By her looks I do her know
Which you call my shafts.
The italicized words may refer to U.36. 3-4. They correspond, however, much more closely to Challenge, 2 Cup. The ‘bath your verse discloses’ (l. 21) may refer to DA. 2. 6. 82-3. U.36. 7-8 or Gipsies 15-6.
...the bank of kisses,
Where you say men gather blisses
is mentioned in U.36. 9-10. ‘The passages in DA. and Gipsies[92] are less close. The ‘valley called my nest’ may be a reference to DA. 2. 6. 74 f. Jonson had already spoken of the ‘girdle ’bout her waist’ in Challenge, 2 Cup. Charis 5 seems then to have been written later than U.36, Challenge, 1613, and probably Devil is an Ass, 1616.The evidence is strong, though not conclusive.
Charis 6 evidently refers to a marriage at Whitehall. That Cupid, who is referred to in 2, 3, 5, had any part in the marriage of Charis 6 is nowhere even intimated. That Charis led the Graces in a dance is a conjecture equally unfounded. Jonson of course takes the obvious opportunity (ll. 20, 26) of playing on the name Charis. That this occasion was the same as that celebrated in 4 we have no reason to believe. It applies equally well, for instance, to A Challenge at Tilt, but we are by no means justified in so limiting it.It may have been imaginary.
Charis 7 was written before 1618, since Jonson quoted a part of it to Drummond during his visit in Scotland (cf. Conversations 5). It was a favorite of the poet’s and this furnishes sufficient reason for its insertion here. It is worthy of note that the two sections of Charis, which we know by external proof to have been in existence before 1623, are those which give internal evidence of being interpolations.
Summary. The poem was probably a late production and of composite nature. There is no reason for supposing that the greater part was not written in 1622-3. The fourth and seventh parts are interpolations. The first stanza of the fourth part, upon which the identification largely rests, seems not to have been written until the poem was put together in 1622-3. If it was written at the same time as the other two stanzas, we cannot expect to find it forming part of a connected narrative. The events described in the fourth and sixth parts are not necessarily the same. There is practically no evidence that Lady Hatton was the Venus of 1608, or that Charis is addressed to any particular lady.
The other link in Fleay’s chain of evidence is of still weaker substance.The mere repetition of compliments does not necessarily prove the recipient to be the same person.In fact we find in these very pieces the same phrases applied indiscriminately to Lady Purbeck, Lady Frances Howard, Mrs. Fitzdottrel, perhaps to Lady Hatton, and even to the Earl of Somerset.Of what value, then, can such evidence be?
Fleay’s whole theory rests on this poem, and biographical evidence is unnecessary.It is sufficient to notice that Lady Hatton was a proud woman, that marriage with so eminent a man as Sir Edward Coke was considered a great condescension (Chamberlain’s Letters, Camden Soc., p.29), and that an amour with Jonson is extremely improbable.
Fitzdottrel. Fleay’s identification of Fitzdottrel with Coke rests chiefly on the fact that Coke was Lady Hatton’s husband. The following considerations are added. Fitzdottrel is a ‘squire of Norfolk’. Sir E. Coke was a native of Norfolk, and had held office in Norwich. Fitzdottrel’s rôle as sham demoniac is a covert allusion to Coke’s adoption of the popular witch doctrines in the Overbury trial. His jealousy of his wife was shown in the same trial, where he refused to read the document of ‘what ladies loved what lords’, because, as was popularly supposed, his own wife’s name headed the list. Jonson is taking advantage of Coke’s disgrace in November, 1616. He had flattered him in 1613 (U.64).
Our reasons for rejecting this theory are as follows: (1) The natural inference is that Jonson would not deliberately attack the man whom he had highly praised three years before.I do not understand Fleay’s assertion that Jonson was always ready to attack the fallen.(2) The compliment paid to Coke in 1613 (U.64) was not the flattery of an hour of triumph.The appointment to the king’s bench was displeasing to Coke, and made at the suggestion of Bacon with the object of removing him to a place where he would come less often into contact with the king.(3) Fitzdottrel is a light-headed man of fashion, who spends his time in frequenting theatres and public places, and in conjuring evil spirits.Coke was sixty-four years old, the greatest lawyer of his time, and a man of the highest gifts and attainments.(4) The attempted parallel between Fitzdottrel, the pretended demoniac, and Coke, as judge in the Overbury trial, is patently absurd.(5) If Lady Hatton had not been selected for identification with Mrs. Fitzdottrel, Coke would never have been dreamed of as a possible Fitzdottrel.
Wittipol. He is a young man just returned from travel, which apparently has been of considerable duration. He saw Mrs. Fitzdottrel once before he went, and upon returning immediately seeks her out. How does this correspond to Jonson’s life? The Hue and Cry was played February 9, 1608. According to Fleay’s interpretation, this was followed by an intimacy with Lady Hatton. Five years later, in 1613, Drummond tells us that Jonson went to France with the son of Sir Walter Raleigh. He returned the same year in time to compose A Challenge at Tilt, December 27. Three years later he wrote The Devil is an Ass at the age of forty-three.
Wittipol intimates that he is Mrs. Fitzdottrel’s equal in years, in fashion (1.6.124-5), and in blood (1.6.168).For Jonson to say this to Lady Hatton would have been preposterous.
Justice Eitherside. Only the desire to prove a theory at all costs could have prevented Fleay from seeing that Coke’s counterpart is not Fitzdottrel, but Justice Eitherside. In obstinacy, bigotry, and vanity this character represents the class of judges with which Coke identified himself in the Overbury trial. Nor are these merely class-traits. They are distinctly the faults which marred Coke’s career from the beginning. It is certain that Coke is partially responsible for this portraiture. Overbury was a personal friend of the poet, and the trial, begun in the previous year, had extended into 1616. Jonson must have followed it eagerly. On the other hand, it is improbable that the picture was aimed exclusively at Coke. He merely furnished traits for a typical and not uncommon character. As we have seen, it is in line with Jonson’s usual practise to confine personal satire to the lesser characters.
Merecraft. Fleay’s identification with Sir Giles Mompesson has very little to commend it. Mompesson was connected by marriage with James I.’ s powerful favorite, George Villiers, later Duke of Buckingham. In 1616 he suggested to Villiers the creation of a special commission for the purpose of granting licenses to keepers of inns and ale-houses. The suggestion was adopted by Villiers; Mompesson was appointed to the Commission in October, 1616, and knighted on November 18 of that year. The patent was not sealed until March, 1617. His high-handed conduct soon became unpopular, but he continued in favor with Villiers and James, and his disgrace did not come until 1621.
It will readily be seen that Mompesson’s position and career conform in no particular to those of Merecraft in the present play. Mompesson was a knight, a friend of the king’s favorite, and in favor with the king. Merecraft is a mere needy adventurer without influence at court, and the associate of ruffians, who frequent the ‘Straits’ and the ‘Bermudas’. Mompesson was himself the recipient of a patent (see section III. 2). Merecraft is merely the projector who devises clever projects for more powerful patrons. Mompesson’s project bears no resemblance to those suggested by Merecraft, and he could hardly have attracted any popular dislike at the time when The Devil is an Ass was presented, since, as we have seen, his patent was not even sealed until the following year. Finally, Jonson would hardly have attacked a man who stood so high at court as did Mompesson in 1616.
It is evident that Jonson had particularly in mind those projectors whose object it was to drain the fens of Lincolnshire.The attempts, as we have seen, were numerous, and it is highly improbable that Jonson wished to satirize any one of them more severely than another.In a single passage, however, it seems possible that Sir John Popham (see page lx) is referred to.In Act 4.Sc.1 Merecraft speaks of a Sir John Monie-man as a projector who was able to ‘jump a business quickly’ because ‘he had great friends’.That Popham is referred to seems not unlikely from the fact that he was the most important personage who had embarked upon an enterprise of this sort, that his scheme was one of the earliest, that he was not a strict contemporary (d.1607), and that his scheme had been very unpopular.This is proved by an anonymous letter to the king, in which complaint is made that ‘the “covetous bloody Popham” will ruin many poor men by his offer to drain the fens’ (Cal.State Papers, Mar.14?, 1606).
Plutarchus Guilthead. Fleay’s identification with Edmund Howes I am prepared to accept, although biographical data are very meagre. Fleay says: ‘Plutarchus Gilthead, who is writing the lives of the great men in the city; the captain who writes of the Artillery Garden “to train the youth”, etc. [3. 2. 45], is, I think, Edmond Howes, whose continuation of Stow’s Chronicle was published in 1615.’
Howes’ undertaking was a matter of considerable ridicule to his acquaintances. In his 1631 edition he speaks of the heavy blows and great discouragements he received from his friends. He was in the habit of signing himself ‘Gentleman’ and this seems to be satirized in 3. 1, where Guilthead says repeatedly: ‘This is to make you a Gentleman’ (see N.& Q. 1st Ser. 6. 199.) .
The Noble House. Two proposed identifications of the ‘noble house’, which pretends to a duke’s title, mentioned at 2. 4. 15-6. have been made. The expenditure of much energy in the attempt to fix so veiled an allusion is hardly worth while. Jonson of course depended upon contemporary rumor, for which we have no data.
Cunningham’s suggestion that Buckingham is referred to is not convincing.Buckingham’s father was Sir George Villiers of Brooksby in Leicestershire.He was not himself raised to the nobility until August 27, 1616, when he was created Viscount Villiers and Baron Waddon.It was not until January 5, 1617 (not 1616, as Cunningham says), that he became Earl of Buckingham, and it is unlikely that before this time any allusion to Villiers’ aspiration to a dukedom would have been intelligible to Jonson’s audience.
Fleay’s theory that the ‘noble house’ was that of Stuart may be accepted provisionally.Lodowick was made Earl of Richmond in 1613, and Duke in 1623.He was acceptable to king and people, and in this very year was made steward of the household.
D.AFTER-INFLUENCE OF THE DEVIL IS AN ASS
A few instances of the subsequent rehandling of certain motives in this play are too striking to be completely overlooked. John Wilson, 1627-c 1696, a faithful student and close imitator of Jonson, produced in 1690 a drama called Belphegor, or The Marriage of the Devil, a Tragi-comedy. While it is founded on the English translation of Machiavelli’s novella, which appeared in 1674, and closely adheres to the lines of the original, it shows clear evidence of Jonson’s influence. The subject has been fully investigated by Hollstein (cf. Verhältnis, pp.22-24, 28-30, 35, 43, 50).
