GRamercie Letherleg: Get me the Spurrier,

And thou hast fitted me.

I'll do't presently.

Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, Land,

That is, looke on me, and with all thine eyes,

Male, Female, yea, Hermaphroditicke eyes,

And those bring all your helpes, and perspicills,

To see me at best aduantage, and augment

My forme as I come forth, for I doe feele

I will be one, worth looking after, shortly.

Now, by and by, that's shortly. ^* 't strikes! One, two,

Three, foure, fiue, six. lnough, inough, deare watch,

Thy pulse hath beate inough. Now sleepe, and rest;

Would thou couldst make the time to doe so too:

I'll winde thee vp no more. The houre is come

So long expected! There, there, ^* drop my wardship,

My pupill age, and vassalage together.

And Liberty, come throw thy selfe about me,

In a rich suite, cloake, hat, and band, for now

I'le sue out no mans Liuery, but miny owne,

I stand on my owne feete, so much a yeere,

Right, round, and sound, the Lord of mine owne ground,

And (to ryme to it) threescore thousand Pound!

^* Not come? Not yet? Taylor thou art a vermine,

Worse then the same thou prosecut'st, and prick'st

In subtill seame— (Go too, I say no more)

Thus to retard my longings: on the day

I doe write man, to beat thee. One and twenty,

Since the clock strooke, compleat! and thou wilt feele it

Thou foolish Animall! I could pitty him,

(An' I were not heartily angry with him now)

For this one peece of folly he beares about him,

To dare to tempt the Furie of an heyre,

T' aboue two thousand a yeere; yet hope his custome!

Well, M^r. Fashioner, theres some must breake—

A head, for this your breaking. Are you come, Sir,

GOd giue your worship ioy.

What? of your staying?

And leauing me to stalke here in my trowses,

Like a tame Her'n-sew for you?

I but waited

Below, till the clocke strooke.

Why, if you had come

Before a quarter, would it so haue hurt you,

In reputation, to haue wayted here?

No, but your worship might haue pleaded nonage,

If you had got 'hem on, ere I could make

Iust Affidauit of the time.

That iest

Has gain'd thy pardon, thou had'st liu'd, condemn'd

To thine owne hell else, neuer to haue wrought

Stitch more for me, or any Peniboy,

I could haue hindred thee: but now thou art mine.

For one and twenty yeeres, or for three liues,

Chuse which thou wilt, I'll make thee a Copy-holder,

And thy first Bill vnquestion'd. Helpe me on.

Presently, Sir, I am bound vnto your worship.

Thou shalt be, when I haue seal'd thee a Lease of my Custome.

Your wor^ps.Barbar is without.

Who? Thom?

Come in Thom: set thy things vpon the Boord

And spread thy clothes, lay all forth in procinctu,

And tell's what newes?

O Sir, a staple of newes!

Or the New Staple, which you please.

What's that?

An Office, Sir, a braue young Office set vp.

I had forgot to tell your worship.

For what?

To enter all the Newes, Sir, o' the time,

And vent it as occasion serues! A place

Of huge commerce it will be!

Pray thee peace,

I cannot abide a talking Taylor: let Thom

(He's a Barber) by his place relate it,

What is't, an Office, Thom?

Newly erected

Here in the house, almost on the same floore,

Where all the newes of all sorts shall be brought,

And there be examin'd, and then registred,

And so be issu'd vnder the Seale of the Office,

As Staple Newes; no other newes be currant.

'Fore me, thou speak'st of a braue busines, Thom.

Nay, if you knew the brain that hatch'd it S^r—

I know thee wel inough: giue him a loaf, Thom--

Quiet his mouth, that Ouen will be venting else.

Proceed—

He tels you true S^r. M^rCymbal,

Is Master of the Office, he proiected it,

Hee lies here i'the house: and the great roomes

He has taken for the Office, and set vp

His Deskes and Classes, Tables and his Shelues,

He's my Customer, and a Wit Sir, too.

But, h' has braue wits vnder him—

Yes, foure Emissaries,

Emissaries? stay, there's a fine new word, Thom!

'Pray God it signifie any thing, what are Emissaries?

Men imploy'd outward, that are sent abroad

To fetch in the commodity.

From all regions

Where the best newes are made.

Or vented forth.

By way of exchange, or trade.

Nay, thou wilt speak--

My share S^r. there's enough for both.

Goe on then,

Speake all thou canst: me thinkes, the ordinaries

Should helpe them much.

Sir, they haue ordinaries,

And extraordinaries, as many changes,

And variations, as there are points i'the compasse.

But the 4. Cardinall Quarters—

I, those Thom—

The Court, Sir, Pauls, Exchange, and Westminster-hall.

Who is the Chiefe? which hath preceedencie?

The gouernour o'the Staple, Master Cymball.

He is the Chiefe; and after him the Emissaries:

First Emissary Court, one Master Fitton,

He's a Ieerer too.

What's that?

A Wit.

Or halfe a Wit, some of them are Halfe-wits,

Two to a Wit, there are a set of 'hem.

Then Master Ambler, Emissary Paules,

A fine pac'd gentleman, as you shall see, walke

The middle Ile: And then my Froy Hans Buz,

A Dutch-man; he's Emissary Exhange.

I had thought M^r. Burst the Marchant had had it.

No,

He has a rupture, hee has sprung a leake,

Emissarie Westminster's vndispos'd of yet;

Then the Examiner, Register, and two Clerkes,

They mannage all at home, and sort, and file,

And seale the newes, and issue them.

Thom, deare Thom.

What may my meanes doe for thee, aske, and haue it,

I'd faine be doing some good. It is my birth-day.

And I'd doe it betimes, I feele a grudging

Of bounty, and I would not long lye fallow.

I pray thee thinke, and speake, or wish for something.

I would I had but one o' the Clerkes places,

I'this Newes Office,.

Thou shalt haue it, Thom,

If siluer, or gold will fetch it; what's the rate?

At what is't set i'the Mercat?

Fiftie pound, Sir.

An't were a hundred, Thom, thou shalt not want it.

O Noble Master!

How now Æsops Asse!

Because I play with Thom, must I needes runne

Into your rude embraces? stand you still, Sir;

Clownes fawnings, are a horses salutations.

How do'st thou like my suite, Thom?

M^rFashioner

Has hit your measures, Sir, h'has moulded you,

And made you, as they say.

No, no, not I,

I am an Asse, old Æsops Asse.

Nay, Fashioner,

I can doe thee a good turne too, be not musty,

Though thou hast moulded me, as little Thom sayes,

(I thinke thou hast put me in mouldy pockets.)

As good,

Right Spanish perfume, the Lady Estifania's,

They cost twelue pound a payre.

Thy bill will say so.

I pray thee tell me, Fashioner, what Authors

Thou read'st to helpe thy inuention? Italian prints?

Or Arras hangings? They are Taylors Libraries.

I scorne such helps.

O, though thou art a silk-worme!

And deal'st in sattins and veluets, and rich plushes,

Thou canst not spin all formes out of thy selfe;

They are quite other things: I thinke this suite

Has made me wittier, then I was.

Belieue it Sir,

That clothes doe much vpon the wit, as weather

Do's on the braine; and thence comes your prouerbe;

The Taylor makes the man: I speake by experience

Of my owne Customers. I haue had Gallants,

Both Court and Countrey, would ha' fool'd you vp

In a new suite, with the best wits, in being,

And kept their speed, as long as their clothes lasted

Han'some, and neate; but then as they grew out

At the elbowes againe, or had a staine, or spot,

They haue sunke most wretchedly.

What thou report'st,

Is but the common calamity, and seene daily;

And therefore you 'haue another answering prouerbe:

A broken sleeue keepes the arme backe,

'Tis true, Sir.

And thence wee say, that such a one playes at peepe-arme.

Doe you so? it is wittily sayd. I wonder, Gentlemen,

And men of meanes will not maintaine themselues

Fresher in wit, I meane in clothes, to the highest.

For hee that's out o' clothes, is out o'fashion,

And out of fashion, is out of countenance,

And out o' countenance, is out o' Wit.

Is not Rogue Haberdasher come?

Yes, here, Sir.

I ha' beene without this halfe houre.

Giue me my hat.

Put on my Girdle. Rascall, sits my Ruffe well?

In print.

Slaue.

See your selfe.

Is this same hat

O'the blocke passant? Do not answer mee,

I cannot stay for an answer. I doe feele

The powers of one and twenty, like a Tide

Flow in vpon mee, and perceiue an Heyre,

Can Coniure vp all spirits in all circles,

Rogue, Rascall, Slaue, giue tradesmen their true names,

And they appeare to 'hem presently.

For profit.

Come cast my cloake about me, I'll goe see,

This Office Thom, and be trimm'd afterwards.

I'll put thee in possession, my prime worke!

Gods so: my Spurrier! put 'hem on boy, quickly,

I'had like to ha' lost my Spurres with too much speed.

Good morning to my Ioy, My iolly Peni-boy!

The Lord, and the Prince of plenty!

