HA' you got the song yet perfect I ga' you, boy?

Yes, sir.

Let me heare it.

You shall, sir, but i' faith let no body else.

Why, I pray?

It will get you the dangerous name of a Poet in towne, sir, be-

me a perfect deale of ill will at the mansion you wot of, whose ladie

is the argument of it: where now I am the welcom'st thing vnder a man

that comes there.

I thinke, and aboue a man too, if the truth were rack'd out of

you.

No faith, I'll confesse before, sir. The gentlewomen play with

me, and throw me o' the bed; and carry me in to my lady; and shee kisses

me with her oil'd face; and puts a perruke o' my head; and askes me an'

I will weare her gowne; and I say, no: and then she hits me a blow o' the

eare, and calls me innocent, and lets me goe.

No maruell, if the dore bee kept shut against your master, when

the entrance is so easie to you—well sir, you shall goe there no more, lest

I bee faine to seeke your voyce in my ladies rushes, a fortnight hence.

Sing, sir.

Why, here's the man that can melt away his time, and neuer

feeles it! what, betweene his mistris abroad, and his engle at home, high

fare, soft lodging, fine clothes, and his fiddle; hee thinkes the houres ha'

no wings, or the day no post-horse. Well, sir gallant, were you strooke

with the plague this minute, or condemn'd to any capitall punishment

to morrow, you would beginne then to thinke, and value euery article o'

your time, esteeme it at the true rate, and giue all for't.

Why, what should a man doe?

Why, nothing: or that, which when 'tis done, is as idle. Harken

after the next horse-race, or hunting-match; lay wagers, praise Puppy, or

Pepper-corne, White-foote, Franklin; sweare vpon White-maynes partie;

spend aloud, that my lords may heare you; visite my ladies at night,

and bee able to giue 'hem the character of euery bowler, or better o' the

greene. These be the things, wherein your fashionable men exercise them-

selues, and I for companie.

Nay, if I haue thy authoritie, I'le not leaue yet. Come, the o-

ther are considerations, when wee come to haue gray heads, and weake

hammes, moist eyes, and shrunke members. Wee'll thinke on 'hem then;

then wee'll pray, and fast.

I, and destine onely that time of age to goodnesse, which our

want of abilitie will not let vs employ in euill?

Why, then 'tis time enough.

Yes: as if a man should sleepe all the terme, and thinke to ef-

fect his businesse the last day. O, CLERIMONT, this time, because it is an

incorporeall thing, and not subiect to sense, we mocke our selues the fine-

liest out of it, with vanitie, and miserie indeede: not seeking an end of

wretchednesse, but onely changing the matter still.

Nay, thou'lt not leaue now—

See but our common disease! with what iustice can wee com-

plaine, that great men will not looke vpon vs, nor be at leisure to giue our

affaires such dispatch, as wee expect, when wee will neuer doe it to our

selues: nor heare, nor regard our selues.

Foh, thou hast read PLVTARCHS moralls, now, or some such

tedious fellow; and it showes so vilely with thee: 'Fore god, 'twill spoile

thy wit vtterly. Talke me of pinnes, and feathers, and ladies, and rushes,

and such things: and leaue this Stoicitie alone till thou mak'st sermons.

Well, sir. If it will not take, I haue learn'd to loose as little of

my kindnesse, as I can. I'le doe good to no man against his will, certaine-

ly. When were you at the colledge?

What colledge?

As if you knew not!

No faith, I came but from court, yesterday.

Why, is it not arriu'd there yet, the newes? A new foundation,

sir, here i' the towne, of ladies, that call themselues the Collegiates, an or-

der betweene courtiers, and country-madames, that liue from their hus-

bands; and giue entertainement to all the Wits, and Braueries o' the time,

as they call 'hem: crie downe, or vp, what they like, or dislike in a braine,

or a fashion, with most masculine, or rather hermaphroditicall authoritie:

and, euery day, gaine to their colledge some new probationer.

Who is the President?

The graue, and youthfull matron, the lady HAVGHTY.

A poxe of her autumnall face, her peec'd beautie: there's no

man can bee admitted till shee be ready, now adaies, till shee has painted,

and perfum'd, and wash'd, and scour'd, but the boy here; and him shee

wipes her oil'd lips vpon, like a sponge. I haue made a song, I pray thee

heare it, o' the subiect.

And I am, clearely, o' the other side: I loue a good dressing, be-

fore any beautie o' the world. O, a woman is, then, like a delicate garden;

nor, is there one kind of it: she may varie, euery houre; take often coun-

sell of her glasse, and choose the best. If shee haue good eares, shew 'hem;

good haire, lay it out; good legs, weare short cloathes; a good hand, dis-

couer it often; practise any art, to mend breath, clense teeth, repaire eye-

browes, paint, and professe it.

How? publiquely?

The doing of it, not the manner: that must bee priuate. Ma-

ny things, that seeme foule, i' the doing, doe please, done. A lady

should, indeed, studie her face, when wee thinke shee sleepes: nor, when

the dores are shut, should men bee inquiring, all is sacred within, then.

Is it for vs to see their perrukes put on, their false teeth, their complexion,

their eye-browes, their nailes? you see guilders will not worke, but

inclos'd. They must not discouer, how little serues, with the helpe

of art, to adorne a great deale. How long did the canuas hang afore

Ald-gate? were the people suffer'd to see the cities Loue, and Charitie, while

they were rude stone, before they were painted, and burnish'd? No. No

more should seruants approch their mistresses, but when they are com-

pleat, and finish'd.

Well said, my TRVE-WIT.

And a wise ladie will keepe a guard alwaies vpon the place, that

shee may doe things securely. I once followed a rude fellow into a cham-

ber, where the poore madame, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at her per-

ruke, to couer her baldnesse: and put it on, the wrong way.

O prodigie!

And the vn-conscionable knaue held her in complement an

houre, with that reuerst face, when I still look'd when shee should talke

from the t'other side.

Why, thou should'st ha' releeu'd her.

No faith, I let her alone, as wee'l let this argument, if you please,

and passe to another. When saw you DAVPHINE EVGENIE?

Not these three daies. Shall we goe to him this morning? he is

very melancholique, I heare.

Sicke o' the vncle? is hee? I met that stiffe peece of formalitie,

his vncle, yesterday, with a huge turbant of night-caps on his head, buck-

led ouer his eares.

O, that's his custome when he walkes abroad. Hee can endure

no noise, man.

So I haue heard. But is the disease so ridiculous in him, as it is

made? they say, hee has beene vpon diuers treaties with the Fish-wiues,

and Orenge-women; and articles propounded betweene them: mary,

the Chimney-sweepers will not be drawne in.

No, nor the Broome-men: they stand out stiffely. He cannot

endure a Costard-monger, he swounes if he heare one.

Me thinkes, a Smith should be ominous.

Or any Hãmer-man. A Brasier is not suffer'd to dwel in the pa-

rish, nor an Armorer. He would haue hang'd a Pewterers 'prentice once vp

on a shroue-tuesdaies riot, for being o' that trade, when the rest were quit.

A Trumpet should fright him terribly, or the Hau'-boyes?

Out of his senses. The Waights of the citie haue a pension of

him, not to come neere that ward. This youth practis'd on him, one night,

like the Bell-man; and neuer left till hee had brought him downe to the

doore, with a long-sword: and there left him flourishing with the aire.

Why, sir! hee hath chosen a street to lie in, so narrow at both

ends, that it will receiue no coaches, nor carts, nor any of these common

noises: and therefore, we that loue him, deuise to bring him in such as we

may, now and then, for his exercise, to breath him. Hee would grow

resty else in his ease. His vertue would rust without action. I entreated a

Beare-ward, one day, to come downe with the dogs of some foure pa-

rishes that way, and I thanke him, he did; & cryed his games vnder master

MOROSE'S windore: till he was sent crying away, with his head made a

most bleeding spectacle to the multitude. And, another time, a Fencer,

marching to his prize, had his drum most tragically run through, for ta-

king that street in his way, at my request.

A good wag. How do's he for the bells?

O, i' the Queenes time, he was wont to goe out of towne euery

satterday at ten a clock, or on holy-day-eues. But now, by reason of the

sicknesse, the perpetuitie of ringing has made him deuise a roome, with

double walls, and treble seelings; the windores close shut, and calk'd:

and there he liues by candle-light. He turn'd away a man, last weeke, for

hauing a paire of new shooes that creak'd. And this fellow waits on him,

now, in tennis-court socks, or slippers sol'd with wooll: and they talke

each to other, in a trunke. See, who comes here.

HOw now! what aile you sirs? dumbe?

Strooke into stone, almost, I am here, with tales o' thine

vncle! There was neuer such a prodigie heard of.

I would you would once loose this subiect, my masters, for my

sake. They are such as you are, that haue brought mee into that predica-

ment, I am, with him.

How is that?

Mary, that he will dis-inherit me, no more. Hee thinks, I, and

my companie are authors of all the ridiculous acts, and moniments are

told of him.

S'lid, I would be the author of more, to vexe him, that pur-

pose deserues it: it giues thee law of plaguing him. I'll tell thee what I

would doe. I would make a false almanack; get it printed: and then ha'

him drawne out on a coronation day to the tower-wharfe, and kill him

with the noise of the ordinance. Dis-inherit thee! hee cannot, man. Art

not thou next of bloud, and his sisters sonne?

I, but he will thrust me out of it, he vowes, and marry.

How! that's a more portent. Can he endure no noise, and will

venter on a wife?

Yes: why, thou art a stranger, it seemes, to his best trick, yet. He

has imploid a fellow this halfe yeere, all ouer England, to harken him out

a dumbe woman; bee shee of any forme, or any qualitie, so shee bee able

to beare children: her silence is dowrie enough, he saies.

But, I trust to god, he has found none.

No, but hee has heard of one that's lodg'd i' the next street to

him, who is exceedingly soft-spoken; thrifty of her speech; that spends

but sixe words a day. And her hee's about now, and shall haue her.

Is't possible! who is his agent i' the businesse?

Mary, a Barber, one CVT-BERD: an honest fellow, one that

tells DAVPHINE all here.

Why, you oppresse mee with wonder! A woman, and a bar-

ber, and loue no noise!

Yes faith. The fellow trims him silently, and has not the

knacke with his sheeres, or his fingers: and that continence in a bar-

ber hee thinkes so eminent a vertue, as it has made him chiefe of his

counsell.

Is the barber to be seene? or the wench?

Yes, that they are.

I pray thee, DAVPHINE, let's goe thether.

I haue some businesse now: I cannot i'faith.

You shall haue no businesse shall make you neglect this, sir,

wee'll make her talke, beleeue it; or if shee will not, wee can giue out, at

least so much as shall interrupt the treatie: wee will breake it. Thou art

bound in conscience, when hee suspects thee without cause, to tor-

ment him.

Not I, by any meanes. I'll giue no suffrage to't. He shall neuer

ha' that plea against me, that I oppos'd the least phant'sie of his. Let it lie

vpon my starres to be guiltie, I'll be innocent.

Yes, and be poore, and beg; doe, innocent: when some groome

of his has got him an heire, or this barber, if hee himselfe cannot. Inno-

cent! I pray thee, NED, where lyes shee? let him be innocent, still.

Why, right ouer against the barbers; in the house, where sir

IOHN DAW lyes.

You doe not meane to confound me!

Why?

Do's he, that would marry her, know so much?

I cannot tell.

'Twere inough of imputation to her, with him.

Why?

The onely talking sir i' th' towne! IACK DAW! And he teach

her not to speake—God b'w'you. I haue some businesse too.

Will you not goe thether then?

Not with the danger to meet DAW, for mine eares.

Why? I thought you two had beene vpon very good termes.

Yes, of keeping distance.

They say he is a very good scholler.

I, and hee sayes it first. A poxe on him, a fellow that pretends

onely to learning, buyes titles, and nothing else of bookes in him.

The world reports him to be very learned.

I am sorry, the world should so conspire to belie him.

Good faith, I haue heard very good things come from him.

You may. There's none so desperately ignorant to denie that:

would they were his owne. God b'w' you, gentlemen.

This is very abrupt!

COme, you are a strange open man, to tell euery thing, thus.

Why, beleeue it DAVPHINE, TRVE-WIT's a very ho-

nest fellow.

I thinke no other: but this franke nature of his is not for

secrets.

Nay, then, you are mistaken DAVPHINE: I know where he has

beene well trusted, and discharg'd the trust very truely, and heartily.

I contend not, NED, but, with the fewer a businesse is carried,

it is euer the safer. Now we are alone, if you'll goe thether, I am for you.

When were you there?

Last night: and such a decameron of sport fallen out! BOCCACE

neuer thought of the like. DAW do's nothing but court her; and the

wrong way. Hee would lie with her, and praises her modestie; desires

that shee would talke, and bee free, and commends her silence in verses:

which hee reades, and sweares, are the best that euer man made. Then

railes at his fortunes, stamps, and mutines, why he is not made a counsel-

lor, and call'd to affaires of state.

I pray thee let's goe. I would faine partake this. Some water,

Boy.

Wee are inuited to dinner together, he and I, by one that came

thether to him, sir LA-FOOLE.

O, that's a precious mannikin!

Doe you know him?

I, and he will know you too, if ere he saw you but once, though

you should meet him at church in the midst of praiers. Hee is one of the

Braueries, though he be none o' the Wits. He will salute a Iudge vpon the

bench, and a Bishop in the pulpit, a Lawyer when hee is pleading at the

barre, and a Lady when shee is dauncing in a masque, and put her out. He

do's giue playes, and suppers, and inuites his guests to 'hem, aloud, out

of his windore, as they ride by in coaches. He has a lodging in the Strand

for the purpose. Or to watch when ladies are gone to the China houses, or

the Exchange, that hee may meet 'hem by chance, and giue 'hem presents,

some two or three hundred pounds-worth of toyes, to be laught at. He

is neuer without a spare banquet, or sweet-meats in his chamber, for their

women to alight at, and come vp to, for a bait.

Excellent! He was a fine youth last night, but now he is much

finer! what is his christen-name? I ha' forgot.

Sir AMOROVS LA-FOOLE.

The gentleman is here below, that ownes that name.

Hart, hee's come, to inuite me to dinner, I hold my life.

Like enough: pray thee, let's ha' him vp.

Boy, marshall him.

With a truncheon, sir?

Away, I beseech you. I'le make him tell vs his pedegree, now;

and what meat he has to dinner; and, who are his guests; and, the whole

course of his fortunes: with a breath.

S'Aue, deare sir DAVPHINE, honor'd master CLERIMONT.

Sir AMOROVS! you haue very much honested my lodg-

ing, with your presence.

Good faith, it is a fine lodging! almost, as delicate a lodging,

as mine.

Not so, sir.

