BAUANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
PLAYS AND POEMS 
 
 BEN JONSON 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY 
 
 LL,D., PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT 
 UNIVERSITY COLLEGE. LONDON 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SON 
 
 BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL 
 
 NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE 
 
 1886 
 

 MORLEY'S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY. 
 
 1. Sheridan's Plays. 
 
 2. Plays from Molib'e. By 
 
 English Dramatists. 
 
 3. Marlowe's Fanstus and 
 
 Goethe's Faust. 
 
 4. Chronicle of the Cid. 
 
 5. Rabelais 'Gargant/uz and the 
 
 Heroic Deeds of Pantag » net. 
 
 6. Machiavelli's Prince. 
 
 7. Bacon's Essays. 
 
 8. Defoe's Journal oj the 
 
 Plague Year. 
 
 9. Locke on Civil Government 
 
 and Filmers "Patriarc/za." 
 
 10. Butler's Analogy of Religion. 
 
 11. Dryden's Virgil. 
 
 12. Scott's De?nonology and 
 
 Witchcraft. 
 
 13. If er rick 's Hester ides. 
 
 14. Coleridge's Table- Talk. 
 
 1 5. Boccaccio's Decameron. 
 
 16. Sterne's Tristram Shandy. 
 
 17. Chapman's Homer's Iliad. 
 
 18. Mediaeval Tales. 
 
 19. Voltaire's Candide, and 
 
 Johnson's Rasselas. 
 
 20. PAy-r a«^ Poems. By Ben 
 
 JONSON. 
 
 21. Hoobes' Leviathan'. < «, c ; 
 
 22. Samuel Butler's Hudibras. 
 
 23. /cfoz/ Commonwealths. 
 
 24. Cavendish' s Life of Wolsey. 
 25 & 26. Z><?/j Quixote. In 
 
 Two Volumes. 
 
 27 . Burlesque Plays and Poems. 
 
 28. Dante's Divine Comedy. 
 
 Longfellow's Translation. 
 
 29. Goldsmith' s Vicar of Wake- 
 
 field, Plays, and Poems. 
 
 30. Fables and Proverbs from 
 
 the Sanskrit. {Hitofadesa.) 
 
 31. Charles Lamb's Essays of 
 
 Elia. 
 
 32. 77/<? History of Thomas 
 
 Elhvood. 
 
 33. Emerson's Essays, &c. 
 
 34. Southey's Life of Nelson. 
 
 35. Zte Quincey's Confessions 
 
 of an Opium-Eater, &c. 
 
 36. Stories of Ireland. By Miss 
 
 Edgeworth. 
 
 37. Ere re's Aristophanes : 
 
 Achamians, Knights, Birds. 
 
 38. Speeches and Letters by 
 
 Edmund Burke. 
 
 39. Thomas a Kempis. 
 
 , 40. Popular Songs of Ireland. 
 J 41. 7%<? /Yoj'j- of sEschylus. 
 Potter's Translation. 
 
 " Marvels of clear type and general 'neatness."— Daily Telegraph. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Ben Jonson's "Alchemist" has been paired with Fielding's 
 " Tom Jones " as one of the best examples of a well- constructed 
 plot ; and Coleridge, who justly gave Ben Jonson the place next 
 to Shakespeare in dramatic literature, was inclined to think 
 ''The Fox" the greatest of his works. These plays, and 
 " The Silent Woman," which stood in the first rank among Be n 
 jonson's pl ays, are here joined to some of the best of his minor 
 poems. 
 
 Ben Jonson was the son of a gentleman who ruined himself 
 by zeal for religion, and died a month beforf his son was born. 
 The poet's mother came south, was poor, took a master brick- 
 layer for her second husband, lived in Hartshorn Lane, near 
 Charing Cross, and sent her boy to the parish school of St. 
 Martin's. Through William Camden, the historian, who was 
 then one of its masters, Ben Jonson obtained an admission to 
 Westminster school. There he laid the foundations of the learn- 
 ing which became afterwards closely associated with the free 
 and individual expression of his genius. His gratitude to 
 William Camden was expressed in a poem, which will be found 
 on page 314 of this volume. Ben Jonson, like Shakespeare, had 
 not the benefit of university education, but by his own study he 
 made himself one of the most scholarly of English poets. In 
 his youth he followed for a little while the trade of his step- 
 father, then went, to fight in the Low Countries, and then followed 
 the bent of his genius by joining the players. 
 
 In 1596 Ben Jonson's first comedy, "Every Man in his 
 Humour," was produced, with Italian characters. He had re- 
 cast it, and changed the scene from Florence to London, when 
 it was acted, in 1598, by the company to which Shakespeare 
 belonged. This was a true comedy, with cnrefully constructed 
 plot, and the action within limit of a single day. The three 
 
 395 1 io 
 
rXTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 plays that followed in the successive years 1599, 1600, 1601 — 
 " Every Man out of his Humour," "Cynthia's Revels," and 
 M The Poetaster " — were exuberant in wit, and satirized the 
 affectations of the day in the city, at Court, and among writers 
 who used their skill upon low themes, and ran a broken pace for 
 common hire when they should seek rather 
 
 the high raptures of a happy muse 
 Borne on the wings of her immortal thought. 
 
 He would have all solemn triflers understand 
 
 How far beneath the dignity of man 
 
 Their serious and most practised actions are, 
 
 and laboured to advance the time when 
 
 these vain joys, in which their wills consume 
 Such powers of wit and soul as are of force 
 To raise their beings to eternity, 
 May be converted on work, fitting men : 
 And, for the practice of a forced look, 
 An antic gesture, or a fustian phrase, 
 Study the native frame of a true heart, 
 An inward comeliness of bounty, knowledge,. 
 And spirit that may conform them actually 
 To God's high figures, which they have in power. 
 
 Out of this sense of life Ben Jonson speaks with all his jovi- 
 ality. At his merriest he spurns low thought, and in his cups' he 
 seeks true poets and true scholars for his comrades. This 
 worthiness of aim made him in after years of age and infirmity 
 the Master around whom the best poets of the younger genera- 
 tion gathered with trust and affection, each happy if their chief 
 once called him Son, and by so doing sealed him of the tribe 
 of Ben. 
 
 Misunderstood in these his younger days by fellow poets, who 
 saw' personality where the whole aim was to lift the public sense 
 of what true literature means, Ben Jonson found himself put on 
 the stage in a piece called " Satiromastix " by his friends 
 Dekker and Marston. They paid him back in what they took 
 to be his own coin, and set one of his own characters, Captain 
 Tucca, to bully him ; but in the characters through which they 
 themselves spoke they clearly expressed their own friendship 
 and admiration for him, which asked only that he should put 
 away what they regarded as his fault. Says one of them : 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 Where one true 
 And wholly virtuous spirit for thy best part 
 Loves thee, I wish one ten with all my heart. 
 I make account, I put up as deep share 
 In every good man's love which thy worth earns 
 As thou thyself. We envy not to see 
 Thy friends with bays to crown thy poesie. 
 No, here the gall lies, we that know what stuff 
 Thy very heart is made of, know the stalk 
 On which thy learning grows, and can give life 
 To thy, once dying, baseness, yet must we 
 Dance antics on your paper. 
 
 " Faustus ! " he interrupts ; and his friend adds, 
 
 " This makes us angry, but not envious. 
 
 No, were thy warpt soul put in a new mould, 
 I'd wear thee as a jewel set in gold. 
 
 This was but a wrestle among friends. Marston almost im- 
 mediately afterwards was dedicating to Ben Jonson his best 
 play, and in another play they were joint writers with the 
 scholarly George Chapman. True men can differ vigorously 
 and be friends. 
 
 Ben Jonson turned for a while from his misapprehended 
 comedies, or, rather, from his dramatic satires; for the three 
 pieces that followed " Every Man in his Humour " were rich 
 in detail, but, as plays, weak in construction. He produced a 
 tragedy, "Sejanus,' ; in 1603, and then, in the first years of the 
 reign of James I., gathered his strength and produced the three 
 comedies given in this volume: "Volpone" in 1605, "The 
 Silent Woman" in 1609, and "The Alchemist" in 1610. His 
 other tragedy, "Catiline," followed in 161 1. The ing enuity o f 
 sudden and fre quen t turns in the plot of " The Alchemist" is hardly 
 less nmrTtecTin "The Jb'ox," and the three comedies contain a 
 little crowd of distinct characters, with vigour of wit and worthy 
 thought in every line that helps to give them being. Is there 
 a book in the world that breathes nobler scorn of the worship of 
 Mammon than Ben Jonson's play of " Volpone" ? It opens with 
 Volpone prostrate in soul before the idol figured in a heap of 
 gold and silver plate, and then shows how, in low minds, all ties 
 of love and honour snap when they restrain the grasp at gold. 
 Corbaccio, tottering upon the verge of his own grave, casts off a 
 worthy son, and the most jealous husband is ready to give his 
 wife to shame, for lust of gold. 
 
8 IXTR0DUCT10N. 
 
 A spirit like this was in the club at the Mermaid— founded, 
 it is said, by Sir Walter Raleigh — in which Shakespeare and 
 Beaumont and Fletcher were among Ben Jonson's companions. 
 Beaumont, in lines to Ben Jonson, recalled ^> 
 
 what things we have seen 
 Done at the Mermaid ! Heard words that have been 
 So nimble and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whom they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 
 And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
 Of his dull life. 
 
 Ben Jonson worked on under James I., but became weary of 
 the audiences who sought plays of animal love, and so helped to 
 quicken the departure of the earnest men whose presence had 
 given strength to the best efforts of the players. The theatre 
 declined in worth. Ben Jonson left it, and wrote Masques for the 
 Court, but fell out with Inigo Jones, who provided the machinery 
 for his Masques, lost favour at Court, and had a stroke of palsy 
 added to his troubles just before Charles I. became King. 
 Compelled to write again for the playgoers whom he openly 
 despised, he gave them an opportunity for retort after their own 
 kind, and wrote the indignant ode, " Come, Leave the Loathed 
 Stage," which will be found at page 3 1 3 of this volume. The grace 
 of hislast years is in the fragment of "The Sad Shepherd." He died 
 in August 1637. The University of Oxford had, in 1619, paid 
 honour to his learning by conferring on him the degree of Master 
 of Arts. Like Milton, Ben Jonson had a mind so highly culti- 
 vated that turns of thought or expression give evidence of his 
 scholarship in every page he writes. Horace especially, Martial, 
 Juvenal, Terence, Plautus, Lucian, Apollonius peep out from 
 many aline of sound English. Even St. Chrysostom's Q kolkov 
 Kaxaiv kclklotov underlies the comic exclamation in the close 
 of "The Silent Woman:"' "This is worst of all worst worsts !" 
 The spark of scholarship so flashed into the native humour of 
 the poet is anything but pedantry. It is a finer light in light, 
 wit within wit. But it did, in his own time, greatly exercise the 
 minds of feeble critics, who, if they ventured to strike at a phrase 
 of Ben Jonson's, trembled as they did so, lest perchance they 
 might hit Horace unawares. 
 
 H. M. 
 December 1884. . . 
 
Th 
 
 LCHEMIST. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 If thou beest more, thou art an understander, and then I trust thee. If 
 thou art one that takest up, and but a pretender, beware of what hands 
 thou receivest thy commodity ; for thou wert never more fair in the way to 
 be cozened than in this age, in poetry, especially in plays : wherein now 
 the concupiscence of dances and of antics so reigneth, as to run away from 
 Nature and be afraid of her is the only point of Art that tickles the 
 spectators. But how out of purpose and place do I name Art? When the 
 professors are grown so obstinate contemners of it, and presumers on their 
 own naturals, as they are deriders of all diligence that way, and, by simple 
 moclsing at the terms, when they understand not the things, think to get off 
 wittily with their ignorance. Nay, they are esteemed the more learned and 
 sufficient for this, by the many, through their excellent vice of judgment. 
 For they commend writers as they do fencers and wrestlers ; who, if they 
 come in robustuously, and put for it with a great deal of violence, are 
 received for the braver fellows : when many times their own rudeness is the 
 cause of their disgrace, and a little touch of their adversary gives all that 
 boisterous force the foil. I deny not but that* these men, who always seek 
 to do more than enough, may sometime happen on something that is good 
 and great ; but very seldom : and when it comes it doth not recompense 
 the rest of their ill. It sticks out, perhaps, and is more eminent, because 
 all is sordid and vile about it ; as lights are more discerned in a thick dark- 
 ness than a faint shadow. I speak not this out of a hope to do good to any 
 man against his will ; for I know, if it were put to the question of theirs 
 and mine, the worse would find more suffrages : because the most favour 
 common errors. But I give thee this warning, that there is a great 
 difference between those that, to gain the opinion of copy, utter all they 
 can, however unfitly ; and those that use election and a mean. For it is 
 only the disease of the unskilful to think rude things greater than polished, 
 or scattered more numerous than composed. 
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 Subtle, the Alch&nist. 
 Face, the Housekeeper. 
 Dol Common , their Colleague. 
 Dapper, a Clerk. 
 Drugger, a Tobacco Man. 
 Lovewit, Master of the House. 
 Epicure Mammon, a Knight. 
 Pertinax Surly, a Gamester. 
 
 SCENE— Lonpon 
 
 Tribulation Wholesome, 
 Pastor of Amsterdam. 
 
 Ananias, a Deacon there. 
 
 KASTRIL, the angry Boy. 
 
 Dame Pliant, his Sister, a 
 Widow. 
 
 Neighbours, Officers, Mutes, 
 
io THE ALCHEMIST. [act I. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 T HE sickness hot, a master quit, for fear, 
 H is house in town, and left one servant there. 
 E ase him corrupted, and gave means to know 
 
 A cheater and his punk ; who now brought low, 
 L eaving their narrow practice, were become 
 C ozeners at large ; and only wanting some 
 H ouse to set up, with him they here contract, 
 E ach for a share, and all begin to act. 
 M uch company they draw, and much abuse, 
 I n casting figures, telling fortunes, news, 
 S elling of flies, false putting of the stone, 
 T ill it, and they, and all in fume are gone. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Fortune, that favours fools, these two short hours 
 
 We wish away, both for your sakes and ours, 
 Judging Spectators ; and desire, in place, 
 
 To the author justice, to ourselves but grace. 
 Our scene is London, 'cause we would make known 
 
 No country's mirth is better than our own : 
 No clime breeds better matter, for your bore, 
 
 Shark, squire, impostor, many persons more, 
 Whose manners, now called humours, feed the stage ; 
 
 And which have still been subject for the rage 
 Or spleen of comic writers. Though this pen 
 
 Did never aim to grieve, but better, men ; 
 Howe'er the age he lives in doth endure 
 
 The vices that she breeds, above their cure. 
 But when the wholesome remedies are sweet, 
 
 And in their working gain and profit meet, 
 He hopes to find no spirit so much diseased 
 
 But will with such fair correctives be pleased : 
 For here he doth not fear who can apply. 
 
 If there be any that will sit so nigh 
 Unto the stream, to look what it doth run, 
 
 They shall find things they'd think or wish were done 
 They are so natural follies, but so shown 
 
 As even the doers may see, and yet not own. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. I. — A Room in Lovewit's House. 
 
 Enter Face, in a captain's uniform, with his sword drawn, 
 and Subtle with a vial, quarrelling, and followed by Dol 
 Common. 
 
 Face. Believe 't, I will. 
 
 Sub. Thy worst. I spit at thee. 
 
 Dol. Have you your wits ? Why, gentlemen, for love— 
 
scene i.] THE ALCHEMIST. II 
 
 Face. Sirrah, I'll strip you 
 
 Sub. What to do ? Lick figs 
 Out at my 
 
 Face. Rogue, rogue 1— out of all your sleights. 
 
 Dol. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you madmen ? 
 
 Sub. Oh, let the wild sheep loose. I'll gum your silks 
 With good strong water, an you come. 
 
 Dol. Will you have 
 The neighbours hear you ? will you betray all ? 
 Hark ! I hear somebody. 
 
 Face. Sirrah 
 
 Sub. I shall mar 
 All that the tailor has made, if you approach. 
 
 Face. You most notorious whelp, you insolent slave, 
 Dare you do this ? 
 
 Sub. Yes ? faith ; yes, faith. 
 
 Fac. Why, who 
 Am I, my mongrel ? Who am I ? 
 
 Sub. I'll tell you, 
 Since you know not yourself. 
 
 Face. Speak lower, rogue. 
 
 Sub. Yes, you were once (time's not long past) the good, 
 Honest, plain, livery three pound thrum that kept 
 Your master's worship's house here in the Friars, S 
 For the vacations 
 
 Face. Will you be so loud ? 
 
 Sub. Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain. 
 
 Face. By your means, doctor dog ! 
 
 Sub. Within man's memory, 
 All this I speak of. 
 
 Face. Why, I pray you, have I 
 Been countenanced by you, or you by me ? 
 Do but collect, sir, where I met you first. 
 
 Sub. I do not hear well. 
 
 Face. Not of this, I think it. 
 But I shall put you in mind, sir ; — at Pie-corner, 
 Taking your meal of steam in from cooks' stalls, 
 Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk 
 Piteously costive, with your pinch'd horn-nose, 
 And your complexion of the Roman wash, 
 Stuck full of black and melancholic worms, 
 Like powder corns shot at the artillery yard. 
 
 Sub. I wish you could advance your voice a little. 
 
 Face. When you went pinn'd up in the several rags 
 You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day ; 
 Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes ; 
 A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloak, 
 That scarce would cover your no buttocks ■ 
 
12 THE ALCHEMIST. [act I. 
 
 Sub. So, sir ! 
 
 Face. When all your alchemy and your algebra, 
 Your minerals, vegetals, and animals, 
 Your conjuring, cozening, and your dozen of trades, 
 Could not relieve your corps with so much linen 
 Would make you tinder, but to see a lire, 
 I gave you countenance, credit for your coals, 
 Your stills, your glasses, your materials ; 
 Built you a furnace, drew you customers, 
 Advanced all your black arts ; lent you, beside, 
 A house to practise in 
 
 Sub. Your master's house ! 
 
 Face. Where you have studied the more thriving skill 
 Of cozening since. 
 
 Sub. Yes, in your master's house. 
 You and the rats here kept possession. 
 Make it not strange. I know you were one could keep 
 The buttery-hatch still lock'd, and save the chippings, 
 Sell the dole beer to aquavitae men, 
 The which, together with your Christmas vails 
 At post-and-pair, your letting out of counters, 
 Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks, 
 And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs, 
 Here, since your mistress' death hath broke up house. 
 
 Face. You might talk softlier, rascal. 
 
 Sub. No, you scarab, 
 I'll thuuder you in pieces : I will teach you 
 How to beware to tempt a Fury again, 
 That carries tempest in his hand and voice. 
 
 Face. The place has made you valiant. 
 
 Sub. No, your clothes. — 
 Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung, 
 So poor, so wretched, when no living thing 
 Would keep thee company, but a spider, or worse ? 
 Rais'd thee from brooms, and dust, and watering-pots, 
 Sublimed thee, and exalted thee, and fix'd thee 
 In the third region, call'd our state of grace ? 
 Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pains 
 Would twice have won me the Philosopher's work ! 
 Put thee in words and fashion, made thee fit 
 For more than ordinary fellowships ? 
 Giv'n thee thy oaths, thy quarrelling dimensions, 
 Thy rules to cheat at horse-race, cockpit, cards, dice, 
 Or whatever gallant tincture else ? 
 Made thee a second in mine own great art ? 
 And have I this for thanks ! Do you rebel, 
 Do you fly out in the projection ? 
 Would you be gone now ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 13 
 
 Dol. Gentlemen, what mean you ? 
 Will you mar all ? 
 
 Sub. Slave, thou hadst had no name 
 
 Dol. Will you undo yourselves with civil war ? 
 
 Sub. Never been known, past equi clibanum, 
 The heat of horse-dung, under ground, in cellars, 
 Or an ale-house darker than deaf John's; been lost 
 To all mankind but laundresses and tapsters, 
 Had not I been. 
 
 Dol. Do you know who hears you, sovereign ? 
 
 Face. Sirrah 
 
 Dol. Nay, general, I thought you were civil. 
 
 Face. I shall turn desperate if you grow thus loud. 
 
 Sub. And hang thyself, I care not. 
 
 Face. Hang thee, collier, 
 And all thy pots and pans, in picture, I will, 
 Since thou hast moved me 
 
 Dol. Oh, this will o'erthrow all. 
 
 Face. Write thee up bawd in Paul's, have all thy tricks 
 Of cozening with a hollow coal, dust, scrapings, 
 Searching for things lost, with a sieve and shears, 
 Erecting figures in your rows of houses, 
 And taking in of shadows with a glass, 
 Told in red letters ; and a face cut for thee 
 Worse than Gamaliel Ratsey's. 
 
 Dol. Are you sound ? 
 Have you your senses, masters ? 
 
 Face. I will have 
 A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures, 
 Shall prove a true philosopher's stone to printers. 
 
 Sub. Away, you trencher-rascal ! 
 
 Face. Out, you log-leech ! 
 The vomit of all prisons 
 
 Dol. Will you be 
 Your own destructions, gentlemen ? 
 
 Face. Still spewed out 
 For lying too heavy on the basket. 
 
 Sub. Cheater ! 
 
 Face. Bawd ! 
 
 Sub. Cowherd ! 
 
 Face. Conjurer ! 
 
 Sub. Cut-purse ! 
 
 Face. Witch! 
 
 Dol. O me ! 
 We are ruin'd, lost ! Have you no more regard 
 To your reputations ? Where's your judgment ? 'Slight 
 Have yet some care of me, of your republic 
 
 Face. Away this brach ! I'll bring thee, rogue, within 
 
14 THE ALCHEMIST. [act I. 
 
 The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio 
 
 Of Harry the Eighth : ay, and perhaps thy neck 
 
 Within a noose, for laundring gold and barbing it. 
 
 Dol. {Snatches Face's swont.] You'll bring your head within 
 a cockscomb, will you ? 
 And you, sir, with your menstrue. {Dashes SUBTLE's vial out 
 
 of his ham/.] Gather it up. — 
 'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards, 
 Leave off your barking, and grow one again, 
 Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut your throats. 
 I'll not be made a prey unto the marshal 
 For ne'er a snarling dog-bolt of you both. 
 Have you together cozen'd all this while, 
 And all the world, and shall it now be said 
 You've made most courteous shift to cozen yourselv es ? 
 You will accuse him ! you will b7'i?ig him i?i [To FACE. 
 
 Within the statute ? Who shall take your word ? 
 A rascal, upstart, apocryphal captain, 
 Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust 
 So much as for a feather : and you, too, {To SUBTLE. 
 
 Will give the cause, forsooth ! you will insult, 
 And claim a primacy in the divisions ! 
 You must be chief ! as if you only had 
 The powder to project with, and the work 
 Were not begun out of equality ? 
 The venture tripartite ? all things in common ? 
 Without priority ? 'Sdeath ! you perpetual curs, 
 Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly, 
 And heartily, and lovingly, as you should, 
 And lose not the beginning of a term, 
 Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too, 
 And take my part, and quit you. 
 
 Face* 'Tis his fault ; 
 He ever murmurs, and objects his pains, 
 And says, the weight of all lies upon him. 
 
 Sub, Why, so it does. 
 
 Dot. How does it ? Do not Ave 
 Sustain our parts ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, but they are not equal. 
 
 Dot. Why, if your part exceed to-day, I hope 
 Ours may to-morrow match it. 
 
 Sub. Ay, they may. 
 
 Dol. May, murmuring mastiff ! Ay, and do. Death on me ! 
 Help me to throttle him. [Seizes SUB.- by the throat. 
 
 Sub. Dorothy ! Mistress Dorothy ! 
 'Ods precious, I'll do anything. What do you mean ? 
 
 Dol. Because o' your fermentation and cibation ? 
 
 Sub. Not I, by heaven . 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 15 
 
 Dol. Your Sol and Luna Help me. [To Face. 
 
 Sub. Would I were hang'd then ! I'll conform myself. 
 
 Dol. Will you, sir ? Do so then, and quickly : swear. 
 
 Sub. < What should I swear ? 
 
 Dol. To leave your faction, sir, 
 And labour kindly in the common work. 
 
 Sub. Let me not breathe if I meant aught beside. 
 I only useol those speeches as a spur 
 To him. 
 
 Dol. I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we ? 
 
 Face. 'Slid, prove to-day who shall shark best. 
 
 Sub. Agreed. 
 
 Dol. Yes, and work close and friendly. 
 
 Sub. 'Slight, the knot 
 Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me. 
 
 [They shake hands. 
 
 Dol. Why, so, my good baboons ! Shall we go make 
 A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbours, 
 That scarce have smiled twice since the king came in, 
 A feast of laughter at our follies ? Rascals 
 Would run themselves from breath to see me ride, 
 Or you t' have but a hole to thrust your heads in, 
 For which you should pay ear-rent ? No, agree. 
 And may don Provost ride a feasting long 
 In his old velvet jerkin and stain'd scarfs, 
 My noble sovereign and worthy general, 
 Ere we contribute a new crewel garter 
 To his most worsted worship. 
 
 Sub. Royal Dol ! 
 Spoken like Claridiana, and thyself. 
 
 Face. For which at supper thou shalt sit in triumph, 
 And not be styled Dol Common, but Dol Proper, 
 Dol Singular : the longest cut at night 
 Shall draw thee for his Doll Particular. [Bell rings without. 
 
 Sub. Who's that ? One rings. To the window, Dol. [Exit 
 Dol.] Pray heaven 
 The master do not trouble us this quarter. 
 
 Face. Oh, fear not him. While there dies one a week 
 O' the plague, he's safe from thinking toward London : 
 Beside, he's busy at his hop-yards now; 
 I had a Letter from him. If he do, 
 He'll send such word for airing of the house 
 As you shall have sufficient time to quit it : 
 Though we break up a fortnight, 'tis no matter. 
 
 Re-e?iter Dol. 
 Sub. Who is it Dol ? 
 Dol. A fine young quodling, 
 
16 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT I. 
 
 Face. Oh, 
 
 My lawyer's clerk I lighted on last night 
 In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have 
 (I told you of him) a familiar, 
 To rifle with at horses, and win cups. 
 
 Dol. Oh, let him in. 
 
 Sub. Stay. Who shall do 't ? 
 
 Face. Get you 
 Your robes on : I will meet him as going out. 
 
 Dol. And what shall I do ? 
 
 Face. Not be seen ; away ! {Exit DOL. 
 
 Seem you very reserv'd. 
 
 Sub. Enough. {Exit. 
 
 Face. {Aloud and retiring.'] God be wi' you, sir, 
 I pray you , let him know that I was here : 
 His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, but 
 
 Dap. [ Within.) Captain, I am here. 
 
 Face. Who's that ? — He's come, I think, doctor. 
 
 Enter Dapper. 
 Good faith, sir, I was going away. 
 
 Dap. In truth, 
 I am very sorry, captain. 
 
 Face. But I thought 
 Sure I should meet you. 
 
 Dap. Ay, I am very glad. 
 I had a scurvy writ or two to make, 
 And I had lent my watch last night to one 
 That dines to-day at the sheriffs, and so was robb'd 
 Of my pastime. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle, in his velvet cap and gown* 
 Is this the cunnning-man ? 
 
 Face. This is his worship. 
 
 Dap. Is he a doctor ? 
 
 Face. Yes. 
 
 Dap. And you have broke with him, captain ? 
 
 Face. Ay. 
 
 Dap. And how ? 
 
 Face. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so dainty 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Dap. Not so, good captain. 
 
 Face. Would I were fairly rid of it, believe me. 
 
 Dap. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should you wish so ? 
 I dare assure you, I'll not be ungrateful. 
 
 Face. I cannot think you will, sir. But the law 
 Is such a thing— and then he says, Read's matter 
 Falling so lately — 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 17 
 
 Dap. Read ! he was an ass, 
 And dealt, sir, with a fool. 
 
 .Face. It 'was a clerk, sir. 
 
 Dap. A clerk ! 
 
 Face. Nay, hear me, sir, you know the law 
 Better, I think 
 
 Dap. I should, sir, and the danger : 
 You know, I showed the statute to you. 
 
 Face. You did so. 
 
 Dap. And will I tell then ! By this hand of flesh, 
 Would it might never write good court-hand more, 
 If I discover. What do you think of me, 
 That I am a Chiause ? 
 
 Face. What's that ? 
 
 Dap. The Turk was here. 
 As one would say, do you think I am a Turk ? 
 
 Face. I'll tell the doctor so. 
 
 Dap. Do, good sweet captain. 
 
 Face. Come, noble doctor, pray thee, let 's prevail ; 
 This is the gentleman, and he is no chiause. 
 
 Sub. Captain, I have return'd you all my answer. 
 I would do much, sir, for your love ; but this 
 I neither may nor can. 
 
 Face. Tut, do not say so. 
 You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor, 
 One that will thank you richly, and he is no chiause. 
 Let that, sir, move you. 
 
 Sub. Pray you, forbear 
 
 Face. He has 
 Four angels here. 
 
 Sub. You do me wrong, good sir. 
 
 Face. Doctor, wherein ? to tempt you with these spirits ? 
 
 Sub. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril. 
 'Fore heaven, I scarce can think you are my friend, 
 That so would draw me to apparent danger. 
 
 Face. I draw you ! A horse draw you, and a halter, 
 You, and your flies together 
 
 Dap. Nay, good captain. 
 
 Face. That know no difference of men. 
 
 Sub. Good words, sir. 
 
 Face. Good deeds, sir, Doctor Dogs-meat. 'Slight, I bring you 
 No cheating Clim of the Cloughs, or Claribels, 
 That look as big as five-and-fifty, and flush ; 
 And spit out secrets like hot custard 
 
 Dap. Captain ! 
 
 Face. Nor any melancholic under-scribe, 
 Shall tell the vicar, but a special gentle, 
 That is the heir to forty marks a year, 
 
1 8 THE ALCHEMIST. [act I. 
 
 Consorts with the small poets of the time, 
 
 Is the sole hope of his old grandmother ; 
 
 That knows the law, and writes you six fair hands, 
 
 Is a fine clerk, and has his cyphering perfect, 
 
 Will take his oath o' the Greek Testament, 
 
 If need be, in his pocket ; and can court 
 
 His mistress out of Ovid. 
 
 Dap. Nay, dear captain 
 
 Face. Did you not tell me so ? 
 
 Dap. Yes ; but I'd have you 
 Use Master Doctor with some more respect. 
 
 Face. Hang him, proud stag, with his broad velvet head ! — 
 But for your sake, I'd choke ere I would change 
 An article of breath with such a puckfist : 
 Come, let's be gone. [Going. 
 
 Sub. Pray you, let me speak with you. 
 
 Dap. His worship calls you, captain. 
 
 Face. I am sorry 
 I e'er embark'd myself in such a business. 
 
 Dap. Nay, good sir ; he did call you. 
 
 Face. Will he take then ? 
 
 Sub. First, hear me 
 
 Face. Not a syllable, 'less you take. 
 
 Sitb. Pray you, sir 
 
 Face. Upon no terms, but an assumpsit. 
 
 Sub. Your humour must be law. [He takes the four angels. 
 
 Face. Why, now, sir, talk. 
 Now I dare hear you with mine honour. Speak. 
 So may this gentleman too. 
 
 Sub. Why, sir ■ [Offering to whisper. FACE. 
 
 Face. No whispering. 
 
 Sub. 'Fore heaven, you do not apprehend the loss 
 You do yourself in this. 
 
 Face. Wherein ? for what ? 
 
 Sub. Marry, to be so importunate for one 
 That, when he has it, will undo you all ; 
 He'll win up all the money in the town. 
 
 Face. How ! 
 
 Sub. Yes, and blow up gamester after gamester, 
 As they do crackers in a puppet play. 
 If I do give him a familiar, 
 Give you him all you play for ; never set him : 
 For he will have it. 
 
 Face. You are mistaken, doctor. 
 Why he does ask one but for cups and horses 
 A rifling fly ; none of your great familiars. 
 
 Dap. Yes, captain, I would have it for all games- 
 
 Sub. I told you so. 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 19 
 
 Face. \Taking Dap. aside.'] 'Slight, that is a new business ! 
 I understood you, a tame bird, to fly 
 Twice in a term, or so, on Friday nights, 
 When you had left the office, for a nag 
 Of forty or fifty shillings. 
 
 Dap. Ay, 'tis true, sir ; 
 But I do think now I shall leave the law, 
 And therefore 
 
 race. Why, this changes quite the case. 
 Do you think that I dare move him ? 
 
 Dap. If you please, sir ; 
 All's one to him, I see. 
 
 Face. What ! for that money ? 
 I cannot with my conscience ; nor should you 
 Make the request, methinks. 
 
 Dap. No, sir ; I mean 
 To add consideration. 
 
 Face. Why, then, sir, 
 I'll try. {Goes to Subtle.] Say that it were for all games, doctor? 
 
 Sub. I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him 
 At any ordinary, but on the score, 
 That is a gaming mouth, conceive me. 
 
 Face. Indeed ! 
 
 Sub. He'll draw you all the treasure of the realm, 
 If it be set him. 
 
 Face. Speak you this from art ? 
 
 Sub. Ay, sir, and reason too, the ground of art. 
 He is of the only best complexion 
 The Oueen of Fairy loves. 
 
 i^.-What! Is he? 
 
 Sub. Peace. 
 He'll overhear you. Sir, should she but see him 
 
 Face. What? 
 
 Sub. Do not you tell him. 
 
 Face. Will he win at cards too ? 
 
 Sub. The spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac, 
 You'd swear were in him ; such a vigorous luck 
 As cannot be resisted. 'Slight, he'll put 
 Six of your gallants to a cloke, indeed. 
 
 Face. A strange success, that some man shall be born 
 
 Sub. He hears you, man 
 
 Dap. Sir, I'll not be ungrateful. 
 
 Face. Faith, I have confidence in his good nature : 
 You hear, he says he will not be ungrateful. 
 
 Sub. Why, as you please ; my venture follows yours. 
 
 Face. Troth, do it, doctor ; think him trusty, and make him. 
 He may make us both happy in an hour ; 
 Win some five thousand pounds, and send us two on 't. 
 
20 THE ALCHEMIST. [act i. 
 
 Dap. Believe it, and I will, sir. 
 
 Face. And you shall, sir. [ Takes him aside. 
 
 You have heard all ? 
 
 Dap. No, what was 't ? Nothing, I, sir. 
 
 Face. Nothing ! 
 
 Dap. A little, sir. 
 
 Face. Well, a rare star 
 Reigned at your birth. 
 
 Dap. At mine, sir ! No. 
 
 Face. The doctor 
 Swears that you are 
 
 Sub. Nay, captain, you'll tell all now. 
 
 Face. Allied to the Queen of Fairy. 
 
 Dap. Who ? that I am ? 
 Believe it no such matter ■ 
 
 Face. Yes, and that 
 You were born with a caul on your head. 
 
 Dap. Who says so ? 
 
 Face. Come, 
 You know it well enough, though you dissemble it. 
 
 Dap. V fac, I do not : you are mistaken. 
 
 Face. How ! 
 Swear by your fac ? And in a thing so known 
 Unto the doctor? How shall we, sir, trust you 
 In the other matter ? can we ever think, 
 When you have won five or six thousand pounds, 
 You'll send us shares in 't, by this rate ? 
 
 Dap. By Jove, sir, 
 I'll win ten thousand pounds, and send you half. 
 F fac 's no oath. 
 
 Sub. No, no ; he did but jest. 
 
 Face. Go to. Go thank the doctor : he's your friend, 
 To take it so. 
 
 Dap. I thank his worship. 
 
 Face. So ! 
 Another angel. 
 
 Dap. Must I ? 
 
 Face. Must you ! 'Slight, 
 What else is thanks ? Will you be trivial ? — Doctor, 
 
 [Dapper gives him the money. 
 When must he come for his familiar ? 
 
 Dap. Shall I not have it with me ? 
 
 Sub. Oh, good sir ! 
 There must a world of ceremonies pass ; 
 You must be bath'd and fumigated first : 
 Besides, the Queen of Fairy does not rise 
 Till it be noon. 
 
 Face. Not, if she danced, to-night. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 21 
 
 Sub. And she must bless it. 
 
 Face. Did you never see 
 Her royal grace yet ? 
 
 Dap. Whom? 
 
 Face. Your aunt of Fairy ? 
 
 Sub. Not since she kissed him in the cradle, captain ; 
 I can resolve you that. 
 
 Face. Well, see her grace, 
 Whate'er it cost you, for a thing that I know. 
 It will be somewhat hard to compass ; but 
 However, see her. You are made, believe it, 
 If you can see her. Her grace is a lone woman, 
 And very rich ; and if she take a fancy, 
 She will do strange things . See her at any hand. 
 'Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has : 
 It is the doctor's fear. 
 
 Dap. How will't be dene, then ? 
 
 Face. Let me alone, take you no thought. Do you 
 But say to me, Captain, I'll see her grace. 
 
 Dap. Captain, I'll see her grace. 
 
 Face. Enough. [K?iocki?ig within. 
 
 Sub. Who's there ? 
 Anon. — Conduct him forth by the back way. [Aside to Face. 
 Sir, against one o'clock prepare yourself, 
 Till when you must be fasting ; only take 
 Three drops of vinegar in at your nose, 
 Two at your mouth, and one at either ear ; 
 Then bathe your fingers' end and wash your eyes, 
 To sharpen your five senses, and cry hum 
 Thrice, and then buz as often ; and then come. [Exit. 
 
 Face. Can you remember this ? 
 
 Dap. I warrant you. 
 
 Face. Well then, away. It is but your bestowing 
 Some twenty nobles 'mong her grace's servants, 
 And put on a clean shirt : you do not know 
 What grace her grace may do you in clean linen. 
 
 [Exeunt Face and Dapper. 
 
 Sub. [ Wi£hi7i.~] Come in ! Good wives, I pray you forbear me 
 now; 
 Troth I can do you no good till afternoon. 
 
 Re-enters, followed by D RUGGER. 
 What is your name, say you — Abel D rugger ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. A seller of tobacco ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. Umph ! 
 Free of the grocers ? 
 
22 THE ALCHEMIST. [act I. 
 
 Drug. Ay, an 't please you. 
 
 Sub. Well 
 
 Your business, Abel ? 
 
 Drug. This, an 't please your worship ; 
 I am a young beginner, and am building 
 Of a new shop, an 't like your worship, just 
 At corner of a street :— Here is the plot on 't — 
 And I would know by art, sir, of your worship, 
 Which way I should make my door, by necromancy, 
 And where my shelves : and which should be for boxes, 
 And which for pots. I would be glad to thrive, sir : 
 And I was wish d to your worship by a gentleman, 
 One Captain Face, that says you know men's planets, 
 And their good angels, and their bad. 
 
 Sub. I do, 
 
 If I do see them 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. What ! my honest Abel ? 
 Thou art well met here. 
 
 Drug. Troth, sir, I was speaking, 
 Just as your worship came here, of your worship : 
 I pray you, speak for me to Master Doctor. 
 
 Face. He shall do anything. — Doctor, do you hear ? 
 This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow ; 
 He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not 
 Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil, 
 Nor washes it in muscadel and grains, 
 Nor buries it in gravel underground, 
 Wrapp'd up in greasy leather or sour clouts ; 
 But keeps it in fine lily pots, that, open'd, 
 Smell like conserve of roses or French beans. 
 He has his maple block, his silver tongs, 
 Winchester pipes, and fire of Juniper : 
 A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith. 
 
 Sub. He is a fortunate fellow, that I am sure on. 
 
 Face. Already, sir, have you found it ? Lo thee, Abel ! 
 
 Sub. And in right way toward riches 
 
 Face. Sir ! 
 
 Sub. This summer 
 He will be of the clothing of his company, 
 And next spring call'd to the scarlet ; spend what he can. 
 
 Face. What, and so little beard ? 
 
 Sub. Sir, you must think 
 He may have a receipt to make hair come : 
 But he'll be wise, preserve his youth, and fine for't ; 
 His fortune looks for him another way. ' 
 
 Face. 'Slid, doctor, how canst thou know this so soon ? 
 I am amused at that ! 
 
scene i.] THE ALCHEMIST. 23 
 
 Sub. By a rule, captain, 
 In metoposcopy, which I do work by ; ^^ 
 
 A certain star in the forehead, which you see not. 
 Your chestnut or your olive-colour'd face 
 Does never fail : and your long ear doth promise. 
 I knew 't by certain spots, too, in his teeth, 
 And on the nail of his mercurial finger. 
 Face. Which finger's that ? 
 Sub. His little finger. Look. 
 You were born upon a Wednesday ? 
 Drug. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 Sub. The thumb, in chiromancy, we give Venus ; 
 The fore-finger to Jove ; the midst to Saturn ; 
 The ring to Sol ; the least to Mercury, 
 Who was the lord, sir, of his horoscope, 
 His house of life being Libra; which fore-showed 
 He should be a merchant, and should trade with balance. 
 Face. Why, this is strange ! Is it not, honest Nab ? 
 Sub. There is a ship now coming from Ormus 
 That shall yield him such a commodity 
 Of drugs. This is the west, and this the south ? 
 
 [Pointing to the plan. 
 Drug. Yes, sir- 
 
 Sub. And those are your two sides ? 
 Drug. Ay, sir. 
 
 Sub. Make me your door, then, south ; your broadside, west : 
 And on the east side of your shop, aloft, 
 Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat ; 
 Upon the north part, Rael, Velel, Thiel. 
 They are the names of those mercurial spirits 
 That do fright flies from boxes. 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 « Sub. And 
 Beneath your threshold bury me a loadstone 
 To draw in gallants that wear spurs : the rest j 
 They'll seem to follow. 
 Face. That's a secret, Nab ! 
 Sub. And on your stall, a puppet, with a vice 
 And a court- fucus to call city-dames : 
 You shall deal much with minerals. 
 Drug. Sir, I have 
 
 At home, already 
 
 Sub. Ay, I know you have arsenic, 
 Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, alkali, 
 Cinoper : I know all. — This fellow, captain, 
 Will come, in time, to be a great distiller, 
 And give assay— I will not say directly, 
 But very fair — at the philosopher's stone. 
 
24 THE ALCHEMIST. [act i. 
 
 Face. Why, how now, Abel ! is this true ? 
 
 Drug. Good captain, 
 What must I give ? [Aside to FACE. 
 
 Face. Nay, I'll not counsel thee. 
 Thou hear'st what wealth— (he says, spend what thou canst) — 
 Thou'rt like to come to. 
 
 Drug. I would gi' him a crown. 
 
 Face. A crown ! and toward such a fortune ? Heart, 
 Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold about thee ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, I have a portague I have kept this half-year. 
 
 Face. Out on thee, Nab ! 'Slight, there was such an offer— 
 Shalt keep 't no longer, I'll give 't him for thee. Doctor, 
 Nab prays your worship to drink this, and swears 
 He will appear more grateful as your skill 
 Does raise him in the world. 
 
 Drug. I would entreat 
 Another favour of his worship. 
 
 Face. What is % Nab ? 
 
 Drug. But to look over, sir, my almanac, 
 And cross out my ill days, that I may neither 
 Bargain nor trust upon them. 
 
 Face. That he shall, Nab ; 
 Leave it, it shall be done 'gainst afternoon. 
 
 Sub. And a direction for his shelves. 
 
 Face. Now, Nab, 
 Art thou well pleased, Nab ? 
 
 Drug. 'Thank, sir, both your worships. 
 
 Face. Away. — [Exit D RUGGER. 
 
 Why, now, you smoky persecutor of nature ! 
 Now do you see that something 's to be done 
 Beside your beech-coal and your corsive waters, 
 Your crosslets, crucibles, and cucurbites ? 
 You must have stuff brought home to you, to work on : 
 And yet you think I am at no expense 
 In searching out these veins, then following them, 
 Then trying them out. 'Fore God, my intelligence 
 Costs me more money than my share oft comes to, 
 In these rare works. 
 
 Sub. You are pleasant, sir. 
 
 Re-enter DOL. 
 
 How now ! 
 What says my Dainty Dolkin ? 
 
 Dot. Yonder fishwife 
 Will not away. And there's your giantess, 
 Come out of Lambeth. 
 
 Sub. Heart, I cannot speak with them. 
 
 Dot. Not afore night, I have told them in a voicej 
 
scene i.] THE ALCHEMIST. 25 
 
 Thorough the trunk, like one of your familiars. 
 But I have spied Sir Epicure Mammon 
 
 Sub. Where? 
 
 Dol. Coming along, at far end of the lane, 
 Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue 
 To one that 's with him. 
 
 Sub. Face, go you, and shift. {Exit FACE. 
 
 Dol, you must presently make ready too. 
 
 Dol. Why, what 's the matter ? 
 
 Sub. Oh, I did look for him 
 With the sun's rising : marvel he could sleep ; 
 This is the day I am to perfect for him 
 The magisterium, our great work, the stone ; 
 And yield it, made, into his hands ; of which 
 He has this month talk'd as he were possess'd. 
 And now he 's dealing pieces on 't away. — 
 Methinks I see him entering ordinaries, 
 Dispensing for the pox and plaguy houses, 
 Reaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers, 
 And offering citizens' wives pomander bracelets, 
 As his preservative, made of the elixir ; 
 Searching the spital, to make old bones young ; 
 And the highways for beggars to make rich : 
 I see no end of his labours. He will make 
 Nature asham'd of her long sleep : when art, 
 Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she, 
 In her best love to mankind, ever could : 
 If his dream lasts, he'll turn the age to gold. {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — An Outer Roo?n in Lovewit's House. 
 Enter Sir Epicure Mammon and Surly. 
 
 Mam. Come on, sir. Now, you set your foot on shore 
 In Novo Orbe j here 's the rich Peru : 
 And there within, sir, are the golden mines, 
 Great Solomon's Ophir ! he was sailing to 't, 
 Three years, but we have reach' d it in ten months. 
 This is the day wherein, to all my friends, 
 I will pronounce the happy word, BE RICH ; 
 This day you shall be spectatissimi. 
 You shall no more deal with the hollow dye 
 Or the frail card. No more be at charge of keeping 
 
26 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT II. 
 
 The house of call for the young heir. No more 
 
 Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger 
 
 Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloak, 
 
 To be display'd at Madam Augusta's, make 
 
 The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before 
 
 The golden calf, and on their knees, whole nights, 
 
 Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets : 
 
 Or go a feasting, after drum and ensign. 
 
 No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys, 
 
 And have your punks and punketees, my Surly. 
 
 And unto thee I speak it first, Be rich. 
 
 Where is my Subtle, there ? Within, ho ! 
 
 Face. {Within?^ Sir, he'll come to you by and by. 
 
 Mam. That is his fire-drake. 
 His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals, 
 Till he firk nature up, in her own centre. 
 You are not faithful, sir. This night I'll change 
 All that is metal, in my house, to gold : 
 And early in the morning will I send 
 To all the plumbers and the pewterers, 
 And buy their tin and lead up ; and to Lothbury 
 For all the copper. 
 
 Sur. What, and turn that too ? 
 
 Mam. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall, 
 And make them perfect Indies ! You admire now ? 
 
 Sur. No, faith. 
 
 Mam. But when you see th' effects of the Great Medicine, 
 Of which one part projected on a hundred 
 Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon, 
 Shall turn it to as many of the sun ; 
 Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum : 
 You will believe me. 
 
 Sur. Yes, when I see 't I will. 
 But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I 
 Giving them no occasion, sure I'll have 
 A crow shall pluck them out next day. 
 
 Mam. Ha ! why ? 
 Do you think I fable with you ? I assure you, 
 He that has once the flower of the sun, 
 The perfect ruby, which we call elixir, 
 Not only can do that, but by its virtue 
 Can confer honour, love, respect, long life ; 
 Give safety, valour, yea, and victory, 
 To whom he will. In eight and twenty days, 
 I'll make an old man of fourscore a child. 
 
 Sur. No doubt ; he 's that already. 
 
 Ma7n. Nay, I mean, 
 Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle, 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 27 
 
 To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daughters, 
 Young giants ; rz our philosophers have done, 
 The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood, 
 But taking, once a week, on a knife's point, 
 The quantity of a grain of mustard of it ; 
 Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids. 
 
 Sur. The decay'd vestals of Pict-hatch would thank you. 
 That keep the fire alive there. 
 
 Mam. 5 Tis the secret 
 Of nature naturized 'gainst all infections, 
 Cures all diseases coming of all causes ; 
 A month's grief in a day, a year's in twelve ; 
 And ^>f what age soever, in a month : 
 Past all the doses of your drugging doctors. 
 I'll undertake, withal, to fright the plague 
 Out of the kingdom in three months. 
 
 Sur. And I'll 
 Be bound the players shall sing your praises then 
 Without their poets. 
 
 Mam. Sir, I '11 do 't. Meantime, 
 I'll give away so much unto my man 
 Shall serve the whole city with preservative 
 Weekly ; each house his dose, and at the rate 
 
 Sur. As he that built the waterwork does with water ? 
 
 Main. You are incredulous. 
 
 Sur. Faith, I have a humour 
 I would not willingly be gull'd. Your stone 
 ^TTannot transmute me. 
 
 Mam. Pertinax, Surly, 
 Will you believe antiquity ? records ? 
 I'll show you a book where Moses and his sister. 
 And Solomon have written of the art ; 
 Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam 
 
 Sur. How ! 
 
 Mam. Of the philosopher's stone, and in High Dutch. 
 
 Sur. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch ? 
 
 Mam. He did ; 
 ^Vhich proves it was the primitive tongue. 
 * Sur. What paper ? 
 
 Mam. On cedar board. 
 
 Sur. Oh, that indeed, they say 
 Will last 'gainst worms. 
 
 Mam. ' Tis like your Irish wood 
 'Gainst cobwebs. I have a piece of Jason's fleece too, 
 Which was no ether than a book of alchemy, 
 Writ in large sheepskin, a good fat ram-vellum. 
 Such was Pythagoras' thigh, Pandora's tub, 
 And all that fable of Medea's charms, 
 
28 THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 The manner of our work ; the bulls, our furnace, 
 
 Still breathing fire ; our argenl-vive, the dragon : 
 
 The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate, 
 
 That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the biting; 
 
 And they are gather'd into Jason's helm, 
 
 The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field, 
 
 And thence sublimed so often, till they're fix'd. 
 
 Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story, 
 
 Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes, 
 
 Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more, 
 
 All abstract riddles of our stone. — 
 
 Enter Face as a Servant. 
 
 How now ! 
 Do we succeed ? Is our day come? and holds it ? 
 
 Face. The evening will set red upon you, sir ; 
 You have colour for it, crimson : the red ferment 
 Has done his office ; three hours hence prepare you 
 To see projection. 
 
 Main. Pertinax, my Surly, 
 Again I say to thee aloud, Be rich. 
 This day thou shalt have ingots ; and to-morrow 
 Give lords th' affront. — Is it, my Zephyrus, right ? 
 Blushes the bolt's head? 
 
 Face. Like a wench with child, sir, 
 That were but now discover'd to her master. 
 
 Mam. Excellent witty Lungs ! — my only care is, 
 Where to get stuff enough now to project on ; 
 This town will not half serve me. 
 
 Face. No, sir ! Buy 
 The covering off o' churches. 
 
 Mam. That's true. 
 
 Face. Yes. 
 Let them stand bare, as do their auditory ; 
 Or cap them, new, with shingles. 
 
 Mam. No, good thatch : 
 Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs. — 
 Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace ; 
 I will restore thee thy complexion, Puff, 
 Lost in the embers ; and repair this brain, 
 Hurt with the fume o' the metals. 
 
 Face. I have blown, sir, 
 Hard for your worship ; thrown by many a coal, 
 When 'twas not beech ; weigh'd those I put in, just, 
 To keep your heat still even ; these bleared eyes 
 Have waked to read your several colours, sir, 
 Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow, 
 The peacock's tail, the plumed swan. 
 
SCENE J.] THE ALCHEMIST. 29 
 
 Mam. And, lastly, 
 Thou hast descried the flower, the sanguis agni ? 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mam. Where's master ? 
 
 Face. At his prayers, sir, he ; 
 Good man, he's doing his devotions 
 For the success. 
 
 Main. Lungs, I will set a period 
 To all thy labours ; thou shalt be the master 
 Of my seraglio. 
 
 Face. Good, sir. 
 
 Mam. But, do you hear ? 
 I'll geld you, Lungs. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mam. For I do mean 
 To have a list of wives and concubines 
 Equal with Solomon, who had the stone 
 Alike with me ; and I will make me a back 
 With the elixir, tough as Hercules. 
 Thou art sure thou saw'st it blood ? 
 
 Face. Both blood and spirit, sir. 
 
 Mam. I will have all my beds blown up, not stuft : 
 Down is too hard : and then, mine oval room 
 FilPd with such pictures as Tiberius took 
 From Elephantis, and dull Aretine 
 But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses 
 T&it in more subtle angles, to disperse 
 And multiply the figures, as I walk 
 Naked between my succubas. My mists 
 I'll have of perfume, vapoured 'bout the room, 
 To lose ourselves in ; and my baths, like pits 
 To fall into ; from whence we will come forth, 
 And roll us dry in gossamer and roses. — 
 Is it arrived at ruby ? — Where I spy 
 A wealthy citizen, or rich lawyer, 
 Have a sublimed pure wife, unto that fellow 
 Fll send a thousand pounds to make her mine. 
 1 Face. And I shall carry it ? 
 
 Mam. No. I'll have no aids, 
 But fathers and mothers ; they will do it best, 
 Best of all others. And my flatterers 
 Shall be the pure and gravest of divines 
 That I can get for money. My mere fools, 
 Eloquent burgesses ; and then my poets, 
 The same that writ so subtly of foul wind, 
 Whom I will entertain still for that subject. 
 The few that would give out themselves to be 
 Court and town rakes, and everywhere belie 
 
30 THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 Ladies who are known most innocent for them , 
 
 Those will I beg to make me eunuchs of; 
 
 And they shall fan me with ten ostrich tails 
 
 Apiece, made in a plume to gather wind. 
 
 We will be brave, Puff, now we have the med'eine. 
 
 My meat shall all come in in Indian shells. 
 
 Dishes of agate set in gold, and studded 
 
 With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths and rubies. 
 
 The tongues of carps, dormice, and camels' heels, 
 
 Boiled in the spirit of Sol and dissolv'd pearl, 
 
 Apicius' diet, 'gainst the epilepsy : 
 
 And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber, 
 
 Headed with diamond and carbuncle. 
 
 My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calvered salmons, 
 
 Knots, godwits, lampreys : I myself will have 
 
 The beards of barbels served instead of salads ; 
 
 Oiled mushrooms, and the swelling unctuous paps 
 
 Of a fat pregnant sow, newly cut off, 
 
 Drest with an exquisite and poignant sauce ; 
 
 For which I'll say unto my cook, There 's gold ': 
 
 Go forth, and be a knight. 
 
 Face. Sir, I'll go look 
 A little how it heightens. {Exit. 
 
 Mam. Do. — My shirts 
 I'll have of tafteta-sarsnet, soft and light 
 As cobwebs ; and for all my other raiment, 
 It shall be such as might provoke the Persian, 
 Were he to teach the world riot anew. 
 My gloves of fishes and birds' skins, perfumed 
 With gums of paradise and eastern air 
 
 Sur. And do you think to have the stone with this ? 
 
 Main. No, I do think t' have all this with the stone. 
 
 Sur. Why, I have heard he must be homo frugi, 
 A pious, holy, and religious man, 
 One free from mortal sin, a very virgin. 
 
 Mam. That makes it, sir ; he is so : but I buy it ; 
 My venture brings it me. He, honest wretch, 
 A notable, superstitious, good soul, 
 Has worn his knees bare and his slippers bald 
 With prayer and fasting for it : and, sir, let him 
 Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes. 
 Not a profane word afore him: 'tis poison. — 
 
 Enter Subtle. 
 
 Good-morrow, father. 
 
 Sub. Gentle son, good-morrow. 
 And to your friend there. What is he, is with you ? 
 
scene L] THE ALCHEMIST. 31 
 
 Mam. An heretic, that I did bring along, 
 In hope, sir, to convert him. 
 
 Sub. Son, I doubt 
 You are covetous, that thus you meet your time 
 In the just point : prevent your day at morning. 
 This argues something worthy of a fear 
 Of importune and carnal appetite. 
 Take heed you do not cause the blessing leave you, 
 With your ungovern'd haste. I should be sorry 
 To see my labours, not even at perfection, 
 Got by long watching and large patience, 
 Not prosper where my love and zeal hath placed them. 
 Which (heaven I call to witness, with yourself, 
 To whom I have poured my thoughts) in all my ends 
 Have look'd no way but unto public good, 
 To pious uses, and dear charity, 
 Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein 
 If you, my. son, should now prevaricate, 
 And to your own particular lusts employ 
 So great and catholic a bliss, be sure 
 A curse will follow, yea, and overtake 
 Your subtle and most secret ways. 
 
 A/am. I know, sir ; 
 You shall not need to fear me : I but come 
 To lmve you confute this gentleman. 
 
 Sur. Who is, 
 Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief 
 Toward your stone ; would not be gulled. 
 
 Sub. Well, son, 
 All that I can convince him in is this, 
 The WORK IS DONE, bright Sol is in his robe. 
 We have a medicine of the triple soul, 
 The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven, 
 And make us worthy of it ! — &Icn Spiegel! 
 
 Face. \Within^\ Anon, sir. 
 
 Sub. Look well to the register. 
 And ret your heat still lessen by degrees, 
 To the aludels. 
 
 Face. [Within.'] Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. Did you look 
 O' the bolt's head vet ? 
 
 Face. [Within.] Which? On D, sir? 
 
 Sub. Ay; 
 What's the complexion ? 
 
 Face. [Within.'} Whitish. 
 
 Sub. Infuse vinegar, 
 To draw his volatile substance and his tincture : 
 And let the water in glass E be filter'd, 
 
32 THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 And put into the gripe's egg. Lute him well, 
 And leave him closed in balneo. 
 
 Face. [Within.'] I will, sir. 
 
 Stir. What a brave language here is ! Next to canting. 
 
 Sub. I have another work, you never saw, son, 
 That three days since passed the philosopher's wheel 
 In the lent heat of Athanor and 's become 
 Sulphur of Nature. 
 
 Mam. But 'tis for me ? 
 
 Sub. What need you ? 
 You have enough in that is perfect. 
 
 Mam. Oh, but 
 
 Sub. Why, this is covetise ! 
 
 Mam. No, I assure you, 
 I shall employ it all in pious uses, 
 Founding of colleges and grammar schools, 
 Marrying young virgins, building hospitals, 
 And now and then a church. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Sub. How now ! 
 
 Face. Sir, please you, 
 Shall I not change the filter ? 
 
 Sub. Marry, yes ; 
 And bring me the complexion of glass B. [Exit FACE. 
 
 Mam. Have you another ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, son ; were I assured 
 Your piety were firm, we would not want 
 The means to glorify it ; but I hope the best. — 
 I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow, 
 And give him imbibition. 
 
 Mam. Of white oil ? 
 
 Sub. No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm too, 
 I thank my maker, in St. Mary's bath, 
 And shows lac virginis. Blessed be heaven ! 
 I sent you of his faeces there calcined : 
 Out of that calx I have won the salt of mercury. 
 
 Mam. By pouring on your rectified water ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, and reveberating in Athanor. 
 
 Re-e?iter Face. 
 How now ! what colour says it ? 
 
 Face. 'Tis ground black, sir. 
 
 Mam. That 's your crow's head ? 
 
 Sur. Your cock's comb's, is it not ? 
 
 Sub. No, 'tis not perfect. Would it were the crow ! 
 That work wants something. 
 
 Sur. Oh, I looked for this. 
 The hay 's a pitching. 
 
scene l] THE ALCHEMIST. 33 
 
 Sub. Are you sure you loosed them 
 In their own menstrue ? 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, and then married them, 
 And put them in a bolt's-head nipp'd to digestion, 
 According as you bade me when I set 
 The liquor of Mars to circulation 
 In the same heat. 
 
 Sub. The process then was right. 
 
 Face. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake, 
 And what was saved was put into the pelican, 
 And signed with Hermes' seal. 
 
 Sub. I think 'twas so. 
 We should have a new amalgama. 
 
 Sur. Oh, this ferret 
 Is rank as any pole-cat. [Aside. 
 
 Sub. But I care not : 
 Let him e'en die ; we have enough beside, 
 In embrion. H has his white shirt on. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, 
 He's ripe for inceration, he stands warm 
 In his ash fire. I would not you should let 
 Any die now, if I might counsel, sir, 
 For luck's sake to the rest : it is not good. 
 
 Mam. He says right. 
 
 Sur. Ay, are you bolted ? \_Aside. 
 
 Face. Nay, I know 't, sir, 
 I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three ounces 
 Of fresh materials ? 
 
 Main. Is't no more ? 
 
 Face. No more, sir, 
 Of gold, t' amalgame with some six of mercury. 
 
 Mam. Away, here's money. What will serve ? 
 
 Face. Ask him, sir. 
 
 Mam. How much ? 
 
 Sub. Give him nine pounds — you may give him ten. 
 
 Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd — do. 
 
 Mam. There 'tis. [Gives Face the money. 
 
 Sub. This needs not ; but that you will have it so, 
 To see conclusions of all ; for two 
 Of our inferior works are at fixation, 
 A third is in ascension. Go your ways. 
 Have you set the oil of luna in kemia ? 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. And the philosopher's vinegar ? 
 
 Face. Ay. [Exit. 
 
 Sur. We shall have a salad ! 
 
 Mam. When do you make projection ? 
 
 Sub. Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med'cine, 
 
 B 
 
34 1 11 E AL Llli: MIS 7 '. [act 11. 
 
 By hanging him in balneo vaporoso, 
 
 And giving him solution ; then congeal him ; 
 
 And then dissolve him ; then again congeal him : 
 
 For look, how oft I iterate the work 
 
 So many times I add unto his virtue. 
 
 As, if at first one ounce convert a hundred, 
 
 After his second loose, he'll turn a thousand ; 
 
 His third solution, ten ; his fourth, a hundred : 
 
 After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces 
 
 Of any imperfect metal, into pure 
 
 Silver or gold, in all examinations, 
 
 As good as any of the natural mine. 
 
 Get you your stuff here against afternoon, 
 
 Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons. 
 
 Mam. Not those of iron ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, you may bring them too : 
 We'll change all metals. 
 
 Stir. I believe you in that. 
 
 Mam. Then I may send my spits ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, and your racks. 
 
 Sur. And dripping pans, and pot-hangers, and hooks, 
 Shall he not ? 
 
 Sub. If he please. 
 
 Sur. — To be an ass. 
 
 Sub. How, sir ! 
 
 Mam. This gentleman you must bear withal : 
 I told you he had no faith. 
 
 Sur. And little hope, sir ; 
 But much less charity, should I gull myself. 
 
 Sub. Why, what have you observed, sir. in our art, 
 Seems so impossible ? 
 
 Sur. But your whole work, no more. 
 That you should hatch gold in a furnace, sir, 
 As they do eggs in Egypt ! 
 
 Sub. Sir, do you 
 Believe that eggs are hatched so ? 
 
 Sur. If I should ? 
 
 Sub. Why, I think that the greater miracle. 
 No eggs but differs from a chicken more 
 Than metals in themselves. 
 
 Sur. That cannot be. 
 The egg's ordained by nature to that end, 
 And is a chicken in ftotentia. 
 
 Sub. The same we say of lead and other metals, 
 Which would be gold if they had time. 
 
 Mam. And that 
 Our art doth further. 
 
 Sub. Ay* for 'twere absurd 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 35 
 
 To think that nature in the earth bred gold 
 Perfect in the instant ; something went before. 
 There must be remote matter. 
 
 Sur. Ay, what is that ? 
 
 Sub. Marry, we say 
 
 Mam. Ay, now it heats : stand, father, 
 Pound him to dust. 
 
 Sub. It is, of the one part, 
 A humid exhalation, which we call 
 Materia liquida, or the unctuous water ; 
 On the other part, a certain crass and vicious 
 Portion of earth : both which, concorporate, 
 Do make the elementary matter of gold ; 
 Which is not yet propria materia, 
 But common to all metals and all stones ; 
 For, where it is forsaken of that moisture, 
 And hath more dryness, it becomes a stone ; 
 Where it retains more of the humid fatness, 
 It turns to sulphur or to quicksilver, 
 Who are the parents of all other metals. 
 Nor can this remote matter suddenly 
 Progress so from extreme unto extreme, 
 As to grow gold, and leap o'er all the means. 
 Nature doth first beget the imperfect, then 
 Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy 
 'And oily water, mercury is engendered ; 
 Sulphur of the fat and earthy part ; the one, 
 Which is the last, supplying the place of male, 
 The other of the female, in all metals. 
 Some do believe hermaphrodeity, 
 That both do act and suffer. But these two 
 Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensive. 
 And even in gold they are ; for we do find 
 Seeds of them, by our fire, and gold in them ; 
 And can produce the species of each metal 
 More perfect thence, than Nature doth in earth. 
 Beside, who doth not see in daily practice 
 Art can beget bees, hornets, beetles, wasps, 
 Out of the carcases and dung of creatures ; 
 Yea, scorpions of an herb, being rightly placed ? 
 And these are living creatures, far more perfect 
 And excellent than metals. 
 
 Mam. Well said, father ! 
 Nay, if he take you in hand, sir, with an argument, 
 He'll bray you in a mortar. 
 
 Sur. Pray you, sir, stay. 
 Rather than I'll be bray'd, sir, I'll believe 
 That Alchemy is a pretty kind of game, 
 
 B 2 
 
36 THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 Somewhat like tricks o' the cards, to cheat a man 
 With charming. 
 
 Sub. Sir ? 
 
 Sur. What else are all your terms, 
 Whereon no one of your writers 'grees with other ? 
 Of your elixir, your lac virgiiiis, 
 Your stone, your med'cine, and your chrysosperme, 
 Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury, 
 Your oil of height, your tree of life, your blood, 
 Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia, 
 Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your panther ; 
 Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop, 
 Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit, 
 And then your red man and your white woman, 
 With all your broths, your menstrues, and materials, 
 Of lye and egg-shells, women's terms, man's blood, 
 Hair o' the head, burnt clouts, chalk, merds, and clay, 
 Powder of bones, scalings of iron, glass, 
 And worlds of other strange ingredients, 
 Would burst a man to name ? 
 
 Sub. And all these named, 
 Intending but one thing ; which art our writers 
 Used to obscure their art. 
 
 Mam. Sir, so I told him— 
 Because the simple idiot should not learn it, 
 And make it vulgar. 
 
 Sub. Was not all the knowledge 
 Of the Egyptians writ in mystic symbols ? 
 Speak not the Scriptures oft in parables ? 
 Are ncV: the choicest fables of the poets, 
 That were the fountains and first springs of wdsdom, 
 Wrapp'd in perplexed allegories ? 
 
 Mam. I urged that, 
 And cleared to him that Sysiphus was damned 
 To roll the ceaseless stone, only because 
 
 He would have made Ours common. [Dol appears at the door. 
 
 Who is this ? 
 
 Sub. 'Sprecious ! — What do you mean ? Go in, good lady, 
 Let me entreat you. [Dol retires.'] Where's this varlet ? 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Sir. 
 
 Sub. You very knave ! do you use me thus ? 
 
 Face. Wherein, sir ? 
 
 Sub. Go in and see, you traitor. Go ! [Exit FACE. 
 
 Mam. Who is it, sir? 
 
 Sub. Nothing, sir ; nothing. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 37 
 
 Mam. What's the matter, good sir ? 
 I have not seen you thus distemper' d : who is 't ? 
 
 Sub. All arts have still had, sir, their adversaries, 
 But ours the most ignorant. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 What now ? 
 
 Face. 'Twas not my fault, sir ; she would speak with you. 
 
 Sub. Would she, sir ! Follow me. [Exit. 
 
 Mam. [Stopping him.'] Stay, Lungs. 
 
 Face. 1 dare not, sir. 
 
 Mam. Stay, man ; what is she ? 
 
 Face. A lord's sister, sir. 
 
 Mam. How ! pray thee, stay. 
 
 Face. She's mad, sir, and sent hither— 
 He'll be mad too 
 
 Mam. I warrant thee, 
 Why sent hither ? 
 
 Face. Sir, to be cured. 
 
 Sub. [Within.'] Why, rascal ! 
 
 Face. Lo you ! — Here, sir ! [Exit. 
 
 Mam. 'Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave piece. 
 
 Sur. Heart, this is an evil house ! I will be burnt else. 
 
 Mam. Oh, by this light, no ; do not wrong him. He 's 
 Too scrupulous that way : it is his vice. 
 No, he 5 s a rare physician, do him right, 
 An excellent Paracelsian, and has done 
 Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all 
 With spirits, he ; he will not hear a word 
 Of Galen or his tedious recipes. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 How now, Lungs ! 
 
 Face. Softly, sir ; speak softly. I meant 
 To have told your worship all. This must not hear. 
 
 Mam. No, he will not be "gulFd ; ' : let him alone. 
 
 Face- You are very right, sir ; she is a most rare scholar, 
 And is gone mad with studying Broughton's works. 
 If you but name a word touching the Hebrew 
 She falls into her fit, and will discourse 
 So learnedly of genealogies, 
 As you would run mad, too, to hear her, sir. 
 
 Mam. How might one do t' have conference with her, Lungs ? 
 
 Face. Oh, divers have run mad upon the conference : 
 I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste 
 To fetch a vial. 
 
 Sur. Be not gull'd, Sir Mammon. 
 
 Mam. Wherein ? Pray ye, be patient. 
 
38 THE ALCHEMIST. ACT II. 
 
 Sur. Yes, as you are, 
 And trust confederate knaves and sharks and bawds. 
 
 Mam. You are too foul, believe it. — Come here, Ulen, 
 One word. 
 
 Face. I dare not, in good faith. [Going. 
 
 Mam. Stay, knave. 
 
 Face. He is extreme angry that you saw her, sir. 
 
 Mam. Drink that. {Gives him money.'] What is she when 
 she 's out of her fit ? 
 
 Face. Oh, the most affablest creature, sir ! So merry ! 
 So pleasant ! She'll mount you up like quicksilver 
 Over the helm, and circulate like oil, 
 A very vegetal ; discourse of state, 
 Of mathematics, frolic, anything— — 
 
 Mam. Is she no way accessible? no means, 
 No trick to give a man a taste of her — wit — 
 Or so? 
 
 Sub. [Within.] Ulen ! 
 
 Face. I'll come to you again, sir, [Exit. 
 
 Mam. Surly, I did not think one of your breeding 
 Would traduce personages of worth. 
 
 Sur. Sir Epicure, 
 Your friend to use ; yet still loth to be gulled : 
 I do not like your philosophical bawds. 
 Their stone is lechery enough to pay for 
 Without this bait. 
 
 Mam. 'Heart, you abuse yourself. 
 I know the lady, and her friends, and means, 
 The original of this disaster. Her brother 
 Has told me all. 
 
 Sur. And yet you never saw her 
 Till now ! 
 
 Mam. Oh yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it, 
 One of the treacherousest memories, I do think, 
 Of all mankind. 
 
 Sur. What call you her brother ? 
 
 Mam. My Lord 
 
 He will not have his name known, now I think on it. 
 
 Sur. A very treacherous memory ! 
 
 Mam. On my faith ■ 
 
 Sur. Tut, if you have it not about you, pass it 
 Till we meet next. 
 
 Mam. Nay, by this hand, 'tis true, 
 He 's one I honour, and my noble friend ; 
 And I respect his house. 
 
 Sur. Heart ! can it be 
 That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need, 
 A wise, sir, too, at other times, should thus, 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 39 
 
 With his own oaths and arguments, make hard means 
 
 To gull himself ? An this be your elixir, 
 
 Your lapis viineralis and your lunary, 
 
 Give me your honest trick yet at primero, 
 
 Or gleek : and take your lutum sapientis, 
 
 Your menstruum simplex ! I'll have gold before you, 
 
 And with less danger of the quicksilver 
 
 Or the hot sulphur. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Here's one from Captain Face, sir [to Surly] 
 Desires you meet him in the Temple Church 
 Some half-hour hence, and upon earnest business. 
 Sir — [whispers Mammon]— if you please to quit us now, and 
 
 come 
 Again within two hours, you shall have 
 My master busy examining o' the works ; 
 And I will steal you in unto the party, 
 That you may see her converse. Sir, shall I say 
 You'll meet the captain's worship ? 
 
 Sur. Sir, I will. {Walks aside. 
 
 But, by attorney and to a second purpose, 
 Now, I am sure I understand this house ; 
 I'll swear it, were the marshal here to thank me : 
 The naming this commander doth confirm it. 
 Don Face ! why he 's the most authentic dealer 
 In these commodities, the superintendent 
 To all the quainter traffickers in town ! 
 He is the visitor, and does appoint 
 Who visits whom, and at what hour ; what price ; 
 Which gown, and in what smock ; what fall ; what tire. 
 Him will I prove, by a third person, to find 
 The subtleties of this dark labyrinth : 
 Which if I do discover, dear Sir Mammon, 
 You '11 give your poor friend leave, though no philosopher, 
 To laugh : for you that are, 'tis thought, shall weep. 
 
 Face. Sir, he does pray you'll not forget. 
 
 Sur. I will not, sir. 
 Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Mam. I follow you straight. 
 
 Face. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. 
 This gentleman has a parlous head. 
 
 Mai7i. But wilt thou, Ulen, 
 Be constant to thy promise ? 
 
 Face. As my life, sir. 
 
 Mam. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and praise me, 
 And say I am a noble fellow ? 
 
 Face. Oh, what else, sir ? 
 
40 THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 And that you'll make her royal with the stone, 
 An empress : and yourself, King of Bantam. 
 
 Mam. Wilt thou do this ? 
 
 Face. Will I, sir ! 
 
 Mam. Lungs, my Lungs ! 
 I love thee. 
 
 Face. Send your stuff, sir, that my master 
 May busy himself about projection. 
 
 Mam. Thou hast witch'd me, rogue : take, go. 
 
 [Gives him money. 
 
 Face. Your jack, and all, sir. 
 
 Mam. Thou art a villain — I will send my jack, 
 And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine ear. 
 Away, thou dost not care for me. 
 
 Face. Not I, sir ! 
 
 Mam. Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel, 
 Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain 
 With the best lord's vermin of 'em all. 
 
 Face. Away, sir. 
 
 Mam. A count, nay, a count palatine 
 
 Face. Good, sir, go. 
 
 Mam. Shall not advance thee better : no, nor faster. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle a?id Dol. 
 
 Sub. Has he bit ? has he bit ? 
 
 Face. And swallowed too, my Subtle. 
 I have given him line, and now he plays, i' faith. 
 
 Sub. And shall we twitch him ? 
 
 Face. Thorough both the gills. 
 For here is a rare bait, with which a man 
 No sooner *s taken, but he straight runs mad. 
 
 Sub. Dol, my Lord What's'hums sister, you must now 
 Bear yourself statelich. 
 
 Dot. Oh, let me alone. 
 I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. 
 I'll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud ; 
 Have all the tricks of* a proud scurvy lady, 
 And be as rude as her woman. 
 
 Face. Well said, sanguine ! 
 
 Sub. But will he send his andirons ? 
 
 Face. His jack too, 
 And 's iron shoeing-horn ; I have spoke to him. Well, 
 I must not lose my wary gamester yonder. 
 
 Sub. Oh, Monsieur Caution, that will not be guild. 
 
 Face. Ay, 
 If I can strike a fine hook into him, now ! 
 The Temple Church, there I have cast mine angle. 
 Well, pray for me. I'll about it. [Knocking without. 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 41 
 
 Sub. What, more gudgeons ! 
 Dol, scout, scout ! [Dol goes to the window] Stay, Face, you 
 
 must go to the door. 
 Pray God it be my anabaptist. — Who is 't, Dol ? 
 
 Dol. I know him not : he looks like a gold-endman. 
 
 Sub. Ods so ! 'tis he, he said he would send — what call you 
 him ? 
 The sanctified elder, that should deal 
 For Mammon's jack and andirons. Let him in. 
 Stay, help me off, first, with my gown. [Exit FACE with the 
 
 gown.] Away, 
 Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. [Exit DOL.'] Now, 
 In a new tune, new gesture, but old language. — 
 This fellow is sent from one negotiates with me 
 About the stone too ; for the holy brethren 
 Of Amsterdam, the exiled saints ; that hope 
 To raise their discipline by it. I must use him 
 In some strange fashion, now, to make him admire me. — 
 
 Enter Ananias. 
 
 Where is my drudge ? [Aloud. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Sir ! 
 
 Sub. Take away the recipient, 
 And rectify your menstrue from the phlegma. 
 Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucurbite, 
 And let them macerate together. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir. 
 And save the ground ? 
 
 Sub. No : terra damtiata 
 Must not have entrance in the work. — Who are you ? 
 
 Ana. A faithful brother, if it please you. 
 
 Sub. What 's that ? 
 A Lullianist ? a Ripley ! Fi litis artis ? 
 Can you sublime and dulcify ? calcine ? 
 Know you the sapor pontic ? sapor stiptic ? 
 Or what is homogene, or heterogene ? 
 
 Ana. I understand no heathen language, truly. 
 
 Sub. Heathen ! you Knipper- doling ? is Ars sacra 
 Or chrysopceia, or spagyrica, 
 Or the pamphysic, or panarchic knowledge, 
 A heathen language ? 
 
 Ana. Heathen Greek, I take it. 
 
 Sub. How heathen Greek ? 
 
 Ana. All's heathen but the Hebrew. 
 
 Sub. Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth and speak to him 
 Like a philosopher : answer in the language, 
 
42 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT II. 
 
 Name the vexations, and the martyrizations 
 Of metals in the work. 
 
 Face. Sir, "putrefaction, 
 Solution, ablution, sublimation, 
 Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and 
 Fixation. 
 
 Sub. This is heathen Greek to you, now ! — 
 And when comes vivification ? 
 
 Face. After mortification. 
 
 Sub. What 's cohobation ? 
 
 Face. Tis the pouring on 
 Your aqua regis, and then drawing him off, 
 To the trine circle of the seven spheres. 
 
 Sub. What 's the proper passion of metals ? 
 
 Face. Malleation. 
 
 Sub. What 's your ultiinum supplicium auri ? 
 
 Face. Antimonium. 
 
 Sub. This is heathen Greek to you ? — And what 's your 
 mercury ? 
 
 Face. A very fugitive, he will be gone, sir. 
 
 Sub. How know you him ? 
 
 Face. By his viscosity, 
 His oleosity, and his suscitability. 
 
 Sub. How do you sublime him? 
 
 Face. With the calce of egg-shells, 
 White marble, talc. 
 
 Sub. Your r 
 What 's that ? 
 
 Face. Shifting, sir, your elements, 
 Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, 
 Hot into dry. 
 
 Sub. This is heathen Greek to you still ! 
 Your lapis philosophicus ? 
 
 Face. 'Tis a stone. 
 And not a stone ; a spirit, a soul, and a body : 
 Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolved ; 
 If you coagulate, it is coagulated ; 
 If you make it to fly, it flieth. 
 
 Sub. Enough. [Exit FACE. 
 
 This is heathen Greek to you ! What are you, sir? 
 A?ia. Please you, a servant of the exiled brethren 
 That deal with widows and with orphans' goods : 
 And make a just account unto the saints : 
 A deacon. 
 
 Sub. Oh, you are sent from Master Wholesome, 
 Your teacher ? 
 
 Ana. From Tribulation Wholesome, 
 Our very zealous pastor. 
 
scene i.] THE ALCHEMIST. 43 
 
 Sub. Good ! I have 
 Some orphans' goods to come here. 
 
 Ana. Of what kind, sir. 
 
 Sub. Pewter and brass, andirons and kitchenware, 
 Metals, that we must use our medicine on : 
 Wherein the brethren may have a penn'orth 
 For ready money. 
 
 Ana. Were the orphans' parents 
 Sincere professors ? 
 
 Sub. Why do you ask ? 
 
 Ana. Because 
 We then are to deal justly, and give in truth 
 Their utmost value, 
 
 Sub. 'Slid, you 'd cozen else, 
 And if their parents were not of the faithful ! — 
 I will not trust you, now I think on it, 
 
 Till I have talked with your pastor. Have you brought money 
 To buy more coals ? 
 
 Ana. No, surely. 
 
 Sub. No, how so ? 
 
 Ana. The brethren bid me say unto you, sir, 
 Surely they will not venture any more 
 Till they may see projection. 
 
 Sub. How ! 
 
 Ana. You have had, 
 For the instruments, as bricks, and loam and glasses, 
 Already thirty pounds ; and for materials, 
 They say, some ninety more : and they have heard since 
 That one at Heidelberg made it of an egg 
 And a small paper of pin-dust. 
 
 Sub. What 's your name ? 
 
 Ana. My name is Ananias. 
 
 Sub. Out, the varlet 
 That cozen'd the apostles ! Hence, away 
 Flee, mischief ! Had your holy consistory 
 No name to send me of another sound 
 Than wicked Ananias ? send your elders 
 Hither to make atonement for you quickly, 
 And give me satisfaction ; or out goes 
 The fire ; and down th 5 alembics, and the furnace, 
 Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch ! 
 Both sericon and bufo shall be lost, 
 Tell them. All hope of rooting out the bishops, 
 Or the antichristian hierarchy, shall perish, 
 If they stay threescore minutes : the aqueity, 
 Terreity, and sulphureity 
 Shall run together again, and all be annulled, 
 Thou wicked Ananias ! [Exit Ananias.] This will fetch 'em, 
 
44 THE ALCHEMIST. [act II. 
 
 And make them haste towards their gulling more. 
 A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright 
 Those that are froward to an appetite. 
 
 Re-enter FACE in his uniform, followed by D RUGGER. 
 
 Face. He is busy with his spirits, but we '11 upon him. 
 
 Sub. How now ! what mates, what Bayards have we here? 
 
 Face, I told you he would be furious. — Sir, here's Nab 
 Has brought you another piece of gold to look on 
 — We must appease him. Give it me — and pra\ s you. 
 You would devise — what is it, Nab? 
 
 Drug. A sign, sir. 
 
 Face. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving *ign, doctor? 
 
 Sub. I was devising now. 
 
 Face. 'Slight, do not say so, 
 He will repent he gave you any more — 
 What say you to his constellation, doctor ? 
 The Balance ? 
 
 Sttb. No, that way is stale and common. 
 A townsman born in Taurus gives the bull, 
 Or the bull's-head : in Aries, the ram, 
 A poor device ! No, I will have his name 
 Formed in some mystic character ; whose radii, 
 Striking the senses of the passers-by, 
 Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections 
 That may result upon the party owns it : 
 As thus 
 
 Face. Nab! 
 
 Sub. He shall have a bel, that 's Abel ; 
 And by it standing one whose name is Dee, 
 1 n a rug gown, there 's D, and Rug, that's drug : 
 And right anenst him a dog snarling er j 
 There's Drugger, Abel Drugger. That's his sign. 
 And here 's now mystery and hieroglyphic ! 
 
 Face. Abel, thou art made. 
 
 Drug. Sir, I do thank his worship. 
 
 Face. Six o' thy legs more will not do it, Nab. 
 He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor. 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir : 
 I have another thing I would impart 
 
 Face. Out with it, Nab. 
 
 Drug. Sir, there is lodged, hard by me, 
 A rich young widow 
 
 Face. Good ! a bona roba ? 
 
 Drug. But nineteen at the most. 
 
 Face. Very good, Abel. 
 
 Drug. Marry, she's not in fashion yet ; she wears 
 A hood, but it stands a cop. 
 
.scene l] THE ALCHEMIST. 45 
 
 Face. No matter, Abel. 
 
 Drug. And I do now and then give her a fucus — 
 
 Face. What ! dost thou deal, Nab ? 
 
 Sub. I did tell you, captain. 
 
 Drug. And physic, too, sometime, sir ; for which she trusts 
 me 
 With all her mind. She 's come up here of purpose 
 To learn the fashion. 
 
 Face. Good (his match too !) — On, Nab. 
 
 Drug. And she does strangely long to know her fortune. 
 
 Face. Ods lid, Nab, send her to the doctor, hither. 
 
 Drug. Yes 1 have spoke to her of his worship already ; 
 But she's afraid it will be blown abroad, 
 And hurt her marriage. 
 
