak'st thou here?

JOHN. Say, who are you, or you? are you not one,

That scarce can make a fit distinction

Betwixt each other? Are you not brothers?

THOM. I renounce him.

SCAR. Shalt not need.

THOM. Give way.

SCAR. Have at thee!

JOHN. Who stirs? which of you both hath strength within his arm

To wound his own breast? who's so desperate

To damn himself by killing of himself?

Are you not both one flesh?

THOM. Heart! give me way.

SCAR. Be not a bar betwixt us, or by my sword

I'll[423] mete thy grave out.

JOHN. O, do: for God's sake, do;

'Tis happy death, if I may die, and you

Not murder one another. O, do but hearken:

When do the sun and moon, born in one frame,

Contend, but they breed earthquakes in men's hearts?

When any star prodigiously appears,

Tells it not fall of kings or fatal years?

And then, if brothers fight, what may men think?

Sin grows so high, 'tis time the world should sink.

SCAR. My heart grows cool again; I wish it not.

THOM. Stop not my fury, or by my life I swear.

I will reveal the robbery we have done,

And take revenge on thee,

That hinders me to take revenge on him.

JOHN. I yield to that; but ne'er consent to this,

I shall then die, as mine own sin affords,

Fall by the law, not by my brothers' swords.

THOM. Then, by that light that guides me here, I vow,

I'll straight to Sir John Harcop, and make known

We were the two that robb'd him.

JOHN. Prythee, do.

THOM. Sin has his shame, and thou shalt have thy due.

[Exit.

JOHN. Thus have I shown the nature of a brother,

Though you have proved unnatural to me.

He's gone in heat to publish out the theft,

Which want and your unkindness forc'd us to:

If now I die, that death and public shame

Is a corsive to your soul, blot to your name.

[Exit.

SCAR. O, 'tis too true, there's not a thought I think,

But must partake thy grief, and drink

A relish of thy sorrow and misfortune.

With weight of others' tears I am o'erborne,

That scarce am Atlas to hold up mine own,

And all too good for me. A happy creature

In my cradle, and I have made myself

The common curse of mankind by my life;

Undone my brothers, made them thieves for bread,

And begot pretty children to live beggars.

O conscience, how thou art stung to think upon't!

My brothers unto shame must yield their blood:

My babes at others' stirrups beg their food,

Or else turn thieves too, and be chok'd for it,

Die a dog's death, be perch'd upon a tree;

Hang'd betwixt heaven and earth, as fit for neither.

The curse of heaven that's due to reprobates

Descends upon my brothers and my children,

And I am parent to it-ay, I am parent to it.

Enter BUTLER.

BUT. Where are you, sir?

SCAR. Why star'st thou, what's thy haste?

BUT. Here's fellows swarm like flies to speak with you.

SCAR. What are they?

BUT. Snakes, I think, sir; for they come with stings in their mouths, and their tongues are turn'd to teeth too: they claw villainously, they have ate up your honest name and honourable reputation by railing against you: and now they come to devour your possessions.

SCAR. In plainer evargy,[424] what are they? speak.

BUT. Mantichoras,[425] monstrous beasts, enemies to mankind, that have double rows of teeth in their mouths. They are usurers, they come yawning for money, and the sheriff with them is come to serve an extent upon your land, and then seize on your body by force of execution: they have begirt the house round.

SCAR. So that the roof our ancestors did build

For their sons' comfort, and their wives for charity,

I dare not to look out at.

BUT. Besides, sir, here's your poor children-

SCAR. Poor children they are indeed.

BUT. Come with fire and water, tears in their eyes and burning grief in their hearts, and desire to speak with you.

SCAR. Heap sorrow upon sorrow! tell me, are

My brothers gone to execution

For what I did? for every heinous sin

Sits on his soul, by whom it did begin.

And so did theirs by me. Tell me withal,

My children carry moisture in their eyes,

Whose speaking drops say, father, thus must we

Ask our relief, or die with infamy,

For you have made us beggars. Yet when thy tale has kill'd me,

To give my passage comfort from this stage,

Say all was done by enforc'd marriage:

My grave will then be welcome.

BUT. What shall we do, sir?

SCAR. Do as the devil does, hate (panther-like) mankind![426]

And yet I lie; for devils sinners love,

When men hate men, though good like some above.

Enter SCARBOROW'S wife KATHERINE, with two Children.

BUT. Your wife's come in, sir.

SCAR. Thou li'st, I have not a wife. None can be call'd

True man and wife, but those whom heaven install'd,

Say-

KATH. O my dear husband!

SCAR. You are very welcome. Peace: we'll have compliment.

Who are you, gentlewoman?

KATH. Sir, your distressed wife, and these your children,

SCAR. Mine! Where, how, begot?

Prove me by certain instance that's divine,

That I should call them lawful, or thee mine.

KATH. Were we not married, sir?

SCAR. No; though we heard the words of ceremony,

But had hands knit, as felons that wear fetters

Forc'd upon them. For tell me, woman,

Did e'er my love with sighs entreat thee mine?

Did ever I in willing conference

Speak words, made half with tears, that I did love thee?

Or was I ever but glad to see thee, as all lovers are?

No, no, thou know'st I was not.

KATH. O me!

BUT. The more's the pity.

SCAR. But when I came to church, I did there stand,

As water, whose forc'd breach[427] had drown'd my land.

Are you my wife, or these my children?

Why, 'tis impossible; for like the skies

Without the sun's light, so look all your eyes;

Dark, cloudy, thick, and full of heaviness;

Within my country there was hope to see

Me and my issue to be like our fathers,

Upholders of our country all our life,

Which should have been if I had wed a wife:

Where now,

As dropping leaves in autumn you look all,

And I, that should uphold you, like to fall.

KATH. 'Twas nor shall be my fault, heaven bear me witness.

SCAR. Thou liest, strumpet, thou liest!

BUT. O sir!

SCAR. Peace, saucy Jack! strumpet, I say thou liest,

For wife of mine thou art not, and these thy bastards

Whom I begot of thee with this unrest,

That bastards born are born not to be blest.

KATH. On me pour all your wrath, but not on them.

SCAR. On thee and them, for 'tis the end of lust

To scourge itself, heaven lingering to be just:

Harlot!

KATH. Husband!

SCAR. Bastards!

CHIL. Father!

BUT. What heart not pities this?

SCAR. Even in your cradle, you were accurs'd of heaven,

Thou an adultress in my married arms.

And they that made the match, bawds to thy lust:

Ay, now you hang the head; shouldst have done so before,

Then these had not been bastards, thou a whore.

BUT. I can brook't no longer: sir, you do not well in this.

SCAR. Ha, slave!

BUT. 'Tis not the aim of gentry to bring forth

Such harsh unrelish'd fruit unto their wines[428],

And to their pretty-pretty children by my troth.

SCAR. How, rascal!

BUT. Sir, I must tell you, your progenitors,

Two of the which these years were servant to,

Had not such mists before their understanding,

Thus to behave themselves.

