FRANCIS BEAUMONT, 
 
 \ 
 
Elizabethan Dramatists 
 
 MARLOWE'S "DR. FAUSTUS " 
 
 JONSON'S "EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOURS' 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER'S 
 " PHILASTER " 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE ANSEL WATROUS, A.M. 
 
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 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 

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 THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS. 
 
 Twc Copies Received 
 
 SEP 9 1903 
 
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 Copyright, 1903, 
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CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction vii 
 
 Keats's " Lines on the Mermaid Tavern " . xvi 
 
 The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus . . i 
 
 Every Man in his Humour .... 65 
 
 Philaster . . . ... , . . 187 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is not the purpose of this introduction to trace 
 the history of English drama from its origin, but 
 rather to present as briefly as may be the conditions 
 in which that marvellous production of Elizabethan 
 days came forth. We must pass by the old liturgical 
 plays, the mysteries, miracles, interludes, and masks 
 that served as forerunners of the perfected form. 
 The lines between tragedy and comedy had been 
 fixed, and the struggle between classic and romantic 
 types was well on when Marlowe " of the mighty line " 
 went to London " to find his fortune, not to make it." 
 
 The causes of that tremendous burst of lyrical and 
 dramatic splendor are in part conjectural. Literature 
 is an expression of life, national and individual ; and 
 whenever there comes to the individual or to soci- 
 ety a realization and recognition of self, there comes 
 also the expression of that idea. Neither conception 
 nor expression can be dragged or driven, cajoled or 
 coaxed. Conditions and men are equally essential. 
 
 In the days of Elizabeth, England awoke to a new 
 consciousness of her greatness and power. The per- 
 son was reborn and became an individual, confident 
 of his own and of his country's strength. The world 
 was large, but Drake had sailed around it and brought 
 safely back his treasure-laden vessel. What hmit 
 could be placed to man's effort ? Mighty issues were 
 at stake ; the days were full of adventure ; ambition 
 was almost boundless. New lands were discovered. 
 
 vii 
 
viii INTR on UCTION. 
 
 A bold commerce brought not only the merchandise 
 but the bewildering legends from the people of the 
 East. The sway of one religion had passed and men 
 governed themselves by new beliefs. The courtier, 
 the poet, the statesman, the philosopher, the soldier, — 
 lived in one man. The versatiHty of Sidney, Bacon, 
 Raleigh and a host of others bears amazing testimony. 
 Men were stirred as they had never been before nor 
 since. Romance seemed reality, and life romantic. 
 
 The spirit thus engendered demanded a free course 
 and full expression. The accomplishment of the 
 reformation, the repulse of Spain, and the enlighten- 
 ment of the renaissance made its power resistless. 
 The new learning took quick root, sprang up, and 
 flourished. Classical study was adapted to modern 
 thought ; translations of the Bible were developing a 
 perfection of English speech ; and English travellers 
 and students seized eagerly the lore and legends of 
 Italy, France, and Germany. Every source was laid 
 under contribution. Materials were thus collected 
 for a splendid art of some sort : what that art should 
 be, the national conditions and native genius of the 
 English people soon determined. The stage for 
 the display of the new-found knowledge was found in 
 the romantic drama which from the first was close 
 to the hearts of the people and soon displaced other 
 forms of art, — painting, sculpture, architecture. The 
 drama in England was the main outlet for the energy 
 acquired from the renaissance of the South and the 
 reformation of the North. 
 
 In answer to this call, a host of playwrights made 
 their way to London. Kyd, Nash, Peele, Greene, 
 Marlowe, Munday, Lodge, Chettle, Jonson, Beaumont, 
 Fletcher, Shakspere — where shall such a catalogue 
 
INTR OD UCTION. IX 
 
 end? They were authors and actors alike, bound in 
 good fellowship and genial feeling ; hale fellows, all 
 of them, rich while a shilling remained in pocket, 
 careless alike of poverty or wealth, and never anxious 
 beyond the moment. They drank too much, lived 
 lives all too fast, and their short years were quickly 
 run.i Liberty still meant ugly license, and life was 
 careless, exuberant, unrestrained, lawless. Many a 
 tavern reechoed to rollicking songs through many 
 a merry night. Most famous is the " Mermaid, " 
 where the literary clique gathered for the common 
 carousal of wine and wit. 
 
 " What things have we seen — ... 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit into a jest, 
 And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
 Of his dull life." 
 
 The business of playwright was the only lucrative 
 literary occupation of the day. The demand for 
 plays exceeded the supply so that a ready market 
 awaited every product. Prices were not high, it is 
 true, but money was worth more then than now. In 
 the early days, four pounds, from twenty-five to thirty 
 now, was an average price. Later ten pounds were 
 given, and this according to one of Ben Jonson''s char- 
 acters^ became the customary price. The author was 
 closely connected with some one theatre and company 
 of actors. All that he wrote belonged to the theatre and 
 formed a part of its library — its most valuable property. 
 
 1 Xyd died at thirty-eight, Nash at thirty-four, Peele at 
 thirty-nine, Greene at thirty-two, Marlowe at twenty-nine, 
 
 2 Chrisoganus, in Histriomastix. 
 
X INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 Piracy was of course exceedingly common ; indeed, 
 the theft of his work by some rival company or unprin- 
 cipled publisher was one of the chief vexations of the 
 Elizabethan dramatist. He had but little security 
 against the theft and no redress if the crime were com- 
 mitted. Of the early group, those commonly called 
 Shakspere's predecessors all, with the exception pos- 
 sibly of Peele, were actors. Their business had the 
 cordial approval and support of queen and court, 
 and they were no less popular with the varied classes 
 of people who made up an Elizabethan audience. 
 
 A motley crowd assembled in "the fields." These 
 were London's suburbs, where stood the Globe, the 
 Curtain, the Rose, and Blackfriars, forced beyond the 
 immediate rule of the Lord Mayor by Puritan dissatis- 
 faction. But the distance and discomfort mattered 
 nothing. 'Prentices, journeymen, fops, courtiers, and 
 noblemen came to see and hear. For the play was 
 the thing, rich in fervid eloquence and beautiful de- 
 scription. A penny gained admission and twopence 
 would buy a place among the groundlings or " stink- 
 ards," as the poorer frequenters of public theatres 
 were called. Among them, apples, nuts, and beer 
 circulated freely. The wealthier and more fastidious 
 might for sixpence sit in a box above, or perchance 
 might give a shilling and have a three-legged stool or 
 "tripod "upon the stage — a custom annoying to both 
 actors and spectators, for the gallants who followed 
 this plan had consideration for no one. Performances 
 began about three in the afternoon and continued until 
 five or thereabouts. 
 
 On days when plays were to be presented a flag 
 was floated from the theatre roof. As the hour 
 approached drums were beaten, and as a final signal 
 
INTR OD UCTION. XI 
 
 there was a flourish of trumpets. Playbills were used 
 to announce the show, those in red letters indicating 
 tragedy. The Prologue, in a black mantle, with a 
 flowing wig and crowned with bays, ambled on the 
 stage and begged attention, even then grudgingly 
 given. There were many interruptions in the nature 
 of fights between the tripod fops and the stinkards. 
 Curses were exchanged and apples hurled back and 
 forth. Card-playing whiled away time until the play 
 itself began. 
 
 The stage and the theatre were themselves poor 
 affairs, hardly conceivable in these later days of ele- 
 gant mountings and wonderful settings. Even court 
 performances, upon which vast sums of money were 
 expended, rested largely for effect upon dance-group- 
 ings, tableaux, and processions. There was barely 
 any scenery and only the simplest sort of setting 
 was known. The stage was narrow, and projected 
 out into the yard, so that the actors were surrounded 
 by the spectators. There was no perspective, no illu- 
 sion ; the event presented became a reahty shared 
 equally by audience and actor. The action was adorned 
 by no art of stage-craft. 
 
 Under such unfavorable conditions was created a 
 dramatic literature, equalled but once and never sur- 
 passed. The old traditions of dramatic construction 
 would not answer. The defenders of Aristotle, Seneca, 
 Plautus, and Terence fought valiantly, but their cause 
 in England was hopeless from the beginning. The 
 earliest dramas, and indeed all the critics including 
 Sidney, favored the form which obeyed the classic 
 laws. Stage limitations likewise defended the same 
 structure ; but the people preferred romance, and the 
 people always win. In France the struggle was pro- 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tracted longer, and classicism ruled until Victor Hugo's 
 Hernani, 1830. 
 
 The new spirit would not tolerate the old rigor. 
 A new muse was invoked. She had never heard of 
 Parnassus, nor dreamed of the heights of Olympus. 
 She had not even a name. Marlowe was still playing 
 truant at the Canterbury School, and, with Avon's 
 fields and forests and larks, Shakspere was learning 
 his " native wood-notes wild." All nature and all 
 forms of life were her domain. She was found in 
 all the haunts of men — palace, market, church, shop, 
 tavern, and street. Good and evil, hearts and minds, 
 action and passion, all were in her province. Thus 
 she was a sovereign all potent and swayed the destiny 
 of a perfect art. 
 
 The muse of romantic drama was no niggard. She 
 scattered her favors lavishly among her worshippers. 
 Ill-tempered, misanthropic Greene, courtly Lyly, and 
 complacent, scholarly Jonson were charmed alike. 
 With Fletcher she tripped daintily through flowery- 
 kirtled meads along his "primrose path "; she shud- 
 dered with Webster among his yew trees, ghouls, and 
 charnel-houses ; laughed at Shirley's sparkling wit ; 
 and wept with Ford o'er sweet Calantha's broken 
 heart. Her faults were those of youth and ignorance, 
 and the mere fact that she was unlearned in the maze 
 of classic art made her worthy to become the " muse 
 of modern drama." 
 
 In defence of the new spirit and in reverence for 
 its muse the work of Marlowe, Jonson, Beaumont 
 and Fletcher was done. It was Marlowe who, in the 
 twenty-nine years that spanned his life, crystallized 
 the amorphous efforts of his predecessors. He knew 
 what he wanted to do and lost no time in setting 
 
INTRODUCTION. xm 
 
 about his task. It is no uncertain note that rings in 
 the prologue of his first play ; it is the definite, deter- 
 mined purpose of the conscious artist. 
 
 " From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits, 
 And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, 
 We '11 lead you to the stately tent of war, 
 Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine 
 Threatening the world with high astounding terms. 
 And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword. 
 View but his picture in this tragic glass, 
 And then applaud his fortune as you please." 
 
 Marlowe did what he here promised. He gave the 
 drama a new form of verse, he put popular material in 
 classic form and carried both to a high level of perfec- 
 tion. Lacking Marlowe, there had been no explainable 
 Shakspere. Life that was huge, tense, and quivering 
 went into the " jigging veins " of his verse. Herein 
 is the shadow of Marlowe's most patent characteristic, 
 — what Dr. Symonds calls his " love of the impossi- 
 ble." Tamburlaine would conquer the world : Faus- 
 tus craved all knowledge for his domain : Mortimer 
 would have no less than Edward's queen and Eng- 
 land's crown : Barabas is a type of superhuman lust 
 and greed. His characters are all Titans who aim at 
 supreme power and covet the impossible. 
 
 Jonson's work was contemporary with Shakspere's. 
 In acquired ability he surpassed all his fellows and 
 among our poets is second only to Milton. His range 
 of reading was far wider than the Greek and Latin 
 classics usually read in his day. He knew at first 
 hand the philosophers, historians, poets, and a later 
 field of literature including Agrippa, Paracelsus. Eras- 
 mus, Rabelais ; and had a fair knowledge of German. 
 His tragedies, comedies, and masks are rich in exam- 
 
XIV INTR OD UC TION. 
 
 pies of the learning prized in the universities. He is 
 proud of his learning, excusably so perhaps, and 
 boasts that he but seldom " condescends to imitate 
 a modern author." 
 
 And he knew life full well. Before he became an 
 actor and author he had been a student, a trades- 
 man, and a soldier. He had travelled far. Flanders, 
 France, and England were familiar. Nobles, scholars, 
 bookmen were his associates, and he was " lord of 
 misrule " at the Mermaid and in the Apollo room at 
 the "Devil." The technicalities of theology, law, 
 science, alchemy, and the cant of all trades, casts, and 
 Bohemianism were the common tools of his work. 
 
 Critics have cavilled at his learning, but it was \ 
 neither learning nor knowledge of life that made him 
 a great dramatist. It was rather the application of 
 these powers under the direction of a lofty purpose 
 and great genius. He had a noble conception of his 
 work — the applause of the moment was never the 
 end of his aspiration. "To maintain the dignity of 
 tragedy on the level of what he recognizes as its 
 highest models ; and in comedy to hold the mirror 
 up to the ridiculous foibles and vices of human nature 
 by realistically reproducing its most striking types of 
 this description; — these are the ends which he con- 
 sciously pursues." ^ In him were united the scholar, 
 and the man of action — such an one as must have 
 made warm the heart of the Concord seer. 
 
 Shakspere's work was nearly if not wholly done 
 when Beaumont and Fletcher began to write. They 
 belong distinctly to the group of later Elizabethans. 
 Both were well born and educated and " must have 
 moved with ease, and as equals, among the gently 
 1 Ward : English Dramatic Literature, Vol. II., p. 400. 
 
INTR OD UCTION. XV 
 
 born and bred." Their productive power is amazing. 
 Themes, tragic and comic, seemed equally welcome 
 and each was treated with a power rarely surpassed 
 even in that marvellous age. 
 
 They had, of course, the advantage of their prede- 
 cessors' experience. The work of Shakspere must 
 have been known to them, and at the outset of their 
 careers we know that both were admirers and esteemed 
 friends of the learned Jonson. They therefore had 
 the chance and, still better were able, to profit by the 
 failures, and shortcomings of the older generation. 
 The best specimens of dramatic composition were 
 before their eyes ; they had wide range in choice of 
 subjects and freely availed themselves of every oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 And now, as these pages go to press, comes the 
 welcome news that Elizabethan drama is to be re- 
 vived. May Marlowe, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 and a host of others give light and pleasure to multi- 
 tudes who to-day know them not. 
 
 Utica, N.Y., February, 1903. 
 
KEATS'S LINES ON THE MERMAID 
 TAVERN. 
 
 SOULS of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern, 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? 
 Have ye tippled drink more fine 
 Than mine host's Canary wine? 
 Or are fruits of Paradise 
 Sweeter than those dainty pies 
 Of venison ? O generous food ! 
 Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
 Would, with his maid Marian, 
 Sup and bowse from horn and can. 
 
 I have heard that on a day 
 Mine host's sign-board flew away, 
 Nobody knew whither, till 
 An astrologer's old quill 
 To a sheepskin gave the story, 
 Said he saw you in your glory, 
 Underneath a new old-sign 
 Sipping beverage divine, 
 And pledging with contented smack 
 The Mermaid in the Zodiac. 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern, 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 
 
 xvi ^ 
 
THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF 
 DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 
 
 By Christopher Marlowe. 
 
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 
 
 " Of all that he hath written to the stage his ' Dr. 
 Faustus ' hath made the greatest noise with its Devils, 
 and such like tragical sport." So wrote Edward Phil- 
 lips, 1675, '^^ h^s Theatriun Poetaru7n Anglicaiioruni. 
 Contemporary opinion has the same trend ; and critics 
 of a later day — Lamb, Hazlitt, Lewes, Cunningham, 
 Ellis, Courthope, Saintsbury — agree in giving Dr. 
 Faustus high rank, not only in Marlowe's dramas, but 
 in all Elizabethan productions. 
 
 The date of the play is uncertain. It may, however, 
 with a fair degree of accuracy, be put in 1 588-1589 
 (before November, 1589), and was probably written for 
 the Lord Admiral's Company. Thus Faustus followed 
 Tamburlaine, — inordinate greed for knowledge fol- 
 lowed inordinate greed for power. The success of 
 the play as well as its date are well authenticated by 
 Robert Greene's Friar Bacon ( 1 589), evidently written 
 in rivalry with Marlowe's work. The references to Alex- 
 ander of Parma, persecutor of the Netherlands, fixes 
 the play before 1590, while the episode of the bridge 
 brings it after 1585. In Samuel Rowland's Knave of 
 Clubs (1600), we have a reference to the original actor 
 of Fatcstus : — 
 
 " The gull gets on a surplis, 
 
 With a cross upon his breast, 
 Like Allyn playing Faustus, 
 In that manner was he drest." 
 
4 MARLOWE. 
 
 Of Marlowe himself we know but little, despite a 
 multitude of conjectures. He was baptized at Canter- 
 bury, February 26, 1564. He received his early edu- 
 cation at King's School of the same place, and later 
 entered Corpus Christi, Cambridge, whence he had 
 B.A. in 1583, and M.A. in 1587. Soon afterward 
 he settled in London and began his writing. "By 
 guiving too large a swinge to his owne wit and suf- 
 fering his lust to haue the full reives," ^ he incurred 
 a charge of heresy and was arrested May 18, 1593. 
 Whether he was punished or allowed to go free, 
 Thomas does not tell. At Deptford, on the first of 
 June, 1593, in a tavern brawl over a courtesan, he was 
 stabbed in the eye and killed by Francis Archer, a 
 serving-man. 
 
 Marlowe's untimely end was a sweet morsel to the 
 Puritans. They held up his fate as an awful example 
 of God's swift and terrible judgment upon a free- 
 thinker, a blasphemer, and an atheist. The catalogue 
 of crimes was almost too short to supply their busy 
 pens and doubtless busier tongues. The devil him- 
 self could scarcely have committed all the crimes laid 
 at Marlowe's charge. Among his friends were some 
 of the finest-fibred men of the time. His patron was 
 Walsingham, a high-minded gentleman ; Shakspere 
 in As Vo7i Like It alludes to the " dead shepperd " 
 with tenderness ; Blount, his publisher and friend, 
 tells of "the impression of the man that hath been 
 dear unto us, living an after-life in our memory " ; and 
 even sharp-tongued, jealous Nash penned an elegy on 
 " Marlowe's untimely end." The only definite and 
 specific charge was made by a rascally knave called 
 Bame, who later was hanged at Tyburn. Mr. Saints- 
 1 Theater of God's Judgments, Thomas Beard (1597). 
 
MARLOWE. 5 
 
 bury's judgment is doubtless correct : " That Marlowe 
 was a Bohemian in the fullest sense is certain : that 
 he was anything worse there is no evidence whatever." 
 
 Marlowe, renown'd for his rare art and wit, 
 Could ne'er attain beyond the name of Kit 
 — Hierarchic of the Blessed Angels, Thomas Heywood. 
 
 Neat Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs, 
 Had in him those brave translunary things 
 That the first poets had ; his raptures were 
 All air, and fire, which made his verses clear ; 
 For that fine madness still he did retain, 
 Which rightly should possess a poet's brain. 
 
 — Of Poets and Poesie, Michael Drayton. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 The Pope. 
 
 Cardinal of Lorrain. 
 Emperor of Germany., 
 Duke of Vanholt. 
 Faustus. 
 
 Valdes. I p^jg^jg tQ Faustus. 
 
 Cornelius, j 
 
 Wagner, Servant to Faustus. 
 
 Clown. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Ralph. 
 
 Vintner, Horse-Courser, Knight, Old Man, Scholars, 
 
 Friars, and Attendants. 
 Duchess of Vanholt. 
 Lucifer. 
 Belzebub. 
 Mephistophilis. 
 Good Angel. 
 Evil Angel. 
 
 The Seven Deadly Sins. 
 Devils. 
 Spirits in the shape of ALEXANDER THE GREAT, of his 
 
 paramour, and of Helen of Troy. 
 Chorus. 
 
 \ 
 
THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF 
 DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. Not marching now in fields of Trasymene,^ 
 Where Mars did mate the Carthaginians ; 
 Nor sporting in the dalliance of love, 
 In com-ts of kings where state is overturned ; 
 ,Nor in the pomp of proud audacious deeds, 
 I Intends our Muse to vaunt his heavenly verse: 
 Only this, gentlemen, — we must perform 
 The form of Faustus' fortunes, good or bad ; 
 To patient judgments we appeal our plaud, 
 And speak for Faustus in his infancy. 
 Now is he born, his parents base of stock, 
 In Germany, within a town called Rhodes ; ^ 
 Of riper years to Wertenberg he went. 
 Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up. 
 So soon he profits in divinity. 
 The fruitful plot of scholarism graced. 
 That shortly he was graced with doctor's name, 
 Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes 
 In heavenly matters of theology ; 
 Till swollen with cunning ^ of a self-conceit, 
 
 1 In the battle at Lake Trasumenus, 217 B.C., Hannibal 
 overwhelmed the Romans and killed more than fifteen thou- 
 sand, including the leader Flaminius. 
 
 2 Presumably, Roda in Saxe-Altenburg. 
 
 8 This word is used throughout the play in the sense of skill 
 or knowledge. 
 
 7 
 
8 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 His waxen wings did mount above his reach, 
 
 And, melting, Heavens conspired his overthrow; 
 
 For, falling to a devilish exercise. 
 
 And glutted now with learning's golden gifts, 
 
 He surfeits upon cursed necromancy. 
 
 Nothing so sweet as magic is to him. 
 
 Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss. 
 
 And this the man that in his study sits ! {Exit?- 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Faustus discovered in his Sticdy. 
 
 Faust. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin 
 To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess ; 
 Having commenced, be a divine in show. 
 Yet level at the end of every art. 
 And live and die in Aristotle's works. 
 Sweet Analytics, 't is thou hast ravished me, {Reads. 
 Bene disserere est finis logices? 
 Is to dispute well logic's chiefest end? 
 Affords this art no greater miracle ? 
 Then read no more, thou hast attained the end ; 
 A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit : 
 Bid ov KOL fXY) ov ^ farewell ; Galen ^ come. 
 Seeing [/^i desinit Philosophiis ibi incipit Mediais ; 
 
 1 It is possible, as Dyce suggests, that before going out, the 
 Chorus, by drawing a curtain, discover Faustus. 
 
 2 The sense of this and the other Latin phrases is given in 
 succeeding lines. 
 
 8 The edition of 1604 has " Oncaymaeon," by which Mar- 
 lowe meant Aristotle's " being and not being." 
 
 * A celebrated Greek physician and philosopher of about 
 130 A.D. He composed some 500 treatises, of which 83 
 (genuine) have been preserved. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 9 
 
 Be a physician, Faustus, heap up gold, 
 
 And be eternised for some wondrous cure. [^Reads. 
 
 Suvi)}iu})i bonuni jnedicincB sanitas, 
 
 The end of physic is our body's health. 
 
 Why, Faustus, hast thou not attained that end? 
 
 Is not thy common talk found Aphorisms?^ 
 
 Are not thy bills '^ hung up as monuments, 
 
 Whereby whole cities have escaped the plague, 
 
 And thousand desperate maladies been eased? 
 
 Yet art thou still but Faustus and a man. 
 
 Couldst thou make men to live eternally, 
 
 Or, being dead, raise them to life again, 
 
 Then this profession were to be esteemed. 
 
 Physic, farewell. — Where is Justinian ?3 \^Reads. 
 
 Si 2tna eadeuique res legatiir duobus, alter rejn, alter 
 
 valorem rei, etc. 
 A pretty case of paltry legacies! \Reads. 
 
 Ex hcereditare filiiiin noii potest pater nisi, etc. 
 Such is the subject of the Institute 
 And universal Body of the Law. 
 This study fits a mercenary drudge, 
 Who aims at nothing but external trash ; 
 Too servile and illiberal for me. 
 When all is done divinity is best ; 
 Jerome's Bible,* Faustus, view it well. \_Reads. 
 
 Stipendiiwt peccati 7nors est. Ha! Slip endiuin, etc. 
 
 1 Medical maxims. 
 
 2 Prescriptions, or advertisements, which he used as a travel- 
 ling physician. 
 
 3 Byzantine emperor, under whose direction the body of 
 Roman law was composed and annotated. 
 
 4 The Latin version of the Scriptures and the authorized 
 version for the Roman Catholic church. It was prepared by 
 Jerome about the close of the fourth century. 
 
lO THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 The reward of sin is death. That 's hard. {Reads. 
 Si peccasse negarnus fallimur et nulla est in nobis 
 Veritas. 
 If we say that we have no sin we deceive ourselves, 
 and there 's no truth in us. Why then, behke we must 
 sin and so consequently die. 
 Ay, we must die an everlasting death. 
 What doctrine call you this, Che sera sera, 
 What will be shall be? Divinity, adieu! 
 These metaphysics of magicians 
 And necromantic books are heavenly : 
 Lines, circles, scenes, letters, and characters ; 
 Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires. 
 O what a world of profit and delight, 
 Of power, of honour, of omnipotence 
 Is promised to the studious artisan! 
 All things that move between the quiet poles 
 Shall be at my command : emperors and kings 
 Are but obeyed in their several provinces. 
 Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds ; 
 But his dominion that exceeds in this 
 Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man, 
 A sound magician is a mighty god : 
 Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity. 
 Wagner! 
 
 Enter Wagner. 
 
 Commend me to my dearest friends, 
 The German Valdes and Cornelius ; 
 Request them earnestly to visit me. 
 
 Wag. I will, sir. {Exit. 
 
 Faust. Their conference will be a greater help to 
 me 
 Than all my labours, plod I ne'er so fast. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. II 
 
 Enter Good Angel and Evil Angel. 
 
 G. Ang. O Faustus ! lay that damned book aside, 
 And gaze not on it lest it tempt thy soul, 
 And heap God's heavy wrath upon thy head. 
 Read, read the Scriptures : that is blasphemy. 
 
 E. Ang. Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art. 
 Wherein all Nature's treasure is contained : 
 Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky, 
 Lord and commander of these elements. 
 
 \Exeunt Angels. 
 
 Faust. How am I glutted with conceit of this ! 
 Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please, 
 Resolve me of all ambiguities. 
 Perform what desperate enterprise I will? 
 I '11 have them fly to India for gold. 
 Ransack the ocean for orient pearl. 
 And search all corners of the new-found world 
 For pleasant fruits and princely delicates ; 
 I '11 have them read me strange philosophy 
 And tell the secrets of all foreign kings ; 
 I '11 have them wall all Germany with brass, 
 And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg, 
 I '11 have them fill the public schools with silk, 
 Wherewith the students shall be bravely clad ; 
 I '11 levy soldiers with the coin they bring, 
 And chase the Prince of Parma from our land,i 
 
 1 This refers to the famous blockade of Antwerp by Alexander 
 of Parma, 1585. The following interesting account is from 
 Creighton's Age of Elizabeth, p. 170 f. 
 
 "... But Antwerp was too well fortified to be taken by storm, 
 and it was impossible to blockade it so long as the river re- 
 mained open. The flat-bottomed boats of the Hollanders 
 could take advantage of any condition of the tide and bring 
 
12 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 And reign sole king of all the provinces ; 
 Yea, stranger engines for the brunt of war 
 
 supplies to the beleaguered city. Parma, however, made him- 
 self master of the banks of the Scheldt and built forts at such 
 places as secured him the command of the navigation of the 
 river. He then proceeded, during the winter of 1584, to build 
 a bridge across the stream. The Scheldt was here sixty feet 
 deep and eight hundred yards broad ; to bridge such a channel 
 seemed to the besieged an impossible folly. But the Spaniards, 
 beginning from either bank, slowly drove in their piles so 
 firmly that their work withstood the huge blocks of ice that in 
 the winter months rolled down the stream. When the piers 
 had been built as far as was possible, the middle part was made 
 sure by a permanent bridge of boats. In February, 1585, the 
 Scheldt was closed. 
 
 " In Antwerp, however, lived an Italian engineer, Giambelli, 
 who proposed a means of breaking through this barrier. He 
 took two ships, in each of which he built a marble chamber, 
 filled with gunpowder, over which was placed a pile of every 
 kind of heavy missile. These ships were floated down the 
 Scheldt, but their meaning was disguised by some small fire- 
 ships which sailed in front of them. The Spaniards spent their 
 energies in warding off the fire-ships, and the other two struck 
 against the bridge; in one the match burnt out without reach- 
 ing the powder, but the other took fire with a terrific explosion. 
 A thousand Spanish soldiers were hurled into the air, and a 
 breach of two hundred feet was made in the bridge. Confusion 
 and panic terror struck the hearts of the Spaniards. But the 
 men of Antw-erp could not use their success ; the signal was 
 not given to the Zealand fleet which was waiting out at sea. 
 No relief came, and Alexander of Parma, recovering at once 
 his presence of mind, set to work with desperate energy to re- 
 pair the breach. In three days the blockade was again estab- 
 lished, and Parma awaited the end. Another desperate sally 
 was made by the Netherlanders, who succeeded in carrying one 
 of the Spanish forts ; but they could not maintain themselves 
 there against the valor of the Spanish troops when they were 
 under their heroic leader's eye. The Netherlanders were 
 driven back, and with their failure Antwerp's last hope was 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 13 
 
 Than was the fiery keel at Antwerp's bridge, 
 I '11 make my servile spirits to invent. 
 
 Enter Valdes and Cornelius.^ 
 
 Come, German Valdes and Cornelius, 
 And make me blest with your sage conference. 
 Valdes, sweet Valdes, and Cornelius, 
 Know that your words have won me at the last 
 To practise magic and concealed arts : 
 Yet not your words only, but mine own fantasy 
 That will receive no object, for my head 
 But ruminates on necromantic skill. 
 Philosophy is odious and obscure, 
 Both law and physic are for petty wits ; 
 Divinity is basest of the three. 
 Unpleasant, harsh, contemptible, and vile : 
 'T is magic, magic that hath ravished me. 
 Then, gentle friends, aid me in this attempt ; 
 And I that have with concise syllogisms 
 Gravelled the pastors of the German church, 
 And made the flowering pride of Wertenberg 
 Swarm to my problems, as the infernal spirits 
 On sweet Musceus,^ when he came to hell. 
 Will be as cunning as Agrippa was, 
 
 gone. The city capitulated on August 17, 1585; there was to 
 be a general amnesty, but only the Catholic religion was to be 
 tolerated ; those who refused to conform were allowed two 
 years to wind up their affairs and quit the city." 
 
 1 Cornehus Agrippa (1486-1535) , a German philosopher and 
 student of alchemy and astrology. Valdes is unknown. Mr. 
 Havelock Ellis suggests Paracelsus. See Browning's poem. 
 
 2 A legendary Greek poet, supposed to have been a disciple 
 of Orpheus and to have lived about 1400 B.C. See Virgil's 
 ^neid, VI., 667; Dryden's translation, VI., 867-911. 
 
H THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Whose shadow 1 made all Europe honour him. 
 
 Vald. Faustus, these books, thy wit, and our expe- 
 rience 
 Shall make all nations to canonise us. 
 As Indian Moors obey their Spanish lords, 
 So shall the spirits of every element 
 Be always serviceable to us three ; 
 Like lions shall they guard us when we please ; 
 Like Almain rutters with their horsemen's staves 
 Or Lapland giants,^ trotting by our sides ; 
 Sometimes like women or unwedded maids. 
 Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows 
 Than have the white breasts of the queen of love : 
 From Venice shall they drag huge argosies. 
 And from America the golden fleece 
 That yearly stuffs old Philip's treasury ; 
 If learned Faustus will be resolute. 
 
 Faiist. Valdes, as resolute am I in this 
 As thou to live ; therefore object it not. 
 
 Corn. The miracles that magic will perform 
 Will make thee vow to study nothing else. 
 He that is grounded in astrology, 
 Enriched with tongues, well seen in minerals, 
 Hath all the principles magic doth require. 
 Then doubt not, Faustus, but to be renowned, 
 And more frequented for this mystery 
 Than heretofore the Delphian Oracle. 
 The spirits tell me they can dry the sea, 
 And fetch the treasure of all foreign wrecks, 
 
 1 In his De Occulta Phllosophia, Agrippa gives directions 
 for divination by means of shades of the dead. 
 
 2 The Laplanders, of course, are nearer dwarfs than giants. 
 Marlowe makes the same error in Taniburlaine, Act L, 
 Scene i. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 1 5 
 
 Ay, all the wealth that our forefathers hid 
 
 Within the massy entrails of the earth ; 
 
 Then tell me, Faustus, what shall we three want? 
 
 Faust. Nothing, Cornelius ! O this cheers my soul ! 
 Come show me some demonstrations magical, 
 That I may conjure in some bushy grove, 
 And have these joys in full possession. 
 
 Vald. Then haste thee to some solitary grove, 
 And bear wise Bacon's and Albanus'^ works, 
 The Hebrew Psalter and New Testament ; 
 And whatsoever else is requisite 
 We will inform thee ere our conference cease. 
 
 Corn. Valdes, first let him know the words of art ; 
 And then, all other ceremonies learned, 
 Faustus may try his cunning by himself. 
 
 Vald. First I '11 instruct thee in the rudiments, 
 And then wilt thou be perfecter than I. 
 
 Faust. Then come and dine with me, and after 
 meat. 
 We'll canvas every quiddity thereof; 
 For ere I sleep I '11 try what I can do : 
 This night I '11 conjure tho' I die therefore. [Exeimt. 
 
 Scene II. 2 
 Enter Two Scholars. 
 
 1st Schol. I wonder what 's become of Faustus that 
 was wont to make our schools ring with sic probo ? 
 
 2d Schol. That shall we know, for see here comes 
 his boy. 
 
 1 This Albanus may be Pietro d' Albano, about 1250-1316. 
 He was an Italian physician whose skill brought him under 
 suspicion of the Inquisition. 
 
 2 This is probably before Faustus' house, since Wagner 
 speaks of his master inside at dinner. 
 
1 6 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Enter Wagner. 
 
 1st Schol. How now, sirrah! Where 's thy master? 
 
 Wag. God in heaven knows ! 
 
 id Schol. Why, dost not thou know ? 
 
 Wag. Yes, I know. But that follows not. 
 
 1st Schol. Go to, sirrah ! leave your jesting, and 
 tell us where he is. 
 
 Wag. That follows not necessary by force of argu- 
 ment, that you, being licentiates, should stand upon : 
 therefore acknowledge your error and be attentive. 
 
 id Schol. Why, didst thou not say thou knewest? 
 
 Wag. Have you any witness on 't 1 
 
 1st Schol. Yes, sirrah, I heard you. 
 
 Wag. Ask my fellows if I be a thief. 
 
 id Schol. Well, you will not tell us ? 
 
 Wag. Yes, sir, I will tell you ; yet if you were not 
 dunces, you would never ask me such a question ; for 
 is not he corpus naturale? and is not that ?nobilef 
 then wherefore should you ask me such a question? 
 But that I am by nature phlegmatic, slow to wrath, 
 and prone to lechery (to love, I would say), it were 
 not for you to come within forty feet of the place of 
 execution, although I do not doubt to see you both 
 hanged the next sessions. Thus having triumphed 
 over you, I will set my countenance like a pre- 
 cisian, and begin to speak thus : — Truly, my dear 
 brethren, my master is within at dinner, with Valdes 
 and Cornelius, as this wine, if it could speak, would 
 inform your worships ; and so the Lord bless you, 
 preserve you, and keep you, my dear brethren, my 
 dear brethren. \_Exit. 
 
 1st Schol. Nay, then, I fear he has fallen into that 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 1 7 
 
 damned Art, for which they two are infamous through 
 the world. 
 
 id Schol. Were he a stranger, and not allied to 
 me, yet should I grieve for him. But come, let us go 
 and inform the Rector, and see if he by his grave 
 counsel can reclaim him. 
 
 1st Schol. O, but I fear me nothing can reclaim 
 him. 
 
 id Schol. Yet let us try what we can do. 
 
 \_ExeM7it. 
 
 Scene III.i 
 Enter Faustus to conjure. 
 
 Faust. Now that the gloomy shadow of the earth 
 Longing to view Orion's drizzling look. 
 Leaps from the antarctic world unto the sky, 
 And dims the welkin with her pitchy breath, 
 Faustus, begin thine incantations, 
 And try if devils will obey thy hest, 
 Seeing thou hast prayed and sacrificed to them. 
 Within this circle is Jehovah's name, 
 Forward and backward anagram matised. 
 The breviated names of holy saints. 
 Figures of every adjunct to the Heavens, 
 And characters of signs and erring stars, 
 By which the spirits are enforced to rise : 
 Then fear not, Faustus, but be resolute. 
 And try the uttermost magic can perform. 
 
 Sint 7nihi Dei Acherontis propitiil Valeat numen 
 triplex JehovcB ! /gnei, czrii, aqucE, terrce spiritus, 
 salvete I Orientis prijiceps Belzebub, inferni ardentis 
 
 1 This scene is in a grove. See the speech of Valdes near 
 the end of Scene i. 
 
1 8 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 jnonarcha, et De?nogorg07t, propitiainns vos, iit appa- 
 reat et surgat Mephistophilis. Quid tu tnoraris f per 
 Jehovam, Gehennam, et consecratain aquain qiiain nunc 
 spar go, signumque cruets quod nu?tc facto, et per 
 vota nostra, ipse nunc surgat nobis dicatus Mephisto- 
 philis 1 1 
 
 E7iter Mephistophilis. 
 
 I charge thee to return and change thy shape ; 
 
 Thou art too ugly to attend on me. 
 
 Go, and return an old Franciscan friar ; 
 
 That holy shape becomes a devil best. {Exit Meph. 
 
 I see there 's virtue in my heavenly words ; 
 
 Who would not be proficient in this art? 
 
 How pliant is this Mephistophilis, 
 
 Full of obedience and humihty ! 
 
 Such is the force of magic and my spells : 
 
 Now Faustus, thou art conjuror laureat, 
 
 That canst command great Mephistophilis : 
 
 Quin regis Mephistophilis fratr is imagine.'^ 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis like a Frajtciscan friar. 
 
 Meph. Now, Faustus, what would'st thou have me 
 to do? 
 
 1 " May the gods of the lower world be propitious ! Let the 
 threefold power of Jehovah prevail ! Spirits of fire, air, water, 
 earth, all hail 1 Beelzebub, Prince of the East, ruler of infer- 
 nal fires, and Demogorgon, we propitiate you, that Mephis- 
 tophilis may appear and rise. Why do you delay ? By Jehovah, 
 Gehenna, and the consecrated water which now I sprinkle, by 
 the sign of the cross which now I make, and by our vows, (I 
 command) the mighty Mephistophilis himself to rise before 
 us now ! " 
 
 2 " But that you rule in the person of Mephistophilis, your 
 brother." 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 19 
 
 Fatist. I charge thee wait upon me whilst I live, 
 To do whatever Faustus shall command, 
 Be it to make the moon drop from her sphere, 
 Or the ocean to overwhelm the world. 
 
 Meph. I am a servant to great Lucifer, 
 And may not follow thee without his leave ; 
 No more than he commands must we perform. 
 
 Faust. Did not he charge thee to appear to me? 
 
 Meph. No, I came hither of mine own accord. 
 
 Faust. Did not my conjuring speeches raise thee ? 
 Speak. 
 
 Meph. That was the cause, but yet per accidens ; ^ 
 For when we hear one rack the name of God, 
 Abjure the Scriptures and his Saviour Christ, 
 We fly in hope to get his glorious soul ; 
 Nor will we come, unless he use such means 
 Whereby he is in danger to be damned : 
 Therefore the shortest cut for conjuring 
 Is stoutly to abjure the Trinity, 
 And pray devoutly to the Prince of Hell. 
 
 Faust. So Faustus hath 
 Already done ; and holds this principle, 
 There is no chief but only Belzebub, 
 To whom Faustus doth dedicate himself. 
 This word " damnation " terrifies not him, 
 For he confounds hell in Elysium ; 
 His ghost be with the old philosophers! 
 But, leaving these vain trifles of men's souls, 
 Tell me what is that Lucifer thy lord ? 
 
 Meph. Arch-regent and commander of all spirits. 
 
 Faust. Was not that Lucifer an angel once? 
 
 Meph. Yes, Faustus, and most dearly loved of God. 
 
 1 Incidentally. 
 
20 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Faust. How comes it then that he is Prince of 
 devils ? 
 
 Meph. O, by aspiring pride and insolence ; 
 For which God threw him from the face of Heaven. 
 
 Faust. And what are you that live with Lucifer ? 
 
 Meph. Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, 
 Conspired against our God with Lucifer, 
 And are for ever damned with Lucifer. 
 
 Faust. Where are you damned ? 
 
 Meph. In hell. 
 
 Faust. How comes it then that thou art out of hell ? 
 
 Meph. Why this is hell, nor am I out of it : 
 Think^st thou that I who saw the face of God, 
 And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, 
 Am not tormented with ten thousand hells. 
 In being deprived of everlasting bliss ? 
 O Faustus! leave these frivolous demands, 
 Which strike a terror to my fainting soul. 
 
 Faust. What, is great Mephistophilis so passionate 
 For being deprived of the joys of Heaven ? 
 Learn thou of Faustus manly fortitude, 
 And scorn those joys thou never shalt possess. 
 Go bear these tidings to great Lucifer : 
 Seeing Faustus hath incurred eternal death 
 By desperate thoughts against Jove's deity. 
 Say he surrenders up to him his soul, 
 So he will spare him four and twenty years. 
 Letting him live in all voluptuousness ; 
 Having thee ever to attend on me ; 
 To give me whatsoever I shall ask. 
 To tell me whatsoever I demand, 
 To slay mine enemies, and aid my friends, 
 And always be obedient to my will. 
 Go and return to mighty Lucifer, 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 21 
 
 And meet me in my study at midnight, 
 And then resolve me of thy master's mind. 
 
 Meph. I will, Faustus. \_Exit. 
 
 Faust. Had I as many souls as there be stars, 
 I M give them all for Mephistophilis. 
 By him I '11 be great Emperor of the world. 
 And make a bridge through the moving air, 
 To pass the ocean with a band of men : 
 I '11 join the hills that bind the Afric shore, 
 And make that country continent to Spain, 
 And both contributory to my crown. 
 The Emperor shall not live but by my leave, 
 Nor any potentate of Germany. 
 Now that I have obtained what I desire, 
 I '11 live in speculation of this art 
 Till Mephistophilis return again. \Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Wagner and Clown. ^ 
 
 Wag. Sirrah, boy, come hither. 
 
 Clown. How, boy! Swowns, boy! I hope you 
 have seen many boys with such pickadevaunts as I 
 have ; boy, quotha ! 
 
 Wag. Tell me, sirrah, hast thou any comings in? 
 
 Clown. Ay, and goings out, too. You may see 
 else. 
 
 Wag, Alas, poor slave! see how poverty jesteth in 
 his nakedness ! the villain is bare and out of service, 
 and so hungry that I know he would give his soul to 
 the devil for a shoulder of mutton, though 't were blood- 
 raw. 
 
 1 The scene is supposed to be a street. 
 
22 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Clown. How? My soul to the Devil for a shoulder 
 of mutton, though 'twere blood-raw! Not so, good 
 friend. By 'r Lady, I had need have it well roasted 
 and good sauce to it, if I pay so dear. 
 
 Wag. Well, wilt thou serve us, and I '11 make thee 
 go like Qui mihi discipulus?^ 
 
 Clown. How, in verse? 
 
 Wag. No, sirrah ; in beaten silk and stavesacre.^ 
 
 Clown. How, how. Knave's acre!^ I, I thought 
 that was all the land his father left him. Do you 
 hear? I would be sorry to rob you of your living. 
 
 Wag. Sirrah, I say in stavesacre. 
 
 Clown. Oho! Oho! Stavesacre! Why then be- 
 like if I were your man I should be full of vermin. 
 
 Wag. So thou shalt, whether thou beest with me 
 or no. But, sirrah, leave your jesting, and bind your- 
 self presently unto me for seven years, or I '11 turn all 
 the lice about thee into familiars, and they shall tear 
 thee in pieces. 
 
 Clown. Do you hear, sir? You may save that 
 labour : they are too femiliar with me already : 
 swowns ! they are as bold with my flesh as if they 
 had paid for their meat and drink. 
 
 Wag. Well, do you hear, sirrah ? Hold ! take these 
 guilders.'^ \Gives money. 
 
 Clown. Gridirons! what be they? 
 
 Wag. Why, French crowns. 
 
 Clown. Mass, but in the name of French crowns, 
 
 1 The first words of W. Lily's " Ad discipulos carmen de 
 moribus." (Dyce.) 
 
 2 A plant used for killing vermin. 
 
 3 Poultrey Street, inhabited chiefly by dealers in old bottles 
 and other second-hand rubbish. 
 
 4 Guilders are Dutch florins. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 23 
 
 a man were as good have as many English counters. 
 And what should I do with these? 
 
 Wag. Why, now, sirrah, thou art at an hour's warn- 
 ing, whensoever and wheresoever the Devil shall fetch 
 thee. 
 
 Clowfi. No, no. Here, take your gridirons again. 
 
 Wag. Truly I'll none of them. 
 
 Clown. Truly but you shall. 
 
 Wag. Bear witness I gave them him. 
 
 Clow7i. Bear witness I gave them you again. 
 
 Wag. Well, I will cause two devils presently to 
 fetch thee away — Baliol and Belcher. 
 
 Clown. Let your Baliol and your Belcher come 
 here, and I '\\ knock them, they were never so knocked 
 since they were devils ! Say I should kill one of them, 
 what would folks say ? '' Do you see yonder tall fellow 
 in the round slop — he has killed the devil." So I 
 should be called Kill-devil all the parish over. 
 
 Enter two Devils : the Clown runs up and down 
 
 crying. 
 
 Wag. BaHol and Belcher! Spirits, away! 
 
 \_Exetmt Devils. 
 
 Clown. What, are they gone? A vengeance on 
 them, they have vile long nails! There was a he- 
 devil, and a she-devil! I'll tell you how you shall 
 know them ; all he-devils has horns, and all she- 
 devils has clifts and cloven feet. 
 
 Wag. Well, sirrah, follow me. 
 
 Clown. But, do you hear — if I should sen^e you, 
 would you teach me to raise up Banios and Belcheos? 
 
 Wag. I will teach thee to turn thyself to anything ; 
 to a dog, or a cat, or a mouse, or a rat, or anything. 
 
24 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Clown. How! a Christian fellow to a dog or a cat, 
 a mouse or a rat! No, no, sir. If you turn me into 
 anything, let it be in the likeness of a little pretty 
 frisking flea, that I may be here and there and every- 
 where. Oh, Pll tickle the pretty wenches' plackets; 
 ril be amongst them, i' faith. 
 
 IVag. Well, sirrah, come. 
 
 Clown. But, do you hear, Wagner? 
 
 Wag. How! Baliol and Belcher! 
 
 Clowjt. O Lord! I pray, sir, let Banio and Belcher 
 go sleep. 
 
 Wag. Villain — call me Master Wagner, and let 
 thy left eye be diametarily fixed upon my right heel, 
 with quasi vestigiis nostris insistere.^ \Exit. 
 
 Clown. God forgive me, he speaks Dutch fustian. 
 Well, 1 11 follow him : I '11 serve him, that 's flat. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Faustus discovered in his Study. 
 
 Faust. Now, Faustus, must 
 Thou needs be damned, and canst thou not be saved : 
 What boots it then to think of God or Heaven? 
 Away with such vain fancies, and despair : 
 Despair in God, and trust in Belzebub ; 
 Now go not backward : no, Faustus, be resolute : 
 Why waver'st thou? O, something soundeth in mine 
 
 ears 
 " Abjure this magic, turn to God again ! " 
 Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again. 
 To God? — He loves thee not — 
 The God thou serv'st is thine own appetite, 
 
 1 " As it were, to stand in our footsteps," 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 25 
 
 Wherein is fixed the love of Belzebub ; 
 To him I '11 build an altar and a church, 
 And offer lukewarm blood of new-born babes. 
 
 Enter Good Angel and Evil Angel. 
 
 G. Ang. Sweet Faustus, leave that execrable art. 
 Faust. Contrition, prayer, repentance! What of 
 
 them? 
 G. Aug. O, they are means to bring thee unto 
 
 Heaven. 
 E. Ang. Rather, illusions — fruits of lunacy, 
 That makes men foolish that do trust them most. 
 G. Ang. Sweet Faustus, think of Heaven, and 
 
 heavenly things. 
 E. Ang. No, Faustus, think of honour and of 
 wealth. [Exejint Angels. 
 
 Faust. Of v/ealth ! 
 Why the signiory of Embden ^ shall be mine. 
 When Mephistophihs shall stand by me. 
 What God can hurt thee? Faustus, thou art safe : 
 Cast no more doubts. Come, Mephistophihs, 
 And bring glad tidings from great Lucifer ; — 
 Is 't not midnight? Come, Mephistophilis; 
 Veni, vetii^ Mephistophile ! 
 
 Enter Mephistophilis. 
 
 Now tell me, what says Lucifer thy lord ? 
 
 Meph. That I shall wait on Faustus whilst he lives, 
 So he will buy my service with his soul. 
 
 Faust. Already Faustus hath hazarded that for 
 thee. 
 
 1 A city on the Ems, and ^t one time important for its 
 commerce, 
 
26 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Meph. But, Faustus, thou must bequeath it solemnly, 
 And write a deed of gift with thine own blood, 
 For that security craves great Lucifer. 
 If thou deny it, I will back to hell. 
 
 Faust. Stay, Mephistophilis! and tell me what good 
 Will my soul do thy lord. 
 
 Meph. Enlarge his kingdom. 
 
 Faust. Is that the reason why he tempts us thus ? 
 
 Meph. Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris.^ 
 
 Faust. Why, have you any pain that tortures 
 others ? 
 
 Meph. As great as have the human souls of men. 
 But tell me, Faustus, shall I have thy soul ? 
 And I will be thy slave, and wait on thee, 
 And give thee more than thou hast wit to ask. 
 
 Faust. Ay, Mephistophilis, I give it thee. 
 
 Meph. Then, Faustus, stab thine arm courageously, 
 And bind thy soul that at some certain day 
 Great Lucifer may claim it as his own ; 
 And then be thou as great as Lucifer. 
 
 Faust, {stabbing his arm). Lo, Mephistophilis, 
 for love of thee, 
 I cut mine arm, and with my proper blood 
 Assure my soul to be great Lucifer's, 
 Chief lord and regent of perpetual night! 
 View here the blood that trickles from mine arm. 
 And let it be propitious for my wish. 
 
 Meph. But, Faustus, thou must 
 Write it in manner of a deed of gift. 
 
 Faust. Ay, so I will. {Writes.) But, Mephis- 
 tophilis, 
 My blood congeals, and I can write no more. 
 
 1 Best rendered, perhaps, by the familiar proverb, " Misery 
 loves company." 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 27 
 
 MepJi. I '11 fetch thee fire to dissolve it straight. 
 
 \_EXLt. 
 
 Faust. What might the staying of my blood por- 
 tend? 
 Is it unwilling I should write this bill ? 
 Why streams it not that I may write afresh ? 
 Faustiis gives to thee his soul. Ah, there it stayed. 
 Why should'st thou not ? Is not thy soul thine own.-* 
 Then write again, F^aust^cs gives to thee his soul. 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis with a chafer of coals. 
 
 Meph. Here 's fire. Come, Faustus, set it on. 
 
 Faust. So now the blood begins to clear again ; 
 Now will I make an end immediately. \Writes. 
 
 Meph. O what will not I do to obtain his soul! 
 
 \_Aside. 
 
 Faust. Consiumnatum est:'^ this bill is ended, 
 And Faustus hath bequeathed his soul to Lucifer. 
 But what is this inscription on mine arm? 
 Homo.fugel Whither should I fly? 
 If unto God, he '11 throw me down to hell. 
 My senses are deceived ; here 's nothing writ : — 
 I see it plain ; here in this place is writ 
 Homo., fugel Yet shall not Faustus fly. 
 
 Meph. I '11 fetch him somewhat to delight his mind. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis with Devils, who give crowns 
 
 and rich apparel to Faustus, dance, and depart. 
 
 Faust. Speak, Mephistophilis, what means this 
 
 show? 
 Meph. Nothing, Faustus, but to delight thy mind 
 withal, 
 And to show thee what magic can perform. 
 
 1 " It is done." 
 
28 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Faust. But may I raise up spirits when I please? 
 
 Meph. Ay, Faustus, and do greater things than 
 these. 
 
 Faust. Then there 's enough for a thousand souls. 
 Here, Mephistophilis, receive this scroll, 
 A deed of gift of body and of soul : 
 But yet conditionally that thou perform 
 All articles prescribed between us both. 
 
