The Holloway Pages: Ben Jonson: Works (1692 Folio): The Staple of News

The Staple of News.

429

T H E
S T A P L E
O F
N E W S.
A C O M E D Y.

Acted in the Year 1625. By His M A J E S T Y' S Servants.

The Author Ben. Johnson.

Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetć:
Aut simul & jucunda, & idonea dicere vitć. Hor. in Art. Poet.

The P E R S O N S of the P L A Y.

PENI-BOY,	the Son, the Heir and Suitor.	PECUNIA,	Infanta of the Mines.
PENI-BOY,	the Father, the Canter.	MORTGAGE,	her Nurse.
PENI-BOY,	the Uncle, the Usurer.	STATUTE,	first Woman.
CYMBAL,	Master of the Staple, and Prime	BAND,	second Woman.
	Jeerer.	WAX.	Chambermaid.
FITTON,	Emissary Court, and Jeerer.	BROKER,	Secretary, and Gentleman-Usher
ALMANACH,	Doctor in Physick, and Jeerer.		to her Grace.
SHUN-FIELD,	Sea-Captain, a Jerrer.	LICK-FINGER,	a Master-Cook, and parcel-Poet.
MADRIGAL,	Poetaster, and Jeerer.	FASHIONER,	the Taylor of the Times.
PICKLOCK,	Man o' Law, and Emissary West-	LINENER,
	minster.	HABERDASHER,
PYED-MANTLE,	Pursuivant at Arms, and Heraldet.	SHOE-MAKER,
REGISTER,	of the Staple, or Office.	SPURRIFR,
NATHANEEL,	first Clerk of the Office.	CUSTOMERS,	Male and Female.
THO. BARBER,	second Clerk of the Office.	PORTER,	DOGS II.

The S C E N E, L O N D O N.

T H E

430

T H E
I N D u C T I O N.

The P R O L O G U E enters.

After him, Gossip Mirth, Gossip Tattle, Gossip Expectation, and Gossip Censure,
Four Gentlewomen, Lady-like attired.

Prologue.

Or your own sake, not ours —
   Mirth. Come Gossip, be not asham'd. The
Play is the Staple of News, and you are the Mistris and
Lady of Tattle; let's ha' your Opinion of it. Do you hear,
Gentleman? what are you? Gentleman-Usher to the Play?
Pray you help us to some Stools here.
   Prologue. VVhere? o' the Stage, Ladies?
   Mirth. Yes, o' the Stage; we are Persons of Quality, I
assure you, and VVomen of Fashion; and come to see, and
to be seen. My Gossip Tattle here, and Gossip Expectation,
and my Gossip Censure, and I am Mirth, the Daughter of
Christmas, and Spirit of Shrovetide. They say, It's mer-
ry when Gossips meet; I hope your Play will be a merry
one.
   Prologue. Or you will make it such, Ladies. Bring a
Form here. But what will the Noblemen think, or the
grave VVits here, to see you seated on the Bench thus?
   Mirth. VVhy, what should they think? but that they had
Mothers, as we had; and those Mothers had Gossips (if their
Children were christned) as we are; and such as had a long-
ing to see Plays, and sit upon them, as we do, and arraign
both them and their Poets.
   Prologue. O! Is that your purpose? VVhy, Mrs. Mirth,
and Madam Tattle, enjoy your Delights freely.
   Tattle. Look your News be new and fresh, Mr. Pro-
logue, and untainted; I shall find them else, if they be stale,
or fly-blown, quickly.
   Prologue. VVe ask no Favour from you; only we would
entreat of Madam Expectation ——
   Expectation. VVhat, Mr. Prologue?
   Prologue. That your Ladiship would expect no more than
you understand.
   Expectation. Sir, I can expect enough!
   Prologue. I fear, to much, Lady, and teach others to do
the like.
   Expectation. I can do that too, if I have cause.
   Prologue. Cry you mercy, you never did wrong, but
with just cause. VVhat's this, Lady?
   Mirth. Curiosity, my Lady Censure.

[column break]

   Prologue. O, Curiosity! You come to see who wears the
new Sute to day; whose Clothes are best penn'd, whatever
the part be; which Actor has the best Leg and Foot; what
King plays without Cuffs, and his Queen without Gloves;
who rides Post in Stockings, and dances in Boots.
   Censure. Yes, and which amorous Prince makes love in
drink, or does over-act prodigiously in beaten Sattin, and,
having got the trick on't, will be monstrous still, in despite
of Counsel.
   Book-holder. Mend you Lights, Gentlemen. Master
Prologue, begin.

[The Tire-men enter to mend the Lights.

   Tattle. Ay me!
   Expectation. VVho's that?
   Prologue. Nay, start not, Ladies; these carry no Fire-
works to fright you, but a Torch i' their Hands, to give
Light to the Business. The truth is, there are a Set of
Gamesters within, in travel of a thing call'd a Play, and
would fain be deliver'd of it: and they have entreated me
to be their Man-Midwife, the Prologue; for they are like
to have a hard Labour on't.
   Tattle. Then the Poet has abus'd himself, like an Ass as
he is.
   Mirth. No, his Actors will abuse him enough, or I am
deceiv'd. Yonder he is within (I was i' the Tiring-house a
while to see the Actors drest) rolling himself up and down
like a Tun, i' the midst of 'em, and spurges, never did Vessel
of Wort or Wine work so! His Sweating put me in mind of
a good Shroving Dish (and I believe would be taken up for
a Service of State somewhere, an't were known) a stew'd
Poet! He doth sit like an unbrac'd Drum, with one of his
Heads beaten out; for that you must note, a Poet hath two
Heads, as a Drum has; one for making, the other repeating;
and his repeating Head is all to pieces; they may gather it
up i' the Tiring-house; for he hath torn the Book in a Poetical
Fury, and put himself to silence in dead Sack, which, were
there no other Vexation, were sufficient to make him the most
miserable Emblem of Patience.
   Censure. The Prologue, peace.

T H E

431

The P R O L O G U E for the S T A G E.

Or your own sakes, not his, he bad me say,
Would you were come to hear, not see a Play.
Though we, his Actors, must provide for those
Who are our Guests here, in the way of Shows,
The Maker hath not so; he'ld have you wise,
Much rather by your Ears, than by your Eyes;
And prays, you'll not prejudge his Play for ill,
Because you mark it not, and sit not still;
But have a Longing to salute, or talk
With such a Female, and from her to walk
With your Discourse, to what is done, and where,
How, and by whom, in all the Town, but here.
Alas! what is it to his Scene, to know
How many Coaches in Hide-park did show
Last Spring, what Fare to day at Medley's was,
If Dunstan or the Phśnix best Wine has?
They are things ---- But yet the Stage might stand as well,
If it did neither hear these things, nor tell.
Great noble Wits, be good unto your selves,
And make a difference 'twixt Poetick Elves,
And Poets: All that dabble in the Ink,
And defile Quills, are not those few, can think,
Conceive, express, and steer the Souls of Men,
As with a Rudder, round thus, with their Pen.
He must be one that can instruct your Youth,
And keep your Acme in the state of Truth,
Must enterprise this Work; mark but his Ways,
What Flight he makes, how new: And then he says,
If that not like you, that he sends to night,
'Tis you have left to judge, not he to write.

The P R O L O G U E for the C O U R T.

Work not smelling of the Lamp, to night,
   But fitted for your Majesty's Disport,
   And writ to the Meridian of Your Court,
We bring; and hope it may produce Delight:
The rather, being offered as a Rite,
            To Scholars, that can judge, and fair report
            The Sense they hear, above the vulgar sort
Of Nut-crackers, that only come for sight.
Wherein, although our Title, Sir, be News;
            We yet adventure here to tell You none;
            But shew You Common Follies, and so known,
That though they are not Truths, th' innocent Muse
            Hath made so like, as Phant'sie could them state,
            Or Poetry, without Scandal, imitate.

T H E

432

T H E
S T A P L E
O F
N E W S.

Act I.    Scene I.

Peny-Boy Ju. Lether-leg.
His Shoemaker has pull'd on a new Pair of Boots; and
   he walks in his Gown, Wastcoat, and Trousers, expect-
   ing his Taylor.

Ramercy Letherleg: Get me the Spurrier,
And thou hast fitted me. Let. I'll do't presently.
P. Ju. Look to me, Wit, and look to my VVit,
Land,
That is, look on me, and with all thine Eyes,
Male, Female, yea, Hermaphroditick Eyes,
And those bring all your helps and Perspicills,
To see me at best advantage, and augment
My Form as I come forth, for I do feel
I will be one, worth looking after, shortly.
Now, by and by, that's shortly. 't strikes! One, Two,

[He draws forth his Watch and sets it on the Table.

Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, enough, dear VVatch,
Thy Pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest;
VVould thou couldst make the Time to do so too:
I'll wind the up no more. The hour is come
So long expected! There, there, drop my VVardship,

[He throws off his Gown.

My Pupillage and Vassalage together.
And Liberty, come throw thy self about me,
In a rich Sute, Cloak, Hat, and Band, for now
I'll sue out no Mans Livery, but mine own,
I stand on my own Feet, so much a year,
Right, round, and sound, the Lord of mine own Ground,
And (to Rime to it) Threescore thousand Pound!
Not come? Not yet? Taylor, thou art a Vermine,

[He goes to the Door and looks.

VVorse than the same thou prosecut'st, and prick'st
In subtil Seam — (Go too, I say no more)
Thus to retard my Longings: on the day
I do write Man, to beat thee. One and twenty
Since the Clock struck, compleat! and thou wilt feel it,
Thou foolish Animall! I could pitty him,
(An' I were not heartily angry with him now)
For this one piece of Folly he bears about him,
To dare to tempt the Fury of an Heir
T' above Two thousand a year; yet hope his Custom!
VVell, Master Fashioner, there's some must break —
A Head, for this your breaking. Are you come, Sir?

[column break]

Act I. Scene II.

Fashioner, Penyboy, Thomas Barber, Haberdasher.

