Every MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. A Comedy. Acted in the year 1598. By the then Lord chamberlain his Servants.  
The Author B. I.  juven. 
Haud tamen invideas vati, quem pulpita pascunt.  
LONDON, Printed by WILLIAM STANSBY.  
MDCXVI   

TO THE MOST LEARNED, AND MY HONOURED FRIEND, Mr. Cambden.  
SIR,  
THere are, no doubt, a supercilious race in the world, who will esteem all office, done you in this kind, an injury; so solemn a vice it is with them to use the authority of their ignorance, to the crying down of Poetry, or the Professors: But, my gratitude must not leave to correct their error; since I am none of those, that can suffer the benefits conferred upon my youth, to perish with my age. It is a frail memory, that remembers but present things: And, had the favour of the times so conspired with my disposition, as it could have brought forth other, or better, you had had the same proportion, & number of the fruits, the first. Now, I pray you, to accept this, such, wherein neither the confession of my manners shall make you blush; nor of my studies, repent you to have been the instructor: And, for the profession of my thankfulness, I am sure, it will, with good men, find either praise, or excuse.  
Your true lover, BEN JONSON.   

The Persons of the Play.  

KNO'WELL, An old Gentleman.  
ED. KNO'WELL, His Son.  
Brainworm, The Father's man.  
Mr. STEPHEN, A country Gull.  
downright, A plain Squire.  
WELL-BRED, His half Brother.  
Just. CLEMENT, An old merry Magistrate.  
ROGER FORMAL, His clerk.  
KITELY, A Merchant.  
DAME KITELY, His Wife.  
Mr. BRIDGET, His Sister.  
Mr. MATTHEW, The town-gull.  
CASH, Kitely's Man.  
COB, A Water-bearer.  
TIB, His Wife.  
CAP. BOBADILL, A Paules-man.   
THE SCENE LONDON.   

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. prologue.  
THough need make many Poets, and some such  
As art, and nature have not bettered much;  
Yet ours, for want, hath not so loved the stage  
As he dare serve th'ill customs of the age:  
Or purchase your delight at such a rate,  
As, for it, he himself must justly hate.  
To make a child, now swaddled, to proceed  
Man, and then shoot up, in one beard, and weed,  
Past threescore years: or, with three rusty swords,  
And help of some few foot-and-half-foot words,  
Fight over York, and lancaster's long jars:  
And in the tiring-house bring wounds, to scars.  
He rather prays, you will be pleased to see  
One such, today as other plays should be;  
Where neither Chorus wafts you o'er the seas;  
Nor creaking throne comes down, the boys to please;  
Nor nimble squib is seen, to make afeared  
The gentlewomen; nor rolled bullet heard  
To say, it thunders; nor tempestuous drum  
Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come;  
But deeds, and language, such as men do use:  
And persons, such as Comedy would choose,  
When she would show an Image of the times,  
And sport with human follies, not with crimes.  
Except, we make 'em such by loving still  
Our popular errors, when we know theyare ill.  
I mean such errors, as you'll all confess  
By laughing at them, they deserve no less:  
Which when you heartily do, there's hope left, then,  
You, that have so graced monsters, may like men.   

Act I.  

Scene I.  KNO'WELL, Brainworm, Mr STEPHEN. 
A Goodly day toward! and a fresh morning! Brainworm,  
Call up your young master: bid him rise, sir.  
Tell him, I have some business to employ him.  BRA. 
I will sir, presently.  KNO. 
But hear you, sirrah,  
If he be at his book, disturb him not.  BRA. 
Well sir.  KNO. 
How happy, yet, should I esteem myself  
Could I (by any practice) wean the boy  
From one vain course of study, he affects.  
He is a scholar, if a man may trust  
The liberal voice of fame, in her report  
Of good account, in both our universities,  
Either of which hath favoured him with graces:  
But their indulgence, must not spring in me  
A fond opinion, that he cannot err.  
myself was once a student; and, indeed,  
Fed with the self-same humour, he is now,  
Dreaming on nought but idle poetry,  
That fruitless, and unprofitable art,  
Good unto none, but least to the professors,  
Which, then, I thought the mistress of all knowledge:  
But since, time, and the truth have waked my judgement,  
And reason taught me better to distinguish,  
The vain, from th'useful learnings. cousin STEPHEN!  
What news with you, that you are here so early?  STE. 
Nothing, but e'en come to see how you do, uncle.  KNO. 
That's kindly done, you are welcome, coz.  STE. 
ay, I know that sir, I would not ha'come else.  
How do my cousin EDWARD, uncle?  KNO. 
O, well coz, go in and see: I doubt he be scarce stirring yet.  STE. 
Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an' he have ere a book of the sciences of hawking, and hunting? I would feign borrow it.  KNO. 
Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?  STEP. 
NO wiss; but I'll practise against next year uncle: I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.  KNO. 
O, most ridiculous.  STEP. 
Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle: why you know, an'a man have not skill in the hawking, and hunting-languages nowadays, I'll not give a rush for him. They are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for no gallants company without 'em. And by god's lid I scorn it, ay, so I do, to be a consort for every hum drum, hang 'em scroyles, there's nothing in 'em, i' the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with none but the archers of finsbury? or the citizens, that come a ducking to Islington ponds? A fine jest i'faith! Slid a gentleman must show himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry, I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no novice.  KNO. 
You are a prodigal absurd coxcomb: Go to.  
Nay never look at me, it's I that speak.  
take't as you will sir, I'll not flatter you.  
Ha' you not yet found means enough, to waste  
That, which your friends have left you, but you must  
Go cast away your money on a kite,  
And know not how to keep it, when you ha'done?  
O it's comely! this will make you a gentleman!  
Well cozen, well! I see you are e'en past hope  
Of all reclaim. ay, so, now you are told on it,  
You look another way.  STEP. 
What would you ha' me do?  KNO. 
What would I have you do? I'll tell you kinsman,  
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive,  
That would I have you do: and not to spend  
Your coin on every babble, that you fancy,  
Or every foolish brain, that humours you.  
I would not have you to invade each place,  
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,  
Till men's affections, or your own desert,  
Should worthily invite you to your rank.  
He, that is so respectless in his courses,  
Oft sells his reputation, at cheap market.  
Nor would I, you should melt away yourself  
In flashing bravery, lest while you affect  
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,  
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,  
And you be left, like an unsavoury snuff,  
Whose property is only to offend.  
I'd ha'you sober, and contain yourself;  
Not, that your sail be bigger than your boat:  
But moderate your expenses now (at first)  
As you may keep the same proportion still.  
Nor, stand so much on your gentility,  
Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing,  
From dead men's dust, and bones: and none of yours  
Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?   

Act. I. Scene II.  SERVANT, Mr. STEPHEN, KNOWELL, Brainworm. 
Save you, gentlemen.  STEP. 
Nay, we do' not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet, you are welcome, and I assure you mine uncle, here, is a man of a thousand a year, Middlesex land: he has but one son in all the world, I am his next heir (at the common law) master STEPHEN, as simple as I stand here, if my cousin die (as there's hope he will) I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside, hard-by here.  SERV. 
In good time, sir.  STEP. 
In good time, sir? why! and in a very good time, sir. You do not stout, friend, do you?  SERV. 
Not I, sir.  STEP. 
Not you sir? you were not best, sir; an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly to: go to. And they can give it again soundly to, and need be.  SERV. 
Why, sir, let this satisfy you: good faith, I had no such intent.  STEP. 
Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently.  SERV. 
Good master STEPHEN, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.  STEP. 
And so I would sir, good my fancy companion! an' you were out o' mine uncles ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand upon my gentility neither in't.  KNO. 
cousin! cousin! will this near be left?  STEP. 
Whoreson base fellow! a mechanical serving-man! By this cudgel, and 't were not for shame, I would—  KNO. 
What would you do, you peremptory gull?  
If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.  
You see, the honest man demeans himself  
Modestly towards you, giving no reply  
To your unseasoned, quarreling, rude fashion:  
And, still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,  
As void of wit, as of humanity.  
Go, get you in; fore heaven, I am ashamed  
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.  SERV. 
I pray you, sir. Is this master KNO'WELL'S house?  KNO. 
Yes, marry, is it sir.  SERV. 
I should inquire for a gentleman, here, one master EDWARD KNO'WELL: do you know any such, sir, I pray you?  KNO. 
I should forget myself else, sir.  SERV. 
Are you the gentleman? cry you mercy sir: I was required by a gentleman i' the city, as I rode out at this end o' the town, to deliver you this letter, sir.  KNO. 
To me, sir! What do you mean? pray you remember your curtsy. (To his most selected friend, master EDWARD KNO'WELL.) What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? nay, pray you be covered.  SERV. 
One master WELL-BRED, sir.  KNO. 
Master WELL-BRED! A young gentleman? is he not?  SERV. 
The same sir, master KITELY married his sister: the rich merchant i' the old jewry.  KNO. 
You say very true. Brainworm,  BRAY. 
Sir.  KNO. 
Make this honest friend drink here: pray you go in.  
This letter is directed to my son:  
Yet, I am EDWARD KNO'WELL too, and may  
With the safe conscience of good manners, use  
The fellows error to my satisfaction.  
Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious)  
Be it but for the styles sake, and the phrase,  
To see, if both do answer my sons praises,  
Who is, almost, grown the idolater  
Of this young WELL-BRED: what have we here? what's this?  
Why, The letter. NED, I beseech thee; hast thou forsworn all thy friends i'the old jewry? or dost thou think us all jews that inhabit there, yet? If thou dost, come over, and but see our frippery: change an old shirt, for a whole smock, with us. Do not conceive that antipathy between us, and Hogsden; as was between Jews, and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father, alone, to number over his green apricots, evening, and morning, o' the northwest wall: An' I had been his son, I had saved him the labour, long since; if, taking in all the young wenches, that pass by, at the backdoor, and coddling every kernel of the fruit for'em, would ha' served. But, prithee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I have such a present for thee (our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand-SIGNIOR.) One is a rhymer sir, o' your own batch, your own levin; but doth think himself Poet-mayor, o' the town: willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen. The other— I will not venture his description with you, till you come, because I would ha' you make hither with an appetite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges, as unconscionable, as any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum.  From the windmill. 
From the bordello, it might come as well;  
The Spittle: or Pickt-hatch. Is this the man,  
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,  
The choicest brain, the times hath sent us forth?  
I know not what he may be, in the arts;  
Nor what in schools: but surely, for his manners,  
I judge him a profane, and dissolute wretch:  
Worse, by possession of such great good gifts,  
Being the master of so loose a spirit.  
Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ,  
In such a scurrilous manner, to a friend!  
Why should he think, I tell my apricotes?  
Or play th' Hesperian Dragon, with my fruit,  
To watch it? Well, my son, I'had thought  
Y' had had more judgement, t' have made election  
Of your companions, t' have ta'en on trust,  
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare  
No argument, or subject from their jest.  
But I perceive, affection makes a fool  
Of any man, too much the father. Brainworm,  BRAY. 
Sir.  KNO. 
Is the fellow gone that brought this letter?  BRA. 
Yes, sir, a pretty while since.  KNO. 
And, where's your young master?  BRA. 
In his chamber sir.  KNO. 
He spoke not with the fellow! did he?  BRA. 
No sir, he saw him not.  KNO. 
Take you this letter, and deliver it my son  
But with no notice, that I have opened it, on your life.  BRA. 
O lord, sir, that were a jest, indeed!  KNO. 
I am resolved, I will not stop his journey;  
Nor practise any violent mean, to stay  
The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,  
Restrained, grows more impatient, and, in-kind,  
Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound;  
Who ne'er so little from his game withheld,  
Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat.  
There is a way of winning, more by love,  
And urging of the modesty, than fear:  
Force works on servile natures, not the free.  
He, that's compelled to goodness, may be good;  
But 'tis but for that fit: where others drawn  
By softness, and example, get a habit.  
Then, if they stray, but warn 'em: and, the same  
They should for virtue have done, they'll do for shame.   

Act I. Scene II.  EDW. KNO'WELL, Brainworm, Mr. STEPHEN. 
DId he open it, sayest thou?  BRAY. 
Yes, o' my word sir, and read the contents.  E. KN. 
That scarce contents me. What countenance (prithee) made he, i' the reading of it? was he angry, or pleased?  BRAY. 
Nay sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship.  E. KN. 
No? how know'st thou, then, that he did either?  BRAY. 
marry sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody, that he opened it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed.  E. KN. 
That's true: well I thank thee, Brainworm.  STEP. 
O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here in a what-sha'-call-him doublet! he brought mine uncle a letter e'en now.  BRAY. 
Yes, master STEPHEN, what of him?  STEP. 
O, I ha' such a mind to beat him— Where is he? canst thou tell?  BRAY. 
Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master STEPHEN.  STEP. 
Gone? which way? when went he! how long since?  BRAY. 
He is rid hence. He took horse, at the street door.  STEP. 
And, I stayed i' the fields! whoreson scander-bag rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again.  BRAY. 
Why, you may ha' my mrs. gelding, to save your longing, sir.  STEP. 
But, I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't.  BRAY. 
Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, master STEPHEN.  STEP. 
No faith, it's no boot to follow him, now: let him e'en go, and hang. Pray thee, help to truss me, a little. He does so vex me—  BRAY. 
You'll be worse vexed, when you are trussed, master STEPHEN. Best, keep unbraced; and walk yourself, till you be cold: your choler may founder you else.  STEP. 
By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't: How dost thou like my leg, Brainworm?  BRAY. 
A very good leg! master STEPHEN! but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well.  STEP. 
Foh, the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on, for the dust: I'll have a pair of silk, again' winter, that I go to dwell i' the town. I think my leg would show in a silk-hose.  BRAP. 
Believe me, master STEPHEN, rarely well,  STEP. 
In sadness, I think it would: I have a reasonable good leg.  BRAY. 
You have an excellent good leg, master STEPHEN, but I cannot stay, to praise it longer now, and I am very sorry for't.  STEP. 
Another time will serve, Brainworm. Gramercy for this.  E. KN. 
Knowell laughs having read the letter. Ha, ha, ha!  STEP. 
'Slid, I hope, he laughs not at me, and he do—  E. KN. 
Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted by a man's father, and do him good with him! He cannot but think most virtuously, both of me, and the sender, sure; that make the careful Costermonger of him in our familiar Epistles. Well, if he read this with patience, I'll be gelt, and troll ballads for Mr. JOHN TRUNDLE, yonder, the rest of my mortality. It is true, and likely, my father may have as much patience as another man; for he takes much physic: and, oft taking physic makes a man very patient. But would your packet, master Wellbred, had arrived at him, in such a minute of his patience; then, we had known the end of it, which now is doubtful, and threatens— What! my wise cousin! Nay, then, I'll furnish our feast with one gull more toward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: O, for a fourth; Fortune, if ever thou'lt use thine eyes, I entreat thee—  STEP. 
O, now I see, who he laughed at. He laughed at somebody in that letter. By this good light, and he had laughed at me—  E. KN. 
How now, cousin STEPHEN, melancholy?  STEP. 
Yes, a little. I thought, you had laughed at me, cousin.  E. KN. 
Why, what an' I had coz, what would you ha' done?  SERV. 
By this light, I would ha' told mine uncle.  E. KN. 
Nay, if you would ha' told your uncle, I did laugh at you, coz.  SERV. 
Did you, indeed?  E. KN. 
Yes, indeed.  STEP. 
Why, then—  E. KN. 
What then?  STEP. 
I am satisfied, it is sufficient.  E. KN. 
Why, be so gentle coz. And, I pray you let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent for, this morning, by a friend i' the old jewry to come to him; It's but crossing over the fields to More-gate: Will you bear me company? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, coz.  STEP. 
Sir, that's all one, an't were; you shall command me, twice so far as More-gate to do you good, in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I protest—  E. KN. 
No, no, you shall not protest, coz.  STEP. 
By my fackins, but I will, by your leave; I'll protest more to my friend, then I'll speak off, at this time.  E. KN. 
You speak very well, coz.  STEP. 
Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me: but I speak, to serve my turn.  E. KN. 
Your turn, coz? Do you know, what you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk o' your turn i' this company, and to me, alone, like a tankard-bearer, at a conduit! Fie. A wight, that (hitherto) his every step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, as every word the favour of a strong spirit! and he! this man! so graced, guilded, or (to use a more fit metaphor) so tin-foiled by nature, as not ten housewives pewter (again' a good time) shows more bright to the world than he! and he (as I said last, so I say again, and still shall say it) this man! to conceal such real ornaments as these, and shadow their glory, as a milliner's wife does her wrought stomacher, with a smoky lawn, or a black cypress? O coz! It cannot be answered, go not about it. DRAKES old ship, at Detford, may sooner circle the world again. Come, wrong not the quality of your desert, with looking downward, couz; but hold up your head, so: and let the Idea of what you are, be portrayed i' your face, that men may read i' your phisnomy, (Here, within this place, is to be seen the true, rare, and accomplished monster, or miracle of nature, which is all one.) What think you of this, coz?  STEP. 
Why, I do think of it; and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentlemanlike, than I have been: I'll ensure you.  E. KN. 
Why, that's resolute master STEPHEN! Now, if I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will do well for a suburb-humor: we may hap have a match with the city, and play him for forty pound. Come, coz.  STEP. 
I'll follow you.  E. KN. 
Follow me? you must go before.  STEP. 
Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you, show me, good cousin.   