 Face. Hurt it ! 'tis the way 
 To heal it, if 'twere hurt ; to make it more 
 Followed and sought ; Nab, thou shalt tell her this. 
 She '11 be more known, more talked of ; and your widows 
 Are ne'er of any price till they be famous : 
 Their honour is their multitude of suitors : 
 Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What ! 
 Thou dost not know. 
 
 Drug. No, sir, she '11 never marry 
 Under a knight : her brother has made a vow. 
 
 Face. What ! and dost thou despair, my little Nab, 
 Knowing what the doctor has set down for thee, 
 And seeing so many of the city dubbed ? 
 One glass o' thy water, with a madam I know, 
 Will have it done, Nab ; what 's her brother — a knight ? 
 
 Drug. No, sir, a gentleman newly warm in his land, sir, 
 Scarce cold in his one-and-twenty, that does govern 
 His sister here; and is a man himself 
 Of some three thousand a year, and is come up 
 To learn to quarrel, and to live by his wits, 
 And will go down again, and die in the country. 
 
 Face. How ! to quarrel ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir, to carry quarrels, 
 As gallants do ; to manage them by line. 
 
 Face. 'Slid, Nab, the doctor is the only man 
 In Christendom for him. He has made a table, 
 With mathematical demonstrations, 
 Touching the art of quarrels : he will give him 
 An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring them both, 
 Him and his sister. And, for thee, with her 
 The doctor haply may persuade. Go to : 
 Shalt give his worship a new damask suit 
 Upon the premises. 
 
 Sub. Oh, good captain ! 
 
46 THE ALCHEMIST. [act III. 
 
 Face. He shall ; 
 He is the honestcst fellow, doctor.— Stay not, 
 No offers ; bring the damask, and the parties. 
 
 Drug. I'll try my power, sir, 
 
 Face. And thy will, too, Nab. 
 
 Sub. 'Tis good tobacco, this ! What is 't an ounce ? 
 
 Face. He'll send yon a pound, doctor. 
 
 Sub. Oh, no. 
 
 Face. He will do 't. 
 It is the goodest soul Abel ! — Abel, about it. 
 Thou shalt know more anon. Away, begone. — {Exit ArEL. 
 A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese, 
 And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed, 
 Why he came now : he dealt with me in private, 
 To get a med'eine for them. 
 
 Sub. And shall, sir, This works. 
 
 Face. A wife, a wife for one of us, my dear Subtle ! 
 We '11 e'en draw lots, and he that fails, shall have 
 The more in goods, the other has in tail. . 
 
 Sub. Rather the less ; for she may be so light 
 She may want grains. 
 
 Face. Ay, or be such a burden, 
 A man would scarce endure her for the whole. 
 
 Sub. Faith, best let 's see her first, and then determine. 
 
 Face. Content ; but Dol must have no breath on 't. 
 
 Sub. Mum. 
 Away you, to your Surly yonder, catch him. 
 
 Face. Pray God, I have not stayed too long. 
 
 Sub. I fear it. {Exeunt. 
 
 -ACT III. 
 
 Scene I.— The La?ie before Love\yit ; s House. 
 Enter Tribulation Wholesome and Ananias. 
 
 Tri. These chastisements are common to the saints, 
 And such rebukes, we of the separation 
 Must bear with willing shoulders, as the trials 
 Sent forth to tempt our frailties. 
 
 A7ia. In pure zeal, 
 I do not like the man, he is a heathen, 
 And speaks the language of Canaan, truly. 
 
 Tri. I think him a profane person indeed. 
 
 Ana. He bears 
 The visible mark of the beast in his forehead. 
 And for his stone, it is a work of darkness, 
 And with philosophy blinds the eyes of man. 
 
SCENE ii.] THE ALCHEMIST. 47 
 
 Tri. Good brother, we must bend unto all means 
 That may give furtherance to the holy cause. 
 
 Ana. Which his cannot : the sanctified cause 
 Shculd have a sanctified course. 
 
 Tri. Not always necessary : 
 The children of perdition are oftimes 
 Made instruments even of the greatest works : 
 Beside, we should give somewhat to man's nature, 
 The place he lives in, still about the fire, 
 And fume of metals, that intoxicate 
 The brain of man, and made him prone to passion. 
 Where have you greater atheists than your cooks ? 
 Or more profane, or choleric, than your glass-men ? 
 More antichristian than your bell-founders ? 
 What makes the devil so devilish, I would ask you, 
 Satan, our common enemy, but his being 
 Perpetually about the fire, and boiling 
 Brimstone and arsenic ? We must give, I say, 
 Unto the motives, and the stirrers -up 
 Of humours in the blood. It may be so, 
 Whenas the work is done, the stone is made, 
 This heat of his may turn into a zeal, 
 And stand up for the beauteous discipline, 
 Against the filthy cloth aud rag of Rome. 
 We must await his calling, and the coming 
 Of the good spirit. You did fault t' upbraid him 
 With the brethren's blessing of Heidelberg, weighing 
 What need we have to hasten on the work 
 For the restoring of the silenced saints, 
 Which ne'er will be, but by the philosopher's stone. 
 And so a learned elder, one of Scotland, 
 Assured me ; auritm potabile being 
 The only med'cine for the civil magistrate 
 T 5 incline him to a feeling of the cause, 
 And must be daily used in the disease. 
 
 Ana. 1 have not edified more, truly, by man ; 
 Not since the beautiful light first shone on me : 
 And I am sad my zeal hath so offended. 
 Tri. Let us call on him then. 
 • Ana. The motion 's good, 
 And of the spirit ; I will knock first. [Knocks.] Peace within ! 
 [ The door is opened, a?id they enter. 
 
 Scene 11.— A Room in Lovewit's House. 
 
 E?tter Subtle, followed by Tribulation and Ananias. 
 
 Sub. Oh, are you come ? 'Twas time. Your threescore minutes 
 Were at last thread, you see ; and down had gone 
 
48 THE ALCHEMIST. [act III. 
 
 Furnus acedia, turris circulatorius ; 
 
 Lembcc, bolt's head, retort and pelican 
 
 Had all been cinders. — Wicked Ananias ! 
 
 Art thou returned ? Nay then, it goes down yet. 
 
 Tri. Sir, be appeased ; he is come to humble 
 Himself in spirit, and to ask your patience, 
 If too much zeal hath carried him aside 
 From the due path. 
 
 Sub. Why, this doth qualify ! 
 
 Tri. The brethren had no purpose, verily, 
 To give you the least grievance : but are ready 
 To lend their willing hands to any project 
 The spirit and you direct. 
 
 Sub. This qualifies more ! 
 
 Tri. And for the orphan's goods, let them be valued, 
 Or what is needful else to the holy work, 
 It shall be numbered ; here, by me, the saints 
 Throw down their purse before you. 
 
 Sub. This qualifies most ! 
 Why, thus it should be, now you understand. 
 Have I discoursed so unto you of our stone, 
 And of the good that it shall bring your cause r 
 Showed you (beside the main of hiring forces 
 Abroad, drawing the Hollanders, your friends, 
 From the Indies, to serve you with all their fleet) 
 That even the med'cinal use shall make you a faction 
 And party in the realm ? As, put the case, 
 That some great man in state, he have the gout, 
 Why, you but send three drops of your elixir. 
 You help him straight : there you have made a friend. 
 Another has the palsy or the dropsy, 
 He takes of your incombustible stuff, 
 He 's young again : there you have made a friend. 
 A lady that is past the feat of body, 
 Though not of mind, and hath her face decayed 
 Beyond all cure of paintings, you restore 
 With the oil of talc : there you have made a friend, 
 And all her friends. A lord that is a leper, 
 A knight that has the bone-ache, or a squire 
 That hath both these, you make them smooth and sound 
 W T ith a bare fricace of your med'eine : still 
 You increase your friends. 
 
 Tri. Ay, it is very pregnant. 
 
 Sub. And then the turning of this lawyer's pewter 
 to plate at Christmas 
 
 Ana. Christ-tide, I pray you. 
 
 Sub. Yet, Ananias ! 
 
 Ana. I have done, 
 
SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 49 
 
 Sub. Or changing 
 His parcel gilt to massy gold. You cannot 
 But raise your friends. Withal to be of power 
 To pay an army in the field, to buy 
 The king of France out of his realms, or Spain 
 Out of his Indies. What can you not do 
 Against lords spiritual or temporal, 
 That shall oppone you ? 
 
 Tri. Verily, 'tis true. 
 We may be temporal lords ourselves, I take it. 
 
 Sub. You may be anything, and leave off to make 
 Long-winded exercises ; or suck up 
 Your ha / and hum / in a tune. I not deny 
 But such as are not graced in a state, 
 May, for their ends, be averse in religion, 
 And get a tune to call the flock together : 
 For, to say sooth, a tune does much with women 
 And other phlegmatic people ; it is your bell. 
 
 Ana. Bells are profane ; a tune may be religious. 
 
 Sub. No warning with you ! then farewell my patience. 
 'Slight, it shall down : I will not be thus tortured. 
 
 Tri. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Sub. All shall perish. I have spoke it. 
 
 Tri. Let me find grace, sir, in your eyes : the man 
 He stands corrected : neither did his zeal, 
 But as yourself, allow a tune somewhere. 
 Which now, being tow'rd the stone, we shall not need. 
 
 Sub. No, nor your holy vizard, to win widows 
 To give you legacies ; or make zealous wives 
 To rob their husbands for the common cause : 
 Nor take the start of bonds broke but one day, 
 And say they were forfeited by providence. 
 Nor shall you need o'ernight to eat huge meals, 
 To celebrate your next day's fast the better ; 
 The whilst the brethren and the sisters humbled, 
 Abate the stiffness of the flesh. Nor cast 
 Before your hungry hearers scrupulous bones ; 
 As whether a Christian may hawk or hunt, 
 Or whether matrons of the holy assembly 
 May lay their hair out, or wear doublets, 
 Or have that idol starch about their linen. 
 
 Ana. It is indeed an idol. 
 
 Tri. Mind hun not, sir. 
 I do command thee, spirit of zeal, but trouble, 
 To peace with him ! Pray you, sir, go on. 
 
 Sub. Nor shall you need to libel 'gainst the prelates, 
 And shorten so your ears against the hearing 
 Of the next wire-drawn grace. Nor of necessity 
 
50 THE ALCHEMIST. [act ill. 
 
 Rail against plays, to please the alderman 
 Whose daily custard you devour : nor lie 
 With zealous rage till you are hoarse. Not one 
 Of these so singular arts. Nor call yourselves 
 By names of Tribulation, Persecution, 
 Restraint, Long-patience, and such like, affected 
 By the whole family or wood of you, 
 Only for glory, and to catch the ear 
 Of the disciple. 
 
 Ti'i. Truly, sir, they are 
 Ways that the godly brethren have invented 
 For propagation of the glorious cause, 
 As very notable means, and whereby also 
 Themselves grow soon, and profitably, famous. 
 
 Sub. Oh, but the stone, all 's idle to it ! Nothing ! 
 The art of angels, nature's miracle, 
 The divine secret that doth fly in clouds 
 From east to west ; and whose tradition 
 Is not from men, but spirits. 
 Ana. I hate traditions ; 
 
 I do not trust them. 
 
 Tri. Peace ! 
 
 Ana. They are popish all. 
 
 I will not peace : I will not 
 
 Tri. Ananias ! 
 
 Ana. Please the profane, to grieve the godly ; I may not. 
 Sub. Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome. 
 Tri. It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir, 
 But truly, else, a very faithful brother, 
 A botcher, and a man, by revelation, 
 That hath a competent knowledge of the truth. 
 
 Sub. Has he a competent sum there in the bag 
 To buy the goods within ? I am made guardian, 
 And must, for charity, and conscience sake, 
 Now see the most be made for my poor orphan ; 
 Though I desire the brethren too good gainers ; 
 There they are within. When you have view'd, and bought 
 
 'em, 
 And ta'en the inventory of what they are, 
 They are ready for projection ; there 's no more 
 To do : cast on the med'cine so much silver 
 As there is tin there, so much gold as brass, 
 I'll give it you in, by weight. 
 
 Tri. But how long time, 
 Sir, must the saints expect yet ? 
 
 Sub. Let me see. 
 How 's the moon now? Eight, nine, ten days hence, 
 He will be silver potate ; then three days 
 
scene ii.] THE ALCHEMIST. 51 
 
 Before he citronise : some fifteen days, 
 The magisterium will be perfected. 
 
 Ana. About the second day of the third week, 
 In the ninth month ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, my good Ananias. 
 
 Tri. What will the orphans' goods arise to, think you ? 
 
 Sub. Some hundred marks, as much as filled three cars, 
 Unladed now : you'll make six millions of them. 
 But I must have more coals laid in. 
 
 Tri. How ! 
 
 Sub. Another load, 
 And then we have finished. We must now increase 
 Our fire to ignis ardens, we are past 
 Eimtts equinus, balnei, cineris, 
 And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse 
 Should with this draught fall low, and that the saints 
 Do need a present sum, I have a trick 
 To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly, 
 And with a tincture make you as good Dutch dollars 
 As any are in Holland. 
 
 Tri. Can you so ? 
 
 Sub. Ay, and shall 'bide the third examination. 
 
 Ana. It will be joyful tidings to the brethren. 
 
 Sub. But you must carry it secret. 
 
 Tri. Ay, but stay, 
 This act of coining, is it lawful ? 
 
 Ana. Lawful ! 
 We know no magistrate ; or, if we did, 
 This is foreign coin. 
 
 Sub. It is no coining, sir, 
 It is but casting. 
 
 Tri. Ha ! you distinguish well : 
 Casting of money may be lawful. 
 
 Ana. 'Tis, sir. 
 
 Tri. Truly, I take it so. 
 
 Sub. There is no scruple, 
 Sir, to be made of it ; believe Ananias : 
 This case of conscience he is studied in. 
 
 Tri. I'll make a question of it to the brethren, 
 
 Ana. The brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not. 
 Where shall it be done ? [Knocking ■without. 
 
 Sub. For that we'll talk anon. 
 There's some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you, 
 And view the parcels. That 's the inventory. 
 I'll come to you straight. {Exeunt Trib. a?ia Ana. 
 
 Who is it ? — Face ! appear. 
 
52 THE ALCHEMIST. [act hi. 
 
 Enter Face in 'his tmiform. 
 
 How now ! Good prize ? 
 
 Face. Good plague ! Yond' costive cheater 
 Never came on. 
 
 Sub. How then ? 
 
 Face. I have walked the round 
 Till now, and no such thing. 
 
 Sub. And have you quit him ? 
 
 Face. Quit him! an hell would quit him too, he were 
 happy. 
 'Slight ! Would you have me stalk like a mill-jade, 
 All day, for one that will not yield us grains ? 
 I know him of old. 
 
 Sub. Oh, but to have gulled him 
 Had been a mastery. 
 
 Face. Let him go, black boy ! 
 And turn thee that some fresh news may possess thee. 
 A noble count, a don of Spain, my dear 
 Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd, 
 Who is come hither private for his conscience, 
 And brought munition with him, six great slops, 
 Bigger than three Dutch hoys, beside round trunks, 
 Furnished with pistolets, and pieces of eight, 
 Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath 
 (That is the colour), and to make his battery 
 Upon our Dol, our castle, our cinque-port, 
 Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she ? 
 She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen, 
 The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit. 
 Where is the doxy ? 
 
 Sub. I'll send her to thee : 
 And but dispatch my brace of little John Leydens, 
 And come again myself. 
 
 Face. Are they within, then ? 
 
 Sub. Numbering the sum. 
 
 Face. How much ? 
 
 Sub. A hundred marks, boy. [Exit. 
 
 Face. Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds of Mammon ! 
 Three of my clerk ! A portague of my grocer ! 
 This of the brethren ! beside reversions, 
 And states to come in the widow, and my count ! 
 My share to-day will not be bought for forty 
 
 Enter Dol. 
 Dol. What ? 
 
 Face. Pounds, dainty Dorothy ! Art thou so near? 
 Dol. Yes ; say, lord general, how fares our camp ? 
 
scene II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 53 
 
 Face. As with the few that had entrenched themselves 
 Safe, by their discipline, against a world, Dol, 
 And laughed within those trenches, and grew fat 
 With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in 
 Daily by their small parties. This dear hour 
 A doughty don is taken with my Dol ; 
 And thou may'st make his ransom what thou wilt, 
 My Dousabel ; he shall be brought here fettered 
 With thy fair looks, before he sees thee ; and thrown 
 In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon, 
 W T here thou shalt keep him waking with thy drum ; 
 Thy drum, my Dol, thy drum ; till he be tame 
 As the poor blackbirds were in the great frost, 
 Or bees are with a bason ; and so hive him 
 In the swan-skin coverlid and cambric sheets, 
 Till he work honey and wax, my little God's gift. 
 
 Dol. What is he, general ? 
 
 Face. An adalantado, 
 A grandee, girl. Was not my Dapper here vet ? 
 
 Dol. No. 
 
 Face. Nor my Drugger ? 
 
 Dol. Neither' 
 
 Face. A plague on 'em, 
 They are so long a-furnishing ! Such stinkards 
 Would not be seen upon these festival days.— 
 
 Re-enter Subtle. 
 How now ! have you done ? 
 
 Sub. Done. They are gone : the sum 
 Is here in bank, my Face. I would we knew 
 Another chapman now would buy 'em outright. 
 
 Face. 'Slid, Nab shall do 't against he have the w idow 
 To furnish household. 
 
 Sub. Excellent, well thought on : 
 Pray God he come ! 
 
 Face. I pray he keep away 
 Till our new business be o'erpast. 
 
 Sub. But, Face, 
 How cam'st thou by this secret don ? 
 
 Face. A spirit 
 Brought me th' intelligence in a paper here, 
 As I was conjuring yonder in my circle 
 For Surly ; I have my flies abroad. Your bath 
 Is famous, Subtle, by my means. Sweet Dol, 
 Tickle him with thy mother-tongue. His great 
 Verdugoship has not a jot of language; 
 So much the easier to be cozened, my Dolly. 
 He will come here in a hired coach, obscure, 
 
54 THE ALCHEMIST. [act hi. 
 
 And our own coachman, whom I have sent as guide, 
 
 No creature else. [Knocking without.'] Who 's that ? [Exit Dol. 
 
 Sub. It is not he ? 
 
 Face. O no, not yet this hour. 
 
 Re-enter Dol. 
 
 Sub. Who is 't? 
 
 Dol. Dapper, 
 Your clerk. 
 
 Face. God's will then, Queen of Fairy, 
 On with your tire ; — [Exit Dol] — and doctor, with your robes. 
 Let 's dispatch him, for God's sake. 
 
 Sub. 'T will be long. 
 
 Face. I warrant you, take but the cue I give you, 
 It shall be brief enough. — [Goes to the window^] — 'Slight, here' 
 
 are more ! 
 Abel, and I think the angry boy, the heir, 
 That fain would quarrel. 
 
 Sub. And the widow ? 
 
 Face. No. 
 Not that I see. Away \ [Exit SUB. 
 
 Enter Dapper. 
 
 Oh, sir, you are welcome. 
 The doctor is within a-moving for you ; 
 I have had the most ado to win him to it t 
 He swears you '11 be the darling of the dice : 
 He never heard her highness dote till now, 
 Your aunt has given you the most gracious words 
 That can be thought on. 
 
 Dap. Shall I see her grace ? 
 
 Face. See her, and kiss her too. — 
 
 Enter Abel, followed by Kastril. 
 
 What, honest Nab ! 
 Hast brought the damask? 
 
 Drug. No, sir ; here 's tobacco. 
 
 Face. 'Tis well done, Nab: thou'lt bring the damask too ? 
 
 Drug. Yes : here 's the gentleman, captain, Master Kastril, 
 I have brought to see the doctor. 
 
 Face. Where 's the widow ? 
 
 Drug. Sir, as he likes, his sister, he says, shall come. 
 
 Face. Oh, is it so ? Good time. Is your name Kastril, sir ? 
 
 Kas. Ay, and the best of the Kastrils, I 'd be sorry else, 
 By fifteen hundred a-year. Where is the doctor ? 
 My mad tobr,cco-boy, here, tells me of one 
 That can do things : has he any skill ? 
 
SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 55 
 
 Face. Wherein, sir ? 
 
 Kas. To carry a business, manage a quarrel fairly, 
 Upon fit terms. 
 
 Face. It seems, sir, you are but young 
 About the town, that can make that a question. 
 
 Kas. Sir, not so young but I have heard some speech 
 Of the angry boys, and seen them take tobacco, 
 And in his shop ; and I can take it too. 
 And I would fain be one of 'em, and go down 
 And practise in the country. 
 
 Face. Sir, for the duello, 
 The doctor, I assure you, shall inform you, 
 To the least shadow of a hair, and show you 
 An instrument he has of his own making, 
 Wherewith no sooner shall you make report 
 Of any quarrel, but he will take the height on 't 
 Most instantly, and tell in what degree 
 Of safety it lies in, or mortality. 
 And how it may be borne, whether in a right line, 
 Or a half-circle ; or may else be cast 
 Into an angle blunt, if not acute : 
 All this he will demonstrate. And then, rules 
 To give and take the lie by. 
 
 Kas. How ! to take it ? 
 
 Face. Yes, in oblique he '11 show you. or in circle ; 
 But never in diameter. The whole town 
 Study his theorems, and dispute them ordinarily 
 At the eating academies. 
 
 Kas. But does he teach 
 Living by the wits too ? 
 
 Face. Anything whatever. 
 You cannot think that subtlety but he reads it. 
 He made me a captain. I was a stark pimp, 
 Just of your standing, 'fore I met with him ; 
 It is not two months since. I '11 tell you his method : 
 First, he will enter you at some ordinary. 
 
 Kas. No, I '11 not come there ; you shall pardon me. 
 
 Face. For why, sir? 
 
 Kas. There 's gaming there, and tricks. 
 
 Face. Why, would you be 
 A gallant, and not game ? 
 
 Kas. Ay, 'twill spend a man. 
 
 Face. Spend you ! It will repair you when you are spent : 
 How do they live by their wits there, that have vented 
 Six times your fortunes ? 
 
 Kas. What, three thousand a-year ! 
 
 Face. Ay, forty thousand. 
 
 Kas. Are there such ? 
 
56 THE ALCHEMIST. [act hi. 
 
 Face. Ay, sir, 
 And gallants yet. Here 's a young gentleman 
 Is born to nothing — {.Points to Dapper]— forty marks a-year. 
 Which I count nothing : — he is to be initiated, 
 And have a fly of the doctor. He will win you, 
 By irresistible luck, within this fortnight, 
 Enough to buy a barony. They will set him 
 Upmost, at the groom porters, all the Christmas : 
 And for the whole year through, at every place 
 Where there is play, present him with the chair ; 
 The best attendance, the best drink ; sometimes 
 Two glasses of canary, and pay nothing ; 
 The purest linen and the sharpest knife, 
 The partridge next his trencher ; and somewhere 
 The dainty nook in private with the dainty. 
 You shall have your ordinaries bid for him, 
 As playhouses for a poet ; .and the master 
 Pray him aloud to name what dish he affects, 
 Which must be buttered shrimps ; and those that drink 
 To no mouth else, will drink to his, as being 
 The goodly president mouth of all the board. 
 
 Kas. Do you not gull one ? 
 
 Face. Ods, my life ! do you think it ? 
 You shall have a cast commander (can but get 
 In credit with a glover, or a spurrier, 
 For some two pair of cither's ware aforehand), 
 Will by most swift posts, dealing with him, 
 Arrive at competent means to keep himself, 
 And be admired for 't. 
 
 Kas. Will the doctor teach this ? 
 
 Face. He will do more, sir : when your land is gone, 
 As men of spirit hate to keep earth long 
 In a vacation, when small money is stirring, 
 And ordinaries suspended till the term, 
 He '11 show a perspective, where on one side 
 You shall behold the faces and the persons 
 Of all sufficient young heirs in town, 
 Whose bonds are current for commodity ; 
 On th' other side, the merchants' forms, and others, 
 That without help of any second broker, 
 Who would expect a share, will trust such parcels : 
 In the third square, the very street and sign 
 Where the commodity dwells, and does but wait 
 To be delivered, be it pepper, soap, 
 Hops, or tobacco, oatmeal, wood, or cheeses. 
 All which you may so handle, to enjoy 
 To your own use, and never stand obliged. 
 Kas. P faith ! is he such a fellow ? 
 
Scene II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 57 
 
 Face. Why, Nab here knows him. 
 And then for making matches for rich widows, 
 Young gentlewomen, heirs, the fortunatest man ! 
 He 's sent to, far and near, all over England, 
 To have his counsel, and to know their fortunes. 
 
 Kas. God's will, my suster shall see him. 
 
 Face. I '11 tell you, sir, 
 What he did tell me of Nab. It 's a strange thing : — 
 By the way, you must eat no cheese, Nab, it breeds melancholy, 
 And that same melancholy breeds worms ; but pass it : — 
 He told me honest Nab here was ne'er at tavern 
 But once in 's life. 
 
 Drug. Truth, and no more I was not. 
 
 Face. And then he was so sick 
 
 Drug. Could he tell you that too ? 
 
 Face. How should I know it ? 
 
 Drug. In troth we had been a-shooting, 
 And had a piece of fat ram mutton to supper, 
 That lay so heavy o' my stomach 
 
 Face. And he has no head 
 To bear any wine ; for what with the noise of the fiddlers 
 And care of his shop, for he dares keep no servants 
 
 Drug. My head did so ache > 
 
 Face. As he was fain to be brought home, 
 The doctor told me : and then a good old woman 
 
 Drug. Yes, faith — she dwells in Sea-coal Lane — did cure me, 
 With sodden ale and pellitory of the wall ; 
 Cost me but twopence. — I had another sickness 
 "Was worse than that. 
 
 Face. Ay, that was with the grief 
 Thou took'st for being 'sessed at eighteen-pence 
 For the waterwork. 
 
 Drug. In truth, and it was like 
 T' have cost me almost my life. 
 
 Face. Thy hair went off ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir; 't was done for spite. 
 
 Face. Nay, so says the doctor. 
 
 Kas. Pray thee, tobacco boy, go fetch my suster ; 
 I '11 see this learned boy before I go, 
 And so shall she. 
 
 Face. Sir, he is busy now ; 
 But if you have a sister to fetch hither, 
 Perhaps your own pains may command her sooner, 
 And he by that time will be free. 
 
 Kas. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Face. Drugger, she 's thine : the damask ! [Exit Abel. 
 
 Subtle and I 
 Must wrestle for her. [Aside.'] Come on, Master Dapper, 
 
58 THE ALCHEMIST. [act in. 
 
 To give your cause dispatch ; have you performed 
 The ceremonies were enjoined you ? 
 
 Dap. Yes, of the vinegar 
 And the clean shirt. 
 
 Face. 'Tis well : that shirt may do you 
 More worship than you think. Your aunt 's a-fire, 
 But that she will not show it, t' have a sight of you. 
 Have you provided for her grace's servants ? 
 
 Dap. Yes, here are six score Edward shillings. 
 
 Face. Good ! 
 
 Dap. And an old Harry sovereign. 
 
 Face. Very good ! 
 
 Dap. And three James shillings, and an Elizabeth groat; 
 Just twenty nobles. 
 
 Face. Oh, you are too just. 
 I would you had had the other noble in Maries. 
 
 Dap. I have some Philip and Maries. 
 
 Face. Ay, those same 
 Are best of ail : where are they ? Hark, the doctor. 
 
 Enter Subtle disguised like a priest of Fairy, with a stripe of 
 
 cloth. 
 
 Sub. [In a feigned voice.'] Is yet her grace's cousin come ? 
 
 Face. He is come. 
 
 Sub. And is he fasting ? 
 
 Face. Yes. 
 
 Sub. And hath cried /iu;n ? 
 
 Face. Thrice, you must answer. 
 
 Dap. Thrice. 
 
 Sub. And as oft buz ? 
 
 Face. If you have, say. 
 
 Dap. I have. 
 
 Sub. Then, to her cuz, 
 Hoping that he hath vinegared his senses, 
 As he was bid, the Fairy Queen dispenses, 
 By me, this robe, the petticoat of fortune ; 
 Which that he straight put on, she doth importune. 
 And though to fortune near be her petticoat, 
 Yet nearer is her smock, the queen doth note : 
 And therefore, even of that a piece she hath sent, 
 Which, being a child, to wrap him in was rent ; 
 And prays him for a scarf he now will wear it, 
 With as much love as then her grace did tear it, 
 About his eyes — SJThey blind him with the rag] — to show he is 
 
 fortunate. 
 And, trusting unto her to make his state, 
 He '11 throw away all worldly pelf about him ; 
 Which that he will perform, she doth not doubt him. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 59 
 
 Face. She need not doubt him, sir. Alas, he has nothing 
 But what he will part withal as willingly 
 Upon her grace's word — throw away your purse — 
 As she would ask it ; — handkerchiefs and all — 
 
 [He th?'ows away as they bid him. 
 She cannot bid that thing but he '11 obey. — 
 If you have a ring about you, cast it off, 
 Or a silver seal at your wrist ; her grace will send 
 Her fairies here to search you, therefore deal 
 Directly with her highness : if they find 
 That you conceal a mite, you are undone. 
 
 Dap. Truly, there's all. 
 
 Face. All what ? 
 
 Dap. My money : truly. 
 
 Face. Keep nothing that is transitory about you. 
 Bid Dol play music. — [Aside to Subtle.] — Look, the elves are 
 come [DOL plays on the cittern within. 
 
 To pinch you, if you tell not truth. Advise you. 
 
 [They pinch him. 
 
 Dap. Oh ! I have a paper with a spur-ryal in 't. 
 
 Face. Ti, ti. 
 They knew 't, they say. 
 
 Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti. He has more yet. 
 
 Face. Ti, ti-ii-ti. In the other pocket. [Aside to Sub. 
 
 Sub. Titi, tili, titi, titi, titi. 
 They must pinch him or he will never confess, they say. 
 
 [They pinch him again. 
 
 Dap. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Face. Nay, pray you hold : he is her grace's nephew. 
 Ti, ti, ti ? What care you ? Good faith, you shall care. — 
 Deal plainly, sir, and shame the fairies. Show 
 You are innocent. 
 
 Dap. By this good light, I have nothing. 
 
 Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti, to, ta. He does equivocate, she says : 
 Ti, ti, do ti, ti, ti, do, ti, da; and swears by the light when he is 
 blinded. 
 
 Dap. By this good dark, I have nothing but a' half-crown 
 Of gold about my wrist, that my love gave me ; 
 And a leaden heart I wore since she forsook me. 
 
 Face. I thought 'twas something. And would you incur 
 Your aunt's displeasure for these trifles ? Come, 
 I had rather you had thrown away twenty half-crowns. 
 
 [ Takes it off. 
 You may wear your leaden heart still. — 
 
 Enter DOL hastily. 
 
 How now J 
 Sub. What news, Dol ? 
 
60 THE ALCHEMIST. [act III. 
 
 Dol. Yonder 's your knight, Sir Mammon. 
 
 Face. Ods lid, we never thought of him till now ! 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Dol. Here hard by : he is at the door. 
 
 Sub. And you are not reacty> now ! Dol, get his suit. 
 
 {Exit Dol. 
 He must not be sent back. 
 
 Face. Oh, by no means. 
 What shall we do with this same puffin here, 
 Now he 's on the spit ? 
 
 Sub. Why, lay him back awhile 
 With some device. 
 
 Re-enter Dol with Face's clothes. 
 <—Ti, ti, ti, ti, ti, ti. Would her grace speak with me ? 
 I come. — Help, Dol ! {Knocking without. 
 
 Face. {Speaks through the key-hole .] Who 's there ? Sir 
 Epicure, 
 My master's in the way. Please you to walk 
 Three or four turns, but till his back be turned, 
 And I am for you. Quickly, Dol ! 
 
 Sub. Her grace 
 Commends her kindly to you, Master Dapper. 
 
 Dap. I long to see her grace. 
 
 Sub. She now is set 
 At dinner in her bed, and she has sent you 
 From her own private trencher a dead mouse, 
 And a piece of gingerbread, to be merry withal, 
 And stay your stomach, lest you faint with fasting. 
 Yet if you could hold out till she saw you, she says 
 It would be better for you. 
 
 Face. Sir, he shall 
 Hold out, an 'twere this two hours, for her highness ; 
 I can assure you that. We will not lose 
 All we have done. 
 
 Sub. He must not see nor speak 
 To anybody till then. 
 
 Face. For that we '11 put, sir, 
 A stay in 's mouth. 
 
 Sub. Of what? 
 
 Face. Of gingerbread. 
 Make you it fit. He that hath pleased her grace 
 Thus far, shall not now crinkle for a little. — 
 Gape, sir, and let him fit you. 
 
 {They thrust a gag of gingerbread in his mouth. 
 
 Sub. Where shall we now 
 Bestow him ? 
 
 Dot. In the privy. 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 61 
 
 Sub. Come along, sir, 
 I now must show you Fortune's privy lodgings. 
 
 Face. Are they perfumed, and his bath ready ? 
 
 Sub. All : 
 Only the fumigation 5 s somewhat strong. 
 
 Face. [Speaking through the key '-hole •.] Sir Epicure, I am 
 yours, sir, by-and-by. [Exeunt with Dapper. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I.— A Room in Lovewit's House. 
 Enter Face and Mammon. 
 
 Face. Oh, sir, you are come in the only finest time. 
 
 Mam. Where ; s master ? 
 
 Face. Now preparing for projection, sir. 
 Your stuff will be all changed shortly. 
 
 Mam. Into gold ? 
 
 Face. To gold and silver, sir. 
 
 Mam. Silver I care not for. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, a little to give beggars. 
 
 Mam. Where 's the lady ? 
 
 Face. At hand here. I have told her such brave things of you, 
 Touching your bounty and your noble spirit 
 
 Mam. Hast thou ? 
 
 Face As she is almost in her fit to see you. 
 But, good sir, no divinity in your conference, 
 For fear of putting her in rage. 
 
 Mam. I warrant thee. 
 
 Face. Six men will not hold her down ; and then 
 If the old man should hear or see you 
 
 Mam. Fear not. 
 
 Face. The very house, sir, would run mad. You know it, 
 How scrupulous he is, and violent, 
 , Gainst the least act of sin. Physic or mathematics, 
 Poetry, state, or frolic, as I told you, 
 She will endure, and never startle ; but 
 No word of controversy. 
 
 Mam. I am schooled, good Ulen. 
 
 Face. And you must praise her house, remember that, 
 And her nobility. 
 
 Mam. Let me alone : 
 No herald, no, nor antiquity, Lungs, 
 Shall do it better. Go. 
 
 Face. Why, this is yet 
 
62 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 A kind of modern happiness to have 
 
 Dol Common for a great lady. [Aside, mid exit. 
 
 Mam. Now, Epicure, 
 Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold ; 
 Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops 
 Unto his Danae ; show the god a miser 
 Compared with Mammon. What ! The stone will do 't. 
 She shall feel gold, taste gold, hear gold, sleep gold ; 
 Nay, we will concumbere gold : I will be puissant 
 And mighty in my talk to her. 
 
 Re-enter Face, with Dol richly dressed. 
 
 Here she comes. 
 
 Face. To him, Dol, suckle him. This is the noble knight ; 
 I told your ladyship ■ 
 
 Mam. Madam, with your pardon, 
 I kiss your vesture. 
 
 Dol. Sir, I were uncivil 
 If I would suffer that ; my lip to you, sir. 
 
 Mam. I hope my lord, your brother, be in health, lady. <■ 
 
 Dol. My lord, my brother is, though I no lady, sir. 
 
 Face. Well said my Guinea bird. [Aside. 
 
 Mam. Right noble madam- 
 
 Face. Oh, we shall have most fierce idolatry, [Aside. 
 
 Mam. 'Tis your prerogative 
 
 Dol. Rather your courtesy. 
 
 Mam. Were there nought else to enlarge your virtues to me, 
 These answers speak your breeding and your blood. 
 
 Dol. Blood we boast none, sir, a poor baron's daughter. 
 
 Mam. Poor ! And gat you ? Profane not. Had your father 
 Slept all the happy remnant of his life 
 After that act, lien but there still and panted, 
 He had done enough to make himself, his issue, 
 And his posterity noble. 
 
 Dol. Sir, although 
 We may be said to want the gilt and trappings, 
 The dress of honour, yet we strive to keep 
 The seeds and the materials. 
 
 Mam. I do see 
 The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost, 
 Nor the drug money used to make your compound. 
 There is a strange nobility in your eye, 
 This lip, that chin ! Methinks you do resemble 
 One of the Austrian princes. 
 
 Face. Very like ! 
 Her father was an Irish costermonger. [Aside. 
 
 Mam. The House of Valois just had such a nose, 
 
scene i.] THE ALCHEMIST. 63 
 
 And such a forehead yet the Medici 
 Of Florence boast. 
 
 Dol. Troth, and I have been likened 
 To all these princes. 
 
 Face. I '11 be sworn I heard it. 
 
 Mam. I know not how ! It is not any one, 
 But e'en the very choice of all their features. 
 
 Face. I '11 in, and laugh. \Aside t and exit. 
 
 Mam. A certain touch, or air, 
 That sparkles a divinity beyond 
 An earthly beauty ! 
 
 Dol. Oh, you play the courtier. 
 
 Afam. Good lady, give me leave 
 
 Dol. In faith I may not, 
 To mock me, sir. 
 
 Mam. To burn in this sweet flame ; 
 The phoenix never knew a nobler death. 
 
 Dol. Nay, now you court the courtier, and destroy 
 What you would build : this art, sir, in your words 
 Calls your whole faith in question. 
 
 Mam. By my soul > 
 
 Dol. Nay, oaths are made of the same air, sir. 
 
 Mam. Nature 
 Never bestow 'd upon mortality 
 A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature ; 
 She played the step-dame in all faces else : 
 Sweet madam, let me be particular 
 
 Dol. Particular, sir ! I pray you know your distance. 
 
 Mam. In no ill sense, sweet lady ; but to ask 
 How your fair graces pass the hours ? I see 
 You are lodged here in the house of a rare man, 
 An excellent artist ; but what 's that to you ? 
 
 Dol. Yes, sir ; I study here the mathematics 
 And distillation. 
 
 Mam. Oh, I cry your pardon. 
 He 's a divine instructor : can extract 
 The souls of all things by his art ; call all 
 The virtues and the miracles of the sun 
 Into a temperate furnace ; teach dull nature 
 What her own forces are. A man, the emperor 
 Has courted above Kelly ; sent his medals 
 And chains to invite him. 
 
 Dol. Ay, and for his physic, sir 
 
 Mam. Above the art of yEsculapius, 
 That drew the envy of the Thunderer ! 
 I know all this, and more. 
 
 Dol. Troth, I am taken, sir, 
 Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature. 
 
64 THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 Mam. It is a noble humour ; but this form 
 Was not intended to so dark a use. 
 Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould, 
 A cloister had done well ; but such a feature 
 That might stand up the glory of a kingdom, 
 To live recluse, is a mere solecism, 
 Though in a nunnery. It must not be. 
 I muse, my lord your brother will permit it : 
 You should spend half my land first, were I he. 
 Does not this diamond better on my fingir 
 Than in the quarry ? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Mam. Why, you are like it. 
 You were created, lady, for the light. 
 Here, you shall wear it ; take it, the first pledge 
 Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me. 
 
 Dol. In chains of adamant ? 
 
 Mam. Yes, the strongest bands. 
 And take a secret too — here, by your side, 
 Doth stand this hour the happiest man in Europe. 
 
 Dol. You are contented, sir 1 
 
 Mam. Nay, in true being 
 The envy of princes and the fear of states. 
 
 Dol. Say you so, Sir Epicure ? 
 
 Mam. Yes, and thou shalt prove it, 
 Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye 
 Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty 
 Above all styles. 
 
 Dol. You mean no treason, sir ? 
 
 Mam. No, I will take away that jealousy. 
 I am the lord of the philosopher's stone, 
 And thou the lady. 
 
 Dol. How sir ! Have you that ? 
 
 Mam. I am the master of the mastery. 
 This day the good old wretch here o' the house 
 Has made it for us ; now he 's at projection. 
 Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it, 
 And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower, 
 But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge, 
 To get a nation on thee. 
 
 Dol. You are pleased, sir, 
 To work on the ambition ©f our sex. 
 
 Mam. I am pleased the glory of her sex should know 
 This nook, here, of the Friars is no climate 
 For her to live obscurely in, to learn 
 Physic and surgery, for the constable's wife 
 Of some odd hundred in Essex ; but come forth 
 And taste the air of palaces ; eat, drink 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 65 
 
 The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice ; 
 
 Tincture of pearl and coral, gold and amber ; 
 
 Be seen at feasts and triumphs ; have it asked, 
 
 What miracle she is ; set all the eyes 
 
 Of court a-fire, like a burning glass, 
 
 And work them into cinders, when the jewels 
 
 Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light 
 
 Strikes out the stars ! that when thy name is mentioned 
 
 Queens may look pale ; and we but showing our love, 
 
 Nero's Poppasa may be lost in story ! 
 
 Thus will we have it. 
 
 Dol. I could well consent, sir. 
 But in a monarchy how will this be ? 
 The prince will soon take notice, and both seize 
 You and your stone, it being a wealth unfit 
 For any private subject. 
 
 Mam. If he knew it. 
 
 Dol. Yourself do boast it, sir. 
 
 Mai7i. To thee, my life. 
 
 Dol. Oh, but beware, sir ! you may come to end 
 The remnant of your days in a loathed prison, 
 By speaking of it. 
 
 Mam. 'Tis no idle fear: 
 We '11 therefore go withal, my girl, and live 
 In a free state, where we will eat our mullets 
 Soused in high-country wines, sup pheasants' eggs, 
 And have our cockles boiled in silver shells ; 
 Our shrimps to swim again, as when they lived, 
 In a rare butter made of dolphins' milk, 
 Whose cream does look like opals : and with these 
 Delicate meats, set ourselves high for pleasure, 
 And take us down again, and then renew 
 Our youth and strength with drinking the elixir, 
 And so enjoy a perpetuity 
 
 Of life and lust ! And thou shalt have thy wardrobe 
 Richer than nature's, still to change thyself, 
 And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she 
 Or art, her wise and almost equal servant. 
 
 Re-e7iter Face. 
 
 Face. Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every word 
 Into the laboratory. Some fitter place ; 
 The garden, or great chamber above. How like you her ? 
 Mam. Excellent ! Lungs. There 's for thee. 
 
 {Gives him money. 
 Face. But do you hear ? 
 Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins. 
 
 c 
 
66 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 Mam. We think not on 'cm. \Exeunt Mam. and Dol. 
 
 Face. Oh, it is well, sir.— Subtle ! 
 
 Enter Subtle. 
 Dost thou not laugh ? 
 
 Sub. Yes ; are they gone ? 
 
 Face. All 's clear. 
 
 Sub. The widow is come. 
 
 Face. And your quarrelling disciple ? 
 
 Sub. Ay. 
 
 .Frttf*. I must to my captainship again, then, 
 
 Sub. Stay, bring them in first. 
 
 Face. So I meant. What is she ? 
 A bonnibel ? 
 
 Sub. I know not. 
 
 Face. We '11 draw lots : 
 You '11 stand to that ? 
 
 Sub. What else ? 
 
 Face. Oh, for a suit, 
 To fall now like a curtain, flap ! 
 
 Sub. To the door, man. 
 
 Face. You '11 have the first kiss, 'cause I am not ready. [Exit. 
 
 Sub. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils. 
 
 Face. [Within.] W T ho would you speak with? 
 
 Kas. [Within^ Where's the captain ? 
 
 Face. [Within.] Gone, sir, 
 About some business. 
 
 Kas. {Within.'] Gone! 
 
 Face. [Within.] He '11 return straight. 
 But Master Doctor, his lieutenant, is here. 
 
 Enter Kastril, followed by Dame Pliant. 
 
 Sub. Come near, my worshipful boy, my terra Jili, 
 That is, my boy of land ; make thy approaches : 
 Welcome ; I know thy lusts and thy desires, 
 And I will serve and satisfy them. Begin, 
 Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line ; 
 Here is my centre : ground thy quarrel. 
 
 Kas. You lie. 
 
 Sub. How, child of wrath and anger ! the loud lie ? 
 For what, my sudden boy ? 
 
 Kas. Nay, that look you to, 
 I am aforehand. 
 
 Sub. Oh, this is no true grammar, 
 And as ill logic ! You must render causes, child, 
 Your first and second intentions, know your canons 
 And your divisions, moods, degrees, and differences, 
 Your predicaments, substance, and accident, 
 Series, extern and intern, with their causes, 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 67 
 
 Efficient, material, formal, final, 
 And have your elements perfect ? 
 
 Kas. What is this ! 
 The angry tongue he talks in ? [Aside. 
 
 Sub. That false precept 
 Of being aforehand has deceived a number, 
 And made them enter quarrels, oftentimes 
 Before they were aware ; and afterward 
 Against their wills. 
 
 Kas. How must I do then, sir ? 
 
 Sub. I cry this lady mercy : she should first 
 Have been saluted. ' [Kisses her.'] I do call you lady, 
 Because you are to be one ere 't be long, 
 My soft and buxom widow. 
 
 Kas. Is she, i ; faith ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, or my art is an egregious liar. 
 
 Kas. How know you ? 
 
 Sub. By inspection on her forehead, 
 And subtlety of her lip, which must be tasted 
 Often, to make a judgment. [Kisses her again.~\ 
 
 'Slight, she melts 
 Like a myrobolane: — here is yet a line, 
 In rivo frontis, tells me he is no knight. 
 
 Dame P. What is he then, sir ? 
 
 Sub. Let me see your hand. 
 Oh, your Una fortunes makes it plain ; 
 And Stella here i?i Monte Veneris. 
 But, most of all, junctura annularis. 
 He is a soldier, or a man of art, lady, 
 But shall have some great honour shortly. 
 
 Dame P. Brother, 
 He 's a rare man, believe me ! 
 
 Re-enter Face in his uniform. 
 
 Kas. Hold your peace. 
 Here comes the t' other rare man.— Save you, captain. 
 
 Face. Good Master Kastril ! Is this your sister ? 
 
 Kas. Ay, sir. 
 Please you to kuss her, and be proud to know her. 
 
 Face. I shall be proud to know you, lady. [Kisses her. 
 
 Dame P. Brother, 
 He calls me lady too. 
 
 Kas. Ay, peace : I heard it. [Takes her aside. 
 
 Face. The count is come. 
 
 Sub. Where is he ? 
 
 Face. At the door. 
 
 Sub. Why, you must entertain him, 
 
 C 2 
 
.68 THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 Face. What will you do 
 With these the while ? 
 
 Sub. Why, have them up, and show them 
 Some fustian book, or the dark glass. 
 
 Face. 'Fore God, 
 She is a delicate dab chick ! I must have her. [Exit, 
 
 Sub. Must you ! ay, if your fortune will, you must.— ■ 
 Come sir, the captain will come to us presently : 
 I '11 have you to my chamber of demonstrations, 
 Where I will show you both the grammar and logic 
 And rhetoric of quarrelling ; my whole method 
 Drawn out in tables ; and my instrument, * 
 That hath several scales upon 't, shall make you 
 Able to quarrel at a straw's breadth by moonlight. 
 And, lady, I '11 have you look in a glass, 
 Some half an hour, but to clear your eyesight, 
 Against you see your fortune ; which is greater 
 Than I may judge upon the sudden, trust me. . 
 
 [Exit, followed by Kas. and Dame P. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Where are you, doctor ? 
 Sub. [Within.'] I '11 come to you presently. 
 Face. I will have this same widow, now I have seen her, 
 On any composition. 
 
 Re-enter Subtle. 
 
 Sub. What do you say ? 
 
 Face. Have you disposed of them ? 
 
 Sub. I have sent them up. 
 
 Face. Subtle, in troth, I needs must have this widow. 
 
 Sub. Is that the matter ? 
 
 Face. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Sub. Go to, 
 If you rebel once, Dol shall know it all : 
 Therefore be quiet, and obey your chance. 
 
 Face. Nay, thou art so violent now. Do but conceive 
 Thou art old and canst not serve 
 
 Sub. Who cannot ? I ? 
 'Slight, I will serve her with thee, for a 
 
 Face. Nay, 
 But understand : I '11 give you composition. 
 
 Sub. I will not treat with thee ; what ! sell my fortune ? 
 'Tis better than my birthright. Do not murmur : 
 Win her, and carry her. If you grumble, Dol 
 Knows it directly. 
 
 Face. Well, sir, I am silent. 
 Will you go help to fetch in Don in state ? [Exit. 
 
scene l] THE ALCHEMIST. 69 
 
 Sub. I follow you, sir : we must keep Face in awe, 
 Or he will overlook us like a tyrant. 
 
 Re-e?iter Face, introducing Surly disguised as a Spaniard. 
 Brain of a tailor ! who comes here ? Don John ! 
 
 Sur. Senores, beso las manos a vuestras mercedes. 
 
 Sub. Would you had stooped a little, and kissed our anos / 
 
 Face. Peace, Subtle. 
 
 Sub. Stab me : I shall never hold, man. 
 He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a platter, 
 Served in by a short cloak upon two trestles. 
 
 Face. Or, what do you say to a collar of brawn, cut down 
 Beneath the souse, and wriggled with a knife ? 
 
 Sub. 'Slud, he does look too fat to be a Spaniard. 
 
 Face. Perhaps some Fleming or some Hollander got him 
 In D'Alva's time ; Count Egmont's bastard. 
 
 Sub. Don, 
 Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome. 
 
 Sur. Gratia. 
 
 Sub. He speaks out of a fortification. 
 Pray God he have no squibs in those deep sets. 
 
 Sur. Por dios, senores, muy linda casa ! 
 
 Sub. What says he ? 
 
 Face. Praises the house, I think ; 
 I know no more but 's action. 
 
 Yes, the casa, 
 My precious Diego, will prove fair enough 
 To cozen you in. Do you mark ? You shall 
 Be cozened, Diego. 
 
 Face. Cozened, do you see, 
 My worthy Donzel, cozened. 
 
 Sur. Entiendo. 
 
 Sub. Do you intend it ? So do we, dear Don. 
 Have you brought pistolets or portagues, 
 My solemn Don ? — Dost thou feel any ? 
 
 Face. [Fee/s his pockets^] Full. 
 
 Sub. You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and drawn 
 Dry, as they say. 
 
 Face. Milked, in troth, sweet Don. 
 
 Sub. See all the monsters ; the great lion of all, Don. 
 
 Sur. Con licencia, se puede ver a esta senora ? 
 
 Sub. What talks he now ? 
 
 Face. Of the senora. 
 
 Sub. Oh, Don, 
 That is the lioness, which you shall see 
 Also, my Don! 
 
 Face. 'Slid; Subtle, how shall we do ? 
 
 Sub. For what ? 
 
 Face. Why Dol 's employed, you know. 
 
yo THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 Sub. That 's true, 
 'Fore heaven I know not : he must stay, that 's ail. 
 
 Face. Stay ! that he must not by no means. 
 
 Sub. No! Why? 
 
 Face. Unless you '11 mar all. 'Slight, he will suspect it : 
 And then he will not pay, not half so well. 
 This is a travelled master, and does know 
 All the delays ; a notable hot rascal, 
 And looks already rampant. 
 
 Sub. 'Sdeath, and Mammon must not be troubled. 
 
 Face. Mammon ! in no case. 
 
 Sub. What shall we do then ? 
 
 Face. Think : you must be sudden. 
 
 Sur. Entiendo que la senora es tan hermosa, que codicio tan 
 a verla, como la bien aventuranca de mi vida. 
 
 Face. Mi vida ! 'Slid, Subtle, he puts me in mind o' the widow. 
 What dost thou say to draw her to it, ha ! 
 And tell her 't is her fortune ? All our venture 
 Now lies upon 't. It is but one man more, . 
 Which of us chance to have her : and beside, — 
 What dost thou think on % Subtle ? 
 
 Sub. Who, I ? Why 
 
 Face. The credit of our house too is engaged. 
 
 Sub. You made me an offer for my share ere while. 
 What wilt thou give me i' faith ? 
 
 Face. Oh, by that light 
 I '11 not buy now : you know your doom to me. 
 E'en take your lot, obey your chance, sir ; win her, 
 And wear her, sir, for me. 
 
 Sub. 'Slight, I '11 not have her then. 
 
 Face. It is the common cause ; therefore bethink you. 
 Dol else must know it as you said. 
 
 Sub. I care not. 
 
 Sur. Senores, porque se tarda tanta ? 
 
 Sub. Faith, I am not fit, I am old. 
 
 Face. That 's now no reason, sir. 
 
 Sur. Puede ser, de hazer burla de mi amor ? 
 
 Face. You hear the Don too ? by this air I call, 
 And loose the hinges : Dol ! 
 
 Sub. A plague of hell 
 
 Face. Will you then do ? 
 
 Sub. You are a terrible rogue ! 
 I '11 think of this : will you, sir, call the widow? 
 
 Face. Yes, and I '11 take her too with all her faults, 
 Now I do think on't better. 
 
 Sub. With all my heart, sir j 
 Am I discharged o' the lot ? 
 
 Face. As you please. 
 
scene ii.] THE ALCHEMIST. 71 
 
 Sub. Hands. {They take hands. 
 
 Face. Remember now, that upon any change 
 You never claim her. 
 
 Sub. Much good joy and health to you, sir. 
 Marry her so ! Fate, let me wed a witch first. 
 
 Sur. Por estas honra^as barbas 
 
 Sub. He swears by his beard. 
 Dispatch, and call the brother too. [Exit Face. 
 
 Sur. Tiengo duda, senores, 
 Que no me hagan alguna traycion. 
 
 Sub. How, issue on ? yes, praesto, senor. Please you 
 Enthratha the chambratha, worthy Don : 
 Where if you please the fates, in your bathada, 
 You shall be soaked, and stroked, and tubbed, and rubbed, 
 And scrubbed, and fubbed, dear Don, before you go. 
 You shall in faith, my scurvy baboon Don. 
 Be curried, clawed, and flawed, and tawed indeed. 
 f will the heartlier go about it now, 
 And make the widow yours so much the sooner, 
 To be revenged on this impetuous Face : 
 The quickly doing of it is the grace. [Exeunt SUB. and SURLY. 
 
 Scene II. — Another Room i?i the same. 
 
 Enter Face, Kastril, and Dame Pliant. 
 
 Face. Come, lady : I knew the doetor would not leave 
 Till he had found the very nick of her fortune. 
 
 Kas. To be a countess, say you, a Spanish countess, sir ? 
 
 Dame P . Why, is that better than an English countess ? 
 
 Face. Better ! 'Slight, make you that a question, lady ? 
 
 Kas. Nay, she is a fool, captain, you must pardon her. 
 
 Face. Ask from your courtier, to your inns of court man, 
 To your mere milliner ; they will tell you all, 
 Your Spanish gennet is the best horse ; your Spanish 
 .Stoup is the best garb : your Spanish beard 
 Is the best cut ; your Spanish ruffs are the best 
 Wear ; your Spanish pavin the best dance ; 
 Your Spanish titillation in a glove 
 The best perfume : and for your Spanish pike 
 And Spanish blade, let your poor captain speak — 
 Here comes the doctor. 
 
 Enter SUBTLE, with a paper. 
 
 Sub. My most honoured lady, 
 For so I am now to style you, having found 
 
7 2 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 By this my scheme you are to undergo 
 An honourable fortune very shortly, 
 What will you say now, if some 
 
 Face. I have told her all, sir ; 
 And her right worshipful brother here, that she shall be 
 A countess ; do not delay them, sir : a Spanish countess. 
 
 Sub. Still, my scarce-worshipful captain, you can keep 
 No secret ! Well, since he has told you, madam, 
 Do you forgive him, and I do. 
 
 Kas. She shall do that, sir ; 
 I '11 look to 't, 't is my charge. 
 
 Sub. Well then ; nought rests 
 But that she fit her love now to her fortune. 
 
 Dame P. Truly, I shall never brook a Spaniard. 
 
 Sub. No! 
 
 Dame P. Never since eighty-eight could I abide them, 
 And that was some three years afore I was born, in truth. 
 
 Sub. Come, you must love him, or be miserable ; 
 Choose which you will. 
 
 Face. By this good rush, persuade her, 
 She will cry strawberries else within this twelvemonth. 
 
 Sub. Nay, shads and mackerel, which is worse. 
 
 Face. Indeed, sir ! 
 
 Kas. Ods lid, you shall love him, or I '11 kick you 
 
 Dame P. Why, 
 I '11 do as you will have me, brother. 
 
 Kas. Do, 
 Or by this hand I '11 maul you. 
 
 Face. Nay, good sir, 
 Be not so fierce. 
 
 Sub. No, my enraged child ; 
 She will be ruled. What, when she comes to taste 
 The pleasures of a countess ! to be courted 
 
 Face. And kissed, and ruffled ! 
 
 Sub. Ay, behind the hangings. 
 
 Face. And then come forth in pomp ! 
 
 Sub. And know her state ! 
 
 Face. Of keeping all the idolators of the chamber 
 Barer to her than at their prayers ! 
 
 Sub. Is served 
 Upon the knee ! 
 
 Face. And has her pages, ushers, 
 Footmen, and coaches 
 
 Sub. Her six mares 
 
 Face. Nay, eight ! 
 
 Sub. To hurry her through London, to the Exchange, 
 Bethlem, the china-houses 
 
 Face. Yes, and have 
 
scene II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 73 
 
 The citizens gape at her, and praise her tires, 
 And my lord's humble bands, that ride with her. 
 
 Kas. Most brave ! By this hand, you are not my suster 
 If you refuse. 
 
 Dame P. I will not refuse, brother. 
 
 Enter Surly. 
 
 Sur. Que es esto, senores, que non se venga ? 
 Esta tardanza me mata ! 
 
 Face. It is the Count come : 
 The doctor knew he would be here, by his art. 
 
 Sub. En gallanta madama, Don ! gallantissima ! 
 
 Sur. Por todos los dioses, la mas acabada 
 Hermosura, que hevisto en mi vida ! 
 
 Face. Is 't not a gallant language that they speak ? 
 
 Kas. An admirable language ! Is 't not French ? 
 
 Face. No, Spanish, sir. 
 
 Kas. It goes like law-French, 
 And that, they say, is the courtliest language. 
 
 Face. List, sir. 
 
 Sur. El sol ha perdido su lumbre, con el 
 Resplandor que traeesta dama ! Valga me dios ! 
 
 Face. He admires your sister. 
 
 Kas. Must not she make curtsey? 
 
 Sub. Ods will, she must go to him, man, and kiss him ! 
 It is the Spanish fashion for the women 
 To make first court. 
 
 Face. 'Tis true he tells you, sir : 
 His art knows all. 
 
 Sur. Porque no se acude ? 
 
 Kas. He speaks to her, I think. 
 
 Face. That he does, sir. 
 
 Sur. Por el amor de dios, que es esto, que se tarda ? 
 
 Kas. Nay, see : she will not understand him ! Gull, 
 Noddy. 
 
 Dame P. What say you, brother ? 
 
 Kas. Ass, my suster. 
 C10 kuss him, as the cunning man would have you ; 
 111 thrust a pin in your back else. 
 
 Face. Oh no, sir. 
 
 Sur. Senora mia, mi persona esta muy indigna 
 De allegar atanta Hermosura. 
 
 Face. Does he not use her bravely ? 
 
 Kas. Bravely, i' faith ! 
 
 Face. Nay, he will use her better. 
 
 Kas. Do you think so ? 
 
 Sur. Senora si sera servida, entremus. 
 
 [Exit with Dame Pliant. 
 
74 THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 Kas. Where does he carry her ? 
 
 Face. Into the garden, sir ; 
 Take you no thought : I must interpret for her. 
 
 Sub. Give Dol the word. — [Aside to Face, tuho goes out.]— 
 Come, my fierce child, advance, 
 We '11 to our quarrelling lesson again. 
 
 A'(7s. Agreed. 
 I love a Spanish boy with all my heart. 
 
 Sub. Nay, and by this means, sir, you shall be brother 
 To a great count. 
 
 Kas. Ay, I knew that at first. 
 This match will advance the house of the Kastrils. 
 
 Sub. Pray God your sister prove but pliant ! 
 
 Kas. Why, 
 Her name is so, by her other husband. 
 
 Sub. How ? 
 
 Kas. The Widow Pliant. Knew you not that ? 
 
 Sub. No, faith, sir ; 
 Yet, by erection of her figure, I guessed it. 
 Come, let 's go practise. 
 
 Kas. Yes, but do you think, doctor, 
 I e'er shall quarrel well ? 
 
 Sub. I warrant you. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Dol in her fit of raving, followed by Mammon. 
 
 Dol. For after Alexander's death 
 
 Mam. Good lady 
 
 Dol. That Perdiccas and Antigonus were slain, 
 The two that stood, Seleuc', and Ptolemy 
 
 Man. Madam. 
 
 Dol. Made up the two legs, and the fourth beast, 
 That was Gog-north and Egypt-south : which after 
 Was called Gog-iron-leg and South-iron-leg 
 
 Mam. Lady 
 
 Dol. And then Gog-horned. So was Egypt too : 
 Then Egypt- clay-leg and Gog-clay-leg 
 
 Mam. Sweet madam 
 
 Dol. And last Gog-dust and Egypt-dust, which fall 
 In the last link of the fourth chain. And these 
 Be stars in story, which none see or look at 
 
 Mam. What shall I do ? 
 
 Dol. For, as he says, except 
 We call the rabbins, and the heathen Greeks— 
 
 Mam. Dear lady 
 
SCENE iil] THE ALCHEMIST. 75 
 
 Dol. To come from Salem and from Athens, 
 And teach the people of Great Britain 
 
 Enter Face, hastily, in his Setvanfs dress. 
 
 Face. What 's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Dol. To speak the tongue of Eber and Javan 
 
 Mam. Oh, 
 She 's in her fit. 
 
 Dol. We shall know nothing 
 
 Face. Death, sir, 
 We are undone ! 
 
 Dol. Where then a learned linguist 
 Shall see the ancient used communion 
 Of vowels and consonants 
 
 Face. My master will hear ! 
 
 Dol. A wisdom which Pythagoras held most high—: — 
 
 Mam. Sweet honourable lady ! 
 
 Dol. To comprise 
 All sounds of voices, in few marks of letters 
 
 Face. Nay, you must never hope to lay her now. 
 
 {They all speak. 
 
 Dol. And so we may arrive by Talmud skill 
 And profane Greek, to raise the building up 
 Of Helen's house against the Ishmaelite, 
 King of Thogarma, and his habergions 
 Brimstony, blue, and fiery ; and the force 
 Of King Abaddon, and the beast of Cittim : 
 Which Rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos, 
 And Aben Ezra do interpret Rome. 
 
 Face. How did you put her into 't ? [Together with DOL. 
 
 Mam. Alas ! I talked 
 Of a fifth monarchy I would erect. 
 With the philosopher's stone, by chance, and she 
 Falls on the other four straight. 
 
 Face. Out of Broughton ! 
 I told you so. 'Slid, stop her mouth. 
 
 Main. Is 't best ? 
 
 Face. She'll never leave else. If the old man hear her- 
 
 Sub. [ Within.] What 's to do there ? 
 
 Face. Oh, we are lost ! Now she hears him, she is quiet. 
 
 Enter Subtle ; they run different ways. 
 
 Mam. Where shall I hide me ! 
 
 Sub. How ! what sight is here ? 
 Close deeds of darkness, and that shun the light ! 
 Bring him again. Who is he ? What, my son ! 
 Oh, I have lived too long. 
 
?6 THE ALCHEMIST. [act iv. 
 
 Ma;/!. Nay, good, dear father, 
 There was no evil purpose. 
 
 Sub. Not ! and flee me, 
 When I come in ? 
 
 Mam. That was my error. 
 
 Sub. Error ! 
 Guilt, guilt, my son : give it the right name. No marvel 
 If I found check in our great work within, 
 When such affairs as these were managing. 
 
 Mam. Why, have you so ? 
 
 Sub. It has stood still this half-hour: 
 And all the rest of our less works gone back. 
 Where is the instrument of wickedness, 
 My lewd false drudge ? 
 
 Mam. Nay, good sir, blame not him ; 
 Believe me, 't was against his will or knowledge : 
 I saw her by chance. 
 
 Sub. Will you commit more sin, 
 To excuse a varlet ? 
 
 Mam. By my hope 't is true sir. 
 
 Sub. Nay, then I wonder less, if you, for whom 
 The blessing was prepared, would so tempt heaven, 
 And lose your fortunes. 
 
 Mam. Why, sir ? 
 
 Sub. This will retard 
 The work a month at least. 
 
 Mam. Why, if it do, 
 What remedy ? But think it not, good father : 
 Our purposes were honest. 
 
 Sub. As they were, 
 So the reward will prove. — [A loud explosion within. 
 
 How now ! Ah me ! 
 God and all saints be good to us. 
 
 Re-e?iter Face. 
 
 What 's that ? 
 Face. Oh, sir, we are defeated ! All the works 
 Are flown i?ifumo, every glass is burst : 
 Furnace and all rent down ; as if a bolt 
 Of thunder had been driven through the house. 
 Retorts, receivers, pelicans, bolt heads, 
 All struck in shivers ! [Subtle_/?z//.s- down as i?i a swoon. 
 
 Help, good sir ! Alas, 
 Coldness and death invades him. Nay, Sir Mammon, 
 Do the fair offices of a man ! You stand 
 
 As you were readier to depart than he. {Knocking within* 
 
 Who 's there ? My lord her brother is come. 
 Mam. Ha ; Lungs ! 
 
scene in.] THE ALCHEMIST. 77 
 
 Face. His coach is at the door. Avoid his sight, 
 For he 's as furious as his sister 's mad. 
 
 Mam. Alas ! 
 
 Face. My brain is quite undone with the fume, sir, 
 I ne'er must hope to be mine own man again. 
 
 Mam. Is all lost, Lungs ? Will nothing be preserved 
 Of all our cost ? 
 
 Face. Faith, very little, sir ; 
 A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir. 
 
 Ma?n. Oh, my voluptuous mind ! I am justly punished. 
 
 Face. And so am I, sir. 
 
 Mam. Cast forth from all my hopes 
 
 Face. Nay, certainties, sir. 
 
 Mam. By mine own base affections. 
 
 Sub. {Seeming to come to himself^ Oh, the curst fruits of vice 
 and lust! 
 
 Mam. Good father, 
 It was my sin. Forgive it. 
 
 Sub. Hangs my roof 
 Over us still, and will not fall, O justice, 
 Upon us for this wicked man ! 
 
 Face. Nay, look, sir, 
 You grieve him now with staying in his sight ; 
 Good, sir, the nobleman will come too, and take you, 
 And that may breed a tragedy. 
 
 Mam. I'll go. 
 
 Face. Ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be, 
 For some good penance you may have it yet ; 
 A hundred pounds to the box at Bethlem 
 
 Mam. Yes. 
 
 Face. For the restoring such as have their wits. 
 
 Mam. I'll do 't. 
 
 Face t I'll send one to you to receive it. 
 
 Mam. Do. 
 Is no projection left ? 
 
 Face. All flown, or stinks, sir. 
 
 Mam. Will nought be saved that's good for med'cine, 
 think'st thou ? 
 
 Face. I cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps 
 Something about the scraping of the shards 
 Will cure the itch— though not your itch of mind, sir. {Aside. 
 It shall be saved for you, and sent home. Good, sir. 
 This way for fear the lord should meet you. 
 
 {Exit Mammon. 
 
 Sub. {Raising his head.} Face ! 
 
 Face. Ay. 
 
 Sub. Is he gone ? 
 
 Face, Yes, and as heavily 
 
78 / in: A L CUE} IIS 7 ; [ACT IV. 
 
 As all the gold he hoped for were in 's blood. 
 Let us be light, though. 
 
 Sub. [Leaping up.] Ay, as balls, and bound 
 And hit our heads against the roof for joy : 
 There's so much of our care now cast away. 
 
 Face. Now to our Don. 
 
 Sub. Yes, your young widow by this time 
 Is made a countess, Face ; she has been in travail 
 Of a young heir for you. 
 
 Face. Good, sir. 
 
 Sub. Off with your case, 
 And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should, 
 After these common hazards. 
 
 Face. Very well, sir, 
 Will you go fetch Don Diego off the while? 
 
 Sub. And fetch him over too, if you '11 be pleased, sir : 
 Would Dol were in her place, to pick his pockets now ! 
 
 Face. Why, you can do 't as well, if you would set to 't. 
 I pray you prove your virtue. 
 
 Sub. For your sake, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A?iother Room in the same. 
 Enter Surly and Dame Pliant. 
 
 Sur. Lady, you see into what hands you are fallen ; 
 'Mongst what a nest of villains ! and how near 
 Your honour was to have catched a certain flaw, 
 Through your credulity, had I but been 
 So punctually forward, as place, time, 
 And other circumstances would have made a man ; 
 For you 're a handsome woman : would you were wise too ! 
 I am a gentleman come here disguised, 
 Only to find the knaveries of this citadel ; 
 And where I might have wronged your honour, and have not, 
 I claim some interest in your love. You are, 
 They say, a widow, rich ; and I'm a bachelor, 
 Worth nought : your fortunes may make me a man, 
 As mine have preserved you a woman. Think upon it, 
 And whether I have deserved you or no. 
 
 Dame P. I will, sir. 
 
 Sur. And for these household rogues, let me alone 
 To treat with them 
 
 Enter Subtle. 
 
 Sub. How doth my noble Diego, 
 And my dear Madam Countess ? Hath the Count 
 Been courteous, lady ? liberal and open ? 
 Donzel, methinks you look melancholic 
 After your interview, and scurvy : truly 
 
scene iv.] THE ALCHEMIST. 79 
 
 I do not like the dulness of your eye ; 
 It hath a heavy cast, 't is upsee Dutch, 
 And says you are a lumpish cavalier. 
 Be lighter, I -will make your pockets so. 
 
 {Attempts to pick the in. 
 
 Sur. {Throws ope?i his cloak.'] Will you, Don Bawd and pick- 
 purse ? {Strikes him down.] How now ! Reel you ? 
 Stand up, sir ; you shall find, since I am so heavy, 
 I'll give you equal weight. 
 
 Sub. Help ! murder ! 
 
 Stir. No, sir, 
 There 's no such thing intended : a good cart 
 And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear. 
 I am the Spanish Don that should be coze?i'd — 
 Do you see, cozened .' Where 's your Captain Face, 
 That parcel broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal ! 
 
 Enter Face in his uniform. 
 
 Face. How, Surly ! 
 
 Sur. Oh, make your approach, good captain. 
 I have found from whence your copper rings and spoons 
 Come, now, wherewith you cheat abroad in taverns. 
 'Twas here you learned to anoint your boot with brimstone, 
 Then rub men's gold on 't for a kind of touch, 
 And say 'twas nought, when you had changed the colour, 
 That you might have it for nothing. And this doctor, 
 Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he 
 Will close you so much gold, in a bolt's head, 
 And, on a turn, convey in the stead another 
 With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the heat, 
 And fly out all in fumo ! Then weeps Mammon ; 
 Then swoons his worship. [Face slips out.] Or, he is the 
 
 Faustus 
 That casteth figures and can conjure, cures 
 Plagues, piles, and pox, by the ephemerides, 
 And holds intelligence while you send in— 
 * Captain — what ! is he gone ?— damsels with child, 
 Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid 
 With the green sickness. {Seizes Subtle as he is retiring: 
 
 Nay, sir, you must tarry, 
 Though he be 'scaped, and answer by the ears, sir. 
 
 Reenter Face with Kastril. 
 
 Face. Why, now 's the time, if ever you will quarrel 
 Well, as they say, and be a true-born child : 
 The doctor and your sister both are abused. 
 
 Kas. Where is he ? Which is he ? He is a slave, 
 
So THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 Whate'er he is, and he must answer me.— Are you 
 The man, sir, I would know ? 
 
 Sur. I should be loth, sir, 
 To confess so much. 
 
 Kas. Then you lie in your throat. 
 
 Sur. How! 
 
 Face. [To Kastril.] A very errant rogue, sir, and a cheater, 
 Employed here by another conjurer, 
 That does not love the doctor, and would cross him 
 If he knew how. 
 
 Sur. Sir, you are abused. 
 
 Kas. You lie ; 
 And 't is no matter. 
 
 Face. Well said, sir ! He is 
 The impudentest rascal 
 
 Sur. You are indeed : will you hear me, sir ? 
 
 Face. By no means : bid him begone. 
 
 Kas. Begone, sir, quickly. 
 
 Stir. This is strange ! — Lady, do you inform your brother. 
 
 Face. There is not such a foist in all the town, 
 The doctor had him presently ; and finds yet 
 The Spanish Count will come here. — Bear up, Subtle. [Aside. 
 
 Sub. Yes, sir, he must appear within this hour. 
 
 Face. And yet this rogue would come in a disguise, 
 By the temptation of another spirit, 
 To trouble our art, though he could not hurt it ! 
 
 Kas. Ay, 
 I know — Away — [to his Sister]— you talk like a foolish mauther. 
 
 Sur. Sir, all is truth she says. 
 
 Face. Do not believe him, sir. 
 He is the lyingest swabber ! Come your ways, sir. 
 
 Sur. You are valiant out of company ! 
 
 Kas. Yes ; how then, sir. 
 
 Enter D RUGGER, with a piece of damask. 
 
 Face. Nay, here 's an honest fellow too, that knows him 
 And all his tricks. Make good what I say, Abel ; 
 This cheater would have cozened thee o' the widow. 
 
 \ Aside to DRUG. 
 He owes this honest Drugger here, seven pounds, 
 He has had on him, in twopen'orths of tobacco. 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 And he has damned himself three terms to pay me. 
 
 Face. And what does he owe for lotium ? 
 
 Drug. Thirty shillings, sir ; 
 And for six syringes. 
 
 Sur. Hydra of villainy ! 
 
 Sur. Nay, sir ; you must quarrel him out o' the house. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ALCHEMIST. 81 
 
 Kas. I will : 
 — Sir, if you get not out o' doors you lie ? 
 And you are a pimp. 
 
 Stir. Why, this is madness, sir, , 
 
 Not valour in you ; I must laugh at this. 
 
 Kas. It is my humour : you are a pimp and a trig, 
 And an Amadis de Gaul or a Don Quixote. 
 
 Drug. Or a knight o' the curious coxcomb, do you see ? 
 
 Enter Ananias. 
 
 Ana. Peace to the household ! 
 
 Kas. I '11 keep peace for no man. 
 
 Ana. Casting of dollars is concluded lawful. 
 
 Kas. Is he the constable ? 
 
 Sub. Peace, Ananias. 
 
 Face. No, sir. 
 
 Kas. Then you are an otter, a shad, a whit, a very tim. 
 
 Sur. You '11 hear me, sir ? 
 
 Kas. I will not. 
 
 Ana. What is the motive ? 
 
 Sub. Zeal in the young gentleman • i 
 
 Against his Spanish slops. 
 
 Ana. They are profane, 
 Lewd, superstitious, and idolatrous breeches. 
 
 Sur. New rascals ! 
 
 Kas. Will you begone, sir ? 
 
 A?ia. Avoid, Satan ! 
 Thou art not of the light : That ruff of pride 
 About thy neck betrays thee ; and is the same 
 With that which the unclean birds, in seventy-seven, 
 Were seen to prank it with on divers coasts : 
 Thou look'st like Antichrist, in that lewd hat. 
 
 Sur. I must give way. 
 
 Kas. Begone, sir. 
 
 » Sur. But I '11 take 
 
 A course with you 
 
 Ana. Depart, proud Spanish fiend ! 
 
 Sur. Captain and Doctor. 
 
 Ana. Child of perdition ! 
 
 Kas. Hence, sir! {Exit SURLY. 
 
 Did I not quarrel bravely ? 
 
 Face. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 Kas. Nay, and I give my mind to 't, I shall do 't. 
 
 Face. Oh, you must follow, sir, and threaten him tame : 
 He '11 turn again else. 
 
 Kas. I '11 re-turn him then. [Exit. 
 
 [Subtle takes Ananias aside. 
 
 Face. Drugger, this rogue prevented us for thee : 
 
82 THE ALCHEMIST. [act IV. 
 
 We had determined that thou should'st have come 
 In a Spanish suit, and have carried her so ; and he, 
 A brokerly slave ! goes, puts it on himself. 
 Hast brought the damask ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir. 
 
 Face. Thou must borrow 
 A Spanish suit : hast thou no credit with the players ? 
 
 Drug. Yes, sir : did you never see me play the fool ? 
 
 Face. I know not, Nab : — Thou shalt, if I can help it. — 
 
 {Aside. 
 Hieronimo's old cloak, ruff, and hat will serve ; 
 I '11 tell thee more when thou bring'st 'em. {Exit DRUGGER. 
 
 Ana. Sir, I know 
 The Spaniard hates the brethren, and hath spies 
 Upon their actions : and that this was one 
 I make no scruple. — But the holy synod 
 Have been in prayer and meditation for it ; 
 And 'tis revealed, no less to them than me, 
 That casting of money is most lawful. 
 
 Sub. True, 
 But here I cannot do it ; if the house 
 Should chance to be suspected, all would out, 
 And we be locked up in the Tower for ever, 
 To make gold there for the state, never come out ; 
 And then are you defeated. 
 
 Ana. I will tell 
 This to the elders and the weaker brethren, 
 That the whole company of the separation 
 May join in humble prayer again. 
 
 Sub. And fasting. 
 
 Ana. Yea, for some fitter place. The peace of mind 
 Rest with these walls ! {Exit. 
 
 Sub. Thanks, courteous Ananias. 
 
 Face. What did he come for ? 
 
 Sub. About casting dollars, 
 Presently out of hand. And so I told him 
 A Spanish minister came here to spy 
 Against the faithful 
 
 Face. I conceive. Come, Subtle, 
 Thou art so down upon the least disaster ! 
 How wouldst thou ha' done, if I had not helped thee out ? 
 
 Sub. I thank thee, Face, for the angry boy, i' faith. 
 
 Face. Who would have looked it should have been that rascal 
 Surly ? he had dyed his beard and all. Well, sir, 
 Here 's damask come to make you a suit. 
 Sub. Where 's Drugger ? 
 
 Face. He is gone to borrow me a Spanish habit r, 
 I'll be the count, now. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ALCHEMIST. 83 
 
 Sub. But where 's the widow ? 
 
 Face. Within, with my lord's sister ; Madam Dol 
 Is entertaining her. 
 
 Sub. By your favour, Face, 
 Now she is honest, I will stand again. 
 
 Face. You will not offer it. 
 
 Sub. Why? 
 
 Face. Stand to your word, 
 Or — here comes Dol, she knows 
 
 Sub. You are tyrannous still. 
 
 E?iter Dol, hastily. 
 
 Face. Strict for my right. — How now, Dol ! Hast told 
 her, 
 The Spanish Count will come ? 
 
 Dol. Yes ; but another is come 
 You little looked for ! 
 
 Face. Who is that ? 
 
 Dol. Your master ; 
 The master of the house. 
 
 Sub. How, Dol ! 
 
 Face. She lies, 
 This is some trick. Come, leave your quiblins, Dorothy. 
 
 Dol. Look out and see. [Face goes to the window. 
 
 Sub. Art thou in earnest ? 
 
 Dol. 'Slight, 
 Forty o' the neighbours are about him, talking. 
 
 Face. 'Tis he, by this good day. 
 
 Dol. 'Twill prove ill day 
 For some on us. 
 
 Face. We are undone, and taken. 
 
 DM. Lost, I 'm afraid. 
 
 Sub. You said he would not come 
 While there died one a week within the liberties. 
 
 Face. No : 'twas within the walls. 
 
 Sub. Was 't so ! cry you mercy. 
 I thought the liberties. What shall we do now, Face 
 
 Face. Be silent : not a word, if he call or knock, 
 I '11 into mine own shape again and meet him, 
 Of Jeremy, the butler. In the meantime, 
 Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase 
 That we can carry in the two trunks. I '11 keep him 
 Off for to-day, if I cannot longer : and then 
 At night I '11 ship you both away to Ratcliff, . 
 Where we will meet to-morrow, and there we '11 share. 
 Let Mammon's brass and pewter keep the cellar ; 
 We '11 have another time for that. But, Dol, 
 Pr'ythee go heat a little water quickly ; 
 
84 THE ALCHEMIST. [act V. 
 
 Subtle must shave me : all my captain's beard 
 Must off, to make me appear smooth Jeremy. 
 You '11 do it ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, I '11 shave you, as well as I can. 
 
 Face. And not cut my throat, but trim me ? 
 
 Sab. You shall see, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 -ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Before Lovewit's Door. 
 Enter Lovewit, with several of the Neighbours. 
 
 Love. Has there been such resort, say you ? 
 
 1st Net. Daily, sir. 
 
 2nd Net. And nightly, too. 
 
 yd Nei. Ay, some as brave as lords. 
 
 4th Nei. Ladies and gentlewomen. 
 
 5//z Nei. Citizens' wives. • • 
 
 1st Nei. And knights. 
 
 6th Nei. In coaches. 
 
 2?id Nei. Yes, and oyster women. 
 
 ist Nei. Beside other gallants. 
 
 ^d Nei. Sailors' wives. 
 
 4th Nei. Tobacco men. 
 
 ^th Nei. Another Pimlico ! 
 
 Love. What should my knave advance, 
 To draw this company ? He hung out no banners 
 Of a strange calf with five legs to be seen, 
 Or a huge lobster with six claws ? 
 
 6th Nei. No, sir. 
 
 yd Nei. We had gone in then, sir. 
 
 Love. He has no gift 
 Of teaching in the nose that e'er I knew of. 
 You saw no bills set up that promised cure 
 Of agues, or the tooth-ache ? 
 
 2nd Nei. No such thing, sir. 
 
 Love. Nor heard a drum struck for baboons or puppets ? 
 
 $th Nei. Neither, sir. 
 
 Love. What device should he bring forth now ? 
 I love a teeming wit as I love my nourishment ; 
 Tray God he have not kept such open house 
 That he hath sold my hangings and my bedding ! 
 I left him nothing else. If he have eat them, 
 A plague o' the moth, say I ! Sure he has got 
 Some tempting pictures to call all this ging ! 
 The friar and the nun ; or the new motion 
 Of the knight's courser and the parson's mare ; 
 
scene I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 85 
 
 The boy of six year old who is a man ; 
 Or 't may be he has the fleas that run at tilt 
 Upon a table, or some dog to dance. 
 When saw you him ? 
 
 1st Nei. Who, sir, Jeremy? 
 
 ind Nei. Jeremy Butler? 
 We saw him not this month. 
 
 Love. How ! 
 
 4th Nei. Not these five weeks, sir. 
 
 6th Nei. These six weeks at the least. 
 
 Love. You amaze me, neighbours ! 
 
 $th Nei. Sure, if your worship know not where he is, 
 He 's slipped away. 
 
 6th Nei. Pray God, he be not made away. 
 
 Love. Ha ! it 's no time to question, then. 
 
 {Knocks at the Door. 
 
 6th Nei. About 
 Some three weeks since, I heard a doleful cry, 
 As I sat up a-mending my wife's stockings. 
 
 Love. 'Tis strange that none will answer! Didst thou hear 
 A cry, say'st thou ? 
 
 6th Nei. Yes, sir, like unto a man 
 That had been strangled an hour, and could not speak. 
 
 2nd Nei. I heard it too, just this day three weeks at two 
 o'clock 
 Next morning. 
 
 Love. These be miracles, or you make them so. 
 A man an hour strangled, and could not speak, 
 And bothtyou heard him cry ? 
 
 yd Nei. Yes, downward, sir. 
 
 Love. Thou art a wise fellow. Give me thy hand, I pray thee, 
 What trade art thou on ? 
 
 yd Nei. A smith, an 't please your worship. 
 
 Love. A smith ! then lend me thy help to get this door open. 
 
 yd Nei. That I will presently, sir, but fetch my tools. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 1st Net. Sir, best to knock again, afore you break it. 
 
 Love. {Knocks again.'] I will. 
 