I come to see what riches, Thou bearest in thy breeches,

The first of thy one and twenty:

What, doe thy pockets gingle? Or shall wee neede to mingle

Our strength both of foote, and horses!

These fellows looke so eager, As if they would beleaguer

An Heyre in the midst of his forces!

I hope they be no Serieants! That hang vpon thy margents.

This Rogue has the Ioule of a Iaylor!

O Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter,

My Linnen-man, and my Taylor.

Thou should'st haue beene brought in too, Shoomaker,

If the time had beene longer, and Thom Barber.

How do'st thou like my company, old Canter?

Doe I not muster a braue troupe? all Bill-men?

Present your Armes, before my Founder here,

This is my Founder, this same learned Canter!

He brought me the first newes of my fathers death,

I thanke him, and euer since, I call him Founder,

Worship him, boyes, l'll read onely the summes.

And passe 'hem streight.

Now Ale.

And strong Ale blesse him.

Gods so, some Ale, and Sugar for my Founder!

Good Bills, sufficient Bills, these Bills may passe.

I do not like those paper-squibs, good Master.

They may vndoe your store, I meane, of Credit,

And fire your Arsenall, if case you doe not

In time make good those outerworkes, your pockets,

And take a Garrison in of some two hundred,

To beat these Pyoners off, that carry a Mine

Would blow you vp, at last. Secure your Casamates,

Here Master Picklocke, Sir, your man o' Law,

And learn'd Atturney, has sent you a Bag of munition.

What is't?

Three hundred pieces.

I'll dispatch 'hem.

Do, I would haue your strengths lin'd, and perfum'd

With Gold, as well as Amber.

God a mercy,

Come, Ad soluendum, boyes! there, there, and there, &c.

I looke on nothing but Totalis.

See!

The difference 'twixt the couetous, and the prodigall!

,,The Couetous man neuer has money! and

,,The Prodigall will haue none shortly!

Ha,

What saies my Founder? I thanke you, I thanke you Sirs.

God blesse your worship, and your worships Chanter.

I say 't is nobly done, to cherish Shop-keepers,

And pay their Bills, without examining thus.

Alas! they haue had a pittifull hard time on't,

A long vacation, from their coozening.

Poore Rascalls, I doe doe it out of charity.

I would aduance their trade againe, and haue them

Haste to be rich, sweare, and forsweare wealthily,

What doe you stay for, Sirrah?

To my boxe Sir,

Your boxe, why, there's an angel, if my Spurres

Be not right Rippon.

Giue me neuer a penny

If I strike not thorow your bounty with the Rowells.

Do'st thou want any money Founder?

Who, S^r. I,

Did I not tell you I was bred i'the Mines,

Vnder Sir Beuis Bullion.

That is true,

I quite forgot, you Myne-men want no money,

Your streets are pau'd with 't: there, the molten siluer

Runns out like creame, on cakes of gold.

And Rubies

Doe grow like Strawberries.

'Twere braue being there!

Come Thom, we'll go to the Office now.

What Office?

Newes Office, the New Staple; thou shalt goe too,

'Tis here i'the house, on the same floore, Thom. sayes,

Come, Founder, let vs trade in Ale, and nutmegges.

VVHat, are those Desks fit now? set forth the Table,

The Carpet and the Chayre: where are the Newes

That were examin'd last? ha' you fil'd them vp?

Not yet, I had no time.

Are those newes registred,

That Emissary Buz sent in last night?

Of Spinola, and his Egges?

Yes Sir, and fil'd.

What are you now vpon?

That our new Emissary

Westminster, gaue vs, of the Golden Heyre.

Dispatch, that's newes indeed, and of importance.

What would you haue good woman?

I would haue Sir,

A groatsworth of any Newes, I care not what,

To carry downe this Saturday, to our Vicar.

O! You are a Butterwoman, aske Nathaniel

The Clerke, there.

Sir, I tell her, she must stay

Till Emissary Exchange, or Pauls send in,

And then I'll fit her.

Doe good woman, haue patience,

It is not now, as when the Captaine liu'd.

You'll blast the reputation of the Office,

Now i'the Bud, if you dispatch these Groats,

So soone: let them attend in name of policie.

IN troth they are dainty roomes; what place is this?

This is the outer roome, where my Clerkes sit.

And keepe their sides, the Register i'the midst,

The Examiner, he sits priuate there, within,

And here I haue my seuerall Rowles, and Fyles

Of Newes by the Alphabet, and all put vp

Vnder their heads.

But those, too, subdiuided?

Into Authenticall, and Apocryphall.

Or Newes of doubtfull credit, as Barbers newes.

And Taylors Newes, Porters, and Watermens newes,

Whereto, beside the Coranti, and Gazetti.

I haue the Newes of the season.

As vacation newes,

Terme-newes, and Christmas-newes.

And newes o' the faction.

As the Reformed newes, Protestant newes,

And Pontificiall newes, of all which seuerall,

The Day-bookes, Characters, Precedents are kept.

Together with the names of speciall friends—

And men of Correspondence i'the Countrey—

Yes, of all ranks, and all Religions.—

Factors, and Agents—

Liegers, that lie out

Through all the Shires o'the kingdome.

This is fine!

And beares a braue relation! but what sayes

Mercurius Britannicus to this?

O Sir, he gaines by't halfe in halfe.

Nay more

I'll stand to't. For, where he was wont to get

In, hungry Capptaines, obscure Statesmen.

Fellowes

To drinke with him in a darke roome in a Tauerne,

And eat a Sawsage.

We ha' seen't,

As faine,

To keepe so many politique pennes

Going, to feed the presse.

And dish out newes,

Were't true, or false.

Now all that charge is sau'd

The publique Chronicler.

How, doe you call him there?

And gentle Reader.

He that has the maidenhead

Of all the bookes.

Yes, dedicated to him,

Or rather prostituted.

You are right, Sir.

No more shall be abus'd, nor countrey-Parsons

O' the Inquisition, nor busie Iustices,

Trouble the peace, and both torment themselues,

And their poore ign'rant Neighbours with enquiries

After the many, and most innocent Monsters,

That neuer came i'th' Counties they were charg'd with.

Why, me thinkes Sir, if the honest common people

Will be abus'd, why should not they ha' their pleasure,

In the belieuing Lyes, are made for them;

As you i'th' Office, making them your selues?

O Sir! it is the printing we oppose.

We not forbid that any Newes, be made,

But that 't be printed; for when Newes is printed,

It leaues Sir to be Newes. while 'tis but written —

Though it be ne're so false, it runnes Newes still.

See diuers mens opinions! vnto some,

The very printing of them, makes them Newes;

That ha' not the heart to beleeue any thing,

But what they see in print.

I, that's an Error

Ha's abus'd many; but we shall reforme it,

As many things beside (we haue a hope)

Are crept among the popular abuses.

Nor shall the Stationer cheat vpon the Time,

By buttering ouer againe—

once, in Seuen Yeares,

As the age doates—

And growes forgetfull o' them,

His antiquated Pamphlets, with new dates.

But all shall come from the Mint.

Fresh and new stamp'd,

With the Office-Seale, Staple Commoditie.

And if a man will assure his Newes, he may:

Two-pence a Sheet he shall be warranted,

And haue a policie for't.

Sir, I admire

The method o' your place; all things within't

Are so digested, fitted, and compos'd,

As it shewes Wit had married Order.

Sir.

The best wee could to inuite the Times.

It ha's

Cost sweat, and freesing.

And some broken sleepes

Before it came to this.

I easily thinke it.

But now it ha's the shape—

And is come forth.

A most polite neat thing! with all the limbs,

As sense can tast!

It is Sir, though I say it,

As well-begotten a busines, and as fairely

Helpt to the World.

You must be a Mid-wife Sir!

Or els the sonne of a Mid-wife! (pray you pardon me)

Haue helpt it forth so happily! what Newes ha' you?

Newes o' this morning? I would faine heare some

Fresh, from the forge (as new as day, as they say.)

And such we haue Sir.

Shew him the last Rowle,

Of Emissary West-minster's, The Heire.

Come nearer, Thom:

There is a braue yong Heire

Is come of age this morning, Mr. Peny-boy.

That's I!

His Father dy'd on this day seuenth-night.

True!

At sixe o'the Clocke i'the morning, iust a weeke

Ere he was One and Twenty.

I am here, Thom!

Proceed, I pray thee.

An old Canting Begger

Brought him first Newes, whom he has entertain'd,

To follow him, since.

Why, you shall see him! Founder,

Come in; no Follower, but Companion,

I pray thee put him in, Friend. There's an Angell—

Thou do'st not know, hee's a wise old Fellow,

Though he seeme patch'd thus, and made vp o' peeces.

Founder, we are in, here, in, i'the Newes-Office!

In this dayes Rowle, already! I doe muse

How you came by vs Sir's!

One Master Pick-locke

A Lawyer, that hath purchas'd here a place,

This morning, of an Emissary vnder me.

Emissarie Westminfter.

Gaue it into th'Office,

For his Essay, his peece.