Excuse me, sir, if it were i' the Strand, I assure you. I am come,

master CLERIMONT, to entreat you wait vpon two or three ladies, to

dinner, to day.

How, sir! wait vpon 'hem? did you euer see me carry dishes?

No, sir, dispence with me; I meant, to beare 'hem companie.

O, that I will, sir. The doubtfulnesse o' your phrase, beleeue it,

sir, would breed you a quarrell, once an houre, with the terrible boyes, if

you should but keepe 'hem fellow ship a day.

It should be extremely against my will, sir, if I contested with

any man.

I beleeue it, sir; where hold you your feast?

At TOM OTTERS, sir.

TOM OTTER? what's he?

Captaine OTTER, sir; he is a kind of gamster: but he has had

command, both by sea, and by land.

O, then he is animal amphibium?

I, sir: his wife was the rich China-woman, that the courtiers visi-

ted so often, that gaue the rare entertainment. She commands all at home.

Then, shee is Captaine OTTER?

You say very well, sir: she is my kins-woman, a LA-FOOLE by

the mother side, and will inuite, any great ladies, for my sake.

Not of the LA-FOOLES of Essex?

No, sir, the LA-FOOLES of London.

Now, h'is in.

They all come out of our house, the LA-FOOLES o' the north,

the LA-FOOLES of the west, the LA-FOOLES of the east, and south—we

are as ancient a family, as any is in Europe—but I my selfe am descended

lineally of the french LA-FOOLES—and, wee doe beare for our coate

Yellow, or Or, checker'd Azure, and Gules, and some three or foure colours

more, which is a very noted coate, and has, some-times, beene solemnely

worne by diuers nobilitie of our house—but let that goe, antiquitie is

not respected now—I had a brace of fat Does sent me, gentlemen, & halfe

a dosen of phesants, a dosen or two of godwits, and some other fowle,

which I would haue eaten, while they are good, and in good company—

there will bee a great lady, or two, my lady HAVGHTY, my lady CEN-

TAVRE, mistris DOL MAVIS—and they come a'purpose, to see the si-

lent gentlewoman, mistris EPICOENE, that honest sir IOHN DAW has

promis'd to bring thether—and then, mistris TRVSTY, my ladies wo-

man, will be there too, and this honorable Knight, sir DAVPHINE, with

your selfe, master CLERIMONT—and wee'll bee very merry, and haue

fidlers, and daunce—I haue beene a mad wag, in my time, and haue spent

some crownes since I was a page in court, to my lord LOFTY, and after,

my ladies gentleman-vsher, who got mee knighted in Ireland, since it

pleas'd my elder brother to die—I had as faire a gold ierkin on that

day, as any was worne in the Iland-voyage, or at Caliz, none disprais'd, and

I came ouer in it hither, show'd my selfe to my friends, in court, and after

went downe to my tenants, in the countrey, and suruai'd my lands, let

new leases, tooke their money, spent it in the eye o'the land here, vpon la-

dies —and now I can take vp at my pleasure.

Can you take vp ladies, sir?

O, let him breath, he has not recouer'd.

Would I were your halfe, in that commoditie——

No, sir, excuse mee: I meant money, which can take vp any

thing. I haue another guest, or two, to inuite, and say as much to, gen-

tlemen. I'll take my leaue abruptly, in hope you will not faile—Your

seruant.

Wee will not faile you, sir precious LA-FOOLE; but shee shall,

that your ladies come to see: if I haue credit, afore sir DAW.

Did you euer heare such a wind-fucker, as this?

Or, such a rooke, as the other! that will betray his mistris, to be

seene. Come, 'tis time, we preuented it.

Goe.

CAnnot I, yet, find out a more compendious method, then by

this trunke, to saue my seruants the labour of speech, and mine

eares, the discord of sounds? Let mee see: all discourses, but mine

owne, afflict mee, they seeme harsh, impertinent, and irksome. Is it not

possible, that thou should'st answere me, by signes, and, I apprehend thee,

fellow? speake not, though I question you. You haue taken the ring, off

from the street dore, as I bad you? answere me not, by speech, but by si-

lence; vnlesse, it be otherwise (—) very good. And, you haue fastened

on a thicke quilt, or flock-bed, on the out-side of the dore; that if they

knocke with their daggers, or with bricke-bats, they can make no noise?

but with your leg, your answere, vnlesse it be otherwise (—) very good.

This is not, onely, fit modestie in a seruant, but good state, and discretion

in a master. And you haue beene with CVTBERD, the barber, to haue him

come to me? (—) good. And, he will come presently? answere me not

but with your leg, vnlesse it be otherwise: if it be otherwise, shake your

head, or shrug (—) so. Your Italian, and Spaniard, are wise in these! and

it is a frugall, and comely grauitie. How long will it bee, ere CVTBERD

come? stay, if an houre, hold vp your whole hand; if halfe an houre, two

fingers; if a quarter, one; (—) good: halfe a quarter? 'tis well. And haue

you giuen him a key, to come in without knocking? (—) good. And, is

the lock oild, and the hinges, to day? (—) good. And the quilting of the

staires no where worne out, and bare? (—) very good. I see, by much

doctrine, and impulsion, it may be effected: stand by. The Turke, in this

diuine discipline, is admirable, exceeding all the potentates of the earth;

still waited on by mutes; and all his commands so executed; yea, euen

in the warre (as I haue heard) and in his marches, most of his charges, and

directions, giuen by signes, and with silence: an exquisite art! and I am

heartily asham'd, and angrie often-times, that the Princes of Christendome,

should suffer a Barbarian, to transcend 'hem in so high a point of felicitie.

I will practise it, hereafter. How now? oh! oh! what villaine? what pro-

digie of mankind is that? looke. Oh! cut his throat, cut his throat: what

murderer, hell-hound, deuill can this be?

It is a post from the court——

Out rogue, and must thou blow thy horne, too?

Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, that sayes, hee must speake

with you, paine of death——

Paine of thy life, be silent.

BY your leaue, sir (I am a stranger here) is your name, master MO-

ROSE? is your name, master MOROSE? fishes! Pythagoreans all!

this is strange! What say you, sir, nothing? Has HARPOCRATES

beene here, with his club, among you? well sir, I will beleeue you to bee

the man, at this time: I will venter vpon you, sir. Your friends at court

commend 'hem to you, sir——

(O men! Ô manners! was there euer such an impudence?)

And are extremely sollicitous for you, sir.

Whose knaue are you!

Mine owne knaue, and your compere, sir.

Fetch me my sword——

You shall taste the one halfe of my dagger, if you do (groome)

and you, the other, if you stirre, sir: be patient, I charge you, in the kings

name, and heare mee without insurrection. They say, you are to marry?

to marry! doe you marke, sir?

How then, rude companion!

Mary, your friends doe wonder, sir, the Thames being so neere,

wherein you may drowne so handsomely; or London-bridge, at a low fall,

with a fine leape, to hurry you downe the streame; or, such a delicate

steeple, i'the towne, as Bow, to vault from; or, a brauer height, as Pauls;

or, if you affected to doe it neerer home, and a shorter way, an excellent

garret windore, into the street; or, a beame, in the said garret, with this

halter; which they haue sent, and desire, that you would sooner commit

your graue head to this knot, then to the wed-lock nooze; or, take a

little sublimate, and goe out of the world, like a rat; or a flie (as one

said) with a straw i'your arse: any way, rather, then to follow this goblin

matrimony. Alas, sir, doe you euer thinke to find a chaste wife, in these

times? now? when there are so many masques, plaies, puritane preachings,

mad-folkes, and other strange sights to be seene daily, priuate and pub-

lique? if you had liu'd in king ETHELDRED'S time, sir, or EDWARD the

Confessors, you might, perhaps, haue found in some cold countrey-ham-

let, then, a dull frostie wench, would haue beene contented with one man:

now, they will as soone be pleas'd with one leg, or one eye. I'll tell you,

sir, the monstrous hazards you shall runne with a wife.

Good sir! haue I euer cosen'd any friends of yours of their

land? bought their possessions? taken forfeit of their morgage? begg'd a

reuersion from 'hem? bastarded their issue? what haue I done, that may

deserue this?

Nothing, sir, that I know, but your itch of marriage.

Why? if I had made an assassinate vpon your father; vitiated

your mother; rauished your sisters——

I would kill you, sir, I would kill you, if you had.

Why? you doe more in this, sir: It were a vengeance centuple,

for all facinorous acts, that could be nam'd, to doe that you doe—

Alas, sir, I am but a messenger: I but tell you, what you must

heare. It seemes, your friends are carefull after your soules health, sir,

and would haue you know the danger (but you may doe your pleasure,

for all them, I perswade not, sir) If, after you are married, your wife doe

run away with a vaulter, or the Frenchman that walkes vpon ropes, or

him that daunces the iig, or a fencer for his skill at his weapon, why it is

not their fault; they haue discharged their consciences: when you know

what may happen. Nay, suffer valiantly, sir, for I must tell you, all the

perills that you are obnoxious too. If shee be faire, yong, and vegetous,

no sweet meats euer drew more flies; all the yellow doublets, and great

roses i' the towne will bee there. If foule, and crooked, shee'll bee with

them, and buy those doublets and roses, sir. If rich, and that you marry

her dowry, not her; shee'll raigne in your house, as imperious as a widow.

If noble, all her kindred will be your tyrannes. If fruitfull, as proud as

May, and humorous as April; she must haue her doctors, her midwiues,

her nurses, her longings euery houre: though it be for the dearest morsell

of man. If learned, there was neuer such a parrat; all your patrimony

will be too little for the guests, that must be inuited, to heare her speake

Latine and Greeke: and you must lie with her in those languages too, if you

will please her. If precise, you must feast all the silenc'd brethren, once in

three daies; salute the sisters; entertaine the whole family, or wood of

'hem; and heare long-winded exercises, singings, and catechisings, which

you are not giuen to, and yet must giue for: to please the zealous ma-

tron your wife, who, for the holy cause, will cosen you, ouer and aboue.

You beginne to sweat, sir? but this is not halfe, i'faith: you may do your

pleasure notwithstanding, as I said before, I come not to perswade you.

Vpon my faith, master seruingman, if you doe stirre, I will beat you.

O, what is my sinne! what is my sinne?

Then, if you loue your wife, or rather, dote on her, sir: Ô, how

shee'll torture you! and take pleasure i'your torments! you shall lye with

her but when she lists; she will not hurt her beauty, her complexion; or

it must be for that iewell, or that pearle, when she do's; euery halfe houres

pleasure must be bought anew: and with the same paine, and charge, you

woo'd her at first. Then, you must keepe what seruants shee please; what

company shee will; that friend must not visit you without her licence;

and him shee loues most shee will seeme to hate eagerliest, to decline your

ielousie; or, faigne to bee ielous of you first; and for that cause goe liue

with her she-friend, or cosen at the colledge, that can instruct her in all

the mysteries, of writing letters, corrupting seruants, taming spies; where

shee must haue that rich goune for such a great day; a new one for the

next; a richer for the third; bee seru'd in siluer; haue the chamber fill'd

with a succession of groomes, foot-men, vshers, and other messengers;

besides embroyderers, iewellers, tyre-women, sempsters, fether-men, per-

fumers; while shee feeles not how the land drops away; nor the acres

melt; nor forsees the change, when the mercer has your woods for her

veluets; neuer weighes what her pride costs, sir: so shee may kisse a page,

or a smoth chinne, that has the despaire of a beard; bee a states-woman,

know all the newes, what was done at Salisbury, what at the Bath, what

at court, what in progresse; or, so shee may censure poets, and authors,

and stiles, and compare 'hem, DANIEL with SPENSER, IONSON with

the tother youth, and so foorth; or, be thought cunning in controuersies,

or the very knots of diuinitie; and haue, often in her mouth, the state of

the question: and then skip to the Mathematiques, and demonstration

and answere, in religion to one; in state, to another, in baud'ry to a third.

O, Ô!

All this is very true, sir. And then her going in disguise to that

coniurer, and this cunning woman: where the first question is, how soone

you shall die? next, if her present seruant loue her? next that, if she shall

haue a new seruant? and how many? which of her family would make

the best baud, male, or female? what precedence shee shall haue by her

next match? and sets downe the answers, and beleeues 'hem aboue the

scriptures. Nay, perhaps she'll study the art.

Gentle sir, ha'you done? ha'you had your pleasure o'me? I'll

thinke of these things.

Yes sir: and then comes reeking home of vapor and sweat, with

going afoot, and lies in, a moneth, of a new face, all oyle, and birdlime; and

rises in asses milke, and is clens'd with a new fucus: god b'w'you, sir. One

thing more (which I had almost forgot.) This too, with whom you are to

marry, may haue made a conuayance of her virginity afore hand, as your

wise widdowes doe of their states, before they marry, in trust to some

friend, sir: who can tell? or if she haue not done it yet, she may doe, vpon

the wedding day, or the night before, and antidate you cuckold. The

like has beene heard of, in nature. 'Tis no deuis'd impossible thing, sir.

God b'w'you: I'll be bold to leaue this rope with you, sir, for a remem-

brance. Farewell MVTE.

Come, ha' me to my chamber: but first shut the dore. O, shut

the dore, shut the dore: Is he come againe?

'Tis I, sir, your barber.

O CVTBERD, CVTBERD, CVTBERD! here has bin a cut-throate

with me: helpe me in to my bed, and giue me physicke with thy counsell.

NAy, and she will, let her refuse, at her owne charges: 'tis nothing

to me, gentlemen. But she will not bee inuited to the like feasts,

or guests, euery day.

O, by no meanes, shee may not refuse—to stay at home, if you

loue your reputation: 'Slight, you are inuited thither o' purpose to bee

seene, and laught at by the lady of the colledge, and her shadowes. This

trumpeter hath proclaim'd you.

You shall not goe; let him be laught at in your steade, for not

bringing you: and put him to his extemporall faculty of fooling, and tal-

king loud to satisfie the company.

He will suspect vs, talke aloud. 'Pray' mistris EPICOENE, let's see

your verses; we haue sir IOHN DAW'S leaue: doe not conceale your ser-

uants merit, and your owne glories.

They'll proue my seruants glories, if you haue his leaue so soone.

His vaine glories, lady!

Shew 'hem, shew 'hem, mistris, I dare owne 'hem.

Iudge you, what glories?

Nay, I'll read 'hem my selfe, too: an author must recite his own

workes. It is a madrigall of modestie.

Very good.

I, Is't not?

Excellent!

That againe, I pray' sir IOHN.

It has some thing in't like rare wit, and sense.

Peace.

Admirable!

How it chimes, and cries tinke i' the close, diuinely!

I, 'tis SENECA.

No, I thinke 'tis PLVTARCH.

