Kno. How so? Brain. Oh, sir! your coming to the city, your entertainment of me, and your sending me to watch——————indeed, all the circumstances either of your charge, or my employment, are as open to your son, as to yourself. Kno. How should that be! unless that villain, Have told him of the letter, and discovered Brain. Nay, sir, I cannot tell; unless it be by the black art! Is not your son a scholar, sir? Kno. Yes, but I hope his soul is not allied Brain. O, sir Form. But to hear the manner of your services, and your devices, in the wars; they say they be very strange, and not like those a man reads in the Roman histories, or sees at MileEnd. Brain. No, I assure you, sir; why, at any time, when it please you, I shall be ready to discourse with you all I know; and more too, some→ what. Form. No better time than now, sir. We will go to the Windmill, there we shall have a cup of neat grist, as we call it. I pray you, sir, let me request you to the Windmill. Brain. I will follow you, sir, and make grist of Enter MATTHEW, EDWARD KNO'WELL, BOBA- Mat. Sir, did your eyes ever taste the like bred's half brother? I think the whole earth cannot shew his parallel, by this day-light. E. Kno. We are now speaking of him. Captain Bobadil tells me he is fallen foul of you too. Mat. O aye, sir! he threatened me with the bastinado. Brain. You should rather ask, where they found me, sir; for I will be sworn I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when (of a sudden) a voice calls, Mr Kno'well's man;' another cries, soldier; and thus, half a dozen of them, till they had called me within a house, where I no sooner came, but out flew all their rapiers at my bosom, with some three or four-clown of him, where we were to-day, Mr Wellscore oaths to accompany them, and all to tell me, I was a dead man, if I did not confess where you were, and how I was employed, and about what; which, when they could not get out of me, (as I protest they must have dissected me, and made an anatomy of me first, and so I told them), they locked me up into a room i' the top of a high house, whence, by great miracle, having a fight heart, I slid down by a bottom of packthread into the street, and so escaped. But, sir, thus much I can assure you; for I heard it while I was locked up; there were a great many rich merchants, and brave citizens' wives with them, at a feast, and your son, Mr Edward, withdrew with one of them, and has appointed to meet her anon, at one Cob's house, a water-bearer, that dwells by the wall. Now, there your worship shall be sure to take him; for there he preys, and fail he will not. Kno. Nor will I fail to break his match, I Go thou along with justice Clement's man, Brain. Aye, sir, there you shall have him. [Erit Knowell.] Yes! invisible! much wench, or much son! Slight, when he has staid there three or four hours, travailling with the expectation of wonders, and at length be delivered of air! O, the sport that I should then take to look on him, if I durst! But now I mean to appear no more before him in this shape. I have another trick to act yet. [To FORMAL.] Sir, I make you stay somewhat long. Bob. Aye, but I think I taught you prevention this morning for that-You shall kill him beyond question, if you be so generously minded. Mat. Indeed, It is a most excellent trick! Bob. O, you do not give spirit enough to your motion; you are too tardy, too heavy! O, it must be done like lightning; hey! [He practises at a post. Mat. Rare captain! Bob. Tut, 'tis nothing, an't be not done in apunto! E. Kno. Captain, did you ever prove yourself upon any of our masters of defence here? Mat. O, good sir! yes, I hope he has. Bob. I will tell you, sir. They have assaulted me some three, four, five, six of them together, as I have walked alone in divers skirts of the town, where I have driven them before me the whole length of a street, in the open view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe me. Yet all this lenity will not overcome their spicen; they will be doing with the pismire, raising a hill, a man may spurn abroad with his foot at pleasure. By myself, I could have slain them all; but I delight not in murder. I am loth to bear any other than this bastinado for them; yet I hold it good policy not to go disarmed; for, though I be skilful, I may be oppressed with multitudes. E. Kno. Aye, believe me, may you, sir; and,| in my conceit, our whole nation should sustain the loss by it, if it were so. Bob. Alas, no! What's a peculiar man to a nation? Not seen. E. Kno. O, but your skill, sir! Bob. Indeed, that might be some loss; but who respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of private, and under seal, I am a gentleman, and live here obscure, and to myself: but were I known to his majesty, and the lords, observe me, I would undertake, upon this poor head and life, for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lives of his subjects in general, but to save the one half, nay, three parts of his yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy soever. And how would I do it, think you? E. Kno. Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive. Bob. Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen more to myself, throughout the land; gentlemen they should be, of good spirit, strong and able constitution; I would chuse them by an instinct, a character that I have; and I would teach these nineteen the special rules, as, your Punto, your Reverso, your Stoccata, your Imbroccata, your Passada, your Montanto; till they could all play very near, or altogether, as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were forty thousand strong; we twenty would come into the field the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and we would challenge twenty of the enemy; they could not, in their honour, refuse us! Well, we would kill them; challenge twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too; and thus would we kill every man his twenty a day, that's twenty score; twenty score, that's two hundred; two hundred a day, five days a thousand; forty thousand; forty times five, five times forty, two hundred days, kill them all up by computation. And this I will venture my poor gentleman-like carcase to perform, provided there be no treason practised upon us, by fair and discreet manhood, that is, civilly, by the sword. E. Kno. Why are you so sure of your hand, captain, at all times? Bob. Tut, never miss thrust, upon my reputation with you. E. Kno. I would not stand in Downright's state, then, an' you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London. Bob. Why, sir, you mistake! If he were here now, by this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him! Let this gentleman do his mind: but I will bastinado him, by the bright sun, wherever I meet him. Mat. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at my distance. Enter DOWNRIGHT, walking over the stage. E. Kno. God's so! look ye where he is; yonder he goes. Dow. What peevish luck have I, I cannot meet with these bragging rascals! Bob. It's not he, is it? E. Kno. Yes, faith, it is he! Mat. I'll be hanged then, if that were he. Step. Upon my reputation, it was he. Bob. Had I thought it had been he, he must not have gone so: but I can hardly be induced to believe it was he yet. But see, he is come E. Kno. That I think, sir. again! Dow. O, Pharaoh's foot! have I found you? Come, draw; to your tools. Draw, gipsey, or I'll thresh you. Bob. Gentleman of valour, I do believe in thee hear me Dow. Draw your weapon, then. Bob. Tall man, I never thought on't till now; body of me! I had a warrant of the peace served on me even now, as I came along, by a waterbearer; this gentleman saw it, Master Matthew. [He beats him, and disarms him. MATTHEW runs away.] Dow. 'Sdeath, you will not draw, then? Bob. Hold, hold, under thy favour, forbear. Dow. Prate again, as you like this, you whoreson foist you. You will controul the point, you! Your consort is gone; had he staid, he had shared with you, sir. [Exit DowNRIGHT. E. Kno. Twenty, and kill them; twenty more, kill them too. Ha, ha! Bob. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the peace, by this good day. E. Kno. No, faith, it's an ill day, captain; never reckon it other: but say you were bound to the peace; the law allows you to defend yourself; that will prove but a poor excuse. Bob. I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction, in fair sort. I never sustained the like disgrace, by Heaven. Sure I was struck with a planet thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon. E. Kno. Aye, like enough, I have heard of many that have been beaten under a planet. Go, get you to a surgeon. 'Slid, an' these be your tricks, your passados, and your montantos, I'll none of them. Bob. I was planet-struck, certainly. [Exit. E. Kno. O, manners! that this age should bring forth such creatures! that nature should be at leisure to make them! Come, coz. Step. Mass, I'll have this cloak. E. Kno. God's will, 'tis Downright's. Step. Nay, it is mine now; another might have taken it up as well as I. I'll wear it, so I will. E. Kno. How, an' he see it? He'll challenge it, assure yourself. Step. Aye, but he shall not have it; I'll say I bought it. SCENE III.-A chamber in KITELY's House. Enter KITELY and CASH. Kite. Art thou sure, Thomas, we have pryed into all and every part throughout the house? Is there no by-place, or dark corner, has escaped our searches? Cash. Indeed, sir, none; there's not a hole or nook unsearched by us, from the upper loft unto the cellar. Kite. They have conveyed him, then, away, or hid him in some privacy of their own- -Whilst we were searching of the dark closet by my sister's chamber, didst thou not think thou heard'st a rustling on the other side, and a soft tread of feet? Cash. Upon my truth, I did not, sir; or if you did, it might be only the vermin in the wainscot; the house is old, and over-run with them. Kite. It is, indeed, Thomas-we should bane these rats-Dost thou understand me--we will they shall not harbour here; I'll cleanse my house from them, if fire or poison can effect itI will not be tormented thus-They gnaw my brain, and burrow in my heart-I cannot bear it. Cash. I do not understand you, sir! Good now, what is it disturbs you thus? Pray, be composed; these starts of passion have some cause, I fear, that touches you more nearly. Kite. Sorely, sorely, Thomas-it cleaves too close to me-Oh, me-[Sighs.] Lend me thy arm-so, good Cash. Cash. You tremble, and look pale! Let me call assistance. Kite. Why, nothing, nothing-I am not sick, yet