University of Virginia Library

Scene. IV.

Fitton.
Peni-boy. Se. Almanach. Shvnfield. Madrigal. Lick-Finger. Broker.
How now old Money-Bawd? w'are come—

P. Iv.
To ieere me,
As you were wont, I know you.

Alm.
No, to giue thee
Some good security, and see Pecunia.

P. Se.
What is't?

Fit.
Our selues.

Alm.
Wee'l be one bound for another.

Fit.
This noble Doctor here.

Alm.
This worthy Courtier.

Fit.
This Man o' war, he was our Muster-Master.

Alm.
But a Sea-Captaine now, braue Captaine Shun-field.

He holds vp his nose.
Shvn.
You snuffe the ayre now, as the scent displeas'd you?

Fit.
Thou needst not feare him man, his credit is found,

Alm.
And season'd too, since he tooke salt at Sea.

P. Se.
I doe not loue pickl'd security,
Would I had one good Fresh-man in for all;
For truth is, you three stinke.

Shv.
You are a Rogue,

P. Se.
I thinke I am, but I will lend no money
On that security, Captaine.

Alm.
Here's a Gentleman,
A Fresh-man i'the world, one Master Madrigall.

Fit.
Of an vntainted credit; what say you to him?

Madrigall steps aside with Broker.
Shv.
Hee's gone me thinkes, where is he? Madrigall?

P. Se.
H' has an odde singing name, is he an Heyre?

Fit.
An Heyre to a faire fortune,

Alm.
And full hopes:
A dainty Scholler, and a pretty Poët!

P. Se.
Y'aue said enough. I ha' no money, Gentlemen,
An' he goe to't in ryme once, not a penny.

He snuffes againe.
Shv.
Why, hee's of yeares, though he haue little beard.

P. Se.
His beard has time to grow. I haue no money:
Let him still dable in Poetry. No Pecunia
Is to be seene.

Alm.
Come, thou lou'st to be costiue
Still i' thy curt'sie; but I haue a pill,
A golden pill to purge away this melancholly.

Shv.
Tis nothing but his keeping o'the house here,
With his two drowsie doggs.

Fit.
A drench of sacke
At a good tauerne, and a fine fresh pullet,
Would cure him.

Lic.
Nothing but a yong Haire in white-broth,
I know his diet better then the Doctor.

Shv.
What Lick-finger? mine old host of Ram-Alley?
You ha' some mercat here.

Alm.
Some dosser of Fish
Or Fowle to fetch of.

Fit.
An odde bargaine of Venison,
To driue.

P. Se.
Will you goe in, knaue?

Lic.
I must needs,
You see who driues me, gentlemen.

Alm.
Not the diuell.

Fit,
Hee may be in time, hee is his Agent, now.

P. Se.
You are all cogging Iacks, a Couy o' wits,
The Ieerers, that still call together at meales:
Or rather an Airy, for you are birds of prey:
Peny-boy thrusts him in.
And flie at all, nothing's too bigge or high for you.
And are so truely fear'd, but not belou'd
One of another: as no one dares breake
Company from the rest, lest they should fall,
Vpon him absent.

Alm.
O! the onely Oracle
That euer peept, or spake out of a dublet.

Shv.
How the rogue stinks, worse then a Fishmonger sleeues!

Fit.
Or Curriers hands!

Shv.
And such a perboil'd visage!

Fit.
His face lookes like a Diers apron, iust!

Alm.
A sodden head, and his whole braine a possit curd!

P. Se.
I, now you ieere, ieere on; I haue no money.

Alm.
I wonder what religion hee's of!

Fit.
No certaine species sure, A kinde of mule!
That's halfe an Ethnicke, halfe a Christian!

P. Se.
I haue no monie, gentlemen.

Shv.
This stocke.
He has no sense of any vertue, honour,
Gentrie or merit.

