Ben: Jonson Page


Every Man in his Humour

Back Forward






E V E R Y   M A N

IN HIS

 H U M O U R.

A   C O M E D Y.

Acted in the Year 1598. by the then Lord CHAMBERLAIN his Servants.

The Author B. J.

Haud tamen invideas vati, quem pulpita pascunt.  Juven.


TO THE

Most Learned, and my Honour'd Friend,

Mr.   C A M B D E N,

C L A R E N T I A U X.

   SIR,
T
Here are, no doubt, a Supercilious Race in the World, who will esteem all Office, done you in this kind, an Injury; so Solemn a Vice it is with them to use the Authority of their Ignorance, to the crying down of Poetry, or the Professors: But my Gratitude must not leave to correct their Error; since I am none of those that can suffer the Benefits confer'd upon my Youth to perish with my Age. It is a frail Memory that remembers but present things: And, had the Favour of the times so conspir'd with my Disposition, as it could have brought forth other, or better, you had had the same proportion, and number of the Fruits, the first. Now, I pray you to accept this; such, wherein neither the Consession of my Manners shall make you blush; nor of my Studies, repent you to have been the Instructer: And for the profession of my thankfulnes, I am sure it will, with good men, find either Praise or Excuse.

Your True Lover,           

BEN. JOHNSON.






The PERSONS of the PLAY.

KNO' WELL, an old Gentleman.

ED. KNO' WELL, his Son.

BRAIN-WORM, the Father's Man.

Mr. STEPHEN, a Country-Gull.

DOWN-RIGHT, a plain Squire.

WELL-BRED, His half Brother.

JUST. CLEMENT, an old merry Magistrate.

ROGER FORMAL, his Clerk.

KITELY, a Merchant.

Dame KITELY, his Wife.

Mrs. BRIDGET, his Sister.

Mr. MATTHEW, the Town-Gull.

CASH, KITELY'S Man.

COB, a Water-bearer.

TIB, his Wife.

Cap. BOBADIL, a Paul's-man.





The SCENE

L O N D O N.



The Principal COMEDIANS were,

WILL. SHAKESPEARE.

AUG. PHILIPS.

HEN. CONDEL.

WILL. SLYE.

WILL. KEMPE.


RIC. BURBADGE.

JOH. HEMINGS.

THO. POPE.

CHR. BESTON.

JOH. DUKE.



First Acted in the Year 1598, with the allowance of the Master of REVELS.


EVERY




1


E V E R Y   M A N

IN HIS

 H U M O U R.



P R O L O G U E.

T
Hough Need make many Poets, and some such
As Art and Nature have not better'd much;
Yet ours, for want, hath not so lov'd the Stage,
As he dare serve th'ill Customs of the Age,
Or purchase your delight at such a rate,
As, for it, he himself must justly hate:
To make a child now swadled, to proceed
Man, and then shoot up in one beard and weed,
Past threescore years: or, with three rusty swords,
And help of some few foot-and-half-foot words,
Fight over
York, and Lancasters long jars,
And in the Tyring house bring wounds to scars.
He rather prays, you will be pleas'd to see
One such to day, as other plays should be;
Where neither
Chorus wafts you o're the seas,
Nor creaking Throne comes down, the boys to please;
Nor nimble Squib is seen, to make afeard
The Gentlewomen; nor roul'd Bullet heard
To say, it Thunders; nor tempestuous Drum
Rumbles, to tell you when the Storm doth come;
But Deeds, and Language, such as men do use:
And Persons, such as
Comœdy would chuse,
When she would shew an Image of the Times,
And sport with Humane Follies, not with Crimes.
Except, we make 'em such by loving still
Our popular Errors, when we know th' are ill.
I mean such Errors as you'll all confess
By laughing at them, they deserve no less:
Which when you heartily do, there's hope left, then,
You, that have so grac'd Monsters, may like Men.


Act. I.   Scene I.

Kno'well, Brain-worm, Mr. Stephen.

A
 Goodly day toward! and a fresh morning!
Brain-worm,
Call up your young master: bid him rise, Sir.
Tell him, I have some business to employ him.
   Bra. I will, Sir, presently.   Kno. But hear you, sirah,
If he be at his Book, disturb him not.   Bra. Well Sir.
   Kno. How happy, yet, should I esteem my self,
Could I (by any practice) wean the boy
From one vain course of study, he affects.
He is a Schollar, if a Man may trust
The liberal voice of Fame, in her report,
Of good acompt in both our Universities,
Either of which hath favour'd him with Graces:
But their Indulgence must not spring in me
A fond opinion, that he cannot Err.
My self was once a Student, and, indeed,
Fed with the self-same humour he is now,
Dreaming on nought but idle Poetry,
That fruitless, and unprofitable Art,

[column break]

Good unto none, but least to the Professors,
Which, then, I thought the mistress of all knowledg:
But since, Time and the Truth have wak'd my Judgment,
And Reason taught me better to distinguish
The vain from th' useful Learnings. Cousin Stephen!
What news with you, that you are here so early?
   Ste. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you do, Uncle
   Kno. That's kindly done, you are welcom, Couz.
   Ste. I, I know that Sir, I would not ha' come else.
How does my Cousin Edward, Uncle?
   Kno. O, well Couz, go in and see: I doubt he be
scarce stirring yet.
   Ste. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an' he
have e're a Book of the Sciences of Hawking and Hunt-
ing? I would fain borrow it.
   Kno. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will
you?
   Ste. No, wusse, but I'll practice against next year Un-
cle: I have bought me a Hawk, and a Hood, and Bells,
and all; I lack nothing but a Book to keep it by.
   Kno. O, most ridiculous.
   Ste. Nay, look you now, you are angry, Uncle: why
you know an' a Man have not skill in the hawking and
hunting Languages now adays, I'll not give a rush for
him. They are more studied than the Greek, or the La-
tin.
He is for no gallants Company without 'em. And
by gads lid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a Consort for eve-
ry Hum-drum, hang 'em Scroyles, there's nothing in 'em
i' the World. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell
at Hogsden, I shall keep Company with none but the Ar-
chers of Finsbury, or the Citizens that come a ducking to
Islington Ponds? A fine jest i' faith! Slid a Gentleman
mun show himself like a Gentleman. Uncle, I pray you
be not angry, I know what I have to do, I trow, I am
no Novice.
   Kno. You are a prodigal absurd Cockscomb, Go to.
Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak.
Tak't as you will Sir, I'll not flatter you.
Ha' you not yet found means enow to waste
That which your Friends have left you, but you must
Go cast away your Money on a Kite,
And know not how to keep it, when you ha' done?
O it's comly! this will make you a Gentleman!
Well Cousin, well! I see you are e'ne past hope
Of all reclaim. I, so, now you are told on it,
You look another way.   Ste. What would you ha' me do?
   Kno. What would I have you do? I'll tell you Kinsman,
Learn to be Wise, and practice how to Thrive,
That would I have you do: and not to spend
Your Coin on every Bable that you phansie,
Or every foolish Brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each Place,
Nor thrust your self on all Societies,
Till Mens Affections, or your own Desert,
Should worthily invite you to your Rank.
He that is so respectless in his Courses,

B                                             Oft




2 Every Man in his Humour.

Oft sells his Reputation at cheap Market.
Nor would I, you should melt away your self
In flashing bravery, left while you affect
To make a blaze of Gentry to the World,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,
And you be left like an unsav'ry Snuff,
Whose Property is only to offend.
I'd ha' you sober, and contain your self;
Not that your Sail be bigger than your Boat:
But moderate your Expences now (at first)
As you may keep the same proportion still.
Nor stand so much on your Gentility,
Which is an Airy, and meer borrow'd thing,
From dead Mens Dust, and Bones: and none of yours,
Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?

Act. I.   Scene II.

Servant, Mr. Stephen, Kno'well, Brain-worm.

S
Ave you Gentlemen.
  Ste. Nay, we do not stand much on our Gentility,
Friend; yet you are welcom, and I assure you mine
Uncle here is a Man of a thousand a year, Middlesex
Land: he has but one Son in all the World, I am his
next Heir (at the Common Law) Master Stephen, as
simple as I stand here, if my Cousin dye (as there's hope
he will.) I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside,
hard by here.
   Serv. In good time, Sir.
   Step. In good time, Sir? why! and in very good time,
Sir. You do not flout, friend, do you?
   Serv. Not I, Sir.
   Step. Not you, Sir? you were not best, Sir; an' you
should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly
too: go to. And they can give it again soundly too,
an' need be.
   Serv. Why, Sir, let this satisfie you: good faith, I had
no such intent.
   Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with
you, and that presently.
   Serv. Good Master Stephen, so you may, Sir, at your
pleasure.
   Step. And so I would, Sir, good saucy Compani-
on! an' you were out o' mine Uncles Ground, I can tell
you; though I do not stand upon my Gentility neither
in't.
   Kno. Cousin! Cousin! will this ne'er be left?
   Step. Whorson base Fellow! a Mechanical Serving-
man! By this Cudgel, and 'twere not for shame; I
would ———
   Kno. What would you do, you peremptory Gull?
If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
You see, the honest Man demeans himself
Modestly to'ards you, giving no reply
To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion:
And still you huff it, with a kind of Carriage
As void of Wit, as of Humanity.
   Serv. I pray, Sir, Is this Master Kno'well's House?
   Kno. Yes marry is it, Sir.
   Serv. I should enquire for a Gentleman, here, one Ma-
ster Edward Kno'well: do you know any such, Sir, I
pray you?
   Kno. I should forget my self else, Sir.
   Serv. Are you the Gentleman? cry you mercy Sir: I
was requir'd by a Gentleman i' the City, as I rode out at
this end o' the Town, to deliver you this Letter, Sir.
   Kno. To me, Sir! What do you mean? pray you re-
member your Court'sie. (To his most selected Friend Master
Edward Kno'well.) What might the Gentlemans Name
be, Sir, that sent it? nay, pray you be cover'd.
   Serv. One Master Well-bred, Sir.

[column break]

   Kno. Master Well bred! A young Gentleman? is he not?
   Serv. The same Sir, Master Kitely married his Sister:
the rich Merchant i' the Old Jewry.
   Kno. You say very true. Brain-worm.
   Brai. Sir.
   Kno. Make this honest Friend drink here: pray you go
in.
This Letter is directed to my Son:
Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may
With the safe Conscience of good Manners, use
The Fellows Error to my satisfaction.
Well, I will break it ope (old Men are curious)
Be it but for the Stiles sake, and the Phrase,
To see if both do answer my Sons Praises,
Who is almost grown the Idolater
Of this young Well-bred: what have we here? what's this?

The LETTER

W
Hy, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy
Friends i' the
Old Jewry? or dost thou think us
all
Jews that inhabit there? Yet if thou dost, come over, and
but see our frippery: change an old Shirt for a whole Smock
with us. Do not conceive that Antipathy between us and
Hogsden, as was between Jews and Hogs-flesh. Leave
thy vigilant Father alone, to number over his green Apricots,
Evening and Morning, o' the North west Wall: An' I had been
his Son, I had sav'd him the labour long since, if taking in
all the young Wenches that pass by at the back-door, and cod-
ling every Kernel of the Fruit for 'em, would ha' serv'd. But
pr'y thee come over to me quickly, this morning; I have such a
present for thee (our
Turky Company never sent the like to
the
Grand-Signior.) One is a Rimer, Sir, o' your own batch,
your own leven; but doth think himself
Poet-major o' the
Town: willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen. The other ——
I will not venter his Description with you, till you come, because
I would ha' you make hither with an Appetite. If the worst of
'em be not worth your Journey, draw your Bill of Charges, as
unconscionable as any Guild-hall Verdict will give it you, and
you shall be allow'd your
Viaticum.

From the Wind-mill.

From the Burdello, it might come as well,
The Spittle, or Pict-hatch. Is this the Man
My Son hath sung so, for the happiest Wit,
The choicest Brain, the Times have sent us forth?
I know not what he may be in the Arts,
Nor what in Schools: but surely, for his Manners,
I judge him a prophane and dissolute wretch:
Worse by possession of such great good gifts,
Being the Master of so loose a Spirit.
Why, what unhallow'd Ruffian would have writ
In such a scurrilous manner, to a Friend!
Why should he think, I tell my Apricots,
Or play th' Hesperian Dragon with my Fruit,
To watch it? Well, my Son, I had thought
Y' had had more Judgment t' have made Election
Of your Companions, than t' have tane on trust
Such petulant, jeering Gamesters, that can spare
No Argument, or Subject from their Jest.
But I perceive Affection makes a Fool
Of any Man, too much the Father. Brain-worm.
   Brai. Sir.
   Kno. Is the Fellow gone that brought this Letter?
   Brai. Yes, Sir, a pretty while since.
   Kno. And where's your young Master?
   Brai. In his Chamber, Sir.
   Kno. He spake not with the Fellow! did he?
   Brai. No, Sir, he saw him not.
   Kno. Take you this Letter, and deliver it my Son;
But with no notice, that I have open'd it, on your life.
   Brai. O Lord, Sir, that were a Jest indeed!
   Kno. I am resolv'd I will not stop his journey,
Nor practise any violent means to stay.

The




Every Man in his Humour. 3


The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,
Restrain'd, grows more impatient; and, in kind,
Like to the eager, but the generous Grey-hound,
Who ne'r so little from his game with-held,
Turns head, and leaps up at his holders throat.
There is a way of winning, more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
He that's compell'd to goodness, may be good;
But 'tis but for that fit: where others drawn
By softness, and example, get a habit.
Then, if they stray, but warn 'em: and the same
They should for vertu' have done, they'll do for shame.

Act. I.   Scene III.

Edw. Kno'well, Brayn-worm, Mr. Stephen.

D
ID he open it, saist thou?
  Bray. Yes, o' my word Sir, and read the Con-
tents.
   E. Kn. That scarce contents me. What countenance
(pr'y thee) made he, i' the reading of it? was he an-
gry, or pleas'd?
   Bray. Nay Sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I
assure your worship.
   E. Kn. No? how know'st thou, then, that he did ei-
ther?
   Bray. Marry, Sir, because he charg'd me, on my
life, to tell no body, that he open'd it; which, unless
he had done, he would never fear to have it re-
veal'd.
   E. Kn. That's true: well I thank thee, Brayn-worm.
   Step. O, Brayn-worm, did'st thou not see a fellow
here in a what'sha'-call-him Doublet? he brought mine
Uncle a Letter e'en now.
   Bray. Yes, Master Stephen, what of him?
   Step. O, I ha' such a mind to beat him —— Where is
he? canst thou tell?
   Bray. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, Ma-
ger Stephen.
   Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long
since?
   Bray. He is rid hence: he took Horse at the street-
door.
   Step. And I staid i' the Fields! horson scander-bag
Rogue! τ that I had but a Horse to fetch him back
again.
   Bray. Why, you may ha' my Mrs. Gelding, to save
your longing, Sir.
   Step. But, I ha' no Boots, that's the spight on't.
   Bray. Why, a fine wisp of Hay, rould hard, Master
Stephen.
   Step. No faith, it's no boot to follow him, now: let
him e'ne go, and hang. Pr'y thee, help to truss me, a
little. He do's so vex me ———
   Bray. You'll be worse vex'd, when you are truss'd,
Master Stephen. Best, keep un-brac'd; and walk your
self, till you be cold: your Choller may founder you
else.
   Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me
on't: How dost thou like my Leg, Brayn-worm?
   Bray. A very good Leg, Master Stephen; but the
woollen Stocking do's not commend it so well.
   Step. Foh, the Stockings be good enough, now Sum-
mer is coming on, for the dust: I'll have a pair of
Silk again' Winter, that I go to dwell i'the Town. I
think my Leg would shew in a Silk-hose ——
   Bray. Believe me, Master Stephen, rarely well.
   Step. In sadness, I think it would: I have a reasonable
good Leg.
   Bray. You have an excellent good Leg, Master Ste-
phen
; but I cannot stay, to praise it longer now, and I
am very sorry for't.

[column break]

   Step. Another time will serve, Brayn-worm. Gra-
mercy for this.
   E. Kn. Ha, ha, ha.

[Kno'well laught, having read the Letter.

   Step. 'Slid, I hope, he laughs not at me, and he do —
   E. Kn. Here was a Letter, indeed, to be intercepted by
a Man's Father, and do him good with him! He can-
not but think most vertuously, both of me, and the Sender,
sure; that make the careful Costar'-monger of him in
our familiar Epistles. Well, if he read this with patience,
I'll be gelt, and troll Ballads for Mr. John Trundle, yon-
der, the rest of my mortality. It is true, and likely, my
Father may have as much patience as another Man;
for he takes much Physick: and oft taking Physick
makes a Man very patient. But would your Packet,
Master Well-bred, had arriv'd at him, in such a minute
of his patience; then he had known the end of it,
which now is doubtful, and threatens — What! my wise
Cousin! Nay, then I'll furnish our Feast with one Gull
more to'ard the mess. He writes to me of a Brace, and
here's One, that's Three: O, for a fourth! Fortune, if
ever thou'lt use thine Eyes, I intreat thee ———
   Step. O, now I see, who he laught at. He laught at
some body in that Letter. By this good light, an' he
had laught at me ———
   E. Kn. How now, Cousin Stephen, melancholy?
   Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laught at me,
Cousin.
   E. Kn. Why, what an' I had, Couz? what would you
ha' done?
   Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine Uncle.
   E. Kn. Nay, if you would ha' told your Uncle, I did
laugh at you, Couz.
   Step. Did you, indeed?
   E. Kn. Yes, indeed.
   Step. Why, then ———
   E. Kn. What then?
   Step. I am satisfied, it is sufficient.
   E. Kn. Why, be so, gentle Couz. And I pray you
let me intreat a courtesie of you. I am sent for, this
Morning, by a Friend i' the Old Jewry, to come to him;
It's but crossing over the Fields to Moor gate: Will you
bear me company? I protest, it is not to draw you in-
to Bond, or any Plot against the State, Couz.
   Step. Sir, that's all one, and 'twere; you shall com-
mand me twice so far as Moor-gate, to do you good
in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I
protest ———
   E. Kn. No, no, you shall not protest, Couz?
   Step. By my fackings, but I will, by your leave;
I'll protest more to my Friend, than I'll speak off, at
this time.
   E. Kn. You speak very well, Couz.
   Step. Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me: but
I speak to serve my turn.
   E. Kn. Your turn, Couz? Do you know what you
say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and esti-
mation, to talk o' your turn i' this company, and to me
alone, like a Tankard-bearer at a Conduit! fie. A Wight,
that (hitherto) his every step hath left the stamp of a
great Foot behind him, as every word the savour of a
strong spirit! and he! this man! so grac'd, guilded, or
(to use a more fit Metaphor) so tin-foild by nature, as not
ten House-wives Pewter (again' a good time) shews more
bright to the World than he! and he (as I said last, so
I say again, and still shall say it) this Man! to conceal
such real Ornaments as these, and shaddow their glory,
as a Milleners Wife do's her wrought Stomacher, with
a smoky Lawn, or a black Cypress? O Couz! it can-
not be answer'd, go not about it. Drake's old Ship
at Deptford may sooner circle the World again. Come,
wrong not the quality of your desert, with looking
downward, Couz; but hold up your Head, so: and
let the Idea of what you are, be portray'd i' your Face,

B2                                      that




4 Every Man in his Humour.

that Men may read i' your Physnomy, (Here, within
this place is to be seen the true, rare, and accomplish'd Mon-
ster, or miracle of Nature,
which is all one.) What
think you of this, Couz?
   Step. Why, I do think of it; and I will be more Proud,
and Melancholy, and Gentleman-like, than I have been;
I'll ensure you.
   E. Kn. Why, that's resolute Master Stephen! Now, if
I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun,
it will do well for a Suburb humour: we may hap have
a match with the City, and play him for Forty pound.
Come, Couz.
   Step. I'll follow you.
   E. Kn. Follow me? you must go before.
   Step. Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you, shew me,
good Cousin.

