THE STAPLE OF news. A comedy ACTED IN THE year, 1625. BY HIS Majesty's SERVANTS.  
The Author BEN: JONSON.  HOR. in ART POET. 
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetae:  
Aut simul & iucunda, & idonea dicere vitae  
LONDON, Printed by I. B. for ROBERT ALLOT, and are to be sold at the sign of the Bear, in Paul's Churchyard. 1631.   

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.  

Peniboy. the Son, the heir and Suitor.  
Peniboy. the Father. the Canter.  
Peniboy. the Uncle. The Usurer.  
CYMBAL. Master of the Staple, and prime jeerer.  
FITTON. Emissary Court, and jeerer.  
ALMANACH Doctor in Physic, and jeerer.  
shun-field. Sea-captain, and jeerer.  
MADRIGAL. Poetaster, and jeerer.  
PICKLOCK. Man o' law, and Emissary Westminster.  
PYED-MANTLE. Pursuivant at arms, and Heraldet.  
REGISTER. Of the Staple, or Office.  
NATHANEEL. First Clerk of the Office.  
Tho. BARBR. Second Clerk of the Office.  
pecunia. Infanta of the Mines.  
MORTGAGE. Her Nurse.  
STATUTE. First Woman.  
BAND. Second Woman.  
wax. Chambermaid.  
BROKER. Secretary, and Gentleman usher to her Grace.  
Lickfinger. A Master Cook, and parcel Poet.  
FASHIONER. The tailor of the times.  
LINENER. HABERDASHER.  
shoemaker. SPURRIER.  
CUSTOMERS. Male and Female.  
PORTER. dogs. II.   
The SCENE. London.   

THE INDUCTION.  The prologue enters. After him, Gossip MIRTH. Gos. TATLE. Gos. EXPECTATION. and Gossip CENSURE. 4. Gentlewomen Ladylike attired. prologue. 
FOr your own sake, not ours—  MIRTH. 
Come Gossip, be not ashamed. The Play is the Staple of News, and you are the Mistress, and Lady of Tatle, let's ha' your opinion of it: Do you hear Gentleman? what are you? Gentleman-usher to the Play? pray you help us to some stools here.  prologue. 
Where? o' the Stage, Ladies?  MIRTH. 
Yes, o' the Stage; we are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion; and come to see, and to be seen: My Gossip Tatle here, and Gossip Expectation, and my Gossip Censure, and I am Mirth, the daughter of Christmas, and spirit of Shrovetide. They say, It's merry when Gossips meet, I hope your Play will be a merry one!  prologue 
Or you will make it such, Ladies. Bring a form here, but what will the Noblemen think, or the grave Wits here, to see you seated on the bench thus?  MIRTH. 
Why, what should they think? but that they had Mothers, as we had, and those Mother's had Gossips (if their children were christened) as we are, and such as had a longing to see Plays, and sit upon them, as we do, and arraign both them, and their Poets.  prologue. 
O! Is that your purpose? Why, Mrs. Mirth, and madam Tatle, enjoy your delights freely.  TATLE. 
Look your News be new, and fresh, Mr. Prologue, and untainted, I shall find them else, if they be stale, or fly-blown, quickly!  prologue. 
we ask no favour from you, only we would entreat of madam Expectation—  EXPECTATION. 
What, Mr. Prologue?  prologue. 
That your Ladyship would expect no more than you understand.  EXPECTATION. 
Sir, I can expect enough!  prologue. 
I fear too much, Lady, and teach others to do the like?  EXPECTATION. 
I can do that too, if I have cause.  prologue. 
Cry you mercy, you never did wrong, but with just cause. What's this, Lady?  MIRTH. 
Curiosity, my Lady Censure.  prologue. 
O Curiosity! you come to see, who wears the new suit today? whose clothes are best penned, whatever the part be? which Actor has the best leg and foot? what King plays without cuffs? and his Queen without gloves? who rides post in stockings? and dances in boots?  CENSURE. 
Yes, and which amorous Prince makes love in drink, or does overact prodigiously in beaten satin, and, having got the trick on't, will be monstrous still, in despite of Counsel!  BOOK-HOLDER. 

The Tire-men enter to mend the lights . Mend your lights, Gentlemen. Master Prologue, begin.  TATLE. 
Ay me!  EXPECTATION, 
Who's that?  prologue. 
Nay, start not Ladies, these carry no fireworks to fright you, but a Torch i' their hands, to give light to the business. The truth is, there are a set of gamesters within, in travail of a thing called a Play, and would fain be delivered of it: and they have entreated me to be their Man-Midwife, the Prologue; for they are like to have a hard labour on't.  TATLE. 
Then the Poet has abused himself, like an Ass, as he is.  MIRTH. 
No, his Actors will abuse him enough, or I am deceived. Yonder he is within (I was i' the Tiring-house a while to see the Actors dressed) rolling himself up and down like a tun, i' the midst of 'em, and spurges, never did vessel of wort, or wine work so! His sweating put me in mind of a good Shroving dish (and I believe would be taken up for a service of state somewhere, an't were known) a stewed Poet▪ He doth sit like an unbraced Drum with one of his heads beaten out: For, that you must note, a Poet hath two heads, as a Drum has, one for making, the other repeating, and his repeating head is all to pieces: they may gather it up i' the tiring-house; for he hath torn the book in a Poetical fury, and put himself to silence in dead Sack, which, were there no other vexation, were sufficient to make him the most miserable Emblem of patience.  CENSURE. 
The Prologue, peace.   

THE prologue FOR THE STAGE.  
FOr your own sakes, not his, he bade me say,  
Would you were come to hear, not see a Play.  
Though we his Actors must provide for those,  
Who are our guests, here, in the way of shows,  
The maker hath not so; he'd have you wise,  
Much rather by your ears, then by your eyes:  
And prays you'll not prejudge his Play for ill,  
Because you mark it not, and sit not still;  
But have a longing to salute, or talk  
With such a female, and from her to walk  
With your discourse, to what is done, and where,  
How, and by whom, in all the town; but here.  
Alas! what is it to his Scene, to know  
How many Coaches in Hyde-park did show  
Last spring, what fare today at Medleys was,  
If Dunstan, or the Phoenix best wine has?  
They are things— But yet, the Stage might stand as well,  
If it did neither hear these things, nor tell.  
Great noble wits, be good unto yourselves,  
And make a difference twixt Poetic elves,  
And Poets: All that dabble in the ink,  
And defile quills, are not those few, can think,  
Conceive, express, and steer the souls of men,  
As with a rudder, round thus, with their pen.  
He must be one that can instruct your youth,  
And keep your Acme in the state of truth,  
Must enterprise this work, mark but his ways,  
What flight he makes, how new; And than he says,  
If that not like you, that he sends tonight,  
'Tis you have left to judge, not he to write▪   

THE prologue FOR THE COURT.  
A Work not smelling of the Lamp, tonight,  
But fitted for your Majesty's disport,  
And writ to the Meridian of your Court,  
we bring; and hope it may produce delight:  
The rather, being offered, as a Rite  
To Scholars, that can judge, and fair report  
The sense they hear, above the vulgar sort  
Of Nutcrackers, that only come for sight.  
Wherein, although our Title, Sir, be News.  
we yet adventure, here, to tell you none;  
But show you common follies, and so known,  
That though they are not truths, th'innocent Muse  
Hath made so like, as Phantasy could them state,  
Or Poetry, without scandal, imitate.   

THE STAPLE OF news.  

ACT. I. SCENE. I.  Peniboy. IV. LETHER-LEGGE. 
Gramercy Letherleg: Get me the Spurrier, 
* His Shoemaker has pulled on a new pair of boots; and he walks in his Gown, waistcoat, and trousers, expecting his tailor.   
And thou hast fitted me.  LET. 
I'll do't presently.  P. IV. 
Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, Land,  
That is, look on me, and with all thine eyes,  
Male, Female, yea, hermaphroditic eyes,  
And those bring all your helps, and perspicills,  
To see me at best advantage, and augment  
My form as I come forth, for I do feel  
I will be one, worth looking after, shortly.  
Now, by and by, that's shortly. 
* He draws forth his watch, and sets it on the Table.  't strikes! One, two,  
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,  
Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep, and rest;  
Would thou couldst make the time to do so too:  
I'll wind thee up no more. The hour is come  
So long expected! There, there, 
* He throws off his gown  drop my wardship,  
My pupil age, and vassalage together.  
And Liberty, come throw thyself about me,  
In a rich suit, cloak, hat, and band, for now  
I'll sue out no man's Livery, but mine own,  
I stand on my own feet, so much a year,  
Right, round, and sound, the Lord of mine own ground,  
And (to rhyme to it) threescore thousand Pound!  

* He goes to the door, and looks.  Not come? Not yet? Taylor thou art a vermin,  
Worse than the same thou prosecut'st, and prickest  
In subtle seam— (Go too, I say no more)  
Thus to retard my longings: on the day  
I do write man, to beat thee. One and twenty,  
Since the clock struck, complete! and thou wilt feel it  
Thou foolish Animal! I could pity him,  
(An' I were not heartily angry with him now)  
For this one piece of folly he bears about him,  
To dare to tempt the Fury of an heir,  
T' above two thousand a year; yet hope his custom!  
Well, Mr. Fashioner, there's some must break—  
A head, for this your breaking. Are you come, Sir,   

ACT. II. SCENE. IJ.  FASHIONER. PENIBOY. THOMAS BARBER. HABERDASHER. 
GOd give your worship joy.  P. IV. 
What? of your staying?  
And leaving me to stalk here in my trowses,  
Like a tame Her'n-sew for you?  FAS. 
I but waited  
Below, till the clock struck.  P. IV. 
Why, if you had come  
Before a quarter, would it so have hurt you,  
In reputation, to have waited here?  FAS. 
No, but your worship might have pleaded nonage,  
If you had got 'em on, ere I could make  
Just Affidavit of the time.  P. IV. 
That jest  
Has gained thy pardon, thou hadst lived, condemned  
To thine own hell else, never to have wrought  
Stitch more for me, or any Peniboy,  
I could have hindered thee: but now thou art mine.  
For one and twenty years, or for three lives,  
Choose which thou wilt, I'll make thee a Copyholder,  

He says his suit.  And thy first Bill unquestioned. Help me on.  FAS. 
Presently, Sir, I am bound unto your worship.  P. IV. 
Thou shalt be, when I have sealed thee a Lease of my Custom.  FAS. 
Your worps ,Barbar is without.  P. IN. 
Who? Thom?  
Come in Thom: set thy things upon the Board  
And spread thy clothes, lay all forth in procinctu,  
And tell's what news?  THO. 
O Sir, a staple of news!  
Or the New Staple, which you please.  P. IV. 
What's that?  FAS. 
An Office, Sir, a brave young Office set up.  
I had forgot to tell your worship.  P. IV. 
For what?  THO. 
To enter all the News, Sir, o' the time,  FAS. 
And vent it as occasion serves! A place  
Of huge commerce it will be!  P. IV. 
Pray thee peace,  
I cannot abide a talking tailor: let Thom  
(He's a Barber) by his place relate it,  
What is't, an Office, Thom?  THO. 
Newly erected  
Here in the house, almost on the same floor,  
Where all the news of all sorts shall be brought,  
And there be examined, and then registered,  
And so be issued under the Seal of the Office,  
As Staple News; no other news be currant.  P. IV. 
'Fore me, thou speak'st of a brave business, Thom.  FAS. 
Nay, if you knew the brain that hatched it Sir—  P. IV. 
I know thee well enough: give him a loaf, Thom—  
Quiet his mouth, that Oven will be venting else.  
Proceed—  THO. 
He tells you true Sr. Mr Cymbal,  
Is Master of the Office, he projected it,  
He lies here i'the house: and the great rooms  
He has taken for the Office, and set up  
His Desks and Classes, Tables and his Shelves,  FAS. 
He's my Customer, and a Wit Sir, too.  
But, h' has brave wits under him—  THO. 
Yes, four Emissaries,  P. IV. 
Emissaries? stay, there's a fine new word, Thom!  
Pray God it signify any thing, what are Emissaries?  THO. 
Men employed outward, that are sent abroad  
To fetch in the commodity.  FAS. 
From all regions  
Where the best news are made.  THO. 
Or vented forth.  FAS. 
By way of exchange, or trade.  P. IV. 
Nay, thou wilt speak—  FAS. 
My share Sr. there's enough for both.  P. IV. 
Go on then, 
He gives the tailor leave to talk.   
Speak all thou canst: methinks, the ordinaries  
Should help them much.  FAS. 
Sir, they have ordinaries,  
And extraordinaries, as many changes,  
And variations, as there are points i'the compass.  THO. 
But the 4. Cardinal Quarters—  P. IV. 
ay, those Thom—  THO. 
The Court, Sir, Paul's, Exchange, and Westminster-hall.  P. IV. 
Who is the Chief? which hath precedency?  THO. 
The governor o'the Staple, Master Cymbal.  
He is the Chief; and after him the Emissaries:  
First Emissary Court, one Master Fitton,  
He's a jeerer too.  P. IV. 
What's that?  FAS. 
A Wit.  THO. 
Or half a Wit, some of them are Halfe-wits,  
Two to a Wit, there are a set of 'em.  
Then Master Ambler, Emissary Paul's,  
A fine paced gentleman, as you shall see, walk  
The middle I'll: And then my Froy Hans Buz,  
A dutchman; he's Emissary Exchange.  FAS. 
I had thought Mr. Burst the Merchant had had it.  THO. 
No,  
He has a rupture, he has sprung a leak,  
Emissary Westminster's undisposed of yet;  
Then the Examiner, Register, and two Clerks,  
They manage all at home, and sort, and file,  
And seal the news, and issue them.  P. IV. 
Thom, dear Thom.  
What may my means do for thee, ask, and have it,  
I'd fain be doing some good. It is my birthday.  
And I'd do it betimes, I feel a grudging  
Of bounty, and I would not long lie fallow.  
I pray thee think, and speak, or wish for something.  THO. 
I would I had but one o' the clerk's places,  
in'is News Office,.  P. IV. 
Thou shalt have it, Thom,  
If silver, or gold will fetch it; what's the rate?  
At what is't set i'the Mercat?  THO. 
fifty pound, Sir.  P. IV. 
An't were a hundred, Thom, thou shalt not want it.  FAS. 

The tailor leaps, and embraceth him.  O Noble Master!  P. IV. 
How now Aesop's Ass!  
Because I play with Thom, must I needs run  
Into your rude embraces? stand you still, Sir;  
Clowns fawnings, are a horse's salutations.  
How dost thou like my suit, Thom?  THO. 
Mr Fashioner  
Has hit your measures, Sir, h'has moulded you,  
And made you, as they say.  FAS. 
No, no, not I,  
I am an Ass, old Aesop's Ass.  P. IV. 
Nay, Fashioner,  
I can do thee a good turn too, be not musty,  
Though thou hast moulded me, as little Thom says,  

He draws out his pockets.  (I think thou hast put me in mouldy pockets.)  FAS. 
As good,  
Right Spanish perfume, the Lady Estifania's,  
They cost twelve pound a pair.  P. IV. 
Thy bill will say so.  
I pray thee tell me, Fashioner, what Authors  
Thou readest to help thy invention? Italian prints?  
Or Arras hangings? They are Tailors Libraries.  FAS. 
I scorn such helps.  P. IV. 
O, though thou art a silkworm!  
And dealest in satins and velvets, and rich plushes,  
Thou canst not spin all forms out of thyself;  
They are quite other things: I think this suit  
Has made me wittier, than I was.  FAS. 
Believe it Sir,  
That clothes do much upon the wit, as weather  
does on the brain; and thence comes your proverb;  
The tailor makes the man: I speak by experience  
Of my own Customers. I have had Gallants,  
Both Court and Country, would ha' fooled you up  
In a new suit, with the best wits, in being,  
And kept their speed, as long as their clothes lasted  
handsome, and neat; but then as they grew out  
At the elbows again, or had a stain, or spot,  
They have sunk most wretchedly.  P. IV. 
What thou reportest,  
Is but the common calamity, and seen daily;  
And therefore you have another answering proverb:  
A broken sleeve keeps the arm back,  FAS. 
'Tis true, Sir.  
And thence we say, that such a one plays at peep-arm.  P. IV. 
Do you so? it is wittily said. I wonder, Gentlemen,  
And men of means will not maintain themselves  
Fresher in wit, I mean in clothes, to the highest.  
For he that's out o' clothes, is out o'fashion,  
And out of fashion, is out of countenance,  
And out o' countenance, is out o' Wit.  
Is not Rogue Haberdasher come?  HAB. 
Yes, here, Sir. 
They are all about him, busy.   
I ha' been without this half hour.  P IV. 
Give me my hat.  
Put on my Girdle. Rascal, sits my Ruff well?  LIN. 
In print.  P. IV. 
Slave.  LIN. 
See yourself.  P. IV. 
●s this same hat  
O'the block passant? Do not answer me,  
I cannot stay for an answer. I do feel  
The powers of one and twenty, like a tide  
Flow in upon me, and perceive an Heir,  
Can Conjure up all spirits in all circles,  
Rogue, Rascal, Slave▪ give tradesmen their true names,  
And they appear to 'em presently.  LIN. 
For profit.  P. IV. 
Come cast my cloak about me, I'll go see,  
This Office Thom, and be trimmed afterwards.  
I'll put thee in possession, my prime work!  
God's so▪ my Spurrier! put 'em on boy, quickly, 
His Spurrier comes in.   
〈…〉 lost my Spurs with too much speed.   

ACT. I. SCENE. IV.  Peniboy, Canter. to them singing. 
Good morning to my joy, My jolly Peniboy!  
The Lord, and the Prince of plenty!  
I come to see what riches, Thou bearest in thy breeches,  
The first of thy one and twenty▪  
What, do thy pockets jingle? Or shall we need to mingle  
Our strength both of foot and horses!  
These fellows look so eager, As if they would beleaguer  
An Heir in the midst of his forces!  
I hope they be no Sergeants! That hang upon thy margins.  
This Rogue has the jowl of a jailor▪  P. IV. 
O Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter, 
The young Peny-boy answers in tune.   
My Linen man, and my tailor.  
Thou shouldst have been brought in too, Shoemaker,  
If the time had been longer, and Thom Barber.  
How dost thou like my company, old Canter?  
Do I not muster a brave troop? all Billmen?  
Present your Arms, before my Founder here,  
This is my Founder, this same learned Canter!  
He brought me the first news of my father's death,  

He takes the bills, and puts them up in his pockets.  I thank him, and ever since, I call him Founder▪  
Worship him, boys, I'll read only the sums.  
And pass 'em straight.  SHO. 
Now Ale.  REST. 
And strong Ale bless him.  P. IV. 
God's so, some Ale, and Sugar for my Founder!  
Good Bills, sufficient Bills, these Bills may pass.  P. CA. 
I do not like those paper-squibs, good Master.  
They may undo your store, I mean, of Credit,  
And fire your Arsenal, if case you do not  
In time make good those outerworks, your pockets,  
And take a Garrison in of some two hundred,  
To beat these Pioneers off, that carry a Mine  
Would blow you up, at last. Secure your Casamates,  
Here Master Picklock, Sir, your man o' Law,  
And learned Attorney, has sent you a Bag of munition.  P. IV. 
What is't?  P. CA. 
Three hundred pieces.  P. IV. 
I'll dispatch 'em.  P. CA. 
Do, I would have your strengths lined, and perfumed  
With Gold, as well as Amber.  P. IV. 
God a mercy,  
Come, Ad solvendum, boys! there, there, and there, &c.  

He pays all.  I look on nothing but Totalis.  P. CA· 
See!  
The difference twixt the covetous, and the prodigal!  
"The Covetous man never has money! and  
" The Prodigal will have none shortly!  P. IV. 
Ha,  
What says my Founder? I thank you, I thank you Sirs.  ALL. 
God bless your worship, and your worships Chanter.  P CA. 
I say't is nobly done, to cherish Shopkeepers,  
And pay their Bills, without examining thus.  P. IV. 
Alas! they have had a pitiful hard time on't,  
A long vacation, from their cozening.  
Poor Rascals, I do do it out of charity.  
I would advance their trade again, and have them  
Haste to be rich, swear, and forswear wealthily,  
What do you stay for, Sirrah?  SPV. 
To my box Sir,  P. IV. 
Your box, why, there's an angel, if my Spurs  

He gives the Spurrier, to his box.  Be not right Rippon.  SPV. 
Give me never a penny  
If I strike not thorough your bounty with the Rowels.  P. IV. 
Dost thou want any money Founder?  P. CA. 
Who, Sr. ay,  
Did I not tell you I was bred i'the Mines,  
Under Sir Bevis Bullion.  P. IV. 
That is true,  
I quite forgot, you mine-men want no money,  
Your streets are paved with 't: there, the molten silver  
Runs out like cream, on cakes of gold.  P. CA. 
And Rubies  
Do grow like Strawberries.  P. IV. 
'Twere brave being there!  
Come Thom, we'll go to the Office now.  P. CA. 
What Office?  P. IV. 
News Office, the New Staple; thou shalt go too,  
'Tis here i'the house, on the same floor, Thom. says,  
Come, Founder, let us trade in Ale, and nutmegs.   

