VIriest, fortunæ cæcitatem facilé ferre.

Tis true; but, Stoicke, where (in the vast world)

Doth that man breathe, that can so much command

His bloud, and his affection? well: I see,

I striue in vaine to cure my wounded soule;

For euerie cordiall that my thoughts apply,

Turnes to a corr'siue, and doth eate it farder.

There is no taste in this Philosophie,

Tis like a potion that a man should drinke,

But turnes his stomacke with the sight of it.

I am no such pild Cinique, to beleeue

That beggery is the onely happinesse;

Or (with a number of these patient fooles)

To sing: my minde to me a kingdome is,

When the lanke hungry belly barkes for foode

I looke into the world, and there I meet

With obiects, that doe strike my bloud-shot eyes

Into my braine: where, when I view my selfe;

Hauing before obseru'd, this man is great,

Mighty, and fear'd: that, lou'd, and highly fauour'd:

A third thought wise and learned: a fourth, rich,

And therefore honor'd: a fifth, rarely featur'd:

A sixth, admir'd for his nuptiall fortunes:

When I see these (I say) and view my selfe,

I wish the organs of my sight were crackt;

And that the engine of my griefe could cast

Mine eye-bals, like two globes of wilde fire, forth,

To melt this vnproportion'd frame of nature.

Oh, they are thoughts that haue transfixt my heart,

And often (i'the strength of apprehension)

Made my cold passion stand vpon my face,

Like drops of dew on a stiffe cake of yce.

This alludes well to that of the Poet,

Inuidus suspirat, gemit, incutitque dentes,

Sudat frigidus, intuens quod odit.

O peace, you breake the Scene.

Soft, who be these?

I'le lay me downe a while till they be past.

Signior, note this gallant, I pray you.

What is he?

A tame Rooke, youle take him presently: List.

NAy, looke you Carlo: this is my Humour now! I haue land and

money, my friends left me well, and I will be a Gentleman, what-

soeuer it cost me.

A most gentle-man like resolution

Tut, and I take an humour of a thing once, I am like your Tay-

lors needle, I goe through: but, for my name, Signior, how thinke you?

will it not serue for a gentlemans name, when the Signior is put to it? Ha?

Let me heare: how is't?

Signior Insulso Sogliardo: me thinkes it sounds well.

O excellent! tut, and all fitted to your name, you might very

well stand for a gentleman: I know many Sogliardos gentlemen.

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

I, and a Constable for your wit.

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

came by.

Good steps to gentility too, mary: but Soligardo, if you affect

to bee a gentleman indeede, you must obserue all the rare qualities, hu-

mours, and complements of a gentleman.

I know it, Signior, and if you please to instruct, I am not too

good to learne, Ile assure you.

Inough sir: Ile make admirable vse i'the proiection of my medi-

cine vpon this lumpe of copper here. Ile bethinke me, for you sir.

Signior, I will both pay you, and pray you, and thanke you, &

thinke on you.

Is not this purely good?

Sbloud, why should such a prick-eard hine as this,

Be rich? Ha? a foole? such a transparent gull

That may be seene through? wherefore should he haue land,

Houses, and lordships? O, I could eate my entrailes,

And sinke my soule into the earth with sorrow.

First (to be an accomplisht gentleman, that is, a gentleman of

the time) you must giue o're house-keeping in the countrey, and liue al-

together in the Citie amongst gallants; where, at your first apparance,

'twere good you turn'd foure or fiue hundred acres of your best land into

two or three trunkes of apparel (you may doe it without going to a con-

iurer) and bee sure, you mixe your selfe still, with such as flourish in the

spring of the fashion, and are least popular; studie their carriage, and beha-

uiour in all; learne to play at Primero and Passage, and (euer when you lose)

ha'two or three peculiar oathes to sweare by, that no man else sweares: but

aboue all, protest in your play, and affirme, Vpon your credit; A__s you are

a true Gentleman (at euery cast) you may doe it with a safe conscience, I

warrant you.

O admirable rare! hee cannot chuse but bee a Gentleman, that

ha's these excellent gifts: more, more, I beseech you.

You must endeuour to feede cleanly at your Ordinarie, sit me-

lancholy, and picke your teeth when you cannot speake: and when you

come to Playes, be humorous, looke with a good startch't face, and ruffle

your brow like a new boot, laugh at nothing but your owne iests, or else as

the Noblemen laugh. That's a speciall grace you must obserue.

I warrant you, sir.

I, and sit o'the stage, and flout: prouided, you haue a good suit.

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

You must talke much of your kinred, and allies.

Lies! no Signior, I shall not neede to doe so, I haue kinred i'the

citie to talke of: I haue a neece is a Merchants wife; and a nephew, my

brother SORDIDOS sonne, of the Innes of Court.

O, but you must pretend alliance with Courtiers and great per-

sons: and euer when you are to dine or sup in any strange presence, hire a

fellow with a great chaine (though it bee copper it's no matter) to bring

you letters, feign'd from such a Noble man, or such a Knight, or such a

Ladie, To their worshipfull, right rare, and noble qualified friend or kinsman,

Signior Insulso Sogliardo; giue your selfe stile enough. And there (while

you intend circumstances of newes, or enquirie of their health, or so) one

of your familiars (whom you must carrie about you still) breakes it vp

(as 'twere in a iest) and reades it publikly at the table: at which, you must

seeme to take as vnpardonable offence, as if he had torne your Mistrisses

colours, or breath'd vpon her picture; and pursue it with that hot grace,

as if you would aduance a challenge vpon it presently.

Stay, I doe not like that humour of challenge, it may be accep-

ted; but I'le tell you what's my humour now: I will doe this: I will take

occasion of sending one of my suites to the Taylors to haue the pocket

repaired, or so; and there such a letter, as you talke of (broke open and

all) shall be left: O, the Taylor will presently giue out what I am, vpon

the reading of it, worth twentie of your Gallants.

But then you must put on an extreme face of discontentment

at your mans negligence.

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

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

Masse well remembred, you must keepe your men gallant, at

the first, fine pyed liueries, laid with good gold lace, there's no losse in it,

they may rip't off and pawne it, when they lacke victuals.

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

Debt? why, that's the more for your credit sir: it's an excellent

policie to owe much in these dayes, if you note it.

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

O! looke where you are indebted any great summe, your crei-

ditor obserues you with no lesse regard, then if he were bound to you for

some huge benefit, and will quake to giue you the least cause of offence,

lest he loose his money. I assure you (in these times) no man has his ser-

uant more obsequious and plyant, then gentlemen their creditours: to

whom (if at any time) you pay but a moitie, or a fourth part, it comes

more acceptedly, then if you gaue'hem a new-yeeres gift.

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

sure.

Mary this, alwaies beware you commerce not with bankrupts,

or poore needie Ludgathians: they are impudent creatures, turbulent spi-

rits, they care not what violent Tragedies they stirre, nor how they play

fast and loose with a poore gentlemans fortunes, to get their owne. Marie,

these rich fellowes (that ha'the world, or the better part of it, sleeping in

their counting houses) they are ten times more placable, they; either feare

hope, or modestie, restraines them from offering any outrages: but this is

nothing to your followers, you shall not run a pennie more in arrerage for

them, and you list your selfe.

No? how should I keepe 'hem then?

Keepe 'hem? Sbloud let them keepe themselues, they are no

sheepe, are they? What? you shall come in houses, where plate, apparrell,

iewels, and diuers other pretie commodities lie negligently scattered, and

I would ha'those __Mercuries follow mee (I trow) should remember they

had not their fingers for nothing.

That's not so good, me thinkes.

Why, after you haue kept 'hem a fortnight, or so, and shew'd

'hem ynough to the world, you may turne 'hem away, and keep no more

but a boy, it's ynough.

Nay, my humour is not for boyes, Ile keepe men, and I keepe a-

ny; and Ile giue coats, that's my humour: but I lacke a cullisen.

Why, now you ride to the Citie, you may buy one, Ile bring

you where you shall ha' your choise for money.

Can you sir?

O, I: you shall haue one take measure of you, and make you a

Coat of armes, to fit you of what fashion you will.

By word of mouth, I thanke you, signior; Ile bee once a little

prodigall in a humour, if' aith, and haue a most prodigious coat.

Torment and death! breake head and braine at once,

To be deliuer'd of your fighting issue.

Who can endure to see blinde Fortune dote thus?

To be enamour'd on this dustie turfe?

This clod? a whorson puck-fist? O god, god, god, god, &c.

I could runne wilde with griefe now, to behold

The ranknesse of her bounties, that doth breed

Such bull-rushes; these mushrompe gentlemen,

That shoot vp in a night to place, and worship.

Let him alone, some stray, some stray.

Nay, I will examine him before I goe, sure.

The Lord of the soile ha's all vveft, and strayes here? ha's he not?

Yes, sir.

Faith, then I pittie the poore fellow, he's falne into a fooles

hands.

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

Your lordship?

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

I doe know you, sir.

S'heart, he answeres him like an eccho.

Why, who am I, sir?

One of those that fortune fauours.

The Periphrasis of a foole; Ile obserue this better.

That fortune fauours? how meane you that, friend?

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

wits.

By my wits? No sir, I scorne to liue by my wits, I. I haue bet-

ter meanes, I tel thee, then to take such base courses, as to liue by my wits.

Sbloud doest thou thinke I liue by my wits?

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

Ha? does he know me?

Though yours bee the worst vse a man can put his wit to, of

thousands, to prostitute it at euery tauerne and ordinary; yet (mee

thinkes) you should haue turn'd your broad side at this, and haue been

ready with an Apologie, able to sinke this hulke of ignorance into the bot-

tome, and depth of his contempt.

Sbloud 'tis MACILENTE! Signior, you are wel encountred,

how is't? O, wee must not regard what hee saies man, a trout, a shallow

foole, he ha's no more braine then a butter-flie, a meere stuft suit, he looks

like a mustie bottle, new wickered, his head's the corke, light, light. I am

glad to see you so well return'd, Signior.

You are? Gramercie, good IANVS.

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

Gods precious, come away man, what doe you meane? and

you knew him as I doe, youl'd shun him, as youl'd doe the plague?

Why, sir?

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

Is he a Scholler, or a Souldier?

Both, both; a leane mungrell, hee lookes as if he were chop-

falne, with barking at other mens good fortunes: 'ware how you offend

him, he caries oile and fire in his pen, will scald where it drops: his spi-

rit's like powder, quicke, violent: hee'le blow a man vp with a jest: I feare

him worse then a rotten wall do's the cannon, shake an houre after, at the

report. Away, come not neere him.

For Gods sake let's be gone, and hee bee a Scholler, you know I

cannot abide him. I had as leeue see a Cockatrice, specially as cockatrices

goe now.

What, you'le stay, signior? this gentleman SOGLIARDO, and

are to visit the knight PVNTARVOLO, and from thence to the citie,

we shall meete there.

I, vwhen I cannot shunne you, we will meet.

'Tis strange! of all the creatures I haue seene,

I enuie not this BVFFON, for indeede

Neither his fortunes, nor his parts deserue it:

But I doe hate him, as I hate the diuell,

Or that brasse-visag'd monster Barbarisme.

O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd curre,

That bites at all, but eates on those that feed him.

A slaue, that to your face will (serpent-like)

Creepe on the ground, as he would eate the dust;

And to your backe will turne the taile, and sting

More deadly then a scorpion: Stay, who's this?

Now for my soule, another minion

Of the old lady Chance's: I'le obserue him.

O Rare! good, good, good, good, good! I thanke my Starres, I

thanke my Starres for it.

Said I not true? doth not his passion speake

Out of my diuination? O my senses,

Why loose you not your powers, and become

Dull'd, if not deadded with this spectacle?

I know him, 'tis SORDIDO, the farmer,

A Boore, and brother to that swine was here.

Excellent, excellent, excellent! as I would wish, as I would

wish.

See how the strumpet Fortune tickles him,

And makes him swoune with laughter, Ô, Ô, Ô.

Ha, ha, ha, I will not sow my grounds this yeare. Let mee see

what haruest shall we haue? Iune, Iuly, August?

What is't, a Prognostication rap's him so?

The xx, xxj, xxij, daies, raine and winde, O good, good! the

xxiij, and xxiiij, raine and some winde, good! the xxv, raine, good still!

xxvj, xxvij, xxviij, winde and some raine; would it had beene raine and

some winde: well'tis good (when it can be no better) xxix, inclining to

raine: inclining to raine? that's not so good now. xxx, and xxxj, winde

and no raine: no raine? Slid stay; this is worse and worse: what saies he

of S. Swithins? turne backe, looke, S. Swithins: no raine?