Act I. Scene IIII.  Mr. MATTHEW, COB. 
I Think, this be the house: what, hough?  COB. 
Who's there? O, master MATTHEW! gi' your worship good morrow.  MAT. 
What! COB! how dost thou, good COB? dost thou inhabit here, COB?  COB. 
ay, sir, I and my lineage ha' kept a poor house, here, in our days.  MAT. 
Thy lineage, Monsieur COB, what lineage? what lineage?  COB. 
Why sir, an ancient lineage, and a princely. Mine ancestry came from a king's belly, no worse man: and yet no man neither (by your worship's leave, I did lie in that) but Herring the King of fish (from his belly, I proceed) one o' the Monarchs o' the world, I assure you. The first red herring, that was broiled in ADAM, and EVE'S kitchen, do I fetch my pedigree from, by the heralds books. His COB, was my great-great-mighty-great Grand father.  MAT. 
Why mighty? why mighty? I pray thee.  COB. 
O, it was a mighty while ago, sir, and a mighty great COB.  MAT. 
How know'st thou that?  COB. 
How know I? why, I smell his ghost, ever and anon.  MAT. 
Smell a ghost? O unsavoury jest! and the ghost of a herring COB!  COB. 
ay sir, with favour of your worship's nose, Mr. MATHEW, why not the ghost of a herring-cob, as well as the ghost of rasher-bacon?  MAT. 
ROGER BACON, thou wouldst say?  COB. 
I say rasher-bacon. They were both broiled o' the coals? and a man may smell broiled-meat, I hope? you are a scholar, upsolve me that, now.  MAT. 
O raw ignorance! COB, canst thou show me of a gentleman, one Captain BOBADILL, where his lodging is?  COB. 
O, my guest, sir! you mean.  MAT. 
Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha.  COB. 
Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not mean Captain BOBADILL?  MAT. 
COB, pray thee, advise thyself well: do not wrong the gentleman, and thyself too. I dare be sworn, he scorns thy house: he! He lodge in such a base, obscure place, as thy house! Tut, I know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed, if thou'dst gi'it him.  COB. 
I will not give it him, though, sir. Mass, I thought somewhat was in't, we could not get him to bed, all night! Well, sir, though he lie not o' my bed, he lies o' my bench: an 't please you to go up, sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak wrapped about him, as though he had neither won nor lost, and yet (I warrant) he ne'er cast better in his life, than he has done, tonight.  MAT. 
Why? was he drunk?  COB. 
Drunk, sir? you hear not me say so. Perhaps, he swallowed a tavern-token, or some such device, sir: I have nothing to do withal. I deal with water, and not with wine. Gi'me my tankard there, hough. God b'w'you, sir. It's six o'clock: I should ha' carried two turns, by this. What hough? my stopple? come.  MAT. 
Lie in a waterbearer's house! A gentleman of his havings! Well, I'll tell him my mind.  COB. 
What TIB, show this gentleman up to the Captain. O, an' my house were the Brazenhead now! faith, it would e'en speak, Mo fools yet. You should ha' some now would take this Mr. MATTHEW to be a gentleman, at the least. His father's an honest man, a worshipful fishmonger, and so forth; and now does he creep, and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave gallants about the town, such as my guest is: (O, my guest is a fine man) and they flout him invincibly. He useth every day to a Merchant's house (where I serve water) one master KITELY'S, i' the old jewry; and here's the jest, he is in love with my master's sister, (mistress BRIDGET) and calls her mistress: and there he will sit you a whole afternoon sometimes, reading o' these same abominable, vile, (a pox on 'em, I cannot abide them) rascally verses, poetry, poetry, and speaking of interludes, 'twill make a man burst to hear him. And the wenches, they do so gear, and ti-hee at him— well, should they do so much to me, I'd forswear them all, by the foot of PHARAOH. There's an oath! How many waterbearers shall you hear swear such an oath? O, I have a guest (he teaches me) he does swear the legiblest, of any man christened: By St. GEORGE, the foot of PHARAOH, the body of me, as I am gentleman, and a soldier: such dainty oaths! and withal, he does take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest, and cleanliest! it would do a man good to see the fume come forth at 's tunnels! Well, he owes me forty shillings (my wife lent him out of her purse, by sixpence a time) besides his lodging: I would I had it. I shall ha' it, he says, the next Action. helter-skelter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill a cat, up-tails all, and a louse for the hangman.   

Act I. Scene V.  BOBADILL, TIB, MATTHEW. Bobad. is discovered lying on his bench. 
hostess, hostess.  TIB. 
What say you, sir?  BOB. 
A cup o' thy small beer, sweet hostess.  TIB. 
Sir, there's a gentleman, below, would speak with you.  BOB. 
A gentleman! 'ods so, I am not within.  TIB. 
My husband told him you were, sir.  BOB. 
What a plague— what meant he?  MAT. 
Captain BOBADILL?  BOB. 
Who's there? (take away the basin, good hostess) come up, sir.  TIB. 
He would desire you to come up, sir. You come into a cleanly house, here.  MAT. 
'Save you, sir. 'Save you, Captain.  BOB. 
Gentle master MATTHEW! Is it you, sir? Please you sit down.  MAR. 
Thank you, good Captain, you may see, I am somewhat audacious.  BOB. 
Not so, sir. I was requested to supper, last night, by a sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drunk to, I assure you.  MAT. 
Vouchsafe me, by whom, good Captain.  BOB. 
marry, by young WELL-BRED, and others: Why, hostess, a stool here, for this gentleman.  MAT. 
No haste, sir, 'tis very well.  BOB. 
Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my eyes, yet; I was but new risen, as you came: how passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.  MAT. 
Faith, some half hour to seven: now trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private!  BOB. 
ay, sir: sit down, I pray you. Master MATTHEW (in any case) possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance, with notice of my lodging.  MAT. 
Who? I sir? no.  BOB. 
Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient, but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited, as some are.  MAT. 
True, Captain, I conceive you.  BOB. 
For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour, in me, (except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so) I could not extend thus far.  MAT. 
O Lord, sir, I resolve so.  BOB. 
I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult, and roar of fortune. What new book ha' you there? What! Go by, HIERONYMO!  MAT. 
ay, did you ever see it acted? is't not well penned?  BOB. 
Well penned? I would feign see all the Poets, of these times, pen such another play as that was! they'll prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art and devices, when (as I am a gentleman) read 'em, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live upon the face of the earth, again!  MAT. 
Indeed, here are a number of fine speeches in this book! O eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears! There's a conceit! fountains fraught with tears! O life, no life, but lively form of death! Another! O world, no world, but mass of public wrongs! A third! Confused and filled with murder, and misdeeds! A fourth! O, the Muses! Is't not excellent? Is't not simply the best that ever you heard, Captain? Ha? How do you like it?  BOB. 
'Tis good.  MAT. 
To thee, the purest object to my sense,  
The most refined essence heaven covers,  
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence  
The happy state of turtle-billing lovers.  
If they prove rough, unpolished, harsh, and rude,  
Hast made the vast. Thus, mildly, I conclude.  BOB. 
Bobadill is making him ready all this while. Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this?  MAT. 
This, sir? a toy o' mine own, in my nonage: the infancy of my Muses! But, when will you come and see my study? good faith, I can show you some very good things, I have done of late— That boot becomes your leg, passing well, Captain, methinks!  BOB. 
So, so, It's the fashion, gentlemen now use.  MAT. 
Troth, Captain, an' now you speak o' the fashion, master WELL-BRED'S elder brother, and I, are fallen out exceedingly: this other day, I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I assure you, both for fashion, and workmanship, was most peremptory-beautiful, and gentlemanlike! Yet, he condemned, and cried it down, for the most pied, and ridiculous that ever he saw.  BOB. 
Squire DOWNRIGHT? the half-brother? was't not?  MAT. 
ay sir, he.  BOB. 
Hang him, rook, he! why, he has no more judgement than a malt-horse. By S. GEORGE, I wonder you'd lose a thought upon such an animal: the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, I ne'er changed words, with his like. By his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay. He was borne for the manger, pannier, or packsaddle! He has not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron, and rusty proverbs! a good commodity for some smith, to make hobnails of.  MAT. 
ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still, where he comes. He brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I hear.  BOB. 
How! He the bastinado! how came he by that word, trow?  MAT. 
Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it so, for my more grace.  BOB. 
That may be: For I was sure, it was none of his word. But, when? when said he so?  MAT. 
Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gallant, a friend of mine told me so.  BOB. 
By the foot of PHARAOH, and 't were my case now, I should send him a chartel, presently. The bastinado! A most proper, and sufficient dependence, warranted by the great CARANZA. Come hither. You shall chartel him. I'll show you a trick, or two, you shall kill him with, at pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this air.  MAT. 
Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i' the mystery, I have heard, sir.  BOB. 
Of whom? Of whom ha' you heard it. I beseech you?  MAT. 
Troth, I have heard it spoken of divers, that you have very rare, and un-in-one-breath-utter-able skill, sir.  BOB. 
By heaven, no, not I; no skill i' the earth: some small rudiments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have professed it more for noblemen, and gentlemen's use, than mine own practice, I assure you. Hostess, accommodate us with another bedstaff here, quickly: Lend us another bedstaff. The woman does not understand the words of Action. Look you, sir. Exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and let your poniard maintain your defence, thus: (give it the gentleman, and leave us) so, sir. Come on: O twine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet comely gentlemanlike guard. So, indifferent. Hollow your body more sir, thus. Now, stand fast o' your left leg, note your distance, keep your due proportion of time— Oh, you disorder your point, most irregularly!  MAT. 
How is the bearing of it, now, sir?  BOB. 
O, out of measure ill! A well-experienced hand would pass upon you, at pleasure.  MAT. 
How mean you, sir, pass upon me?  BOB. 
Why, thus sir (make a thrust at me) come in, upon the answer, control your point, and make a full career, at the body. The best-practised gallants of the time, name it the passada: a most desperate thrust, believe it!  MAT. 
Well, come, sir.  BOB. 
Why, you do not manage your weapon with any facility, or grace to invite me: I have no spirit to play with you. Your dearth of judgement renders you tedious.  MAT. 
But one venue, sir.  BOB. 
Venue! Fie. Most gross denomination, as ever I heard. O, the stoccata, while you live, sir. Note that. Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some private place, where you are acquainted, some tavern, or so— and have a bit— I'll send for one of these Fencers, and he shall breathe you, by my direction; and, then, I will teach you your trick. You shall kill him with it, at the first, if you please. Why, I will learn you, by the true judgement of the eye, hand, and foot, to control any enemy's point i' the world. Should your adversary confront you with a pistol, 'twere nothing, by this hand, you should, by the same rule, control his bullet, in a line: except it were hailshot, and spread. What money ha' you about you, Mr. MATTHEW?  MAT. 
Faith, I ha' not passed a two shillings, or so.  BOB. 
'Tis some what with the least: but, come. We will have a bunch of reddish, and salt, to taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco, to close the orifice of the stomach: and then, we'll call upon young Wellbred. Perhaps we shall meet the CORIDON, his brother, there: and put him to the question.    


Act II. Scene I.  KITELEY, CASH, downright. 
THOMAS, Come hither,  
There lies a note, within upon my desk,  
Here, take my key: It is no matter, neither.  
Where is the Boy?  CAS. 
Within, sir, i' the warehouse.  KIT. 
Let him tell over, straight, that Spanish gold,  
And weigh it, with th' pieces of eight. Do you  
See the delivery of those silver stuffs,  
To Mr. LUCAR. Tell him, if he will,  
He shall ha' the grograms, at the rate I told him,  
And I will meet him, on the Exchange, anon.  CAS. 
Good, sir.  KIT. 
Do you see that fellow, brother DOWNRIGHT?  DOW. 
ay, what of him?  KIT. 
He is a jewel, brother.  
I took him of a child, up, at my door,  
And christened him, gave him mine own name, THOMAS,  
Since bred him at the Hospital; where proving  
A toward imp, I called him home, and taught him  
So much, as I have made him my Cashier,  
And given him, who had none, a surname, CASH:  
And find him, in his place so full of faith,  
That, I durst trust my life into his hands.  DOW. 
So, would not I in any bastards, brother,  
As, it is like, he is: although I knew  
myself his father. But you said yo' had somewhat  
To tell me, gentle brother, what is't? what is't?  KIT. 
Faith, I am very loath, to utter it,  
As fearing, it may hurt your patience:  
But, that I know, your judgement is of strength,  
Against the nearness of affection—  DOW. 
What need this circumstance? pray you be direct.  KIT. 
I will not say, how much I do ascribe  
Unto your friendship; nor, in what regard  
I hold your love: but, let my past behaviour,  
And usage of your sister, but confirm  
How well I'ave been affected to your—  DOW. 
You are too tedious, come to the matter, the matter.  KIT. 
Then (without further ceremony) thus.  
My brother WELL-BRED, sir, (I know not how)  
Of late, is much declined in what he was,  
And greatly altered in his disposition.  
When he came first to lodge here in my house,  
ne'er trust me, if I were not proud of him:  
methought he bore himself in such a fashion,  
So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage,  
And (what was chief) it show'd not borrowed in him,  
But all he did, became him as his own,  
And seemed as perfect, proper, and possessed  
As breath, with life, or colour, with the blood.  
But, now, his course is so irregular,  
So loose, affected, and deprived of grace,  
And he himself withal so far fallen off  
From that first place, as scarce no note remains,  
To tell men's judgements where he lately stood.  
he's grown a stranger to all due respect,  
Forgetful of his friends, and not content  
To stale himself in all societies,  
He makes my house here common, as a Mart,  
A Theater, a public receptacle  
For giddy humour, and diseased riot;  
And here (as in a tavern, or a stews)  
He, and his wild associates, spend their hours,  
In repetition of lascivious jests,  
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night,  
Control my servants: and indeed what not?  DOW. 
'Sdeynes, I know not what I should say to him, i' the whole world! He values me, at a cracked three-farthings, for aught I see: It will never out o' the flesh that's bred i' the bone! I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve: But, counsel to him, is as good, as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. Well! he knows what to trust to, for GEORGE. Let him spend, and spend, and domineer, till his heart ache; an' he think to be relieved by me, when he is got into one o'your city pounds, the Counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i'faith: and claps his dish at the wrong man's door. I'll lay my hand o' my halfpenny, ere I part with 't, to fetch him out, I'll assure him.  KIT. 
Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you, thus.  DOW. 
'S death, he mads me, I could eat my very spurleathers, for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do not you speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house?  KIT. 
O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, brother.  
But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it,  
(Though but with plain, and easy circumstance)  
It would, both come much better to his sense,  
And savour less of stomach, or of passion.  
You are his elder brother, and that title  
Both gives, and warrants you authority;  
Which (by your presence seconded) must breed  
A kind of duty in him, and regard;  
Whereas, if I should intimate the least,  
It would but add contempt, to his neglect,  
Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred  
That, in the rearing, would come tottering down,  
And, in the ruin, bury all our love.  
Nay, more than this, brother, if I should speak  
He would be ready from his heat of humour,  
And overflowing of the vapour, in him,  
To blow the ears of his familiars,  
With the false breath, of telling, what disgraces,  
And low disparagements, I had put upon him.  
Whilst they, sir, to relieve him, in the fable,  
Make their loose comments, upon every word,  
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,  
From my flat cap, unto my shining shoes:  
And, out of their impetuous rioting fantasies,  
Beget some slander, that shall dwell with me.  
And what would that be, think you? marry, this.  
They would give out (because my wife is fair,  
myself but lately married, and my sister  
Here sojourning a virgin in my house)  
That I were jealous! nay, as sure as death,  
That they would say. And how that I had quarreled  
My brother purposely, thereby to find  
An apt pretext, to banish them my house.  DOW. 
Mass perhaps so: they are like enough to do it.  KIT. 
Brother, they would, believe it: so should I  
(Like one of these penurious quacksalvers)  
But set the bills up, to mine own disgrace,  
And try experiments upon myself:  
Lend scorn and envy, opportunity,  
To stab my reputation, and good name—   

Act II. Scene II.  MATTHEW, BOBADIL, downright, KITELY. 
I Will speak to him—  BOB. 
Speak to him? away, by the foot of PHARAOH, you shall not, you shall not do him that grace. The time of day, to you, Gentleman o'the house. Is Mr. WELL-BRED stirring?  DOW. 
How then? what should he do?  BOB. 
Gentleman of the house, it is to you: is he within, sir?  KIT. 
He came not to his lodging tonight sir, I assure you.  DOW. 
Why, do you hear? you.  BOB. 
The gentleman-citizen hath satisfied me, I'll talk to no scavenger.  DOW. 
How, scavenger? stay sir, stay?  KIT. 
Nay, brother DOWNRIGHT.  DOW. 
'Heart! stand you away, and you love me.  KIT. 
You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother,  
Good faith you shall not: I will overrule you.  DOW. 
Ha? scavenger? well, go to, I say little: but, by this good day (god forgive me I should swear) if I put it up so, say, I am the rankest cow, that ever pissed. 'Sdeynes, and I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleetstreet again, while I live; I'll sit in a barn, with Madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger? 'Heart, and I'll go near to fill that huge tumbrel-slop of yours, with somewhat, and I have good luck: your GARAGANTVA breech cannot carry it away so.  KIT. 
Oh do not fret yourself thus, never think on't.  DOW. 
These are my brother's consorts, these! these are his comrades, his walking mates! he's a gallant, a Cavaliero too, right hangman cut! Let me not live, and I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole ging of 'em, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieved, it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well as he brews, so he shall drink, for GEORGE, again. Yet, he shall hear on't, and that tightly too, and I live, i'faith.  KIT. 
But, brother, let your reprehension (then)  
Run in an easy current, not o'erhigh  
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;  
But rather use the soft persuading way,  
Whose powers will work more gently, and compose  
Th'imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim:  
More winning, then enforcing the consent.  DOW. 
Bell rings. ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you.  KIT. 
How now? oh, the bell rings to breakfast.  
Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife  
Company, till I come; I'll but give order  
for some dispatch of business, to my servants—   