ACT. I. SCENE. IIII.  REGISTER. CLERKE. WOMAN. 
WHat, are those Desks fit now? set forth the Table,  
The Carpet and the Chair: where are the News  
That were examined last? ha' you filled them up?  CLE. 
Not yet, I had no time.  REG. 
Are those news registered,  
That Emissary Buz sent in last night?  
Of Spinola, and his Eggs?  CLE. 
Yes Sir, and filled.  REG. 
What are you now upon?  CLE. 
That our new Emissary  
Westminster, gave us, of the Golden Heir.  REG. 
Dispatch, that's news indeed, and of importance.  
What would you have good woman?  WO. 
I would have Sir,  
A groatsworth of any News, I care not what, 
A countrywoman waits there.   
To carry down this Saturday, to our Vicar.  REG. 
O! You are a butter-woman, ask Nathaniel  
The Clerk, there.  CLE. 
Sir, I tell her, she must stay  
Till Emissary Exchange, or Paul's send in,  
And then I'll fit her.  REG. 
Do good woman, have patience,  
It is not now, as when the Captain lived.  CLE. 
You'll blast the reputation of the Office,  
Now i'the Bud, if you dispatch these Groats,  
So soon: let them attend in name of policy.   

ACT. I. SCENE. V.  PENIBOY. CYMBAL. FITTON. Tho. BARBER. CANTER. 
IN troth they are dainty rooms; what place is this?  CYM. 
This is the outer room, where my Clerks sit▪  
And keep their sides, the Register i'the midst,  
The Examiner, he sits private there, within,  
And here I have my several Rolls, and Files  
Of News by the Alphabet, and all put up  
Under their heads.  P. IV. 
But those, too, subdivided?  CYM. 
Into Authentical, and Apocryphal.  FIT. 
Or News of doubtful credit, as barber's news.  CYM. 
And tailor's News, Porters, and Watermen's news,  FIT. 
Whereto, beside the Coranto, and Gazetti.  CYM. 
I have the News of the season.  FIT. 
As vacation news,  
term-news, and christmas-news.  CIM. 
And news o' the faction.  FIT. 
As the Reformed news, Protestant news,  CYM. 
And Pontificial news, of all which several,  
The daybooks, Characters, Precedents are kept.  
Together with the names of special friends—  FIT. 
And men of Correspondence i'the Country—  CYM. 
Yes, of all ranks, and all Religions.—  FIT. 
Factors, and Agents—  CYM. 
Liegers, that lie out  
Through all the Shires o'the kingdom.  P. IV. 
This is fine!  
And beats a brave relation! but what says  
Mercurius Britannicus to this?  CYM 
O Sir, he gains by't half in half.  FIT. 
Nay more  
I'll stand to't. For, where he was wont to get  
In, hungry Captains▪ obscure Statesmen.  CYM. 
fellows  
To drink with him in a dark room in a Tavern,  
And eat a sausage.  FIT. 
We ha' seen't,  CYM. 
As fain,  
To keep so many politic pens  
Going, to feed the press.  FIT. 
And dish out news,  
Were't true, or false.  CYM. 
Now all that charge is saved  
The public Chronicler.  FIT. 
How, do you call him there?  CYM. 
And gentle Reader.  FIT. 
He that has the maidenhead  
Of all the books.  CYM. 
Yes, dedicated to him,  FIT. 
Or rather prostituted.  P. IV. 
You are right, Sir.  CYM. 
No more shall be abused, nor country-parsons  
O' the Inquisition, nor busy justices,  
Trouble the peace, and both torment themselves,  
And their poor ignorant Neighbours with inquiries  
After the many, and most innocent Monsters,  
That never came i'th' Counties they were charged with.  P. IV. 
Why, methinks Sir, if the honest common people  
Will be abused, why should not they ha' their pleasure,  
In the believing Lies, are made for them;  
As you i'th' Office, making them yourselves?  FIT. 
O Sir! it is the printing we oppose.  CYM. 
We not forbid that any News, be made,  
But that 't be printed; for when News is printed,  
It leaves Sir to be News. while 'tis but written—  FIT. 
Though it be ne'er so false, it runs News still.  P. IV. 
See diverse men's opinions! unto some,  
The very printing of them, makes them News;  
That ha' not the heart to believe any thing,  
But what they see in print.  FIT. 
ay, that's an Error  
Has abused many; but we shall reform it,  
As many things beside (we have a hope)  
Are crept among the popular abuses.  CYM. 
Nor shall the Stationer cheat upon the Time,  
By buttering over again—  FIT. 
once, in Seven Years,  
As the age dotes—  CYM: 
And grows forgetful o'them,  
His antiquated Pamphlets, with new dates.  
But all shall come from the Mint.  FIT. 
Fresh and new stamped,  CYM. 
With the office-seal, Staple Commodity.  FIT. 
And if a man will assure his News, he may:  
Twopence a Sheet he shall be warranted,  
And have a policy for't.  P. IV. 
Sir, I admire  
The method o' your place; all things within't  
Are so digested, fitted, and composed,  
As it shows Wit had married Order.  FIT. 
Sir.  CYM. 
The best we could to invite the Times.  FIT. 
It has  
Cost sweat, and freezing.  CYM. 
And some broken sleeps  
Before it came to this.  P. IV. 
I easily think it.  FIT. 
But now it has the shape—  CYM. 
And is come forth.  P. IV. 
A most polite neat thing! with all the limbs,  
As sense can taste!  CYM. 
It is Sir, though I say it,  
As well-begotten a business, and as fairly  
Helped to the World.  P. IV. 
You must be a Midwife Sir!  
Or else the son of a Midwife! (pray you pardon me)  
Have helped it forth so happily! what News ha' you?  
News o' this morning? I would fain hear some  
Fresh, from the forge (as new as day, as they say.)  CYM. 
And such we have Sir.  REG. 
Show him the last Roll,  
Of Emissary westminster's, The Heir.  P. IV. 
Come nearer, Thom:  CLA. 
There is a brave young Heir  

Peny rejoiceth, that he 〈◊〉.  Is come of age this morning, Mr. Peny-boy.  P. IV. 
That's I!  CLA. 
His Father died on this day seventh-night.  P. IV. 
True!  CLA. 
At six o'the Clock i'the morning, just a week  

〈◊〉 ●hom: of it.  Ere he was One and Twenty.  P. IV. 
I am here, Thom!  
Proceed, I pray thee.  CLA. 
An old Canting Beggar  
Brought him first News, whom he has entertained,  

Call in the Canter. He gives the Clerk.  To follow him, since.  P. IV. 
Why, you shall see him! Founder,  
Come in; no Follower, but Companion,  
I pray thee put him in, Friend. There's an Angel—  
Thou dost not know, he's a wise old Fellow,  
Though he seem patched thus, and made up o' pieces,  
Founder, we are in, here, in, i'the news-office!  
In this day's Roll, already! I do muse  
How you came by us sirs!  CYM. 
One Master picklock  
A Lawyer, that hath purchased here a place,  
This morning, of an Emissary under me.  FIT. 
Emissary Westminster.  CYM. 
Gave it into th'Office,  FIT. 
For his Essay, his piece.  P. IV. 
My man o' Law!  
he's my Attorney, and Solicitor too!  
A fine pragmatic! what's his place worth?  CYM. 
A Nemo-scit, Sir.  FIT. 
'Tis as News come, in,  CYM. 
And as they are issued. I have the just moiety  
For my part: then the other moiety  
Is parted into seven. The four Emissaries;  
Whereof my cousin Fitton here's for Court,  
Ambler for Paul's, and Buz for the Exchange,  
Picklock, for Westminster, with the Examiner,  
And Register, they have full parts: and then one part  
Is under-parted to a couple of Clerks;  
And there's the just division of the profits!  P. IV. 
Ha' you those Clarks Sir.  CYM. 
There is one Desk empty,  
But it has many Suitors.  P. IV. 
Sir, may I  
Present one more and carry it, if his parts  
Or Gifts, (which you will, call 'em)  CYM. 
Be sufficient Sir.  P. IV. 
What are your present Clerks habilities?  
How is he qualified?  CYM▪ 
A decayed Stationer  
He was, but knows News well, can sort and rank 'em.  FIT. 
And for a need can make 'em.  CYM. 
True Paul's bread,  
I'the Churchyard.  P. IV. 
And this at the West-door,  
O'th' other side, he's my Barber Thom,  
A pretty Scholar, and a Master of Arts,  
Was made, or went out Master of Arts in a throng,  
At the University; as before, one Christmas,  
He got into a Masque at Court, by his wit,  
And the good means of his cithern, holding up thus  
For one o'the Music, he's a nimble Fellow!  
And alike skilled in every liberal Science,  
As having certain snaps of all, a neat,  
quick-vain, in forging News too. I do love him,  
And promised him a good turn, and I would do it.  
What's your price? the value?  CYM. 
Fifty pounds, Sr.  P. IV. 
Get in Thom, take possession, I install thee;  
Here, tell your money; give thee joy, good Thom; 
He buys Thom a clerk's place.   
And let me hear from thee every minute of News,  
While the New Staple stands, or the Office lasts,  
Which I do wish, may ne'er be less for thy sake.  CLA. 
The Emissaries, Sir, would speak with you,  
And Master Fitton, they have brought in News,  
Three Bale together.  CYM. 
Sir, you are welcome, here.  FIT. 
So is your creature.  CYM. 
Business calls us off, Sir, 
They take leave of Peny-boy, and Canter.   
That may concern the Office.  P. IV. 
Keep me fair, Sir,  
Still i'your Staple, I am here your friend,  
On the same floor.  FIT. 
We shall be your servants.  P. IV. 
How dost thou like it, Founder?  P. CA. 
All is well,  
But that your man o' law methinks appears not  
In his due time. O! Here comes Master's worship.   

ACT. I. SCENE. VI.  PICKLOCK. Peniboy. IV. P. CANTER. 
HOw does the Heir, bright Master Peniboy?  
Is he awake yet in his One and Twenty?  
Why, this is better far, than to wear Cypress,  
Dull smutting gloves, or melancholy blacks,  
And have a pair of twelvepenny broad ribbons  
Laid out like Labels.  P. IV. 
I should ha' made shift  
To have laughed as heartily in my mourner's hood,  
As in this Suit, if it had pleased my father  
To have been buried, with the Trumpeters:  PIC. 
The Heralds of Arms, you mean.  P. IV. 
I mean,  
All noise, that is superfluous!  PIC. 
All that idle pomp,  
And vanity of a Tombstone, your wise father  
Did, by his will, prevent. Your worship had—  P. IV. 
A loving and obedient father of him,  
I know it: a right, kind-natured man,  
To die so opportunely.  PIC. 
And to settle  
All things so well, compounded for your ward ship  
The week afore, and left your state entire  
Without any charge upon't.  P. IV. 
I must needs say,  
I lost an Officer of him, a good Bailiff,  
And I shall want him; but all peace be with him,  
I will not wish him alive, again; not I,  
For all my Fortune; give your worship joy  
O'your new place, your Emissary-ship,  
I'the News Office.  PIC. 
Know you, why I bought it Sir?  P. IV. 
Not I.  PIC. 
To work for you, and carry a mine  
Against the Master of it, Master Cymbal;  
Who hath a plot upon a Gentlewoman,  
Was once designed for you, Sir.  P. IV. 
Me?  PIC. 
Your father,  
Old Master Peniboy, of happy memory,  
And wisdom too, as any i'the County,  
Careful to find out a fit match for you,  
In his own life time (but he was prevented)  
Left it in writing in a Schedule here,  
To be annexed to his Will; that you,  
His only Son, upon his charge, and blessing,  
Should take due notice of a Gentlewoman,  
Sojourning with your uncle, Richer Peniboy.  P. IV. 
A Cornish Gentlewoman, I do know her,  
Mistress, Pecunia Do-all.  PIC. 
A great Lady,  
Indeed she is, and not of mortal race,  
Infanta of the Mines; her grace's Grandfather,  
Was Duke, and Cousin to the King of Ophyr,  
The Subterranean, let that pass. Her name is,  
Or rather, her three names are (for such she is)  
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, A great Princess,  
Of mighty power, though she live in private  
With a contracted family! Her Secretary—  P. CA. 
Who is her Gentleman-usher too.  PIC. 
One Broker,  
And then two Gentlewomen; Mistress Statute,  
And Mistress Band, with Wax the Chambermaid,  
And Mother Mortgage, the old Nurse, two Grooms,  
Pawn, and his fellow; you have not many to bribe, Sir.  
The work is feasible, and th'approaches easy,  
By your own kindred. Now, Sir, Cymbal thinks,  
The Master here, and governor o'the Staple,  
By his fine arts, and pomp of his great place  
To draw her! He concludes, she is a woman!  
And that so soon as sh' hears of the New Office,  
she'll come to visit it, as they all have longings  
After new sights, and motions! But your bounty,  
Person, and bravery must achieve her.  P. CA. 
she is  
The talk o'the time▪ th'adventure o'the age!  PIC. 
You cannot put yourself upon an action  
Of more importance.  P. CA. 
All the world are suitors to her.  PIC. 
All sorts of men, and all professions!  P. CA. 
You shall have stall-fed Doctors, crammed Divines  
Make love to her, and with those studied  
And perfumed flatteries, as no room can stink  
More elegant, then where they are.  PIC. 
Well chanted  
Old Canter thou singest true.  P. CA. 
And (by your leave)  
Good Masters worship, some of your velvet coat  
Make corpulent curtsies to her, till they crack for't.  PIC. 
There's Doctor Almanac woos her, one of the jeerers,  
A fine Physician.  P. CA. 
Your Sea-captain, Shun field,  
Gives out he'll go upon the Cannon for her.  PIC. 
Though his loud mouthing get him little credit,  P. CA. 
Young Master Pied mantle, the fine Herald  
Professes to deliver her through all ages,  
From all the Kings, and Queens, that ever were.  PIC. 
And Master Madrigal, the crowned Poet  
Of these our times, doth offer at her praises  
As fair as any, when it shall please Apollo,  
That wit and rhyme may meet both in one subject.  P. CA. 
And you to bear her from all these, it will be—  PIC. 
A work of fame.  P. CA. 
Of honour.  PIC. 
Celebration.  P. CA. 
Worthy your name.  PIC. 
The penny-boys to live in't,  P. CA. 
It is an action you were built for, Sir,  PIC. 
And none but you can do it.  P. IV. 
I'll undertake it,  P. CA. 
And carry it.  P. IV. 
Fear me not, for since I came  
Of mature age, I have had a certain itch  
In my right eye, this corner, here, do you see?  
To do some work, and worthy of a Chronicle.    

The first intermean after the first Act.  MIRTH. 
How now Gossip! how does the Play please you?  CENSURE. 
Very scurvily, methinks, and sufficiently nought.  EXPECTATION. 
As a body would wish: here's nothing but a young Prodigal, come of age, who makes much of the Barber, buys him a place in a new Office, i'the air, I know not where, and his man o'Law to follow him, with the Beggar to boot, and they two help him to a wife.  MIRTH. 
ay, she is a proper piece! that such creatures can broke for.  TATLE. 
I cannot abide that nasty fellow, the Beggar, if he had been a court-beggar in good clothes; a Beggar in velvet, as they say, I could have endured him.  MIRTH. 
Or a begging scholar in black, or one of these beggarly Poets, gossip, that would hang upon a young heir like a horseleech.  EXPEC. 
Or a threadbare Doctor of Physic, a poor quacksalver.  CENSURE. 
Or a Sea-captain, half starved.  MIRTH. 
ay, these were tolerable Beggars, Beggars of fashion! you shall see some such anon!  TATLE. 
I would fain see the Fool, gossip, the Fool is the finest man t'the company, they say, and has all the wit: He is the very justice o' Peace o'the Play, and can commit whom he will, and what he will, error, absurdity, as the toy takes him, and no man say, black is his eye, but laugh at him.  MIRTH. 
But they ha' no Fool i' this Play, I am afraid, gossip.  TATLE. 
It's a wise Play, then.  EXPECTATION. 
They are all fools, the rather, in that.  CENSURE. 
Like enough.  TATLE. 
My husband, (Timothy Tatle, God rest his poor soul) was wont to say, there was no Play without a Fool, and a Devil in't; he was for the Devil still God bless him. The Devil for his money, would he say, I would fain see the Devil. And why would you so fain see the Devil? would I say. Because he has horns, wife, and may be a cuckold, as well as a Devil, he would answer: You are e'en such another, husband, quoth I. Was the Devil ever married? where do you read, the devil was ever so honourable to commit Matrimony; The Play will tell us, that, says he, we'll go see't tomorrow, the Devil is an Ass. He is an errant learned man, that made it, and can write, they say, and I am foully deceived, but he can read too.  MIRTH. 
I remember it gossip, I went with you, by the same token, Mrs. Trouble Truth dissuaded us, and told us, he was a profane Poet, and all his Plays had Devils in them. That he kept school upo' the Stage, could conjure there, above the School of Westminster, and Doctor Lamb too: not a Play he made, but had a Devil in it. And that he would learn us all to make our husbands Cuckolds at Plays: by another token, that a young married wife i'the company, said, she could find in her heart to steal thither, and see a little o'the vanity through her mask, and come practice at home.  TATLE. 
O, it was, Mistress—  MIRTH. 
Nay, Gossip, I name nobody. It may be 'twas myself.  EXPECTATION. 
But was the Devil a proper man, Gossip?  MIRTH. 
As fine a gentleman▪ of his inches, as ever I saw trusted to the Stage▪ or anywhere else: and loved the common wealth, as well as ere a Patriot of 'em all: he would carry away the Vice on his back, quick to Hell, in every Play where he came, and reform abuses.  EXPECTATION. 
There was the Devil of Edmonton, no such man, I warrant you.  CENSURE. 
The Conjurer cozened him with a candle's end, he was an Ass.  MIRTH. 
But there was one Smug, a Smith, would have made a horse laugh, and broke his halter, as they say.  TATLE. 
O, but the poor man had got a shrewd mischance, one day.  EXPECTATION. 
How, Gossip?  TATLE. 
He had dressed a Rogue jade i'the morning, that had the Staggers, and had got such a spice of 'em himself, by noon, as they would not away all the Play time, do what he could, for his heart.  MIRTH. 
'Twas his part, Gossip, he was to be drunk, by his part.  TATLE. 
Say you so, I understood not so much.  EXPECTA. 
Would we had such another part, and such a man in this play, I fear 'twill be an excellent dull thing.  CENSURE. 
Expect, intend it.   


ACT. II. SCENE. I.  Peniboy. Sen. PECUNIA. MORTGAGE. STATUTE. BAND. BROKER. 
YOur Grace is sad methinks, and melancholy!  
You do not look upon me with that face,  
As you were wont, my goddess, bright Pecunia:  
Although your Grace be fall'n, of two i'the hundred,  
In vulgar estimation; yet am I,  
You grace's servant still: and teach this body,  
To bend, and these my aged knees to buckle,  
In adoration, and just worship of you.  
Indeed, I do confess, I have no shape  
To make a minion of, but I'm your Martyr,  
Your grace's Martyr. I can hear the Rogues,  
As I do walk the streets, whisper, and point,  
There goes old Peniboy, the slave of money,  
Rich Peniboy, Lady Pecunia's drudge,  
A sordid Rascal, one that never made  
Good meal in his sleep, but sells the acates are sent him,  
Fish, fowl, and venison, and preserves himself,  
Like an old hoary Rat, with mouldy piecrust.  
This I do hear, rejoicing, I can suffer  
This, and much more, for your good grace's sake.  PEC. 
Why do you so my Guardian? I not bid you,  
Cannot my Grace be gotten, and held too,  
Without your self-tormentings, and your watches,  
Your macerating of your body thus  
With cares, and scantings of your diet, and rest?  P. SE. 
O, no, your services, my Princely Lady,  
Cannot with too much zeal of rites be done,  
They are so sacred.  PEC. 
But my Reputation.  
May suffer, and the worship of my family,  
When by no servile means they both are sought.  P. SE. 
You are a noble, young, free, gracious Lady,  
And would be everybody's, in your bounty,  
But you must not be so. They are a few  
That know your merit, Lady, and can value't.  
yourself scarce understands your proper powers.  
They are almighty, and that we your servants,  
That have the honour here to stand so near you,  
Know; and can use too. All this Nether-world  
Is yours, you command it, and do sway it,  
The honour of it, and the honesty,  
The reputation, ay, and the religion,  
(I was about to say, and had not erred)  
Is Queen Pecunia's. For that style is yours,  
If mortals knew your Grace, or their own good.  MOR. 
Please your Grace to retire.  BAN. 
I fear your Grace  
Hath ta'en too much of the sharp air.  PEC. 
O no!  
I could endure to take a great deal more  
(And with my constitution, were it left)  
Unto my choice, what think you of it, Statute?  STA. 
A little now and then does well, and keeps  
Your Grace in your complexion.  BAN. 
And true temper.  MOR. 
But too much madam▪ may increase cold rheums,  
Nourish catarrhs, green sicknesses, and agues,  
And put you in consumption  P. SE. 
Best to take  
Advice of your grave women, Noble madam,  
They know the state o'your body, and ha' studied  
Your grace's health.  BAN. 
And honour. Here'll be visitants,  
Or Suitors by and by; and 'tis not fit  
They find you here.  STA. 
'Twill make your Grace too cheap  
To give them audience presently.  MOR. 
Leave your Secretary,  
To answer them.  PEC. 
Wait you here. Broker.  BRO. 
I shall madam.  
And do your grace's trusts with diligence.   