SCAR. And you'll control me, sir!

BUT. Ay, I will.

SCAR. You rogue!

BUT. Ay, 'tis I will tell 'tis ungently done

Thus to defame your wife, abuse your children:

Wrong them, you wrong yourself; are they not yours?

SCAR. Pretty-pretty impudence, in faith.

BUT. Her whom you are bound to love, to rail against!

Those whom you are bound to keep, to spurn like dogs!

And you were not my master, I would tell you-

SCAR. What, slave? [Draws.

BUT. Put up your bird-spit, tut, I fear it not;

In doing deeds so base, so vile as these,

'Tis but a kna, kna, kna-

SCAR. Rogue!

BUT. Tut, howsoever, 'tis a dishonest part,

And in defence of these I throw off duty.

KATH. Good butler.

BUT. Peace, honest mistress, I will say you are wrong'd,

Prove it upon him, even in his blood, his bones,

His guts, his maw, his throat, his entrails.

SCAR. You runagate of threescore!

BUT. 'Tis better than a knave of three-and-twenty.

SCAR. Patience be my buckler!

As not to file[429] my hands in villain's blood;

You knave, slave, trencher-groom!

Who is your master?

BUT. You, if you were a master.

SCAR. Off with your coat then, get you forth a-doors.

BUT. My coat, sir?

SCAR. Ay, your coat, slave.

BUT. 'Sfoot, when you ha't, 'tis but a threadbare coat,

And there 'tis for you: know that I scorn

To wear his livery is so worthy born,

And live[s] so base a life; old as I am,

I'll rather be a beggar than your man,

And there's your service for you. [Exit.

SCAR. Away, out of my door: away!

So, now your champion's gone, minx, thou hadst better

Have gone quick unto thy grave-

KATH. O me! that am no cause of it.

SCAR. Than have suborn'd that slave to lift his hand against me.

KATH. O me! what shall become of me?

SCAR. I'll teach you tricks for this: have you a companion?

Enter BUTLER.

BUT. My heart not suffers me to leave my honest mistress and her pretty children.

SCAR. I'll mark thee for a strumpet, and thy bastards-

BUT. What will you do to them, sir?

SCAR. The devil in thy shape come back again?

BUT. No, but an honest servant, sir, will take this coat,

And wear it with this sword to safeguard these,

And pity them, and I am woe for you[430], too;

But will not suffer

The husband, viper-like, to prey on them

That love him and have cherish'd him, as these

And they have you.

SCAR. Slave!

BUT. I will outhumour you, [I will]

Fight with you and lose my life, ere[431] these

Shall taste your wrong, whom you are bound to love.

SCAR. Out of my doors, slave!

BUT. I will not, but will stay and wear this coat,

And do you service whether you will or no.

I'll wear this sword, too, and be champion

To fight for her, in spite of any man.

SCAR. You shall: you shall be my master, sir.

BUT. No, I desire it not,

I'll pay you duty, even upon my knee,

But lose my life, ere these oppress'd I'll see.

SCAR. Yes, goodman slave, you shall be master,

Lie with my wife, and get more bastards; do, do, do.

KATH. O me!

SCAR. Turns the world upside down,

That men o'erbear their masters? it does, it does.

For even as Judas sold his master Christ,

Men buy and sell their wives at highest price,

What will you give me? what will you give me?

What will you give me? [Exit.

BUT. O mistress, my soul weeps, though mine eyes be dry,

To see his fall and your adversity;

Some means I have left, which I'll relieve you with.

Into your chamber, and if comfort be akin

To such great grief, comfort your children.

KATH. I thank thee, butler; heaven, when he please,

Send death unto the troubled-a blest ease.

[Exit with children.

BUT. In troth I know not, if it be good or ill,

That with this endless toil I labour thus:

'Tis but the old time's ancient conscience

That would do no man hurt, that makes me do't:

If it be sin, that I do pity these,

If it be sin, I have relieved his brothers,

Have played the thief with them to get their food,

And made a luckless marriage for his sister,

Intended for her good, heaven pardon me.

But if so, I am sure they are great sinners,

That made this match, and were unhappy[432] men;

For they caus'd all, and may heaven pardon them.

Enter SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

SIR WIL. Who's within here?

BUT. Sir William, kindly welcome.

SIR WIL. Where is my kinsman Scarborow?

BUT. Sooth, he's within, sir, but not very well.

SIR WIL. His sickness?

BUT. The hell of sickness; troubled in his mind.

SIR WIL. I guess the cause of it,

But cannot now intend to visit him.

Great business for my sovereign hastes me hence;

Only this letter from his lord and guardian to him,

Whose inside, I do guess, tends to his good;

At my return I'll see him: so farewell. [Exit.

BUT. Whose inside, I do guess, turns to his good.

He shall not see it now, then; for men's minds,

Perplex'd like his, are like land-troubling-winds,

Who have no gracious temper.

Enter JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. O butler!

BUT. What's the fright now?

JOHN. Help, straight, or on the tree of shame

We both shall perish for the robbery.

BUT. What, is't reveal'd, man?

JOHN. Not yet, good butler: only my brother Thomas,

In spleen to me that would not suffer him

To kill our elder brother had undone us,

Is riding now to Sir John Harcop straight,

To disclose it.

BUT. Heart! who would rob with sucklings?

Where did you leave him?

JOHN. Now taking horse to ride to Yorkshire.

BUT. I'll stay his journey, lest I meet a hanging.

[Exeunt.

Enter SCARBOROW.

SCAR. I'll parley with the devil: ay, I will,

He gives his counsel freely, and the cause

He for his clients pleads goes always with them:

He in my cause shall deal then; and I'll ask him

Whether a cormorant may have stuff'd chests,

And see his brother starve? why, he'll say, ay[433],

The less they give, the more I gain thereby;

Enter BUTLER.

Their souls, their souls, their souls.

How now, master? nay, you are my master;

Is my wife's sheets warm? does she kiss well?

BUT. Good sir.

SCAR. Foh! make't not strange, for in these days,

There's many men lie in their masters' sheets,

And so may you in mine, and yet-your business, sir?

BUT. There's one in civil habit, sir, would speak with you.

SCAR. In civil habit?

BUT. He is of seemly rank, sir, and calls himself

By the name of Doctor Baxter of Oxford.

SCAR. That man undid me; he did blossoms blow,

Whose fruit proved poison, though 'twas good in show:

With him I'll parley, and disrobe my thoughts

Of this wild frenzy that becomes me not.

A table, candles, stools, and all things fit,

I know he comes to chide me, and I'll hear him:

With our sad conference we will call up tears,

Teach doctors rules, instruct succeeding years:

Usher him in:

Heaven spare a drop from thence, where's bounteous throng:

Give patience to my soul, inflame my tongue.

Enter DOCTOR.

DOC. Good Master Scarborow.

SCAR. You are most kindly welcome, sooth, ye are.

DOC. I have important business to deliver you.