 Enter Face, in his butler's livery. 
 Face. What mean you, sir ? 
 1st, ind, 4th Nei. Oh, here 's Jeremy ! 
 Face. Good sir, come from the door. 
 Love. Why, what 's the matter ? 
 Face. Yet farther, you are too near yet. 
 Love. In the name of wonder, 
 What means the fellow ! 
 Face, The house, sir, has been visited, 
 
86 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT V. 
 
 Love. What, with the plague ? stand thou then farther. 
 
 Face. No, sir, 
 I had it not. 
 
 Love. Who had it then ? I left 
 None else but thee in the house. 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, my fellow, 
 The cat that kept the buttery, had it on her 
 A week before I spied it ; but I got her 
 Conveyed away in the night : and so I shut 
 The house up for a month 
 
 Love. How! 
 
 Face. Purposing then, sir, 
 To have burnt rose-vinegar, treacle, and tar, 
 And have made it sweet, that you should ne'er have known it ; 
 Because I knew the news would but afflict you, sir. 
 
 Love. Breathe less, and farther off ! Why this is stranger : 
 The neighbours tell me all here that the doors 
 Have still been open 
 
 Face. How, sir! 
 
 Love. Gallants, men and women, 
 And of all sorts, tag-rag, been seen to flock here 
 In threaves, these ten weeks, as to a second Hogsden, 
 In days of Pimlico and Eyebright. 
 
 Face. Sir, 
 Their wisdoms will not say so. 
 
 Love. To-day they speak 
 Of coaches and gallants ; one in a French hood 
 Went in, they tell me ; and another was seen 
 In a velvet gown at the window : divers more 
 Pass in and out. 
 
 Face. They did pass through the doors then, 
 Or walls, I assure their eyesights, and their spectacles ; 
 For here, sir, are the keys, and here have been, 
 In this my pocket, now above twenty days : 
 And for before, I kept the fort alone there. 
 But that 't is yet not deep in the afternoon, 
 I should believe my neighbours had seen double 
 Through the black pot, and made these apparitions ! 
 For, on my faith to your worship, for these three weeks 
 And upwards the door has not been opened. 
 ■ Love. Strange ! 
 
 ist Nei. Good faith, I think I saw a coach. 
 
 2?id Net. And I too, 
 I 'd have been sworn. 
 
 Love. Do you but think it now ? 
 And but one coach ? 
 
 tfh Nei. We cannot tell, sir : Jeremy 
 Is a very honest fellow. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. By 
 
 Face. Did you see me at all ? 
 
 ist Nei. No ; that we are sure on. 
 
 2nd Nei. I'll be sworn o' that. 
 
 Love. Fine rogues to have your testimonies built on ! 
 
 Re-enter Third Neighbour, with his Tools. 
 
 3rd Nei. Is Jeremy come ? 
 
 ist Nei. Oh, yes ; you may leave your tools. 
 We were deceived, he says. 
 
 2nd Nei. He has had the keys ; 
 And the door has been shut these three weeks. 
 
 2,rd Nei. Like enough. 
 
 Love. Peace and get hence, you changelings. 
 
 Enter Surly and Mammon. 
 
 Face. Surly come ! 
 And Mammon made acquainted ! They '11 tell all. 
 How shall I beat them off? what shall I do ? 
 Nothing's more wretched than a guilty conscience. [Aside. 
 
 Sur. No, sir, he was a great physician. This, 
 It was no evil house, but a mere chancel ! 
 You knew the Lord and his sister. 
 
 Mam. Nay, good Surly 
 
 Sur. The happy word, Be RICH 
 
 Main. Play not the tyrant 
 
 Sur. Should be to-day pronounced to all your friends. 
 And where be your andirons now ? and your brass pots, 
 That should have been golden flagons, and great wedges ? 
 
 Mam. Let me but breathe. What, they have shut their doors, 
 Methinks ! 
 
 Sur. Ay, now 'tis holiday with them. [He and SURLY knock. 
 
 Mam. Rogues, 
 Cozeners, rascals, cheats ! 
 
 Face. What mean you, sir ! 
 
 Mam. To enter if we can. 
 
 Face. Another man's house ! 
 Here is the owner, sir; turn you to him, 
 And speak your business. 
 
 Mam. Are you, sir, the owner ? 
 
 Love. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mam. And are those knaves within, your cheaters ! 
 
 Love. What knaves, what cheaters ? 
 
 Mam. Subtle and his Lungs. 
 
 Face. The gentleman is distracted, sir ! No lungs, 
 Nor lights have been seen here these three weeks, sir, 
 Within these doors, upon my word. 
 
 Sur. Your word, 
 Groom, arrogant ! 
 
88 THE ALCHEMIST. [Act V, 
 
 Face. Yes, sir, I am the housekeeper, 
 And know the keys have not been out of my hands. 
 
 Sur. This is a new Face. 
 
 Face. You do mistake the house, sir : 
 What sign was 't at ? 
 
 Sur. You rascal ! this is one 
 Of the confederacy. Come, let 's get officers, 
 And force the door. 
 
 Love. Pray you, stay, gentlemen. 
 
 Sur. No, sir, we '11 come with warrant. 
 
 Mam. Ay, and then 
 We shall have your doors open. [Exeunt MAM. and SUR. 
 
 Love. What means this \ 
 
 Face. I cannot tell, sir. 
 
 i Net. These are two of the gallants 
 That we do think we saw. 
 
 Face. Two of the fools ! 
 You talk as idly as they. Good faith, sir. 
 I think the moon has crazed 'em all. Oh, me ! 
 
 Enter Kastril. 
 The angry boy come too ! He '11 make a noise, 
 And ne'er away till he have betrayed us all. [Aside. 
 
 Kas. [Knocking.] What rogues, cheats, slaves, you '11 open 
 the door anon ! 
 What, cockatrice, my suster ! By this light 
 I '11 fetch the marshal to you. You are a toad 
 To keep your castle 
 
 Face. Who would you speak with, sir ? 
 
 Kas. The dirty doctor and the cozening captain, 
 And puss my sugter. 
 
 Love. This is something, sure. 
 
 Face. Upon my trust, the doors were never open, sir. 
 
 Kas. I have heard all their tricks told me twice over, 
 By the fat knight and the lean gentleman. 
 
 I^ove. Here comes another. 
 
 Enter Ananias and Tribulation. 
 
 Face. Ananias too ! 
 And his pastor ! 
 
 7/7. [Beating at the door.] The doors are shut against us. 
 
 Ana. Come forth, you seed of sulphur, sons of fire ! 
 Your stench it is broke forth ; abomination 
 Is in the house. 
 
 Kas. Ay, my suster 5 s there. 
 
 Ana. The place, 
 It is become a cage of unclean birds. 
 
 Kas. Yes, I will fetch the scavenger and the constable. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ALCHEMIST. 89 
 
 Tri. You shall do well. 
 
 Ana. We '11 join to weed them out. 
 
 Kas. You will not come, then, cockatrice, my suster ! 
 
 Ana. Call her not sister ; she 's a harlot, verily. 
 
 Kas. I '11 raise the street. 
 
 Love. Good gentleman, a word. 
 
 Ana. Satan avoid, and hinder not our zeal ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ana. Trib. and Kast. 
 
 Love. The world's turned Bethlem. 
 
 Face. These are all broke loose, 
 Out of St. Katherine's, where they used to keep 
 The better sort of mad-folks. 
 \st Nei. All these persons 
 We saw go in and out here. 
 
 2nd Nei. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 3rd Nei. These were the parties. 
 
 Face. Peace, you drunkards ! Sir, 
 I wonder at it : please you to give me leave 
 To touch the door, I '11 try an the lock be changed. 
 
 Love. It amazes me ! 
 
 Face. [Goes to the door.] Good faith, sir, I believe 
 There 's no such thing : 'tis all deceptio visits — 
 Would I could get him away. [Aside. 
 
 Dap. [Within.] Master Captain ! Master Doctor ! 
 
 Love. Who 's th at ? 
 
 Face. Our clerk within, that I forgot ! [Aside.'] I know not, 
 sir. * 
 
 Dap. [Within.] For God's sake, when will her grace be at 
 leisure ? 
 
 Face. Ha! 
 Illusions, some spirit o' the air ! His gag is melted, 
 And now he sets out the throat. [Aside. 
 
 Dap. [Within^] I am almost stifled 
 
 Face. Would you were altogether. [Aside. 
 
 Love. 'Tis in the house. 
 Ha! list. 
 
 Face. Believe it, sir, in the air. 
 
 Love. Peace, you. 
 
 Dap. [Within.] Mine aunt's grace does not use me well. 
 
 Sub. [Within.] You fool, 
 Peace, you '11 mar all. 
 
 Face. [Speaks through the key-hole, while Lovewit advances 
 to the door unobserved^] Or you will else, you rogue. 
 
 Love. Oh, is it so ? Then you converse with spirits ! 
 Come, sir. No more of your tricks, good Jeremy, 
 The truth, the shortest way. 
 
 Face. Dismiss this rabble, sir — 
 What shall I do ? I am catched. [Aside, 
 
90 THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 Love. Good neighbours, 
 I thank you all. You may depart. [Exeunt Neighbours.]* Come, 
 
 sir, 
 You know that I am an indulgent master, 
 And therefore conceal nothing. What 's your medicine, 
 To draw so many several sorts of wild-fowl? 
 
 Face. Sir, you were wont to affect mirth and wit, 
 But here 's no place to talk on 't in the street. 
 Give me but leave to make the best of my fortune, 
 And only pardon me the abuse of your house : 
 It 's all I beg. I '11 help you to a widow, 
 In recompense, that you shall give me thanks for, 
 Will make you seven years younger, and a rich one. 
 5 Tis but your putting on a Spanish cloak : 
 I have her within. You need not fear the house ; 
 It was not visited. 
 
 Love. But by me, who came 
 Sooner than you expected. 
 
 Face. It is true, sir. 
 Pray you, forgive me. 
 
 Love. Well : let's see your widow. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the same. 
 Enter Subtle, leading in Dapper, with his eyes bound as before 
 
 Sub. How ! have you eaten your gag ? 
 
 Dap. Yes, faith, it crumbled 
 Away in my mouth. 
 
 Sub. You have spoiled all, then. 
 
 Dap. No ! 
 I hope my aunt of Fairy will forgive mc. 
 
 Sub. Your aunt 's a gracious lady ; but in troth 
 You were to blame. 
 
 Dap. The fume did overcome me, 
 And I did do 't to stay my stomach. Pray you, 
 So satisfy her grace. 
 
 Enter Face in his uniform. 
 Here comes the Captain, 
 
 Face. How now ! Is his mouth down ? 
 
 Sub. Ay, he has spoken 
 
 Face. A plague, I heard him, and you too. He 's undone then. 
 I have been fain to say the house is haunted 
 With spirits, to keep churl back. 
 
 Sub. And hast thou done it ? 
 
 Face. Sure, for this night. 
 
 Sub. Why, then triumph and sing _.__ 
 
SCENE ii.] THE ALCHEMIST. 91 
 
 Of Face so famous, the precious king 
 Of present wits. 
 
 Face. Did you not hear the coil 
 About the door ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, and I dwindled with it. 
 
 Face. Show him his aunt, and let him be despatched ; 
 I '11 send her to you. [Fait FACE. 
 
 Sub. Well, sir, your aunt her grace 
 Will give you audience presently, on my suit, 
 And the captain's word that you did not eat your gag 
 In any contempt of her highness. [Unbinds his eyes. 
 
 Dap. Not I, in troth, sir, 
 
 Enter Dol like the Queen of Fairy. 
 
 Sub. Here she is come. Down o' yop* knees and wriggle : 
 She has a stately presence. [Dapper /eneels, a/id shuffles to- 
 wards her.'] Good ! Yet nearer, 
 And bid God save you ! 
 
 Dal. J/adam I 
 
 Sub. And your aunt. 
 
 Dai). And my most gracious aunt, God save your grace. 
 
 Dol. Nephew, we thought to have been angry with you ; 
 But that sweet face of yours hath turned the tide, 
 And made it flow with joy, that ebb'd of love. 
 Arise, and touch our velvet gown. 
 
 Sub. The skirts, 
 And kiss 'em. So ! 
 
 Dol. Let me now stroke that head. 
 Much, nephew, shalt thou win, much shalt thou spend, 
 Much shalt thou give away, much shalt thou lend. 
 
 Sub. Ay, much indeed ! [Aside] Why do you not thank 
 her grace ? 
 
 Dap. I cannot speak for joy. 
 
 Sub. See the kind wretch ! 
 Your grace's kinsman right. 
 
 Dol. Give me the bird. 
 Here is your fly in a purse, about your neck, cousin ; 
 Wear it, and feed it about this day seven-night, 
 On your right wrist 
 
 Sub. Open a vein with a pin, 
 And let it suck but once a week ; till then 
 You must not look on 't. 
 
 Dol. No : and, kinsman, 
 Bear yourself worthy of the blood you come on. 
 
 Sub. Her grace would have you eat no more Woolsack pies, 
 Nor Dagger frumerty. 
 
 Dol. Nor break his fast 
 In heaven and hell. 
 
92 THE ALCHEMIST. [act V. 
 
 Sub. She 's with you everywhere ! 
 Nor play with costermongers at mum-chance, tray-trip. 
 God make you rich (when as your aunt has done it); 
 But keep 
 The gallant'st company and the best games 
 
 Dap. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sub. Gleek and primero : and what you get, be true to us. 
 
 Dap. By this hand, I will. 
 
 Sub. You may bring 's a thousand pounds 
 Before to-morrow night, if but three thousand 
 Be stirring, an you will. 
 
 Dap. I swear I will, then. 
 
 Sub. Your fly will learn you all games 
 
 Face. [Within.'] Have you done there? 
 
 Sub. Your grace will command him no more duties ? 
 
 Do/. No? 
 But come and see me often. I may chance 
 To leave him three or four hundred chests of treasure, 
 And some twelve thousand acres of Fairyland, 
 If he game well and comely with good gamesters. 
 
 Svb. There 's a kind aunt ! Kiss her departing part. 
 But you must sell your forty marks a-year, now. 
 
 Dap. Ay, sir, I mean. 
 
 Sub. Or give 't away ; plague on 't i 
 
 Dap. I '11 give 't mine aunt : I '11 go and fetch the writings. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sub. 'Tis well — away ! 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Where's Subtle? 
 
 Sub. Here : what news ? 
 
 Face. D rugger is at the door ; go take his suit, 
 And bid him fetch a parson, presently : 
 Say he shall marry the widow. Thou shalt spend 
 A hundred pounds by the service ! [Exit SUBTLE. 
 
 Now, Queen Dol, 
 Have you packed up all ? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Face. And how do you like 
 The Lady Pliant ? 
 
 Dol. A good dull innocent. 
 
 Re-enter SUBTLE. 
 
 Sub. Here 's your Hieronymus' cloak and hat. 
 
 Face. Give me them. 
 
 Sub. And the ruff too ? 
 
 Face. Yes j I'll come to you presently. [Exit. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ALCHEMIST. 93 
 
 Sub. Now he is gone about his project, Dol, 
 I told you of, for the widow. 
 
 Dol. 'Tis direct 
 Against our articles. 
 
 Sub. Well, we will tit him, wench. 
 Hast thou gulled her of her jewels or her bracelets? 
 
 Dol. No ; but I will do 't. 
 
 Sub. Soon at night, my Dolly, 
 When we are shipped, and all our goods aboard, 
 Eastward for Ratcliff ; we will turn our course 
 To Brainford, westward, if thou say'st the word, 
 And take our leaves of this o'er- weening rascal, 
 This peremptory Face. 
 
 Dol. Content, I 'm weary of him. 
 
 Sub. Thou'st cause, when the slave will run a-wiving, Dol, 
 Against the instrument that was drawn between us. 
 
 Dol. I '11 pluck his bird as bare as I can. 
 
 Sub. Yes, tell her 
 She must by any means address some present 
 To the cunning man, make him amends for wronging 
 His art with her suspicion ; send a ring 
 Or chain of pearl ; she will be tortured else 
 Extremely in her sleep, say, and have strange things 
 Come to her. Wilt thou ? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Sub. My fine flitter-mouse, 
 My bird o' the flight ! we '11 tickle it at the Pigeons, 
 When we have all, and may unlock the trunks, 
 And say, this is mine, and thine ; and thine, and mine. 
 
 [They kiss. 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. What now 1 a-billing ? 
 
 Sub. Yes, a little exalted 
 In the good passage of our stock-affairs. 
 
 Face. Drugger has brought his parson ; take him in, Subtle, 
 And send Nab back again to wash his face. 
 
 Sub. I will : and shave himself. [Exit. 
 
 Face. If you can get him. 
 
 Dol. You are hot upon it, Face, whate'er it is ! 
 
 Face. A trick that Dol shall spend ten pounds a month by. 
 
 Re-enter SUBTLE. 
 Is he gone ? 
 
 Sub. The chaplain waits you in the hall, sir. 
 
 Face. I '11 go bestow him. [Exit. 
 
 Dol. He '11 now marry her, instantly. 
 
 Sub. He cannot yet, he is not ready. Dear Dol, 
 Cozen her of all thou canst. To deceive him 
 
94 THE ALCHEMIST. [act V. 
 
 Is no deceit, but justice, that would break 
 Such an inextricable tie as ours was. 
 Dol. Let me alone to fit him. 
 
 Re-enter Face. 
 
 Face. Come, my venturers, 
 You have packed up all ? Where be the trunks ? Bring forth. 
 
 Sub. Here. 
 
 Face. Let us see them. Where 's the money ? 
 
 Sub. Here, 
 In this. 
 
 Face. Mammon's ten pounds ; eight score before : 
 The brethren's money this. Drugger's a?nd Dapper's. 
 What paper's that ? 
 
 Dol. The jewel of the waiting-maid's, 
 That stole it from her lady, to know certain 
 
 Face. If she should have precedence of her mistress ? 
 
 Dol. Yes. 
 
 Face. What box is that ? 
 
 Sub. The fish-wives' rings, I think, 
 And the ale-wives' single money. Is 't not Dol ? 
 
 Dol. Yes ; and the whistle that the sailor's wife 
 Brought you to know an her husband were with Ward. 
 
 Face. We '11 wet it to-morrow ; and our silver-beakers 
 And tavern cups. Where be the French petticoats, 
 And girdles and hangers ? 
 
 Sub. Here, in the trunk, 
 And the bolts of lawn. 
 
 Face. Is Drugger's damask there, 
 And the tobacco ? 
 
 Sub. Yes. 
 
 Face. Give me the keys. 
 
 Dol. Why you the keys ? 
 
 Sub. No matter, Dol ; because 
 We shall not open them before he comes. 
 
 Face. 'Tis true, you shall not open them, indeed ; 
 Nor have them forth, do you see ? not forth, Dol. 
 
 Dol. No ! 
 
 Face. No, my smock rampart. The right is, my master 
 Knows all, has pardoned me, and he will keep them ; 
 Doctor, 'tis true — you look — for all your figures : 
 I sent for him indeed. Wherefore, good partners, 
 Both he and she be satisfied : for here 
 Determines the indenture tripartite 
 'Twixt Subtle, Dol, and Face. All I can do 
 Is to help you over the wall, o' the back-side, 
 Or lend you a sheet to save your velvet gown, Dol. 
 Here will be officers presently, bethink you 
 
scene III.] THE ALCHEMIST. 95 
 
 Of sofne course suddenly to escape the dock : 
 For thither you will come else. — [Loud knocking^ — Hark yon, 
 thunder. 
 
 Sub. You are a precious fiend ! 
 
 Offi. [Without.'] Open the door. 
 
 Face. Dol, I am sorry for thee, i' faith ; but hear'st thou ? 
 It shall go hard but I will place thee somewhere : 
 Thou shalt have my letter to Mistress Amo 
 
 Dol. Hang you ! 
 
 Face. Or Madame Caesarean. 
 
 Dol. Out upon you, rogue ! 
 Would I had but time to beat thee ! 
 
 Face. Subtle, 
 Let 's know where you set up next ; I will send you 
 A customer now and then, for old acquaintance : 
 What new course have you ? 
 
 Sub. Rogue, I '11 hang myself, 
 That I may walk a greater devil than thou, 
 And haunt thee in the flock-bed and the buttery. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — An outer Room in the same. 
 Enter Lovewit in the Spanish dress, with the Parson. 
 \Loud knocking at the door.'] 
 
 Love. What do you mean, my masters ? 
 
 Mam. [Without.] Open your door, 
 Cheaters, thieves, conjurors. 
 
 Offi. [Without?] Or we will break it open. 
 
 Love. What warrant have you ? 
 
 Offi. [Without ~\ Warrant enough, sir, doubt not, 
 If you '11 not open it. 
 
 Love. Is there an officer, there ? 
 
 Offi. [ Without^] Yes, two or three for failing. 
 
 Love. Have but patience, 
 And I will open it straight. 
 
 Enter Face as butler. 
 
 Face. Sir, have you done ? 
 Is it a marriage ? perfect ? 
 
 Love. Yes, my brain. 
 
 Face. Off with your ruff and cloak then ; be yourself, sir. 
 
 Sur. [Without P\ Down with the door. 
 
 Kas. [WithotctT] 'Slight, ding it open. 
 
 Love. [Opening the door.] Hold, 
 Hold, gentlemen, what means this violence ? 
 
9 6 THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 Mammon, Surly, Kastril, Ananias, Tribulation, and 
 Officers rush in. 
 
 Mam. Where is this collier ? 
 
 Sur. And my Captain Face ? 
 
 Mam. These day owls. 
 
 Sur. That are birding in men's purses. 
 
 Mam. Madam Suppository. 
 
 Kas. Doxy, my suster. 
 
 Ana. Locusts 
 Of the foul pit. 
 
 Tri. Profane as Bel and the Dragon. 
 
 A?ia. Worse than the grasshoppers or the lice of Egypt. 
 
 Love. Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you officers, 
 And cannot stay this violence ? 
 
 ist Offi. Keep the peace. 
 
 Love. Gentlemen, what is the matter ? Whom do you seek ? 
 
 Mam. The chemical cozener. 
 
 Sur. And the captain pander. 
 
 Kas. The nun my suster. 
 
 Mam. Madam Rabbi 
 
 Ana. Scorpions 
 And caterpillars. 
 
 Love. Fewer at once, I pray you. 
 
 ind. Offi. One after another, gentlemen, I charge you, 
 By virtue of my staff. 
 
 Ana. They are the vessels 
 Of pride, lust, and the cart. 
 
 Love. Good zeal, lie still 
 A little while. 
 
 Tri. Peace, Deacon Ananias. 
 
 Love. The house is mine here, and the doors are open : 
 If there be any such persons as you seek for, 
 Use your authority, search on, o' God's name. 
 I am but newly come to town, and finding 
 This tumult 'bout my door, to tell you true, 
 It somewhat 'mazed me ; till my man here, fearing 
 My more displeasure, told me he had done 
 Somewhat an insolent part, let out my house 
 (Belike, presuming on my known aversion 
 From any air o' the town while there was sickness) 
 To a doctor and a captain : who, what are they, 
 Or where they be, he knows not. 
 
 Mam. Are they gone ? 
 
 Love. You may go in and search, sir. [MAMMON, ANA. and 
 Trib. go in.'] Here, I find 
 The empty walls worse than I left them, smoked, 
 A few cracked pots and glasses, and a furnace : 
 
scene III.] THE ALCHEMIST. 97 
 
 The ceiling filled with poesies of the candle, 
 And madam with a dildo writ o' the walls : 
 Only one gentlewoman, I met here, 
 That is within, that said she was a widow 
 
 Kas. Ay, that's my suster ; I'll go thump her. Where is she ? 
 
 [Goes in. 
 
 Love. And should have married a Spanish Count, but he, 
 When he came to 't, neglected her so grossly, 
 That I, a widower, am gone through with her. 
 
 Sicr. How ! have I lost her then ? 
 
 Love. Were you the don, sir ! 
 Good faith, now, she does blame you extremely, and says 
 You swore, and told her you had taken the pains 
 To dye your beard, and umbre o'er your face, 
 Borrowed a suit, and ruff, all for her love ; 
 And then did nothing. What an oversight, 
 And want of putting forward, sir, w T as this ! 
 Well fare an old harquebuzier, yet, 
 Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit, 
 All in a twinkling ! 
 
 Re-enter Mammon. 
 
 Mam. The whole nest are fled ! 
 
 Love. What sort^f birds were they? 
 
 Mam. A kind of choughs, 
 Or thievish daws, sir, that have pick'd my purse 
 Of eight score and ten pounds within these five w r eeks, 
 Beside my first materials ; and my goods, 
 That lie in the cellar, which I am glad they have left, 
 I may have home yet. 
 
 Love. Think you so, sir ? 
 
 Mam. Ay. 
 
 Love. By order of law, sir, but not otherwise. 
 
 Mam. Not mine own stuff! 
 
 Love. Sir, I can take no knowledge 
 That they are yours, but by public means. 
 If you can bring certificate that you were gull'd of them. 
 Or any formal writ out of a court, 
 That you did cozen yourself, I will not hold them. 
 
 Mam. I'll rather lose them. 
 
 Love. That you shall not, sir, 
 By me, in troth : upon these terms, they are yours. 
 What ! should they have been, sir, turn'd into gold, all ? 
 
 Mam. No, 
 I cannot tell— It may be they should— W T hat then ? 
 
 Love. What a great loss in hope have you sustain'd ! 
 
 Mam. Not I, the common-wealth has. 
 
 Face. Ay, he would have built 
 
 D 
 
98 THE ALCHEMIST. [ACT v. 
 
 The city new , and made a ditch about it 
 Of silver, should have run with cream from Hogsden ; 
 That, every Sunday, in Moor-fields, the younkers, 
 And tits and tom-boys should have fed on, gratis. 
 
 A/am. I will go mount a turnip-cart, and preach 
 The end of the world, within these two months. Surly, 
 What ! in a dream ? 
 
 Stir. Must I needs cheat myself, 
 With that same foolish vice of honesty ! 
 Come, let us go and hearken out the rogues : 
 That Face I'll mark for mine, if e'er I meet him. 
 
 Face. If I can hear of him, sir, I'll bring you word, 
 Unto your lodging ; for in troth, they were strangers 
 To me, I thought them honest as my self, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt Mam. and Sur. 
 
 Re-enter Ananias and Tribulation. 
 
 Tri. 'Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. Go, 
 And get some carts 
 
 Love. For what, my zealous friends ? 
 
 Ana. To bear away the portion of the righteous 
 Out of this den of thieves. 
 
 Love. What is that portion ? 
 
 Ana. The goods sometimes the orphan's, that the brethren 
 Bought with their silver pence. 
 
 Love. What, those in the cellar, 
 The knight sir Mammon claims ? 
 
 Ana. I do defy 
 The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren, 
 Thou profane man ! I ask thee with what conscience 
 Thou canst advance that idol against us, 
 That have the seal ? were not the shillings number'd, 
 That made the pounds ; were not the pounds told out, 
 Upon the second day of the fourth week, 
 In the eighth month, upon the table dormant, 
 The year of the last patience of the saints, 
 Six hundred and ten ? 
 
 Love. Mine earnest vehement botcher, 
 And deacon also, I cannot dispute with you : 
 But if you get you not away the sooner, 
 I shall confute you with a cudgel, 
 
 A?ia. Sir ! 
 
 Tri. Be patient, Ananias. 
 
 Ana. I am strong, 
 And will stand up, well girt, against an host 
 That threaten Gad in exile. 
 
 Love. I shall send you 
 To Amsterdam, to vour cellar. 
 
scene ill.] THE ALCHEMIST. 99 
 
 Ana. I will pray there, 
 Against thy house : may dogs defile thy walls, 
 And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof, 
 This seat of falsehood, and this cave of cozenage ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ana, and Trie. 
 
 Enter D rugger. 
 
 Lave. Another too ? 
 
 Drug. Not I, sir, I am no brother. 
 
 Love, [beats Mm.] Away, you Harry Nicholas ! do you talk? 
 
 [Exit Drug. 
 
 Face. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good sir, go, 
 
 [To the Parson. 
 And satisfy him ; tell him all is done : 
 He staid too long a washing of his face. 
 The doctor, he shall hear of him at West-chester; 
 And of the captain, tell him. at Yarmouth, or 
 Some good port-town else, lying for a wind. [Exit PARSON. 
 If you can get off the angry child, now , sir— 
 
 Enter Kastril. dragging in his sister. 
 
 Kas. Come on, you^we, you have match'd most sweetly, have 
 you not ? 
 Did I not say, I would never have you tupp'd 
 But by a dubb'd boy, to make you a lady-tom ? 
 'Slight, you are a mamraet ! O, I could touse you, now. 
 Death, mun' you marry, with a plague ! 
 
 Love. You lie, boy ; 
 As sound as you ; and I'm aforehand with you. 
 
 Kas. Anon ! 
 
 Love. Come, will you quarrel ? I will feize you, sirrah ; 
 Why do you not buckle to your tools ? 
 
 Kas. Od's light, 
 This is a fine old boy as e'er I saw ! 
 
 Love. What, do you change your copy now ? proceed, 
 Here stands my dove : stoop at her, if you dare. 
 
 Kas. 'Slight, I must love him ! I cannot .choose, i' faith, 
 An I should be hang'd fort ! Suster, I protest, 
 I honour thee for this match. 
 
 Love. O, do you so, sir ? 
 
 Kas. Yes, and thou canst take tobacco and drink, old boy, 
 I'll give her five hundred pound more to her marriage, 
 Than her own state. 
 
 Love. Fill a pipe full, Jeremy. 
 
 Face. Yes ; but go in and take it, sir. 
 
 Love. We will — 
 I will be ruled by thee in anything, Jeremy. 
 
 D 2 
 
ioo THE ALCHEMIST. [act v. 
 
 Kas, 'Slight, thou art not hide-bound, thou art a jovy boy ! 
 Come, let us in, I pray thee, and take our whiffs. 
 
 Love. Whiff in with your sister, brother boy. 
 
 [Exeunt Kas. and Dame P.] That master 
 That had received such happiness by a servant, 
 In such a widow, and with so much wealth, 
 Were very ungrateful, if he would not be 
 A little indulgent to that servant's wit, 
 And help his fortune, though with some small strain 
 Of his own candour, [advancing?^ — Therefore, gentlemen, 
 And kind spectators, if I have outstript 
 An old man's gravity, or strict canon, think 
 What a young wife and a good brain may do ; 
 Stretch age's truth sometimes, and crack it too. 
 Speak for thy self, knave. 
 
 Face. So I will, sir. [advancing to the front of the stage, .] 
 Gentlemen, 
 My part a little fell in this last scene, 
 Yet 'twas decorum. And though I am clean 
 Got off from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Dol, 
 Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all 
 With whom I traded : yet I put my self 
 On you that are my country : and this pelf, 
 Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests 
 To feast you often, and invite new guests. [Exeunt. 
 
Volpone; or, The Fox. 
 
 TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST EQUAL SISTERS, 
 
 THE TWO FAMOUS UNIVERSITIES, 
 
 FOR THEIR LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE SHOWN TO HIS POEM IN 
 THE PRESENTATION, 
 
 BEN JONSON, 
 
 THE GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGER, 
 DEDICATB5 BOTH IT AND HIMSELF. 
 
 Never, most equal Sisters, had any man a wit so presently excellent, as 
 that it could raise itself; but there must come both matter, occasion, corn- 
 menders, and favours to it. If this be true, and that the fortune of all 
 writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to provide well towards 
 these accidents ; and, having acquired them, to preserve that part of repu- 
 tation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended. Hence 
 is it, that I now render myself grateful, and am studious to justify the 
 bounty of your act ; to which, though your mere authority were satisfying, 
 yet it being an age wherein poetry and the professors of it hear so ill on all 
 sides, there will a reason be looked for in the subject. It is certain, nor can 
 it with any forehead be opposed, that the too much license of poetasters in 
 this time, hath much deformed their mistress ; that, every day, their 
 manifold and manifest ignorance doth stick unnatural reproaches upon her : 
 but for their petulancy, it were an act of the greatest injustice, either to let 
 the learned suffer, or so divine a skill (which indeed should not be attempted 
 with unclean hands) to fail under the least contempt. For, if men with im- 
 partiality, and not asquint, look toward the offices and functions of a poet, 
 they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any man's being 
 the good poet, without first being a good man. He that is;- said to be able 
 to inform young men to all good disciplines, inflame grown men to all great 
 virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to 
 childhood, recover them to their first strength ; that comes forth the 
 interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less than 
 human, a master in manners ; and can alone, or with a few. effect the 
 business of mankind : this, I take him, is no subject for pride and ignorance 
 to exercise their railing rhetoric upon. But it will here be hastily answered, 
 that the writers of these days are other things : that not only their mariners, 
 but their natures, are inverted, and nothing remaining with them of the 
 dignity of poet, but the abused name, which every scribe usurps ; that now, 
 especially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, 
 profanation, blasphemy, all license of offence to God and man is practised. 
 
ioz VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX, 
 
 I dare not. dony s'£rcat pa't. of. .'.bis, .and am sorry I dare not, because in 
 some men's abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light) 
 it is over true ; but that all are embarked in this bold adventure for hell, is 
 a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more malicious slander. For 
 my particular, I can, and from a most clear conscience, affirm, that I have 
 ever trembled to think towards the least profaneness ; have loathed the use 
 of such foul and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene ; 
 and, howsoever I cannot escape from some, the imputation of sharpness, 
 but that they will say, I have taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my 
 youngest infant but hath come into the world with all his teeth ; I would 
 ask of these supercilious politics, what nation, society, or geneial order or 
 state, I have provoked ? What public person ? Whether I have not in all 
 these preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe ? My works are 
 read, allowed, (I speak of those that are intirely mine,) look into them, what 
 broad reproofs have I used? where have I been particular ? where personal ? 
 except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffon, creatures for their insolencies, 
 worthy to be taxed ? yet to which of these so pointingly, as he might not 
 either ingenuously have confest, or wisely dissembled his disease ? But it is 
 not rumour can make men guilty, much less entitle me to other men's 
 crimes. I know, that nothing can be so innocently writ or carried, but may 
 be made obnoxious to construction ; marry, whilst I bear mine innocence 
 about me, I fear it not, Application is now grown a trade with many ; and 
 there are that profess to have a key for the decyphering of every thing : but 
 let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give 
 leave to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with their fames, who 
 cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice, under other men's 
 simplest meanings. As for those that will (by faults which charity hath raked 
 up, or common honesty concealed) make themselves a name with the 
 multitude, or, to draw their rude and beastly claps, care not whose living 
 faces they intrench with their petulant styles, may they do it without a rival 
 for me! I choose rather to live graved in obscurity, than share with them 
 in so preposterous a fame. Nor can I blame the wishes of those severe and 
 wise patriots, who providing the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a 
 state, desire rather to see fools and devils, and those antique relics of 
 barbarism retrieved, with all other ridiculous and exploded follies, than behold 
 the wounds of private men, of princes and nations ; for, as Horace makes 
 Trebatius speak among these, 
 
 "Sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et odit." 
 And men may justly impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his 
 sports. The increase of which lust in liberty, together with the present trade 
 of the stage, in all their miscelline interludes, what learned or liberal soul 
 doth not already abhor? where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, 
 and with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth 
 of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry, able to 
 violate the ear of a pagan, and blasphemy, to turn the blood of a christian 
 to water. I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my 
 fame, and the reputation of divers honest and learned are the question ; 
 when a name so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark, i^, through 
 their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age ; and those men subject 
 to the petulancy of every vernaculous orator, that were wont to be the care 
 of kings and happiest monarchs. This it is that hath not only rapt me to 
 present indignation, but made me studious heretofore, and by all my actions, 
 to stand oft from them ; which may most appear in this my latest work, 
 which you, most learned Arbitresses, have seen, judged, and to my crown, 
 approved : wherein I have laboured for their instruction and amendment, to 
 reduce not only the ancient forms, but manners of the scene, the easiness, 
 the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the principal 
 
VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 103 
 
 end of poesie, to infuim men in the best reason of living. And though my 
 catastrophe may, in the strict rigour of comic law, meet with censure, as 
 turning back to my promise ; I desire the learned and charitable critic, to 
 have so much faith in me, to think it was done of industry : for, with what 
 ease I could have varied it nearer his scale (but that I fear to boast my own 
 faculty) I could here insert. But my special aim being to put the snaffle in 
 their mouths, that cry out. " We never punish vice in our interludes," &c, I 
 took the more liberty ; though not without some lines of example, drawn 
 even in the ancients themselves, the goings out of whose comedies are not 
 always joyful, but oft times the bawds, the servants, the rivals, yea, and the 
 masters are mulcted ; and fitly, it being the office of a comic poet to imitate 
 j ustice , and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle 
 affections ; to whicfr'Tshall take the occasion elsewhere to speak. 
 
 For the present, most reverend Sisters, as I have cared to be thankful for 
 your affections past, and here made the understanding acquainted with 
 some ground of your favours ; let me not despair their continuance, to the 
 maturing of some worthier fruits ; wherein, if my muses be true to me, I 
 shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out of those 
 rotten and base rags wherewith the times have adulterated her form, restore 
 her to her primitive habit, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to 
 be embraced and kist of all the great and master-spirits of our world. As 
 for the vile and slothful, who never afflicted an act worthy of celebration, or 
 are so inward with their own vicious natures, as they worthily fear her, and 
 think it an high point of policy to keep her in contempt, with their decla- 
 matory and windy invectives ; she shall out of just rage incite her servants 
 (who are genus irritabile) to spout ink in their faces, that shall eat farther 
 than their marrow into their fames ; and not Cinnamus the barber, with his 
 art, shall be able to take out the brands ; but they shall live, and be read, till 
 the wretches die, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then 
 of all mankind. 
 
 From my House in the Black-Friars, 
 this nth day of February, 1607. 
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 Volpone, a Magnifico. 1 Grege {or Mob.) 
 
 Mosca, his Parasite. J Comma.r\dodor\,Oftcers of Justice. 
 Voltore, an Advocate. Mercatori, three Merchants. 
 
 Corbaccio, an old Gentleman.. | Avocatori, four Magistrates. 
 
 Corvino, a Merchant. I Notario, the Register. 
 
 Bonario, son to Corbaccio. I Lady Would-be, Sir Politick' s 
 Sir Politick Would-be, a Knight, 
 Peregrine, a Gentleman Traveller. 
 
 Nano, a Dwarf. 
 Castrone, an Eunuch. 
 Androgyno, an Hermaphrodite. 
 
 SCENE— Venice 
 
 Wife. 
 Celia, Corvino s Wife. 
 
 Servilori, Servants, two Waiting- 
 women, &c, 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 V olpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs, 
 
 O ffers his state to hopes of several heirs, 
 
 L ies languishing ; his parasite receives 
 
 P resents of all, assures, deludes ; then weaves 
 
 O ther cross plots, which ope themselves, are told. 
 
 N ew tricks for safety are sought ; they thrive ; when bold, 
 
 E ach tempts the other again, and all ace sold. 
 
104 
 
 ( 
 
 V0LP0NE; OR, THE FOX. [act t. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Now, luck yet send us, and a little wit 
 
 Will serve to make our play hit ; 
 (According to the palates of the season.) 
 
 Here is rhime, not empty of reason. 
 This we were bid to credit from our poet, 
 
 Whose true scope, if you would know it, 
 In all his poems still hath been this measure, 
 
 To mix profit with your pleasure ; 
 And not as some, whose throats their envy failing, 
 
 Cry hoarsely, All he writes is railing : 
 And when his plays come forth, think they can flout them, 
 
 With saying, he was a year about them. 
 To this there needs no lie, but this his creajure, 
 
 Which was two months since no feature ; 
 And though he dares give them five lives to mend it, 
 
 'Tis known, five weeks fully penn'd it, 
 From his own hand, without a co-adjutor, 
 
 Novice, journey-man, or tutor. 
 Yet thus much I can give you as a token 
 
 Of his play's worth, no eggs are broken, 
 Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted. 
 
 Wherewith your route are so delighted ; 
 Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting, 
 
 To stop gaps in his loose writing ; 
 With such a deal of monstrous and forced action, 
 
 As might make Bethlem a faction : 
 Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table, 
 
 But makes jests to fit his fable ; 
 And so presents quick comedy refined, 
 
 As best critics have designed ; 
 The laws of time, place, persons he observeth, 
 
 From no needful rule he swerve th. 
 All gall and copperas from his ink he draineth, 
 
 Only a little salt remaineth, 
 Wherewith he'll rub your cheeks, till red, with laughter, 
 
 They shall look fresh a week after. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.— A Room in Volpone's House. 
 Enter VOLPONE and MOSCA. 
 
 Volp. Good morning to the day ; and next, my gold ! — 
 Open the shrine, that I may see my saint. 
 
 [Mosca withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles 
 of gold, plate, jewels, &^c. 
 Hail the world's soul, and mine ! more glad than is 
 The teeming earth to see the longed-for sun 
 Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram, 
 Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his ; 
 
scene L] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 105 
 
 That lying here, amongst my other hoards, 
 
 Showest like a flame by night, or like the day 
 
 Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled 
 
 Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol, 
 
 But brighter than thy father, let me kiss, 
 
 With adoration, thee, and every relic 
 
 Of sacred treasure in this blessed room. 
 
 Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name, 
 
 Title that age which they would have the best ; 
 
 Thou being the best of things, and far transcending 
 
 All style of joy, in children, parents, friends, 
 
 Or any other waking dream on earth : 
 
 Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe, 
 
 They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids ; 
 
 Such are thy beauties and our loves ! Dear saint, 
 
 Riches, the dumb god, that givest all men tongues, 
 
 Thou canst do nought, and yet «nakest men do all things ; 
 
 The price of souls ; even hell, with thee to boot, 
 
 Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame, 
 
 Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee, 
 
 He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise ■ 
 
 Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune 
 A greater good than wisdom is in nature. 
 
 Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory 
 More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, 
 Than in the glad possession, since I gain 
 No common way; I use no trade, no venture ; 
 I wound no earth with plough-shares, fat no beasts, 
 To feed the shambles ; have no mills for iron, 
 Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder : 
 I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships 
 To threatenings of the furrow-faced sea ; 
 I turn no monies in the public bank, 
 Nor usure private. 
 
 Mos. No, sir, nor devour 
 Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow 
 A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch 
 Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it ; 
 Tear forth the fathers of poor families 
 Out of their beds, and coffin them alive 
 In some kind clasping prison, where their bones 
 May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten : 
 But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses ; 7 
 *You loathe the widow's or the orphan's tears 
 Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries 
 Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. 
 
 Volp. Right, Mosca ; I do loathe it, 
 
 Mos, And besides, sir, 
 
io6 VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. [act I. 
 
 You are not like the thresher that doth stand 
 With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn, 
 And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain, 
 But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs ; 
 Nor like the merchant, who hath filled his vaults 
 With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines, 
 Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar ; 
 You will lie not in straw, whilst moths and worms 
 Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds ; 
 You know the use of riches, and dare give now 
 From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer, 
 Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite. 
 Your eunuch, or what other household trifle 
 
 Your pleasure allows maintenance 
 
 Volp. Hold thee, Mosca, [Gives him money. 
 
 Take of my hand ; thou strik'st on truth in all, 
 And they are envious term thee parasite. 
 Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool, 
 And let them make me sport. [Exit Mos.] What should I do, 
 But cocker up my genius, and live free 
 To all delights my fortune calls me to ? 
 I have no wife, no parent, child, ally, 
 To give my substance to ; but whom I make 
 Must be my heir : and this makes men observe me : 
 This draws new clients daily to my house, 
 Women and men of every sex and age, 
 That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels, 
 With hope that when I die (which they expect 
 Each greedy minute) it shall then return 
 Tenfold upon them ; whilst some, covetous 
 Above the rest, seek to engross me whole, 
 And counter-work the one unto the other, 
 Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love : 
 All which I suffer, playing with their hopes, 
 And am content to coin them into profit, 
 And look upon their kindness, and take more, 
 And look on that ; still bearing them in hand, 
 Letting the cherry knock against their lips, 
 And draw it by their mouths, and back again, — 
 How now ! 
 
 Re-enter Mosca with Nano, Androgyno, and Castrone. 
 Nan. Now, room for fresh' gamesters, who do will you to know. 
 
 They do bring you neither play nor university show ; 
 And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse, 
 
 May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse. 
 If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass, 
 
 For know, here is inclosed the soul of Pythagoras, 
 
SCENE I.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 107 
 
 That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow ; 
 
 Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo, 
 And was breath'd into ^Ethalides, Mercurius his son, 
 
 Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done. 
 From thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration 
 
 To godly-lock'd Euphorbus, who was killed in good fashion, 
 At the siege of old Troy, by Menelaus of Sparta. 
 
 Hermotimus was next (1 find it in my charta) 
 To whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing 
 
 But with one Pyrrhus of Delos it learn'd to go a fishing ; 
 And thence did it enter the sophist of Greece. 
 
 From Pythagore, she went into a beautiful piece, 
 Hight Aspasia, the meretrix ; and the next toss of her 
 
 Was again of a witch, she became a philosopher, 
 Crates the cynic, as itself doth relate it : 
 
 Since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools 
 gat it, 
 Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock, 
 
 In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobler's cock. 
 But I come not here to discourse of that matter, 
 
 Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, BY QUATER ! 
 His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh, 
 
 Or his telling how elements shift, but I 
 Would ask, how of late thou hast suffered translation, 
 And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. 
 
 And. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see, 
 
 Counting all old doctrine heresie. 
 
 Ncrn. But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured ? 
 A?id. On fish, when first a Carthusian I enter'd. 
 
 Nan. Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee ? 
 And. Of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me. 
 
 Na?i. O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook thee ! 
 For Pythagore's sake, what body then took thee ? 
 
 And. A good dull mule. 
 
 Nan. And how ! by that means 
 
 Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans ? 
 
 And. Yes. 
 
 Nan. But from the mule into whom didst thou pass ? 
 
 And. Into a very strange beast, by some writers call'd an ass ; 
 By others a precise pure, illuminate brother, 
 
 Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another ; 
 And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, 
 
 Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity pie. 
 
 Nan. Now quit thee, for heaven, of that profane nation, 
 And gently report thy next transmigration. 
 
 And. To the same thafr I am. 
 
 Nan. A creature of delight, 
 
 And, what is more than a fool, an hermaph rodite ! 
 
io8 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act I. 
 
 And. No, 'tis your foo l wherewith I am so taken. 
 The only one creature that I can call blessed ; 
 
 For all other forms I have proved most distressed. 
 
 Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still. 
 This learned opinion we celebrate will, 
 Fellow eunuch, as behoves us, with all our wit and art, 
 
 To dignify that whereof ourselves are so great and special 
 a part. 
 
 Volp. Now, very, very pretty. Mosca, this 
 Was thy invention ? 
 
 Mos. If it please my patron, 
 Not else. 
 
 Volp. It doth, good Mosca. 
 
 Mos. Then it was, sir. 
 
 Nano a?id Castrone sing. 
 
 ! Fools, they are the only nation 
 \ Worth men's envy or admiration ; 
 Free from care or sorrow-taking, 
 Selves and others merry making : 
 All they speak or do is sterling, 
 Your fool he is your great man's darling, 
 And your ladies' sport and pleasure ; 
 Tongue and bauble are his treasure. 
 E'en his face begetteth laughter, 
 / And he speaks truth free from slaughter ; 
 He's the grace of every feast, 
 And sometimes the chiefest guest ; 
 Hath his trencher and his stool, 
 When wit waits upon the fool. 
 
 O, who would not be 
 
 He, he, he? [ Knocking without. 
 
 Volp. Who 's that ? Away ! [Exeunt Nano and Castrone.] 
 Look, Mosca. Fool. Begone ! \_Exit ANDROGYNO. 
 
 Mos. 5 Tis Signior Voltore, the advocate ; 
 I know him by his knock. 
 
 Volp. Fetch me my gown, 
 My furs and nightcaps ; say, my couch is changing, 
 And let him entertain himself awhile 
 
 Without i' the gallery. [Exit Mosca.] Now, now, my clients 
 Begin their visitation ! Vulture, kite, 
 Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey, 
 That think me turning carcase, now they come ; 
 I am not for them yet. 
 
 Re-enter MOSCA, with the gown, &>c. 
 How now ! The news ? 
 Mos. A piece of plate, sir. 
 Volp. Of what bigness ? 
 Mos. Huge, 
 
scene I.] VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. 109 
 
 Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed, 
 And arms engraven. 
 
 Volp. Good ! and not a fox 
 Stretched on the earth, with fine delusive sleights, 
 Mocking a gaping crow ? Ha, Mosca ! 
 
 Mos. Sharp, sir. 
 
 Vblp. Give me my furs. \Puts on his sick dressi] Why dost 
 thou laugh so, man ? 
 
 Mos. I cannct choose, sir, when I apprehend 
 What thoughts he has without now, as he walks : 
 That this might be the last gift he should give ; 
 That this would fetch you ; if you died to-day, 
 And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow ; 
 What large return would come of all his ventures ; 
 How he should worshipped be, and reverenced ; 
 Ride with his furs, and foot-cloths ; waited on 
 By herds of fools, and clients ; have clear way 
 Made for his mule, as lettered as himself ; 
 Be called the great and learned advocate : 
 And then concludes, there 's nought impossible. 
 
 Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca. 
 
 Mos. O, no : rich 
 Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple, \ 
 So you can hide his two ambitious ears, 
 And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor. 
 
 Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch him in. 
 
 Mos. Stay, sir ; your ointment for your eyes. 
 
 Volp. That 's true ; 
 Dispatch, dispatch : I long to have possession 
 Of my new present. 
 
 Mos. That, and thousands more, 
 I hope to see you lord of. 
 
 Volp. Thanks, kind Mosca. 
 
 Mos. And that, when I am lost in blended dust, 
 And hundred such as I am, in succession 
 
 Volp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca. 
 
 Mos. You shall live, 
 Still, to delude these harpies. 
 
 Volp. Loving Mosca ! 
 'Tis well : my pillow now, and let him enter. [Exit MOSCA. 
 
 Now, my feigned cough, my phthisic, and my gout, 
 My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs, 
 Help, with your forced functions, this my posture, 
 Wherein, this three year, I have milked their hopes. 
 He comes ; I hear him — Uh ! [coughing^ uh ! uh ! uh ! O— 
 
 Re-enter Mosca, introducing Voltore with apiece of plate. 
 Mos. You still are what you were, sir. Only you, 
 
no VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. [act I. 
 
 Of all the rest, are he commands his love, 
 And you do wisely to preserve it thus, 
 With early visitation and kind notes 
 Of your good meaning to him, which, I know, 
 Cannot but come most grateful. Patron ! sir ! 
 Here's Signior Voltore is come 
 
 Volp. {Faintly '.] What say you ? 
 
 Mos. Sir, Signior Voltore is come this morning 
 To visit you. 
 
 Volp. I thank him. 
 
 Mos. And hath brought 
 A piece of antique plate, bought of St.* Mark, 
 With which he here presents you. 
 
 Volp. He is welcome. 
 Pray him to come more often. 
 
 Mos. Yes. 
 
 Volt. What says he ? 
 
 Mos. He thanks you, and desires you see him often. 
 
 Volp. Mosca. 
 
 Mos. My patron ! 
 
 Volp. Bring him near, where is he ? 
 I long to feel his hand. 
 
 Mos. The plate is here, sir. » 
 
 Volt. How fare you, sir? 
 
 Volp. I thank you, Signior Voltore ; 
 Where is the plate? Mine eyes are bad. 
 
 Volt. {Putting it into his hands.'] I 'm sorry 
 To see you still thus weak. 
 
 Mos. That he's not weaker. {Aside. 
 
 Volp. You are too munificient. 
 
 Volt. No, sir ; would to heaven, 
 I could as well give health to you, as that plate ! 
 
 Volp. You give, sir, what you can : I thank you. Your love 
 Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswered : 
 I pray you see me often. 
 
 Volt. Yes, I shall, sir. 
 
 Volp. Be not far from me. 
 
 Mos. Do you observe that, sir ? 
 
 Volp. Harken unto me still ; it will concern you. 
 
 Mos. You are a happy man, sir ; know your good. 
 
 Volp. I cannot now last long 
 
 Mos. You are his heir, sir. 
 
 Volt. Am I ? 
 
 Volp. I feel me going ; Uh ! uh ! uh ! uh ! 
 I 'm sailing to my port. Uh ! uh ! uh ! uh ! 
 And I am glad I am so near my haven. 
 
 Mos. Alas, kind gentleman ! Well, we must all go— ■ 
 
 Volt. But, Mosca 
 
scene I.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX, in 
 
 Mos. Age will conquer. 
 
 Volt. Tray thee, hear me : 
 Am I inscribed his heir for certain ? \ 
 
 Mos. Are you ! 
 I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe 
 To write me in your family. All my hopes 
 Depend upon your worship : I am lost, 
 Except the rising sun do shine on me. 
 
 Volt. It shall both shine and warm thee, Mosca. 
 
 Mos. Sir, 
 I am a man that hath not done your love 
 All the worst offices ? here I wear your keys, 
 See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd, 
 Keep the poor inventory of your jewels, 
 Your plate and monies ; am your steward, sir, 
 Husband your goods here. 
 
 Volt. But am I sole heir ? 
 
 Mos. Without a partner, sir ; confirmed this morning : 
 The wax 's warm yet, and the ink scarce dry 
 Upon the parchment. 
 
 Volt. Happy, happy, me ! 
 By what good chance, sweet Mosca ? 
 
 Mos. Your desert, sir ; 
 I know no second cause. 
 
 Volt. Thy modesty 
 Is not to know it : well, we shall requite it. 
 
 Mos. He ever liked your course, sir ; that first took him. 
 I oft have heard him say how he admired 
 Men of your large profession, that could speak 
 To every cause, and things mere contraries, 
 Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law ; 
 That, with most quick agility, could turn, 
 And turn and re-turn ; make knots, and undo them ; 
 Give forked counsel ; take provoking gold 
 On either hand, and put it up ; these men, 
 He knew, would thrive with their humility. 
 And for his part he thought he should be blest 
 To have his heir of such a suffering spirit, 
 So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue, 
 And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce 
 Lie still, without a fee ; when every word 
 Your worship but let's fall, is a chequin ! — 
 
 [Knocking without. 
 Who 's that ? one knocks ; I would not have you seen, sir. 
 And yet — pretend you came, and went in haste : 
 I'll fashion an excuse — and, gentle sir, 
 When you do come to swim in golden lard, 
 Up to the arms in honey, that your chin 
 
U2 VO LP ONEj OR, THE FOX. [act I. 
 
 Is borne up stiff with fatness of the flood, 
 Think on your vassal : but remember me : 
 I have not been your worst of clients. 
 
 Volt. Mosca !- 
 
 Mos. When will you have your inventory brought, sir ? 
 
 Or see a copy of the will ? Anon ! — 
 
 I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone, 
 
 Put business in your face. [Exit VOLTORE. 
 
 Volp. [springing iip.~] Excellent Mosca ! 
 Come hither, let me kiss thee. 
 
 Mos. Keep you still, sir. 
 Here is Corbaccio. 
 
 Volp. Set the plate away : 
 The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come ! 
 
 Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep. 
 Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to the rest.] Now, 
 
 shall we see 
 A wretch who is indeed more impotent 
 Than this can feign to be ; yet hopes to hop 
 Over his grave. 
 
 Enter Corbaccio. 
 
 Signior Corbaccio ! 
 You're very welcome, sir. 
 
 Corb. How does your patron ? 
 
 Mos. Troth, as he did, sir ; no amends. 
 
 Corb. What ! mends he ? 
 
 Mos. No, sir : he 's rather worse. 
 
 Corb. That's well. Where is he ? 
 
 Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fallen asleep. 
 
 Corb. Does he sleep well ? 
 
 Mos. No wink, sir, all this night. 
 Nor yesterday ; but slumbers. 
 
 Corb. Good ! he should take 
 Some counsel of physicians : I have brought him 
 An opiate here, from mine own doctor. 
 
 Mos. He will not hear of drugs. 
 
 Carb. Why ? I myself 
 Stood by while it was made, saw all the ingredients : 
 And know it cannot but most gently work : 
 My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. 
 
 Volp. Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it. [Aside. 
 
 Mos. Sir, 
 He has no faith in physic. 
 
 Corb. Say you, say you ? 
 
 Mos. He has no faith in physic : he does think 
 Most of your dor tors are the greater danger, 
 
SCENE I.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 113 
 
 And worse disease to escape. I often have 
 Heard him protest that your physician 
 Should never be his heir. 
 
 Cord. Not I his heir ! 
 
 Mos. Not your physician, sir. 
 
 Cord. O, no, no, no. 
 I do not mean it. 
 
 Mos. No, sir, nor their fees 
 He cannot brook : he says they flay a man, 1 
 Before they kill him. 
 
 Cord. Right, I do conceive you. 
 
 Mos. And then they do it by experiment ; 
 For which the law not only doth absolve them, 
 But gives them great reward : and he is loth 
 To hire his death so. 
 
 Cord. It is true, they kill 
 With as much license as a judge. 
 
 Mos. Nay, more : 
 For he but kills sir, where the law condemns, 
 And these can kill him too. 
 
 Cord. Ay, or me ; 
 Or any man. How does his apoplex? 
 Is that strong on him still ? 
 
 Mos. Most violent. 
 His speech is broken, and his eyes are set, 
 His face drawn longer than 'twas wont 
 
 Cord. How ! how! 
 .Stronger than he was wont ? 
 
 Mos. No, sir : his*" face 
 Drawn longer than 'twas wont. 
 
 Cord. Oh, good ! 
 
 Mos. His mouth 
 Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. 
 
 Cord. Good. 
 
 Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, 
 And makes the colour of his flesh like lead. 
 
 Cord. 'Tis good. 
 
 Mos. His pulse beats slow and dull. 
 
 Cord. Good symptoms still. 
 
 Mos. And from his brain 
 
 Cord. I conceive you ; good. 
 
 Mos. Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum, 
 Forth the resolved corners of his eyes. 
 
 Cord. Is it possible ? Yet I am better, ha ! 
 How does he with the swimming of his head ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, sir, 'tis past the scotomy ; he now 
 Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort ! 
 You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. 
 
iia VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act I. 
 
 Cord. Excellent, excellent ! Sure I shall outlast him : 
 This makes me young again, a score of years. 
 
 Mos. I was a-coming for you, sir. 
 
 Cord. Has he made his will ? 
 What has he given me ? 
 
 Mos. No, sir. 
 
 Cord. Nothing ! ha ? 
 
 Mos. He has not made his will, sir. 
 
 Cord. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here ? 
 
 Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard 
 My master was about his testament ; * 
 As I did urge him to it for your good 
 
 Cord. He came unto him, did he ? I thought so. 
 
 Mos. Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. 
 
 Co?-d. To be his heir ? 
 
 Mos. I do not know, sir. 
 
 Cord. True ? 
 I know it too. 
 
 Mos. By your own scale, sir. [Aside. 
 
 Corb. Well, 
 I shall prevent him yet. See, Mosca, look, 
 Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines, 
 Will quite weigh down his plate. 
 
 Mos. [Taking the dag] Yea, marry, sir. 
 This is true physic, this your sacred medicine ; 
 No talk of opiates, to this great elixir ! 
 
 Cord. 'Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile. 
 
 Mos. It shall be ministered to him, in his bowl, 
 
 Cord. Ay, do, do, do ! 
 . Mos. Most blessed cordial ! 
 This will recover him. 
 
 Cord. Yes, do, do, do ! 
 
 Mos. I think it were not best, sir. 
 
 Cord. What? 
 
 Mos. To recover him. 
 
 Cord. Oh, no, no, no ; by no means. 
 
 Mos. Why, sir, this 
 Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. 
 
 Cord. 'Tis true, therefore forbear ; I '11 take my venture : 
 Give me it again. 
 
 Mos. At no hand ; pardon me : 
 You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I 
 Will so advise you, you shall have it all. 
 
 Cord. How ? 
 
 Mos. All, sir ; 'tis your right, your own : no man 
 Can claim a part : 'tis yours, without a rival, 
 Decreed by destiny. 
 
SCENE I.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 115 
 
 Cord. How, how, good Mosca ? 
 
 Mos. I '11 tell you, sir : this fit he shall recover. 
 
 Cord. I do conceive you. 
 
 Mos, And, on first advantage 
 Of his gained sense, will I re-importune him 
 Unto the making of his testament : 
 And show him this. \ Pointing to tlhe money. 
 
 Cord. Good, good. 
 
 Mos. 'Tis better yet, 
 If you will hear, sir. 
 
 Cord. Yes, with all my heart. 
 
 Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed ; 
 There frame a will ; whereto you shall inscribe 
 My master your sole heir. 
 
 Cord. And disinherit 
 My son ! 
 
 Mos. Oh, sir, the better : for that colour 
 Shall make it much more taking. 
 
 Cord. Oh, but colour ? 
 
 Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me. 
 Now, when I come to enforce, as I will do, 
 Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, 
 Your more than many gifts, your this clay's present, 
 And last, produce your will ; where, without thought, 
 Or least regard, unto yonr proper issue, 
 A son so brave, and highly meriting 
 The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you 
 Upon my master, and made him your heir : 
 He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead, 
 But out of conscience and mere gratitude 
 
 Cord. He must pronounce me his ? 
 
 Mos. 'Tis true. 
 
 Cord. This plot 
 Did I think on before. 
 
 Mos. I do believe it. 
 
 Cord. Do you not believe it? 
 
 Mos. Yes, sir. 
 
 Cord. Mine own project. 
 
 Mos. Which, when he hath done, sir 
 
 Cord. Published me his heir ? 
 
 Mos. And you so certain to survive him 
 
 Cord. Ay. 
 
 Mos. Being so lusty a man ■ 
 
 Cord. 'Tis true. 
 
 Mos. Yes, sir 
 
 Cord. I thought on that too. See how he should be 
 The very organ to express my thoughts. 
 
 Mos. You have not only done yourself a good 
 
n6 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act I. 
 
 Corb. But multiplied it on my son. 
 
 Mos. 'Tis right, sir. 
 
 Co7-b. Still, my invention. 
 
 Mos. 'Las, sir ! heaven knows, 
 It hath been all my study, all my care, 
 (I e'en grow grey withal), how to work things 
 
 Corb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca. 
 
 Mos. You are he 
 For whom I labour here. 
 
 Corb. Ay, do, do, do : 
 I '11 straight about it. {Going. 
 
 Mos. Rook go with you, raven ! 
 
 Corb. I know thee honest. 
 
 Mos. You do lie, sir ! {Aside. 
 
 Corb. And 
 
 Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir. 
 
 Corb. I do not doubt to be a father to thee. 
 
 Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing. 
 
 Corb. I may have my youth restored to me, why not ? 
 
 Mos. Your worship is a precious ass ! 
 
 Corb. What sayest thou ? 
 
 Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. 
 
 Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis done ; I go. {Exit. 
 
 Volp. {Leaping f7'om his couch.'] Oh, I shall burst ! 
 Let out my sides, let out my sides — 
 
 Mos. Contain 
 Your flux of laughter, sir, you know this hope 
 Is such a bait, it covers any hook. 
 
 Volp. Oh, but thy working and thy placing it ! ? > 
 
 I cannot hold ; good rascal let me kiss thee : 
 I never knew thee in so rare a humour. 
 
 Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught ; 
 Follow your grave instructions ; give them words ; 
 Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence. 
 
 Volp. Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment 
 Is avarice to itself ! 
 
 Mos. Ay, with our help, sir. 
 
 Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, 
 So many fears attending on old age, 
 Yea, death so often called on, as no wish 
 Can be more frequent with them, their limbs faint, 
 Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, 
 All dead before them ; yea, their very teeth, 
 Their instruments of eating, failing them : 
 Yet this is reckoned life ! Nay, here was one, 
 Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer ! 
 Feels not his gout, nor palsy ; feigns himself 
 Younger by scores of years, flatters his age 
 
scene I.] VOLP ONE; OR, THE FOX. 117 
 
 With confident belying it, hopes he may, 
 With charms, like ^son, have his youth restored : 
 And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate 
 Would be as easily cheated on, as he, 
 
 And all turns air ! — [Knocking within^ — Who 's that there, 
 now ? a third ! 
 
 Mos. Close, to your couch again ; I hear his voice : 
 It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. 
 
 Voip. {Lies down as before.'} Dead. 
 
 Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. — {Anointing t/iew.] 
 — Who 's there ? 
 
 Enter Corvino. 
 
 Signor Corvino ! come, most wished for ! Oh, 
 How happy were you, if you knew it, now ! 
 
 Corv. Why ? what ? wherein ? 
 
 Mos. The tardy hour is come, sir. 
 
 Corv. He is not dead? 
 
 Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good ; 
 He knows no man. 
 
 Corv. How shall I do then ? 
 
 Mos. Why, sir ? 
 
 Corv. I have brought him here a pearl. 
 
 Mos. Perhaps he has 
 So much remembrance left as to know you, sir ; 
 He still calls on you ; nothing but your name 
 Is in his mouth. Is your pearl orient, sir ? 
 
 Corv. Venice was never owner of the like. 
 
 Volp. {Faintly, .] Signor Corvino ! 
 
 Mos. Hark ! 
 
 Volp, Signor Corvino ! 
 
 Mos. He calls you ; step and give it him. He 's here, sir, 
 And he has brought you a rich pearl. 
 
 Corv. How do you, sir ? 
 Tell him it doubles the twelfth carat. 
 
 Mos. Sir, 
 He cannot understand, his hearing 's gone ; 
 And yet it comforts him to see you 
 
 Corv. Say, 
 I have a diamond for him, too. 
 
 Mos. Best show it, sir ; 
 Put it into his hand ; 'tis only there 
 He apprehends : he has his feeling yet. 
 See how he grasps it ! 
 
 Corv. 'Las, good gentleman ! 
 How pitiful the sight is ! 
 
 Mos. Tut ! forget, sir. 
 
nS VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT I. 
 
 The weeping of anjheir should still be laughter 
 Under a visor. 
 
 Corv. Why, am I his heir ? 
 
 Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will 
 Till he be dead ; but here has been Corbaccio, 
 Here has been Voltore, here were others too, 
 I cannot number 'em, they were so many ; 
 All gaping here for legacies : but I, 
 Taking the 'vantage ot his naming you, 
 Signor Corvino, Signor Corvino, took 
 Paper and pen, and ink, and there I asked him, 
 Whom he would have his heir ? Cot-vino. Who 
 Should be executor ? Corvino. And, 
 To any question he was silent to, 
 I still interpreted the nods he made, 
 
 Through weakness, for consent : and sent home the others, 
 Nothing bequeathed them, but to cry and curse. 
 
 Corv. Oh, my dear Mosca ! — [They embrace?^ — Does he not 
 perceive us ? 
 
 Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man, 
 No face of friend, nor name of any servant, 
 Who 'twas that fed him last, or gave him drink : 
 Not those he hath begotten, or brought up, 
 Can he remember. 
 
 Con>. Has he children ? 
 
 Mos. Bastards, 
 Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, 
 Gipsies, and Jews, and blackmoors, when he was drunk. 
 Knew you not that, sir ? 'tis the common fable. 
 The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his ; 
 He 's the true father of his family, 
 In all, save me : — but he has given them nothing. 
 
 Corv. That ; s well, that 's well ! Art sure he does not hear us ? 
 
 Mos. Sure, sir ! Why, look you, credit your own sense. 
 
 [Shouts in Vol.'s ear. 
 The pox approach, and add to your diseases, 
 If it would send you hence the sooner, sir, 
 For your incontinence, it hath deserved it 
 Thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to boot ! — 
 You may come near, sir. Would you would once close 
 Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime, 
 Like two frog-pits ; and those same hanging cheeks, 
 Covered with hide instead of skin — Nay, help, sir — 
 That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end S 
 
 Cot v. [A/o7id.] Or like an old smoked wall, on which the 
 rain 
 Ran down in streaks ! 
 
 Mos. Excellent, sir ! Speak out : 
 
scene i.'j VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 119 
 
 You may be louder yet ; a culverin 
 Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it. 
 
 Corv. His nose is like a common sewer, still running. 
 
 Mos. ; Tis good ! And what his mouth ? 
 
 Corv. A very draught. 
 
 Mos. Oh, stop it up 
 
 Co7'v. By no means. 
 
 Mos. 'Pray you, let me : 
 Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, 
 As well as any woman that should keep him 1 
 
 Corv. Do as you will ; but I '11 begone. 
 
 Mos. Be so : 
 It is your presence makes him last so long. 
 
 Corv. I pray you, use no violence. 
 
 Mos. No, sir ! Why ? 
 Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir ? 
 
 Corv. Nay, at your discretion. 
 
 Mos. Well, good sir, begone. 
 
 Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl. 
 
 Mos. Puh ! nor your diamond. What a needless care 
 Is this afflicts you ? Is not all here yours ? 
 Am not I here, whom you have made your creature ? 
 That owe my being to you ? 
 
 Corv. Grateful Mo sea ! 
 Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, 
 My partner, and shalt share in all mv fortunes. 
 
 Mos. Excepting one. 
 
 Co; v. What's that? 
 
 Mos. Your gallant wife, sir — {Exit CORV. 
 
 Now is he gone : we had no other means 
 To shoot him hence, but this. 
 
 Volp. My divine Mosca ! 
 Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. [Knocking within^— Who 5 s 
 
 there ? 
 I will be troubled with no more. Prepare 
 Me music, dances, banquet, all delights ; 
 The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures, 
 Than will Volpone. {Exit Mos.] Let me see ; a pearl ! 
 A diamond ! plate ! chequines ! Good morning's purchase 
 Why, this is better than rob churches, yet ; 
 Or fat, by eating, once a month, a man— 
 
 Re-e?iter Mosca. 
 
 Who is 't ? 
 
 Mos. The beauteous Lady Would-be, sir, 
 Wife to the English knight, Sir Politick Would-be 
 (This is the style, sir, is directed me), 
 
i2o VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. [act i. 
 
 Hath sent to know how you have slept to-night. 
 And if you would be visited ? 
 
 Volp. Not now ; 
 Some three hours hence — 
 
 Mos. I told the squire so much. 
 
 Volp. When I am high with mirth and wine ; then, then : 
 'Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour 
 Of the bold English, that they dare let loose 
 Their wives to all encounters ! 
 
 Mos. Sir, this knight 
 Had not his name for nothing, he is politick, 
 And knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs, 
 She hath not set the face to be dishonest : 
 But had she Signor Corvino's wife's face — 
 
 Volp. Has she so rare a face ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, sir, the wonder, 
 The blazing star of Italy ! a wench 
 Of the first year ! a beauty ripe as harvest ! 
 Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over, 
 Than silver, snow, or lilies ! a soft lip, 
 Would tempt you to eternity of kissing ! 
 And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood ! 
 Bright as your gold, and lovely as your gold 
 
 Volp. Why had not I known this before ? 
 
 Mos. Alas, sir, 
 Myself but yesterday discovered it. 
 
 Volp. How might I see her ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, not possible ; 
 She 's kept as warily as is your gold ; 
 Never does come abroad, never takes air 
 But at a window. All her looks are sweet 
 As the first grapes or cherries, and are watched 
 As near as they are. 
 
 Volp. I must see her. 
 
 Mos. Sir, 
 There is a guard of spies ten thick upon her, 
 All his whole household ; each of which is set 
 Upon his fellow, and have all their charge 
 When he goes out, when he comes in, examined. 
 
 Volp. I will go see her, though but at her window. 
 
 Mos. In some disguise, then. 
 
 Volp. That is true ; I must 
 Maintain mine own shape still the same : we '11 think. \Exeimt, 
 
scene I.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I.— St. Mark's Place ; a retired comer before 
 Corvino's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Politick Would-be and Peregrine. 
 
 Sir P. Sir, to a wise man. all the world 's his soil : 
 It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe, 
 That must bound me, if my fates call me forth. 
 Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire 
 Of seeing countries, shifting a religion, 
 Nor any disaffection to the state 
 Where I was bred, and unto which I owe 
 My dearest plots, hath brought me out ; much less, 
 That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed project 
 Of knowing men's minds and manners, with Ulysses I 
 But a peculiar humour of my wife's 
 Laid for this height of Venice, to observe, 
 To quote, to learn the language, and so forth — 
 I hope you travel, sir, with license? 
 
 Per. Yes. 
 
 Sir P. I dare the safelier converse. How long, sir, 
 Since you left England ? 
 
 Per. Seven weeks. 
 
 Sir P. So lately ! 
 You have not been with my Lord Ambassador ? 
 
 Per. Not yet, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate ? 
 I heard last night a most strange thing reported 
 By some of my lord's followers, and I long 
 To hear how 'twill be seconded. 
 
 Per. What was % sir ? 
 
 Sir P. Marry, sir, of a raven that should build 
 In a ship royal of the king's. 
 
 Per. This fellow, 
 Does he gull me, trow ? or is gulled ? [Aside.] Your name, sir 
 
 Sir P. My name is Politick Would-be. 
 
 Per. Oh, that speaks him. — [Aside.'] 
 A knight, sir ! 
 
 Sir P. A poor knight, sir. 
 
 Per. Your lady 
 Lies here in Venice, for intelligence 
 Of tires, and fashions, and. behaviour, 
 Among the courtezans ? the fine Lady Would-be ? 
 
 Sir P. Yes, sir; the spider and the bee oftimes 
 Suck from one flower. 
 
 Per. Good Sir Politick, 
 
122 VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. [act II. 
 
 I cry you mercy ; I have heard much of you : 
 'Tis true, sir, of your raven. 
 
 Sir P. On your knowledge ? 
 
 Per. Yes, and your lion's whelping in the Tower. 
 
 Sir P. Another whelp ! 
 
 Per. Another, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Now heaven ! 
 What prodigies be these ? The fires at Berwick ! 
 And the new star ! these things concurring, strange, 
 And full of omen ! Saw you those meteors ? 
 
 Per. I did, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Pray you, sir, confirm me, 
 Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, 
 As they give out ? 
 
 Per. Six, and a sturgeon, sir. 
 
 Sir P. I am astonished. 
 
 Per. Nay, sir, be not so ; 
 I'll tell you a greater prodigy than these. 
 
 Sir P. What should these things portend ? 
 
 Per. The very day 
 ( Let me be sure) that I put forth from London, 
 There was a whale discover'd in the river, 
 As high as Woolwich, that had waited there, 
 Few know how many months, for the subversion 
 Of the Stode fleet. 
 
 Sir P. Is 't possible? believe it, 
 'Twas either sent from Spain, or the archdukes : 
 Spinola's whale, upon my life, my credit ! 
 Will they not leave these projects ? Worthy sir, 
 Some other news. 
 
 Per. Faith, Stone the fool is dead, 
 And they do lack a tavern fool extremely. 
 
 Sir P. Is Mass Stone dead? 
 
 Per. He's dead, sir ; why, I hope 
 You thought him not immortal ? O, this knight, 
 Were he well known, would be a precious thing 
 To fit our English stage : he that should write 
 But such a fellow, should be thought to feign 
 Extremely, if not maliciously. [Aside. 
 
 Sir P. Stone dead ! 
 
 Per. Dead. Lord ! how deeply, sir, you apprehend it ? 
 He was no kinsman to you ? 
 
 Sir P. That I know of. 
 Well ! that same fellow was an unknown fool. 
 
 Per. Arid yet vou knew him, it seems ? 
 
 Sir P. I did so. Sir, 
 I knew him one of the most dangerous heads 
 Living within the state, and so I held him. 
 
scene I.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 123 
 
 Per. Indeed, sir? 
 
 Sir P. While he lived, in action. 
 He has received weekly intelligence, 
 Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries, 
 For all parts of the world, in cabbages ; 
 And those dispensed again to ambassadors, 
 In oranges, musk melons, apricots, 
 Lemons, pome-citrons, and such like ; sometimes 
 In Colchester oysters, and your Selsey cockles. 
 
 Per. You make me wonder. 
 
 Sir P. Sir, upon my knowledge, 
 Nay, I've observed him, at your public ordinary- 
 Take his advertisement from a traveller, 
 A conceal'd statesman, in a trencher of meat ; 
 And instantly, before the meal was done, 
 Convey an answer in a toothpick. 
 
 Per. Strange ! 
 How could this be, sir ? 
 
 Sir P. Why, the meat was cut 
 So like his character, and so laid, as he 
 Must easily read the cipher. 
 
 Per. I have heard, 
 He could not read, sir. 
 
 Sir P. So 'twas given out, 
 In policy, by those that did employ him ; 
 But he could read, and had your languages, 
 And to 't, as sound a noddle 
 
 Per. I have heard, sir, 
 That your baboons were spies, and that they were 
 A kind of subtle nation near to China. 
 
 Sir P. Ay, ay, your Mamaluchi. Faith, they had 
 Their hand in a French plot or two ; but they 
 Were so extremely given to women, as 
 They made discovery of all : yet I 
 Had my advices here, on Wednesday last. 
 From one of their own coat, they were returned, 
 Made their relations, as the fashion is, 
 And now stand fair for fresh employment. 
 
 Per. Heart ! 
 This Sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing. \ Aside. 
 
 It seems, sir, you know all. 
 
 Sir P. Not all, sir, but 
 I have some general notions. I do love 
 To note and to observe : though I live out, 
 Free from the active torrent, yet I'd mark 
 The currents and the passages of things. 
 For mine own private use ; and know the ebbs 
 And flows of state. 
 
124 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT II. 
 
 Per. Believe it, sir, I hold 
 Myself in no small tie unto my fortunes, 
 For casting me thus luckily upon you, 
 Whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it, 
 May do me great assistance, in instruction 
 For my behaviour, and my bearing, which 
 Is yet so rude and raw. 
 
 Sir P. Why, came you forth 
 Empty of rules for travel ? 
 
 Per. Faith, I had 
 Some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar, 
 Which he that cried Italian to me, 'taught me. 
 
 Sir P. Why this it is that spoils all our brave bloods, 
 Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants, 
 Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem 
 To he a gentleman, of ingenuous race : — 
 I not profess it, but my fate hath been 
 To be, where I have been consulted with, 
 In this high kind, touching some great men's sons, 
 Persons of blood and honour. 
 
 Enter MOSCA a?id Nano disguised, followed by persons with 
 materials for erecting a Stage. 
 
 Per. Who be these, sir ? 
 
 Mos. Under that window, there 't must be. The same. 
 
 Sir P. Fellows, to mount a bank. Did your instructor 
 In the clear tongues, never discourse to you 
 Of the Italian mountebanks ? 
 
 Per. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Why, 
 Here you shall see one. 
 
 Per. They are quacksalvers ; 
 Fellows, that live by venting oils and drugs. 
 
 Sir P. Was that the character he gave you of them ? 
 
 Per. As I remember. 
 
 Sir P. Pity his ignorance. 
 They are the only knowing men of Europe ! 
 Great general scholars, excellent physicians, 
 Most admired statesmen, professed favourites, 
 And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes ; 
 The only languaged men of all the world ! 
 
 Per. And, I have heard, they are most kvvd impostors ; 
 Made of all terms and shreds ; no less beliers 
 Of great men's favours, than their own vile med'cines ; 
 Which they will utter upon monstrous oaths : 
 Selling that drug for twopence, ere they part, 
 Which they have valued at twelve crowns before. 
 
scene I.] VOLPONE; OK, THE FOX. 125 
 
 Sir P. Sir, calumnies are answered best with silence. 
 Yourself shall judge. Who is it mounts my friends ? 
 
 Mos. Scoto of Mantua, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Is 't he ? Nay, then 
 I'll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold 
 Another man that has been fant'sied to you. 
 I wonder yet, that he should mount his bank, 
 Here in this nook, that has been wont t' appear 
 In face of the Piazza ! — Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Volpone, disguised as a mountebank Doctor, and 
 followed by a crowd of people. 
 
 Volp. Mount, zany. {To NANO.J 
 
 Mob. Follow, follow, follow, follow ! 
 
 Sir P. See how the people follow him ! He 's a man 
 May write ten thousand crowns in bank here. Note, 
 
 [Volpone mounts the stage. 
 Mark but his gesture : — I do use to observe 
 The state he keeps in getting up. 
 
 Per. 'Tis worth it, sir. 
 
 Volp. Most noble gentlemen, and my worthy patrons ! It 
 may seem strange that I, your Scoto Mantuano, who was ever 
 wont to fix my bank in face of the public Piazza, near the shelter 
 of the Portico to the Procuratia, should now, after eight months' 
 absence from this illustrious city of Venice, humbly retire myself 
 into an obscure nook of the Piazza. 
 
 Sir P. Did not I now object the same ? 
 
 Per. Peace, sir. 
 
 Volp. Let me tell you : I am not, as your Lombard proverb 
 saith, cold on my feet ; or content to part with my commodities 
 at a cheaper rate than I accustomed : look not for it. Nor that 
 the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor and shame to 
 our profession (Alessandro Buttone, 1 mean), who gave out in 
 public I was condemned a sforzato to the galleys, for poisoning 
 
 the Cardinal Bembo's cook, hath at all attached, much less 
 
 dejected me. No, no, worthy gentlemen ; to tell you true, I 
 cannot endure to see the rabble of these ground ciarlitani, tru\t 
 spread their cloaks on the pavement, as if they meant to do feats 
 of activity, and then come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out 
 of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the fabulist : some of them dis- 
 coursing their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the Turks 
 galleys, when, indeed, were the truth known, they were the Chris- 
 tians galleys, where very temperately they ate bread and drunk 
 water, as a wholesome penance, enjoined them by their confessors, 
 for base pilferies. 
 
 Sir P. Note but his bearing, and contempt of these. 
 
 Volp. These dirty -facy- nasty -paty rogues, with one paor 
 groat's-worth of unprepared antimony, finely wrapped up in 
 
126 VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. [act ii. 
 
 severals cartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a 
 week, and play ; yet these meagre, starved spirits, who have 
 half stopped the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, 
 want not their favourers among your shrivelled salad-eating 
 artisans, who are overjoyed that they may have their ha'porth of 
 physic ; though it purge them into another world, it makes no 
 matter. 
 
 Sir P. Excellent ! Have you heard better language, sir ? 
 
 Volp. Well, let them go. And, gentlemen, honourable gentle- 
 men, know that for this time our bank, being thus removed from 
 the clamours of the canaglia, shall be the scene of pleasure and 
 delight ; for I have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell. 
 
 Sir P. I told you, sir, his end. 
 
 Per. You did so, sir. 
 
 Volp. I protest, I and my six servants, are not able to make 
 of this precious liquor, so fast as it is fetched away from my 
 lodging by gentlemen of your city, strangers of the Terra-firma, 
 worshipful merchants ; ay, and senators too ; who, ever since 
 my arrival, have detained me to their uses, by their splendidous 
 liberalities. And worthily, for what avails your rich man to 
 have his magazines stuffed with moscadelli, or of the purest grape, 
 when his physicians prescribe him, on pain of death, to drink 
 nothing but water cocted with aniseeds ? Oh, health, health ! 
 the blessing of the rich ! the riches of the poor ! who can buy 
 thee at too dear a rate, since there is no enjoying this world 
 without thee ? Be not then so sparing of your purses, honour- 
 able gentlemen, as to abridge the natural course of life— 
 
 Per. You see his end. 
 
 Sir P. Ay, is 't not good ? 
 
 Volp. For when a humid flux or catarrh, by the mutability of 
 air, falls from your head into an arm or shoulder, or any other 
 part, take you a ducat, or your chequin of gold, and apply to the 
 place affected : see what good effect it can work. No, no ; 'tis 
 this blessed unguenta, this rare extraction, that hath only power 
 to disperse ull malignant humours, that proceed either of hot 
 cold, moist, or windy causes 
 
 Per. I would he had put in dry too. 
 
 Sir P. 'Pray you, observe. 
 
 Volp. To fortify the most indigest and crude stomach, ay, were 
 it of one that, through extreme weakness, vomited blood, applying 
 only a warm napkin to the place, after the unction and fricace — 
 for the vertegine in the head, putting but a drop into your 
 nostrils, likewise behind the ears— a most sovereign and ap- 
 proved remedy : the mal caduco, cramps, convulsions, paralysies, 
 epilepsies, tremor-cordia, retired nerves, ill vapours of the spleen, 
 stopping of the liver, the stone, the strangury, hernia ventosa, 
 iliaca passio ; stops a dysenteria immediately ; easeth the torsion 
 of the small guts ; and cures melancholia hypondriaca, being 
 
scene i.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 127 
 
 taken and applied according to my printed receipt. \P0i11ting to 
 his bill a?id his 7'ial.] For this is the physician, this the medi- 
 cine ; this counsels, this cures ; this gives the direction, this 
 works the effect ; and, in sum, both together may be termed an 
 abstract of the theorick and practick in the ./Esculapian art. 
 Twill cost you eight crowns. And — Zan Fritada, prithee sing a 
 verse extempore in honour of it. 
 
