ASPER, He is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in
reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses.  One whom no 
servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make 
to be a parasite, either to time, place, or opinion.

MACILENTE, A man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travelled; 
who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his 
merit capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which 
his judgment is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows 
violently impatient of any opposite happiness in another.

PUNTARVOLO, A vain-glorious knight, over-englishing his travels, 
and wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of 
compliment; a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in 
most of his apparel.  Of presence good enough, but so palpably 
affected to his own praise, that for want of flatterers he commends 
himself, to the floutage of his own family.  He deals upon returns, 
and strange performances, resolving, in despite of public derision, 
to stick to his own fashion, phrase, and gesture.

CARLO BUFFONE, A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that 
more swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any 
person into deformity.  A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that 
will scent you out a supper some three miles off, and swear 
to his patrons, damn him!  he came in oars, when he was but 
wafted over in a sculler.  A slave that hath an extraordinary gift 
in pleasing his palate, and will swill up more sack at a sitting 
than would make all the guard a posset.  His religion is railing, 
and his discourse ribaldry.

FASTIDIOUS BRISK, A neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that 
wears clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his glass how to 
salute; speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and 
tobacco; swears tersely and with variety; cares not what lady's 
favour he belies, or great man's familiarity:  a good property to 
perfume the boot of a coach.  He will borrow another man's horse 
to praise, and backs him as his own.  Or, for a need, on foot can 
post himself into credit with his merchant, only with the gingle 
of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.

DELIRO, A good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the 
common council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his 
own wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he 
simply holds himself unworthy of her.  And, in that hood-wink'd 
humor, lives more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as 
true dread of her displeasure, as when he first made love to her.  
He doth sacrifice two-pence in juniper to her every morning 
before she rises, and wakes her with villainous-out-of-tune 
music, which she out of her contempt (though not out of her 
judgment) is sure to dislike.

FALLACE, Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as 
perverse as he is officious.  She dotes as perfectly upon the 
courtier, as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face 
to be dishonest.

SAVIOLINA, A court lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit, 
admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk.

SORDIDO, A wretched hob-nailed chuff, whose recreation is 
reading of almanacks; and felicity, foul weather.  One that never 
pray'd but for a lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest.

FUNGOSO, The son of Sordido, and a student; one that has 
revelled in his time, and follows the fashion afar off, like a spy.  
He makes it the whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient 
means from his wretched father, to put him in the courtiers' cut; 
at which he earnestly aims, but so unluckily, that he still lights 
short a suit.

SOGLIARDO, An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so 
enamoured of the name of a gentleman, that he will have it, 
though he buys it.  He comes up every term to learn to take 
tobacco, and see new motions.  He is in his kingdom when 
in company where he may be well laughed at.

SHIFT, A thread-bare shark; one that never was a soldier, yet 
lives upon lendings.  His profession is skeldring and odling, 
his bank Paul's, and his warehouse Picthatch.  Takes up 
single testons upon oaths, till doomsday. Falls under 
executions of three shillings, and enters into five-groat bonds.  
He way-lays the reports of services, and cons them without 
book, damning himself he came new from them, when all the 
while he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay 
pawned in his chamber for rent and victuals.  He is of that 
admirable and happy memory, that he will salute one for 
an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life before.  
He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he 
never did, only to get him a name.  His chief exercises are, 
taking the whiff, squiring a cockatrice, and making privy 
searches for imparters.

CLOVE and ORANGE, An inseparable case of coxcombs, city born; 
the Gemini, or twins of foppery; that like a pair of wooden 
foils, are fit for nothing but to be practised upon.  Being well 
flattered they'll lend money, and repent when they have done. 
Their glory is to invite players, and make suppers.  And in 
company of better rank, to avoid the suspect of insufficiency, 
will inforce their ignorance most desperately, to set upon the 
understanding of any thing.  Orange is the most humorous 
of the two, (whose small portion of juice being squeezed out,) 
Clove serves to stick him with commendations.

CORDATUS, The author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the 
scope and drift of his plot; of a discreet and understanding 
judgment; and has the place of a moderator.

MITIS, Is a person of no action, and therefore we afford him 
no character.


                    THE STAGE.  

After the second sounding.

ENTER CORDATUS, ASPER, AND MITIS.

COR.  Nay, my dear Asper.

MIT.  Stay your mind.

ASP.  Away!
Who is so patient of this impious world,
That he can check his spirit, or rein his tongue?
Or who hath such a dead unfeeling sense,
That heaven's horrid thunders cannot wake?
To see the earth crack'd with the weight of sin,
Hell gaping under us, and o'er our heads
Black, ravenous ruin, with her sail-stretch'd wings,
Ready to sink us down, and cover us.
Who can behold such prodigies as these,
And have his lips seal'd up?  Not I:  my soul
Was never ground into such oily colours,
To flatter vice, and daub iniquity:
But, with an armed and resolved hand,
I'll strip the ragged follies of the time
Naked as at their birth --

COR.  Be not too bold.

ASP.  You trouble me -- and with a whip of steel,
Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs.
I fear no mood stamp'd in a private brow,
When I am pleased t'unmask a public vice.
I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab,
Should I detect their hateful luxuries:
No broker's usurer's, or lawyer's gripe,
Were I disposed to say, they are all corrupt.
I fear no courtier's frown, should I applaud
The easy flexure of his supple hams.
Tut, these are so innate and popular,
That drunken custom would not shame to laugh,
In scorn, at him, that should but dare to tax 'em:
And yet, not one of these, but knows his works,
Knows what damnation is, the devil, and hell;
Yet hourly they persist, grow rank in sin,
Puffing their souls away in perjurous air,
To cherish their extortion, pride, or lusts.

MIT.  Forbear, good Asper; be not like your name.

ASP.  O, but to such whose faces are all zeal,
And, with the words of Hercules, invade
Such crimes as these!  that will not smell of sin,
But seem as they were made of sanctity!
Religion in their garments, and their hair
Cut shorter than their eye-brows!  when the conscience
Is vaster than the ocean, and devours
More wretches than the counters.

MIT.  Gentle Asper,
Contain our spirits in more stricter bounds,
And be not thus transported with the violence
Of your strong thoughts.

COX.  Unless your breath had power,
To melt the world, and mould it new again,
It is in vain to spend it in these moods.

ASP.  [TURNING TO THE STAGE.]
I not observed this thronged round till now !
Gracious and kind spectators, you are welcome;
Apollo and Muses feast your eyes
With graceful objects, and may our Minerva
Answer your hopes, unto their largest strain!
Yet here mistake me not, judicious friends;
I do not this, to beg your patience,
Or servilely to fawn on your applause,
Like some dry brain, despairing in his merit.
Let me be censured by the austerest brow,
Where I want art or judgment, tax me freely.
Let envious censors, with their broadest eyes,
Look through and through me, I pursue no favour;
Only vouchsafe me your attentions,
And I will give you music worth your ears.
O, how I hate the monstrousness of time,
Where every servile imitating spirit,
Plagued with an itching leprosy of wit,
In a mere halting fury, strives to fling
His ulcerous body in the Thespian spring,
And straight leaps forth a poet!  but as lame
As Vulcan, or the founder of Cripplegate.

MIT.  In faith this humour will come ill to some,
You will be thought to be too peremptory.

ASP.  This humour?  good!  and why this humour, Mitis?
Nay, do not turn, but answer.

MIT.  Answer, what?

ASP.  I will not stir your patience, pardon me,
I urged it for some reasons, and the rather
To give these ignorant well-spoken days
Some taste of their abuse of this word humour.

COR.  O, do not let your purpose fall, good Asper;
It cannot but arrive most acceptable,
Chiefly to such as have the happiness
Daily to see how the poor innocent word
Is rack'd and tortured.

MIT.  Ay, I pray you proceed.

ASP.  Ha, what?  what is't?

COR.  For the abuse of humour.

ASP.  O, I crave pardon, I had lost my thoughts.
Why humour, as 'tis 'ens', we thus define it,
To be a quality of air, or water,
And in itself holds these two properties,
Moisture and fluxure:  as, for demonstration,
Pour water on this floor, 'twill wet and run:
Likewise the air, forced through a horn or trumpet,
Flows instantly away, and leaves behind
A kind of dew; and hence we do conclude,
That whatsoe'er hath fluxure and humidity,
As wanting power to contain itself,
Is humour.  So in every human body,
The choler, melancholy, phlegm, and blood,
By reason that they flow continually
In some one part, and are not continent,
Receive the name of humours.  Now thus far
It may, by metaphor, apply itself
Unto the general disposition:
As when some one peculiar quality
Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw
All his affects, his spirits, and his powers,
In their confluctions, all to run one way,
This may be truly said to be a humour
But that a rook, by wearing a pyed feather,
The cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff,
A yard of shoe-tye, or the Switzer's knot
On his French garters, should affect a humour!
O, it is more than most ridiculous.

COR.  He speaks pure truth; now if an idiot
Have but an apish or fantastic strain,
It is his humour.

ASP.  Well, I will scourge those apes,
And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror,
As large as is the stage whereon we act;
Where they shall see the time's deformity
Anatomised in every nerve, and sinew,
With constant courage, and contempt of fear.

MIT.  Asper, (I urge it as your friend,) take heed,
The days are dangerous, full of exception,
And men are grown impatient of reproof.

ASP.  Ha, ha!
You might as well have told me, yond' is heaven,
This earth, these men, and all had moved alike. --
Do not I know the time's condition?
Yes, Mitis, and their souls; and who they be
That either will or can except against me.
None but a sort of fools, so sick in taste,
That they contemn all physic of the mind,
And like gall'd camels, kick at every touch.
Good men, and virtuous spirits, that loath their vices,
Will cherish my free labours, love my lines,
And with the fervour of their shining grace
Make my brain fruitful, to bring forth more objects,
Worthy their serious and intentive eyes.
But why enforce I this?  as fainting?  no.
If any here chance to behold himself,
Let him not dare to challenge me of wrong;
For, if he shame to have his follies known,
First he should shame to act 'em:  my strict hand
Was made to seize on vice, and with a gripe
Squeeze out the humour of such spongy souls,
As lick up every idle vanity.

COR.  Why, this is right furor poeticus!
Kind gentlemen, we hope your patience
Will yet conceive the best, or entertain
This supposition, that a madman speaks.

ASP.  What, are you ready there?  Mitis, sit down,
And my Cordatus.  Sound ho!  and begin.
I leave you two, as censors, to sit here:
Observe what I present, and liberally
Speak your opinions upon every scene,
As it shall pass the view of these spectators.
Nay, now y'are tedious, sirs; for shame begin.
And, Mitis, note me; if in all this front
You can espy a gallant of this mark,
Who, to be thought one of the judicious,
Sits with his arms thus wreath'd, his hat pull'd here,
Cries mew, and nods, then shakes his empty head,
Will shew more several motions in his face
Than the new London, Rome, or Niniveh,
And, now and then, breaks a dry biscuit jest,
Which, that it may more easily be chew'd,
He steeps in his own laughter.

COR.  Why, will that
Make it be sooner swallowed?

ASP.  O, assure you.
Or if it did not, yet as Horace sings,
Mean cates are welcome still to hungry guests.

COR.  'Tis true; but why should we observe them, Asper?

ASP.  O, I would know 'em; for in such assemblies
They are more infectious than the pestilence:
And therefore I would give them pills to purge,
And make them fit for fair societies.
How monstrous and detested is't to see
A fellow that has neither art nor brain,
Sit like an Aristarchus, or start ass,
Taking men's lines with a tobacco face,
In snuff still spitting, using his wry'd looks,
In nature of a vice, to wrest and turn
The good aspect of those that shall sit near him,
From what they do behold!  O, 'tis most vile.

MIT.  Nay, Asper.

ASP.  Peace, Mitis, I do know your thought;
You'll say, your guests here will except at this:
Pish!  you are too timorous, and full of doubt.
Then he, a patient, shall reject all physic,
'Cause the physician tells him, you are sick:
Or, if I say, that he is vicious,
You will not hear of virtue.  Come, you are fond.
Shall I be so extravagant, to think,
That happy judgments, and composed spirits,
Will challenge me for taxing such as these?
I am ashamed.

COR.  Nay, but good, pardon us;
We must not bear this peremptory sail,
But use our best endeavours how to please.

ASP.  Why, therein I commend your careful thoughts,
And I will mix with you in industry
To please:  but whom?  attentive auditors,
Such as will join their profit with their pleasure,
And come to feed their understanding parts:
For these I'll prodigally spread myself,
And speak away my spirit into air;
For these, I'll melt my brain into invention,
Coin new conceits, and hang my richest words
As polish'd jewels in their bounteous ears?
But stay, I lose myself, and wrong their patience:
If I dwell here, they'll not begin, I see.
Friends, sit you still, and entertain this troop
With some familiar and by-conference,
I'll hast them sound.  Now, gentlemen, I go
To turn an actor, and a humorist,
Where, ere I do resume my present person,
We hope to make the circles of your eyes
Flow with distilled laughter:  if we fail,
We must impute it to this only chance,
Art hath an enemy call'd ignorance.
[EXIT.

COR.  How do you like his spirit, Mitis?

MIT.  I should like it much better, if he were less confident.

COR.  Why, do you suspect his merit?

MIT.  No; but I fear this will procure him much envy.

COR.  O, that sets the stronger seal on his desert:  if he had 
no enemies, I should esteem his fortunes most wretched 
at this instant.

MIT.  You have seen his play, Cordatus:  pray you, how is it?

COR.  Faith, sir, I must refrain to judge; only this I can 
say of it, 'tis strange, and of a particular kind by itself, 
somewhat like 'Vetus Comoedia'; a work that hath 
bounteously pleased me; how it will answer the
general expectation, I know not.

MIT.  Does he observe all the laws of comedy in it?

COR.  What laws mean you?

MIT.  Why, the equal division of it into acts and scenes, 
according to the Terentian manner; his true number of actors; 
the furnishing of the scene with Grex or Chorus, and that 
the whole argument fall within compass of a day's business.

COR.  O no, these are too nice observations.

MIT.  They are such as must be received, by your favour, 
or it cannot be authentic.

COR.  Troth, I can discern no such necessity.

MIT.  No!

COR.  No, I assure you, signior.  If those laws you speak of 
had been delivered us 'ab initio', and in their present virtue 
and perfection, there had been some reason of obeying 
their powers; but 'tis extant, that that which we call 
'Comoedia', was at first nothing but a simple and continued
song, sung by one only person, till Susario invented 
a second; after him, Epicharmus a third; Phormus and 
Chionides devised to have four actors, with a prologue and 
chorus; to which Cratinus, long after, added a fifth and sixth:  
Eupolis, more; Aristophanes, more than they; every man 
in the dignity of his spirit and judgment supplied something.  
And, though that in him this kind of poem appeared absolute, 
and fully perfect, yet how is the face of it changed since, in 
Menander, Philemon, Cecilius, Plautus, and the rest!  who 
have utterly excluded the chorus, altered the property of the
persons, their names, and natures, and augmented it with 
all liberty, according to the elegancy and disposition of those 
times wherein they wrote.  I see not then, but we should enjoy 
the same license, or free power to illustrate and heighten 
our invention, as they did; and not be tied to those strict 
and regular forms which the niceness of a few, who are 
nothing but form, would thrust upon us.

MIT.  Well, we will not dispute of this now; but what's his scene?