 Meph. Faustus, I swear by hell and Lucifer 
 To effect all promises between us made. 
 
 Faust. Then hear me read them : On these condi- 
 tions following. First, that Faustus may be a spirit 
 in form and substance. Secondly, that Mephistophilis 
 shall be his servant, and at his cotnmand. Thirdly, 
 shall do for him and bring him whatsoever he desires. 
 Fourthly, that he shall be in his chamber or house in- 
 visible. Lastly, that he shall appear to the said John 
 Faustus, at all times, and in what form or shape soever 
 he pleases. I, John Faustus, of Wertemberg, Doctor, 
 by these presents do give both body and soul to Lucifer, 
 Prince of the East, and his mitiister, Mephistophilis : 
 and furthermore gra?it unto them, that twenty-four 
 years being expired, the articles above written invio- 
 late, fidl power to fetch or carry the said John Fausttis, 
 body a?td soid, flesh, blood, or goods, into their habita- 
 tion wheresoever. By me, 
 
 John Faustus. 
 
 Meph. Speak, Faustus, do you deliver this as your 
 
 deed? 
 Faust. Ay, take it, and the Devil give thee good on 't. 
 Meph. Now, Faustus, ask what thou wilt. 
 Faust. First will I question with thee about hell. 
 Tell me where is the place that men call hell? 
 Meph. Under the Heavens. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 29 
 
 Faiist. Ay, but whereabout? 
 
 Meph. Within the bowels of these elements, 
 Where we are tortured and remain forever ; 
 Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed 
 In one self place ; for where we are is hell, 
 And where hell is there must we ever be : 
 And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, 
 And every creature shall be purified, 
 All places shall be hell that is not Heaven. 
 
 Faust. Come, I think hell 's a fable. 
 
 Meph. Ay, think so still, till experience change thy 
 mind. 
 
 Faust. Why, think'st thou then that Faustus shall 
 be damned? 
 
 Meph. Ay, of necessity, for here 's the scroll 
 Wherein thou hast given thy soul to Lucifer. 
 
 Faust. Ay, and body too ; but what of that? 
 Think'st thou that Faustus is so fond to imagine 
 That, after this life, there is any pain ? 
 Tush ; these are trifles, and mere old wives' tales. 
 
 Meph. But, Faustus, I am an instance to prove the 
 contrary, 
 For I am damned, and am now in hell. 
 
 Faust. How! now in hell? 
 Nay, an this be hell, I Ul willingly be damned here ; 
 What ? walking, disputing, etc. ? 
 But, leaving off this, let me have a wife. 
 The fairest maid in Germany ; 
 For I am wanton and lascivious. 
 And cannot live without a wife. 
 
 Meph . How — a wife ? 
 I prithee, Faustus, talk not of a wife. 
 
 Faust. Nay, sweet Mephistophilis, fetch me one, 
 for I will have one. 
 
30 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Meph. Well — thou wilt have one. Sit there till I 
 come: I'll fetch thee a wife in the Devil's name. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis with a devil dressed like a 
 wofJian, with fireworks. 
 
 Meph. Tell me, Faustus, how dost thou like thy 
 wife? 
 
 Faust. A plague on her for a hot whore! 
 
 Meph. Tut, Faustus, 
 Marriage is but a ceremonial toy ; 
 And if thou lovest me, think no more of it. 
 I '11 cull thee out the fairest courtesans. 
 And bring them every morning to thy bed ; 
 She whom thine eye shall like, thy heart shall have, 
 Be she as chaste as was Penelope,^ 
 As wise as Saba,^ or as beautiful 
 As was bright Lucifer before his fall. 
 Here, take this book, peruse it thoroughly : 
 
 \^Gives a book. 
 The iterating of these lines brings gold ; 
 The framing of this circle on the ground 
 Brings whirlwinds, tempests, thunder and lightning; 
 Pronounce this thrice devoutly to thyself, 
 And men in armour shall appear to thee. 
 Ready to execute what thou desir'st. 
 
 Faiist. Thanks, Mephistophilis ; yet fain would I 
 have a book wherein I might behold all spells and 
 incantations, that I might raise up spirits when I 
 please. 
 
 Meph. Here they are, in this book. 
 
 \Turns to them. 
 
 1 The faithful wife of Ulysses. See Stephen Phillips's drama. 
 
 2 The Queen ofSheba. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 31 
 
 Faust. Now would I have a book where I might 
 see all characters and planets of the heavens, that 
 I might know their motions and dispositions. 
 
 Meph. Here they are too. \_T21rns to them. 
 
 Faust. Nay, let me have one book more, — and 
 then I have done, — wherein I might see all plants, 
 herbs, and trees that grow upon the earth. 
 
 Meph. Here they be. 
 
 Faust. O, thou art deceived. 
 
 Meph. Tut, I warrant thee. 
 
 {Turns to them. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. ^ 
 Enter Faustus and Mephistophilis. 
 
 Faust. When I behold the heavens, then I repent, 
 And curse thee, wicked Mephistophilis, 
 Because thou hast deprived me of those joys. 
 
 Meph. Why, Faustus, 
 Thinkest thou Heaven is such a glorious thing ? 
 I tell thee 't is not half so fair as thou, 
 Or any man that breathes on earth. 
 
 Faust. How prov'st thou that ? 
 
 Meph. 'T was made for man, therefore is man more 
 excellent. 
 
 Faust. If it were made for man, 't was made for 
 me; 
 I will renounce this magic and repent. 
 
 Enter Good Angel and Evil Angel. 
 
 G. Ang. Faustus, repent ; yet God will pity thee. 
 E. Ang. Thou art a spirit ; God can not pity thee. 
 
 1 The scene is a room in the house of Faustus. 
 
32 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Faust. Who buzzeth in mine ears I am a spirit ? 
 Be I a devil, yet God may pity me ; 
 Ay, God will pity me if I repent. 
 
 E. Ang. Ay, but Faustus never shall repent. 
 
 \Exeunt Angels. 
 
 Faust. My heart 's so hardened I cannot repent. 
 Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven, 
 But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears 
 " Faustus, thou art damned ! " Then swords and 
 
 knives, 
 Poison, gun, halters, and envenomed steel 
 Are laid before me to despatch myself, 
 And long ere this I should have slain myself, 
 Had not sweet pleasure conquered deep despair. 
 Have not I made blind Homer sing to me 
 Of Alexander's ^ love and CEnon's ^ death ? 
 And hath not he that built the walls of Thebes^ 
 With ravishing sound of his melodious harp, 
 Made music with my Mephistophilis ? 
 Why should I die then, or basely despair ? 
 I am resolved : Faustus shall ne'er repent — 
 Come, Mephistophilis, let us dispute again, 
 And argue of divine astrology. 
 Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon ? 
 Are all celestial bodies but one globe, 
 As is the substance of this centric earth ? 
 
 Meph. As are the elements, such are the spheres 
 Mutually folded in each other's orb, 
 And, P^austus, 
 
 All jointly move upon one axletree 
 Whose terminine is termed the world's wide pole ; 
 
 1 Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy. 
 
 2 CEnon, i.e. CEnone, whom Paris loved. 
 8 Amphion. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. t,2, 
 
 Nor are the names of Saturn, Mars, or Jupiter 
 Feigned, but are erring stars. 
 
 Faust. But tell me, have they all one motion both, 
 sitji et tempore.^ 
 
 Meph. All jointly move from east to west in twenty- 
 four hours upon the poles of the world ; but differ in 
 their motion upon the poles of the zodiac. 
 
 Faust. Tush ! 
 These slender trifles Wagner can decide ; 
 Hath Mephistophilis no greater skill .? 
 Who knows not the double motion of the planets ? 
 The first is finished in a natural day ; 
 The second thus : as Saturn in thirty years ; Jupiter 
 in twelve ; Mars in four ; the Sun, Venus, and Mer- 
 cury in a year; the moon in twenty-eight days. 
 Tush, these are freshmen's suppositions. But tell 
 me, hath every sphere a dominion or intelligentia f 
 
 Meph. Ay. 
 
 Faust. How many heavens, or spheres, are there .'* 
 
 Meph. Nine : the seven planets, the firmament, and 
 the empyreal heaven. 
 
 Faust. Well, resolve me in this question : Why 
 have we not conjunctions, oppositions, aspects, 
 eclipses, all at one time, but in some years we have 
 more, in some less ? 
 
 Meph. Per inceqicalem motum respectu totius.^ 
 
 Faust. Well, I am answered. Tell me who made 
 the world. 
 
 Meph. I will not. 
 
 Fatist. Sweet Mephistophilis, tell me. 
 
 Meph. Move me not, for I will not tell thee. 
 
 1 " In direction and time." 
 
 2 "Through unequal movements, in respect of the whole." 
 
 D 
 
34 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Fmist. Villain, have I not bound thee to tell me 
 anything? 
 
 Meph. Ay, that is not against our kingdom ; but 
 this is. Think thou on hell, Faustus, for thou art 
 damned. 
 
 Faust. Think, Faustus, upon God that made the 
 world. 
 
 Meph. Remember this. \Exit. 
 
 Faust. Ay, go, accursed spirit, to ugly hell. 
 'T is thou hast damned distressed Faustus' soul. 
 Is't not too late? 
 
 Reenter Good Angel and Evil Angel. 
 
 E. Ang. Too late. 
 
 G. Ang. Never too late, if Faustus can repent. 
 
 E. Ang. If thou repent, devils shall tear thee in 
 pieces. 
 
 G. Ajig. Repent, and they shall never raze thy 
 skin. \Exeunt Angels. 
 
 Faust. Ah, Christ my Saviour, 
 Seek to save distressed Faustus' soul! 
 
 E7iter Lucifer, Belzebub, and Mephistophilis. 
 
 Luc. Christ cannot save thy soul, for he is just ; 
 There 's none but I have interest in the same. 
 
 Faust. O, who art thou that look'st so terrible? 
 
 Luc. I am Lucifer, 
 And this is my companion-prince in hell. 
 
 Faust. O Faustus! they are come to fetch away 
 thy soul! 
 
 Luc. We come to tell thee thou dost injure us ; 
 Thou talk'st of Christ contrary to thy promise ; 
 Thou should'st not think of God : think of the Devil. 
 
 Faust. Nor will I henceforth : pardon me in this, ' 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 35 
 
 And Faustus vows never to look to Heaven, 
 Never to name God, or to pray to him, 
 To burn his Scriptures, slay his ministers. 
 And make my spirits pull his churches down. 
 
 Luc. Do so, and we will highly gratify thee. 
 Faustus, we are come from hell to show thee some 
 pastime : sit down, and thou shalt see all the Seven 
 Deadly Sins appear in their proper shapes. 
 
 FaJist. That sight will be as pleasing unto me, 
 As Paradise was to Adam the first day 
 Of his creation. 
 
 Liic. Talk not of Paradise nor creation, but mark 
 this show : talk of the Devil, and nothing else : come 
 away! 
 
 Enter the Seven Deadly Sins.^ 
 
 Now, Faustus, examine them of their several names 
 and dispositions. 
 
 Fatist. What art thou — the first? 
 
 Pride. I am Pride. I disdain to have any parents. 
 I am like to Ovid's flea : ^ I can creep into every corner 
 of a wench ; sometimes, like a periwig, I sit upon 
 her brow ; or like a fan of feathers, I kiss her lips ; 
 indeed I do — what do I not? But, fie, what a scent 
 is here! I'll not speak another word, except the 
 ground were perfumed, and covered with cloth of 
 arras. 
 
 Faust. What art thou — the second? 
 
 Covet. I am Covetousness, begotten of an old churl 
 in an old leathern bag ; and might I have my wish I 
 would desire that this house and all the people in it 
 
 1 See Spenser's description of the deadly sins, Faerie 
 Queene, I., 4, 17-36. 
 
 2 A reference to De Pulice, attributed, without much 
 ground, to Ovid. 
 
36 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 were turned to gold, that I might lock you up in my 
 good chest. O, my sweet gold! 
 
 Fatist. What art thou — the third ? 
 
 Wrath. I am Wrath. I had neither father nor 
 mother : I leapt out of a lion's mouth when I was 
 scarce half an hour old;- and ever sisce I have run up 
 and down the world with this case ^ of rapiers, wound- 
 ing myself when I had nobody to fight withal. I was 
 born in hell ; and look to it, for some of you shall be 
 my father. 
 
 Faust. What art thou — the fourth? 
 
 Envy. I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper 
 and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore 
 wish all books were burnt. I am lean with seeing 
 others eat. O that there would come a famine 
 through all the world, that all might die, and I live 
 alone! then thou should'st see how fat I would be. 
 But must thou sit and I stand! Come down with a 
 vengeance! 
 
 Fatist. Away, envious rascal ! What art thou — 
 the fifth? 
 
 Glut. Who, I, sir? I am Gluttony. My parents 
 are all dead, and the devil a penny they have left me, 
 but a bare pension, and that is thirty meals a day and 
 ten bevers ^ — a small trifle to suffice nature. O, I 
 come of a royal parentage! My grandfather was a 
 Gammon of Bacon, my grandmother was a Hogshead 
 of Claret-wine ; my godfathers were these, Peter 
 Pickleherring and Martin Martlemas-beef ; ^ O, but my 
 
 1 A pair of rapiers carried in one sheath, and used one in 
 each hand. 
 
 2 Bevers are lunches between meals. 
 
 3 It was usual to hang up meats (which were already salted) 
 on St. Martin's day, Nov. ii. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 37 
 
 godmother, she was a jolly gentlewoman, and well 
 beloved in every good town and city ; her name was 
 Mistress Margery March-beer.^ Now, Faustus, thou 
 hast heard all my progeny, wilt thou bid me to 
 supper? 
 
 Faust. No, 1 11 see thee hanged : thou wilt eat up 
 all my victuals. 
 
 Glut. Then the Devil choke thee! 
 
 Fmist. Choke thyself, glutton! Who art thou — 
 the sixth ? 
 
 Sloth. I am Sloth. I was begotten on a sunny 
 bank, where I have lain ever since ; and you have 
 done me great injury to bring me from thence : let 
 me be carried thither again by Gluttony and Lechery. 
 I "11 not speak another word for a king's ransom. 
 
 Faust. What are you, Mistress Minx, the seventh, 
 and last? 
 
 Lech. Who, I, sir? I am one that loves an inch 
 of raw mutton better than an ell of fried stockfish ; 
 and the first letter of my name begins with L.^ 
 
 Luc. Away to hell, to hell! Now, Faustus, how 
 dost thou like this? 
 
 [Exeunt the Sins. 
 
 Faust. O, this feeds my soul! 
 
 Luc. Tut, Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight. 
 
 F'aust. O might I see hell, and return again, 
 How happy were I then ! 
 
 Luc. Thou shalt ; I will send you there at midnight. 
 In meantime take this book ; peruse it throughly, 
 And thou shalt turn thyself into what shape thou wilt. 
 
 1 March beer was best liked. 
 
 2 The quartos have "Lechery." Collier suggested the 
 change, now generally followed. 
 
38 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Faust. Great thanks, mighty Lucifer ! 
 This I will keep as chary as my life. 
 
 Luc. Farewell, Faustus, and think on the Devil. 
 
 Faust. Farewell, great Lucifer! 
 
 \Exeimt Lucifer a7td Belzebub. 
 Come, MephistophiHs. Exeimt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. Learned Faustus, 
 To know the secrets of astronomy, 
 Graven in the book of Jove's high firmament, 
 Did mount himself to scale Olympus' top. 
 Being seated in a chariot burning bright. 
 Drawn by the strength of yoky dragon's necks. 
 He now is gone to prove cosmography. 
 And, as I guess, will first arrive at Rome, 
 To see the Pope and manner of his court. 
 And take some part of holy Peter's feast, 
 That to this day is highly solemnised. \Exit. 
 
 Scene VH.i 
 
 Enter Faustus and Mephistophilis. 
 
 Faust. Having now, my good Mephistophilis, 
 Passed with delight the stately town of Trier,^ 
 Environed round with airy mountain tops. 
 With walls of flint, and deep entrenched lakes, 
 Not to be won by any conquering prince ; 
 From Paris next, coasting the realm of France, 
 We saw the river Maine fall into Rhine, 
 Whose banks are set with groves of fruitful vines ; 
 
 1 In the Pope's privy chamber. 
 
 2 Trier is the German form of Treves. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 39 
 
 Then up to Naples, rich Campania, 
 
 Whose buildings fair and gorgeous to the eye. 
 
 The streets straight forth, and paved with finest brick, 
 
 Quarter the town in four equivalents : 
 
 There saw we learned Maro's ^ golden tomb, 
 
 The way he cut, an English mile in length, 
 
 Thorough a rock of stone in one night's space ; 
 
 From thence to Venice, Padua, and the rest, 
 
 In one of which a sumptuous temple ^ stands, 
 
 That threats the stars with her aspiring top. 
 
 Thus hitherto has Faustus spent his time : 
 
 But tell me, now, what resting-place is this ? 
 
 Hast thou, as erst I did command, 
 
 Conducted me within the walls of Rome ? 
 
 Meph. Faustus, I have ; and because we will not 
 be unprovided, I have taken up his Holiness' privy 
 chamber for our use. 
 
 Faust. I hope his Holiness will bid us welcome. 
 
 Meph. Tut, 't is no matter, man, we '11 be bold with 
 his good cheer. 
 
 And now, my Faustus, that thou may'st perceive 
 What Rome containeth to delight thee with, 
 Know that this city stands upon seven hills 
 That underprop the groundwork of the same : 
 Just through the midst runs flowing Tiber's stream. 
 With winding banks that cut it in two parts : 
 Over the which four stately bridges lean. 
 That make safe passage to each part of Rome : 
 Upon the bridge called Ponte Angelo 
 Erected is a castle passing strong, 
 
 1 Virgil. The allusion is to the great tunnel built by him 
 near Naples. In mediaeval times he was considered a 
 magician. 
 
 2 Probably St. Mark's at Venice. 
 
40 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Within whose walls such store of ordnance are, 
 And double cannons ^ formed of carved brass, 
 As match the days within one complete year ; 
 Besides the gates and high pyramides,^ 
 Which Julius Caesar brought from Africa. 
 
 Faust. Now by the kingdoms of infernal rule, 
 Of Styx, of Acheron, and the fiery lake 
 Of ever-burning Phlegethon, I swear 
 That I do long to see the monuments 
 And situation of bright-splendent Rome : 
 Come therefore, let 's away. 
 
 Meph. Nay, Faustus, stay ; I know you M see the 
 Pope, 
 And take some part of holy Peter's feast. 
 Where thou shalt see a troop of bald-pate friars, 
 Whose stunmiun bonuin is in belly-cheer. 
 
 Faiist. Well, I 'm content to compass them some 
 sport, 
 And by their folly make us merriment. 
 Then charm me, Mephistophilis, that I 
 May be invisible, to do what I please 
 Unseen of any whilst I stay in Rome, 
 
 [Mephistophilis charms him. 
 
 Meph. So, Faustus, now 
 Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not be discerned. 
 
 Sound a somiet.^ Enter the Pope and the Cardinal 
 OF LoRRAiN to the banquet., with Friars attending. 
 
 Pope. My Lord of Lorrain, wilt please you draw 
 near ? 
 
 1 Either cannons double-bored, or simply large cannons. 
 
 2 Pyramides once referred to church spires, but obelisks are 
 here meant. 
 
 8" A peculiar set of notes on cornet or trumpet." — Nares., 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 41 
 
 Faust. Fall to, and the Devil choke you an you 
 spare ! 
 
 Pope. How now! Who's that which spake? — 
 Friars, look about. 
 
 \st Friar. Here 's nobody, if it like your Holiness. 
 
 Pope. My lord, here is a dainty dish was sent me 
 from the Bishop of Milan. 
 
 Faust. I thank you, sir. \Snatches the dish. 
 
 Pope. How now! Who's that which snatched the 
 meat from me? Will no man look? My Lord, this 
 dish was sent me from the Cardinal of Florence. 
 
 Faust. You say true; I '11 ha"t. [Snatches the dish. 
 
 Pope. What, again ! My lord, I Ul drink to your 
 grace. 
 
 Faust. I 'll pledge your grace. [Snatches the cup. 
 
 C. of Lor. My lord, it may be some ghost newly 
 crept out of purgatory, come to beg a pardon of your 
 Holiness. 
 
 Pope. It may be so. Friars, prepare a dirge to lay 
 the fury of this ghost. Once again, my lord, fall to. 
 
 [The Pope crosses himself. 
 
 Faiist. What, are you crossing of yourself ? 
 Well, use that trick no more, I would advise you. 
 
 [The Pope crosses himself again. 
 Well, there 'S the second time. Aware the third, 
 1 give you fair warning. 
 
 [The Pope crosses himself again ^ and Faustus hits 
 hi;n a box of the ear ; and they all run away. 
 Come on, Mephistophilis, what shall we do? 
 
 Meph. Nay, I know not. We shall be cursed with 
 bell, book, and candle. 
 
 Faust. How! bell, book, and candle, — candle, 
 book, and bell, 
 Forward and backward to curse Faustus to hell ! 
 
42 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Anon you shall hear a hog grunt, a calf bleat, an ass 
 
 bray, 
 Because it is St. Peter's holiday. 
 
 Reenter the Friars to sing the Dirge. 
 
 1st Friar. Come, brethren, let 's about our business 
 with good devotion. 
 
 They sing : 
 Cursed be he that stole away his Holiness' meat from 
 
 the table! Maledicat Doininiis ! 
 Cursed be he that struck his Holiness a blow on the 
 
 face ! Maledicat Dominus ! 
 Cursed be he that took Friar Sandelo a blow on the 
 
 pate ! Maledicat Dotnimcs ! 
 Cursed be he that disturbeth our holy dirge ! Maledi- 
 cat Dominus ! 
 Cursed be he that took away his Holiness' wine! 
 Maledicat Domimis ! Et omnes sancti I A?ne7i ! 
 [Mephistophilis and Faustxjs deal the Friars, a^id 
 fling fireworks among theni: and so exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Chorus. When Faustus had with pleasure ta'en the 
 view 
 Of rarest things, and royal courts of kings. 
 He stayed his course, and so returned home ; 
 Where such as bear his absence but with grief, 
 I mean his friends, and nearest companions, 
 Did gratulate his safety with kind words, 
 And in their conference of what befell, 
 Touching his journey through the world and air, 
 They put forth questions of Astrology, 
 Which Faustus answered with such learned skill, 
 As they admired and wondered at his wit. 
 Now is his fame spread forth in every land ; 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 43 
 
 Amongst the rest the Emperor is one, 
 Carolus the Fifth, at whose palace now 
 Faustus is feasted 'mongst his noblemen. 
 What there he did in trial of his art, 
 I leave untold — your eyes shall see performed. 
 
 \_Exii. 
 Scene VIII. i 
 
 Enter Robin the Ostler with a Book in his Hand. 
 
 Robin. O, this is admirable! here I ha' stolen one 
 of Dr. Faustus's conjuring books, and i' faith I mean 
 to search some circles for my own use. Now will I 
 make all the maidens in our parish dance at my pleas- 
 ure, stark naked before me ; and so by that means I 
 shall see more than e'er I felt or saw yet. 
 
 Enter Ralph calling Robin. 
 
 Ralph. Robin, prithee come away ; there 's a gentle- 
 man tarries to have his horse, and he would have his 
 things rubbed and made clean : he keeps such a chaf- 
 ing with my mistress about it ; and she has sent me 
 to look thee out ; prithee come away. 
 
 Robijt. Keep out, keep out, or else you are blown 
 up ; you are dismembered, Ralph : keep out, for I am 
 about a roaring piece of work. 
 
 Ralph. Come, what dost thou with that same book? 
 Thou canst not read. 
 
 Robin. Yes, my master and mistress shall find that 
 I can read, he for his forehead, she for her private 
 study ; she 's born to bear with me, or else my art fails. 
 
 Ralph. Why, Robin, what book is that ? 
 
 Robin. What book ! why the most intolerable book 
 
 for conjuring that e'er was invented by any brimstone 
 
 devil. 
 
 1 The scene is an inn-yard. 
 
44 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Ralph. Canst thou conjure with it ? 
 
 Robin. 1 can do all these things easily with it ; first, 
 I can make thee drunk with ippocras ^ at any tabern in 
 Europe for nothing ; that 's one of my conjuring works. 
 
 Ralph. Our Master Parson says that 's nothing. 
 
 Robin. True, Ralph ; and more, Ralph, if thou hast 
 any mind to Nan Spit, our kitchenmaid, then turn her 
 and wind her to thy own use as often as thou wilt, and 
 at midnight. 
 
 Ralph. O brave Robin, shall I have Nan Spit, and 
 to mine own use ? On that condition I 'd feed thy devil 
 with horsebread ^ as long as he lives, of free cost. 
 
 Robin. No more, sweet Ralph : let 's go and make 
 clean our boots, which lie foul upon our hands, and 
 then to our conjuring in the DeviFs name. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 Enter Robin and Ralph with a Silver Goblet. 
 
 Robin. Come, Ralph, did not I tell thee we were 
 for ever made by this Doctor Faustus's book ? ecce 
 signuni, here 's a simple purchase for horsekeepers ; 
 our horses shall eat no hay as long as this lasts. 
 
 Ralph. But, Robin, here comes the vintner. 
 
 Robin. Hush! I '11 gull him supernaturally. 
 
 Enter Vintner. 
 
 Drawer, I hope all is paid : God be with you ; come, 
 Ralph. 
 
 1 Ippocras (hippocras) is a drink made of red wine, sugar, 
 and various spices. 
 
 2 It was a common practice among our ancestors to feed 
 horses on bread. Nares quotes from Gervase Markham a 
 recipe for making horse-loaves. — Bullen. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 45 
 
 Vint. Soft, sir ; a word with you. I must yet have 
 a goblet paid from you, ere you go. 
 
 Robhi. I, a goblet, Ralph ; I, a goblet ! I scorn you, 
 and you are but a, etc.^ I, a goblet ! search me. 
 
 Vint. I mean so, sir, with your favour. 
 
 Robin. How say you now ? \Searches him. 
 
 Vint. I must say somewhat to your fellow. You, sir ! 
 
 Ralph. Me, sir! me, sir! search your fill. (^Vititner 
 searches him.) Now, sir, you may be ashamed to 
 burden honest men with a matter of truth. 
 
 Vint. Well, t' one of you hath this goblet about you. 
 
 Robin. You lie, drawer, 'tis afore me. {Aside.) 
 Sirrah you, 1 11 teach you to impeach honest men ; — 
 stand by ; — I "11 scour you for a goblet! — stand aside 
 you had best, I charge you in the name of Belzebub. 
 Look to the goblet, Ralph. \_Aside to Ralph. 
 
 Vint. What mean you, sirrah ? 
 
 Robin. I '11 tell you what I mean. {Reads frofu a 
 book.) Sanctobnlontm Periphrasticon — Nay, I '11 
 tickle you, vintner. Look to the goblet, Ralph. 
 
 \_Aside to Ralph. 
 {Reads.) Polypragmos Belseborams f^-amanto pacos- 
 tiphos tostii., Mephistophilis.^ etc. 
 
 Enter Mephistopiilis, sets squibs at their backs, 
 and then exit. They run about. 
 
 Vifit. O nomine Domini! What meanest thou, 
 Robin? thou hast no goblet. 
 
 Ralph. Peccatum peccatoruml Here 's thy goblet, 
 good vintner. ( Gives the goblet to Vintner, who exit. 
 
 1 The actor here supplies any abusive terms. Mr. Butler 
 mentions an old play ( Tryall of Chivalry') with the stage direc- 
 tion, '• Exit clown, speaking anything.'' 
 
46 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Robift. Misericordia pro nobis! What shall I do? 
 Good Devil, forgive me now, and I '11 never rob thy 
 library more. 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis. 
 
 Meph. Monarch of hell, under whose black survey 
 Great potentates do kneel with awful fear, 
 Upon whose altars thousand souls do lie. 
 How am I vexed with these villains' charms? 
 From Constantinople am I hither come 
 Only for pleasure of these damned slaves. 
 
 Robin. How from Constantinople? You have had 
 a great journey : will you take sixpence in your purse 
 to pay for your supper, and begone ? 
 
 Meph. Well, villains, for your presumption, I 
 transform thee into an ape, and thee into a dog ; and 
 so begone. \Exit. 
 
 Robin. How, into an ape ; that's brave! I '11 have 
 fine sport with the boys. I'll get nuts and apples 
 enow. 
 
 Ralph. And I must be a dog. 
 
 Robin. V faith thy head will never be out of the 
 pottage pot. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene X.i 
 
 Enter Emperor, Faustus, and a Knight with 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Emp. Master Doctor Faustus, I have heard strange 
 report of thy knowledge in the black art, how that 
 none in my empire nor in the whole world can com- 
 pare with thee for the rare effects of magic : they say 
 thou hast a familiar spirit, by whom thou canst accom- 
 plish what thou list. This therefore is my request, 
 
 iThe scene is a room in the Emperor's palace. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 47 
 
 that thou let me see some proof of thy skill, that mine 
 eyes may be witnesses to confirm what mine ears 
 have heard reported : and here I swear to thee by 
 the honour of mine imperial crown, that, whatever 
 thou doest, thou shalt be no ways be prejudiced or en- 
 damaged. 
 
 Knight, r faith he looks much like a conjuror. 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Faiist. My gracious sovereign, though I must con- 
 fess myself far inferior to the report men have pub- 
 lished, and nothing answerable to the honour of your 
 imperial majesty, yet for that love and duty binds me 
 thereunto, I am content to do whatsoever your maj- 
 esty shall command me. 
 
 Einp. Then, Doctor Faustus, mark what I shall 
 say. 
 As I was sometime solitary set 
 Within my closet, sundry thoughts arose 
 About the honour of mine ancestors, 
 How they had won by prowess such exploits, 
 Got such riches, subdued so many kingdoms 
 As we that do succeed, or they that shall 
 Hereafter possess our throne, shall 
 (I fear me) ne'er attain to that degree 
 Of high renown and great authority ; 
 Amongst which kings is Alexander the Great, 
 Chief spectacle of the world's preeminence. 
 The bright shining of whose glorious acts 
 Lightens the world with his reflecting beams, 
 As when I hear but mention made of him 
 It grieves my soul I never saw the man. 
 If therefore thou by cunning of thine art 
 Canst raise this man from hollow vaults below, 
 Where lies entombed this famous conqueror, 
 
48 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 And bring with him his beauteous paramour, 
 Both in their right shapes, gesture, and attire 
 They used to wear during their time of life, 
 Thou shalt both satisfy my just desire, 
 And give me cause to praise thee whilst I live. 
 
 Faust. My gracious lord, I am ready to accomplish 
 your request so far forth as by art, and power of my 
 Spirit, I am able to perform. 
 
 Knight. V faith that 's just nothing at all. {Aside. 
 
 Faust. But, if it like your grace, it is not in my 
 ability to present before your eyes the true sub- 
 stantial bodies of those two deceased princes, which 
 long since are consumed to dust. 
 
 Knight. Ay, marry. Master Doctor, now there 's a 
 sign of grace in you, when you will confess the truth. 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Faust. But such spirits as can lively "esemble 
 Alexander and his paramour shall appear before your 
 grace in that manner that they both lived in, in their 
 most flourishing estate ; which I doubt not shall suffi- 
 ciently content your imperial majesty. 
 
 Emp. Go to, Master Doctor, let me see them 
 presently. 
 
 Knight. Do you hear. Master Doctor ? You bring j 
 Alexander and his paramour before the Emperor ! 
 
 Faust. How then, sir ? 
 
 Knight. V faith that 's as true as Diana turned me 
 to a stag ! 
 
 Faust. No, sir, but when Actaeon died,^ he left the 
 horns for you. Mephistophilis, begone. 
 
 {Exit Mephisto. 
 
 1 Diana, angered because Actason surprised her bathing, 
 changed the young hunter into a stag and he was torn in 
 pieces by his own dogs. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 49 
 
 Knight. Nay, an you go to conjuring, I '11 begone. 
 
 \^Exit. 
 Faust. I '11 meet you anon for interrupting me so. 
 Here they are, my gracious lord. 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis with Spirits in the shape of 
 Alexander a?id his Paramour. 
 
 Emp. Master Doctor, I heard this lady while she 
 lived had a wart or mole in her neck : how shall I 
 know whether it be so or no ? 
 
 Faust. Your highness may boldly go and see. 
 
 Evip. Sure these are no spirits, but the true sub- 
 stantial bodies of those two deceased princes. 
 
 {Exeunt Spirits. 
 
 Faust. Will 't please your highness now to send 
 for the knight that was so pleasant with me here 
 of late ? 
 
 E7np. One of you call him forth ! 
 
 \Exit Attendant. 
 
 Reenter the Knight with a pair of horns on his head. 
 
 How now, sir knight ! why I had thought thou 
 hadst been a bachelor, but now I see thou hast a 
 wife, that not only gives thee horns, but makes thee 
 wear them. Feel on thy head. 
 
 Knight. Thou damned wretch and execrable dog. 
 Bred in the concave of some monstrous rock, 
 Hovi^ darest thou thus abuse a gentleman ? 
 Villain, I say, undo what thou hast done ! 
 
 Faust. O, not so fast, sir ; there 's no haste ; but, 
 good, are you remembered how you crossed me in my 
 conference with the Emperor ? I think I have met 
 with you for it. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Emp. Good Master Doctor, at my entreaty release 
 him : he hath done penance sufficient. 
 
 Fatist. My gracious lord, not so much for the 
 injury he offered me here in your presence, as to 
 delight you with some mirth, hath Faustus worthily 
 requited this injurious knight : which, being all I de- 
 sire, I am content to release him of his horns : and, 
 sir knight, hereafter speak well of scholars. Mephis- 
 tophilis, transform him straight. (Mephistophilis 
 removes the horns.) Now, my good lord, having 
 done my duty I humbly take my leave. 
 
 Efnp. Farewell, Master Doctor ; yet, ere you go. 
 Expect from me a bounteous reward. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene XI.i 
 Enter Faustus a7id Mephistophilis. 
 
 Faust. Now, Mephistophilis, the restless course 
 That Time doth run with calm and silent foot, 
 Shortening my days and thread of vital life, 
 Calls for the payment of my latest years : 
 Therefore, sweet Mephistophilis, let us 
 Make haste to Wertenberg. 
 
 Meph. What, will you go on horseback or on foot? 
 
 Faust. Nay, till I 'm past this fair and pleasant green, 
 Pll walk on foot. 
 
 Enter a Horse-Courser. 
 
 Horse-C. I have been all this day seeking one 
 Master Fustian : mass, see where he is ! God save 
 you, Master Doctor! 
 
 Faust. What, horse-courser! You are well met. 
 
 1 The third speech tells us that this scene is a "fair and 
 pleasant green," which changes to a room in Faustus's house 
 when he " sleeps in his chair." 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 5 1 
 
 Horse-C. Do you hear, sir? I have brought you 
 forty dollars for your horse. 
 
 Faust. I cannot sell him so : if thou likest him 
 for fifty, take him. 
 
 Horse-C. Alas, sir, I have no more. — I pray you 
 speak for me. 
 
 Meph. I pray you let him have him : he is an 
 lionest fellow, and he has a great charge, neither wife 
 nor child. 
 
 Faiist. Well, come, give me your money. (Horse- 
 Courser gives Faustus the money.) My boy will de- 
 liver him to you. But I must tell you one thing before 
 you have him ; ride him not into the water at any hand. 
 
 Horse-C. Why, sir, will he not drink of all waters? 
 
 Faiist. O yes, he w'ill drink of all waters, but ride 
 him not into the water : ride him over hedge or ditch, 
 or where thou wilt, but not into the water. 
 
 Florse-C. Well, sir. — Now am I made man for- 
 ever : I '11 not leave my horse for twice forty : if he 
 had but the quality of hey-ding-ding, hey-ding-ding, 
 I 'd make a brave living on him : he has a buttock as 
 slick as an eel. {Aside.) Well, God b' wi' ye, sir, 
 your boy will deliver him me : but hark you, sir ; if 
 my horse be sick or ill at ease, if I bring his water to 
 you, you 11 tell me what it is. 
 
 Faust. Away, you villain ; what, dost think I am a 
 horse-doctor? \_Exit Horse-Courser. 
 
 What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemned to die? 
 Thy fatal time doth draw to final end ; 
 Despair doth drive distrust unto my thoughts : 
 Confound these passions with a quiet sleep : 
 Tush, Christ did call the thief upon the cross ; 
 Then rest thee, Faustus, quiet in conceit, 
 
 [Sleeps if I his chair. 
 
52 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Enter Horse-Courser, all wet, crying. 
 
 Horse-C. Alas, alas! Doctor Fustian quotha? mass, 
 Doctor Lopus^ was never such a doctor : has given me 
 a purgation has purged me of forty dollars ; I shall 
 never see them more. But yet, like an ass as I was, 
 I would not be ruled by him, for he bade me I should 
 ride him into no water : now I, thinking my horse 
 had had some rare quality that he would not have 
 had me known of, I, like a venturous youth, rid him 
 into the deep pond at the town's end. I was no 
 sooner in the middle of the pond, but my horse 
 vanished away, and I sat upon a bottle of hay, never 
 so near drowning in my life. But I '11 seek out my 
 Doctor, and have my forty dollars again, or I '11 make 
 it the dearest horse! — O, yonder is his snipper- 
 snapper. — Do you hear? you hey-pass, ^ where 's your 
 master ? 
 
 Meph. Why, sir, what would you? You cannot 
 speak with him. 
 
 Horse-C. But I will speak with him. 
 
 Meph. Why, he's fast asleep. Come some other 
 time. 
 
 Horse-C. I'll speak with him now, or I'll break 
 his glass windows about his ears. 
 
 Meph. I tell thee he has not slept this eight nights. 
 
 Horse-C. An he have not slept this eight weeks, 
 I '11 speak with him. 
 
 1 Dr. Lopez, a Spaniard, physician to Queen Elizabeth. 
 In 1594 he was hanged for accepting from the court of Spain 
 a bribe to poison the queen. This probably was not written 
 by Marlowe, since he was dead before the doctor became 
 notorious. 
 
 2 A juggler's term, applied naturally to the juggler himself. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 53 
 
 Meph. See where he is, fast asleep. 
 
 Horse-C. Ay, this is he. God save you, Master 
 Doctor, Master Doctor, Master Doctor Fustian! — 
 Forty dollars, forty dollars for a bottle of hay ! 
 
 Meph. Why, thou seest he hears thee not. 
 
 Horse-C. So ho, ho! — so ho, ho! (^Hollas in his 
 ear.) No, will you not wake? I '11 make you wake 
 ere I go. \^Pulls Faustus by the leg., and pulls it 
 away.) Alas, I am undone! What shall I do? 
 
 Faust. O my leg, my leg! Help, Mephistophilis! 
 call the officers. My leg, my leg! 
 
 Meph. Come, villain, to the constable. 
 
 Horse-C. O lord, sir, let me go, and I Ml give you 
 forty dollars more. 
 
 Meph. Where be they? 
 
 Horse-C. I have none about me. Come to my 
 ostry and I Ul give them you. 
 
 Meph. Begone quickly. 
 
 [Horse-Courser ru7is away. 
 
 Faust. What, is he gone? Farewell he! Faustus 
 has his leg again, and the horse-courser, I take it, a 
 bottle of hay for his labour. Well, this trick shall 
 cost him forty dollars more. 
 
 Enter Wagner. 
 
 How now, Wagner, what's the news with thee? 
 
 Wag. Sir, the Duke of Vanholt doth earnestly 
 entreat your company. 
 
 Faust. The Duke of Vanholt! an honourable gen- 
 tleman, to whom I must be no niggard of my cunning. 
 Come, Mephistophilis, let 's away to him. {Exeunt. 
 
54 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Scene XII.i 
 
 Enter the Duke of Vanholt, the Duchess, 
 Faustus, arid Mephistophilis. 
 
 Duke. Believe me, Master Doctor, this merriment 
 hath much pleased me. 
 
 Faust. My gracious lord, I am glad it contents you 
 so well. — But it may be, madam, you take no delight 
 in this. I have heard that great-bellied women do 
 long for some dainties or other : what is it, madam ? 
 tell me, and you shall have it. 
 
 Duchess. Thanks, good Master Doctor; and for I 
 see your courteous intent to pleasure me, I will not 
 hide from you the thing my heart desires ; and were 
 it now summer, as it is January and the dead time of 
 the winter, I would desire no better meat than a dish 
 of ripe grapes. 
 
 Faust. Alas, madam, that 's nothing! Mephistoph- 
 ilis, begone. {Exit Mephistophilis.) Were it a 
 greater thing than this, so it would content you, you 
 should have it. 
 
 Reenter Mephistophilis with grapes. 
 
 Here they be, madam ; wilt please you taste on them? 
 
 Duke. Believe me, Master Doctor, this makes me 
 wonder above the rest, that being in the dead time of 
 winter, and in the month of January, how you should 
 come by these grapes. 
 
 Faust. If it like your grace, the year is divided into 
 two circles over the whole world, that, when it is here 
 winter with us, in the contrary circle it is summer with 
 them, as in India, Saba, and farther countries in the 
 East ; and by means of a swift spirit that I have I had 
 
 1 In the court of the Duke of Anhalt. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 55 
 
 them brought hither, as you see. — How do you like 
 them, madam ; be they good? 
 
 Duchess. BeHeve me, Master Doctor, they be the 
 best grapes that e'er I tasted in my life before. 
 
 Faust. I am glad they content you so, madam. 
 
 Duke. Come, madam, let us in, where you must well 
 reward this learned man for the great kindness he hath 
 showed to you. 
 
 Duchess. And so I will, my lord ; and, whilst I live, 
 rest beholding for this courtesy. 
 
 F'aust. I humbly thank your grace. 
 
 Duke. Come, Master Doctor, follow us and receive 
 your reward. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene XIII.i 
 
 Enter Wagner. 
 
 Wag. I think my master shortly means to die, 
 For he hath given to me all his goods : 
 And yet, methinks, if that death were so near, 
 He would not banquet, and carouse and swill 
 Amongst the students, as even now he doth, 
 Who are at supper with such belly-cheer 
 As Wagner ne'er beheld in all his life. 
 See where they come! belike the feast is ended. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Scene XIV. 
 
 Enter Faustus, with two or three Scholars and 
 
 Mephistophilis. 
 
 \st Schol. Master Doctor Faustus, since our con- 
 ference about fair ladies, which was the beautifullest in 
 
 1 Scenes XIII. and XIV. are within Faustus' house. 
 
5 6 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 all the world, we have determined with ourselves that 
 Helen of Greece was the admirablest lady that ever 
 lived : therefore, Master Doctor, if you will do us that 
 favour, as to let us see that peerless dame of Greece, 
 whom all the world admires for majesty, we should 
 think ourselves much beholding unto you. 
 
 Faust. Gentlemen, 
 For that I know your friendship is unfeigned. 
 And Faustus' custom is not to deny 
 The just requests of those that wish him well. 
 You shall behold that peerless dame of Greece, 
 No otherways for pomp and majesty 
 Than when Sir Paris crossed the seas with her, 
 And brought the spoils to rich Dardania. 
 Be silent, then, for danger is in words. 
 
 \_Miisic sounds, and Helen passeth over the stage. 
 
 2nd Schol. Too simple is my wit to tell her praise, 
 Whom all the world admires for majesty. 
 
 yd Schol. No marvel though the angry Greeks 
 pursued 
 With ten years' war the rape of such a queen, 
 Whose heavenly beauty passeth all compare. 
 
 \st Schol. Since we have seen the pride of Nature's 
 works, 
 And only paragon of excellence. 
 Let us depart ; and for this glorious deed 
 Happy and blest be Faustus evermore. 
 
 Faust. Gentlemen, farewell — the same I wish to 
 you. Exeunt Scholars. 
 
 Enter an Old Man. 
 
 Old Majt. Ah, Doctor Faustus, that I might prevail 
 To guide thy steps unto the way of life. 
 By which sweet path thou may'st attain the goal 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 57 
 
 That shall conduct thee to celestial rest! 
 
 Break heart, drop blood, and mingle it with tears, 
 
 Tears falling from repentant heaviness 
 
 Of thy most vile and loathsome filthiness, 
 
 The stench whereof corrupts the inward soul 
 
 With such flagitious crimes of heinous sins 
 
 As no commiseration may expel, 
 
 But mercy, Faustus, of thy Saviour sweet, 
 
 Whose blood alone must wash away thy guilt. 
 
 Faust. Where art thou, Faustus? wretch, what 
 hast thou done ? 
 Damned art thou, Faustus, damned ; despair and die! 
 Hell calls for right, and with a roaring voice 
 Says " Faustus ! come ! thine hour is almost come ! " 
 And Faustus now will come to do the right. 
 
 [Mephistophilis gives him a dagger. 
 
 Old Man. Ah stay, good Faustus, stay thy desper- 
 ate steps ! 
 I see an angel hovers o'er thy head, 
 And, with a vial full of precious grace. 
 Offers to pour the same into thy soul : 
 Then call for mercy, and avoid despair. 
 
 Faust. Ah, my sweet friend, I feel 
 Thy words do comfort my distressed soul. 
 Leave me a while to ponder on my sins. 
 
 OldMafi. I go, sweet Faustus, but with heavy cheer, 
 Fearing the ruin of thy hopeless soul. \_Exit. 
 
 Faust. Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now ? 
 I do repent ; and yet I do despair ; 
 Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast : 
 What shall I do to shun the snares of death ? 
 
 Meph. Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul 
 For disobedience to my sovereign lord ; 
 Revolt, or I '11 in piecemeal tear thy flesh. 
 
5 8 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Faust. Sweet Mephistophilis, entreat thy lord 
 
 To pardon my unjust presumption. 
 
 And with my blood again I will confirm 
 
 My former vow I made to Lucifer. 
 
 Meph. Do it then quickly, with unfeigned heart, 
 
 Lest greater danger do attend thy drift. 
 
 [Faustus stabs his ann and writes on a paper 
 with his bloods- 
 Faust. Torment, sweet friend, that base and 
 crooked age. 
 
 That durst dissuade me from thy Lucifer, 
 
 With greatest torments that our hell aiTords. 
 
 Meph. His faith is great : I cannot touch his soui ; 
 
 But what I may afflict his body with 
 
 I will attempt, which is but little worth. 
 Faust. One thing, good servant, let me crave of thee, 
 
 To glut the longing of my heart's desire, — 
 
 That I might have unto my paramour 
 
 That heavenly Helen, which I saw of late, 
 
 Whose sweet embracings may extinguish clean 
 
 These thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow, 
 
 And keep mine oath I made to Lucifer. 
 
 Meph. Faustus, this or what else thou shalt desire 
 
 Shall be performed in twinkling of an eye. 
 
 Reenter Helen. 
 
 Faust. Was this the face that launched a thousand 
 ships ^ 
 And burnt the topless towers of IHum? 
 
 1 This stage direction was suggested by Dyce. 
 
 2 In Tamburlaine the Great, II., Act II., Scene 4, Marlowe 
 has : — 
 
 " Helen (whose beauty summoned Greece to arms, 
 And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos) ." 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 59 
 
 Sweet Helen, make me immortal with akiss. \^Kissesher. 
 
 Her lips suck forth my soul ; see where it flies ! — 
 
 Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. 
 
 Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips, 
 
 And all is dross that is not Helena. 
 
 I will be Paris, and for love of thee, 
 
 Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sacked : 
 
 And I will combat with weak Menelaus, 
 
 And wear thy colours on my plumed crest : 
 
 Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel, 
 
 And then return to Helen for a kiss. 
 
 Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air 
 
 Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars ; 
 
 Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter 
 
 When he appeared to hapless Semele : ^ 
 
 More lovely than the monarch of the sky 
 
 In wanton Arethusa's '■^ azured arms : 
 
 And none but thou shall be my paramour. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene XV.^ 
 
 Enter the Old Man. 
 
 Accursed Faustus, miserable man. 
 
 That from thy soul exclud'st the grace of Heaven, 
 
 And fly'st the throne of his tribunal seat ! 
 
 And Shakspere, Troilus and Cressida, II., 2: — 
 
 " Why, she is a pearl 
 Whose price hath launched above a thousand ships." 
 
 1 In answer to Semele's prayer Jupiter appeared to her, but 
 she perished in the fire of his splendor. 
 
 2Arethusa, a water-nymph, was pursued by the river-god 
 Alpheos. She was changed into a fountain with which 
 Alpheos mingled his stream. 
 
 3 Scenes XV. and XVI. are in Faustus' house. 
 
6o THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 Enter Devils. 
 
 Satan begins to sift me with his pride : 
 As in this furnace God shall try my faith, 
 My faith, vile hell, shall triumph over thee. 
 Ambitious fiends ! see how the heavens smile 
 At your repulse, and laugh your state to scorn ! 
 Hence, hell! for hence I fly unto my God. 
 {Exeunt on one side Devils — 07t the other ^ Old Man. 
 
 Scene XVI. 
 Enter Faustus with Scholars. 
 
 Faust. Ah, gentlemen! 
 
 1st Schol. What ails Faustus ? 
 
 Faust. Ah, my sweet chamber-fellow, had I lived 
 with thee, then had I lived still ! but now I die eter- 
 nally. Look, comes he not, comes he not ? 
 
 2nd Schol. What means Faustus ? 
 
 ■})rd Schol. Belike he is grown into some sickness 
 by being over solitary. 
 
 \st Schol. If it be so, we Ul have physicians to cure 
 him. ■'T is but a surfeit. Never fear, man. 
 
 Faust. A surfeit of deadly sin that hath damned 
 both body and soul. 
 
 ind Schol. Yet, Faustus, look up to Heaven : re- 
 member God's mercies are infinite. 
 
 Faust. But Faustus' offences can never be par- 
 doned : the serpent that tempted Eve may be saved, 
 but not Faustus. Ah, gentlemen, hear me with pa- 
 tience, and tremble not at my speeches ! Though my 
 heart pants and quivers to remember that I have been 
 a student here these thirty years, oh, would I had 
 never seen Wertenberg, never read book ! and what 
 wonders I have done, all Germany can witness, yea, 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 6i 
 
 all the world : for which Faustus hath lost both Ger- 
 many and the world, yea Heaven itself, Heaven, the 
 seat of God, the throne of the blessed, the kingdom 
 of joy ; and must remain in hell for ever, hell, ah, 
 hell, for ever ! Sweet friends ! what shall become of 
 Faustus being in hell for ever ? 
 
 yd Schol. Yet, Faustus, call on God. 
 
 Faust. On God, whom Faustus hath abjured ! on 
 God, whom Faustus hath blasphemed ! Ah, my God, 
 I would weep, but the Devil draws in my tears. Gush 
 forth biood instead of tears ! Yea, life and soul ! Oh, 
 he stays my tongue ! I would lift up my hands, but 
 see, they hold them, they hold them ! 
 
 All. Who, Faustus .? 
 
 Faust. Lucifer and Mephistophilis. Ah, gentle- 
 men, I gave them my soul for my cunning ! 
 
 All. God forbid ! 
 
 Faust. God forbade it indeed ; but Faustus hath 
 done it : for vain pleasure of twenty-four years hath 
 Faustus lost eternal joy and felicity. I writ them a 
 bill with mine own blood : the date is expired ; the 
 time will come, and he will fetch me. 
 
 1st Schol. Why did not Faustus tell us of this be- 
 fore, that divines might have prayed for thee ? 
 
 Faust. Oft have I thought to have done so : but 
 the Devil threatened to tear me in pieces if I named 
 God ; to fetch both body and soul if I once gave ear 
 to divinity : and now 't is too late. Gentlemen, away ! 
 lest you perish with me. 
 
 2nd Schol. Oh, what shall we do to save Faustus ? 
 
 Faust. Talk not of me, but save yourselves, and 
 depart. 
 
 yd Schol. God will strengthen me. I will stay 
 with Faustus. 
 
62 THE TRAGICAL HISTORY 
 
 \st Schol. Tempt not God, sweet friend; but let 
 us into the next room, and there pray for him. 
 
 Faust. Ay, pray for me, pray for me ! and what 
 noise soever ye hear, come not unto me, for nothing 
 can rescue me. 
 
 ind Schol. Pray thou, and we will pray that God 
 may have mercy upon thee. 
 
