any art to mend breath, cleanse teeth, repair eye-brows; paint, and profess it. Cler. How? publicly? Tru. The doing of it, not the manner: that must be private. Many things, that seem foul i' the doing, do please, done. A lady should, indeed, study her face, when we think she sleeps; nor when the doors are shut, should men be enquiring; all is sacred within, then. Is it for us to see their perukes put on, their false teeth, their complexion, their eye-brows, their nails? You see gilders will not work, but inclos'd. They must not discover, how little serves, with the help of art, to adorn a great deal. How long did the canvass hang afore Aldgate? Were the people suffer'd to see the city's Love and Charity, while they were rude stone, before they were painted and burnish'd'? No: no more should servants approach their mistresses, but when they are complete, and finish'd. Cler. Well said, my True-wit. Tru. And a wise lady will keep a guard always upon the place, that she may do things securely. I once followed a rude fellow into a chamber, where the poor madam, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at her peruke to cover her baldness; and put it on the wrong way. Cler. O prodigy! Tru. And the unconscionable knave held her in compliment an hour with that reverst face, when I still look'd when she should talk from the t'other side. Cler. Why thou should'st ha' reliev'd her. Tru. No faith, I let her alone, as we'll let this argument, if you please, and pass to another. When saw you Dauphine Eu genie? Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go to him this morning? he is very melancholic, 1 hear. Tru. Sick o' the uncle? is he? I met that stiff piece of formality, his uncle, yesterday, with a huge turbant of night-caps on his head, buckled over his ears. Cler, O, that's his custom when he walks abroad. He can endure no noise, man. Tru. So I have heard. But is the disease so ridiculous in him as it is made? They say he has been upon divers treaties with the fish-wives, and orange-women; and articles propounded between them: marry, the chimney-sweepers will not be drawn in. Cler. No, nor the broom-men: they stand out stiffly. He cannot endure a costard-monger, he swoons if he hear one. Tru. Methinks a smith should be ominous. Cler. Or any hammer-man. A brazier is not suffer'd to dwell in the parish, nor an armourer. He would have hang'd a pewterer's 'prentice once on a ShroveTuesday's riot, for being o' that trade, when the rest were quiet'. Tru. A trumpet should fright him terribly, or the hau'boys. Cler. Out of his senses. The waights of the city have a pension of him not to come near that ward. This youth practis'd on him one night like the bellman; and never left till he had brought him down to the door, with a long sword; and there left him flourishing with the air. Boy. Why, sir, he hath chosen a street to lie in, so narrow at both ends, that it will receive no coaches, nor carts, nor any of these common noises: and therefore we that love him, devise to bring him in such as we may, now and then, for his exercise, to breathe him. He would grow resty else in his ease: his virtue would rust without action. I entreated a bear-ward, one day, to come down with the dogs of some four parishes that way, and I thank him he did; and cried his games under master Morose's window: till he was sent crying away, with his head made a most bleeding spectacle to the multitude. And, another time, a fencer marching to his prize, had his drum most tragically run through, for taking that street in his way, at my request. Tru. A good wag. How does he for the bells? Cler. O, i' the Queen's time, he was wont to go out of town every Saturday at ten o'clock, or on holy-day eves. But now, by reason of the sickness, the perpetuity of ringing has made him devise a room, with 'Gilders will not work but inclos'd-How long did the canvass hang afore ALDGATE? Were the people suffer'd to see the city's Love and CHARITY, while they were rude stone, before they were painted and burnish'd?] The poet, with Ovid in his eye, alludes to his own times: Aurea quæ pendent ornato signa theatro; The city's Love and Charity were images set up in the front of Aldgate, which Stow, I think tells us was upwards of two years in building. 