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Fed with the self-same humour, he is now,

Step. What would you ha' me do! Dreaming on nought but idle poetry,

Kno. What would I have you do! I'll tell you, That fruitless, and unprofitable art,

kinsman; Good unto none, but least to the professors, Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive; Which, then, I thought the mistress of all know- That would I have thee do: and not to spend ledge :

Your coin on every bauble, that you fancy, But since, time and the truth have waked my On every foolish brain, that humours you. judgment,

I would not have you to invade each place,
And reason taught me better to distinguish Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
The vain from the useful learnings-

Till men's attections, or your own desert,

Should worthily invite you to your rank.
Enter Master STEPHEN.

He, that is so respectless in his courses,
Cousin Stephen!

Oft sells his reputation at chcap market. What news with you, that you are here so early? Nor would I you should melt away yourself

Step. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect do, uncle.

To make a blaze of gentry to the world, Kno. That's kindly done, you are welcome, A little puff of scorn extinguish it,

And you be left like an unsavoury snuff, Step. Ay, I know that, sir. I would not ha' Whose property is only to offend. come else. How doth my cousin Edward, un- I'd have you sober and contain yourself : cle?

Not, that your sail be bigger than your boat: Kno. O, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt he But moderate your expences now (at first), be scarce stirring yet.

As you may keep the same proportion still. Step. Uncle, after I go in, can you tell me an' Nor stand so much on your gentility, he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing, and hunting? I would fain borrow it.

From dead men's dust and bones : and none of Kno. Why, I hope you will not a hawking yours now, will you?

Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here? Step. No wosse, but I'll practise against the

Enter a Servant. next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing Serv. Save you, gentlemen. but a book to keep it by.

Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our genKno. O, most ridiculous!

tility, friend; vet, you are welcome; and I asStep. Nay, look you now, you are angry, un- sure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand cle. Why, you know, an' a man have not skill a-year, Middlesex land; he has but one son in all in the hawking and hunting languages now-a- the world; I am his next beir (at the common days, I'll not give a rush for him. They are law) master Stephen, as simple as I stand here; more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He if my cousin die (as there is hope he will.) I have is for no gallant's company without then. And pretty living o' my own too, beside, hard by by Gad's lid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort here. for every hum-drum; hang them scroyls, there's Serv. In good time, sir. nothing in them, in the world. What do you Step. In good time, sir! why? and in very talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsdei., I shall good time, sir. You do not flout, friend, do you? keep company with none but the archers of Fins- Sero. Not I, sir. bury! or the citizens, that come a du, king to Step. Not you, sir! you were best not, sir; Islington ponds! A fine jest i'faith! slic', a gen- an’ you should, here be them can perceive it, tleman mun show himself like a gentleman. and that quickly too: go to. And they can give Uncle, I pray you be not angry. I know what I it again soundly too, an' need be. have to do; I trow, I am no novice.

Serv. Why, sir, let this satisfy you : good faith, Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb: go I had no such intent. to!

Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak. with you, and that presently. Take it as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you.

Sero. Good master Stephen, so you may, sir,
Have you not yet found means enow to waste at your pleasure.
That, which your friends have left you,


Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy

companion, an' you were out of my uncle's Go cast away your money on a kite,

ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand And know not how to keep it, when you've done? upon my gentility neither in it. O, 'tis comely! this will make you a gentleman ! Kno. Cousin ! cousin ! Will this ne'er be left? Well, cousin, well! I see you are e'en past hope Step. Whoreson, base fellow? a mechanical Of all reclaim. Ay, so, now you're told on it, serving man? By this cudgel, an' 'twere not for You look another way.

slame, I would


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Kno. What would you do, you peremptory | sent the like to the Grand Signior. One is a gull?

rhimer, sir, o' your own batch, your own leven; If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.

but doth think himself poet-major o' the town; You see, the honest man demeans himself willing to be shewn, and worthy to be seen.Modestly towards you, giving no reply

• The other-I will not venture his description To your unseasoned, quarrelling, rude fashion : with you


you come, because I would have And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage, you make hither with an appetite. If the worst As void of wit, as of humanity.

. of them be not worth your journey, draw your Go, get you in ! 'fore Heaven, I am ashamed bill of charges, as unconscionable as any GuildThou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

'hall verdict will give it you, and you shall be [Erit Stephen. allowed

your Viaticum. Serv. I pray you, sir, is this master Kno'well's

From the Windmill.' house? Kno. Yes, marry, is it, sir.

From the Burdello, it might come as well ; Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, The Spittal : is this the man, one master Edward Kno'well: do you know any My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, such, sir, I pray you?