 Faust. Gentlemen, farewell : if I live till morning 
 I '11 visit you : if not — Faustus is gone to hell. 
 
 All. Faustus, farewell. 
 
 \_Exeu7it Scholars. The clock strikes eleven. 
 
 Faust. Ah, Faustus, 
 Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, 
 And then thou must be damned perpetually ! 
 Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven, 
 That time may cease, and midnight never come ; 
 Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make 
 Perpetual day ; or let this hour be but 
 A year, a month, a week, a natural day, 
 That Faustus may repent and save his soul ! 
 O lente, le?tte, cur rite noctis equi ! ^ 
 The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, 
 The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damned. 
 O, I '11 leap up to my God ! Who pulls me down ? 
 See, see where Christ's blood streams in the firma- 
 ment ! 
 One drop would save my soul — half a drop : ah, my 
 
 Christ ! 
 Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ ! 
 Yet will I call on him : O spare me, Lucifer ! — 
 Where is it now ? 't is gone ; and see where God 
 Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows! 
 
 1 " O, slowly, slowly, run, ye horses of the night." 
 The line is from Ovid's Amores, I., 13, 40. 
 
OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 6^ 
 
 Mountain and hills come, come and fall on me, 
 
 And hide me from the heavy wrath of God! 
 
 No ; no ! 
 
 Then will I headlong run into the earth ; 
 
 Earth gape ! O no, it will not harbour me ! 
 
 You stars that reigned at my nativity, 
 
 Whose influence hath allotted death and hell, 
 
 Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist 
 
 Into the entrails of yon labouring clouds, 
 
 That when they vomit forth into the air, 
 
 My limbs may issue from their smoky mouths. 
 
 So that my soul may but ascend to heaven. 
 
 \_The clock strikes the half hour. 
 
 Ah, half the hour is past ! 't will all be past anon ! 
 
 OGod! 
 
 If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul. 
 
 Yet for Christ's sake whose blood hath ransomed me. 
 
 Impose some end to my incessant pain ; 
 
 Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years — 
 
 A hundred thousand, and — at last — be saved ! 
 
 O, no end is limited to damned souls ! 
 
 Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul? 
 
 Or why is this immortal that thou hast? 
 
 Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis ! were that true. 
 
 This soul should fly from me, and I be changed 
 
 Unto some brutish beast ! all beasts are happy, 
 
 For, when they die, 
 
 Their souls are soon dissolved in elements ; 
 
 But mine must live, still to be plagued in hell. 
 
 Curst be the parents that engendered me ! 
 
 No, Faustus: curse thyself: curse Lucifer 
 
 That hath deprived thee of the joys of Heaven. 
 
 {The clock strikes twelve. 
 O, it strikes, it strikes ! Now, body, turn to air, 
 
64 HISTORY OF DOCTOR FAUST US. 
 
 Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell. 
 
 [Thunder and lightning. 
 
 soul, be changed into little water-drops, 
 And fall into the ocean — ne'er be found. 
 
 [Enter Devils. 
 My God ! my God ! look not so fierce on me ! 
 Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile! 
 Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer! 
 
 1 '11 burn my books ! — Ah Mephistophilis! 
 
 [Exeunt Devils with Faustus. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Cho. Cut is the branch that might have grown full 
 straight, 
 And burned is Apollo's laurel bough, 
 That sometime grew within this learned man. 
 Faustus is gone ; regard his hellish fall, 
 Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise 
 Only to wonder at unlawful things, 
 Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits 
 To practise more than heavenly power permits. [Exit. 
 
BEN JONSON. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 By Ben Jonson. 
 
( 
 
BEN JONSON. 
 
 Every Man in His Humour was first presented by 
 the Lord Chamberlain's Servants in 1598. From the 
 entries in Henslowe's diary, it is evident that the play 
 enjoyed great popularity. It was revived by the Duke 
 of York's Company when the theatres opened after the 
 Restoration. In still later days Garrick in the role 
 of Kitely produced it with a powerful cast at Drury 
 Lane, in 1800. Cooke appeared in the usurer's part, 
 as, subsequently, did Edmund Kean and Charles 
 Young. This was the first play chosen by that famous 
 company of amateurs headed by Charles Dickens, 
 who handled the character of Bobadill with splendid 
 effect. Since then — 1845 — ^'^'^ earliest and one of 
 the best of Jonson's comedies has been left to the 
 quiet hour in the study. Tradition says that the play 
 was first accepted on Shakspere's advice, and that 
 in this way began the acquaintance which matured in 
 the firm friendship of later years. 
 
 In the prologue Jonson sets forth the scheme of the 
 play : — 
 
 ". . . deeds, and language, such as men do use, 
 And persons, such as comedy would choose, 
 When she would shew an image of the times. 
 And sport with human follies, not with crimes." 
 
 There is no great complexity of plot ; interest is cen- 
 tred in character and people, not in incident. The 
 classic Jonson follows Aristotle, and claims both 
 comedy and tragedy as the poet's right. Jonson there- 
 
 67 
 
68 BEN J ON SON. 
 
 fore presents a far more faithful picture of Elizabethan 
 times than Shakspere does. He sees the vices, fol- 
 lies, fashions, foibles, — in short, the " humours '' of 
 his day, and reveals them in the action of his play. 
 
 Jonson, born in 1573, was the posthumous son of 
 a London clergyman. He went to Westminster 
 School at the expense of "^ Master Camden," to whom 
 the present play is dedicated, and later entered St. 
 John's College, Cambridge. It is not, however, prob- 
 able that he was ever in attendance, though " by their 
 favors "he was subsequently made Master of Arts by 
 both universities. He became a tradesman, then sol- 
 dier in the Low Countries, next a London actor, and 
 finally, by accident, a playwright. This profession 
 once assumed, he followed assiduously until his death 
 in 1635. In his lifetime he was highly honored and 
 became the literary dictator of the greatest age our 
 literature has known. To-day he is ranked next to 
 Shakspere as a dramatic genius. 
 
 And famous Jonson, though his learned pen 
 Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben. 
 
 — Hiej- archie of the Blessed Angels, 
 
 Thomas Heywood. 
 
 Ah Ben ! 
 Say how, or when 
 Shall we thy guests 
 Meet at those lyric feasts, 
 
 Made at the Sun, 
 
 The Dog, the Triple Tun? 
 
 Where we such clusters had 
 
 As made us wholly wild, not mad ; 
 
 And yet each verse of thine 
 
 Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. 
 
BEN JONSON. 69 
 
 My Ben ! 
 
 Or come again 
 
 Or send to us, 
 
 Thy wit's great overplus ; 
 
 But teach us yet 
 
 Wisely to husband it, 
 
 Lest we that talent spend ; 
 
 And having once brought to an end 
 
 That precious stock, the store 
 
 Of such a wit the world should have no more. 
 
 An Ode for Him, Robert Herrick. 
 
To THE Most Learned and my Honoured 
 Friend, Master Camden, Clarencieux. 
 
 Sir, — There are, no doubt, a supercilious race in 
 the world, who will esteem all ofifice, done you in this 
 kind, an injury ; so solemn a vice it is with them to 
 use the authority of their ignorance, to the crying 
 down of Poetry, or the professors : but my gratitude 
 must not leave to correct their error ; since I am none 
 of those that can suffer the benefits conferred upon 
 my youth to perish with my age. It is a frail mem- 
 ory that remembers but present things : and, had the 
 favour of the times so conspired with my disposition, 
 as it could have brought forth other, or better, you 
 had had the same proportion, and number of the 
 fruits, the first. Now I pray you to accept this ; such 
 wherein neither the confession of my manners shall 
 make you blush ; nor of my studies, repent you to 
 have been the instructor : and for the profession of 
 my thankfulness, I am sure it will, with good men, 
 find either praise or excuse. Your true lover, 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 The dedication was first printed in the 1616 edition of 
 Jonson's works, Camden, a scholar of no mean attainments, 
 was second master at Westminster when Jonson was at 
 school. 
 
 70 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Knowell, an old Gentleman. 
 
 Edward Knowell, his Son. 
 
 Brainworm, the Father's Man. 
 
 George Downright, a plain Squire. 
 
 Wellbred, his Half-Brother. 
 
 KiTELY, a Merchant. 
 
 Captain Bobadill, a Paul's Man.i 
 
 Master Stephen, a Country Gull. 
 
 Master Mathew, the Town Gull. 
 
 Thomas Cash, Kitely's Cashier. 
 
 Oliver Cob, a Water-bearer. 
 
 Justice Clement, an old merry Magistrate. 
 
 Roger Formal, his Clerk. 
 
 Wellbred's servant. 
 
 Dame Kitely, Kitely's Wife. 
 
 Mrs. Bridget, his Sister. 
 
 Tib, Cob's Wife. 
 
 Servants, etc. 
 
 Scene: LONDON. 
 
 The 1616 edition mentions the following actors in the first 
 presentation : Will Shakespeare, Ric. Burbadge, Aug. Philips, 
 Joh. Hemings, Hen. Coudel, Tho. Pope, Will. Kempe, Will. 
 Slye, Chr. Beeston, Joh. Duke. 
 
 ^ i.e. frequenter of the aisle of St. Paul's. 
 
 71 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 Though need make many poets, and some such 
 
 As art and nature have not bettered much ; 
 
 Yet ours for want hath not so loved the stage, 
 
 As he dare serve the ill customs of the age. 
 
 Or purchase your delight at such a rate, 
 
 As, for it, he himself must justly hate : 
 
 To make a child now swaddled, to proceed 
 
 Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed, 
 
 Past threescore years ; or, with three rusty swords, 
 
 And help of some few foot ?nd half- foot words, 
 
 Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars. 
 
 And in the tyring-house bring wounds to scars. 
 
 He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see 
 
 One such to-day, as other plays should be ; 
 
 Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas, 
 
 Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please ; 
 
 Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard 
 
 The gentlewomen ; nor rolPd bullet heard 
 
 To say, it thunders ; nor tempestuous drum 
 
 Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come ; 
 
 But deeds, and language, such as men do use. 
 
 And persons, such as comedy would choose, 
 
 When she would shew an image of the times, 
 
 And sport with human follies, not with crimes. 
 
 Except we make them such, by loving still 
 
 Our popular errors, when we know they 're ill. 
 
 I mean such errors as you '11 all confess. 
 
 By laughing at them, they deserve no less : 
 
 Which when you heartily do, there 's hope left then. 
 
 You, that have so grac'd monsters, may like men. 
 
 72 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 ACT I. 
 Scene I. 
 A Street. 
 
 Enter Knowell, at the door of his house. 
 
 Know. A goodly day toward, and a fresh morning. — 
 Brainworm ! 
 
 Enter Brainworm. 
 
 Call up your young master : bid him rise, sir. 
 Tell him, I have some business to employ him. 
 
 Brai. I will, sir, presently. 
 
 Know. But hear you, sirrah, 
 
 If he be at his book, disturb him not. 
 
 Brai. Very good, sir. \_Exit. 
 
 Know. How happy yet should I esteem myself, 
 Could I, by any practice, wean the boy 
 From one vain course of study he affects. 
 He is a scholar, if a man may trust 
 The liberal voice of fame in her report, 
 Of good account in both our Universities,^ 
 Either of which hath favoured him with graces : 
 But their indulgence must not spring in me 
 A fond opinion that he cannot err. 
 
 1 Jonson was M. A. of both. 
 73 
 
74 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Myself 1 was once a student, and indeed, 
 
 Fed with tlie self-same humour he is now, 
 
 Dreaming on nought but idle poetry, 
 
 That fruitless and unprofitable art, 
 
 Good unto none, but least to the professors ; 
 
 Which then I thought the mistress of all knowledge : 
 
 But since, time and the truth have waked my judgment, 
 
 And reason taught me better to distinguish 
 
 The vain from the useful learnings. 
 
 Enter Master Stephen. 
 
 Cousin Stephen, 
 What news with you, that you are here so early ? 
 
 Step. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you do, 
 uncle. 
 
 iCfiow. That 's kindly done ; you are welcome, coz. 
 
 Step. Ay, I thow that, sir ; I would not have come 
 else. How does my cousin Edward, uncle ? 
 
 Know. O, well, coz ; go in and see ; I doubt he be 
 scarce stirring yet. 
 
 Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an he 
 have e'er a book of the science of hawking and hunt- 
 ing ; I would fain borrow it. 
 
 Know. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, 
 will you ? 
 
 Step. No, wusse ; but I '11 practise against next 
 year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, 
 and bells, and all ; I lack nothing but a book to keep 
 it by. 
 
 Know. Oh, most ridiculous ! 
 
 Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle : — 
 
 1 Probably a thrust at Kyd's Spanish tragedy, particularly 
 the character Jeronimo, a part once played by Jonson. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 75 
 
 Why, you know an a man have not skill ^ in the hawk- 
 ing and hunting languages now-a-days, 1 '11 not give a 
 rush for him : they are more studied than the Greek, 
 or the Latin. He is for no gallant's company without 
 them ; and by gadslid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a 
 consort for every humdrum : hang them, scroyles ! 
 there's nothing in them i' the world. What do you 
 talk on it .'* Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep 
 company with none but the archers of Finsbury,^ or 
 the citizens that come a ducking ^ to Islington ponds ! 
 A fine jest, i' faith ! 'Slid, a gentleman mun show 
 himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not 
 angry ; I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no 
 novice. 
 
 Kfioiv. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb, go to ! 
 Nay, never look at me, 't is I that speak ; 
 Take't as you will, sir, I '11 not flatter you. 
 Have you not yet found means enow to waste 
 That which your friends have left you, but you must 
 Go cast away your money on a buzzard. 
 And know not how to keep it, when you have 
 
 done ? 
 Oh, it is comely ! that will make you a gentleman ! 
 Well, cousin, well, I see you are e'en past hope 
 Of all reclaim : — ay, so ; now you are told on 't, 
 You look another way. 
 
 Step. What would you ha' me do ? 
 
 Know. What would I have you do ? I '11 tell you, 
 kinsman ; 
 
 1 Knowledge of such terms was part of a polite education. 
 See glossary, 
 
 2 About 1500, Finsbury Manor was made a practice ground 
 for archery. 
 
 3 Duck hunting with dogs. 
 
76 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Learn ^ to be wise, and practise how to thrive ; 
 
 That would I have you do : and not to spend 
 
 Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, 
 
 Or every foolish brain that humours you. 
 
 I would not have you to invade each place. 
 
 Nor thrust yourself on all societies, 
 
 Till men's affections, or your own desert. 
 
 Should worthily invite you to your rank. 
 
 He that is so respectless in his courses. 
 
 Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. 
 
 Nor would I, you should melt away yourself 
 
 In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect 
 
 To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 
 
 A little puff of scorn extinguish it ; 
 
 And you be left like an unsavoury snuff. 
 
 Whose property is only to offend. 
 
 I 'd have you sober, and contain yourself, 
 
 Not that j'our sail be bigger than your boat ; 
 
 But moderate your expenses now, at first. 
 
 As you may keep the same proportion still : 
 
 Nor stand so much on your gentility. 
 
 Which is an airy and mere borrowM thing. 
 
 From dead men's dust and bones ; and none of yours, 
 
 Except you make, or hold it. 
 
 Enter a Servant.^ 
 
 Who comes here ? 
 Serv. Save you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, 
 friend ; yet you are welcome : and I assure you mine 
 
 1 Shakspere played the part of Knowell. Cf. Hamlet, I., 
 
 3.78. 
 
 '■^ In earliest editions, Scene 2. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 77 
 
 uncle here is a man of a thousand a year, Middlesex 
 land. He has but one son in all the world, I am his 
 next heir, at the common law, Master Stephen, as 
 simple as I stand here, if my cousin die, as there 's 
 hope he will : I have a pretty living o' mine own too, 
 beside, hard by here. 
 
 Serv. In good time, sir. 
 
 Step. " In good time, sir ? " ^ why, and in very 
 good time, sir ! You do not flout, friend, do you ? 
 
 Serv. Not I, sir. 
 
 Step. Not you, sir ! You were best not, sir ; an 
 you should, here be them can perceive it, and that 
 quickly, too ; go to : and they can give it again 
 soundly too, an need be. 
 
 Serv. Why, sir, let this satisfy you; good faith, I 
 had no such intent. 
 
 Step. Sir, an I thought you had, I would talk ^ with 
 you, and that presently. 
 
 Serv. Good Master Stephen, so you may, sir, at 
 your pleasure. 
 
 Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy compan- 
 ion ! an you were out o"' mine uncle's ground, I can 
 tell you ; though I do not stand upon my gentility 
 neither, in 't. 
 
 Know. Cousin, cousin, will this ne'er be left? 
 
 Step. Whoreson, base fellow ! a mechanical serv- 
 ing-man ! By this cudgel, an 't were not for shame, 1 
 would — 
 
 Know. What would you do, you peremptory gull ? 
 If you cannot be quiet, get you hence. 
 You see the honest man demeans himself 
 Modestly tow'rds you, giving no reply 
 
 1 Stephen, of course, thinks he is " flouting" the servant. 
 
 2 That is, he would do more than talk. 
 
78 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 To your UnseasonM, quarrelling, rude fashion ; 
 And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage 
 As void of wit, as of humanity. 
 Go, get you in ; 'fore heaven, I am ashamed 
 Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me. 
 
 \^Exit Master Stephen. 
 
 Serv. I pray, sir, is this Master Knowell's house 1 
 
 Know. Yes, marry is it, sir. 
 
 Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one 
 Master Edward Knowell ; do you know any such, sir, 
 I pray you ? 
 
 Know. I should forget myself else, sir. 
 
 Serv. Are you the gentleman ? Cry you mercy, sir : 
 I was required by a gentleman in the city, as I rode out 
 at this end o' the town, to deliver you this letter, sir. 
 
 Know. To me, sir ! What do you mean ? pray 
 you remember your court'sy. \Readsr[ To his ?nost 
 selected friend., Master Edward Knowell. What 
 might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it ? 
 Nay, pray you be covered. 
 
 Serv. One Master Wellbred, sir. 
 
 Know. Master Wellbred! a young gentleman, is 
 he not? 
 
 Serv. The same, sir ; Master Kitely married his 
 sister ; the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. 
 
 Know. You say very true. — Brainworm ! 
 
 Enter Brainworm. 
 
 Brai. Sir. 
 
 Know. Make this honest friend drink here : pray 
 you, go in. \Exe2int Brainworm and Servant. 
 
 This letter is directed to my son ; 
 Yet I am Edward Knowell too, and may, 
 With the safe conscience of good manners, use 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 79 
 
 The fellow's error to my satisfaction. 
 Well, 1 will break it ope (old men are curious), 
 Be it but for the style's sake and the phrase ; 
 To see if both do answer my son's praises, 
 Who is almost grown the idolater 
 Of this young Wellbred. What have we here ? 
 What's this? 
 
 \^Reads^ Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou for- 
 sworn all thy friends in the Old Jewry ? or dost thou 
 think us all Jews that inhabit there ? Yet, if thou 
 dost, come over, and but see our frippery ; change an 
 old shirt for a whole smock with us : do not conceive 
 that antipathy between us and Hogsden, as was 
 between Jews and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant 
 father alone, to number over his green apricots, even- 
 ing and morning, on the north-west wall : an I had 
 been his son, I had saved him the labour long since, 
 if taking in all the young wenches that pass by at the 
 back-door, and codling every kernel of the fruit for 
 them, would have served. But, pr'ythee come over 
 to me quickly this morning ; I have such a present 
 for thee ! — our Turkey company never sent the like 
 to the Grand Signior. One is a rhymer, sir, of your 
 own batch, your own leaven ; but doth think himself 
 poet-major of the town, willing to be shown, and 
 worthy to be seen. The other — I will not venture 
 his description with you, till you come, because I 
 would have you make hither with an appetite. If the 
 worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your 
 bill of charges, as unconscionable as any Guildhall 
 verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed 
 your viaticum. From the Windmill.^ 
 
 1 Name of a tavern. 
 
8o EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 From the Bordello ^ it might come as well, 
 
 The Spittle,! or Pict-hatch.^ Is this the man 
 
 My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, 
 
 The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth ! 
 
 I know not what he may be in the arts. 
 
 Nor what in schools ; but, surely, for his manners, 
 
 I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch ; 
 
 Worse by possession of such great good gifts, 
 
 Being the master of so loose a spirit. 
 
 Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ 
 
 In such a scurrilous manner to a friend ! 
 
 Why should he think I tell my apricots, 
 
 Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit. 
 
 To watch it ? Well, my son, I had thought you 
 
 Had had more judgment to have made election 
 
 Of your companions, than t' have ta'en on trust 
 
 Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare 
 
 No argument or subject from their jest. 
 
 But I perceive affection makes a fool 
 
 On any man too much the father. — Brainworm ! 
 
 Enter Brainworm. 
 
 Brai. Sir. 
 
 Know. Is the fellow gone that brought this letter ? 
 Brai. Yes, sir, a pretty while since. 
 Know. And where is your young master ? 
 Brai. In his chamber, sir. 
 Know. He spake not with the fellow, did he ? 
 Brai. No, sir, he saw him not. 
 Know. Take you this letter, and deliver it my son ; 
 but with no notice that I have opened it, on your life. 
 Brai. O Lord, sir ! that were a jest indeed. \_Exit. 
 
 1 Names of taverns and brothels. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 8i 
 
 Know. I am resolved I will not stop his journey, 
 Nor practise any violent means to stay 
 The unbridled course of youth in him ; for that 
 Restrained, grows more impatient ; and in kind 
 Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound, 
 Who ne'er so little from his game withheld, 
 Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat. 
 There is a way of winning more by love, 
 And urging of the modesty, than fear: 
 Force works on servile natures, not the free. 
 He that 's compelled to goodness, may be good. 
 But 't is but for that fit ; where others, drawn 
 By softness and example, get a habit. 
 Then, if they stray, but warn them, and the same 
 They should for virtue have done, they 'II do for 
 shame. \Exit. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A Room in Knowell's House. 
 
 Enter E. Knowell, with a letter i?t his hand, fol- 
 lowed by Brainworm. 
 
 E. Know. Did he open it, say'st thou ? 
 
 Brai. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the contents. 
 
 E. Kiow. That scarce contents me. What coun- 
 tenance, prithee, made he in the reading of it ? was 
 he angry, or pleased ? 
 
 Brai. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, 
 I assure your worship. 
 
 E. Know. No ! how know'st thou then that he did 
 either ? 
 
 Brai. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my 
 life, to tell nobody that he open'd it ; which, unless 
 he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed. 
 
 G 
 
82 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 E. Know. That 's true : well, I thank thee, Brain- 
 worm. 
 
 Enter Stephen. 
 
 Step. O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow 
 here in what-sha-call-him doublet ? He brought mine 
 uncle a letter e'en now. 
 
 B^'ai. Yes, master Stephen ; what of him ? 
 
 Step. O, I have such a mind to beat him — where 
 is he, canst thou tell ? 
 
 Brai. Faith, he is not of that mind : he is gone, 
 master Stephen. 
 
 Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long 
 since? 
 
 Brai. He is rid hence ; he took horse at the street- 
 door. 
 
 Step. And I staid in the fields ! Whoreson scan- 
 derbag ^ rogue ! O that I had but a horse to fetch 
 him back again ! 
 
 Brai. Why, you may have my master's gelding, to 
 save your longing, sir. 
 
 Step. But I have no boots, that 's the spite on 't. 
 
 Brai. Why, a fine wisp of hay, roll'd hard,^ master 
 Stephen. 
 
 Step. No, faith, it 's no boot to follow him now : let 
 him e'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss me a 
 little : he does so vex me — 
 
 Brai. You '11 be worse vexed when you are trussed, 
 master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk your- 
 self till you be cold ; your choler may founder you else. 
 
 1 A name given by the Turks to Castriot the Albanian. A 
 translation of his life (1596) made the allusion familiar to 
 Elizabethans. 
 
 2 A common rustic practice. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, 83 
 
 Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st 
 me on't : how dost thou like my leg, Brainworm? 
 
 Brai. A very good leg, master Stephen ; but the 
 woolen stocking does not commend it so well. 
 
 Step. Foh ! the stockings be good enough, now 
 summer is coming on, for the dust : I ^11 have a pair 
 of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in the town. 
 I think my leg would shew in a silk hose ^ — 
 
 Brai. Believe me, master Stephen, rarely well. 
 
 Step. In sadness, I think it would : I have a reason- 
 able good leg. 
 
 Brai. You have an excellent good leg, master 
 Stephen ; but I cannot stay to praise it longer now, 
 and I am very sorry for it. {Exit. 
 
 Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm. Gra- 
 mercy for this. 
 
 E. Know. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Step. 'Slid, I hope he laughs not at me; and he 
 do — 
 
 E. Know. Here was a letter indeed, to be inter- 
 cepted by a man's father, and do him good with him ! 
 He cannot but think most virtuousl}', both of me, and 
 the sender, sure, that make the careful costermonger 
 of him in our familiar epistles. Well, if he read this 
 with patience I Ml be gelt, and troll ballads for Master 
 John Trundle ^ yonder, the rest of my mortality. It 
 is true, and likely, my father may have as much 
 patience as another man, for he takes much physic ; 
 and oft taking physic makes a man very patient. But 
 would your packet. Master Wellbred, had arrived at 
 him in such a minute of his patience ! then we had 
 known the end of it, which now is doubtful, and 
 
 1 Cf. Twelfth Night, I. 3. 
 
 2 A publisher of popular ballads. 
 
84 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 threatens — {Sees Master Stephen.) What, my wise 
 cousin ! nay, then I '11 furnish our feast with one gull 
 more toward the mess.^ He writes to me of a brace, 
 and here 's one, that 's three : oh, for a fourth. Fortune, 
 if ever thou 'It use thine eyes, I entreat thee — 
 
 Step. Oh, now I see who he laughed at : he laughed 
 at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an he 
 had laughed at me — 
 
 E. Know. How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy? 
 
 Step. Yes, a little: I thought you had laughed at 
 me, cousin. 
 
 E. Know. Why, what an I had, coz.'* What would 
 you have done? 
 
 Step. By this light, I would have told mine uncle. 
 
 E. Know. Nay, if you would have told your uncle, 
 I did laugh at you, coz. 
 
 Step. Did you, indeed? 
 
 E. K710W. Yes, indeed. 
 
 Step. Why then — 
 
 E. Know. What then? 
 
 Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient. 
 
 E. Know. Why, be so, gentle coz : and, I pray 
 you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent foir 
 this morning by a friend in the Old Jewry, to come 
 to him ; it is but crossing over the fields to Moor- 
 gate. Will you bear me company? I protest it is not 
 to draw you into bond or any plot against the state, 
 coz. 
 
 Step. Sir, that 's all one an it were ; you shall com- 
 mand me twice so far as Moorgate, to do you good in 
 such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I 
 protest — 
 
 E. Know. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. 
 
 1 Elizabethan slang for four at dinner. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 85 
 
 Step. By my fackings, but I will, by your leave : — 
 I '11 protest more to my friend, than I '11 speak of at 
 this time. 
 
 E. Ktiow. You speak very well, coz. 
 
 Step. Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me : 
 but I speak to serve my turn. 
 
 E. Know. Your turn, coz ! do you know what you 
 say? A gentleman of your sorts, parts, carriage, and 
 estimation, to talk of your turn in this company, and 
 to me alone, like a tankard-bearer at a conduit ! ^ fie ! 
 A wight that, hitherto, his every step hath left the 
 stamp of a great foot behind him, as every word the 
 savour of a strong spirit, and he ! this man ! so 
 graced, gilded, or, to use a more fit metaphor, so tin- 
 foiled by nature, as not ten housewives' pewter, again 
 a good time,2 shows more bright to the world than he ! 
 and he ! (as I said last, so I say again, and still shall 
 say it) this man ! to conceal such real ornaments as 
 these, and shadow their glory, as a milliner's wife does 
 her wrought stomacher, with a smoaky lawn, or a black 
 Cyprus ! ^ O, coz ! it cannot be answered ; go not 
 about it : Drake's old ship at Deptford may sooner 
 circle the world again. Come, wrong not the qual- 
 ity of your desert, with looking downward, coz ; but 
 hold up your head, so : and let the idea of what you 
 are be portrayed in your face, that men may read in 
 your physnomy, here within this place is to be seen the 
 true, rare, and accomplished monster, or miracle of 
 nature, which is all one. What think you of this, 
 coz? 
 
 Step. Why, I do think of it : and I will be more 
 
 1 Water-carriers supplied private houses from conduits. 
 
 2 i.e. preparation for grand display. 
 8 Linen crape. 
 
S6 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 proud, and melancholy, and gentlemanlike, than I 
 have been, I ''11 insure you. 
 
 E. Know. Why, that 's resolute, master Stephen ! 
 — Now, if I can but hold him up to his height, as it is 
 happily begun, it will do well for a superb humour : 
 we may hap have a match with the city, and play him 
 for forty pound. — Come, coz. 
 
 Step. I '11 follow you. 
 
 E. Know. Follow me ! you must go before. 
 
 Step. Nay, an I must, I will. Pray you shew me, 
 good cousin. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 The Lane before Cob's House. 
 Enter Master Mathew. 
 Mat. I think this be the house : what, ho ! 
 
 Enter Cob. 
 
 Cob. Who's there ? O, master Mathew! give your 
 worship good morrow. 
 
 Mat. What, Cob ! how dost thou, good Cob? 
 Dost thou inhabit here. Cob? 
 
 Cob. Ay, sir, I and my lineage have kept a poor 
 house here, in our days. 
 
 Mat. Thy lineage, monsieur Cobb ! what lineage, 
 what lineage ? 
 
 Cob. Why, sir, an ancient lineage, and a princely. 
 Mine ance'try came from a king's belly, no worse 
 man ; and yet no man either, by your worship's leave, 
 I did lie in that, but herring, the king of fish (from 
 his belly I proceed), one of the monarchs of the 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 87 
 
 world, I assure you. The first red herring that was 
 broiled in Adam and Eve's kitchen, do I fetch my 
 pedigree from, by the harrot's ^ book. His cob ^ was 
 my great, great, mighty great grandfather. 
 
 Mat. Why mighty, why mighty, I pray thee ? 
 
 Cob. O, it was a mighty while ago, sir, and a 
 mighty great cob. 
 
 Mat. How know'st thou that ? 
 
 Cob. How know I ! why, I smell his ghost ever 
 and anon. 
 
 Mat. Smell a ghost ! O unsavoury jest ! and the 
 ghost of a herring cob ? 
 
 Cob. Ay, sir : With favour of your worship's nose, 
 master Mathew, why not the ghost of a herring cob, 
 as well as the ghost of Rasher Bacon ? 
 
 Mat. Roger Bacon, thou would'st say. 
 
 Cob. I say Rasher Bacon. They were both broiled 
 on the coals ; and a man may smell broiled meat, I 
 hope ! you are a scholar, upsolve me that now. 
 
 Mat. O raw ignorance ! — Cob, canst thou shew 
 me of a gentleman, one captain Bobadill, where his 
 lodging is ? 
 
 Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mean. 
 
 Mat. Thy guest ! alas, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Cob. Why do you laugh, sir ? Do you not mean 
 captain Bobadill ? 
 
 Mat. Cob, pray thee advise thyself well ; do not 
 wrong the gentleman, and thyself too. I dare be 
 sworn, he scorns thy house ; he ! he lodge in such a 
 base obscure place as thy house ! Tut, I know his 
 disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed if 
 thou'dst give it him. 
 
 Cob. I will not give it him though, sir. Mass, I 
 
 1 Slang terms meaning " herald " and " son." 
 
88 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 thought somewhat was in it, we could not get him to 
 bed all night : Well, sir, though he lie not on my bed, 
 he lies on my bench : an 't please you to go up, sir, 
 you shall find him with two cushions under his head, 
 and his cloak wrapped about him, as though he had 
 neither won nor lost, and yet, I warrant, he ne''er cast 
 better in his life, than he has done to-night. 
 
 Mat. Why, was he drunk ? 
 
 Cob. Drunk, sir ! you hear not me say so : perhaps 
 he swallowed a tavern-token, or some such device, 
 sir, I have nothing to do withal. I deal with water 
 and not with wine — Give me my tankard there, ho ! 
 — God be wi' you, sir. It 's six o'clock : I should 
 have carried two turns by this. What ho ! my 
 stopple ! come. 
 
 Enter Tib with a water-tankard. 
 
 Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house ! a gentleman 
 of his havings ! Well, I '11 tell him my mind. 
 
 Cob. What, Tib ; shew this gentleman up to the 
 captain. {Exit Tib with Master Mathew.) Oh, 
 an my house were the Brazen-head now ! faith it 
 would e'en speak Moe fools yet.^ You should have 
 some now would take this Master Mathew to be a gentle- 
 man, at the least. His father 's an honest man, a wor- 
 shipful fishmonger, and so forth ; and now does he 
 creep and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave 
 gallants about the town, such as my guest is (O, my 
 guest is a fine man !), and they flout him invincibly. 
 He useth every day to a merchant's house where I 
 serve water, one master Kitely's, in the Old Jewry ; 
 and here 's the jest, he is in love with my master's 
 
 1 A reference to Greene's " Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay.' 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 89 
 
 sister, Mrs. Bridget, and calls her mistress ; and there 
 he will sit you a whole afternoon sometimes, reading 
 of these same abominable, vile (a pox on 'em ! I can- 
 not abide them), rascally verses, poetrie, poetrie, and 
 speaking of interludes ; 't will make a man burst to hear 
 him. And the wenches, they do so jeer, and ti-he at 
 him — Well, should they do so much to me, I 'd for- 
 swear them all, by the foot of Pharaoh ! There 's an 
 oath ! How many water-bearers shall you hear swear 
 such an oath ! O, I have a guest — he teaches me 
 — he does swear the legiblest of any man christened : 
 By St. George ! the foot of Pharaoh I the body of 7ne I 
 as I am a gentlenia7i and a soldier I such dainty 
 oaths ! and withal he does take this same filthy ro- 
 guish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest ! it would do a 
 man good to see the fumes come for that 's tonnels. — 
 Well, he owes me forty shillings, my wife lent him 
 out of her purse, by sixpence at a time, besides his 
 lodging : I would I had it ! I shall have it, he says, 
 the next action. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care '11 
 kill a cat, up-tails all,^ and a louse for the hangman. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 A Room in ecu's House. Bobadill discovered lying on 
 
 a bench. 
 
 Bob. Hostess, hostess ! 
 
 Enter Tib. 
 
 Tib. What say you, sir ? 
 
 Bob. A cup of thy small beer, sweet hostess. 
 
 1 Slang for inverted, hence empty, glasses, 
 
90 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak 
 with you. 
 
 Bob. A gentleman ! 'odso, I am not within. 
 
 Tib. My husband told him you were, sir. 
 
 Bob. What a plague — what meant he ? 
 
 Mat. {below) Captain Bobadill ! 
 
 Bob. Who 's there ! — Take away the bason, good 
 hostess ; — Come up, sir. 
 
 Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. You 
 come into a cleanly house, here ! 
 
 Enter Mathew. 
 
 Mat. Save you, sir ; save you, captain ! 
 
 Bob. Gentle master Mathew ! Is it you, sir? 
 please you to sit down. 
 
 Mat. Thank you, good captain ; you may see I am 
 somewhat audacious. 
 
 Bob. Not so, sir. I was requested to supper last 
 night by a sort of gallants, where you were wished 
 for, and drunk to, I assure you. 
 
 Mat. Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain ? 
 
 Bob. Marry, by young Wellbred, and others. — 
 Why, hostess, a stool here for this gentleman. 
 
 Mat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well. 
 
 Bob. Body o' me ! it was so late ere we parted last 
 night, I can scarce open my eyes yet ; I was but new 
 risen, as you came; how passes the day abroad, sir? 
 you can tell. 
 
 Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven ; Now, trust 
 me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very 
 neat, and private. 
 
 Bob. Ay, sir: sit down, I pray you. Master 
 Mathew, in any case possess no gentlemen of our 
 acquaintance with notice of my lodging. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 91 
 
 Mat. Who ? I, sir; no. 
 
 Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the 
 cabin is convenient ; but in regard I would not be too 
 popular, and generally visited, as some are. 
 
 Mat. True, captain, I conceive you. 
 
 Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in 
 me, except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to 
 whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as yourself, or 
 so, I could not extend thus far. 
 
 Mat. O Lord, sir ! I resolve so. 
 
 Bob. I confess I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, 
 above all the tumult and roar of fortune. What new 
 book have you there? What! Go by, Hieronymo.'' ^ 
 
 Mat. Ay : did you ever see it acted "i Is 't not well 
 penned ? 
 
 Bob. Well penned ! I would fain see all the poets 
 
 of these times pen such another play as that was : 
 
 they '11 prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art and 
 
 devices, when, as I am a gentleman, read 'em, they 
 
 are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live 
 
 j upon the face of the earth again. 
 
 1 {While Master Mathew reads^ Bobadill ?nakes 
 
 j hhnself ready. 
 
 Mat. Indeed here are a number of fine speeches in 
 this book. O eyes., no eyes., but fountains fratight with 
 tears I there 's a conceit ! fountains fraught with • 
 tears ! O life, no life., but lively form of death I an- 
 i other. O world., 710 world, but mass of public 
 \ wrongs ! a third. Confused a7id filVd with murder 
 and 7msdeeds I a fourth. O, the muses! Is 't not 
 
 1 A phrase in the Spanish Tragedy — " the trade joke of the 
 dramatists" — a source of much slang of the day. Jonson 
 never wearies of satirizing Kyd. The italics following are from 
 the same play, Act III. 
 
92 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 excellent. Is 't not simply the best that ever you heard, 
 captain ? Ha ! how do you like it ? 
 
 Bob. 'T is good. 
 
 Mat. To thee, the purest object to 7ny settse, 
 The 7nost refined essence heaven covers., 
 Send I these lines, wherein I do conwietice 
 The hapPy state of turtle-billing lovers. 
 If they prove rough, unpolish''d, harsh, and rude, 
 Haste made the waste : thus mildly I conclude. 
 
 Bob. Nay, proceed, proceed. Where 's this ? 
 
 Mat. This, sir ! a toy of mine own, in my non- 
 age; the infancy of my muses. But when will you 
 come and see my study ? good faith, I can shew you 
 some very good things I have done of late. — That 
 boot becomes your leg passing well, captain, me- 
 thinks. 
 
 Bob. So, so ; it 's the fashion gentlemen now use. 
 
 Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak of the 
 fashion. Master Wellbred^s elder brother and I are 
 fallen out exceedingly : This other day, I happened 
 to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which, I 
 assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was 
 most peremptory beautiful and gentlemanlike : yet 
 he condemned, and cried it down for the most pied 
 and ridiculous that ever he saw. 
 
 Bob. Squire Downright, the half-brother, was 't 
 not? 
 
 Mat. Ay, sir, he. 
 
 Bob. Hang him, rook ! he ! why he has no more 
 judgment than a malt-horse : By St. George, I won- 
 der you 'd lose a thought upon such an animal ; the 
 most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this 
 day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentle- 
 man and a soldier, I ne'er changed with his like. By 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 93 
 
 his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay ; he was 
 born for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle. He 
 has not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but 
 all old iron and rusty proverbs : a good commodity 
 for some smith to make hob-nails of. 
 
 Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his 
 manhood still, where he comes : he brags he will give 
 me the bastinado, as I hear. 
 
 Bob. How ! he the bastinado ! how came he by 
 that word, trow ? 
 
 Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me ; I termed it 
 so, for my more grace. 
 
 Bob. That may be : for I was sure it was none of 
 his word ; but when, when said he so ? 
 
 Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say; a young gallant, 
 a friend of mine, told me so. 
 
 Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, and Hwere my case 
 now, I should send him a chartel presently. The 
 bastinado ! a most proper and sufficient dependence, 
 warranted by the great Caranza.^ Come hither, you 
 shall chartel him ; 1 11 show you a trick or two you 
 shall kill him with at pleasure ; the first stoccata, if 
 you will, by this air. 
 
 Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in the 
 mystery, I have heard, sir. 
 
 Bob. Of whom, of whom, have you heard it, I be- 
 seech you ? 
 
 Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of divers, that 
 you have very rare, and un-in-one-breath-utterable 
 skill, sir. 
 
 Bob. By heaven, no, not I ; no skill in the earth ; 
 some small rudiments in the science, as to know my 
 
 1 Jerome Caranza, author of the Philosophy of Arms, a 
 book on the etiquette of duels. 
 
94 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 time, distance, or so. I have professed it more for 
 noblemen and gentlemen's use, than mine own prac- 
 tice, I assure you. — Hostess, accommodate us with 
 another bed-staff here quickly. Lend us another 
 bed-staff — the woman does not understand the 
 words of action. — Look you, sir : exalt not your 
 point above this state, at any hand, and let your 
 poniard maintain your defence, thus : — give it the 
 gentleman, and leave us. {Exit Tib.) So, sir. 
 Come on : O, twine your body more about, that you 
 may fall to a more sweet, comely, gentlemanlike 
 guard ; so ! indifferent : hollow your body more, sir, 
 thus : now, stand fast o' your left leg, note your dis- 
 tance, keep your due proportion of time — oh, you 
 disorder your point most irregularly. 
 
 Mat. How is the bearing of it now, sir ? 
 
 Bob. Oh, out of measure ill : a well-experienced 
 hand would pass upon you at pleasure. 
 
 Mat. How mean you, sir, pass upon me ? 
 
 Bob. Why, thus, sir, — make a thrust at me — 
 (Master Mathew pushes at Bobadill) come in 
 upon the answer, control your point, and make a full 
 career at the body : The best-practised gallants of 
 the time name it the passado ; a most desperate 
 thrust, believe it. 
 
 Mat. Well, come, sir. 
 
 Bob. Why, you do not manage your weapon with 
 any facility or grace to invite me. I have no spirit to 
 play with you ; your dearth of judgment renders you 
 tedious. 
 
 Mat. But one venue, sir. 
 
 Bob. Venue ! fie ; the most gross denomination as 
 ever I heard : O, the stoccata, while you live, sir ; 
 note that. — Come, put on your cloke, and we '11 go to 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 95 
 
 some private place where you are acquainted ; some 
 tavern, or so — and have a bit. I Ml send for one of 
 these fencers, and he shall breathe you, by my direc- 
 tion ; and then I will teach you your trick : you shall 
 kill him with it at the first, if you please. Why, I 
 will learn you, by the true judgment of the eye, hand, 
 and foot, to control any enemy's point in the world. 
 Should your adversary confront you with a pistol, 
 't were nothing, by this hand ! you should, by the 
 same rule, control his bullet, in a line, except it were 
 hail shot, and spread. What money have you about 
 you, master Mathew ? 
 
 Mat. Faith, I have not past a shilling or so. 
 
 Bob. 'T is somewhat with the least ; but come ; we 
 will have a bunch of radish and salt to taste our 
 wine, and a pipe of tobacco to close the orifice of the 
 stomach : and then we '11 call upon young Wellbred : 
 perhaps we shall meet the Corydon^ his brother 
 there, and put him to the question. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 The Old Jewry. A Hall in Kitely's House. 
 
 E7iter KiTELY, Cash, a7td Downright. 
 
 Kit. Thomas, come hither. 
 There lies a note within upon my desk ; 
 Here take my key : it is no matter neither. — 
 Where is the boy ? 
 
 1 A country bumpkin — a name taken from pastoral poetry. 
 The reference is to Downright, brother of Wellbred. 
 
96 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Cash. Within, sir, in the warehouse. 
 
 Kit. Let him tell over straight that Spanish gold, 
 And weigh it, with the pieces of eight.^ Do you 
 See the delivery of those silver stuffs 
 To Master Lucar : tell him, if he will, 
 He shall have the grograns, at the rate I told him, 
 And I will meet him on the Exchange anon. 
 
 Cash. Good, sir. \Exit. 
 
 Kit. Do you see that fellow, brother Downright ? 
 
 Dow. Ay, what of him ? 
 
 Kit. He is a jewel, brother. 
 
 I took him of a child up at my door. 
 And christened him, gave him mine own name, 
 
 Thomas : 
 Since bred him at the Hospital ; ^ where proving 
 A toward imp, I call'd him home, and taught him 
 So much, as I have made him my cashier. 
 And giv'n him, who had none, a surname, Cash : 
 And find him in his place so full of faith. 
 That I durst trust my life into his hands. 
 
 Dow. So would not I in any bastard's, brother. 
 As it is like he is, although I knew 
 Myself his father. But you said you had somewhat 
 To tell me, gentle brother : what is 't, what is 't ? 
 
 Kit. Faith, I am very loath to utter it, 
 As fearing it may hurt your patience : 
 But that I know your judgment is of strength, 
 Against the nearness of affection — 
 
 Dow. What need this circumstance ? ^ pray you, 
 be direct. 
 
 Kit. I will not say how much I do ascribe 
 
 1 Value of Zs. ed. 
 
 2 Christ's Hospital, the " Blue Coat School." 
 2 Beating about the bush. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 97 
 
 Unto your friendship, nor in what regard 
 I hold your love ; but let my past behaviour, 
 And usage of your sister, [both] confirm 
 How well I have been affected to your — 
 
 Dow. You are too tedious ; come to the matter, 
 the matter. 
 
 Kit. Then, without further ceremony, thus. 
 My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how. 
 Of late is much declined in what he was, 
 And greatly altered in his disposition. 
 When he came first to lodge here in my house, 
 Ne'er trust me if I were not proud of him : 
 Methought he bare himself in such a fashion, 
 So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage. 
 And what was chief, it show'd not borrowed in him. 
 But all he did became him as his own. 
 And seemM as perfect, proper, and possest, 
 As breath with life, or colour with the blood. 
 But now, his course is so irregular, 
 So loose, affected, and deprived of grace. 
 And he himself withal so far fallen off 
 From that first place, as scarce no note remains, 
 To tell men's judgments where he lately stood. 
 He 's grown a stranger to all due respect, 
 Forgetful of his friends ; and not content 
 To stale himself in all societies. 
 He makes my house here common as a mart, 
 A theatre, a public receptacle 
 For giddy humour, and deceased riot ; 
 And here, as in a tavern or a stews, 
 He and his wild associates spend their hours, 
 In repetition of lascivious jests. 
 Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night, 
 Control my servants ; and, indeed, what not .'* 
 
 H 
 
98 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Dow. 'Sdeins, I know not what I should say to 
 him, in the whole world! He values me at a crack'd 
 three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never out of 
 the flesh that 's bred in the bone. I have told him 
 enough, one would think, if that would serve ; but 
 counsel to him is as good as a shoulder of mutton to 
 a sick horse. Well! he knows what to trust to, for 
 George : let him spend, and spend, and domineer, till 
 his heart ake ; an he think to be relieved by me, 
 when he is got into one o' your city pounds, the 
 counters,! he has the wrong sow by the ear, i' faith ; 
 and claps his dish at the wrong man's door : I '11 lay 
 my hand on my halfpenny, ere I part with it to fetch 
 him out, I '11 assure him. 
 
 Kit. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus. 
 
 Dow. 'Sdeath ! he mads me ; I could eat my very 
 spur-leathers for anger ! But, why are you so tame ? 
 why do you not speak to him, and tell him how he dis- 
 quiets your house ? 
 
 Kit. O, there are divers reasons to dissuade me. 
 But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it 
 (Though but with plain and easy circumstance), 
 It would both come much better to his sense, 
 And savour less of stomach, or of passion. 
 You are his elder brother, and that title 
 Both gives and warrants your authority, 
 Which, by your presence seconded, must breed 
 A kind of duty in him, and regard : 
 Whereas, if I should intimate the least. 
 It would but add contempt to his neglect. 
 Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred. 
 That in the rearing would come tottering down. 
 And in the ruin bury all our love. 
 
 1 The London prisons. 
 
 J 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 99 
 
 Nay, more than this, brother ; if I should speak, 
 
 He would be ready, from his heat of humour, 
 
 And overflowing of the vapour in him, 
 
 To blow the ears of his familiars 
 
 With the false breath of telling what disgraces, 
 
 And low disparagements, I had put upon him. 
 
 Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable. 
 
 Make their loose comments upon every word, 
 
 Gesture, or look, I use ; mock me all over, 
 
 From my flat cap unto my shining shoes ; ^ 
 
 And, out of their impetuous rioting phanfsies. 
 
 Beget some slander that shall dwell with me. 
 
 And what would that be, think you ? marry, this : 
 
 They would give out, because my wife is fair. 
 
 Myself but lately married, and my sister 
 
 Here sojourning a virgin in my house. 
 
 That I were jealous ! — nay, as sure as death. 
 
 That they would say : and, how that I had quarrelPd 
 
 My brother purposely, thereby to find 
 
 An apt pretext to banish them my house. 
 
 Dcnu. Mass, perhaps so ; they 're like enough to do it. 
 
 Kit. Brother, they would, believe it ; so should I, 
 Like one of these penurious quack-salvers. 
 But set the bills up to mine own disgrace, 
 And try experiments upon myself; 
 Lend scorn and envy opportunity 
 To stab my reputation and good name — 
 
 Enter Master Mathew struggling with Bobadill. 
 
 Mat. I will speak to him. 
 
 Bob. Speak to him ! away ! By the foot of Pha- 
 raoh, you shall not ! you shall not do him that grace. 
 
 1 Signs of the merchant in contrast to the gallant. 
 
lOO EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 — The time of day to you, gentleman o' the house. 
 Is Master Wellbred stirring ? 
 
 Dow. How then ? what should he do ? 
 
 Bob. Gentleman of the house, it is to you : is he 
 within, sir ? 
 
 Kit. He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Dow. Why, do you hear ? you ! 
 
 Bob. The gentleman citizen hath satisfied me ; 
 I '11 talk to no scavenger. 
 
 [Exeunt Bobadill and Mathew. 
 
 Dow. How ! scavenger ! stay, sir, stay ! 
 
 Kit. Nay, Brother Downright. 
 
 Dow. 'Heart ! stand you away, an you love me. 
 
 Kit. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, 
 brother, good faith you shall not ; I will overrule you. 
 
 Dow. Ha ! scavenger ! well, go to, I say Httle : 
 but, by this good day (God forgive me I should 
 swear), if I put it up so, say I am the rankest cow 
 that ever pist. 'Sdeins, an I swallow this, I '11 ne'er 
 draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again 
 while I live ; I '11 sit in a barn with madge-howlet, 
 and catch mice first. Scavenger! heart! — and I '11 
 go near to fill that huge tumbrel-slop ^ of yours with 
 somewhat, an I have good luck: your Garagantua 
 breech ^ cannot carry it away so. 
 
 Kit. Oh, do not fret yourself thus : never think on 't. 
 
 Dow. These are my brother's consorts, these ! 
 these are his camerades, his walking mates ! he 's a 
 gallant, a cavaliero too, right hangman cut ! Let me 
 not live, an I could not find in my heart to swinge 
 the whole gang of 'em, one after another, and begin 
 
 1 Puffed breeches were fashionable, and of course Bobadill 
 wore them. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. lOi 
 
 with him first. I am grieved it should be said he is 
 my brother, and take these courses : Well, as he 
 brews, so shall he drink, for George, again. Yet he 
 shall hear on 't, and that tightly too, an I live, i' faith. 
 
 Kit. But, brother, let your reprehension, then, 
 Run in an easy current, not o'er high 
 Carried with rashness, or devouring choler; 
 But rather use the soft persuading way. 
 Whose powers will work more gently, and compose 
 The imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim; 
 More winning, than enforcing the consent. 
 
 Dow. Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you. 
 
 Kit. How now ! (^Bell riiigs^ Oh, the bell rings 
 to breakfast. Brother, I pray you go in, and bear 
 my wife company till I come ; I '11 but give order for 
 some despatch of business to my servants. 
 
 {Exit Downright. 
 
 Enter Cob, with his tankard. 
 
 Kit. What, Cob ! our maids will have you by the 
 back, i' faith, for coming so late this morning. 
 
 Cob. Perhaps so, sir ; take heed somebody have 
 not them by the belly, for walking so late in the 
 evening. \Exit. 
 
