A Goodly day toward! and a fresh morning! BRAYNE-WORME,

Call vp your yong master: bid him rise, sir.

Tell him, I haue some businesse to employ him.

I will sir, presently.

But heare you, sirah,

If he be'at his booke, disturbe him not.

Well sir.

How happie, yet, should I esteeme my selfe

Could I (by any practise) weane the boy

From one vaine course of studie, he affects.

He is a scholler, if a man may trust

The liberall voice of fame, in her report

Of good accompt, in both our vniuersities,

Either of which hath fauour'd him with graces:

But their indulgence, must not spring in me

A fond opinion, that he cannot erre.

My selfe was once a student; and, indeed,

Fed with the selfe-same humour, he is now,

Dreaming on nought but idle poetrie,

That fruitlesse, and vnprofitable art,

Good vnto none, but least to the professors,

Which, then, I thought the mistresse of all knowledge:

But since, time, and the truth haue wak'd my iudgement,

And reason taught me better to distinguish,

The vaine, from th'vsefull learnings. Cossin STEPHEN!

What newes with you, that you are here so early?

Nothing, but eene come to see how you doe, vncle.

That's kindly done, you are wel-come, cousse.

I, I know that sir, I would not ha'come else.

How doe my coussin EDWARD, vncle?

O, well cousse, goe in and see: I doubt he be scarse stirring yet.

Vncle, afore I goe in, can you tell me, an' he haue ere a booke

of the sciences of hawking, and hunting? I would faine borrow it.

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

No wusse; but I'll practise against next yeere vncle: I haue

bought me a hawke, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lacke nothing but

a booke to keepe it by.

O, most ridiculous.

You are a prodigall absurd cocks-combe: Goe to.

Nay neuer looke at me, it's I that speake.

Tak't as you will sir, I'll not flatter you.

Ha' you not yet found meanes enow, to wast

That, which your friends haue left you, but you must

Goe cast away your money on a kite,

And know not how to keepe it, when you ha'done?

O it's comely! this will make you a gentleman!

Well cosen, well! I see you are eene past hope

Of all reclaime. I, so, now you are told on it,

You looke another way.

What would you ha' me doe?

What would I haue you doe? I'll tell you kinsman,

Learne to be wise, and practise how to thriue,

That would I haue you doe: and not to spend

Your coyne on euery bable, that you phansie,

Or euery foolish braine, that humors you.

I would not haue you to inuade each place,

Nor thrust your selfe on all societies,

Till mens affections, or your owne desert,

Should worthily inuite you to your ranke.

He, that is so respectlesse in his courses,

Oft sells his reputation, at cheape market.

Nor would I, you should melt away your selfe

In flashing brauerie, least while you affect

To make a blaze of gentrie to the world,

A little puffe of scorne extinguish it,

And you be left, like an vnsauorie snuffe,

Whose propertie is onely to offend.

I'ld ha'you sober, and containe your selfe;

Not, that your sayle be bigger then your boat:

But moderate your expences now (at first)

As you may keepe the same proportion still.

Nor, stand so much on your gentilitie,

Which is an aërie, and meere borrow'd thing,

From dead mens dust, and bones: and none of yours

Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?

SAue you, gentlemen.

Nay, we do' not stand much on our gentilitie, friend;

yet, you are wel-come, and I assure you, mine vncle, here, is a man

of a thousand a yeare, Middlesex land: hee has but one sonne in all the

world, I am his next heire (at the common law) master STEPHEN, as

simple as I stand here, if my cossen die (as there's hope he will) I haue a

prettie liuing o' mine owne too, beside, hard-by here.

In good time, sir.

In good time, sir? why! and in a very good time, sir. You doe

not flout, friend, doe you?

Not I, sir.

Not you, sir? you were not best, sir; an' you should, here bee

them can perceiue it, and that quicky to: goe to. And they can giue it a-

gaine soundly to, and neede be.

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

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

presently.

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

And so I would sir, good my saucie companion! an' you were

out o' mine vncles ground, I can tell you; though I doe not stand vpon

my gentilitie neither in't.

Cossen! cossen! will this nere be left?

Whorson base fellow! a mechanicall seruing-man! By this

cudgell, and't were not for shame, I would——

What would you doe, you peremptorie gull?

If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.

You see, the honest man demeanes himselfe

Modestly to'ards you, giuing no replie

To your vnseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion:

And, still you huffe it, with a kind of cariage,

As voide of wit, as of humanitie.

Goe, get you in; fore heauen, I am asham'd

Thou hast a kinsmans interest in me.

I pray you, sir. Is this master KNO'WELL'S house?

Yes, marie, is it sir.

I should enquire for a gentleman, here, one master EDWARD

KNO'WELL: doe you know any such, sir, I pray you?

I should forget my selfe else, sir.

Are you the gentleman? crie you mercie sir: I was requir'd by a

gentleman i' the citie, as I rode out at this end o' the towne, to deliuer you

this letter, sir.

To me, sir! What doe you meane? pray you remember your

court'sie. (To his most selected friend, master EDWARD KNO'WELL.) What

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

One master WELL-BRED, sir.

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

The same sir, master KITELY married his sister: the rich mer-

chant i' the old Iewrie.

You say very true. BRAINE-WORME,

Sir.

Make this honest friend drinke here: pray you goe in.

This letter is directed to my sonne:

Yet, I am EDWARD KNO'WELL too, and may

With the safe conscience of good manners, vse

The fellowes error to my satisfaction.

Well, I will breake it ope (old men are curious)

Be it but for the stiles sake, and the phrase,

To see, if both doe answere my sonnes praises,

Who is, almost, growne the idolater

Of this yong WELL-BRED: what haue we here? what's this?

From the Burdello, it might come as well;

The Spittle: or Pict-hatch. Is this the man,

My sonne hath sung so, for the happiest wit,

The choysest braine, the times hath sent vs forth?

I know not what he may be, in the arts;

Nor what in schooles: but surely, for his manners,

I iudge him a prophane, and dissolute wretch:

Worse, by possession of such great good guifts,

Being the master of so loose a spirit.

Why, what vnhallow'd ruffian would haue writ,

In such a scurrilous manner, to a friend!

Why should he thinke, I tell my Apri-cotes?

Or play th' Hesperian Dragon, with my fruit,

To watch it? Well, my sonne, I'had thought

Y' had had more iudgement, t' haue made election

Of your companions, then t' haue tane on trust,

Such petulant, geering gamsters, that can spare

No argument, or subiect from their iest.

But I perceiue, affection makes a foole

Of any man, too much the father. BRAYNE-WORME,

Sir.

Is the fellow gone that brought this letter?

Yes, sir, a pretie while since.

And, where's your yong master?

In his chamber sir.

He spake not with the fellow! did he?

No sir, he saw him not.

Take you this letter, and deliuer it my sonne

But with no notice, that I have open'd it, on your life.

O lord, sir, that were a iest, indeed!

I am resolu'd, I will not stop his iourney;

Nor practise any violent meane, to stay

The vnbridled course of youth in him: for that,

Restrain'd, growes more impatient, and, in kind,

Like to the eager, but the generous grey-hound;

Who ne're so little from his game with-held,

Turnes head, and leapes vp at his holders throat.

There is a way of winning, more by loue,

And vrging of the modestie, then feare:

Force workes on seruile natures, not the free.

He, that's compell'd to goodnesse, may be good;

But 'tis but for that fit: where others drawne

By softnesse, and example, get a habit.

Then, if they stray, but warne 'hem: and, the same

They should for vertu'haue done, they'll doe for shame.

DId he open it, sayest thou?

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

That scarse contents me. What countenance (pr'y

thee) made he, i'the reading of it? was he angrie, or pleas'd?

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

worship.

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

Marie sir, because he charg'd me, on my life, to tell nobodie,

that he open'd it: which, vnlesse hee had done, hee would neuer feare to

haue it reueal'd.

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

O, BRAYNE-WORME, did'st thou not see a fellow here in a

what-sha'-call-him doublet! he brought mine vncle a lettler e'en now.

Yes, master STEPHEN, what of him?

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

thou tell?

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

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

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

And, I staid i' the fields! horson scander-bag rogue! ô that I

had but a horse to fetch him backe againe.

Why, you may ha' my mrs. gelding, to saue your longing, sir.

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

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

No faith, it's no boote to follow him, now: let him eene goe,

and hang. 'Pray thee, helpe to trusse me, a little. He dos so vexe me——

You'll be worse vex'd, when you are truss'd, master STEPHEN.

Best, keepe vn-brac'd; and walke your selfe, till you be cold: your choller

may foundre you else.

By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't: How dost

thou like my legge, BRAYNE-WORME?

A very good leg! master STEPHEN! but the woollen stock-

ing do's not commend it so well.

Foh, the stockings be good inough, now summer is comming

on, for the dust: Ile haue a paire of silke, again' winter, that I goe to dwell

i' the towne. I thinke my legge would shew in a silke-hose.

Beleeue me, master STEPHEN, rarely well,

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

You haue an excellent good legge, master STEPHEN, but I

cannot stay, to praise it longer now, and I am very sorie for't.

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

Ha, ha, ha!

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

Here was a letter, indeede, to be intercepted by a mans father,

and doe him good with him! Hee cannot but thinke most vertuously,

both of me, and the sender, sure; that make the carefull Costar'-monger of

him in our familiar Epistles. Well, if he read this with patience, Ile be-gelt,

and troll ballads for Mr. IOHN TRVNDLE, yonder, the rest of my mor-

talitie. It is true, and likely, my father may haue as much patience as an-

other man; for he takes much physicke: and, oft taking physicke makes

a man very patient. But would your packet, master WEL-BRED, had ar-

riu'd at him, in such a minute of his patience; then, we had knowne the

end of it, which now is doubtfull, and threatens—What! my wise cos-

sen! Nay, then, Il efurnish our feast with one gull more to'ard the

messe. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: O, for a

fourth; Fortune, if euer thou'lt vse thine eyes, I intreate thee——

O, now I see, who hee laught at. Hee laught at some-body in

that letter. By this good light, and he had laught at me——

How now, coussen STEPHEN, melancholy'?

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

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

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

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

Did you, indeede?

Yes, indeede.

Why, then——

What then?

I am satisfied, it is sufficient.

Why, bee so gentle cousse. And, I pray you let me intreate a

courtesie of you. I am sent for, this morning, by a friend i' the old Iewrie

to come to him; It's but crossing ouer the fields to More-gate: Will you

beare me companie? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot

against the state, cousse.

Sir, that's all one, and 't were; you shall command me, twise

so farre as More-gate to doe you good, in such a matter. Doe you thinke

I would leaue you? I protest——

No, no, you shall not protest, cousse.

By my fackins, but I will, by your leaue; Ile protest more to

my friend, then Ile speake off, at this time.

You speake very well, cousse.

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

my turne.

Your turne, couss? Doe you know, what you say? A gentle-

man of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talke o' your turne

i' this companie, and to me, alone, like a tankard-bearer, at a conduit!

Fie. A wight, that (hetherto) his euery step hath left the stampe of a great

foot behind him, as euery word the sauour of a strong spirit! and he! this

man! so grac'd, guilded, or (to vse a more fit metaphore) so tin-foild by na-

ture, as not ten house-wiues pewter (again' a good time) shew's more

bright to the world then he! and he (as I said last, so I say againe, and still

shall say it) this man! to conceale such reall ornaments as these, and shad-

dow their glorie, as a Millaners wife do's her wrought stomacher, with a

smokie lawne, or a black cypresse? O couss! It cannot be answer'd, goe not

about it. DRAKES old ship, at Detford, may sooner circle the world a-

gaine. Come, wrong not the qualitie of your desert, with looking downe-

ward, couz; but hold vp your head, so: and let the Idea of what you are,

be pourtray'd i' your face, that men may reade i' your physnomie, (Here,

within this place, is to be seene the true, rare, and accomplish'd monster, or miracle

of nature, which is all one.) What thinke you of this, couss?

Why, I doe thinke of it; and I will be more prowd, and melan-

choly, and gentleman-like, then I haue beene: I'le ensure you.

Why, that's resolute master STEPHEN! Now, if I can but

hold him vp to his height, as it is happily begunne, it will doe well for a

suburbe-humor: we may hap haue a match with the citie, and play him

for fortie pound. Come, couss.

I'le follow you.

Follow me? you must goe before.

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

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

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

good morrow.

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

here, COB?

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

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

Why sir, an ancient linage, and a princely. Mine ance'trie came

from a Kings belly, no worse man: and yet no man neither (by your

worships leaue, I did lie in that) but Herring the King of fish (from his

belly, I proceed) one o' the Monarchs o' the world, I assure you. The first

red herring, that was broil'd in ADAM, and EVE's kitchin, doe I fetch my

pedigree from, by the Harrots bookes. His COB, was my great-great-

mighty-great Grand father.

Why mightie? why mightie? I pray thee.

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

How know'st thou that?

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

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

I sir, with fauour of your worships nose, Mr. MATHEW, why

not the ghost of a herring-cob, as well as the ghost of rasher-bacon?

ROGER BACON, thou wouldst say?

I say rasher-bacon. They were both broyl'd o' the coles? and

a man may smell broyld-meate, I hope? you are a scholler, vpsolue me

that, now.

O raw ignorance! COB, canst thou shew me of a gentleman,

one Captayne BOBADILL, where his lodging is?

O, my guest, sir! you meane.

Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha.

Why doe you laugh, sir? Doe you not meane Captayne BO-

BADILL?

COB, 'pray thee, aduise thy selfe well: doe not wrong the gen-

tleman, and thy selfe too. I dare bee sworne, hee scornes thy house: hee!

He lodge in such a base, obscure place, as thy house! Tut, I know his dis-

position so well, he would not lye in thy bed, if tho'uldst gi' it him.

