To earth? And why to earth, thou foolish spirit?

What wouldst thou do on earth?

As time shall work. I do but ask  my month,

Which every petty   puny devil has; 5

Within that term, the Court of Hell will hear

Something may gain a longer grant, perhaps.

Entering a sow to make her  cast her farrow?

Or  crossing of a  market-woman’s mare 10

 ’Twixt this and Tottenham? These were wont to be

Your main achievements, Pug. You have  some plot now

Upon a tunning of ale, to stale the yeast,

Or   keep the churn so that the butter come not,

Spite o’the housewife’s cord, or her hot spit? 15

Or some good  ribibe about  Kentish Town,

Or  Hoxton, you would hang now for a witch,

Because she will not let you play  round Robin?

And you’ll go sour the citizens’ cream  ’gainst Sunday,

That she may be accused for’t, and condemned 20

By a  Middlesex jury, to the satisfaction

Of their offended friends, the Londoners’ wives,

Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish fiend,

Stay i’your place, know your own  strengths, and put not

Beyond the sphere of your activity. 25

You are too dull a devil to be trusted

Forth in those parts, Pug, upon any affair

That may concern our name on earth. It is not

Everyone’s work. The state of hell must care

Whom it employs in point of reputation, 30

Here about London. You would make, I think,

An agent to be sent for  Lancashire

Proper enough; or some parts of Northumberland,

 So  you’d good instructions, Pug.

You do not know, dear chief, what there is in me. 35

 Prove me but for a fortnight, for a week,

And lend me but a  Vice to carry with me,

To practise there with any playfellow,

And you will see, there will come more upon’t

Than you’ll imagine, precious chief.

What kind wouldst th’have it of ?

Or Covetousness, or Lady Vanity;

Or old Iniquity: I’ll call him hither. [He calls.]

Ere his words be half spoken, I am with him  in a trice; 45

Here, there, and everywhere, as the cat is with the mice:

True  vetus Iniquitas. Lack’st thou  cards, friend, or dice?

I will teach thee  cheat, child, to  cog, lie, and swagger,

And ever and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger;

To swear by  Gog’s nowns, like a  Lusty Juventus, 50

In a cloak to thy heel, and a hat like a  penthouse,

Thy breeches  of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,

With a wench that shall feed thee with  cock-stones and  jelly.

From the top of  Paul’s steeple to the  Standard in  Cheap,

And lead thee a dance through the streets without fail,

Like  a needle of Spain,  with a thread at my tail.

We will survey the  suburbs, and make forth our sallies

Down  Petticoat Lane, and up the  Smock Alleys, 60

To  Shoreditch, Whitechapel, and so to  St Kather’ne’s,

To drink with the Dutch there, and  take forth their  patterns.

From thence we will put in at  Custom House  Quay there,

And see how the  factors and prentices play there

False with their masters; and  geld many a full  pack, 65

To spend it in pies at the  Dagger and the Woolsack.

At   Billingsgate, feasting with claret wine and oysters,

From thence  shoot the bridge, child, to the  Cranes i’the Vintry, 70

And see there the  gimlets, how they make their entry!

Or if thou hadst rather to the Strand down to fall,

 ’Gainst the lawyers  come dabbled from  Westminster Hall,

And mark how they cling with their clients together,

Like ivy to oak, so velvet to leather – 75

Ha, boy, I would show thee!

[To Pug] And thou more ignorant thing, that  so admir’st,

Art thou the spirit thou seem’st? So  poor? To choose

This for a Vice t’advance the cause of hell

Now, as vice stands this present year? Remember 80

 What number it is: six hundred and sixteen.

 Had it but been five hundred, though some sixty

Above – that’s fifty years agone, and six,

When every great man had his Vice stand by him,

In his  long coat, shaking his  wooden dagger – 85

I could consent that then this your grave choice

Might have done that, with his lord chief, the which

Most of his chamber can do now. But Pug,

As the times are, who is it will receive you?

What company will you go to, or whom mix with? 90

Where canst thou carry him, except to taverns?

To mount upon a joint-stool with a  Jew’s trump,

To put down  Cokeley, and that must be to citizens?

He ne’er will be admitted there where   Fennor comes.

He may perchance,  in tail of a sheriff’s dinner, 95

Skip with  a rhyme o’the table from new nothing,

And take his  almain leap into a custard,

Shall make my  Lady Mayoress and her sisters

Laugh all their  hoods over their shoulders. But

This is not  that will do; they are other things 100

That are received now upon earth for Vices;

Stranger, and newer – and changed every hour.

They ride ’em like their horses off their legs,

And here they come to hell, whole legions of ’em,

Every week, tired. We still strive to breed 105

And rear ’em up new ones, but they do not  stand

When they come there: they  turn ’em on our hands,

And it is feared  they have a stud o’their own

Will put down ours. Both our breed and trade

Will suddenly decay if we prevent not. 110

Unless it be a Vice of quality

Or fashion now, they take none from us.  Car-men

Are got into the  yellow starch, and chimney-sweepers

To their tobacco and strong waters,  hum,

 Mead, and  obarni. We must therefore aim 115

At extraordinary subtle ones now,

When we do  send, to keep us up in credit.

Not old iniquities! [To Iniquity] Get you e’en back, sir,

To  making of your rope of sand again.

You are not for the manners, nor the times. 120

They have their vices there most like to virtues;

You cannot know ’em apart by any difference.

They wear the same clothes, eat the same meat,

Sleep i’the self-same beds, ride i’those coaches,

Or, very  like, four horses in a coach, 125

As the best men and women.  Tissue gowns,

Garters and  roses, fourscore pound a pair,

Embroidered stockings,  cut-work smocks, and shirts,

 More certain marks of lechery now, and pride,

Than e’er they were of true nobility! 130 [Exit Iniquity.]

But Pug, since you do burn with such desire

To do the commonwealth of hell some service,

I am content, assuming of a body,

You go to earth and visit men  a day.

But you must take a body ready-made, Pug; 135

 I can create you none. Nor shall you form

Yourself an  airy one, but become subject

To all impression of the flesh you take

So far as  human frailty. So this morning

 There is a handsome cutpurse hanged at Tyburn, 140

Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body.

 For clothes, employ your credit with the hangman,

Or let our tribe of  brokers furnish you.

And look how far your subtlety can work

 Thorough those organs; with that body, spy 145

Amongst mankind – you cannot there  want vices,

And therefore the less need to carry ’em wi’ you.

But as you make your  soon-at-night’s relation,

And we shall find it merits from the state,

You shall have both trust from us and employment. 150

To serve the first man that you meet; and him

 I’ll show you now.

Observe him.  Yon is he

You shall see first, after your clothing. Follow him;

But once  engaged, there you must stay and fix, 155

Not shift until the  midnight’s cock do crow.