O, her's a precious durty damned rogue.

That fats himselfe with expectation

Of rotten weather, and vnseason'd howers;

And he is rich for it, an elder brother!

His barnes are full! his reekes, and mowes well trod!

His garners cracke vvith store! O, tis well; ha, ha, ha:

A plague consume thee, and thy house.

O here, S. Swithins, the xv. day, variable weather, for the most

part raine, good; for the most part raine: Why, it should raine forty daies

after, now, more or lesse, it was a rule held, afore I was able to hold a

plough, and yet here are two daies, no raine; ha? it makes me muse. Weele

see how the next moneth begins, if that be better. September, first, se-

cond, third, and fourth daies, rainy, and blustering; this is well now:

fift, sixt, seuenth, eight, and ninth, rainy, with some thunder; I mary,

this is excellent; the other was false printed sure: the tenth, and eleuenth,

great store of raine; O good, good, good, good, good! the twelfth, thir-

teenth, and fourteenth dayes, raine; good still: fifteenth, and sixteenth,

raine; good still: seuenteenth, and eighteenth, raine, good still; nineteenth,

and twentieth, good still, good still, good still, good still, good still! one

and twentieth, some raine; some raine? well, we must be patient, and at-

tendthe heauens pleasure, would it were more though: the one and

twentieth, two and twentieth, three and twentieth, great tempest of

raine, thunder, and lightning.

O good againe, past expectation good!

I thanke my blessed angell; neuer, neuer,

Laid I penny better out, then this,

To purchase this deare booke: not deare for price,

And yet of me as dearely priz'd as life,

Since in it, is contain'd the very life,

Bloud, strength, and sinnewes of my happinesse.

Blest be the houre, wherein I bought this booke,

His studies happy, that compos'd the booke.

And the man fortunate, that sold the booke.

Sleepe with this charme, and be as true to mee,

As I am ioy'd, and confident in thee.

Ha, ha, ha? I'not this good? Is't not pleasing this?

Ha, ha, ha! God pardon me! ha, ha!

Is't possible that such a spacious villaine

Should liue, and not be plagu'd? or lies he hid

Within the wrinckled bosome of the world,

Where heauen cannot see him? Sbloud (me thinkes)

'T is rare, and strange, that he should breathe, and walke,

Feede with disgestion, sleepe, enjoy his health,

And (like a boist'rous whale, swallowing the poore)

Still swimme in wealth, and pleasure! is't not strange?

Vnlesse his house, and skinne were thunder-proofe,

I wonder at it! Me thinkes, now, the hecticke,

Gout, leprosie, or some such loth'd disease

Might light vpon him; or that fire (from heauen)

Might fall vpon his barnes; or mice, and rats

Eate vp his graine; or else that it might rot

Within the hoary reekes, e'ne as it stands:

Me thinkes this might be well; and after all

The deuill might come and fetch him. I, 'tis true!

Meane time he surfets in prosperitie,

And thou (in enuie of him) gnaw'st thy selfe,

Peace, foole, get hence, and tell thy vexed spirit,

“ Wealth in this age will scarcely looke on merit.

Who brought this same, sirha?

Mary, sir, one of the Iustices men, he saies 'tis a precept, and all

their hands be at it:

I, and the prints of them sticke in my flesh,

Deeper then i'their letters: They haue sent me

Pils wrapt in paper here, that should I take 'hem,

Would poison all the sweetnesse of my booke,

And turne my honey into hemlocke juyce.

But I am wiser then to serue their precepts,

Or follow their prescriptions. Here's a deuice,

To charge me bring my graine vnto the markets:

I, much, when I haue neither barne nor garner,

Nor earth to hide it in, I'le bring it; till then,

Ech corne I send shall be as big as Paules.

O, but (say some) the poore are like to starue.

Why let 'hem starue, what's that to me? are bees

Bound to keepe life in drones, and idle moths? no:

Why such are these (that terme them selues the poore,

Only because they would be pittied,

But are indeed a sort of lazie beggers)

Licencious rogues, and sturdie vagabonds,

Bred (by the sloth of a fat plentious yeere)

Like snakes, in heat of summer, out of dung,

And this is all that these cheape times are good for:

Whereas a holsome, and penurious dearth

Purges the soile of such vile excrements,

And kils the vipers vp.

O, but master,

Take heed they heare you not.

Why so?

They will exclaime against you.

I, their exclaimes

Moue me as much, as thy breath moues a mountaine!

Poore wormes, they hisse at me, whilst I at home

Can be contented to applaud my selfe,

To sit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leape,

Knocking my head against my roofe, with ioy

To see how plumpe my bags are, and my barnes.

Sirrah, goe, hie you home, and bid your fellowes,

Get all their flailes readie, again' I come.

I will, Sir.

I'le instantly set all my hines to thrashing

Of a whole reeke of corne, which I will hide

Vnder the ground; and with the straw there of

I'le stuffe the out-sides of my other mowes:

That done, I'le haue 'hem emptie all my garners,

And i' the friendly earth bury my store,

That, when the searchers come, they may suppose

All's spent, and that my fortunes were belied.

And, to lend more opinion to my want,

And stop that many-mouthed vulgar dog,

(Which else would still be baying at my dore)

Each market day, I will be seene to buy

Part of the purest wheat, as for my houshold:

Where when it comes, it shall encrease my heapes,

Twill yeeld me treble gaine, at this deare time,

Promisd in this deare booke: I haue cast all.

Till then I will not sell an eare, I'le hang first.

O, I shall make my prizes as I list,

My house and I can feed on pease, and barley,

What though a world of wretches starue the while?

“ He that will thriue, must thinke no courses vile.

Now, Signior, how approue you this? haue the Humorists ex-

prest themselues truly or no?

Yes (if it be well prosecuted) 'tis hitherto happy ynough: but

me thinks, MACILENTE went hence too soone, hee might haue beene

made to stay, and speake somewhat in reproofe of SORDIDO'S wretched-

nesse, now at the last.

O, no, that had beene extremely improper, besides, he had con-

tinued the Scene too long with him, as't was, being in no more action.

You may enforce the length, as a necessary reason; but for pro-

priety, the Scene would very well haue borne it, in my iudgement.

O, worst of both: why, you mistake his Humour vtterly then.

How? doe I mistake it? is't not enuie?

Yes, but you must vnderstand, Signior, he enuies him not as he

is a villaine, a wolfe i' the common-wealth, but as he is rich, and fortunate;

for the true condition of enuie, is, Dolor alienæ fœlicitatis, to haue our eyes

continually fixt vpon another mans prosperitie, that is, his chiefe happi-

nesse, and to grieue at that. Whereas, if we make his monstrous, and ab-

hord actions our obiect, the griefe (we take then) comes neerer the na-

tureof hate, then enuie, as being bred out of a kinde of contempt and

lothing, in our selues.

So you'le infer it had beene hate, not enuie in him, to repre-

hend the humour of SORDIDO?

Right, for what a man truly enuies in another, he could al-

waies loue, and cherish in himselfe: but no man truly reprehends in ano-

ther, what he loues in himselfe; therefore reprehension is out of his hate.

And this distinction hath he himselfe made in a speech there (if you markt

it) where he saies, I enuie not this BVFFON, but I hate him.

Stay, sir: I enuie not this BVFFON, but I hate him: why might he

not as well haue hated SORDIDO, as him?

No, sir, there was subiect for his enuie in SORDIDO; his wealth:

So was there not in the other. He stood possest of no one eminent gift, but

a most odious, and fiend-like disposition, that would turne charitie it selfe

into hate, much more enuie, for the present.

You haue satisfied mee, sir; O, here comes the Foole and the

Iester, againe, me thinkes.

'Twere pitty they should be parted, sir.

What bright-shining gallant's that with them? the knight they

went to?

No, sir, this is one Monsieur FASTIDIVS BRISKE, otherwise

cal'd the fresh Frenchefied courtier.

A humorist too?

As humorous as quick-siluer, doe but obserue him, the Scene

is the country still, remember.

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

I will, sir.

How lik'st thou my boy, CARLO?

O, well, well. He lookes like a colonell of the Pigmies horse,

or one of these motions, in a great antique clock: he would shew well vp-

on a habberdashers stall, at a corner shop, rarely.

S'heart, what a damn'd witty rogue's this? how he confounds

with his simile's?

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

now, Signior?

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

the court?

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

your whore-house——

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

Hee's gone now, I thought he would flie out presently. These

be our nimble-spirited Catso's, that ha' their euasions at pleasure, will run

ouer a bog like your wild Irish: no sooner started, but they'le leape from

one thing to another, like a squirrell, heigh: dance! and doe tricks i' their

discourse, from sire to water, from water to aire, from aire to earth, as if

their tongues did but e'en licke the foure elements ouer, and away.

Sirrha, CARLO, thou neuer saw'st my grey-hobbie yet, didst

thou?

No: ha' you such a one?

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

seest him.

But when shall I see him?

There was a noble man i' the court offered me IOO. pound for

him, by this light: a fine little fiery slaue, he runs like a (oh) excellent,

excellent! with the very sound of the spurre.

How? the sound of the spurre?

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

good gingle.

Sbloud, you shall see him turne morris-dancer, he ha's got him

bels, a good sute, and a hobby-horse.

Signior, now you talke of a hobby-horse, I know where one

is, will not be giuen for a brace of angels.

How is that, Sir?

Mary, sir, I am telling this gentleman of a hobby-horse, it was

my fathers indeed, and (though I say it——

That should not say it) on, on.

He did dance in it, with as good humour, and as good regard,

as any man of his degree whatsoeuer, being no gentleman: I haue danc't

in it my selfe too.

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

Yes, once; mary, that was but to shew what a gentleman

might doe, in a humour.

O, very good.

Why, this fellowes discourse were nothing, but for the word

Humour.

O, beare with him, and he should lacke matter, and words too,

'twere pittifull.

Nay, looke you, sir, there's ne're a gentleman i' the countrey

has the like humours, for the hobby-horse, as I haue; I haue the method

for the threeding of the needle and all, the——

How, the method.

I, the leigeritie for that, and the wigh-hie, and the daggers in the

nose, and the trauels of the egge from finger to finger, all the humours

incident to the quality. The horse hangs at home in my parlor. I'le keepe

it for a monument, as long as I liue, sure.

Doe so; and when you die, 'twill bee an excellent trophee, to

hang ouer your tombe.

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

charges.

Best build it in your life time then, your heires may hap to for-

get it else.

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

No, for heires, and executors, are growne damnably carelesse,

specially, since the ghosts of testators left walking: how like you him,

Signior?

Fore heauens, his humour arrides me exceedingly.

Arrides you?

I, pleases me (a pox on't) I am so haunted at the court, and at

my lodging, with your refin'd choise spirits, that it makes me cleane of

another garbe, another sheafe, I know not how! I cannot frame mee to

your harsh vulgar phrase, 'tis against my genius.

Signior CARLO.

This is right to that of HORACE, Dum vitant stulti vitia, in con-

traria currunt: so this gallant, labouring to auoid popularitie, fals into a

habit of affectation, ten thousand times hatefuller then the former.

Who, hee? a gull, a foole, no salt in him i'the earth, man: hee

looks like a fresh salmon kept in a tub, hee'le be spent shortly. His braine's

lighter then his feather already, and his tongue more subiect to lye, then

that's to wag: he sleepes with a musk-cat euery night, and walkes all day

hang'd in pomander chaines for penance: he ha's his skin tan'd in ciuet, to

make his complexion strong, and the sweetnes of his youth lasting in the

sense of his sweet lady. A good emptie puffe, he loues you well, Signior.

There shall be no loue lost, sir, I'le assure you.

Nay, CARLO, I am not happy i' thy loue, I see: pr'y thee suffer

me to enioy thy company a little (sweet mischiefe) by this aire, I shall en-

uythis gentlemans place in thy affections, if you be thus priuate, yfaith.

How now? is the knight arriu'd?

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

ners.

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

You should giue him a french crowne for it: the boy would

finde two better figures i' that, and a good figure of your bountie beside.

Tut, the boy wants no crownes.

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

you.

Nay, thou art so capriciously conceited now. Sirra (damnation)

I haue heard this knight PVNTARVOLO, reported to bee a Gentleman of

exceeding good humour; thou know'st him: pr'ythee, how is his dispo-

sition? I ne're was so fauour'd of my starres, as to see him yet. Boy, doe

you looke to the hobbie?