My man o' Law!

Hee's my Attorney, and Sollicitour too!

A fine pragmaticke! what's his place worth?

A Nemo-scit, Sir.

'Tis as Newes come, in,

And as they are issued. I haue the iust meoytie

For my part: then the other moeytie

Is parted into seuen. The foure Emissaries;

Whereof my Cozen Fitton here's for Court,

Ambler for Pauls, and Buz for the Exchange,

Picklocke, for Westminster, with the Examiner,

And Register, they haue full parts: and then one part

Is vnder-parted to a couple of Clarkes;

And there's the iust diuision of the profits!

Ha' you those Clarks Sir.

There is one Desk empty,

But it has many Suitors.

Sir, may I

Present one more and carry it, if his parts

Or Gifts, (which you will, call'hem)

Be sufficient Sir.

What are your present Clarkes habilities?

How is he qualified?

A decay'd Stationer

He was, but knowes Newes well, can sort and ranke 'hem.

And for a need can make 'hem.

True Paules bred,

I'the Church-yard.

And this at the West-dore,

O'th other side, hee's my Barber Thom,

A pretty Scholler, and a Master of Arts,

Was made, or went out Master of Arts in a throng,

At the Vniuersitie; as before, one Christmas,

He got into a Masque at Court, by his wit,

And the good meanes of his Cythern, holding vp thus

For one o'the Musique, Hee's a nimble Fellow!

And alike skil'd in euery liberall Science,

As hauing certaine snaps of all, a neat,

Quick-vaine, in forging Newes too. I doe loue him,

And promis'd him a good turne, and I would doe it.

Whats your price? the value?

Fifty pounds, S^r.

Get in Thom, take possession, I install thee;

Here, tell your money; giue thee ioy, good Thom;

And let me heare from thee euery minute of Newes,

While the New Staple stands, or the Office lasts,

Which I doe wish, may ne're be lesse for thy sake.

The Emissaries, Sir, would speake with you,

And Master Fitton, they haue brought in Newes,

Three Bale together.

S^r, you are welcome, here.

So is your creature.

Businesse calls vs off, Sir,

That may concerne the Office.

Keepe me faire, Sir,

Still i'your Staple, I am here your friend,

On the same flooer.

We shall be your feruants.

How dost thou like it, Founder?

All is well,

But that your man o' law me thinks appeares not

In his due time. O! Here comes Masters worship.

HOw do's the Heyre, bright Master Peniboy?

Is hee awake yet in his One and Twenty?

Why, this is better farre, then to weare Cypresse,

Dull smutting gloues, or melancholy blacks,

And haue a payre of twelue-peny broad ribbands

Laid out like Labells.

I should ha' made shift

To haue laught as heartily in my mourners hood,

As in this Suite, if it had pleas'd my father

To haue beene buried, with the Trumpeters:

The Heralds of Armes, you meane.

I meane,

All noyse, that is superfluous!

All that idle pompe,

And vanity of a Tombe-stone, your wise father

Did, by his will, preuent. Your worship had—

A louing and obedient father of him,

I know it: a right, kinde-natur'd man,

To dye soopportunely.

And to settle

All things so well, compounded for your ward ship

The weeke afore, and left your state entyre

Without any charge vpon't.

I must needes say,

I lost an Officer of him, a good Bayliffe,

And I shall want him; but all peace be with him,

I will not wish him aliue, againe; not I,

For all my Fortune; giue your worship ioy

O' your new place, your Emissary-ship,

I'the Newes Office.

Know you, why I bought it S^r?

Not I.

To worke for you, and carry a myne

Against the Master of it, Master Cymball;

Who hath a plot vpon a Gentlewoman,

Was once design'd for you, Sir.

Me?

Your father,

Old Master Peni-boy, of happy memory,

And wisdome too, as any i'the County,

Carefull to finde out a fit match for you,

In his owne life time (but hee was preuented)

Left it in writing in a Schedule here,

To be annexed to his Will; that you,

His onely Sonne, vpon his charge, and blessing,

Should take due notice of a Gentlewoman,

Soiourning with your vncle, Richer Peni-boy.

A Cornish Gentlewoman, I doe know her,

Mistresse, Pecunia doe-all.

A great Lady,

Indeede shee is, and not of mortall race,

Infanta of the Mines; her Graces Grandfather,

Was Duke, and Cousin to the King of Ophyr,

The Subterranean, let that passe. Her name is,

Or rather, her three names are (for such shee is)

Aurelia Clara Pecunia, A great Princesse,

Of mighty power, though shee liue in priuate

With a contracted family! Her Secretary—

Who is her Gentleman-vsher too.

One Broker,

And then two Gentlewomen; Mistresse Statute,

And Mistresse Band, with Waxe the Chambermaide,

And Mother Mortgage, the old Nurse, two Groomes,

Pawne, and his fellow; you haue not many to bribe, Sir.

The worke is feizible, and th'approches easie,

By your owne kindred. Now, Sir, Cymball thinkes,

The Master here, and gouernor o'the Staple,

By his fine arts, and pompe of his great place

To draw her! He concludes, shee is a woman!

And that so soone as sh' heares of the New Office,

Shee'll come to visit it, as they all haue longings

After new sights, and motions! But your bounty,

Person, and brauery must atchieue her.

Shee is

The talke o'the time! th'aduenture o'the age!

You cannot put your selfe vpon an action

Of more importance.

All the world are suiters to her.

All sorts of men, and all professions!

You shall haue stall-fed Doctors, cram'd Diuines

Make loue to her, and with those studied

And perfum'd flatteries, as no rome can stinke

More elegant, then where they are.

Well chanted

Old Canter thou singst true.

And (by your leaue)

Good Masters worship, some of your veluet coate

Make corpulent curt'sies to her, till they cracke for't.

There's Doctor Almanack wooes her, one of the Ieerers,

A fine Physitian.

Your Sea-captaine, Shun-field,

Giues out hee'll goe vpon the Cannon for her.

Though his lowd mouthing get him little credit,

Young Master Pyed-mantle, the fine Herrald

Professes to deriuer her through all ages,

From all the Kings, and Queenes, that euer were.

And Master Madrigall, the crowned Poet

Of these our times, doth offer at her praises

As faire as any, when it shall please Apollo,

That wit and rime may meete both in one subiect.

And you to beare her from all these, it will be—

A work of fame.

Of honor.

Celebration.

Worthy your name.

The Peni-boyes to liue in't,

It is an action you were built for, Sir,

And none but you can doe it.

I'll vndertake it,

And carry it.

Feare me not, for since I came

Of mature age, I haue had a certaine itch

In my right eye, this corner, here, doe you see?

To doe some worke, and worthy of a Chronicle.

YOur Grace is sad me thinks, and melancholy!

You doe not looke vpon me with that face,

As you were wont, my Goddesse, bright Pecunia:

Although your Grace be falne, of two i' the hundred,

In vulgar estimation; yet am I,

You Graces seruant still: and teach this body,

To bend, and these my aged knees to buckle,

In adoration, and iust worship of you.

Indeed, I doe confesse, I haue no shape

To make a minion of, but I'm your Martyr,

Your Graces Martyr. I can heare the Rogues,

As I doe walke the streetes, whisper, and point,

There goes old Peni-boy, the slaue of money,

Rich Peni-boy, Lady Pecunia's drudge,

A sordid Rascall, one that neuer made

Good meale in his sleep, but sells the acates are sent him,

Fish, Fowle, and venison, and preserues himselfe,

Like an old hoary Rat, with mouldy pye-crust.

This I doe heare, reioycing, I can suffer

This, and much more, for your good Graces sake.

Why do you so my Guardian? I not bid you,

Cannot my Grace be gotten, and held too,

Without your selfe-tormentings, and your watches,

Your macerating of your body thus

With cares, and scantings of your dyet, and rest?

O, no, your seruices, my Princely Lady,

Cannot with too much zeale of rites be done,

They are so sacred.

But my Reputation.

May suffer, and the worship of my family,

When by so seruile meanes they both are sought.

You are a noble, young, free, gracious Lady,

And would be euery bodies, in your bounty,

But you must not be so. They are a few

That know your merit, Lady, and can valew't.

Your selfe scarce vnderstands your proper powers.

They are all-mighty, and that wee your seruants,

That haue the honour here to stand so neere you,

Know; and can vse too. All this Nether-world

Is yours, you command it, and doe sway it,

The honour of it, and the honesty,

The reputation, I, and the religion,

(I was about to say, and had not err'd)

Is Queene Pecunia's. For that stile is yours,

If mortals knew your Grace, or their owne good.

Please your Grace to retire.

I feare your Grace

Hath ta'ne too much of the sharpe ayre.

O no!

I could endure to take a great deale more

(And with my constitution, were it left)

Vnto my choice, what thinke you of it, Statute?

A little now and then does well, and keepes

Your Grace in your complexion.

And true temper.

But too much Madame, may encrease cold rheumes,

Nourish catarrhes, greene sicknesses, and agues,

And put you in consumption.