COR.  Marry, 'Insula Fortunata', sir.

MIT.  O, the Fortunate Island:  mass, he has bound himself 
to a strict law there.

COR.  Why so?

MIT.  He cannot lightly alter the scene, without crossing the seas.

COR.  He needs not, having a whole island to run through, I think.

MIT.  No!  how comes it then, that in some one play we see so 
many seas, countries, and kingdoms, passed over with such 
admirable dexterity?

COR.  O, that but shews how well the authors can travel in their 
vocation, and outrun the apprehension of their auditory.  But, 
leaving this, I would they would begin at once:  this protraction 
is able to sour the best-settled patience in the theatre.
[THE THIRD SOUNDING.

MIT.  They have answered your wish, sir; they sound.

COR.  O, here comes the Prologue.
[ENTER PROLOGUE.
Now, sir, if you had staid a little longer, I meant to have spoke 
your prologue for you i'faith.

PROL.  Marry, with all my heart, sir, you shall do it yet, 
and I thank you.
[GOING.

COR.  Nay, nay, stay, stay; hear you?

PROL.  You could not have studied to have done me a greater 
benefit at the instant; for I protest to you, I am unperfect, and, 
had I spoke it, I must of necessity have been out.

COR.  Why, but do you speak this seriously?

PROL.  Seriously!  ay, wit's my help, do I; and esteem myself 
indebted to your kindness for it.

COR.  For what?

PROL.  Why, for undertaking the prologue for me.

COR.  How!  did I undertake it for you?

PROL.  Did you!  I appeal to all these gentlemen, whether you 
did or no. Come, come, it pleases you to cast a strange look 
on't now; but 'twill not serve.

COR.  'Fore me, but it must serve; and therefore speak your prologue.

PROL.  An I do, let me die poisoned with some venomous hiss, and never 
live to look as high as the two-penny room again.
[EXIT.

MIT.  He has put you to it, sir.

COR.  'Sdeath, what a humorous fellow is this!  Gentlemen, good 
faith I can speak no prologue, howsoever his weak wit has had 
the fortune to make this strong use of me here before you:  but 
I protest --

[ENTER CARLO BUFFONE, FOLLOWED BY A BOY WITH WINE.
CAR.  Come, come, leave these fustian protestations; away, come, 
I cannot abide these grey-headed ceremonies.  Boy, fetch me a glass 
quickly, I may bid these gentlemen welcome; give them a health here.  
[EXIT BOY.]  I mar'le whose wit it was to put a prologue in yond' 
sackbut's mouth; they might well think he'd be out of tune, and yet 
you'd play upon him too.

COR.  Hang him, dull block!

CAR.  O, good words, good words; a well-timber'd fellow, he would 
have made a good column, an he had been thought on, when the 
house was a building --
[RE-ENTER BOY WITH GLASSES.
O, art thou come?  Well said; give me, boy; fill so!  Here's a cup 
of wine sparkles like a diamond.  Gentlewomen (I am sworn to put 
them in first) and gentlemen, around, in place of a bad prologue, 
I drink this good draught to your health here, Canary, the very 
elixir and spirit of wine.  [DRINKS.]
This is that our poet calls Castalian liquor, when he comes abroad 
now and then, once in a fortnight, and makes a good meal among 
players, where he has 'caninum appetitum'; marry, at home he 
keeps a good philosophical diet, beans and butter-milk; an honest 
pure rogue, he will take you off three, four, five of these, one 
after another, and look villainously when he has done, like a 
one-headed Cerberus. -- He does not hear me, I hope. -- And 
then, when his belly is well ballaced, and his brain rigged 
a little, he snails away withal, as though he would work wonders 
when he comes home.  He has made a play here, and he 
calls it, 'Every Man out of his Humour':  but an he get me out 
of the humour he has put me in, I'll trust none of his tribe again 
while I live.  Gentles, all I can say for him is, you are welcome.  
I could wish my bottle here amongst you; but there's an old rule, 
No pledging your own health.  Marry, if any here be thirsty for it, 
their best way (that I know) is, sit still, seal up their lips, and 
drink so much of the play in at their ears.
[EXIT.

MIT.  What may this fellow be, Cordatus?

COR.  Faith, if the time will suffer his description, I'll give it you.  
He is one, the author calls him Carlo Buffone, an impudent 
common jester, a violent railer, and an incomprehensible epicure; 
one whose company is desired of all men, but beloved of none; 
he will sooner lose his soul than a jest, and profane even the 
most holy things, to excite laughter:  no honourable or reverend 
personage whatsoever can come within the reach of his eye, 
but is turned into all manner of variety, by his adulterate 
similes.

MIT.  You paint forth a monster.

COR.  He will prefer all countries before his native, and thinks he 
can never sufficiently, or with admiration enough, deliver his 
affectionate conceit of foreign atheistical policies.  But stay --
[ENTER MACILENTE.
Observe these:  he'll appear himself anon.

MIT.  O, this is your envious man, Macilente, I think.

COR.  The same, sir.


ACT I

SCENE I. -- The Country.

ENTER MACILENTE, WITH A BOOK.

MACI.  "Viri est, fortunae caecitatem facile ferre."
'Tis true; but, Stoic, where, in the vast world,
Doth that man breathe, that can so much command
His blood and his affection?  Well, I see
I strive in vain to cure my wounded soul;
For every cordial that my thoughts apply
Turns to a corsive and doth eat it farther.
There is no taste in this philosophy;
'Tis like a potion that a man should drink,
But turns his stomach with the sight of it.
I am no such pill'd Cynick to believe,
That beggary is the only happiness;
Or with a number of these patient fools,
To sing:  "My mind to me a kingdom is,"
When the lank hungry belly barks for food,
I look into the world, and there I meet
With objects, that do strike my blood-shot eyes
Into my brain:  where, when I view myself,
Having before observ'd this man is great,
Mighty and fear'd; that lov'd and highly favour'd:
A third thought wise and learn'd; a fourth rich,
And therefore honour'd; a fifth rarely featur'd;
A sixth admired for his nuptial fortunes:
When I see these, I say, and view myself,
I wish the organs of my sight were crack'd;
And that the engine of my grief could cast
Mine eyeballs, like two globes of wildfire, forth,
To melt this unproportion'd frame of nature.
Oh, they are thoughts that have transfix'd my heart,
And often, in the strength of apprehension,
Made my cold passion stand upon my face,
Like drops of dew on a stiff cake of ice.

COR.  This alludes well to that of the poet,
"Invidus suspirat, gemit, incutitque dentes,
Sudat frigidus, intuens quod odit."

MIT.  O, peace, you break the scene.

[ENTER SOGLIARDO AND CARLO BUFFONE.

MACI.  Soft, who be these?
I'll lay me down awhile till they be past.
[LIES DOWN.

CAR.  Signior, note this gallant, I pray you.

MIT.  What is he?

CAR.  A tame rook, you'll take him presently; list.

SOG.  Nay, look you, Carlo; this is my humour now!  
I have land and money, my friends left me well, and 
I will be a gentleman whatsoever it cost me.

CAR.  A most gentlemanlike resolution.

SOG.  Tut!  an I take an humour of a thing once, I am like 
your tailor's needle, I go through:  but, for my name, 
signior, how think you?  will it not serve for a gentleman's 
name, when the signior is put to it, ha?

CAR.  Let me hear; how is it?

SOG.  Signior Insulso Sogliardo:  methinks it sounds well.

CAR.  O excellent!  tut!  an all fitted to your name, you might 
very well stand for a gentleman:  I know many Sogliardos 
gentlemen.

SOG.  Why, and for my wealth I might be a justice of peace.

CAR.  Ay, and a constable for your wit.

SOG.  All this is my lordship you see here, and those farms you 
came by.

CAR.  Good steps to gentility too, marry:  but, Sogliardo, if you 
affect to be a gentleman indeed, you must observe all the rare 
qualities, humours, and compliments of a gentleman.

SOG.  I know it, signior, and if you please to instruct, I am not 
too good to learn, I'll assure you.

CAR.  Enough, sir. -- I'll make admirable use in the projection 
of my medicine upon this lump of copper here.  
[ASIDE] -- I'll bethink me for you, sir.

SOG.  Signior, I will both pay you, and pray you, and thank 
you, and think on you.

COR.  Is this not purely good?

MACI.  S'blood, why should such a prick-ear'd hind as this
Be rich, ha?  a fool!  such a transparent gull
That may be seen through!  wherefore should he have land,
Houses, and lordships?  O, I could eat my entrails,
And sink my soul into the earth with sorrow.

CAR.  First, to be an accomplished gentleman, that is, a 
gentleman of the time, you must give over housekeeping
in the country, and live altogether in the city amongst 
gallants:  where, at your first appearance, 'twere good
you turn'd four or five hundred acres of your best land 
into two or three trunks of apparel -- you may do it 
without going to a conjurer -- and be sure you mix 
yourself still with such as flourish in the spring of the
fashion, and are least popular; study their carriage 
and behaviour in all; learn to play at primero and 
passage, and ever (when you lose) have two or three 
peculiar oaths to swear by, that no man else swears:  
but, above all, protest in your play, and affirm, 
"Upon your credit, As you are a true gentleman", 
at every cast; you may do it with a safe conscience, 
I warrant you.

SOG.  O admirable rare!  he cannot choose but be 
a gentleman that has these excellent gifts:  more, more, 
I beseech you.

CAR.  You must endeavour to feed cleanly at your 
ordinary, sit melancholy, and pick your teeth when 
you cannot speak:  and when you come to plays, 
be humorous, look with a good starch'd face, and 
ruffle your brow like a new boot, laugh at nothing 
but your own jests, or else as the noblemen 
laugh.  That's a special grace you must observe.

SAG.  I warrant you, sir.

CAR.  Ay, and sit on the stage and flout, provided 
you have a good suit.

SOG.  O, I'll have a suit only for that, sir.

CAR.  You must talk much of your kindred and allies.

SOG.  Lies!  no, signior, I shall not need to do so, 
I have kindred in the city to talk of:  I have a niece 
is a merchant's wife; and a nephew, my brother 
Sordido's son, of the Inns of court.

CAR.  O, but you must pretend alliance with courtiers 
and great persons: and ever when you are to dine or 
sup in any strange presence, hire a fellow with a great 
chain, (though it be copper, it's no matter,) to bring you
letters, feign'd from such a nobleman, or such a knight, 
or such a lady, "To their worshipful, right rare, and nobly 
qualified friend and kinsman, signior Insulso Sogliardo":  
give yourself style enough.  And there, while you intend 
circumstances of news, or enquiry of their health, or so, 
one of your familiars whom you must carry about you 
still, breaks it up, as 'twere in a jest, and reads it publicly 
at the table:  at which you must seem to take as 
unpardonable offence, as if he had torn your mistress's 
colours, or breath'd upon her picture, and pursue it 
with that hot grace, as if you would advance a challenge 
upon it presently.

SOG.  Stay, I do not like that humour of challenge, it may 
be accepted; but I'll tell you what's my humour now, I will 
do this:  I will take occasion of sending one of my suits 
to the tailor's, to have the pocket repaired, or so; and 
there such a letter as you talk of, broke open and all 
shall be left; O, the tailor will presently give out what 
I am, upon the reading of it, worth twenty of your gallants.

CAR.  But then you must put on an extreme face of 
discontentment at your man's negligence.

SOG.  O, so I will, and beat him too:  I'll have a man for the 
purpose.

MAC.  You may; you have land and crowns:  O partial fate!

CAR.  Mass, well remember'd, you must keep your men 
gallant at the first, fine pied liveries laid with good gold lace; 
there's no loss in it, they may rip it off and pawn it when 
they lack victuals.

SOG.  By 'r Lady, that is chargeable, signior, 'twill bring 
a man in debt.

CAR.  Debt!  why that's the more for your credit, sir:  
it's an excellent policy to owe much in these days, 
if you note it.

SOG.  As how, good signior?  I would fain be a politician.

CAR.  O!  look where you are indebted any great sum, 
your creditor observes you with no less regard, than if 
he were bound to you for some huge benefit, and will 
quake to give you the least cause of offence, lest he 
lose his money.  I assure you, in these times, no man 
has his servant more obsequious and pliant, than 
gentlemen their creditors:  to whom, if at any time 
you pay but a moiety, or a fourth part, it comes more 
acceptably than if you gave them a new-year's gift.

SOG.  I perceive you, sir:  I will take up, and bring 
myself in credit, sure.

CAR.  Marry this, always beware you commerce not 
with bankrupts, or poor needy Ludgathians; they are 
impudent creatures, turbulent spirits, they care not 
what violent tragedies they stir, nor how they play 
fast and loose with a poor gentleman's fortunes, 
to get their own.  Marry, these rich fellows that have 
the world, or the better part of it, sleeping in their
counting-houses, they are ten times more placable, 
they; either fear, hope, or modesty, restrains them 
from offering any outrages:  but this is nothing to 
your followers, you shall not run a penny more in 
arrearage for them, an you list, yourself.

SOG.  No!  how should I keep 'em then?

CAR.  Keep 'em!  'sblood, let them keep themselves, 
they are no sheep, are they?  what, you shall come 
in houses, where plate, apparel, jewels, and divers 
other pretty commodities lie negligently scattered, 
and I would have those Mercuries follow me, I trow, 
should remember they had not their fingers for nothing.

SOG.  That's not so good, methinks.

CAR.  Why, after you have kept them a fortnight, or so, 
and shew'd them enough to the world, you may turn 
them away, and keep no more but a boy, it's enough.

SOG.  Nay, my humour is not for boys, I'll keep men, 
an I keep any; and I'll give coats, that's my humour:  
but I lack a cullisen.

CAR.  Why, now you ride to the city, you may buy one; 
I'll bring you where you shall have your choice for money.

SOG.  Can you, sir?

CAR.  O, ay:  you shall have one take measure of you, and 
make you a coat of arms to fit you, of what fashion you will.

SOG.  By word of mouth, I thank you, signior; I'll be once a little
prodigal in a humour, i'faith, and have a most prodigious coat.

MAC.  Torment and death!  break head and brain at once,
To be deliver'd of your fighting issue.
Who can endure to see blind Fortune dote thus?
To be enamour'd on this dusty turf,
This clod, a whoreson puck-fist!  O G----!
I could run wild with grief now, to behold
The rankness of her bounties, that doth breed
Such bulrushes; these mushroom gentlemen,
That shoot up in a night to place and worship.

CAR.  [SEEING MACILENTE.]  Let him alone; some stray, some stray.

SOG.  Nay, I will examine him before I go, sure.

CAR.  The lord of the soil has all wefts and strays here, has he not?

SOG.  Yes, sir.

CAR.  Faith then I pity the poor fellow, he's fallen into a fool's hands.
[ASIDE.

SOG.  Sirrah, who gave you a commission to lie in my lordship?

MAC.  Your lordship!

SOG.  How!  my lordship?  do you know me, sir?

MAC.  I do know you, sir.

CAR.  He answers him like an echo.
[ASIDE.

SOG.  Why, Who am I, sir?

MAC.  One of those that fortune favours.

CAR.  The periphrasis of a fool.  I'll observe this better.
[ASIDE.

SOG.  That fortune favours!  how mean you that, friend?

MAC.  I mean simply:  that you are one that lives not by 
your wits.

