Chapter XXXVIII: Act I: Scene I.1109

[_Enter_] KNOWELL, [_at the door of his house_.]

_Know._ A goodly day toward, and a fresh morning.—
Brainworm!
[_Enter_ BRAINWORM.]
Call up your young master: bid him rise, sir.
Tell him, I have some business to employ him.

_Brai._ I will, sir, presently.

_Know._ But hear you, sirrah,
If he be at his book, disturb him not. 6

_Brai._ Well, sir. [_Exit._]

_Know._ How happy yet should I esteem myself,
Could I, by any practice, wean the boy
From one vain course of study he affects. 10
He is a scholar, if a man may trust
The liberal voice of fame in her report,
Of good account in both our Universities,
Either of which hath favour’d him with graces:
But their indulgence must not spring in me 15
A fond[1110] opinion that he cannot err.
Myself was once a student, and, indeed,
Fed with the self-same humour he is now,
Dreaming on nought but idle poetry,
That fruitless and unprofitable art, 20
Good unto none, but least to the professors;
Which then I thought the mistress of all knowledge;
But since, time and the truth have wak’d my judgment,
And reason taught me better to distinguish
The vain from th’ useful learnings.
[_Enter_ MASTER STEPHEN.]
Cousin Stephen, 25
What news with you, that you are here so early?

_Step._ Nothing, but e’en come to see how you do, uncle.

_Know._ That’s kindly done; you are welcome, coz. 30

_Step._ Ay, I know that, sir; I would not ha’ come else. How does my
cousin Edward, uncle?

_Know._ O, well, coz; go in and see; I doubt he be scarce stirring
yet. 34

_Step._ Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an he have e’er a book
of the sciences of hawking and hunting; I would fain borrow it.

_Know._ Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you? 39

_Step._ No, wusse;[1111]—but I’ll practise against next year, uncle.
I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack
nothing but a book to keep it by.

_Know._ Oh, most ridiculous!

_Step._ Nay, look you now, you are angry, (45) uncle.—Why, you
know an a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages
now-a-days, I’ll not give a rush for him: they are more studied than
the Greek, or the Latin. (49) He is for no gallant’s company without
’em; and by gadslid[1112] I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for
every humdrum: hang ’em, scroyles![1113] there’s nothing in ’em i’
the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden.[1114]
(54) I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury, or
the citizens that come a ducking to Islington ponds! A fine jest,
i’ faith! ’Slid,[1112] a gentleman mun[1115] show himself like a
gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry; I know what I have to do,
I trow, I am no (60) novice.

_Know._ You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb, go to!
Nay, never look at me, ’tis I that speak;
Take’t as you will, sir, I’ll not flatter you.
Ha’ you not yet found means enow to waste 65
That which your friends have left you, but you must
Go cast away your money on a kite,
And know not how to keep it, when you ha’ done?
O, it’s comely! This will make you a gentleman! 69
Well, cousin, well, I see you are e’en past hope
Of all reclaim.—Ay, so, now you are told on’t,
You look another way.

_Step._ What would you ha’ me do?

_Know._ What would I have you do? I’ll tell you, kinsman;
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have you do: and not to spend 75
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men’s affections, or your own desert, 80
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery,[1116] lest, while you affect[1117] 85
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it;
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
I’d ha’ you sober, and contain yourself, 90
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat;
But moderate your expenses now, at first,
As you may keep the same proportion still:
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy and mere borrow’d thing, 95
From dead men’s dust and bones; and none of yours,
Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?

SCENE II.[1118]

KNOWELL, STEPHEN. [_Enter a_] Servant.

_Serv._ Save you, gentlemen!

_Step._ Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet you
are welcome: and I assure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand
a year, Middlesex land. He has but one son in (5) all the world, I
am his next heir, at the common law, master Stephen, as simple as
I stand here, if my cousin die, as there’s hope he will. I have a
pretty living o’ mine own too, beside, hard by here. 10

_Serv._ In good time, sir.

_Step._ In good time, sir! Why, and in very good time, sir! You do
not flout, friend, do you?

_Serv._ Not I, sir.

_Step._ Not you, sir! you were not best, sir; (15) 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.

_Serv._ Why, sit, let this satisfy you; good faith, I had no such
intent. 20

_Step._ Sir, an I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that
presently.[1119]

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

_Step._ And so I would, sir, good my saucy (25) companion! An you
were out o’ mine uncle’s ground, I can tell you; though I do not
stand upon my gentility neither, in ’t.