I, sir, the Groome has set him vp.

'Tis well: I rid out of my way of intent to visit him, and take

knowledge of his– Nay, good wickednesse, his humour, his humour.

Why, he loues dogs, and hawkes, and his wife, well: hee has a

good riding face, and he can sit a great horse; hee will taint a staffe well at

tilt: when he is mounted, he lookes like the signe of the George, that's all I

know; saue, that in stead of a dragon, hee will brandish against a tree, and

breake his sword as confidently vpon the knottie barke, as the other did

vpon the skales of the beast.

O, but this is nothing to that's deliuer'd of him. They say he

has dialogues, and discourses betweene his horse, himselfe, and his dogge:

and that he will court his own Lady, as she were a stranger neuer encoun-

ter'd before.

I, that he will, and make fresh loue to her euery morning: this

Gentleman has beene a spectator of it, Signior Insulso.

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

You haue seene Signior Puntaruolo accost his Ladie?

O, I sir.

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

Faith sir, in very good sort, he has his humours for it, sir: as first,

(suppose he were now to come from riding, or hunting, or so) he has his

trumpet to sound, and then the waiting gentlewoman, she lookes out, and

then he speakes, and then she speakes—very pretie yfaith, gentlemen

men.

Why, but doe you remember no particulars, Signior?

O, yes sir: first, the gentlewoman, shee lookes out at the win-

dow.

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

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

What sayes he? be not rapt so.

Saies he– ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Nay, speake, speake.

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

Was this the ridiculous motiue to all this passion?

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

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

else.

List, list, they are come from hunting: stand by, close vnder

this tarras, and you shall see it done, better then I can shew it.

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

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

head.

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

iect.

FOrrester, giue winde to thy horne. Inough, by this the sound hath

toucht the eares of the inclosed: Depart, leaue the dogge, and take

with thee what thou hast deseru'd, the horne, and thankes.

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

Is't not good?

Ah, peace, now aboue, now aboue!

Stay: mine eie hath (on the instant) through the bountie of

the window, receiu'd the forme of a Nymph. I will step forward three pa-

ses:of the which, I will barely retyre one; and (after some little flexure

of the knee) with an erected grace salute her (one, two, and three.) Sweet

lady, God saue you.

No, forsooth: I am but the waiting gentlewoman.

He knew that before.

Pardon me: Humanum est errare.

He learn'd that of his chaplaine.

To the perfection of complement (which is the Diall of the

thought, and guided by the Sunne of your beauties) are requir'd these

three specials: the gnomon, the puntilio's, and the superficies: the superficies, is

that we call, place; the puntilio's, circumstance; and the gnomon, ceremo-

ny: in either of which, for a stranger to erre, 'tis easie and facile, and such

am I.

True, not knowing her horizon, hee must needes erre: which I

feare, he knowes too well.

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

The lord of the castle is a knight, sir; SigniorPVNTAR-

VOLO.

PVNTARVOLO? O.

Now must he ruminate.

Does the wench know him all this while, then?

O, doe you know me, man? why, therein lies the sirrup of the

iest; it's a proiect, a designement of his owne, a thing studyed, and re-

hearst as ordinarily at his comming from hawking, or hunting, as a jigge

after a Play.

I, e'ene like your jigge, sir.

'Tis a most sumptuous and stately edifice! of what yeeres is

the knight, faire damsell?

Faith, much about your yeeres, sir.

What complexion, or what stature beares he?

Of your stature, and very neere vpon your complexion.

Mine is melancholy.

So is the dogges, iust.

And doth argue constancie, chiefely in loue. What are his en-

dowments? Is he courteous?

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

Is he magnanimous?

As the skin betweene your browes, sir.

Is he bountifull?

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

Bountifull? I, sir, I would you should know it; the poore are

seru'd at his gate, early, and late, sir.

Is he learned?

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

Then he is trauail'd?

I, forsooth, he hath beene beyond-seas, once, or twice.

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

Is he religious?

Religious? I know not what you call religious, but he goes to

to church, I am sure.

S'lid, me thinkes, these answeres should offend him.

Tut, no; hee knowes they are excellent, and to her capacitie,

that speakes 'hem.

Would I might see his face.

Shee should let downe a glasse from the window at that word,

and request him to looke in't.

Doubtlesse, the gentleman is most exact, and absolutely quali-

fied? doth the castle containe him?

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

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

O, Lord, sir!

Pr'y thee, deare Nymph, intreat her beauties to shine on this

side of the building.

That he may erect a new dyall of complement, with his gno-

mons, and his puntilio's.

Nay, thou art such another Cinique now, a man had need walke

vprightly before thee.

Heart, can any man walke more vpright then he does? Looke,

looke; as if he went in a frame, or had a sute of wanescot on: and the dogge

watching him, lest he should leape out on't.

O, villaine!

Well, and e'er I meet him in the city, I'le ha' him ioynted, I'le

pawne him in east-cheape, among the butchers else.

Peace, who be these, CARLO?

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

This, sir? a poore elder brother of mine, sir, a yeoman,

may dispend some seuen or eight hundred a yeere: that's his son,

my nephew, there.

You are not ill-come, neighbour SORDIDO, though I haue

not yet said, well-come: what, my god-sonne is growne a great proficient

by this?

I hope he will grow great one day, sir.

What does he studie? the law?

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

What call you your nephew, signior?

Mary, his name is FVNGOSO.

FVNGOSO? O, he lookt somwhat like a spunge in that pinckt

yellow doublet, me thought: well, make much of him; I see he was ne-

uer borne to ride vpon a moile.

My lady will come presently, sir.

O, now, now.

Stand by, retire your selues a space: nay, pray you, forget not

the vse of your hat; the aire is piercing.

What? will not their presence preuaile against the current of

his humour?

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

How? in verse!

An extasie, an extasie, man.

Is your desire to speake with me, sir knight?

He will tell you that anon; neither his braine, nor his body,

are yet moulded for an answere.

Most debonaire, and luculent lady, I decline mee low, as the

basis of your altitude.

He makes congies to his wife in geometricall proportions.

Is't possible there should be any such Humorist?

Very easily possible, Sir, you see there is.

I haue scarse collected my spirits, but lately scatter'd in the ad-

miration of your forme; to which (if the bounties of your minde be any

way responsible) I doubt not, but my desires shall finde a smooth, and se-

cure passage. I am a poore knight errant (lady) that hunting in the adja-

cent forrest, was by aduenture in the pursuit of a hart, brought to this

place; which hart (deare Madame) escaped by enchantment: the eue-

ning approching (my selfe, and seruant wearied) my suit is, to enter your

faire castle, and refresh me.

Sir knight, albeit it be not vsuall with me(chiefly in the absence

of a husband) to admit any entrance to strangers, yet in the true regard

of those innated vertues, and faire parts, which so striue to expresse them-

selues, in you; I am resolu'd to entertaine you to the best of my vnworthy

power: which I acknowledge to bee nothing, valew'd with what so wor-

thy a person may deserue. Please you but stay, while I descend.

Most admir'd lady, you astonish me!

What? with speaking a speech of your owne penning?

Nay, looke; pr'y thee peace.

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

O, let's heare the rest.

What? a tedious chapter of courtship, after sir LANCELOT,

and queene GVEVENER? away. I mar'le in what dull cold nooke he found

this lady out? that (being a woman) shee was blest with no more copie of

wit, but to serue his humour thus. 'Slud, I thinke he feeds her with por-

ridge, I: shee could ne're haue such a thick braine else.

Why, is porridge so hurtfull, signior?

O, nothing vnder heauen more preiudiciall to those ascending

subtile powers, or doth sooner abate that which we call, acumen ingenij,

then your grosse fare: why, I'le make you an instance: your city wiues,

but obserue 'hem, you ha' not more perfect true fooles i' the world bred,

then they are generally; and yet you see (by the finenesse and delicacy of

their diet, diuing into the fat capons, drinking your rich wines, feeding on

larkes, sparrowes, potato-pies, and such good vnctuous meats) how their

wits are refin'd, and rarefi'd! and sometimes a very quintessence of conceit

flowes from 'hem, able to drowne a weake apprehension.

Peace, here comes the lady.

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

S'light, our presence has cut off the conuoy of the iest.

All the better; I am glad on't: for the issue was very perspicu-

ous. Come, let's discouer, and salute the knight.

Stay: who be these that addresse themselues towards vs? what,

CARLO? now, by the sincerity of my soule, welcome; welcome gentle-

men: and how doest thou, thou grand scourge; or, second vntrusse of the

time?

Faith, spending my mettall, in this reeling world (here and

there) as the sway of my affection carries me, and perhaps stumble vpon

a yeoman pheuterer, as I doe now; or one of Fortunes moiles, laden with

treasure, and an empty cloke-bagge following him, gaping when a bagge

will vntie.

Peace, you, ban-dogge, peace: what briske Nimfadoro is that

in the white virgin boot there?

Mary, sir, one, that I must entreat you take a very particular

knowledge of, and with more then ordinary respect: MonsieurFASTI-

DIVS.

Sir, I could wish that for the time of your vouchsaft abiding

here, and more reall entertainment, this my house stood on the Muses hill;

and these my orchards were those of the Hesperide's.

I possesse as much in your wish, sir, as if I were made lord of

the Indies; and I pray you, beleeue it.

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

corrupted.

Come, brother, I'le bring you acquainted with gentlemen, and

good fellowes, such as shall doe you more grace, then——

Brother, I hunger not for such acquaintance:

Doe you take heede, lest——

Husht: my brother, sir, for want of education, sir, somewhat

nodding to the boore, the clowne: but I request you in priuate, sir.

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

Doe you obserue that, signior? there's another humour has

new crackt the shell.

What? he is enamour'd of the fashion, is he?

O, you forestall the iest.

I mar'le what it might stand him in!

Nephew?

'Fore mee, it's an excellent sute, and as neatly becomes him.

What said you, vncle?

When saw you my neece?

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

rare too!

And what newes heare you?

The guilt spurre and all! would I were hang'd, but 'tis exceeding

good. Say you, vncle?

Your minde is carried away with somewhat else: I aske what

newes you heare?

Troth, we heare none. In good faith, I was neuer so pleas'd with

a fashion, daies of my life! O (and I might haue but my wish) I'ld aske no

more of god now, but such a suit, such a hat, such a band, such a doublet,

such a hose, such a boot, and such a——

They say, there's a new Motion of the city of Niniueh, with

IONAS, and the whale, to be seene at Fleet-bridge? you can tell, cousin?

Here's such a world of question with him, now: Yes, I thinke

there be such a thing, I saw the picture: would he would once be satisfi'd.

Let me see, the doublet, say fifty shillings the doublet, and betweene three

or foure pound the hose; then bootes, hat, and band: some ten or eleuen

pound would doe it all, and suit me for the heauens.

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

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

What saies my nephew?

Faith vncle, I'ld ha' desir'd you to haue made a motion for me to

my father in a thing, that—walke aside and I'le tell you, sir, no more but

this: there's a parcell of law—bookes, (some twenty pounds worth) that

lie in a place for little more then halfe the money they cost; and I thinke

for some twelue pound, or twenty marke, I could goe neere to redeeme

hem; there's PLOWDEN, DIAR, BROOKE, and FITZ-HERBERT, di-

uers such, as I must haue ere long: and you know, I were as good saue fiue

or sixe pound as not, vncle. I pray you, moue it for me.

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

O, I, I pray you, good vncle: God send mee good luck; Lord

(and't be thy will) prosper it: O, my starres, now, now, if it take now, I

am made for euer.

Shall I tell you, sir? by this aire, I am the most beholding to that

lord, of any gentleman liuing; hee does vse mee the most honorably, and

with the greatest respect, more indeed, then can be vtter'd with any opini-

on of truth.

Then, haue you the count GRATIATO?

As true noble a gentleman too, as any breathes; I am excee-

dingly endear'd to his loue: by this hand (I protest to you, signior, I speake

it not gloriously, nor out of affectation, but) there's hee, and the count

FRVGALE, signior ILLVSTRE, signior LVCVLENTO, and a sort of'hem;

that (when I am at court) they doe share me amongst'hem. Happy is he

can enioy me most priuate. I doe wish my selfe sometime an vbiquitarie

for their loue, in good faith.

There's ne're a one of these, but might lie a weeke on the rack,

ere they could bring forth his name; and yet he powres them out as fami-

liarly, as if he had seene'hem stand by the fire i' the presence, or ta'ne ta-

bacco with them, ouer the stage, i' the lords roome.