Act. I.   Scene IV.

Mr. Matthew, Cob.

I
 Think this be the House: what hough?
   Cob. Who's there? O, Master Matthew! gi' your
Worship good morrow.
   Mat. What! Cob! how dost thou, good Cob? dost thou
inhabit here, Cob?
   Cob. I sir, I and my Linage ha' kept a poor House,
here, in our days.
   Mat. Thy Linage, Monsieur Cob, what Linage, what
Linage?
   Cob. Why Sir, an ancient Linage, and a princely.
Mine ance'try came from a Kings belly, no worse Man:
and yet no Man neither (by your Worships leave, I did
lie in that) but Herring the King of Fish (from his belly,
I proceed) one o' the Monarchs o' the World, I assure you.
The first Red Herring that was broild in Adam and Eve's
Kitchin, do I fetch my Pedigree from, by the Harrots
Books. His Cob, was my great-great-mighty-great
Grand-father.
   Mat. Why mighty? why mighty? I pray thee.
   Cob. O, it was a mighty while ago, Sir, and a mighty
great Cob.
   Mat. How know'st thou that?
   Cob. How know I? why, I smell his Ghost, ever and
anon.
   Mat. Smell a Ghost? τ unsavoury jest! and the Ghost of
a Herring, Cob.
   Cob. I Sir, with favour of your Worships Nose,
Mr. Matthew, why not the Ghost of a Herring Cob, as well
as the Ghost of Rasher-bacon?
   Mat. Roger Bacon, thou wouldst say?
   Cob. I say Rasher-Bacon. They were both broild o'
the Coles; and a Man may smell broild Meat, I hope?
you are a Scholar, upsolve me that, now.
   Mat. O raw ignorance! Cob, canst thou shew me of a
a Gentleman, one Captain Bobadill, where his Lodging is?
   Cob. O, my guest, Sir! you mean.
   Mat. Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha.
   Cob. Why do you laugh, Sir? Do you not mean Cap-
tain Bobadill?
   Mat. Cob, 'pray thee advise thy self well: do not wrong
the Gentleman, and thy self too. I dare be sworn, he
scorns thy House: he! He lodge in such a base obscure
place, as thy House! Tut, I know his disposition so well,
he would not lie in thy Bed, if tho'uldst gi't him.
   Cob. I will not give it him, though, Sir. Mass, I
thought somewhat was in't, we could not get to Bed,
all night! Well Sir, though he lie not o' my Bed, he lies
o' my Bench: an't please you to go up, Sir, you shall
find him with two Cushions under his Head, and his
Cloke wrapt about him, as though he had neither won
nor lost, and yet (I warrant) he ne'r cast better in hisl ife,his life
than he has done to night.
   Mat. Why? was he drunk?

[column break]

   Cob. Drunk Sir, you hear not me say so. Perhaps, he
swallow'd a Tavern-token, or some such device, Sir: I
have nothing to do withal. I deal with Water, and not
with Wine. Gi' me my Tankard there, hough, God b'
w' you, Sir. It's six a Clock: I should ha' carried two
Turns, by this. What hough? my stopple, come.
   Mat. Lie in a Water-bearers House! A Gentleman of
his havings! Well, I'll tell him my mind.
   Cob. What Tib, shew this Gentleman up to the Captain.
   Oh, an' my House were the Brazen-head now! faith it
would e'en speak, Mo fools yet. You should ha' some now
would take this M. Matthew to be a Gentleman, at the
least. His Father's an honest Man, a worshipful Fish-
monger, and so forth; and now do's he creep, and wrig-
gle into acquaintance with all the brave Gallants about
the Town, such as my guest is: (τ, my guest is a fine Man)
and they flout him invincibly. He useth every day to a
Merchants House (where I serve Water) one Master
Kitely's i' the Old Jewry; and here's the jest, he is in love
with my Master's Sister, (Mistris Bridget) and calls her
Mistris: and there he will sit you a whole Afternoon
sometimes, reading o' these same abominable, vile, (a Pox
on 'em, I cannot abide them) rascally Verses, Poyetry,
Poyetry,
and speaking of Enterludes, 'twill make a Man
burst to hear him. And the Wenches, they do so geer,
and ti-he at him —— well, should they do so much to
me, I'd forswear them all, by the Foot of Pharaoh. There's
an Oath! How many Water-bearers shall you hear swear
such an Oath? τ, I have a guest (he teaches me) he do's
swear the legiblest of any Man christned: By St. George,
the Foot of Pharaoh, the Body of me, as I am a Gentle-
man, and a Soldier: such dainty Oaths! and withal, he
do's take this same filthy roguish Tobacco, the finest, and
cleanliest! it would do a Man good to see the fume come
forth at's Tonnels! Well, he owes me Forty Shillings (my
Wife lent him out of her Purse, by six-pence a time) be-
sides his Lodging: I would I had it. I shall ha'it, he says,
the next Action. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill
a Cat, up-tails all, and a Louse for the Hangman.

Act. I.   Scene V.

Bobadil, Tib, Matthew.

H
Ostess, hostess.[Bobad. is discovered
   Tib. What say you, Sir? lying on his Bench.
   Bob. A Cup o' thy small Beer, sweet Hostess.
   Tib. Sir, there's a Gentleman, below, would speak
with you
   Bob. A Gentleman! 'ods so, I am not within.
   Tib. My Husband told him you were, Sir.
   Bob. What a Plague —— what meant he?
   Mat. Captain Bobadill?
   Bob. Who's there? (take away the Bason, good Ho-
stess) come up, Sir.
   Tib. He would desire you to come up, Sir. You come
into a cleanly House, here.
   Mat. 'Save you, Sir. 'Save you, Captain.
   Bob. Gentle Master Matthew! Is it you, Sir? Please
you to sit down?
   Mat. Thank you good Captain, you may see, I am
somewhat audacious.
   Bob. No so, Sir. I was requested to Supper, last
Night, by a sort of Gallants, where you were wish'd for,
and drunk to, I assure you.
   Mat. Vouchsafe me, by whom, good Captain?
   Bob. Marry, by young Well-bred, and others: Why,
Hostess, a Stool here, for this Gentleman.
   Mat. No haste, Sir, 'tis very well.
   Bob. Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last,
Night, I can scarce open my Eyes, yet; I was but new
risen, as you came: how passes the Day abroad, Sir?
you can tell.

Mat.




Every Man in his Humour. 5


   Mat. Faith, some half Hour to seven: Now trust
me, you have an exceeding fine Lodging here, very
neat, and private!
   Bob. I Sir: sit down, I pray you. Mr. Matthew (in
any case) possess no Gentlemen of our acquaintance,
with notice of my Lodging.
   Mat. Who? I Sir? no.
   Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the
Cabbin is convenient, but in regard I would not be
too popular, and generally visited, as some are.
   Mat. True, Captain, I conceive you.
   Bob. For, do you see, Sir, by the heart of valour in
me, (except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits,
to whom I am extraordinarily ingag'd, as your self, or
so) I could not extend thus far.
   Mat. O Lord, Sir, I resolve so.
   Bob. I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet privacy,
above all the tumult, and roar of fortune. What
new Book ha' you there? What! Go by, Hieronymo!
   Mat. I, did you ever see it acted? is't not well pend?
   Bob. Well pend? I would fain see all the Poets, of
these times, pen such another Play as that was! they'll
prate and swagger, and keep a stir of Art and De-
vices, when (as I am a Gentleman) read 'em, they
are the most shallow, pittiful, barren Fellows, that
live upon the face of the Earth, again!
   Mat. Indeed, here are a number of fine Speeches in
this Book! O Eyes, no Eyes, but Fountains fraught with
Tears!
There's a conceit! Fountains fraught with
Tears! O life, no life, but lively form of death! Another!
O World, no World, but mass of publick wrongs! A third!
Confuss'd and fill'd with murder, and misdeeds! A fourth!
O, the Muses! Is't not excellent? Is't not simply the
best that ever you heard, Captain? Ha? How do you
like it?
   Bob. 'Tis good.
   Mat. To the, the purest object to my sense,
   The most refined Essence Heaven covers,
Send I these Lines, wherein I do commence
The happy state of Turtle-billing Lovers.
      If they prove rough, un-polish't, harsh, and rude,
      Haste make the waste. Thus, mildly, I conclude.

   Bob. Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this?
[Bobadill is making him ready all this while.
   Mat. This, Sir? a Toy o' mine own, in my nonage:
the infancy of my Muses! But, when will you come
and see my Study? good faith, I can shew you some
very good things, I have done of late —— That Boot
becomes your Leg, passing well, Captain, methinks!
   Bob. So, so, It's the fashion, Gentlemen now use?
   Mat. Troth, Captain, and now you speak o' the Fa-
shion, Master Well-bred's elder Brother, and I, are faln
out exceedingly: this other day, I hapned to enter
into some discourse of a Hanger, which I assure you,
both for Fashion, and Work-man-ship, was most pe-
remptory-beautiful, and Gentleman-like! Yet he con-
demn'd, and cry'd it down for the most pyed and
ridiculous that ever he saw.
   Bob. Squire Down-right? the half-Brother, was't not?
   Mat. I Sir, he.
   Bob. Hang him, rook, hee! why he ha's no more
judgment than a Malt-horse. By S. George, I wonder
youl'd lose a thought upon such an animal: the most
peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is
holden. I protest to you, as I am a Gentleman and a
Soldier, I ne'r chang'd words, with his like. By his dis-
course, he should eat nothing but Hay. He was born
for the Manger, Pannier, or Pack-saddle! He has not so
much as a good Phrase in his Belly, but all old Iron, and
rusty Proverbs! a good Commodity for some Smith to
make Hob-nails of.
   Mat. I, and he thinks to carry it away with his Man-
hood still, where he comes. He brags he will gi' me the
bastinado, as I hear.

[column break]

   Bob. How! He the bastinado! how came he by that
word, trow?
   Mat. Nay, indeed, he said Cudgel me; I term'd it so,
for my more grace.
   Bob. That may be: for I was sure it was none of his
word. But, when? when said he so?
   Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say: a young Gallant, a
Friend of mine told me so.
   Bob. By the Foot of Pharaoh, and 't were my case
now, I should send him a chartel presently. The bastina-
do!
A most proper, and sufficient dependance, warranted
by the great Caranza. Come hither. You shall chartel him.
Ile shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him with, at
pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this Air.
   Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i' the my-
stery, I have heard, Sir.
   Bob. Of whom? of whom ha' you heard it, I be-
seech you?
   Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of divers, that you
have very rare, and un-in-one-breath-utter-able skill, Sir.
   Bob. By Heaven, no, not I; no skill i' the Earth: some
small rudiments i' the Science, as to know my time, di-
stance, or so. I have profest it more for Noblemen, and
Gentlemens use, than mine own practice, I assure you.
Hostess, accommodate us with another Bed-staff here,
quickly: Lend us another Bed-staff. The Woman does
not understand the words of Acton. Look you, Sir
Exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and
let your poynard maintain your defence, thus: (give
it the Gentleman, and leave us) so, Sir. Come on: O,
twine your body more about, that you may fall to a
more sweet, comly, gentleman-like guard, so indifferent.
Hollow your body more Sir, thus. Now, stand fast o'
your left Leg, note your Distance, keep your due pro-
portion of Time —— Oh, you disorder your point,
most irregularly!
   Mat. How is the bearing of it, now, Sir?
   Bob. O, out of measure ill! A well experienc'd hand
would pass upon you at pleasure.
   Mat. How mean you, Sir, pass upon me?
   Bob. Why thus, Sir (make a thrust at me) come in
upon the answer, controul your Point, and make a full
carreer at the Body. The Best-practis'd Gallants of the
Time, name it the passada: a most desperate thrust, be-
lieve it!
   Mat. Well, come, Sir.
   Bob. Why, you do not manage your Weapon with a-
ny facility or grace to invite me! I have no Spirit to play
with you. Your dearth of Judgment renders you
tedious.
   Mat. But one venue, Sir.
   Bob. Venue! Fie. Most gross denomination, as ever I
heard. O, the stoccata, while you live, Sir. Note that.
Come, put on your Cloak, and we'll go to some private
place, where you are acquainted, some Tavern, or so —
and have a bit —— I'le send for one of these Fencers, and
he shall breath you, by my direction; and, then, I will
teach you your trick. You shall kill him with it, at the
first, if you please. Why, I will learn you by the true
judgment of the Eye, Hand, and Foot, to controul any
Enemies Point i' the World. Should your Adversary con-
front you with a Pistol, 'twere nothing, by this hand;
you should, by the same Rule, controul his Bullet, in a
Line; except it were Hail-shot, and spred. What Mo-
ney ha' you about you, Master Matthew?
   Mat. Faith, I ha' not past two Shillings, or so.
   Bob. 'Tis somewhat with the least: but come. We
will have a bunch of Radish, and Salt, to taste our
Wine; and a Pipe of Tabacco, to close the Orifice of the
Stomach: and then we'll call upon young Wellbred.
Perhaps we shall meet the Coridon, his Brother there, and
put him to the question.

Act




6 Every Man in his Humour.


Act II.    Scene II.Scene I.

Kitely, Cash, Down-right.

T
Homas, Come hither.
   There lies a Note, within upon my Desk,
Here take my Key: It is no matter, neither.
Where is the Boy? Cash. Within, Sir, i'th Ware-house,
   Kit. Let him tell over, straight, that Spanish Gold,
And weigh it, with Pieces of Eight. Do you
See the delivery of those Silver-stuffs,
To Master Lucar. Tell him, if he will,
He shall ha' the Grograns, at the rate I told him,
And I will meet him, on the Exchange anon.
   Cash. Good, Sir.
   Kit. Do you see that fellow Brother Down-right.
   Dow. I, What of him?
   Kit. He is a Jewel, Brother.
I took him of a Child, up, at my Door,
And Christened him, gave him mine own Name Thomas,
Since bred him at the Hospital; where proving
A toward Imp, I call'd him home, and taught him
So much, as I have made him my Cashier,
And giv'n him, who had none, a Surname, Cash:
And find him, in his Place so full of faith,
That, I durst trust my Life into his hands!
   Dow. So would not I in any Bastards, Brother,
As, it is like, he is: although I knew
My self his Father. But you said yo' had somewhat
To tell me, gentle Brother, what is't? what is't?
   Kit. Faith, I am very loath, to utter it,
As fearing, it may hurt your patience:
But that I know you Judgment is of strength,
Against the nearness of affection ——
   Dow. What need this Circumstance? pray you be
direct.
   Kit. I will not say, how much I do ascribe
Unto your Friendship; nor, in what regard
I hold your love: but, let my past behaviour,
And usage of your Sister, but confirm
How well I'ave been affected to your ———
   Dow. You are too tedious, come to the matter, the
matter.
   Kit. Then (without further Ceremony) thus.
My Brother Well-bred, Sir, (I know not how)
Of late, is much declin'd in what he was,
And greatly alter'd in his disposition.
When he came first to lodge here in my House,
Ne're trust me, if I were not proud of him:
Me thought he bare himself in such a fashion,
So full of Man, and sweetness in his Carriage,
And (what was chief) it shew'd not borrowed in him,
But all, he did, became him as his own,
And seem'd as perfect, proper, and possest
As Breath with Life; or Colour, with the Blood.
But, now, his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and depriv'd of grace,
And he himself withal so far faln off
From that first place, as scarce no Note remains,
To tell Mens Judgments where he lately stood.
He's grown a stranger to all due respect,
Forgetful of his Friends, and not content
To stale himself in all Societies,
He makes my House here common, as a Mart,
A Theater, a publick Receptacle
For giddy Humour, and diseased Riot;
And here (as in a Tavern, or a Stews)
He, and his wild Associates, spend their Hours,
In repetition of lascivious Jeasts,
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night,
Controul my Servants: and indeed what not?
   Dow. 'Sdeyns, I know not what I should say to him, i'
the whole World! He values me at a crakt Three-Far-

[column break]

things, for ought I see: It will never out of the Flesh
that's bred i' the Bone! I have told him enough, one
would think, if that would serve: But, Counsel to him,
is as good, as a Shoulder of Mutton to a sick Horse. Well!
he knows what to trust to, for George. Let him spend,
and spend, and domineer, till his Heart ake; an' he
think to be reliev'd by me, when he is got into one o'
your City-pounds, the Counters, he has the wrong Sow
by the Ear i' faith: and claps his Dish at the wrong
mans Door. I'll lay my hand o' my Half-peny, e're I
part with't, to fetch him out, I'll assure him.
   Kit. Nay, good Brother, let it not trouble you, this.
   Dow. S'death, he mads me, I could eat my very Spur-
leathers, for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why
do not you speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets
your House?
   Kit. O, There are divers reasons to disswade, Brother,
But, would your self vouchsafe to travel in it,
(Though but with plain and easie Circumstance,)
It would both come much better to his sense,
And favour less of stomach, or of passion.
You are his elder Brother, and that Title
Both gives, and warrants your Authority,
Which (by your presence seconded) must breed
A kind of duty in him, and regard:
Whereas, if I should intimate the least,
It would but add contempt, to his neglect,
Heap worse on ill, make up a Pile of hatred
That, in the rearing, would come tottring down
And, in the ruine, bury all our love.
Nay, more than this, Brother, if I should speak,
He would be ready from his heat of humour,
And over flowing of the Vapour, in him,
To blow the Ears of his familiars,
With the false breath, of telling, what disgraces,
And low disparagements, I had put upon him.
Whilst they, Sir, to relieve him, in the Fable,
Make their loose Comments upon every Word,
Gesture, or Look, I use; mock me all over,
From my flat Cap unto my shining Shooes:
And, out of their impetuous rioting Phant'sies;
Beget some slander, that shall dwell with me.
And what would that be think you? marry, this
They would give out (because my Wife is fair,
My self but lately married, and my Sister
Here sorjourning a Virgin in my House)
That I were jealous! nay, as sure as death,
That they would say. And how that I had quarrell'd,
My Brother purposely, thereby to find
An apt Pretext, to banish them my House.
   Dow. Mass, perhaps so: They're like enough to do it.
   Kit. Brother, they would, believe it: so should I
(Like one of these penurious Quack-salvers)
But set the Bills up to mine own disgrace.
And try Experiments upon my self:
Lend Scorn and Envy opportunity,
To stab my Reputation, and good Name ——

Act II.    Scene II.