The Cheats, 1662, apparently refers to The Devil is an Ass in the Prologue. The characters of Bilboe and Titere Tu belong to the same class of low bullies as Merecraft and Everill, but the evident prototypes of these characters are Subtle and Face in The Alchemist
A third play of Wilson’s, The Projectors, 1664, shows unmistakable influence of The Devil is an Ass. The chief object of satire is of course the same, and the character of Sir Gudgeon Credulous is modeled after that of Fitzdottrel. The scenes in which the projects are explained, 2. 1 and 3. 1, are similar to the corresponding passages in Jonson. The Aulularia of Plautus is a partial source, so that the play in some features resembles The Case is Altered. In 2. 1 Wilson imitates the passage in the Aulularia, which closes Act 2. Sc. 1 of The Devil is an Ass (see note 2.1.168).
Brome, Jonson’s old servant and friend, also handled the subject of monopolies (see page lxi). Jonson’s influence is especially marked in The Court BeggarThe project of perukes (Wks. 1. 192) should be compared with Merecraft’s project of toothpicks.
Mrs. Susanna Centlivre’s Busie Body uses the motives borrowed from Boccaccio (see pp. xlv ff.) . The scenes in which these appear must have been suggested by Jonson’s play (Genest 2. 419), though the author seems to have been acquainted with the Decameron also. In Act. 1. Sc. 1 Sir George Airy makes a bargain with Sir Francis Gripe similar to Wittipol’s bargain with Fitzdottrel. In exchange for the sum of a hundred guineas he is admitted into the house for the purpose of moving his suit to Miranda. ‘for the space of ten minutes, without lett or molestation’, provided Sir Francis remain in the same room, though out of ear shot (2d ed. , p. 8). In Act 2. Sc. 1 the bargain is carried out in much the same way as in Boccaccio and in Jonson. Miranda remaining dumb and Sir George answering for her.
In Act 3. Sc. 4 (2d ed. , p. 38) Miranda in the presence of her guardian sends a message by Marplot not to saunter at the garden gate about eight o’clock as he has been accustomed to do, thus making an assignation with him (compare DA. 2. 2. 52).
Other motives which seem to show some influence of The Devil is an Ass are Miranda’s trick to have the estate settled upon her, Charles’ disguise as a Spaniard, and Traffick’s jealous care of Isabinda. The character of Marplot as comic butt resembles that of Pug.
The song in The Devil is an Ass 2. 6. 94 (see note) was imitated by Sir John Suckling.
APPENDIX Extracts from the Critics
Gifford: There is much good writing in this comedy. All the speeches of Satan are replete with the most biting satire, delivered with an appropriate degree of spirit. Fitzdottrel is one of those characters which Jonson delighted to draw, and in which he stood unrivalled, a gull, i. e. , a confident coxcomb, selfish, cunning, and conceited. Mrs. Fitzdottrel possesses somewhat more interest than the generality of our author’s females, and is indeed a well sustained character. In action the principal amusement of the scene (exclusive of the admirable burlesque of witchery in the conclusion) was probably derived from the mortification of poor Pug, whose stupid stare of amazement at finding himself made an ass of on every possible occasion must, if portrayed as some then on the stage were well able to portray it, have been exquisitely comic.
This play is strictly moral in its conception and conduct.Knavery and folly are shamed and corrected, virtue is strengthened and rewarded, and the ends of dramatic justice are sufficiently answered by the simple exposure of those whose errors are merely subservient to the minor interests of the piece.
Herford (Studies in the Literary Relations of England and Germany, pp. 318-20): Jonson had in fact so far the Aristophanic quality of genius, that he was at once a most elaborate and minute student of the actual world, and a poet of the airiest and boldest fancy, and that he loved to bring the two rôles into the closest possible combination. No one so capable of holding up the mirror to contemporary society without distorting the slenderest thread of its complex tissue of usages; no one, on the other hand, who so keenly delighted in startling away the illusion or carefully undermining it by some palpably fantastic invention. His most elaborate reproductions of the everyday world are hardly ever without an infusion of equally elaborate caprice,—a leaven of recondite and fantastic legend and grotesque myth, redolent of old libraries and antique scholarship, furtively planted, as it were, in the heart of that everyday world of London life, and so subtly blending with it that the whole motley throng of merchants and apprentices, gulls and gallants, discover nothing unusual in it, and engage with the most perfectly matter of fact air in the business of working it out. The purging of Crispinus in the Poetaster, the Aristophanic motive of the Magnetic Lady, even the farcical horror of noise which is the mainspring of the Epicœne, are only less elaborate and sustained examples of this fantastic realism than the adventure of a Stupid Devil in the play before us. Nothing more anomalous in the London of Jonson’s day could be conceived; yet it is so managed that it loses all its strangeness. So perfectly is the supernatural element welded with the human, that it almost ceases to appear supernatural. Pug, the hero of the adventure, is a pretty, petulant boy, more human by many degrees than the half fairy Puck of Shakespeare, which doubtless helped to suggest him, and the arch-fiend Satan is a bluff old politician, anxious to ward off the perils of London from his young simpleton of a son, who is equally eager to plunge into them. The old savage horror fades away before Jonson’s humanising touch, the infernal world loses all its privilege of peculiar terror and strength, and sinks to the footing of a mere rival state, whose merchandise can be kept out of the market and its citizens put in the Counter or carted to Tyburn.
A.W.Ward (Eng.Dram.Lit., pp. 372-3): The oddly-named comedy of The Devil is an Ass, acted in 1616, seems already to exhibit a certain degree of decay in the dramatic powers which had so signally called forth its predecessor.Yet this comedy possesses a considerable literary interest, as adapting both to Jonson’s dramatic method, and to the general moral atmosphere of his age, a theme connecting itself with some of the most notable creations of the earlier Elizabethan drama....The idea of the play is as healthy as its plot is ingenious; but apart from the circumstance that the latter is rather slow in preparation, and by no means, I think, gains in perspicuousness as it proceeds, the design itself suffers from one radical mistake.Pug’s intelligence is so much below par that he suffers as largely on account of his clumsiness as on account of his viciousness, while remaining absolutely without influence upon the course of the action.The comedy is at the same time full of humor, particularly in the entire character of Fitzdottrel.
Swinburne (Study of Ben Jonson, pp. 65-7): If The Devil is an Ass cannot be ranked among the crowning masterpieces of its author, it is not because the play shows any sign of decadence in literary power or in humorous invention. The writing is admirable, the wealth of comic matter is only too copious, the characters are as firm in outline or as rich in color as any but the most triumphant examples of his satirical or sympathetic skill in finished delineation and demarcation of humors. On the other hand, it is of all Ben Jonson’s comedies since the date of Cynthia’s Revels the most obsolete in subject of satire, the most temporary in its allusions and applications: the want of fusion or even connection (except of the most mechanical or casual kind) between the various parts of its structure and the alternate topics of its ridicule makes the action more difficult to follow than that of many more complicated plots: and, finally, the admixture of serious sentiment and noble emotion is not so skilfully managed as to evade the imputation of incongruity. [The dialogue between Lady Tailbush and Lady Eitherside in Act 4. Sc. 1 has some touches ‘worthy of Molière himself.’ In Act 4. Sc. 3 Mrs. Fitzdottrel’s speech possesses a ‘a noble and natural eloquence,’ but the character of her husband is ‘almost too loathsome to be ridiculous,’ and unfit ‘for the leading part in a comedy of ethics as well as of morals.’ ] The prodigality of elaboration lavished on such a multitude of subordinate characters, at the expense of all continuous interest and to the sacrifice of all dramatic harmony, may tempt the reader to apostrophize the poet in his own words:
You are so covetous still to embrace
More than you can, that you lose all.
Yet a word of parting praise must be given to Satan: a small part as far as extent goes, but a splendid example of high comic imagination after the order of Aristophanes, admirably relieved by the low comedy of the asinine Pug and the voluble doggrel by the antiquated Vice.
TEXT
EDITOR’S NOTE
The text here adopted is that of the original edition of 1631.No changes of reading have been made; spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and italics are reproduced.The original pagination is inserted in brackets; the book-holder’s marginal notes are inserted where 1716 and Whalley placed them.In a few instances modern type has been substituted for archaic characters.The spacing of the contracted words has been normalized.
| 1641 = | Pamphlet folio of 1641. |
| 1692 = | The Third Folio, 1692. |
| 1716 = | Edition of 1716 (17). |
| W = | Whalley’s edition, 1756. |
| G = | Gifford’s edition, 1816. |
| SD. = | Stage directions at the beginning of a scene. |
| SN. = | Side note, or book-holder’s note. |
| om. = | omitted. |
| ret. = | retained. |
| f. = | and all later editions. |
| G§ = | a regular change.After a single citation only
exceptions are noted. See Introduction, page xvi |
Mere changes of spelling have not been noted in the variants.All changes of form and all suggestive changes of punctuation have been recorded.
THE DIUELL
IS
AN ASSE:
A COMEDIE
ACTED IN THE
YEARE, 1616
BY HIS MAIESTIES
Servants
The Author BEN: IONSON
HOR. de ART. POET.
Ficta voluptatis Cauſâ, ſint proxima veris.
[DEVICE OF A GRIFFIN’S HEAD ERASED]
LONDON
Printed by I.B. for Robert Allot, and are
to be ſold at the ſigne of the Beare, in
Pauls Church-yard.
1631.
THE PERSONS
OF THE PLAY
| Satan. | The great diuell.[93] |
| Pvg. | The leſſe diuell. |
| Iniqvity. | The Vice. |
| Fitz-dottrell. | A Squire of Norfolk. |
| Miſtreſſe Frances | His wife. 5 |
| Meere-craft. | The Proiector. |
| Everill. | His champion. |
| Wittipol. | A young Gallant. |
| Manly. | His friend. |
| Ingine. | A Broaker. 10 |
| Traines. | The Proiectors man. |
| Gvilt-head. | A Gold-ſmith. |
| Plvtarchvs. | His ſonne. |
| Sir Povle Either-side. | A Lawyer, and Iuſtice. |
| Lady Either-side | His wife. 15 |
| Lady Taile-bvsh | The Lady Proiectreſſe. |
| Pit-fall. | Her woman. |
| Ambler. | Her Gentlemanvſher. |
| Sledge. | A Smith, the conſtable. |
| Shackles. | Keeper of Newgate. 20 |
SERIEANTS.