 Sir P. How do you like him, sir? 
 
 Per. Most strangely, I ! 
 
 Sir P. Is not his language rare ? 
 
 Per. But alchemy, 
 I never heard the like ; or Broughton's books. 
 
 Nano sings. 
 
 Had old Hippocrates, or Galen, 
 
 That to their books put med'cines all in, 
 
 But known this secret, they had never 
 
 (Of which they will be guilty ever) 
 
 Been murderers of so much paper, 
 
 Or wasted many a hurtless taper ; 
 
 No Indian drug had e'er been famed, 
 
 Tobacco, sassafras not named ; 
 
 Ne, yet, of guiacum one small stick, sir, 
 
 Nor Raymund Lully's great elixir. 
 
 Ne had been known the Danish Gonswort, 
 
 Or Paracelsus, with his long sword. 
 
 Per. All this, yet, will not do ; eight crowns is high. 
 
 Volp. No more. Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to 
 you the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnamed Oglio del 
 Scoto ; with the countless catalogue of those I have cured of 
 the aforesaid and many more diseases : the patents and 
 privileges of all the princes and commonwealths of Christendom ; 
 or but the depositions of those that appeared on my part before 
 the signiary of the Sanita and most learned College of 
 Physicians ; where I was authorized, upon notice taken of the 
 admirable virtues sf my medicaments, and mine own excellency 
 in matter of rare and unknown secrets, not only to disperse them 
 puhlicly in this famous city, but in all the territories, that 
 happily joy under the government of the most pious and 
 magnificent states of Italy. But may some other gallant fellow 
 say, oh, there be divers that make profession to have as good 
 and as experimented receipts as yours ; indeed, very many have 
 assayed, like apes, in imitation of that, which is really and 
 essentially in me, to make of this oil ; bestowed great cost in 
 furnaces, stills, alembecks, continued fires, and preparation of 
 the ingredients (as indeed there goes to it six hundred several 
 simples, besides some quantity of human fat for the conglutina- 
 tion, which we buy of the anatomists), but when these 
 practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, 
 
128 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act ii. 
 
 and all flies in fumo : ha, ha, ha ! Poor wretches ! I rather 
 pity their folly and indiscretion, than their loss of time and 
 money ; for these may be recovered by industry : but to be a 
 fool born is a disease incurable. 
 
 For myself, I always from my youth have endeavoured to get 
 the rarest secrets, and book them either in exchange or for 
 money ? I spared not cost nor labour where anything was worthy 
 to be learned. And, gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, I will 
 undertake, by viitue of chemical art, out of the honourable hat. 
 that covers your head, to extract the four elements ; that is to 
 say, the fire, air, water and earth, and return you your felt with- 
 out burn or stain. For, whilst others have been at the Balloo, 
 I have been at my book ; and am now past the craggy paths of 
 study, and come to the flowery plains of honour and reputation. 
 
 Sit P. I do assure you, sir, that is his aim. 
 
 Volp. But to our price 
 
 Per. And that withal, Sir Pol. 
 
 Volp. You all know, honourable gentlemen, I never valued 
 this ampulla, or vial, at less than eight crowns ; but for this 
 time I am content to be deprived of it for six : six crowns is the 
 price, and less in courtesy I know you cannot offer me ; take it 
 or leave it, howsoever, both it and I am at your service. I ask 
 you not as the value of the thing, for then I should demand of 
 you a thousand crowns, so the Cardinals Mentalto, Fernese, the 
 great Duke of Tuscany, my gossip with divers other Princes 
 have given me, but I despise money. Only to show my affection 
 to you, honourable gentlemen, and yonr illustrious State here, I 
 have neglected the messages of these Princes, mine own offices, 
 framed my journey hither only to present you with the fruits of 
 my travels. — Tune your voices once more to the touch of your 
 instruments, and give the honourable assembly some delightful 
 recreation. 
 
 Per. What monstrous and most painful circumstance 
 Is here, to get some three or four gazettes, 
 Some three-pence in the whole ! for that 'twill come to. 
 
 Nano sings. 
 
 You that would last long, list to ray song, 
 Make no more coil, but buy of this oil, 
 Would you be ever fair and young ? 
 Stout of teeth, and strong of tongue ? 
 Tart of palate ? quick of ear ? 
 Sharp of sight? of nostril clear ? 
 Moist of hand? and light of foot? 
 Or, I will come nearer to 't, 
 Would you live free from all diseases? 
 Live the life that ever pleases, 
 « Yet fright all aches from your bones ? 
 
 Here's a med'cine for the nones. 
 
iiCENEL] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 129 
 
 Voip. Well, I am in a humour at this time to make a present 
 of the small quantity my coffer contains, to the rich in courtesy, 
 and to the poor for God's sake. Wherefore now mark : I asked 
 you six crowns, and six crowns at other times you have paid me; 
 you shall not give me six crowns, nor five, nor four, nor three, 
 nor two, nor one, nor half a ducat ; no, nor a moccinigo. Six- 
 pence it will cost you, or six hundred pounds expect no lower 
 
 price, for, by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine, — ■ 
 that I will have only a pledge of your loves, to carry something 
 from amongst you, to show I am not condemned by you. 
 Therefore now toss your handkerchiefs cheerfully, cheerfully, 
 and be advertized that the first heroic spirit that deigns to grace 
 me with an handkerchief, I will give it a little remembrance of 
 something beside, shall please it better than if I had presented 
 it with a double pistolet. 
 
 Per. Will you be that heroic spark, Sir Pol ? 
 [Celia, at a window above, throws down her handkerchief.] 
 Oh, see ! the window has prevented you. 
 
 Volp. Lady, I kiss your bounty, and for this timely grace you 
 have done your poor Scoto, of Mantua, I will return you, over 
 and above my oil, a secret of that high and inestimable nature, 
 shall make you for ever enamoured on that minute, wherein your 
 eye first descended on so mean, yet not altogether to be despised, 
 an object. Here is a powder concealed in this paper, of which, 
 if I should speak to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but 
 as one page, that page as a line, that line as a word ; so short is 
 this pilgrimage of man (which some call life) to the expression of 
 it. Would I reflect on the price? Why the whole world is but 
 as an empire, that empire as a province, that province as a bank, 
 that bank as a private purse to the purchase of it. I will only 
 tell you it is the powder that made Venus a goddess, (given her 
 by Apollo,) that kept her perpetually young, cleared her wrinkles, 
 firmed her gums, filled her skin, coloured her hair, from her 
 derived to Helen, and at the sack of Troy unfortunately lost : 
 till now, in this our age, it was as happily recovered, by a 
 studious antiquary, out of some ruins of Asia, who sent a moiety 
 of it to the Court of France (but much sophisticated,), wherewith 
 the ladies there now colour their hair. The rest, at this present, 
 remains with me ; extracted to a quintessence : so that, where- 
 ever it but touches in youth it perpetually preserves, in age 
 restores the complexion ; seats your teeth, did they dance like 
 virginal jacks, firm as a wall ; makes them white as ivory, that 
 were black as ■ 
 
 Enter Corvino. 
 
 Cor. Spight o' the devil, and my shame ! come down here ; 
 Come down. No house but mine to make your scene ? 
 Signor Flaminio, will you down, sir? down ? 
 
 E 
 
i 3 o VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act II. 
 
 What, is my wife your Franciscina, sir ? 
 
 No windows on the whole piazza, here, 
 
 To make your properties but mine ? but mine ? 
 
 [Beats away Volpone, NANO, &*c. 
 Heart ! ere to-morrow I shall be new-christened, 
 And call'd the Pantalone di Besogniosi, 
 About the town. 
 
 Per. What should this mean, Sir Pol? 
 
 Sir P. Some trick of state, believe it ; 1 will home. 
 
 Per. It may be some design on you. 
 
 Sir P. I know not ; 
 I '11 stand upon my guard. 
 
 Per. It is your best, sir. 
 
 Sir P. This three weeks, all my advices, all my letters, 
 They have been intercepted. 
 
 Per. Indeed, sir ! 
 Best have a care. 
 
 Sir P. Nay, so I will. 
 
 Per. This knight, 
 I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 11.— A Room in Volpone's House. 
 Enter VOLrONE and MOSCA. 
 
 Volp. O, I am wounded ! 
 
 Mos. Where, sir ? 
 
 Volp. Not without ; 
 Those blows were nothing : I could bear them ever. 
 But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes, 
 Hath shot himself into me like a flame ; 
 Where, now, he flings about his burning heat, 
 As in a furnace an ambitious fire. 
 Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within me. 
 I cannot live, except thou help me, Mosca ; 
 s My liver melts, and I, without the hope 
 Of some soft air, from her refreshing breath, 
 Am but a heap of cinders. 
 
 Mos. 'Las, good sir, 
 Would you had never seen her ! 
 
 Vaip. Nay, would thou 
 Had' st never told me of her ! 
 
 Mos. Sir, 'tis true ; 
 I do confess I was unfortunate, 
 And you unhappy : but I'm bound in conscience, 
 No less than duty, to effect my best 
 To your release of torment, and I will, sir. 
 
 V&lp. Dear Mosca, shall I hope ? 
 
 Mos, Sir, more than dear, 
 
SCENE iil] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 131 
 
 I will not bid you to despair of aught 
 Within a human compass. 
 
 Volp. Oh, there spoke 
 My better angel. Mosca, take my keys, 
 Gold, plate, and jewels, all 's at thy devotion ; 
 Employ them how thou wilt ; nay, coin me, too ; 
 So thou, in this,but crown my longings, Mosca. 
 
 Mos. Use but your patience. 
 
 Volp. So I have. 
 
 M os. I doubt not 
 To bring success to your desires. 
 
 Volp. Nay, then, 
 I not repent me of my late disguise. 
 
 Mos. If you can horn him, sir, you need not. 
 
 Volp. True : 
 Besides, I never meant him for my heir. 
 Is not the colour of my beard and eyebrows 
 To make me known ? 
 
 Mos. No jot. 
 
 Volp. I did it well. 
 
 Mos. So well, would I could follow you in mine, 
 With half the happiness ! — and yet I would 
 Escape your epilogue. [Aside. 
 
 Volp. But were they gulled 
 With a belief that I was Scoto ? 
 
 Mos. Sir, 
 Scoto himself could hardly have distinguished ! 
 I have not time to flatter you now ; we '11 part ; 
 And as I prosper, so applaud my art. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in Corvino's House. 
 
 Enter Corvino, with his sword in his hand, dragging in CELIA. 
 
 Cor:'. Death of mine honour, with the city's fool ! 
 A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank ! 
 And at a public window ! where, whilst he, 
 With his strained action, and his dole of faces, 
 To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, 
 A crew of old, unmarried, noted letchers, 
 Stood leering up like satyrs ; and you smile 
 Most graciously, and fan your favours forth, 
 To give your hot spectators satisfaction ! 
 What, was your mountebank their call ? Their whistle ? 
 Or were you enamoured on his copper rings, 
 His saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in 't, 
 Or his embroidered suit, with the cope-stitch, 
 Made of a horse-cloth ? Or his old tilt-feather ? 
 
 E2 
 
1 32 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT It 
 
 Or his starched beard ? Well, you shall have him, yes ! 
 
 He shall come home to you. Or, let me see, 
 
 I think you'd rather mount ; would you not mount ? 
 
 Why, if you'll mount, you may ; yes, truly you may ! 
 
 And so you may be seen, down to the foot. 
 
 Get you a cittern, lady Vanity, 
 
 And be a dealer with the virtuous man ; 
 
 Make one : I '11 but protest myself a cuckold, 
 
 And save your dowry. I 'm a Dutchman, I ! 
 
 For, if you thought me an Italian, 
 
 You would be damned, ere you did .this, you would ! 
 
 Thou 'dst tremble to imagine, that the murder 
 
 Of a father, mother, brother, all thy race, 
 
 Should follow, as the subject of nny justice. 
 
 Cel. Good, sir, have patience. 
 
 Corv. What couldst thou propose 
 Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath, 
 And, stung with my dishonour, I should strike 
 This steel into thee, with as many stabs, 
 As thou wert gazed upon with goatish eyes ? 
 
 Cel. Alas, sir, be appeased ! I could not think 
 My being at the window should more now 
 Move your impatience than at other times. 
 
 Corv. No ! not to seek and entertain a parley 
 With a known knave, before a multitude ! 
 You were an actor with your handkerchief, 
 Which he most sweetly kissed in the receipt, 
 And might, no doubt, return it with a letter, 
 And point the place where you might meet ; your sister's, 
 Y'our mother's, or your aunt's might serve the turn. 
 
 Cel. Why, dear sir, when do I make these excuses. 
 Or ever stir abroad, but to the church ? 
 And that so seldom 
 
 Corv. Well, it shall be less ; 
 And thy restraint before was liberty 
 To what I. now decree : and therefore mark me. 
 First, I will have this wicked light damned up ; 
 And till 't be done, some two or three yards off 
 I '11 chalk a line : o'er which if thou but chance 
 To set thy desperate foot, more hell, more horror, 
 More wild remorseless rage shall seize on thee, 
 Than on a conjurer that had heedless left 
 His circle's safety ere his devil was laid. 
 Then here 's a lock whieh I will hang upon thee, 
 , And, now I think on 't, I will keep thee backwards ; 
 Thy lodging shall be backwards ; thy walks backwards ; 
 Thy prospect all be backwards ; and no pleasure, 
 That thou shalt know but backwards ; nay, since you force 
 
scene in.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 133 
 
 My honest nature, know it is your own, 
 
 Being too open makes me use you thus : 
 
 Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils 
 
 In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air 
 
 Of rank and sweaty passengers. [Knocking withm7[ — One 
 
 knocks. 
 Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life ; 
 
 Nor look toward the window : if thou dost 
 
 Nay, stay, hear this — let me not prosper, woman, 
 But I will make thee an anatomy, 
 Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture 
 Upon thee to the city, and in public. 
 
 Away !— {Exit Celia. 
 
 EnferfyEKVANT, 
 Who 's there ? 
 Serv. Tis Signor Mosca, sir. 
 
 Corv. Let him come in. [Exit Serv.] His master 's dead : 
 there 's yet 
 Some good to help the bad. — 
 
 Enter MOSCA. 
 
 My Mosca, welcome ! 
 I guess your news. 
 
 Mos. I fear you cannot, sir. 
 
 Corv. Is 't not his death ? 
 
 Mos. Rather the contrary. 
 
 Corv. Not his recovery ? 
 
 Mos. Yes, sir. 
 
 Corv. I am cursed, 
 I an bewitched, my crosses meet to vex me. 
 How? how? how? how? 
 
 Mos. Why, sir, with Scoto's oil ; 
 Corbaccio and Voltore brought of it, 
 Whilst I was busy in an inner room 
 
 Co? v. Death ! that damned mountebank ; but for the law 
 Now, I could kill the rascal : it cannot be 
 His oils should have that virtue. Have not I 
 Known him a common rogue, come fidling in 
 To the osteria with a tumbling girl, 
 And, when he has done all his forced tricks, been glad 
 Of a poor spoonful of dead wine with flies in 't ? 
 It cannot be. All his ingredients 
 Are a sheep's gall, a roasted bitch's marrow, 
 Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars, 
 A little capon's grease, and fasting spittle : 
 I know them to a dram. 
 
 Mos. I know not, sir ; 
 But some on 't there, they poured into his ears, 
 
134 VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. [act II. 
 
 Some in his nostrils, and recovered him ; 
 Applying but the fricace. 
 Corv. Plague o' that fricace ! 
 
 Mos. And since, to seem the more officious 
 And flattering of his health, there they have had 
 At extreme fees, the college of physicians 
 Consulting on him, how they might restore him ; 
 Where one would have a cataplasm of spices, 
 Another a flayed ape clapped to his breast, 
 A third wouid have it a dog, a fourth an oil, 
 With wild cats' skins : at last they all resolved 
 That to preserve him was no other means 
 But some young woman must be straight sought out, 
 Lusty, and full of juice to sleep by him; 
 And to this service, most unhappily, 
 And most unwillingly am I now employed, 
 Which here I thought to pre- acquaint you with, 
 For your advice, since it concerns you most ; 
 Because I would not do that thing might cross 
 Your ends, on whom I have my sole dependence, sir : 
 Yet, if I do it not, they may delate 
 My slackness to my patron, work me out 
 Of his opinion ; and there all your hopes. 
 Ventures, or whatsoever, are all frustrate ! 
 I do but tell you, sir. Besides, they are all 
 Now striving who shall first present him ; therefore — 
 I could entreat you, briefly, conclude somewhat ; 
 Prevent them if you can. 
 
 Corv. Death to my hopes, 
 This is my villainous fortune ! Best to hire 
 Some common courtezan. 
 
 Mos. Ay, I thought on that, sir ; 
 But they are all so subtle, full of art — 
 And age again doting and flexible, 
 So as — I cannot tell — we may, perchance, 
 Light on a quean may cheat us all. 
 
 Corv. 'Tis true. 
 
 Mos. _ No, no : it must be one that has no tricks, sir, 
 Some simple thing, a creature made unto it ; 
 Some girl you may command. Have you no kinswoman ? 
 Odso — Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir. 
 One o' the doctors offered there his daughter. 
 
 Corv. How ! 
 
 Mos. Yes, Signor Lupo, the physician. 
 
 Catv. His daughter ! 
 
 Mos. And a virgin, sir. Why, alas, 
 He knows the state of 's body, what it is ; 
 That nought can warm his blood, sir, but a fever ; 
 
scene ill.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 135 
 
 Nor any incantation raise his spirit ; 
 
 A long forgetfulness hath seized that part. 
 
 Besides, sir, who shall know it ? some one or two 
 
 Co rv. I pray thee give me leave. [ Walks aside.'] If any man 
 But I had had this luck — The thing in ; t self, 
 I know, is nothing — Wherefore should not I 
 As well command my blood and my affections 
 As this dull doctor ? In the point of honour 
 The cases are all one of wife and daughter. 
 
 Mos. I hear him coming. [Aside. 
 
 Corv. She shall do 't : 'tis done. 
 Slight ! if this doctor, who is not engaged, 
 Unless 't be for his counsel, which is nothing, 
 Offer his daughter, what should I, that am 
 So deeply in ? I will prevent him : Wretch ! 
 Covetous wretch ! Mosca, I have determined. 
 
 Mos. How, sir? 
 
 Corv. We ; 11 make all sure. The party you wot of 
 Shall be mine own wife, Mosca. 
 
 Mos. Sir, the thing, 
 But that I would not seem to counsel you, 
 I should have motioned to you, at the first : 
 And make your count, you have cut all their throats, 
 Why, 'tis directly taking a possession ! 
 And in his next fit we may let him go. 
 'Tis but to pull the pillow from his head, 
 And he is throttled : it had been done before, 
 But for your scrupulous doubts. 
 
 Corv. Ay, a plague on't, 
 My conscience fools my wit ! Well, I '11 be brief, 
 And so be thou, lest they should be before us : 
 Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal 
 And willingness I do it ; swear it was 
 On the first hearing, as thou may 'st do, truly, 
 Mine oftn free motion. 
 
 Mos. Sir, I warrant you, 
 I '11 so possess him with it, that the rest 
 Of his starved clients shall be banished all ; 
 And only you received. But come not, sir, 
 Until I send, for I have something else 
 To ripen for your good, you must not know 't. 
 
 Corv. But do not you forget to send now. 
 
 Mos. Fear not. [Exit. 
 
 Corv. Where are you, wife? My Celia! Wife ! 
 
 Re-enter Celia. 
 What ! blubbering ? 
 Come, dry those tears. 1 think thou thoughtst me in earnest 
 
i 3 6 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act in. 
 
 Ha ! by this light I talked so but to try thee ; 
 
 Methinks the lightness of the occasion 
 
 Should have confirmed thee. Come, I am not jealous. 
 
 Cel. No ! 
 
 Corv. Faith, I am not; I, nor never was ; 
 It is a poor unprofitable humour. 
 Do not I know, if women have a will, 
 They '11 do 'gainst all the watches of the world, 
 And that the fiercest spies are tamed with gold ? 
 Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't ; 
 And see, I '11 give the cause, too, to believe it. 
 Come, kiss me. Go, and make thee ready,, straight, 
 In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels, 
 Put them all on, and, with them, thy best looks : 
 We are invited to a solemn feast, 
 At old Volpone's, where it shall appear 
 How far I am free from jealousy or fear. [Exeunt, 
 
 -ACT III, 
 
 Scene I.— A Street. 
 
 Enter MOSCA. 
 
 Mos. I fear I shall begin to grow in love 
 With my dear self, and my most prosperous parts, 
 They do so spring and burgeon ; I can feel 
 A whimsy in my blood : I know not how, 
 Success hath made me wanton. I could skip 
 Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake, 
 I am so limber. Oh ! your parasite 
 Is a most precious thing, dropt from above, 
 Not bred'mongst clods and clodpoles, here on earth. 
 I muse, the mystery was not made a science, 
 It is so liberally professed ! Almost 
 All the wise world is little else, in nature, 
 But parasites or sub-parasites. And yet, 
 I mean not those that have your bare town-art, 
 To know who 's fit to feed them ; have no house, 
 No family, no care, and therefore mould 
 Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense ; or get 
 Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts 
 To please the belly and the groin ; nor those, 
 With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and fleer, 
 Make their revenue out of legs and faces, 
 Echo my lord, and lick away a moth : 
 But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise, 
 And stoop, almost together, like an arrow ; 
 
SCENE I.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 137 
 
 Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star ; 
 Turn short as doth a swallow ; and be here, 
 And there, and here, and yonder, all at once ; 
 Present to any humour, all occasion ; 
 And change a visor, swifter than a thought ! 
 This is the creature had the art born with him ; 
 Toils not to learn it, but doth practice it 
 Out of most excellent nature : and such sparks 
 Are the true parasites others but their zanis. 
 
 Enter Bonario. 
 Who 's this ? Bonario, old Corbaccio's son ? 
 The person I was bound to seek. Fair sir, 
 You are happily met. 
 
 Bon. That cannot be by thee. 
 
 Mos. Why, sir ? 
 
 Bon. Nay, pray thee, know thy way, and leave me : 
 I would be loth to interchange discourse 
 With such a mate as thou art. 
 
 Mos. Courteous sir, 
 Scorn not my poverty. 
 
 Bon. Not I, by heaven ; 
 But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness. 
 
 Mos. Baseness ! 
 
 Bon. Ay ; answer me, is not thy sloth 
 Sufficient argument ? thy flattery ? 
 Thy means of feeding ? 
 
 Mos. Heaven be good to me ! 
 These imputations are too common, sir, 
 And easily stuck on virtue when she 's poor. 
 You are unequal to me, and however 
 Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not 
 That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure : 
 St. Mark bear witness against you, 'tis inhuman. \JVeeps. 
 
 Bon. What ! does he weep ? the sign is soft and good : 
 I do repent me that I was so harsh. [Aside. 
 
 Mos. 'Tis true, that, swayed by strong necessity, 
 I am enforced to eat my careful bread 
 With too much obsequy ; 'tis true, beside, 
 That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment 
 Out of my mere observance, being not born 
 To a free fortune : but that I have done 
 Base offices, in rending friends asunder, 
 Dividing families, betraying counsels, 
 Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises, 
 Trained their credulity with perjuries, 
 Corrupted Ghastity, or am in love 
 With mine own tender ease, but would not rather 
 
138 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act ill. 
 
 Prove the most rugged and laborious course, 
 That might redeem my present estimation, 
 Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness. 
 
 Bon. This cannot be a personated passion. [Aside. 
 
 I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature ; 
 Prithee, forgive me : and speak out thy business. 
 
 Mos. Sir, it concerns you ; and though I may seem, 
 At first to make a main offence in manners, 
 And in my gratitude unto my master ; 
 Yet, for the pure love, which I bear all right, 
 And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it. 
 This very hour your father is in purpose 
 To disinherit you 
 
 Bon. How! 
 
 Mos. And thrust you forth, 
 As a mere stranger to his blood ; ; tis true, sir, 
 The work no way engage th me, but, as 
 I claim an interest in the general state 
 Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear 
 To abound in you : and, for which mere respect 
 Without a second aim, sir, I have done it. 
 
 Bon. This tale hath lost thee much of the late trust 
 Thou hadst with me ; it is impossible ; 
 I know not how to lend it any thought, 
 My father should be so unnatural. 
 
 Mos. It is a confidence that well becomes, 
 Your piety ; and form'd, no doubt, it is 
 From your own simple innocence : which makes 
 Your wrong monstrous and abhorr'd. But, sir, 
 I now will tell you more. This very minute, 
 It is, or will be doing ; and, if you 
 Shall be but pleased to go with me, I'll bring you, 
 I dare not say where you shall see, but where 
 I Your ear shall be a witness of the deed ; 
 Hear yourself written bastard, and professed 
 The common issue of the earth. 
 
 Bon. I am amazed ! 
 
 Mos. Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword, 
 And score your vengeance on my front and face : 
 Mark me your villain : you have too much wrong, 
 And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart 
 Weeps blood in anguish 
 
 Bon. Lead ; I follow thee. [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE II.] VOLP ONE; OR, THE FOX. 139 
 
 Scene II.— A Room in Volpone's House. 
 
 Enter Volpone. 
 Volp. Mosca stays long, methinks. — Bring forth your sports, 
 And help to make the wretched time more sweet. 
 
 Enter Nano, Androgyno, and Castrone. 
 
 Nan. Dwarf, fool, and eunuch, well met here we be. 
 A question it were now, whether of us three, 
 Being all the known delicates of a rich man, 
 In pleasing him, claim the precedency can ? 
 
 Cas. I claim for myself. 
 
 And. And so doth the fool. 
 
 Nan. 'Tis foolish indeed : let me set you both to school. 
 First for your dwarf, he ; s little and witty, 
 And everything, as it is little, is pretty ; 
 Else why do men say to a creature of my shape, 
 So soon as they see him, It's a pretty little ape? 
 And why a pretty ape, but for pleasing imitation 
 Of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous fashion ? 
 Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave 
 Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have. 
 Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter, 
 Yet, for his brain, it must always come after : 
 And though that do feed him, it ; s a pitiful case, 
 His body is beholding to such a bad face. [Knocking within. 
 
 Volp. Who's there ? my couch ; away ! look ! 
 Nano, see. [Exit And. and Cas.- 
 
 Give me my caps, first. — Go, enquire. — [Exit Nano.] — Now, 
 
 Cupid 
 Send it be Mosca, and with fair return ! 
 
 Nan. [Within?^ It is the beauteous madam- 
 
 Volp. Wouldbe is it ? 
 
 Nan. The same. 
 
 Volp. Now torment on me ! Squire her in ; 
 For she will enter, or dwell here for ever : 
 Nay, quickly. — [Retires to his conchy — That my fit were past ! 
 
 I fear 
 A second hell, too, that my loathing this 
 Will quite expel my appetite to the other ? 
 Would she were taking now her tedious leave. 
 Lord, how it threats me what I am to suffer ! 
 
 Re-enter Nano with Lady Politick Would-be. 
 Lady P. I thank you, good sir. 'Pray you signify 
 Unto your patron, I am here. — This band 
 Shews not my neck enough. — I trouble you, sir; 
 Let me request you, bid one of my women 
 
140 V0LP0NE; OR, THE FOX. [act in. 
 
 Come hither to me. — In good faith, I am drest 
 Most favourably to-day ! It is no matter : 
 'Tis well enough. — 
 
 Enter First Waiting-woman. 
 
 Look, see, these petulant things. 
 How they have done this ! 
 
 Volp, I do feel the fever 
 Entering in at mine ears. Oh, for a charm, 
 To fright it hence ! [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. Come nearer : is this curl , 
 In his right place, or this ? Why is this higher 
 Than all the rest ? You have not washed your eyes, yet ! 
 Or do they not stand even in your head ? 
 Where is your fellow ? Call her. [Exit First Woman. 
 
 Nan. Now, St Mark 
 Deliver us ! anon, she'll beat her women, 
 Because her nose is red. 
 
 Re-enter First with Second Woman. 
 
 Lady P. I pray you, view 
 This tire, forsooth : are all things apt, or no ? 
 
 First Worn. One hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth. 
 
 Lady P. Does 't so, forsooth ! and where was your dear sight, 
 When it did so, forsooth ! What now ! bird-eyed ? 
 And you, too ? 'Pray you, both approach and mend it. 
 Now, by that light, I muse you are not ashamed ! 
 I, that have preach'd these things so oft unto you, 
 Read you the principles, argued all the grounds, 
 Disputed every fitness, every grace, 
 Call'd you to counsel of so frequent dressings — 
 
 Nan. More carefully than of your fame or honour. {Aside. 
 
 Lady P. Made you acquainted, what an ample dowry 
 The knowledge of these things would be unto you, 
 Able, alone, to get you noble husbands 
 At your return : and you thus to neglect it ! 
 Besides you seeing what a curious nation 
 The Italians are, what will they say of me ? 
 The English lady cannot dress herself. 
 Here's a fine imputation to our country ! 
 Well, go your ways, and stay in the next room. 
 This fucus was too coarse too ; it 's no matter. — 
 Good sir, you'll give them entertainment ? 
 
 [Exeunt Nano a?id Waiting-women. 
 
 Volp. The storm comes toward me. 
 
 Lady P. [Goes to the couch.'] How does my Volpone ? 
 
 Volp. Troubled with noise, I cannot sleep ; I dreamt 
 That a strange fury entered, now, my house, 
 
scene II.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 141 
 
 And, with the dreadful tempest of her breath, 
 Did cleave my roof asunder. 
 
 Lady P. Believe me, and I 
 
 Had the most fearful dream, could I remember 't- 
 
 Volp. Out on my fate ! I have given her the occasion 
 How to torment me : she will tell me hers. [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. Methought, the golden mediocrity, 
 
 Polite and delicate 
 
 Volp. Oh, if you do love me, 
 No more : I sweat and suffer, at the mention 
 Of any dream ; feel how I tremble yet. 
 
 Lady P. Alas, good soul ! the passion of the heart. 
 Seed-pearl were good now, boiled with syrup of apples, 
 Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, 
 
 Your elicampane root, myrobalanes 
 
 Volp. Ah, me, I have taken a grasshopper by the wing ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. Burnt silk and amber : you have muscadel 
 Good in the house 
 
 Volp. You will not drink, and part ? 
 
 Lady P. No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall not get 
 Some English saffron, half a dram would serve ; 
 Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints, 
 Bugloss, and barley-meal 
 
 Volp. She's in again ! 
 Before I feigned diseases, now I have one. [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. And these applied with a right scarlet cloth. 
 
 Volp. Another flood of words ! a very torrent ! [Aside. 
 
 L.ady P. Shall I, sir, make you a poultice ? 
 
 Volp. No, no no, 
 I'm very well, you need prescribe no more. 
 
 Lady P. I have a little studied physic ; but now, 
 I'm all for music, save, in the forenoons, 
 An hour or two for painting. I would have 
 A lady, indeed, to have all, letters and arts, 
 Be able to discourse, to write, to paint, 
 But principal, as Plato holds, your music, 
 And so does wise Pythagoras, I take it, 
 Is your true rapture : when there is consent, 
 In face, in voice, and clothes : and is, indeed, 
 Our sex's chiefest ornament. 
 
 Volp. The poet 
 As old in time as Plato, and as knowing, 
 Says, that your highest female grace is silence. 
 
 Lady P. Which of your poets ? Petrarch, or Tasso, or Dante ? 
 Guarini ? Ariosto ? Aretine ? 
 Cieco di Hadria ? I have read them all. 
 
 Volp. Is everything a cause to my destruction ? [Aside. 
 
142 1'OLPOXE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT III. 
 
 Lady P. I think I have two or three of them about me. 
 
 Volp. The sun, the sea, will sooner both stand still 
 Than her eternal tongue ! nothing can escape it. [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. Here's Pastor Fido 
 
 Volp. Profess obstinate silence ; 
 That's now my safest. [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. All our English writers, 
 I mean such as are happy in the Italian, 
 Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly : 
 Almost as much as from Montagnie : 
 He has so modern and facile a vein, 
 Fitting the time and catching the court-ear ! 
 Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he, 
 In days of sonnetting, trusted them with much : 
 Dante is hard, and few can understand him. 
 But, for a desperate wit, there's Aretine; 
 Only his pictures are a little obscene — 
 You mark me not, 
 
 Volp. Alas, my mind's perturbed. 
 
 Lady P. Why, in such cases, we must cure ourselves, 
 Make use of our philosophy 
 
 Volp. Oh me! 
 
 Lady P. And as we find aur passions do rebel, 
 Encounter them with reason, or divert them, 
 By giving scope unto some other humour 
 Of lesser danger : as, in politic bodies, 
 There 's nothing more doth overwhelm the judgment 
 And cloud the understanding than too much 
 Settling and fixing, and, as 'twere, subsiding 
 Upon one object. For the incorporating 
 Of these same outward things into that part 
 Which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces 
 That stop the organs, and, as Plato says, 
 Assassinate our knowledge. 
 
 Volp. Now, the spirit 
 Of patience help me ! [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. Come, in faith, I must- 
 Visit you more a days ; and make you well : 
 Laugh and be lusty. 
 
 Volp. My good angel, save me ! [Aside. 
 
 Lady P. There was but one sole man in all the world 
 With whom I e'er could sympathise ; and he 
 Would lie you often three, four hours together 
 To hear me speak ; and be sometime so wrapt 
 As he would answer me quite from the purpose, 
 Like you, and you are like him, just. I '11 discourse, 
 An 't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep, 
 
SCENE ii.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX, 143 
 
 How we did spend our time and loves together 
 
 For some six years. 
 
 Volp. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Lady P. For we were coaetanei, and brought up- 
 
 Volp. Some power, some fate, some fortune, rescue me ! 
 
 Enier Mosca. 
 
 Mas. God save you, madam ! 
 
 Lady P. Good sir. 
 
 Volp. Mosca ! welcome, 
 Welcome to my redemption. 
 
 Mos. Why, sir ? 
 
 Volp. Oh, 
 Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there ; 
 : My madam, with the everlasting voice : 
 The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made 
 Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion ! 
 The Cock-pit comes not near it. All my house, 
 But now, steamed like a bath with her thick breath, 
 A lawyer could not have been heard ; nor scarce 
 Another woman, such a hail of words 
 She has let fall. For hell's sake, rid her hence. 
 
 Mos. Has she presented ? 
 
 Volp. Oh, I do not care ; 
 I'll take her absence, upon any price, 
 With any loss. 
 
 Mos. Madam 
 
 Lady P. I have brought your patron, 
 A tov, a cap here, of mine own work. 
 
 Mos. 'Tis well. 
 I had forgot to tell you, I saw your knight, 
 Where you would little think it 
 
 Lady P. Where? 
 
 Mos. Marry, 
 Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend 
 Rowing upon the water in a gondole 
 With the most cunning courtezan of Venice. 
 
 Lady P. Is't true? 
 
 Mos. Pursue them, and believe your eyes : 
 Leave me to make your gift. [Exit Lady P. hastily?^ — I knew 
 
 'twould take : 
 For lightly, they that use themselves most license, 
 Are still most jealous. 
 
 Volp. Mosca, hearty thanks, 
 For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me. 
 Now to my hopes, what say est thou ? 
 
144 VOLP ONE; OR, THE FOX. [act ill, 
 
 Re-enter Lady P. Would-be. 
 
 Lady P. But do you hear, sir ? 
 
 Volp. Again ! I fear a paroxysm. 
 
 Lady P. Which way 
 Rowed they together ? 
 
 Mos. Toward the Rialto. 
 
 Lady P. I pray you lend me your dwarf. 
 
 Mos. I pray you take him. — [Exit LADY P. 
 
 Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair, 
 And promise timely fruit, if you will stay 
 But the maturing ; keep you at your couch, 
 Corbaccio will arrive straight with the Will ; 
 When he is gone I'll tell you more. [Exit. 
 
 Volp. My blood, 
 My spirits are returned ; I am alive : 
 And like your wanton gamester at primero, 
 Whose thought had whispered to him, not go less, 
 
 Methinks I lie and draw for an encounter. 
 
 {The scene closes upon VOLPONF. 
 
 Scene II. — The Passage leading to Volpone's Chamber. 
 
 E?iter MOSCA and Bonario. 
 
 Mos. Sir, here concealed [shews him a closet,] you may hear 
 all. But, pray you. 
 Have patience, sir [knocking within] — the same 's your father 
 
 knocks : 
 I am compelled to leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Bo?i. Do so. — Yet 
 Cannot my thought imagine this a truth. [Goes into the closet. 
 
 Scene III. — Another Part of the same. 
 
 Enter Mosca and Corvino, Celia following. 
 
 Mos. Death on me ! your are come too soon, what meant you ? 
 Did not I say I would send ? 
 
 Co?'v. Yes, but I feared 
 You might forget it, and then they prevent us. 
 
 Mos. Prevent ! Did e'er man haste so to his shame ? 
 A courtier would not ply it so for a place. [Aside. 
 
 Well, now there is no helping it, stay here ; 
 I'll presently return. [Exit. 
 
 Corv, Where are you, Celia ? 
 You know not wherefore I have brought you hither ? 
 
 Cel. Not well, except you told me. 
 
 Corv. Now I will : 
 Hark hither. {Exeunt, 
 
SCENE v.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. t tf 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Closet opening into a Gallery. 
 Enter MOSCA and BONARIO. 
 
 Mos. Sir, your father hath sent word, 
 It will be half-an-hour ere he come ; 
 And therefore, if you please to walk the while 
 Into that gallery — at the upper end, 
 There are some books to entertain the time : 
 And I'll take care no man shall come unto you, sir. 
 
 Bon. Yes, I will stay there. — I do doubt this fellow. 
 
 [A side and exit. 
 
 Mos. [Looking after him.] There, he is far enough, he can 
 hear nothing : 
 And, for his father, I can keep him off. [Exit. 
 
 Scene V. Volpone's Chamber.— Volvone on his Couch. 
 MOSCA sitting by him. 
 
 Enter CORVllsO, forci7ig in Celia. 
 
 Corv. Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore, 
 Resolve upon it : I have so decreed. 
 It must be done. Nor would I move it afore, 
 Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks, 
 That might deny me. 
 
 Cel. Sir, let me beseech you, 
 Affect not these strange trials ; if you doubt 
 My chastity, why, lock me up for ever ; 
 Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live 
 Where I may please your fears, if not your trust. 
 
 Corv. Believe it, I have no such humour, I. 
 All that I speak I mean ; yet I 'm not mad ; 
 Nor horn-mad, see you ? Go to show yourself 
 Obedient and a wife. 
 
 Cel. O heaven ! 
 
 Corv. I say it, 
 Do so. 
 
 Cel. Was this the train ? 
 
 Corv. I 've told you reasons ; 
 What the physicians have set down : how much 
 It may concern me ; what my engagements are ; 
 My means ; and the necessity of those means, 
 For my recovery : wherefore, if you be 
 Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture. 
 
 Cel. Before your honour ? 
 
 Corv. Honour ! tut, a breath : 
 There 's no such thing in nature : a mere term 
 
146 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT ill. 
 
 Invented to awe fools. What is my gold 
 
 The worse for touching, clothes for being looked on ? 
 
 Why this is no more. An old decrepit wretch, 
 
 That has no sense, no sinew ; takes his meat 
 
 'With others' fingers ; only knows to gape 
 
 When you do scald his gums ; a voice, a shadow ; 
 
 And what can this man hurt you ? 
 
 Cel. Lord ! what spirit 
 Is this hath entered him ? {Aside. 
 
 Corv. And for your fame, 
 That's such a jig ; as if I would go tell it, 
 Cry it on the Piazza ! who shall know it, 
 But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow, 
 Whose lips are in my pocket ? Save yourself 
 (If you '11 proclaim it you may,) I know no other 
 Shall come to know it. 
 
 Cel. Are heaven and saints then nothing ? 
 Will they be blind or stupid ? 
 
 Corv. How ! 
 
 Cel. Good sir, 
 Be jealous still, emulate them ; and think 
 W T hat hate they burn with toward every sin. 
 
 Corv. I grant you : if I thought it were a sin, 
 I would not urge you. Should I offer this 
 To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood 
 That had read Aretine, conned all his prints, 
 Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth, 
 And were professed critic in lechery ; 
 And I would look upon him, and applaud him, 
 This were a sin ; but here, 'tis contrary, 
 A pious work, mere charity for physic, 
 And honest policy, to assure mine own. 
 
 Cel. O heaven ! canst thou suffer such a change ? 
 
 Volp. Thou art mine honour, Alosca, and my pride, 
 My joy, my tickling, my delight ! Go, bring them. 
 
 Mos. {Advancing^ Please, you draw near, sir. 
 
 Corv. Come on, what 
 
 You will not be rebellious ? By that light 
 
 Mos. Sir, 
 Signor Corvino, here, is come to see you. 
 
 Volp. Oh! 
 
 Mos. And hearing of the consultation had, 
 So lately, for your health, is come to offer, 
 Or rather, sir, to prostitute 
 
 Corv. Thanks, sweet Mosca. 
 
 Mos. Freelv, unasked or unintreated 
 
 Corv. Well 
 
 Mos. As the tme fervent instance of his love— 
 
scene v.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 147 
 
 His own most fair and proper wife ; the beauty 
 Only of price in Venice 
 
 Corv. 'Tis well urged. 
 
 Mos. To be your comfortress, and to preserve you. 
 
 Volp. Alas, I am past already ! Pray you, thank him 
 For his good care and promptness ; but for that, 
 'Tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst heaven : 
 Applying fire to stone— uh, uh, uh, uh ! [coughing.'] 
 Making a dead leaf grow again. I take 
 His wishes gently, though ; and you may tell him 
 What I have done for him : marry, my state is hopeless. 
 Will him to pray for me ; and to use his fortune 
 With reverence when he comes to it. 
 
 Mos. Do you hear, sir? 
 Go to him with your wife. 
 
 Corv. Heart of my father ! 
 Wilt thou persist thus ? Come, I pray thee, come. 
 Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand i 
 I shall grow violent. Come, do 't, I say. 
 
 .Cel. Sir, kill me, rather. I will take down poison, 
 Eat burning coals, do anything 
 
 Corv. Be damned ! 
 Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair ; 
 Cry thee a strumpet through the streets ; rip up 
 Thy mouth unto thine ears ; and slit thy nose 
 Like a raw rochet ! — Do not tempt me ; come, 
 Yield, I am loth — Death ! I will buy some slave 
 Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him alive ; 
 And at my window hang you forth, devising 
 Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters, 
 W T ill eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, 
 And burning corrosives, on this stubborn breast, 
 Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I '11 do it ! 
 
 Cel. Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr. 
 
 Cor. Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it : 
 Think who it is entreats you. Pr'thee, sweet ; — 
 Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, 
 What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him. 
 Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my suit. 
 This once. No ! not ! I shall remember this. 
 Will you digrace me thus ? Do you thirst my undoing ? 
 
 Mos. Nay, gentle lady, be advised. 
 
 Corv. No, no. 
 She has watched her time. Ods, precious, this is 
 
 scurvy, 
 'Tis very scurvy ; and you are — 
 
 Mos. Nay, good sir. 
 
 Corv. An arrant locust, by heaven, a locust ! 
 
148 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act m. 
 
 Slave, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared. 
 
 Expecting how thou 'It bid them flow- 
 
 Mos. Nay, 'pray you, sir ! 
 She will consider. 
 
 Cel. Would my life would serve 
 To satisfy — 
 
 Corv. 'Sdeath ! If she would but speak to him. 
 And save my reputation, it were somewhat ; 
 But spitefully to affect my utter ruin ! 
 
 Mos. Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands. 
 Why i' faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her. 
 If you were absent, she would be more coming ; 
 I know it : and dare undertake for her. 
 What woman can, before her husband ? 'pray you, 
 Let us depart, and leave her here. 
 
 Corv. Sweet Celia, 
 Thou may'st redeem all, yet ; I '11 say no more : 
 If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there. 
 
 [Shuts the door, and exit with MOSCA. 
 Cel. Oh, God, and his good angels !. Whither, whither, 
 Is shame fled human breasts ! That with such ease, 
 Men dare put off your honours and their own ? 
 Is, thatj which ever was a cause of life, 
 Now placed beneath the basest circumstance, 
 And modesty an exile made, for money ? 
 
 Volfi. Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds, 
 
 [Leaping from his couch. 
 That never tasted the true heaven of love. 
 Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee, 
 Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain, 
 He would have sold his part of Paradise 
 For ready-money, had he met a cope-man. 
 Why art thou amazed to see me thus revived ? 
 Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle ; 
 Tis thy great work : that hath, not now, alone, 
 But sundry times raised me, in several shapes, 
 And, but this morning, like a mountebank, 
 To see thee at thy window : ay, before 
 I would have left my practice for thy love, 
 In varying figures, I would have contended 
 With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood. 
 Now art thou welcome. 
 Cel. Sir! 
 
 Volp. Nay, fly me not. 
 Nor let thy false imagination 
 That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so ; 
 Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh. 
 As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight, 
 
scene v.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 149 
 
 As when, in that so celebrated scene, 
 
 At recitation of our comedy, 
 
 For entertainment of the great Valois, 
 
 I acted young Antinous ; and attracted 
 
 The eyes and ears of all the ladies present, 
 
 To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing. [Sings. 
 
 Come, my Celia, let us prove, 
 While we can, the sports of love, 
 Time will not be ours for ever, 
 He, at length, our good will sever ; 
 Spend not then his gifts in vain ; 
 Suns that set may rise again ; 
 But if once we lose this light, 
 'Tis with us perpetual night. 
 "Why should we defer our joys ? 
 Fame and rumour are but toys. 
 Cannot we delude the eyes 
 Of a few poor household spies 
 Or his easier ears beguile, 
 Thus removed by our wile ? — 
 'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal ; 
 But the sweet thefts to reveal ; 
 To be taken, to be seen, 
 These have crimes accounted been. 
 
 Cel. Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike 
 This my offending face ! 
 
 Volp. Why droops my Celia ? 
 Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found 
 A worthy lover : use thy fortune well, 
 With secresy and pleasure. See, behold, 
 What thou art queen of; not in expectation, 
 As I feed others ; but possessed and crown'd. 
 See, here, a rope of pearl ; and each more orient 
 Than that the brave Egyptian queen caroused : 
 Dissolve and drink them. See, a carbuncle, 
 May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark ; 
 A diamond would have bought Lollia Paulina. 
 When she came in, like star-light, hid with jewels 
 That were the spoils of provinces ; take these, 
 And wear, and lose them : yet remains an ear-ring 
 To purchase them again and this whole state. 
 A gem but worth a private patrimony 
 Is nothing : we will eat such at a meal. 
 The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales, 
 The brains of peacocks and of ostriches, 
 Shall be our food ; and could we get the phoenix, 
 Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish. 
 
 Cel. Good sir, these things might move a mind affected 
 With such delights ; but I, whose innocence 
 Js all I can think wealthy or worth th' enjoying. 
 
ISO VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act III. 
 
 And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it, 
 Cannot be taken with these sensual baits : 
 
 If you have conscience 
 
 Volp. 'Tis the beggar's virtue ; 
 If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia. 
 Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers, 
 Spirit of roses and of violets, 
 The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath 
 Gather'd in bags and mixt with Cretan wines. 
 Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber ; 
 Which we will take until my roof whirl round 
 With the vertigo ; and my dwarf shall dance, 
 My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic, 
 Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales ; 
 Thou like Europa now, and I like Jove, 
 Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine : 
 So of the rest, till we have quite run through 
 And wearied all the fables of the gods. 
 Then will I have thee in more modern forms, 
 Attire'd like some sprightly dame of France, 
 Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty ; 
 Sometimes unto the Persian sophy's wife, 
 Or the grand signior's mistress ; and, for change, 
 To one of our most artful courtezans, 
 Or some quick negro, or cold Russian ; 
 And I will meet thee in as many shapes 
 Where we may so transfuse our wandering souls 
 Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures — \Sings. 
 
 That the curious shall not know 
 
 How to tell them as they flow : 
 
 And the envious, when they find 
 
 What their number is, be pined. 
 
 Cel. If you have ears that will be pierced- or eyes 
 That can be opened — a heart that may be touched — 
 Or any part that yet sounds man about you — 
 If you have touch of holy saints, or heaven — 
 Do me the grace to let me 'scape ; if not, 
 Be bountiful, and kill me. You do know 
 I am a creature hither ill-betrayed 
 By one whose shame I would forget it were. 
 If you will deign me neither of these graces, 
 Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust 
 (It is a vice comes nearer manliness), 
 And punish that unhappy crime of Nature 
 Which you miscall my beauty : flay my face, 
 Or poison it with ointments, for seducing 
 Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands 
 With what may cause an eating leprosy 
 
SCENE v.] VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. 151 
 
 E'en tc my bones and marrow ; anything 
 That may disfavour me, save in my honour ; 
 And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down 
 A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health ; 
 Report and think you virtuous 
 
 Volp. Think me cold, 
 Frozen, and impotent, and so report me ; 
 That I had Nestor's hernia thou wouldst think. 
 I do degenerate and abuse my nation 
 To play with opportunity thus long ; 
 I should have done the act, and then have parleyed. 
 Yield, or I '11 force thee. {Seizes her. 
 
 Cel Oh ! just God ! 
 
 Volp. In vain 
 
 Bon. {Rushing in.] Forbear, foul ravisher, libidinous swine ! 
 Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor. 
 But that I 'm loth to snatch thy punishment 
 Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst yet 
 Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance 
 Before this altar and this dross, thy idol. 
 Lady, let 's quit the place ; it is the den 
 Of villainy ; fear nought, you have a guard ; 
 And he, ere long, shall meet his just reward. 
 
 {Exeunt B ON . and Cel. 
 
 Volp. Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin! 
 Become my grave that wert my shelter ! Oh ! 
 I am unmask'd, unspirited, undone, 
 Betrayed to beggary, to infamy 
 
 Enter Mosca, wounded and bleeding. 
 
 Mos. Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men, 
 To beat out my unlucky brains ? 
 
 Volp. Here, here. 
 What ! dost thou bleed ? 
 
 Mos. Oh ! that his well-driv'n sword 
 Had been so courteous to have cleft me down 
 Unto the navel ere I lived to see 
 My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all 
 Thus desperately engaged by my error ! 
 
 Volp. Woe on thy fortune ! 
 
 Mos. And my follies, sir. 
 
 Volp, Thou hast made me miserable. 
 
 Mos. And myself, sir. 
 Who would have thought he would have hearkened so ? 
 
 Volp. What shall we do ? 
 
 Mos. I know not ; if my heart 
 Could expiate the mischance, I 'd pluck it out. 
 Will you be pleased to hang me, or cut my throat ? 
 
l$2 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act HI. 
 
 And I '11 requite you, sir. Let 's die like Romans, 
 
 Since Ave have lived like Grecians. \Knocking within. 
 
 Voip. Hark! Who's there? 
 I hear some footing ; officers, the saffi, 
 Come to apprehend us ! I do feel the brand 
 Hissing already at my forehead ; now, 
 Mine ears are boring. 
 
 Mos. To your couch, sir, you, 
 Make that place good, however. [Volpone lies down as before!) 
 
 Guilty men 
 Suspect what they deserve still. 
 
 E?iter Corbaccio. 
 Signor Corbaccio ! 
 
 Cord. Why, how now, Mosca ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, undone, amazed, sir. 
 Your son, I know not by what accident, 
 Acquainted with your purpose to my patron, 
 Touching your will, and making him your heir, 
 Entered our house with violence, his sword drawn, 
 Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural, 
 Vowed he would kill you. 
 
 Cord. Me? 
 
 Mos. Yes, and my patron. 
 
 Cord. This act shall disinherit him, indeed : 
 Here is the will. 
 
 Mos. 'Tis well, sir. 
 
 Corb. Right and well : 
 Be you as careful now for me. 
 
 Enter VOLTORE, behind. 
 
 Mos. My life, sir. 
 Is not more tendered ; I am only yours. 
 
 Corb. How does he ? Will he die shortly, thinkest thou ! 
 
 Mos. I fear 
 He '11 outlast May. 
 
 Corb. To-day ? 
 
 Mos. No. last out May, sir. 
 
 Corb. Couldst thou not give him a dram ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, by no means, sir. 
 
 Corb. Nay, I '11 not bid you. 
 
 Volt. {Coining forward.'] This is a knave, I see. 
 
 Mos. [Seeing VOLTORE.] How ! Signor Voltore ! Did he 
 hear me ? [Aside. 
 
 'Volt. Parasite ! 
 
 Mos. Who 's that ? Oh, sir, most timely welcome 
 
 Volt. Scarce, 
 To the discovery of your tricks, I fear. 
 Your are his, only ? and mine also, are you not ? 
 
scene v.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX, 153 
 
 Mos. Who? I, sir? 
 Volt. You, sir. What device is this 
 About a will ? 
 Mos. A plot for you. sir, 
 Volt. Come, 
 Put not your foists upon me ; I shall scent them. 
 Mos. Did you not hear it ? 
 Volt. Yes, I hear Corbaccio 
 Hath made your patron there his heir. , 
 
 Mos. 'Tis true, 
 By my device, drawn to it by my plot, 
 
 With hope 
 
 Volt. Your patron should reciprocate ? 
 And you have promised ? 
 
 Mos. For your good, 1 did, sir. 
 Nay, more, I told his son, brought, hid him here. 
 Where he might hear his father pass the deed : 
 Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir, 
 That the unnaturalness, first, of the act, 
 And then his father's oft disclaiming on him 
 (Which I did mean t' help on,) would sure enrage him 
 To do some violence upon his parent, 
 On which the law should take sufficient hold, 
 And you be stated in a double hope : 
 Truth be my comfort and my conscience, 
 My only aim was to dig you a fortune 
 Out of these two old rotten sepulchres — 
 Volt. I cry thee mercy, Mosca. 
 Mos. Worth your patience 
 And your great merit, sir. And see the change ! 
 Volt. Why, what success ? 
 Mos. Most hapless ! you must help, sir. 
 Whilst we. expected the old raven, in comes 
 Corvino's wife, sent hither by her husband — 
 Volt. What, with a present ? 
 Mos. No, sir, on visitation ; 
 (I '11 tell you how anon ;) and staying long, 
 The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth, 
 Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear 
 (Or he would murder her, that was his vow) 
 To affirm my patron, to have done her rape : 
 Which how unlike it is, you see ! and hence, 
 With that pretext, he 's gone to accuse his father, 
 
 Defame my patron, defeat you 
 
 Volt. Where is her husband ? 
 Let him be sent for, straight. 
 Mos. Sir, I '11 go fetch him. 
 Volt. Bring him to the Scrutineo. 
 
154 VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. [act IV. 
 
 Mos. Sir, I will. 
 
 Volt. This must be stopped. 
 
 Mos. Oh, you do nobly, sir. 
 Alas, 'twas laboured all, sir, for your good ; 
 Nor was there want of counsel in the plot : 
 But fortune can, at any time, o 'erthrow 
 The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir. 
 
 Corb. [Listening.'] What 's that ? 
 
 Volt. Will 't please you, sir, to go along ? 
 
 {Exit Corbaccio, followed by Voltore. 
 
 Mos. Patron, go in, and pray for our success. 
 
 Volp. {Rising from his couch, .] Need makes devotion ? heaven 
 your labour bless ! {Exeunt. 
 
 -ACT IV.- 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 Enter Sir Politick Would-be and Peregrine. 
 
 Sir P. I told you, sir, it was a plot ; you see 
 What observation is ! You mentioned me 
 For some instructions : I will tell you, sir, 
 (Since we are met here in this height of Venice,) 
 Some few particulars I have set down. 
 Only for this meridian, fit to be known 
 Of your crude traveller ; and they are these. 
 I will not touch, sir, at your phrase, or clothes, 
 For they are old. 
 
 Per. Sir, I have better. 
 
 Sir P. Pardon, 
 I meant, as they are themes. 
 
 Per. Oh, sir, proceed : 
 I '11 slander you no more of wit, good sir. 
 
 Sir P. First, for your garb, it must be grave and serious, 
 Very reserved, and locked ; not tell a secret 
 On any terms, not to your father ; scarce 
 A fable, but with caution : make sure choice 
 Both of your company and discourse ; beware 
 You never speak a truth 
 
 Per. How ! 
 
 Sir P. Not to strangers, 
 For those be they you must converse with most ; 
 Others I would not know, sir, but at distance, 
 So as I still might be a saver rn them ; 
 You shall have tricks else passed upon you hourly. 
 And then, for your religion, profess none, 
 
SCENE I.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 155 
 
 But wonder at the diversity of all : 
 
 And for your part, protest were there no other 
 
 But simply the laws o' th' land, you could content you, 
 
 Nic. Machiavel, and Monsieur Bodin, both 
 
 Were of his mind. Then must you learn the use 
 
 And handling of your silver fork at meals, 
 
 The metal of your glass ; (these are main matters 
 
 With your Italian ;) and to know the hour 
 
 When you must eat your melons and your figs. 
 
 Per. Is that a point of state too ? 
 
 Sir P. Here it is : 
 For your Venetian, if he see a man 
 Preposterous in the least, he has him straight ; 
 He has ; he strips him. I '11 acquaint you, sir, 
 I now have lived here, 'tis some fourteen months. 
 Within the first week of my landing here, 
 All took me for a citizen of Venice, 
 I knew the forms so well ■ 
 
 Per. And nothing else. [Asidc\ 
 
 Sir P. I had read Contarene, took me a house, 
 Dealt with my Jews to furnish it with moveables — 
 Well, if I could but find one man, one man 
 To mine own heart, whom I durst trust, I would — 
 
 Per. What, what, sir ? 
 
 Sir P. Make him rich ; make him a fortune : 
 He should not think again. I would command it. 
 
 Per. As how? 
 
 Sir P. With certain projects that I have ; 
 Which I may not discover. 
 
 Per. If I had 
 But one to wager with, I would lay odds now, 
 He tells me instantly. {Aside. 
 
 Sir P. One is, and that 
 I care not greatly who knows, to serve the state 
 Of Venice with red herrings for three years, v 
 
 And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam, 
 Where I have correspondence. There 's a letter, 
 Sent me from one o' the states, and to that purpose : 
 He cannot write his name, but that 's his mark. 
 
 Per. He is a chandler ? 
 
 Sir P. No, a cheesemonger. 
 There are some others, too, with whom I treat 
 About the same negociation ; 
 And I will undertake it : for, 'tis thus. 
 I '11 do 't with ease, I have cast it all : Your hoy 
 Carries but three men in her, and a boy ; 
 And she shall make me three returns a year : 
 So, if there come but one of three, I save ; 
 
156 VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. [ACT IV. 
 
 If two, I can default : but this is now, 
 If my main project fail. 
 
 Per. Then you have others ? 
 
 Sir P. I should be loth to draw the subtle air 
 Of such a place, without my thousand aims. 
 I '11 not dissemble, sir : where 'er I come, 
 I love to be considerative ; and 'tis true, 
 I have at my free hours thought upon 
 Some certain goods unto the state of Venice, 
 Which I do call my Caittions ; and, sir, which 
 I mean, in hope of pension, to propound 
 To the Great Council, then unto the Forty, 
 So to the Ten. My means are made already — 
 
 Per. By whom ? 
 
 Sir P. Sir, one that, though his place be obscure, 
 Yet, he can sway, and they will hear him. He 's 
 A commandador. 
 
 Per. What ! A common sergeant ? 
 
 Sir P. Sir, such as they are put it in their mouths 
 What they should say, sometimes ; as well as greater : 
 I think I have my notes to show you. \Searching his pockets. 
 
 Per. Good sir. 
 
 Sir P. But you shall swear unto me, on your gentry, 
 Not to anticipate. 
 
 Per. I, sir ! 
 
 Sir P. Nor reveal 
 A circumstance My paper is not with me. * 
 
 Per. Oh, but you can remember, sir. - *V-- 
 
 Sir P. My first is 
 Concerning tinder-boxes. You must know, 
 No family is here without its box. 
 Now, sir, it being so portable a thing, 
 Put case, that you or I were ill-affected 
 Unto the state, sir ; with it in our pockets, 
 Might not I go into the Arsenal, 
 Or you, come out again, and none the wiser? 
 
 Per. Except yourself, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Go to; then. I therefore 
 Advertise to the state, how fit it were, 
 That none but such as were known patriots, 
 Sound lovers of their country, should be suffered 
 To enjoy them in their houses ; and even those 
 Sealed at some office, and at such a bigness 
 As might not lurk in pockets. 
 
 Per. Admirable! 
 
 Sir P. My next is, how to enquire, and be resolved, 
 By present demonstration, whether a ship, 
 Newly arrived from Soria, or from 
 
SCENE I.] VOLPONE-, OR, THE FOX. 157 
 
 Any suspected part of all the Levant, 
 Be guilty of the plague : and where they use 
 To lie out forty, fifty days, sometimes, 
 About the Lazaretto, for their trial ; 
 I '11 save that charge and loss unto the merchant, 
 And in an hour clear the doubt. 
 Per. Indeed, sir ! 
 
 Sir P. Or 1 will lose my labour. 
 
 Per. 'My faith, that 's much. 
 
 Sir P. Nay, sir conceive me. It will cost me in onions, 
 
 Some thirty livres 
 
 Per. Which is one pound sterling. 
 Sir P. Beside my water-works : for this I do, sir. 
 First, I bring in your ship 'twixt two brick walls ; 
 But those the state shall venture : On the one 
 I strain me a fair tarpaulin, and in that 
 I stick my onions; cut in halves : the other 
 Is full of loop holes, out at which I thrust 
 The noses of my bellows ; and those bellows 
 I keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion, 
 Which is the easiest matter of a hundred. 
 No, sir, your onion, which doth naturally 
 Attract the infection, and your bellows blowing 
 The air upon him, will show, instantly, 
 By this changed colour, if there be contagion ; 
 Or else remain as fair as at the first. 
 — Now it is known, 't is nothing. 
 Per. You are right, sir. 
 Sir P. I would I had my note. 
 Per. Faith, so would I : 
 But you have done well for once, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Were I false, 
 Or would be made so, I could show you reasons 
 How I could sell this state now to the Turk, 
 
 Spite of their gallies, or their [Examining his papers. 
 
 Per. Pray you, Sir Pol. 
 Sir P. I have them not about me. 
 Per. That I feared : 
 They are there, sir. 
 
 Sir P. No, this is my diary, 
 Wherein I note my actions of the day. 
 
 Per. Pray you, let 's see, sir. What is here ? {Reads. 
 
 Notandum, 
 A rat had gnawn viy spur-leathers ; notwithstanding* 
 I put on new, a?icc did go forth ; but first 
 I threw three beans over the threshold. Item, 
 I went and bought two toothpicks, whereof o?ie 
 1 burst immediately, in a discourse 
 
158 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT IV. 
 
 With a Dutch merchant^ 'bout religion del staio. 
 From him I went and paid a mocciuigo 
 For piecing my silk stockings : by the way 
 I cheapened sprats j and at St. Mark's I urined. 
 'Faith, these are politic notes ! 
 
 Sir P. Sir, I do slip 
 No action of my life, but thus I quote it. 
 
 Per. Believe me, it is wise ! 
 
 Sir P. Nay, sir, read forth. 
 
 Enter, at a distance, LADY POLITICK WOULD-BE, NANO, 
 and two Waiting-women. 
 
 Lady P. Where should this loose knight be, trow ? sure, he J s 
 housed. 
 
 Kan. Why, then he 's fast. 
 
 Lady P. Ay, he plays both with me. 
 I pray you stay. This heat will do more harm 
 To my complexion, than his heart is worth, 
 (I do not care to hinder, but to take him.) 
 How it comes off ! {Rubbing her cheeks. 
 
 ist Worn. My master 's yonder. 
 
 Lady P, Where ? 
 
 2nd Worn. With a young gentleman. 
 
 L^ady P. That same 's the party ; 
 In man's apparel ! 'Pray you, sir, jog my knight : 
 I will be tender to his reputation, 
 However he demerit. 
 
 Sir P. {Seeing her.] My lady ! 
 
 Per. Where ? 
 
 Sir P. 'Tis she indeed, sir ; you shall know her. She is, 
 Were she not mine, a lady of that merit, 
 For fashion and behaviour ; and for beauty 
 I durst compare 
 
 Per. It seems you are not jealous, 
 That dare commend her. 
 
 Sir P. Nay, and for discourse 
 
 Per. Being your wife, she cannot miss that. 
 
 Sir P. {introducing Per.] Madam, 
 Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly ; 
 He seems a youth, but he is 
 
 Lady P. None. 
 
 Sir P. Yes, one 
 Has put his face as soon into the world 
 
 Lady P. You mean, as early? but to-day? 
 
 Sir P. How's this ! 
 
 Lady P. Why, in this habit, sir, you apprehend me :— 
 Well, Master Would-be, this doth not become you ; 
 
scene i.] VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. 159 
 
 I had thought the odour, sir, of your good name 
 Had been more precious to you ; that you would not 
 Have done this dire massacre on your honour ; 
 One of your gravity and rank besides ! 
 But knights, I see, care little for the oath 
 They make to ladies ; chiefly their own ladies. 
 
 Sir P. Now, by my spurs, the symbol of my knighthood.- 
 
 Per. Lord, how his brain is humbled for an oath ! [Aside. 
 
 Sir P. I reach you not. 
 
 Lady P. Right, sir, your policy 
 May bear it through thus. — Sir, a word with you. [To Per. 
 
 I would be loth to contest publicly 
 With any gentlewoman, or to seem 
 Froward or violent, as the courtier says ; 
 It comes too near rusticity in a lady, 
 Which I would shun by all means : and however 
 I may deserve from master Would-be, yet 
 To have one fair gentlewoman thus be made 
 The unkind instrument to wrong another, 
 And one she knows not, ay, and to persevere ; 
 In my poor judgment, is not warranted 
 From being a solecism in our sex, 
 If not in manners. 
 
 Per. How is this ! 
 
 Sir P. Sweet madam, 
 Come nearer to your aim. 
 
 Lady P. Marry and will, sir, 
 Since you provoke me with your impudence, 
 And laughter of your light land-syren here, 
 Your Sporus, your hermaphrodite 
 
 Per. What's here ? 
 Poetic fury, and historic storms ! 
 
 Sir P. The gentleman, believe it, is of worth, 
 And of our nation. 
 
 Lady P. Ay, your White-friars nation. 
 Come, I blush for you, master Would-be, I ; 
 And am ashamed you should have no more forehead, 
 Than thus to be the patron, or St. George, 
 To a female devil, in a male outside. 
 
 Sir P. Nay. 
 And you be such an one, I must bid adieu 
 To your delights. The case appears too liquid. [Exit. 
 
 Lady P. Hy, you may carry it clear with your state-face ! — 
 But for your carnival concupiscence, 
 Who here is fled for liberty of conscience, 
 From furious persecution of the marshal, 
 Her will I disc'ple. 
 
 Per. This is fine, i' faith ! 
 
l6o VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [ACT IV, 
 
 And do you use this often ? Is this pari 
 
 Of your wit's exercise, 'gainst you have occasion ? 
 
 Madam ■ 
 
 Lady P. Go to, sir. 
 
 Po . Do you hear me, lady ! 
 Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts, 
 Or to invite me home, you might have done it 
 A nearer way, by far. 
 
 Lady P. This cannot work you 
 Out of my snare. 
 
 Per. Why, am I in it, then ? 
 Indeed your husband told me you were fair. 
 And so you are ; only your nose inclines 
 That side that 's next the sun, to the queen-apple. 
 
 Lady P. This cannot be endured by any patience. 
 
 Enter Mosca. 
 
 Mos. What is the matter, madam ? 
 
 Lady P. If the senate 
 Right not my quest in this, I will protest them 
 To all the world, no aristocracy. 
 
 Mos. What is the injury, lady ? 
 
 Lady P. Why, the callet 
 You told me of, here I have ta'en disguised. 
 
 Mos. Who ? this ! what means your ladyship ? the creature 
 I mentioned to you is apprehended now, 
 Before the senate ; you shall see her 
 
 Lady P. Where?' 
 
 Mos. I '11 bring you to her. This young gentleman, 
 I saw him land this morning at the port. 
 
 Lady P. Is ; t possible ! how has my judgment wandered? 
 Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have erred ; 
 And plead your pardon. 
 
 Per. What, more changes yet ! 
 
 Lady P. I hope you have not the malice to remember 
 A gentlewoman's passion. If you stay 
 In Venice here, please you to use me, sir 
 
 Mos. Will you go, madam ? 
 
 JLady P. 'Pray you, sir, use me ; in faith, 
 The more you see me, the more I shall conceive 
 You have forgot our quarrel.— [Exeunt LadyWoULD-BE, MOSCA, 
 Nano, a7id Waiting-women.] 
 
 Per. This is rare ! 
 Sir Politick Would-be ? no : sir Politick Gull, 
 To bring me thus acquainted with his wife ! 
 Well, wise sir Pol, since you have practised thus 
 Upon my freshman-ship, I '11 try your salt-head, 
 What proof it is against a counter-plot. [Exit* 
 
Scene II.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 161 
 
 Scene. II. — The Scrutineo or Senate- House. 
 Enter Voltore, Corbaccio, Corvino, and Mosca. 
 
 Volt. Well, now you know the carriage of the business, 
 Your constancy is all that is required 
 Unto the safety of it. 
 
 Mos. Is the lie 
 Safely conveyed amongst us ? is that sure ? 
 Knows every man his burden ? 
 
 Corv. Yes. 
 
 Mos Then shrink not. 
 
 Corv. But knows the advocate the truth ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, sir, 
 By no means ; I devised a formal tale, 
 That salved your reputation. But be valiant, sir. 
 
 Corv. I fear no one but him, that this his pleading 
 Should make him stand for a co-heir 
 
 Mos. Co-halter ! 
 Hang him ; we will but use his tongue, his noise, 
 As we do croakers here. 
 
 Corv. Ay, what shall he do ? 
 
 Mos. When we have done, you mean ? 
 
 Corv. Yes. 
 
 Mos. Why, we '11 think : 
 Sell him for mummia ; he's half dust already. 
 Do you not smile— [to Voltore] — to see this buffalo, 
 How he doth sport it with his head ? — I should, 
 If all were well and past. — [Aside.'] — Sir — [to CORBOCCIO]— 
 
 only you 
 Are he that shall enjoy the crop of all, 
 And these not know for whom they toil. 
 
 Corb. Ay, peace, 
 
 Mos. [Turning to Corvino. — But you shall eat it. Much !— 
 [Aside.'] — Worshipful sir, [to VOLTORE.] 
 Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue, 
 Or the French Hercules, and make your language 
 As conquering as his club, to beat along, 
 As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries ; 
 But much more yours, sir. 
 
 Volt. Here they come, have done. ' 
 
 Mos. I have another witness, if you need, sir, 
 I can produce. 
 
 Volt. Who is it ? 
 Mos. Sir, I have her. 
 
i62 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act IV. 
 
 Enter Avocatori and take their scats, BONARIO, CELIA, Notario, 
 Commandadori, Saffi, and other Officers of justice. 
 
 \st Avoc. The like of this the senate never heard of. 
 
 ind Avoc. 'Twill come most strange to them when wc report it. 
 
 4th. The gentlewoman has been ever held 
 Of unreprovdd name. 
 
 3rd Avoc. So has the youth. 
 
 4th Avoc. The more unnatural part that of his father. 
 
 ind Avoc. More of the husband. 
 
 1st Avoc. I not know to give 
 His act a name, it is so monstrous ! 
 
 4th Avoc. But the impostor, he's a thing created 
 To exceed example ! 
 
 1st Avoc. And all after-times ! 
 
 2nd Avoc. I never heard a true voluptuary 
 Described, but him. 
 
 yd Avoc. Appear yet those were cited ? 
 
 Not. All but the old magnifico, Volpone. 
 
 1 st. Why is not he here ? 
 
 Mos. Please your fatherhoods, 
 Here is his advocate : himself 's so weak, 
 So feeble 
 
 4th Avoc. What are you ? 
 
 Bon. His parasite, 
 His knave, his pandar : I beseech the court, 
 He may be forced to come, that your grave eyes 
 May bear strong witness of his strange impostures. 
 
 Volt. Upon my faith and credit with your virtues, 
 He is not able to endure the air. 
 
 ind Avoc. Bring him, however. 
 
 yd Avoc. We will see him. 
 
 4th Avoc. Fetch him. 
 
 Volt. Your fatherhoods' fit pleasures be obeyed ; 
 
 [Exeunt Officers. 
 But sure, the sight will rather move your pities, 
 Than indignation. May it please the court, 
 In the meantime, he may be heard in me : 
 I know this place most void of prejudice, 
 And therefore crave it, since we have no reason 
 To fear our truth should hurt our cause. 
 
 yd. Speak free. 
 
 Volt. Then know, most honoured fathers, I must now 
 Discover to your strangely abused ears, 
 The most prodigious and most frontless piece 
 Of solid impudence and treachery, 
 That ever vicious nature yet brought forth 
 To shame the State of Venice. This lewd woman, 
 
scene it J VO LP ONE i OR, THE FOX. 163 
 
 That wants no official look or tears 
 
 To help the vizor she has now put on, 
 
 Hath long been known a close adulteress 
 
 To that lascivious youth there : not suspected, 
 
 I say, but known and taken in the act 
 
 With him ; and by this man, the easy husband, 
 
 Pardoned; whose timeless bounty makes him now 
 
 Stand here the most unhappy, innocent person, 
 
 That ever man's own goodness made accused. 
 
 For these not knowing how to owe a gift 
 
 Of that dear grace, but with their shame ; being placed 
 
 So above all powers of their gratitude, 
 
 Began to hate the benefit ; and, in place 
 
 Of thanks, devise to extirpe the memory 
 
 Of such an act : wherein I pray your fatherhoods 
 
 To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures 
 
 Discovered in their evils ; and what heart 
 
 Such take, even from their crimes :— but that anon 
 
 Will more appear — This gentleman, the father, 
 
 Hearing of this foul fact, with many others, 
 
 Which daily struck at his too tender ears, 
 
 And grieved in nothing more than that he could not 
 
 Preserve himself a parent (his son's ills 
 
 Growing to that strange flood), at last decreed 
 
 To disinherit him. 
 
 1st Avoc. These be strange turns ! 
 
 ind Avoc. The young man's fame was ever fair and honest. 
 
 Volt. So much more full of danger is his vice, 
 That can beguile so under shade of virtue. 
 But, as I said, my honoured sires, his father 
 Having this settled purpose, by what means 
 To him betrayed, we know not, and this day 
 Appointed for the deed ; that parricide, 
 I cannot style him better, by confederacy 
 Preparing this his paramour to be there, 
 Entered Volpone's house ''who was the man, 
 Your fatherhoods must understand designed 
 For the inheritance), there sought his father : — 
 But with what purpose sought he him, my lords ? 
 I tremble to pronounce it, that a son 
 Unto a father, and to such a father, 
 Should have so foul, felonious intent ! 
 It was to murder him : when being prevented 
 By his more happy absence, what then did he ? 
 Not check his wicked thoughts ; no, now new deeds ; 
 (Mischief doth never end where it begins) 
 An act of horror, fathers ! he dragged forth 
 The aged gentleman that had there lain bed-rid 
 
 F 2 
 
164 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act IV. 
 
 Three years and more, out of his innocent couch, 
 
 Naked upon the floor, there left him ; wounded 
 
 His servant in the face : and, with this strumpet 
 
 The stale to his forged practice, who was glad 
 
 To be so active, — (I shall here desire 
 
 Your fatherhoods to note but my collections, 
 
 As most remarkable, — ) thought at once to stop 
 
 His father's ends, discredit his free choice 
 
 In the old gentleman, redeem themselves, 
 
 By laying infamy upon this man, 
 
 To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives. 
 
 ist Avoc. What proofs have you of this ? 
 
 Bon. Most honoured fathers, 
 I humbly crave there be no credit given 
 To this man's mercenary tongue. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Forbear. 
 
 Bon. His soul moves in his fee. 
 
 yd Avoc. Oh, sir. 
 
 Bon. This fellow, 
 For six sols more, would plead against his Maker. 
 
 ist Avoc. You do forget yourself. 
 
 Volt. Nay, nay, grave fathers, 
 Let him have scope : can any man imagine 
 That he will spare his accuser, that would not 
 Have spared his parent ? 
 
 ist Avoc. Well, produce your proofs. 
 
 Cel. I would I could forget I were a creature. 
 
 Volt. Signior Corbaccio. [Corbaccio comes forward. 
 
 4th Avoc. What is he ? 
 
 Volt. Volt. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Has he had an oath ? 
 
 Not. Yes. 
 
 Cord. What must I do now ? 
 
 Not. Your testimony 's craved. 
 
 Cord. Speak to the knave ? 
 I '11 have my mouth first stopped with earth ; my heart 
 Abhors his knowledge : I disclaim in him. 
 
 ist Avoc. But for what cause ? 
 
 Corb. The mere portent of nature! 
 He is an utter stranger to my loins. 
 
 Bon. Have they made you to this ? 
 
 Corb. I will not hear thee, 
 Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide ! 
 Speak not, thou viper. 
 
 Bon. Sir, I will sit down, 
 And rather wish my innocence should suffer, 
 Than I resist the authority of a father. 
 
 Volt. Signor Corvino ! ' [Corvino comes forward. 
 
SCENE ii.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 165 
 
 2nd Avoc. This is strange. 
 
 1st Avoc. Who's this? 
 
 Not. The husband. 
 
 \th Avoc. Is he sworn ? 
 
 Not. He is. 
 
 yd Avoc. Speak then. 
 
 Corv. This woman, please your fatherhoods, is a strumpet 
 Of most hot exercise., more than a partridge, 
 Upon record 
 
 1st Avoc. No more. 
 
 Corv. Neighs like a jennet. 
 
 Not. Preserve the honour of the court. 
 
 Corv. I shall, 
 And modesty of your most reverend ears. 
 And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes 
 Have seen her glued into that piece of cedar, 
 That fine well-timbered gallant ; and that here 
 The letters may be read through the horn, 
 That make the story perfect. 
 
 Mos. Excellent ! sir. 
 
 Corv. There is no shame in this now, is there ? 
 
 [Aside to Mos. 
 
 Mos. None. 
 
 Corv. Or if I said I hoped that she were onward 
 To her damnation, if there be a hell 
 Greater than a foul woman ; a good catholic 
 May make the doubt. 
 
 yd Avoc. His grief hath made him frantic. 
 
 1st Avoc. Remove him hence. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Look to the woman. [CELIA swoons. 
 
 Corv. Rare ! 
 Prettily feigned, again ! 
 
 Afth Avoc. Stand from about her. 
 
 1st Avoc. Give her the air. 
 
 yd Avoc. What can you say ? [To MOSCA. 
 
 Mos. My wound, 
 May it please your wisdoms, speaks for me, received 
 In aid. of my good patron, when he missed 
 His sought-for father, when that well-taught dame 
 Had her cue given her to cry out A Rape ! 
 
 Bon. Oh, most laid impudence ! Fathers 
 
 yd Avoc. Sir, be silent ; 
 You had your hearing free, so must they theirs. 
 
 2nd Avoc. I do begin to doubt the imposture here. 
 
 4t/i Avoc. This woman has too many moods. 
 
 Volt. Grave fathers, 
 She is a creature cf a most profest 
 And prostituted lewdness. 
 
1 66 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act iv. 
 
 Cow. Most impetuous, 
 Unsatisfied, grave fathers ! 
 
 Volt. May her feign ings 
 Not take your wisdoms ; but this day she baited 
 A stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes 
 And more lascivious kisses. This man saw them 
 Together on the water, in a gondola. 
 
 Mos. Here is the lady herself that saw them too, 
 Without, Who then had in the open streets 
 Pursued them, but for saving her knight's honour. 
 
 ist Avoc. Produce that lady. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Let her come. {Exit MOSCA. 
 
 4th Avoc. These things, 
 They strike with wonder. 
 
 yd Aiwc. I am turn'd a stone. 
 
 Re-ente?' MOSCA with Lady WOULD-BE. 
 
 Mos. Be resolute, madam. 
 
 Lady P. Ay, this same is she. {Pointing to CELIA. 
 
 Out, thou camelion harlot ! Now thine eyes 
 Vie tears with the hyaena. Dar'st thou look 
 Upon my wronge'd face ? I cry your pardons ; 
 I fear I have forgettingly transgrest 
 Against the dignity of the court 
 
 2nd Avoc. No, madam. 
 
 Lady P. And been exorbitant 
 
 2nd Avoc. You have not, lady. 
 
 4th Avoc. These proofs are strong. 
 
 Lady P. Surely, I had no purpose 
 To scandalize your honours or my sex's. 
 
 yd Avoc. We do believe it. 
 
 Lady P. Surely, you may believe it. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Madam, we do. 
 
 Lady P. Indeed you may ; my breeding 
 Is not so coarse 
 
 4th Avoc. We know it. 
 
 Lady P. To offend 
 With pertinacy 
 
 yd Avoc. Lady 
 
 Lady P. Such a presence J 
 No surely. 
 
 ist Avoc. We well think it. 
 
 Lady P. You may think it. 
 
 ist Avoc. Let her o'ercome. What witnesses have you 
 To make good your report ? 
 
 Bon. Our consciences. 
 
 Cel. And Heaven, that never fails the innocent. 
 
 4th Avoc. These are no testimonies. 
 
SCENE II.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 167 
 
 Bon. Not in your courts, 
 Where multitude and clamour overcomes. 
 1st Avoc. Nay, then, you do wax insolent. 
 
 Re-enter Officers, bearing Volpone on a couch. 
 
 Volt. Here, here, 
 The testimony comes that will convince, 
 And put to utter dumbness their bold tongues. 
 See here, grave fathers, here's the ravisher, 
 Insulter of men's wives, the great impostor, 
 The grand voluptuary ! Do you not think 
 These limbs should affect venery ? or these eyes 
 Covet a concubine ? Pray you mark these hands ; 
 Are they not fit to stroke a lady's face ? 
 Perhaps he doth dissemble ! 
 
 Bon. So he does. 
 
 Volt. Would you have him tortured ? 
 
 Bon. I would have him proved. 
 
 Volt. Best try him with goads or burning irons ; 
 Put him to the strappado ; I have heard 
 The rack hath cured the gout ; 'faith, give it him, 
 And help him of a malady ! be courteous. 
 I'll undertake, before these honoured fathers, 
 He shall have yet as many left diseases 
 As she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets. 
 Oh, my most equal hearers, if these deeds, 
 Acts of this bold and most exorbitant strain, 
 May pass with sufferance,. what one citizen 
 But owes the forfeit of his life, yea, fame, 
 To him that dares traduce him ? W 7 hich of you 
 Are safe, my honour'd fathers ? I would ask, 
 With leave of your grave fatherhoods, if their plot 
 Have any face or colour like to truth ? 
 Or if unto the dullest nostril here 
 It smell not rank and most abhorred slander ? 
 I crave your care of this good gentleman, 
 Whose life is much endangered by their fable ; 
 And as for them, I will conclude with this : 
 That vicious persons, when they 're hot and fleshed 
 In impious acts, their constancy abounds ; 
 Damn'd deeds are done with greatest confidence. 
 
 1st Avoc. Take them to custody, and sever them. 
 
 2nd Avoc. 'Tis pity two such prodigies should live. 
 
 1st Avoc. Let the old gentleman be returned with care. 
 
 [Exeunt Officers with VOLPONE. 
 I 'm sorry our credulity hath wronged him. 
 
 $th Avoc. These are two creatures ! 
 
 yd Avoc. I 've an earthquake in me. 
 
1 68 VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. [act IV. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Their shame even in their cradles fled their faces. 
 
 4/// Avoc. You have done a worthy service to the state, sir, 
 In their discovery. [To Volt. 
 
 1st Avoc. You shall hear, ere night, 
 What punishmeat the court decrees upon them. 
 