SCAR. And I have leisure to attend your hearing.

DOC. Sir, you know I married you.

SCAR. I know you did, sir.

DOC. At which you promis'd both to God and men,

Your life unto your spouse should be like snow,

That falls to comfort, not to overthrow:

And love unto your issue should be like

The dew of heaven, that hurts not, though it strike:

When heaven and men did witness and record

'Twas an eternal oath, no idle word:

Heaven, being pleased therewith, bless'd you with children,

And at heaven's blessings all good men rejoice.

So that God's chair and footstool, heaven and earth,

Made offering at your nuptials as a knot

To mind you of your vow; O, break it not.

SCAR. 'Tis very true[434].

DOC. Now, sir, from this your oath and band[435],

Faith's pledge and seal of conscience you have run,

Broken all contracts, and the forfeiture

Justice hath now in suit against your soul:

Angels are made the jurors, who are witnesses

Unto the oath you took, and God himself,

Maker of marriage, he that seal'd the deed,

As a firm lease unto you during life,

Sits now as judge of your transgression:

The world informs against you with this voice:

If such sins reign, what mortals can rejoice?

SCAR. What then ensues to me?

DOC. A heavy doom, whose execution's

Now serv'd upon your conscience, that ever

You shall feel plagues, whom time shall not dissever;

As in a map your eyes see all your life,

Bad words, worse deeds, false oaths, and all the injuries,

You have done unto your soul: then comes your wife,

Full of woe's drops, and yet as full of pity,

Who though she speaks not, yet her eyes are swords[436],

That cut your heart-strings: and then your children-

SCAR. O, O, O!

DOC. Who, what they cannot say, talk in their looks;

You have made us up, but as misfortune's books,

Whom other men may read in, when presently,

Task'd by yourself, you are not, like a thief,

Astonied, being accus'd, but scorch'd with grief.

SCAR. I, I, I.

DOC. Here stand your wife's tears.

SCAR. Where?

DOC. And you fry for them: here lie your children's wants.

SCAR. Here?

DOC. For which you pine, in conscience burn,

And wish you had been better, or ne'er born.

SCAR. Does all this happen to a wretch like me?

DOC. Both this and worse; your soul eternally

Shall live in torment, though the body die.

SCAR. I shall have need of drink then: Butler!

DOC. Nay, all your sins are on your children laid,

For the offences that the father made.

SCAR. Are they, sir?

DOC. Be sure they are.

Enter BUTLER.

SCAR. Butler!

BUT. Sir.

SCAR. Go fetch my wife and children hither.

BUT. I will, sir.

SCAR. I'll read a lecture[437] to the doctor too,

He's a divine? ay, he's a divine. [Aside.]

BUT. I see his mind is troubled, and have made bold with duty to read a letter tending to his good; have made his brothers friends: both which I will conceal till better temper. He sends me for his wife and children; shall I fetch them? [Aside.

SCAR. He's a divine, and this divine did marry me:

That's good, that's good. [Aside.

DOC. Master Scarborow.

SCAR. I'll be with you straight, sir.

BUT. I will obey him,

If anything doth happen that is ill,

Heaven bear me record, 'tis 'gainst my will. [Exit.

SCAR. And this divine did marry me,

Whose tongue should be the key to open truth,

As God's ambassador. Deliver, deliver, deliver. [Aside.

DOC. Master Scarborow.

SCAR. I'll be with you straight, sir:

Salvation to afflicted consciences,

And not give torment to contented minds,

Who should be lamps to comfort out our way,

And not like firedrakes[438] to lead men astray,

Ay, I'll be with you straight, sir.

Enter BUTLER, [with Wife and Children].

BUT. Here's your wife and children, sir.

SCAR. Give way, then,

I have my lesson perfect; leave us here.

BUT. Yes, I will go, but I will be so near, To hinder the mishap, the which I fear. [Exit BUTLER.

SCAR. Now, sir, you know this gentlewoman?

DOC. Kind Mistress Scarborow.

SCAR. Nay, pray you keep your seat, for you shall hear

The same affliction you have taught me fear,

Due to yourself.

DOC. To me, sir?

SCAR. To you, sir.

You match'd me to this gentlewoman?

DOC. I know I did, sir.

SCAR. And you will say she is my wife then.

DOC. I have reason, sir, because I married you.

SCAR. O, that such tongues should have the time to lie,

Who teach men how to live, and how to die;

Did not you know my soul had given my faith,

In contract to another? and yet you

Would join this loom unto unlawful twists.

DOC. Sir?

SCAR. But, sir,

You that can see a mote within my eye,

And with a cassock blind your own defects,

I'll teach you this: 'tis better to do ill,

That's never known to us, than of self-will.

Stand these[439], all these, in thy seducing eye,

As scorning life, make them be glad to die.

DOC. Master Scarborow-

SCAR. Here will I write that they, which marry wives,

Unlawful live with strumpets all their lives.

Here will I seal the children that are born,

From wombs unconsecrate, even when their soul

Has her infusion, it registers they are foul,

And shrinks to dwell with them, and in my close

I'll show the world, that such abortive men

Knit hands without free tongues, look red like them

Stand you and you to acts most tragical:

Heaven has dry eyes, when sin makes sinners fall.

DOC. Help, Master Scarborow.

CHIL. Father.

KATH. Husband.

SCAR. These for thy act should die, she for my Clare,

Whose wounds stare thus upon me for revenge.

These to be rid from misery, this from sin,

And thou thyself shalt have a push amongst them,

That made heaven's word a pack-horse to thy tongue,

Quot'st Scripture to make evil shine like good!

And as I send you thus with worms to dwell,

Angels applaud it as a deed done well.

Enter BUTLER.

DOC. Stay him, stay him.

BUT. What will you do, sir?

SCAR. Make fat worms of stinking carcases.

What hast thou to do with it?

Enter ILFORD and his Wife, the two Brothers,

and SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

BUT. Look, who are here, sir?

SCAR. Injurious villain! that prevent'st me still.

BUT. They are your brothers and alliance, sir.

SCAR. They are like full ordnance then who, once discharg'd,

Afar off give a warning to my soul,

That I have done them wrong.

SIR WIL. Kinsman.

BRO. AND SIS. Brother.

KATH. Husband.

CHIL. Father.

SCAR. Hark, how their words like bullets shoot me thorough,

And tell me I have undone them: this side might say,

We are in want, and you are the cause of it;

This points at me, y'are shame unto your house:

This tongue says nothing, but her looks do tell

She's married, but as those that live in hell:

Whereby all eyes are but misfortune's pipe,

Fill'd full of woe by me: this feels the stripe.

BUT. Yet look, sir,

Here's your brothers hand in hand, whom I have knit so.

SIS. And look, sir, here's my husband's hand in mine,

And I rejoice in him, and he in me.

SIR WIL. I say, cos, what is pass'd is the way to bliss,

For they know best to mend, that know amiss.