The Scene, London.
[93] Dramatis Personæ 1716, f. G places the women’s names after those of the men.
[94] 1, 2 Devil 1692, f.
[95] 4 Fabian Fitzdottrel G
[96] 5 Mrs. Frances Fitzdottrel G || His wife] om. G
[97] 9 Eustace Manly G
[98] 10 Engine 1716, f.
[99] 12 Thomas Gilthead G
[100] 15 His wife] om. G
[101] 18 Gentleman-usher to lady Tailbush G
[102] 21 Serjeants, officers, servants, underkeepers, &c. G
[103] 22 The] om. 1716, W
[94]
The Prologue.
The Divell is an Aſſe. That is, to day,
The name of what you are met for, a new Play
Yet, Grandee’s, would you were not come to grace
Our matter, with allowing vs no place
Though you preſume Satan a ſubtill thing, 5
And may haue heard hee’s worne in a thumbe-ring;
Doe not on theſe preſumptions, force vs act,
In compaſſe of a cheeſe-trencher.This tract
Will ne’er admit our vice, becauſe of yours.
Anone, who, worſe then you, the fault endures 10
That your ſelues make?when you will thruſt and ſpurne,
And knocke vs o’ the elbowes, and bid, turne;
As if, when wee had ſpoke, wee muſt be gone,
Or, till wee ſpeake, muſt all runne in, to one,
Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth? 15
Would wee could ſtand due North; or had no South,
If that offend: or were Muſcouy glaſſe,
That you might looke our Scenes through as they paſſe.
We know not how to affect you.If you’ll come
To ſee new Playes, pray you affoord vs roome, 20
And ſhew this, but the ſame face you haue done
Your deare delight, the Diuell of Edmunton.
Or, if, for want of roome it muſt miſ-carry,
’Twill be but Iuſtice, that your cenſure tarry,
Till you giue ſome.And when ſixe times you ha’ ſeen’t, 25
If this Play doe not like, the Diuell is in’t.
[104] The Prologue.] follows the title-page 1716, W
[105] 5 subtle 1692 f.
[106] 10 than 1692, f. passim in this sense. Anon 1692, f.
[107] 12 o’] on G§
[108] 14 till] ’till 1716
[109] 25 ha’] have G§
[95]
THE DIVELL
IS
AN ASSE.
Act. I. Scene. I
Divell. Pvg. Iniqvity.
Hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c.
To earth?and, why to earth, thou foooliſh Spirit?
What wold’ſt thou do on earth?
Pvg. For that, great Chiefe!
As time ſhal work.I do but ask my mon’th.
Which euery petty pui’nee Diuell has; 5
Within that terme, the Court of Hell will heare
Some thing, may gaine a longer grant, perhaps.
Sat. For what? the laming a poore Cow, or two?
Entring a Sow, to make her caſt her farrow?
Or croſſing of a Mercat-womans Mare, 10
Twixt this, and Totnam?theſe were wont to be
Your maine atchieuements, Pug, You haue ſome plot, now,
Vpon a tonning of Ale, to ſtale the yeſt,
Or keepe the churne ſo, that the buttter come not;
Spight o’ the houſewiues cord, or her hot ſpit? 15
Or ſome good Ribibe, about Kentiſh Towne,
Or Hogſden, you would hang now, for a witch,
Becauſe ſhee will not let you play round Robbin:
And you’ll goe ſowre the Citizens Creame ’gainſt Sunday?
That ſhe may be accus’d for’t, and condemn’d, 20
By a Middleſex Iury, to the ſatisfaction
Of their offended friends, the Londiners wiues
Whoſe teeth were ſet on edge with it?Fooliſh feind,
Stay i’ your place, know your owne ſtrengths, and put not
Beyond the ſpheare of your actiuity. 25
You are too dull a Diuell to be truſted [96]
Forth in thoſe parts, Pug, vpon any affayre
That may concerne our name, on earth.It is not
Euery ones worke. The ſtate of Hell muſt care
Whom it imployes, in point of reputation, 30
Heere about LondonYou would make, I thinke
An Agent, to be ſent, for Lancaſhire,
Proper inough; or ſome parts of Northumberland,
So yo’ had good inſtructions, Pug
Pvg. O Chiefe!
You doe not know, deare Chiefe, what there is in mee. 35
Proue me but for a fortnight, for a weeke,
And lend mee but a Vice, to carry with mee,
To practice there-with any play-fellow,
And, you will ſee, there will come more vpon’t,
Then you’ll imagine, pretious Chiefe
Sat. What Vice? 40
What kind wouldſt th’ haue it of?
Pvg. Why, any Fraud;
Or Couetouſneſſe; or Lady Vanity;
Or old Iniquity: I’ll call him hither.
Ini. What is he, calls vpon me, and would ſeeme to lack a Vice?
Ere his words be halfe ſpoken, I am with him in a trice; 45
Here, there, and euery where, as the Cat is with the mice:
True vetus IniquitasLack’ſt thou Cards, friend, or Dice?
I will teach thee cheate, Child, to cog, lye, and ſwagger,
And euer and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger:
To ſweare by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Iuuentus, 50
In a cloake to thy heele, and a hat like a pent-houſe.
Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,
With a Wench that shall feede thee, with cock-ſtones and gelly.
Pvg. Is it not excellent, Chiefe?how nimble he is!
Ini. Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leape 55
From the top of Pauls-ſteeple, to the Standard in Cheepe:
And lead thee a daunce, through the ſtreets without faile,
Like a needle of Spaine, with a thred at my tayle.
We will ſuruay the Suburbs, and make forth our ſallyes,
Downe Petticoate-lane, and vp the Smock-allies, 60
To Shoreditch, Whitechappell, and so to Saint Kathernes
To drinke with the Dutch there, and take forth their patternes:
From thence, wee will put in at Cuſtome-houſe key there,
And ſee, how the Factors, and Prentizes play there,
Falſe with their Maſters; and gueld many a full packe, 65
To ſpend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool-ſacke
Pvg. Braue, braue, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe?
Ini. Nay, boy, I wil bring thee to the Bawds, and the Royſters,
At Belins-gate, feaſting with claret-wine, and oyſters,
From thence ſhoot the Bridge, childe, to the Cranes i’ the Vintry, 70
And ſee, there the gimblets, how they make their entry!
Or, if thou hadſt rather, to the Strand downe to fall,
’Gainſt the Lawyers come dabled from Weſtminſter-hall [97]
And marke how they cling, with their clyents together,
Like Iuie to Oake; so Veluet to Leather: 75
Ha, boy, I would ſhew thee.
Pvg. Rare, rare!
Div. Peace, dotard,
And thou more ignorant thing, that ſo admir’ſt.
Art thou the ſpirit thou ſeem’ſt?ſo poore?to chooſe
This, for a Vice, t’aduance the cauſe of Hell,
Now? as Vice ſtands this preſent yeere? Remember, 80
What number it is. Six hundred and ſixteene
Had it but beene fiue hundred, though ſome ſixty
Aboue; that’s fifty yeeres agone, and ſix,
(When euery great man had his Vice ſtand by him,
In his long coat, ſhaking his wooden dagger) 85
I could conſent, that, then this your graue choice
Might haue done that with his Lord Chiefe, the which
Moſt of his chamber can doe now. But Pug,
As the times are, who is it, will receiue you?
What company will you goe to? or whom mix with? 90
Where canſt thou carry him?except to Tauernes?
To mount vp ona joynt-ſtoole, with a Iewes-trumpe,
To put downe Cokeley, and that muſt be to Citizens?
He ne’re will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes.
Hee may perchance, in taile of a Sheriffes dinner, 95
Skip with a rime o’ the Table, from New-nothing,
And take his Almaine-leape into a cuſtard,
Shall make my Lad Maioreſſe, and her ſiſters,
Laugh all their hoods ouer their shoulders.But,
This is not that will doe, they are other things 100
That are receiu’d now vpon earth, for Vices;
Stranger, and newer: and chang’d euery houre.
They ride ’hem like their horſes off their legges,
And here they come to Hell, whole legions of ’hem,
Euery weeke tyr’d. Wee, ſtill ſtriue to breed, 105
And reare ’hem vp new ones; but they doe not ſtand,
When they come there: they turne ’hem on our hands.
And it is fear’d they haue a ſtud o’ their owne
Will put downe ours.Both our breed, and trade
VVill ſuddenly decay, if we preuent not. 110
Vnleſſe it be a Vice of quality,
Or faſhion, now, they take none from vs. Car-men
Are got into the yellow ſtarch, and Chimney-ſweepers
To their tabacco, and ſtrong-waters, Hum,
Meath, and Obarni. VVe muſt therefore ayme 115
At extraordinary ſubtill ones, now,
When we doe ſend to keepe vs vp in credit.
Not old IniquitiesGet you e’ne backe, Sir,
To making of your rope of ſand againe.
You are not for the manners, nor the times: [98] 120
They haue their Vices, there, moſt like to Vertues;
You cannnot know ’hem, apart, by any difference:
They weare the ſame clothes, eate the ſame meate,
Sleepe i’ the ſelfe-ſame beds, rid i’ thoſe coaches.
Or very like, foure horſes in a coach, 125
As the beſt men and women.Tiſſue gownes,
Garters and roſes, foureſcore pound a paire,
Embroydred ſtockings, cut-worke ſmocks, and ſhirts,
More certaine marks of lechery, now, and pride,
Then ere they were of true nobility! 130
But Pug, ſince you doe burne with ſuch deſire
To doe the Common-wealth of Hell ſome ſeruice;
I am content, aſſuming of a body,
You goe to earth, and viſit men, a day.
But you muſt take a body ready made, Pug, 135
I can create you none: nor ſhall you forme
Your ſelfe an aery one, but become ſubiect
To all impreſſion of the fleſh, you take,
So farre as humane frailty.So, this morning,
There is a handſome Cutpurſe hang’d at Tiborne, 140
Whoſe ſpirit departed, you may enter his body:
For clothes imploy your credit, with the Hangman,
Or let our tribe of Brokers furniſh you.