ACT. II. SCENE. II.  PYED-MANTLE. BROKER. Peniboy. SEN. 
WHat luck's this? I am come an inch too late,  
Do you hear Sir? Is your worship o'the family  
Unto the Lady Pecunia?  BRO. 
I serve her Grace, Sir,  
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.  PYE. 
Has she all those Titles, and her Grace beside,  
I must correct that ignorance and oversight,  
Before I do present. Sir, I have drawn  
A Pedigree for her Grace, though yet a Novice  
In that so noble study.  BRO. 
A Herald at Arms?  PYE. 
No Sir, a Pursuivant, my name is Pied-mantle.  BRO. 
Good Master Pied-mantle.  PYE. 
I have deduced her.—  BRO. 
From all the Spanish Mines in the West-Indies,  
I hope: for she comes that way by her mother,  
But, by her Grandmother, she's Duchess of Mines.  PYE. 
From man's creation I have brought her.  BRO. 
No further?  
Before Sir, long before, you have done nothing else,  
Your Mines were before Adam, search your Office,  
Roll five and twenty, you will find it so,  
I see you are but a Novice, Master Pied-mantle.  
If you had not told me so.  PYE. 
Sir, an apprentice  
In armoury. I have read the Elements,  
And Accidence, and all the leading books,  
And I have, now, upon me a great ambition,  
How to be brought to her Grace, to kiss her hands.  BRO. 
Why, if you have acquaintance with Mistress Statute,  
Or Mistress Band, my lady's Gentlewomen,  
They can induce you. One is a judge's Daughter,  
But somewhat stately; th'other Mistress Band,  
Her father's but a Scrivener, but she can  
Almost as much with my Lady, as the other,  
Especially, if Rose Wax the Chambermaid  
Be willing. Do you not know her, Sir, neither?  PYE. 
No in troth Sir.  BRO. 
She's a good pliant wench,  
And easy to be wrought, Sir, but the Nurse  
Old mother Mortgage, if you have a Tenement,  
Or such a morsel? though she have no teeth,  
She loves a sweet meat, any thing that melts  
In her warm gums, she could command it for you  
On such a trifle, a toy. Sir, you may see,  
How for your love, and this so pure complexion,  
(A perfect Sanguine) I ha' ventured thus,  
The straining of a ward, opening a door  
Into the secrets of our family:  PYE. 
I pray you let me know, Sir, unto whom  
I am so much beholden; but your name.  BRO. 
My name is Broker, I am Secretary,  
And Usher, to her Grace.  PYE. 
Good Master Broker!  BRO. 
Good Mr. Pied-mantle.  PYE. 
Why? you could do me,  
If you would, now, this favour of yourself.  BRO. 
Truly, I think I could: but if I would,  
I hardly should, without, or Mistress Band,  
Or Mistress Statute, please to appear in it.  
Or the good Nurse I told you of, Mistress Mortgage▪  
We know our places here, we mingle not  
One in another's sphere, but all move orderly,  
In our own orbs; yet we are all concentrics.  PYE. 
Well, Sir, I'll wait a better season.  BRO. 
Do,  
And study the right means, get Mistress Band  

Broker makes a mouth at him. He jeers him again. Old Peny-boy leaps  To urge on your behalf, or little Wax.  PYE. 
I have a hope, Sir, that I may, by chance,  
Light on her Grace, as she's taking the air:  BRO. 
That air of hope, has blasted many an airy  
Of kestrels like yourself: Good Master Pied-mantle,  P. SE. 
Well said, Master Secretary, I stood behind  
And heard thee all. I honour thy dispatches.  
If they be rude, untrained it our method  
And have not studied the rule, dismiss 'em quickly,  
Where's Lickfinger my Cook? that unctuous rascal?  
he'll never keep his hour, that vessel of kitchenstuff!   

ACT. II. SCENE. IV.  BROKER. PENY-BOY. SE. Lickfinger. 
Here he is come, Sir.  P. SE. 
Pox upon him kidney,  
Always too late!  LIC. 
To wish 'em you, I confess,  
That ha''them already.  P. SE. 
What?  LIC. 
The pox!  P. SE. 
The piles,  
The plague, and all diseases light on him,  
Knows not to keep his word. I'd keep my word sure!  
I hate that man that will not keep his word,  
When did I break my word?  LIC. 
Or I, till now?  
And 'tis but half an hour.  P. SE. 
Half a year:  
To me that stands upon a minute of time.  
I am a just man, I love still to be just.  LIC. 
Why? you think I can run like lightfoot Ralph,  
Or keep a wheelbarrow, with a sail in town here,  
To whirl me to you: I have lost two stone  
Of svet i'the service posting hither,  
You might have followed me like a watering pot,  
And seen the knots I made along the street;  
My face dropped like the skimmer in a fritter pan,  
And my whole body, is yet (to say the truth)  
A rosted pound of butter, with grated bread in 't! 
He sweeps his face.   P. SE. 
Believe you, he that list. You stayed of purpose,  
To have my venison stink, and my foul mortified,  
That you might ha' 'em—  LIC. 
A shilling or two cheaper,  
That's your jealousy.  P. SE. 
Perhaps it is.  
Will you go in, and view, and value all?  
Yonder is venison sent me! foul! and fish!  
In such abundance! I am sick to see it!  
I wonder what they mean! I ha' told 'em of it!  
To burden a weak stomach! and provoke  
A dying appetite! thrust a sin upon me  
I ne'er was guilty of! nothing but gluttony!  
Gross gluttony! that will undo this Land!  LIC. 
And bating two i'the hundred.  P. SE. 
ay, that same's  
A crying sin, a fearful damned device,  
Eats up the poor, devours 'em—  LIC. 
Sir, take heed  
What you give out.  P. SE. 
Against your grave great Solons?  
Numae Pompilij, they that made that Law?  
To take away the poor's inheritance?  
It was their portion: I will stand to't.  
And they have robbed 'em of it, plainly robbed 'em,  
I still am a just man, I tell the truth.  
When moneys went at Ten i'the hundred, ay,  
And such as I, the servants of Pecunia,  
Could spare the poor two out of ten, and did it,  
How say you, Broker?  (LIC. 
Ask your Echo)  BRO. 
You did it.  P. So 
I am for justice, when did I leave justice?  
We knew 'twas theirs, they had right and Title to't.  
Now—  LIC. 
You can spare 'em nothing.  P. SE. 
Very little,  LIC. 
As good as nothing.  P. SE. 
They have bound our hands  
With their wise solemn act, shortened our arms.  LIC. 
Beware those worshipful ears, Sir, be not shortened,  
And you play Crop i'the fleet, if you use this licence.  P. SE. 
What licence, Knave? Informer?  LIC. 
I am Lickfinger,  
Your Cook.  P. SE. 
A saucy Jack you are, that's once;  
What said I, Broker?  BRO. 
Nothing that I heard, Sir.  LIC. 
I know his gift, he can be deaf when he list.  P. SE. 
Ha' you provided me my bushel of eggs?  
I did bespeak? I do not care how stale,  
Or stinking that they be; let 'em be rotten:  
For ammunition here to pelt the boys,  
That break my windows?  LIC. 
Yes Sir, I ha' spared 'em  
Out of the custard politic for you, the Majors.  P. SE. 
'Tis well, go in, take hence all that excess,  
Make what you can of it, your best: and when  
I have friends, that I invite at home, provide me  
Such, such, and such a dish, as I bespeak;  
One at a time, no superfluity.  
Or if you have it not, return me money;  
You know my ways.  LIC. 
They are a little crooked.  P. SE. 
How knave?  LIC. 
Because you do indent.  P. SE. 
'Tis true, Sir,  
I do indent you shall return me money.  LIC. 
Rather than meat, I know it: you are just still.  P. SE. 
I love it still. And therefore if you spend  
The red-deer pies i'your house, or sell 'em forth, Sir,  
Cast so, that I may have their coffins all,  
Returned here, and piled up: I would be thought  
To keep some kind of house.  LIC. 
By the mouldy signs?  P. SE. 
And then remember meat for my two dogs:  
Fat flaps of mutton; kidneys; rumps of veal;  
Good plenteous scraps; my maid shall eat the relics.  LIC. 
When you & your dogs have dined. A sweet reversion.  P. SE. 
who's here? my Courtier? and my little Doctor?  
My Muster-Master? and what plover's that  
They have brought to pull?  BRO. 
I know not, some green Plover.  
I'll find him out.  P. SE. 
Do, for I know the rest,  
They are the jeerers, mocking, flouting jacks.   

ACT. II. SCENE. IV.  FITTON. Peniboy. SE. ALMANACH. SHUNFIELD. MADRIGAL. Lickfinger. BROKER. 
HOw now old Money-Bawd? w'are come—  P. IV. 
To jeer me,  
As you were wont, I know you.  ALM. 
No, to give thee  
Some good security, and see Pecunia.  P. SE. 
What is't?  FIT. 
ourselves.  ALM. 
we'll be one bound for another.  FIT. 
This noble Doctor here.  ALM. 
This worthy Courtier.  FIT. 
This Man o' war, he was our Muster-Master.  ALM. 
But a sea-captain now, brave Captain Shunfield. 
He holds up his nose.   SHVN. 
You snuff the air now, as the scent displeased you?  FIT. 
Thou needst not fear him man, his credit is sound,  ALM. 
And seasoned too, since he took salt at Sea.  P. SE. 
I do not love pickled security,  
Would I had one good Freshman in for all;  
For truth is, you three stink.  SHV. 
You are a Rogue,  P. SE. 
I think I am, but I will lend no money  
On that security, Captain.  ALM. 
Here's a Gentleman,  
A Freshman i'the world, one Master Madrigal.  FIT. 
Of an untainted credit; what say you to him?  SHV. 
he's gone methinks, where is he? Madrigal? 
Madrigal steps aside with Broker.   P. SE. 
H' has an odd singing name, is he an Heir?  FIT. 
An Heir to a fair fortune,  ALM. 
And full hopes:  
A dainty Scholar, and a pretty Poet!  P. SE. 
Y'ave said enough. I ha' no money, Gentlemen,  
And he go to't in rhyme once, not a penny  SHV. 
Why, he's of years, though he have little beard. 
He snuffs again.   P. SE. 
His beard has time to grow. I have no money:  
Let him still dabble in Poetry. No Pecunia  
Is to be seen.  ALM. 
Come, thou lov'st to be costive  
Still i' thy curtsy; but I have a pill,  
A golden pill to purge away this melancholy.  SHV. 
'tis nothing but his keeping o'the house here,  
With his two drowsy dogs.  FIT. 
A drench of sack  
At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet,  
Would cure him.  LIC. 
Nothing but a young Hair in white-broth,  
I know his diet better than the Doctor.  SHV. 
What Lickfinger? mine old host of Ram-Alley?  
You ha' some mercat here.  ALM. 
Some dosser of Fish  
Or fowl to fetch of.  FIT. 
An odd bargain of Venison,  
To drive.  P. SE. 
Will you go in, knave?  LIC. 
I must needs,  
You see who drives me, gentlemen.  ALM. 
Not the devil.  FIT, 
He may be in time, he is his Agent, now.  P. SE. 
You are all cogging jacks, a covey o' wits,  
The jeerers, that still call together at meals:  
Or rather an Airy, for you are birds of prey:  

Peny-boy thrusts him in.  And fly at all, nothing's too big or high for you.  
And are so truly feared, but not beloved  
One of another: as no one dares break  
Company from the rest, lest they should fall,  
Upon him absent.  ALM. 
O! the only Oracle  
That ever peeped, or spoke out of a doublet.  SHV. 
How the rogue stinks, worse than a Fishmonger sleeves!  FIT. 
Or Curriers hands!  SHV. 
And such a parboiled visage!  FIT. 
His face looks like a dyer's apron, just!  ALM. 
A sodden head, and his whole brain a possit cured!  P. SE. 
ay, now you jeer, jeer on; I have no money.  ALM. 
I wonder what religion he's of!  FIT. 
No certain species sure, A kind of mule!  
That's half an Ethnic, half a Christian!  P. Se. 
I have no money, gentlemen.  SHV. 
This stock.  
He has no sense of any virtue, honour,  
Gentry or merit.  P. Se. 
You say very right,  
My meritorious Captain, (as I take it!)  
Merit will keep no house, nor pay no house rent.  
Will Mistress Merit go to mercat, think you?  
Set on the pot, or feed the family?  
Will Gentry clear with the Butcher? or the Baker?  
Fetch in a pheasant, or a brace of Partridges,  
From goodwife Poulter, for my Lady's supper.  FIT. 
See! this pure rogue!  P. Se. 
This rogue has money tho',  
My worshipful brave Courtier has no money.  
No, nor my valiant Captain.  SHV. 
Hang you rascal.  P. Se. 
Nor you, my learned Doctor. I loved you  
while you did hold your practice, and kill tripe wives.  
And kept you to your urinal; but since your thumbs  
Have greased the Ephemerides, casting figures,  
And turning over for your Candle-rents,  
And your twelve houses in the Zodiac:  
With your Almutens, Alma cantaras,  
Troth you shall cant alone for Peny-boy.  SHV. 
I told you what we should find him, a mere Bawd.  FIT. 
A rogue, a cheater.  P. Se. 
What you please, gentlemen,  
I am of that humble nature and condition,  
Never to mind your worships, or take notice  
Of what you throw away, thus. I keep house here  
Like a lame Cobbler, never out of doors,  
With my two dogs, my friends; and (as you say)  
Drive a quick pretty trade, still. I get money:  
And as for Titles, be they Rogue, or Rascal,  
Or what your worship's fancy, let 'em pass  
As transitory things; they're mine today,  
And yours tomorrow.  ALM. 
Hang thee dog.  SHV. 
Thou cur.  P. Se. 
You see how I do blush, and am ashamed  
Of these large attributes? yet you have no money.  ALM. 
Well wolf, Hyaena, you old pocky rascal,  
You will ha' the Hernia fall down again  
Into your Scrotum, and I shall be sent for.  
I will remember then, that; and your Fistula  
In ano, I cured you of.  P. Se. 
Thank your dog-leech craft.  
They were 'wholesome piles, afore you meddled with 'em.  ALM. 
What an ungrateful wretch is this?  SHV. 
He minds  
A courtesy no more, than London-bridge,  
What Arch was mended last.  FIT. 
He never thinks.  
More than a log, of any grace at Court,  
A man may do him: or that such a Lord  
Reached him his hand.  P. Se. 
O yes! if grace would strike  
The brewer's Tally, or my good Lords hand,  
Would quit the scores. But Sir, they will not do it,  
Here's a piece, my good Lord piece, doth all.  
Goes to the Butchers▪ fetches in a mutton, 
He shows a piece.   
Then to the Bakers, brings in bread, makes fires,  
Gets wine, and does more real Courtesies,  
Than all my Lords, I know: My sweet Lord piece!  
You are my Lord, the rest are cogging jacks,  
Under the Rose.  SHV. 
Rogue, I could beat you now,  P. Se. 
True Captain, if you durst beat any other.  
I should believe you, but indeed you are hungry;  
You are not angry Captain, if I know you  
Aright; good Captain. No, Pecunia,  
Is to be seen, though Mistress Band would speak,  
Or little blushet-wax, be ne'er so easy,  
I'll stop mine ears with her, against the sirens,  
Court, and Philosophy. God be wi' you, Gentlemen,  
Provide you better names. Pecunia is for you.  FIT. 
What a damned Harpy it is? where's Madrigal?  
Is he sneaked hence.  SHV. 
Here he comes with Broker, 
Madrigal returns.   
Pecunia's Secretary.  ALM. 
He may do some good  
With him perhaps. Where ha' you been Madrigal?  MAD. 
Above with my lady's women, reading verses.  FIT. 
That was a favour. Good morrow, Master Secretary.  SHV. 
Good morrow, Master Usher.  ALM. 
Sir, by both  
Your worshipful Titles, and your name mas. Broker.  
Good morrow.  MAD. 
I did ask him if he were  
Amphibion Broker.  SHV. 
Why?  ALM. 
A creature of two natures,  
Because he has two Offices.  BRO. 
You may jeer,  
You ha' the wits, young Gentlemen. But your hope  
Of Helicon, will never carry it, here,  
With our fat family; we ha' the dullest,  
Most unboared Ears for verse amongst our females.  
I grieved you read so long, Sir, old Nurse Mortgage,  
She snored i'the Chair, and Statute (if you marked her)  
Fell fast asleep, and Mistress Band, she nodded,  
But not with any consent to what you read.  
They must have somewhat else to chink, than rhymes.  
If you could make an Epitaph on your Land,  
(Imagine it on departure) such a Poem  
Would wake 'em▪ and bring Wax to her true temper.  MAD. 
i'faith Sir, and I will try.  BRO. 
'Tis but earth,  
Fit to make bricks and tiles of.  SHV. 
Pocks upon't  
'Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best.  
If it would keep us in good tobacco pipes,  BRO. 
'Twere worth keeping.  FIT. 
Or in porcelain dishes  
There were some hope.  ALM. 
But this is a hungry soil,  
And must be helped.  FIT. 
Who would hold any Land  
To have the trouble to mar'le it.  SHV. 
Not a gentleman.  BRO. 
Let clowns and hinds affect it, that love ploughs,  
And carts, and harrows, and are busy still,  
In vexing the dull element.  ALM. 
Our sweet Songster  
Shall rarefy''t into air.  FIT. 
And you Mass Broker  
Shall have a feeling.  BRO. 
So it supple, Sir,  
The nerves.  MAD. 
O! it shall be palpable,  
Make thee run thorough a hoop, or a thumb-ring,  
The nose of a tobacco pipe, and draw  
Thy ductile bones out, like a knitting needle,  
To serve my subtle turns.  BRO. 
I shall obey, Sir,  
And run a thread, like an hourglass.  P. So 
Where is Broker?  
Are not these flies gone yet? pray quit my house,  
I'll smoke you out else.  FIT. 
O! the Prodigal!  
Will you be at so much charge with us, and loss?  MAD. 
I have heard you ha' offered Sir, to lock up smoke,  
And calk your windows, spar up all your doors,  
Thinking to keep it a close prisoner wi'you,  
And wept, when it went out, Sir, at your chimney.  FIT. 
And yet his eyes were drier than a pumice.  SHV. 
A wretched rascal, that will bind about  
The nose of his bellows, lest the wind get out  
When he's abroad.  ALM. 
Sweeps down no cobwebs here,  
But sells 'em for cut-fingers. And the spiders,  
As creatures reared of dust, and cost him nothing,  
To fat old ladies' monkeys.  FIT. 
He has offered  
To gather up spilled water, and preserve  
Each hair falls from him to stop balls with all.  SHV. 
A slave, and an Idolater to Pecunia!  P. SE. 
You all have happy memories, Gentlemen,  
In rocking my poor cradle. I remember too,  
When you had lands, and credit, worship, friends,  
ay, and could give security: now, you have none,  
Or will have none right shortly. This can time,  
And the vicissitude of things. I have  
All these. and money too, and do possess 'em,  
And am right heartily glad of all our memories,  
And both the changes.  FIT. 
Let us leave the viper.  P. SE. 
he's glad he is rid of his torture, and so soon.  
Broker, come hither, up, and tell your Lady,  
She must be ready presently, and Statute,  
Band, Mortgage, Wax. My prodigal young kinsman  
Will straight be here to see her 'top of our house,  
The flourishing, and flaunting Peny-boy.  
we were but three of us in all the world,  
My brother Francis, whom they called Frank Peny-boy,  
Father to this: he's dead. This Peny-boy,  
Is now the heir! ay, Richer Peny-boy,  
Not Richard, but old Harry Peny-boy,  
And (to make rhyme) close, wary Peny-boy  
I shall have all at last, my hopes do tell me.  
Go, see all ready; and where my dogs have faulted,  
Remove it with a broom, and sweeten all  
With a slice of juniper, not too much, but sparing,  
We may be faulty ourselves else, and turn prodigal,  
In entertaining of the Prodigal.  
Here he is! and with him— what! a Clapper Dudgeon!  
That's a good sign; to have the beggar follow him,  
So near at his first entry into fortune.   

