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any art to mend breath, cleanse teeth, re Tru. So I have heard. But is the disease pair eye-brows; paint, and profess it. so ridiculous in him as it is made? They Cler. How? publicly?
say he has been upon divers treaties with Tru. The doing of it, not the manner : the fish-wives, and orange-women; and arthat must be private. Many things, that ticles propounded between them: marry, seem foul i' the doing, do please, done. the chimney-sweepers will not be drawn in. A lady should, indeed, study her face, Cler. No, nor the broom-men: they when we think she sleeps ; nor when the stand out stifly. He cannot endure a cosa doors are shut, should nien be enquiring ; tard-inonger, he swoops if he hear one. all is sacred within, then. Is it for us to see Tru, Methinks a smith should be ominous. their perukes put on, their false teeth, their Cler. Or any hammer-man. A brazier complexion, their eye-brows, their nails ? is not suffer'd to dwell in the parish, nor You see gilders will not work, but inclos'd. an armourer. He would have hang'd a They must not discover, how little serves, pewterer's 'prentice once on a Shrovewith the help of art, to adorn a great deal. Tuesday's riot, for being o' that trade, How long did the canvass hang afore Ald when the rest were quiet'. gate? Were the people suffer'd to see the Tru. A trumpet should fright him terribly, city's Love and Charity, while they were or the hau'boys. rude stone, before they were painted and
Cler. Out of his senses. The waights of burnish'd'? No: no more should servants the city have a pension of him not to come approach their mistresses, but when they near that ward: This youth practis'd on are coniplete, and finish'd.
him one night like the bellman, and never Cler. Well said, my True-wit.
left till he had brought him down to the Tru. And a wise lady will keep a guard door, with a long sword; and there left him always upon the place, that she may do flourishing with the air. things securely. "I once followed a rude Boy. Why, sir, he hath chosen a street to fellow into a chamber, where the poor ma lie in, so narrow at both ends, that it will dam, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at receive no coaches, nor carts, nor any of her peruke to cover her baldness; and put these common noises : and therefore we it on the wrong way:
that love him, devise to bring him in such Cler. O prodigy!
as we may, now and then, for his exercise, Tru. And the unconscionable knave held to breathe him. He would grow resty else her in compliment an hour with that reverst in his ease: his virtue would rust without face, when I still look'd when she should action. I entreated a bear-ward, one day, talk from the t'other side.
to come down with the dogs of some four Cler. Why? thou should'st ha' reliev'd parishes that way, and I thank him he did; her.
and cried his games under master Morose's Tru. No faith, I let her alone, as we'll window: till he was sent crying away, with let this argument, if you please, and pass to his head made a most bleeding spectacle to another. When saw you Dauphine Eu the multitude. And, another time, a fencer genie?
marching to his prize, had his drum most Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go tragically run through, for taking that street to him this inorning ? he is very melan in his way, at my request. cholic, I hear.
Tru. A good wag. How does lie for the Tru. Sick of the uncle? is he? I met bells ? that stiff piece of formality, his uncle, yes Clcr. O, i' the Queen's time, he was wont terday, with a huge turbant of night-caps to go out of town every Saturday at ten on his head, buckled over his cars.
o'clock, or on holy-day eves. Cler, 0, that's his custom when he walks by reason of thic sickness, the perpetuity of abroad. He can endure no noise, man. ringing has made him devise a room, with
5 Gilders will not work but inclos'd-Hocu long did the canvass hang afvre ALDGATE : Were the perple suffer'd to see the city's Love and CHARITY, while they were rude stone, hefore they were painted and burnish'd ?] The poet, with Ovid in his eye, alludes to his own times :
Aurea quæ pendent ornato jigna theatro ;
Inspice, quàm tenuis bractea ligna tegut. The city's Love and Charity were images set up in the front of Aldgate, which Stow, I think tells us was upwards of two years in building.