Then you must of necessity know our court-starre there? that

planet of wit, MADDONA SAVIOLINA?

O, lord sir! my mistris.

Is shee your mistris?

Faith, here be some slight fauours of hers, sir, that doe speake

it, shee is: as this scarfe, sir, or this ribband in mine eare, or so; this feather

grew in her sweet fanne sometimes, though now it be my poore fortunes

to weare it, as you see, sir: slight, slight, a foolish toy.

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

Did you euer heare any woman speake like her? or enricht

with a more plentifull discourse?

O, villanous! nothing but sound, sound, a meere eccho; shee

speakes as shee goes tir'd, in cob-web lawne, light, thin: good enough to

catch flies withall.

O, manage your affections.

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

Come, regard not a iester: it is in the power of my purse, to

make him speake well, or ill, of me.

Sir, I affirme it to you (vpon my credit, and iudgement) shee

has the most harmonious, and musicall straine of wit, that euer tempted

a true eare; and yet to see, a rude tongue would profane heauen, if it

could.

I am not ignorant of it, sir.

Oh, it flowes from her like nectar, and shee doth giue it, that

sweet, quick grace, and exornation in the composure, that (by this good

aire, as I am an honest man, would I might neuer stirre, sir, but) shee does

obserue as pure a phrase, and vse as choise figures in her ordinary confe-

rences, as any be i' the Arcadia.

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

security.

Well, if ten pound will fetch'hem, you shall haue it, but I'le

part with no more.

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

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

Yes, sir. And I could studie to get forty shillings more now!

well, I will put my selfe into the fashion, as farre as this will goe presently.

I wonder it raines not! the Almanack saies wee should haue

store of raine, to day.

Why, sir, to morrow I will associate you to court my selfe;

and from thence to the city, about a businesse, a proiect I haue, I will ex-

pose it to you, sir: CARLO, I am sure, has heard of it.

What's that, sir?

I doe intend, this yeere of Iubile, comming on, to trauaile: and

(because I will not altogether goe vpon expence) I am determined to put

forth some fiue thousand pound, to be paid me, fiue for one, vpon the re-

turne of my selfe, my wife, and my dog, from the Turkes court in Constan-,

tinople. If all, or either of vs miscarry in the iourney, 'tis gone: if we be

successefull, why, there will be fiue and twenty thousand pound, to enter-

taine time withall. Nay, goe not neighbour SORDIDO, stay to night, and

helpe to make our societie the fuller. Gentlemen, frolick: CARLO? what?

dull now?

I was thinking on your proiect, sir, and you call it so: is this

the dog goes with you?

This is the dogge, sir.

He do' not goe bare-foot, does he?

Away, you traitor, away.

Nay, afore god, I speake simply; he may pricke his foot with

a thorne, and be as much as the whole venter is worth. Besides, for a dog

that neuer trauail'd before, it's a huge iourney to Constantinople: I'le tell

you now (and he were mine) I'ld haue some present conference with a

physicion, what antidotes were good to giue him, preseruatiues against

poison: for (assure you) if once your money be out, there'll be diuers at-

tempts made against the life of the poore animal.

Thou art still dangerous.

Is signior DELIROS wife your kinswoman?

I, sir, shee is my neece, my brothers daughter here, and my ne-

phewes sister.

Doe you know her, sir?

O, God sir, Signior DELIRO, her husband, is my marchant.

I, I haue seene this gentleman there, often.

I crie you mercy, sir: let me craue your name, pray you.

FVNGOSO, sir.

Good signior FVNGOSO, I shall request to know you bet-

ter, sir.

I am her brother, sir.

In faire time, sir.

Come, gentlemen, I will be your conduct.

Nay, pray you, sir; we shall meet at signior DELIRO'S often.

You shall ha' me at the Heralds office, sir, for some weeke or so,

at my first comming vp. Come, CARLO.

Me thinkes, CORDATVS, he dwelt somewhat too long on this

Scene; it hung i' the hand.

I see not where he could haue insisted lesse, and t' haue made the

humours perspicuous enough.

True, as his subiect lies: but hee might haue altered the shape

of his argument, and explicated 'hem better in single Scenes.

That had beene single indeed: why? be they not the same per-

sonsin this, as they would haue beene in those? and is it not an obiect of

more state, to behold the Scene full, and relieu'd with varietie of speakers

to the end, then to see a vast emptie stage, and the actors come in (one by

one) as if they were dropt downe with a feather, into the eye of the spe-

ctators?

Nay, you are better traded with these things then I, and there-

fore I'le subscribe to your iudgement; mary, you shall giue mee leaue to

make obiections.

O, what else? it's the speciall intent of the author, you should

doe so: for thereby others (that are present) may as well be satisfied, who

happily would obiect the same you doe.

So, sir: but when appeares MACILENTE againe?

Mary, hee staies but till our silence giue him leaue: here hee

comes, and with him signior DELIRO, a marchant, at whose house hee is

come to sojourne: Make your owne obseruation now, onely transferre

your thoughts to the city, with the Scene; where, suppose they speake.

I'Le tell you by and by, sir.

Welcome (good MACILENTE) to my house,

To sojourne euen for euer: if my best

In cates, and euery sort of good intreaty

May moue you stay with me.

I thanke you, sir:

And yet the muffled fates (had it pleas'd them)

Might haue suppli'd me, from their owne full store,

Without this word (I thanke you) to a foole.

I see no reason, why that dog (call'd Chaunce)

Should fawne vpon this fellow, more then me:

I am a man, and I haue limmes, flesh, bloud,

Bones, sinewes, and a soule, as well as he:

My parts are euery way as good as his,

If I said better? why, I did not lie.

Nath'lesse, his wealth (but nodding on my wants)

Must make me bow, and crie: (I thanke you, sir.)

Dispatch, take heed your mistris see you not.

I warrant you, sir. I'le steale by her softly.

Nay, gentle friend, be merry, raise your lookes

Out of your bosome, I protest (by heauen)

You are the man most welcome in the world.

(I thanke you, sir,) I know my cue, I thinke.

Where wil you haue'hem burne, sir?

Here, good FIDO:

What? shee did not see thee?

No, sir.

That's well:

Strew, strew, good FIDO, the freshest flowres, so.

What meanes this, signior DELIRO? all this censing?

Cast in more frankincense, yet more, well said.

O, MACILENTE, I haue such a wife!

So passing faire, so passing farre vnkind,

But of such worth, and right to be vnkind,

(Since no man can be worthy of her kindnesse.)

What can there not?

No, that is sure as death,

No man aliue! I doe not say, is not,

But cannot possibly be worth her kindnesse!

Nay, it is certaine, let me doe her right.

How, said I? doe her right? as though I could,

As though this dull grosse tongue of mine could vtter

The rare, the true, the pure, the infinite rights,

That sit (as high as I can looke) within her!

This is such dotage, as was neuer heard.

Well, this must needs be granted.

Granted, quoth you?

Nay, MACILENTE; doe not so discredit

The goodnesse of your iudgement to denie it,

For I doe speake the very least of her.

And I would craue, and beg no more of heauen,

For all my fortunes here, but to be able

To vtter first in fit termes, what shee is,

And then the true ioyes I conceiue in her.

Is't possible, shee should deserue so well,

As you pretend? DELI. I, and shee knowes so well

Her owne deserts, that (when I striue t' enioy them)

Shee weighs the things I doe, with what shee merits:

And (seeing my worth out-weigh'd so in her graces)

Shee is so solemne, so precise, so froward,

That no obseruance I can doe to her,

Can make her kind to me: if shee find fault,

I mend that fault; and then shee saies, I faulted,

That I did mend it. Now, good friend, aduise me,

How I may temper this strange splene in her.

You are too amorous, too obsequious,

And make her too assur'd, shee may command you.

When women doubt most of their husbands loues,

They are most louing. Husbands must take heed

They giue no gluts of kindnesse to their wiues,

But vse them like their horses; whom they feed

Not with a manger—full of meat together,

But halfe a pecke at once: and keepe them so

Still with an appetite to that they giue them.

He that desires to haue a louing wife,

Must bridle all the shew of that desire:

Be kind, not amorous; nor bewraying kindnesse,

As if loue wrought it, but considerate duty.

“ Offer no loue-rites, but let wiues still seeke them,

“ For when they come vnsought, they seldome like them.

Beleeue me, MACILENTE, this is gospell.

O, that a man were his owne man so much,

To rule himselfe thus. I will striue i' faith,

To be more strange and carelesse: yet, I hope

I haue now taken such a perfect course,

To make her kind to me, and liue contented,

That I shall find my kindnesse well return'd,

And haue no need to fight with my affections.

Shee (late) hath found much fault with euery roome

Within my house; one was too big (shee said)

Another was not furnisht to her mind,

And so through all: all which, now, I haue alter'd.

Then here, shee hath a place (on my back-side)

Wherein shee loues to walke; and that (shee said)

Had some ill smels about it. Now, this walke

Haue I (before shee knowes it) thus perfum'd

With herbes, and flowres, and laid in diuers places,

(As'twere on altars, consecrate to her)

Perfumed gloues, and delicate chaines of amber,

To keepe the aire in awe of her sweet nostrils:

This haue I done, and this I thinke will please her.

Behold, shee comes.

Here's a sweet stinke indeed:

What, shall I euer be thus crost, and plagu'd?

And sicke of husband? O, my head doth ake,

As it would cleaue asunder with these sauours,

All my room's alter'd, and but one poore walke

That I delighted in, and that is made

So fulsome with perfumes, that I am fear'd

(My braine doth sweat so) I haue caught the plague.

Why (gentle wife) is now thy walke too sweet?

Thou said'st of late, it had sowre aires about it,

And found'st much fault, that I did not correct it.

Why, and I did find fault, sir?

Nay, deare wife;

I know, thou hast said, thou hast lou'd perfumes,

No woman better.

I, long since perhaps,

But now that sense is alter'd: you would haue me

(Like to a puddle, or a standing poole)

To haue no motion, nor no spirit within me.

No, I am like a pure, and sprightly riuer,

That moues for euer, and yet still the same;

Or fire, that burnes much wood, yet still one flame.

But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden,

Smelling on roses, and on purple flowres,

And since, I hope, the humour of thy sense

Is nothing chang'd.

Why, those were growing flowres,

And these, within my walke, are cut and strew'd.

But yet they haue one sent.

I! haue they so?

In your grosse iudgement. If you make no difference

Betwixt the sent of growing flowres, and cut ones,

You haue a sense to taste lamp-oile, yfaith.

And with such iudgement haue you chang'd the chambers,

Leauing no roome, that I can ioy to be in,

In all your house: and now my walke, and all,

You smoke me from, as if I were a foxe,

And long, belike, to driue me quite away.

Well, walke you there, and I'le walke where I list.

What shall I doe? Ô, I shall neuer please her,

Out on thee, dotard! what starre rul'd his birth?

That brought him such a starre? blind Fortune still

Bestowes her gifts on such as cannot vse them:

How long shall I liue, ere I be so happy,

To haue a wife of this exceeding forme?

Away, with 'hem, would I had broke a ioynt,

When I deuis'd this, that should so dislike her.

Away, beare all away.

I, doe: for feare

Ought that is there should like her. O, this man,

How cunningly he can conceale himselfe!

As though he lou'd? nay, honour'd, and ador'd?

Why, my sweet heart?

Sweet heart! Ô! better still!

And asking, why? wherefore? and looking strangely,

As if he were as white as innocence.

Alas, you'r simple, you: you cannot change,

Looke pale at pleasure, and then red with wonder:

No, no, not you! 'tis pitty o'your naturalls.

I did but cast an amorouseye, e'en now,

Vpon a paire of gloues, that somewhat lik't me,

And straight he noted it, and gaue command,

All should be ta'ne away.

Be they my bane then.

What, sirra, FIDO, bring in those gloues againe,

You tooke from hence.

S'body, sir, but doe not,

Bring in no gloues, to spite me: if you doe——

Ay, me, most wretched; how am I misconstru'd?

O, how shee tempts my heart-strings, with her eye,

To knit them to her beauties, or to breake?

What mou'd the heauens, that they could not make

Me such a woman? but a man, a beast,

That hath no blisse like to others. Would to heauen

(In wreake of my misfortunes) I were turn'd

To some faire water-Nymph, that (set vpon

The deepest whirle-pit of the rau'nous seas,)

My adamantine eyes might head-long hale

This iron world to me, and drowne it all.