They talked of  Gresham, and of Doctor Forman,

Franklin, and  Fiske, and  Savory – he was in too –

But there’s not one of these that ever could

Yet show a man the devil in true sort. 5

They have their  crystals, I do know, and  rings,

And  virgin parchment, and their dead men’s skulls,

Their ravens’ wings, their  lights, and  pentacles

With  characters; I ha’ seen all these. But –

Would I might see the devil! I would give 10

A hundred o’ these pictures to see him

Once  out of picture. May I prove a cuckold –

And that’s the one main mortal thing I fear –

If I begin not now to think the painters

Have  only made him.  ’Slight, he would be seen 15

One time or other else.  He would not let

An ancient gentleman of   as good house

As most are now in England, the Fitzdottrels,

Run wild and call upon him thus in vain,

As I ha’ done this twelvemonth. If he be not 20

At all, why are there  conjurers? If they be not,

Why are there  laws against ’em? The best  artists

Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London,

Essex, and Kent, I have had in pay to raise him

These fifty weeks, and yet h’appears not. ’Sdeath, 25

I shall suspect  they can make circles only

Shortly, and know but his hard names. They do say

 He’ll meet a man  of himself that has a mind to him.

If he would so, I have a mind and a half for him:

He should not be long absent. — Pray thee, come, 30

I long for thee! An I were with child by him,

And my wife, too, I could not more.

  He expresses a longing to see the devil.

Come, yet,

Good Beelzebub! – Were he a kind devil,

And had humanity in him, he would come but

To save one’s longing. I should use him well, 35

I swear, and with respect, would he would try me –

Not  as the conjurers do when they ha’ raised him,

Get him in bonds, and send him post on errands

A thousand miles. It is preposterous, that;

And, I believe, is the true cause he comes not. 40

And he has reason. Who would be engaged,

That might live freely, as he may do? I swear

 They are wrong all. The burnt child dreads the fire.

They do not know  to entertain the devil.

I would so welcome him,  observe his diet, 45

Get him his chamber hung with  arras – two of ’em –

I’ my own house; lend him my wife’s  wrought pillows;

And as I am an honest man, I think,

If he had a mind to her too, I should grant him,

To make our friendship perfect. So I would not 50

To every man. If he but hear me now,

And should come to me in a  brave young shape,

And take me at my word!

Upon your privacy. I am born a gentleman,

A  younger brother, but in some disgrace

Now with my  friends, and want some little means

To keep me upright, while things be reconciled. 5

Please you to let my service be of use to you, sir.

Till I had viewed his shoes well, for  those roses

Were big enough to hide a cloven foot.

No, friend, my number’s full. I have one servant, 10

Who is my all, indeed; and from the  broom

Unto the brush, for just so far I trust him.

He is my wardrobe man, my  cater, cook,

Butler, and steward; looks unto my horse,

And helps to watch my wife. H’has all the  places 15

That I can think on,  from the garret downward

E’en to the manger and the  curry-comb.

More than my meat, and that but very little;

I’ll serve you  for your love.

 I’d hearken  o’that ear, were I at leisure.

But now I’m busy.  Prithee, friend, forbear me;

  An thou hadst been a devil, I should say

Somewhat more to thee. Thou dost hinder now

My meditations.

 Under your favour, friend, for I’ll not quarrel.

I looked o’your feet afore; you cannot cozen me,

 Your shoe’s not cloven, sir, you are whole hoofed.

But I am  that I tell you.

Belonged to your ancestors?

And turn away my tother man, and  save

Four pound a year by that! There’s luck, and thrift too!

 The very devil may come hereafter as well. –

Friend, I receive you. But withal I acquaint you 40

Aforehand, if  you offend me, I must beat you.

It is a kind of exercise I use,

And cannot be without.

Offend, you can, sure.

I’ll call you by your surname, ’cause I love it. 45

Gently, and hold him there too; you can do it.

Show yourself now a  mathematical broker.

[Engine takes Fitzdottrel aside.]

To tempt you past your faith.

So very handsome, say you?

Since I came home from travel, and they say 10

She is not altered. Then, before I went,

I saw her once; but so, as she hath stuck

Still i’ my view, no object hath removed her.

Deep in the eyes, she  hardly leaves the inn. 15

How does he   keep her?

Himself be  sordid, he is  sensual that way.

In every dressing he does study her.

To see  The Devil Is an Ass today in.

This Engine gets three or four pound a week by him:

He dares not miss a new play or a feast,

What rate soever clothes be at, and thinks

Himself still new in other men’s old.

Does he love  meat so?

But that’s not it.  His belly and his palate

Would be compounded with for reason. Marry,

 A wit he has of that strange credit with him

’Gainst all mankind, as it doth make him do 30

Just what it  list. It ravishes him forth

Whither it please, to any  assembly or place,

And  would conclude him ruined should he  scape

One public meeting, out of the belief

He has of his own great and  catholic strengths 35

In arguing and discourse.

    (Engine hath won Fitzdottrel to ’say on the cloak.)

It takes, I see:

 He’s got the cloak upon him.

By my faith, Engine!

 For threescore pound, I assure you;  ’twill yield thirty.

The  plush, sir, cost three pound ten shillings a yard! 40

And then the lace and velvet.

Be looked at prettily in it! Art thou sure

The play is played today?

 I’d forgot to gi’ it you.

I will not lose you, sirrah! But, Engine, think you 45

 The gallant is so furious in his folly?

So mad upon the matter that he’ll part

With’s cloak upo’ these terms?

Break me to pieces else, as you would do

A rotten crane, or an old rusty  jack 50

That has not one true wheel in him. Do but talk with him.

And myself too.  (He turns to Wittipol.) With your leave, gentlemen,

Which of you is it, is  so mere idolater

To my wife’s beauty, and so very  prodigal 55

Unto my patience, that  for the short parley

Of one swift hour’s quarter with my wife

He will depart with – let me see – this cloak here,

The price of folly? – Sir, are you the man?

Is Wittipol?

 You’ve travelled lately?

 Your travels may have altered your  complexion;

But sure, your wit stood still.

All heads ha’ not  like growth.

That left you land, your father, never taught you

These pleasant  matches?

With whom I make ’em – put me off.

Resolved then?

 You’ll sacrifice yourself into the shirt  to? 70

To speak unto my wife?

You interrupt us not.

You do demand, the fourth part of an hour,

I think I shall, with some convenient study,

And  this good help to boot, bring myself to’t. 80

Speak what you  list; that time is yours. My right

I have  departed with. But not beyond

A minute, or a second, look for. Length,

And drawing out,  may advance much to these matches. 85

And I except all kissing. Kisses are

Silent petitions still with willing lovers.

I do know somewhat; I forbid all lip-work.

 Who covets unfit things denies himself.

He does indeed. I’ll have no touches, therefore,

Nor takings by the arms, nor tender  circles

Cast ’bout the waist, but all be done at distance. 95

Love is brought up with those soft  migniard handlings;

His pulse lies in his  palm; and I defend

All melting joints and fingers – that’s my bargain –

I do  defend ’em, anything like  action.

But talk, sir, what you will. Use all the  tropes 100

And schemes that  Prince Quintilian can afford you,

And much good do your rhetoric’s heart. You are welcome, sir. –

Engine, God  b’wi’you.

To have this gentleman by, a witness.

I am content, so he be silent.

 [Exeunt Wittipol, Manly, and Engine.]

First to your mistress, who’s no common one,

You must conceive, that brings this gain to see her.

I hope thou’st brought me good luck.

[Gives him money.] Begone.  [Exit Engine.]

Friend Manly, who’s within here?  Fixed?

