 | Wit in A Constable |  |
Actus primus
Scena prima.
Enter Holdfast, Tristram.Holdfast.
Did you ere we departed from the Colledge
Orelooke my library?
Trist.
Yes sir, I spent two dayes in sorting Poets from Historians,
As many nights in placing the divines
On their owne chayres, I meane their shelves, and then
In separating Philosophers from those people
That kill men with a license: your Physitians
Cost me a whole dayes labour, and I finde sir,
Although you tell me learning is immortall,
The paper and the parchment, tis contayn'd in,
Savors of much mortality.
Hold.
I hope my bookes are all in health.
Trict.
In the same case the Mothes have left them, who have eaten more
Authenticke learning then would richly furnish
A hundred country pedants; yet the wormes
Are not one letter wiser.
Hold.
I have beene idle
Since I came up from Cambridge, goe to my stationer
And bid him send me Swarez Metaphysickes,
So are Granadas commentaries on
Primum secundæ Thomæ Aquinatis,
Get me the Lyricke Poets. And—
Trist.
I admire
How he retaines these Authors names, of which
He understands no sillable, 'twere better
I bought the Authenticke Legend of Sir Bevis,
Some six new Ballads and the famous Poems
Writ by the learned waterman.
Hold.
Iohn Taylor, get me his nonsense.
Trist.
You meane all his workes sir.
Hold.
And a hundred of Bookers new Almanacks.
Trist.
And the divell to boot,
Your fathers bookes in which he keeps th' accounts
Of all his coyne will scarce yield crowns to afford
Your fancy volums: why you have already
Enough to furnish a new Vatican,
A hundred country pedants can read dictats
To their young pupills out of Setons logicke,
Or Golius Ethicks, and make them arrive,
Proficients learn'd enough in one bare twelmonth
To instruct the parish they were borne in: you
Out of an itch to this same foolish learning
Bestow more money yearely upon bookes;
Then would for convert sisters build an almes-house.
Hold.
You will displease my patience Tristram.
Trist.
I speake truth: if you shud want, your learning scarce would make you
Capable of being town Cleark, or at best,
To be a famous Tyrant unto boyes,
And weare out birch upon them: or perchance
you may arrive to be the City Poet,
And send the little moysture of your braine
To grace a Lord Maiors festivall with showes,
Alluding to his trade, or to the company
Of which he's free, these are the best preferments
That can attend your learning.
Hold.
I say Tristram, the spirit of my learning stirs me up
Trist.
Would you study? as does young Thorowgood your noble Cosen,
Not bookes, but men which are true living volums:
You would like him, be held rich ith' esteeme
Of all the illustrious wits that decke the city
When the extent of your admirers is
Confinde to fresh men: and such youths as only
Know how to frame a syllogisme in Darij,
And make the ignorant believe by Logicke
The Moones made of a Holland Cheese: and the man in't.
A swagbellied Dutch Burger
Intrat Thorowgood.
Thoro.
Cosen Holdfast, a good day attend
Thy learned piamater: prithee tell me
How doe the Cabalists and antient Rabbins
And thou agree? will they be sociable,
And drinke their mornings draught of Helicon
With thee: have they instructed you to prove yet
That the world runs on wheeles? or that the sea
May be drunke off by a shole of Whales? such things
You know there are in nature.
Hold.
O far stranger.
Thoro.
Peace you booke-worme,
Fit only to devour more paper then
A thousand grand tobacco men or a legion
Of boyes in pellets to their elderne gunnes.
Dost thinke to live this life still? you're not now
Amongst your cues at Cambridge, but in London,
Come up to see your mistris beautious Clare,
The glory of the city: goe and court her,
As does become a gentleman of carriage,
Without your Tropes and figures Inkerhorne termes,
Fit only for a Mountebanke or Pedant,
Or all your Physickes Metaphysickes and Meteors,
(Tomes larger farre and more repleate with lies,
Then Surius, Gallo-Belgcus, or the welsh
Bard Geffrey Monmouth) shal be straight-way made
Pitifull Martyrs.
Hold.
Why cosen I had thought.
Thy selfe an errant ideot, that's the fittest
Thought for thy braine more dull then a fat Burgers,
Or reverend countrey justices, whose wit
Lies in his spruce clearkes standish, thou wert begot
Surely ith' wane oth' Moone, when natures tooles
Were at lame Vulcans forge a sharpening, thou art so lumpish.
Trist.
He has already spoyld
His eyes with prying on Geneva prints,
And small dutch Characters: his watching makes him
Looke like a grand-child of old Errapaters,
Some leane Astronomer, who to get ten shillings,
For that's a large price for an Almanacke,
Has wasted himselfe to the bignesse of his Iaccobs staffe,
Which is so limber, 'tcannot stand to take height of Venus rising.
Thoro.
