Produced by Sue Asscher and Amy E. Zelmer











EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR



By Ben Jonson









INTRODUCTION



THE greatest of English dramatists except Shakespeare, the first

literary dictator and poet-laureate, a writer of verse, prose,

satire, and criticism who most potently of all the men of his time

affected the subsequent course of English letters: such was Ben

Jonson, and as such his strong personality assumes an interest to

us almost unparalleled, at least in his age.



Ben Jonson came of the stock that was centuries after to give to

the world Thomas Carlyle; for Jonson's grandfather was of

Annandale, over the Solway, whence he migrated to England.

Jonson's father lost his estate under Queen Mary, "having been cast

into prison and forfeited."  He entered the church, but died a

month before his illustrious son was born, leaving his widow and

child in poverty.  Jonson's birthplace was Westminster, and the

time of his birth early in 1573.  He was thus nearly ten years

Shakespeare's junior, and less well off, if a trifle better born.

But Jonson did not profit even by this slight advantage.  His

mother married beneath her, a wright or bricklayer, and Jonson was

for a time apprenticed to the trade.  As a youth he attracted the

attention of the famous antiquary, William Camden, then usher at

Westminster School, and there the poet laid the solid foundations

of his classical learning.  Jonson always held Camden in

veneration, acknowledging that to him he owed,



"All that I am in arts, all that I know;"



and dedicating his first dramatic success, "Every Man in His

Humour," to him.  It is doubtful whether Jonson ever went to either

university, though Fuller says that he was "statutably admitted

into St. John's College, Cambridge."  He tells us that he took no

degree, but was later "Master of Arts in both the universities, by

their favour, not his study."  When a mere youth Jonson enlisted as

a soldier, trailing his pike in Flanders in the protracted wars of

William the Silent against the Spanish.  Jonson was a large and

raw-boned lad; he became by his own account in time exceedingly

bulky.  In chat with his friend William Drummond of Hawthornden,

Jonson told how "in his service in the Low Countries he had, in the

face of both the camps, killed an enemy, and taken opima spolia

from him;" and how "since his coming to England, being appealed to

the fields, he had killed his adversary which had hurt him in the

arm and whose sword was ten inches longer than his."  Jonson's

reach may have made up for the lack of his sword; certainly his

prowess lost nothing in the telling.  Obviously Jonson was brave,

combative, and not averse to talking of himself and his doings.



In 1592, Jonson returned from abroad penniless.  Soon after he

married, almost as early and quite as imprudently as Shakespeare.

He told Drummond curtly that "his wife was a shrew, yet honest";

for some years he lived apart from her in the household of Lord

Albany.  Yet two touching epitaphs among Jonson's "Epigrams," "On

my first daughter," and "On my first son," attest the warmth of the

poet's family affections.  The daughter died in infancy, the son of

the plague; another son grew up to manhood little credit to his

father whom he survived.  We know nothing beyond this of Jonson's

domestic life.



How soon Jonson drifted into what we now call grandly "the

theatrical profession" we do not know.  In 1593, Marlowe made his

tragic exit from life, and Greene, Shakespeare's other rival on the

popular stage, had preceded Marlowe in an equally miserable death

the year before.  Shakespeare already had the running to himself.

Jonson appears first in the employment of Philip Henslowe, the

exploiter of several troupes of players, manager, and father-in-law

of the famous actor, Edward Alleyn.  From entries in "Henslowe's

Diary," a species of theatrical account book which has been handed

down to us, we know that Jonson was connected with the Admiral's

men; for he borrowed 4 pounds of Henslowe, July 28, 1597, paying

back 3s. 9d. on the same day on account of his "share" (in what is

not altogether clear); while later, on December 3, of the same

year, Henslowe advanced 20s. to him "upon a book which he showed

the plot unto the company which he promised to deliver unto the

company at Christmas next."  In the next August Jonson was in

collaboration with Chettle and Porter in a play called "Hot Anger

Soon Cold."  All this points to an association with Henslowe of

some duration, as no mere tyro would be thus paid in advance upon

mere promise.  From allusions in Dekker's play, "Satiromastix," it

appears that Jonson, like Shakespeare, began life as an actor, and

that he "ambled in a leather pitch by a play-wagon" taking at one

time the part of Hieronimo in Kyd's famous play, "The Spanish

Tragedy."  By the beginning of 1598, Jonson, though still in needy

circumstances, had begun to receive recognition.  Francis Meres --

well known for his "Comparative Discourse of our English Poets with

the Greek, Latin, and Italian Poets," printed in 1598, and for his

mention therein of a dozen plays of Shakespeare by title -- accords

to Ben Jonson a place as one of "our best in tragedy," a matter of

some surprise, as no known tragedy of Jonson from so early a date

has come down to us.  That Jonson was at work on tragedy, however,

is proved by the entries in Henslowe of at least three tragedies,

now lost, in which he had a hand.  These are "Page of Plymouth,"

"King Robert II. of Scotland," and "Richard Crookback."  But all of

these came later, on his return to Henslowe, and range from August

1599 to June 1602.



Returning to the autumn of 1598, an event now happened to sever for

a time Jonson's relations with Henslowe.  In a letter to Alleyn,

dated September 26 of that year, Henslowe writes: "I have lost one

of my company that hurteth me greatly; that is Gabriel [Spencer],

for he is slain in Hogsden fields by the hands of Benjamin Jonson,

bricklayer."  The last word is perhaps Henslowe's thrust at Jonson

in his displeasure rather than a designation of his actual

continuance at his trade up to this time.  It is fair to Jonson to

remark however, that his adversary appears to have been a notorious

fire-eater who had shortly before killed one Feeke in a similar

squabble.  Duelling was a frequent occurrence of the time among

gentlemen and the nobility; it was an impudent breach of the peace

on the part of a player.  This duel is the one which Jonson

described years after to Drummond, and for it Jonson was duly

arraigned at Old Bailey, tried, and convicted.  He was sent to

prison and such goods and chattels as he had "were forfeited."  It

is a thought to give one pause that, but for the ancient law

permitting convicted felons to plead, as it was called, the benefit

of clergy, Jonson might have been hanged for this deed.  The

circumstance that the poet could read and write saved him; and he

received only a brand of the letter "T," for Tyburn, on his left

thumb.  While in jail Jonson became a Roman Catholic; but he

returned to the faith of the Church of England a dozen years later.



On his release, in disgrace with Henslowe and his former

associates, Jonson offered his services as a playwright to

Henslowe's rivals, the Lord Chamberlain's company, in which

Shakespeare was a prominent shareholder.  A tradition of long

standing, though not susceptible of proof in a court of law,

narrates that Jonson had submitted the manuscript of "Every Man in

His Humour" to the Chamberlain's men and had received from the

company a refusal; that Shakespeare called him back, read the play

himself, and at once accepted it.  Whether this story is true or

not, certain it is that "Every Man in His Humour" was accepted by

Shakespeare's company and acted for the first time in 1598, with

Shakespeare taking a part.  The evidence of this is contained in

the list of actors prefixed to the comedy in the folio of Jonson's

works, 1616.  But it is a mistake to infer, because Shakespeare's

name stands first in the list of actors and the elder Kno'well

first in the dramatis personae, that Shakespeare took that

particular part.  The order of a list of Elizabethan players was

generally that of their importance or priority as shareholders in

the company and seldom if ever corresponded to the list of

characters.



"Every Man in His Humour" was an immediate success, and with it

Jonson's reputation as one of the leading dramatists of his time

was established once and for all.  This could have been by no means

Jonson's earliest comedy, and we have just learned that he was

already reputed one of "our best in tragedy."  Indeed, one of

Jonson's extant comedies, "The Case is Altered," but one never

claimed by him or published as his, must certainly have preceded

"Every Man in His Humour" on the stage.  The former play may be

described as a comedy modelled on the Latin plays of Plautus.  (It

combines, in fact, situations derived from the "Captivi" and the

"Aulularia" of that dramatist).  But the pretty story of the

beggar-maiden, Rachel, and her suitors, Jonson found, not among the

classics, but in the ideals of romantic love which Shakespeare had

already popularised on the stage.  Jonson never again produced so

fresh and lovable a feminine personage as Rachel, although in other

respects "The Case is Altered" is not a conspicuous play, and, save

for the satirising of Antony Munday in the person of Antonio

Balladino and Gabriel Harvey as well, is perhaps the least

characteristic of the comedies of Jonson.



"Every Man in His Humour," probably first acted late in the summer

of 1598 and at the Curtain, is commonly regarded as an epoch-making

play; and this view is not unjustified.  As to plot, it tells

little more than how an intercepted letter enabled a father to

follow his supposedly studious son to London, and there observe his

life with the gallants of the time.  The real quality of this

comedy is in its personages and in the theory upon which they are

conceived.  Ben Jonson had theories about poetry and the drama, and

he was neither chary in talking of them nor in experimenting with

them in his plays.  This makes Jonson, like Dryden in his time, and

Wordsworth much later, an author to reckon with; particularly when

we remember that many of Jonson's notions came for a time

definitely to prevail and to modify the whole trend of English

poetry.  First of all Jonson was a classicist, that is, he believed

in restraint and precedent in art in opposition to the prevalent

ungoverned and irresponsible Renaissance spirit.  Jonson believed

that there was a professional way of doing things which might be

reached by a study of the best examples, and he found these

examples for the most part among the ancients.  To confine our

attention to the drama, Jonson objected to the amateurishness and

haphazard nature of many contemporary plays, and set himself to do

something different; and the first and most striking thing that he

evolved was his conception and practice of the comedy of humours.



As Jonson has been much misrepresented in this matter, let us quote

his own words as to "humour."  A humour, according to Jonson, was a

bias of disposition, a warp, so to speak, in character by which



     "Some one peculiar quality

     Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw

     All his affects, his spirits, and his powers,

     In their confluctions, all to run one way."



But continuing, Jonson is careful to add:



     "But that a rook by wearing a pied feather,

     The cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff,

     A yard of shoe-tie, or the Switzers knot

     On his French garters, should affect a humour!

     O, it is more than most ridiculous."



Jonson's comedy of humours, in a word, conceived of stage

personages on the basis of a ruling trait or passion (a notable

simplification of actual life be it observed in passing); and,

placing these typified traits in juxtaposition in their conflict

and contrast, struck the spark of comedy. Downright, as his name

indicates, is "a plain squire"; Bobadill's humour is that of the

braggart who is incidentally, and with delightfully comic effect, a

coward; Brainworm's humour is the finding out of things to the end

of fooling everybody: of course he is fooled in the end himself.

But it was not Jonson's theories alone that made the success of

"Every Man in His Humour."  The play is admirably written and each

character is vividly conceived, and with a firm touch based on

observation of the men of the London of the day.  Jonson was

neither in this, his first great comedy (nor in any other play that

he wrote), a supine classicist, urging that English drama return to

a slavish adherence to classical conditions.  He says as to the

laws of the old comedy (meaning by "laws," such matters as the

unities of time and place and the use of chorus): "I see not then,

but we should enjoy the same licence, or free power to illustrate

and heighten our invention as they [the ancients] did; and not be

tied to those strict and regular forms which the niceness of a few,

who are nothing but form, would thrust upon us."  "Every Man in His

Humour" is written in prose, a novel practice which Jonson had of

his predecessor in comedy, John Lyly.  Even the word "humour" seems

to have been employed in the Jonsonian sense by Chapman before

Jonson's use of it.  Indeed, the comedy of humours itself is only a

heightened variety of the comedy of manners which represents life,

viewed at a satirical angle, and is the oldest and most persistent

species of comedy in the language.  None the less, Jonson's comedy

merited its immediate success and marked out a definite course in

which comedy long continued to run.  To mention only Shakespeare's

Falstaff and his rout, Bardolph, Pistol, Dame Quickly, and the

rest, whether in "Henry IV." or in "The Merry Wives of Windsor,"

all are conceived in the spirit of humours.  So are the captains,

Welsh, Scotch, and Irish of "Henry V.," and Malvolio especially

later; though Shakespeare never employed the method of humours for

an important personage.  It was not Jonson's fault that many of his

successors did precisely the thing that he had reprobated, that is,

degrade the humour: into an oddity of speech, an eccentricity of

manner, of dress, or cut of beard.  There was an anonymous play

called "Every Woman in Her Humour."  Chapman wrote "A Humourous

Day's Mirth," Day, "Humour Out of Breath," Fletcher later, "The

Humourous Lieutenant," and Jonson, besides "Every Man Out of His

Humour," returned to the title in closing the cycle of his comedies

in "The Magnetic Lady or Humours Reconciled."



With the performance of "Every Man Out of His Humour" in 1599, by

Shakespeare's company once more at the Globe, we turn a new page in

Jonson's career.  Despite his many real virtues, if there is one

feature more than any other that distinguishes Jonson, it is his

arrogance; and to this may be added his self-righteousness,

especially under criticism or satire.  "Every Man Out of His

Humour" is the first of three "comical satires" which Jonson

contributed to what Dekker called the poetomachia or war of the

theatres as recent critics have named it.  This play as a fabric of

plot is a very slight affair; but as a satirical picture of the

manners of the time, proceeding by means of vivid caricature,

couched in witty and brilliant dialogue and sustained by that

righteous indignation which must lie at the heart of all true

satire -- as a realisation, in short, of the classical ideal of

comedy -- there had been nothing like Jonson's comedy since the

days of Aristophanes.  "Every Man in His Humour," like the two

plays that follow it, contains two kinds of attack, the critical or

generally satiric, levelled at abuses and corruptions in the

abstract; and the personal, in which specific application is made

of all this in the lampooning of poets and others, Jonson's

contemporaries.  The method of personal attack by actual caricature

of a person on the stage is almost as old as the drama.

Aristophanes so lampooned Euripides in "The Acharnians" and

Socrates in "The Clouds," to mention no other examples; and in

English drama this kind of thing is alluded to again and again.

What Jonson really did, was to raise the dramatic lampoon to an

art, and make out of a casual burlesque and bit of mimicry a

dramatic satire of literary pretensions and permanency.  With the

arrogant attitude mentioned above and his uncommon eloquence in

scorn, vituperation, and invective, it is no wonder that Jonson

soon involved himself in literary and even personal quarrels with

his fellow-authors.  The circumstances of the origin of this

'poetomachia' are far from clear, and those who have written on the

topic, except of late, have not helped to make them clearer.  The

origin of the "war" has been referred to satirical references,

apparently to Jonson, contained in "The Scourge of Villainy," a

satire in regular form after the manner of the ancients by John

Marston, a fellow playwright, subsequent friend and collaborator of

Jonson's.  On the other hand, epigrams of Jonson have been

discovered (49, 68, and 100) variously charging "playwright"

(reasonably identified with Marston) with scurrility, cowardice,

and plagiarism; though the dates of the epigrams cannot be

ascertained with certainty.  Jonson's own statement of the matter

to Drummond runs: "He had many quarrels with Marston, beat him,

and took his pistol from him, wrote his "Poetaster" on him; the

beginning[s] of them were that Marston represented him on the

stage."*



[footnote] *The best account of this whole subject is to be found

in the edition of "Poetaster" and "Satiromastrix" by J. H. Penniman

in "Belles Lettres Series" shortly to appear.  See also his earlier

work, "The War of the Theatres," 1892, and the excellent

contributions to the subject by H. C. Hart in "Notes and Queries,"

and in his edition of Jonson, 1906.



Here at least we are on certain ground; and the principals of the

quarrel are known.  "Histriomastix," a play revised by Marston in

1598, has been regarded as the one in which Jonson was thus

"represented on the stage"; although the personage in question,

Chrisogonus, a poet, satirist, and translator, poor but proud, and

contemptuous of the common herd, seems rather a complimentary

portrait of Jonson than a caricature.  As to the personages

actually ridiculed in "Every Man Out of His Humour," Carlo Buffone

was formerly thought certainly to be Marston, as he was described

as "a public, scurrilous, and profane jester," and elsewhere as the

grand scourge or second untruss [that is, satirist], of the time

(Joseph Hall being by his own boast the first, and Marston's work

being entitled "The Scourge of Villainy").  Apparently we must now

prefer for Carlo a notorious character named Charles Chester, of

whom gossipy and inaccurate Aubrey relates that he was "a bold

impertinent fellow...a perpetual talker and made a noise like a

drum in a room.  So one time at a tavern Sir Walter Raleigh beats

him and seals up his mouth (that is his upper and nether beard)

with hard wax.  From him Ben Jonson takes his Carlo Buffone

['i.e.', jester] in "Every Man in His Humour" ['sic']."  Is it

conceivable that after all Jonson was ridiculing Marston, and that

the point of the satire consisted in an intentional confusion of

"the grand scourge or second untruss" with "the scurrilous and

profane" Chester?



We have digressed into detail in this particular case to exemplify

the difficulties of criticism in its attempts to identify the

allusions in these forgotten quarrels.  We are on sounder ground of

fact in recording other manifestations of Jonson's enmity.  In "The

Case is Altered" there is clear ridicule in the character Antonio

Balladino of Anthony Munday, pageant-poet of the city, translator

of romances and playwright as well.  In "Every Man in His Humour"

there is certainly a caricature of Samuel Daniel, accepted poet of

the court, sonneteer, and companion of men of fashion.  These men

held recognised positions to which Jonson felt his talents better

entitled him; they were hence to him his natural enemies.  It seems

almost certain that he pursued both in the personages of his satire

through "Every Man Out of His Humour," and "Cynthia's Revels,"

Daniel under the characters Fastidious Brisk and Hedon, Munday as

Puntarvolo and Amorphus; but in these last we venture on quagmire

once more.  Jonson's literary rivalry of Daniel is traceable again

and again, in the entertainments that welcomed King James on his

way to London, in the masques at court, and in the pastoral drama.

As to Jonson's personal ambitions with respect to these two men, it

is notable that he became, not pageant-poet, but chronologer to the

City of London; and that, on the accession of the new king, he came

soon to triumph over Daniel as the accepted entertainer of royalty.



"Cynthia's Revels," the second "comical satire," was acted in 1600,

and, as a play, is even more lengthy, elaborate, and impossible

than "Every Man Out of His Humour."  Here personal satire seems to

have absorbed everything, and while much of the caricature is

admirable, especially in the detail of witty and trenchantly

satirical dialogue, the central idea of a fountain of self-love is

not very well carried out, and the persons revert at times to

abstractions, the action to allegory.  It adds to our wonder that

this difficult drama should have been acted by the Children of

Queen Elizabeth's Chapel, among them Nathaniel Field with whom

Jonson read Horace and Martial, and whom he taught later how to

make plays.  Another of these precocious little actors was

Salathiel Pavy, who died before he was thirteen, already famed for

taking the parts of old men.  Him Jonson immortalised in one of the

sweetest of his epitaphs.  An interesting sidelight is this on the

character of this redoubtable and rugged satirist, that he should

thus have befriended and tenderly remembered these little

theatrical waifs, some of whom (as we know) had been literally

kidnapped to be pressed into the service of the theatre and whipped

to the conning of their difficult parts.  To the caricature of

Daniel and Munday in "Cynthia's Revels" must be added Anaides

(impudence), here assuredly Marston, and Asotus (the prodigal),

interpreted as Lodge or, more perilously, Raleigh.  Crites, like

Asper-Macilente in "Every Man Out of His Humour," is Jonson's

self-complaisant portrait of himself, the just, wholly admirable,

and judicious scholar, holding his head high above the pack of the

yelping curs of envy and detraction, but careless of their puny

attacks on his perfections with only too mindful a neglect.



The third and last of the "comical satires" is "Poetaster," acted,

once more, by the Children of the Chapel in 1601, and Jonson's only

avowed contribution to the fray.  According to the author's own

account, this play was written in fifteen weeks on a report that

his enemies had entrusted to Dekker the preparation of

"Satiromastix, the Untrussing of the Humorous Poet," a dramatic

attack upon himself.  In this attempt to forestall his enemies

Jonson succeeded, and "Poetaster" was an immediate and deserved

success.  While hardly more closely knit in structure than its

earlier companion pieces, "Poetaster" is planned to lead up to the

ludicrous final scene in which, after a device borrowed from the

"Lexiphanes" of Lucian, the offending poetaster, Marston-Crispinus,

is made to throw up the difficult words with which he had

overburdened his stomach as well as overlarded his vocabulary.  In

the end Crispinus with his fellow, Dekker-Demetrius, is bound over

to keep the peace and never thenceforward "malign, traduce, or

detract the person or writings of Quintus Horatius Flaccus [Jonson]

or any other eminent man transcending you in merit."  One of the

most diverting personages in Jonson's comedy is Captain Tucca.

"His peculiarity" has been well described by Ward as "a buoyant

blackguardism which recovers itself instantaneously from the most

complete exposure, and a picturesqueness of speech like that of a

walking dictionary of slang."



It was this character, Captain Tucca, that Dekker hit upon in his

reply, "Satiromastix," and he amplified him, turning his abusive

vocabulary back upon Jonson and adding "an immodesty to his

dialogue that did not enter into Jonson's conception."  It has been

held, altogether plausibly, that when Dekker was engaged

professionally, so to speak, to write a dramatic reply to Jonson,

he was at work on a species of chronicle history, dealing with the

story of Walter Terill in the reign of William Rufus.  This he

hurriedly adapted to include the satirical characters suggested by

"Poetaster," and fashioned to convey the satire of his reply.  The

absurdity of placing Horace in the court of a Norman king is the

result. But Dekker's play is not without its palpable hits at the

arrogance, the literary pride, and self-righteousness of

Jonson-Horace, whose "ningle" or pal, the absurd Asinius Bubo, has

recently been shown to figure forth, in all likelihood, Jonson's

friend, the poet Drayton.  Slight and hastily adapted as is

"Satiromastix," especially in a comparison with the better wrought

and more significant satire of "Poetaster," the town awarded the

palm to Dekker, not to Jonson; and Jonson gave over in consequence

his practice of "comical satire."  Though Jonson was cited to

appear before the Lord Chief Justice to answer certain charges to

the effect that he had attacked lawyers and soldiers in

"Poetaster," nothing came of this complaint.  It may be suspected

that much of this furious clatter and give-and-take was pure

playing to the gallery.  The town was agog with the strife, and on

no less an authority than Shakespeare ("Hamlet," ii. 2), we learn

that the children's company (acting the plays of Jonson) did "so

berattle the common stages...that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid

of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither."



Several other plays have been thought to bear a greater or less

part in the war of the theatres.  Among them the most important is

a college play, entitled "The Return from Parnassus," dating

1601-02.  In it a much-quoted passage makes Burbage, as a

character, declare: "Why here's our fellow Shakespeare puts them

all down; aye and Ben Jonson, too.  O that Ben Jonson is a

pestilent fellow; he brought up Horace, giving the poets a pill,

but our fellow Shakespeare hath given him a purge that made him

bewray his credit."  Was Shakespeare then concerned in this war of

the stages?  And what could have been the nature of this "purge"?

Among several suggestions, "Troilus and Cressida" has been thought

by some to be the play in which Shakespeare thus "put down" his

friend, Jonson.  A wiser interpretation finds the "purge" in

"Satiromastix," which, though not written by Shakespeare, was

staged by his company, and therefore with his approval and under

his direction as one of the leaders of that company.



The last years of the reign of Elizabeth thus saw Jonson recognised

as a dramatist second only to Shakespeare, and not second even to

him as a dramatic satirist.  But Jonson now turned his talents to

new fields.  Plays on subjects derived from classical story and

myth had held the stage from the beginning of the drama, so that

Shakespeare was making no new departure when he wrote his "Julius

Caesar" about 1600.  Therefore when Jonson staged "Sejanus," three

years later and with Shakespeare's company once more, he was only

following in the elder dramatist's footsteps.  But Jonson's idea of

a play on classical history, on the one hand, and Shakespeare's and

the elder popular dramatists, on the other, were very different.

Heywood some years before had put five straggling plays on the

stage in quick succession, all derived from stories in Ovid and

dramatised with little taste or discrimination.  Shakespeare had a

finer conception of form, but even he was contented to take all his

ancient history from North's translation of Plutarch and dramatise

his subject without further inquiry. Jonson was a scholar and a

classical antiquarian.  He reprobated this slipshod amateurishness,

and wrote his "Sejanus" like a scholar, reading Tacitus, Suetonius,

and other authorities, to be certain of his facts, his setting, and

his atmosphere, and somewhat pedantically noting his authorities in

the margin when he came to print.  "Sejanus" is a tragedy of

genuine dramatic power in which is told with discriminating taste

the story of the haughty favourite of Tiberius with his tragical

overthrow.  Our drama presents no truer nor more painstaking

representation of ancient Roman life than may be found in Jonson's

"Sejanus" and "Catiline his Conspiracy," which followed in 1611.  A

passage in the address of the former play to the reader, in which

Jonson refers to a collaboration in an earlier version, has led to

the surmise that Shakespeare may have been that "worthier pen."

There is no evidence to determine the matter.



In 1605, we find Jonson in active collaboration with Chapman and

Marston in the admirable comedy of London life entitled "Eastward

Hoe."  In the previous year, Marston had dedicated his

"Malcontent," in terms of fervid admiration, to Jonson; so that the

wounds of the war of the theatres must have been long since healed.

Between Jonson and Chapman there was the kinship of similar

scholarly ideals.  The two continued friends throughout life.

"Eastward Hoe" achieved the extraordinary popularity represented in

a demand for three issues in one year.  But this was not due

entirely to the merits of the play.  In its earliest version a

passage which an irritable courtier conceived to be derogatory to

his nation, the Scots, sent both Chapman and Jonson to jail; but

the matter was soon patched up, for by this time Jonson had

influence at court.



With the accession of King James, Jonson began his long and

successful career as a writer of masques.  He wrote more masques

than all his competitors together, and they are of an extraordinary

variety and poetic excellence.  Jonson did not invent the masque;

for such premeditated devices to set and frame, so to speak, a

court ball had been known and practised in varying degrees of

elaboration long before his time.  But Jonson gave dramatic value

to the masque, especially in his invention of the antimasque, a

comedy or farcical element of relief, entrusted to professional

players or dancers.  He enhanced, as well, the beauty and dignity

of those portions of the masque in which noble lords and ladies

took their parts to create, by their gorgeous costumes and artistic

grouping and evolutions, a sumptuous show.  On the mechanical and

scenic side Jonson had an inventive and ingenious partner in Inigo

Jones, the royal architect, who more than any one man raised the

standard of stage representation in the England of his day.  Jonson

continued active in the service of the court in the writing of

masques and other entertainments far into the reign of King

Charles; but, towards the end, a quarrel with Jones embittered his

life, and the two testy old men appear to have become not only a

constant irritation to each other, but intolerable bores at court.

In "Hymenaei," "The Masque of Queens," "Love Freed from Ignorance,"

"Lovers made Men," "Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue," and many more

will be found Jonson's aptitude, his taste, his poetry and

inventiveness in these by-forms of the drama; while in "The Masque

of Christmas," and "The Gipsies Metamorphosed" especially, is

discoverable that power of broad comedy which, at court as well as

in the city, was not the least element of Jonson's contemporary

popularity.



But Jonson had by no means given up the popular stage when he

turned to the amusement of King James.  In 1605 "Volpone" was

produced, "The Silent Woman" in 1609, "The Alchemist" in the

following year.  These comedies, with "Bartholomew Fair," 1614,

represent Jonson at his height, and for constructive cleverness,

character successfully conceived in the manner of caricature, wit

and brilliancy of dialogue, they stand alone in English drama.

"Volpone, or the Fox," is, in a sense, a transition play from the

dramatic satires of the war of the theatres to the purer comedy

represented in the plays named above.  Its subject is a struggle of

wit applied to chicanery; for among its dramatis personae, from

the villainous Fox himself, his rascally servant Mosca, Voltore

(the vulture), Corbaccio and Corvino (the big and the little

raven), to Sir Politic Would-be and the rest, there is scarcely a

virtuous character in the play.  Question has been raised as to

whether a story so forbidding can be considered a comedy, for,

although the plot ends in the discomfiture and imprisonment of the

most vicious, it involves no mortal catastrophe.  But Jonson was on

sound historical ground, for "Volpone" is conceived far more

logically on the lines of the ancients' theory of comedy than was

ever the romantic drama of Shakespeare, however repulsive we may

find a philosophy of life that facilely divides the world into the

rogues and their dupes, and, identifying brains with roguery and

innocence with folly, admires the former while inconsistently

punishing them.



"The Silent Woman" is a gigantic farce of the most ingenious

construction.  The whole comedy hinges on a huge joke, played by a

heartless nephew on his misanthropic uncle, who is induced to take

to himself a wife, young, fair, and warranted silent, but who, in

the end, turns out neither silent nor a woman at all.  In "The

Alchemist," again, we have the utmost cleverness in construction,

the whole fabric building climax on climax, witty, ingenious, and

so plausibly presented that we forget its departures from the

possibilities of life.  In "The Alchemist" Jonson represented, none

the less to the life, certain sharpers of the metropolis, revelling

in their shrewdness and rascality and in the variety of the

stupidity and wickedness of their victims.  We may object to the

fact that the only person in the play possessed of a scruple of

honesty is discomfited, and that the greatest scoundrel of all is

approved in the end and rewarded.  The comedy is so admirably

written and contrived, the personages stand out with such lifelike

distinctness in their several kinds, and the whole is animated with

such verve and resourcefulness that "The Alchemist" is a new marvel

every time it is read.  Lastly of this group comes the tremendous

comedy, "Bartholomew Fair," less clear cut, less definite, and less

structurally worthy of praise than its three predecessors, but full

of the keenest and cleverest of satire and inventive to a degree

beyond any English comedy save some other of Jonson's own.  It is

in "Bartholomew Fair" that we are presented to the immortal

caricature of the Puritan, Zeal-in-the-Land Busy, and the

Littlewits that group about him, and it is in this extraordinary

comedy that the humour of Jonson, always open to this danger,

loosens into the Rabelaisian mode that so delighted King James in

"The Gipsies Metamorphosed."  Another comedy of less merit is "The

Devil is an Ass," acted in 1616.  It was the failure of this play

that caused Jonson to give over writing for the public stage for a

period of nearly ten years.



"Volpone" was laid as to scene in Venice.  Whether because of the

success of "Eastward Hoe" or for other reasons, the other three

comedies declare in the words of the prologue to "The Alchemist":



"Our scene is London, 'cause we would make known

No country's mirth is better than our own."



Indeed Jonson went further when he came to revise his plays for

collected publication in his folio of 1616, he transferred the

scene of "Every Man in His Humour" from Florence to London also,

converting Signior Lorenzo di Pazzi to Old Kno'well, Prospero to

Master Welborn, and Hesperida to Dame Kitely "dwelling i' the Old

Jewry."



In his comedies of London life, despite his trend towards

caricature, Jonson has shown himself a genuine realist, drawing

from the life about him with an experience and insight rare in any

generation.  A happy comparison has been suggested between Ben

Jonson and Charles Dickens.  Both were men of the people, lowly

born and hardly bred.  Each knew the London of his time as few men

knew it; and each represented it intimately and in elaborate

detail.  Both men were at heart moralists, seeking the truth by the

exaggerated methods of humour and caricature; perverse, even

wrong-headed at times, but possessed of a true pathos and largeness

of heart, and when all has been said -- though the Elizabethan ran

to satire, the Victorian to sentimentality -- leaving the world

better for the art that they practised in it.



In 1616, the year of the death of Shakespeare, Jonson collected his

plays, his poetry, and his masques for publication in a collective

edition.  This was an unusual thing at the time and had been

attempted by no dramatist before Jonson.  This volume published, in

a carefully revised text, all the plays thus far mentioned,

excepting "The Case is Altered," which Jonson did not acknowledge,

"Bartholomew Fair," and "The Devil is an Ass," which was written

too late.  It included likewise a book of some hundred and thirty

odd "Epigrams," in which form of brief and pungent writing Jonson

was an acknowledged master; "The Forest," a smaller collection of

lyric and occasional verse and some ten "Masques" and

"Entertainments."  In this same year Jonson was made poet laureate

with a pension of one hundred marks a year.  This, with his fees

and returns from several noblemen, and the small earnings of his

plays must have formed the bulk of his income.  The poet appears to

have done certain literary hack-work for others, as, for example,

parts of the Punic Wars contributed to Raleigh's "History of the

World."  We know from a story, little to the credit of either, that

Jonson accompanied Raleigh's son abroad in the capacity of a tutor.

In 1618 Jonson was granted the reversion of the office of Master of

the Revels, a post for which he was peculiarly fitted; but he did

not live to enjoy its perquisites.  Jonson was honoured with

degrees by both universities, though when and under what

circumstances is not known.  It has been said that he narrowly

escaped the honour of knighthood, which the satirists of the day

averred King James was wont to lavish with an indiscriminate hand.

Worse men were made knights in his day than worthy Ben Jonson.



From 1616 to the close of the reign of King James, Jonson produced

nothing for the stage.  But he "prosecuted" what he calls "his

wonted studies" with such assiduity that he became in reality, as

by report, one of the most learned men of his time.  Jonson's

theory of authorship involved a wide acquaintance with books and

"an ability," as he put it, "to convert the substance or riches of

another poet to his own use."  Accordingly Jonson read not only the

Greek and Latin classics down to the lesser writers, but he

acquainted himself especially with the Latin writings of his

learned contemporaries, their prose as well as their poetry, their

antiquities and curious lore as well as their more solid learning.

Though a poor man, Jonson was an indefatigable collector of books.

He told Drummond that "the Earl of Pembroke sent him 20 pounds every

first day of the new year to buy new books."  Unhappily, in 1623,

his library was destroyed by fire, an accident serio-comically

described in his witty poem, "An Execration upon Vulcan."  Yet even

now a book turns up from time to time in which is inscribed, in

fair large Italian lettering, the name, Ben Jonson.  With respect

to Jonson's use of his material, Dryden said memorably of him:

"[He] was not only a professed imitator of Horace, but a learned

plagiary of all the others; you track him everywhere in their

snow....But he has done his robberies so openly that one sees he

fears not to be taxed by any law.  He invades authors like a

monarch, and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in

him."  And yet it is but fair to say that Jonson prided himself,

and justly, on his originality.  In "Catiline," he not only uses

Sallust's account of the conspiracy, but he models some of the

speeches of Cicero on the Roman orator's actual words.  In

"Poetaster," he lifts a whole satire out of Horace and dramatises

it effectively for his purposes.  The sophist Libanius suggests the

situation of "The Silent Woman"; a Latin comedy of Giordano Bruno,

"Il Candelaio," the relation of the dupes and the sharpers in "The

Alchemist," the "Mostellaria" of Plautus, its admirable opening

scene.  But Jonson commonly bettered his sources, and putting the

stamp of his sovereignty on whatever bullion he borrowed made it

thenceforward to all time current and his own.