Best to take

Aduice of your graue women, Noble Madame,

They know the state o'your body, and ha'studied

Your Graces health.

And honour. Here'll be visitants,

Or Suitors by and by; and 'tis not fit

They find you here.

'Twill make your Grace too cheape

To giue them audience presently.

Leaue your Secretary,

To answer them.

Waite you here, Broker.

I shal Madame.

And doe your Graces trusts with diligence.

WHat luck's this? I am come an inch too late,

Doe you heare Sir? Is your worship o'the family

Vnto the Lady Pecunia?

I serue her Grace, Sir,

Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.

Has she all those Titles, and her Grace besides,

I must correct that ignorance and ouer-sight,

Before I doe present. Sir, I haue drawne

A Pedigree for her Grace, though yet a Nouice

In that so noble study.

A Herald at Armes?

No Sir, a Pursiuant, my name is Pyed-mantle.

Good Master Pyed-mantle.

I haue deduc'd her.—

From all the Spanish Mines in the West-Indi'es,

I hope: for she comes that way by her mother,

But, by her Grand-mother, she's Dutches of Mines.

From mans creation I haue brought her.

No further?

Before S^r, long before, you haue done nothing else,

Your Mines were before Adam, search your Office,

Rowle fiue and twenty, you will finde it so,

I see you are but a Nouice, Master Pyed-mantle.

If you had not told mee so.

Sir, an apprentise

In armoiry. I haue read the Elements,

And Accidence, and all the leading bookes,

And I haue, now, vpon me a great ambition,

How to be brought to her Grace, to kisse her hands.

Why, if you haue acquaintance with Mistresse Statute,

Or Mistresse Band, my Ladies Gentlewomen,

They can induce you. One is a Iudges Daughter,

But somewhat stately; th'other Mistresse Band,

Her father's but a Scriuener, but shee can

Almost as much with my Lady, as the other,

Especially, if Rose Waxe the Chambermaid

Be willing. Doe you not know her, Sir, neither?

No in troth Sir.

She's a good plyant wench,

And easie to be wrought, Sir, but the Nurse

Old mother Mortgage, if you haue a Tenement,

Or such a morsell? though shee haue no teeth,

Shee loues a sweet meat, any thing that melts

In her warme gummes, she could command it for you

On such a trifle, a toy. Sir, you may see,

How for your loue, and this so pure complexion,

(A perfect Sanguine) I ha' ventur'd thus,

The straining of a ward, opening a doore

Into the secrets of our family:

I pray you let mee know, Sir, vnto whom

I am so much beholden; but your name.

My name is Broker, I am Secretary,

And Vsher, to her Grace.

Good Master Broker!

Good M^r. Pyed-mantle.

Why? you could do me,

If you would, now, this fauour of your selfe.

Truely, I thinke I could: but if I would,

I hardly should, without, or Mistresse Band,

Or Mistresse Statute, please to appeare in it.

Or the good Nurse I told you of, Mistresse Mortgage.

We know our places here, wee mingle not

One in anothers sphere, but all moue orderly,

In our owne orbes; yet wee are all Concentricks.

Well, Sir, I'll waite a better season.

Doe,

And study the right meanes, get Mistresse Band

To vrge on your behalfe, or little Waxe.

I haue a hope, Sir, that I may, by chance,

Light on her Grace, as she's taking the ayre:

That ayre of hope, has blasted many an ayrie

Of Castrills like your selfe: Good Master Pyed-mantle,

Well said, Master Secretary, I stood behinde

And heard thee all. I honor thy dispatches.

If they be rude, vntrained it our method

And haue not studied the rule, dismisse 'hem quickly,

Where's Lickfinger my Cooke? that vnctuous rascall?

Hee'll neuer keepe his houre, that vessell of kitchinstuffe!

HEere hee is come, Sir.

Pox vpon him kidney,

Alwaies too late!

To wish 'hem you, I confesse,

That ha'them already.

What?

The pox!

The piles,

The plague, and all diseases light on him,

Knowes not to keepe his word. I'ld keepe my word sure!

I hate that man that will not keepe his word,

When did I breake my word?

Or I, till now?

And 'tis but halfe an houre.

Halfe a yeere:

To mee that stands vpon a minute of time.

I am a iust man, I loue still to be iust.

Why? you thinke I can runne like light-foot Ralph,

Or keep a wheele-barrow, with a sayle in towne here,

To whirle me to you: I haue lost two stone

Of suet i' the seruice posting hither,

You might haue followed me like a watering pot,

And seene the knots I made along the street;

My face dropt like the skimmer in a fritter panne,

And my whole body, is yet (to say the truth)

A rosted pound of butter, with grated bread in 't!

Belieue you, he that list. You stay'd of purpose,

To haue my venison stinke, and my fowle mortify'd,

That you might ha' 'hem—

A shilling or two cheaper,

That's your iealousie.

Perhaps it is.

Will you goe in, and view, and value all?

Yonder is venison sent mee! fowle! and fish!

In such abundance! I am sicke to see it!

I wonder what they meane! I ha' told 'hem of it!

To burthen a weake stomacke! and prouoke

A dying appetite! thrust a sinne vpon me

I ne'r was guilty of! nothing but gluttony!

Grosse gluttony! that will vndoe this Land!

And bating two i'the hundred.

I, that same's

A crying sinne, a fearefull damn'd deuice,

Eats vp the poore, deuoures 'hem---

Sir, take heed

What you giue out.

Against your graue great Solons?

Numæ Pompilij, they that made that Law?

To take away the poore's inheritance?

It was their portion: I will stand to't.

And they haue rob'd 'hem of it, plainly rob'd 'hem,

I still am a iust man, I tell the truth.

When moneies went at Ten i'the hundred, I,

And such as I, the seruants of Pecunia,

Could spare the poore two out of ten, and did it,

How say you, Broker?

Ask your Eccho)

You did it.

I am for Iustice, when did I leaue Iustice?

We knew 'twas theirs, they'had right and Title to't.

Now---

You can spare 'hem nothing.

Very little,

As good as nothing.

They haue bound our hands

With their wise solemne act, shortned our armes.

Beware those worshipfull eares, Sir, be not shortned,

And you play Crop i'the fleete, if you vse this licence.

What licence, Knaue? Informer?

I am Lickfinger,

Your Cooke.

A saucy Iacke you are, that's once;

VVhat said I, Broker?

Nothing that I heard, Sir.

I know his gift, hee can be deafe when he list.

Ha' you prouided me my bushell of egges?

I did bespeake? I doe not care how stale,

Or stincking that they be; let 'hem be rotten:

For ammunition here to pelt the boyes,

That breake my windowes?

Yes Sir, I ha' spar'd 'hem

Out of the custard politique for you, the Maiors.

'Tis well, goe in, take hence all that excesse,

Make what you can of it, your best: and when

I haue friends, that I inuite at home, prouide mee

Such, such, and such a dish, as I bespeake;

One at a time, no superfluitie.

Or if you haue it not, returne mee money;

You know my waies.

They are a little crooked.

How knaue?

Because you do indent.

'Tis true, Sir,

I do indent you shall returne me money.

Rather then meat, I know it: you are iust still.

I loue it still. And therefore if you spend

The red-Deere pyes i'your house, or sell 'hem forth, Sir,

Cast so, that I may haue their coffins all,

Return'd here, and pil'd vp: I would be thought

To keepe some kind of house.

By the mouldie signes?

And then remember meat for my two dogs:

Fat flaps of mutton; kidneyes; rumps of veale;

Good plentious scraps; my maid shall eat the reliques.

VVhen you & your dogs haue din'd. A sweet reuersion.

VVho's here? my Courtier? and my little Doctor?

My Muster-Master? and what Plouer's that

They haue brought to pull?

I know not, some green Plouer.

I'le find him our.

Doe, for I know the rest,

They are the Ieerers, mocking, flouting Iackes.

HOw now old Money-Bawd? w'are come—

To ieere me,

As you were wont, I know you.

No, to giue thee

Some good security, and see Pecunia.

What is't?

Our selues.

Wee'l be one bound for another.

This noble Doctor here.

This worthy Courtier.

This Man o' war, he was our Muster-Master.

But a Sea-Captaine now, braue Captaine Shun-field.

You snuffe the ayre now, as the scent displeasd you?

Thou needst not feare him man, his credit is sound,

And season'd too, since he tooke salt at Sea.

I doe not loue pickl'd security,

Would I had one good Fresh-man in for all;

For truth is, you three stinke.

You are a Rogue,

I thinke I am, but I will lend no money

On that security, Captaine.

Here's a Gentleman,

A Fresh-man i'the world, one Master Madrigall.

Of an vntainted credit; what say you to him?

Hee's gone me thinkes, where is he? Madrigall?

H' has an odde singing name, is he an Heyre?

An Heyre to a faire fortune,

And full hopes:

A dainty Scholler, and a pretty Poët!

Y'aue said enough. I ha' no money, Gentlemen,

An' he goe to't in ryme once, not a penny.