 Kit. Well ; yet my troubled spirit 's somewhat eased, 
 Though not reposed in that security 
 As I could wish : but I must be content, 
 Howe'er I set a face on 't to the world. 
 Would I had lost this finger at a venture, 
 So Wellbred had ne'er lodged within my house. 
 Why 't cannot be, where there is such resort 
 Of wanton gallants, and young revellers, 
 That any woman should be honest long. 
 
I02 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Is 't like, that factious beauty will preserve 
 
 The public weal of chastity unshaken, 
 
 When such strong motives muster, and make head 
 
 Against her single peace ? No, no : beware. 
 
 When mutual appetite doth meet to treat. 
 
 And spirits of one kind and quality 
 
 Come once to parley in the pride of blood, 
 
 It is no slow conspiracy that follows. 
 
 Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time 
 
 Had answer'd their affections, all the world 
 
 Should not persuade me but I were a cuckold. 
 
 Marry, I hope they have not got that start ; 
 
 For opportunity hath balk'd them yet, 
 
 And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears 
 
 To attend the impositions of my heart. 
 
 My presence shall be as an iron bar, 
 
 'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire : 
 
 Yea, every look or glance mine eye ejects 
 
 Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave, 
 
 When he forgets the limits of prescription. 
 
 Enter Dame Kitely and Bridget. 
 
 Dame K. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the 
 rose-water, above in the closet. \Exit Bridget. 
 
 — Sweet-heart, will you come in to breakfast ? 
 
 Kit. An she have overheard me now ! — 
 
 Dame K. I pray thee, good muss, we stay for you. 
 
 Kit. By heaven, I would not for a thousand angels.^ 
 
 Daine K. What ails you, sweet-heart ? are you not 
 well ? speak, good muss. 
 
 Kit. Troth my head akes extremely on a sudden. 
 
 Daine K. {putting her hand to his forehead.^ O, 
 
 the Lord ! 
 
 1 Coins of about \os. value. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 1 03 
 
 Kit. How now! What? 
 
 Dame K. Alas, how it burns ! Muss, keep you 
 warm ; good truth it is this new disease,^ there 's a 
 number are troubled withal. For love's sake, sweet- 
 heart, come in, out of the air. 
 
 Kit. How simple, and how subtle are her answers ! 
 A new disease, and many troubled with it ? 
 Why true ; she heard me, all the world to nothing. 
 
 Dame K. I pray thee, good sweet-heart, come in ; 
 the air will do you harm, in troth. 
 
 Kit. The air! she has me in the wind. — Sweet- 
 heart, I '11 come to you presently ; 't will away, I hope. 
 
 Dame K. Pray Heaven it do. {Exit. 
 
 Kit. A new disease ! I know not, new or old, 
 But it may well be calPd poor mortals' plague ; 
 For, like a pestilence, it doth infect 
 The houses of the brain. First it begins 
 Solely to work upon the phantasy. 
 Filling her seat with such pestiferous air, 
 As soon corrupts the judgment ; and from thence, 
 Sends like contagion to the memory : 
 Still each to other giving the infection. 
 Which as a subtle vapour spreads itself 
 Confusedly through every sensive part. 
 Till not a thought or motion in the mind 
 Be free from the black poison of suspect. 
 Ah ! but what misery is it to know this ? 
 Or, knowing it, to want the mind's erection 
 In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive. 
 In spite of this black cloud, myself to be. 
 And shake the fever off that thus shakes me. \Exit. 
 
 1 A febrile epidemic, so called for a long time. It was the 
 cause of Prince Henry's death. 
 
104 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Moorfields ?■ 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised like a maimed Soldier. 
 
 Brai. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see my- 
 self translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator ; 
 for now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or 
 my present profession loses the grace : and yet the lie, 
 to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit as the fico. 
 O, sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that out- 
 wardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear 
 to us : so much for my borrowed shape. Well, the 
 troth is, my old master intends to follow my young 
 master, dry-foot, over Moorfields ^ to London, this 
 morning; now, I knowing of this hunting-match, or 
 rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young 
 master (for so must we that are blue waiters,^ and 
 men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear 
 motley at the year's end, and who wears motley, you 
 know), have got me afore in this disguise, determin- 
 ing here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the 
 mid-way. If I can but get his cloke, his purse, and 
 his hat, nay, anything to cut him off, that is to stay 
 his journey, Veni^ vidi, vici, I may say with captain 
 Caesar, I am made for ever, i' faith. Well, now I 
 must practise to get the true garb of one of these 
 lance-knights,^ my arm here, and my — Odso! my 
 young master, and his cousin, master Stephen, as I 
 am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier ! 
 
 1 Moorfields was then a general resort for vagrants of all 
 sorts. 
 
 2 Servants' liveries were blue. 
 
 3 An inferior officer in command of ten foot-soldiers, 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 105 
 
 Enter E. Knowell and Stephen. 
 
 E. Know. So, sir! and how then, coz? 
 
 Step. 'Sfoot ! I have lost my purse, I think. 
 
 E. Ktiow. How! lost your purse? where? when 
 had you it ? 
 
 Step. I cannot tell ; stay. 
 
 Brai. 'Slid, I am afraid they will know me : would 
 I could get by them ! 
 
 E. Know. What, have you it? 
 
 Step. No ; I think I was bewitched, I — \Cries. 
 
 E. Kfiow. Nay, do not weep the loss : hang it, let 
 it go. 
 
 Step. Oh, it 's here : No, an it had been lost, I had 
 not cared, but for a jet ring mistress Mary sent me. 
 
 E. Know. A jet ring! O the poesie, the poesie? 
 
 Step. Fine, i' faith : — 
 
 Though Fancy sleep. 
 My love is deep. 
 
 Meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she 
 loved me dearly. 
 
 E. Know. Most excellent ! 
 
 Step. And then I sent her another, and my poesie 
 
 was : — 
 
 The deeper the sweeter, 
 I 'W be judgM by St. Peter. 
 
 E. Know. How, by St. Peter? I do not conceive 
 that. 
 
 Step. Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre. 
 
 E. Know. Well, there the saint was your good 
 patron, he help'd you at your need ; thank him, thank 
 him. 
 
I06 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Brai. I cannot take leave on 'em so ; I will ven- 
 ture, come what will. (^Comes forward.) Gentle- 
 men, please you change a few crowns for a very 
 excellent blade here? I am a poor gentleman, a sol- 
 dier, one that, in the better state of my fortunes, 
 scorned so mean a refuge ; but now it is the humour 
 of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen 
 well affected to martial men, else I should rather die 
 with silence, than live with shame : however, vouch- 
 safe to remember it is my want speaks, not myself; 
 this condition agrees not with my spirit — 
 
 E. Know. Where hast thou served? 
 
 Brai. May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of 
 Bohemia, Hungary, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? 
 I have been a poor servitor by sea and land any time 
 this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the 
 best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot 
 at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna ; 
 I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic 
 gulf, a gentleman-slave in the gallies, thrice ; where I 
 was most dangerously shot in the head, through both 
 the thighs ; and yet, being thus maimed, I am void 
 of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the 
 noted marks of my resolution. 
 
 Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend? 
 
 Brai. Generous sir, I refer it to your own judg- 
 ment ; you are a gentleman, give me what you please. 
 
 Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend ; 
 but what though! I pray you say, what would you 
 ask? 
 
 Brai. I assure you, the blade may become the side 
 or thigh of the best prince in Europe. 
 
 E. Know. Ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think. 
 
 Step. Nay, an 't be mine, it shall have a velvet scab- 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 107 
 
 bard, coz, that 's flat ; I 'd not wear it, as it is, an you 
 would give me an angel. 
 
 Brai. At your worship's pleasure, sir ; nay, 't is a 
 most pure Toledo. 
 
 Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard. But tell me, 
 what shall I give you for it? An it had a silver hilt — 
 
 E. Know. Come, come, you shall not buy it : hold, 
 there's a shilling, fellow ; take thy rapier. 
 
 Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say 
 so ; and there 's another shilling, fellow ; 1 scorn to 
 be out-bidden. What, shall I walk with a cudgel, 
 like Higginbottom,^ and may have a rapier for money! 
 
 E. Know. You may buy one in the city. 
 
 Step. Tut ! I '11 buy this i' the field, so I will : I 
 have a mind to 't, because 't is a field rapier. Tell me 
 your lowest price. 
 
 E. Know. You shall not buy it, I say. 
 
 Step. By this money, but I will, though I give 
 more than 't is worth. 
 
 E. Know. Come away, you are a fool. 
 
 Step. Friend, I am a fool, that 's granted ; but I '11 
 have it, for that word's sake. Follow me for your 
 money. 
 
 Brai. At your service, sir. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Another Part of Moorfields. 
 
 Enter Knowell. 
 
 Know. I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter, 
 Sent to my son ; nor leave t' admire the change 
 
 1 Nicholson says :—" Probably the seditious disturber on 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury's estates." 
 
io8 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Of manners, and the breeding of our youth 
 
 Within the kingdom, since myself was one. — 
 
 When I was young, he Hved not in the stews 
 
 Durst have conceived a scorn, and utter'd it, 
 
 On a gray head ; age was authority 
 
 Against a buffoon, and a man had then 
 
 A certain reverence paid unto his years. 
 
 That had none due unto his Hfe : so much 
 
 The sanctity of some prevaiPd for others. 
 
 But now we all are fallen ; youth, from their fear, 
 
 And age, from that which bred it, good example. 
 
 Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even parents, 
 
 That did destroy the hopes in our own children ; 
 
 Or they not learn'd our vices in their cradles. 
 
 And suck'd in our ill customs with their milk ; 
 
 Ere all their teeth be born, or they can speak. 
 
 We make their palates cunning ; the first words 
 
 We form their tongues with, are licentious jests : 
 
 Can it call whore ? cry bastard ? O, then, kiss it ! 
 
 A witty child ! can 't swear ? the father's darling ! 
 
 Give it two plums. Nay, rather than 't shall learn 
 
 No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it ! — 
 
 But this is in the infancy, the days 
 
 Of the long coat ; when it puts on the breeches, 
 
 It will put off all this : Ay, it is like. 
 
 When it is gone into the bone already ! 
 
 No, no ; this dye goes deeper than the coat. 
 
 Or shirt, or skin ; it stains into the liver,^ 
 
 And heart, in some : and, rather than it should not. 
 
 Note what we fathers do ! look how we live ! 
 
 What mistresses we keep ! at what expense. 
 
 In our sons' eyes ! where they may handle our gifts, 
 
 1 The liver was supposed to be the seat of lust ; the heart, 
 of knowledge. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 109 
 
 Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance, 
 
 Taste of the same provoking meats with us, 
 
 To ruin of our states ! Nay, when our own 
 
 Portion is fled, to prey on the remainder, 
 
 We call them into fellowship of vice ; 
 
 Bait 'em with the young chamber-maid, to seal, 
 
 And teach 'em all bad ways to buy affliction. 
 
 This is one path : but there are millions more. 
 
 In which we spoil our own, with leading them. 
 
 Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he 
 
 That traveird with my son, before sixteen. 
 
 To shew him the Venetian courtezans ; 
 
 Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made, 
 
 To my sharp boy, at twelve ; repeating still 
 
 The rule, Get money ; still., get money., boy ; 
 
 No matter by what means ; money will do 
 
 More., boy, than 7ny lord'^s letter. Neither have I 
 
 Drest snails or mushrooms curiously before him. 
 
 Perfumed my sauces, and taught him how to make 
 
 them ; 
 Preceding still, with my gray gluttony, 
 At all the ord'naries, and only fear'd 
 His palate should degenerate, not his manners. 
 These are the trade of fathers now ; however. 
 My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold 
 None of these household precedents, which are 
 
 strong, 
 And swift, to rape youth to their precipice. 
 But let the house at home be ne'er so clean 
 Swept, or kept sweet from filth, nay dust and cobwebs, 
 If he will live abroad with his companions, 
 In dung and leystals, it is worth a fear; 
 Nor is the danger of conversing less 
 Than all that I have mention'd of example. 
 
no EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised as before. 
 
 Brat. My master ! nay, faith, have at you ; I am 
 flesh'd now, I have sped so well (aside^ . Worship- 
 ful sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor 
 soldier ; I am ashamed of this base course of life, — 
 God 's my comfort — but extremity provokes me to 't : 
 what remedy ? 
 
 Know. I have not for you, now. 
 
 Br at. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it 
 is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve 
 manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been : a 
 man I may be, by your sweet bounty. 
 
 Know. Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied. 
 
 Brai. Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part 
 of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the 
 price of two cans of beer, a matter of small value : 
 the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest 
 thankful: Sweet worship — 
 
 Know. Nay, an you be so importunate — 
 
 Brai. Oh, tender sir ! need will have its course : I 
 was not made to this vile use. Well, the edge of the 
 enemy could not have abated me so much : it 's hard 
 when a man hath served in his prince's cause, and be 
 thus (weeps). Honourable worship, let me derive a 
 small piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in 
 the course of time. By this good ground, I was fain 
 to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper ; I had 
 suck'd the hilts long before, I am a pagan else : Sweet 
 honour — 
 
 Know. Believe me, I am taken with some wonder. 
 To think a fellow of thy outward presence. 
 Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind, 
 
 i 
 
E VER V MAN IN HIS HUMO UR. 1 1 1 
 
 Be so degenerate, and sordid-base. 
 
 Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg, 
 
 To practise such a servile kind of life? 
 
 Why, were thy education ne'er so mean, 
 
 Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses 
 
 Offer themselves to thy election. 
 
 Either the wars might still supply thy wants, 
 
 Or service of some virtuous gentleman, 
 
 Or honest labour ; nay, what can I name, 
 
 But would become thee better than to beg : 
 
 But men of thy condition feed on sloth. 
 
 As doth the beetle on the dung she breeds in ; 
 
 Nor caring how the metal of your minds 
 
 Is eaten with the rust of idleness. 
 
 Now, afore me, whatever he be, that should 
 
 Relieve a person of thy quality. 
 
 While thou insist'st in this loose desperate course, 
 
 I would esteem the sin not thine, but his. 
 
 Brai. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other 
 course, if so — 
 
 Know. Ay, 
 You 'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it. 
 
 Brai. Alas, sir, where should a man seek? in the 
 
 wars, there 's no ascent by desert in these days ; but 
 
 — and for service, would it were as soon purchased, 
 
 as wished for! the air's my comfort. — {Sighs) I 
 
 .know what I would say. 
 
 \ Know. What 's thy name ? 
 
 Brai. Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir. 
 
 j Know. Fitz-Sword! 
 
 Say that a man should entertain thee now, 
 Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true ? 
 
 Brai. Sir, by the place and honour of a sol- 
 dier — 
 
112 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Know. Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths ; 
 speak plainly, man, what think'st thou of my words ? 
 
 Brai. Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as 
 happy as my service should be honest. 
 
 Know. Well, follow me ; I '11 prove thee, if thy 
 deeds 
 Will carry a proportion to thy words. \Exit. 
 
 Brat. Yes, sir, straight ; I '11 but garter my hose. 
 Oh that my belly were hoop'd now, for I am ready to 
 burst with laughing ! never was bottle or bagpipe fuller. 
 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to betray him- 
 self thus ! now shall I be possest of all his counsels ; 
 and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is 
 resolved to prove my honesty ; faith, and I 'm resolved 
 to prove his patience : Oh, I shall abuse him intolera- 
 bly. This small piece of service will bring him clean 
 out of love with the soldier for ever. He will never 
 come within the sign of it, the sight of a cassock, or 
 a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters at 
 Mile-end ^ for it, to his dying day. It 's no matter, let 
 the world think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give 
 him the slip at an instant : why, this is better than to 
 have staid his journey : well, I '11 follow him. Oh, 
 how I long to be employed ! \^Exit. 
 
 1 Mile-end was the training ground of the city bands. 
 
 I 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 113 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 The Old Jewry. 
 
 A Room in the Windmill Tavern. 
 
 Enter Master Mathew, Wellbred, and 
 
 BOBADILL. 
 
 Mat. Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to 
 seek you too. 
 
 Wei. Oh, I came not there to-night. 
 
 Bob. Your brother delivered us as much. 
 
 Wei. Who, my brother Downright? 
 
 Bob. He. Mr. Wellbred, I know not in what kind 
 you hold me ; but let me say to you this : as sure as 
 honour, I esteem it so much out of the sunshine of 
 reputation, to throw the least beam of regard upon 
 such a — 
 
 Wei. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother. 
 
 Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be saved 
 about me, I never saw any gentleman-like part — 
 
 Wei. Good captain, '' faces about " ^ to some other 
 discourse. 
 
 Bob. With your leave, sir, an there were no more 
 men living upon the face of the earth, I should not 
 fancy him, by St. George! 
 
 Mat. Troth, nor I ; he is of a rustical cut, I know 
 not how : he doth not carry himself like a gentleman 
 of fashion. 
 
 Wei. Oh, master Mathew, that's a grace peculiar 
 but to a few, quos cBquus amavit Jtipiter^^ 
 
 1 A direction in military drill. 
 
 2 " Whom impartial Jove has loved." 
 I 
 
114 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Mat. I understand you, sir. 
 
 Wei. No question, you do, — or do you not, sir. 
 
 Enter E. Knowell and Master Stephen. 
 
 Ned Knowell ! by my soul, welcome : how dost 
 thou, sweet spirit, my genius? 'Slid, I shall love 
 Apollo and the mad Thespian girls ^ the better, while 
 I live, for this, my dear Fury ; now, I see there 's some 
 love in thee. Sirrah, these be the two I writ to thee 
 of: nay, what a drowsy humour is this now! why dost 
 thou not speak? 
 
 E. Kjww. Oh, you are a fine gallant ; you sent me 
 a rare letter. 
 
 Wei. Why, was 't not rare ? 
 
 E. Know. Yes, I '11 be sworn, I was ne'er guilty of 
 reading the like ; match it in all Pliny, or Symma- 
 chus's epistles, and I '11 have my judgment burn'd in 
 the ear for a rogue : make much of thy vein, for it is 
 inimitable. But I marie what camel it was, that had 
 the carriage of it ; for, doubtless, he was no ordinary 
 beast that brought it. 
 
 Wei. Why? 
 
 E. Know. Why, say'st thou ! why, dost thou think 
 that any reasonable creature, especially in the morn- 
 ing, the sober time of the day too, could have mis- 
 taken my father for me? 
 
 Wei. 'Slid, you jest, I hope. 
 
 E. Know. Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, 
 is to make a jest on 't, now : but I '11 assure you, my 
 father had the full view of your flourishing style some 
 hour before I saw it. 
 
 Wei. What a dull slave was this ! but, sirrah, what 
 said he to it, i' faith ? 
 
 1 The muses. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 1 15 
 
 E. K710W. Nay, I know not what he said ; but I 
 have a shrewd guess what he thought. 
 
 Wei What, what ? 
 
 E. Know. Marry, that thou art some strange, dis- 
 sohite young fellow, and I — a grain or two better, for 
 keeping thee company. 
 
 Wei. Tut! that thought is like the moon in her 
 last quarter, 't will change shortly : but, sirrah, I pray 
 thee be acquainted with my two hang-by^s here ; thou 
 wilt take exceeding pleasure in them if thou hear'st 
 'em once go ; my wind-instruments ; I '11 wind them 
 up — But what strange piece of silence is this, the 
 sign of the Dumb Man ? 
 
 E. Know. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that 
 may make your music the fuller, an he please ; he has 
 his humour, sir. 
 
 Wei. Oh, what is 't, what is 't? 
 
 E. Know. Nay, I '11 neither do your judgment nor 
 his folly that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension : 
 I 'II leave him to the mercy of your search ; if you can 
 take him, so! 
 
 Wei. Well, captain Bobadill, master Mathew, pray 
 you know this gentleman here ; he is a friend of mine, 
 and one that will deserve your affection. I know not 
 your name, sir {to Stephen), but I shall be glad of 
 any occasion to render me more familiar to you. 
 
 Step. My name is Master Stephen, sir ; I am this 
 gentleman's own cousin, sir ; his father is mine uncle, 
 sir : I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall com- 
 mand me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Bob. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general man ; 
 but for Master Wellbred's sake (you may embrace it 
 at what height of favour you please), I do communi- 
 
Ii6 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 cate with you, and conceive you to be a gentleman of 
 some parts ; I love few words. 
 
 E. K710W. And I fewer, sir ; I have scarce enough 
 to thank you. 
 
 Mat. But are you, indeed, sir, so given to it? 
 
 Step. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melan- 
 choly. 
 
 Mat. Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir: your 
 true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I 
 am melancholy myself, diver times, sir, and then do I 
 no more but take pen and paper, presently, and over- 
 flow you half a score, or a dozen of sonnets at a 
 sitting. 
 
 E. Know. Sure he utters them then by the 
 gross. {Aside.) 
 
 Step. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of 
 measure. 
 
 E. Ktiow. V faith, better than in measure, I '11 
 undertake. 
 
 Mat. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study, 
 it 's at your service. 
 
 Step. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold I warrant 
 you ; have you a stool there to be melancholy upon? 
 
 Mat. That I have, sir, and some papers there of 
 mine own doing, at idle hours, that you '11 say there's 
 some sparks of wit in 'em, when you see them. 
 
 Wei. Would the sparks would kindle once, and 
 become a fire amongst them! I might see self-love 
 burnt for her heresy. (As/de.) 
 
 Step. Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough? 
 
 E. Ktiow. Oh ay, excellent. 
 
 Wei. Captain Bobadill, why muse you so? 
 
 E. Know. He is melancholy, too. 
 
 Bob. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honoura- 
 
 I 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. II 7 
 
 ble piece of service, was performed to-morrow, being 
 St. Mark's day, shall be some ten years now. 
 
 E. Kfiow. In what place, captain? 
 
 Bob. Why, at the beleaguering of Strigonium,i 
 where, in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute 
 gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon 
 the breach. I '11 tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, 
 but the best leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, 
 except the taking in of — what do you call it?'^ last 
 year, by the Genoways ; ^ but that, of all other, was 
 the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was 
 ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of 
 the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier! 
 
 Step. So! I had as lief as an angel I could swear 
 as well as that gentleman. 
 
 E. Know. Then, you were a servitor at both, it 
 seems ; at Strigonium, and what do you call't? 
 
 Bob. O lord, sir! By St. George, I was the first 
 man that entered the breach ; and had I not effected 
 it with resolution, I had been slain if I had had a 
 million of lives. 
 
 E. Know. 'T was pity you had not ten ; a cat's and 
 your own, i' faith. But, was it possible? 
 
 Mat. Pray you mark this discourse, sir. 
 
 Step. So I do. 
 
 Bob. O assure you, upon my reputation, 't is true, 
 and yourself shall confess. 
 
 E. Know. You must bring me to the rack, 
 first. (Aside.) 
 
 Bob. Observe me judicially, sweet sir; they had 
 
 1 Gran, in Hungary, taken from the Turks, 1596. 
 
 2 In quarto, Tartosa. As a preposterous piece of affecta- 
 tion, Jonson makes Bobadill pretend to forget. 
 
 3 Genoese. 
 
Ii8 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 planted me three demi-culverins just in the mouth of 
 the breach ; now, sir, as we were to give on, their 
 master-gunner (a man of no mean skill and mark, you 
 must think), confronts me with his linstock, ready to 
 give fire ; I, spying his intendment, discharged my 
 petronel in his bosom, and with these shigle arms, my 
 poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded 
 the ordnance, and put them pell-mell to the sword. 
 
 Wei. To the sword! To the rapier, captain. 
 
 E. Know. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir : 
 but did you all this, captain, without hurting your 
 blade? 
 
 Bob. Without any impeach o' the earth : you shall 
 perceive, sir. {Shews his rapier.^ It is the most 
 fortunate weapon that ever rid on poor gentleman's 
 thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of Morglay,i 
 Excalibur,! Durindana,^ or so ; tut ! I lend no credit 
 to that is fabled of 'em : I know the virtue of mine 
 own, and therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it. 
 
 Step. I marie whether it be a Toledo or no. 
 
 Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir. 
 
 Step. I have a countryman of his here. 
 
 Mat. Pray you, let's see, sir ; yes, faith, it is. 
 
 Bob. This a Toledo ! Pish ! 
 
 Step. Why do you pish, captain ? 
 
 Bob. A Fleming, by heaven ! I '11 buy them for a 
 guilder a-piece, an I would have a thousand of them. 
 
 E. Know. How say you, cousin ? I told you thus 
 much. 
 
 Wei. Where bought you it, master Stephen ? 
 
 Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier : a hundred of lice 
 go with him ! He swore it was a Toledo. 
 
 1 The swords of Sir Bevis of Southampton, King Arthur, 
 and Orlando. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 119 
 
 Bob. A poor provant ^ rapier, no better. 
 
 Mat. Mass, I think it be indeed, now I look on 't 
 better. 
 
 E. Know. Nay, the longer you look on 't, the 
 worse. Put it up, put it up. 
 
 Step. Well, I will put it up ; but by — I have for- 
 got the captain's oath, I thought to have sworn by it 
 — an e'er I meet him — 
 
 Wei. O, it is past help now, sir ; you must have 
 patience. 
 
 Step. Whoreson, coney-catching rascal ! I could 
 eat the very hilts for anger. 
 
 E. Knoiu. A sign of good digestion ; you have an 
 ostrich stomach, cousin. 
 
 Step. A stomach ! would I had him here, you 
 should see an I had a stomach. ^ 
 
 Wei. It 's better as it is. — Come, gentlemen, shall 
 
 we go ? 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised as before. 
 
 E. Know. A miracle, cousin; look here, look 
 here ! 
 
 Step. Oh — 'Od's lid. By your leave, do you know 
 me, sir ? 
 
 Brai. Ay, sir, I know you by sight. 
 
 Step. You sold me a rapier, did you not ? 
 
 Brai. Yes, marry did I, sir. 
 
 Step. You said it was a Toledo, ha ? 
 
 Brai. True, I did so. 
 
 Step. But it is none. 
 
 Brai. No, sir, I confess it ; it is none. 
 
 1 Obtained from a sutler. 
 
 2 i.e, to thrash him. 
 
I20 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Step. Do you confess it ? Gentlemen, bear wit- 
 ness, he has confest it : — 'Od's will, an you had not 
 confest it — 
 
 E. Know. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear ! 
 
 Step. Nay, I have done, cousin. 
 
 Wei. Why, you have done like a gentleman ; he 
 has confest it, what would you more ? 
 
 Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his 
 favour, do you see. 
 
 E. Know. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under favour : 
 a pretty piece of civility ! Sirrah, how dost thou like 
 him ? 
 
 Wei. Oh, it's a most precious fool, make much on 
 him : I can compare him to nothing more happily 
 than a drum ; for every one may play upon him. 
 
 E. Know. No, no, a child's whistle were far the 
 fitter. 
 
 Brai. Shall I intreat a word with you ? 
 
 E. Know. With me, sir ? you have not another 
 Toledo to sell, have you ? 
 
 Brai. You are conceited, sir : Your name is Mas- 
 ter Knowell, as I take it ? 
 
 E. Know. You are in the right ; you mean not to 
 proceed in the catechism, do you ? 
 
 Brai. No, sir ; I am none of that coat. 
 
 E. Know. Of as bare a coat, though : well, say sir. 
 
 Brai. {taking E. Knowell aside). Faith, sir, I 
 am but servant to the drum extraordinary,^ and in- 
 deed, this smoky varnish being washed off, and three 
 or four patches removed, I appear your worship's in 
 reversion, after the decease of your good father. 
 Brain worm. 
 
 1 Presumably a reference to the old interlude, yack 
 Drum's Entertainment. Jack is a rascally servant. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. I2i 
 
 E. Know. Brain worm ! 'Slight, what breath of a 
 conjurer hath blown thee hither in this shape ? 
 
 Brai. The breath of your letter, sir, this morning ; 
 the same that blew you to the Windmill, and your 
 father after you. 
 
 E. Know. My father ! 
 
 Brai. Nay, never start, 't is true ; he has followed 
 you over the fields by the foot, as you would do a 
 hare in the snow. 
 
 E. Know. Sirrah Wellbred, what shall we do, 
 sirrah ? my father is come over after me. 
 
 Wei. Thy father ! Where is he ? 
 
 Brai. At justice Clement's house, in Coleman- 
 street, where he but stays my return ; and then — 
 
 WeL Who 's this ? Brainworm ! 
 
 Brai. The same, sir. 
 
 Well. Why how, in the name of wit, com'st thou 
 transmuted thus ? 
 
 Brai. Faith, a device, a device ; nay, for the love 
 of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding danger, stand not 
 here ; withdraw, and I '11 tell you all. 
 
 Wei. But thou art sure he will stay thy return ? 
 
 Brai. Do I live, sir ? what a question is that ! 
 
 Wei. We 'II prorogue his expectation, then, a little : 
 Brainworm, thou shalt go with us. — Come on, gentle- 
 men. — Nay, I pray thee, sweet Ned, droop not ; 
 'heart, an our wits be so wretchedly dull, that one 
 old plodding brain can outstrip us all, would we were 
 e'en prest to make porters of, and serve out the rem- 
 nant of our days in Thames-street, or at Custom- 
 house key, in a civil war against the carmen ! 
 
 Brai. Amen, amen, amen, say I. \Exeunt. 
 
122 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Old Jewry. Kitely''s Warehouse, 
 
 Enter Kitely and Cash. 
 
 Kit. What says he, Thomas ? did you speak with 
 him ? 
 
 Cash. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour. 
 
 Kit. Has he the money ready, can you tell ? 
 
 Cash. Yes, sir, the money was brought in last night. 
 
 Kit. O, that is well ; fetch me my cloak, my cloak ! — 
 
 \_Exit Cash. 
 Stay, let me see, an hour to go and come ; 
 Ay, that will be the least ; and then 't will be 
 An hour before I can dispatch with him. 
 Or very near; well, I will say two hours. 
 Two hours ! ha ! things never dreamt of yet, 
 May be contrived, ay, and effected too, 
 In two hours' absence ; well, I will not go. 
 Two hours ! No, fleering Opportunity, 
 I will not give your subtilty that scope. 
 Who will not judge him worthy to be robbM, 
 That sets his doors wide open to a thief, 
 And shews the felon where his treasure lies ? 
 Again, what earthly spirit but will attempt 
 To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree. 
 When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes ? 
 I will not go. Business, ^<9 by for once. 
 No, beauty, no ; you are of too good caract, 
 To be left so, without a guard, or open. 
 Your lustre, too, '11 inflame at any distance. 
 Draw courtship to you, as a jet doth straws ; 
 Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice, 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 123 
 
 Nay, make a porter leap you with his burden. 
 
 You must be then kept up, close, and well watchM, 
 
 For, give you opportunity, no quick-sand 
 
 Devours or swallows swifter ! He that lends 
 
 His wife, if she be fair, or time or place. 
 
 Compels her to be false. I will not go ! 
 
 The dangers are too many : — and then the dressing 
 
 Is a most main attractive ! Our great heads 
 
 Within this city never were in safety 
 
 Since our wives wore these little caps : ^ I '11 change 'em ; 
 
 I '11 change em straight in mine : mine shall no more 
 
 Wear three-piled acorns, to make my horns ake. 
 
 Nor will I go ; I am resolved for that. 
 
 Reenter Cash with a cloak. 
 
 Carry in my cloak again. Yet stay. Yet do, too : 
 I will defer going, on all occasions. 
 
 Cash. Sir, Snare, your scrivener, will be there with 
 the bonds. 
 
 Kit. That 's true : fool on me ! I had clean forgot 
 it ; I must go. What 's a clock ? 
 
 Cash. Exchange-time,^ sir. 
 
 Kit. 'Heart, then will Wellbred presently be here 
 too. 
 With one or other of his loose consorts. 
 I am a knave, if I know what to say, 
 What course to take, or which way to resolve. 
 My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass, 
 Wherein my imaginations run like sands, 
 Filling up time ; but then are turn'd and turn'd : 
 So that I know not what to stay upon, 
 
 1 Fashionable women wore small velvet caps. 
 
 2 That is, ten o'clock. 
 
124 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 And less, to put in act. — It shall be so. 
 
 Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy, 
 
 He knows not to deceive me. — Thomas ! 
 
 Cash. Sir. 
 
 Kit. Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not. 
 — Thomas, is Cob within ? 
 
 Cash. I think he be, sir. 
 
 Kit. But he Ul prate too, there is no speech of him. 
 No, there were no man on the earth to Thomas, 
 If I durst trust him ; there is all the doubt. 
 But should he have a clink in him, I were gone. 
 Lost in my fame for ever, talk for th' Exchange ! 
 The manner he hath stood with, till this present, 
 Doth promise no such change : what should I fear 
 
 then? 
 Well, come what will, I '11 tempt my fortune once. 
 Thomas — you may deceive me, but, I hope — 
 Your love to me is more — 
 
 Cash. Sir, if a servant's 
 
 Duty, with faith, may be call'd love, you are 
 More than in hope, you are possess'd of it. 
 
 Kit. I thank you heartily, Thomas : give me your 
 hand: 
 With all my heart, good Thomas. I have, Thomas, 
 A secret to impart unto you — but. 
 When once you have it, I must seal your lips up ; 
 So far I tell you, Thomas. 
 
 Cash. Sir, for that — 
 
 Kit. Nay, hear me out. Think I esteem you, 
 Thomas, 
 When I will let you in thus to my private. 
 It is a thing sits nearer to my crest, 
 Than thou art 'ware of, Thomas ; if thou should'st 
 Reveal it, but — 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 125 
 
 Cash. How, I reveal it ? 
 
 Kit. Nay, 
 
 I do not think thou would'st ; but if thou should'st, 
 'T were a great weakness. 
 
 Cash. A great treachery : 
 
 Give it no other name. 
 
 Kit. Thou wilt not do ^t, then ? 
 
 Cash. Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me ever ! 
 
 Kit. He will not swear, he has some reservation. 
 Some concealed purpose, and close meaning sure ; 
 Else, being urg'd so much, how should he choose 
 But lend an oath to all this protestation ? 
 He 's no precisian, that I 'm certain of. 
 Nor rigid Roman Catholic : he '11 play 
 At fayles, and tick-tack ; I have heard him swear. 
 What should I think of it ? urge him again. 
 And by some other way ! I will do so. 
 Well, Thomas, thou hast sworn not to disclose : — 
 Yes, you did swear ? 
 
 Cash. Not yet, sir, but I will, 
 
 Please you — 
 
 Kit. No, Thomas, I dare take thy word, 
 
 But, if thou wilt swear, do as thou think'st good ; 
 I am resolv'd without it ; at thy pleasure. 
 
 Cash. By my souPs safety then, sir, I protest, 
 My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word 
 Delivered me in nature of your trust. 
 
 Kit. It is too much ; these ceremonies need not : 
 I know thy faith to be as firm as rock. 
 Thomas, come hither, near ; we cannot be 
 Too private in this business. So it is, — 
 Now he has sworn, I dare the safelier venture. {Aside.^ 
 I have of late, by divers observations — 
 But whether his oath can bind him, yea, or no. 
 
126 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Being not taken lawfully ? ha ! say you ? 
 
 I will ask council ere I do proceed : — {aside). 
 
 Thomas, it will be now too long to stay, 
 
 I '11 spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow. 
 
 Cash. Sir, at your pleasure. 
 
 Kit. I will think : — and, Thomas, 
 
 I pray you search the books 'gainst my return, 
 For the receipts 'twixt me and Traps. 
 
 Cash. I will, sir. 
 
 Kit. And hear you, if your mistress's brother, 
 Wellbred, 
 Chance to bring hither any gentleman, 
 Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word. 
 
 Cash. Very well, sir. 
 
 Kit. To the Exchange, do you hear ? 
 
 Or here in Coleman-street, to justice Clement's. 
 Forget it not, nor be not out of the way. 
 
 Cash. I will not, sir. 
 
 Kit. I pray you have a care on 't. 
 
 Or, whether he come or no, if any other, 
 Stranger, or else ; fail not to send me word. 
 
 Cash. I shall not, sir. 
 
 Kit. Be it your special business 
 
 Now to remember it. 
 
 Cash. Sir, I warrant you. 
 
 Kit. But Thomas, this is not the secret, Thomas, 
 I told you of. 
 
 Cash. No, sir ; I do suppose it. 
 
 Kit. Believe me, it is not. 
 
 Cash. Sir, I do believe you. 
 
 Kit. By heaven it is not, that 's enough : but, 
 Thomas, 
 I would not you should utter it, do you see, 
 To any creature living ; yet I care not. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 127 
 
 Well, I must hence. Thomas, conceive thus much ; 
 It was a trial of you, when I meant 
 So deep a secret to you, I mean not this. 
 But that I have to tell you ; this is nothing, this. 
 But, Thomas, keep this from my wife, I charge you, 
 Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here. — 
 No greater hell than to be slave to fear. [^Exii. 
 
 Cash. Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried here I 
 Whence should this flood of passion, trow, take 
 
 head ? ha ! 
 Best dream no longer of this running humour, 
 For fear I sink ; the violence of the stream 
 Already hath transported me so far, 
 That I can feel no ground at all : but soft — 
 Oh, 't is our water-bearer : somewhat has crost him 
 
 now. 
 
 Enter Cob, hastily. 
 
 Cob. Fasting-days! what tell you me of fasting- 
 days? 'Slid, would they were all on a light fire for 
 me! they say the whole world shall be consumed with 
 fire one day, but would I had these Ember-weeks and 
 villanous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then — 
 
 Cash. Why, how now, Cob? what moves thee to 
 this choler, ha? 
 
 Cob. Collar, master Thomas ! I scorn your collar, 
 I, sir ; I am none o' your cart-horse, though I carry 
 and draw water. An you offer to ride me with your 
 collar or halter either, I may hap shew you a jade's 
 trick, sir. 
 
 Cash. O, you '11 slip your head out of the collar? 
 why, goodman Cob, you mistake me. 
 
 Cob. Nay, I have my rheum, and I can be angry as 
 well as another, sir. 
 
128 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Cash. Thy rheum, Cob! thy humour, thy humour 
 — thou mistak''st. 
 
 Cob. Humour! mack, I think it be so indeed ; what 
 is that humour? some rare thing, I warrant. 
 
 Cash. Marry I '11 tell thee, Cob : it is a gentleman- 
 like monster, bred in the special gallantry of our time, 
 by affectation ; and fed by folly. 
 
 Cob. How! must it be fed? 
 
 Cash. Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed : 
 didst thou never hear that ? it 's a common phrase, /^<?^ 
 ??iy hit7noiir. 
 
 Cob. I'll none on it: humour, avaunt! I know 
 you not, be gone ! let who will make hungry meals for 
 your monstership, it shall not be I. Feed you, quoth 
 he! 'slid, I have much ado to feed myself; especially 
 on these lean rascally days too ; an 't had been any 
 other day but a fasting-day — a plague on them all for 
 me ! By this light, one might have done the common- 
 wealth good service, and have drown'd them all in the 
 flood, two or three hundred thousand years ago. O, 
 I do stomach them hugely. I have a maw now, and 
 'twere for Sir Bevis his horse,^ against them. 
 
 Cash. I pray thee, good Cob, what makes thee so 
 out of love with fasting-days ? 
 
 Cob. Marry, that which will make any man out of 
 love with 'em, I think ; their bad conditions, an you 
 will needs know. First, they are of a Flemish breed, 
 I am sure on 't, for they raven up more butter than all 
 the days of the week beside ; next, they stink of fish 
 and leek-porridge miserably ; thirdly, they '11 keep a 
 man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send himj 
 supperless to bed. 
 
 1 Arundel, quite as famous as master and sword above 
 referred to. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 129 
 
 Cash. Indeed, these are faults, Cob. 
 
 Cob. Nay, an this were all, 't were something ; but 
 they are the only known enemies to my generation. 
 A fasting-day no sooner comes, but my lineage goes 
 to wrack ; poor cobs ! they smoak for it, they are made 
 martyrs o' the gridiron, they melt in passion : and 
 your maids to know this, and yet would have me turn 
 Hannibal, and eat my own flesh and blood. My 
 princely coz {pulls out a red herring) ^ fear nothing; 
 I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be 
 made as rich as king Cophetua.i I that 1 had room 
 for my tears, I could weep salt-water enough now to 
 preserve the lives of ten thousand thousand of my 
 kin! But I may curse none but these filthy alma- 
 nacks ; for an 't were not for them, these days of perse- 
 cution would never be known. I '11 be hang'd an some 
 fishmonger's son do not make of 'em, and puts in more 
 fasting-days than he should do, because he would utter 
 his father's dried stock-fish ^ and stinking conger. 
 
 Cash. 'Slight peace ! thou 'It be beaten like a stock- 
 fish else : here 's master Mathew. 
 
 Enter Wellbred, E. Knowell, Brainworm, 
 Mathew, Bobadill, and Stephen. 
 
 Now must I look out for a messenger to my master. 
 
 \_Exit with Cob. 
 
 Wei. Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good 
 jest, and exceedingly well carried ! 
 
 E. Kfiow. Ay, and our ignorance maintain'd it as 
 well, did it not? 
 
 Wei. Yes, faith ; but was it possible thou shouldst 
 
 1 The African king who married the beggar-maid, Penel- 
 ophon. 
 
 2 Stock-fish must be beaten before being cooked. 
 
 K 
 
130 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 not know him? I forgive master Stephen, for he is 
 stupidity itself. 
 
 E. Know. 'Fore God, not I, an I might have been 
 join'd patten with one of the seven wise masters for 
 knowing him. He had so writhen himself into the 
 habit of one of your poor infantry, your decayed, 
 ruinous, worm-eaten gentlemen of the round ; ^ such 
 as have vowed to sit on the skirts of the city, let your 
 provost and his half-dozen of halberdiers do what 
 they can ; and have translated begging out of the old 
 hackney-pace to a fine easy amble, and made it run as 
 smooth off the tongue as a shove-groat shilHng. Into 
 the likeness of one of these reformados ^ had he 
 moulded himself so perfectly, observing every trick 
 of their action, as, varying the accent, swearing with 
 an emphasis, indeed, all with so special and exquisite 
 a grace, that, hadst thou seen him, thou wouldst have 
 sworn he might have been sergeant-major, if not 
 lieutenant-colonel to the regiment. 
 
 Wei. Why, Brainworm, who would have thought 
 thou hadst been such an artificer? 
 
 E. Kjiow. An artificer! an architect. Except a 
 man had studied begging all his life time, and been a 
 weaver of language from his infancy for the cloathing 
 of it, I never saw his rival. 
 
 Wei. Where got'st thou this coat, I marie? 
 
 Brai. Of a Hounsditch man, sir, one of the devil's 
 near kinsmen, a broker. 
 
 Wei. That cannot be, if the proverb hold ; for A 
 crafty knave needs no broker.^ 
 
 1 Officers of low rank. 
 
 2 Disbanded soldiers. 
 
 3 This is found in John Ray's Collection of English Prov- 
 erbs, published in 1670. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 131 
 
 Brai. True, sir ; but I did need a broker., ergo — 
 Wei. Well put off: — 710 crafty knave, you'll say. 
 E. Know. Tut, he has more of these shifts. 
 Brai. And yet, where I have one the broker has 
 ten, sir. 
 
 Reenter Cash. 
 
 Cash. Francis ! Martin ! ne'er a one to be found 
 now ? what a spite 's this ! 
 
 Wei. How now, Thomas ? Is my brother Kitely 
 within ? 
 
 Cash. No, sir, my master went forth e'en now ; 
 but master Downright is within. — Cob ! what, Cob ! 
 Is he gone too ? 
 
 Wei. Whither went your master, Thomas, canst 
 thou tell ? 
 
 Cash. I know not : to justice Clement's, I think, 
 sir — Cob ! {Exit. 
 
 E. Know. Justice Clement ! what 's he ? 
 
 Wei. Why, dost thou not know him ? He is a 
 city-magistrate, a justice here, an excellent good law- 
 yer, and a great scholar ; but the only mad, merry old 
 fellow in Europe. I shewed him you the other day. 
 
 E. Know. Oh, is that he ? I remember him now. 
 Good faith, and he is a very strange presence me- 
 thinks ; it shews as if he stood out of the rank fi-om 
 other men : I have heard many of his jests in the 
 University. They say he will commit a man for tak- 
 ing the wall of his horse. 
 
 Wei. Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or 
 serving of God ; any thing, indeed, if it come in the 
 way of his humour. 
 
132 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Reenter Cash. 
 
 Cash. Gasper ! Martin ! Cob ! 'Heart, where should 
 they be, trow ? 
 
 Bob. Master Kitely's man, pray thee vouchsafe us 
 the lighting of this match. 
 
 Cash. Fire on your match ! no time but now to 
 vouchsafe ? — Francis ! Cob ! \_Exit. 
 
 Bob. Body o' me ! here 's the remainder of seven 
 pound since yesterday was seven-night. 'T is your 
 right Trinidado : ^ did you never take any, master 
 Stephen ? 
 
 Step. No, truly, sir ; but I '11 learn to take it now, 
 since you commend it so. 
 
 Bob. Sir, believe me, upon my relation for what I 
 tell you, the world shall not reprove. I have been in 
 the Indies, where this herb grows, where neither my- 
 self, nor a dozen gentlemen more of my knowledge, 
 have received the taste of any other nutriment in the 
 world, for the space of one-and-twenty weeks, but the 
 fume of this simple only : therefore, it cannot be, but 
 't is most divine. Further, take it in the nature, in 
 the true kind ; so, it makes an antidote, that, had you 
 taken the most deadly poisonous plant in all Italy, it 
 should expel it, and clarify you, with as much ease as 
 I speak. And for your green wound, — your Bal- 
 samum and your St. John's wort, are all mere gul- 
 leries and trash to it, especially your Trinidado : your 
 Nicotian ^ is good too. I could say what I know of 
 the virtue of it, for the expulsion of rheums, raw 
 
 1 Tobacco from Trinidad was famous. 
 
 2 A tobacco first sent to France by Nicot, ambassador to 
 Portugal. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 133 
 
 humours, crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of 
 this kind ; but I profess myself no quacksalver. Only 
 thus much ; by Hercules, I do hold it, and will affirm 
 it before any prince in Europe, to be the most sover- 
 eign and precious weed that ever the earth tendered 
 to the use of man. 
 
 E. Know. This speech would have done decently 
 in a tobacco-trader's mouth. 
 
 Reenter Cash with Cob. 
 
 Cash. At justice Clement's he is, in the middle of 
 Coleman-street. 
 
 Cob. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Bob. Where 's the match I gave thee, master Kitely's 
 man ? 
 
 Cash. Would his match and he, and pipe and all, 
 were at Sancto Domingo ! I had forgot it. \_Exit. 
 
 Cob. 'Od "s me, I marie what pleasure or felicity 
 they have in taking this roguish tobacco. It 's good 
 for nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of 
 smoke and embers : there were four died out of one 
 house last week with taking of it, and two more the 
 bell went for yesternight ; one of them, they say, will 
 never scape it ; he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, 
 upward and downward. By the stocks, an there were 
 no wiser men than I, I 'd have it present whipping, 
 man or woman, that should but deal with a tobacco 
 pipe : why, it will stifle them all in the end, as many 
 as use it ; it 's little better than ratsbane or rosaker. 
 
 \Bobadill beats hi7?i. 
 
 All. Oh, good captain, hold, hold ! 
 
 Bob. You base cullion, you ! 
 
134 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, 
 
 Reenter Cash. 
 
 Cash. Sir, here 's your match. Come, thou must 
 needs be talking too, thou Vt well enough served. 
 
 Cob. Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I 
 warrant you : well, it shall be a dear beating, an I 
 live. 
 
 Bob. Do you prate, do you murmur ? 
 
 E. Know. Nay, good captain, will you regard the 
 humour of a fool ? Away, knave. 
 
 Wei. Thomas, get him away. 
 
 \Exit Cash with Cob. 
 
 Bob. A whoreson filthy slave, a dung-worm, an 
 excrement ! Body o' Caesar, but that I scorn to let 
 forth so mean a spirit, I 'd have stabb'd him to the 
 earth. 
 
 Wei. Marry, the law forbid, sir ! 
 
 Bob. By Pharaoh's foot, I would have done it. 
 
 Step. Oh, he swears most admirably ! By Pha- 
 raoh's foot ! Body o' Caesar ! — I shall never do it, 
 sure. Upon mine honour, and by St. George! — No, 
 I have not the right grace. 
 
 Mat. Master Stephen, will you any ? By this air, 
 the most divine tobacco that ever I drunk. ^ 
 
 Step. None, I thank you, sir. O, this gentleman 
 does it rarely too : but nothing like the other. By 
 this air ! {Practises at the post.) As I am a gentle- 
 man ! By — \Exeunt Bobadill and Mathew. 
 
 Brai. {pointi7ig to Master Stephen). Master, 
 glance, glance ! master Wellbred ! 
 
 Step. As I have somewhat to be saved, I protest — 
 
 Wei. You are a fool ; it needs no affidavit. 
 
 1 The common phrase of the day for smoking. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 135 
 
 E. Know. Cousin, will you any tobacco ? 
 
 Step. I, sir ! Upon my reputation — 
 
 E. Know. How now, cousin ! 
 
 Step. I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no sol- 
 dier, indeed — 
 
 Wei. No, master Stephen ! As I remember, your 
 name is entered in the artillery-garden. 
 
 Step. Ay, sir, that 's true. Cousin, may I swear, 
 as I am a soldier, by that ? 
 
 E. Know. O yes, that you may ; it is all you have 
 for your money. 
 
 Step. Then, as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it 
 is ' divine tobacco ! ' 
 
 Wei. But soft, where 's master Mathew ? Gone ? 
 
 Brai. No, sir; they went in here. 
 
 Wei. O let 's follow them : master Mathew is gone 
 to salute his mistress in verse ; we shall have the 
 happiness to hear some of his poetry now ; he never 
 comes unfinished. — Brainworm ! 
 
 Step. Brainworm ! Where ? Is this Brainworm ? 
 
 E. Know. Ay, cousin ; no words of it, upon your 
 gentility. 
 
 Step. Not I, body of me ! By this air! St. George! 
 and the foot of Pharaoh ! 
 
 Wei. Rare ! Your cousin's discourse is simply 
 drawn out with oaths. 
 
 E. Know. 'T is larded with them ; a kind of French 
 dressing, if you love it. \Exeunt. 
 
136 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Coleman-street. A Room in Justice Clement's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Kitely and Cob. 
 
 Kit. Ha ! how many are there, say'st thou ? 
 
 Cob. Marry, sir, your brother, master Wellbred — 
 
 Kit. Tut, beside him : what strangers are there, 
 man ? 
 
 Cob. Strangers ? let me see, one, two ; mass, I 
 know not well, there are so many. 
 
 Kit. How ! so many ? 
 
 Cob. Ay, there 's some five or six of them at the 
 most. 
 
 Kit. A swarm, a swarm ! 
 Spite of the devil, how they sting my head 
 With forked stings, thus wide and large ! But, Cob, 
 How long hast thou been coming hither. Cob ? 
 
 Cob. A little while, sir. 
 
 Kit. Didst thou come running ? 
 
 Cob. No, sir. 
 
 Kit. Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste. 
 Bane to my fortunes ! what meant I to marry ? 
 I, that before was rank'd in such content, 
 My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace, 
 Being free master of mine own free thoughts. 
 And now become a slave ? What ! never sigh ; 
 Be of good cheer, man ; for thou art a cuckold : 
 'T is done, 't is done ! Nay, when such flowing-store. 
 Plenty itself, falls into my wife's lap. 
 The cornucopiae will be mine, I know. — 
 But, Cob, 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 137 
 
 What entertainment had they ? I am sure 
 My sister and my wife would bid them welcome : ha ? 
 Cob. Like enough, sir; yet I heard not a word 
 of it. 
 
 Kit. No; 
 Their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voice, 
 Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival, 
 Had lost her motion, state and faculty. — 
 Cob, 
 
 Which of them was it that first kiss'd my wife, 
 My sister, I should say ? — My wife, alas ! 
 I fear not her : ha ! who was it say'st thou ? 
 
 Cob. By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it? 
 Kit. Oh, ay, good Cob, I pray thee heartily. 
 Cob. Then I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bride- 
 well than your worship's company, if I saw any body 
 to be kiss'd, unless they would have kiss'd the post ^ 
 '. in the middle of the warehouse; for there I left them 
 i all at their tobacco, with a pox ! 
 