The lyric and especially the occasional poetry of Jonson has a

peculiar merit.  His theory demanded design and the perfection of

literary finish. He was furthest from the rhapsodist and the

careless singer of an idle day; and he believed that Apollo could

only be worthily served in singing robes and laurel crowned.  And

yet many of Jonson's lyrics will live as long as the language.  Who

does not know "Queen and huntress, chaste and fair."  "Drink to me

only with thine eyes," or "Still to be neat, still to be dressed"?

Beautiful in form, deft and graceful in expression, with not a word

too much or one that bears not its part in the total effect, there

is yet about the lyrics of Jonson a certain stiffness and

formality, a suspicion that they were not quite spontaneous and

unbidden, but that they were carved, so to speak, with

disproportionate labour by a potent man of letters whose habitual

thought is on greater things.  It is for these reasons that Jonson

is even better in the epigram and in occasional verse where

rhetorical finish and pointed wit less interfere with the

spontaneity and emotion which we usually associate with lyrical

poetry.  There are no such epitaphs as Ben Jonson's, witness the

charming ones on his own children, on Salathiel Pavy, the

child-actor, and many more; and this even though the rigid law of

mine and thine must now restore to William Browne of Tavistock the

famous lines beginning: "Underneath this sable hearse."  Jonson is

unsurpassed, too, in the difficult poetry of compliment, seldom

falling into fulsome praise and disproportionate similitude, yet

showing again and again a generous appreciation of worth in others,

a discriminating taste and a generous personal regard.  There was

no man in England of his rank so well known and universally beloved

as Ben Jonson.  The list of his friends, of those to whom he had

written verses, and those who had written verses to him, includes

the name of every man of prominence in the England of King James.

And the tone of many of these productions discloses an affectionate

familiarity that speaks for the amiable personality and sound worth

of the laureate.  In 1619, growing unwieldy through inactivity,

Jonson hit upon the heroic remedy of a journey afoot to Scotland.

On his way thither and back he was hospitably received at the

houses of many friends and by those to whom his friends had

recommended him.  When he arrived in Edinburgh, the burgesses met

to grant him the freedom of the city, and Drummond, foremost of

Scottish poets, was proud to entertain him for weeks as his guest

at Hawthornden.  Some of the noblest of Jonson's poems were

inspired by friendship.  Such is the fine "Ode to the memory of Sir

Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Moryson," and that admirable piece of

critical insight and filial affection, prefixed to the first

Shakespeare folio, "To the memory of my beloved master, William

Shakespeare, and what he hath left us," to mention only these.  Nor

can the earlier "Epode," beginning "Not to know vice at all," be

matched in stately gravity and gnomic wisdom in its own wise and

stately age.



But if Jonson had deserted the stage after the publication of his

folio and up to the end of the reign of King James, he was far from

inactive; for year after year his inexhaustible inventiveness

continued to contribute to the masquing and entertainment at court.

In "The Golden Age Restored," Pallas turns the Iron Age with

its attendant evils into statues which sink out of sight; in

"Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue," Atlas figures represented as an

old man, his shoulders covered with snow, and Comus, "the god of

cheer or the belly," is one of the characters, a circumstance which

an imaginative boy of ten, named John Milton, was not to forget.

"Pan's Anniversary," late in the reign of James, proclaimed that

Jonson had not yet forgotten how to write exquisite lyrics, and

"The Gipsies Metamorphosed" displayed the old drollery and broad

humorous stroke still unimpaired and unmatchable.  These, too, and

the earlier years of Charles were the days of the Apollo Room of

the Devil Tavern where Jonson presided, the absolute monarch of

English literary Bohemia.  We hear of a room blazoned about with

Jonson's own judicious "Leges Convivales" in letters of gold, of a

company made up of the choicest spirits of the time, devotedly

attached to their veteran dictator, his reminiscences, opinions,

affections, and enmities.  And we hear, too, of valorous potations;

but in the words of Herrick addressed to his master, Jonson, at the

Devil Tavern, as at the Dog, the Triple Tun, and at the Mermaid,



     "We such clusters had

     As made us nobly wild, not mad,

     And yet each verse of thine

     Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine."



But the patronage of the court failed in the days of King Charles,

though Jonson was not without royal favours; and the old poet

returned to the stage, producing, between 1625 and 1633, "The

Staple of News," "The New Inn," "The Magnetic Lady," and "The Tale

of a Tub," the last doubtless revised from a much earlier comedy.

None of these plays met with any marked success, although the

scathing generalisation of Dryden that designated them "Jonson's

dotages" is unfair to their genuine merits.  Thus the idea of an

office for the gathering, proper dressing, and promulgation of news

(wild flight of the fancy in its time) was an excellent subject for

satire on the existing absurdities among newsmongers; although

as much can hardly be said for "The Magnetic Lady," who, in her

bounty, draws to her personages of differing humours to reconcile

them in the end according to the alternative title, or "Humours

Reconciled."  These last plays of the old dramatist revert to

caricature and the hard lines of allegory; the moralist is more

than ever present, the satire degenerates into personal lampoon,

especially of his sometime friend, Inigo Jones, who appears

unworthily to have used his influence at court against the

broken-down old poet.  And now disease claimed Jonson, and he was

bedridden for months.  He had succeeded Middleton in 1628 as

Chronologer to the City of London, but lost the post for not

fulfilling its duties.  King Charles befriended him, and even

commissioned him to write still for the entertainment of the court;

and he was not without the sustaining hand of noble patrons and

devoted friends among the younger poets who were proud to be

"sealed of the tribe of Ben."



Jonson died, August 6, 1637, and a second folio of his works, which

he had been some time gathering, was printed in 1640, bearing in

its various parts dates ranging from 1630 to 1642.  It included all

the plays mentioned in the foregoing paragraphs, excepting "The

Case is Altered;" the masques, some fifteen, that date between 1617

and 1630; another collection of lyrics and occasional poetry called

"Underwoods", including some further entertainments; a translation

of "Horace's Art of Poetry" (also published in a vicesimo quarto in

1640), and certain fragments and ingatherings which the poet would

hardly have included himself.  These last comprise the fragment

(less than seventy lines) of a tragedy called "Mortimer his Fall,"

and three acts of a pastoral drama of much beauty and poetic

spirit, "The Sad Shepherd."  There is also the exceedingly

interesting "English Grammar" "made by Ben Jonson for the benefit

of all strangers out of his observation of the English language now

spoken and in use," in Latin and English; and "Timber, or

Discoveries" "made upon men and matter as they have flowed out of

his daily reading, or had their reflux to his peculiar notion of

the times."  The "Discoveries," as it is usually called, is a

commonplace book such as many literary men have kept, in which

their reading was chronicled, passages that took their fancy

translated or transcribed, and their passing opinions noted.  Many

passages of Jonson's "Discoveries" are literal translations from the

authors he chanced to be reading, with the reference, noted or not,

as the accident of the moment prescribed.  At times he follows the

line of Macchiavelli's argument as to the nature and conduct of

princes; at others he clarifies his own conception of poetry and

poets by recourse to Aristotle.  He finds a choice paragraph on

eloquence in Seneca the elder and applies it to his own

recollection of Bacon's power as an orator; and another on facile

and ready genius, and translates it, adapting it to his

recollection of his fellow-playwright, Shakespeare.  To call such

passages -- which Jonson never intended for publication --

plagiarism, is to obscure the significance of words.  To disparage

his memory by citing them is a preposterous use of scholarship.

Jonson's prose, both in his dramas, in the descriptive comments of

his masques, and in the "Discoveries," is characterised by clarity

and vigorous directness, nor is it wanting in a fine sense of form

or in the subtler graces of diction.



When Jonson died there was a project for a handsome monument to his

memory. But the Civil War was at hand, and the project failed.  A

memorial, not insufficient, was carved on the stone covering his

grave in one of the aisles of Westminster Abbey:



"O rare Ben Jonson."



FELIX E. SCHELLING.



THE COLLEGE,



PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A.





The following is a complete list of his published works: --



DRAMAS:



     Every Man in his Humour, 4to, 1601;

     The Case is Altered, 4to, 1609;

     Every Man out of his Humour, 4to, 1600;

     Cynthia's Revels, 4to, 1601;

     Poetaster, 4to, 1602;

     Sejanus, 4to, 1605;

     Eastward Ho (with Chapman and Marston), 4to, 1605;

     Volpone, 4to, 1607;

     Epicoene, or the Silent Woman, 4to, 1609 (?), fol., 1616;

     The Alchemist, 4to, 1612;

     Catiline, his Conspiracy, 4to, 1611;

     Bartholomew Fayre, 4to, 1614 (?), fol., 1631;

     The Divell is an Asse, fol., 1631;

     The Staple of Newes, fol., 1631;

     The New Sun, 8vo, 1631, fol., 1692;

     The Magnetic Lady, or Humours Reconcild, fol., 1640;

     A Tale of a Tub, fol., 1640;

     The Sad Shepherd, or a Tale of Robin Hood, fol., 1641;

     Mortimer his Fall (fragment), fol., 1640.



To Jonson have also been attributed additions to Kyd's Jeronymo,

and collaboration in The Widow with Fletcher and Middleton, and

in the Bloody Brother with Fletcher.



POEMS:



Epigrams, The Forrest, Underwoods, published in fols., 1616, 1640;

Selections: Execration against Vulcan, and Epigrams, 1640;

G. Hor. Flaccus his art of Poetry, Englished by Ben Jonson, 1640;

Leges Convivialis, fol., 1692.

Other minor poems first appeared in Gifford's edition of Works.



PROSE:



Timber, or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter, fol., 1641;

The English Grammar, made by Ben Jonson for the benefit of

Strangers, fol., 1640.



Masques and Entertainments were published in the early folios.



WORKS:



     Fol., 1616, volume. 2, 1640 (1631-41);

     fol., 1692, 1716-19, 1729;

     edited by P. Whalley, 7 volumes., 1756;

     by Gifford (with Memoir), 9 volumes., 1816, 1846;

     re-edited by F. Cunningham, 3 volumes., 1871;

     in 9 volumes., 1875;

     by Barry Cornwall (with Memoir), 1838;

     by B. Nicholson (Mermaid Series), with Introduction by

     C. H. Herford, 1893, etc.;

     Nine Plays, 1904;

     ed. H. C. Hart (Standard Library), 1906, etc;

     Plays and Poems, with Introduction by H. Morley (Universal

     Library), 1885;

     Plays (7) and Poems (Newnes), 1905;

     Poems, with Memoir by H. Bennett (Carlton Classics), 1907;

     Masques and Entertainments, ed. by H. Morley, 1890.



SELECTIONS:



     J. A. Symonds, with Biographical and Critical Essay,

     (Canterbury Poets), 1886;

     Grosart, Brave Translunary Things, 1895;

     Arber, Jonson Anthology, 1901;

     Underwoods, Cambridge University Press, 1905;

     Lyrics (Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher), the Chap Books,

     No. 4, 1906;

     Songs (from Plays, Masques, etc.), with earliest known

     setting, Eragny Press, 1906.



LIFE:



     See Memoirs affixed to Works;

     J. A. Symonds (English Worthies), 1886;

     Notes of Ben Jonson Conversations with Drummond of Hawthornden;

     Shakespeare Society, 1842;

     ed. with Introduction and Notes by P. Sidney, 1906;

     Swinburne, A Study of Ben Jonson, 1889.











BEN JONSON'S PLAYS









EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR*





    ([*footnote] This is the "Italian Edition" of the comedy.

    The later, superior, and more familiar Anglicised version,

    will be a separate Project Gutenberg etext.)





DRAMATIS PERSONAE



     LORENZO SENIOR.

     PROSPERO.

     THORELLO.

     GIULIANO.

     LORENZO JUNIOR.

     STEPHANO.

     DOCTOR CLEMENT.

     BOBADILLA.

     BIANCHA.

     HESPERIDA.

     PETO.

     MUSCO.

     COB.

     MATHEO.

     PISO.

     TIB.









ACT I



   SCENE I.



   ENTER LORENZO DI PAZZI SENIOR, MUSCO.



   LOR. SE.  Now trust me, here's a goodly day toward.

   Musco, call up my son Lorenzo; bid him rise; tell him,

   I have some business to employ him in.



   MUS.  I will, sir, presently.



   LOR. SE.  But hear you, sirrah;

   If he be at study disturb him not.



   MUS.  Very good, sir. [EXIT MUSCO.]



   LOR. SE.  How happy would I estimate myself,

   Could I by any means retire my son,

   From one vain course of study he affects!

   He is a scholar (if a man may trust

   The liberal voice of double-tongued report)

   Of dear account, in all our "Academies."

   Yet this position must not breed in me

   A fast opinion that he cannot err.

   Myself was once a "student," and indeed

   Fed with the self-same humour he is now,

   Dreaming on nought but idle "Poetry";

   But since, Experience hath awaked my spirits,

   [ENTER STEPHANO]

   And reason taught them, how to comprehend

   The sovereign use of study.  What, cousin Stephano!

   What news with you, that you are here so early?



   STEP.  Nothing: but e'en come to see how you do, uncle.



   LOR. SE.  That's kindly done; you are welcome, cousin.



   STEP.  Ay, I know that sir, I would not have come else: how doth

   my cousin, uncle?



   LOR. SE.  Oh, well, well, go in and see; I doubt he's scarce

   stirring yet.



   STEP.  Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me an he have e'er a book

   of the sciences of hawking and hunting?  I would fain borrow it.



   LOR. SE.  Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?



   STEP.  No, wusse; but I'll practise against next year; I have

   bought me a hawk, and bells and all; I lack nothing but a book to

   keep it by.



   LOR. SE.  Oh, most ridiculous.



   STEP.  Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle, why, you know, an a

   man have not skill in hawking and hunting now-a-days, I'll not give

   a rush for him; he is for no gentleman's company, and (by God's

   will) I scorn it, ay, so I do, to be a consort for every

   hum-drum; hang them scroyles, there's nothing in them in the

   world, what do you talk on it? a gentleman must shew himself like

   a gentleman.  Uncle, I pray you be not angry, I know what I have to

   do, I trow, I am no novice.



   LOR. SE.  Go to, you are a prodigal, and self-willed fool.

   Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak,

   Take't as you will, I'll not flatter you.

   What? have you not means enow to waste

   That which your friends have left you, but you must

   Go cast away your money on a Buzzard,

   And know not how to keep it when you have done?

   Oh, it's brave, this will make you a gentleman,

   Well, cousin, well, I see you are e'en past hope

   Of all reclaim; ay, so, now you are told on it, you

   look another way.



   STEP.  What would you have me do, trow?



   LOR.  What would I have you do? marry,

   Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive,

   That I would have you do, and not to spend

   Your crowns on every one that humours you:

   I would not have you to intrude yourself

   In every gentleman's society,

   Till their affections or your own dessert,

   Do worthily invite you to the place.

   For he that's so respectless in his courses,

   Oft sells his reputation vile and cheap.

   Let not your carriage and behaviour taste

   Of affectation, lest while you pretend

   To make a blaze of gentry to the world

   A little puff of scorn extinguish it,

   And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,

   Whose property is only to offend.

   Cousin, lay by such superficial forms,

   And entertain a perfect real substance;

   Stand not so much on your gentility,

   But moderate your expenses (now at first)

   As you may keep the same proportion still:

   Bear a low sail.  Soft, who's this comes here?



   [ENTER A SERVANT.]



   SER.  Gentlemen, God save you.



   STEP.  Welcome, good friend; we do not stand much upon our

   gentility, yet I can assure you mine uncle is a man of a thousand

   pound land a year; he hath but one son in the world; I am his next

   heir, as simple as I stand here, if my cousin die.  I have a fair

   living of mine own too beside.



   SER.  In good time, sir.



   STEP.  In good time, sir! you do not flout me, do you?



   SER.  Not I, sir.



   STEP.  An you should, here be them can perceive it, and that

   quickly too.  Go to; and they can give it again soundly, an need be.



   SER.  Why, sir, let this satisfy you.  Good faith, I had no such

   intent.



   STEP.  By God, an I thought you had, sir, I would talk with you.



   SER.  So you may, sir, and at your pleasure.



   STEP.  And so I would, sir, an you were out of mine uncle's ground,

   I can tell you.



   LOR. SE.  Why, how now, cousin, will this ne'er be left?



   STEP.  Whoreson, base fellow, by God's lid, an 'twere not for

   shame, I would --



   LOR. SE.  What would you do? you peremptory ass,

   An you'll not be quiet, get you hence.

   You see, the gentleman contains himself

   In modest limits, giving no reply

   To your unseason'd rude comparatives;

   Yet you'll demean yourself without respect

   Either of duty or humanity.

   Go, get you in: 'fore God, I am asham'd

   [EXIT STEP.]

   Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.



   SER.  I pray you, sir, is this Pazzi house?



   LOR. SE.  Yes, marry is it, sir.



   SER.  I should enquire for a gentleman here, one Signior Lorenzo di

   Pazzi; do you know any such, sir, I pray you?



   LOR. SE.  Yes, sir; or else I should forget myself.



   SER.  I cry you mercy, sir, I was requested by a gentleman of

   Florence (having some occasion to ride this way) to deliver you

   this letter.



   LOR. SE.  To me, sir?  What do you mean?  I pray you remember your

   court'sy.

   "To his dear and most selected friend, Signior Lorenzo di

   Pazzi."

   What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it?

   Nay, pray you be covered.



   SER.  Signior Prospero.



   LOR. SE.  Signior Prospero?  A young gentleman of the family of

   Strozzi, is he not?



   SER.  Ay, sir, the same: Signior Thorello, the rich Florentine

   merchant married his sister.



   [ENTER MUSCO.]



   LOR. SE.  You say very true. -- Musco.



   MUS.  Sir.



   LOR. SE.  Make this gentleman drink here.

   I pray you go in, sir, an't please you.

   [EXEUNT.]

   Now (without doubt) this letter's to my son.

   Well, all is one: I'll be so bold as read it,

   Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase;

   Both which (I do presume) are excellent,

   And greatly varied from the vulgar form,

   If Prospero's invention gave them life.

   How now! what stuff is here?

   "Sir Lorenzo,

   I muse we cannot see thee at Florence: 'Sblood, I doubt,

   Apollo hath got thee to be his Ingle, that thou comest

   not abroad, to visit thine old friends: well, take heed

   of him; he may do somewhat for his household servants, or

   so; But for his Retainers, I am sure, I have known some

   of them, that have followed him, three, four, five years

   together, scorning the world with their bare heels, and

   at length been glad for a shift (though no clean shift)

   to lie a whole winter, in half a sheet cursing Charles'

   wain, and the rest of the stars intolerably.  But (quis

   contra diuos?) well; Sir, sweet villain, come and see me;

   but spend one minute in my company, and 'tis enough: I

   think I have a world of good jests for thee: oh, sir, I

   can shew thee two of the most perfect, rare and absolute

   true Gulls, that ever thou saw'st, if thou wilt come.

   'Sblood, invent some famous memorable lie, or other,

   to flap thy Father in the mouth withal: thou hast been

   father of a thousand, in thy days, thou could'st be no

   Poet else: any scurvy roguish excuse will serve; say

   thou com'st but to fetch wool for thine Ink-horn.  And

   then, too, thy Father will say thy wits are a wool-

   gathering.  But it's no matter; the worse, the better.

   Anything is good enough for the old man.  Sir, how if thy

   Father should see this now? what would he think of me?

   Well, (how ever I write to thee) I reverence him in my

   soul, for the general good all Florence delivers of him.

   Lorenzo, I conjure thee (by what, let me see) by the depth

   of our love, by all the strange sights we have seen in

   our days, (ay, or nights either), to come to me to

   Florence this day.  Go to, you shall come, and let your

   Muses go spin for once.  If thou wilt not, 's hart, what's

   your god's name?  Apollo?  Ay, Apollo.  If this melancholy

   rogue (Lorenzo here) do not come, grant, that he do turn

   Fool presently, and never hereafter be able to make a good

   jest, or a blank verse, but live in more penury of wit

   and invention, than either the Hall-Beadle, or Poet

   Nuntius."

   Well, it is the strangest letter that ever I read.

   Is this the man, my son so oft hath praised

   To be the happiest, and most precious wit

   That ever was familiar with Art?

   Now, by our Lady's blessed son, I swear,

   I rather think him most unfortunate

   In the possession of such holy gifts,

   Being the master of so loose a spirit.

   Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ

   With so profane a pen unto his friend?

   The modest paper e'en looks pale for grief,

   To feel her virgin-cheek defiled and stained

   With such a black and criminal inscription.

   Well, I had thought my son could not have strayed

   So far from judgment as to mart himself

   Thus cheaply in the open trade of scorn

   To jeering folly and fantastic humour.

   But now I see opinion is a fool,

   And hath abused my senses. -- Musco.



   [ENTER MUSCO.]



   MUS. Sir.



   LOR. SE.  What, is the fellow gone that brought this letter?



   MUS.  Yes sir, a pretty while since.



   LOR. SE.  And where's Lorenzo?



   MUS.  In his chamber, sir.



   LOR. SE.  He spake not with the fellow, did he?



   MUS.  No, sir, he saw him not.



   LOR. SE.  Then, Musco, take this letter, and deliver it unto

   Lorenzo: but, sirrah, on your life take you no knowledge I have

   opened it.



   MUS.  O Lord, sir, that were a jest indeed.



   [EXIT MUS.]



   LOR. SE.  I am resolv'd I will not cross his journey,

   Nor will I practise any violent means

   To stay the hot and lusty course of youth.

   For youth restrained straight grows impatient,

   And, in condition, like an eager dog,

   Who, ne'er so little from his game withheld,

   Turns head and leaps up at his master's throat.

   Therefore I'll study, by some milder drift,

   To call my son unto a happier shrift.



   [EXIT.]





   ACT I.  SCENE II.



   ENTER LORENZO JUNIOR, WITH MUSCO.



   MUS.  Yes, sir, on my word he opened it, and read the contents.



   LOR. JU.  It scarce contents me that he did so.  But, Musco, didst

   thou observe his countenance in the reading of it, whether he were

   angry or pleased?



   MUS.  Why, sir, I saw him not read it.



   LOR. JU.  No? how knowest thou then that he opened it?



   MUS.  Marry, sir, because he charg'd me on my life to tell nobody

   that he opened it, which, unless he had done, he would never fear

   to have it revealed.



   LOR. JU.  That's true: well, Musco, hie thee in again,

   Lest thy protracted absence do lend light,

   [ENTER STEPHANO.]

   To dark suspicion: Musco, be assured

   I'll not forget this thy respective love.



   STEP.  Oh, Musco, didst thou not see a fellow here in a

   what-sha-call-him doublet; he brought mine uncle a letter

   even now?



   MUS.  Yes, sir, what of him?



   STEP.  Where is he, canst thou tell?



   MUS.  Why, he is gone.



   STEP.  Gone? which way? when went he? how long since?



   MUS.  It's almost half an hour ago since he rode hence.



   STEP.  Whoreson scanderbag rogue; oh that I had a horse; by God's

   lid, I'd fetch him back again, with heave and ho.



   MUS.  Why, you may have my master's bay gelding, an you will.



   STEP.  But I have no boots, that's the spite on it.



   MUS.  Then it's no boot to follow him.  Let him go and hang, sir.



   STEP.  Ay, by my troth; Musco, I pray thee help to truss me a

   little; nothing angers me, but I have waited such a while for him

   all unlac'd and untrussed yonder; and now to see he is gone the

   other way.



   MUS.  Nay, I pray you stand still, sir.



   STEP.  I will, I will: oh, how it vexes me.



   MUS.  Tut, never vex yourself with the thought of such a base

   fellow as he.



   STEP.  Nay, to see he stood upon points with me too.



   MUS.  Like enough so; that was because he saw you had so few at

   your hose.



   STEP.  What!  Hast thou done?  Godamercy, good Musco.



   MUS.  I marle, sir, you wear such ill-favoured coarse stockings,

   having so good a leg as you have.



   STEP.  Foh! the stockings be good enough for this time of the

   year; but I'll have a pair of silk, e'er it be long: I think my

   leg would shew well in a silk hose.



   MUS.  Ay, afore God, would it, rarely well.



   STEP.  In sadness I think it would: I have a reasonable good leg?



   MUS.  You have an excellent good leg, sir: I pray you pardon me.

   I have a little haste in, sir.



   STEP.  A thousand thanks, good Musco.



   [EXIT.]



   What, I hope he laughs not at me; an he do --



   LOR. JU.  Here is a style indeed, for a man's senses to leap over,

   e'er they come at it: why, it is able to break the shins of any

   old man's patience in the world.  My father read this with

   patience?  Then will I be made an Eunuch, and learn to sing

   Ballads.  I do not deny, but my father may have as much patience as

   any other man; for he used to take physic, and oft taking physic

   makes a man a very patient creature.  But, Signior Prospero, had

   your swaggering Epistle here arrived in my father's hands at such

   an hour of his patience, I mean, when he had taken physic, it is to

   be doubted whether I should have read "sweet villain here."  But,

   what?  My wise cousin; Nay then, I'll furnish our feast with one

   Gull more toward a mess; he writes to me of two, and here's one,

   that's three, i'faith.  Oh for a fourth! now, Fortune, or never,

   Fortune!



   STEP.  Oh, now I see who he laughed at: he laughed at somebody in

   that letter.  By this good light, an he had laughed at me, I would

   have told mine uncle.



   LOR. JU.  Cousin Stephano: good morrow, good cousin, how fare you?



   STEP.  The better for your asking, I will assure you.  I have been

   all about to seek you.  Since I came I saw mine uncle; and i'faith

   how have you done this great while?  Good Lord, by my troth, I am

   glad you are well, cousin.



   LOR. JU.  And I am as glad of your coming, I protest to you, for I

   am sent for by a private gentleman, my most special dear friend, to

   come to him to Florence this morning, and you shall go with me,

   cousin, if it please you, not else, I will enjoin you no further

   than stands with your own consent, and the condition of a friend.



   STEP.  Why, cousin, you shall command me an 'twere twice so far as

   Florence, to do you good; what, do you think I will not go with

   you?  I protest --



   LOR. JU.  Nay, nay, you shall not protest



   STEP.  By God, but I will, sir, by your leave I'll protest more to

   my friend than I'll speak of at this time.



   LOR. JU.  You speak very well, sir.



   STEP.  Nay, not so neither, but I speak to serve my turn.



   LOR. JU.  Your turn? why, cousin, a gentleman of so fair sort as

   you are, of so true carriage, so special good parts; of so dear and

   choice estimation; one whose lowest condition bears the stamp of a

   great spirit; nay more, a man so graced, gilded, or rather, to use

   a more fit metaphor, tinfoiled by nature; not that you have a

   leaden constitution, coz, although perhaps a little inclining to

   that temper, and so the more apt to melt with pity, when you fall

   into the fire of rage, but for your lustre only, which reflects as

   bright to the world as an old ale-wife's pewter again a good time;

   and will you now, with nice modesty, hide such real ornaments as

   these, and shadow their glory as a milliner's wife doth her wrought

   stomacher, with a smoky lawn or a black cyprus?  Come, come; for

   shame do not wrong the quality of your dessert in so poor a kind;

   but let the idea of what you are be portrayed in your aspect, that

   men may read in your looks: "Here within this place is to be seen

   the most admirable, rare, and accomplished work of nature!"

   Cousin, what think you of this?



   STEP.  Marry, I do think of it, and I will be more melancholy and

   gentlemanlike than I have been, I do ensure you.



   LOR. JU.  Why, this is well: now if I can but hold up this humour

   in him, as it is begun, Catso for Florence, match him an she can.

   Come, cousin.



   STEP.  I'll follow you.



   LOR. JU.  Follow me! you must go before!



   STEP.  Must I? nay, then I pray you shew me, good cousin.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT I.  SCENE III.



   ENTER SIGNIOR MATHEO, TO HIM COB.



   MAT.  I think this be the house: what ho!



   COB.  Who's there? oh, Signior Matheo.  God give you good morrow,

   sir.



   MAT.  What?  Cob? how doest thou, good Cob? does thou inhabit

   here, Cob?



   COB.  Ay, sir, I and my lineage have kept a poor house in our days.



   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 loins, no worse man; and yet no man neither but

   Herring the king of fish, one of the monarchs of the world, I

   assure you.  I do fetch my pedigree and name from the first red

   herring that was eaten in Adam and Eve's kitchen: his Cob was my

   great, great, mighty great grandfather.



   MAT.  Why mighty? why mighty?



   COB.  Oh, it's a mighty while ago, sir, and it was a mighty great

   Cob.



   MAT.  How knowest thou that?



   COB.  How know I? why, his ghost comes to me every night.



   MAT.  Oh, unsavoury jest: the ghost of a herring Cob.



   COB.  Ay, why not the ghost of a herring Cob, as well as the ghost

   of Rashero Bacono, they were both broiled on the coals? you are a

   scholar, upsolve me that now.



   MAT.  Oh, rude ignorance!  Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman,

   one Signior Bobadilla, where his lodging is?



   COB.  Oh, my guest, sir, you mean?



   MAT.  Thy guest, alas! ha, ha.



   COB.  Why do you laugh, sir? do you not mean Signior Bobadilla?



   MAT.  Cob, I 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'dst give it him.



   COB.  I will not give it him.  Mass, I thought somewhat was in it,

   we could not get him to bed all night.  Well sir, though he lie not

   on my bed, he lies on my bench, an't please you to go up, sir, you

   shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak

   wrapt about him, as though he had neither won nor lost, and yet I

   warrant he ne'er cast better in his life than he hath done

   to-night.



   MAT.  Why, was he drunk?



   COB.  Drunk, sir? you hear not me say so; perhaps he swallow'd 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, ho!  God be with you, sir; it's six o'clock: I should have

   carried two turns by this, what ho! my stopple, come.



   MAT.  Lie in a water-bearer's house, a gentleman of his note?

   Well, I'll tell him my mind.



   [EXIT.]



   COB.  What, Tib, shew this gentleman up to Signior Bobadilla: oh,

   an my house were the Brazen head now, faith it would e'en cry moe

   fools yet: you should have some now, would take him to be a

   gentleman at least; alas, God help the simple, his father's an

   honest man, a good fishmonger, and so forth: and now doth he creep

   and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave gallants about

   the town, such as my guest is, (oh, 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 M. Thorello's; and here's the

   jest, he is in love with my master's sister, and calls her

   mistress: and there he sits a whole afternoon sometimes,

   reading of these same abominable, vile, (a pox on them, I cannot

   abide them!) rascally verses, Poetry, poetry, and speaking of

   Interludes, 'twill make a man burst to hear him: and the wenches,

   they do so jeer and tihe at him; well, should they do as much to

   me, I'd forswear them all, by the life of Pharaoh, there's an oath:

   how many water-bearers shall you hear swear such an oath? oh, I

   have a guest, (he teacheth me) he doth swear the best of any man

   christened.  By Phoebus, By the life of Pharaoh, By the body of me,

   As I am gentleman, and a soldier: such dainty oaths; and withal he

   doth take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and

   cleanliest; it would do a man good to see the fume come forth at

   his nostrils: well, he owes me forty shillings, (my wife lent him

   out of her purse; by sixpence a time,) besides his lodging; I would

   I had it: I shall have it, he saith, next Action.  Helter skelter,

   hang sorrow, care will kill a cat, up-tails all, and a pox on the

   hangman.



   [EXIT.]



   [BOBADILLA DISCOVERS HIMSELF;  ON A BENCH; TO HIM TIB.]



   BOB.  Hostess, hostess.



   TIB.  What say you, sir?



   BOB.  A cup of your small beer, sweet hostess.



   TIB.  Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you.



   BOB.  A gentleman?  (God's so) I am not within.



   TIB.  My husband told him you were, sir.



   BOB.  What a plague! what meant he?



   MAT.  Signior Bobadilla.



   [MATHEO 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.



   MAT.  God save you, sir, God save you.



   [ENTER MATHEO.]



   BOB.  Signior Matheo, is't you, sir? please you sit down.



   MAT.  I thank you, good Signior, you may see I am somewhat

   audacious.



   BOB.  Not so, Signior, I was requested to supper yesternight by a

   sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drunk to, I assure

   you.



   MAT.  Vouchsafe me by whom, good Signior.



   BOB.  Marry, by Signior Prospero, and others; why, hostess, a stool

   here for this gentleman.



   MAT.  No haste, sir, it is very well.



   BOB.  Body of me, it was so late ere we parted last night, I can

   scarce open mine eyes yet; I was but new risen as you came; how

   passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.



   MAT.  Faith, some half hour to seven: now trust me, you have an

   exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private.



   BOB.  Ay, sir, sit down.  I pray you, Signior Matheo, in any case

   possess no gentlemen of your acquaintance with notice of my

   lodging.



   MAT.  Who?  I, sir? no.



   BOB.  Not that I need to care who know it, but in regard I would

   not be so popular and general as some be.



   MAT.  True, Signior, I conceive you.



   BOB.  For do you see, sir, by the heart of myself, (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.



   MAT.  O Lord, sir!  I resolve so.



   BOB.  What new book have you there?  What?  "Go by Hieronymo."



   MAT.  Ay, did you ever see it acted? is't not well penned?



   BOB.  Well penned: I would fain see all the Poets of our time pen

   such another play as that was; they'll prate and swagger, and keep

   a stir of art and devices, when (by God's so) they are the most

   shallow, pitiful 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 life, no life, but

   lively form of death;" is't not excellent?  "Oh world, no world,

   but mass of public wrongs;" O God's me: "confused and filled with

   murder and misdeeds."  Is't not simply the best that ever you

   heard?

   Ha, how do you like it?



   BOB.  'Tis good.



   MAT.  "To thee, the purest object to my sense,

   The most refined essence heaven covers,

   Send I these lines, wherein I do commence

   The happy state of true deserving lovers.

   If they prove rough, unpolish'd, harsh, and rude,

   Haste made that waste; thus mildly I conclude."



   BOB.  Nay, proceed, proceed, where's this? where's this?



   MAT.  This, sir, a toy of mine own in my non-age: 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, sir, methinks.



   BOB.  So, so, it's a fashion gentlemen use.



   MAT.  Mass, sir, and now you speak of the fashion, Signior

   Prospero'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

   beautiful and gentlemanlike; yet he condemned it for the most

   pied and ridiculous that ever he saw.



   BOB.  Signior Giuliano, was it not? the elder brother?