The choicest brain, the times have sent us Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.

forth? Sert. Are you the gentleman ? cry your mer- I know not what he may be in the arts; cy, sir : I was required by a gentleman in the Nor what in schools : but, surely, for his mancity, as I rode out at this end of the town, to ners, deliver you this letter, sir.

I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch : Kno. To me, sir? [To his most selected friend, Worse, by profession of such great good gifts, Master Edward Kno'well.] What might the gen- Being the master of so loose a spirit. tleman's name be, sir, that sent it?

Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ Sero. One Master Well-bred, sir.

In such a scurrilous manner to a friend ? Kno. Master Well-bred ! A young gentleman, Why should he think, I tell my apricots ? is he not?

Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit, Sero. The same, sir; Master Kitely married his To watch it? Well, my son, I thought sister: the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. You'd had more judgment to have made elecKno. You say very true. Brain-worm!


Of your companions, than to have taken on trust Enter BRAIN-WORM.

Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can sparc Brain. Sir.

No argument, or subject from their jest. Kno. Make this honest friend drink here. But I perceive, affection makes a fool Pray you go in.

Of any man, too much the father. Brain-worm! ( Ereunt Brainworm and Servant. This letter is directed to my son :

Enter BRAIN-WORM. Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may,

Brain. Sir.
With the safe conscience of good manners, use Kno. Is the fellow gone, that brought this let
The fellow's error to my satisfaction.

Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious) Brain. Yes, sir, a pretty while since.
Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase, Kno. And where's your young master?
To see if both do answer my son's praises,

Brain. In his chamber, sir.
Who is almost grown the idolater

Kno. He spake not with the fellow, did he? Of this young Well-bred : What have we here? Brain. No, sir, he saw him not. What's this?

Kno. Take you this letter, seal it, and deliver

it to my son; [The letter]

But with no notice, that I have opened it, on "Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou fore- Brain. O lord, sir, that were a jest indeed ! sworn all thy friends i' the Old Jewry? or dost Kno. I am resolved I will not stop his jourthou think us all Jews, that inhabit there? Leave

ney; thy vigilant father alone, to number over his Nor practise any violent means to stay 'green apricots, evening and morning, o' the The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,

north-west wall: an' I had been his son, I had Restrained, grows more impatient. • saved him the labour long since ; if taking in all There is a way of winning, more by love, the young wenches that pass by, at the back. And urging of the modesty, than fear: door, and coddling every kernel of the fruit for Force works on servile natures, not the free. them would have served. But prithee, come He, that's compelled to goodness, may be good;

over to me, quickly, this morning : I have such But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn ' a present for thee! Our Turkey company never By softness, and example, get a habit.

your life,





Then, if they stray, but warn them; and the the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk

hose. They would for virtuc do, they will do for shame. Brain. Believe me, master Stephen, rarely

[Ereunt. well.

Step. In sadness, I think it would; I have a SCENE II.-Young Kno’WELL’s Study. reasonable good leg. Enter EDWARD KNO'WELL and BRAIN-WORM.

Brain. You have an excellent good leg, master

Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise it longer E. Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou?

now; I am very sorry for't.

[Erit. Brain. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the con- Step. Another time will serve, Brain-worm.

Gra-mercy, for this. E. Kno. That's bad. What countenance, pray thee, made he in the reading of it? Was he angry,

Enter Young Kno’WELL. or pleased ?

Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor E. Kno. Ha, ha, ha! open it, I assure your worship.

Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' E. Kno. No! how know'st thou, then, that he he dodid either?

E. Kno. Here was a letter, indeed, to be interBrain. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on cepted by a man's father! He cannot but think my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, most virtuously both of me and the sender, sure, unless he had done, he would never fear to have that make the careful coster-inonger of him in 'trevealed.

our familiar epistles. I wish I knew the end of E. Kno. That's true : well, I thank thee, Brain- it, which now is doubtful, and threatens—what!

[Erit. my wise cousin! nay, then, I will furnish our Enter Master STEPHEN.

feast with one gull more toward the mess. He

writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's Step. Oh! Brain-worm, did'st thou not see a three : 0, for a fourth! Fortune! if ever thou'lt fellow here, in a what sha'-call him doublet? He use thine eyes, I entreat theebrought mine uncle a letter e'en now.

Step. 0, now I see who he laughs at. He Brain. Yes, master Stephen, what of him? laughs at somebody in that letter. By this good Step. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat him- light, an' he had laughed at me where is he? can'st thou tell?

E. Kno. How now, cousin Stephen, melanBrain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is choly? gone, master Stephen.

Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how at me, cousin, long since ?