 Kit. How ! were they not gone in then ere thou 
 • cam'st? 
 
 ■ Cob. O no, sir. 
 
 ,; Kit. Spite of the devil! what do I stay here then? 
 Cob, follow me. \^Exit. 
 
 Cob. Nay, soft and fair ; I have eggs on the spit ; ^ 
 I cannot go yet, sir. Now am I, for some five and 
 fifty reasons, hammering, hammering revenge : oh for 
 three or four gallons of vinegar, to sharpen my wits ! 
 Revenge, vinegar revenge, vinegar and mustard re- 
 venge! Nay, an he had not lien in my house, 't would 
 never have grieved me ; but being my guest, one that, 
 1 '11 be sworn, my wife has lent him her smock off her 
 
 1 A slang phrase meaning to be cut out of one's dinner, 
 
 2 Slang for " business to do." 
 
138 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 back, while his own shirt has been at washing ; pawned 
 her neck-kerchers for clean bands for him ; sold al- 
 most all my platters, to buy him tobacco ; and he to 
 turn monster of ingratitude, and strike his lawful host! 
 Well, I hope to raise up an host of fury for 't : here 
 comes justice Clement. 
 
 Enter Justice Clement, Knowell, and Formal. 
 
 Clem. What's master Kitely gone, Roger? 
 
 Form. Ay, sir. 
 
 Clem. 'Heart o' me! what made him leave us so 
 abruptly? — How now, sirrah! what make you here? 
 what would you have, ha? 
 
 Cob. An 't please your worship, I am a poor neigh- 
 bour of your worship's — 
 
 Clem. A poor neighbour of mine! Why, speak, 
 poor neighbour. 
 
 Cob. I dwell, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, 
 hard by the Green Lattice : ^ I have paid scot and lot 
 there any time this eighteen years. 
 
 Clem. To the Green Lattice ? 
 
 Cob. No, sir, to the parish : Marry, I have seldom 
 scaped scot-free at the Lattice. 
 
 Clein. O, well ; what business has my poor neigh- 
 bour with me ? 
 
 Cob. An 't like your worship, I am come to crave 
 the peace of your worship. 
 
 Clem. Of me, knave ! Peace of me, knave 1 Did 
 I ever hurt thee, or threaten thee, or wrong thee, ha? 
 
 Cob. No, sir ; but your worship 's warrant for one 
 that has wrong'd me, sir : his arms are at too much 
 liberty, I would fain have them bound to a treaty of 
 
 1 A tavern. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 139 
 
 peace, an my credit could compass it with your wor- 
 ship. 
 
 Clem. Thou goest far enough about for 't, I am 
 sure. 
 
 Know. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for 
 him, friend? 
 
 Cob. No, sir ; but I go in danger of my death every 
 hour, by his means ; an I die within a twelvemonth 
 and a day,i I may swear by the law of the land that 
 he killed me. 
 
 Clem. How, how, knave, swear he killed thee, and 
 by the law? What pretence, what colour hast thou 
 for that? 
 
 Cob. Marry, an 't please your worship, both black 
 and blue ; colour enough, I warrant you. I have it 
 here to shew your worship, 
 
 Clem. What is he that gave you this, sirrah? 
 
 Cob. A gentleman and a soldier, he says, he is, of 
 the city here. 
 
 Cle?n. A soldier of the city ! What call you him ? 
 
 Cob. Captain Bobadill. 
 
 Clefn. Bobadill ! and why did he bob and beat you, 
 sirrah? How began the quarrel betwixt you, ha? 
 speak truly, knave, I advise you. 
 
 Cob. Marry, indeed, an 't please your worship, only 
 because I spake against their vagrant tobacco, as I 
 came by them when they were taking on 't ; for noth- 
 ing else. 
 
 Clefn. Ha! you speak against tobacco? Formal, 
 his name. 
 
 Form. What's your name, sirrah? 
 
 Cob. Oliver, sir, Oliver Cob, sir. 
 
 1 The charge of murder could not be made if a longer time 
 elapsed. 
 
I40 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, 
 
 Clem. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail, 
 Formal. 
 
 Form. Oliver Cob, my master, justice Clement, says 
 you shall go to the jail. 
 
 Cob. O, I beseech your worship, for God's sake, 
 dear master justice! 
 
 Cle7n. 'Sprecious! an such drunkards and tankards 
 as you are, come to dispute of tobacco once, I have 
 done : away with him ! 
 
 Cob. O, good master justice! Sweet old gentle- 
 man! {to Knov^^ell). 
 
 Know. ' Sweet Oliver,' would I could do thee any 
 good! — justice Clement, let me intreat you, sir. 
 
 Clem. What ! a thread-bare rascal, a beggar, a slave 
 that never drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in 
 his life ! and he to deprave and abuse the virtue of an 
 herb so generally received in the courts of princes, 
 the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, 
 the cabins of soldiers! — Roger, away with him? 
 'Od's precious — I say, go to. 
 
 Cob. Dear master justice, let me be beaten again, I 
 have deserved it : but not the prison, I beseech you. 
 
 Know. Alas, poor Oliver! 
 
 Clem. Roger, make him a warrant : — he shall not 
 go, I but fear ^ the knave. 
 
 For7H. Do not stink, sweet Oliver, you shall not 
 go ; my master will give you a warrant. 
 
 Cob. O, the Lord maintain his worship, his worthy 
 worship! i 
 
 Clem. Away, dispatch him. {Exeu7it Formal and 
 Cob.) How now, master Knowell, in dumps, in 
 dumps! Come, this becomes not. 
 
 Know. Sir, would I could not feel my cares. 
 
 1 Cause him to fear. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 141 
 
 Clem. Your cares are nothing : they are like my 
 cap, soon put on, and as soon put off. What ! your 
 son is old enough to govern himself: let him run his 
 course, it's the only way to make him a staid man. 
 If he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a 
 licentious liver, then you had reason ; you had reason 
 to take care : but, being none of these, mirth 's my 
 witness, an I had twice so many cares as you have, 
 I 'd drown them all in a cup of sack.i Come, come, 
 let 's try it : I muse your parcel of a soldier returns 
 not all this while. \Exeimt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 A Roo7n in Kitely's House. 
 
 Enter Downright and Dame Kitely. 
 
 Dow. Well, sister, I tell you true ; and you '11 find 
 it so in the end. 
 
 Dame K. Alas, brother, what would you have me 
 do ? I cannot help it ; you see my brother brings 
 them in here; they are his friends. 
 
 Dow. His friends! his friends. 'Slud! they do 
 nothing but haunt him up and down like a sort of 
 unlucky spirits, and tempt him to all manner of vil- 
 lainy that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a 
 little thing would make me play the devil with some 
 of them : an 't were not more for your husband's 
 sake than any thing else, I 'd make the house too hot 
 for the best on 'em ; they should say, and swear, hell 
 were broken loose, ere they went hence. But, by 
 
 1 A white wine. 
 
142 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 God's will, 't is nobody's fault but yours ; for an you 
 had done as you might have done, they should have 
 been parboiled, and baked too, every mother's son, 
 ere they should have come in, e'er a one of them'. 
 
 Dame K. God's my life ! did you ever hear the 
 like ? what a strange man is this ! Could I keep out 
 all them, think you? I should put myself against 
 half a dozen men, should I ? Good faith, you 'd mad 
 the patien'st body in the world, to hear you talk so, 
 without any sense or reason. 
 
 Enter Mistress Bridget, Master Mathew, and 
 BOBADILL ; followed., at a distatice, by Well- 
 bred, E. Knowell, Stephen, and Brainworm. 
 
 Brid. Servant, in troth you are too prodigal 
 Of your wit's treasure, thus to pour it forth 
 Upon so mean a subject as my worth. 
 
 Mat. You say well, mistress, and I mean as well. 
 
 Dow. Hoy-day, here is stuff! 
 
 Wei. O, now stand close ; pray Heaven, she can 
 get him to read! he should do it of his own natural 
 impudency. 
 
 Brid. Servant, what is this same, I pray you? 
 
 Mat. Marry, an elegy, an elegy, an odd toy — 
 
 Dow. To mock an ape withal! ^ O, I could sew up 
 his mouth, now. 
 
 Dame K. Sister, I pray you let 's hear it. 
 
 Dow. Are you rhyme-given too ? 
 
 Mat. Mistress, I '11 read it if you please. 
 
 Brid. Pray you do, servant. 
 
 Dow. O, here's no foppery! Death! I can en- 
 dure the stocks better. \_Exit. 
 
 1 A proverb meaning to deceive a simpleton. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 143 
 
 E. Know. What ails thy brother? can he not hold 
 his water at reading of a ballad? 
 
 Wei. O, no ; a rhyme to him is worse than cheese, 
 or a bagpipe ; but mark ; you lose the protestation. 
 
 Mat. Faith, I did it in a humour ; I know not how 
 it is ; but please you come near, sir. This gentleman 
 has judgment, he knows how to censure of a — pray 
 you, sir, you can judge ? 
 
 Step. Not I, sir; upon my reputation, and by the 
 foot of Pharaoh! 
 
 Wei. O, chide your cousin for swearing. 
 
 E. Know. Not I, so long as he does not forswear 
 himself. 
 
 Bob. Master Mathew, you abuse the expectation 
 of your dear mistress, and her fair sister: fie! while 
 you live avoid this prolixity. 
 
 Mat. I shall, sir, well ; incipere dtilce.^ 
 
 E. KnoTju. How, itisipere duke I a sweet thing to be 
 a fool, indeed! 
 
 Wei. What, do you take incipere in that sense ? 
 
 E. Know. You do not, you! This was your vil- 
 lainy, to gull him with a motte. 
 
 Wei. O, the benchers' ^ phrase : pauca verba, 
 pauca verba ! 
 
 Mat. Rare creature., let me speak without offence^ 
 Would God my rude words had the influetice 
 To rule thy thoughts., as thy fair looks do ?nine, 
 Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine. 
 
 E. Know. This is Hero and Leander. 
 
 Wei. O, ay : peace, we shall have more of this. 
 
 1 " It is pleasant to begin." 
 
 2 Benchers were tavern frequenters. 
 
 3 The lines are in Marlowe's Hero and Leander, i Sestiad ; 
 IV., I. Verbal alterations have been made. 
 
144 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Mat. Be not unkind and fair : miss/iapen stuff 
 Is of behaviour boisterous and rough. 
 
 Wei. How like you that, sir? 
 
 [Master Stephen shakes his head. 
 
 E. Know. 'Slight, he shakes his head like a bottle, 
 to feel an there be any brain in it. 
 
 Mat. But observe the catastrophe, now : 
 And I in duty will exceed all other ^ 
 As you in beauty excel Love''s niother. 
 
 E. Know. Well, I '11 have him free of the wit- 
 brokers, for he utters nothing but stolen remnants. 
 
 Wei. O, forgive it him. 
 
 E. Ktiow. A filching rogue, hang him! — and from 
 the dead! it's worse than sacrilege. 
 
 Wellbred, E. Knowell, ajtd Master Stephen 
 
 conie forward. 
 
 Wei. Sister, what have you here, verses ? pray you 
 let 's see : who made these verses ? they are excellent 
 good. 
 
 Mat. O, Master Wellbred, 't is your disposition to 
 say so, sir. They were good in the morning : I made 
 them ex tempore this morning. 
 
 Wei. How ! ex tetnpore f 
 
 Mat. Ay, would I might be hanged else ; ask cap- 
 tain Bobadill : he saw me write them, at the — pox 
 on it! — the Star, yonder. 
 
 Brai. Can he find in his heart to curse the stars' 
 so? 
 
 E. Know. Faith, his are even with him ; they 
 have curst him enough already. 
 
 Step. Cousin, how do you like this gentleman's 
 verses ? 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 145 
 
 E. KncTdJ. O, admirable! the best that ever I 
 heard, coz. 
 
 Step. Body o' Caesar, they are admirable ! the best 
 that I ever heard, as I am a soldier! 
 
 Reenter Downright. 
 
 Dow. I am vext, I can hold ne'er a bone of me 
 still : 'Heart, I think they mean to build and breed 
 here. 
 
 Wei. Sister, you have a simple servant here, that 
 crowns your beauty with such encomiums and de- 
 vices ; you may see what it is to be the mistress of a 
 wit, that can make your perfections so transparent, 
 that every blear eye may look through them, and see 
 him drowned over head and ears in the deep well of 
 desire : Sister Kitely, I marvel you get you not a ser- 
 vant that can rhyme, and do tricks too. 
 
 Dow. O monster! impudence itself! tricks! 
 
 Da7ne K. Tricks, brother! what tricks? 
 
 Brid. Nay, speak, I pray you what tricks ? 
 
 Da7ne K. Ay, never spare any body here ; but say, 
 what tricks. 
 
 Brid. Passion of my heart, do tricks! 
 
 Wei. 'Slight, here's a trick vied and revied ! ^ Why, 
 you monkeys, you, what a cater-wauling do you keep! 
 has he not given you rhymes and verses and tricks? 
 
 Dow. O, the fiend! 
 
 Wei. Nay, you lamp of virginity, that take it in 
 snuflf so, come, and cherish this tame poetical fury in 
 your servant ; you '11 be begg'd else shortly for a con- 
 cealment : ^ go to, reward his muse. You cannot give 
 him less than a shilling in conscience, for the book 
 
 1 Betted on, over and over again. 
 
 2 Religious lands and houses kept without authority. 
 
 L 
 
146 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 he had it out of cost him a teston at least. How now, 
 gallants! Master Mathew! Captain! what, all sons 
 of silence, no spirit ? 
 
 Dow. Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks 
 somewhere else, and not here, I wuss ; this is no tav- 
 ern nor drinking-school, to vent your exploits in. 
 
 Wei. How now; whose cow has calved ?i 
 
 Dow. Marry, that has mine, sir. Nay, boy, never 
 look askance at me for the matter ; I '11 tell you of it, 
 I, sir; you and your companions mend yourselves 
 when I have done. 
 
 Wei. My companions! 
 
 Dow. Yes, sir, your companions, so I say ; I am 
 not afraid of you, nor them neither ; your hang-byes 
 here. You must have your poets and your potlings, 
 your soldados and foolados to follow you up and down 
 the city ; and here they must come to domineer and 
 swagger. Sirrah, you ballad-singer,^ and slops ^ your 
 fellow there, get you out, get you home ; or by this 
 steel, I '11 cut off your ears, and that presently. 
 
 Wei. 'Slight, stay, let's see what he dare do ; cut 
 off his ears ! cut a whetstone. You are an ass, do 
 you see ; touch any man here, and by this hand I '11 
 run my rapier to the hilts in you. 
 
 Dow. Yea, that would I fain see, boy. 
 
 {They all draw. 
 
 Daffie K. O Jesu! murder! Thomas! Gasper! 
 
 Brid. Help, help! Thomas! 
 
 E?tier Cash and soute of the house to part them. 
 
 E. Know. Gentlemen, forbear, I pray you. 
 
 Bob. Well, sirrah, you Holofernes ; by my hand, I 
 
 1 " Who 's bragging now ? " 2 Mathew. ^ Bobadill. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 147 
 
 will pink your flesh full of holes with my rapier for 
 this ; I will, by this good heaven ! nay, let him come, 
 let him come, gentlemen ; by the body of St. George, 
 I '11 not kill him. \_Offer to fight again, and are parted. 
 
 Cask. Hold, hold, good gentlemen. 
 
 Dow. You whoreson, bragging coystril! 
 
 Enter Kitely. 
 
 Kit. Why, how now ! what's the matter, what's 
 the stir here ? 
 Whence springs the quarrel ? Thomas ! where is he? 
 Put up your weapons, and put off this rage : 
 My wife and sister, they are the cause of this. 
 What, Thomas ! where is the knave ? 
 
 Cash. Here, sir. 
 
 M'^el. Come, let 's go : this is one of my brother's 
 ancient humours, this. 
 
 Step. I am glad nobody was hurt by his ancient 
 humour. 
 
 \_Exe7mt Wellbred, Stephen, E. Knowell, 
 BoBADiLL, and Brainworm. 
 
 Kit. Why, how now, brother, who enforced this 
 brawl ? 
 
 Dow. A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither 
 for God nor the devil. And they must come here to 
 read ballads, and roguery, and trash ! I '11 mar the 
 knot of 'em ere I sleep, perhaps ; especially Bob there, 
 he that 's all manner of shapes : and songs and son- 
 nets,i his fellow. 
 
 Brid. Brother, indeed you are too violent. 
 Too sudden in your humour : and you know 
 My brother Wellbred's temper will not bear 
 Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence, 
 
 1 Common name at that time for any sort of poem. 
 
148 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Where every slight disgrace he should receive 
 Might wound him in opinion and respect. 
 
 Dow. Respect! what talk you of respect among 
 such, as have no spark of manhood, nor good man- 
 ners? 'Sdeins, I am ashamed to hear you! respect! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Brid. Yes, there was one a civil gentleman, 
 And very worthily demeaned himself. 
 
 Kit. O, that was some love of yours, sister. 
 
 Brid. A love of mine ! I would it were no worse, 
 brother ; 
 You 'd pay my portion sooner than you think for. 
 
 Dame K. Indeed he seem'd to be a gentleman of a 
 very exceeding fair disposition, and of excellent good 
 parts. \_Exetint Dame Kitely mid Bridget. 
 
 Kit. Her love, by heaven ! my wife's minion. 
 Fair disposition ! excellent good parts I 
 Death ! these phrases are intolerable. 
 Good parts! how should she know his parts? 
 His parts! Well, well, well, well, well, well ; 
 It is too plain, too clear : Thomas, come hither. 
 What, are they gone? 
 
 Cash. Ay, sir, they went in. 
 
 My mistress and your sister — 
 
 Kit. Are any of the gallants within? 
 
 Cash. No, sir, they are all gone. 
 
 Kit. Art thou sure of it? 
 
 Cash. I can assure you, sir. 
 
 Kit. What gentleman was that they praised so, 
 Thomas? 
 
 Cash. One, they call him Master Knowell, a hand- 
 some young gentleman, sir. 
 
 Kit. Ay, I thought so ; my mind gave me as much : 
 I '11 die, but they have hid him in the house, 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 149 
 
 Somewhere, I '11 go and search ; go with me, Thomas : 
 Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a master.^ 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Lane before Cob'^s Ho7ise. 
 
 Enter Cob. 
 
 Cob {knocks at the door). What, Tib! Tib, I say! 
 Tib. {withi7i). How now, what cuckold is that 
 knocks so hard? 
 
 Enter Tib. 
 
 Tib. O, husband ! is it you ? What 's the news ? 
 
 Cob. Nay, you have stunn'd me, i' faith : you have 
 given me a knock o' the forehead will stick by me. 
 Cuckold! 'Slid, cuckold! 
 
 Tib. Away, you fool ! did I know it was you that 
 knocked ? Come, come, you may call me as bad when 
 you list. 
 
 Cob. May I ? Tib, you are a whore. 
 
 Tib. You lie in your throat, husband. 
 
 Cob. How, the lie! and in my throat too! do you 
 long to be stabb'd, ha? 
 
 Tib. Why, you are no soldier, I hope. 
 
 Cob. O, must you be stabbed by a soldier? Mass, 
 that's true! when was Bobadill here, your captain? 
 that rogue, that foist, that fencing Burgullion? I'll 
 tickle him, i' faith. 
 
 Tib. Why, what's the matter, trow? 
 
 Cob. O, he has basted me rarely, sumptuously! but 
 I have it here in black and white {pulls out the war- 
 rant), for his black and blue shall pay him. O, the 
 
 1 The tone implies that Kitely will make it worth while. 
 
150 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 justice, the honestest old brave Trojan in London ; I 
 do honour the very flea of his dog. A plague on him, 
 though, he put me once in a villanous filthy fear ; 
 marry, it vanished away like the smoke of tobacco ; 
 but I was smoked soundly first. I thank the devil, 
 and his good angel, my guest. Well, wife, or Tib, 
 which you will, get you in, and lock the door ; I charge 
 you let nobody in to you, wife ; nobody in to you ; 
 those are my words : not Captain Bob himself, nor the 
 fiend in his likeness. You are a woman, you have 
 flesh and blood enough in you to be tempted ; there- 
 fore keep the door shut upon all comers. 
 
 Tib. I warrant you, there shall nobody enter here 
 without my consent. 
 
 Cob. Nor with your consent, sweet Tib ; and so I 
 leave you. 
 
 Tib. It 's more than you know, whether you leave 
 me so. 
 
 Cob. How? 
 
 Tib. Why, sweet. 
 
 Cob. Tut, sweet or sour, thou art a flower. 
 Keep close thy door, I ask no more. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A Room in the Windinill Tavern. 
 
 Enter E. Knowell, Wellbred, Stephen, and 
 Bbainv^orm, disguised as before. 
 
 E. Know. Well, Brainworm, perform this business 
 happily, and thou makest a purchase of my love for ever. 
 
 Wei. r faith, now let thy spirits use their best facul- 
 ties : but, at any hand, remember the message to my 
 brother ; for there 's no other means to start him. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 151 
 
 Brai. I warrant you, sir ; fear nothing ; I have a 
 nimble soul has waked all forces of my phant'sie by 
 this time, and put them in true motion. What you 
 have possest me withal, I '11 discharge it amply, sir ; 
 make it no question. [Exit. 
 
 Wei. Forth, and prosper, Brainworm. Faith, Ned, 
 how dost thou approve of my abilities in this device? 
 
 E. Know. Troth, well, howsoever; but it will 
 come excellent if it take. 
 
 Wei. Take, man! why it cannot choose but take, 
 if the circumstances miscarry not : but, tell me in- 
 genuously, dost thou affect my sister Bridget as thou 
 pretend'st? 
 
 E. Know. Friend, am I worth belief ? 
 
 Wei. Come, do not protest. V faith, she is a maid 
 of good ornament, and much modesty ; and, except 
 I conceived very worthily of her, thou should'st not 
 have her. 
 
 E. Know. Nay, that I am afraid, will be a question 
 yet, whether I shall have her, or no. 
 
 Wei. 'Slid, thou shalt have her ; by this light thou 
 shalt. 
 
 E. Know. Nay, do not swear. 
 
 Wei. By this hand thou shalt have her ; I '11 go 
 fetch her presently. 'Point but where to meet, and 
 as I am an honest man I '11 bring her. 
 
 E. Know. Hold, hold, be temperate. 
 
 Wei. Why, by — what shall I swear by? thou 
 shalt have her, as I am — 
 
 E. Know. Praythee, be at peace, I am satisfied ; 
 and do believe thou wilt omit no offered occasion to 
 make my desires complete. 
 
 Wei. Thou shalt see, and know, I will not. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
152 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 The Old Jewry. 
 
 Enter Formal and K no well. 
 
 Form. Was your man a soldier, sir? 
 
 Know. Ay, a knave. 
 
 I took him begging o' the way, this morning, 
 As I came over Moorfields. 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised as before. 
 
 O, here he is ! — you Ve made fair speed, believe me. 
 Where, in the name of sloth, could you be thus ? 
 
 Brai. Marry, peace be my comfort, where I 
 thought I should have had little comfort of your 
 worship's service. 
 
 Know. How so ? 
 
 Brai. O, sir, your coming to the city, your enter- 
 tainment of me, and your sending me to watch — in- 
 deed all the circumstances either of your charge, or 
 my employment, are as open to your son as to 
 yourself. 
 
 Know. How should that be, unless that villain, 
 Brainworm, 
 Have told him of the letter, and discovered 
 All that I strictly charged him to conceal? 
 'T is so. 
 
 Brai. I am partly o' the faith, 't is so, indeed. 
 
 K710W. But, how should he know thee to be my 
 man? 
 
 Brai. Nay, sir, I cannot tell ; unless it be by the 
 black art. Is not your son a scholar, sir? 
 
 Know. Yes, but I hope his soul is not allied 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 153 
 
 Unto such hellish practice : if it were, 
 
 I had just cause to weep my part in him, 
 
 And curse the time of his creation. 
 
 But, where didst thou find them, Fitz-Sword? 
 
 Brai. You should rather ask where they found me, 
 sir ; for I '11 be sworn, I was going along in the street, 
 thinking nothing, when, of a sudden, a voice calls, 
 Mr. KnowelVs man! another cries, Soldier! and 
 thus half a dozen of them, till they had call'd me 
 within a house, where I no sooner came, but they 
 seem'd men, and out flew all their rapiers at my 
 bosom, with some three or four score oaths to accom- 
 pany them ; and all to tell me, I was but a dead man, 
 if I did not confess where you were, and how I was 
 employed, and about what ; which when they could 
 not get out. of me (as, I protest, they must have dis- 
 sected, and made an anatomy of me first, and so I 
 told them), they lock'd me up into a room in the top 
 of a high house, whence by great miracle (having a 
 light heart) I slid down by a bottom of packthread 
 into the street, and so 'scaped. But, sir, thus much I 
 can assure you, for I heard it while I was lock'd up, 
 there were a great many rich merchants and brave 
 citizens' wives with them at a feast ; and your son, 
 master Edward, withdrew with one of them, and has 
 'pointed to meet her anon at one Cob's house, a 
 water-bearer that dwells by the Wall. Now, there 
 your worship shall be sure to take him, for there he 
 preys, and fail he will not. 
 
 Know. Nor will I fail to break his match, I doubt 
 not. 
 Go thou along with justice Clement's man. 
 And stay there for me. At one Cob's house, say'st 
 thou? 
 
154 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Brat. Ay, sir, there you shall have him. {^Exit 
 Knowell.] Yes — invisible ! Much wench, or much 
 son! 'Slight, when he has staid there three or four 
 hours, travailing with the expectation of wonders, 
 and at length be deliver'd of air! O the sport that I 
 should then take to look on him, if I durst ! But 
 now, I mean to appear no more afore him in this 
 shape : I have another trick to act yet. O that I were 
 so happy as to light upon a nupson now of this jus- 
 tice's novice ! — Sir, I make you stay somewhat long. 
 
 Form. Not a whit, sir. Pray you what do you 
 mean, sir? 
 
 Brai. I was putting up some papers. 
 
 Form. You have been lately in the wars, sir, it 
 seems. 
 
 Brai. Marry have I, sir, to my loss, and expense 
 of all, almost. 
 
 Forfn. Troth, sir, I would be glad to bestow a 
 bottle 1 of wine on you, if it please you to accept it — 
 
 Brai. O, sir — 
 
 Form. But to hear the manner of your services, 
 and your devices in the wars ; they say they be very 
 strange, and not like -those a man reads in the Roman 
 histories, or sees at Mile-end. ^ 
 
 Brai. No, I assure you, sir ; why at any time when 
 it please you, I shall be ready to discourse to you all 
 I know ; — and more too somewhat. {Aside.') 
 
 Form. No better time than now, sir ; we '11 go to 
 the Windmill : ^ there we shall have a cup of neat 
 grist,4 we call it. I pray you, sir, let me request you 
 to the Windmill. 
 
 1 A liquid measure of two quarts. 
 
 2 The training ground for the city bands. 
 
 3 A tavern. 4 xhe drink to be had at the Windmill. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 155 
 
 Brai. I Ul follow you, sir ; — and make grist of you, 
 if I have good luck. {Aside.) \_Ex-eimt. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Moorfields. 
 
 Enter Mathew, E. Knowell, Bobadill, and 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 Mat. Sir, did your eyes ever taste the like clown 
 of him where we were to-day, Mr. Wellbred's half 
 brother? I think the whole earth cannot shew his 
 parallel, by this daylight. 
 
 E. Know. We were now speaking of him : captain 
 Bobadill tells me he is fallen foul of you too. 
 
 Mat. O, ay, sir, he threatened me with the bastinado. 
 
 Bob. Ay, but I think, I taught you prevention this 
 morning, for that : You shall kill him beyond ques- 
 tion ; if you be so generously minded. 
 
 Mat. Indeed, it is a most excellent trick. [Fences. 
 
 Bob. O, you do not give spirit enough to your 
 motion, you are too tardy, too heavy! O, it must be 
 done like lightning, hay ! 
 
 [Practises at a post with his cudgel. 
 
 Mat. Rare, captain! 
 
 Bob. Tut! 'tis nothing, an 't be not done in a — 
 punto. 
 
 E. Know. Captain, did you ever prove yourself 
 upon any of our masters of defence here? 
 
 Mat. O good sir ! yes, I hope he has. 
 
 Bob. I will tell you, sir. Upon my first coming to 
 the city, after my long travel for knowledge, in that 
 mystery only, there came three or four of them to me, 
 
156 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 at a gentleman's house, where it was my chance to 
 be resident at that time, to intreat my presence at 
 their schools : and withal so much importuned me, 
 that I protest to you, as I am a gentleman, I was 
 ashamed of their rude demeanour out of all measure : 
 Well, I told them that to come to a public school, 
 they should pardon me, it was opposite, in diameter, 
 to my humour; but if so be they would give their 
 attendance at my lodging, I protested to do them 
 what right or favour I could, as I was a gentleman, 
 and so forth. 
 
 E. Know. So, sir! then you tried their skill? 
 
 Bob. Alas, soon tried : you shall hear, sir. Within 
 two or three days after, they came ; and, by honesty, 
 fair sir, believe me, I graced them exceedingly, shewed 
 them some two or three tricks of prevention have pur- 
 chased them since a credit to admiration : they can- 
 not deny this; and yet now they hate me, and why? 
 because I am excellent ; and for no other vile reason 
 on the earth. 
 
 E. Kfiow. This is strange and barbarous, as ever 
 I heard. 
 
 Bob. Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous 
 natures ; but note, sir. They have assaulted me some 
 three, four, five, six of them together, as I have walked 
 alone in divers skirts i' the town, as Turnbuiy White- 
 chapel,^ Shoreditch,^ which were then my quarters ; 
 and since, upon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at 
 my ordinary : where I have driven them afore me the 
 whole length of a street, in the open view of all our 
 gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe me. Yet all 
 this lenity will not overcome their spleen ; they will 
 be doing with the pismire, raising a hill a man may 
 1 Outskirts of the city and in ill repute. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 157 
 
 spurn abroad with his foot at pleasure. By myself, I 
 could have slain them all, but I delight not in murder. 
 I am loth to bear any other than this bastinado for 
 them : yet I hold it good polity not to go disarmed, 
 for though I be skilful, I may be oppressed with 
 multitudes. 
 
 E. Know. Ay, believe me, may you, sir : and in 
 i' my conceit, our whole nation should sustain the loss 
 by it, if it were so. 
 
 Bob. Alas, no ? what 's a peculiar man to a nation ? 
 not seen. 
 
 E. Know. O, but your skill, sir. 
 i Bob. Indeed, that might be some loss; but who 
 respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of private, 
 and under seal ; I am a gentleman, and live here ob- 
 scure, and to myself; but were I known to her maj- 
 esty and the lords, — observe me, — I would undertake, 
 upon this poor head and life, for the public benefit of 
 the state, not only to spare the entire lives of her sub- 
 jects in general ; but to save the one half, nay, three 
 parts of her yearly charge in holding war, and against 
 y what enemy soever. And how would I do it, think 
 you? 
 
 E. Know. Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive. 
 
 Bob. Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen more, 
 to myself, throughout the land ; gentlemen they should 
 be of good spirit, strong and able constitution ; I 
 would choose them by an instinct, a character that I 
 have : and I would teach these nineteen the special 
 rules, as your punto,^ your reverso,^ your stoccata,^ 
 your imbroccato,^ your passada,^ your montanto ; ^ till 
 they could all play very near, or altogether as well as 
 
 1 Terms of rapier play, which then apparently included cuts 
 as well as thrusts. 
 
158 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 myself. This done, say the enemy were forty thou- 
 sand strong, we twenty would come into the field the 
 tenth of March, or thereabouts ; and we would chal- 
 lenge twenty of the enemy ; they could not in their 
 honour refuse us : Well, we would kill them ; chal- 
 lenge twenty more, kill them ; twenty more, kill them ; 
 tv/enty more, kill them too ; and thus would we kill 
 every man his twenty a day, thafs twenty score; 
 twenty score that 's two hundred ; two hundred a day, 
 five days a thousand : forty thousand ; forty times 
 five, five times forty, two hundred days kills them all 
 up by computation. And this will I venture my poor 
 gentleman-like carcase to perform, provided there be 
 no treason practised upon us, by fair and discreet man- 
 hood ; that is, civilly by the sword. 
 
 E. Know. Why, are you so sure of your hand, cap- 
 tain, at all times ? 
 
 Bob. Tut ! never miss thrust, upon my reputation 
 with you. 
 
 E. Know. I would not stand in Downright's state 
 then, an you meet him, for the wealth of any street in 
 London. 
 
 Bob. Why, sir, you mistake me : if he were here 
 now, by this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on 
 him. Let this gentleman do his mind : but I will 
 bastinado him, by the bright sun, wherever I meet 
 him. 
 
 Mat. Faith, and I '11 have a fling at him, at my dis- 
 tance. 
 
 E. Know. 'Od's so, look where he is! yonder he 
 goes. [Downright crosses the stage. 
 
 Dow. What peevish luck have I, I cannot meet with 
 these bragging rascals ? 
 
 Bob. It is not he, is it? 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 159 
 
 E. Know. Yes, faith, it is he. 
 
 Mat. I '11 be hang'd then if that were he. 
 
 E. Know. Sir, keep your hanging good for some 
 greater matter, for I assure you that were he. 
 
 Step. Upon my reputation, it was he. 
 
 Bob. Had I thought it had been he, he must not 
 have gone so : but I can hardly be induced to believe 
 it was he yet. 
 
 E. Know. That I think, sir. 
 
 Reenter Downright. 
 
 But see, he is come again. 
 
 Dow. O, "Pharaoh's foot," have I found you? 
 Come, draw to your tools ; draw, gipsy, or I '11 thrash 
 you. 
 
 Bob. Gentleman of valour, I do beheve in thee; 
 hear me — 
 
 Dow. Draw your weapon then. 
 
 Bob. Tall man, I never thought on it till now — 
 Body of me, I had a warrant of the peace served on 
 me, even now as I came along, by a water-bearer ; this 
 gentleman saw it, Master Mathew. 
 
 Dow. 'Sdeath! you will not draw then? 
 
 \_Disarms and beats hi?n. Mathew rtms away. 
 
 Bob. Hold, hold! under thy favour, forbear! 
 
 Dow. Prate again, as you like this, you whoreson 
 foist you ! You '11 " control the point," you ! Your 
 consort is gone ; had he staid he had shared with you, 
 sir. [^Exit. 
 
 Bob. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound 
 to the peace, by this good day. 
 
 E. Know. No, faith, it 's an ill day, captain, never 
 reckon it other : but, say you were bound to the peace, 
 
i6o EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 the law allows you to defend yourself : that will prove 
 but a poor excuse. 
 
 Bob. I cannot tell, sir ; I desire good construction 
 in fair sort. I never sustained the like disgrace, by 
 heaven! sure I was struck with a planet thence, for I 
 had no power to touch my weapon. 
 
 E. Know. Ay, like enough ; I have heard of many 
 that have been beaten under a planet : ^ go, get you to 
 a surgeon. 'Slid ! an these be your tricks, your passa- 
 does, and your montantos, I '11 none of them. {Exit 
 BOBADILL.) O, manners! that this age should bring 
 forth such creatures ! that nature should be at leisure 
 to make them! Come, coz. 
 
 Step. Mass, I '11 have this cloak. 
 
 E. K7io'w. 'Od's will, 'tis Downright's. 
 
 Step. Nay, it 's mine now, another might have ta'en 
 it up as well as I : I '11 wear it, so I will. 
 
 E. Know. How an he see it? he'll challenge it, 
 assure yourself. 
 
 Step. Ay, but he shall not have it : I '11 say I 
 bought it. 
 
 E. Know. Take heed you buy it not too dear, coz. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 A Room in Kitel^s House. 
 
 Enter Kitely, Wellbred, Dame Kitely, and 
 
 Bridget. 
 
 Kit. Now, trust me, brother, you were much to 
 blame, 
 T' incense his anger, and disturb the peace 
 
 1 Jonson here takes a fling at the astrological superstitions 
 of the day. Any disease, of obscure cause, was thus explained. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. i6l 
 
 Of my poor house, where there are sentinels, 
 That every minute watch to give alarms 
 Of civil war, without adjection 
 Of your assistance or occasion. 
 
 Wei. No harm done, brother, I warrant you : since 
 there is no harm done, anger costs a man nothing ; 
 and a tall man is never his own man till he be angry. 
 To keep his valour in obscurity, is to keep himself as 
 it were in a cloak-bag. What 's a musician, unless he 
 play? What's a tall man unless he fight? For, in- 
 deed, all this my wise brother stands upon absolutely ; 
 and that made me fall in with him so resolutely. 
 
 Dame K. Ay, but what harm might have come of 
 it, brother? 
 
 Wei. Might, sister? so might the good warm 
 clothes your husband wears be poisoned, for any 
 thing he knows : or the wholesome wine he drank, 
 even now at the table. 
 
 Kit. Now, God forbid ! O me ! now I remember 
 My wife drank to me last, and changed the cup, 
 And bade me wear this cursed suit to-day. 
 See, if Heaven suffer murder undiscover'd! 
 I feel me ill ; give me some mithridate,^ 
 Some mithridate and oil, good sister, fetch me ; 
 O, I am sick at heart, I burn, I burn. 
 If you will save my life, go fetch it me. 
 
 Wei. O strange humour ! my very breath has poi- 
 soned him. 
 
 Brid. Good brother, be content, what do you 
 mean? 
 The strength of these extreme conceits will kill you. 
 
 Dame K. Beshrew your heart-blood, brother Well- 
 bred, now, 
 
 1 Supposed to be a general antidote. 
 M 
 
1 62 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 For putting such a toy into his head! 
 
 Wei. Is a fit simile a toy? will he be poison'd 
 with a simile? Brother Kitely, what a strange and 
 idle imagination is this! For shame, be wiser. O' 
 my soul there's no such matter. 
 
 Kit. Am I not sick? how am I then not poison'd? 
 Am I not poison'd? how am I then so sick? 
 
 Dame K. If you be sick, your own thoughts make 
 you sick. 
 
 Wei. His jealousy is the poison he has taken. 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised in Formal's clothes. 
 
 Brai. Master Kitely, my master, justice Clement, 
 salutes you ; and desires to speak with you with all 
 possible speed. 
 
 Kit. No time but now, when I think I am sick, 
 very sick ! well, I will wait upon his worship. 
 Thomas! Cob! I must seek them out, and set them 
 sentinels till I return. Thomas! Cob! Thomas! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Wei. This is perfectly rare, Brainworm {takes 
 him aside) ; but how got'st thou this apparel of the 
 justice's man? 
 
 Brai. Marry, sir, my proper fine pen-man would 
 needs bestow the grist on me, at the Windmill, to 
 hear some martial discourse; where I so marshall'd 
 him, that I made him drunk with admiration : and, 
 because too much heat was the cause of his dis- 
 temper, I stript him stark naked as he lay along 
 asleep, and borrowed his suit to deliver this counter- 
 feit message in, leaving a rusty armour, and an old 
 brown bill ^ to watch him till my return ; which shall 
 
 1 A weapon between a pike and a halbert. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 163 
 
 be, when I have pawn'd his apparel, and spent the 
 better part o' the money, perhaps. 
 
 Wei. Well, thou art a successful merry knave, 
 Brainworm : his absence will be a good subject for 
 more mirth. I pray thee return to thy young master, 
 and will him to meet me and my sister Bridget at the 
 Tower instantly ; for, here, tell him the house is so 
 stored with jealousy, there is no room for love to 
 stand upright in. We must get our fortunes com- 
 mitted to some larger prison, say; and than the 
 Tower, I know no better air, nor where the liberty of 
 the house may do us more present service. ^ Away. 
 
 \_Exit Brainworm. 
 
 Reenter Kitely, talking aside to Cash. 
 
 Kit. Come hither, Thomas. Now my secret 's 
 ripe. 
 And thou shalt have it : lay to both thine ears. 
 Hark what I say to thee. I must go forth, Thomas ; 
 Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch, 
 Note every gallant, and observe him well, 
 That enters in my absence to thy mistress : 
 If she would shew him rooms, the jest is stale, 
 Follow them, Thomas, or else hang on him, 
 And let him not go after ; mark their looks ; 
 Note if she offer but to see his band. 
 Or any other amorous toy about him ; 
 But praise his leg, or foot : or if she say 
 The day is hot, and bid him feel her band. 
 How hot it is ; O, that 's a monstrous thing! 
 Note me all this, good Thomas, mark their sighs, 
 
 1 The Tower was extra-parochial, and within its precincts 
 people might be immediately.married. 
 
1 64 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 And if they do but whisper, break 'em off: 
 I Ul bear thee out in it. Wilt thou do this? 
 Wilt thou be true, my Thomas? 
 
 Cash. As truth's self, sir. 
 
 Kit, Why, I beHeve thee : Where is Cob, now ? 
 Cob! {Exit. 
 
 Dame K. He 's ever calling for Cob : I wonder 
 how he employs Cob so. 
 
 Wei. Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs Cob, is 
 a necessary question for you that are his wife, and a 
 thing not very easy for you to be satisfied in ; but this 
 I '11 assure you, Cob's wife is an excellent bawd, sister, 
 and oftentimes your husband haunts her house ; 
 marry, to what end ? I cannot altogether accuse him ; 
 imagine you what you think convenient : but I have 
 known fair hides have foul hearts ere now, sister. 
 
 Dame K. Never said you truer than that, brother, 
 so much I can tell you for your learning. Thomas, 
 fetch your cloak and go with me. {^Exit Cash.) I '11 
 after him presently : I would to fortune I could take 
 him there, i' faith, I 'd return him his own, I warrant 
 him! {Exit. 
 
 Wei. So, let 'em go ; this may make sport anon. 
 Now, my fair sister-in-law, that you knew but how 
 happy a thing it were to be fair and beautiful. 
 
 Brid, That touches not me, brother. 
 
 Wei. That 's true ; that 's even the fault of it ; for 
 indeed, beauty stands a woman in no stead, unless it 
 procure her touching. — But, sister, whether it touch 
 you or no, it touches your beauties ; and I am sure 
 they will abide the touch ; an they do not, a plague 
 of all ceruse, say I ! and it touches me too in part, 
 though not in the — Well, there 's a dear and re- 
 spected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 1 65 
 
 and worthily affected toward you, and hath vowed to 
 inflame whole bonfires of zeal at his heart, in honour 
 of your perfections. I have already engaged my 
 promise to bring you where you shall hear him con- 
 firm much more. Ned Knowell is the man, sister: 
 there 's no exception against the party. You are ripe 
 for a husband ; and a minute's loss to such an occasion, 
 is a great trespass in a wise beauty. What say you, 
 sister.? On my soul he loves you; will you give him 
 the meeting? 
 
 Brid. Faith, I had very little confidence in mine 
 own constancy, brother, if I durst not meet a man : 
 but this motion of yours savours of an old knight 
 adventurer's servant a little too much, methinks. 
 
 Wei. What 's that, sister? 
 
 Brid. Marry, of the squire.^ 
 
 Wei. No matter if it did, I would be such an one 
 for my friend. But see, who is returned to hinder us ! 
 
 Reenter Kitely. 
 
 Kit. What villany is this? called out on a false 
 message! 
 This was some plot ; I was not sent for. — Bridget, 
 Where is your sister? 
 
 Brid. I think she be gone forth, sir. 
 
 Kit. How! is my wife gone forth? whither, for 
 
 God's sake? 
 Brid. She 's gone abroad with Thomas. 
 Kit. Abroad with Thomas ! oh, that villain dors 
 me: 
 Beast that I was, to trust him ! whither, I pray you, 
 Went she? 
 
 1 The apple squire, a common pander. 
 
1 66 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Brid. I know not, sir. 
 
 Wei I '11 tell you, brother, 
 
 Whither I suspect she 's gone. 
 
 Kit. Whither, good brother? 
 
 Wei. To Cob's house, I believe: but, keep my 
 
 counsel. 
 Kit. I will, I will : to Cob's house ! doth she haunt 
 Cob's? 
 She 's gone a purpose now to cuckold me, 
 With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favour, 
 Hath told her all. {Exit. 
 
 Wei. Come, he is once more gone, 
 
 Sister, let 's lose no time ; the affair is worth it. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 A Street. 
 
 Enter Mathew atid Bobadill. 
 
 Mat. I wonder, captain, what they will say of my 
 going away, ha ? 
 
 Bob. Why, what should they say, but as of a dis- 
 creet gentleman ; quick, wary, respectful of nature's 
 fair lineaments ? and that 's all. 
 
 Mat. Why so! but what can they say of your 
 beating? 
 
 Bob. A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind 
 of gross battery used, laid on strongly, borne most 
 patiently ; and that 's all. 
 
 Mat. Ay, but would any man have offered it in 
 Venice, as you say? 
 
 Bob. Tut! I assure you, no: you shall have there 
 your nobilis, your gentilezza, come in bravely upon 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 167 
 
 your reverse, stand you close, stand you firm, stand 
 you fair, save your retricato with his left leg, come to 
 the assalto with the right, thrust with brave steel, defy 
 your base wood! But wherefore do I awake this re- 
 membrance? I was fascinated, by Jupiter ; fascinated, 
 but I will be unwitch'd and revenged by law. 
 
 Mat. Do you hear? is it not best to get a warrant, 
 and have him arrested and brought before justice 
 Clement ? 
 
 Bob. It were not amiss? would we had it! 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised as Formal. 
 
 Mat. Why, here comes his man ; let 's speak to 
 him. 
 
 Bob. Agreed, do you speak. 
 
 Mat. Save you, sir. 
 
 Brai. With all my heart, sir. 
 
 Mat. Sir, there is one Downright hath abused this 
 gentleman and myself, and we determine to make our 
 amends by law : now, if you would do us the favour 
 to procure a warrant to bring him afore your master, 
 you shall be well considered, I assure you, sir. 
 
 Brai. Sir, you know my service is my living ; such 
 favours as these gotten of my master is his only pre- 
 ferment,! and therefore you must consider me as I 
 may make benefit of my place. 
 ■ Mat. How is that, sir? 
 
 Brai. Faith, sir, the thing is extraordinary, and the 
 gentleman may be of great account ; yet, be he what 
 he will, if you will lay me down a brace of angels in 
 my hand you shall have it, otherwise not. 
 
 Mat. How shall we do, captain? he asks a brace 
 of angels, you have no money? 
 
 1 That is, the only preferment given to Brainworm. 
 
1 68 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Bob. Not a 1 cross, by fortune. 
 
 Mat. Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but twopence 
 left of my two shillings in the morning for wine and 
 radish : let 's find him some pawn. 
 
 Bob. Pawn! we have none to the value of his 
 demand. 
 
 Mat. O, yes ; I '11 pawn this jewel in my ear, and 
 you may pawn your silk stockings, and pull up your 
 boots, they will ne'er be mist : it must be done now. 
 
 Bob. Well, an there be no remedy, I '11 step aside 
 and pull them off. {^Withdraws. 
 
 Mat. Do you hear, sir? we have no store of money 
 at this time, but you shall have good pawns ; look 
 you, sir, this jewel, and that gentleman's silk stock- 
 ings ; because we would have it dispatch'd ere we 
 went to our chambers. 
 
 Brai. I am content, sir ; I will get you the warrant 
 presently. What's his name, say you? Downright? 
 
 Mat. Ay, ay, George Downright. 
 
 Brai. What manner of man is he? 
 
 Alat. A tall big man, sir ; he goes in a cloak most 
 commonly of silk-russet, laid about with russet lace. 
 
 Brai. 'T is very good, sir. 
 
 Mat. Here, sir, here 's my jewel. 
 
 Bob. (returning). And here are my stockings. 
 
 Brai. Well, gentlemen, I '11 procure you this war- 
 rant presently ; but who will you have to serve it ? 
 
 Mat. That 's true, captain : that must be con- 
 sidered. 
 
 Bob. Body o' me, I know not ; 't is service of 
 danger. 
 
 Brai. Why, you were best get one o' the varlets 
 
 1 Half-penny and penny were stamped on the face with a 
 cross, 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 1 69 
 
 of the city, a serjeant : I '11 appoint you one, if you 
 please. 
 
 Mat. Will you, sir? why, we can wish no better. 
 
 Bob. We 11 leave it to you, sir. 
 
 \_Exeunt Bobadill and Mathew. 
 
 Brai. This is rare ! Now will I go and pawn this 
 cloak of the justice's man's at the broker's, for a var- 
 let's suit, and be the varlet myself; and get either 
 more pawns, or more money of Downright, for the 
 arrest. \_Exit. 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 The Lane before Cobb's House. 
 
 Enter Knowell. 
 
 Know. Oh, here it is ; I am glad I have found it 
 now; Ho! who is within here? 
 
 Tib. {withiri). I am within, sir? what's your 
 pleasure ? 
 
 Know. To know who is within beside yourself. 
 
 Tib. Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope? 
 
 Know. O, fear you the constable ? then I doubt 
 not, 
 You have some guests within deserve that fear ; 
 I '11 fetch him straight. 
 
 Enter Tib. 
 
 Tib. O' God's name, sir! 
 
 K710W. Go to : come tell me, is not young Knowell 
 here? 
 
 Tib. Young Knowell! I know norje such, sir, o' 
 rnine honesty. 
 
lyo EVERY MAN m HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Know. Your honesty, dame! it flies too lightly 
 from you. 
 There is no way but fetch the constable. 
 
 Tib. The constable! the man is mad, I think. 
 
 \_Exit^ and claps to the door. 
 
 Enter Dame Kitely and Cash. 
 
 Cash. Ho! who keeps house here? 
 Know. O, this is the female copesmate of my son : 
 Now shall I meet him straight. 
 
 Dame K. Knock, Thomas, hard. 
 
 Cash. Ho, goodwife! 
 
 Reenter Tib. 
 
 Tib. Why, what 's the matter with you ? 
 
 Dame K. Why, woman, grieves it you to ope your 
 door? 
 Belike you get something to keep it shut. 
 
 Tib. What mean these questions, pray ye? 
 
 Dame K. So strange you make it ! is not my hus- 
 band here? 
 
 Know. Her husband ! 
 
 Dajne K. My tried husband, master Kitely? 
 
 Tib. I hope he needs not to be tried here. 
 
 Dame K. No, dame, he does it not for need, but 
 pleasure. 
 
 Tib. Neither for need nor pleasure is he here. 
 
 K710W. This is but a device to balk me withal : 
 
 Enter Kitely, 7nuffled in his cloak. 
 
 Soft, who is this ? 'tis not my son disguised? 
 
 Dame K. {Spies her husband and runs to him.) 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 1 71 
 
 O, sir, have I forestalPd your honest market, 
 
 Found your close walks? You stand amazed now, 
 
 do you? 
 I' faith, I am glad I have smokM you yet at last. 
 What is your jewel, trow? In, come, let^s see her; 
 Fetch forth your housewife, dame ; if she be fairer, 
 In any honest judgment, than myself, 
 I '11 be content with it : but she is change. 
 She feeds you fat, she soothes your appetite, 
 And you are well ! Your wife, an honest woman, 
 Is meat twice sod to you, sir! O, you treachour! 
 
 Know. She cannot counterfeit thus palpably. 
 
 Kit. Out on thy more than strumpet impudence! 
 Steal'st thou thus to thy haunts? and have I taken 
 Thy bawd and thee, and thy companion. 
 This hoary-headed letcher, this old goat, 
 Close at your villainy, and would'st thou 'souse it 
 With this stale harlot's jest, accusing me? 
 O, old incontinent {to Knowell), dost thou not 
 
 shame. 
 When all thy powers in chastity are spent, 
 To have a mind so hot ? and to entice, 
 And feed the enticements of a lustful woman? 
 
 Dame K. Out, I defy thee, I, dissembling wretch! 
 
 Kit. Defy me, strumpet! Ask thy pander here, 
 Can he deny it ; or that wicked elder? 
 
 Know. Why, hear you, sir. 
 
 Kit. Tut, tut, tut ; never speak : 
 
 Thy guilty conscience will discover thee. 
 
 Know. What lunacy is this, that haunts this man? 
 
 Kit. Well, good wife bawd. Cob's wife, and you, 
 That make your husband such a hoddy-doddy ; ^ 
 And you, young apple-squire, and old cuckold-maker ; 
 
 1 Usually a simpleton, but implying here a cuckold* 
 
172 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 I '11 have you every one before a justice : 
 Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go. 
 