Why, hee's of yeares, though he haue little beard.

His beard has time to grow. I haue no money:

Let him still dable in Poetry. No Pecunia

Is to be seene.

Come, thou lou'st to be costiue

Still i' thy curt'sie; but I haue a pill,

A golden pill to purge away this melancholly.

Tis nothing but his keeping o'the house here,

With his two drowsie doggs.

A drench of sacke

At a good tauerne, and a fine fresh pullet,

Would cure him.

Nothing but a yong Haire in white-broth,

I know his diet better then the Doctor.

What Lick-finger? mine old host of Ram-Alley?

You ha' some mercat here.

Some dosser of Fish

Or Fowle to fetch of.

An odde bargaine of Venison,

To driue.

Will you goe in, knaue?

I must needs,

You see who driues me, gentlemen.

Not the diuell.

Hee may be in time, hee is his Agent, now.

You are all cogging Iacks, a Couy o' wits,

The Ieerers, that still call together at meales:

Or rather an Airy, for you are birds of prey:

And flie at all, nothing's too bigge or high for you.

And are so truely fear'd, but not belou'd

One of another: as no one dares breake

Company from the rest, lest they should fall,

Vpon him absent.

O! the onely Oracle

That euer peept, or spake out of a dublet.

How the rogue stinks, worse then a Fishmonger sleeues!

Or Curriers hands!

And such a perboil'd visage!

His face lookes like a Diers apron, iust!

A sodden head, and his whole braine a possit curd!

I, now you ieere, ieere on; I haue no money.

I wonder what religion hee's of!

No certaine species sure, A kinde of mule!

That's halfe an Ethnicke, halfe a Christian!

I haue no monie, gentlemen.

This stocke.

He has no sense of any vertue, honour,

Gentrie or merit.

You say very right,

My meritorious Captaine, (as I take it!)

Merit will keepe no house, nor pay no house rent.

Will Mistresse Merit goe to mercat, thinke you?

Set on the pot, or feed the family?

Will Gentry cleare with the Butcher? or the Baker?

Fetch in a Phessant, or a brace of Partridges,

From good-wife Poulter, for my Ladies supper.

See! this pure rogue!

This rogue has money tho',

My worshipfull braue Courtier has no money.

No, nor my valiant Captaine.

Hang you rascall.

Nor you, my learned Doctor. I lou'd you

Whil you did hold your practice, and kill tripe wiues.

And kept you to your vrinall; but since your thombes

Haue greas'd the Ephemerides, casting figures,

And turning ouer for your Candle-rents,

Aud your twelue houses in the Zodiacke:

With your Almutens, Alma cantaras,

Troth you shall cant alone for Peny-boy.

I told you what we should find him, a meere Bawd.

A rogue, a cheater.

What you please, gentlemen,

I am of that humble nature and condition,

Neuer to minde your worships, or take notice

Of what you throw away, thus. I keepe house here

Like a lame Cobler, neuer out of doores,

With my two dogs, my friends; and (as you say)

Driue a quicke pretty trade, still. I get money:

And as for Titles, be they Rogue, or Rascall,

Or what your worships fancy, let 'hem passe

As transitory things; they're mine to day,

And yours to morrow.

Hang thee dog.

Thou curre.

You see how I doe blush, and am asham'd

Of these large attributes? yet you haue no money.

Well wolfe, Hyæna, you old pockie rascall,

You will ha' the Hernia fall downe againe

Into your Scrotum, and I shall be sent for.

I will remember then, that; and your Fistula

In ano, I cur'd you of.

Thanke your dog-leech craft.

They were 'holesome piles, afore you meddl'd with'hem.

What an vngratefull wretch is this?

Hee minds

A curtesie no more, then London-bridge,

What Arch was mended last.

Hee neuer thinkes.

More then a logge, of any grace at Court,

A man may doe him: or that such a Lord

Reach't him his hand.

O yes! if grace would strike

The brewers Tally, or my good Lords hand,

Would quit the scores. But Sir, they will not doe it.

Here's a piece, my good Lord piece, doth all.

Goes to the Butehers. fetches in a muton,

Then to the Bakers, brings in bread, makes fires,

Gets wine, and does more reall Curtesies,

Then all my Lords, I know: My sweet Lord peece!

You are my Lord, the rest are cogging Iacks,

Vnder the Rose.

Rogue, I could beat you now,

True Captaine, if you durst beat any other.

I should belieue you, but indeed you are hungry;

You are not angry Captaine, if I know you

Aright; good Captaine. No, Pecunia,

Is to be seene, though Mistresse Band would speake,

Or little Blushet-Waxe, be ne'r so easie,

I'll stop mine eares with her, against the Syrens,

Court, and Philosophy. God be wi you, Gentlemen,

Prouide you better names. Pecunia is for you.

What a damn'd Harpy it is? where's Madrigall?

Is he sneek'd hence.

Here he comes with Broker,

Pecunia's Secretary.

He may doe some good

With him perhaps. Where ha' you beene Madrigall?

Aboue with my Ladies women, reading verses.

That was a fauour. Good morrow, Master Secretary.

Good morrow, Master Vsher.

Sir, by both

Your worshipfull Titles, and your name Mas Broker.

Good morrow.

I did aske him if hee were

Amphibion Broker.

Why?

A creature of two natures,

Because hee has two Offices.

You may ieere,

You ha' the wits, young Gentlemen. But your hope

Of Helicon, will neuer carry it, heere,

With our fat family; we ha' the dullest,

Most unboar'd Eares for verse amongst our females.

I grieu'd you read so long, Sir, old Nurse Mortgage,

Shee snoar'd i'the Chaire, and Statute (if you mark'd her)

Fell fast a sleepe, and Mistresse Band, shee nodded,

But not with any consent to what you read.

They must haue somwhat else to chinke, then rymes.

If you could make an Epitaph on your Land,

(Imagine it on departure) such a Poem

Would wake 'hem, and bring Waxe to her true temper.

I faith Sir, and I will try.

'Tis but earth,

Fit to make brickes and tyles of.

Pocks vpon't

'Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best.

If it would keepe vs in good tabacco pipes,

'Twere worth keeping.

Or in porc'lane dishes

There were some hope.

But this is a hungry soile,

And must be helpt.

Who would hold any Land

To haue the trouble to marle it.

Not a gentleman.

Let clownes and hyndes affect it, that loue ploughes,

And carts, and harrowes, and are busie still,

In vexing the dull element.

Our sweete Songster

Shall rarifie't into ayre.

And you Mas. Broker

Shall haue a feeling.

So it supple, Sir,

The nerues.

O! it shall be palpable,

Make thee runne thorow a hoope, or a thombe-ring,

The nose of a tabacco pipe, and draw

Thy ductile bones out, like a knitting needle,

To serue my subtill turnes.

I shall obey, Sir,

And run a thred, like an houre-glasse.

Where is Broker?

Are not these flies gone yet? pray' quit my house,

I'le smoake you out else.

O! the Prodigall!

Will you be at so much charge with vs, and losse?

I haue heard you ha' offered Sir, to lock vp smoake,

And cauke your windores, spar up all your doores,

Thinking to keepe it a close prisoner wi'you,

And wept, when it went out, Sir, at your chimney.

And yet his eyes were dryer then a pummise.

A wretched rascall, that will binde about

The nose of his bellowes; lest the wind get out

When hee's abroad.

Sweepes downe no cobwebs here,

But sells 'hem for cut-fingers. And the spiders,

As creatures rear'd of dust, and cost him nothing,

To fat old Ladies monkeyes.

Hee has offer'd

To gather vp spilt water, and preserue

Each haire falls from him to stop balls with all.

A slaue, and an Idolater to Pecunia!

You all haue happy memories, Gentlemen,

In rocking my poore cradle. I remember too,

When you had lands, and credit; worship, friends,

I, and could giue security: now, you haue none,

Or will haue none right shortly. This can time,

And the vicissitude of things. I haue

All these. and money too, and doe possesse 'hem,

And am right heartily glad of all our memories,

And both the changes.

Let vs leaue the viper.

Hee's glad he is rid of his torture, and so soone.

Broker, come hither, vp, and tell your Lady,

Shee must be readie presently, and Statute,

Band, Mortgage, VVax. My prodigall young kinsman

Will streight be here to see her; 'top of our house,

The flourishing, and flanting Peny-boy.

Wee were but three of vs in all the world,

My brother Francis, whom they call'd Franck Peny-boy,

Father to this: hee's dead. This Peny-boy,

Is now the heire! I, Richer Peny-boy,

Not Richard, but old Harry Peny-boy,

And (to make rime) close, wary Peny-boy

I shall haue all at last, my hopes doe tell me.

Goe, see all ready; and where my dogs haue falted,

Remoue it with a broome, and sweeten all

VVith a slice of iuniper, not too much, but sparing,

VVe may be faultie our selues else, and turne prodigall,

In entertaining of the Prodigall.

Here hee is! and with him—what! a Clapper Dudgeon!

That's a good signe; to haue the begger follow him,

So neere at his first entry into fortune.