E. Kno. Why, what an' I had, coz, what would Brain. He is rid hence, He took horse at the you ha' done? street door.

Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine unStep. And I staid i' the fields! whoreson, scan- cle. derberg rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch E. Kno. Nay, if you would ha' told your unhim back again!

cle, I did laugh at you, coz. Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's gelding, Step. Did you, indeed ? to save your longing, sir.

E. Kno. Yes, indeed. Step. But I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't. Step. Why, then

Brain. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, E. Kno. What then? master Stephen.

Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient. Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; E. Kno. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I pray let him e'en go and hang. Prithec, help to truss you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I ain sent ine a little. He does so vex me

for, this morning, by a friend i' the Old Jewry, to Brain. You'll be worse vexed, when you are come to him: 'tis but crossing o'er the field to trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, Moor-gate : will you bear me company? I proand walk yourself till you be cold; your choler test, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot may founder you else.

against the state, coz. Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou Step. Sir, that's all one, an’ 'twere; you shall tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, command me, twice so far as Moor-gate, to do Brain-worm?

you good, in such a matter. Do you think I Brain. A very good leg, master Stephen; but would leave you? I protestthe woollen stocking does not commend it so E. Kno. No, no, you shall not protest, co... well.

Step. By my fackins, but I will, by your leave; Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough, now I will protest more to my friend, than I will summer is coming on, for the dust : I will have speak of at this time. pair of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in E. Kno. You speak very well, coz,


Step. Nay, not so, neither; you shall pardon ped about him, as though he had neither won me: but I speak to serve my turn.

nor lost; and yet, I warrant, he never cast betE. Kno. Your turn, coz! Do you know what ter in his life, than he has done to-night. you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, car- Mat. Why, was he drunk? riage, and estimation, to talk of your turn in this Cob. Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. company, and to me, alone, like a water-bearer Perhaps he swallowed a tavern-token, or some at a conduit! fie! a wight, that, bitherto, his such device, sir : I have nothing to do withal. every step hath left the stamp of a great foot be- I deal with water, and not with wine. Give me hind him, at every word the savour of a strong my bucket there, hoa. God be with you, sir, it spirit; and he! this man, so graced, so gilded, is six o'clock : I should have carried two turns or, as I may say, so tinfoyled by nature! Come, by this. What hoa! my stopple ! come. come, wrong not the quality of your desert, with Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house! A gen. looking downward, coz; but hold up your head, tleman of his havings ! Well, I will tell him my so; and let the idea of what you are be pour

mind. trayed in your face, that men may read in your Cob. What, Tib! shew this gentleman up to physiognomy, “ here, within this place, is to be the captain.–Tib shews Master Mat. into the * seen the true and accomplished monster, or mi- house. You should have some now, would take

racle of nature,' which is all one. What think this Mr Matthew to be gentleman at the least. you of this, coz!

His father is an honest man, a worshipful fishStep. Why, I do think of it; and I will be more monger, and so forth; and now does he creep, proud, and melancholy, and gentleman-like, than and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave I have been, I'll assure you.

gallants about the town, such as my guest is. 0, E. Kno. Why, that's resolute, master Stephen! my guest is a fine man! he does swear the legiNow, if I can hold him up to his height, as it is blest of any man christened: by St. Georgehappily begun, it will do well for a suburb-hu- the foot of Pharaoh—the body of me,-as I am mour: we may hap have a match with the city, a gentleman and a soldier ; such dainty oaths ! and play him for forty pounds. Come, coz. and withall, he does take this same filthy roguish Step. I'll follow you.

tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! it would do a E. Kno. Follow me; you must go before. man good to see the fume come forth out at's

Step. Nay, an'I must, I will. Pray you, shew tonnels! Well, he owes me forty shillings, my me, good cousin.

[Ereunt. wife lent him out of her purse by six-pence a

time, besides his lodging. I would I had it! I SCENE III.The street before CoB's house. shall ha' it, he says, the next action. Helter skel

ter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill a cat, up-tails all, Enter Master Matthew. and a louse for the hangman !

[Exit. Mat. I think this be the house. What, hoa ! Enter Cob, from the House.

SCENE IV.-A Room in Cob's House. BOBCob. Who is there? 0, Master Matthew !

ADIL discovered upon a bench. TiB enters

to him. give your worship good morrow.

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

Tib. What Cob. Ay, sir, I and my lineage ha' kept a poor Bob. A cup o' thy small-beer, sweet hostess. house here in our days.

Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would Mat. Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentle speak with you. man, one Captain Bobadil, where his lodging is? Bob. A gentleman ! 'ods so, I'm not within. Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mean?

Tib. My husband told him you were, sir. Mat. Thy guest! Alas! ba, ha.

Bob. What a plague

-what meant he? Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not Mat. [Within.] Captain Bobadil ! mean Captain Bobadil?