KATH. We kneel: forget, and say if you but love us,

You gave us grief for future happiness.

SCAR. What's all this to my conscience?

BUT. Ease, promise of succeeding joy to you;

Read but this letter.

SIR WIL. Which tells you that your lord and guardian's dead.

BUT. Which tells you that he knew he did you wrong,

Was griev'd for't, and for satisfaction

Hath given you double of the wealth you had.

BRO. Increas'd our portions.

WIFE. Given me a dowry too.

BUT. And that he knew,

Your sin was his, the punishment his due.

SCAR. All this is here:

Is heaven so gracious to sinners then?

BUT. Heaven is, and has his gracious eyes,

To give men life, not life-entrapping spies.

SCAR. Your hand-yours-yours-to my soul: to you a kiss;

In troth I am sorry I have stray'd amiss;

To whom shall I be thankful? all silent?

None speak? whist! why then to God,

That gives men comfort as he gives his rod;

Your portions I'll see paid, and I will love you,

You three I'll live withal, my soul shall love you!

You are an honest servant, sooth you are;

To whom? I, these, and all must pay amends;

But you I will admonish in cool terms,

Let not promotion's hope be as a string,

To tie your tongue, or let it loose to sting.

DOC. From hence it shall not, sir.

SCAR. Then husbands thus shall nourish with their wives. [Kiss.

ILF. As thou and I will, wench.

SCAR. Brothers in brotherly love thus link together [Embrace. Children and servants pay their duty thus. [Bow and kneel. And are all pleas'd?

ALL. We are.

SCAR. Then, if all these be so,

I am new-wed, so ends all marriage woe;

And, in your eyes so lovingly being wed,

We hope your hands will bring us to our bed.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Baldwin's "Old English Drama," 2 vols. 12mo.

[2] From the similarity of the names, it seems the author originally intended to make Young Lusam the son of Old Lusam and brother of Mistress Arthur, but afterwards changed his intention: in page 13 the latter calls him a stranger to her, although he is the intimate friend of her husband.

[3] [Old copy, walk.]

[4] Busk-point, the lace with its tag which secured the end of the busk, a piece of wood or whalebone worn by women in front of the stays to keep them straight.

[5] [Old copies, Study.]

[6] [Old copy, watch.]

[7] [Old copies, dream.]

[8] [All Fuller's speeches must be supposed to be Asides.]

[9] [Old copies give this line to Fuller.]

[10] Old copies, she.

[11] Old copies, bene; but the schoolmaster is made to blunder, so that bene may, after all, be what the author wrote.

[12] The rod, made of a willow-wand.

[13] Old copy, how.

[14] [Old copies, laid.]

[15] [A quotation.]

[16] Christ-cross, the alphabet.

[17] [The sense appears to be, for this not being perfect poison, as his (the pedant's) meaning is to poison himself, some covetous slave will sell him real poison.]

[18] [Old copies, seem'd.]

[19] [Old copies, First.]

[20] [Massinger, in his "City Madam," 1658, uses this word in the sense of above the law. Perhaps Young Arthur may intend to distinguish between a civil and religious contract.]

[21] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 90.]

[22] [i.e., The hoar-frost.]

[23] [Old copy, flies upon.]

[24] [This line has been seriously corrupted, and it might be impossible to restore the true reading. The old copies have: Ask, he knew me, a means, &c.]

[25] [Having, however, been written and acted some years before it was printed in 1606.]

[26] Sloughing hotcockles is a sport still retained among children. The diversion is of long standing, having been in use with the ancients. See Pollux, lib. ix. In the copy it is spelt slauging.

[27] Old copy, which.

[28] [So in Wybarne's "New Age of Old Names," 1609, p. 12: "But stay, my friend: Let it be first manifest that my Father left Land, and then we will rather agree at home, then suffer the Butler's Boxe to winne all." The phrase occurs again in "Ram Alley," 1611.]

[29] [So the old copy, and rightly. Forne is a contracted form of beforne, a good old English word. Hawkins printed fore.]

[30] Query, if this be not a fling at Shakespeare? See "Cymbeline." -Hawkins. [Scarcely, for there are two sons recovered in that play, and the incident of finding a long-lost child is not an uncommon one in the drama. We have a daughter thus found in Pericles.-Ebsworth.]

[31] [Some of the old copies read make.]

[32] Old copy, furens.

[33] Old copy, lanching.

[34] [Old copies, is.]

[35] [It is probably well known that on the early stage vinegar was used where there was a necessity for representing bloodshed. Compare the passage in Preston's "Cambyses," iv. 217.]

[36] Old copy, utensilies.

[37] Old copy, sly.

[38] Old copy, soure.

[39] [Old copy, clear the vsuall, &c.]

[40] "Belvidere; or, The Garden of the Muses," 8vo, 1600, in which are quoted sentences out of Spenser, Constable, and the rest, digested under a commonplace. [Another edition in 1610. It is a book of no value or interest.]

[41] [Left blank in the old copy. The ostensible editor of "Belvidere" was John Bodenham, but he is evidently not the person referred to here.]

[42] [Alluding to the device on the title of the volume.]

[43] [Two of the old copies read swifter.]

[44] [Some copies read S.D.]

[45] As the works of some of the poets here cited are become obscure, it may not be unacceptable to the reader to see a few specimens of their several abilities. Constable was esteemed the first sonneteer of his time, and the following sonnet, prefixed to King James I.'s "Poetical Exercises" was the most admired-

TO THE KING OF SCOTLAND.

"When others hooded with blind love do fly

Low on the ground with buzzard Cupid's wings,

A heavenly love from love of love thee brings,

And makes thy Muse to mount above the sky:

Young Muses be not wont to fly so high,

Age school'd by time such sober ditties sings,

But thy love flies from love of youthful things,

And so the wings of time doth overfly.

Thus thou disdain'st all worldly wings as slow,

Because thy Muse with angels' wings doth leave

Time's wings behind, and Cupid's wings below;

But take thou heed, lest Fame's wings thee deceive,

With all thy speed from fame thou canst not flee,-

But more thou flees, the more it follows thee."

[46] Lodge was a physician as well as a poet; he was the author of two plays, and eminent, in his day, for writing elegant odes, pastoral songs, sonnets, and madrigals. His "Euphues' Golden Legacy" was printed 4to, 1590, from which some suppose Shakespeare took his "As You Like It." Description of spring by Lodge-

"The earth late choak'd with showers,

Is now array'd in green,

Her bosom springs with flowers,

The air dissolves her teen;

The woods are deck'd with leaves,

And trees are clothed gay,

And Flora, crown'd with sheaves,

With oaken boughs doth play;

The birds upon the trees

Do sing with pleasant voices,

And chant, in their degrees,

Their loves and lucky choices."

[47] Watson was contemporary with, and imitator of, Sir Philip Sydney, with Daniel, Lodge, Constable, and others, in the pastoral strain of sonnets, &c. Watson thus describes a beautiful woman-

"Her yellow locks exceed the beaten gold,

Her sparkling eyes in heav'n a place deserve.