HOw now old Uncle? I am come to see thee,

And the braue Lady, here, the daughter of Ophir,

They say thou keepst.

Sweet Nephew, if she were

The daughter o' the Sunne, shee's at your seruice,

Aud so am I, and the whole family,

Worshipfull Nephew.

Sai'st thou so, deare Vncle?

Welcome my friends then: Here is, Domine Picklocke:

My man o' Law, sollicits all my causes,

Followes my businesse, makes, and compounds my quarrells,

Betweene my tenants and mee, sowes all my strifes,

And reapes them too, troubles the country for mee,

And vexes any neighbour, that I please.

But with commission?

Vnder my hand & seale.

A worshipfull place!

I thanke his worship for it,

But what is this old Gentleman?

A Rogue,

A very Canter, I Sir, one that maunds

Vpon the Pad, wee should be brothers though:

For you are neere as wretched as my self,

You dare not vse your money, and I have none.

Not vse my money, cogging Iacke, who vses it

At better rates? lets it for more i'the hundred,

Then I doe, Sirrah?

Be not angry vncle.

What? to disgrace me, with my Queene? as if

I did not know her valew.

Sir, I meant

You durst not to enioy it.

Hold, your peace,

You are a Iacke.

Vncle, he shall be a Iohn,

and, you goe to that, as good a man you are.

An' I can make him so, a better man,

Perhaps I will too. Come, let vs goe.

Nay, kinsman,

My worshipfull kinsman; and the top of our house;

Doe not your penitent vncle that affront,

For a rash word, to leaue his ioyfull threshold,

Before you see the Lady that you long for.

The Venus of the time, and state, Pecunia !

I doe perceiue, your bounty loues the man,

For some concealed vertue,that he hides

Vnder those rags.

I owe my hapinesse to him,

The waiting on his worship, since I brought him

The happy Newes, welcome to all young heires.

Thou didst indeed, for which I thank thee yet.

Your Fortunate Princesse, Vncle, is long a comming.

She is not rigg'd, Sir, setting forth some Lady,

Will cost as much as furnishing a Fleete.

Here she's come at last, and like a Galley

Guilt i'the prow.

Is this Pecunia?

Vouchsafe my toward kinsman, gracious Madame,

The favour of your hand.

Nay, of my lips, Sir,

To him.

She kisses like a mortall creature,

Almighty Madame, I haue long'd to see you.

And I haue my desire, Sir, to behold

That youth, and shape, which in my dreames and wakes,

I haue so oft contemplated, and felt

Warme in my veynes, and natiue as my blood.

When I was told of your arriuall here,

I felt my heart beat, as it would leape out,

In speach; and all my face it was a flame,

But how it came to passe I doe not know.

O! beauty loues to be more proud then nature,

that made you blush. I cannot satisfie

My curious eyes, by which alone I'am happy,

In my beholding you.

They passe the complement

Prettily well.

I, he does kisse her, I like him.

My passion was cleare contrary, and doubtfull,

I shooke for feare, and yet I danc'd for ioy,

I had such motions as the Sunne-beames make

Against a wall, or playing on a water,

Or trembling vapour of a boyling pot-----

That's not so good, it should ha' bin a Crucible,

With molten mettall, she had vnderstood it.

I cannot talke, but I can loue you, Madame.

Are these your Gentlewomen? I loue them too.

And which is mistresse Statute? Mistesse Band?

They all kisse close, the last stucke to my lips.

It was my Ladies Chamber-maid, soft-Waxe.

Soft lips she has, I am sure on't. Mother Mortgage,

I'll owe a kisse, till she be yonger, Statute,

Sweet Mistresse Band, and honey, little VVaxe,

We must be better acquainted.

We are but seruants, Sir.

But whom her Grace is so content to grace,

We shall obserue.

Aand with all fit respect.

In our poore places.

Being her Graces shadowes.

Broker.

Me thinks my vncle should not need thee,

Who is a crafty Knaue, enough, beleeue it.

Art thou her Graces Steward?

No, her Vsher, Sir.

What, o'the Hall? thou hast a sweeping face,

Thy beard is like a broome.

No barren chin, Sir,

I am no Eunuch, though a Gentleman-Vsher.

Thou shalt goe with vs. Vncle, I must haue

My Princesse forth to day.

Whither you please, Sir,

You shall command her.

I will doe all grace

To my new seruant.

Thanks vnto your bounty;

He is my Nephew, and my Chiefe, the Point,

Tip, Top, and Tuft of all our family!

But, Sir, condition'd alwaies, you returne

Statute, and Band home, with my sweet, soft Waxe,

And my good Nurse, here, Mortgage.

O! what else?

By Broker.

Do not feare.

She shall go wi' you,

Whither you please, Sir, any where.

I see

A Money-Bawd, is lightly a Flesh-Bawd, too.

Are you aduis'd? Now o'my faith, this Canter

Would make a good graue Burgesse in some Barne.

Come, thou shalt go with vs, vncle.

By no means, Sir.

We'll haue both Sack, and Fidlers.

I'll not draw

That charge vpon your worship.

He speakes modestly,

And like an Vncle.

But Mas Broker, here,

He shall attnd you, Nephew; her Graces Vsher,

And what you fancy to bestow on him,

Be not too lauish, vse a temperate bounty,

I'll take it to my selfe.

I will be princely,

While I possesse my Princesse, my Pecunia.

Where is't you eat?

Hard by, at Picklocks lodging.

Old Lickfinger's the Cooke, here in Ram-Alley.

He has good cheare; perhaps I'll come and see you.

O, fie! an Alley, and a Cooks-shop, grosse,

'T will sauour, Sir, most rankly of 'hem both.

Let your meat rather follow you, to a tauerne.

A tauern's as vnfit too, for a Princesse.

No, I haue knowne a Princesse, and a great one,

Come forth of a tauerne.

Not goe in, Sir, though.

She must goe in, if she came forth: the blessed

Pokahontas (as the Historian calls her

And great Kings daughters of Virginia)

Hath bin in womb of a tauerne; and besides,

Your nasty Vncle will spoyle all your mirth,

And be noysome.

That's true.

No 'faith,

Dine in Apollo with Pecunia,

And braue Duke Wadloos, haue your friends about you,

And make a day on't.

Content i'faith:

Our meat shall be brought thither. Simon the King,

Will bid vs welcome.

Patron, I haue a suite.

What's that?

That you will carry the Infanta,

To see the Staple', her Grace will be a grace,

To all the members of it.

I will doe it:

And haue her Armes set vp there, with her Titles,

Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.

And in Apollo. Come (sweete Princesse) goe.

Broker, be careful of your charge.

I warrant you.

YOu hunt vpon a wrong scent still, and thinke

The ayre of things will carry 'hem, but it must

Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds,

My cousin Cymball, must get you this Lady.

You haue entertain'd a petty-fogger here,

Picklocke, with trust of an Emissaries place,

And he is, all, for the young Prodigall,

You see he has left vs.

Come, you doe not know him,

That speake thus of him. He will haue a tricke,

To open vs a gap, by a trap-doore,

When they least dreame on't. Here he comes. What news?

Where is my brother Buz? my brother Ambler?

The Register, Examiner, and the Clerkes?

Appeare, and let vs muster all in pompe,

For here will be rich Infanta, presently,

To make her visit. Peny-boy the heyre,

My Patron, has got leaue for her to play

With all her traine, of the old churle, her Guardian.

Now is the time to make all court vnto her;

That she may first but know, then loue the place,

And shew it by her frequent visits here:

And afterwards, get her to soiourne with you.

She will be weary of the Prodigall, quickly.

Excellent newes!

And counsell of an Oracle!

How say you cousin Fitton?

brother Picklock,

I shall adore thee, for this parcell of tidings,

It will cry vp the credit of our Office,

Eternally, and make our Staple immortall!

Looke your addresses, then, be faire and fit,

And entertaine her, and her creatures, too,

With all the migniardise, and quaint Caresses,

You can put on'hem.

Thou seem'st, by thy language,

No lesse a Courtier, then a man o' Law.

I must embrace thee.

Tut, I am Vertumnus,

On every change, or chance, vpon occasion,

A true Chamælion, I can colour for't.

I moue vpon my axell, like a turne-pike.

Fit my face to the parties, and become.

Streight, one of them.

Sirs, vp, into your Desks,

And spread the rolls vpon the Table, so.

Is the Examiner set?

Yes, Sir.

Ambler and Buz,

Are both abroad, now.

Wee'll sustaine their parts.

No matter, let them ply the affayres without,

Let us be alone within, I like that well.

On with the cloake, and you with the Staple gowne,

And keep your state, stoupe only to the Infanta;

We'll haue a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band,

And hard, but we'll bring Wax vnto the retriue:

Each know his seuerall prouince, and discharge it.

I do admire this nimble ingine, Picklock.

Cuz,

What did I say?

You haue rectified my errour!

BY your leaue, Gentlemen, what newes? good, good still?

l'your new Office? Princesse, here's the Staple!