To them. Act II. Scene III.  KITELY, COB, DAME KITELY. 
WHat, COB? our maids will have you by the back (i'faith)  
For coming so late this morning.  COB. 
Perhaps so, sir, take heed somebody have not them by the belly, I'll passes by with his tankard. for walking so late in the evening.  KIT. 
Well, yet my troubled spirit's somewhat eased,  
Though not reposed in that security,  
As I could wish: But, I must be content.  
howe'er I set a face on't to the world,  
Would I had lost this finger, at a venture,  
So WELL-BRED had ne'er lodged within my house.  
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort  
Of wanton gallants, and young revellers,  
That any woman should be honest long.  
is't like, that factious beauty will preserve  
The public weal of chastity, unshaken,  
When such strong motives muster, and make head  
Against her single peace? no, no. Beware,  
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat,  
And spirits of one kind, and quality,  
Come once to parley, in the pride of blood:  
It is no slow conspiracy, that follows.  
Well (to be plain) if I but thought, the time  
Had answered their affections: all the world  
Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold.  
marry, I hope, they ha' not got that start:  
For opportunity hath balked 'em yet,  
And shall do still, while I have eyes, and ears  
To attend the impositions of my heart.  
My presence shall be as an iron bar,  
'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:  
Yea, every look, or glance, mine eye ejects,  
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,  
When he forgets the limits of prescription.  DAME. 
Sister BRIDGET, pray you fetch down the rose-water above in the closet. Sweet heart, will you come in, to breakfast.  KITE. 
An' she have overheard me now?  DAME. 
I pray thee (good muss) we stay for you.  KITE. 
By heaven I would not for a thousand angels.  DAME. 
What ail you sweet heart, are you not well, speak good muss.  KITE. 
Troth my head aches extremely, on a sudden.  DAME. 
Oh, the lord!  KITE. 
How now? what?  DAME. 
Alas, how it burns? muss, keep you warm, good truth it is this new disease! there's a number are troubled withal! for loves sake, sweet heart, come in, out of the air.  KITE. 
How simple, and how subtle are her answers?  
A new disease, and many troubled with it!  
Why, true: she heard me, all the world to nothing.  DAME. 
I pray thee, good sweet heart, come in; the air will do you harm in, troth.  KITE. 
The air! she has me i' the wind! sweet heart!  
I'll come to you presently: 't will away, I hope.  DOW. 
Pray heaven it do.  KITE. 
A new disease? I know not, new, or old,  
But it may well be called poor mortals plague:  
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect  
The houses of the brain. First, it begins  
Solely to work upon the fantasy,  
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air,  
As soon corrupts the judgement; and from thence,  
Sends like contagion to the memory:  
Still each to other giving the infection.  
Which, as a subtle vapour, spreads itself,  
Confusedly, through every sensive part,  
Till not a thought, or motion, in the mind,  
Be free from the black poison of suspect.  
Ah, but what misery is it, to know this?  
Or, knowing it, to want the minds erection,  
In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive,  
(In spite of this black cloud) myself to be,  
And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me.   

Act II. Scene IIII.  Brainworm, ED. KNO'WELL, Mr. STEPHEN. 
'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see myself translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace: and yet the lie to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit, as the Fico. O sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us. So much, for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my young, dry foot, over morefield's, to London, this morning: now I, knowing, of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we that are blue-waiters, and men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the years end, and who wears motley, you know) have got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him, in the midway. If I can but get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, anything, to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with Captain CAESAR, I am made for ever, i'faith. Well, now must I practise to get the true garb of one of these lanceknights, my arm here, and my— young master! and his cousin, Mr. STEPHEN, as I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier!  E. KN. 
So sir, and how then, coz?  STEP. 
'Sfoot, I have lost my purse, I think.  E. KN. 
How? lost your purse? where? when had you it?  STEP. 
I cannot tell, stay.  BRAY. 
'Slid, I am afeard, they will know me, would I could get by them.  E. KN. 
What? ha' you it?  STEP. 
No, I think I was bewitched, I—  E. KN. 
Nay, do not weep the loss, hang it, let it go.  STEP. 
Oh, it's here: no, and it had been lost, I had not cared, but for a jet ring mistress MARY sent me.  E. KN. 
A jet ring? oh, the poesy, the poesy?  STEP. 
Fine, i'faith! Though fancy sleep, my love is deep. Meaning that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.  E. KN. 
Most excellent!  STEP. 
And then, I sent her another, and my poesy was: The deeper, the sweeter, I'll be judged by St. PETER.  E. KN. 
How, by St. PETER? I do not conceive that!  STEP. 
marry, St. PETER, to make up the meeter.  E. KN. 
Well, there the Saint was your good patron, he helped you at your need: He is come back. thank him, thank him.  BRAY. 
I cannot take leave on 'em, so: I will venture, come what will. Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns, for a very excellent good blade, here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, one that (in the better state of my fortunes) scorned so mean a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessity, to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence, than line with shame: however, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speaks, not myself. This condition agrees not with my spirit—  E. KN. 
Where hast thou served?  BRAY. 
May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? I have been a poor servitor, by sea and land, any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best Commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, a gentleman-slave in the galleys, thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maimed, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution.  STEP. 
How will you sell this rapier, friend?  BRAY. 
Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgement; you are a gentleman, give me what you please.  STEP. 
True, I am a gentleman, I know that friend: but what though? I pray you say, what would you ask?  BRAY. 
I assure you, the blade may become the side, or thigh of the best prince, in Europe.  E. KN. 
ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think.  STEP. 
Nay, and 't be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat: I'd not wear it as 'tis, and you would give me an angel.  BRAY. 
At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.  STEP. 
I had rather it were a Spaniard! but tell me, what shall I give you for it? An' it had a silver hilt—  E. KN. 
Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a shilling fellow, take thy rapier.  STEP. 
Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so, and there's another shilling, fellow. I scorn to be out-bidden. What, shall I walk with a cudgel, like Higgin-Bottom? and may have a rapier, for money?  E. KN. 
You may buy one in the city.  STEP. 
Tut, I'll buy this i'the field, so I will, I have a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.  E. KN. 
You shall not buy it, I say.  STEP. 
By this money, but I will, though I give more than 'tis worth.  E. KN. 
Come away, you are a fool.  STEP. 
Friend, I am a fool, that's granted: but I'll have it, for that words sake. Follow me, for your money.  BRAY. 
At your service, sir.   

Act II. Scene V.  KNO'WELL, Brainworm. 
I Cannot lose the thought, yet, of this letter,  
Sent to my son: nor leave t'admire the change  
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth,  
Within the kingdom, since myself was one.  
When I was young, he lived not in the stews,  
Durst have conceived a scorn, and uttered it,  
On a grey head; age was authority  
Against a buffoon: and a man had, then,  
A certain reverence paid unto his years,  
That had none due unto his life. So much  
The sanctity of some prevailed, for others.  
But, now, we all are fallen; youth, from their fear:  
And age, from that, which bred it, good example.  
Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even parents,  
That did destroy the hopes, in our own children:  
Or they not learned our vices, in their cradles,  
And sucked in our ill customs, with their milk.  
Ere all their teeth be borne, or they can speak,  
We make their palates cunning! The first words,  
We form their tongues with, are licentious jests!  
Can it call, whore? cry, bastard? O, then, kiss it,  
A witty child! Can't swear? The father's darling!  
Give it two plums. Nay, rather than 't shall learn  
No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it!  
But, this is in the infancy; the days  
Of the long coat: when it puts on the breeches,  
It will put off all this. ay, it is like:  
When it is gone into the bone already.  
No, no: This die goes deeper than the coat,  
Or shirt, or skin. It stains, unto the liver,  
And heart, in some. And, rather, than it should not,  
Note, what we fathers do! Look, how we live!  
What mistresses we keep! at what expense,  
In our sons eyes! where they may handle our gifts,  
Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance,  
Taste of the same provoking meats, with us,  
To ruin of our states! Nay, when our own  
Portion is fled, to prey on their remainder,  
We call them into fellowship of vice!  
Bait 'em with the young chambermaid, to seal!  
And teach 'em all bad ways, to buy affliction!  
This is one path! but there are millions more,  
In which we spoil our own, with leading them.  
Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he,  
That travailed with my son, before sixteen,  
To show him, the Venetian courtesans.  
Nor read the grammar of cheating, I had made  
To my sharp boy, at twelve: repeating still  
The rule, Get money; still, Get money, Boy;  
No matter, by what means; Money will do  
More, Boy, than my Lords letter. Neither have I  
Dressed snails, or muhrooms curiously before him,  
Perfumed my sauces, and taught him to make 'em;  
Preceding still, with my grey gluttony,  
At all the ordinaries: and only feared  
His palate should degenerate, not his manners.  
These are the trade of fathers, now! however  
My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold,  
None of these household precedents; which are strong,  
And swift, to rape youth, to their precipice.  
But, let the house at home be near so clean  
Swept, or kept sweet from filth; nay, dust, and cobwebs:  
If he will live, abroad, with his companions,  
In dung, and laystalls; it is worth a fear.  
Nor is the danger of conversing less,  
Than all that I have mentioned of example.  BRAY. 
My master? nay, faith have at you: I am fleshed now, I have sped so well. Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor soldier; I am ashamed of this base course of life (god's my comfort) but extremity provokes me to't, what remedy?  KNO. 
I have not for you, now.  BRAY. 
By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.  KNO. 
Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.  BRAY. 
Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer (a matter of small value) the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful: sweet worship—  KNO. 
Nay, and you be so importunate—  BRAY. 
Oh, tender sir, need will have his course: I was not made to this vile use! well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me so much: He weeps. It's hard when a man hath served in his PRINCE's cause, and be thus— Honourable worship, let me derive a small piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of time, by this good ground, I was feign to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper, I had sucked the hilts long before, I am a pagan else: sweet honour.  KNO. 
Believe me, I am taken with some wonder,  
To think, a fellow of thy outward presence  
Should (in the frame, and fashion of his mind)  
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base!  
Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg?  
To practice such a servile kind of life?  
Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,  
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses  
Offer themselves, to thy election.  
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,  
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,  
Or honest labour: nay, what can I name,  
But would become thee better than to beg?  
But men of thy condition feed on sloth,  
As doth the beetle, on the dung she breeds in,  
Not caring how the metal of your minds  
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.  
Now, afore me, whate'er he be, that should  
Relieve a person of thy quality,  
While thou insist's in this loose desperate course,  
I would esteem the sin, not thine, but his.  BRAY. 
Faith sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so—  KNO. 
ay, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.  BRAY. 
Alas sir, where should a man seek? in the wars, there's no ascent by desert in these days, but— and for service, would it were as soon purchased, as wished for (the air's my comfort) I know, what I would say—  KNO. 
What's thy name?  BRAY. 
Please you, FITZ-SWORD, sir.  KNO. 
FITZ-SWORD?  
Say, that a man should entertain thee now,  
Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true?  BRAY. 
Sir, by the place, and honour of a soldier—  KNO. 
Nay, nay, I like not those affected oaths;  
Speak plainly man: what think'st thou of my words?  BRAY. 
Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy, as my service should be honest.  KNO. 
Well, follow me, I'll prove thee, if thy deeds  
Will carry a proportion to thy words.  BRAY. 
Yes sir, straight, I'll but garter my hose. Oh that my belly were hooped now, for I am ready to burst with laughing! never was bottle, or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus? now shall I be possessed of all his counsels: and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is resolved to prove my honesty; faith, and I am resolved to prove his patience: oh I shall abuse him intolerably. This small piece of service, will bring him clean out of love with the soldier, for ever. He will never come within the sign of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world think me a bad counterfeit, If I cannot give him the slip, at an instant: why, this is better than to have stayed his journey! well, I'll follow him: oh, how I long to be employed.    


Act III. Scene I.  MATTHEW, WELL-BRED, BOBADILL, ED. KNO'WELL, STEPHEN. 
YEs faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek you, too.  WEL. 
Oh, I came not there tonight.  BOB. 
Your brother delivered us as much.  WEL. 
Who? my brother DOWNRIGHT?  BOB. 
He. Mr. WELL-BRED, I know not in what kind you hold me, but let me say to you this: as sure as honour, I esteem it so much out of the sunshine of reputation, to through the least beam of regard, upon such a—  WEL. 
Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother.  BOB. 
ay, protest to you, as I have a thing to be saved about me, I never saw any gentlemanlike part—  WEL. 
Good Captain, faces about, to some other discourse.  BOB. 
With your leave, sir, and there were no more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by S. GEORGE.  MAT. 
Troth, nor I, he is of a rustical cut, I know not how: he doth not carry himself like a gentleman of fashion—  WEL. 
Oh, Mr. MATTHEW, that's a grace peculiar but to a few; quos aquus amavit JUPITER.  MAT. 
I understand you sir.  WEL. 
No question, Young Kno'well enters. you do, or you do not, sir. NED KNO'WELL! by my soul welcome; how dost thou sweet spirit, my Genius? 'Slid I shall love APOLLO, and the mad Thespian girls the better, while I live, for this; my dear fury: now, I see there's some love in thee! Sirrah, these be the two I writ to thee of (nay, what a drowsy humour is this now? why dost thou not speak?)  E. KN. 
Oh, you are a fine gallant, you sent me a rare letter!  WEL. 
Why, was't not rare?  E. KN. 
Yes, I'll be sworn, I was ne'er guilty of reading the like; match it in all pliny, or SYMMACHUS epistles, and I'll have my judgement burned in the ear for a rogue: make much of thy vain, for it is inimitable. But I mar'le what camel it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtless, he was no ordinary beast, that brought it!  WEL. 
Why?  E. KN. 
Why, sayest thou? why dost thou think that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning (the sober time of the day too) could have mistaken my father for me?  WEL. 
'Slid, you jest, I hope?  E. KN. 
Indeed, the best use we can turn it too, is to make a jest on't, now: but I'll assure you, my father had the full view o' your flourishing style, some hour before I saw it.  WEL. 
What a dull slave was this? But, sirrah, what said he to it, i'faith?  E. KN. 
Nay, I know not what he said: but I have a shrewd guess what he thought.  WEL. 
What? what?  E. KN. 
marry, that thou art some strange dissolute young fellow, and I a grain or two better, for keeping thee company.  WEL. 
Tut, that thought is like the moon in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hangby's, here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in 'em if thou hear'st 'em once go: my wind-instruments. I'll wind 'em up— but what strange piece of silence is this? the sign of the dumb man?  E. KN. 
Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music the fuller, and he please, he has his humour, sir.  WEL. 
Oh, what be't? what be't?  E. KN. 
Nay, I'll neither do your judgement, nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension: I'll leave him to the mercy o' your search, if you can take him, so.  WEL. 
Well, Captain BOBADILL, Mr. MATTHEW, pray you know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserve your affection. To Master Stephen. I know not your name sir, but I shall be glad of any occasion, to render me more familiar to you  STEP. 
My name is Mr. STEPHEN, sir, I am this gentleman's own cousin, sir, his father is mine uncle, sir, I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.  BOB. 
To Kno'well. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general man, but for Mr. WEL-BRED'S sake (you may embrace it, at what height of favour you please) I do communicate with you: and conceive you, to be a gentleman of some parts, I love few words.  E. KN. 
And I fewer, sir. I have scarce enough, to thank you.  MAT. 
But are you indeed. To Master Stephen. Sir? so given to it?  STEP. 
ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.  MAT. 
Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir, your true melancholy, breeds your perfect fine wit, sir: I am melancholy myself divers times, sir, and then do I no more but take pen, and paper presently, and overflow you half a score, or a dozen of sonnets, at a sitting.  (E. KN. 
Sure, he utters them then, by the gross.)  STEP. 
Truly sir, and I love such things, out of measure.  E. KN. 
i'faith, better than in measure, I'll undertake.  MAT. 
Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study, it's at your service.  STEP. 
I thank you sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you; have you a stool there, to be melancholy upon?  MAT. 
That I have, sir, and some papers there of mine own doing, at idle hours, that you'll say there's some sparks of wit in 'em, when you see them.  WEL. 
Would the sparks would kindle once, and become a fire amongst 'em, I might see self-love burnt for her heresy.  STEP. 
Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?  E. KN. 
Oh ay, excellent!  WEL. 
Captain BOBADILL: why muse you so?  E. KN. 
He is melancholy, too.  BOB. 
Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable piece of service, was performed tomorrow, being St. MARKS day: shall be some ten years, now?  E. KN. 
In what place, Captain?  BOB. 
Why, at the beleag'ring of Strigonium, where, in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best leaguer, that ever I beheld, with these eyes, except the taking in of— what do you call it, last year, by the genoese, but that (of all other) was the most fatal, and dangerous exploit, that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman, & soldier.  STEP. 
so, I had as lief, as an angel, I could swear as well as that gentleman!  E. KN. 
Then, you were a servitor, at both it seems! at Strigonium? and what do you call't?  BOB. 
Oh lord, sir? by S. GEORGE, I was the first man, that entered the breach: and, had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain, if I had had a million of lives.  E. KN. 
'Twas pity, you had not ten; a cat's, and your own, i'faith. But, was it possible?  (MAT. 
Pray you, mark this discourse, sir.  STEP. 
So, I do.)  BOB. 
I assure you (upon my reputation) 'tis true, and yourself shall confess.  E. KN. 
You must bring me to the rack, first.  BOB. 
Observe me judicially, sweet sir, they had planted me three demi-culverings, just in the mouth of the breach; now, sir (as we were to give on) their master gunner (a man of no mean skill, and mark, you must think) confronts me with his linstock, ready to give fire; I spying his intendment, discharged my petronel in his bosom, and with these single arms, my poor rapier, ran violently, upon the moors, that guarded the ordinance, and put 'em pell-mell to the sword.  WEL. 
To the sword? to the rapier, Captain?  E. KN. 
Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir! but did you all this, Captain, without hurting your blade.  BOB. 
Without any impeach, o' the earth: you shall perceive sir. It is the most fortunate weapon, that ever rid on poor gentleman's thigh: shall I tell you, sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so? tut, I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'em, I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare, the boldlier, maintain it.  STEP. 
I mar'le whether it be a Toledo, or no?  BOB. 
A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.  STEP. 
I have a countryman of his, here.  MAT. 
Pray you, let's see, sir: yes faith, it is!  BOB. 
This a Toledo? pish.  STEP. 
Why do you pish, Captain?  BOB. 
A Fleming, by heaven, I'll buy them for a guilder, a piece, an' I would have a thousand of them.  E. KN. 
How say you, cousin? I told you thus much?  WEL. 
Where bought you it, Mr. STEPHEN?  STEP. 
Of a scurvy rogue soldier (a hundred of louse go with him) he swore it was a Toledo.  BOB. 
A poor provant rapier, no better.  MAT. 
Mass, I think it be, indeed! now I look on't, better.  E. KN. 
Nay, the longer you look on't, the worse. Put it up, put it up.  STEP. 
Well, I will put it up, but by— (I ha' forgot the Captains oath, I thought to ha' sworn by it) an' ere I meet him—  WEL. 
O, it is past help now, sir, you must have patience.  STEP. 
whoreson coney-catching rascal! I could eat the very hilts for anger!  E. KN. 
A sign of good digestion! you have an ostrich stomach, cousin.  STEP. 
A stomach? would I had him here, you should see, an' I had a stomach.  WEL. 
It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we go?   