Od give your Worship Joy.
   P. Ju. What? of your staying?
And leaving me to stalk here in my Trowses,
Like a tame Her'n-sew for you?   Fas. I but waited
Below, till the Clock strooke.   P. Ju. Why, if you had come
Before a quarter, would it so have hurt you,
In Reputation, to have waited her?
   Fas. No, but your Worship might have pleaded Nonage,
If you had got 'em on, ere I could make
Just Affidavit of the Time.   P. Ju. That Jest
Has gain'd thy Pardon, thou had'st liv'd condemn'd
To thine own Hell else, never to have wrought
Stitch more for me, or any Peniboy,
I could have hindred thee: but now thou art mine,
For One and twenty Years, or for three Lives,
Chuse which thou wilt, I'll make thee a Copy-holder,
And thy first Bill unquestion'd. Help me on.

[He says his Sute.

   Fas. Presently, Sir: I am bound unto your Worship.
   P. Ju. Thou shalt be, when I have seal'd thee a Lease
      of my Custom.
   Fas. Your Worships Barber is without.   P. Ju. Who? Thom?
Come in Thom: set thy things upon the Board,
And spread thy Clothes, lay all forth in procinctu,
And tell's what news?   Tho. O Sir, a Staple of News!
Or the New Staple, which you please.   P. Ju. What's that?
   Fas. An Office, Sir, a brave young Office set up.
I had forgot to tell your Worship.   P. Ju. For what?
   Tho. To enter all the News, Sir, o' the time.
   Fas. And vent it as occasion serves! A Place
Of huge commerce it will be!   P. Ju. Pray thee peace,
I cannot abide a talking Taylor: Let Thom
(He's a Barber) by his Place relate it.
What is't, an Office, Thom?   Tho. Newly erected
Here in the House, almost on the same Floor,
Where all the News of all sorts shall be brought,
And there be Examin'd, and then Registred,
And so to be issu'd under the Seal of the Office,
As Staple News; no other News be currant.
   P. Ju. 'Fore me, thou speak'st of, a brave business, Thom.
   Fas. Nay, if you knew the Brain that hatch'd it, Sir —
   P. Ju. I know thee well enough: give him a Loaf, Thom —
Quiet his Mouth, that Oven will be venting else.
Proceed — Tho. He tells you true, Sir, Master Cymbal
Is Master of the Office, he projected it,
He lies here i' the House: and the great Rooms

The Staple of News.

433

He has taken for the Office, and set up
His Desks and Classes, Tables and his Shelves,
   Fas. He's my Customer, and a Wit, Sir, too.
But, h' has brave Wits under him ——
   Tho. Yes, four Emissaries,
   P. jun. Emissaries? stay, there's a fine new word, Thom!
'Pray God it signifie any thing, what are Emissaries?
   Tho. Men imploy'd outward, that are sent abroad
To fetch in the Commodity.   Fas. From all Regions
Where the best News are made.   Tho. Or vented forth.
   Fas. By way of exchange, or trade.
   P. jun. Nay, thou wilt speak —

[He gives the Taylor leave to talk.

   Fas. My share, Sir, there's enough for both.
   P. jun. Go on then,
Speak all thou canst: methinks the Ordinaries,
Should help them much.   Fas. Sir, they have Ordinaries,
And Extraordinaries, as many Changes
And Variations, as there are Points i' the Compass.
   Tho. But the 4 Cardinal Quarters — P. Ju. I those Thom —
   Tho. The Court, Sir, Pauls, Exchange, and Westminster-hall.
   P. jun. Who is the Chief? which hath Precedency?
   Tho. The Governour o' the Staple, Master Cymball.
He is the Chief; and after him the Emissaries:
First Emissary Court, one Master Fitton,
He's a Jeerer too.   P. Ju. What's that?   Fas. A Wit.
   Tho. Or half a Wit. some of them are Half-wits,
Two to a Wit, there are a set of 'em.
   Then Master Ambler, Emissary Pauls,
A fine pac'd Gentleman, as you shall see, walk
The middle Isle: And then my Froy Hans Buz,
A Dutch-man; he's Emissary Exchange.
   Fas. I had thought Mr. Burst the Merchant had had it.   Tho. No,
He has a Rupture, he has sprung a Leak,
Emissary Westminster's undispos'd of yet;
Then the Examiner, Register, and two Clerks,
They mannage all at home, and sort, and file,
And seal the News, and issue them.
   P. jun. Thom. dear Thom.
What may my means do for thee, ask and have it,
I'd fain be doing some good. It is my Birth-day.
And I'd do it betimes, I feel a grudging
Of Bounty, and I would not long lye fallow.
I pray thee think and speak, or wish for somethi ng.
   Tho. I would I had but one o' the Clerks Places
I' this News-Office.   P. jun. Thou shalt have it Thom,
If Silver or Gold will fetch it; what's the Rate?
At what is't set i' the Mercat?   Tho. Fifty Pound, Sir.
   P. jun. An't were a hundred, Thom, thou shalt not want it.

[The Taylor leaps and embraceth him.

   Fas. O Noble Master!   P. Ju. How now Ćsops Ass!
Because I play with Thom, must I needs run
Into your rude Embraces? stand you still, Sir;
Clowns fawnings are a Horses salutations.
How do'st thou like my suit, Thom?   Tho. Mr. Fashioner
Has hit your Measures, Sir, h' has moulded you,
And made you, as they say.   Fas. No, no, not I,
I am an Ass, old Ćsops Ass.   P. Ju. Nay, Fashioner,
I can do thee a good turn too, be not musty,
Though thou hast moulded me, as little Thom says,
(I think thou hast put me in mouldy Pockets.)

[He draws out his Pockets,

   Fas. As good,
Right Spanish Perfume, the Lady Estifania's,
They cost Twelve pound a Pair.
   P. jun. Thy Bill will say so.
I pray thee tell me, Fashioner, what Authors
Thou read'st to help thy Invention? Italian Prints?
Or Arras Hangings? They are Taylors Libraries.
   Fas. I scorn such helps.
   P. jun. O, though thou art a Silk-worm!
And deal'st in Sattins and Velvets, and rich Plushes,
Thou canst not spin all Forms out of thy self;
They are quite other things: I think this suit
Has made me wittier then I was.   Fas. Believe it, Sir,

[column break]

That Clothes do much upon the Wit, as Weather
Do's on the Brain; and thence comes your Proverb;
The Taylor makes the Man: I speak by experience
Of my own Customers. I have had Gallants,
Both Court and Countrey, would ha' fool'd you up
In a new Suit, with the best Wits in being,
And kept their speed as long as their Clothes lasted
Handsome and neat; but then as they grew out
At the Elbows again, or had a stain or spot,
They have sunk most wretchedly.
   P. Ju. What thou report'st,
Is but the common Calamity, and seen daily;
And therefore you 'ave another answering Proverb:
A broken Sleeve keeps the Arm back.   Fas. 'Tis true, Sir.
And thence we say, that such a one plays at Peep-arm.
   P. jun. Do you so? it is wittily said. I wonder, Gentlemen,
And Men of Means will not maintain themselves
Fresher in wit, I mean in Clothes, to the highest.
For he that's out o' Clothes, is out o' Fashion,
And out of Fashion, is out of Countenance,
And out o' Countenance is out o' Wit.
Is not Rogue Haberdasher come?   Hab. Yes, here, Sir.

[They are all busie about him.

I ha' been without this half hour.   P.j un. Give me my Hat.
Put on my Girdle Rascal, sits my Ruff well?
   Lin. In print.  P. jun. Slave.  Lin. See your self.  P. jun. Is this same Hat
O' the Block Passant? Do not not answer me,
I cannot stay for an answer. I do feel
The Powers of One and twenty, like a Tide
Flow in upon me, and perceive an Heir,
Can Conjure up all Spirits in all Circles,
Rogue, Rascal, Slave, give Tradesmen their true names,
And they appear to 'em presently.   Lin. For Profit.
   P. jun. Come, cast my Cloak about me, I'll go see,
This Office Thom, and be trimm'd afterwards.
I'll put thee in possession, my prime work!
Gods so: my Spurrier! put 'em on Boy, quickly,

[His Spurrier comes in.

I' had like to ha' lost my Spurs with too much speed.

Act I. Scene III.

Peni-boy, Canter, to them singing.

Ood morning to my Joy, My jolly Peni-boy!
  The Lord, and the Prince of Plenty!
I come to see what Riches, Thou bearest in thy Breeches,
         The first of thy One and Twenty:
What, do thy Pockets gingle? Or shall we need to mingle
         Our strength both of Foot and Horses!
These Fellows look so eager, As if they would beleaguer
         And Heir in the midst of his Forces!
I hope they be no Serjeants! That hang upon thy Margents.
         This Rogue has the Joul of a Jaylor!

[The young Peni-boy answers in tune.

P. Ju. O Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter,
My Linnen-man, and my Taylor.
Thou should'st have been brought in too, Shoomaker,
If the time had been longer, and Thom Barber.
How do'st thou like my Company, old Canter?
Do I not muster a brave Troop? all Bill-men?
Present your Arms before my Founder here,
This is my Founder, this same learned Canter!
He brought me the first news of my Fathers death,
I thank him, and ever since, I call him Founder,

[He takes the Bills, and puts them up in his Pockets.

Worship him, Boys, I'll read only the Sums,
And pass 'em streight.   Sho. Now Ale.
   Rest. And strong Ale bless him.
   P. jun. Gods so, some Ale, and Sugar for my Founder!
Good Bills, sufficient Bills, these Bills may pass.
   P. Ca. I do not like those Paper-squibs, good Master.
They may undo your store, I mean, of Credit,
And fire your Arsenall, if case you do not

K k k In

434	The Staple of News.

In time make good those Outer-works, your Pockets,
And take a Garrison in of some two hundred,
To beat these Pioneers off, that carry a Mine
Would blow you up, at last. Secure your Casamates,
Here Master Picklock, Sir, your Man o' Law,
And learn'd Atturny, has sent you a Bag of Munition.
   P. jun. What is't?   P. Ca. Three hundred Pieces.
   P. jun. I'll dispatch 'em
   P. Ca. Do, I would have your strengths lin'd, and perfum'd
With Gold as well as Amber.   P. jun. God a mercy,
Come, Ad solvendum, Boys! there, there, and there, &c.