Matthew, Bobadil, Down-right, Kitely.


I
 Will speak to him ———
   Bob. Speak to him? away, by the foot of Pharaoh,
you shall not, you shall not do him that grace. The
time of day, to you, Gentleman o' the House. Is Mr. Well-
bred
stirring?
   Dow. How then? what should he do?
   Bob. Gentleman of the House, it is to you: is he with-
in, Sir?
   Kit. He came not to his Lodging to night, Sir, I as-
sure you.
   Dow. Why, do you hear? you.

Bob.




Every Man in his Humour. 7


   Bob. The Gentleman-Citizen hast satisfied me, I'll
talk to no Scavenger.
   Dow. How, Scavenger? stay Sir, stay.
   Kit. Nay, Brother Down-right.
   Dow. 'Heart! stand you away, and you love me.
   Kit. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, Brother,
Good faith you shall not: I will over-rule you.
   Dow. Ha? Scavenger? well, go to, I say little: but, by
this good day, (God forgive me I should swear) if I put
it up so, say, I am the rankest Cow that ever pist.
'Sdeyns, and I swallow this, I'll ne're draw my Sword
in the light of Fleet-street again, while I live; I'll sit in
a Barn, with Madge-howlet, and catch Mice first. Sca-
venger? 'Heart, and I'll go near to fill that huge Tum-
brel-slop of yours, with somewhat, and I have good luck:
your Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so.
   Kit. Oh do not fret your self thus, never think on't.
   Dow. These are my Brothers Consorts, these! these
are his Cam'rades, his walking Mates! he's a Gallant, a
Cavaliero too, right Hang-man cut! Let me not live,
and I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole
gang of 'em, one after another, and begin with him first.
I am griev'd, it should be said he is my Brother, and
take these Courses. Well, as he brews, so shall he drink,
for George, again. Yet he shall hear on't, and that tight-
ly too, and I live, i' faith.
   Kit. But, Brother, let your reprehension (then)
Run in an easie current, not ore-high
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft perswading way,
Whose Powers will work more gently, and compose
Th' imperfect Thoughts you labour to reclaim:
More winning, than enforcing the consent.
   Dow. I, I, let me alone for that, I warrant you.
   Kit. How now? oh, the Bell rings to Breakfast. [Bell rings.
Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my Wife
Company, till I come; I'll but give order
For some dispatch of business to my Servants ——

Act II.    Scene III.

To them.]Kitley, Cob, Dame Kitley.                     

W
Hat, Cob? our Maids will have you by the back
  (i' faith)
For coming so late this Morning.
   Cob. Perhaps so, Sir, take heed some body have not
them by the Belly, for walking so late in the Evening.
[He passes by with his Tankard.
   Kit. Well, yet my troubled spirit's somewhat eas'd,
Though not repos'd in that security
As I could wish: But I must be content.
How e're I set a face on't to the World
Would I had lost this Finger, at a venture,
So Well-bred had ne're lodg'd within my House.
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton Gallants, and young Revellers,
That any Woman should be honest long.
Is't like that factious Beauty will preserve
The publick weal of Chastity unshaken,
When such strong motives muster, and make head
Against her single peace? No, no. Beware
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat,
And Spirits of one kind and quality
Come once to parlee in the Pride of Blood,
It is no slow Conspiracy that follows.
Well (to be plain) if I but thought the time
Had answer'd their affections, all the World
Should not perswade me, but I were a Cuckcold.
Marry, I hope, they ha' not got that start:
For opportunity hath baulkt 'em yet,
And shall do still, while I have Eyes, and Ears
To attend the impositions of my heart.
My presence shall be as an Iron Bar,

[column break]

'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:
Yea, every look, or glance mine eyes ejects,
Shall check occasion, as one doth his Slave,
When he forgets the limits of prescription.
   Dame. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the Rose-
water above in the Closet. Sweet-heart, will you come
in to Break-fast?
   Kit. An' she have over-heard me now?
   Dame. I pray thee (good Muss) we stay for you.
   Kit. By Heaven I would not for a thousand Angels.
   Dame. What aile you, Sweet-heart? are you not well?
speak good Muss.
   Kit. Troth my head akes extreamly, on a sudden.
   Dame. Oh, the Lord!
   Kit. How now? what?
   Dame. Alas, how it burns? Muss, keep you warm,
good truth it is this new Disease, there's a number are
troubled withal! for Loves sake sweet-heart, come in, out
of the Air.
   Kit. How simple, and how subtil are her Answers?
A new Disease, and many troubled with it!
Why true: she heard me, all the world to nothing.
   Dame. I pray thee, good Sweet-heart, come in; the
Air will do you harm, in troth.
   Kit. The Air! she has me i' the Wind! Sweet-heart,
I'll come to you presently: 'twill away, I hope.
   Dame. Pray heaven it do.
   Kit. A new Disease! I know not, new, or old,
But it may well be call'd poor mortals plague:
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
The Houses of the Brain. First, it begins
Solely to work upon the Phantasie,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous Air,
As soon corrupts the Judgment; and from thence,
Sends like contagion to the Memory:
Still each to other giving the infection.
Which as a subtil Vapour spreads it self
Confusedly, through every sensive Part,
Till not a thought or motion in the mind
Be free from the black poyson of suspect.
Ah, but what misery is it, to know this?
Or, knowing it, to want the Minds Erection
In such Extremes? Well, I will once more strive
(In spite of this black Cloud) my self to be,
And shake the Fever off, that thus shakes me.

Act II.    Scene IV.

Brain-worm, Ed. Kno'well, Mr. Stephen.

'S
Lid, I cannot chuse but laugh, to see my self transla-
  ted thus, from a poor Creature to a Creator; for
now must I create an intolerable sort of Lies, or my
present Profession loses the Grace: And yet the Lie to
a Man of my Coat, is as ominous a Fruit, as the Fico. O
Sir, it holds for good Polity ever, to have that outward-
ly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us.
So much for my borrowed Shape. Well, the troth is,
my old Master intends to follow my young, dry-foot,
over Moor-fields, to London, this morning: now I, know-
ing of this Hunting-match, or rather Conspiracy, and
to insinuate with my young Master, (for so must we
that are Blue-waiters, and Men of Hope and Service
do, or perhaps we may wear Motley at the Years end,
and who wears Motley, you know) have got me afore,
in this Disguise, determining here to lie in Ambuscado,
and intercept him in the mid-way. If I can but get his
Cloke, his Purse, his Hat, nay, any thing, to cut him off,
that is, to stay his Journy, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say
with Captain Cζsar, I am made for ever, i' faith. Well,
now must I practise to get the true Garb of one of
these Lance-Knights, my Arm here, and my — young
Master! and his Cousin, Mr. Stephen, as I am true
counterfeit Man of War, and no Soldier!

E. Kn.




8 Every Man in his Humour.


   E. Kn. So Sir; and how then Couz?
   Step. 'Sfoot, I have lost my Purse, I think.
   E. Kn. How? lost your Purse? where? when had
you it?
   Step. I cannot tell, stay.
   Brai. 'Slid, I am afeard they will know me; would I
could get by them.
   E. Kn. What? ha' you it?
   Step. No, I think I was bewitcht, I ——
   E. Kn. Nay, do not weep the Loss, hang it, let it go.
   Step. Oh, it's here: no, and it had been lost, I had not
car'd, but for a Jet Ring Mrs. Mary sent me.
   E. Kn. A jet Ring? O the Poesie, the Poesie?
   Step. Fine, i' faith! Though Fancy sleep, my Love is deep.
Meaning, that tho' I did not fansie her, yet she loved me
dearly.
   E. Kn. Most excellent!
   Step. And then I sent her another, and my Poesie was,
The deeper the sweeter, I'll be judg'd by St. Peter.
   E. Kn. How, by St. Peter? I do not conceive that.
   Step. Marry, St. Peter, to make up the Meter.
   E. Kn. Well, there the Saint was your good Patron,
he help't you at your need; thank him, thank him.
   Brai. I cannot take leave on 'em so; I
[He is come   
 back.
will venture, come what will. Gentlemen,
please you change a few Crowns for a ve-
ry excellent good Blade here? I am a poor
Gentleman, a Soldier, one that (in the better state of my
Fortunes) scorn'd so mean a Refuge; but now it is the
Humour of Necessity to have it so. You seem to be
Gentlemen well affected to Martial Men, else should I
rather die with silence, than live with shame. However
vouchsafe to remember, it is my Want speaks, not my
self. This Condition agrees not with my Spirit ——
   E. Kn. Where hast thou serv'd?
   Brai. May it please you, Sir, in all the late Wars of
Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, Sir? I
have been a poor Servitor by Sea and Land, any time
this fourteen Years, and follow'd the Fortunes of the
best Commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at
the taking of Aleppo, once at the Relief of Vienna; I
have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatick Gulf, a
Gentleman-Slave in the Gallies thrice, where I was most
dangerously shot in the Head, through both the Thighs,
and yet being thus maim'd, I am void of Maintenance,
nothing left me but my Scars, the noted Marks of my
Resolution.
   Step. How will you sell this Rapier, Friend?
   Brai. Generous Sir, I refer it to your own Judgment;
you are Gentleman, give me what you please.
   Step. True, I am a Gentleman, I know that, Friend:
But what though? I pray you say, what would you ask?
   Brai. I assure you, the Blade may become the Side or
Thigh of the best Prince in Europe.
   E. Kn. I, with a Velvet Scabbard, I think.
   Step. Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a Velvet Scab-
bard, Couz, that's flat: I'd not wear it as 'tis, and you
would give me an Angel.
   Brai. At your Worships pleasure, Sir; nay, 'tis a most
pure Toledo.
   Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard. But tell me,
what shall I give you for it? An' it had a Silver Hilt ——
   E. Kn. Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's
a Shilling, Fellow, take thy Rapier.
   Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so;
and there's another Shilling, Fellow, I scorn to be out-
bidden. What, shall I walk with a Cudgel, like Higgin-
bottom,
and may have a Rapier for Money?
   E. Kn. You may buy one in the City.
   Step. Tut, I'll buy this i' the Field, so I will; I have a
mind to't, because 'tis a Field Rapier. Tell me your
lowest Price.
   E. Kn. You shall not buy it, I say.
   Step. By this Money, but I will, though I give more
than 'tis worth.

[column break]

   E. Kn. Come away, you are a Fool.
   Step. Friend, I am a Fool, that's granted; but I'll have
it, for that Words sake. Follow me for your Money.
   Brai. At your service, Sir.

Act II.    Scene V.

Kno'well, Brain-worm.

I
 Cannot lose the thought, yet, of this Letter,
Sent to my Son, nor leave t'admire the Change
Of Manners, and the Breeding of our Youth
Within the Kingdom, since my self was one.
When I was young, he liv'd not in the Stews
Durst have conceiv'd a Scorn, and utter'd it,
On a grey Head; Age was Authority
Against a Buffoon, and a Man had then
A certain Reverence paid unto his Years,
That had none due unto his Life. So much
The Sanctity of some prevail'd, for others.
But now we all are fall'n; Youth, from their Fear;
And Age, from that which bred it, Good Example.
Nay, would our selves were not the first, even Parents,
That did destroy the Hopes in our own Children,
Or they not learn'd our Vices in their Cradles,
And suck'd in our ill Customs with their Milk.
E're all their Teeth be born, or they can speak,
We make their Palats cunning: The first Words
We form their Tongues with, are licentious Jests:
Can it call Whore? cry Bastard? O then kiss it!
A witty Child! Can't swear? The Father's Darling!
Give it two Plums. Nay, rather than't shall learn
No Bawdy Song, the Mother her self will teach it!
But this is in the Infancy, the Days
Of the Long Coat; when it puts on the Breeches,
It will put off all this. I, it is like,
When it is gone into the Bone already.
No, no; this Dye goes deeper than the Coat,
Or Shirt, or Skin: it stains unto the Liver,
And Heart, in some: And, rather than it should not,
Note what we Fathers do! Look how we live!
What Mistrisses we keep! at what Expence,
In our Son's eyes! where they may handle our Gifts,
Hear our lascivious Courtships, see our Dalliance,
Taste of the same provoking Meats with with us,
To ruin of our State! Nay, when our own
Portion is fled, to prey on their Remainder,
We call them into Fellowship of Vice;
Bait 'em with the young Chamber-maid, to seal;
And teach 'em all bad ways to buy Affection.
This is one Path: But there are millions more,
In which we spoil our own, with leading them.
Well, I thank Heaven, I never yet was he
That travell'd with my Son, before Sixteen,
To shew him the Venetian Courtezans;
Nor read the Grammar of Cheating, I had made,
To my sharp Boy, at Twelve; repeating still
The Rule, Get Money; still, Get Money, Boy;
No mater by what Means; Money will do
More, Boy, than my Lord's Letter.
Neither have I
Drest Snails or Mushroms curiously before him,
Perfum'd my Sauces, and taught him to make 'em;
Preceding still, with my grey Gluttony,
At all the Ord'naries, and only fear'd
His Palate should degenerate, not his Manners.
These are the Trade of Fathers now; however,
My Son, I hope, hath met within my Threshold
None of these Household Precedents, which are strong,
And swift, to rape Youth to their Precipice.
But let the House at home be ne'er so clean
Swept, or kept sweet from Filth, nay Dust and Cobwebs;
If he will live abroad with his Companions,
In Dung and Leystals, it is worth a Fear.
Nor is the danger of Conversing less

Than




Every Man in his Humour. 9


Than all that I have mention'd of example.
   Bray. My Master? nay, faith have at you: I am
flesht now, I have sped so well. Worshipful Sir, I be-
seech you, respect the estate of a poor Soldier; I am
asham'd of this base course of life (God's my comfort)
but extremity provokes me to't, what remedy?
   Kno. I have not for you, now.
   Bray By the Faith I bear unto Truth, Gentleman, it
is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve Man-
hood. I protest to you, a Man I have been, a Man I
may be, by your sweet Bounty.
   Kno. 'Pray thee, good Friend, be satisfied.
   Bray. Good Sir, by that Hand, you may do the part
of a kind Gentleman, in lending a poor Soldier the
price of two Cans of Beer, (a matter of small value)
the King of Heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest thank-
ful: sweet Worship ——
   Kno. Nay, and you be so importunate ———
   Bray. Oh, tender Sir, need will have his course: I
was not made to this vile use! well, the edge of the Ene-
my could not have abated me so much: It's hard, when
a Man hath serv'd in his Princes cause, and
be thus —— Honourable worship, let me de-     He weeps.
rive a small piece of Silver from you, it shall
not be given in the course of time; by this good Ground,
I was fain to pawn my Rapier last Night for a poor
Supper; I had suck'd the Hilts long before, I am a Pa-
gan
else: sweet Honour.
   Kno. Believe me, I am taken with some wonder,
To think, a Fellow of thy outward presence,
Should (in the frame, and fashion of his mind)
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base!
Art thou a Man? and sham'st thou not to beg?
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy Education ne'r so mean,
Having thy Limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy Election.
Either the Wars might still supply thy wants,
Or Service of some vertuous Gentleman,
Or honest Labour: nay, what can I name
But would become thee better than to beg?
But Men of thy condition feed on sloth,
As doth the Beetle, on the Dung she breeds in,
Not caring how the mettal of your minds
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
Now, afore me, what e'er he be, that should
Relieve a Person of thy Quality,
While thou insists in this loose desperate course,
I would esteem the sin, not thine, but his.
   Bray. Faith Sir, I would gladly find some other course,
if so ——
   Kno. I, youl'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.
   Bray. Alas, Sir, where should a Man seek? in the
Wars, there's no ascent by desert in these days; but —
and for Service, would it were as soon purchast, as wisht
for (the Air's my comfort) I know, what I would
say ——
   Kno. What's thy name?
   Bray. Please you, Fitz-Sword, Sir.
   Kno. Fitz-Sword?
Say that a Man should entertain thee now,
Would'st thou be honest, humble, just, and true?
   Bray. Sir, by the place, and honour of a Soldier ——
   Kno. Nay, nay, I like not those affected Oaths;
Speak plainly Man: what think'st thou of my words?
   Bray. Nothing, Sir, but wish my Fortunes were as hap-
py, as my Service should be honest.
   Kno. Well, follow me, I'll prove thee, if thy deeds
Will carry a proportion to thy words.
   Bray. Yes Sir, straight, I'll but garter my Hose. Oh
that my Belly were hoopt now, for I am ready to burst
with laughing! never was Bottle or Bag-pipe fuller.
'Slid, was there ever seen a Fox in years to betray him-
self thus? now shall I be possest of all his counsels:

[column break]

and by that Conduit, my young Master. Well, he is
resolv'd to prove my honesty; faith, and I am resolv'd
to prove his patience: oh I shall abuse him intollera-
bly. This small piece of service will bring him clean
out of love with the Soldier for ever. He will never
come within the sign of it, the sight of a Cassock, or a
Musket rest again. He will hate the Musters at Mile-
end
for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the
World think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give
him the slip, at an instant: why, this is better than to
have staid his Journey! well, I'll follow him: oh, how I
long to be imployed!

Act III.    Scene I.

Matthew, Well-bred, Bobadill, Ed. Kno'well, Stephen.

Y
ES faith, Sir, we were at your Lodging to seek
  you too.
   Wel. Oh, I came not there to Night.
   Bob. Your Brother delivered us as much.
   Wel. Who? my Brother Downright?
   Bob. He. Mr. Well-bred, I know not in what kind you
hold me; but let me say to you this: as sure as honour, I
esteem it so much out of the Sun-shine of reputation,
to throw the least beam of regard upon such a —
   Wel. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my Brother.
   Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be sav'd a-
bout me, I never saw any Gentleman-like-part ——
   Wel. Good Captain, faces about, to some other dis-
course.
   Bob. With your leave, Sir, and there were no more
Men living upon the face of the Earth, I should not fan-
cy him, by St. George.
   Mat. Troth, nor I, he is of a rustical cut, I know not
how: he doth not carry himself like a Gentleman of
fashion ———
   Wel. Oh, Mr. Matthew, that's a grace peculiar but to
a few; quos ζquus amavit Jupiter.
   Mat. I understand you, Sir.
   Wel. No question, you do, or you do not,
Young Kno'-
well enters.
Sir. Ned Kno'well! by my Soul welcome;
how dost thou sweet Spirit, my Genius?
'Slid I shall love Apollo, and the mad The-
spian
Girls the better, while I live, for this; my dear
Fury: now, I see there's some love in thee! Sirrah, these
be the two I writ to thee of (nay, what a drowsie hu-
mour is this now? why dost thou not speak?
   E. Kn. Yes, I'll be sworn, I was ne'er guilty of read-
ing the like; match it in all Pliny, or Symmachus Epistles,
and I'll have my judgment burn'd in the Ear for a
Rogue: make much of thy vein, for it is inimitable.
But I marle what Camel it was, that had the carriage
of it? for, doubtless, he was no ordinary Beast that
brought it!
   Wel. Why?
   E. Kn. Why, saist thou? why dost thou think that
any reasonable Creature, especially in the Morning (the
sober time of the day too) could have mis-tane my Father for me?
   Wel. 'Slid, you jest, I hope?
   E. Kn. Indeed, the best use we can turn it too is to
make a jest on't, now: but I'll assure you, my Father
had the full view o' your flourishing stile, some hour be-
fore I saw it.
   Wel. What a dull Slave was this? But Sirrah, what said
he to it, i'faith?
   E. Kn. Nay, I know not what he said: but I have a
shrewd guess what he thought.
   Wel. What? what?