6 I once followed a rude fellow into a chamber, where the poor madam, for haste, snatched at her peruke, and put it on the wrong way.] This and what follows, as Mr. Upton observes, is improved with comic humour from the following; Dictus eram cuidam subito venisse puellæ, Turbida perversas induit illa comas. "For being o' that trade, when the rest were QUIET.] The old copies read quit, i. e. discharged from working, and gone to divert themselves. Daup. Marry, that he will disinherit me. No more. He thinks, I, and my company, are authors of all the ridiculous acts and monuments are told of him. Tru. 'Slid, I would be the author of more to vex him; that purpose deserves it: it gives thee law of plaguing him. I'll tell thee what I would do. I would make a false almanack, get it printed; and then ha' him drawn out on a coronation-day to the Tower-wharf, and kill him with the noise of the ordnance. Disinherit thee! he cannot, man. Art not thou next of blood, and his sister's son? Daup. I, but he will thrust me out of it, he vows, and marry. Tru. How! that's a more portent'. Can he endure no noise, and will venture on a wife? Cler. Yes, why thou art a stranger, it seems, to his best trick, yet. He has employ'd a fellow this half year all over England to hearken him out a dumb woman; be she of any form, or any quality, so she be able to bear children: her silence is dowry enough, he says. Tru. But I trust to God he has found none. Cler. No, but he has heard of one that's lodg'd i' the next street to him, who is exceedingly soft-spoken; thrifty of her speech; that spends but six words a-day. And her he's about now, and shall have her. Cler. Marry, a barber; one Cutbeard, an honest fellow, one that tells Dauphine all here. Tru. Why, you oppress me with wonder! a woman, and a barber, and love no noise! Cler. Yes, faith. The fellow trims him silently, and has not the knack with his sheers or his fingers : and that continency in a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of his counsel. Tru. Is the barber to be seen? or the wench? Cler. Yes, that they are. Tru. I pr'y thee, Dauphine, let's go thi ther. Cler. I have some business now: I can not i' faith. Tru. You shall have no business shall make you neglect this, sir: we'll make her talk, believe it; or if she will not, we can give out, at least so much as shall interrupt the treaty: we will break it. Thou art bound in conscience, when he suspects thee without cause, to torment him. Daup. Not I, by any means. I'll give no suffrage to't. He shall never have that plea against me, that I opposed the least phant'sy of his. Let it lie upon my stars to be guilty, I'll be innocent. Tru. Yes, and be poor, and beg; do, innocent: when some groom of his has got him an heir, or this barber, if he himself cannot. Innocent! I pr'y thee, Ned, where lies she? let him be innocent still. Cler. Why, right over against the barber's; in the house where sir John Daw lies. Tru. You do not mean to confound me! Cler. Why? Tru. Does he that would marry her know so much? He thinks I, and my company, are authors of all the ridiculous acts AND MONUMENTS are told of him.] Mr. Upton imagines that, by the acts and monuments, the poet hints at Fox's book, as he plainly had done before in Every man out of his humour. The audience, by these descriptions of Morose, are well prepared for him when he makes his entrance. The poet has taken pains to bring us acquainted with his principal characters, before they make their appearance in person: and this rule he learnt by conversing with his classic masters. What is said with regard to the character of Morose, is equally true, when ap plied to those of Daw, La-Foole, and the collegiate ladies; all which we hear described before we see them. That's a MORE portent.] A greater prodigy: much and more had these acceptations in our author's days. Cler. Why? I thought you two had been upon very good terms. Tru. Yes, of keeping distance. Cler. They say, he is a very good scholar. Tru. I, and he says it first. A pox on him, a fellow that pretends only to learning, buys titles, and nothing else of books in him. Cler. The world reports him to be very learned. Tru. I am sorry, the world should so conspire to belie him. Cler. Good faith, I have heard very good things come from him. Tru. You may. There's none so desperately ignorant, to deny that: would they were his own. God b' w' you, gentlemen. Cler. This is very abrupt ! SCENE III. Dauphine, Clerimont, Boy. Daup. Come, you are a strange open. man, to tell every thing