SOG.  By my wits!  no sir, I scorn to live by my wits, I.  
I have better means, I tell thee, than to take such base 
courses, as to live by my wits. What, dost thou think 
I live by my wits?

MAC.  Methinks, jester, you should not relish this well.

CAR.  Ha!  does he know me?

MAC.  Though yours be the worst use a man can put 
his wit to, of thousands,to prostitute it at every tavern 
and ordinary; yet, methinks, you should have turn'd 
your broadside at this, and have been ready with 
an apology, able to sink this hulk of ignorance into 
the bottom and depth of his contempt.

CAR.  Oh, 'tis Macilente!  Signior, you are well encountered; 
how is it? O, we must not regard what he says, man, a trout, 
a shallow fool, he has no more brain than a butterfly, a mere 
stuft suit; he looks like a musty bottle new wicker'd, his 
head's the cork, light, light!  
[ASIDE TO  MACILENTE.] 
-- I am glad to see you so well return'd, signior.

MAC.  You are!  gramercy, good Janus.

SOG.  Is he one of your acquaintance?  I love him the better for that.

CAR.  Od's precious, come away, man, what do you mean?  an you 
knew him as I do, you'd shun him as you would do the plague.

SOG.  Why, sir?

CAR.  O, he's a black fellow, take heed of him.

SOG.  Is he a scholar, or a soldier?

CAR.  Both, both; a lean mongrel, he looks as if he were 
chop-fallen, with barking at other men's good fortunes:  
'ware how you offend him; he carries oil and fire in his pen, 
will scald where it drops:  his spirit is like powder, quick, 
violent; he'll blow a man up with a jest:  I fear him worse
than a rotten wall does the cannon; shake an hour after 
at the report. Away, come not near him.

SOG.  For God's sake let's be gone; an he be a scholar, 
you know I cannot abide him; I had as lieve see a cockatrice, 
specially as cockatrices go now.

CAR.  What, you'll stay, signior?  this gentleman Sogliardo, 
and I, are to visit the knight Puntarvolo, and from thence 
to the city; we shall meet there.
[EXIT WITH SOGLIARDO.

MAC.  Ay, when I cannot shun you, we will meet.
'Tis strange!  of all the creatures I have seen,
I envy not this Buffone, for indeed
Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it:
But I do hate him, as I hate the devil,
Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism.
O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd cur,
That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him.
A slave, that to your face will, serpent-like,
Creep on the ground, as he would eat the dust,
And to your back will turn the tail, and sting
More deadly than the scorpion:  stay, who's this?
Now, for my soul, another minion
Of the old lady Chance's!  I'll observe him.

[ENTER SORDIDO WITH AN ALMANACK IN HIS HAND.
SORD.  O rare!  good, good, good, good, good!
I thank my stars, I thank my stars for it.

MAC.  Said I not true?  doth not his passion speak
Out of my divination?  O my senses,
Why lost you not your powers, and become
Dull'd, if not deaded, with this spectacle?
I know him, it is Sordido, the farmer,
A boor, and brother to that swine was here.
[ASIDE.

SORD.  Excellent, excellent, excellent!  as I would wish, 
as I would wish.

MAC.  See how the strumpet fortune tickles him,
And makes him swoon with laughter, O, O, O!

SORD.  Ha, ha, ha!  I will not sow my grounds this year.  
Let me see, what harvest shall we have?  "June, July?"

MAC.  What, is't a prognostication raps him so?

SORD.  "The 20, 21, 22 days, rain and wind."  O good, good!  
"the 23, and 24, rain and some wind," good!  "the 25, rain," 
good still!  "26, 27, 28, wind and some rain"; would it had 
been rain and some wind! well, 'tis good, when it can be 
no better.  "29, inclining to rain":  inclining to rain!  
that's not so good now:  "30, and 31, wind and no rain":  
no rain! 'slid, stay:  this is worse and worse:  
What says he of St. Swithin's?  turn back, look, 
"saint Swithin's:  no rain!"

MAC.  O, here's a precious, dirty, damned rogue,
That fats himself with expectation
Of rotten weather, and unseason'd hours;
And he is rich for it, an elder brother!
His barns are full, his ricks and mows well trod,
His garners crack with store!  O, 'tis well; ha, ha, ha!
A plague consume thee, and thy house!

SORD.  O here, "St. Swithin's, the 15 day, variable weather, 
for the most part rain", good!  "for the most part rain":  why, 
it should rain forty days after, now, more or less, it was 
a rule held, afore I was able to hold a plough, and yet here 
are two days no rain; ha!  it makes me muse.  We'll see 
how the next month begins, if that be better.  
"August 1, 2, 3, and 4, days, rainy and blustering:"  
this is well now:  "5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, rainy, with some 
thunder;"  Ay marry, this is excellent; the other was 
false printed sure:  "the 10 and 11, great store of rain"; 
O good, good, good, good, good!   "the 12, 13, and 
14 days, rain"; good still:  "15, and 16, rain"; good still:  
"17 and 18, rain", good still:  "19 and 20", good still, 
good still, good still, good still, good still!  "21, some 
rain"; some rain!  well, we must be patient, and attend 
the heaven's pleasure, would it were more though:  
"the 22, 23, great tempests of rain, thunder and lightning".
O good again, past expectation good!
I thank my blessed angel; never, never
Laid I [a] penny better out than this,
To purchase this dear book:  not dear for price,
 And yet of me as dearly prized as life,
Since in it is contain'd the very life,
Blood, strength, and sinews, of my happiness.
Blest be the hour wherein I bought this book;
His studies happy that composed the book,
And the man fortunate that sold the book!
Sleep with this charm, and be as true to me,
As I am joy'd and confident in thee
[PUTS IT UP.

[ENTER A HIND, AND GIVES SORDIDO A PAPER TO READ.
MAC.  Ha, ha, ha!
Is not this good?  Is not pleasing this?
Ha, ha, ha!  God pardon me!  ha, ha!
Is't possible that such a spacious villain
Should live, and not be plagued?  or lies be hid
Within the wrinkled bosom of the world,
Where Heaven cannot see him?  S'blood!  methinks
'Tis rare, and strange, that he should breathe and walk,
Feed with digestion, sleep, enjoy his health,
And, like a boisterous whale swallowing the poor,
Still swim in wealth and pleasure!  is't not strange?
Unless his house and skin were thunder proof,
I wonder at it!  Methinks, now, the hectic,
Gout, leprosy, or some such loath'd disease,
Might light upon him; of that fire from heaven
Might fall upon his barns; or mice and rats
Eat up his grain; or else that it might rot
Within the hoary ricks, even as it stands:
Methinks this might be well; and after all
The devil might come and fetch him.  Ay, 'tis true!
Meantime he surfeits in prosperity,
And thou, in envy of him, gnaw'st thyself:
Peace, fool, get hence, and tell thy vexed spirit,
Wealth in this age will scarcely look on merit.
[RISES AND EXIT.

SORD.  Who brought this same, sirrah?

HIND.  Marry, sir, one of the justice's men; he says 'tis 
a precept, and all their hands be at it.

SORD.  Ay, and the prints of them stick in my flesh,
Deeper than in their letters:  they have sent me
Pills wrapt in paper here, that, should I take them,
Would poison all the sweetness of my book,
And turn my honey into hemlock juice.
But I am wiser than to serve their precepts,
Or follow their prescriptions.  Here's a device,
To charge me bring my grain unto the markets:
Ay, much!  when I have neither barn nor garner,
Nor earth to hid it in, I'll bring 't; till then,
Each corn I send shall be as big as Paul's.
O, but (say some) the poor are like to starve.
Why, let 'em starve, what's that to me?  are bees
Bound to keep life in drones and idle moths?  no:
Why such are these that term themselves the poor,
Only because they would be pitied,
But are indeed a sort of lazy beggars,
Licentious rogues, and sturdy vagabonds,
Bred by the sloth of a fat plenteous year,
Like snakes in heat of summer, out of dung;
And this is all that these cheap times are good for:
Whereas a wholesome and penurious dearth
Purges the soil of such vile excrements,
And kills the vipers up.

HIND.  O, but master,
Take heed they hear you not.

SORD.  Why so?

HIND.  They will exclaim against you.

SORD.  Ay, their exclaims
Move me as much, as thy breath moves a mountain.
Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home
Can be contented to applaud myself,
To sit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leap,
Knocking my head against my roof, with joy
To see how plump my bags are, and my barns.
Sirrah, go hie you home, and bid your fellows
Get all their flails ready again I come.

HIND.  I will, sir.
[EXIT.

SORD.  I'll instantly set all my hinds to thrashing
Of a whole rick of corn, which I will hide
Under the ground; and with the straw thereof
I'll stuff the outsides of my other mows:
That done, I'll have them empty all my garners,
And in the friendly earth bury my store,
That, when the searchers come, they may suppose
All's spent, and that my fortunes were belied.
And to lend more opinion to my want,
And stop that many-mouthed vulgar dog,
Which else would still be baying at my door,
Each market-day I will be seen to buy
Part of the purest wheat, as for my household;
Where when it comes, it shall increase my heaps:
'Twill yield me treble gain at this dear time,
Promised in this dear book:  I have cast all.
Till then I will not sell an ear, I'll hang first.
O, I shall make my prices as I list;
My house and I can feed on peas and barley.
What though a world of wretches starve the while;
He that will thrive must think no courses vile.
[EXIT.

COR.  Now, signior, how approve you this?  have the humourists 
exprest themselves truly or no?

MIT.  Yes, if it be well prosecuted, 'tis hitherto happy enough:  
but methinks Macilente went hence too soon; he might have 
been made to stay, and speak somewhat in reproof of 
Sordido's wretchedness now at the last.

COR.  O, no, that had been extremely improper; besides, he had 
continued the scene too long with him, as 'twas, being in no more 
action.

MIT.  You may inforce the length as a necessary reason; but for 
propriety, the scene wou'd very well have borne it, in my judgment.

COR.  O, worst of both; why, you mistake his humour utterly then.

MIT.  How do I mistake it?  Is it not envy?

COR.  Yes, but you must understand, signior, he envies him not 
as he is a villain, a wolf in the commonwealth, but as he 
is rich and fortunate; for the true condition of envy is, 
'dolor alienae felicitatis', to have our eyes continually fixed 
upon another man's prosperity that is, his chief happiness, 
and to grieve at that.  Whereas, if we make his monstrous 
and abhorr'd actions our object, the grief we take then comes 
nearer the nature of hate than envy, as being bred out of 
a kind of contempt and loathing in ourselves.

MIT.  So you'll infer it had been hate, not envy in him, to 
reprehend the humour of Sordido?

COR.  Right, for what a man truly envies in another, he could 
always love and cherish in himself; but no man truly 
reprehends in another, what he loves in himself; therefore 
reprehension is out of his hate.  And this distinction hath 
he himself made in a speech there, if you marked it, where 
he says, "I envy not this Buffone, but I hate him."  Why 
might he not as well have hated Sordido as him?

COR.  No, sir, there was subject for his envy in Sordido, his wealth:  
so was there not in the other.  He stood possest of no one eminent 
gift, but a most odious and fiend-like disposition, that would turn 
charity itself into hate, much more envy, for the present.

MIT.  You have satisfied me, sir.  O, here comes the fool, and the 
jester again, methinks.

COR.  'Twere pity they should be parted, sir.

MIT.  What bright-shining gallant's that with them?  the knight 
they went to?

COR.  No, sir, this is one monsieur Fastidious Brisk, otherwise 
called the fresh Frenchified courtier.

MIT.  A humourist too?

COR.  As humorous as quicksilver; do but observe him; the scene 
is the country still, remember.


----------------------------------------------

ACT II

SCENE I. -- THE COUNTRY; BEFORE PUNTARVOLO'S HOUSE.

ENTER FASTIDIOUS BRISK, CINEDO, CARLO BUFFONE, AND 
SOGLIARDO.

FAST.  Cinedo, watch when the knight comes, and give us word.

CIN.  I will, sir.
[EXIT.

FAST.  How lik'st thou my boy, Carlo?

CAR.  O, well, well.  He looks like a colonel of the Pigmies 
horse, or one of these motions in a great antique clock; 
he would shew well upon a haberdasher's stall, at a corner 
shop, rarely.

FAST.  'Sheart, what a damn'd witty rogue's this!  How he 
confounds with his similes!

CAR.  Better with similes than smiles:  and whither were you 
riding now, signior?

FAST.  Who, I?  What a silly jest's that!  Whither should I ride 
but to the court?

CAR.  O, pardon me, sir, twenty places more; your hot-house, 
or your whore-house --

FAST.  By the virtue of my soul, this knight dwells in Elysium here.

CAR.  He's gone now, I thought he would fly out presently.  These 
be our nimble-spirited catsos, that have their evasions at 
pleasure, will run over a bog like your wild Irish; no sooner 
started, but they'll leap from one thing to another, like a 
squirrel, heigh!  dance and do tricks in their discourse, 
from fire to water, from water to air, from air to earth, as 
if their tongues did but e'en lick the four elements over, 
and away.

FAST.  Sirrah, Carlo, thou never saw'st my gray hobby yet, didst thou?

CAR.  No; have you such a one?

FAST.  The best in Europe, my good villain, thou'lt say when thou seest him.

CAR.  But when shall I see him?

FAST.  There was a nobleman in the court offered me a 
hundred pound for him, by this light:  a fine little fiery slave, 
he runs like a -- oh, excellent, excellent! -- with the very 
sound of the spur.

CAR.  How!  the sound of the spur?

FAST.  O, it's your only humour now extant, sir; a good gingle, a good gingle.

CAR.  S'blood!  you shall see him turn morrice-dancer, he has 
got him bells, a good suit, and a hobby-horse.

SIG.  Signior, now you talk of a hobby-horse, I know where one is will not
be given for a brace of angels.

FAST.  How is that, sir?

SOG.  Marry, sir, I am telling this gentleman of a hobby-horse; it was my
father's indeed, and though I say it --

CAR.  That should not say it -- on, on.

SOG.  He did dance in it, with as good humour and as good regard 
as any man of his degree whatsoever, being no gentleman:  I have 
danc'd in it myself too.

CAR.  Not since the humour of gentility was upon you, did you?

SOG.  Yes, once; marry, that was but to shew what a gentleman 
might do in a humour.

CAR.  O, very good.

MIT.  Why, this fellow's discourse were nothing but for the word humour.

COR.  O bear with him; an he should lack matter and words too, 'twere pitiful.

SOG.  Nay, look you, sir, there's ne'er a gentleman in the country has the
like humours, for the hobby-horse, as I have; I have the method for the
threading of the needle and all, the --

CAR.  How, the method?

SOG.  Ay, the leigerity for that, and the whighhie, and the daggers in the
nose, and the travels of the egg from finger to finger, and all the humours
incident to the quality.  The horse hangs at home in my parlour.  I'll keep
it for a monument as long as I live, sure.

CAR.  Do so; and when you die, 'twill be an excellent trophy to hang over
your tomb.

SOG.  Mass, and I'll have a tomb, now I think on't; 'tis but so much charges.

CAR.  Best build it in your lifetime then, your heirs may hap to forget it
else.

SOG.  Nay, I mean so, I'll not trust to them.

CAR.  No, for heirs and executors are grown damnable careless, 'specially
since the ghosts of testators left walking. -- How like you him, signior?

FAST.  'Fore heavens, his humour arrides me exceedingly.