6 I once toilowed a rude fellow into a chumber, where the poor madam, for hasle, snatched at her peruke, and put it on the curong way.) This and what follows, as Mr. Upton observes, is improved with comic humour from the following ;
Dictus eram cuidan subito venisse puellæ,
Turbidu perversas induit illa comus. ? For being o' that trude, when the rest were QUIET.) The old copies real quit, i. e. discharged from working, and gone to divert themselves.
double walls, and treble ceilings; the windows close shut and calk'd : and there he lives by candle-light. He turned away a man last week, for having a pair of new shoes that creak’d. And this fellow waits on him now in tennis-court socks, or slippers soal'd with wool: and they talk each to other in a trunk. See, who comes here?
SCENE II. Dauphine, True-wit, Clerinont. Daup. How now! what ail you, sirs ? dumb
Tru. Struck into stone, almost, I am · here, with tales o' thine uncle! There was never such a prodigy heard of.
Daup. I would you would once lose this subject, my masters, for my sake. They are such as you are, that have brought me into that predicanient I am with him.
Tru. How is that?' Daup. Marry, that he will disinherit me. No more. He thinks, I, and my company, are authors of all the ridiculous acts and monuments are told of him.
Tru. 'Slid, I would be the author of more to vex him; that purpose deserves it: it gives thee law of plaguing him. I'll tell thee what I would do. I would make a false almanack, get it printed; and then ha' him drawn out on a coronation-day to the Tower-wharf, and kill him with the noise of the ordnance. Disinherit thee! he cannot, man. Art not thou next of blood, and his sister's son?
Daup. I, but he will thrust me out of it, he vows, and marry.
Tru. How! that's a more portent'. Can he endure no noise, and will venture on a wife?
Cler. Yes, why thou art a stranger, it seems, to his best trick, yet. He has employ'd a fellow this half year all over Eng. land to hearken him out a dumb woman; be she of any form, or any quality, so she be able to bear children: her silence is dowry enough, he says.
Trú. But I trust to God he has found none.
Cler. No, but he has heard of one that's lodg'd i' the next street to him, who is exceedingly soft-spoken; thrifty of her speech; that spends but six words a-day. And her he's about now, and shall have her.
Tru. Is't possible ! who's his agent i' the business?
Cler. Marry, a barber ; one Cutbeard, an honest fellow, one that tells Dauphine all here.
Tru. Why, you oppress me with wonder! a woman, and a barber, and love no noise !
Cler. Yes, faith. The fellow trims hini silently, and has not the knack with his sheers or his fingers : and that continency in a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of bis counsel.
Tru, Is the barber to be seen or the wench:
Cler. Yes, that they are.
Tru. I pr'y thee, Dauphine, let's go thither.
Cler. I have some business now: I can not i' faith.
· Tru. You shall have no business shall make you neglect this, sir : we'll make her talk, believe it; or if she will not, we can give out, at least so much as shall interrupt the treaty: we will break it. Thou art bound in conscience, when he suspects thee without cause, to torinent him.
Daup. Not I, by any means. I'll give no suffrage to't. He shall never have that plea against me, that lopposed the least phantsy of his. Let it lie upon my stars to be guilty, P'll be innocent.
Tru. Yes, and be poor, and beg; do, innocent: when some grooi of his has got him an heir, or this barber, if he himself cannot. Innocent! I proy thee, Ned, where lics she? let him be innocent still. :
Cler. Why, right over against the barber's; in the house where sir John Daw lies.
Tru. You do not mean to confound me ! Cler. Why?
Tru. Does he that would marry her know so much?
Cler. I cannot tell.
Tru. 'Twere enough of imputation to her with him.
Tru. The only talking sir į’ the town! Jack Daw ! An' he teach her not to speakGod b'w' you. I have some business too.
Cler. Will you not go thither then?
Tru. Not with the danger to meet Daw, for mine ears.
• He thinks I, and my company, are authors of all the ridiculous ACTS AND MONUMENTS are told of him.] Mr. Upton imagines that, by the acts and monuments, the poet hints at Fox's book, as he plainly had done before in Every man out of his humour. The audience, by these descriptions of Morose, are well prepared for bim when he makes his entrance. The poet has taken pains to bring us acquainted with his principal characters, before they make their appearance
: and this rule he learnt by conversing with his classic masters. What is said with regard to the character of Morose, is equally true, when ap; plied to those of Daw, La-Foole, and the collegiate ladies; all which we hear described before we see them.
