Step. Not you, sir! you were not best, sir; an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too; go to. And they can give it again soundly too, an' need be.

Serr. Why, sir, let this satisfy you : good faith, I had no such intent.

Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently.

Sera. Good master Stephen, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.

Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy companion, an' you were out of my uncle's ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand upon my gentility neither, in it.

Kno. Cousin! cousin! will this ne'er be left? Step. Whoreson, base fellow? a mechanical serving man? By this cudgel, an' 'twere not for shame, I would

Kno. What would you do, you peremptory gull? If you cannot be quiet, get you hance. You see the honest man demeans himself Modestly towards you, giving no reply

To your unseasoned, quarrelling, rude fashion:
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,
As void of wit as of humanity.

Go, get you in! 'fore Heaven, I am ashamed
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

[Exit STEPHEN. Sere. I pray, sir, is this master Kno'well's Louse?

Kno. Yes, marry, is it, sir. Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one master Edward Kno'well: do you know any such, sir, I pray you?

Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.

Serv. Are you the gentleman? cry your mer, sir : I was required by a gentleman in the city, as I rode out at this end of the town, to deliver you this letter, sir.

Kna. To me, sir ? What do you mean ? Pray you remember your court'sie. [To his most selected friend, master EDWARD KNO'WELL.] What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? Nay, pray you be covered.

Ser. One master Well-bred, sir.
Kao. Master Well-bred! A young gentleman,

is he not?

Serv. The same, sir; master Kitely married his sister: the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. Kno. You say very true. Brain-worm!

Brain. Sir.

Enter BRAIN-WORM.

Kno. Make this honest friend drink here.Pray you go in.

[Exeunt BRAIN-WORM and Servant. This letter is directed to my son: Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may, With the safe conscience of good manners, use The fellow's error to my satisfaction. Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious) Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase, To see if both do answer my son's praises, Who is almost grown the idolater

Of this young Well-bred: What have we here? What's this?

[The Letter.]

'Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou foresworn all thy friends i' the Old Jewry? or dost 'thou think us all Jews that inhabit there? Yet if thou dost, come over, and but see our frip'pery; change an old shirt for a whole smock ، with us: Do not conceive that antipathy be'tween us and Hogsden, as was between Jews ' and hog's-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his green apricots, evening and 'morning, o' the north-west wall: an' I had been his son, I had saved him the labour long since; if taking in all the young wenches that pass by, at the back door, and coddling every kernel of ، the fruit for them would have served. But pri'thee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I have such a present for thee! Our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand Sig'nior. One is a rhimer, sir, o' your own batchi, your own leven; but doth think himself poetmajor o' the town; willing to be shewn, and worthy to be seen.-The other-I will not ven'ture his description with you till you come, because I would have you make hither with an appetite. If the worst of them be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges, as un'conscionable as any Guild-hall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum.

I

، From the Windmill

From the Burdello, it might come as well;
The Spittal, or Pict-hatch. Is this the man,
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,
The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth?
I know not what he may be in the arts;
Nor what in schools : but, surely, for his manners,
judge him a profane and dissolute wretch:
Worse, by possession of such great good gifts,
Being the master of so loose a spirit.
Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ
In such a scurrilous manner to a friend?
Why should be think, I tell my apricots ?
Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit,
To watch it? Well, my son, I thought
You'd had more judgment to have made election
Of your companions, than to have ta'en on trust
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare
No argument, or subject from their jest.
But I perceive, affection makes a fool

Of any man, too much the father. Brain-worm
Enter BRAIN-WORM.

Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him; for that,
Restrained, grows more impatient; and in kind,
Like to the eager, but the gen'rous greyhound,
Who, ne'er so little from his game withheld,
Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat.
There is a way of winning, more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
He, that's compelled to goodness, may be good;
But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn
By softness, and example, get a habit.
Then, if they stray, but warn them; and the same
They would for virtue do, they'll do for shame.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Young KNO’WELL's Study.

Enter EDWARD KNO'WELL and BRAIN-WORM.
E. Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou ?
Brain. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the con-
tents.

tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, Brain-worm?

Brain. A very good leg, master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not recommend it so well.

Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough now summer is coming on, for the dust: I will have a pair of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk hose.

Brain. Believe me, master Stephen, rarely well. Step. In sadness, I think it would; I have a reasonable good leg.

Brain. You have an excellent good leg, master Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise it longer now; and I am very sorry for't. [Exit. Step. Another time will serve, Brain-worm.--Gra-mercy for this.

did either!

Enter Master STEPHEN. Step. Oh! Brain-worm, did'st thou not see a fellow here, in a what sha'-call him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e'en now.

Brain. Yes, master Stephen, what of him? Step. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat him where is he? can'st thou tell?

Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master Stephen.

Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long since?

Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street door.

Step. And I staid i' the fields! whoreson, scanderberg rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again!

Brain. Why, you may ha' my mistress's gelding to save your longing, sir.

Step. But I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't. Brain. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, master Stephen.

Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; let him e'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss me a little. He does so vex me

Brain. You'll be worse vexed when you are trussed, master .Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold; your choler may founder you else.

Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou

Enter Young KNO’WELL.