Act III. Scene II.  E. KNO'WELL, Brainworm, STEPHEN, WELL-BRED, BOBADILL, MATTHEW. 
A Miracle, cousin, look here! look here!  STEP. 
Oh, God's lid, by your leave, do you know me, sir?  BRAY. 
ay sir, I know you, by sight.  STEP. 
You sold me a rapier, did you not?  BRAY. 
Yes, marry, did I sir.  STEP. 
You said, it was a Toledo, ha?  BRAY. 
True, I did so.  STEP. 
But, it is none?  BRAY. 
No sir, I confess it, it is none.  STEP. 
Do you confess it? gentlemen, bear witness, he has confessed it. By gods will, and you had not confessed it—  E. KN. 
Oh cousin, forbear, forbear.  STEP. 
Nay, I have done, cousin.  WEL. 
Why you have done like a gentleman, he has confessed it, what would you more?  STEP. 
Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his savour, do you see?  E. KN. 
ay, by his leave, he is, and under savour: a pretty piece of civility! Sirrah, how dost thou like him?  WEL. 
Oh, it's a most precious fool, make much on him: I can compare him to nothing more happily, than a drum; for every one may play upon him.  E. KN. 
No, no, a child's whistle were far the fitter.  BRAY. 
Sir, shall I entreat a word with you?  E. KN. 
With me, sir? you have not another Toledo to sell, ha' you?  BRAY. 
You are conceited, sir, your name is Mr. KNO'WELL, as I take it?  E. KN. 
You are, i' the right? you mean not to proceed in the catechism, do you?  BRAY. 
No sir, I am none of that coat.  E. KN. 
Of as bare a coat, though? well, say sir.  BRAY. 
Faith sir, I am but servant to the drum extraordinary, and indeed (this smoky varnish being washed off, and three or four patches removed) I appear your worships in reversion, after the decease of your good father, Brainworm.  E. KN. 
Brainworm! 'Slight, what breath of a conjuror, hath blown thee hither in this shape.  BRAY. 
The breath o' your letter, sir, this morning: the same that blew you to the windmill, and your father after you.  E. KN. 
My father?  BRAY. 
Nay, never start, 'tis true, he has followed you over the fields, by the foot, as you would do a hare i' the snow.  E. KN. 
Sirrah, Wellbred, what shall we do, sirrah? my father is come over, after me.  WEL. 
Thy father? where is he?  BRAY. 
At justice Clement's house here, in Colman-street, where he but stays my return; and then—  WEL. 
Who's this? Brainworm?  BRAY. 
The same, sir.  WEL. 
Why how, i' the name of wit, com'st thou transmuted, thus?  BRAY. 
Faith, a devise, a devise: nay, for the love of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding the danger, stand not here, withdraw, and I'll tell you all.  WEL. 
But, art thou sure, he will stay thy return?  BRAY. 
Do I live, sir? what a question is that?  WEL. 
we'll prorogue his expectation then, a little: Brainworm, thou shalt go with us. Come on, gentlemen, nay, I pray thee, sweet NED, droop not: 'heart, and our wits be so wretchedly dull, that one old plodding brain can outstrip us all, would we were e'en priest, to make porters of; and serve out the remnant of our days, in Thames-street, or at Customhouse key, in a civil war, against the carmen.  BRAY. 
AMEN, AMEN, AMEN, say I.   

Act III. Scene III.  KITELY, CASH. 
WHat says he, THOMAS? Did you speak with him?  CAS. 
He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.  KIT. 
Has he the money ready, can you tell?  CAS. 
Yes, sir, the money was brought in, last night.  KIT. 
O, that's well: fetch me my cloak, my cloak.  
Stay, let me see, an hour, to go and come;  
ay, that will be the least: and then 'twill be  
An hour, before I can dispatch with him;  
Or very near: well, I will say two hours.  
Two hours? ha? things, never dreamed of yet,  
May be contrived, ay, and effected too,  
In two hours absence: well, I will not go.  
Two hours; no, fleering opportunity,  
I will not give your subtlety that scope.  
Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed,  
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,  
And shows the felon, where his treasure lies?  
Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt  
To the taste fruit of beauty's golden tree,  
When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?  
I will not go. Business, go by, for once.  
No beauty, no; you are of too good carat,  
To be left so, without a guard, or open!  
Your lustre too'll inflame, at any distance,  
Draw courtship to you, as a jet doth straws,  
Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice,  
Nay, make a porter leap you, with his burden!  
You must be then kept up, close, and well-watched,  
For, give you opportunity, no quicksand  
Devours, or swallows swifter! He that lends  
His wife (if she be fair) or time, or place;  
Compels her to be false. I will not go.  
The dangers are to many. And, then, the dressing  
Is a most main attractive! Our great heads,  
Within the city, never were in safety,  
Since our wives wore these little caps: I'll change 'em,  
I'll change 'em, straight, in mine. Mine shall no more  
Wear three-piled acorns, to make my horns ache.  
Nor, will I go. I am resolved for that.  
carrying my cloak again. Yet, stay. Yet, do too.  
I will defer going, on all occasions.  CASH. 
Sir. SNARE, your scrivener, will be there with th'bonds.  KITE. 
That's true! fool on me! I had clean forgot it,  
I must go. What's o'clock?  CASH. 
Exchange time, sir.  KITE. 
'Heart, then will WELL-BRED presently be here, too,  
With one, or other of his loose consorts.  
I am a knave, if I know what to say,  
What course to take, or which way to resolve.  
My brain (methinks) is like an hourglass,  
Wherein, my imaginations run, like sands,  
Filling up time; but then are turned, and turned:  
So, that I know not what to stay upon,  
And less, to put in act. It shall be so.  
Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy,  
He knows not to deceive me. THOMAS?  CASH. 
Sir.  KITE. 
Yet now, I have bethought me, too, I will not.  
THOMAS, is COB within?  CASH. 
I think he be, sir.  KITE. 
But he'll prate too, there's no speech of him.  
No, there were no man o' the earth to THOMAS,  
If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt.  
But, should he have a chink in him, I were gone,  
Lost i' my fame for ever: talk for th'Exchange.  
The manner he hath stood with, till this present,  
Doth promise no such change! what should I fear then?  
Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune, once.  
THOMAS— you may deceive me, but, I hope—  
Your love, to me, is more—  CAS. 
Sir, if a servants  
Duty, with faith, may be called love, you are  
More than in hope, you are possessed of it.  KIT. 
I thank you, heartily, THOMAS; Gi' me your hand:  
With all my heart, good THOMAS. I have, THOMAS,  
A secret to impart, unto you— but  
When once you have it, I must seal your lips up:  
(So far, I tell you, THOMAS.)  CAS. 
Sir, for that—  KIT. 
Nay, hear me, out. Think, I esteem you, THOMAS,  
When, I will let you in, thus, to my private.  
It is a thing fits, nearer, to my crest,  
Than thou art ware of, THOMAS. If thou shouldst  
Reveal it, but—  CAS. 
How? I reveal it?  KIT. 
Nay,  
I do not think thou wouldst; but if thou shouldst:  
'Twere a great weakness.  CAS. 
A great treachery.  
Give it no other name.  KIT. 
Thou wilt not do't, then?  CAS. 
Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me, ever.  KIT. 
He will not swear, he has some reservation,  
Some concealed purpose, and close meaning sure:  
Else (being urged so much) how should he choose,  
But lend an oath to all this protestation?  
His no precisian, that I am certain of.  
Nor rigid Roman-catholic. he'll play,  
At Fails, and Tick-tack, I have heard him swear.  
What should I think of it? urge him again,  
And by some other way? I will do so.  
Well, THOMAS; thou hast sworn not to disclose;  
Yes, you did swear?  CAS. 
Not yet, sir, but I will,  
Please you—  KIT. 
No, THOMAS, I dare take thy word.  
But; if thou wilt swear, do, as thou think'st good;  
I am resolved without it; at thy pleasure.  CAS. 
By my soul's safety then, sir, I protest.  
My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word,  
Delivered me in nature of your trust.  KIT. 
It's too much, these ceremonies need not,  
I know thy faith to be as firm as rock.  
THOMAS, come hither, near: we cannot be  
Too private, in this business. So it is,  
(Now, he has sworn, I dare the safelier venture)  
I have of late, by divers observations—  
(But, whether his oath can bind him, yea, or no,  
Being not taken lawfully? ha? say you?  
I will ask counsel, ere I do proceed:)  
THOMAS, it will be now too long to stay,  
I'll spy some fitter time soon, or tomorrow.  CAS. 
Sir, at your pleasure?  KIT. 
I will think. And, THOMAS,  
I pray you search the books 'gainst my return,  
For the receipts twixt me, and TRAPS.  CAS. 
I will, sir.  KIT. 
And, hear you, if your mistress brother, Wellbred,  
Chance to bring hither any gentlemen,  
Ere I come back; let one straight bring me word.  CAS. 
Very well, sir.  KIT. 
To the Exchange; do you hear?  
Or here in Colman-street, to justice CLEMENTS.  
Forget it not, nor be not out of the way.  CAS. 
I will not, sir.  KIT. 
I pray you have a care on't.  
Or whether he come, or no, if any other,  
Stranger, or else, fail not to send me word.  CAS. 
I shall not, sir.  KIT. 
Be't your special business  
Now, to remember it.  CAS. 
Sir. I warrant you.  KIT. 
But, THOMAS, this is not the secret, THOMAS,  
I told you of.  CAS. 
No, sir. I do suppose it.  KIT. 
Believe me, it is not.  CAS. 
Sir. I do believe you.  KIT. 
By heaven, it is not, that's enough. But, THOMAS,  
I would not, you should utter it, do you see?  
To any creature living, yet, I care not.  
Well, I must hence. THOMAS, conceive thus much.  
It was a trial of you, when I meant  
So deep a secret to you, I mean not this,  
But that I have to tell you, this is nothing, this.  
But, THOMAS, keep this from my wife, I charge you,  
Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here.  
No greater hell, than to be slave to fear.  CAS. 
Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here.  
Whence should this flood of passion (trow) take head? ha?  
Best, dream no longer of this running humour,  
For fear I sink! the violence of the stream  
Already hath transported me so far,  
That I can feel no ground at all! but soft,  
Oh, 'tis our water-bearer: somewhat has crossed him, now.   

Act III Scene IIII.  COB, CASH. 
FAsting days? what tell you me of fasting days? 'Slid, would they were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall be consumed with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weeks, and villainous fridays burnt, in the mean time, and then—  CAS. 
Why, how now COB, what moves thee to this choler? ha?  COB. 
Collar, master THOMAS? I scorn your collar, I sir, I am none o'your carthorse, though I carry, and draw water. An' you offer to ride me, with your collar, or halter either, I may hap show you a jade's trick, sir.  CAS. 
O, you'll slip your head out of the collar? why, goodman COB, you mistake me.  COB. 
Nay, I have my rheum, & I can be angry as well as another, sir.  CAS. 
Thy rheum, COB? thy humour, thy humour? thou mistak'st.  COB. 
Humour? mack, I think it be so, indeed: what is that humour? some rare thing, I warrant.  CAS. 
marry, I'll tell thee, COB: It is a gentlemanlike monster, bred, in the special gallantry of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly.  COB. 
How? must it be fed?  CAS. 
Oh ay, humour is nothing, if it be not fed. Didst thou never hear that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour.  COB. 
I'll none on it: Humour, avant, I know you not, be gone. Let who will make hungry meals for your monster-ship, it shall not be I. Feed you, quoth he? 'Slid, I ha'much ado, to feed myself; especially, on these lean rascally days, too; an't had been any other day, but a fasting day (a plague on them all for me) by this light, one might have done the commonwealth good service, and have drowned them all i' the flood, two or three hundred thousand years ago. O, I do stomach them hugely! I have a maw now, an't were for Sir BEVIS his horse, against 'em.  CAS. 
I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of love with fasting-days?  COB. 
marry that, which will make any man out of love with 'em, I think: their bad conditions, and you will needs know. First, they are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for they raven up more butter, than all the days of the week, beside; next, they stink of fish, and leek-porridge miserably: thirdly, they'll keep a man devoutly hungry, all day, and at night send him supperless to bed.  CAS. 
Indeed, these are faults, COB.  COB. 
Nay, and this were all, 'twere something, but they are the only known enemies, to my generation. A fasting-day, no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to rack, poor cobs they smoke for it, they are made martyrs o'the gridiron, they melt in passion: and your maids too know this, and yet would have me turn HANNIBAL, and eat my own fish, and blood: He pulls out a red herring. My princely couz, fear nothing; I have not the heart to devour you, & I might be made as rich as King COPHETVA. O, that I had room for my tears, I could weep salt-water enough, now, to preserve the lives of ten thousand of my kin. But, I may curse none but these filthy Almanacs, for an't were not for them, these days of persecution would ne'er be known. I'll be hanged, an' some Fishmongers son do not make of 'em; and puts in more fasting-days than he should do, because he would utter his father's dried stockfish, and stinking conger.  CAS. 
'Slight, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a stockfish, else: here is Mr. MATTHEW. Now must I look out for a messenger to my master.   

