University of Virginia Library

Act. IIII.

Scene. I.

Peny-boy. Iv.
Fitton. Shvnfield. Almanack. Madrigal, Canter. Picklocke.
Come, Gentlemen, let's breath from healths a while.
This Lickfinger has made vs a good dinner,
For our Pecunia: what shal's doe with our selues,
While the women water? and the Fidlers eat?

Fit.
Let's ieere a little.

P. Iv.
Ieere? what's that?

Shv.
Expect, Sr.

Alm.
We first begin with our selues, & then at you,

Shv.
A game we vse.

Mad.
We ieere all kind of persons
We meere withall, of any rancke or quality,
And if we cannot ieere them, we ieere our selues.

P. Ca.
A pretty sweete society! and a gratefull!

Pic.
'Pray let's see some.

Shv.
Haue at you, then Lawyer.
They say, there was one of your coate in Bet'lem, lately,

Alm.
I wonder all his Clients were not there.

Mad.
They were the madder sort.

Pic.
Except, Sir, one
Like you, and he made verses.

Fit.
Madrigall,
A ieere.

Mad.
I know.

Shv.
But what did you doe, Lawyer?
When you made loue to Mistresse Band, at dinner.

Mad.
Why? of an Aduocate, he grew the Clyent.

P. Iv.
Well play'd, my Poet.

Mad.
And shew'd the Law of nature
Was there aboue the Common-Law.

Shv.
Quit, quit,

P. Iv.
Call you this ieering? I can play at this,
'Tis like a Ball at Tennis.

Fit.
Very like,
But we were not well in.

Alm.
'Tis indeed, Sir.
When we doe speake at volley, all the ill
We can one of another.

Shv.
As this morning,
(I would you had heard vs) of the Rogue your Vncle.

Alm
That Mony-bawd.

Mad.
We call'd him a Coat-card
O'the last order.

P. Iv.
What's that? a Knaue?

Mad.
Some readings haue it so, my manuscript
Doth speake it, Varlet.

P. Ca.
And your selfe a Foole
O'the first ranke, and one shall haue the leading
O'the right-hand file, vnder this braue Commander.

P. Iv.
What saist thou, Canter?

P. Ca.
Sir, I say this is
A very wholesome exercise, and comely.
Like Lepers, shewing one another their scabs.
Or flies feeding on vlcers.

P. Iv.
What Newes Gentlemen?
Ha' you any newes for after dinner? me thinks
We should not spend our time vnprofitably.

P. Ca.
They neuer lie, Sir, betweene meales, 'gainst supper
You may haue a Bale or two brought in.

Fit.
This Canter,
Is an old enuious Knaue!

Alm.
A very Rascall!

Fit.
I ha' mark'd him all this meale, he has done nothing
But mocke, with scuruy faces, all wee said.

Alm.
A supercilious Rogue! he lookes as if
He were the Patrico—

Mad.
Or Arch-priest o'Canters,

Shv.
Hee's some primate metropolitan Rascall,
Our shot-clog makes so much of him.

Alm.
The Law,
And he does gouerne him

P. Iv.
What say you, Gentlemen?

Fit.
We say, we wonder not, your man o' Law,
Should be so gracious wi' you; but how it comes,
This Rogue, this Canter!

P. Iv.
O, good words.

Fit.
A fellow
That speakes no language—

Alm.
But what gingling Gipsies,
And Pedlers trade in—

Fit.
And no honest Christian
Can vnderstand—

P. Ca.
Why? by that argument,
You all are Canters, you, and you, and you,
He speakes to all the Ieerers.
All the whole world are Canters, I will proue it
In your professions.

P. Iv.
I would faine heare this,
But stay, my Princesse comes, prouide the while,
I'll call for't anone. How fares your Grace?

Scene. II.

Lickfinger. Pecvnia. Statvte. Band. VVaxe. to them.
Lickfinger
is challeng'd by Madrigal of an argument.
I hope the fare was good.

Pec.
Yes, Lickfinger,
And we shall thanke you for't and reward you.