ACT. II. SCENE. V.  PENY-BOY. IV. Peniboy. SEN. PICLOCK. CANTER.) BROKER. PECUNIA. STATUTE. BAND. WAX. MORTGAGE. hid in the study. 
HOw now old Uncle? I am come to see thee.  
And the brave Lady, here, the daughter of Ophir,  
They say thou keep'st.  P. SE. 
Sweet Nephew, if she were  
The daughter o' the Sun, she's at your service,  
And so am I, and the whole family,  
Worshipful Nephew.  P. IV. 
sayst thou so, dear Uncle?  
Welcome my friends then: Here is, Domine Picklock:  
My man o'Law, solicits all my causes.  
Follows my business, makes, and compounds my quarrels,  
Between my tenants and me, sows all my strifes,  
And reaps them too, troubles the country for me,  
And vexes any neighbour, that I please.  P. SE. 
But with commission?  P. IV. 
Under my hand & seal.  P. Se. 
A worshipful place!  PIC. 
I thank his worship for it.  P. SE. 
But what is this old Gentleman?  P. CA. 
A Rogue,  
A very Canter, I Sir, one that mands  
Upon the Pad, we should be brothers though:  
For you are near as wretched as myself,  
You dare not use your money, and I have none.  P. SE. 
Not use my money, cogging Jack, who uses it  
At better rates? lets it for more i'the hundred,  
Than I do, Sirrah?  P. IV. 
Be not angry uncle.  P. SE. 
What? to disgrace me, with my Queen? as if  
I did not know her value.  P. CA. 
Sir, I meant  
You durst not to enjoy it.  P. SE. 
Hold your peace,  

Young Peny-boy is angry.  You are a jack.  P. SE. 
Uncle, he shall be a john,  
And, you go to that, as good a man as you are.  
An' I can make him so, a better man,  
Perhaps I will too. Come, let us go.  P. SE. 
Nay, kinsman,  
My worshipful kinsman; and the top of our house;  
Do not your penitent uncle that affront,  
For a rash word, to leave his joyful threshold,  
Before you see the Lady that you long for.  
The Venus of the time, and state, Pecunia!  
I do perceive, your bounty loves the man,  
〈…〉 concealed virtue, that he hides  
Under these rags.  P. CA. 
I owe my happiness to him,  
the waiting on his worship, since I brought him  
〈…〉, welcome to all young heirs.  P. IV. 
Thou didst indeed, for which I thank thee yet,  
Your 〈◊〉 Princess, Uncle, is long a coming.  P. CA. 
She is not rigged, Sir, setting forth some Lady,  
will cost as much as furnishing a Fleet,  
〈◊〉 she's come at last, 

The study is opened where she sit in state.  
she kisseth him.   and like a Galley  
〈◊〉 i'the prow.  P. IV. 
Is this Pecunia?  P. So 
Vouchsafe my toward kinsman, gracious madam,  
The savour of your hand.  PEC. 
Nay, of my lips, Sir,  
To him.  P. IV. 
She kisses like a mortal creature,  
Almighty Madame, I have longed to see you.  PEC. 
And I have my desire, Sir, to behold  
That youth, and shape, which in my dreams and wakes▪  
I have so oft contemplated, and felt  
Warm in my veins, and native as my blood.  
When I was told of your arrival here,  
I felt my heart beat, as it would leap out,  
In speech; and all my face it was a flame,  
But how it came to pass I do not know.  P. In 
O! beauty loves to be more proud than nature,  
That made you blush. I cannot satisfy  
My curious eyes, by which alone I'm happy,  
In my beholding you.  P. CA. 
They pass the compliment  
Prettily well.  PIC. 
ay, he does kiss her, I like him.  P. IV. 
My passion was clear contrary, and doubtful, 
He kisseth her.   
I shook for fear, and yet I danced for joy,  
I had such motions as the Sunbeams make  
Against a wall, or playing on a water,  
Or trembling vapour of a boiling pot—  P. SE. 
That's not so good, it should ha' been a Crucible,  
With molten mettle, she had understood it.  P. IV. 
I cannot talk, but I can love you, madam.  
Are these your Gentlewomen? I love them too.  
And which is mistress Statute? Mistress Band▪  
They all kiss close, the last stuck to my lips.  BRO. 
It was my Lady's Chambermaid, soft-wax.  P. IV. 
Soft lips she has, I am sure on't. Mother Mortgage,  
I low a kiss▪ till she be younger, Statute, 
He doubles the compliment to them all.   
Sweet Mistress Band, and honey, little wax,  
We must be better acquainted.  STA. 
We are but servants, Sir.  BAND. 
But whom her Grace is so content to grace,  
We shall observe.  WAX. 
and with all fit respect.  MOR. 
In our poor places.  WAX. 
Being her grace's shadows.  P. IV. 
A fine well-spoken family. What's thy name?  BRO. 
Broker.  P. IV. 
methinks my uncle should not need thee,  
Who is a crafty Knave, enough, believe it.  
Art thou her grace's Steward?  BRO. 
No, her Usher, Sir.  P. IV. 
What, o'the Hall? thou hast a sweeping face,  
Thy beard is like a broom.  BRO. 
No barren chin, Sir,  
I am no Eunuch, though a gentleman-usher.  P. IV. 
Thou shalt go with us. Uncle, I must have  
My Princess forth today.  P. SE. 
Whither you please, Sir,  
You shall command her.  PEC. 
I will do all grace  
To my new servant.  P. SE. 
Thanks unto your bounty;  
He is my Nephew, and my Chief, the Point,  

Old Peny-boy thanks her, but makes his condition.  Tip, Top, and Tuft of all our family!  
But, Sir, conditioned always, you return  
Statute, and Band home, with my sweet, soft Wax,  
And my good Nurse, here, Mortgage.  P. IV. 
O! what else?  P. SE. 
By Broker.  P. IV. 
Do not fear.  P. SE. 
She shall go wi' you,  
Whither you please, Sir, anywhere.  P. CA. 
I see  
A Money-Bawd, is lightly a Flesh-Bawd, too.  PIC. 
Are you advised? Now o'my faith, this Canter  
Would make a good grave Burgess in some barn.  P. IV. 
Come, thou shalt go with us, uncle.  P. CA. 
By no means, Sir.  P. IV. 
We'll have both Sack, and Fiddlers.  P. SE. 
I'll not draw  
That charge upon your worship.  P. CA. 
He speaks modestly,  
And like an Uncle,  P. SE. 
But mas. Broker, here,  
He shall attend you, Nephew; her grace's Usher,  
And what you fancy to bestow on him,  
Be not too lavish, use a temperate bounty,  
I'll take it to myself.  P. IV. 
I will be princely,  
While I possess my Princess, my Pecunia.  P. SE. 
Where is't you eat?  P. IV. 
Hard by, at Picklocks lodging.  
Old Lickfinger's the Cook, here in Ram-Alley.  P. SE. 
He has good cheer; perhaps I'll come and see you.  P. CAN. 
O, fie! an Alley, and a Cooks-shop, gross,  

The Canter takes him aside, and persuades him,  'T will savour, Sir, most rankly of 'em both.  
Let your meat rather follow you, to a tavern.  PIC. 
A tavern's as unfit too, for a Princess.  P. CA. 
No, I have known a Princess, and a great one,  
Come forth of a tavern.  PIC. 
Not go in, Sir, though.  P. CA. 
She must go in, if she came forth: the blessed  
Pokahontas (as the Historian calls her  
And great Kings daughters of Virginia)  
Hath been in womb of a tavern; and beside,  
Your nasty Uncle will spoil all your mirth,  
And be as noisome.  PIC. 
That's true.  P. CA. 
No 'faith,  
Dine in Apollo with Pecunia,  
At brave Duke Wadloo's, have your friends about you,  
And make a day on't.  P. IV. 
Content i'faith:  
Our meat shall be brought thither. Simon the King,  
Will bid us welcome.  PIC. 
Patron, I have a suit.  P. IV. 
What's that?  PIC. 
That you will carry the Infanta,  
To see the Staple, her Grace will be a grace,  
To all the members of it.  P. IV. 
I will do it:  
And have her Arms set up there, with her Titles,  
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.  
And in Apollo. Come (sweet Princess) go.  P. SE. 
Broker, be careful of your charge.  BRO. 
I warrant you.    

The second intermean after the second Act.  CENSURE. 
Why, this is duller and duller! intolerable! scurvy! neither Devil nor Fool in this Play! pray God, some on us be not a witch, Gossip, to forespeak the matter thus.  MIRTH. 
I fear we are all such, and we were old enough: But we are not all old enough to make one witch. How like you the Vice i'the Play.  EXPECTATION. 
Which is he?  MIR. 
Three or four: old Covetousness, the sordid Peny-boy, the Money-bawd, who is a flesh-bawd too, they say.  TATLE. 
But here is never a Fiend to carry him away. Besides, he has never a wooden dagger! I'd not give a rush for a Vice, that has not a wooden dagger to snap at everybody he meets.  MIRTH. 
That was the old way, Gossip, when Iniquity came in like hocus-pocus, in a juggler's jerkin, with false skirts▪ like the Knave of Clubs! but now they are attired like men and women o' the time, the Vices, male and female! Prodigality like a young heir, and his Mistress Money (whose favours he scatters like counters) pranked up like a prime Lady, the Infanta of the Mines.  CEN. 
ay, therein they abuse an honourable Princess, it is thought.  MIRTH. 
By whom is it so thought? or where lies the abuse?  CEN. 
Plain in the styling her Infanta, and giving her three names.  MIRTH. 
Take heed, it lie not in the vice of your interpretation: what have Aurelia, Clara, Pecunia to do with any person? do they any more, but express the property of Money, which is the daughter of earth, and drawn out of the Mines? Is there nothing to be called Infanta, but what is subject to exception? Why not the Infanta of the Beggars? or Infanta o'the Gipsies? as well as King of Beggars, and King of Gipsies?  CEN. 
Well, and there were no wiser than I, I would sow him in a sack, and send him by sea to his Princess.  MIRT. 
Faith, and he heard you Censure, he would go near to stick the ass's ears to your high dressing, and perhaps to all ours for harkening to you.  TATLE. 
By'r Lady but he should not to mine, I would hearken, and hearken, and censure, if I saw cause, for th'other princess' sake Pokahontas, surnamed the blessed, whom he has abused indeed (and I do censure him, and will censure him) to say she came forth of a Tavern, was said like a paltry Poet.  MIRTH. 
That's but one gossip's opinion, and my Gossip Tatle's too! but what says Expectation, here, she sits sullen and silent.  EXP. 
Troth I expect their Office, their great Office! the Staple, what it will be! they have talked on't, but we see't not open yet; would Butter would come in, and spread itself a little to us.  MIRTH. 
Or the butterbox, Buz, the Emissary.  TATLE. 
When it is churned, and dished, we shall hear of it.  EXP. 
If it be fresh and sweet butter; but say it be sour and wheyish.  MIR. 
Then it is worth nothing, mere pot-butter, fit to be spent in suppositories, or greasing coach-wheels, stale stinking butter, and such I fear it is, by the being barrelled up so long.  EXPECTATION. 
Or rank Irish butter.  CEN. 
Have patience Gossips, say that contrary to our expectations it prove right, seasonable, salt butter.  MIR. 
Or to the time of year, in Lent, delicate Almond butter! I have a sweet tooth yet, and I will hope the best; and sit down as quiet, and calm as butter; look as smooth, and soft as butter; be merry, and melt like butter; laugh and be fat like butter: so butter answer my expectation, and be not mad butter; If it be: It shall both july and December see. I say no more, But— Dixi.   

TO THE READERS.  
IN this following Act, the Office is opened, and shown to the Prodigal, and his Princess Pecunia, wherein the allegory, and purpose of the Author hath hitherto been wholly mistaken, and so sinister an interpretation been made, as if the souls of most of the Spectators had lived in the eyes and ears of these ridiculous Gossips that tattle between the Acts. But he prays you thus to mend it. To consider the News here vented, to be none of his News, or any reasonable man's; but News made like the Time's News, (a weekly cheat to draw money) and could not be fitter reprehended, then in raising this ridiculous Office of the Staple, wherein the age may see her own folly, or hunger and thirst after published pamphlets of News, set out every Saturday, but made all at home, & no syllable of truth in them: than which there cannot be a greater disease in nature, or a fouler scorn put upon the times. And so apprehending it, you shall do the Author, and your own judgement a courtesy, and perceive the trick of alluring money to the Office, and there cozening the people. If you have the truth, rest quiet, and consider that  Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris.  


ACT. III. SCENE. I.  FITTON. CYMBAL, to them Picklock. REGISTER. CLERKE. Tho. BARBER. 
You hunt upon a wrong scent still, and think  
The air of things will carry 'em, but it must  
Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds,  
My cousin Cymbal, must get you this Lady.  
You have entertained a pettifogger here,  
Picklock, with trust of an Emissary's place,  
And he is, all, for the young Prodigal,  
You see he has left us.  CYM. 
Come, you do not know him,  
That speak thus of him. He will have a trick,  
To open us a gap▪ by a trap-door,  
When they least dream on't. Here he comes. What news?  PICK. 
Where is my brother Buz? my brother Ambler:  
The Register, Examiner, and the Clerks?  
Appear, and let us muster all in pomp,  
For here will be the rich Infanta, presently,  
To make her visit. Peny-boy the heir,  
My Patron, has got leave for her to play  
With all her train, of the old churl, her Guardian.  
Now is your time to make all court unto her;  
That she may first but know, then love the place,  
And show it by her frequent visits here:  
And afterwards, get her to sojourn with you.  
She will be weary of the Prodigal, quickly.  CYM. 
Excellent news!  FIT. 
And counsel of an Oracle!  CYM. 
How say you cousin Fitton?  FIT. 
brother Picklock,  
I shall adore thee, for this parcel of tidings,  
It will cry up the credit of our Office,  
Eternally, and make our Staple immortal!  PICK. 
Look your addresses, then, be fair and fit,  
And entertain her, and her creatures, too,  
With all the migniardise, and quaint Caresses,  
You can put on 'em.  FIT. 
Thou seem'st, by thy language,  
No less a Courtier, than a man o' Law.  
I must embrace thee.  PIC. 
Tut, I am Vertumnus,  
On every change, or chance, upon occasion,  
A true chameleon, I can colour for't.  
I move upon my axle, like a turnpike.  
Fit my face to the parties, and become  
Straight, one of them.  CYM. 
Sirs, up, into your Desks,  
And spread the rolls upon the Table, so.  
Is the Examiner set?  REG. 
Yes, Sir.  CYM. 
Ambler, and Buz,  
Are both abroad, now.  PIC. 
we'll sustain their parts.  
No matter, let them ply the affairs without,  

Fitton puts on the office cloak, and Cymbal the gown.  Let us alone within, I like that well.  
On with the cloak, and you with the Staple gown,  
And keep your state, stoop only to the Infanta;  
We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band,  
And hard, but we'll bring Wax unto the retrieve:  
Each know his several province, and discharge it.  FIT. 

Fitton is brought about.  I do admire this nimble engine, Picklock.  CYM. 
coz,  
What did I say?  FIT. 
You have rectified my error!   

ACT. III. SCENE. II.  Peniboy. IV. P. CANTER. PECUNIA. STATUTE. BAND. MORTGAGE. WAX. BROKER. CUSTOMERS. 
BY your leave, Gentlemen, what news? good, good still?  
I'your new Office? Princess, here's the Staple!  
This is the Governor, kiss him, noble Princess,  
For my sake. Thom, how is it honest Thom?  
How does thy place, and thou? my Creature, Princess?  

He tells Pecunia of Thom.  This is my Creature, give him your hand to kiss,  
He was my Barber, now he writes Clericus!  
I bought this place for him, and gave it him.  P. CA. 
He should have spoke of that, Sir, and not you:  
Two do not do one Office well.  P. IV. 
'Tis true,  
But I am loath to lose my courtesies.  P. CA. 
So are all they, that do them, to vain ends,  
And yet you do lose, when you pay yourselves.  P. IV. 
No more o' your sentences, Canter, they are stale,  
We come for news, remember where you are.  
I pray thee let my Princess hear some news,  
Good Master Cymbal.  CYM. 
What news would she hear?  
Or of what kind, Sir?  P. IV. 
Any, any kind.  
So it be news, the newest that thou hast,  
Some news of State, for a Princess.  CYM. 
Read from Rome, there.  THO. 
They write, the King of Spain is chosen Pope.  P. IV. 
How? 
News from Rome.   THO. 
And Emperor too, the thirtieth of February.  P. IV. 
Is the Emperor dead?  CYM. 
No, but he has resigned, 
News of the Emperor, and Tilly.   
And trails a pike now, under Tilly.  FIT. 
For penance.  P. IV. 
These will beget strange turns in Christendom!  THO. 
And Spinola is made General of the jesuits. 
News of Spinola. The fifth Monarchy, uniting the Ecclesiastic and Secular power. A plot of the house of Austria. More of Spinola.   P. IV. 
Stranger!  FIT, 
Sir, all are alike true, and certain.  CYM. 
All the pretence to the fifth Monarchy,  
Was held but vain, until the ecclesiastic,  
And secular powers, were united, thus,  
Both in one person.  FIT. 
'T has been long the aim  
Of the house of Austria.  CYM. 
See but Maximilian,  
His letters to the Baron of Bouttersheim,  
Or Scheiter-huyssen.  FIT. 
No, of Liechtenstein,  
Lord Paul, I think.  P. IV. 
I have heard of some such thing.  
Don Spinola made General of the jesuits!  
A Priest!  CYM. 
O, no, he is dispensed with all,  
And the whole society, who do now appear  
The only Engineers of Christendom.  P. IV. 
They have been thought so long, and rightly too.  FIT. 
Witness the Engine, that they have presented him,  
To wind himself with, up, into the Moon:  
And thence make all his discoveries!  CYM. 
Read on.  THO. 
And Vittellesco, he that was last General,  
Being now turned Cook to the society,  
Has dressed his excellence, such a dish of eggs—  P. IV. 
What potched?  THO. 
No, powdered. 
His Eggs.   CYM. 
All the yolk is wild fire,  
As he shall need beleaguer no more towns,  
But throw his Egg in.  FIT. 
It shall clear consume,  
Palace, and place; demolish and bear down,  
All strengths before it!  CYM. 
Never be extinguished!  
Till all become one ruin!  Fa 
And from Florence,  THO. 
They write was found in Galileo's study,  
A burning Glass (which they have sent him too) 
Galilaeo's study.   
To fire any Fleet that's out at Sea—  CYM. 
By Moonshine, is't not so?  THO. 
Yes, Sir, i'the water.  P. IV. 
His strengths will be unresistable, if this hold! 
The burning glass, by Moonshine.   
Ha'you no News against him, on the contrary?  CLA. 

〈…〉 eel.  Yes, Sit, they write here, one Cornelius- 〈◊〉,  
Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel,  
To swim the haven at Dunkirk, and sink all  
The shipping there.  P. IV. 
Why haven't not you this, Thom?  〈◊〉. 
Because he keeps the Pontificial side.  P. IV. 

Peny-boy will have him change sides▪  How, change sides, Thom. 'Twas never in my thought  
To put thee up against ourselves. Come down,  
Quickly.  CYM. 
Why, Sir?  P. IV. 
I ventured not my money  
Upon those terms: If he may change; why so.  
I'll ha' him keep his own side, sure.  FIT, 
Why, let him,  
'Tis but writing so much over again.  P. IV. 
For that I'll bear the charge: There's two Pieces,  FIT. 
Come, do not stick with the gentleman.  CYM. 
I'll take none Sir▪  
And yet he shall ha'the place.  P. IV. 
They shall be 〈…〉,  

though he pay for it.  Up, Thom: and th'Office shall take 'em. Keep your side, Thom.  
Know your own side, do not forsake your side, Thom.  CYM. 
Read.  THO. 
They write here one Cornelius- 〈◊〉,  
Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel,  
To swim the Haven at Dunkirk, and sink all  
The shipping there.  P. IV. 
But how is't done?  CYM. 
I'll show you Sir  
It is an Automa, runs under water,  
With a snug nose, and has a nimble tail  
Made like an anger, with which tail she wriggles  
Betwixt the coasts of a Ship, and sinks it straight.  P. IV. 
Whence ha'you this news.  FIT. 
From a right hand I assure you,  
The Ecle-boats here, that lie before Queen-Hyth,  
Came out of Holland.  P. IV. 
A most brave device,  
To murder their flat bottoms.  FIT. 
I do grant you▪  

Spinola's new project: an army in cork-shoes.  But what if Spinola have a new Project:  
To bring an army over in cork-shoes,  
And land them, here, at Harwich? all his horse  
Are shod with cork, and fourscore pieces of ordinance,  
Mounted upon cork-carriages, with bladders,  
In stead of wheels to run the passage over  
At a springtide.  P. IV. 
Is't true?  FIT. 
As true as the rest▪  P. IV. 
He'll never leave his engines: I would hear now  
Some curious news.  CYM. 
As what?  P. IV. 
Magic, or 〈◊〉  
Or flying i'the air, I care not what.  CLA. 
They write from Libtzig (reverence to your 〈◊〉)  
The Art of drawing farts out of dead bodies,  

Extraction of farts  Is by the Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross,  
Produced unto perfection, in so sweet  
And rich a tincture—  FIT. 
As there is no Princess,  
But may perfume her chamber with th'extraction.  P. IV. 
There's for you, Princess.  P. CA. 
What, a fart for her?  P. IV. 
I mean the spirit.  P. CA. 
Beware how she resents it.  P. IV. 