And, looke, how farre your ſubtilty can worke
Thorow thoſe organs, with that body, ſpye 145
Amongſt mankind, (you cannot there want vices,
And therefore the leſſe need to carry ’hem wi’ you)
But as you make your ſoone at nights relation,
And we ſhall find, it merits from the State,
Your ſhall haue both truſt from vs, and imployment. 150
Pvg. Most gracious Chiefe!
Div. Onely, thus more I bind you,
To ſerue the firſt man that you meete; and him
I’le ſhew you, now: Obserue him.Yon’ is hee,
He ſhewes Fitz-dottrel to him, comming forth
You ſhall ſee, firſt, after your clothing.Follow him:
But once engag’d, there you muſt ſtay and fixe;
Not ſhift, vntill the midnights cocke doe crow.
Pvg. Any conditions to be gone.
Div. Away, then. 157
[110] SD. Divell] Devil, 1692 || Satan 1716, W || Divell ...] Enter Satan and Pug. G
[111] 1 &c. om. G
[112] 9 entering G
[113] 10 Market 1641, 1692, 1716 || market W, G
[114] 11 Tottenham G
[115] 15 Housewive’s 1716 || housewife’s W, f.
[116] 23 with’t W, G
[117] 24 i’] in G§ || strength 1692, f.
[118] 30 employs W, G
[119] 33 enough 1692, f.
[120] 34 you ’ad 1716 you had W, G
[121] 38 there with 1692, f.
[122] 41 th’] thou G Why any, Fraud, 1716 Why any: Fraud, W, G
[123] 43 I’ll ...] Sat. I’ll ... W, G] Enter
IniquityG
[124] 48 cheate] to cheat W [to] cheat G
[125] 57 Dance 1716 || dance 1641. W, G
[126] 69 Billings-gate 1692 Billingsgate 1716 Billingsgate W Billinsgate G
[127] 76 thee.] thee—G || Div.] Dev. 1692 || Sat. 1716, f.
[128] 79 t’] to G
[129] 84 5 () om. G§
[130] 98 Lady 1692, 1716 lady W, G
[131] 101 Vices 1641, 1692, 1716, G vices W
[132] 103 ’hem] ’em 1692, 1716, W passim them G§
[133] 106 ’hem om. G stand,] stand; G
[134] 107 there:] there W there, G
[135] 116 subtle 1692, f.
[136] 120 manner G
[137] 128 Embrothered 1641 Embroider’d 1716, f. stockins 1641
[138] 130 [Exit Iniq. G
[139] 137 airy 1692, f. passim
[140] 139 human W, G
[141] 140 Tyburn 1692, f. passim
[142] 142 employ W, G
[143] 146, 7 () ret. G
[144] 147 wi’] with G§
[145] 150 employment W, G
[146] 151, 157 Div.] Dev. 1692 Sat. 1716, f.
[147] 153 now] new 1716
[148] 153 SN.] Shews him Fitzdottrel coming out of his house at a distance. G
[149] 157 Exeunt severally. G
Act. I. Scene. II
Fitz-Dottrell.
I, they doe, now, name Bretnor, as before, [97]
They talk’d of Greſham, and of Doctor Fore-man,
Francklin, and Fiske, and Sauory (he was in too)
But there’s not one of theſe, that euer could
Yet ſhew a man the Diuell, in true ſort. 5
They haue their chriſtalls, I doe know, and rings,
And virgin parchment, and their dead-mens ſculls
Their rauens wings, their lights, and pentacles,
With characters; I ha’ ſeene all theſe.But—
Would I might ſee the Diuell. I would giue 10
A hundred o’ theſe pictures, to ſee him
Once out of picture.May I proue a cuckold,
(And that’s the one maine mortall thing I feare)
If I beginne not, now, to thinke, the Painters
Haue onely made him. ’Slight, he would be ſeene, 15
One time or other elſe.He would not let
An ancient gentleman, of a good houſe,
As moſt are now in England, the Fitz-Dottrel’s
Runne wilde, and call vpon him thus in vaine,
As I ha’ done this twelue mone’th. If he be not, 20
At all, why, are there Coniurers?If they be not,
Why, are there lawes againſt ’hem?The beſt artiſts
Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London,
Essex, and Kent, I haue had in pay to raiſe him,
Theſe fifty weekes, and yet h’appeares not. ’Sdeath, 25
I ſhall ſuſpect, they, can make circles onely
Shortly, and know but his hard names.They doe ſay,
H’will meet a man (of himſelfe) that has a mind to him.
If hee would ſo, I haue a minde and a halfe for him:
He ſhould not be long abſent. Pray thee, come 30
I long for thee.An’ I were with child by him,
And my wife too; I could not more.Come, yet,
He expreſſes a longing to ſee the Diuell
Good BeelezebubWere hee a kinde diuell,
And had humanity in him, hee would come, but
To ſaue ones longing. I ſhould vſe him well, 35
I ſweare, and with reſpect (would he would try mee)
Not, as the Conjurers doe, when they ha’ rais’d him.
Get him in bonds, and ſend him poſt, on errands.
A thouſand miles, it is prepoſterous, that;
And I beleeue, is the true cauſe he comes not. [100] 40
And hee has reaſon.Who would be engag’d,
That might liue freely, as he may doe?I ſweare,
They are wrong all.The burn’t child dreads the fire.
They doe not know to entertaine the Diuell
I would ſo welcome him, obſerue his diet, 45
Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of ’hem,
I’ my own houſe; lend him my wiues wrought pillowes:
And as I am an honeſt man, I thinke,
If he had a minde to her, too; I should grant him,
To make our friend-ſhip perfect. So I would not 50
To euery man.If hee but heare me, now?
And ſhould come to mee in a braue young ſhape,
And take me at my word?ha!Who is this?
[150] SD. Act.I. om. 1716, f. (as regularly, after Sc.I. of each act.) Act ...] Scene II. The street before Fitzdottrel’s House.Enter
FitzdottrelG
[151] 12 picture, 1641
[152] 17 a] as W [as] G || good] good a G
[153] 21, 22 comma om. after ‘why’ and ‘Why’ 1692 f.
[154] 25 h’] he G
[155] 26 circle 1641
[156] 30 Prithee G
[157] 31 An’] an G
[158] 32 SN. expresseth 1692, 1716, W || SN. om. G
Act. I. Scene. IIJ
Pvg. Fitz-dottrell.
Sir, your good pardon, that I thus preſume
Vpon your priuacy.I am borne a Gentleman,
A younger brother; but, in ſome diſgrace,
Now, with my friends: and want ſome little meanes,
To keepe me vpright, while things be reconcil’d. 5
Pleaſe you, to let my ſeruice be of vſe to you, Sir.
Fit. Seruice? ’fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,
Till I had view’d his ſhooes well: for, thoſe roſes
Were bigge inough to hide a clouen foote.
Hee lookes and ſuruay’s his feet: ouer and ouer.
No, friend, my number’s full. I haue one ſeruant, 10
Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broome
Vnto the bruſh: for, iuſt so farre, I truſt him.
He is my Ward-robe man, my Cater, Cooke,
Butler, and Steward; lookes vnto my horſe:
And helpes to watch my wife. H’has all the places, 15
That I can thinke on, from the garret downward,
E’en to the manger, and the curry-combe.
Pvg. Sir, I ſhall put your worſhip to no charge,
More then my meate, and that but very little,
I’le ſerue you for your loue.
Fit. Ha? without wages? 20
I’le harken o’ that eare, were I at leaſure.
But now, I’m buſie.’Pr’y the, friend forbeare mee,
And’ thou hadſt beene a Diuell, I ſhould ſay [101]
Somewhat more to thee.Thou doſt hinder, now,
My meditations.
Pvg. Sir, I am a Diuell. 25
Fit. How!
Pvg. A true Diuell, Sr
Fit. Nay, now, you ly:
Vnder your fauour, friend, for, I’ll not quarrell.
I look’d o’ your feet, afore, you cannot coozen mee,
Your ſhoo’s not clouen, Sir, you are whole hoof’d.
He viewes his feete againe.
Pvg. Sir, that’s a popular error, deceiues many: 30
But I am that, I tell you.
Fit. What’s your name?
Pvg. My name is Diuell, Sr
Fit. Sai’ſt thou true.
Pvg. in-deed, Sr
Fit. ’Slid! there’s ſome omen i’ this! what countryman?
Pvg. Of Derby-ſhire, Sr. about the Peake
Fit. That Hole
Belong’d to your Anceſtors?
Pvg. Yes, Diuells arſe, Sr. 35
Fit. I’ll entertaine him for the name ſake. Ha?
And turne away my tother man?and ſaue
Foure pound a yeere by that?there’s lucke, and thrift too!
The very Diuell may come, heereafter, as well.
Friend, I receiue you: but (withall) I acquaint you, 40
Aforehand, if yo’ offend mee, I muſt beat you.
It is a kinde of exerciſe, I vſe.
And cannot be without.
Pvg. Yes, if I doe not
Offend, you can, ſure.
Fit. Faith, Diuell, very hardly:
I’ll call you by your ſurname, ’cauſe I loue it. 45
[159] 46 ’hem] ’em G
[160] 47 Wife’s 1716 wife’s W, G passim
[161] 53 word? —Enter Pug handsomely shaped and apparelledG
[162] SD. on. G
[163] 9 SN. on. G || Aside. G
[164] 13 m’acater W
[165] 15 He has W, G
[166] 17 Even G
[167] 21 I’d W, G
[168] 22 I am G ’Prythe 1692 ’Prithee 1716, W Prithee G
[169] 23 An’ 1716, W An G || hadſt] hast 1692, 1716
[170] 26 Sir 1641. f. passim
[171] 28 cozen 1692, f. passim
[172] 29 SN. om. G
[173] 31 that, I] that I 1692, f.
[174] 37 t’other 1692, f.
[175] 39 [Aside. G
[176] 41 you W, G
Act. I. Scene. IIII
Ingine. Wittipol. Manly.
Fitzdottrell. Pvg.
Yonder hee walkes, Sir, I’ll goe lift him for you.
Wit. To him, good Ingine, raiſe him vp by degrees,
Gently, and hold him there too, you can doe it.
Shew your ſelfe now, a Mathematicall broker.
Ing. I’ll warrant you for halfe a piece.