[He pays all.

I look on nothing but Totalis.   P. Ca. See!
The difference 'twixt the Covetous and the Prodigal!
"The Covetous Man never has Money! and
"The Prodigal will have none shortly!   P. jun. Ha,
What says my Founder? I thank you, I thank you Sirs.
   All. God bless your Worship, and your Worships Chanter.
   P. Ca. I say 'tis nobly done, to cherish Shopkeepers,
And pay their Bills, without examining thus.
   P. jun. Alas! they have had a pittiful hard time on't,
A long vacation, from their cozening.
Poor Rascalls, I do do it out of Charity.
I would advance their Trade again, and have them
Haste to be Rich, swear and forswear wealthily,
What do you stay for, Sirrah?   Spu. To my Box Sir.
   P. jun. Your Box, why, there's an Angel, if my Spurs

[He gives the Spurrier, to his Box.

Be not right Rippon.   Spu. Give me never a Penny
If I strike not thorow your Bounty with the Rowels.
   P. jun. Do'st thou want any Money Founder?
   P. Ca. Who, Sir, I,
Did I not tell you I was bred i' the Mines,
Under Sir Bevis Bullion.   P. jun. That is true,
I quite forgot, you Mine-men want no Money,
Your Streets are pav'd with't: there, the Molten Silver
Runs out like Cream on Cakes of Gold.   P. Ca. And Rubies
Do grow like Strawberries.
   P. jun. 'Twere brave being there!
Come Thom, we'll go to the Office now.   P. Ca. What Office?
   P. jun. News Office, the New Staple; thou shalt go too,
'Tis here i' the House, on the same Floor, Thom. says.
Come Founder, let us trade in Ale and Nutmegs.

Act I.    Scene IV.

Register, Clerk, Woman.

Hat, are those Desks fit now? set forth the Table
The Carpet and the Chair: where are the News
That were examin'd last? ha' you fil'd them up?
   Cle. Not yet, I had no time.
   Reg. Are those news Registred,
That Emissary Buz sent in last night?
Of Spinola and his Eggs?   Cle. Yes Sir, and fil'd.
   Reg. What are you now upon?
   Cle. That our new Emissary
Westminster, gave us, of the Golden Hair.
   Reg. Dispatch, that's News indeed, and of importance.
What would you have good Woman?   Wo. I would have Sir,

[A Country Woman waits there.

A Groatsworth of any News, I care not what,
To carry down this Saturday, to our Vicar.
   Reg. O! You are a Butterwoman, ask Nathaniel
The Clerk there.   Cle. Sir, I tell her, she must stay
Till Emissary Exchange, or Pauls send in,
And then I'll fit her.   Reg. Do good Woman, have patience,
It is not now, as when the Captain liv'd.
   Cle. You'll blast the Reputation of the Office,
Now i' the Bud, if you dispatch these Groats,
So soon: let them attend in name of Policy.

[column break]

Act I.    Scene V.

Peni-boy, Cymbal, Fitton, Tho. Barber, Canter.

N troth they are dainty Rooms; what place is this?
   Cym. This is the outer Room, where my Clerks sit,
And keep their sides, the Register i' the midst,
The Examiner, he sits private there, within,
And here I have my several Rowls and Fyles
Of News by the Alphabet, and all put up
Under their Heads.   P. jun. But those too subdivided?
   Cym. Into Authenticall, and Apocryphall.
   Fit. Or News of doubtful credit, as Barbers News.
   Cym. And Taylors News, Porters, and Watermens news,
   Fit. Whereto, beside the Coranti, and Gazetti.
   Cym. I have the News of the season.
   Fit. As Vacation-news,
Term-news, and Christmas-news.
   Cym. And News o' the Faction.
   Fit. As the Reformed-news. Protestant-news,
   Cym. And Pontificial-news, of all which several,
The Day-books, Characters, Precedents are kept.
Together with the Names of special Friends ——
   Fit. And Men of Correspondence i' the Countrey —
   Cym. Yes, of all Ranks, and all Religions.——
   Fit. Factors and Agents —— Cym, Liegers, that lye out
Through all the Shires o' the Kingdom.   P. jun. This is fine!
And bears a brave relation! but what says
Mercurius Britannicus to this?
   Cym. O Sir, he gains by't half in half.   Fit. Nay more
I'll stand to't. For, where he was wont to get
In, hungry Captains, obscure Statesman.   Cym. Fellows
To drink with him in a dark Room in a Tavern,
And eat a Sawsage.   Fit. We ha' seen't,   Cym. As fain,
To keep so many Politick Pens.
Going to feed the Press.   Fit. And dish out News,
Were't true, or false.   Cym. Now all that charge is sav'd
The publick Chronicler.   Fit. How do you call him there?
   Cym. And gentle Reader.   Fit. He that has the Maidenhead
Of all the Books.   Cym. Yes, dedicated to him,
   Fit. Or rather prostituted.   P. jun. You are right, Sir.
   Cym. No more shall be abus'd, nor Countrey-Parsons
O' the Inquisition, nor busie Justices,
Trouble the peace, and both torment themselves,
And their poor ign'rant Neighbours with inquiries
After the many and most innocent Monsters,
That never came i' th' Counties the were charg'd with.
   P. jun. Why, methinks, Sir, if the honest common People
Will be abus'd, why should not they ha' their pleasure,
In the believing Lyes, are made for them;
As you i' th' Office, making them your selves?
   Fit. O Sir! it is the printing we oppose.
   Cym. VVe not forbid that any News be made,
But that't be printed; for when News is printed,
It leaves, Sir, to be News, while 'tis but written ——
   Fit. Though it be ne're so false, it runs News still.
   P. jun. See divers Mens Opinions! unto some,
The very printing of them makes them News;
That ha' not the Heart to believe any thing,
But what they see in print.   Fit. I, that's an Error
Has abus'd many; but we shall reform it,
As many things beside (we have a hope)
Are crept among the popular abuses.
   Cym. Nor shall the Stationer cheat upon the Time,
By buttering over again ——
   Fit. Once in Seven Years,
As the Age doats —
   Cym. And grows forgetful o' them.
His antiquated Pamphlets, with new Dates.
But all shall come from the Mint.
   Fit. Fresh and new stamp'd,
   Cymb. VVith the Office-Seal, Staple-Commodity.
   Fit. And if a Man will assure his News, he may:

Two-pence

The Staple of News.

435

Two pence a Sheet he shall be warranted,
And have a Policy for't.   P. jun. Sir, I admire
The Method o' your Place; all things within't
Are so digested, fitted, and compos'd,
As it shews Wit had married Order.   Fit. Sir.
   Cym. The best we could to invite the Times.   Fit. It has
Cost Sweat and Freezing.   Cym. And some broken Sleeps,
Before it came to this.   P. jun. I easily think it.
   Fit. But now it has the shape — Cym. And is come forth.
   P. jun. A most polite neat thing, with all the Limbs,
As Sense can taste!   Cym. It is, Sir, though I say it,
As well-begotten a Business, and as fairly
Helpt to the VVorld.   P. jun. You must be a Midwife, Sir,
Or else the Son of a Midwife, (pray you pardon me)
Have helpt it forth so happily! VVhat News ha' you?
News o' this morning? I would fain hear some
Fresh from the Forge, (as new as Day, as they say.)
   Cym. And such we have, Sir.
   Reg. Shew him the last Roll,
Of Emissary Westminster's, the Heir.
   P. jun. Come nearer, Thom.
   Cla. There is a brave young Heir
Is come of age this morning, Mr. Peni-boy.

[Peny rejoiceth that he is in.

   P. jun. That's I!
   Cla. His Father died on this day seven-night.
   P. jun. True!
   Cla. At six o' the Clock i' the morning, just a VVeek
Ere he was One and twenty.

[Tells Thom. of it.

P. jun. I am here, Thom!
Proceed, I pray thee. Cla. An old Canting Beggar
Brought him first News, whom he has entertain'd
To follow him since.

[Calls in the
Canter.

P. jun. VVhy, you shall see him! Founder,
Come in; no Follower, but Companion:
I pray thee put him in, Friend; there's an Angel —

[He gives the Clerk.

Thou dost not know, he's a wise old Fellow,
Though he seem patch'd thus, and made up o' Pieces.
Founder, we are in here, in, i' the News-Office!
In this days Roll, already! I do muse
How you came by us, Sirs!   Cym. One Master Pick-lock,
A Lawyer, that hath purchas'd here a Place
This morning, of an Emissary under me.
   Fit. Emissary Westminster.   Cym. Gave it into th' Office
   Fit. For his Essay, his Piece.   P. jun. My Man o' Law
He's my Attorney, and Sollicitor too!
A fine Pragmatick! what's his Place worth?
   Cym. A Nemo-scit, Sir.   Fit. 'Tis as News come in.
   Cym. And as they are issued. I have the just moiety
For my part? then the other moiety
Is parted into seven: The four Emissaries,
Whereof my Cousin Fitton here's for Court,
Ambler for Pauls, and Buz for the Exchange,
Picklock for Westminster, with the Examiner,
And Register, they have full Parts: and then one Part
Is under-parted to a couple of Clerks;
And there's the just Division of the Profits.
   P. jun. Ha' you those Clerks, Sir?
   Cym. There is one Desk empty,
But it has many Suitors.   P. jun. Sir, may I
Present one more, and carry it, if his Parts
Or Gifts, (which you will call 'em.)
   Cym. Be sufficient, Sir.
   P. jun. What are your present Clerk's Habilities?
How is he qualified?   Cym. A decay'd Stationer
He was, but knows News well, can sort and rank 'em.
   Fit. And for a need can make 'em.
   Cym. True Pauls bred,
I' the Church yard.   P. jun. And this at the West-door,
O' th' other side; he's my Barber, Thom,
A pretty Scholar, and a Master of Arts,
Was made, or went out Master of Arts in a throng,
At the University; as before, one Christmas,
He got into a Mask at Court, by his Wit,

[column break]

And the good means of his Cythern, holding up thus
For one o' the Musick: He's a nimble Fellow,
And alike skill'd in every Liberal Science,
As having certain Snaps of all; a neat
Quick Vein in forging News too: I do love him,
And promis'd him a good turn, and I would do it.
What's your Price? the Value?   Cym. Fifty pounds, Sir.
   P. jun. Get in, Thom, take possession, I install thee.
Here, tell your Money: Give thee joy, good Thom;

[He buys Thom a Clerks Place.