Behold, behold, the translated gallant.

O, he is welcome.

SAue you brother, and sister, saue you, sir; I haue commendations

for you out i'the countrey: (I wonder they take no knowledge of

my sute:) mine vncle SOGLIARDO is in towne. Sister, me thinkes,

you are melancholy: why are you so sad? I thinke you tooke me for ma-

ster FASTIDIVS BRISKE (sister) did you not.

Why should I take you for him?

Nay, nothing—I was lately in master FASTIDIVS his compa-

ny, and, me thinkes, we are very like.

You haue a faire sute, brother, 'giue you ioy on't.

Faith, good ynough to ride in, brother, I made it to ride in.

O, now I see the cause of his idle demand, was his new suit.

Pray you good brother, trie, if you can change her mood.

I warrant you, let mee alone. I'le put her out of her dumps.

Sister, how like you my suit?

O, you are a gallant in print now, brother.

Faith, how like you the fashion? it's the last edition, I assure

you.

I cannot but like it, to the desert.

Troth, sister, I was faine to borrow these spurres, I ha'left my

gowne in gage for'hem, pray you lend me an angell.

Now, beshrow my heart, then.

Good truth, I'le pay you againe at my next exhibition: I had

but bare ten pound of my father, and it would not reach to put me whol-

ly into the fashion.

I care not.

I had spurres of mine owne before, but they were not ginglers.

Monsieur FASTIDIVS will be here anon, sister.

You iest?

Neuer lend me penny more (while you liue then) and that I'ld

be loth to say, in truth.

When did you see him?

Yesterday, I came acquainted with him at sir PVNTARVO-

LO'S: nay, sweet sister.

I faine would know of heauen now, why yond foole

Should weare a suit of sattin? he? that rooke?

That painted jay, with such a deale of out-side?

What is his inside trow? ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Good heauen, giue me patience, patience, patience.

A number of these popenjayes there are,

Whom, if a man conferre, and but examine

Their inward merit, with such men as want;

Lord, lord, what things they are!

Come, when will you pay me againe, now?

O god, sister!

Here comes another.

SAue you, signior DELIRO: how do'st thou, sweet lady? Let mee

kisse thee.

How? a new sute? Ay me.

And how do's master FASTIDIVS BRISKE?

Faith, liue in court, signior DELIRO; in grace, I thanke god,

both of the noble masculine, and feminine. I must speake with you in

priuate, by and by.

When you please, sir.

Why looke you so pale, brother?

S'lid, all this money is cast away, now.

I, there's a newer edition come forth.

Tis but my hard fortune! well, I'le haue my sute chang'd, I'le

goe fetch my taylor presently, but first I'le deuise a letter to my father.

Ha' you any pen, and inke, sister?

What would you doe withall?

I would vse it. S'light, and it had come but foure daies sooner,

the fashion.

There was a countesse gaue me her hand to kisse to day, i' the

presence: did me more good by that light, then—and yesternight sent her

coach twise to my lodging, to intreat mee accompany her, and my sweet

mistris, with some two, or three namelesse ladies more: O, I haue beene

grac't by 'hem beyond all aime of affection: this's her garter my dagger

hangs in: and they doe so commend, and approue my apparell, with my

iudicious wearing of it, it's aboue wonder.

Indeed sir, 'tis a most excellent sute, and you doe weare it as ex-

traordinary.

Why, I'le tell you now (in good faith) and by this chaire, which

(by the grace of god) I intend presently to sit in, I had three sutes in one

yeere, made three great ladies in loue with me: I had other three, vn-did

three gentlemen in imitation: and other three, gat three other gentlemen

widdowes of three thousand pound a yeere.

Is't possible?

O, beleeue it, sir; your good face is the witch, and your ap-

parell the spells, that bring all the pleasures of the world into their circle.

Ah, the sweet grace of a courtier!

Well, would my father had left mee but a good face for my

portion yet; though I had shar'd the vnfortunate wit that goes with it, I

had not car'd: I might haue past for somewhat i' the world then.

Why, assure you, signior, rich apparell has strange vertues: it

makes him that hath it without meanes, esteemed for an excellent wit: he

that enioyes it with means, puts the world in remembrance of his means:

it helps the deformities of nature, and giues lustre to her beauties; makes

continuall holy-day where it shines; sets the wits of ladies at worke, that

otherwise would be idle: furnisheth your two-shilling ordinarie; takes

possession of your stage at your new play; and enricheth your oares, as

scorning to goe with your scull.

Pray you, sir, adde this; it giues respect to your fooles, makes

many theeues, as many strumpets, and no fewer bankrupts.

Out, out, vnworthy to speake, where he breatheth.

What's he, signior?

A friend of mine, sir.

By heauen, I wonder at you, citizens, what kinde of creatures

you are!

Why, sir?

That you can consort your selues, with such poore seame-rent

fellowes.

He saies true.

Sir, I will assure you (how euer you esteeme of him) he's a man

worthy of regard.

Why? what ha's he in him, of such vertue to be regarded? ha?

Mary, he is a scholler, sir.

Nothing else?

And he is well trauail'd.

He should get him clothes; I would cherish those good parts

of trauaile in him, and preferre him to some nobleman of good place.

Sir, such a benefit should bind me to you for euer (in my friends

right) and, I doubt not, but his desert shall more then answere my

praise.

Why, and he had good clothes, I'ld carry him to court with

me to morrow.

He shall not want for those, sir, if gold and the whole city will

furnish him.

You say well, sir: faith, signior DELIRO, I am come to haue

you play the Alchymist with me, and change the species of my land, into

that mettall you talke of.

With all my heart, sir, what summe will serue you?

Faith, some three, or foure hundred.

Troth, sir, I haue promist to meet a gentleman this morning,

in Paules, but vpon my returne I'le dispatch you.

I'le accompany you thither.

As you please, sir; but I goe not thither directly.

'Tis no matter, I haue no other designement in hand, and

therefore as good goe along.

I were as good haue a quartane feauer follow me now, for I

shall ne're bee rid of him: (bring mee a cloke there, one) Still, vpon his

grace at court, am I sure to bee visited; I was a beast to giue him any

hope. Well, would I were in, that I am out with him, once, and— Come,

signior MACILENTE, I must conferre with you, as wee goe. Nay, deare

wife, I beseech thee, forsake these moods: looke not like winter thus. Here,

take my keyes, open my counting houses, spread all my wealth before

thee, choose any obiect that delights thee: If thou wilt eate the spirit of

gold, and drinke dissolu'd pearle in wine, 'tis for thee.

So, sir.

Nay, my sweet wife.

Good lord! how you are perfum'd! in your termes, and al! pray

you leaue vs.

Come, gentlemen.

Adiew, sweet lady.

I, I! Let thy words euer sound in mine eares, and thy graces

disperse contentment through all my senses! O, how happy is that lady

aboue other ladies, that enioyes so absolute a gentleman to her seruant!

A countesse giue him her hand to kisse? ah, foolish countesse! hee's a man

worthy (if a woman may speake of a mans worth) to kisse the lips of an

empresse.

What's master FASTIDIVS gone, sister?

I, brother (he has a face like a Cherubin!)

Gods me, what lucke's this? I haue fetcht my taylor and all:

which way went he, sister? can you tell?

Not I, in good faith (and he has a body like an angell!)

How long is't since he went?

Why, but e'en now: did you not meet him? (and a tongue

able to rauish any woman i'the earth!)

O, for gods sake (I'le please you for your paines:) but e'en

now, say you? Come, good, sir: S'lid, I had forgot it too: Sister, if any

body aske for mine vncle SOGLIARDO, they shall ha'him at the Heralds

office, yonder by Paules.

Well, I will not altogether despaire: I haue heard of a citizens

wife, has beene belou'd of a courtier; and why not I? heigh, ho: well, I

will into my priuate chamber, locke the dore to mee, and thinke ouer all

his good parts, one after another.

Well, I doubt, this last Scene will endure some grieuous torture.

How? you feare 'twill be rackt, by some hard construction?

Doe not you?

No, in good faith: vnlesse mine eyes could light mee beyond

sense. I see no reason, why this should be more liable to the racke, then the

rest: you'le say, perhaps, the city will not take it well, that the marchant

is made here to dote so perfectly vpon his wife; and shee againe, to bee so

Fastidiously affected, as shee is?

You haue vtter'd my thought, sir, indeed.

Why (by that proportion) the court might as wel take offence

at him we call the courtier, and with much more pretext, by how much

the place transcends, and goes before in dignitie and vertue: but can you

imagine that any noble, or true spirit in court (whose sinowie, and altoge-

ther vn-affected graces, very worthily expresse him a courtier) will make

any exception at the opening of such an emptie trunke, as this BRISKE

is? or thinke his owne worth empeacht, by beholding his motley inside?

No sir, I doe not.

No more, assure you, will any graue, wise citizen, or modest

matron, take the obiect of this folly in DELIRO, and his wife: but rather

apply it as the foile to their owne vertues. For that were to affirme, that a

man, writing of NERO, should meane all Emperors: or speaking of MA-

CHIAVEL, comprehend all States-men; or in our SORDIDO, all Farmars;

and so of the rest: then which, nothing can be vtter'd more malicious, or

absurd. Indeed, there are a sort of these narrow-ey'd decypherers, I con-

fesse, that will extort strange, and abstruse meanings out of any subiect, be

it neuer so conspicuous and innocently deliuer'd. But to such (where e're

they sit conceal'd) let them know, the author defies them, and their wri-

ting-tables; and hopes, no sound or safe iudgement will infect it selfe with

their contagious comments, who (indeed) come here only to peruert, and

poison the sense of what they heare, and for nought else.

Stay, what new Mute is this, that walkes so suspiciously?

O, mary this is one, for whose better illustration; we must de-

sire you to presuppose the stage, the middle isle in Paules; and that, the

west end of it.

So, sir: and what followes?

Faith, a whole volume of humour, and worthy the vnclasping.

As how? what name doe you giue him first?

He hath shift of names, sir: some call him APPLE IOHN, some

Signior WHIFFE, mary, his maine standing name is CAVALIER SHIFT:

the rest are but as cleane shirts to his natures.

And what makes he in Paules, now?

Troth, as you see, for the aduancement of a Siquis, or two;

wherein he has so varied himselfe, that if any one of 'hem take, he may hull

vp and downe i'the humorous world, a little longer.

It seemes then, he beares a very changing saile?

O, as the wind, sir: here comes more.

THis is rare, I haue set vp my bills, without discouery.

What? Signior WHIFFE? what fortune has brought

you into these west parts?

Troth, signior, nothing but your rheume; I haue beene ta-

king an ounce of tabacco hard by here, with a gentleman, and I am come

to spit priuate, in Paules. Saue you sir.

Adieu, good signior WHIFFE.

Master APPLE IOHN? you are well met: when shall we sup

together, and laugh, and be fat with those good wenches? ha?

Faith, sir, I must now leaue you, vpon a few humours, and

occasions: but when you please, sir.

Farewell, sweet APPLE IOHN: I wonder, there are no more

store of gallants here!

What be these two, signior?

Mary, a couple sir, that are meere strangers to the whole scope

of our play; only come to walke a turne or two, i' this Scene of Paules, by

chance.

Saue you, good master CLOVE.

Sweet master ORANGE.

How? CLOVE, and ORANGE?

I, and they are well met, for 'tis as drie an ORANGE as euer

grew: nothing, but Salutation; and, O god, sir; and, It pleases you to say

so, Sir; one that can laugh at a iest for company with a most plausible,

and extemporall grace; and some houre after, in priuate, aske you what

it was: the other, monsieur CLOVE, is a more spic't youth: he will sit you

a whole afternoone sometimes, in a booke-sellers. shop, reading the

Greeke, Italian, and Spanish; when he vnderstands not a word of either:

if he had the tongues, to his sutes, he were an excellent linguist.

Doe you heare this reported, for certainty?

O god, sir.

SIrrah, take my cloke: and you sir knaue, follow mee closer. If thou

losest my dogge, thou shalt die a dogs death; I will hang thee.

Tut, feare him not, hee's a good leane slaue, he loues a dog

well, I warrant him; I see by his lookes, I: masse hee's somwhat like him.

S'lud poison him, make him away with a crooked pinne, or somewhat,

man; thou maist haue more security of thy life: and so sir, what? you ha'

not put out your whole venter yet? ha' you?