C                                       E. Kn.




10 Every Man in his Humour.


   E. Kn. Marry, that thou art some strange dissolute
young Fellow, and I a grain or two better, for keeping
thee company.
   Wel. Tut, that thought is like the Moon in her last
quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, Sirrah, I pray thee
be acquainted with my two hang by's here; thou wilt
take exceeding pleasure in 'em, if thou hear'st 'em once
go: my Wind-instruments. I'll wind 'em up —— but
what strange piece of silence is this? the sign of the
dumb Man?
   E. Kn. Oh, Sir, a Kinsman of mine, one that may
make your Musick the fuller, and he please, he has his
humour, Sir.
   Wel. Oh, what ist? what ist?
   E. Kn. Nay, I'll neither do your Judgment, nor his
Folly that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension: I'll
leave him to the mercy o'your search, if you can take
him, so.
   Wel. Well, Captain Bobadill, Mr. Matthew 'pray you
know this Gentleman here, he is a Friend of mine, and
one that will deserve your affection. I know not
your name Sir, but I shall be glad of any occasion, to
render me more familiar to you.     [To Master Stephen.
   Step. My name is Mr. Stephen, Sir, I am this Gentle-
man's own Cousin, Sir, his Father is mine Uncle, Sir: I
am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me,
Sir, in whatsoever is incident to a Gentleman.
   Bob. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general Man,
but for Mr. Well-bred's sake (you may embrace it at
what height of favour you please) I do communicate
with you, and conceive you to be a Gentleman of
some parts; I love few words.                   [To Kno'well.
   E. Kn. And I fewer, Sir, I have scarce enough to thank
you.
   Mat. But are you indeed, Sir so given to it?
[To Master Stephen.

   Step. I truly, Sir, I am mightily given to melan-
choly.
   Mat. Oh, it's your only fine humour, Sir, your true
melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, Sir: I am me-
lancholy my self, divers times, Sir, and then do I no
more but take Pen and Paper presently, and over-
flow you half a score, or a dozen of Sonnets at a sit-
ting.
   (E. Kn. Sure he utters them then by the gross.)
   Step. Truly, Sir, and I love such things out of mea-
sure.
   E. Kn. I'faith, better than in measure, I'll under-
take.
   Mat. Why, I pray you, Sir, make use of my Study, it's
at your service.
   Step. I thank you, Sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you;
have you a Stool there, to be melancholy upon?
   Mat. That I have, Sir, and some Papers there of mine
own doing, at idle hours, that you'll say there's some
sparks of wit in 'em, when you see them.
   Wel. Would the sparks would kindle once, and be-
come a fire amongst 'em, I might see self-love burnt for
her Heresie.
   Step. Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?
   E. Kn. Oh I, excellent!
   Wel. Captain Bobadill, why muse you so?
   E. Kn. He is meloncholymelancholy too.
   Bob. Faith, Sir, I was thinking of a most honourable
piece of service, was perform'd to morrow, being
St. Mark's day, shall be some ten years, now.
   E. Kn. In what place, Captain?
   Bob. Why, at the beleag'ring of Strigonium, where, in
less than two hours, seven hundred resolute Gentlemen,
as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach.
I'll tell you, Gentlemen, it was the first, but the best
Leaguer that ever I beheld with these Eyes, except the
taking in of —— what do you call it, last year, by the
Genoways, but that (of all other) was the most fatal

[column break]

and dangerous exploit that ever I was rang'd in, since I
first bore Arms before the face of the Enemy, as I am a
Gentleman, and a Soldier.
   Step. 'So, I had as lief as an Angel I could swear as
well as that Gentleman.
   E. Kn. Then, you were a Servitor at both it seems; at
Strigonium, and what do you call't?
   Bob. O Lord, Sir, by St. George, I was the first Man
that entred the breach: and, had I not effected it with
resolution, I had been slain if I had had a million of
lives.
   E. Kn. 'Twas pitty you had not ten; a Cats and your
own, i'faith. But, was it possible?
   (Mat. Pray you, mark this discourse, Sir.
   Step. So I do.)
   Bob. I assure you (upon my Reputation) 'tis true, and
your self shall confess.
   E. Kn. You must bring me to the rack, first.
   Bob. Observe me judicially, sweet Sir, they had
planted me three Demi-culverings just in the mouth of
the breach; now, Sir, (as we were to give on) their
Master-gunner, (a Man of no mean skill and mark, you
must think) confronts me with his Linstock, ready to
give fire; I spying his intendment, discharg'd my Pe-
trionel in his Bosom, and with these single Arms, my
poor Rapier ran violently upon the Moors that guarded
the Ordnance, and put 'em pell-mell to the Sword.
   Wel. To the Sword? to the Rapier, Captain?
   E. Kn. Oh, it was a good figure observ'd, Sir! but
did you all this, Captain, without hurting your Blade?
   Bob. Without any impeach o' the Earth: you shall
perceive Sir. It is the most fortunate Weapon that
ever rid on poor Gentleman's Thigh: shall I tell you,
Sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so:
tut, I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'em, I know the
vertue of mine own, and therefore I dare the boldlier
maintain it.
   Step. I mar'l whether it be a Toledo, or no?
   Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, Sir.
   Step. I have a Country-man of his here.
   Mat. Pray you, let's see, Sir: yes faith, it is!
   Bob. This a Toledo? pish.
   Step. Why do you pish, Captain?
   Bob. A Fleming, by Heaven. I'll buy them for a Guil-
der apiece, an' I would have a thousand of them.
   E. Kn. How say you, Cousin? I told you thus much.
   Wel. Where bought you it, Master Stephen?
   Step. Of a scurvy Rogue Soldier (a hundred of Lice
go with him) he swore it was a Toledo.
   Bob. A poor provant Rapier, no better.
   Mat. Mass, I think it be, indeed, now I look on't
better.
   E. Kn. Nay, the longer you look on't, the worse. Put
it up, put it up.
   Step. Well, I will put it up; but by — (I ha' forgot
the Captains Oath, I thought to ha' sworn by it) an'
e'er I meet him ——
   Wel. O, it is past help now, Sir, you must have pa-
tience.
   Step. Horsoon Cunny-catching Raskal! I could eat
the very Hilts for anger.
   E. Kn. A sign of good digestion: you have a Ostrich-
stomach, Cousin.
   Step. A stomach? would I had him here, you should
see an' I had a stomach.
   Wel. It's better as 'tis: come, Gentlemen, shall we go?



Act




Every Man in his Humour. 11


Act III.    Scene II.

E. Kno'well, Brain-worm, Stephen, Well-bred, Bobadill,
   Matthew.


A
 Miracle, Cousin, look here! look here!
   Step. Oh, Gods lid, by your leave, do you know
me, Sir?
   Brai. I Sir, I know you by sight.
   Step. You sold me a Rapier, did you not?
   Brai. Yes marry did I, Sir.
   Step. You said, it was a Toledo, ha?
   Brai. True, I did so.
   Step. But it is none.
   Brai. No Sir, I confess it, it is none.
   Step. Do you confess it? Gentlemen, bear witness, he
has confest it. By Gods will, an' you had not confest
it ———
   E. Kn. Oh Cousin, forbear, forbear.
   Step. Nay, I have done, Cousin.
   Wel. Why, you have done like a Gentleman, he has
confest it, what would you more?
   Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a Raskall, under his fa-
vour, do you see?
   E. Kn. I, by his leave, he is, and under favour: a
pretty peicepiece of Civility! Sirrah, how dost thou like
him?
   Wel. Oh it's a most precious Fool, make much on him:
I can compare him to nothing more happily, than a
Drum; for every one may play upon him.
   E. Kn. No, no, a Childs Whistle were far the fitter.
   Brai. Sir, shall I intreat a word with you?
   E. Kn. With me, Sir? you have not another Toledo to
sell, ha' you?
   Brai. You are conceited, Sir; your Name is Master
Kno'well, as I take it?
   E. Kn. You are i' the right; you mean not to pro-
ceed in the Catechism, do you?
   Brai. No Sir, I am none of that Coat.
   E. Kn. Of as bare a Coat, though; well, say Sir.
   Brai. Faith Sir, I am but Servant to the Drum ex-
traordinary, and indeed (this smoky varnish being
washt off, and three or four Patches remov'd) I appear
your Worship in Reversion, after the decease of your
good Father, Brain-worm.
   E. Kn. Brain-worm! 'Slight, what breath of a Conju-
rer hath blown thee hither in this shape?
   Brai. The breath o' your Letter, Sir, this Morning:
the same that blew you to the Wind mill, and your Fa-
ther after you.
   E. Kn. My Father!
   Brai. Nay, never start, 'tis true, he has follow'd you
over the Fields by the Foot, as you would do a Hare i'
the Snow.
   E. Kn. Sirrah, Well-bred, what shall we do, Sirrah?
my Father is come over after me.
   Wel. Thy Father, where is he?
   Brai. At Justice Clement's House, in Coleman Street,
where he but stays my return; and then ———
   Wel. Who's this? Brain-worm?
   Brai. The same, Sir.
   Wel. Why how, in the name of wit, com'st thou
transmuted thus?
   Brai. Faith, a Device, a Device: nay, for the love of
Reason, Gentlemen, and avoiding the Danger, stand
not here; withdraw and I'll tell you all.
   Wel. But art thou sure he will stay thy return?
   Brai. Do I live, Sir? what a question is that?
   Wel. We'll prorogue his Expectation then, a little:
Brain-worm, thou shalt go with us. Come on Gentle-
men; nay, I pray thee, sweet Ned, droop not; 'heart,
an' our Wits be so wretchedly dull, that one old plod-
ding Brain can out strip us all, would we were e'ne prest

[column break]

to make Porters of, and serve out the Remnant of our
days in Thames street, or at Custom-house Key, in a Ci-
vil War against the Carmen.
   Brai. Amen, Amen, Amen, say I.

Act III.    Scene III.

Kitely, Cash.

W
Hat says he, Thomas? Did you speak with him?
   Cash. He will expect you, Sir, with in this half
hour.
   Kit. Has he the Money ready, can you tell?
   Cash. Yes, Sir, the Money was brought in last night.
   Kit. O, that's well: fetch me my Cloke, my Cloke.
Stay let me see, an hour to go and come;
I, that will be the least: and then 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch with him,
Or very near: well, I will say two hours.
Two hours? ha? things never dreamt of yet,
May be contriv'd, I, and effected too,
In two hours absence: well, I will not go.
Two hours! no, fleering Opportunity,
I will not give your subtilty that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd,
That set his Doors wide open to a Thief,
And shews the Fellon where his Treasure lies?
Again, what earthly Spirit but will attempt
To taste the Fruit of Beauties golden Tree,
When leaden sleep seals up the Dragons Eyes?
I will not go. Business, go by for once.
No, Beauty, no; you are of too good caract,
To be left so, without a guard, or open!
Your luster too'll inflame at any distance,
Draw Courtship to you, as a Jet doth Straws,
Put motion in a Stone, strike Fire from Ice,
Nay, make a Porter leap you with his burden!
You must be then kept up close, and well watch'd,
For, give you opportunity, no Quick-sand
Devoures or swallows swifter! He that lends
His Wife (if she be fair) or time or place,
Compels her to be false. I will not go.
The dangers are too many. And, then, the dressing
Is a most main attractive! Our great Heads
Within the City never were in safety
Since our Wives wore these little Caps: I'll change 'em,
I'll change 'em straight in mine. Mine shall no more
Wear three pil'd Acorns, to make my Horns ake.
Nor will I go. I am resolv'd for that.
Carry in my Cloke again. Yet stay. Yet do too.
I will defer going on all occasions.
   Cash. Sir, Snare your Scrivener will be there with th'
Bonds.
   Kit. That's true! Fool on me! I had clean forgot it;
I must go. What's a Clock?   Cash. Exchange-time,
Sir.
   Kit. 'Heart, then will Well-bred presently be here
      too,
With one or other of his loose Consorts.
I am a Knave, if I know what to say,
What course to take, or which way to resolve.
My Brain methinks is like an Hour-glass,
Wherein my 'maginations run like Sands,
Filling up Time; but then are turn'd and turn'd:
So that I know not what to stay upon,
And less to put in act. It shall be so.
Nay, I dare build upon his secresie,
He knows not to deceive me. Thomas?  Cash. Sir.
   Kit. Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not.
Thomas, is Cob within?   Cash. I think he be, Sir.
   Kit. But he'll prate too, there's no Speech of him.
No, there were no Man o' the Earth to Thomas,
If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt.
But should he have a chink in him, I were gone,
C2                                  Lost      




12 Every Man in his Humour.


Lost i' my fame for ever, talk for th' Exchange.
The manner he hath stood with, till this present,
Doth promise no such change, what should I fear then?
Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once.
Thomas —— you may deceive me, but, I hope ——
Your love to me is more — Cash. Sir, if a Servants
Duty, with Faith, may be call'd love, you are
More than in hope, you are possess'd of it.
   Kit. I thank you heartily Thomas. I have Thomas,
A secret to impart unto you —— but,
When once you have it, I must seal your Lips up:
(So far I tell you Thomas.) Cash. Sir, for that ——
   Kit. Nay, hear me out. Think I esteem you Thomas,
When I will let you in thus to my private.
It is a thing fits nearer to my crest,
Than thou art 'ware of, Thomas. If thou should'st
Reveal it, but ——— Cash. How! I reveal it?  Kit.
      Nay,
I do not think thou would'st; but if thou should'st,
'Twere a great weakness.   Cash. A great treachery.
Give it no other name.    Kit. Thou wilt not do't, then?
   Cash. Sir, if I do, Mankind disclaim me ever.
   Kit. He will not swear, he has some Reservation,
Some conceal'd purpose, and close meaning sure;
Else (being urg'd so much) how should he choose
but lend an Oath to all this Protestation?
He's no Precisian, that I am certain of.
Nor rigid Roman Catholick. He'll play
At Fayles, and at Tick-tack, I have heard him swear.
What should I think of it? urge him again,
And by some other way: I will do so.
Well Thomas, thou hast sworn not to disclose;
Yes, you did swear?   Cash. Not yet, Sir, but I will,
Please you —— Kit. No, Thomas, I dare take thy word.
But, if thou wilt swear, do as thou think'st good;
I am resolv'd without it; at thy pleasure.
   Cash. By my Souls safety then, Sir, I protest.
My tongue shall ne're take knowledg of a word
Deliver'd me in nature of your trust.
   Kit. It's too much, these Ceremonies need not,
I know thy Faith to be as firm as Rock.
Thomas, come hither, near: we cannot be
Too private in this business. So it is,
(Now he has sworn, I dare the safelier ventuer)
I have of late, by divers Observations ——
(But whether his Oath can bind him, yea, or no,
Being not taken lawfully? ha? say you?
I will ask Counsel ere I do proceed:)
Thomas, it will be now too long to stay,
I'll spy some fitter time soon, or to morrow.
   Cash. Sir, at your pleasure?   Kit. I will think. And
      Thomas,
I pray you search the Books 'gainst my return,
For the Receipts 'twixt me and Traps.   Cash. I will, Sir.
   Kit. And hear you, if your Mistris Brother Well-
      bred

Chance to bring hither any Gentlemen,
Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word.
   Cash. Very well, Sir.   Kit. To the Exchange; do you
      hear!
Or here in Colman Street, to Justice Clements.
Forget it not, nor be not out of the way.
   Cash. I will not, Sir.   Kit. I pray you have a care
      on't.
Or whether he come, or no, if any other
Stranger, or else fail not to send me word.
   Cash. I shall not, Sir.   Kit. Be't you special Bu-
      siness
Now to remember it.   Cash. Sir, I warrant you.
   Kit. But, Thomas, this is not the Secret, Thomas,
I told you of.   Cash. No, Sir. I do suppose it.
   Kit. Believe me, it is not.   Cash. Sir, I do believe
      you.

[column break]

   Kit. By Heaven it is not, that's enough. But Thomas,
I would not you should utter it, do you see?
To any Creature living; yet I care not.
Well, I must hence. Thomas, conceive thus much
It was a tryal of you, when I meant
So deep a Secret to you, I mean not this,
But that I have to tell you; this is nothing, this!
But Thomas, keep this from my Wife, I charge you,
Lock'd up in silence, Mid-night, buried here.
No greater Hell than to be slave to Fear.
   Cash. Lock'd up in silence, Mid night, buried here!
Whence should this flood of Passion (trow) take head?
      ha?
Best dream no longer of this running humour,
For fear I sink! the violence of the Stream
Already hath transported me so far,
That I can feel no ground at all! but soft,
Oh, 'tis our Water-bearer; somewhat has crost him
      now.

Act III.    Scene IV.

Cob, Cash.

F
Asting days? what tell you me of Fasting days?
 'Slid, would they were all on a light Fire for
me: They say the whole World shall be consum'd
with Fire one day, but would I had these Ember-
weeks and villanous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and
then ———
   Cash. Why, how now Cob? what moves thee to this
Choler? ha?
   Cob. Collar, Master Thomas? I scorn your Collar, I
Sir, I am none o' your Cart-horse, though I carry
and draw Water. An' you offer to ride me with your
Collar or Halter either, I may hap shew you a Jades
trick, Sir.
   Cash. O, you'll slip your Head out of the Collar?
why goodman Cob you mistake me.
   Cob. Nay I have my Rheum, and I can be angry as
well as another, Sir.
   Cash. Thy Rhume Cob? thy Humour, thy Humour?
thou mistak'st.
   Cob. Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what
is that Humour? some rare thing I warrant.
   Cash. Mary I'll tell thee Cob: It is a Gentleman-like
Monster, bred in the special gallantry of our Time, by
Affectation; and fed by Folly.
   Cob. How? must it be fed?
   Cash. Oh I, Humour is nothing if it be not fed.
Didst thou never hear that? it's a common Phrase, Feed
my Humour.

   Cob. I'll none on it: Humour, avant, I know you
not, be gone. Let who will make hungry Meals for
your Monster-ship, it shall not be I. Feed you, quoth
he? 'Slid, I ha' much ado to feed my self; especially
on these lean rascally days too; and't had been any
other day but a Fasting-day (a Plague on them all for
me) by this Light, one might have done the Common-
wealth good Service, and have drown'd them all i' the
Flood Two or three hundred thousand years ago. O,
I do stomach them hugely! I have a Maw now,
and 'twere for Sir Bevis his Horse, against 'em.
   Cash. I pray thee, good Cob, what makes thee so out
of love with Fasting-days?
   Cob. Marry that which will make any Man out of
love with 'em, I think: their bad Conditions, an' you
will needs know. First, they are of a Flemish breed
I am sure on't, for they raven up more Butter than
all the days of the Week beside: Next they stink of
Fish and Leek-porridge miserable: thirdly, they'll
keep a Man devoutly hungry all day, and at night
send him supperless to Bed.