Act III. Scene V.  WELL-BRED, ED. KNO'WELL, Brainworm, BOBADILL, MATTHEW, STEPHEN, THOMAS, COB. 
BEshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, and exceedingly well carried!  E. KNO. 
ay, and our ignorance maintained it as well, did it not?  WEL. 
Yes faith, but was't possible thou shouldst not know him? I forgive Mr. STEPHEN, for he is stupidity itself!  E. KN. 
'Fore god, not I, and I might have been joined patten with one of the seven wise masters, for knowing him. He had so writhe himself, into the habit of one of your poor Infantry, your decayed, ruinous, worm-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as have vowed to sit on the skirts of the city, let your Provost, and his half-dozen of halberdeers do what they can; and have translated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fine easy amble, and made it run as smooth, of the tongue, as a shove-groat shilling. Into the likeness of one of these Reformadoes had he moulded himself so perfectly, observing every trick of their action, as varying the accent, swearing with an emphasis, indeed all, with so special, and exquisite a grace, that (hadst thou seen him) thou wouldst have sworn, he might have been sergeant-major, if not lieutenant-colonel to the regiment.  WEL. 
Why, Brainworm, who would have thought thou hadst been such an artificer?  E. KN. 
An artificer? An architect! except a man had studied begging all his lifetime, and been a weaver of language, from his infancy, for the clothing of it! I never saw his rival.  WEL. 
Where got'st thou this coat, I marl'e?  BRAY. 
Of a Houndsditch man, sir. One of the devil's near kinsmen, a broker.  WEL. 
That cannot be, if the proverb hold; for, a crafty knave needs no broker.  BRAY. 
True sir, but I did need a broker, Ergo.  WEL. 
(Well put off) no crafty knave, you'll say,  E. KN. 
Tut, he has more of these shifts.  BRAY. 
And yet where I have one, the broker has ten, sir,  THO. 
FRANCIS, MARTIN, ne'er a one to be found, now? what a spite's this?  WEL. 
How now, THOMAS? is my brother KITELY, within?  THO. 
No sir, my master went forth e'en now: but master DOWNRIGHT is within. COB, what COB? is he gone too?  WEL. 
Whither went your master? THOMAS, canst thou tell?  THO. 
I know not, to justice CLEMENTS, I think, sir. COB.  E. KN. 
justice CLEMENT, what's he?  WEL. 
Why, dost thou not know him? he is a city-magistrate, a justice here, an excellent good Lawyer, and a great scholar: but the only mad, merry, old fellow in Europe! I show'd him you, the other day.  E. KN. 
Oh, is that he? I remember him now. Good faith, and he has a very strange presence, methinks; it shows as if he stood out of the rank, from other men: I have heard many of his jests i' university. They say, he will commit a man, for taking the wall, of his horse.  WEL. 
ay, or wearing his cloak of one shoulder, or serving of god: any thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.  CAS. 
Cash goes in and out calling. GASPER, MARTIN, COB: 'heart, where should they be, trow?  BOB. 
Master KITELY'S man, pray thee vouchsafe us the lighting of this match.  CAS. 
Fire on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe? FRANCIS. COB.  BOB. 
Body of me! here's the remainder of seven pound, since yesterday was seven-night. 'Tis your right Trinidado! did you never take any, master STEPHEN?  STEP. 
No truly, sir? but I'll learn to take it now, since you commend it, so.  BOB. 
Sir, believe me (upon my relation) for what I tell you, the world shall not reprove. I have been in the Indies (where this herb grows) where neither myself, nor a dozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge) have received the taste of any other nutriment, in the world, for the space of one and twenty weeks, but the fume of this simple only. Therefore, it cannot be, but 'tis most divine! Further, take it in the nature, in the true kind so, it makes an antidote, that (had you taken the most deadly poisonous plant in all Italy, it should expel it, and clarify you, with as much ease, as I speak. And, for your green wound, your Balsamum, and your St. JOHN'S wort are all mere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your Trinidado: your Nicotian is good too. I could say what I know of the virtue of it, for the expulsion of rheums, raw humours, crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind, but I profess myself no quacksalver. Only, thus much, by HERCULES, I do hold it, and will affirm it (before any Prince in Europe) to be the most sovereign, and precious weed, that ever the earth tendered to the use of man.  E. KN. 
This speech would ha' done decently in a tabacco-trader's mouth!  CAS. 
At justice Clement's, he is: in the middle of Colman-street.  COB. 
O, oh?  BOB. 
Where's the match I gave thee? Master Kitely's man?  CAS. 
Would his match, and he, and pipe, and all were at SANCTO DOMINGO! I had forgot it.  COB. 
By gods me, I mar'le, what pleasure, or felicity they have in taking this roguish tobacco! it's good for nothing, but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke, and embers: there were four died out of one house, last week, with taking of it, and two more the bell went for, yesternight; one of them (they say) will ne'er scape it: he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, upward, and downward. By the stocks, an' there were no wiser men than I, I'd have it present whipping, man, or woman, that should but deal with a tobacco-pipe; why, it will stifle them all in the end, as many as use it; it's little better than rat's bane, or rosaker.  ALL. 
Oh, Bobadil beats him with a cudgel. good Captain, hold, hold.  BOB. 
You base cullion, you.  CAS. 
Sir, here's your match: come, thou must needs be talking, too, thouart well enough served.  COB. 
Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant you: well it shall be a dear beating, and I live.  BOB. 
Do you prate? Do you murmur?  E. KN. 
Nay, good Captain, will you regard the humour of a fool? away, knave.  WEL. 
THOMAS, get him away.  BOB. 
A whoreson filthy slave, a dung-worm, an excrement! Body o' CAESAR, but that I scorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I'd ha' stabbed him, to the earth.  WEL. 
marry, the law forbid, sir.  BOB. 
By pharaoh's foot, I would have done it.  STEP. 
Oh, he swears admirably! (by pharaoh's foot) (body of CAESAR) I shall never do it, sure (upon mine honour, and by Saint GEORGE) no, I ha' not the right grace.  MAY. 
Master STEPHEN, will you any? By this air, the most divine tobacco, that ever I drunk!  STEP. 
None, I thank you, sir. O, this gentleman does it, rarely too! but nothing like the other. By this air, as I am a gentleman: by—  BRAY. 
Master, Master Stephen is practising, to the post. glance, glance! Master WELL-BRED!  STEP. 
As I have somewhat to be saved, I protest—  WEL. 
You are a fool: It needs no affidavit.  E. KN. 
Cousin, will you any tobacco?  STEP. 
ay sir! upon my reputation—  E. KN. 
How now, cousin!  STEP. 
I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier, indeed—  WEL. 
No, Master STEPHEN? as I remember your name is entered in the artillery garden?  STEP. 
ay sir, that's true: Cousin, may I swear, as I am a soldier, by that?  E. KN. 
Oh yes, that you may. It's all you have for your money.  STEP. 
Then, as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it is divine tobacco!  WEL. 
But soft, where's Mr. MATTHEW? gone?  BRAY. 
No, sir, they went in here.  WEL. 
O, let's follow them: master MATTHEW is gone to salute his mistress, in verse. we shall ha' the happiness, to hear some of his poetry, now. He never comes unfurnished. Brainworm?  STEP. 
Brainworm? Where? Is this Brainworm?  E. KN. 
ay, cousin, no words of it, upon your gentility.  STEP. 
Not I, body of me, by this air, S. GEORGE, and the foot of Pharaoh.  WEL. 
Rare! your cousin's discourse is simply drawn out with oaths.  E. KN. 
'Tis larded with 'em. A kind of french dressing, if you love it.   

Act III. Scene VI.  KITELY, COB. 
HA? how many are there, sayest thou?  COB. 
marry sir, your brother, master wellbred—  KIT. 
Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?  COB. 
Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass I know not well, there are so many.  KIT. 
How? so many?  COB. 
ay, there's some five, or six of them, at the most.  KIT. 
A swarm, a swarm,  
Spite of the devil, how they sting my head  
With forked stings, thus wide, and large! But, COB,  
How long hast thou been coming hither, COB?  COB. 
A little while, sir.  KIT. 
Didst thou come running?  COB. 
No, sir.  KIT. 
Nay, than I am familiar with thy haste!  
Bane to my fortunes: what meant I to marry?  
ay, that before was ranked in such content,  
My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace,  
Being free master of mine own free thoughts,  
And now become a slave? What? never sigh,  
Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold,  
'Tis done, 'tis done! nay, when such flowing store,  
Plenty itself, falls in my wives lap,  
The Cornucopia will be mine, I know. But, COB,  
What entertainment had they? I am sure  
My sister, and my wife, would bid them welcome! ha?  COB. 
Like enough, sir, yet, I heard not a word of it.  KIT. 
No: their lips were sealed with kisses, and the voice  
Drowned in a flood of joy, at their arrival,  
Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.  
COB, which of them was't, that first kissed my wife?  
(My sister, I should say) my wife, alas,  
I fear not her: ha? who was it, sayst thou?  COB. 
By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?  KIT. 
Oh ay, good COB: I pray thee, heartily.  COB. 
Then, I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bridewell, than your worship's company, if I saw anybody to be kissed, unless they would have kissed the post, in the middle of the warehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco, with a pox.  KIT. 
How? were they not gone in, then, ere thou cam'st?  COB. 
Oh no sir.  KIT. 
Spite of the devil! what do I stay here, then? COB, follow me.  COB. 
Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit; I cannot go yet, sir. Now am I for some five and fifty reasons hammering, hammering revenge: oh, for three or four gallons of vinegar, to sharpen my wits. Revenge, vinegar revenge: vinegar, and mustard revenge: nay, and he had not lain in my house, 't would never have grieved me, but being my guest, one, that I'll be sworn, my wife has lent him her smock off her back, while his one shirt has been at washing; pawned her neckerchers for clean bands for him; sold almost all my platters, to buy him tobacco; and he to turn monster of ingratitude, and strike his lawful host! well, I hope to raise up an host of fury for't: here comes justice CLEMENT.   

Act III. Scene VII.  CLEMENT, KNO'WELL, FORMAL, COB. 
WHat's master KITELY gone? ROGER?  FOR. 
ay, sir.  CLEM. 
'heart of me! what made him leave us so abruptly! How now, sirrah? what make you here? what would you have, ha?  COB. 
an't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of your worships—  CLEM. 
A poor neighbour of mine? why, speak poor neighbour.  COB. 
I dwell, sir, at the sign of the water-tankard, hard by the green lattice: I have paid scot, and lot there, any time this eighteen years.  CLEM. 
To the green lattice?  COB. 
No, sir, to the parish: marry, I have seldom scaped scotfree, at the lattice.  CLEM. 
O, well! what business has my poor neighbour with me?  COB. 
an't like your worship, I am come, to crave the peace of your worship.  CLEM. 
Of me knave? peace of me, knave? did I e'er hurt thee? or threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?  COB. 
No, sir, but your worship's warrant, for one that has wronged me, sir: his arms are at too much liberty, I would feign have them bound to a treaty of peace, an' my credit could compass it, with your worship.  CLEM. 
Thou goest far enough about for't, I am sure.  KNO. 
Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him? friend?  COB. 
No sir; but I go in danger of my death, every hour, by his means: an' I die, within a twelvemonth and a day, I may swear, by the law of the land, that he killed me.  CLEM. 
How? how knave? swear he killed thee? and by the law? what pretence? what colour hast thou for that?  COB. 
marry, an't please your worship, both black, and blue; colour enough, I warrant you. I have it here, to show your worship.  CLEM. 
What is he, that gave you this, sirrah?  COB. 
A gentleman, and a soldier, he says he is, o'the city here.  CLEM. 
A soldier o' the city? What call you him?  COB. 
Captain BOBADIL.  CLEM. 
BOBADIL? And why did he bob, and beat you, sirrah? How began the quarrel betwixt you? ha: speak truly knave, I advise you.  COB. 
marry, indeed, and please your worship, only because I spoke against their vagrant tobacco, as I came by 'em, when they were taking on't, for nothing else.  CLEM. 
Ha? you speak against tobacco? FORMAL, his name.  FORM. 
What's your name, sirrah?  COB. 
OLIVER, sir, OLIVER COB, sir.  CLEM. 
Tell OLIVER COB, he shall go to the jail, FORMAL.  FORM. 
OLIVER COB, my master, justice CLEMENT, says, you shall go to the jail.  COB. 
O, I beseech your worship, for God's sake, dear master justice.  CLEM. 
Nay, gods precious: and such drunkards, and tankards, as you are, come to dispute of tobacco once; I have done! away with him.  COB. 
O, good master justice, sweet old gentleman.  KNO. 
Sweet OLIVER, would I could do thee any good: justice CLEMENT, let me entreat you, sir.  CLEM. 
What? a threadbare rascal! a beggar! a slave that never drunk out of better than pisspot mettle in his life! and he to deprave, and abuse the virtue of an herb, so generally received in the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabins of soldiers! ROGER, away with him, by gods precious— I say, go too.  COB. 
Dear master justice; Let me be beaten again, I have deserved it: but not the prison, I beseech you.  KNO. 
Alas, poor OLIVER!  CLEM. 
ROGER, make him a warrant (he shall not go) I but fear the knave.  FORM. 
Do not stink, sweet OLIVER, you shall not go, my master will give you a warrant.  COB. 
O, the Lord maintain his worship, his worthy worship.  CLEM. 
Away, dispatch him. How now, master Kno'well! In dumps? In dumps? Come, this becomes not.  KNO. 
Sir, would I could not feel my cares—  CLEM. 
Your cares are nothing! they are like my cap, soon put on, and as soon put off. What? your son is old enough, to govern himself: let him run his course, it's the only way to make him a stayed man. If he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a licentious liver, than you had reason; you had reason to take care: but, being none of these, mirth's my witness, an' I had twice so many cares, as you have, I'd drown them all in a cup of sack. Come, come, let's try it: I muse, your parcel of a soldier returns not all this while.    


Act IV. Scene I.  downright, DAME KITELY. 
WEll sister, I tell you true: and you'll find it so, in the end.  DAME. 
Alas brother, what would you have me to do? I cannot help it: you see, my brother brings 'em in, here, they are his friends.  DOW. 
His friends? his fiends. 'sblood, they do nothing but haunt him, up and down, like a sort of unlucky sprites, and tempt him to all manner of villainy, that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a little thing would make me play the devil with some of 'em; and 'twere not more for your husband's sake, than any thing else, I'd make the house too hot for the best on 'em: they should say, and swear, hell were broken loose, ere they went hence. But, by gods will, 'tis nobody's fault, but yours: for, an' you had done, as you might have done, they should have been parboiled, and baked too, every mother's son, ere they should ha' come in, ere a one of 'em.  DAME. 
God's my life! did you ever hear the like? what a strange man is this! Could I keep out all them, think you? I should put myself, against half a dozen men? should I? Good faith, you'd mad the patientest body in the world, to hear you talk so, without any sense, or reason!   

Act IV. Scene II.  Mrs. BRIDGET, Mr. MATTHEW, DAME KITELY, downright, WEL-BRED, STEPHEN, ED. KNO'WELL, BOBADIL, Brainworm, GASH. 
servant (in troth) you are too prodigal  
Of your wit's treasure, thus to power it forth,  
Upon so mean a subject, as my worth?  MAT. 
You say well, mistress; and I mean, as well.  DOWN. 
Heyday, here is stuff!  WELL. 
O, now stand close: pray heaven, she can get him to read:  
He should do it, of his own natural impudency.  BRID. 
Servant, what is this same, I pray you?  MATT. 
marry, an Elegy, an Elegy, an odd toy—  DOWN. 
To mock an ape withal. O, I could sow up his mouth, now.  DAME. 
Sister, I pray you let's hear it.  DOWN. 
Are you rime-given, too?  MATT. 
Mistress, I'll read it, if you please.  BRID. 
Pray you do, servant.  DOWN. 
O, here's no foppery! Death, I can endure the stocks, better.  E. KN. 
What ails thy brother? can he not hold his water, at reading of a ballad?  WELL. 
O, no: a rhyme to him, is worse than cheese, or a bagpipe. But, mark, you lose the protestation.  MATT. 
Faith, I did it in an humour; I know not how it is: but, please you come near, sir. This gentleman has judgement, he knows how to censure of a— pray you sir, you can judge.  STEP. 
Not I, sir: upon my reputation, and, by the foot of Pharaoh.  WELL. 
O, chide your cousin, for swearing.  E. KN. 
Not I, so long as he does not for swear himself.  BOB. 
Master MATTHEW, you abuse the expectation of your dear mistress, and her fair sister: Fie, while you live, avoid this prolixity.  MATT. 
I shall, sir: well, Incipere dulce.  E. KN. 
How! Insipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a fool, indeed.  WELL. 
What, do you take Insipere, in that sense?  E. KN. 
You do not? you? This was your villainy, to gull him with a mot.  WELL. 
O, the bencher's phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba.  MATT. 
Rare creature, let me speak without offence,  
Would god my rude words had the influence,  
To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine,  
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.  E. KN. 
This is in HERO and LEANDER?  WELL. 
O, I! peace, we shall have more of this.  MATT. 
Be not unkind, and fair, misshaped stuff  
Is of behaviour boisterous, and rough:  WELL. 
Master Stephen answer with shaking his head. How like you that, sir?  E. KN. 
'Slight, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feel and there be any brain in it!  MATT. 
But observe the catastrophe, now,  
And I in duty will exceed all other,  
As you in beauty do excel loves mother.  E. KN. 
Well, I'll have him free of the wit-brokers, for he utters nothing, but stolen remnants.  WEL. 
O, forgive it him.  E. KN. 
A filching rogue? hang him. And, from the dead? it's worse than sacrilege.  WEL. 
Sister, what ha' you here? verses? pray you, let's see. Who made these verses? they are excellent good!  MAT. 
O, master Wellbred, 'tis your disposition to say so, sir. They were good i' the morning, I made 'em, extempore, this morning.  WEL. 
How? extempore?  MAT. 
ay, would I might be hanged else: ask Captain BOBADILE. He saw me write them, at the— (pox on it) the star, yonder.  BRAY. 
Can he find, in his heart, to curse the stars, so?  E. KN. 
Faith, his are even with him: they ha' cursed him enough already.  STEP. 
cozen, how do you like this gentleman's verses?  E. KN. 
O, admirable! the best that ever I heard, coz!  STEP. 
Body o' CAESAR! they are admirable!  
The best, that ever I heard, as I am a soldier.  DOW. 
I am vexed, I can hold ne'er a bone of me still! Heart, I think, they mean to build, and breed here!  WEL. 
Sister, you have a simple servant here, that crowns your beauty, with such encomions, and devices: you may see, what it is to be the mistress of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that every blear eye may look through them, and see him drowned over head, and ears, in the deep well of desire. Sister KITELY, I marvel, you get you not a servant, that can rhyme, and do tricks, too.  DOWN. 
Oh monster! impudence itself! tricks?  DAME. 
Tricks, brother? what tricks?  BRID. 
Nay, speak, I pray you, what tricks?  DAME. 
ay, never spare anybody here: but say, what tricks?  BRID. 
Passion of my heart! do tricks?  WEL. 
'Slight, here's a trick vied, and reuyed! why, you monkeys, you? what a caterwauling do you keep? has he not given you rhymes, and verses, and tricks?  DOW. 
O, the fiend!  WEL. 
Nay, you, lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff so! come, and cherish this tame poetical fury, in your servant, you'll be begged else, shortly, for a concealment: go to, reward his muse. You cannot give him less than a shilling, in conscience, for the book, he had it out of, cost him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? Mr. MATTHEW? Captain? What? all sons of silence? no spirit?  DOW. 
Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wiss: this is no tavern, nor drinking-school, to vent your exploits in.  WEL. 
How now! whose cow has calved?  DOW. 
marry, that has mine, sir. Nay, Boy, never look askance at me, for the matter; I'll tell you of it, ay, sir, you, and your companions, mend yourselves, when I ha' done?  WEL. 
My companions?  DOW. 
Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here. You must have your Poets, and your potlings, your soldadoes, and fooladoes, to follow you up and down the city, and here they must come to domineer, and swagger. Sirrah, you, ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home: or (by this steel) I'll cut off your ears, and that, presently.  WEL. 
'Slight, stay, let's see what he dare do: cut off his ears? cut a whetstone. You are an ass, do you see? touch any man here, and by this hand, I'll run my rapier to the hilts in you.  DOW. 
They all draw, and they of the house make out to part them. Yea, that would I feign see, boy.  DAME. 
O jesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR!  BRID. 
Help, help, THOMAS.  E. KN. 
Gentlemen, forbear, I pray you.  BOB. 
Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pink your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good heaven: Nay, They offer to fight again, and are parted. let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint GEORGE, I'll not kill him.  CASH. 
Hold, hold, good gentlemen.  DOW. 
You whoreson, bragging coistrel:   