This is the Gouernor, kisse him, noble Princesse?

For my sake. Thom, how is it, honest Thom?

How does thy place and thou? my Creature, Princesse,

This is my Creature, giue him your hand to kisse,

He was my Barber, now he writes Clericus!

I bought this place for him, and gaue it him.

He should haue spoke of that, Sir, and not you:

Two doe not doe one Office well.

'Tis true,

But I am loth to lose my curtesies.

So are all they, that doe them, to vaine ends,

And yet you do lose, when you pay you selues.

No more o' your sentences, Canter, they are stale,

We come for newes, remember where you are.

I pray thee let my Princesse heare some newes,

Good Master Cymbal.

What newes would she heare?

Or of what kind, Sir?

Any, any kind.

So it be newes, the newest that thou hast,

Some newes of State, for a Princesse.

Read from Rome, there.

They write, the King of Spaine is chosen Pope.

How?

And Emperor too, the thirtieth of February.

Is the Emperor dead?

No, but he has resign'd,

And trailes a pike now, vnder Tilly.

For pennance.

These will beget strange turnes in Christendome!

And Spinola is made Generall of the Iesuits.

Stranger!

Sir, all are alike true, and certaine.

All the pretence to the fifth Monarchy,

Was held but vaine, vntill the ecclesiastique,

And secular powers, were vnited, thus,

Both in one person.

'T has bin long the ayme

Of the house of Austria.

See but Maximilian.

His letters to the Baron of Bouttersheim,

Or Scheiter-huyssen.

No, of Liechtenstein,

Lord Paul, I thinke.

I haue heard of some such thing.

Don Spinola made Generall of the Iesuits!

A Priest!

O, no, he is dispenc'd with all,

And the whole society, who doe now appeare

The onely Enginers of Christendome.

They haue bin thought so long, and rightly too.

Witnesse the Engine, that they haue presented him,

To winde himselfe with, vp, into the Moone:

And thence make all his discoueries!

Read on.

And Vittellesco, he that was last Generall,

Being now turn'd Cooke to the society,

Has drest his excellence, such a dish of egges----

What potch'd?

No, powder'd.

All the yolke is wilde fire,

As he shall need beleaguer no more townes,

But throw his Egge in.

It shall cleare consume,

Palace, and place; demolish and beare downe,

All strengths before it!

Neuer be extinguish'd!

Till all become one ruine!

And from Florence,

They write was found in Galileos study,

A burning Glasse (which they haue sent him too)

To fire any Fleet that's out at Sea----

By Mooneshine, is't not so?

Yes, Sir, i'the water.

His strengths will be vnresistable, if this hold!

Ha'you no Newes against him, on the contrary?

Yes, Sit, they write here, one Cornelius-Son,

Hath made the Hollanders an inuisible Eele,

To swimme the hauen at Dunkirke, and sinke all

The shipping there.

Why ha'not you this, Thom?

Because he keeps the Pontificiall side.

How, change sides, Thom. 'Twas neuer in my thought

To put thee vp against our selues. Come downe,

Quickly.

Why, Sir?

I venter'd not my mony

Vpon those termes: If he may change; why so.

I'll ha him keepe his owne side, sure.

Why, let him,

'Tis but writing so much ouer againe.

For that I'll beare the charge: There's two Pieces,

Come, do not stick with the gentleman.

I'l take none Sir.

And yet he shall ha' the place.

They shall be ten then,

Vp, Thom: and th'Office shall take 'hem. Keep your side, Thom.

Know your owne side, doe not forsake your side, Thom.

Read.

They write here one Cornelius-Son,

Hath made the Hollanders an inuisible Eele,

To swimme the Hauen at Dunkirke, and sinke all

The shipping there.

But how is't done?

I'll shew you Sit.

It is an Automa, runnes vnderwater,

With a snug nose, and has a nimble taile

Made like an auger, with which taile she wrigles

Betwixt the coasts of a Ship, and sinkes it streight.

Whence ha'you this newes.

From a right hand I assure you,

The Eele-boats here, that lye before Queen-Hyth,

Came out of Holland.

A most braue deuice,

To murder their flat bottomes.

I doe grant you:

But what if Spinola haue a new Proiect:

To bring an army ouer in corke-shooes,

And land them, here, at Harwich? all his horse

Are shod with corke, and fourescore pieces of ordinance,

Mounted vpon cork-carriages, with bladders,

In stead of wheeles to runne the passage ouer

At a spring-tide.

Is't true?

As true as the rest.

He'll neuer leaue his engines: I would heare now

Some curious newes.

As what?

Magick, or Alchimy

Or flying i'the ayre, I care not what.

They write from Libtzig (reuerence to your eares)

The Art of drawing farts out of dead bodies,

Is by the Brotherhood of the Rosie Crosse,

Produc'd vnto perfection, in so sweet

And rich a tincture----

As there is no Princesse,

But may perfume her chamber with th'extraction.

There's for you, Princesse.

What, a fart for her?

I meane the spirit.

Beware how she resents it.

And what hast thou, Thom?

The perpetuall Motion,

Is here found out by an Alewife in Saint Katherines,

At the signe o' the dancing Beares.

What, from her tap?

I'll goe see that, or else I'll send old Canter.

He can make that discouery.

Yes, in Ale.

Let me haue all this Newes, made vp, and seal'd,

The people presse vpon vs, please you, Sir,

Withdraw with your faire Princesse. There's a roome

Within, Sir, to retyre too.

No, good Register,

We'll stand it out here, and obserue your Office;

What Newes it issues.

'Tis the house of fame, Sir,

Where both the curious, and the negligent;

The scrupulous, and carelesse; wilde, and stay'd;

The idle, and laborious; all doe meet,

To tast the Cornu copiæ of her rumors,

Which she, the mother of sport, pleaseth to scatter

Among the vulgar: Baites, Sir, for the people!

And they will bite like fishes.

Let's see't.

Ha' you in your prophane Shop, any Newes

O'the Saints at Amsterdam?

Yes, how much would you?

Six peny worth.

Lay your mony down, read, Thomas.

The Saints do write, they expect a Prophet, shortly,

The Prophet Baal, to be sent ouer to them,

To calculate a time, and halfe a time,

And the whole time, according to Naömetry.

What's that?

The measuring o'the Temple: a Cabal

Found out but lately, and set out by Archie,

Or some such head, of whose long coat they haue heard,

And being black, desire it.

Peace be with them!

So there had need, for they are still by the eares

One with another.

It is their zeale.

Most likely.

Haue you no other of that species?

Yes,

But dearer, it will cost you a shilling.

Verily,

There is a nine-pence, I will shed no more.

Not, to the good o'the Saints?

I am not sure,

That, man is good.

Read, from Constantinople,

Nine penny'orth.

They giue out here, the grand Signior

Is certainely turn'd Christian, and to cleare

The controuersie 'twixt the Pope and him,

Which is the Antichrist; he meanes to visit

The Church at Amsterdam, this very Sommer,

And quit all marks o'the beast.

Now ioyfull tydings.

Who brought in this? Which Emissary?

Buz.

Your countrey-man.

Now, blessed be the man,

And his whole Family, with the Nation.

Yes, for Amboyna, and the Iustice there!

This is a Doper, a she Anabaptist!

Seale and deliuer her her newes, dispatch.

Ha'you any newes from the Indies? any mirac l

Done in Iapan, by the Iesuites? or in China?

No, but we heare of a Colony of cookes

To be set a shore o' the coast of America,

For the conuersion of the Caniballs,

And making them good, eating Christians.

Here comes the Colonell that vndertakes it.

Who? captaine Lickfinger?

Newes, newes my boyes!

I am to furnish a great feast to day,

And I would haue what newes the Office affords.

We were venting some of you, of your new proiect,

Afore 'twas paid for, you were somewhat too hasty.

What Lickfinger! wilt thou conuert the Caniballs,

With spit and pan Diuinity?

Sir, for that

I will not vrge, but for the fire and zeale

To the true cause; thus I haue vndertaken:

With two Lay-brethren, to my selfe, no more,

One o'the broach, th'other o'the boyler,

In one sixe months, and by plaine cookery,

No magick to't, but old Iaphets physicke,

The father of the Europæan Arts,

To make such sauces for the Sauages,

And cookes their meats, with those inticing steemes,

As it would make our Caniball-Christians,

Forbeare the mutuall eating one another,

Which they doe doe, more cunningly, then the wilde

Anthropophagi; that snatch onely strangers,

Like my old Patrons dogs, there.

O, my Vncles!

Is dinner ready, Lickfinger?

When you please, Sir.

I was bespeaking but a parcell of newes,

To strew out the long meale withall, but 't seemes

You are furnish'd here already.

O, not halfe!

What Court-newes is there? any Proclamations,

Or Edicts to come forth.

Yes, there is one.

That the Kings Barber has got, for aid of our trade:

Where of there is a manifest decay.

A Precept for the wearing of long haire,

To runne to seed, to sow bald pates withall,

And the preseruing fruitfull heads, and chins,

To help a mistery, almost antiquated.