Cash.




Every Man in his Humour. 13


   Cash. Indeed these are Faults, Cob.
   Cob. Nay, and this were all, 'twere something; but
they are the only known Enemies to my Generation. A
Fasting day no sooner comes, but my Linage goes to
wrack, poor Cobs, they smoak for it, they are made
Martyrs o' the Gridiron, they melt in passion: And
your Maids too know this, and yet would have me turn
Hannibal, and eat my own Flesh and
[He pulls out
 a Red Her-
 ring.
Blood. My Princely Couz, fear no-
thing; I have not the heart to devour
you, an' I might be made as rich as
King Cophetua. O that I had room for
my Tears, I could weep Salt-water enough now to
preserve the Lives of ten thousand of my Kin. But
I may curse none but these filthy Almanacks; for
an't were not for them, these Days of Persecution
would ne'er be known. I'll be hang'd an' some Fish-
monger's Son do not make of 'em, and puts in more
Fasting days than he should do, because he would utter
his Father's dried Stock-fish and stinking Conger.
   Cash. 'Slight, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a Stock-fish
else: Here's Mr. Matthew. Now must I look out for a
Messenger to my Master.

Act III.    Scene V.

Well-bred, E. Kno'well, Brain worm, Bobadil, Matthew,
Stephen, Thomas, Cob.


B
Eshrew me, but it was an absolute good Jest, and
 exceedingly well carried.
   E. Kn. I, and our Ignorance maintain'd it as well, did
it not?
   Wel. Yes faith; but was't possible thou should'st not
know him? I forgive Mr. Stehpen, for he is Stupidity it
self.
   E. Kn. 'Fore God, not I, an' I might have been join'd
Patten with one of the Seven Wise Masters for knowing
him. He had so writhen himself into the Habit of one
of your poor Infantry, your decay'd, ruinous, worm-
eaten Gentlemen of the Round; such as have vowed to
sit on the Skirts of the City, like your Provost and his
half-dozen of Halberdiers do what they can; and have
translated Begging out of the old Hackney-pace, to a
fine easie Amble, and made it run as smooth on the
Tongue as a shove-groat Shilling. Into the Likeness of
one of these Reformado's had he moulded himself so per-
fectly, observing every Trick of their Action, as, varying
the Accent, swearing with an Emphasis, indeed all with
so special and exquisite a Grace, that (hadst thou seen
him) thou would'st have sworn, he might have been
Serjeant Major, if not Lieutenant-Colonel to the Re-
giment.
   Wel. Why Brain-worm, who would have thought thou
hadst been such an Artificer?
   E. Kn. An Artificer? an Architect! Except a Man
had studied Begging all his Life-time, and been a Wea-
ver of Language from his Infancy for the cloathing of
it, I never saw his Rival.
   Wel. Where got'st thou this Coat, I mar'le?
   Brai. Of a Houndsditch man, Sir; one of the Devil's
neer Kinsmen, a Broker.
   Wel. That cannot be, if the Proverb hold; for, A
crafty Knave needs no Broker.

   Brai. True, Sir: But I did need a Broker, Ergo.
   Wel. (Well put off.) No crafty Knave, you'l say.
   E. Kn. Tut, he has more of these Shifts.
   Brai. And yet where I have one, the Broker has ten,
Sir.
   Tho. Francis, Martin: Ne'er a one to be found now?
What a spite's this?
   Wel. How now, Thomas? Is my Brother Kitely within?
   Tho. No Sir, my Master went forth e'en now; but
Master Downright is within. Cob, what Cob? Is he gone
too?

[column break]

   Wel. Whither went your Master, Thomas, canst thou
tell?
   Tho. I know not; to Justice Clements, I think Sir-
Cob.    E. Kn. Justice Clement! what's he?
   Wel. Why, dost thou not know him? He is a City-
Magistrate, a Justice here, an excellent good Lawyer,
and a great Scholar; but the only mad, merry old Fel-
low in Europe. I shew'd him you the other day.
   E. Kn. Oh, is that he? I remember him now. Good
faith, and he has a very strange Presence, methinks; it
shews as if he stood out of the Rank from other Men:
I have heard many of his jests i' the University. They
say, he will commit a Man for taking the Wall of his
Horse.
   Wel. I, or wearing his Cloke on one Shoulder, or ser-
ving of God; any thing indeed, if it come in the way
of his Humour.
   Cash. Gasper, Martin, Cob: 'Heart, where should they
[Cash goes in and out, calling.
be trow?
   Bob. Master Kitely's Man, pray thee vouchsafe us the
lighting of this Match.
   Cash. Fire on your Match: No time but now to vouch-
safe? Francis, Cob.
   Bob. Body o' me! Here's the Remainder of Seven
Pound since yesterday was seven-night. 'Tis your right
Trinidado: Did you never take any, Master Stephen?
   Step. No truly, Sir; but I'll learn to take it now, since
you commend it so.
   Bob. Sir, Believe me (upon my Relation) for what I
tell you, the World shall not reprove. I have been in
the Indies (where this Herb grows) where neither my
self, nor a dozen Gentlemen more (of my knowledge)
have received the taste of any other Nutriment in the
World, for the space of one and twenty Weeks, but the
Fume of this Simple only. Therefore, it cannot be, but
'tis most Divine. Further, take it in the nature, in the true
kind, so it makes an Antidote, that had you taken the
most deadly poisonous Plant in all Italy, it should expel
it, and clarifie you, with as much ease as I speak. And
for your green Wound, your Belsamum and your St.
John's Wort
are all meer Gulleries and Trash to it, espe-
cially your Trinidado; your Nicotian is good too. I
could say what I know of the Vertue of it, for the ex-
pulsion of Rhewms, raw Humours, Crudities, Obstru-
ctions, with a thousand of this kind; but I profess my
self no Quacksalver. Only thus much; By Hercules, I
do hold it, and will affirm it (before any Prince in Eu-
rope
) to be the most sovereign and precious Weed that
ever the Earth tendred to the use of Man.
   E. Kn. This Speech would ha' done decently in a
Tabacco-trader's Mouth.
   Cash. At Justice Clement's he is, in the middle of Cole-
man-street.

   Cob. Oh, oh!
   Bob. Where's the Match I gave thee, Master Kitely's
Man?
   Cash. Would his Match, and he, and Pipe and all were
at Sancto Domingo. I had forgot it.
   Cob. By Gods me, I mar'le what pleasure or felicity
they have in taking this roguish Tabacco! It's good for
nothing but to choak a Man, and fill him full of Smoke
and Embers: There were four died out of one House
last week with taking of it, and two more the Bell went
for yesternight; one of them (they say) will ne'er scape
it; he voided a Bushel of Soot yesterday, upward and
downward. By the Stocks, an' there were no wiser
Men than I, I'd have it present whipping, Man or Wo-
man, that should but deal with a Tabacco-pipe; why,
it will stifle them all in the end, as many as use it; it's
little better than Ratsbane or Rosaker.
   All. Oh, good Captain, hold, hold.
[Bobadil beats him with a Cudgel.

   Bob. You base Cullion, you.
Cash. Sir,




14 Every Man in his Humour.


   Cash. Sir, here's your Match. Come, thou must needs
be talking too tho' art well enough serv'd.
   Cob. Nay, he will not meddle with his Match, I
warrant you: Well, it shall be dear Beating, an' I live.
   Bob. Do you prate? do you murmur?
   E. Kn. Nay, good Captain, will you regard the Hu-
mour of a Fool? Away, Knave.
   Well. Thomas, get him away.
   Bob. A horson filthy Slave, a Dung-worm, an Excre-
ment! Body o' Cζsar, but that I scorn to let forth so
mean a Spirit, I'ld ha' stabb'd him to the Earth.
   Wel. Marry, the Law forbid, Sir.
   Bob. By Pharaoh's Foot, I would ha' done it.
   Step. Oh, he swears most admirably! (By Pharaoh's
Foot, Body o' Cζsar) I shall never do it sure, (Upon
mine Honour, and by St. George) No, I ha' not the right
Grace.
   Mat. Master Stephen, will you any? By this Air, the
most Divine Tabacco that ever I drunk!
   Step. None, I thank you, Sir. O, this Gentleman do's
it rarely too! but nothing like the other. By this Air,
as I am a Gentleman: By ———
   Brai. Master, glance, glance! Master Wel-bred!
   Step. As I have somewhat to be saved, I protest ——
[Mr. Stephen is practising to the Post.

   Wel. You are a Fool, it needs no Affidavit.
   E. Kn. Cousin, will you any Tabacco?
   Step. I, Sir! Upon my Reputation ———
   E. Kn. How now, Cousin!
   Step. I protest, as I am a Gentleman, but not Soldier,
indeed ———
   Wel. No, Master Stephen? As I remember, your Name
is entered in the Artillery garden.
   Step. I, Sir, that's true. Cousin, may I swear, As I am
a Soldier, by that?
   E. Kn. O yes, that you may; it's all you have for
your Money.
   Step. Then, as I am a Gentleman, and a Soldier, it is
Divine Tabacco.
   Wel. But soft, where's Mr. Matthew? gone?
   Brai. No, Sir; they went in here.
   Wel. O, let's follow them: Master Matthew is gone to
salute his Mistriss in Verse; we shall ha' the happiness to
hear some of his Poetry now; he never comes unfur-
nish'd. Brain-worm?
   Step. Brain-worm? where? is this Brain-worm?
   E. Kn. I, Cousin; no words on it, upon your Gentility.
   Step. Not I, body of me, by this Air, St. George, and
the Foot of Pharaoh.
   Wel. Rare! Your Cousin's Discourse is simply drawn
out with Oaths.
   E. Kn. 'Tis larded with 'em; a kind of French Dres-
sing, if you love it.

Act III.    Scene VI.

Kitely, Cob.

H
A? How many are there, saist thou?
   Cob. Marry Sir, your Brother, Master Well-bred ——
   Kit. Tut, beside him: what Strangers are there, Man?
   Cob. Strangers? Let me see, one, two; mass I know
not well, there are so many.
   Kit. How? so many?
   Cob. I, there's some five, or six of them at the most.
   Kit. A swarm, a swarm!
Spite of the Devil, how they sting my Head
With forked Stings, thus wide and large! But, Cob,
How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?
   Cob. A little while, Sir.
   Kit. Didst thou come running?
   Cob. No, Sir.
   Kit. Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste!
Bane to my Fortunes, what meant I to marry?

[column break]

I, that before was rank'd in such Content,
My Mind at rest too, in so soft a Peace,
Being free Master of mine own free Thoughts,
And now become a Slave? What, never sigh,
Be of good cheer, Man; for thou art a Cuckold:
'Tis done, 'tis done! Nay, when such flowing Store,
Plenty it self, falls in my Wives Lap,
The Cornucopiζ will be mine, I know. But, Cob,
What Entertainment had they? I am sure
My Sister and my Wife would bid them welcom! ha?
   Cob. Like enough, Sir; yet I heard not a word of it.
   Kit. No; their Lips were seal'd with Kisses, and the voice
Drown'd in a Flood of Joy, at their arrival,
Had lost her Motion, State, and Faculty.
Cob, which of them was't that first kist my Wife?
(My Sister, I should say) my Wife, alas!
I fear not her. Ha? who was it, saist thou?
   Cob. By my troth, Sir, will you have the troth of it?
   Kit. Oh I, good Cob, I pray thee heartily.
   Cob. Then I am a Vagabond, and fitter for Bridewel
than your Worships Company, if I saw any body to be
kist, unless they would have kist the Post in the middle
of the Warehouse; for there I left them all at their Ta-
bacco, with a pox.
   Kit. How? were they not gone in then e'er thou
cam'st?
   Cob. O no, Sir.
   Kit. Spite of the Devil! what do I stay here then?
Cob, follow me.
   Cob. Nay, soft and fair, I have Eggs on the Spit; I
cannot go yet, Sir. Now am I, for some five and fifty
Reasons, hammering, hammering Revenge: Oh for
three or four Gallons of Vinegar, to sharpen my Wits.
Revenge, Vinegar Revenge, Vinegar and Mustard Re-
venge! Nay, an' he had not lien in my House, 'twould
never have griev'd me; but being my Guest, one that
I'll be sworn my Wife has lent him her Smock off her
Back, while his one Shirt has been at washing; pawn'd
her Neck-kerchers for clean Bands for him; sold almost
all my Platters, to buy him Tabacco; and he to turn
Monster of Ingratitude, and strike his lawful Host!
Well, I hope to raise up an Hoast of Fury for't: Here
comes Justice Clement.

Act III.    Scene VII.

Clement, Kno'well, Formal, Cob.

W
Hat's Master Kitely gone, Roger?
   For. I, Sir.
   Clem. 'Heart o' me! what made him leave us so ab-
ruptly! How now, Sirrah? what make you here? what
would you have, ha?
   Cob. An't please your Worship, I am a poor Neigh-
bour of your Worships ——
   Clem. A poor Neighbour of mine? Why, speak poor
Neighbour.
   Cob. I dwell, Sir, at the Sign of the Water-tankard,
hard by the Green Lattice: I have paid Scot and Lot
there any time this eighteen Years.
   Clem. To the Green Lattice?
   Cob. No, Sir, to the Parish: Marry, I have seldom
scap'd scot-free at the Lattice.
   Clem. O, well! What Business has my poor Neigh-
bour with me?
   Cob. An't like your Worship, I am come to crave the
Peace of your Worship.
   Clem. Of me, Knave? Peace of me, Knave? Did I
ever hurt thee, or threaten thee, or wrong thee? ha?
   Cob. No, Sir; but your Worships Warrant for one
that has wrong'd me, Sir: His Arms are at too much
liberty, I would fain have them bound to a Treaty of
Peace, an' my Credit could compass it with your Wor-
ship.
Clem. Thou




Every Man in his Humour. 15


   Clem. Thou goest far enough about for't, I am sure.
   Kno. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him,
Friend?
   Cob. No, Sir; but I go in danger of my death every
hour, by his means: an' I die within a twelve-month and
a day, I may swear by the Law of the Land that he
kill'd me.
   Clem. How? how Knave? swear he kill'd thee? and
by the Law? what pretence? what Colour hast thou for
that?
   Cob. Marry, an't please your Worship, both Black
and Blue; Colour enough, I warrant you. I have it
here to shew your Worship.
   Clem. What is he that gave you this, Sirrah?
   Cob. A Gentleman and a Soldier, he says he is, o' the
City here.
   Clem. A Soldier o' the City? What call you him?
   Cob. Captain Bobadil.
   Clem. Bobadil? And why did he bob and beat you,
Sirrah? How began the quarrel betwixt you, ha? speak
truly Knave, I advise you.
   Cob. Marry, indeed, an't please your Worship, only
because I spake against their vagrant Tobacco, as I came
by 'em when they were taking on't; for nothing else.
   Clem. Ha! you speak against Tobacco? Formall, his
name.
   Form. What's your name, Sirrah?
   Cob. Oliver, Sir, Oliver Cob, Sir.
   Clem. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the Gaol Formall.
   Form. Oliver Cob, my Master, Justice Clement says, you
shall go to the Gaol.
   Cob. O, I beseech your Worship, for God's sake, dear
Master Justice.
   Clem. Nay, God's precious, an' such Drunkards and
Tankards as you are, come to dispute of Tobacco once,
I have done! away with him.
   Cob. O, good Master Justice, sweet old Gentleman.
   Kno. Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good.
Justice Clement, let me intreat you, Sir.
   Clem. What? a thread-bare Rascal! a Beggar! a Slave,
that never drunk out of better than Piss-pot Mettle in
his life! and he to deprave and abuse the vertue of an
Herb so generally receiv'd in the Courts of Princes, the
Chambers of Nobles, the Bowers of sweet Ladies, the
Cabbins of Soldiers! Roger, away with him, by God's
precious —— I say, go too.
   Cob. Dear Master Justice, let me be beaten again, I
have deserv'd it: but not the Prison, I beseech you.
   Kno. Alas poor Oliver!
   Clem. Roger, make him a Warrant (he shall not go)
I but fear the Knave.
   Form. Do not stink sweet Oliver, you shall not go, my
Master will give you a Warrant.
   Cob. O, the Lord maintain his Worship, his worthy
Worship.
   Clem. Away, dispatch him. How now, Master Kno'-
well,
in dumps! in dumps? Come, this becomes not.
   Kno. Sir, would I could not feel my Cares ——
   Clem. Your Cares are nothing! they are like my Cap,
soon put on, and as soon put off. What? your Son is
old enough to govern himself: let him run his course,
it's the only way to make him a staid Man. If he
were an Unthrift, a Ruffian, a Drunkard, or a Licenti-
ous liver, then you had reason; you had reason to take
Care: but, being none of these, Mirth's my witness, an'
I had twice so many cares as you have, I'ld drown
them all in a Cup of Sack. Come, come, let's try it:
I muse your parcel of a Soldier returns not all this
while.


[column break]

Act IV.    Scene I.

Down-right, Dame Kitely.

W
Ell Sister, I tell you true: and you'll find it so in
 the end.
   Dame. Alas, Brother, what would you have me to do?
I cannot help it: you see my Brother brings 'em in
here; they are his Friends.
   Down. His Friends? his Fiends. 'Slud, they do nothing
but haunt him up and down, like a sort of unlucky
Sprites, and tempt him to all manner of villany that
can be thought of. Well, by this Light, a little thing
would make me play the Devil with some of 'em; and
'twere not more for your Husband's sake, than any
thing else, I'd make the House too hot for the best on
'em: they should say, and swear, Hell were broken
loose, e'er they went hence. But, by God's will, 'tis no
Bodies fault but yours: for, an' you had done as you
might have done, they should have been parboil'd and
bak'd too, every Mothers Son, e'er they should ha' come
in e'er a one of 'em.
   Dame. God's my life! did you ever hear the like?
what a strange Man is this! Could I keep out all them,
think you? I should put my self against half a dozen
Men? should I? Good faith youl'd mad the patient'st
Body in the World, to hear you talk so, without any
sense or reason!

Act IV.    Scene II.

Mrs. Bridget, Mr. Matthew, Dame Kitely, Down-right,
 Well-bred, Stephen, Ed. Kno'well, Bobadil, Brain-worm,
 Cash.