Act IV. Scene III.  
To them. KITELY. 
WHy, how now? what's the matter? what's the stir here?  
Whence springs the quarrel? THOMAS! where is he?  
Put up your weapons, and put off this rage.  
My wife and sister, they are cause of this,  
What, THOMAS? where is this knave?  CASH. 
Here, sir.  WEL. 
Come, let's go: this is one of my brother's ancient humours, this.  STEP. 
I am glad, nobody was hurt by his ancient humour.  KITE. 
Why, how now, brother, who endorsed this brawl?  DOW. 
A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for god, nor the devil! And, they must come here to read ballads, and roguery, and trash! I'll mar the knot of 'em ere I sleep, perhaps: especially BOB, there: he that's all manner of shapes! and Songs, and sonnets, his fellow.  BRID. 
Brother, indeed, you are too violent,  
too sudden, in your humour: and, you know  
My brother wel-bred's temper will not bear  
Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence,  
Where every slight disgrace, he should receive,  
Might wound him in opinion, and respect.  DOWN. 
Respect? what talk you of respect 'mong such,  
As ha' nor spark of manhood, nor good manners?  
'Sdeynes I am ashamed, to hear you! respect?  BRID. 
Yes, there was one a civil gentleman,  
And very worthily demeaned himself!  KITE. 
O, that was some love of yours, sister!  BRID. 
A love of mine? I would it were no worse, brother!  
You'd pay my portion sooner, than you think for.  DAME. 
Indeed, he seemed to be a gentleman of an exceeding fair disposition, and of very excellent good parts!  KITE. 
Her love, by heaven! my wife's minion!  
Fair disposition? excellent good parts?  
Death, these phrases are intolerable!  
Good parts? how should she know his parts?  
His parts? Well, well, well, well, well, well!  
It is too plain, too clear: THOMAS, come hither.  
What, are they gone?  CASH. 
ay, sir, they went in.  
My mistress, and your sister—  KITE. 
Are any of the gallants within!  CASH. 
No, sir, they are all gone.  KITE. 
Art thou sure of it?  CASH. 
I can assure you, sir.  KITE. 
What gentleman was that they praised so, THOMAS?  CASH. 
One, they call him master KNO'WELL, a handsome young gentleman, sir.  KITE. 
ay, I thought so: my mind gave me as much.  
I'll die, but they have hid him i' the house,  
Somewhere; I'll go and search: go with me, THOMAS.  
Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a master.    

Act IV. Scene IIII.  COB, TIB. 
WHat TIB, TIB, I say.  TIB. 
How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard? O, husband, be't you? what's the news?  COB. 
Nay, you have stunned me, i'faith! you ha' given me a knock o' the forehead, will stick by me! cuckold? 'Slid, cuckold?  TIB. 
Away, you fool, did I know it was you, that knocked?  
Come, come, you may call me as bad, when you list.  COB. 
May I? TIB, you are a whore.  TIB. 
You lie in your throat, husband.  COB. 
How, the lie? and in my throat too? do you long to be stabbed, ha?  TIB. 
Why, you are no soldier, I hope?  COB. 
O, must you be stabbed by a soldier? Mass, that's true! when was BOBADILL here? your Captain? that rogue, that foist, that fencing Burgullian? I'll tickle him, i'faith.  COB. 
Why, what's the matter? trow!  COB. 
O, he has basted me, rarely, sumptuously! but I have it herein black and white; for his black, and blue: shall pay him. O, the justice! the honestest old brave Trojan in London! I do honour the very flea of his dog. A plague on him though, he put me once in a villainous filthy fear; marry, it vanished away, like the smoke of tobacco: but I was smoked soundly first. I thank the devil, and his good angel, my guest. Well, wife, or TIB (which you will) get you in, and lock the door, I charge you, let nobody in to you; wife, nobody in, to you: those are my words. Not Captain BOB himself, nor the fiend, in his likeness; you are a woman; you have flesh and blood enough in you, to be tempted: therefore, keep the door, shut, upon all comers.  TIB. 
I warrant you, there shall nobody enter here, without my consent.  COB. 
Nor, with your consent, sweet TIB, and so I leave you.  TIB. 
It's more, than you know, whether you leave me so.  COB. 
How?  TIB. 
Why, sweet.  COB. 
Tut, sweet, or sour, thou art a flower,  
Keep close thy door, I ask no more.   

Act IV. Scene V.  ED. KNO'WELL, WELL-BRED, STEPHEN, Brainworm. 
WEll Brainworm, perform this business, happily,  
And thou makest a purchase of my love, forever,  WEL. 
i'faith, now let thy spirits use their best faculties. but, at any hand, remember the message, to my brother: for, there's no other means, to start him.  BRAY. 
I warrant you, sir, fear nothing: I have a nimble soul has waked all forces of my fantasy, by this time, and put 'em in true motion. What you have possessed me withal, I'll discharge it amply, sir. Make it no question.  WEL. 
Forth, and prosper, Brainworm. Faith, NED, how dost thou approve of my abilities in this devise?  E. KN. 
Troth, well, howsoever: but, it will come excellent, if it take.  WEL. 
Take, man? why, it cannot choose but take, if the circumstances miscarry not: but, tell me, ingenuously, dost thou affect my sister BRIDGET, as thou pretendest?  E. KN. 
Friend, am I worth belief?  WEL. 
Come, do not protest. In faith, she is a maid of good ornament, and much modesty: and, except I conceived very worthily of her, thou shouldest not have her.  E. KN. 
Nay, that I am afraid will be a question yet, whether I shall have her, or no?  WEL. 
'Slid, thou shalt have her; by this light, thou shalt.  E. KN. 
Nay, do not swear.  WEL. 
By this hand, thou shalt have her: I'll go fetch her, presently. Point, but where to meet, and as I am an honest man, I'll bring her.  E. KN. 
Hold, hold, be temperate.  WEL. 
Why, by— what shall I swear by? thou shalt have her, as I am—  E. KN. 
Pray thee, be at peace, I am satisfied: and do believe, thou wilt omit no offered occasion, to make my desires complete.  WEL. 
Thou shalt see, and know, I will not.   

Act IV. Scene VI.  formal, KNO'WELL, Brainworm. 
WAs your man a soldier, sir?  KNO. 
ay, a knave, I took him begging o' the way,  
This morning, as I came over morefield's!  
O, here he is! yo' have made fair speed, believe me:  
Where, i' the name of sloth, could you be thus—  BRAY. 
marry, peace be my comfort, where I thought I should have had little comfort of your worship's service.  KNO. 
How so?  BRAY. 
O, sir! your coming to the city, your entertainment of me, and your sending me to watch— indeed, all the circumstances either of your charge, or my employment, are as open to your son, as to yourself!  KNO. 
How should that be! unless that villain, Brainworm,  
Have told him of the letter, and discovered  
All that I strictly charged him to conceal? 'tis so!  BRAY. 
I am, partly, o' the faith, 'tis so indeed.  KNO. 
But, how should he know thee to be my man?  BRAY 
Nay, sir, I cannot tell; unless it be by the black art! Is not your son a scholar, sir?  KNOW 
Yes, but I hope his soul is not allied  
Unto such hellish practice: if it were,  
I had just cause to weep my part in him,  
And curse the time of his creation.  
But, where didst thou find them, FITZ- SWORD?  BRAY 
You should rather ask, where they found me, sir, for, I'll be sworn I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when (of a sudden) a voice calls, Mr KNOW- Well's man; another cries, soldier: and thus, half a dozen of 'em, till they had called me within a house where I no sooner came, but thy seemed men, and out slew all their rapiers at my bosom, with some three or four score oaths to accompany 'em, & all to tell me, I was but a dead man, if I did not confess where you were, and how I was employed, and about what; which, when they could not get out of me (as I protest, they must ha' dissected, and made an Anatomy o'me, first, and so I told 'em) the locked me up into a room i' the top of a high house, whence, by a great miracle (having a light heart) I slid down, by a bottom of packthread, into the street, and so scaped. But, sir, thus much I can assure you, for I heard it, while I was locked up, there were a great many rich merchants, and brave citizens wives with 'em at a feast, and your son, Mr. EDWARD, withdrew with one of 'em, and has pointed to meet her anon, at one COB'S house, a water-bearer, that dwells by the wall. Now, there, your worship shall be sure to take him, for there he preys, and fail he will not.  KNOW 
Nor, will I fail, to break his match, I doubt not.  
Go thou, along with justice CLEMENT'S man,  
And stay there for me. At one COB'S house, sayst thou?  BRAY 
I sir, there you shall have him. Yes? Invisible? Much wench, or much son! 'Slight, when he has stayed there, three or four hours, traveling with the expectation of wonders, and at length be delivered of air: o, the sport, that I should then take, to look on him, if I durst! But, now, I mean to appear no more afore him in this shape. I have another trick, to act, yet. O, that I were so happy, as to light on a nupson, now, of this justices novice. Sir, I make you stay somewhat long.  FORM 
Not a whit, sir. Pray you, what do you mean? sir?  BRAY 
I was putting up some papers—  FORM 
You ha' been lately in the wars, sir, it seems.  BRAY 
Marry have I, sir; to my loss: and expense of all, almosst—  FORM 
Troth sir, I would be glad to bestow a pottle of wine o'you, if it please you to accept it—  BRAY 
O, sir—  FORM 
But, to hear the manner of your services, and your devices in the wars, they say they be very strange, and not like those a man reads in the Roman histories, or sees, at Mile-end.  BRAY 
No, I assure you, sir, why, at any time when it please you, I shall be ready to discourse to you, all I know: and more too, somewhat.  FORM 
No better time, then now, sir; we'll go to the windmill: there we shall have a cup of neat grift, we call it. I pray you, sir, let me request you, to the windmill.  BRAY 
I'll follow you, sir, and make grift o'you, if I have good luck.   

Act IIII. Scene VII  MATTHEW, ED. KNO'WELL, BOBADILL, STEPHEN, DOWN- RIGHT. To them. 
SIr, did your eyes ever taste the like clown of him, where we were today, Mr. WELL- BRED's half brother? I think, the whole earth cannot show his parallel, by this daylight.  E. KN 
We were now speaking of him: Captain BOBADIL tells me, he is fallen foul o'you too.  MAT 
O, I, sir, he threatened me, with the bastinado.  BOB 
I, but I think, I taught you prevention, this morning, for that— You shall kill him, beyond question: if you be so generously minded.  MAT 
Indeed, it is a most excellent trick!  He practises at a post. BOB 
O, you do not give spirit enough, to our motion, you are too tardy, too heavy! O, it must be done like lightning, hay?  MAT 
Rare Captain!  BOB 
Tut, 'tis nothing, and 't be not done in a— punto!  E. KN 
Captain, did you ever prove yourself, upon any of our masters of defence, here?  MAT 
O, good sir! yes, I hope, he has.  BOB 
I will tell you, sir. Upon my first coming to the city, after my long travail, for knowledge (in that mystery only) there came three, of four of 'em to me, at a gentleman's house, where it was my chance to be resident, at that time, to entreat my presence at their schools, and withal so much importuned me, that (I protest to you as I am a gentleman) I was ashamed of their rude demeanour, out of all measure: well, I told 'em, that to come to a public school, they should pardon me, it was opposite (in diameter) to my humour, but, if so they would give their attendance at my lodging, I protested to do them what right or favour I could, as I was a gentleman, and so forth.  E. KN 
So, sir, than you tried their skill?  BOB 
Alas, soon tried! you shall hear sir. Within two or three days after, they came; and, by honesty; fair sir, believe me, I graced them exceedingly, show'd them some two or three tricks of prevention, have purchased 'em, since, a credit, to admiration! they cannot deny this: and yet now, they hate me, and why? because I am excellent, and for no other vile reason on earth.  E. KN. 
This is strange, and barbarous! as ever I heard!  BOB. 
Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous natures, but note, sir. They have assaulted me some three, four, five, six of them together, as I have walked alone, in divers skirts i' the town, as Turnbull, Whitechapel, Shoreditch, which were then my quarters, and since upon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my ordinary: where I have driven them afore me, the whole length of a street, in the open view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe me. Yet, all this lenity will not o'ercome their spleen: they will be doing with the pismire, raising a hill, a man may spurn abroad, with his foot, at pleasure. By myself, I could have slain them all, but I delight not in murder. I am loath to bear any other than this bastinado for 'em: yet, I hold it good polity, not to go disarmed, for though I be skilful, I may be oppressed with multitudes.  E. KN. 
ay, believe me, may you sir: and (in my conceit) our whole nation should sustain the loss by it, if it were so.  BOB. 
Alas, no: what's a peculiar man, to a nation? not seen.  E. KN. 
O, but your skill, sir!  BOB. 
Indeed, that might be some loss; but, who respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of private, and under seal; I am a gentleman, and live here obscure, and to myself: but, were I known to her Majesty, and the Lords (observe me) I would undertake (upon this poor head, and life) for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lines of her subjects in general, but to save the one half, nay, three parts of her yearly charge, in holding war, and against what enemy soever. And, how would I do it, think you?  E. KN. 
Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive.  BOB. 
Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen, more, to myself, throughout the land; gentlemen they should be of good spirit, strong, and able constitution, i would choose them by an instinct, a character, that I have: and I would teach these nineteen, the special rules, as your Punto, your Reverso, your Stoccata, your Imbroccata, your Passada, your Montanto: till they could all play very near, or altogether as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were forty thousand strong, we twenty would come into the field, the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and we would challenge twenty of the enemy; they could not, in their honour, refuse us, well, we would kill them: challenge twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too; and thus, would we kill, every man, his twenty a day, that's twenty score; twenty score, that's two hundredth; two hundredth a day, five days a thousand; forty thousand; forty times five, five times forty, two hundredth days kills them all up, by computation. And this, will I venture my poor gentlemanlike carcase, to perform (provided, there be no treason practised upon us) by fair, and discreet manhood, that is, civilly by the sword.  E. KN. 
Why, are you so sure of your hand, Captain, at all times?  BOB. 
Tut, never miss thrust, upon my reputation with you.  E. KN. 
I would not stand in Downe-right's state, then, an' you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London.  BOB. 
Why, sir, you mistake me! if he were here now, by this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him! let this gentleman do his mind: but, I will bastinado him (by the bright sun) wherever I meet him.  MAT. 
Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at my distance.  E. KN. 
God's so ', Downright walks over the stage. look, where he is: yonder he goes.  DOW. 
What peevish luck have I, I cannot meet with these bragging rascals?  BOB. 
It's not he? is it?  E. KN. 
Yes faith, it is he?  MAT. 
I'll be hanged, then, if that were he.  E. KN. 
Sir, keep your hanging good, for some greater matter, for I assure you, that was he.  STEP. 
Upon my reputation, it was he.  BOB. 
Had I thought it had been he, he must not have gone so: but I can hardly be induced, to believe, it was he, yet.  E. KN. 
That I think, sir. But see, he is come again!  DOW. 
O, pharaoh's foot, have I found you? Come, draw, to your tools: draw, gipsy, or I'll thrash you.  BOB. 
Gentleman of valour, I do believe in thee, hear me—  DOW. 
Draw your weapon, then.  BOB. 
Tall man, I never thought on it, till now (body of me) I had a warrant of the peace, served on me, even now, as I came along, by a water-bearer; this gentleman saw it, Mr. MATTHEW.  DOW. 
'Sdeath, you will not draw, then?  BOB. 
Hold, He beats him, and disarms him: Matthew runs away. hold, under thy favour, forbear.  DOW. 
Prate again, as you like this, you whoreson foist, you. You'll control the point, you? Your consort is gone? had he stayed, he had shared with you, sir.  BOB. 
Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the peace, by this good day.  E. KN. 
No faith, it's an ill day, Captain, never reckon it other: but, say you were bound to the peace, the law allows you, to defend yourself: that'll prove but a poor excuse.  BOB. 
I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction, in fair sort. I never sustained the like disgrace (by heaven) sure I was struck with a planet thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon.  E. KN. 
ay, like enough, I have heard of many that have been beaten under a planet: go, get you to a surgeon. 'Slid, an' these be your tricks, your passadas, and your mountantoes, I'll none of them. O, manners! that this age should bring forth such creatures! that Nature should be at leisure to make 'em! Come, coz.  STEP. 
Mass, I'll ha' this cloak.  E. KN. 
God's will, 'tis Downright's.  STEP. 
Nay, it's mine now, another might have ta'en up, as well as I: I'll wear it, so I will.  E. KN. 
How, an' he see it? he'll challenge it, assure yourself.  STEP. 
ay, but he shall not ha' it; I'll say, I bought it.  E. KN. 
Take heed, you buy it not, too dear, coz.   