CAR.  Arrides you!

FAST.  Ay, pleases me:  a pox on't!  I am so haunted at the court, and at
my lodging, with your refined choice spirits, that it makes me clean of
another garb, another sheaf, I know not how!  I cannot frame me to your
harsh vulgar phrase, 'tis against my genius.

Sog.  Signior Carlo!
[TAKES HIM ASIDE.

COR.  This is right to that of Horace, "Dum vitant stulti vitia, in
contraria currunt"; so this gallant labouring to avoid popularity, falls
into a habit of affectation, ten thousand times hatefuller than the former.

CAR.  [POINTING TO FASTIDIOUS.]  Who, he?  a gull, a fool, no salt 
in him i' the earth, man; he looks like a fresh salmon kept in a tub; 
he'll be spent shortly.  His brain's lighter than his feather already, and 
his tongue more subject to lye, than that is to wag; he sleeps with a 
musk-cat every night, and walks all day hang'd in pomander chains 
for penance; he has his skin tann'd in civet, to make his complexion 
strong, and the sweetness of his youth lasting in the sense of his 
sweet lady; a good empty puff, he loves you well, signior.

SOG.  There shall be no love lost, sir, I'll assure you.

FAST.  [ADVANCING TO THEM.]  Nay, Carlo, I am not happy in 
thy love, I see: pray thee suffer me to enjoy thy company a little, 
sweet mischief:  by this air, I shall envy this gentleman's place 
in thy affections, if you be thus private, i'faith.
ENTER CINEDO.
How now!  Is the knight arrived?

CIN.  No, sir, but 'tis guess'd he will arrive presently, by his fore-runners.

FAST.  His hounds!  by Minerva, an excellent figure; a good boy.

CAR.  You should give him a French crown for it; the boy would find 
two better figures in that, and a good figure of your bounty beside.

FAST.  Tut, the boy wants no crowns.

CAR.  No crown; speak in the singular number, and we'll believe you.

FAST.  Nay, thou are so capriciously conceited now.  Sirrah damnation, 
I have heard this knight Puntarvolo reported to be a gentleman of exceeding
good humour, thou know'st him; prithee, how is his disposition?  I never
was so favoured of my stars, as to see him yet.  Boy, do you look to the
hobby?

CIN.  Ay, sir, the groom has set him up.
[AS CINEDO IS GOING OUT, SOGLIARDO TAKES HIM ASIDE.

FAST.  'Tis well:  I rid out of my way of intent to visit him, and take
knowledge of his --  Nay, good Wickedness, his humour, his humour.

CAR.  Why, he loves dogs, and hawks, and his wife well; he has a good
riding face, and he can sit a great horse; he will taint a staff well at
tile; when he is mounted he looks like the sign of the George, that's all I
know; save, that instead of a dragon, he will brandish against a tree, and
break his sword as confidently upon the knotty bark, as the other did 
upon the scales of the beast.

FAST.  O, but this is nothing to that's delivered of him.  They say he has
dialogues and discourses between his horse, himself, and his dog; and 
that he will court his own lady, as she were a stranger never encounter'd 
before.

CAR.  Ay, that he will, and make fresh love to her every morning; this
gentleman has been a spectator of it, Signior Insulso.

SOG.  I am resolute to keep a page. -- Say you, sir?
[LEAPS FROM WHISPERING WITH CINEDO.

CAR.  You have seen Signior Puntarvolo accost his lady?

SOG.  O, ay, sir.

FAST.  And how is the manner of it, prithee, good signior?

SOG.  Faith, sir, in very good sort; he has his humours for it, sir;
at first, (suppose he were now to come from riding or hunting, or so,) 
he has his trumpet to sound, and then the waiting-gentlewoman she 
looks out, and then he speaks, and then she speaks, -- very pretty,
i'faith, gentlemen.

FAST.  Why, but do you remember no particulars, signior?

SOG.  O, yes, sir, first, the gentlewoman, she looks out at the window.

CAR.  After the trumpet has summon'd a parle, not before?

SOG.  No, sir, not before; and then says he, -- ha, ha, ha, ha!

CAR.  What says he?  be not rapt so.

SOG.  Says he, -- ha, ha, ha, ha!

FAST.  Nay, speak, speak.

SOG.  Ha, ha, ha! -- says he, God save you, says he; -- ha, ha!

CAR.  Was this the ridiculous motive to all this passion?

SOG.  Nay, that that comes after is, -- ha, ha, ha, ha!

CAR.  Doubtless he apprehends more than he utters, this fellow; or else --
[A CRY OF HOUNDS WITHIN.

SOG.  List, list, they are come from hunting; stand by, close under this
terras, and you shall see it done better than I can show it.

CAR.  So it had need, 'twill scarce poise the observation else.

SOG.  Faith, I remember all, but the manner of it is quite out of my head.

FAST.  O, withdraw, withdraw, it cannot be but a most pleasing object.
[THEY STAND ASIDE.

ENTER PUNTARVOLO, FOLLOWED BY HIS HUNTSMAN LEADING 
A GREYHOUND.
PUNT.  Forester, give wind to thy horn. -- Enough; by this the sound hath
touch'd the ears of the inclos'd:  depart, leave the dog, and take with
thee what thou has deserved, the horn and thanks.
[EXIT HUNTSMAN.

CAR.  Ay, marry, there is some taste in this.

FAST.  Is't not good?

SOG.  Ah, peace; now above, now above!
[A WAITING-GENTLEWOMAN APPEARS AT THE WINDOW.

PUNT.  Stay; mine eye hath, on the instant, through the bounty of the
window, received the form of a nymph.  I will step forward three paces; 
of the which, I will barely retire one; and, after some little flexure of the
knee, with an erected grace salute her; one, two, and three!  Sweet lady,
God save you!

GENT.  [ABOVE.]  No, forsooth; I am but the waiting-gentlewoman.

CAR.  He knew that before.

PUNT.  Pardon me:  'humanum est errare'.

CAR.  He learn'd that of his chaplain.

PUNT.  To the perfection of compliment (which is the dial of the thought,
and guided by the sun of your beauties,) are required these three specials;
the gnomon, the puntilios, and the superficies:  the superficies is that we
call place; the puntilios, circumstance; and the gnomon, ceremony; in
either of which, for a stranger to err, 'tis easy and facile; and such am I.

CAR.  True, not knowing her horizon, he must needs err; which I fear he
knows too well.

PUNT.  What call you the lord of the castle, sweet face?

GENT.  [ABOVE.]  The lord of the castle is a knight, sir; signior Puntarvolo.

PUNT.  Puntarvolo!  O --

CAR.  Now must he ruminate.

FAST.  Does the wench know him all this while, then?

CAR.  O, do you know me, man?  why, therein lies the syrup of the jest;
it's a project, a designment of his own, a thing studied, and rehearst as
ordinarily at his coming from hawking or hunting, as a jig after a play.

SOG.  Ay, e'en like your jig, sir.

PUNT.  'Tis a most sumptuous and stately edifice!  Of what years is the
knight, fair damsel?

GENT.  Faith, much about your years, sir.

PUNT.  What complexion, or what stature bears he?

GENT.  Of your stature, and very near upon your complexion.

PUNT.  Mine is melancholy, --

CAR.  So is the dog's, just.

PUNT.  And doth argue constancy, chiefly in love.  What are his endowments?
is he courteous?

GENT.  O, the most courteous knight in Christian land, sir.

PUNT.  Is he magnanimous?

GENT.  As the skin between your brows, sir.

PUNT.  Is he bountiful?

CAR.  'Slud, he takes an inventory of his own good parts.

GENT.  Bountiful!  ay, sir, I would you should know it; the poor are served
at his gate, early and late, sir.

PUNT.  Is he learned?

GENT.  O, ay, sir, he can speak the French and Italian.

PUNT.  Then he has travelled?

GENT.  Ay, forsooth, he hath been beyond seas once or twice.

CAR.  As far as Paris, to fetch over a fashion, and come back again.

PUNT.  Is he religious?

GENT.  Religious!  I know not what you call religious, but he goes to
church, I am sure.

FAST.  'Slid, methinks these answers should offend him.

CAR.  Tut, no; he knows they are excellent, and to her capacity that speaks
them.

PUNT.  Would I might but see his face!

CAR.  She should let down a glass from the window at that word, and request
him to look in't.

PUNT.  Doubtless the gentleman is most exact, and absolutely qualified;
doth the castle contain him?

GENT.  No, sir, he is from home, but his lady is within.

PUNT.  His lady!  what, is she fair, splendidious, and amiable?

GENT.  O, Lord, sir.

PUNT.  Prithee, dear nymph, intreat her beauties to shine on this side of
the building.
[EXIT WAITING-GENTLEWOMAN FROM THE WINDOW.

CAR.  That he may erect a new dial of compliment, with his gnomons and his
puntilios.

FAST.  Nay, thou art such another cynic now, a man had need walk uprightly
before thee.

CAR.  Heart, can any man walk more upright than he does?  Look, look; as if
he went in a frame, or had a suit of wainscot on:  and the dog watching
him, lest he should leap out on't.

FAST.  O, villain!

CAR.  Well, an e'er I meet him in the city, I'll have him jointed, I'll
pawn him in Eastcheap, among the butchers, else.

FAST.  Peace; who be these, Carlo?

ENTER SORDIDO AND FUNGOSO.

SORD.  Yonder's your godfather; do your duty to him, son.

SOG.  This, sir?  a poor elder brother of mine, sir, a yeoman, may dispend
some seven or eight hundred a year; that's his son, my nephew, there.

PUNT.  You are not ill come, neighbour Sordido, though I have not yet said,
well-come; what, my godson is grown a great proficient by this.

SORD.  I hope he will grow great one day, sir.

FAST.  What does he study?  the law?

SOG.  Ay, sir, he is a gentleman, though his father be but a yeoman.

CAR.  What call you your nephew, signior?

SOG.  Marry, his name is Fungoso.

CAR.  Fungoso!  O, he look'd somewhat like a sponge in that pink'd yellow
doublet, methought; well, make much of him; I see he was never born to ride
upon a mule.

GENT.  [REAPPEARS AT THE WINDOW.]  My lady will come presently, sir.

SOG.  O, now, now!

PUNT.  Stand by, retire yourselves a space; nay, pray you, forget not the
use of your hat; the air is piercing.
[SORDIDO AND FUNGOSO WITHDRAW.

FAST.  What!  will not their presence prevail against the current of his
humour?

CAR.  O, no; it's a mere flood, a torrent carries all afore it.

[LADY PUNTARVOLO APPEARS AT THE WINDOW.
PUNT.  What more than heavenly pulchritude is this.
What magazine, or treasury of bliss?
Dazzle, you organs to my optic sense,
To view a creature of such eminence:
O, I am planet-struck, and in yon sphere
A brighter star than Venus doth appear!

FAST.  How!  in verse!

CAR.  An extacy, an extacy, man.

LADY P. [ABOVE] is your desire to speak with me, sir knight?

CAR.  He will tell you that anon; neither his brain nor his body are yet
moulded for an answer.

PUNT.  Most debonair, and luculent lady, I decline me as low as the basis
of your altitude.

COR.  He makes congies to his wife in geometrical proportions.

MIT.  Is it possible there should be any such humorist?

COR.  Very easily possible, sir, you see there is.

PUNT.  I have scarce collected my spirits, but lately scattered in the
administration of your form; to which, if the bounties of your mind be any
way responsible, I doubt not but my desires shall find a smooth and secure
passage.  I am a poor knight-errant, lady, that hunting in the adjacent
forest, was, by adventure, in the pursuit of a hart, brought to this place;
which hart, dear madam, escaped by enchantment:  the evening approaching
myself and servant wearied, my suit is, to enter your fair castle and
refresh me.

LADY.  Sir knight, albeit it be not usual with me, chiefly in the absence
of a husband, to admit any entrance to strangers, yet in the true regard of
those innated virtues, and fair parts, which so strive to express
themselves, in you; I am resolved to entertain you to the best of my
unworthy power; which I acknowledge to be nothing, valued with what so
worthy a person may deserve.  Please you but stay while I descend.
[EXIT FROM THE WINDOW.

PUNT.  Most admired lady, you astonish me.
[WALKS ASIDE WITH SORDIDO AND HIS SON.

CAR.  What!  with speaking a speech of your own penning?

FAST.  Nay, look:  prithee, peace.

CAR.  Pox on't!  I am impatient of such foppery.

FAST.  O let us hear the rest.

CAR.  What!  a tedious chapter of courtship, after sir Lancelot and queen
Guenever?  Away!  I marle in what dull cold nook he found this lady out;
that, being a woman, she was blest with no more copy of wit but to serve
his humour thus.  'Slud, I think he feeds her with porridge, I:  she could
never have such a thick brain else.

SOG.  Why, is porridge so hurtful, signior?

CAR.  O, nothing under heaven more prejudicial to those ascending subtle
powers, or doth sooner abate that which we call 'acumen ingenii', than your
gross fare:  Why, I'll make you an instance; your city-wives, but observe
'em, you have not more perfect true fools in the world bred than they are
generally; and yet you see, by the fineness and delicacy of their diet,
diving into the fat capons, drinking your rich wines, feeding on larks,
sparrows, potato-pies, and such good unctuous meats, how their wits are
refined and rarified; and sometimes a very quintessence of conceit flows
from them, able to drown a weak apprehension.

ENTER LADY PUNTARVOLO AND HER WAITING-WOMAN.
FAST.  Peace, here comes the lady..

LADY. Gad's me, here's company!  turn in again.
[EXIT WITH HER WOMAN.

FAST.  'Slight, our presence has cut off the convoy of the jest.

CAR.  All the better, I am glad on't; for the issue was very perspicuous.
Come let's discover, and salute the knight.
[THEY COME FORWARD.

PUNT.  Stay; who be these that address themselves towards us?  What Carlo!
Now by the sincerity of my soul, welcome; welcome, gentlemen:  and how dost
thou, thou 'Grand Scourge', or 'Second Untruss of the time'?

CAR.  Faith, spending my metal in this reeling world (here and there), as
the sway of my affection carries me, and perhaps stumble upon a
yeoman-feuterer, as I do now; or one of fortune's mules, laden with
treasure, and an empty cloak-bag, following him, gaping when a gab will
untie.

PUNT.  Peace, you bandog, peace!  What brisk Nymphadoro is that in the
white virgin-boot there?

CAR.  Marry, sir, one that I must interest you to take a very particular
knowledge of, and with more than ordinary respect; monsieur Fastidious.

PUNT.  Sir, I could wish, that for the time of your vouchsafed abiding
here, and more real entertainment, this is my house stood on the Muses
hill, and these my orchards were those of the Hesperides.

FAST.  I possess as much in your wish, sir, as if I were made lord of the
Indies; and I pray you believe it.

CAR.  I have a better opinion of his faith, than to think it will be so
corrupted.

SOG.  Come, brother, I'll bring you acquainted with gentlemen, and good
fellows, such as shall do you more grace than --

SORD.  Brother, I hunger not for such acquaintance:  Do you take heed, lest --
[CARLO COMES TOWARD THEM.

SOG.  Husht!  My brother, sir, for want of education, sir, somewhat nodding
to the boor, the clown; but I request you in private, sir.

FUNG.  [LOOKING AT FASTIDIOUS BRISK.]  By heaven, it is a very fine suit of
clothes.
[ASIDE.