E. Kno. Ha, ha, ha!

Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' do

E. Kno. Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted by a man's father, and do him good with him! He cannot but think most virtuously both of me and the sender, sure, that make the careful coster-monger of him in our familiar epistles. Well, if he read this with patience, I'll be gelt, and troll ballads for Mr John Trundle yonder, the rest of my mortality. It is true, and likely, my father may have as much patience as another man; for he takes much physic; and oft taking physic makes a man very patient. But would your packet, master Wellbred, had arrived at him in such a minute of his patience; then we had known the end of it, which now is doubtful, and threatens-what? my wise cousin! nay, then, I'll furnish our feast with one gull more toward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three! O, for a fourth! Fortune! if ever thou'lt use thine eyes, I entreat thee

Step. O, now I see who he laughed at. He laughed at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an' he had laughed at me

E. Kno. How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy?

Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed at me, cousin.

E. Kno. Why, what anʼ I had, coz, what would you ha' done?"

Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine uncle.

E. Kno. Nay, if you would ha' told your uncle, I did laugh at you, coz.

Step. Did you, indeed?
E. Kno. Yes, indeed.
Step. Why, then-
E. Kno. What then?

Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient.

E. Kno. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I pray you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent for this morning, by a friend i' the Old Jewry, to come to him: 'tis but crossing o'er the field to

Moor-gate: will you bear me company? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, coz.

Step. Sir, that's all one, an' 'twere; you shall command me, twice as far as Moor-gate, to do you good, in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I protest

E. Kno. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Step. By my fackins, but I will by your leave; I will protest more to my friend, than I will speak of at this time.

E. Kno. You speak very well, coz. Step. Nay, not so, neither; you shall pardon me: but I speak to serve my turn.

E. Kno. Your turn, coz! Do you know what you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk of your turn in this company, and to me, alone, like a water-bearer at a conduit! fie! a wight, that, hitherto, his every step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, at every word the savour of a strong spirit; and he! this man, so graced, so gilded, or, to use a more fit metaphor, so tin-foil'd by nature, as not ten house-wives' pewter (again' a good time) shews more bright to the world than he! and he (as I said last, so I say again, and still shall say it) this man! to conceal such real ornaments as these, and shadow their glory, as a milliner's wife does her wrought stomacher, with a smoky lawn, or a black cypress? Oh, coz! it cannot be answered, go not about it. Drake's old ship, at Deptford, may sooner circle the world again. Come, wrong not the quality of your desert, with looking downward, coz; but hold up your head, so; and let the idea of what you are be pourtrayed in your face, that men may read in your physiognomy, here, within this place, is to be seen the true, rare, and accomplished monster, or miracle of nature,' which is all one. What think you of this, coz?

Step. Why, I do think of it; and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentleman-like, than I have been, I'll assure you.

E. Kno. Why, that's resolute, master Stephen! Now, if I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will do well for a suburbhumour: we may hap have a match with the city, and play him for forty pounds. Come, coz. Step. I'll follow you.

E. Kno. Follow me? you must Step. Nay, an' I must, I will. me, good cousin.

go before. Pray you shew [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Street before COB's House. Enter Master MATTHEW.

Mat. I think this be the house. What, hoa!

Enter COB, from the House. Cob. Who is there? O, Master Matthew! give your worship good morrow.

Mat. What, Cob! How dost thou, good Cob? Dost thou inhabit here, Cob?

Cob. Ay, sir, I and my lineage ha' kept a poor house here in our days.

Mat. Thy lineage, monsieur Cob? What lineage? What lineage?

Cob. Why, sir, an ancient lineage and a princely. Mine ancestry came from a king's belly, no worse man and yet no man neither (by your worship's leave, I did lye in that,) but Herring the king of fish, (from his belly I proceed) one o the monarchs o' the world I assure you. The first red herring that was broil'd in Adam and Eve's kitchen, do I fetch my pedigree from, by the Harrot's book. His Cob was my great-greatmighty-great grandfather.

Mat. Why mighty? Why mighty? I pray thee. Cob. Oh, it was a mighty while ago, sir, and a mighty great Cob.

Mat. How know'st thou that?

Cob. How know I? why, I smell his ghost, ever and anon.

Mat. Smell a ghost? Oh unsavoury jest! and the ghost of a herring, Cob?

Cob. Aye, sir, with favour of your worship's nose, Mr Matthew, why not the ghost of a herring-cob, as well as the ghost of Rasher-bacon? Mat. Roger Bacon thou wouldst say?

Cob. I say Rasher-Bacon. They were both broil'd o'th' coals; and a man may smell broiled meat, I hope? You are a scholar; upsolve me that now.

Mat. Oh, raw ignorance! Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one Captain Bobadil, where his lodging is?

Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mean!
Mat. Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha.

Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not mean Captain Bobadil?

Mat. Cob, pray thee, advise thyself well: do not wrong the gentleman and thyself too. I dare be sworn he scorns thy house. He! he lodge in such a base, obscure place as thy house! Tut, I know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed, if thou would'st give it him.