Mad.
Nay, I'll not lose my argument, Lickfinger;
Before these Gentlemen, I affirme,
The perfect, and true straine of poetry,
Is rather to be giuen the quicke Celler,
Then the fat Kitchin.

Lic.
Heretique, I see
Thou art for the vaine Oracle of the Botle.
The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus.
Thence flowes thy Muses spring, from that hard hoofe:
Seduced Poet, I doe say to thee,
A Boyler, Range, and Dresser were the Fountaines,
Of all the knowledge in the vniuerse.
And they' are the Kitchins, where the Master-Cooke—
(Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou know him,
Till thou hast seru'd some yeeres in that deepe schoole,
That's both the Nurse and Mother of the Arts,
And hear'st him read, interpret, and demonstrate!)
A Master-Cooke! Why, he's the man o' men,
For a Professor! he designes, he drawes,
He paints, he carues, he builds, he fortifies,
Makes Citadels of curious fowle and fish,
Some he dri-dishes, some motes round with broths.
Mounts marrowbones, cuts fifty angled custards,
Reares bulwark pies, and for his outerworkes
He raiseth Ramparts of immortall crust;
And teacheth all the Tacticks, at one dinner:
What Rankes, what Files, to put his dishes in;
The whole Art Military. Then he knowes,
The influence of the Starres vpon his meats,
And all their seasons, tempers, qualities,
And so to fit his relishes, and sauces,
He has Nature in a pot, 'boue all the Chymists,
Or airy brethren of the Rosie-crosse.
He is an Architect, an Inginer,
A Souldiour, a Physician, a Philosopher,
A general Mathematician.

Mad.
It is granted.

Lic.
And that you may not doubt him, for a Poet—

Alm.
This fury shewes, if there were nothing else!
And 'tis diuine! I shall for euer hereafter,
Admire the wisedome of a Cooke!

Ban.
And we, Sir!

P. Iv.
O, how my Princesse drawes me, with her lookes,
Peny-boy is courting his Princesse all the while.
And hales me in, as eddies draw in boats,
Or strong Charybdis ships, that saile too neere
The shelues of Loue! The tydes of your two eyes!
Wind of your breath, are such as sucke in all,
That doe approach you!

Pec.
Who hath chang'd my seruant?

P. Iv.
Your selfe, who drinke my blood vp with your beames,
As doth the Sunne, the Sea! Pecunia shines
More in the world then he: and makes it Spring
Where e'r she fauours! 'please her but to show
Her melting wrests, or bare her yuorie hands,
She catches still! her smiles they are Loue's fetters!
Her brests his apples! her teats Stawberries!
Where Cupid (were he present now) would cry
Fare well my mothers milke, here's sweeter Nectar!
Helpe me to praise Pecunia, Gentlemen:
She's your Princesse, lend your wits,

Fit.
A Lady,
They all beginne the encomium of Pecunia.
The Graces taught to moue!

Alm.
The Houres did nurse!

Fit.
Whose lips are the instructions of all Louers!

Alm.
Her eyes their lights, and riualls to the Starres!

Fit.
A voyce, as if that Harmony still spake!

Alm.
And polish'd skinne, whiter then Venus foote!

Fit.
Young Hebes necke, or Iunoe's armes!

Alm.
A haire,
Large as the Mornings, and her breath as sweete,
As meddowes after raine, and but new mowne!

Fit.
Læda might yeeld vnto her, for a face!

Alm.
Hermione for brests!

Fit.
Flora, for cheekes!

Alm.
And Helen for a mouth!

P. Iv.
Kisse, kisse 'hem, Princesse.

She kisseth them.
Fit.
The pearle doth striue in whitenesse, with her necke,

Alm.
But loseth by it: here the Snow thawes Snow;
One frost resolues another!

Fit.
O, she has
A front too slippery to be look't vpon!

Alm.
And glances that beguile the seers eyes!

Againe.
P. Iv.
Kisse, kisse againe, what saies my man o' warre?

Shv.
I say, she's more, then Fame can promise of her.
A Theame, that's ouercome with her owne matter!
Praise is strucke blind, and deafe, and dumbe with her!
Shee doth astonish Commendation!