   MAT.  Ay, sir, he.



   BOB.  Hang him, rook! he! why, he has no more judgment than a

   malt-horse. By St. George, I hold him the most peremptory absurd

   clown (one a them) in Christendom: I protest to you (as I am a

   gentleman and a soldier) I ne'er talk'd with the like of him: he

   has not so much as a good word in his belly, all iron, iron, a

   good commodity for a smith to make hob-nails on.



   MAT.  Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still

   where he comes: he brags he will give me the bastinado, as I hear.



   BOB.  How, the bastinado? how came he by that word, trow?



   MAT.  Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it so for the

   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 life of Pharaoh, an't were my case now, I should send

   him a challenge presently: the bastinado! come hither, you shall

   challenge him; I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him at

   pleasure, the first stoccado if you will, by this air.



   MAT.  Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in the mystery, I have

   heard, sir.



   BOB.  Of whom? of whom, I pray?



   MAT.  Faith, I have heard it spoken of divers, that you have very

   rare skill, sir.



   BOB.  By heaven, no, not I, no skill in the earth: some small

   science, know my time, distance, or so, I have profest it more for

   noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practise, I assure you.

   Hostess, lend us another bed-staff here quickly: look you, sir,

   exalt not your point above this state at any hand, and let your

   poniard maintain your defence thus: give it the gentleman.  So,

   sir, come on, oh, twine your body more about, that you may come to

   a more sweet comely gentlemanlike guard; so indifferent.  Hollow

   your body more, sir, thus: now stand fast on your left leg, note

   your distance, keep your due proportion of time: oh, you disorder

   your point most vilely.



   MAT.  How is the bearing of it now, sir?



   BOB.  Oh, out of measure ill, a well-experienced man would pass

   upon you at pleasure.



   MAT.  How mean you pass upon me?



   BOB.  Why, thus, sir: make a thrust at me; come in upon my time;

   control your point, and make a full career at the body: the

   best-practis'd gentlemen of the time term it the passado, a most

   desperate thrust, believe it.



   MAT.  Well, come, sir.



   BOB.  Why, you do not manage your weapons with that facility and

   grace that you should do, I have no spirit to play with you, your

   dearth of judgment makes you seem tedious.



   MAT.  But one venue, sir.



   BOB.  Fie! venue, most gross denomination as ever I heard: oh,

   the stoccado while you live, Signior, not that.  Come, put on

   your cloak, and we'll go to some private place where you are

   acquainted, some tavern or so, and we'll send for one of these

   fencers, where he shall breathe you at my direction, and then I'll

   teach you that trick; you shall kill him with it at the first if

   you please: why, I'll learn you by the true judgment of the eye,

   hand, and foot, to control any man's point in the world; Should

   your adversary confront you with a pistol, 'twere nothing, you

   should (by the same rule) control the bullet, most certain, by

   Phoebus: unless it were hail-shot: what money have you about

   you, sir?



   MAT.  Faith, I have not past two shillings, or so.



   BOB.  'Tis somewhat with the least, but come, when we have done,

   we'll call up Signior Prospero; perhaps we shall meet with

   Coridon his brother there.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT I.  SCENE IV.



   ENTER THORELLO, GIULIANO, PISO.



   THO.  Piso, come hither: there lies a note within, upon my desk;

   here, take my key: it's no matter neither, where's the boy?



   PIS.  Within, sir, in the warehouse.



   THO.  Let him tell over that Spanish gold, and weigh it, and do you

   see the delivery of those wares to Signior Bentivole: I'll be

   there myself at the receipt of the money anon.



   PIS.  Very good, sir.



   [EXIT PISO.]



   THO.  Brother, did you see that same fellow there?



   GIU.  Ay, what of him?



   THO.  He is e'en the honestest, faithful servant that is this day

   in Florence; (I speak a proud word now;) and one that I durst trust

   my life into his hands, I have so strong opinion of his love, if

   need were.



   GIU.  God send me never such need: but you said you had somewhat

   to tell me, what is't?



   THO.  Faith, brother, I am loath to utter it,

   As fearing to abuse your patience,

   But that I know your judgment more direct,

   Able to sway the nearest of affection.



   GIU.  Come, come, what needs this circumstance?



   THO.  I will not say what honour I ascribe

   Unto your friendship, nor in what dear state

   I hold your love; let my continued zeal,

   The constant and religious regard,

   That I have ever carried to your name,

   My carriage with your sister, all contest,

   How much I stand affected to your house.



   GIU.  You are too tedious, come to the matter, come to

   the matter.



   THO.  Then (without further ceremony) thus.

   My brother Prospero (I know not how)

   Of late is much declined from what he was,

   And greatly alter'd in his disposition.

   When he came first to lodge here in my house,

   Ne'er trust me, if I was not proud of him:

   Methought he bare himself with such observance,

   So true election and so fair a form:

   And (what was chief) it shew'd not borrow'd in him,

   But all he did became him as his own,

   And seem'd as perfect, proper, and innate,

   Unto the mind, as colour to the blood,

   But now, his course is so irregular,

   So loose affected, and deprived of grace,

   And he himself withal so far fallen off

   From his first place, that scarce no note remains,

   To tell men's judgments where he lately stood;

   He's grown a stranger to all due respect,

   Forgetful of his friends, and not content

   To stale himself in all societies,

   He makes my house as common as a Mart,

   A Theatre, a public receptacle

   For giddy humour, and diseased riot,

   And there, (as in a tavern, or a stews,)

   He, and his wild associates, spend their hours,

   In repetition of lascivious jests,

   Swear, leap, and dance, and revel night by night,

   Control my servants: and indeed what not?



   GIU.  Faith, I know not what I should say to him: so God save me,

   I am e'en at my wits' end, I have told him enough, one would think,

   if that would serve: well, he knows what to trust to for me: let

   him spend, and spend, and domineer till his heart ache: an he get

   a penny more of me, I'll give him this ear.



   THO.  Nay, good brother, have patience.



   GIU.  'Sblood, he mads me, I could eat my very flesh for anger: I

   marle you will not tell him of it, how he disquiets your house.



   THO.  O, there are divers reasons to dissuade me,

   But would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it,

   (Though but with plain and easy circumstance,)

   It would both come much better to his sense,

   And savour less of grief and discontent.

   You are his elder brother, and that title

   Confirms and warrants your authority:

   Which (seconded by your aspect) will breed

   A kind of duty in him, and regard.

   Whereas, if I should intimate the least,

   It would but add contempt to his neglect,

   Heap worse on ill, rear a huge pile of hate,

   That in the building would come tottering down,

   And in her ruins bury all our love.

   Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak,

   He would be ready in the heat of passion,

   To fill the ears of his familiars,

   With oft reporting to them, what disgrace

   And gross disparagement I had proposed him.

   And then would they straight back him in opinion,

   Make some loose comment upon every word,

   And out of their distracted phantasies,

   Contrive some slander, that should dwell with me.

   And what would that be, think you? marry, this,

   They would give out, (because my wife is fair,

   Myself but lately married, and my sister

   Here sojourning a virgin in my house,)

   That I were jealous: nay, as sure as death,

   Thus they would say: and how that I had wrong'd

   My brother purposely, thereby to find

   An apt pretext to banish them my house.



   GIU.  Mass, perhaps so.



   THO.  Brother, they would, believe it: so should I

   (Like one of these penurious quack-salvers)

   But try experiments upon myself,

   Open the gates unto mine own disgrace,

   Lend bare-ribb'd envy opportunity

   To stab my reputation, and good name.



   [ENTER BOBA. AND MAT.]



   MAT.  I will speak to him.



   BOB.  Speak to him? away, by the life of Pharaoh, you shall not,

   you shall not do him that grace: the time of day to you,

   gentlemen: is Signior Prospero stirring?



   GIU.  How then? what should he do?



   BOB.  Signior Thorello, is he within, sir?



   THO.  He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, I assure you.



   GIU.  Why, do you hear? you.



   BOB.  This gentleman hath satisfied me, I'll talk to no Scavenger.



   GIU.  How, Scavenger? stay, sir, stay.



   [EXEUNT.]



   THO.  Nay, brother Giuliano.



   GIU.  'Sblood, stand you away, an you love me.



   THO.  You shall not follow him now, I pray you,

   Good faith, you shall not.



   GIU.  Ha!  Scavenger! well, go to, I say little, but, by this good

   day, (God forgive me I should swear) if I put it up so, say I am

   the rankest -- that ever pist.  'Sblood, an I swallow this, I'll

   ne'er draw my sword in the sight of man again while I live; I'll

   sit in a barn with Madge-owlet first.  Scavenger!  'Heart, and I'll

   go near to fill that huge tumbrel slop of yours with somewhat, as I

   have good luck, your Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so.



   THO.  Oh, do not fret yourself thus, never think on't.



   GIU.  These are my brother's consorts, these, these are his

   Comrades, his walking mates, he's a gallant, a Cavaliero too, right

   hangman cut.  God let me not live, an I could not find in my heart

   to swinge the whole nest of them, one after another, and begin with

   him first, I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and

   take these courses, well, he shall hear on't, and that tightly too,

   an I live, i'faith.



   THO.  But, brother, let your apprehension (then)

   Run in an easy current, not transported

   With heady rashness, or devouring choler,

   And rather carry a persuading spirit,

   Whose powers will pierce more gently; and allure

   Th' imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim,

   To a more sudden and resolved assent.



   GIU.  Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you.



   [BELL RINGS.]



   THO.  How now! oh, the bell rings to breakfast.

   Brother Giuliano, I pray you go in and bear my wife company:

   I'll but give order to my servants for the dispatch of some

   business, and come to you presently.

   [EXIT GIU., ENTER COB.]

   What, Cob! our maids will have you by the back (i'faith)

   For coming so late this morning.



   COB.  Perhaps so, sir, take heed somebody have not them

   by the belly for walking so late in the evening.



   [EXIT.]



   THO.  Now (in good faith) my mind is somewhat eased,

   Though not reposed in that security

   As I could wish; well, I must be content,

   Howe'er I set a face on't to the world,

   Would I had lost this finger at a vent,

   So Prospero had ne'er lodged in my house,

   Why't cannot be, where there is such resort

   Of wanton gallants, and young revellers,

   That any woman should be honest long.

   Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve

   The sovereign state of chastity unscarr'd,

   When such strong motives muster, and make head

   Against her single peace? no, no: beware

   When mutual pleasure sways the appetite,

   And spirits of one kind and quality,

   Do meet to parley in the pride of blood.

   Well, (to be plain) if I but thought the time

   Had answer'd their affections, all the world

   Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold:

   Marry, I hope they have not got that start.

   For opportunity hath balk'd them yet,

   And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears

   To attend the imposition of my heart:

   My presence shall be as an iron bar,

   'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire,

   Yea, every look or glance mine eye objects,

   Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,

   When he forgets the limits of prescription.



   [ENTER BIANCHA WITH HESPERIDA.]



   BIA.  Sister Hesperida, I pray you fetch down the rose-water

   above in the closet: Sweet-heart, will you come in to breakfast?



   THO.  An she have overheard me now?



   [EXIT HESPERIDA.]



   BIA.  I pray thee, (good Muss) we stay for you.



   THO.  By Christ, I would not for a thousand crowns.



   BIA.  What ail you, sweet-heart? are you not well? speak, good

   Muss.



   THO.  Troth, my head aches extremely on a sudden.



   BIA.  Oh Jesu!



   THO.  How now! what!



   BIA.  Good Lord, how it burns!  Muss, keep you warm; good truth,

   it is this new disease, there's a number are troubled withall for

   God's sake, sweet-heart, come in out of the air.



   THO.  How simple, and how subtle are her answers!

   A new disease, and many troubled with it.

   Why true, she heard me all the world to nothing.



   BIA.  I pray thee, good sweet-heart, come in; the air will do you

   harm, in troth.



   THO.  I'll come to you presently, it will away, I hope.



   BIA.  Pray God it do.



   [EXIT.]



   THO.  A new disease!  I know not, new or old,

   But it may well be call'd poor mortals' Plague;

   For like a pestilence it doth infect

   The houses of the brain: first it begins

   Solely to work upon the phantasy,

   Filling her seat with such pestiferous air,

   As soon corrupts the judgment, and from thence,

   Sends like contagion to the memory,

   Still each of other catching the infection,

   Which as a searching vapour spreads itself

   Confusedly through every sensive part,

   Till not a thought or motion in the mind

   Be free from the black poison of suspect.

   Ah, but what error is it to know this,

   And want the free election of the soul

   In such extremes! well, I will once more strive

   (Even in despite of hell) myself to be,

   And shake this fever off that thus shakes me.



   [EXIT.]









ACT II.



   SCENE I.



   ENTER MUSCO, DISGUISED LIKE A SOLDIER.



   MUS.  'Sblood, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated

   thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an

   intolerable sort of lies, or else my profession loses his grace,

   and yet the lie to a man of my coat is as ominous as the Fico, oh,

   sir, it holds for good policy to have that outwardly in vilest

   estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us: So much for my

   borrowed shape.  Well, the troth is, my master intends to follow

   his son dry-foot to Florence, this morning: now I, knowing of this

   conspiracy, and the rather to insinuate with my young master, (for

   so must we that are blue waiters, or men of service do, or else

   perhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motley

   you know:) I have got me afore in this disguise, determining here

   to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the midway; if I can but

   get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, any thing so I can stay his

   journey, Rex Regum, I am made for ever, i'faith: well, now must

   I practise to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights; my

   arm here, and my -- God's so, young master and his cousin.



   LOR. JU.  So, sir, and how then?



   [ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]



   STEP.  God's foot, I have lost my purse, I think.



   LOR. JU.  How? lost your purse? where? when had you it?



   STEP.  I cannot tell, stay.



   MUS.  'Slid, I am afraid they will know me, would I could get by

   them.



   LOR. JU.  What! have you it?



   STEP.  No, I think I was bewitched, I.



   LOR. JU.  Nay, do not weep, a pox on it, hang it, let it go.



   STEP.  Oh, it's here; nay, an it had been lost, I had not cared but

   for a jet ring Marina sent me.



   LOR. JU.  A jet ring! oh, the poesie, the poesie!



   STEP.  Fine, i'faith: "Though fancy sleep, my love is deep":

   meaning that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.



   LOR. JU.  Most excellent.



   STEP.  And then I sent her another, and my poesie was:

   "The deeper the sweeter, I'll be judged by Saint Peter."



   LOR. JU.  How, by St. Peter?  I do not conceive that.



   STEP.  Marry, St. Peter to make up the metre.



   LOR JU.  Well, you are beholding to that Saint, he help'd you at

   your need; thank him, thank him.



   MUS.  I will venture, come what will: Gentlemen, please you change

   a few crowns for a very excellent good blade here; I am a poor

   gentleman, a soldier, one that (in the better state of my fortunes)

   scorned so mean a refuge, but now it's the humour of necessity to

   have it so: you seem to be, gentlemen, well affected to martial

   men, else I should rather die with silence, than live with shame:

   howe'er, vouchsafe to remember it is my want speaks, not myself:

   this condition agrees not with my spirit.



   LOR. JU.  Where hast thou served?



   MUS.  May it please you, Signior, in all the provinces of Bohemia,

   Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not?  I have been a poor servitor

   by sea and land, any time this xiiij. years, and follow'd the

   fortunes of the best Commanders in Christendom.  I was twice shot

   at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have been

   at America in the galleys thrice, where I was most dangerously shot

   in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maim'd,

   I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted

   marks of my resolution.



   STEP.  How will you sell this rapier, friend?



   MUS.  Faith, Signior, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a

   gentleman, give me what you please.



   STEP.  True, I am a gentleman, I know that; but what though, I pray

   you say, what would you ask?



   MUS.  I assure you the blade may become the side of the best prince

   in Europe.



   LOR. JU.  Ay, with a velvet scabbard.



   STEP.  Nay, an't be mine it shall have a velvet scabbard, that is

   flat, I'd not wear it as 'tis an you would give me an angel.



   MUS.  At your pleasure, Signior, nay, it's a most pure Toledo.



   STEP.  I had rather it were a Spaniard: but tell me, what shall I

   give you for it? an it had a silver hilt --



   LOR. JU.  Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a

   shilling, friend, take thy rapier.



   STEP.  Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so: what, shall

   I go without a rapier?



   LOR. JU.  You may buy one in the city.



   STEP.  Tut, I'll buy this, so I will; tell me your lowest price.



   LOR. JU.  You shall not, I say.



   STEP.  By God's lid, but I will, though I give more than 'tis

   worth.



   LOR. JU.  Come away, you are a fool.



   STEP.  Friend, I'll have it for that word: follow me.



   MUS.  At your service, Signior.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT II.  SCENE II.



   ENTER LORENZO SENIOR.



   LOR. SE.  My labouring spirit being late opprest

   With my son's folly, can embrace no rest

   Till it hath plotted by advice and skill,

   How to reduce him from affected will

   To reason's manage; which while I intend,

   My troubled soul begins to apprehend

   A farther secret, and to meditate

   Upon the difference of man's estate:

   Where is decipher'd to true judgment's eye

   A deep, conceal'd, and precious mystery.

   Yet can I not but worthily admire

   At nature's art: who (when she did inspire

   This heat of life) placed Reason (as a king)

   Here in the head, to have the marshalling

   Of our affections: and with sovereignty

   To sway the state of our weak empery.

   But as in divers commonwealths we see,

   The form of government to disagree:

   Even so in man, who searcheth soon shall find

   As much or more variety of mind.

   Some men's affections like a sullen wife,

   Is with her husband reason still at strife.

   Others (like proud arch-traitors that rebel

   Against their sovereign) practise to expel

   Their liege Lord Reason, and not shame to tread

   Upon his holy and anointed head.

   But as that land or nation best doth thrive,

   Which to smooth-fronted peace is most proclive,

   So doth that mind, whose fair affections ranged

   By reason's rules, stand constant and unchanged,

   Else, if the power of reason be not such,

   Why do we attribute to him so much?

   Or why are we obsequious to his law,

   If he want spirit our affects to awe?

   Oh no, I argue weakly, he is strong,

   Albeit my son have done him too much wrong.



   [ENTER MUSCO.]



   MUS.  My master: nay, faith, have at you: I am flesh'd now

   I have sped so well: Gentleman, I beseech you respect the

   estate of a poor soldier; I am ashamed of this base course of

   life, (God's my comfort) but extremity provokes me to't; what

   remedy?



   LOR. SE.  I have not for you now.



   MUS.  By the faith I bear unto God, gentleman, it is no ordinary

   custom, but only to preserve manhood.  I protest to you, a man I

   have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.



   LOR. SE.  I pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.



   MUS.  Good Signior: by Jesu, you may do the part of a kind

   gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer,

   a matter of small value, the King of heaven shall pay you, and I

   shall rest thankful: sweet Signior --



   LOR. SE.  Nay, an you be so importunate --



   MUS.  O Lord, sir, need will have his course: I was not made to

   this vile use; well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me

   so much: it's hard when a man hath served in his Prince's cause

   and be thus.  Signior, let me derive a small piece of silver from

   you, it shall not be given in the course of time, by this good

   ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper,

   I am a Pagan else: sweet Signior --



   LOR. SE.  Believe me, I am rapt with admiration,

   To think a man of thy exterior presence

   Should (in the constitution of the mind)

   Be so degenerate, infirm, and base.

   Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg?

   To practise such a servile kind of life?

   Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,

   Having thy limbs: a thousand fairer courses

   Offer themselves to thy election.

   Nay, there the wars might still supply thy wants,

   Or service of some virtuous gentleman,

   Or honest labour; nay, what can I name,

   But would become thee better than to beg?

   But men of your condition feed on sloth,

   As doth the Scarab on the dung she breeds in,

   Not caring how the temper of your spirits

   Is eaten with the rust of idleness.

   Now, afore God, whate'er he be that should

   Relieve a person of thy quality,

   While you insist in this loose desperate course,

   I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.



   MUS.  Faith, Signior, I would gladly find some other course,

   if so.



   LOR. SE.  Ay, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.



   MUS.  Alas, sir, where should a man seek? in the wars, there's

   no ascent by desert in these days, but -- and for service,

   would it were as soon purchased as wish'd for, (God's my

   comfort) I know what I would say.



   LOR. SE.  What's thy name?



   MUS.  Please you: Portensio.



   LOR. SE.  Portensio?

   Say that a man should entertain thee now,

   Would thou be honest, humble, just, and true?



   MUS.  Signior: by the place and honour of a soldier --



   LOR. SE.  Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths;

   Speak plainly, man: what thinkst thou of my words?



   MUS.  Nothing, Signior, but wish my fortunes were as happy as

   my service should be honest.



   LOR. SE.  Well, follow me, I'll prove thee, if thy deeds

   Will carry a proportion to thy words.



   [EXIT LOR. SE.]



   MUS.  Yes, sir, straight, I'll but garter my hose; oh, that

   my belly were hoop'd now, for I am ready to burst with

   laughing.  'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to

   betray himself thus? now shall I be possest of all his

   determinations, and consequently my young master; well, he

   is resolved to prove my honesty: faith, and I am resolved

   to prove his patience: oh, I shall abuse him intolerably:

   this small piece of service will bring him clean out of

   love with the soldier for ever.  It's no matter, let the

   world think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him the

   slip at an instant; why, this is better than to have stayed

   his journey by half: well, I'll follow him.  Oh, how I long

   to be employed.



   [EXIT.]





   ACT II.  SCENE III.



   ENTER PROSPERO, BOBADILLA, AND MATHEO.



   MAT.  Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek

   you too.



   PROS.  Oh, I came not there to-night.



   BOB.  Your brother delivered us as much.



   PROS.  Who, Giuliano?



   BOB.  Giuliano.  Signior Prospero, I know not in what kind

   you value me, but let me tell you this: as sure as God, I

   do hold it so much out of mine honour and reputation, if I

   should but cast the least regard upon such a dunghill of

   flesh; I protest to you (as I have a soul to be saved) I

   ne'er saw any gentlemanlike part in him: an there were no

   more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not

   fancy him, by Phoebus.



   MAT.  Troth, nor I, he is of a rustical cut, I know not how:

   he doth not carry himself like a gentleman.



   PROS.  Oh, Signior Matheo, that's a grace peculiar but to a

   few; "quos aequus amavit Jupiter."



   MAT.  I understand you, sir.



   [ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]



   PROS.  No question you do, sir: Lorenzo! now on my soul,

   welcome; how dost thou, sweet rascal? my Genius!  'Sblood,

   I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the better

   while I live for this; my dear villain, now I see there's

   some spirit in thee: Sirrah, these be they two I writ to

   thee of, nay, what a drowsy humour is this now? why dost

   thou not speak?



   LOR. JU.  Oh, you are a fine gallant, you sent me a rare

   letter.



   PROS.  Why, was't not rare?



   LOR. JU.  Yes, I'll be sworn I was ne'er guilty of reading

   the like, match it in all Pliny's familiar Epistles, and

   I'll have my judgment burn'd in the ear for a rogue, make

   much of thy vein, for it is inimitable.  But I marle what

   camel it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtless

   he was no ordinary beast that brought it.



   PROS.  Why?



   LOR. JU.  Why, sayest thou? why, dost thou think that any

   reasonable creature, especially in the morning, (the sober

   time of the day too) would have ta'en my father for me?



   PROS.  'Sblood, you jest, I hope?



   LOR. JU.  Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, is

   to make a jest on't now: but I'll assure you, my father

   had the proving of your copy some hour before I saw it.



   PROS.  What a dull slave was this!  But, sirrah, what

   said he to it, i'faith?



   LOR. JU.  Nay, I know not what he said.  But I have a

   shrewd guess what he thought.



   PRO.  What? what?



   LOR. JU.  Marry, that thou are a damn'd dissolute villain,

   And I some grain or two better, in keeping thee company.



   PROS.  Tut, that thought is like the moon in the last

   quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrah, I pray thee

   be acquainted with my two Zanies here, thou wilt take

   exceeding pleasure in them if thou hear'st them once, but

   what strange piece of silence is this? the sign of the

   dumb man?



   LOR. JU.  Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may

   make our music the fuller, an he please, he hath his

   humour, sir.



   PROS.  Oh, what is't? what is't?



   LOR. JU.  Nay, I'll neither do thy judgment nor his

   folly that wrong, as to prepare thy apprehension: I'll

   leave him to the mercy of the time, if you can take him:

   so.



   PROS.  Well, Signior Bobadilla, Signior Matheo: I pray

   you know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and

   one that will well deserve your affection, I know not

   your name, Signior, but I shall be glad of any good

   occasion to be more familiar with you.



   STEP.  My name is Signior Stephano, sir, I am this

   gentleman's cousin, sir, his father is mine uncle; sir,

   I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir,

   in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.



   BOB.  Signior, I must tell you this, I am no general

   man, embrace it as a most high favour, for (by the

   host of Egypt) but that I conceive you to be a gentleman

   of some parts, I love few words: you have wit: imagine.



   STEP.  Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.



   MAT.  O Lord, sir, it's your only best humour, sir,

   your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir:

   I am melancholy myself divers times, sir, and then do I

   no more but take your pen and paper presently, and write

   you your half score or your dozen of sonnets at a sitting.



   LOR. JU.  Mass, then he utters them by the gross.



   STEP.  Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure.



   LOR. JU.  I'faith, as well as in measure.



   MAT.  Why, I pray you, Signior, make use of my study,

   it's at your service.



   STEP.  I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant

   you, have you a close stool there?



   MAT.  Faith, sir, I have some papers there, toys of

   mine own doing at idle hours, that you'll say there's

   some sparks of wit in them, when you shall see them.



   PROS.  Would they were kindled once, and a good fire

   made, I might see self-love burn'd for her heresy.



   STEP.  Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?



   LOR. JU.  Oh, ay, excellent.



   PROS.  Signior Bobadilla, why muse you so?



   LOR. JU.  He is melancholy too.



   BOB.  Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable

   piece of service was perform'd to-morrow, being St.

   Mark's day, shall be some ten years.



   LOR. JU.  In what place was that service, I pray you,

   sir?



   BOB.  Why, at the beleaguering of Ghibelletto, where,

   in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen,

   as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach:

   I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best

   leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the

   taking in of Tortosa last year by the Genoways, but that

   (of all other) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit

   that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before

   the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.



   STEP.  So, I had as lief as an angel I could swear as

   well as that gentleman.



   LOR. JU.  Then you were a servitor at both, it seems.



   BOB.  O Lord, sir: by Phaeton, I was the first man that

   entered the breach, and had I not effected it with

   resolution, I had been slain if I had had a million of

   lives.



   LOR. JU.  Indeed, sir?



   STEP.  Nay, an you heard him discourse you would

   say so: how like you him?



   BOB.  I assure you (upon my salvation) 'tis true,

   and yourself shall confess.



   PROS.  You must bring him to the rack first.



   BOB.  Observe me judicially, sweet Signior: they had

   planted me a demi-culverin just in the mouth of the

   breach; now, sir, (as we were to ascend), their master

   gunner (a man of no mean skill and courage, you must

   think,) confronts me with his linstock ready to give

   fire; I spying his intendment, discharged my petronel

   in his bosom, and with this instrument, my poor rapier,

   ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance,

   and put them pell-mell to the sword.



   PROS.  To the sword? to the rapier, Signior.



   LOR. JU.  Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir: but

   did you all this, Signior, without hurting your blade?



   BOB.  Without any impeach on the earth: you shall

   perceive, sir, it is the most fortunate weapon that

   ever rid on a poor gentleman's thigh: shall I tell you,

   sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so:

   tut, I lend no credit to that is reported of them, I

   know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the

   boldlier maintain it.



   STEP.  I marle whether it be a Toledo or no?



   BOB.  A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, Signior.



   STEP.  I have a countryman of his here.



   MAT.  Pray you let's see, sir: yes, faith, it is.



   BOB.  This a Toledo? pish!



   STEP.  Why do you pish, Signior?



   BOB.  A Fleming, by Phoebus!  I'll buy them for a

   guilder a piece, an I'll have a thousand of them.



   LOR. JU.  How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.



   PROS.  Where bought you it, Signior?



   STEP.  Of a scurvy rogue soldier, a pox of God on

   him, he swore it was a Toledo.



   BOB.  A provant rapier, no better.



   MAT.  Mass, I think it be indeed.



   LOR. JU.  Tut, now it's too late to look on it, put it

   up, put it up.



   STEP.  Well, I will not put it up, but by God's foot,

   an ever I meet him --



   PROS.  Oh, it is past remedy now, sir, you must have

   patience.



   STEP.  Whoreson, coney-catching rascal; oh, I could

   eat the very hilts for anger.



   LOR. JU.  A sign you have a good ostrich stomach, cousin.



   STEP.  A stomach? would I had him here, you should see

   an I had a stomach.



   PROS.  It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we go?



   LOR. JU.  A miracle, cousin, look here, look here.



   [ENTER MUSCO.]



   STEP.  Oh, God's lid, by your leave, do you know me, sir?



   MUS.  Ay, sir, I know you by sight.



   STEP.  You sold me a rapier, did you not?



   MUS.  Yes, marry did I, sir.



   STEP.  You said it was a Toledo, ha?



   MUS.  True, I did so.



   STEP.  But it is none.



   MUS.  No, sir, I confess it, it is none.



   STEP.  Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confest it.

   By God's lid, an you had not confest it --



   LOR. JU.  Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.



   STEP.  Nay, I have done, cousin.



   PROS.  Why, you have done like a gentleman, he has

   confest it, what would you more?



   LOR. JU.  Sirrah, how dost thou like him?



   PROS.  Oh, it's a precious good fool, make much on him:

   I can compare him to nothing more happily than a barber's

   virginals; for every one may play upon him.



   MUS.  Gentleman, shall I intreat a word with you?



   LOR. JU.  With all my heart, sir, you have not another

   Toledo to sell, have you?



   MUS.  You are pleasant, your name is Signior Lorenzo,

   as I take it?



   LOR. JU.  You are in the right: 'Sblood, he means to

   catechise me, I think.



   MUS.  No, sir, I leave that to the Curate, I am none of

   that coat.



   LOR. JU.  And yet of as bare a coat; well, say, sir.



   MUS.  Faith, Signior, I am but servant to God Mars

   extraordinary, and indeed (this brass varnish being

   washed off, and three or four other tricks sublated)

   I appear yours in reversion, after the decease of

   your good father, Musco.



   LOR. JU.  Musco, 'sblood, what wind hath blown thee

   hither in this shape?



   MUS.  Your easterly wind, sir, the same that blew

   your father hither.



   LOR. JU.  My father?



   MUS.  Nay, never start, it's true, he is come to town

   of purpose to seek you.



   LOR. JU.  Sirrah Prospero, what shall we do, sirrah?

   my father is come to the city.



   PROS.  Thy father: where is he?



   MUS.  At a gentleman's house yonder by St. Anthony's,

   where he but stays my return; and then --



   PROS.  Who's this?  Musco?



   MUS.  The same, sir.



   PROS.  Why, how com'st thou transmuted thus?



   MUS.  Faith, a device, a device, nay, for the love of God,

   stand not here, gentlemen, house yourselves, and I'll tell

   you all.



   LOR. JU.  But art thou sure he will stay thy return?



   MUS.  Do I live, sir? what a question is that!



   PROS.  Well, we'll prorogue his expectation a little:

   Musco, thou shalt go with us: Come on, gentlemen: nay,

   I pray thee, (good rascal) droop not, 'sheart, an our

   wits be so gouty, that one old plodding brain can outstrip

   us all.  Lord, I beseech thee, may they lie and starve

   in some miserable spittle, where they may never see the

   face of any true spirit again, but be perpetually haunted

   with some church-yard hobgoblin in seculo seculorum.



   MUS.  Amen, Amen.



   [EXEUNT.]









ACT III.





   SCENE I.



   ENTER THORELLO, AND PISO.



   PIS.  He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.



   THO.  Why, what's a clock?



   PIS.  New stricken ten.



   THO.  Hath he the money ready, can you tell?



   PIS.  Yes, sir, Baptista brought it yesternight.



   THO.  Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak.

   [EXIT PISO.]

   Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come,

   Ay, that will be the least: and then 'twill be

   An hour before I can dispatch with him;

   Or very near: well, I will say two hours;

   Two hours? ha! things never dreamt of yet

   May be contrived, ay, and effected too,

   In two hours' absence: well, I will not go.

   Two hours; no, fleering opportunity,

   I will not give your treachery that scope.

   Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd,

   That sets his doors wide open to a thief,

   And shews the felon where his treasure lies?

   Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt

   To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree,

   When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?

   Oh, beauty is a project of some power,

   Chiefly when opportunity attends her:

   She will infuse true motion in a stone,

   Put glowing fire in an icy soul,

   Stuff peasants' bosoms with proud Caesar's spleen,

   Pour rich device into an empty brain:

   Bring youth to folly's gate: there train him in,

   And after all, extenuate his sin.

   Well, I will not go, I am resolved for that.

   Go, carry it again: yet stay: yet do too,

   I will defer it till some other time.



   [ENTER PISO.]



   PIS.  Sir, Signior Platano will meet you there with

   the bond.



   THO.  That's true: by Jesu, I had clean forgot it.

   I must go, what's a clock?



   PIS.  Past ten, sir.



   THO.  'Heart, then will Prospero presently be here too,

   With one or other of his loose consorts.

   I am a Jew if I know what to say,

   What course to take, or which way to resolve.

   My brain (methinks) is like an hour-glass,

   And my imaginations like the sands

   Run dribbling forth to fill the mouth of time,

   Still changed with turning in the ventricle.

   What were I best to do? it shall be so.

   Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy.  Piso.



   PIS.  Sir.



   THO.  Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not.

   Is Cob within?



   PIS.  I think he be, sir.



   THO.  But he'll prate too, there's no talk of him.

   No, there were no course upon the earth to this,

   If I durst trust him; tut, I were secure,

   But there's the question now, if he should prove,

   Rimarum plenus, then, 'sblood, I were rook'd.

   The state that he hath stood in till this present

   Doth promise no such change: what should I fear then?

   Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once.

   Piso, thou mayest deceive me, but I think thou lovest

   me, Piso.



   PIS.  Sir, if a servant's zeal and humble duty may

   be term'd love, you are possest of it.



   THO.  I have a matter to impart to thee, but thou must

   be secret, Piso.



   PIS.  Sir, for that --



   THO.  Nay, hear me, man; think I esteem thee well,

   To let thee in thus to my private thoughts;

   Piso, it is a thing sits nearer to my crest,

   Than thou art 'ware of; if thou should'st reveal it --



   PIS.  Reveal it, sir?