And let me hear from thee ever minute of News,
While the New Staple stands, or the Office lasts,
Which I do wish may ne'er be less, for thy sake.
Cla. The Emissaries, Sir, would speak with you,
And Master Fitton; they have brought in News,
Three Bale together. Cym. Sir, you are welcome here.

[They take leave of Peni-boy and Canter.

   Fit. So is your Creature.   Cym. Business calls us off, Sir,
That may concern the Office.   P. jun. Keep me fair, Sir,
Still i' your Staple; I am here your Friend,
On the same Floor.   Fit. We shall be your Servants.
   P. jun. How dost thou like it, Founder?   P. Ca. All is well,
But that your Man o' Law, me thinks, appears not
In his due time. O! Here comes Masters Worship.

Act I.    Scene VI.

Picklock, Peni-boy jun.  P. Canter.

Ow do's the Heir, bright Master Peni-boy?
Is he awake yet in his One and twenty?
Why, this is better far, than to wear Cypress,
Dull smutting Gloves, or melancholy Blacks,
And have a pair of Twelvepenny-broad Ribbands
Laid out like Labels.   P. jun. I should ha' made shift
To have laught as heartily in my Mourners Hood,
As in this Suit, if it had pleas'd my Father
To have been buried with the Trumpeters.
   Pic. The Heralds of Arms, you mean.   P. jun. I mean,
All noise that is superfluous!   Pic. All that idle Pomp,
And Vanity of a Tomb-stone, your wise Father
Did by his Will prevent. Your Worship had —
   P. jun. A loving and obedient Father of him,
I know it; a right kind-natur'd Man,
To die so opportunely.   Pic. And to settle
All things so well, compounded for your Wardship
The Week afore, and left your State entire,
Without any charge upon't.   P. jun. I must needs say,
I lost an Officer of him, a good Bailiff,
And I shall want him: but all peace be with him,
I will not wish him alive again, not I,
For all my Fortune. Give your Worship joy
O' your new Place, your Emissaryship
I' the News Office.   Pic. Know you why I bought it, Sir?
   P. jun. Not I.   Pic. To work for you, and carry a Mine
Against the Master of it, Master Cymbal,
Who hath a Plot upon a Gentlewoman
Was once design'd for you, Sir.
   P. jun. Me?   Pic. Your Father,
Old Master Peni-boy, of happy Memory,
And Wisdom too, as any i' the County,
Careful to find out a fit Match for you,
In his own Life-time, (but he was prevented)
Left it in Writing in a Schedule here,
To be annexed to his Will, That you,
His only Son, upon his Charge and Blessing,
Should take due notice of a Gentlewoman
Sojourning with your Uncle, Richer Peni-boy.
   P. jun. A Cornish Gentlewoman, I do know her,
Mistris Pecunia Do-all.   Pic. A great Lady,
Indeed she is, and not of Mortal Race,
Infanta of the Mines; her Graces Grandfather
Was Duke, and Cousin to the King of Ophyr,
The Subterranean. Let that pass. Her name is,

K k k 2 Or

436	The Staple of News.

Or rather, her three Names are (for such she is)
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, a great Princess,
Of mighty Power, though she live in private,
With a contracted Family! Her Secretary —
   P. Ca. Who is her Gentleman Usher too.   Pic. One Broker,
And then two Gentlewomen, Mistris Statute,
And Mistris Band, with Wax the Chambermaid,
And Mother Mortgage the old Nurse, two Grooms,
Pawn and his Fellow: You have not many to bribe, Sir.
The work is feizible, and th' Approaches easie,
By your own Kindred. Now, Sir, Cymbal thinks,
The Master here, and Governor o' the Staple,
By his fine Arts, and Pomp of his great Place,
To draw her! He concludes, she is a Woman!
And that so soon as sh' hears of the New Office,
She'll come to visit it, as they all have Longings
After new Sights and Motions! But your Bounty,
Person, and Bravery, must atchieve her.   P. Ca. She is
The Talk o' the Time! th' adventure o' the Age!
   Pic. You cannot put your self upon an Action
Of more importance.
   P. Ca. All the World are Suitors to her.
   Pic. All sorts of Men, and all Professions!
   P. C. You shall have Stall-fed Doctors, cramm'd Divines,
Make Love to her, and with those studied
And perfum'd Flatteries, as no Room can stink
More elegant, than where they are.   Pic. Well chanted,
Old Canter, thou sing'st true.   P. Ca. And (by your leave)
Good Masters Worship, some of your Velvet Coat
Make corpulent Curt'sies to her, till they crack for't.
   Pic. There's Doctor Almanac woos her, one of the Jeerers,
A fine Physician.   P. Ca. Your Sea-Captain, Shunfield,
Gives out, he'll go upon the Cannon for her.
   Pic. Though his loud Mouthing get him little Credit.
   P. Ca. Young Master Pied-mantle, the fine Herald,
Professes to derive her through all Ages,
From all the Kings and Queens that ever were.
   Pic. And Master Madrigal, the crowned Poet
Of these our Times, doth offer at her Praises
As fair as any, when it shall please Apollo
That Wit and Rime may meet both in one Subject.
   P. Ca. And you to bear her from all these, it will be —
   Pic. A work of Fame.
   P. Ca. Of Honour.   Pic. Celebration.
   P. Ca. Worthy your Name.
   Pic. The Peni-boys to live in't.
   P. Ca. It is an Action you were built for, Sir.
   Pic. And none but you can do it.
   P. Ju. I'll undertake it.
   P. Ca. And carry it.   P. Ju. Fear me not; for since I came
Of mature age, I have had a certain itch
In my right eye, this corner here, do you see?
To do some work, and worthy of a Chronicle.

The First Intermean after the First Act.

Irth. How now, Gossip! how does the Play please you?
   Censure. Very scurvily, me thinks, and sufficiently
naught.
   Expectation. As a Body would wish: Here's nothing but
a young Prodigal, come of age, who makes much of the Bar-
ber, buys him a Place in a New Office, i' the Air, I know
not where, and his Man o' Law to follow him, with the
Beggar to Boot, and they two help him to a Wife.
   Mirth. I, she is a proper Piece! that such Creatures can
broke for.
   Tattle. I cannot abide that nasty Fellow, the Beggar; if
he had been a Court-Beggar, in good Clothes, a Beggar in
Velvet, as they say, I could have endur'd him.
   Mirth. Or a Begging Scholar in Black, or one of these
beggarly Poets, Gossip, that would hang upon a young Heir
like a Horseleech.
   Expectation. Or a thred-bare Doctor of Physick, a poor
Quacksalver.

[column break]

   Censure. Or a Sea-Captain half starv'd.
   Mirth. I, these were tolerable Beggars, Beggars of fashi-
on! You shall see some such anon.
   Tattle. I would fain see the Fool, Gossip; the Fool is
the finest Man i' the Company, they say, and has all the Wit:
He is the very Justice o' Peace o' the Play, and can commit
whom he will, and what he will, Errour, Absurdity, as the
toy takes him, and no Man say, Black is his Eye, but laugh
at him.
   Mirth. But they ha' no Fool i' this Play, I am afraid,
Gossip.
   Tattle. It's a wise Play then.
   Expectation. They are all Fools, the rather, in that.
   Censure. Like enough.
   Tattle. My Husband (Timothy Tattle, God rest his
poor Soul) was wont to say, There was no Play without a
Fool and a Devil in't; he was for the Devil still, God
bless him. The Devil for his Money, would he say, I would
fain see the Devil. And why would you so fain see the
Devil? would I say. Because he has Horns, Wife, and may
be a Cuckold, as well as a Devil, he would answer. You are
e'en such another, Husband, quoth I. Was the Devil ever
married? Where do you read, the Devil was ever so honou-
rable to commit Matrimony? The Play will tell us that,
says he, we'll go see't to morrow, The Devil is an Ass. He
is an errant learn'd Man that made it, and can write, they
say; and I am foully deceiv'd, but he can read too.
   Mirth. I remember it, Gossip; I went with you, by the
same token, Mrs. Trouble Truth dissuaded us, and told us,
he was a profane Poet, and all his Plays had Devils in
them: That he kept School upo' the Stage, could conjure there,
above the School of Westminster, and Doctor Lamb too:
Not a Play he made, but had a Devil in it: And that he
would learn us all to make our Husbands Cuckolds at Plays:
By another token, that a young married Wife i' the Company
said, she could find in her heart to steal thither and see a
little o' the Vanity through her Mask, and come practise at
home.
   Tattle. O, it was Mistris ———
   Mirth. Nay, Gossip, I name no body. It may be 'twas my
self.
   Expectation. But was the Devil a proper Man, Gossip?
   Mirth. As fine a Gentleman, of his Inches, as ever I saw
trusted to the Stage, or any where else; and lov'd the Com-
monwealth as well as e're a Patriot of 'em all: He would
carry away the Vice on his back, quick to Hell, in every
Play where he came, and reform Abuses.
   Expectation. There was the Devil of Edmonton, no
such Man, I warrant you.
   Censure. The Conjurer cosen'd him with a Candles end;
he was an Ass.
   Mirth. But there was one Smug, a Smith, would have
made a Horse laugh, and broke his Halter, as they say.
   Tattle. O, but the poor Man had got a shrewd mischance
one day.
   Expectation. How, Gossip?
   Tattle. He had drest a Roguy Jade i' the morning, that
had the Staggers, and had got such a spice of 'em himself
by noon, as they would not away all the Play-time, do what
he could for his heart.
   Mirth. 'Twas his Part, Gossip; he was to be drunk by his
Part.
   Tattle. Say you so? I understood not so much.
   Expectation. Would we had such another Part, and
such a Man in this Play. I fear 'twill be an excellent dull
thing.
   Censure. Expect, intend it.