_Know._ Cousin, cousin, will this ne’er be left?

_Step._ Whoreson, base fellow! a mechanical (30) serving-man! By this
cudgel, an ’twere not for shame, I would——

_Know._ What would you do, you peremptory gull?[1120]
If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
You see the honest man demeans himself 35
Modestly tow’rds you, giving no reply
To your unseason’d, quarrelling, rude fashion;
And still you huff[1121] it, with a kind of carriage
As void of wit, as of humanity.
Go, get you in; ’fore heaven, I am asham’d 40
Thou hast a kinsman’s interest in me.
[_Exit_ MASTER STEPHEN.]

_Serv._ I pray, sir, is this master Knowell’s house?

_Know._ Yes, marry is it, sir. 44

_Serv._ I should inquire for a gentleman here, one master Edward
Knowell; do you know any such, sir, I pray you?

_Know._ I should forget myself else, sir.

_Serv._ Are you the gentleman? Cry you mercy, sir: I was requir’d by
a gentleman i’ the (50) city, as I rode out at this end o’ the town,
to deliver you this letter, sir.

_Know._ To me, sir! What do you mean? pray you remember your
court’sy.[1122] [_Reads._] _To his most selected friend, master
Edward Knowell._ (55) What might the gentleman’s name be, sir, that
sent it? Nay, pray you be cover’d.

_Serv._ One master Wellbred, sir.

_Know._ Master Wellbred! a young gentleman, is he not? 60

_Serv._ The same, sir; master Kitely married his sister; the rich
merchant i’ the Old Jewry.

_Know._ You say very true.—Brainworm!

[_Enter_ BRAINWORM.]

_Brai._ Sir. 64

_Know._ Make this honest friend drink here: pray you, go in.
[_Exeunt_ BRAINWORM _and_ Servant.]
This letter is directed to my son;
Yet I am Edward Knowell too, and may,
With the safe conscience of good manners, use
The fellow’s error to my satisfaction. 70
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 Wellbred. What have we here? What’s this? 75

[_Reads._] Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn 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 79
frippery;[1123] change an old shirt for a whole smock with us: do not
conceive that antipathy between us and Hogsden, as was between Jews
and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his
green apricots, evening and (84) morning, o’ the north-west wall.
An I had been his son, I had sav’d him the labour long since, if
taking in all the young wenches that pass by at the back-door, and
coddling[1124] every kernel of the fruit for ’em, would ha’ serv’d.
But (89) prithee, come over to me quickly this morning; I have such
a present for thee!—our Turkey company never sent the like to the
Grand Signior. One is a rhymer, sir, o’ your own batch, your own
leaven; but doth think himself poet-major o’ the town, willing to
be shown, and (95) worthy to be seen. The other—I will not venture
his description with you, till you come, because I would ha’ you
make hither with an appetite. If the worst of ’em be not worth your
journey, draw your bill fit of charges, as unconscionable (100) as
any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allow’d your
viaticum.[1125]

_From the Windmill._[1126]
From the Bordello it might come as well,
The Spittle, or Pict-hatch.[1127] Is this the man
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, 105
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,
I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch;
Worse by possession of such great good gifts, 110
Being the master of so loose a spirit.
Why, what unhallow’d ruffian would have writ
In such a scurrilous manner to a friend!
Why should he think I tell[1128] my apricots,
Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit, 115
To watch it? Well, my son, I’d thought
You’d had more judgment t’ have made election
Of your companions, than t’ have ta’en on trust
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare
No argument or subject from their jest. 120
But I perceive affection makes a fool
Of any man too much the father.—Brainworm!

[_Enter_ BRAINWORM.]

_Brai._ Sir.

_Know._ Is the fellow gone that brought this letter?

_Brai._ Yes, sir, a pretty while since.

_Know._ And where’s your young master? 125

_Brai._ In his chamber, sir.

_Know._ He spake not with the fellow, did he?

_Brai._ No, sir, he saw him not.