He sayes truth: besides your study has attain'd already,
Learning enough to informe your minde the knowledge
Of arts fit for a gentleman, wert not better
For you my sprightfull senior to advance
Your bever with a hatband of the last
Edition in the Court, among the noblest
Youthes of our nation, then to walke like Faustus,
Or some high German conjurer, in a cap
Fit for a Coster-monger, to weare your purple
Or cut worke, band then this small snip of linning
That's proper only for Tom Thum: or some of queen Mabs gentlemen-ushers.
Trist.
This Cassocke were a pretty garment for a fortune teller.
Thoro.
And this cloake of tinder comely for a ballad-seller,
Life sir, you are borne here to an ample fortune,
Your father absent knowes not how you've altered
Your disposition: I must reclayme it,
Thou shalt with me and court the beauteous Clare
Reserv'd for thee, a purpose ith' meane time,
Our chiefe companions, shall be wits more pure,
Then your quicke sophisters, or slie logicians,
Wee'l talke of the bright beauties of the age,
Girles whose each looke deserves to be a theme
For all the nimble poets, two dayes practise
Philosophy as fruitlesse and abjure
All other Ethicks, but what's usd mongst us, as most erronious.
Hold.
Well You shall perswade me, Ile be an errant asse, or any thing
For thy sake coz, but shall we have such wenches
As are at Cambridge, hansome as peg Larkin.
Thoro.
O farre before her, cosen thou shalt read
Aretius Politicks, and Ovids Art,
Shall be new read, thee and wee will refine
Thy Academicke wit with bowles of wine.
Hold.
Tristram shall toth' Colledge and sell my bookes immediately.
Thoro.
Speake like the son of Phœbus and my cosen.
Trist.
My studious master.
Thoro.
Sell thy Dictionary.
Hold.
Ile not keepe a prayer booke.
Thoro.
They are out of fashion.
Hold.
Nor a Calender, to looke the age oth' Moone in, Trist. be sure
You burne Greens groats worth of wit; I scorne to keepe
The name of wit about me.
Trist.
Tis confest sir, but for the numerous Rhemes of paper, which
Are pil'd up in your study, give them mee,
I have a brother in law ith' towne's a cooke,
Ile give them him to put under his bake meates.
Hold.
Take them: I will not leave a pen within my lodging,
I will forget to write, or set my hand to any thing.
Thoro.
Unlesse't be to a bond.
Hold.
Ile goe put this blest designe in execution,
Cosen anon ile meet you at your chamber.
Thoro.
What in that reverend shape? the gentleman
That I converse with, will believe thee some Itinerant
Scholler, have thee whipt by th'statute.
Hold.
I would be loath, now I am past a fresh man to bee had into the buttries.
Thoro.
Still them termes? study to forget them, Ile send my
Man to you with a new suite of mine I never wore yet,
Be sure to put it on right, you mere Schollers
Know no degree of garment above Serge,
Or Satanisco: tie your band-strings neatly
And doe not eat the buttons off, put not
Of new inventing fashions when accoustred,
Come to my chamber, and Ile furnish you
With language fit to accost your mistris.
Hold.
Rare, I've got more learning from him in halfe an houre,
Then in a whole lifes practise out of bookes.
Follow me Tristram, farewell deare cosen.
Ex. Hold. Trist.
Thoro.
How I could laugh now, were my spleen large enough: a
Hundred such lame stupid Ideots were enough, if marry'd,
To precise Burgers daughters to replenish
The city with a race of fooles, and root
The stocke of knaves quite out of it, he loves books:
Not that he has a scruple more of learning
Then will suffice him to say grace, but like
Some piteous cowards, who are oft thought valiant
For keeping store of weapons in their chambers,
He loves to be esteem'd a doctor by
His volumnes: but I shall fit his schollership: whose these?
Alderman Covets, Formall, by th'proportion:
Ent. Formal and Clare.
That rib of mans flesh should be Clare, dost heare
My honest Cadis garters: who for care
And close attendance on thy charge deserves
To be grand porter to the great Turkes Seraglia: how hight that vayl'd damsell?
Form.
She has been at Britains burfe a buying pins & needles
To worke a night-cap for my master sir.
Thor.
Pox upon him, is not her name Clare, niece to Alderman Covet
For.
Her father was a country Squire of large revenew and her mother.
Thoro.
I shall be forc'd to heare him blaze her pedigree,
Ide beat him, but that clubs and paring shovells oth' city
Would be so busie about my eares: they'd spoyle
My hearing two months after Gentle Lady
Pardon my error if I doe mistake, are not you mistris Clare?
Clar.
Formall at last, would have resolv'd you, and I held my
Peace of purpose, cause I knew his slow discovery would vex
Your nimble patience
Tho.
You are a Gipsie, but does thy unkles humour hold of wedding
His daughter to sir Timothy.
Yes, or to young monsieur Holdfast whom he sayes is
Learned enough to make Cheap-side a Colledge,
And all the City a new Academy, but have you
Thorowgood perform'd what I advis'd you to?
Thoro.