What’ll be the  issue of this conference!

 How like  you him?

 Old Afric and the new America

With all their fruit of monsters cannot show

 So just a prodigy!

Without your sight, a mind so  sordid inward

Should  be so specious and  laid forth abroad

To all the show that ever shop or ware was?

His vices are the most extremities 15

I ever knew in nature. But why loves he

The devil so?

He hopes to find, and has proposed himself

So infinite a mass as to recover

He cares not what he parts with of the present 20

 To his men of art, who are the race may coin him.

Promise gold-mountains, and the covetous

Are still most  prodigal.

That he will hold his bargain?

He will not  off on’t. Fear him not. I know him. 25

One baseness  still accompanies another.

 [Enter] FITZDOTTREL [and] MRS FITZDOTTREL.

See! He is here already, and his wife too.

I do not know that I have lent it forth

To anyone; at least, without a pawn, wife,

Or that I’ve eat or drunk the thing of late 5

That should corrupt it. Wherefore, gentle wife,

Obey. It is thy virtue.  Hold no acts

Of disputation.

The  talk of feasts and meetings, but you’ll still

Make argument for fresh?

If  I have a longing to have one tale more

 Go of me, what is that to thee, dear heart?

Why shouldst thou  envy my delight, or cross it,

By being  solicitous when it not concerns thee?

As bitterly on me, where both are laughed at.

 Thou art a   nyas. Which of  your great houses –

I will not mean at home, here, but abroad –

Your families in France, wife,  send not forth 20

Something within  the seven year may be laughed at?

I do not say seven months, nor seven weeks,

Nor seven days, nor hours; but seven year, wife.

I give ’em time. Once, within seven year,

I think they may do something may be laughed  at, 25

In France –  I keep me there, still. Wherefore, wife,

Let them that list laugh still rather than weep

 For me. Here is a cloak cost fifty pound, wife,

Which I can sell for thirty, when I ha’ seen

All London in’t, and London has seen me. 30

Today, I go to the  Blackfriars playhouse,

 Sit i’the view, salute all my acquaintance,

Rise up between the acts, let fall my cloak,

 Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit –

As that’s a special  end why we go thither, 35

All that  pretend to stand for’t o’the stage.

The ladies ask, who’s that?  For they do come

To see us, love, as we do to see them.

Now I shall lose all this for the false fear

Of being laughed at? Yes,  wusse! Let ’em laugh, wife, 40

Let me have such another cloak tomorrow.

And let ’em laugh again, wife, and again,

And then  grow fat with laughing, and then fatter,

All my young gallants, let ’em bring their friends too.

Shall I forbid ’em? No, let heaven forbid ’em; 45

Or wit, if’t have any  charge on ’em. [Takes her aside.] Come, thy ear, wife,

Is all I’ll borrow of thee. – Set your watch, sir. –

Thou only art to hear, not speak a word, dove,

To aught he says. That I do gi’ you  in precept,

No less than counsel, on your wifehood, wife, 50

Not though he flatter you, or make court, or love,

As you must  look for these; or say, he  rail –

Whate’er his arts be, wife, I will have thee

Delude ’em with a trick, thy obstinate silence.

I know advantages, and I love to  hit 55

These  pragmatic young men at their own weapons.

[To Wittipol] Is your watch ready? Here  my sail bears, for you.

[To his wife] Tack toward him, sweet  pinnace. [To him] Where’s your

watch?

And so,  as if his folly were away,

 It were worth pity.

But first, let me repeat the contract briefly.

I am, sir, to enjoy this cloak I stand in

Freely, and as your gift, upon condition 65

You may as freely speak here to my spouse

Your quarter of an hour, always keeping

 The measured distance of your yard, or more,

From my said spouse; and in my sight and hearing.

This is your covenant?

For  this time spent now?

There is your bound, sir. Not beyond that  rush.

The time I have purchased, lady, is but short; 75

And therefore, if I employ it thriftily,

I hope I stand the nearer to my pardon.

I am not here to tell you you are fair,

Or lovely, or how well you dress you, lady;

 I’ll save myself that eloquence of your glass, 80

Which can speak these things better to you than I.

And ’tis a knowledge wherein fools may be

As wise as a  court parliament. Nor come I

With any  prejudice or doubt that you

Should, to the  notice of your own worth, need 85

Least revelation.  She’s a simple woman

Knows not her good – whoever knows her ill –

And  at all caracts. That you are the wife

To so much  blasted flesh as scarce hath  soul,

Instead of salt, to keep it sweet, I think 90

Will ask no witnesses to prove. The cold

Sheets that you lie in, with the watching candle

That  sees how, dull to any thaw of beauty,

 Pieces, and quarters, half, and whole nights, sometimes,

The devil-given  elfin squire your husband 95

Doth leave you, quitting here his  proper circle

For a much worse i’the walks of  Lincoln’s Inn,

Under the elms, t’ expect the fiend in vain there,

 Will confess for you.

Locked up from all society or  object;

 Your eye not let to look upon a face

Under a conjurer’s – or some mould for one,

Hollow and lean like his – but by great means

As I now make, your own too sensible sufferings, 105

Without the extraordinary aids

Of spells or spirits, may  assure you, lady.

For my part, I protest ’gainst all such practice.

I work by no false arts, medicines, or charms

To be said forward and  backward.

Upon you more than this: to tell you how Love,

Beauty’s good angel, he that waits upon her

At all occasions, and no less than Fortune

Helps th’adventurous, in me makes that proffer 115

Which never fair one was so  fond to lose

Who could but reach a hand  forth to her freedom.

On the first sight I loved you; since which time,

Though I have travelled, I have been  in travail

More for this  second blessing of your eyes 120

Which now  I’ve purchased than for all aims else.

Think of it, lady. Be your mind as active

As is your beauty; view your object well.

Examine both my fashion and my years.

Things that are  like are soon familiar; 125

And Nature joys still in equality.

Let not the sign o’the husband fright you, lady,

But ere your spring be gone, enjoy it. Flowers,

Though fair, are oft but of one morning. Think,

All beauty doth not last until the autumn. 130

 You grow old while I tell you this. And such

As cannot use the present are not wise.

If Love and Fortune will take care of us,

Why should our will be wanting? This is all.

What do you answer, lady?

Let him still wait, wait, wait, while the watch goes,

And the time runs.  Wife!

Nay, then I  taste a trick in’t. Worthy lady,

I cannot be so false to mine own thoughts

Of your presumèd goodness to conceive 140

This as your rudeness, which I see’s imposed.

Yet since your  cautelous gaoler here stands by you,

And  you’re denied the liberty o’the house,

Let me take warrant, lady, from your silence –

Which  ever is interpreted consent – 145

To make your answer for you, which shall be

To as good purpose as I can imagine,

And what I think you’d speak.

Into your hose and doublet, nothing saves you.

And therefore hearken.  This is for your wife.

Troth, sir, ’tis more than true that you have uttered

Of my unequal and so sordid match here, 155

With all the circumstances of my bondage.

I have a  husband, and a two-legged one,

But such a  moonling  as no wit of man

Or roses can redeem from being an ass.