• That's a MORE portent.] A greater prodigy: much and more had these acceptations in our author's days.
Cler. Why? I thought you two had been him at church in the midst of prayers. He upon very good terms.
is one of the braveries, though he be none Tru. Yes, of keeping distance.
o the wits. He will salute a judge upon Cler. They say, he is a very good
the bench, and a bishop in the pulpit, a scholar.
lawyer when he is pleading at the bar, and Tru. I, and he says it first. A pox on a lady when she is dancing in a masque, him, a fellow that pretends only to learning,
and put her out. He does give plays, and buys titles, and nothing else of books in suppers, and invites his guests to 'em, aloud him.
out of his window, as they ride by in Cler. The world reports him to be very
coaches. He has a lodging in the Strand learned.
for the purpose: or to watch when ladies are Tru. I am sorry, the world should so gone to the China-houses, or the Exchange, conspire to belie him.
that he may meet 'em by chance, and give Cler. Good faith, I have heard very good 'em presents, some two or three hundred things come from him.
pounds worth of toys, to be laught at. He Tru. You may. There's none so despe is never without a spare banquet, or sweetrately ignorant, to deny that: would they meats in his chamber, for their women to were his own. God b''w' you, gentlemen. alight at, and come up to for a bait. Cler. This is very abrupt !
Duup. Excellent! he was a fine youth last
night, but now he is much liner ! what is his SCENE III.
Christian name? I ha' forgot.
Cler. Sir Amorous La-Foole.
Boy. The gentleman is here below that Daup. Come, you are a strange open
owns that name. man, to tell every thing thus.
Cler. "Heart, he's come to invite me to Cler. Why, believe it, Dauphine, True dinner, I hold my life. wit's a very honest fellow.
Daup. Like enough : pr'y thee, let's ha' Daup. I think no other: but this frank nature of his is not for secrets.
Cler. Boy, marshal him. Cler. Nay then, you are mistaken, Dau Boy. With a truncheon, sir? phine : I know where he has been well Cler. Away, I beseech you. I'll make trusted, and discharg'd the trust very truly, biu tell us his pedigree now; and what meat and heartily.
he has to dinner; and who are his guests; Daup. I contend not, Ned; but with the and the whole course of his fortunes with a fewer a business is carried, it is ever the breath. safer. Now we are alone, if you'll go
SCEN E IV. thither, I am for you. Cler. When were you there?
La-Foole, Clerimont, Dauphine. Daup. Last night : and such a decameron La-F. Save, dear sir Dauphine, honour'd of sport fallen out, Boccace never thought master Clerimont. of the like. Daw does nothing but court Cler. Sir Amorous ! you have very much her; and the wrong way. He would lie honested my lodging with your presence. with her, and praises her modesty ; desires La-F. Good faith, it is a fine lodging ! althat she would talk, and be free, and com most as delicate a lodging as mine. mends her silence in verses; which he reads Cler. Not so, sir. and swears are the best that ever man made. La-F. Excuse me, sir, if it were i' the Then rails at his fortunes, stamps, and mu Strand, I assure you. I am come, master tinies, why he is not made a counsellor, Clerimont, to entreat you to wait upon two and call'd to affairs of state.
or three ladies, to dinner, to-day. Cler. I prythee let's go. I wo’ld fain Cler. How, sir ! wait upon them? did you partake this. Some water, boy.
ever see me carry dishes? Daup: We are invited to dinner together, La-F. No, sir, dispense with me; I meant, he and I, by one that came thither to him,
to bear 'em company: Sir La-Foole.
Cler. O, that I will, sir: the doubtfulness Cler. O, that's a precious mannikin. of your phrase, believe it, sir, would breed Daup. Do you know him?
you a quarrel once an hour, with the terrible Cler. I, and he will know you too, if e'er boys, if you should but keep 'em fellowship be saw you but once, tho' you should meet a day to
10 The doubtfulness of your phrase, beliede it, sir, would breed you a quarrel once an hour with the TERRIBLE BOYs, if you should keep 'em fellowship a'duy.] These terrible boys are mentioned in the Alchemist, act iii. sc. 3.
