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SCENE I.-A warehouse belonging to KITELY. But now his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and deprived of grace, Enter KITELY, Casu, and DownRIGHT.
And he himself, withal, so far fallen off Kite. THOMAS, come hither.
From that first place, as scarce no note remains, There lies a note within, upon my desk;
To tell men's judgments where he lately stood. Here, take my key- It is no matter, neither. He's grown a stranger to all due respect; Where is the boy?
Forgetful of his friends; and, not content Cash. Within, sir, in the warehouse.
To stale himself in all societies, Kite. Let him tell over, straight, that Spanish He makes my house, here, common as a mart, gold,
A theatre, a public receptacle
And here, as in a tavern or a stew,
He and his wild associates spend their hours He shall have the grograns at the rate I told him, In repetition of lascivious jests : And I will meet him, on the Exchange, anon. Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by Cash. Good, sir.
[Exit. night, Kite. Do you see that fellow, brother Down- Controul my servants; and, indeed, what not! right?
Down. 'Sdains, I know not what I should say to Down. Ay, what of him?
him in the whole world! he values me at a crackKite. He is a jewel, brother.
cd three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never I took him of a child, up, at my door,
out of the flesh, that's bred in the bone! I have And christened him; gave him my own name, told him enough, one would think, if that would Thomas;
serve. Well ! he knows what to trust to, for Since bred him, at the hospital; where proving George. Let him spend and spend, and domiA toward imp, I called hiin home, and taught him neer, till his heart ach; an' he think to be reSo much, as I have made him my cashier, lieved by me, when he is got into one of your And find him, in his place, so full of faith, city-ponds, the counters, he has the wrong sow That I durst trust my life into his hands. by the ear, i' faith, and claps his dish at a wrong
Down. So would not I in any bastard's, brother, man's door. I'll lay my hand o' my halfpenny, As, it is like, he is, although I knew
ere I part with it, to fetch him out, I'll assure Myself bis father. But you said you'd somewhat him." To tell me, gentle brother; what is't? what is't? | Kite. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you,
Kite. Faith, I am very loth to utter it, As fearing it may hurt your patience:
Down. 'Sdeath, he made me~ I could eat my But that, I know, your judgment is of strength, very spur-leathers, for anger ! But, why are you Against the nearness of affection
so tame? Why do not you speak to him, and tell Down. What need this circumstance: Pray you him how he disquiets your house? be direct.
Kite. O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, Kite. I will not say how much I do ascribe
brother; Unto your friendship, nor, in what regard But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it, I hold your love; but, let my past behaviour, Though but with plain and easy circumstance, And usage of your sister, but confirm
It would both come much better to his sense, How well I've been affected to your
And savour less of stomach, or of passion. Down. You are too tedious; come to the mat You are his elder brother, and that title ter, the matter.
Both gives and warrants you authority; Kite. Then, without further ceremony, thus. Whereas, if I should intimate the least, My brother Well-bred, sir, I know not how, It would but add contempt to his neglect, Of late, is much declined in what he was, Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred, And greatly altered in his disposition.
That, in the rearing, would come tottering down, When he came first to lodge, here, in my house, And in the ruin bury all our love. Ne'er trust me, if I were not proud of hinn: | Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak, Methought he bare himself in such a fashion, He would be ready, from his heat of humour, So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage. And over-flowing of the vapour in him, And, what was chief, it shewed not borrowed in To blow the ears of his familiars • him,
With the false breath of telling what disgraces But all he did became him as his own,
And low disparagements I had put upon him. And seemned as perfect, proper, and possest, Whilst they, sir, to relieve hiin in the fable, As breath with life, or colour with the blood : | Make their loose coinments upon every word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all o'er; courses. Well, as he brews, so he shall drink,
But rather use the soft persuading way,
[Bell rings. My brother purposely, thereby to find
Kite. How now! Oh, the bello rings for An apt pretext to banish them my house.
breakfast. Down. Mass, perhaps so: they're like enough Brother, I pray you, go in, and bear my wife to do it.
Company til I come; I'll but give order Kite. Brother, they would, believe it: so should I, For some dispatch of business to my servant Like one of these penurious quack-salvers,
Down. I will-Scavenger! Scavenger! But set the bills up to mine own disgrace,
(Exit DOWNRIGHT. And try experiments upon myself:
Kite. Well, though my troubled spirit's someLend scorn and envy opportunity
what eased, To stab my reputation and good name.
'Tis not reposed in that security
As I could wish : but, I must be content.
Howe'er I set a face on't to the world,
Would I had lost this finger, at a venture, Bob. Speak to him! Away! by the foot of So Well-bred had ne'er lodged within my house. Pharoah, you shall not; you shall not do him Why it cannot be, where there is such resort that grace.
| Of wanton gallants, and young revellers, Kite. What's the matter, sirs ?