 He’s grown too much the story of men’s mouths 160

To scape his  lading; should I make’t my study,

And lay all ways, yea, call mankind to help

To take his burden off – why, this one act

Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,

And at a price, proclaims his asinine nature 165

So loud as I am weary of my  title to him.

But sir, you seem a gentleman of virtue

No less than  blood, and one that every way

Looks as he were of too good quality

To entrap a credulous woman, or betray her. 170

Since you have paid thus dear, sir, for a visit,

And made such  venture on your wit and  charge

Merely to see me, or at most to speak to me,

I were too stupid, or – what’s worse – ingrate

Not to return your venture. Think but how 175

I may with safety do it; I shall trust

My love and honour to you, and presume

 You’ll ever husband both against this husband –

Who, if we chance to change his  liberal ears

To other  ensigns, and with labour make 180

A new beast of him, as he shall deserve,

Cannot complain he is  unkindly  dealt with.

This day he is to go to a new play, sir,

From whence no fear, no, nor authority,

Scarcely the King’s command, sir, will restrain him, 185

Now you have fitted him with  a stage-garment,

 For the mere name’s sake, were there  nothing else.

And many more such journeys he will make,

Which, if  they now or any time hereafter

Offer us opportunity, you hear, sir, 190

 Who’ll be as glad and  forward to embrace,

Meet, and enjoy it cheerfully as you.

I humbly thank you, lady.

By the  sad contract, thus to take my leave of you 195

At this so  envious distance, I had taught

Our lips ere this to seal the happy mixture

Made of our souls. But we must both now yield

To the necessity. Do not think yet, lady,

But I can kiss, and touch, and laugh, and whisper, 200

And do those crowning courtships too, for which

Day and the public have allowed no name;

But now my bargain binds me. ’Twere rude injury

T’ importune more, or urge a noble nature

To what of its own bounty it is prone to, 205

Else I should speak. But, lady, I love so well

As I will hope you’ll do so too. – I have done, sir.

That she shall hang forth  ensigns at the window 210

To tell you when I am absent. Or I’ll keep

Three or four footmen ready still of purpose

To run and fetch you at her longings, sir.

I’ll go  bespeak me straight a gilt caroche

For her and you to take the air in – yes, 215

Into  Hyde Park and thence into Blackfriars,

Visit the  painters, where you may see pictures,

And note the  properest limbs, and how to  make ’em.

Or what do you say unto a  middling gossip,

To bring you aye together at her lodging 220

Under pretext of teaching o’my wife

Some rare  receipt of drawing almond milk? Ha?

It shall be a part of my care. Good sir, God  b’wi’you.

I ha’ kept the contract, and the cloak is  mine.

That you ha’ bought it dear, though I ha’ not sold it.

    He turns his wife about.

Wife, your face this way, look on me; and think

You’ve had a wicked dream, wife, and forget it.

For my great sufferings, or your little patience? Ha?

 They laugh, you think?

What thought they have of you may be soon  collected

By the young gentleman’s speech.

 Death! You are in love with him, are you? Could he not

Be named the gentleman, without the ‘young’?

Up to your  cabin again.

To call it!

 Blanc-manger with him at your mother’s! I know you. 240

Go get you up. [Exit Mrs Fitzdottrel.]

Let him come in, good Devil; fetch him else.  [Exit Pug.]

[Enter] ENGINE.

Oh, my fine Engine! What’s th’affair? More cheats?

I told you of, is newly come to town.

Ere he pulled off his boots, sir, but so  followed

For businesses.

I would  conceive.

Ways to enrich men, or to make ’em great,

By  suits, by marriages, by undertakings,

 According as he sees they humour it.

To tell you true – but, you do know,  of late 15

The state hath ta’en such note of ’em, and compelled ’em

To enter such great bonds, they dare not practise.

Somewhat too much o’my  courses. My cloak-customer

 Could tell me strange particulars.

What he has, and by what arts. A moneyed man, sir,

And is as  great with your  almanac-men as you are! 25

And he is extreme punctual.

As he comes now from Court. But hear him speak;

Minister matter to him, and then tell me. 30 [Exeunt.]

Fit to run out on errands; let her go.

 Via pecunia! When she’s run and gone,

And fled and dead, then will I fetch her again

With  aqua-vitae out of an old hogshead. 5

While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer,

I’ll never  want her. Coin her out of cobwebs,

Dust, but I’ll have her!  Raise wool upon eggshells,

Sir, and make grass grow out o’ marrow-bones

To make her come.  (To a waiter) Commend me to your mistress; 10

Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready,

And it is done.  [Exit First Waiter.]

I would but see the creature

Of flesh and blood, the man, the prince, indeed,

That could employ so many millions

As I would help him to.

 [Exit Second Waiter.]

Yes, I will talk no less, and do it too,

If they were myriads – and  without the devil,

By direct means; it shall be good in law.

Upon th’ Exchange at night. Pray him to have

The writings there, and we’ll dispatch it.  [Exit Third Waiter.]

 (He turns to Fitzdottrel.) Sir,

You are a gentleman of a good presence,

A  handsome man. I have considered you

As a fit stock to graft honours upon. 25

I have a project to make you a duke now.

 That you must be one, within so many months

As I set down out of true reason of state,

You sha’ not avoid it. But you must hearken, then.

You do not know Master Fitzdottrel.

For  rectifying him.

I’ll tell it you – I see you ha’ credit here,

And, that you can keep counsel, I’ll not question. 35

He shall but be an  undertaker with me

In a most feasible business. It shall cost him

Nothing.

That I will have – t’appear in’t to great men,

For which I’ll make him one. He  shall not draw 40

A string of’s purse. I’ll drive his  patent for him.

We’ll  take in citizens, commoners, and aldermen

To bear the charge, and blow ’em off again

Like so many dead flies when ’tis carried.

The thing is for  recovery of drowned land, 45

Whereof the Crown’s to have   his moiety

If it be owner; else, the Crown and  owners

To share that moiety, and the  recoverers

T’enjoy  the tother moiety  for their charge.

To eighteen millions, seven the first year.

I have computed all, and made my survey

 Unto an acre. I’ll begin at the  pan,

Not at the  skirts – as some ha’ done, and lost

All that they wrought, their timber-work, their trench, 55

Their banks all borne away, or else filled up

By the next winter. Tut, they never went

 The way; I’ll have it all.

Of land it is!

We must  let cheap, ever, at first. But sir, 60

This looks too large for you, I see. Come hither,

We’ll have a less. [Indicates Trains.] Here’s a plain fellow, you see him,

Has his black bag of papers there, in  buckram,

Wi’ not be sold for th’ earldom of Pancridge. Draw,

Gi’ me out one,  by chance.

[Trains gives him a paper out of the bag.]

 Project four. Dog skins?65

Twelve thousand pound! The  very worst, at first.

But by my way of  dressing, you must know, sir,

And  med’cining the leather to a height 70

Of  improved ware, like your  borachio

Of Spain, sir, I can fetch nine thousand for’t –

And reserve half my secret. Pluck another; 75

See if thou hast a  happier hand.

I thought so.

The very next worse to it! Bottle-ale.

Yet, this is two-and-twenty thousand!  Prithee

Pull out another two or three.