No, I doe want yet some fifteene, or sixteene hundred pounds:

but my lady (my wife) is out of her humour; shee does not now goe.

No? how then?

Mary, I am now enforc't to giue it out, vpon the returne of my

selfe, my dogge, and my cat.

Your cat? where is shee?

My squire has her there, in the bag: Sirrah, looke to her: How

lik'st thou my change, CARLO?

Oh, for the better, sir; your cat has nine liues, and your wife

ha'but one.

Besides, shee will neuer bee sea-sicke, which will saue mee so

much in conserues: when saw you signior SOGLIARDO?

I came from him but now, he is at the Heralds office yonder:

he requested me to goe afore, and take vp a man or two for him in Paules,

against his cognisance was ready.

What? has he purchast armes, then?

I, and rare ones too: of as many colours, as e're you saw any

fooles coat in your life. I'le goe looke among yond' bills, and I can sit him

with legs to his armes——

With legs to his armes! Good: I will goe with you, sir.

COme, let's walke in Mediterraneo: I assure you, sir, I am not the

least respected among ladies; but let that passe: doe you know

how to goe into the presence, sir?

Why, on my feet, sir.

No, on your head, sir: for 'tis that must beare you out, I assure

you: as thus, sir. You must first haue an especial care so to weare your hat,

that it oppresse not confusedly this your predominant, or fore-top; be-

cause (when you come at the presence dore) you may, with once or twice

stroking vp your fore-head thus, enter, with your predominant perfect:

that is, standing vp stiffe.

As if one were frighted?

I, sir.

Which indeed, a true feare of your mistris should doe, rather

then gumme water, or whites of egges: is't not so, sir?

An ingenious obseruation: giue mee leaue to craue your

name, Sir.

His name is, MACILENTE, sir.

Good signior MACILENTE: if this gentleman, signiorDE-

LIRO, furnish you (as he saies he will) with clothes, I will bring you, to

morrow by this time, into the presence of the most diuine, and acute lady in

court: you shall see sweet silent rhetorique, and dumbe eloquence spea-

king in her eye; but when shee speakes her selfe, such an anatomie of wit,

so sinewiz'd and arteriz'd, that 'tis the goodliest modell of pleasure that e-

uer was to behold. Oh! shee strikes the world into admiration of her;

(Ô, Ô, Ô) I cannot expresse'hem, beleeue me.

O, your onely admiration, is your silence, sir.

'Fore god, CARLO, this is good; let's reade 'hem againe.

Jf there be any lady, or gentlewoman of good carriage, that is desi-

rous to entertaine (to her priuate vses) a yong, straight, and vpright

gentleman, of the age of fiue, or sixe and twenty at the most: who

can serue in the nature of a gentleman vsher, and hath little legges

of purpose, and a blacke satten sute of his owne, to goe before her in:

which sute (for the more sweetning) now lies in lauander: and can

hide his face with her fanne, if neede require: or sit in the cold at

the staire foot for her, as well as another gentleman: Let her sub-

scribe her name and place, and diligent respect shall be giuen. This

is aboue measure excellent! ha?

No, this, this! here's a fine slaue.

If this city, or the suburbs of the same, doe affoord any

yong gentleman, of the first, second, or third head, more or lesse,

whose friends are but lately deceased, and whose lands are but new

come to his hands, that (to bee as exactly qualified as the best of our

ordinary gallants are) is affected to entertaine the most gentleman-

like vse of tabacco: as first, to give it the most exquisite perfume:

then, to know all the delicate sweet formes for the assumption of it:

as also the rare corollarie, and practice of the Cuban ebolition, EV-

RIPVS, and whiffe; which hee shall receiue, or take in, here at

London, and euaporate at Vxbridge, or farder, if it please him.

If there be any such generous spirit, that is truly enamour'd of these

good faculties: May it please him, but (by a note of his hand) to spe-

cifie the place, or ordinarie where hee vses to eate, and lie; and most

sweet attendance, with tabacco, and pipes of the best sort, shall be

ministred:STET QVÆSO CANDIDE LECTOR.

Why this is without paralell, this!

Well, I'le marke this fellow for SOGLIARDO'S vse presently.

Or rather, SOGLIARDO, for his vse.

Faith, either of 'hem will serue, they are both good properties:

I'le designe the other a place too, that we may see him.

No better place, then the Mitre, that wee may bee spectators

with you, CARLO. Soft, behold, who enters here: Signior SOGLIARDO!

saue you.

SAue you, good sir PVNTARVOLO; your dogge's in health, sir, I see:

how now, CARLO?

Wee haue ta'ne simple paines, to choose you out fol-

lowers here.

Come hither, signior.

Monsieur ORANGE, yond' gallants obserue vs; pr'y thee

let's talke fustian a little, and gull 'hem: make 'hem beleeue vve are great

schollers.

O lord, sir.

Nay, pr'y thee let's, beleeue me, you haue an excellent habit

in discourse.

It pleases you to say so, sir.

By this church, you ha' la: nay, come, begin: ARISTOTLE

in his Dæmonologia, approues SCALIGER for the best Nauigator in his time:

and in his Hypercritiques, he reports him to be Heautontimorumenos: you vn-

derstand the Greeke, sir?

O god, sir.

For societies sake he does. O, here be a couple of fine tame

parrats.

Now, sir, vvhereas the Ingenuitie of the time, and the soules

Synderisis are but Embrions in nature, added to the panch of Esquiline, and

the Inter-vallum of the Zodiack, besides the Eclipticke line being opticke, and

not mentall, but by the contemplatiue & theoricke part thereof, doth demon-

strate to vs the vegetable circumference, and the ventositie of the Tropicks, and

whereas our intellectuall, or mincing capreall (according to the Metaphisicks)

as you may reade in PLATO'S Histriomastix— You conceiue me, sir?

O lord, sir.

Then comming to the pretty Animall, as Reason long since is

fled to animalls, you know, or indeed for the more modellizing, or enamelling,

or rather diamondizing of your subiect, you shall perceiue the Hipothesis,

or Galaxia, (whereof the Meteors long since had their initiall inceptions and

notions) to be meerely Pithagoricall, Mathematicall, and Aristocraticall—

For looke you, sir, there is euer a kinde of concinnitie and species— Let vs

turne to our former discourse, for they marke vs not.

Masse, yonder's the knight PVNTARVOLO.

And my cousin SOGLIARDO, me thinkes.

I, and his familiar that haunts him, the deuill vvith a shi-

ning face.

Let 'hem alone, obserue 'hem not.

Nay, I will haue him, I am resolute for that. By this parch-

ment, gentlemen, I haue beene so toil'd among the Harrots yonder, you

will not beleeue, they doe speake i' the strangest language, and giue a man

the hardest termes for his money, that euer you knew.

But ha' your armes? ha' you armes?

Yfaith, I thanke god, I can write my selfe gentleman now,

here's my pattent, it cost me thirtie pound, by this breath.

A very faire coat, well charg'd, and full of armorie.

Nay, it has as much varietie of colours in it, as you haue seene

a coat haue, how like you the crest, sir?

I vnderstand it not well, what is't?

Mary, sir, it is your Bore without a head Rampant.

A Bore without a head, that's very rare!

I, and rampant too: troth, I commend the Heralds wit, hee

has decyphered him well: A Swine without a head, without braine, wit,

any thing indeed, ramping to gentilitie. You can blazon the rest, signior?

can you not?

O, I, I haue it in writing here of purpose, it cost me two shil-

lings the tricking.

Let's heare, let's heare.

It is the most vile, foolish, absurd, palpable, & ridiculous escut-

cheon, that euer this eye survis'd. Saue you, good monsieur FASTIDIVS.

Silence, good knight: on, on.

GYRONY, of eight peeces; AZVRE and GVLES, betweene

three plates; a CHEV'RON, engrailed checkey, OR, VERT, and ERMINES;

on a cheefe ARGENT betweene two ANN'LETS, sables; a Bores head,

PROPER.

How's that? on a cheefe ARGENT?

On a cheefe ARGENT, a Bores head, PROPER betweene two

ANN'LETS sables.

S'lud, it's a Hogs-cheeke, and puddings in a pewter field this.

How like you 'hem, signior?

Let the word bee, Not without mustard; your crest is very

rare, sir.

A frying pan to the crest had had no fellow.

Intreat your poore friend to walke off a little, signior, I will

salute the knight.

Come, lap't vp, lap't vp.

You are right well encountred, sir, how do's your faire dog?

In reasonable state, sir: what citizen is that you were consor-

ted with? a marchant of any worth?

'Tis signior DELIRO, sir.

Is it he? Saue you, sir.

Good sir PVNTARVOLO.

O, what copie of foole would this place minister, to one en-

dew'd with patience, to obserue it?

Nay, looke you sir, now you are a gentleman, you must carry

a more exalted presence, change your mood, and habit, to a more austere

forme, be exceeding proud, stand vpon your gentilitie, and scorne euery

man. Speake nothing humbly, neuer discourse vnder a nobleman, though

you ne're saw him but riding to the Starre-chamber, it's all one. Loue no

man. Trust no man. Speake ill of no man to his face: nor well of any

man behind his backe. Salute fairely on the front, and wish 'hem hang'd

vpon the turne. Spread your selfe vpon his bosome publikely, whose

heart you would eate in priuate. These be principles, thinke on 'hem, I'le

come to you againe presently.

Sirra, keepe close; yet not so close: thy breath will thaw my

ruffe.

O, good cousin, I am a little busie, how do's my neece? I am

to walke with a knight, here.

O He is here, looke you sir, that's the gentleman.

What, he i' the blush-colour'd sattin?

I, he sir: though his sute blush, hee blushes not, looke

you, that's the sute, sir: I would haue mine, such a sute without difference,

such stuffe, such a wing, such a sleeue, such a skirt, belly, and all; there-

fore, pray you obserue it. Haue you a paire of tables?

Why, doe you see, sir? they say I am phantasticall: why, true,

I know it, and I pursue my humour still, in contempt of this censorious

age. S'light, and a man should doe nothing, but what a sort of stale iudge-

ments about this towne will approue in him, he were a sweet asse: I'ld

beg him yfaith. I ne're knew any more find fault with a fashion, then they

that knew not how to put themselues in to't. For mine owne part, so I

please mine owne appetite, I am carelesse what the fustie world speakes of

me. Puh.

Doe you marke, how it hangs at the knee there?

I warrant you, sir.

For gods sake, doe, note all: doe you see the collar, sir?

Feare nothing, it shall not differ in a stitch, sir.

Pray heau'n, it doe not, you'le make these linings serue? and

helpe me to a chapman for the out-side, will you?

I'le doe my best, sir: you'le put it off presently?

I, goe with mee to my chamber, you shall haue it—but make

haste of it, for the loue of a customer, for I'le sit i' my old sute, or else lie a

bed, and reade the Arcadia, till you haue done.

O, if euer you were strucke with a iest, gallants, now, now. I

doe vsher the most strange peece of militarie profession, that euer was dis-

couer'd in Insula Paulina.

Where? where?

What is he, for a creature?

A pimpe, a pimpe, that I haue obseru'd yonder, the rarest su-

perficies of a humour; hee comes euery morning to emptie his lungs in

Paules here: and offers vp some fiue, or sixe Hecatomb's of faces, and sighes,

and away againe. Here he comes; nay, walke, walke, be not seene to note

him, and we shall haue excellent sport.

S'Lid, hee vented a sigh e'ne now, I thought he would haue

blowne vp the church.

O, you shall haue him giue a number of those false fires ere

hee depart.

See, now he is expostulating with his rapier! looke, looke.

Did you euer, in your daies, obserue better passion ouer a hilt?

Except it were in the person of a cutlers boy, or that the fel-

low were nothing but vapour, I should thinke it impossible.

See, againe, he claps his sword o' the head, as who should say,

well, goe to.

O violence! I wonder the blade can containe it selfe, being

so prouokt.

With that, the moody squire thumpt his brest,

And rear'd his eyen to heauen, for reuenge.

Troth, and you be good gentlemen, let's make 'hem friends, and

take vp the matter, betweene his rapier, and him.

Nay, if you intend that, you must lay downe the matter, for

this rapier (it seemes) is in the nature of a hanger on, and the good gentle-

man would happily be rid of him.

By my faith, and 'tis to be suspected, I'le aske him.

O, here's rich stuffe, for lifes sake, let vs goe.

A man would wish himselfe a senselesse pillar,

Rather then view these monstrous prodigies:

Nil habet infœlix paupertas durius in se, Quàm

quòd ridiculos homines facit——

Signior.