Act

The Staple of News.

437

Act II. Scene I.

Peni-Boy, Sen. Pecunia, Mortgage, Statute, Band,
Broker.

Our Grace is sad, methinks, and melancholy!
You do not look upon me with that Face,
As you were wont, my Goddess, bright Pecunia:
Altho your Grace be faln, of Two i' the Hundred,
In Vulgar Estimation; yet am I
Your Graces Servant still: and teach this body
To bend, and these my aged Knees to buckle,
In Adoration, and just Worship of you.
Indeed, I do confess, I have no shape
To make a Minion of, but I'm your Martyr,
Your Graces Martyr. I can hear the Rogues,
As I do walk the Streets, whisper and point,
There goes Old Peni-boy, the Slave of Money,
Rich Peni-boy, Lady Pecunia's Drudge,
A sordid Rascal, one that never made
Good Meal in his Sleep, but sells the Acates are sent him,
Fish, Fowl and Venison, and preserves himself,
Like an Old hoary Rat, with mouldy Pye-Crust.
This I do hear, rejoicing, I can suffer
This, and much more for your good Graces sake.
   Pec. Why do you so my Guardian? I not bid you,
Cannot my Grace be gotten, and held too?
Without your self-tormentings, and your watches,
Your macerating of your body thus
With Cares and Scantings of your Diet and rest?
   P. Se. O, no, your Services, my Princely Lady,
Cannot with too much zeal of Rites be done,
They are so sacred.   Pec. But my Reputation
May suffer, and the worship of my Family,
When by so servile means they both are sought.
   P. Se. You are a Noble, Young, Free, Gracious Lady,
And would be every bodies, in your Bounty,
But you must not be so. They are a few
That know your Merit, Lady, and can value't.
Your self scarce understands your proper Powers,
They are All-mighty, and that we your Servants,
That have the Honour here to stand so near you,
Know, and can use too. All this Nether-world
Is yours, you command it, and do sway it,
The Honour of it, and the Honesty,
The Reputation, I, and the Religion,
(I was about to say, and had not err'd)
Is Queen Pecunia's. For that Stile is yours,
If Mortals knew your Grace, or their own good.
   Mor. Please your Grace to retire.
   Ban. I fear your Grace
Hath tane too much of the sharp Air.   Pec. O, no!
I could endure to take a great deal more
(And with my Constitution, were it left)
Unto my choice, what think you of it, Statute?
   Sta. A little now and then does well, and keeps
Your Grace in your Complexion.
   Ban. And true Temper.
   Mor. But too much, Madam, may encrease cold
         Rheumes,
Nourish Catarrhs, Green Sicknesses and Agues,
And put you in Consumption.   P. se. Best to take
Advice of your grave Women, Noble Madam,
They know the State o' your Body, and ha' studied
Your Graces Health.
   Ban. And honour. Here'll be Visitants,
Or Suitors by and by; and 'tis not fit
They find you here.
   Sta. 'Twill make your Grace too cheap
To give them Audience presently.
   Mor. Leave your Secretary,
To answer them.   Pec. Wait you here, Broker.

[column break]

   Bro. I shall, Madam,
And do your Graces Trusts with diligence.

Act II.    Scene II.

Pyed-Mantle, Broker, Peny-Boy sen.

Hat luck's this? I am come an Inch too late.
Do you hear, Sir? Is your Worship o' the Family
Unto the Lady Pecunia?   Bro. I serve her Grace, Sir,
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.
   Pie. Has she all those Titles, and her Grace besides?
I must correct that Ignorance and Over-sight,
Before I do present. Sir, I have drawn
A Pedigree for her Grace, tho yet a Novice
In that so Noble Study.   Bro. A Herald at Arms?
   Pie. No, Sir, a Pursivant, my Name is Pyed-mantle.
   Bro. Good Master Pyed-mantle.
   Pie. I have deduc'd her ——
   Bro. From all the Spanish Mines in the West Indies,
I hope: for she comes that way by her Mother,
But by her Grand-mother, she's Dutches of Mines.
   Pie. From Man's Creation I have brought her.
   Bro. No farther?
Before, Sir, long before, you have done nothing else,
Your Mines were before Adam, search your Office,
Roll Five and Twenty, you will find it so,
I see you are but a Novice, Master Pyed-mantle,
If you had not told me so.   Pye. Sir, an Apprentice
In Armoiry. I have read the Elements,
And Accidence, and all the leading Books,
And I have now upon me a great ambition,
How to be brought to her Grace, to kiss her Hands.
   Bro. Why, if you have acquaintance with Mistris
         Statute,
Or Mistris Band, my Ladies Gentlewomen,
They can induce you. One is a Judges Daughter,
But somewhat stately; th' other, Mistris Band,
Her Father's but a Scrivener, but she can
Almost as much with my Lady as the other,
Especially if Rose Wax the Chambermaid
Be willing, Do you not know her, Sir, neither?
   Pye. No, in troth, Sir.
   Bro. She's a good pliant Wench,
And easie to be wrought, Sir; but the Nurse,
Old Mother Mortgage, if you have a Tenement,
Or such a Morsel, tho she have no Teeth,
She loves a Sweet Meat, any thing that melts
In her warm Gums, she could command it for you
On such a trifle, a toy. Sir, you may see
How for your Love, and this so pure Complexion,
(A perfect Sanguine) I ha' ventur'd thus,
The straining of a Ward, opening a Door
Into the Secrets of our Family.
   Pye. I pray you let me know, Sir, unto whom
I am so much beholden; but your name.
   Bro. My name is Broker, I am Secretary
And Usher to her Grace.   Pye. Good Master Broker!
   Bro. Good Master Pyed-mantle.
   Pye. Why, you could do me,
If you would, now, this Favour of your self.
   Bro. Truly I think I could; but if I would,
I hardly should, without, or Mistris Band,
Or Mistris Statute, please to appear in it.
Or the good Nurse I told you of, Mistris Mortgage.
We know our places here, we mingle not
One in another's Sphere, but all move orderly,
In our own Orbs; yet we are all Concentricks.
   Pye. Well, Sir, I'll wait a better Season.   Bro. Do,
And study the right means; get Mistris Band
To urge on your behalf, or little Wax.

[Broker makes a mouth at him.

Pye. I have a hope, Sir, that I may, by chance,
Light on her Grace, as she's taking the Air.

Bro.

438	The Staple of News.

Bro. That Air of Hope has blasted many an Airy
Of Castrils like your seif, good Master Pied-mantle.

[He jeers him again.

[Old Peni-
boy leaps.

P. sen. Well said, Mr. Secretary, I stood behind
And heard thee all. I honour thy Dispatches.
If they be rude, untrained in our Method,
And have not studied the Rule, dismiss 'em quickly.
He'll never keep his Hour, that Vessel of Kitchen-stuff!

Act II. Scene III.

Broker, Peni-boy sen. Lick-finger.

Ere he is come, Sir.   P. sen. Pox upon him, Kidney,
Always too late!   Lic. To wish 'em you, I confess,
That ha' them already.
   P. sen. What?   Lic. The Pox!   P. sen. The Piles,
The Plague, and all Diseases light on him,
Knows not to keep his word. I'ld keep my word, sure!
I hate that Man that will not keep his word.
When did I break my word?   Lic. Or I, till now.
And 'tis but half an Hour.   P. sen. Half a Year,
To me, that stands upon a Minute of Time.
I am a just Man, I love still to be just.
   Lic. Why? you think I can run like light-foot Ralph,
Or keep a Wheel-barrow with a Sail in Town here,
To whirl me to you. I have lost two Stone
Of Suet i' the Service, posting hither:
You might have followed me like a Watering-pot,
And seen the Knots I made along the Street;
My Face dropt like the Skimmer in a Fritter-pan,
And my whole Body is yet (to say the truth)
A roasted Pound of Butter, with grated Bread in't!

[He sweeps his Face.

   P. sen. Believe you, he that list. You staid of purpose
To have my Venison stink, and my Fowl mortified,
That you might ha' 'em —
   Lic. A Shilling or two cheaper,
That's your Jealousie.   P. sen. Perhaps it is.
Will you go in, and view, and value all?
Yonder is Venison sent me, Fowl, and Fish,
In such abundance, I am sick to see it!
I wonder what they mean! I ha' told 'em of it!
To burden a weak Stomach, and provoke
A dying Appetite! thrust a Sin upon me
I ne'er was guilty of! nothing but Gluttony!
Gross Gluttony! that will undo this Land!
   Lic. And bating Two i' the Hundred.
   P. sen. I, that same's
A crying Sin, a fearful damn'd Device,
Eats up the Poor, devours 'em —   Lic. Sir, take heed
What you give out.
   P. sen. Against your grave great Solons?
Numć Pompilii, they that made that Law?
To take away the Poor's Inheritance:
It was their Portion; I will stand to't:
And they have robb'd 'em of it, plainly robb'd 'em.
I still am a just Man, I tell the truth.
When Moneys went at Ten i' the Hundred, I,
And such as I, the Servants of Pecunia,
Could spare the Poor Two out of Ten, and did it:
How say you, Broker?
   (Lic. Ask your Eccho.)   Bro. You did it.
   P. sen. I am for Justice; when did I leave Justice?
We knew 'twas theirs, they had Right and Title to't.
Now —   Lic. You can spare 'em nothing.
   P. sen. Very little.
   Lic. As good as nothing.
   P. sen. They have bound our Hands
With their wise solemn Act, shortned our Arms.
   Lic. Beware those worshipful Ears, Sir, be not shortned,
And you play Crop i' the Fleet, if you use this Licence.
   P. sen. What Licence, Knave, Informer?