By bottle-ale, two-and-twenty thousand pound? 80

O’the backside, there you may see it, read;

I will not  bate a  harrington o’the sum.

I’ll win it  i’my water, and my malt,

My furnaces, and hanging o’my  coppers, 85

The  tunning, and the subtlety o’my yeast;

And then the  earth of my bottles, which I dig,

Turn up, and  steep, and work, and  neal myself

To  a degree of porcelain. You will wonder

At my  proportions, what I will put up 90

In seven years! For so long time I ask

For my invention. I will save in cork,

 In my mere stoppling, ’bove three thousand pound

Within that  term, by gouging of  ’em out

Just to the size of my bottles, and not slicing. 95

There’s infinite loss i’ that.

What hast thou there?

 Oh, making wine of raisins; this is in hand, now.

Or Spain, or Italy. Look of what grape 100

My raisin is, that wine I’ll render perfect,

As of the muscatel grape I’ll render muscatel;

Of the  canary, his; the claret, his;

So of all kinds; and  bate you of the prices

Of wine throughout the kingdom,  half in half. 105

Raisins?

And it shall do the same. ’Tis  but more art,

And the  charge less. Take out another.

Save you the trouble. I’ll not look nor hear 110

Of any but your first, there: the drowned land,

If’t will do as you say.

To gi’ you demonstration of these things.

They are a little too subtle. But I could show you

 Such a necessity in’t as you must be 115

But what you please, against the  received heresy

That England  bears no dukes. Keep you the land, sir;

 The greatness of th’estate shall throw’t upon you.

If you like better  turning it to money,

What may not you, sir, purchase with that wealth? 120

Say you should part with two o’your millions,

To be the thing  you would, who would not do’t?

As I protest I will, out of my dividend,

 Lay for some pretty principality

In Italy, from the church. Now you, perhaps, 125

Fancy the  smoke of England rather? But –

Ha’ you no private room, sir, to  draw to,

 T’enlarge ourselves more upon?

With caution, and  in cloud.

They do so, sir.

  [Enter PUG.]

Devil, which way is your mistress?

Then this way, good sir.

Gi’ me the bag, and go you  presently

Commend my service to my Lady Tailbush. 135

Tell her I am come from court this morning; say,

 I’ve got our bus’ness moved, and well; entreat her

That she give you the fourscore  angels, and see ’em

Disposed of to my  counsel, Sir Paul Eitherside.

Sometime today I’ll wait upon Her Ladyship 140

With the  relation.  [Exit Trains quickly.]

He is! Do you mark?

My  cousin Everill? Keeps he still your  quarter

I’the  Bermudas?

This morning very hard.

That I am come to town; I have effected

A business for him, but  I would have it take him

Before he thinks for’t.

’Tis well o’the way.

Infinite pains.

A sluggish nature puts off man and  kind.

My fate. Pray you, let’s be private, sir?

Lock the street doors fast, and let no one in, 155

Except they be this gentleman’s followers,

To trouble me. Do you mark?  You’ve heard and seen

Something today; and by it you may gather

 Your mistress is a fruit that’s worth the stealing,

 And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now, 160

 You’ve all your eyes about you; and let in

No lace-woman, nor bawd that brings  French  masks

And  cut-works. See you? Nor old  crones with wafers

To convey letters. Nor no youths disguised

Like country wives, with cream and  marrow-puddings. 165

Much knavery may be  vented in a pudding,

Much bawdy intelligence;  they’re  shrewd ciphers.

 Nor turn the key to any neighbour’s need,

Be’t but to kindle fire, or beg a little –

Put it out, rather; all out, to an ash, 170

That they may see no smoke. Or water, spill it;

 Knock o’the empty tubs, that by the sound

They may be forbid entry. Say we are robbed

If any come to borrow a spoon, or so.

I wi’ not have  ‘good fortune’ or ‘God’s blessing’ 175

Let in while I am busy.

They sha’ not trouble you,  if they would.

Nor no superlative master! I shall wish

To be in hell again, at leisure! Bring

A Vice from thence? That had been such a  subtlety

As  to bring  broad-cloths hither, or transport 5

Fresh oranges into Spain. I find it now;

 My chief was i’the right. Can any fiend

Boast of a better Vice than here by nature

And art they’re owners of? Hell  ne’er own me

But I am  taken! The fine  tract of it 10

Pulls me along! To hear men such  professors

Grown in our subtlest sciences! My first act now

Shall be to make this master of mine cuckold;

The  primitive work of darkness I will practise!

I will deserve so well of my fair mistress, 15

By my  discoveries first, my  counsels after,

And keeping  counsel after that,  as who

So ever is one, I’ll be another; sure,

I’ll ha’ my share. Most delicate damned flesh

She will be! Oh, that I could  stay time now! 20

Midnight will come too fast upon me, I fear,

To cut my pleasure –

  [Enter] MRS FITZDOTTREL.

One knocks, see who it is.  (She sends [Pug] out.)

Out of my fancy, nor the gentleman’s way 25

He took, which, though ’twere strange, yet ’twas handsome,

And had a grace withal beyond the  newness.

Sure he will think me that dull stupid creature

He said, and may conclude it, if I  find not

Some thought to thank th’ attempt. He did  presume, 30

 By all the carriage of it on my brain,

For answer; and will swear ’tis very barren

If it can yield him no return.

[PUG]   returns.

Who is it?

The  excellence of mistresses, I am, 35

Although my master’s  man, my mistress’ slave,

The servant of her secrets and sweet turns,

And know what  fitly will conduce to either.

What your  part is: to make an answer. Tell, 40

Who is it at the door?

Who  was at the cloak-charge to speak with you

This morning, who expects only to take

Some small commandments from you, what you please,

Worthy your  form, he says, and gentlest manners. 45

What has he given you for this message? Sir,

Bid him put off his  hopes of straw and  leave

To spread his nets in view, thus.  Though they take

Master Fitzdottrel, I am no such   fowl – 50

Nor fair one, tell him, will be had with stalking.

And wish him to  forbear his acting to me

 At the gentleman’s chamber-window in Lincoln’s Inn there,

That opens to my  gallery; else, I swear

T’acquaint my husband with his folly and leave him 55

To the just rage of his offended jealousy.

Or if your master’s sense be not so quick

To right me, tell him I shall find a friend

That will  repair me. Say I will be  quiet

In mine own house! Pray you, in those words give it him. 60

Now of that state and wit which I  allow him,

Sure he will understand me. I durst not

Be more direct. For this officious fellow,

My husband’s new groom, is a spy upon me, 65

I find already. Yet, if he but tell him

This in my words,  he cannot but conceive

Himself both  apprehended and requited.

I would not have him think he met a statue,

Or spoke to one not there, though I  were silent. 70

How now? Ha’ you told him?

That you are proud, sweet mistress, and withal

 A little ignorant to entertain

The good that’s proffered;  and, by your beauty’s leave, 75

Not all so wise as some true politic wife

Would be, who, having matched with such a nupson –

I speak it with my master’s peace – whose face

Hath left t’accuse him now, for’t doth confess him

What you can make him, will yet, out of scruple 80

And a spiced conscience, defraud the poor gentleman,

At least delay him in the thing he longs for

And makes it  his whole study how to compass

Only a title. Could but he write cuckold,

 He had his ends. For, look you –

None but my husband’s wit.