S
Ervant (in troth) you are too prodigal
 Of your wits treasure, thus to poure it forth,
Upon so mean a subject as my worth.
   Mat. You say well, Mistris, and I mean as well.
   Down. Hoy-day, here is stuff!
   Wel. O, now stand close: pray Heaven, she can get
him to read: He should do it of his own natural im-
pudency.
   Brid. Servant, what is this same, I pray you?
   Mat. Marry, an Elegy, an Elegy, an odd toy ———
   Down. To mock an Ape withall. O, I could sew up
his Mouth, now.
   Dame. Sister, I pray you let's hear it.
   Down. Are you Rhime-given too?
   Mat. Mistris, I'll read it, if you please.
   Brid. Pray you do, Servant.
   Down. O, here's no foppery! Death, I can indure the
Stocks better.
   E. Kn. What ails thy Brother? can he not hold his
Water at reading of a Ballad?
   Wel. O, no: a Rhime to him is worse than Cheese, or
a Bag-pipe. But mark, you lose the protestation.
   Mat. Faith, I did it in a humour; I know not how
it is: but, please you come near, Sir. This Gentleman
has judgment, he knows how to censure of a — pray
you, Sir, you can judge.
   Step. Not I, Sir: upon my Reputation, and by the
Foot of Pharaoh.
   Wel. O, chide your Cousin for swearing.
   E. Kn. Not I, so long as he do's not forswear himself.
   Bob. Master Matthew, you abuse the expectation of
your dear Mistris and her fair Sister: Fie, while you
live avoid this prolixity.
   Mat. I shall, Sir: well, Incipere dulce.
   E. Kn. How! Insipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a Fool,
indeed.
   Wel. What, do you take Insipere in that sense?

E. Kn.




16 Every Man in his Humour.


   E. Kn. You do not? you! This was your Villany, to
gull him with a motte.
   Wel. O, the Benchers Phrase: Pauca verba, pauca verba.
   Mat. Rare Creature, let me speak without offence,
Would God my rude words had the influence,
To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine,
Then should'st thou be his Prisoner, who is thine.

   E. Kn. This is in Hero and Leander.
   Wel. O, I peace, we shall have more of this.
   Mat. Be not unkind, and fair; mishapen stuff
Is of behaviour boysterous and rough.

   Wel. How like you that, Sir?
[Master Stephen answers with shaking his head.

   E. Kn. 'Slight, he shakes his Head like a Bottle, to
feel and there by any Brain in it!
   Mat. But observe the Catastrophe, now:
And I in duty will exceed all other,
As you in Beauty do excel Loves Mother.

   E. Kn. Well, I'll have him free of the Wit-brokers,
for he utters nothing but stol'n Remnants.
   Wel. O, forgive it him.
   E. Kn. A filching Rogue, hang him. And from the
dead? it's worse than Sacriledge.
   Wel. Sister, what ha' you here? Verses? pray you let's
see: Who made these Verses? they are excellent good!
   Mat. O, Master Well-bred, 'tis your disposition to say
so, Sir. They were good i'the Morning; I made 'em,
ex tempore, this Morning.
   Wel. How? ex tempore?
   Mat. I, would I might be hang'd else: ask Captain
Bobadill: He saw me write them, at the — (Pox on it)
the Star, yonder.
   Brai. Can he find in his heart to curse the Stars so?
   E. Kn. Faith, his are even with him: they ha' curst
him enough already.
   Step. Cousin, how do you like this Gentleman's
Verses?
   E. Kn. O, admirable! the best that ever I heard,
Couz!
   Step. Body o' Cζsar, they are admirable!
The best that ever I heard, as I am a Soldier.
   Down. I am vext, I can hold ne'er a Bone of me still!
Heart, I think they mean to build and breed here!
   Wel. Sister, you have a simple Servant here, that
crowns your Beauty with such Encomions and devices:
you may see, what it is to be the Mistris of a Wit! that
can make your perfections so transparent, that every
blear Eye may look through them, and see him drown'd
over Head and Ears in the deep Well of desire. Sister
Kitely, I marvel you get you not a Servant that can
Rhime, and do Tricks too.
   Down. Oh Monster! impudence it self! Tricks?
   Dame. Tricks, Brother? what Tricks?
   Brid. Nay, speak, I pray you, what Tricks?
   Dame. I never spare any Body here: but say, what
Tricks?
   Brid. Passion of my Heart! do Tricks?
   Wel. 'Slight, here's a Trick vied and revied! why, you
Munkies you, what a Catter-waling do you keep? ha's
he not given you Rhimes, and Verses, and Tricks?
   Down. O, the Fiend!
   Wel. Nay, you Lamp of Virginity, that take it in
snuff so! come and cherish this tame Poetical Fury, in
your Servant, you'll be begg'd else shortly for a conceal-
ment: go to, reward his Muse. You cannot give him
less than a Shilling in Conscience, for the Book he had
it out of cost him a Teston at least. How now, Gal-
lants? Mr. Matthew? Captain? What, all Sons of si-
lence? no spirit?
   Down. Come, you might practice your Ruffian tricks
somewhere else, and not here, I wuss: this is no Tavern
nor drinking-School, to vent your exploits in.
   Wel. How now! whose Cow has calv'd?
   Down. Marry, that has mine, Sir,   Nay, Boy, never

[column break]

look askance at me for the matter; I'll tell you of it, I,
Sir, you and your Companions mend yourselves when
I ha' done?
   Wel. My Companions?
   Down. Yes, Sir, your Companions, so I say, I am not
afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here.
You must have your Poets and your Potlings, your Sol-
dado's
and Foolado's to follow you up and down the City,
and here they must come to domineer and swagger.
Sirrah, you Ballad-singer, and Slops your fellow there,
get you out, get you home; or (by this Steel) I'll cut
off your Ears, and that presently.
   Wel. 'Slight, stay, let's see what he dare do: cut off
his Ears! cut a Whetston. You are an Ass, do you see?
touch any Man here, and by this Hand, I'll run my Ra-
pier to the Hilts in you.
   Down. Yea that would I fain see, Boy.
   Dame. O Jesu! murder. Thomas Gasper!
   Brid. Help, help, Thomas.
[They all draw, and they of the House
       make out to part them.


   E. Kn. Gentlemen forbear, I pray you.
   Bob. Well, Sirrah, you Holofernes: by my Hand, I will
pink your Flesh full of holes with my Rapier for this;
I will by this good Heaven: Nay, let him come, let
him come, Gentlemen, by the Body of St. George I'll not
[They offer to fight again, and are parted.
kill him.
   Cash. Hold, hold, good Gentlemen.
   Down. You whorson, bragging Coystril!

Act IV.    Scene III.

[to them.
         Kitely.

W
HY, how now? what's the matter? what's the
 stir here?
Whence springs the quarrel, Thomas? where is he?
Put up your Weapons, and put off this rage:
My Wife and Sister, they are cause of this.
What, Thomas? where is this Knave?
   Cash. Here, Sir.
   Wel. Come, let's go: this is one of my Brothers an-
cient humours, this.
   Step. I am glad, no Body was hurt by his ancient hu-
mour.
   Kite. Why, how now, Brother, who enforc'd this
brawl?
   Down. A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for
God nor the Devil! And they must come here to read
Ballads, and Roguery, and Trash! I'll mar the knot of
'em e'er I sleep perhaps: especially Bob, there: he that's
all manner of shapes! and Songs and Sonnets, his Fellow.
   Brid. Brother, indeed, you are too violent,
Too sudden in your humour: and you know
My Brother Well-breds temper will not bear
Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence,
Where every slight disgrace, he should receive,
Might wound him in opinion, and respect.
   Down. Respect? what talk you of respect 'mong such,
As ha' no spark of Manhood, nor good Manners?
'Sdeins, I am asham'd to hear you! respect?
   Brid. Yes, there was one a civil Gentleman,
And very worthily demean'd himself!
   Kite. O, that was some Love of yours, Sister!
   Brid. A Love of mine? I would it were no worse,
Brother,
Youl'd pay my Portion sooner than you think for.
   Dame. Indeed, he seem'd to be a Gentleman of an
exceeding fair disposition, and of very excellent good
parts!
   Kite. Her Love, by Heaven! my Wives minion!
   Fair disposition? excellent good parts?
Death, these Phrases are intollerable!
Good parts? how should she know his parts?
His




Every Man in his Humour. 17


His parts? Well, well, well, well, well, well!
It is too plain, too cleer: Thomas, come hither.
What, are they gone?   Cash. I, Sir, they went in.
My Mistris, and your Sister ———
   Kite. Are any of the Gallants within?
   Cash. No, Sir, they are all gone.
   Kite. Art thou sure of it?
   Cash. I can assure you, Sir.
   Kite. What Gentleman was that they prais'd so, Tho-
mas?

   Cash. One, they call him Master Kno'well, a handsom
young Gentleman, Sir.
   Kite. I, I thought so: my mind gave me as much:
I'll die, but they have hid him i'the House.
Somewhere; I'll go and search: go with me, Thomas.
Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a Master.

Act IV.    Scene IV.

Cob, Tib.

W
Hat Tib, Tib, I say.
   Tib. How now, what Cuckold is that knocks
so hard?
O, Husband, is't you? what's the news?
   Cob. Nay you have stun'd me, i'faith! you ha' giv'n
me a knock o' the Forehead will stick by me! Cuckold?
'Slid, Cuckold?
   Tib. Away you Fool, did I know it was you that
knockt?
Come, come, you may call me as bad when you list.
   Cob. May I? Tib, you are a Whore.
   Tib. You lye in your Throat, Husband.
   Cob. How, the lye? and in my Throat too? do you
long to be stab'd, ha?
   Tib. Why, you are no Soldier, I hope?
   Cob. O, must you be stab'd by a Soldier? Mass, that's
true! when was Bobadill here? your Captain? that
Rogue, that foist, that fencing Burgullian? I'll tickle him,
i'faith.
   Tib. Why, what's the matter? trow?
   Cob. O, he has basted me rarely, sumptuously! but I
have it here in black and white; for his black and
blue shall pay him. O, the Justice! the honest old
brave Trojan in London! I do honour the very Flea of his
Dog. A Plague on him though, he put me once in a
villanous filthy fear; marry, it vanisht away like the smoke
of Tabacco; but I was smok'd soundly first. I thank the
Devil, and his good Angel, my guest. Well, Wife, or
Tib (which you will) get you in, and lock the Door, I
charge you let no Body in to you; Wife, no Body in to
you: those are my words. Not Captain Bob himself, nor
the Fiend in his likeness; you are a Woman, you have
Flesh and Blood enough in you to be tempted: there-
fore keep the Door shut upon all comers.
   Tib. I warrant you, there shall no Body enter here
without my consent.
   Cob. Nor with your consent, sweet Tib, and so I leave
you.
   Tib. It's more than you know, whether you leave
me so.
   Cob. How?       Tib. Why, sweet.
   Cob. Tut, sweet or sowr, thou art a Flower.
Keep close thy Door, I ask no more.

Act IV.    Scene V.

Ed. Kno'well, Well-bred, Stephen. Brain-worm.

W
Ell, Brain-worm, perform this business happily,
 And thou makest a purchase of my Love for ever.
   Wel. I'faith, now let thy spirits use their best faculties.
But, at any hand, remember the message to my Brother:
for there's no other means to start him.

[column break]

   Brai. I warrant you, Sir, fear nothing: I have a nim-
ble Soul has wak't all forces of Phat'sie by this time;
and put 'em in true motion. What you have possest
me withall, I'll discharge it amply, Sir: make it no que-
stion.
   Wel. Forth, and prosper, Brain-worm. Faith, Ned,
how dost thou approve of my abilities in this de-
vice?
   E. Kn. Troth, well, howsoever: but, it will come ex-
cellent, if it take.
   Wel. Take, Man? why it cannot chuse but take, if the
circumstances miscarry not: but, tell me ingenuously,
dost thou affect my Sister Bridget as thou pretend'st?
   E. Kn. Friend, am I worth belief?
   Wel. Come, do not protest. In faith, she is a Maid
of good ornament, and much modesty: and, except
I conceiv'd very worthily of her, thou shouldst not
have her.
   E. Kn. Nay, that I am afraid will be a question yet,
whether I shall have her, or no?
   Wel. 'Slid, thou shalt have her; by this Light thou
shalt.
   E. Kn. Nay, do not swear.
   Wel. By this Hand thou shalt have her: I'll go fetch
her presently. Point but where to meet, and as I am
an honest Man I'll bring her.
   E. Kn. Hold, hold, be temperate.
   Wel. Why, by —— what shall I swear by? thou shalt
have her, as I am ———
   E. Kn. Pray thee, be at peace, I am satisfied: and do
believe thou wilt omit no offered occasion to make my
desires compleat.
   Wel. Thou shalt see, and know, I will not.

Act IV.    Scene VI.

Formall, Kno'well, Brain-worm.

W
AS your Man a Soldier, Sir?
   Kno. I, a Knave, I took him begging o' the
way,
This morning, as I came over Moor-fields!
O, here he is! yo' have made fair speed, believe me:
Where, i' the name of sloth, could you be thus? ——
   Brai. Marry, peace by my comfort, where I thought
I should have had little comfort of your Worships
service.
   Kno. How so?
   Brai. O, Sir, your coming to the City, your enter-
tainment of me, and your sending me to watch ———
indeed, all the circumstances either of your Charge, or
my Imployment are as open to your Son, as to your self.
   Kno. How should that be, unless that Villain, Brain-
worm,

Have told him of the Letter, and discover'd
All that I strictly charg'd him to conceal? 'tis so!
   Brai. I am partly, o' the faith 'tis so indeed.
   Kno. But, how should he know thee to be my Man?
   Brai. Nay, Sir, I cannot tell; unless it be by the
black Art! is not your Son a Scholar, Sir?
   Kno. Yes, but I hope his Soul is not allied
Unto such Hellish practice: if it were,
I had just cause to weep my part in him,
And curse the time of his Creation.
But, where didst thou find them, Fitz-Sword?
   Brai. You should rather ask where they found me,
Sir; for, I'll be sworn, I was going along in the Street,
thinking nothing, when (of a suddain) a Voice calls
Mr. Knowell's Man; another cries, Soldier: and thus half
a dozen of 'em, till they had call'd me within a House,
where I no sooner came, but they seem'd Men, and out
flew all their Rapiers at my Bosom, with some three or
fourscore Oaths to accompany 'em; and all to tell me,
I was a dead Man, if I did not confess where you
D                                                 were,




18 Every Man in his Humour.


were, and how I was imployed, and about what;
which, when they could not get out of me (as I pro-
test, they must ha' dissected, and made an Anatomy o'
me first, and so I told 'em) they lockt me up into a
Room i' the top of a high House, whence by great
Miracle (having a light Heart) I slid down by a bottom
of Packthred into the Street, and so scapt. But, Sir,
thus much I can assure you, for I heard it while I was
lockt up, there were a great many Rich Merchants and
brave Citizens Wives with 'em at a Feast: and your
Son, Mr. Edward, withdrew with one of 'em, and has
pointed to meet her anon at one Cobs 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.
   E. Kn. Nor will I fail to break his match I doubt
not.
Go thou along with Justice Clements Man,
And stay there for me. At one Cobs House sayst thou?
   Brai. I Sir, there you shall have him. Yes? invisi-
ble? Much Wench, or much Son! 'Slight, when he has
staid there three or four Houres, travelling with the
expectation of Wonders, and at length be deliver'd of
Air: O, the sport that I should then take, to look on
him if I durst! But now I mean to appear no more a-
fore him in this shape. I have another trick to act yet.
O that I were so happy as to light on a nupson now of
this Justices Novice. Sir, I make you stay somewhat
long.
   Form. Not a whit, Sir. Pray you what do you mean,
Sir?
   Brai. I was putting up some Papers ———
   Form. You ha' been lately in the Wars, Sir, it seems.
   Brai. Marry have I, Sir, to my loss; and expence of
all almost ——
   Form. Troth Sir, I would be glad to bestow a Pottle
of Wine o' you, if it please you to accept it ——
   Brai. O, Sir ———
   Form. But to hear the manner of your Services, and
your Devices in the Wars, they say they be very strange,
and not like those a Man reads in the Roman Histories, or
sees at Mile-end.
   Brai. No I assure you, Sir; why at any time when
it please you, I shall be ready to discourse to you all I
know: and more too somewhat.
   Form. No better time than now, Sir; we'll go to the
Wind-mill: there we shall have a Cup of neat Grist,
we call it. I pray you, Sir, let me request you to the
Wind-mill.
   Brai. I'll follow you, Sir, and make Grist of you, if
I have good luck.

Act IV.    Scene VII.

Matthew, Ed. Kno'well, Bobadil, Stephen, Down-right. [to them.

S
Ir, did you Eyes ever taste the like Clown of him,
 where we were to day, Mr. Well-bred's half Brother?
I think the whole Earth cannot shew his Parallel by this
Day-light.
   E. Kn. We were now speaking of him: Captain
Bobadill tells me he is fallen foul o' you too.
   Mat. O, I Sir, he threatned me with the Bastinado.
   Bob. I, but I think, I taught you prevention this
Morning, for that —— You shall kill him beyond que-
stion: 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
[He practises at a Post.
lightning, hay?
   Mat. Rare Captain!
   Bob. Tut, 'tis nothing, an't be not done in a — punto!
   E. Kn. Captain, did you ever prove your self upon a-
ny of our Masters of defence here?

[column break]

   Mat. O good Sir! yes I hope he has.
   Bob. I will tell you, Sir. Upon my first coming to the
City, after my long travail, for knowledg (in that mi-
stery only) there came three or four of 'em to me, at
a Gentlemans House, where it was my chance to be re-
sident at that time, to intreat my Presence at their
Schools; and withal so much importun'd me, that (I
protest to you, as I am a Gentleman) I was asham'd
of their rude demeanour out of all measure: well, I
told 'em that to come to a publick School, they should
pardon me, it was opposite (in diameter) to my Hu-
mour; but, if so be they would give their attendance
at my lodging, I protested to do them what right or
favour I could, as I was a Gentleman, and so forth.
   E. Kn. So, Sir, then you tryed their skill?
   Bob. Alas, soon tryed! you shall hear Sir. Within
two or three days after they came; and, by honestly,
fair Sir, believe me, I grac'd them exceedingly, shew'd
them some two or three tricks of prevention, have pur-
chas'd 'em since a Credit to admiration! they cannot
deny this: and yet now they hate me, and why? be-
cause I am excellent, and for no other vile Reason on
the Earth.
   E. Kn. This is strange and barbarous! as ever I heard.
   Bob. Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous
natures; but note, Sir. They have assaulted me some
three, four, five, six of them together, as I have walkt
alone in divers Skirts i' the Town, as Turn-bull, White-
chappel, Shore-ditch,
which were then my Quarters; and
since, upon the Exchange, at my Lodging, and at my
Ordinary: where I have driven them afore me the
whole length of a Street, in the open view of all our
Gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe me. Yet all this
Lenity will not o're-come their Spleen; they will be
doing with the Pismier, raising a Hill a Man may spurn
abroad with his Foot at pleasure. By my self I could
have slain them all, but I delight not in Murder. I am
loth to bear any other than this Bastinado for 'em: yet
I hold it good polity not to go disarm'd, for though I
be skilful, I may be oppress'd with Multitudes.
   E. Kn. I, believe me, my 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. Kn. O, but your skill, Sir.
   Bob. Indeed, that might be some loss; but who re-
spects it? I will tell you, Sir, by the way of private,
and under Seal; I am a Gentleman, and live here ob-
scure, and to my self; but, were I known to Her Ma-
jesty and the Lords (observe me) I would undertake
(upon this poor Head and Life) for the publick benefit
of the State, not only to spare the intire Lives of her
Subjects in general, but to save the one half; nay, three
parts of her yearly charge in holding War, and against
what Enemy soever. And how would I do it think you?
   E. Kn. Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive.
   Bob. Why thus, Sir. I would select Nineteen more,
to my self throughout the Land; Gentlemen they
should be of good Spirit, strong and able Constitution, I
would choose them by an instinct, a Character that I
have: and I would teach these Nineteen the special
Rules, as your Punto, your Reverso, your Stoccata, your
Imbroccata, your Passada, your Montanto; till they could
all play very near, or altogether as well as my self. 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




Every Man in his Humour. 19


Forty thousand; Forty times five, Five times forty, Two
hundred days kills them all up by Computation. And
this will I venture my poor Gentleman-like Carcass to
perform (provided there be no Treason practis'd upon
us) by fair and discreet Manhood; that is, civilly by
the Sword.
   E. Kn. Why are you so sure of your hand Captain at
all times?
   Bob. Tut, never miss thrust upon my Reputation
with you.
   E. Kn. I would not stand in Down-rights state then,
an' you meet him, for the Wealth of any one Street in
London.
   Bob. Why, Sir, you mistake me! if he were here
now, by this welkin, I would not draw my Weapon
on him! let this Gentleman do his mind: but I will
bastinado him (by the bright Sun) where ever I
meet him.
   Mat. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him at my distance.
   E. Kn. Gods so, look where he is; yonder he goes.
[Downright walks over the Stage.