Her forehead high and fair, of comely mould;

Her words are music all, of silver sound.

Her wit so sharp, as like can scarce be found:

Each eyebrow hangs, like Iris in the skies,

Her eagle's nose is straight, of stately frame,

On either cheek a rose and lily lies,

Her breath is sweet perfume or holy flame;

Her lips more red than any coral stone,

Her neck more white than aged swans that moan:

Her breast transparent is, like crystal rock,

Her fingers long, fit for Apollo's lute,

Her slipper such, as Momus dare not mock;

Her virtues are so great as make me mute:

What other parts she hath I need not say,

Whose face alone is cause of my decay."

[48] [This passage is a rather important piece of evidence in favour of the identity of the poet with the physician.]

[49] [Sir] John Davis [author of "Nosce Teipsum," &c.]

[50] Old copy, sooping.

[51] Lock and Hudson were the Bavius and Maevius of that time. The latter gives us this description of fear-

"Fear lendeth wings to aged folk to fly,

And made them mount to places that were high;

Fear made the woful child to wail and weep,

For want of speed on foot and hands to creep."

[Hudson, however, enjoyed some repute in his time, and is known as the translator from Du Bartas of the "History of Judith," 8vo, 1584. Lock published in 1597 a volume containing an English version of "Ecclesiastes" and a series of sonnets.]

[52] John Marston, a bold and nervous writer in Elizabeth's reign: the work here censured was, no doubt, his "Scourge of Villanie, 3 Books of Satyrs," 1598.

[53] Marlowe's character is well marked in these lines: he was an excellent poet, but of abandoned morals, and of the most impious principles; a complete libertine and an avowed atheist. He lost his life in a riotous fray; for, detecting his servant with his mistress, he rushed into the room with a dagger in order to stab him, but the man warded off the blow by seizing Marlowe's wrist, and turned the dagger into his own head: he languished some time of the wound he received, and then died, [in] the year 1593.-A. Wood.

[54] [Omitted in some copies.]

[55] [Omitted in some copies.]

[56] Churchyard wrote Jane Shore's Elegy in "Mirror for Magistrates," 4to, [1574. It is reprinted, with additions, in his "Challenge," 1593.]

[57] Isaac Walton, in his "Life of Hooker," calls Nash a man of a sharp wit, and the master of a scoffing, satirical, merry pen. His satirical vein was chiefly exerted in prose; and he is said to have more effectually discouraged and nonplussed Penry, the most notorious anti-prelate, Richard Harvey the astrologer, and their adherents, than all serious writers who attacked them. That he was no mean poet will appear from the following description of a beautiful woman-

"Stars fall to fetch fresh light from her rich eyes,

Her bright brow drives the sun to clouds beneath,

Her hairs' reflex with red streaks paint the skies,

Sweet morn and evening dew falls from her breath."

[58] Ital. stocco, or long rapier.

[59] A tusk.

[60] [Some copies read turne.]

[61] [John Danter, the printer. Nash, it will be remembered, was called by Harvey Danter's man, because some of his books came from that press. See the next scene.]

[62] [A few corrections have been ventured upon in the French and Latin scraps, as the speaker does not appear to have been intended to blunder.]

[63] [Old copies, procures.]

[64] [Old copies, thanked.]

[65] [Old copies, Fly-revengings.]

[66] [Old copy, gale.]

[67] [Old copy, gracis.]

[68] [Old copy, filthy.]

[69] [Old copies, seat.]

[70] [In the old copy the dialogue is as usual given so as to make utter nonsense, which was apparently not intended.]

[71] [Furor Poeticus apostrophises Apollo, the Muses, &c., who are not present.]

[72] [Old copy, Den.]

[73] [Alluding to the blindness of puppies.]

[74] [Man.]

[75] [Old copy, skibbered.]

[76] [i.e., my very mate.]

[77] [In old copy this line is given to Phantasma.]

[78] [i.e., face. Old copy, race.]

[79] [Rent or distracted. A play is intended on the double meaning of the word.]

[80] [So in the old copy, being an abbreviation, rhythmi causa, of Philomusus.]

[81] [Old copy, Mossy; but in the margin is printed Most like, as if it was an afterthought, and the correction had been stamped in.]

[82] [Old copy, playing.]

[83] No omitted.

[84] [This is the old mythological tradition inverted.]

[85] The bishop's examining chaplain, so called from apposer. In a will of James I.'s reign, the curate of a parish is to appose the children of a charity-school. The term poser is still retained in the schools at [St Paul's,] Winchester and Eton. Two Fellows are annually deputed by the Society of New College in Oxford and King's College in Cambridge to appose or try the abilities of the boys who are to be sped to the fellowships that shall become vacant in the ensuing year.

[86] [The old copy gives this to the next act and scene; but Amoretto seems to offer the remark in immediate allusion to what has just passed. After all, the alteration is not very vital, as, although a new act and scene are marked, Academico and Amoretto probably remain on the stage.]

[87] Good.

[88] [Old copy, caches. A rache is a dog that hunts by scent wild beasts, birds, and even fishes; the female is called a brache.]

[89] [See Halliwell's "Dictionary," i. 115.]

[90] [He refers to Amoretto himself.]

[91] [Halliwell, in his "Dictionary," v. rheum (s.), defines it to mean spleen, caprice. He does not cite it as a verb. I suppose the sense here to be ruminating.]

[92] Old copy, ravished.

[93] [A play on personage and parsonage, which were formerly interchangeable terms, as both had originally one signification.]

[94] [Queen Elizabeth was born September 7, 1533; not her birthday, therefore, but her accession (17th November 1558), at the death of her sister Mary, is referred to by Immerito and Sir Raderic. Elizabeth died March 24, 1602-3. Inasmuch as there is this special reference in "The Return from Parnassus" to the Queen's day, and not to King James's day, we have a certain evidence that the play was written by or before the end of 1602-3. See also what may be drawn from the reference to the siege of Ostend, 1601-4, at the close of act iii. sc. 3 post -additional evidence for 1602.-Ebsworth.]

[95] [Old copy, I tooke of, which seems nonsense.]

[96] [So old copy. Hawkins altered the word unnecessarily to thatched.]

[97] [Bespeaketh. Old copies, rellish.]

[98] Old copy, bites a lip.

[99] [So in old copy, but should we not read London?-Ebsworth.]

[100] [There are three references to Ostend in this play. The town bore a siege from 1601 to 1604, when it surrendered by capitulation. The besieged lost 50,000 men, and the Spaniards still more. The expression, "He is as glad as if he had taken Ostend," surely proves that this play was written after the beginning of 1601 and the commencement of the siege. It does not prove it to have been written after 1604, but, I think, strongly indicates the contrary.-Ebsworth. Is it not possible that the passage was introduced into the play when printed, and was not in the original MS.?]

[101] [So the old copies. Hawkins altered it to delicacies.]

[102] [Poor must be pronounced as a dissyllable.]