P. Se.
You say very right,
My meritorious Captaine, (as I take it!)
Merit will keepe no house, nor pay no house rent.
Will Mistresse Merit goe to mercat, thinke you?
Set on the pot, or feed the family?
Will Gentry cleare with the Butcher? or the Baker?
Fetch in a Phessant, or a brace of Partridges,
From good-wife Poulter, for my Ladies supper.

Fit.
See! this pure rogue!

P. Se.
This rogue has money tho',
My worshipfull braue Courtier has no money.
No, nor my valiant Captaine.

Shv.
Hang you rascall.

P. Se.
Nor you, my learned Doctor. I lou'd you
Whil you did hold your practice, and kill tripe wiues.
And kept you to your vrinall; but since your thombes
Haue greas'd the Ephemerides, casting figures,
And turning ouer for your Candle-rents,
And your twelue houses in the Zodiacke:
With your Almutens, Alma cantaras,
Troth you shall cant alone for Peny-boy.

Shv.
I told you what we should find him, a meere Bawd.

Fit.
A rogue, a cheater.

P. Se.
What you please, gentlemen,
I am of that humble nature and condition,
Neuer to minde your worships, or take notice
Of what you throw away, thus. I keepe house here
Like a lame Cobler, neuer out of doores,
With my two dogs, my friends, and (as you say)
Driue a quicke pretty trade, still. I get money:
And as for Titles, be they Rogue, or Rascall,
Or what your worships fancy, let 'hem passe
As transitory things; they're mine to day,
And yours to morrow.

Alm.
Hang thee dog.

Shv.
Thou curre.

P. Se.
You see how I doe blush, and am asham'd
Of these large attributes? yet you haue no money.

Alm.
Well wolfe, Hyæna, you old pockie rascall,
You will ha' the Hernia fall downe againe
Into your Scrotum, and I shall be sent for.
I will remember then, that; and your Fistula
In ano, I cur'd you of.

P. Se.
Thanke your dog-leech craft.
They were 'holesome piles, afore you meddl'd with 'hem.

Alm.
What an vngratefull wretch is this?

Shv.
Hee minds
A curtesie no more, then London-bridge,
What Arch was mended last.

Fit.
Hee neuer thinkes.
More then a logge, of any grace at Court,
A man may doe him: or that such a Lord
Reach't him his hand.

P. Se.
O yes! if grace would strike
The brewers Tally, or my good Lords hand,
Would quit the scores. But Sir, they will not doe it.
Here's a piece, my good Lord piece, doth all.
He shewes a piece.
Goes to the Butehers. fetches in a muton,
Then to the Bakers, brings in bread, makes fires,
Gets wine, and does more reall Curtesies,
Then all my Lords, I know: My sweet Lord peece!
You are my Lord, the rest are cogging Iacks,
Vnder the Rose.

Shv.
Rogue, I could beat you now,

P. Se.
True Captaine, if you durst beat any other.
I should belieue you, but indeed you are hungry;
You are not angry Captaine, if I know you
Aright; good Captaine. No, Pecunia,
Is to be seene, though Mistresse Band would speake,
Or little Blushet-Waxe, be ne'r so easie,
I'll stop mine eares with her, against the Syrens,
Court, and Philosophy. God be wi you, Gentlemen,
Prouide you better names. Pecunia is for you.

Fit.
What a damn'd Harpy it is? where's Madrigall?
Is he sneek'd hence.

Shv.
Here he comes with Broker,
Madrigall returnes.
Pecunia's Secretary.

Alm.
He may doe some good
With him perhaps. Where ha you beene Madrigall?

Mad.
Aboue with my Ladies women, reading verses.

Fit.
That was a fauour. Good morrow, Master Secretary.

Shv.
Good morrow, Master Vsher.

Alm.
Sir, by both
Your worshipfull Titles, and your name Mas Broker.
Good morrow.

Mad.
I did aske him if hee were
Amphibion Broker.

Shv.
Why?

Alm.
A creature of two natures,
Because hee has two Offices.