Bob. Who's there -Take away the bason, Mat. Cob, pray thee, adrise thyself well : do good hostess. Come up, sir. not wrong the gentleman and thyself too. I dare Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. You be sworn he scorns thy house. He! he lodge come into a cleanly house here. in such a base, obscure place as thy house! Tut, I know his disposition so well, he would not lie

Enter Master MATTHEW. in thy bed, if thou would'st give it him.

Cob. I will not give it him, though, sir. Mass, Mat. 'Save you, sir; 'save you, captain. I thought somewhat was in it we could not get Bob. Gentle Master Matthew! is it you, sir? him to-bed, all night! Well, sir, though he lies Please you, sit down. not on my bed, be lies on my bench. And if it Mat. Thank you, good captain ; you inay see please you to go in, sir, you shall find him with I am somewhat audacious. two cushions under his head, and his cloak wrap Bob. Not so, sir. I was requested to supper,

say you, sir?

as some are.


last night, by a sort of gallants, where you were | such an animal! the most peremptory absurd wished for, and drank to, I assure you.

clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I Mat. Vouchsafe me by whom, good captain. protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a solBob. Marry, by young Well-bred, and others. dier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By Why, hostess! a stool here for this gentleman. his discourse, he should cat nothing but hay. Alat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well.

He was born for the manger, pannier or packBob. Body of me! It was so late ere we par- saddle ! He has not so much as a good phrase in ted last night, I can scarce open iny eyes yet: I his belly, but all old iron and rusty proverbs ! a was but new risen as you came. How passes good commodity for some smith to make hobthe day abroad, sir? can you tell ?

nails of. Mut. Faith, some half hour to seven. Now Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it

away with trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging his manhood still, where be comes. He brags he here, very neat, and private !

will gi' me the bastinado, as I hear. Bob. Ay, sir: sit down. I pray you, Master Bob. How ! he the bastinado! how came he Matthew, in any case, possess no gentleman of by that word, trow? our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I term, Mat. Who? I, sir? No

ed it so, for my more grace. Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, Bob. That may be : for I was sure, it was for the cabin is convenient; but in regard I none of his word. But when? when said he so ? would not be too popular and generally visited, Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gal

lant, a friend of mine, told me so. Mat. True, captain, I conceive

Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' 'twere my Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of case now, I should send him a challenge, pre valour in me, except it be to some peculiar and sently. The bastinado ! A most proper, and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily enga- sufficient dependence, warranted by the great ged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend thus Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge him. far.

I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him Mat. O lord, sir, I resolve so.

with, at pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, [Pulls out a paper, and reads. by this air. Bob. I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i’ privacy, above all the tumult and roar of for- the mystery, I have heard, sir.

What new piece ha' you there? Read it. Bob. Of whom? Of whom ha' you heard it, Mat. [Reads.] “To thee, the purest object of I beseech you? my sense,

Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of by · The most refined essence Heaven covers, divers, that you have very rare and un-in one * Send I these lines, wherein I do commence breath-utterable skill, sir. * The happy state of turtle-billing lovers.'

Bob. By Heaven, no, not I; no skill ithe Bob. 'Tis good ; proceed, proceed. Where's earth! some small rudiments i' the science, as to this?

know my time, distance, or so. I have profest it Mat. This, sir? a toy o' mine own, in my non- more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than age: the infancy of my muses. But, when will mine own practice, I assure you. I'll give you a you come and see my study? Good faith, I can lesson. Look you, sir. Exalt not your point shew you some very good things, I have done of above this state, at any hand; so, sir. Come on! late-That boot becomes your leg, passing well, O, twine your body more about, that you may captain, methinks.

fall to a more sweet, comely, gentleman-like Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now guard. So, indifferent. Hollow your body more,

sir, thus. Now, stand fast o' your left leg; note Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' your distance; keep your due proportion of time the fashion, Master Well-bred's elder brother -Oh, you disorder your point most irregularly! and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other day, Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some I happened to enter into some discourse of a private place, where you are acquainted; some hanger, which I assure you, both for fashion and tavern or so—and have a bit-What money workmanship, was most peremptory-beautiful, ha' you about you, Master Matthew? and gentleman-like; yet he condemned, and cri- Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shillings, or ed it down, for the most pied and ridiculous that ever he saw.

Bob. 'Tis somewhat with the least : but come, Bob. 'Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't we will have a bunch of raddishes, and salt, tó not?

taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco, to close Mat. Ay, sir, George Downright.

the orifice of the stomach : and then we will call Bob. Hang him, rook ! He ! why, he has no upon young Wellbred, Perhaps we shall meet more judgment than a malt-horse. By St. the Corydon, his brother, there, and put him to George, I wonder you'd lose a thought upon the question. Come along, Master Matthew.





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