thus. Cler. Why, believe it, Dauphine, Truewit's a very honest fellow. Daup. I think no other: but this frank nature of his is not for secrets. Cler. Nay then, you are mistaken, Dauphine I know where he has been well trusted, and discharg'd the trust very truly, and heartily. Daup. I contend not, Ned; but with the fewer a business is carried, it is ever the safer. Now we are alone, if you'll go thither, I am for you. Cler. When were you there? Daup. Last night: and such a decameron of sport fallen out, Boccace never thought of the like. Daw does nothing but court her; and the wrong way. He would lie with her, and praises her modesty; desires that she would talk, and be free, and commends her silence in verses; which he reads and swears are the best that ever man made. Then rails at his fortunes, stamps, and mutinies, why he is not made a counsellor, and call'd to affairs of state. Cler. I pr'ythee let's go. I would fain partake this. Some water, boy. Daup. We are invited to dinner together, he and I, by one that came thither to him, Sir La-Foole. Cler. O, that's a precious mannikin. Cler. I, and he will know you too, if e'er he saw you but once, tho' you should meet him at church in the midst of prayers. He is one of the braveries, though he be none o' the wits. He will salute a judge upon the bench, and a bishop in the pulpit, a lawyer when he is pleading at the bar, and a lady when she is dancing in a masque, and put her out. He does give plays, and suppers, and invites his guests to 'em, aloud out of his window, as they ride by in coaches. He has a lodging in the Strand for the purpose: or to watch when ladies are gone to the China-houses, or the Exchange, that he may meet 'em by chance, and give 'em presents, some two or three hundred pounds worth of toys, to be laught at. He is never without a spare banquet, or sweetmeats in his chamber, for their women to alight at, and come up to for a bait. Daup. Excellent! he was a fine youth last night, but now he is much finer ! what is his Christian name? I ha' forgot. Cler. Sir Amorous La-Foole. Boy. The gentleman is here below that owns that name. Cler. Heart, he's come to invite me to dinner, I hold my life. Daup. Like enough: pr'y thee, let's ha' him up. Cler. Boy, marshal him. Boy. With a truncheon, sir? Cler. Away, I beseech you. I'll make him tell us his pedigree now; and what meat he has to dinner; and who are his guests; and the whole course of his fortunes with a breath. La-F. Excuse me, sir, if it were i' the Strand, I assure you. I am come, master Clerimont, to entreat you to wait upon two or three ladies, to dinner, to-day. Cler. How, sir! wait upon them? did you ever see me carry dishes? La-F. No, sir, dispense with me; I meant, to bear 'em company. Cler. O, that I will, sir: the doubtfulness of your phrase, believe it, sir, would breed you a quarrel once an hour, with the terrible boys, if you should but keep 'em fellowship a day 10 10 The doubtfulness o' your phrase, believe it, sir, would breed you a quarrel once an hour with the TERRIBLE BOYS, if you should keep 'em fellowship a'day.] These terrible boys are mentioned in the Alchemist, act iii. sc. 3. "Kast. Sir, not so young, but I have heard some speech A citation from Wilson's life of King James will make the allusion here still more manifest. "The king minding his sports, many riotous demeanours crept into the kingdom; divers sects Daup. O, then he is animal amphibium. La-F. I, sir: his wife was the rich Chinawoman, that the courtiers visited so often; that gave the rare entertainment. She commands all at home. Cler. Then she is captain Otter. La-F. You say very well, sir; she is my kinswoman, a La-Foole by the mother-side, and will invite any great ladies for my sake. Daup. Not of the La-Fooles of Essex? La-F. They all come out of our house, Epicone, that honest sir John Daw has promis'd to bring hither- and then, mistress Trusty, my lady's woman, will be there too, and this honourable knight, sir Dauphine, with yourself, master Clerimont- and we'll be very merry, and have fidlers, and dance - I have been a mad wag in my time, and have spent some crowns since I was a page in court, to my lord Lofty, and after, my lady's gentleman-usher, who got me knighted in Ireland, since it pleased my elder brother to die" I had as fair a gold jerkin on that day, as any worn in the island-voyage, or at Cadiz, none disprais'd, and I came