That any woman should be honest long. Bob. The time of day to you, gentleman of Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve the house. Is Mr Well-bred stirring?
The public weal of chastity unshaken, Down. How, then? what should he do? When such strong motives muster, and make Bob. Gentleman of the house, it is you: is he
head within, sir?
Against her single peace? No, no. Beware. Kite. He came not to his lodgings to-night, sir, When mutual appetite doth meet to treat, I assure you.
| And spirits of one kind and quality Down. Why, do you hear? you !
Come once to parley, in the pride of blood,
| Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time [Exeunt BOBADIL and Matthew. Had answered their affections, all the world Dow. How, scavenger! stay, sir, stay! Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold ! Kite. Nay, brother Downright!
Marry, I hope they have not got that start; Down. 'Heart! stand you away, an' you love For opportunity hath baulked them yet, me.
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears Kite. You shall not follow him now, I pray To attend the impositions of my heart. you, brother; good faith you shall not: I will My presence shall be as an įron-bar, overrule you.
'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire : Down. Ha! scavenger ! Well, go to, I say lit- Yea, every look' or glance mine eye ejects, tle: but, by this good day, (God forgive me I Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave, should swear) if I put up so, say, I am the rank- When he forgets the limits of prescription. est coward ever lived. "Sdains, and I swallow
Enter Dame KITELY. this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again, while I live; I'll sit in a barn Dame. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the with Madge Howlet, and catch mice first. Sca-rose-water above in the closet. Sweetheart, will venger!
you come in to breakfast ? Kite. Oh, do not fret yourself thus! never Kite. An' she have overheard me now ! [ Aside. think on it.
Dame. I pray thee, good muss, we stay for Doun. These are my brother's consorts, these !
you. these are his comrades, his walking mates! he is Kite. By Heaven, I would not for a thousand a gallant, a cavaliero, too, right hangman cut!
Aside. Let me not live, an' I could not find in my heart Dame. What ails you, sweetheart? are you to swinge the whole gang of them, one after ano- not well? Speak, good muss. ther, and begin with him first. I am grieved it Kite. Troth, my head aches extremely, on a should be said he is my brother, and take these sudden.
Dame. Oh, the lord !
| as I am a true counterfeit man of war, and no Kite. How now! what!
. . [Retires. Dame. Alas, how it burns! Muss, keep you warm; good truth it is this new disease! there's
Enter Ep. Kno'well and Master STEPHEN. a number are troubled withal! For love's sake, sweetheart, come in, out of the air.
E. Kno. So, sir, and how then, coz? Kite. How simple, and how subtle are her an Step. S'foot, I have lost my purse, I think. swers!
E. Kno. How ! lost your purse! Where ?A new disease, and many troubled with it! When had you it? Why true! she heard me, all the world to no! Step. I cannot tell : stay. thing.
Brain. 'Slid, I am afraid they will know me! Dame. I pray thee, good sweetheart, come in; Would I could get by them! the air will do you harm, in truth.
E. Kno. What! ha' you it?
E. Kno. Nay, do not weep the loss; hang it, Dame. Pray Heaven it do. [Erit Dame. let it go.
Kite. A new disease! I know not new or old, Step. Oh, 'tis here-No, an' it had been lost, But it may well be called poor mortals' plague : I had not cared, but for a jet ring Miss Mary For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
sent me. The houses of the brain. First, it begins
E. Kno. A jet ring! oh, the poesy, the poesy ! Solely to work upon the phantasy,
Step. Fine, i'faith! Though fancy sleep, my Filling her seat with such pestiferous air
love is deep;' meaning, that though I did not As soon corrupts the judgment, and from thence fancy her, yet she loved me dearly. Sends like contagion to the memory;
E. Kno. Most excellent ! Still to each other giving the infection,
Step. And, then, I sent her another, and my Which, as a subtle vapour, spreads itself
poesy was: “The deeper the sweeter, I'll be Confusedly through every sensive part,
judged by St Peter.' Till not a thought, or motion in the mind,
Ě. Kno. How by St Peter? I do not conceive Be free from the black poison of suspect. that. Ah, but what misery it is to know this!
Step. Marry, St Peter, to take up the metre. Or, knowing it, to want the mind's direction E. Kno. Well, there the saint was your good In such extremes! Well, I will once more strive, patron; he helped you at your need: thank him, In spite of this black cloud, myself to be,
thank him. And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me. Brain. I cannot take leave of them so; I will
[Exit. venture, come what will. Gentlemen, please
you change a few crowns, for a very excellent SCENE II.- Moorfields.
good blade, here? I am a poor gentleman, a sol
dier, that, in the better state of my fortunes, Enter Brainworm, disguised like a Soldier.