COR.  Do you observe that signior?  There's another humour has new-crack'd
the shell.

MIT.  What!  he is enamour'd of the fashion, is he?

COR.  O, you forestall the jest.

FUNG.  I marle what it might stand him in.
[ASIDE.

SOG.  Nephew!

FUNG.  'Fore me, it's an excellent suit, and as neatly becomes him.
[ASIDE.] -- What said you, uncle?

SOG.  When saw you my niece?

FUNG.  Marry, yesternight I supp'd there. -- That kind of boot does very
rare too.
[ASIDE.

SOG.  And what news hear you?

FUNG.  The gilt spur and all!  Would I were hang'd, but 'tis exceeding
good.  [ASIDE.] -- Say you, uncle?

SOG.  Your mind is carried away with somewhat else:  I ask what news you hear?

FUNG.  Troth, we hear none. -- In good faith [LOOKING AT FASTIDIOUS BRISK]
I was never so pleased with a fashion, days of my life.  O an I might have
but my wish, I'd ask no more of heaven now, but such a suit, such a hat,
such a band, such a doublet, such a hose, such a boot, and such a --
[ASIDE.

SOG.  They say, there's a new motion of the city of Nineveh, with Jonas and
the whale, to be seen at Fleet-bridge.  You can tell, cousin?

FUNG.  Here's such a world of questions with him now! -- Yes, I think there
be such a thing, I saw the picture. -- Would he would once be satisfied!
Let me see, the doublet, say fifty shillings the doublet, and between three
or four pound the hose; then boots, hat, and band:  some ten or eleven
pound will do it all, and suit me for the heavens!
[ASIDE.

SOG.  I'll see all those devices an I come to London once.

FUNG.  Ods 'slid, an I could compass it, 'twere rare [ASIDE.] -- Hark you,
uncle.

SOG.  What says my nephew?

FUNG.  Faith, uncle, I would have desired you to have made a motion for me
to my father, in a thing that -- Walk aside, and I'll tell you, sir; no
more but this:  there's a parcel of law books (some twenty pounds worth)
that lie in a place for a little more than half the money they cost; and I
think, for some twelve pound, or twenty mark, I could go near to redeem
them; there's Plowden, Dyar, Brooke, and Fitz-Herbert, divers such as I
must have ere long; and you know, I were as good save five or six pound, as
not, uncle.  I pray you, move it for me.

SOG.  That I will:  when would you have me do it?  presently?

FUNG.  O, ay, I pray you, good uncle:  [SOGLIARDO TAKES SORDIDO ASIDE.] --
send me good luck, Lord, an't be thy will, prosper it!  O my stars, now,
now, if it take now, I am made for ever.

FAST.  Shall I tell you, sir?  by this air, I am the most beholden to that
lord, of any gentleman living; he does use me the most honourably, and with
the greatest respect, more indeed than can be utter'd with any opinion of
truth.

PUNT.  Then have you the count Gratiato?

FAST.  As true noble a gentleman too as any breathes; I am exceedingly
endear'd to his love:  By this hand, I protest to you, signior, I speak it
not gloriously, nor out of affectation, but there's he and the count
Frugale, signior Illustre, signior Luculento, and a sort of 'em, that when
I am at court, they do share me amongst them; happy is he can enjoy 
me most private.  I do wish myself sometime an ubiquitary for their love, 
in good faith.

CAR.  There's ne'er a one of them but might lie a week on the rack, ere
they could bring forth his name; and yet he pours them out as familiarly,
as if he had seen them stand by the fire in the presence, or ta'en tobacco
with them over the stage, in the lord's room.

PUNT.  Then you must of necessity know our court-star there, that planet 
of wit, madona Saviolina?

FAST.  O Lord, sir, my mistress.

PUNT.  Is she your mistress?

FAST.  Faith, here be some slight favours of hers, sir, that do speak it,
she is; as this scarf, sir, or this ribbon in my ear, or so; this feather
grew in her sweet fan sometimes, though now it be my poor fortune to wear
it, as you see, sir:  slight, slight, a foolish toy.

PUNT.  Well, she is the lady of a most exalted and ingenious spirit.

FAST.  Did you ever hear any woman speak like her?  or enriched with a 
more plentiful discourse?

CAR.  O villainous!  nothing but sound, sound, a mere echo; she speaks as
she goes tired, in cobweb-lawn, light, thin; good enough to catch flies
withal.

PUNT.  O manage your affections.

FAST.  Well, if thou be'st not plagued for this blasphemy one day --

PUNT.  Come, regard not a jester:  It is in the power of my purse to make
him speak well or ill of me.

FAST.  Sir, I affirm it to you upon my credit and judgment, she has the
most harmonious and musical strain of wit that ever tempted a true ear; 
and yet to see! -- a rude tongue would profane heaven, if it could.

PUNT.  I am not ignorant of it, sir.

FAST.  Oh, it flows from her like nectar, and she doth give it that sweet
quick grace, and exornation in the composure that by this good air, as I am
an honest man, would I might never stir, sir, but -- she does observe as
pure a phrase, and use as choice figures in her ordinary conferences, as
any be in the 'Arcadia'.

CAR.  Or rather in Green's works, whence she may steal with more security.

SORD.  Well, if ten pound will fetch 'em, you shall have it; but I'll part
with no more.

FUNG.  I'll try what that will do, if you please.

SORD.  Do so; and when you have them, study hard.

FUNG.  Yes, sir.  An I could study to get forty shillings more now!  Well,
I will put myself into the fashion, as far as this will go, presently.

SORD.  I wonder it rains not:  the almanack says, we should have a store 
of rain to-day.
[ASIDE.

PUNT.  Why, sir, to-morrow I will associate you to court myself, and from
thence to the city about a business, a project I have; I will expose it to
you sir; Carlo, I am sure has heard of it.

CAR.  What's that, sir?

PUNT.  I do intend, this year of jubilee coming on, to travel:  and because
I will not altogether go upon expense, I am determined to put forth some
five thousand pound, to be paid me five for one, upon the return of myself,
my wife, and my dog from the Turk's court in Constantinople.  If all or
either of us miscarry in the journey, 'tis gone:  if we be successful, why,
there will be five and twenty thousand pound to entertain time withal.
Nay, go not, neighbour Sordido; stay to-night, and help to make our society
the fuller.  Gentlemen, frolic:  Carlo!  what!  dull now?

CAR.  I was thinking on your project, sir, an you call it so.  Is this the
dog goes with you?

PUNT.  This is the dog, sir.

CAR.  He does not go barefoot, does he?

PUNT.  Away, you traitor, away!

CAR.  Nay, afore God, I speak simply; he may prick his foot with a thorn,
and be as much as the whole venture is worth.  Besides, for a dog that
never travell'd before, it's a huge journey to Constantinople.  I'll tell
you now, an he were mine, I'd have some present conference with a
physician, what antidotes were good to give him, preservatives against
poison; for assure you, if once your money be out, there'll be divers
attempts made against the life of the poor animal.

PUNT.  Thou art still dangerous.

FAST.  Is signior Deliro's wife your kinswoman?

SOG.  Ay, sir, she is my niece, my brother's daughter here, and my 
nephew's sister.

SORD.  Do you know her, sir?

FAST.  O Lord, sir!  signior Deliro, her husband, is my merchant.

FUNG.  Ay, I have seen this gentleman there often.

FAST.  I cry you mercy, sir; let me crave your name, pray you.

FUNG.  Fungoso, sir.

FAST.  Good signior Fungoso, I shall request to know you better, sir.

FUNG.  I am her brother, sir.

FAST.  In fair time, sir.

PUNT.  Come, gentlemen, I will be your conduct.

FAST.  Nay, pray you sir; we shall meet at signior Deliro's often.

SOG.  You shall have me at the herald's office, sir, for some week or so 
at my first coming up.  Come, Carlo.
[EXEUNT.

MIT.  Methinks, Cordatus, he dwelt somewhat too long on this scene; it hung
in the hand.

COR.  I see not where he could have insisted less, and to have made the
humours perspicuous enough.

MIT.  True, as his subject lies; but he might have altered the shape of his
argument, and explicated them better in single scenes.

COR.  That had been single indeed.  Why, be they not the same persons in
this, as they would have been in those?  and is it not an object of more
state, to behold the scene full, and relieved with variety of speakers to
the end, than to see a vast empty stage, and the actors come in one by one,
as if they were dropt down with a feather into the eye of the spectators?

MIT.  Nay, you are better traded with these things than I, and therefore
I'll subscribe to your judgment; marry, you shall give me leave to make
objections.

COR.  O, what else?  it is the special intent of the author you should do
so; for thereby others, that are present, may as well be satisfied, who
haply would object the same you would do.

MIT.  So, sir; but when appears Macilente again?

COR.  Marry, he stays but till our silence give him leave:  here he comes,
and with him signior Deliro, a merchant at whose house he is come to
sojourn:  make your own observation now, only transfer your thoughts to the
city, with  the scene:  where suppose they speak.


SCENE II.  A ROOM IN DELIRO'S HOUSE.

ENTER 
DELIRO, MACILENTE, AND FIDO WITH FLOWERS AND PERFUMES.

DELI.  I'll tell you by and by, sir, --
Welcome good Macilente, to my house,
To sojourn even for ever; if my best
in cates, and every sort of good entreaty,
May move you stay with me.
[HE CENSETH: THE BOY STREWS FLOWERS.

MACI.  I thank you, sir. --
And yet the muffled Fates, had it pleased them,
Might have supplied me from their own full store.
Without this word, 'I thank you', to a fool.
I see no reason why that dog call'd Chance,
Should fawn upon this fellow more than me;
I am a man, and I have limbs, flesh, blood,
Bones, sinews, and a soul, as well as he:
My parts are every way as good as his;
If I said better, why, I did not lie.
Nath'less, his wealth, but nodding on my wants,
Must make me bow, and cry, 'I thank you, sir'.
[ASIDE.

DELI.  Dispatch!  take heed your mistress see you not.

FIDO.  I warrant you, sir, I'll steal by her softly.
[EXIT.

DELI.  Nay, gentle friend, be merry; raise your looks
Out of your bosom:  I protest, by heaven,
You are the man most welcome in the world.

MACI.  I thank you, sir. -- I know my cue, I think.
[ASIDE.

RE-ENTER FIDO, WITH MORE PERFUMES AND FLOWERS.
FIDO.  Where will you have them burn, sir?

DELI.  Here, good Fido.
What, she did not see thee?

FIDO.  No, sir.

DELI.  That is well
Strew, strew, good Fido, the freshest flowers; so!

MACI.  What means this, signior Deliro?  all this censing?

DELI.  Cast in more frankincense, yet more; well said. --
O Macilente, I have such a wife!
So passing fair!  so passing-fair-unkind!
But of such worth, and right to be unkind,
Since no man can be worthy of her kindness --

MACI.  What, can there not?

DELI.  No, that is as sure as death,
No man alive.  I do not say, is not,
But cannot possibly be worth her kindness,
Nay, it is certain, let me do her right.
How, said I?  do her right!  as though I could,
As though this dull, gross tongue of mine could utter
The rare, the true, the pure, the infinite rights.
That sit, as high as I can look, within her!

MACI.  This is such dotage as was never heard.

DELI.  Well, this must needs be granted.

MACI.  Granted, quoth you?

DELI.  Nay, Macilente, do not so discredit
The goodness of your judgment to deny it.
For I do speak the very least of her:
And I would crave, and beg no more of Heaven,
For all my fortunes here, but to be able
To utter first in fit terms, what she is,
And then the true joys I conceive in her.

MACI.  Is't possible she should deserve so well,
As you pretend?

DELI.  Ay, and she knows so well
Her own deserts, that, when I strive t'enjoy them,
She weighs the things I do, with what she merits;
And, seeing my worth out-weigh'd so in her graces,
She is so solemn, so precise, so froward,
That no observance I can do to her
Can make her kind to me:  if she find fault,
I mend that fault; and then she says, I faulted,
That I did mend it.  Now, good friend, advise me,
How I may temper this strange spleen in her.

MACI.  You are too amorous, too obsequious,
And make her too assured she may command you.
When women doubt most of their husbands' loves,
They are most loving.  Husbands must take heed
They give no gluts of kindness to their wives,
But use them like their horses; whom they feed
But half a peck at once; and keep them so
Still with an appetite to that they give them.
He that desires to have a loving wife,
Must bridle all the show of that desire:
Be kind, not amorous; nor bewraying kindness,
As if love wrought it, but considerate duty.
Offer no love rites, but let wives still seek them,
For when they come unsought, they seldom like them.

DELI.  Believe me, Macilente, this is gospel.
O, that a man were his own man so much,
To rule himself thus.  I will strive, i'faith,
To be more strange and careless; yet I hope
I have now taken such a perfect course,
To make her kind to me, and live contented,
That I shall find my kindness well return'd,
And have no need to fight with my affections.
She late hath found much fault with every room
Within my house; one was too big, she said,
Another was not furnish'd to her mind,
And so through all; all which, now, I have alter'd.
Then here, she hath a place, on my back-side,
Wherein she loves to walk; and that, she said,
Had some ill smells about it:  now, this walk
Have I before she knows it, thus perfumed
With herbs, and flowers; and laid in divers places,
As 'twere on altars consecrate to her,
Perfumed gloves, and delicate chains of amber,
To keep the air in awe of her sweet nostrils:
This have I done, and this I think will please her.
Behold, she comes.

ENTER FALLACE.
FAL.  Here's a sweet stink indeed!
What, shall I ever be thus crost and plagued,
And sick of husband?  O, my head doth ache,
As it would cleave asunder, with these savours!
All my rooms alter'd, and but one poor walk
That I delighted in, and that is made
So fulsome with perfumes, that I am fear'd,
My brain doth sweat so, I have caught the plague!

DELI.  Why, gentle wife, is now thy walk too sweet?
Thou said'st of late, it had sour airs about it,
And found'st much fault that I did not correct it.

FAL.  Why, an I did find fault, sir?

DELI.  Nay, dear wife,
I know thou hast said thou has loved perfumes,
No woman better.

FAL.  Ay, long since, perhaps;
But now that sense is alter'd:  you would have me,
Like to a puddle, or a standing pool,
To have no motion nor no spirit within me.
No. I am like a pure and sprightly river,
That moves for ever, and yet still the same;
Or fire, that burns much wood, yet still one flame.

DELI.  But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden,
Smelling on roses, and on purple flowers;
And since, I hope, the humour of thy sense
Is nothing changed.

FAL.  Why, those were growing flowers,
And these within my walk are cut and strewed.

DELI.  But yet they have one scent.

FAL.  Ay!  have they so?
In your gross judgment.  If you make no difference
Betwixt the scent of growing flowers and cut ones,
You have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith:
And with such judgment have you changed the chambers,
Leaving no room, that I can joy to be in,
In all your house; and now my walk, and all,
You smoke me from, as if I were a fox,

And long, belike, to drive me quite away:
Well, walk you there, and I'll walk where I list.

DELI.  What shall I do?  O, I shall never please her.

MACI.  Out on thee, dotard!  what star ruled his birth,
That brought him such a Star?  blind Fortune still
Bestows her gifts on such as cannot use them:
How long shall I live, ere I be so happy
To have a wife of this exceeding form?
[ASIDE.