I will not giue it him, though, sir. Masse, I thought somewhat

was in't, we could not get him to bed, all night! Well, sir, though he lye

not o' my bed, he lies o' my bench: an't please you to goe vp, sir, you

shall find him with two cushions vnder his head, and his cloke wrapt a-

bout him, as though he had neither wun nor lost, and yet (I warrant) he

ne're cast better in his life, then he has done, to night.

Why? was he drunke?

Drunke, sir? you heare not me say so. Perhaps, hee swallow'd

a tauerne-token, or some such deuice, sir: I haue nothing to doe withall.

I deale with water, and not with wine. Gi' me my tankard there, hough.

God b'w'you, sir. It's sixe a clocke: I should ha' carried two turnes, by

this. What hough? my stopple? come.

Lye in a water-bearers house! A gentleman of his hauings!

Well, I'le tell him my mind.

What TIB, shew this gentleman vp to the Captayne. O, an'

my house were the Brasen-head now! faith, it would eene speake, Mo fooles

yet. You should ha' some now would take this Mr. MATTHEW to be a

gentleman, at the least. His father's an honest man, a worshipfull fish-

monger, and so forth; and now dos he creepe, and wriggle into acquain-

tance with all the braue gallants about the towne, such as my guest is:

(ô, my guest is a fine man) and they flout him invincibly. Hee vseth

euery day to a Merchants house (where I serue water) one master KITE-

LY's, i' the old Iewry; and here's the iest, he is in loue with my masters si-

ster, (mistris BRIDGET) and calls her mistris: and there hee will sit

you a whole after-noone some-times, reading o' these same abomi-

nable, vile, (a poxe on' hem, I cannot abide them) rascally verses, poye-

trie, poyetrie, and speaking of enterludes, 'twill make a man burst to heare

him. And the wenches, they doe so geere, and ti-he at him—well, should

they do so much to me, Ild for-sweare them all, by the foot of PHARAOH.

There's an oath! How many water-bearers shall you heare sweare such an

oath? Ô, I haue a guest (he teaches me) he dos sweare the legiblest, of any

man christned: By St. GEORGE, the foot of PHARAOH, the body of me,

as I am gentleman, and a souldier: such daintie oathes! and withall, he dos

take this same filthy roguish tabacco, the finest, and cleanliest! it would doe

a man good to see the fume come forth at's tonnells! Well, he owes mee

fortie shillings (my wife lent him out of her purse, by sixe-pence a time)

besides his lodging: I would I had it. I shall ha' it, he saies, the next A-

ction. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat, vp-tailes all, and a louse

for the hang-man.

HOstesse, hostesse.

What say you, sir?

A cup o' thy small beere, sweet hostesse.

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

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

My husband told him you were, sir.

What a plague—what meant he?

Captaine BOBADILL?

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

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

house, here.

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

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

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

audacious.

Not so, sir. I was requested to supper, last night, by a sort of gal-

lants, where you were wish'd for, and drunke to, I assure you.

Vouchsafe me, by whom, good Captaine.

Mary, by yong WELL-BRED, and others: Why, hostesse, a

stoole here, for this gentleman.

No haste, sir, 'tis very well.

Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarse

open my eyes, yet; I was but new risen, as you came: how passes the day

abroad, sir? you can tell.

Faith, some halfe houre to seuen: now trust mee, you haue an

exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and priuate!

I, sir: sit downe, I pray you. Master MATTHEW (in any case)

possesse no gentlemen of our acquaintance, with notice of my lodging.

Who? I sir? no.

Not that I need to care who know it, for the Cabbin is conue-

nient, but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited, as

some are.

True, Captaine, I conceiue you.

For, doe you see, sir, by the heart of valour, in me, (except it be

to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily ingag'd,

as your selfe, or so) I could not extend thus farre.

O Lord, sir, I resolue so.

I confesse, I loue a cleanely and quiet priuacy, aboue all the tu-

mult, and roare of fortune. What new booke ha' you there? What!

Goe by, HIERONYMO!

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

Well pend? I would faine see all the Poets, of these times, pen

such another play as that was! they'll prate and swagger, and keepe a stir

of arte and deuices, when (as I am a gentleman) reade 'hem, they are the

most shallow, pittifull, barren fellowes, that liue vpon the face of the

earth, againe!

Indeed, here are a number of fine speeches in this booke! O

eyes, no eyes, but fountaynes fraught with teares! There's a conceit! fountaines

fraught with teares! O life, no life, but liuely forme of death! Another! O

world, no world, but masse of publique wrongs! A third! Confus'd and fil'd with

murder, and misdeeds! A fourth! O, the Muses! Is't not excellent? Is't not

simply the best that euer you heard, Captayne? Ha? How doe you like it?

'Tis good.

Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this?

This, sir? a toy o' mine owne, in my nonage: the infancy of my

Muses! But, when will you come and see my studie? good faith, I can

shew you some very good things, I haue done of late—That boot be-

comes your legge, passing well, Captayne, me thinkes!

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

Troth, Captayne, an' now you speake o' the fashion, master

WELL-BRED's elder brother, and I, are fall'n out exceedingly: this other

day, I hapned to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I assure you,

both for fashion, and worke-man-ship, was most peremptory-beautifull,

and gentleman-like! Yet, he condemn'd, and cry'd it downe, for the most

pyed, and ridiculous that euer he saw.

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

I sir, he.

Hang him, rooke, he! why, he has no more iudgement then a

malt-horse. By S. GEORGE, I wonder youl'd loose a thought vpon

such an animal: the most peremptory absurd clowne of christendome,

this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman, and a souldier,

I ne're chang'd wordes, with his like. By his discourse, he should eate no-

thing but hay. He was borne for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle! He

ha's not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron, and rustie

prouerbes! a good commoditie for some smith, to make hob-nailes of.

I, and he thinks to carry it away with his man-hood still, where

he comes. He brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I heare.

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

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

grace.

That may bee: For I was sure, it was none of his word. But,

when? when said he so?

Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gallant, a friend of mine

told me so.

By the foot of PHARAOH, and't were my case now, I should

send him a chartel, presently. The bastinado! A most proper, and sufficient

dependance, warranted by the great CARANZA. Come hither. You shall

chartel him. I'll shew you a trick, or two, you shall kill him with, at plea-

sure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this ayre.

Indeed, you haue absolute knowledge i' the mysterie, I haue

heard, sir.

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

Troth, I haue heard it spoken of diuers, that you haue very

rare, and vn-in-one-breath-vtter-able skill, sir.

By heauen, no, not I; no skill i' the earth: some small rudi-

ments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I haue profest it

more for noblemen, and gentlemens vse, then mine owne practise, I assure

you. Hostesse, accommodate vs with another bed-staffe here, quickly:

Lend vs another bed-staffe. The woman do's not vnderstand the wordes

of Action. Looke you, sir. Exalt not your point aboue this state, at any

hand, and let your poynard maintayne your defence, thus: (giue it the

gentleman, and leaue vs) so, sir. Come on: O, twine your body more

about, that you may fall to a more sweet comely gentleman-like guard.

So, indifferent. Hollow your body more sir, thus. Now, stand fast o'

your left leg, note your distance, keepe your due proportion of time—

Oh, you disorder your point, most irregularly!

How is the bearing of it, now, sir?

O, out of measure ill! A well-experienc'd hand would passe

vpon you, at pleasure.

How meane you, sir, passe vpon me?

Why, thus sir (make a thrust at me) come in, vpon the answere,

controll your point, and make a full carreere, at the body. The best-pra-

ctis'd gallants of the time, name it the passada: a most desperate thrust,

beleeue it!

Well, come, sir.

Why, you doe not manage your weapon with any facilitie, or

grace to inuite mee: I haue no spirit to play with you. Your dearth of

iudgement renders you tedious.

But one venue, sir.

Venue! Fie. Most grosse denomination, as euer I heard. O, the

stoccata, while you liue, sir. Note that. Come, put on your cloke, and

wee'll goe to some priuate place, where you are acquainted, some tauerne,

or so–and haue a bit—Ile send for one of these Fencers, and hee shall

breath you, by my direction; and, then, I will teach you your tricke.

You shall kill him with it, at the first, if you please. Why, I will learne

you, by the true iudgement of the eye, hand, and foot, to controll any e-

nemies point i' the world. Should your aduersarie confront you with a

pistoll, 'twere nothing, by this hand, you should, by the same rule, controll

his bullet, in a line: except it were hayle-shot, and spred. What money

ha'you about you, Mr. MATTHEW?

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

'Tis somewhat with the least: but, come. We will haue a bunch

of redish, and salt, to tast our wine; and a pipe of tabacco, to close the ori-

fice of the stomach: and then, wee'll call vpon yong WEL-BRED. Per-

haps wee shall meet the CORIDON, his brother, there: and put him to

the question.

THOMAS, Come hither,

There lyes a note, within vpon my deske,

Here, take my key: It is no matter, neither.

Where is the Boy?

Within, sir, i'the ware-house.

Let him tell ouer, straight, that Spanish gold,

And weigh it, with th'pieces of eight. Doe you

See the deliuery of those siluer stuffes,

To Mr. LVCAR. Tell him, if he will,

He shall ha' the grogran's, at the rate I told him,

And I will meet him, on the Exchange, anon.

Good, sir.

Doe you see that fellow, brother DOWNE-RIGHT?

I, what of him?

He is a iewell, brother.

I tooke him of a child, vp, at my dore,

And christned him, gaue him mine owne name, THOMAS,

Since bred him at the Hospitall; where prouing

A toward impe, I call'd him home, and taught him

So much, as I haue made him my Cashier,

And giu'n him, who had none, a surname, CASH:

And find him, in his place so full of faith,

That, I durst trust my life into his hands.

So, would not I in any bastards, brother,

As, it is like, he is: although I knew

My selfe his father. But you said yo' had somewhat

To tell me, gentle brother, what is't? what is't?

Faith, I am very loath, to vtter it,

As fearing, it may hurt your patience:

But, that I know, your iudgement is of strength,

Against the neerenesse of affection—

What need this circumstance? pray you be direct.

I will not say, how much I doe ascribe

Vnto your friendship; nor, in what regard

I hold your loue: but, let my past behauiour,

And vsage of your sister, but confirme

How well I'aue beene affected to your——

You are too tedious, come to the matter, the matter.

Then (without further ceremonie) thus.

My brother WELL-BRED, sir, (I know not how)

Of late, is much declin'd in what he was,

And greatly alter'd in his disposition.

When he came first to lodge here in my house,

Ne're trust me, if I were not proud of him:

Me thought he bare himselfe in such a fashion,

So full of man, and sweetnesse in his carriage,

And (what was chiefe) it shew'd not borrowed in him,

But all he did, became him as his owne,

And seem'd as perfect, proper, and possest

As breath, with life, or colour, with the bloud.

But, now, his course is so irregular,

So loose, affected, and depriu'd of grace,

And he himselfe withall so farre falne off

From that first place, as scarse no note remaines,

To tell mens iudgements where he lately stood.

Hee's growne a stranger to all due respect,

Forgetfull of his friends, and not content

To stale himselfe in all societies,

He makes my house here common, as a Mart,

A Theater, a publike receptacle

For giddie humour, and diseased riot;

And here (as in a tauerne, or a stewes)

He, and his wild associates, spend their houres,

In repetition of lasciuious iests,

Sweare, leape, drinke, dance, and reuell night by night,

Controll my seruants: and indeed what not?

'Sdeynes, I know not what I should say to him, i' the whole

world! He values me, at a crackt three-farthings, for ought I see: It will

neuer out o' the flesh that's bred i'the bone! I haue told him inough, one

would thinke, if that would serue: But, counsell to him, is as good, as a

shoulder of mutton to a sicke horse. Well! he knowes what to trust to,

for GEORGE. Let him spend, and spend, and domineere, till his heart

ake; an' hee thinke to bee relieu'd by me, when he is got into one o' your

citie pounds, the Counters, he has the wrong sow by the eare, ifaith: and

claps his dish at the wrong mans dore. I'le lay my hand o' my halfe-peny,

e're I part with't, to fetch him out, I'le assure him.

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

'Sdeath, he mads me, I could eate my very spur-lethers, for an-

ger! But, why are you so tame? Why doe not you speake to him, and tell

him how he disquiets your house?

O, there are diuers reasons to disswade, brother.

But, would your selfe vouchsafe to trauaile in it,

(Though but with plaine, and easie circumstance)

It would, both come much better to his sense,

And sauour lesse of stomack, or of passion.

You are his elder brother, and that title

Both giues, and warrants you authoritie;

Which (by your presence seconded) must breed

A kinde of dutie in him, and regard:

Whereas, if I should intimate the least,

It would but adde contempt, to his neglect,

Heape worse on ill, make vp a pile of hatred

That, in the rearing, would come tottring downe,

And, in the ruine, burie all our loue.

Nay, more then this, brother, if I should speake

He would be readie from his heate of humor,

And ouer-flowing of the vapour, in him,

To blow the eares of his familiars,

With the false breath, of telling, what disgraces,

And low disparadgments, I had put vpon him.

Whilst they, sir, to relieue him, in the fable,

Make their loose comments, vpon euery word,

Gesture, or looke, I vse; mocke me all ouer,

From my flat cap, vnto my shining shooes:

And, out of their impetuous rioting phant'sies,

Beget some slander, that shall dwell with me.

And what would that be, thinke you? mary, this.

They would giue out (because my wife is faire,

My selfe but lately married, and my sister

Here soiourning a virgin in my house)

That I were iealous! nay, as sure as death,

That they would say. And how that I had quarrell'd

My brother purposely, thereby to finde

An apt pretext, to banish them my house.

Masse perhaps so: They' are like inough to doe it.

Brother, they would, beleeue it: so should I

(Like one of these penurious quack-saluers)

But set the bills vp, to mine owne disgrace,

And trie experiments vpon my selfe:

Lend scorne and enuie, oportunitie,

To stab my reputation, and good name——

I Will speake to him—

Speake to him? away, by the foot of PHARAOH, you shall

not, you shall not doe him that grace. The time of day, to you,

Gentleman o'the house. Is Mr. WELL-BRED stirring?