The dor on PLVTARCH, and SENECA, I hate it: they are mine

owne imaginations, by that light. I wonder those fellowes haue such cre-

dit with gentlemen!

They are very graue authors.

Graue asses! meere Essaists! a few loose sentences, and that's all.

A man would talke so, his whole age, I doe vtter as good things euery

houre, if they were collected, and obseru'd, as either of'hem.

Indeede! sir IOHN?

Hee must needs, liuing among the Wits, and Braueries too.

I, and being president of hem, as he is.

There is ARISTOTLE, a mere common place-fellow; PLATO, a

discourser; THVCIDIDES, and LIVIE, tedious and drie; TACITVS, an

entire knot: sometimes worth the vntying, very seldome.

What doe you think of the Poets, sir IOHN?

Not worthy to be nam'd for authors. HOMER, an old tedious

prolixe asse, talkes of curriers, and chines of beefe. VIRGIL, of dung-

ing of land, and bees. HORACE, of I know not what.

I thinke so.

And so PINDARVS, LYCOPHRON, ANACREON, CATVLLVS,

SENECA the tragœdian, LVCAN, PROPERTIVS, TIBVLLVS, MARTIAL,

IVVENAL, AVSONIVS, STATIVS, POLITIAN, VALERIVS FLACCVS,

and the rest—

What a sacke full of their names he has got!

And how he poures 'hem out! POLITIAN, with VALERIVS

FLACCVS!

Was not the character right, of him?

As could be made, i' faith.

And PERSIVS, a crabbed cockescombe, not to be endur'd.

Why? whom do you account for authors, sir IOHN DAW?

Syntagma Iuris ciuilis, Corpus Iuris ciuilis, Corpus Iuris canonici, the

King of Spaines bible.

Is the King of Spaines bible an author?

Yes, and Syntagma.

What was that Syntagma, sir?

A ciuill lawer, a Spaniard.

Sure, Corpus was a Dutch-man.

I, both the Corpusses, I knew 'hem: they were very corpulent au-

thors.

And, then there's VATABLVS, POMPONATIVS, SYMANCHA,

the other are not to be receiu'd, within the thought of a scholler.

Fore god, you haue a simple learn'd seruant, lady, in titles.

I wonder that hee is not called to the helme, and made a coun-

cellor!

He is one extraordinary.

Nay, but in ordinarie! to say truth, the state wants such.

Why, that will follow.

I muse, a mistris can be so silent to the dotes of such a seruant.

'Tis her vertue, sir. I haue written somewhat of her silence too.

In verse, sir IOHN?

What else?

Why? how can you iustifie your owne being of a Poet, that

so slight all the old Poets?

Why? euery man, that writes in verse, is not a Poet; you haue of

the Wits, that write verses, and yet are no Poets: they are Poets that liue by

it, the poore fellowes that liue by it.

Why? would not you liue by your verses, sir IOHN.

No, 'twere pittie he should. A knight liue by his verses? he did

not make 'hem to that ende, I hope.

And yet the noble SIDNEY liues by his, and the noble family

not asham'd.

I, he profest himselfe; but sir IOHN DAW has more caution:

hee'll not hinder his owne rising i'the state so much! doe you thinke hee

will? Your verses, good sir IOHN, and no poems.

Not I, beleeue it: your reason, sir.

No faith, how meane you with increase, sir IOHN?

Why, with increase is, when I court her for the comon cause of

mankind; and she sayes nothiug, but consentire videtur: and in time is

grauida.

Then, this is a ballad of procreation?

A madrigall of proceation, you mistake.

'Pray giue me my verses againe, seruant.

If you you'll aske 'hem aloud, you shal.

See, here's TRVE-WIT againe!

WHere hast thou beene, in the name of madnesse! thus ac-

coutred with thy horne?

Where the sound of it might haue pierc'd your

senses, with gladnes, had you beene in eare-reach of it. DAVPHINE, fall

downe and worship me: I haue forbid the banes, lad. I haue been with

thy vertuous vncle, and haue broke the match.

You ha' not, I hope.

Yes faith; and thou shouldst hope otherwise, I should repent

me: this horne got me entrance, kisse it. I had no other way to get in,

but by faining to be a post; but when I got in once, I prou'd none, but

rather the contrary, turn'd him into a post, or a stone, or what is stiffer,

with thundring into him the incommodities of a wife, and the miseries

of marriage. If euer GORGON were seene in the shape of a woman, hee

hath seene her in my description. I hane put him off o'that sent, for euer.

Wby doe you not applaud, and adore me, sirs? why stand you mute? Are

you stupid? you are not worthy o' the benefit.

Did not I tell you? mischiefe!——

I would you had plac'd this benefit somewhere else.

Why so?

Slight, you haue done the most inconsiderate, rash, weake thing,

that euer man did to his friend.

Friend! if the most malicious enemy I haue, had studied to

inflict an iniury vpon me, it could not bee a greater.

Wherein? for gods-sake! Gent: come to your selues againe.

But I presag'd thus much afore, to you.

Would my lips had beene soldred, when I spak on't. Slight, what

mou'd you to be thus impertinent?

My masters, doe not put on this strange face to pay my courte-

sie: off with this visor. Haue good turnes done you, and thanke 'hem

this way?

Fore heau'n, you haue vndone me. That, which I haue plotted

for, and beene maturing now these foure moneths, you haue blasted in a

minute: now I am lost, I may speake. This gentlewoman was lodg'd

here by me o'purpose, and, to be put vpon my vncle, hath profest this

obstinate silence for my sake, being my entire friend; and one, that for the

requitall of such a fortune, as to marry him, would haue made mee very

ample conditions: where now, all my hopes are vtterly miscaried by this

vnlucky accident.

Thus 'tis, when a man will be ignorantly officious; doe serui-

ces and not know his why: I wonder what curteous itch possess'd you!

you neuer did absurder part i'your life, nor a greater trespasse to friend-

ship, to humanity.

Faith, you may forgiue it, best: 'twas your cause principally.

I know it, would it had not.

How now CVTBERD? what newes?

The best, the happiest that euer was, sir. There has beene a

mad gentleman with your vncle, this morning (I thinke this be the gen-

tleman) that has almost talk'd him out of his wits, with threatning him

from marriage—

On, I pray thee.

And your vnkle, sir, hee thinkes 'twas done by your proucre-

ment; therefore he will see the party, you wot of, presently: and if he like

her, he sayes, and that she be so inclining to dombe, as I haue told him, he

sweares hee will marry her, to day, instantly, and not deferre it a minute

longer.

Excellent! beyond our expectation!

Beyond your expectation? by this light, I knewe it would bee

thus.

Nay, sweet TRVE-WIT, forgiue me.

No, I was ignorantly officious, impertinent: this was the absurd,

weake part.

Wilt thou ascribe that to merit, now, was meere fortune?

Fortune? mere prouidence. Fortune had not a finger in't. I

saw it must necessarily in nature fall out so: my genius is neuer false to me

in these things. Shew me, how it could be otherwise.

Nay, gentlemen, contend not, tis well now.

Alasse, I let him goe on with inconsiderate, and rash, and what

he pleas'd.

Away thou strange iustifier of thy selfe, to bee wiser then thou

wert, by the euent.

Euent! By this light, thou shalt neuer perswade me, but I fore-

saw; it, aswell as the starres themselues.

Nay, gentlemen, 'tis well now: doe you two entertaine sir

IOHN DAW, with discourse, while I send her away with instructions.

I'll be acquainted with her, first, by your fauour.

Master TRVE-WIT, lady, a friend of ours.

I am sorry, I haue not knowne you sooner, lady, to celebrate

this rare vertue of your silence.

Faith, an' you had come sooner, you should ha' seene, and

heard her well celebrated in sir IOHN DAW'S madrigalls.

IACK DAW, god saue you, when saw you LA-FOOLE?

Not since last night, master TRVE-WIT.

That's miracle! I thought you two had beene inseparable.

Hee's gone to inuite his guests.

Gods so! tis true! what a false memory haue I towards that man!

I am one: I met him e'ne now, vpon that he calls his delicate fine blacke

horse, rid into a foame, with poasting from place to place, and person to

person, to giue 'hem the cue—

Lest they should forget?

Yes: there was neuer poore captaine tooke more paines at a

muster to show men, then he, at this meale, to shew friends.

It is his quarter-feast, sir.

What! doe you say so, sir IOHN?

Nay, IACK DAW will not be out, at the best friends hee has, to

the talent of his wit: where's his mistris, to heare and applaud him? is she

gone!

Is mistris EPICOENE gone?

Gone afore, with sir DAVPHINE, I warrant, to the place.

Gone afore! that were a manifest iniurie; a disgrace and a halfe:

to refuse him at such a festiuall time, as this, being a Brauery, and a Wit

too.

Tut, hee'll swallow it like creame: hee's better read in iure ciui-

li, then to esteeme any thing a disgrace is offer'd him from a mistris.

Nay, let her eene goe; she shall sit alone, and bee dumbe in her

chamber, a weeke together, for IOHN DAW, I warrant her: do's she re-

fuse me?

No, sir, doe not take it so to heart: shee do's not refuse you,

but a little neglect you. Good faith, TRVE-WIT, you were too blame

to put it into his head, that shee do's refuse him.

Shee do's refuse him, sir, palpably: how euer you mince it. An'

I were as hee, I would sweare to speake ne're a word to her, to day,

for't.

By this light, no more I will not.

Nor to any body else, sir.

Nay, I will not say so, gentlemen.

It had beene an excellent happy condition for the company,

if you could haue drawne him to it.

I'll be very melancholique, i'faith.

As a dog, if I were as you, sir IOHN.

Or a snaile, or a hog-louse: I would roule my selfe vp for this

day, introth, they should not vnwinde me.

By this pick-tooth, so I will.

'Tis well done: he beginnes already to be angry with his teeth.

Will you goe, gentlemen?

Nay, you must walke alone, if you bee right melancholique, sir

IOHN.

Yes sir, wee'll dog you, wee'll follow you a farre off.

Was there euer such a two yards of knighthood, measur'd out

by Time, to be sold to laughter?

A meere talking mole! hang him: no mushrome was euer so

fresh. A fellow so vtterly nothing, as he knowes not what he would be.

Let's follow him: but first, let's goe to DAVPHINE, hee's ho-

uering about the house, to heare what newes.

Content.

VVElcome CVTBERD; draw neere with you faire chardge: and,

in her eare, softly intreat her to vnmasque (—) So. Is the dore

shut? (—) inough. Now, CVTBERD, with the same discipline

I vse to my family, I will question you. As I conceiue, CVTBERD, this

gentlewoman is shee, you haue prouided, and brought, in hope shee will

fit me in the place and person of a wife? Answer me not, but with your

leg, vnlesse it be otherwise: (—) very well done CVTBERD. I conceiue,

besides, CVTBERD, you haue beene pre-acquainted with her birth, educa-

tion, and quallities, or else you would not preferre her to my acceptance,

in the waighty consequence of marriage. (—) this I conceiue, CVT-

BERD. Answer me not but with your leg, vnlesse it bee otherwise. (—)

Very well done CVTBERD. Giue aside now a little, and leaue me to ex-

amine her condition, and aptitude to my affection. Shee is exceeding

faire, and of a speciall good fauour; a sweet composition, or harmony

of limmes: her temper of beauty has the true height of my blood. The

knaue hath exceedingly wel fitted me without: I will now trie her within.

Come neere, faire gentlewoman: let not my behauiour seeme rude,

though vnto you, being rare, it may happely appeare strange. (—(Nay,

lady, you may speake, though CVTBERD, and my man, might not: for,

of all sounds, onely, the sweet voice of a faire lady has the iust length of

mine eares. I beseech you, say lady, out of the first fire of meeting eyes,

(they say) loue is stricken: doe you feele any such motion, sodenly shot

into you, from any part you see in me? ha, lady? (—) A lasse, lady, these

answers by silent curt'sies, from you, are too courtlesse, and simple. I haue

euer had my breeding in court: and shee that shall bee my wife, must bee

accomplished with courtly, and audacious ornaments. Can you speake

lady?

Iudge you, forsooth.

What say you, lady? speake out, I beseech you.

Iudge you, forsooth.

O'my iudgement, a diuine softnes! but can you naturally, lady,

as I enioyne these by doctrine & industry, referre your self to the search of

my iudgement, and (not taking pleasure in your tougue, which is a wo-

mans chiefest pleasure) thinke it plausible, to answer me by silent ge-

stures, so long as my speeches iumpe right, with what you conceiue? (—)

Excellent! diuine! if it were possible she should hold out thus! Peace

CVTBRD, thou art made for euer, as thou hast made mee, if this felicitie

haue lasting: but I will trie her further. Deare lady, I am courtly, I tell

you, and I must haue mine eares banqueted with pleasant, and wittie con-

ferences, pretty girds, scoffes, and daliance in her, that I meane to choose

for my bedpheere. The ladies in court, thinke it a most desperate impaire

to their quickenesse of wit, and good carriage, if they cannot giue occa-

sion for a man to court 'hem; and, when an amorous discourse is set on

foot, minister as good matter to continue it, as himselfe: and doe you a-

lone so much differ from all them, that, what they (with so much cicum-

stance) affect, and toile for, to seeme learn'd, to seeme iudicious, to seeme

sharpe, and conceited, you can bury in your selfe, with silence? and rather

trust your graces to the faire conscience of vertue, then to the worlds,

or your owne proclamation?

I should be sorry else.

What say you, ladie? good ladie, speake out.

I should be sorrie, else

That sorrow doth fill me with gladnesse! O MOROSE! thou art

happie aboue mankinde! pray that thou maiest containe thy selfe. I will

onely put her to it once more, and it shall be with the vtmost touch, and

test of their sexe. But heare me, faire lady, I doe also loue to see her,

whom I shall choose for my heicfar, to be the first and principall in all fa-

shions; præcede all the dames at court, by a fortnight; haue her coun-

sell of taylors, linneners, lace-women, embroyderers, and sit with 'hem

sometimes twise a day, vpon French intelligences; and then come foorth,

varied like Nature, or oftner then she, and better, by the helpe of Art, her

æmulous seruant. This doe I affect. And how will you be able, lady, with

this frugalitie of speech, to giue the manifold (but necessarie) instructions,

for that bodies, these sleeues, those skirts, this cut, that stitch, this em-

broyderie, that lace, this wire, those knots, that ruffe, those roses, this

girdle, that fanne, the tother skarfe, these gloues? ha! what say you,

ladie.

I'll leaue it to you, sir.

How lady? pray you, rise a note.

I leaue it to wisdome, and you sir.