   THO.  Nay, I do not think thou would'st, but if thou

   should'st --



   PIS.  Sir, then I were a villain:

   Disclaim in me for ever if I do.



   THO.  He will not swear: he has some meaning, sure,

   Else (being urged so much) how should he choose,

   But lend an oath to all this protestation?

   He is no puritan, that I am certain of.

   What should I think of it? urge him again,

   And in some other form: I will do so.

   Well, Piso, thou has sworn not to disclose; ay, you

   did swear?



   PIS.  Not yet, sir, but I will, so please you.



   THO.  Nay, I dare take thy word.

   But if thou wilt swear, do as you think good,

   I am resolved without such circumstance.



   PIS.  By my soul's safety, sir, I here protest,

   My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word

   Deliver'd me in compass of your trust.



   THO.  Enough, enough, these ceremonies need not,

   I know thy faith to be as firm as brass.

   Piso, come hither: nay, we must be close

   In managing these actions: So it is,

   (Now he has sworn I dare the safelier speak;)

   I have of late by divers observations --

   But, whether his oath be lawful, yea, or no? ha!

   I will ask counsel ere I do proceed:

   Piso, it will be now too long to stay,

   We'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow.



   PIS.  At your pleasure, sir.



   THO.  I pray you search the books 'gainst I return

   For the receipts 'twixt me and Platano.



   PIS.  I will, sir.



   THO.  And hear you: if my brother Prospero

   Chance to bring hither any gentlemen

   Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word.



   PIS.  Very well, sir.



   THO.  Forget it not, nor be not you out of the way.



   PIS.  I will not, sir.



   THO.  Or whether he come or no, if any other,

   Stranger or else: fail not to send me word.



   PIS.  Yes, sir.



   THO.  Have care, I pray you, and remember it.



   PIS.  I warrant you, sir.



   THO.  But, Piso, this is not the secret I told thee of.



   PIS.  No, sir, I suppose so.



   THO.  Nay, believe me, it is not.



   PIS.  I do believe you, sir.



   THO.  By heaven it is not, that's enough.

   Marry, I would not thou should'st utter it to any

   creature living,

   Yet I care not.

   Well, I must hence: Piso, conceive thus much,

   No ordinary person could have drawn

   So deep a secret from me; I mean not this,

   But that I have to tell thee: this is nothing, this.

   Piso, remember, silence, buried here:

   No greater hell than to be slave to fear.



   [EXIT THO.]



   PIS.  Piso, remember, silence, buried here:

   When should this flow of passion (trow) take head? ha!

   Faith, I'll dream no longer of this running humour,

   For fear I sink, the violence of the stream

   Already hath transported me so far

   That I can feel no ground at all: but soft,

   [ENTER COB.]

   Oh, it's our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now.



   COB.  Fasting days: what tell you me of your fasting days?

   would they were all on a light fire for me: they say the

   world shall be consumed with fire and brimstone in the

   latter day: but I would we had these ember weeks and these

   villainous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then --



   PIS.  Why, how now, Cob! what moves thee to this choler, ha?



   COB.  Collar, sir? 'swounds, I scorn your collar, I, sir,

   am no collier's horse, sir, never ride me with your collar,

   an you do, I'll shew you a jade's trick.



   PIS.  Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar: why, Cob,

   you mistake me.



   COB.  Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well as

   another, sir.



   PIE.  Thy rheum? thy humour, man, thou mistakest.



   COB.  Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what is

   this humour? it's some rare thing, I warrant.



   PIS.  Marry, I'll tell thee what it is (as 'tis generally

   received in these days): it is a monster bred in a man by

   self-love and affectation, and fed by folly.



   COB.  How? must it be fed?



   PIS.  Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed, why,

   didst thou never hear of that? it's a common phrase,

   "Feed my humour."



   COB.  I'll none on it: humour, avaunt, I know you not,

   be gone.  Let who will make hungry meals for you, it shall

   not be I: Feed you, quoth he? 'sblood, I have much ado to

   feed myself, especially on these lean rascal days too,

   an't had been any other day but a fasting day: a plague on

   them all for me: by this light, one might have done God

   good service and have drown'd them all in the flood two or

   three hundred thousand years ago, oh, I do stomach them

   hugely: I have a maw now, an't were for Sir Bevis's horse.



   PIS.  Nay, but I pray thee, Cob, what makes thee so out of

   love with fasting days?



   COB.  Marry, that that will make any man out of love with

   them, I think: their bad conditions, an you will needs know:

   First, they are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for

   they raven up more butter than all the days of the week

   beside: next, they stink of fish miserably: thirdly, they'll

   keep a man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send him

   supperless to bed.



   PIS.  Indeed, these are faults, Cob.



   COB.  Nay, an this were all, 'twere something, but they

   are the only known enemies to my generation.  A fasting

   day no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to rack, poor

   Cobs, they smoke for it, they melt in passion, and your

   maids too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal,

   and eat my own fish and blood: my princely coz,

   [PULLS OUT A RED HERRING.] fear nothing;

   I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be made

   as rich as Golias: oh, that I had room for my tears, I

   could weep salt water enough now to preserve the lives

   of ten thousand of my kin: but I may curse none but

   these filthy Almanacks, for an 'twere not for them, these

   days of persecution would ne'er be known.  I'll be hang'd

   an some fishmonger's son do not make on them, and puts in

   more fasting days than he should do, because he would

   utter his father's dried stockfish.



   PIS.  'Soul, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a stockfish

   else: here is Signior Matheo.



   [ENTER MATHEO, PROSPERO, LORENZO JUNIOR, BOBADILLA,

   STEPHANO, MUSCO.]



   Now must I look out for a messenger to my master.



   [EXEUNT COB AND PISO.]





   ACT III.  SCENE II.



   PROS.  Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, and

   exceedingly well carried.



   LOR. JU.  Ay, and our ignorance maintain'd it as well,

   did it not?



   PROS.  Yes, faith, but was't possible thou should'st not

   know him?



   LOR. JU.  'Fore God, not I, an I might have been join'd

   patten with one of the nine worthies for knowing him.

   'Sblood, man, he had so writhen himself into the habit of

   one of your poor Disparview's here, your decayed, ruinous,

   worm-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as have vowed to

   sit on the skirts of the city, let your Provost and his

   half dozen of halberdiers do what they can; and have

   translated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fine

   easy amble, and made it run as smooth off the tongue as a

   shove-groat shilling, into the likeness of one of these

   lean Pirgo's, had he moulded himself so perfectly, observing

   every trick of their action, as varying the accent: swearing

   with an emphasis.  Indeed, all with so special and exquisite

   a grace, that (hadst thou seen him) thou would'st have sworn

   he might have been the Tamberlane, or the Agamemnon on the

   rout.



   PROS.  Why, Musco, who would have thought thou hadst been

   such a gallant?



   LOR. JU.  I cannot tell, but (unless a man had juggled

   begging all his life time, and been a weaver of phrases

   from his infancy, for the apparelling of it) I think

   the world cannot produce his rival.



   PROS.  Where got'st thou this coat, I marle?



   MUS.  Faith, sir, I had it of one of the devil's near

   kinsmen, a broker.



   PROS.  That cannot be, if the proverb hold, a crafty

   knave needs no broker.



   MUS.  True, sir, but I need a broker, ergo, no crafty

   knave.



   PROS.  Well put off, well put off.



   LOR. JU.  Tut, he has more of these shifts.



   MUS.  And yet where I have one, the broker has ten, sir.



   [ENTER PIS.]



   PIS.  Francisco, Martino, ne'er a one to be found now:

   what a spite's this?



   PROS.  How now, Piso? is my brother within?



   PIS.  No, sir, my master went forth e'en now, but Signior

   Giuliano is within.  Cob, what, Cob!  Is he gone too?



   PROS.  Whither went thy master?  Piso, canst thou tell?



   PIS.  I know not, to Doctor Clement's, I think, sir.  Cob.



   [EXIT PIS.]



   LOR. JU.  Doctor Clement, what's he?  I have heard much

   speech of him.



   PROS.  Why, dost thou not know him? he is the Gonfaloniere

   of the state here, an excellent rare civilian, and a great

   scholar, but the only mad merry old fellow in Europe: I

   shewed him you the other day.



   LOR. JU.  Oh, I remember him now; Good faith, and he hath

   a very strange presence, methinks, it shews as if he stood

   out of the rank from other men. I have heard many of his

   jests in Padua; they say he will commit a man for taking

   the wall of his horse.



   PROS.  Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or any

   thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.



   PIS.  Gaspar, Martino, Cob: 'Sheart, where should they be,

   trow?



   [ENTER PISO.]



   BOB.  Signior Thorello's man, I pray thee vouchsafe

   us the lighting of this match.



   PIS.  A pox on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe?

   Francisco, Cob.



   [EXIT.]



   BOB.  Body of me: here's the remainder of seven pound,

   since yesterday was sevennight.  It's your right Trinidado:

   did you never take any, signior?



   STEP.  No, truly, sir; but I'll learn to take it now, since

   you commend it so.



   BOB.  Signior, believe me (upon my relation) for what I

   tell you, the world shall not improve.  I have been in the

   Indies, (where this herb grows) where neither myself nor a

   dozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge) have received the

   taste of any other nutriment in the world, for the space

   of one and twenty weeks, but tobacco only.  Therefore it

   cannot be but 'tis most divine.  Further, take it in the

   nature, in the true kind, so, it makes an antidote, that had

   you taken the most deadly poisonous simple in all Florence it

   should expel it, and clarify you with as much ease as I speak.

   And for your green wound, your Balsamum, and your -- are all

   mere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your Trinidado:

   your Nicotian is good too: I could say what I know of the

   virtue of it, for the exposing of rheums, raw humours,

   crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind; but I

   profess myself no quack-salver.  Only thus much; by Hercules,

   I do hold it, and will affirm it (before any Prince in

   Europe) to be the most sovereign and precious herb that ever

   the earth tendered to the use of man.



   LOR. JU.  Oh, this speech would have done rare in an

   apothecary's mouth.



   [ENTER PISO AND COB.]



   PIS.  Ay; close by Saint Anthony's: Doctor Clement's.



   COB.  Oh, oh.



   BOB.  Where's the match I gave thee?



   PIS.  'Sblood, would his match, and he, and pipe, and

   all, were at Sancto Domingo.



   [EXIT.]



   COB.  By God's deins, I marle what pleasure or felicity

   they have in taking this roguish tobacco; it's good for

   nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke

   and embers: there were four died out of one house last

   week with taking of it, and two more the bell went for

   yesternight, one of them (they say) will ne'er escape it,

   he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, upward and downward.

   By the stocks, an there were no wiser men than I, I'd

   have it present death, man or woman, that should but deal

   with a tobacco pipe; why, it will stifle them all in the

   end as many as use it; it's little better than rat's-bane.



   [EXIT PISO.]



   ALL.  Oh, good Signior; hold, hold.



   BOB.  You base cullion, you.



   PIS.  Sir, here's your match; come, thou must needs be

   talking too.



   COB.  Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant

   you; well, it shall be a dear beating, an I live.



   BOB.  Do you prate?



   LOR. JU.  Nay, good Signior, will you regard the humour

   of a fool?  Away, knave.



   PROS.  Piso, get him away.



   [EXIT PISO AND COB.]



   BOB.  A whoreson filthy slave, a turd, an excrement.

   Body of Caesar, but that I scorn to let forth so mean a

   spirit, I'd have stabb'd him to the earth.



   PROS.  Marry, God forbid, sir.



   BOB.  By this fair heaven, I would have done it.



   STEP.  Oh, he swears admirably; (by this fair heaven!)

   Body of Caesar: I shall never do it, sure (upon my salvation).

   No, I have not the right grace.



   MAT.  Signior, will you any?  By this air, the most divine

   tobacco as ever I drunk.



   LOR. JU.  I thank you, sir.



   STEP.  Oh, this gentleman doth it rarely too, but nothing

   like the other.  By this air, as I am a gentleman: By Phoebus.



   [EXIT BOB. AND MAT.]



   MUS.  Master, glance, glance: Signior Prospero.



   STEP.  As I have a soul to be saved, I do protest --



   PROS.  That you are a fool.



   LOR. JU.  Cousin, will you any tobacco?



   STEP.  Ay, sir: upon my salvation.



   LOR. JU.  How now, cousin?



   STEP.  I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier indeed.



   PROS.  No, Signior, as I remember, you served on a great horse,

   last general muster.



   STEP.  Ay, sir, that's true, cousin, may I swear as I am a

   soldier, by that?



   LOR. JU.  Oh yes, that you may.



   STEP.  Then as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it is divine

   tobacco.



   PROS.  But soft, where's Signior Matheo? gone?



   MUS.  No, sir, they went in here.



   PROS.  Oh, let's follow them: Signior Matheo is gone to

   salute his mistress, sirrah, now thou shalt hear some of

   his verses, for he never comes hither without some shreds

   of poetry: Come, Signior Stephano.  Musco.



   STEP.  Musco? where?  Is this Musco?



   LOR. JU.  Ay; but peace, cousin, no words of it at any hand.



   STEP.  Not I, by this fair heaven, as I have a soul to be

   saved, by Phoebus.



   PROS.  Oh rare! your cousin's discourse is simply suited,

   all in oaths.



   LOR. JU.  Ay, he lacks nothing but a little light stuff,

   to draw them out withal, and he were rarely fitted to the

   time.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT III.  SCENE III.



   ENTER THORELLO WITH COB.



   THO.  Ha, how many are there, sayest thou?



   COB.  Marry, sir, your brother, Signior Prospero.



   THO.  Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?



   COB.  Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass, I know not well,

   there's so many.



   THO.  How? so many?



   COB.  Ay, there's some five or six of them at the most.



   THO.  A swarm, a swarm?

   Spite of the devil, how they sting my heart!

   How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?



   COB.  But a little while, sir.



   THO.  Didst thou come running?



   COB.  No, sir.



   THO.  Tut, then I am familiar with thy haste.

   Ban to my fortunes: what meant I to marry?

   I that before was rank'd in such content,

   My mind attired in smooth silken peace,

   Being free master of mine own free thoughts,

   And now become a slave? what, never sigh,

   Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold,

   'Tis done, 'tis done: nay, when such flowing store,

   Plenty itself falls in my wife's lap,

   The Cornucopiae will be mine, I know.  But, Cob,

   What entertainment had they?  I am sure

   My sister and my wife would bid them welcome, ha?



   COB.  Like enough: yet I heard not a word of welcome.



   THO.  No, their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voice

   Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival,

   Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.

   Cob, which of them was't that first kiss'd my wife?

   (My sister, I should say,) my wife, alas,

   I fear not her: ha? who was it, say'st thou?



   COB.  By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?



   THO.  Oh ay, good Cob: I pray thee.



   COB.  God's my judge, I saw nobody to be kiss'd, unless

   they would have kiss'd the post in the middle of the

   warehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco,

   with a pox.



   THO.  How? were they not gone in then ere thou cam'st?



   COB.  Oh no, sir.



   THO.  Spite of the devil, what do I stay here then?

   Cob, follow me.



   [EXIT THO.]



   COB.  Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit; I cannot

   go yet sir: now am I for some divers reasons hammering,

   hammering revenge: oh, for three or four gallons of vinegar,

   to sharpen my wits: Revenge, vinegar revenge, russet revenge;

   nay, an he had not lien in my house, 'twould never have

   grieved me; but being my guest, one that I'll be sworn my

   wife has lent him her smock off her back, while his own shirt

   has been at washing: pawned her neckerchers for clean bands

   for him: sold almost all my platters to buy him tobacco;

   and yet to see an ingratitude wretch strike his host;

   well, I hope to raise up an host of furies for't: here

   comes M. Doctor.



   [ENTER DOCTOR CLEMENT, LORENZO SENIOR, PETO.]



   CLEM.  What's Signior Thorello gone?



   PET.  Ay, sir.



   CLEM.  Heart of me, what made him leave us so abruptly?

   How now, sirrah; what make you here? what would you

   have, ha?



   COB.  An't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of

   your worship's.



   CLEM.  A neighbour of mine, knave?



   COB.  Ay, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, hard by

   the Green Lattice: I have paid scot and lot there any

   time this eighteen years.



   CLEM.  What, at the Green Lattice?



   COB.  No sir: to the parish: marry, I have seldom scaped

   scot-free at the Lattice.



   CLEM.  So: but what business hath my neighbour?



   COB.  An't like your worship, I am come to crave the

   peace of your worship.



   CLEM.  Of me, knave? peace of me, knave? did I e'er

   hurt thee? did I ever threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?



   COB.  No, God's my comfort, I mean your worship's warrant,

   for one that hath wrong'd me, sir: his arms are at too much

   liberty, I would fain have them bound to a treaty of peace,

   an I could by any means compass it.



   LOR.  Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him?



   COB.  No, sir; but I go in danger of my death every hour by

   his means; an I die within a twelve-month and a day, I may

   swear, by the laws of the land, that he kill'd me.



   CLEM.  How? how, knave? swear he kill'd thee? what pretext?

   what colour hast thou for that?



   COB.  Marry, sir, both black and blue, colour enough, I

   warrant you, I have it here to shew your worship.



   CLEM.  What is he that gave you this, sirrah?



   COB.  A gentleman in the city, sir.



   CLEM.  A gentleman? what call you him?



   COB.  Signior Bobadilla.



   CLEM.  Good: But wherefore did he beat you, sirrah?

   how began the quarrel 'twixt you? ha: speak truly,

   knave, I advise you.



   COB.  Marry, sir, because I spake against their vagrant

   tobacco, as I came by them: for nothing else.



   CLEM.  Ha, you speak against tobacco?  Peto, his name.



   PET.  What's your name, sirrah?



   COB.  Oliver Cob, sir, set Oliver Cob, sir.



   CLEM.  Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail.



   PET.  Oliver Cob, master Doctor says you shall go to the jail.



   COB.  Oh, I beseech your worship, for God's love, dear master

   Doctor.



   CLEM.  Nay, God's precious! an such drunken knaves as you are

   come to dispute of tobacco once, I have done: away with him.



   COB.  Oh, good master Doctor, sweet gentleman.



   LOR. SE.  Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good; master

   Doctor, let me intreat, sir.



   CLEM.  What? a tankard-bearer, a thread-bare rascal, a beggar,

   a slave that never drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in

   his life, and he to deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb so

   generally received in the courts of princes, the chambers of

   nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabins of soldiers:

   Peto, away with him, by God's passion, I say, go to.



   COB.  Dear master Doctor.



   LOR. SE.  Alas, poor Oliver.



   CLEM.  Peto: ay: and make him a warrant, he shall not go,

   I but fear the knave.



   COB.  O divine Doctor, thanks, noble Doctor, most dainty

   Doctor, delicious Doctor.



   [EXEUNT PETO WITH COB.]



   CLEM.  Signior Lorenzo: God's pity, man,

   Be merry, be merry, leave these dumps.



   LOR. SE.  Troth, would I could, sir: but enforced mirth

   (In my weak judgment) has no happy birth.

   The mind, being once a prisoner unto cares,

   The more it dreams on joy, the worse it fares.

   A smiling look is to a heavy soul

   As a gilt bias to a leaden bowl,

   Which (in itself) appears most vile, being spent

   To no true use; but only for ostent.



   CLEM.  Nay, but, good Signior, hear me a word, hear me a word,

   your cares are nothing; they are like my cap, soon put on,

   and as soon put off.  What? your son is old enough to govern

   himself; let him run his course, it's the only way to make

   him a staid man: if he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a

   drunkard, or a licentious liver, then you had reason: you had

   reason to take care: but being none of these, God's passion,

   an I had twice so many cares as you have, I'd drown them all

   in a cup of sack: come, come, I muse your parcel of a soldier

   returns not all this while.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT III.  SCENE IV.



   ENTER GIULIANO, WITH BIANCHA.



   GIU.  Well, sister, I tell you true: and you'll find

   it so in the end.



   BIA.  Alas, brother, what would you have me to do?

   I cannot help it; you see, my brother Prospero he brings

   them in here, they are his friends.



   GIU.  His friends? his friends? 'sblood, they do nothing

   but haunt him up and down like a sort of unlucky sprites,

   and tempt him to all manner of villainy that can be thought

   of; well, by this light, a little thing would make me play

   the devil with some of them; an't were not more for your

   husband's sake than any thing else, I'd make the house too

   hot for them; they should say and swear, hell were broken

   loose, ere they went.  But by God's bread, 'tis nobody's

   fault but yours; for an you had done as you might have done,

   they should have been damn'd ere they should have come

   in, e'er a one of them.



   BIA.  God's my life; did you ever hear the like? what a

   strange man is this! could I keep out all them, think you?

   I should put myself against half a dozen men, should I?

   Good faith, you'd mad the patient'st body in the world,

   to hear you talk so, without any sense or reason.



   [ENTER MATHEO WITH HESPERIDA, BOBADILLA, STEPHANO,

   LORENZO JUNIOR, PROSPERO, MUSCO.]



   HESP.  Servant, (in troth) you are too prodigal of your

   wits' treasure, thus to pour it forth upon so mean a

   subject as my worth.



   MAT.  You say well, you say well.



   GIU.  Hoyday, here is stuff.



   LOR. JU.  Oh now stand close; pray God she can get

   him to read it.



   PROS.  Tut, fear not: I warrant thee he will do it of

   himself with much impudency.



   HES.  Servant, what is that same, I pray you?



   MAT.  Marry, an Elegy, an Elegy, an odd toy.



   GIU.  Ay, to mock an ape withal.  O Jesu.



   BIA.  Sister, I pray you let's hear it.



   MAT.  Mistress, I'll read it, if you please.



   HES.  I pray you do, servant.



   GIU.  Oh, here's no foppery.  'Sblood, it frets me to the

   gall to think on it.



   [EXIT.]



   PROS.  Oh ay, it is his condition, peace: we are fairly

   rid of him.



   MAT.  Faith, I did it in an humour: I know not how it is,

   but please you come near, signior: this gentleman hath

   judgment, he knows how to censure of a -- I pray you, sir,

   you can judge.



   STEP.  Not I, sir: as I have a soul to be saved, as I am a

   gentleman.



   LOR. JU.  Nay, it's well; so long as he doth not forswear

   himself.



   BOB.  Signior, you abuse the excellency of your mistress and

   her fair sister.  Fie, while you live avoid this prolixity.



   MAT.  I shall, sir; well, incipere dulce.



   LOR. JU.  How, incipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a fool

   indeed.



   PROS.  What, do you take incipere in that sense?



   LOR. JU.  You do not, you?  'Sblood, this was your villainy

   to gull him with a motte.



   PROS.  Oh, the benchers' phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba.



   MAT.  "Rare creature, let me speak without offence,

   Would God my rude words had the influence

   To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine,

   Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine."



   LOR. JU.  'Sheart, this is in Hero and Leander!



   PROS.  Oh ay: peace, we shall have more of this.



   MAT.  "Be not unkind and fair: misshapen stuff

   Is of behaviour boisterous and rough":

   How like you that, Signior? 'sblood, he shakes his head

   like a bottle, to feel an there be any brain in it.



   MAT.  But observe the catastrophe now,

   "And I in duty will exceed all other,

   As you in beauty do excel love's mother."



   LOR. JU.  Well, I'll have him free of the brokers, for

   he utters nothing but stolen remnants.



   PROS.  Nay, good critic, forbear.



   LOR. JU.  A pox on him, hang him, filching rogue, steal

   from the dead? it's worse than sacrilege.



   PROS.  Sister, what have you here? verses?  I pray you

   let's see.



   BIA.  Do you let them go so lightly, sister?



   HES.  Yes, faith, when they come lightly.



   BIA.  Ay, but if your servant should hear you, he would

   take it heavily.



   HES.  No matter, he is able to bear.



   BIA.  So are asses.



   HES.  So is he.



   PROS.  Signior Matheo, who made these verses? they are

   excellent good.



   MAT.  O God, sir, it's your pleasure to say so, sir.

   Faith, I made them extempore this morning.



   PROS.  How extempore?



   MAT.  Ay, would I might be damn'd else; ask Signior Bobadilla.

   He saw me write them, at the -- (pox on it) the Mitre yonder.



   MUS.  Well, an the Pope knew he cursed the Mitre it were

   enough to have him excommunicated all the taverns in the town.



   STEP.  Cousin, how do you like this gentleman's verses?



   LOR. JU.  Oh, admirable, the best that ever I heard.



   STEP.  By this fair heavens, they are admirable,

   The best that ever I heard.



   [ENTER GIULIANO.]



   GIU.  I am vext I can hold never a bone of me still,

   'Sblood, I think they mean to build a Tabernacle here, well?



   PROS.  Sister, you have a simple servant here, that crowns

   your beauty with such encomiums and devices, you may see what

   it is to be the mistress of a wit that can make your

   perfections so transparent, that every blear eye may look

   through them, and see him drowned over head and ears in the

   deep well of desire.  Sister Biancha, I marvel you get you

   not a servant that can rhyme and do tricks too.



   GIU.  O monster! impudence itself! tricks!



   BIA.  Tricks, brother? what tricks?



   HES.  Nay, speak, I pray you, what tricks?



   BIA.  Ay, never spare any body here: but say, what tricks?



   HES.  Passion of my heart! do tricks?



   PROS.  'Sblood, here's a trick vied, and revied: why, you

   monkeys, you! what a cater-wauling do you keep! has he not

   given you rhymes, and verses, and tricks?



   GIU.  Oh, see the devil!



   PROS.  Nay, you lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff so:

   come and cherish this tame poetical fury in your servant,

   you'll be begg'd else shortly for a concealment: go to,

   reward his muse, you cannot give him less than a shilling in

   conscience, for the book he had it out of cost him a teston

   at the least.  How now gallants, Lorenzo, Signior Bobadilla!

   what, all sons of silence? no spirit.



   GIU.  Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks somewhere

   else, and not here, I wiss: this is no tavern, nor no place

   for such exploits.



   PROS.  'Sheart, how now!



   GIU.  Nay, boy, never look askance at me for the matter;

   I'll tell you of it, by God's bread, ay, and you and your

   companions mend yourselves when I have done.



   PROS.  My companions?



   GIU.  Ay, your companions, sir, so I say!  'Sblood, I am not

   afraid of you nor them neither, you must have your poets,

   and your cavaliers, and your fools follow you up and down

   the city, and here they must come to domineer and swagger?

   sirrah, you ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there,

   get you out; get you out: or (by the will of God) I'll cut

   off your ears, go to.



   PROS.  'Sblood, stay, let's see what he dare do: cut off his

   ears; you are an ass, touch any man here, and by the Lord

   I'll run my rapier to the hilts in thee.



   GIU.  Yea, that would I fain see, boy.



   BIA.  O Jesu!  Piso!  Matheo! murder!



   HES.  Help, help, Piso!



   [THEY ALL DRAW, ENTER PISO AND SOME MORE OF THE HOUSE

   TO PART THEM, THE WOMEN MAKE A GREAT CRY.]



   LOR. JU.  Gentlemen, Prospero, forbear, I pray you.



   BOB.  Well, sirrah, you Holofernes: by my hand, I will pink

   thy flesh full of holes with my rapier for this, I will, by

   this good heaven: nay, let him come, let him come,

   gentlemen, by the body of St. George, I'll not kill him.



   [THEY OFFER TO FIGHT AGAIN, AND ARE PARTED.]



   PIS.  Hold, hold, forbear.



   GIU.  You whoreson, bragging coistril.



   [ENTER THORELLO.]



   THO.  Why, how now? what's the matter? what stir is here?

   Whence springs this quarrel?  Piso, where is he?

   Put up your weapons, and put off this rage.

   My wife and sister, they are cause of this.

   What, Piso? where is this knave?



   PIS.  Here, sir.



   PROS.  Come, let's go: this is one of my brother's ancient

   humours, this.



   STEP.  I am glad nobody was hurt by this ancient humour.



   [EXIT PROSPERO, LORENZO JU., MUSCO, STEPHANO, BOBADILLA,

   MATHEO.]



   THO.  Why, how now, brother, who enforced this brawl?



   GIU.  A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for God

   nor the devil. And they must come here to read ballads and

   roguery, and trash.  I'll mar the knot of them ere I sleep,

   perhaps; especially Signior Pithagoras, he that's all

   manner of shapes: and songs and sonnets, his fellow there.



   HES.  Brother, indeed you are too violent,

   Too sudden in your courses, and you know

   My brother Prospero's temper will not bear

   Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence,

   Where every slight disgrace he should receive,

   Would wound him in opinion and respect.



   GIU.  Respect? what talk you of respect 'mongst such

   As had neither spark of manhood nor good manners?

   By God I am ashamed to hear you: respect?



   [EXIT.]



   HES.  Yes, there was one a civil gentleman,

   And very worthily demeaned himself.



   THO.  Oh, that was some love of yours, sister.



   HES.  A love of mine? i'faith, I would he were

   No other's love but mine.



   BIA.  Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentleman of an exceeding

   fair disposition, and of very excellent good parts.



   [EXIT HESPERIDA, BIANCHA.]



   THO.  Her love, by Jesu: my wife's minion,

   Fair disposition? excellent good parts?

   'Sheart, these phrases are intolerable,

   Good parts? how should she know his parts? well, well,

   It is too plain, too clear: Piso, come hither.

   What, are they gone?



   PIS.  Ay, sir, they went in.



   THO.  Are any of the gallants within?



   PIS.  No sir, they are all gone.



   THO.  Art thou sure of it?



   PIS.  Ay, sir, I can assure you.



   THO.  Piso, what gentleman was that they praised so?



   PISO.  One they call him Signior Lorenzo, a fair young

   gentleman, sir.



   THO.  Ay, I thought so: my mind gave me as much:

   'Sblood, I'll be hang'd if they have not hid him in the house,

   Some where, I'll go search, Piso, go with me,

   Be true to me and thou shalt find me bountiful.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT III.  SCENE V.



   ENTER COB, TO HIM TIB.



   COB.  What, Tib, Tib, I say.



   TIB.  How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard?

   Oh, husband, is't you? What's the news?



   COB.  Nay, you have stunn'd me, i'faith; you have given me

   a knock on the forehead will stick by me: cuckold?

   'Swounds, cuckold?



   TIB.  Away, you fool, did I know it was you that knock'd?

   Come, come, you may call me as bad when you list.



   COB.  May I? 'swounds, Tib, you are a whore.



   TIB.  'Sheart, you lie in your throat.



   COB.  How, the lie? and in my throat too? do you long to

   be stabb'd, ha?



   TIB.  Why, you are no soldier?



   COB.  Mass, that's true, when was Bobadilla here? that

   rogue, that slave, that fencing Burgullion?  I'll tickle

   him, i'faith.



   TIB.  Why, what's the matter?



   COB.  Oh, he hath basted me rarely, sumptuously: but I have

   it here will sauce him, oh, the doctor, the honestest old

   Trojan in all Italy, I do honour the very flea of his dog:

   a plague on him, he put me once in a villainous filthy fear:

   marry, it vanish'd away like the smoke of tobacco: but I was

   smok'd soundly first, I thank the devil, and his good angel

   my guest: well, wife, or Tib, (which you will) get you in,

   and lock the door, I charge you; let nobody into you, not

   Bobadilla himself, nor the devil in his likeness; you are a

   woman; you have flesh and blood enough in you; therefore be

   not tempted; keep the door shut upon all comers.



   TIB.  I warrant you there shall nobody enter here without my

   consent.



   COB.  Nor with your consent, sweet Tib, and so I leave you.



   TIB.  It's more than you know, whether you leave me so.



   COB.  How?



   TIB.  Why, sweet.



   COB.  Tut, sweet or sour, thou art a flower.

   Keep close thy door, I ask no more.



   [EXEUNT.]





   ACT III.  SCENE VI.



   ENTER LORENZO JUN., PROSPERO, STEPHANO, MUSCO.



   LOR JU.  Well, Musco, perform this business happily,

   And thou makest a conquest of my love for ever.



   PROS.  I'faith, now let thy spirits put on their best habit,

   But at any hand remember thy message to my brother,

   For there's no other means to start him.



   MUS.  I warrant you, sir, fear nothing; I have a nimble soul

   that hath waked all my imaginative forces by this time, and

   put them in true motion: what you have possest me withal,

   I'll discharge it amply, sir.  Make no question.



   [EXIT MUSCO.]



   PROS.  That's well said, Musco: faith, sirrah, how dost thou

   approve my wit in this device?



   LOR JU.  Troth, well, howsoever; but excellent if it take.



   PROS.  Take, man: why, it cannot choose but take, if the

   circumstances miscarry not, but tell me zealously: dost thou

   affect my sister Hesperida, as thou pretendest?



   LOR JU.  Prospero, by Jesu.



   PROS.  Come, do not protest, I believe thee: i'faith, she is

   a virgin of good ornament, and much modesty, unless I

   conceived very worthily of her, thou shouldest not have her.



   LOR JU.  Nay, I think it a question whether I shall have her

   for all that.



   PROS.  'Sblood, thou shalt have her, by this light, thou shalt!



   LOR JU.  Nay, do not swear.



   PROS.  By St. Mark, thou shalt have her: I'll go fetch her

   presently, 'point but where to meet, and by this hand,

   I'll bring her!



   LOR JU.  Hold, hold, what, all policy dead? no prevention of

   mischiefs stirring.



   PROS.  Why, by -- what shall I swear by? thou shalt have her,

   by my soul.



   LOR. JU.  I pray thee have patience, I am satisfied: Prospero,

   omit no offered occasion that may make my desires complete, I

   beseech thee.



   PROS.  I warrant thee.



   [EXEUNT.]









ACT IV.





   SCENE I.



   ENTER LORENZO SEN., PETO, MEETING MUSCO.



   PETO.  Was your man a soldier, sir?



   LOR. SE.  Ay, a knave, I took him up begging upon the way,

   This morning as I was coming to the city.

   Oh! here he is; come on, you make fair speed:

   Why, where in God's name have you been so long?



   MUS.  Marry, (God's my comfort) where I thought I should

   have had little comfort of your worship's service.



   LOR. SE.  How so?



   MUS.  O God, sir! your coming to the city, and your

   entertainment of men, and your sending me to watch;

   indeed, all the circumstances are as open to your son as

   to yourself.



   LOR. SE.  How should that be?  Unless that villain Musco

   Have told him of the letter, and discovered

   All that I strictly charged him to conceal? 'tis so.



   MUS.  I'faith, you have hit it: 'tis so indeed.



   LOR. SE.  But how should he know thee to be my man?



   MUS.  Nay, sir, I cannot tell; unless it were by the

   black art? is not your son a scholar, sir?