How then? what should he doe?

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

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

Why, doe you heare? you.

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

uenger.

How, scauenger? stay sir, stay?

Nay, brother DOWNE-RIGHT.

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

You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother,

Good faith you shall not: I will ouer-rule you.

Ha? scauenger? well, goe to, I say little: but, by this good day

(god forgiue me I should sweare) if I put it vp so, say, I am the rankest

cow, that euer pist. 'Sdeynes, and I swallow this, Ile ne're draw my sword

in the sight of Fleet-street againe, while I liue; Ile sit in a barne, with

Madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scauenger? 'Heart, and Ile goe neere

to fill that huge tumbrell-slop of yours, with somewhat, and I haue good

lucke: your GARAGANTVA breech cannot carry it away so.

Oh doe not fret your selfe thus, neuer thinke on't.

These are my brothers consorts, these! these are his Cam'rades,

his walking mates! hee's a gallant, a Caualiero too, right hang-man cut!

Let me not liue, and I could not finde in my heart to swinge the whole

ging of 'hem, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieu'd, it

should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Wel, as he brewes,

so he shall drinke, for GEORGE, againe. Yet, he shall heare on't, and that

tightly too, and I liue, Ifaith.

But, brother, let your reprehension (then)

Runne in an easie current, not ore-high

Carried with rashnesse, or deuouring choller;

But rather vse the soft perswading way,

Whose powers will worke more gently, and compose

Th'imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaime:

More winning, then enforcing the consent.

I, I, let me alone for that, I warrant you.

How now? oh, the bell rings to breakefast.

Brother, I pray you goe in, and beare my wife

Companie, till I come; Ile but giue order

For some dispatch of businesse, to my seruants—

VVHat, COB? our maides will haue you by the back (Ifaith)

For comming so late this morning.

Perhaps so, sir, take heed some body haue not them

by the belly, for walking so late in the euening.

Well, yet my troubled spirit's somewhat eas'd,

Though not repos'd in that securitie,

As I could wish: But, I must be content.

How e're I set a face on't to the world,

Would I had lost this finger, at a venter,

So WELL-BRED had ne're lodg'd within my house.

Why't cannot be, where there is such resort

Of wanton gallants, and yong reuellers,

That any woman should be honest long.

I'st like, that factious beautie will preserue

The publike weale of chastitie, vn-shaken,

When such strong motiues muster, and make head

Against her single peace? no, no. Beware,

When mutuall appetite doth meet to treat,

And spirits of one kinde, and qualitie,

Come once to parlee, in the pride of bluod:

It is no slow conspiracie, that followes.

Well (to be plaine) if I but thought, the time

Had answer'd their affections: all the world

Should not perswade me, but I were a cuckold.

Mary, I hope, they ha' not got that start:

For oportunitie hath balkt 'hem yet,

And shall doe still, while I haue eyes, and eares

To attend the impositions of my heart.

My presence shall be as an iron barre,

'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:

Yea, euery looke, or glance, mine eye eiects,

Shall checke occasion, as one doth his slaue,

When he forgets the limits of prescription.

Sister BRIDGET, pray you fetch downe the rose-water aboue

in the closet. Sweet heart, will you come in, to breakefast.

An' shee haue ouer-heard me now?

I pray thee (good MVSSE) we stay for you.

By heauen I would not for a thousand angells.

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

MVSSE.

Troth my head akes extremely, on a sudden.

Oh, the lord!

How now? what?

Alas, how it burnes? MVSSE, keepe you warme, good truth

it is this new disease! there's a number are troubled withall! for loues

sake, sweet heart, come in, out of the aire.

How simple, and how subtill are her answeres?

A new disease, and many troubled with it!

Why, true: shee heard me, all the world to nothing.

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

harme in, troth.

The aire! shee has me i'the wind! sweet heart!

Ile come to you presently: 't will away, I hope.

Pray heauen it doe.

A new disease? I know not, new, or old,

But it may well be call'd poore mortalls plague:

For, like a pestilence, it doth infect

The houses of the braine. First, it begins

Solely to worke vpon the phantasie,

Filling her seat with such pestiferous aire,

As soone corrupts the iudgement; and from thence,

Sends like contagion to the memorie:

Still each to other giuing the infection.

Which, as a subtle vapor, spreads it selfe,

Confusedly, through euery sensiue part,

Till not a thought, or motion, in the mind,

Be free from the blacke poyson of suspect.

Ah, but what miserie' is it, to know this?

Or, knowing it, to want the mindes erection,

In such extremes? Well, I will once more striue,

(In spight of this black cloud) my selfe to be,

And shake the feauer off, that thus shakes me.

S'Lid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see my selfe translated thus, from

a poore creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable

sort of lyes, or my present profession looses the grace: and yet the

lye to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit, as the Fico. O sir, it holds for

good politie euer, to haue that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inward-

ly is most deare to vs. So much, for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is,

my old master intends to follow my yong, drie foot, ouer More-fields, to

London, this morning: now I, knowing, of this hunting-match, or rather

conspiracie, and to insinuate with my yong master (for so must we that are

blew-waiters, and men of hope and seruice doe, or perhaps wee may

weare motley at the yeeres end, and who weares motley, you know) haue

got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lye in ambuscado, and in-

tercept him, in the mid-way. If I can but get his cloke, his purse, his hat,

nay, any thing, to cut him off, that is, to stay his iourney, Veni, vidi, vici, I

may say with Captayne CAESAR, I am made for euer, ifaith. Well, now

must I practice to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights, my arme

here, and my--yong master! and his cousin, Mr. STEPHEN, as I am true

counterfeit man of warre, and no souldier!

So sir, and how then, couss?

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

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

I cannot tell, stay.

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

by them.

What? ha' you it?

No, I thinke I was bewitcht, I—

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

Oh, it's here: no, and it had beene lost, I had not car'd, but

for a iet ring mistris MARY sent me.

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

Fine, ifaith! Though fancie sleep, my loue is deepe. Meaning that

though I did not fancie her, yet shee loued me dearely.

Most excellent!

And then, I sent her another, and my poesie was: The deeper, the

sweeter, Ile be iudg'd by St. PETER.

How, by St. PETER? I doe not conceiue that!

Mary, St. PETER, to make vp the meeter.

Well, there the Saint was your good patron, hee help't you at

your need: thanke him, thanke him.

I cannot take leaue on 'hem, so: I will venture, come what will.

Gentlemen, please you change a few crownes, for a very excellent good

blade, here? I am a poore gentleman, a souldier, one that (in the better

state of my fortunes) scorn'd so meane a refuge, but now it is the humour

of necessitie, to haue it so. You seeme to be gentlemen, well affected to

martiall men, else I should rather die with silence, then liue with shame:

how euer, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speakes, not my selfe. This

condition agrees not with my spirit——

Where hast thou seru'd?

May it please you, sir, in all the late warres of Bohemia, Hunga-

ria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? I haue beene a poore seruitor, by sea

and land, any time this fourteene yeeres, and follow'd the fortunes of the

best Commanders in christendome. I was twice shot at the taking of Alepo,

once at the reliefe of Vienna; I haue beene at Marseilles, Naples, and the

Adriatique gulfe, a gentleman-slaue in the galleys, thrice, where I was most

dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus

maym'd, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scarres, the

noted markes of my resolution.

How will you sell this rapier, friend?

Generous sir, I referre it to your owne iudgement; you are a

gentleman, giue me what you please.

True, I am a gentleman, I know that friend: but what though?

I pray you say, what would you aske?

I assure you, the blade may become the side, or thigh of the

best prince, in Europe.

I, with a veluet scabberd, I thinke.

Nay, and't be mine, it shall haue a veluet scabberd, Couss,

that's flat: I'de not weare it as 'tis, and you would giue me an angell.

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

I had rather it were a Spaniard! but tell me, what shall I giue

you for it? An' it had a siluer hilt—

Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a shilling fel-

low, take thy rapier.

Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so, and there's an-

other shilling, fellow. I scorne to be out-bidden. What, shall I walke

with a cudgell, like Higgin-Bottom? and may haue a rapier, for money?

You may buy one in the citie.

Tut, Ile buy this i'the field, so I will, I haue a mind to't, be-

cause 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.

You shall not buy it, I say.

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

Come away, you are a foole.

Friend, I am a foole, that's granted: but Ile haue it, for that

words sake. Follow me, for your money.

At your seruice, sir.

I Cannot loose the thought, yet, of this letter,

Sent to my sonne: nor leaue t'admire the change

Of manners, and the breeding of our youth,

Within the kingdome, since my selfe was one.

When I was yong, he liu'd not in the stewes,

Durst haue conceiu'd a scorne, and vtter'd it,

On a grey head; age was authoritie

Against a buffon: and a man had, then,

A certaine reuerence pai'd vnto his yeeres,

That had none due vnto his life. So much

The sanctitie of some preuail'd, for others.

But, now, we all are fall'n; youth, from their feare:

And age, from that, which bred it, good example.

Nay, would our selues were not the first, euen parents,

That did destroy the hopes, in our owne children:

Or they not learn'd our vices, in their cradles,

And suck'd in our ill customes, with their milke.

Ere all their teeth be borne, or they can speake,

We make their palats cunning! The first wordes,

We forme their tongues with, are licentious iests!

Can it call, whore? crie, bastard? ô, then, kisse it,

A wittie child! Can't sweare? The fathers dearling!

Giue it two plums. Nay, rather then 't shall learne

No bawdie song, the mother'her selfe will teach it!

But, this is in the infancie; the dayes

Of the long coate: when it puts on the breeches,

It will put off all this. I, it is like:

When it is gone into the bone alreadie.

No, no: This die goes deeper then the coate,

Or shirt, or skin. It staines, vnto the liuer,

And heart, in some. And, rather, then it should not,

Note, what we fathers doe! Looke, how we liue!

What mistresses we keepe! at what expense,

In our sonnes eyes! where they may handle our gifts,

Heare our lasciuious courtships, see our dalliance,

Tast of the same prouoking meates, with vs,

To ruine of our states! Nay, when our owne

Portion is fled, to prey on their remainder,

We call them into fellowship of vice!

Baite 'hem with the yong chamber-maid, to seale!

And teach 'hem all bad wayes, to buy affiction!

This is one path! but there are millions more,

In which we spoile our owne, with leading them.

Well, I thanke heauen, I neuer yet was he,

That trauail'd with my sonne, before sixteene,

To shew him, the Venetian cortezans.

Nor read the grammar of cheating, I had made

To my sharpe boy, at twelue: repeating still

The rule, Get money; still, Get money, Boy;

No matter, by what meanes; Money will doe

More, Boy, then my Lords letter. Neither haue I

Drest snailes, or mushromes curiously before him,

Perfum'd my sauces, and taught him to make 'hem;

Preceding still, with my grey gluttonie,

At all the ordinaries: and only fear'd

His palate should degenerate, not his manners.

These are the trade of fathers, now! how euer

My sonne, I hope, hath met within my threshold,

None of these houshold precedents; which are strong,

And swift, to rape youth, to their precipice.

But, let the house at home be nere so cleane-

Swept, or kept sweet from filth; nay, dust, and cob-webs:

If he will liue, abroad, with his companions,

In dung, and leystalls; it is worth a feare.

Nor is the danger of conuersing lesse,

Then all that I haue mention'd of example.

My master? nay, faith haue at you: I am flesht now, I haue sped

so well. Worshipfull sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poore soul-

dier; I am asham'd of this base course of life (god's my comfort) but ex-

tremitie prouokes me to't, what remedie?

I haue not for you, now.

By the faith I beare vnto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinarie

custome in me, but only to preserue manhood. I protest to you, a man I

haue beene, a man I may be, by your sweet bountie.

'Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.

Good sir, by that hand, you may doe the part of a kind gentle-

man, in lending a poore souldier the price of two cannes of beere (a mat-

ter of small value) the king of heauen shall pay you, and I shall rest thank-

full: sweet worship—

Nay, and you be so importunate——

Oh, tender sir, need will haue his course: I was not made to

this vile vse! well, the edge of the enemie could not haue abated mee so

much: It's hard when a man hath seru'd in his Princes cause, and be thus—

Honorable worship, let me deriue a small piece of siluer from you, it shall

not bee giuen in the course of time, by this good ground, I was faine to

pawne my rapier last night for a poore supper, I had suck'd the hilts long

before, I am a pagan else: sweet honor.

Beleeue me, I am taken with some wonder,

To thinke, a fellow of thy outward presence

Should (in the frame, and fashion of his mind)

Be so degenerate, and sordid-base!

Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg?

To practise such a seruile kind of life?

Why, were thy education ne're so meane,

Hauing thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses

Offer themselues, to thy election.

Either the warres might still supply thy wants,

Or seruice of some vertuous gentleman,

Or honest labour: nay, what can I name,

But would become thee better then to beg?

But men of thy condition feed on sloth,

As doth the beetle, on the dung shee breeds in,

Not caring how the mettall of your minds

Is eaten with the rust of idlenesse.

Now, afore me, what e're he be, that should

Relieue a person of thy qualitie,

While thou insist's in this loose desperate course,

I would esteeme the sinne, not thine, but his.

Faith sir, I would gladly finde some other course, if so—

I, you'ld gladly finde it, but you will not seeke it.

Alas sir, where should a man seeke? in the warres, there's no

ascent by desert in these dayes, but—and for seruice, would it were as

soone purchast, as wisht for (the ayre's my comfort) I know, what I

would say——

What's thy name?

Please you, FITZ-SWORD, sir.

FITZ-SWORD?

Say, that a man should entertayne thee now,

Would'st thou be honest, humble, iust, and true?

Sir, by the place, and honor of a souldier——

Nay, nay, I like not those affected othes;

Speake plainely man: what think'st thou of my wordes?

Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy, as my ser-

uice should be honest.

Well, follow me, Ile proue thee, if thy deedes

Will carry a proportion to thy words.