INWORM, aisguisea uke a soldier. scorned so mean a refuge, but now it is the huBrain. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see mour of necessity to have it so. You seem to myself translated thus. Now must I create an be, gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else intolerable sort of lies, or iny present profession I should rather die with silence than live with loses the grace; and yet the lie to a man of my shame : however, vouchsafe to remember, it is coat, is as ominous a fruit as the Fico. 0, sir, my want speaks, not myself. This condition ait holds for good polity ever, to have that out- grees not with my spirit. wardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most E. Kno. Where hast thou served ? dear to us. So much for my borrowed shape.- Brain. May it please you, sir, in all the late Well, the truth is, my old master intends to fol- wars of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, Pnland; low my young, dry-foot, over Moorfields to Lon- where not, sir? I have been a poor servitor by don this morning : now I, knowing of this hunt- sea and land, any time these fourteen years, and ing match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate followed the fortunes of the best commanders in with my young master (for so must we, that are Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of blue-waiters, and men of hope and service do), Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have have got me afore in this disguise, determining been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic here to lie in ambuscade, and intercept him in Gulf; a gentleman-slave in the galleys thrice, the mid-way. If I can but get his cloak, his where I was most dangerously shot in the head, purse, his hat, nay, any thing to cut him off, that through both the thighs, and yet being thus is, to stay his journe-troiy vidi, vici, I may say maimed, I am void of maintenance; nothing left with captain Cæsar; I am made Turnver, i'faith. me but my scars, the noted marks of my resoluWell, now must I practise to get the true gark of tion. one of those lance-knights, my arm here, and my / Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend? -Young master! and his cousin, Master Stephen, Brain. Generous sir, I refer it to your own
judgment; you are a gentleman, give me what | When it puts on the breeches, you please.
| It will put off all this. ' Ay, it is like; step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, When it is gone into the bone already! friend: but what though! I pray you say, what No, no : this dye goes deeper than the coat, would you ask?
Or shirt, or skin; it stains unto the liver Brain. I assure you the blade may become the And heart, in some: and rather than it should side, or thigh, of the best prince in Europe.
not, E. Kno. Aye, with a velvet scabbard.. Note what we fathers do; look how we live;
Step. Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a velvet What mistresses we keep ; at what expence; scabbard, coz, that's flat: I would not wear it as And teach them all bad ways to buy affliction ! ?cis, an' you would give me an angel.
Well, I thank Heaven, I never yet was he, Brain. At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay, That travelled with my son before sixteen, 'tis a most pure Toledo. •
To shew him the Venetian courtezans, Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard; but tell Nor read the grammar of cheating, I had made, me, what shall I give you for it? An' it had a sil- To my sharp boy at twelve; repeating still ver hilt
The role, get money, still get money, boy, E. Kno. Come, come, you shall not buy it; No matter by what ineans. hold, there's a shilling, fellow; take the rapier. These are the trades of fathers now. However,
Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold say so; and there's another shilling, fellow, I None of these household precedents; which are scorn to be outbidden. What, shall I walk with
strong a cudgel, like a higginbottom, and may bave a ra- | And swift, to rape youth to their precipice. pier for money?
But let the house at home be never so clean E. Kno. You may buy one in the city,
Swept, or kept sweet from filth, Step. Tut, I'll buy this i' the field, so I will; I If he will live abroad with his companions, have a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell In riot and misrule, 'tis worth a fear. . ine your lowest price. É. Kno. You shall not buy it, 1 say.
Enter BRAIN-worm. Step. By this money but I will, though I give Brain. My master! nay, faith, have at you; I more than 'tis worth.
am fleshed now, I have sped so well; though I · E. Kno. Come away, you are a fool.
must attack you in a different way. Worshipful Step. Friend, I am a fool, that's granted: but sir, I beseech you, respect the state of a poor solI'll have it for that word's sake. Follow me for dier! I am ashamed of this base course of life, your money.
(God's my comfort) but extremity provokes me Bruin. At your service, sir. (Exeunt. to't: what remedy?
Kno. I have not for you.
Brain. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleKno. I cannot lose the thought yet of this let- man, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to ter,
preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I Sent to my son; nor leave to admire the change have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounOf manners, aud the breeding of our youth Within the kingdom, since myself was one. Kno. Prithee, good friend, be satisfied. When I was young, he lived not in the stews, Brain. Good sir, by that hand you may do the Durst have conceived a scorn, and uttered it, 1 part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor solOn a grey head : age was 'anthority
dier the price of two cans of beer, a matter of Against a buffoon; and a man had then
| small value; the King of Heaven shall pay you, A certain reverence paid unto his years,
and I shall rest thankful : sweet worshipThat had none due unto his life.