[103] [From marry to terms is omitted in one of the Oxford copies and in Dr Ingleby's.]

[104] [Old copy, puppet.]

[105] [One of the copies at Oxford, and Dr Ingleby's, read nimphs. Two others misprint mips.]

[106] [Old copy, wail.]

[107] Old copy, and.

[108] [Both the Oxford copies read teate.]

[109] [Both the Oxford copies have beare.]

[110] [Some of the copies, break.]

[111] To moot is to plead a mock cause; to state a point of law by way of exercise, a common practice in the inns of court.

[112] Old copy, facility.

[113] [Old copy, high.]

[114] [A slight departure from Ovid.]

[115] To come off is equivalent to the modern expression to come down, to pay sauce, to pay dearly, &c. In this sense Shakespeare uses the phrase in "Merry Wives of Windsor," act iv. sc. 6. The host says, "They [the Germans] shall have my horses, but I'll make them pay, I'll sauce them. They have had my house a week at command; I have turned away my other guests. They must come off; I'll sauce them." An eminent critic says to come off is to go scot-free; and this not suiting the context, he bids us read, they must compt off, i.e., clear their reckoning.

[116] Old copy, Craboun.

[117] [Talons.]

[118] Gramercy: great thanks, grand merci; or I thank ye, Je vous remercie. In this sense it is constantly used by our first writers. A very great critic pronounces it an obsolete expression of surprise, contracted from grant me mercy; and cites a passage in "Titus Andronicus" to illustrate his sense of it; but, it is presumed, that passage, when properly pointed, confirms the original acceptation-

CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius,

He hath some message to deliver us.

AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.

BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,

I greet your honours from Andronicus-

And pray the Roman gods confound you both. [Aside.

DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius; what's the news?

BOY. That you are both decipher'd (that's the news)

For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside] May it please you,

My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me

The goodliest weapon of his armoury,

To gratify your honourable youth,

The hope of Rome: for so he bid me say;

And so I do, and with his gifts present

Your lordships, that whenever you have need,

You may be armed and appointed well.

And so I leave you both-like bloody villains. [Aside.

-Hanmer's 2d edit., act iv. sc. 2. [The text is the same in Dyce's 2d edit., vi. 326-7.]

[119] "Poetaster," act v. sc. 3. [Gifford's edit. ii. 524-5, and the note.]

[120] [So in the old copy Kemp is made, perhaps intentionally, to call Studioso. See also infrá, p. 198.]

[121] [See Kemp's "Nine Daies Wonder," edit. Dyce, ix.]

[122] Sellenger's round, corrupted from St Leger, a favourite dance with the common people.

[123] Old copy reads-

"As you part in kne

KEMP. You are at Cambridge still with sice kne," &c.

The genuine reading, it is presumed, is restored to the text-

"As your part in cue.

KEMP. You are at Cambridge still with size cue," &c.

A pun upon the word cue, which is a hint to the actor to proceed in his part, and has the same sound with the letter q, the mark of a farthing in college buttery-books. To size means to battle, or to be charged in the college accounts for provisions. [A q is so called because it is the initial letter of quadrans, the fourth part of a penny.]

[124] This seems to be quoted from the first imperfect edition of "The Spanish Tragedy;" in the later (corrected) impression it runs thus-

"What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,

And chill," &c.

-[v. 54.]

[125] [Old copy points this sentence falsely, and repeats thing.]

[126] Old copy, woe.

[127] [Old copy, birds. Perhaps, however, the poet may have meant swans.]

[128] Old copy, sooping.

[129] [I think this is much more likely to be an allusion to Shakespeare, than the passage in the prologue to which Hawkins refers.-Ebsworth.]

[130] [Old copy, some.]

[131] [There were several Greek literati of this name. Amoretto's page, personating his master, is so nicknamed by the other, who personates Sir Raderic-unless the passage is corrupt.]

[132] [Old copy, Irenias.]

[133] [Old copy, Nor.]

[134] [Old copy, we have.]

[135] [Old copy, run. Mr Ebsworth's correction.]

[136] Old copy, cluttish.

[137] Old copy, trus.

[138] One of the old copies reads repay'st.

[139] Old copy, seeling.

[140] This play is not divided into acts.

[141] [Cadiz.]

[142] [Shear-penny.]

[143] [Extortion.]

[144] [Old copies, waves.]

[145] [Old copy, fates to friend.]

[146] [Old copy, springold.]

[147] [Old copy, as before, springold.]

[148] [Old copy, doff off.]

[149] [Old copy, wat'ry.]

[150] [Resound.]

[151] Edit. 1606 has: Mi Fortunate, ter fortunate Venus. The 4to of 1623 reads: Mi Fortunatus, Fortunate Venter.

[152] [Intend.]

[153] She means to say eloquence, and so it stands in the edition of 1623.

[154] [Robin Goodfellow.]

[155] [See p. 286.]

[156] [This must allude to some real circumstance and person.]

[157] [Attend.]

[158] [Bergen-op-Zoom.]

[159] [Old copy, our.]

[160] [Lap, long. See Nares, edit. 1859, v. Lave-eared.]

[161] [Old copy, seas.]

[162] [Orcus.]

[163] [Worried.]

[164] [An answer to a summons or writ. Old copy, retourner.]

[165] [This most rare edition was very kindly lent to me by the Rev. J.W. Ebsworth, Moldash Vicarage, near Ashford.]

[166] [Cromwell did not die till September 3, 1658, a sufficient reason for the absence of the allusion which Reed thought singular.]

[167] [i.e., The human body and mind. Microcosmus had been used by Davies of Hereford in the same sense in the title of a tract printed in 1603, as it was afterwards by Heylin in his "Microcosmus," 1621, and by Earle in his "Microcosmography," 1628.]

[168] Skene or skane: gladius, Ensis brevior.-Skinner. Dekker's "Belman's Night Walk," sig. F 2: "The bloody Tragedies of all these are onely acted by the women, who, carrying long knives or skeanes under their mantles, doe thus play their parts." Again in Warner's "Albion's England," 1602, p. 129-

"And Ganimaedes we are," quoth one, "and thou a prophet trew:

And hidden skeines from underneath their forged garments drew,

Wherewith the tyrant and his bawds with safe escape they slew."

-See the notes of Mr Steevens and Mr Nichols on "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 4.

[169] The edition of 1657 reads, red buskins drawn with white ribband. -Collier.

[170] Musical terms. See notes on "Midsummer's Night's Dream," vol. iii. p. 63, and "King Richard III." vol. vii. p. 6, edit. 1778.-Steevens.

[171] A metaphor drawn from music, more particularly that kind of composition called a Ground, with its Divisions. Instead of relish, I would propose to read flourish.-S.P.

[172] Mr Steevens supposes this to be a musical term. See note on "Richard II." act ii. sc. 1-

"The setting sun and music at the close."

[173] Fr. for whistlings.-Steevens.

[174] i.e., Petitionary.-Steevens.