Admirable creature! I will trouble you no more: I will not

sinne against so sweet a simplicity. Let me now be bold to print on those

diuine lips, the seale of being mine. CVTBERD, I giue thee the lease of

thy house free: thanke me not, but with thy leg (—) I know what thou

woulst say, shee's poore, and her friends deceased; shee has brought a

wealthy dowrie in her silence, CVTBERD: and in respect of her pouerty,

CVTBERD, I shall haue her more louing, and obedient, CVTBERD. Goe

thy waies, and get me a minister presently, with a soft, low voice to marry

vs, and pray him he will not be impertinent, but briefe as he can; away:

softly, CVTBERD. Sirrah, conduct your mistris into the dining roome,

your now---mistris. O my felicity! how I shall bee reueng'd on mine inso-

lent kinsman, and his plots, to fright me from marrying! This night I wil

get an heire, and thrust him out of my bloud like a stranger; he would be

knighted, forsooth, and thought by that meanes to raigne ouer me, his

title must doe it: no kinsman, I will now make you bring mee the tenth

lords, and the sixteenth ladies letter, kinsman; and it shall doe you no

good kinsman. Your knighthood it selfe shall come on it's knees, and it

shall be reiected; it shall bee sued for it's fees to execution, and not bee re-

deem'd; it shall cheat at the tweluepeny ordinary, it knighthood, for it's

diet all the terme time, and tell tales for it in the vacation, to the hostesse:

or it knighthood shall doe worse, take sanctuary in Coleharbor, and fast.

It shall fright all it friends, with borrowing letters; and when one of the

foure-score hath brought it knighthood ten shillings, it knighthood shall

go to the Cranes, or the Beare at the Bridge-foot, and be drunk in feare: it

shal not haue money to discharge one tauerne reckoning, to inuite the old

creditors, to forbeare it knighthood; or the new, that should be, to trust it

knighthood. It shall be the tenth name in the bond, to take vp the com-

moditie of pipkins, and stone jugs; and the part there of shall not furnish

it knighthood forth, for the attempting of a bakers widdow, a browne

bakers widdow. It shall giue it knighthoods name, for a stallion, to all

gamesome citizens wiues, and bee refus'd; when the master of a dancing

schoole, or (How do you call him) the worst reueller in the towne is taken:

it shall want clothes, and by reason of that, wit, to foole to lawyers. It

shall not haue hope to repaire it selfe by Constantinople, Ireland, or Virgi-

nia; but the best, and last fortune to it knighthood shall be, to make DOL

TEARE-SHEET, or KATE COMMON, a lady: and so, it knighthood may

eate.

ARe you sure he is not gone by?

No, I staid in the shop euer since.

But, he may take the other end of the lane.

No, I told him I would be here at this end: I appointed

him hether.

What a barbarian it is to stay then!

Yonder he comes.

And his charge left behinde him, which is a very good signe,

DAVPHINE.

How now CVTBERD, succeedes it, or no?

Past imagination, sir, omnia secunda; you could not haue pray'd,

to haue had it so wel: Saltat senex, as it is i'the prouerbe, he do's triumph in

his felicity; admires the party! he has giuen me the lease of my house too!

and, I am now going for a silent minister to marry 'hem, and away.

Slight, get one o'the silenc'd ministers, a zealous brother would

torment him purely.

Cum priuilegio, sir.

O, by no meanes, let's doe nothing to hinder it now when

'tis done and finished, I am for you: for any deuise of vexation.

And that shall be, within this halfe houre, vpon my dexterity,

gentlemen. Contriue what you can, in the meane time, bonis auibus.

How the slaue doth latine it!

It would be made a iest to posterity, sirs, this daies mirth, if yee

will.

Beshrew his heart that will not, I pronounce.

And, for my part. What is't?

To translate all LA-FOOLES company, and his feast hether, to

day, to celebrate this bride-ale.

I mary, but how will't be done?

I'll vndertake the directing of all the ladie-guests thether, and

then the meat must follow.

For gods sake, let's effect it: it will be an excellent comœdy of af-

fliction, so many seuerall noyses.

But are they not at the other place already, thinke you?

I'll warrant you for the colledge-honors: one o' their faces has

not the priming color laid on yet, nor the other her smocke sleek'd.

O, but they'll rise earlier then ordinary, to a feast.

Best goe see, and assure our selues.

Who knowes the house?

I'll lead you, were you neuer there yet?

Not I.

Nor I.

Where ha' you liu'd then? not know TOM OTTER!

No: for gods sake, what is he?

An excellent animal, equall with your DAW, or LA-FOOLE,

if not transcendent; and do's latine it as much as your barber: hee is his

wifes Subiect, he calls her Princesse, and at such times as these, followes

her vp and downe the house like a page, with his hat off, partly for heate,

partly for reuerence. At this instant, hee is marshalling of his bull, beare,

and horse.

What be those, in the name of Sphinx?

Why sir? hee has beene a great man at the beare-garden in his

time: and from that subtle sport, has tane the witty denomination of his

chiefe carousing cups. One he calls his bull, another his beare, another

his horse. And then hee has his lesser glasses, that hee calls his deere,

and his ape; and seuerall degrees of'hem too: and neuer is well, nor

thinkes any intertainement perfect, till these be brought out, and set o'the

cupbord.

For gods loue! we should misse this, if we should not goe.

Nay, he has a thousand things as good, that will speake him all

day. He will raile on his wife, with certaine common places, behinde her

backe; and to her face——

No more of him. Let's goe see him, I petition you.

NAy, good Princesse, heare me pauca verba.

By that light, I'll ha'you chain'd vp, with your bul-dogs,

and beare-dogges, if you be not ciuill the sooner. I'll send you to

kennell, i'faith. You were best baite me with your bull, beare, and horse?

Neuer a time, that the courtiers, or collegiates come to the house, but you

make it a shrouetuesday! I would haue you get your whitsontide-veluet-

cap, and your staffe i'your hand, to intertaine 'hem: yes introth, doe.

Not so, Princesse, neither, but vnder correction, sweete

Princesse, gi' me leaue—these things I am knowne to the courtiers by.

It is reported to them for my humor, and they receiue it so, and doe ex-

pect it. TOM OTTERS bull, beare, and horse is knowne all ouer England,

in rerum natura.

Fore me, I wil na-ture 'hem ouer to Paris-garden, and na-ture

you thether too, if you pronounce 'hem againe. Is a beare a fit beast, or a

bull, to mixe in society with great ladies? thinke i' your discretion, in

any good politie.

The horse then, good Princesse.

Well, I am contented for the horse: they loue to bee well

hors'd, I know. I loue it my selfe.

And it is a delicate fine horse this. Poetarum Pegasus. Vnder

correction, Princesse, IVPITER did turne himselfe into a—Taurus, or

Bull, vnder correction good Princesse.

By my integritie, I'll send you ouer to the banke-side, I'll

commit you to the Master of the garden, if I heare but a syllable more.

Must my house, or my roofe, be poluted with the sent of beares, and buls,

when it is perfum'd for great ladies? Is this according to the instrument,

when I married you? That I would bee Princesse, and raigne in mine

owne house: and you would be my subiect, and obay me? What did you

bring me, should make you thus peremptory? Do I allow you your halfe-

crowne a day, to spend, where you will, among your gamsters, to vexe

and torment me, at such times as these? Who giues you your maintenance

I pray you? who allowes you your horse-meat, and mans meat? your

three sutes of apparell a yeere? your foure paire of stockings, one silke,

three worsted? your cleanelinnen, your bands, and cuffes when I can

get you to weare 'hem? 'Tis mar'l you ha' hem on now. Who graces you

with courtiers, or great personages, to speake to you out of their coaches,

and come home to your house? Were you euer so much as look'd vpon

by a lord, or a ladyie, before I maried you: but on the Easter, or whitson-

holy-daies? and then out at the banquetting-house windore, when NED

WHITING, or GEORGE STONE, were at the stake?

(For gods sake, let's goe staue her off him.)

Answere me to that. And did not I take you vp from thence.

in an old greasie buffe-doublet, with points; and greene vellet sleeues,

out at the eldowes? you forget this.

Shee'll worrie him, if we helpe not in time.)

O, here are some o' the gallants! Goe to, behaue your selfe

distinctly, and with good moralitie; Or, I protest, I'll take away your

exhibition.

BY your leaue, faire Mistris OTTER, I'll bee bold to enter these gen-

tlemen in your acquaintance.

It shall not be obnoxious, or difficill, sir.

How do's my noble Captaine? Is the bull, beare, and horse, in

rerum natura still?

Sir, Sic visum superis.

I would you would but intimate 'hem, doe. Goe your waies

in, and get tosts, and butter, made for the wood-cocks. That's a fit pro-

uince for you.

Alas, what a tyrannie, is this poore fellow married too.

O, but the sport will be anon, when wee get him loose.

Dares hee euer speake?

No Anabaptist euer rail'd with the like licence: but marke her

language in the meane time, I beseech you.

Gentlemen, you are very aptly come. My cosin, sir AMO-

ROVS, will be here briefly.

In good time lady. Was not sir IOHN DAW here, to aske for

him, and the companie?

I cannot assure you, Mr.TRVE-WIT. Here was a very melan-

choly knight in a ruffe, that demanded my subiect for somebody, a gentle-

man, I thinke.

I, that was he, lady.

But he departed straight, I can resolue you.

What an excellent choice phrase, this lady expresses in!

O, sir! shee is the onely authenticall courtier, that is not na-

turally bred one, in the citie.

You haue taken that report vpon trust, gentlemen.

No, I assure you, the court go uernes it so, lady, in your behalfe.

I am the seruant of the court, and courtiers, sir.

They are rather your idolaters.

Not so, sir.

How now, CVTBERD? Any crosse?

O, no, sir, Omnia bene. 'Twas neuer better o' the hinges, all's

sure. I haue so pleas'd him with a curate, that hee's gone too't almost

with the delight hee hopes for soone.

What is hee, for a vicar?

One that has catch'd a cold, sir, and can scarse bee heard sixe

inches off; as if hee spoke out of a bull-rush, that were not pickt, or his

throat were full of pith: a fine quick fellow, and an excellent barber of

prayers. I came to tell you, sir, that you might omnem mouere lapidem (as

they say) be readie with your vexation.

Gramercy, honest CVTBERD, bee there abouts with thy key to

let vs in.

I will not faile you, sir: Ad manum.

Well, I'll goe watch my coaches.

Doe; and wee'll send DAW to you, if you meet him not.

Is master TRVE-WIT gone?

Yes, lady, there is some vnfortunate businesse fallen out.

So I iudg'd by the phisiognomy of the fellow, that came in;

and I had a dreame last night too of the new pageant, and my lady Maio-

resse, which is alwaies very ominous to me. I told it my lady HAVGHTY

t'other day; when her honour came hether to see some China stuffes: and

shee expounded it, out of ARTEMIDORVTS, and I haue found it since ve-

ry true. It has done me many affronts.

Your dreame, lady?

Yes, sir, any thing I doe but dreame o'the city. It staind me a

damasque table-cloth, cost me eighteen pound at one time; and burnt me

a blacke satten gowne, as I stood by the fire, at my ladie CENTAVRES

chamber in the colledge, another time. A third time, at the Lords masque,

it dropt all my wire, and my ruffe with waxe-candle, that I could not goe

vp to the banquet. A fourth time, as I was taking coach to goe to Ware, to

meet a friend, it dash'd me a new sute all ouer (a crimson sattin doublet,

and blacke veluet skirts) with a brewers horse, that I was faine to goe in

and shift mee, and kept my chamber a leash of daies for the anguish of it.

These were dire mischances, lady.

I would not dwell in the citie, and 'twere so fatall to mee.

Yes sir, but I doe take aduise of my doctor, to dreame of it as

little, as I can.

You doe well, mistris OTTER.

Will it please you to enter the house farther, gentlemen?

And your fauour, lady: but we stay to speake with a knight,

sir IOHN DAW, who is here come. We shall follow you, lady.

At your owne time, sir. It is my cosen sir AMOROVS his

feast.—

I know it lady.

And mine together. But it is for his honour; and therefore I

take no name of it, more then of the place.

You are a bounteous kinswoman.

Your seruant, sir.

WHy doe not you know it, sir IOHN DAW?

No, I am a rooke if I doe.

I'll tell you then, shee's married by this time! And

whereas you were put i'the head, that shee was gone with sir DAVPHI-

NE, I assure you, sir DAVPHINE has beene the noblest, honestest friend to

you, that euer gentleman of your quality could boast off. He has disco-

uer'd the whole plot, and made your mistris so acknowledging, and in-

deed, so ashamed of her iniurie to you, that she desires you to forgiue her,

and but grace her wedding with your presence to day— She is to be mar-

ried to a very good fortune, she saies, his vnkle, old MOROSE: and she

will'd me in priuate to tell you, that she shall be able to doe you more fa-

uours, and with more securitie now, then before.

Did she say so, i'faith?

Why, what doe you thinke of mee, sir IOHN! aske sir DAV-

PHINE.

Nay, I beleeue you. Good sir DAVPHINE, did shee desire mee

to forgiue her?

I assure you, sir IHON, she did.

Nay then, I doe with all my heart, and I'll be iouiall.

Yes, for looke you sir, this was the iniury to you. LA-FOOLE

intended this feast to honour her bridale day, and made you the proper-

tie to inuite the colledge ladies, and promise to bring her: and then at the

time, shee should haue appear'd (as his friend) to haue giuen you the

dor. Whereas now, sir DAVPHINE has brought her to a feeling of it,

with this kinde of satisfaction, that you shall bring all the ladies to the

place where shee is, and be verie iouiall; and there, shee will haue a din-

ner, which shall be in your name: and so dis-appoint LA-FOOLE, to

make you good againe, and (as it were) a sauer i' the man.

As I am a knight, I honour her, and forgiue her hartily.

About it then presently, TRVE-WIT is gone before to con-

front the coaches, and to acquaint you with so much, if hee meet you.

Ioyne with him, and 'tis well. See, here comes your Antagonist, but take

you no notice, but be verie iouiall.

Are the ladies come, sir IOHN DAW, and your mistris? sir DAV-

PHINE! you are exceeding welcome, and honest master CLERIMONT.

Where's my cossen? did you see no collegiats, gentlemen?

Collegiats! Doe you not heare, sir AMOROVS, how you are

abus'd?

How sir!

Will you speake so kindly to sir IOHN DAW, that has done you

such an affront?

Wherein, gentlemen? let me be a sutor to you to know, I be-

seech you!

Why sir, his mistris is married to day, to sir DAVPHINES vncle,

your cosens neighbour, and hee has diuerted all the ladies, and all your

company thether, to frustrate your provision, and sticke a disgrace vpon

you. He was here, now, to haue intic'd vs away from you too: but we

told him his owne, I thinke.

Has sir IOHN DAW wrong'd me so in-humanely?

He has done it, sir AMOROVS, most maliciously, and trecherous-

ly: but if you'll be rul'd by vs, you shall quit him i' faith.