The perpetual Motion.  And what hast thou, Thom?  THO. 
The perpetual Motion▪  
Is here found out by an Alewife in Saint Katherine's,  
At the sign o' the dancing Bears▪  P. IV. 
What, from her tap?  
I'll go see that, or else I'll send old Canter.  
He can make that discovery.  P. CA. 
Yes, in Ale.  P. IV. 
Let me have all this News, made up, and sealed▪  REG. 
The people press upon us, please you, Sir, 
The Register offers him a room.   
Withdraw with your fair Princess. There's a room  
Within, Sir, to retire too.  P. IV. 
No, good Register,  
We'll stand it out here, and observe your Office; 
The Office called the house of fame.   
What News it issues.  REG. 
'Tis the house of fame, Sir,  
Where both the curious, and the negligent;  
The scrupulous, and careless; wild, and stayed;  
The idle, and laborious; all do meet,  
To taste the Cornu copiae of her rumours,  
Which she, the mother of sport▪ pleaseth to scatter  
Among the vulgar: Baits, Sir, for the people!  
And they will bite like fishes.  P. IV. 
Let's see't.  DOP. 
Ha'you in your profane Shop, any News  
O'the Saints at Amsterdam?  REG. 
Yes, how much would you? 
1. Cust. Ash baptist.   DOP. 
Six penny worth.  REG. 
Lay your money down, read, Thomas.  THO. 
The Saints do write, they expect a Prophet, shortly,  
The Prophet Baal, to be sent over to them, 
Prophet Baal expected in Helland.   
To calculate a time, and half a time,  
And the whole time, according to Naömetry.  P. IV. 
What's that?  THO. 
The measuring o'the Temple: a Cabal  
Found out but lately, and set out by Archie,  
Or some such head, of whose long coat they have heard,  
And being black, desire it.  DOP. 
Peace be with them! 
Archie mourned then.   REG▪ 
So there had need, for they are still by the ears  
One with another.  DOP. 
It is their zeal.  REG. 
Most likely.  DOP. 
Have you no other of that species?  REG. 
Yes,  
But dearer, it will cost you a shilling.  DOP. 
Verily,  
There is a ninepence, I will shed no more.  REG. 
Not, to the good o'the Saints?  DOP. 
I am not sure,  
That, man is good.  REG. 
Read, from Constantinople,  
Nine penny'orth.  THO. 
They give out here, 
The great Turk turned Christian▪  the grand Signior  
Is certainly turned Christian, and to clear  
The controversy twixt the Pope and him,  
Which is the Antichrist; he means to visit  
The Church at Amsterdam, this very Summer,  
And quit all marks o'the beast.  DOP. 
Now joyful tidings.  
Who brought in this? Which Emissary?  REG. 
Buz.  
Your countryman.  DOP. 
Now, blessed be the man,  
And his whole Family, with the Nation.  REG. 
Yes, for Amboyna, and the justice there!  
This is a Doper, a she Anabaptist!  
Seal and deliver her her news, dispatch.  C. 2. 
Ha'you any news from the Indies? any miracle  

2. Cust.  Done in japan, by the jesuits? or in China?  CLA. 

A colony ●e Cooks sent over to convert the Cannibals . No, but we hear of a Colony of cooks  
To be set ashore o'the coast of America,  
For the conversion of the Cannibals,  
And making them good, eating Christians.  
Here comes the Colonel that undertakes it.  C. 2. 

3. Cust. By Colonel Lickfinger . Who? captain Lickfinger?  LIC. 
News, news my boys!  
I am to furnish a great feast today,  
And I would have what news the Office affords.  CLA. 
We were venting some of you, of your new project,  REG. 
Afore 'twas paid for, you were somewhat too hasty.  P. IV. 
What Lickfinger! wilt thou convert the Cannibals,  
With spit and pan Divinity?  LIC. 
Sir, for that  
I will not urge, but for the fire and zeal  
To the true cause; thus I have undertaken:  
With two Lay-brethren, to myself, no more,  
One o'the broach, th'other o'the boiler,  
In one six months, and by plain cookery,  
No magic to't, but old japnets physic,  
The father of the european Arts,  
To make such sauces for the Savages,  
And cooks their meats, with those enticing steams,  
As it would make our Caniball-Christians,  
Forbear the mutual eating one another,  
Which they do do, more cunningly, than the wild  
Anthropophagi; that snatch only strangers,  
Like my old patron's dogs, there.  P. IV. 
O, my Uncle's!  
Is dinner ready, Lickfinger?  LIC. 
When you please, Sir.  
I was bespeaking but a parcel of news,  
To strew out the long meal withal, but't seems  
You are furnished here already.  P. IV. 
O, not half!  LIC. 
What Court-news is there? any Proclamations,  
Or Edicts to come forth.  THO. 
Yes, there is one.  
That the king's Barber has got, for aid of our trade:  
Whereof there is a manifest decay.  

To let long hair run to seed▪ to sow bald pates.  A Precept for the wearing of long hair,  
To run to seed, to sow bald pates withal,  
And the preserving fruitful heads, and chins,  
To help a mystery, almost antiquated.  
Such as are bald and barren beyond hope,  
Are to be separated, and set by  
For Ushers, to old Countesses.  LIC. 
And Coachmen.  
To mount their boxes, reverently, and drive,  
Like Lapwings, with a shell upo' their heads.  
Thorough the streets. Ha'you no News oh the Stage?  
They'll ask me about new Plays, at dinner time.  
And I should be as dumb as a fish.  THO. 
O! yes.  
There is a Legacy left to the king's Players, 
Spalato's Legacy to the Players.   
Both for their various shifting of their Scene,  
And dexterous change o'their persons to all shapes,  
And all disguises: by the right reverend  
Archbishop of Spalato.  LIC. 
He is dead,  
That played him!  THO. 
Then, h'has lost his share o' the Legacy.  LIC. 
What news of Gundomar?  THO. 
A second Fistula,  
Or an excoriation (at the least)  
For putting the poor English-play, was writ of him, 
Gundomar's use of the game at Chess, or Play so called.   
To such a sordid use, as (is said) he did,  
Of cleansing his posteriors.  LIC. 
justice! justice!  THO. 
Since when, he lives condemned to his share, at Brussels.  
And there sits filing certain politic hinges,  
To hang the States on, h'has heaved off the hooks.  LIC. 
What must you have for these?  P. IV. 
Thou shalt pay nothing,  
But reckon 'em in i'the bill. There's twenty pieces,  
Her Grace bestows upon the Office, Thom, 
He gives 20. pieces, to the Office. Doubles it.   
Write thou that down for News.  REG. 
We may well do't,  
We have not many such.  P. IV. 
There's twenty more,  
If you say so; my Princess is a Princess!  
And put that too, under the Office Seal.  CYM. 
If it will please your Grace to sojourn here, 
Cymbal takes Pecunia aside, courts and woos her, to the Office.   
And take my roof for covert, you shall know  
The rites belonging to your blood, and birth,  
Which few can apprehend: these sordid servants,  
Which rather are your keepers, than attendants,  
Should not come near your presence. I would have  
You waited on by Ladies, and your train  
Borne up by persons of quality, and honour,  
Your meat should be served in with curious dances,  
And set upon the board, with virgin hands,  
Tuned to their voices; not a dish removed,  
But to the Music, nor a drop of wine,  
Mixed, with his water, without Harmony,  PEC. 
You are a Courtier, Sir, or somewhat more;  
That have this tempting language!  CYM. 
I'm your servant,  
Excellent Princess, and would ha'you appear  
That, which you are. Come forth State, and wonder,  
Of these our times, dazzle the vulgar eyes.  
And strike the people blind with admiration.  P. CAN. 
Why, that's the end of wealth! thrust riches outward,  
And remain beggars within: contemplate nothing  
But the vile sordid things of time, place, money,  
And let the noble, and the precious go,  
Virtue and honesty; hang 'em; poor thin membranes  
Of honour; who respects them? O, the Fates!  
How hath all just, true reputation fallen,  

Fitton hath been courting the waiting-women, this while, and is jeered by them.  Since money, this base money 'gan to have any!  BAN. 
Pity, the Gentleman is not immortal.  WAX. 
As he gives out, the place is, by description.  FIT. 
A very Paradise, if you saw all, Lady.  WAX. 
I am the Chambermaid, Sir, you mistake,  
My Lady may see all.  FIT. 
Sweet Mistress Statute, gentle Mistress Band,  
And Mother Mortgage, do but get her Grace  
To sojourn here.—  PIC. 
I thank you gentle Wax,  MOR. 
If it were a Chattel, I would try my credit.  PIC. 
So it is, for term of life, we count it so.  STA. 
She means, Inheritance to him, and his heirs▪  
Or that he could assure a State, of years:  
I'll be his Statute-Staple, Statute-Merchant,  
Or what he please.  PIC. 
He can expect no more.  BAN. 
His cousin Alderman Security,  
That he did talk of so, e'en now—  STA. 
Who, is  
The very broach o'the bench, gem o'the City.  BAN. 
He and his Deputy, but assure his life  
For one seven years.  STA. 
And see what we'll do for him,  
Upon his scarlet motion.  BAN. 
And old Chain,  
That draws the city-ears.  WAX. 
When he says nothing,  
But twirls it thus.  STA. 
A moving Oratory!  BAN. 
Dumb Rhetoric, and silent eloquence!  
As the fine Poet says!  FIT. 
Come, they all scorn us,  
Do you not see't? the family of scorn!  BRO. 
Do not believe him! gentle Master Picklock,  
They understood you not: the Gentlewomen,  
They thought you would ha'my Lady sojourn, with you,  
And you desire but now and then, a visit?  PIC. 
Yes, if she pleased, Sir, it would much advance  
Unto the Office, her continual residence!  
(I speak but as a member)  BRO. 
'Tis enough.  
I apprehend you. And it shall go hard,  
But I'll so work, as somebody shall work her!  PIC. 
pray you change with our Master, but a word about it.  P. IV. 
Well, Lickfinger, see that our meat be ready,  
Thou hast News enough.  LIC. 
Something of Bethlem Gabor,  
And then I'm gone.  THO. 
We hear he has devised  

Bethlem gabor's Drum.  A Drum, to fill all Christendom with the sound:  
But that he cannot draw his forces near it,  
To march yet, for the violence of the noise.  
And therefore he is fain by a design,  
To carry 'em in the air, and at some distance,  
Till he be married, than they shall appear.  LIC. 
Or never; well, God b'wi'you (stay, who's here?)  
A little of the Duke of Bavier, and then—  CLA. 
He has taken a grey habit, 
The Duke of Bavier.  and is turned  
The church's miller, grinds the catholic grist  
With every wind: and Tilly takes the toll.  CVS. 4. 
Ha'you any news o'the Pageants to send down?  
Into the several Counties. 
4. Cust. The Pageants.  All the country  
Expected from the city most brave speeches▪  
Now, at the Coronation.  LIC. 
It expected  
More than it understood: for, they stand mute,  
Poor innocent dumb things; they are but wood.  
As is the bench and blocks, they were wrought on, yet  
If May-day come, and the Sun shine, perhaps,  
They'll sing like Memnon's Statue, and be vocal.  CVS. 5. 
Ha'you any forest-news?  THO. 
None very wild, Sir,  
Some tame there is, out o'the Forest of fools, 
5. Cust. The new Park in the Forest of Fools.   
A new Park is a making there, to sever  
Cuckolds of Antler, from the Rascals. Such,  
Whose wives are dead, and have since cast their heads,  
Shall remain Cuckolds-pollard.  LIC. 
I'll ha' that news.  CVS. 
1. And I. 2. And I. 3. And I. 4. And I. 5. And I.  CYM. 
Sir, I desire to be excused; and, madam: 
Peny-boy would invite the Master of the Office   
I cannot leave my Office, the first day.  
My Cousin Fitton here, shall wait upon you.  
And Emissary Picklock.  P. IV. 
And Thom: Clericus?  CYM. 
I cannot spare him yet, but he shall follow you,  
When they have ordered the Rolls. Shut up th'Office,  
When you ha'done, till two o'clock.   

ACT. III. SCENE. III.  SHUNFIELD. almanac. MADRIGAL. clerks. 
BY your leave, Clerks,  
Where shall we dine today? do you know? the jeerers.  ALM. 
Where's my fellow Fitton?  THO. 
New gone forth.  SHV. 
Cannot your Office tell us, what brave fellows  
Do eat together today, in town, and where?  THO. 
Yes, there's a Gentleman, the brave heir, young Peny-boy,  
Dines in Apollo.  MAD. 
Come, let's thither then,  
I ha' supped in Apollo!  ALM. 
With the Muses?  MAD. 
No,  
But with two Gentlewomen, called, the Graces▪  ALM. 
They were ever three in Poetry.  MAD. 
This was truth, Sir.  THO. 
Sir, Master Fitton's there too!  SHV. 
All the better!  ALM. 
We may have a jeer, perhaps.  SHV. 
Yes, you'll drink, Doctor.  
(If there be any good meat) as much good wine now,  
As would lay up a Dutch Ambassador.  THO. 
If he dine there, he's sure to have good meat,  
For, Lickfinger provides the dinner.  ALM. 
Who?  
The glory o'the Kitchen? that holds Cookery,  
A trade from Adam? quotes his broths▪ and salads?  
And swears he's not dead yet, but translated  
In some immortal crust, the past of Almonds?  MAD. 
The same. He holds no man can be a Poet,  
That is not a good Cook, to know the palates,  
And several tastes o'the time. He draws all Arts  
Out of the Kitchen, but the Art of Poetry,  
which he concludes the same with Cookery.  SHV. 
Tut, he maintains more heresies than that.  
He'll draw the Magisterium from a minced-pie,  
And prefer jellies, to your julips, Doctor▪  ALM. 
I was at an Olla Podrida of his making,  
Was a brave piece of cookery! at a funeral!  
But opening the potlid, he made us laugh,  
who'had wept all day! and sent us such a tickling  
Into our nostrils, as the funeral feast  
Had been a wedding-dinner.  SHV. 
gi' him allowance,  
And that but moderate, he will make a Siren  
Sing i'the Kettle, send in an Arion,  
In a brave broth, and of a watery green,  
Just the Sea-colour, mounted on the back  
Of a grown Cunger, but, in such a posture,  
As all the world would take him for a Dolphin.  MAD. 
he's a rare fellow, without question! but  
He holds some Paradoxes.  ALM. 
ay, and Pseudodoxes.  
marry, for most, he's Orthodox i'the Kitchen.  MAD. 
And knows the Clergies taste!  ALM. 
ay, and the laities!  SHV. 
You think not o'your time, we'll come too late,  
If we go not presently.  MAD. 
Away then.  SHV. 
Sirs,  
You must get of'is news, to store your Office,  
Who dines and sups i' the town? where, and with whom?  
'Twill be beneficial: when you are stored;  
And as we like our fare, we shall reward you.  CLA. 
A hungry trade, 'twill be.  THO. 
Much like D. Humphries,  
But, now and then, as th'wholesome proverb says,  
'Twill obsonare samem ambulando.  CLA. 
Shut up the Office: gentle brother Thomas.  THO. 
Brother, Nathaniel, I ha'the wine for you.  
I hope to see us, one day, Emissaries.  CLA. 
Why not? 'Slid, I despair not to be Master!   

ACT. III. SCENE. IV.  Peniboy. SE. BROKER. CYMBAL. 
HOw now? I think I was borne under Hercules' star!  
Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppress me? 
He is started with Broker's coming back.   
Why come you back? where is your charge?  BRO. 
I ha' brought  
A Gentleman to speak with you?  P. SE. 
To speak with me?  
You know 'tis death for me to speak with any man.  
What is he? set me a chair.  BRO. 
He's the Master  
Of the great Office.  P. SE. 
What?  BRO. 
The Staple of News,  
A mighty thing, they talk Six thousand a year.  P. SE. 
Well bring your six in. Where ha' you left Pecunia?  BRO. 
Sir, in Apollo, they are scarce set.  P. SE. 
Bring six.  BRO. 
Here is the Gentleman.  P. SE. 
He must pardon me,  
I cannot rise, a diseased man.  CYM. 
By no means, Sir,  
Respect your health, and ease.  P. SE. 
It is no pride in me!  
But pain, pain; what's your errand, Sir, to me? 
He sends Broker back.   
Broker, return to your charge, be Argus-eyed,  
Awake, to the affair you have in hand,  
Serve in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus.  
Go on, Sir.  CYM. 
I am come to speak with you.  P. SE. 
'Tis pain for me to speak, a very death,  
But I will hear you!  CYM. 
Sir, you have a Lady,  
That sojourns with you.  P. SE. 
Ha? 
He pretends infirmity.  I am somewhat short  
In my sense too—  CYM. 
Pecunia.  P. SE. 
O' that side,  
Very imperfect, on—  CYM. 
Whom I would draw  
Oftener to a poor Office, I am Master of—  P. SE. 
My hearing is very dead, you must speak quicker.  CYM. 
Or, if it please you, Sir, to let her sojourn  
In part with me; I have a moiety  
We will divide, half of the profits.  P. SE. 
Ha?  
I hear you better now, how come they in?  
Is it a certain business, or a casual?  
For I am loath to seek out doubtful courses,  
Run any hazardous paths, I love straight ways,  
A just, and upright man! now all trade totters.  
The trade of money, is fallen, two i'the hundred.  
That was a certain trade, while th' age was thrifty,  
And men good husbands, looked unto their stocks,  
Had their minds bounded; now the public Riot  
Prostitutes all, scatters away in coaches,  
In footmen's coats, and waiting women's gowns,  
They must have velvet haunches (with a pox)  
Now taken up, and yet not pay the use;  

He talks vehemently and aloud.  Bate of the use? I am mad with this times manners.  CYM. 
You said e'en now, it was death for you to speak.  P. SE. 
ay, but an anger, a just anger, (as this is)  
Puts life in man. Who can endure to see  
The fury of men's gullets, and their groins?  

Is moved more and more.  What fires, what cooks, what kitchens might be spared?  
What Stews, Ponds, Parks, Coupes, Garners, Magazines?  
What velvets, tissues, scarves, embroideries?  
And laces they might lack? They covet things—  
Superfluous still; when it were much more honour  
They could want necessary! What need hath Nature  
Of silver dishes? or gold chamberpots?  
Of perfumed napkins? or a numerous family,  
To see her eat? Poor, and wise she, requires  
Meat only; Hunger is not ambitious:  
Say, that you were the Emperor of pleasures,  
The great Dictator of fashions, for all Europe,  
And had the pomp of all the Courts, and Kingdoms,  
Laid forth unto the show? to make yourself  
Gazed, and admired at? You must go to bed,  
And take your natural rest: then, all this vanisheth.  
Your bravery was but shown; 'twas not possessed:  
While it did boast itself, it was then perishing.  CYM. 
This man has healthful lungs.  P. SE. 
All that excess  
Appeared as little yours, as the Spectators.  
It scarce fills up the expectation  
Of a few hours, that entertains men's lives.  CYM. 
He has the monopoly of sole-speaking.  

He is angry.  Why, good Sir? you talk all.  P. SE. 
Why should I not?  
Is it not under mine own roof? my feeling?  CYM. 
But I came here to talk with you.  P. S. 
Why, an' II will not  
Talk with you, Sir? you are answered, who sent for you?  CYM. 

Bids him get out of his house.  nobody sent for me—  P. SE. 
But you came, why then  
Go, as you came, here's no man holds you, There,  
There lies your way, you see the door.  CYM. 
This's strange!  P. Se. 
'Tis my civility, when I do not relish  
The party, or his business. Pray you be gone, Sir.  
I'll ha' no venture in your Ship, the Office  
Your Bark of Six, if 'twere sixteen, good, Sir,  CYM. 
You are a rogue.  P. SE. 
I think I am Sir, truly.  CYM. 