 [Exeunt Avocat. Not. rt;/^Officers with BONARIO ondCELlA. 
 Volt. We thank your fatherhoods.— How like you it ? 
 
 Jlfos. Rare. 
 I 'd have your tongue, sir, tipt with gold for this ; 
 I "d have you be the heir to the whole city ; 
 The earth I'd have want men ere you want living ; 
 They : re bound to erect your statue in St. Marks, 
 Signior Corvino, I would have you go 
 And show yourself that you have conquer'd. 
 
 Corv. Yes. 
 
 Mos. It was much better that you should profess 
 Yourself a cuckold thus, than that the other 
 Should have been proved. 
 
 Co? v. Nay, I considered that : 
 Now it is her fault. 
 
 Mos. Then it had been yours. 
 
 Corv. True : I do doubt this advocate still. 
 
 Mos. V faith 
 You need not, I dare ease you of that care. 
 
 Corv. I trust thee, Mosca. {Exit. 
 
 Mos. As your own soul, sir. 
 
 Coib. Mosca ! 
 
 Mos. Now for your business, sir. 
 
 Cord. How ! have you business ? 
 
 Mos. Yes, yours, sir. 
 
 Cord. Oh, none else ? 
 
 Mos. None else, not I. 
 
 Cord. Be careful, then. 
 
 Mos. Rest you with both your eyes, sir. 
 
 Cord. Dispatch it. 
 
 Mos. Instantly. 
 
 Cord. And look that all, 
 Whatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys, 
 Household stuff, bedding, curtains. 
 
 Mos. Curtain-rings, sir : 
 Only the advocate's fee must be deducted. 
 
 Cord. I '11 pay him now ; you '11 be too prodigal. 
 
 Mos. Sir, I must tender it. 
 
 Cord. Two chequines is well. 
 
 Mos. No, six, sir. 
 
 Cord. 'Tis too much. 
 
 Mos. He talked a great while ; 
 You must consider that, sir. 
 
scene i.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 169 
 
 Cord. Well, there's three 
 
 Mos. I '11 give it him. 
 
 Cord. Do so, and there's for thee. {Exit. 
 
 Mos. Bountiful bones ! What horrid strange offence 
 Did he commit gainst nature, in his youth, 
 
 Worthy this age ? {Aside.'] — You see, sir, {to VOLT.] how I work 
 Unto your ends : take you no notice ? 
 
 Volt. No, 
 I '11 leave you. {Exit. 
 
 Mos. All is yours, the devil and all : 
 Good advocate ! — Madam, I '11 bring you home. 
 
 Lady P. No, I '11 go see your patron. 
 
 Mos. That you shall not : 
 I '11 tell you why. My purpose is to urge 
 My patron to reform his Will ; and for 
 The zeal you have shown to-day, whereas before 
 You were but third or fourth, you shall be now 
 Put in the first ; which would appear as begged 
 If you were present. Therefore 
 
 Lady P. You shall sway me. {Exeunt. 
 
 -ACT V. 
 
 Scene I.— A Room in Volpone's House. 
 E?iter Volpone. 
 
 Volp. Well, I am here, and all this brunt is past. 
 I ne'er was in dislike with my disguise 
 Till this fled moment : here 'twas good in private ; 
 But in your public, — cave whilst I breathe. 
 'Fore God, my left leg 'gan to have the cramp, 
 And I apprehended straight some power had struck me 
 With a dead palsy. Well, I must be merry, 
 And shake it off. A many of these fears 
 Would put me into some villainous disease, 
 Should they come thick upon me ; I '11 prevent 'em. 
 Give me a bowl ot lusty wine, to fright 
 This humour from my heart. {Drinks.'] — hum, hum, hum ! 
 'Tis almost gone already ; I shall conquer. 
 Any device, now, of rare ingenious knavery 
 That would possess me with a violent laughter, 
 Would make me up again. (Drinks again.) — So, so, so, so! 
 This heat is life ; 't is blood by this time : — Mosca ! 
 
 Enter Mosca. 
 Mos. How now, sir ! does the day look clear again ? 
 Are we recover 5 d ; and wrought out of error, 
 
170 VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 Into our w.i}*, to see our path before us ? 
 Is our trade free once more ? 
 
 Volp. Exquisite Mosca ! 
 
 Mos. Was it not carried learnedly ? 
 
 Volp. And stoutly : 
 Good wits are greatest in extremities. 
 
 Mos. It were a folly beyond thought, to trust 
 Any grand act unto a cowardly spirit : 
 You are not taken with it enough, methinks. 
 
 Volp. Oh, more than if I had not been opposed : 
 The pleasure of all womankind's not like it. 
 
 Mos. Why, now you speak, sir. We must here be fix'd ; 
 Here we must rest ; this is our masterpiece ; 
 We cannot think to go beyond this. 
 
 Volp. True, 
 Thou hast play'd thy prize, my precious Mosca. 
 
 Mos. Nay, sir, 
 To gull the court 
 
 Volp. And quite divert the torrent 
 Upon the innocent. 
 
 Mos. Yes, and to make 
 So rare a music out of discords 
 
 Volp. Right. 
 That yet to me 's the strangest, how thou hast borne it ! 
 That these, being so divided 'mongst themselves, 
 Should not scent somewhat, or in me or thee. 
 Or doubt their own side. 
 
 Mos. True, they will not see 't. 
 Too much light blinds them, I think. Each of them 
 Is so possest and stuft with his own hopes, 
 That any thing unto the contrary, 
 Never so true, or never so apparent, 
 Never so palpable, they will resist it 
 
 Volp. Like a temptation of the devil. 
 
 Mos. Right, sir. 
 Merchants may talk of trade, and your great signicrs 
 Of land that yields well ; but if Italy 
 Have any glebe more fruitful than these fellows, 
 I am deceiv'd. Did not your advocate rare ? 
 
 Volp. Oh— "My most honour'd fathers, my grave fathers, 
 Under correction of your fatherhoods, 
 What face of truth is here ? If these strange deeds 
 May pass, most honour'd fathers" — I had much ado 
 To forbear laughing. 
 
 Mos. It seem'd to me, you sweat, sir. 
 
 Volp. In troth, I did a little. 
 
 Mos. But confess, sir, 
 Were you not daunted ? 
 
scene I.] VOLP ONE j OR, THE FOX. 171 
 
 Volp. In good faith, I was 
 A little in a mist, but not dejected ; 
 Never, but still my self. 
 
 Mos. I think it, sir. 
 Now, so truth help me, I must needs say this, sir, 
 And out of conscience for your advocate, 
 He has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserv'd, 
 In my poor judgment, I speak it under favour, 
 Not to contrary you, sir, very richly — 
 Well — to be cozen'd. 
 
 Volp. Troth, and I think so too, 
 By that I heard him, in the latter end. 
 
 Mos. Oh, but before, sir : had you heard him first 
 Draw it to certain heads, then aggravate, 
 Then use his vehement figures — I look'd still 
 When he would shift a shirt : and, doing this 
 Out of pure love, no hope of gain 
 
 Volp. Tis right. 
 I cannot answer him, Mosca, as I would, 
 Not yet ; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty, 
 I will begin, even now — to vex them all, 
 This very instant. 
 
 Mos. Good sir. 
 
 Volp. Call the dwarf 
 And eunuch forth. 
 
 Mos. Castrone, Nano ! 
 
 Enter Castrone and Nano. 
 
 Nano. Here. 
 
 Volp. Shall we have a jig now ? 
 
 Mos. What you please, sir. 
 
 Volp. Go, 
 Straight give out about the streets, you two, 
 That I am dead ; do it with constancy, 
 Sadly, do you hear ? Impute it to the grief 
 Of this late slander. [Exeunt Cast, and N AXO. 
 
 Mos. What do you mean, sir ? 
 
 Volp. Oh, 
 I shall have instantly my Vulture, Crow, 
 Raven, come flying hither, on the news, 
 To peck for carrion, my she- wolf and all, 
 Greedy and full of expectation ■ 
 
 Mos. And then to have it ravished from their mouths ! 
 
 Volp. 'Tis true. I will have thee put on a gown, 
 And take upon thee, as thou wert mine heir : 
 Show them a will : Open that chest, and reach 
 Forth one of those that has the blanks ; I '11 straight 
 Put in thy name. 
 
172 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 Mos. It will be rare, sir. [Gives him a paper. 
 
 Voip. Ay, 
 
 When they e'en gape, and find themselves deluded 
 
 Mos. Yes. 
 
 Volp. And then use them scurvily ! 
 Dispatch, get on thy gown. 
 
 Mos. [putting on a gown.'] But what, sir, if they ask 
 After the body ? 
 
 Volp. Say, it was corrupted. 
 
 Mos. I '11 say it stank, sir ; and was fain to have it 
 Coffined up instantly, and sent away. 
 
 Volp. Anything ; what thou wilt. Hold, here 's my will. 
 Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink, 
 Papers afore thee ; sit as thou wert taking 
 An inventory of parcels : I '11 get up 
 Behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken ; 
 Sometime peep over, see how they do look, 
 With what degrees their blood doth leave their faces, 
 O, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter ! 
 
 Mos. [putting on a cap, and setting out the table, &r*c~\ Your 
 advocate will turn stark dull upon it. 
 
 Volp. It will take off his oratory's edge. 
 
 Mos. But your clarissimo, old round-back, he 
 Will crump you like a hog-louse, with the touch. 
 
 Volp. And what Corvino ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, sir, look for him, 
 To-morrow morning, with a rope and dagger, 
 To visit all the streets ; he must run mad. 
 My lady too, that came into the court 
 To bear false witness for your worship 
 
 Volp. Yes, 
 And kiss'd me 'fore the fathers, when my face 
 Plowed all with oils. 
 
 Mos. And sweat, sir. Why, your gold 
 Is such another med'cine, it dries up 
 All those offensive savours : it transforms 
 The most deformed, and restores them lovely, 
 As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. Jove 
 Could not invent t' himself a shroud more subtle 
 To pass Acrisius' guards. It is the thing 
 Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty. 
 
 Volp. I think she loves me. 
 
 Mos. Who ? the lady, sir ? 
 She 's jealous of you. 
 
 Volp. Dost thou say so ? [Knocking within. 
 
 Mos. Hark, 
 There 's some already. 
 
 Volp. Look. 
 
Scene I.] VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. 173 
 
 Mos. It is the Vulture ; 
 He has the quickest scent. 
 
 Volp. I "11 to my place, 
 Thou to thy posture. {Goes behind the curtain. 
 
 Mos. I am set. 
 
 Volp. But, Mosca, 
 Play the artificer now, torture them rarely. 
 
 Enter Voltore. 
 Volt. How now, my Mosca ? 
 
 Mos. [writing.') Turkey carpets, nine ■ 
 
 Volt. Taking an inventory ! that is well. 
 
 Mos. Two suits of bedding, tissue 
 
 Volt. Where 's the Will ? 
 Let me read that the while. 
 
 Enter Servants, with Corbaccio in a chair. 
 Cord. So, set me down, 
 And get you home. {Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Volt. Is he come now, to trouble us ? 
 
 Mos. Of cloth of gold, two more 
 
 Corb. Is it done, Mosca ? 
 
 Mos. Of several velvets eight 
 
 Volt. I like his care. 
 Corb. Dost thou not hear? 
 
 Enter Corvino. 
 Corb. Ha ! is the hour come, Mosca ? 
 Volp. [peepi?ig over the curtain.'] Ay, now they muster. 
 Corv. What does the advocate here, 
 Or this Corbaccio ? 
 
 Corb. What do these here ? 
 
 Enter Lady Pol. Would-be. 
 
 Lady P. Mosca ! 
 Is his thread spun ? 
 
 Mos. Eight chests of linen 
 
 Volp. Oh, 
 My fine Dame Would-be, too ! 
 
 Corv. Mosca, the Will, 
 That I may show it these, and rid them hence. 
 
 Mos. Six chests of diaper, four of damask — There. 
 
 [Gives them the Will carelessly over his shoulder. 
 
 Corb. Is that the Will? 
 
 Mos. Down-beds and bolsters 
 
 Volp. Rare! 
 Be busy still. Now they begin to flutter : 
 They never think of me. Look, see, see, see ! 
 How their swift eves run over the long deed 
 
174 VOLP ONE; OR, THE FOX. [act V. 
 
 Unto the name, and to the legacies, 
 What is bequeathed them there 
 
 Mos. Ten suits of hangings 
 
 Volp. Ay, in their garters, Mosca. Now their hopes 
 Are at the gasp. 
 
 Volt. Mosca the heir ! 
 
 Corb. What 's that I 
 
 Volp. My advocate is dumb : look to my merchant, 
 He has heard of some strange storm, a ship is lost, 
 He faints ; my lady will swoon. Old glazen eyes, 
 He hath not reached his despair yet. 
 
 Corb. All these 
 Are out of hope ; I am, sure, the man. \Takes the Will. 
 
 Coru. But, Mosca 
 
 Mos. Two cabinets. 
 
 Corv. Is this in earnest ? 
 
 Mos. One 
 Of ebony 
 
 Corv. Or do you but delude me ? 
 
 Mos. The other, mother of pearl — I am very busy. 
 Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me — 
 Item, one salt of agate — not my seeking. 
 
 Lady P. Do you hear, sir ? 
 
 Mos. A perfumed box — 'Pray you forbear, 
 You see I'm troubled— made of an onyx — 
 
 Lady P. How! 
 
 Mos. To-morrow or next day, I shall be at leisure 
 To talk with you all. 
 
 Corv. Is this my large hope's issue? 
 
 Lady P. Sir, I must have a fairer answer. 
 
 Mos. Madam ! 
 Marry, and shall : 'pray you, fairly quit my house. 
 Nay, raise no tempest with your looks ; but hark you, 
 Remember what your ladyship offer 'd me 
 To put you in an heir ; go to, think on it : 
 And what you said e'en your best madams did 
 For maintenance ; and why not you ? Enough. 
 Go home, and use the poor Sir Pol, your knight, well, 
 Fcr fear I tell some riddles ; go, be melancholy. 
 
 [Exit Lady Would-be. 
 
 Volp. Oh, my fine devil ! 
 
 Corv. Mosca, pray you a word. 
 
 Mos. Lord ! will you not take your despatch hence yet ? 
 Methinks, of all, you should have been the example. 
 Why should you stay here ? with what thought, what promise ? 
 Hear you ; do you not know, I know you an ass, 
 And that you would most fain have been a wittol, 
 If fortune would have let you ? that you are 
 
SCENE i.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 175 
 
 A declared cuckold, on good terms ? This pearl, 
 
 You'll say, was yours ? right : this diamond ? 
 
 I'll not deny 't, but thank you. Much here else ? 
 
 It may be so. Why, think that these good works 
 
 May help to hide your bad. I'll not betray you ; 
 
 Although you be but extraordinary, 
 
 And have it only in title, it sufficeth : 
 
 Go home, be melancholy too, or mad. [Exit CORVINO. 
 
 Volp. Rare Mosca ! how his villainy becomes him ! 
 
 Volt. Certain he doth delude all these for me. 
 
 Corb. Mosca the heir ! 
 
 Volp. O, his four eyes have found it. 
 
 Corb. I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave ; 
 Harlot, thou hast gull'd me. 
 
 Mos. Yes, sir. Stop your mouth, 
 Or I shall draw the only tooth is left. 
 Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch, 
 With the three legs, that here, in hope of prey, 
 Have, any time this three years, snuff'd about, 
 With your most grovelling nose, and would have hired 
 Me to the poisoning of my patron, sir ? 
 Are not you he that have to-day in court 
 Profess'd the disinheriting of your son ? 
 Perjured yourself? Go home, and die, and stink ; 
 If you but croak a syllable, all comes out : 
 
 Away, and call your porters ! — [Exit CORBACCIO.]— Go, go, 
 stink. 
 
 Volp. Excellent varlet ! 
 
 Volt. Now, my faithful Mosca, 
 I find thy constancy. 
 
 Mos. Sir! 
 
 Volt. Sincere. 
 
 Mos. [writmg7\ A table 
 Of porphyry — I marie you '11 be thus troublesome. 
 
 Volt. Nay, leave off now, they are gone. 
 
 Mos. Why, who are you ? 
 What ! Who did send for you ? Oh, cry you mercy, 
 Reverend sir ! Good faith, I am grieved for you, 
 That any chance of mine should thus defeat 
 Your (I must needs say) most deserving travails : 
 But I protest, sir, it was cast upon me, 
 And I could almost wish to be without it, 
 But that the will o' the dead must be observed. 
 Marry, my joy is that you need it not ; 
 You have a gift, sir, (thank your education,) 
 Will never let you want, while there are men, 
 And malice, to breed causes. Would I had 
 But half the like, for all mv fortune, sir ! 
 
176 VOLP ONE; OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 If I have any suits, as I do hope, 
 
 Things being so easy and direct, I shall not, 
 
 I will make bold with your obstreperous aid, 
 
 Conceive me, for your fee, sir. In the meantime, 
 
 You that have so much law, I know have the conscience 
 
 Not to be covetous of what is mine. 
 
 Good sir, I thank you for my plate ; 'twill help 
 
 To set up a young man. Good faith, you look 
 
 As you were costive ; best go home and purge, sir. 
 
 [Exit Voi/tore. 
 
 Volp. [Comes from behind the curtain.'] Bid him eat lettuce 
 well. My witty mischief, 
 Let me embrace thee. Oh, that I could now 
 Transform thee to a Venus ! Mosca, go, 
 Straight take my habit of clarissimo, 
 And walk the streets ; be seen, torment them more : 
 We must pursue, as well as plot. Who would 
 Have lost this feast ?' 
 
 Mos. I doubt it will lose them. 
 
 Volp. Oh, my recovery shall recover all. 
 That I could now but think on some disguise 
 To meet them in, and ask them questions : 
 How I would vex them still at every turn ! 
 
 Mos. Sir, I can fit you. 
 
 Volp. Can'st thou ? 
 
 Mos. Yes, I know 
 One o' the commandadori, sir, so like you ; 
 Him will I straight make drunk, and bring you his habit. 
 
 Volp. A rare disguise, and answering thy brain ! 
 Oh, I will be a sharp disease unto them. 
 
 Mos. Sir, you must look for curses 
 
 Volp. Till they burst ; 
 The Fox fares ever best when he is curst. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A hall in Sir Politick's house. 
 Enter Peregrine disguised and three merchants. 
 
 Per. Am I enough disguised ? 
 
 ist Mer. I warrant you. 
 
 Per. All my ambition is to fright him only. 
 
 ind Mer. If you could ship him away, 'twere excellent. 
 
 yd Mer. To Zant, or to Aleppo ? 
 
 Per. Yes, and have his 
 Adventures put i' the Book of Voyages, 
 And his gull'd story registered for truth. 
 Well, gentlemen, when I am in a while, 
 And that you think us warm in our discourse, 
 Know your approaches. 
 
scene ii.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 177 
 
 1st Me?-. Trust it to our care. [Exeunt MERCHANTS. 
 
 ^Enter Waiting-woman. 
 
 Per. Save you, fair lady ! Is Sir Pol within ? 
 
 Worn. I do not know, sir. 
 
 Per. Pray you say unto him, 
 Here is a merchant upon earnest business 
 Desires to speak with him. 
 
 Worn. I will see, sir. {Exit. 
 
 Per. Pray you. 
 
 I see the family is all female here. 
 
 Re-e?iter Waiting-woman. 
 Worn. He says, sir, he has weighty affairs of state, 
 That now require him whole ; some other time 
 You may possess him. 
 
 Per. Pray you say again, 
 If those require him whole, these will exact him, 
 Whereof I bring him tidings. [Exit Woman.] — What might 
 
 be 
 His grave affair of state now ! how to make 
 Bolognian sausages here in Venice, sparing 
 One o' the ingredients ? 
 
 Reenter Waiting-woman. 
 
 IVom. Sir, he says he knows 
 By your word tidings, that you are no statesman, 
 And therefore wills you stay. 
 
 Per. Sweet, pray you return him ; 
 I have not read so many proclamations, 
 And studied them for words, as he has done — 
 But— here he deigns to come. [Exit Woman- 
 
 Enter Sir Politick. 
 
 Sir P. Sir, I must crave 
 Your courteous pardon. There hath chanced to-day, 
 Unkind disaster 'twixt my lady and me ; 
 And I was penning my apology, 
 To give her satisfaction, as you came now. 
 
 Per. Sir, I am grieved I bring you worse disaster : 
 The gentleman you met at the port to-day, 
 That told you, he was newly arrived 
 
 Sir P. Ay, was 
 A fugitive punk ? 
 
 Per. No, sir, a spy set on you ; 
 And he has made relation to the Senate, 
 That you profest to him to have a plot 
 To sell the State of Venice to the Turk. 
 
 Sir P. Oh me ! 
 
178 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 Per. For which, warrants are signed by this time, 
 To apprehend you, and to search your study 
 For papers 
 
 Sir P. Alas, sir, I have none, but notes 
 Drawn out of play-books 
 
 Per. All the better, sir. 
 
 Sir P. And some essays. What shall I do ? 
 
 Per. Sir, best 
 Convey yourself into a sugar-chest : 
 Or, if you could lie round, a frail were rare, 
 And I could send you aboard. 
 
 Sir P. Sir, I but talked so, 
 For discourse sake merely. {Knocking within. 
 
 Per. Hark ! they are there. 
 
 Sir P. I am a wretch, a wretch ! 
 
 Per. "What will you do, sir ? 
 Have you ne'er a currant-butt to leap into ? 
 They'll put you to the rack ; you must be sudden. 
 
 Sir P. Sir, I have an ingine ■ 
 
 yd Mer. [wifhin? s Sir Politick Would-be ! 
 
 i?id Mer. [within.] Where is he ? 
 
 Sir P. That I have thought upon before time. 
 
 Per. What is it ? 
 
 Sir P. I shall ne'er endure the torture. 
 Marry, it is, sir, of a tortoise-shell, 
 Fitted for these extremities : pray you, sir, help me. 
 Here I've a place, sir, to put back my legs, 
 Please you to lay it on, sir, [Lies dozvn while PEREGRINE places 
 
 the shell upon him.] — with this cap, 
 And my black gloves. I'll lie, sir, like a tortoise, 
 'Till they are gone. 
 
 Per. And call you this an ingine ? 
 
 Sir P. Mine own device Good sir, bid my wife's women 
 
 To burn my papers. [Ex-it PEREGRINE 
 
 The three Merchants rush in. 
 ist Mer. Where is he hid ? 
 yd Mer. We must 
 And will sure find him. 
 
 2nd Mer. Which is his study ? 
 
 Re-otter Peregrine. 
 
 i st Mer. What 
 Are you, sir ? 
 
 Per. I am a merchant, that came here 
 To look upon this tortoise. 
 
 yd Mer. How ! 
 
 i st Mer. St. Mark ! 
 What beast is this ! 
 
scene II.] VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX. 179 
 
 Per. It is a fish. 
 
 2nd Mer. Come out here ! 
 
 Per. Nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread upon him ; 
 He'll bear a cart. 
 
 1st Mer. What, to run over him ? 
 
 Per. Yes, sir. 
 
 yd Mer. Let 's jump upon him. 
 
 2nd Mer. Can he not go ? 
 
 Per. He creeps, sir. 
 
 1st Mer. Let 's see him creep. 
 
 Per. No, good sir, you will hurt him. 
 
 2?id Mer. Heart, I will see him creep, or prick his guts. 
 
 3rd Mer. Come out here ! 
 
 Per. Pray you, sir !— Creep a little. [Aside to SIR POLI TICK. 
 
 1st Mer. Forth. 
 
 2nd Mer. Yet farther. 
 
 Per. Good sir ! — Creep. 
 
 2nd Mer. We'll see his legs. 
 
 [They pull off the shell and discover him. 
 
 yd Mer. 'Ods so, he has garters ! 
 
 1st Mer. Ay, and gloves ! 
 
 2nd Mer. Is this 
 Your fearful tortoise ? 
 
 Per. [discovering himself ?\ Now, Sir Pol, we are even ; 
 For your next project I shall be prepared : 
 I am sorry for the funeral of your notes, sir. 
 
 1st Mer. 'Twere a rare motion to be seen in Fleet-street 
 
 2?id Mer. Ay, in the Term. 
 
 1st Mer. Or Smithfield, in the fair. 
 
 yd Mer. Methinks 'tis but a -melancholy sight. 
 
 Per. Farewell, most politic tortoise ! 
 
 [Exeunt Per. and Merchants. 
 
 Re-enter Waiting- woman. 
 
 Sir P. Where's my lady ? 
 Knows she of this ? 
 
 Worn. I know not, sir. 
 
 Sir P. Enquire — 
 Oh, I shall be the fable of all feasts, 
 The freight of the gazetti, ship-boy's tale ; 
 And, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries. 
 
 Worn. My lady 's come most melancholy home, 
 And says, sir, she will straight to sea for physic. 
 
 Sir P. And I to shun this place and clime forever, 
 Creeping with house on back, and think it well 
 To shrink my poor head in my politic shell. [Exeunt. 
 
i So VOLPONE j OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 Scene III.— A room in Volpone's house. 
 
 Enter MOSCA in the habit of a Clarissi/uo, and VOLPONE in that 
 of a Commandadore. 
 Voip. Am I then like him ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, sir, you are he : 
 No man can sever you. 
 Volp. Good. 
 
 Mos. But what am I ? 
 
 Voip. 'Fore heaven, a brave clarissimo ; thou becom'st it i 
 Pity thou wert not born one. 
 
 Mos. If I hold 
 My made one, 'twill be well. [Aside. 
 
 Volp. I '11 go and see 
 What news first at the court. [Exit. 
 
 Mos. Do so. My Fox 
 Is out of his hole, and ere he shall re-enter, 
 I '11 make him languish in his borrowed case, 
 '.Except he come to composition with me. 
 Androgyno, Castrone, Nano ! 
 
 Enter Androgyno, Castrone and NANO. 
 
 All. Here. 
 
 Mos. Go, recreate yourselves abroad ; go sport. [Exeunt. 
 
 So, now I have the keys, and am possest. 
 Since he will needs be dead afore his time, 
 I ; 11 bury him, or gain by him : I am his heir, 
 And so will keep me, till he share at least. 
 To cozen him of all, were but a cheat 
 Well placed ; no man would construe it a sin : 
 Let his sport pay for 't. This is called the Fox-trap. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV.— A street. 
 
 Enter Corbaccio and Corvino. 
 
 Corb. They say, the Court is set. 
 
 Corv. We must maintain 
 Our first tale good, for both our reputations. 
 
 Corb. Why, mine's no tale : my son would there have killed 
 me. 
 
 Corv. That 's true, I had forgot : mine is, I 'm sure. [Aside. 
 But for your Will, sir. 
 
 Corb. Ay, I '11 come upon him 
 Eor that hereafter, now his patron's dead. 
 
 E?iter VOLPONE. 
 Vol-b. Signior Corvino ! and Corbaccio ! Sir, 
 Much joy unto you. 
 
scenes in., iv.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 181 
 
 Corv. Of what ? 
 
 Volp. The sudden good 
 Dropt down upon you— — 
 
 Corb. Where ? 
 
 Volp. And none knows how, 
 From old Volpone, sir. 
 
 Cotb. Out, arrant knave ! 
 
 Volp. Let not your too much wealth, sir, make you furious. 
 
 Corb. Away, thou varlet ! 
 
 Volp. Why, sir ? 
 
 Corb. Dost thou mock me ? 
 
 Volp. You mock the world, sir ; did you not change Wills ? 
 
 Corb. Out, harlot ! 
 
 Volp. Oh ! belike you are the man, 
 Signior Corvino ? 'faith, you carry it well ; 
 You grow not mad withal ; I love your spirit : 
 You are not over-leavened with your fortune. 
 You should have some would swell now, like a wine-fat, 
 With such an autumn — Did he give you all, sir? 
 
 Corv. Avoid, you rascal ! 
 
 Volp. Troth, your wife has shown 
 Herself a very woman ; but you are well, 
 You need not care, you have a good estate, 
 To bear it out, sir, better by this chance : 
 Except Corbaccio have a share. 
 
 Corb. Hence, varlet. 
 
 Volp. You will not be acknown, sir ; why, 't is wise. 
 Thus do all gamesters, at all games dissemble : 
 No man shall seem to win. {Exeunt Corvino and CORBACCIO.) 
 
 Here comes my vulture, 
 Heaving his beak up in the air, and snuffing. 
 
 Enter Voltore. 
 
 Volt. Outstripped thus by a parasite ! a slave, 
 Would run on errands, and make legs for crumbs ! 
 Well, what I '11 do 
 
 Volp. The Court stays for your worship. 
 I e'en rejoice, sir, at your worship's happiness, 
 And that it fell into so learned hands, 
 That understand the fingering 
 
 Volt. What do you mean ? 
 
 Volp. I mean to be a suitor to your worship, 
 For the small tenement, out of reparations, 
 That at the end of your long row of houses, 
 By the Piscaria : it was, in Volpone's time, 
 Your predecessor, ere he grew diseased, 
 A handsome, pretty, customed house of call 
 As any was in Venice, none dispraised ; 
 
182 VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. Tact v. 
 
 But fell with him : his body and that house 
 Decayed together. 
 
 Volt. Come, sir, leave your prating. 
 
 Volp. Why, if your worship give me but your hand, 
 That I may have the refusal, I have done. 
 Tis a mere toy to you, sir ; candle rents ; 
 As your learned worship knows 
 
 Volt. What do I know ? 
 
 Volp. Marry, no end ot your wealth, sir : God decrease it ! 
 
 Volt. Mistaking knave ! what, mock'st thou my misfortune ? 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Volp. His blessing on your heart, sir ; would 't were more ! — 
 Now to my first again, at the next corner. [Exit. 
 
 Scene V '.—Another part of the Street. 
 
 Enter CORBACCIO and Corvino ; — MOSCA passes over the 
 Stage, before them. 
 
 Cord. See, in our habit ! see the impudent varlet ! 
 
 Corv. That I could shoot mine eyes at him like gun stones ! 
 
 Enter VOLPONE. 
 
 Volp. But is this true, sir, of the parasite ? 
 
 Corb. Again, to afflict us ! monster ! 
 
 Volp. In good faith, sir, 
 I'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length 
 Should be so over-reached. I never brooked 
 That parasite's hair ; methought his nose should cozen : 
 There still was somewhat in his look, did promise 
 The bane of a clarissimo. 
 
 Corb. Knave 
 
 Volp. Methinks 
 Yet you, that are so traded in the world, 
 A witty merchant, the fine bird, Corvino, 
 That have such moral emblems on your name, 
 Should not have sung your shame, and dropt your cheese, 
 To let the Fox laugh at your emptiness. 
 
 Corv. Sirrah, you think the privilege of the place, 
 And your red saucy cap, that seems to me 
 Nailed to your jolt-head with those two chequines, 
 Can warrant your abuses ; come you hither : 
 You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you ; approach. 
 
 Volp. No haste, sir, I do know your valour well, 
 Since you durst publish what you are, sir. 
 
 Corv. Tarry, 
 I'd speak with you. 
 
 Volp. Sir, sir, another time 
 
SCENES v., vi.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 183 
 
 Corv. Nay, now. 
 
 Volp. Oh, lord, sir ! I were a wise man, 
 Would stand the fury of a distracted husband. 
 
 [As he is running off, re-enter MOSCA. 
 Cord. What, come again ! 
 Volp. Upon 'em, Mosca ; save me. 
 Cord. The air 's infected where he breathes. 
 Corv. Let 's fly him. [Exeunt CORV. and CORB. 
 
 Volp. Excellent basilisk ! turn upon the vulture. 
 
 Enter VOLTORE. 
 
 Volt. Well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you now ; 
 Your winter will come on. 
 
 Mos. Good advocate, 
 Prithee not rail, nor threaten out of place thus ; 
 Thou '"It make a solecism, as madam says. 
 Get you a biggin more, your brain breaks loose. [Exit 
 
 Volt. Well, sir. 
 
 Volp. Would you have me beat the insolent slave, 
 Throw dirt upon his first good clothes ? 
 
 Volt. This same 
 Is doubtless some familiar. 
 
 Volp. Sir, the Court, 
 In troth, stays for you. I am mad, a mule 
 That never read Justinian, should get up, 
 And ride an advocate. Had you no quirk 
 To avoid gullage, sir, by such a creature ? 
 I hope you do but jest ; he has not done it ; 
 'Tis but confederacy, to blind the rest. 
 You are the heir. 
 
 Volt. A strange, officious, 
 Troublesome knave ! thou dost torment me. 
 
 Volp. I know 
 
 It cannot be, sir, that you should be cozened ; 
 
 'Tis not within the wit of man to do it ; 
 
 You are so wise, so prudent ; and 'tis fit 
 
 That wealth and wisdom still should go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — The Scrutineo or Senate-House. 
 
 Enter Avocatori, Notario, Bonario, Celia, CORBACCIO, Cor- 
 VI NO, Commandadori, Saffi, &>c. 
 1st Avoc. Are all the parties here ? 
 Not. All but the advocate. 
 2nd Avoc. And here he comes. 
 
 Enter Voltore and Volpone. 
 1st Avoc. Then bring them forth to sentence. 
 
1 84 VOL PONE j OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 Volt. O my most honoured fathers, let your mercy 
 Once win upon your justice, to forgive — 
 I am distracted 
 
 Volp. What will he do now ? [Aside. 
 
 Volt. Oh, 
 I know not which to address myself to first ; 
 Whether your fatherhoods, or these innocents ■ 
 
 Corv. Will he betray himself? [Aside. 
 
 Volt. Whom equally 
 I have abused, out of most covetous ends 
 
 Corv. The man is mad ! 
 
 Cora. What's that? 
 
 Corv. He is possest. 
 
 Volt. For which, now struck in conscience, here I prostrate 
 Myself at your offended feet, for pardon. 
 
 1st, 2nd Avoc. Arise. 
 
 Cel. O heaven, how just thou art ! 
 
 Volp. I am caught 
 In mine own noose [Aside. 
 
 Corv. [to Corbaccio.] Be constant, sir : nought now 
 Can help, but impudence. 
 
 ist Avoc. Speak forward. 
 
 Com. Silence ! 
 
 Volt. It is not passion in me, reverend fathers, 
 But only conscience, conscience, my good sires, 
 That makes me now tell truth. That parasite, 
 That knave, hath been the instrument of all. 
 
 ist Avoc. Where is that knave ? fetch him. 
 
 Volp. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Corv. Grave fathers, 
 This man's distracted ; he confest it now : 
 For, hoping to be old Volpone's heir, 
 Who now is dead 
 
 yd Avoc. How ! 
 
 2nd Avoc. Is Volpone dead? 
 
 Corv. Dead since, grave fathers. 
 
 Bon. O sure vengeance ! 
 
 ist Avoc. Stay, 
 Then he was no deceiver. 
 
 Volt. Oh, no, none : 
 The parasite, grave fathers. 
 
 Corv. He does speak 
 Out of mere envy, 'cause the servant's made 
 The thing he gaped for : please your fatherhoods, 
 This is the truth, though I '11 not justify 
 The other, but he may be some-deal faulty. 
 
 Volt. Ay, to your hopes, as well as mine, Corvino ; 
 But I '11 use modesty. Pleaseth your wisdoms, 
 
scene Vii.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 185 
 
 To view these certain notes, and but confer them ; 
 As I hope favour, they shall speak clear truth. 
 
 Con>. The devil has entered him ! 
 
 Bon. Or bides in you. 
 
 4th Avoc. We have done ill, by a public officer 
 To send for him, if he be heir. 
 
 2nd Avoc. For whom ? 
 
 4I/1 Avoc. Him that they call the parasite. 
 
 yd Avoc. 'Tis true, 
 He is a man of great estate, now left. 
 
 4th Avoc. Go you, and learn his name, and say, the Court 
 Entreats his presence here, but to the clearing 
 Of some few doubts. [Exit Notary. 
 
 2nd Avoc. This same 's a labyrinth ! 
 
 1st Avoc. Stand you unto your first report? 
 
 Corv. My state, 
 My life, my fame 
 
 Bon. Where is it ? 
 
 Corv. Are at the stake. 
 
 1st Avoc. Is yours so too ? 
 
 Cord. The advocate 's a knave, 
 And has a forked tongue 
 
 2nd Avoc. Speak to the point. 
 
 Cord. So is the parasite too. 
 
 1st Avoc. This is confusion. 
 
 Volt. I do beseech your fatherhoods, read but those— 
 
 [Giving them papers. 
 
 Corv. And credit nothing the false spirit hath writ : 
 It cannot be, but he ; s possest, grave fathers. [The scene closes. 
 
 Scene VII.— A Street. 
 
 Enter VOLPONE. 
 Volp. To make a snare for mine own neck ! and run \ 
 My head into it, wilfully ! with laughter ! 
 When I had newly 'scaped, was free, and clear, 
 Out of mere wantonness ! Oh, the dull devil 
 Was in this brain of mine, when I devised it, 
 And Mosca gave it second ; he must now 
 Help to sear up this vein, or we bleed dead. — 
 
 Enter Nano, Androgyno, and Castrone. 
 How now ! who let you loose ? whither go you now ? 
 What, to buy gingerbread, or to drown kitlings? 
 
 Nan. Sir, Master Mosca called us out of doors, 
 And bid us all go play, and took the keys. 
 
 A?id. Yes. 
 
 Volp. Did Master Mosca take the keys ? why so ! 
 
1 86 VOLPONE; 0R> THE FOX. [act V. 
 
 I 'm farther in. These are my fine conceits ! 
 
 I must be merry, with a mischief to me ! 
 
 What a vile wretch was I, that could not bear 
 
 My fortune soberly ? I must have my crotchets, 
 
 And my conundrums ! Well, go you, and seek him : 
 
 His meaning may be truer than my fear. 
 
 Bid him he straight come to me to the court ; 
 
 Thither will I, and, if 't be possible, 
 
 Unscrew my advocate, upon new hopes : 
 
 When I provoked him, then I lost myself. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VIII. — The Scrutineo or Senate House. 
 
 Avocatori, Bonario, Celia, Corbaccio, Corvino, Comman- 
 dadori, Saffi, &c, as before. 
 
 1st Avoc. These things can ne'er be reconciled. He, here, 
 
 [Shewing the papers. 
 Professeth, that the gentleman was wronged, 
 And that the gentlewoman was brought thither, 
 Forced by her husband, and there left. 
 
 Volt. Most true. 
 
 Cel. How ready is Heaven to those that pray ! 
 
 ist Avoc. But that 
 Volpone would have ravished her, he holds 
 Utterly false, knowing his impotence. 
 
 Co7v. Grave fathers, he's possest ; again, I say, 
 Possest : nay, if there be possession, and 
 Obsession, he has both. 
 
 3rd Avoc. Here comes our officer. 
 
 Enter VOLPONE. 
 
 Volp. The parasite will straight be here, grave fathers. 
 
 4th Avoc. You might invent some other name, sir varlet. 
 
 3rd Avoc. Did not the notary meet him ? 
 
 Volp. Not that I know. 
 
 4th Avoc. His coming will clear all. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Yet, it is misty. 
 
 Volt. May 't please your fatherhoods 
 
 Volp. [whispers Volt.] Sir, the parasite 
 Will'd me to tell you, that his master lives ; 
 That you are still the man ; your hopes the same ; 
 And this was only a jest 
 
 Volt. How? 
 
 Volp. Sir, to try 
 If you were firm, and how you stood affected. 
 
 Volt. Art sure he lives ? 
 
 Volp. Do I live, sir ? 
 
scene viil] VO LP ONE j OR, THE FOX, 187 
 
 Volt. Oh me! 
 I was too violent. 
 
 Volp. Sir, you may redeem it. 
 They said, you were possest ; fall down, and seem so : 
 I '11 help to make it good. [Voltore falls.'] God bless the 
 
 man ! ■ 
 
 Stop your wind hard, and swell — See, see, see, see ! 
 He vomits crooked pins ! His eyes are set, 
 Like a dead hare's hung in a poulter's shop ! 
 His mouth 's running away ! Do you see, signior ? 
 Now it is in his belly. 
 
 Corv. Ay, the devil ! 
 
 Volp. Now in his throat. 
 
 Co? v. Ay, I perceive it plain. 
 
 Volp. 'Twill out, 'twill out ! Stand clear. See where it flies, 
 In shape of a blue toad, with a bat's wings ! 
 Do you not see it, sir? 
 
 Cord. What ? I think I do. 
 
 Corv. 'Tis too manifest. 
 
 Volp. Look ! he comes to himself ! 
 
 Volt. Where am I ? 
 
 Volp. Take good heart, the worst is past, sir. 
 You are dispossest. 
 
 1st Avoc. What accident is this ? 
 
 ind Avoc. Sudden, and full of wonder ! 
 
 yd Avoc. If he were 
 Possest, as it appears, all this is nothing. 
 
 Corv. He has been often subject to these fits. 
 
 1st Avoc. Show him that writing : — Do you know it. sir? 
 
 Volp. \iuhispers VOLT.] Deny it, sir, forswear it ; know 
 not. 
 
 Volt. Yes, I do know it well, it is my hand ; 
 But all that it contains is false. 
 
 Bon. O practice ! 
 
 2nd Avoc. What maze is this ! 
 
 1st Avoc. Is he not guilty, then, 
 Whom you there name the parasite ? 
 
 Volt. Grave fathers, 
 No more than his good patron, old Volpone. 
 
 4t/i Avoc. Why, he is dead. 
 
 Volt. Oh, no, my honoured fathers. 
 He lives 
 
 \st Avoc. How ! lives ? 
 
 Volt. Lives. 
 
 2nd Avoc. This is subtler yet ! 
 
 yd A voc. You said he was dead. 
 
 Volt. Never. 
 
 yd Avoc. You said so. 
 
iSS VOLP ONE; OR, THE FOX. [act-v 
 
 Con'. I heard so. 
 
 4//1 Avoc. Here comes the gentleman ; make him way. 
 
 Enter Mosca. 
 
 yd Avoc. A stool. 
 
 4H1 Avoc. A proper man ; and, were Volponedead, 
 A fit match for my daughter. [Aside 
 
 yd Avoc. Give him way. 
 
 Volp. Mosca, I was almost lost ; the advocate 
 Had betrayed all ; but now it is recovered ; 
 All's on the hinge again Say, I am living. [Aside to Mos 
 
 Mos. What busy knave is this ! Most reverend fathers, 
 I sooner had attended your grave pleasures, 
 But that my order for the funeral 
 Of my dear patron did require me 
 
 Volp. Mosca.! [Aside 
 
 Mos. Whom I intend to bury like a gentleman. 
 
 Volp. Ay, quick, and cozen me of all. [Aside 
 
 I7id Avoc. Still stranger ! 
 More intricate ! 
 
 1st Avoc. And come about again ! 
 
 4/// Avoc. It is a match, my daughter is bestow'd. [Aside 
 
 Mos. Will you give me half? [Aside to Vol! 
 
 Volp. First, I '11 be hanged. 
 
 Mos. I know 
 Your voice is good, cry not so loud. 
 
 1st Avoc. Demand 
 The advocate. Sir, did you not affirm 
 Volpone was alive ? 
 
 Volp. Yes, and he is ; 
 This gentleman told me so.- — Thou shalt have half. 
 
 [Aside to M(j 
 
 Mos. Whose drunkard is this same ! Speak, some that kno\ 
 him. 
 I never saw his face. — I cannot now 
 Afford it you so cheap. [Aside to Volp 
 
 Volp. No! 
 
 1st Avoc. What say you ? 
 
 Volt. The officer told me. 
 
 Volp. I did, grave fathers, 
 And will maintain he lives with mine own life, 
 And that this creature [points to Mosca] told me. — I was born 
 W 7 ith all good stars my enemies. [Aside 
 
 Mos. Most grave fathers, 
 If such an insolence as this must pass 
 Upon me, I am silent : 'twas not this 
 For which you sent, I hope. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Take him away. - . 
 
scene viii.] VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. 189 
 
 Volp. Mosca ! 
 
 yd Avoc. Let him be whipt. 
 
 Volp. Wilt thou betray me ? 
 Cozen me ? 
 
 yd Avoc. And taught to bear himself 
 Toward a person of his rank. 
 
 4th Avoc. Away. {The Officers seize VOLrONE. 
 
 Mos. I humblv thank your fatherhoods. 
 
 Volp. Soft, soft. Whipt ! 
 And lose all that I have ! If I confess, 
 It cannot be much more. [Aside. 
 
 4th Avoc. Sir, are you married ? 
 
 Volp. They '11 be allied anon ; I must be resolute ; 
 The fox shall here uncase. [Throws off his disguise. 
 
 Mos. Patron ! 
 
 Volp. Nay, now 
 My ruins shall not come alone : your match 
 I 'Jl hinder sure : my substance shall not glue you, 
 Nor screw you into a family. 
 
 Mos. Why, patron ! 
 
 Volp. I am Volpone, and this is my knave ; 
 
 [Pointing to MOSCA. 
 This [to Volt.] his own knave ; this [to Core.] avarice's fool ; 
 This [to Corv.] a chimera of wittol, fool, and knave : 
 And, reverend fathers, since we all can hope 
 Nought but a sentence, let 's not now despair it. 
 You hear me brief. 
 
 Corv. May it please your fatherhoods 
 
 Com. Silence. 
 
 1st Avoc. The knot is now undone by miracle. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Nothing can be more clear. 
 
 yd Avoc. Or can more prove 
 These innocent. 
 
 1st Avoc. Give them their liberty. 
 
 Bon. Heaven could not long let such gross crimes be hid. 
 
 2?id Avoc. If this be held the high-way to get riches, 
 May I be poor ! 
 
 yd Avoc. This is not gain, but torment. 
 
 1st Avoc. These possess wealth, as sick men possess fevers, 
 Which trulier may be said to possess them. 
 
 2nd Avoc. Disrobe that parasite. 
 
 Corv., Mos. Most honoured fathers ! 
 
 1st Avoc. Can you plead aught to stay the course of justice ? 
 If you can, speak. 
 
 Corv., Volt We beg favour. 
 
 Cel. And mercy. 
 
 1st Avoc. You hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty. 
 Stand forth ; and first the parasite. You appear 
 
i 9 o VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX. [act v. 
 
 T have been the chiefest minister, if not plotter, 
 
 In all these lewd impostures ; and now, lastly, 
 
 Have with your impudence abused the court 
 
 And habit of a gentleman of Venice, 
 
 Being a fellow of no birth or blood : 
 
 For which our sentence is, first, thou be whipt ; 
 
 Then live perpetual prisoner in our gallies. 
 
 Volp. I thank you for him. 
 
 Mos. Bane to thy wolfish nature ! 
 
 ist Avoc. Deliver him to the saffi. [MOSCA is carried out ' 
 Thou, Volp one, 
 By blood and rank a gentleman, canst not fall 
 Under like censure-; but our judgment on thee 
 Is, that thy substance all be straight confiscate 
 To the hospital of the Incurabili : 
 And, since the most was gotten by imposture, 
 By feigning lame, gout, palsy, and such diseases, 
 Thou art to lie in prison, cramped with irons, 
 Till thou be'st sick and lame indeed. Remove him. 
 
 [He is taken from the Bar. 
 
 Volp. This is called mortifying of a Fox. 
 
 ist Avoc. Thou, Voltore, to take away the scandal 
 Thou hast given all worthy men of thy profession, 
 Art banished from their fellowship, and our state. 
 Corbaccio ! — bring him near. We here possess 
 Thy son of all thy state, and confine thee 
 To the monastery of San Spirito ; 
 Where, since thou knewest not how to live well here, 
 Thou shalt be learned to die well. 
 
 Cord. Ah ! what said he ? 
 
 Com. You shall know anon, sir. 
 
 ist Avoc. Thou, Corvino, shalt 
 Be straight embarked from thine own house, and rowed 
 Round about Venice, through the grand canale, 
 Wearing a cap, with fair long ass's ears, 
 Instead of horns ; and so to mount, a paper 
 Pinned on thy breast, to the Berlina 
 
 Corv. Yes, 
 And have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish, 
 
 Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs 'Tis well. I am glad 
 
 I shall not see my shame yet. 
 
 ist Avoc. And to expiate 
 Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her 
 Home to her father, with her dowry trebled r 
 And these are all your judgments. 
 
 All. Honoured fathers. — 
 
 ist Avoc. Which may not be revoked. Now you begin, 
 When crimes are done and past, and to be punished, 
 
scene VIII.] VOLPONEj OR, THE FOX. 191 
 
 To think what your crimes are : away with them. 
 
 Let all that see these vices thus rewarded, 
 
 Take heart and love to study 'em ! Mischiefs feed 
 
 Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed. \Exeunt. 
 
 Volpone comes forward. 
 
 The seasoning of a play, is the applause. 
 
 Now, though the Fox be punished by the laws, 
 
 He yet doth hope there is no suffering due, ■ 
 
 For any fact which he hath done 'gainst you ; 
 
 If there be, censure him ; here he doubtful stands : 
 
 If not, fare jovially and clap your hands. [Exit. 
 
Epiccene ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 The Silent Woman, 
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 MOROSE, a gentleman that loves no 
 
 noise. 
 Sir Dauphine Eugenie, a Knight, 
 
 his Nephew. 
 Ned Clerimont, a Gentleman, 
 
 his Friend. 
 Truewit, another Friend. 
 Sir John Daw, a Knight. 
 Sir Amorous La-Foole, a Knight 
 
 also. 
 Thomas Otter, a Land and Sea 
 
 Captain. 
 Cutbeard, a Barber. 
 Mute, one of Morose's Servants. 
 
 SCENE, 
 
 Silent 
 
 Parson. 
 
 Page to Clerimont. 
 
 Epicozne, supposed the 
 
 Woman. 
 Lady Haughty, ") 
 Lady Centaure, [Ladies 
 Mistress Dol. f Collegiates. 
 
 Mavis, 
 Mistress Otter, 
 
 P ret en- 
 Mistress Trusty. Lady C ders. 
 
 i 
 
 jstkess Otter, "} 
 
 The Captain's Wife. f j 
 jstress Trusty, Lady ? 
 Haughty's Woman. J 
 
 Pages, Servants, &c. 
 
 — London. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Truth says, of old the art of making plays 
 
 Was to content the people ; and their praise 
 
 Was to the poet money, wine, and bays. 
 
 But in this age, a sect of writers are, 
 
 That, only, for particular likings care, 
 
 And will taste nothing that is popular. 
 
 With such we mingle neither brains nor breasts ; 
 
 Our wishes, like to those make public feasts, 
 
 Are not to please the cook's taste but the guests. 
 
 Yet, if those cunning palates hither come, 
 
 They shall find guests' entreaty, and good room ; 
 
 And though all relish not, sure there will be some, 
 
 That, when they leave their seats, shall make them say, 
 
 Who wrote that piece, could so have wrote a play, 
 
 But that he knew this was the better way. 
 
SCENE I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 193 
 
 For, to_presen t all gp starqV gr aH tart, 
 And have no other meats to bear a part, 
 Or to want bread and salt, were but coarse art. 
 The poet prays you then, with better thought 
 To sit ; and, when his cates are all inbrought, 
 Though there be none far-fet, there will dear-bought, 
 Be fit for ladies : some for lords, knights, 'squires ; 
 Some for your waiting-wench, and city-wires ; 
 Some for your men, and daughters of White-friars. 
 Nocis it, only, while you keep your seat 
 
 /Here, that this feast will last ; but you shall eat 
 
 \ A week at ord'naries, on his broken meat : 
 If his muse be true, 
 Who commends her to you. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 / The ends of all, who for the scene do write, /^ 
 
 ■ Are, or should be, to profit and delight. 
 And still 'thathbeefTfhe praise of all best times, 
 So persons were not touched, to tax the crimes. 
 Then, in this play, which we present to-night, 
 And make the object of your ear and sight, 
 On forfeit of yourselves, think nothing true : 
 Lest so you make the maker to judge you. 
 For he knows, poet never credit gained 
 By writing truths, but things, like truths, well feigned. 
 If any yet will, with particular sleight 
 Of application, wrest what he doth write ; 
 And that he meant, or him, or her, will say : 
 They make a libel, which he made a play. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene i. — A Room in Clerimont's House. 
 
 Enter Clerimont, making himself ready, followed by his 
 Page. 
 
 Cler. Have you got the song yet perfect, I gave you, boy ? 
 
 Page. Yes, sir. 
 
 Cler. Let me hear it. 
 
 Page. You shall, sir ; but i'faith let nobodv else. 
 
 Cler. Why, I pray ? 
 
 Page. It will get you the dangerous name of a poet in town, 
 sir ; besides me a perfect deal of ill-will at the mansion you wot 
 of, whose lady is the argument of it ; where now I am the 
 welcomest thing under a man that comes there. 
 
 Cler. I think ; and above a man too, if the truth were 
 rack'd out of you. 
 
 G 
 
194 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act i. 
 
 Page. No, faith, I "11 confess before, sir. The gentlewomen 
 play with me, and throw me on the ground, and carry me into my 
 lady : and she kisses me with her oiled face, and puts a peruke 
 on my head ; and asks me an I will wear her gown ? and I say 
 no : and then she hits me a blow o' the ear, and calls me Inno- 
 cent ! and lets me go. 
 
 Cler. No marvel if the door be kept shut against your master, 
 
 when the entrance is so easy to you well, sir, you shall go 
 
 there no more, lest I be fain to seek your voice in my lady's 
 rushes, a fortnight hence. Sing, sir. [Page sings. 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest— 
 
 Enter True wit. 
 
 7 rue. Why, here's the man that can melt away his time, and 
 never feels it ! What between his mistress abroad and his ingle 
 at home, high fare, soft lodging, fine clothes, and his fiddle ; he 
 thinks the hours have no wings, or the day no post-horse. Well, 
 sir gallant, were you struck with the plague this minute, or 
 condemned to any capital punishment to-morrow, you would 
 begin then to think, and value every article of your time, esteem 
 it at the true rate, and give all for it. 
 
 Clcr. Why, what should a man do ? 
 
 True. Why, nothing ; or that which, when 'tis done, is as 
 idle. Hearken after the next horse-race, or hunting-match, lay 
 wagers, praise Puppy, or Peppercorn, White-foot, Franklin ; 
 swear upon W 7 hitemane ; s party ; speak aloud, that my lords may 
 hear you ; visit my ladies at night, and be able to give them the 
 character of every bowler or better on the green. These be the 
 things wherein your fashionable men exercise themselves, and I 
 for company. 
 
 Cler. Nay, if I have thy authority, I'll not leave yet. Come, 
 the other are considerations, when we come to have grey heads 
 and weak hams, moist eyes and shrunk limbs. We'll think 
 on 'em then ; then we'll pray and fast. 
 
 True. Ay, and destine only that time of age to goodness, 
 \vhich our want of ability will not let us employ in evil ! 
 
 Cler. Why, then, 'tis time enough. 
 
 True. Yes ; as if a man should sleep all the term, and think 
 to effect his business the last day. O, Clerimont, this time, 
 because it is an incorporeal thing, and not subject to sense, we 
 mock ourselves the fineliest out of it, with vanity and misery 
 indeed ! not seeking an end of wretchedness, but only changing 
 the matter still. 
 
 Cler. Nay, thou 'It not leave now — 
 
 True. See but our common disease ! with what justice can we 
 complain, that great men will not look upon us, nor beat leisure 
 
scene i.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 195 
 
 to give our affairs such dispatch as we expect, when we 
 will never do it to ourselves ? nor hear, nor regard ourselves ? 
 
 Cler:. Foh ! thou hast read Plutarch's morals, now, or some 
 such tedious fellow ; and it shews so vilely with thee ! Tore God, 
 'twill spoil thy wit utterly. Talk to me of pins, and feathers, 
 and ladies, and rushes, and such things : and leave this Stoicity 
 alone till thou makest sermons. 
 
 True. Well, sir ; if it will not take, I have learned to lose as 
 little of my kindness as I can ; I'll do good to no man 
 against his will, certainly. When were you at the college ? 
 
 Cler. What college ? 
 
 True. As if you knew not ! 
 
 Cler. No, faith, I came but from court yesterday. 
 
 True. Why, is it not arrived there yet, the news ? A new 
 foundation, sir, here in the town, of ladies, that call themselves 
 the collegiates, an order between courtiers and country-madams, 
 that live from their husbands ; and give entertainment to all the 
 wits and braveries of the time, as they call them : cry down, or 
 up, what they like or dislike in a brain or a fashion, with most 
 masculine, or rather hermaphroditical authority ; and every day 
 gain to their college some new probationer. 
 
 Cler. Who is the president ? 
 
 True. The grave and youthful matron, the Lady Haughty. 
 
 Cler. A plague of her autumnal face, her pieced beauty ! there's 
 no man can be admitted till she be ready, now-a-days, till she 
 has painted, and perfumed, and washed, and scoured, but the 
 boy here ; and him she wipes her oiled lips upon, like a sponge. 
 I have made a song (I pray thee hear it) on the subject. 
 
 [Page sings. 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest, 
 
 As you were going to a feast ; 
 
 Still to be powdered, still perfumed: 
 
 Lady, it is to be presumed, 
 
 Though art's hid causes are not found, 
 
 All is not sweet, all is not sound. 
 
 Give me a look, give me a face; 
 
 That makes simplicity a grace ; 
 
 Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
 
 Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 
 
 Than all the adulteries of art ; 
 
 They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
 
 True. And I am clearly on the other side : I love a good 
 dressing before any beauty o' the world. Oh, a woman is then 
 like a delicate garden ; nor is there one kind of it ; she may 
 vary every hour ; take often counsel of her glass, and choose the 
 best. If she have good ears, shew them ; good hair, lay it out ; 
 good legs, wear short clothes ; a good hand, discover it often : 
 practice any art to mend breath, cleanse teeth, repair eye-brows ; 
 paint, and profess it. 
 
J 
 
 196 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act i. 
 
 Cler. How! publicly? 
 
 True. The doing of it, not the manner : that must be private. 
 Many things that seem foul in the doing, do please done. A 
 lady should indeed study her face when we think she sleeps ; 
 nor, when the doors are shut, should men be inquiring ; all is 
 sacred within, then. Is it for us to see their perukes put on, 
 their false teeth, their complexion, their eyebrows, their nails? 
 You see gilders will not work, but inclosed. They must not dis- 
 cover how little serves, with the help of art, to adorn a great 
 deal. How long did the canvas hang afore Aldgate ? Were 
 the people suffered to see the city's Love and Charity, while they 
 were rude stone, before they were painted and burnished ? No ; 
 no more should servants approach their mistresses, but when 
 they are complete and finished. 
 
 Cler. Well said, my Truewit. 
 
 True. And a wise lady will keep a guard always upon the 
 
 place, that she may do things securely. I once followed a rude 
 
 i fellow into a chamber, where the poor madam, for haste, and 
 
 \ troubled, snatched at her peruke to cover her baldness ; and put 
 
 it on the wrong way. 
 
 Cler. O prodigy ! 
 
 True. And the unconscionable knave held her in compliment 
 an hour with that reversed face, when I still looked when she 
 should talk from the t' other side. 
 
 Cler. Why, thou shouldst have relieved her. 
 
 True. No, faith, I let her alone, as we '11 let this argument, if 
 you please, and pass to another. When saw you Dauphine 
 Eugenie ? 
 
 Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go to him this morning ? 
 He is very melancholy, I hear. 
 
 True. Sick of the uncle, is he? I met that stiff piece of 
 formality, his uncle, yesterday, with a huge turban of night-caps 
 on his head, buckled over his ears. 
 
 Cler. Oh, that 's his custom when he walks abroad. He can 
 endure no noise, man. 
 
 True. So I have heard. But is the disease so ridiculous in 
 him as it is made ? They say he has been upon divers treaties 
 with the fish-wives and orange-women ; and articles propounded 
 between them : marry, the chimney-sweepers will not be drawn 
 in. 
 
 Cler. No, nor the broom-men : they stand out stiffly. He 
 cannot endure a costard-monger, he swoons if he hear one. 
 
 True. Methinks a smith should be ominous. 
 
 Cler. Or any hammer-man. A brasier is not suffered to dwell 
 in the parish, nor an armourer. He would have hanged a pew- 
 terer's prentice once upon a Shrove-Tuesday's riot, for being of 
 that trade, when the rest were quit. 
 
 True. A trumpet should fright him terribly, or the hautboys. 
 
scene! I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. • 197 
 
 Cler. Out of his senses. The waits of the city have a 
 pension of him not to come near that ward. This youth prac- 
 tised on him one night like the bell-man, and never left till he 
 had brought him down to the door with a long sword, and there 
 left him flourishing with the air. 
 
 Page. Why, sir, he hath chosen a street to lie in so narrow at 
 both ends, that it will receive no coaches, nor carts, nor any of 
 these common noises : and therefore we that love him, devise to 
 bring him in such as we may, now and then, for his exercise, to 
 breathe him. He would grow resty else in his ease : his virtue 
 would rust without action. I entreated a bearward, one day, to 
 come down with the dogs of some four parishes that way, and I 
 thank him he did ; and cried his games under Master Morose's 
 window : 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 taking that street in his way at my request. 
 
 True. A good wag ! how does he for the bells ? 
 
 Cler. Oh, in the Queen's time, he was wont to go out of town 
 every Saturday at ten o'clock, or on holy day eves. But now, 
 by reason of the sickness, the perpetuity of ringing has made him 
 devise a room, with double walls and treble ceilings ; the windows 
 close shut and caulk'd : and there he lives by candle-light. He 
 turn'd away a man, last week, for having a pair of new shoes 
 that creak'd. And this fellow waits on him now in tennis-court 
 socks, or slippers soled with wool : and they talk each to other 
 in a trunk- See, who comes here ! 
 
 Enter Sir Dauphine Eugenie. 
 
 Daup. How now ! what ail you, sirs ? dumb ? 
 
 True. Struck into stone, almost, I am here, with tales o' thine 
 uncle. There was never such a prodigy heard of. 
 
 Daup. I would you would once lose this subject, my masters, 
 for my sake. They are such as you are, that have brought me 
 into that predicament I am with him. 
 
 True. How is that ? 
 
 Daup. Mary, that he -will disinherit me ; no more. He thinks, 
 I and my company are authors of all the ridiculous Acts and 
 Monuments are told of him. 
 
 True. 'Slid, I would be the author of more to vex him ; that 
 purpose deserves it : it gives thee law of plaguing him. I'll tell 
 thee what I would do. I would make a false almanack, get it 
 printed ; and then have him drawn out on a coronation day to 
 the Tower-wharf, and kill him with the noise of the ordnance. 
 Disinherit thee ! he cannot, man. Art not thou next of blood, 
 his sister's son ? 
 
198 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act I. 
 
 Daup. Ay, but he will thrust me out of it, he vows, and marry. 
 
 True. How! that's a more portent. Can he endure no noise, 
 and will venture on a wife ! 
 
 Cler. Yes : why thou art a stranger, it seems, to his best trick, 
 yet. He has employed a fellow this half year all over England 
 to hearken him out a dumb woman ; be she of any form, or any 
 quality, so she be able to bear children : her silence is dowry 
 enough, he says. 
 
 True* But I trust to God he has found none. 
 
 Cler. N<* ; but he has heard of one that's lodged in the next 
 street to him, who is exceedingly soft-spoken ; thrifty of her 
 speech ; that spends but six words a day. And her he 's about 
 now, and shall have her. 
 
 True. Is't possible ! who is his agent in the business? 
 
 Cler. Marry, a barber, one Cutbeard ; an honest fellow, one 
 that tells Dauphine all here. 
 
 Ti'ue. Why, you oppress me with wonder : a woman, and a 
 barber, and love no noise ! 
 
 Cler. Yes, faith. The fellow trims him silently, and has not 
 the knack with his shears or his fingers, and that continence in 
 a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief 
 of his counsel. 
 
 True. Is the barber to be seen, or the wench ? 
 
 Cler. Yes, that they are. 
 
 True. I prithee, Dauphine, let's go thither. 
 
 Daup. I have some business now : I cannot, i' faith. 
 
 True. You shall have no business shall make you neglect this, 
 sir : we '11 make her talk, believe it ; or, if she will not, we can 
 give out at least so much as shall interrupt the treaty ; we will 
 break it. Thou art bound in conscience, when he suspects thee 
 without cause, to torment him. 
 
 ( Daup. Not I, by any means. I'll give no suffrage to 't. He 
 shall never have that plea against me, that I opposed the least 
 phant'sy of his. Let it lie upon my stars to be guilty, Til be 
 innocent. 
 
 True. Yes, and be poor, and beg : do, innocent : when some 
 groom of his has got him an heir, or this barber, if he himself 
 cannot. Innocent ! I prithee, Ned, where lies she ? let him be 
 innocent still. 
 
 Cler. Why, right over against the barber's ; in the house 
 where Sir John Daw lies. 
 
 True. You do not mean to confound me ! 
 
 Cler. Why? 
 
 True. Does he that would marry her know so much ? 
 
 Cler. I cannot tell. 
 
 True. 'Twere enough of imputation to her with him. 
 
 Cler. Why? 
 
 True. The only talking sir in the town ! Jack Daw! and he 
 
SCENE i.J THE SILENT WOMAN. 199 
 
 teach her not to speak ! God be wi 5 you. I have some busi- 
 ness too. 
 
 Cler. Will you not go thither, then ? 
 
 True. Not with the danger to meet Daw, for mine ears. 
 
 Cler. Why, I thought you two had been upon very good terms. 
 
 True. Yes, of keeping distance. 
 
 Cler. They say, he is a very good scholar. 
 
 True. Ay, and he says it first. A plague on him, a fellow >that 
 pretends only to learning, buys titles, and nothing else of books 
 in him. 
 
 Cler. The world reports him to be very learned. 
 
 True. I am sorry the world should so conspire to belie him. 
 
 Cler. Good faith, I have heard very good things come 
 from him. 
 
 True. You may ; there's none so desperately ignorant to deny 
 that : would they were his own ! God be wi' you, gentlemen ! 
 
 [Exit hastily. 
 
 Cler. This is very abrupt ! 
 
 Daup. Come, you are a strange open man, to tell everything 
 thus. 
 
 Cler. Why, believe it, Dauphine, Truewit 's a very honest 
 fellow. 
 
 Daup. I think no other : but this frank nature of his is not 
 for secrets. 
 
 Cler. Nay, then, you are mistaken, Dauphine : I know where 
 he has been well trusted, and discharged the trust very truly, 
 and heartily. 
 
 Daup. I contend not, Ned ; but with the fewer a business is 
 carried, it is ever the safer. Now we are alone, if you'll go 
 thither, I am for you. 
 
 Cler. When were you there ? 
 
 Daup. Last night : and such a Decameron of sport fallen out ! 
 Boccace never thought of the like. Daw does nothing but court 
 her ; and the wrong way. He would have her, and praises 
 her modesty ; desires that she would talk and be free, and com- 
 mends her silence in verses ; which he reads, and swears are the 
 best that ever man made. Then rails at his fortunes, stamps, 
 and niutines, why he is not made a counsellor and called to 
 affairs of state. 
 
 Cler. I pr'thee let's go. I would fain partake this. — Some 
 water, boy. [Exit Page. 
 
 Daup. We are invited to dinner together, he and I, by one 
 that came thither to him, Sir_La-Foole. 
 
 Cler. Oh, that 's a precious manhikin ! 
 
 Daup. Do you know him ? 
 
 Cler. Ay, and he will know you too, if e'er he saw you but 
 once, though you should meet him at church in the midst of 
 prayers. He is one of the braveries, though he be none of the 
 
200 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act. i. 
 
 wits. He will salute a judge upon the bench, and a bishop in the 
 pulpit, a lawyer when he is pleading at the bar, and a lady when 
 she is dancing in a masque, and put her out. He does give 
 plays and suppers, and invites his guests to them, aloud, out of 
 his window, 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 he may meet them by 
 chance, and give them presents — some two or three hundred 
 pounds' worth of toys — to be laughed at. He is never without a 
 spare banquet, or sweet-meats in his chamber, for their women 
 to alight at, and come up to for a bait. 
 
 Daup. Excellent ! He was a fine youth last night, but now 
 he is much finer ! What is his Christian name ? — I have 
 forgot. 
 
 Re-enter Page. 
 
 Cler. Sir Amorous La-Foole. 
 
 Page. The gentleman is here below that owns that name. 
 
 Cler. 'Heart, he's come to invite me to dinner, I hold my 
 life. 
 
 Daup. Like enough : prithee, let 's have him up. 
 
 Cler. Boy, marshal him. 
 
 Page. With a truncheon, sir ? 
 
 Cle?. Away, I beseech you. [Exit Page.] I'll make him tell 
 us his pedigree now ; and what meat he has to dinner ; and who 
 are his guests ; and the whole course of his fortunes, with a 
 breath. 
 
 Enter Sir Amorous La-Foole. 
 
 La-F. 'Save, dear Sir Dauphine ! honoured Master Cleri- 
 mont 1 
 
 Cler. Sir Amorous ! you have very much honested my lodg- 
 ing with your presence. 
 
 La-F. Good faith, it is a fine lodging : almost as delicate a 
 lodging as mine. 
 
 Cler. Not so, sir. 
 
 La-F. Excuse me, sir, if it were in the Strand, I assure you. 
 I am come, Master Clerimont, to entreat you to wait upon two 
 or three ladies, to dinner, to-day. 
 
 Cler. How, sir ! wait upon them ? Did you ever see me carry 
 dishes ? 
 
 La-F. No, sir, dispense with me ; I meant, to bear them 
 company. 
 
 Cler. Oh, that I will, sir. The doubtfulness of your phrase, 
 believe it, sir, would breed you a quarrel once an hour, with the 
 terrible boys, if you should but keep them fellowship a day. 
 
 La-F. It should be extremely against my will, sir, if I con* 
 tested with any man. 
 
scene i.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 2ol 
 
 Cler. I believe it, sir. Where hold you your feast ? 
 
 La-F. At Tom Otter's, sir. 
 
 Daup. Tom Otter ! what 's he ? 
 
 La-F. Captain Otter, sir ; he is a kind of gamester, but he 
 has had command both by sea and by land. 
 
 Daup. Oh, then he is animal amphibium t 
 
 La-F. Ay, sir : his wife was the rich chinawoman, that the 
 courtiers visited so often ; that gave the rare entertainment. 
 She commands all at home. 
 
 Cler. Then she is Captain Otter. 
 
 La-F. You say very well, sir ; she is my kinswoman, a 
 La-Foole by the mother-side, and will invite any great ladies for 
 my sake. 
 
 Daup. Not of the La-Fooles of Essex ? 
 
 L,a-F. No, sir, the La-Fooles of London. 
 
 Cler. Now he's in. {Aside. 
 
 La-F. They all come out of our house, the La-Fooles of 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 
 myself am descended lineally of the French La-Fooles — and, we 
 do bear for our coat yellow, or or, checker'd azure, and gules, 
 and some three or four colours more, which is a very noted coat, 
 and has, sometimes, been solemnly worn by divers nobility of 
 our house— but let that go, antiquity is not respected now. — I 
 had a brace of fat does sent me, gentlemen, and half a dozen of 
 pheasants, a dozen or two of god-wits, and some other fowl, 
 which I would have eaten, while they are good, and in good 
 company : — there will be a great lady or two, my Lady Haughty, 
 my Lady Centaure, Mistress Dol Mavis— and they come o' 
 purpose to see the silent gentlewoman, Mistress Epiccene, that 
 honest Sir John Daw has promised to bring thither — and then 
 Mistress Trusty, my lady's woman, will be there too, and this 
 honourable knight, sir Dauphine, with yourself, Master Cleri- 
 mont — and we'll be very merry, and have fiddlers, and dance. — 
 I have been a mad wag in my time, and have spent some crowns 
 since I was a page in court, to my Lord Lofty, and after, my 
 lady's gentleman-usher, who got me knighted in Ireland, since 
 it pleased my elder brother to die. — I had as fair a gold jerkin 
 on that day, as any worn in the island voyage, or at Cadiz, none 
 dispraised ; and I came over in it hither, showed myself to my 
 friends in court, and after went down to my tenants in the 
 country, and surveyed my lands, let new leases, took their money, 
 spent it in the eye o' the land here, upon ladies : and now I can 
 take up at my pleasure. 
 
 Daup. Can you take up ladies, sir ? 
 
 Cler. Oh, let him breathe, he has not recovered. 
 
 Daup. Would I were your half in that commodity ! 
 
 La-F. No, sir, excuse me : I meant money, which can take 
 
202 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act il. 
 
 up anything. I have another guest or two to invite, and say as 
 much to, gentlemen. I '11 take my leave abruptly, in hope you 
 will not fail Your servant. [Exit. 
 
 Danp. We will not fail you, sir precious La-Foole ; but she 
 shall, that your ladies come to see, if I have credit afore Sir 
 Daw. 
 
 CIcr. Did you ever hear such a wind-sucker, as this ? 
 
 Daup. Or such a rook as the other, that will betray his mis- 
 tress to be seen ! Come, 'tis time we prevented it. 
 
 Cler. Go. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I.— A Room in Morose's House. 
 Enter MOROSE, with a tube in his hand, followed by Mute. 
 
 Mor. Cannot I, yet, find out a more compendious method than 
 by this trunk, to save my servants the labour of speech, and 
 mine ears the discords of sounds ? Let me see : all discourses 
 but my own afflict me ; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irk- 
 some, y Is it not possible that thou shouldst answer me by signs, 
 and I apprehend thee, fellow ? Speak not, though I question 
 you. You have taken the ring off from the street door, as I 
 bade you ? answer me not by speech, but by silence ; unless it 
 be otherwise [Mute makes a leg.~] — very good. And you have 
 fastened on a thick quilt, or flock-bed on the outside of the 
 door ; that if they knock with their daggers, or with brick-bats^ 
 they can make no noise ? — But with your leg, your answer, 
 unless it be otherwise, {makes a leg:'] — Very good. This is not 
 only fit modesty in a servant, but good state and discretion in a 
 master. And you have been with Cutbeard the barber, to have 
 him come to me? {makes a leg.) — Good. And, he will come 
 presently? Answer me not but with your leg, unless it be 
 otherwise : if it be otherwise, shake your head or shrug, {makes 
 a leg.) — So ! Your Italian and Spaniard are wise in these : and 
 it is a frugal and comely gravity. How long will it be ere 
 Cutbeard come ? Stay; if an hour, hold up your whole hand; 
 if half an hour, two fingers ; if a quarter, one ; [holds up afifiger 
 bent.]— Good : half a quarter ? 'tis well. And have you given 
 him a key, to come in without knocking ? — [makes a leg] — good. 
 And, is the lock oiled, and the hinges, to-day ? — [makes a leg.] — 
 good. And the quilting of the stairs nowhere worn out and 
 bare ? — [makes a leg.] — Very good. I see, by much doctrine 
 and impulsion, it may be effected ; stand by. The Turk, in 
 this divine discipline, is admirable, exceeding all the potentates 
 of the earth ; still waited on by mutes : and all his commands 
 
SCENE I.j THE SILENT WOMAN. 303 
 
 so executed ; yea, even in the war, as I have heard, and in his 
 marches, most of his charges and directions given by signs, and 
 with silence : an exquisite art ! and I am heartily ashamed, and 
 angry oftentimes, that the princes of Christendom should suffer 
 a barbarian to transcend them in so high a point of felicity. I 
 will practise it hereafter. — [A horn winded within?] — How now? 
 oh ! oh ! what villain, what prodigy of mankind is that ? look. — 
 [Exit Mute.] — [Horn again.'] — Oh ! cut his throat, cut his 
 throat ! what murderer, hell-hound, devil can this be ? 
 
 Re-e?iter Mute. 
 
 Mute. It is a post from the court 
 
 Mor. Out, rogue ! and must thou blow thy horn too? 
 Mute. Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, that says, he must 
 speak with you, pain of death — 
 Mor. Pain of thy life, be silent ! 
 
 Efiter Truewit with a ftost-horn, and a halter hi his hand. 
 
 True. By your leave, sir ; — I am a stranger here : — Is your 
 name Master Morose ? is your name Master Morose ? Fishes ! 
 Pythagoreans all ! This is strange. What say you, sir ? 
 nothing ! Has Harpocrates been here with his club, among 
 you ? Well, sir, I will believe you to be the man at this time : 
 I will venture upon you, sir. Your friends at court commend 
 them to you, sir 
 
 Mor. Oh men ! Oh manners ! was there ever such an impu- 
 dence ? 
 
 Trite. And are extremely solicitous for you, sir. 
 
 Mor. Whose knave are you ? 
 
 True. Mine own knave, and your compeer, sir. 
 
 Mor. Fetch me my sword 
 
 True. You shall taste the one half of my dagger, if you do, 
 groom ; and you the other, if you stir, sir : Be patient, I charge 
 you, in the king's name, and hear me without insurrection. They 
 say, you are to marry ; to marry ! do you mark, sir ? 
 
 Mor. How then, rude companion ! 
 
 True. Marry, your friends do wonder, sir, the Thames being 
 so near, wherein you may drown, so handsomely ; or London- 
 bridge at a low fall, with a fine leap, to hurry you down the 
 stream ; or, such a delicate steeple in the town, as Bow, to vault 
 from ; or, a braver height, as Paul's : Or, if you affected to 
 do it nearer home, and a shorter way, an excellent garret window 
 into the street ; or, a beam in the said garret, with this halter — 
 [shows him the halter\ — which they have sent, and desire, that 
 you would sooner commit your grave head to this knot, than to 
 the wedlock noose ; or, take a little sublimate, and go out of the 
 world like a rat ; or, a fly, as one said, with a straw in your body : 
 
2o 4 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act ii. 
 
 anyway, rather than follow this goblin Matrimony. Alas, sir, 
 do you ever think to find a chaste wife in these times ? now ? 
 when there are so many masques, plays, Puritan preachings, 
 mad folks, and other strange sights to be seen daily, private and 
 public ? If you had lived in king Etheldred's time, sir, or Edward 
 the Confessor, you might, perhaps, have found one in some cold 
 country hamlet, then, a dull frosty wench, would have been 
 contented with one man : now, they will as soon be pleased with 
 one leg, or one eye. I '11 tell you, sir, the monstrous hazards 
 you shall run with a wife. 
 
 Mor. Good sir, have I ever cozened any friends of yours 
 of their land ? bought their possessions ? taken forfeit of their 
 mortgage ? begged a reversion from them ? bastarded their 
 issue ? What have I done, that may deserve this ? 
 
 True. Nothing, sir, that I know, but your itch of marriage. 
 
 Mor. Why, if I had made an assassinate upon your father, 
 vitiated your mother, ravished your sisters 
 
 True. I would kill you, sir, I would kill you, if you had. 
 
 Mor. Why, you do more in this, sir : it were a vengeance 
 centuple, for all facinorous acts that could be named, to do that 
 you do. 
 
 True. Alas, sir, I am but a messenger : I but tell you, what 
 you must hear. It seems your friends are careful after your 
 soul's health, sir, and would have you know the danger : (but 
 you may do your pleasure for all them, I persuade not, sir.) 
 If, after you are married, your wife do run away with a 
 vaulter, or the Frenchman that walks upon ropes, or him 
 that dances the jig, or a fencer for his skill at his weapon ; 
 why it is not their fault, they have discharged their 
 consciences ; when you know what may happen. Nay, suffer 
 valiantly, sir, for I must tell you all the perils that you are 
 obnoxious to. If she be fair, young and vegetous, no sweet- 
 meats ever drew more flies ; all the yellow doublets and great 
 roses in the town will be there. If foul and crooked, she '11 be 
 with them, and buy those doublets and roses, sir. If rich, and 
 that you marry her dowry, not her, she '11 reign in your house as 
 imperious as a widow. If noble, all her kindred will be your 
 tyrants. If fruitful, as proud as May, and humorous as April ; 
 she must have her doctors, her midwives, her nurses, her 
 longings every hour; though it be for the dearest morsel of 
 man. If learned, there was never such a parrot ; all your 
 patrimony will be too little for the guests that must be invited to 
 hear her speak Latin and Greek ; and you must lie with her in 
 those languages too, if you will please her. If precise, you 
 must feast all the silenced brethren, once in three days ; salute 
 the sisters ; entertain the whole family or wood of them ; and 
 hear long-winded exercises, singings, and catechisings, which 
 you are not given to, and yet must give for; to please the 
 
scene I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 205 
 
 zealous matron your wife, who for the holy cause, will cozen you 
 over and above. You begin to sweat, sir ! but this is not half, 
 i' faith : you may do your pleasure, notwithstanding, as I said 
 before : I come not to persuade you. (Mute is stealing away.) 
 — Upon my faith, master serving-man, if you do stir, I will beat 
 vou. 
 
 Mor. Oh, what is my sin ! what is my sin ! 
 
 True. Then, if you love your wife, or rather dote on her, sir ; 
 Oh, how she'll torture you, and take pleasure in your torments ! 
 you shall lie with her but when she lists ; she will not hurt her 
 beauty, her complexion ; or it must be for that jewel, or that 
 pearl, when she does: e^ery half hour's pleasure must be bought 
 anew, and with the same pain and charge you wooed her at first. 
 Then you must keep what servants she please; what company she 
 will ; that friend must not visit you without her licence ; and him 
 she loves most, she will seem to hate eagerliest, to decline your 
 jealousy ; or, feign to be jealous of you first ; and for that cause 
 go live with her she-friend, or cousin at the college, that can 
 instruct her in all the mysteries of writing letters, corrupting 
 servants, taming spies ; where she must have that rich gown for 
 such a great day ; a new one for the next ; a richer for the third ; 
 be served in silver; have the chamber filled with a succession of 
 grooms, footmen, ushers, and other messengers ; besides embroi- 
 derers, jewellers, tire-women, sempsters, feathermen, perfumers ; 
 whilst she feels not how the land drops away, nor the acres 
 melt ; nor foresees the change, when the mercer has your woods 
 for her velvets ; never weighs what her pride costs, sir ; so she 
 may kiss a page, or a smooth chin that has the despair of a 
 beard : be a stateswoman, know all the news, what was done at 
 Salisbury, what at the Bath, what at court, what in progress ; or, 
 so she may censure poets, and authors, and styles, and compare 
 them ; Daniel with Spenser, Jonson with the t 5 other youth, and 
 so forth : or be thought cunning in controversies, or the very 
 knots of divinity : and have often in her mouth the state of 
 the question ; and then skip to the mathematics, and demonstra- 
 tion : and answer in religion to one, in state to another, in folly 
 to a third. 
 
 Mor. Oh, oh ! 
 
 True. All this is very true, sir. And then her going in dis- 
 guise to that conjurer, and this cunning woman : where the first 
 question is, how soon you shall die ? Next, if her present servant 
 love her? Next, if she shall have a new servant ? And how many? 
 Which of the family would make the best go-between, male 
 or female ? What precedence she shall have by her next match ? 
 And sets down the answers, and believes them above the scrip- 
 tures. Nay, perhaps she'll study the art. 
 
 Mor. Gentle sir, have you done ? Have you had your pleasure 
 of me ? I 'll think of these things. 
 
206 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act ii. 
 
 True. Yes, sir : and then comes reeking home of vapour and 
 sweat, with going a foot, and lies in a month of a new face, all 
 oil and birdlime ; and rises in asses' milk, and is cleansed with 
 a new fucus : God be wi' you, sir. One thing more, which I 
 had almost forgot. This too, with whom you are to marry, may 
 have made a conveyance of her virginity aforehand, as your wise 
 widows do of their states, before they marry, in trust to some 
 friend, sir : Who can tell ? Or if she have not done it yet, she 
 may do, upon the wedding-day, or the night before, and ante- 
 date you. The like has been heard of in nature. 'Tis no 
 devised, impossible thing, sir. God be wi' you : 1 11 be bold to 
 leave this rope with you, sir, for a remembrance. — Farewell, 
 Mute ! [Exit. 
 
 Mor. Come, have me to my charriber : but first chut the door. 
 [Truewit winds the horn without.'] Oh, shut the door, shut 
 the door ! Is he come again ? 
 
 Enter CUTBEARD. 
 
 Cut. 'Tis I, sir, your barber. 
 
 Mor. Oh, Cutbeard, Cutbeard, Cutbeard ! here has been a 
 cut-throat with me : help me into my bed, and give me physic 
 with thy counsel. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— A Room in Sir John Daw's House. 
 