At your seruice.

Will you sell your rapier?

Sbloud, he is turn'd wild vpon the question, hee lookes as hee

had seene a serjeant.

Sell my rapier? now fate blesse me.

Amen.

You ask't me, if I would sell my rapier, sir?

I did indeed.

Now, lord haue mercy vpon me.

Amen, I say still.

S'lud sir, what should you behold in my face, sir, that should

moue you (as they say, sir) to aske me, sir, if I would sell my rapier?

Nay (let me pray you, sir) bee not mou'd: I protest, I would

rather haue beene silent, then any way offensiue, had I knowne your

nature.

Sell my rapier? 'ods lid! Nay, sir (for mine owne part) as I am

a man that has seru'd in causes, or so, so I am not apt to injure any gentle-

man in the degree of falling foule, but (sell my rapier?) I will tell you sir, I

haue seru'd with this foolish rapier, where some of vs dare not appeare in

haste, I name no man: but let that passe. (Sell my rapier?) death to my

lungs. This rapier, sir, has trauail'd by my side, sir, the best part of France

and the low Countrey: I haue seene Vlishing, Brill, and the Haghe, with this

rapier, sir, in my lord of Leysters time: and (by gods will) he that should

offer to disrapier me now, I would— Looke you sir, you presume to be

a gentleman of sort, and so likewise your friends here, if you haue any dis-

position to trauell, for the sight of seruice, or so, one, two, or all of you, I

can lend you letters to diuers officers and commanders in the low Coun-

tries, that shall for my cause doe you all the good offices, that shall pertaine

or belong to gentlemen of your— Please you to shew the bountie of

your minde, sir, to impart some ten groates, or halfe a crowne to our vse,

till our abilitie be of grow'th to returne it, and we shall thinke our selfe—

Sbloud! sell my rapier?

I pray you, what said he, signior, hee's a proper man.

Mary, he tells me, if I please to shew the bountie of my mind,

to impart some ten groats to his vse, or so.

Breake his head, and giue it him.

I thought he had beene playing o' the Iewes trump, I.

My rapier? no sir: my rapier is my guard, my defence, my re-

uenew my honour: (if you cannot impart, be secret, I beseech you) and

I will maintaine it, where there is a graine of dust, or a drop of water.

(Hard is the choise when the valiant must eat their armes, or clem:) Sell

my rapier? no, my deare, I will not bee diuorc't from thee, yet, I haue euer

found thee true as steele—and (you cannot impart sir?) Saue you gen-

tlemen: (neuerthelesse if you haue a fancie to it, sir.)

Pr'y thee away: is Signior DELIRO departed?

Ha' you seene a pimpe out-face his owne wants better?

I commend him, that can dissemble 'hem so well.

True, and hauing no better a cloke for it, then he has neither.

Gods precious, what mischieuous lucke is this! adiew gen-

tlemen.

Whither? in such haste, Monsieur FASTIDIVS?

After my marchant, signior DELIRO, sir.

O hinder him not, hee may hap lose his tide, a good flounder

i' faith.

Harke you, signior WHIFFE, a word with you.

How? signior WHIFFE?

What was the difference betweene that gallant that's gone,

and you, sir.

No difference: he would ha' giu'n mee fiue pound for my ra-

pier, and I refus'd it; that's all.

O, was't no otherwise? wee thought you had beene vpon

some termes.

No other then you saw, sir.

Adieu, good Master APPLE-IOHN.

How? WHIFFE, and APPLE-IOHN too? Heart, what'll

you say if this be the appendix, or labell to both yond' indentures?

It may be.

Resolue vs of it, IANVS, thou that look'st euery way: or thou

HERCVLES, that hast trauail'd all countries.

Nay, CARLO, spend not time in inuocations now, 'tis late.

Signior, here's a gentleman desirous of your name, sir.

Sir, my name is CAVALIER SHIFT: I am knowne sufficient-

ly in this walke, sir.

SHIFT? I heard your name varied e'en now, as I take it.

True, sir, it pleases the world (as I am her excellent Tabbacco-

nist) to giue me the stile of signior WHIFFE: as I am a poore esquire about

the towne here, they call mee Master APPLE-IOHN. Varietie of good

names does well, sir.

I, and good parts, to make those good names: out of which

I imagine yond' bils to be yours.

Sir, if I should denie the manuscripts, I were worthie to be

banisht the middle I'le, for euer.

I take your word, sir: this gentleman has subscrib'd to 'hem,

and is most desirous to become your pupill. Mary you must vse expediti-

on. Signior Insulso Sogliardo, this is the professor.

In good time, sir, nay, good sir, house your head, doe you pro-

fesse those sleights in tabacco?

I, doe more then professe, sir, and (if you please to bee a pra-

titioner) I wil vndertake in one fortnight to bring you, that you shal take

it plausibly in any ordinarie, theatre, or the tilt-yard, if need be, i' the most

popular assembly that is.

But you cannot bring him to the whiffe so soone?

Yes, as soone, sir, hee shall receiue the first, second, and third

whiffe, if it please him, and (vpon the receit) take his horse, drinke his

three cups of Canarie, and expose one at Hounslow, a second at Stanes, and

a third at Bagshot.

Baw-waw!

You will not serue mee, sir, will you? I'le giue you more then

countenance.

Pardon me, sir, I doe scorne to serue any man.

Who? he serue? Sbloud he keepes high men, and low men, he;

he has a faire liuing at Fullam.

But in the nature of a fellow, I'le bee your follower, if you

please.

Sir, you shall stay, and dine with mee, and if wee can agree,

weele not part in haste: I am verie bountifull to men of qualitie. Where

shall we goe, signior?

Your Miter is your best house.

I can make this dogge take as many whiffes as I list, and hee

shall retaine, or efume them at my pleasure.

By your patience, follow me, fellowes.

Sir, PVNTARVOLO!

Pardon mee, my dogge shall not eate in his companie for a

million.

Nay, bee not you amaz'd, signior WHIFFE, what e're that

stiffeneckt gentleman say's.

No, for you doe not know the humour of the Dogge, as wee

doe: where shall we dine, CARLO? I would faine goe to one of these or-

dinaries, now I am a gentleman.

So you may, were you neuer at any yet?

No faith, but they say, there resorts your most choise gallants.

True, and the fashion is, when any stranger comes in among'st

hem, they all stand vp and stare at him, as he were some vnknowne beast,

brought out of Affrick, but that'll bee help't with a good aduenturous

face, you must be impudent ynough, sit downe, and vse no respect; when

any thing's propounded aboue your capacitie, smile at it, make two or

three faces, and 'tis excellent, they'le thinke you haue trauail'd: though

you argue a whole day in silence thus, and discourse in nothing but laugh-

ter, 'twill passe. Onely (now and then) giue fire, discharge a good full

oth, and offer a great wager, 'twill be admirable.

I warrant you, I am resolute: come, good signior, there's a

poore french crowne, for your ordinarie.

It comes well, for I had not so much as the least portcullice of

coine before.

I trauell with another obiection, signior, which I feare will bee

enforc'd against the author, ere I can be deliuer'd of it.

What's that, sir?

That the argument of his Comœdie might haue beene of some

other nature, as of a duke to be in loue with a countesse, and that coun-

tesse to bee in loue with the dukes sonne, and the sonne to loue the ladies

waiting maid: some such crosse wooing, with a clowne to their seruing-

man, better then to be thus neere, and familiarly allied to the time.

You say well, but I would faine heare one of these autumne-

judgements define once, Quid sit Comœdia? if he cannot, let him content

himselfe with CICEROS definition (till hee haue strength to propose to

himselfe a better) who would haue a Comœdie to be Imitatio vitæ, Speculum

consuetudinis, Imago veritatis; a thing throughout pleasant, and ridiculous,

and accommodated to the correction of manners: if the maker haue fail'd

in any particle of this, they may worthily taxe him, but if not, why–be

you (that are for them) silent, as I will bee for him; and giue way to

the actors.

NAy, gods-precious, if the weather and season bee so respectlesse,

that beggers shall liue as well as their betters; and that my hun-

ger, and thirst for riches, shall not make them hunger and thirst

with pouertie; that my sleepes shall be broken, and their hearts not bro-

ken; that my coffers shall bee full, and yet care; theirs emptie, and yet

merry! Tis time, that a crosse should beare flesh and bloud, since flesh and

bloud cannot beare this crosse.

What, will he hang himselfe?

Faith I, it seemes his Prognostication has not kept touch with

him, and that makes him despaire.

Beshrow me, he will be out of his humour then, indeed.

Tut, these star-monger knaues, who would trust'hem? one saies,

darke and rainy, when 'tis as cleere as christall; another saies, tempestuous

blasts, and stormes, and 'twas as calme as a milke-bowle; here bee sweet

rascals for a man to credit his whole fortunes with: You skie-staring

cocks-combs you, you fat braines, out vpon you; you are good for no-

thing but to sweat night-caps, and make rug-gownes deare! You lear-

ned men, and haue not a legion of deuils, a vostre seruice! a vostre seruice?

by heauen, I thinke I shall die a better scholler then they! but soft, how

now, sirra.

Here's a letter come from your sonne, sir.

From my sonne, sir? what would my sonne, sir? some good

newes, no doubt.

Sweet, and deare father (desiring you first to send me your bles-

sing, which is more worth to me then gold, or siluer) I desire you like-

wise to be aduertised, that this Shrouetide (contrary to custome) we

vse alwaies to haue reuels; which is indeed dancing: and makes an

excellent shew, in truth, especially if wee gentlemen bee well attir'd,

which our seniors note, and thinke the better of our fathers, the better

we are maintain'd, and that they shall know if they come vp, and haue

any thing to doe in the law. Therefore, good father, these are (for

your owne sake, as well as mine) to re-desire you; that you let me not

want, that which is fit for the setting vp of our name, in the hono-

rable volume of gentilitie: that I may say to our calumniators, with

TVLLIE, Ego sum ortus domus meæ, tu occasus tuæ.And

thus (not doubting of your fatherly beneuolence) I humbly aske you

blessing, and pray god to blesse you.

Yours, if his owne.

How's this! Yours, if his owne? is he not my sonne, except he be his owne

sonne? Belike, this is some new kind of subscription the gallants vse. Wel!

wherefore doest thou stay, knaue? Away: goe. Here's a letter indeede!

reuels? and beneuolence? is this a weather to send beneuolence? or is this

a season to reuell in? Slid the deuil and all takes part to vexe me, I thinke!

this letter would neuer haue come now else, now, now, when the sunne

shines, and the aire thus cleere. Soule, if this hold, we shall shortly haue

an excellent crop of corne spring out of the high waies: the streets, and

houses of the towne will be hid with the ranknesse of the fruits, that grow

there, in spight of good husbandry. Goe to, I'le preuent the sight of it,

come as quickly as it can, I will preuent the sight of it. I haue this reme-

die, heauen. Stay; Ile trie the paine thus a little, Ô, nothing, nothing.

Well now! shall my sonne gaine a beneuolence by my death? or any body

be the better for my gold, or so forth? No. Aliue, I kept it from 'hem, and

(dead) my ghost shall walke about it, and preserue it; my son and daugh-

ter shall starue ere they touch it: I haue hid it as deep as hel, from the sight

of heauen, and to it I goe now.

AYe me, what pittifull sight is this! help, help, help.

How now? what's the matter?

O, here's a man has hang'd himselfe, helpe to get

him againe.

Hang'd himselfe? Slid carry him afore a iustice, 'tis chance

medley, o' my word.

How now, what's here to doe?

How comes this?

One has executed himselfe, contrary to order of law, and

by my consent he shall answer't.

Would he were in case, to answere it.

Stand by, he recouers, giue him breath.

Oh.

Masse, 'twas well you vvent the foot-way, neighbour.

I, and I had not cut the halter.

How! cut the halter? Aye me, I am vndone, I am vndone.

Mary, if you had not beene vndone, you had beene hang'd,

I can tell you.

You thred-bare horse-bread-eating rascals, if you vvould

needes haue beene meddling, could you not haue vntied it, but you must

cut it? and in the midst too! Aye me.

Out on me, 'tis the catterpiller SORDIDO! how cursed are

the poore, that the viper was blest vvith this good fortune?

Nay, how accurst art thou, that art cause to the curse of

the poore?

I, and to saue so wretched a caytife?

Curst be thy fingers that loos'd him.

Some desperate furie possesse thee, that thou maist hang thy

selfe too.