“ Kast. Sir, not so young, but I have heard some speech
“Of the angry boys, and seen 'em take tobacco.” A citation from Wilson's life of King James will make the allusion here still more manifest, " The king minding his sports, many riotous demeanours crept into the kingdom; divers
La-F. It should be extremely against my Epicene, that honest sir John Daw has prowill, sir, if I contested with any man.
mis'd to bring hither-- and then, mistress Cler. I believe it, sir ; where hold you your Trusty, my lady's woman, will be there too, feast?
and this honourable knight, sir Dauphine, LA-F. At Tom Otter's, sir. ,
with yourself, master Cleriinont- and we'll Duup. Tom Otter? what's he?
be very merry, and have fidlers, and dance La-t. Captain Otter, sir; he is a kind of I have been a mad wag in my time, and gamester, but he has had command both by have spent some crowns since I was a page sea and by land.
in court, to my lord Lofty, and after, my Daup. O, then he is animal amphibium. lady's gentleman-usher, who got me knight
La-F. I, sir: his wife was the rich China ed in Ireland, since it pleased my elder woman, that the courtiers visited so often; brother to die." I had as fair a gold jerkin that gave the rare entertainment. She com on that day, as any worn in the island-voymands all at home.
age, or at Cadiz, none disprais'd, and I came Cler. Then she is captain Otter.
over in it hither, shew'd myself to my friends La-F. You say very well, sir; she is my in court, and after went down to my tenants kinswoman, a La-Foole by the mother-side, in the country, and surveyed my lands, let and will invite any great ladies for my sake. new leases, took their money, spent it in the
Daup. Not of the La-Fooles of Essex? eye o' the land here, upon ladies-and now
Daup. Can you take up ladies, sir ? La-F. They all come out of our house, Cler. O, let him breathe, he has not rethe La-Fooles of the north, the La-Fooles of cover'd. the west, the La-Fooles of the east and Duup. Would I were your half in that south- we are as ancient a family as any is commodity. in Europe—but I myself am descended line La-F. No, sir, excuse me: I meant moally of the French La-Fooles- and, we do ney, which can take up any thing. I have bear for our coat yellow, or or; checker'd another guest or two, to invite, and say as azure, and gules, and some three or four much to, gentlemen. I'll take my leave lours more, which is a very noted coat, and abruptly, in hope you will not fail -Your has, sometimes, been solemnly worn by di servant. vers nobility of our house, but let that go, Duup. We will not fail you, sir precious antiquity is not respected now, I had a La-Foole; but she shall, that your ladies brace of fat does sent me, gentlemen, and come to see: if I have credit, afore sir half a dozen of pheasants, a dozen or two of Daw. godwits, and some other fowl, which I would Cler. Did you ever hear such a windhave eaten, while they are good, and in good sucker, as this? company
there will be a great lady or Daup. Or such a rook as the other! that two, my lady Haughty, my lady Centaure, will betray his niistress to be seen'Come, mistress Dol Mavis and they come o' pur 'tis time we prevented it. pose, to see the silent gentlewoman, mistress Cler. Go. sects of vicious persons, going under the title of roaring boys, braradoes, roysters, &c. commit many insolencies; the streets swarm, night and day, with bloody quarrels, private duels fomented, &c.—Mr. Uplon.
" I had as fair a gold jerkin on that day, as any reas worn in the ISLAND-VOYAGE, or at Cadiz, none disprais'd.] This island-voyage was undertaken 1585, sir Francis Drake being admiral, with a fleet of one and twenty sail, and with above two thousand volunteers aboard : they went to Hispaniola, and there made themselves masters of the town of St. Domingo. The other adventure here mentioned, was undertaken in 1596, when the earl of Essex and sir Walter Raleigh burnt the Indian fleet at Cadiz, consisting of forty sail, and brought home immense treasures. It was the fashion in the reign of queen Elizabeth, for the young adventurers to go abroad with fine furnitures and dresses, seeking their various fortunes.
12 Such a ROOK as the other ! that will betray his MASTER to be seen.] The rook here meant was sir John Daw, who had no master to betray: but he pretended to make love to Epicæne, who was to be a party at the feast: and as she is the person intended, I have made no scruple to change the master into maistress, which alteration has also the sanction of the first folio.