P. Iv.
Well pumpt i'faith old Sailor: kisse him too:
She kisseth Captaine Shunfield.
Though he be a slugge. What saies my Poet-sucker!
He's chewing his Muses cudde, I doe see by him.

Mad.
I haue almost done, I want but e'ne to finish.

Fit.
That's the 'ill luck of all his workes still.

P. Iv.
What?

Fit.
To beginne many works, but finish none;

P. Iv.
How does he do his Mistresse work?

Fit.
Imperfect.

Alm.
I cannot thinke he finisheth that.

P. Iv.
Let's heare.

Mad.
It is a Madrigall, I affect that kind
Of Poem, much.

P. Iv.
And thence you ha' the name.

Fit.
It is his Rose. He can make nothing else

Mad.
I made it to the tune the Fidlers play'd,
That we all lik'd so well.

P. Iv.
Good, read it, read it.

Mad.
The Sunne is father of all mettalls, you know,
Siluer, and gold.

P. Iv.
I, leaue your Prologues, say!

SONG.
Madrigal.
As bright as is the Sunne her Sire,
Or Earth her mother, in her best atyre,
Or Mint; the Mid-wife, with her fire,
Comes forth her Grace!
The splendour of the wealthiest Mines!

P. Iv.
That Mint the Midwife does well.

[Mad.]
The stamp, and strength of all imperiall lines,
Both maiesty and beauty shines,
In her sweet face!

Fit.
That's fairely said of Money.

[Mad.]
Looke how a Torch, of Taper light,
Or of that Torches flame, a Beacon bright;

P. Iv.
Good!

Mad.
Now there, I want a line to finish, Sir.

P. Iv.
Or of that Beacons fire, Moone-light:

Fit.
'Tis good.

Mad.

Pic.
Call in the Fidlers. Nicke, the boy shall sing it,
Sweet Princesse, kisse him, kisse 'hem all, deare Madame,
He vrgeth her to kisse them all.
And at the close, vouchsafe to call them Cousins.

Pec.
Sweet Cousin Madrigall, and Cousin Fitton,
My Cousin Shunfield, and my learned Cousin.

P. Ca.
Al-manach, though they call him Almanack.

P. Iv.
Why, here's the Prodigall prostitutes his Mistresse!

P. Iv.
And Picklocke, he must be a kinsman too.
My man o' Law will teach vs all to winne,
And keepe our owne. Old Founder.

P. Ca.
Nothing, I Sir?
I am a wretch, a begger. She the fortunate.
Can want no kindred, wee, the poore know none.

Fit.
Nor none shall know, by my consent.

Alm.
Nor mine,

P. Iv.
Sing, boy, stand here.

P. Ca.
Look, look, how all their eyes
The boy sings the song.
Dance i'their heads (obserue) scatter'd with lust!
At sight o'their braue Idoll! how they are tickl'd,
With a light ayre! the bawdy Saraband!
They are a kinde of dancing engines all!
And set, by nature, thus, to runne alone
To euery sound! All things within, withou them,
Moue, but their braine, and that stands still! mere monsters
Here, in a chamber, of most subtill feet!
And make their legs in tune, passing the streetes!
These are the gallant spirits o'the age!
The miracles o'the time! that can cry vp
And downe mens wits! and set what rate on things
Their half-brain'd fancies please! Now pox vpon 'hem.
See how solicitously he learnes the Iigge,
As if it were a mystery of his faith!

Shv.
A dainty ditty!

Fit.
O, hee's a dainty Poet!
When he sets to't!

P. Iv.
And a dainty Scholler!

They are all struck with admiration.
Alm.
No, no great scholler, he writes like a Gentleman.

Shv.
Pox o'your Scholler.

P. Ca.
Pox o'your distinction!
As if a Scholler were no Gentleman.
With these, to write like a Gentleman, will in time
Become, all one, as to write like an Asse,
These Gentlemen? these Rascalls! I am sicke
Of indignation at 'hem.

P. Iv.
How doe you lik't, Sir?

Fit.
'Tis excellent!