Act IV. Scene VIII.  KITELY, WEL-BRED, DAME KIT. BRIDGET, Brainworm, CASH. 
NOw, trust me brother, you were much to blame,  
T'incense his anger, and disturb the peace,  
Of my poor house, where there are sentinels,  
That every minute watch, to give alarms,  
Of civil war, without adjection  
Of your assistance, or occasion.  WELL. 
No harm done, brother, I warrant you: since there is no harm done. Anger costs a man nothing: and a tall man is never his own man, till he be angry. To keep his valour in obscurity, is to keep himself, as it were, in a cloak-bag. What's a physician, unless he play? what's a tall man, unless he fight? For, indeed, all this, my wise brother stands upon, absolutely: and, that made me fall in with him, so resolutely.  DAME. 
ay, but what harm might have come of it, brother?  WELL. 
Might, sister? so, might the good warm clothes, your husband wears, be poisoned, for any thing he knows: or the wholesome wine he drunk, even now, at the table—  KITE. 
Now, god forbid: O me. Now, I remember,  
My wife drunk to me, last; and changed the cup:  
And bade me wear this cursed suit today.  
See, if heaven suffer murder undiscovered!  
I feel me ill; give me some mithridate,  
Some mithridate and oil, good sister, fetch me;  
O, I am sick at heart! I burn, I burn.  
If you will save my life, go, fetch it me.  WELL. 
O, strange humour! my very breath has poisoned him.  BRID. 
Good brother, be content, what do you mean?  
The strength of these extreme conceits, will kill you.  DAME. 
Beshrew your heart-blood, brother WELL-BRED, now; for putting such a toy into his head.  WELL. 
Is a fit simile, a toy? will he be poisoned with a simile? Brother KITELY, what a strange, and idle imagination is this? For shame, be wiser. O' my soul, there's no such matter.  KITE. 
Am I not sick? how am I, then, not poisoned?  
Am I not poisoned? how am I, then, so sick?  DAME. 
If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick.  WELL. 
His jealousy is the poison, he has taken.  BRAY. 
Mr. KITELY, He comes disguised like justice Clement's man. my master, justice CLEMENT, salutes you; and desires to speak with you, with all possible speed.  KITE. 
No time, but now? when, I think, I am sick? very sick! well, I will wait upon his worship. THOMAS, COB, I must seek them out, and set 'em sentinels, till I return. THOMAS, COB, THOMAS.  WELL. 
This is perfectly rare, Brainworm! but how got'st thou this apparel of the justices man?  BRAY. 
marry sir, my proper fine penman, would needs bestow the grist o'me, at the windmill, to hear some martial discourse; where so I marshaled him, that I made him drunk, with admiration! &, because, too much hear was the cause of his distemper, I stripped him stark naked, as he lay along asleep, and borrowed his suit, to deliver this counterfeit message in, leaving a rusty armour, and an old brown bill to watch him, till my return: which shall be, when I ha' pawned his apparel, and spent the better part o' the money, perhaps.  WELL. 
Well, thou art a successful merry knave, Brainworm, his absence will be a good subject for more mirth. I pray thee, return to thy young master, and will him to meet me, and my sister BRIDGET, at the tower instantly: for, here, tell him, the house is so stored with jealousy, there is no room for love, to stand upright in. We must get our fortunes committed to some larger prison, say; and, than the tower, I know no better air: nor where the liberty of the house may do us more present service. Away.  KITE. 
Come hither, THOMAS. Now, my secret's ripe,  
And thou shalt have it; lay to both thine ears.  
Hark, what I say to thee. I must go forth, THOMAS.  
Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch,  
Note every gallant, and observe him well,  
That enters in my absence, to thy mistress:  
If she would show him rooms, the jest is stale,  
Follow 'em, THOMAS, or else hang on him,  
And let him not go after; mark their looks;  
Note, if she offer but to see his band,  
Or any other amorous toy, about him;  
But praise his leg; or foot; or if she say,  
The day is hot, and bid him feel her hand,  
How hot it is; o, that's a monstrous thing!  
Note me all this, good THOMAS, mark their sighs,  
And, if they do but whisper, break 'em off:  
I'll bear thee out in it. willt thou do this?  
willt thou be true, my THOMAS?  CASE 
As truth's self, sir.  KITE 
Why, I believe thee: where is COB, now? COB?  DAME. 
he's ever calling for COB! I wonder, how he employs COB, so!  WELL 
Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs COB, is a necessary question for you, that are his wife, and a thing not very easy for you to be satisfied in us: but this I'll assure you, COB'S wife is an excellent bawd, sister, and, oftentimes, your husband haunts her house, marry, to what end, I cannot altogether accuse him, imagine you what you think convenient. But, I have known, fair hides have foul hearts, ere now, sister.  DAME. 
Never said you truer than that, brother, so much I can tell you for your learning. THOMAS, fetch your cloak, and go with me, I'll after him presently: I would to fortune, I could take him there, i'faith. I'd return him his own, I warrant him.  WELL 
So, let 'em go: this may make sport anon. Now, my fair sister in-law, that you knew, but how happy a thing it were to be fair, and beautiful?  BRID 
That touches not me, brother.  WELL 
That's true; that's even the fault of it: for indeed, beauty stands a woman in no stead, unless it procure her touching. But, sister, whether it touch you, or no, it touches your beauties; and, I am sure, they will abide the touch; an' they do not, a plague of all ceruse, say I: and, it touches me to in part, though not in the— Well, there's a dear and respected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly, and worthily affected toward you, and hath vowed to inflame whole bonfires of zeal, at his heart, in honour of your perfections. I have already engaged my promise to bring you, where you shall hear him confirm much more. NED KNO'WELL is the man, sister. There's no exception against the party. You are ripe for a husband; and a minute's loss to such an occasion, is a great trespass in a wise beauty. What say you, sister? On my soul he loves you. Will you give him the meeting?  BRID 
Faith, I had very little confidence in mine own constancy, brother, if I durst not meet a man: but this motion of yours, savours of an old knight-aduenturers servant, a little too much, me thinks.  WELL 
What's that, sister?  BRID 
Marry, of the squire.  WELL 
No matter if it did, I would be such an one for my friend, but see! who is returned to hinder us?  KITE 
What villainy is this? called out on a false message?  
This was some plot! I was not sent for. BRIDGET,  
Where's your sister?  BRID 
I think she be gone forth, sir.  KITE 
How! is my wife gone forth? whether for god's sake?  BRID 
she's gone abroad with THOMAS.  KITE 
Abroad with THOMAS? oh, that villain dors me.  
He hath discovered all unto my wife!  
Beast that I was, to trust him: whither, I pray you, went she?  BRID 
I know not, sir.  WELL 
I'll tell you, brother, whither I suspect she's gone.  KITE 
Whither, good brother?  WELL 
To COB'S house, I believe: but, keep my counsel.  KITE 
I will, I will: to COB'S house? doth she haunt COBS?  
she's gone a'purpose, now, to cuckold me,  
With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favour,  
Hath told her all.  WELL 
Come, he's once more gone.  
Sister, let's lose no time; th'affair is worth it.   

Act III. Scene IX  MATTHEW, BOBADIL, BRAIN- Worm, DOWN- RIGHT. To them. 
I Wonder, Captain, what they will say of my going away? ha?  BOB 
Why, what should they say? but as of a discreet gentleman? quick, wary, respectful of natures fair lineaments: and that's all?  MAT 
Why, so! but what can they say of your beating?  BOB 
A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind of gross battery used, laid on strongly, borne most patiently: and that's all.  MAT 
I, but, would any man have offered it in Venice? as you say?  BOB 
Tut, I assure you, no: you shall have there your Nobilis, your Gentelezza, come in bravely upon your reverse, stand you close, stand you firm, stand you fair, save your retricato with his left leg, come to the assalto with the right, thrust with brave steel, defy your base wood! But, wherefore do I awake this remembrance? I was fascinated, by JUPITER: fascinated: but I will be vn-witched, and revenged, by law.  MAT 
Do you hear? be't not best to get a warrant, and have him arrested, and brought before justice CLEMENT?  BOB 
It were not amiss, would we had it.  MAT 
Why, here comes his man, let's speak to him.  BOB 
Agreed, do you speak.  MAT 
Save you, sir.  BRAY 
With all my heart, sir?  MAT 
Sir, there is one DOWN- RIGHT, hath abused this gentleman, and myself, and we determine to make our amends by law; now, if you would do us the favour, to procure a warrant, to bring him afore your master, you shall be well considered, I assure you, sir.  BRAY. 
Sir, you know my service is my living, such favours as these, gotten of my master, is his only preferment, and therefore, you must consider me, as I may make benefit of my place.  MAT. 
How is that? sir.  BRAY. 
Faith sir, the thing is extraordinary, and the gentleman may be, of great account: yet, be what he will, if you will lay me down a brace of angels, in my hand, you shall have it, otherwise not.  MAT. 
How shall we do, Captain? he asks a brace of angels, you have no money?  BOB. 
Not a cross, by fortune.  MAT. 
Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two pence, left of my two shillings in the morning for wine, and reddish: let's find him some pawn.  BOB. 
Pawn? we have none to the value of his demand.  MAT. 
O, yes. I'll pawn this jewel in my ear, and you may pawn your silk stockings, and pull up your boots, they will ne'er be missed: It must be done, now.  BOB. 
Well, an' there be no remedy: I'll step aside, and pull 'em off.  MAT. 
Do you hear, sir? we have no store of money at this time, but you shall have good pawns: look you, sir, this jewel, and that gentleman's silk stockings, because we would have it dispatched, ere we went to our chambers.  BRAY. 
I am content, sir; I will get you the warrant presently, what's his name, say you? Downright?  MAT. 
ay, ay, GEORGE DOWNRIGHT.  BRAY. 
What manner of man is he?  MAT. 
A tall big man, sir; he goes in a cloak, most commonly, of silk russet, laid about with russet lace.  BRAY. 
'Tis very good, sir.  MAT. 
Here sir, here's my jewel?  BOB. 
And, here, are stockings.  BRAY. 
Well, gentlemen, I'll procure you this warrant presently, but, who will you have to serve it?  MAT. 
That's true, Captain: that must be considered.  BOB. 
Body o' me, I know not! 'tis service of danger?  BRAY. 
Why, you were best get one o' the varlets o' the city, a sergeant. I'll appoint you one, if you please.  MAT. 
Will you, sir? why, we can wish no better.  BOB. 
we'll leave it to you, sir.  BRAY. 
This is rare! now, will I go pawn this cloak of the justice's man's, at the broker's, for a varlet's suit, and be the varlet myself; and get either more pawns, or more movie of DOWNRIGHT, for the arrest.   

Act IV. Scene X.  KNO'WEL, TIB, CASH, DAME KITELY, KITELY, COB. 
OH, here it is, I am glad: I have found it now.  
Ho? who is within, here?  TIB. 
I am within, sir, what's your pleasure?  KNO. 
To know, who is within, besides yourself.  TIB. 
Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope?  KNO. 
O! fear you the constable? then, I doubt not.  
You have some guests within, deserve that fear,  
I'll fetch him straight.  TIB. 
O' God's name, sir.  KNO. 
Go to. Come, tell me, Is not young Kno'well, here?  TIB. 
Young Kno'well? I know none such, sir, o' mine honesty!  KNO. 
Your honesty? dame, it flies too lightly from you:  
There is no way, but, fetch the constable.  TIB. 
The constable? the man is mad, I think.  CAS. 
Ho, who keeps house, here?  KNO. 
O, this is the female copesmate of my son?  
Now shall I meet him straight.  DAME. 
Knock, THOMAS, hand.  CAS. 
Ho, good wife?  TIB. 
Why, what's the matter with you?  DAME. 
Why, woman, grieves it you to ope your door?  
Belike, you get something, to keep it shut.  TIB. 
What mean these questions, pray ye?  DAME. 
So strange you make it? is not my husband, here?  KNO. 
Her husband!  DAME. 
My tried husband, master KITELY.  TIB. 
I hope, he needs not to betrayed, here.  DAME. 
No, dame: he does it not for need, but pleasure.  TIB. 
Neither for need, nor pleasure, is he here.  KNO. 
This is but a device, to baulk me withal.  
Soft, who is this? 'Tis not my son, disguised?  DAME. 
O, she spies her husband come: and runs to him. sir, have I forestalled your honest market?  
Found your close walks? you stand amazed, now, do you?  
i'faith (I am glad) I have smoked you yet at last!  
What is your jewel trow? In: come, let's see her;  
(Fetch forth your housewife, dame) if she be fairer,  
In any honest judgement, than myself,  
I'll be content with it: but, she is change,  
She feeds you fat, she soothes your appetite,  
And you are well? your wife, an honest woman,  
Is meat twice sod to you, sir? O, you trencher!  KNO. 
She cannot counterfeit thus palpably.  KITE. 
Out on thy more than strumpet's impudence!  
Stealest thou thus to thy haunts? and, have I taken  
Thy bawd, and thee, and thy companion,  
Pointing to old Knowell. This hoary-headed lecher, this old goat,  
Close at your villainy, and wouldst thou excuse it,  
With this stale harlots jest, accusing me?  
To him. O, old incontinent, dost not thou shame,  
When all thy powers in chastity is spent,  
To have a mind so hot? and to entice,  
And feed th'enticements of a lustful woman?  DAME. 
Out, I defy thee, ay, dissembling wretch.  KITE. 
By Thomas. Defy me, strumpet? ask thy pandar, here,  
Can be deny it? or that wicked older?  KNO. 
Why, hear you, sir.  KITE. 
Tut, tut, tut: never speak.  
Thy guilty conscience will discover thee.  KNO. 
What lunacy is this, that haunts this man?  KITE. 
Well, goodwife BAED, Cob's wife; and you,  
That make your husband such a hoddie-doddie;  
And you, young apple-squire; and old cuckold-maker;  
He ha'you every one before a justice:  
Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go.  KNO. 
marry, with all my heart, sir: I go willingly.  
Though I do taste this as a trick, put on me,  
To punish my impertinent search; and justly:  
And half forgive my son, for the device.  KITE. 
Come, will you go?  DAME. 
Go? to thy shame, believe it.  COB. 
Why, what's the matter, here? What's here to do?  KITE. 
O, COB, art thou come? I have been abused,  
And i' thy house. Never was man so, wronged!  COB. 
'Slid, in my house? my master KITELY? Who wrongs you in my house?  KITE. 
marry, young lust in old; and old in young, here:  
Thy wife's their bawd, here have I taken 'em.  COB. 
He falls upon his wife and bears her. How? bawd? Is my house come to that? Am I preferred thither? Did I charge you to keep your doors shut, Is'BEL? and do you let 'em lie open for all comers?  KNO. 
Friend know some cause, before thou beatest thy wife,  
This 's madness, in thee.  COB. 
Why? is there no cause?  KITE. 
Yes, I'll show cause before the justice, COB:  
Come, let her go with me.  COB. 
Nay, she shall go.  TIB. 
Nay, I will go. I'll see, an' you may be allowed to make a bundle o' hemp, o' your right and lawful wife thus, at every cuckoldly knaves pleasure. Why do you not go?  KITE. 
A bitter quean. Come, we'll ha' you tamed.   