more than dead; I have a burning fever in my mind, and long for that, which, having, would destroy me, Kite. Against his will! Ha! it may be soHe's young, and may be bribed for them--they've various means to draw the unwary in; if it be so, I'm lost, deceived, betrayed, and my bosom, my full-fraught bosom is unlocked and opened to mockery and laughter! Heaven forbid! He cannot be that viper; sting the hand, that raised and cherished him! Was this stroke added, I should be cursed-But it cannot be-no, it cannot be. Enter CASH. Cash. You are musing, sir. Kite. I ask your pardon, Cash-ask me not why-I have wronged you, and am sorry-'tis Brain. An appendix to Justice Clement, vulgarly called his clerk. Kite. What are your wants with me? Kite. Do you not want to speak with me? Kite. What are the justice's commands? Brain. He doth not command, but entreats Master Kitely to be with him directly, having matters of some moment to communicate unto him. Kite. What can it be? Say, I'll be with him instantly, and if your legs, friend, go no faster than your tongue, I shall be there before you Brain. I will. Vale! [Exit. Kite. 'Tis a precious fool, indeed!--I must go forth-But first, come hither, Thomas-I have admitted thee into the close recesses of my heart, and shewed thee all my frailties, passions, every thing.— Cash. Believe me, 'tis your fancy's imposition; shut up your generous mind from such intruders —I'll hazard all my growing favour with you; I'll stake my present, my future welfare, that some base whispering knave-nay, pardon me, sir-hath, in the best and richest soil, sown seeds of rank and evil nature! O, my master, should they take root[Laughing within. Kite. Hark! hark! dost thou not hear! what think'st thou now? Are they not laughing at me? They are, they are. They have deceived the wittol, and thus they triumph in their infamy-But be assured you're heaping care and trouble This aggravation is not to be borne. [Laughing Upon a sandy base; ill-placed suspicion again.] Hark, again!-Cash, do thou, unseen, Recoils upon yourself--She's chaste as comely! steal in upon them, and listen to their wanton Believe it, she is-Let your not note your conference. Cash. I shall obey you, though against my will. [Exit. | mour; Disperse the gloom upon your brow, and be hu Kite. I will then, Cash-thou comfortest me- A wife may moderately use these pleasures, I'll drive these Fiend-like fancies from me, and be myself again. now. Which numbers and the time give sanction to, Kite. And so she may-And I'll go with thee, I will indeed—I'll lead thee there myself, This change has gladdened me—) Enter WELL-BRED, Dame KITELY, and BRIDGET. [Laughs. Kite. My care is all for you, good sneering brother; And well I wish, you'd take some wholesome counsel, And curb your headstrong humours; trust me, brother, You were to blame to raise o ons here, And hurt the peace and order of my house. Well. No harm done, brother, I warrant you. Since there is no harm done, anger costs A man nothing, and a brave man is never His own man, till he be angry-To keep His valour in obscurity, is to keep himself, As it were, in a cloak-bag. What's a brave Musician unless he play? What's a brave man unless he fight? Dame. Aye, but what harm might have come of it, brother? Well. What, schooled on both sides! Pr'ythee, Bridget, save me from the rod and lecture. [BRIDG. and WELL. retire. Kite. With what a decent modesty she rates him! My heart's at ease, and she shall see it isHow art thou, wife? Thou look'st both gay and comely. In troth thou dost-I'm sent for out, my dear, But I shall soon return-Indeed, my life, Business, that forces me abroad, grows irksome. I could content me with less gain and 'vantage, To have thee more at home; indeed I could. Dame. Your doubts, as well as love, may breed these thoughts. Aside. Kite. That jar untunes me. What dost thou say? Doubt thee! I should as soon suspect myself—No, no, My confidence is rooted in thy merit, So fixed and settled, that, wert thou inclined To masks, to sports, and balls, where lusty youth Leads up the wanton dance, and the raised pulse Beats quicker measures, yet I could with joy, With heart's ease and security-not but I had rather thou should'st prefer thy home, And me, to toys and such like vanities. Dame. But sure, my dear, Dame. Why, were you ever so? Kite. What!-Ha! never-ha, ha, ha! No, do not believe it-Speak low, my love, She stabs me home. [Aside.] Jealous of thee! Thy brother will overhear us--No, no, my dear. It could not be, it could not be-for-forWhat is the time now?—I shall be too lateNo, no, thou may'st be satisfied There's not the smallest spark remaining— Remaining! What do I say? There never was, Nor can, nor ever shall be—so be satisfied— Is Cob within there? Give me a kiss, My dear; there, there, now we are reconciledI'll be back immediately-Good-bye, good-byeHa! ha! jealous, I shall burst my sides with laughing, Ha, ha! Cob, where are you, Cob? Ha, ha!- [Erit. [WELL-BRED and BRIDGET come forward. Well. What have you done to make your husband part so merry from you? He has of late been little given to laughter. Dame. He laughed indeed, but seemingly without mirth. His behaviour is new and strange. He is much agitated, and has some whimsy in his head, that puzzles mine to read it. Well. 