Wit. ’Tis done, Sr. 5
Man. Is’t poſſible there ſhould be ſuch a man?
Wit. You ſhall be your owne witneſſe, I’ll not labour
To tempt you paſt your faith.
Man. And is his wife
So very handſome, ſay you?
Wit. I ha’ not ſeene her,
Since I came home from trauell: and they ſay, 10
Shee is not alter’d.Then, before I went,
I ſaw her once; but ſo, as ſhee hath ſtuck
Still i’ my view, no obiect hath remou’d her.
Man. ’Tis a faire gueſt, Friend, beauty: and once lodg’d [102]
Deepe in the eyes, ſhee hardly leaues the Inne. 15
How do’s he keepe her?
Wit. Very braue. Howeuer,
Himselfe be fordide, hee is ſenſuall that way.
In euery dreſſing, hee do’s ſtudy her.
Man. And furniſh forth himselfe ſo from the Brokers?
Wit. Yes, that’s a hyr’d ſuite, hee now has one, 20
To ſee the Diuell is an Aſſe, to day, in:
(This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him)
He dares not miſſe a new Play, or a Feaſt,
What rate ſoeuer clothes be at; and thinkes
Himſelfe ſtill new, in other mens old.
Man. But ſtay, 25
Do’s he loue meat ſo?
Wit. Faith he do’s not hate it.
But that’s not it.His belly and his palate
Would be compounded with for reaſon.Mary,
A wit he has, of that ſtrange credit with him,
’Gainſt all mankinde; as it doth make him doe 30
Iuſt what it liſt: it rauiſhes him forth,
Whither it pleaſe, to any aſſembly’or place,
And would conclude him ruin’d, ſhould hee ſcape
One publike meeting, out of the beliefe
He has of his owne great, and Catholike ſtrengths, 35
In arguing, and diſcourſe.It takes, I ſee:
H’has got the cloak vpon him.
Ingine hath won Fitzdottrel, to ’ſay on the cloake
Fit. A faire garment,
By my faith, Ingine!
Ing. It was neuer made, Sir,
For three ſcore pound, I aſſure you: ’Twill yeeld thirty.
The pluſh, Sir, coſt three pound, ten ſhillings a yard! 40
And then the lace, and veluet.
Fit. I ſhall, Ingine,
Be look’d at, pretitly, in it!Art thou ſure
The Play is play’d to day?
Ing. O here’s the bill, Sr
Hee giues him the Play-bill
I’, had forgot to gi’t you.
Fit. Ha? the Diuell!
I will not loſe you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you, 45
The Gallant is ſo furious in his folly?
So mad vpon the matter, that hee’ll part
With’s cloake vpo’ theſe termes?
Ing. Truſt not your Ingine,
Breake me to pieces elſe, as you would doe
A rotten Crane, or an old ruſty Iacke, 50
That has not one true wheele in him.Doe but talke with him.
Fit. I ſhall doe that, to ſatisfie you, Ingine,
And my ſelfe too.With your leaue, Gentlemen.
Hee turnes to Wittipol.
Which of you is it, is ſo meere Idolater
To my wiues beauty, and ſo very prodigall 55
Vnto my patience, that, for the ſhort parlee?
Of one ſwift houres quarter, with my wife,
He will depart with (let mee ſee) this cloake here
The price of folly?Sir, are you the man?
Wit. I am that vent’rer, Sir.
Fit. Good time! your name 60
Is Witty-pol?
Wit. The ſame, Sr
Fit. And ’tis told me, [103]
Yo’ haue trauell’d lately?
Wit. That I haue, Sr
Fit. Truly,
Your trauells may haue alter’d your complexion;
But ſure, your wit ſtood ſtill.
Wit. It may well be, Sir.
All heads ha’ not like growth.
Fit. The good mans grauity, 65
That left you land, your father, neuer taught you
Theſe pleaſant matches?
Wit. No, nor can his mirth,
With whom I make ’hem, put me off.
Fit. You are
Reſolu’d then?
Wit. Yes, Sr
Fit. Beauty is the Saint,
You’ll ſacrifice your ſelfe, into the ſhirt too? 70
Wit. So I may ſtill cloth, and keepe warme your wiſdome?
Fit. You lade me Sr!
Wit. I know what you wil beare, Sr
Fit. Well, to the point. ’Tis only, Sir, you ſay,
To ſpeake vnto my wife?
Wit. Only, to ſpeake to her.
Fit. And in my preſence?
Wit. In your very preſence. 75
Fit. And in my hearing?
Wit. In your hearing: ſo,
You interrupt vs not.
Fit. For the ſhort ſpace
You doe demand, the fourth part of an houre,
I thinke I ſhall, with ſome conuenient ſtudy,
And this good helpe to boot, bring my ſelfe to’t. 80
Hee ſhrugs himſelfe vp in the cloake.
Wit. I aske no more.
Fit. Pleaſe you, walk to’ard my houſe,
Speake what you liſt; that time is yours: My right
I haue departed with.But, not beyond,
A minute, or a ſecond, looke for.Length,
And drawing out, ma’aduance much, to theſe matches. 85
And I except all kiſſing.Kiſſes are
Silent petitions ſtill with willing Louers
Wit. Louers? How falls that o’ your phantſie?
Fit. Sir.
I doe know ſomewhat.I forbid all lip-worke.
Wit. I am not eager at forbidden dainties. 90
Who couets vnfit things, denies him ſelfe.
Fit. You ſay well, Sir, ’Twas prettily ſaid, that ſame,
He do’s, indeed.I’ll haue no touches, therefore,
Nor takings by the armes, nor tender circles
Caſt ’bout the waſt, but all be done at diſtance. 95
Loue is brought vp with thoſe ſoft migniard handlings;
His pulſe lies in his palme: and I defend
All melting ioynts, and fingers, (that’s my bargaine)
I doe defend ’hem, any thing like action.
But talke, Sir, what you will. Vſe all the Tropes 100
And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you:
And much good do your Rhetoriques heart. You are welcome, Sir.
Ingine, God b’w’you.
Wit. Sir, I muſt condition
To haue this Gentleman by, a witneſſe.
Fit. Well,
I am content, ſo he be ſilent.
Man. Yes, S r. 105
Fit. Come Diuell, I’ll make you roome, ſtreight.But I’ll ſhew you
Firſt, to your Miſtreſſe, who’s no common one,
You muſt conceiue, that brings this game to ſee her. [104]
I hope thou’ſt brought me good lucke.
Pvg. I ſhall do’t. Sir.
[177] SD. Act. ...] Enter, behind, Engine, with a cloke on his arm, Wittipol, and
ManlyG
[178] 5 [Engine goes to Fitzdottrel and takes him aside. G
[179] 19 Broker 1692, 1716 broker W
[180] 20 on 1641, f.
[181] 28 Marry 1692, f.
[182] 32 whether 1716
[183] 36 SN. ’say] say 1641, f. SN. om. G
[184] 37 Fitz. [after saying on the cloke.] G
[185] 42 prettily 1641. f.
[186] 44 I’, had] I’d 1716 I had W, G gi’t] give it G
[187] 48 upon 1716, f.
[188] 50 Cain 1692 Cane 1716
[189] 51 with him] with W
[190] 53 too. [comes forward.] G SN.om.G
[191] 60 venturer G
[192] 62 You G§
[193] 70 comma om. after ‘selfe’ 1692, f. to W, G
[194] 80 SN. Hee om. G
[195] 82 is om. 1641
[196] 85 may W, G
[197] 88 phant’sie W phantasy G o’ret. G
[198] 99 comma om. W, G
[199] 102 [Opens the door of his house. G
[200] 103 b’w’] be wi’ G
[201] 108 this om. 1641
[202] 109 [They all enter the house. G
Act. I. Scene. V
VVittipol. Manly.
Ingine, you hope o’ your halfe piece?’Tis there, Sir.
Be gone. Friend Manly, who’s within here?fixed?
Wittipol knocks his friend o’ the breſt
Man. I am directly in a fit of wonder
What’ll be the iſſue of this conference!
Wit. For that, ne’r vex your ſelfe, till the euent. 5
How like yo’ him?
Man. I would faine ſee more of him.
Wit. What thinke you of this?
Man. I am paſt degrees of thinking.
Old Africk, and the new America,
With all their fruite of Monſters cannot ſhew
So iuſt a prodigie.
Wit. Could you haue beleeu’d, 10
Without your ſight, a minde ſo ſordide inward,
Should be ſo ſpecious, and layd forth abroad,
To all the ſhew, that euer ſhop, or ware was?
Man. I beleeue any thing now, though I confeſſe
His Vices are the moſt extremities 15
I euer knew in nature.But, why loues hee
The Diuell ſo?
Wit. O Sr!for hidden treaſure,
Hee hopes to finde: and has propos’d himſelfe
So infinite a Maſſe, as to recouer,
He cares not what he parts with, of the preſent, 20
To his men of Art, who are the race, may coyne him.
Promiſe gold-mountaines, and the couetous
Are ſtill moſt prodigall.
Man. But ha’ you faith,
That he will hold his bargaine?
Wit. O deare, Sir!
He will not off on’t. Feare him not. I know him. 25
One baſeneſſe ſtill accompanies another.
See!he is heere already, and his wife too.
Man. A wondrous handſome creature, as I liue!
[203] SD. Act. ...] om. Scene III.
A Room in Fitzdottrel’s House. Enter Wittipol, Manly, and EngineG
[204] 2 SN.] gone. [Exit Engine.] || fixed![knocks him on the breast. G
[205] 4 ’ll] will G
Act. I. Scene. VI [105]
Fitz-dottrell. Miſtreſſe Fitz-dottrell
Wittipol. Manly.
Come wife, this is the Gentleman.Nay, bluſh not.
Mrs. Fi. Why, what do you meane Sir? ha’ you your reaſon?
Fit. Wife,
I do not know, that I haue lent it forth
To any one; at leaſt, without a pawne, wife:
Or that I’haue eat or drunke the thing, of late, 5
That ſhould corrupt it.Wherefore gentle wife,
Obey, it is thy vertue: hold no acts
Of diſputation.
Mrs. Fi. Are you not enough
The talke, of feaſts, and meetingy, but you’ll ſtill
Make argument for freſh?
Fit. Why, carefull wedlocke, 10
If I haue haue a longing to haue one tale more
Goe of mee, what is that to thee, deare heart?