   Dow. What peevish luck have I, I cannot meet with
these bragging Raskals?
   Bob. It's not he? is it?
   E. Kn. Yes faith, it is he?
   Mat. I'll be hang'd then if that were he.
   E. Kn. Sir, keep your hanging good for some greater
matter, for I assure you that was 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 induc'd to believe it was he
yet.
   E. Kn. That I think, Sir. But see, he is come a-
gain!
   Dow. O, Pharoahs foot have I found you? Come,
draw to your Tools; draw Gipsie, 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 it till now (body
of me) I had a Warrant of the Peace served on me,
even now as I came along, by a Water-bearer; this
Gentleman saw it, Mr. Matthew.
   Dow. 'Sdeath, you will not draw then?
[He beats him and disarms him, Matthew runs away.

   Bob. Hold, hold, under thy favour forbear.
   Dow. Prate again, as you like this, you Whoreson
foist you. You'll controul the Point, you? Your Con-
sort is gone? had he staid he had shar'd with you, Sir.
   Bob. Well Gentlemen, bear Witness, I was bound to
the Peace, by this good day.
   E. Kn. 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 your self: that'll prove but a
poor excuse.
   Bob. I cannot tell, Sir. I desire good construction in
fair sort. I never sustain'd the like disgrace (by Hea-
ven) sure I was struck with a Plannet thence, for I had
no power to touch my Weapon.
   E. Kn. I, like enough, I have heard of many that
have been beaten under a Plannet: go, get you to a
Surgeon. 'Slid, an' these be your Tricks, your passa-
does,
and your mountantoes, I'll none of them. O, man-
ners! that this Age should bring forth such Creatures!
that Nature should be at leisure to make 'em! Come
Couz.
   Step. Mass I'll ha' this Cloke.
   E. Kn. Gods will, 'tis Down-rights.
   Step. Nay, it's mine now, another might have tane't
up as well as I, I'll wear it, so I will.
   E, Kn. How an' he see it? he'll challenge it, assure
your self.
   Step. I, but he shall not ha' it; I'll say I bought it.
   E. Kn. Take heed you buy it not too dear Couz.

[column break]

Act. IV.    Scene VIII.

Kitely, Well bred. Dame Kit, Bridget, Brain-worm, Cash.

N
Ow, trust me Brother, you were much to blame,
 T' incense his Anger, and disturb the Peace
Of my poor House, where there are Sentinels,
That every Minute watch to give Alarms,
Of Civil War, without adjection
Of your assistance or occasion.
   Wel. No harm done, Brother, I warrant you: since
there is no harm done. Anger costs a Man nothing:
and a tall Man is never his own Man till he be angry.
To keep his Valour in obscurity, is to keep himself as
it were in a Cloke-bag. What's a Musician unless he
play? What's a tall Man unless he fight? For indeed all
this my wise Brother stands upon absolutly; and that
made me fall in with him so resolutely.
   Dame. I, but what harm might have come of it, Brother?
   Wel. Might, Sister? so might the good warm Clothes
your Husband wears be poyson'd, for any thing he
knows; or the wholesom Wine he drunk, even now,
at the Table ——
   Kite. Now, God forbid: O me. Now I remember
My Wife drunk to me last; and chang'd the Cup,
And bade me wear this cursed Sute to day.
See, if heav'n suffer murder undiscovered!
I feell me ill; give me some Mithridate,
Some Mithridate and Oyl, good Sister, fetch me;
O, I am sick at heart! I burn, I burn.
If you will save my Life, go, fetch it me.
   Wel. O strange humour! my very breath has poyson'd
him.
   Brid. Good Brother be content, what do you mean?
The strength of these extream Conceits will kill you.
   Dame. Beshrew your Heart blood, Brother Well-bred,
now, for putting such a toy into his Head.
   Wel. Is a fit simile a Toy? will he be poyson'd with a
simile? Brother Kitely, what a strange and idle imagina-
tion is this? For shame, be wiser. O my Soul there's
no such matter.
   Kite, Am I not sick? how am I then, not poyson'd?
Am I not poyson'd? how am I then, so sick?
   Dame. If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick.
   Wel. His Jealousie is the Poyson he has taken.
   Brai. Mr. Kitely, my Master Justice Clement salutes you;
and desires to speak with you with all possible speed.
[He comes disguis'd like Justice Clements Man.

   Kite. No time but now? when I think I am sick? ve-
ry sick! well, I will wait upon his Worship. Thomas, Cob,
I must seek them out, and set 'em Sentinels till I return.
Thomas, Cob, Thomas.
   Wel. This is perfectly rare, Brain-worm! but how got'st
thou this Apparel of the Justices Man?
   Brai. Marry Sir, my proper fine Pen-man, would
needs bestow the Grist o' me, at the Wind-mil, to hear
some martial Discourse; where so I marshal'd 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
Sute 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 ha' pawn'd his Ap-
parel, and spent the better part o' the Money, perhaps.
   Wel. Well, thou art a successful merry Knave, Brain-
worm,
his absence will be a good subject for more mirth.
I pray thee, return to thy young Master, and will him to
meet me and my Sister Bridget at the Tower instantly;
for, here tell him the House is so stor'd with Jealousie,
there is no room for Love to stand upright in. We must
get our fortunes committed to some larger Prison, say; and
then the Tower, I know no better Air: nor where the Li-
berty of the House may do us more present service. Away.
D 2                                             Kite.




20 Every Man in his Humour.


   Kite. Come hither, Thomas. Now, my secret's ripe,
And thou shalt have it: lay to both thine Ears.
Hark, what I say to thee. I must go forth, Thomas,
Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch,
Note every Gallant, and observe him well,
That enters in my absence to thy Mistress:
If he would shew him Rooms, the Jest is stale,
Follow 'em, Thomas, or else hang on him,
And let him not go after; mark their Looks;
Note if she offer but to see his Hand,
Or any other amorous Toy about him;
But praise his Leg, or Foot; or if she say
The day is hot, and bid him feel her hand,
How hot it is; O, that's a monstrous thing!
Note me all this, good Thomas, mark their Sighs,
And, if they do but whisper, break 'em off:
I'll bear thee out in it. Wilt thou do this?
Wilt thou be true, my Thomas?
   Cash. As truth's self, Sir.
   Kite. Why, I believe thee; where is Cob, now? Cob?
   Da. He's ever calling for Cob! I wonder how he im-
ploys Cob so!
   Wel. Indeed Sister, to ask how he imploys Cob, is a
necessary question, for you that are his Wife, and a thing
not very easie for you to be satisfied in; but this I'll as-
sure you, Cobs Wife is an excellent Bawd, Sister, and
oftentimes, your Husband hants 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, e're now, Sister.
   Dame. Never said you truer than that, Brother, so
much I can tell you for your learning. Thomas, fetch
your Cloke and go with me, I'll after him presently: I
would to fortune I could take him there, i' faith, I'd re-
turn him his own, I warrant him.
   Wel. So let 'em go: this may make sport anon. Now,
my fair Sister-in-law, that you knew but how happy a
thing it were to be Fair and Beautiful?
   Brid. That touches not me Brother.
   Wel. That's true; that's even the fault of it: for in-
deed, Beauty stands a Woman in no stead, unless it pro-
cure her touching. But, Sister, whether it touch you
or no, it touches your Beauties; and I am sure, they
will abide the touch; an' they do not, a Plague of all
Ceruse, say I; and it touches me too in part, though
not in the — Well, there's a dear and respected Friend
of mine, Sister, stands very strongly and worthily af-
fected toward you, and hath vow'd to inflame whole
Bone-fires of zeal at his Heart in Honour of your Per-
fections. I have already engag'd my promise to bring
you, where you shall hear him confirm much more.
Ned Kno'wel is the Man, Sister. There's no exception
against the Party. you are ripe for a Husband; and a
Minutes loss to such an occasion, is a great trespass in a
wise Beauty. What say you, Sister? On my Soul he
loves you, Will you give him the meeting?
   Brid. Faith I had very little confidence in mine own
constancy, Brother, if I durst not meet a Man: but
this motion of yours, favours of an old Knight-adven-
turers Servant, a little too much methinks.
   Wel. What's that, Sister?  Brid. Marry of the Squire.
   Wel. No matter if it did, I would be such an one for
my Friend, but see! who is return'd to hinder us?
   Kite. What villany is this? call'd out on a false Message?
This was some Plot! I was not sent for. Bridget,
Where's your Sister?  Brid. I think she be gone forth, Sir.
   Kite How! is my Wife gone forth? whither for Gods sake?
   Brid. She's gone abroad with Thomas.
   Kite. Abroad with Thomas? oh, that villain dors me.
He hath discover'd all unto my Wife!
Beast that I was to trust him; whither, I pray you, went
she?
   Brid. I know not, Sir.
   Wel. I'll tell you, Brother, wither I suspect she's gone.

[column break]

   Kite. Whither, good Brother?
   Wel. To Cobs House, I believe: but, keep my Counsel.
   Kite. I will, I will: to Cobs House? doth she hant
Cobs?
She's gone a purpose now to Cuckold me,
With that lewd Raskal, who, to win her favour,
Hath told her all.   Wel. Come, he's once more gone,
Sister, let's lose no time; th' Affair is worth it.

Act IV.   Scene IX.

Matthew, Bobadil, Brain-worm, Down-right.  [to them.
I
 Wonder Captain what they will say of my going a-
 way? ha?
   Bob. Why, what should they say? but as of a discreet
Gentleman? quick, wary, respectful of Natures fair Li-
neaments; and that's all?
   Mat. Why so! but what can they say of your beating?
   Bob. A rude part, a touch with soft Wood, a kind of
gross Battery us'd, laid on strongly, born most patient-
ly; and that's all.
   Mat. I, but would any Man have offered it in Venice?
as you say?
   Bob. Tut, I assure you, no: you shall have there your
Nobilis, your Gentelezza, come in bravely upon your
reverse, stand you close, stand you firm, stand you fair,
save your retricato with his left Leg, come to the assalto
with the right, thrust with brave Steel, defie your base
Wood! But wherefore do I awake this remembrance? I
was fascinated by Jupiter: fascinated; but I will be un-
witch'd, and reveng'd by Law.
   Mat. Do you hear? is't not best to get a Warrant, and
have him arrested and brought before Justice Clement?
   Bob. It were not amiss, would we had it.
   Mat. Why, here comes his Man, let's speak to him.
   Bob. Agreed, do you speak.
   Mat. 'Save you, Sir.   Brai. With all my heart, Sir.
   Mat. Sir, there is one Down-right hath abus'd this Gen-
tleman and my self, and we determine to make our a-
mends by Law; now, if you would do us the favour
to procure a Warrant, to bring him afore your Master,
you shall be well consider'd, I assure you, Sir.
   Brai. Sir, you know my Service is my Living; such
Favours as these gotten of my Master is his only Pre-
ferment, and therefore you must consider me as I may
make benefit of my Place.
   Mat. How is that? Sir.
   Brai. Faith, Sir, the thing is extraordinary, and the
Gentleman may be of great accompt; yet, be what
he will, if you will lay me down a brace of Angels in
my hand, you shall have it, otherwise not.
   Mat. How shall we do Captain? he asks a brace of
Angels, you have no Money?
   Bob. Not a Cross, by Fortune.
   Mat. Nor I, as I am a Gentleman, but two Pence
left of my two Shillings in the Morning for Wine and
Raddish: let's find him some Pawn.
   Bob. Pawn? we have none to the value of his demand.
   Mat. O, yes. I'll pawn this Jewel in my Ear, and you
may pawn your Silk-stockings, and pull up your Boots,
they will ne're be mist: It must be done now.
   Bob. Well, an' there be no remedy: I'll step aside and
pull 'em off.
   Mat. Do you hear, Sir? we have no store of Money
at this time, but you shall have good Pawns: look you,
Sir, this Jewel, and that Gentlemans Silk-stockings, be-
cause we would have it dispatch't e're we went to our
Chambers.
   Brai. I am content, Sir; I will get you the Warrant
presently, what's his Name, say you? Down right?
   Mat. I, I, George Down-right.
   Brai. What manner of Man is he?
Mat.




Every Man in his Humour. 21


   Mat. A tall big Man, Sir; he goes in a Cloke most
commonly, of Silk-Russet, laid about with Russet Lace.
   Brai. 'Tis very good, Sir.
   Mat. Here, Sir, here's my Jewel.
   Bob. And here are Stockins.
   Brai. Well, Gentlemen, I'll procure you this Warrant
presently; but who will you have to serve it?
   Mat. That's true, Captain, that must be consider'd.
   Bob. Body o' me, I know not; 'tis Service of danger.
   Brai. Why, you were best get one o' the Varlets o' the
City, a Serjeant: I'll appoint you one, if you please.
   Mat. Will you, Sir? Why, we can wish no better.
   Bob. We'll leave it to you, Sir.
   Brai. This is rare! Now will I go pawn this Cloke
of the Justice's Mans at the Brokers, for a Varlets Sute,
and be the Varlet my self; and get either more Pawns,
or more Money of Down-right, for the Arrest.

Act IV.    Scene X.

Kno'well, Tib, Cash, Dame Kitely, Kitely, Cob.

O
H, here it is; I am glad I have found it now.
 Ho? who is within here?
   Tib. I am within, Sir; what's your pleasure?
   Know. To know who is within besides your self.
   Tib. Why, Sir, you are no Constable, I hope?
   Kno. O! fear you the Constable? then I doubt not,
You have some Guests within deserve that fear;
I'll fetch him straight.   Tib. O' Gods Name, Sir.
   Kno. Go to. Come, tell me, Is not young Kno'well
here?
   Tib. Young Kno'well? I know none such, Sir, o' mine
Honesty.
   Kno. Your Honesty! Dame, it flies too lightly from
you.
There is no way but fetch the Constable.
   Tib. The Constable! The Man is mad, I think.
   Cash. Ho, who keeps House here?
   Kno. O, this is the Female Copesmate of my Son.
Now shall I meet him straight.   Dame. Knock, Thomas,
hard.
   Cash. Ho, good Wife?   Tib. Why, what's the matter
with you?
   Dame. Why Woman, grieves it you to ope your Door?
Belike you get something to keep it shut.
   Tib. What mean these Questions, 'pray ye?
   Dame. So strange you make it? Is not my Husband
here?
   Kno. Her Husband!
   Dame. My tried Husband, Master Kitely.
   Tib. I hope he needs not to be tried here.
   Dame. No, Dame, he do's it not for need, but pleasure.
   Tib. Neither for need nor pleasure is he here.
   Kno. This is but a Device to baulk me withal.
Soft, who is this? 'Tis not my Son disguis'd?
   Dame. O, Sir, have I forestall'd your honest Market,
Found your close Walks? You stand amaz'd now, do you?
[She spies her Husband come, and runs to him.

I' faith (I am glad) I have smoakt you at last.
What is your Jewel, trow? In, come, let's see her;
(Fetch forth your Houswife, Dame) if she be fairer,
In any honest Judgment, than my self,
I'll be content with it: But, she is Change,
She feeds you fat, she sooths your Appetite,
And you are well! Your Wife, an honest Woman,
Is Meat twice sod to you, Sir! O, you Treacher!
   Kno. She cannot counterfeit thus palpably.
   Kite. Out on thy more than Strumpet Impudence!
Steal'st thou thus to thy Haunts? and have I taken
Thy Bawd, and thee, and thy Companion,
This hoary-headed Letcher, this old Goat,
[Pointing to Old Kno'well.

Close at your Villany, and would'st thou 'scuse it

[column break]

With this stale Harlot's Jest, accusing me¿
[To him.
O, old Incontinent, dost not thou shame,
When all thy Powers in Chastity is spent,
To have a Mind so hot, and to entice,
And feed th' Enticements of a lustful Woman?
   Dame. Out, I defie thee, I, dissembling Wretch.
   Kite. Defie me, Strumpet? Ask thy Pandar here
[By Thomas.
Can he deny it? or that wicked Elder?
   Kno. Why, hear you, Sir.   Kit. Tut, tut, tut; never speak.
Thy guilty Conscience will discover thee.
   Kno. What Lunacy is this, that haunts this Man?
   Kite. Well, Goodwife Ba'd, Cob's Wife, and you,
That make your Husband such a Hoddy doddy;
And you, young Apple squire, and old Cuckold-maker;
I'll ha' you every one before a Justice:
Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go.
   Kno. Marry, with all my Heart, Sir, I go willingly;
Though I do taste this as a Trick put on me,
To punish my impertinent Search, and justly,
And half forgive my Son for the Device.
   Kite. Come, will you go?
   Dame. Go? to thy shame, believe it.
   Cob. Why, what's the matter here? what's here to do?
   Kite. O, Cob, art thou come? I have been abus'd,
And i' thy House: Never was Man so wrong'd!
   Cob. 'Slid, in my House? my Master Kitely? Who
wrongs you in my House?
   Kite. Marry, young Lust in old, and old in young here:
Thy Wife's their Bawd, here have I taken 'em.
   Cob. How? Bawd? Is my House come to that? Am
I preferr'd thither? Did I charge you to keep your
Doors shut, Isbel? and do you let 'em lie open for all
[He falls upon his Wife, and beats her.
Comers?
   Kno. Friend, know some Cause, before thou beat'st thy
Wife,
This's Madness in thee?   Cob. Why? is there no Cause?
   Kite. Yes, I'll shew cause before the Justice, Cob:
Come, let her go with me.   Cob. Nay, she shall go.
   Tib. Nay, I will go. I'll see an' you may be allow'd
to make a Bundle o' Hemp o' your right and lawful
Wife thus, at every Cuckoldly Knaves pleasure. Why
do you not go?
   Kite. A bitter Quean! Come, we'll ha' you tam'd.

Act IV.    Scene XI.

Brain worm, Matthew, Bobadil, Stephen, Down-right.