 Ktioiv. Marry, with all my heart, sir, I go willingly ; 
 Though I do taste this as a trick put on me, 
 To punish my impertinent search, and justly, 
 And half forgive my son for the device. 
 
 Kit. Come, will you go ? 
 
 Dame K. Go ! to thy shame believe it. 
 
 Enter Cob. 
 
 Cob, Why, what 's the matter here, what 's here to 
 do? 
 
 Kit. O, Cob, art thou come.-* I have been abused, 
 And in thy house ; was never man so wrong'd ! 
 
 Cob. 'Slid, in my house, my master Kitely! who 
 wrongs you in my house ? 
 
 Kit. Marry, young lust in old, and old in young 
 here: 
 Thy wife 's their bawd, here have I taken them. 
 
 Cob. How, bawd! is my house come to that? Am 
 I preferr'd thither? Did I not charge you to keep 
 your doors shut, Isbel ? and — you let them lie open 
 for all comers ! {Beats his wife.) 
 
 Know. Friend, know some cause, before thou 
 beat'st thy wife. 
 This is madness in thee. 
 
 Cob. Why, is there no cause? 
 
 Kit. Yes, I '11 shew cause before the justice. Cob : 
 Come, let her go with me. 
 
 Cob. Nay, she shall go. 
 
 Tib. Nay, I will go. I '11 see an you may be 
 allowed to make a bundle of hemp^ of your right 
 
 1 Hemp is prepared by beating. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. I 73 
 
 and lawful wife thus, at every cuckoldy knave's pleas- 
 ure. Why do you not go ? 
 
 Kit. A bitter quean! Come, we will have you 
 tamed. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IX. 
 
 A Street. 
 
 Enter Brainworm, disguised as a City Serjeant. 
 
 Brai. Well, of all my disguises yet, now am I 
 most like myself, being in this Serjeant's gown. A 
 man of my present profession never counterfeits, till 
 he lays hold upon a debtor, and says, he rests him ; 
 for then he brings him to all manner of unrest. A 
 kind of little kings we are, bearing the diminutive of 
 a mace,i made like a young artichoke, that always 
 carries pepper and salt in itself Well, I know not 
 what danger I undergo by this exploit ; pray Heaven 
 I come well off ! 
 
 Enter Mathew and Bobadill. 
 
 Mat. See, I think, yonder is the varlet, by his gown. 
 
 Bob. Let 's go in quest of him. 
 
 Mat. 'Save you, friend ! are not you here by 
 appointment of justice Clement's man? 
 
 Brai. Yes, an 't please you, sir ; he told me, two 
 gentlemen had will'd him to procure a warrant from 
 his master, which I have about me, to be served on 
 one Downright. 
 
 Mat. It is honestly done of you both ; and see 
 where the party comes you must arrest ; serve it upon 
 him quickly, afore he be aware. 
 
 Bob. Bear back, master Mathew. 
 
 1 The official sign of a city serjeant. 
 
174 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Enter Stephen m Downright's cloak. 
 
 Brat. Master Downright, I arrest you in the queen's 
 name, and must carry you afore a justice by virtue 
 of this warrant. 
 
 Step. Me, friend ! I am no Downright, I ; I am 
 master Stephen : You do not well to arrest me, I tell 
 you, truly ; I am in nobody's bonds nor books, I 
 would you should know it. A plague on you heartily, 
 for making me thus afraid afore my time ! 
 
 Brai. Why, now you are deceived, gentlemen. 
 
 Bob. He wears such a cloak, and that deceived us : 
 but see, here a' comes indeed ; this is he, officer. 
 
 Enter Downright. 
 
 Dow. Why how now, signior gull ! are you turn'd 
 filcher of late ! Come, deliver my cloak. 
 
 Step. Your cloak, sir! I bought it even now, in 
 open market. 
 
 Brai. Master Downright, I have a warrant I must 
 serve upon you, procured by these two gentlemen. 
 
 Doiv. These gentlemen ! these rascals ! 
 
 {Offers to beat them. 
 
 Brai. Keep the peace, I charge you in her majesty's 
 name. 
 
 Dow. I obey thee. What must I do, officer? 
 
 Brai. Go before master justice Clement, to answer 
 that they can object against you, sir : I will use you 
 kindly, sir. 
 
 Mat. Come, let 's before, and make the justice, 
 captain. 
 
 Bob. The varlet 's a tall man, afore heaven ! 
 
 \Exeunt Bobadill and Mathew. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR, 175 
 
 Dow. Gull, you'll give me my cloak. 
 
 Step. Sir, I bought it, and I '11 keep it. 
 
 Dow. You will? 
 
 Step. Ay, that I will. 
 
 Dow. Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him. 
 
 Brai. Master Stephen, I must arrest you. 
 
 Step. Arrest me ! I scorn it. There, take your 
 cloak, I '11 none on 't. 
 
 Dow. Nay, that shall not serve your turn now, sir. 
 Officer, I '11 go with thee to the justice's ; bring him 
 along. 
 
 Step. Why, is not here your cloak? what would 
 you have? 
 
 Dow. I '11 have you answer it, sir. 
 
 Brai. Sir, I '11 take your word, and this gentleman's 
 too, for his appearance. 
 
 Dow. I '11 have no words taken : bring him along. 
 
 Brai. Sir, I may choose to do that, I may take 
 bail. 
 
 Dow. 'T is true, you may take bail, and choose at 
 another time ; but you shall not now, varlet : bring 
 him along, or I '11 swinge you. 
 
 Brai. Sir, I pity the gentleman's case : here 's your 
 money again. 
 
 Dow. 'Sdeins, tell not me of my money; bring 
 him away, I say. 
 
 Brai. I warrant you he will go with you of him- 
 self, sir. 
 
 Dow. Yet more ado? 
 
 Brai. I have made a fair mash on 't. {Aside.') 
 
 Step. Must I go? 
 
 Brai. I know no remedy, master Stephen. 
 
 Dow. Come along afore me here ; I do not love 
 your hanging look behind. 
 
176 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Step. Why, sir, I hope you cannot hang me for it : 
 can he, fellow? 
 
 Brai. I think not, sir ; it is but a whipping matter, 
 sure. 
 
 Step. Why then let him do his worst, I am resolute. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Coleman Street. A Hall in Justice Cleinenfs House. 
 
 Enter Clement, Knowell, Kitely, Dame Kitely, 
 Tib, Cash, Cob, and Servants. 
 
 Cle7fi. Nay, but stay, stay, give me leave : my chair, 
 sirrah. You, master Knowell, say you went thither to 
 meet your son ? 
 
 Know. Ay, sir. 
 
 Clem. But who directed you thither? 
 
 Know. That did mine own man, sir. 
 
 Cle7n. Where is he? 
 
 Know. Nay, I know not now ; I left him with your 
 clerk, and appointed him to stay here for me. 
 
 Clejn. My clerk! about what time was this? 
 
 Know. Marry, between one and two, as I take it. 
 
 Clem. And what time came my man with the false 
 message to you, master Kitely? 
 
 Kit. After two, sir. 
 
 Clem. Very good : but, mistress Kitely, how chance 
 that you were at Cob's, ha? 
 
 Dame K. An 't please you, sir, I '11 tell you : my 
 brother Wellbred told me, that Cob's house was a 
 suspected place — 
 
 Clem. So it appears, methinks : but on. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 177 
 
 Dame K. And that my husband used thither daily. 
 
 Clem. No matter, so he used himself well, mistress. 
 
 Dajne K. True, sir : but you know what grows by 
 such haunts oftentimes. 
 
 Clem. I see rank fruits of a jealous mind, mistress 
 Kitely : but did you find your husband there, in that 
 case as you suspected 1 
 
 Kit. I found her there, sir. 
 
 Cletn. Did you, so! that alters the case. Who 
 gave you knowledge of your wife's being there? 
 
 Kit. Marry, that did my brother Wellbred. 
 
 Clem. How, Wellbred first tell her ; then tell you 
 after ! Where is Wellbred? 
 
 Kit. Gone with my sister, sir, I know not whither. 
 
 Clem. Why this is a mere trick, a device ; you are 
 guird in this most grossly all. Alas, poor wench! 
 wert thou beaten for this ? 
 
 Tib. Yes, most pitifully, an 't please you. 
 
 Cob. And worthily, I hope, if it shall prove so. 
 
 Clem. Ay, that 's like, and a piece of a sentence. — 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now, sir ! what 's the matter ? 
 
 Serv. Sir, there's a gentleman in the court with- 
 out, desires to speak with your worship. 
 
 Clem. A gentleman! what is he? 
 
 Serv. A soldier, sir, he says. 
 
 Clem. A soldier! take down my armour, my sword 
 quickly. A soldier speak with me! Why, when,i 
 knaves? Come on, come on {arjns himself)] hold 
 my cap there, so ; give me my gorget, my sword : 
 stand by, I will end your matters anon. — Let the sol- 
 dier enter. \_Exit Servant. 
 
 1 " What makes you so slow ? " 
 
 N 
 
178 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Enter Bobadill, followed by Mathew. 
 
 Now, sir, what have you to say to me? 
 
 Bob. By your worship's favour — 
 
 Clem. Nay, keep out, sir ; I know not your pretence. 
 You send me word, sir, you are a soldier : why, sir, 
 you shall be answerM here : here be them that have 
 been amongst soldiers. Sir, your pleasure. 
 
 Bob. Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman and myself 
 have been most uncivilly wrong'd and beaten by one 
 Downright, a coarse fellow, about the town here ; and 
 for mine own part, I protest, being a man in no part 
 given to this filthy humour of quarrelling, he hath 
 assaulted me in the way of my peace, despoiled me of 
 mine honour, disarmed me of my weapons, and rudely 
 laid me along in the open streets, when I not so much 
 as once offered to resist him. 
 
 Clem. O, God's precious ! is this the soldier? Here, 
 take my armour off quickly, 't will make him swoon, I 
 fear; he is not fit to look on 't, that will put up a 
 blow. 
 
 Mat. An 't please your worship, he was bound to 
 the peace. 
 
 Clem. Why, an he were, sir, his hands were not 
 bound, were they? 
 
 Reenter Servant. 
 
 Serv. There's one of the varlets of the city, sir, 
 has brought two gentlemen here ; one, upon your 
 worship's warrant. 
 
 Clem. My warrant ! 
 
 Serv. Yes, sir ; the officer says, procured by these 
 two. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 179 
 
 Clem. Bid him come in. {Exit Servant.) Set 
 by this picture. 
 
 E7iter Downright, Stephen, and Brainworm, 
 disguised as before. 
 
 What, master Downright ! are you brought in at 
 Mr. Freshwater's ^ suit here? 
 
 Dow. V faith, sir, and here's another brought at 
 my suit. 
 
 Clem. What are you, sir? 
 
 Step. A gentleman, sir. O, uncle! 
 
 Clem. Uncle! who. Master Knowell? 
 
 Know. Ay, sir ; this is a wise kinsman of mine. 
 
 Step. God 's my witness, uncle, I am wrong' d here 
 monstrously ; he charges me with stealing of his 
 cloak, and would I might never stir, if I did not find 
 it in the street by chance. 
 
 Dow. O, did you find it now? You said you 
 bought it ere-while. 
 
 Step. And you said, I stole it : nay, now my uncle 
 is here, 1 11 do well enough with you. 
 
 Clem. Well, let this breathe awhile. You that 
 have cause to complain there, stand forth : Had you 
 my warrant for this gentleman's apprehension? 
 
 Bob. Ay, an \ please your worship. 
 
 Clem. Nay, do not speak in passion so : where had 
 you it? 
 
 Bob. Of your clerk, sir. 
 
 Clem. That 's well ! an my clerk can make war- 
 rants, and my hand not at them ! Where is the war- 
 rant — officer, have you it? 
 
 Brai. No, sir! your worship's man. Master Formal, 
 
 1 A sneer, because soldiers could see no service unless they 
 crossed the sea. 
 
l8o EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 bid me do it for these gentlemen, and he would be my 
 discharge. 
 
 Cle7n. Why, Master Downright, are you such a 
 novice, to be served and never see the warrant? 
 
 Dow. Sir, he did not serve it on me. 
 
 Clem. No! how then? 
 
 Dow. Marry, sir, he came to me, and said he must 
 serve it, and he would use me kindly, and so — 
 
 Clem. O, God's pity, was it so, sir? He must 
 serve it ! Give me my long sword there, and help me 
 off. So, come on, sir varlet, I mtist cut off your legs, 
 sirrah (Brainworm kneels) ; nay, stand up, / V/ use 
 you kindly ; I must cut off your legs, I say. 
 
 \Flourishes over him with his long sword. 
 
 Brai. O, good sir, I beseech you ; nay, good master 
 justice ! 
 
 Clem. I must do it, there is no remedy ; I 7mist cut 
 off your legs, sirrah, I miist cut off your ears, you 
 rascal, I must do it : I must cut off your nose, I must 
 cut off your head. 
 
 Brai. O, good your worship! 
 
 Clem. Well, rise; how dost thou do now? dost 
 thou feel thyself well? hast thou no harm? 
 
 Brai. No, I thank your good worship, sir. 
 
 Cleju. Why so! I said I must cut off thy legs, and 
 I must cut off thy arms, and I must cut off thy head ; 
 but I did not do it : so you said you must serve this 
 gentleman with my warrant, but you did not serve 
 him. You knave, you slave, you rogue, do you say 
 you must^ sirrah ! away with him to the jail ; 1 '11 teach 
 you a trick for your must, sir. 
 
 Brai. Good sir, I beseech you, be good to me. 
 
 Clem. Tell him he shall to the jail ; away with him, 
 I say. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. l8l 
 
 Br at. Nay, sir, if you will commit me, it shall be 
 for committing more than this : I will not lose by my 
 travail any grain of my fame, certain. 
 
 {Throws off his serjeanfs gown. 
 
 Clem. How is this? 
 
 Know. My man Brainworm! 
 
 Step. O, yes, uncle ; Brainworm has been with my 
 cousin Edward and I all this day. 
 
 Cle?n. I told you all there was some device. 
 
 Brat. Nay, excellent justice, since I have laid my- 
 self thus open to you, now stand strong for me ; both 
 with your sword and your balance. 
 
 Clem. Body o' me, a merry knave ! give me a bowl 
 of sack : if he belong to you, Master Knowell, I be- 
 speak your patience. 
 
 Brai. That is it I have most need of ; Sir, if you '11 
 pardon me, only, I '11 glory in all the rest of my ex- 
 ploits. 
 
 Know. Sir, you know I love not to have my favours 
 come hard from me. You have your pardon, though 
 I suspect you shrewdly for being of counsel with my 
 son against me. 
 
 Brai. Yes, faith, I have, sir, though you retained 
 me doubly this morning for yourself: first as Brain- 
 worm ; after, as Fitz-Sword. I was your reformed 
 soldier, sir. 'Twas I sent you to Cob's upon the 
 errand without end. 
 
 Know. Is it possible? or that thou should'st dis- 
 guise thy language so as I should not know thee ? 
 
 Brai. O, sir, this has been the day of my meta- 
 morphosis. It is not that shape alone that I have run 
 through to-day. I brought this gentleman, master 
 Kitely, a message too, in the form of master Justice's 
 man here, to draw him out o' the way, as well as your 
 
l82 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 worship, while master Wellbred might make a convey- 
 ance of mistress Bridget to my young master. 
 
 Kit. How ! my sister stolen away? 
 
 Know. My son is not married, I hope. 
 
 Brai. Faith, sir, they are both as sure as love, a 
 priest, and three thousand pound, which is her portion, 
 can make them ; and by this time are ready to bespeak 
 their wedding-supper at the Windmill, except some 
 friend here prevent them, and invite them home. 
 
 Clein. Marry, that will I ; I thank thee for putting 
 me in mind on't. Sirrah, go you and fetch them 
 hither upon my warrant. {Exit Servant.) Neither's 
 friends have cause to be sorry, if I know the young 
 couple aright. Here, I drink to thee for thy good 
 news. But I pray thee, what hast thou done with my 
 man, Formal? 
 
 Brai. Faith, sir, after some ceremony past, as mak- 
 ing him drunk, first with story, and then with wine, 
 (but all in kindness), and stripping him to his shirt, 
 I left him in that cool vein ; departed, sold your wor- 
 ship's warrant to these two, pawn'd his livery for that 
 varlet's gown, to serve it in ; and thus have brought 
 myself by my activity to your worship's consideration. 
 
 Clem. And I will consider thee in another cup of 
 sack. Here's to thee, which having drunk off this 
 my sentence : Pledge me. Thou hast done, or assisted 
 to nothing, in my judgment, but deserves to be par- 
 don'd for the wit of the offence. If thy master, or 
 any man here, be angry with thee, I shall suspect his 
 ingine, while I know him, for 't. How now, what 
 noise is that? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, it is Roger is come home. 
 Clem. Bring him in, bring him in. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 183 
 
 Enter Formal in a suit of armour. 
 
 What! drunk? in arms against me? your reason, 
 your reason for this? 
 
 Form. I beseech your worship to pardon me ; I 
 happened into ill company by chance, that cast me 
 into a sleep, and stript me of all my clothes. 
 
 Clem. Well, tell him I am Justice Clement, and do 
 pardon him: but what is this to your armour? what 
 may that signify? 
 
 Form. An 't please you, sir, it hung up in the room 
 where I was stript ; and I borrow'd it of one of the 
 drawers ^ to come home in, because I was loth to do 
 penance through the street in my shirt. 
 
 Clem. Well, stand by a while. 
 
 Enter E. Knowell, Wellbred, and Bridget. 
 
 Who be these? O, the young company; welcome, 
 welcome! Give you joy. Nay, mistress Bridget, 
 blush not; you are not so fresh a bride, but the news 
 of it is come hither afore you. Master bridegroom, 
 I have made your peace, give me your hand : so will 
 I for all the rest ere you forsake my roof. 
 
 E. Know. We are the more bound to your human- 
 ity, sir. 
 
 Cle?}i. Only these two ^ have so little of man in 
 them, they are no part of my care. 
 
 IVel. Yes, sir, let me pray you for this gentleman 
 he belongs to my sister the bride. 
 
 Cle7ti. In what place, sir? 
 
 Wei. Of her delight, sir, below the stairs, and in 
 public : her poet, sir. 
 
 1 Drawers of liquor, tapsters, 
 
 2 Mathew and Bobadill. 
 
1 84 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Clem. A poet! I will challenge him myself pres- 
 ently at extempore, 
 
 Mount up thy Phlegon^ Muse, and testify, 
 How Saturn, sitting in an ebo?i cloud, 
 
 Disrobed his podex, white as ivory, 
 
 And through the welkijt thunder'' d all aloud. 
 
 Wei. He is not for extempore, sir : he is all for the 
 pocket muse ; please you command a sight of it. 
 
 Clem. Yes, yes, search him for a taste of his vein. 
 
 [ They search Mathew's pockets. 
 
 Wei. You must not deny the queen's justice, sir, 
 under a writ of rebellion. 
 
 Clem. What! all this verse? body o' me, he carries 
 a whole realm, a commonwealth of paper in his hose : 
 let us see some of his subjects. \_Reads. 
 
 Unto the boundless ocean of thy face. 
 
 Runs this poor river, charg'd with streatns of eyes.^ 
 
 How! this is stolen. 
 
 E. Know. A parody! a parody! what a kind of 
 miraculous gift, to make it absurder than it was. 
 
 Clem. Is all the rest of this batch? bring me a 
 torch ; lay it together, and give fire. Cleanse the 
 air. (^Sets the papers on fire. ^ Here was enough to 
 have infected the whole city, if it had not been taken 
 in time. See, see, how our poefs glory shines! 
 brighter and brighter! still it increases! O, now it 
 is at the highest ; and now it declines as fast. You 
 may see, sic transit gloria micndi ! ^ 
 
 1 One of the sun's horses. 
 
 2 From S. Daniel's first sonnet to Delia, 11. 1-2. The lines 
 are parodied to point Jonson's satire on fashionable poetry of 
 the time. Knowell's speech emphasizes further. 
 
 « So passes the glory of the world. 
 
EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 185 
 
 Know. There's an emblem for you, son, and your 
 studies. 
 
 Clefn. Nay, no speech or act of mine be drawn 
 against such as profess it worthily. They are not 
 born every year, as an alderman. There goes more 
 to the making of a good poet, than a sherijEF. Master 
 Kitely, you look upon me! — though I live in the city 
 here, amongst you, I will do more reverence to him, 
 when I meet him, than I will to the mayor out of his 
 year. But these paper-pedlars! these ink-dabblers! 
 they cannot expect reprehension or reproach ; they 
 have it with the fact. 
 
 E. Know. Sir, you have saved me the labour of a 
 defence. 
 
 Cle?H. It shall be discourse for supper between your 
 father and me, if he dare undertake me. But to 
 dispatch away these, you sign o^ the soldier, and pic- 
 ture of the poet (but both so false, I will not have 
 you hanged out at my door till midnight), while we 
 are at supper, you two shall penitently fast it out in 
 my court without ; and, if you will, you may pray 
 there that we may be so merry within as to forgive or 
 forget you when we come out. Here 's a third, be- 
 cause we tender you safety, shall watch you, he is 
 provided for the purpose. Look to your charge, sir. 
 
 Step. And what shall I do? 
 
 Cle7n. O! I had lost a sheep an he had not bleated : 
 why, sir, you shall give master Downright his cloak ; 
 and I will intreat him to take it. A trencher and a 
 napkin you shall have in the buttery, and keep Cob 
 and his wife company here ; whom I will intreat first 
 to be reconciled ; and you to endeavour with your 
 wit to keep them so. 
 
 Step. I '11 do my best. 
 
1 86 EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. 
 
 Cob. Why, now I see thou art honest, Tib, I re- 
 ceive thee as my dear and mortal wife again. 
 
 Tib. And I you, as my loving and obedient hus- 
 band. 
 
 Clem. Good compliment! It will be their bridal 
 night too. They are married anew. Come, I conjure 
 the rest to put off all discontent. You, master Down- 
 right, your anger ; you, master Knowell, your cares ; 
 Master Kitely and his wife, their jealousy. 
 For, I must tell you both, while that is fed. 
 Horns in the mind are worse than on the head. 
 
 Kit. Sir, thus they go from me; kiss me, sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 See what a drove of horns fly in the air, 
 PVifig'd with 7ny cleansed and my credulous breath ! 
 Watch ""em suspicious eyes., watch where they fall. 
 See, see ! on heads that think they have none at all ! 
 O, w\at a ple7iteo2is world of this will come I 
 When air rains horns, all may be sure of some. 
 
 I have learn'd so much verse out of a jealous man's 
 part in a play. 
 
 Clejn. 'T is well, 't is well ! This night we '11 dedi- 
 cate to friendship, love, and laughter. Master bride- 
 groom, take your bride and lead ; every one a fellow. 
 Here is my mistress, Brainworm! to whom all my 
 addresses of courtship shall have their reference : 
 whose adventures this day, when our grandchildren 
 shall hear to be made a fable, I doubt not but it shall 
 find both spectators and applause. \_Exeunt. 
 
PHILASTER, 
 
 OR 
 
 LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING. 
 By Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND 
 JOHN FLETCHER.^ 
 
 The date of Philaster has not been determined 
 exactly, though critics generally assign it to 1609 or 
 1610. In Davies' Scourge of Folly (161 1) is an epi- 
 gram referring to the play ; and Dryden speaks of 
 Philaster as " the first play that brought Fletcher and 
 Beaumont in esteem." Their joint efforts began 
 probably in 1608. Such is the evidence, highly un- 
 satisfactory, upon which the play is put in the years 
 mentioned above. 
 
 From the first performances at the Globe and later 
 at the Bankside, Philaster has had a wide popularity. 
 Many editions followed one another in rapid succes- 
 sion. In 1695 Elkanah Settle presented a changed 
 version, the prologue and an epilogue having been 
 added and the last two acts rewritten. Many revi- 
 sions and editions have been offered, including a 
 German translation by A. Seubert. Genest says the 
 play was acted at Bath in 181 7. 
 
 Francis Beaumont was born at Grace-Dieu, Leices- 
 tershire, 1585 (?), and died in London, March, 1616. 
 He was of ancient family, long distinguished for legal 
 acumen and poetic power. He was married and left 
 two daughters, of whom Frances, the younger, tradi- 
 tion says, lost some of her father's poems at sea while 
 crossing from Ireland. 
 
 At the age of ten or eleven the poet entered Broad- 
 gate Hall, now Pembroke College, Oxford — the place 
 
 189 
 
190 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 described by Samuel Johnson as " a nest of singing 
 birds." On the death of his father, 1598, Beaumont 
 left the university without his degree. Shortly after 
 he was admitted to the Inner Temple and, supposedly, 
 began the study of law. It is probable that Fletcher 
 was already in London and that almost immediately 
 began the intimacy which added so much to our lyric 
 and dramatic literature. We are told they were 
 brought together through their common friendship for 
 Ben Jonson, and in particular through a mutual admi- 
 ration of his Volpone. 
 
 John Fletcher was likewise of a good old family. 
 His father was Bishop of London and attended Mary 
 Queen of Scots, during her last days. The poet was 
 born at Rye, Sussex, in 1579, and died of the plague, 
 August, 1625, in London. In Aubrey's Brief Lives 
 is an interesting paragraph : — • 
 
 " Mr. John Fletcher, poet : in the great plague, 
 1625, a Knight of Norfolk (or SuiTolke) invited him 
 into the countrey. He stayed but to make himself a 
 suit of cloathes, and while it was makeing, fell sick of 
 the plague and dyed. This I had (1688) from his 
 tayler, who is now a very old man, and clarke of St. 
 Mary Overy's." It was here that Fletcher was buried. 
 
 Of their life together in London we have nothing 
 beyond vague conjecture ; nor is there anything more 
 positive concerning the share belonging to each in 
 that wonderful literary partnership. ^ Aubrey says 
 that Beaumont's main business was to correct the 
 overflow of Fletcher's wit. Elsewhere we read that 
 " Beaumont brought the ballast of judgment, Fletcher 
 the sail of phantasie ; both compounding a poet to 
 
 1 There is a story that they lived together on Bankside, near 
 the theatres, slept in one bed, and wore the same clothes. 
 
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 191 
 
 admiration.'" Verse tests and prose tests, of neither 
 has there ever been a want, but the hushed voices 
 yield no answer and the mystery is mysterious still. 
 
 Great are their faults, and glorious is their flame. 
 In both our English genius is expressed ; 
 Lofty and bold, but negligently dressed. 
 
 — Prologue to The Maid'' s Tragedy, 1645, 
 
 Edmund Waller, 
 
 . . . you were both for both ; not semi-wits, 
 Each piece is wholly two, yet never splits : 
 Ye are not two faculties, and one soul still, 
 He th' understanding, though the quick free-will ; 
 Not as two voices in one song embrace, 
 Fletcher's keen treble, and deep Beaumont's base, 
 Two full congenial souls ; still both prevailed ; 
 His muse and thine were quartered, not impaled : 
 Both brought your ingots, both toiPd at the mint, 
 Beat, melted, sifted, till no dross stuck in \ ; 
 Then in each other's scale 's weigh'd every grain, 
 Then smoothed and burnished, then weigh'd all again ; 
 Stampt both your names upon 't at one bold hit, 
 Then, then 't was coin, as well as bullion-wit. 
 
 — On the Happy Collection of Mr. Fletcher'' s 
 
 Works, 1647, J- Bekkenhead. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 King. 
 
 Philaster, Heir to the Crown of Sicily. 
 Pharamond, Prince of Spain. 
 Dion, a Lord. 
 Cleremont. 
 Thrasiline. 
 
 An Old Captain. 
 
 Citizens. 
 
 A Country Fellow. 
 
 Two Woodmen. 
 
 Guard, Attendants. 
 
 Arethusa, Daughter to the King.' 
 
 Euphrasia, Daughter to Dion, disguised as a Page under the 
 
 name of Bellario. 
 Megra, a Court Lady. 
 Galatea, a Lady attending the Princess. 
 Two Other Ladies. 
 
 Scene: MESSINA and its neighbourhood. 
 
 192 
 
PHILASTER, 
 
 OR 
 
 LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING. 
 
 ACT I. 
 Scene I.^ 
 The Presence Chamber in the Palace. 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Cle. Here 's nor lords nor ladies. 
 
 Dio7i. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They 
 received strict charge from the King to attend here : 
 besides, it was boldly published, that no officer should 
 forbid any gentleman that desired to attend and hear. 
 
 Cle. Can you guess the cause .-^ 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish Prince, 
 that 's come to marry our kingdom's heir and be our 
 sovereign. 
 
 Thra. Many, that will seem to know much, say 
 she looks not on him like a maid in love. 
 
 Dio7i. Faith, sir, the multitude, that seldom know 
 anything but their own opinions, speak that they 
 would have ; but the prince, before his own approach, 
 received so many confident messages from the state, 
 that I think she 's resolved to be ruled. 
 
 1 A chamber in the palace. 
 o 193 
 
194 PHILASTER. 
 
 Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both 
 these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria. 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is without controversy so meant. But 
 H will be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both 
 these kingdoms with safety, the right heir to one of 
 them living, and hving so virtuously ; especially, the 
 people admiring the bravery of his mind and lament- 
 ing his injuries. 
 
 Cle. Who, Philaster? 
 
 Dion. Yes ; whose father, we all know, was by our 
 late King of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his 
 fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, 
 which I would give my hand to be washed from. 
 
 Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let 
 me know why, Philaster being heir to one of these 
 kingdoms, the King should suffer him to walk abroad 
 with such free liberty. 
 
 Diojt. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant 
 than to inquire after state-news. But the King, of 
 late, made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily 
 and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster; 
 at which the city was in arms, not to be charmed down 
 by any state-order or proclamation, till they saw Phi- 
 laster ride through the streets pleased and without a 
 guard ; at which they threw their hats and their arms 
 from them; some to make bonfires, some to drink, all 
 for his deliverance : which wise men say is the cause 
 the King labours to bring in the power of a foreign 
 nation to awe his own with. 
 
 Enter Galatea, a Lady, and Megra. 
 
 Thra. See, the ladies! What 's the first? 
 Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends 
 the princess. 
 
PHILASTER. 195 
 
 Cle. The second ? 
 
 Di07i. She is one that may stand still discreetly- 
 enough, and ill-favouredly dance her measure ; sim- 
 per when she is courted by her friend, and slight her 
 husband. 
 
 Cle. The last ? 
 
 Dion. Faith, I think she is one whom the state 
 keeps for the agents of our confederate princes ; she '11 
 cogi and lie with a whole army, before the league 
 shall break. Her name is common through the kinsf- 
 dom, and the trophies of her dishonour advanced be- 
 yond Hercules' Pillars. She loves to try the several 
 constitutions of men's bodies ; and, indeed, has de- 
 stroyed the worth of her own body by making experi- 
 ment upon it for the good of the commonwealth. 
 Cle. She 's a profitable member. 
 Meg. Peace, if you love me : you shall see these 
 gentlemen stand their ground and not court us. 
 Gal. What if they should? 
 La. What if they should! 
 
 Meg. Nay, let her alone. — What if they should! 
 Why, if they should, I say they were never abroad : 
 what foreigner would do so? it writes them directly 
 untravelled. 
 
 Gal. Why, what if they be? 
 La. What if they be! 
 
 Meg. Good madam, let her go on, — What if they 
 be ! Why, if they be, I will justify, they cannot main- 
 tain discourse with a judicious lady, nor make a leg 
 nor say ^excuse me.' 
 Gal. Ha, ha, ha! 
 Meg. Do you laugh, madam ? 
 Dion, Your desires upon you, ladies! 
 
 1 Cheat, cajole. 
 
196 PHILASTER. 
 
 Meg. Then you must sit beside us. 
 
 Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady. 
 
 Meg. Near me, perhaps : but there 's a lady en- 
 dures no stranger; and to me you appear a very 
 strange fellow. 
 
 La. Methinks he 's not so strange ; he would 
 quickly be acquainted. 
 
 Thra. Peace, the King! 
 
 Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Kmg. To give a stronger testimony of love 
 Than sickly promises (which commonly 
 In princes find both birth and burial 
 In one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir, 
 To make your fair endearments to our daughter. 
 And worthy services known to our subjects. 
 Now loved and wondered at ; next, our intent 
 To plant you deeply our immediate heir 
 Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady 
 (The best part of your life, as you confirm me, 
 And I believe), though her few years and sex 
 Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, 
 Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge 
 Only of what herself is to herself. 
 Make her feel moderate health ; and when she sleeps, 
 In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams : 
 Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts, 
 That must mould up a virgin, are put on 
 To show her so, as borrowed ornaments. 
 To speak her perfect love to you, or add 
 An artificial shadow to her nature — 
 No, sir ; 
 I boldly dare proclaim her yet no woman. 
 
Fill LA ST ER. 197 
 
 But woo her still, and think her modesty 
 
 A sweeter mistress than the offered language 
 
 Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye 
 
 Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants.* 
 
 Last, noble son (for so I now must call you), 
 
 What I have done thus public, is not only 
 
 To add a comfort in particular 
 
 To you or me, but all ; and to confirm 
 
 The nobles and the gentry of these kingdoms 
 
 By oath to your succession, which shall be 
 
 Within this month at most. 
 
 Thra. This will be hardly done. 
 
 Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done. 
 
 Dion. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, 
 whilst 
 So brave a gentleman is wronged and flung off. 
 
 Thra. I fear. 
 
 Cle. Who does not? 
 
 Dion. I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too : 
 Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more. 
 
 Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take 
 leave 
 To thank your royal father; and thus far 
 To be my own free trumpet. Understand, 
 Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must 
 
 be 
 (For so deserving you have spoke me, sir, 
 And so deserving I dare speak myself), 
 To what a person, of what eminence. 
 Ripe expectation, of what faculties. 
 Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms ; 
 You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country! 
 By more than all the gods, I hold it happy ; 
 
 1 Lovers. 
 
198 PHILASTER. 
 
 Happy in their dear memories that have been 
 
 Kings great and good ; happy in yours that is ; 
 
 And from you (as a chronicle to keep 
 
 Your noble name from eating age) do I 
 
 Opine ^ myself most happy. Gentlemen, 
 
 Believe me in a word, a prince''s word, 
 
 There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom 
 
 Mighty and flourishing, defenced, feared, 
 
 Equal to be commanded and obeyed, 
 
 But through the travels of my life I '11 find it, 
 
 And tie it to this country. By all the gods 
 
 My reign shall be so easy to the subject, 
 
 That every man shall be his prince himself 
 
 And his own law — yet I his prince and law. 
 
 And, dearest lady, to your dearest self 
 
 (Dear in the choice of him whose name and lustre 
 
 Must make you more and mightier) let me say, 
 
 You are the blessed'st living; for, sweet princess. 
 
 You shall enjoy a man of men to be 
 
 Your servant ; you shall make him yours, for whom 
 
 Great queens must die. 
 
 Thra. Miraculous! 
 
 Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being noth- 
 ing but a large inventory of his own commendations. 
 
 Dion. I wonder what's his price ; for certainly 
 He '11 sell himself, he has so praised his shape. 
 But here comes one more worthy those large speeches. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Than the large speaker of them. 
 
 Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, 
 
 1 This is the reading generally adopted, though the meaning 
 is not clear. 
 
PHI LA ST ER. 199 
 
 In all the anatomy of yon man's virtues, 
 
 One sinew sound enough to promise for him, 
 
 He shall be constable. By this sun, he '11 ne'er make 
 
 king, 
 Unless it be of trifles, in my poor judgment. 
 
 Phi. {kneeling.^ Right noble sir, as low as my 
 obedience. 
 And with a heart as loyal as my knee, 
 I beg your favour. 
 
 King. Rise ; you have it, sir. 
 
 [Philaster rises. 
 
 Dion. Mark but the King, how pale he looks, he 
 fears ! 
 Oh, this same whorson conscience, how it jades us! 
 
 King. Speak your intents, sir. 
 
 Phi. Shall I speak 'em freely? 
 
 Be still my royal sovereign. 
 
 King. As a subject, 
 
 We give you freedom. 
 
 Dion. Now it heats. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I turn 
 
 My language to you, prince ; you, foreign man! 
 Ne'er stare nor put on wonder, for you must 
 Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon 
 (A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess), 
 By my dead father (oh, I had a father. 
 Whose memory I bow to!) was not left 
 To your inheritance, and I up and living — 
 Having myself about me and my sword. 
 The souls of all my name and memories. 
 These arms and some few friends beside the gods — 
 To part so calmly with it, and sit still 
 And say, " I might have been." I tell thee, Pharamond, 
 When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten, 
 
200 PHILASTER. 
 
 And my name ashes : for, hear me, Pharamond! 
 This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, 
 My father's friends made fertile with their faiths, 
 Before that day of shame shall gape and swallow 
 Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, 
 Into her hidden bowels ; prince, it shall ; 
 By the just gods, it shall ! 
 
 Pha. He 's mad ; beyond cure, mad. 
 
 Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in 's veins : 
 The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. ^ 
 
 Phi. Sir prince of popinjays, I '11 make it well 
 Appear to you I am not mad. 
 
 King. You displease us : 
 
 You are too bold. 
 
 Phi. No, sir, I am too tame, 
 
 Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion, 
 A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud 
 Sails over, and makes nothing. 
 
 Kifig. I do not fancy this. 
 
 Call our physicians : sure, he 's somewhat tainted. 
 
 Thra. I do not think \ will prove so. 
 
 Dion. H' as given him a general purge already, 
 For all the right he has ; and now he means 
 To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen : 
 By heaven, I 11 run his hazard. 
 Although I run my name out of the kingdom ! 
 
 Cle. Peace, we are all one soul. 
 
 Pha. What you have seen in me to stir offence, 
 I cannot find, unless it be this lady. 
 Offered into mine arms with the succession ; 
 Which I must keep (though it hath pleased your fury 
 To mutiny within you), without disputing 
 Your genealogies, or taking knowledge 
 
 1 Ray, in his Proverbs, says this means " thin and meagre," 
 
PHILASTER. 20 1 
 
 Whose branch you are : the King will leave it me, 
 And I dare make it mine. You have your answer. 
 
 Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him 
 That made the world his/ and couldst see no sun 
 Shine upon anything but thine ; were Pharamond 
 As truly valiant as I feel him cold, 
 And ringed among the choicest of his friends 
 (Such as would blush to talk such serious follies, 
 Or back such bellied commendations), 
 And from this presence, spite of all these bugs,^ 
 You should hear further from me. 
 
 Kiiig. Sir, you wrong the prince ; I gave you not 
 this freedom 
 To brave our best friends : you deserve our frown. 
 Go to ; be better tempered. 
 
 Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler used. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, 
 This would have been a pattern of succession, 
 Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life. 
 He is the worthiest the true name of man 
 This day within my knowledge. 
 
 Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your 
 knowledge ; 
 But the other is the man set in mine eye: 
 Oh, 't is a prince of wax ! ^ 
 
 Gal. A dog it is. 
 
 King. Philaster, tell me 
 The injuries you aim at in your riddles. 
 
 Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance, 
 
 1 Alexander the Great. 
 
 2 Bugbears. Bwg (Welsh) means "goblin." 
 
 3 Well made, as if a wax model. Galatea's reply refers to 
 an obscure cant term. See the description of Paris, Kotneo 
 and yuliet, Act I., Scene 3. 
 
202 PHILASTER. 
 
 My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes, 
 My wants great, and now nothing-hopes and fears, 
 My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laughed at. 
 Dare you be still my king, and right me? 
 
 King. Give me your wrongs in private. 
 
 Phi. Take them, 
 
 And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. 
 
 \_They whisper. 
 
 Cle. He dares not stand the shock. 
 
 Dion. I cannot blame him ; there ''s danger in 't. 
 
 Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for 
 all men to read their actions through : men^s hearts 
 and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelli- 
 gence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall 
 see a fever through all his bravery, and feel him 
 shake like a true tenant : if he give not back his 
 crown again upon the report of an elder-gun, I have 
 no augury. 
 
 King. Go to ; 
 Be more yourself, as you respect our favour ; 
 You '11 stir us else. Sir, I must have you know. 
 That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, what 
 Fashion we will put upon you. Smooth your brow. 
 Or by the gods — 
 
 Phi. I am dead, sir ; you 're my fate. It was not I 
 Said, I was wronged : I carry all about me 
 My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes. 
 Who dares in all this presence speak (that is 
 But man of flesh, and may be mortal), tell me, 
 I do not most entirely love this prince, 
 And honour his full virtues ! 
 
 King. Sure, he 's possessed. 
 
 Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit. It 's here, O 
 King, 
 
PHILASTER. 203 
 
 A dangerous spirit ! now he tells me, King, 
 I was a king's heir, bids me be a king, 
 And whispers to me, these are all my subjects. 
 'T is strange he will not let me sleep, but dives 
 Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes 
 That kneel and do me service, cry me king : 
 But I '11 suppress him ; he 's a factious spirit, 
 And will undo me. Noble sir, your hand ; 
 I am your servant. 
 
 Ki7ig. Away ! I do not like this : 
 
 I '11 make you tamer, or 1 11 dispossess you 
 Both of your life and spirit. For this time 
 I pardon your wild speech, without so much 
 As your imprisonment. 
 
 Exeunt King, Pharamond, Arethusa, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Dion. I thank your, sir! you dare not for the 
 people. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave 
 fellow ? 
 
 Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand. But 
 eye yon stranger : is he not a fine complete gentle- 
 man? Oh, these strangers, I do affect them strangely! 
 they do the rarest home-things, and please the fullest! 
 As I live, I could love all the nation over and over 
 for his sake. 
 
 Gal. Gods comfort your poor head-piece, lady! 't is 
 a weak one, and had need of a night-cap. 
 
 \Exe71nt Galatea, Megra, and Lady. 
 
 Dion. See, how his fancy labours! Has he not 
 Spoke home and bravely? what a dangerous train 
 Did he give fire to ! how he shook the King, 
 Made his soul melt within him, and his blood 
 
204 PHILASTER. 
 
 Run into whey! it stood upon his brow 
 Like a cold winter-dew. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, 
 
 You have no suit to me ? I am no minion : 
 You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers, 
 If I could well be flattered at a price. 
 Not to undo your children. You 're all honest : 
 Go, get you home again, and make your country 
 A virtuous court, to which your great ones may. 
 In their diseased age, retire and live recluse. 
 
 Cle. How do you, worthy sir? 
 
 Phi. Well, very well ; 
 
 And so well that, if the King please, I find 
 I may live many years. 
 
 Dion. The King must please, 
 
 Whilst we know what you are and who you are, 
 Your wrongs and injuries. Shrink not, worthy sir, 
 But add your father to you ; in whose name 
 We Ul waken all the gods, and conjure up 
 The rods of vengeance, the abused people, 
 Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high. 
 And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons. 
 That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg 
 For mercy at your sword's point. 
 
 Phi. Friends, no more; 
 
 Our ears may be corrupted ; 't is an age 
 We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me? 
 
 Thra. Do we love heaven and honour? 
 Phi. My Lord Dion, you had 
 
 A virtuous gentlewoman called you father ; 
 Is she yet alive? 
 
 Dion. Most honoured sir, she is ,* 
 
 And, for the penance but of an idle dream, 
 Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage. 
 
PHILASTER. 205 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Phi. Is it to me, 
 Or any of these gentlemen, you come? 
 
 Lady. To you, brave lord ; the princess would en- 
 treat 
 Your present company. 
 
 Phi. The princess send for me! you are mistaken. 
 
 Lady. If you be called Philaster, 't is to you. 
 
 Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend her. 
 
 \^Exit Lady. 
 
 Dio7i. Do you know what you do? 
 
 Phi. Yes ; go to see a woman. 
 
 Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in? 
 
 Phi. Danger in a sweet face ! 
 By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman ! 
 
 Thra. But are you sure it was the princess sent? 
 It may be some foul train to catch your life. 
 
 Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen ; she's noble. 
 Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red 
 And white friends in her cheeks may steal my soul 
 
 out; 
 There 's all the danger in 't : but, be what it may, 
 Her single name hath armed me. \_Exit. 
 
 Dion. Go on, 
 
 And be as truly happy as thou Yt fearless ! 
 Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted, 
 Lest the King prove false. {Exeunt. 
 
2o6 PHILASTER. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Arethusa's Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Arethusa and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Comes he not? 
 
 Lady. Madam ? 
 
 Are. Will Philaster come ? 
 
 Lady. Dear madam, you were wont to credit me 
 At first. 
 
 Are. But didst thou tell me so? 
 I am forgetful, and my woman's strength 
 Is so overcharged with dangers like to grow 
 About my marriage, that these under-things 
 Dare not abide in such a troubled sea. 
 How looked he when he told thee he would come? 
 
 Lady. Why, well. 
 
 Are. And not a little fearful ? 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam ! sure, he knows not what it is. 
 
 Are. You are all of his faction ; the whole court 
 Is bold in praise of him ; whilst I 
 May live neglected, and do noble things, 
 As fools in strife throw gold into the sea, 
 Drowned in the doing. But, I know he fears. 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam! methought, his looks hid 
 more 
 Of love than fear. 
 
 Are. Of love! to whom? to vou? 
 
 Did you deliver those plain words I sent. 
 With such a winning gesture and quick look 
 That you have caught him ? 
 
 Lady. Madam, I mean to you. 
 
PHILASTER. 207 
 
 Are. Of love to me ! alas, thy ignorance 
 Lets thee not see the crosses of our births ! 
 Nature, that loves not to be questioned 
 Why she did this or that, but has her ends. 
 And knows she does well, never gave the world 
 Two things so opposite, so contrary, 
 As he and I am : if a bowl of blood, 
 Drawn from this arm of mine, would poison thee, 
 A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me! 
 
 Lady. Madam, 1 think I hear him. 
 
 Are. Bring him in. {^E.xit Lady. 
 
 You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood^ 
 Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is, 
 To make the passions of a feeble maid 
 The way unto your justice, I obey. 
 
 Reenter Lady with Philaster. 
 
 Lady. Here is my Lord Philaster. 
 
 Are. Oh, 't is well. 
 
 Withdraw yourself. \Exit Lady. 
 
 Phi. Madam, your messenger 
 
 Made me believe you wished to speak with me. 
 
 Are. 'T is true, Philaster ; but the words are such 
 I have to say, and do so ill beseem 
 The mouth of woman, that I wish them said. 
 And yet am loath to speak them. Have you known 
 That I have aught detracted from your worth? 
 Have I in person wronged you? or have set 
 My baser instruments to throw disgrace 
 Upon your virtues ? 
 
 Phi. Never, madam, you. 
 
 Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place, 
 Injure a princess, and a scandal lay 
 
2o8 PHILASTER. 
 
 Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great, 
 Calling a great part of my dowry in question? 
 
 Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be 
 Foolish : but, for your fair and virtuous self, 
 I could afford myself to have no right 
 To any thing you wished. 
 
 Are. Philaster, know, 
 
 I must enjoy these kingdoms. 
 
 Phi. Madam, both ? 
 
 Are. Both, or I die : by heaven, I die, Philaster, 
 If I not calmly may enjoy them both. 
 
 Phi. I would do much to save that noble life : 
 Yet would be loath to have posterity 
 Find in our stories, that Philaster gave 
 His right unto a sceptre and a crown 
 To save a lady's longing. 
 
 Are. Nay, then, hear: 
 
 I must and will have them, and more — 
 
 Phi. What more ? 
 
 Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared 
 To trouble this poor piece of earth withal. 
 
 Phi. Madam, what more.'* 
 
 Are. Turn, then, away thy face. 
 
 Phi No. 
 
 Are. Do. 
 
 Phi. I can endure it. Turn away my face ! 
 I never yet saw enemy that looked 
 So dreadfully, but that I thought myself 
 As great a basilisk as he ; or spake 
 So horribly, but that I thought my tongue 
 Bore thunder underneath, as much as his ; 
 Nor beast that I could turn from : shall I then 
 Begin to fear sweet sounds ? a lady's voice. 
 Whom I do love ? Say, you would have my life ; 
 
PHILASTER. 209 
 
 Why, I will give it you ; for 't is to me 
 A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask 
 Of so poor use, that I shall make no price : 
 If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear. 
 
 Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks. 
 
 Phi. I do. 
 
 Are. Then know, I must have them and thee. 
 
 Phi. And me ? 
 
 Are. Thy love ; without which, all the land 
 
 Discovered yet will serve me for no use 
 But to be buried in. 
 
 Phi. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Are. With it, it were too little to bestow 
 On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead 
 (Which, know, it may), I have unript my breast. 
 
 Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts. 
 To lay a train for this contemned life, 
 Which you may have for asking : to suspect 
 Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you ! 
 By all my hopes, I do, above my life ! 
 But how this passion should proceed from you 
 So violently, would amaze a man 
 That would be jealous. 
 
 Are. Another soul into my body shot 
 Could not have filled me with more strength and 
 
 spirit 
 Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time 
 In seeking how I came thus : 't is the gods. 
 The gods, that make me so ; and, sure, our love 
 Will be the nobler and the better blest. 
 In that the secret justice of the gods 
 Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss ; 
 Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, 
 And we should part without it. 
 p 
 
2IO PHILASTER, 
 
 Phi. 'T will be ill 
 
 I should abide here long. 
 
 Are. 'T is true ; and worse 
 
 You should come often. How shall we devise 
 To hold intelligence, that our true loves, 
 On any new occasion, may agree 
 What path is best to tread? 
 
 P/ii. I have a boy, 
 
 Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent 
 Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck, 
 I found him sitting by a fountain's side, 
 Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, 
 And paid the nymph again as much in tears. 
 A garland lay him by, made by himself 
 Of many several flowers bred in the vale. 
 Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness 
 Delighted me : but ever when he turned 
 His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep. 
 As if he meant to make 'em grow again. 
 Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 
 Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story : 
 He told me that his parents gentle died, 
 Leaving him to the mercy of the fields 
 Which gave him roots ; and of the crystal springs, 
 Which did not stop their courses ; and the sun, 
 Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light. 
 Then he took up his garland, and did show 
 What every flower, as country-people hold, 
 Did signify, and how all, ordered thus. 
 Expressed his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read 
 The prettiest lecture of his country-art 
 That could be wished : so that methought I could 
 Have studied it. I gladly entertained 
 Him, who was glad to follow ; and have got 
 
PHILASTER. 211 
 
 The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy 
 That ever master kept. Him will I send 
 To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.^ 
 
 Reentet' Lady. 
 
 Are. 'T is well ; no more. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service. 
 
 Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself ? 
 
 Phi. Why, that which all the gods have appointed 
 out for me. 
 
 Are. Dear, hide thyself. — 
 Bring in the prince. \Exit Lady. 
 
 Phi. Hide me from Pharamond! 
 When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, 
 Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not ; 
 And shall a stranger-prince have leave to brag 
 Unto a foreign nation, that he made 
 Philaster hide himself ? 
 
 Are. He cannot know it. 
 
 Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world, 
 It is a simple sin to hide myself, 
 Which will for ever on my conscience lie. 
 
 Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and 
 way 
 In what he says ; for he is apt to speak 
 What you are loath to hear : for my sake, do. 
 
 Phi. I will. 
 
 1 " The figure of the maiden page, with whom the audience 
 have been familiarized before her appearance on the scene 
 by means of a narrative passage, maintains to the last a sim- 
 ple sweetness full of the truest poetical pathos." — Ward : Eng- 
 lish Dramatic Literature, Vol. II., p. 671. 
 
212 PHILASTER, 
 
 Reenter Lady with Pharamond. 
 
 Pha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, 
 I come to kiss these fair hands, and to show, 
 
 \Exit Lady. 
 In outward ceremonies, the dear love 
 Writ in my heart. 
 
 Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, 
 I am gone. 
 
 Pha. To what would he have answer? 
 
 Are. To his claim unto the kingdom. 
 
 Pha. Sirrah, I forbare you before the King — 
 
 Phi. Good sir, do so still : I would not talk with 
 you. 
 
 Pha. But now the time is fitter : do but offer 
 To make mention of right to any kingdom, 
 Though it be scarce habitable — 
 
 Phi. Good sir, let me go. 
 
 Pha. And by the gods — 
 
 Phi. Peace, Pharamond! if thou — 
 
 Are. Leave us, Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I have done. \Going. 
 