[175] [Altered by Mr Collier to girls; but gulls is the reading of 1607.]

[176] Like an ordinary page, gloves, hamper-so the first edition; but as the two last words seem only the prompter's memoranda, they are omitted. They are also found in the last edition.-Collier.

[177] Ready.

[178] Graceful. See Mr Malone's note on "Coriolanus," act ii. sc. 1.

[179] [Edits., blasting.] I would propose to read the blushing childhood, alluding to the ruddiness of Aurora, the rosy morn, as in act iii. sc. 6-

"Light, the fair grandchild to the glorious sun,

Opening the casements of the rosy morn," &c.

-S. Pegge.

[180] So in "Hamlet," act i. sc. 1-

"But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill."

[181] A fool's bauble, in its literal meaning, is the carved truncheon which the licensed fools or jesters anciently carried in their hands. See notes on "All's Well that Ends Well," act iv. sc. 5. -Steevens.

[182] Winstanley has asserted that Oliver Cromwell performed the part of Tactus at Cambridge: and some who have written the life of that great man have fixed upon this speech as what first gave him ideas of sovereignty. The notion is too vague to be depended upon, and too ridiculous either to establish or refute. It may, however, not be unnecessary to mention that Cromwell was born in 1599, and the first edition of this play [was printed in 1607, and the play itself written much earlier]. If, therefore, the Protector ever did represent this character, it is more probable to have been at Huntingdon School.

[183] [Old copies, scarve, and so the edit. of 1780. Mr Collier substituted change as the reading of the old copies, which it is not. See Mr Brae's paper read before the Royal Society of Literature, Jan. 1871, 8vo edit. 1873, p. 23, et seq.]

[184] Edits., deeds. Pegge thought that by deeds was intended Tactus himself; but it is hard to say how this could be made out, as Tactus cannot be translated deeds, though Auditus might be rendered by metonymy ears.

[185] [Edit., fear'd.]

[186] In Surphlet's "Discourses on the Diseases of Melancholy," 4to, 1599, p. 102, the case alluded to is set down: "There was also of late a great lord, which thought himselfe to be a glasse, and had not his imagination troubled, otherwise then in this onely thing, for he could speake mervailouslie well of any other thing: he used commonly to sit, and tooke great delight that his friends should come and see him, but so as that he would desire them, that they would not come neere unto him."

[187] Hitherto misprinted conclaves.-Collier. [First 4to, correctly, concaves.]

[188] See Surphlet, p. 102.

[189] [An allusion to the myth of the werewolf.]

[190] [This proverb is cited by Heywood. See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 392.]

[191] [All the editions except 1657, bidden, and all have arms for harms.]

[192] Presently, forthwith.

[193] [Edits., wax.]

[194] Some of the old copies [including that of 1607] read-

"Here lies the sense that lying gull'd them all."

-Collier.

[195] Auditus is here called Ears, as Tactus is before called Deed.-Pegge. [But see note at p. 349.]

[196] Circles. So in Milton-

"Throws his steep flight in many an airy wheel."

-Steevens.

[197] [It is Mendacio who speaks.]

[198] Old copies, Egyptian knights. Dr Pegge's correction.

[199] [Edits., I.]

[200] [Edits., safe.]

[201] A pun; for he means Male aeger.-Pegge.

[202] The [first edit.] gives the passage thus: brandish no swords but sweards of bacon, which is intended for a pun, and though bad enough, need not be lost.-Collier.

[203] Glaves are swords, and sometimes partisans.-Steevens.

[204] Lat. for phalanxes.-Steevens.

[205] [Edits., dept.]

[206] Mars.

[207] See Note 2 to the "First Part of Jeronimo," [v. 349].

[208] [Edits., kist. The word hist may be supposed to represent the whistling sound produced by a sword passing rapidly through the air.]

[209] i.e., Exceeds bounds or belief. See a note on "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act iv. sc. 2.-Steevens.

[210] "Graecia mendax

Audet in historia."-Steevens.

[211] [His "History," which is divided into nine books, under the names of the nine Muses.]

[212] i.e., Whispered him. See note to "The Spanish Tragedy," [vi. 10.]

[213] [Peter Martyr's "Decades."]

[214] A luncheon before dinner. The farmers in Essex still use the word.-Steevens.

So in the "Woman-hater," by Beaumont and Fletcher, act i. sc. 3, Count

Valore, describing Lazarillo, says-

"He is none of these

Same Ordinary Eaters, that'll devour

Three breakfasts, as many dinners, and without any

Prejudice to their Beavers, drinkings, suppers;

But he hath a more courtly kind of hunger.

And doth hunt more after novelty than plenty."

Baret, in his "Alvearic," 1580, explains a boever, a drinking betweene dinner and supper; and a bo?er, meate eaten after noone, a collation, a noone meale.

[215] See Note 19 to "The Ordinary."

[216] [In 1576 Ulpian Fulwell published "The First Part of the Eighth Liberal Science, Entituled Ars Adulandi."]

[217] This word, which occurs in Ben Jonson and some other writers, seems to have the same meaning as our numps. I am ignorant of its etymology.-Steevens. [Compare Nares, 1859, in v.]

[218] i.e., Other requisites towards the fitting out of a character. See a note on "Love's Labour Lost," vol. ii. p. 385, edit. 1778. -Steevens.

[219] A busk-point was, I believe, the lace of a lady's stays. Minsheu explains a buske to be a part of dress "made of wood or whalebone, a plated or quilted thing to keepe the body straight." The word, I am informed, is still in common use, particularly in the country among the farmers' daughters and servants, for a piece of wood to preserve the stays from being bent. Points or laces were worn by both sexes, and are frequently mentioned in our ancient dramatic writers.

[220] [Edits., hu, hu.]

[221] [i.e., Our modern pet, darling, a term of endearment.] Dr Johnson says that it is a word of endearment from petit, little. See notes on "The Taming of the Shrew," act i. sc. 1.

Again, in "The City Madam," by Massinger, act ii. sc. 2-

"You are pretty peats, and your great portions

Add much unto your handsomeness."

[222] Shirley, in his "Sisters," ridicules these hyperbolical compliments in a similar but a better strain-

"Were it not fine

If you should see your mistress without hair,

Drest only with those glittering beams you talk of?

Two suns instead of eyes, and they not melt

The forehead made of snow! No cheeks, but two

Roses inoculated on a lily,

Between a pendant alabaster nose:

Her lips cut out of coral, and no teeth

But strings of pearl: her tongue a nightingale's!

Would not this strange chimera fright yourself?"

-Collier.

[223] [i.e., Doff it in salutation.]

[224] Alluding to the office of sheriff.

[225] "Cassock," says Mr Steevens, "signifies a horseman's loose coat, and is used in that sense by the writers of the age of Shakespeare. It likewise appears to have been part of the dress of rusticks." See note to "All's Well that Ends Well," act iv. sc. 3.