Yes sir, straight, Ile but garter my hose. Oh that my belly

were hoopt now, for I am readie to burst with laughing! neuer was bottle,

or bag-pipe fuller. S'lid, was there euer seene a foxe in yeeres to betray

himselfe thus? now shall I be possest of all his counsells: and, by that con-

duit, my yong master. Well, hee is resolu'd to proue my honestie; faith,

and I am resolu'd to proue his patience: oh I shall abuse him intollerably.

This small piece of seruice, will bring him cleane out of loue with the

souldier, for euer. He will neuer come within the signe of it, the sight of

a cassock, or a musket-rest againe. Hee will hate the musters at Mile-end

for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world thinke me a bad coun-

terfeit, if I cannot giue him the slip, at an instant: why, this is better then

to haue staid his iourney! well, Ile follow him: oh, how I long to bee

imployed.

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

Oh, I came not there to night.

Your brother deliuered vs as much.

Who? my brother DOWNE-RIGHT?

He. Mr. WELL-BRED, I know not in what kind you hold me,

but let me say to you this: as sure as honor, I esteeme it so much out of the

sunne-shine of reputation, to through the least beame of reguard, vpon

such a——

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

I, protest to you, as I haue a thing to be sau'd about me, I neuer

saw any gentleman-like part——

Good Captayne, faces about, to some other discourse.

With your leaue, sir, and there were no more men liuing vpon

the face of the earth, I should not fancie him, by S. GEORGE.

Troth, nor I, he is of a rusticall cut, I know not how: he doth

not carry himselfe like a gentleman of fashion—

Oh, Mr. MATTHEW, that's a grace peculiar but to a few; quos

æquus amauit IVPITER.

I vnderstand you sir.

No question, you doe, or you doe not, sir. NED KNO'WELL!

by my soule welcome; how doest thou sweet spirit, my Genius? S'lid I

shall loue APOLLO, and the mad Thespian girles the better, while I liue,

for this; my deare furie: now, I see there's some loue in thee! Sirra, these

bee the two I writ to thee of (nay, what a drowsie humour is this now?

why doest thou not speake?)

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

Why, was't not rare?

Yes, Ile bee sworne, I was ne're guiltie of reading the like;

match it in all PLINIE, or SYMMACHVS epistles, and Ile haue my iudge-

ment burn'd in the eare for a rogue: make much of thy vaine, for it is in-

imitable. But I marle what camell it was, that had the carriage of it? for

doubtlesse, he was no ordinarie beast, that brought it!

Why?

Why, saiest thou? why doest thou thinke that any reasonable

creature, especially in the morning (the sober time of the day too) could

haue mis-tane my father for me?

S'lid, you iest, I hope?

Indeed, the best vse wee can turne it too, is to make a iest on't,

now: but Ile assure you, my father had the full view o' your flourishing

stile, some houre before I saw it.

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

Ifaith?

Nay, I know not what he said: but I haue a shrewd gesse what

hee thought.

What? what?

Mary, that thou art some strange dissolute yong fellow, and I

a graine or two better, for keeping thee companie.

Tut, that thought is like the moone in her last quarter, 'twill

change shortly: but, sirrha, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang-

by's, here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in 'hem if thou hear'st

'hem once goe: my wind-instruments. Ile wind 'hem vp— but what

strange piece of silence is this? the signe of the dumbe man?

Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your musique

the fuller, and he please, he has his humour, sir.

Oh, what ist? what ist?

Nay, Ile neither doe your iudgement, nor his folly that wrong,

as to prepare your apprehension: Ile leaue him to the mercy o' your

search, if you can take him, so.

Well, Captaine BOBADILL, Mr. MATTHEW, pray you know

this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserue your

affection. I know not your name sir, but I shall be glad of any occasion,

to render me more familiar to you

My name is Mr. STEPHEN, sir, I am this gentlemans owne

cousin, sir, his father is mine vnckle, sir, I am somewhat melancholy, but

you shall command me, sir, in whatsoeuer is incident to a gentleman.

Sir, I must tell you this, I am no generall man, but for Mr. WEL-

BRED'S sake (you may embrace it, at what height of fauour you please)

I doe communicate with you: and conceiue you, to bee a gentleman of

some parts, I loue few wordes.

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

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

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

Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir, your true melancholy,

breeds your perfect fine wit, sir: I am melancholy my selfe diuers times,

sir, and then doe I no more but take pen, and paper presently, and ouer-

flow you halfe a score, or a dozen of sonnets, at a sitting.

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

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

Ifaith, better then in measure, Ile vnder-take.

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

I thanke you sir, I shall bee bold, I warrant you; haue you a

stoole there, to be melancholy' vpon?

That I haue, sir, and some papers there of mine owne doing,

at idle houres, that you'le say there's some sparkes of wit in 'hem, when

you see them.

Would the sparkes would kindle once, and become a fire a-

mongst 'hem, I might see selfe-loue burn't for her heresie.

Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy inough?

Oh I, excellent!

Captaine BOBADILL: why muse you so?

He is melancholy, too.

Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honorable piece of seruice,

was perform'd to morrow, being St. MARKES day: shall bee some ten

yeeres, now?

In what place, Captaine?

Why, at the beleag'ring of Strigonium, where, in lesse then two

houres, seuen hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their

liues vpon the breach. Ile tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best

leagure, that euer I beheld, with these eies, except the taking in of—what

doe you call it, last yeere, by the Genowayes, but that (of all other) was the

most fatall, and dangerous exploit, that euer I was rang'd in, since I first

bore armes before the face of the enemie, as I am a gentleman, & souldier.

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

gentleman!

Then, you were a seruitor, at both it seemes! at Strigonium?

and what doe you call't?

Oh lord, sir? by S. GEORGE, I was the first man, that entred

the breach: and, had I not effected it with resolution, I had beene slaine, if

I had had a million of liues.

'Twas pittie, you had not ten; a cats, and your owne, ifaith.

But, was it possible?

'Pray you, marke this discourse, sir.

So, I doe.)

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

shall confesse.

You must bring me to the racke, first.

Obserue me iudicially, sweet sir, they had planted mee three

demi-culuerings, iust in the mouth of the breach; now, sir (as we were to

giue on) their master gunner (a man of no meane skill, and marke, you

must thinke) confronts me with his linstock, readie to giue fire; I spying

his intendment, discharg'd my petrionel in his bosome, and with these

single armes, my poore rapier, ranne violently, vpon the Moores, that guar-

ded the ordinance, and put 'hem pell-mell to the sword.

To the sword? to the rapier, Captaine?

Oh, it was a good figure obseru'd, sir! but did you all this, Cap-

taine, without hurting your blade.

Without any impeach, o' the earth: you shall perceiue sir. It is

the most fortunate weapon, that euer rid on poore gentlemans thigh: shal

I tell you, sir? you talke of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so? tut, I

lend no credit to that is fabled of 'hem, I know the vertue of mine owne,

and therefore I dare, the boldlier, maintaine it.

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

A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.

I haue a countriman of his, here.

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

This a Toledo? pish.

Why doe you pish, Captaine?

A Fleming, by heauen, Ile buy them for a guilder, a piece, an' I

would haue a thousand of them.

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

Where bought you it, Mr. STEPHEN?

Of a scuruie rogue souldier (a hundred of lice goe with him)

he swore it was a Toledo.

A poore prouant rapier, no better.

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

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

it vp.

Well, I will put it vp, but by— (I ha'forgot the Captaynes

oath, I thought to ha' sworne by it) an' ere I meet him——

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

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

for anger!

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

cousin.

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

a stomack.

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

A Miracle, cousin, looke here! looke here!

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

I sir, I know you, by sight.

You sold me a rapier, did you not?

Yes, marie, did I sir.

You said, it was a Toledo, ha?

True, I did so.

But, it is none?

No sir, I confesse it, it is none.

Doe you confesse it? gentlemen, beare witnesse, he has confest

it. By gods will, and you had not confest it——

Oh cousin, forbeare, forbeare.

Nay, I haue done, cousin.

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

would you more?

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

I, by his leaue, he is, and vnder fauour: a prettie piece of ciui-

litie! Sirra, how doest thou like him?

Oh, it's a most pretious foole, make much on him: I can com-

pare him to nothing more happily, then a drumme; for euery one may

play vpon him.

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

Sir, shall I intreat a word with you?

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

You are conceipted, sir, your name is Mr. KNO'WELL, as I

take it?

You are, i' the right? you meane not to proceede in the cate-

chisme, doe you?

No sir, I am none of that coat.

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

Faith sir, I am but seruant to the drum extraordinarie, and in-

deed (this smokie varnish being washt off, and three or foure patches re-

mou'd) I appeare your worships in reuersion, after the decease of your

good father, BRAYNE-WORME.

BRAYNE-WORME! S'light, what breath of a coniurer, hath

blowne thee hither in this shape.

The breath o' your letter, sir, this morning: the same that

blew you to the wind-mill, and your father after you.

My father?

Nay, neuer start, 'tis true, he has follow'd you ouer the field's,

by the foot, as you would doe a hare i' the snow.

Sirra, WEL-BRED, what shall we doe, sirra? my father is come

ouer, after me.

Thy father? where is he?

At Iustice CLEMENTS house here, in Colman-street, where he

but staies my returne; and then——

Who's this? BRAYNE-WORME?

The same, sir.

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

Faith, a deuise, a deuise: nay, for the loue of reason, gentlemen,

and auoiding the danger, stand not here, withdraw, and Ile tell you all.

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

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

Wee'le prorogue his expectation then, a little: BRAYNE-

WORME, thou shalt goe with vs. Come on, gentlemen, nay, I pray thee,

sweet NED, droope not: 'heart, and our wits be so wretchedly dull, that

one old plodding braine can out-strip vs all, would we were eene prest, to

make porters of; and serue out the remnant of our daies, in Thames-street,

or at Custome-house key, in a ciuill warre, against the car-men.

AMEN, AMEN, AMEN, say I.

VVHat saies he, THOMAS? Did you speake with him?

He will expect you, sir, within this halfe houre.

Has he the money readie, can you tell?

Yes, sir, the money was brought in, last night.

O, that's well: fetch me my cloke, my cloke.

Stay, let me see, an houre, to goe and come;

I, that will be the least: and then 'twill be

An houre, before I can dispatch with him;

Or very neere: well, I will say two houres.

Two houres? ha? things, neuer dreamt of yet,

May be contriu'd, I, and effected too,

In two houres absence: well, I will not goe.

Two houres; no, fleering oportunitie,

I will not giue your subtiltie that scope.

Who will not iudge him worthie to be rob'd,

That sets his doores wide open to a thiefe,

And shewes the fellon, where his treasure lies?

Againe, what earthie spirit but will attempt

To the taste fruit of beauties golden tree,

When leaden sleepe seales vp the Dragons eyes?

I will not goe. Businesse, goe by, for once.

No beautie, no; you are of too good caract,

To be left so, without a guard, or open!

Your lustre too'll enflame, at any distance,

Draw courtship to you, as a iet doth strawes,

Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice,

Nay, make a porter leape you, with his burden!

You must be then kept vp, close, and well-watch'd,

For, giue you oportunitie, no quick-sand

Deuoures, or swallowes swifter! He that lends

His wife (if shee be faire) or time, or place;

Compells her to be false. I will not goe.

The dangers are to many. And, then, the dressing

Is a most mayne attractiue! Our great heads,

Within the citie, neuer were in safetie,

Since our wiues wore these little caps: Ile change 'hem,

Ile change 'hem, streight, in mine. Mine shall no more

Weare three-pild akornes, to make my hornes ake.

Nor, will I goe. I am resolu'd for that.

Carry' in my cloke againe. Yet, stay. Yet, doe too.

I will deferre going, on all occasions.

Sir. SNARE, your scriuener, will be there with th'bonds.

That's true! foole on me! I had cleane forgot it,

I must goe. What's a clocke?

Exchange time, sir.

'Heart, then will WELL-BRED presently be here, too,

With one, or other of his loose consorts.

I am a knaue, if I know what to say,

What course to take, or which way to resolue.

My braine (me thinkes) is like an houre-glasse,

Wherein, my' imaginations runne, like sands,

Filling vp time; but then are turn'd, and turn'd:

So, that I know not what to stay vpon,

And lesse, to put in act. It shall be so.

Nay, I dare build vpon his secrecie,

He knowes not to deceiue me. THOMAS?

Sir.

Yet now, I haue bethought me, too, I will not.

THOMAS, is COB within?

I thinke he be, sir.

But hee'll prate too, there's no speech of him.

No, there were no man o' the earth to THOMAS,

If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt.

But, should he haue a chinke in him, I were gone,

Lost i' my fame for euer: talke for th'Exchange.

The manner he hath stood with, till this present,

Doth promise no such change! what should I feare then?

Well, come what will, Ile tempt my fortune, once.

THOMAS—you may deceiue me, but, I hope——

Your loue, to me, is more—

Sir, if a seruants

Duetie, with faith, may be call'd loue, you are

More then in hope, you are possess'd of it.

I thanke you, heartily, THOMAS; Gi' me your hand:

With all my heart, good THOMAS. I haue, THOMAS,

A secret to impart, vnto you—but

When once you haue it, I must seale your lips vp:

(So farre, I tell you, THOMAS.)

Sir, for that—

Nay, heare me, out. Thinke, I esteeme you, THOMAS,

When, I will let you in, thus, to my priuate.

It is a thing sits, neerer, to my crest,

Then thou art ware of, THOMAS. If thou should'st

Reueale it, but—

How? I reueale it?

Nay,

I doe not thinke thou would'st; but if thou should'st:

'Twere a great weakenesse.

A great trecherie.

Giue it no other name.

Thou wilt not do't, then?

Sir, if I doe, mankind disclaime me, euer.

He will not sweare, he has some reseruation,

Some conceal'd purpose, and close meaning, sure:

Else (being vrg'd so much) how should he choose,

But lend an oath to all this protestation?