A CT II.
scend'em in so high a point of felicity. I will Morose, Arute.
practise it hereafter. How now? oh! oh!
what villain ? what prodigy of mankind is Mor. NANNOT I, yet, find out a more that? look. Oh! cut his throat, cut his
compendious method, than by throat: what murderer, hell-hound, devil this trunk, to save my servants the labour can this be? of speech, and mine ears the discord of
[One winds a horn without again. sounds? Let me see: all discourses but my Mut. It is a post from the courtown afflict me, they seem harsh, impertinent, Mor. Out, rogue, and must thou blow thy and irksome. Is it not possible, that thou horn, too? should'st answer me by signs, and I appre Mut. Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, hend thee, fellow? Speak not, though I ques
he must speak with you, pain of tion you. You have taken the ring off from deaththe street-door, as I bade you? answer nie Mor. Pain of thy life, be silent. not by speech, but by silence ; unless it be otherwise (---) very good. [At the breaches
SCENE II. still the follow makes legs or signs.] And, you have fastened on a thick quilt, or flock
True-wit, Morose, Cutbeard. bed on the out-side of the door; that if they Tru. By your leave, sir, I am a stranger knock with their daggers, or with brickbats, is your name master Morose ? Fishes! they can make no noise? but with your leg, Pythagoreans all? This is strange. What your answer, unless it be otherwise : (-) say you, sir; nothing: Has Harpocrates been very good. This is not only fit modesty in here with his club, among you? Well, sir, I a servant, but good state and discretion in will believe you to be the man at this time; a master. And you have been with Cutbeard I will venture upon you, sir. Your friends the barber, to liave him come to me? (-) at court commend 'em to you, sird. And, he will come presently? an
(Mor. () men! O manners ! was there swer me not but with your leg, unless it be ever such an impudence?) otherwise: if it be otherwise, shake your
Tru. And are extremely solicitous for head, or shrug. (---) So. Your Italian, and Spaniard, are wise in these! and it is a
Mor. Whose knave are you? frugal and comely gravity. How long will
Tru. Mine own hnave, and your compeer, it be ere Cutbeard come? stay, if an hour,
sir. hold up your whole hand; if half an hour,
Mor. Fetch me my swordtwo fingers ; if a quarter, one : 6.-) good:
Tru. You shall taste the one half of my half a quarter. 'tis well. And have you dagger, if you do (groom),and you the other, given him a key, to come in without knock if you stir, sir: be patient, I charge you, in ing? (--) good. And, is the lock oil'd, the king's name, and hear me without insurand the hinges, to-day? (-) good. And rection. They say, you are. to marry? to the quilting of the stairs no where worn out marry! do you mark, sir? and bare? (--) very good. I see, by
Mor. Hów then, rude companion ! much doctrine, and impulsion, it may be ef Tru. Marry, your friends do wonder, sir, fected;
stand by. The Turk, in this divine the Thames being so near, wherein you may discipline, is admirable, exceeding all the drown so handsomely; or London-bridge, potentates of the earth ; still waited on by at a low fall, with a fine leap, to hurry you mutes; and all his commands so executed; down the stream; or, such a delicate steeple yea, even in the war, (as I have beard) and i the town, as Bow, to vault from; or, a in bis marches, most of his charges and di braver height, as Paul's; if
affected rections given by signs, and with silence': an to do it nearer home, and a shorter way, an exquisite art! and i am heartily ashamed, and excellent garret-window into the street; or, angry oftentimes, that the princes of Chris a beam in the said garret, with this halter, tendoni should suffer a Barbarian to tran [He shews him a halter.] which they have
" Yea, even in the war (as I have heard) and in his marches, most of his charges and dircetions given by signs, and with silence.) A little enlargement, perhaps, of the reports of travellers: but the exact discipline and order observed in the Turkish army, is remarked by Busbequius in these words : Videbum summo ordine cujusque corporis milites suis locis distributos, et (quod vix credat, qui nostratis militiæ consuetudinem norit) summum erat silentium, summa qures, rixa nulla, nullum cujusquum insolens factum, sed ne cor quidem aut ritulatio
per lascivium aut ebrietutem emissa. -BUSBEQUI Epist, 3.