Bro.
You may ieere,
You ha' the wits, young Gentlemen. But your hope
Of Helicon, will neuer carry it, heere,
With our fat family; we ha' the dullest,
Most unboar'd Eares for verse amongst our females.
I grieu'd you read so long, Sir, old Nurse Mortgage,
Shee snoar'd i'the Chaire, and Statute (if you mark'd her)
Fell fast a sleepe, and Mistresse Band, shee nodded,
But not with any consent to what you read.
They must haue somwhat else to chinke, then rymes.
If you could make an Epitaph on your Land,
(Imagine it on departure) such a Poem
Would wake 'hem, and bring Waxe to her true temper.

Mad.
I faith Sir, and I will try.

Bro.
'Tis but earth,
Fit to make brickes and tyles of.

Shv.
Pocks vpon't
'Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best.
If it would keepe vs in good tabacco pipes,

Bro.
'Twere worth keeping.

Fit.
Or in porc'lane dishes
There were some hope.

Alm.
But this is a hungry soile,
And must be helpt.

Fit.
Who would hold any Land
To haue the trouble to marle it.

Shv.
Not a gentleman.

Bro.
Let clownes and hyndes affect it, that loue ploughes,
And carts, and harrowes, and are busie still,
In vexing the dull element.

Alm.
Our sweete Songster
Shall rarifie't into ayre.

Fit.
And you Mas. Broker
Shall haue a feeling.

Bro.
So it supple, Sir,
The nerues.

Mad.
O! it shall be palpable,
Make thee runne thorow a hoope, or a thombe-ring,
The nose of a tabacco pipe, and draw
Thy ductile bones out, like a knitting needle,
To serue my subtill turnes.

Bro.
I shall obey. Sir,
And run a thred, like an houre-glasse.

P. Se.
Where is Broker?
Are not these flies gone yet? pray quit my house,
I'le smoake you cut else.

Fit.
O! the Prodigall!
Will you be at so much charge with vs, and losse?

Mad.
I haue heard you ha' offered Sir, to lock vp smoake,
And cauke your windores, spar up all your doores,
Thinking to keepe it a close prisoner wi you,
And wept, when it went out, Sir, at your chimney.

Fit.
And yet his eyes were dryer then a pummise.

Shv.
A wretched rascall, that will binde about
The nose of his bellowes, lest the wind get out
When hee's abroad.

Alm.
Sweepes downe no cobwebs here,
But sells 'hem for cut-fingers. And the spiders,
As creatures rear'd of dust, and cost him nothing,
To fat old Ladies monkeyes.

Fit.
Hee has offerd
To gather vp spilt water, and preserue
Each haire falls from him to stop balls with all.

Shv.
A slaue, and an Idolater to Pecunia!

P. Se.
You all haue happy memories, Gentlemen,
In rocking my poore cradle. I remember too,
When you had lands, and credit, worship, friends,
I, and could giue security: now, you haue none,
Or will haue none right shortly. This can time,
And the vicissitude of things. I haue
All these, and money too, and doe possesse 'hem,
And am right heartily glad of all our memories,
And both the changes.

Fit.
Let vs leaue the viper.

P. Se.
Hee's glad he is rid of his torture, and so soone.
Broker, come hither, vp, and tell your Lady,
Shee must be readie presently, and Statute,
Band, Mortgage, VVax. My prodigall young kinsman
Will streight be here to see her; 'top of our house,
The flourishing, and flanting Peny-boy.
Wee were but three of vs in all the world,
My brother Francis, whom they call'd Franck Peny-boy,
Father to this: hee's dead. This Peny-boy,
Is now the heire! I, Richer Peny-boy,
Not Richard, but old Harry Peny-boy,
And (to make rime) close, wary Peny-boy
I shall haue all at last, my hopes doe tell me.
Goe, see all ready; and where my dogs haue falted,
Remoue it with a broome, and sweeten all
VVith a slice of iuniper, not too much, but sparing,
VVe may be faultie our selues else, and turne prodigall,
In entertaining of the Prodigall.
Here hee is! and with him—what! a Clapper Dudgeon!
That's a good signe; to haue the begger follow him,
So neere at his first entry into fortune.