Why ſhouldſt thou enuy my delight?or croſſe it?
By being ſolicitous, when it not concernes thee?
Mrs. Fi. Yes, I haue ſhare in this. The ſcorne will fall 15
As bittterly on me, where both are laught at.
Fit. Laught at, ſweet bird? is that the ſcruple? Come, come,
Thou art a Niaiſe
A Niaiſe is a young Hawke, tane crying out of the neſt.
Which of your great houſes,
(I will not meane at home, here, but abroad)
Your families in France, wife, ſend not forth 20
Something, within the ſeuen yeere, may be laught at?
I doe not ſay ſeuen moneths, nor ſeuen weekes,
Nor ſeuen daies, nor houres: but ſeuen yeere wife.
I giue ’hem time.Once, within ſeuen yeere,
I thinke they may doe ſomething may be laught at. 25
In France, I keepe me there, ſtill.Wherefore, wife,
Let them that liſt, laugh ſtill, rather then weepe
For me; Heere is a cloake coſt fifty pound, wife,
Which I can ſell for thirty, when I ha’ ſeene
All London in’t, and London has ſeene mee. 30
To day, I goe to the Black-fryers Play-houſe,
Sit ithe view, ſalute all my acquaintance,
Riſe vp betweene the Acts, let fall my cloake,
Publiſh a handſome man, and a rich ſuite
(As that’s a ſpeciall end, why we goe thither, 35
All that pretend, to ſtand for’t o’ the Stage)
The Ladies aske who’s that? (For, they doe come [106]
To ſee vs, Loue, as wee doe to ſee them)
Now, I ſhall loſe all this, for the falſe feare
Of being laught at? Yes, wuſſe. Let ’hem laugh, wife, 40
Let me haue ſuch another cloake to morrow.
And let ’hem laugh againe, wife, and againe,
And then grow fat with laughing, and then fatter,
All my young Gallants, let ’hem bring their friends too:
Shall I forbid ’hem? No, let heauen forbid ’hem: 45
Or wit, if’t haue any charge on ’hem.Come, thy eare, wife,
Is all, I’ll borrow of thee.Set your watch, Sir,
Thou, onely art to heare, not ſpeake a word, Doue,
To ought he ſayes.That I doe gi’ you in precept,
No leſſe then councell, on your wiue-hood, wife, 50
Not though he flatter you, or make court, or Loue
(As you muſt looke for theſe) or ſay, he raile;
What ere his arts be, wife, I will haue thee
Delude ’hem with a trick, thy obſtinate ſilence;
I know aduantages; and I loue to hit 55
Theſe pragmaticke young men, at their owne weapons.
Is your watch ready?Here my ſaile beares, for you:
Tack toward him, ſweet Pinnace, where’s your watch?
He diſpoſes his wife to his place, and ſets his watch.
Wit. I’le ſet it. Sir, with yours.
Mrs. Fi. I muſt obey.
Man. Her modeſty ſeemes to ſuffer with her beauty, 60
And ſo, as if his folly were away,
It were worth pitty.
Fit. Now, th’are right, beginne, Sir.
But firſt, let me repeat the contract, briefely.
Hee repeats his contract againe.
I am, Sir, to inioy this cloake, I ſtand in,
Freely, and as your gift; vpon condition 65
You may as freely, ſpeake here to my ſpouſe,
Your quarter of an houre alwaies keeping
The meaſur’d diſtance of your yard, or more,
From my ſaid Spouſe: and in my ſight and hearing.
This is your couenant?
Wit. Yes, but you’ll allow 70
For this time ſpent, now?
Fit. Set ’hem ſo much backe.
Wit. I thinke, I ſhall not need it.
Fit. Well, begin, Sir,
There is your bound, Sir.Not beyond that ruſh.
Wit. If you interrupt me, Sir, I ſhall diſcloake you.
Wittipol beginnes
The time I haue purchaſt, Lady, is but ſhort; 75
And, therefore, if I imploy it thriftily,
I hope I ſtand the neerer to my pardon.
I am not here, to tell you, you are faire,
Or louely, or how well you dreſſe you, Lady,
I’ll ſaue my ſelfe that eloquence of your glaſſe, 80
Which can ſpeake these things better to you then I.
And ’tis a knowledge, wherein fooles may be
As wiſe as a Count ParliamentNor come I,
With any preiudice, or doubt, that you [107]
Should, to the notice of your owne worth, neede 85
Leaſt reuelation.Shee’s a ſimple woman,
Know’s not her good: (who euer knowes her ill)
And at all caracts.That you are the wife,
To ſo much blaſted fleſh, as ſcarce hath ſoule,
In ſtead of ſalt, to keepe it ſweete; I thinke, 90
Will aske no witneſſes, to proue.The cold
Sheetes that you lie in, with the watching candle,
That ſees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,
Pieces, and quarters, halfe, and whole nights, ſometimes,
The Diuell-giuen Elfine Squire, your husband, 95
Doth leaue you, quitting heere his proper circle,
For a much-worſe i’ the walks of Lincolnes Inne,
Vnder the Elmes, t’expect the feind in vaine, there
Will confeſſe for you.
Fit. I did looke for this geere.
Wit. And what a daughter of darkneſſe, he do’s make you, 100
Lock’d vp from all ſociety, or object;
Your eye not let to looke vpon a face,
Vnder a Conjurers (or ſome mould for one,
Hollow, and leane like his) but, by great meanes,
As I now make; your owne too ſenſible ſufferings, 105
Without the extraordinary aydes,
Of ſpells, or ſpirits, may aſſure you, Lady.
For my part, I proteſt ’gainſt all ſuch practice,
I worke by no falſe arts, medicines, or charmes
To be said forward and backward.
Fit. No, I except: 110
Wit. Sir I ſhall ease you.
He offers to diſcloake him.
Fit. Mum.
Wit. Nor haue I ends, Lady,
Vpon you, more then this: to tell you how Loue
Beauties good Angell, he that waits vpon her
At all occaſions, and no leſſe then Fortune,
Helps th’ aduenturous, in mee makes that proffer, 115
Which neuer faire one was ſo fond, to loſe;
Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedome:
On the firſt ſight, I lou’d you: ſince which time,
Though I haue trauell’d, I haue beene in trauell
More for this second blessing of your eyes 120
Which now I’haue purchas’d, then for all aymes elſe.
Thinke of it, Lady, be your minde as actiue,
As is your beauty: view your object well.
Examine both my faſhion, and my yeeres;
Things, that are like, are ſoone familiar: 125
And Nature ioyes, ſtill in equality.
Let not the ſigne o’ the husband fright you, Lady.
But ere your ſpring be gone, inioy it.Flowers,
Though faire, are oft but of one morning.Thinke,
All beauty doth not laſt vntill the autumne. 130
You grow old, while I tell you this. And ſuch, [108]
As cannot vſe the preſent, are not wiſe.
If Loue and Fortune will take care of vs,
Why ſhould our will be wanting?This is all.
What doe you anſwer, Lady?
Shee stands mute.
Fit. Now, the sport comes. 135
Let him ſtill waite, waite, waite: while the watch goes,
And the time runs.Wife!
Wit. How! not any word?
Nay, then, I taſte a tricke in’t.Worthy Lady,
I cannot be ſo falſe to mine owne thoughts
Of your preſumed goodneſſe, to conceiue 140
This, as your rudeneſſe, which I ſee’s impos’d.
Yet, ſince your cautelous Iaylor, here ſtands by you,
And yo’ are deni’d the liberty o’ the houſe,
Let me take warrant, Lady, from your ſilence,
(Which euer is interpreted conſent) 145
To make your anſwer for you: which ſhall be
To as good purpoſe, as I can imagine,
And what I thinke you’ld ſpeake.
Fit. No, no, no, no.
Wit. I ſhall reſume, Sr
Man. Sir, what doe you meane?
He ſets Mr. Manly, his friend, in her place
Wit. One interruption more, Sir, and you goe 150
Into your hoſe and doublet, nothing ſaues you.
And therefore harken.This is for your wife.
Man. You muſt play faire, Sr
Wit. Stand for mee, good friend.
And ſpeaks for her.
Troth, Sir, tis more then true, that you haue vttred
Of my vnequall, and ſo ſordide match heere, 155
With all the circumſtances of my bondage.
I haue a husband, and a two-legg’d one,
But ſuch a moon-ling, as no wit of man
Or roſes can redeeme from being an Aſſe.
H’is growne too much, the ſtory of mens mouthes, 160
To ſcape his lading: ſhould I make’t my ſtudy,
And lay all wayes, yea, call mankind to helpe,
To take his burden off, why, this one act
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,
And, at a price, proclaimes his aſinine nature 165
So lowd, as I am weary of my title to him.
But Sir, you ſeeme a Gentleman of vertue,
No leſſe then blood; and one that euery way
Lookes as he were of too good quality,
To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her: 170
Since you haue payd thus deare, Sir, for a viſit,
And made ſuch venter, on your wit, and charge
Meerely to ſee mee, or at moſt to ſpeake to mee,
I were too ſtupid; or (what’s worſe) ingrate
Not to returne your venter. Thinke, but how, 175
I may with ſafety doe it; I ſhall truſt
My loue and honour to you, and preſume;
You’ll euer huſband both, againſt this huſband; [109]
Who, if we chance to change his liberall eares,
To other enſignes, and with labour make 180
A new beaſt of him, as hee ſhall deſerue,
Cannot complaine, hee is vnkindly dealth with.
This day hee is to goe to a new play, Sir.
From whence no feare, no, nor authority,
Scarcely the Kings command, Sir, will reſtraine him, 185
Now you haue fitted him with a Stage-garment,
For the meere names ſake, were there nothing elſe:
And many more ſuch iourneyes, hee will make.
Which, if they now, or, any time heereafter,
Offer vs opportunity, you heare, Sir, 190
Who’ll be as glad, and forward to imbrace,
Meete, and enioy it chearefully as you.
I humbly thanke you, Lady.
Hee ſhifts to his owne place againe
Fit. Keepe your ground Sir.
Wit. Will you be lightned?
Fit. Mum.