Kno. Nay, an' you bę so importunateBut now we are fallen; youth from their fear, Brain. Oh, tender sir, need will have his And age from that, which bred it, good example. course! I was not made to this vile use! Well, Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even pa- the edge of the enemy could not bave abated me rents,
so much. (He weeps.] It's hard, when a man That did destroy the hopes in our own children; hath served in his prince's cause, to be thusThe first words
honourable worship, let me derive a small piece We form their tongues with, are licentious jests. of silver from you; it shall not be given in the Can it call whore? Cry bastard ? 0, then kiss it, course of time. By this good ground, I was fain A witty child! Can't swear? The father's dar to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper; ling!
I had sucked the hilts long before, I am a pagan Give it two pluins. Nay, rather than it shall else : sweet honour !
Kno. Believe me, I am taken with some wonNo bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it! der, But this is in the infancy;
To think a fellow of thy outward presence,
Should, in the frarne and fashion of his mind, Brain. Sir, by the place and honour of a solBe so degenerate and sordid base!
dierArt thou a man, and shain'st thou not to beg? | Kno. Nay, nay, I like not those affected oaths! To practise such a servile kind of life?
Speak plainly, man: what think'st thou of my . Why, were thy education never so mean, Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Brain. Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were Offer themselves to thy election.
| as happy, as my service should be honest. Either the wars might still supply thy wants, Kno. Well, follow me; I will prove thee, if Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
thy deeds will carry a proportion to thy words. Or honest labour: nay, what can I name,
[Erit. But would become thee better than to beg ! Brain. Yes, sir, straight: I will but garter my But men of thy condition feed on sloth,
hose. Oh! that iny belly were hooped now, for As doth the beetle on the dung she breeds in, I am ready to burst with laughing! Never was a Not caring how the metal of your minds
bottle or bag-pipe fuller. S'lid! was there ever Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
seen a fox in years to betray himself thus ? Now I Now, afore me, whate'er he be, that should shall be possessed of all his counsels! and by Relieve a person of thy quality,
that conduct my young master. Well, he is reWhile thou insist in this loose desperate course, solved to prove my honesty; faith, and I am reI would esteem the sin not thine, but his. solved to prove his patience. Oh, I shall abuse
Brain. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some him intolerably! This small piece of service will other course, if so
bring him clean out of love with the soldier for Kno. Aye, you would gladly find it, but you ever. He will never come within the sight of a will not seek it.
red coat, or a musket-rest again. It's no matter; Brain. Alas! sir, where should a man seek let the world think me a bad counterfeit, if I canin the wars there's no ascent by desert in these not give him the slip at an instant. Why, this days, but—and for service, would it were as soon is better than to have staid his journey! Well, purchased as wished for! (the air's my comfort) I ' will follow him. Oh, how I long to be emknow what I would say
ployed! Kno. What's thy name?
With change of voice, these scars, and many an Brain. Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir.
oath, Kno. Fitz-Sword,
| I'll follow son and sire, and serve them both. Say that a man should entertain thee now,
[Erit, Would'st thou be honest, hurnble, just, and true? I
gentleman of fashion
Well. Oh, Master Matthew, that is a grace pe
culiar but to a few, quos æquus amavit Jupiter. Mat. Yes, faith, sir! we were at your lodging Mat. I understand you, sir. to seek you too. Well. Oh, I came not there to-night.
Enter Young Kno'well and STEPHEN. Bob. Your brother delivered us as much. Well. No question you do, or you do not, sir. Well. Who? My brother, Down-right?
Ned! By my soul, welcome! How dost thou, Bob. He. Mr Well-bred, I know not in what sweet spirit, my genius?' 'Slid, I shall love Apolkind you hold me; but let me say to you this: as | lo' and the mad Thespian girls the better while sure as honour, I esteem it so much out of the I live for this, my dear fury. Now I see there's sunshine of reputation, to throw the least beam some love in thee! Sirrah, these be the two I of regard upon such a
writ to thee of. Nay, what a drowsy humour is Well. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my bro- this now! Why dost thou not speak? ther.
E. Kno. Oh, you are a fine gallayt; you sent Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be me a rare letter." saved about me, I never saw any gentleman-like | Well. Why, was it not rare? part
E. Kno. Yes, I'll be sworn; I was never guilty Well. Good captain, (faces about.] to some of reading the like. Match it in all Pliny's other discourse.
epistles, and I'll have my judgment burned in the Bob. With your leave, sir, an' there were no ear for a rogue: make much of thy vein, for it is more men living upon the face of the earth, I inimitable. But I marvel what camel it was that should not fancy him, by St George.
had the carriage of it, for, doubtless, he was no Mat. Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut, I ordinary beast that brought it.