Yes, my girle: good Formall use thy motion to convay
Thy ears a little farther off, there's mony
To buy thee a new payre of garters: Clare
Thou shalt no more behold me in the garbe
And noble ornament I us'd to weare, my fashion shall be altred.
Clar.
To the schoolars,
Young Holdfasts likenesse.
Thoro.
O by all meanes girle, thou shalt behold this comely hat transform'd
To frugall brim, and steeple crowne, this band
Of faire extent chang'd to a moderne cut,
Narrower then a precisians: all this gay
And gawdy silke J will convert to Serge
Of limber length: like some spruce student (newly
Exalted for saying grace well, to be fellow
Oth' Colledge he had studied) I will
Salute thy reverent Uncles spectacles,
And without feare of his gold chaine, ile woe thee
In metaphores and tropes Scholastick till
The doting Senator with a liberall hand give
Thee his dainty darling to become my spouse inseparable.
Clar.
This suites well with my directions.
Thoro.
True girle true, farewell Clare,
I kisse thy white hand: Sir resume your charge,
I've done my errand: let not your old Sir Amias,
Know of this conference, if you doe, that twist
Of spinners thred, on which your life depends
Exe. Clare. & Formall.
Shall be shorne off like a horse mane. Farewell.
Form.
Mans life indeed is but a thred, good day sir.
Ent. Valentine & Sir Timothy.
Thor.
Attend your charge friend, Valentine, Sir Timothy.
You'r well incountred, may I inquire the affaire
Which happily has brought you up toth' City?
Thoro.
May I know it? is't not to purchase a Monopoly
For Salt and Herrings? for state businesse,
Unlesse it be to see the great new ship,
Tim.
Very right sir.
Thor.
But for thee: my noble man of merit, thou art welcome,
Weel be as kind to one another boy,
And witty as brisque poets in their wine,
Weel court the blacke browd beauties of the time,
And have by them the height of our desires: with ease accomplished
Val.
Noble Thorowgood,
Did I not owne you by the name of friend,
Already these indearments would ingage me to beg that title.
Tim.
Very right, and me too.
Thor.
You sir, you've reason,
I know you for the most Egregious knight
In all the country.
Tim.
Very right, I am indeed esteem'd so.
Thor.
One that live on Onions and Corne-sallets.
Tim.
Right agen,
Sure he can conjure, I had one to my breakefast.
Thor.
Nay no Herald
Can better blase your pedigree. I've heard
Your father my most worthy knight, was one
That died a knave to leave you so.
Tim.
Passing right still.
Thor.
And pray right witty, and right honor'd sir,
What may your businesse seeme to be ith' city,
Are you come up to learne new fashions?
Tim.
Exceeding right agen.
Thor.
To change this ancient garment to a new one
Of a more spruce edition.
Val.
Yes, but before,
For I am privie unto all's intentions,
He means to see and court his mistris.
Thor.
Who's that? my doughty Impe of spur and sword,
Some faire Dulcina de Toboso.
Val.
No, tis Grace, daughter to Alderman Covet.
Thor.
I doe commend thee my deare Don, and will
Be thy assistant, goe and see thy horse drest,
And then approach my chamber.
Tim.
Very right, I kisse your fingers ends.
Ex. Timothy.
Doe you, Valentine, know
The Lady he intends to Court.
Val.
Onely by report,
Which speakes her most accomplish'd.
Thor.
Oh she'll make
An excellent Asse of him: she has a wit
More sharpe and piercing than a Waspes sting, she speaks
All fire; each word is able to burne up
A thousand such poore Mushromes: had her mother
Not beene held honest, I should have believ'd
She'd bin some Courtiers By-blow, or that some
Quicke Poet got her.
Val.
How's her feature?
Thor.
Rare, past expression, singular, her eyes
The very sphears of love, her cheeks his throne,
Her lips his paradise, and then her minde
Js farre more excellent than her shape.
Val.
You give her a brave Character; is't possible
To have a sight of her?
Tho.
Yes, by my means, scarce otherwise wilt thou have her,
Speake but a syllable, 't shall be perform'd
As sure as if Don Hymen, in his robes
Had ratifi'd the contract.
Val.
You are merry sir.
Thor.
When didst thou know me otherwise: yet now
In sober sadnesse friend, couldst thou affect
A woman, as there's few of them worth loving,
Thou canst not make a nobler choise: Ile bring thee
Onto the skirmish, but if thou retreat,
Beat backe by th'hot Artillery of her wit,
Which will play fast upon thee: maist thou live
To be enamour'd on some stale Hay, or Matron
Of fourescore, that may congeale thee to a frost
Sooner than forty winters: or be wed
To an insatiat Chamber-maid.
Val.
Defend me
From thy last curse; feare not my valour.
This foole shall serve both her and us for sport:
Lets to our taske; and if our project hit,
Ile sweare all fortune is compris'd in wit.
Exeunt.
Explicit Actus primus.
| Wit in A Constable | |