[column break]

   Lic. I am Lick-finger.
Your Cook.   P. sen. A sawcy Jack you are, that's once.
What said I, Broker?   Bro. Nothing that I heard, Sir.
   Lic. I know his Gift, he can be deaf when he list.
   P. sen. Ha' you provided me my Bushel of Eggs
I did bespeak? I do not care how stale
Or stinking that they be; let 'em be rotten:
For Ammunition here, to pelt the Boys,
That break my Windows.
   Lic. Yes, Sir, I ha' spar'd 'em
Out of the Custard-politick for you, the Mayor's.
   P. sen. 'Tis well; go in, take hence all that Excess,
Make what you can of it, your best: and when
I have Friends that I invite at home, provide me
Such, such, and such a Dish, as I bespeak;
One at a time, no Superfluity.
Or if you have it not, return me Money:
You know my ways.   Lic. They are a little crooked.
   P. sen. How, Knave?
   Lic. Because you do indent.   P. sen. 'Tis true, Sir,
I do indent you shall return me Money.
   Lic. Rather than Meat, I know it: you are just still.
   P. sen. I love it still. And therefore if you spend
The Red-Deer Pies i' your House, or sell 'em forth, Sir,
Cast so, that I may have their Coffins all
Return'd here, and pil'd up: I would be thought
To keep some kind of House.   Lic. By the mouldy Signs?
   P. sen. And then remember Meat for my two Dogs:
Fat Flaps of Mutton, Kidneys, Rumps of Veal,
Good plenteous Scraps; my Maid shall eat the Relicks.
   Lic. When you and your Dogs have din'd. A sweet
Reversion.
   P. sen. Who's here? my Courtier, and my little Doctor?
My Muster-master? And what Plover's that
They have brought to pull?
   Bro. I know not, some green Plover.
I'll find him out.   P. sen. Do, for I know the rest:
They are the Jeerers, mocking, flouting Jacks.

Act II.    Scene IV.

Fitton, Penni-boy sen. Almanach, Shunfield, Madrigal,
Lick-finger, Broker.

Ow now, old Money-Bawd? W' are come —
   P. jun. To jeer me,
As you were wont, I know you.   Alm. No, to give thee
Some good Security, and see Pecunia.
   P. sen. What is't?   Fit. Our selves.
   Alm. We'll be one bound for another.
   Fit. This noble Doctor here.   Alm. This worthy Courtier.
   Fit. This Man o' War, he was our Muster-master.
   Alm. But a Sea-Captain now, brave Captain Shunfield.

[He holds up his Nose.

   Shun. You snuff the Air now, as the scent displeas'd you.
   Fit. Thou needst not fear him Man, his Credit is sound.
   Alm. And season'd too, since he took Salt at Sea.
   P. sen. I do not love pickl'd Security;
VVould I had one good Fresh-man in for all:
For truth is, you three stink.   Shun. You are a Rogue.
   P. sen. I think I am; but I will lend no Money
On that Security, Captain.   Alm. Here's a Gentleman,
A Fresh-man i' the VVorld, one Master Madrigal.
   Fit. Of an untainted Credit; what say you to him?

[Madrigal steps aside with Broker.

   Shun. He's gone, me thinks; where is he? Madrigal?
   P. sen. H' has an odd singing Name: is he an Heir?
   Fit. An Heir to a fair Fortune.   Alm. And full Hopes:
A dainty Scholar, and a pretty Poet!
   P. sen. Y'ave said enough. I ha' no Money, Gentlemen,

[He snuffs again.

An' he go to't in Ryme once, not a Penny.
Shun. VVhy, he's of Years, though he have little Beard.
P. sen. His Beard has time to grow. I have no Money.
Let him still dabble in Poetry. No Pecunia

The Staple of News.

439

Is to be seen.   Alm. Come, thou lov'st to be costive
Still i' thy Curt'sie; but I have a Pill,
A golden Pill, to purge away this Melancholy.
   Shun. 'Tis nothing but his keeping o' the House here,
With his two drowsie Dogs.   Fit. A Drench of Sack
At a good Tavern, and a fine fresh Pullet,
Would cure him.
   Lic. Nothing but a young Heir in White-broth;
I know his Diet better than the Doctor.
   Shun. What, Lick-finger? mine old Host of Ram-ally?
You ha' some Market here.   Alm. Some Dosser of Fish
Or Fowl to fetch off.   Fit. An odd Bargain of Venison
To drive.   P. sen. Will you go in, Knave?
   Lic. I must needs,
You see who drives me, Gentlemen.   Alm. Not the Devil.
   Fit. He may be in time, he is his Agent now.

[Peni-boy thrusts him in.

   P. sen. You are all cogging Jacks, a Covey o' Wits,
The Jeerers, that still call together at Meals:
Or rather an Airy; for you are Birds of Prey,
And fly at all; nothing's too big or high for you.
And are so truly fear'd, but not belov'd
One of another, as no one dares break
Company from the rest, lest they should fall
Upon him absent.   Alm. O! the only Oracle
That ever peept or spake out of a Doublet.
   Shun. How the Rogue stinks, worse than a Fishmon-
gers Sleeves!
   Fit. Or Curriers Hands!
   Shun. And such a par-boil'd Visage!
   Fit. His Face looks like a Diers Apron, just!
   Alm. A sodden Head, and his whole Brain a Posset-curd!
   P. sen. I, now you jeer, jeer on; I have no Money.
   Alm. I wonder what Religion he's of!
   Fit. No certain species sure! A kind of Mule!
That's half an Ethnick, half a Christian!
   P. sen. I have no Money, Gentlemen.   Shun. This Stock.
He has no sense of any Vertue, Honour,
Gentry, or Merit.   P. sen. You say very right,
My meritorious Captain, (as I take it!)
Merit will keep no House, nor pay no House-rent.
Will Mistris Merit go to Market, think you,
Set on the Pot, or feed the Family?
Will Gentry clear with the Butcher, or the Baker?
Fetch in a Pheasant, or a Brace of Partridges,
From Goodwife Poulter, for my Ladies Supper.
   Fit. See! this pure Rogue!
   P. sen. This Rogue has Money though;
My worshipful brave Courtier has no Money;
No, nor my valiant Captain.   Shun. Hang you, Rascal.
   P. sen. Nor you, my learned Doctor. I lov'd you
While you did hold your Practice, and kill Tripe-wives,
And kept you to your Urinal; but since your Thumbs
Have greas'd the Ephemerides, casting Figures,
And turning over for your Candle-rents,
And your Twelve Houses in the Zodiack,
With your Almutens, Alma cantaras
Troth you shall cant alone for Peni-boy.
   Shun. I told you what we should find him, a meer Bawd.
   Fit. A Rogue, a Cheater.
   P. sen. What you please, Gentlemen:
I am of that humble nature and condition,
Never to mind your Worships, or take notice
Of what you throw away thus. I keep House here
Like a lame Cobler, never out of doors,
With my two Dogs, my Friends; and (as you say)
Drive a quick pretty Trade, still. I get Money:
And as for Titles, be they Rogue, or Rascal,
Or what your Worships fansie, let 'em pass
As transitory things; they're mine to day,
And yours to morrow.
   Alm. Hang thee, Dog.   Shun. Thou Cur,
   P. sen. You see how I do blush, and am asham'd
Of these large Attributes? Yet you have no Money.

[column break]

   Alm. Well Wolf, Hyena, you old pocky Rascal,
You will ha' the Hernia fall down again
Into your Scrotum, and I shall be sent for.
I will remember then, that, and your Fistula
In ano I cur'd you of.
   P. sen. Thank your Dog-leech Craft:
They were 'holesom Piles, afore you meddl'd with 'em.
   Alm. What an ungrateful Wretch is this?
   Shun. He minds
A Courtesie no more, than London-bridge,
What Arch was mended last.   Fit. He never thinks,
More than a Log, of any Grace at Court
A Man may do him; or that such a Lord
Reach't him his Hand.   P. sen. O yes! If Grace would strike
The Brewer's Tally, or my good Lords Hand
Would quit the Scores. But, Sir, they will not do it.

[He shews
a Piece.

Here's a Piece, my good Lord Piece, doth all;
Goes to the Butchers, fetches in a Mutton;
Then to the Bakers, brings in Bread, makes Fires,
Gets Wine, and does more real Courtesies
Than all my Lords, I know: My sweet Lord Piece!
You are my Lord, the rest are cogging Jacks,
Under the Rose.   Shun. Rogue, I could beat you now.
   P. sen. True, Captain, if you durst beat any other,
I should believe you; but indeed you are hungry;
You are not angry, Captain, if I know you
Aright, good Captain. No Pecunia
Is to be seen, though Mistris Band would speak,
Or little Blushet-Wax be ne'er so easie;
I'll stop mine Ears with her, against the Syrens,
Court, and Philosophy. God be wi' you, Gentlemen;
Provide you better Names, Pecunia is for you.
   Fit. What a damn'd Harpy it is! Where's Madrigal?
Is he sneak'd hence?

[Madrigal returns.