Cymbal rails at him. He jeers him.  A Rascal, and a money-bawd.  P. SE. 
My surnames:  CYM. 
A wretched Rascal!  P. S. 
You will overflow—  
And spill all.  CYM. 
Caterpillar, moth,  
horseleech, and dung-worm—  P. SE. 
Still you lose your labour.  
I am a broken vessel, all runs out:  
'a shrunk old dry-fat. Fare you well, good six.    

The third intermean after the third Act.  CENSURE. 
A notable tough Rascal! this old Peny-boy! right City-bred!  MIRTH. 
In Silver-street, the Region of money, a good seat for a Usurer.  TATLE. 
He has rich ingredients in him, I warrant you, if they were extracted, a true receipt to make an Alderman, an' he were well wrought upon, according to Art.  EXP. 
I would fain see an Alderman in chimia! that is a treatise of Aldermanity truly written.  CEN. 
To show how much it differs from Urbanity.  MIRTH. 
ay, or humanity. Either would appear in this Peny-boy, an' he were rightly distilled. But how like you the news? you are gone from that.  CEN. 
O, they are monstrous! scurvy! and stale! and too exotic! ill cooked! and ill dished!  EXP. 
They were as good, yet, as butter could make them!  TAT. 
In a word, they were beastly buttered! he shall never come o' my bread more, nor my in mouth, if I can help it. I have had better news from the bakehouse, by ten thousand parts, in a morning: or the conduits in Westminster! all the news of Tutle-street, and both the Alm'ries! the two Sanctuaries▪ long, and round Wool-staple! with Kings-street, and Chanon-row to boot!  MIRTH. 
ay, my Gossip Tatle knew what fine slips grew in Gardiners-lane; who kissed the butcher's wife with the cowsbreath; what matches were made in the bowling-Alley, and what bets won and lost; how much grist went to the Mill and what besides: who conjured in Tutle-fields, and how many? when they never came there. And which Boy rode upon Doctor Lamb, in the likeness of a roaring Lion, that run away with him in his teeth, and has not devoured him yet.  TAT. 
Why, I had it from my maid Joan Hearsay: and she had it from a limb o'the school, she says, a little limb of nine year old; who told her, the Master left out his coniuring book one day, and he found it, and so the Fable came about. But whether it were true, or no, we Gossips are bound to believe it, an't be once out, and afoot: how should we entertain the time else, or find ourselves in fashionable discourse, for all companies, if we do not credit all, and make more of it, in the reporting?  CEN. 
For my part, I believe it: and there were no wiser than I, I would have ne'er a cunning schoolmaster in England. I mean a Cunning-Man, a schoolmaster; that is a conjurer, or a Poet, or that had any acquaintance with a Poet. They make all their scholars playboys! Is't not a fine sight, to see all our children made interluders? Do we pay our money for this? we send them to learn their Grammar, and their Terence, and they learn their playbooks? well, they talk, we shall have no more Parliaments (God bless us) but an'wee have, I hope, Zeal-of-the-land Buzy, and my Gossip, rabbi Trouble-truth will start up, and see we shall have painful good Ministers to keep School, and Catechise our youth, and not teach 'em to speak Plays, and Act Fables of false news, in this manner, to the supervexation of Town and Country, with a wanion.   


ACT. IV. SCENE. I.  PENY-BOY. IV. FITTON. SHUNFIELD. almanac. MADRIGAL. CANTER. Picklock. 
COme, Gentlemen, let's breathe from healths a while.  
This Lickfinger has made us a good dinner,  
For our Pecunia: what shall's do with ourselves,  
While the women water? and the Fiddlers eat?  FIT. 
Let's jeer a little.  P. IV. 
jeer? what's that?  SHV. 
Expect, Sr.  ALM. 
We first begin with ourselves, & then at you,  SHV. 
A game we use.  MAD. 
We jeer all kind of persons  
We meet withal, of any rank or quality,  
And if we cannot jeer them, we jeer ourselves.  P. CA. 
A pretty sweet society! and a grateful!  PIC. 
Pray let's see some.  SHV. 
Have at you, than Lawyer.  
They say, there was one of your coat in bedlam, lately,  ALM. 
I wonder all his Clients were not there.  MAD. 
They were the madder sort.  PIC. 
Except, Sir, one  
Like you, and he made verses.  FIT. 
Madrigal,  
A jeer.  MAD. 
I know.  SHV. 
But what did you do, Lawyer?  
When you made love to Mistress Band, at dinner.  MAD. 
Why? of an Advocate, he grew the Client.  P. IV. 
Well played, my Poet.  MAD. 
And showed the Law of nature  
Was there above the Common-Law.  SHV. 
Quit, quit,  P. IV. 
Call you this jeering? I can play at this,  
'Tis like a Ball at Tennis.  FIT. 
Very like,  
But we were not well in.  ALM. 
'Tis indeed, Sir.  
When we do speak at volley, all the ill  
We can one of another.  SHV. 
As this morning,  
(I would you had heard us) of the Rogue your Uncle.  ALM 
That money-bawd.  MAD. 
We called him a Coat-card  
O'the last order.  P. IV. 
What's that? a Knave?  MAD. 
Some readings have it so, my manuscript  
Doth speak it, Varlet.  P. CA. 
And yourself a Fool  
O'the first rank, and one shall have the leading  
O'the right-hand file, under this brave Commander.  P. IV. 
What sayst thou, Canter?  P. CA. 
Sir, I say this is  
A very wholesome exercise, and comely.  
Like Lepers, showing one another their scabs.  
Or flies feeding on ulcers.  P. IV. 
What News Gentlemen?  
Ha' you any news for after dinner? methinks  
We should not spend our time unprofitably.  P. CA. 
They never lie, Sir, between meals, 'gainst supper  
You may have a Bale or two brought in.  FIT. 
This Canter,  
Is an old envious Knave!  ALM. 
A very Rascal!  FIT. 
I ha' marked him all this meal, he has done nothing  
But mock, with scurvy faces, all we said.  ALM. 
A supercilious Rogue! he looks as if  
He were the Patrico—  MAD. 
Or Archpriest o'Canters,  SHV. 
he's some primate metropolitan Rascal,  
Our shot-clog makes so much of him.  ALM 
The Law,  
And he does govern him  P. IV. 
What say you, Gentlemen?  FIT. 
We say, we wonder not, your man o' Law,  
Should be so gracious wi'you; but how it comes,  
This Rogue, this Canter!  P. IV. 
O, good words.  FIT. 
A fellow  
That speaks no language—  ALM. 
But what gingling Gipsies,  
And pedlar's trade in—  FIT. 
And no honest Christian  
Can understand—  P. CA. 
Why? by that argument,  
You all are Canters, you, and you, and you, 
He speaks to all the jeerers.   
All the whole world are Canters, I will prove it  
In your professions.  P. IV. 
I would fain hear this,  
But stay, my Princess comes, provide the while,  
I'll call for't anon. How fares your Grace?   

ACT. IV. SCENE. II.  LICKFINGER. PECUNIA. STATUTE-BAND. WAXE. to them. 
I hope the fare was good.  PEC. 
Yes, Lickfinger,  

Lickfinger is challenged by Madrigal of an argument.  And we shall thank you for't and reward you.  MAD. 
Nay, I'll not lose my argument, Lickfinger;  
Before these Gentlemen, I affirm,  
The perfect, and true strain of poetry,  
Is rather to be given the quick Cellar,  
Than the fat Kitchen.  LIC. 
Heretic, I see  
Thou art for the vain Oracle of the bottle.  
The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus.  
Thence flows thy muse's spring, from that hard hoof:  
Seduced Poet, I do say to thee,  
A Boiler, Range, and Dresser were the Fountains,  
Of all the knowledge in the universe.  
And they are the Kitchens, where the master-cook—  
(Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou know him,  
Till thou hast served some years in that deep school,  
That's both the Nurse and Mother of the Arts,  
And hear'st him read, interpret, and demonstrate!)  
A master-cook! Why, he's the man o' men,  
For a Professor! he designes, he draws,  
He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies,  
Makes Citadels of curious fowl and fish,  
Some he dry-dishes, some motes round with broths.  
Mounts marrowbones, cuts fifty angled custards,  
Rears bulwark pies, and for his outerworks  
He raiseth Ramparts of immortal crust;  
And teacheth all the Tactics, at one dinner:  
What Ranks, what Files, to put his dishes in;  
The whole Art Military. Then he knows,  
The influence of the Stars upon his meats,  
And all their seasons, tempers, qualities,  
And so to fit his relishes, and sauces,  
He has Nature in a pot ,'bove all the Chemists,  
Or airy brethren of the Rosie-crosse.  
He is an Architect, an engineer,  
A Soldier, a Physician, a Philosopher,  
A general Mathematician.  MAD. 
It is granted.  LIC. 
And that you may not doubt him, for a Poet—  ALM. 
This fury shows, if there were nothing else!  
And 'tis divine! I shall for ever hereafter,  
Admire the wisdom of a Cook!  BAN. 
And we, Sir!  P. IV. 
O, how my Princess draws me, with her looks, 
Peny-boy is courting his Princess all the while.   
And hales me in, as eddies draw in boats,  
Or strong Charybdis ships, that sail too near  
The shelves of Love! The tides of your two eyes!  
Wind of your breath, are such as suck in all,  
That do approach you!  PEC. 
Who hath changed my servant?  P. IV. 
yourself, who drink my blood up with your beams;  
As doth the Sun, the Sea! Pecunia shines  
More in the world than he: and makes it Spring  
where'er she favours! please her but to show  
Her melting wrists, or bare her ivory hands,  
She catches still! her smiles they are love's fetters!  
Her breasts his apples! her teats strawberries!  
Where Cupid (were he present now) would cry  
Fare well my mother's milk, here's sweeter Nectar!  
Help me to praise Pecunia, Gentlemen:  
She's your Princess, lend your wits,  FIT. 
A Lady,  
The Graces taught to move!  ALM. 
The Flowers did nurse! 
They all begin the encomium of Pecunia.   FIT. 
Whose lips are the instructions of all Lovers!  ALM. 
Her eyes their lights, and rivals to the Stars!  FIT. 
A voice, as if that Harmony still spoke!  ALM. 
And polished skin, whiter than Venus' foot!  FIT. 
Young Hebe's neck, or Juno's arms!  ALM. 
A hair,  
Large as the Morning's, and her breath as sweet,  
As meadows after rain, and but new mown!  FIT. 
Leda might yield unto her, for a face!  ALM. 
Hermione for breasts!  FIT. 
Flora, for cheeks!  ALM. 
And Helen for a mouth!  P. IV. 
Kiss, kiss 'em, Princess. 
She kisseth them.   FIT. 
The pearl doth strive in whiteness, with her neck,  ALM. 
But loseth by it: here the Snow thaws Snow;  
One frost resolves another!  FIT. 
O, she has  
A front too slippery to be looked upon!  ALM. 
And glances that beguile the seers eyes!  P. IV. 
Kiss, kiss again, what says my man o' war? 
Again.   SHV. 
I say, she's more, than Fame can promise of her.  
A Theme, that's overcome with her own matter!  
Praise is struck blind, and deaf, and dumb with her!  
she doth astonish Commendation!  P. IV. 
Well pumped i'faith old Sailor: kiss him too:  
Though he be a slug. What says my Poet-sucker! 
She kisseth Captain Shunfield.   
He's chewing his muse's cud, I do see by him.  MAD. 
I have almost done, I want but e'en to finish.  FIT. 
That's the ill luck of all his works still.  P. IV. 
What?  FIT. 
To begin many works, but finish none;  P. IV. 
How does he do his Mistress work?  FIT. 
Imperfect.  ALM. 
I cannot think he finisheth that.  P. IV. 
Let's hear▪  MAD. 
It is a Madrigal, I affect that kind  
Of Poem, much.  P. IV. 
And thence you ha' the name.  FIT. 
It is his Rose. He can make nothing else  MAD. 
I made it to the tune the Fiddlers played,  
That we all liked so well.  P. IV. 
Good, read it, read it.  MAD. 
The Sun is father of all metals, you know,  
Silver, and gold.  P. IV. 
ay, leave your Prologues, say!  

SONG.  MADRIGAL. 
As bright as is the Sun her Sire,  
Or Earth her mother, in her best attire,  
Or Mint, the Midwife, with her sire,  
Comes forth her Grace!  
The splendour of the wealthiest Mines!  
The stamp, and strength of all imperial lines,  
Both majesty and beauty shines,  
In her sweet face!  
Look how a Torch, of Taper light,  
Or of that torch's flame, a Beacon bright;   P. IV. 
That Mint the Midwife does well.  FIT. 
That's fairly said of Money.  P. IV. 
Good!  MAD. 
Now there, I want a line to finish, Sir.  P. IV. 
Or of that Beacons fire, Moonlight:  MAD. 
So takes she place!  FIT. 
'Tis good.  
And then I have a Saraband—  
She makes good cheer, she keeps full boards,  
She holds a Fair of Knights, and Lords,  
A Mercat of all Offices,  
And Shops of honour, more or less.  
According to Pecunia's Grace,  
The Bride hath beauty, blood, and place,  
The Bridegroom virtue, valour, wit,  
And wisdom, as he stands for it.  PIC. 
Call in the Fiddlers. Nick, the boy shall sing it,  

He urgeth her to kiss them all.  Sweet Princess, kiss him, kiss 'em all, dear madam,  
And at the close, vouchsafe to call them Cousins.  PEC. 
Sweet Cousin Madrigal, and Cousin Fitton,  
My Cousin Shunfield, and my learned Cousin.  P. CA. 
almanac, though they call him Almanac.  P. IV. 
Why, here's the Prodigal prostitutes his Mistress!  P·IV. 
And Picklock, he must be a kinsman too.  
My man o' Law will teach us all to win,  
And keep our own. Old Founder.  P. CA. 
Nothing, I Sir?  
I am a wretch, a beggar. She the fortunate.  
Can want no kindred, we, the poor know none.  FIT. 
Nor none shall know, by my consent.  ALM. 
Nor mine,  P. IV. 
Sing, boy, stand here.  P. CA. 
Look, look, 
The boy sings the song.  how all their eyes  
Dance i'their heads (observe) scattered with lust!  
At sight o' their brave Idol! how they are tickled,  
With a light air! the bawdy Saraband!  
They are a kind of dancing engines all!  
And set, by nature, thus, to run alone  
To every sound! All things within, without them,  
Move, but their brain, and that stands still! mere monsters  
Here, in a chamber, of most subtle feet!  
And make their legs in tune, passing the streets!  
These are the gallant spirits o'the age!  
The miracles o'the time! that can cry up  
And down men's wits! and set what rate on things  
Their half-brained fancies please! Now pox upon'em.  
See how solicitously he learns the jig,  
As if it were a mystery of his faith!  SHV. 
A dainty ditty!  FIT. 
O, he's a dainty Poet!  
When he sets to't!  P. IV. 
And a dainty Scholar! 
They are all struck with admiration.   ALM. 
No, no great scholar, he writes like a Gentleman.  SHV. 
Pox o' your Scholar.  P. CA. 
Pox o'your distinction!  
As if a Scholar were no Gentleman.  
With these, to write like a Gentleman, will in time  
Become, all one, as to write like an Ass,  
These Gentlemen? these Rascals! I am sick  
Of indignation at 'em.  P. IV. 
How do you liked, Sir?  FIT. 
'Tis excellent!  ALM. 
'Twas excellently sung!  FIT. 
A dainty Air!  P. IV. 
What says my Lickfinger?  LIC. 
I am telling Mistress Band, and Mistress Statute,  
What a brave Gentleman you are, and Wax, here!  
How much 'twere better, that my lady's Grace,  
Would here take up Sir, and keep house with you.  P. IV. 
What say they?  STA. 
We could consent, Sir, willingly.  BAND. 
ay, if we knew her Grace had the least liking.  WAX. 
We must obey her Graces will, and pleasure.  P. IV. 
I thank you, Gentlewomen, ply 'em, Lickfinger.  
Give mother Mortgage, there—  LIC. 
Her dose of Sack.  
I have it for her, and her distance of Hum.  PEC. 
Indeed therein, I must confess, dear Cousin, 
The Gallants are all about Pecunia.   
I am a most unfortunate Princess.  ALM. 
And  
You still will be so, when your Grace may help it.  MAD. 
who'd lie in a room, with a close-stool, and garlic?  
And kennel with his dogs? that had a Prince  
Like this young Peny-boy, to sojourn with?  SHV. 
He'll let you ha' your liberty—  ALM. 
Go forth,  
Whither you please, and to what company—  MAD. 
Scatter yourself amongst us—  P. IV. 
Hope of Parnassus!  
Thy ivy shall not wither, nor thy bays,  
Thou shalt be had into her grace's Cellar,  
And there know Sack, and Claret, all December,  
Thy vein is rich, and we must cherish it.  
Poets and Bees swarm now adays, but yet  
There are not those good Taverns, for the one sort,  
As there are Flowery fields to feed the other.  
Though Bees be pleased with dew, ask little Wax  
That brings the honey to her Lady's hive:  
The Poet must have wine. And he shall have it.   

ACT. IV. SCENE. IV.  Peniboy. SE. PENY-BOY. IV. LICKFINGER. &c. 
BRoker? what Broker?  P. IV. 
Who's that? my Uncle!  P. SE. 
I am abused, where is my Knave? my Broker?  LIC. 
Your Broker is laid out upon a bench, yonder,  
Sack hath seized on him, in the shape of sleep.  PIC. 
He hath been dead to us almost this hour.  P. SE 
This hour?  P. CA. 
Why sigh you Sir? 'cause he's at rest?  P. SE. 
It breeds my unrest.  LIC. 
Will you take a cup  

He strikes the Sack out of his hand.  And try if you can sleep?  P. SE. 
No, cogging Jack,  
Thou and thy cups too, perish.  SHV. 
O, the Sack!  MAD. 
The sack, the sack!  P. CA. 
A Madrigal on Sack!  PIC. 
Or rather an Elegy, for the Sack is gone.  PEC. 
Why do you this, Sir? spill the wine, and rave?  
For broker's sleeping?  P. SE. 
What through sleep, and Sack,  
My trust is wronged: but I am still awake,  

He would have Pecunia home. But she refuseth. And her Train.  To wait upon your Grace, please you to quit  
This strange lewd company, they are not for you.  PEC. 
No Guardian, I do like them very well.  P. SE 
Your grace's pleasure be observed, but you  
Statute, and Band, and Wax, will go with me.  SAT. 
Truly we will not.  BAN. 
We will stay, and wait here  
Upon her Grace, and this your Noble Kinsman.  P. SE. 
Noble? how noble! who hath made him noble?  P. IV. 
Why, my most noble money hath, or shall▪  
My Princess, here. She that had you but kept,  
And treated kindly, would have made you noble,  
And wise, too: nay, perhaps have done that for you,  
An Act of Parliament could not, made you honest.  
The truth is, Uncle, that her Grace dislikes  
Her entertainment: specially her lodging.  PEC. 
Nay, say her jail. Never unfortunate Princess,  
Was used so by a jailor. Ask my women,  
Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has used me,  
Kept me close prisoner, under twenty bolts—  STA. 
And forty padlocks—  BAN. 
All malicious engines  
A wicked Smith could forge out of his iron:  
As locks, and keys, shackles, and manacles,  
To torture a great Lady.  STA. 
H'has abused  
Your grace's body.  PEC. 
No, he would ha' done,  
That lay not in his power: he had the use  
Of our bodies, Band, and Wax, and sometimes Statutes:  
But once he would ha' smothered me in a chest,  
And strangled me in leather, but that you  
Came to my rescue, then, and gave me air.  STA. 
For which he crammed us up in a close box,  
All three together, where we saw no Sun  
In one six months.  WAX. 
A cruel man he is!  BAN. 
H'has left my fellow Wax out, i'the cold,  STA. 
Till she was stiff, as any frost, and crumbled  
Away to dust, and almost lost her form.  WAX. 
Much ado to recover me.  P. SE. 
Women jeerers!  
Have you learned too, the subtle faculty?  
Come, I'll show you the way home, if drink,  
Or, too full diet have disguised you.  BAN. 
Troth,  
We have not any mind, Sir, of return—  STA. 
To be bound back to back.—  BAN. 
And have our legs  
Turned in, or writhed about—  WAX. 
Or else displayed—  STA. 
Be lodged with dust and fleas, as we were wont—  BAN. 
And dieted with dog's dung.  P. SE. 
Why? you whores,  
My bawds, my instruments, what should I call you,  
Man may think base enough for you?  P. IV. 
Hear you, uncle.  
I must not hear this of my Princess servants,  
And in Apollo, in Pecunia's room,  
Go, get you down the stairs: Home, to your Kennel,  
As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogs,  
The Lares of your family; or believe it,  
The fury of a footman, and a drawer  
Hangs over you.  SHV. 
Cudgel, and pot do threaten  
A kind of vengeance.  MAD. 
Barbers are at hand.  ALM. 
Washing and shaving will ensue.  FIT. 
The Pump 
They all threaten,   
Is not far off; If't were, the sink is near:  
Or a good jordan.  MAD. 
You have now no money,  SHV. 
But are a Rascal.  P. SE. 
I am cheated, robbed  
jeered by confederacy.  FIT. 
No, you are kicked  
And used kindly, as you should be.  SHV. 
Spurned, 
And spurn him.   
From all commerce of men, who are a cur.  ALM. 