Wit. And but I am,
By the ſad contract, thus to take my leaue of you 195
At this ſo enuious distance, I had taught
Our lips ere this, to ſeale the happy mixture
Made of our ſoules.But we muſt both, now, yeeld
To the neceſſity.Doe not thinke yet, Lady,
But I can kiſſe, and touch, and laugh, and whiſper, 200
And doe those crowning court-ſhips too, for which,
Day, and the publike haue allow’d no name
But, now, my bargaine binds me.’Twere rude iniury,
T’importune more, or vrge a noble nature,
To what of it’s owne bounty it is prone to: 205
Elſe, I ſhould ſpeake—But, Lady, I loue ſo well,
As I will hope, you’ll doe ſo to.I haue done, Sir.
Fit. Well, then, I ha’ won?
Wit. Sir, And I may win, too.
Fit. O yes! no doubt on’t. I’ll take carefull order,
That ſhee ſhall hang forth enſignes at the window, 210
To tell you when I am abſent.Or I’ll keepe
Three or foure foote-men, ready ſtill of purpoſe,
To runne and fetch you, at her longings, Sir.
I’ll goe beſpeake me ſtraight a guilt caroch,
For her and you to take the ayre in. Yes, 215
Into Hide-parke, and thence into Black-Fryers,
Viſit the painters, where you may ſee pictures,
And note the propereſt limbs, and how to make ’hem.
Or what doe you ſay vnto a middling Goſſip
To bring you aye together, at her lodging? 220
Vnder pretext of teaching o’ my wife
Some rare receit of drawing almond milke? ha?
It shall be a part of my care.Good Sir, God b’w’you.
I ha’ kept the contract, and the cloake is mine.
Wit. Why, much good do’t you Sr; it may fall out, [110] 225
That you ha’ bought it deare, though I ha’ not ſold it.
Fit. A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir.
Wife, your face this way, looke on me: and thinke
Yo’ haue had a wicked dreame, wife, and forget it.
Hee turnes his wife about.
Man. This is the ſtrangeſt motion I ere ſaw. 230
Fit. Now, wife, ſits this faire cloake the worſe vpon me,
For my great ſufferings, or your little patience?ha?
They laugh, you thinke?
Mrs. Fi. Why Srand you might ſee’t.
What thought, they haue of you, may be ſoone collected
By the young Genlemans ſpeache.
Fit. Youug Gentleman? 235
Death!you are in loue with him, are you?could he not
Be nam’d the Gentleman, without the young?
Vp to your Cabbin againe.
Mrs. Fi. My cage, yo’ were beſt
To call it?
Fit. Yes, ſing there. You’ld faine be making
Blanck Manger with him at your mothers! I know you. 240
Goe get you vp. How now! what ſay you, Diuell?
[206] SD. om. Enter Fitzdottrell, with Mrs. Frances his wifeG
[207] 9 Meetings 1692, 1716 meetings 1641, W, G
[208] 11 I haue] I’ve W haue a] a 1641. f.
[209] 18 SN. om. G
[210] 19 () ret. G
[211] 32 i’ the 1641, 1692, 1716, W in the G
[212] 44 ’hem] ’em G
[213] 46 ’t] it G || ’hem] ’em G
[214] 49 gi’] give G
[215] 51 though 1641, f.
[216] 52 () om. G
[217] 58 SN.] He disposes his wife to her place. G
[218] 59 [Aside. G
[219] 63 th’art 1641, 1692, 1716 they are W, G SN. om. G
[220] 64 enjoy 1692, f.
[221] 74 SN. om. G
[222] 76 employ W, G
[223] 83 came W
[224] 88 characts 1692 Characts 1716
[225] 99 jeer W, G
[226] 115 adventrous 1692, 1716 advent’rous W || th’] the G
[227] 117 forth] out 1641
[228] 121 I’ haue] I have 1692 I’ve 1716, f.
[229] 127 o’] of G
[230] 134, 5 misplaced t adjusted 1692. f.
[231] 135 SN. om. G
[232] 139 my G
[233] 143 you’re 1716, W you are G
[234] 149, 153 SN. [Sets Manly in his place, and speaks for the lady. (after ‘friend.’ 153) G
[235] 154 utt’red 1692 utter’d 1716, f.
[236] 160 He’s 1716, f.
[237] 161 T’ escape W To ’scape 1716
[238] 172, 5 venture 1692, f.
[239] 182 dealt 1692, f.
[240] 187 nothing] no things 1692, 1716
[241] 191 embrace 1692, f.
[242] 193 SN. om. 1641, 1692, 1716 || Hee om. G
[243] 194 lighten’d 1716, f.
[244] 195 sad] said W, G
[245] 211 I am] I’m W
[246] 223 be wi’ G
[247] 224 is mine] is mine owne 1641 is mine own 1692 ’s mine own 1716, W, G
[248] 226 I ha’] I’ve G [Exit. G
[249] 229 Ya’ have 1692 You’ve 1716 You W, G SN. om. G
[250] 230 [Exit. G
[251] 235 Youug] Young 1641, f. || Gentlmans 1641 Gentleman’s 1692, 1716 gentleman’s W, G
[252] 240 him] it 1641
[253] 241 up. —[Exit Mrs. Fitz.Enter PugG
Act. I. Scene. VII
Pvg. Fitzdottrel.
Ingine.
Heere is one Ingine, Sir, deſires to ſpeake with you.
Fit. I thought he brought ſome newes, of a broker! Well,
Let him come in, good Diuell: fetch him elſe.
O, my fine Ingine!what’s th’affaire?more cheats?
Ing. No Sir, the Wit, the Braine, the great Proiector, 5
I told you of, is newly come to towne.
Fit. Where, Ingine?
Ing. I ha’ brought him (H’is without)
Ere hee pull’d off his boots, Sir, but ſo follow’d,
For buſineſſes:
Fit. But what is a Proiector?
I would conceiue.
Ing. Why, one Sir, that proiects 10
Wayes to enrich men, or to make ’hem great,
By ſuites, by marriages, by vndertakings:
According as he ſees they humour it.
Fit. Can hee not coniure at all?
Ing. I thinke he can, Sir.
(To tell you true) but, you doe know, of late, 15
The State hath tane ſuch note of ’hem, and compell’d ’hem,
To enter ſuch great bonds, they dare not practice.
Fit. ’Tis true, and I lie fallow for’t, the while!
Ing. O, Sir! you’ll grow the richer for the reſt.
Fit. I hope I ſhall: but Ingine, you doe talke 20
Somewhat too much, o’ my courſes.My Cloake-cuſtomer
Could tell mee ſtrange particulars.
Ing. By my meanes? [111]
Fit. How ſhould he haue ’hem elſe?
Ing. You do not know, Sr,
What he has: and by what arts!A monei’d man, Sir,
And is as great with your Almanack-Men, as you are! 25
Fit. That Gallant?
Ing. You make the other wait too long, here:
And hee is extreme punctuall.
Fit. Is he a gallant?
Ing. Sir, you ſhall ſee: He’is in his riding ſuit,
As hee comes now from Court.But heere him ſpeake:
Miniſter matter to him, and then tell mee. 30
[254] SD. om. G
[255] 3 Exit Pug.Re-enter EngineG
[256] 4 th’] the G§
[257] 7 H’is] he’s 1716, f. () ret. G
[258] 9 businesse 1641
[259] 12 undertaking 1641
[260] 16 ’hem] ’em G
[261] 21 o’ ret. G
[262] 27 a om. 1692, 1716, W
[263] 28 He’is] He’s 1716 he’s W, G
[264] 30 [Exeunt. G
Act. IJ. Scene. I
Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrel. Ingine.
Traines. Pvg.
Sir, money’s a whore, a bawd, a drudge;
Fit to runne out on errands: Let her goe.
Via pecunia! when ſhe’s runne and gone,
And fled and dead; then will I fetch her, againe,
With Aqua-vitæ, out of an old Hogs-head! 5
While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beere,
I’le neuer want her!Coyne her out of cobwebs,
Duſt, but I’ll haue her!Raiſe wooll vpon egge-ſhells,
Sir, and make graſe grow out o’ marro-bones.
To make her come. (Commend mee to your Miſtreſſe, 10
To a waiter.
Say, let the thouſand pound but be had ready,
And it is done) I would but ſee the creature
(Of fleſh, and blood) the man, the prince, indeed,
That could imploy ſo many millions
As I would help him to.
Fit. How, talks he? millions? 15
Mer. (I’ll giue you an account of this to morrow.)
Yes, I will talke no leſſe, and doe it too;
To another.
If they were Myriades: and without the Diuell,
By direct meanes, it ſhall be good in law.
Ing. Sir. [112]
Mer. Tell Mr. Wood-cock, I’ll not faile to meet him 20
To a third.
Vpon th’ Exchange at night. Pray him to haue
The writings there, and wee’ll diſpatch it.Sir,
He turnes to Fitz-dottrel.
You are a Gentleman of a good preſence,
A handſome man (I haue conſidered you)
As a fit ſtocke to graft honours vpon: 25
I haue a proiect to make you a Duke, now.
That you muſt be one, within ſo many moneths,
As I ſet downe, out of true reaſon of ſtate,
You ſha’ not auoyd it.But you muſt harken, then.
Ing. Harken? why Sr, do you doubt his eares? Alas! 30
You doe not know Maſter Fitz-dottrel
Fit. He do’s not know me indeed. I thank you, Ingine,
For rectifying him.
Mer. Good! Why, Ingine, then
He turnes to Ingine.
I’le tell it you.(I see you ha’ credit, here,
And, that you can keepe counſell, I’ll not queſtion.) 35
Hee ſhall but be an vndertaker with mee,
In a moſt feaſible bus’neſſe.It shall cost him
Nothing.
Ing. Good, Sr
Mer. Except he pleaſe, but’s count’nance;
(That I will haue) t’appeare in’t, to great men,
For which I’ll make him one. Hee ſhall not draw 40
A ſtring of’s purſe.I’ll driue his pattent for him.
We’ll take in Cittizens, Commoners, and Aldermen,
To beare the charge, and blow ’hem off againe,
Like ſo many dead flyes, when ’tis carryed.
The thing is for recouery of drown’d land, 45
Whereof the Crowne’s to haue his moiety,
If it be owner; Elſe, the Crowne and Owners
To ſhare that moyety: and the recouerers
T’enioy the tother moyety, for their charge.
Ing. Thorowout England?