Act IV. Scene XI.  Brainworm, MATTHEW, BOBADIL, STEPHEN, downright. 
WEll, of all my disguises, yet, now am I most like myself: being in this sergeant gown. A man of my present profession, never counterfeits, till he lays hold upon a debtor, and says, he rests him, for then he brings him to all manner of unrest. A kind of little kings we are, bearing the diminutive of a mace, made like a young artichoke, that always carries pepper and salt, in itself. Well, I know not what danger I undergo, by this exploit, pray heaven, I come well of.  MAT. 
See, I think, yonder is the varlet, by his gown.  BOB. 
Let's go, in quest of him.  MAT. 
'Save you, friend, are not you here, by appointment of justice Clement's man.  BRAY. 
Yes, an't please you, sir: he told me two gentlemen had willled him to procure a warrant from his master (which I have about me) to be served on one DOWNRIGHT.  MAT. 
It is honestly done of you both; and see, where the party comes, you must arrest: serve it upon him, quickly, afore he be aware—  BOB. 
Bear back, master MATTHEW.  BRAY. 
Master DOWNRIGHT, I arrest you, i'the queen's name, and must carry you afore a justice, by virtue of this warrant.  STEP. 
Me, friend? I am no DOWNRIGHT, I. I am master STEPHEN, you do not well, to arrest me, I tell you, truly: I am in nobody's bonds, nor books, I, would you should know it. A plague on you heartily, for making me thus afraid afore my time.  BRAY. 
Why, now are you deceived, gentlemen?  BOB. 
He wears such a cloak, and that deceived us: But see, here 'a comes, indeed! this is he, officer.  DOWN. 
Why how now, signor gull! are you turned filcher of late? come, deliver my cloak.  STEP. 
Your cloak, sir? I bought it, even now, in open market.  BRAY. 
Master downright, I have a warrant I must serve upon you, procured by these two gentlemen.  DOWN. 
These gentlemen? these rascals?  BRAY. 
Keep the peace, I charge you, in her majesties name.  DOWN. 
I obey thee. What must I do, officer?  BRAY. 
Go before, master justice CLEMENT, to answer what they can object against you, sir. I will use you kindly, sir.  MATT. 
Come, let's before, and make the justice, Captain—  BOB. 
The varlet's a tall man! afore heaven!  DOWN. 
Gull, you'll gi' me my cloak?  STEP. 
Sir, I bought it, and I'll keep it.  DOWN. 
You will.  STEP. 
ay, that I will.  DOWN. 
Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him.  BRAY. 
Master STEPHEN, I must arrest you.  STEP. 
Arrest me, I scorn it. There, take your cloak, I'll none on't.  DOWN. 
Nay, that shall not serve your turn, now, sir. Officer, I'll go with thee, to the justices: bring him along.  STEP. 
Why, is not here your cloak? what would you have?  DOWN. 
I'll ha'you answer it, sir.  BRAY. 
Sir, I'll take your word; and this gentleman's, too: for his appearance.  DOWN. 
I'll ha' no words taken. Bring him along.  BRAY. 
Sir, I may choose, to do that: I may take bail.  DOWN. 
'Tis true, you may take bail, and choose; at another time: but you shall not, now, varlet. Bring him along, or I'll swinge you.  BRAY. 
Sir, I pity the gentleman's case. Here's your money again.  DOW. 
'Sdeynes, tell not me of my money, bring him away, I say.  BRAY. 
I warrant you he will go with you of himself, sir.  DOW. 
Yet more ado?  BRAY. 
I have made a fair mash on't.  STEP. 
Must I go?  BRAY. 
I know no remedy, master STEPHEN.  DOWN. 
Come along, afore me, here. I do not love your hanging look behind.  STEP. 
Why, sir. I hope you cannot hang me for it. Can he, fellow?  BRAY. 
I think not, sir. It is but a whipping matter, sure!  STEP. 
Why, then, let him do his worst, I am resolute.    


Act V. Scene I.  CLEMENT, KNO'WEL, KITELY, DAME KITELY, TIB, CASH, COB, SERVANTS. 
NAy, but stay, stay, give me leave: my chair, sirrah. You, master KNO'WELL, say you went thither to meet your son.  KNO. 
ay, sir.  CLEM. 
But, who directed you, thither?  KNO. 
That did mine own man, sir.  CLEM. 
Where is he?  KNO. 
Nay, I know not, now; I left him with your clerk: And appointed him, to stay here for me.  CLEM. 
My dark? about what time, was this?  KNO. 
marry, between one and two, as I take it.  CLEM. 
And, what time came my man with the false message to you, master KITELY?  KITE. 
After two, sir.  CLEM. 
Very good: but, mistress KITELY, how that you were at Cons? ha?  DAME. 
An' please you, sir, I'll tell you: my brother, Wellbred, told me, that Cob's house, was a suspected place—  CLEM. 
So it appears, methinks: but, on.  DAME. 
And that my husband used thither, daily.  CLEM. 
No matter, so he used himself well, mistress.  DAME. 
True sir, but you know, what grows, by such haunts, oftentimes.  CLEM. 
I see, rank fruits of a jealous brain, mistress KITELY: but, did you find your husband there, in that case, as you suspected?  KITE. 
I found her there, sir.  CLEM. 
Did you so? that altars the case. Who gave you knowledge, of your wives being there?  KITE. 
marry, that did my brother Wellbred.  CLEM. 
How? Wellbred first tell her? then tell you, after? where is Wellbred?  KITE. 
Gone with my sister, sir, I know not whither.  CLEM. 
Why, this is a mere trick, a device; you are gulled in this most grossly, all! alas, poor wench, wert thou beaten for this?  TIB. 
Yes, most pitifully, and 't please you.  COB. 
And worthily, I hope: if it shall prove so.  CLEM. 
ay, that's like, and a piece of a sentence. How now, sir? what's the matter?  SER. 
Sir, there's a gentleman, i' the court without, desires to speak with your worship.  CLEM. 
A gentleman? what's he?  SER. 
A soldier, sir, he says.  CLEM. 
A soldier? take down my armour, my sword, quickly: a soldier speak with me! He arms himself. why, when knaves? come on, come on, hold my cap there, so; give me my gorget, my sword: stand by, I will end your matters, enough— Let the soldier enter, now, sir, what ha'you to say to me?   

Act V. Scene II.  BOBADILL, MATTHEW. 
BY your worship's favour—  CLEM. 
Nay, keep out, sir, I know not your pretence, you send me word, sir, you are a soldier: why, sir, you shall be answered, here, here be them have been amongst soldiers. Sir, your pleasure.  BOB. 
Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman, and myself, have been most uncivilly wronged, and beaten, by one DOWNRIGHT, a course fellow, about the town, here, and for mine own part, I protest, being a man, in no sort, given to this filthy humour of quarreling, he hath assaulted me in the way of my peace; despoiled me of mine honour; disarmed me of my weapons; and rudely, laid me along, in the open streets: when, I not so much as once offered to resist him.  CLEM. 
O, gods precious! is this the soldier? here, take my armour of quickly, 'twill make him swoon, I fear; he is not fit to look on't, that will put up a blow.  MATT. 
An't please your worship, he was bound to the peace.  CLEM. 
Why, and he were, sir, his hands were not bound, were they?  SER. 
There's one of the varlets of the city, sir, has brought two gentlemen, here, one, upon your worships warrant.  CLEM. 
My warrant?  SER. 
Yes, sir. The officer says, procured by these two.  CLEM. 
Bid him, come in. Set by this picture. What, Mr. Downright! are you brought at Mr. FRESH-WATERS suit, here!   

Act V. Scene III.  downright, STEPHEN, Brainworm. 
i'faith, sir. And here's another brought at my suit.  CLEM. 
What are you, sir?  STEP. 
A gentleman, sir? O, uncle!  CLEM. 
Uncle? who? master Kno'well?  KNO. 
ay, sir! this is a wise kinsman of mine.  STEP. 
God's my witness, uncle, I am wronged here monstrously, he charges me with stealing of his cloak, and would I might never stir, if I did not find it in the street, by chance.  DOW. 
O, did you find it, now? you said, you bought it, erewhile.  STEP. 
And, you said, I stole it; nay, now my uncle is here, I'll do well enough, with you.  CLEM. 
Well, let this breath a while; you, that have cause to complain, there, stand forth: had you my warrant for this gentleman's apprehension?  BOB. 
ay, an't please your worship.  CLEM. 
Nay, do not speak in passion so: where had you it?  BOB. 
Of your clerk, sir?  CLEM. 
That's well! an' my clerk can make warrants, and my hand not at 'em! Where is the warrant? Officer, have you it?  BRAY. 
No, sir, your worship's man, master FORMAL, bid me do it, for these gentlemen, and he would be my discharge.  CLEM. 
Why, master DOWNRIGHT, are you such a novice, to be served, and never see the warrant?  DOW. 
Sir. He did not serve it on me.  CLEM. 
No? how then?  DOW. 
marry, sir, he came to me, and said, he must serve it, and he would use me kindly, and so—  CLEM. 
O, gods pity, was it so, sir? he must serve it? give me my longsword there, and help me of; so. Come on, sir varlet, I must cut off your legs, He flourishes over him with his longsword. sirrah: nay, stand up, I'll use you kindly; I must cut off your legs, I say.  BRAY. 
O, good sir, I beseech you; nay, good master justice.  CLEM. 
I must do it; there is no remedy. I must cut off your legs, sirrah, I must cut off your ears, you rascal, I must do it; I must cut off your nose, I must cut off your head.  BRAY. 
O, good your worship.  CLEM. 
Well, rise, how dost thou do, now? dost thou feel thyself well? hast thou no harm?  BRAY. 
No, I thank your good worship, sir.  CLEM. 
Why, so! I said, I must cut off thy legs, and I must cut off thy arms, and I must cut off thy head; but, I did not do it: so, you said, you must serve this gentleman, with my warrant, but, you did not serve him. You knave, you slave, you rogue, do you say you must? sirrah, away with him, to the jail, I'll teach you a trick, for your must, sir.  BRAY. 
Good, sir, I beseech you, be good to me.  CLEM. 
Tell him he shall to the jail, away with him, I say.  BRAY. 
Nay, sir, if you will commit me, it shall be for committing more than this: I will not lose, by my travail, any grain of my fame certain.  CLEM. 
How is this!  KNO. 
My man, Brainworm!  STEP. 
O yes, uncle. Brainworm has been with my cousin EDWARD, and I, all this day.  CLEM. 
I told you all, there was some device!  BRAY. 
Nay, excellent justice, since I have laid myself thus open to you; now, stand strong for me: both with your sword, and your balance.  CLEM. 
Body o'me, a merry knave! Give me a bowl of sack: If he belong to you, master KNO'WELL, I bespeak your patience.  BRAY. 
That is it, I have most need of. Sir, if you'll pardon me, only; I'll glory in all the rest, of my exploits.  KNO. 
Sir, you know, I love not to have my favours come hard, from me. You have your pardon: though I suspect you shrewdly for being of counsel with my son, against me.  BRAY. 
Yes, faith, I have, sir; though you retained me doubly this morning, for yourself: first, as Brainworm; after, as FITZ-SWORD. I was your reformed soldier, sir. 'Twas I sent you to COBS, upon the errand, without end.  KNO. 
Is it possible! or that thou shouldst disguise thy language so, as I should not know thee?  BRAY. 
O, sir, this has been the day of my metamorphosis! It is not that shape alone that I have run through, today. I brought this gentleman, master KITELY, a message too, in the form of master justices man, here, to draw him out o' the way, as well as your worship: while master WELL-BRED might make a conveyance of mistress BRIDGET, to my young master.  KITE. 
How! my sister stolen away?  KNO. 
My son is not married, I hope!  BRAY. 
Faith, sir, they are both as sure as love, a priest, and three thousand pound (which is her portion) can make 'em: and by this time are ready to bespeak their wedding supper at the windmill, except some friend, here, prevent 'em, and invite 'em home.  CLEM. 
marry, that will I (I thank thee, for putting me in mind on't.) Sirrah, go you, and fetch 'em hither, upon my warrant. Neither's friends have cause to be sorry, if I know the young couple, aright. Here, I drink to thee, for thy good news. But, I pray thee, what hast thou done with my man FORMAL.  BRAY. 
Faith, sir, after some ceremony past, as making him drunk, first with story, and then with wine (but all in kindness) and stripping him to his shirt: I left him in that cool vain, departed, sold your worships warrant to these two, pawned his livery for that varlet's gown, to serve it in; and thus have brought myself, by my activity, to your worship's consideration.  CLEM. 
And I will consider thee, in another cup of sack. Here's to thee, which having drunk of, this is my sentence. Pledge me. Thou hast done, or assisted to nothing, in my judgement, but deserves to be pardoned for the wit o' the offence. If thy master, or any man, here, be angry with thee, I shall suspect his engine, while I know him for't. How now? what noise is that!  SER. 
Sir, it is ROGER is come home.  CLEM. 
Bring him in, bring him in. What! drunk in arms, against me? Your reason, your reason for this.   

Act V. Scene IIII.  formal. To them. 
I Beseech your worship to pardon me; I happened into ill company by chance, that cast me into a sleep, and stripped me of all my clothes—  CLEM. 
Well, tell him, I am justice CLEMENT, and do pardon him: but, what is this to your armour! what may that signify?  FORM. 
And 't please you, sir, it hung up i' the room, where I was stripped; and I borrowed it of one o' the drawers, to come home in, because I was loath, to do penance through the street, i' my shirt.  CLEM. 
Well, stand by a while. Who be these? O, the young company, welcome, welcome. Gi' you joy. Nay, mistress BRIDGET, blush not; you are not so fresh a bride, but the news of it is come hither afore you. Master Bridegroom, I ha' made your peace, give me your hand: so will I for all the rest, ere you forsake my roof.   

Act V. Scene V.  ED. KNO'WEL, To them. WEL-BRED, BRIDGET. 
WE are the more bound to your humanity, sir.  CLEM. 
Only these two, have so little of man in 'em, they are no part of my care.  WELL. 
Yes, sir, let me pray you for this gentleman, he belongs, to my sister, the bride.  CLEM. 
In what place, sir?  WELL. 
Of her delight, sir, below the stairs, and in public: her poet, sir.  CLEM. 
A poet? I will challenge him myself, presently, at extempore. 
Mount up thy Phlegon muse, and testify,  
How Saturn, sitting in an ebon cloud,  
Disrobed his podex white as ivory,  
And, through the welkin, thundered all aloud.   WELL. 
He is not for extempore, sir. He is all for the pocket-muse, please you command a sight of it.  CLEM. 
Yes, yes, search him for a taste of his vein.  WELL. 
You must not deny the queen's justice, Sir, under a writ o' rebellion.  CLEM. 
What! all this verse? Body o' me, he carries a whole realm, a commonwealth of paper, in's hose! let's see some of his subjects! 
Unto the boundless Ocean of thy face,  
Runs this poor river changed with streams of eyes.  How? this is stolen!  E. KN. 
A parody! a parody! with a kind of miraculous gift, to make it absurd then it was.  CLEM. 
Is all the rest, of this batch? Being me a torch; lay it together, and give fire. Cleanse the air. He was enough to have infected, the whole city, if it had not been taken in time! See, see, how our poet's glory shines! brighter, and brighter! still it increases! O, now, it's at the highest: and, now, it declines as fast. You may see. Sic transit gloria mundi.  KNO. 
There's an emblem for you, son, and your studies!  CLEM. 
Nay, no speech, or act of mine be drawn against such as profess it worthily. They are not borne every year, as an Alderman. There goes more to the making of a good Poet, than a Sheriff, Mr. KITELY. You look upon me! though, I live i' the city here, amongst you, I will do more reverence, to him, when I meet him, than I will to the Major, out of his year. But, these paper-pedlars! these ink-dabblers! They cannot expect reprehension, or reproach. They have it with the fact.  E. KN. 
Sir, you have saved me the labour of a defence.  CLEM. 
It shall be discourse for supper; between your father and me, if he dare undertake me. But, to dispatch away these, you sign o' the Soldier, and picture o' the Poet (but, both so false, I will not ha' you hanged out at my door till midnight) while we are at supper, you two shall penitently fast it out in my court, without; and, if you will, you may pray there, that we may be so merry within, as to forgive, or forget you, when we come out. Here's a third, because, we tender your safety, shall watch you, he is provided for the purpose. Look to your change, sir.  STEP 
And what shall I do?  CLEM. 
O! I had lost a sheep, an he had not bleated! Why, sir, you shall give Mr. Downright his cloak: and I will entreat him to take it. A trencher, and a napkin, you shall have, i' the buttery, and keep COB, and his wife company, here; whom, I will entreat first to be reconciled: and you to endeavour with your wit, to keep 'em so.  Step 
I'll do my best.  COB. 
Why, now I see thou art honest, TIB, I receive thee as my dear, and mortal wife, again.  Tib. 
And, I you, as my loving, and obedient husband.  CLEM. 
Good complement! It will be their bridal night too. They are married anew. Come, I conjure the rest, to put of all discontent. You, Mr. Downright, your anger; you, master KNO'WELL, your cares; master KITELY, and his wife, their jealousy.  
For, I must tell you both, while that is fed,  
horns i' the mind are worse than o' the head.  KITE. 
Sir, thus they go from me, kiss me, sweet heart. 
See, what a drove of horns fly, in the air,  
Winged with my densed, and my credulous breath!  
Watch 'em, suspicious eyes, watch, where they fall.  
See, see! on hands, that think th'haue none at all!  
O, what a plenteous world of this, will come!  
When air rains horns, all may be sure of same.  I ha' learned so much verse out of a jealous man's part, in a play.  CLEM. 
'Tis well, 'tis well! This night we'll dedicate to friendship, love, and laughter. Master bridegroom, take your bride, and lead: every one, a fellow. Here is my mistress. Brainworm! to whom all my addresses of courtship shall have their reference. Whose adventures, this day, when our grandchildren shall hear to be made a fable, I doubt not, but it shall find both spectators, and applause.    
THE END  

This Comedy was first Acted, in the year 1598.  
By the then L. CHAMBERLAYNE his Servants.  

The principal comedians were.  
WILL SHAKESPEARE.  
AVG. PHILIPS.  
HEN. CONDEL.  
WILL. sly.  
WILL. KEMPE.  
RIC. BURBADGE.  
IOH. HEMINGS.  
THO. POPE.  
CHR. BEESTON.  
IOH. DUKE.   
With the allowance of the Master of revels.