Alm.
'Twas excellently sung!

Fit.
A dainty Ayre!

P. Iv.
What saies my Lickfinger?

Lic.
I am telling Mistresse Band, and Mistresse Statute,
What a braue Gentleman you are, and Waxe, here!
How much 'twere better, that my Ladies Grace,
Would here take vp Sir, and keepe house with you.

P. Iv.
What say they?

Sta.
We could consent, Sr, willingly.

Band.
I, if we knew her Grace had the least liking.

Wax.
We must obey her Graces will, and pleasure.

P. Iv.
I thanke you, Gentlewomen, ply 'hem, Lickfinger.
Giue mother Mortgage, there—

Lic.
Her doze of Sacke.
I haue it for her, and her distance of Hum.

Pec.
Indeede therein, I must confesse, deare Cousin,
The Gallants are all about Pecunia.
I am a most vnfortunate Princesse.

Alm.
And
You still will be so, when your Grace may helpe it.

Mad.
Who'ld lie in a roome, with a close-stoole, and garlick?
And kennell with his dogges? that had a Prince
Like this young Peny-boy, to soiourne with?

Shv.
He'll let you ha' your liberty—

Alm.
Goe forth,
Whither you please, and to what company—

Mad.
Scatter your selfe amongst vs—

P. Iv.
Hope of Pernassus!
Thy Iuy shall not wither, nor thy Bayes,
Thou shalt be had into her Graces Cellar,
And there know Sacke, and Claret, all December,
Thy veine is rich, and we must cherish it.
Poets and Bees swarme now adaies, but yet
There are not those good Tauemes, for the one sort,
As there are Flowrie fields to feed the other.
Though Bees be pleas'd with dew, aske little Waxe
That brings the honey to her Ladyes hiue:
The Poet must haue wine. And he shall haue it.

Scene. IIJ.

Peni-boy. Se.
Peny-boy. Iv. Lickfinger. &c.
Broker? what Broker?

P. Iv.
Who's that? my Vncle!

P. Se.
I am abus'd, where is my Knaue? my Broker?

Lic.
Your Broker is laid out vpon a bench, yonder,
Sacke hath seaz'd on him, in the shape of sleepe.

Pic.
Hee hath beene dead to vs almost this houre.

P. Se.
This houre?

P. Ca.
Why sigh you Sr? 'cause he's at rest?

P. Se.
It breeds my vnrest.

Lic.
Will you take a cup
He strikes the Sacke out of his hand.
And try if you can sleepe?

P. Se.
No, cogging Iacke,
Thou and thy cups too, perish.

Shv.
O, the Sacke!

Mad.
The sacke, the sacke!

P. Ca.
A Madrigall on Sacke!

Pic.
Or rather an Elegy, for the Sacke is gone.

Pec.
VVhy doe you this, Sir? spill the wine, and raue?
For Brokers sleeping?

P. Se.
VVhat through sleepe, and Sacke,
My trust is wrong'd: but I am still awake,
Hee would haue Pecunia home. But shee refuseth. And her Traine.
To waite vpon your Grace, please you to quit
This strange lewd company, they are not for you.

Pec.
No Guardian, I doe like them very well.

P. Se.
Your Graces pleasure be obseru'd, but you
Statute, and Band, and Waxe, will goe with me.

Sat.
Truly we will not.

Ban.
VVe will stay, and wait here
Vpon her Grace, and this your Noble Kinsman.

P. Se.
Noble? how noble! who hath made him noble?

P. Iv.
VVhy, my most noble money hath, or shall;
My Princesse, here. She that had you but kept,
And treated kindly, would haue made you noble,
And wise, too: nay, perhaps haue done that for you,
An Act of Parliament could not, made you honest.
The truth is, Vncle, that her Grace dislikes
Her entertainment: specially her lodging.

Pec.
Nay, say her iaile. Neuer vnfortunate Princesse,
Was vs'd so by a Iaylor. Aske my women,
Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has vs'd me,
Kept me close prisoner, vnder twenty bolts—

Sta.
And forty padlocks—

Ban.
All malicious ingines
A wicked Smith could forge out of his yron:
As locks, and keyes, shacles, and manacles,
To torture a great Lady.