Be else so saucy.

His worshipful ambition, and the top of it,

The very  forked top too, why should he 90

Keep you thus  mured up in a back room, mistress,

Allow you ne’er a  casement to the street,

 Fear of engendering by the eyes with gallants,

Forbid you paper, pen, and ink,  like ratsbane,

Search your half pint of muscatel lest a letter 95

Be sunk i’the pot, and hold your new-laid egg

Against the fire, lest any  charm be writ there?

Will you make benefit of truth, dear mistress,

If I do tell it you? I do’t not often!

I am set over you, employed, indeed, 100

To watch your steps, your looks, your very breathings,

And to report them to him. Now, if you

Will be a true, right, delicate sweet mistress,

Why, we will make a  cokes of this wise master –

We will, my mistress, an absolute fine cokes – 105

And mock  to air all the deep diligences

Of such a solemn and  effectual ass,

An ass to so good purpose as we’ll use him.

I will contrive it so that you shall go

To plays, to masques, to meetings, and to feasts. 110

  For why is all this rigging and fine tackle, mistress,

If you neat handsome vessels of good sail

Put not forth ever and anon with your nets

Abroad into the world? It is your fishing.

There you shall choose your friends, your servants, lady, 115

Your squires of honour; I’ll convey your letters,

Fetch answers, do you all the  offices

That can belong to your blood and beauty. And

For the variety,  at my times, although

I am not in due symmetry the man 120

 Of that proportion, or  in rule

Of physic of the  just complexion,

Or of  that truth of picardill in clothes

To boast a sovereignty o’er ladies, yet

I know to  do my turns, sweet mistress. Come, kiss – 125

Your little worm that loves you,  your fine monkey,

Your dog, your  jack, your  pug, that longs to be

 Styled o’your pleasures!

She thinks her husband watches.

Come from your  standing, do! A little spare 130

Yourself, sir, from your watch, t’applaud your squire

That so well follows your instructions!

You are a stranger to the plot! You set not

Your saucy Devil here to tempt your wife

With all the insolent uncivil language

Or action he could  vent?

Upo’ the stairs? Or here, behind the  hangings?

 I do not know your qualities? He durst do it,

And you not give directions?

Whether he durst, or no, and what it was 10

I did direct.

  Her husband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgel upon him.

You fiend apparent, you! You declared hell-hound! [Beats Pug.]

Now I do find you  parcel-devil indeed. 15

Upo’  the point of trust? I’your first charge?

The very day o’your probation?

To tempt your mistress? – You do see, good  wedlock,

How I directed him.

I told you I should do it.

 (And [he strikes Pug] again.) Yet there’s another

To put you in mind o’the last. – Such a  brave man, wife,

Within! He has his projects, and  does  vent ’em,

The gallantest! [To Pug]  Were you  tentiginous? Ha? 25

Would you be acting of the  incubus?

Did her silks’ rustling  move you?

Thou shouldst not stay a minute with me. In,

Go! Yet stay. Yet go too. I am resolved 30

What I will do; and you shall know’t aforehand –

Soon as the gentleman is gone, do you hear?

I’ll help your  lisping.  [Pug] goes out.

Wife, such a man, wife!

He has such  plots! He will make me a duke!

No less, by heaven. Six mares to your coach, wife! 35

That’s your  proportion. And your coachman  bald!

Because he shall be bare enough. Do not you laugh.

We are looking for a place and all i’the map

What to  be of. Have faith,  be not an infidel.

You know I am not easy to be gulled. 40

I swear, when I have my millions,  else, I’ll make

 Another duchess, if you ha’ not faith.

This man defies the devil and all his works! 45

He does’t by  engine and devices, he!

He has his  wingèd ploughs that go with sails

Will plough you forty acres at once! And  mills

Will spout you water, ten miles off! All  Crowland

Is ours, wife; and the fens, from us in Norfolk 50

To the utmost bound of Lincolnshire! We have viewed it,

And measured it within all,  by the scale!

The richest tract of land, love, i’the kingdom!

There will be made seventeen or eighteen millions,

Or more,  as’t may be handled! Wherefore think, 55

Sweetheart, if th’hast a fancy to one place

More than another, to be duchess of,

Now name it; I will ha’t, whate’er it cost,

If ’twill be had for money, either here,

Or’n France,  or Italy.

This way, wife. Up to thy  gallery; do,  chuck,

Leave us to talk of it who understand it. [Exit Mrs Fitzdottrel.]

Gloucester.

Had his last honour thence. But he was but earl.

I’m sure, was duke, and he was made away

At Calais, as  Duke Humphrey was at  Bury; 10

 And Richard the third, you know what end he came to.

And  think  they’re more authentic.

 Pretends to that. I will do no man wrong.

As past exception.

Duke of those lands you shall recover. Take

Your title thence, sir: Duke of the Drowned-lands, 20

Or Drowned-land.

I like it well. The Duke of Drowned-land?

It goes like   Greenland, sir, if you mark it.

And  drawing thus your honour from the work,

You make the reputation of that greater, 25

And  stay’t the longer i’your name.

Drowned-lands will live in Drowned-land!

Ha’  no foot left; as that must be, sir, one day.

And, though it tarry in your heirs some forty,

Fifty descents, the  longer liver at last, yet, 30

Must thrust ’em out on’t, if no  quirk in law

Or odd vice o’their own not  do it first.

We see those changes daily: the fair lands

That were the client’s are the lawyer’s now;

 And those rich manors there of   goodman tailor’s 35

Had once more wood upon ’em than the  yard

By which th’were measured out for the last purchase.

Nature hath these vicissitudes. She makes

No man a state of perpetuity, sir.

  [Enter] PUG.

 (He spies [Pug]) I’my sight again? I’ll talk with you anon.

 [Exeunt Fitzdottrel, Merecraft, and Engine.]

Pluck out my tongue, one o’the two. This fool,

There is no trusting of him; and to  quit him

 Were a contempt against my chief past pardon.

It was a  shrewd disheart’ning this, at first! 5

Who would ha’ thought a woman so well  harnessed,

Or rather well-caparisoned, indeed,

That wears such petticoats and lace to her smocks,

Broad  seaming laces (as I see ’em hang there),

 And garters which are  lost, if she can show ’em, 10

Could ha’ done this? Hell! Why is she so  brave?

It cannot be to please Duke Dottrel, sure,

 Nor the dull pictures in her gallery,

Nor her own dear reflection in her  glass.

Yet that may be:  I have known many of ’em 15

Begin their pleasure, but none end it, there –

That I consider,  as I go along with it.

They may, for want of better company,

 Or that they think the better, spend an hour,

Two, three, or four, discoursing with their  shadow; 20

But sure they have a farther  speculation.

No woman dressed with so much care and study

Doth dress herself in vain. I’ll vex this problem

A little more before I leave it, sure.  [Exit.]

That this should prove thy chamber,  which I feared

Would be my greatest trouble! This must be

The  very window, and that the room.

I now remember, I have often seen  there 5

A woman, but I never marked her much.

Awake unto those objects.