Good gentlemen! I'll make one, beleeue it. How I pray?

Mary sir, get me your phesants,and your godwits,and your best

meat, and dish it in siluer dishes of your cosens presently, and say nothing,

but clap mee a cleane towell about you, like a sewer; and bare-headed,

march afore it with a good confidence ('tis but ouer the way, hard by) and

we'll second you, where you shal set it o'the boord, and bid 'hem welcome

to't, which shall show 'tis yours, and disgrace his preparation vtterly:

and, for your cosen, whereas shee should bee troubled here at home with

care of making and giuing welcome, shee shall transferre all that labour

thether, and bee a principall guest her selfe, sit rank'd with the colledge-

Honors, and bee honor'd, and haue her health drunke as often, as bare,

and as lowd as the best of 'hem.

I'll goe tell her presently. It shall be done, that's resolu d.

I thought he would not heare it out, but 'twould take him.

Well, there be guests, & meat now; how shal we do for musique?

The smell of the venison, going through the street, will inuite

one noyse of fidlers, or other.

I would it would call the trumpeters thether.

Faith, there is hope, they haue intelligence of all feasts. There's

good correspondence betwixt them, and the London-cookes. 'Tis twenty

to one but we haue 'hem.

'Twill be a most solemne day for my vncle, and an excellent fit

of mirth for vs.

I, if we can hold vp the æmulation betwixt FOOLE, and DAW,

and neuer bring them to expostulate.

Tut, flatter 'hem both (as TRVE-WIT sayes) and you may take

their vnderstandings in a purse-net. They'll beleeue them selues to be iust

such men as we make 'hem, neither more nor lesse. They haue nothing, not

the vse of their senses, but by tradition.

See! Sir AMOROVS has his towell on already. Haue you per-

swaded, your cossen?

Yes, 'tis verie fæsible: shee'll do any thing she sayes, rather then

the LA-FOOLES shall be disgrac'd.

She is a noble kinswoman. It will be such a pest'ling deuice, sir

AMOROVS! It will pound all your enemies practises to poulder, and

blow him vp with his owne mine, his owne traine.

Nay, wee'll giue fire, I warrant you.

But you must carry it priuatly, without any noyse, and take no

notice by any meanes—

Gentlemen, my Princesse sayes, you shall haue all her siluer

dishes, festinate: and she's gone to alter her tyre a little, and go with you—

And your selfe too, captaine OTTER.

By any meanes, sir.

Yes sir, I doe meane it: but I would entreate my cosen sir A-

MOROVS, and you gentlemen, to be sutors to my Princesse, that I may

carry my bull, and my beare, as well as my horse.

That you shall doe, captaine OTTER.

My cosen will neuer consent, gentlemen.

She must consent, sir AMOROVS, to reason.

Why, she sayes they are no decorum among ladies.

But they are decora, and that's better, sir.

I, shee must heare argument. Did not PASIPHAE, who was a

queene, loue a bull? and was not CALISTO, the mother of ARCAS, turn'd

into a beare, and made a starre, mistris VRSVLA, i' the heauens?

O God! that I could ha' said as much! I will haue these stories

painted i' the beare-garden, ex Ouidij metamorphosi.

Where is your Princesse, Captaine? pray' be our leader.

That I shall, sir.

Make haste, good sir AMOROVS.

SIr, there's an angel for your selfe, and a brace of angels for your cold.

Muse not at this mannage of my bounty. It is fit wee should thanke

fortune, double to nature, for any benefit she conferres vpon vs; be-

sides, it is your imperfection, but my solace.

I thanke your worship, so is it mine, now.

What sayes he, CVTBERD?

He saies, Præsto, sir, whensoeuer your worship needes him, hee

can be ready with the like. He got this cold with sitting vp late, and sing-

ing catches with cloth-workers.

No more. I thanke him.

God keepe your worship, and giue you much ioy with your

faire spouse. (Vmh, vmh.)

O, Ô, stay CVTBERD! let him giue me fiue shillings of my mo-

ney backe. As it is bounty to reward benefits, so is it equity to mulct

iniuries. I will haue it. What sayes he?

He cannot change it, sir.

It must be chang'd.

Cough againe.

What sayes he?

He will cough out the rest, sir.

(Vmh, vmh, vmh.)

Away, away with him, stop his mouth, away, I forgiue it.—

Fye, master MOROSE, that you will vse this violence to a man

of the church.

How!

It do's not become your grauity, or breeding, (as you pretend in

court) to haue offer'd this outrage on a water-man, or any more boy

-strous creature, much lesse on a man of his ciuill coat.

You can speake then!

Yes, sir.

Speake, out I meane.

I sir. Why, did you thinke you had married a statue? or a mo-

tion, onely? one of the French puppets, with the eyes turn'd with a wire?

or some innocent out of the hospitall, that would stand with her hands

thus, and a playse mouth, and looke vpon you.

O immodestie! a manifest woman! what CVTBERD?

Nay, neuer quarrell with CVTBERD, sir, it is too late now. I

confesse, it doth bate somewhat of the modestie I had, when I writ

simply maide: but I hope, I shall make it a stocke still competent, to the e-

state, and dignity of your wife.

Shee can talke!

Yes indeed, sir.

What, sirrah. None of my knaues, there? where is this impo-

stor, CVTBERD?

Speake to him, fellow, speake to him. I'll haue none of this coa-

cted, vnnaturall dumbnesse in my house, in a family where I gouerne.

She is my Regent already! I haue married a PENTHESILEA,

a SEMIRAMIS, sold my liberty to a distaffe!

WHere's master MOROSE?

Is he come againe! lord haue mercy vpon me.

I wish you all ioy, mistris EPICOENE, with your graue

and honourable match.

I returne you the thankes, master TRVE-WIT, so friendly a wish

deserues.

She has acquaintance, too!

God saue you, sir, aud giue you all contentment in your faire

choise, here. Before I was the bird of night to you, the owle but now I

am the messenger of peace, a doue, and bring you the glad wishes of

many friends, to the celebration of this good houre.

What houre, sir?

Your marriage houre sir. I commend your resolution, that

(notwithstanding all the dangers I laid afore you, in the voice of a night-

crow) would yet goe on, and bee your selfe. It shewes you are a man con-

stant to your own ends, and vpright to your purposes, that would not be

put off with left-handed cries.

How should you arriue at the knowledge of so much!

Why, did you euer hope, sir, committing the secrecie of it to

a barber, that lesse then the whole towne should know it? you might as

well ha'told it the conduit, or the bake-house, or the infant'ry that follow

the court, and with more securitie. Could your grauitie forget so olde

and noted a remnant, as, lippis & tonsoribus notum. Well sir, forgiue it

your selfe now, the fault, and be communicable with your friends. Here

will bee three or foure fashionable ladies, from the colledge, to visit you

presently, and their traine of minions, and followers.

Barre my dores! barre my dores! where are all my eaters?

my mouthes now? barre vp my dores, you varlets.

He is a varlet, that stirres to such an office. Let 'hem stand open.

I would see him that dares mooue his eyes toward it. Shal I haue a barri-

cado made against my friends, to be barr'd of any pleasure they can bring

in to me with honorable visitation.

O Amazonian impudence!

Nay faith, in this, sir, she speakes but reason: and me thinkes

is more continent then you. Would you goe to bed so presently, sir, a-

fore noone? a man of your head, and haire, should owe more to that re-

ueuerend ceremony, and not mount the marriage-bed, like a towne-bul,

or a mountaine-goate; but stay the due season; and ascend it then with

religion, and feare. Those delights are to be steep'd in the humor, and si-

lence of the night; and giue the day to other open pleasures, and jollities

of feast, of musique, of reuells, of discourse: wee'll haue all, sir, that

may make your Hymen high, and happy.

O, my torment, my torment!

Nay, if you indure the first halfe houre, sir, so tediously, and

with this irksomnesse; what comfort, or hope, can this faire gentlewo-

man make to her selfe hereafter, in the consideration of so many yeeres as

are to come—

Of my affliction. Good sir, depart, and let her doe it alone.

I haue done, sir.

That cursed barber!

(Yes faith, a cursed wretch indeed, sir.)

I haue married his citterne, that's common to all men. Some

plague, aboue the plague——

(All Egypts ten plagues)

Reuenge me on him.

'Tis very well, sir. If you laid on a curse or two, more, I'll as-

sure you hee'll beare 'hem. As, that he may get the poxe with seeking to

cure it, sir? Or, that while he is curling another mans haire, his owne may

drop off? Or, for burning some male-baudes lock, he may haue his braine

beat out with the curling-iron?

No, let the wretch liue wretched. May he get the itch, and his

shop so lousie, as no man dare come at him, nor he come at no man.

(I, and if he would swallow all his balles for pills, let not them

purge him)

Let his warming pan be euer cold.

(A perpetuall frost vnderneath it, sir)

Let him neuer hope to see fire againe.

(But in hell, sir)

His chaires be alwaies empty, his scissors rust, and his combes

mould in their cases.

Very dreadfull that! (And may hee loose the inuention, sir, of

caruing lanternes in paper)

Let there be no baud carted that yeare, to employ a bason of

his: but let him be glad to eate his sponge, for bread.

And drinke lotium to it, and much good doe him.

Or, for want of bread—

Eat eare-waxe, sir. I'll helpe you. Or, draw his owne teeth, and

adde them to the lute-string.

No, beate the old ones to poulder, and make bread of them.

(Yes, make meale o'the millstones.)

May all the botches, and burnes, that he has cur'd on others,

breake out vpon him.

And he now forget the cure of 'hem in himselfe, sir: or, if he do

remember it, let him ha' scrap'd all his linnen into lint for't, and haue not

a rag left him, to set vp with.

Let him neuer set vp againe, but haue the gout in his hands

for euer. Now, no more, sir.

O that last was too high set! you might goe lesse with him

i'faith, and bee reueng'd enough: as, that he be neuer able to new-paint

his pole——

Good sir, no more. I forgot my selfe.

Or, want credit to take vp with a combe-maker——

No more, sir.

Or, hauing broken his glasse in a former despaire, fall now into

a much greater, of euer getting another——

I beseech you, no more.

Or, that he neuer be trusted with trimming of any but chimney-

sweepers——

Sir—

Or, may he cut a colliers throat with his rasor, by chance-med-

lee, and yet hang for't.

I will forgiue him, rather then heare any more. I beseech you,

sir.

THis way, madame.

O, the sea breakes in vpon me! another floud! an in-

undation! I shall be orewhelm'd with noise. It beates already at

my shores. I feele an earthquake in my selfe, for't.

'Giue you ioy, mistresse.

Has shee seruants too!

I haue brought some ladies here to see, and know you. My ladie

HAVCHTY, this my lady CENTAVRE, mistresse DOL MAVIS, mistresse

TRVSTIE my ladie HAVGHTIES woman. Where's your husband?

let's see him: can he endure no noise? let me come to him.

What nomenclator is this!

Sir IOHN DAW, sir, your wifes seruant, this.

A DAW, and her seruant! O, 'tis decreed, 'tis decreed of mee,

and shee haue such seruants.

Nay sir, you must kisse the ladies, you must not goe away, now;

they come toward you, to seeke you out.

I'faith, master MOROSE, would you steale a marriage thus, in

the midst of so many friends, and not acquaint vs? Well, I'll kisse you,

notwithstanding the iustice of my quarrell: you shall giue me leaue, mi-

stresse, to vse a becomming familiarity with your husband.

Your ladiship do's me an honour in it, to let me know hee is so

worthy your fauour: as, you haue done both him and me grace, to visit

so vnprepar'd a paire to entertaine you.

Complement! complement!.

But I must lay the burden of that, vpon my seruant, here.

It shall not need, mistresse MOROSE, wee will all beare, rather

then one shall be opprest.

I know it: and you will teach her the faculty, if shee bee to

learne it.

Is this the silent woman?

Nay, shee has found her tongue since shee was married, master

TRVE-WIT sayes.

O, master TRVE-WIT! 'saue you. What kinde of creature is

your bride here? she speakes, me thinkes!

Yes madame, beleeue it, she is a gentlewoman of very absolute

behauiour, and of a good race.

And IACK DAW told vs, she could not speake.

So it was carried in plot, madam, to put her vpon this old fellow,

by sir DAVPHINE, his nephew, and one or two more of vs: but shee is

a woman of an excellent assurance, and an extraordinarie happie wit, and

tongue. You shall see her make rare sport with DAW, ere night.

And he brought vs to laugh at her!

That falls out often, madame, that he that thinkes himselfe the

master-wit, is the master-foole. I assure your lady-ship, yee cannot laugh

at her.

No, weell haue her to the colledge: and shee haue wit, she shall

bee one of vs! shall shee not CENTAVRE? wee'll make her a collegiate.

Yes faith, madame, and MAVIS, and shee will set vp a side.

Beleeue it madame, and mistris MAVIS, shee will sustaine her

part.

I'll tell you that, when I haue talk'd with her, and try'd her.

Vse her very ciuilly, MAVIS.

So I will, madame.

Blessed minute, that they would whisper thus euer.

In the meane time, madame, would but your lady-ship helpe to

vexe him a little: you know his disease, talke to him about the wedding

ceremonies, or call for your gloues, or——

Let me alone. CENTAVRE, helpe me. M. bride-groome, where

are you?

O, it was too miracalously good to last!

Wee see no ensignes of a wedding, here; no character of a

brideale: where be our skarfes, and our gloues? I pray you, giue 'hem vs.

Let's know your brides colours, and yours, at least.

Alas, madame, he has prouided none.

Had I knowne your ladiships painter, I would.

He has giuen it you, CENTAVRE, yfaith. But, doe you heare,

M. MOROSE, a iest will not absolue you in this manner. You that haue

suck'd the milke of the court, and from thence haue beene brought vp to

the very strong meates, and wine, of it; beene a courtier from the big-

gen, to the night-cap: (as we may say) and you, to offend in such a high

point of ceremonie, as this! and let your nuptialls want all markes of

solemnitie! How much plate haue you lost to day (if you had but regar-

ded your profit) what guifts, what friends, through your meere ru-

sticitie?

Madame——

Pardon mee, sir, I must insinuate your errours to you. No

gloues? no garters? no skarfes? no epithalamium? no masque?gloues? no garters? no skarfes? no epithalamium? no masque?

Yes, madame, I'll make an epithalamium, I promis'd my mi-

stris, I haue begunne it alreadie: will your ladiship heare it?

I, good IACK DAW.

Will it please your ladiship command a chamber, and be pri-

uate, with your friend? you shall haue your choice of roomes, to retire to

after: my whole house is yours. I know, it hath beene your ladiships er-

rand, into the city, at other times, how euer now you haue beene vnhap-

pily diuerted vpon me: but I shall be loth to breake any honorable cu-

stome of your ladiships. And therefore, good madame——

Come, you are a rude bride-groome, to entertayne ladies of

honour in this fashion.