H'is no precisian, that I am certaine of.

Nor rigid Roman-catholike. Hee'll play,

At Fayles, and Tick-tack, I haue heard him sweare.

What should I thinke of it? vrge him againe,

And by some other way? I will doe so.

Well, THOMAS, thou hast sworne not to disclose;

Yes, you did sweare?

Not yet, sir, but I will,

Please you—

No, THOMAS, I dare take thy word.

But; if thou wilt sweare, doe, as thou think'st good;

I am resolu'd without it; at thy pleasure.

By my soules safetie then, sir, I protest.

My tongue shall ne're take knowledge of a word,

Deliuer'd me in nature of your trust.

It's too much, these ceremonies need not,

I know thy faith to be as firme as rock.

THOMAS, come hither, neere: we cannot be

Too priuate, in this businesse. So it is,

(Now, he ha's sworne, I dare the safelier venter)

I haue of late, by diuers obseruations——

(But, whether his oath can bind him, yea, or no',

Being not taken lawfully? ha? say you?

I will aske counsell, ere I doe proceed:)

THOMAS, it will be now too long to stay,

Ile spie some fitter time soone, or to morrow.

Sir, at your pleasure?

I will thinke. And, THOMAS,

I pray you search the bookes 'gainst my returne,

For the receipts 'twixt me, and TRAPS.

I will, sir.

And, heare you, if your mistris brother, WEL-BRED,

Chance to bring hither any gentlemen,

Ere I come backe; let one straight bring me word.

Very well, sir.

To the Exchange; doe you heare?

Or here in Colman-street, to Iustice CLEMENTS.

Forget it not, nor be not out of the way.

I will not, sir.

I pray you haue a care on't.

Or whether he come, or no, if any other,

Stranger, or else, faile not to send me word.

I shall not, sir.

Be't your speciall businesse

Now, to remember it.

Sir. I warrant you.

But, THOMAS, this is not the secret, THOMAS,

I told you of.

No, sir. I doe suppose it.

Beleeue me, it is not.

Sir. I doe beleeue you.

By heauen, it is not, that's enough. But, THOMAS,

I would not, you should vtter it, doe you see?

To any creature liuing, yet, I care not.

Well, I must hence. THOMAS, conceiue thus much.

It was a tryall of you, when I meant

So deepe a secret to you, I meane not this,

But that I haue to tell you, this is nothing, this.

But, THOMAS, keepe this from my wife, I charge you,

Lock'd vp in silence, mid-night, buried here.

No greater hell, then to be slaue to feare.

Lock'd vp in silence, mid-night, buried here.

Whence should this floud of passion (trow) take head? ha?

Best, dreame no longer of this running humour,

For feare I sinke! the violence of the streame

Alreadie hath transported me so farre,

That I can feele no ground at all! but soft,

Oh, 'tis our water-bearer: somewhat ha's crost him, now.

FAsting dayes? what tell you me of fasting dayes? S'lid, would they

were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall bee

consum'd with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weekes,

and villanous fridayes burnt, in the meane time, and then—

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

Collar, master THOMAS? I scorne your collar, I sir, I am none

o' your cart-horse, though I carry, and draw water. An' you offer to ride

me, with your collar, or halter either, I may hap shew you a jades trick, sir.

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

you mistake me.

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

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

Humour? mack, I thinke it be so, indeed: what is that humour?

some rare thing, I warrant.

Mary, Ile tell thee, COB: It is a gentleman-like monster, bred,

in the speciall gallantrie of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly.

How? must it be fed?

Oh I, humour is nothing, if it bee not fed. Didst thou neuer

heare that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour.

Ile none on it: Humour, auant, I know you not, be gone. Let

who will make hungrie meales for your monster-ship, it shall not bee I.

Feed you, quoth he? S'lid, I ha' much adoe, to feed my selfe; especially,

on these leane rascally dayes, too; and't had beene any other day, but a

fasting-day (a plague on them all for mee) by this light, one might haue

done the common-wealth good seruice, and haue drown'd them all i' the

floud, two or three hundred thousand yeeres agoe. O, I doe stomack them

hugely! I haue a maw now, and't were for Sr BEVIS his horse, against 'hem.

I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of loue with fa-

sting-dayes?

Mary that, which will make any man out of loue with 'hem, I

thinke: their bad conditions, and you will needs know. First, they are of

a Flemmish breed, I am sure on't, for they rauen vp more butter, then all

the dayes of the weeke, beside; next, they stinke of fish, and leeke-por-

ridge miserably: thirdly, they'le keepe a man deuoutly hungrie, all day,

and at night send him supperlesse to bed.

Indeed, these are faults, COB.

Nay, and this were all, 'twere something, but they are the only

knowne enemies, to my generation. A fasting-day, no sooner comes, but

my lineage goes to racke, poore cobs they smoke for it, they are made

martyrs o' the gridiron, they melt in passion: and your maides too know

this, and yet would haue me turne HANNIBAL, and eate my owne fish,

and bloud: My princely couz, fear nothing; I haue not the hart to deuoure

you, & I might be made as rich as King COPHETVA. O, that I had roome

for my teares, I could weepe salt-water enough, now, to preserue the liues

of ten thousand of my kin. But, I may curse none but these filthie Alma-

nacks, for an't were not for them, these dayes of persecution would ne're

be knowne. Ile bee hang'd, an' some Fish-mongers sonne doe not make

of hem; and puts in more fasting-dayes then he should doe, because hee

would vtter his fathers dryed stock-fish, and stinking conger.

S'light, peace, thou'lt bee beaten like a stock-fish, else: here is

Mr. MATTHEW. Now must I looke out for a messenger to my master.

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

carried!

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

Yes faith, but was't possible thou should'st not know him? I

forgiue Mr. STEPHEN, for he is stupiditie it selfe!

'Fore god, not I, and I might haue been ioyn'd patten with one

of the seuen wise masters, for knowing him. He had so writhen himselfe,

into the habit of one of your poore Infanterie, your decay'd, ruinous,

worme-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as haue vowed to sit on the

skirts of the citie, let your Prouost, and his halfe-dozen of halberdeirs

doe what they can; and haue translated begging out of the old hackney

pace, to a fine easie amble, and made it runne as smooth, of the tongue, as

a shoue-groat shilling. Into the likenesse of one of these Reformado's had

he moulded himselfe so perfectly, obseruing euery tricke of their action,

as varying the accent, swearing with an emphasis, indeed all, with so spe-

ciall, and exquisite a grace, that (hadst thou seene him) thou would'st haue

sworne, he might haue beene Serieant-Maior, if not Lieutenant-Coronell

to the regiment.

Why, BRAYNE-WORME, who would haue thought thou hadst

beene such an artificer?

An artificer? An architect! except a man had studied begging

all his life-time, and beene a weauer of language, from his infancie, for the

clothing of it! I neuer saw his riuall.

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

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

a broker.

That cannot be, if the prouerbe hold; for, a craftie knaue needs

no broker.

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

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

Tut, he ha's more of these shifts.

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

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

spite's this?

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

No sir, my master went forth eene now: but master DOWNE-

RIGHT is within. COB, what COB? is he gone too?

VVhither went your master? THOMAS, canst thou tell?

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

Iustice CLEMENT, what's he?

Why, doest thou not know him? he is a citie-magistrate, a Iu-

stice here, an excellent good Lawyer, and a great scholler: but the onely

mad, merrie, old fellow in Europe! I shew'd him you, the other day.

Oh, is that he? I remember him now. Good faith, and he ha's

a very strange presence, mee thinkes; it shewes as if hee stood out of the

ranke, from other men: I haue heard many of his iests i' vniuersitie. They

say, he will commit a man, for taking the wall, of his horse.

I, or wearing his cloke of one shoulder, or seruing of god: a-

ny thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.

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

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

this match.

Fire on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe? FRAN-

CIS. COB.

Bodie of me! here's the remainder of seuen pound, since ye-

sterday was seuen-night. 'Tis your right Trinidado! did you neuer take a-

ny, master STEPHEN?

No truely, sir? but I'le learne to take it now, since you com-

mend it, so.

Sir, beleeue mee (vpon my relation) for what I tell you, the

world shal not reproue. I haue been in the Indies (where this herb growes)

where neither my selfe, nor a dozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge)

haue receiued the tast of any other nutriment, in the world, for the space

of one and twentie weekes, but the fume of this simple onely. Therefore,

it cannot be, but 'tis most diuine! Further, take it in the nature, in the true

kind so, it makes an antidote, that (had you taken the most deadly poyso-

nous plant in all Italy, it should expell it, and clarifie you, with as much

ease, as I speake. And, for your greene wound, your Balsamum, and your

St. IOHN's woort are all mere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your

Trinidado: your Nicotian is good too. I could say what I know of the ver-

tue of it, for the expulsion of rhewmes, raw humours, crudities, obstru-

ctions, with a thousand of this kind; but I professe my selfe no quack-saluer.

Only, thus much, by HERCVLES, I doe hold it, and will affirme it (be-

fore any Prince in Europe) to be the most soueraigne, and precious weede,

that euer the earth tendred to the vse of man.

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

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

O, oh?

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

Would his match, and he, and pipe, and all were at SANCTO

DOMINGO! I had forgot it.

By gods mee, I marle, what pleasure, or felicitie they haue in

taking this roguish tabacco! it's good for nothing, but to choke a man,

and fill him full of smoke, and embers: there were foure dyed out of one

house, last weeke, with taking of it, and two more the bell went for, ye-

ster-night; one of them (they say) will ne're scape it: he voided a bushell

of soot yester-day, vpward, and downeward. By the stocks, an' there

were no wiser men then I, I'ld haue it present whipping, man, or woman,

that should but deale with a tabacco-pipe; why, it will stifle them all in

the end, as many as vse it; it's little better then rats bane, or rosaker.

Oh, good Captayne, hold, hold.

You base cullion, you.

Sir, here's your match: come, thou must needs be talking, too,

tho'art well inough seru'd.

Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant you: well it

shall be a deare beating, and I liue.

Doe you prate? Doe you murmure?

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

away, knaue.

THOMAS, get him away.

A horson filthie slaue, a dung-worme, an excrement! Body o'

CAESAR, but that I scorne to let forth so meane a spirit, I'ld ha' stab'd him,

to the earth.

Mary, the law forbid, sir.

By PHAROAHS foot, I would haue done it.

Oh, he sweares admirably! (by PHAROAHS foot) (body of

CAESAR) I shall neuer doe it, sure (vpon mine honor, and by Saint

GEORGE) no, I ha' not the right grace.

Master STEPHEN, will you any? By this aire, the most diuine

tabacco, that euer I drunke!

None, I thanke you, sir. O, this gentleman do's it, rarely too!

but nothing like the other. By this aire, as I am a gentleman: by——

Master, glance, glance! Master WELL-BRED!

As I haue somewhat to be saued, I protest——

You are a foole: It needes no affidauit.

Cousin, will you any tabacco?

I sir! vpon my reputation——

How now, cousin!

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

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

the artillerie garden?

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

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

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

But soft, where's Mr. MATTHEW? gone?

No, sir, they went in here.

O, let's follow them: master MATTHEW is gone to salute his

mistris, in verse. VVee shall ha' the happinesse, to heare some of his poe-

trie, now. Hee neuer comes vnfurnish'd. BRAYNE-WORME?

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

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

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

PHAROAH.

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

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

HA? how many are there, sayest thou?

Mary sir, your brother, master VVELL-BRED—

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

Strangers? let me see, one, two; masse I know not well, there

are so many.

How? so many?

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

A swarme, a swarme,

Spight of the deuill, how they sting my head

VVith forked stings, thus wide, and large! But, COB,

How long hast thou beene comming hither, COB?

A little while, sir.

Did'st thou come running?

No, sir.

Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste!

Bane to my fortunes: what meant I to marry?

I, that before was rankt in such content,

My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace,

Being free master of mine owne free thoughts,

And now become a slaue? VVhat? neuer sigh,

Be of good cheere, man: for thou art a cuckold,

'Tis done, 'tis done! nay, when such flowing store,

Plentie it selfe, falls in my wiues lap,

The Cornu-copiæ will be mine, I know. But, COB,

VVhat entertaynement had they? I am sure

My sister, and my wife, would bid them welcome! ha?

Like inough, sir, yet, I heard not a word of it.

No: their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voyce

Drown'd in a floud of ioy, at their arriuall,

Had lost her motion, state, and facultie.

COB, which of them was't, that first kist my wife?

(My sister, I should say) my wife, alas,

I feare not her: ha? who was it, say'st thou?

By my troth, sir, will you haue the truth of it?

Oh I, good COB: I pray thee, heartily.

Then, I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bride-well, then your wor-

ships companie, if I saw any bodie to be kist, vnlesse they would haue kist

the post, in the middle of the ware-house; for there I left them all, at their

tabacco, with a poxe.

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

Oh no sir.

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

Nay, soft and faire, I haue egges on the spit; I cannot goe yet,

sir. Now am I for some fiue and fiftie reasons hammering, hammering re-

uenge: oh, for three or foure gallons of vineger, to sharpen my wits. Re-

uenge, vineger reuenge: vineger, and mustard reuenge: nay, and hee had

not lyen in my house, 't would neuer haue grieu'd me, but being my guest,

one, that Ile be sworne, my wife ha's lent him her smock off her back, while

his one shirt ha's beene at washing; pawn'd her neckerchers for cleane

bands for him; sold almost all my platters, to buy him tabacco; and he to

turne monster of ingratitude, and strike his lawfull host! well, I hope to

raise vp an host of furie for't: here comes Iustice CLEMENT.

VVHat's master KITELY gone? ROGER?

I, sir.

'Hart of me! what made him leaue vs so abruptly!

How now, sirra? what make you here? what would you haue, ha?

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

worships——

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

I dwell, sir, at the signe of the water-tankerd, hard by the greene

lattice: I haue paid scot, and lot there, any time this eighteene yeeres.