   LOR. SE.  Yes; but I hope his soul is not allied

   To such a devilish practice: if it were,

   I had just cause to weep my part in him.

   And curse the time of his creation.

   But where didst thou find them, Portensio?



   MUS.  Nay, sir, rather you should ask where they found me?

   for I'll be sworn I was going along in the street,

   thinking nothing, when (of a sudden) one calls, "Signior

   Lorenzo's man": another, he cries "soldier": and thus half

   a dozen of them, till they had got me within doors, where

   I no sooner came, but out flies their rapiers and all bent

   against my breast, they swore some two or three hundred

   oaths, and all to tell me I was but a dead man, if I did

   not confess where you were, and how I was employed, and

   about what; which, when they could not get out of me, (as

   God's my judge, they should have kill'd me first,) they

   lock'd me up into a room in the top of a house, where, by

   great miracle, (having a light heart) I slid down by a

   bottom of packthread into the street, and so scaped: but,

   master, thus much I can assure you, for I heard it while I

   was lock'd up: there were a great many merchants and rich

   citizens' wives with them at a banquet, and your son,

   Signior Lorenzo, has 'pointed one of them to meet anon at

   one Cob's house, a water-bearer's, that dwells by the wall:

   now there you shall be sure to take him: for fail he will not.



   LOR. SE.  Nor will I fail to break this match, I doubt not;

   Well, go thou along with master Doctor's man,

   And stay there for me; at one Cob's house, say'st thou?



   [EXIT.]



   MUS.  Ay, sir, there you shall have him: when can you tell?

   Much wench, or much son: 'sblood, when he has stay'd there

   three or four hours, travelling with the expectation of

   somewhat; and at the length be delivered of nothing: oh,

   the sport that I should then take to look on him if I durst;

   but now I mean to appear no more afore him in this shape:

   I have another trick to act yet; oh, that I were so happy

   as to light upon an ounce now of this Doctor's clerk:

   God save you, sir.



   PETO.  I thank you, good sir.



   MUS.  I have made you stay somewhat long, sir.



   PETO.  Not a whit, sir, I pray you what, sir, do you mean?

   you have been lately in the wars, sir, it seems.



   MUS.  Ay, marry have I, sir.



   PETO.  Troth, sir, I would be glad to bestow a bottle of

   wine on you, if it please you to accept it.



   MUS.  O Lord, sir.



   PETO.  But to hear the manner of your services, and your

   devices in the wars, they say they be very strange, and

   not like those a man reads in the Roman histories.



   MUS.  O God, no, sir, why, at any time when it please you,

   I shall be ready to discourse to you what I know: and more

   too somewhat.



   PETO.  No better time than now, sir, we'll go to the

   Mermaid: there we shall have a cup of neat wine,

   I pray you, sir, let me request you.



   MUS.  I'll follow you, sir, he is mine own, i'faith.



   [EXEUNT.]



   ENTER BOBADILLA, LORENZO JUN., MATHEO, STEPHANO.



   MAT.  Signior, did you ever see the like clown of him where

   we were to-day: Signior Prospero's brother?

   I think the whole earth cannot shew his like, by Jesu.



   LOR. JU.  We were now speaking of him, Signior Bobadillo

   tells me he is fallen foul of you too.



   MAT.  Oh ay, sir, he threatened me with the bastinado.



   BOB.  Ay, but I think I taught you a trick this morning for

   that.  You shall kill him without all question, if you be

   so minded.



   MAT.  Indeed, it is a most excellent trick.



   BOB.  Oh, you do not give spirit enough to your motion; you

   are too dull, too tardy: oh, it must be done like lightning,

   hay!



   MAT.  Oh, rare.



   BOB.  Tut, 'tis nothing an't be not done in a --



   LOR. JU.  Signior, did you never play with any of our

   masters here?



   MAT.  Oh, good sir.



   BOB.  Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous humour,

   there came three or four of them to me, at a gentleman's house,

   where it was my chance to be resident at that time, to intreat

   my presence at their schools, and withal so much importuned me,

   that (I protest to you as I am a gentleman) I was ashamed of

   their rude demeanour out of all measure: well, I told them

   that to come to a public school they should pardon me, it was

   opposite to my humour, but if so they would attend me at my

   lodging, I protested to do them what right or favour I could,

   as I was a gentleman, etc.



   LOR. JU.  So sir, then you tried their skill.



   BOB.  Alas, soon tried: you shall hear, sir, within two

   or three days after they came, and by Jesu, good Signior,

   believe me, I graced them exceedingly, shewed them some

   two or three tricks of prevention hath got them since

   admirable credit, they cannot deny this; and yet now

   they hate me, and why? because I am excellent, and for

   no other reason on the earth.



   LOR. JU.  This is strange and vile as ever I heard.



   BOB.  I will tell you, sir, upon my first coming to the city,

   they assaulted me some three, four, five, six of them

   together, as I have walk'd alone in divers places of the

   city; as upon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my

   ordinary, where I have driven them afore me the whole length

   of a street, in the open view of all our gallants, pitying

   to hurt them, believe me; yet all this lenity will not

   depress their spleen; they will be doing with the pismire,

   raising a hill a man may spurn abroad with his foot at

   pleasure: by my soul, I could have slain them all, but I

   delight not in murder: I am loth to bear any other but a

   bastinado for them, and yet I hold it good policy not to go

   disarm'd, for though I be skilful, I may be suppressed with

   multitudes.



   LOR. JU.  Ay, by Jesu, may you, sir, and (in my conceit) our

   whole nation should sustain the loss by it, if it were so.



   BOB.  Alas, no: what's a peculiar man to a nation? not seen.



   LOR. JU.  Ay, but your skill, sir.



   BOB.  Indeed, that might be some loss, but who respects it?

   I will tell you, Signior, (in private) I am a gentleman,

   and live here obscure, and to myself; but were I known to

   the Duke (observe me) I would undertake (upon my head and

   life) for the public benefit of the state, not only to

   spare the entire lives of his subjects in general, but to

   save the one half, nay, three parts of his yearly charges,

   in holding wars generally against all his enemies; and how

   will I do it, think you?



   LOR. JU.  Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive.



   BOB.  Marry, thus, I would select nineteen more to myself,

   throughout the land, gentlemen they should be of good spirit;

   strong and able constitution, I would choose them by an

   instinct, a trick that I have, and I would teach these

   nineteen the special tricks, as your punto, your reverso,

   your stoccato, your imbroccato, your passado, your montanto,

   till they could all play very near or altogether as well as

   myself.  This done, say the enemy were forty thousand strong:

   we twenty would come into the field the tenth of March, or

   thereabouts, and would challenge twenty of the enemy; they

   could not in their honour refuse the combat: well, we would

   kill them: challenge twenty more, kill them; twenty more,

   kill them; twenty more, kill them too; and thus would we kill

   every man his twenty a day, that's twenty score; twenty

   score, that's two hundred; two hundred a day, five days a

   thousand: forty thousand; forty times five, five times forty,

   two hundred days kills them all, by computation, and this

   will I venture my life to perform: provided there be no

   treason practised upon us.



   LOR. JU.  Why, are you so sure of your hand at all times?



   BOB.  Tut, never mistrust, upon my soul.



   LOR. JU.  Mass, I would not stand in Signior Giuliano's state,

   then, an you meet him, for the wealth of Florence.



   BOB.  Why Signior, by Jesu, if he were here now, I would not

   draw my weapon on him, let this gentleman do his mind, but I

   will bastinado him (by heaven) an ever I meet him.



   [ENTER GIULIANO AND GOES OUT AGAIN.]



   MAT.  Faith, and I'll have a fling at him.



   LOR. JU.  Look, yonder he goes, I think.



   GIU.  'Sblood, what luck have I, I cannot meet with these

   bragging rascals.



   BOB.  It's not he: is it?



   LOR. JU.  Yes, faith, it is he.



   MAT.  I'll be hang'd then if that were he.



   LOR. JU.  Before God, it was he: you make me swear.



   STEP.  Upon my salvation, it was he.



   BOB.  Well, had I thought it had been he, he could not have

   gone so, but I cannot be induced to believe it was he yet.



   [ENTER GIU.]



   GIU.  Oh, gallant, have I found you? draw to your tools;

   draw, or by God's will I'll thrash you.



   BOB.  Signior, hear me.



   GIU.  Draw your weapons then.



   BOB.  Signior, I never thought it till now: body of St.

   George, I have a warrant of the peace served on me even

   now, as I came along, by a water-bearer, this gentleman

   saw it, Signior Matheo.



   GIU.  The peace!  'Sblood, you will not draw?



   [MATHEO RUNS AWAY.  HE BEATS HIM AND DISARMS HIM.]



   LOR. JU.  Hold, Signior, hold, under thy favour forbear.



   GIU.  Prate again as you like this, you whoreson cowardly

   rascal, you'll control the point, you? your consort he is

   gone; had he staid he had shared with you, in faith.



   [EXIT GIULIANO.]



   BOB.  Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the

   peace, by Jesu.



   LOR. JU.  Why, and though you were, sir, the law allows

   you to defend yourself; that's but a poor excuse.



   BOB.  I cannot tell; I never sustained the like disgrace

   (by heaven); sure I was struck with a planet then, for I

   had no power to touch my weapon.



   [EXIT.]



   LOR. JU.  Ay, like enough; I have heard of many that have

   been beaten under a planet; go, get you to the surgeon's,

   'sblood, an these be your tricks, your passados, and your

   montantos, I'll none of them: O God, that this age should

   bring forth such creatures! come, cousin.



   STEP.  Mass, I'll have this cloak.



   LOR. JU.  God's will: it's Giuliano's.



   STEP.  Nay, but 'tis mine now, another might have ta'en it

   up as well as I, I'll wear it, so I will.



   LOR. JU.  How an he see it? he'll challenge it, assure yourself.



   STEP.  Ay, but he shall not have it; I'll say I bought it.



   LOR. JU.  Advise you, cousin, take heed he give not you as much.



   [EXEUNT.]



   ENTER THORELLO, PROSPERO, BIANCHA, HESPERIDA.



   THO.  Now trust me, Prospero, you were much to blame,

   T' incense your brother and disturb the peace

   Of my poor house, for there be sentinels,

   That every minute watch to give alarms

   Of civil war, without adjection

   Of your assistance and occasion.



   PROS.  No harm done, brother, I warrant you: since there is no

   harm done, anger costs a man nothing: and a tall man is never his

   own man till he be angry, to keep his valour in obscurity, is to

   keep himself as it were in a cloak-bag: what's a musician unless

   he play? what's a tall man unless he fight? for indeed, all this

   my brother stands upon absolutely, and that made me fall in

   with him so resolutely.



   BIA.  Ay, but what harm might have come of it?



   PROS.  Might? so might the good warm clothes your husband

   wears be poison'd for any thing he knows, or the wholesome

   wine he drunk even now at the table.



   THO.  Now, God forbid: O me! now I remember,

   My wife drunk to me last; and changed the cup,

   And bade me wear this cursed suit to-day,

   See if God suffer murder undiscover'd!

   I feel me ill; give me some mithridate,

   Some mithridate and oil; good sister, fetch me,

   Oh, I am sick at heart: I burn, I burn;

   If you will save my life, go fetch it me.



   PROS.  Oh, strange humour, my very breath hath poison'd him.



   HES.  Good brother, be content, what do you mean?

   The strength of these extreme conceits will kill you.



   BIA.  Beshrew your heart-blood, brother Prospero,

   For putting such a toy into his head.



   PROS.  Is a fit simile a toy? will he be poison'd with a simile?

   Brother Thorello, what a strange and vain imagination is this?

   For shame be wiser, on my soul there's no such matter.



   THO.  Am I not sick? how am I then not poison'd?

   Am I not poison'd? how am I then so sick?



   BIA.  If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick.



   PROS.  His jealousy is the poison he hath taken.



   [ENTER MUSCO LIKE THE DOCTOR'S MAN.]



   MUS.  Signior Thorello, my master, Doctor Clement, salutes you,

   and desires to speak with you, with all speed possible.



   THO.  No time but now?  Well, I'll wait upon his worship,

   Piso, Cob, I'll seek them out, and set them sentinels till

   I return.  Piso, Cob, Piso.



   [EXIT.]



   PROS.  Musco, this is rare, but how got'st thou this apparel of

   the Doctor's man?



   MUS.  Marry sir.  My youth would needs bestow the wine on me to

   hear some martial discourse; where I so marshall'd him, that I made

   him monstrous drunk, and because too much heat was the cause of his

   distemper, I stript him stark naked as he lay along asleep, and

   borrowed his suit to deliver this counterfeit message in, leaving a

   rusty armour and an old brown bill to watch him till my return:

   which shall be when I have pawn'd his apparel, and spent the money

   perhaps.



   PROS.  Well, thou art a mad knave, Musco, his absence will be a

   good subject for more mirth: I pray thee return to thy young

   master Lorenzo, and will him to meet me and Hesperida at the

   Friary presently: for here, tell him, the house is so stored with

   jealousy, that there is no room for love to stand upright in: but

   I'll use such means she shall come thither, and that I think will

   meet best with his desires: Hie thee, good Musco.



   MUS.  I go, sir.



   [EXIT.]



   [ENTER THORELLO, TO HIM PISO.]



   THO.  Ho, Piso, Cob, where are these villains, trow?

   Oh, art thou there?  Piso, hark thee here:

   Mark what I say to thee, I must go forth;

   Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch,

   Note every gallant and observe him well,

   That enters in my absence to thy mistress;

   If she would shew him rooms, the jest is stale,

   Follow them, Piso, or else hang on him,

   And let him not go after, mark their looks;

   Note if she offer but to see his band,

   Or any other amorous toy about him,

   But praise his leg, or foot, or if she say,

   The day is hot, and bid him feel her hand,

   How hot it is, oh, that's a monstrous thing:

   Note me all this, sweet Piso; mark their sighs,

   And if they do but whisper, break them off,

   I'll bear thee out in it: wilt thou do this?

   Wilt thou be true, sweet Piso?



   PIS.  Most true, sir.



   THO.  Thanks, gentle Piso: where is Cob? now: Cob?



   [EXIT THORELLO.]



   BIA.  He's ever calling for Cob, I wonder how he employs Cob so.



   PROS.  Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs Cob is a necessary

   question for you that are his wife, and a thing not very easy for

   you to be satisfied in: but this I'll assure you, Cob's wife is

   an excellent bawd indeed, and oftentimes your husband haunts her

   house, marry, to what end I cannot altogether accuse him, imagine

   you what you think convenient: but I have known fair hides have

   foul hearts ere now, I can tell you.



   BIA.  Never said you truer than that, brother!  Piso, fetch

   your cloke, and go with me, I'll after him presently: I would

   to Christ I could take him there, i'faith.



   [EXEUNT PISO AND BIANCHA.]



   PROS.  So let them go: this may make sport anon, now, my fair

   sister Hesperida: ah, that you knew how happy a thing it were

   to be fair and beautiful!



   HES.  That toucheth not me, brother.



   PROS.  That's true: that's even the fault of it, for indeed

   beauty stands a woman in no stead, unless it procure her

   touching: but, sister, whether it touch you or no, it touches

   your beauties, and I am sure they will abide the touch, as

   they do not, a plague of all ceruse, say I! and it touches me

   too in part, though not in thee.  Well, there's a dear and

   respected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly

   affected towards you, and hath vowed to inflame whole bonfires

   of zeal in his heart, in honour of your perfections.  I have

   already engaged my promise to bring you where you shall hear

   him confirm much more than I am able to lay down for him:

   Signior Lorenzo is the man: what say you, sister; shall I

   intreat so much favour of you for my friend, as to direct and

   attend you to his meeting? upon my soul, he loves you

   extremely, approve it, sweet Hesperida, will you?



   HES.  Faith, I had very little confidence in mine own constancy,

   if I durst not meet a man: but, brother Prospero, this motion of

   yours savours of an old knight adventurer's servant, methinks.



   PROS.  What's that, sister?



   HES.  Marry, of the squire.



   PROS.  No matter, Hesperida, if it did, I would be such an one

   for my friend, but say, will you go?



   HES.  Brother, I will, and bless my happy stars.



   [ENTER CLEMENT AND THORELLO.]



   CLEM.  Why, what villainy is this? my man gone on a false

   message, and run away when he has done, why, what trick is

   there in it, trow!  1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.



   THO.  How! is my wife gone forth, where is she, sister!



   HES.  She's gone abroad with Piso.



   THO.  Abroad with Piso?  Oh, that villain dors me,

   He hath discovered all unto my wife,

   Beast that I was to trust him: whither went she?



   HES.  I know not, sir.



   PROS.  I'll tell you, brother, whither I suspect she's gone.



   THO.  Whither, for God's sake!



   PROS.  To Cob's house, I believe: but keep my counsel.



   THO.  I will, I will, to Cob's house! doth she haunt Cob's?

   She's gone a purpose now to cuckold me,

   With that lewd rascal, who to win her favour,

   Hath told her all.



   [EXIT.]



   CLEM.  But did your mistress see my man bring him a message?



   PROS.  That we did, master Doctor.



   CLEM.  And whither went the knave?



   PROS.  To the tavern, I think, sir.



   CLEM.  What, did Thorello give him any thing to spend for the

   message he brought him? if he did I should commend my man's wit

   exceedingly if he would make himself drunk with the joy of it,

   farewell, lady, keep good rule, you two, I beseech you now: by

   God's --; marry, my man makes me laugh.



   [EXIT.]



   PROS.  What a mad doctor is this! come, sister, let's away.



   [EXEUNT.]



   [ENTER MATHEO AND BOBADILLA.]



   MAT.  I wonder, Signior, what they will say of my going away, ha?



   BOB.  Why, what should they say? but as of a discreet gentleman.

   Quick, wary, respectful of natures,

   Fair lineaments, and that's all.



   MAT.  Why so, but what can they say of your beating?



   BOB.  A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind of gross

   battery used, laid on strongly: borne most patiently, and

   that's all.



   MAT.  Ay, but would any man have offered it in Venice?



   BOB.  Tut, I assure you no: you shall have there your Nobilis,

   your Gentilezza, come in bravely upon your reverse, stand you

   close, stand you firm, stand you fair, save your retricato with

   his left leg, come to the assaulto with the right, thrust with

   brave steel, defy your base wood.  But wherefore do I awake this

   remembrance?  I was bewitch'd, by Jesu: but I will be revenged.



   MAT.  Do you hear, is't not best to get a warrant and have him

   arrested, and brought before Doctor Clement?



   BOB.  It were not amiss, would we had it.



   [ENTER MUSCO.]



   MAT.  Why, here comes his man, let's speak to him.



   BOB.  Agreed, do you speak.



   MAT.  God save you, sir.



   MUS.  With all my heart, sir.



   MAT.  Sir, there is one Giuliano hath abused this gentleman and me,

   and we determine to make our amends by law, now if you would do us

   the favour to procure us a warrant, for his arrest, of your master,

   you shall be well considered, I assure i'faith, sir.



   MUS.  Sir, you know my service is my living, such favours as these

   gotten of my master is his only preferment, and therefore you must

   consider me as I may make benefit of my place.



   MAT.  How is that?



   MUS.  Faith, sir, the thing is extraordinary, and the gentleman

   may be of great account: yet be what he will, if you will lay me

   down five crowns in my hand, you shall have it, otherwise not.



   MAT.  How shall we do, Signior? you have no money.



   BOB.  Not a cross, by Jesu.



   MAT.  Nor I, before God, but two pence, left of my two shillings

   in the morning for wine and cakes, let's give him some pawn.



   BOB.  Pawn? we have none to the value of his demand.



   MAT.  O Lord, man, I'll pawn this jewel in my ear, and you may

   pawn your silk stockings, and pull up your boots, they will

   ne'er be mist.



   BOB.  Well, an there be no remedy, I'll step aside and put them

   off.



   MAT.  Do you hear, sir? we have no store of money at this time,

   but you shall have good pawns, look you, sir, this jewel and this

   gentleman's silk stockings, because we would have it dispatch'd

   ere we went to our chambers.



   MUS.  I am content, sir, I will get you the warrant presently.

   What's his name, say you, Giuliano?



   MAT.  Ay, ay, Giuliano.



   MUS.  What manner of man is he?



   MAT.  A tall, big man, sir; he goes in a cloak most commonly

   of silk russet, laid about with russet lace.



   MUS.  'Tis very good, sir.



   MAT.  Here, sir, here's my jewel.



   BOB.  And here are stockings.



   MUS.  Well, gentlemen, I'll procure this warrant presently, and

   appoint you a varlet of the city to serve it, if you'll be upon

   the Realto anon, the varlet shall meet you there.



   MAT.  Very good, sir, I wish no better.



   [EXEUNT BOBA. AND MAT.]



   MUS.  This is rare, now will I go pawn this cloak of the

   doctor's man's at the broker's for a varlet's suit, and be

   the varlet myself, and get either more pawns, or more money

   of Giuliano for my arrest.



   [EXIT.]









ACT V.





   SCENE I.



   ENTER LORENZO SENIOR.



   LOR. SE.  Oh, here it is, I am glad I have found it now.

   Ho! who is within here?



   [ENTER TIB.]



   TIB.  I am within, sir, what's your pleasure?



   LOR. SE.  To know who is within besides yourself.



   TIB.  Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope?



   LOR. SE.  Oh, fear you the constable? then I doubt not,

   You have some guests within deserve that fear;

   I'll fetch him straight.



   TIB.  O' God's name, sir.



   LOR. SE.  Go to, tell me is not the young Lorenzo here?



   TIB.  Young Lorenzo, I saw none such, sir, of mine honesty.



   LOR. SE.  Go to, your honesty flies too lightly from you:

   There's no way but fetch the constable.



   TIB.  The constable, the man is mad, I think.

   [CLAPS TO THE DOOR.]



   [ENTER PISO AND BIANCHA.]



   PISO.  Ho, who keeps house here?



   LOR. SE.  Oh, this is the female copes-mate of my son.

   Now shall I meet him straight.



   BIA.  Knock, Piso, pray thee.



   PIS.  Ho, good wife.



   [ENTER TIB.]



   TIB.  Why, what's the matter with you?



   BIA.  Why, woman, grieves it you to ope your door?

   Belike you get something to keep it shut.



   TIB.  What mean these questions, pray ye?



   BIA.  So strange you make it! is not Thorello, my tried

   husband, here?



   LOR. SE.  Her husband?



   TIB.  I hope he needs not be tried here.



   BIA.  No, dame: he doth it not for need but pleasure.



   TIB.  Neither for need nor pleasure is he here.



   LOR. SE.  This is but a device to balk me withal;

   Soft, who's this?



   [ENTER THORELLO.]



   BIA.  Oh, sir, have I forestall'd your honest market?

   Found your close walks? you stand amazed now, do you?

   I'faith (I am glad) I have smoked you yet at last;

   What's your jewel, trow?  In: come, let's see her;

   Fetch forth your housewife, dame; if she be fairer

   In any honest judgment than myself,

   I'll be content with it: but she is change,

   She feeds you fat; she soothes your appetite,

   And you are well: your wife, an honest woman,

   Is meat twice sod to you, sir; Oh, you treachour.



   LOR. SE.  She cannot counterfeit this palpably.



   THO.  Out on thee, more than strumpet's impudency,

   Steal'st thou thus to thy haunts? and have I taken

   Thy bawd and thee, and thy companion,

   This hoary-headed letcher, this old goat,

   Close at your villainy, and would'st thou 'scuse it,

   With this stale harlot's jest, accusing me?

   Oh, old incontinent, dost thou not shame,

   When all thy powers in chastity are spent,

   To have a mind so hot? and to entice

   And feed the enticements of a lustful woman?



   BIA.  Out, I defy thee, I, dissembling wretch?



   THO.  Defy me, strumpet? ask thy pander here,

   Can he deny it? or that wicked elder.



   LOR. SE.  Why, hear you, Signior?



   THO.  Tut, tut, never speak,

   Thy guilty conscience will discover thee.



   LOR. SE.  What lunacy is this that haunts this man?



   [ENTER GIU.]



   GIU.  Oh, sister, did you see my cloak?



   BIA.  Not I, I see none.



   GIU.  God's life, I have lost it then, saw you Hesperida?



   THO.  Hesperida?  Is she not at home?



   GIU.  No, she is gone abroad, and nobody can tell me of it

   at home.



   [EXIT.]



   THO.  O heaven! abroad? what light! a harlot too!

   Why? why? hark you, hath she, hath she not a brother?

   A brother's house to keep, to look unto?

   But she must fling abroad, my wife hath spoil'd her,

   She takes right after her, she does, she does,

   Well, you goody bawd and --

   [ENTER COB.]

   That make your husband such a hoddy-doddy;

   And you, young apple squire, and old cuckold-maker,

   I'll have you every one before the Doctor,

   Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go.



   LOR. SE.  Marry, with all my heart, I'll go willingly:

   how have I wrong'd myself in coming here.



   BIA.  Go with thee?  I'll go with thee to thy shame,

   I warrant thee.



   COB.  Why, what's the matter? what's here to do?



   THO.  What, Cob, art thou here? oh, I am abused,

   And in thy house, was never man so wrong'd.



   COB.  'Slid, in my house? who wrong'd you in my house?



   THO.  Marry, young lust in old, and old in young here,

   Thy wife's their bawd, here have I taken them.



   COB.  Do you hear? did I not charge you keep your doors shut

   here, and do you let them lie open for all comers, do you

   scratch?



   [COB BEATS HIS WIFE.]



   LOR. SE.  Friend, have patience; if she have done wrong in

   this, let her answer it afore the Magistrate.



   COB.  Ay, come, you shall go afore the Doctor.



   TIB.  Nay, I will go, I'll see an you may be allowed to beat

   your poor wife thus at every cuckoldly knave's pleasure, the

   devil and the pox take you all for me: why do you not go now?



   THO.  A bitter quean, come, we'll have you tamed.



   [EXEUNT.]



   [ENTER MUSCO ALONE.]



   MUS.  Well, of all my disguises yet, now am I most like myself,

   being in this varlet's suit, a man of my present profession

   never counterfeits till he lay hold upon a debtor, and says he

   rests him, for then he brings him to all manner of unrest.

   A kind of little kings we are, bearing the diminutive of a

   mace, made like a young artichoke, that always carries pepper

   and salt in itself, well, I know not what danger I undergo by

   this exploit, pray God I come well off.



   [ENTER BOBADILLA AND MATHEO.]



   MAT.  See, I think yonder is the varlet.



   BOB.  Let's go in quest of him.



   MAT.  God save you, friend, are not you here by the appointment

   of Doctor Clement's man?



   MUS.  Yes, an't please you, sir; he told me two gentlemen had

   will'd him to procure an arrest upon one Signior Giuliano by a

   warrant from his master, which I have about me.



   MAT.  It is honestly done of you both; and see where he comes

   you must arrest; upon him, for God's sake, before he be 'ware.



   BOB.  Bear back, Matheo!



   [ENTER STEPHANO.]



   MUS.  Signior Giuliano, I arrest you, sir, in the Duke's name.



   STEP.  Signior Giuliano! am I Signior Giuliano?  I am one Signior

   Stephano, I tell you, and you do not well, by God's lid, to arrest

   me, I tell you truly; I am not in your master's books, I would you

   should well know; ay, and a plague of God on you for making me

   afraid thus.



   MUS.  Why, how are you deceived, gentlemen?



   BOB.  He wears such a cloak, and that deceived us,

   But see, here a comes, officer, this is he.



   [ENTER GIULIANO.]



   GIU.  Why, how now, signior gull: are you a turn'd filcher of

   late? come, deliver my cloak.



   STEP.  Your cloak, sir?  I bought it even now in the market.



   MUS.  Signior Giuliano, I must arrest you, sir.



   GIU.  Arrest me, sir, at whose suit?



   MUS.  At these two gentlemen's.



   GIU.  I obey thee, varlet; but for these villains --



   MUS.  Keep the peace, I charge you, sir, in the Duke's name,

   sir.



   GIU.  What's the matter, varlet?



   MUS.  You must go before master Doctor Clement, sir, to

   answer what these gentlemen will object against you, hark

   you, sir, I will use you kindly.



   MAT.  We'll be even with you, sir, come, Signior Bobadilla,

   we'll go before and prepare the Doctor: varlet, look to him.



   [EXEUNT BOBADILLA AND MATHEO.]



   BOB.  The varlet is a tall man, by Jesu.



   GIU.  Away, you rascals, Signior, I shall have my cloak.



   STEP.  Your cloak?  I say once again, I bought it, and I'll

   keep it.



   GIU.  You will keep it?



   STEP.  Ay, that I will.



   GIU.  Varlet, stay, here's thy fee, arrest him.



   MUS.  Signior Stephano, I arrest you.



   STEP.  Arrest me! there, take your cloak: I'll none of it.



   GIU.  Nay, that shall not serve your turn, varlet, bring him away,

   I'll go with thee now to the Doctor's, and carry him along.



   STEP.  Why, is not here your cloak? what would you have?



   GIU.  I care not for that.



   MUS.  I pray you, sir.



   GIU.  Never talk of it; I will have him answer it.



   MUS.  Well, sir, then I'll leave you, I'll take this gentleman's

   word for his appearance, as I have done yours.



   GIU.  Tut, I'll have no words taken, bring him along to answer it.



   MUS.  Good sir, I pity the gentleman's case, here's your money

   again.



   GIU.  God's bread, tell not me of my money, bring him away,

   I say.



   MUS.  I warrant you, he will go with you of himself.



   GIU.  Yet more ado?



   MUS.  I have made a fair mash of it.



   STEP.  Must I go?



   [EXEUNT.]



   ENTER DOCTOR CLEMENT, THORELLO, LORENZO SENIOR, BIANCHA,

   PISO, TIB, A SERVANT OR TWO OF THE DOCTOR'S.



   CLEM.  Nay, but stay, stay, give me leave; my chair, sirrah;

   you, Signior Lorenzo, say you went thither to meet your son.



   LOR. SE.  Ay, sir.



   CLEM.  But who directed you thither?



   LOR. SE.  That did my man, sir.



   CLEM.  Where is he?



   LOR. SE.  Nay, I know not now, I left him with your clerk,

   And appointed him to stay here for me.



   CLEM.  About what time was this?



   LOR. SE.  Marry, between one and two, as I take it.



   CLEM.  So, what time came my man with the message to you,

   Signior Thorello?



   THO.  After two, sir.



   CLEM.  Very good, but, lady, how that you were at Cob's, ha?



   BIA.  An't please you, sir, I'll tell you: my brother Prospero

   told me that Cob's house was a suspected place.



   CLEM.  So it appears, methinks; but on.



   BIA.  And that my husband used thither daily.



   CLEM.  No matter, so he use himself well.



   BIA.  True, sir, but you know what grows by such haunts

   oftentimes.



   CLEM.  Ay, rank fruits of a jealous brain, lady: but did you

   find your husband there in that case, as you suspected?



   THO.  I found her there, sir.



   CLEM.  Did you so? that alters the case; who gave you knowledge

   of your wife's being there?



   THO.  Marry, that did my brother Prospero.



   CLEM.  How, Prospero first tell her, then tell you after?

   Where is Prospero?



   THO.  Gone with my sister, sir, I know not whither.



   CLEM.  Why, this is a mere trick, a device; you are gulled

   in this most grossly: alas, poor wench, wert thou beaten

   for this? how now, sirrah, what's the matter?



   [ENTER ONE OF THE DOCTOR'S MEN.]



   SER.  Sir, there's a gentleman in the court without desires

   to speak with your worship.



   CLEM.  A gentleman? what's he?



   SER.  A soldier, sir, he sayeth.



   CLEM.  A soldier? fetch me my armour, my sword, quickly; a

   soldier speak with me, why, when, knaves? -- come on, come on,

   hold my cap there, so; give me my gorget, my sword; stand by,

   I will end your matters anon; let the soldier enter, now, sir,

   what have you to say to me?



   [ENTER BOBADILLA AND MATHEO.]



   BOB.  By your worship's favour.



   CLEM.  Nay, keep out, sir, I know not your pretence, you

   send me word, sir, you are a soldier, why, sir, you shall

   be answered here, here be them have been amongst soldiers.

   Sir, your pleasure.



   BOB.  Faith, sir, so it is: this gentleman and myself have

   been most violently wronged by one Signior Giuliano: a gallant

   of the city here; and for my own part, I protest, being a man

   in no sort given to this filthy humour of quarrelling, he hath

   assaulted me in the way of my peace, despoiled me of mine

   honour, disarmed me of my weapons, and beaten me in the open

   streets: when I not so much as once offered to resist him.



   CLEM.  Oh, God's precious, is this the soldier? here, take my

   armour quickly, 'twill make him swoon, I fear; he is not fit

   to look on't that will put up a blow.



   [ENTER SERVANT.]



   MAT.  An't please your worship, he was bound to the peace.



   CLEM.  Why, an he were, sir, his hands were not bound,

   were they?



   SER.  There is one of the varlets of the city has brought two

   gentlemen here upon arrest, sir.



   CLEM.  Bid him come in, set by the picture.

   [ENTER MUSCO WITH GIULIANO AND STEPHANO.]

   Now, sir, what!  Signior Giuliano? is't you that are arrested

   at signior freshwater's suit here?



   GIU.  I'faith, master Doctor, and here's another brought at

   my suit.



   CLEM.  What are you, sir?



   STEP.  A gentleman, sir; oh, uncle?



   CLEM.  Uncle? who, Lorenzo?



   LOR. SE.  Ay, sir.



   STEP.  God's my witness, my uncle, I am wrong'd here monstrously;

   he chargeth me with stealing of his cloak, and would I might

   never stir, if I did not find it in the street by chance.



   GIU.  Oh, did you find it now? you said you bought it erewhile.



   STEP.  And you said I stole it, nay, now my uncle is here I care

   not.



   CLEM.  Well, let this breathe awhile; you that have cause to

   complain there, stand forth; had you a warrant for this arrest?



   BOB.  Ay, an't please your worship.



   CLEM.  Nay, do not speak in passion so, where had you it?



   BOB.  Of your clerk, sir.



   CLEM.  That's well, an my clerk can make warrants, and my hand

   not at them; where is the warrant? varlet, have you it?



   MUS.  No, sir, your worship's man bid me do it for these

   gentlemen, and he would be my discharge.



   CLEM.  Why, Signior Giuliano, are you such a novice to be

   arrested and never see the warrant?



   GIU.  Why, sir, he did not arrest me.



   CLEM.  No? how then?



   GIU.  Marry, sir, he came to me and said he must arrest me,

   and he would use me kindly, and so forth.