[226] "A gimmal or gimbal ring, Fr. gemeau, utr. a Lat. Gemellus, q.d. Annulus Gemellus, quoniam, sc. duobus aut pluribus orbibus constat."-Skinner.

Gimmal rings are often mentioned in ancient writers.

[227] "Quis nescit primam esse Historiae legem, ne quid falsi dicere audeat; deinde, ne quid veri non audeat."-Cicero "De Orat." lib. ii. 15.

[228] This was called "The Clouds," in which piece Socrates was represented hanging up in a basket in the air, uttering numberless chimerical absurdities, and blaspheming, as it was then reputed, the gods of his country. At the performance of this piece Socrates was present himself; and "notwithstanding," says his biographer, "the gross abuse that was offered to his character, he did not show the least signs of resentment or anger; nay, such was the unparalleled good nature of this godlike man, that some strangers there, being desirous to see the original of this scenic picture, he rose up in the middle of the performance, stood all the rest of the time, and showed himself to the people; by which well-placed confidence in his own merit and innocence, reminding them of those virtues and wisdom so opposite to the sophist in the play, his pretended likeness, he detected the false circumstances, which were obtruded into his character, and obviated the malicious designs of the poet who, having brought his play a second time upon the stage, met with the contempt he justly merited for such a composition." -Cooper's "Life of Socrates," p. 55.

[229] [Old copies, page's tongue; but Mendacio, Lingua's page, is intended. Perhaps we should read Tongueship's page.]

[230] [This is marked in the editions as the opening of a new scene, but wrongly, as it should seem, as the same persons remain on the stage, and the conversation is a sequel to what has gone before.]

[231] These were the names of several species of hawks. See an account of them in the "Treatises on Falconry," particularly those of Turbervile and Latham.

[232] i.e., Hedgehogs. See a note on Shakespeare's "Tempest," i. 28, edit. 1778.-Steevens.

Again, in Erasmus's "Praise of Folie," 1549, sig. Q 2: "That the soule of Duns woulde a litle leve Sorbone College, and enter into my breast, be he never so thornie, and fuller of pricles than is any urcheon."

[233] Perhaps, instead of the masks are made so strong, we ought to read, the mesh is made so strong. It clearly means the mesh of the net, from what is said afterwards.-Collier. [But mask, in Halliwell's "Dictionary," is said to be used for mesh. What is intended above is not a net, but a network ladder.]

[234] [Hazard, the plot of a tennis-court.-Halliwell's "Dictionary."]

[235] This is one of the many phrases in these volumes which, being not understood, was altered without any authority from the ancient copies. The former editions read odd mouthing; the text, however, is right; for old, as Mr Steevens observes, was formerly a common augmentative in colloquial language, and as such is often used by Shakespeare and others. See notes on the "Second Part of Henry IV." act ii. sc. 4, and "The Taming of the Shrew," act iii. sc. 2.

Again, in Tarlton's "Newes out of Purgatory," 1630, p. 34: "On Sunday at Masse there was old ringing of bells, and old and yong came to church to see the new roode."

[236] A sneer at the Utopian Treatises on Government.-Steevens.

[237] The latest of the old copies, [and the first edition, have] wine instead of swine, which is clearly a misprint, as the hogs of Olfactus are subsequently again mentioned.-Collier.

[238] [Old copies, he.]

[239] [A flogging.]

[240] [i.e., A blockhead, a fool.-Steevens.]

[241] Nor I out of Memory's mouth is the correct reading, although the pronoun has been always omitted. Anamnestes is comparing his situation with that of Mendacio.-Collier.

[242] [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 296.]

[243] [Another name of Jupiter.]

[244] [Edits., belly.]

[245] Chess.

[246] A favourite game formerly, and apparently one of the oldest in use. The manner in which it was played will appear from the following epigram of Sir John Harington, the translator of Ariosto-

The Story of Marcus's Life at Primero.

"Fond Marcus ever at Primero playes,

Long winter nights, and as long summer dayes:

And I heard once to idle talke attending

The story of his times and coins mis-spending

At first, he thought himselfe halfe way to heaven,

If in his hand he had but got a sev'n.

His father's death set him so high on flote,

All rests went up upon a sev'n and coate.

But while he drawes from these grey coats and gownes,

The gamesters from his purse drew all his crownes.

And he ne'er ceast to venter all in prime,

Till of his age, quite was consum'd the prime.

Then he more warily his rest regards,

And sets with certainties upon the cards,

On sixe and thirtie, or on sev'n and nine,

If any set his rest, and saith, and mine:

But seed with this, he either gaines or saves,

For either Faustus prime is with three knaves,

Or Marcus never can encounter right,

Yet drew two Ases, and for further spight

Had colour for it with a hopeful draught

But not encountred, it avail'd him naught.

Well, sith encountring, he so faire doth misse,

He sets not, till he nine and fortie is.

And thinking now his rest would sure be doubled,

He lost it by the hand, with which sore troubled,

He joynes now all his stocke unto his stake,

That of his fortune he full proofe may make.

At last both eldest hand and five and fifty,

He thinketh now or never (thrive unthrifty.)

Now for the greatest rest he hath the push:

But Crassus stopt a club, and so was flush:

And thus what with the stop, and with the packe,

Poore Marcus and his rest goes still to wracke.

Now must he seek new spoile to rest his rest,

For here his seeds turne weeds, his rest, unrest.

His land, his plate he pawnes, he sels his leases,

To patch, to borrow, and shift he never ceases.

Till at the last two catch-poles him encounter,

And by arrest, they beare him to the Counter.

Now Marcus may set up all rests securely:

For now he's sure to be encountred surely."

Minsheu thus explains Primero:-"Primero and Primavista, two games at cards. Primum et primum visum, that is, first and first seene, because he that can show such an order of cards first, winnes the game." [See Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," in v.]

[247] See Note 30 to "The Dumb Knight."

[248] [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 318-19.] So in Dekker's "Belman's Nights-walke," it is alluded to:-"The set at Maw being plaid out."

Henslowe in his Diary mentions a play under the title of "The Maw," which probably had reference to the game at cards so called. It was acted on the 14th December 1594. He also names a play entitled "The Macke," under date of Feb. 21, 1594-5; but it is doubtful if they were not the same.-Collier.

[249] In the old editions this is given as a part of what is said by Anamnestes.-Collier.

[250] [See Dyce's "Middleton," iii. 106. There's no ho, there are no bounds or restraints with them.-Reed. They are not to be restrained by a call or ho. The expression is common.-Dyce.]

[251] Rather Ptolemy.-Pegge.

[252] Latten, as explained by Dr Johnson, is "Brass; a mixture of Copper and Caliminaris stone." Mr Theobald, from Monsieur Dacier, says, "C'est une espece de cuivre de montagne, comme son nom mesme le temoigne; c'est ce que nous appellons au jourd'huy du leton. It is a sort of mountain copper, as its very name imports, and which we at this time of day call latten." See Mr Theobald's note on "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act i. sc. 1.