Cob. I will not give it him, though, sir. Mass, I thought somewhat was in it we could not get him to-bed, all night! Well, sir, though he lies not on my bed, he lies on my bench. And if it please you to go in, sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak wraį ped about him, as though he had neither won nor lost; and yet, I warrant, he never cast better in his life, than he has done to-night.

Mat. Why, was he drunk?

Cob. Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. Perhaps he swallowed a tavern-token, or some such device, sir: I have nothing to do withal. I deal with water, and not with wine. Give me my tankard there, hoa. God be with you, sir, it is six o'clock: I should have carried two turns by this. What hoa! my stopple! come.

Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house! A gentleman of his havings! Well, I'll tell him my min;

Cob. What, Tib! shew this gentleman up to the captain.-[TIB shews Master MAT. into the house.] Oh, an my house were the Brazenhead! Faith, it would e'en speak mo fools yet. You should have some now, would take this Mr Mat

thew to be a gentleman at the least. His father is an honest man, a worshipful fish-monger, and so forth; and now does he creep, and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave gallants about the town, such as my guest is. O, my guest is a fine man! and they flout him invincibly. He useth every day to a merchant's house (where I serve water) one Master Kitely's i'th' Old Jewry; and here's the jest, he's in love with my master's sister, Mistress Bridget, and calls her mistress: and there he will sit you a whole afternoon, sometimes reading o' these same abominable, vile, (a pox on 'em! I cannot abide 'em) rascally verses, povetry, poyetry, and speaking of enterludes, 'twill make a man burst to hear him. And the wenches, they so jear and ti-hee at him-well, should they do so much to me, I'd forswear them all by the foot of Pharaoh. There's an oath! How many water-bearers shall you hear swear such an oath? Oh, I have a guest, (he teaches me) he does swear the legiblest of any man christened by St George-the foot of Pharaohthe body o' me, as I am a gentleman, and a soldier; such dainty oaths! and withall, he does take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! it would do a man good to see the fume come forth at's tonnels! Well, he owes me forty shillings, my wife lent him out of her purse by six-pence a time, besides his lodging. I would I had it! I shall ha' it, he says, the next action. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill a cat, uptails all, and a louse for the hangman. [Exit.

SCENE IV.—A Room in COB's House. BOBADIL discovered upon a bench. TIB enters to him. Bob. Hostess, hostess !

Tib. What say you, sir?

Bob. A cup o' thy small-beer, sweet hostess. Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you.

Bob. A gentleman! 'ods so, I'm not within.
Tib. My husband told him you were, sir.
Bob. What a plague-what meant he?
Mat. [Within.] Captain Bobadil!

Bob. Who's there?-Take away the bason, good hostess. Come up, sir.

Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. You come into a cleanly house here.

Enter Master MATTHEW.

Mat. 'Save you, sir; 'save you, captain. Bob. Gentle Master Matthew! is it you, sir? Please you, sit down.

Mut. Thank you, good captain: you may see I am somewhat audacious.

Bob, Not so, sir. I was requested to supper, last night, by a sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drank to, I assure you.

Mat. Vouchsafe me by whom, good captain. Bob. Marry, by young Well-bred, and others. Why, hostess! a stool here for this gentleman. Mat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well.

Bob. Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my eyes yet: I was but new risen as you came. How passes the day abroad, sir? can you tell?

Mart. Faith, some half hour to seven. Now, trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private!

Bob. Ay, sir: sit down. I pray you, Master Matthew, in any case, possess no gentleman of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. Mat. Who? I, sir! No.

Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient; but in regard I would not be too popular and generally visited,

as some are.

Mat. True, captain, I conceive you.

Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me, except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend thus far. Mut. O lord, sir, I resolve so.

Bob. I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult and roar of fortune. What new book ha' you there? Read it. What! Go by, Hieronymo?

Mat. Aye, did you ever see it acted? Is't not well penn'd!

Bob. Well penn'd! I would fain see all the poets of these times pen such another play as that was! They'll prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art and devices, when, as I am a gentleman, read 'em, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows, that live upon the face of the earth again.

Mat. Indeed, here are a number of fine speeches in this book. Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears !'-There's a conceit! Fountains fraught with tears! Oh, world, no world, but mass of public wrongs !'-A third, 'Confus'd and fill'd with murder and misdeeds!-A fourth-Oh, the muses!' Is't not excellent? Is't not simply the best that ever you heard, captain; Ha! how do you like it?

Bob. 'Tis good.

Mat. [Reads.] To thee, the purest object of my sense,

The most refined essence Heaven covers, 'Send I these lines, wherein I do commence The happy state of turtle-billing lovers.' 'If they prove rough, unpolished, harsh, and rude, Haste made the waste. Thus mildly I conclude. Bob. "Tis good; proceed, proceed. Where's this? Mat. This, sir? a toy of mine own, in my nonage: the infancy of my muses. But, when will you come and see my study? Good faith, I can shew you some very good things, I have done of late--That boot becomes your leg passing well, captain, methinks.

"Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now use. Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' the fashion, Master Well-bred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other day, I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most peremptory-beautiful, and gentleman-like; yet he condemned, and crìed it down, for the most pied and ridiculous that ever he saw.

Bob. 'Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't

not?