 Pha. You are gone ! by Heaven I '11 fetch you back. 
 
 Phi. You shall not need. \Returning. 
 
 Pha. What now? 
 
 Phi. Know, Pharamond, 
 
 I loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou, 
 Who art nought but a valiant voice ; but if 
 Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say, 
 < Thou wert,' and not lament it. 
 
 Pha. Do you slight 
 
 My greatness so, and in the chamber of 
 The princess? 
 
PHILASTER. 213 
 
 Phi. It is a place to which I must confess 
 I owe a reverence ; but were 't the church, 
 Ay, at the altar, there 's no place so safe, 
 Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee : 
 And for your greatness, know, sir, I can grasp 
 You and your greatness thus, thus into nothing. 
 Give not a word, not a word back! Farewell. {^Exit. 
 
 Pha. 'T is an odd fellow, madam ; we must stop 
 His mouth with some office when we are married. 
 
 Are. You were best make him your controller. 
 
 Pha. I think he w^ould discharge it well. But, 
 madam, 
 I hope our hearts are knit ; and yet so slow 
 The ceremonies of state are, that 't will be long 
 Before our hands be so. If then you please, 
 Being agreed in heart, let us not wait 
 For dreaming form, but take a little stolen 
 Delights, and so prevent our joys to come. 
 
 Are. If you dare speak such thoughts, I must with- 
 draw in honour. \_Exit. 
 
 Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold 
 out till the wedding; I must seek elsewhere. {Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Philaster and Bellario. 
 
 Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy ; 
 Full of regard unto thy tender youth. 
 For thine own modesty ; and, for my sake, 
 
214 PHILASTER. 
 
 Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask, 
 Ay, or deserve. 
 
 Bel. Sir, you did take me up 
 
 When I was nothing ; and only yet am something 
 By being yours. You trusted me unknown ; 
 And that which you were apt to conster ^ 
 A simple innocence in me, perhaps 
 Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy 
 Hardened in lies and theft : yet ventured you 
 To part my miseries and me ; for which, 
 I never can expect to serve a lady 
 Than bears more honour in her breast than you. 
 
 Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee. Thou art young, 
 And bear'st a childish overflowing love 
 To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet ; 
 But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, 
 Thou wilt remember best those careful friends 
 That placed thee in the noblest way of life. 
 She is a princess I prefer thee to. 
 
 Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world, 
 I never knew a man hasty to part with 
 A servant he thought trusty: I remember, 
 My father would prefer the boys he kept 
 To greater men than he. but did it not 
 Till they were grown too saucy for himself. 
 
 Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all 
 In thy behaviour. 
 
 Bel. Sir, if I have made 
 
 A fault in ignorance, instruct my youth ; 
 I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn ; 
 Age and experience will adorn my mind 
 With larger knowledge ; and if I have done 
 A wilful fault, think me not past all hope 
 
 1 Construe. 
 
PHILASTER. 215 
 
 For once. What master holds so strict a hand 
 Over his boy, that he will part with him 
 Without one warning? Let me be corrected, 
 To break my stubbornness, if it be so. 
 Rather than turn me off; and I shall mend. 
 
 Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, 
 That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. 
 Alas, I do not turn thee off! thou know'st 
 It is my business that doth call thee hence ; 
 And when thou art with her, thou dwelPst with me. 
 Think so, and His so : and when time is full, 
 That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust, 
 Laid on so weak a one, I will again 
 With joy receive thee ; as I live, I will ! 
 Nay, weep not, gentle boy. 'T is more than time 
 Thou didst attend the princess. 
 
 Bel. I am gone. 
 
 But since I am to part with you, my lord. 
 And none knows whether I shall live to do 
 More service for you, take this little prayer : 
 Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs ! 
 May sick men, if they have your wish, be well ; 
 And Heaven hate those you curse, though I be one! 
 
 \^Exit. 
 
 Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange ; 
 I have read wonders of it : yet this boy 
 For my sake (if a man may judge by looks 
 And speech) would out-do story. I may see 
 A day to pay him for his loyalty. \Exit. 
 
2i6 PHILASTER. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A Gallery in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Pharamond. 
 
 Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long? They 
 must come this way : I know the queen employs ""em 
 not; for the reverend mother sent me word, they 
 would all be for the garden. If they should all prove 
 honest now, I were in a fair taking ; I was never so 
 long without sport in my life, and, in my conscience, 
 't is not my fault. Oh, for our country ladies ! 
 
 Enter Galatea. 
 
 Here's one bolted; I Ul hound at her {aside). 
 Madam ! 
 
 Gal. Your grace ! 
 
 Pha. Shall I not be a trouble? 
 
 Gal. Not to me, sir. 
 
 Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet 
 hand — 
 
 Gal. You '11 be forsworn, sir ; 't is but an old 
 glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you : 
 but, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag ; 
 these two I bar ; and then, I think, I shall have sense 
 enough to answer all the weighty apophthegms your 
 royal blood shall manage. 
 
 Pha. Dear lady, can you love? 
 
 Gal. Dear prince! how dear? I ne'er cost you a 
 coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a 
 banquet. Here 's no scarlet, sir, to blush the sin out 
 it was given for. This wire ^ mine own hair covers ; 
 
 1 Women then used wire frames as part of their head-dress. 
 
PHILASTER. 2 1 7 
 
 and this face has been so far from being dear to any, 
 that it ne'er cost penny painting ; and, for the rest of 
 my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand 
 behind it, to make the jealous mercer's wife curse our 
 good doings. 
 
 Fha. You mistake me, lady. 
 
 Gal. Lord, I do so : would you or I could help it ! 
 
 Pha. You 're very dangerous bitter, like a potion. 
 
 Gal. No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though 
 I mean to purge a little time on you. 
 
 Pha. Do ladies of this country use to give 
 No more respect to men of my full being? 
 
 Gal. Full being ! I understand you not, unless 
 your grace means growing to fatness ; and then your 
 only remedy (upon my knowledge, prince) is, in a 
 morning, a cup of neat white wine brewed with 
 carduus,^ then fast till supper ; about eight you may 
 eat ; use exercise, and keep a sparrow-hawk ; you can 
 shoot in a tiller : ^ but, of all, your grace must fly 
 phlebotomy, fresh pork, conger, and clarified whey ; 
 they are all duller of the vital spirits. 
 
 Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. 
 
 Gal. 'T is very true, sir; I talk of you. 
 
 Pha. This is a crafty wench ; I like her wit well ; 
 't will be rare to stir up a leaden appetite : she 's a 
 Danae, and must be courted in a shower of gold 
 {aside). — Madam, look here; all these, and more 
 than — 
 
 Gal. What have you there, my lord? gold! now, 
 as I live, 't is fair gold! You would have silver for it, 
 to play with the pages : you could not have taken me 
 in a worse time ; but, if you have present use, my 
 
 1 Thistle. 
 
 2 The handle of a crossbow. 
 
2i8 PHILASTER. 
 
 lord, I '11 send my man with silver and keep your gold 
 for you. {Takes gold.^ 
 
 Pha. Lady, lady! 
 
 Gal. She 's coming, sir, behind, will take white 
 money. ^ — Yet for all this I '11 match ye (aside). 
 
 \_Exit behind the hangings. 
 
 Pha. If there be but two such more in this king- 
 dom, and near the court, we may even hang up our 
 harps. Ten such camphire ^ constitutions as this 
 would call the golden age again in question, and 
 teach the old way for every ill-faced husband to get 
 his own children ; and what a mischief that would 
 breed, let all consider ! 
 
 Enter Megra. 
 
 Here's another: if she be of the same last, the 
 devil shall pluck her on {aside). Many fair morn- 
 ings, lady. 
 
 Meg. As many mornings bring as many days. 
 Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your grace ! 
 
 Pha. She gives good words yet; sure this wench 
 is free {aside) . — 
 If your more serious business do not call you, 
 Let me hold quarter with you ; we will talk 
 An hour out quickly. 
 
 Meg. What would your grace talk of ? 
 
 Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself: 
 I '11 go no further than your eye, or lip ; 
 There 's theme enough for one man for an age. 
 
 Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet 
 even, smooth, 
 Young enough, ripe enough, and red enough, 
 
 1 A cant term for silver. 
 
 2 Camphire is slang for " cold," " passionless." 
 
PHILASTER. 219 
 
 Or my glass wrongs me. 
 
 Pha. Oh, they are two twinned chemes dyed in 
 blushes 
 Which those fair suns above with their bright beams 
 Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty, 
 Bow down those branches, that the longing taste 
 Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings, 
 And taste and live. 
 
 Meg. Oh, delicate sweet prince! 
 
 She that hath snow enough about her heart 
 To take the wanton spring of ten such lines oflf, 
 May be a nun without probation (aside). — Sir, 
 You have in such neat poetry gathered a kiss, 
 That if I had but five lines of that number. 
 Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend 
 Your forehead or your cheeks, and kiss you too. 
 
 Pha. Do it in prose ; you cannot miss it, madam. 
 
 Meg. I shall, I shall. 
 
 Pha. By my life, but you shall not ; 
 
 I '11 prompt you first. (JCisses her.) Can you do it 
 now.i* 
 
 Meg. Methinks 't is easy, now you ha' done 't be- 
 fore me ; 
 But yet I should stick at it. 
 
 Pha. Stick till to-morrow ; 
 
 I '11 never part you, sweetest. But we lose time : 
 Can you love me.'* 
 
 Meg. Love you, my lord! how would you have me 
 love you? 
 
 Pha. I '11 teach you in a short sentence, 'cause I . 
 will not load your memory : this is all ; love me, and 
 go with me. 
 
 Meg. Was it go with you, you said ? 't is impossible. 
 
 Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour. 
 
2 20 PHILASTER. 
 
 Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own 
 That yet wants teaching. 
 
 Pha. I 11 sooner teach a mare the old measures.^ 
 
 Meg. By my honour, that 's a foul fault, indeed ; 
 But time and your good help will wear it out, sir. 
 Has your grace seen the court star, Galatea ? 
 
 Pha. Out upon her! she 's as cold of her favour as 
 an apoplex : she sailed by but now. 
 
 Meg. And how do you hold her wit, sir? 
 
 Pha. I hold her wit ? The strength of all the guard 
 cannot hold it, if they were tied to it ; she would 
 blow 'em out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter ; 
 he \s but a squib-cracker to her : look well about you, 
 and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak, sweet 
 lady, shall I be freely welcome? 
 
 Meg. Whither? 
 
 Pha. To your chamber. If you mistrust my faith, 
 you do me the unnoblest wrong. 
 
 Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not. 
 
 Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall 
 seal 'em ; and what you dare imagine you can want, 
 I '11 furnish you withal : give two hours to your 
 thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you 
 are bashful ; 
 
 Speak in my ear, will you be mine? Keep this, 
 
 \Gives her a ring. 
 And with it me : soon I will visit you. 
 
 Meg. My lord. 
 My chamber 's most unsafe ; but when 't is night, 
 I '11 find some means to slip into your lodging ; 
 Till when — 
 
 Pha. Till when, this and my heart go with thee! 
 
 [^Exeunt severally. 
 1 Formal, stately dances. 
 
PHILASTER. 221 
 
 Reenter Galatea. 
 
 Gal. Oh, thou pernicious petticoat prince! are 
 these your virtues ? Well, if I do not lay a train to 
 blow your sport up, I am no woman : and. Lady 
 Towsabel, I '11 fit you for 't. {Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Arethusa's Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Arethusa and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Where 's the boy? 
 Lady. Within, madam. 
 
 Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes ? 
 Lady. I did. 
 
 Are. And has he done 't? 
 Lady. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. 'T is a pretty sad^ talking boy, is it not? 
 Asked you his name? 
 Lady. No, madam. 
 
 Enter Galatea. 
 
 Are. Oh, you are welcome. What good news? 
 
 Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace. 
 That says, she has done that you would have wished. 
 
 Are. Hast thou discovered? 
 
 Gal. I have strained a point 
 
 Of modesty for you. 
 
 Are. I prithee, how? 
 
 Gal. In listening after bawdry. I see, let a lady 
 
 1 Serious 
 
222 PHILASTER. 
 
 Live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find 
 
 A lawful time to hearken after bawdry. 
 
 Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on 't ! 
 
 Are. With whom? 
 
 Gal. Why, with the lady I suspected : 
 
 I can tell the time and place. 
 
 Are. Oh, when, and where? 
 
 Gal. To-night, his lodging. 
 
 Are. Run thyself into the presence ; mingle there 
 again 
 With other ladies ; leave the rest to me. 
 
 [Exit Galatea. 
 If destiny (to whom we dare not say, 
 '•' Why thou didst this ") have not decreed it so. 
 In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters 
 Was never altered yet), this match shall break (aside). 
 Where 's the boy ? 
 
 Lady. Here, madam. 
 
 Enter Bellario, richly dressed. 
 
 Are. Sir, 
 
 You are sad to change your service ; is 't not so ? 
 
 Bel. Madam, I have not changed ; I wait on you, 
 To do him service. 
 
 Are. Thou disclaim'st in ^ me. 
 
 Tell me thy name. 
 
 Bel. Bellario. 
 
 Are. Thou canst sing and play? 
 
 Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. 
 
 Are. Alas, what kind of grief can thy years know ? 
 Hadst thou a curst ^ master when thou went'st to 
 
 school? 
 
 1 Give up all claim in. 
 
 2 Cross. 
 
PHILASTER. 223 
 
 Thou art not capable of other grief; 
 Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be 
 When no breath troubles them : believe me, boy, 
 Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, 
 And builds himself caves, to abide in them. 
 Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me? 
 
 Bel. Love, madam! I know not what it is. 
 
 Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st 
 love? 
 Thou art deceived, boy. Does he speak of me 
 As if he wished me well ? 
 
 Bel. If it be love 
 
 To forget all respect of his own friends 
 With thinking of your face ; if it be love 
 To sit cross-armed and sigh away the day. 
 Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud 
 And hastily as men i^ the streets do fire ; 
 If it be love to weep himself away 
 When he but hears of any lady dead 
 Or killed, because it might have been your chance ; 
 If, when he goes to rest (which will not be), 
 'Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once. 
 As others drop a bead, be to be in love, 
 Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you. 
 
 Are. Oh, you 're a cunning boy, and taught to lie 
 For your lord's credit ! but thou know'st a lie 
 That bears this sound is welcomer to me 
 Than any truth that says he loves me not. 
 Lead the way, boy. — Do you attend me too. — 
 'Tis thy lord's business hastes me thus. Away! 
 
 \jExeunt. 
 
2 24 PHILASTER, 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Before Pharamond's Lodging in the Court of the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline, Megra, and 
 
 Galatea. 
 
 Dion. Come, ladies, shall we talk a round? As 
 men 
 Do walk a mile, women should talk an hour 
 After supper : 't is their exercise. 
 
 Gal. 'T is late. 
 
 Meg. 'T is all 
 
 My eyes will do to lead me to my bed. 
 
 Gal. I fear, they are so heavy, you '11 scarce find 
 The way to your own lodging with 'em to-night. 
 
 Enter Pharamond. 
 
 Thra. The prince! 
 
 Pha. Not a-bed, ladies ? you 're good sitters-up : 
 What think you of a pleasant dream, to last 
 Till morning? 
 
 Meg. I should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake 
 before it. 
 
 Enter Arethusa and Bellario. 
 
 Are. 'T is well, my lord ; you 're courting of these 
 ladies. — i 
 
 Is 't not late, gentlemen? 
 
 Cle. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. Wait you there. \^Exit. 
 
PHILASTER. 225 
 
 Meg. She 's jealous, as I live {aside) . Look- you, 
 my lord. 
 The princess has a Hylas,^ an Adonis. 
 
 F/ia. His form is angel-like. 
 
 Meg. Why, this is he 
 
 That must, when you are wed, sit by your pillow, 
 Like young Apollo, with his hand and voice 
 Binding your thoughts in sleep ; the princess 
 Does provide him for you and for herself. 
 
 F/ia. I find no music in these boys. 
 
 Meg. Nor I : 
 
 They can do little, and that small they do, 
 They have not wit to hide. 
 
 Dion. Serves he the princess? 
 
 T/ira. Yes. 
 
 Dion. 'T is a sweet boy : how brave ^ she keeps him ! 
 
 Pha. Ladies all, good rest ; I mean to kill a buck 
 To-morrow morning ere you 've done your dreams. 
 
 Meg. All happiness attend your grace ! 
 
 {Exit Pharamond. 
 Gentlemen, good rest. — Come, shall we go to bed? 
 
 Gal. Yes. — All, good night. 
 
 Dion. May your dreams be true to you. — 
 
 \Exeimt Galatea and Megra. 
 What shall we do, gallants? His late. The king 
 Is up still : see, he comes ; a guard along with him. 
 
 Enter King with Arethusa, Guards^ and 
 
 Attendattts. 
 
 King. Look your intelligence be true. 
 Are. Upon my life, it is : and I do hope 
 
 1 Hylas was a youth of rare beauty, and beloved of 
 Hercules, whom he attended on the expedition of the 
 Argonauts. 2 Well-dressed. 
 
 Q 
 
226 PHILASTER. 
 
 Your highness will not tie me to a man 
 That in the heat of wooing throws me off, 
 And takes another. 
 
 Dion. What should this mean? 
 
 King. If it be true, 
 
 That lady had better have embraced 
 Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest: 
 You shall be righted. 
 
 \_Exeunt Arethusa and Bellario. 
 — Gentlemen, draw near ; 
 We shall employ you. Is young Pharamond 
 Come to his lodging? 
 
 Dion. I saw him enter there. 
 
 King. Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover 
 If Megra be in her lodging. \_Exit Dion. 
 
 Cle. Sir, 
 
 She parted hence but now, with other ladies. 
 
 King. If she be there, we shall not need to make^ 
 A vain discovery of our suspicion. 
 You gods, I see that who unrighteously 
 Holds wealth or state from others shall be cursed 
 In that which meaner men are blest withal : 
 Ages to come shall know no male of him 
 Left to inherit, and his name shall be 
 Blotted from earth ; if he have any child, 
 It shall be crossly matched ; the gods themselves 
 Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her. 
 Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin 
 I have committed ; let it not fall 
 Upon this understanding child of mine ! 
 She has not broke your laws. But how can I 
 
 1 Compare the speech of Claudius in Hamlet, Act III., 
 Scene 3. 
 
PHILASTER. 227 
 
 Look to be heard of gods that must be just, 
 Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong ? {aside) . 
 
 Reenter Dion. 
 
 Dion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she 
 is within; but they, I think, are bawds. I told 'em, 
 I must speak with her; they laughed, and said, their 
 lady lay speechless. I said, my business was impor- 
 tant ; they said, their lady was about it. I grew hot, 
 and cried, my business was a matter that concerned 
 life and death ; they answered, so was sleeping, at 
 which their lady was. I urged again, she had scarce 
 time to be so since last I saw her : they smiled again, 
 and seemed to instruct me that sleeping was nothing 
 but lying down and winking. Anwers more direct I 
 could not get : in short, sir, I think she is not there. 
 
 King. 'Tis then no time to dally. — You o' the 
 guard. 
 Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging, 
 And see that none pass thence, upon your lives. — 
 
 \_Exennt Guards. 
 Knock, gentlemen ; knock loud ; louder yet. 
 
 Dion, Cleremont, etc., k7tock at the door of 
 Pharamond's lodging. 
 What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing ? 
 I '11 break your meditations. — Knock again. — 
 Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this 
 Lamm by him. — Once more. — Pharamond! prince! 
 [Pharamond appears at a window. 
 Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of 
 night ? 
 Where be our waiters ? By my vexed soul. 
 He meets his death that meets me, for this boldness. 
 
2 28 PHILASTER. 
 
 King. Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts ; 
 we are your friends : 
 Come down. 
 
 Pha. The King! 
 
 King. The same, sir. Come down, sir : 
 
 We have cause of present counsel with you. 
 
 Enter Pharamond below. 
 
 Pha. If your grace please 
 To use me, I '11 attend you to your chamber. 
 
 King. No, 't is too late, prince ; I '11 make bold 
 with yours. 
 
 Pha. I have some private reasons to myself 
 Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot. — 
 Nay, press not forward, gentlemen ; he must 
 Come through my life that comes here. 
 
 King. Sir, be resolved I must and will come. — 
 Enter! 
 
 Pha. I will not be dishonoured : 
 He that enters, enters upon his death. 
 Sir, 't is a sign you make no stranger of me. 
 To bring these renegadoes ^ to my chamber 
 At these unseasoned hours. 
 
 King. Why do you 
 
 Chafe yourself so? you are not wronged nor shall be ; 
 Only I '11 search your lodging, for some cause 
 To ourself known. — Enter, I say. 
 
 Pha. I say, no. [Megra appears at a window. 
 
 Meg. Let 'em enter, prince, let 'em enter ; 
 
 I am up and ready : I know their business ; 
 'T is the poor breaking of a lady's honour 
 
 1 The Spanish " renegado" was a type of the turncoat. Itj 
 seems here to mean a ruffianly intruder. 
 
 I 
 
PHILASTER. 229 
 
 They hunt so hotly after ; let 'em enjoy it. — 
 You have your business, gentlemen ; I came here. 
 Oh, my lord the King, this is not noble in you, 
 To make public the weakness of a woman ! 
 
 King. Come clown. 
 
 Meg. I dare, my lord. Your hoo tings and your 
 clamours. 
 Your private whispers and your broad fleerings, 
 Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage : 
 But I have vengeance yet in store for some 
 Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me, 
 Be joy and nourishment. 
 
 King. Will you come down? 
 
 Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst ; but I shall wring 
 you. 
 If my skill fail me not. \Exit above. 
 
 King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this loose- 
 ness ; 
 You have wronged a worthy lady : but, no more. — 
 Conduct him to my lodging and to bed. 
 
 {Exeimt Pharamond a7id Attendants. 
 
 Enter Megra below. 
 
 King. Now, lady of honour, where 's your honour 
 now? 
 No man can fit your palate but the prince : 
 Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou piece 
 Made by a painter and a 'pothecary. 
 Thou troubled sea of lust, thou wilderness 
 Inhabited by wild thoughts, thou swoln cloud 
 Of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases, 
 Thou all-sin, all-hell, and last all-devils, tell me. 
 Had you none to pull on with your courtesies 
 But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter? 
 
230 PHILASTER. 
 
 By all the gods, all these, and all the pages, 
 
 And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court, 
 
 Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes. 
 
 And sear thy name with candles upon walls ! H 
 
 Do you laugh, Lady Venus? 1 
 
 Meg. Faith, sir, you must pardon me ; 
 
 I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry. jl 
 
 If you do this, O King! nay, if you dare do it, " 
 
 By all those gods you swore by, and as many 
 More of my own, I will have fellows, and such 
 Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth! 
 The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me 
 On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing : 
 Urge me no more ; I know her and her haunts. 
 Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover all ; 
 Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy 
 She keeps ; a handsome boy, about eighteen ; 
 Know what she does with him, where, and when. 
 Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness, 
 The glory of a fury ; and if I do not 
 Do 't to the height — 
 
 King. What boy is this she raves at? 
 
 Meg. Alas! good-minded prince^ you know not 
 these things ! 
 I am loth to reveal 'em. Keep this fault, 
 As you would keep your health from the hot air 
 Of the corrupted people, or, by Heaven, 
 I will not fall alone. What I have known 
 Shalt be as pubHc as a print ; all tongues 
 Shall speak it as they do the language they 
 Are born in, as free and commonly ; I '11 set it. 
 Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at, 
 And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far 
 and foreign 
 
PHILASTER. 231 
 
 Shall read it there, nay, travel with it, till they find 
 No tongue to make it more, nor no more people ; 
 And then behold the fall of your fair princess! 
 
 King. Has she a boy? 
 
 Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait 
 on her, 
 A fair boy. 
 
 King. Go, get you to your quarter : 
 
 For this time I wnll study to forget you. 
 
 Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I '11 study 
 To forget you. \Exeunt King arid Megra, severally. 
 
 Cle. Why, here's a male spirit fit for Hercules. 
 If ever there be Nine Worthies ^ of women, this 
 wench shall ride astride and be their captain. 
 
 Dion. Sure, she has a garrison of devils in her 
 tongue, she uttered such balls of wild-fire : she has 
 so nettled the King, that all the doctors in the coun- 
 try wall scarce cure him. That boy was a strange- 
 found-out antidote to cure her infection ; that boy, 
 that princess' boy ; that brave, chaste, virtuous lady's 
 boy; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these 
 considered, can make nothing else — but there I leave 
 you, gentlemen. 
 
 Thra. Nay, we '11 go wander with you. \Exeiint. 
 
 1 The nine worthies were Joshua, Judas Maccabeus, 
 David, Alexander, Hector, Caesar, Charlemagne, Godfrey of 
 Bouillon, and King Arthur. 
 
232 PHILASTER. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 The Court of the Palace. 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Cle. Nay, doubtless, 't is true. 
 
 Dion. Ay ; and 't is the gods 
 
 That raised this punishment, to scourge the King 
 With his own issue. Is it not a shame 
 For us that should write noble in the land, 
 For us that should be freemen, to behold 
 A man that is the bravery of his age, 
 Philaster, pressed down from his royal right 
 By this regardless King? and only look 
 And see the sceptre ready to be cast 
 Into the hands of that lascivious lady 
 That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be 
 
 married 
 To yon strange prince, who, but that people please 
 To let him be a prince, is born a slave 
 In that which should be his most noble part. 
 His mind? 
 
 Thra. That man that would not stir with you 
 To aid Philaster, let the gods forget 
 That such a creature walks upon the earth ! 
 
 Cle. Philaster is too backward in 't himself. 
 The gentry do await it, and the people. 
 Against their nature, are all bent for him. 
 And like a field of standing corn, that 's moved 
 With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way. 
 
 Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster back 
 
PHILASTER. 233 
 
 From this attempt is the fair princess' love, 
 Which he admires, and we can now confute. 
 
 Thra. Perhaps he 11 not believe it. 
 
 Dion. Why, gentlemen, 
 
 'T is without question so. 
 
 Cle. Ay, 't is past speech. 
 
 She lives dishonestly : but how shall we. 
 If he be curious/ work upon his faith? 
 
 Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves. 
 
 Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, 
 I '11 make this new report to be my knowledge ; 
 I '11 say I know it ; nay, I '11 swear I saw it. 
 
 Cle. It will be best. 
 
 Thra. 'T will move him. 
 
 Dion. Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Good morrow to your honour : we have spent 
 Some time in seeking you. 
 
 Phi. My worthy friends, 
 
 You that can keep your memories to know 
 Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown 
 On men disgraced for virtue, a good day 
 Attend you all! What service may I do 
 Worthy your acceptation ? 
 
 Dion. My good lord. 
 
 We come to urge that virtue, which we know 
 Lives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head : 
 The nobles and the people are all dulled 
 With this usurping King ; and not a man. 
 That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing 
 As virtue, but will second your attempts. 
 
 Phi. How honourable is this love in you 
 
 1 " If he demand proofs." 
 
234 PHILASTER. 
 
 To me that have deserved none! Know, my friends 
 
 (You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster 
 
 With too much courtesy), I could afford 
 
 To melt myself in thanks : but my designs 
 
 Are not yet ripe : suffice it, that ere long 
 
 I shall employ your loves ; but yet the time 
 
 Is short of what I would. 
 
 Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect ; 
 That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reached 
 By violence may now be caught. As for the King, 
 You know the people have long hated him ; 
 But now the princess, whom they loved — 
 
 Phi. Why, what of her? 
 
 Dion. Is loathed as much as he. 
 
 Phi. By what strange means ? 
 
 Dio7i. She 's known a whore. 
 
 Phi. Thou liest. 
 
 Dion. My lord — 
 
 Phi. Thou liest. 
 
 \Offers to draw his sword: they hold him. 
 And thou shalt feel it ! I had thought thy mind 
 Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady 
 Of her good name, is an infectious sin 
 Not to be pardoned : be it false as hell, 
 'T will never be redeemed, if it be sown 
 Amongst the people, fruitful to increase 
 All evil they shall hear. Let me alone, 
 That I may cut off falsehood whilst it springs! 
 Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man 
 That utters this, and I will scale them all, 
 And from the utmost top fall on his neck, 
 Like thunder from a cloud. 
 
 Dion. This is most strange : 
 
 Sure, he does love her. 
 
PHILASTER. 235 
 
 Phi. I do love fair truth : 
 
 She is my mistress, and who injures her 
 Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms. 
 
 Thru. Nay, good my lord, be patient. 
 
 Cle. Sir, remember this is your honoured friend, 
 That comes to do his service, and will show you 
 Why he uttered this. 
 
 PJii. I ask you pardon, sir ; 
 
 My zeal to truth made me unmannerly : 
 Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you, 
 Behind your back, untruly, I had been 
 As much distempered and enraged as now. 
 
 Dio7i. But this, my lord, is truth. 
 
 Phi. Oh, say not so ! 
 
 Good sir, forbear to say so ; 't is then truth, 
 That all womankind is false : urge it no more ; 
 It is impossible. Why should you think 
 The princess light? 
 
 Dio7i. Why, she was taken at it. 
 
 Phi. 'T is false ! by Heaven, 't is false ! it cannot 
 be! 
 Can it ? Speak, gentlemen ; for love of truth, speak ! 
 Is ^t possible? Can women all be damned? 
 
 Dion. Why, no, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Why, then, it cannot be. 
 
 Dioti. And she was taken with her boy. 
 
 Phi. What boy? 
 
 Dion. A page, a boy that serves her. 
 
 Phi. Oh, good gods ! 
 
 A little boy? 
 
 Dion. Ay; know you him, my lord? 
 
 Phi. Hell and sin know him! {aside). — Sir, you 
 are deceived ; 
 I 'U reason it a Httle coldly with you : 
 
I 
 
 236 PHILASTER. 
 
 If she were lustful, would she take a boy, 
 
 That knows not yet desire? she would have one 
 
 Should meet her thoughts and know the sin he acts, 
 
 Which is the great delight of wickedness. 
 
 You are abused, and so is she, and I. 
 
 Dion. How you, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Why, all the world 's abused 
 
 In an unjust report. 
 
 Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues 
 
 Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman! 
 In short, my lord, I took them ; I myself. 
 
 Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didst! Fly from 
 my rage ! 
 Would thou hadst ta'en devils engendering plagues, 
 When thou didst take them! Hide thee from my 
 
 eyes! jH 
 
 Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, fl| 
 
 When thou didst take them ; or been strucken dumb 
 For ever ; that this foul deed might have slept 
 In silence! 
 
 Thra. Have you known him so ill-tempered? 
 
 Cle. Never before. 
 
 Phi. The winds, that are let loose 
 
 From the four several corners of the earth, 
 And spread themselves all over sea and land. 
 Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword 
 To run me through ? 
 
 Dion. Why, my lord, are you 
 
 So moved at this? 
 
 Phi. When any fall from virtue, 
 
 I am distract ; I have an interest in 't. 
 
 Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself, and 
 think 
 What 's best to be done. 
 
PHILASTER. 237 
 
 Phi. I thank you ; I will do it : 
 
 Please you to leave me ; I '11 consider of it. 
 To-morrow I will find your lodging forth, 
 And give you answer. 
 
 Dio7i. All the gods direct you 
 
 The readiest way! 
 
 Thra. He was extreme impatient. 
 
 Cle. It was his virtue and his noble mind. 
 
 \Exeiint Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them ; 
 1 11 follow him. Oh, that I had a sea 
 Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel ! 
 More circumstances will but fan this fire : 
 It more afflicts me now, to know by whom 
 This deed is done, than simply that 't is done ; 
 And he that tells me this is honourable, 
 As far from lies as she is far from truth. 
 Oh that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves 
 With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight 
 To keep their females, standing in their sight ; 
 But take 'em from them, and you take at once 
 Their spleens away ; and they will fall again 
 Unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat ; 
 And taste the water of the springs as sweet 
 As 't was before, finding no start in sleep : 
 But miserable man — 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 See, see, you gods. 
 He walks still ; and the face you let him wear 
 When he was innocent is still the same. 
 Not blasted ! Is this justice ? do you mean 
 To intrap mortality, that you allow 
 
238 PHIL ASTER. 
 
 Treason so smooth a brow ? I cannot now 
 
 Think he is guilty. {Aside. 
 
 Bel. Health to you, my lord ! 
 
 The princess doth commend her love, her Hfe, 
 And this, unto you. {Gives a letter. 
 
 Phi. Oh Bellario, 
 
 Now I perceive she loves me ! she does show it 
 In loving thee, my boy : she has made thee brave. ^ 
 
 Bel. My lord, she has attired me past my wish, 
 Past my desert ; more fit for her attendant, 
 Though far unfit for me who do attend. 
 
 Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. — Oh, let all 
 women, 
 That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, 
 Here, by this paper ! She does write to me 
 As if her heart were mines of adamant 
 To all the world besides ; but, unto me, 
 A maiden-snow that melted with my looks {Aside. 
 Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee ? 
 For I shall guess her love to me by that. 
 
 Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were 
 Something allied to her, or had preserved 
 Her life three times by my fidelity ; 
 As mothers fond ^ do use their only sons 
 As I ''d use one that 's left unto my trust, 
 For whom my life should pay if he met harm, 
 So she does use me. 
 
 Phi. Why, this is wondrous well : 
 
 But what kind language does she feed thee with ? 
 
 Bel. Why, she does tell me she will trust my 
 youth 
 With all her loving secrets, and does call me 
 Her pretty servant ; bids me weep no more 
 1 Dressed out finely. 2 Foolish. 
 
PHILASTER. 239 
 
 For leaving you; she'll see my services 
 Regarded : and such words of that soft strain, 
 That I am nearer weeping when she ends 
 Than ere she spake. 
 
 Phi. This is much better still. 
 
 Bel. Are you not ill, my lord .? 
 
 Phi. Ill ? no, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Methinks your words 
 Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, 
 Nor is there in your looks that quietness 
 That I was wont to see. 
 
 Phi. Thou art deceived, boy : 
 
 And she strokes thy head "l 
 
 Bel. Yes. 
 
 Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks ? 
 
 Bel. She does, my lord. 
 
 Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy ? ha ! 
 
 Bel. How, my lord 1 
 
 Phi. She kisses thee ? 
 
 Bel. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Phi. That 's strange ! — I know she does. 
 
 Bel. No, by my life. 
 
 Phi. Why then she does not love me. Come, she 
 does. 
 I bade her do it ; I charged her, by all charms 
 Of love between us, by the hope of peace 
 We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights. 
 Tell me, gentle boy. 
 
 Is she not parallelless ? is not her breath 
 Sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe ? 
 Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls ? 
 Is she not all a lasting mine of joy ? 
 
 Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts 
 Were so perplexed : when first I went to her, 
 
240 PHILASTER. 
 
 My heart held augury. You are abused ; 
 Some villain has abused you : I do see 
 Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head 
 That put this to you ! 't is some subtle train 
 To bring that noble frame of yours to nought. 
 
 Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee. 
 Come, 
 Thou shalt know all my drift : I hate her more 
 Than I love happiness, and placed thee there 
 To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds. 
 Hast thou discovered ? is she fallen to lust. 
 As I would wish her ? Speak some comfort to me. 
 
 Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent : 
 Had she the lust of sparrows or of goats, 
 Had she a sin that way, hid from the world, 
 Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid 
 Her base desires : but what I came to know 
 As servant to her, I would not reveal, 
 To make my life last ages. 
 
 Phi. Oh, my heart ! 
 
 This is a salve worse than the main disease. 
 Tell me thy thoughts ; for I will know the least 
 
 \_Draws his sword. ^ 
 That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart ! 
 
 To know it : I will see thy thoughts as plain 
 As I do now thy face. 
 
 Bel. Why, so you do. 
 
 She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, [Kfteels. 
 As chaste as ice ! but were she foul as hell, 
 And I did know it thus, the breath of kings. 
 The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,i 
 
 1 An allusion to the Sicilian tyrant Phalaris (560 B.C.) ami 
 especially to his torture of human beings in a heated brazei 
 bull. 
 
PHILASTER. 241 
 
 Should draw it from me. 
 
 Phi. Then it is no time 
 
 To dally with thee ; I will take thy life, 
 For I do hate thee : I could curse thee now. 
 
 Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse ; 
 The gods have not a punishment in store 
 Greater for me than is your hate. 
 
 Phi. p'ie, fie, 
 
 So young and so dissembling! Tell me when 
 And where thou didst bewray her, or let plagues 
 Fall on me, if I destroy thee not ! 
 
 Bel. By heaven I never did ; and when I lie 
 To save my life, may I live long and loathed! 
 Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think, 
 I '11 love those pieces you have cut away 
 Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs 
 Because you made 'em so. 
 
 Phi. Fear'st thou not death ? 
 
 Can boys contemn that ? 
 
 Bel. Oh, what boy is he 
 
 Can be content to live to be a man. 
 That sees the best of men thus passionate, 
 Thus without reason ? 
 
 Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know 
 
 What 't is to die. 
 
 Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord : 
 
 'T is less than to be born ; a lasting sleep ; 
 A quiet resting from all jealousy, 
 A thing we all pursue ; I know, besides, 
 It is but giving over of a game 
 That must be lost.^ 
 
 1 See other references to death by Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 Valentinian, Aci I., Scene 3, Act IV., Scene 4; Thierry and 
 Theodoret, Act IV., Scene i. 
 
 R 
 
242 PHI LAST ER. 
 
 Phi. But there are pains, false boy, 
 
 For perjured souls : think but on these, and then 
 Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all. 
 
 Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, 
 If I be perjured, or have ever thought 
 Of that you charge me with ! If I be false, 
 Send me to suffer in those punishments 
 You speak of; kill me ! 
 
 Phi, Oh, what should I do ? 
 
 Why, who can but believe him ? he does swear 
 So earnestly, that if it were not true. 
 The gods would not endure him. [Sheathes his sword. 
 
 Rise, Bellario : \_Bellario rises. 
 Thy protestations are so deep, and thou 
 Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them, 
 That, though I know 'em false as were my hopes, 
 I cannot urge thee further. But thou wert 
 To blame to injure me, for I must love 
 Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon 
 Thy tender youth : a love from me to thee 
 Is firm, whate'er thou dost : it troubles me 
 That I have called the blood out of thy cheeks, 
 That did so well become thee. But, good boy. 
 Let me not see thee more : something is done 
 That will distract me, that will make me mad. 
 If I behold thee. If thou tender'st me. 
 Let me not see thee. 
 
 Bel. I will fly as far 
 
 As there is morning, ere I give distaste 
 To that most honoured mind. But through these 
 
 tears, 
 Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see 
 A world of treason practised upon you. 
 And her, and me. Farewell for evermore! 
 
PHILASTER. 243 
 
 If you hear that sorrow struck me dead, 
 And after find me loyal, let there be 
 A tear shed from you in my memory. 
 And I shall rest at peace. 
 
 Phi. Blessing be with thee, 
 
 Whatever thou deserv'st! S^Exit Bellario. 
 
 Oh, where shall I 
 Go bathe this body? Nature too unkind, 
 That made no medicine for a troubled mind ! ^ {Exit, 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Arethusa's Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Arethusa. 
 
 Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again : 
 But that I know my love will question him 
 Over and over, — how I slept, waked, talked, 
 How I remembered him when his dear name 
 Was last spoke, and how when I sighed, wept, sung, 
 And ten thousand such, — I should be angry at his 
 stay. 
 
 Enter King. 
 
 King. What, at your meditations! Who attends 
 
 you? 
 Are. None but my single self: I need no guard ; 
 I do no wrong, nor fear none. 
 King. Tell me, have you not a boy? 
 Are. Yes, sir. 
 
 1 Compare the words of Macbeth, " Canst thou not minis- 
 ter to a mind diseased," Act V., Scene 3. 
 
244 PHILASTER. 
 
 King. What kind of boy? 
 
 Are. A page, a waiting-boy. 
 
 King. A handsome boy? 
 
 Are. I think he be not ugly : 
 
 Well qualified and dutiful I know him ; 
 I took him not for beauty. 
 
 King. He speaks and sings and plays? 
 
 Are. Yes, sir. 
 
 King. About eighteen? 
 
 Are. I never asked his age. 
 
 King. Is he full of service? 
 
 Are. By your pardon, why do you ask ? 
 
 King. Put him away. 
 
 Are. Sir! 
 
 King. Put him away, I say. 
 
 H' 'as done you that good service shames me to speak 
 of. 
 
 Are. Good sir, let me understand you. 
 
 King. If you fear me, 
 
 Show it in duty ; put away that boy. 
 
 Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then 
 Your will is my command. 
 
 King. Do not you blush to ask it ? Cast him off, 
 Or I shall do the same to you. You 're one 
 Shame with me, and so near unto myself. 
 That, by my life, I dare not tell myself 
 What you, myself, have done. 
 
 Are. What I have done, my lord? 
 
 King. 'T is a new language, that all love to learn : 
 The common people speak it well already ; 
 They need no grammar. Understand me well ; 
 There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off, 
 And suddenly : do it ! Farewell. {Exit. 
 
 Are. Where may a maiden live securely free, 
 
PHILASTER. 245 
 
 Keeping her honour fair? Not with the living ; 
 They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams. 
 And make 'em truths ; they draw a nourishment 
 Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces ; 
 And, when they see a virtue fortified 
 Strongly above the battery of their tongues. 
 Oh, how they cast to sink it! and, defeated 
 (Soul-sick with poison), strike the monuments 
 Where noble names lie sleeping, till they sweat. 
 And the cold marble melt. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest mis- 
 tress ! 
 
 Are. Oh, my dearest servant, I have a war within 
 me ! 
 
 Phi. He must be more than man that makes these 
 crystals 
 Run into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause ? 
 And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, 
 Your creature, made again from what I was 
 And newly-spirited, I '11 right your honour. 
 
 Are. Oh, my best love, that boy ! 
 
 Phi. What boy ? 
 
 Are. The pretty boy you gave me — 
 
 Phi. What of him ? 
 
 Are. Must be no more mine. 
 
 Phi. Why ? 
 
 Are. They are jealous of him. 
 
 Phi. Jealous ! who ? 
 
 Are. The King. 
 
 Phi. Oh, my misfortune ! 
 
 Then 't is no idle jealousy — Let him go. \Aside. 
 
246 PHILASTER, 
 
 Are. Oh, cruel ! 
 Are you hard-hearted too ? who shall now tell you 
 How much I loved you ? who shall swear it to you, 
 And weep the tears I send ? who shall now bring you 
 Letters, rings, bracelets ? lose his health in service ? 
 Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise ? 
 Who shall now sing your crying elegies, 
 And stride a sad soul into senseless pictures, 
 And make them mourn ? who shall take up his lute, 
 And touch it till he crown a silent sleep 
 Upon my eyelids, making me dream, and cry, 
 ' Oh, my dear, dear Philaster ! ' 
 
 Phi. Oh, my heart ! 
 
 Would he had broken thee, that made me know 
 This lady was not loyal ! {aside). — Mistress, 
 Forget the boy ; I '11 get thee a far better. 
 
 Are. Oh, never, never such a boy again 
 As my Bellario ! 
 
 Phi. 'T is but your fond affection. 
 
 Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever 
 All secrecy in servants ! Farewell faith, 
 And all desire to do well for itself ! 
 Let all that shall succeed thee for thy wrongs 
 Sell and betray chaste love ! 
 
 Phi. And all this passion for a boy ? 
 
 Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me. 
 And the loss of such must have a mourning for. 
 
 Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman ! 
 
 Are. How, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. False Arethusa ! 
 Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits, 
 When I have lost 'em ? If not, leave to talk, 
 And do thus. 
 
 Are. Do what, sir ? would you sleep ? 
 
PHILASTER. 247 
 
 Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, you gods, 
 Give me a worthy patience ! Have I stood 
 Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes ? 
 Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mighty 
 Grow like a sea upon me ? Have I taken 
 Danger as stern as death into my bosom, 
 And laughed upon it, made it but a mirth, 
 And flung it by ? Do I live now like him. 
 Under this tyrant King, that languishing 
 Hears his sad bell and sees his mourners ? Do I 
 Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length 
 Under a woman's falsehood ? Oh, that boy, 
 That cursed boy ! None but a villain boy 
 To ease your lust ? 
 
 Are. Nay, then, I am betrayed : 
 
 I feel the plot cast for my overthrow. 
 Oh, I am wretched ! 
 
 Phi. Now you may take that little right I have 
 To this poor kingdom : give it to your joy ; 
 For I have no joy in it. Some far place. 
 Where never womankind durst set her foot 
 For bursting ^ with her poisons, must I seek. 
 And live to curse you : 
 
 There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts 
 What woman is, and help to save them from you ; 
 How heaven is in your eyes, but in your hearts 
 More hell than hell has ; how your tongues, like scor- 
 pions, 
 Both heal and poison ; how your thoughts are woven 
 W^ith thousand changes in one subtle web. 
 And worn so by you ; how that foolish man. 
 That reads the story of a woman's face 
 
 1 For fear of bursting ; a reference to the popular superstition 
 that there were places where no venomous creatures could exist. 
 
248 PHILASTER, 
 
 And dies believing it, is lost for ever ; 
 
 How all the good you have is but a shadow, 
 
 r the morning with you, and at night behind you 
 
 Past and forgotten ; how your vows are frosts, 
 
 Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone ; 
 
 How you are, being taken all together, 
 
 A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos, 
 
 That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts. 
 
 Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you. 
 
 So, farewell all my woe, all my delight ! \_Exit. 
 
 Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead ! 
 What way have I deserved this ? Make my breast 
 Transparent as pure crystal, that the world. 
 Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought 
 My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes, 
 To find out constancy? 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Save me, how black 
 And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now! 
 Oh, thou dissembler, that, before thou spak'st 
 Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies 
 And betray innocents ! Thy lord and thou 
 May glory in the ashes of a maid 
 Fooled by her passion ; but the conquest is 
 Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away ! 
 Let my command force thee to that which shame 
 Would do without it. If thou understood'st 
 The loathed office thou hast undergone. 
 Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills. 
 Lest men should dig and find thee. 
 
 Bel. Oh, what God, 
 
 Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease 
 Into the noblest minds! Madam, this grief 
 
PHILASTER, 249 
 
 You add unto me is no more than drops 
 
 To seas, for which they are not seen to swell ; 
 
 My lord hath struck his anger through my heart, 
 
 And let out all the hope of future joys. 
 
 You need not bid me fly ; I came to part, 
 
 To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever ! 
 
 I durst not run away in honesty 
 
 From such a lady, like a boy that stole 
 
 Or made some grievous fault. The power of gods 
 
 Assist you in your sufferings ! Hasty time 
 
 Reveal the truth to your abused lord 
 
 And mine, that he may know your worth ; whilst I 
 
 Go seek out some forgotten place to die! 
 
 \^Exit Bellario. 
 Are. Peace guide thee ! Thou hast overthrown me 
 once; 
 Yet, if I had another Troy to lose. 
 Thou, or another villain with thy looks, 
 Might talk me out of it, and send me naked. 
 My hair dishevelled, through the fiery streets. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for 
 you 
 With earnestness. 
 
 Are. I am in tune to hunt! 
 
 Diana, if thou canst rage with a maid 
 As with a man,^ let me discover thee 
 Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind. 
 That I may die pursued by cruel hounds. 
 And have my story written in my wounds ! {Exeunt. 
 
 1 Actaeon was torn in pieces by his own dogs, because he 
 had discovered Diana bathing. 
 
250 PHILASTER. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 Scene I. 
 
 Before the Palace, 
 
 Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, 
 Megra, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. What, are the hounds before and all the 
 woodmen, 
 Our horses ready and our bows bent ? 
 
 Dion. All, sir. 
 
 King. You are cloudy, sir : come, we have for- 
 gotten \_To Pharamond. 
 Your venial trespass ; let not that sit heavy 
 Upon your spirit ; here 's none dare utter it. 
 
 Dio7i. He looks dull as a dormouse. See how he 
 sinks ! 
 
 Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure 
 enough : his greatest fault is, he hunts too much in 
 the purlieus ; would he would leave oft" poaching! 
 
 Dion. And for his horn, h' 'as left it at the lodge 
 where he lay late. Oh, he 's a precious limehound !^ 
 turn him loose upon the pursuit of a lady, and if he 
 lose her, hang him up i' the slip. 
 
 King. Is your boy turned away ? 
 
 Are. You did command, sir, 
 
 And I obeyed you. 
 
 King. T is well done. Hark ye further. 
 
 \_They talk apart. 
 
 Cle. Is 't possible this fellow should repent ? me- 
 
 1 A hunting-dog ; so named from the leash (/yarn) used in 
 leading him. 
 
PHILASTER. 251 
 
 thinks, that were not noble in him ; and yet he looks 
 like a mortified member, as if he had a sick man's 
 salve ^ in 's mouth. If a worse man had done this 
 fault now, some physical justice or other would pres- 
 ently (without the help of an almanack) have opened 
 the obstructions of his liver, and let him blood with a 
 dog-whip. 
 
 Dion. See, see how modestly yon lady looks, as if 
 she came from churching with her neighbour ! Why, 
 what a devil can a man see in her face but that she 's 
 honest ! 
 
 Thra. Faith, no great matter to speak of; a foolish 
 twinkling with the eye, that spoils her coat ; but he 
 must be a cunning herald that finds it^ 
 
 Dion. See how they muster one another! Oh, 
 there is a rank regiment where the devil carries the 
 colours and his dam dmm-major ! now the world and 
 the flesh come behind with the carriage. ^ 
 
 Cle. Sure this lady has a good turn done her 
 against her will ; before she was common talk, now 
 none dare say cantharides can stir her. Her face 
 looks like a warrant, willing and commanding all 
 tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and 
 bolted when this lady means to let herself loose. As 
 I live, she has got her a goodly protection and a gra- 
 cious ; and may use her body discreetly for her 
 health's sake, once a week, excepting Lent and dog- 
 days. Oh, if they were to be got for money, what a 
 large sum would come out of the city for these 
 licences ! 
 
 Ki7ig. To horse, to horse ! we lose the morning, 
 gentlemen. \_Exeimt. 
 
 1 The Sick Man's Salve, a religious work, was often ridiculed 
 by the dramatists. 2 xhe baggage. 
 
252 PHI LA ST ER, 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A Forest. 
 
 Enter two Woodmen. 
 
 First Wood. What, have you lodged the deer ? 
 
 Second Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow. 
 
 First Wood. Who shoots ? 
 
 Second Wood. The princess. 
 
 First Wood. No, she '11 hunt. 
 
 Second Wood. She 11 take a stand, I say. 
 
 First Wood. Who else ? 
 
 Second Wood. Why, the young stranger-prince. 
 
 First Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow ^ for 
 me. I never loved his beyond-sea-ship since he for- 
 sook the say,2 for paying ten shillings. He was there 
 at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his 
 mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets ; marry, 
 his steward would have the velvet-head into the bar- 
 gain, to turf his hat withal. I think he should love 
 venery ; he is an old Sir Tristrem ; ^ for, if you be 
 remembered, he forsook the stag once to strike a 
 rascal miching * in a meadow, and her he killed in the 
 eye. Who shoots else ? 
 
 Second Wood. The Lady Galatea. 
 
 First Wood. She 's liberal, and, by the gods, they 
 say she's honest ; and whether that be a fault, I have 
 nothing to do. There 's all ? 
 
 Second Wood. No, one more ; Megra. 
 
 1 A cross-bow used chiefly for shooting stones. 
 
 2 The " say " or testing of the deer involved the payment of 
 ten shillings to the keeper. 
 
 3 A knight of the Round Table and patron of huntsmen. 
 
 4 Sneaking. 
 
PHILASTER. 253 
 
 First Wood. That 's a firker^ i' faith, boy. I have 
 known her lose herself three times in one afternoon 
 (if the woods have been answerable), and it has been 
 work enough for one man to find her, and he has 
 sweat for it. She rides well and she pays well. Hark! 
 let 's go. \_Exeimt. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. Oh that I had been nourished in these woods 
 With milk of goats and acorns, and not known 
 The right of crowns nor the dissembling trains 
 Of w^omen s looks ; but digged myself a cave 
 Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed, 
 Might have been shut together in one shed ; 
 And then had taken me some mountain-girl, 
 Beaten with winds, chaste as the hardened rocks 
 Whereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bed 
 With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts, 
 Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts 
 My large coarse issue! This had been a life 
 Free from vexation. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Oh, wicked men ! 
 