_Know._ Take you this letter, and deliver it my son; but with no
notice that I have open’d it, on your life. 131

_Brai._ O Lord, sir! that were a jest indeed. [_Exit._]

_Know._ I am resolv’d I will not stop his journey,
Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him; for that 135
Restrain’d grows more impatient; and in kind
Like to the eager, but the generous[1129] 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 140
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
He that’s compell’d to goodness, may be good,
But ’tis but for that fit; where others, drawn
By softness and example, get a habit. 145
Then, if they stray, but warn ’em, and the same
They should for virtue ’ve done, they’ll do for shame. [_Exit._]

SCENE III.[1130]

[_Enter_] E. KNOWELL, [_with a letter in his hand, followed by_] BRAINWORM.

_E. Know._ Did he open it, say’st thou?

_Brai._ Yes, o’ my word, sir, and read the contents.

_E. Know._ That scarce contents me. What countenance, prithee, made
he i’ the reading of it? Was he angry or pleas’d? 6

_Brai._ Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your
worship.

_E. Know._ No! How know’st thou then that he did either? 10

_Brai._ Marry, sir, because he charg’d me, on my life, to tell nobody
that he open’d it; which, unless he had done, he would never fear to
have it reveal’d.

_E. Know._ That’s true: well, I thank thee, Brainworm. 15

[_Enter_ STEPHEN.]

_Step._ O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here in
what-sha’-call-him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e’en now.

_Brai._ Yes, master Stephen; what of him? 20

_Step._ O, I ha’ such a mind to beat him——where is he, canst thou
tell?

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

_Step._ Gone! which way? When went he? How long since? 25

_Brai._ He is rid hence; he took horse at the street-door.

_Step._ And I staid i’ the fields! Whoreson Scanderbag[1131] rogue! O
that I had but a horse to fetch him back again! 31

_Brai._ Why, you may ha’ my master’s gelding, to save your longing,
sir.

_Step._ But I ha’ no boots, that’s the spite on’t.

_Brai._ Why, a fine wisp of hay, roll’d hard, master Stephen. 36

_Step._ No, faith, it’s no boot to follow him now: let him e’en go
and hang. Prithee, help to truss[1132] me a little: he does so vex
me——

_Brai._ You’ll be worst vex’d when you are (40) truss’d, master
Stephen. Best keep unbrac’d, and walk yourself till you be cold; your
choler may founder you else.

_Step._ By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell’st me on’t. How
dost thou like my leg, Brainworm? 46

_Brai._ A very good leg, master Stephen; but the woollen stocking
does not commend it so well. 49

_Step._ Foh! the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on,
for the dust: I’ll have a pair of silk again’[1133] winter, that I go
to dwell in the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk hose—— 54

_Brai._ Believe me, master Stephen, rarely well.

_Step._ In sadness,[1134] I think it would; I have a reasonable good
leg.

_Brai._ You have an excellent good leg, master Stephen; but I cannot
stay to praise it longer now, and I am very sorry for it. [_Exit._] 60

_Step._ Another time will serve, Brainworm, Gramercy for this.

_E. Know._ Ha, ha, ha! (_Laughs, having read the letter._)

_Step._ ’Slid, I hope he laughs not at me; an he do—— 65

_E. Know._ 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
costermonger of him in our familiar (70) epistles. Well, if he read
this with patience I’ll be gelt, and troll ballads for Master John
Trundle[1135] 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 (75) physic; and oft taking physic makes a man very
patient. But would your packet, Master Wellbred, had arriv’d at him
in such a minute of his patience! then we had known the end of it,
which now is doubtful, and threatens——[_sees_ MASTER STEPHEN.]
What, my wise (81) 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: oh, for a fourth! Fortune, if ever thou’lt use
thine eyes, I entreat thee—— 86

_Step._ Oh, now I see who he laughed at: he laughed at somebody in
that letter. By this good light, an he had laughed at me—— 89

_E. Know._ How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy?

_Step._ Yes, a little: I thought you had laughed at me, cousin.

_E. Know._ Why, what an I had, coz? What would you ha’ done? 95

_Step._ By this light, I would ha’ told mine uncle.

_E. Know._ Nay, if you would ha’ told your uncle, I did laugh at
you, coz.

_Step._ Did you, indeed? 100

_E. Know._ Yes, indeed.

_Step._ Why then——

_E. Know._ What then?

_Step._ I am satisfied; it is sufficient. 104

_E. Know._ 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; it is but crossing over the fields to
Moorgate. Will you bear me company? I protest it is not to draw you
into bond or any plot against the state, coz. 111

_Step._ Sir, that’s all one an ’twere; you shall command me twice
so far as Moorgate, to do you good in such a matter. Do you think I
would leave you? I protest—— 115

_E. Know._ So, no, you shall not protest, coz.