   Shun. Here he comes with Broker,
Pecunia's Secretary.   Alm. He may do some good
With him perhaps. Where ha' you been, Madrigal?
   Mad. Above, with my Ladies Women, reading Verses.
   Fit. That was a Favour. Good morrow, Mr. Secretary.
   Shun. Good morrow, Mr. Usher.   Alm. Sir, by both
Your worshipful Titles, and your Name, Mas Broker,
Good morrow.   Mad. I did ask him if he were
Amphibion Broker.   Shun. Why?
   Alm. A Creature of two Natures,
Because he has two Offices.   Bro. You may jeer,
You ha' the Wits, young Gentlemen: But your hope
Of Helicon will never carry it here,
With our fat Family; we ha' the dullest,
Most unbor'd Ears for Verse amongst our Females.
I griev'd you read so long, Sir; old Nurse Mortgage
She snoar'd i' the Chair, and Statute (if you mark'd her)
Fell fast asleep, and Mistris Band she nodded,
But not with any consent to what you read.
They must have somewhat else to chink, than Rymes.
If you could make an Epitaph on your Land,
(Imagine it on departure) such a Poem
Would wake 'em, and bring Wax to her true temper.
   Mad. I' faith, Sir, and I will try.   Bro. 'Tis but Earth,
Fit to make Bricks and Tyles of.   Shun. Pox upon't,
'Tis but for Pots, or Pipkins at the best.
If it would keep us in good Tabacco-pipes,
   Bro. 'Twere worth keeping.   Fit. Or in Porc'lane Dishes,
There were some hope.   Alm. But this is a hungry Soil,
And must be helpt.   Fit. Who would hold any Land,
To have the trouble to Marl it?   Shun. Not a Gentleman.
   Bro. Let Clowns and Hinds affect it, that love Plows,
And Carts, and Harrows, and are busie still
In vexing the dull Element.   Alm. Our sweet Songster
Shall rarifi't into Air.   Fit. And you, Mas Broker,
Shall have a feeling.   Bro. So it supple, Sir,
The Nerves.   Mad. O! it shall be palpable,
Make thee run through a Hoop, or a Thumb-Ring,
The Nose of a Tabacco-pipe, and draw
Thy ductile Bones out, like a Knitting-needle,

440	The Staple of News.

To serve my subtil turns.   Bro. I shall obey, Sir,
And run a Thred, like an Hour-glass.
   P. sen. Where is Broker?
Are not these Flies gone yet? Pray' quit my House,
I'll smoak you out else.   Fit. O! the Prodigal!
Will you be at so much Charge with us, and Loss?
   Mad. I have heard you ha' offer'd, Sir, to lock up smoak,
And cauk your Windows, spar up all your Doors,
Thinking to keep it a close Prisoner wi' you,
And wept when it went out, Sir, at your Chimney.
   Fit. And yet his Eyes were drier than a Pumice.
   Shun. A wretched Rascal, that will bind about
The Nose of his Bellows, lest the Wind get out
When he's abroad.
   Alm. Sweeps down no Cobwebs here,
But sells 'em for cut Fingers; and the Spiders,
As Creatures rear'd of Dust, and cost him nothing,
To fat old Ladies Monkeys.   Fit. He has offer'd
To gather up spilt Water, and preserve
Each Hair falls from him, to stop Balls withal.
   Shun. A Slave, and an Idolater to Pecunia!
   P. sen. You all have happy Memories, Gentlemen,
In rocking my poor Cradle. I remember too,
VVhen you had Lands and Credit, VVorship, Friends,
I, and could give Security: Now you have none,
Or will have none right shortly. This can Time,
And the vicissitude of Things. I have
All these, and Money too, and do possess 'em,
And am right heartily glad of all our Memories,
And both the Changes.   Fit. Let us leave the Viper.
   P. sen. He's glad he is rid of his Torture, and so soon.
Broker, come hither, up, and tell your Lady,
She must be ready presently, and Statute,
Band, Mortgage, Wax: My prodigal young Kinsman
VVill streight be here to see her; 'top of our House,
The flourishing and flanting Peni-boy.
VVe were but three of us in all the world,
My Brother Francis, whom they call'd Frank Peni-boy,
Father to this; he's dead. This Peni-boy
Is now the Heir! I, Richer Peni-boy,
Not Richard, but old Harry Peni-boy,
And (to make Ryme) close, wary Peni-boy,
I shall have all at last, my hopes do tell me.
Go, see all ready; and where my Dogs have faulted,
Remove it with a Broom, and sweeten all
VVith a Slice of Juniper, not too much, but sparing,
VVe may be faulty our selves else, and turn prodigal,
In entertaining of the Prodigal.
Here he is; and with him — what! a Clapper-Dudgeon!
That's a good Sign, to have the Beggar follow him
So near, at his first entry into Fortune.

Act II.    Scene V.

Peni-boy jun. Peni-boy sen. Pick-lock, Canter.

Broker, Pecunia, Statute, Band, Wax, Mortgage,
Hid in the Study.

Ow now, old Uncle? I am come to see thee,
And the brave Lady here, the Daughter of Ophir,
They say thou keepst.   P. sen. Sweet Nephew, if she were
The Daughter of the Sun, she's at your service,
And so am I, and the whole Family,
VVorshipful Nephew.   P. jun. Saist thou so, dear Uncle?
VVelcome my Friends then: Here is Domine Picklock,
My Man o' Law, sollicits all my Causes,
Follows my Business, makes and compounds my Quarrels
Between my Tenants and me; sows all my Strifes,
And reaps them too; troubles the Country for me,
And vexes any Neighbour that I please.
   P. sen. But with Commission?
   P. jun. Under my Hand and Seal.
   P. sen. A worshipful Place!

[column break]

   Pic. I thank his VVorship for it.
   P. sen. But what is this old Gentleman.   P. Ca. A Rogue,
A very Canter, I, Sir, one that maunds
Upon the Pad: VVe should be Brothers though;
For you are near as wretched as my self,
You dare not use your Money, and I have none.
   P. sen. Not use my Money, cogging Jack! who uses it
At better Rates? lets it for more i' the Hundred,
Than I do, Sirrah?   P. jun. Be not angry, Uncle.
   P. sen. VVhat? to disgrace me, with my Queen, as if
I did not know her Value.   P. Ca. Sir, I meant
You durst not to enjoy it.   P. sen. Hold your peace,
You are a Jack.

[Young Peni-boy is

P. jun. Uncle, he shall be a John,

angry.

And you go to that, as good a Man as you are:
An' I can make him so, a better Man;
Perhaps I will too. Come, let us go.   P. sen. Nay, Kinsman,
My worshipful Kinsman, and the top of our House,
Do not your penitent Uncle that Affront,
For a rash word, to leave his joyful Threshold,
Before you see the Lady that you long for,
The Venus of the Time and State, Pecunia!
I do perceive, your Bounty loves the Man,
For some concealed Vertue, that he hides
Under those Rags.   P. Ca. I owe my Happiness to him,
The waiting on his Worship, since I brought him
The happy News, welcome to all young Heirs.
   P. jun. Thou didst indeed, for which I thank thee yet.
Your Fortunate Princess, Uncle, is long a coming.
   P. Ca. She is not rigg'd, Sir; setting forth some Lady,
Will cost as much as furnishing a Fleet.
Here she's come at last, and like a Gally

[The Study is open'd, where she sits in State.

Gilt i' the Prow.
P. jun. Is this Pecunia?
P. sen. Vouchsafe my toward Kinsman, gracious Madam,
The Favour of your Hand.

[She kisseth him.

   Pec. Nay of my Lips Sir,
To him.   P. jun. She kisses like a mortal Creature.
Almighty Madam, I have long'd to see you.
   Pec. And I have my desire, Sir, to behold
That Youth and Shape, which in my Dreams and Wakes
I have so oft contemplated, and felt
Warm in my Veins, and native as my Blood.
When I was told of your arrival here,
I felt my Heart beat, as it would leap out
In Speech; and all my Face it was a Flame:
But how it came to pass, I do not know.
   P. jun. O! Beauty loves to be more proud than Nature,
That made you blush. I cannot satisfie
My curious Eyes, by which alone I'm happy,
In my beholding you.   P. Ca. They pass the Complement

[He kisseth her.

Prettily well.
   Pic. I, he does kiss her, I like him.
   P. jun. My Passion was clear contrary, and doubtful,
I shook for fear, and yet I danc'd for joy,
I had such Motions as the Sun-beams make
Against a Wall, or playing on a Water,
Or trembling Vapour of a boyling Pot —
   P. sen. That's not so good; it should ha' been a Crucible
VVith molten Metal, she had understood it.
   P. jun. I cannot talk, but I can love you, Madam:
Are these your Gentlewomen? I love them too.
And which is Mistris Statute? Mistris Band?
They all kiss close, the last stuck to my Lips.
   Bro. It was my Ladies Chamber-maid, soft Wax.
   P. jun. Soft Lips she has, I am sure on't. Mother Mortgage
I'll owe a Kiss, till she be younger. Statute,
Sweet Mistris Band, and honey, little Wax,
VVe must be better acquainted.

[He doubles the Complement to them all.

   Sta. VVe are but Servants, Sir.
   Band. But whom her Grace is so content to grace,
VVe shall observe.   Wax. And with all fit respect.
   Mor. In our poor Places.

Wax. Being

The Staple of News.

441

   Wax. Being her Graces Shadows.
   P. jun. A fine well-spoken Family. What's thy name?
   Bro. Broker.   P. jun. Methinks my Uncle should not need thee,
Who is a crafty Knave enough, believe it.
Art thou her Graces Steward?   Bro. No, her Usher, Sir.
   P. jun. What, o' the Hall? thou hast a sweeping Face,
Thy Beard is like a Broom.   Bro. No barren Chin, Sir,
I am no Eunuch, though a Gentleman-Usher.
   P. jun. Thou shalt go with us. Uncle I must have
My Princess forth to day.   P. sen. Whither you please, Sir,
You shall command her.   Pec. I will do all grace
To my new Servant.   P. sen. Thanks unto your bounty;
He is my Nephew, and my Chief, the Point,

[Old Peni-boy thanks her, but makes his Condition.