'Tis jealousy, good sister, and writ so largely, that the blind may read it; have you not perceived it yet? Dame. If I have, 'tis not always prudent, that my tongue should betray my eyes; so far my wisdom tends, good brother, and little more I boast-But what makes him ever calling for Cob so? I wonder how he can employ him. Well. Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs Cob, is a necessary question for you, that are his wife, and a thing not very easy for you to be satisfied in-But this I'll assure you, Cob's wife is an excellent bawd, sister, and oftentimes your husband haunts her house; marry, to what end I cannot altogether accuse him. Imagine you, what you think convenient. But I have known fair hides have foul hearts ere now, sister. Dame. Never said you truer than that, brother; so much I can tell you for your learning. O, ho! is this the fruit of his jealousy? I thought some game was in the wind, he acted so much tenderness but now; but I'll be quit with him.— Thomas! Enter CASH. Fetch your hat, and go with me: I'll get my hood, and out the backward-way. I would to fortune I could take him there! I'd return him his own, I warrant him! I'd fit him for his jealousy! [Exeunt. Well. Ha, ha! so e'en let them go; this may make sport anon-What, Brain-worm? Enter BRAIN-WORM. Brain. I saw the merchant turn the corner, and came back to tell you, all goes well; wind and tide, my master. Well. But how got'st thou this apparel of the justice's man? Brain. Marry, sir, my proper fine penman would needs bestow the grist o' me at the Windmill, to hear some martial discourse, where I so marshalled him, that I made him drunk with admiration; and because too much heat was the cause of his distemper, I stript him stark naked, as he lay along asleep, and borrowed his suit to deliver this counterfeit message in, leaving a rusty armour, and an old brown bill, to watch him 'till my return; which shall be, when I have pawned his apparel and spent the better part of the money, perhaps. Well. Well, thou art a successful merry knave, Brain-worm; his absence will be subject for more mirth. I pray thee return to thy young master, and will him to meet me and my sister Bridget at the Tower instantly; for here, tell him, the house is so stored with jealousy, there is no room for love to stand upright in. We must get our fortunes committed to some large prison, say and then the Tower, I know no better air, nor where the liberty of the house may do us more present service. Away. [Exit BRAIN. Bridg. What, is this the engine, that you told me of? What farther meaning have you in the plot? Well. That you may know, fair sister-in-law, how happy a thing it is to be fair and beautiful. Bridg. That touches not me, brother. Well. That's true; that's even the fault of it; for, indeed, beauty stands a woman in no stead, unless it procure her touching-Well, there's a dear and well-respected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly and worthily affected towards you, and hath vowed to inflame whole bonfires of zeal at his heart, in honour of your perfections. I have already engaged my promise to bring you, where you shall hear him confirm much more. Ned Kno'well is the man, sister.-There's no exception against the party; you are ripe for a husband, and a minute's loss to such an occasion is a great trespass in a wise beauty. What say you, sister? On my soul, he loves you; will you give him the meeting? Bridg. Faith, I had very little confidence in my own constancy, brother, if I durst not meet a man: but this motion of yours savours of an old knight adventurer's servant a little too much, methinks. Well. What's that, sister! Bridg. Marry, of the go-between. Well. No matter if it did; I would be such a one for my friend. But see, who is returned to hinder us. Enter KITELY. Kite. What villany is this? Called out on a false message! This was some plot; I was not sent for. Bridget, where's your sister? Bridg. I think she be gone forth, sir. Kite. How is my wife gone forth? Whither, for Heaven's sake? Bridg. She's gone abroad with Thomas. Kite. Abroad with Thomas! Oh, that villain cheats me! He hath disco all unto my wife; Beast that I You, went she trust him! Whither, I pray Bridg. I know not, sir. Well. I'll tell you, brother, whither I suspect she's gone. Kite. Whither, good brother? Well. To Cob's house, I believe; but keep my counsel. Kite. I will, I will. To Cob's house! Does she haunt there? She's gone on purpose now to cuckold me, With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favour, Hath told her all-Why would you let her go? Well. Because she's not my wife: if she were, I'd keep her to her tether. Kite. So, so; now 'tis plain. I shall go mad With my misfortunes; now they pour in tor rents. I'm bruted by my wife, betrayed by my servant, Mocked at by my relations, pointed at by my neighbours, Despised by myself.-There is nothing left, now, But to revenge myself first, next hang myself; And then-all my cares will be over. [Exit. Bridg. He storms most loudly; sure you have gone too far in this. Well. "Twill all end right, depend upon it.— But let us lose no time; the coast is clear; away, away; the affair is worth it, and cries haste. Bridg. I trust me to your guidance, brother, and so fortune for us. [Exeunt. |