_Step._ By my fackings,[1136] but I will, by your leave:—I’ll
protest more to my friend, than I’ll speak of at this time.

_E. Know._ You speak very well, coz. 120

_Step._ Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon me: but I speak to
serve my turn.

_E. Know._ Your turn, coz! Do you know what you say? A gentleman
of your sort,[1137] parts, (124) carriage, and estimation, to
talk o’ your turn[1138] i’ this company, and to me alone, like a
tankard-bearer at a conduit! fie! A wight that, hitherto, his every
step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, as every word
the (129) savour of a strong spirit, and he! this man! so grac’d,
gilded, or, to use a more fit metaphor, so tin-foil’d by nature,
as not ten housewives’ pewter again’ a good time,[1139] shows more
bright to the world than he! and he! (as I said last, so I say
again, and still shall say it) this (135) 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 Cyprus![1140]
O, coz! it cannot be answer’d; (139) go not about it. Drake’s old
ship[1141] 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 portrayed i’
your face, that men may read i’ your physnomy, _Here within this
place is to be seen the true, rare,_ (145) _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 insure you. 151

_E. Know._ Why, that’s resolute, master Stephen!—[_Aside._] Now, if
I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will
do well for a suburb humour: we may hap have a match with the city,
and play him for forty (156) pound.—Come, coz.

_Step._ I’ll follow you.

_E. Know._ Follow me! You must go before.

_Step._ Nay, an I must, I will. Pray you shew me, good cousin.
[_Exeunt._] 161

SCENE IV.[1142]

[_Enter_] MASTER MATHEW.

_Mat._ I think this be the house. What, ho!

[_Enter_ COB.]

_Cob._ Who’s there? O, master Mathew! gi’ your worship good morrow.

_Mat._ What, Cob! how dost thou, good Cob? Dust thou inhabit here,
Cob? 5

_Cob._ Ay, sir. I and my lineage ha’ kept a poor house here, in our
days.

_Mat._ Thy lineage, monsieur Cobb! What lineage, what lineage?

_Cob._ Why. sir, an ancient lineage, and a (10) princely. Mine
ance’try came from a king’s belly no worse man; and yet no man
either, by your worship’s leave, I did lie in that, but herring, the
king of fish (from his belly I proceed), one o’ the monarchs o’ the
world, I assure you. (15) The first red herring that was broil’d
in Adam and Eve’s kitchen, do I fetch my pedigree from, by the
harrot’s[1143] book. His cob[1144] was my great, great, mighty-great
grandfather.

_Mat._ Why mighty, why mighty, I pray thee? 21

_Cob._ O, 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. 26

_Mat._ Smell a ghost! O unsavoury jest! and the ghost of a herring
cob?

_Cob._ Ay, sir. With favour of your worship’s nose, master Mathew,
why not the ghost of (30) a herring cob, as well as the ghost of
Rasher Bacon?

_Mat._ Roger Bacon, thou would’st say.

_Cob._ I say Rasher Bacon. They were both broil’d o’ the coals; and a
man may smell broil’d meat, I hope! You are a scholar; upsolve 36
me that now.

_Mat._ O raw ignorance!—Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one
captain Bobadill, where his lodging is? 40

_Cob._ O, my guest, sir, you mean.

_Mat._ Thy guest! alas, ha, ha!

_Cob._ Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not mean captain Bobadill?

_Mat._ Cob, pray thee advise thyself well; do (45) 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 ’dst gi’ it
him. 50

_Cob._ I will not give it him though, sir. Mass, I thought somewhat
was in ’t, we could not get him to bed all night. Well, sir, though
he lie not o’ my bed, he lies o’ my bench; an ’t please you to go up,
sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his
cloak (56) wrapt about him, as though he had neither won nor lost;
and yet, I warrant, he ne’er cast[1145] better in his life, than he
has done to-night.

_Mat._ Why, was he drunk? 60

_Cob._ Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. Perhaps he swallow’d a
tavern-token,[1146] or some such device, sir; I have nothing to do
withal. I deal with water and not with wine.—Gi’ me my tankard
there, ho!—God b’ wi’ you, sir. It’s six o’clock: I should ha’
carried two (65) turns by this. What ho! my stopple![1147] come.

[_Enter_ TIB _with a water-tankard_.]