DELI.  Away with 'em!  would I had broke a joint
When I devised this, that should so dislike her.
Away, bear all away.
[EXIT FIDO, WITH FLOWERS, ETC.

FAL.  Ay, do; for fear
Aught that is there should like her.  O, this man,
How cunningly he can conceal himself,
As though he loved, nay, honour'd and ador'd! --

DELI.  Why, my sweet heart?

FAL.  Sweet heart!  O, better still!
And asking, why?  wherefore?  and looking strangely,
As if he were as white as innocence!
Alas, you're simple, you:  you cannot change,
Look pale at pleasure, and then red with wonder;
No, no, not you!  'tis pity o' your naturals.
I did but cast an amorous eye, e'en now,
Upon a pair of gloves that somewhat liked me,
And straight he noted it, and gave command
All should be ta'en away.

DELI.  Be they my bane then!
What, sirrah, Fido, bring in those gloves again
You took from hence.

FAL.  'Sbody, sir, but do not:
Bring in no gloves to spite me; if you do --
DELI.  Ay me, most wretched; how am I misconstrued!

MACI.  O, how she tempts my heart-strings with her eye,
To knit them to her beauties, or to break!
What mov'd the heavens, that they could not make
Me such a woman!  but a man, a beast,
That hath no bliss like others?  Would to heaven,
In wreak of my misfortunes, I were turn'd
To some fair water-nymph, that set upon
The deepest whirl-pit of the rav'nous seas,
My adamantine eyes might headlong hale
This iron world to me, and drown it all.

[ASIDE.
COR.  Behold, behold, the translated gallant.

MIT.  O, he is welcome.

ENTER FUNGOSO, APPARELLED LIKE FASTIDIOUS BRISK.
FUNG.  Save you, brother and sister; save you, sir!  I have 
commendations for you out o' the country.  I wonder they 
take no knowledge of my suit:
[ASIDE.] -- Mine uncle Sogliardo is in town.  Sister methinks 
you are melancholy; why are you so sad?  I think you took me 
for Master Fastidious Brisk, sister, did you not?

FAL.  Why should I take you for him?

FUNG.  Nay, nothing. -- I was lately in Master Fastidious's 
company, and methinks we are very like.

DELI.  You have a fair suit, brother, 'give you joy on't.

FUNG.  Faith, good enough to ride in, brother; I made it to ride in.

FAL.  O, now I see the cause of his idle demand was his new suit.

DELI.  Pray you, good brother, try if you can change her mood.

FUNG.  I warrant you, let me alone:  I'll put her out of her dumps.
Sister, how like you my suit!

FAL.  O, you are a gallant in print now, brother.

FUNG.  Faith, how like you the fashion?  it is the last edition, I assure you.

FAL.  I cannot but like it to the desert.

FUNG.  Troth, sister, I was fain to borrow these spurs, I have left my gown
in the gage for them, pray you lend me an angel.

FAL.  Now, beshrew my heart then.

FUNG.  Good truth, I'll pay you again at my next exhibition.  I had but
bare ten pound of my father, and it would not reach to put me wholly into
the fashion.

FAL.  I care not.

FUNG.  I had spurs of mine own before, but they were not ginglers.
Monsieur Fastidious will be here anon, sister.

FAL.  You jest!

FUNG.  Never lend me penny more while you live then; and that I'd be loth
to say, in truth.

FAL.  When did you see him?

FUNG.  Yesterday; I came acquainted with him at Sir Puntarvolo's:  nay,
sweet sister.

MACI.  I fain would know of heaven now, why yond fool
Should wear a suit of satin?  he?  that rook,
That painted jay, with such a deal of outside:
What is his inside, trow?  ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Good heavens, give me patience, patience, patience.
A number of these popinjays there are,
Whom, if a man confer, and but examine
Their inward merit, with such men as want;
Lord, lord, what things they are!
[ASIDE.

FAL.  [GIVES HIM MONEY.]  Come, when will you pay me again, now?

FUNG.  O lord, sister!

MACI.  Here comes another.

ENTER FASTIDIOUS BRISK, IN A NEW SUIT.
FAST.  Save you, signior Deliro!  How dost thou, sweet lady?  let me kiss thee.

FUNG.  How!  a new suit?  ah me!

DELI.  And how does master Fastidious Brisk?

FAST.  Faith, live in court, signior Deliro; in grace, I thank God, both of
the noble masculine and feminine.  I muse speak with you in private by and
by.

DELI.  When you please, sir.

FAL.  Why look you so pale, brother?

FUNG.  'Slid, all this money is cast away now.

MACI.  Ay, there's a newer edition come forth.

FUNG.  'Tis but my hard fortune!  well, I'll have my suit changed.  I'll go
fetch my tailor presently but first, I'll devise a letter to my father.
Have you any pen and ink, sister?

FAL.  What would you do withal?

FUNG.  I would use it.  'Slight, an it had come but four days sooner, the
fashion.
[EXIT.

FAST.  There was a countess gave me her hand to kiss to-day, i' the
presence:  did me more good by that light than -- and yesternight sent her
coach twice to my lodging, to intreat me accompany her, and my sweet
mistress, with some two or three nameless ladies more:  O, I have been
graced by them beyond all aim of affection:  this is her garter my dagger
hangs in:  and they do so commend and approve my apparel, with my 
judicious wearing of it, it's above wonder.

FAL.  Indeed, sir, 'tis a most excellent suit, and you do wear it as
extraordinary.

FAST.  Why, I'll tell you now, in good faith, and by this chair, which, by
the grace of God, I intend presently to sit in, I had three suits in one
year made three great ladies in love with me:  I had other three, undid
three gentlemen in imitation:  and other three gat three other gentlemen
widows of three thousand pound a year.

DELI.  Is't possible?

FAST.  O, believe it, sir; your good face is the witch, and your apparel
the spells, that bring all the pleasures of the world into their circle.

FAL.  Ah, the sweet grace of a courtier!

MACI.  Well, would my father had left me but a good face for my portion
yet!  though I had shared the unfortunate with that goes with it, I had not
cared; I might have passed for somewhat in the world then.

FAST.  Why, assure you, signior, rich apparel has strange virtues:  
it makes him that hath it without means, esteemed for an excellent wit:  
he that enjoys it with means, puts the world in remembrance of his means:  
it helps the deformities of nature, and gives lustre to her beauties; makes
continual holiday where it shines; sets the wits of ladies at work, that
otherwise would be idle; furnisheth your two-shilling ordinary; takes
possession of your stage at your new play; and enricheth your oars, as
scorning to go with your scull.

MACI.  Pray you, sir, add this; it gives respect to your fools, makes many
thieves, as many strumpets, and no fewer bankrupts.

FAL.  Out, out!  unworthy to speak where he breatheth.

FAST.  What's he, signior?

DELI.  A friend of mine, sir.

FAST.  By heaven I wonder at you citizens, what kind of creatures you are!

DELI.  Why, sir?

FAST.  That you can consort yourselves with such poor seam-rent fellows.

FAL.  He says true.

DELI.  Sir, I will assure you, however you esteem of him, he's a man worthy
of regard.

FAST.  Why, what has he in him of such virtue to be regarded, ha?

DELI.  Marry, he is a scholar, sir.

FAST.  Nothing else!

DELI.  And he is well travell'd.

FAST.  He should get him clothes; I would cherish those good parts of
travel in him, and prefer him to some nobleman of good place.

DELI.  Sir, such a benefit should bine me to you for ever, in my friend's
right; and I doubt not, but his desert shall more than answer my praise.

FAST.  Why, an he had good clothes, I'd carry him to court with me 
to-morrow.

DELI.  He shall not want for those, sir, if gold and the whole city will
furnish him.

FAST.  You say well, sir:  faith, signior Deliro, I am come to have you
play the alchemist with me, and change the species of my land into that
metal you talk of.

DELI.  With all my heart, sir; what sum will serve you?

FAST.  Faith, some three or four hundred.

DELI.  Troth, sir, I have promised to meet a gentleman this morning in
Paul's, but upon my return I'll dispatch you.

FAST.  I'll accompany you thither.

DELI.  As you please, sir; but I go not thither directly.

FAST.  'Tis no matter, I have no other designment in hand, and therefore 
as good go along.

DELI.  I were as good have a quartain fever follow me now, for I shall
ne'er be rid of him.  Bring me a cloak there, one.  Still, upon his grace
at court, I am sure to be visited; I was a beast to give him any hope.
Well, would I were in, that I am out with him once, and -- Come, signior
Macilente, I must confer with you, as we go.  Nay, dear wife, I beseech
thee, forsake these moods:  look not like winter thus.  Here, take my keys,
open my counting-houses, spread all my wealth before thee, choose any
object that delights thee:  if thou wilt eat the spirit of gold, and drink
dissolved pearl in wine, 'tis for thee.

FAL.  So, sir!

DELI.  Nay, my sweet wife.

FAL.  Good lord, how you are perfumed in your terms and all!  pray you
leave us.

DELI.  Come, gentlemen.

FAST.  Adieu, sweet lady.
[EXEUNT ALL BUT FALLACE.

FAL.  Ay, ay!  let thy words ever sound in mine ears, and thy graces
disperse contentment through all my senses!  O, how happy is that lady
above other ladies, that enjoys so absolute a gentleman to her servant!  
"A countess gives him her hand to kiss":  ah, foolish countess!  he's a 
man worthy, if a woman may speak of a man's worth, to kiss the lips 
of an empress.

RE-ENTER FUNGOSO, WITH HIS TAILOR.
FUNG.  What's master Fastidious gone, sister?

FAL.  Ay, brother. -- He has a face like a cherubin!
[ASIDE.

FUNG.  'Ods me, what luck's this?  I have fetch'd my tailor and all:  which
way went he, sister, can you tell?

FAL.  Not I, in good faith -- and he has a body like an angel!
[ASIDE.

FUNG.  How long is't since he went?

FAL.  Why, but e'en now; did you not meet him? -- and a tongue able to
ravish any woman in the earth.
[ASIDE.

FUNG.  O, for God's sake -- I'll please you for your pains, [TO HIS
TAILOR.] -- But e'en now, say you?  Come, good sir:  'slid, I had forgot it
too:  if any body ask for mine uncle Sogliardo, they shall have him at the
herald's office yonder, by Paul's
[EXIT WITH HIS TAILOR.

FAL.  Well, I will not altogether despair:  I have heard of a citizen's
wife has been beloved of a courtier; and why not I?  heigh, ho!  well, I
will into my private chamber, lock the door to me, and think over all his
good parts one after another.
[EXIT.

MIT.  Well, I doubt, this last scene will endure some grievous torture.

COR.  How?  you fear 'twill be rack'd by some hard construction?

MIT.  Do not you?

COR.  No, in good faith:  unless mine eyes could light me beyond sense. 
I see no reason why this should be more liable to the rack than the rest:
you'll say, perhaps, the city will not take it well that the merchant is
made here to doat so perfectly upon his wife; and she again to be so
'Fastidiously' affected as she is.

MIT.  You have utter'd my thought, sir, indeed.

COR.  Why, by that proportion, the court might as well take offence at him
we call the courtier, and with much more pretext, by how much the place
transcends, and goes before in dignity and virtue:  but can you imagine
that any noble or true spirit in court, whose sinewy and altogether
unaffected graces, very worthily express him a courtier, will make any
exception at the opening of such as empty trunk as this Brisk is?  or think
his own worth impeached, by beholding his motley inside?

MIT.  No, sir, I do not.

COR.  No more, assure you, will any grave, wise citizen, or modest matron,
take the object of this folly in Deliro and his wife; but rather apply it
as the foil to their own virtues.  For that were to affirm, that a man
writing of Nero, should mean all emperors; or speaking of Machiavel,
comprehend all statesmen; or in our Sordido, all farmers; and so of the
rest:  than which nothing can be uttered more malicious or absurd.  Indeed
there are a sort of these narrow-eyed decypherers, I confess, that will
extort strange and abstruse meanings out of any subject, be it never so
conspicuous and innocently delivered.  But to such, where'er they sit
concealed, let them know, the author defies them and their writing-tables;
and hopes no sound or safe judgment will infect itself with their
contagious comments, who, indeed, come here only to pervert and poison the
sense of what they hear, and for nought else.

ENTER CAVALIER SHIFT, WITH TWO SI-QUISSES (BILLS) IN HIS HAND.
MIT.  Stay, what new mute is this, that walks so suspiciously?

COR.  O, marry, this is one, for whose better illustration, we must desire
you to presuppose the stage, the middle aisle in Paul's, and that, the west
end of it.

MIT.  So, sir, and what follows?

COR.  Faith, a whole volume of humour, and worthy the unclasping.

MIT.  As how?  What name do you give him first?

COR.  He hath shift of names, sir:  some call him Apple-John, some signior
Whiffe; marry, his main standing name is cavalier Shirt:  the rest are but
as clean shirts to his natures.

MIT.  And what makes he in Paul's now?

COR.  Troth, as you see, for the advancement of a 'si quis', or two;
wherein he has so varied himself, that if any of 'em take, he may hull up
and down in the humorous world a little longer.

MIT.  It seems then he bears a very changing sail?

COR.  O, as the wind, sir:  here comes more.


----------------------------------------------

ACT III

SCENE I. -- THE MIDDLE AISLE OF ST. PAUL'S.

SHIFT. [COMING FORWARD.]  This is rare, I have set up my bills without
discovery.

[ENTER ORANGE.
ORANGE.  What, signior Whiffe!  what fortune has brought you into these
west parts?

SHIFT.  Troth, signior, nothing but your rheum; I have been taking an ounce
of tobacco hard by here, with a gentleman, and I am come to spit private in
Paul's.  'Save you, sir.

ORANGE.  Adieu, good signior Whiffe.
[PASSES ONWARD.

[ENTER CLOVE.
CLOVE.  Master Apple-John!  you are well met; when shall we sup together,
and laugh, and be fat with those good wenches, ha?

SHIFT.  Faith, sir, I must now leave you, upon a few humours and occasions;
but when you please, sir.
[EXIT.

CLOVE.  Farewell, sweet Apple-John!  I wonder there are no more store of
gallants here.

MIT.  What be these two, signior?

COR.  Marry, a couple, sir, that are mere strangers to the whole scope of
our play; only come to walk a turn or two in this scene of Paul's, by
chance.

ORANGE.  Save you, good master Clove!

CLOVE.  Sweet master Orange.

MIT.  How!  Clove and Orange?

COR.  Ay, and they are well met, for 'tis as dry an Orange as ever grew:
nothing but salutation, and "O lord, sir!" and "It pleases you to say so,
sir!"  one that can laugh at a jest for company with a most plausible and
extemporal grade; and some hour after in private ask you what it was.  The
other monsieur, Clove, is a more spiced youth; he will sit you a whole
afternoon sometimes in a bookseller's shop, reading the Greek, Italian, and
Spanish, when he understands not a word of either; if he had the tongues to
his suits, he were an excellent linguist.

CLOVE.  Do you hear this reported for certainty?

ORANGE.  O lord, sir.

[ENTER PUNTARVOLO AND CARLO, FOLLOWED BY TWO SERVING-MEN, 
ONE LEADING A DOG, THE OTHER BEARING A BAG.

PUNT.  Sirrah, take my cloak; and you, sir knave, follow me closer.  If
thou losest my dog, thou shalt die a dog's death; I will hang thee.