W
Ell, of all my Disguises yet, now am I most like
 my self, being in this Serjeants Gown. A Man
of my present Profession never counterfeits, till he lays
hold upon a Debtor, and says, he rests him; for then he
brings him to all manner of unrest. A kind of little
Kings we are, bearing the Diminutive of a Mace, made
like a young Artichock, that always carries Pepper and
Salt in it self. Well, I know not what Danger I under-
go by this Exploit; pray Heaven I come well off.
   Mat. See, I think, yonder is the Varlet, by his Gown.
   Bob. Let's go in quest of him.
   Mat. 'Save you, Friend; are not you here by appoint-
ment of Justice Clement's Man?
   Brai. Yes, an't please you, Sir; he told me, two Gen-
tlemen had will'd him to procure a Warrant from his
Master (which I have about me) to be serv'd on one
Down-right.
   Mat. It is honestly done of you both; and see where
the Party comes you must arrest; serve it upon him quick-
ly, afore he be aware ——
   Bob. Bear back, Master Matthew.
   Brai. Master Down-right, I arrest you i' the Queens
Name, and must carry you afore a Justice, by vertue of
this Warrant.
   Step. Me, Friend? I am no Down-right, I: I am Ma-
ster Stephen: You do not well to arrest me, I tell you
truly:




22 Every Man in his Humour.


truly: I am in no bodies Bonds nor Books, I would you
should know it. A plague on you heartily, for making
me thus afraid afore my time.
   Brai. Why, now you are deceived, Gentlemen.
   Bob. He wears such a Cloke, and that deceived us:
But see, here a comes indeed; this is he, Officer.
   Down. Why, how now, Signior Gull! are you turn'd
Filcher of late? Come, deliver my Cloke.
   Step. Your Cloke, Sir? I bought it even now, in open
Market.
   Brai. Master Down-right, I have a Warrant I must
serve upon you, procur'd by these two Gentlemen.
   Down. These Gentlemen? these Rascals!
   Brai. Keep the Peace, I charge you in her Majesty's
Name.
   Down. I obey thee. What must I do, Officer?
   Brai. Go before Master Justice Clement, to answer
what they can object against you, Sir: I will use you
kindly, Sir.
   Mat. Come, let's before, and make the Justice, Cap-
tain ——
   Bob. The Varlet's a tall Man, afore Heaven!
   Down. Gull, you'll gi' me my Cloke?
   Step. Sir, I bought it, and I'll keep it.
   Down. You will?   Step. I, that I will.
   Down. Officer, there's thy Fee, arrest him.
   Brai. Master Stephen, I must arrest you.
   Step. Arrest me! I scorn it. There, take your Cloke,
I'll none on't.
   Down. Nay, that shall not serve your turn now, Sir.
Officer, I'll go with thee to the Justices; bring him
along.
   Step. Why, is not here your Cloke? what would you
have?
   Down. I'll ha' you answer it, Sir.
   Brai. Sir, I'll take your Word, and this Gentleman's
too, for his Appearance.
   Down. I'll ha' no Words taken: Bring him along.
   Brai. Sir, I may chuse to do that, I may take Bail.
   Down. 'Tis true, you may take Bail, and chuse, at ano-
ther time; but you shall not now, Varlet: Bring him
along, or I'll swinge you.
   Brai. Sir, I pity the Gentleman's Case. Here's your
Money again.
   Down. 'Sdeyns, tell not me of my Money; bring him
away, I say.
   Brai. I warrant you he will go with you of himself,
Sir.
   Down. Yet more ado?
   Brai. I have made a fair Mash on't.
   Step. Must I go?
   Brai. I know no remedy, Master Stephen.
   Down. Come along, afore me here; I do not love your
hanging Look behind.
   Step. Why, Sir, I hope you cannot hang me for it.
Can he, Fellow?
   Brai. I think not, Sir: It is but a whipping matter,
sure.
   Step. Why then let him do his worst, I am resolute.

Act V.    Scene I.

Clement, Kno'well, Kitely, Dame Kitely, Tib, Cash,
Cob, Servants.

N
Ay, but stay, stay, give me leave; My Chair, Sir-
 rah. You, Master Kno'well, say you went thither
to meet your Son?
   Kno. I, Sir.
   Clem. But who directed you thither?
   Kno. That did mine own Man, Sir.
   Clem. Where is he?
   Kno. Nay, I know not now; I left him with your
Clark, and appointed him to stay here for me.

[column break]

   Clem. My Clark? About what time was this?
   Kno. Marry, between one and two, as I take it.
   Clem. And what time came my Man with the false
Message to you, Master Kitely?
   Kite. After two, Sir.
   Clem. Very good: But, Mistris Kitely how chance
that you were at Cobs? ha?
   Dame. An' please you, Sir, I'll tell you: My Brother
Well bred told me, that Cob's House was a suspected
place ———
   Clem. So it appears, methinks; but on.
   Dame. And that my Husband us'd thither, daily.
   Clem. No matter, so he us'd himself well, Mistris.
   Dame. True, Sir; but you know what grows by such
Haunts oftentimes.
   Clem. I see rank Fruits of a jealous Brain, Mistris Kite-
ly:
But did you find your Husband there, in that Case
as you suspected?
   Kite. I found her there, Sir.
   Clem. Did you so? That alters the Case. Who gave
you knowledge of your Wifes being there?
   Kite. Marry, that did my Brother Well-bred.
   Clem. How? Well-bred first tell her? then tell you af-
ter? Where is Well-bred?
   Kite. Gone with my Sister, Sir, I know not whither.
   Clem. Why, this is a meer Trick, a Device; you are
gull'd in this most grossly all. Alas, poor Wench, wert
thou beaten for this?
   Tib. Yes, most pitifully, and't please you.
   Cob. And worthily, I hope, if it shall prove so.
   Clem. I, that's like, and a piece of a Sentence. How
now, Sir? what's the matter?
   Ser. Sir, there's a Gentleman i' the Court without,
desires to speak with your Worship.
   Clem. A Gentleman? what's he?
   Ser. A Soldier, Sir, he says.
   Clem. A Soldier? Take down my Armor, my Sword,
quickly. A Soldier speak with me!
[He arms himself.
Why, when, Knaves? Come on,
come on, hold my Cap there, so;
give me my Gorget, my Sword: Stand by, I will end
your Matters anon — Let the Soldier enter. Now, Sir,
what ha' you to say to me?

Act V.    Scene II.

[To them.
                  Bobadill, Matthew.

B
Y your Worships favour ——
    Clem. Nay, keep out, Sir; I know not your Pre-
tence. You send me word, Sir, you are a Soldier: Why,
Sir, you shall be answer'd here, here be them have been
amongst Soldiers. Sir, your Pleasure.
   Bob. Faith, Sir, so it is, this Gentleman and my self
have been most uncivilly wrong'd and beaten, by one
Down-right, a course Fellow, about the Town here; and
for my own part, I protest, being a Man in no sort given
to this filthy Humour of Quarrelling, he hath assaulted
me in the way of my Peace, despoil'd me of mine Honor,
disarm'd me of my Weapons, and rudely laid me along
in the open Streets, when I not so much as once offer'd
to resist him.
   Clem. O, God's precious! Is this the Soldier? Here,
take my Armour off quickly, 'twill make him swoon, I
fear; he is not fit to look on't, that will put up a Blow.
   Mat. An't please your Worship, he was bound to the
Peace.
   Clem. Why, and he were, Sir, his Hands were not
bound, were they?
   Ser. There's one of the Varlets of the City, Sir, has
brought two Gentlemen here; one, upon your Worships
Warrant.
   Clem. My Warrant?
   Ser. Yes, Sir; the Officer says, procur'd by these
Clem. Bid              
two.




Every Man in his Humour. 23


   Clem. Bid him come in. Set by this Picture. What,
Mr. Down-right! are you brought at Mr. Fresh-water's
Suit here?

Act V.    Scene III.

[To them.
           Down-right, Stephen, Brain-worm.

I
' Faith, Sir. And here's another brought at my Suit.
    Clem. What are you, Sir?
   Step. A Gentleman, Sir. O, Uncle!
   Clem. Uncle! who! Master Kno'well?
   Kno. I, Sir; this is a wise Kinsman of mine.
   Step. God's my Witness, Uncle, I am wrong'd here
monstrously; he charges me with stealing of his Cloke,
and would I might never stir, if I did not find it in the
Street by chance.
   Down. O, did you find it now? You said you bought
it e're-while.
   Step. And you said, I stole it: Nay, now my Uncle
is here, I'll do well enough with you.
   Clem. Well, let this breath a while: You that have
cause to complain there, stand forth: Had you my
Warrant for this Gentleman's Apprehension?
   Bob. I, an't please your Worship.
   Clem. Nay, do not speak in passion so: Where had
you it?
   Bob. Of your Clerk, Sir.
   Clem. That's well! an' my Clerk can make War-
rants, and my Hand not at 'em! Where is the Warrant?
Officer, have you it?
   Brai. No, Sir, your Worships Man, Master Formal, bid
me do it for these Gentlemen, and he would be my
Discharge.
   Clem. Why, Master Down-right, are you such a No-
vice to be serv'd and never see the Warrant?
   Down. Sir, he did not serve it on me.
   Clem. No? How then?
   Down. Marry, Sir, he came to me, and said he must
serve it, and he would use me kindly, and so ———
   Clem. O, God's pitty, was it so, Sir? he must serve it?
give me my long Sword there, and help me off. So,
come on, Sir Varlet, I must cut off your Legs, Sirrah:
nay, stand up, I'll use you kindly; I must cut off your               
[He flourishes over him with his long Sword.
Legs I say.
   Brai. O, good Sir, I beseech you: nay, good Master
Justice.
   Clem. I must do it, there is no remedy, I must cut off
your Legs, Sirrah, I must cut off your Ears, you Rascal,
I must do it; I must cut off your Nose, I must cut off
your Head.
   Brai. O, good your Worship.
   Clem. Well, rise, how doest thou do now? doest thou
feel they self well? hast thou no harm?
   Brai. No, I thank your good Worship, Sir.
   Clem. Why, so? I said I must cut ofoff thy Legs, and
I must cut off thy Arms, and I must cut off thy Head;
but, I did not do it: so you said you must serve this
Gentleman with my Warrant, but you did not serve
him. You Knave, you Slave, you Rogue, do you say
you must? Sirrah, away with him, to the Goal,Gaol I'll
teach you a Trick, for your must, Sir.
   Brai. Good, Sir, I beseech you, be good to me.
   Clem. Tell him he shall to the Goal,Gaol away with him,
I say.
   Brai. Nay, Sir, if you will commit me, it shall be for
committing more than this: I will not lose by my
travail, any grain of my fame, certain.
   Clem. How is this?
   Kno. My Man Brain-worm.
   Step. O yes, Uncle, Brain-worm has been with my
Cousin Edward and I all this day.
   Clem. I told you all, there was some device.
   Brai. Nay, excellent Justice, since I have laid my

[column break]

self thus open to you; now, stand strong for me: both
with your Sword and your Ballance.
   Clem. Body o' me, a merry Knave! Give me a Bowle
of Sack: If he belong to you, Master Kno'well, I be-
speak your patience.
   Brai. That is it, I have most need of. Sir, if you'll
pardon me only, I'll glory in all the rest of my ex-
ploits.
   Kno. Sir, you know I love not to have my favours
come hard from me. You have your Pardon, though
I suspect you shrewdly for being of councel with my
Son against me.
   Brai. Yes, faith, I have, Sir, though you retain'd me
doubly this morning for your self: first as Brain-worm;
after, as Fitz-Sword. I was your reform'd Soldier, Sir.
'Twas I sent you to Cob's upon the Errand without
end.
   Kno. Is it possible! or that thou should'st disguise thy
Language so as I should not know thee?
   Brai. O, Sir, this has been the day of my metamor-
phosis!
It is not that shape alone that I have run through
to day. I brought this Gentleman, Mr. Kitely, a mes-
sage too, in the form of Mr. Justices Man here, to
draw him out o'the way, as well as your Worship, while
Master Well-bred might make a conveiance of Mistris
Bridget to my young Master.
   Kite. How! my Sister stol'n away?
   Kno. My Son is not married, I hope!
   Brai. Faith, Sir, they are both sure as Love, a
Priest, and three thousand Pound (which is her Por-
tion) can make 'em; and by this time are ready to be-
speak their Wedding Supper at the Wind-mill, except
some Friend here prevent 'em, and invite 'em home.
   Clem. Marry, that will I (I thank thee for putting
me in mind on't.) Sirrah, go you and fetch 'em hi-
ther upon my Warrant. Neithers Friends have cause
to be sorry, if I know the young couple aright. Here,
I drink to thee for thy good news. But, I pray thee,
what hast thou done with my Man Formall?
   Brai. Faith, Sir, after some ceremony past, as making
him drunk, first with Story, and then with Wine (but all
in kindness) and stripping him to his Shirt: I left him
in that cool vain departed, sold your Worships Warrant
to these two, pawn'd his Livery for that Varlets Gown
to serve it in; and thus have brought my self by my
activity to your Worship's consideration.
   Clem. And I will consider thee in another Cup of
Sack. Here's to thee; which having drunk off, this is
my sentence. Pledge me. Thou hast done, or assisted
to nothing, in my judgment, but deserves to be par-
don'd for the wit o'the offence. If thy Master, or any
Man here be angry with thee, I shall suspect his En-
gine while I know him for't. How now, what noise
is that?
   Serv. Sir, it is Roger is come home.
   Clem. Bring him in, bring him in. What! drunk in
Arms against me? Your reason, your reason for this.

Act V.    Scene IV.

[To them.
               Formall.

I
 Beseech your Worship to pardon me; I happen'd in-
to ill company by chance that cast me into a sleep,
and stript me of all my Clothes ——
   Clem. Well, tell him I am Justice Clement, and do
pardon him: but what is this to your Armour? what
may that signifie?
   Form. An't please you, Sir, it hung up i' the Room,
where I was stript; and I borrow'd it of one o'the
Drawers to come home in, because I was loth to do
Penance through the Street i'my Shirt.

Clem. Well,




24 Every Man in his Humour.


   Clem. Well, stand by a while. Who be these? O, the
young company, welcome, welcome. Gi' you joy. Nay
Mistris Bridget, blush not; you are not so fresh a Bride,
but the news of it is come hither afore you. Master
Bridegroom, I ha' made your peace, give me your
hand: so will I for all the rest, e'er you forsake my
Roof.

Act V.    Scene V.

[To them.
         Ed. Kno'well, Well-bred, Bridget.

W
E are the more bound to your humanity, Sir.
   Clem. Only these two have so little of Man in
'em, they are no part of my care.
   Wel. Yes, Sir, let me pray you for this Gentleman, he
belongs to my Sister the Bride.
   Clem. In what place, Sir?
   Wel. Of her delight, Sir, below the stairs, and in
publick: her Poet, Sir.
   Clem. A Poet? I will challenge him my self presently
at ex tempore.
Mount up thy Phlegon Muse, and testifie,
   How
Saturn sitting in an Ebon Cloud,
Disrob'd his Podex white as Ivory,
   And through the Welkin thundred all aloud.
   Wel. He is not for ex tempore, Sir. He is all for the
pocked-Muse: please you command a sight of it.
   Clem. Yes, yes, search him for a taste of his Vein.
   Well. You must not deny the Queens Justice, Sir, un-
der a Writ o' Rebellion.
   Clem. What! all this Verse? Body o'me, he carries a
whole Realm, a Common-wealth of Paper in's Hose!
let's see some of his subjects.
Unto the boundless Ocean of thy Face,
   Runs this poor River charg'd with streams of Eyes.
How? this is stoln!
   E. Kn. A Parodie! a Parodie! with a kind of miracu-
lous gift, to make it absurder than it was.
   Clem. Is all the rest of this batch? Bring me a Torch;
lay it together, and give fire. Cleanse the Air. Here
was enough to have infected the whole City, if it had
not been taken in time! See, see, how our Poets glory
shines! brighter and brighter! still it increases! O, now
it's at the highest: and now it declines as fast. You
may see, Sic transit gloria mundi.
   Kno. There's an Emblem for you Son, and your Stu-
dies!
   Clem. Nay, no speech or act of mine be drawn a-
gainst such as profess it worthily. They are not born
every Year, as an Alderman. There goes more to the
making of a good Poet, than a Sheriff. Mr. Kitely.
You look upon me! though, I live i' the City here, a-
mongst you, I will do more Reverence to him, when I

[column break]

meet him, than I will to the Mayor out of his Year.
But these Paper-pedlers! these Ink-dablers! They can-
not expect reprehension or reproach. They have it
with the fact.
   E. Kn. Sir, you have sav'd me the labour of a de-
fence.
   Clem. It shall be discourse for Supper; between your
Father and me, if he dare undertake me. But to dis-
patch away these, you sign o' the Soldier, and Picture o'
the Poet (but both so false, I will not ha' you hang'd
out at my Door till midnight) while we are at Sup-
per, you two shall penitently fast it out in my Court
without; and, if you will, you may pray there that we
may be so merry within as to forgive or forget you,
when we come out. Here's a third, because we tender
you safety, shall watch you, he is provided for the pur-
pose. Look to your Charge, Sir.
   Step. And what shall I do?
   Clem. O! I had lost a Sheep an' he had not bleated!
Why, Sir, you shall give Mr. Down-right his Cloke: and
I will intreat him to take it. A Trencher and a Nap-
kin you shall have i' the Buttry, and keep Cob and his
Wife company here; whom I will intreat first to be
reconcil'd: and you to endeavour with your wit to
keep 'em so.
   Step. I'll do my best.
   Cob. Why, now I see thou art honest, Tib, I receive
thee as my dear and mortal Wife again.
   Tib. And I you, as my loving and obedient Husband.
   Clem. Good complement! It will be their Bridal
Night too. They are married anew. Come, I conjure
the rest to put off all discontent. You, Mr. Down-right,
your Anger; you, Master Kno'well, your Cares; Master
Kitely and his Wife, their Jealousie.
For, I must tell you both, while that is fed,
Horns i' the Mind are worse than o' the Head.
   Kite. Sir, thus they go from me; kiss me, sweet
heart.
See what a drove of Horns flie in the Air,
Wing'd with my cleansed and my credulous breath!
Watch 'em suspicious Eyes, watch where they fall.
See, see! on Heads, that think th'have none at all!
O, what a plenteous World of this will come!
When Air rains Horns, all may be sure of some.
I ha' learn'd so much Verse out of a jealous Man's part
in a Play.
   Clem. 'Tis well, 'tis well! This Night we'll dedicate
to Friendship, Love, and Laughter. Master Bridegroom,
take your Bride and lead: every one a fellow. Here is
my Mistris. Brain-worm! to whom all my Addresses
of Courtship shall have their reference. Whose Ad-
ventures this Day, when our Grand-Children shall hear
to be made a fable, I doubt not but it shall find both
Spectators and Applause.


T H E   E N D.






EVERY






Back Forward



The Holloway Pages Ben: Jonson Page
clark@hollowaypages.com

© 2002 by Clark J. Holloway.