Kick him, out▪  
He exclaims.   A stinking dog, in a doublet, with foul linen.  MAD. 
A snarling Rascal, hence.  SHV. 
Out.  P. SE. 
Well, remember,  
I am cozened by my Cousin, and his whore!  
Bane o'these meetings in Apollo!  LIC. 
Go, Sir,  

One of his Dogs.  You will be tossed like Block, in a blanket else.  P. IV. 
Down with him, Lickfinger.  P. SE. 
Saucy Jack away,  
Pecunia is a whore.  P. IV. 
Play him down, Fiddlers,  
And drown his noise. Who's this!  FIT. 
O Master Pied-mantle!   

ACT. IV. SCENE. IV.  PYED-MANTLE. to them. 

Pied-mantle brings the Lady Pecunia her pedigree . BY your leave, Gentlemen.  FIT. 
Her grace's Herald,  ALM. 
No Herald yet, a Heraldet.  P. IV. 
What's that?  P. CA. 
A Canter.  P. IV. 
O, thou saidst thou'dst sprone us all so!  P. CA. 
Sir, here is one will prove himself so, straight,  
So shall the rest, in time.  PEC. 
My Pedigree?  
I tell you, friend, he must be a good Scholar,  
Can my descent. I am of Princely race,  
And as good blood, as any is i'the mines,  
Runs through my veins. I am, every limb, a Princess!  
Duchess o' mines, was my great Grandmother.  
And by the Father's side, I come from Sol.  
My Grandfather was Duke of Or, and matched  
In the blood-royal of Ophyr.  PYE. 
Here's his Coat.  PEC. 
I know it, if I hear the Blazon.  PYE. 
He bears  
In a field Azure, a Sun proper, beamy,  
twelve of the second.  P. CA. 
How far's this from canting?  P. IV. 
Her Grace doth understand ti.  P. CA. 
She can cant, Sr.  PEC. 
What be these? Besants?  PYE. 
Yes, an't please your Grace.  PEC. 
That is our Coat too, as we come from Or.  
What line's this?  PYE. 
The rich mines of Potosi.  
The Spanish mines i'the West-Indies.  PEC. 
This?  PYE. 
The mines o' Hungary, this of Barbary.  PEC. 
But this, this little branch.  PEC. 
The welsh-mine that.  PEC. 
I ha' Welsh-blood in me too, blaze, Sir, that Coat.  PYE. 
She bears (an't please you) Argent, three leeks vert  
In Canton Or, and tasseled of the first.  P. CA. 
Is not this canting? do you understand him?  P. IV. 
Not I, but it sounds well, and the whole thing  
Is rarely painted, I will have such a scroll,  
whate'er it cost me.  PEC. 
Well, at better leisure,  
We'll take a view of it, and so reward you.  P. IV. 
Kiss him, sweet Princess, and style him a Cousin. 
She kisseth.   PEC. 
I will, if you will have it. Cousin Pied-mantle.  P. IV. 
I love all men of virtue, from my Princess,  
Unto my beggar, here, old Canter, on,  
On to thy proof, whom prove you the next Canter?  P. CA. 
The Doctor here, I will proceed with the learned.  
When he discourseth of dissection,  
Or any point of Anatomy: that he tells you,  
Of Vena cava, and of vena porta,  
The Meseraicks, and the Mesenterium.  
What does he else but cant? Or if he run  
To his judicial Astrology,  
And troll the Trine, the Quartile and the Sextile,  
platic aspect, and Partile, with his Hyleg  
Or Alchochoden, cusps, and horoscope.  
Does not he cant? Who here does understand him?  ALM. 
This is no Canter, tho!  P. CA. 
Or when my Muster-Master  
Talks of his Tactics, and his Ranks, and Files;  
His Bringers up, his Leaders on, and cries,  
Faces about to the right hand, the left,  
Now, as you were: then tells you of Redoubts,  
Of Cats, and Cortines. Doth not he cant?  P. IV. 
Yes, i'faith.  P. CA. 
My egg-chinned Laureate, here, when he comes forth  
With Dimeters, and Trimeters, Tetrameters,  
Pentameters, Hexameters, catalectics,  
His Hyper, and his brachy-catalectics,  
His pyrrhics, Epitrites, and choriambics.  
What is all this, but canting?  MAD. 
A rare fellow!  SHV. 
Some begging Scholar!  FIT. 
A decayed Doctor at least!  P. IV. 
Nay, I do cherish virtue, though in rags.  P. CA. 
And you, mas. Courtier.  P. IV. 
Now he treats of you,  
Stand forth to him, fair.  P. CA. 
With all your fly-blown projects,  
And looks out of the politics, your shut-faces,  
And reserved Questions, and Answers that you game with, As  
Is't a Clear business? will it manage well?  
My name must not be used else. Here, 'twill dash.  
Your business has received a taint, give off,  
I may not prostitute myself. Tut, tut,  
That little dust I can blow off, at pleasure.  
Here's no such mountain, yet, i'the whole work!  
But a light purse may level. I will tide  
This affair for you; give it freight, and passage.  
And such mint-phrase, as 'tis the worst of canting,  
By how much it affects the sense, it has not.  FIT. 
This is some other than he seems!  P. IV. 
How like you him?  FIT. 
This cannot be a Canter!  P. IV. 
But he is, Sir,  
And shall be still, and so shall you be too:  
We'll all be Canters. Now, I think of it,  
A noble whimsy's come into my brain!  

Canters-Colledge, begun to be erected.  I'll build a College, ay, and my Pecunia,  
And call it canter's College, sounds it well?  ALM. 
Excellent!  P. IV. 
And here stands my Father Rector,  
And you Professors, you shall all profess  
Something, and live there, with her Grace and me,  
Your Founders: I'll endow't with lands, and means,  
And Lickfinger shall be my master-cook.  
What? is he gone?  P. CA. 
And a Professor.  P. IV. 
Yes.  P. CA. 
And read Apicius de reculinaria  
To your brave Doxy, and you!  P. IV. 
You, Cousin Fitton,  
Shall (as a Courtier) read the politics;  
Doctor Almanac, he shall read Astrology,  
Shunfield shall read the Military Arts.  P. CA. 

That's Madrigal . As carving, and assaulting the cold custard.  P. IV. 
And Horace here, the Art of Poetry.  
His Lyrics, and his Madrigals, fine Songs,  
Which we will have at dinner, steeped in claret,  
And against supper, soused in sack.  MAD. 
In troth  
A divine Whimsy!  SHV. 
And a worthy work,  
Fit for a Chronicle!  P. IV. 
Is't not?  SHV. 
To all ages.  P. IV. 
And Pied-mantle, shall give us all our Arms,  
But Picklock, what wouldst thou be? Thou canst cant too.  PIC. 
In all the languages in Westminster-Hall,  
Fleas, Bench, or Chancery. fee-farm, fee-tail,  
Tenant in dower, At will, For Term of life,  
By Copy of Court Roll, knight's service, Homage,  
Fealty, Escuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne,  
Grand Sergeanty, or Burgage.  P. IV. 
Thou appear'st,  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} a Canter. Thou shalt read  
All Littleton's tenures to me, and indeed  
All my Conveyances.  PIC. 
And make 'em too, Sir?  
Keep all your Courts, be Steward o'your lands,  
Let all your Leases, keep your Evidences,  
But first, I must procure, and pass your mortmain  
You must have licence from above, Sir.  P. IV. 
Fear not,  
Pecunia's friends shall do it.  P. CA. 
But I shall stop it.  
Your worship's loving, and obedient father,  
Your painful Steward, and lost Officer!  

Here his father discovers himself.  Who have done this, to try how you would use  
Pecunia, when you had her: which since I see,  
I will take home the Lady, to my charge,  
And these her servants, and leave you my Cloak,  
To travel in to beggar's Bush! A Seat,  
Is built already, furnished too, worth twenty  
Of your imagined structures, canter's College.  FIT. 
'Tis his Father!  MAD. 
he's alive, methinks.  ALM. 
I knew he was no Rogue!  P. CA. 
Thou, Prodigal,  
Was I so careful for thee, to procure,  
And plot wi' my learned Counsel, Master Picklock,  
This noble match for thee, and dost thou prostitute,  
Scatter thy Mistress favours, throw away  
Her bounties, as they were red-burning coals,  
Too hot for thee to handle, on such rascals?  
Who are the scum, and excrements of men?  
If thou hadst sought out good, and virtuous persons  
Of these professions: I'had loved thee, and them.  
For these shall never have that plea 'gainst me,  
Or colour of advantage, that I hate  
Their callings, but their manners, and their vices.  
A worthy Courtier, is the ornament  
Of a king's Palace, his great Master's honour.  
This is a moth, a rascal, a Court-rat,  
That gnaws the commonwealth with broking suits,  
And eating grievances! So, a true Soldier,  
He is his Country's strength, his sovereign's safety,  
And to secure his peace, he makes himself.  
The heir of danger, nay the subject of it,  
And runs those virtuous hazards, that this Scarecrow  
Cannot endure to hear of.  SHV. 
You are pleasant, Sir.  P. CA. 
With you I dare be! Here is Pied-mantle,  
'Cause he's an Ass, do not I love a Herald?  
Who is the pure preserver of descents,  
The keeper fair of all Nobility,  
Without which all would run into confusion?  
Were he a learned Herald, I would tell him  
He can give Arms, and marks, he cannot honour,  
No more than money can make Noble: It may  
Give place, and rank, but it can give no Virtue.  
And he would thank me, for this truth. This dog-leech,  
You style him Doctor, 'cause he can compile  
An Almanac; perhaps erect a Scheme  
For my great madam monkey: when 't has ta'en  
A glister, and bewrayed the Ephemerides.  
Do I despise a learned Physician?  
In calling him a quacksalver? or blast  
The everliving garland, always green  
Of a good Poet? when I say his wreath  
Is pieced and patched of dirty withered flowers?  
Away, I am impatient of these ulcers,  
(That I not call you worse) There is no sore,  
Or Plague but you to infect the times. I abhor  
Your very scent. Come, Lady, since my Prodigal  
Knew not to entertain you to your worth,  
I'll see if I have learned, how to receive you,  

He points him to his patched cloak thrown off.  With more respect to you, and your fair train here.  
Farewell my Beggar in velvet, for today,  
Tomorrow you may put on that grave Robe,  
And enter your great work of canter's College,  
Your work and worthy of a Chronicle,    

The fourth intermean after the fourth Act.  TATLE. 
Why? This was the worst of all! the Catastrophe!  CEN. 
The matter began to be good, but now: and he has spoiled it all, with his Beggar there!  MIRT. 
A beggarly Jack it is, I warrant him, and a kin to the Poet.  TAT. 
Like enough, for he had the chiefest part in his play, if you mark it.  EXP. 
Absurdity on him, for a huge overgrown Playmaker! why should he make him live again, when they, and we all thought him dead? If he had left him to his rags, there had been an end of him.  TAT. 
ay, but set a beggar on horseback, he'll never lin till he be a gallop.  CEN. 
The young heir grew a fine Gentleman, in this last Act!  EXP. 
So he did, Gossip: and kept the best company.  CEN. 
And feasted 'em, and his Mistress!  TAT. 
And showed her to 'em all! was not jealous!  MIRTH. 
But very communicative, and liberal, and began to be magnificent, if the churl his father would have let him alone.  CEN. 
It was spitefully done o' the Poet, to make the chuff take him off in his height, when he was going to do all his brave deeds!  EXP. 
To find an Academy!  TAT. 
Erect a College!  EXP. 
Plant his Professors, and water his Lectures.  MIRTH. 
With wine, gossips, as he meant to do, and then to defraud his purposes?  EXP. 
Kill the hopes of so many towardly young spirits?  TAT. 
As the Doctors?  CEN. 
And the Courtiers! I protest, I was in love with Master Fitton. He did wear all he had, from the hatband, to the shoe-tie, so politically, and would stoop, and leer?  MIRTH. 
And lie so, in wait for a piece of wit, like a Mousetrap?  EXP. 
Indeed Gossip, so would the little Doctor, all his behaviour was mere glister! O' my conscience, he would make any party's physic i' the world work, with his discourse.  MIR. 
I wonder they would suffer it, a foolish old fornicating Father, to ravish away his son's Mistress.  CEN. 
And all her women, at once, as he did!  TAT. 
I would ha' flyen in his gypsies face i'faith.  MIRTH. 
It was a plain piece of political incest, and worthy to be brought afore the high Commission of wit. Suppose we were to censure him, you are the youngest voice, Gossip Tatle, begin.  TATLE. 
marry, I would ha' the old coney-catcher cozened of all he has, i'the young heir's defence, by his learned Counsel, Mr Picklock!  CENSURE. 
I would rather the Courtier had found out some trick to beg him, from his estate!  EXP. 
Or the Captain had courage enough to beat him.  CEN. 
Or the fine madrigal-man, in rhyme, to have run him out o' the Country, like an Irish rat.  TAT. 
No, I would have Master Pied-mantle, her grace's Herald, to pluck down his hatchments, reverse his coat-armour, and nullify him for no Gentleman.  EXP. 
Nay, then let Master Doctor dissect him, have him opened, and his tripes translated to Lickfinger, to make a probation dish of.  CEN. TAT. 
Agreed! Agreed!  MIRTH. 
Faith I would have him flat disinherited, by a decree of Court, bound to make restitution of the Lady Pecunia, and the use of her body to his son.  EXP. 
And her train, to the Gentlemen.  CEN. 
And both the Poet, and himself, to ask them all forgiveness!  TAT. 
And us too▪  CEN. 
In two large sheets of paper—  EXP. 
Or to stand in a skin of parchment, (which the Court please)  CEN. 
And those filled with news!  MIRTH. 
And dedicated to the sustaining of the Staple!  EXP. 
Which their Poet hath let fall, most abruptly?  MIRTH. 
bankruptly, indeed!  CEN. 
You say wittily, Gossip, and therefore let a protest go out against him.  MIR. 
A mournival of protests; or a gleek at least!  EXP. 
In all our names:  CEN. 
For a decayed wit—  EXP. 
Broken—  TAT. 
Non-solvent—  CENSURE. 
And, for ever, forfeit—  MIRTH. 
To scorn, of Mirth?  CEN. 
Censure!  EXP. 
Expectation!  TAT. 
Subsigned. Tatle, Stay, they come again.   


ACT. V. SCENE. I.  PENY-BOY. IV. to him THO. BARBER. after, PICKLOCKE. 

He comes out in the patched cloak his father left him.  NAy, they are fit, as they had been made for me,  
And I am now a thing, worth looking at!  
The same, I said I would be in the morning.  
No Rogue, at a Comitia of the Canters,  
Did ever there become his Parents Robes  
Better, than I do these: great fool! and beggar!  
Why do not all that are of those societies,  
Come forth, and gratulate me one of theirs?  
methinks, I should be, on every side, saluted,  
Dauphin of beggars! Prince of Prodigals!  
That have so fallen under the ears, and eyes,  
And tongues of all, the fable o'the time,  
Matter of scorn, and mark of reprehension!  
I now begin to see my vanity,  
Shine in this Glass, reflected by the foil!  
Where is my Fashioner? my Featherman?  
My linener? Perfumer? Barber? all?  
That tail of Riot, followed me this morning?  
Not one! but a dark solitude about me,  
Worthy my cloak, and patches; as I had  
The epidemical disease upon me:  
And I'll sit down with it.  THO. 
My Master! Maker!  
How do you? Why do you sit thus o'the ground, Sir?  
Hear you the news?  P. IV. 
No, nor I care to hear none.  
Would I could here sit still, and slip away  
The other one and twenty, to have this  
Forgotten, and the day razed out, expunged,  
In every Ephemerides, or Almanac.  
Or if it must be in, that Time and Nature  
Have decreed; still, let it be a day  
Of tickling Prodigals, about the gills;  
Deluding gaping heirs, losing their loves,  
And their discretions; falling from the favours  
Of their best friends, and parents; their own hopes;  
And entering the society of Canters.  THO. 
A doleful day it is, and dismal times  
Are come upon us: I am clear undone.  P. IV. 
How, Thom?  THO. 
Why? broke! broke! wretchedly broke!  P. IV. 
Ha!  THO. 
Our Staple is all to pieces, quite dissolved!  P. IV. 
Ha!  THO. 
Shivered, as in an earthquake! heard you not  
The crack and ruins? we are all blown up!  
Soon as they heard th' Infanta was got from them,  
Whom they had so devoured i'their hopes,  
To be their Patroness, and sojourn with 'em;  
Our Emissaries, Register, Examiner,  
Flew into vapour: our grave Governor  
Into a subtler air; and is returned  
(As we do hear) grand-captain of the jeerers.  
ay, and my fellow melted into butter,  
And spoiled our Ink, and so the Office vanished.  
The last hum that it made, was, that your Father,  
And Picklock are fallen out, the man o' Law. 
He starts up at this.   P. IV. 
How? this awakes me from my lethargy.  THO. 
And a great suit, is like to be between 'em,  
Picklock denies the feoffment, and the Trust,  
(Your Father says) he made of the whole estate,  
Unto him, as respecting his mortality,  
When he first laid this late device, to try you.  P. IV. 
Has Picklock then a trust?  THO. 
I cannot tell,  
Here comes the worshipful—  PIC. 
What? my velvet-hair, 
Picklock enters.   
Turned beggar in mind, as robes?  P. IV. 
You see what case,  
Your, and my Father's plots have brought me to.  P. C. 
Your Fathers, you may say, indeed, not mine.  
he's a hard hearted Gentleman! I am sorry  
To see his rigid resolution!  
That any man should so put off affection,  
And humane nature, to destroy his own!  
And triumph in a victory so cruel!  
He's fallen out with me, for being yours,  
And calls me Knave, and Traitors to his Trust,  
Says he will have me thrown over the Bar—  P. IV. 
Ha'you deserved it?  PIC. 
O, good heaven knows  
My conscience, and the silly latitude of it!  
A narrow minded man! my thoughts do dwell  
All in a Lane, or line indeed; No turning,  
Nor scarce obliquity in them. I still look  
Right forward to th'intent, and scope of that  
Which he would go from now.  P. IV. 
Had you a Trust, then?  PIC. 
Sir, I had somewhat, will keep you still Lord  
Of all the estate, (if I be honest) as  
I hope I shall. My tender scrupulous breast  
Will not permit me see the heir defrauded,  
And like an alien, thrust out of the blood,  
The Laws forbid that I should give consent,  
To such a civil slaughter of a Son.  P. IV. 
Where is the deed? hast thou it with thee?  PIC. 
No,  
It is a thing of greater consequence,  
Then to be borne about in a black box,  
Like a Low-Country vorloffe, or welsh-brief.  
It is at Lickfinger's, under lock and key.  P. IV. 
O, fetch it hither.  PIC. 
I have bid him bring it,  
That you might see it.  P. IV. 
Knows he what brings?  PIC. 
No more than a gardiner's Ass, what roots he carries,  P. IV. 
I was a sending my Father, like an Ass,  
A penitent Epistle, but I am glad  
I did not, now.  PIC. 
Hang him, an austere grape,  
That has no juice, but what is verjuice in him.  P. IV. 
I'll show you my letter!  PVG. 
Show me a defiance!  

Peny-boy runs out to fetch his letter.  If I can now commit Father, and Son,  
And make my profits out of both. Commence  
A suit with the old man, for his whole state,  
And go to Law with the son's credit, undo  
Both, both with their own money, it were a piece  
Worthy my nightcap, and the Gown I wear,  
A Picklocks name in Law. Where are you Sir?  
What do you do so long?  P. IV. 
I cannot find  
Where I have laid it, but I have laid it safe.  PIC 
No matter, Sir, trust you unto my Trust,  
'Tis that that shall secure you, an absolute deed!  
And I confess, it was in Trust, for you,  
Lest any thing might have happened mortal to him:  
But there must be a gratitude thought on,  
And aid, Sir, for the charges of the suit,  
Which will be great, 'gainst such a mighty man,  
As is our Father, and a man possessed  
Of so much Land, Pecunia and her friends.  
I am not able to wage Law with him,  
Yet must maintain the thing, as mine own right,  
Still for your good, and therefore must be bold  
To use your credit for moneys.  P. IV. 
What thou wilt,  
So we be safe, and the Trust bear it.  PIC. 
Fear not,  
'Tis he must pay arrearages in the end.  
we'll milk him, and Pecunia, draw their cream down,  
Before he get the deed into his hands.  
My name is Picklock, but he'll find me a Padlock.   