Let me not live if I am not in love

More with her wit for this  direction now 10

Than with her form, though I ha’ praised that prettily

Since I saw her and you today. Read those.

 He gives him a paper, wherein is the copy of a song.

 They’ll go unto the air you love so well.

Try ’em unto the note; maybe the music

Will call her sooner.

  [Enter] MRS FITZDOTTREL [at the window opposite].

 ’Slight, she’s here! Sing quickly. 15

The fellow was not faithful in delivery

Of what I bade. And I am justly paid,

That might have made my profit of  his service,

But by mistaking have  drawn on his envy 20

And done the worse  defeat upon myself.

How! Music? Then he may be there – and is, sure.

Have I drawn to you at last, my cunning lady?

The devil is an ass! Fooled off, and beaten! 25

Nay, made an instrument, and could not  scent it!

Well, since  you’ve shown the malice of a woman

No less than her true wit and learning, mistress,

I’ll try if little Pug have the malignity

To  recompense it, and so  save his danger. 30

’Tis not the  pain, but the discredit of it,

 The devil should not keep a body entire!  [Exit.]

The master of my chamber. I have business.  [Exit.]

Lady, and natural.

 This scene is acted at two windows as out of two contiguous buildings.

I did receive

Some commands from you lately, gentle lady,

But so  perplexed and wrapped in the delivery

As I may fear t’have misinterpreted,

But must make suit still to be near your grace. 40

It  falls out, lady, to be a dear friend’s lodging,

 Wherein there’s some conspiracy of fortune

With your poor servant’s bless’d affections.

 Upon my entreaty of him, seeing you

Approach the window. Neither need you  doubt him

If he were here. He is too much a gentleman.

And by  the outward habit, and  complexion 50

Of easiness it hath to your design,

You may with justice say I am a woman,

And a  strange woman. But when you shall please

To bring but  that concurrence of my fortune

To memory,  which today yourself did urge, 55

It may  beget some favour like excuse,

 Though none like reason.

Then surely Love hath none, nor Beauty any,

Nor Nature  violencèd in both these,

With all whose gentle tongues you speak at once. 60

I thought I had enough removed already

That scruple from your breast, and left  you all reason,

When, through my morning’s  perspective, I showed you

A man so  above excuse as he is the cause

Why anything is to be done upon him, 65

And nothing called an injury misplaced.

 I rather now had hope to show you how Love

 By his accesses grows more natural;

And what was done this morning with such force

Was but devised to serve the present, then, 70

  He grows more familiar in his courtship, plays with her paps,

That since Love hath the honour to approach

These  sister-swelling breasts, and touch this soft

And rosy hand, he hath the skill to draw

Their nectar forth with kissing, and could make

More wanton   saults from this brave promontory 75

Down to this  valley than the nimble roe

Could play the hopping sparrow ’bout these nets,

And sporting squirrel in these  crispèd groves;

Bury himself in every silkworm’s  kell

Is here unravelled; run into the snare 80

Which every hair is, cast into a curl

To catch a Cupid flying; bathe himself

In milk and roses here, and dry him there;

Warm his cold hands to play with this smooth, round,

And well-turned chin, as with the billiard ball; 85

Roll on these lips, the banks of love, and there

At once both plant and gather kisses. Lady,

Shall I, with what I have made today here, call

All sense to  wonder, and all faith to  sign

The mysteries revealèd in your form? 90

And will Love pardon me the blasphemy

I uttered, when I said a glass could speak

This beauty, or that fools had power to judge it?

   [He sings.] Do but look on her eyes! They do light –

All that Love’s world compriseth! 95

Do but look on her hair! It is bright

As  Love’s star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother

Than words that soothe her!

And from her arched brows, such a grace 100

Sheds itself through the face,

As alone, there triumphs to the life,

All the gain, all the good, of the  elements’ strife!

 Have you seen but a bright lily grow

Before rude hands have touched it? 105

Have you marked but the fall of the snow

Before the soil hath smutched it?

Have you felt the wool o’the beaver?

Or swan’s down, ever?

Or have smelt o’the bud o’the briar? 110

Or the  nard i’the fire?

Or have tasted the bag o’the bee?

Oh, so white! Oh, so soft! Oh, so sweet is she!

If I know how, or can;   that wit of man

Will do’t, I’ll go no farther. At this window

She shall no more be buzzed at. Take your leave on’t.

[To her] If you be sweetmeats, wedlock, or  sweet flesh, 5

All’s one: I do not love this  hum about you.

A fly-blown wife is not so proper. In!

 He speaks out of his wife’s window.

For you, sir,  look to hear from me.

This to my wife but  pays for’t.

Or leave my teeth  in him, were they  cuckold’s bane

Enough to kill him! What prodigious,

Blind, and most wicked change of fortune’s this? 20

I ha’ no  air of patience: all my veins

Swell, and my sinews  start at iniquity of it.

I shall break, break!  [Exit.]

And my revenge may pass! But now my conscience

Tells me I have profited the cause of hell 25

But little in the breaking-off their loves.

Which, if some other act of mine repair not,

I shall hear ill of in my  account.

  FITZDOTTREL enters with his wife   as come down.

Could you do this? ’Gainst me? And at this time, now?

When I was so employed, wholly for you, 30

Drowned i’my care – more than the land I swear

 I’ve hope to win – to make you  peerless?  Studying

For footmen for you,  fine-paced  ushers, pages

To serve you  o’the knee; with what knight’s wife

To bear your train, and sit with your four women 35

In council, and receive  intelligences

From foreign parts; to dress you  at all pieces!

 You’ve almost  turned my good affection to you,

Soured my sweet thoughts, all my pure purposes.

I could now find i’my very heart to make 40

Another lady duchess and depose you.

Well, go your ways in.  [Exit Mrs Fitzdottrel.]

Devil,  you have redeemed all.

I do forgive you. And I’ll do you good.  [Exit Pug.]

Now it is growing to be  great. You must

Be above all those things.

The man, sir.

As you ha’ done it heretofore; not know

Or salute any man –

The other month.

Thou dost not know the privileges, Engine,

Follow that title, nor how swift. Today,

When he has put on his  lord’s face once, then –

 There is no fear of me. But then, my wife is 15

Such an  untoward thing! She’ll never learn

How to  comport with it!  I am out of all

Conceit on her behalf.

An academy for women? I do know 20

 For men there was; I learned in it myself

To  make my legs, and do  my postures.

Do you remember the  conceit you had –

O’the Spanish gown, at home?

With all my heart, dear Engine.

 Merecraft turns to Fitzdottrel.

Sir, there is 25

A certain lady here about the town,

An English widow, who hath lately travelled,

But she’s called  the Spaniard, ’cause she came

 Latest from thence, and keeps the Spanish  habit.

Such a rare woman! All our women here 30

That are of spirit and fashion flock unto her,

As to their  president, their law, their canon,

More than they ever did to  oracle Forman.

Such rare  receipts she has, sir, for the face,

Such oils, such tinctures, such  pomatums, 35

Such perfumes, med’cines,  quintessences, etc.

And such a mistress of  behaviour!

She knows, from the duke’s daughter to the  doxy,

What is their due just, and no more.

You please me i’this more than mine own greatness. 40

Where is she? Let us have her.