 Enter Daw, Clerimont, Dauphine <?//</ Epiccene. 
 
 Daw. Nay, and she will, let her refuse at her own charges ; 
 'tis nothing to me, gentlemen : but she will not be invited to the 
 like feasts or guests every day. 
 
 Cler. Oh, by no means, she may not refuse to stay at 
 
 home, if you love your reputation : 'Slight, you are invited 
 thither o' the purpose to be seen, and laughed at by the lady of 
 the college, and her shadows. This trumpeter hath proclaimed 
 you. {Aside to Epi. 
 
 Daup. You shall not go ; let him be laughed at in your stead, 
 for not bringing you : and put him to his extemporal faculty of 
 fooling and talking loud, to satisfy the company. [Aside to Epi. 
 
 Cler. He will suspect us ; talk aloud. 'Pray mistress 
 Epiccene, let's see your verses ; we have Sir John Daw's leave ; 
 do not conceal your servant's merit, and your own glories. 
 
 Epi. They '11 prove my servant's glories, if you have his leave 
 so soon. 
 
 Daup. His vain-glories, lady ! 
 
 Daw. Show them, show them, mistress ; I dare own them. 
 
 Epi. Judge you, what glories. 
 
SCENE II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 207 
 
 Daw. Nay, I'll read them myself too : an author must recite 
 his own works. It is a madrigal of Modesty. 
 
 " Modest and fair, for fair and good are near 
 
 Neighbours, howe'er." — 
 
 Daup. Very good. 
 
 Cler. Ay, is 't not ? 
 
 Daiu. " No noble virtue ever was alone, 
 But two in one." 
 
 Danp. Excellent ! 
 
 Cler. That again, I pray, Sir John. 
 
 Daup. It has something in 't like rare wit and sense. 
 
 Cler. Peace. 
 
 Daw. " No noble virtue ever was alone, 
 But two in one, 
 Then, when I praise sweet modesty, I praise 
 Bright beauty's rays : 
 And having praised both beauty and modesty, 
 I have praised thee." 
 
 Daup. Admirable ! 
 
 Cler. How it chimes, and cries tink in the close, divinely ! 
 
 Daup. Ay, 'tis Seneca. s 
 
 Cler. No, I think 'tis Plutarch, 
 
 Daw. The dor on Plutarch and Seneca ! I hate it : they are 
 mine own imaginations, by that light. I wonder } those fellows 
 have such credit with gentlemen. 
 
 Cler. They are very grave authors. 
 
 Daw. Grave asses ! mere essayists : a few loose sentences, 
 and that 's all. A man would talk so, his whole age : I do utter 
 as good things every hour, if they were collected and observed, 
 as either of them. 
 
 Daup. Indeed, Sir John ! 
 
 Cler. He must needs ; living among the wits and braveries 
 too. 
 
 Daup. Ay, and being president of them, as he is. 
 
 Daw. There's Aristotle, a mere common-place fellow ; 
 Plato, a discourser ; Thucydides and Livy, tedious and dry ; 
 Tacitus, an entire knot : sometimes worth the untying, very 
 seldom. 
 
 Cler. What do you think of the poets, Sir John ? 
 
 Daw. Not worthy to be named for authors. Homer, an old 
 tedious, prolix ass, talks of curriers and chines of beef; 
 Virgil, of dunging of land, and bees ; Horace, of I know not 
 what. 
 
 Cler. I think so. 
 
 Daw. And so., Pindarus, Lycophron, Anacreon, Catullus, 
 Seneca the tragedian, Lucan, Propertius, Tibullus, Martial, 
 Juvenal, Ausonius, Statius, Pojitian, Valerius Flaccus, and the 
 rest 
 
2o8 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act II. 
 
 Clcr. What a sack full of their names he has got ! 
 
 Danp. And how he pours them out ! Politian with Valerius 
 Flaccus ! 
 
 Clcr. Was not the character right of him? 
 
 Daup. As could be made, i'faith. 
 
 Daw. And Persius, a crabbed coxcomb, not to be endured. 
 
 Daicp. Why, whom do you account for authors, Sir John 
 Daw ? 
 
 Daw. Syntagma juris civilis ; Corpus juris civilis ; Corpus 
 juris canonici ; the King of Spain's bible 
 
 Daup. Is the King of Spain's bible an author ? 
 
 Clcr. Yes, and Syntagma. 
 
 Daup. What was that Syntagma, sir ? 
 
 Daw. A civil lawyer, a Spaniard. 
 
 Daup. Sure, Corpus was a Dutchman. 
 
 Clcr. Ay, both the Corpuses, I knew 'em : they were very 
 corpulent authors. 
 
 Daw. And then there 's Vatablus, Pomponatius, Symancha : 
 the other are not to be received, within the thought of a 
 scholar. 
 
 Daup. 'Fore God, you have a simple learned servant, lady, — 
 in titles. {Aside. 
 
 Clcr. I wonder that he is not called to the helm, and made a 
 counsellor. 
 
 Daup. He is one extraordinary. 
 
 Clcr. Nay, but in ordinary : to say truth, the state wants 
 such. 
 
 Daup. Why, that will follow. 
 
 Clcr. I muse a mistress can be so silent to the dotes of such a 
 servant. 
 
 Daw. 'Tis her virtue, sir. I have written somewhat of her 
 silence too. 
 
 Daup. In verse, Sir John? 
 
 Clcr. What else ? 
 
 Daup. Why, how can you justify your own being of a poet, 
 that so slight all the old poets ? 
 
 Daw. Why, every man that writes in verse is not a poet ; you 
 have of the wits that write verses, and yet are no poets : they 
 are poets that live by it, the poor fellows that live by it. 
 
 Daup. Why, would not you live by your verses, Sir John ? 
 
 Clcr. No, 'twere pity he should. A knight live by his verses ! 
 he did not make them to that end, I hope. 
 
 Daup. And yet the noble Sidney lives by his, and the noble 
 family not ashamed. 
 
 Clcr. Ay, he profest himself; but Sir John Daw has more 
 caution : he '11 not hinder his own rising in the state so much. 
 Do you think he will? Your verses, good Sir John, and no 
 poems. 
 
SCENE II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 209 
 
 Daw. " Silence in woman, is like speech in man ; 
 
 Deny 't who can." 
 Daup. Not I, believe it : your reason, sir. 
 Daw. " Nor is 't a tale, 
 
 That female vice should be a virtue male, 
 Or masculine vice a female virtue be : 
 You shall it see 
 Proved with increase ; 
 I know to speak, and she to hold her peace." 
 Do you conceive me, gentlemen ? 
 Daicp. No, faith; how mean you with increase, Sir John ? 
 Daw. Why, with increase is, when I court her for the com- 
 mon cause of mankind, and she says nothing, but consentire 
 videtur ; and in time is gravida. 
 
 Daup. Then this is a ballad of procreation ? 
 Cler. A madrigal of procreation ; you mistake. 
 Epi. 'Pray give me my verses again, servant. 
 Daw. If you'll ask them aloud, you shall. 
 
 {Walks aside with the papers. 
 
 E?iter Truewit with his horn. 
 
 Cler. See, here's Truewit again ! — Where hast thou been, in 
 the name of madness, thus accoutred with thy horn? 
 
 True. Where the sound of it might have pierced your senses 
 with gladness, had you been in ear-reach of it. Dauphine, fall 
 down and worship me ; I have forbid the banns, lad : I have 
 been with thy virtuous uncle, and have broke the match. 
 
 Daup. You have not, I hope. 
 
 True. Yes, faith ; an thou should'st hope otherwise, I should 
 repent me : this horn got me entrance ; kiss it. I had no other way 
 to get in, but by feigning to be a post ; but when I got in once, 1 
 proved none, but rather the contrary, turned him into a post, 
 or a stone, or what is stiffer, with thundering into him the 
 incommodities of a wife, and the miseries of marriage. If ever 
 Gorgon were seen in the shape of a woman, he hath seen her 
 in my description : I have put him off o' that scent forever. Why 
 do you not applaud and adore me, sirs ? Why stand you mute ? 
 Are you stupid? You are not worthy of the benefit. 
 
 Daup. Did not I tell you ? Mischief! 
 
 Cler. I would you had placed this benefit somewhere else. 
 
 T?ue. Why so ? 
 
 Cler. 'Slight, you have done the most inconsiderate, rash, 
 weak thing, that ever man did to his friend. 
 
 Daup. Friend ! If the most malicious enemy I have, had 
 studied to inflict an injury upon me, it could not be a greater. 
 
 True. Wherein, for God's sake ? Gentlemen, come to your- 
 selves again. 
 
2io THE SILENT WOMAN. [act II. 
 
 Daup. But I presaged thus much afore to you. 
 
 Cler. Would my lips had been soldered when I spake on 't ! 
 'Slight, what moved you to be thus impertinent? 
 
 True. My masters, do not put on this strange face to pay my 
 courtesy ; off with this vizor. Have good turns done you, and 
 thank 'em this way ! 
 
 Daup. 'Fore heaven, you have undone me. That which I 
 have plotted for, and been maturing now these four months, you 
 have blasted in a minute : Now I am lost, I may speak. This 
 gentlewoman was lodged here by me o' purpose, and, to be put 
 upon my uncle, hath profest this obstinate silence for my sake ; 
 being my entire friend, and one that for the requital of such a 
 fortune to marry him, would have made me very ample con- 
 ditions ; where now, all my hopes are utterly miscarried by this 
 unlucky accident. 
 
 Cler. Thus 'tis when a man will be ignorantly officious, do 
 services, and not know his why : I wonder what courteous itch 
 possestyou. You never did absurder part in your life, nor a 
 greater trespass to friendship or humanity. 
 
 Daup. Faith, you may forgive it best ; 'twas your cause 
 principally. 
 
 Cler. I know it ; would it had not. 
 
 Enter Cutbeard. 
 
 Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! what news ? 
 
 Cut. The best, the happiest that ever was, sir. There has 
 been a mad gentleman with your uncle this morning, [seeing 
 Truewit.] — I think this be the gentleman — that has almost 
 talked him out of his wits, with threatening him from marriage — 
 
 Daup. On, I prithee. 
 
 Cut. And your uncle, sir, he thinks 'twas done by your pro- 
 curement ; therefore he will see the party you wot of presently ; 
 and if he like her, he says, and that she be so inclining to dumb 
 as I have told him, he swears he will marry her to-day, instantly, 
 and not defer it a minute longer. 
 
 Daup. Excellent ! Beyond our expectation ! 
 
 True. Beyond our expectation ! By this light, I knew it 
 would be thus. 
 
 Daup. Nay, sweet Truewit, forgive me. 
 
 True. No, I was ignorantly officious, impertinent ; this was 
 the absurd, weak part. 
 
 Cler. Wilt thou ascribe that to merit now, was mere fortune ! 
 
 True. Fortune ! mere providence. Fortune had not a finger 
 in 't. I saw it must necessarily in nature fall out so : my genius 
 is never false to me in these things. Show me how it could be 
 otherwise. 
 
 Daup. Nay, gentlemen, contend not ; 'tis well now. 
 
scene II] THE SILENT WOMAN. 211 
 
 True. Alas, I let him go on with inconsiderate, and ras/i, 
 and what he pleased. 
 
 Cler. Away, thou strange justifier of thyself, to be wiser than 
 thou wert, by the event ! 
 
 True. Event ! By this light, thou shalt never persuade me, 
 but I foresaw it as well as the stars themselves. 
 
 Danp. Nay, gentlemen, 'tis well now. Do you two entertain 
 Sir John Daw with discourse, while I send her away with 
 instructions. 
 
 7> ue. I '11 be acquainted with her first, by your favour. 
 
 Cler. Master Truewit, lady, a friend of ours. 
 
 True. I am sorry I have not known you sooner, lady, to cele- 
 brate this rare virtue of your silence. 
 
 {Exeunt Daup. Epi. and Cutbeard. 
 
 Cler. Faith, an you had come sooner, you should have seen 
 and heard her well-celebrated in Sir John Daw's madrigals. 
 
 True, [advances to Daw.] Jack Daw, God save you ! when 
 saw you La-Foole ? 
 
 Daw. Not since last night, Master Truewit. 
 
 True. That's a miracle ! I thought you two had been in- 
 separable. 
 
 Daw. He's gone to invite his guests. 
 
 True. 'Odso ! 'tis true ! What a false memory have I towards 
 that man ! I am one : I met him even now, upon that he calls 
 his delicate fine black horse, rid into foam, with posting from 
 place to place, and person to person, to give them the cue 
 
 Cler. Lest they should forget ? 
 
 True. Yes, there was never poor captain took more pains at a 
 muster to show men, than he, at this meal, to show friends. 
 
 Daw. It is his quarter-feast, sir. 
 
 Cler. What ! do you say so, Sir John ? 
 
 True. Nay, Jack Daw will not be out, at the best friends he 
 has, to the talent of his wit. Where's his mistress to hear and 
 applaud him ? Is she gone ? 
 
 Daw. Is Mistress Epiccene gone? 
 
 Cler. Gone afore, with Sir Dauphine, I warrant, to the place. 
 
 True. Gone afore ! That were a manifest injury, a disgrace 
 and a half; to refuse him at such a festival-time as this, being 
 a bravery, and a wit too ! 
 
 , Cler. Tut, he '11 swallow it like cream : he 's better read in 
 jure civili than to esteem anything a disgrace, is offered him from 
 a mistress. 
 
 Daw. Nay, let her e'en go ; she shall sit alone, and be dumb 
 in her chamber a week together, for John Daw, I warrant her. 
 Does she refuse me ? 
 
 Cler. No, sir, do not take it so to heart ; she does not refuse 
 you, but a little neglects you. Good faith, Truewit, you were to 
 blame, to put it into his head that she does refuse him. 
 
212 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act ii. 
 
 True. Sir, she does refuse him palpably, however you mince 
 it. An I were as he, I would swear to speak ne'er a.word Jo her 
 to-day for't. 
 
 Daw. By this light, no more I will not. 
 
 True. Nor to anybody else, sir. 
 
 Daw. Nay, I will not say so, gentlemen. 
 
 Cler. It had been an excellent happy condition for the com- 
 pany, if you could have drawn him to it. [Aside. 
 
 Daw. I'll be very melancholy, i'faith. 
 
 Cler. As a dog, if I were as you, Sir John. 
 
 True, Or a snail, or a hog-louse : I would roll myself up for 
 this day ; in troth, they should not unwind me. 
 
 Daw. By this pick-tooth, so I will. 
 
 Cler. Tis well done : he begins already to be angry with his 
 teeth. 
 
 Daw. Will you go, gentlemen ? 
 
 Cler. Nay, you must walk alone, if you be right melancholy, 
 Sir John. 
 
 True. Yes, sir, we '11 dog you, we '11 follow you afar off. 
 
 [Exit Daw. 
 
 Cler. Was there ever such a two yards of knighthood measured 
 out by time, to be sold to laughter ? 
 
 True. A mere talking mole, hang him ! no mushroom was 
 ever so fresh. A fellow so utterly nothing, as he knows not 
 what he would be. 
 
 Cler. Let's follow him : but first let's go to Dauphine, he's 
 hovering about the house to hear what news. 
 
 T?ue. Content. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III.— A Room in Morose's House. 
 
 Enter Morose and Mute, followed by Cutbeard with 
 Epiccene. 
 
 Mor. Welcome, Cutbeard ! draw near with your fair charge : 
 and in her ear softly entreat her to unmask. [Epi. takes off her 
 masH.~\ — So ! Is the door shut ? [Mute makes a leg.] — Enough. 
 Now, Cutbeard, with the same discipline I use to my family, I 
 will question you. As I conceive, Cutbeard, this gentlewoman 
 is she you have provided, and brought, in hope she will fit me 
 in the place and person of a wife ? Answer me not but with 
 your leg, unless it be otherwise : [Cur. makes a leg.]— Very 
 well done, Cutbeard. I conceive besides, Cutbeard, you have 
 been pre-acquainted with her birth, education, and qualities, or 
 else you would not prefer her to my acceptance, in the weighty 
 consequence of marriage. [Makes a leg:) — This I conceive, 
 Cutbeard. Answer me not but with your leg, unless it be other- 
 
SCENE ill.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 213 
 
 wise. [Bows agoing — Very well done, Cutbeard. Give aside 
 now a little, and leave me to examine her condition, and aptitude 
 to my affection. [Goes about her and views her.] — She is 
 exceeding fair, and of a special good favour ; a sweet composition 
 or harmony of limbs ; her temper of beauty has the true height 
 of my blood. The knave hath exceedingly well fitted me 
 without : I will now try her within. — Come near, fair gentle- 
 woman ; let not my behaviour seem rude, though unto you, 
 being rare, it may haply appear strange. [Epiccene curtsies .] 
 Nay, lady, you may speak, though Cutbeard and my man might 
 not ; for of all sounds, only the sweet voice of a fair lady has 
 the just length of mine ears. I beseech you, say, lady ; out of 
 the first fire of meeting eyes, they say, love is stricken : do you 
 feel any such motion suddenly shot into you, from any part you 
 see in me? ha, lady? [Epi. curtsies.'] — Alas, lady, these 
 answers by silent curtsies from you are toocourtless and simple. 
 I have ever had my breeding in court ; and she that shall be my 
 wife, must be accomplished with courtly and audacious orna- 
 ments. Can you speak, lady ? 
 
 Epi. [softly.'] Judge you, forsooth. 
 
 Mor. What say you, lady ? Speak out, I beseech you. 
 
 Epi. Judge you, forsooth. 
 
 Mor. On my judgment, a divine softness ! But can you 
 naturally, lady, as I enjoin these by doctrine and industry, refer 
 yourself to the search of my judgment, and, not taking pleasure 
 in your tongue, which is a woman's chiefest pleasure, think it 
 plausible to answer me by silent gestures, so long as my speeches 
 jump right with what you conceive ? [Epi. curtsies.] — Excellent ! 
 divine ! if it were possible she should hold out thus ! — Peace, 
 Cutbeard, thou art made for ever, as thou hast made me, if this 
 felicity have lasting : but I will try her further. Dear lady, I 
 •mi courtly, I tell you, and I must have mine ears banquetted 
 *vith pleasant and witty conferences, pretty girds, scoffs, and 
 dalliance in her that I mean to choose for my bed-fere. The 
 ladies in court think it a most desperate impair to their quickness 
 of wit, and good carriage, if they cannot give occasion for a 
 man to court 'em ; and when an amorous discourse is set on 
 foot, minister as good matter to continue it, as himself: And 
 do you alone so much differ from all them, that what they, with 
 so much circumstance, affect and toil for, to seem learned, to 
 seem judicious, to seem sharp and conceited, you can bury in 
 yourself with silence, and rather trust your graces to the fair 
 conscience of virtue, than to the world's or your own proclama- 
 tion ? 
 
 Epi. [softly.] I should be sorry else. 
 
 Mor. What say you, lady ? good lady, speak out. 
 
 Epi. I should be sorry else. 
 
 Mor. That sorrow doth fill me with gladness. O Morose, 
 
214 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act 1 1. 
 
 thou art happy above mankind ! pray that thou mayest contain 
 thyself. I will only put her to it once more, and it shall be with 
 the utmost touch and test of their sex. But hear me, fair lady ; 
 I do also love to see her whom I shall choose for my heifer, to 
 be the first and principal in all fashions, precede all the dames 
 at court by a fortnight, have council of tailors, lineners, lace- 
 women, embroiderers ; and sit with them sometimes twice a day 
 upon French intelligences, and then come forth varied like 
 nature, or oftener than she, and better by the help of art, her 
 emulous servant. This do I affect : and how will you be able, 
 lady, with this frugality of speech, to give the manifold but 
 necessary instructions for that bodice, these sleeves, those skirts, 
 this cut, that stitch, this embroidery, that lace, this wire, those 
 knots, that ruff, those roses, this girdle, that fan, the t'other 
 scarf, these gloves ? Ha, what say you, lady ? 
 
 Epi. [softly.] I '11 leave it to you, sir, 
 
 Mor. How, lady ? pray you rise a note. 
 
 Epi. I leave it to wisdom and you, sir. 
 
 Mor. Admirable creature ! I will trouble you no more : I will 
 not sin against so sweet a simplicity. Let me now be bold to 
 print on those divine lips the seal of being mine. — Cutbeard, I 
 give thee the lease of thy house free ; thank me not but with 
 thy leg. [Cutbeard shakes his head'} — I know what thou 
 would'st say, she's poor, and her friends deceased. She has 
 brought a wealthy dowry in her silence, Cutbeard ; and in 
 respect of her poverty, Cutbeard, I shall have her more loving and 
 obedient, Cutbeard. Go thy ways, and get me a minister presently, 
 with a soft low voice, to marry us : and pray him he will not be 
 impertinent, but brief as he can ; away ; softly, Cutbeard. [Exit 
 CUT.]— Sirrah, conduct your mistress into the dining-room — ■ 
 your now mistress. [Exit Mute, followed by Epi.] — O my 
 felicity ! how shall I be revenged on mine insolent kinsman, and 
 his plots to fright me from marrying ! This night I will get an 
 heir, and thrust him out of my blood, like a stranger. He would 
 be knighted, forsooth, and thought by that means to reign over 
 me ; his title must do it. No, kinsman, I will now make you 
 bring me the tenth lord's and the sixteenth lady's letter, kins- 
 man ; and it shall do you no good, kinsman. Your knighthood 
 itself shall come on its knees, and it shall be rejected ; it shall be 
 sued for its fees to execution, and not be redeemed ; it shall 
 cheat at the twelve-penny ordinary, it knighthood, for its diet, all 
 the term-time, and tell tales for it in the vacation to the hostess ; 
 or it knighthood shall do worse — take sanctuary in Cole-harbour, 
 and fast. It shall fright all it friends with borrowing letters ; 
 and when one of the fourscore hath brought it knighthood ten 
 shillings, it knighthood shall go to the Cranes, or the Bear at the 
 Bridgefoot, and be drunk in fear ; it shall not have money to dis- 
 charge one tavern-reckoning, to invite the old creditors to forbear 
 
SCENE IV.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 215 
 
 it knighthood, or the new, that should be, to trust it knighthood. 
 It shall be the tenth name in the bond to take up the com- 
 modity of pipkins and stone-jugs ; and the part thereof shall not 
 furnish it knighthood forth for the attempting of a baker's 
 widow — a brown baker's widow. It shall give it knighthood's 
 name to all gamesome citizen's wives, and be refused, when 
 the master of a dancing-school, or how do you call him, the 
 worst reveller in the town is taken. It shall want clothes, and by 
 reason of that, wit, to fool to lawyers. It shall not have hope to 
 repair itself by Constantinople, Ireland, or Virginia ; but the 
 best and last fortune to it knighthood shall be to make Dol 
 Tear-sheet or Kate Common a lady, and so it knighthood may 
 eat. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV.— A Lane, near Morose's House. 
 
 Enter Truewit, Dauphine, and Clerimont. 
 
 True. Are you sure he is not gone by ? 
 
 Daup. No, I staid in the shop ever since. 
 
 Cler. But he may take the other end of the lane. 
 
 Daup. No, I told him I would be here at this end : I appointed 
 him hither. 
 
 True. What a barbarian it is to stay then ! 
 
 Daup. Yonder he comes. 
 
 Cler. And his charge left behind him, which is a very good 
 sign, Dauphine. 
 
 Enter Cutbeard. 
 
 Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! Succeeds it, or no ? 
 
 Cut. Past imagination, sir, omnia secunda; you could not 
 have prayed to have had it so well. Saltat senex, as it is in the 
 proverb ; he does triumph in his felicity, admires the party ! He 
 has given me the lease of my house too ! and I am now going 
 for a silent minister to marry them, and away. 
 
 True. 'Slight! get one of the silenced ministers ; a zealous 
 brother would torment him purely. 
 
 Cut. Cum privilegio, sir. 
 
 Daup. Oh, by no means ; let's do nothing to hinder it now : 
 when 'tis done and finished, I am for you, for any device of 
 vexation. 
 
 Cut. And that shall be within this half hour, upon my 
 dexterity, gentlemen. Contrive what you can in the meantime, 
 bonis avibus. _ [Exit. 
 
 Cler. How the slave doth Latin it ! v 
 
 True. It would be made a jest to posterity, sirs, this day's ) 
 mirth, if ye will. 
 
216 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act H. 
 
 Cler. Bcshrevv his heart that will not, I pronounce. 
 
 Daup. And for my part. What is it ? 
 
 True. To translate all La-Foole's company, and his feast 
 thither, to-day, to celebrate this bride-ale. 
 
 Daup. Ay, marry ; but how will't be done ? 
 
 Ti'ue. I '11 undertake the directing of all the lady-guests 
 thither, and then the meat must follow. 
 
 Cler. For Heaven's sake, let's affect it ; it will be an excellent 
 comedy of affliction, so many several noises. 
 
 Daup. But are they not at the other place, already, think you? 
 
 True. 1 '11 warrant you for the college-honours : one of their 
 faces has not the priming colour laid on yet, nor the other her 
 smock sleeked. 
 
 Cler. Oh, but they '11 rise earlier than ordinary to a feast. 
 
 True. Best go see, and assure ourselves. 
 
 Cler. Who knows the house ? 
 
 True. I '11 lead you : Were you never there yet ? 
 
 Daup. Not I. 
 
 Cler. Nor I. 
 
 True. Where have you lived then ? not know Tom Otter ! 
 
 Cler. No : for Heaven's sake, what is he ? 
 
 True. An excellent animal, equal with your Daw or La-Foole, 
 if not transcendant ; and does Latin it as much as your barber : 
 He is his wife's subject ; he calls her princess, and at such times 
 as these follows her up and down the house like a page, with his 
 hat off, partly for heat, partly for reverence. At this instant he 
 is marshalling of his bull, bear, and horse. 
 
 Daup. What be those, in the name of Sphynx ? 
 
 True. Why, sir, he has been a great man at the Bear-garden 
 in his time ; and from that subtle sport has ta'en the witty 
 denomination of his chief carousing cups. One he calls his 
 bull another his bear, another his horse. And then he has his 
 lesser glasses, that he calls his deer and his ape ; and several 
 degrees of them too ; and never is well, nor thinks any enter- 
 tainment perfect, till these be brought out, and set on the cup- 
 board. 
 
 Cler. For God's love ! — we should mi=s this, if we should 
 not go. 
 
 T7ue. Nay, he has a thousand things as good, that will speak 
 him all day. He will rail on his wife, with certain common- 
 places, behind her back ; and to her face 
 
 Daup. No more of him. Let 's go see him, I petition you. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
SCENE L] THE SILENT WOMAN. 217 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Otter's House. 
 Enter Captain Otter with his cups, and Mistress Otter. 
 
 Ott. Nay, good princess, hear me ftauca verba. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. By that light, I '11 have you chained up, with your 
 bull-dogs and bear-dogs, if you be not civil the sooner. I '11 send 
 you to kennel, i' faith. You were best bait me with your bull, 
 bear, and horse. Never a time that the courtiers or collegiates 
 come to the house, but you make it a Shrove Tuesday ! 1 would 
 have you get your Whitsuntide velvet cap, and your staff in your 
 hand, to entertain them : yes, in troth, do. 
 
 Ott. Not so, princess, neither ; but under correction, sweet 
 
 princess, give me leave. These things I am known to the 
 
 courtiers by : It is reported to them for my humour, and they 
 receive it so, and do expect it. Tom Otter's bull, bear and horse I 
 is known all over England, in rerum natura. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Tore me, I will na-ture them over to Paris -garden, 
 and na-tnre you thither too, if you pronounce them again. Is 
 a bear a fit beast, or a bull, to mix in society with great ladies ? 
 Think in your discretion, in any good policy. 
 
 Ott. The horse, then, good princess. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Well, I am contented for the horse ; they love to be I 
 well horsed, I know. I love it myself. 
 
 Ott. And it is a delicate fine horse this : Poetarum Pegasus. 
 Under correction, princess, Jupiter did turn himself into a — 
 — tanrus, or bull, under correction, good princess. 
 
 Enter Truewit, Clermont, and Dauphine, behind. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. By my integrity, I '11 send you over to the Bank- 
 side ; I '11 commit you to the master of the Garden, if I hear but 
 a syllable more. Must my house or my roof be polluted with 
 the scent of bears and bulls, when it is perfumed for great ladies ? 
 Is this according to the instrument, when I married you ? that I 
 would be princess, and reign in mine own house ; and you would 
 be my subject, and obey me ? What did you bring me, should 
 make you thus peremptory? Do I allow you your half-crown a 
 day, to spend where you will, among your gamesters, to vex and 
 torment me at such times as these ? Who gives you your main- I 
 tenance, I pray you ? who allows you your horse-meat and man's 
 meat ? your three suits of apparel a year ? your four pair of 
 stockings, one silk, three worsted ? your clean linen, your bands 
 and cuffs, when I can get you to wear them ? — 'tis marie you 
 
2 iS THE SILENT WOMAN. [act in. 
 
 have them on now. — Who graces you with courtiers or great 
 personages, to speak to you out of their coaches, and come home 
 to your house ? Were you ever so much as looked upon by a 
 lord or a lady, before I married you, but on the Easter or Whit- 
 sun-holidays ? and then out at the banqueting-house window, 
 when Ned Whiting or George Stone were at the stake ? 
 
 True. For God's sake, let 's go stave her off him. 
 
 Mts. Ott. Answer me to that. And did not I take you up 
 from thence, in an old greasy buff-doublet, with points, and 
 green velvet sleeves, out at the elbows ? you forget this. 
 
 True. She '11 worry him, if we help not in time. 
 
 [ They come forward. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Oh, here are some of the gallants ! Go to, behave 
 yourself distinctly, and with good morality ; or, I protest, I '11 
 take away your exhibition. 
 
 True. By your leave, fair Mistress Otter, I '11 be bold to enter 
 these gentlemen in your acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. It shall not be obnoxious, or difficil, sir. 
 
 True. How does my noble captain? Is the bull, bear, and 
 horse in rerum natura still ? 
 
 Ott. Sir, sic vision super is. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. I would you would but intimate them, do. Go 
 your ways in, and get toasts and butter made for the woodcocks : 
 that's a fit province for you. [Drives him off. 
 
 Cler. Alas, what a tyranny is this poor fellow married to ! 
 
 T7-ue. Oh, but the sport will be anon, when we get him loose. 
 
 Daup. Dares he ever speak ? 
 
 True. No Anabaptist ever railed with the like license : but 
 mark her language in the meantime, I beseech you. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Gentlemen, you are very aptly come. My cousin, 
 Sir Amorous, will be here briefly. 
 
 True. In good time, lady. Was not Sir John Daw here, to 
 ask for him, and the company ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. I cannot assure you, Master Truewit. Here was a 
 very melancholy knight in a ruff, that demanded my subject for 
 somebody, a gentleman, I think. 
 
 Cler. Ay, that was he, lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. But he departed straight, I can resolve you. 
 
 Daup. W T hat an excellent choice phrase this lady expresses in. 
 
 True. Oh, sir, she is the only authentical courtier, that is not 
 naturally bred one, in the city. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. You have taken that report upon trust, gentlemen. 
 
 True. No, I assure you, the court governs it so, lady, in your 
 behalf. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. I am the servant of the court and courtiers, sir. 
 
 True. They are rather your idolaters. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Not so, sir. 
 
scene I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 219 
 
 Enter Cutbeard. 
 
 Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! any cross ? 
 
 Cut. Oh no, sir, omnia bene. 'Twas never better on the hinges ; 
 all 's sure. I have so pleased him with a curate, that he 's gone 
 to 't almost with the delight he hopes for soon. 
 
 Daup. What is he for a vicar ? 
 
 Cut. One that has catched a cold, sir. and can scarce be heard 
 six inches off ; as if he spoke out of a bulrush that were not 
 picked, 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 movere lapidem, as they say, be ready with your 
 vexation. 
 
 Daup. Gramercy, honest Cutbeard ! be thereabouts with thy 
 key, to let us in. 
 
 Cut. I will not fail you, sir ; ad manum. [Exit. 
 
 True. Well, I '11 go watch my coaches. 
 
 Cler. Do ; and we'll send Daw to you, if you meet him not. 
 
 [Exit Truewit. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Is Master Truewit gone ? 
 
 Daitp. Yes, lady, there is some unfortunate business fallen 
 out. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. So I adjudged by the physiognomy of the fellow 
 that came in ; and I had a dream last night too of the new 
 pageant, and my lady mayoress, which is always'very ominous 
 to me. I told it my Lady Haughty t' other day, when her honour 
 came hitherto see some China stuffs ; and she expounded it out 
 of Artemidorus, and I have found it since very true. It has done 
 me many affronts. 
 
 Cler. Your dream, lady ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Yes, sir, anything I do but dream of the city. It 
 stained me a damask table-cloth, cost me eighteen pound at one 
 time ; and burnt me a black satin gown, as I stood by the 
 fire at my lady Centaure's chamber in the college, another time. 
 A third time, at the lords' masque, it dropt all my wire and my 
 ruff with wax candle, that I could not go up to the banquet. A 
 fourth time, as I was taking coach to go to Ware, to meet a 
 friend, it dashed me a new suit all over (a crimson satin doublet, 
 and black velvet skirts) with a brewer's horse, that I was fain to 
 go in and shift me, and kept my chamber a leash of days for 
 the anguish of it. 
 
 Daup. These were dire mischances, lady. 
 
 Cler. I would not dwell in the city, an 'twere so fatal to me. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Yes, sir ; but I do take advice of my doctor to dream 
 of it as little as I can. 
 
 Daup. You do well, Mistress Otter. 
 
:2o THE SILENT WOMAN. [act hi. 
 
 Enter Sir John Daw, and is taken aside by Clerimont. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Will it please you to enter the house farther, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Daup. And your favour, lady : but we stay to speak with a 
 knight, Sir John Daw, who is here come. We shall follow you, 
 lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. At your own time, sir. It is my cousin Sir Amorous 
 his feast 
 
 Daup. I know it, lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. And mine together. But it is for his honour, and 
 therefore I take no name of it, more than of the place. 
 
 Daup. You are a bounteous kinswoman. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Your servant, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Cler. [corning forward with Daw.] Why, do not you know it, 
 Sir John Daw ? 
 
 Daw. No, I am a rook if I do. 
 
 Cler. I '11 tell you, then ; she 's married by this time. And, 
 whereas you were put in the head, that she was gone with Sir 
 Dauphine, I assure you, Sir Dauphine has been the noblest, 
 honestest friend to you, that ever gentleman of your quality could 
 boast of. He has discovered the whole plot, and made your 
 mistress so acknowledging, and indeed so ashamed of her injury 
 to you, that she desires you to forgive her, and but grace her 
 wedding with your presence to-day. She is to be married to a 
 very good fortune, she says, his uncle, old Morose; and she willed 
 me in private to tell you. that she shall be able to do you more 
 favours, and with more security now than before. 
 
 Daw. Did she say so, i' faith? 
 
 Cler. Why, what do you think of me, Sir John ! Ask Sir 
 Dauphine. 
 
 Daw. Nay, I believe you. Good Sir Dauphine did she desire 
 me to forgive her ? 
 
 Danp. I assure you, Sir John, she did. 
 
 Daw. Nay, then, I do with all my heart, and I '11 be jovial. 
 
 Cler. Yes, for look you, sir, this was the injury to you. La- 
 Foole intended this feast to honour her bridal day, and make you 
 the property to invite the college ladies, and promise to bring 
 her; and then at the time she would have appeared, as his friend, 
 to have given you the dor. Whereas now, Sir Dauphine has 
 brought her to a feeling of it, with this kind of satisfaction, that 
 you shall bring all the ladies to the place where she is, and be 
 very jovial ; and there, she will have a dinner, which shall be in 
 your name : and so disappoint La-Foole, to make you good 
 again, and, as it were, a saver in the main. 
 
 Daw. As I am a knight, I honour her ; and forgive her heartily. 
 
 Cler. About it then presently. Truewit is gone before to 
 
SCENE I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 221 
 
 confront the coaches, and to acquaint you with so much, if he 
 meet you. Join with him, and 'tis well. 
 
 Enttt Sir Amorous La-Foole. 
 
 See ; here comes your antagonist ; but take you no notice, but 
 be very jovial. 
 
 La-F: Are the ladies come, Sir John Daw, and your mistress ? 
 [Exit Daw.] — Sir Dauphine ! you are exceeding welcome, and 
 honest Master Clerimont. Where's my cousin ? did you see no 
 cqllegiates, gentlemen ? 
 
 Daup. Collegiates ! do you not hear, Sir Amorous, how you 
 are abused ? 
 
 La-F. How, sir ! 
 
 Cler. Will you speak so kindly to Sir John Daw, that has 
 done you such an affront ? 
 
 La-F. Wherein, gentlemen ? let me be a suitor to you to know, 
 I beseech you. 
 
 Cler. Why, sir, his mistress is married to-day to Sir Dauphine's 
 uncle, your cousin's neighbour, and he has diverted all the ladies, 
 and all your company thither, to frustrate your provision, and 
 stick a disgrace upon you. He was here now to have enticed 
 us away from you too : but we told him his own, I think. 
 
 La-F. Has Sir John Daw wronged me so inhumanly? 
 
 Daup. He has done it, Sir Amorous, most maliciously and 
 treacherously : but, if you '11 be ruled by us, you shall quit him, 
 i'faith. 
 
 La-F. Good gentlemen, I'll make one, believe it. How, I pray ? 
 
 Datip. Marry, Sir, get me your pheasants, and your godwits, 
 and your best meat, and dish it in silver dishes of your cousin's 
 presently ; and say nothing, but clap me a clean towel about 
 you, like a sewer ; and, bare-headed, march afore it with a good 
 confidence ('tis but over the way, hard by), and we '11 second 
 you, where you shall set it on the board, and bid them welcome 
 to't, which shall show 'tis yours, and disgrace his preparation 
 utterly : and for your cousin, whereas she should be troubled 
 here at home with care of making and giving welcome, she shall 
 transfer all that labour thither, and be a principal guest herself; 
 sit ranked with the college-honours, and be honoured, and have 
 her health drunk as often, as bare, and as loud as the best of 
 them. 
 
 La-F. 1 11 go tell her presently. It shall be done, that 's re- 
 solved. [Exit. 
 
 Cler. I thought he would not hear it out, but 'twould take 
 him. 
 
 Daup. Well, there be guests and meat now ; how shall we do 
 for music ? 
 
 Cler. The smell of the venison, going through the streets, will 
 invite one noise of fiddlers or other. 
 
222 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act 111. 
 
 Da up. I would it would call the trumpeters hither ! 
 
 Cler. 'Faith, there is hope ; they have intelligence of all feasts. 
 There 's a good correspondence betwixt them and the London 
 cooks : 'tis twenty to one but we have them. 
 
 Daup. 'Twill be a most solemn day for my uncle, and an 
 excellent fit of mirth for us. 
 
 Cler. Ay, if we can hold up the emulation between Foole 
 and Daw, and never bring them to expostulate. 
 
 Daup. Tut, flatter them both, as Truewit says, and you may 
 take their understandings in a pursenet. They '11 believe them- 
 selves to be just such men as we make them, neither more nor 
 less. They have nothing, not the use of their senses, but by 
 tradition. 
 
 Re-e?iter La-Foole, like a Sewer, 
 
 Cler. See ! Sir Amorous has his towel on already. Have you 
 persuaded your cousin ? 
 
 La-F. Yes, 't is very feasible : she '11 do anything, she says, 
 rather than the La-Fooles shall be disgraced. 
 
 Daup. She is a noble kinswoman. It will be such a pestling 
 device, Sir Amorous ; it will pound all your enemy's practices to 
 powder, and blow him up with his own mine, his own train. 
 
 La-F. Nay, we '11 give fire, I warrant you. 
 
 Cler. But you must carry it privately, without any noise, and 
 take no notice by any means 
 
 Re-enter Captain Otter. 
 
 Oil. Gentlemen, my princess says you shall have all her 
 silver dishes, festinate ; and she 's gone to alter her tire a little, 
 and go with you 
 
 Cler. And yourself too. Captain Otter ? 
 
 Daup. By any means, sir. 
 
 Oil. Yes, sir, I do mean it : but I would entreat my cousin 
 Sir Amorous, and you, gentlemen, to be suitors to my princess, 
 that I may carry my bull and my bear, as well as my horse. 
 
 Cler. That you shall do, Captain Otter. 
 
 La-F. My cousin will never consent, gentlemen. 
 
 Daup. She must consent, Sir Amorous, to reason. 
 
 La-F. Why, she says they are no decorum among ladies. 
 
 Ott. But they are decora, and that 's better, sir. 
 
 Cler. Ay, she must hear argument. Did not Pasiphae, who 
 was a queen, love a bull ? and was not Calisto, the mother of 
 Areas, turned into a bear, and made a star, Mistress Ursula, in 
 the heavens ? 
 
 Ott. Oh lord ! that I could have said as much ! I will have 
 these stories painted in the Bear-garden, ex Ovidii metamor- 
 phosi. 
 
scene ii.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 223 
 
 Daup. Where is your princess, captain ? pray be our leader. 
 
 Ott. That I shall, sir. 
 
 Cler, Make haste, good Sir Amorous. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— A Room in Morose's House. 
 
 Enter MOROSE, Epiccene, Parson, and Cutbeard. 
 
 A/or. Sir, there 's an angel for yourself, and a brace of angels 
 for your cold. Muse not at this manage of my bounty. It is fit 
 we should thank fortune, double to nature, for any benefit she 
 confers upon us ; besides, it is your imperfection, but my solace. 
 
 Par. [speaks as having a cold.'] I thank your worship ; so it 
 is mine, now. 
 
 Mor. What says he, Cutbeard ? 
 
 Cut. He says, prcesto, sir, whensoever your worship needs 
 him, he can be ready with the like. He got this cold with sitting 
 up late, and singing catches with cloth-workers. 
 
 Mor. No more, I thank him. 
 
 Par. God keep your worship, and give you much joy with 
 your fair spouse ! — uh ! uh ! uh ! 
 
 Mor. Oh, oh ! stay, Cutbeard ! let him give me five shillings 
 of my money back. As it is bounty to reward benefits, so it is 
 equity to mulct injuries. I will have it. What says he ? ' 
 
 Cler. He cannot change it, sir. 
 
 Mor. It must be changed. 
 
 Cut. Cough again. [Aside to Parson. 
 
 Mor. What says he ? 
 
 Cut. He will cough out the rest, sir. 
 
 Par. Uh, uh, uh ! 
 
 Mor. Away, away with him ! stop his mouth ! away ! I 
 forgive it [Exit Cut, thrusting out the Par. 
 
 Epi. Fie, Master Morose ! that you will use this violence to a 
 man of the church. 
 
 Mor. How! 
 
 Epi. It does not become your gravity, or breeding, as you 
 pretend in court, to have offered this outrage on a waterman, or 
 any more boisterous creature, much less on a man of his civil 
 coat. 
 
 Mor. You can speak, then ! 
 
 Epi. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mor, Speak out, I mean. 
 
 Epi. Ay, sir. Why, did you think you had married a statue, 
 or a motion, only ? one of the French puppets, with the eyes 
 turned with a wire? or some innocent out of the hospital, that 
 would stand with her hands thus, and a plaise mouth, and look 
 upon you. 
 
224 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act ill. 
 
 Mor. Oh immodesty ! a manifest woman ! What, Cutbeard! 
 
 Epi. Nay, never quarrel with Cutbeard, sir ; it is too late 
 now. I confess it doth bate somewhat of the modesty I had, 
 when I writ simply maid : but I hope I shall make it a stock still 
 competent to the estate and dignity of your wife. 
 
 Mor. She can talk ! 
 
 Epi. Yes, indeed, sir. 
 
 Enter Mute. 
 
 Mot. What, sirrah! None of my knaves there? where is 
 this impostor Cutbeard. [Mute makes signs. 
 
 Epi. Speak to him, fellow, speak to him ! I '11 have none of 
 this coacted, unnatural dumbness in my house, in a family 
 where I govern. [Exit Mute. 
 
 Mor. She is my regent already ! I have married a Penthesilea, 
 a Semiramis ; sold my liberty to a distaff. 
 
 Enter Truewit. 
 
 True. Where 's Master Morose ? 
 
 Mor. Is he come again ! Lord have mercy upon me ! 
 
 True. I wish you all joy, Mistress Epiccene, with your grave 
 and honourable match. 
 
 Epi. I return you the thanks, Master Truewit, so friendly a 
 wish deserves. 
 
 Mor. She has acquaintance, too \ 
 
 True. God save you, sir, and give you all contentment in your 
 fair choice, here ! Before, I was the bird of night to you, the 
 owl ; but now I am the messenger of peace, a dove, and bring 
 you the glad wishes of many friend* to the celebration of this 
 good hour. 
 
 Mor. What hour, sir ? 
 
 True. Your marriage hour, sir. I commend your resolution, 
 that, notwithstanding all the dangers I laid afore you, in the 
 voice of a night-crow, would yet go on, and be yourself. It shows 
 you are a man constant to your own ends, and upright to your 
 purposes, that would not be put off with left-handed cries. 
 
 Mor. How should you arrive at the knowledge of so much ? 
 
 True. Why, did you ever hope, sir, committing the secrecy of 
 it to a barber, that less than the whole town should know it ? you 
 might as well have told it to the conduit, or the bake-house, or the 
 infantry that follow the Court, and with more security. Could 
 your gravity forget so old and noted a remnant, as, lippis et 
 tonsoribus 7iotwn f Well, sir, forgive it yourself now, the fault, 
 and be communicable with your friends. Here will be three or 
 four fashionable ladies from the college to visit you presently, 
 and their train of minions and followers. 
 
 Mor. Bar my doors ! bar my doors ! Where are all my 
 eaters ? my mouths, now ? — 
 
scene II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 22; 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Bar up my doors, you varlets ! 
 
 Epi. He is a varlet that stirs to such an office. Let them 
 stand open. I would see him that dares move his eyes toward 
 it. Shall I have a barricado made against my friends, to be 
 barred of any pleasure they can bring in to me with their honour- 
 able visitation ? [Exeunt Ser. 
 
 Mor. Oh Amazonian impudence ! 
 
 True. Nay, faith, in this, sir, she speaks but reason ; and, 
 methinks, is more continent than you. Would you go to bed 
 so presently, sir, afore noon ? a man of your head and hair 
 should owe more to that reverend ceremony, and not mount 
 the marriage-bed till the due season ; and ascend it then with 
 religion and fear. Those delights are to be steeped in the 
 humour and silence of the night ; and give the day to other 
 open pleasures, and jollities of feasting, of music, of revels, of 
 discourse : we '11 have all, sir, that may make your Hymen high 
 and happy. 
 
 Mor. Oh my torment, my torment ! 
 
 True. Nay, if you endure the first half hour, sir, so tediously, 
 and with this irksomeness ; what comfort or hope can this fair 
 gentlewoman make to herself hereafter, in the consideration of 
 so many years as are to come 
 
 Mor. Of my affliction. Good sir, depart, and let her do it 
 alone. 
 
 True. I have done, sir. 
 
 Mor. That cursed barber. 
 
 True. Yes, faith, a cursed wretch indeed, sir. 
 
 Mor. I have married his cittern, that 's common to all men. 
 Some plague above the plague 
 
 True. All Egypt's ten plagues. 
 
 Mor. Revenge me on him ! 
 
 True. 'Tis very well, sir. If you laid on a curse or two more, 
 I'll assure you he'll bear them. As, that he may get the plague 
 with seeking to cure it, sir ; or, that while he is curling another 
 man's hair, his own may drop off ; or, for burning some male- 
 fool's lock, he may have his brain beat out with the curling 
 iron. 
 
 Mor. No, let the wretch live wretched. May he get the itch, 
 and his shop so lousy, as no man dare come at him, nor he come 
 at no man ! 
 
 True. Aye, and if he would swallow all his balls for pills, let 
 them purge him. 
 
 Mor. Let his warming-pan be ever cold. 
 
 True. A perpetual frost underneath it, sir. 
 
 Mor. Let him never hope to see fire again. 
 
 H 
 
226 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act lit 
 
 True. But in hell, sir. 
 
 Mor. His chairs be always empty, his scissors rust, and his 
 combs mould in their cases. 
 
 True. Very dreadful that ! And may he lose the invention, 
 sir, of carving lanterns in paper. 
 
 Mor. Let there be none carted that year, to employ a bason 
 of his : but let him be glad to eat his sponge for bread. 
 
 True. And drink lotium to it, and much good do him. 
 
 Mor. Or, for want of bread • 
 
 True, Eat ear-wax, sir. I'll help you. Or, draw his own 
 teeth, and add them to the lute-string. 
 
 Mor. No, beat the old ones to powder, and make bread of them. 
 
 True. Yes, make meal of the mill-stones. 
 
 Mor. May all the botches and burns that he has cured on 
 others break out upon him. 
 
 True. And he now forget the cure of them in himself, sir ; or, 
 if he do remember it, let him have scraped all his linen into lint 
 for 't, and have not a rag left him for to set up with. 
 
 Mor. Let him never set up again, but have the gout n his 
 hands for ever ! — Now, no more, sir. 
 
 True. Oh, that last was too high set ; you might go less with 
 him, i' faith, and be revenged enough : as, that he be never able 
 to new-paint his pole 
 
 Mor. Good sir, no more, I forgot myself. 
 
 True. Or, want credit to take up with a comb-maker 
 
 Mor. No more, sir. 
 
 True. Or, having broken his glass in a former despair, fall now 
 into a much greater, of ever getting another 
 
 Mor. I beseech you, no more. 
 
 True. Or, that he never be trusted with trimming of any but 
 chimney-sweepers 
 
 Mor. Sir 
 
 True. Or, may he cut a collier's throat with his razor, by 
 chance-medley, and yet be hanged for 't. 
 
 Mor. I will forgive him, rather than hear anymore. I beseech 
 you, sir. 
 
 Enter Daw, introducing Lady Haughty, Centaure, Mavis, 
 and Trusty. 
 
 Daw. This way, madam. 
 
 Mor. Oh, the sea breaks in upon me ! another flood ! an inun- 
 dation ! I shall be overwhelmed with noise. It beats already 
 at my shores. I feel an earthquake in myself for 't. 
 
 Daw. Give you joy, mistress. 
 
 Mor. Has she servants too ! 
 
 Daw. I have brought some ladies here to see and know you. 
 My Lady Haughty [as he presents them severally, Epi. kisses 
 
scene ii.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 227 
 
 them.') this my Lady Centaure — Mistress Dol Mavis — Mistress 
 Trusty, my Lady Haughty's woman. Where's your husband ? 
 let 's see him : can he endure no noise ? let me come to him. 
 
 Mor. What nomenclator is this ! 
 
 True. Sir John Daw, sir, your wife's servant, this. 
 
 Mor. A Daw, and her servant ! Oh, 'tis decreed, 'tis decreed 
 of me, an she have such servants. [Going: 
 
 True. Nay, sir, you must kiss the ladies ; you must not go 
 away, now : they come toward you to seek you out. 
 
 Hau. V faith, Master Morose, would you steal a marriage 
 thus, in the midst of so many friends, and not acquaint us ? 
 Well, I '11 kiss you, notwithstanding the justice of my quarrel ; 
 you shall give me leave, mistress, to use a becoming familiarity 
 with your husband. 
 
 Epi. Your ladyship does me an honour in it, to let me know 
 he is so worthy your favour : as you have done both him and me 
 grace to visit so unprepared a pair to entertain you. 
 
 Mor. Compliment ! compliment ! 
 
 Epi. But I must lay the burden of that upon my servant here. 
 
 Hau. It shall not need. Mistress Moiose; we will all bear, 
 rather than one shall be opprest. 
 
 Mor. 1 know it : and you will teach her the faculty, if she be 
 to learn it. [ Walks aside while the rest talk apart. 
 
 Hau. Is this the silent woman? 
 
 Cen. Nay, she has found her tongue since she was married, 
 Master Truewit says. 
 
 Hau. Oh, Master Truewit ! 'save you. What kind of creature 
 is your bride here ? She speaks, methinks ! 
 
 True. Yes, madam, believe it, she is a gentlewoman of very 
 absolute behaviour, and of a good race. 
 
 Hau. And Jack Daw told us she could not speak ! 
 
 True. So it was carried in plot, madam, to put her upon this 
 old fellow, by Sir Dauphine, his nephew, and one or two more of 
 us : but she is a woman of an excellent assurance, and an extra- 
 ordinary happy wit and tongue. You shall see her make rare 
 sport with Daw ere night. 
 
 Hau. And he brought us to laugh at her ! 
 
 True. That falls out often, madam, that he that thinks himself 
 the master wit is the master-fool. I assure your ladyship, ye^ 
 cannot laugh at her. 
 
 Hau. No, we '11 have her to the college : an she have wit, she 
 shall be one of us, shall she not, Centaure ? We '11 make her a 
 collegiate. 
 
 Cen. Yes, faith, madam, and Mavis and she will set up a side. 
 
 True. Believe it, madam, and Mistress Mavis she will sustain 
 her part. 
 
 Mav. I '11 tell you that when I have talked with her and tried 
 her. 
 
 H 2 
 
228 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act hi. 
 
 Hau. Use her very civilly, Mavis. 
 
 Mav. So I will, madam. \\Vhispers her. 
 
 Mor. Blessed minute ! that they would whisper thus ever ! 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 True. In the mean time, madam, would but your ladyship 
 help to vex him a little : you know his disease, talk to him about 
 the wedding ceremonies, or call for your gloves, or 
 
 Hau. Let me alone. Centaure, help me. — Master Bridegroom, 
 where are you ? 
 
 Mor. Oh, it was too miraculously good to last ! [Aside. 
 
 Hau. We see no ensigns of a wedding here ; no character of 
 a bride-ale : where be our scarves and our gloves ? I pray you, 
 give them us. Let us know your bride's colours, and yours at 
 least. 
 
 Cm. Alas, madam, he has provided none. 
 
 Mor. Had I known your ladyship's painter, I would. 
 
 Hau. He has given it you, Centaure, i' faith. But do you hear, 
 Master Morose ? a jest will not absolve you in this manner. You 
 that have sucked the milk of the court, and from thence have 
 been brought up to the very strong meats and wine of it — been 
 a courtier from the biggen to the night-cap, as we may say — and 
 you to offend in such a high point of ceremony as this, and let 
 your nuptials want all marks of solemnity ! How much plate 
 have you lost to-day (if you had but regarded your profit) what 
 gifts, what friends, through your mere rusticity ! 
 
 Mor. Madam 
 
 Hau. Pardon me, sir, I must insinuate your errors to you ; no 
 gloves ? no garters ? no scarves ? no epithalamium? no masque? 
 
 Daw. Yes, madam, I '11 make an epithalamium, I promise my 
 mistress. I have begun it already ; will your ladyship hear it ? 
 
 Hau. Ay, good Jack Daw. 
 
 Mor. Will it please your ladyship command a chamber, and 
 be private with your friend ? You shall have your choice of 
 rooms to retire to after : my whole house is yours. I know it 
 hath been your ladyship's errand into the city at other times, 
 however now you have been unhappily diverted upon me ; but I 
 shall be loth to break any honourable custom of your ladyship's. 
 And therefore, good madam 
 
 Epi. Come, you are a rude bridegroom, to entertain ladies of 
 honour in this fashion. 
 
 Cen. He is a rude groom indeed. 
 
 True. By that light you deserve to be grafted, and have your 
 horns reach from one side of the island to the other. Do not 
 mistake me, sir ; I but speak this to give the ladies some heart 
 again, not for any malice to you. 
 
 Mor. Is this your bravo, ladies ? 
 
 True. As Heaven help me, if you utter such another word, 
 I '11 take Mistress Bride in, and begin to you in a very sad 
 
SCENE II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 229 
 
 cup ; do you see ? Go to, know your friends, and such as love 
 you. 
 
 Enter Clerimont, followed by a number of Musicians. 
 
 Cler. By your leave, ladies. Do you want any music ? I 
 have brought you variety of noises. Play, sirs, all of you. 
 
 [Aside to the Musicians, who strike up altogether. 
 
 Mor. Oh, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot upon me ! This day I 
 shall be their anvil to work on, they will grate me asunder. 'Tis 
 worse than the noise of a saw. 
 
 Cler. No, they are hair, rosin, and guts : I can give you the 
 receipt. 
 
 True. Peace, boys ! 
 
 Cler. Play ! I say. 
 
 True. Peace, rascals ! You see who 's your friend now, sir : 
 take courage, put on a martyr's resolution. Mock down all their 
 attemptings with patience : 't is but a day, and I would suffer 
 heroically. Should an ass exceed me in fortitude? no. You 
 betray your infirmity with your hanging duli ears, and make them 
 insult : bear up bravely, and constantly. — [Y.K-YOO'LY. passes over 
 the stage as a Sewer followed by Servants carrying dishes, and 
 Mistress OTTER.]— Look you here, sir, what honour is done you 
 unexpected, by your nephew ; a wedding- dinner come, and a 
 knight-sewer before it, for the more reputation : and fine Mistress 
 Otter, your neighbour, in the rump or tail of it. 
 
 Mor. Is that Gorgon, that Medusa, come ! hide me, hide me. 
 
 True. I warrant you, sir, she will not transform you. Look upon 
 her with a good courage. Pray you entertain her, and conduct 
 your guests in. No ! — Mistress Bride, will you entreat in the 
 ladies ? your bridegroom is so shame-faced, here. 
 
 Epi. Will it please your ladyship, madam ? 
 
 Hau. With the benefit of your company, mistress. 
 
 Epi. Servant, pray you perform your duties. 
 
 Daw. And glad to be commanded, mistress. 
 
 Cen. How like you her wit, Mavis ? 
 
 Mav. Very prettily, absolutely well. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. 'Tis my place. 
 
 Mav. You shall pardon me, Mistress Otter. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Why, I am a collegiate. 
 
 Mav. But not in ordinary. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. But I am. 
 
 Mav. We'll dispute that within. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Cler. Would this had lasted a little longer. 
 
 True. And that they had sent for the heralds. 
 
 Enter Captain Otter. 
 — Captain Otter! what news ? 
 
230 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 Ott. I have brought my bull, bear, and horse in private, and 
 yonder are the trumpeters without, and the drum, gentlemen. 
 
 [The drum and trumpets sound within. 
 
 Mor. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Ott. And we will have a rouse in each of them, anon, for bold 
 Britons, i' faith. {They sound again. 
 
 Mor. Oh, oh, oh ! [Exit hastily. 
 
 Omnes. Follow, follow, follow ! 
 
 -ACT IV.- 
 
 Scene I.— A Room in Morose's House. 
 
 Enter Truewit and Clerimont. 
 
 True. Was there ever poor bridegroom so tormented ? or man, 
 indeed ? 
 
 Cler. I have not read of the like in the chronicles of the land. 
 
 True. Sure, he cannot but go to a place of rest, after all this 
 purgatory. 
 
 Cler. He may presume it, I think. 
 
 True. The spitting, the coughing, the laughter, the neezing, 
 dancing, noise of the music, and her masculine and loud com- 
 manding, and urging the whole family, makes him think he has 
 married a fury. 
 
 Cler. And she carries it up bravely. 
 
 True. Ay, she takes any occasion to speak : that's the 
 height on 't. 
 
 Cler. And how soberly Dauphine labours to satisfy him, that 
 it was none of his plot ! 
 
 True. And has almost brought him to the faith, in the article. 
 Here he comes. — 
 
 Enter Sir Dauphine. 
 
 Where is he now ? what's become of him, Dauphine ? 
 
 Daup. Oh, hold me up a little, I shall go away in the jest else. 
 He has got on his whole nest of night-caps, and locked himself 
 up in the top of the house, as high as ever he can climb from the 
 noise. I peeped in at a cranny, and saw him sitting over a cross- 
 beam of the roof, like him on the saddler's horse in Fleet Street, 
 upright : and he will sleep there. 
 
 Cler. But where are your collegiates ? 
 
 Daup . Withdrawn with the bride in private. 
 
 True. Oh, they are instructing her in the college grammar. If 
 she have grace with them, she knows all their secrets instantly. 
 
 Cler. Methinksthe Lady Haughty looks well to-day, for all my 
 
SCENE I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 231 
 
 dispraise of her in the morning/ I think, I shall come about to 
 thee again, Truewit. 
 
 True. Believe it, I told you right. Women ought to repair 
 the losses time and years have made in their features, with dress- 
 ings. And an intelligent woman, if she know by herself the 
 least defect, will be most curious to hide it : and it becomes her. 
 If she be short, let her sit much, lest, when she stands, she be 
 thought to sit. If she have an ill foot, let her wear her gown the 
 longer and her shoe the thinner. If a fat hand and scald nails, 
 let her carve the less, and act in gloves. If a sour breath, let her 
 never discourse fasting, and always talk at her distance. If she 
 have black and r.ugged teeth, let her offer the less at laughter, 
 especially if she laugh wide and open. 
 
 Cler. Oh, you shall have some women, when they laugh, you 
 would think they brayed, it is so rude and 
 
 True. Ay, and others, that will stalk in their gait like an 
 estrich, and take huge strides. I cannot endure such a sight. I 
 love measure in the feet, and number in the voice : they are 
 gentlenesses, that oftentimes draw no less than the face. 
 
 Daup. How earnest thou to study these creatures so exactly ? 
 I would thou wouldst make me a proficient. 
 
 True. Yes, but you must leave to live in your chamber, then, 
 a month together upon Amadis de Gaul or Don Quixote, as you 
 are wont ; and come abroad where the matter is frequent, to 
 court, to tiltings, public shows and feasts, to plays, and church 
 sometimes : thither they come to show their new tires too, to 
 see and to be seen. In these places a man shall find whom to 
 love, whom to play with, whom to touch once, whom to hold ever. 
 The variety arrests his judgment. A wife to please a man 
 comes not downdropping from the ceiling, as he lies on his 
 back droning a tobacco-pipe. He must go where she is. 
 
 Daup. Yes, and be never the nearer. 
 
 True. Out, heretic ! That diffidence makes thee worthy it 
 should be so. 
 
 Cler. He says true to you, Dauphine. 
 
 Daup. Why. 
 
 True. A man should not doubt to overcome any woman. 
 Think he can vanquish them, and he shall : for though they 
 deny, their desire is to be tempted. Penelope herself cannot 
 hold out long, Ostend, you saw, was taken at last. You must 
 persever, and hold to your purpose. They would solicit us, 
 but that they are afraid. Howsoever, they wish in their hearts 
 we should solicit them. Praise them, flatter them, you shall 
 never want eloquence or trust : even the best delight to feel 
 themselves that way rubbed. With praises you must mix kisses 
 too : if they take any, any '11 take more — though they strive, 
 they would be overcome. 
 
 Cle^ . Oh, but a man must beware of force. 
 
232 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iV. 
 
 True. It is to them an acceptable rudeness, and has oft-times 
 the place of the greatest courtesy. She that might have been 
 kissed, and you let her go free without touching, though then 
 she seem to thank you, will ever hate you after ; and glad in the 
 face, is assuredly sad at the heart. 
 
 Cler. But all women are not to be taken all ways. 
 
 True. 'Tis true ; no more than all birds, or all fishes. If you 
 appear learned to an ignorant girl, or jocund to a sad, or witty 
 to a foolish, why she presently begins to mistrust herself. You 
 must approach them in their own height, their own line ; for the 
 contrary makes many, that fear to commit themselves to noble 
 and worthy fellows, run into the embraces of a rascal. If she 
 love wit, give verses, though you borrow them of a friend, or buy 
 them, to have good. If valour, talk of your sword, and be frequent 
 in the mention of quarrels, though you be staunch in fighting. 
 If activity, be seen on your barbary often, or leaping over stools, 
 for the credit of your back. If she love good clothes or dressing, 
 have your learned council about you every morning, your French 
 tailor, barber, linener, &c. Let your powder, your glass, and 
 your comb be your dearest acquaintance. Take more care for 
 the ornament of your head, than the safety ; and wish the com- 
 monwealth rather troubled, than a hair about you. That will 
 take her. Then, if she be covetous and craving, do you promise 
 anything, and perform sparingly ; so shall you keep her in 
 appetite still. Seem as you would give, but be like a barren 
 field, that yields little ; or unlucky dice to foolish and hoping 
 gamesters. Let your gifts be slight and dainty, rather than 
 precious. Let cunning be above cost. Give cherries at time of 
 year, or apricots; and say, they were sent you out of the country, 
 though you bought them in Cheapside. Admire her tires : like 
 her in all fashions ; compare her in every habit to some deity ; 
 invent excellent dreams to flatter her, and riddles ; or, if she be 
 a great one, perform always the second parts to her : like what 
 she likes, praise whom she praises, and fail not to make the 
 household and servants yours, yea the whole family, and salute 
 them by their names, ('tis but light cost, if you can purchase them 
 so,) and make her physician your pensioner, and her chief 
 woman. Nor will it be out of your gain to make love to her too, 
 so she follow, not usher her lady's pleasure. All blabbing is 
 taken away, when she comes to be a part of the crime. 
 
 Daufi. On what courtly lap hast thou late slept, to come forth 
 so sudden and absolute a courtling? 
 
 True. Good faith, I should rather question you, that are so 
 hearkening after these mysteries. I begin to suspect your dili- 
 gence, Dauphine. Speak, art thou in love in earnest ? 
 
 Daup. Yes, by my troth, am I ; 'twere ill dissembling before 
 thee. 
 
 True. With which of them, I prithee? 
 
SCENE I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 233 
 
 Daup. With all the collegiates. 
 
 Cler. Out on thee ! We '11 keep you at home, believe it, in 
 the stable. 
 
 True. No ; I like him well. Men should love 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 ear ; and where the objects mix, 
 let the senses so too. Thou would'st think it strange;, if I should 
 make them all in love with thee afore night ! 
 
 Daup. I would say, thou hast the best philtre in the world, 
 and couldst do more than Madam Medea, or Doctor Foreman. 
 
 True. If I do not, let me play the mountebank for my meat, 
 while I live. 
 
 Daup. So be it, I say. 
 
 Efiter Otter, with his three Cups, Daw and La Foole. 
 
 Ott. O Lord, gentlemen, how my knights and I have mist you 
 here ! 
 
 C/er. Why, captain, what service, what service ? 
 
 Ott. To see me bring up my bull, bear, and horse to fight. 
 
 Daw. Yes, faith, the captain says we shall be his dogs to bait 
 them. 
 
 Daup. A good employment. 
 
 True. Come on, let 's see your course, then. 
 
 La-F. I am afraid my cousin will be offended, if she come. 
 
 Ott. Be afraid of nothing- Gentlemen, I have placed the 
 drum and the trumpets, and one to give them the sign when you 
 are ready. Here's my bull for myself, and my bear for Sir John 
 Daw, and my horse for Sir Amorous. Now set your foot to mine, 
 and yours to his, and 
 
 La-F. Pray God my cousin come not. 
 
 Ott. St. George and St. Andrew, fear no cousins. Come, 
 sound, sound ! {Drum and trumpets sou?id.~\ Et rauco stre- 
 puerunt cornua canttt. [ They dri?ik. 
 
 True. Well said, captain, i'faith ; well fought at the bull. 
 
 Cler. Well held at the bear. 
 
 True. Low, low ! captain. 
 
 Daup. Oh, the horse has kicked off his dog already. 
 
 La-F . I cannot drink it, as I am a knight. 
 
 True. Ods so ! Off with his spurs, somebody, 
 
 La-F. It goes against my conscience. My cousin will be 
 angry with it. 
 
 Daw. I have done mine. 
 
 True. You fought high and fair, Sir John. 
 
 Cler. At the head. 
 
 Daup. Like an excellent bear-dog. 
 
 Cler. You take no notice of the business, I hope ? 
 
234 THE SILENT WOMAN. [ACT IV. 
 
 Daw. Not a word, sir ; you see we are jovial. 
 
 Ott. Sir Amorous, you must not equivocate. 
 It must be pulled down, for all my cousin. 
 
 Cler. 'Sfoot, if you take not your drink, they '11 think you are 
 discontented with something ; you'll betray all, if you take the 
 least notice. 
 
 La-F. Not I ; I '11 both drink and talk then. 
 
 Ott. You must pull the horse on his knees, Sir Amorous ; fear 
 no cousins. Jacta est alea. 
 
 True. Oh, now he 's in his vein, and bold. The least hint 
 given him of his wife now, will make him rail desperately. 
 
 Cler. Speak to him of her. 
 
 True. Do you, and I '11 fetch her to the hearing of it. [Exit. 
 
 Daup. Captain He-Otter, your She-Otter is coming, your 
 wife. 
 
 Ott. Wife ! buz ? titivilitium / There 's no such thing in 
 nature. I confess, gentlemen, I have a cook, a laundress, a 
 house-drudge, that serves my necessary turns, and goes under 
 that title ; but he 's an ass that will be so uxorious to tie his 
 affections to one circle. Come, the name dulls appetite. Here, 
 replenish again ; another bout. {Fills the cups again.'] Wives 
 are nasty, sluttish animals. 
 
 Daup. Oh, captain. 
 
 Ott. As ever the earth bare, tribus verbis. — Where's Master 
 Truewit ? 
 
 Daw. He 's slipt aside, sir. 
 
 Cler. But you must drink and be jovial. 
 
 Daw. Yes, give it me. 
 
 La-F. And me too. 
 
 Daw. Let 's be jovial. 
 
 La-F. As jovial as you will. 
 
 Ott. Agreed. Now you shall have the bear, cousin, and Sir 
 John Daw the horse, and I '11 have the bull still. Sound, 
 Tritons of the Thames ! [Drum a)id trumpets sowid again.] 
 Nunc est bibendum, tiunc pede liber o 
 
 Mor. [above?] Villains, murderers, sons of the earth and 
 traitors, what do you there ? 
 
 Cler. Oh, now the trumpets have waked him, we shall have his 
 company. 
 
 Ott. A wife is a scurvy clogdogdo, an unlucky thing, a very 
 forsaid bear-whelp, without any good fashion or breeding, mala 
 bestia. 
 
 Re-enter Truewit behind, with Mistress Otter. 
 
 Daup. Why did you marry one then, captain ? 
 
 Ott. A plague ! 1 married with six thousand pound, I. I 
 
 was in love with that. I have not kissed my Fury these forty 
 weeks. 
 
SCENE I.] THE SILENT WOMAN.i 235 
 
 Cler. The more to blame you, captain. 
 
 True. Nay, Mistress Otter, hear him a little first. 
 
 Ott. She has a breath worse than my grandmother's, 
 profecto. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. O treacherous liar ! kiss me, sweet Master Truewit, 
 and prove him a slandering knave, 
 
 True. I '11 rather believe you, lady. 
 
 Ott. And she has a peruke that 's like a pound of hemp, made 
 up in shoe-threads. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. O viper, mandrake ! 
 
 Ott. A most vile face ! and yet she spends me forty pound a 
 year in mercury and hogs-bones. All her teeth were made in 
 the Blackfriars, both her eyebrows in the Strand, and her hair 
 in Silver-street. Every part of the town owns a piece of her. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. [^comes forward.'] I cannot hold. 
 
 Ott. She takes herself asunder still when she goes to bed 
 into some twenty boxes ; and about next day noon is put together 
 again, like a great German clock : and so comes forth, and rings 
 a tedious alarum to the whole house, and then is quiet again 
 for an hour, but for her quarters. — Have you done me right, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. \falls upon him and beats him.] No, sir, I '11 do 
 you right with my quarters, with my quarters. 
 
 Ott. Oh, hold, good princess. 
 
 True. Sound, sound ! [Brum and trumpets sound. 
 
 Cler. A battle, a battle ! 
 
 Mrs. Ott. You notorious stinkardly bearward, does my breath 
 smell ? 
 
 Ott. Under correction, dear princess. — Look to my bear and 
 my horse, gentlemen. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Do I want teeth, and eyebrows, thou bull-dog? 
 
 True. Sound, sound still. {They sound again. 
 
 Ott. No, I protest, under correction 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Ay, now you are under correction, you protest : but 
 you did not protest before correction, sir. Thou Judas, to offer 
 to betray thy princess ! I '11 make thee an example. 
 
 {Beats him. 
 Enter MOROSE with his long swo?-d. 
 
 Mor. I will have no such examples in my house, Lady Otter. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Ah ! 
 
 [Mrs. Otter, Daw, and La-Foole run off. 
 
 Mor. Mistress Mary Ambree, your examples are dangerous. — 
 Rogues, hell-hounds, Stentors ! out of my doors, you sons of 
 noise and tumult, begot on an ill May-day, or when the galley- 
 foist is afloat to Westminster ! {Drives out the musicians.] A 
 trumpeter could not be conceived but then. 
 
 Daup. What ails you, sir? 
 
236 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 Mor. They have rent my roof, walls, and all my windows 
 asunder, with their brazen throats. [Exit. 
 
 True. Best follow him, Dauphine. 
 
 Daup. So I will. {Exit. 
 
 Cler. Where 's Uaw and La-Foole ? 
 
 Ott. They are both run ,away, sir. Good gentlemen, help to 
 pacify my princess, and speak to the great ladies for me. Now 
 must I go lie with the bears this fortnight, and keep out of the 
 way, till my peace be made, for this scandal she has taken. Did 
 you not see my bull-head, gentlemen ? 
 
 Cler. Is 't not on, captain ? 
 
 True. No ; but he may make a new one, by that is on. 
 
 Ott. Oh, here it is. An you come over, gentlemen, and ask for 
 Tom Otter, we 5 11 go down to Ratcliff, and have a course i' faith, 
 for all these disasters. There is bona spes left. 
 
 True. Away, captain, get off while you are well. 
 
 [Exit Otter. 
 
 Cler. I am glad we are rid of him. 
 
 True. You had never been, unless we had put his wife upon 
 him. His humour is as tedious at last, as it was ridiculous at 
 first. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — A long open Gallery hi the same. 
 
 Enter Lady Haughty, Mistress Otter, Mavis, Daw, 
 La-Foole, Centaure, and Epiccene. 
 
 Hau. We wondered why you shrieked so, Mistress Otter. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. O Lord, madam, he came down with a huge long 
 naked weapon in both his hands, and looked so dreadfully ! 
 Sure he s beside himself. 
 
 Mav. Why, what made you there, Mistress Otter ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Alas, Mistress Mavis, I was chastising my subject, 
 and thought nothing of him. 
 
 Daw. Faith, mistress, you must do so too : learn to chastise. 
 Mistress Otter corrects her husband so, he dares not speak but 
 under correction. 
 
 La-fi. And with his hat off to her : ' twould do you good to 
 see. 
 
 Hau. In sadness, ' tis good and mature counsel ; practise it, 
 Merose. I '11 call you Morose still now, as I call Centaure and 
 Mavis ; we four will be all one. 
 
 Cen. And you'll come to the college, and live with us ? 
 
 Hau. Make him give milk and honey. 
 
 Mav. Look how you manage him at first, you shall have him 
 ever after. 
 
 Cen. Let him allow you your coach and four horses, your 
 
scene il] THE SILENT WOMAN. 237 
 
 woman, your chambermaid, your page, your gentleman-usher, 
 your French cook, and four grooms. 
 
 Hau. And go with us to Bedlam, to the china-houses, and to 
 the Exchange. 
 
 Cen. It will open the gate to your fame. 
 
 Hau. Here 's Centaure has immortalized herself, with taming 
 of her wild male. 
 
 Mav. Ay, she has done the miracle of the kingdom. 
 
 Enter Clerimont and Truewit. 
 
 Epi. But, ladies, do you count it lawful to have such plurality 
 of servants, and do them all graces ? 
 
 Hau. Why not ? why should women deny their favours to 
 men ? are they the poorer or the worse ? 
 
 Daw. Is the Thames the less for the dyers' water, mistress ? 
 
 La-F. Or a torch for lighting many torches ? 
 
 True. Well said, La-Foole ; what a new one he has got ! 
 
 Cen. They are empty losses women fear in this kind. 
 
 Hau. Besides, ladies should be mindful of the approach of 
 age, and let no time want his due use. The best of our days 
 pass first. 
 
 Mav. We are rivers, that cannot be called back, madam : she 
 that now excludes her lovers, may live to lie a forsaken beldame, 
 in a frozen bed. 
 
 Cen. 'Tistrue, Mavis: and who will wait on us to coach then? 
 or write, or tell us the news then, make anagrams of our names, 
 and invite us to the Cock-pit, and kiss our hands all the play- 
 time, and draw their weapons for our honours ? 
 
 Hau. Not one. 
 
 Daw. Nay, my mistress is not altogether unintelligent of 
 these things ; here be in presence have tasted of her favours. 
 
 Cler. What a neighing hobby-horse is this ! 
 
 Epi. But not with intent to boast them again, servant. — And 
 have you those excellent receipts, madam, to keep yourselves 
 from bearing of children ? 
 
 Hau. Oh yes, Morose : how should we maintain our youth 
 and beauty else ? many births of a woman make her old, as 
 many crops make the earth barren. 
 
 Enter Morose and Dauphine. 
 
 Mor. Oh, my cursed angel, that instructed me to this fate 1 
 
 Daup. Why, sir ? 
 
 Mor. That I should be seduced by so foolish a devil as a 
 barber will make ! 
 
 Daup. I would I had been worthy, sir, to have partaken your 
 counsel ; you should never have trusted it to such a minister. 
 
238 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 Mor. Would I could redeem it with the loss of an eye, 
 nephew, a hand, or any other member. 
 
 Daup. Marry, God forbid, sir, that you should main yourself, 
 to anger your wife. 
 
 Mor. So it would rid me of her ! — and that I did supereroga- 
 tory penance in a belfry, at Westminster-hall, in the Cock-pit, at 
 the fall of a stag, the Tower- wharf — what place is there else ? — 
 London-bridge, Paris-garden, Billingsgate, when the noises are at 
 their height, and loudest. Nay, I would sit out a play, that were 
 nothing but fights at sea, drum, trumpet, and target. 
 
 Daup. I hope there shall be no such need, sir. Take patience, 
 good uncle. This is but a day, and 't is well worn too now. 
 
 Mor. Oh, 't will be so for ever, nephew ; I foresee it, for ever. 
 Strife and tumult are the dowry that comes with a wife. 
 
 T}'tie. I told you so, sir, and you would not believe me. 
 
 Mor. Alas, do not rub those wounds, Master Truewit, to 
 blood again : 't was my negligence. Add not affliction to 
 affliction. I have perceived the effect of it, too late, in Madam 
 Otter. 
 
 Epi. How do you, sir ? 
 
 Mor. Did you ever hear a more unnecessary question ? as if 
 she did not see ! Why, I do as you see, empress, empress. 
 
 Epi. You are not well, sir ; you look very ill : something has 
 distempered you. 
 
 Mor. Oh horrible, monstrous impertinencies ! would not one 
 of these have served, do you think, sir ? would not one of these 
 have served ? 
 
 True. Yes, sir ; but these are but notes of female kindness, 
 sir ; certain tokens that she has a voice, sir. 
 
 Mor. Oh, is it so ! Come, an 't be no otherwise What 
 
 say you ? 
 
 Epi. How do you feel yourself, sir ? 
 
 Mor. Again that ! 
 
 True. Nay, look you. sir, you would be friends with your wife 
 upon unconscionable terms ; her silence. 
 
 Epi. They say you are run mad, sir. 
 
 Mor. Not for love, I assure you, of you ; do you see ? 
 
 Epi. Oh Lord, gentlemen ! lay hold on him, for God's sake. 
 What shall I do ? who 's his physician, can you tell, that knows 
 the state of his body best, that I might send for him ? Good 
 sir, speak ; I '11 send for one of my doctors, else. 
 
 Mor. What, to poison me, that I might die intestate, and 
 leave you possest of all ! 
 
 Epi. Lord, how idly he talks, and how his eyes sparkle ! he 
 looks green about the temples ! do you see what blue spots he has ! 
 
 Cler. Ay, 't is melancholy. 
 
 Epi. Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake, counsel me. Ladies : — 
 servant, you have read Pliny and Paracelsus ; ne'er a word now 
 
SCENE II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 239 
 
 to comfort a poor gentlewoman ? Ay me, what fortune had I, to 
 marry a distracted man ! 
 
 Daw. I ; 11 tell you, mistress 
 
 True. How rarely she holds it up ! \_Aside to Cler. 
 
 Mor. What mean you, gentlemen ? 
 
 Epi. What will you tell me, servant ? 
 
 Daw. The disease in Greek is called \iavia, in Latin insania, 
 furor, vel ecstasis melancholica, that is, egressio, when a man ex 
 melancholico evadit fatiaticus. 
 
 Mor. Shall I have a lecture read upon me alive ? 
 
 Daw. But he may be but phre?ieticus yet, mistress ; and 
 phrenetis is only delirium, or so. 
 
 Epi. Ay, that is for the disease, servant ; but what is this to 
 the cure ? We are sure enough of the disease. 
 
 Mor. Let me go. 
 
 True. Why, we '11 entreat her to hold her peace, sir. 
 
 Mor. Oh no, labour not to stop her. She is like a conduit- 
 pipe, that will gush out with more force when she opens again. 
 
 Hau. I '11 tell you, Morose, you must talk divinity to him 
 altogether, or moral philosophy. 
 
 La-F. Ay, and there 's an excellent book of moral philosophy, 
 madam, of Reynard the Fox, and all the beasts, called Doni's 
 Philosophy. 
 
 Cen. There is indeed, Sir Amorous La-Foole. 
 
 Mor. Oh misery ! 
 
 La-F. I have read it, my Lady Centaure, all over, to my 
 cousin here. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Ay, and 'tis a very good book as any is, of the 
 moderns. 
 
 Daw. Tut, he must have Seneca read to him, and Plutarch, 
 and the ancients ; the moderns are not for this disease. 
 
 Cler. Why, you discommended them too, to-day, Sir John. 
 
 Daw. Ay, in some cases ; but in these they are best, and 
 Aristotle's ethics. 
 
 Mav. Say you so, Sir John ? I think you are deceived ; you 
 took it upon trust. 
 
 Hau. Where 's Trusty, my woman ? I '11 end this difference. 
 I pr'thee, Otter, call her. Her father and mother were both mad, 
 when they put her to me. 
 
 Mor. I think so— Nay, gentlemen, I am tame. This is but an 
 exercise, I know, a' marriage ceremony, which I must endure. 
 
 Hau. And one of them, I know not which, was cured with the 
 Sick Man's Salve, and the other with Green's Groat's-worth of 
 Wit. 
 
 True. A very cheap cure, madam. 
 
 Enter TRUSTY 
 Hau. Ay, 'tis very feasible, 
 
240 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act IV. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. My lady called for you, Mistress Trusty : you must 
 decide a controversy. 
 
 Hau. Oh, Trusty, which was it you said, your father, or your 
 mother, that was cured with the Sick Man's Salve ? 
 
 Ttus. My mother, madam, with the Salve. 
 
 Tyue. Then it was the sick woman's salve ? 
 
 Trus. And my father with the Groat's-worth of Wit. But 
 there was other means used : we had a preacher that would 
 preach folk asleep still ; and so they were prescribed to go to 
 church, by an old woman that was their physician, thrice a 
 week 
 
 Epi. To sleep ? 
 
 Trus. Yes, forsooth : and every night they read themselves 
 asleep on those books. 
 
 Epi. Good faith, it stands with great reason. I would I knew 
 where to procure those books. 
 
 Mor. Oh! 
 
 La-F. I can help you with one of them, Mistress Morose, the 
 Groat's-worth of Wit. 
 
 Epi. But I shall disfurnish you, Sir Amorous : can you spare 
 it? 
 
 La-F. Oh yes, for a week, or so ; I '11 read it myself to him. 
 
 Epi. No, I must do that, sir ; that must be my office. 
 
 Mor. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Epi. Sure he would do well enough, if he could sleep. 
 
 Mor. No, I should do well enough, if you could sleep. Have 
 I no friend that will make her drunk, or give her a little lauda- 
 num, or opium ? 
 
 True. Why, sir, she talks ten times worse in her sleep. 
 
 Mor. How ! 
 
 Cler. Do you not know that, sir? never ceases all night. 
 
 True. And snores like a porpoise. 
 
 Mor. Oh redeem me, fate ; redeem me, fate ! For how many 
 causes may a man be divorced, nephew ? 
 
 Daup. I know not, truly, sir. 
 
 True. Some divine must resolve you in that, sir, or canon- 
 lawyer. 
 