He is a rude groome, indeed.

By that light, you deserue to be grafted, and haue your hornes

reach from one side of the Iland, to the other. Doe not mtstake me, sir,

I but speake this, to giue the ladies some heart againe, not for any ma-

lice to you.

Is this your Brauo, ladies?

As god helpe me, if you vtter such another word, I'll take

mistris bride in, and beginne to you, in a very sad cup, doe you see? Goe

too, know your friends, and such, as loue you.

BY your leaue, ladies. Doe you want any musique? I haue brought

you varietie of noyses. Play, sirs, all of you.

O, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot vpon me! This day, I

shall be their anvile to worke on, they will grate me asunder. 'Tis worse

then the noyse of a saw.

No, they are haire, rosin, and guts. I can giue you the receipt.

Peace, boyes.

Play, I say.

Peace, rascalls. You see who's your friend now, sir? Take cou-

rage, put on a martyrs resolution. Mocke downe all their attemptings,

with patience. 'Tis but a day, and I would suffer heroically. Should an

asse exceed me in fortitude? No. You betray your infirmitie with your

hanging dull eares, and make them insult: beare vp brauely, and constant-

ly. Looke you here, sir, what honour is done you vnexpected, by your

nephew; a wedding dinner come, and a Knight sewer before it, for the

more reputation: and fine Mrs. OTTER, your neighbour, in the rumpe,

or tayle of it

Is that Gorgon, that Medusa come? Hide me, hide me.

I warrant you, sir, shee will not transforme you. Looke vpon

her with a good courage. Pray you entertayne her, and conduct your

guests in. No? Mistris bride, will you entreat in the ladies? your bride-

groome is so shame-fac'd, here——

Will it please your ladiship, madame?

With the benefit of your companie, mistris.

Seruant, pray you performe your duties.

And glad to be commanded, mistris.

How like you her wit, MAVIS.

Very prettily, absolutely well.

'Tis my place.

You shall pardon me, mistris OTTER.

Why I am a collegiate.

But not inordinarie.

But I am.

Wee'll dispute that within.

Would this had lasted a little longer.

And that they had Sent for the Heralds. Captaine OTTER

what newes?

I haue brought my bull, beare, and horse, in priuate, and yon-

der are the trumpeters without, and the drum, gentlemen.

O, Ô, Ô.

And we will haue a rouse in each of 'hem, anon, for bold Bri-

tons, yfaith.

O, Ô, Ô.

Follow, follow, follow.

WAs there euer poore bride-groome so tormented? or man

indeed?

I haue not read of the like, in the chronicles of the land.

Sure, hee cannot but goe to a place of rest, after all this

purgatorie.

He may presume it, I thinke.

The spitting, the coughing, the laughter, the neesing, the far-

ting, dauncing, noise of the musique, and her masculine, and lowd com-

manding, and vrging the whole family, makes him thinke he has married

a furie.

And shee carries it vp brauely.

I, shee takes any occasion to speake: that's the height on't.

And how soberly DAVPHINE labours to satisfie him, that it

was none of his plot!

And has almost brought him to the faith, i' the article. Here he

comes. Where is he now? what's become of him, DAVPHINE?

O, hold me vp a little, I shall goe away i' the iest else. Hee has

got on his whole nest of night-caps, and lock'd himselfe vp, i' the top o'

the house, as high, as euer he can climbe from the noise. I peep'd in at a

crany, and saw him sitting ouer a crosse-beame o' the roofe, like him o'

the sadlers horse in Fleetstreet, vp-right: and he will sleepe there.

But where are your collegiates?

With-drawne with the bride in priuate.

O, they are instructing her i' the colledge-Grammar. If shee

haue grace with them, shee knowes all their secrets instantly.

Me thinks, the lady HAVGHTY lookes well to day, for all my

dispraise of her i' the morning. I thinke, I shall come about to thee againe,

TRVE-WIT.

Beleeue it, I told you right. Women ought to repaire the losses,

time and yeeres haue made i' their features, with dressings. And an intel-

ligent woman, if shee know by her selfe the least defect, will bee most cu-

rious, to hide it: and it becomes her. If shee be short, let her sit much, lest

when shee stands, shee be thought to sit. If shee haue an ill foot, let her

weare her gowne the longer, and her shoo the thinner. If a fat hand, and

scald nailes, let her carue the lesse, and act in gloues. If a sowre breath, let

her neuer discourse fasting: and alwaies talke at her distance. If shee haue

black and rugged teeth, let her offer the lesse at laughter, especially if shee

laugh wide, and open.

O, you shall haue some women, when they laugh, you would

thinke they bray'd, it is so rude, and—

I, and others, that will stalke i' their gait like an Estrich, and take

huge strides. I cannot endure such a sight. I loue measure i' the feet, and

number i' the voice: they are gentlenesses, that oft-times draw no lesse

then the face.

How cam'st thou to studie these creatures so exactly? I would

thou would'st make me a proficient.

Yes, but you must leaue to liue i'your chamber then a month to-

gether vpon AMADIS de Gaule, or Don QVIXOTE, as you are wont; and

come abroad where the matter is frequent, to court, to tiltings, publique

showes, and feasts, to playes, and church sometimes: thither they come

to shew their new tyres too, to see, and to be seene. In these places a man

shall find whom to loue, whom to play with, whom to touch once, whom

to hold euer. The varietie arrests his iudgement. A wench to please a man

comes not downe dropping from the seeling, as he lyes on his backe dro-

ning a tobacco pipe. He must goe where shee is.

Yes, and be neuer the neere.

Out heretique. That diffidence makes thee worthy it should

bee so.

He sayes true to you, DAVPHINE.

Why?

A man should not doubt to ouer-come any woman. Thinke

he can vanquish 'hem, and he shall: for though they denie, their desire is

to be tempted. PENELOPE her selfe cannot hold out long. Ostend, you

saw, was taken at last. You must perseuer, and hold to your purpose.

They would sollicite vs, but that they are afraid. Howsoeuer, they wish

in their hearts we should sollicite them. Praise 'hem, flatter 'hem, you shal

neuer want eloquence, or trust: euen the chastest delight to feele them-

selues that way rub'd. With praises you must mixe kisses too. If they

take them, they'll take more. Though they striue, they would bee o-

uer-come.

O, but a man must beware of force.

It is to them an acceptable violence, and has oft-times the place

of the greatest courtesie. Shee that might haue beene forc'd, and you let

her goe free without touching, though shee then seeme to thanke you, will

euer hate you after: and glad i' the face, is assuredly sad at the heart.

But all women are not to be taken alwaies.

'Tis true. No more then all birds, or all fishes. If you appeare

learned to an ignorant wench, or iocund to a sad, or witty to a foolish, why

shee presently begins to mistrust her selfe. You must approch them i' their

owne height, their owne line: for the contrary makes many that feare to

commit themselues to noble and worthy fellowes, run into the imbraces

of a rascall. If shee loue wit, giue verses, though you borrow 'hem of a

friend, or buy 'hem, to haue good. If valour, talke of your sword, and be

frequent in the mention of quarrels, though you be staunch in fighting.

If actiuitie, be seene o'your barbary often, or leaping ouer stooles, for the

credit of your back. If shee loue good clothes or dressing, haue your lear-

ned counsell about you euery morning, your french taylor, barber, lin-

niner, &c. Let your poulder, your glasse, and your combe, be your dearest

acquaintance. Take more care for the ornament of your head, then the

safetie: and wish the common-wealth rather troubled, then a haire about

you. That will take her. Then if shee be couetous and crauing, doe you

promise any thing, and performe sparingly: so shall you keepe her in ap-

petite still. Seeme as you would giue, but be like a barren field that yeelds

little, or vnlucky dice, to foolish, and hoping gamesters. Let your gifts be

slight, and daintie, rather then pretious. Let cunning be aboue cost. Giue

cherries at time of yeere, or apricots; and say they were sent you out o'

the countrey, though you bought 'hem in Cheap-side. Admire her tyres;

like her in all fashions; compare her in euery habit to some deitie; inuent

excellent dreames to flatter her, and riddles; or, if shee bee a great one,

performe alwaies the second parts to her: like what shee likes, praise

whom she praises, and faile not to make the houshold and seruants yours,

yea the whole family, and salute 'hem by their names: ('tis but light cost if

you can purchase 'hem so) and make her physitian your pensioner, and

her chiefe woman. Nor will it bee out of your gaine to make loue to her

too, so shee follow, not vsher, her ladies pleasure. All blabbing is taken a-

way, when shee comes to be a part of the crime.

On what courtly lap hast thou late slept, to come forth so sud-

den and absolute a courtling?

Good faith, I should rather question you, that are so harkning

after these mysteries. I begin to suspect your diligence, DAVPHINE.

Speake, art thou in loue in earnest?

Yes by my troth am I: 'twere ill dissembling before thee.

With which of 'hem, I pray thee?

With all the collegiates.

Out on thee. Wee'll keepe you at home, beleeue it, i' the stable,

and you be such a stallion.

No. I like him well. Men should loue wisely, and all women:

some one for the face, and let her please the eye; another for the skin, and

let her please the touch; a third for the voice, and let her please the eare;

and where the obiects mixe, let the senses so too. Thou wouldst thinke

it strange, if I should make 'hem all in loue with thee afore night!

I would say thou had'st the best philtre i' the world, and couldst

doe more then madame MEDEA, or Doctor FOREMAN.

If I doe not, let me play the mounte-banke for my meate while

I liue, and the bawd for my drinke.

So be it, I say.

WE wondred why you shreek'd so, Mrs. OTTER.

O god, madame, he came downe with a huge

long naked weapon in both his hands, and look'd so dread-

fully! Sure, hee's beside himselfe.

Why what made you there, mistris OTTER?

Alas, mistris MAVIS, I was chastising my subiect, and

thought nothing of him.

Faith, mistris, you must doe so too. Learne to chastise. Mi-

stris OTTER corrects her husband so, hee dares not speake, but vnder

correction.

And with his hat off to her: 'twould doe you good to see.

In sadnesse 'tis good, and mature counsell: practise it, MO-

ROSE. I'll call you MOROSE still now, as I call CENTAVRE, and MAVIS:

we foure will be all one.

And you'll come to the colledge, and liue with vs?

Make him giue milke, and hony.

Looke how you manage him at first, you shall haue him e-

uer after.

Let him allow you your coach, and foure horses, your woman,

your chamber-maid, your page, your gentleman-vsher, your french cooke,

and foure groomes.

And goe with vs, to Bed'lem, to the China houses, and to the

Exchange.

It will open the gate to your fame.

Here's CENTAVRE has immortaliz'd her selfe, with taming

of her wilde male.

I, shee has done the miracle of the kingdome.

But ladies, doe you count it lawfull to haue such pluralitie of

seruants, and doe 'hem all graces?

Why not? why should women denie their fauours to men?

Are they the poorer, or the worse?

Is the Thames the lesse for the dyers water, mistris?

Or a torch, for lighting many torches?

Well said, LA-FOOLE; what a new one he has got!

They are emptie losses, women feare, in this kind.

Besides, ladies should be mindfull of the approach of age, and

let no time want his due vse. The best of our daies passe first.

We are riuers, that cannot be call'd backe, madame: shee that

now excludes her louers, may liue to lie a forsaken beldame, in a fro-

zen bed.

'Tis true, MAVIS: and who will wait on vs to coach then? or

write, or tell vs the newes then? Make anagrammes of our names, and in-

uite vs to the cock-pit, and kisse our hands all the play-time, and draw

their weapons for our honors?

Not one.

Nay, my mistris is not altogether vn-intelligent of these things;

here be in presence haue tasted of her fauours.

What a neighing hobby-horse is this!

But not with intent to boast 'hem againe, seruant. And haue

you those excellent receits, madame, to keepe your selues from bearing of

children?

O yes, MOROSE. How should we maintayne our youth and

beautie, else? Many births of a woman make her old, as many crops make

the earth barren.

O My cursed angell, that instructed me to this fate!

Why, sir?

That I should bee seduc'd by so foolish a deuill, as a

barber will make!

I would I had beene worthy, sir, to haue partaken your coun-

sell, you should neuer haue trusted it to such a minister.

Would I could redeeme it with the losse of an eye (nephew)

a hand, or any other member.

Mary, god forbid, sir, that you should geld your selfe, to an-

ger your wife.

So it would rid me of her! and, that I did supererogatorie pe-

nance, in a bellfry, at westminster-hall, in a cock-pit, at the fall of a stagge;

the tower-wharfe (what place is there else?) London-bridge, Paris-gar-

den, Belins-gate, when the noises are at their height and lowdest. Nay, I

would sit out a play, that were nothing but fights at sea, drum, trumpet,

and target!

I hope there shall be no such need, sir. Take patience, good

vncle. This is but a day, and 'tis well worne too now.

O, 'twill bee so for euer, nephew, I foresee it, for euer. Strife

and tumult are the dowrie that comes with a wife.

I told you so, sir, and you would not beleeue me.

Alas, doe not rub those wounds, master TRVE-WIT, to bloud

againe: 'twas my negligence. Adde not affliction to affliction. I haue per-

ceiu'd the effect of it, too late, in madame OTTER.

How doe you, sir?

Did you euer heare a more vnnecessary question? as if she did

not see! Why, I doe as you see, Empresse, Empresse.

You are not well, sir! you looke very ill! something has distem-

pered you.

O horrible, monstrous impertinencies! would not one of these

haue seru'd? doe you thinke, sir? would not one of these haue seru'd?

Yes, sir, but these are but notes of female kindnesse, sir: cer-

taine tokens that shee has a voice, sir.

O, is't so? come, and't be no otherwise— what say you?

How doe you feele your selfe, sir?

Againe, that!

Nay, looke you, sir: you would be friends with your wife vp-

on vn-conscionable termes, her silence—

They say you are run mad, sir.

Not for loue, I assure you, of you; doe you see?

O lord, gentlemen! Lay hold on him for gods sake: what shal

I doe? who's his physitian (can you tel) that knowes the state of his body

best, that I might send for him? Good sir, speake. I'll send for one of my

doctors else.

What, to poyson me, that I might die intestate, and leaue you

possest of all?

Lord, how idly he talkes, and how his eyes sparkle! He lookes

greene about the temples! Doe you see what blue spots he has?

I, it's melancholy.

Gentlemen, for heauens sake counsell me. Ladies! Seruant,

you haue read PLINY, and PARACELSVS: Ne're a word now to comfort

a poore gentlewoman? Ay me! what fortune had I to marry a distra-

cted man?

I'll tell you, mistris——

How rarely shee holds it vp!

What meane you, gentlemen?