   CLEM.  Oh, God's pity, was it so, sir? he must arrest you.

   Give me my long sword there; help me off, so; come on, sir

   varlet, I must cut off your legs, sirrah; nay, stand up,

   I'll use you kindly; I must cut off your legs, I say.



   MUS.  Oh, good sir, I beseech you, nay, good master Doctor.

   Oh, good sir.



   CLEM.  I must do it; there is no remedy;

   I must cut off your legs, sirrah.

   I must cut off your ears, you rascal, I must do it;

   I must cut off your nose, I must cut off your head.



   MUS.  Oh, for God's sake, good master Doctor.



   CLEM.  Well, rise; how dost thou now? dost thou feel thyself

   well? hast thou no harm?



   MUS.  No, I thank God, sir, and your good worship.



   CLEM.  Why so?  I said I must cut off thy legs, and I must cut

   off thy arms, and I must cut off thy head; but I did not do it

   so: you said you must arrest this gentleman, but you did not

   arrest him, you knave, you slave, you rogue, do you say you must

   arrest, sirrah? away with him to the jail, I'll teach you a

   trick for your must.



   MUS.  Good master Doctor, I beseech you be good to me.



   CLEM.  Marry o'God: away with him, I say.



   MUS.  Nay, 'sblood, before I go to prison, I'll put on my

   old brazen face, and disclaim in my vocation: I'll discover,

   that's flat, an I be committed, it shall be for the

   committing of more villainies than this, hang me an I lose

   the least grain of my fame.



   CLEM.  Why? when, knave? by God's marry, I'll clap thee by

   the heels too.



   MUS.  Hold, hold, I pray you.



   CLEM.  What's the matter? stay there.



   MUS.  Faith, sir, afore I go to this house of bondage, I have

   a case to unfold to your worship: which (that it may appear

   more plain unto your worship's view) I do thus first of all

   uncase, and appear in mine own proper nature, servant to this

   gentleman: and known by the name of Musco.



   LOR. SE.  Ha, Musco!



   STEP.  Oh, uncle, Musco has been with my cousin and I all

   this day.



   CLEM.  Did not I tell you there was some device?



   MUS.  Nay, good master Doctor, since I have laid myself thus

   open to your worship, now stand strong for me, till the progress

   of my tale be ended, and then if my wit do not deserve your

   countenance, 'slight, throw it on a dog, and let me go hang

   myself.



   CLEM.  Body of me, a merry knave, give me a bowl of sack.

   Signior Lorenzo, I bespeak your patience in particular, marry,

   your ears in general, here, knave, Doctor Clement drinks to

   thee.



   MUS.  I pledge master Doctor an't were a sea to the bottom.



   CLEM.  Fill his bowl for that, fill his bowl: so, now speak

   freely.



   MUS.  Indeed, this is it will make a man speak freely.  But

   to the point, know then that I, Musco, (being somewhat more

   trusted of my master than reason required, and knowing his

   intent to Florence,) did assume the habit of a poor soldier in

   wants, and minding by some means to intercept his journey in

   the midway, 'twixt the grange and the city, I encountered him,

   where begging of him in the most accomplished and true garb,

   (as they term it) contrary to all expectation, he reclaimed me

   from that bad course of life; entertained me into his service,

   employed me in his business, possest me with his secrets, which

   I no sooner had received, but (seeking my young master, and

   finding him at this gentleman's house) I revealed all most

   amply: this done, by the device of Signior Prospero and him

   together, I returned (as the raven did to the ark) to mine old

   master again, told him he should find his son in what manner he

   knows, at one Cob's house, where indeed he never meant to come;

   now my master, he to maintain the jest, went thither, and left

   me with your worship's clerk, who, being of a most fine supple

   disposition, (as most of your clerks are) proffers me the wine,

   which I had the grace to accept very easily, and to the tavern

   we went: there after much ceremony, I made him drunk in

   kindness, stript him to his shirt, and leaving him in that cool

   vein, departed, frolick, courtier-like, having obtained a suit:

   which suit fitting me exceedingly well, I put on, and usurping

   your man's phrase and action, carried a message to Signior

   Thorello in your name; which message was merely devised but to

   procure his absence, while Signior Prospero might make a

   conveyance of Hesperida to my master.



   CLEM.  Stay, fill me the bowl again, here; 'twere pity of his

   life would not cherish such a spirit: I drink to thee, fill

   him wine, why, now do you perceive the trick of it?



   THO.  Ay, ay, perceive well we were all abused.



   LOR. SE.  Well, what remedy?



   CLEM.  Where is Lorenzo and Prospero, canst thou tell?



   MUS.  Ay, sir, they are at supper at the Mermaid, where I

   left your man.



   CLEM.  Sirrah, go warn them hither presently before me, and

   if the hour of your fellow's resurrection be come, bring him

   too.  But forward, forward, when thou has been at Thorello's.



   [EXIT SERVANT.]



   MUS.  Marry, sir, coming along the street, these two gentlemen

   meet me, and very strongly supposing me to be your worship's

   scribe, entreated me to procure them a warrant for the arrest

   of Signior Giuliano, I promised them, upon some pair of silk

   stockings or a jewel, or so, to do it, and to get a varlet of

   the city to serve it, which varlet I appointed should meet

   them upon the Realto at such an hour, they no sooner gone, but

   I, in a mere hope of more gain by Signior Giuliano, went to one

   of Satan's old ingles, a broker, and there pawned your man's

   livery for a varlet's suit, which here, with myself, I offer

   unto your worship's consideration.



   CLEM.  Well, give me thy hand;

   Proh. Superi ingenium magnum quis noscit Homerum.

   Illias aeternum si latuisset opus?

   I admire thee, I honour thee, and if thy master or any man here

   be angry with thee, I shall suspect his wit while I know him

   for it: do you hear, Signior Thorello, Signior Lorenzo, and the

   rest of my good friends, I pray you let me have peace when they

   come, I have sent for the two gallants and Hesperida, God's

   marry, I must have you, friends, how now? what noise is there?



   [ENTER SERVANT, THEN PETO.]



   SER.  Sir, it is Peto is come home.



   CLEM.  Peto, bring him hither, bring him hither, what, how now,

   signior drunkard, in arms against me, ha? your reason, your

   reason for this.



   PET.  I beseech your worship to pardon me.



   CLEM.  Well, sirrah, tell him I do pardon him.



   PET.  Truly, sir, I did happen into bad company by chance,

   and they cast me in a sleep and stript me of all my clothes.



   CLEM.  Tut, this is not to the purpose touching your armour,

   what might your armour signify?



   PET.  Marry, sir, it hung in the room where they stript me, and

   I borrowed it of one of the drawers, now in the evening, to

   come home in, because I was loth to come through the street

   in my shirt.



   [ENTER LORENZO JUNIOR, PROSPERO, HESPERIDA.]



   CLEM.  Well, disarm him, but it's no matter, let him stand by:

   who be these? oh, young gallants; welcome, welcome, and you,

   lady, nay, never scatter such amazed looks amongst us,

   Qui nil potest sperare desperet nihil.



   PROS.  Faith, master Doctor, that's even I, my hopes are small,

   and my despair shall be as little.  Brother, sister, brother,

   what, cloudy, cloudy? "and will no sunshine on these looks

   appear?" well, since there is such a tempest toward, I'll be

   the porpoise, I'll dance: wench, be of good cheer, thou hast a

   cloak for the rain yet, where is he?  'Sheart, how now, the

   picture of the prodigal, go to, I'll have the calf drest for

   you at my charges.



   LOR. SE.  Well, son Lorenzo, this day's work of yours hath much

   deceived my hopes, troubled my peace, and stretch'd my patience

   further than became the spirit of duty.



   CLEM.  Nay, God's pity, Signior Lorenzo, you shall urge it no

   more: come, since you are here, I'll have the disposing of all,

   but first, Signior Giuliano, at my request take your cloak again.



   GIU.  Well, sir, I am content.



   CLEM.  Stay, now let me see, oh signior snow-liver, I had almost

   forgotten him, and your Genius there, what, doth he suffer for a

   good conscience too? doth he bear his cross with patience?



   MUS.  Nay, they have scarce one cross between them both to bear.



   CLEM.  Why, dost thou know him? what is he? what is he?



   MUS.  Marry, search his pocket, sir, and he'll shew you he is an

   author, sir.



   CLEM.  Dic mihi musa virum: are you an author, sir? give me

   leave a little, come on, sir, I'll make verses with you now

   in honour of the gods and the goddesses for what you dare

   extempore; and now I begin.

   "Mount thee my Phlegon muse, and testify,

   How Saturn sitting in an ebon cloud,

   Disrobed his podex, white as ivory,

   And through the welkin thunder'd all aloud."

   There's for you, sir.



   PROS.  Oh, he writes not in that height of style.



   CLEM.  No: we'll come a step or two lower then.

   "From Catadupa and the banks of Nile,

   Where only breeds your monstrous crocodile,

   Now are we purposed for to fetch our style."



   PROS.  Oh, too far-fetch'd for him still, master Doctor.



   CLEM.  Ay, say you so? let's intreat a sight of his vein then.



   PROS.  Signior, master Doctor desires to see a sight of your

   vein, nay, you must not deny him.



   CLEM.  What, all this verse, body of me, he carries a whole

   realm; a commonwealth of paper in his hose, let's see some of

   his subjects.

   "Unto the boundless ocean of thy beauty,

   Runs this poor river, charg'd with streams of zeal,

   Returning thee the tribute of my duty:

   Which here my youth, my plaints, my love reveal."

   Good! is this your own invention?



   MAT.  No, sir, I translated that out of a book, called

   "Delia."



   CLEM.  Oh, but I would see some of your own, some of your own.



   MAT.  Sir, here's the beginning of a sonnet I made to my

   mistress.



   CLEM.  That, that: who? to Madonna Hesperida, is she your

   mistress?



   PROS.  It pleaseth him to call her so, sir.



   CLEM.  "In summer time, when Phoebus' golden rays."

   You translated this too, did you not?



   PROS.  No, this is invention; he found it in a ballad.



   MAT.  Faith sir, I had most of the conceit of it out of a

   ballad indeed.



   CLEM.  Conceit, fetch me a couple of torches, sirrah,

   I may see the conceit: quickly! it's very dark!



   GIU.  Call you this poetry?



   LOR. JU.  Poetry? nay, then call blasphemy, religion;

   Call devils, angels; and sin, piety:

   Let all things be preposterously transchanged.



   LOR. SE.  Why, how now, son! what are you startled now?

   Hath the brize prick'd you, ha? go to; you see

   How abjectly your poetry is rank'd in general opinion.



   LOR. JU.  Opinion, O God, let gross opinion sink and be damn'd

   As deep as Barathrum,

   If it may stand with your most wish'd content,

   I can refell opinion and approve

   The state of poesy, such as it is,

   Blessed, eternal, and most true divine:

   Indeed, if you will look on Poesy

   As she appears in many, poor and lame,

   Patch'd up in remnants and old worn rags,

   Half starved for want of her peculiar food:

   Sacred invention, then I must confirm

   Both your conceit and censure of her merit,

   But view her in her glorious ornaments,

   Attired in the majesty of art,

   Set high in spirit, with the precious taste

   Of sweet philosophy, and which is most,

   Crown'd with the rich traditions of a soul

   That hates to have her dignity profaned

   With any relish of an earthly thought:

   Oh, then how proud a presence doth she bear.

   Then is she like herself, fit to be seen

   Of none but grave and consecrated eyes:

   Nor is it any blemish to her fame,

   That such lean, ignorant, and blasted wits,

   Such brainless gulls, should utter their stol'n wares

   With such applauses in our vulgar ears:

   Or that their slubber'd lines have current pass

   From the fat judgments of the multitude,

   But that this barren and infected age

   Should set no difference 'twixt these empty spirits

   And a true poet: than which reverend name

   Nothing can more adorn humanity.



   [ENTER WITH TORCHES.]



   CLEM.  Ay, Lorenzo, but election is now governed altogether by

   the influence of humour, which, instead of those holy flames

   that should direct and light the soul to eternity, hurls forth

   nothing but smoke and congested vapours, that stifle her up, and

   bereave her of all sight and motion.  But she must have a store

   of hellebore given her to purge these gross obstructions: oh,

   that's well said, give me thy torch, come, lay this stuff

   together.  So, give fire! there, see, see, how our poet's glory

   shines brighter and brighter, still, still it increaseth, oh,

   now it's at the highest, and now it declines as fast: you may

   see, gallants, "sic transit gloria mundi."  Well now, my two

   signior outsides, stand forth, and lend me your large ears, to

   a sentence, to a sentence: first, you, Signior, shall this night

   to the cage, and so shall you, sir, from thence to-morrow morning,

   you, Signior, shall be carried to the market cross, and be there

   bound: and so shall you, sir, in a large motley coat, with a rod

   at your girdle; and you in an old suit of sackcloth, and the

   ashes of your papers (save the ashes, sirrah) shall mourn all day,

   and at night both together sing some ballad of repentance very

   piteously, which you shall make to the tune of "Who list to lead

   and a soldier's life."  Sirrah bill-man, embrace you this torch,

   and light the gentlemen to their lodgings, and because we tender

   their safety, you shall watch them to-night, you are provided for

   the purpose, away, and look to your charge with an open eye,

   sirrah.



   BOB.  Well, I am arm'd in soul against the worst of fortune.



   MAT.  Faith, so should I be, an I had slept on it.



   PET.  I am arm'd too, but I am not like to sleep on it.



   MUS.  Oh, how this pleaseth me.



   [EXEUNT.]



   CLEM.  Now, Signior Thorello, Giuliano, Prospero, Biancha.



   STEP.  And not me, sir.



   CLEM.  Yes, and you, sir: I had lost a sheep an he had not

   bleated, I must have you all friends: but first a word with

   you, young gallant, and you, lady.



   GIU.  Well, brother Prospero, by this good light that shines

   here, I am loth to kindle fresh coals, but an you had come in

   my walk within these two hours I had given you that you should

   not have clawed off again in haste, by Jesus, I had done it, I

   am the arrant'st rogue that ever breathed else, but now beshrew

   my heart if I bear you any malice in the earth.



   PROS.  Faith, I did it but to hold up a jest, and help my sister

   to a husband, but, brother Thorello, and sister, you have a spice

   of the jealous yet, both of you, (in your hose, I mean,) come, do

   not dwell upon your anger so much, let's all be smooth foreheaded

   once again.



   THOR.  He plays upon my forehead, brother Giuliano, I pray you

   tell me one thing I shall ask you: is my forehead any thing

   rougher than it was wont to be?



   GIU.  Rougher? your forehead is smooth enough, man.



   THO.  Why should he then say, be smooth foreheaded,

   Unless he jested at the smoothness of it?

   And that may be, for horn is very smooth;

   So are my brows, by Jesu, smooth as horn!



   BIA.  Brother, had he no haunt thither, in good faith?



   PROS.  No, upon my soul.



   BIA.  Nay, then, sweet-heart: nay, I pray thee, be not angry,

   good faith, I'll never suspect thee any more, nay, kiss me,

   sweet muss.



   THO.  Tell me, Biancha, do not you play the woman with me.



   BIA.  What's that, sweet-heart?



   THO.  Dissemble.



   BIA.  Dissemble?



   THO.  Nay, do not turn away: but say i'faith was it not a

   match appointed 'twixt this old gentleman and you?



   BIA.  A match?



   THO.  Nay, if it were not, I do not care: do not weep, I pray

   thee, sweet Biancha, nay, so now! by Jesus, I am not jealous,

   but resolved I have the faithful'st wife in Italy.

   "For this I find, where jealousy is fed,

   Horns in the mind are worse than on the head.

   See what a drove of horns fly in the air,

   Wing'd with my cleansed and my credulous breath:

   Watch them, suspicious eyes, watch where they fall,

   See, see, on heads that think they have none at all.

   Oh, what a plenteous world of this will come,

   When air rains horns, all men be sure of some:



   CLEM.  Why that's well, come then: what say you, are all

   agreed? doth none stand out?



   PROS.  None but this gentleman: to whom in my own person I owe

   all duty and affection; but most seriously intreat pardon, for

   whatsoever hath past in these occurrants that might be contrary

   to his most desired content.



   LOR. SE.  Faith sir, it is a virtue that pursues

   Any save rude and uncomposed spirits,

   To make a fair construction, and indeed

   Not to stand off, when such respective means

   Invite a general content in all.



   CLEM.  Well, then I conjure you all here to put off all

   discontentment, first, you, Signior Lorenzo, your cares; you,

   and you, your jealousy; you, your anger, and you, your wit,

   sir; and for a peace-offering, here's one willing to be

   sacrificed upon this altar: say, do you approve my motion?



   PROS.  We do, I'll be mouth for all.



   CLEM.  Why, then I wish them all joy, and now, to make our

   evening happiness more full: this night you shall be all my

   guests: where we'll enjoy the very spirit of mirth, and carouse

   to the health of this heroic spirit, whom to honour the more I

   do invest in my own robes, desiring you two, Giuliano and

   Prospero, to be his supporters, the train to follow, myself

   will lead, ushered by my page here with this honourable verse --



   "Claudite jam rivos pueri sat prata biberunt."











   GLOSSARY



   ABATE, cast down, subdue.



   ABHORRING, repugnant (to), at variance.



   ABJECT, base, degraded thing, outcast.



   ABRASE, smooth, blank.



   ABSOLUTE(LY), faultless(ly).



   ABSTRACTED, abstract, abstruse.



   ABUSE, deceive, insult, dishonour, make ill use of.



   ACATER, caterer.



   ACATES, cates.



   ACCEPTIVE, willing, ready to accept, receive.



   ACCOMMODATE, fit, befitting.  (The word was a fashionable

   one and used on all occasions.  See "Henry IV.," pt. 2,

   iii. 4).



   ACCOST, draw near, approach.



   ACKNOWN, confessedly acquainted with.



   ACME, full maturity.



   ADALANTADO, lord deputy or governor of a Spanish province.



   ADJECTION, addition.



   ADMIRATION, astonishment.



   ADMIRE, wonder, wonder at.



   ADROP, philosopher's stone, or substance from which obtained.



   ADSCRIVE, subscribe.



   ADULTERATE, spurious, counterfeit.



   ADVANCE, lift.



   ADVERTISE, inform, give intelligence.



   ADVERTISED, "be --," be it known to you.



   ADVERTISEMENT, intelligence.



   ADVISE, consider, bethink oneself, deliberate.



   ADVISED, informed, aware; "are you --?" have you found that out?



   AFFECT, love, like; aim at; move.



   AFFECTED, disposed; beloved.



   AFFECTIONATE, obstinate; prejudiced.



   AFFECTS, affections.



   AFFRONT, "give the --," face.



   AFFY, have confidence in; betroth.



   AFTER, after the manner of.



   AGAIN, AGAINST, in anticipation of.



   AGGRAVATE, increase, magnify, enlarge upon.



   AGNOMINATION.  See Paranomasie.



   AIERY, nest, brood.



   AIM, guess.



   ALL HID, children's cry at hide-and-seek.



   ALL-TO, completely, entirely ("all-to-be-laden").



   ALLOWANCE, approbation, recognition.



   ALMA-CANTARAS (astronomy), parallels of altitude.



   ALMAIN, name of a dance.



   ALMUTEN, planet of chief influence in the horoscope.



   ALONE, unequalled, without peer.



   ALUDELS, subliming pots.



   AMAZED, confused, perplexed.



   AMBER, AMBRE, ambergris.



   AMBREE, MARY, a woman noted for her valour at the

   siege of Ghent, 1458.



   AMES-ACE, lowest throw at dice.



   AMPHIBOLIES, ambiguities.



   AMUSED, bewildered, amazed.



   AN, if.



   ANATOMY, skeleton, or dissected body.



   ANDIRONS, fire-dogs.



   ANGEL, gold coin worth 10 shillings, stamped with the

   figure of the archangel Michael.



   ANNESH CLEARE, spring known as Agnes le Clare.



   ANSWER, return hit in fencing.



   ANTIC, ANTIQUE, clown, buffoon.



   ANTIC, like a buffoon.



   ANTIPERISTASIS, an opposition which enhances the quality

   it opposes.



   APOZEM, decoction.



   APPERIL, peril.



   APPLE-JOHN, APPLE-SQUIRE, pimp, pander.



   APPLY, attach.



   APPREHEND, take into custody.



   APPREHENSIVE, quick of perception; able to perceive and appreciate.



   APPROVE, prove, confirm.



   APT, suit, adapt; train, prepare; dispose, incline.



   APT(LY), suitable(y), opportune(ly).



   APTITUDE, suitableness.



   ARBOR, "make the --," cut up the game (Gifford).



   ARCHES, Court of Arches.



   ARCHIE, Archibald Armstrong, jester to James I. and Charles I.



   ARGAILE, argol, crust or sediment in wine casks.



   ARGENT-VIVE, quicksilver.



   ARGUMENT, plot of a drama; theme, subject; matter in question;

   token, proof.



   ARRIDE, please.



   ARSEDINE, mixture of copper and zinc, used as an imitation of

   gold-leaf.



   ARTHUR, PRINCE, reference to an archery show by a society who

   assumed arms, etc., of Arthur's knights.



   ARTICLE, item.



   ARTIFICIALLY, artfully.



   ASCENSION, evaporation, distillation.



   ASPIRE, try to reach, obtain, long for.



   ASSALTO (Italian), assault.



   ASSAY, draw a knife along the belly of the deer, a

   ceremony of the hunting-field.



   ASSOIL, solve.



   ASSURE, secure possession or reversion of.



   ATHANOR, a digesting furnace, calculated to keep up a

   constant heat.



   ATONE, reconcile.



   ATTACH, attack, seize.



   AUDACIOUS, having spirit and confidence.



   AUTHENTIC(AL), of authority, authorised, trustworthy, genuine.



   AVISEMENT, reflection, consideration.



   AVOID, begone! get rid of.



   AWAY WITH, endure.



   AZOCH, Mercurius Philosophorum.



   BABION, baboon.



   BABY, doll.



   BACK-SIDE, back premises.



   BAFFLE, treat with contempt.



   BAGATINE, Italian coin, worth about the third of a farthing.



   BAIARD, horse of magic powers known to old romance.



   BALDRICK, belt worn across the breast to support bugle, etc.



   BALE (of dice), pair.



   BALK, overlook, pass by, avoid.



   BALLACE, ballast.



   BALLOO, game at ball.



   BALNEUM (BAIN MARIE), a vessel for holding hot water

   in which other vessels are stood for heating.



   BANBURY, "brother of --," Puritan.



   BANDOG, dog tied or chained up.



   BANE, woe, ruin.



   BANQUET, a light repast; dessert.



   BARB, to clip gold.



   BARBEL, fresh-water fish.



   BARE, meer; bareheaded; it was "a particular mark of state

   and grandeur for the coachman to be uncovered" (Gifford).



   BARLEY-BREAK, game somewhat similar to base.



   BASE, game of prisoner's base.



   BASES, richly embroidered skirt reaching to the knees, or

   lower.



   BASILISK, fabulous reptile, believed to slay with its eye.



   BASKET, used for the broken provision collected for prisoners.



   BASON, basons, etc., were beaten by the attendant mob when

   bad characters were "carted."



   BATE, be reduced; abate, reduce.



   BATOON, baton, stick.



   BATTEN, feed, grow fat.



   BAWSON, badger.



   BEADSMAN, prayer-man, one engaged to pray for another.



   BEAGLE, small hound; fig. spy.



   BEAR IN HAND, keep in suspense, deceive with false hopes.



   BEARWARD, bear leader.



   BEDPHERE.  See Phere.



   BEDSTAFF, (?) wooden pin in the side of the bedstead for

   supporting the bedclothes (Johnson); one of the sticks or

   "laths"; a stick used in making a bed.



   BEETLE, heavy mallet.



   BEG, "I'd -- him," the custody of minors and idiots was

   begged for; likewise property fallen forfeit to the Crown

   ("your house had been begged").



   BELL-MAN, night watchman.



   BENJAMIN, an aromatic gum.



   BERLINA, pillory.



   BESCUMBER, defile.



   BESLAVE, beslabber.



   BESOGNO, beggar.



   BESPAWLE, bespatter.



   BETHLEHEM GABOR, Transylvanian hero, proclaimed King of Hungary.



   BEVER, drinking.



   BEVIS, SIR, knight of romance whose horse was equally celebrated.



   BEWRAY, reveal, make known.



   BEZANT, heraldic term: small gold circle.



   BEZOAR'S STONE, a remedy known by this name was a

   supposed antidote to poison.



   BID-STAND, highwayman.



   BIGGIN, cap, similar to that worn by the Beguines; nightcap.



   BILIVE (belive), with haste.



   BILK, nothing, empty talk.



   BILL, kind of pike.



   BILLET, wood cut for fuel, stick.



   BIRDING, thieving.



   BLACK SANCTUS, burlesque hymn, any unholy riot.



   BLANK, originally a small French coin.



   BLANK, white.



   BLANKET, toss in a blanket.



   BLAZE, outburst of violence.



   BLAZE, (her.) blazon; publish abroad.



   BLAZON, armorial bearings; fig. all that pertains to

   good birth and breeding.



   BLIN, "withouten --," without ceasing.



   BLOW, puff up.



   BLUE, colour of servants' livery, hence "-- order,"

   "-- waiters."



   BLUSHET, blushing one.



   BOB, jest, taunt.



   BOB, beat, thump.



   BODGE, measure.



   BODKIN, dagger, or other short, pointed weapon; long

   pin with which the women fastened up their hair.



   BOLT, roll (of material).



   BOLT, dislodge, rout out; sift (boulting-tub).



   BOLT'S-HEAD, long, straight-necked vessel for distillation.



   BOMBARD SLOPS, padded, puffed-out breeches.



   BONA ROBA, "good, wholesome, plum-cheeked wench" (Johnson)

   -- not always used in compliment.



   BONNY-CLABBER, sour butter-milk.



   BOOKHOLDER, prompter.



   BOOT, "to --," into the bargain; "no --," of no avail.



   BORACHIO, bottle made of skin.



   BORDELLO, brothel.



   BORNE IT, conducted, carried it through.



   BOTTLE (of hay), bundle, truss.



   BOTTOM, skein or ball of thread; vessel.



   BOURD, jest.



   BOVOLI, snails or cockles dressed in the Italian manner

   (Gifford).



   BOW-POT, flower vase or pot.



   BOYS, "terrible --," "angry --," roystering young bucks.

   (See Nares).



   BRABBLES (BRABBLESH), brawls.



   BRACH, bitch.



   BRADAMANTE, a heroine in "Orlando Furioso."



   BRADLEY, ARTHUR OF, a lively character commemorated in

   ballads.



   BRAKE, frame for confining a horse's feet while being

   shod, or strong curb or bridle; trap.



   BRANCHED, with "detached sleeve ornaments, projecting

   from the shoulders of the gown" (Gifford).



   BRANDISH, flourish of weapon.



   BRASH, brace.



   BRAVE, bravado, braggart speech.



   BRAVE (adv.), gaily, finely (apparelled).



   BRAVERIES, gallants.



   BRAVERY, extravagant gaiety of apparel.



   BRAVO, bravado, swaggerer.



   BRAZEN-HEAD, speaking head made by Roger Bacon.



   BREATHE, pause for relaxation; exercise.



   BREATH UPON, speak dispraisingly of.



   BREND, burn.



   BRIDE-ALE, wedding feast.



   BRIEF, abstract; (mus.) breve.



   BRISK, smartly dressed.



   BRIZE, breese, gadfly.



   BROAD-SEAL, state seal.



   BROCK, badger (term of contempt).



   BROKE, transact business as a broker.



   BROOK, endure, put up with.



   BROUGHTON, HUGH, an English divine and Hebrew scholar.



   BRUIT, rumour.



   BUCK, wash.



   BUCKLE, bend.



   BUFF, leather made of buffalo skin, used for military

   and serjeants' coats, etc.



   BUFO, black tincture.



   BUGLE, long-shaped bead.



   BULLED, (?) bolled, swelled.



   BULLIONS, trunk hose.



   BULLY, term of familiar endearment.



   BUNGY, Friar Bungay, who had a familiar in the shape of a dog.



   BURDEN, refrain, chorus.



   BURGONET, closely-fitting helmet with visor.



   BURGULLION, braggadocio.



   BURN, mark wooden measures ("--ing of cans").



   BURROUGH, pledge, security.



   BUSKIN, half-boot, foot gear reaching high up the leg.



   BUTT-SHAFT, barbless arrow for shooting at butts.



   BUTTER, NATHANIEL ("Staple of News"), a compiler of general

   news.  (See Cunningham).



   BUTTERY-HATCH, half-door shutting off the buttery, where

   provisions and liquors were stored.



   BUY, "he bought me," formerly the guardianship of wards

   could be bought.



   BUZ, exclamation to enjoin silence.



   BUZZARD, simpleton.



   BY AND BY, at once.



   BY(E), "on the __," incidentally, as of minor or secondary

   importance; at the side.



   BY-CHOP, by-blow, bastard.



   CADUCEUS, Mercury's wand.



   CALIVER, light kind of musket.



   CALLET, woman of ill repute.



   CALLOT, coif worn on the wigs of our judges or

   serjeants-at-law (Gifford).



   CALVERED, crimped, or sliced and pickled.  (See Nares).



   CAMOUCCIO, wretch, knave.



   CAMUSED, flat.



   CAN, knows.



   CANDLE-RENT, rent from house property.



   CANDLE-WASTER, one who studies late.



   CANTER, sturdy beggar.



   CAP OF MAINTENCE, an insignia of dignity, a cap of state

   borne before kings at their coronation; also an heraldic term.



   CAPABLE, able to comprehend, fit to receive instruction,

   impression.



   CAPANEUS, one of the "Seven against Thebes."



   CARACT, carat, unit of weight for precious stones, etc.;

   value, worth.



   CARANZA, Spanish author of a book on duelling.



   CARCANET, jewelled ornament for the neck.



   CARE, take care; object.



   CAROSH, coach, carriage.



   CARPET, table-cover.



   CARRIAGE, bearing, behaviour.



   CARWHITCHET, quip, pun.



   CASAMATE, casemate, fortress.



   CASE, a pair.



   CASE, "in --," in condition.



   CASSOCK, soldier's loose overcoat.



   CAST, flight of hawks, couple.



   CAST, throw dice; vomit; forecast, calculate.



   CAST, cashiered.



   CASTING-GLASS, bottle for sprinkling perfume.



   CASTRIL, kestrel, falcon.



   CAT, structure used in sieges.



   CATAMITE, old form of "ganymede."



   CATASTROPHE, conclusion.



   CATCHPOLE, sheriff's officer.



   CATES, dainties, provisions.



   CATSO, rogue, cheat.



   CAUTELOUS, crafty, artful.



   CENSURE, criticism; sentence.



   CENSURE, criticise; pass sentence, doom.



   CERUSE, cosmetic containing white lead.



   CESS, assess.



   CHANGE, "hunt --," follow a fresh scent.



   CHAPMAN, retail dealer.



   CHARACTER, handwriting.



   CHARGE, expense.



   CHARM, subdue with magic, lay a spell on, silence.



   CHARMING, exercising magic power.



   CHARTEL, challenge.



   CHEAP, bargain, market.



   CHEAR, CHEER, comfort, encouragement; food, entertainment.



   CHECK AT, aim reproof at.



   CHEQUIN, gold Italian coin.



   CHEVRIL, from kidskin, which is elastic and pliable.



   CHIAUS, Turkish envoy; used for a cheat, swindler.



   CHILDERMASS DAY, Innocents' Day.



   CHOKE-BAIL, action which does not allow of bail.



   CHRYSOPOEIA, alchemy.



   CHRYSOSPERM, ways of producing gold.



   CIBATION, adding fresh substances to supply the waste

   of evaporation.



   CIMICI, bugs.



   CINOPER, cinnabar.



   CIOPPINI, chopine, lady's high shoe.



   CIRCLING BOY, "a species of roarer; one who in some way

   drew a man into a snare, to cheat or rob him" (Nares).



   CIRCUMSTANCE, circumlocution, beating about the bush;

   ceremony, everything pertaining to a certain condition;

   detail, particular.



   CITRONISE, turn citron colour.



   CITTERN, kind of guitar.



   CITY-WIRES, woman of fashion, who made use of wires

   for hair and dress.



   CIVIL, legal.



   CLAP, clack, chatter.



   CLAPPER-DUDGEON, downright beggar.



   CLAPS HIS DISH, a clap, or clack, dish (dish with a

   movable lid) was carried by beggars and lepers to show

   that the vessel was empty, and to give sound of their

   approach.



   CLARIDIANA, heroine of an old romance.



   CLARISSIMO, Venetian noble.



   CLEM, starve.



   CLICKET, latch.



   CLIM O' THE CLOUGHS, etc., wordy heroes of romance.



   CLIMATE, country.



   CLOSE, secret, private; secretive.



   CLOSENESS, secrecy.



   CLOTH, arras, hangings.



   CLOUT, mark shot at, bull's eye.



   CLOWN, countryman, clodhopper.



   COACH-LEAVES, folding blinds.



   COALS, "bear no --," submit to no affront.



   COAT-ARMOUR, coat of arms.



   COAT-CARD, court-card.



   COB-HERRING, HERRING-COB, a young herring.



   COB-SWAN, male swan.



   COCK-A-HOOP, denoting unstinted jollity; thought to

   be derived from turning on the tap that all might

   drink to the full of the flowing liquor.



   COCKATRICE, reptile supposed to be produced from a

   cock's egg and to kill by its eye -- used as a term

   of reproach for a woman.



   COCK-BRAINED, giddy, wild.



   COCKER, pamper.



   COCKSCOMB, fool's cap.



   COCKSTONE, stone said to be found in a cock's

   gizzard, and to possess particular virtues.



   CODLING, softening by boiling.



   COFFIN, raised crust of a pie.



   COG, cheat, wheedle.



   COIL, turmoil, confusion, ado.



   COKELY, master of a puppet-show (Whalley).



   COKES, fool, gull.



   COLD-CONCEITED, having cold opinion of, coldly

   affected towards.



   COLE-HARBOUR, a retreat for people of all sorts.



   COLLECTION, composure; deduction.



   COLLOP, small slice, piece of flesh.



   COLLY, blacken.



   COLOUR, pretext.



   COLOURS, "fear no --," no enemy (quibble).



   COLSTAFF, cowlstaff, pole for carrying a cowl=tub.



   COME ABOUT, charge, turn round.



   COMFORTABLE BREAD, spiced gingerbread.