CAR.  Tut, fear him not, he's a good lean slave; he loves a dog well, I
warrant him; I see by his looks, I: -- Mass, he's somewhat like him.  'Slud
[TO THE SERVANT.] poison him, make him away with a crooked pin, or
somewhat, man; thou may'st have more security of thy life; and -- So sir;
what!  you have not put out your whole venture yet, have you?

PUNT.  No, I do want yet some fifteen or sixteen hundred pounds; but my
lady, my wife, is 'Out of her Humour', she does not now go.

CAR.  No!  how then?

PUNT.  Marry, I am now enforced to give it out, upon the return of myself,
my dog, and my cat.

CAR.  Your cat!  where is she?

PUNT.  My squire has her there, in the bag; sirrah, look to her.  How
lik'st thou my change, Carlo?

CAR.  Oh, for the better, sir; your cat has nine lives, and your wife has
but one.

PUNT.  Besides, she will never be sea-sick, which will save me so much in
conserves.  When saw you signior Sogliardo?

CAR.  I came from him but now; he is at the herald's office yonder; he
requested me to go afore, and take up a man or two for him in Paul's,
against his cognisance was ready.

PUNT.  What, has he purchased arms, then?

CAR.  Ay, and rare ones too; of as many colours as e'er you saw any fool's
coat in your life.  I'll go look among yond' bills, an I can fit him with
legs to his arms.

PUNT.  With legs to his arms!  Good!  I will go with you, sir.
[THEY GO TO READ THE BILLS.

ENTER FASTIDIOUS, DELIRO, AND MACILENTE.
FAST.  Come, let's walk in Mediterraneo:  I assure you, sir, I am not the
least respected among ladies; but let that pass:  do you know how to go
into the presence, sir?

MACI.  Why, on my feet, sir.

FAST.  No, on your head, sir; for 'tis that must bear you out, I assure
you; as thus, sir.  You must first have an especial care so to wear your
hat, that it oppress not confusedly this your predominant, or foretop;
because, when you come at the presence-door, you may with once or twice
stroking up your forehead, thus, enter with your predominant perfect; that
is, standing up stiff.

MACI.  As if one were frighted?

FAST.  Ay, sir.

MACI.  Which, indeed, a true fear of your mistress should do, rather than
gum-water, or whites of eggs; is't not so, sir?

FAST.  An ingenious observation.  Give me leave to crave your name, sir?

DELI.  His name is Macilente, sir.

FAST.  Good signior Macilente, if this gentleman, signior Deliro, furnish
you, as he says he will, with clothes, I will bring you, to-morrow by this
time, into the presence of the most divine and acute lady in court; you
shall see sweet silent rhetorick, and dumb eloquence speaking in her eye,
but when she speaks herself, such an anatomy of wit, so sinewised and
arterised, that 'tis the goodliest model of pleasure that ever was to
behold.  Oh!  she strikes the world into admiration of her; O, O, O!  I
cannot express them, believe me.

MACI.  O, your only admiration is your silence, sir.

PUNT.  'Fore God, Carlo, this is good!  let's read them again.
[READS THE BILL.
"If there be any lady or gentlewoman of good carriage that is desirous to
entertain to her private uses, a young, straight, and upright gentleman, of
the age of five or six and twenty at the most; who can serve in the nature
of a gentleman-usher, and hath little legs of purpose, and a black satin
suit of his own, to go before her in; which suit, for the more sweetening,
now lies in lavender; and can hide his face with her fan, if need require;
or sit in the cold at the stair foot for her, as well as another gentleman:
let her subscribe her name and place, and diligent respect shall be given."

PUNT.  This is above measure excellent, ha!

CAR.  No, this, this!  here's a fine slave.
[READS.
"If this city, or the suburbs of the same, do afford any young gentleman of
the first, second, or third head, more or less, whose friends are but
lately deceased, and whose lands are but new come into his hands, that, 
to be as exactly qualified as the best of our ordinary gallants are, is
affected to entertain the most gentleman-like use of tobacco; as first, to
give it the most exquisite perfume; then, to know all the delicate sweet
forms for the assumption of it; as also the rare corollary and practice of
the Cuban ebolition, euripus and whiff, which he shall receive or take in
here at London, and evaporate at Uxbridge, or farther, if it please him.
If there be any such generous spirit, that is truly enamoured of these good
faculties; may it please him, but by a note of his hand to specify the
place or ordinary where he uses to eat and lie; and most sweet attendance,
with tobacco and pipes of the best sort, shall be ministered.  'Stet,
quaeso, candide Lector.'"

PUNT.  Why, this is without parallel, this.

CAR.  Well, I'll mark this fellow for Sogliardo's use presently.

PUNT.  Or rather, Sogliardo, for his use.

CAR.  Faith, either of them will serve, they are both good properties:
I'll design the other a place too, that we may see him.

PUNT.  No better place than the Mitre, that we may be spectators with you,
Carlo.  Soft, behold who enters here:
ENTER SOGLIARDO.
Signior Sogliardo!  save you.

SOG.  Save you, good sir Puntarvolo; your dog's in health, sir, I see:  How
now, Carlo?

CAR.  We have ta'en simple pains, to choose you out followers here.
[SHOWS HIM THE BILLS.

PUNT.  Come hither, signior.

CLOVE.  Monsieur Orange, yon gallants observe us; prithee let's talk
fustian a little, and gull them; make them believe we are great scholars.

ORANGE.  O lord, sir!

CLOVE.  Nay, prithee let us, believe me, -- you have an excellent habit in
discourse.

ORANGE.  It pleases you to say so, sir.

CLOVE.  By this church, you have, la; nay, come, begin -- Aristotle, in his
daemonologia, approves Scaliger for the best navigator in his time; and in
his hypercritics, he reports him to be Heautontimorumenos: -- you
understand the Greek, sir?

ORANGE.  O, good sir!

MACI.  For society's sake he does.  O, here be a couple of fine tame parrots!

CLOVE.  Now, sir, whereas the ingenuity of the time and the soul's
synderisis are but embrions in nature, added to the panch of Esquiline, and
the inter-vallum of the zodiac, besides the ecliptic line being optic, and
not mental, but by the contemplative and theoric part thereof, doth
demonstrate to us the vegetable circumference, and the ventosity of the
tropics, and whereas our intellectual, or mincing capreal (according to the
metaphysicks) as you may read in Plato's Histriomastix -- You conceive me
sir?

ORANGE.  O lord, sir!

CLOVE.  Then coming to the pretty animal, as reason long since is fled to
animals, you know, or indeed for the more modelising, or enamelling, or
rather diamondising of your subject, you shall perceive the hypothesis, or
galaxia, (whereof the meteors long since had their initial inceptions and
notions,) to be merely Pythagorical, mathematical, and aristocratical --
For, look you, sir, there is ever a kind of concinnity and species -- Let
us turn to our former discourse, for they mark us not.

FAST.  Mass, yonder's the knight Puntarvolo.

DELI.  And my cousin Sogliardo, methinks.

MACI.  Ay, and his familiar that haunts him, the devil with the shining face.

DELI.  Let 'em alone, observe 'em not.
[SOGLIARDO, PUNTARVOLO, AND CARLO, WALK TOGETHER.

SOG.  Nay, I will have him, I am resolute for that.  By this parchment,
gentlemen, I have been so toiled among the harrots yonder, you will not
believe!  they do speak in the strangest language, and give a man the
hardest terms for his money, that ever you knew.

CAR.  But have you arms, have you arms?

SOG.  I'faith, I thank them; I can write myself gentleman now; here's my
patent, it cost me thirty pound, by this breath.

PUNT.  A very fair coat, well charged, and full of armory.

SOG.  Nay, it has as much variety of colours in it, as you have seen a coat
have; how like you the crest, sir?

PUNT.  I understand it not well, what is't?

SOG.  Marry, sir, it is your boar without a head, rampant.  A boar without
a head, that's very rare!

CAR.  Ay, and rampant too!  troth, I commend the herald's wit, he has
decyphered him well:  a swine without a head, without brain, wit, anything
indeed, ramping to gentility.  You can blazon the rest, signior, can you
not?

SOG.  O, ay, I have it in writing here of purpose; it cost me two shilling
the tricking.

CAR.  Let's hear, let's hear.

PUNT.  It is the most vile, foolish, absurd, palpable, and ridiculous
escutcheon that ever this eye survised. -- Save you, good monsieur
Fastidious.
[THEY SALUTE AS THEY MEET IN THE WALK.

COR.  Silence, good knight; on, on.

SOG.  [READS.]  "Gyrony of eight pieces; azure and gules; between three
plates, a chevron engrailed checquy, or, vert, and ermins; on a chief
argent, between two ann'lets sable, a boar's head, proper."

CAR.  How's that!  on a chief argent?

SOG.  [READS.] "On a chief argent, a boar's head proper, between two
ann'lets sable."

CAR.  'Slud, it's a hog's cheek and puddings in a pewter field, this.
[HERE THEY SHIFT.  FASTIDIOUS MIXES WITH PUNTARVOLO; 
CARLO AND SOGLIARDO; DELIRO AND MACILENTE; CLOVE AND 
ORANGE; FOUR COUPLE.

SOG.  How like you them, signior?

PUNT.  Let the word be, 'Not without mustard': your crest is very rare, sir.

CAR.  A frying-pan to the crest, had had no fellow.

FAST.  Intreat your poor friend to walk off a little, signior, I will
salute the knight.

CAR.  Come, lap it up, lap it up.

FAST.  You are right well encounter'd, sir; how does your fair dog?

PUNT.  In reasonable state, sir; what citizen is that you were consorted
with?  A merchant of any worth?

FAST.  'Tis signior Deliro, sir.

PUNT.  Is it he? -- Save you, sir!
[THEY SALUTE.

DELI.  Good sir Puntarvolo!

MACI.  O what copy of fool would this place minister, to one endued with
patience to observe it!

CAR.  Nay, look you, sir, now you are a gentleman, you must carry a more
exalted presence, change your mood and habit to a more austere form; be
exceeding proud, stand upon your gentility, and scorn every man; speak
nothing humbly, never discourse under a nobleman, though you never saw him
but riding to the star-chamber, it's all one.  Love no man:  trust no man:
speak ill of no man to his face; nor well of any man behind his back.
Salute fairly on the front, and wish them hanged upon the turn.  Spread
yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.
These be principles, think on them; I'll come to you again presently.
[EXIT.

PUNT. [TO HIS SERVANT.]  Sirrah, keep close; yet not so close:  thy breath
will thaw my ruff.

SOG.  O, good cousin, I am a little busy, how does my niece?  I am to walk
with a knight, here.

ENTER FUNGOSO WITH HIS TAILOR.
FUNG.  O, he is here; look you, sir, that's the gentleman.

TAI.  What, he in the blush-coloured satin?

FUNG.  Ay, he, sir; though his suit blush, he blushes not, look you, that's
the suit, sir:  I would have mine such a suit without difference, such
stuff, such a wing, such a sleeve, such a skirt, belly and all; therefore,
pray you observe it.  Have you a pair of tables?

FAST.  Why, do you see, sir, they say I am fantastical; why, true, I know
it, and I pursue my humour still, in contempt of this censorious age.
'Slight, an a man should do nothing but what a sort of stale judgments
about him this town will approve in him, he were a sweet ass:  I'd beg him,
i'faith.  I ne'er knew any more find fault with a fashion, than they that
knew not how to put themselves into it.  For mine own part, so I please
mine own appetite, I am careless what the fusty world speaks of me.  Puh!

FUNG.  Do you mark, how it hangs at the knee there?

TAI.  I warrant you, sir.

FUNG.  For God's sake do, not all; do you see the collar, sir?

TAI.  Fear nothing, it shall not differ in a stitch, sir.

FUNG.  Pray heaven it do not!  you'll make these linings serve, and help me
to a chapman for the outside, will you?

TAI.  I'll do my best, sir:  you'll put it off presently.

FUNG.  Ay, go with me to my chamber you shall have it -- but make haste of
it, for the love of a customer; for I'll sit in my old suit, or else lie a
bed, and read the 'Arcadia' till you have done.
[EXIT WITH HIS TAILOR.

RE-ENTER CARLO.
CAR.  O, if ever you were struck with a jest, gallants, now, now, now, I do
usher the most strange piece of military profession that ever was
discovered in 'Insula Paulina'.

FAST.  Where?  where?

PUNT.  What is he for a creature?

CAR.  A pimp, a pimp, that I have observed yonder, the rarest superficies
of a humour; he comes every morning to empty his lungs in Paul's here; and
offers up some five or six hecatombs of faces and sighs, and away again.
Here he comes; nay, walk, walk, be not seen to note him, and we shall have
excellent sport.

ENTER SHIFT; AND WALKS BY, USING ACTION TO HIS RAPIER.
PUNT.  'Slid, he vented a sigh e'en now, I thought he would have blown up
the church.

CAR.  O, you shall have him give a number of those false fires ere he depart.

FAST.  See, now he is expostulating with his rapier:  look, look!

CAR.  Did you ever in your days observe better passion over a hilt?

PUNT.  Except it were in the person of a cutlet's boy, or that the fellow
were nothing but vapour, I should think it impossible.

CAR.  See again, he claps his sword o' the head, as who should say, well,
go to.

FAST.  O violence!  I wonder the blade can contain itself, being so provoked.

CAR.  "With that the moody squire thumpt his breast,
And rear'd his eyen to heaven for revenge."

SOG.  Troth, an you be good gentlemen, let's make them friends, and take up
the matter between his rapier and him.

CAR.  Nay, if you intend that, you must lay down the matter; for this
rapier, it seems, is in the nature of a hanger-on, and the good gentleman
would happily be rid of him.

FAST.  By my faith, and 'tis to be suspected; I'll ask him.

MACI.  O, here's rich stuff!  for life's sake, let us go:
A man would wish himself a senseless pillar,
Rather than view these monstrous prodigies:
"Nil habet infelix paupertas durius in se,
Quam quod ridiculos homines facit --"
[EXIT WITH DELIRO.

FAST.  Signior.

SHIFT.  At your service.

FAST.  Will you sell your rapier?

CAR.  He is turn'd wild upon the question; he looks as he had seen a serjeant.

SHIFT.  Sell my rapier!  now fate bless me!

PUNT.  Amen.

SHIFT.  You ask'd me if I would sell my rapier, sir?

FAST.  I did indeed.

SHIFT.  Now, lord have mercy upon me!

PUNT.  Amen, I say still.

SHIFT.  'Slid, sir, what should you behold in my face, sir, that should
move you, as they say, sir, to ask me, sir, if I would sell my rapier?

FAST.  Nay, let me pray you sir, be not moved:  I protest, I would rather
have been silent, than any way offensive, had I known your nature.

SHIFT.  Sell my rapier?  'ods lid! -- Nay, sir, for mine own part, as I am
a man that has serv'd in causes, or so, so I am not apt to injure any
gentleman in the degree of falling foul, but -- sell my rapier!  I will
tell you, sir, I have served with this foolish rapier, where some of us
dare not appear in haste; I name no man; but let that pass.  Sell my
rapier! -- death to my lungs!  This rapier, sir, has travell'd by my side,
sir, the best part of France, and the Low Country:  I have seen Flushing,
Brill, and the Hague, with this rapier, sir, in my Lord of Leicester's
time; and by God's will, he that should offer to disrapier me now, I would
-- Look you, sir, you presume to be a gentleman of sort, and so likewise
your friends here; if you have any disposition to travel for the sight of
service, or so, one, two, or all of you, I can lend you letters to divers
officers and commanders in the Low Countries, that shall for my cause do
you all the good offices, that shall pertain or belong to gentleman of your
---- [LOWERING HIS VOICE.]  Please you to shew the bounty of your mind,
sir, to impart some ten groats, or half a crown to our use, till our
ability be of growth to return it, and we shall think oneself ---- 'Sblood!
sell my rapier!