What will you tell me, seruant?

The disease in Greeke is called Μανία, in Latine, Insania, Furor,

vel Ecstasis melancholica, that is, Egressio, when a man ex melancholico, eua-

dit fanaticus.

Shall I haue a lecture read vpon me aliue?

But he may be but Phreneticus, yet, mistris? and Phrenetis is on-

ly  delirium, or so——

I, that is for the disease, seruant: but what is this to the cure?

we are sure inough of the disease.

Let me goe.

Why, wee'll intreat her to hold her peace, sir.

O, no. Labour not to stop her. Shee is like a conduit-pipe, that

will gush out with more force, when shee opens againe.

I'll tell you, MOROSE, you must talke diuinitie to him altoge-

ther or morall philosophie.

I, and there's an excellent booke of morall philosophie, ma-

dame, of RAYNARD the foxe, and all the beasts, call'd, DONES

philosophie.

There is, indeed, sir AMOROVS LA-FOOLE.

O miserie!

I haue read it, my lady CENTAVRE, all ouer to my cousin,

here.

I, and 'tis a very good booke as any is, of the Modernes.

Tut, hee must haue SENECA read to him, and PLVTARCH,

and the Ancients; the Modernes are not for this disease.

Why, you discommended them too, to day, sir IOHN.

I, in some cases: but in these they are best, and ARISTOTLES

Ethicks.

Say you so, sir IOHN? I thinke you are deceiu'd: you tooke it

vpon trust.

Where's TRVSTY, my woman? I'll end this difference. I

pr'ythee, OTTER, call her. Her father and mother were both mad, when

they put her to me.

I thinke so. Nay, gentlemen, I am tame. This is but an exer-

cise, I know, a marriage ceremonie, which I must endure.

And one of 'hem (I know not which) was cur'd with the Sick-

mans salue; and the other with GREENES groates-worth of wit.

A very cheape cure, madame.

I, it's very fæsible.

My lady call'd for you, mistris TRVSTY: you must decide a

controuersie.

O TRVSTY, which was it you said, your father, or your mo-

ther, that was cur'd with the Sicke-mans salue?

My mother, madame, with the salue.

Then it was the Sicke-womans salue.

And my father with the Groates-worth of wit. But there was o-

ther meanes vs'd: we had a Preacher that would preach folke asleepe still;

and so they were prescrib'd to goe to church, by an old woman that was

their physitian, thrise a weeke——

To sleepe?

Yes forsooth: and euery night they read themselues asleepe

on those bookes.

Good faith, it stands with great reason. I would I knew where

to procure those bookes.

Oh.

I can helpe you with one of 'hem, mistris MOROSE, the groats-

worth of wit.

But I shall disfurnish you, sir AMOROVS: can you spare it?

O, yes, for a weeke, or so; I'll reade it my selfe to him.

No, I must doe that, sir: that must be my office.

Oh, oh!

Sure, he would doe well inough, if he could sleepe.

No, I should doe well inough, if you could sleepe. Haue I no

friend that will make her drunke? or giue her a little ladanum? or opium?

Why, sir, shee talkes ten times worse in her sleepe.

How!

Doe you not know that, sir? neuer ceases all night.

And snores like a porcpisce.

O, redeeme me, fate, redeeme me, fate. For how many causes

may a man be diuorc'd, nephew?

I know not truely, sir.

Some Diuine must resolue you in that, sir, or canon-Lawyer.

I will not rest, I will not thinke of any other hope or comfort,

till I know.

Alas, poore man.

You'll make him mad indeed, ladies, if you pursue this.

No, wee'll let him breathe, now, a quarter of an houre, or so.

By my faith, a large truce.

Is that his keeper, that is gone with him?

It is his nephew, madame.

Sir DAVPHINE EVGENIE.

He lookes like a very pittifull knight—

As can be. This marriage, has put him out of all.

He has not a penny in his purse, madame—

He is readie to crie all this day.

A very sharke, he set me i' the nicke t'other night at primero.

How these swabbers talke!

I, OTTERS wine has swell'd their humours aboue a spring-

tide.

Good MOROSE, let's goe in againe. I like your couches ex-

ceeding well: wee'll goe lie, and talke there.

I wait on you, madame.

'Slight, I wil haue 'hem as silent as Signes, & their posts too, e're

I ha' done. Doe you heare, lady-bride? I pray thee now, as thou art a noble

wench, continue this discourse of DAVPHINE within: but praise him ex-

ceedingly. Magnifie him with all the height of affection thou canst. (I haue

some purpose in't) and but beate off these two rookes, IACK DAW, and

his fellow, with any discontentment hither, and I'll honour thee for euer.

I was about it, here. It angred mee to the soule, to heare 'hem

beginne to talke so malepert.

Pray thee performe it, and thou win'st mee an idolater to thee,

euerlasting.

Will you goe in, and heare me doe it?

No, I'll stay here. Driue 'hem out of your companie, 'tis all I

aske: which cannot bee any way better done, then by extolling DAV-

PHINE, whom they haue so slighted.

I warrant you: you shall expect one of 'hem presently.

What a cast of kastrils are these, to hawke after ladies, thus?

I, and strike at such an eagle as DAVPHINE.

He will be mad, when we tell him. Here he comes.

O Sir, you are welcome.

Where's thine vncle?

Run out o'dores in's night-caps, to talke with a Casuist

about his diuorce. It workes admirably.

Thou would'st ha' said so, and thou had'st beene here! The

ladies haue laught at thee, most comically, since thou wentst, DAVPHINE.

And askt, if thou wert thine vncles keeper?

And the brace of Babouns answer'd, yes; and said, thou wert

a pittifull poore fellow, and did'st liue vpon posts: and had'st nothing

but three sutes of apparell, and some few beneuolences that lords ga' thee

to foole to 'hem, and swagger.

Let me not liue, I'll beate 'hem. I'll binde 'hem both to grand

Madames bed-postes, and haue 'hem bayted with monkeyes.

Thou shalt not need, they shall be beaten to thy hand, DAV-

PHINE. I haue an execution to serue vpon 'hem, I warrant thee shall

serue: trust my plot.

I, you haue many plots! So you had one, to make all the wen-

ches in loue with me.

Why, if I doe not yet afore night, as neere as 'tis; and that

they doe not euery one inuite thee, and be ready to scratch for thee: take

the morgage of my wit.

'Fore god, I'll be his witnesse; thou shalt haue it, DAVPHINE:

thou shalt be his foole for euer, if thou doest not.

Agreed. Perhaps'twill bee the better estate. Doe you obserue

this gallerie? or rather lobby, indeed? Here are a couple of studies, at each

end one: here will I act such a tragi-comœdy betweene the Guelphes, and the

Ghibellines, DAW and LA-FOOLE—which of 'hem comes out first, will I

seize on: (you two shall be the chorus behind the arras, and whip out be-

tweene the acts, and speake.) If I doe not make 'hem keepe the peace, for

this remnant of the day, if not of the yeere, I haue faild once—I heare

DAW comming: Hide, and doe not laugh, for gods sake.

Which is the way into the garden, trow?

O, IACK DAW! I am glad I haue met with you. In good faith,

I must haue this matter goe no furder betweene you. I must ha' it ta-

ken vp.

What matter, sir? Betweene whom?

Come, you disguise it--Sir AMOROVS and you. If you loue me

IACK, you shall make vse of your philosophy now, for this once, and de-

liuer me your sword. This is not the wedding the CENTAVRES were at,

though there be a shee-one here. The bride has entreated me I will see no

bloud shed at her bridall, you saw her whisper me ere-while.

As I hope to finish TACITVS, I intend no murder.

Doe you not wait for sir AMOROVS?

Not I, by my knight-hood.

And your schollership too?

And my schollership too.

Goe to, then I returne you your sword, and aske you mercy;

but put it not vp, for you will be assaulted. I vnderstood that you had ap-

prehended it, and walkt here to braue him: and that you had held your

life contemptible, in regard of your honor.

No, no, no such thing I assure you. He and I parted now, as

good friends as could be.

Trust not you to that visor. I saw him since dinner with an-

other face: I haue knowne many men in my time vex'd with losses,

with deaths, and with abuses, but so offended a wight as sir AMO-

ROVS did I neuer see, or read of. For taking away his guests, sir, to

day, that's the cause: and hee declares it behind your backe, with

such threatnings and contempts— He said to DAVPHINE, you were

the errandst asse—

I, he may say his pleasure.

And sweares, you are so protested a coward, that hee knowes

you will neuer doe him any manly or single right, and therefore hee will

take his course.

I'll giue him any satisfaction, sir—but fighting.

I, sir, but who knowes what satisfaction hee'll take? bloud he

thirsts for, and bloud he will haue: and where-abouts on you he will haue

it, who knowes, but himselfe?

I pray you, master TRVE-WIT, be you a mediator.

Well, sir, conceale your selfe then in this studie, till I returne.

Nay, you must bee content to bee lock'd in: for, for mine owne reputa-

tion I would not haue you seene to receiue a publique disgrace, while

I haue the matter in managing. Gods so, here hee comes: keepe your

breath close, that hee doe not heare you sigh. In good faith, sir AMO-

TOVS, hee is not this way, I pray you bee mercifull, doe not murder

him; hee is a christian as good as you: you are arm'd as if you sought

a reuenge on all his race. Good DAVPHINE, get him away from this

place. I neuer knew a mans choller so high, but hee would speake

to his friends, hee would heare reason. IACK DAW, IACK DAW!

a-sleepe?

Is he gone, master TRVE-WIT?

I, did you heare him?

O god, yes.

What a quick eare feare has?

But is he so arm'd, as you say?

Arm'd? did you euer see a fellow, set out to take possession?

I, sir.

That may giue you some light, to conceiue of him: but 'tis

nothing to the principall. Some false brother i'the house has furnish'd

him strangely. Or, if it were out o' the house, it was TOM OTTER.

Indeed, hee's a Captayne, and his wife is his kinswoman.

Hee has got some-bodies old two-hand-sword, to mow you

off at the knees. And that sword hath spawn'd such a dagger!—but then

he is so hung with pikes, halberds, peitronells, calliuers, and muskets, that

he lookes like a Iustice of peace's hall: a man of two thousand a yeere, is

not sess'd at so many weapons, as he has on. There was neuer fencer chal-

leng'd at so many seuerall foiles. You would thinke hee meant to mur-

der all Saint PVLCHRES parish. If hee could but victuall himselfe for

halfe a yeere, in his breeches, hee is sufficiently arm'd to ouer-runne a

countrie.

Good lord, what meanes he, sir! I pray you, master TRVE-

WIT, be you a mediator.

Well, I'll trie if he will be appeas'd with a leg or an arme, if not,

you must die once.

I would be loth to loose my right arme, for writing madrigalls.

Why, if he will be satisfied with a thumb, or a little finger, all's

one to me. You must thinke, I'll doe my best.

Good sir, doe.

What hast thou done?

He will let me doe nothing, man, he do's all afore me, he offers

his left arme.

His left wing, for a IACK DAW.

Take it, by all meanes.

How! Maime a man for euer, for a iest? what a conscience

hast thou?

'Tis no losse to him: he has no employment for his armes, but

to eate spoone-meate. Beside, as good maime his body as his repu-

tation.

He is a scholler, and a Wit, and yet he do's not thinke so. But he

looses no reputation with vs, for we all resolu'd him an asse before. To

your places againe.

I pray thee, let me be in at the other a little.

Looke, you'll spoile all: these be euer your tricks.

No, but I could hit of some things that thou wilt misse, and

thou wilt say are good ones.

I warrant you. I pray forbeare, I'll leaue it off, else.

Come away, CLERIMONT.

Sir AMOROVS!

Master TRVE-WIT.

Whether were you going?

Downe into the court, to make water.

By no meanes, sir, you shall rather tempt your breeches.

Why, sir?

Enter here, if you loue your life.

Why! why!

Question till your throat bee cut, doe: dally till the enraged

soule find you.

Who's that?

DAW it is: will you in?

I, I, I'll in: what's the matter?

Nay, if hee had beene coole inough to tell vs that, there had

beene some hope to attone you, but he seemes so implacably enrag'd.

'Slight, let him rage. I'll hide my selfe.

Doe, good sir. But what haue you done to him within, that

should prouoke him thus? you haue broke some iest vpon him, afore the

ladies——

Not I, neuer in my life, broke iest vpon any man. The bride

was praising sir DAVPHINE, and he went away in snuffe, and I followed

him, vnlesse he tooke offence at me, in his drinke ere while, that I would

not pledge all the horse full.

By my faith, and that may bee, you remember well: but hee

walkes the round vp and downe, through euery roome o'the house, with

a towell in his hand, crying, where's LA-FOOLE? who saw LA-FOOLE?

and when DAVPHINE, and I, demanded the cause, wee can force no an-

swere from him, but (Ô reuenge, how sweet art thou! I will strangle him

in this towell) which leads vs to coniecture, that the maine cause of his

furie is for bringing your meate to day, with a towell about you, to his

discredit.

Like inough. Why, and he be angrie for that, I'll stay here, till

his anger be blowne ouer.

A good becomming resolution, sir. If you can put it on o' the

sudden.

Yes, I can put it on. Or, I'll away into the country presently.

How will you get out o'the house, sir? Hee knowes you are i'

the house, and hee'll watch you this se'n-night but hee'll haue you. Hee'll

out-wait a sargeant for you.

Why, then I'll stay here.

You must thinke, how to victuall your selfe in time, then.

Why, sweet master TRVE-WIT, will you entreat my cousin

OTTER, to send me a cold venison pasty, a bottle or two of wine, and a

chamber pot.

A stoole were better, sir, of sir A-IAX his inuention.

I, that will be better indeed: and a pallat to lie on.

O, I would not aduise you to sleepe by any meanes.

Would you not, sir? why, then I will not.

Yet, there's another feare——

Is there, sir? What is't?

No, he cannot breake open this dore with his foot, sure.

I'll set my backe against it, sir. I haue a good backe.

But, then if he should batter.

Batter! if he dare, I'll haue an action of batt'ry, against him.

Cast you the worst. He has sent for poulder alreadie, and what

he will doe with it, no man knowes: perhaps blow vp the corner o' the

house, where he suspects you are. Here he comes, in quickly. I protest,

sir IOHN DAW, he is not this way: what will you doe? before god, you

shall hang no petarde here. I'll die rather. Will you not take my word? I

neuer knew one but would be satisfied. Sir AMOROVS, there's no stan-

ding out. He has made a petarde of an old brasse pot, to force your dore.

Thinke vpon some satisfaction, or termes, to offer him.

Sir, I'll giue him any satisfaction. I dare giue any termes.

You'll leaue it to me, then?

I, sir. I'll stand to any conditions.