   COMING, forward, ready to respond, complaisant.



   COMMENT, commentary; "sometime it is taken for a lie

   or fayned tale" (Bullokar, 1616).



   COMMODITY, "current for --," allusion to practice of

   money-lenders, who forced the borrower to take part of

   the loan in the shape of worthless goods on which the

   latter had to make money if he could.



   COMMUNICATE, share.



   COMPASS, "in --," within the range, sphere.



   COMPLEMENT, completion, completement; anything

   required for the perfecting or carrying out of

   a person or affair; accomplishment.



   COMPLEXION, natural disposition, constitution.



   COMPLIMENT, See Complement.



   COMPLIMENTARIES, masters of accomplishments.



   COMPOSITION, constitution; agreement, contract.



   COMPOSURE, composition.



   COMPTER, COUNTER, debtors' prison.



   CONCEALMENT, a certain amount of church property

   had been retained at the dissolution of the monasteries;

   Elizabeth sent commissioners to search it out, and the

   courtiers begged for it.



   CONCEIT, idea, fancy, witty invention, conception, opinion.



   CONCEIT, apprehend.



   CONCEITED, fancifully, ingeniously devised or conceived;

   possessed of intelligence, witty, ingenious (hence well

   conceited, etc.); disposed to joke; of opinion, possessed

   of an idea.



   CONCEIVE, understand.



   CONCENT, harmony, agreement.



   CONCLUDE, infer, prove.



   CONCOCT, assimilate, digest.



   CONDEN'T, probably conducted.



   CONDUCT, escort, conductor.



   CONEY-CATCH, cheat.



   CONFECT, sweetmeat.



   CONFER, compare.



   CONGIES, bows.



   CONNIVE, give a look, wink, of secret intelligence.



   CONSORT, company, concert.



   CONSTANCY, fidelity, ardour, persistence.



   CONSTANT, confirmed, persistent, faithful.



   CONSTANTLY, firmly, persistently.



   CONTEND, strive.



   CONTINENT, holding together.



   CONTROL (the point), bear or beat down.



   CONVENT, assembly, meeting.



   CONVERT, turn (oneself).



   CONVEY, transmit from one to another.



   CONVINCE, evince, prove; overcome, overpower; convict.



   COP, head, top; tuft on head of birds; "a cop" may

   have reference to one or other meaning; Gifford and

   others interpret as "conical, terminating in a point."



   COPE-MAN, chapman.



   COPESMATE, companion.



   COPY (Lat. copia), abundance, copiousness.



   CORN ("powder --"), grain.



   COROLLARY, finishing part or touch.



   CORSIVE, corrosive.



   CORTINE, curtain, (arch.) wall between two towers, etc.



   CORYAT, famous for his travels, published as "Coryat's

   Crudities."



   COSSET, pet lamb, pet.



   COSTARD, head.



   COSTARD-MONGER, apple-seller, coster-monger.



   COSTS, ribs.



   COTE, hut.



   COTHURNAL, from "cothurnus," a particular boot worn by

   actors in Greek tragedy.



   COTQUEAN, hussy.



   COUNSEL, secret.



   COUNTENANCE, means necessary for support; credit, standing.



   COUNTER.  See Compter.



   COUNTER, pieces of metal or ivory for calculating at play.



   COUNTER, "hunt --," follow scent in reverse direction.



   COUNTERFEIT, false coin.



   COUNTERPANE, one part or counterpart of a deed or indenture.



   COUNTERPOINT, opposite, contrary point.



   COURT-DISH, a kind of drinking-cup (Halliwell); N.E.D.

   quotes from Bp. Goodman's "Court of James I.": "The

   king...caused his carver to cut him out a court-dish,

   that is, something of every dish, which he sent him as

   part of his reversion," but this does not sound like

   short allowance or small receptacle.



   COURT-DOR, fool.



   COURTEAU, curtal, small horse with docked tail.



   COURTSHIP, courtliness.



   COVETISE, avarice.



   COWSHARD, cow dung.



   COXCOMB, fool's cap, fool.



   COY, shrink; disdain.



   COYSTREL, low varlet.



   COZEN, cheat.



   CRACK, lively young rogue, wag.



   CRACK, crack up, boast; come to grief.



   CRAMBE, game of crambo, in which the players find

   rhymes for a given word.



   CRANCH, craunch.



   CRANION, spider-like; also fairy appellation for a

   fly (Gifford, who refers to lines in Drayton's

   "Nimphidia").



   CRIMP, game at cards.



   CRINCLE, draw back, turn aside.



   CRISPED, with curled or waved hair.



   CROP, gather, reap.



   CROPSHIRE, a kind of herring.  (See N.E.D.)



   CROSS, any piece of money, many coins being stamped

   with a cross.



   CROSS AND PILE, heads and tails.



   CROSSLET, crucible.



   CROWD, fiddle.



   CRUDITIES, undigested matter.



   CRUMP, curl up.



   CRUSADO, Portuguese gold coin, marked with a cross.



   CRY ("he that cried Italian"), "speak in a musical

   cadence," intone, or declaim (?); cry up.



   CUCKING-STOOL, used for the ducking of scolds, etc.



   CUCURBITE, a gourd-shaped vessel used for distillation.



   CUERPO, "in --," in undress.



   CULLICE, broth.



   CULLION, base fellow, coward.



   CULLISEN, badge worn on their arm by servants.



   CULVERIN, kind of cannon.



   CUNNING, skill.



   CUNNING, skilful.



   CUNNING-MAN, fortune-teller.



   CURE, care for.



   CURIOUS(LY), scrupulous, particular; elaborate,

   elegant(ly), dainty(ly) (hence "in curious").



   CURST, shrewish, mischievous.



   CURTAL, dog with docked tail, of inferior sort.



   CUSTARD, "quaking --," " -- politic," reference to

   a large custard which formed part of a city feast

   and afforded huge entertainment, for the fool jumped

   into it, and other like tricks were played.  (See

   "All's Well, etc." ii. 5, 40.)



   CUTWORK, embroidery, open-work.



   CYPRES (CYPRUS) (quibble), cypress (or cyprus) being

   a transparent material, and when black used for mourning.



   DAGGER (" -- frumety"), name of tavern.



   DARGISON, apparently some person known in ballad or tale.



   DAUPHIN MY BOY, refrain of old comic song.



   DAW, daunt.



   DEAD LIFT, desperate emergency.



   DEAR, applied to that which in any way touches us nearly.



   DECLINE, turn off from; turn away, aside.



   DEFALK, deduct, abate.



   DEFEND, forbid.



   DEGENEROUS, degenerate.



   DEGREES, steps.



   DELATE, accuse.



   DEMI-CULVERIN, cannon carrying a ball of about ten pounds.



   DENIER, the smallest possible coin, being the twelfth

   part of a sou.



   DEPART, part with.



   DEPENDANCE, ground of quarrel in duello language.



   DESERT, reward.



   DESIGNMENT, design.



   DESPERATE, rash, reckless.



   DETECT, allow to be detected, betray, inform against.



   DETERMINE, terminate.



   DETRACT, draw back, refuse.



   DEVICE, masque, show; a thing moved by wires,

   etc., puppet.



   DEVISE, exact in every particular.



   DEVISED, invented.



   DIAPASM, powdered aromatic herbs, made into balls

   of perfumed paste.  (See Pomander.)



   DIBBLE, (?) moustache (N.E.D.); (?) dagger (Cunningham).



   DIFFUSED, disordered, scattered, irregular.



   DIGHT, dressed.



   DILDO, refrain of popular songs; vague term of low meaning.



   DIMBLE, dingle, ravine.



   DIMENSUM, stated allowance.



   DISBASE, debase.



   DISCERN, distinguish, show a difference between.



   DISCHARGE, settle for.



   DISCIPLINE, reformation; ecclesiastical system.



   DISCLAIM, renounce all part in.



   DISCOURSE, process of reasoning, reasoning faculty.



   DISCOURTSHIP, discourtesy.



   DISCOVER, betray, reveal; display.



   DISFAVOUR, disfigure.



   DISPARAGEMENT, legal term applied to the unfitness

   in any way of a marriage arranged for in the case

   of wards.



   DISPENSE WITH, grant dispensation for.



   DISPLAY, extend.



   DIS'PLE, discipline, teach by the whip.



   DISPOSED, inclined to merriment.



   DISPOSURE, disposal.



   DISPRISE, depreciate.



   DISPUNCT, not punctilious.



   DISQUISITION, search.



   DISSOLVED, enervated by grief.



   DISTANCE, (?) proper measure.



   DISTASTE, offence, cause of offence.



   DISTASTE, render distasteful.



   DISTEMPERED, upset, out of humour.



   DIVISION (mus.), variation, modulation.



   DOG-BOLT, term of contempt.



   DOLE, given in dole, charity.



   DOLE OF FACES, distribution of grimaces.



   DOOM, verdict, sentence.



   DOP, dip, low bow.



   DOR, beetle, buzzing insect, drone, idler.



   DOR, (?) buzz; "give the --," make a fool of.



   DOSSER, pannier, basket.



   DOTES, endowments, qualities.



   DOTTEREL, plover; gull, fool.



   DOUBLE, behave deceitfully.



   DOXY, wench, mistress.



   DRACHM, Greek silver coin.



   DRESS, groom, curry.



   DRESSING, coiffure.



   DRIFT, intention.



   DRYFOOT, track by mere scent of foot.



   DUCKING, punishment for minor offences.



   DUILL, grieve.



   DUMPS, melancholy, originally a mournful melody.



   DURINDANA, Orlando's sword.



   DWINDLE, shrink away, be overawed.



   EAN, yean, bring forth young.



   EASINESS, readiness.



   EBOLITION, ebullition.



   EDGE, sword.



   EECH, eke.



   EGREGIOUS, eminently excellent.



   EKE, also, moreover.



   E-LA, highest note in the scale.



   EGGS ON THE SPIT, important business on hand.



   ELF-LOCK, tangled hair, supposed to be the work of elves.



   EMMET, ant.



   ENGAGE, involve.



   ENGHLE.  See Ingle.



   ENGHLE, cajole; fondle.



   ENGIN(E), device, contrivance; agent; ingenuity, wit.



   ENGINER, engineer, deviser, plotter.



   ENGINOUS, crafty, full of devices; witty, ingenious.



   ENGROSS, monopolise.



   ENS, an existing thing, a substance.



   ENSIGNS, tokens, wounds.



   ENSURE, assure.



   ENTERTAIN, take into service.



   ENTREAT, plead.



   ENTREATY, entertainment.



   ENTRY, place where a deer has lately passed.



   ENVOY, denouement, conclusion.



   ENVY, spite, calumny, dislike, odium.



   EPHEMERIDES, calendars.



   EQUAL, just, impartial.



   ERECTION, elevation in esteem.



   ERINGO, candied root of the sea-holly, formerly

   used as a sweetmeat and aphrodisiac.



   ERRANT, arrant.



   ESSENTIATE, become assimilated.



   ESTIMATION, esteem.



   ESTRICH, ostrich.



   ETHNIC, heathen.



   EURIPUS, flux and reflux.



   EVEN, just equable.



   EVENT, fate, issue.



   EVENT(ED), issue(d).



   EVERT, overturn.



   EXACUATE, sharpen.



   EXAMPLESS, without example or parallel.



   EXCALIBUR, King Arthur's sword.



   EXEMPLIFY, make an example of.



   EXEMPT, separate, exclude.



   EXEQUIES, obsequies.



   EXHALE, drag out.



   EXHIBITION, allowance for keep, pocket-money.



   EXORBITANT, exceeding limits of propriety or law,

   inordinate.



   EXORNATION, ornament.



   EXPECT, wait.



   EXPIATE, terminate.



   EXPLICATE, explain, unfold.



   EXTEMPORAL, extempore, unpremeditated.



   EXTRACTION, essence.



   EXTRAORDINARY, employed for a special or temporary purpose.



   EXTRUDE, expel.



   EYE, "in --," in view.



   EYEBRIGHT, (?) a malt liquor in which the herb of

   this name was infused, or a person who sold the same

   (Gifford).



   EYE-TINGE, least shade or gleam.



   FACE, appearance.



   FACES ABOUT, military word of command.



   FACINOROUS, extremely wicked.



   FACKINGS, faith.



   FACT, deed, act, crime.



   FACTIOUS, seditious, belonging to a party, given to party feeling.



   FAECES, dregs.



   FAGIOLI, French beans.



   FAIN, forced, necessitated.



   FAITHFUL, believing.



   FALL, ruff or band turned back on the shoulders; or, veil.



   FALSIFY, feign (fencing term).



   FAME, report.



   FAMILIAR, attendant spirit.



   FANTASTICAL, capricious, whimsical.



   FARCE, stuff.



   FAR-FET.  See Fet.



   FARTHINGAL, hooped petticoat.



   FAUCET, tapster.



   FAULT, lack; loss, break in line of scent; "for --," in default of.



   FAUTOR, partisan.



   FAYLES, old table game similar to backgammon.



   FEAR(ED), affright(ed).



   FEAT, activity, operation; deed, action.



   FEAT, elegant, trim.



   FEE, "in --" by feudal obligation.



   FEIZE, beat, belabour.



   FELLOW, term of contempt.



   FENNEL, emblem of flattery.



   FERE, companion, fellow.



   FERN-SEED, supposed to have power of rendering invisible.



   FET, fetched.



   FETCH, trick.



   FEUTERER (Fr. vautrier), dog-keeper.



   FEWMETS, dung.



   FICO, fig.



   FIGGUM, (?) jugglery.



   FIGMENT, fiction, invention.



   FIRK, frisk, move suddenly, or in jerks; "-- up,"

   stir up, rouse; "firks mad," suddenly behaves like

   a madman.



   FIT, pay one out, punish.



   FITNESS, readiness.



   FITTON (FITTEN), lie, invention.



   FIVE-AND-FIFTY, "highest number to stand on at

   primero" (Gifford).



   FLAG, to fly low and waveringly.



   FLAGON CHAIN, for hanging a smelling-bottle (Fr.

   flacon) round the neck (?).  (See N.E.D.).



   FLAP-DRAGON, game similar to snap-dragon.



   FLASKET, some kind of basket.



   FLAW, sudden gust or squall of wind.



   FLAWN, custard.



   FLEA, catch fleas.



   FLEER, sneer, laugh derisively.



   FLESH, feed a hawk or dog with flesh to incite

   it to the chase; initiate in blood-shed; satiate.



   FLICKER-MOUSE, bat.



   FLIGHT, light arrow.



   FLITTER-MOUSE, bat.



   FLOUT, mock, speak and act contemptuously.



   FLOWERS, pulverised substance.



   FLY, familiar spirit.



   FOIL, weapon used in fencing; that which

   sets anything off to advantage.



   FOIST, cut-purse, sharper.



   FOND(LY), foolish(ly).



   FOOT-CLOTH, housings of ornamental cloth which

   hung down on either side a horse to the ground.



   FOOTING, foothold; footstep; dancing.



   FOPPERY, foolery.



   FOR, "-- failing," for fear of failing.



   FORBEAR, bear with; abstain from.



   FORCE, "hunt at --," run the game down with dogs.



   FOREHEAD, modesty; face, assurance, effrontery.



   FORESLOW, delay.



   FORESPEAK, bewitch; foretell.



   FORETOP, front lock of hair which fashion

   required to be worn upright.



   FORGED, fabricated.



   FORM, state formally.



   FORMAL, shapely; normal; conventional.



   FORTHCOMING, produced when required.



   FOUNDER, disable with over-riding.



   FOURM, form, lair.



   FOX, sword.



   FRAIL, rush basket in which figs or raisins

   were packed.



   FRAMPULL, peevish, sour-tempered.



   FRAPLER, blusterer, wrangler.



   FRAYING, "a stag is said to fray his head when he

   rubs it against a tree to...cause the outward coat

   of the new horns to fall off" (Gifford).



   FREIGHT (of the gazetti), burden (of the newspapers).



   FREQUENT, full.



   FRICACE, rubbing.



   FRICATRICE, woman of low character.



   FRIPPERY, old clothes shop.



   FROCK, smock-frock.



   FROLICS, (?) humorous verses circulated at a feast

   (N.E.D.); couplets wrapped round sweetmeats (Cunningham).



   FRONTLESS, shameless.



   FROTED, rubbed.



   FRUMETY, hulled wheat boiled in milk and spiced.



   FRUMP, flout, sneer.



   FUCUS, dye.



   FUGEAND, (?) figent: fidgety, restless (N.E.D.).



   FULLAM, false dice.



   FULMART, polecat.



   FULSOME, foul, offensive.



   FURIBUND, raging, furious.



   GALLEY-FOIST, city-barge, used on Lord Mayor's Day,

   when he was sworn into his office at Westminster

   (Whalley).



   GALLIARD, lively dance in triple time.



   GAPE, be eager after.



   GARAGANTUA, Rabelais' giant.



   GARB, sheaf (Fr. gerbe); manner, fashion, behaviour.



   GARD, guard, trimming, gold or silver lace, or other

   ornament.



   GARDED, faced or trimmed.



   GARNISH, fee.



   GAVEL-KIND, name of a land-tenure existing chiefly in

   Kent; from 16th century often used to denote custom

   of dividing a deceased man's property equally among

   his sons (N.E.D.).



   GAZETTE, small Venetian coin worth about three-farthings.



   GEANCE, jaunt, errand.



   GEAR (GEER), stuff, matter, affair.



   GELID, frozen.



   GEMONIES, steps from which the bodies of criminals

   were thrown into the river.



   GENERAL, free, affable.



   GENIUS, attendant spirit.



   GENTRY, gentlemen; manners characteristic of gentry,

   good breeding.



   GIB-CAT, tom-cat.



   GIGANTOMACHIZE, start a giants' war.



   GIGLOT, wanton.



   GIMBLET, gimlet.



   GING, gang.



   GLASS ("taking in of shadows, etc."), crystal or beryl.



   GLEEK, card game played by three; party of three, trio;

   side glance.



   GLICK (GLEEK), jest, gibe.



   GLIDDER, glaze.



   GLORIOUSLY, of vain glory.



   GODWIT, bird of the snipe family.



   GOLD-END-MAN, a buyer of broken gold and silver.



   GOLL, hand.



   GONFALIONIER, standard-bearer, chief magistrate, etc.



   GOOD, sound in credit.



   GOOD-YEAR, good luck.



   GOOSE-TURD, colour of.  (See Turd).



   GORCROW, carrion crow.



   GORGET, neck armour.



   GOSSIP, godfather.



   GOWKED, from "gowk," to stand staring and gaping like

   a fool.



   GRANNAM, grandam.



   GRASS, (?) grease, fat.



   GRATEFUL, agreeable, welcome.



   GRATIFY, give thanks to.



   GRATITUDE, gratuity.



   GRATULATE, welcome, congratulate.



   GRAVITY, dignity.



   GRAY, badger.



   GRICE, cub.



   GRIEF, grievance.



   GRIPE, vulture, griffin.



   GRIPE'S EGG, vessel in shape of.



   GROAT, fourpence.



   GROGRAN, coarse stuff made of silk and mohair, or of

   coarse silk.



   GROOM-PORTER, officer in the royal household.



   GROPE, handle, probe.



   GROUND, pit (hence "grounded judgments").



   GUARD, caution, heed.



   GUARDANT, heraldic term: turning the head only.



   GUILDER, Dutch coin worth about 4d.



   GULES, gullet, throat; heraldic term for red.



   GULL, simpleton, dupe.



   GUST, taste.



   HAB NAB, by, on, chance.



   HABERGEON, coat of mail.



   HAGGARD, wild female hawk; hence coy, wild.



   HALBERD, combination of lance and battle-axe.



   HALL, "a --!" a cry to clear the room for the dancers.



   HANDSEL, first money taken.



   HANGER, loop or strap on a sword-belt from which the

   sword was suspended.



   HAP, fortune, luck.



   HAPPILY, haply.



   HAPPINESS, appropriateness, fitness.



   HAPPY, rich.



   HARBOUR, track, trace (an animal) to its shelter.



   HARD-FAVOURED, harsh-featured.



   HARPOCRATES, Horus the child, son of Osiris, figured

   with a finger pointing to his mouth, indicative of

   silence.



   HARRINGTON, a patent was granted to Lord H. for the

   coinage of tokens (q.v.).



   HARROT, herald.



   HARRY NICHOLAS, founder of a community called the

   "Family of Love."



   HAY, net for catching rabbits, etc.



   HAY! (Ital. hai!), you have it (a fencing term).



   HAY IN HIS HORN, ill-tempered person.



   HAZARD, game at dice; that which is staked.



   HEAD, "first --," young deer with antlers first

   sprouting; fig. a newly-ennobled man.



   HEADBOROUGH, constable.



   HEARKEN AFTER, inquire; "hearken out," find, search out.



   HEARTEN, encourage.



   HEAVEN AND HELL ("Alchemist"), names of taverns.



   HECTIC, fever.



   HEDGE IN, include.



   HELM, upper part of a retort.



   HER'NSEW, hernshaw, heron.



   HIERONIMO (JERONIMO), hero of Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy."



   HOBBY, nag.



   HOBBY-HORSE, imitation horse of some light material,

   fastened round the waist of the morrice-dancer, who

   imitated the movements of a skittish horse.



   HODDY-DODDY, fool.



   HOIDEN, hoyden, formerly applied to both sexes (ancient

   term for leveret?  Gifford).



   HOLLAND, name of two famous chemists.



   HONE AND HONERO, wailing expressions of lament or discontent.



   HOOD-WINK'D, blindfolded.



   HORARY, hourly.



   HORN-MAD, stark mad (quibble).



   HORN-THUMB, cut-purses were in the habit of wearing a horn

   shield on the thumb.



   HORSE-BREAD-EATING, horses were often fed on coarse bread.



   HORSE-COURSER, horse-dealer.



   HOSPITAL, Christ's Hospital.



   HOWLEGLAS, Eulenspiegel, the hero of a popular German

   tale which relates his buffooneries and knavish tricks.



   HUFF, hectoring, arrogance.



   HUFF IT, swagger.



   HUISHER (Fr. huissier), usher.



   HUM, beer and spirits mixed together.



   HUMANITIAN, humanist, scholar.



   HUMOROUS, capricious, moody, out of humour; moist.



   HUMOUR, a word used in and out of season in the time

   of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, and ridiculed by both.



   HUMOURS, manners.



   HUMPHREY, DUKE, those who were dinnerless spent the

   dinner-hour in a part of St. Paul's where stood a

   monument said to be that of the duke's; hence "dine

   with Duke Humphrey," to go hungry.



   HURTLESS, harmless.



   IDLE, useless, unprofitable.



   ILL-AFFECTED, ill-disposed.



   ILL-HABITED, unhealthy.



   ILLUSTRATE, illuminate.



   IMBIBITION, saturation, steeping.



   IMBROCATA, fencing term: a thrust in tierce.



   IMPAIR, impairment.



   IMPART, give money.



   IMPARTER, any one ready to be cheated and to part

   with his money.



   IMPEACH, damage.



   IMPERTINENCIES, irrelevancies.



   IMPERTINENT(LY), irrelevant(ly), without reason or purpose.



   IMPOSITION, duty imposed by.



   IMPOTENTLY, beyond power of control.



   IMPRESS, money in advance.



   IMPULSION, incitement.



   IN AND IN, a game played by two or three persons

   with four dice.



   INCENSE, incite, stir up.



   INCERATION, act of covering with wax; or reducing

   a substance to softness of wax.



   INCH, "to their --es," according to their stature,

   capabilities.



   INCH-PIN, sweet-bread.



   INCONVENIENCE, inconsistency, absurdity.



   INCONY, delicate, rare (used as a term of affection).



   INCUBEE, incubus.



   INCUBUS, evil spirit that oppresses us in sleep, nightmare.



   INCURIOUS, unfastidious, uncritical.



   INDENT, enter into engagement.



   INDIFFERENT, tolerable, passable.



   INDIGESTED, shapeless, chaotic.



   INDUCE, introduce.



   INDUE, supply.



   INEXORABLE, relentless.



   INFANTED, born, produced.



   INFLAME, augment charge.



   INGENIOUS, used indiscriminantly for ingenuous;

   intelligent, talented.



   INGENUITY, ingenuousness.



   INGENUOUS, generous.



   INGINE.  See Engin.



   INGINER, engineer.  (See Enginer).



   INGLE, OR ENGHLE, bosom friend, intimate, minion.



   INHABITABLE, uninhabitable.



   INJURY, insult, affront.



   IN-MATE, resident, indwelling.



   INNATE, natural.



   INNOCENT, simpleton.



   INQUEST, jury, or other official body of inquiry.



   INQUISITION, inquiry.



   INSTANT, immediate.



   INSTRUMENT, legal document.



   INSURE, assure.



   INTEGRATE, complete, perfect.



   INTELLIGENCE, secret information, news.



   INTEND, note carefully, attend, give ear to, be

   occupied with.



   INTENDMENT, intention.



   INTENT, intention, wish.



   INTENTION, concentration of attention or gaze.



   INTENTIVE, attentive.



   INTERESSED, implicated.



   INTRUDE, bring in forcibly or without leave.



   INVINCIBLY, invisibly.



   INWARD, intimate.



   IRPE (uncertain), "a fantastic grimace, or contortion

   of the body: (Gifford).



   JACK, Jack o' the clock, automaton figure that strikes

   the hour; Jack-a-lent, puppet thrown at in Lent.



   JACK, key of a virginal.



   JACOB'S STAFF, an instrument for taking altitudes and

   distances.



   JADE, befool.



   JEALOUSY, JEALOUS, suspicion, suspicious.



   JERKING, lashing.



   JEW'S TRUMP, Jew's harp.



   JIG, merry ballad or tune; a fanciful dialogue or

   light comic act introduced at the end or during an

   interlude of a play.



   JOINED (JOINT)-STOOL, folding stool.



   JOLL, jowl.



   JOLTHEAD, blockhead.



   JUMP, agree, tally.



   JUST YEAR, no one was capable of the consulship until

   he was forty-three.



   KELL, cocoon.



   KELLY, an alchemist.



   KEMB, comb.



   KEMIA, vessel for distillation.



   KIBE, chap, sore.



   KILDERKIN, small barrel.



   KILL, kiln.



   KIND, nature; species; "do one's --," act according

   to one's nature.



   KIRTLE, woman's gown of jacket and petticoat.



   KISS OR DRINK AFORE ME, "this is a familiar expression,

   employed when what the speaker is just about to say is

   anticipated by another" (Gifford).



   KIT, fiddle.



   KNACK, snap, click.



   KNIPPER-DOLING, a well-known Anabaptist.



   KNITTING CUP, marriage cup.



   KNOCKING, striking, weighty.



   KNOT, company, band; a sandpiper or robin snipe (Tringa

   canutus); flower-bed laid out in fanciful design.



   KURSINED, KYRSIN, christened.



   LABOURED, wrought with labour and care.



   LADE, load(ed).



   LADING, load.



   LAID, plotted.



   LANCE-KNIGHT (Lanzknecht), a German mercenary foot-soldier.



   LAP, fold.



   LAR, household god.



   LARD, garnish.



   LARGE, abundant.



   LARUM, alarum, call to arms.



   LATTICE, tavern windows were furnished with lattices of

   various colours.



   LAUNDER, to wash gold in aqua regia, so as imperceptibly

   to extract some of it.



   LAVE, ladle, bale.



   LAW, "give --," give a start (term of chase).



   LAXATIVE, loose.



   LAY ABOARD, run alongside generally with intent to board.



   LEAGUER, siege, or camp of besieging army.



   LEASING, lying.



   LEAVE, leave off, desist.



   LEER, leering or "empty, hence, perhaps, leer horse,

   a horse without a rider; leer is an adjective meaning

   uncontrolled, hence 'leer drunkards'" (Halliwell);

   according to Nares, a leer (empty) horse meant also a

   led horse; leeward, left.



   LEESE, lose.



   LEGS, "make --," do obeisance.



   LEIGER, resident representative.



   LEIGERITY, legerdemain.



   LEMMA, subject proposed, or title of the epigram.



   LENTER, slower.



   LET, hinder.



   LET, hindrance.



   LEVEL COIL, a rough game...in which one hunted

   another from his seat.  Hence used for any noisy

   riot (Halliwell).



   LEWD, ignorant.



   LEYSTALLS, receptacles of filth.



   LIBERAL, ample.



   LIEGER, ledger, register.



   LIFT(ING), steal(ing); theft.



   LIGHT, alight.



   LIGHTLY, commonly, usually, often.



   LIKE, please.



   LIKELY, agreeable, pleasing.



   LIME-HOUND, leash-, blood-hound.



   LIMMER, vile, worthless.



   LIN, leave off.



   Line, "by --," by rule.



   LINSTOCK, staff to stick in the ground, with forked

   head to hold a lighted match for firing cannon.



   LIQUID, clear.



   LIST, listen, hark; like, please.



   LIVERY, legal term, delivery of the possession, etc.



   LOGGET, small log, stick.



   LOOSE, solution; upshot, issue; release of an arrow.



   LOSE, give over, desist from; waste.



   LOUTING, bowing, cringing.



   LUCULENT, bright of beauty.



   LUDGATHIANS, dealers on Ludgate Hill.



   LURCH, rob, cheat.



   LUTE, to close a vessel with some kind of cement.



   MACK, unmeaning expletive.



   MADGE-HOWLET or OWL, barn-owl.



   MAIM, hurt, injury.



   MAIN, chief concern (used as a quibble on heraldic

   term for "hand").



   MAINPRISE, becoming surety for a prisoner so as to

   procure his release.



   MAINTENANCE, giving aid, or abetting.



   MAKE, mate.



   MAKE, MADE, acquaint with business, prepare(d), instruct(ed).



   MALLANDERS, disease of horses.



   MALT HORSE, dray horse.



   MAMMET, puppet.



   MAMMOTHREPT, spoiled child.



   MANAGE, control (term used for breaking-in horses);

   handling, administration.



   MANGO, slave-dealer.



   MANGONISE, polish up for sale.



   MANIPLES, bundles, handfuls.



   MANKIND, masculine, like a virago.



   MANKIND, humanity.



   MAPLE FACE, spotted face (N.E.D.).



   MARCHPANE, a confection of almonds, sugar, etc.



   MARK, "fly to the --," "generally said of a goshawk

   when, having 'put in' a covey of partridges, she takes

   stand, marking the spot where they disappeared from

   view until the falconer arrives to put them out to her"

   (Harting, Bibl. Accip. Gloss. 226).



   MARLE, marvel.



   MARROW-BONE MAN, one often on his knees for prayer.



   MARRY! exclamation derived from the Virgin's name.



   MARRY GIP, "probably originated from By Mary Gipcy =

   St. Mary of Egypt, (N.E.D.).



   MARTAGAN, Turk's cap lily.



   MARYHINCHCO, stringhalt.



   MASORETH, Masora, correct form of the scriptural text

   according to Hebrew tradition.



   MASS, abb. for master.



   MAUND, beg.



   MAUTHER, girl, maid.



   MEAN, moderation.



   MEASURE, dance, more especially a stately one.



   MEAT, "carry -- in one's mouth," be a source of money

   or entertainment.



   MEATH, metheglin.



   MECHANICAL, belonging to mechanics, mean, vulgar.



   MEDITERRANEO, middle aisle of St. Paul's, a general

   resort for business and amusement.



   MEET WITH, even with.



   MELICOTTON, a late kind of peach.



   MENSTRUE, solvent.



   MERCAT, market.



   MERD, excrement.



   MERE, undiluted; absolute, unmitigated.



   MESS, party of four.



   METHEGLIN, fermented liquor, of which one ingredient

   was honey.



   METOPOSCOPY, study of physiognomy.



   MIDDLING GOSSIP, go-between.



   MIGNIARD, dainty, delicate.



   MILE-END, training-ground of the city.



   MINE-MEN, sappers.



   MINION, form of cannon.



   MINSITIVE, (?) mincing, affected (N.E.D.).



   MISCELLANY MADAM, "a female trader in miscellaneous

   articles; a dealer in trinkets or ornaments of various

   kinds, such as kept shops in the New Exchange" (Nares).



   MISCELLINE, mixed grain; medley.



   MISCONCEIT, misconception.



   MISPRISE, MISPRISION, mistake, misunderstanding.



   MISTAKE AWAY, carry away as if by mistake.



   MITHRIDATE, an antidote against poison.



   MOCCINIGO, small Venetian coin, worth about ninepence.



   MODERN, in the mode; ordinary, commonplace.



   MOMENT, force or influence of value.



   MONTANTO, upward stroke.



   MONTH'S MIND, violent desire.



   MOORISH, like a moor or waste.



   MORGLAY, sword of Bevis of Southampton.



   MORRICE-DANCE, dance on May Day, etc., in which

   certain personages were represented.



   MORTALITY, death.



   MORT-MAL, old sore, gangrene.



   MOSCADINO, confection flavoured with musk.



   MOTHER, Hysterica passio.



   MOTION, proposal, request; puppet, puppet-show;

   "one of the small figures on the face of a large

   clock which was moved by the vibration of the

   pendulum" (Whalley).



   MOTION, suggest, propose.



   MOTLEY, parti-coloured dress of a fool; hence

   used to signify pertaining to, or like, a fool.



   MOTTE, motto.



   MOURNIVAL, set of four aces or court cards in a hand;

   a quartette.



   MOW, setord hay or sheaves of grain.



   MUCH! expressive of irony and incredulity.



   MUCKINDER, handkerchief.



   MULE, "born to ride on --," judges or serjeants-at-law

   formerly rode on mules when going in state to Westminster

   (Whally).



   MULLETS, small pincers.



   MUM-CHANCE, game of chance, played in silence.



   MUN, must.



   MUREY, dark crimson red.



   MUSCOVY-GLASS, mica.



   MUSE, wonder.



   MUSICAL, in harmony.



   MUSS, mouse; scramble.



   MYROBOLANE, foreign conserve, "a dried plum, brought

   from the Indies."



   MYSTERY, art, trade, profession.



   NAIL, "to the --" (ad unguem), to perfection, to the

   very utmost.



   NATIVE, natural.



   NEAT, cattle.



   NEAT, smartly apparelled; unmixed; dainty.



   NEATLY, neatly finished.



   NEATNESS, elegance.



   NEIS, nose, scent.



   NEUF (NEAF, NEIF), fist.



   NEUFT, newt.



   NIAISE, foolish, inexperienced person.



   NICE, fastidious, trivial, finical, scrupulous.



   NICENESS, fastidiousness.



   NICK, exact amount; right moment; "set in the --,"

   meaning uncertain.