To the greene lattice?

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

the lattice.

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

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

worship.

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

threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?

No, sir, but your worships warrant, for one that ha's wrong'd

me, sir: his armes are at too much libertie, I would faine haue them bound

to a treatie of peace, an' my credit could compasse it, with your worship.

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

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

No sir; but I goe in danger of my death, euery houre, by his

meanes: an' I die, within a twelue-moneth and a day, I may sweare, by the

law of the land, that he kill'd me.

How? how knaue? sweare he kill'd thee? and by the law? what

pretence? what colour hast thou for that?

Mary, and't please your worship, both black, and blew; colour

inough, I warrant you. I haue it here, to shew your worship.

What is he, that gaue you this, sirra?

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

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

Captayne BOBADIL.

BOBADIL? And why did he bob, and beate you, sirrah? How

began the quarrell betwixt you? ha: speake truely knaue, I aduise you.

Mary, indeed, and please your worship, onely because I spake

against their vagrant tabacco, as I came by 'hem, when they were taking

on't, for nothing else.

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

What's your name, sirra?

OLIVER, sir, OLIVER COB, sir.

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

OLIVER COB, my master, Iustice CLEMENT, saies, you shall

goe to the iayle.

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

Nay, gods pretious: and such drunkards, and tankards, as you

are, come to dispute of tabacco once; I haue done! away with him.

O, good master Iustice, sweet old gentleman.

Sweet OLIVER, would I could doe thee any good: Iustice

CLEMENT, let me intreat you, sir.

What? a thred-bare rascall! a begger! a slaue that neuer drunke

out of better then pisse-pot mettle in his life! and he to depraue, and abuse

the vertue of an herbe, so generally receiu'd in the courts of princes, the

chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabbins of souldiers!

ROGER, away with him, by gods pretious—I say, goe too.

Deare master Iustice; Let mee bee beaten againe, I haue de-

seru'd it: but not the prison, I beseech you.

Alas, poore OLIVER!

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

the knaue.

Doe not stinke, sweet OLIVER, you shall not goe, my master

will giue you a warrant.

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

Away, dispatch him. How now, master KNO'WEL! In dumps?

In dumps? Come, this becomes not.

Sir, would I could not feele my cares—

Your cares are nothing! they are like my cap, soone put on, and

as soone put off. What? your sonne is old inough, to gouerne himselfe:

let him runne his course, it's the onely way to make him a stay'd man. If

he were an vnthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a licentious liuer, then you

had reason; you had reason to take care: but, being none of these, mirth's

my witnesse, an' I had twise so many cares, as you haue, I'ld drowne them

all in a cup of sacke. Come, come, let's trie it: I muse, your parcell of a

souldier returnes not all this while.

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

Alas brother, what would you haue mee to doe? I

cannot helpe it: you see, my brother brings 'hem in, here, they

are his friends.

His friends? his fiends. S'lud, they doe nothing but hant him,

vp and downe, like a sort of vnluckie sprites, and tempt him to all man-

ner of villanie, that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a little thing

would make me play the deuill with some of 'hem; and 'twere not more

for your husbands sake, then any thing else, I'ld make the house too hot

for the best on hem: they should say, and sweare, hell were broken loose,

e're they went hence. But, by gods will, 'tis no bodies fault, but yours: for,

an' you had done, as you might haue done, they should haue beene per-

boyl'd, and bak'd too, euery mothers sonne, e're they should ha' come in,

e're a one of 'hem.

God's my life! did you euer heare the like? what a strange

man is this! Could I keepe out all them, thinke you? I should put my

selfe, against halfe a dozen men? should I? Good faith, you'ld mad the

patient'st body in the world, to heare you talke so, without any sense,

or reason!

SEruant (in troth) you are too prodigall

Of your wits treasure, thus to powre it forth,

Vpon so meane a subiect, as my worth?

You say well, mistris; and I meane, as well.

Hoy-day, here is stuffe!

O, now stand close: pray heauen, shee can get him to reade:

He should doe it, of his owne naturall impudencie.

Seruant, what is this same, I pray you?

Mary, an Elegie, an Elegie, an odde toy—

To mock an ape withall.  O, I could sow vp his mouth, now.

Sister, I pray you let's heare it.

Are you rime-giuen, too?

Mistris, Ile reade it, if you please.

Pray you doe, seruant.

O, here's no fopperie! Death, I can endure the stocks, better.

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

of a ballad?

O, no: a rime to him, is worse then cheese, or a bag-pipe. But,

marke, you loose the protestation.

Faith, I did it in an humour; I know not how it is: but,

please you come neere, sir. This gentleman ha's iudgement, hee knowes

how to censure of a—pray you sir, you can iudge.

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

O, chide your cossen, for swearing.

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

Master MATTHEW, you abuse the expectation of your deare

mistris, and her faire sister: Fie, while you liue, auoid this prolixitie.

I shall, sir: well, Incipere dulce.

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

What, doe you take Insipere, in that sense?

You doe not? you? This was your villanie, to gull him

with a motte.

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

Rare creature, let me speake without offence,

Would god my rude wordes had the influence,

To rule thy thoughts, as thy faire lookes doe mine,

Then should'st thou be his prisoner, who is thine.

This is in HERO and LEANDER?

O, I! peace, we shall haue more of this.

Be not vnkinde, and faire, mishapen stuffe

Is of behauiour boysterous, and rough:

How like you that, sir?

S'light, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feele and there be a-

ny braine in it!

But obserue the catastrophe, now,

And I in dutie will exceede all other,

As you in beautie doe excell loues mother.

Well, Ile haue him free of the wit-brokers, for hee vtters no-

thing, but stolne remnants.

O, forgiue it him.

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

then sacrilege.

Sister, what ha' you here? verses? pray you, lets see. Who made

these verses? they are excellent good!

O, master WEL-BRED, 'tis your disposition to say so, sir. They

were good i' the morning, I made 'hem, extempore, this morning.

How? extempore?

I, would I might bee hang'd else: aske Captayne BOBADILL.

He saw me write them, at the—(poxe on it) the starre, yonder.

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

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

alreadie.

Cosen, how doe you like this gentlemans verses?

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

Body o' CAESAR! they are admirable!

The best, that euer I heard, as I am a souldier.

I am vext, I can hold ne're a bone of mee still! Heart, I thinke,

they meane to build, and breed here!

Sister, you haue a simple seruant, here, that crownes your beau-

tie, with such encomions, and deuises: you may see, what it is to be the mi-

stris of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that euery

bleare eye may looke through them, and see him drown'd ouer head, and

eares, in the deepe well of desire. Sister KITELY, I maruaile, you get

you not a seruant, that can rime, and doe tricks, too.

Oh monster! impudence it selfe! tricks?

Tricks, brother? what tricks?

Nay, speake, I pray you, what tricks?

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

Passion of my heart! doe tricks?

S'light, here's a trick vyed, and reuyed! why, you munkies,

you? what a catter-waling doe you keepe? ha's hee not giuen you rimes,

and verses, and tricks?

O, the fiend!

Nay, you, lampe of virginitie, that take it in snuffe so! come,

and cherish this tame poeticall furie, in your seruant, you'll be begg'd else,

shortly, for a concealement: goe to, reward his muse. You cannot giue

him lesse then a shilling, in conscience, for the booke, he had it out of, cost

him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? Mr. MATTHEW? Captayne?

What? all sonnes of silence? no spirit?

Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else,

and not here, I wusse: this is no tauerne, nor drinking-schole, to vent your

exploits in.

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

Mary, that ha's mine, sir. Nay, Boy, neuer looke askance at

me, for the matter; Ile tell you of it, I, sir, you, and your companions,

mend your selues, when I ha' done?

My companions?

Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor

them neither: your hang-byes here. You must haue your Poets, and your

potlings, your soldado's, and foolado's, to follow you vp and downe the ci-

tie, and here they must come to domineere, and swagger. Sirrha, you,

ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home:

or (by this steele) Ile cut off your eares, and that, presently.

S'light, stay, let's see what he dare doe: cut off his eares? cut a

whetstone. You are an asse, doe you see? touch any man here, and by

this hand, Ile runne my rapier to the hilts in you.

Yea, that would I faine see, boy.

O Iesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR!

Helpe, helpe, THOMAS.

Gentlemen, forbeare, I pray you.

Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pinck

your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good hea-

uen: Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint

GEORGE, Ile not kill him.

Hold, hold, good gentlemen.

You whorson, bragging coystrill!

VVHy, how now? what's the matter? what's the stirre here?

Whence springs the quarrell? THOMAS! where is he?

Put vp your weapons, and put off this rage.

My wife and sister, they are cause of this,

What, THOMAS? where is this knaue?

Here, sir.

Come, let's goe: this is one of my brothers ancient hu-

mours, this.

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

Why, how now, brother, who enforst this brawle?

A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for god, nor the de-

uill! And, they must come here to reade ballads, and rogery, and trash!

Ile marre the knot of 'hem ere I sleepe, perhaps: especially BOB, there: he

that's all manner of shapes! and Songs, and sonnets, his fellow.

Brother, indeed, you are too violent,

To sudden, in your humour: and, you know

My brother WEL-BREDS temper will not beare

Anie reproofe, chiefly in such a presence,

Where euery slight disgrace, he should receiue,

Might wound him in opinion, and respect.

Respect? what talke you of respect 'mong such,

As ha' nor sparke of manhood, nor good manners?

'Sdeynes I am asham'd, to heare you! respect?

Yes, there was one a ciuill gentleman,

And very worthily demean'd himselfe!

O, that was some loue of yours, sister!

A loue of mine? I would it were no worse, brother!

You'lld pay my portion sooner, then you thinke for.

Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentleman of an exceeding faire dis-

position, and of verie excellent good parts!

Her loue, by heauen! my wifes minion!

Faire disposition? excellent good parts?

Death, these phrases are intollerable!

Good parts? how should shee know his parts?

His parts? Well, well, well, well, well, well!

It is too plaine, too cleere: THOMAS, come hither.

What, are they gone?

I, sir, they went in.

My mistris, and your sister—

Are any of the gallants within!

No, sir, they are all gone.

Art thou sure of it?

I can assure you, sir.

What gentleman was that they prais'd so, THOMAS?

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

gentleman, sir.

I, I thought so: my mind gaue me as much.

Ile die, but they haue hid him i' the house,

Somewhere; Ile goe and search: goe with me, THOMAS.

Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a master.

WHat TIB, TIB, I say.

How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard? O,

husband, ift you? what's the newes?

Nay, you haue stonn'd me, Ifaith! you ha' giu'n me a knock o'

the forehead, will stick by me! cuckold? 'Slid, cuckold?

Away, you foole, did I know it was you, that knockt?

Come, come, you may call me as bad, when you list.

May I? TIB, you are a whore.

You lye in your throte, husband.

How, the lye? and in my throte too? doe you long to bee

stab'd, ha?

Why, you are no souldier, I hope?

O, must you be stab'd by a souldier? Masse, that's true! when

was BOBADILL here? your Captayne? that rogue, that foist, that fencing

Burgullian? Ile tickle him, ifaith.

Why, what's the matter? trow!

O, he has basted me, rarely, sumptiously! but I haue it here in

black and white; for his black, and blew: shall pay him. O, the Iustice!

the honestest old braue Troian in London! I doe honour the very flea of his

dog. A plague on him though, he put me once in a villanous filthy feare;

mary, it vanisht away, like the smoke of tabacco: but I was smok't soundly

first. I thanke the deuill, and his good angell, my guest. Well, wife, or

TIB (which you will) get you in, and lock the doore, I charge you, let no

body in to you; wife, no body in, to you: those are my wordes. Not

Captayne BOB himselfe, nor the fiend, in his likenesse; you are a woman;

you haue flesh and bloud enough in you, to be tempted: therefore, keepe

the doore, shut, vpon all commers.

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

consent.

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

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

How?

Why, sweet.

Tut, sweet, or sowre, thou art a flowre,

Keepe close thy dore, I aske no more.

WEll BRAYNE-WORME, performe this businesse, happily,

And thou makest a purchase of my loue, for-euer,

Ifaith, now let thy spirits vse their best faculties.

but, at any hand, remember the message, to my brother: for, there's no

other meanes, to start him.

I warrant you, sir, feare nothing: I haue a nimble soule ha's

wak't all forces of my phant'sie, by this time, and put 'hem in true motion.

What you haue possest mee withall, Ile discharge it amply, sir. Make it

no question.

Forth, and prosper, BRAYNE-WORME. Faith, NED, how dost

thou approue of my abilities in this deuise?

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

Take, man? why, it cannot choose but take, if the circum-

stances miscarrie not: but, tell me, ingenuously, dost thou affect my sister

BRIDGET, as thou pretend'st?

Friend, am I worth beliefe?

Come, doe not protest. In faith, shee is a maid of good orna-

ment, and much modestie: and, except I conceiu'd very worthily of her,

thou shouldest not haue her.

Nay, that I am afraid will bee a question yet, whether I shall

haue her, or no?

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

Nay, doe not sweare.

By this hand, thou shalt haue her: Ile goe fetch her, presently.

Point, but where to meet, and as I am an honest man, I'll bring her.

Hold, hold, be temperate.

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

as I am—

'Pray thee, be at peace, I am satisfied: and doe beleeue, thou

wilt omit no offered occasion, to make my desires compleat.

Thou shalt see, and know, I will not.

VVAs your man a souldier, sir?

I, a knaue, I tooke him begging o' the way,

This morning, as I came ouer More-fields!

O, here he is! yo' haue made faire speed, beleeue me:

Where, i'the name of sloth, could you be thus——

Mary, peace be my comfort, where I thought I should haue

had little comfort of your worships seruice.

How so?

O, sir! your comming to the citie, your entertainement of me,

and your sending me to watch—indeed, all the circumstances either of

your charge, or my imployment, are as open to your sonne, as to

your selfe!