Neuer maist thou be sau'd, that sau'd so damn'd a monster.

What curses breathe these men! how haue my deeds

Made my lookes differ from another mans,

That they should thus detest, and lothe my life!

Out on my wretched humour, it is that

Makes me thus monstrous in true humane eyes.

Pardon me (gentle friends) I'le make faire mends

For my foule errors past, and twenty-fold

Restore to all men, vvhat with vvrong I rob'd them:

My barnes, and garners shall stand open still

To all the poore that come, and my best graine

Be made almes-bread, to feed halfe-famisht mouthes.

Though hitherto amongst you I haue liu'd,

Like an vnsauourie muck-hill to my selfe,

Yet now, my gather'd heapes being spread abroad,

Shall turne to better, and more fruitfull vses.

Blesse then this man, curse him no more for sauing

My life, and soule together. O, how deeply

The bitter curses of the poore doe pierce!

I am by wonder chang'd; come in with me

And witnesse my repentance: now I proue,

“ No life is blest, that is not grac't with loue.

O miracle! see vvhen a man ha's grace!

Had't not beene pitty, so good a man should haue beene

cast away?

Well, I'le get our clarke put his conuersion in the Acts, and

Monuments.

Doe, for I warrant him hee's a Martyr.

O god, how he wept, if you mark't it! did you see how the

teares trill'd?

Yes, beleeue me, like master vicars bowles vpon the greene,

for all the world.

O neighbour, god's blessing o' your heart, neighbour, 'twas

a good gratefull deed.

How now, MITIS? what's that you consider so seriously?

Troth, that which doth essentially please me, the vvarping con-

dition of this greene, and soggy multitude: but in good faith, signior, your

author hath largely out-stript my expectation in this Scene, I will liberal-

ly confesse it. For, when I saw SORDIDO so desperately intended, I

thought I had had a hand of him, then.

What? you suppos'd he should haue hung himselfe, indeed?

I did, and had fram'd my obiection to it ready, which may yet

be very fitly vrg'd, and with some necessity: for though his purpos'd vio-

lence lost th'effect, and extended not to death, yet the intent and horror of

the obiect, was more then the nature of a Comœdie vvill in any sort admit.

I? vvhat thinke you of PLAVTVS, in his Comœdie, called Cistel-

laria there? vvhere he brings in ALCESIMARCHVS vvith a drawne sword

ready to kill himselfe, and as hee is e'ne fixing his brest vpon it, to bee re-

strain'd from his resolu'd outrage, by SILENIVM, and the bawd: is not

his authoritie of power to giue our Scene approbation?

Sir, I haue this only euasion left me, to say, I thinke it bee so in-

deed, your memorie is happier then mine: but I wonder, what engine hee vvill

vse to bring the rest out of their humours!

That will appeare anon, neuer preoccupie your imagination

withall. Let your mind keepe companie with the Scene still, which now

remoues it selfe from the countrey, to the court. Here comes MACILEN-

TE, and signiorBRISKE, freshly suted, lose not your selfe, for now the

Epitasis, or busie part of our subiect, is in act.

WEll now, signior MACILENTE, you are not onely

welcome to the court, but also to my mistris with-

drawing chamber: Boy, get me some tabacco, I'le

but goe in, and shew I am here, and come to you presently, sir.

What's that he said? by heauen, I markt him not:

My thoughts, and I, were of another world.

I was admiring mine owne out-side here,

To thinke what priuiledge, and palme it beares

Here, in the court! Be a man ne're so vile

In wit, in judgement, manners, or what else;

If he can purchase but a silken couer,

He shall not only passe, but passe regarded:

Whereas, let him be poore, and meanely clad,

Though ne're richly parted; you shall have

A fellow (that knows nothing but his beefe,

Or how to rince his clammy guts in beere)

Will take him by the shoulders, or the throat

And kicke him downe the staires. Such is the state

Of vertue, in bad clothes! ha, ha, ha, ha,

That raiment should be in such high request!

How long should I be, ere I should put off

To the lord Chancelors tombe, or the Shriues posts?

By heaven (I thinke) a thousand, thousand yeere.

His grauitie, his wisedome, and his faith,

To my dread Soueraigne (graces that suruiue him)

These I could well endure to reuerence,

But not his tombe: no more then I'ld commend

The chappell organ, for the guilt without,

Or this base violl, for the varnisht face.

I feare I have made you stay somewhat long, sir, but is my ta-

bacco readie, boy?

I, sir.

Giue me, my mistris is vpon comming, you shall see her pre-

sently, sir, (Tab.) you'le say you neuer accosted a more piercing wit. This

tobacco is not dryed, boy, or else the pipe's defectiue. Oh, your wits of

Italie are nothing comparable to her! her braine's a verie quiuer of iests!

and she do's dart them abroad with that sweete loose, and iudiciall aime,

that you would—here she comes sir.

'Twas time, his inuention had beene bogd else.

Giue me my fanne there.

How now, Monsieur BRISKE?

A kind of affectionate reuerence strikes mee with a cold shiue-

ring (me thinkes.)

I like such tempers well, as stand before their mistresses with

feare and trembling, and before their maker, like impudent mountaines.

By this hand, I'ld spend twentie pound my vauting-horse

stood here now, she might see me doe but one tricke?

Why, do's she loue actiuitie?

Or if you had but your long stockings on, to be dancing a gal-

liard, as she comes by.

I eyther. O, these stirring humours make ladies mad with de-

sire: shee comes. My good GENIVS embolden me, boy, the pipe quickly.

What? will he giue her musicke?

A second good morrow to my faire mistresse.

Faire seruant, I'le thanke you a day hence, when the date of

your salutation comes forth.

How, like you that answere? is't not admirable?

I were a simple courtier, if I could not admire trifles, sir.

Troth, sweet ladie, I shall (Tab.) be prepar'd to giue you thanks

for those thankes, and (Tab.) studie more officious, and obsequious re-

gards(Tab.) to your faire beauties. (Tab.) mend the pipe, boy.

I ne're knew tabacco taken as a parenthesis, before.

Fore god (sweete ladie) beleeue it, I doe honour the meanest

rush in this chamber, for your loue.

I, you need not tell mee that, sir, I doe thinke, you doe prize a

rush, before my loue.

Is this the wonder of nations?

O, by this ayre, pardon me, I said, for your loue, by this light:

but it is the accustomed sharpnesse of your ingenuitie, sweete mistresse,

to——Masse your violl's new strung, me thinkes.

Ingenuitie. I see his ignorance will not suffer him to slander

her, which he had done most notably, if he had said wit, for ingenuitie, as

he meant it.

By the soule of musicke, ladie (hum, hum.)

Would we might heare it once.

I doe more adore, and admire your (hum, hum) predominant

perfections, then (hum, hum) euer I shall haue power, and facultie to ex-

presse(hum.)

Vpon the violl de Gambo, you meane?

It's miserably out of tune, by this hand.

Nay, rather by the fingers.

It makes good harmonie with her wit.

Sweet ladie, tune it. Boy, some tabacco.

Tabacco againe? he do's court his mistresse with verie excee-

ding good changes.

Signior MACILENTE, you take none, sir? (Tab.)

No, vnlesse I had a Mistresse, signior, it were a great indecorum

for meto take tabacco.

How like you her wit? (Tab.)

Her ingenuitie is excellent, sir.

You see the subiect of her sweet fingers there? (Tab.)

Oh, shee tickles it so, that (Tab.) shee makes it laugh most diuinely; (Tab.)

I'le tell you a good iest now, and your selfe shall say it's a good one: I haue

wisht my selfe to be that instrument (I thinke) a thousand times, and not

so few, by heauen (Tab.)

Not vnlike, sir: but how? to be cas'd vp, and hung by on the

wall?

O, no, sir, to be in vse I assure you; as your iudicious eyes may

testifie. (Tab.)

Here, seruant, if you will play, come.

Instantly, sweet ladie (Tab.) In good faith, here's most diuine

tabacco!

Nay, I cannot stay to dance after your pipe.

Good, nay, deare ladie, stay: by this sweete smoake, I thinke

your wit be all fire: (Tab.)

And hee's the Salamander belongs to it.

Is your tabacco perfum'd, seruant? that you sweare by the

sweet smoke?

Still more excellent! (before heauen, and these bright lights) I

thinke (Tab.) you are made of ingenuitie, I. (Tab.)

True, as your discourse is: Ô abominable!

Will your ladiship take any?

O, peace I pray you; I loue not the breath of a woodcockes

head.

Meaning my head, ladie?

Not altogether so, sir; but (as it were fatall to their follies that

thinke to grace themselues with taking tabacco, when they want better

entertainment) you see your pipe beares the true forme of a wood-

cockes head.

O admirable Simile!

'Tis best leauing of you in admiration, sir.

Are these the admired lady-wits, that hauing so good a plaine-

song, can runne no better diuision vpon it? S'heart, all her iests are of the

stampe, March was fifteene yeeres agoe. Is this the comet, MonsieurFA-

STIDIVS, that your gallants wonder at so?

Hart of a gentleman, to neglect mee afore presence thus! Sweet

sir, I beseech you be silent in my disgrace. By the Muses, I was neuer in so

vile a humour in my life, and her wit was at the floud too. Report it not

for a million, good sir; let me be so farre endear'd to your loue.

What followes next, signior CORDATVS? this gallants hu-

mour is almost spent, me thinkes, it ebbes apace, with this contrarie breath

of his mistresse.

O, but it will flow againe for all this, till there come a generall

drought of humour among all our actors, and then, I feare not but his wil

fall as low as any. See, who presents himselfe here!

What, i'the old case?

Yfaith, which makes it, the more pittifull, you vnderstand where

the Scene is?

WHy, are you so melancholy, brother?

I am not melancholy, I thanke you, sister.

Why are you not merrie then? there are but

two of vs in all the world, and if wee should not bee comforts one to ano-

god helpe vs.

Faith, I cannot tell, sister, but if a man had any true melancho-

ly in him, it would make him melancholy, to see his yeomanly father cut

his neighbours throats, to make his sonne a gentleman: and yet when he

has cut hem, he will see his sonnes throat cut too, ere he make him a true

gentleman indeed, before death cut his owne throat. I must bee the first

head of our house, and yet he will not giue me the head till I bee made so.

Is any man term'd a gentleman that is not alwayes i'the fashion? I would

know but that.

If you bee melancholy for that, brother, I thinke I haue as

much cause to bee melancholy, as one: for I'le be sworne, I liue as little in

the fashion, as any woman in London. By the faith of a Gentlewoman,

(beast that I am to say it) I ha'not one friend i'the world besides my hus-

band. When saw you master FASTIDIVS BRISKE, brother?

But a while since, sister, I thinke: I know not well in truth. By

this hand, I could fight with all my heart, me thinkes.

Nay, good brother, be not resolute.

I sent him a letter, and he writes me no answere neyther.

Oh, sweete FASTIDIVS BRISKE! Ô fine courtier! thou art

hee mak'st me sigh, and say, how blessed is that woman that hath a cour-

tier to her husband! and how miserable a dame shee is, that hath neyther

husband, nor friend in the court! O, sweet FASTIDIVS! Ô, fine courtier?

How comely he bowes him in his courtesie! how full hee hits a woman

betwixt the lips when hee kisses? how vpright hee sits at the table? how

daintily he carues? how sweetly he talkes, and tels newes of this lord, and

of that lady? how cleanely he wipes his spoone at euery spoonfull of any

whit-meat he eates, and what a neat case of pick-tooths he carries about

him, still! Oh, sweet FASTIDIVS! Ô, fine courtier!

SEe, yonder shee is, gentlemen. Now (as euer you'le beare the name

of musicians) touch your instruments sweetly, shee has a delicate

eare, I tell you, play not a false note, I beseech you.

Feare not, signior DELIRO.

O, begin, begin, some sprightly thing: Lord, how my imagi-

nationlabours with the successe of it. Well said, good yfaith, heauen

grant it please her, I'le not be seene, for then shee'le be sure to dislike it.

Hey—da! this is excellent! I'le lay my life, this is my husbands

dotage. I thought so; nay, neuer play peeke-boe with me, I know, you

doe nothing but studie how to anger me, sir.

Anger thee, sweet wife? why didst thou not send for musicians

to supper last night, thy selfe?

To supper, sir? now, come vp to supper, I beseech you: as

though there were no difference between supper time when folkes should

be merry, and this time when they would be melancholy? I would neuer

take vpon me to take a wife, if I had no more iudgement to please her.