 Mor. I will not rest, I will not think of any other hope or 
 comfort, till I know. {Exit with DAUPHINE. 
 
 Cler. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 True. You'll make him mad indeed, ladies, if you pursue this. 
 
 Hau. No, we'll let him breathe now, a quarter of an hour or 
 so. 
 
 Cler. By my faith, a large truce ! 
 
 Hau. Is that his keeper, that is gone with him ? 
 
 Daw. It is his nephew, madam. 
 
 La-F. Sir Dauphine Eugenie. 
 
 Cen. He looks like a very pitiful knight 
 
SCENE II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 241 
 
 Daw. As can be. This marriage has put him out of all. 
 
 La~F . He has not a penny in his purse, madam. 
 
 Daw. He is ready to cry all this day. 
 
 La-F. A very shark ; he set me in the nick t'other night at 
 Primero. 
 
 True. How these swabbers talk ! 
 
 Cler. Ay, Otter's wine has swelled their humours above a 
 spring-tide. 
 
 Hau. Good Morose, let 's go in again. I like your couches 
 exceeding well ; we '11 go lie and talk there. 
 
 [Exeunt Hau., Cen., Mav., Trus., La-Foole, and Daw. 
 
 Epi. [following them.] I wait on you, madam. 
 
 True, [stopping herJ] 'Slight, I will have them as silent as 
 signs, and their post too, ere I have done. Do you hear, lady- 
 bride ? I pray thee now, as thou art a noble wench, continue 
 this discourse of Dauphine within ; but praise him exceedingly : 
 magnify him with all the height of affection thou canst ; — I have 
 some purpose in 't : and but beat off these two rooks, Jack Daw 
 and his fellow, with any discontentment hither, and I'll honour 
 thee for ever. 
 
 Epi. I was about it here. It angered me to the soul, to hear 
 them begin to talk so male'pert. 
 
 Tf ue. Pray thee perform it, and thou winn'st me an idolater 
 to thee everlasting. 
 
 Epi. Will you go in and hear me do 't ? 
 
 T?ue. No, I'll stay here. Drive them out of your company, 
 'tis all I ask ; which cannot be any way better done, than by 
 extolling Dauphine, whom they have so slighted. 
 
 Epi. I warrant you ; you shall expect one of them presently. 
 
 Cler. What a cast of kestrils are these, to hawk after ladies, 
 thus! 
 
 Tiue. Ay, and strike at such an eagle as Dauphine. 
 
 Cler. He will be mad when we tell him. Here he comes. 
 
 Re-enter Dauphine. 
 
 Cler. Oh, sir, you are welcome. 
 
 True. Where 's thine uncle ? 
 
 Daup. Run out of doors in his night- caps, to talk with a 
 casuist about his divorce. It works admirably. 
 
 True. Thou would'st have said so, an thou hadst been here ! 
 The ladies have laughed at thee most comically, since thou 
 went'st, Dauphine. 
 
 Cler. And asked, if thou wert thine uncle's keeper. 
 
 True. And the brace of baboons answered, yes ; and said 
 thou wert a pitiful poor fellow, and didst live upon posts, and 
 hadst nothing but three suits of apparel, and some few 
 benevolences that the lords gave thee to fool to them, and 
 swagger. 
 
242 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 Daup. Let me not live, I'll beat them : I ; 11 bind them both 
 to grand-madam's bed-posts, and have them baited with 
 monkeys. 
 
 True. Thou shalt not need, they shall be beaten to thy hand, 
 Dauphine, I have an execution to serve upon them, I warrant 
 thee, shall serve ; trust my plot. 
 
 Daup. Ay, you have many plots ! so you had one to make all 
 the girls in love with me. 
 
 True. Why, if I do it not yet afore night, as near as 'tis, and 
 that they do not every one invite thee, and be ready to scratch 
 for thee, take the mortgage of my wit. 
 
 Cler. 'Fore God, I '11 be his witness thou shalt have it, 
 Dauphine : thou shalt be his fool for ever, if thou dost not. 
 
 Ttue. Agreed. Perhaps 'twill be the better estate. Do you 
 observe this gallery, or rather lobby, indeed ? Here are a couple 
 of studies, at each end one : here will I act such a tragi-comedy 
 between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, Daw and La-Foole 
 
 which of them comes out first, will I seize on ;— you two 
 
 shall be the chorus behind the arras, and whip out between the 
 acts and speak — If I do not make them keep the peace for this 
 
 remnant of the day, if not of the year, I have failed once 1 
 
 hear Daw coming : hide, [they withdtaw] and do not laugh, for 
 Heaven's sake. 
 
 Re-e?iter Daw. 
 
 Daw. Which is the way into the garden, trow ? 
 
 True. Oh, Jack Daw ! I am glad I have met with you. In 
 good faith, I must have this matter go no further between you : 
 I must have it taken up. 
 
 Daw. What matter, sir ? between whom ? 
 
 True. Come, you disguise it : Sir Amorous and you. If you 
 love me, Jack, you shall make use of your philosophy now, for 
 this once, and deliver me your sword. This is not the wedding 
 the Centaurs were at, though there be a she one here. [Takes 
 his sword.] The bride has entreated me I will see no blood 
 shed at her bridal : you saw her whisper me erewhile. 
 
 Daw. As I hope to finish Tacitus, I intend no murder. 
 
 True. Do you not wait for Sir Amorous ? 
 
 Daw. Not I, by my knighthood. 
 
 True. And your scholarship too ? 
 
 Daw. And my scholarship too. 
 
 True. Go to, then I return you your sword, and ask you 
 mercy ; but put it not up, for you will be assaulted. I under- 
 stood that you had apprehended it, and walked here to brave 
 him ; and that you had held your life contemptible, in regard of 
 your honour. 
 
 Daw. No, no ; no such thing, I assure you. He and I parted 
 now, as good friends as could be. 
 
scene ii.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 243 
 
 True. Trust not you to that visor. I saw him since dinner with 
 another face : I have known many men in my time vexed with 
 losses, with deaths, and with abuses; but so offended a wight 
 as Sir Amorous, did I never see or read of. For taking away 
 his guests, sir, to-day, that's the cause ; and he declares behind 
 
 your back with such threatenings and contempts He said to 
 
 Dauphine, you were the arrant'st ass 
 
 Daw. Ay, he may say his pleasure 
 
 True. And swears you are so protested a coward, that he 
 knows you will never do him any manly or single right ; and 
 therefore he will take his course. 
 
 Daw. I'll give him any satisfaction, sir — but fighting. 
 
 True. Ay, sir : but who knows what satisfaction he '11 take : 
 blood he thirsts for, and blood he will have ; and whereabouts 
 on you he will have it, who knows but himself? 
 
 Daw. I pray you, Master Truewit, be you a mediator. 
 
 True. Well, sir, conceal yourself then in this study till I return. 
 [Puts him into the study.'] Nay, you must be content to be 
 locked in ; for, for mine own reputation, I would not have you 
 seen to receive a public disgrace, while I have the matter in 
 managing. *Ods so, here he comes ; keep your breath close, 
 that he do not hear you sigh.— In good faith, Sir Amorous, he 
 is not this way ; I pray you be merciful, do not murder him ; he 
 is a Christian, as good as you : you are armed as if you sought 
 revenge on all his race. Good Dauphine, get him away from 
 this place. I never knew a man's choler so high, but he would 
 speak to his friends, he would hear reason. — Jack Daw, Jack L 
 asleep ! 
 
 Daw. [within.] Is he gone, Master Truewit ? 
 
 True. Ay ; did you hear him ? 
 
 Daw. O Lord ! yes. 
 
 True. What a quick ear fear has ! 
 
 Daw. [comes out of the closet?] But is he so armed as you 
 say ? 
 
 True. Armed ! did you ever see a fellow set out to take 
 possession ? 
 
 Daw. Ay, sir. 
 
 True. That may give you some light to conceive of him ; but 
 'tis^nothing to the principal. Some false brother in the house 
 has furnished him strangely ; or, if it were out of the house, it 
 was Tom Otter. 
 
 Daw. Indeed he 's a captain, and his wife is his kinswoman. 
 
 True. He has got somebody's old two-hand sword, to mow 
 you off at the knees ; and that sword hath spawned such a 
 dagger !...But then he is so hung with pikes, halberds, petronels, 
 calivers and muskets, that he looks like a justice of peace's hall ; 
 a man of two thousand a year is not cessed at so many 
 weapons as he has on. There was never fencer challenged at 
 
244 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iV. 
 
 so many several foils. You would think he meant to murder all St. 
 Pulchre's parish. If he could but victual himself for half-a-year 
 in his breeches, he is sufficiently armed to over-run a country. 
 
 Daw. Good Lord ! what means he, sir? I pray you, Master 
 Truewit, be you a mediator. 
 
 True. Well, I'll try if he will be appeased with a leg or an 
 arm ; if not you must die once. 
 
 Daw. I would be loth to lose my right arm, for writing 
 madrigals. 
 
 True. Why, if he will be satisfied with a thumb or a little 
 finger, atl's one to me. You must think, I'll do my best. 
 
 {Shuts him up again 
 
 Daw. Good sir, do. 
 
 [Clerimont and Dauphine come forward. 
 
 Cler. What hast thou done 
 
 True. He will let me do nothing, he does all afore ; he offers 
 his left arm. 
 
 Cler. His left wing for a Jack Daw. 
 
 Daup. Take it by all means. 
 
 True. How ! maim a man for ever, for a jest ? W T hat a con- 
 science hast thou ! 
 
 Daup. 'Tis no loss to him ; he has no employment for his 
 arms, but to eat spoon-meat. Beside, as good maim his body 
 as his reputation. 
 
 True. He is a scholar and a wit, and yet he does not think 
 so. But he loses no reputation with us ; for we all resolved him 
 • an ass before. To your places again. 
 
 Cler. I pray thee, let be me in at the other a little. 
 
 True. Look, you'll spoil all ; these be ever your tricks. 
 
 Cler. No, but I could hit of some things that thou wilt miss, 
 and thou wilt say are good ones. 
 
 True. I warrant you. I pray forbear, Til leave it off, else. 
 
 Daup. Come away, Clerimont. 
 
 [Daup. and Cler. withdraw as before. 
 
 Enter La-Foole. 
 
 True. Sir Amorous ! 
 
 La-F. Master Truewit. 
 
 True. Whither were you going ? 
 
 La-F. Down into the court. 
 
 True. By no means, sir. 
 
 La-F. Why, sir ? 
 
 True. Enter here, if you love your life. 
 
 [Ope?iing the door of the other study. 
 La-F. Why ? why ? 
 
 True. Question till your throat be cut, do : dally till the 
 enraged soul find you. 
 
SCENE II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 245 
 
 La-F. Who is that? 
 
 True. Daw it is : will you in ? 
 
 La-F. Ay, ay, I'll in : what's the matter ? 
 
 True. Nay, if he had been cool enough to tell us that, there 
 had been some hope to atone you ; but he seems so implacably 
 enraged ! 
 
 La-F. 'Slight, let him rage ! I'll hide myself. 
 
 True. Do, good sir. But what have you done to him within, 
 that should provoke him thus ? You have broke some jest upon 
 him afore the ladies. 
 
 La-F. Not I, never in my life, broke jest upon any man. The 
 bride was praising Sir Dauphine, and he went away in snuff, 
 and I followed him ; unless he took offence at me in his drink, 
 erewhile, that I would not pledge all the horse full. 
 
 True. By my faith, and that may be ; you remember well : 
 but he walks the round up and down, through every room of the 
 house, with a towel in his hand, crying, Where's La-Foole ? 
 Who saw La-Foole ? And when Dauphine and I demanded the 
 cause, we can force no answer from him, but — O revenge, how 
 sweet art thou ! I will strangle him in this towel !— which leads 
 us to conjecture that the main cause of his fury is, for bringing 
 your meat to-day, with a towel about you, to his discredit. 
 
 La-F. Like enough. Why, an he be angry for that, I'll stay 
 here till his anger be blown over. 
 
 True. A good becoming resolution, sir ; if you can put it on 
 o' the sudden. 
 
 La-F. Yes, I can put it on : or, I'll away into the country 
 presently. 
 
 True. How will you go out of the house, sir ? he knows you 
 are in the house, and he'll watch this se'ennight, but he'll have 
 you ; he'll outwait a Serjeant for you. 
 
 La-F. Why, then I'll stay here. 
 
 True. You must think how to victual yourself in time then. 
 
 La-F. Why, sweet Master Truewit, will you entreat my cousin 
 Otter to send me a cold venison pasty, a bottle or two of wine, 
 and a chamber-pot ? 
 
 True. A stool were better, sir, of Sir Ajax his invention. 
 
 La-F. Ay, that will be better, indeed ; and a pallet to lie on. 
 
 True. Oh, I would not advise you to sleep by any means. 
 
 La-F. Would you not, sir ? Why, then I will not, 
 
 True. Yet, there's another fear 
 
 La-F. Is there ! what is't ? 
 
 True. No, he cannot break open this door with his foot, sure. 
 
 La-F. I'll set my back against it, sir. I have a good back. 
 
 T7'ue. But then if he should batter. 
 
 La-F. Batter ! if he dare, I'll have an action of battery 
 against him. 
 
 True. Cast you the worst. He has sent for powder already, 
 
246 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 and what he will do with it, no man knows : perhaps blowup the 
 corner of the house where he suspects you are. Here he comes ; 
 in quickly. — [Thrusts in LA.-FOOLE and shuts the door.'] — I 
 protest, Sir John Daw, he is not this way : what will you do ? 
 Before God, you shall hang no petard here ? I'll die rather. Will 
 you not take my word ? I never knew one but would be satis- 
 tied. Sir Amorous [speaks through the hey hole'], there's no 
 standing out : he has made a petard of an old brass pot, to force 
 your door. Think upon some satisfaction, or terms to offer 
 him. 
 
 La-F. [within.] Sir, I'll give him any satisfaction : I dare 
 give any terms. 
 
 True. You'll leave it to me then ? 
 
 La-F. Ay, sir: I'll stand to any conditions. 
 
 True, {beckoning forward CLER. and DAUPH.] How now, 
 what think you, sirs ? were 't not a difficult thing to determine 
 which of these two fear'd most ? 
 
 Cler. Yes, but this fears the bravest : the other a whiniling 
 dastard, Jack Daw ! But La-Foole, a brave heroic coward ! and 
 is afraid in a great look and a stout accent ; I like him rarely. 
 
 True. Had it not been pity these two should have been 
 concealed ? 
 
 Cler. Shall I make a motion ? 
 
 True. Briefly : for I must strike while 'tis hot. 
 
 Cler. Shall I go fetch the ladies to the catastrophe ? 
 
 True. Umph ! ay, by my troth. 
 
 Daup. By no mortal means. Let them continue in the state 
 of ignorance, and err still J think them wits and fine fellows, as 
 they have done. 'Twere sin to reform them. 
 
 True. Well, I will have them fetch'd, now I think on *t, for a 
 private purpose of mine : do, Clerimont, fetch them, and dis- 
 course to them all that's past, and bring them into the gallery 
 here. 
 
 Daup. This is thy extreme vanity, now : thou think'st thou 
 wert undone, if every jest thou mak'st were not published. 
 
 True. Thou shalt see how unjust thou art presently. Cleri- 
 mont, say it was Dauphine's plot. {Exit Clerimont.] Trust 
 me not, if the whole drift be not for thy good. There is a carpet 
 in the next room, put it on, with this scarf over thy face, and a 
 cushion on thy head, and be ready when I call Amorous. Away ! 
 [Exit Daup.] John Daw ! 
 
 [Goes to Daw's closet and brings him out. 
 
 Daup. What good news, sir ? 
 
 True. Faith, I have followed and argued with him hard for 
 you. I told him you were a knight and a scholar, and that you 
 knew fortitude did consist magis patiendo quam faciendo, magis 
 ferendo quam feriendo. 
 
 Daw. It doth so indeed, sir. 
 
scene II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 247 
 
 True. And that you would suffer, I told him. So at first he de- 
 manded by my troth, in my conceit, too much. 
 
 Daw. What was it, sir ? 
 
 True. Your upper lip and six of your fore-teeth. 
 
 Daw. 'Twas unreasonable. 
 
 True. Nay, I told him plainly, you could not spare them all. 
 So after long argument pro et con, as you know, I brought him 
 cknvn to your two butter-teeth, and them he would have. 
 
 Daw. Oh, did you so ? Why, he shall have them. 
 
 True. But he shall not, sir, by your leave. The conclusion is 
 this, sir : because you shall be very good friends hereafter, and 
 this never to be remembered or upbraided ; besides, that he may 
 not boast he has done any such thing to you in his own per- 
 son, he is to come here in disguise, give you five kicks in private, 
 sir, take your sword from you, and lock you up in that study 
 during pleasure : which will be but a little while, we 11 get it 
 released presently. 
 
 Daw. Five kicks ! He shall have six, sir, to be friends. 
 
 True. Believe me, you shall not over-shoot yourself, to send 
 him that word by me. 
 
 Daw. Deliver it, sir ; he shall have it with all my heart, to be 
 friends. 
 
 True. Friends ! Nay, an he should not be so, and heartily too ; 
 upon these terms, he shall have me to enemy while I live. Come, 
 sir, bear it bravely. 
 
 Daw. O, Lord, sir, 'tis nothing. 
 
 True. True : what's six kicks to a man that reads Seneca ? 
 
 Daw. I have had a hundred, sir. 
 
 True. Sir Amorous ! 
 
 Re-enter Dauphine disguised. 
 No speaking one to another, or rehearsing old matters. 
 
 Daw. [as D aup. kicks him.] One, two, three, four, five. I 
 protest, Sir Amorous, you shall have six. 
 
 True. Nay, I told you, you should not talk. Come give him 
 six, an he will needs. [Dauphine kicks him again.'] — Your 
 sword. [Takes his sword.'] Now return to your safe custody ; 
 you shall presently meet afore the ladies, and be the dearest 
 friends one to another. [Puts Daw into the study.] Give me 
 the scarf now, thou shalt beat the other bare-faced. Stand by : 
 [Dauphine retires, and Truewit goes to the other closet, and 
 releases La-Foole.] Sir Amorous ! 
 
 La-F. What's here ! A sword ? 
 
 True. I cannot help it ; without 1 should take the quarrel 
 upon myself. Here he has sent you his sword 
 
 La-F. I '11 receive none on't. 
 
 T?ue. And he wills you to fasten it against a wall, and break 
 your head in some few several places against the hilts. 
 
248 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 La-F. I will not : tell him roundly. I cannot endure to shed 
 my own blood. 
 
 True. Will you not ? 
 
 La-F. No. I '11 beat it against a fair flat wall, if that will 
 satisfy him : if not, he shall beat it himself, for Amorous. 
 
 True. Why, this is strange starting off, when a m:m under- 
 takes for you ! I offered him another condition ; will you stand 
 to that ? 
 
 La-F. Ay, what is 't ? 
 
 True. That you will be beaten in private. 
 
 La-F. Yes, I am content, at the blunt. 
 
 Enter, above, Haughty, Centaure, Mavis, Mistress Otter, 
 Epiccene, and Trusty. 
 
 True. Then you must submit yourself to be hoodwinked in 
 this scarf, and be led to him, where he will take your sword from 
 you, and make you bear a blow over the mouth, gules, and 
 tweaks by the nose sans nomb?e. 
 
 La-F. I am content. But why must I be blinded ? 
 
 True. That 's for your good, sir ; because if he should grow 
 insolent upon this, and publish it hereafter to your disgrace 
 (which I hope he will not do), you might swear safely, and pro- 
 test, he never beat you, to your knowledge. 
 
 La-F. Oh, I conceive. 
 
 True. I do not doubt but you '11 be perfect good friends upon 't, 
 and not dare to utter an ill thought one of another in future. 
 
 La-F. Not I, as God help me, of him. 
 
 True. Nor he of you, sir. If he should, [binds his eyes]. 
 Come, sir. [Leads him forward^ — All hid, Sir John ! 
 
 Enter Dauphine, and tweaks him by the nose. 
 
 La-F. Oh, Sir John, Sir John ! Oh, o-o-o-o-o-Ob 
 
 True. Good Sir John, leave tweaking, you'll blow his nose 
 off. — 'Tis Sir John's pleasure, you should retire into the study. 
 {Puts him up again~\ — Why, now you are friends. All bitter- 
 ness between you, I hope, is buried : you shall come forth, by 
 and by, Damon and Pythias upon't, and embrace with all the 
 rankness of friendship that can be. — I trust, we shall have them 
 tamer in their language hereafter. Dauphine, I worship thee. 
 God's will, the ladies have surprised us ! 
 
 Enter Haughty, Centaure, Mavis, Mistress Otter, 
 Epiccene, and Trusty behind. 
 
 Hau. Centaure, how our judgments were imposed on by these 
 adulterate knights ! 
 
scene II.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 249 
 
 Cen. Nay, madam, Mavis was more deceived than we ; 'twas 
 her commendation uttered them in the college. 
 
 Mav. I commended but their wits, madam, and their braveries. 
 I never looked toward their valours. 
 
 Hau. Sir Dauphine is valiant, and a wit too, it seems. 
 
 Mav. And a bravery too. 
 
 Hau. Was this his project ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. So Master Clerimont intimates, madam. 
 
 Hau. Good Morose, when you come to the college, will you 
 bring him with you ? He seems a very perfect gentleman. 
 
 Efii. He is so, madam, believe it. 
 
 Cen. But when will you come, Morose ? 
 
 Epi. Three or four days hence, madam, when I have got me 
 a coach and horses. 
 
 Hau. No, to-morrow, good Morose ; Centaure shall send you 
 her coach. 
 
 Mav. Yes, faith, do, and bring Sir Dauphine with you. 
 
 Hau. She has promised that, Mavis. 
 
 Mav. He is a very worthy gentleman in his exteriors, 
 madam. 
 
 Hau. Ay, he shows he is judicial in his clothes. 
 
 Cen. And yet not so superlatively neat as some, madam, that 
 have their faces set in a brake. 
 
 Hau. Ay, and have every hair in form. 
 
 Mav. That wear purer linen than ourselves, and profess more 
 neatness than the French hermaphrodite ! 
 
 Epi. Ay, ladies, they, what they tell one of us, have told a 
 thousand ; and are the only thieves of our fame, that think to 
 take us with that perfume, or with that lace, and laugh at us 
 unconscionably when they have done. 
 
 Hau. But Sir Dauphine's carelessness becomes him. 
 
 Cen. I could love a man for such a nose. 
 
 Mav. Or such a leg. 
 
 Cen. He has an exceeding good eye, madam. 
 
 Mav. And a very good lock. 
 
 Cen. Good Morose, bring him to my chamber first. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Please your honours to meet at my house, 
 madam. 
 
 True. See how they eye thee, man ! they are taken, I warrant 
 thee. [Haughty comes forward. 
 
 Hau. You have unbraced our brace of knights here, Master 
 Truewit. 
 
 True. Not I, madam ; it was Sir Dauphine's engine : who, if 
 he have disfurnish'd your ladyship of any guard or service by it, 
 is able to make the place good again in himself. 
 
 Hau. There is no suspicion of that, sir. 
 Cen. God so, Mavis, Haughty is kissing. 
 
 Mav. Let us go too, and take part. {They come forward. 
 
250 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act iv. 
 
 Halt. But I am glad of the fortune (beside the discovery of 
 two such empty caskets) to gain the knowledge of so rich a mine 
 of virtue as Sir Dauphirwc. 
 
 Ccn. We would be all glad to style him of our friendship, and 
 see him at the college. 
 
 Mav. He cannot mix with a sweeter society, I'll prophesy ; 
 and I hope he himself will think so. 
 
 Danp. I should be rude to imagine otherwise, lady. 
 
 True. Did not I tell thee, Dauphine ! Why, all their actions 
 are governed by crude opinion, without reason or cause ; they 
 know not why they do anything ; but, as they are inform'd, 
 believe, judge, praise, condemn, love, hate, and in emulation one 
 of another, do all these things alike. Only they have a natural 
 inclination sways them generally to the worst, when they are left 
 to themselves. But pursue it, now thou hast them. 
 
 Han. Shall we go in again, Morose ? 
 
 Epi. Yes, madam. 
 
 Cen. We'll entreat Sir Dauphine's company. 
 
 True. Stay, good madam, the interview of the two friends, 
 Pylades and Orestes : I'll fetch them out to you straight. 
 
 Hau. Will you, Master Truewit ? 
 
 Daup. Ay, but noble ladies, do not confess in your countenance, 
 or outward bearing to them, any discovery of their follies, that 
 we may see how they will bear up again, with what assurance 
 and erection. 
 
 Hau. We will not, Sir Dauphine. 
 
 Cen., Mav. Upon our honours, Sir Dauphine. 
 
 True, \goes to the Arst closet.~] Sir Amorous, Sir Amorous ! 
 The ladies are here. 
 
 La-F. [within.'] Are they ? 
 
 Ttue. Yes ; but slip out by-and-by, as their backs are turned, 
 and meet Sir John here, as by chance, when I call you. [Goes to 
 the other.'] Jack Daw. 
 
 Daw. [within.] What say you, sir ? 
 
 True. Whip out behind me suddenly, and no anger in your 
 looks to your adversary. Now, now ! 
 
 [La-Foole and Daw slip out of their respective closets and 
 salute each other. 
 
 La-F. Noble Sir John Daw, where have you been ? 
 
 Daw. To seek you, Sir Amorous. 
 
 La-F. Me ! I honour you. 
 
 Daw. I prevent you, sir. 
 
 Cler. They have forgot their rapiers. 
 
 True. Oh, they meet in peace, man. 
 
 Daup. W T here 's your sword, Sir John ? 
 
 Cler. And yours, Sir Amorous ? 
 
 Daw. Mine ! My boy had it forth to mend the handle, e'en 
 now. 
 
SCENE ii.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 251 
 
 La-F. And my gold handle was broke too, and my boy had it 
 forth. 
 Daup. Indeed, sir !— How their excuses meet ! 
 Cler. What a consent there is in the handles i 
 True. Nay, there is so in the points too, 1 warrant you. 
 
 Enter Morose, with the two swords drawn in his hands. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Oh, me ! madam, he comes again, the madman ! 
 Away! [Ladies, Daw and La-Foole run off. 
 
 Mor. What make these naked weapons here, gentlemen ? 
 
 True. Oh, sir ! here hath like to have been murder since you 
 went ; a couple of knights fallen out about the bride's favours ! 
 We were fain to take away their weapons ; your house had been 
 begged by this time else. 
 
 Mor, For what ? 
 
 Cler. For manslaughter, sir, as being accessory. 
 
 Mor. And for her favours ? 
 
 True. Ay, sir, heretofore, not present— Clerimont, carry them 
 their swords now. They have done all the hurt they will do. 
 
 [Exit Cler. with the two swords. 
 
 Daup. Have you spoke with the lawyer, sir ? 
 
 Mor. Oh no ! there is such a noise in the court, that they 
 have frighted me home with more violence than I went ! such 
 speaking and counter speaking, with their several voices of 
 citations, appellations, allegations, certificates, attachments, 
 interrogatories, references, convictions, and afflictions indeed, 
 among the doctors and proctors, that the noise here is silence 
 to 't, a kind of calm midnight ! 
 
 True. Why, sir, if you would be resolved indeed, I can bring 
 you hither a very sufficient lawyer, and a learned divine, that 
 shall enquire into every least scruple for you. 
 
 Mor. Can you, Master Truewit ? 
 
 True. Yes, and are very sober, grave persons, that will 
 dispatch it in a chamber, with a whisper or two. 
 
 Mor. Good, sir, shall I hope this benefit from you, and trust 
 myself into your hands ? 
 
 True. Alas, sir ! your nephew and I have been ashamed and 
 oft-times mad, since you went, to think how you are abused. 
 Go in, good sir, and lock yourself up till we call you ; we '11 tell 
 vou more anon, sir. 
 
 Mor. Do your pleasure with me, gentlemen ; I believe in you, 
 and that deserves no delusion. [Exit. 
 
 Ttue. You shall find none, sir ;— but heap'd, heap'd plenty of 
 vexation. 
 
 Daup. What wilt thou do now, Wit ? 
 
 T?ue. Recover me hither Otter and the Barber, if you can, by 
 any means, presently. 
 
252 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act v. 
 
 Daup. Why ? to what purpose ? 
 
 True. Oh, I '11 make the deepest divine, and gravest lawyer, 
 out of them two for him 
 
 Daup. Thou canst not, man ; these are waking dreams. 
 
 True. Do not fear me. Clap but a civil gown with a welt on 
 the one, and a canonical cloke with sleeves on the other, and 
 give them a few terms in their mouths, if there come not forth 
 as able a doctor and complete a parson, for this turn, as may be 
 wish'd, trust not my election : and I hope, without wronging the 
 dignity of either profession, since they are but persons put on, 
 and for mirth's sake to torment him. The barber smatters 
 Latin, I remember. 
 
 Daup. Yes, and Otter too. 
 
 True. Well, then, if I make them not wrangle out this case to 
 his no comfort, let me be thought a Jack Daw or La-Foole, or 
 anything worse. Go you to your ladies, but first send for them. 
 ^ Daup. I will. {Exeunt. 
 
 -ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Morose's House. 
 
 E?iter La-Foole, Clerimont, and Daw. 
 
 La-F. Where had you our swords, Master Clerimont ? 
 Cler. Why, Dauphine took them from the madman. 
 La-F. And he took them from our boys, I warrant you. 
 Cler. Very like, sir. 
 
 La-F. Thank you, good Master Clerimont. Sir John Daw 
 and I are both beholden to you. 
 
 Cler. Would I knew how to make you so, gentlemen ! 
 Daw. Sir Amorous and I are your servants, sir. 
 
 Enter Mavis. 
 
 Mav. Gentlemen, have any of you a pen and ink ? I would 
 fain write out a riddle in Italian, for Sir Dauphine to translate. 
 
 Cler. Not I, in troth, lady ; I am no scrivener. 
 
 Daw. I can furnish you, I think, lady. 
 
 [Exeunt Daw and Mavis. 
 
 Cler. He has it in the haft of a knife, I believe. 
 
 La-F. No, he has his box of instruments. 
 
 Cler. Like a surgeon ! 
 
 La-F. For the mathematics : his square, his compasses, his 
 brass pens, and black-lead, to draw maps of every place and 
 person where he comes. 
 
 Cler. How, maps of persons ! 
 
scene I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 253 
 
 La-F. Yes, sir, of Nomentack when he was here, and of the 
 prince of Moldavia, and of his mistress, Mistress Epiccene. 
 
 Re-enter Daw. 
 
 Cler. Away ! he hath not found out her latitude, I hope. 
 
 La-F. You are a pleasant gentleman, sir. 
 
 Cle? . Faith, now we are in private, let 's wanton it a little, and 
 talk waggishly. — Sir John, I am telling Sir Amorous here, that 
 you two govern the ladies wherever you come ; you carry the 
 feminine gender afore you. 
 
 Daw. They shall rather carry us afore them, if they will, sir. 
 
 Cler. Nay, I believe that they do, withal— but that you are 
 the prime men in their affections, and direct all their actions — - 
 
 Daw. Not I ; Sir Amorous is. 
 
 La-F. I protest, Sir John is. 
 
 Daw. As I hope to rise in the state, Sir Amorous, you have 
 the person. 
 
 La-F. Sir John, you have the person, and the discourse too. 
 
 Daw. Not I, sir, I have no discourse — and then you have 
 activity, beside. 
 
 La-F. I protest, Sir John, you come as high from Tripoli as I 
 do, every whit : and lift as m?ny join'd stools, and leap over 
 them, if you would use it. 
 
 Cler. Well, agree on 't together, knights ; for between you, 
 you divide the kingdom or commonwealth of ladies' affections : 
 I see it, and can perceive a little how they observe you, and fear 
 you, indeed. You could tell strange stories, my masters, if you 
 would, I know. 
 
 Daw. Faith, we have seen somewhat, sir. 
 
 La-F. That we have velvet petticoats, and wrought 
 
 smocks, or so. 
 
 Daw. Ay, and 
 
 Cler. Nay, out with it, Sir John ; do not envy your friend the 
 pleasure of hearing, when you have had the delight of tasting. 
 
 Daw. Why — a — Do you speak, Sir Amorous. 
 
 La-F. No, do you, Sir John Daw. 
 
 Daw. V faith, you shall. 
 
 La-F. V faith, you shall. 
 
 Daw. Why, we have been 
 
 La-F. In the great bed at Ware together in our time. On, 
 Sir John. 
 
 Daw. Nay, do you, Sir Amorous. 
 
 Cler. And these ladies with you, knights ? 
 
 La-F. No, excuse us, sir. 
 
 Daw. We must not wound reputation. 
 
 La-F. No matter— they were these, or others. Our bath cost 
 us fifteen pound when we came home. 
 
254 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act v. 
 
 Clcr. Do you hear, Sir John ? You shall tell me but one 
 thing truly, as you love me. 
 
 Daw.'U I can, I will, sir. 
 
 Cler. You lay in the same house with the bride, here ? 
 
 Daw. Yes, and conversed with her hourly, sir. 
 
 Cler. And what humour is she of? Is she coming and open, 
 free ? 
 
 Daw. Oh, exceeding open, sir, I was her servant, and Sir 
 Amorous was to be. 
 
 Cler. Come, you have both had favours from her: I know, and 
 have heard so much. 
 
 Daw. Oh, no, sir. 
 
 La-F. You shall excuse us, sir ; we must not wound 
 reputation. 
 
 Cler. Tut, she is married now, and you cannot hurt her with 
 any report ; and therefore speak plainly: how many times, i'faith ? 
 Which of you led first ? Ha ! 
 
 La-F. Sir John, indeed. 
 
 Daw. Oh, it pleases him to say so, sir ; but Sir Amorous 
 knows what ; s what, as well. 
 
 Cler. Dost thou, i' faith, Amorous ? 
 
 La-F. In a manner, sir. 
 
 Cler. Why, I commend you, lads. Little knows Don Bride 
 groom of this; nor shall he, for me. 
 
 Daw. Hang him, mad ox ! 
 
 Cler. Speak softly ; here comes his nephew, with the Lady 
 Haughty : he '11 get the ladies from you, sirs, if you look not to 
 him in time. 
 
 La-F. Why, if he do, we '11 fetch them home again, I warrant 
 you. [Exit with Daw. Cler. walks aside. 
 
 Enter Dauphine and Haughty. 
 
 Han. I assure you, Sir Dauphine, it is the price and estima- 
 tion of your virtue only, that hath embarked me to this 
 adventure ; and I could not but make- out to tell you so : nor can 
 I repent me of the act, since it is always an argument of some 
 virtue in ourselves, that we love and affect it so in others. 
 
 Daup. Your ladyship sets too high a price on my weakness. 
 
 Hau. Sir, I can distinguish gems from pebbles 
 
 Daup. Are you so skilful in stones ? [Aside. 
 
 Hau. And howsoever I may suffer in such a judgment as 
 yours, by admitting equality of rank or society with Centaure or 
 Mavis 
 
 Daup. You do not, madam ; I perceive they are your mere 
 foils. 
 
 Hau. Then, are you a friend to truth, sir ; it makes me love 
 you the more. It is not the outward, but the inward man that I 
 
SCENE l] THE SILENT WOMAN. 255 
 
 affect. They are not apprehensive of an eminent perfection, 
 but love flat and dully. 
 
 Cen. [within'] Where are you, my Lady Haughty ? 
 
 Hau. I come presently, Centaure. My chamber, sir, my page 
 shall show you ; and Trusty, my woman, shall be ever awake for 
 you : you need not fear to communicate anything with her, for 
 she is a Fidelia. I pray you wear this jewel for my sake, Sir 
 Dauphine — 
 
 Enter Centaure. 
 
 Where 's Mavis, Centaure ? 
 
 Cen. Within, madam, a- writing. I'll follow you presently: 
 [Exit Hau.] I '11 but speak a word with Sir Dauphine. 
 
 Daup. With me, madam ? 
 
 Cen. Good Sir Dauphine, do not trust Haughty, nor make any 
 credit to her, whatever you do besides. Sir Dauphine, I give 
 you this caution, she is a perfect courtier, and loves nobody but 
 for her uses ; and for her uses she loves all. Besides, her phy- 
 sicians give her out to be none o' the clearest, whether she pay 
 them or no, Heaven knows ; and she's above fifty too, and 
 pargets ! See her in a forenoon. Here comes Mavis, a worse 
 face than she ! You would not like this by candle-light. 
 
 Re-enter Mavis. 
 
 If you'll come to my chamber one o' these mornings early, or 
 late in an evening, I'll tell you more. Where's Haughty, 
 Mavis ? 
 
 Mav. Within, Centaure. 
 
 Cen. What have you there ? 
 
 Mav. An Italian riddle for Sir Dauphine, — you shall not see 
 it, i'faith, Centaure. — [Exit Cen.J — Good Sir Dauphine, solve it 
 for me : I '11 call for it anon. [Exit. 
 
 Cler. \c07ning forward?] How now, Dauphine ! how dost 
 thou quit thyself of these females ? 
 
 Daup. 'Slight, they haunt me like fairies, and give me jewels 
 here ; I cannot be rid of them. 
 
 Cler. Oh, you must not tell though. 
 
 Daup. Mass, I forgot that : I was never so assaulted. One 
 loves for virtue, and bribes me with this ; — [shews the jewel '.] — 
 another loves me with caution, and so would possess me ; a 
 third brings me a riddle here : and all are jealous, and rail each 
 at other. 
 
 Cler. A riddle ! pray let me see it. [Reads. 
 
 Sir Dauphine, I chose this way of intimation for privacy. The 
 ladies here, I know, have both hope and purpose to make a 
 collegiate and servant of you. If I might be so honoured, as to 
 appear at any end of so noble a work, I would enter into a fame 
 
256 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act V. 
 
 of taking physic to-morrow, and continue it four or five days, or 
 longer, for your visitation. Mavis. 
 
 By my faith, a subtle one ! Call you this a riddle ? what 's 
 their plain-dealing, trow ? 
 
 Daup. We lack Truewit to tell us that. 
 
 Cler. We lack him for somewhat else too : his knights reforma- 
 does are wound up as high and insolent as ever they were. 
 
 Daup. You jest. 
 
 Cler. No drunkards, either with wine or vanity, ever confessed 
 such stories of themselves. I would not give a fly's leg in 
 balance against all the women's reputations here, if they could 
 be but thought to speak truth : and for the bride, they have 
 made their affidavit against her directly 
 
 Daup. What, that they have lain with her ? 
 
 Cler. Yes ; and tell times and circumstances, with the cause 
 why, and the place where. I had almost brought them to affirm 
 that they had done it to-day. 
 
 Daup. Not both of them ? 
 
 Cler. Yes, faith ; with a sooth or two more I had effected it. 
 They would have set it down under their hands. 
 
 Daup. Why, they will be our sport, I see, still, whether we 
 will or no. 
 
 Enter Truewit. 
 
 True. Oh, are you here ? Come, Dauphine ; go call your 
 uncle presently : I have fitted my divine and my canonist, dyed 
 their beards and all. The knaves do not know themselves, they are 
 so exalted and altered. Preferment changes any man. Thou 
 shalt keep one door and I another, and then Clerimont in the 
 midst, that he may have no means of escape from their cavilling, 
 when they grow hot once again. And then the women, as 1 
 have given the bride her instructions, to break in upon him in 
 the l'envoy. Oh, 'twill be full and twanging ! Away ! fetch him. 
 
 {Exit Dauphine. 
 
 lawyer. 
 
 Come, master doctor, and master parson, look to your parts now, 
 and discharge them bravely ; you are well set forth, perform it 
 as well. If you chance to be out, do not confess it with standing 
 still, or humming, or gaping one at another ; but go on, and 
 talk aloud and eagerly ; use vehement action, and only remem- 
 ber your terms, and you are safe. Let the matter go where it 
 will : you have many will do so. But at first be very solemn 
 and grave, like your garments, though you lose yourselves 
 after, and skip out like a brace of jugglers on a table. Here 
 
SCENE L] THE SILENT WOMAN. 257 
 
 he comes : set your faces, and look superciliously, while I 
 present you. 
 
 Re-enter Dauphine with Morose. 
 
 Mor. Are these the two learned men ? 
 
 True. Yes, sir ; please you salute them. 
 
 Mor. Salute them ? I had rather do anything than wear out 
 time so unfruitfully, sir. I wonder how these common forms, 
 as God save you, and You are welcome, are come to be a habit 
 in our lives : or, I am glad to see you / when I cannot see what 
 the profit can be of these words, so long as it is no whit better 
 with him whose affairs are sad and grievous, that he hears this 
 salutation. 
 
 True. 'Tis true, sir ; we'll go to the matter then. — Gentlemen, 
 master doctor, and master parson, I have acquainted you 
 sufficiently with the business for which you are come hither ; 
 and you are not now to inform yourselves in the state of the 
 question, I know. This is the gentleman who expects your 
 resolution, and therefore, when you please, begin. 
 
 Ott. Please you, master doctor. 
 
 Cut. Please you, good master parson. 
 
 Ott. I would hear the canon-law speak -first. 
 
 Cut. It must give place to positive divinity, sir. 
 
 Mor. Nay, good gentlemen, do not throw me into circum- 
 stances. Let your comforts arrive quickly at me, those that are. 
 Be swift in affording me my peace, if so I shall hope any. I 
 love not your disputations, or your court-tumults. And that it 
 be not strange to you, I will tell you : My father, in my 
 education, was wont to advise me that I should always collect 
 and contain my mind, not suffering it to flow loosely ; that I 
 should look to what things were necessary to the carriage of my 
 life, and what not ; embracing the one and eschewing the other : 
 in short, that I should endear myself to rest, and avoid turmoil ; 
 which now is grown to be another nature to me. So that I 
 come not to your public pleadings, or your places of noise ; not 
 that I neglect those things that make for the dignity of the 
 commonwealth : but for the mere avoiding of clamours and 
 impertinences of orators, that know not how to be silent. And 
 for the cause of noise, am I now a suitor to you. /You do not 
 know in what a misery I have been exercised this day, what a 
 torrent of evil ! my very house turns round with the tumult ! 
 I dwell in a windmill : the perpetual motion is here, and not at 
 Eltham. 
 
 True. Well, good master doctor, will you break the ice? 
 master parson will wade after. 
 
 Cut. Sir, though unworthy, and the weaker, I will presume. 
 
 Ott. 'Tis no presumption, domine doctor. 
 
 I 
 
258 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act v. 
 
 Mot. Yet again ! 
 
 Cut. Your question is, For how many causes a man may have 
 divortium legitimum, a lawful divorce? First, you must under- 
 stand the nature of the word, divorce, a diverte?ido 
 
 Mor. No excursions upon words, good doctor ; to the question 
 briefly. 
 
 Cut. I answer then, the canon law affords divorce but in few 
 cases ; and the principal is in the common case, the adulterous 
 case : But there are duodecim impedimenta, twelve impediments, 
 as we call them, all which do not dirimere contractum, but 
 irritum reddere matrimonium, as we say in the canon law, 7iot 
 take away the bo?id, but cause a nullity therein. 
 
 Mor. I understood you before ; good sir, avoid your imper- 
 tinency of translation. 
 
 Ott. He cannot open this too much, sir, by your favour. 
 
 Mor. Yet more ! 
 
 Ttue. Oh, you must give the learned men leave, sir.— To your 
 impediments, master doctor. 
 
 Cut. The first is impedimcntum erroris. 
 
 Ott. Of which there are several species. 
 
 Cut. Ay, as error persons. 
 
 Ott. If you contract yourself to one person, thinking her 
 another. 
 
 Cut. Then, error fortunes. 
 
 Ott. If she be a beggar, and you thought her rich 
 
 Cut. Then, error qualitatis. 
 
 Ott. If she prove stubborn or head-strong, that you thought 
 obedient. 
 
 Mo?. How ! is that, sir, a lawful impediment? One at once, 
 I pray you, gentlemen. 
 
 Ott. Ay, ante copulam, but not post copulam, sir. 
 
 Cut. Master parson says right. Nee post ?iuptiarum bene- 
 dictionem. It doth indeed but irrita reddere sponsalia, annul 
 the contract ; after marriage it is of no obstancy. 
 
 True. Alas, sir, what a hope are we fallen from by this 
 time! 
 
 Cut. The next is conditio : if you thought her free born, and 
 she prove a bond-woman, there is impediment of estate and 
 condition. 
 
 Ott. Ay, but, master doctor, those servitudes are sublatce now, 
 among us Christians. 
 
 Cut. By your favour, master parson 
 
 Ott. You shalt give me leave, master doctor. 
 
 Mor. Nay, gentlemen, quarrel not in that question ; it con- 
 cerns not my case : pass to the third. 
 
 Cut. Well, then, the third is votum : if either party have made 
 a vow of chastity. But that practice, as master parson said of 
 the other, is taken away among us, thanks be to discipline. 
 
scene I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 259 
 
 The fourth is cognatio : if the persons be of kin within the 
 degrees. 
 
 Ott. Ay : do you know what the degrees are, sir? 
 
 Mor. No, nor I care not, sir ; they offer me no comfort in the 
 question, I am sure. 
 
 Cut. But there is a branch of this impediment may, which is 
 cognatio spi?'itualis ; if you were her godfather, sir, then the 
 marriage is incestuous. 
 
 Ott. That comment is absurd and superstitious, master 
 doctor : I cannot endure it. Are we not all brothers and 
 sisters and as much akin in that as godfathers and god- 
 daughters ? 
 
 Mor. Oh me ! to end the controversy, I never was a god- 
 father, I never was a godfather in my life, sir. Pass to the 
 next. 
 
 Cut. The fifth is crimen adulterii ; the known case. The 
 sixth, cultus disparitas, difference of religion : have you ever 
 examined her, what religion she is of? 
 
 Mo?. No, I would rather she were of none, than be put to the 
 trouble of it. 
 
 Ott. You may have it done for you, sir. 
 
 Mor. By no means, good sir; on to the rest : shall you ever 
 come to an end, think you ? 
 
 True Yes, he has done half, sir. — Be patient, and expect, sir. 
 
 Cut. The seventh is, vis : if it were upon compulsion or force. 
 
 Mor. Oh, no, it was too voluntary, mine ; too voluntary. 
 
 Cut. The eighth is, ordo j if ever she have taken holy orders. 
 
 Ott. That 's superstitious too. 
 
 Mor. No matter, master parson ; would she would go into a 
 nunnery yet. 
 
 Cut. The ninth is, ligamen; if you were bound, sir, to any 
 other before. 
 
 Mor. I thrust myself too soon into these fetters. 
 
 Cut. The tenth is, publico, honestas j which is inchoata 
 qu&dam offinitas. 
 
 Ott. Ay, or offinitas orta ex sponsalibus ; and is but leve 
 impedi?nentu in . 
 
 Mor. I feel no air of comfort blowing to me, in all this. 
 
 Cut. The eleventh is, offinitas exfotnicatione. 
 
 Ott. Which is no less vera affinitas, than the other, master 
 doctor. 
 
 Cut. True, qua; oritur ex legitimo matrimonio. 
 
 Cut. You say right, venerable doctor : and, nascitur ex to, 
 quod per conjugium duai persona efficiuntur una caro 
 
 True. Hey-day, now they begin ! 
 
 Cut. I conceive you, master parson : ita per fornicationem 
 ceque est verus pater, qui sic generat 
 
 Ott. Et verefilius qui sic generator— ~ 
 
 12 
 
260 THE SILENT WOMAN. [actv. 
 
 Mor. What 's all this to me ? 
 
 Cler. Now it grows warm. 
 
 Cut. The twelfth and last is, si forte coire nequibis. 
 
 Ott. Ay, that is impedimentum gravissimum : it doth utterly 
 annul, and annihilate, that. If you have ma?iifestam frigiditatem, 
 you are well, sir. 
 
 True. Why, there is comfort come at length, sir. Confess 
 yourself but a man unable, and she will sue to be divorced first. 
 
 Ott. Ay, or if there be morbus perpetuus, et insanabilis j as 
 paralysis, elephantiasis, or so 
 
 Daup. Oh, but frigiditas is the fairer way, gentlemen. 
 
 Ott. You say troth, sir, and as it is in the canon, master 
 doctor 
 
 Cut. I conceive you, sir. 
 
 Cler. Before he speaks ! 
 
 Ott. That a boy, or child, under years, is not fit for marriage, 
 because he cannot reddere debitum. So your omnipote?ites 
 
 True. Your impotentes, you lobster ! {Aside to Ott. 
 
 Ott. Your rmpote?ites, I should say, are minime apii ad con- 
 trahenda matri?no?iiu7n. 
 
 True. Matrimonium / we shall have most unmatrimonial 
 Latin with you : matrimo?iia, and be hanged. 
 
 Daup. You put them out, man. 
 
 Cut. But then there will arise a doubt, master parson, in our 
 case, post matrimonium; that frigiditate proeditus — do you 
 conceive me, sir ? 
 
 Ott. Very well, sir. 
 
 Cut. Who cannot uti uxore pro uxofe, may habere earn pro 
 soj-ore. 
 
 Ott. Absurd, absurd, absurd, and merely apostatical ! 
 
 Cut. You shall pardon me, master parson, I can prove it. 
 
 Ott. You can prove a will, master doctor; you can prove 
 nothing else. Does not the verse of your own canon say, 
 
 Haec socianda vetant connubia, facta retractant ? 
 
 Cut. I grant you ; but how do they retractate, master parson ? 
 
 Mor. Oh, this was it I feared. 
 
 Ott. In cEternum, sir. 
 
 Cut. That's false in divinity, by your favour. 
 
 Ott. 'Tis false in humanity to say so. Is he not protsus 
 inutilis adthorum ? Can he prcestare Jidem datam ? I would 
 fain know. 
 
 Cut. Yes ; how if he do convalere? 
 
 Ott. He cannot convalei'e, it is impossible. 
 
 True. Nay, good sir, attend the learned men : they '11 think 
 you neglect them else. 
 
 Cut. Or, if he do simulare himself frigidum, odio uxoris, 
 or so ? 
 
scene: l] THE SILENT WOMAN. 261 
 
 Ott. I say, he is adulter manifestos then. 
 Daup. They dispute it very learnedly, i' faith. 
 Ott. And prostitutor uxoris; and this is positive. 
 Mor. Good sir, let me escape. 
 True. You will not do me that wrong, sir ? 
 
 Ott. And, therefore, if he be manifeste frigidus, sir ■ 
 
 Cut. Ay, if he be manifeste frigidus, I grant you 
 
 Ott. Why, that was my conclusion. 
 
 Cut. A.nd mine too. 
 
 True. Nay, hear the conclusion, sir. 
 
 Ott. Then frigiditatis causa 
 
 Cut. Yes, causa frigiditatis 
 
 Mor. Oh, mine ears ! 
 
 Ott. She may have libellum divortii against you. 
 Cut. Ay, divortii libellum she will sure have. 
 Mor. Good echoes, forbear. 
 
 Ott. If you confess it 
 
 Cut. Which I would do, sir 
 
 Mor. I will do anything. 
 
 Ott. And clear myself inforo conscientice—- 
 
 Cut. Because you want indeed 
 
 Mor. Yet more ! 
 
 Ott. Exercendi po testate. 
 
 EPICCENE rushes in, followed by HAUGHTY, CENTAURE, MAVIS, 
 Mistress Otter, Daw, and La-Foole. 
 
 Epi. I will not endure it any longer. Ladies, I beseech you, 
 help me. This is such a wrong as never was offered to poor 
 bride before : upon her marriage-day to have her husband con- 
 spire against her, and a couple of mercenary companions to be 
 brought in for form's sake, to persuade a separation ! If you 
 had blood or virtue in you, gentlemen, you would not suffer such 
 earwigs about a husband, or scorpions to creep between man 
 and wife. 
 
 Mor. Oh the variety and changes of my torment ! 
 
 Hau. Let them be cudgelled out of doors by our grooms. 
 
 Cen. I '11 lend you my footman. 
 
 Mav. We'll have our men blanket them in the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. \s there was one at our house, madam, for peeping 
 in at the door. 
 
 Daw. Content, i' faith. 
 
 True. Stay, ladies and gentlemen ; you '11 hear before you 
 proceed ? 
 
 Mav. I 'd have the bridegroom blanketted too. 
 
 Cen. Begin with him first. 
 
 Hau. Yes, by my troth. 
 
 Mor. O mankind generation ! 
 
262 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act V. 
 
 Daup. Ladies, for my sake forbear. 
 
 Hau. Yes, for Sir Dauphine's sake. 
 
 Ccn. He shall command us. 
 
 La-F. He is as fine a gentleman of his inches, madam, as any 
 is about the town, and wears as good colours when he lists. 
 
 True. Be brief, sir, and confess your infirmity : she '11 be a-fire 
 to be quit of you, if she but hear that named once, you shall not 
 intreat her to stay : she '11 fly you like one that had the marks 
 upon him. 
 
 Mor. Ladies, I must crave all your pardons 
 
 True. Silence, ladies. 
 
 Mor. For a wrong I have done to your whole sex, in marrying 
 this fair and virtuous gentlewoman 
 
 Cler. Hear him, good ladies. 
 
 Mor. Being guilty of an infirmity, which, before I conferred 
 with these learned men, I thought I might have concealed 
 
 True. But now being better informed in his conscience by 
 them, he is to declare it, and give satisfaction, by asking your 
 public forgiveness. 
 
 Mor. I am no man, ladies. 
 
 All. How ! 
 
 Mor. Utterly unable in nature, by reason of frigidity, to per- 
 form the duties, or any the least office of a husband. 
 
 Mav. Now out upon him, prodigious creature ! 
 
 Cen. Bridegroom uncarnate ! 
 
 Hau. And would you offer it to a young gentlewoman ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. A lady of her longings ? 
 
 Epi. Tut, a device, a device, this ! It smells rankly, ladies. A 
 mere comment of his own. 
 
 True. Why, if you suspect that, ladies, you may have him 
 searched 
 
 Daw. As the custom is, by a jury of physicians. 
 
 La-F. Yes, faith, 'twill be brave. 
 
 Mor. Oh, me, must I undergo that ? 
 
 Mrs. Ott. No, let women search him, madam ; we can do it 
 ourselves. 
 
 Mor. Out on me ! worse. 
 
 Epi. No, ladies, you shall not need, I ; 11 take him with all his 
 faults. 
 
 Mor. Worst of all ! 
 
 Cler. Why then, 'tis no divorce, doctor, if she consent not ? 
 
 Cut. No, if the man be frigidus^ it is de parte uxort's, that we 
 grant libellum divortii, in the law. 
 
 Ott. Ay, it is the same in theology. 
 
 Mor. Worse, worse than worst ! 
 
 True. Nay, sir, be not utterly disheartened ; we have yet a 
 small relic of hope left, as near as our comfort is blown out. 
 Clerimont, produce your brace of knights. What was that, 
 
SCENE I.] THE SILENT WOMAN. 263 
 
 master parson, you told me in errore qualitatis, e'en now ? — 
 Dauphine, whisper the bride, that she carry it as if she were 
 guilty, and ashamed. [Aside. 
 
 Ott. Marry, sir, in eri'ore qualitatis, (which master doctor did 
 forbear to urge,) if she be found corrupta, that is, vitiated or 
 broken up, that was pro vi?-gi7ie desponsa, espoused for a 
 maid 
 
 Mor. What then, sir ? 
 
 Ott. It doth dirimere contractum, and irritum 7'eddere too. 
 
 True. If this be true we are happy again, sir, once more. 
 Here are an honourable brace of knights, that shall affirm so 
 much. 
 
 Daw. Pardon us, good Master Clerimont. 
 
 La-F. You shall excuse us, Master Clerimont. 
 
 Cler. Nay, you must make it good now, knights, there is no 
 remedy : I '11 eat no words for you, nor no men : you know you 
 spoke it to me. 
 
 Daw. Is this gentleman-like, sir ? 
 
 True. Jack Daw, he 's worse than Sir Amorous; fiercer a great 
 deal. {Aside to Daw.] Sir Amorous, beware, there be ten 
 Daws in this Clerimont. {Aside to La-Foole. 
 
 La-F. I '11 confess it, sir. 
 
 Daw. Will you, Sir Amorous, will you wound reputation ? 
 
 La-F. I am resolved. 
 
 True. So should you be too, Jack Daw : what should keep 
 you off? she ; s but a woman, and in disgrace : he '11 be glad on 't. 
 
 Daw. Will he ? I thought he would have been angry. 
 
 Cler. You will dispatch, knights ; it must be done, i 'faith. 
 
 True. Why, an it must, it shall, sir. they say : they '11 ne'er go 
 back. Do not tempt his patience. [Aside to them. 
 
 Daw. Is it true indeed, sir ? 
 
 La-F. Yes, I assure you, sir. 
 
 Mor. What is true, gentlemen ? what do you assure me ? 
 
 Daw. That we have known your bride, sir 
 
 La-F. In good fashion. She was our mistress or so 
 
 Cler. Nay, you must be plain, knights, as you were to me. 
 
 Ott. Ay, the question is, if you have camaliter, or no ? 
 
 La-F. Carnaliter I what else, sir ? 
 
 Ott. It is enough ; a plain nullity. 
 
 Epi. I am undone, I am undone ! 
 
 Mor. Oh, let me worship and adore you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Epi. I am undone. [ Weeps. 
 
 Mor. Yes, to my hand, I thank these knights. Master par- 
 son, let me thank you otherwise. {Gives him money. 
 
 Ce?i. And have they confest ? 
 
 Mav. Now out upon them, informers ! 
 
 True. You see what creatures you may bestow your favours 
 on, madams. 
 
264 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act v. 
 
 Hau. I would except against them as beaten knights, wench, 
 and not good witnesses in law. 
 
 Mrs. Ott. Poor gentlewoman, how she takes it ! 
 
 Hate. Be comforted, Morose, I love you the better for 't. 
 
 Cen. So do I, I protest. 
 
 Cut. But, gentlemen, you have not known her since matri- 
 moniutn ? 
 
 Daw. Not to-day, master doctor. 
 
 La-F. No, sir, not to-day. 
 
 Cut. Why, then I say, for any act before, the matrimon- 
 turn is good and perfect ; unless the worshipful bridegroom did 
 precisely, before witness, demand if she were virgo ante nuptias. 
 
 Epi. No, that he did not, I assure you, master doctor. 
 
 Cut. If he cannot prove that, it is ratum conjugium, notwith- 
 standing the premises ; and they do no way impedire. And this 
 is my sentence, this I pronounce. 
 
 Ott. I am of master doctors resolution too, sir ; if you made 
 not that demand ante 7iuptias. 
 
 Mor. O my heart ! wilt thou break ? wilt thou break ? This 
 is worst of all worst worsts that hell could have devised ! Marry 
 her so, and so much noise ! 
 
 Daup. Come, I see now plain confederacy in this doctor and 
 this parson, to abuse a gentleman. You study his affliction. I 
 pray be gone, companions. — And, gentlemen, I begin to suspect 
 you for having parts with them. — Sir, will it please you hear 
 me ? 
 
 Mor. Oh, do not talk to me ; take not from me the pleasure of 
 dying in silence, nephew. 
 
 Daup. Sir, I must speak to you. I have been long your poor 
 despised kinsman, and many a hard thought has strengthened 
 you against me : but now it shall appear if either I love you or 
 your peace, and prefer them to all the world beside. I will not 
 be long or grievous to you, sir. If I free you of this unhappy 
 match absolutely, and instantly, after all this trouble, and almost 
 in your despair, now 
 
 Mor. It cannot be. 
 
 Daup. Sir, that you be never troubled with a murmur of it 
 more, what shall I hope for, or deserve of you ? 
 
 Mor. Oh, what thou wilt, nephew ! Thou shalt deserve me, 
 and have me. 
 
 Daup. Shall I have your favour perfect to me, and love here- 
 after ? 
 
 Mor. That, and any thing beside. Make thine own condi- 
 tions. My whole estate is thine : manage it, I will become thy 
 ward. 
 
 Daup. Nay, sir, I will not be so unreasonable. 
 
 Epi. Will Sir Dauphine be mine enemy too ? 
 
 Daup. You know I have been long a suitor to you, uncle, that 
 
SCENE L] THE SILENT WOMAN. 265 
 
 out of your estate, which is fifteen hundred a-year, you would 
 allow me but five hundred during life, and assure the rest upon 
 me after ; to which I have often, by myself and friends, tendered 
 you a writing to sign, which you would never consent or incline 
 to. If you please but to effect it now 
 
 Mor. Thou shalt have it, nephew : I will do it, and more. 
 
 Daup. If I quit you not presently, and for ever, of this 
 cumber, you shall have power instantly, afore all these, to 
 revoke your act, and I will become whose slave you will give 
 me to, for ever. 
 
 Mor. Where is the writing ? I will seal to it, that, or to a 
 blank, and write thine own conditions. 
 
 Epi. Oh me, most unfortunate, wretched gentlewoman ! 
 
 Hau. Will Sir Dauphine do this ? 
 
 Epi. Good sir, have some compassion on me. 
 
 Mor. Oh, my nephew knows you, belike ; away, crocodile ! 
 
 Cen. He does it not sure without good ground. 
 
 Daup. Here, sir. {Gives him the parchments. 
 
 Mor. Come, nephew, give me the pen ; I will subscribe to 
 anything, and seal to what thou wilt, for my deliverance. Thou 
 art my restorer. Here, I deliver it thee as my deed. If there 
 be a word in it lacking, or writ with false orthography, I protest 
 before [Heaven] I will not take the advantage. 
 
 {Returns the writings. 
 
 Daufi. Then here is your release, sir [takes ^"Epiccene's 
 peruke and other disguises.'] You have married a boy, a gentle- 
 man's son, that I have brought up this half year at my great 
 charges, and for this composition, which I have now made with 
 you. — What say you, master doctor ? This is justum impedi- 
 mentum, I hope, error persons t 
 
 Ott. Yes, sir, in primo gradu. 
 
 Cut. In primo gradu. 
 
 Daup. I thank you, good Doctor Cutbeard, and Parson Otter. 
 [Pulls their false beards and gowns off] You are beholden to 
 them, sir, that have taken this pains for you ; and my friend, 
 Master Truewit, who enabled them for the business. Now you 
 may go in and rest ; be as private as you will, sir. — [Exit 
 MOROSE.] — I '11 not trouble you, till you trouble me with your 
 funeral, which I care not how soon it come.— Cutbeard, I'll make 
 your lease good. Thank me not, but with your leg, Cutbeard. 
 And Tom Otter, your princess shall be reconciled to you. — How 
 now, gentlemen, do you look at me ? 
 
 Cler. A boy ! 
 
 Daup. Yes, Mistress Epiccene. 
 
 True. Well, Dauphine, you have lurched your friends of the 
 better half of the garland, by concealing this part of the plot : 
 but much good do it thee, thou deserv'st it, lad. And, Cleri- 
 mont, for thy unexpected bringing these two to confession, wear 
 
266 THE SILENT WOMAN. [act v. 
 
 my part of it freely. Nay, Sir Daw and Sir La-Foole, you see the 
 gentlewoman that has done you the favours ! we are all thankful 
 to you, and so should the woman-kind here, specially for lying 
 on her, though not with her ! you meant so, I am sure. But 
 that we have stuck it upon you to-day, in your imagined persons, 
 and so lately, this Amazon, the champion of the sex, should beat 
 you now thriftily, for the common slanders which ladies receive 
 from such cuckoos as you are. You are they that, when no 
 merit or fortune can make you hope to enjoy their bodies, will 
 yet lie with their reputations, and make their fame suffer. Away, 
 you common moths of these, and all ladies' honours. Go, 
 travel to make legs and faces, and come home with some new 
 matter to be laughed at ; you deserve to live in an air as 
 corrupted as that wherewith you feed rumour. — [Exeunt Daw 
 and La-Foole.] — Madams, you are mute, upon this new meta- 
 morphosis ! But here stands she that has vindicated your 
 fames. Take heed of such insectae hereafter. And let it not 
 trouble you, that you have discovered any mysteries to this 
 young gentleman : he is almost of years, and will make a good 
 visitant within this twelvemonth. In the meantime, we '11 all 
 undertake for his secrecy, that can speak so well of his silence. 
 [Coming forward."} — Spectators, if you like this comedy, rise 
 cheerfully, and now Morose is gone in, clap your hands. It may 
 be, that noise will cure him, at least please him. [Exeunt. 
 
The Sad Shepherd 
 
 A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD, 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Robin Hood, having invited all the shepherds and shepherdesses of the 
 vale of Belvoir to a feast in the forest of Sherwood, and trusting to his 
 mistress, Maid Marian, with her woodmen, to kill hkn venison against the 
 day : having left the like charge with Friar Tuck, his chaplain and steward, 
 to command the rest of his merry men to see the bower made ready, and all 
 things in order for the entertainment : meeting with his guests at their 
 entrance into the wood, welcomes them and conducts them to his bower. 
 Where, by the way, he receives the relation of the Sad Shepherd, 
 ^Eglamour, who is fallen into a deep melancholy for the loss of his beloved 
 Earine, reported to have been drowned in passing over the Trent, some few 
 days before. They endeavour in what they can to comfort him : but his 
 disease having taken such strong root, all is in vain, and they are forced to 
 leave him. In the mean time, Marian is come from hunting with the 
 huntsmen, where the lovers interchangeably express their loves. Robin 
 Hood enquires if she hunted the deer at force, and what sport he made ? 
 how long he stood, and what head he bore ? All which is briefly answered, 
 with a relation of breaking him up, and the raven and her bone. The 
 suspect had of that raven to be Maudlin, the witch of Paplewick, whom 
 one of the huntsmen met in the morning at the rousing of the deer, and 
 is confirmed, by her being then in Robin Hood's kitchen, in the chimney 
 corner, broiling the same bit which was thrown to the raven at the quarry 
 or fall of the deer. Marian being gone in to show the deer to some of 
 the shepherdesses, returns instantly to the scene, discontented; sends away 
 the venison she had killed, to her they call the witch ; quarrels with her 
 love, Robin Hood, abuseth him, and his guests the shepherds ; and so 
 departs, leaving them all in wonder and perplexity. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 The witch Maudlin having taken the shape of Marian to abuse Robin 
 Hood, and perplex his guests, cometh forth with her daughter Douce, 
 reporting in what confusion she had left them ; defrauded them of fheir 
 venison, made them suspicious each of the other ; but most of all, Robin 
 Hood so jealous of his Marian, as she hopes no effect of love would ever 
 reconcile them ; glorying so far in the extent of her mischief, as she 
 
268 THE SAD SHEPHERD. 
 
 confesseth to have surprised Earine, stripped her of her garments, to make 
 her daughter appear fine at this feast in them ; and to have shut the maiden 
 up in a tree, as her son's prize, if he could win her ; or his prey if he would 
 force her. Her son, a rude, bragging swineherd, comes to the tree to 
 woo her, (his mother and sister stepping aside to overhear him) and first 
 boasts his wealth to her, and his possessions ; which move not. Then he 
 presents her gifts, such as himself is taken with, but she utterly shows a 
 scorn and loathing both of him and them. His mother is angry, rates him, 
 instructs him what to do the next time, and persuades her daughter to show 
 herself about the bower : tells how she shall know her mother, when she is 
 transform'd, by her broidered belt. Meanwhile the young shepherdess Amie, 
 being kist by Karolin, Earine's brother, falls in love ; but knows not what 
 love is: but describes her disease so innocently, that Marian pities her. When 
 Robin Hood and the rest of his guests invited, enter to Marian, upbraiding her 
 with sending away their venison to Mother Maudlin by Scathlock, which she 
 denies ; Scathlock affirms it ; but seeing his mistress weep and to forswear 
 it, begins to doubt his own understanding, rather than affront her farther ; 
 which makes Robin Hood and the rest to examine themselves better. But 
 Maudlin, the witch, entering like herself, comes to thank her for her bounty; 
 at which Marian is more angry, and more denies the deed. Scathlock enters, 
 tells he has brought it again, and delivered it to the cook. The witch is 
 inwardly vext the venison is so recovered from her by the rude huntsman, 
 and murmurs and curses ; bewitches the cook, mocks poor Amie and the 
 rest ; discovereth her ill nature, and is a means of reconciling them all. For 
 the sage shepherd suspecteth her mischief, if she be not prevented : and so 
 persuadeth to seize on her. Whereupon Robin Hood dispatcheth out his 
 woodmen to hunt and take her. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Puck- Hairy discovereth himself in the forest and discourseth his offices, 
 with their necessities, briefly ; after which, Douce entering in the habit of 
 Earine, is pursued by Karol ; who (mistaking her at first to be his sister) 
 questions her how she came by those garments. She answers, by her 
 mother's gift. The Sad Shepherd coming in the while, she runs away 
 affrighted, and leaves Karol suddenly; yEglamour, thinking it to be Earine's 
 ghost he saw, falls into a melancholic expression of his phant'sie to Karol, and 
 questions him sadly about that point, which moves compassion in Karol of 
 his mistake still. When Clarion and Lionel enter to call Karol to Amie, 
 Karol reports to them yEglamour's passion, with much regret. Clarion 
 resolves to seek him. Karol to return with Lionel. By the way, Douce and 
 her mother (in the shape of Marian) meet them, and would divert them, 
 affirming Amie to be recovered, which Lionel wondered at to be so soon. 
 Robin Hood enters, they tell him the relation of the witch, thinking her to be 
 Marian ; Robin suspecting her to be Maudlin, lays hold of her girdle sud- 
 denly, but she, striving to get free, they both run out, and he returns with the 
 belt broken. She following in her own shape, demanding it, but at a distance, 
 as fearing to be seized upon again ; and seeing she cannot recover it, falls 
 into a rage, and cursing, resolving to trust to her old arts, which she calls 
 her daughter to assist in. The shepherds, content with this discovery, go 
 home triumphing, make the relation to Marian. Amie is gladded with 
 the sight of Karol, &c. In the mean time, enters Lorel, with purpose to 
 ravish Earine, and calling her forth to that lewd end, he by the hearing of 
 Clarion's footing is staid, and forced to commit her hastily to the tree again ; 
 where Clarion coming by, and hearing a voice singing, draws near unto 
 it ; but ^Eglamour hearing it also, and knowing it to be Earine's, falls 
 into a superstitious commendation of it ; as being an angel's, and in the 
 air ; when Clarion espies a hand put forth from the tree, and makes towards 
 
THE SAD SHEPHERD. 
 
 269 
 
 it, leaving .^glamour to his wild phant'sie, who quitteth the place : and 
 Clarion beginning to court the hand, and make love to it, there ariseth a 
 mist suddenly, which darkening all the place, Clarion loseth himself and 
 the tree where Earine is enclosed, lamenting his misfortune, with the 
 unknown nymph's misery. The air clearing, enters the witch, with her 
 son and daughter, tells them how she had caused that late darkness, to free 
 Lorel from surprisal, and his prey from being rescued from him : bids him 
 look to her, and lock her up more carefully, and follow her, to assist a 
 work she hath in hand, of recovering her lost girdle ; which she laments 
 the loss of with cursings, execrations, wishing confusion to their feast and 
 meeting, sends her son and daughter to gather certain simples for the 
 purpose, and bring them to her dell, This Puck hearing, prevents, and 
 shows her error still. The huntsmen having found her footing, follow the 
 track, and prick after her. She gets to her dell, and takes her form. Enter 
 [the huntsmen,] Aiken has spied her sitting with her spindle, threads, and 
 images. They are eager to seize her presently, but Aiken persuades them 
 to let her begin her charms, which they do. Her son and daughter come 
 to her ; the huntsmen are affrighted as they see her work go forward. And 
 over-hasty to apprehend her, she escapeth them all, by the help and 
 delusions of Puck. 
 
 PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 Robin Hood, the Chief Woodman, 
 
 Master of the Feast. 
 Friar Tuck, his Chaplain and 
 
 Steward. 
 Little John, Bow.bearer. 
 Scarlet, ) two Brothers, 
 Scathlock, j Huntsmen. 
 George- a-Green, Huisher of the 
 
 Bower. 
 Much, Bailiff, or Acator. 
 
 THE GUESTS INVITED. 
 
 ./Eglamour, the Sad, 
 
 Clarion, the Rich, 
 
 Lionel, the Courteous, \ Shepherds. 
 
 Alken, the Sage, 
 
 Karolin, the Kind, 
 
 Lorel, the Rude, a Swineherd, the 
 Witch's Son. 
 
 Puck-Hairy, or Robin Good- 
 fellow, their Hind. 
 
 Reuben, the Reconciler, a devout 
 Hermit. 
 
 Marian, Robin Hood's Lady. 
 Earine, the Beautiful,} c , ., , 
 Mellifleur, the Sweet, \ She P hera ' 
 Amie, the Gentle, J esses ' 
 
 Maudlin, the Envious, the Witch 
 
 of Paplewick. 
 Douce, the Proud, her daughter. 
 
 Musicians, Foresters, &c. 
 
 SCENE.— Sherwood. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Enter The Prologue. 
 
 He that hath feasted you these forty years, 
 And fitted fables for your finer ears, 
 Although at first he scarce could hit the bore ; 
 Yet you, with patience, hearkening more and more, 
 At length have grown up to him : and made known 
 The working of his pen is now your own : 
 He prays you would vouchsafe, for your own sake, 
 To hear him this once more, but sit awake. 
 And though he now present you with such wool 
 As from mere English flocks his muse can pull, 
 He hopes when it is made up into cloth, 
 Not the most curious head here will be loth 
 
• 
 
 270 THE SAD SHEPHERD. 
 
 To wear a hood of it, it being a fleece, 
 To match or those of Sicily or Greece. 
 His scene is Sherwood, and his play a Tale 
 Of Robin Hood's inviting from the vale 
 Of Belvoir, all the Shepherds to a feast : 
 Where,, by the casual absence of one guest, 
 The mirth is troubled much, and in one man 
 As much of sadness shown as passion can : 
 The sad young shepherd, whom we here present, 
 Like his woes figure, dark and discontent, 
 
 [The Sad Shepherd pa sscth silently over the stage. 
 For if his lost love, who in the Trent is said 
 To have miscarried ; 'las 1 what knows the head 
 Of a calm river, whom the feet have drown'd ? — 
 Hear what his sorrows are ; and if they wound 
 Your gentle breasts, so that the end crown all, 
 Which in the scope of one day's chance may fall ; 
 Old Trent will send you more such tales as these, 
 And shall grow young again as one doth please. 
 
 [Exit, but instantly re-enters. 
 But here 's an heresy of late let fall, 
 That mirth by no means fits a pastoral ; 
 Such say so, who can make none, he presumes : 
 Else there 's no scene more properly assumes 
 The sock. For whence can sport in kind arise, 
 But from the rural routs and families ? 
 Safe on this ground, then, we not fear to-day, 
 To tempt your laughter by our rustic play ; 
 Wherein if we distaste, or be cried down, 
 We think we therefore shall not leave the town ; 
 Nor that the fore-wits that would draw the rest 
 Unto their liking, always like the best. 
 The wise and knowing critic will not say, 
 This worst, or better is, before he weigh 
 Whe'er every piece be perfect in the kind : 
 And then, though in themselves he difference find, 
 Yet if the place require it where they stood, 
 The equal fitting makes them equal good. 
 You shall have love and hate, and jealousy, 
 As well as mirth, and rage, and melancholy : 
 Or whatsoever else may either move, 
 Or stir affections, and your likings prove. 
 But that no style for pastoral should go 
 Current, but what is stamped with Ah ! and Oh! 
 Who judgeth so, may singularly err ; 
 As if all Poesie had one character 
 In which what were not written, were not right ; 
 Or that the man who made such one poor flight, 
 In his whole life, had with his winged skill 
 Advanced him upmost on the muses' hill. 
 When he like poet yet remains, as those 
 Are painters who can only make a rose. 
 From such your wits redeem you, or your chance, 
 Lest to a greater height you do advance 
 Of folly, to contemn those that are known 
 Artificers, and trust such as are none ! 
 
SCENE ij THE SAD SHEPHERD. 271 
 
 -ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.— Sherwood Forest.- A dista?it prospect of 'hills, 
 valleys, collages, a castle, river, pastures, herds, flocks, &*c. 
 Robin Hood's bower in the foregroimd. 
 
 Enter tEglamour. 
 
 AZg. Here she was wont to go ! and here ! and here ! 
 Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow : 
 The world may find the spring by following her, 
 For other print her airy steps ne'er left. 
 Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, 
 Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk ! 
 But like the soft west wind she shot along, 
 And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, 
 As she had sowed them with her odorous foot. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — Another Part of the same. 
 
 Enter Marian, Friar Tuck, John, George-a-Green, Much, 
 Woodmen, &c. 
 
 Mar. Know you, or can you guess, my merry men, 
 What 'tis that keeps your master, Robin Hood, 
 So long, both fromms Marian and the wood ? 
 
 Tuck. Forsooth, madam, he will be here by noon, 
 And prays it of your bounty, as a boon, 
 That you by then haYeJril led him venison som e, 
 To feast his jolly friends, who hither come u 
 In threaves to frolic with him, and make cheer : 
 Here's Little John hath harboured you a deer, 
 I see by his tackling. 
 
 John. And a hart of ten, 
 I trow he be, madam, or blame your men : 
 •For by his slot, his entries, and his port, 
 His frayings, fewmets, he doth promise sport. 
 And standing 'fore the dogs ; he bears a head 
 Large and well-beamed, with all rights summed and spread. 
 
 Mar. Let's rouse him quickly, and lay on the hounds. 
 
 John. Scathlock is ready with them on the grounds ; 
 So is his brother Scarlet : now they have found 
 His lair, they have him sure within the pound. 
 
 Mar. Away then, when my Robin bids a feast, 
 'Twere sin in Marian to defraud a guest. 
 
 [Exeunt Marian and John with the Woodmen, 
 
 Tuck. And I, the chaplain, here am left to be 
 Steward to-day, and charge you all in fee, 
 
272 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act I. 
 
 To d'on your liveries, see the bower drest, 
 And fit the fine devices for the feast : 
 
 You, George, must care to make the baldrick trim, 
 And garland that must crown, or her, or him, 
 Whose flock this year hath brought the earliest lamb. 
 
 George. Good Father Tuck, at your commands I am 
 To cut the table out o' the green sword, 
 Or any other service for my lord ; 
 To carve the guests large seats ; and these lain in 
 With turf, as soft and smooth as the mole's skin : 
 And hang the bulled nosegays 'bove their heads. 
 * * * # * 
 
 The piper's bank, whereon to sit and play : 
 And a fair dial to mete out the day. 
 Our master's feast shall want no just delights, 
 His entertainments must have all the rites. 
 
 Much. Ay, and all choice that plenty can send in ; 
 Bread, wine, acates, fowl, feather, fish, o r fin. 
 For w hich my father's nets have swept the Trent —- 
 
 Enter ;E GLAMOUR. 
 
 jEg. And have you found her ? 
 
 Much. Whom ? \ 
 
 JEg. My drowned love, 
 Earine ! the sweet Earine ! j. 
 
 The bright and beautiful Earine ; 
 Have you not heard of my Earine ? 
 Just by your father's mill — I think I am right — 
 Are not you Much the Miller's son ? 
 
 Much. I am. 
 
 jEg. And bailiff to brave Robin Hood ? 
 
 Much. The same. 
 
 s£g. Close by your father's mills, Earine, 
 Earine was drowned ! Oh, my Earine ! 
 01djyiaudlin_tel_ls me so, and Douce he r daughter— 
 Have you swept The river, say you, and not found her ? 
 
 Much. For fowl and fish, we have. 
 
 jEg. Oh, not for her ! 
 You are goodly friends ! right charitable men ! 
 Nay, keep your way and leave me ; make your toys, 
 Your tales, your posies, that you talked of ; all 
 Your entertainments : you not injure me. ; 
 
 Only if I may enjoy my cypress wreath, 
 C And you will let me weep, 'tis all I ask, 
 j Till I be turned to water, as was she ! 
 And troth, what less suit can you grant a man ? 
 
 Tuck. H is phantasie is hurt, le t us now leave him ; 
 The wound is yet too iresn to admit searching. [Exit, 
 
SCENE II.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 273 
 
 JEg. Searching ! where should I search, or on what track ? 
 Can my slow drop of tears, or this dark shade 
 About my brows, enough describe her loss ! 
 Earine ! oh my Earine's loss ! 
 No, no T no. n o; th is heart wi ll break firs t. 
 
 George. How will th is sad disaster s trike the ears 
 Of bounteous Robin Hood, our gentle master ! 
 
 Much. How will it mar his m irth, abate his feast ; 
 And strike a horror into every guest ! 
 
 [Exeunt George and MUCH. 
 
 AUg. If! could knit whole clouds about my brows, 
 And weep like Swithin, or those watery signs, 
 The Kids, that rise then, and drown all the flocks 
 Of those rich shepherds, dwelling in this vale ; 
 Those-careless shepherds that did let her drown ! 
 Then I did something : or could make old Trent 
 Drunk with my sorrow, to start out in breaches, 
 To drown their herds, their cattle, and their corn ; 
 Break down their mills, their dams, o'erturn their weirs, 
 And -s^e-their Jiouses. and whole Jivelih nod 
 Wrought into water with her, all were good : 
 I'd kJ5-S_tlie_t orrent, and those whirls of. Trent, 
 That sucked her in, my sweet Earine ! 
 When they have cast her body on the shore, 
 And it comes up as tainted as themselves, 
 All pale and bloodless, I will love it still, 
 For all that they can do, and make them mad, 
 To see how I will hug it in mine arms ! 
 And hang upon her looks, dwell on her eyes, 
 Feed round about her lips, and eat her kisses, 
 Suc k off her drowned flesh !— and where 's their malice ! 
 Not all their envious sousing" can change that. 
 But I will still study som e revenge past this — 
 
 [Music of all sorts is heard. 
 I pray you give me leave, for I will study, 
 Though all ttiebells, pipes, tabors, ti mburines ring, 
 That you canplarit about me ; I will study. 
 
 Enter Robin Hood, Clarion, Mellifleur, Lionel, Amie, 
 Alken, Tuck, Musicians, &c. 
 
 Rob. Welcome, bright Clarion, and sweet Mellifleur, 
 The courteousJLionel, fair Amie ; all 
 My friends and neighbours, to the jolly bower 
 Of Robin Hood, and to the green-wood walks ! 
 No w that th e shearing of your sheep is done, 
 And the wasfied flocks are lighted of their wool, 
 The smoother ewes are ready to receive 
 
274 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act I. 
 
 The mounting rams again ; and both do feed, 
 As either promised to increase your breed 
 At eaning-time, and bring you lusty twins : 
 Why should or you or we so much torget 
 Th e sp.nsnn in oursel ves, as not to m ake 
 Use of our youth and spirits, to awake 
 The nimble horn-pipe, and the timburine, 
 And mix our songs and dances in the wood, 
 And each of us cut down a triumph-bough ? — 
 Such_are_tlie- rites theyouthful June alLow. 
 
 Cla. They were, gay Robin ; but the sourer sort 
 Of shepherds now disclaim in all such sport : 
 And say, our flock the while are poorly fed, 
 When with such vanities the swains are led. 
 
 Tuck. Would they, wise Clarion, were not hurried more 
 With covetise and rage, when to their store 
 They add the poor man's yeanling, and dare sell 
 Both fleece and carcass, not gi'ing him the fell ! 
 When to one goat they reach that prickly weed, 
 Which maketh all the rest forbear to feed ; 
 Or strew tods' hairs, or with their tails do sweep 
 The dewy grass, to d'off the simpler sheep ; 
 Or dig deep pits their neighbour's neat to vex, 
 To drown the calves, and crack the heifers' necks ; 
 Or with pretence of chasing thence the broc 1 :, 
 Send in a cur to worry the whole flock ! 
 
 Lio. O friar, those are faults that are not seen, 
 Ours open, and of worst example been. 
 They call ours Pagan pastimes, that infect 
 Our blood with ease, our youth with all neglect ; 
 Our tongues with wantonness, our thoughts with lust ; 
 And what they censure ill, all others must. 
 
 Rob. I do not know what their sharp sight may see, 
 Of late, but I should think it still might be 
 As 'twas, an happy age, when on the plains 
 The woodmen met the damsels, and the swains 
 The neat-herds, ploughmen, and the pipers loud, 
 And each did dance, some to the kit or crowd, 
 Some to the bag-pipe ; some the tabret moved, 
 And all did either love, or were beloved. 
 