 An innocent may walk safe among beasts ; 
 Nothing assaults me here. See, my grieved lord 
 Sits as his soul were searching out a way 
 To leave his body! {aside). — Pardon me, that must 
 Break thy last commandment ; for I must speak : 
 You that are grieved can pity ; hear, my lord ! 
 
 Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable, 
 That I can pity? 
 
 Bel. Oh, my noble lord, 
 
 1 A gay one. 
 
254 PHI LA ST ER. 
 
 View my strange fortune, and bestow on me, 
 According to your bounty (if my service 
 Can merit nothing), so much as may serve 
 To keep that little piece I hold of life 
 From cold and hunger! 
 
 Phi. Is it thou? be gone! 
 
 Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st, 
 And feed thyself with them. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, I can get nothing for them! 
 The silly country-people think 'tis treason 
 To touch such gay things. 
 
 Phi. Now, by the gods, this is 
 
 Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight. 
 Thou 'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade : 
 How shouldst thou think to cozen me again? 
 Remains there yet a plague untried for me? 
 Even so thou wept'st, and looked'st, and spok'st when 
 
 first 
 I took thee up : 
 
 Curse on the time ! If thy commanding tears 
 Can work on any other, use thy art ; 
 I '11 not betray it. Which way wilt thou take? 
 That I may shun thee, for thine eyes are poison 
 To mine, and I am loath to grow in rage : 
 This way, or that way ? 
 
 Bel. Any will serve ; but I will choose to have 
 That path in chase that leads unto my grave. 
 
 \_Exe.unt severally. 
 
 Enter on one side Dion, and on the other the two 
 
 Woodmen. 
 
 Dioji. This is the strangest sudden chance! You, 
 woodman! 
 First Wood. My Lord Dion? 
 
PHI LAST ER. 255 
 
 Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable 
 horse studded with stars of white? 
 Second Wood. Was she not young and tall? 
 Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain? 
 Second Wood. Faith my lord, we saw none. 
 
 {^Exeunt Woodmen. 
 Dio)i. Pox on your questions then ! 
 
 Enter Cleremont. 
 
 What, is she found? 
 
 Cle. Nor will be, I think. 
 
 Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She 
 cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, 
 but the whole court must be in arms : when she has 
 done, we shall have peace. 
 
 Cle. There 's already a thousand fatherless tales 
 amongst us. Some say, her horse ran away with her ; 
 some, a wolf pursued her ; others, it was a plot to 
 kill her, that armed men were seen in the wood ; but 
 questionless she rode away willingly. 
 
 Kilter King, Thrasiline, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Where is she? 
 
 Cle. Sir, I cannot tell. 
 
 King. How 's that ? 
 
 Answer me so again ! 
 
 Cle. Sir, shall I lie? 
 
 King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that. 
 I say again, where is she ? Mutter not ! — 
 Sir, speak you ; where is she ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, I do not know. 
 
 King. Speak that again so boldly, and, by Heaven, 
 It is thy last! — You, fellows, answer me ; 
 
256 PHILASTER. 
 
 Where is she? Mark me, all ; I am your King : 
 I wish to see my daughter ; show her me ; 
 I do command you all, as you are subjects, 
 To show her me! What! am I not your King? 
 If ay, then am I not to be obeyed? 
 
 Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and 
 honest. 
 
 King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou, 
 Thou traitor, that dar'st confine thy King to things 
 Possible and honest ! show her me, 
 Or, let me perish, if I cover not 
 All Sicily with blood ! 
 
 Dion. Faith I cannot, 
 
 Unless you tell me where she is. 
 
 King. You have betrayed me ; you have let me lose 
 The jewel of my life. Go, bring her to me. 
 And set her here before me : 't is the King 
 Will have it so ; whose breath can still the winds, 
 Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea, 
 And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not ? 
 
 Dion. No. 
 
 King. No ! cannot the breath of kings do this ? 
 
 Dion. No ; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs 
 Be but corrupted. 
 
 King. Is it so ? Take heed ! 
 
 Dion. Sir, take you heed how you dare the powers 
 That must be just. 
 
 King. Alas ! what are we kings ! 
 
 Why do you gods place us above the rest. 
 To be served, flattered, and adored, till we 
 Believe we hold within our hands your thunder, 
 And when we come to try the power we have. 
 There 's not a leaf shakes at our threatenings ? 
 I have sinned, 't is true, and here stand to be punished ; 
 
PHILASTER. 257 
 
 Yet would not thus be punished ; let me choose 
 My way, and lay it on ! 
 
 Dion. He articles with the gods. Would some- 
 body would draw bonds for the performance of cove- 
 nants betwixt them ! {aside) . 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Galatea, and Megra. 
 
 King. What, is she found? 
 
 Pha. No ; we have ta'en her horse ; 
 
 He galloped empty by. There is some treason. 
 You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood ; 
 Why left you her? 
 
 Gal. She did command me. 
 
 King. Command ! you should not. 
 
 Gal. 'T would ill become my fortunes and my birth 
 To disobey the daughter of my King. 
 
 Ki7ig. You 're all cunning to obey us for our hurt ; 
 But I will have her. 
 
 Pha. If I have her not, 
 
 By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily. 
 
 Dion. What, will he carry it to Spain in 's pocket? 
 
 \_aside. 
 
 Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King, 
 A cook, and a tailor. 
 
 Dion. Yet you may do well to spare your lady-bed- 
 fellow ; and her you may keep for a spawner {aside). 
 
 King. I see 
 The injuries I have done must be revenged {aside). 
 
 Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out. 
 
 King. Run all, disperse yourselves. The man 
 that finds her. 
 Or (if she be killed), the traitor, I '11 make him great. 
 
 Dion. I know some would give five thousand 
 pounds to find her {aside) . 
 
258 PHI LAST ER, 
 
 Pha. Come, let us seek. 
 
 King. Each man a several way ; 
 
 Here I myself. 
 
 Dio7t. Come, gentlemen, we here. 
 
 Cle. Lady, you must go search too. 
 Meg. I had rather be searched myself. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Arethusa. 
 
 Are. Where am I now ? Feet, find me out a way, 
 Without the counsel of my troubled head : 
 I '11 follow you boldly about these woods, 
 O'er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, and floods. 
 Heaven, I hope, will ease me : I am sick. [Sits down. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Yonder 's my lady. God knows I want 
 Nothing, because I do not wish to live ; 
 Yet I will try her charity {aside^ . — Oh hear. 
 You that have plenty ! from that flowing store 
 Drop some on dry ground. — See, the lively red 
 Is gone to guard her heart ! I fear she faints. — 
 Madam ? look up ! — She breathes not. — Open once 
 
 more 
 Those rosy twins, and send unto my lord 
 Your latest farewell 1 — Oh, she stirs. — How is it, 
 Madam ? speak comfort. 
 
 Are. 'T is not gently done, 
 
 To put me in a miserable life, 
 
PHILASTER. 259 
 
 And hold me there : I prithee, let me go; 
 I shall do best without thee ; I am well. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage : 
 I '11 tell her coolly when and where I heard 
 This killing truth. I will be temperate 
 In speaking, and as just in hearing. — 
 Oh, monstrous ! Tempt me not, ye gods ! good gods, 
 Tempt not a frail man ! What's he, that has a heart, 
 But he must ease it here ! 
 
 Bel. My lord, help, help ! 
 
 The princess ! 
 
 Are. I am well : forbear. 
 
 Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embraced 
 And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes 
 Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues 
 Of hell-bred women ! Some good god look down, 
 And shrink these veins up ; stick me here a stone, 
 Lasting to ages in the memory 
 Of this damned act ! 
 
 Hear me, you wicked ones ! {aside} . 
 You have put hills of fire into this breast. 
 Not to be quenched with tears ; for which may guilt 
 Sit on your bosoms ! at your meals and beds 
 Despair await you ! What, before my face ? 
 Poison of asps between your lips ! diseases 
 Be your best issues ! Nature make a curse. 
 And throw it on you ! 
 
 Are. Dear Philaster, leave 
 
 To be enraged, and hear me. 
 
 Phi. I have done ; 
 
 Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea, 
 When .^olus locks up his windy brood, 
 
26o PHILASTER. 
 
 Is less disturbed than 1 : 1 '11 make you know it. 
 Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, 
 
 {Offers his drawn sword. 
 And search how temperate a heart I have ; 
 Then you and this your boy may live and reign 
 In lust without control. Wilt thou, Bellario ? 
 I prithee kill me ; thou art poor, and may 'st 
 Nourish ambitious thoughts ; when I am dead, 
 Thy way were freer. Am I raging now ? 
 If I were mad, I should desire to live. 
 Sir, feel my pulse, whether have you known 
 A man in a more equal tune to die. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman's 
 time! 
 So does your tongue. 
 
 Phi. You will not kill me, then? 
 
 Are. Kill you! 
 
 Bel. Not for the world. 
 
 Phi. I blame not thee, 
 
 Bellario : thou hast done but that which gods 
 Would have transformed themselves to do. Be gone, 
 Leave me without reply ; this is the last 
 Of all our meeting. — {Exit Bellario. 
 
 Kill me with this sword ; 
 Be wise, or worse will follow : we are two 
 Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, 
 Or suffer. 
 
 Are. If my fortune be so good to let me fall 
 Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death. 
 Yet tell me this, there will be no slanders, 
 No jealousy in the other world ; no ill there? 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 Are. Show me, then, the way. 
 
 Phi, Then guide my feeble hand, 
 
PI/ILASTER. 261 
 
 You that have power to do it, for I must 
 Perform a piece of justice! — If your youth 
 Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers 
 Short and effectual reconcile you to it. 
 Are. I am prepared. 
 
 Enter a Country Fellow. 
 
 C. Fell. 1 11 see the King, if he be in the forest ; 
 I have hunted him these two hours ; if I should come 
 home and not see him, my sisters would laugh at me. 
 I can see nothing but people better horsed than my- 
 self, that out-ride me ; I can hear nothing but shout- 
 ing. These kings had need of good brains ; this 
 whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. 
 There 's a courtier with his sword drawn ; by this 
 hand, upon a woman, I think ! 
 
 Phi. Are you at peace? 
 
 Are. With heaven and earth. 
 
 Phi. May they divide thy soul and body ! 
 
 [ Wounds her. 
 
 C. Fell. Hold, dastard ! strike a woman ! Thou 'rt 
 a craven, I warrant thee : thou wouldst be loth to 
 play half a dozen venies ^ at wasters ^ with a good 
 fellow for a broken head. 
 
 Phi. Leave us, good friend. 
 
 Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyself 
 Upon our private sports, our recreations ? 
 
 C. Fell. God 'uds me,- I understand you not ; but 
 I know the rogue has hurt you. 
 
 Phi. Pursue thy own affairs : it will be ill 
 To multiply blood upon my head, which thou 
 Wilt force me to. 
 
 1 A bout with cudgels. 2 God judge me. 
 
262 PHILASTER. 
 
 C. Fell. I know not your rhetoric ; but I can lay 
 it on, if you touch the woman. 
 
 Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest! [They fight. 
 
 Are. Heavens guard my lord! 
 
 C. Fell. Oh, do you breathe ? 
 
 Phi. I hear the tread of people. I am hurt : 
 The gods take part against me : ^ could this boor 
 Have held me thus else? I must shift for life, 
 Though I do loathe it. I must find a course 
 To lose it rather by my will than force. 
 
 [aside and exit. 
 
 C. Fell. I cannot follow the rogue. I pray thee, 
 wench, come and kiss me now. 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasi- 
 LiNE, and Woodmen. 
 
 Pha. What art thou ? 
 
 C. Fell. Almost killed I am for a foolish woman ; 
 a knave has hurt her. 
 
 Pha. The princess, gentlemen! — Where's the 
 wound, madam? Is it dangerous? 
 
 Are. He has not hurt me. 
 
 C. Fell. By God, she lies ; h' 'as hurt her in the 
 breast ; look else. 
 
 Pha. O, sacred spring of innocent blood! 
 
 Dion. 'Tis above wonder! who should dare this? 
 
 Are. I felt it not. 
 
 Pha. Speak, villain, who has hurt the princess? 
 
 C. Fell. Is it the princess? 
 
 Dion. Ay. 
 
 C. Fell. Then I have seen something yet. 
 
 Pha. But who has hurt her? 
 
 1 Compare with lachim's speech, Cymbeline, Act V., 
 Scene 3. 
 
PHILASTER. 263 
 
 C. Fell. I told you, a rogue ; I ne'er saw him be- 
 fore, I — 
 
 Pha. Madam, who did it? 
 
 Are. Some dishonest wretch ; 
 
 Alas, I know him not, and do forgive him! 
 
 C. Fell. He 's hurt too ; he cannot go far ; I made 
 my father^s old fox fly about his ears. 
 
 Pha. How will you have me kill him? 
 
 Are. Not at all ; 
 
 'T is some distracted fellow. 
 
 Pha. By this hand, 
 
 I '11 leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a nut, 
 And bring him all to you in my hat. 
 
 Are. Nay, good sir, 
 
 If you do take him, bring him quick ^ to me, 
 And I will study for a punishment 
 Great as his fault. 
 
 Pha. I will. 
 
 Are. But swear. 
 
 Pha. By all my love, I will. — 
 
 Woodmen, conduct the princess to the King, 
 And bear that wounded fellow to dressing. — 
 Come, gentlemen, we '11 follow the chase close. 
 
 \_Exe2mt on one side Pharamond, Dion, Clere- 
 MONT, and Thrasiline ; exit on the other 
 Arethusa, attended by the First Woodman. 
 
 C. Fell. I pray you, friend, let me see the King. 
 
 Second Wood. That you shall, and receive thanks. 
 
 C. Fell. If I get clear of this, I '11 go to see no 
 more gay sights. [Exeunt. 
 
 1 Alive. 
 
264 PHI LAST ER. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, 
 And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank. 
 For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all. \_Lies down. 
 Let me unworthy press you ; I could wish 
 I rather were a corse strewed o'er with you 
 Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes, 
 And I am giddy : oh that I could take 
 So sound a sleep that I might never wake ! \Sleeps. 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I have done ill ; my conscience calls me false. 
 To strike at her that would not strike at me. 
 When I did fight, methought I heard her pray 
 The gods to guard me. She may be abused, 
 And I a loathed villain : if she be. 
 She will conceal who hurt her. He has wounds 
 And cannot follow ; neither knows he — 
 Who 's this? Bellario sleeping! If thou be'st 
 Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep 
 Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast 
 wronged, [Cr/ ibithin. 
 
 So broken. Hark! I am pursued. You gods, 
 I '11 take this offered means of my escape : 
 They have no mark to know me but my wounds, 
 If she be true ; if false, let mischief hght 
 On all the world at once ! Sword, print my wounds 
 
PHILASTER. 265 
 
 Upon this sleeping boy ! I have none, I think, 
 Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. 
 
 {yVoimds Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Oh, death, I hope, is come! Blest be that 
 hand! 
 It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake ! 
 
 Phi. I have caught myself; [Falls. 
 
 The loss of blood hath stayed my flight. Here, here. 
 Is he that struck thee : take thy full revenge ; 
 Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death ; 
 I '11 teach thee to revenge. This luckless hand 
 Wounded the princess ; tell myi followers 
 Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me. 
 And I will second thee ; get a reward. 
 
 Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself! 
 
 Phi. How 's this ? 
 
 Wouldst thou I should be safe ? 
 
 Bel. Else were it vain 
 
 For me to live. These little wounds I have 
 Have not bled much : reach me that noble hand ; 
 I '11 help to cover you. 
 
 Phi. Art thou true to me? 
 
 Bel. Or let me perish loathed! Come, my good 
 lord, 
 Creep in amongst those bushes : who does know 
 But that the gods may save your much-loved breath ? 
 
 Phi. Than I shall die for grief, if not for this, 
 That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do? 
 
 Bel. Shift for myself well. Peace! I hear 'em come. 
 
 [Philaster creeps into a bush. 
 
 {Voices within.^ Follow, follow, follow! that way 
 they went. 
 
 Bel. With my own wounds I '11 bloody my own 
 sword. 
 
2 66 PHILASTER. 
 
 I need not counterfeit to fall ; Heaven knows 
 
 That I can stand no longer. \_Falls. 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasi- 
 
 LINE. 
 
 Pha. To this place we have tracked him by his 
 blood. 
 
 Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away. 
 
 Dion. Stay, sir ! what are you? 
 
 Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these woods 
 By beasts : relieve me, if your names be men. 
 Or I shall perish. 
 
 Dion. This is he, my lord, 
 
 Upon my soul, that hurt her : 't is the boy, 
 That wicked boy, that served her. 
 
 Pha. Oh, thou damned 
 
 In thy creation! what cause couldst thou shape 
 To hurt the princess ? 
 
 Bel. Then I 'm betrayed. 
 
 Dion. Betrayed! no, apprehended. 
 
 Bel. I confess 
 
 (Urge it no more) that, big with evil thoughts, 
 I set upon her, and did make my aim, 
 Her death. For charity let fall at once 
 The punishment you mean, and do not load 
 This weary flesh with tortures. 
 
 Pha. I will know 
 
 Who hired thee to this deed. 
 
 Bel. Mine own revenge. 
 
 Pha. Revenge! for what ? 
 
 Bel. It pleased her to receive 
 
 Me as her page, and, when my fortunes ebbed. 
 That men strid o'er them careless, she did shower 
 
PHILASTER. 267 
 
 Her welcome graces on me, and did swell 
 
 My fortunes till they overflowed their banks, 
 
 Threatening the men that crossed 'em ; when, as swift 
 
 As storms arise at sea, she turned her eyes 
 
 To burning suns upon me, and did dry 
 
 The streams she had bestowed, leaving me worse 
 
 And more contemned than other little brooks, 
 
 Because I had been great. In short, I knew 
 
 I could not live, and therefore did desire 
 
 To die revenged. 
 
 Pha. If tortures can be found 
 
 Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel 
 The utmost rigour. 
 
 Cle, Help to lead him hence. 
 
 [Philaster creeps out of the bush. 
 
 Phi. Turn back, you ravish ers of innocence! 
 Know ye the price of that you bear away 
 So rudely? 
 
 Pha. Who 's that ? 
 
 Dion. 'T is the Lord Philaster. 
 
 Phi. 'T is not the treasure of all kings in one, 
 The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl 
 That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down 
 That virtue. It was I that hurt the princess. 
 Place me, some god, upon a pyramis 
 Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice 
 Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence 
 I may discourse to all the under-world 
 The worth that dwells in him ! 
 
 Pha. How's this ? 
 
 Bel. My lord, some man 
 
 Weary of life, that would be glad to die. 
 
 Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Alas, he 's mad ! Come, will you lead me on ? 
 
2 68 PHI LAST ER. 
 
 Phi. By all the oaths that men ought most to keep, 
 And gods to punish most when men do break, 
 He touched her not. — Take heed, Bellario, 
 How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown 
 With perjury. — By all the gods, 't was I ! 
 You know she stood betwixt me and my right. 
 
 Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge! 
 
 Cle. It was Philaster. 
 
 Dion. Is 't not a brave boy? 
 Well, sirs, I fear me we were all deceived. 
 
 Phi. Have I no friend here? 
 
 Dion. Yes. 
 
 Phi. Then show it : some 
 
 Good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. 
 Would you have tears shed for you when you die? 
 Then lay me gently on his neck, that there 
 I may weep floods and breathe forth my spirit. 
 'T is not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold 
 
 {Embraces Bellario. 
 Locked in the heart of earth, can buy away 
 This arm-full from me : this had been a ransom 
 To have redeemed the great Augustus Caesar, 
 Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men, 
 More stony than these mountains, can you see 
 Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh 
 To stop his life ; to bind whose bitter wounds, 
 Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears 
 Bathe 'em. — Forgive me, thou that art the wealth 
 Of poor Philaster ! 
 
 Eiiter King, Arethusa, and Guard. 
 
 King. Is the villain ta'en? 
 
 Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed ; but say 
 It was Philaster. 
 
PHILASTER. 269 
 
 Phi, Question it no more ; 
 
 It was. 
 
 King. The fellow that did fight with him, 
 Will tell us that. 
 
 Are. Ay me ! I know he will. 
 
 King. Did not you know him? 
 
 Are. Sir, if it was he. 
 
 He was disguised. 
 
 Phi. I was so. Oh, my stars. 
 
 That I should live still (aside) . 
 
 King. Thou ambitious fool, 
 
 Thou that hast laid a train for thy own life ! — 
 Now I do mean to do, I '11 leave to talk. 
 Bear them to prison. 
 
 Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence 
 This harmless life ; should it pass un revenged, 
 I should to earth go weeping : grant me, then. 
 By all the love a father bears his child, 
 Their custodies, and that I may appoint 
 Their tortures and their deaths. 
 
 Dion. Death ! Soft ; our law will not reach that 
 for this fault. 
 
 Kifig. 'T is granted ; take 'em to you with a guard. — 
 Come, princely Pharamond, this business past, 
 We may with more security go on 
 To your intended match. 
 
 \_Exeunt all except DiON, Cleremont, and 
 Thrasiline. 
 
 Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the 
 hearts of the people. 
 
 Dion. Fear it not ; their over-wise heads will think 
 it but a trick. \Exeunt. 
 
270 PHILASTER, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Before the Palace, 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. 
 
 Thra. Has the King sent for him to death? 
 
 Dion. Yes ; but the King must know 'tis not in his 
 power to war with Heaven. 
 
 Cle. We linger time ; the King sent for Philaster 
 and the headsman an hour ago. 
 
 Thra. Are all his wounds well ? 
 
 Dion. All ; they were but scratches ; but the loss 
 of blood made him faint. 
 
 Cle. We dally, gentlemen. 
 
 Thra. Away! 
 
 Dion. We'll scuffle hard before he perish. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene H. 
 
 A Prison. 
 
 Enter Philaster, Arethusa, and Bellario. 
 
 Are. Nay, faith, Philaster, grieve not; we are well. 
 
 Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear ; we are wondrous 
 well. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Arethusa, oh, Bellario, 
 Leave to be kind ! 
 
 I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from earth. 
 If you continue so. I am a man 
 
PHILASTER, 271 
 
 False to a pair of the most trusty ones 
 
 That ever earth bore : can it bear us all ? 
 
 Forgive, and leave me. But the King hath sent 
 
 To call me to my death : oh, show it me, 
 
 And then forget me ! and for thee, my boy, 
 
 I shall deliver words will mollify 
 
 The hearts of beasts to spare thy innocence. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing 
 Worthy your noble thoughts! 't is not a life, 
 'T is but a piece of childhood thrown away. 
 Should I outlive you, I should then outlive 
 Virtue and honour ; and when that day comes, 
 If ever I shall close these eyes but once. 
 May I live spotted for my perjury. 
 And waste my limbs to nothing! 
 
 Are. And I (the wofuPst maid that ever was. 
 Forced with my hands to bring my lord to death) 
 Do by the honour of a virgin swear 
 To tell no hours beyond it! 
 
 Phi. Make me not hated so. 
 
 A7'e. Come fi-om this prison all joyful to our 
 deaths ! 
 
 Phi. People will tear me, when they find you true 
 To such a wretch as I ; I shall die loathed. 
 Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilst I 
 For ever sleep forgotten with my faults : 
 Every just servant, every maid in love. 
 Will have a piece of me, if you be tme. 
 
 Are. My dear lord, say not so. 
 
 Bel. A piece of you! 
 
 He was not born of woman that can cut 
 It and look on. 
 
 Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you, for my heart 
 Will break with shame and sorrow. 
 
272 PHILASTER. 
 
 Are. Why, 't is well. 
 
 Bel. Lament no more. 
 
 Phi. Why, what would you have done 
 
 If you had wronged me basely, and had found 
 Your life no price compared to mine? for love, sirs, 
 Deal with me truly. 
 
 Bel. 'T was mistaken, sir. 
 
 Phi. Why, if it were ? 
 
 Bel. Then, sir, we would have asked 
 
 Your pardon. 
 
 Phi. And have hope to enjoy it? 
 
 A7'e. Enjoy it! ay. 
 
 Phi. Would you indeed? be plain. 
 
 Bel. We would, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Forgive me, then. 
 
 Are. So, so. 
 
 Bel. ''T is as it should be now. 
 
 Phi. Lead to my death. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IIL 
 A State Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King, Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline, atid 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. Gentlemen, who saw the prince? 
 
 Cle. So please you, sir, he 's gone to see the city 
 And the new platform, with some gentlemen 
 Attending on him. 
 
 King. Is the princess ready 
 
 To bring her prisoner out ? 
 
 Thra. She waits your grace. 
 
PHILASTER. 273 
 
 King. Tell her we stay. {Exit Thrasiline. 
 
 Dion. King, you may be deceived yet : 
 
 The head you aim at cost more setting on 
 Than to be lost so lightly. If it must off, 
 Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him 
 A golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges, 
 Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable-roots 
 Held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders, 
 And, so made mightier, takes whole villages 
 Upon his back, and in that heat of pride 
 Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces, 
 And lays them desolate ; so shall thy head. 
 Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands, 
 That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, 
 In thy red ruins {aside). 
 
 Enter Arethusa, Philaster, Bellario in a robe 
 and garland, «;/^ Thrasiline. 
 
 King. How now ? what masque is this ? 
 
 Bel. Right royal sir, I should 
 Sing you an epithalamium of these lovers. 
 But having lost my best airs with my fortunes, 
 And wanting a celestial harp to strike 
 This blessed union on, thus in glad story 
 I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches, 
 The noblest of the mountain where they grew, 
 Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades 
 The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept 
 Free from the fervour of the Sirian star 
 And the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds. 
 When they were big with humour, and delivered, 
 In thousand spouts their issues to the earth ; 
 Oh, there was none but silent there ! 
 
 T 
 
2 74 PHILASTER, 
 
 Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs, 
 
 Base under-brambles, to divorce these branches ; 
 
 And for awhile they did so, and did reign 
 
 Over the mountain, and choke up his beauty 
 
 With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun 
 
 Scorched them even to the roots and dried them there : 
 
 And now a gentle gale hath blown again, 
 
 That made these branches meet and twine together, 
 
 Never to be divided. The god that sings 
 
 His holy numbers over marriage-beds 
 
 Hath knit their noble hearts ; and here they stand 
 
 Your children, mighty King : and I have done. 
 
 Kmg. How, how ? 
 
 Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth 
 
 (For now there is no masquing in't), this gentleman, 
 The prisoner that you gave me, is become 
 My keeper, and through all the bitter throes 
 Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, 
 Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length 
 Arrived here my dear husband. 
 
 King. Your dear husband ! — 
 
 Call in the Captain of the Citadel. — 
 There shall you keep your wedding. I '11 provide 
 A masque shall make your Hymen turn his saffron ^ 
 Into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems 
 To your departing souls ; 
 Blood shall put out your torches ; and, instead 
 Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, 
 An axe shall hang like a prodigious meteor. 
 Ready to crop your loves' sweets. Hear, you gods! 
 From this time do I shake all title off 
 Of father to this woman, this base woman ; 
 
 1 Hymen, in the old masks, was always dressed in saffron 
 color. 
 
PHILASTER, 275 
 
 And what there is of vengeance in a lion 
 Chafed among dogs or robbed of his dear young, 
 The same, enforced more terrible, more mighty, 
 Expect from me ! 
 
 A7'e. Sir, by that little life I have left to swear by. 
 There 's nothing that can stir me from myself. 
 What I have done, I have done without repentance, 
 For death can be no bugbear unto me, 
 So long as Pharamond is not my headsman. 
 
 Dion. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid. 
 Whene'er thou diest ! For this time I '11 excuse thee, 
 Or be thy prologue (aside). 
 
 Phi. Sir, let me speak next ; 
 
 And let my dying words be better with you 
 Than my dull living actions. If you aim 
 At the dear life of this sweet innocent. 
 You are a tyrant and a savage monster. 
 That feeds upon the blood you gave a life to ; 
 Your memory shall be as foul behind you, 
 \s you are living ; all your better deeds 
 Shall be in water writ, but this in marble ; 
 No chronicle shall speak you, though your own. 
 But for the shame of men. No monument. 
 Though high and big as Pelion, shall be able 
 To cover this base murder : make it rich 
 With brass, with purest gold and shining jasper, 
 Like the Pyramids ; lay on epitaphs 
 Such as make great men gods ; my little marble. 
 That only clothes my ashes, not my faults, 
 Shall far outshine it. And for after-issues. 
 Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms. 
 That they will give you more for your mad rage 
 To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something 
 Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you. 
 
276 PHI LA ST ER. 
 
 Remember my father, King! there was a fault, 
 But I forgive it : let that sin persuade you 
 To love this lady ; if you have a soul, 
 Think, save her, and be saved. For myself, 
 I have so long expected this glad hour. 
 So languished under you, and daily withered, 
 That, by the gods, it is a joy to die ; 
 I find a recreation in 't. 
 
 E7tter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. Where is the King? 
 
 King. Here. 
 
 Gent. Get you to your strength, 
 
 And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger ; 
 He 's taken prisoner by the citizens. 
 Fearing the Lord Philaster. 
 
 Dio7i. Oh, brave followers! 
 
 Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny! 
 Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons 
 In honour of your mistresses! {aside). 
 
 Enter a Second Gentleman. 
 
 Second Gent. Arm, arm, arm! 
 
 King. A thousand devils take 'em! 
 
 Diott. A thousand blessings on 'em! {aside). 
 
 Second Gent. Arm, O King ! The city is in mutiny. 
 Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on 
 In rescue of the Lord Philaster. 
 
 King. Away to the citadel ! I '11 see them safe, 
 And then cope with these burghers. Let the guard 
 And all the gentlemen give strong attendance. 
 \Exeiint all except Dion, Cleremont, and 
 Thrasiline. 
 
PHILASTER. 277 
 
 Cle. The city up ! this was above our wishes. 
 
 Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life, 
 This noble lady has deceived us all. 
 A plague upon myself, a thousand plagues, 
 For having such unworthy thoughts of her dear 
 
 honour ! 
 Oh, I could beat myself! or do you beat me. 
 And I '11 beat you ; for we had all one thought. 
 
 Cle. No, no, 't will but lose time. 
 
 Dio7i. You say true. Are your swords sharp? — 
 Well, my dear countrymen What-ye-lacks,i if you 
 continue, and fall not back upon the first broken shin, 
 I '11 have you chronicled and chronicled, and cut and 
 chronicled, and all-to-be-praised and sung in sonnets, 
 and bawled in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall 
 troul you in scecula sc^culonmz, my kind can-carriers. 
 
 Thra. What, if a toy ^ take 'em i' the heels now, 
 and they all run away, and cry, ' The devil take the 
 hindmost' ? 
 
 Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too, 
 and souse him for his breakfast ! If they all prove 
 cowards, my curses fly amongst them, and be speed- 
 ing ! May they have murrains reign to keep the 
 gentlemen at home unbound in easy frieze ! may the 
 moths branch their velvets, and their silks only to be 
 worn before sore eyes ! may their false lights undo 
 'em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness 
 in their stuffs, and make them shop-rid ! may they 
 keep horses, and break ; and live mewed up with 
 necks of beef and turnips ! may they have many chil- 
 dren, and none like the father ! may they know no 
 language but that gibberish they prattle to their par- 
 
 1 Merchants stood before their shops crying, " What-d-ye- 
 lack ? " to passers. 2 Whim or fancy. 
 
278 PHILASTER. 
 
 eels, unless it be the goatish ^ Latin they write in their 
 bonds — and may they write that false, and lose their 
 debts ! 
 
 Reenter King. 
 
 King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound 
 them ! How they swarm together ! what a hum they 
 raise ! — Devils choke your wild throats ! If a man 
 had need to use their valours, he must payabrokage^ 
 for it, and then bring 'em on, and they will fight like 
 sheep. 'T is Philaster, none but Philaster, must allay 
 this heat : they will not hear me speak, but fling dirt 
 at me and call me tyrant. Oh, run, dear friend, and 
 bring the Lord Philaster ! speak him fair ; call him 
 prince ; do him all the courtesy you can ; commend 
 me to him. Oh, my wits, my wits ! 
 
 {Exit Cleremont. 
 
 Dio7i. Oh, my brave countrymen ! as I live, I will 
 not buy a pin out of your walls for this ; nay, you 
 shall cozen me, and I '11 thank you, and send you 
 brawn and bacon, and soil ^ you every long vacation 
 a brace of foremen,^ that at Michaelmas shall come 
 up fat and kicking {aside). 
 
 King. What they will do with this poor prince, the 
 gods know, and I fear. 
 
 Dion. Why, sir, they'll flay him, and make church- 
 buckets of 's skin, to quench rebellion ; then clap a 
 rivet in 's sconce, and hang him up for a sign. 
 
 Enter Philaster and Cleremont. 
 
 King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me ! do not make 
 Your miseries and my faults meet together, 
 
 1 Barbarous. 2 Commission for the middleman. 
 
 3 Fatten a pair of geese. 
 
PHILASTER. 279 
 
 To bring a greater danger. Be yourself, 
 
 Still sound amongst diseases. I have wronged you ; 
 
 And though I find it last, and beaten to it, 
 
 Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people, 
 
 And be what you were born to : take your love, 
 
 And with her my repentance, all my wishes 
 
 And all my prayers. By the gods, my heart speaks 
 
 this; 
 And if the least fall from me not performed, 
 May I be struck with thunder ! 
 
 Phi. Mighty sir, 
 
 I will not do your greatness so much wrong, 
 As not to make your word truth. Free the princess 
 And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock 
 Of this mad sea-breach, which I '11 either turn, 
 Or perish with it. 
 
 Kmg. Let your own word free them. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand, 
 And hanging on your royal word. Be kingly. 
 And be not moved, sir : I shall bring you peace, 
 Or never bring myself back. 
 
 King. All the gods go with thee. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 A Street. 
 
 Enter an old Captain and Citizens, with Phara- 
 
 MOND prisoner. 
 
 Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let us fall on. 
 Let our caps swarm, my boys, and your nimble 
 
 tongues 
 Forget your mother-gibberish of ' what do you lack,' 
 
28o PHILASTER, 
 
 And set your mouths ope, children, till your palates 
 
 Fall frighted half a fathom past the cure 
 
 Of bay-salt and gross pepper, and then cry 
 
 ^ Philaster, brave Philaster ! ' Let Philaster 
 
 Be deeper in request, my ding-a-dings. 
 
 My pairs of dear indentures, kings of clubs,i 
 
 Than your cold water-camlets, or your paintings 
 
 Spitted with copper. Let not your hasty silks, 
 
 Or your branched cloth of bodkin, or your tissues, 
 
 Dearly beloved of spiced cake and custard, 
 
 Your Robin Hoods, Scarlets, and Johns, tie your 
 
 affections 
 In darkness to your shops. No, dainty duckers,^ 
 Up with your three-piled spirits, your wrought valours ; 
 And let your uncut cholers make the King feel 
 The measure of your mightiness. Philaster! 
 Cry, my rose-nobles,^ cry ! 
 
 All. Philaster! Philaster! 
 
 Cap. How do you like this, my lord-prince? 
 These are mad boys, I tell you ; these are things 
 That will not strike their top-sails to a foist, * 
 And let a man-of-war, an argosy, 
 Hull and cry cocldes.^ 
 
 Pha. Why, you rude slave, do you know what you 
 do? 
 
 Cap. My pretty prince of puppets, we do know ; 
 And give your greatness warning that you talk 
 No more such bug's-words,^ or that soldered crown 
 
 1 In their street brawls, London shopkeepers and appren- 
 tices commonly used clubs as weapons. 
 
 2 Sneakers. 
 
 3 Rose-nobles were coins, stamped with a rose and worth 
 sixteen shillings. 
 
 ■* A small vessel. 5 Brag over them. ^ Bombast. 
 
PHILASTER. 281 
 
 Shall be scratched with a musket.^ Dear prince 
 
 Pippin, 
 Down with your noble blood, or, as I live, 
 I '11 have you coddled. — Let him loose, my spirits : 
 Make us a round ring with your bills,^ my Hectors, 
 And let me see what this trim man dares do. 
 Now, sir, have at you ! here I lie ; 
 And with this swashing blow (do you see, sweet 
 
 prince ?) 
 I could hulk your grace, and hang you up cross- 
 legged. 
 Like a hare at a poulter's, and do this with this wiper. 
 Pha. You will not see me murdered, wicked villains ? 
 First at. Yes, indeed, will we, sir; we have not 
 seen one 
 For a great while. 
 
 Cap. He would have weapons, would he? 
 
 Give him a broadside, my brave boys, with your pikes ; 
 Branch me his skin in flowers like a satin, 
 And between every flower a mortal cut. — 
 Your royalty shall ravel ! — Jag him, gentlemen ; 
 I '11 have him cut to the kell,^ then down the seams. 
 Oh for a whip to make him galloon-laces ! 
 I 11 have a coach-whip. 
 Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen. 
 
 Cap. Hold, hold; 
 The man begins to fear and know himself; 
 He shall for this time only be seeled up,* 
 With a feather through his nose, that he may only 
 See heaven, and think whither he is going. Nay, 
 
 1 A young hawk. 
 
 2 Pikes, halberds. 
 
 3 A membrane of the stomach. 
 
 4 To close the eyelids by passing a thread through them. 
 
282 PHILASTER, 
 
 Nay, my beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you : 
 
 You would be king ! 
 
 Thou tender heir-apparent to a church-ale/ 
 
 Thou slight prince of single sarcenet, 
 
 Thou royal ring-tail/^ fit to fly at nothing 
 
 But poor men's poultry, and have every boy 
 
 Beat thee from that too with his bread and butter ! 
 
 Pha. Gods keep me from these hell-hounds ! 
 
 First at. I '11 have a leg, that's certain. 
 
 Second Cit. 1 11 have an arm. 
 
 Third Cit. 1 11 have his nose, and at mine own 
 charge build a college and clap it upon the gate.^ 
 
 Fourth Cit. I '11 have his little gut to string a kit 
 with : 
 For certainly a royal gut will sound like silver. 
 
 Pha. Would they were in thy belly, and I past 
 My pain once ! 
 
 Fifth Cit. Good captain, let me have his Hver to 
 feed ferrets. 
 
 Cap. Who will have parcels else ? speak. 
 
 Pha. Good gods, consider me! I shall be tortured. 
 
 First Cit. Captain, 1 11 give you the trimming of 
 your two-hand sword, 
 And let me have his skin to make false scabbards. 
 
 Second Cit. He had no horns, sir, had he ? 
 
 Cap. No, sir, he 's a pollard : 
 What wouldst thou do with horns ? 
 
 Second Cit. Oh, if he had had, 
 
 I would have made rare hafts and whistles of 'em ; 
 But his shin-bones, if they be sound, shall serve me. 
 
 1 A festival at a church dedication. 
 
 2 The hen-harrier. 
 
 3 A reference to Brazen Nose College, Oxford. 
 
PHILASTER. 283 
 
 Enter Philaster. 
 
 All. Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster ! 
 
 Phi. I thank you, gentlemen. But why are these 
 Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands 
 Uncivil trades ? 
 
 Cap. My royal Rosicleer,i 
 
 We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers ; 2 
 And when thy noble body is in durance, 
 Thus do we clap our musty murrions ^ on. 
 And trace the streets in terror. Is it peace, 
 Thou Mars of men? is the King sociable. 
 And bids thee live? art thou above thy foemen. 
 And free as Phoebus? speak. If not, this stand 
 Of royal blood shall be abroach, a-tilt, 
 And run even to the lees of honour. 
 
 Phi. Hold, and be satisfied : I am myself; 
 Free as my thoughts are : by the gods, I am ! 
 
 Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the King? 
 Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules ? 
 Do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets 
 Kiss their gummed golls,^ and cry ' We are your 
 
 servants ' ? 
 Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck 
 With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy castle, 
 And this man sleeps. 
 
 Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend ; 
 I am what I was born to be, your prince. 
 
 Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you ; 
 You have a noble soul : forget my name, 
 
 1 See The Mirror of Knighthood. 
 
 2 Slang for street ruffians. 
 8 Steel caps. 
 
 4 Perfumed hands. 
 
284 PHILASTER. 
 
 And know my misery : set me safe aboard 
 
 From these wild cannibals, and, as I live, 
 
 I ''11 quit this land for ever. There is nothing, — 
 
 Perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness 
 
 Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together, 
 
 The worst company of the worst men, madness, age, 
 
 To be as many creatures as a woman, 
 
 And do as all they do, nay, to despair, — 
 
 But I would rather make it a new nature. 
 
 And live with all those, than endure one hour 
 
 Amongst these wild dogs. 
 
 Phi. I do pity you. — Friends, discharge your fears ; 
 Deliver me the prince : I '11 warrant you 
 I shall be old enough to find my safety. 
 
 Third at. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt 
 you : 
 He is a fierce man, I can tell you, sir. 
 
 Cap. Prince, by your leave, I '11 have a surcingle, 
 And make you like a hawk. 
 
 Phi. Away, away, there is no danger in him : 
 Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off ! 
 Look you, friends, how gently he leads ! Upon my 
 
 word, 
 He 's tame enough, he needs no further watching. 
 Good my friends, go to your houses. 
 And by me have your pardons and my love ; 
 And know there shall be nothing in my power 
 You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes : 
 To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. 
 Continue still your love ; and, for an earnest. 
 Drink this. \_Gives money. 
 
 All. Long may'st thou live, brave prince, brave 
 prince, brave prince! 
 
 \Exeimt Philaster and Pharamond. 
 
PHILASTER. 285 
 
 Cap. Go thy ways, thou art the king of courtesy ! 
 Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come, 
 And every man trace to his house again, 
 And hang his pewter up ; then to the tavern, 
 And bring your wives in muffs. We will have 
 
 music ; 
 And the red grape shall make us dance and rise, 
 
 boys. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, 
 Cleremont, Thrasiline, Bellario, and At- 
 tendants. 
 
 King. Is it appeased ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, all is quiet as this dead of night, 
 As peaceable as sleep. My lord Philaster 
 Brings on the prince himself. 
 
 King. Kind gentleman ! 
 
 I will not break the least word I have given 
 In promise to him : I have heaped a world 
 Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope 
 To wash away. 
 
 Enter Philaster and Pharamond. 
 
 Cle. My lord is come. 
 
 King. My son ! 
 
 Blest be the time that I have leave to call 
 Such virtue minej ! Now thou art in mine arms, 
 Methinks I have a salve unto my breast 
 For all the stings that dwell there. Streams of grief 
 That I have wrought thee, and as much of joy 
 
286 PHILASTER. 
 
 That I repent it, issue from mine eyes : 
 
 Let them appease thee. Take thy right ; take her ; 
 
 She is thy right too ; and forget to urge 
 
 My vexed soul with that I did before. 
 
 Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory, 
 Past and forgotten. — For you, prince of Spain, 
 Whom I have thus redeemed, you have full leave 
 To make an honourable voyage home. 
 And if you would go furnished to your realm 
 With fair provision, I do see a lady, 
 Methinks, would gladly bear you company : 
 How like you this piece? 
 
 Meg. Sir, he likes it well, 
 
 For he hath tried it, and hath found it worth 
 His princely liking. We were ta''en a-bed ; 
 I know your meaning. I am not the first 
 That nature taught to seek a fellow forth ; 
 Can shame remain perpetually in me, 
 And not in others ? or have princes salves 
 To cure ill names, that meaner people want? 
 
 Phi. What mean you? 
 
 Meg. You must get another ship. 
 
 To bear the princess and her boy together. 
 
 Dion. How now ! 
 
 Meg. Ship us all four, my lord ; we can endure 
 Weather and wind alike. 
 
 King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father. 
 
 Are. This earth, how false it is ! What means is 
 left for me 
 To clear myself ? It lies in your belief: 
 My lords, believe me ; and let all things else 
 Struggle together to dishonour me. 
 
 Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great King, that I may 
 speak 
 
PHILASTER. 287 
 
 As freedom would ! then I will call this lady 
 As base as are her actions : hear me, sir ; 
 Believe your heated blood when it rebels 
 Against your reason, sooner than this lady. 
 
 Meg. By this good light, he bears it handsomely. 
 
 Phi. This lady! I would sooner trust the wind 
 With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl. 
 Than her with anything. Believe her not. 
 Why, think you, if I did believe her words, 
 I would outlive 'em? Honour cannot take 
 Revenge on you ; then what were to be known 
 But death ? 
 
 King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit 
 Between us. But I must request of you 
 One favour, and will sadly be denied. 
 
 Phi. Command, whatever it be. 
 
 King. Swear to be true 
 
 To what you promise. 
 
 Phi. By the powers above, 
 
 Let it not be the death of her or him, 
 And it is granted ! 
 
 King. Bear away that boy 
 
 To torture : I will have her cleared or buried. 
 
 Phi. Oh, let me call my word back, worthy sir! 
 Ask something else : bury my life and right 
 In one poor grave ; but do not take away 
 My life and fame at once. 
 
 King. Away with him ! It stands irrevocable. 
 
 Phi. Turn all your eyes on me : here stands a 
 man, 
 The falsest and the basest of this world. 
 Set swords against this breast, some honest man, 
 For I have lived till I am pitied I 
 My former deeds were hateful : but this last 
 
288 PHILASTER. 
 
 Is pitiful, for I unwillingly 
 
 Have given the dear preserver of my life 
 
 Unto his torture. Is it in the power 
 
 Of flesh and blood to carry this, and live? 
 
 {Offers to stab himself. 
 
 Are. Dear sir, be patient yet ! Oh, stay that hand ! 
 
 Kitig. Sirs, strip that boy. 
 
 Dion. Come, sir; your tender flesh 
 
 Will try your constancy. 
 
 Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen! 
 
 Dion. No. — Help, sirs. 
 
 Bel. Will you torture me ? 
 
 King. Haste there ; 
 
 Why stay you ? 
 
 Bel. Then I shall not break my vow. 
 
 You know, just gods, though I discover all. 
 
 King. How 's that ? will he confess ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, so he says. 
 
 King. Speak, then. 
 
 Bel. Great King, if you command 
 
 This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue. 
 Urged by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts 
 My youth hath known; and stranger things than 
 
 these 
 You hear not often. 
 
 King. Walk aside with him. 
 
 [Dion and Bellario walk apart. 
 
 Dion. Why speak'st thou not ? 
 
 Bel. Know you this face, my lord ? 
 
 Dion. No. 
 
 Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like ? 
 
 Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily 
 I know not where. 
 
 Bel. I have been often told 
 
PHIL ASTER. 289 
 
 In court of one Euphrasia, a lady, 
 And daughter to you ; betwixt whom and me 
 They that would flatter my bad face would swear 
 There was such strange resemblance, that we two 
 Could not be known asunder, drest alike. 
 
 Dio7i. By Heaven, and so there is! 
 
 Bel. For her fair sake. 
 
 Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life 
 In holy pilgrimage, move to the King 
 That I may scape this torture. 
 
 Dion. But thou speak'st 
 
 As like Euphrasia as thou dost look. 
 How came it to thy knowledge that she lives 
 In pilgrimage ? 
 
 Bel. I know it not, my lord ; 
 
 But I have heard it, and do scarce believe it. 
 
 Dion. Oh, my shame! is it possible? Draw near. 
 That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she. 
 Or else her murderer? ^ where wert thou born? 
 
 Bel. In Syracusa. 
 
 Dion. What 's thy name ? 
 
 Bel. Euphrasia. 
 
 Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she! 
 Now I do know thee. Oh that thou hadst died. 
 And I had never seen thee nor my shame ! 
 How shall I own thee ? shall this tongue of mine 
 E'er call thee daughter more? 
 
 Bel. Would I had died indeed ! I wish it too : 
 And so I must have done by vow, ere published 
 What I have told, but that there was no means 
 To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this. 
 The princess is all clear. 
 
 1 An allusion to the superstition that a murderer received 
 the characteristics and form of the victim. 
 u 
 
290 PHI LAST ER, 
 
 King. What, have you done? 
 
 Dion. All is discovered. 
 
 Phi. Why then hold you me? 
 
 \jOffers to stab himself. 
 All is discovered! Pray you, let me go. 
 
 King. Stay him. 
 
 Are. What is discovered? 
 
 Dion. Why, my shame. 
 
 It is a woman : let her speak the rest. 
 
 Phi. How? that again! 
 
 Dion. It is a woman. 
 
 Phi. Blessed be you powers that favour innocence! 
 
 King. Lay hold upon that lady. [Megra is seized. 
 
 Phi. It is a woman, sir ! — Hark, gentlemen, 
 It is a woman! — Arethusa, take 
 My soul into thy breast, that would be gone 
 With joy. It is a woman! Thou art fair, 
 And virtuous still to ages, in despite 
 Of malice. 
 
 King. Speak you, where lies his shame? 
 
 Bel. I am his daughter. 
 
 Phi. The gods are just. 
 
 Dion. I dare accuse none ; but, before you two, 
 The virtue of our age, I bend my knee 
 For mercy. {Kneels. 
 
 Phi. {raising hi?n) . Take it freely ; for I know, 
 Though what thou didst were undiscreetly done, 
 'T was well meant. 
 
 Are. And for me, I have a power 
 
 To pardon sins, as oft as any man 
 Has power to wrong me. 
 
 Cle. Noble and worthy! 
 
 Phi. But, Bellario 
 
 (For I must call thee still so), tell me why 
 
PHI LA ST ER. 291 
 
 Thou didst conceal thy sex. It was a fault, 
 A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds 
 Of truth outweighed it : all these jealousies 
 Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered 
 What now we know. 
 
 Bel. My father oft would speak 
 
 Your worth and virtue ; and, as I did grow 
 More and more apprehensive, I did thirst 
 To see the man so raised. But yet all this 
 Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost 
 As soon as found ; till, sitting in my window, 
 Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, 
 I thought (but it was you), enter our gates: 
 My blood flew out and back again, as fast 
 As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in 
 Like breath : then was I called in haste 
 To entertain you. Never was a man, 
 Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised 
 So high in thoughts as I : you left a kiss 
 Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep 
 From you for ever : I did hear you talk, 
 Far above singing. After you were gone, 
 I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched 
 What stirred it so : alas, I found it love ! 
 Yet far from lust ; for, could I but have lived 
 In presence of you, I had had my end. 
 For this I did elude my noble father 
 With a feigned pilgrimage, and dressed myself 
 In habit of a boy ; and, for I knew 
 My birth no match for you, I was past hope 
 Of having you ; and, understanding well 
 That when I made discovery of my sex 
 I could not stay with you, I made a vow, 
 By all the most religious things a maid 
 
292 PHILASTER, 
 
 Could call together, never to be known, 
 Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes, 
 For other than I seemed, that I might ever 
 Abide with you. Then sat I by the fount, 
 Where first you took me up. 
 
 King. Search out a match 
 
 Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, 
 And I will pay thy dowry ; and thyself 
 Wilt well deserve him. 
 
 Bel. Never, sir, will I 
 
 Marry ; it is a thing within my vow : 
 But, if I may have leave to serve the princess, 
 To see the virtues of her lord and her, 
 I shall have hope to live. 
 
 Are. I, Philaster, 
 
 Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady 
 Drest like a page to serve you ; nor will I 
 Suspect her living here. — Come, live with me ; 
 Live free as I do. She that loves my lord. 
 Cursed be the wife that hates her ! 
 
 Phi. I grieve such virtue should be laid in earth 
 Without an heir. — Hear me, my royal father : 
 Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, 
 To think to take revenge of that base woman ; 
 Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free 
 As she was born, saving from shame and sin. 
 
 King. Set her at liberty. But leave the court ; 
 This is no place for such. — You, Pharamond, 
 Shall have free passage, and a conduct home 
 Worthy so great a prince. When you come there 
 Remember 't was your faults that lost you her. 
 And not my purposed will. 
 
 Pha. I do confess. 
 
 Renowned sir. 
 
PHI LA ST ER. 293 
 
 King. Last, join your hands in one. Enjoy, Phi- 
 laster, 
 This kingdom, which is yours, and, after me. 
 Whatever I call mine. My blessing on you ! 
 All happy hours be at your marriage-joys, 
 That you may grow yourselves over all lands, 
 And live to see your plenteous branches spring 
 Wherever there is sun ! Let princes learn 
 By this to rule the passions of their blood ; 
 For what Heaven wills can never be withstood. 
 
 \_Exeiint. 
 
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