How should that be! vnlesse that villaine, BRAYNE-WORME,

Haue told him of the letter, and discouer'd

All that I strictly charg'd him to conceale? 'tis so!

I am, partly, o' the faith, 'tis so indeed.

But, how should he know thee to be my man?

Nay, sir, I cannot tell; vnlesse it bee by the black art! Is not

your sonne a scholler, sir?

Yes, but I hope his soule is not allied

Vnto such hellish practise: if it were,

I had iust cause to weepe my part in him,

And curse the time of his creation.

But, where didst thou find them, FITZ-SWORD?

You should rather aske, where they found me, sir, for, Ile bee

sworne I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when (of a sud-

dain) a voice calls, Mr. KNO-WEL'S man; another cries, souldier: and thus,

halfe a dosen of 'hem, till they had cal'd me within a house where I no soo-

ner came, but thy seem'd men, and out flue al their rapiers at my bosome,

with some three or foure score oathes to accompanie 'hem, & al to tel me,

I was but a dead man, if I did not confesse where you were, and how I was

imployed, and about what; which, when they could not get out of me (as

I protest, they must ha' dissected, and made an Anatomie o' me, first, and so

I told 'hem) they lockt mee vp into a roome i' the top of a high house,

whence, by great miracle (hauing a light heart) I slid downe, by a bottom

of pack-thred, into the street, and so scapt. But, sir, thus much I can as-

sure you, for I heard it, while I was lockt vp, there were a great many rich

merchants, and braue citizens wiues with 'hem at a feast, and your sonne,

Mr. EDWARD, with-drew with one of 'hem, and has pointed to meet her

anon, at one COBS house, a water-bearer, that dwells by the wall. Now,

there, your worship shall be sure to take him, for there he preyes, and faile

he will not.

Nor, will I faile, to breake his match, I doubt not.

Goe thou, along with Iustice CLEMENT'S man,

And stay there for me. At one COBS house, sai'st thou?

I sir, there you shall haue him. Yes? Inuisible? Much wench,

or much sonne! 'Slight, when hee has staid there, three or foure houres,

trauelling with the expectation of wonders, and at length be deliuer'd of

aire: Ô, the sport, that I should then take, to looke on him, if I durst! But,

now, I meane to appeare no more afore him in this shape. I haue another

trick, to act, yet. O, that I were so happy, as to light on a nupson, now,

of this Iustices nouice. Sir, I make you stay somewhat long.

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

I was putting vp some papers——

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

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

Troth sir, I would be glad to bestow a pottle of wine o' you,

if it please you to accept it——

O, sir——

But, to heare the manner of your seruices, and your deuices in

the warres, they say they be very strange, and not like those a man reades

in the Romane histories, or sees, at Mile-end.

No, I assure you, sir, why, at any time when it please you, I shall

be readie to discourse to you, all I know: and more too, somewhat.

No better time, then now, sir; wee'll goe to the wind-mill:

there we shall haue a cup of neate grist, wee call it. I pray you, sir, let mee

request you, to the wind-mill.

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

SIr, did your eyes euer tast the like clowne of him, where we were to

day, Mr. WEL-BRED'S halfe brother? I thinke, the whole earth

cannot shew his paralell, by this day-light.

We were now speaking of him: Captayne BOBADIL tells me,

he is fall'n foule o' you, too.

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

I, but I thinke, I taught you preuention, this morning, for that—

You shall kill him, beyond question: if you be so generously minded.

Indeed, it is a most excellent trick!

O, you doe not giue spirit enough, to your motion, you are too

tardie, too heauie! Ô, it must be done like lightning, hay?

Rare Captaine!

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

Captaine, did you euer proue your selfe, vpon any of our ma-

sters of defence, here?

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

I will tell you, sir. Vpon my first comming to the citie, after

my long trauaile, for knowledge (in that mysterie only) there came three,

or foure of 'hem to me, at a gentlemans house, where it was my chance to

be resident, at that time, to intreat my presence at their scholes, and with-

all so much importun'd me, that (I protest to you as I am a gentleman) I

was asham'd of their rude demeanor, out of all measure: well, I told'hem,

that to come to a publike schoole, they should pardon me, it was opposite

(in diameter) to my humour, but, if so they would giue their attendance

at my lodging, I protested to doe them what right or fauour I could, as I

was a gentleman, and so forth.

So, sir, then you tried their skill?

Alas, soone tried! you shall heare sir. Within two or three

daies after, they came; and, by honestie, faire sir, beleeue mee, I grac't

them exceedingly, shew'd them some two or three tricks of preuention,

haue purchas'd 'hem, since, a credit, to admiration! they cannot denie this:

and yet now, they hate mee, and why? because I am excellent, and for no

other vile reason on the earth.

This is strange, and barbarous! as euer I heard!

Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous natures, but

note, sir. They haue assaulted me some three, foure, fiue, sixe of them

together, as I haue walkt alone, in diuers skirts i' the towne, as Turne-

bull, White-chappell, Shore-ditch, which were then my quarters, and since

vpon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my ordinarie: where I haue

driuen them afore me, the whole length of a street, in the open view of all

our gallants, pittying to hurt them, beleeue me. Yet, all this lenitie will

not ore-come their spleene: they will be doing with the pismier, raysing

a hill, a man may spurne abroad, with his foot, at pleasure. By my selfe,

I could haue slaine them all, but I delight not in murder. I am loth to

beare any other then this bastinado for 'hem: yet, I hold it good politie,

not to goe disarm'd, for though I bee skilfull, I may bee oppress'd with

multitudes.

I, beleeue me, may you sir: and (in my conceit) our whole

nation should sustaine the losse by it, if it were so.

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

O, but your skill, sir!

Indeed, that might be some losse; but, who respects it? I will

tell you, sir, by the way of priuate, and vnder seale; I am a gentleman, and

liue here obscure, and to my selfe: but, were I knowne to her Maiestie, and

the Lords (obserue mee) I would vnder-take (vpon this poore head, and

life) for the publique benefit of the state, not only to spare the intire liues

of her subiects in generall, but to saue the one halfe, nay, three parts of her

yeerely charge, in holding warre, and against what enemie soeuer. And,

how would I doe it, thinke you?

Nay, I know not, nor can I conceiue.

Why thus, sir. I would select nineteene, more, to my selfe,

throughout the land; gentlemen they should bee of good spirit, strong,

and able constitution, I would choose them by an instinct, a character, that

I haue: and I would teach these nineteene, the speciall rules, as your Punto,

your Reuerso, your Stoccata, your Imbroccata, your Passada, your Montanto:

till they could all play very neare, or altogether as well as my selfe. This

done, say the enemie were fortie thousand strong, we twentie would come

into the field, the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and wee would chal-

lenge twentie of the enemie; they could not, in their honour, refuse vs,

well, wee would kill them: challenge twentie more, kill them; twentie

more, kill them; twentie more, kill them too; and thus, would wee kill,

euery man, his twentie a day, that's twentie score; twentie score, that's

two hundreth; two hundreth a day, fiue dayes a thousand; fortie thou-

sand; fortie times fiue, fiue times fortie, two hundreth dayes kills them

all vp, by computation. And this, will I venture my poore gentleman-like

carcasse, to performe (prouided, there bee no treason practis'd vpon vs)

by faire, and discreet manhood, that is, eiuilly by the sword.

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

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

I would not stand in DOWNE-RIGHTS state, then, an' you

meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London.

Why, sir, you mistake me! if he were here now, by this wel-

kin, I would not draw my weapon on him! let this gentleman doe his

mind: but, I will bastinado him (by the bright sunne) where-euer I

meet him.

Faith, and Ile haue a fling at him, at my distance.

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

What peeuish luck haue I, l cannot meet with these bragging

raskalls?

It's not he? is it?

Yes faith, it is he?

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

Sir, keepe your hanging good, for some greater matter, for I

assure you, that was he.

Vpon my reputation, it was hee.

Had I thought it had beene he, he must not haue gone so: but

I can hardly be induc'd, to beleeue, it was he, yet.

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

O, PHAROAHS foot, haue I found you? Come, draw, to your

tooles: draw, gipsie, or Ile thresh you.

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

Draw your weapon, then.

Tall man, I neuer thought on it, till now (body of me) I had a

warrant of the peace, serued on me, euen now, as I came along, by a wa-

ter-bearer; this gentleman saw it, Mr. MATTHEW.

'Sdeath, you will not draw, then?

Hold, hold, vnder thy fauour, forbeare.

Prate againe, as you like this, you whoreson foist, you. You'le,

controll the point, you? Your consort is gone? had he staid, he had shar'd

with you, sir.

Well, gentlemen, beare witnesse, I was bound to the peace, by

this good day.

No faith, it's an ill day, Captaine, neuer reckon it other: but,

say you were bound to the peace, the law allowes you, to defend your

selfe: that'll proue but a poore excuse.

I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction, in faire sort. I ne-

uer sustain'd the like disgrace (by heauen) sure I was strooke with a plan-

net thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon.

I, like inough, I haue heard of many that haue beene beaten

vnder a plannet: goe, get you to a surgean. 'Slid, an' these be your tricks,

your passada's, and your mountanto's, Ile none of them. O, manners! that

this age should bring forth such creatures! that Nature should bee at lei-

sure to make hem! Come, cousse.

Masse, Ile ha' this cloke.

Gods will, 'tis DOWNE-RIGHT's.

Nay, it's mine now, another might haue tane vp, aswell as I:

Ile weare it, so I will.

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

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

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

NOw, trust me brother, you were much to blame,

T'incense his anger, and disturbe the peace,

Of my poore house, where there are sentinells,

That euery minute watch, to giue alarmes,

Of ciuill warre, without adiection

Of your assistance, or occasion.

No harme done, brother, I warrant you: since there is no

harme done. Anger costs a man nothing: and a tall man is neuer his owne

man, till he be angrie. To keepe his valure in obscuritie, is to keepe him-

selfe, as it were, in a cloke-bag. What's a musitian, vnlesse he play? what's

a tall man, vnlesse he fight? For, indeed, all this, my wise brother stands

vpon, absolutely: and, that made me fall in with him, so resolutely.

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

Might, sister? so, might the good warme clothes, your husband

weares, be poyson'd, for any thing he knowes: or the wholesome wine he

drunke, euen now, at the table——

Now, god forbid: O me. Now, I remember,

My wife drunke to me, last; and chang'd the cup:

And bade me weare this cursed sute to day.

See, if heau'n suffer murder vndiscour'd!

I feele me ill; giue me some mithridate,

Some mithridate and oile, good sister, fetch me;

O, I am sicke at heart! I burne, I burne.

If you will saue my life, goe, fetch it me.

O, strange humour! my verie breath ha's poyson'd him.

Good brother, be content, what doe you meane?

The strength of these extreme conceits, will kill you.

Beshrew your heart-bloud, brother WELL-BRED, now;

for putting such a toy into his head.

Is a fit simile, a toy? will he be poyson'd with a simile? Brother

KITELY, what a strange, and idle imagination is this? For shame, bee wi-

ser. O' my soule, there's no such matter.

Am I not sicke? how am I, then, not poyson'd?

Am I not poyson'd? how am I, then, so sicke?

If you be sicke, your owne thoughts make you sicke.

His iealousie is the poyson, he ha's taken.

Mr. KITELY, my master, Iustice CLEMENT, salutes you;

and desires to speake with you, with all possible speed.

No time, but now? when, I thinke, I am sicke? very sicke!

well, I will wait vpon his worship. THOMAS, COB, I must seeke them

out, and set 'hem sentinells, till I returne. THOMAS, COB, THOMAS.

This is perfectly rare, BRAYNE-WORME! but how got'st thou

this apparell, of the Iustices man?

Mary sir, my proper fine pen-man, would needs bestow the grist

o'me, at the wind-mil, to hear some martial discourse; where so I marshal'd

him, that I made him drunke, with admiration! &, because, too much heat

was the cause of his distemper, I stript him starke naked, as he lay along a-

sleepe, and borrowed his sute, to deliuer this counterfeit message in, lea-

uing a rustie armor, and an old browne bill to watch him, till my returne:

which shall be, when I ha' pawn'd his apparell, and spent the better part

o'the money, perhaps.

Well, thou art a successefull merry knaue, BRAYNE-WORME,

his absence will be a good subiect for more mirth: I pray thee, returne to

thy yong master, and will him to meet me, and my sister BRIDGET, at the

tower instantly: for, here, tell him, the house is so stor'd with iealousie,

there is no roome for loue, to stand vpright in. We must get our fortunes

committed to some larger prison, say; and, then the tower, I know no

better aire: nor where the libertie of the house may doe vs more present

seruice. Away.

Come hether, THOMAS. Now, my secret's ripe,

And thou shalt haue it: lay to both thine eares.

Harke, what I say to thee. I must goe forth, THOMAS.

Be carefull of thy promise, keepe good watch,

Note euery gallant, and obserue him well,

That enters in my absence, to thy mistris:

If shee would shew him roomes, the iest is stale,

Follow 'hem, THOMAS, or else hang on him,

And let him not goe after; marke their lookes;

Note, if shee offer but to see his band,

Or any other amorous toy, about him;

But praise his legge; or foot; or if shee say,

The day is hot, and bid him feele her hand,

How hot it is; ô, that's a monstrous thing!

Note me all this, good THOMAS, marke their sighes,

And, if they doe but whisper, breake 'hem off:

Ile beare thee out in it. Wilt thou doe this?

Wilt thou be true, my THOMAS?

As truth's selfe, sir.

Why, I beleeue thee: where is COB, now? COB?

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

COB, so!

Indeed, sister, to aske how hee imploies COB, is a necessarie

question for you, that are his wife, and a thing not very easie for you to be

satisfied in: but this Ile assure you, COBS wife is an excellent bawd, sister,

and, often-times, your husband hants her house, mary, to what end, I can-

not altogether accuse him, imagine you what you thinke conuenient. But,

I haue knowne, faire hides haue foule hearts, e're now, sister.