Such as are bald and barren beyond hope,

Are to be separated, and set by

For Vshers, to old Countesses.

And Coachmen.

To mount their boxes, reuerently, and driue,

Like Lapwings, with a shell vpo' their heads.

Thorow the streets. Ha' you no Newes o'the Stage?

They'll aske me abou new Playes, at dinner time.

And I should be as dumbe as a fish.

O! yes.

There is a Legacy left to the Kings Players,

Both for their various shifting of their Scene,

And dext'rous change o'their persons to all shapes,

And all disguises: by the right reuerend

Archbishop of Spalato.

He is dead,

That plai'd him!

Then, h'has lost his share o' the Legacy.

What newes of Gundomar?

A second Fistula,

Or an excoriation (at the least)

For putting the poore English-play, was writ of him,

To such a sordid vse, as (is said) he did,

Of cleansing his posterior's.

Iustice! Iustice!

Since when, he liues condemn'd to his share, at Bruxels.

And there sits filing certaine politique hinges,

To hang the States on, h'has heau'd off the hookes.

What must you haue for these?

Thou shalt pay nothing,

But reckon 'hem in i'the bill. There's twenty pieces,

Her Grace bestowes vpon the Office, Thom,

Write thou that downe for Newes.

We may well do't,

We haue not many such.

There's twenty more,

If you say so; my Princesse is a Prinecesse!

And put that too, vnder the Office Seale.

If it will please your Grace to soiourne here,

And take my roofe for couert, you shall know

The rites belonging to your blood, and birth,

Which few can apprehend: these sordid seruants,

Which rather are your keepers, then attendants,

Should not come neere your presence. I would haue

You waited on by Ladies, and your traine

Borne vp by persons of quality, and honour,

Your meat should be seru'd in with curious dances,

And set vpon the boord, with virgin hands,

Tun'd to their voices; not a dish remou'd,

But to the Musicke, nor a drop of wine,

Mixt, with his water, without Harmony,

You are a Courtier, Sir, or somewhat more;

That haue this tempting language!

I'm your seruant,

Exellent Princesse, and would ha' you appeare

That, which you are. Come forth State, and wonder,

Of these our times, dazle the vulgar eyes.

And strike the people blind with admiration.

Why, that's the end of wealth! thrust riches outward,

And remaine beggers within: contemplate nothing

But the vile sordid things of time, place, money,

And let the noble, and the precious goe,

Vertue and honesty; hang 'hem; poore thinne membranes

Of honour; who respects them? O, the Fates!

How hath all iust, true reputation falln,

Since money, this base money 'gan to haue any!

Pitty, the Gentleman is not immortall.

As he giues out, the place is, by description.

A very Paradise, if you saw all, Lady.

I am the Chamber-maid, Sir, you mistake,

My Lady may see all.

Sweet Mistresse Statute, gentle Mistresse Band,

And Mother Mortgage, doe but get her Grace

To soiourne here.—

I thanke you gentle Waxe,

If it were a Chattell, I would try my credit.

So it is, for terme of life, we count it so.

She meanes, Inheritance to him, and his heyres:

Or that he could assure a State, of yeeres:

I'll be his Statute-Staple, Statute-Merchant,

Or what he please.

He can expect no more.

His cousin Alderman Security,

That he did talke of so, e'en now—

Who, is

The very broch o'the bench, gem o'the City.

He and his Deputy, but assure his life

For one seuen yeeres.

And see what we'll doe for him,

Vpon his scarlet motion.

And old Chaine,

That drawes the city-eares.

When he sayes nothing,

But twirles it thus.

A mouing Oratory!

Dumb Rethoricke, and silent eloquence!

As the fine Poet saies!

Come, they all scorne vs,

Doe you not see't? the family of scorne!

Doe not belieue him! gentle Master Picklocke,

They vnderstood you not: the Gentlewomen,

They thought you would ha' my Lady soiourne, with you,

And you desire but now and then, a visit?

Yes, if she pleas'd, Sir, it would much aduance

Vnto the Office, her continuall residence!

(I speake but as a member)

'Tis inough.

I apprehend you. And it shall goe hard,

But I'll so worke, as some body shall worke her!

'pray you change with our Master, but a word about it.

Well, Lickfinger, see that our meat be ready,

Thou hast Newes inough.

Something of Bethlem Gabor,

And then I'm gone.

We heare he has deuis'd

A Drumme, to fill all Christendome with the sound:

But that he cannot drawe his forces neere it,

To march yet, for the violence of the noise.

And therefore he is faine by a designe,

To carry 'hem in the ayre, and at some distance,

Till he be married, then they shall appeare.

Or neuer; well, God b'wi'you (stay, who's here?)

A little of the Duke of Bauier, and then—

H'has taken a gray habit, and is turn'd

The Churches Millar, grinds the catholique grist

With euery wind: and Tilly takes the toll.

Ha'you any newes o'the Pageants to send downe?

Into the seuerall Counties. All the countrey

Expected from the city most braue speeches,

Now, at the Coronation.

It expected

More then it vnderstood: for, they stand mute,

Poore innocent dumb things; they are but wood.

As is the bench and blocks, they were wrought on, yet

If May-day come, and the Sunne shine, perhaps,

They'll sing like Memnons Statue, and be vocall.

Ha'you any Forest-newes?

None very wild, Sir,

Some tame there is, out o' the Forrest of fooles,

A new Parke is a making there, to seuer

Cuckolds of Antler, from the Rascalls. Such,

Whose wiues are dead, and haue since cast their heads,

Shall remaine Cuckolds-pollard.

I'll ha' that newes.

And I.

And I.

And I.

And I.

And I.

Sir, I desire to be excus'd; and, Madame:

I cannot leaue my Office, the first day.

My Cousin Fitton here, shall wait vpon you.

And Emissary Picklocke.

And Thom: Clericus?

I cannot spare him yet, but he shall follow you,

When they haue ordered the Rolls. Shut vp th'Office,

When you ha' done, till two a clocke.

BY your leaue, Clerkes,

Where shall we dine to day? doe you know? the Ieerers.

Where's my fellow Fitton?

New gone forth.

Cannot your Office tell vs, what braue fellowes

Doe eat together to day, in towne, and where?

Yes, there's a Gentleman, the braue heire, yong Peny-boy.

Dines in Apollo.

Come, let's thither then,

I ha' supt in Apollo!

With the Muses?

No,

But with two Gentlewomen, call'd, the Graces.

They' were euer three in Poetry.

This was truth, Sir.

Sir, Master Fitton's there too!

All the better!

We may haue a ieere, perhaps.

Yes, you'll drink, Doctor.

(If there be any good meat) as much good wine now,

As would lay vp a Dutch Ambassador.

If he dine there, he's sure to haue good meat,

For, Lickfinger prouides the dinner.

Who?

The glory o'the Kitchin? that holds Cookery,

A trade from Adam? quotes his broths, and sallads?

And sweares he's not dead yet, but translated

In some immortall crust, the past of Almonds?

The same. He holds no man can be a Poet.

That is not a good Cooke, to know the palats,

And seuerall tastes o'the time. He drawes all Arts

Out of the Kitchin, but the Art of Poetry,

which he concludes the same with Cookery.

Tut, he maintaines more heresies then that.

He'll draw the Magisterium from a minc'd-pye,

And preferre Iellies, to your Iulips, Doctor.

I was at an Olla Podrida of his making,

Was a braue piece of cookery! at a funerall!

But opening the pot-lid, he made vs laugh,

who'had wept all day! and sent vs such a tickling

Into our nostrills, as the funerall feast

Had bin a wedding-dinner.

Gi' him allowance,

And that but moderate, he will make a Syren

Sing i'the Kettle, send in an Arion,

In a braue broth, and of a watry greene,

Iust the Sea-colour, mounted on the backe

Of a growne Cunger, but, in such a posture,

As all the world would take him for a Dolphin.

Hee's a rare fellow, without question! but

He holds some Paradoxes.

I, and Pseudodoxes.

Mary, for most, he's Orthodox i'the Kitchin.

And knowes the Clergies tast!

I, and the Layties!

You thinke not o'your time, we'll come too late,

If we go not presently.

Away then.

Sirs,

You must get o'this newes, to store your Office,

VVho dines and sups i' the towne? where, and with whom?

'Twill be beneficiall: when you are stor'd;

And as we like our fare, we shall reward you.

A hungry trade, 'twill be.

Much like D. Humphries,

But, now and then, as th'holesome prouerb saies,

'Twill obsonare famem ambulando.

Shut vp the Office: gentle brother Thomas.

Brother, Nathaniel, I ha'the wine for you.

I hope to see vs, one day, Emissaries.

Why not? S'lid, I despaire not to be Master!

HOw now? I thinke I was borne vnder Hercules starre!

Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppresse me?

Why come you backe? where is your charge?

I ha' brought

A Gentleman to speake with you?

To speake with me?

You know 'tis death for me to speake with any man.

What is he? set me a chaire.