_Mat._ Lie in a water-bearer’s house! a gentleman of his havings!
Well, I’ll tell him my mind. 70

_Cob._ What, Tib; shew this gentleman up to the captain. [_Exit_ TIB
_with_ MASTER MATHEW.] Oh, an my house were the Brazen-head[1148]
now! faith it would e’en speak _Moe[1149] fools yet_. You should
have some now would take this Master (75) Mathew to be a gentleman,
at the least. His father’s an honest man, a worshipful fishmonger,
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 (81) invincibly. He
useth every day to a merchant’s house where I serve water, one master
Kitely’s, i’ the Old Jewry; and here’s the jest, he is in love with
my master’s sister, Mrs. Bridget, and calls her “Mistress”; and there
he will sit (86) you a whole afternoon sometimes, reading o’ these
same abominable, vile (a pox on ’em! I cannot abide them), rascally
verses, poyetry, poyetry, and speaking of interludes; ’t will 90
make a man burst to hear him. And the wenches, they do so jeer, and
ti-he 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 (95) hear swear such an oath? O, I have a guest—he teaches
me—he does swear the legiblest of any man christ’ned: _By St.
George! The foot of Pharaoh! The body of me! As I am a gentleman and
a soldier!_ such dainty oaths! and withal (100) he does take this
same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! It would do
a man good to see the fumes come forth at ’s tonnels.[1150]—Well,
he owes me forty shillings, my wife lent him out of her purse, by
sixpence a time, besides his lodging: I would I had it! I shall ha’
it, he says, the next action. Helter skelter, hang (107) sorrow, care
’ll kill a cat, up-tails all, and a louse for the hangman! [_Exit._]

SCENE V.[1151]

BOBADILL _is discovered lying on his bench_.

_Bob._ Hostess, hostess!

[_Enter_ TIB.]

_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. 5

_Bob._ A gentleman! ’odso, I am not within.

_Tib._ My husband told him you were, sir.

_Bob._ What a plague—what meant he?

_Mat._ (_below._) Captain Bobadill!

_Bob._ Who’s there!—Take away the bason, good hostess;—Come up,
sir. 11

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

[_Enter_ MATHEW.]

_Mat._ Save you, sir; save you, captain!

_Bob._ Gentle master Mathew! Is it you, sir? Please you sit down. 16

_Mat._ 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[1152] of gallants, where you (20) were wish’d for, and drunk to,
I assure you.

_Mat._ Vouchsafe me, by whom, good captain?

_Bob._ Marry, by young Wellbred, and others.—Why, hostess, a stool
here for this gentleman.

_Mat._ No haste, sir, ’tis very well. 25

_Bob._ Body o’ 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? you can tell.

_Mat._ Faith, some half hour to seven. Now, (30) trust me, you have
an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private.

_Bob._ Ay, sir: sit down, I pray you. Master Mathew, in any case
possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. 35

_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. 40

_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
engag’d, as yourself, or so, I could not extend (45) thus far.

_Mat._ O Lord, sir! I resolve[1153] 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? What! “Go
(50) by, Hieronymo?”[1154]

_Mat._ Ay: 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 (55) 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. 60

_Mat._ Indeed here are a number of fine speeches in this book. _O
eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears!_ There’s a conceit!
_Fountains fraught with tears! O life, no life, but lively form of
death!_—another. _O world, no (65) world, but mass of public
wrongs!_—a third. _Confused and fill’d with murder and misdeeds!_—a
fourth. O, the muses! Is’t not excellent? Is’t not simply the best
that ever you heard, captain? Ha! how do you like it? 70

_Bob._ ’Tis good.

Mat. _To thee, the purest object to my sense,
The most refined essence heaven covers,
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence
The happy state of turtle-billing lovers. 75
If they prove rough, unpolish’d, harsh, and rude,
Haste made the waste: thus mildly I conclude._

_Bob._ Nay, proceed, proceed. Where’s this?
BOBADILL _is making himself ready all this while_.

_Mat._ This, sir! a toy o’ mine own, in my nonage; the infancy of my
muses. But (80) 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 (85) now use.

_Mat._ Troth, captain, and now you speak o’ the fashion, master
Wellbred’s elder brother and I are fall’n out exceedingly. This other
day, I happ’ned to enter into some discourse (90) of a hanger,[1155]
which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most
peremptory[1156] beautiful and gentlemanlike: yet he condemn’d, and
cri’d it down for the most pied[1157] and ridiculous that he ever
saw. 95

_Bob._ Squire Downright, the half-brother, was’t not?