Mer. Yes, which will ariſe 50
To eyghteene millions, ſeuen the firſt yeere:
I haue computed all, and made my ſuruay
Vnto an acre.I’ll beginne at the Pan,
Not, at the skirts: as ſome ha’ done, and loſt,
All that they wrought, their timber-worke, their trench, 55
Their bankes all borne away, or elſe fill’d vp
By the next winter.Tut, they neuer went
The way: I’ll haue it all.
Ing. A gallant tract
Of land it is!
Mer. ’Twill yeeld a pound an acre.
Wee muſt let cheape, euer, at firſt. But Sir, 60
This lookes too large for you, I ſee.Come hither,
We’ll haue a leſſe.Here’s a plain fellow, you ſee him,
Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram,
Wi’ not be ſold for th’Earledome of Pancridge: Draw,
Gi’ me out one, by chance. Proiect. 4. Dog-skinnes? 65
Twelue thouſand pound! the very worſt, at firſt. [113]
Fit. Pray, you let’s ſee’t Sir.
Mer. ’Tis a toy, a trifle!
Fit. Trifle! 12. thouſand pound for dogs-skins?
Mer. Yes,
But, by my way of dreſſing, you muſt know, Sir,
And med’cining the leather, to a height 70
Of improu’d ware, like your Borachio
Of Spaine, Sir.I can fetch nine thouſand for’t—
Ing. Of the Kings glouer?
Mer. Yes, how heard you that?
IngSir, I doe know you can.
Mer. Within this houre:
And reſerue halfe my ſecret. Pluck another; 75
See if thou haſt a happier hand: I thought ſo.
Hee pluckes out the 2.Bottle-ale.
The very next worſe to it!Bottle-ale.
Yet, this is two and twenty thouſand!Pr’y thee
Pull out another, two or three.
Fit. Good, ſtay, friend,
By bottle-ale, two and twenty thouſand pound? 80
Mer. Yes, Sir, it’s caſt to penny-hal’penny-farthing,
O’ the back-ſide, there you may ſee it, read,
I will not bate a Harrington o’ the ſumme.
I’ll winne it i’ my water, and my malt,
My furnaces, and hanging o’ my coppers, 85
The tonning, and the ſubtilty o’ my yeſt;
And, then the earth of my bottles, which I dig,
Turne vp, and ſteepe, and worke, and neale, my ſelfe,
To a degree of Porc’laneYou will wonder,
At my proportions, what I will put vp 90
In ſeuen yeeres!for ſo long time, I aske
For my inuention.I will ſaue in cork,
In my mere ſtop’ling, ’boue three thouſand pound,
Within that terme: by googing of ’hem out
Iuſt to the ſize of my bottles, and not ſlicing, 95
There’s infinite loſſe i’ that.What haſt thou there?
O’ making wine of raiſins: this is in hand, now,
Hee drawes out anotherRaiſines.
Ing. Is not that ſtrange, Sr, to make wine of raiſins?
Mer. Yes, and as true a wine, as the wines of France,
Or Spaine, or Italy, Looke of what grape 100
My raiſin is, that wine I’ll render perfect,
As of the muſcatell grape, I’ll render muſcatell;
Of the Canary, his; the Claret, his;
So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices,
Of wine, throughout the kingdome, halfe in halfe. 105
Ing. But, how, Sr, if you raiſe the other commodity, Rayſins?
Mer. Why, then I’ll make it out of blackberries:
And it ſhall doe the ſame.’Tis but more art,
And the charge leſſe.Take out another.
Fit. No, good Sir.
Saue you the trouble, I’le not looke, nor heare 110
Of any, but your firſt, there; the Drown’d-land:
If’t will doe, as you ſay.
Mer. Sir, there’s not place,
To gi’ you demonſtration of theſe things. [114]
They are a little to ſubtle.But, I could ſhew you
Such a neceſſity in’t, as you muſt be 115
But what you pleaſe: againſt the receiu’d hereſie,
That England beares no Dukes. Keepe you the land, Sr,
The greatneſſe of th’ eſtate ſhall throw’t vpon you.
If you like better turning it to money,
What may not you, Sr, purchaſe with that wealth? 120
Say, you ſhould part with two o’ your millions,
To be the thing you would, who would not do’t?
As I proteſt, I will, out of my diuident,
Lay, for ſome pretty principality,
In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps, 125
Fancy the ſmoake of England, rather?But—
Ha’ you no priuate roome, Sir, to draw to,
T’enlarge our ſelues more vpon.
Fit. O yes, Diuell!
Mer. Theſe, Sir, are bus’neſſes, aske to be carryed
With caution, and in cloud.
Fit. I apprehend, 130
They doe ſo, Sr. Diuell, which way is your Miſtreſſe?
Pvg. Aboue, Srin her chamber.
Fit. O that’s well.
Then, this way, good, Sir.
Mer. I ſhall follow you; Traines,
Gi’ mee the bag, and goe you preſently,
Commend my ſeruice to my Lady Tail-buſh. 135
Tell her I am come from Court this morning; ſay,
I’haue got our bus’neſſe mou’d, and well: Intreat her,
That ſhee giue you the four-ſcore Angels, and ſee ’hem
Diſpos’d of to my Councel, Sir Poul Eytherſide
Sometime, to day, I’ll waite vpon her Ladiſhip, 140
With the relation.
Ing. Sir, of what diſpatch,
He is!Do you marke?
Mer. Ingine, when did you ſee
My couſin Euer-ill?keepes he ſtill your quarter?
I’ the Bermudas?
Ing. Yes, Sir, he was writing
This morning, very hard.
Mer. Be not you knowne to him,
That I am come to Towne: I haue effected 146
A buſineſſe for him, but I would haue it take him,
Before he thinks for’t.
Ing. Is it paſt?
Mer. Not yet.
’Tis well o’ the way.
Ing. O Sir! your worſhip takes
Infinit paines.
Mer. I loue Friends, to be actiue: 150
A ſluggish nature puts off man, and kinde.
Ing. And ſuch a bleſſing followes it.
Mer. I thanke
My fate.Pray you let’s be priuate, Sir?
Fit. In, here.
Mer. Where none may interrupt vs.
Fit. You heare, Diuel,
Lock the ſtreete-doores faſt, and let no one in 155
(Except they be this Gentlemans followers)
To trouble mee.Doe you marke?Yo’ haue heard and ſeene
Something, to day; and, by it, you may gather
Your Miſtreſſe is a fruite, that’s worth the ſtealing
And therefore worth the watching. Be you ſure, now [115]
Yo’ haue all your eyes about you; and let in 161
No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-maſques,
And cut-works.See you?Nor old croanes, with wafers,
To conuey letters.Nor no youths, diſguis’d
Like country-wiues, with creame, and marrow-puddings. 165
Much knauery may be vented in a pudding,
Much bawdy intelligence: They’are ſhrewd ciphers.
Nor turne the key to any neyghbours neede;
Be’t but to kindle fire, or begg a little,
Put it out, rather: all out, to an aſhe, 170
That they may ſee no ſmoake.Or water, ſpill it:
Knock o’ the empty tubs, that by the ſound,
They may be forbid entry.Say, wee are robb’d,
If any come to borrow a ſpoone, or ſo.
I wi’ not haue good fortune, or gods bleſſing 175
Let in, while I am buſie.
Pvg. I’le take care, Sir:
They ſha’ not trouble you, if they would.
Fit. Well, doe ſo.
[265] SD. Meer. ...] A Room in Fitzdottrel’s House.Enter Fitzdottrel, Engine, and
Meercraft, followed by Trains
with a bag, and three or four AttendantsG
[266] 1 ’s] is G
[267] 10 SN. To ...] [To 1 Attendant.] G
[268] 12 done. [Exit 1 Attend.] G
[269] 14 employ W, G
[270] 15 How, talks] How talks 1716, f.
[271] 17 SN.] [To 2 Attendant.] [Exit 2 Atten. G || talke] take 1641, 1716, f.
[272] 18 Myriads 1716 Myriads W myriads G
[273] 20 SN. om. 1641, 1692. 1716, W [to 3 Atten.] G || Mr.]master G passim
[274] 22 it. [Exit 3 Atten.] G || SN.om.1641, f.
[275] 24 () om. W
[276] 28 reasons G
[277] 29 sha’] shall G
[278] 33 SN. om. 1641. f.
[279] 34 it om. 1641
[280] 34, 35, 39 () ret. G
[281] 44 ’tis] it is G
[282] 46 his] a 1641, f.
[283] 50 Throughout 1641, 1692, 1716, W Thoroughout G
[284] 53 an] my 1692, f.
[285] 62 fellow, [points to Trains] G
[286] 64 Wi’] Will W, G
[287] 65 chance. [Trains gives him a paper out of the bag.] G || Project; foure 1641 Project: four 1692, 1716 Project four; W Project four: G || Dog-skinnes] dogs-skins 1641 Dogs Skins 1692, 1716 dogs skins W Dogs’ skins G
[288] 67 see’t] see it G
[289] 68 Mer. Yes,] included in line 69 1692, 1716, W
[290] 69 my om. 1641
[291] 76 SN. Hee ...] [Trains draws out another.] (after ‘hand:’ 76) G
[292] 78 Pr’y thee] Pry’thee W Prithee G
[293] 78-80 Pr’y thee—pound? om. 1692, 1716
[294] 81 hal’] half G
[295] 89 Proc’lane 1641 porcelane G
[296] 93 above G
[297] 97 O’] O! G || SN.] [Trains draws out another.] G
[298] 99 a om. 1641
[299] 103 Of the] Of 1641
[300] 114 subtile 1692, 1716, W
[301] 115 in’t] in it G
[302] 123 Dividend 1716 dividend W, G
[303] 124 petty 1692, 1716, W
[304] 131 so om. G sir. —Enter Pug. G
[305] 137 entreat W, G
[306] 141 relation. [Exit Trains. G
[307] 142 mark? [Aside to Fitz. G
[308] 150 love] love, 1716, W
[309] 154 us. [Exeunt Meer.and Engine. G
[310] 157, 161 Yo’haue] You’ve 1716, W
[311] 169 ’t] it G
[312] 175 will G§ good fortune, gods blessing] G capitalizes throughout.
[313] 177 Exit. G SD. om. G
Act. II. Scene. II
Pvg. Miſtreſſe Fitzdottrell