Tip, Top, and Tuft of all our Family!
But, Sir, condition'd always you return
Statute, and Band home, with my sweet, soft Wax,
And my good Nurse, here, Mortgage.   P. jun. O! what else?
   P. sen. By Broker.   P. Ju. Do not fear.
   P. sen. She shall go wi' you,
Whither you please, Sir, any where.   P. Ca. I see
A Money-Bawd, is lightly a Flesh-Bawd too.
   Pic. Are you advis'd? Now o' my faith, this Canter
Would make a good grave Burgess in some Barn.
   P. ju. Come, thou shalt go with us Uncle.
   P. Ca. By no means, Sir.
   P. ju. We'll have both Sack, and Fidlers.
   P. sen. I'll not draw that charge upon your Worship.
   P. Ca. He speaks modestly,
And like an Uncle.   P. sen. But Mas Broker, here,
He shall attend you, Nephew; her Graces Usher,
And what you fancy to bestow on him,
Be not too lavish, use a temperate Bounty,
I'll take it to my self.   P. jun. I will be Princely,
While I possess my Princess, my Pecunia.
   P. sen. Where is't you eat?
   P. jun. Hard by, at Picklocks Lodging,
Old Lickfinger's the Cook, here in Ram-Alley.
   P. sen. He has good Chear; perhaps I'll come and see you.
   P. Can. O, fie! an Alley, and a Cooks-shop, gross,

[The Canter takes him aside and perswades him.

'Twill favour, Sir, most rankly of 'em both.
Let your Meat rather follow you to a Tavern.
   Pic. A Tavern's as unfit too for a Princess.
   P. Ca. No, I have known a Princess, and a great one,
Come forth of a Tavern.   Pic. Not go in, Sir, though.
   P. Ca. She must go in, if she came forth: the blessed
Pokahontas (as the Historian calls her
And great Kings Daughter of Virginia)
Hath been in Womb of a Tavern; and besides,
Your nasty Uncle will spoil all your mirth,
And be as noysom.   Pic. That's true.   P. Ca. No 'faith,
Dine in Apollo with Pecunia,
At brave Duke Wadloos, have your Friends about you,
And make a day on't.   P. jun. Content 'i faith:
Our Meat shall be brought thither. Simon the King,
Will bid us welcom.   Pic. Patron, I have a suit.
   P. jun. What's that?   Pic. That you will carry the Infanta
To see the Staple, her Grace will be a grace,
To all the Members of it.   P. jun. I will do it:
And have her Arms set up there, with her Titles,
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta.
And in Apollo. Come (sweet Princess) go.
   P. sen. Broker, be careful of your charge.
   Bro. I warrant you.

The second Intermean after the second Act.

Ensure. Why this is duller and duller! intolerable! scur-
vy! neither Devil nor Fool in this Play! pray God
some on us be not a Witch, Gossip, to forespeak the matter thus.
   Mirth. I fear we are all such, and we were old enough:
But we are not all old enough to make one Witch. How like
you the Vice i' the Play.

[column break]

   Expectation. Which is he?
   Mirth. Three or four: old Covetousness, the sordid Peni-
boy, the Money-bawd, who is a Flesh-bawd too, they say.
   Tattle. But here is never a Fiend to carry him away.
Besides, he has never a Wooden Dagger! I'ld not give a Rush
for a Vice, that has not a Wooden Dagger to snap at every
body he meets.
   Mirth. That was the old way, Gossip, when Iniquity
came in like Hokos Pokos, in a Juglers Jerkin, with false
Skirts, like the Knave of Clubs! but now they are attir'd like
Men and Women o' the time, the Vices Male and Female!
Podigality like a young Heir, and his Mistris Money
(whose Favours he scatters like Counters) prank't up like a
prime Lady, the Infanta of the Mines.
   Cen. I, therein they abuse an honourable Princess, it is
thought.
   Mirth. By whom is it so thought? or where lyes the abuse?
   Cen. Plain in the stiling her Infanta, and giving her
three Names.
   Mirth. Take heed it lye not in the Vice of your interpreta-
tion: what have Aurelia, Clara, Pecunia to do with any
Person? do they any more, but express the property of Money,
which is the Daughter of Earth, and drawn out of the Mines?
Is there nothing to be call'd Infanta, but what is subject to
exception? Why not the Infanta of the Beggers? or Infanta
o' the Gipsies? as well as King of Beggers, and King of
Gipsies?
   Cen. Well, and there were no wiser than I, I would sow
him in a Sack, and send him by Sea to his Princess.
   Mirth. Faith, and he heard you, Censure, he would go
near to stick the Asses Ears to your high dressing, and per-
haps to all ours for harkening to you.
   Tattle. By'r Lady but he should not to mine, I would
harken, and harken, and censure, if I saw cause, for th'
other Princess sake Pokahontas, surnam'd the Blessed,
whom he has abus'd indeed (and I do censure him, and will
censure him) to say she came forth of a Tavern, was said
like a paltry Poet.
   Mirth. That's but one Gossips Opinion, and my Gossip
Tattle's too! but what says Expectation, here, she sits sullen
and silent.
   Expectation. Troth I expect their Office, their great Of-
fice! the Staple, what it will be! they have talk't on't, but
we see't not open yet; would Butter would come in, and
spread it self a little to us.
   Mirth. Or the Butter-box, Buz, the Emissary.
   Tattle. When it is churn'd, and dish't, we shall hear of it.
   Expectation. If it be fresh and sweet Butter; but say it
be sowr and wheyish.
   Mirth. Then it is worth nothing, meer Pot Butter, fit to
be spent in Suppositories, or greasing Coach-wheels, stale
stinking Butter, and such I fear it is, by the being barrell'd
up so long.
   Expectation, Or rank Irish Butter.
   Cen. Have patience Gossip, say that, contrary to our ex-
pectation, it prove right, seasonable, salt Butter.
   Mirth. Or to the time of year, in Lent, delicate Almond
Butter! I have a sweet Tooth yet, and I will hope the best;
and sit down as quiet and calm as Butter; look as smooth
and soft as Butter; be merry and melt like Butter; laugh
and be fat like Butter: so Butter answer my Expectation,
and be not mad butter; If it be: It shall both July and De-
cember see!
I say no more, but — Dixi.

To the R E A D E R S.

N this following Act, the Office is open'd, and shew'n to
the Prodigal, and his Princess Pecunia, wherein the
Allegory, and purpose of the Author hath hitherto been
wholly mistaken, and so sinister an Interpretation been made,
as if the Souls of most of the Spectators had liv'd in the
Eyes and Ears of these ridiculous Gossips that tattle between

L l l the

442	The Staple of News.

the Acts. But he prays you thus to mend it. To consider the
News here vented to be none of his News, or any reasonable
Mans; but News made like the Times News, (a weekly
Cheat to draw Money) and could not be fitter reprehended,
than in raising this ridiculous Office of the Staple, wherein
the Age may see her own Folly, or hunger and thirst after
publish'd Pamphlets of News, set out every Saturday, but made
all at home, and no Syllable of truth in them; than which there
cannot be a greater Disease in Nature, or a fouler scorn put up-
on the Times, And so apprehending it, you shall do the Au-
thor and your own Judgment a Courtesie, and perceive the
Trick of alluring Money to the Office, and there coz'ning the
people. If you have the Truth, rest quiet, and consider that
Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris.

Act III. Scene I.

Fitton, Cymbal: To them, Picklock, Register, Clerk,
Tho. Barber.

Ou hunt upon a wrong scent still, and think
The Air of things will carry 'em, but it must
Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds,
My cousin Cymball, must get you this Lady.
You have entertain'd a Pettyfogger here,
Picklock, with trust of an Emissaries Place,
And he is all for the young Prodigal,
You see he has left us.   Cym. Come, you do not know him,
That speak thus of him. He will have a Trick,
To open us a gap by a Trap-door,
When they least dream on't. Here he comes. What news?
   Pic. Where is my Brother Buz? my Brother Ambler?
The Register, Examiner, and the Clerks?
Appear, and let us muster all in Pomp,
For here will be the rich Infanta, presently,
To make her visit. Peni-boy the Heir,
My Patron, has got leave for her to play
With all her Train, of the old Churl her Guardian.
Now is your time to make all court unto her,
That she may first but know, then love the Place,
And shew it by her frequent visits here:
And afterwards get her to sojourn with you.
She will be weary of the Prodigal quickly.
   Cym. Excellent news!
   Fit. And counsel of an Oracle!
   Cym. How say you Cousin Fitton?
   Fit. Brother Picklock,
I shall adore thee for this parcel of Tidings,
It will cry up the Credit of our Office
Eternally, and make our Staple Immortal!
   Pic. Look your Addresses then be fair and fit,
And entertain her and her Creatures too,
With all the Migniardise, and quaint Caresses
You can put on 'em.   Fit. Thou seem'st by thy Language,
No less a Courtier than a Man o' Law.
I must embrace thee.   Pic. Tut, I am Vertumnus,
On every change, or chance, upon occasion,
A true Chamćlion, I can colour for't.
I move upon my Axel like a Turn-pike,
Fit my Face to the Parties, and become
Streight one of them.   Cym. Sirs, up into your Desks,
And spred the Rolls upon the Table, so.
Is the Examiner set?   Reg. Yes, Sir.
   Cym. Ambler and Buz are both abroad now.
   Pic. We'll sustain their Parts.
No matter, let them ply the Affairs without,
Let us alone within, I like that well.

[Fitton puts on the Office Cloke, and Cymbal the Gown.

On with the Cloke, and you with the Staple Gown,
And keep your State, stoop only to the Infanta;
We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band,
And hard, but we'll bring Wax unto the retrive:
Each know his several Province, and discharge it.

[column break]

Fit. I do admire this nimble Ingine, Picklock.

[Fitton is brought about.

   Cym. Cuz, What did I say?
   Fit. You have rectified my Error!

Act III.    Scene II.
Peni-boy, jun. P. Canter, Pecunia, Statute, Band, Mortgage,
   Wax, Broker, Customers.

Y your leave Gentlemen, what news? good, good still?
I' your new Office? Princess, here's the Staple!
This is the Governor, kiss him, noble Princess,
For my sake. Thom, how is it honest Thom?
How does thy Place, and thou? My Creature, Princess,

[He tells Pecunia of Thom.

This is my Creature, give him your Hand to kiss,
He was my Barber, now he writes Clericus!
I bought this Place for him, and gave it him.
   P. Ca. He should have spoke of that, Sir, and not you:
Two do not do one Office well.   P. jun. 'Tis true,
But I am loth to lose my Curtesies.
   F. Ca. S