Nor practise any violent means to stay SCENE II.-Young KNO'WELL'S Study. tents. E. Kno. That scarce contents me. What countenance, pray thee, made he in the reading of it? Was he angry, or pleased? Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship. E. Kno. No! how know'st thou, then, that he did either! Brain. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed. 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. Enter Young KNO’well. E. Kno. Ha, ha, ha! Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an he 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 E. Kno. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brain-physic makes a man very patient. But would worm. [Exit. 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 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 an' I had, coz, what would you ha' done? 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. 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? 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. 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 Cob. Aye, sir, with favour of your worship's spirit; and he! this man, so graced, so gilded, nose, Mr Matthew, why not the ghost of a heror, to use a more fit metaphor, so tin-foil'd by na-ring-cob, as well as the ghost of Rasher-bacon? ture, 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 go before. Step. Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you shew me, good cousin, [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. 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! Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not meɛ n 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 wrap 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 mind: my 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 acqua ntance 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, poyetry, 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. BOBA- 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. 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. 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 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? Mat. 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 o' 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 cried it down, for the most pied and ridiculous that ever he saw. Bob. 'Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't not? Mat. Ay, sir, George Downright. Bob. Hang him, rook! He! why, he has no more judgment than a malt horse. By St. George, I wonder you'd lose one thought upon such an animal! the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. 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 hobnails of. Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away 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 he by that word, trow? Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed 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? 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 challenge, presently. The bastinado! A most proper, and sufficient dependence, warranted by the great Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge him; I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him with, at pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this air. fence, thus; [Enter Hostess with a bedstaff.] Give it the gentleman, and leave us. So, sir. Come on! O, twine your body more about, 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 point most irregularly! Mat. How is the bearing of it now, sir? Bob. Oh, out of measure ill! a well experienced hand would pass upon you at pleasure. Mat. How mean you, sir, pass upon me? Bob. Why thus, sir,-(make a thrust at me come in upon the answer, controul your point, and make a full career at the body. The best practis'd gallants of the time, name it a passada; a most desperate thrust, believe it! Mat. Well, come sir! Bob. Why, you do not manage your weapon with any grace or facility to invite me! I have no spirit to play with you. Your dearth of judg ment renders you tedious. Mat. But one venue, sir. Bob. Venue! Fy! most gross denomination as ever I heard. Oh, the stoccata, while you live, sir: note that. Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to a private place, where you are acquainted, some tavern, or so--and have a bit-I'll send for one of those fencers, and he shall breathe you, by my direction; and then I will teach you your 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 controul any enemy's point i'th' world. Should your adversary confront you with a pistol, 'twere nothing, by this hand! You should by the same Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of by rule, controul his bullet in a line, except it were divers, that you have very rare and un-in-one-hail-shot, and spread. What money ha' you 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? 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 it more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practice, I assure you. Hostess, accommodate us with another bedstaff here, quickly; lend us another bedstaff! The woman does not understand the words of action. Look you, sir: exalt not your point above this state, at any hand, and let your poniard maintain your de about you, master Matthew? Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shillings, or so. Bob. 'Tis somewhat with the least: but come, we will have a bunch of raddishes, and salt, to taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco, to close the orifice of the stomach: and then we will call upon young Well-bred. Perhaps we shall meet the Corydon, his brother, there and put him to the question. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-A Warehouse belonging to KITELY, Enter KITELY, CASH, and DOWNRIGIIT. Kite. Thomas, come hither. There lies a note within, upon my desk; Kite, Let him tell over, straight, that Spanish gold, And weigh it, with the pieces of eight. Do you To Master Lucar. Tell him, if he will, Here, take my keyIt is no matter, nei- And I will meet him, on the Exchange, anon. ther. Where is the boy? Cash. Within, sir, in the warehouse. Cash. Good, sir. [Erit. Kite. Do you see that fellow, brotherDownright? Kite. He is a jewel, brother.— I took him of a child, up, at my door, Since bred him at the hospital; where proving Down. So would not I, in any bastard's, bro- As, it is like, he is, although I knew Down. What need this circumstance? Pray Kite. I will not say how much I do ascribe Unto your friendship; nor, in what regard I hold your love; but, let my past behaviour, And usage of your sister, but confirm How well I've been affected to yourDown. You are too tedious; come to the mat ter, the matter. Kite. Then, without further ceremony, thus. But all he did became him as his own, He makes my house, here, common as a mart, Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night, Controul my servants; and, indeed, what not! Down. 'Sdains, I know not what I should say to him in the whole world! he values me at a cracked three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never out of the flesh, that's bred in the bone! I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve. Well! he knows what to trust to, for George. Let him spend and spend, and do mineer, till his heart ache; an' he think to be relieved by me, when he is got into one of your city-ponds, the counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i'faith, and claps his dish at a wrong man's door. I'll lay my hand o' my halfpenny, ere I part with it, to fetch him out, I'll assure him. Kite. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus. Down. 'Sdeath, he mads me-I could eat my very spur-leathers, for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do not you speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house? Kite. O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, brother; But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it, Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak, My brother purposely, thereby to find Kite. Brother, they would, believe it: se should I, Like one of these penurious quack-salvers, Enter MATTHEW and BOBADIL. Bob. Speak to him! Away! by the foot of Pharoah, you shall not; you shall not do him that grace. The time of day to you, gentleman of the house. Is Mr Well-bred stirring |