How now, what thinke you, sirs? wer't not a difficult thing to

determine, which of these two fear'd most.

Yes, but this feares the brauest: the other a whiniling da-

stard, IACK DAW! but LA-FOOLE, a braue heroique coward! and is a-

fraid in a great looke, and a stout accent. I like him rarely.

Had it not beene pitty, these two should ha' beene conceal'd?

Shall I make a motion?

Briefly. For I must strike while 'tis hot.

Shall I goe fetch the ladies to the catastrophe?

Vmh? I, by my troth.

By no mortall meanes. Let them continue in the state of igno-

rance, and erre still: thinke 'hem wits, and fine fellowes, as they haue

done. 'Twere sinne to reforme them.

Well, I will haue 'hem fetch'd, now I thinke on't, for a priuate

purpose of mine: doe, CLERIMONT, fetch 'hem, and discourse to

hem all that's past, and bring 'hem into the gallery here.

This is thy extreme vanitie now; thou think'st thou wert vn-

done, if euery iest thou mak'st were not publish'd.

Thou shalt see, how vniust thou art, presently. CLERIMONT,

say it was DAVPHINE's plot. Trust me not, if the whole drift be not for

thy good; there's a carpet i' the next roome, put it on, with this scarfe o-

uer thy face, and a cushion o' thy head, and bee ready when I call AMO-

ROVS. Away. IOHN DAW.

What good newes, sir.

Faith, I haue followed, and argued with him hard for you. I

told him, you were a knight, and a scholler; and that you knew fortitude

did consist magis patiendo quam faciendo. Magis ferendo quam feriendo.

It doth so indeed, sir.

And that you would suffer, I told him: so, at first he demanded,

by my troth, in my conceipt, too much.

What was it, sir.

Your vpper lip, and sixe o'your fore-teeth.

'Twas vnreasonable.

Nay, I told him plainely, you could not spare 'hem all. So af-

ter long argument (pro & con, as you know) I brought him downe to your

two butter-teeth, and them he would haue.

O, did you so? why, he shall haue 'hem.

But he shall not, sir, by your leaue. The conclusion is this, sir,

because you shall be very good friends hereafter, and this neuer to bee re-

membred, or vp-braided, besides, that he may not boast, he has done any

such thing to you in his owne person, hee is to come here in disguise, giue

you fiue kicks in priuate, sir, take your sword from you; and lock you vp

in that studie, during pleasure; which will be but a little while, wee'll get

it releas'd presently.

Fiue kicks? he shall haue sixe, sir, to be friends.

Beleeue mee, you shall not ouer-shoot your selfe, to send him

that word by me.

Deliuer it, sir. He shall haue it with all my heart to be friends.

Friends? Nay, and he should not be so; and heartily too vp-

on these termes, he shall haue me to enemie while I liue. Come, sir, beare

it brauely.

O god, sir, 'tis nothing.

True. What's sixe kicks to a man, that reads SENECA.

I haue had a hundred, sir.

Sir AMOROVS. No speaking one to another, or rthearsing old

matters.

One, two, three, foure, fiue; I protest, sir AMOROVS, you

shall haue sixe.

Nay, I told you should not talke. Come, giue him sixe, and he

will : your sword. Now returne to your safe custodie: you shall presently

meet afore the ladies, and be the dearest friends one to another. Giue me

the scarfe, now, thou shalt beat the other bare-fac'd. Stand by, sir A-

MOROVS.

What's here? A sword.

I cannot helpe it, without I should take the quarrell vpon my

selfe: here he has sent you his sword——

I'll receiue none on't.

And he wills you to fasten it against a wall, and breake your

head in some few seuerall places against the hilts.

I will not: tell him roundly. I cannot endure to shed my owne

bloud.

Will you not?

No. I'll beat it against a faire flat wall, if that will satisfie him:

If not, he shall beat it himselfe, for AMOROVS.

Why, this is strange starting off, when a man vnder-takes for

you! I offered him another condition: Will you stand to that?

I, what is't.

That you will be beaten, in priuate.

Yes. I am content, at the blunt.

Then you must submit your selfe to bee hood-wink'd in this

skarfe, and bee led to him, where hee will take your sword from you, and

make you beare a blow, ouer the mouth, gules, and tweakes by the nose,

sans numbre.

I am content. But why must I be blinded?

That's for your good, sir: because, if hee should grow insolent

vpon this, and publish it hereafter to your disgrace (which I hope he will

not doe) you might sweare safely and protest, hee neuer beat you, to your

knowledge.

O, I conceiue.

I doe not doubt, but you'll be perfect good friends vpon't, and

not dare to vtter an ill thought one of another, in future.

Not I, as god helpe me, of him.

Nor he of you, sir. If he should — Come, sir. All hid, sir

IOHN.

Oh, sir IOHN, sir IOHN. Oh, Ô-ô-ô-ô-ô-Oh—

Good, sir IOHN, leaue tweaking, you'll blow his nose off. 'Tis

sir IOHN's pleasure, you should retire into the studie. Why, now you

are friends. All bitternesse betweene you, I hope, is buried; you shall

come forth by and by, DAMON & PYTHIAS vpon't: and embrace with

all the ranknesse of friendship that can be. I trust, wee shall haue 'hem ta-

mer i' their language hereafter. DAVPHINE, I worship thee. Gods will,

the ladies haue surpris'd vs!

CENTAVRE, how our iudgements were impos'd on by these adul-

terate knights!

Nay, madame, MAVIS was more deceiu'd then we,'twas

her commendation vtter'd 'hem in the colledge.

I commended but their wits, madame, and their braueries. I

neuer look'd toward their valours.

Sir DAVPHINE is valiant, and a wit too, it seemes?

And a brauerie too.

Was this his proiect?

So master CLERIMONT intimates, madame.

Good MOROSE, when you come to the colledge, will you

bring him with you? He seemes a very perfect gentleman.

He is so, madame, beleeue it.

But when will you come, MOROSE?

Three or foure dayes hence, madame, when I haue got mee a

coach, and horses.

No, to morrow, good MOROSE, CENTAVRE shall send you

her coach.

Yes faith, doe, and bring sir DAVPHINE with you.

Shee has promis'd that, MAVIS.

He is a very worthy gentleman, in his exteriors, madame.

I, he showes he is iudiciall in his clothes.

And yet not so superlatiuely neat as some, madame, that haue

their faces set in a brake!

I, and haue euery haire in forme!

That weare purer linnen then our selues, and professe more

neatnesse, then the french hermaphrodite!

I ladies, they, what they tell one of vs, haue told a thousand,

and are the only theeues of our fame: that thinke to take vs with that per-

fume, or with that lace, and laugh at vs vn-conscionably when they

haue done.

But, sir DAVPHINES carelesnesse becomes him.

I could loue a man, for such a nose!

Or such a leg!

He has an exceeding good eye, madame!

And a very good lock!

Good MOROSE, bring him to my chamber first.

Please your honors, to meet at my house, madame?

See, how they eye thee, man; they are taken, I warrant thee.

You haue vnbrac'd our brace of knights, here, master TRVE-

WIT.

Not I, madame, it was sir DAVPHINES ingine: who, if he haue

disfurnish'd your ladiship of any guard, or seruice by it, is able to make

the place good againe in himselfe.

There's no suspition of that, sir.

God so, MAVIS, HAVGHTY is kissing.

Let vs goe too, and take part.

But I am glad of the fortune, beside the discouerie of two such

emptie caskets, to gaine the knowledge of so rich a mine of vertue, as sir

DAVPHINE.

We would be al glad to stile him of our friendship, and see him

at the colledge.

He cannot mixe with a sweeter societie, I'll prophesie, and I

hope he himselfe will thinke so.

I should be rude to imagine otherwise, lady.

Did not I tell thee, DAVPHINE? Why, all their actions are go-

uerned by crude opinion, without reason or cause: they know not why

they doe any thing, but as they are inform'd, beleeue, iudge, praise, con-

demne, loue, hate, and in æmulation one of another, doe all these things

alike: onely, they haue a naturall inclination swayes 'hem generally to the

worst, when they are left to themselues. But, pursue it now thou hast 'hem.

Shall we goe in againe, MOROSE.

Yes, madame.

Wee'll entreat sir DAVPHINES companie.

Stay, good madame, the inter-view of the two friends, PYLA-

DES and ORESTES, I'll fetch 'hem out to you straight.

Will you, master TRVE-WIT.

I, but noble ladies, doe not confesse in your countenance, or

outward bearing to 'hem any discouerie of their follies, that wee may see,

how they will beare vp againe, with what assurance and erection.

We will not, sir DAVPHINE.

Vpon our honors, sir DAVPHINE.

Sir AMOROVS, sir AMOROVS. The ladies are here.

Are they?

Yes, but slip out by and by, as their backs are turn'd, and meet

sir IOHN here by chance, when I call you. IACK DAW.

What say you, sir.

Whip out behind me suddenly; and no anger i'your lookes to

your aduersarie. Now, now.

Noble sir IOHN DAW, where ha' you beene!

To seeke you, sir AMOROVS.

Me! I honor you.

I preuent you, sir.

They haue forgot their rapiers!

O, they meet in peace, man.

Where's your sword, sir IOHN?

And yours, sir AMOROVS?

Mine! my boy had it forth, to mend the handle, eene now.

And my gold handle was broke too, and my boy had it forth.

Indeed, sir? How their excuses meet!

What a consent there is, i' the handles?

Nay, there is so i' the points too, I warrant you.

O me! madame, he comes againe, the mad man, away.

WHat make these naked weapons here, gentlemen?

O, sir! here hath like to been murder since you went!

A couple of knights fallen out about the brides fauours: wee

were faine to take away their weapons, your house had beene beg'd by

this time else——

For what?

For man-slaughter, sir, as being accessary.

And, for her fauours?

I, sir, heretofore, not present. CLERIMONT, carry 'hem their

swords, now. They haue done all the hurt they will doe.

Ha' you spoke with a lawyer, sir?

O, no! there is such a noyse i' the court, that they haue frighted

mee home, with more violence then I went! such speaking, and coun-

ter speaking with their seuerall voyces of citations, appellations, allega-

tions, certificates, attachments, intergatories, references, conuictions, and af-

flictions, indeed, among the Doctors and Proctors! that the noise here is

silence too't! a kind of calme mid-night!

Why, sir, if you would be resolu'd indeed, I can bring you he-

ther a very sufficient Lawyer, and a learned Diuine, that shall inquire in-

to euery least scruple for you.

Can you, master TRVE-WIT?

Yes, and are very sober graue persons, that will dispatch it in a

chamber, with a whisper, or two.

Good sir, shall I hope this benefit from you, and trust my selfe

into your hands?

Alas, sir! your nephew, and I, haue beene asham'd, and oft-

times mad since you went, to thinke how you are abus'd. Goe in, good

sir, and lock your selfe vp till we call you, wee'll tell you more anon, sir.

Doe your pleasure with me, gentlemen; I beleeue in you: and

that deserues no delusion——

You shall find none, sir: but heapt, heapt plentie of vexation.

What wilt thou doe now, WIT?

Recouer me hether OTTER, and the Barber, if you can, by a-

ny meanes, presently.

Why? to what purpose?

O, I'll make the deepest Diuine, and grauest Lawyer, out o'

them two, for him——

Thou canst not man, these are waking dreames.

Doe not feare me. Clap but a ciuill gowne with a welt, o' the

one; and a canonical cloake with sleeues, o' the other: and giue 'hem a few

termes i' their mouthes, if there come not forth as able a Doctor, and

compleat a Parson, for this turne, as may be wish'd, trust not my election.

And, I hope, without wronging the dignitie of either profession, since

they are but persons put on, and for mirths sake, to torment him. The

Barber smatters latin, I remember.

Yes, and OTTER too.

Well then, if I make 'hem not wrangle out this case, to his no

comfort, let me be thought a IACK DAW, or LA-FOOLE, or any thing

worse. Goe you to your ladies, but first send for them.

I will.

WHere had you our swords, master CLERIMONT?

Why, DAVPHINE tooke 'hem from the mad-man.

And he tooke 'hem from our boyes, I warrant you?

Very like, sir.

Thanke you, good master CLERIMONT. Sir IOHN DAW, and

I are both beholden to you.

Would I knew how to make you so, gentlemen.

Sir AMOROVS, and I are your seruants, sir.

Gentlemen, haue any of you a pen-and-inke. I would faine

write out a riddle in Italian, for sir DAVPHINE, to translate.

Not I, in troth lady, I am no scriuener.

I can furnish you, I thinke, lady.

He has it in the haft of a knife, I beleeue!

No, he has his boxe of instruments.

Like a surgean!

For the mathematiques: his squire, his compasses, his brasse

pens, and black-lead, to draw maps of euery place, and person, where

he comes.

How, maps of persons!

Yes, sir, of NOMENTACK, when he was here, and of the Prince

of Moldauia, and of his mistris, mistris EPICŒNE.

Away! he has not found out her latitude, I hope.

You are a pleasant gentleman, sir.

Faith, now we are in priuate, let's wanton it a little, and talke

waggishly. Sir IOHN, I am telling sir AMOROVS here, that you two go-

uerne the ladies, where e're you come, you carry the feminine gender a-

fore you.

They shall rather carry vs afore them, if they will, sir.

Nay, I beleeue that they doe, withall—But, that you are the

prime-men in their affections, and direct all their actions——

Not I: sir AMOROVS is.

I protest, sir IOHN is.

As I hope to rise i' the state, sir AMOROVS, you ha' the person.

Sir IOHN, you ha' the person, and the discourse too.

Not I, sir. I haue no discourse—and then you haue actiuitie

beside.

I protest, sir IOHN, you come as high from Tripoly, as I doe e-

uery whit: and lift as many ioyn'd stooles, and leape ouer 'hem, if you

would vse it——

Well, agree on't together knights; for betweene you, you di-

uide the kingdome, or common-wealth of ladies affections: I see it, and

can perceiue a little how they obserue you, and feare you, indeed. You

could tell strange stories, my masters, if you would, I know.

Faith, we haue seene somewhat, sir.

That we haue—vellet petti-coates, & wrought smocks, or so.

I, and——

Nay, out with it, sir IOHN: doe not enuie your friend the plea-

sure of hearing, when you haue had the delight of tasting.

Why—a—doe you speake, sir AMOROVS.

No, doe you, sir IOHN DAW.

I'faith, you shall.

I'faith, you shall.

Why, we haue beene——

In the great bed at Ware together in our time. On, sir IOHN.

Nay, doe you, sir AMOROVS.

And these ladies with you, Knights?

No, excuse vs, sir.

We must not wound reputation.

No matter—they were these, or others. Our bath cost vs fif-

teene pound, when we came home.

Doe you heare, sir IOHN, you shall tell me but one thing true-

ly as you loue me.