ACT. V. SCENE. II.  PENY-BOY. CAN. PENY-BOY. IV. PICKLOCK. THO. BARBAR. 
HOw now? conferring wi'your learned Counsel,  
upo' the Cheat? Are you o'the plot to cozen me?  P. IV. 
What plot?  P. ●●.. 
Your Counsel knows there, Mr. Picklock,  
Will you restore the Trust yet?  PIC. 
Sir, take patience.  
And memory unto you, and bethink you,  
What Trust? where dost appear? I have your Deed,  
Doth your Deed specify any Trust? Is't not  
A perfect Act? and absolute in Law?  
Sealed and delivered before witnesses?  
The day and date, emergent.  P. CA. 
But what conference?  
What oaths, and vows preceded?  PIC. 
I will tell you, Sir,  
Since I am urged of those, as I remember,  
You told me you had got a grown estate,  
By griping means, sinisterly.  (P. CA. 
How!)  PIC. 
And were  
e'en weary of it; if the parties lived,  
From whom you had wrested it—  (P. CA. 
Ha!)  PIC. 
You could be glad,  
To part with all, for satisfaction:  
But since they'had yielded to humanity,  
And that just heaven had sent you, for a punishment  
(You did acknowledge it) this riotous heir,  
That would bring all to beggary in the end,  
And daily sowed consumption, where he went—  P. CA. 
You'old cozen both, then? your Confederate, too?  PIC. 
After a long, mature deliberation,  
You could not think, where, better, how to place it—  P. CA. 
Then on you, Rascal?  PIC. 
What you please i'your passion,  
But with your reason, you will come about  
And think a faithful, and a frugal friend  
To be preferred.  P. CA. 
Before a Son?  PIC. 
A Prodigal,  
A tub without a bottom, as you termed him;  
For which, I might return you a vow, or two,  
And seal it with an oath of thankfulness,  
I not repent it, neither have I cause, Yet—  P. CA. 
Forehead of steel, and mouth of brass! hath impudence  
Polished so gross a lie, and dar'st thou vent it?  
Engine, composed of all mixed metals! hence,  
I will not change a syllab, with thee, more,  
Till I may meet thee, at a Bar in Court,  
Before thy judges.  PIC. 
Thither it must come,  
Before I part with it, to you, or you, Sir.  P. CA. 

His Son entreats him.  I will not hear thee.  P. IV. 
Sir, your ear to me, though.  
Not that I see through his perplexed plots,  
And hidden ends, nor that my parts depend  
Upon the unwinding this so knotted skein,  
Do I beseech your patience. Unto me  
He hath confessed the trust.  PIC. 
How? I confess it?  P. IV. 
I thou, false man.  P. ●●. 
Stand up to him, & confront him.  PIC. 
Where? when? to whom?  P· IV. 
To me, even now, and here,  
Canst thou deny it?  PIC. 
Can I eat or drink?  
Sleep, wake, or dream? arise, sit, go, or stand?  
Do any thing that's natural?  P. IV. 
Yes, lie:  
It seems thou canst, and perjure: that is natural!  PIC. 
O me! what times are these! of frontless carriage▪  
An Egg o'the same nest! the Father's Bird!  
It runs in a blood, I see!  P. IV. 
I'll stop your mouth.  PIC. 
With what?  P. IV. 
With truth.  PIC. 
With noise, I must have witness.  
Where is your witness? you can produce witness?  P. IV. 
As if my testimony were not twenty,  
Balanced with thine?  PIC. 
So say all Prodigals,  
Sick of self-love, but that's not Law, young Scattergood.  
I live by Law.  P. IV. 
Why? if thou hast a conscience,  
That is a thousand witnesses.  PIC. 
No, Court,  
Grants out a Writ of Summons, for the Conscience,  
That I know, nor subpoena, nor Attachment.  
I must have witness, and of your producing,  
Ere this can come to hearing, and it must  
Be heard on oath, and witness.  P. IV. 
Come forth, Thom,  

He produceth Thom.  Speak what thou heard'st, the truth, and the whole truth,  
And nothing but the truth. What said this varlet?  PIC. 
A rat behind the hangings!  THO. 
Sir, he said  
It was a Trust! an Act, the which your Father  
Had will to alter: but his tender breast  
Would not permit to see the heir defrauded;  
And like an alien, thrust out of the blood.  
The Laws forbid that he should give consent  
To such a civil slaughter of a Son—  P. IV. 
And talked of a gratuity to be given,  
And aid unto the charges of the suit;  
Which he was to maintain, in his own name,  
But for my use, he said.  P. CA. 
It is enough.  THO. 
And he would milk Pecunia, and draw down  
Her cream, before you got the Trust, again.  P. CA. 
Your ears are in my pocket, Knave, go shake 'em,  
The little while you have them.  PIC. 
You do trust  
To your great purse.  P. CA. 
I ha' you in a pursenet,  
Good Master Picklock, wi' your worming brain,  
And wriggling engine-head of maintenance,  
Which I shall see you hole with, very shortly.  
A fine round head, when those two legs are off,  
To trundle through a Pillory. You are sure  
You heard him speak this?  P. IV. 
ay, and more.  THO. 
Much more!  PIC. 
I'll prove yours maintenance, and combination,  
And sue you all.  P. CA. 
Do, do, my gowned Vulture,  
Crop in Reversion: I shall see you quoited  
Over the Bar, as Bargemen do their billets.  PIC. 
This 'tis, when men repent of their good deeds,  
And would ha''em in again— They are almost mad!  
But I forgive their Lucida Intervalla.  
O, Lickfinger? come hither. Where's my writing? 
picklock spies Lickfinger, and asks him aside for the writing.    

ACT. V. SCENE. III.  LICKFINGER. to them. 
I sent it you, together with your keys,  PIC. 
How?  LIC. 
By the Porter, that came for it, from you,  
And by the token, you had given me the keys,  
And bade me bring it.  PIC. 
And why did you not?  LIC. 
Why did you send a countermand?  PIC. 
Who, I?  LIC. 
You, or some other you, you put in trust.  PIC. 
In trust?  LIC. 
Your Trust's another self, you know,  
And without Trust, and your Trust, how should he  
Take notice of your keys, or of my charge.  PIC. 
Know you the man?  LIC. 
I know he was a Porter,  
And a sealed Porter for he bore the badge  
On breast, I am sure.  PIC. 
I am lost! a plot! I sent it!  LIC. 
Why! and I sent it by the man you sent  
Whom else, I had not trusted.  PIC. 
Plague o'your trust. 
Picklock goes out.   
I am trussed up among you.  P. IV. 
Or you may be.  PIC. 
In mine own halter, I have made the Noose.  P. IV. 
What was it, Lickfinger?  LIC. 
A writing, Sir, 
Young Peny-boy discovers it, to his Father to be his plot of sending for it by the Porter, and that he is in possession of the Deed.   
He sent for't by a token, I was bringing it:  
But that he sent a Porter, and he seemed  
A man of decent carriage.  P. CA. 
'Twas good fortune!  
To cheat the Cheater, was no cheat, but justice,  
Put off your rags, and be yourself again,  
This Act of piety, and good affection,  
Hath partly reconciled me to you.  P. IV. 
Sir.  P. C. 
No vows, no promises: too much protestation  
Makes that suspected oft, we would persuade.  LIC. 

Elder Peny-boy startles at the news.  Hear you the News?  P. IV. 
The Office is down, how should we?  LIC. 
But of your uncle?  P. IV. 
No.  LIC. 
He's run mad, Sir.  P. CA. 
How, Lickfinger?  LIC. 
Stark staring mad, your brother,  
H'has almost killed his maid.  P. CA. 
Now, heaven forbid.  LIC. 
But that she's Cat-lived, and Squirrel-limbed,  
With throwing bedstaffs at her: h'has set wide  
His outer doors, and now keeps open house,  
For all the passers by to see his justice:  
First, he has apprehended his two dogs,  
As being o'the plot to cozen him:  
And there he sits like an old worm of the peace,  
Wrapped up in furs at a square table, screwing,  
Examining, and committing the poor curs,  
To two old cases of close stools, as prisons;  
The one of which, he calls his Lollard's tower,  
Th'other his Blockhouse, 'cause his two dogs names  
Are Block, and Lollard.  P. IV. 
This would be brave matter  
Unto the jeerers.  P. CA. 
ay, If so the subject  
Were not so wretched.  LIC. 
Sure, I met them all,  
I think, upon that quest.  P. CA. 
'Faith, like enough▪  
The vicious still are swift to show their natures.  
I'll thither too, but with another aim,  
If all succeed well, and my simples take.   

ACT. V. SCENE. IV.  
He is seen sitting at his Table with papers before him.  Peniboy. SEN. PORTER. 
WHere are the prisoners?  POR. 
They are forthcoming, Sir,  
Or coming forth at least.  P. SE. 
The Rogue is drunk,  
Since I committed them to his charge. Come hither,  

He smells him.  near me, yet nearer; breath upon me. Wine!  
Wine, o'my worship! sack! Canary sack!  
Could not your Badge ha' been drunk with fulsome Ale?  
Or Beer? the porter's element? but sack!  POR. 
I am not drunk, we had, Sir, but one pint,  
An honest carrier, and myself.  P. SE. 
Who paid for't?  POR. 
Sir, I did give it him.  P. SE. 
What? and spend sixpence!  
A Frock spend sixpence! sixpence!  POR. 
Once in a year, Sir,  P. SE. 
In seven years, varlet! Know'st thou what thou hast done?  
What a consumption thou hast made of a State?  
It might please heaven, (a lusty Knave and young)  
To let thee live some seventy years longer.  
Till thou art fourscore, and ten; perhaps, a hundred.  
Say seventy years▪ how many times seven in seventy?  
Why, seven times ten, is ten times seven, mark me,  
I will demonstrate to thee on my fingers,  
Sixpence in seven year (use upon use)  
Grows in that first seven year, to be a twelvepence.  
That, in the next, two-shillings; the third foure-shillings;  
The fourth seven year, eight-shillings; the fifth, sixteen:  
The sixth, two and thirty; the seventh, three-pound four,  
The eighth, six pound, and eight; the ninth, twelve pound sixteen;  
And the tenth seven, five and twenty pound,  
twelve Shillings. This thou art fallen from, by thy riot!  
Shouldst thou live seventy years, by spending sixpence,  
Once i'the seven: but in a day to waste it!  
There is a Sum that number cannot reach!  
Out o'my house, thou pest o' prodigality!  
Seed o' consumption! hence, a wicked keeper  
Is oft worse than the prisoners. There's thy penny,  
four tokens for thee. Out, away. My dogs,  
May yet be innocent, and honest. If not,  
I have an entrapping question, or two more,  
To put unto 'em, a cross Interrogatory,  
And I shall catch 'em; Lollard? Peace,  
What whispering was that you had with Mortgage, 
He calls forth Lollard, and examines him.   
When you last licked her feet? The truth now. Ha?  
Did you smell she was going? Put down that. And not,  
Not to return? You are silent. good. And, when  
leapt you on Statute? As she went forth? Consent.  
There was Consent, as she was going forth.  
'Twould have been fitter at her coming home, 
He commits him again.   
But you knew that she would not? To your Tower,  
You are cunning, are you? I will meet your craft.  
Block, show your face, leave your caresses, tell me, 
Calls forth Block, and examines him.   
And tell me truly, what affronts do you know  
Were done Pecunia? that she left my house?  
None, say you so? not that you know? or will know?  
I fear me, I shall find you an obstinate Cur.  
Why, did your fellow Lollard cry this morning?  
'Cause Broker kicked him? why did Broker kick him?  
Because he pissed against my Lady's Gown?  
Why, that was no affront? no? no distaste?  
You knew o' none. Yo'are a dissembling Tike, 
Commits him.   
To your hole, again, your Blockhouse. Lollard, arise,  
Where did you lift your leg up, last? 'gainst what? 
Lollard is called again.   
Are you struck Dummerer now? and whine for mercy?  
Whose Kirtle was't, you gnawed too? Mistress Bands?  
And Waxe's stockings? who did? Block bescumber  
Statutes white suit? wi' the parchment lace there?  
And broker's Satin doublet? all will out.  
They had offence, offence enough to quit me.  

Block is summoned the second time.  Appear Block, fough, 'tis manifest. He shows it,  
Should he forswear't, make all the Affidavits,  
Against it, that he could afore the Bench,  
And twenty juries; he would be convinced.  

He is remanded - He bears an air about him, doth confess it!  
To prison again, close prison. Not you Lollard,  
You may enjoy the liberty o'the house,  

Lollard has the liberty of the house.  And yet there is a quirk come in my head,  
For which I must commit you too, and close,  
Do not repine, it will be better for you.   


Enter the jeerers . ACT. V. SCENE. II.  CYMBAL. FITTON. SHUNFIELD. ALMANACH. MADRIGAL. PENY-BOY. SEN. LICKFINGER. 
THis is enough to make the dogs mad too,  
Let's in upon him.  P. SE. 
How now? what's the matter?  
Come you to force the prisoners? make a rescue?  FIT. 
We come to bail your dogs.  P. SE. 
They are not bailable,  
They stand committed without bail, or mainprize,  
Your bail cannot be taken.  SHV. 
Then the truth is,  
We come to vex you.  ALM. 
jeer you.  MAD. 
Bate you rather.  CYM. 
A bated usurer will be good flesh.  FIT. 
And tender, we are told.  P. SE. 
Who is the Butcher,  
Amongst you, that is come to cut my throat?  SHV. 
You would die a calf's death fain: but 'tis an ox's,  
Is meant you.  FIT. 
To be fairly knocked o'the head.  SHV. 
With a good Jeer or two.  P. SE. 
And from your jawbone,  
Don Assinigo?  CYM. 
Shunfield, a Jeer, you have it.  SHV. 
I do confess a washing blow? but Snarl,  
You that might play the third dog, for your teeth,  
You ha' no money now?  FIT. 
No, nor no Mortgage.  ALM. 
Nor Band.  MAD. 
Nor Statute.  CYM. 
No, nor blushet Wax.  P. SE. 
Nor you no Office, as I take it.  SHV. 
Cymbal,  
A mighty Jeer.  FIT. 
Pox o'these true jests, I say.  MAD. 
He will turn the better jeerer.  ALM. 
Let's upon him,  
And if we cannot jeer him down in wit,  MAD. 
Let's do't in noise.  SHV. 
Content.  MAD. 
Charge, man o' war.  ALM. 
Lay him, aboard.  SHV. 
We'll gi' him a broad side, first.  FIT. 
where's your venison, now?  CYM. 
Your red-Deer-pyes?  SHV. 
Wi' your baked Turkeys?  ALM. 
and your Partridges?  MAD. 
Your pheasants, & fat Swans?  P. SE. 
Like you, turned Geese.  MAD. 
But such as will not keep your Capitol?  SHV. 
You were wont to ha●your Breams—  ALM. 
And Trouts sent in?  CYM. 
Fat Carps, and Salmons?  FIT. 
ay, and now, and then,  
An Emblem, o'your self, an o'ergrown Pike?  P. SE. 
You are a jack, Sir.  FIT. 
You ha' made a shift  
To swallow twenty such poor jacks ere now.  ALM. 
If he should come to feed upon poor-john?  MAD. 
Or turn pure jack-a-Lent after all this?  FIT. 
Tut, he'll live like a Grasshopper—  MAD. 
On dew.  SHV. 
Or like a Bear, with licking his own claws.  CYM. 
ay, If his dogs were away.  ALM. 
He'll eat them, first,  
While they are fat.  FIT, 
Faith, and when they are gone,  
Here's nothing to be seen beyond.  CYM. 
Except  
His kindred, Spiders, natives o' the soil.  ALM. 
Dust, he will ha' enough here, to breed fleas.  MAD. 
But, by that time, he'll ha' no blood to rear 'em.  SHV. 
He will be as thin as a lantern, we shall see thorough him,  ALM. 
And his gut colon, tell his Intestina—  P. SE. 
Rogues, Rascals( 
* His dogs bark.  baw waw)  FIT. 
He calls his dogs to his aid.  ALM. 
O! they but rise at mention of his tripes.  CYM. 
Let them alone, they do it not for him.  MAD. 
They bark, se defendendo.  SHV. 
Or for custom,  
As commonly curs do, one for another.  LIC. 
Arm, arm you, Gentlemen jeerers, th'old Canter  
Is coming in upon you, with his forces,  
The Gentleman, that was the Canter.  SHV. 
Hence.  FIT. 
Away.  CYM. 
What is he?  ALM. 
stay not to ask questions.  FIT. 
he's a flame.  SHV. 
A furnace.  ALM. 
A consumption,  
Kills where he goes.  LIC. 
See! the whole covey is scattered, 
They all run away.   
'Ware,' ware the Hawks. I love to see him fly.   

ACT. V. SCENE. VI.  PENY-BOY. CA. PENY-BOY. SE. Peniboy. IV. PECUNIA. train. 
YOu see by this amazement, and distraction,  
What your companions were, a poor, affrighted,  
And guilty race of men, that dare to stand  
No breath of truth: but conscious to themselves  
Of their no-wit, or honesty, ran routed  
At every Panic terror themselves bred.  
Where else, as confident as sounding brass,  
Their tinkling Captain, Cymbal, and the rest,  
Dare put on any visor, to deride  
The wretched: or with buffoon licence, jest  
At whatsoe'er is serious, if not sacred.  P. SE. 

Peny-boy Se. acknowledgeth his elder brother.  Who's this? my brother! and restored to life!  P. CA 
Yes, and sent hither to restore your wits:  
If your short madness, be not more than anger,  
Conceived for your loss! which I return you.  
See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and Wax,  
Without your Broker, come to abide with you▪  
And vindicate the Prodigal, from stealing  
Away the Lady. Nay, Pecunia herself,  
Is come to free him fairly, and discharge  
All ties, but those of Love, unto her person,  
To use her like a friend, not like a slave,  
Or like an Idol. Superstition  
Doth violate the Deity it worships:  
No less than scorn doth. And believe it, brother  
The use of things is all, and not the Store;  
Surfeit, and fullness, have killed more than famine.  
The Sparrow, with his little plumage, flies,  
While the proud Peacock, o'ercharged with pens,  
Is fain to sweep the ground, with his grown train,  
And load of feathers.  P. SE. 
Wise, and honoured brother!  
None but a Brother, and sent from the dead,  
As you are to me, could have altered me:  
I thank my Destiny, that is so gracious.  
Are there no pains, no Penalties decreed  
From whence you come, to us that smother money,  
In chests, and strangle her in bags.  P. CA. 
O, mighty,  
Intolerable fines, and mulcts imposed!  
(Of which I come to warn you) forfeitures  
Of whole estates, if they be known, and taken!  P. SE. 
I thank you Brother for the light you have given me,  
I will prevent 'em all. First free my dogs,  
Lest what I ha' done to them (and against Law)  
Be a Premuniri, for by Magna Charta  
They could not be committed, as close prisoners,  
My learned Counsel tells me here, my Cook.  
And yet he showed me, the way, first.  LIC. 
Who did? I?  
I trench the liberty o' the subjects?  P. CA. 
Peace,  
Picklock, your Guest, that Stentour, hath infected you,  
Whom I have safe enough in a wooden collar.  P. SE. 
Next, I restore these servants to their Lady,  
With freedom, heart of cheer, and countenance;  
It is their year, and day of jubilee.  TRA. 
We thank you, Sir.  P. SE. 
And lastly, to my Nephew,  
I give my house, goods, lands, all but my vices, 
Her Train thanks him.   
And those I go to cleanse; kissing this Lady  
Whom I do give him too, and join their bands.  P. CA. 
If the Spectators will join theirs, we thank 'em.  P. IV. 
And wish they may, as I, enjoy Pecunia.  PEC. 
And so Pecunia herself doth wish,  
That she may still be aid unto their uses,  
Not slave unto their pleasures, or a Tyrant  
over their fair desires; but teach them all  
The golden mean: the Prodigal, how to live,  
The sordid, and the covetous, how to die,  
That with sound mind; this safe frugality.   
THE END   

 

  

  

  

  

  

   

The Epilogue.  
THus have you seen the maker's double scope,  
To profit, and delight; wherein our hope  
Is, though the clout we do not always hit,  
It will not be imputed to his wit:  
A Tree so tried, and bent, as 'twill not start.  
Nor doth he often crack a string of Art,  
Though there may other accidents as strange  
Happen, the weather of your looks may change,  
Or some high wind of misconceit arise,  
To cause an alteration in our Skies;  
If so, weare sorry that have so misspent  
Our Time and Tackle, yet he's confident,  
And vow's the next fair day, he'll have us shoot  
The same match o'er for him, if you'll come to't.