   NICE, suit, fit; hit, seize the right moment, etc.,

   exactly hit on, hit off.



   NOBLE, gold coin worth 6s. 8d.



   NOCENT, harmful.



   NIL, not will.



   NOISE, company of musicians.



   NOMENTACK, an Indian chief from Virginia.



   NONES, nonce.



   NOTABLE, egregious.



   NOTE, sign, token.



   NOUGHT, "be --," go to the devil, be hanged, etc.



   NOWT-HEAD, blockhead.



   NUMBER, rhythm.



   NUPSON, oaf, simpleton.



   OADE, woad.



   OBARNI, preparation of mead.



   OBJECT, oppose; expose; interpose.



   OBLATRANT, barking, railing.



   OBNOXIOUS, liable, exposed; offensive.



   OBSERVANCE, homage, devoted service.



   OBSERVANT, attentive, obsequious.



   OBSERVE, show deference, respect.



   OBSERVER, one who shows deference, or waits upon another.



   OBSTANCY, legal phrase, "juridical opposition."



   OBSTREPEROUS, clamorous, vociferous.



   OBSTUPEFACT, stupefied.



   ODLING, (?) "must have some relation to tricking and

   cheating" (Nares).



   OMINOUS, deadly, fatal.



   ONCE, at once; for good and all; used also for additional

   emphasis.



   ONLY, pre-eminent, special.



   OPEN, make public; expound.



   OPPILATION, obstruction.



   OPPONE, oppose.



   OPPOSITE, antagonist.



   OPPRESS, suppress.



   ORIGINOUS, native.



   ORT, remnant, scrap.



   OUT, "to be --," to have forgotten one's part;

   not at one with each other.



   OUTCRY, sale by auction.



   OUTRECUIDANCE, arrogance, presumption.



   OUTSPEAK, speak more than.



   OVERPARTED, given too difficult a part to play.



   OWLSPIEGEL.  See Howleglass.



   OYEZ!  (O YES!), hear ye! call of the public crier

   when about to make a proclamation.



   PACKING PENNY, "give a --," dismiss, send packing.



   PAD, highway.



   PAD-HORSE, road-horse.



   PAINED (PANED) SLOPS, full breeches made of strips

   of different colour and material.



   PAINFUL, diligent, painstaking.



   PAINT, blush.



   PALINODE, ode of recantation.



   PALL, weaken, dim, make stale.



   PALM, triumph.



   PAN, skirt of dress or coat.



   PANNEL, pad, or rough kind of saddle.



   PANNIER-ALLY, inhabited by tripe-sellers.



   PANNIER-MAN, hawker; a man employed about the inns of

   court to bring in provisions, set the table, etc.



   PANTOFLE, indoor shoe, slipper.



   PARAMENTOS, fine trappings.



   PARANOMASIE, a play upon words.



   PARANTORY, (?) peremptory.



   PARCEL, particle, fragment (used contemptuously); article.



   PARCEL, part, partly.



   PARCEL-POET, poetaster.



   PARERGA, subordinate matters.



   PARGET, to paint or plaster the face.



   PARLE, parley.



   PARLOUS, clever, shrewd.



   PART, apportion.



   PARTAKE, participate in.



   PARTED, endowed, talented.



   PARTICULAR, individual person.



   PARTIZAN, kind of halberd.



   PARTRICH, partridge.



   PARTS, qualities, endowments.



   PASH, dash, smash.



   PASS, care, trouble oneself.



   PASSADO, fencing term: a thrust.



   PASSAGE, game at dice.



   PASSINGLY, exceedingly.



   PASSION, effect caused by external agency.



   PASSION, "in --," in so melancholy a tone, so pathetically.



   PATOUN, (?) Fr. Paton, pellet of dough; perhaps the

   "moulding of the tobacco...for the pipe" (Gifford); (?)

   variant of Petun, South American name of tobacco.



   PATRICO, the recorder, priest, orator of strolling

   beggars or gipsies.



   PATTEN, shoe with wooden sole; "go --," keep step with,

   accompany.



   PAUCA VERBA, few words.



   PAVIN, a stately dance.



   PEACE, "with my master's --," by leave, favour.



   PECULIAR, individual, single.



   PEDANT, teacher of the languages.



   PEEL, baker's shovel.



   PEEP, speak in a small or shrill voice.



   PEEVISH(LY), foolish(ly), capricious(ly); childish(ly).



   PELICAN, a retort fitted with tube or tubes, for

   continuous distillation.



   PENCIL, small tuft of hair.



   PERDUE, soldier accustomed to hazardous service.



   PEREMPTORY, resolute, bold; imperious; thorough, utter,

   absolute(ly).



   PERIMETER, circumference of a figure.



   PERIOD, limit, end.



   PERK, perk up.



   PERPETUANA, "this seems to be that glossy kind of stuff

   now called everlasting, and anciently worn by serjeants

   and other city officers" (Gifford).



   PERSPECTIVE, a view, scene or scenery; an optical device

   which gave a distortion to the picture unless seen from a

   particular point; a relief, modelled to produce an

   optical illusion.



   PERSPICIL, optic glass.



   PERSTRINGE, criticise, censure.



   PERSUADE, inculcate, commend.



   PERSWAY, mitigate.



   PERTINACY, pertinacity.



   PESTLING, pounding, pulverising, like a pestle.



   PETASUS, broad-brimmed hat or winged cap worn by Mercury.



   PETITIONARY, supplicatory.



   PETRONEL, a kind of carbine or light gun carried by horsemen.



   PETULANT, pert, insolent.



   PHERE.  See Fere.



   PHLEGMA, watery distilled liquor (old chem. "water").



   PHRENETIC, madman.



   PICARDIL, stiff upright collar fastened on to the coat

   (Whalley).



   PICT-HATCH, disreputable quarter of London.



   PIECE, person, used for woman or girl; a gold coin

   worth in Jonson's time 20s. or 22s.



   PIECES OF EIGHT, Spanish coin: piastre equal to eight

   reals.



   PIED, variegated.



   PIE-POUDRES (Fr. pied-poudreux, dusty-foot), court held

   at fairs to administer justice to itinerant vendors and

   buyers.



   PILCHER, term of contempt; one who wore a buff or leather

   jerkin, as did the serjeants of the counter; a pilferer.



   PILED, pilled, peeled, bald.



   PILL'D, polled, fleeced.



   PIMLICO, "sometimes spoken of as a person -- perhaps

   master of a house famous for a particular ale" (Gifford).



   PINE, afflict, distress.



   PINK, stab with a weapon; pierce or cut in scallops for

   ornament.



   PINNACE, a go-between in infamous sense.



   PISMIRE, ant.



   PISTOLET, gold coin, worth about 6s.



   PITCH, height of a bird of prey's flight.



   PLAGUE, punishment, torment.



   PLAIN, lament.



   PLAIN SONG, simple melody.



   PLAISE, plaice.



   PLANET, "struck with a --," planets were supposed to

   have powers of blasting or exercising secret influences.



   PLAUSIBLE, pleasing.



   PLAUSIBLY, approvingly.



   PLOT, plan.



   PLY, apply oneself to.



   POESIE, posy, motto inside a ring.



   POINT IN HIS DEVICE, exact in every particular.



   POINTS, tagged laces or cords for fastening the breeches

   to the doublet.



   POINT-TRUSSER, one who trussed (tied) his master's

   points (q.v.).



   POISE, weigh, balance.



   POKING-STICK, stick used for setting the plaits of ruffs.



   POLITIC, politician.



   POLITIC, judicious, prudent, political.



   POLITICIAN, plotter, intriguer.



   POLL, strip, plunder, gain by extortion.



   POMANDER, ball of perfume, worn or hung about the

   person to prevent infection, or for foppery.



   POMMADO, vaulting on a horse without the aid of stirrups.



   PONTIC, sour.



   POPULAR, vulgar, of the populace.



   POPULOUS, numerous.



   PORT, gate; print of a deer's foot.



   PORT, transport.



   PORTAGUE, Portuguese gold coin, worth over 3 or 4

   pounds.



   PORTCULLIS, "-- of coin," some old coins have a

   portcullis stamped on their reverse (Whalley).



   PORTENT, marvel, prodigy; sinister omen.



   PORTENTOUS, prophesying evil, threatening.



   PORTER, references appear "to allude to Parsons, the king's

   porter, who was...near seven feet high" (Whalley).



   POSSESS, inform, acquaint.



   POST AND PAIR, a game at cards.



   POSY, motto.  (See Poesie).



   POTCH, poach.



   POULT-FOOT, club-foot.



   POUNCE, claw, talon.



   PRACTICE, intrigue, concerted plot.



   PRACTISE, plot, conspire.



   PRAGMATIC, an expert, agent.



   PRAGMATIC, officious, conceited, meddling.



   PRECEDENT, record of proceedings.



   PRECEPT, warrant, summons.



   PRECISIAN(ISM), Puritan(ism), preciseness.



   PREFER, recommend.



   PRESENCE, presence chamber.



   PRESENT(LY), immediate(ly), without delay; at the

   present time; actually.



   PRESS, force into service.



   PREST, ready.



   PRETEND, assert, allege.



   PREVENT, anticipate.



   PRICE, worth, excellence.



   PRICK, point, dot used in the writing of Hebrew and

   other languages.



   PRICK, prick out, mark off, select; trace, track;

   "-- away," make off with speed.



   PRIMERO, game of cards.



   PRINCOX, pert boy.



   PRINT, "in --," to the letter, exactly.



   PRISTINATE, former.



   PRIVATE, private interests.



   PRIVATE, privy, intimate.



   PROCLIVE, prone to.



   PRODIGIOUS, monstrous, unnatural.



   PRODIGY, monster.



   PRODUCED, prolonged.



   PROFESS, pretend.



   PROJECTION, the throwing of the "powder of projection"

   into the crucible to turn the melted metal into gold or

   silver.



   PROLATE, pronounce drawlingly.



   PROPER, of good appearance, handsome; own, particular.



   PROPERTIES, stage necessaries.



   PROPERTY, duty; tool.



   PRORUMPED, burst out.



   PROTEST, vow, proclaim (an affected word of that time);

   formally declare non-payment, etc., of bill of exchange;

   fig. failure of personal credit, etc.



   PROVANT, soldier's allowance -- hence, of common make.



   PROVIDE, foresee.



   PROVIDENCE, foresight, prudence.



   PUBLICATION, making a thing public of common property (N.E.D.).



   PUCKFIST, puff-ball; insipid, insignificant, boasting fellow.



   PUFF-WING, shoulder puff.



   PUISNE, judge of inferior rank, a junior.



   PULCHRITUDE, beauty.



   PUMP, shoe.



   PUNGENT, piercing.



   PUNTO, point, hit.



   PURCEPT, precept, warrant.



   PURE, fine, capital, excellent.



   PURELY, perfectly, utterly.



   PURL, pleat or fold of a ruff.



   PURSE-NET, net of which the mouth is drawn together

   with a string.



   PURSUIVANT, state messenger who summoned the persecuted

   seminaries; warrant officer.



   PURSY, PURSINESS, shortwinded(ness).



   PUT, make a push, exert yourself (N.E.D.).



   PUT OFF, excuse, shift.



   PUT ON, incite, encourage; proceed with, take in hand, try.



   QUACKSALVER, quack.



   QUAINT, elegant, elaborated, ingenious, clever.



   QUAR, quarry.



   QUARRIED, seized, or fed upon, as prey.



   QUEAN, hussy, jade.



   QUEASY, hazardous, delicate.



   QUELL, kill, destroy.



   QUEST, request; inquiry.



   QUESTION, decision by force of arms.



   QUESTMAN, one appointed to make official inquiry.



   QUIB, QUIBLIN, quibble, quip.



   QUICK, the living.



   QUIDDIT, quiddity, legal subtlety.



   QUIRK, clever turn or trick.



   QUIT, requite, repay; acquit, absolve; rid; forsake,

   leave.



   QUITTER-BONE, disease of horses.



   QUODLING, codling.



   QUOIT, throw like a quoit, chuck.



   QUOTE, take note, observe, write down.



   RACK, neck of mutton or pork (Halliwell).



   RAKE UP, cover over.



   RAMP, rear, as a lion, etc.



   RAPT, carry away.



   RAPT, enraptured.



   RASCAL, young or inferior deer.



   RASH, strike with a glancing oblique blow, as a

   boar with its tusk.



   RATSEY, GOMALIEL, a famous highwayman.



   RAVEN, devour.



   REACH, understand.



   REAL, regal.



   REBATU, ruff, turned-down collar.



   RECTOR, RECTRESS, director, governor.



   REDARGUE, confute.



   REDUCE, bring back.



   REED, rede, counsel, advice.



   REEL, run riot.



   REFEL, refute.



   REFORMADOES, disgraced or disbanded soldiers.



   REGIMENT, government.



   REGRESSION, return.



   REGULAR ("Tale of a Tub"), regular noun (quibble) (N.E.D.).



   RELIGION, "make -- of," make a point of, scruple of.



   RELISH, savour.



   REMNANT, scrap of quotation.



   REMORA, species of fish.



   RENDER, depict, exhibit, show.



   REPAIR, reinstate.



   REPETITION, recital, narration.



   REREMOUSE, bat.



   RESIANT, resident.



   RESIDENCE, sediment.



   RESOLUTION, judgment, decision.



   RESOLVE, inform; assure; prepare, make up one's mind;

   dissolve; come to a decision, be convinced; relax, set

   at ease.



   RESPECTIVE, worthy of respect; regardful, discriminative.



   RESPECTIVELY, with reverence.



   RESPECTLESS, regardless.



   RESPIRE, exhale; inhale.



   RESPONSIBLE, correspondent.



   REST, musket-rest.



   REST, "set up one's --," venture one's all, one's

   last stake (from game of primero).



   REST, arrest.



   RESTIVE, RESTY, dull, inactive.



   RETCHLESS(NESS), reckless(ness).



   RETIRE, cause to retire.



   RETRICATO, fencing term.



   RETRIEVE, rediscovery of game once sprung.



   RETURNS, ventures sent abroad, for the safe return of

   which so much money is received.



   REVERBERATE, dissolve or blend by reflected heat.



   REVERSE, REVERSO, back-handed thrust, etc., in fencing.



   REVISE, reconsider a sentence.



   RHEUM, spleen, caprice.



   RIBIBE, abusive term for an old woman.



   RID, destroy, do away with.



   RIFLING, raffling, dicing.



   RING, "cracked within the --," coins so cracked were

   unfit for currency.



   RISSE, risen, rose.



   RIVELLED, wrinkled.



   ROARER, swaggerer.



   ROCHET, fish of the gurnet kind.



   ROCK, distaff.



   RODOMONTADO, braggadocio.



   ROGUE, vagrant, vagabond.



   RONDEL, "a round mark in the score of a public-house"

   (Nares); roundel.



   ROOK, sharper; fool, dupe.



   ROSAKER, similar to ratsbane.



   ROSA-SOLIS, a spiced spirituous liquor.



   ROSES, rosettes.



   ROUND, "gentlemen of the --," officers of inferior rank.



   ROUND TRUNKS, trunk hose, short loose breeches reaching

   almost or quite to the knees.



   ROUSE, carouse, bumper.



   ROVER, arrow used for shooting at a random mark at

   uncertain distance.



   ROWLY-POWLY, roly-poly.



   RUDE, RUDENESS, unpolished, rough(ness), coarse(ness).



   RUFFLE, flaunt, swagger.



   RUG, coarse frieze.



   RUG-GOWNS, gown made of rug.



   RUSH, reference to rushes with which the floors were

   then strewn.



   RUSHER, one who strewed the floor with rushes.



   RUSSET, homespun cloth of neutral or reddish-brown colour.



   SACK, loose, flowing gown.



   SADLY, seriously, with gravity.



   SAD(NESS), sober, serious(ness).



   SAFFI, bailiffs.



   ST. THOMAS A WATERINGS, place in Surrey where criminals

   were executed.



   SAKER, small piece of ordnance.



   SALT, leap.



   SALT, lascivious.



   SAMPSUCHINE, sweet marjoram.



   SARABAND, a slow dance.



   SATURNALS, began December 17.



   SAUCINESS, presumption, insolence.



   SAUCY, bold, impudent, wanton.



   SAUNA (Lat.), a gesture of contempt.



   SAVOUR, perceive; gratify, please; to partake of the nature.



   SAY, sample.



   SAY, assay, try.



   SCALD, word of contempt, implying dirt and disease.



   SCALLION, shalot, small onion.



   SCANDERBAG, "name which the Turks (in allusion to

   Alexander the Great) gave to the brave Castriot, chief

   of Albania, with whom they had continual wars.  His

   romantic life had just been translated" (Gifford).



   SCAPE, escape.



   SCARAB, beetle.



   SCARTOCCIO, fold of paper, cover, cartouch, cartridge.



   SCONCE, head.



   SCOPE, aim.



   SCOT AND LOT, tax, contribution (formerly a parish

   assessment).



   SCOTOMY, dizziness in the head.



   SCOUR, purge.



   SCOURSE, deal, swap.



   SCRATCHES, disease of horses.



   SCROYLE, mean, rascally fellow.



   SCRUPLE, doubt.



   SEAL, put hand to the giving up of property or rights.



   SEALED, stamped as genuine.



   SEAM-RENT, ragged.



   SEAMING LACES, insertion or edging.



   SEAR UP, close by searing, burning.



   SEARCED, sifted.



   SECRETARY, able to keep a secret.



   SECULAR, worldly, ordinary, commonplace.



   SECURE, confident.



   SEELIE, happy, blest.



   SEISIN, legal term: possession.



   SELLARY, lewd person.



   SEMBLABLY, similarly.



   SEMINARY, a Romish priest educated in a foreign seminary.



   SENSELESS, insensible, without sense or feeling.



   SENSIBLY, perceptibly.



   SENSIVE, sensitive.



   SENSUAL, pertaining to the physical or material.



   SERENE, harmful dew of evening.



   SERICON, red tincture.



   SERVANT, lover.



   SERVICES, doughty deeds of arms.



   SESTERCE, Roman copper coin.



   SET, stake, wager.



   SET UP, drill.



   SETS, deep plaits of the ruff.



   SEWER, officer who served up the feast, and brought

   water for the hands of the guests.



   SHAPE, a suit by way of disguise.



   SHIFT, fraud, dodge.



   SHIFTER, cheat.



   SHITTLE, shuttle; "shittle-cock," shuttlecock.



   SHOT, tavern reckoning.



   SHOT-CLOG, one only tolerated because he paid the shot

   (reckoning) for the rest.



   SHOT-FREE, scot-free, not having to pay.



   SHOVE-GROAT, low kind of gambling amusement, perhaps

   somewhat of the nature of pitch and toss.



   SHOT-SHARKS, drawers.



   SHREWD, mischievous, malicious, curst.



   SHREWDLY, keenly, in a high degree.



   SHRIVE, sheriff; posts were set up before his door for

   proclamations, or to indicate his residence.



   SHROVING, Shrovetide, season of merriment.



   SIGILLA, seal, mark.



   SILENCED BRETHERN, MINISTERS, those of the Church or

   Nonconformists who had been silenced, deprived, etc.



   SILLY, simple, harmless.



   SIMPLE, silly, witless; plain, true.



   SIMPLES, herbs.



   SINGLE, term of chase, signifying when the hunted stag

   is separated from the herd, or forced to break covert.



   SINGLE, weak, silly.



   SINGLE-MONEY, small change.



   SINGULAR, unique, supreme.



   SI-QUIS, bill, advertisement.



   SKELDRING, getting money under false pretences; swindling.



   SKILL, "it --s not," matters not.



   SKINK(ER), pour, draw(er), tapster.



   SKIRT, tail.



   SLEEK, smooth.



   SLICE, fire shovel or pan (dial.).



   SLICK, sleek, smooth.



   'SLID, 'SLIGHT, 'SPRECIOUS, irreverent oaths.



   SLIGHT, sleight, cunning, cleverness; trick.



   SLIP, counterfeit coin, bastard.



   SLIPPERY, polished and shining.



   SLOPS, large loose breeches.



   SLOT, print of a stag's foot.



   SLUR, put a slur on; cheat (by sliding a die in some way).



   SMELT, gull, simpleton.



   SNORLE, "perhaps snarl, as Puppy is addressed" (Cunningham).



   SNOTTERIE, filth.



   SNUFF, anger, resentment; "take in --," take offence at.



   SNUFFERS, small open silver dishes for holding snuff,

   or receptacle for placing snuffers in (Halliwell).



   SOCK, shoe worn by comic actors.



   SOD, seethe.



   SOGGY, soaked, sodden.



   SOIL, "take --," said of a hunted stag when he takes

   to the water for safety.



   SOL, sou.



   SOLDADOES, soldiers.



   SOLICIT, rouse, excite to action.



   SOOTH, flattery, cajolery.



   SOOTHE, flatter, humour.



   SOPHISTICATE, adulterate.



   SORT, company, party; rank, degree.



   SORT, suit, fit; select.



   SOUSE, ear.



   SOUSED ("Devil is an Ass"), fol. read "sou't," which

   Dyce interprets as "a variety of the spelling of "shu'd":

   to "shu" is to scare a bird away."  (See his "Webster,"

   page 350).



   SOWTER, cobbler.



   SPAGYRICA, chemistry according to the teachings of Paracelsus.



   SPAR, bar.



   SPEAK, make known, proclaim.



   SPECULATION, power of sight.



   SPED, to have fared well, prospered.



   SPEECE, species.



   SPIGHT, anger, rancour.



   SPINNER, spider.



   SPINSTRY, lewd person.



   SPITTLE, hospital, lazar-house.



   SPLEEN, considered the seat of the emotions.



   SPLEEN, caprice, humour, mood.



   SPRUNT, spruce.



   SPURGE, foam.



   SPUR-RYAL, gold coin worth 15s.



   SQUIRE, square, measure; "by the --," exactly.



   STAGGERING, wavering, hesitating.



   STAIN, disparagement, disgrace.



   STALE, decoy, or cover, stalking-horse.



   STALE, make cheap, common.



   STALK, approach stealthily or under cover.



   STALL, forestall.



   STANDARD, suit.



   STAPLE, market, emporium.



   STARK, downright.



   STARTING-HOLES, loopholes of escape.



   STATE, dignity; canopied chair of state; estate.



   STATUMINATE, support vines by poles or stakes; used

   by Pliny (Gifford).



   STAY, gag.



   STAY, await; detain.



   STICKLER, second or umpire.



   STIGMATISE, mark, brand.



   STILL, continual(ly), constant(ly).



   STINKARD, stinking fellow.



   STINT, stop.



   STIPTIC, astringent.



   STOCCATA, thrust in fencing.



   STOCK-FISH, salted and dried fish.



   STOMACH, pride, valour.



   STOMACH, resent.



   STOOP, swoop down as a hawk.



   STOP, fill, stuff.



   STOPPLE, stopper.



   STOTE, stoat, weasel.



   STOUP, stoop, swoop=bow.



   STRAIGHT, straightway.



   STRAMAZOUN (Ital. stramazzone), a down blow, as opposed

   to the thrust.



   STRANGE, like a stranger, unfamiliar.



   STRANGENESS, distance of behaviour.



   STREIGHTS, OR BERMUDAS, labyrinth of alleys and courts

   in the Strand.



   STRIGONIUM, Grau in Hungary, taken from the Turks in

   1597.



   STRIKE, balance (accounts).



   STRINGHALT, disease of horses.



   STROKER, smoother, flatterer.



   STROOK, p.p. of "strike."



   STRUMMEL-PATCHED, strummel is glossed in dialect dicts.

   as "a long, loose and dishevelled head of hair."



   STUDIES, studious efforts.



   STYLE, title; pointed instrument used for writing on wax

   tablets.



   SUBTLE, fine, delicate, thin; smooth, soft.



   SUBTLETY (SUBTILITY), subtle device.



   SUBURB, connected with loose living.



   SUCCUBAE, demons in form of women.



   SUCK, extract money from.



   SUFFERANCE, suffering.



   SUMMED, term of falconry: with full-grown plumage.



   SUPER-NEGULUM, topers turned the cup bottom up when

   it was empty.



   SUPERSTITIOUS, over-scrupulous.



   SUPPLE, to make pliant.



   SURBATE, make sore with walking.



   SURCEASE, cease.



   SUR-REVERENCE, save your reverence.



   SURVISE, peruse.



   SUSCITABILITY, excitability.



   SUSPECT, suspicion.



   SUSPEND, suspect.



   SUSPENDED, held over for the present.



   SUTLER, victualler.



   SWAD, clown, boor.



   SWATH BANDS, swaddling clothes.



   SWINGE, beat.



   TABERD, emblazoned mantle or tunic worn by knights

   and heralds.



   TABLE(S), "pair of --," tablets, note-book.



   TABOR, small drum.



   TABRET, tabor.



   TAFFETA, silk; "tuft-taffeta," a more costly silken fabric.



   TAINT, "-- a staff," break a lance at tilting in an

   unscientific or dishonourable manner.



   TAKE IN, capture, subdue.



   TAKE ME WITH YOU, let me understand you.



   TAKE UP, obtain on credit, borrow.



   TALENT, sum or weight of Greek currency.



   TALL, stout, brave.



   TANKARD-BEARERS, men employed to fetch water from the

   conduits.



   TARLETON, celebrated comedian and jester.



   TARTAROUS, like a Tartar.



   TAVERN-TOKEN, "to swallow a --," get drunk.



   TELL, count.



   TELL-TROTH, truth-teller.



   TEMPER, modify, soften.



   TENDER, show regard, care for, cherish; manifest.



   TENT, "take --," take heed.



   TERSE, swept and polished.



   TERTIA, "that portion of an army levied out of one

   particular district or division of a country" (Gifford).



   TESTON, tester, coin worth 6d.



   THIRDBOROUGH, constable.



   THREAD, quality.



   THREAVES, droves.



   THREE-FARTHINGS, piece of silver current under Elizabeth.



   THREE-PILED, of finest quality, exaggerated.



   THRIFTILY, carefully.



   THRUMS, ends of the weaver's warp; coarse yarn made from.



   THUMB-RING, familiar spirits were supposed capable of

   being carried about in various ornaments or parts of dress.



   TIBICINE, player on the tibia, or pipe.



   TICK-TACK, game similar to backgammon.



   TIGHTLY, promptly.



   TIM, (?) expressive of a climax of nonentity.



   TIMELESS, untimely, unseasonable.



   TINCTURE, an essential or spiritual principle supposed

   by alchemists to be transfusible into material things;

   an imparted characteristic or tendency.



   TINK, tinkle.



   TIPPET, "turn --," change behaviour or way of life.



   TIPSTAFF, staff tipped with metal.



   TIRE, head-dress.



   TIRE, feed ravenously, like a bird of prey.



   TITILLATION, that which tickles the senses, as a perfume.



   TOD, fox.



   TOILED, worn out, harassed.



   TOKEN, piece of base metal used in place of very small

   coin, when this was scarce.



   TONNELS, nostrils.



   TOP, "parish --," large top kept in villages for

   amusement and exercise in frosty weather when people

   were out of work.



   TOTER, tooter, player on a wind instrument.



   TOUSE, pull, rend.



   TOWARD, docile, apt; on the way to; as regards; present,

   at hand.



   TOY, whim; trick; term of contempt.



   TRACT, attraction.



   TRAIN, allure, entice.



   TRANSITORY, transmittable.



   TRANSLATE, transform.



   TRAY-TRIP, game at dice (success depended on throwing

   a three) (Nares).



   TREACHOUR (TRECHER), traitor.



   TREEN, wooden.



   TRENCHER, serving-man who carved or served food.



   TRENDLE-TAIL, trundle-tail, curly-tailed.



   TRICK (TRICKING), term of heraldry: to draw outline of

   coat of arms, etc., without blazoning.



   TRIG, a spruce, dandified man.



   TRILL, trickle.



   TRILLIBUB, tripe, any worthless, trifling thing.



   TRIPOLY, "come from --," able to perform feats of agility,

   a "jest nominal," depending on the first part of the word

   (Gifford).



   TRITE, worn, shabby.



   TRIVIA, three-faced goddess (Hecate).



   TROJAN, familiar term for an equal or inferior; thief.



   TROLL, sing loudly.



   TROMP, trump, deceive.



   TROPE, figure of speech.



   TROW, think, believe, wonder.



   TROWLE, troll.



   TROWSES, breeches, drawers.



   TRUCHMAN, interpreter.



   TRUNDLE, JOHN, well-known printer.



   TRUNDLE, roll, go rolling along.



   TRUNDLING CHEATS, term among gipsies and beggars for

   carts or coaches (Gifford).



   TRUNK, speaking-tube.



   TRUSS, tie the tagged laces that fastened the breeches

   to the doublet.



   TUBICINE, trumpeter.



   TUCKET (Ital. toccato), introductory flourish on the

   trumpet.



   TUITION, guardianship.



   TUMBLER, a particular kind of dog so called from the

   mode of his hunting.



   TUMBREL-SLOP, loose, baggy breeches.



   TURD, excrement.



   TUSK, gnash the teeth (Century Dict.).



   TWIRE, peep, twinkle.



   TWOPENNY ROOM, gallery.



   TYRING-HOUSE, attiring-room.



   ULENSPIEGEL.  See Howleglass.



   UMBRATILE, like or pertaining to a shadow.



   UMBRE, brown dye.



   UNBATED, unabated.



   UNBORED, (?) excessively bored.



   UNCARNATE, not fleshly, or of flesh.



   UNCOUTH, strange, unusual.



   UNDERTAKER, "one who undertook by his influence in the

   House of Commons to carry things agreeably to his

   Majesty's wishes" (Whalley); one who becomes surety for.



   UNEQUAL, unjust.



   UNEXCEPTED, no objection taken at.



   UNFEARED, unaffrighted.



   UNHAPPILY, unfortunately.



   UNICORN'S HORN, supposed antidote to poison.



   UNKIND(LY), unnatural(ly).



   UNMANNED, untamed (term in falconry).



   UNQUIT, undischarged.



   UNREADY, undressed.



   UNRUDE, rude to an extreme.



   UNSEASONED, unseasonable, unripe.



   UNSEELED, a hawk's eyes were "seeled" by sewing the

   eyelids together with fine thread.



   UNTIMELY, unseasonably.



   UNVALUABLE, invaluable.



   UPBRAID, make a matter of reproach.



   UPSEE, heavy kind of Dutch beer (Halliwell); "-- Dutch,"

   in the Dutch fashion.



   UPTAILS ALL, refrain of a popular song.



   URGE, allege as accomplice, instigator.



   URSHIN, URCHIN, hedgehog.



   USE, interest on money; part of sermon dealing with the

   practical application of doctrine.



   USE, be in the habit of, accustomed to; put out to interest.



   USQUEBAUGH, whisky.



   USURE, usury.



   UTTER, put in circulation, make to pass current; put forth for sale.



   VAIL, bow, do homage.



   VAILS, tips, gratuities.



   VALL.  See Vail.



   VALLIES (Fr. valise), portmanteau, bag.



   VAPOUR(S) (n. and v.), used affectedly, like "humour,"

   in many senses, often very vaguely and freely ridiculed

   by Jonson; humour, disposition, whims, brag(ging),

   hector(ing), etc.



   VARLET, bailiff, or serjeant-at-mace.



   VAUT, vault.



   VEER (naut.), pay out.



   VEGETAL, vegetable; person full of life and vigour.



   VELLUTE, velvet.



   VELVET CUSTARD.  Cf. "Taming of the Shrew," iv. 3, 82,

   "custard coffin," coffin being the raised crust over a pie.



   VENT, vend, sell; give outlet to; scent, snuff up.



   VENUE, bout (fencing term).



   VERDUGO (Span.), hangman, executioner.



   VERGE, "in the --," within a certain distance of the court.



   VEX, agitate, torment.



   VICE, the buffoon of old moralities; some kind of

   machinery for moving a puppet (Gifford).



   VIE AND REVIE, to hazard a certain sum, and to cover

   it with a larger one.



   VINCENT AGAINST YORK, two heralds-at-arms.



   VINDICATE, avenge.



   VIRGE, wand, rod.



   VIRGINAL, old form of piano.



   VIRTUE, valour.



   VIVELY, in lifelike manner, livelily.



   VIZARD, mask.



   VOGUE, rumour, gossip.



   VOICE, vote.



   VOID, leave, quit.



   VOLARY, cage, aviary.



   VOLLEY, "at --," "o' the volee," at random (from a

   term of tennis).



   VORLOFFE, furlough.



   WADLOE, keeper of the Devil Tavern, where Jonson and his

   friends met in the 'Apollo' room (Whalley).



   WAIGHTS, waits, night musicians, "band of musical

   watchmen" (Webster), or old form of "hautboys."



   WANNION, "vengeance," "plague" (Nares).



   WARD, a famous pirate.



   WARD, guard in fencing.



   WATCHET, pale, sky blue.



   WEAL, welfare.



   WEED, garment.



   WEFT, waif.



   WEIGHTS, "to the gold --," to every minute particular.



   WELKIN, sky.



   WELL-SPOKEN, of fair speech.



   WELL-TORNED, turned and polished, as on a wheel.



   WELT, hem, border of fur.



   WHER, whether.



   WHETSTONE, GEORGE, an author who lived 1544(?) to 1587(?).



   WHIFF, a smoke, or drink; "taking the --," inhaling the

   tobacco smoke or some such accomplishment.



   WHIGH-HIES, neighings, whinnyings.



   WHIMSY, whim, "humour."



   WHINILING, (?) whining, weakly.



   WHIT, (?) a mere jot.



   WHITEMEAT, food made of milk or eggs.



   WICKED, bad, clumsy.



   WICKER, pliant, agile.



   WILDING, esp. fruit of wild apple or crab tree (Webster).



   WINE, "I have the -- for you," Prov.: I have the

   perquisites (of the office) which you are to share

   (Cunningham).



   WINNY, "same as old word "wonne," to stay, etc." (Whalley).



   WISE-WOMAN, fortune-teller.



   WISH, recommend.



   WISS (WUSSE), "I --," certainly, of a truth.



   WITHOUT, beyond.



   WITTY, cunning, ingenious, clever.



   WOOD, collection, lot.



   WOODCOCK, term of contempt.



   WOOLSACK ("-- pies"), name of tavern.



   WORT, unfermented beer.



   WOUNDY, great, extreme.



   WREAK, revenge.



   WROUGHT, wrought upon.



   WUSSE, interjection.  (See Wiss).



   YEANLING, lamb, kid.



   ZANY, an inferior clown, who attended upon the chief

   fool and mimicked his tricks.