over in it hither, shew'd myself to my friends in court, and after went down to my tenants in the country, and surveyed my lands, let new leases, took their money, spent it in the eye o' the land here, upon ladies--and now I can take up at my pleasure. Daup. Can you take up ladies, sir? Cler. O, let him breathe, he has not recover'd. Daup. Would I were your half in that commodity. La-F. No, sir, excuse me: I meant money, which can take up any thing. I have another guest or two, to invite, and say as much to, gentlemen. I'll take my leave abruptly, in hope you will not fail--Your sects of vicious persons, going under the title of roaring boys, bravadoes, roysters, &c. commit many insolencies; the streets swarm, night and day, with bloody quarrels, private duels fomented, &c.-Mr. UPTON. "I had as fair a gold jerkin on that day, as any was worn in the ISLAND-VOYAGE, or at CADIZ, none disprais'd.] This island-voyage was undertaken 1585, sir Francis Drake being admiral, with a fleet of one and twenty sail, and with above two thousand volunteers aboard they went to Hispaniola, and there made themselves masters of the town of St. Domingo. The other adventure here mentioned, was undertaken in 1596, when the earl of Essex and sir Walter Raleigh burnt the Indian fleet at Cadiz, consisting of forty sail, and brought home immense treasures. It was the fashion in the reign of queen Elizabeth, for the young adventurers to go abroad with fine furnitures and dresses, seeking their various fortunes. 12 Such a ROOK as the other! that will betray his MASTER to be seen.] The rook here meant was sir John Daw, who had no master to betray: but he pretended to make love to Epicone, who was to be a party at the feast: and as she is the person intended, I have made no scruple to change the master into mistress, which alteration has also the sanction of the first folio. 1. P SCENE I. Morose, Mute. ACT II. Mor. compendious method, than by NANNOT I, yet, find out a more this trunk, to save my servants the labour scend'em in so high a point of felicity. I will practise it hereafter. How now? oh! oh! what villain? what prodigy of mankind is that? look. Oh! cut his throat, cut his throat: what murderer, hell-hound, devil can this be? [One winds a horn without again. Mut. It is a post from the courtMor. Out, rogue, and must thou blow thy horn, too? Mut. Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, that says, he must speak with you, pain of death Mor. Pain of thy life, be silent. SCENE II. True-wit, Morose, Cutbeard. Tru. By your leave, sir, I am a stranger here: is your name master Morose? Fishes! Pythagoreans all? This is strange. What say you, sir; nothing? Has Harpocrates been here with his club, among you? Well, sir, I will believe you to be the man at this time; I will venture upon you, sir. Your friends at court commend 'em to you, sir―― (Mor. O men! O manners! was there ever such an impudence?) Tru. And are extremely solicitous for you, sir. sir. Mor. Whose knave are you? Tru. Mine own knave, and your compeer, Mor. Fetch me my sword Tru. You shall taste the one half of my dagger, if you do (groom),and you the other, if you stir, sir: be patient, I charge you, in the king's name, and hear me without insurrection. They say, you are to marry? to marry! do you mark, sir? Mor. How then, rude companion! Tru. Marry, your friends do wonder, sir, the Thames being so near, wherein you may drown so handsomely; or London-bridge, at a low fall, with a fine leap, to hurry you down the stream; or, such a delicate steeple i' the town, as Bow, to vault from; or, a braver height, as Paul's; or if you affected to do it nearer home, and a shorter way, an excellent garret-window into the street; or, a beam in the said garret, with this halter, [He shews him a halter.] which they have Yea, even in the war (as I have heard) and in his marches, most of his charges and dircetions given by signs, and with silence.] A little enlargement, perhaps, of the reports of travellers: but the exact discipline and order observed in the Turkish army, is remarked by Busbequius in these words: Videbam summo ordine cujusque corporis milites suis locis distributos, et (quod vix credat, qui nostratis militiæ consuetudinem novit) summum erat silentium, summa quies, rixa nulla, nullum cujusquam insolens factum, sed ne vox quidem aut vitulatio per lasciviam aut ebrietatem emissa.-BUSBEQUII Epist. 3. |