Neuer said you truer then that, brother, so much I can tell

you for your learning. THOMAS, fetch your cloke, and goe with me, Ile

after him presently: I would to fortune, I could take him there, ifaith. Il'd

returne him his owne, I warrant him.

So, let 'hem goe: this may make sport anon. Now, my faire

sister in-law, that you knew, but how happie a thing it were to be faire, and

beautifull?

That touches not me, brother.

That's true; that's euen the fault of it: for, indeede, beautie

stands a woman in no stead, vnlesse it procure her touching. But, sister,

whether it touch you, or no, it touches your beauties; and, I am sure, they

will abide the touch; an' they doe not, a plague of all ceruse, say I: and, it

touches mee to in part, though not in the—Well, there's a deare and

respected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly, and worthily affected

toward you, and hath vow'd to inflame whole bone-fires of zeale, at his

heart, in honor of your perfections. I haue alreadie engag'd my promise

to bring you, where you shall heare him confirme much more. NED

KNO'WELL is the man, sister. There's no exception against the partie.

You are ripe for a husband; and a minutes losse to such an occasion, is a

great trespasse in a wise beautie. What say you, sister? On my soule hee

loues you. Will you giue him the meeting?

Faith, I had very little confidence in mine owne constancie,

brother, if I durst not meet a man: but this motion of yours, sauours of

an old knight-aduenturers seruant, a little too much, me thinkes.

What's that, sister?

Mary, of the squire.

No matter if it did, I would be such an one for my friend, but

see! who is return'd to hinder vs?

What villanie is this? call'd out on a false message?

This was some plot! I was not sent for. BRIDGET,

Where's your sister? BRID. I thinke shee be gone forth, sir.

I thinke shee be gone forth, sir.

How! is my wife gone forth? whether for gods sake?

Shee's gone abroad with THOMAS.

Abroad with THOMAS? oh, that villaine dors me.

He hath discouer'd all vnto my wife!

Beast that I was, to trust him: whither, I pray you, went shee?

I know not, sir.

Ile tell you, brother, whither I suspect shee's gone.

Whither, good brother?

To COBs house, I beleeue: but, keepe my counsaile.

I will, I will: to COBs house? doth shee hant COBs?

Shee's gone a' purpose, now, to cuckold me,

With that lewd raskall, who, to win her fauour,

Hath told her all.

Come, hee's once more gone.

Sister, let's loose no time; th'affaire is worth it.

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

Why, what should they say? but as of a discreet gentleman?

quick, warie, respectfull of natures faire lineaments: and that's all?

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

A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind of grosse batterie

vs'd, laid on strongly, borne most paciently: and that's all.

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

Tut, I assure you, no: you shall haue there your Nobilis, your

Gentelezza, come in brauely vpon your reuerse, stand you close, stand you

firme, stand you faire, saue your retricato with his left legge, come to the

assalto with the right, thrust with braue steele, defie your base wood! But,

wherefore doe I awake this remembrance? I was fascinated, by IVPITER:

fascinated: but I will be vn-witch'd, and reueng'd, by law.

Doe you heare? ist not best to get a warrant, and haue him ar-

rested, and brought before Iustice CLEMENT?

It were not amisse, would we had it.

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

Agreed, doe you speake.

Saue you, sir.

With all my heart, sir?

Sir, there is one DOWNE-RIGHT, hath abus'd this gentleman,

and my selfe, and we determine to make our amends by law; now, if you

would doe vs the fauour, to procure a warrant, to bring him afore your

master, you shall bee well considered, I assure you, sir.

Sir, you know my seruice is my liuing, such fauours as these,

gotten of my master, is his only preferment, and therefore, you must con-

sider me, as I may make benefit of my place.

How is that? sir.

Faith sir, the thing is extraordinarie, and the gentleman may

be, of great accompt: yet, bee what hee will, if you will lay mee downe a

brace of angells, in my hand, you shall haue it, otherwise not.

How shall we doe, Captayne? he askes a brace of angells, you

haue no monie?

Not a crosse, by fortune.

Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two pence, left of my two shil-

lings in the morning for wine, and redish: let's find him some pawne.

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

O, yes. I'll pawne this iewell in my eare, and you may pawne

your silke stockings, and pull vp your bootes, they will ne're be mist: It

must be done, now.

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

Doe you heare, sir? wee haue no store of monie at this time,

but you shall haue good pawnes: looke you, sir, this iewell, and that gen-

tlemans silke stockings, because we would haue it dispatcht, e're we went

to our chambers.

I am content, sir; I will get you the warrant presently, what's

his name, say you? DOWNE-RIGHT?

I, I, GEORGE DOWNE-RIGHT.

What manner of man is he?

A tall bigge man, sir; hee goes in a cloke, most commonly, of

silke russet, laid about with russet lace.

'Tis very good, sir.

Here sir, here's my iewell?

And, here, are stockings.

Well, gentlemen, Ile procure you this warrant presently, but,

who will you haue to serue it?

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

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

Why, you were best get one o' the varlets o' the citie, a serieant.

Ile appoint you one, if you please.

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

Wee'll leaue it to you, sir.

This is rare! now, will I goe pawne this cloke of the Iustice's

mans, at the brokers, for a varlets sute, and be the varlet my selfe; and get

either more pawnes, or more monie of DOWNE-RIGHT, for the arrest.

OH, here it is, I am glad: I haue found it now.

Ho? who is within, here?

I am within, sir, what's your pleasure?

To know, who is within, besides your selfe.

Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope?

O! feare you the constable? then, I doubt not.

You haue some guests within, deserue that feare,

Ile fetch him straight.

O' gods name, sir.

Goe to. Come, tell me, Is not yong KNO'WEL, here?

Yong KNO-WEL? I know none such, sir, o' mine honestie!

Your honestie? dame, it flies too lightly from you:

There is no way, but, fetch the constable.

The constable? the man is mad, I thinke.

Ho, who keepes house, here?

O, this is the female copes-mate of my sonne?

Now shall I meet him straight.

Knock, THOMAS, hard.

Ho, good wife?

Why, what's the matter with you?

Why, woman, grieues it you to ope' your doore?

Belike, you get something, to keepe it shut.

What meane these questions, 'pray yee?

So strange you make it? is not my husband, here?

Her husband!

My tryed husband, master KITELY.

I hope, he needes not to be tryed, here.

No, dame: he do's it not for need, but pleasure.

Neither for need, nor pleasure, is he here.

This is but a deuice, to balke me withall.

Soft, who is this? 'Tis not my sonne, disguisd?

O, sir, haue I fore-stald your honest market?

Found your close walkes? you stand amaz'd, now, doe you?

I faith (I am glad) I haue smokt you yet at last!

What is your iewell trow? In: come, lets see her;

(Fetch forth your huswife, dame) if shee be fairer,

In any honest iudgement, then my selfe,

Ile be content with it: but, shee is change,

Shee feedes you fat, shee soothes your appetite,

And you are well? your wife, an honest woman,

Is meat twice sod to you, sir? O, you trecher!

Shee cannot counterfeit thus palpably.

Out on thy more then strumpets impudence!

Steal'st thou thus to thy haunts? and, haue I taken

Thy bawd, and thee, and thy companion,

This horie-headed letcher, this old goat,

Close at your villanie, and would'st thou 'scuse it,

With this stale harlots iest, accusing me?

O, old incontinent, do'st not thou shame,

When all thy powers in chastitie is spent,

To haue a mind so hot? and to entice,

And feede the'nticements of a lustfull woman?

Out, I defie thee, I, dissembling wretch.

Defie me, strumpet? aske thy pandar, here,

Can he denie it? or that wicked elder?

Why, heare you, sir.

Tut, tut, tut: neuer speake.

Thy guiltie conscience will discouer thee.

What lunacie is this, that hants this man?

Well, good-wife B A' D, COBS wife; and you,

That make your husband such a hoddie-doddie;

And you, yong apple-squire; and old cuckold-maker;

Ile ha' you euery one before a Iustice:

Nay, you shall answere it, I charge you goe.

Marie, with all my heart, sir: I goe willingly.

Though I doe tast this as a trick, put on me,

To punish my impertinent search; and iustly:

And halfe forgiue my sonne, for the deuice.

Come, will you goe?

Goe? to thy shame, beleeue it.

Why, what's the matter, here? What's here to doe?

O, COB, art thou come? I haue beene abus'd,

And i' thy house. Neuer was man so, wrong'd!

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

my house?

Marie, yong lust in old; and old in yong, here:

Thy wife's their bawd, here haue I taken 'hem.

How? bawd? Is my house come to that? Am I prefer'd the-

ther? Did I charge you to keepe your dores shut, IS'BEL? and doe you

let 'hem lie open for all commers?

Friend, know some cause, before thou beat'st thy wife,

This's madnesse, in thee.

Why? is there no cause?

Yes, Ile shew cause before the Iustice, COB:

Come, let her goe with me.

Nay, shee shall goe.

Nay, I will goe. Ile see, an' you may bee allow'd to make a

bundle o' hempe, o' your right and lawfull wife thus, at euery cuckoldly

knaues pleasure. Why doe you not goe?

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

VVEll, of all my disguises, yet, now am I most like my selfe: being

in this Serjeants gowne. A man of my present profession, neuer

counterfeits, till hee layes hold vpon a debter, and sayes, he

rests him, for then hee brings him to all manner of vnrest. A kinde of

little kings wee are, bearing the diminutiue of a mace, made like a

yong artichocke, that alwayes carries pepper and salt, in it selfe. Well, I

know not what danger I vnder-goe, by this exploit, pray heauen, I come

well of.

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

Let's goe, in quest of him.

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

CLEMENTS man.

Yes, an't please you, sir: he told me two gentlemen had will'd

him to procure a warrant from his master (which I haue about me) to be

seru'd on one DOWNE-RIGHT.

It is honestly done of you both; and see, where the partie

comes, you must arrest: serue it vpon him, quickly, afore hee bee

aware——

Beare backe, master MATTHEW.

Master DOWNE-RIGHT, I arrest you, i'the queenes name, and

must carry you afore a Iustice, by vertue of this warrant.

Mee, friend? I am no DOWNE-RIGHT, I. I am master

STEPHEN, you doe not well, to arrest me, I tell you, truely: I am in no-

bodies bonds, nor bookes, I, would you should know it. A plague on

you heartily, for making mee thus afraid afore my time.

Why, now are you deceiued, gentlemen?

He weares such a cloke, and that deceiued vs: But see, here

a comes, indeed! this is he, officer.

Why, how now, signior gull! are you turn'd filtcher of late?

come, deliuer my cloke.

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

Master DOVVNE-RIGHT, I haue a warrant I must serue vpon

you, procur'd by these two gentlemen.

These gentlemen? these rascals?

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

I obey thee. What must I doe, officer?

Goe before, master Iustice CLEMENT, to answere what

they can obiect against you, sir. I will vse you kindly, sir.

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

The varlet's a tall man! afore heauen!

Gull, you'll gi' me my cloke?

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

You will.

I, that I will.

Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him.

Master STEPHEN, I must arrest you.

Arrest mee, I scorne it. There, take your cloke, I'le none

on't.

Nay, that shall not serue your turne, now, sir. Officer, I'le

goe with thee, to the Iustices: bring him along.

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

I'le ha' you answere it, sir.

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

parance.

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

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

'Tis true, you may take baile, and choose; at another time:

but you shall not, now, varlet. Bring him along, or I'le swinge you.

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

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

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

Yet more adoe?

I haue made a faire mash on't.

Must I goe?

I know no remedie, master STEPHEN.

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

looke behind.

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

fellow?

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

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

NAy, but stay, stay, giue me leaue: my chaire, sirrha. You, master

KNO'WELL, say you went thither to meet your sonne.

I, sir.

But, who directed you, thither?

That did mine owne man, sir.

Where is he?

Nay, I know not, now; I left him with your clarke:

And appointed him, to stay here for me.

My clarke? about what time, was this?

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

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

master KITELY?

After two, sir.

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

COBs? ha?

An' please you, sir, Ile tell you: my brother, WEL-BRED, told

me, that COBs house, was a suspected place——

So it appeares, me thinkes: but, on.

And that my husband vs'd thither, daily.

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

True sir, but you know, what growes, by such hants, of-

ten-times.

I see, ranke fruits of a iealous braine, mistris KITELY: but, did

you find your husband there, in that case, as you suspected?

I found her there, sir.

Did you so? that alters the case. Who gaue you knowledge,

of your wiues being there?

Marie, that did my brother WEL-BRED.

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

WEL-BRED?

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

Why, this is a meere trick, a deuice; you are gull'd in this

most grosly, all! alas, poore wench, wert thou beaten for this?

Yes, most pittifully, and't please you.

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

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

the matter?

Sir, there's a gentleman, i' the court without, defires to speake

with your worship.

A gentleman? what's he?

A souldier, sir, he saies.

A souldier? take downe my armor, my sword, quickly: a soul-

dier speake with me! why, when knaues? come on, come on, hold my

cap there, so; giue me my gorget, my sword: stand by, I will end your

matters, anon—Let the souldier enter, now, sir, what ha' you to say to me?

BY your worships fauour——

Nay, keepe out, sir, I know not your pretence, you send

me word, sir, you are a souldier: why, sir, you shall bee answer'd,

here, here be them haue beene amongst souldiers. Sir, your pleasure.

Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman, and my selfe, haue beene most

vnciuilly wrong'd, and beaten, by one DOWNE-RIGHT, a course fellow,

about the towne, here, and for mine owne part, I protest, being a man, in

no sort, giuen to this filthie humour of quarrelling, he hath assaulted mee

in the way of my peace; dispoil'd mee of mine honor; dis-arm'd mee of

my weapons; and rudely, laid me along, in the open streets: when, I not

so much as once offer'd to resist him.

O, gods precious! is this the souldier? here, take my armour

of quickly, 'twill make him swoune, I feare; hee is not fit to looke on't,

that will put vp a blow.

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

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