University of Virginia Library

Scen. 3.

Orgylus. Aorgus.
Rosc.

These are the extreams of Meeknesse. Orgylus an
angry quarrelsome man, mov'd with the least shadow, or
appearance of Iniury. The other in defect, Aorgus, a fellow
so patient, or rather insensible of wrong, that he is not
capable of the grossest abuse.

Org.
Perswade me not, he has awak'd a fury
That carries steele about him. Daggs, and Pistolls!
To bite his thumb at me?

Aor.
Why should not any man
Bite his own thumbe?

Org.
At mee? weare I a sword
To see men bite their thumbs—Rapiers and Daggers!—
He is the sonne of a Whore.

Aor.
That hurts not you.
Had he bit yours, it had been some pretence
T'have mov'd this anger—he may bite his own,
And eate it too.

Org.
Muskets, and Canons!—eate it?
If he dare eate it in contempt of me,
He shall eate something else too that rides here;
Ile try his estridg stomack.

Aor.
Sir be patient.

Org.
You lye in your throat, and I will not.

Aor.
To what purpose is this impertinent madnesse?
Pray be milder.

Org.
Your Mother was a whore, & I will not put it up.

Aor.
Why should so slight toye thus trouble you?

Org.
Your Father was hang'd, and I will be reveng'd.

Aor.
When reason doth in equall ballance poize
The nature of two injuries, yours to me
Lyes heavy, when that other would not turne
An even scale; and yet it moves not mee;
My Anger is not up.

Org.
But I will raise it;
You are a foole!

Aor.
I know it, and shall I
Be angry for a truth?

Org.
You are besides
An arrant knave!

Aor.
So are my betters sir.

Org.
I cannot move him—O my spleen!—it rises,
For very anger I could eat my knuckles.

Aor.
You may, or bite your thumb all's one to mee.

Org.
You are horned beast, a very Cuckold!

Aor.
'Tis my wives fault, not mine, I have no reason
Then to be angry for anothers sinne.

Org.
And I did graft your horns, you might have come
And found us glewd together like two goats;
And stood a witnesse to your transformation.

Aor.
Why if I had, I am so farre from anger
J would have e'ne falne down upon my knees,
And desir'd heaven to have forgiven you both.

Org.
Your Children are all bastards, not one of them,
Vpon my knowledge, of your own begetting.

Aor.
Why then I am the more beholding to them
That they will call me father; it was lust
Perchance, that did beget them, but I am sure
'Tis charity to keepe the Infants.

Org.
Not yet stirr'd?
'Tis done of meere contempt, he will not now
Be angry, to expresse his scorne of me.
'Tis above patience this, insufferable.
Proclaime me coward, if I put up this!
Dotard you will be angry, will you not?

Aor.
To see how strange a course fond wrath doth goe!
You will be angry 'cause I am not so.

Or.
I, can endure no longer, if your spleene
Lye in your breech, thus I will kick it up.

Aor.

Alpha. Beta. Gamma. Delta. Epsylon. Zeta. Eta.
Theta. Iota. Kappa. Lamda. Mu. Nu. Xi. Omicron. Pi.
Ro. Sigma. Tau. Vpsilon. Phi. Chi. Psi. Omega.

Org.
How? what contempt is this?

Aor.
An antidote
Against the poison, Anger: 'twas prescrib'd
A Roman Emperour, that on every injury
Repeated the Greek Alphabet, that being done
His anger too was over. This good rule
I learn'd from him, and Practise.

Org.
Not yet angry?
Still will you vexe me? I will practise too?

(Kicks again)
Aor.

Aleph. Beth. Gimel.

Org.
What new Alphabet
Is this?

Aor.
The Hebrew Alphabet, that I use
A second remedy.

Org.
O my Torment! still?
Are not your Buttocks angry with my toes?

Aor.
For ought I feele your toes have more occasion
For to be angry with my Buttocks.

Org.
Well,
I'le try your Physick for the third assault;
And exercise the patience of your nose.

Aor.