_Mat._ Ay, sir, he.

_Bob._ Hang him, rook![1158] he! why he has no more judgment than
a malt-horse. By St. (100) George, I wonder you’d lose a thought
upon such an animal; the most peremptory[1156] absurd clown of
Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a
gentleman and a soldier, I ne’er chang’d words with his like. 105
By his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay; he was born for the
manger, pannier, or packsaddle. He has not so much as a good phrase
in his belly, but all old iron and rusty proverbs: a good commodity
for some smith to make (110) hob-nails of.

_Mat._ Ay, and he thinks to carry it away[1159] with his manhood
still, where he comes: he brags he will gi’ me the bastinado, as I
hear.

_Bob._ How! he the bastinado! How came (115) he by that word, trow?

_Mat._ Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I term’d it so, for my more
grace.

_Bob._ That may be; for I was sure it was none of his word: but when,
when said he so? 120

_Mat._ Faith, yesterday, they say; a young gallant, a friend of mine,
told me so.

_Bob._ By the foot of Pharaoh, an ’twere my case now, I should
send him a chartel[1160] presently. The bastinado! a most proper
and sufficient (125) dependence,[1161] warranted by the great
Caranza.[1162] Come hither, you shall chartel him; I’ll show you
a trick or two you shall kill him with at pleasure; the first
stoccata,[1163] if you will, by this air. 130

_Mat._ Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i’ the mystery, I have
heard, sir.

_Bob._ Of whom, of whom, ha’ you heard it, I beseech you?

_Mat._ Troth, I have heard it spoken of divers, (135) that you have
very rare, and un-in-one-breath-utterable skill, sir.

_Bob._ By heaven, no, not I; no skill i’ the earth; some small
rudiments i’ the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have
profest (140) it more for noblemen and gentlemen’s use, than mine
own practice, I assure you.—Hostess, accommodate us with another
bed-staff here quickly. [_Enter_ TIB.] Lend us another bed-staff—the
woman does not understand the words (145) of action.—Look you,
sir: exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and let
your poniard maintain your defence, thus:—give it the gentleman,
and leave us. [_Exit_ TIB.] So, sir. Come on: O, twine your body
more about, (150) that you may fall to a more sweet, comely,
gentleman-like guard; so! indifferent: hollow your body more, sir,
thus: now, stand fast o’ your left leg, note your distance, keep
your due proportion of time.—Oh, you disorder your (155) point most
irregularly!

_Mat._ How is the bearing of it now, sir?

_Bob._ O, out of measure ill. A well experienc’d
hand would pass upon you at pleasure.

_Mat._ How mean you, sir, pass upon me? 160

_Bob._ Why, thus, sir,—make a thrust at me—[MASTER MATHEW _pushes
at_ BOBADILL] come in upon the answer, control your point, and make a
full career at the body. The best-practis’d gallants of the time name
it the passado; a most desperate thrust, believe it. 166

_Mat._ Well, come, sir.

_Bob._ Why, you do not manage your weapon with any facility or grace
to invite me. I have no spirit to play with you; your dearth of 170
judgment renders you tedious.

_Mat._ But one venue,[1164] sir.

_Bob._ “Venue!” fie; the most gross denomination as ever I heard.
O, the “stoccata,” while you live, sir; note that.—Come put 175
on your cloak, and we’ll go to some private place where you are
acquainted; some tavern, or so—and have a bit. I’ll send for one
of these fencers, and he shall breathe[1165] you, by my direction;
and then I will teach you your (180) trick: you shall kill him with
it at the first, if you please. Why, I will learn you, by the true
judgment of the eye, hand, and foot, to control any enemy’s point i’
the world. Should your adversary confront you with a pistol, ’twere
(185) nothing, by this hand! You should, by the same rule, control
his bullet, in a line, except it were hail shot, and spread. What
money have you about you, master Mathew?

_Mat._ Faith, I ha’ not past a two shillings (190) or so.

_Bob._ ’Tis somewhat with the least; but come; we will have a bunch
of radish and salt to taste our wine, and a pipe of tobacco to close
the orifice of the stomach: and then we’ll (195) call upon young
Wellbred. Perhaps we shall meet the Corydon[1166] his brother there,
and put him to the question. [_Exeunt._]