We must use means;  cast how to be acquainted –

I do not love to tarry for a thing,

When I have a mind to’t. You do not know me 45

If you do  offer it.

Some pretty token to her, with a compliment,

And pray to be received in her good graces;

All the great ladies do’t –

What were it best to be?

I would not have it any great matter, sir –

A diamond ring of forty or fifty pound

Would do it handsomely; and be a gift

Fit for your wife to send, and her to take.

Is well! The clothes  we’ve now, but where’s this lady?

If we could get a witty boy now, Engine,

That were an excellent  crack. I could instruct him

To the true height. For anything  takes this dottrel.

And tell their  poets.

Will  brook the stage. But there be some of ’em

Are very honest lads. There’s  Dick Robinson,

A very pretty fellow, and comes often 65

To a gentleman’s chamber, a friend’s of mine. We had

The merriest supper of it there, one night!

The gentleman’s landlady invited him

To a gossip’s feast. Now he, sir, brought Dick Robinson,

Dressed like a lawyer’s wife, amongst ’em all – 70

I lent him clothes – but to see him behave it,

And  lay the law, and  carve, and drink unto ’em,

And then talk bawdy, and send  frolics! Oh,

It would have burst your buttons, or not left you

A seam.

Forty o’your very ladies! Did you ne’er see him?

That we may have him?

I tell you of can  command him. Shall I attempt it? 80

  [FITZDOTTREL] enters again.

To part with a  ring on any terms, and yet

The sullen monkey has two.

That you should urge it, sir. Send to a goldsmith;

 Let not her lose by’t.

Is’t not for her?

It will ha’ the better success. What is a matter

Of fifty pound to you, sir?

Pieces to show here; that I would not break –

Unto my goldsmith.

Here my man comes too,

To carry it fitly. – How now, Trains?  What birds?

Because I would not tell him where you were.

 I think he has dogged me to the house too.

You shall go out at the back door, then, Trains.

You must get Gilthead hither by some means.

I’ll  gi’ him a piece, and send his wife a pheasant.  [Exit.]

 You’d of him last be paid. He keeps more stir

For that same petty sum than for your bond

 Of six and  statute of eight hundred.

We’ll  hedge in that.  Cry up Fitzdottrel to him,

Double his price; make him a man  of  metal. 105

I’ll have you learn, son. Wherefore have I placed you

With Sir Paul Eitherside, but to  have so much law

To keep your own? Besides, he is a justice

Here i’the town; and dwelling, son, with him 5

You shall learn  that in a year shall be worth twenty

Of having  stayed you at Oxford or at Cambridge,

Or sending you to the  Inns of Court or France.

I am called for now in haste by Master Merecraft

To  trust Master Fitzdottrel, a  good man – 10

 I’ve inquired him, eighteen hundred a year,

His name is  current – for a  diamond ring

 Of forty, shall not be worth thirty; that’s gained.

And this is to make you a gentleman!

We live by finding fools out to be trusted.

Our  shop-books are our pastures, our corn-grounds;

We lay ’em open for them to come into,

And when we have ’em there we drive ’em up

In t’one of our two  pounds, the  Counters, straight; 20

And this is to make you a gentleman!

We citizens  never trust but we do cozen;

For if our debtors pay, we cozen them,

And if they do not, then we cozen ourselves.

But that’s a hazard everyone must run 25

That hopes to make his son a gentleman.

In a  descent or two we come to be

Just i’their state, fit to be cozened like ’em.

And I had rather ha’ tarried i’your trade; 30

For since the gentry scorn the city so much,

Methinks we should in time, holding together,

And  matching in our own  tribes, as they say,

Have got  an Act of Common Council for it,

That we might cozen them out of  rerum natura. 35

The marrying of our wealthy heirs unto ’em;

And daughters with such lavish  portions.

That  confounds all.

And when they have your money, then they laugh at you, 40

Or kick you down the stairs. I cannot abide ’em.

I would  fain have ’em cozened, but not trusted.

Welcome, good Gilthead. I must ha’ you do

A noble gentleman a courtesy here,

In a mere toy, some pretty ring or jewel,

Of fifty or threescore pound – make it a hundred, 5

And  hedge in the last forty that I owe you,

And your own price for the ring. He’s a  good man, sir,

And you may  hap’ see him a great one. He

Is likely to bestow hundreds and thousands

Wi’ you, if you can humour him. A great prince 10

He will be shortly. What do you say?

I cannot. ’T has been a  long vacation with us –

Those are your citizens’ long vacations.

He will not buy a courtesy and beg it;

He’ll rather pay than pray. If you do for him,

You must do cheerfully. His credit, sir,

Is not yet  prostitute. Who’s this? Thy son?

A pretty youth. What’s his name?

That I begot him, I bought  Plutarch’s Lives,

And fell s’ in love with the book as I called my son

 By his name, in hope he should be like him

And write the lives of our great men.

And you do  breed him there?

Much to that way.

And plant him i’the country, there to use

The blessing I shall leave him.

And lose the laudable means thou hast at home, here,

T’advance and make him a young alderman?

Buy him  a captain’s place, for shame; and let him

Into the world early, and with his  plume

And  scarfs march through  Cheapside, or along Cornhill,35

And by the  virtue of those draw down a wife

There from a window worth ten thousand pound!

Get him the  posture book, and’s  leaden men

To set upon a table,  ’gainst his mistress

Chance to come by, that he may draw her in 40

And show her  Finsbury battles.

With Justice Eitherside, to get so much law –

 Pretty Plutarchus, who had not his name

For nothing, but was born to train the youth 45

Of London in the  military  truth.

That way his genius lies.

My cousin Everill!

Must not come easily from me. We must deal

With courtiers, boy, as courtiers deal with us. 5

If I have a business there with any of them,

Why, I must  wait,  I’m sure on’t, son; and  though

My lord dispatch me, yet his worshipful   man

Will  keep me for his sport a month or two,

To  show me with my fellow citizens. 10

I must make his  train long and full,  one quarter,

And help the spectacle of his greatness. There

Nothing is done at once but injuries, boy –

And they come headlong! All  their good turns move not,

Or very slowly.

I’m undone else, and your Lady Tailbush

Has sent for me to dinner, and  my clothes

Are all at pawn. I had sent out this morning,

Before I heard you were come to town, some twenty 20

Of my  epistles, and no one return –

Scarlet, gold lace, and  cut-works. Your fine gartering!

With your blown roses, cousin! And your eating

Pheasant and  godwit here in London, haunting 25

The  Globes and Mermaids, wedging in with lords

Still at the table! And  affecting lechery

In velvet! Where could you ha’ contented yourself

With cheese,  salt-butter, and a pickled herring

 I’the Low Countries – there worn cloth and  fustian! 30

Been satisfied with a  leap o’your host’s daughter

In garrison, a wench  of a stoter!  Or

Your sutler’s wife, i’the leaguer, of two blanks!

 You never then had run upon this flat

To  write your letters missive and send out 35

Your privy seals, that thus have frighted off

All your acquaintance, that they shun you at distance,

Worse than you do the  bailies!

I come not to you for counsel. I lack money.

They owe you that mean to pay you. I’ll be sworn

I never meant it. Come, you  will project;