 Lio. The dextrous shepherd then would try his sling, 
 Then dart his hook at daisies, then would sing ; 
 Sometimes would wrestle. 
 
 Cla. Ay, and with a lass ; 
 And give her a new garment on the grass : 
 After a course at barley-break or base. 
 
 Lio. And all these deeds were seen without offence, 
 Or the least hazard of their innocence. 
 
SCENE II.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 275 
 
 Rob. Th ngf> rV^jjfphlA titn^g hnA nn micf-rn gf ; 
 
 Shephe rds knew how to love , and nor to Inst. 
 
 £7^7 Each minute that we lose thus, I confess, 
 Deserves a censure on us, more or less ; 
 But that a sadder chance hath given allay 
 Both to the mirth and music of this day. 
 Our fairest shephgrd ess we had of \&te r 
 Her e upon Trent, is drowned ;i br whom her mate, 
 Youn g - yEglamour. a. swain who best could tread 
 Our country dances, and our games did lead, 
 Lives like the melancholy turtle, dr owned 
 Deeper inVoe than she m water : crowned 
 With yew and cypress, and will scarce admit 
 The physic of our presence to his fit. 
 
 Lio. Sometimes he sits, and thinks all day, then walks, 
 Then thinks again, and sighs, weeps, laughs and talks; 
 And 'twixt his pleasing frenz y a nd sad grief , 
 Is so distrac ted, as no sought relief 
 By all ou^hidies-can. procure his peace. 
 
 Cla. The passion finds in him that large increase, 
 As we doubt hourly we shall lose him too. 
 
 Rob. You, should not cross him then, whate'er you do. 
 For phant'sie stopped,, jvill soon take fire, and burn 
 Into nn an ger, or to aphrensie turn. 
 
 Cla. Nay, so we are advised by Aiken here, 
 A good sage shepherd, who, although he wear 
 An old worn hat and cloke, can tell us more 
 Than all the forward fry, that boast their lore. 
 
 Lio. See, yonder comes the b rother of the maid, 
 Yo ung Karolin : h ow curious and afraid 
 He is at once ! willing to find him out, 
 And loth to offend him. 
 
 Enter KAROLIN. 
 
 Kar. Sure he's here about. 
 
 Cla. See where he sits. 
 
 [Points to ^GLAMOUR, sitting upon a bank hard ly 
 
 sEg. It will be rare, rare, rare ! 
 An exquisite revenge ! but peace, no words ! 
 Not for the fairest fleece of all the flock : 
 If it be known afore, 'tis all worth nothing ! 
 I '11 carve it on the trees, and in the turf, 
 On ever y green swor d, and in every path, 
 Just to the margin oflne'cruel Trent. 
 There will I knock the story in the ground, 
 In smooth great pebble, and moss fill it round, 
 Till the whole country read how she was drowned : 
 
276 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act I. 
 
 And with the plenty of salt tears there shed, 
 
 Quite alter the complexion of the spring. 
 
 Or I will get c ^m <a old, old ggaadaaa thith ^rj 
 
 Whose rigid foot but dipped into the water, 
 
 Shall strike that sharp and sudden cold throughout, 
 
 As it shall lose all virtue ; and th ose nvmph s T 
 
 Those treacherous nymphs pulled in Earine, 
 
 ShaTI stand curled up like images of ice"" 
 
 A ncTne ver tnaw r ! mark, never! a sharp justice ! 
 
 Or stay, a 'better"! when the year 's at hottest, 
 
 And that the dog-star foams, and the stream boils, 
 
 And curls, and works, and swells ready to sparkle. 
 
 To fling a fellow with a fever in, 
 
 To set it all on fire till it burn 
 
 Blue_jas Scamande r, 'fore the wall s of Troy, 
 
 When Vulcan leaped int_o_ him to consume him. 
 . Rob. A deep hurt phant'sie ! {They approach him. 
 
 \ ( sEg> Do you not approve it ? 
 (j*" V Rob. Yes, gentle ^Eglamour, we all approve, 
 
 c v | '* / And come to gratulate your just revenge : 
 {* Which, since it is so perfect, we now hope 
 
 You '11 leave all care thereof, and mix with us, 
 
 In all the proffered solace of the spring. 
 ALg. A spring, now she is dead ! of what ? of thorns, 
 
 Briars and brambles ? thistles, burs and docks ? 
 
 Cold hemlock, yew ? the Jiiandrak^or_the_b0x ? 
 
 These_may grow still ; but what can spring beside ? 
 
 Did not the whole earth sicken when she died ? 
 
 As if there since did fall one drop of dew, 
 
 But what was wept for her ! or any stalk 
 
 Did bear a flower, or any branch a bloom, 
 
 After her wreath was made ! In faith, in faith, 
 
 You do not fair to put these things upon me, 
 
 Which can in no sort be : Earine, 
 
 Who had her very being and her name, 
 
 With the first knots or buddings of the spring, 
 
 Born with the primrose, or the violet, 
 
 Or earliest roses blown ; w hen Cup id smiled ; 
 
 And Venice led the Graces out to dance, 
 
 And all the flowers an 6T sweets in Nature's lap 
 
 Leaped out and made their solemn conjuration, 
 
 To last but while she lived ! Do not I know 
 
 How the vale withered the same day ? how Dove, 
 
 Dean, Eye, and Erwash, Idel, Snite and Soare, 
 
 Each broke his urn and twenty waters more, 
 
 That swelled proud Trent, shrunk themselves dry ? that since 
 
 No sun or moon or other cheerful star, ' 
 
 Looked out of heaven, but all the cope was dark, 
 
SCENE II.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 277 
 
 As it were hung so for her exequies ! 
 
 And not a voice or sound to ring her knell ; 
 
 But of that dismal pair, the screeching- owl, 
 
 And buzzing hornet! Hark ! hark ! hark ! the foul 
 
 Bird ! how she flutters with her wicker wings ! 
 
 Peace ! you shall hear her screech. 
 
 Cla. Good Karolin, sing, 
 Help to divert this phant'sie. 
 
 Kar. All I can. [Sings while JEG. reads the song. 
 
 Though I am young and cannot tell 
 Either what Death or Love is well, 
 Yet, I have heard they both bear darts, 
 And both do aim at human hearts : 
 And then again. I have been told, 
 Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold ; 
 So that I fear they do but bring 
 Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. 
 
 As in a ruin we it call 
 One thing to be blown up or fall ; 
 Or to our end, li ke way mny hivft 
 B y flash of lightning, or a wave : 
 So ~Love's i nflamed shaf t or bran d" 
 M ay kill as "soon as DeatTTs col dliand , 
 Except Love's firesthe virtue have 
 To fright the frost out of the grave. 
 
 /Eg. Do you think so ? are you in that good heresy, 
 I mean, opinion ? if you be, say nothing : 
 I'll study it as a new philosophy, 
 But by myself alone : now you shall leave me 
 Some of these nymphs here will reward you; this, 
 This pretty maid, although but with a kiss. 
 
 [He forces Amie to kiss KAROLIN. 
 Lived my Earine, you should have twenty : 
 For every line here, one ; I would allow them 
 From mine own store, the treasure I had in her : 
 Now I am poor as you. [Exit. 
 
 Kar. And I a wretch ! 
 
 Cla. Yet keep an eye upon him, Karolin. [Exit KAROLIN. 
 
 Mel. Alas, that ever such a generous spirit 
 As ^Eglamour's, should sink by such a loss ! 
 
 Cla. The truest lovexs_ are least fortu nate : 
 Look all their lives and legends, what th ey ca ll 
 The lovers' scriptures/ Hehodores or l'atn, 
 Longi, Eustathii, Prodomi, you'll find it ! 
 What think you father ? 
 
 Aiken. I JiaYe_kno wn som e few, 
 And read of more who have had their dose, and deep, 
 Of the se sharp bitter-swe ets. 
 
 Lio. But what is this 
 
278 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act I. 
 
 To jolly Robin, who the story is 
 Of all beatitude in love ? 
 
 Cla. And told 
 Here every day with wonder on the wold. 
 
 Lio. And with fame's voice. 
 
 Aiken. Save that some folk delight 
 To blend all good of others with some spight. 
 
 Cla. He and his Marian are the sum and talk 
 Of all that breathe here in the green-wood walk. 
 
 Mel. Or Belvoir vale. 
 
 Lio. The turtles of the wood. 
 
 Cla. The billing pair. 
 
 Aiken. And so are understood 
 For simple loves, and sampled lives beside. 
 
 Mel. Faith, so much virtue should not be envied. 
 
 Aiken. Better be so than pitied, Mellifleur : 
 For 'gainst all envy virtue is a cure ; 
 
 But wretched pity ever calls on scorns.— [Horns within. 
 
 The deer's brought home ; I hear it by their horns. 
 
 Enter Marian, John and Scarlet. 
 
 Rob. My Marian, and my mistress ! 
 
 Mar. My loved Robin ! [They embrace. 
 
 Mel. The moon 's at full, the happy pair are met. 
 
 Mar. How hath this morning paid me for my rising ! 
 First, with my sports ; but most with meeting you. 
 I did not half so well reward my hounds, 
 As she hath me to-day ; although I gave them 
 All the sweet morsels called tongue, ears, and dowcets ! 
 
 Rob. What, and the mch'-pm! 
 
 Mar. Yes. — — - 
 
 Rob. Your sports then pleased you ? 
 
 Mar. You are a wanton. 
 
 Rob. On e, I do co nfess, 
 I t vant-ed till vou ca meT^Bul now. I have you, 
 
 I' ll grow to your embraces^jSIEtwo. souls 
 
 Distilled into kisses through our lips, 
 
 Do make one spirit of love. [Kisses her. 
 
 Mar. O Robin, Robin ! 
 
 Rob. Breathe, breathe a while ; what says my gentle Marian ? 
 
 Mar. Could you so long be absent ? 
 
 Rob. What, a week ! 
 Was that so long ? 
 
 Mar. How long are lovers' weeks, 
 Do you think, Robin, when they are asunder? 
 Are they not prisoners' 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE SAD SHEPHERD. 
 
 279 
 
 Rob. To some they seem so ; 
 But being met again, they are schoolboys' hours. 
 
 Mar. That have got leave to play, and so we use them. 
 
 Rob. Had you good sport in your chase to-day ? 
 
 John. Oh prime ! 
 
 Mar. A lusty stag. 
 
 Rob. And hunted ye at force ? 
 
 Mar. In a full cry. 
 
 John. And never hunted change ! 
 
 Rob. You had stanch hounds then ? 
 
 Mar. Old and sure ; I love 
 No young rash do gs, no m orejlian rh? n ging friftnd g 
 
 RodT^WhsX relays set you ? 
 
 John. No ne at all : we l.tid n ot 
 In o ne fresh dog . 
 
 7?ob. He s tood not long then ? 
 
 Scar. Yes , 
 Fi ve hours and more. A great, large deer ! 
 
 Rob. What head? " 
 
 John. Forke cLi_a hart of ten. 
 
 Mar. He is good venison, 
 According to the season in the blood, 
 I '11 promise all your friends, for whom he fell. 
 
 John. But at his fall there hapt a chance. 
 
 Mar. Worth mark. 
 
 Rob. Ay, what was that, sweet Marian ? [Kisses her. 
 
 Mar. You '11 not hear ? 
 
 Rob. I love these interruptions in a story ; 
 
 [Kisses her again. 
 They make it sweeter. 
 
 Mar. You do know as soon 
 As the assay is taken — [Kisses her again. 
 
 Rob. On, my Marian : 
 I did but take the assay. 
 
 Mar. You stop one's mouth, 
 And yet you bid one speak — when the arbor's made — 
 
 Rob. Pulled down, and paunch turned out. 
 
 Mar. He that undoes him, 
 Doth cleave the brisket bone, upon the spoon 
 Of which a little gristle grows ; you call it 
 
 Rob. The raven's bone. 
 
 Mar. Now o'er head sat a raven, 
 On a sere bough, a grown great bird, and hoarse ! 
 Who, all the while the deer was breaking up, 
 So croaked and cried for it, as all the huntsmen, 
 Especially old Scathlock, thought it ominous ; 
 Swore i t- was Mother Mau d lin, wh om he met 
 At the day-dawn, just as he roused the_deer 
 
2 8o THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act 1. 
 
 Out of his lair : but we made shift to run him 
 Off his four legs, and sunk him ere we left. 
 
 Enter Scathlock. 
 
 Is the deer come ? 
 
 Scath. He lies within on the dresser. 
 
 Mar. Will you go see him, Mellifleur ? 
 
 Mel. I attend you. 
 
 Mar. Come, Amie, you '11 go with us ? 
 
 Amie. I am not well. 
 
 Lio. She 's sick of the young shepherd that bekissed her. 
 
 Mar. Friend, cheer your friends up, we will eat him merrily. 
 
 [Exeunt Mar., Mel., and Amie. 
 
 Aiken. Saw you the raven, friend ? 
 
 Scath. Ay, quha suld let me P 
 I suld be afraid o' you, sir, suld I ? 
 
 Clar. Huntsman, 
 A dran^Hiore of civility would not hurt you. 
 
 JfrtfyNay, you must give them all their rudenesses^ 
 -3Tney are not else themselves without their language 
 
 Aiken. And what do you think of her ? 
 
 Scath. As of a witch. 
 They ^all her a wise woman, but I think her 
 A n arrant witch. 
 
 Clar. And wherefore think you so ? 
 
 Scath. Be cause I saw her sinc e broiling the bone 
 W as cast her at the quarry. - 
 
 Aiken. Where saw you h er"? 
 
 Scath. In the chimley-nuik within : she's there now. 
 
 -Re-enter Marian. 
 
 Rob. Marian ! 
 Your hunt holds in his tale still ; and tells more 
 
 Mar. My hunt ! what tale ? 
 
 Rob. How ! cloudy, Marian ! 
 What look is this ? _ 
 
 Mar. A_ fit one, sir, for_YQu> 
 H andofl^Iu3e_r^Jiger-L=-Sirrah, get you in. [To SCATHLOCK. 
 Arid bearthevenison hence : It is_too_good 
 For these coarse rustic .miiu^s71haLJ^nnotjQpen, 
 Orlipend a thank for 't. A starved mutton's carcase 
 Would better fit their palates. See it carried 
 To Mother Maudlin's, whom yotTcall the witch, sir. 
 Tell her I sent it to make merry with. 
 She'll turn us thanks at least ! why stand'st thou, groom? 
 
 Rob. I wonder he can move, that he 's not fixed, 
 If that his feeling be the same with mine ! 
 
SCENE H.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 281 
 
 I dare not trust the faith of mine own senses, 
 I fear mine eyes and ear^T 4HJs_is not Marian t ^ 
 Nor am I Robin Hood ! I pray you ask her, 
 Ask her, good shepherds, ask her all for me : 
 Or rather ask yourselves, if she be she ; 
 Or I be I. 
 
 Mar. Y es, and you are the spy ; _ 
 And the sjWd spy that wnf ch upon my walks . 
 To inform what deer I kill or give away ! 
 Where ! when ! to whom ! but _s_py. your worst, good spy, 
 I will dispose of this where least you like ! 
 Fall to your cheese-cakes, curds, and clouted cream, 
 You r fools, your flawns ; and [swill] of ale a stream 
 To wash it from your livers : strain ewe's milk 
 Into your cyder syllabubs, and be drunk 
 To him whose fleece hath brought the earliest lamb 
 This year ; and wears the baudric at your board ! 
 Where you may all go whistle and record 
 This in your dance ; and foot it lustily. {Exit. 
 
 Rob. I pray you, friends, do you hear and see as I do ? 
 Did the same accents strike your ears ? and objects 
 Your eyes, as mine ? 
 
 Aiken. We taste the same repr oaches. v 
 
 Lio. Have see" th^ rnanprpg / r \ j> 
 
 Rob. Are not we all change d^ ^^ c [}^\ t^ *- 
 Tra nsformed from oursel ves ? J 
 
 LJo. 1 do not know. 
 The best is silence. 
 
 Aiken. And to wait the issue. 
 
 Rob. The dead or lazy wait for 't ! I will find it. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — The Forest as before. — The Witches dimble, cottage, 
 oak, well, &*c. 
 
 Enter Maudlin in her proper shape, and Douce in the 
 dtess of Earine. 
 
 Maud. Have I not left them in a brave confusion ? 
 Amazed their expectation, got their venison, 
 Troubled their mirth and meeting, made them doubtful 
 And jealous of each other, all distracted, 
 And, in the close, uncertain of themselves ? 
 This canjfom^jnjaJLhet-der^^ ! 
 
 Take any shapejipon her, and -delude 
 
282 W^s^jJ^FHE SAD SHEPHERD. [ACT II. 
 
 The_senses best acquainted with their owners ! — 
 
 TKe~jblly Robin, who hath bid this feast, 
 
 And made this solemn invitation, 
 
 I have possessed so with syke dislikes 
 
 Of his own Marian, that allbe he know her, 
 
 As doth the vauting hart his venting hind, 
 
 He ne'er fra' hence sail neis her in the wind, 
 
 To his first liking. 
 
 Douce. Did you so distaste him ? 
 
 Maud. As far as her proud scorning him could bate. 
 Or blunt the edge of any lover's temper. 
 
 Douce. But were ye like her, mother ? 
 
 Maud. So like, Douce, 
 As had she seen me her sel', her sel' had doubted 
 Whether had been the liker of the twa — 
 This can your mother do, I tell you, daughter ! — 
 I ha' hut dight yft vet in the out-dress . 
 An d 'parel of Earine ; but this raiment, 
 These very weeds sail make ye, as but coming 
 In view or ken of ^glamour, your form 
 Shall show too slippery to be looked upon, 
 
 And nllj^^Jhlg^t^ SHSaag yOU tn he <;1-ip ! 
 
 The SLshall rin after ye, and wage the odd g^_ 
 Upon their own deceived signts, ye are ner ; 
 
 Whilst She, pnnr |qg<: is gtnrVpH np jr) fl fr pp • 
 
 Vnpr fr r ntVipr Lomlls prjrp ' for so my largess 
 
 Hath lotted her to be, — your brother's mistress, 
 
 Gif she can be reclaimed ; gif not, his prey ! 
 
 And here he comes ne w, rl n ithpdj like a prince 
 
 Of gwinpViprrk i gyl-P he seems, dight in the spoils 
 
 Of those he feeds, a mighty lord of swine ! 
 
 He 's command now to woo. Let's step aside, 
 
 An d hear his love-craft. — - — "~~ [ They stand aside. 
 
 Enter Lorel gaily dressed, and releases Earine from the oak. 
 
 See he opes the door, 
 And takes her by the hand, and helps her forth : 
 Thi s is true courtship, an d becoifles his rayr- 
 
 Lor. \_leading 1?.arin~e forward.] Ye kind to others, but ye 
 coy to me, 
 Deft mistress ! whiter than the cheese new prest, 
 Smoother than cream, and softer than the curds ! 
 Why start ye from me ere ye hear me tell 
 My wooing errand, and what rents I have ? 
 Large herds and pastures ! swine and kie mine own ! 
 And though my nase be camused, my lips thick, 
 And my chin bristled. Pan, great Pan, was such, 
 
SCENE i.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 283 
 
 Who was the chief of .h erdsmen,. ^jid-Qur sire ! A 
 
 I a m na~~fay, na incuT viis , n a rhrmglin, _^*X 
 
 B u tagoodman, th at lives o' my awn geer : \f£ r ^ 'f ^r-S*S 
 Thi s house, these ground s^, this stork is allmv awn . ^ O 
 
 Ear. How better 'twere to me, this were not known! 
 
 Maud. She likes it not : but it is boasted well. 
 
 Lor. An hundred udders for the pail I have, 
 That give me milk and curds, that make me cheese 
 To cloy the markets ! twenty swarm of bees, 
 Whilk all the summer hum about the hive, 
 And bring me wax and honey in bilive. 
 An aged oak, the king of all the field, 
 With a broad beech there grows before my dur, 
 That mickle mast unto the ferm doth yield. 
 A chesnut, whilk hath larded mony a swine, 
 Whose skins I wear to fend me fra the cold ; 
 A poplar green, and with a kerved seat, 
 Under whose shade I solace in the heat ; 
 And thence can see gang out and in my neat. 
 Two trilland brooks, each, from his spring, doth meet, 
 And make a river to refresh my feet ; 
 In which each morning, ere the sun doth rise, 
 I look myself, and clear my pleasant eyes, 
 Before I pipe : for therein I have skill 
 'Bove other swineherds. Bid me, and I will 
 Straight play to you, and make you melody. 
 
 Ear. By no means. Ah ! to me all minstrelsy 
 Is irksome, as are you. 
 
 Lor. Why scorn you me ? 
 Because I am an herdsman, and feed swine ! 
 I am a lord of other geer : — This fine 
 Smooth bawson cub, the young grice of a gray, 
 Twa tiny urchins, and this ferret gay. 
 
 Ear. Out on 'em ! what are these ? 
 
 Lor. I give 'em ye, 
 As presents, mistress. 
 
 Ear. Oh the fiend on thee ! 
 Gae, take them hence ; they fewmand "all the claithes, 
 And prick my coats : hence with 'em, limmer lown, 
 Thy vermin and thyself, thyself art one i 
 Ay, lock me up — all 's well when thou art gone. 
 
 [Lorel leads her to the tree and shuts her in. 
 [Maudlin and Douce come forward 
 
 Lor. Did you hear this ? she wished me at the fiend, 
 With all my presents ! 
 
 Maud. A tu lucky end 
 She wishand thee, foul limmer, dritty lown ! 
 Gud faith, it duills me that I am thy mother : 
 
284 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act il> 
 
 And see, thy sister scorns thee for her brother. 
 Thou woo thy love, thy mistress, with twa hedgehogs : 
 A stinkand brock, a polecat ? out, thou houlet ! 
 Thou shouldst have given her a madge-owl, and then 
 Thou'dst made a present o' thyself, owl-spiegle ! 
 
 Douce. Why, mother, I have heard ye bid to give ; 
 And often as the cause calls. 
 
 Maud. I know well, 
 It is a witty part sometimes to give ; 
 But what ? to wham ? no monsters, nor to maidens, 
 He suld present them with mare pleasand things, 
 With which his sire gat him, he 's get another, 
 And so beget posterity upon her ; 
 This he should do ! — False gelden, gang thy gait, 
 And do thy turns betimes ; or I 'se gar take 
 Thy new breikes fra' thee, and thy dublet tu : — 
 The tailleur and the sowter sail undu 
 All they have made, except thou manlier woo ! [Exit LOREL. 
 
 Douce. Gud mother, gif you chide him, he'll do wairs. 
 
 Maud. Hang him ! I geif him to the devil's eirs. 
 But ye, my Douce, I charge ye, shew your sel J 
 Tu all the shepherds bauldly ; gaing amang 'em, 
 Be mickel in their eye, frequent and fugeand : 
 And gif they ask ye of Earine, 
 Or of these claithes, say, that I gave ; em ye, 
 And say no more. I have that wark in hand, 
 That web upon the luime, shall gar 'em think 
 By then, they feeling their own frights and fears, 
 I'se pu' the world or nature 'bout their ears. — 
 But, hear ye, Douce, because ye may meet me 
 In mony shapes to-day, where'er you spy 
 This browdered belt with characters, 'tis I. 
 A Gypsan lady, and a right beldame, 
 Wrought it by moonshine for me, and star-light, 
 Upon your grannam's grave, that very night 
 We earthed her in the shades ; when our dame Hecate 
 Made it her gaing night over the kirk-yard, 
 With all the barkand parish-tikes set at her, 
 While I sat whyrland of my brazen spindle : 
 At every twisted thrid my rock let fly 
 Unto the sewster, who did sit me nigh, 
 Under the town turnpike ; which ran each spell 
 She stitched in the work, and knit it well. 
 See ye take tent to this, and ken your mother. ^Exeunt. 
 
SCENE II.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 285 
 
 Scene II. — Another part of the Forest — The Entrance to 
 Robin Hood's Bower. 
 
 Amie discovered lying on a bank, Marian and Mellifleur 
 sitting by her. 
 
 Mar. How do you, sweet Amie, yet ? 
 
 Mel. She cannot tell ; 
 If she could sleep, she says, she should do well. 
 She feels a hurt, but where, she cannot show 
 Any least sign, that she is hurt or no : ■ 
 Her pain's not doubtful to her, but the seat 
 Of her pain is : her thoughts too work and beat, 
 Opprest with cares ; but why she cannot say : 
 All matter of her care is quite away. 
 
 Mar. Hath any vermin broke into your fold ? 
 Or any rot seized on your flock, or cold ? 
 Or hath your feighting ram burst his hard horn, 
 Or any ewe her fleece, or bag hath torn, 
 My gentle Amie ? 
 
 Amie. Marian, none of these. 
 
 Mar. Have you been stung by wasps, or angry bees, 
 Or rased with some rude bramble or rough briar ? 
 
 Amie. No, Marian, my disease is somewhat nigher. 
 I weep, and boil away myself in tears ; 
 And then my panting heart would dry those fears : 
 I burn, though all the forest lend a shade ; 
 And freeze, though the whole wood one fire were made. 
 
 Mar. Alas ! 
 
 A mie. I often have been torn with thorn and briar, 
 Both in the leg and foot, and somewhat higher ; 
 Yet gave not then such fearful shrieks as these. [Sighs. 
 
 I often have been stung too with curst bees, 
 Yet not remember that I then did quit 
 
 Either my company or mirth for it. [Sighs again. 
 
 And therefore what it is that I feel now, 
 And know no cause of it, nor where, nor how 
 It entered in me, nor least print can see, 
 
 I feel, afflicts me more than briar or bee. [Again. 
 
 How often when the sun, heaven's brightest birth, 
 Hath with his burning fervour cleft the earth, 
 Under a spreading elm or oak, hard by 
 A cool, clear fountain, could I sleeping lie, 
 Safe from the heat ! but now no shady tree, 
 Nor purling brook, can my refreshing be. 
 Oft when the meadows were grown rough with frost, 
 The rivers ice-bound, and their currents lost, 
 
286 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act li. 
 
 M y thick warm fleece^-i -wore, was my defence ; 
 Or large good fires 1 made, drave winter thence : 
 But now my whole flock's fells, nor this thick grove, 
 Enflamed to ashes, can my cold remove. 
 It is a cold and heat that does outgo 
 All sense of winters, and of summers so. 
 
 'Enter Robin Hood, Clarion, Lionel and Alken. 
 
 Rob. Oh, are you here, my mistress ? 
 
 Mar. I, my love ! [Runs to embrace him. 
 
 Where should I be but in my Robin's arms, 
 The sphere which I delight in so to move ? 
 
 Rob. [he puts her back.] What, the rude ranger, and spied spy! 
 hand off j 
 You are for no such rustics. 
 
 Mar. What means this, 
 Thrice worthy Clarion, or wise Alken ? know ye ? 
 
 Rob. 'Las, no, not they : a poor starved mutton's carcase 
 Would better Jit their palates than your venison. 
 
 Mar. What riddle 's this ? Unfold yourself, dear Robin. 
 
 Rob. Ycut-have-jiot--sent-vQU£-A£ enison hence by Scathlock, 
 ToJ\iojJiex^IaudlirK^ ~ 
 
 Mar. I T J^£ HonieT~Mag dtin_? 
 Will _Scath lock_say so ? 
 
 Rob. ^y7w'e"wiirairsv7ear so. 
 For all did hear it when you gave the charge so, 
 Both Clarion, Alken, Lionel and myself. 
 
 Mar. Good honest shepherds, masters of your flocks, 
 Simple and virtuous men, no others' hirelings ; 
 Be not you made to speak against your conscience, 
 That w hich may s oijjbej-rnth. I^sendtheveni son 
 Aw ay, by Sc aChlock. ajidto~13otEer t Maucilin ! 
 I came to show it here to Mellifleur, 
 I do confess ; but Amie's falling ill 
 Did put us off it : since, we employed ourselves 
 In comforting of her. 
 
 Enter Scathlock. 
 Oh, here he is ! 
 
 Did I, sir, bid you bear away the venison 
 To Mother Maudlin ? 
 
 Scath. Ay, gud faith, madam, 
 Did you, and I ha' done it. 
 
 Mar. What have you done ? 
 
 Scath. Obeyed your hests, madam ; done your commands. 
 
 Mar. Done my commands, dull groom ! fetch it again, 
 Or kennel with the hounds. Are these the arts, [Weeps. 
 
scene ii.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 287 
 
 Robin, you rede your rude ones of the wood, 
 To countenance your quarrels and mistakings ? 
 Or are the sports to entertain your friends 
 Those formed jealousies ? Ask ot Mellifleur 
 If I were ever from her, here, or Amie. 
 Since I came in with them ; or saw this Scathlock 
 Since I related to you his tale of the raven. 
 
 Scath. Ay, say you so ! | Exit, 
 
 Mel. She never left my side 
 Since I came here, nor I hers. 
 
 Cla. This is strange : 
 Our best of senses were deceived, our eyes, then. 
 
 Lio. And ears too. 
 
 Mar. What you have concluded on, 
 Make good, I pray you. 
 
 Amie. Oh, my heart, my heart ! 
 
 Mar. My heart it is wounded, pretty Amie ; 
 Report not you your griefs : I '11 tell for all. 
 
 Mel. Somebody is to blame, there is a fault. 
 
 Mar. Try if you caa take rest : a little slumber 
 Will refresh you, Amie. [Amie sleeps, 
 
 Aiken. What's her grief? 
 
 Mar. She does not know : and therein she is happy. 
 
 Enter John a?id Maudlin. 
 
 John. Here's Mother Maudlin come to give you thanks, 
 Madam, for some late gift she hath received — 
 Which she s not worthy of, she says, but cracks 
 And wonders of it ; hops about the house, 
 Transported with the joy. 
 
 Maud. Send me a stag, 
 A whole stag, madam, and so fat a deer ! 
 So fairly hunted, and at such a time too, 
 When all your friends were here ! [Skips and dances, 
 
 Rob. Do you mark this, Clarion ? 
 Her own acknowledgment ! 
 
 Maud. 'Twas such a bounty 
 And honour done to your poor beadswoman, 
 I know not how to owe it, but to thank you ; 
 And that I come to do : I shall go round, 
 And giddy with the joy of the good turn. 
 
 Look out, look out, gay folk about, 
 And see me spin the ring I am in 
 Of mirth and glee, with thanks for fee 
 The heart puts on. for th' venison 
 My lady sent, which shall be spent 
 In draughts of wine, to fume up fine 
 
288 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [ACT II. 
 
 Into the brain, and down again 
 Fall in a swoun, upon the groun'. 
 
 [ Turns rapidly round as she speaks, till she falls, 
 
 Rob. Look to her, she is mad. 
 
 Maud, [rising.] M y^son hath sent_you 
 A p ot of str awberriesgathered in the wood, 
 His hogs w^uT6rels^TaTe"Trjoted--tip^-er trod ; 
 With a choice dish of wildlings here to scald 
 
 Andjmngle_with your cream. 
 Mar. Thank 
 
 yOu, good Maudlin, 
 And then your son. Go, bear them in to Much, 
 The acater, let him thank her. Surely, mother, 
 You were mistaken, or my woodmen more, 
 Or most myself, to send you aH our store 
 Of venison, hunted for ourselves this day : 
 You will not take it. mother, I daresay^ 
 If we entreat you, when you know our guests ; 
 Re d deer is hea d still of the f orest ..feasts . 
 
 Maud. But I knaw ye. a right free-hearted lady, 
 Can <;jwe it nut of superfluit y : 
 1 have -depajrtit it 'mong my poor neighbours, 
 To. speak your largess. 
 
 Mar. Tnot gave it, mother ; 
 You have done wrong then : I know how to place 
 My gifts, and where ; and when to find my seasons 
 To give, not throw away my courtesies. 
 
 Maud. Count you this thrown away ? 
 
 Mar. What : s ravishe d from me 
 I count it worse, as stolen ; I lose my thanks 
 Butieaye this quest : they frrriutr y o u nor me, 
 Maudlin, contentions of this quality. — 
 
 Re-enter Scathlock. 
 How now ! 
 
 Scath. Your stag's returned upon my shoulders, 
 He has found his way into the kitchen again 
 With his two legs ; ifjnw ymir cook can dress him. — 
 'Slid, I thought the swineherd would have beat me, 
 He-looked so big ! the sturdy karl, lewd Lore! ! 
 
 Ma?. There, Scathlock, for thy pains ; — {Gives him money .]— 
 thou hast deserved it. [Exit SCATH 
 
 Maud. Do you give a thing, and take a thing, madam ? . 
 Mar. No, Maudlin, you had imparted to your neighbours ; 
 And much good do it them ! I have done no wrong. 
 Maud. The spit stand still, no broches turn 
 Before the fire, but let it burn 
 Both sides and hanches, till the whole 
 Converted be into one coal ! 
 
SCENE ii.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 289 
 
 Cla. Wh at devil's pater rmstfr ninp' >v>1p ' J =- t, *" a ? 
 
 Aiken. Stay, you will hear more of her witchery. 
 
 Maud. The swilland dropsy enter in 
 
 The lazy cuke, and swell his skin ; 
 And the old mortmal on his shin 
 Now prick, and itch, withouten blin. 
 
 Cla. Speak out, hag, we may hear your devil's mattins. 
 
 Maud. Thej jain we c all St. Anton's fire. 
 The gout, or what w e can des ire, 
 To cramp a cuk€^m-evei^--limb T 
 Before they dine, yet, seize on him. 
 
 Aiken. A foul ill spirit hath possessed her. 
 
 Amie. [starting. - ] O Karol, Karol ! call him back again. 
 
 Lio. Her thoughts do work upon her in her slumber, 
 And may express some part of her disease. 
 
 Rob. Observe, and mark, but trouble not her ease. 
 
 Amie. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Mar. How is it, Amie ? 
 
 Mel. Where.fore start you ? 
 
 Amie. O Karol ! he is fair and sweet. 
 
 Maud. What then ? 
 Are there not flowers as sweet and fair as men? 
 The lily is fair, and rose is sweet. 
 
 Amie. Ay, so ! 
 Let all the roses and the lilies go : 
 Karol is only fair to me. 
 
 Mar-. And why ? 
 
 Amie. Alas, for Karol, Marian, I could die ! 
 Karol, he singeth sweetly too. 
 
 Maud. What then ? 
 Are there not birds sing sweeter far than men ? 
 
 Amie. I grant the linnet, lark, and bull-finch sing, 
 But best the dear good angel of the spring, 
 The nightingale. 
 
 Maud. Then why, then why, alone, 
 Should his notes please you ? 
 
 Amie. I not long agone 
 Took a delight with wanton kids to pl ay, 
 And sport with little lambs a summer's- day, 
 And view their frisks : methought it was a sight 
 Of joy to see my two brave rams to fight ! 
 N owJCarol only aJLdelight _doth move, 
 All that is Karol, Karol I approy e_Tl___ 
 
 ThTs very morning~6ut — I did bestow 
 (It was a little 'gainst my will I know) 
 A single kiss upon the silly swain, 
 And now I wish that very kiss again. 
 His lip is softer, sweeter than the rose, 
 
290 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act ii. 
 
 His mouth and tongue with dropping honey flows ; 
 The relish of it was a pleasing thing. 
 
 Maud. Yet, like the bees, it had a little sting. 
 
 Amie. And sunk and sticks yet in my marrow deep ; 
 And what doth hurt me, I now wish to keep. 
 
 Mar. Alas, how innocent her story is ! 
 
 Amie. I do remember, Marian, I have oft 
 With pleasure kist my lambs and puppies soft ; 
 And once a dainty fine roe-fawn I had, 
 Of whose outskipping bounds I was as glad 
 As of my health ; and him I oft would kiss ; 
 Yet had his no such sting or pain as this : 
 They never pricked or hurt my heart ; and, for 
 They were so blunt and dull, I wish no more. 
 But this, that hurts and pricks, doth please ; this sweet 
 Mingled with sour I wish again to meet : 
 And that delay, methinks, most tedious is, 
 That keeps or hinders me of Karol's kiss. 
 
 Mar. We'll send for him, sweet Amie, to come to you. 
 
 Maud. But I will keep him off, if charms will do it. 
 
 [Exit muttering. 
 
 Cla. Do you mark the murmuring hag, how she doth mutter? 
 
 Rob. I like her not ; and less her manners now. 
 
 Aiken. She is a shrewd, deformed piece, I vow. 
 
 Lio. As crooked as her body. 
 
 Rob. I Relieve 
 She c an tak ^-any shapp, as Sr.af.h1or.lc says. 
 
 AlkeJh^tie may deceive the sense, but really 
 She cannot change herselO 
 
 Rob. Would I could see he r 
 Once more in Marian's form ! for I am certain 
 Nn WjTTwas she abused us ; as j. think 
 My Marian and my love nowinnocent : 
 Which faith I seal unto her with this kiss, 
 And call you all to wi tness of my penna nce^ [Kisses Marian. 
 
 Aiken. It was believed before, but now confirmed, 
 That we have seen the monster. 
 
 Enter Friar Tuck, JOHN, MUCH, and SCARLET. 
 Tuck. Hear you how 
 Poor Tom the cook is taken ! all his joints 
 Do crack, as if his limbs were tied with points 
 His whole frame slackens ; and a kind of rack 
 Runs down along the spondils of his back ; 
 A gout or cramp now seizeth on his head, 
 Then falls into his feet ; his knees are lead ; 
 And he can stir his either hand no more 
 Than a dead stump, to his office, as before. 
 
SCENE ii.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 291 
 
 Aiken. He is bewitc hed. 
 
 Cla. Thisjs _an arg ument 
 B o th o f he r malice and her power, we see . 
 
 Aiken. She must by some device restrained be, 
 Or she'll go far in mischief. 
 
 Rob. Advise how, 
 Sage shepherd ; we shall put it straight in practice. 
 
 Aiken. Send forth your woodmen then into the walks, 
 Or let therri prick her footing hence ; a witch 
 Is sure a creature of melancholy, 
 And will be found or s itting in her fourm, 
 Or else, at relief, like a h are. 
 
 Cla. You speak, 
 Aiken, as if you knew the g p^ r f r>f wjtrh- v,1,r,f, ' r 'fTi 
 Or st arting of a ha g. 
 
 Enter George 
 
 Rob. Go, sirs, about it, 
 Take George, here, with you, he can help to find her ; 
 Leave Tuck and Much behind to dress the dinner, 
 In the cook's stead. 
 
 Much. We '11 care to get that done. 
 
 Rob. Comey- MariaiuJetJs withdraw into the Dower. 
 
 Exeunt all but John, Scarlet, Scathlock, and GEORGE 
 
 John. Rare sport, I swear, this hunting of the witch 
 Will make us. 
 
 Scat. Let 's advise upon 't like huntsmen. 
 
 George. An we can spy her once, she is our own. 
 
 Scaih. First, think which way she fourmeth, on what wind ; 
 Or north, or south. 
 
 GeorgeTYox ?ls the shepherd said, 
 A witch is ajfcin d of ha re. 
 
 Scath. ^And marks the weather, 
 As the hare does. 
 
 John. Where shall we hope to find her ? 
 
 Re-enter Alken. 
 
 Aiken. I have ask'd leave to assist you, jolly huntsmen, 
 If an old shepherd may be heard among you ; 
 Not jeer'd or laugh'd at. 
 
 John. Father, you will see 
 Robin Hood's household know more courtesy. 
 
 Scath. Who scorns at eld, peels off his own young hairs. 
 
 Alken. Ye say right well : kn ow ve the witch's d ell ? 
 
 Scath. No more than I do know the walks of hell. 
 
292 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act II. 
 
 Aiken. Within a gloomy dimble she doth dwell, 
 Down in a pit, o'ergrown with brakes and briars, 
 Close by the ruins of a shaken abbey, 
 Torn with an earthquake down unto the ground, 
 ' M ongat gra ves.ajid^cojL§^ne^r_anj3l±£liaxiiel-house > 
 Where_you shall find her sitting in herfourm, 
 Asijgarful and melancholic as that 
 She is about ; with caterpillar's kells, 
 AnrTknotTy-eob-webs, rounded in with spells. 
 Thence she steals forth to relief in the fogs, 
 And rotten mists, upon the fens and bogs, 
 Down to the drowned lands of Lincolnshire ; 
 To make ewes cast their lambs, s_yyine eat their farrow, 
 The housewives' tun not work,* nor the milk churn ! 
 Writhe children's wrists, and suck their breath in sleep, 
 Get vi afe of'their blood ! and where the sea 
 Casts up his slimy ooze, search for a weed 
 To open locks with, and to^i yet cha rms, 
 Planted about her in the wicked teaF 
 Of all her mischiefs, wh ich are manifold. 
 
 John. 1 wonder such a story could be told 
 Of her dire deeds. 
 
 George. I thought a witch's banks 
 Had inclosed nothing but the merry pranks 
 Of some old woman. 
 
 Scar. Yes, her malice more. 
 
 Scath. As it would quickly appear had we the store 
 Of his collects. 
 
 George. Ay, this gud learned man 
 Can speak her right. 
 
 Scar. He knows her shifts and haunts. 
 
 Aiken. And all her wiles and turns. The venom'd plants 
 Wherewith she kills ! where the sad mandrake grows, 
 Whose groans are dreadful ; the dead-numbing night-shade, 
 The stupifying hemlock, adder's tongue, 
 And martagan : the shrieks of luckless owls 
 We hear, and croaking night-crows in the air ! 
 Green-bellied snakes, blue fire-drakes in the sky, 
 And giddy flitter-mice, with leather wings ! 
 The scaly beetles, with their habergeons, 
 That make a humming murmur as they fly ! 
 T here in the _ stocks of trees, white faies do cL w^ll 
 Anolspan-l ong elves that dance about a p^^ — \ 
 With each a little changeling in their arms ! 
 The airy spirits play with falling stars, 
 And mount the sphere of fire to kiss the moon ! 
 While she sits reading by the glow-worm's light, 
 Or rotten wood, o'er which the worm hath crept, 
 
scene I.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 293 
 
 The baneful schedule of her nocent charms, 
 And binding characters, through which she wounds 
 Her puppets, the sigilla of her witchcraft. 
 All this I know, and I will find her for you ; 
 And show you her sitting in her fourm ; I '11 lay 
 My hand upon her, make her throw her skut 
 Along her back, when she doth start before us. 
 But you must give her law : and you shall see her 
 Make twenty leaps and doubles ; cross the paths, 
 And then squat down beside us. 
 
 yohn. Crafty croan ! 
 I long to be at the sport, and to report it. 
 
 Scar. We '11 make this hunting of the witch as famous 
 As any other blast of venery. 
 
 Scath. Hang her, foul hag ! she '11 be a stinking chase. 
 I had rather ha' the hunting of her heir. 
 
 George. If we should come to see her cry, " So ho ! " once. 
 
 Aiken. That I do promise, or I am no good hag-finder. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene \.— The Forest. 
 
 Enter Puck- Hairy 
 
 Puck. The fiend hath much to do, that keeps a school, 
 Or is the father of a family ; 
 Or governs but a country academy : 
 His labours must be great, as are his cares, 
 To watch all turnSj and cast how to prevent them. 
 This dame of mine here, Maud, grows high in evil, 
 AndjFhinks she does all, wken 't is I^.her de.v-iV- 
 That _both delude h er, and must yet prot ect he r. 
 She's confident in misch ie~f7^ncrpresumes 
 The changing ol her shape_\yiUjaUJl^e£.ure her ; 
 But that may fall, "and divers hazards meet 
 Of other consequence, which I must look to, 
 Not let her be surprised on the first catch. 
 I must go dance about the forest now, 
 And firk it like a goblin, till I find her. 
 Then will my service come worth acceptation, 
 When not expected of her ; when the help 
 Meets the necessity, and both do kiss, 
 'Tis call'd the timing of a duty, this. {Exit. 
 
294 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act hi. 
 
 Scene II. — Another Part of the same. 
 
 Enter Karol., and Douce in the dress of Earine. 
 
 Kar. Sure, you are very like her ! I conceived 
 You had been she, seeing you ran afore me : 
 For such a suit she made her 'gainst this feast, 
 In all resemblance, or the very same ; 
 I saw her in it ; had she lived to enjoy it, 
 She had been there an acceptable guest 
 To Marian, and the gentle Robin Hood, 
 Who are the crown and gh.\rland of the wood. 
 
 Douce. I cannot tell, my mother gave it me, 
 And bade me wear it. 
 
 Kar. Who, the wise good woman, 
 Old Maud of Paplewick ? 
 
 Enter ^GLAMOUR. 
 
 Douce. Yes ; — this sullen man 
 I cannot like him. I must take my leave. {Exit. 
 
 s£g. What said she to you ? 
 
 Kar. Who ? 
 
 A?g. Earine. 
 I saw her talking with you, or her ghost ; 
 For she indeed is drowned in old Trent's bottom 
 Did she_iiDJLteirw ho would have pulled her in, 
 And4ta^^er^maide.nheac L upon tire pla ce, 
 The riyer^s brim, the margin ~of "the rlooji ,? 
 No^roundls Holy enough (you know my meaning), 
 Lust is committed in king's palaces, 
 
 And yet their majesties not violated ! [Exif, 
 
 No words ! r — -—_,.. 
 
 Kar. How s&d and wil&>his thoughts are ! — gone? 
 
 Re-enter ^Eglamour. 
 
 s£g. But she, as chaste as was her name, Earine, 
 D ie d undeflowered : a n d now he nsweef souThovers 
 Here in the air above us, and doth haste 
 To get up to the moon and Mercury ; 
 Ana whisper Venus in her orb ; then spring 
 Up to old Saturn, and come down by Mars, 
 Consulting Jupiter, and seat herself 
 Just in the midst with Phcebus, tempering all 
 The jarring spheres, and giving to the world 
 Again his first and tuneful planetting. 
 Oh what an age will here be of new concords ! 
 
scene ii.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 295 
 
 Delightful harmony [ to rock old_sages, 
 Twice in fant s, in the cradle of speculation, 
 And throw a silence upon all the creatures ! [Exit. 
 
 KarT'K !" cogitation of the highest rapture ' 
 
 Re-enter ^Eglamour. 
 
 JEg. The loudest seas and most enraged winds 
 Shall lose their clangor ; temftesLsh all grow hoarse, 
 Loud^hunder dumb, and every speec e"ot storm 
 Laid in the lap" of listening Nature, hushed 
 To hear the changed chime of this eighth sphere. 
 Take tent, and hearken for it, lose it not. {Exit 
 
 Enter Clarion and Lionel. 
 
 Cla. Oh, here is Karol! Wa s not that the Sad 
 
 Shepherd slipped from him ? 
 
 Lio. Yes, I guess it was. 
 Who was that left you, Karol ? 
 
 Kar. The lost man ; 
 Whom we shall never see himself again, 
 Or ours, I fear ; he S tarts away from hand so, 
 An d, all the touches or soft strokes o treason 
 Yo uTcan ap pjlvlno colt is so unbrok en, 
 Or hawk yet nali so haggard or unmanned ! 
 He takes all toys that his wTlaTphant'sie proffers, 
 And flies away with them : he now conceives 
 That my lost sister, his Earirre, 
 Is lately turned a sphere a mid thej evenj. 
 And reads a music-lecture to the planets ! 
 And with this thought he 's run topsail 'erffiiearers. 
 
 Cla. Alas, this is a strained ISut innocent phant'sie ! 
 I '11 follow him, and find him if I can : 
 Meantime, go you with Lionel, sweet Karol ; 
 He will acquaint you with an accident, 
 Which much desires your presence on the place. [Exit 
 
 Kar. What is it, Lionel, wherein I may serve you ? 
 Why do you so survey and circumscribe me, 
 As if you struck one eye into my breast, 
 And with the other took my whole dimensions ? 
 
 Lio. I wish you had a window in your bosom, 
 Or in your back, I might look thorough you, 
 And see your in-parts, Karol, liver, heart ; 
 For there the seat of Love is : whence the boy, 
 The winged archer, hath shot home a shaft 
 Into my sister's breast, t h , e innoce nt Amie. 
 Who now cries out, upon her bed, on Karol. 
 
296 THE SAD SHEPHERD. [act hi. 
 
 Sweet-singing Karol, the delicious Karol, 
 
 That kissed her like a Cupid ! In your eyes, 
 
 She says, his stand is, and between your lips 
 
 He runs forth his divisions to her ears, 
 
 But will not 'bide there, 'less yourself do bring him. 
 
 Go with me, Karol, and bestow a visit 
 
 In charity upon the afflicted maid, 
 
 Who pineth with the languor of your love. 
 
 [As they are going out, enter MAUDLIN {in the shape of 
 Marian) and Douce. 
 
 Maud. Whither intend you ? Amie is recovered, 
 Feels no such grief as she complained of lately. 
 This maiden hath been with her from her mother 
 Maudlin, the cunning woman, who hath sent her 
 Herbs for her head, and simples of that nature, 
 Have wrought" upon Tier a miraculous cure ; 
 Settled her brain to all our wish and wonder. 
 
 Lio. So instantly ! you know I now but left her, 
 Possess'd with such a fit almost to a phrensie : 
 Yourself too feared her, Marian, and did urge 
 My haste to seek out Karol, and to bring him. 
 
 Maud. I did so : but the skill o f that wise woman, 
 
 Andjiergreat charity 01 doing good;— 
 
 Hath by the ready hand of thts-deft lass, 
 
 Her daughter, wrought effects beyonoTrJelief, 
 
 And to astonishment ; we can but thank, 
 
 And praise, and be amazed, while we tell it. [Exit with DOUCE. 
 
 Lio. 'Tis strange, that any art should so help nature 
 In her extremes. 
 
 Kar. Then it appears most real, 
 When the other is deficient. 
 
 Enter Robin Hood. 
 
 Rob. Wherefore stay you 
 Discoursing here, and haste not with your succours 
 To poor afflicted Amie, that so needs them ? 
 
 Lio. She is recovered well, your Marian told us 
 But now here : 
 
 Re-etiter Maudlin as before. 
 
 See, she is returned to affirm it 
 Rob. My Marian ! 
 
 Maud. Robin Hood ! is he here ? [Attempts to run out. 
 
 Rob. Stay; 
 What was 't you told my friend ? 
 
 [He seizes Maud, by the girdle, and runs out with her, but 
 returns immediately with the broken girdle i?i his hand, 
 followed^at a distance by the witch, in her own shape. 
 
scene ii.] THE SAD SHEPHERD. 297 
 
 Maud. Help, murder, help ! 
 You will not rob me, outlaw ? t hief, rest ore 
 My belt that ye have broken ! 
 
 Rod. Ycs ^come near ! 
 
 Maud. Not in your gripe. 
 
 Rob. Was this the c harmed circl e, 
 The copy thai so c^zenepHmcT deceived us ? 
 I '11 cany hence the trophy of your spoils : 
 My me n shall hunt you too upon the start, 
 And course you soundly. 
 
 AfaudTT'sha.ll malce^tBem sport, 
 And send some home without their legs or arms. 
 I '11 teac h them to climb stiles, leap ditc hes^rjonds, 
 And lie in the waters, it they~ioHow ine. 
 
 Rob. O ut ,~m u ~f m u r frig h ag. [Exeunt all but MAUD. 
 
 Maud. I must use all my powers, 
 Lay all my wits to piecing of this loss. 
 Things run unluckily : where 's my Puck-Hairy? 
 Hath he forsook me ? 
 
 Enter Puck-Hairy. 
 
 Puck. At your beck, madam. 
 
 Maud. O Puck, my goblin ! I have lost my b elt, 
 The strong thief, Robin Outlaw,Tdfced it from me. 
 
 Puck. They are other clouds and blacker threat you, dame ; 
 You must be wary, and pull in your sails, 
 And yield unto the weather of the tempest. 
 You think your power's infinite as your malice, 
 And would do all your anger prompts you to ; 
 But you must wait occasions, and obey them : 
 Sail i njtn egg-shel l, make a straw _your_mast, 
 A c obweb all >iour_doth. a'hlEfiasis^ahseehr 
 Till v qu have 'scaped the ro cks thnt are about von. 
 
 Maud. What rocH nbnut m-e-? 
 
 Puck. I do lo ve, madam, 
 To sho_w you all your dangers^- when you 're past them ! 
 Come, follow me, 1' 11 once more be your pilot, 
 And you shall thank me. [Exit. 
 
 Maud. Lucky, my loved goblin ! 
 
 \_A s she is going out, LOREL meets her. 
 Where are you going now ? 
 
 Lor. Unto my tree, 
 To see my mistress. 
 
 Maud. Gang thy gait, and try 
 Thy turns with better luck, or hang thysci' .— 
 
POEMS 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Song to Celia 301 
 
 The Triumph of Charis 3 01 
 
 In the Person of Womankind 302 
 
 iMy Picture, Left in Scotland 303 
 
 /.To the Memory of my Beloved Master, William Shake- 
 speare 3°3 
 
 Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke .... 305 
 
 An Elegy 3°5 
 
 A Pindaric Ode 3° 6 
 
 An Epitaph on Salathiel Pavy 310 
 
 Epitaph on Elizabeth, L.H 310 
 
 Song 3 11 
 
 .-- Ode to Sir William Sidney on his Birthday . 311 
 Ben Jonson's Ode to Himself upon the Censure of his 
 
 " New Inn " 3*3 
 
 On Something, that Walks Somewhere .... 314 
 
 To William Camden 3 r 4 
 
 On My First Daughter 315 
 
 On My First Son 3 X 5 
 
 To Thomas Lord Chancellor Egerton 316 
 
 Of Life and Death 316 
 
 Inviting a Friend to Supper 3 16 
 
 A Hymn to God the Father 317 
 
 Leges Conviviales .•«•••«•• 3*8 
 
Poems. 
 
 SONG TO CELIA. 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
 
 And I'll not look for wine. 
 The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine : 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee 
 As giving it a hope, that there 
 
 It could not wither'd be. 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe, 
 
 And sent'st it back to me : 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself, but thee. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS. 
 
 See the chariot at hand here of Love, 
 
 Wherein my Lady rideth ! 
 Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 
 
 And well the car Love guideth. 
 As she goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her beauty ; 
 And enamour'd, do wish, so they might 
 
 But enjoy such a sight, 
 That they still were to run by her side, 
 Through swords, through seas, whither she would vide. 
 
302 POEMS. 
 
 Do but look on her eyes, they do light 
 
 All that Love's world compriseth ! 
 Do but look on her hair, it is bright' 
 
 As Love's star when it riseth ! 
 Do but mark, her forehead's smoother 
 
 Than words that soothe her : 
 And from her arched brows, such a grace 
 
 Sheds itself through the face, 
 As alone there triumphs to the life 
 All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 
 Before rude hands have touched it ? 
 
 Have you marked but the fall of the snow 
 Before the soil hath smutched it ? 
 
 Have you felt the wool of the beaver ? 
 
 Or swan's down ever ? 
 
 Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar ? 
 
 Or the nard in the fire ? 
 
 Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
 
 Oh so white ! Oh so soft ! Oh so sweet is she ! 
 
 IN THE PERSON OF WOMANKIND. 
 
 A SONG APOLOGETIC. 
 
 Men, if you love us, play no more 
 
 The fools or tyrants with your friends, 
 To make us still sing o'er and o'er 
 Our own false praises, for your ends : 
 We have both wits and fancies too, 
 And if we must, let's sing of you. 
 
 Nor do we doubt, but that we can, 
 
 If we would search with care and pain, 
 Find some one good, in some one man ; 
 So going thorough all your strain, 
 We shall at last, of parcels make 
 One good enough for a song's sake. 
 
 And as a cunning painter takes 
 In any curious piece you see, 
 More pleasure while the thing he makes, 
 Than when 'tis made ; why, so will we. 
 And having pleased our art, we'll try 
 To make a new, and hang that by. 
 
POEMS. 303 
 
 MY PICTURE, LEFT IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 I NOW think, Love is rather deaf than blind, 
 For else it could not be, 
 
 That she, 
 Whom I adore so much, should so slight me, 
 And cast my suit behind : 
 I'm sure my language to her was as sweet, 
 And every close did meet 
 In sentence of as subtle feet, 
 As hath the youngest he/ / / 
 
 That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree. 
 Oh ! but my conscious fears, 
 
 That fly my thoughts between, 
 Tell me that she hath seen 
 My hundreds of gray hairs, 
 Told seven and forty years, 
 Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace 
 My mountain belly, and my rocky face, 
 And all these, through her eyes, have stopt her ears. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, 
 Am I thus ample to thy book and fame ; 
 While I confess thy writings to be such, 
 As neither man, nor Muse, can praise too much. 
 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways 
 Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise ; 
 For silliest ignorance on these may light, 
 Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; 
 Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 
 The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; 
 Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 
 And think to ruin, where it seemed to raise. 
 These are, as some infamous bawd or whore, 
 Should praise a matron ; what could hurt her more ? 
 But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, 
 Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. 
 I therefore will begin : Soul of the age ! 
 The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage ! 
 My Shakespeare rise ! I will not lodge thee by 
 Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 
 
304 POEMS. 
 
 A little further oft", to make thee room : 
 
 Thou art a monument without a tomb, 
 
 And art alive still, while thy book" doth live, 
 
 And we have wits to read and praise to give. 
 
 That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, 
 
 I mean with great, but disproportioned Muses : 
 
 For if I thought my judgment were of years, 
 
 I should commit thee surely with thy peers, 
 
 And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine, 
 
 Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow's mighty line. 
 
 And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, 
 
 From thence to honour thee, I will not seek 
 
 For names : but call forth thundering yEschylus, 
 
 Euripides, and Sophocles to us. 
 
 Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead, 
 
 To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, 
 
 And shake a stage : or when thy socks were on, 
 
 Leave thee alone for the comparison 
 
 Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome 
 
 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
 
 Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, 
 
 To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 
 
 He was not of an age, but for all time ! 
 
 And all the Muses still weie in their prime, 
 
 When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 
 
 Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! 
 
 Nature herself was proud of his designs, 
 
 And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! 
 
 Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 
 
 As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. 
 
 The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 
 
 Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; 
 
 But antiquated and deserted lie, 
 
 As they were not of nature's family. 
 
 Yet must I not give nature all ; thy art, 
 
 My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. 
 
 For though the poet's matter nature be, 
 
 His art doth give the fashion : and, that he 
 
 Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, 
 
 (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 
 
 Upon the Muses' anvil ; turn the same, 
 
 And himself with it, that he thinks to fame ; 
 
 Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn ; 
 
 For a good poet 's made, as well as born. 
 
 And such wert thou ! Look how the father's face 
 
 Lives in his issue, even so the race 
 
 Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines 
 
 In his well turned, and true file'd lines : 
 
POEMS. 305 
 
 In each of which he seems to shake a lance, 
 
 As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. 
 
 Sweet Swan of Avon ! what a sight it were 
 
 To see thee in our water yet appear, 
 
 And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 
 
 That so did take Eliza, and our James ! 
 
 But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 
 
 Advanced, and made a constellation there ! 
 
 Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and with rage, 
 
 Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, 
 
 Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like 
 
 night, 
 And despairs day, but for thy volume's light. 
 
 EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. 
 
 Underneath this sable herse 
 Lies the subject of all verse, 
 Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother ; 
 Death ! ere thou hast slain another, 
 Learned and fair, and good as she, 
 Time shall throw a dart at thee. 
 
 AN ELEGY. 
 
 THOUGH beauty be the mark of praise, 
 And yours of whom I sing, be such, 
 As not the world can praise too much, 
 
 Yet 'tis your virtue now I raise. 
 
 A virtue, like allay, so gone 
 
 Throughout your form ; as though that move, 
 And draw, and conquer all men's love, 
 
 This subjects you to love of one, 
 
 Wherein you triumph yet ; because 
 'Tis of yourself, and that you use 
 The noblest freedom, not to choose 
 
 Against or faith, or honour's laws. 
 
 But who could less expect from you, 
 
 In whom alone Love lives agen ? 
 
 By whom he is restored to men ; 
 And kept, and bred, and brought up true ? 
 
306 POEMS. 
 
 His falling temples you have reared. 
 The withered garlands ta'en away ; 
 His altars kept from the decay 
 
 That envy wished and nature feared : 
 
 And on them burn so chaste a flame, 
 With so much loyalty's expense, 
 As Love t' acquit such excellence, 
 
 Is gone himself into your name. 
 
 And you are he ; the deity 
 
 To whom all lovers are designed, 
 That would their better objects find ; 
 
 Among which faithful troop am I. 
 
 Who, as an offering at your shrine, 
 
 Have sung this hymn, and here entreat 
 One spark of your diviner heat 
 
 To light upon a love of mine. 
 
 Which, if it kindle not, but scant 
 Appear, and that to shortest view, 
 Yet give me leave t 5 adore in you 
 
 What I, in her, am grieved to want. 
 
 A PINDARIC ODE 
 
 To the immortal memory a?id friendship of that noble pair, 
 Sir Lucius Cary and Sir If. M orison. 
 
 THE STROPHE, OR TURN. 
 
 Brave infant of Saguntum, clear 
 Thy coming forth in that great year, 
 When the prodigious Hannibal did crown 
 His rage, with razing your immortal town. 
 Thou looking then about, 
 Ere thou wert half got out, 
 Wise child, didst hastily return, 
 And mad'st thy mother's womb thine urn. 
 How summ'd a circle didst thou leave mankind 
 Of deepest lore, could we the centre find ! 
 
 THE ANTISTROPHE, OR COUNTER-TURN. 
 
 Did wiser nature draw thee back, 
 
 From out the horror of that sack ; 
 Where shame, faith, honour, and regard of right, 
 Lay trampled on ? the deeds of death and night 
 
POEMS. 307 
 
 Urged, hurried forth, and hurl'd 
 Upon the affrighted world ; 
 Fire, famine, and fell fury met, 
 And all on utmost ruin set : 
 As, could they but life's miseries foresee, 
 No doubt all infants would return like thee. 
 
 THE EPODE, OR STAND. 
 
 For what is life, if measured by the space, 
 
 Not by the act ? 
 Or masked man, if valued by his face, 
 Above his fact ? 
 Here 's one outlived his peers, 
 And told forth fourscore years : 
 He vex^d time, and busied the whole state 
 Troubled both foes and friends ; 
 But ever to no ends : 
 What did this stirrer but die late ? 
 How well at twenty had he fallen or stood ! 
 For three of his fourscore he did no good. 
 
 THE STROPHE, OR TURN. 
 
 He entered well by virtuous parts, 
 
 Got up, and thrived with honest arts, 
 He purchased friends, and fame, and honours then 
 And had his noble name advanced with men : 
 But weary of that flight, 
 He stooped in all men's sight 
 
 To sordid flatteries, acts of strife, 
 
 And sunk in that dead sea of life, 
 So deep, as he did then death's waters sup, 
 But that the cork of title buoyed him up. 
 
 THE ANTISTROPHE, OR COUNTER-TURN 
 
 Alas ! but MORISON fell young : 
 
 He never fell, — thou fall'st, my tongue. 
 
 He stood a soldier to the last right end, 
 
 A perfect patriot and a noble friend ; 
 But most, a virtuous son. 
 All offices were done 
 By him, so ample, full, and round, 
 In weight, in measure, number, sound, 
 
 As, though his age imperfect might appear, 
 
 His life was of humanity the sphere. 
 
308 POEMS. 
 
 THE EPODE, OR STAND. 
 
 Go now, and tell our days summed up with fears. 
 
 And make them years ; 
 Produce thy mass of miseries on the stage, 
 To swell thine age : 
 Repeat of things a throng, 
 To show thou hast been long, 
 Not lived ; for life doth her great actions spell, 
 By what was done and wrought 
 In season, and so brought 
 To light : her measures are, how well 
 Each syllabe answered, and was formed, how fair 
 These make the lines of life, and that 's her air ! 
 
 in. 
 
 THE STROPHE, OR TURN. 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make men better be ; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear : 
 A lily of a day, 
 Is fairer far, in May, 
 Although it fall and die that night ; 
 It was the plant and flower of light. 
 In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
 And in short measures, life may perfect be. 
 
 THE ANTISTROPHE, OR COUNTER-TURN. 
 
 Call, noble LUCIUS, then, for wine, 
 
 And let thy locks with gladness shine : 
 Accept this Garland, plant it on thy head, 
 And think, nay know, thy Morison 's not dead. 
 He leaped the present age, 
 Possest with holy rage, 
 
 To see that bright eternal day ; 
 
 Of which we priests and poets say 
 Such truths, as we expect for happy men : 
 And there, he lives with memory, and Ben. 
 
 THE EPODE, OR STAND. 
 
 JONSON, who sung this of him, ere he went, 
 
 Himself, to rest, 
 Or taste a part of that full joy he meant 
 
 To have exprest. 
 
POEMS. 309 
 
 In this bright asterism ! — 
 Where it were friendship's schism, 
 Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry, 
 To separate these twi- 
 Lights, the Dioscuri ; 
 And keep the one half from his Harry. 
 But fate doth so alternate the design, 
 Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must shine, - 
 
 IV. 
 THE STROPHE, OK TURN. 
 
 And shine as you exalted are ; 
 
 Two names of friendship, but one star : 
 Of hearts the union, and those not by chance 
 Made, or indenture, or leased out t' advance 
 The profits for a time. 
 No pleasures vain did chime, 
 
 Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts, 
 
 Orgies of drink, or feigned protests : 
 But simple love of greatness and of good : 
 That knits brave minds and manners more than blood. 
 
 THE ANTISTROPHE, OR COUNTER-TURN. 
 
 This made you first to know the why 
 
 You liked, then after, to apply 
 That liking ; and approach so one the t' other, 
 Till either grew a portion of the other ; 
 Each styled by his end, 
 The copy of his friend. 
 
 You lived to be the great sir-names, 
 
 And titles, by which all made claims 
 Unto the Virtue : nothing perfect done, 
 But as a Cary or a Morison. 
 
 THE EPODE, OR STAND. 
 
 And such a force the fair example had, 
 
 As they that saw 
 The good, and durst not practise it, were glad 
 That such a law 
 Was left yet to mankind ; 
 Where they might lead and find 
 Friendship, indeed, was written not in words : 
 And with the heart, not pen, 
 Of two so early men 
 Whose lines her rolls were, and records : 
 Who, ere the first down bloomed on the chin, 
 Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in. 
 
3io POEMS'. 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY. 
 
 Weep with me, all you that read 
 
 This little story : 
 And know, for whom a tear you shed 
 
 Death's self is sorry. 
 'Twas a child that so did thrive 
 
 In grace and feature, 
 As heaven and nature seem 'd to strive 
 
 Which owned the creature. 
 Years he numbered scarce thirteen 
 
 When fates turned cruel, 
 Yet three filled zodiacs had he been 
 
 The stage's jewel ; 
 And did act, what now we moan, 
 
 Old men so duly, 
 As, sooth, the Parcae thought him one, 
 
 He played so truly. 
 So, by error to his fate, 
 
 They all consented ; 
 But viewing him since, alas, too late ! 
 
 They have repented ; 
 And have sought, to give new birth, 
 
 In baths to steep him ; 
 But being so much too good for earth, 
 
 Heaven vows to keep him. 
 
 EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. H. 
 
 Would'st thou hear what man can say- 
 In a little ? reader, stay. 
 
 Underneath this stone doth lie 
 As much beauty as could die : 
 Which in life did harbour give 
 To more virtue than doth live. 
 
 If at all she had a fault, 
 Leave it buried in this vault. 
 One name was Elizabeth, 
 The other let it sleep with death : 
 Fitter, where it died, to tell, 
 Than that it lived at all. Farew&l ! 
 
POEMS. 311 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THAT WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS. \/ 
 
 Follow a shadow, it still flies you, 
 
 Seem to fly it, it will pursue : 
 So court a mistress, she denies you ; 
 
 Let her alone, she will court you. 
 Jay are not women truly, then, 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 At morn and even shades are longest ; 
 
 At noon they are or short or none : 
 So men at weakest, they are strongest, 
 
 But grant us perfect, they 're not known. 
 Say are not women truly, then, 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 ODE TO SIR WILLIAM SIDNEY ON HIS ^ 
 BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Now that the hearth is crowned with smiling fire, 
 And some do drink, and some do dance, 
 Some ring, 
 Some sing, 
 And all do strive to advance 
 The gladness higher ; 
 
 Wherefore should I 
 Stand silent by, 
 Who not the least, 
 Both love the cause, and authors of the feast ? 
 
 Give me my cup, but from the Thespian well, 
 That I may tell to Sidney what 
 This day 
 Doth say, 
 And ne may think on that 
 Which I do tell ; 
 
 When all the noise 
 Of these forced joys, 
 Are fled and gone, 
 And he with his best Genius left alone. 
 
312 POEMS. 
 
 This day says, then, the number of glad years 
 Are justly summed, that make you man ; 
 Your vow 
 Must now 
 Strive all right ways it can, 
 T' outstrip your peers : 
 
 Since he doth lack 
 Of going back 
 Little, whose will 
 Doth urge him to run wrong, or to stand still. 
 
 Nor can a little of the common store 
 Of nobles' virtue, show in you ; 
 Your blood 
 So good 
 And great, must seek for new, 
 And study more : 
 
 Nor weary, rest 
 On what ; s deceas't. 
 For they, that swell 
 With dust of ancestors, in graves but dwell. 
 
 'Twill be exacted of your name, whose son, 
 Whose nephew, whose grandchild you are ; 
 And men 
 Will then 
 Say you have followed far, 
 When well begun : 
 
 Which must be now, 
 They teach you how, 
 And he that stays 
 To live until to-morrow, hath lost two days. 
 
 So may you live in honour, as in name, 
 If with this truth you be inspired ; 
 So may 
 This day 
 Be more and long desired ; 
 And with the flame 
 
 Of love be bright, 
 As with the light 
 Of bonfires ! then 
 The birth-day shines, when logs not burn, but men. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 3*3 
 
 BEN JONSON'S ODE TO HIMSELF UPON THE 
 CENSURE OF HIS "NEW INN." 
 
 J ANU ARY, l6^Q. 
 
 Come, leave the loathed stage, 
 
 And the moreToathsome age ; 
 Where pride and impudence, in faction knit, 
 
 Usurp the chair of wit ! 
 Indicting and arraigning every day- 
 Something they call a play. 
 
 Let their fastidious, vain 
 
 Commission of the brain 
 Run on and rage, sweat, censure and condemn ; 
 They were not made for thee, less thou for them. 
 
 Say that thou pour'st them wheat, 
 
 And they will acorns eat ; 
 'Twere simple fury still thyself to waste 
 
 On such as have no taste ! 
 To offer them a surfeit of pure bread, 
 Whose appetites are dead ! 
 
 No, give them grains their fill, 
 
 Husks, draff to drink and swill : 
 If they love lees, and leave the lusty wine, 
 Envy them not, their palate 's with the swine. 
 
 N o doubt som e_mouldy tale, 
 
 L ike Feric les~and stale 
 
 As the shrieve's crusts, and nasty as his fish — 
 
 Scraps, out of every dish 
 Thrown forth, and raked into the common tub, 
 M ay keep up the Play-club :_ 
 
 There, sweepings do as well 
 
 As the best-ordered meal ; 
 For who_the_..reli-Sh of these guests will fit, 
 Needs set them but the alms-basket of wit. 
 
 And much good do*t to you then : 
 Brave plush and velvet-men, 
 Can feed on orts ; and, safe in your stage-clothes, 
 
 Dare quit, upon your oaths, 
 The stagers and the stage-wrights too, your peers, 
 Of larding your large ears 
 
314 POEMS. 
 
 With their foul comic socks, 
 
 Wrought upon twenty blocks ; 
 Which if they are torn, and turned, and patched enough, 
 The gamesters share your gilt, and you their stuff. 
 
 Leave things so prostitute, 
 
 And take the Alcaic lute, 
 Or thine own Horace, or Anacreon's lyre ; 
 
 Warm thee by Pindar's fire : 
 And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold 
 Ere years have made thee old, 
 
 Strike that disdainful heat 
 
 Throughout, to their defeat, 
 As curious fools, and envious of thy strain, 
 M ay, blushing, swear no pa lsy 's in thy brain . 
 
 But when they hear thee sing 
 
 The glories of thy king, 
 His zeal to God, and his just awe o'er men, 
 
 They may. blood-shaken then, 
 
 Feel such a flesh-quake to possess their powers 
 
 As they shall cry, " Like ours, 
 
 In sound of peace or wars, 
 
 No harp e'er hit the stars, 
 In tuning forth the acts of his sweet reign ; 
 And raising Charles his chariot "bove his wain." 
 
 ON SOMETHING, THAT WALKS SOMEWHERE. 
 
 At Court I met it, in clothes brave enough, 
 
 To be a courtier ; and looks grave enough, 
 
 To seem a statesman : as I near it came, 
 
 It made me a great face ; I asked the name 
 
 A Lord, it cried, buried in flesh and blood, 
 
 And such from whom let no man hope least good, 
 
 For I will do none ; and as little ill, 
 
 For I will dare none : Good Lord, walk dead still. 
 
 TO WILLIAM CAMDEN. 
 
 Camden ! most reverend head, to whom I owe 
 All that I am in arts, all that I know ; 
 (How nothing's that?) to whom my country owes 
 The great renown, and name wherewith she goes ! 
 
POEMS. 315 
 
 Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave, 
 More high, more holy, that she more would crave. 
 What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things ! 
 What sight in searching the most antique springs ! 
 What weight, and what authority in thy speech ! 
 Men scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst teach. 
 Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty, 
 Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee. 
 Many of thine, this better could, than I ; 
 But for their powers, accept my piety. 
 
 ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER. 
 
 Here lies, to each her parents ruth, 
 
 Mary, the daughter of their youth ; 
 
 Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due, 
 
 It makes the father less to rue. 
 
 At six months end she parted hence 
 
 With safety of her innocence ; 
 
 Whose soul heaven's Queen, whose name she bears, 
 
 In comfort of her mother's tears, 
 
 Hath placed amongst her virgin-train : 
 
 Where while that, severed, doth remain, 
 
 This grave partakes the fleshly birth ; 
 
 Which cover lightly, gentle earth ! 
 
 ON MY FIRST SON. 
 
 Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy ; 
 
 My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy : 
 
 Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, 
 
 Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. 
 
 Oh, could I lose all father, now ! for why, 
 
 Will man lament the state he should envy ? 
 
 To have so soon 'scaped world's, and flesh's rage, 
 
 And, if no other misery, yet age ! 
 
 Rest in soft peace, and ask'd, say here doth lie 
 
 Ben JONSON his best piece of pcetry : 
 
 For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such, 
 
 As what he loves may never like too much. 
 
316 POEMS. 
 
 TO THOMAS LORD CHANCELLOR EGERTON. 
 
 Whilst thy weighed judgments, Egerton, I hear, 
 
 And know thee then a judge, not of one year ; 
 
 Whilst I behold thee live with purest hands ; 
 
 That no affection in thy voice commands ; 
 
 That still thou 'rt present to the better cause ; 
 
 And no less wise than skilful in the laws ; 
 
 Whilst thou art certain to thy words, once gone, 
 
 As is thy conscience, which is always one : 
 
 The Virgin, long since fled from earth, I see, 
 
 To our times returned, hath made her heaven in thee. 
 
 OF LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 The ports of death are sins ; of life, good deeds ; 
 Through which our merit leads us to our meeds. 
 How wilful blind is he, then, that would stray, 
 And hath it in his powers to make his way ! 
 This world death's region is, the other life's ; 
 And here, it should be one of our first strifes, 
 So to front death, as men might jud r e us past it : 
 For good men but see death, the wicked taste it. 
 
 INVITING A FRIEND TO SUPPER. 
 
 To-NIGHT, grave sir, both my poor house and I 
 
 Do equally desire your company : 
 
 Not that we think us worthy such a guest, 
 
 But that your worth will dignify our feast, 
 
 With those that come ; whose grace may make that seem 
 
 Something, which else would hope for no esteem. 
 
 It is the fair acceptance, sir, creates 
 
 The entertainment perfec^jiotjlie.xates. 
 
 Yet shall you have, to j^ctlfy^our . palate, 
 
 Anjoliye, capers, or some better sallet 
 
 Ushering the mutton : with a short-legged hen, 
 
 If we can get her full of eggs, and then 
 
 Lemons and wine for sauce : to these, a coney 
 
 Is not to be despaired of for our money ; 
 
 And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks, 
 
 The sky not falling, think we may have larks. 
 
POEMS. 317 
 
 I '11 tel l vou of more, an d li e, so y ou will come : 
 
 Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which ST5me 
 
 May yet be there ; and god-wit if we can ; 
 
 Knat, rail, and ruff too. Howsoe'er, my man 
 
 Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus, 
 
 Livy, or of some better book to us, 
 
 Of which we "11 speak our minds, amidst our meat ; 
 
 A nd I'll profess no verses to repeat : 
 
 T p this if aught appear, which I noTkno w of, 
 
 That will the pastry, not my paper, show""of — 
 
 Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be ; 
 
 But Jhat which most doth take my muse and me 
 
 Is aj)ure cup of rich" Caharx wine^ 
 
 Which is the Mermaid's nowTbut shall be mine : 
 
 Of which had Horace or Anacreon tasted, 
 
 Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted. 
 
 Tobacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring, 
 
 Are all but Luther's beer, to this I sing. 
 
 Of this we will sup free, but moderately, 
 
 And we will have no Pooly, or Parrot by ; 
 
 Nor shall our cups make any guilty men : 
 
 But at our parting, we will be, as when 
 
 We innocently met. No simple word, 
 
 That shall be uttered at our mirthful board, 
 
 Shall make us sad next morning ; or affright 
 
 The liberty, that we '11 enjoy to-night. 
 
 A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. 
 
 Hear me, O God ! 
 
 A broken heart 
 
 Is my best part : 
 Use still thy rod, 
 
 That I may prove 
 
 Therein, thy love. 
 
 If thou hadst not 
 
 Been stern to me, 
 
 But left me free, 
 I had forgot 
 
 Myself and thee. 
 
 For, sin's so sweet, 
 
 As minds ill bent 
 
 Rarely repent, 
 Until they meet 
 
 Their punishment. 
 
318 POEMS. 
 
 Who more can crave 
 
 Than thou hast done ? 
 
 That gav'st a Son 
 To free a slave : 
 
 First made of nought ; 
 
 With all since bought. 
 
 Sin, death, and hell 
 His glorious name 
 Quite overcame ; 
 
 Yet I rebel, 
 And slight the same. 
 
 But, I '11 come in, 
 Before my loss, 
 Me farther toss, 
 
 As sure to win 
 Under His cross. 
 
 LEGES CONVIVIALES. 
 
 QUOD FCELIX FAUSTUMQUE CONVIVIS IN APOLLINE SIT. 
 
 i Nemo asymbolus, nisi umbra, huc venito. 
 
 2 IDIOTA, INSULSUS, TRISTIS, TURPIS, ABESTO. 
 
 3 Eruditi, urbani, HILARES, HONESTI, ADSCISCUNTOR. 
 
 4 nec leci7e fcemin.e repudiantor. 
 
 5 In apparatu quod convivis corruget nares nil esto. 
 
 6 EPULjE delectu potius quam sumptu parantor. 
 
 7 OBSONATOR ET COQUUS CONVIVARUM GULiE PERITI SUNTO. 
 
 8 De DISCUBITU NON CONTENDITOR. 
 
 9 MlNISTRI A DAPIBUS, OCULATI ET MUTI. 
 
 A POCULIS, AURITI ET CELERES SUNTO. 
 
 io Vina puris fontibus ministrentor aut vapulet 
 
 HOSPES. 
 1 1 MODERATIS POCULIS PROVOCARE SODALES FAS ESTO 
 
 i2 At fabulis magis quam vino velitatio fiat. 
 
 13 CONVIWE NEC MUTI NEC LOQUACES SUNTO. 
 
 14 DE SERIIS AC SACRIS POTI ET SATURI ne disserunto. 
 
 1 5 Fujicen, nisi ACCERSITUS, NON venito. 
 
 16 Admisso risu, tripudiis, choreis, CANTU, SALIBUS, 
 
 Omni gratiarum festivitate sacra celebrantor. 
 
 17 joci sine felle sunto. 
 
 18 insipida poemata nulla recitantor. 
 
 19 Versus scribere nullus cogitor. 
 
 20 Argumentations totius strepitus abesto. 
 
POEMS. 319 
 
 21 AMATORIIS QUERELIS, AC SUSPIRTIS LIBER ANGULUS ESTO. 
 
 22 LAPITHARUM MORE SCYPHIS PUGNARE, VITREA COL- 
 
 LIDERE, 
 
 Fenestras excutere, supellectilem dilacerare 
 nefas esto. 
 
 23 Qui foras vel dicta, vel facta eliminet, eliminator. 
 
 24 n eminem reum pocula faciujsto. 
 
 Focus perennis esto. 
 
 RULES FOR THE TAVERN ACADEMY; 
 
 From the Latin of Ben Jonson, engraven in Mar ble over 
 
 th e Chimney^ in the Apollo of the 
 
 Old Devil Taver n, at Temple Bar j that being his Club-Room. 
 
 NON VERBUM REDDERE VERBO. 
 
 1 As the fund of our pleasure, let each pay his shot, 
 Except some chance friend, whom a member brings in. 
 
 2 Far hence be the sad, the lewd fop, and the sot : 
 For such have the plagues of good company been. 
 
 11. 
 
 3 Let the learned and witty, the jovial and gay, 
 The generous and honest, compose our free state ; 
 
 4 And the more to exalt our delight whilst we stay, 
 Let none be debarred from his choice female mate. 
 
 111. 
 
 5 Let no scent offensive the chamber infest. 
 
 6 Let fancy, not cost, prepare all our dishes. 
 
 7 Let the caterer mind the taste of each guest ; 
 
 And the cook, in his dressing, comply with their wishes. 
 
 Let's have no disturbance about taking places, 
 To shew your nice breeding, or out of vain pride. 
 Let the drawers be ready with wine and fresh glasses, 
 Let the waiters have eyes, though their tongues must be 
 ty'd. 
 
22o POEMS. 
 
 v. 
 
 10 Let our wines without mixture or stum, be all fine, 
 Or call up the master, and break his dull noddle. 
 
 11 Let no sober bigot here think it a sin, 
 
 To push on the chirping and moderate bottle. 
 
 VI. 
 
 12 Let the contests be rather of books than of wine. 
 
 13 Let the company be neither noisy nor mute. 
 
 14 Let none of things serious, much less of divine, 
 When belly and head's full, profanely dispute. 
 
 VII. 
 
 15 Let no saucy fiddler presume to intrude,' 
 Unless he is sent for to vary our bliss. 
 
 16 With mirth, wit, and dancing, and singing conclude. 
 To regale every sense, with delight in excess. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 17 Let raillery be without malice or heat. 
 
 18 Dull poems to read let none privilege take. 
 
 19 Let no poetaster command or intreat 
 Another extempore verses to make. 
 
 IX. 
 
 20 Let argument bear no unmusical sound, 
 
 Nor jars interpose, sacred friendship to grieve. 
 
 21 For generous lovers let a corner be found, 
 Where they in soft sighs may their passions relieve, 
 
 22 Like the old Lapithites, with the goblets to fight, 
 Our own 'mongst offences unpardoned will rank, 
 Or breaking of windows, or glasses, for spight, 
 And spoiling the goods for a rakehelly prank. 
 
 XI. 
 
 23 Whoever shall publish what's said, or what's done, 
 Be he banished for ever our assembly divine. 
 
 24 Let the freedom we take be perverted by none, 
 To make any guilty by drinking good wine. 
 
 *■ 
 
 EALLANTYNE PRESS! CHANDOS STREET. 
 
"7 * \xr k ior 
 
 RFTURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, 
 or on the date to which renewed. Renewals only: 
 Tel. No. 642-3405 
 may be made 4 days prior to date due. 
 >ks are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 Due end of FALL Quarter 
 
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 Bffi'PlO ^r,l?-'72-^ PNta* 
 
 DEC2 6 1974 g 6 
 
 ££G Q&y NOV 2 5 74 
 
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 iECEiVEDBY 
 
 MAN 678 
 
 IViAR ?«S 1977 
 
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 APR 3 1978 
 
 LD21A-40m-3,'72 
 (Qll73Sl0)476-A-32 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 
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