SOG.  I pray you, what said he, signior?  he's a proper man.

FAST.  Marry, he tells me, if I please to shew the bounty of my mind, to
impart some ten groats to his use, or so --

PUNT.  Break his head, and give it him.

CAR.  I thought he had been playing o' the Jew's trump, I.

SHIFT.  My rapier!  no, sir; my rapier is my guard, my defence, my revenue,
my honour; -- if you cannot impart, be secret, I beseech you -- and I will
maintain it, where there is a grain of dust, or a drop of water.  [SIGHS.]
Hard is the choice when the valiant must eat their arms, or clem.  Sell my
rapier!  no, my dear, I will not be divorced from thee, yet; I have ever
found thee true as steel, and -- You cannot impart, sir? -- Save you,
gentlemen; -- nevertheless, if you have a fancy to it, sir --

FAST.  Prithee away:  Is signior Deliro departed?

CAR.  Have you seen a pimp outface his own wants better?

SOG.  I commend him that can dissemble them so well.

PUNT.  True, and having no better a cloak for it than he has neither.

FAST.  Od's precious, what mischievous luck is this!  adieu, gentlemen.

PUNT.  Whither in such haste, monsieur Fastidious?

FAST.  After my merchant, signior Deliro, sir.
[EXIT.

CAR.  O hinder him not, he may hap lose his title; a good flounder, i'faith.
[ORANGE AND CLOVE CALL SHIFT ASIDE.

CAR.  How!  signior Whiffe?

ORANGE.  What was the difference between that gallant that's gone and 
you, sir?

SHIFT.  No difference; he would have given me five pound for my rapier, and
I refused it; that's all.

CLOVE.  O, was it no otherwise?  we thought you had been upon some terms.

SHIFT.  No other than you saw, sir.

CLOVE.  Adieu, good master Apple-John.
[EXIT WITH ORANGE.

CAR.  How!  Whiffe, and Apple-John too?  Heart, what will you say if this
be the appendix or label to both you indentures?

PUNT.  It may be.

CAR.  Resolve us of it, Janus, thou that look'st every way; or thou,
Hercules, that has travelled all countries.


PUNT.  Nay, Carlo, spend not time in invocations now, 'tis late.

CAR.  Signior, here's a gentleman desirous of your name, sir.

SHIFT.  Sir, my name is cavalier Shift:  I am known sufficiently in this
walk, sir.

CAR.  Shift!  I heard your name varied even now, as I take it.

SHIFT.  True, sir, it pleases the world, as I am her excellent tobacconist,
to give me the style of signior Whiffe; as I am a poor esquire about the
town here, they call me master Apple-John.  Variety of good names does
well, sir.

CAR.  Ay, and good parts, to make those good names; out of which I imagine
yon bills to be yours.

SHIFT.  Sir, if I should deny the manuscripts, I were worthy to be banish'd
the middle aisle for ever.

CAR.  I take your word, sir:  this gentleman has subscribed to them, and is
most desirous to become your pupil.  Marry, you must use expedition.
Signior Insulso Sogliardo, this is the professor.

SOG.  In good time, sir:  nay, good sir, house your head; do you profess
these sleights in tobacco?

SHIFT.  I do more than profess, sir, and, if you please to be a
practitioner, I will undertake in one fortnight to bring you, that you
shall take it plausibly in any ordinary, theatre, or the Tilt-yard, if need
be, in the most popular assembly that is.

PUNT.  But you cannot bring him to the whiffe so soon?

SHIFT.  Yes, as soon, sir; he shall receive the first, second, and third
whiffe, if it please him, and, upon the receipt, take his horse, drink his
three cups of canary, and expose one at Hounslow, a second at Stains, 
and a third at Bagshot.

CAR.  Baw-waw!

SOG.  You will not serve me, sir, will you?  I'll give you more than
countenance.

SHIFT.  Pardon me, sir, I do scorn to serve any man.

CAR.  Who!  he serve?  'sblood, he keeps high men, and low men, he!  he has
a fair living at Fullam.

SHIFT.  But in the nature of a fellow, I'll be your follower, if you please.

SOG.  Sir, you shall stay, and dine with me, and if we can agree, we'll not
part in haste:  I am very bountiful to men of quality.  Where shall we go,
signior?

PUNT.  Your Mitre is your best house.

SHIFT.  I can make this dog take as many whiffes as I list, and he shall
retain, or effume them, at my pleasure.

PUNT.  By your patience, follow me, fellows.

SOG.  Sir Puntarvolo!

PUNT.  Pardon me, my dog shall not eat in his company for a million.
[EXIT WITH HIS SERVANTS.

CAR.  Nay, be not you amazed, signior Whiffe, whatever that stiff-necked
gentleman says.

SOG.  No, for you do not know the humour of the dog, as we do:  Where 
shall we dine, Carlo?  I would fain go to one of these ordinaries, now I am 
a gentleman.

CAR.  So you may; were you never at any yet?

SOG.  No, faith; but they say there resorts your most choice gallants.

CAR.  True, and the fashion is, when any stranger comes in amongst 'em,
they all stand up and stare at him, as he were some unknown beast, 
brought out of Africk; but that will be helped with a good adventurous face.  
You must be impudent enough, sit down, and use no respect:  when 
anything's propounded above your capacity smile at it, make two or three 
faces, and 'tis excellent; they'll think you have travell'd; though you argue, 
a whole day, in silence thus, and discourse in nothing but laughter, 
'twill pass. Only, now and then, give fire, discharge a good full oath, and 
offer a great wager; 'twill be admirable.

SOG.  I warrant you, I am resolute; come, good signior, there's a poor
French crown for your ordinary.

SHIFT.  It comes well, for I had not so much as the least portcullis of
coin before.

MIT.  I travail with another objection, signior, which I fear will be
enforced against the author, ere I can be deliver'd of it.

COR.  What's that sir?

MIT.  That the argument of his comedy might have been of some other nature,
as of a duke to be in love with a countess, and that countess to be in love
with the duke's son, and the son to love the lady's waiting maid; some such
cross wooing, with a clown to their servingman, better than to be thus
near, and familiarly allied to the time.

COR.  You say well, but I would fain hear one of these autumn-judgments
define once, "Quid sit comoedia?" if he cannot, let him content himself
with Cicero's definition, till he have strength to propose to himself a
better, who would have a comedy to be 'imitatio vitae, speculum
consuetudinis, imago veritatis'; a thing throughout pleasant and
ridiculous, and accommodated to the correction of manners:  if the maker
have fail'd in any particle of this, they may worthily tax him; but if not,
why -- be you, that are for them, silent, as I will be for him; and give
way to the actors.


SCENE II. -- THE COUNTRY.

ENTER SORDIDO, WITH A HALTER ABOUT HIS NECK.

SORD.  Nay, God's precious, if the weather and season be so respectless,
that beggars shall live as well as their betters; and that my hunger and
thirst for riches shall not make them hunger and thirst with poverty; that
my sleep shall be broken, and their hearts not broken; that my coffers
shall be full, and yet care; their's empty, and yet merry; -- 'tis time
that a cross should bear flesh and blood, since flesh and blood cannot bear
this cross.

MIT.  What, will he hang himself?

COR.  Faith, ay; it seems his prognostication has not kept touch with him,
and that makes him despair.

MIT.  Beshrew me, he will be 'out of his humour' then indeed.

SORD.  Tut, these star-monger knaves, who would trust them?  One says dark
and rainy, when 'tis as clear as chrystal; another says, tempestuous blasts
and storms, and 'twas as calm as a milk-bowl; here be sweet rascals for a
man to credit his whole fortunes with!  You sky-staring coxcombs you, you
fat-brains, out upon you; you are good for nothing but to sweat night-caps,
and make rug-gowns dear!  you learned men, and have not a legion of devils
'a votre service!  a votre service!'  by heaven, I think I shall die a
better scholar than they:  but soft --
ENTER A HIND, WITH A LETTER.
How now, sirrah?

HIND.  Here's a letter come from your son, sir.

SORD.  From my son, sir!  what would my son, sir?  some good news, no doubt.
[READS.
"Sweet and dear father, desiring you first to send me your blessing, which
is more worth to me than gold or silver, I desire you likewise to be
advertised, that this Shrove-tide, contrary to custom, we use always to
have revels; which is indeed dancing, and makes an excellent shew in truth;
especially if we gentlemen be well attired, which our seniors note, and
think the better of our fathers, the better we are maintained, and that
they shall know if they come up, and have anything to do in the law;
therefore, good father, these are, for your own sake as well as mine, to
re-desire you, that you let me not want that which is fit for the setting
up of our name, in the honourable volume of gentility, that I may say to
our calumniators, with Tully, 'Ego sum ortus domus meae, tu occasus tuae.'
And thus, not doubting of your fatherly benevolence, I humbly ask your
blessing, and pray God to bless you.
Yours, if his own," [FUNGOSO.]
How's this!  "Yours, if his own!"  Is he not my son, except he be his own
son?  belike this is some new kind of subscription the gallants use.  Well!
wherefore dost thou stay, knave?  away; go.
[EXIT HIND.]
Here's a letter, indeed!  revels?  and benevolence?  is this a weather to
send benevolence?  or is this a season to revel in?  'Slid, the devil and
all takes part to vex me, I think!  this letter would never have come now
else, now, now, when the sun shines, and the air thus clear.  Soul!  If
this hold, se shall shortly have an excellent crop of corn spring out of
the high ways:  the streets and houses of the town will be hid with the
rankness of the fruits, that grow there in spite of good husbandry.  Go to,
I'll prevent the sight of it, come as quickly as it can, I will prevent the
sight of it.  I have this remedy, heaven.
[CLAMBERS UP, AND SUSPENDS THE HALTER TO A TREE.]
Stay; I'll try the pain thus a little.  O, nothing, nothing.  Well now!
shall my son gain a benevolence by my death?  or anybody be the better for
my gold, or so forth?  no; alive I kept it from them, and dead, my ghost
shall walk about it, and preserve it.  My son and daughter shall starve ere
they touch it; I have hid it as deep as hell from the sight of heaven, and
to it I go now.
[FLINGS HIMSELF OFF.

ENTER FIVE OR SIX RUSTICS, ONE AFTER ANOTHER.

1 RUST.  Ah me, what pitiful sight is this!  help, help, help!

2 RUST.  How now!  what's the matter?

1 RUST.  O, here's a man has hang'd himself, help to get him again.

2 RUST.  Hang'd himself!  'Slid, carry him afore a justice, 'tis
chance-medley, o' my word.

3 RUST.  How now, what's here to do?

4 RUST.  How comes this?

2 RUST.  One has executed himself, contrary to order of law, and by my
consent he shall answer it.
[THEY CUT HIM DOWN.

5 RUST.  Would he were in case to answer it!

1 RUST.  Stand by, he recovers, give him breath.

SORD.  Oh!

5 RUST.  Mass, 'twas well you went the footway, neighbour.

1 RUST.  Ay, an I had not cut the halter --

SORD.  How!  cut the halter!  ah me, I am undone, I am undone!

2 RUST.  Marry, if you had not been undone, you had been hang'd.  I can
tell you.

SORD.  You thread-bare, horse-bread-eating rascals, if you would needs have
been meddling, could you not have untied it, but you must cut it; and in
the midst too!  ah me!

1 RUST.  Out on me, 'tis the caterpillar Sordido!  how curst are the poor,
that the viper was blest with this good fortune!

2 RUST.  Nay, how accurst art thou, that art cause to the curse of the poor?

3 RUST.  Ay, and to save so wretched a caitiff?

4 RUST.  Curst be thy fingers that loos'd him!

2 RUST.  Some desperate fury possess thee, that thou may'st hang thyself too!

5 RUST.  Never may'st thou be saved, that saved so damn'd a monster!

SORD.  What curses breathe these men!  how have my deeds
Made my looks differ from another man's,
That they should thus detest and loath my life!
Out on my wretched humour!  it is that
Makes me thus monstrous in true humane eyes.
Pardon me, gentle friends, I'll make fair 'mends
For my foul errors past, and twenty-fold
Restore to all men, what with wrong I robb'd them:
My barns and garners shall stand open still
To all the poor that come, and my best grain
Be made alms-bread, to feed half-famish'd mouths.
Though hitherto amongst you I have lived,
Like an unsavoury muck-hill to myself,
Yet now my gather'd heaps being spread abroad,
Shall turn to better and more fruitful uses.
Bless then this man, curse him no more for the saving
My life and soul together.  O how deeply
The bitter curses of the poor do pierce!
I am by wonder changed; come in with me
And witness my repentance:  now I prove,
No life is blest, that is not graced with love.
[EXIT.

2 RUST.  O miracle!  see when a man has grace!

3 RUST.  Had it not been pity so good a man should have been cast away?

2 RUST.  Well, I'll get our clerk put his conversion in the 'Acts and
Monuments'.

4 RUST.  Do, for I warrant him he's a martyr.

2 RUST.  O God, how he wept, if you mark'd it!  did you see how the tears
trill'd?

5 RUST.  Yes, believe me, like master vicar's bowls upon the green, for all
the world.

3 RUST.  O neighbour, God's blessing o' your heart, neighbour, 'twas a good
grateful deed.
[EXEUNT.

COR.  How now, Mitis!  what's that you consider so seriously?

MIT.  Troth, that which doth essentially please me, the warping condition
of this green and soggy multitude; but in good faith, signior, your author
hath largely outstript my expectation in this scene, I will liberally
confess it.  For when I saw Sordido so desperately intended, I thought I
had had a hand of him, then.

COR.  What!  you supposed he should have hung himself indeed?

MIT.  I did, and had framed my objection to  it ready, which may yet be
very fitly urged, and with some necessity; for though his purposed violence
lost the effect, and extended not to death, yet the intent and horror of
the object was more than the nature of a comedy will in any sort admit.

COR.  Ay!  what think you of Plautus, in his comedy called 'Cistellaria'?
there, where he brings in Alcesimarchus with a drum sword ready to kill
himself, and as he is e'en fixing his breast upon it, to be restrained from
his resolved outrage, by Silenium and the bawd?  Is not his authority of
power to give our scene approbation?

MIT.  Sir, I have this only evasion left me, to say, I think it be so
indeed; your memory is happier than mine:  but I wonder, what engine he
will use to bring the rest out of their humours!

COR.  That will appear anon, never pre-occupy your imagination withal.  Let
your mind keep company with the scene still, which now removes itself from
the country to the court.  Here comes Macilente, and signior Brisk freshly
suited; lose not yourself, for now the epitasis, or busy part of our
subject, is an act.


SCENE III. -- AN APARTMENT AT THE COURT

ENTER MACILENTE, FASTIDIOUS, BOTH IN A NEW SUIT, 
AND CINEDO, WITH TOBACCO.

FAST.  Well, now signior Macilente, you are not only welcome to the court,
but also to my mistress's withdrawing c