A.B.C.D.E.F.G.H.I.K.L.M.N.O.P.Q.R.S.T.
V.W.X.Y.Z.

Org.
Are you not angry now?

Aor.
Now sir, why now?
Now you have done.

Org.
O 'tis a meere plot this,
To jeere my tamenesse: will no sense of wrong
Waken the lethargy of a cowards soule?
Will not this rowse her from her dead sleepe, nor this?

Aor.
Why should I sir be angry; if I suffer
An injury, it is no guilt of mine;
No, let it trouble them, that doe the wrong;
Nothing but peace approaches innocence.

Org.
A bitternesse o'reflows me; my eyes flame,
My blood boyles in me, all my faculties
Of soule and body move in a disorder;
His patience hath so tortur'd me: Sirra villain
I will dissect thee with my rapiers point;
Rip up each veine, and sinewe of my storque,
Anatomize him, searching every entraile,
To see if nature, when she made this asse,
This suffering asse; did not forget to give him
Some gall!

Cola.
Put it up good Orgylus,
Let him not glory in so brave a death,
As by your hand; it stands not with your honour
To stain your rapier in a cowards blood.
The Lybian Lions in their noble rage
Will prey on Bulls, or mate the Vnicorne;
But trouble not the painted butterflye;
Ants crawle securely by him.

Orgy.
'Tis intollerable!
Would thou wert worth the killing.

Colax.
A good wish,
Savouring as well discretion, as bold valour:
Think not of such a baffel'd asse as this,
More stone, then man: Medusa's head has turn'd him.
There is in ants a choler, every flye
Carries a spleene: Poore wormes being trampled on
Turne tayle, as bidding battaile to the feet
Of their oppressors. A dead palsy sure
Hath struck a desperate numnesse through his soule,
Till it be growne insensible: Meere stupidity
Hath ceaz'd him: Your more manly soule I find
Is capable of wrong, and like a flint
Throwes forth a fire into the strikers eyes.
You beare about you valours whetstone, anger;
Which sets an edge upon the sword, and makes it
Cut with a spirit: you conceive fond patience
Is an injustice to our selves, the suffering
One injury invites a second, that
Calls on a third, till wrongs doe multiply
And reputation bleed: How bravely anger
Becomes that martiall brow! A glasse within
Will shew you sir when your great spleene doth rise
How fury darts a lightning from your eyes.

Org.
Learne anger sir against you meet me next;
Never was man like me with patience vext.

Exit.
Aor.
I am so farre from anger in my selfe,
That 'tis my grief I can make others so.

Colax.
It proves a sweetnesse in your disposition,
A gentle winning carriage—deare Aorgus
O give me leave to open wide my brest,
And let so rare a freind unto my soule;
Enter, and take possession: such a man
As has no gall, no bitternesse, no exceptions,
Whom nature meant a Dove, will keepe alive
The flame of amitie, where all discourse
Flowes innocent, and each free jest is taken.
Hee's a good freind will pardon his freinds errours,
But hee's a better takes no notice of them.
How like a beast with rude and savage rage
Breath'd the distemper'd soule of Orgylus?
The pronenesse of this passion is the Nurse
That fosters all confusion, ruines states,
Depopulates Cities, layes great Kingdomes wast;
'Tis that affection of the mind that wants
The strongest bridle; give it raines it runnes
A desperate course, and drags downe reason with it.
It is the whirlwind of the soule, the storme
And tempest of the mind, that raises up
The billowes of disturbed passions
To shipwrack Iudgment. O—a soule like yours
Constant in patience! Let the North wind meet
The South at sea, and Zephyrus breath opposite
To Eurus; let the two and thirty sonnes
Of Eolus break forth at once, to plow
The Ocean, and dispeople all the woods,
Yet here could be a calme, it is not danger
Can make this cheeke grow pale, nor injury
Call blood into it. Their's a Glasse within
Will let you see your selfe, and tell you now
How sweet a tamenesse dwells upon your brow.

Aor.
Colax, I must believe, and therefore goe;
Who is distrustfull will be angry too.