Sta.
H'has abus'd
Your Graces body.

Pec.
No, he would ha' done,
That lay not in his power: he had the vse
Of our bodies, Band, and Waxe, and sometimes Statutes:
But once he would ha' smother'd me in a chest,
And strangl'd me in leather, but that you
Came to my rescue, then, and gaue mee ayre.

Sta.
For which he cramb'd vs vp in a close boxe,
All three together, where we saw no Sunne
In one sixe moneths.

Wax.
A cruell man he is!

Ban.
H'has left my fellow Waxe out, i'the cold,

Sta.
Till she was stiffe, as any frost, and crumbl'd
Away to dust, and almost lost her forme.

Wax.
Much adoe to recouer me.

P. Se.
Women Ieerers!
Haue you learn'd too, the subtill facultie?
Come, I'll shew you the way home, if drinke,
Or, too full diet haue disguis'd you.

Ban.
Troth,
We haue not any mind, Sir, of returne—

Sta.
To be bound back to backe—

Ban.
And haue our legs
Turn'd in, or writh'd about—

Wax.
Or else display'd—

Sta.
Be lodg'd with dust and fleas, as we were wont—

Ban.
And dyeted with dogs dung.

P. Se.
Why? you whores,
My bawds, my instruments, what should I call you,
Man may thinke base inough for you?

P. Iv.
Heare you, vncle.
I must not heare this of my Princesse seruants,
And in Apollo, in Pecunia's roome,
Goe, get you downe the staires: Home, to your Kennell,
As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogges,
The Lares of your family; or beleeue it,
The fury of a foote-man, and a drawer
Hangs ouer you.

Shv.
Cudgell, and pot doe threaten
A kinde of vengeance.

Mad.
Barbers are at hand.

Alm.
Washing and shauing will ensue.

They all threaten,
Fit.
The Pumpe
Is not farre off; If't were, the sinke is neere:
Or a good Iordan.

Mad.
You haue now no money,

Shv.
But are a Rascall.

P. Se.
I am cheated, robb'd
Ieer'd by confederacy.

Fit.
No, you are kick'd
And spurne him.
And vsed kindly, as you should be.

Shv.
Spurn'd,
From all commerce of men, who ate a curre.

Kicke him, out.
Alm.
A stinking dogge, in a dublet, with foule linnen.

Hee exclaimes.
Mad.
A snarling Rascall, hence.

Shv.
Out.

P. Se.
Wel, remember,
I am coozen'd by my Cousin, and his whore!
Banc o'these meetings in Apollo!

Lic.
Goe, Sir,
One of his Dogges.
You will be tost like Block, in a blanket else.

P. Iv.
Downe with him, Lickfinger.

P. Se.
Saucy Iacke away,
Pecunia is a whore.

P. Iv.
Play him downe, Fidlers,
And drown his noise. Who's this!

Fit.
O Master Pyed-mantle!

Scene. IV.

Pyed-mantle. (to them.
Pyed-mantle
brings the Lady Pecunia her pedigree.
By your leaue, Gentlemen.

Fit.
Her Graces Herald,

Alm.
No Herald yet, a Heraldet.

P. Iv.
What's that?

P. Ca.
A Canter.

P. Iv.
O, thou said'st thou'dst sproue vs all so!

P. Ca.
Sir, here is one will proue himselfe so, streight,
So shall the rest, in time.

Pec.
My Pedigree?
I tell you, friend, he must be a good Scholler,
Can my discent. I am of Princely race,
And as good blood, as any is i'the mines,
Runnes through my veines. I am, euery limb, a Princesse!
Dutchesse o' mynes, was my great Grandmother.
And by the Fathers side, I come from Sol.
My Grand-father was Duke of Or, and match'd
In the blood-royall of Ophyr.

Pye.
Here's his Coat.

Pec.
I know it, if I heare the Blazon.

Pye.
He beares
In a field Azure, a Sunne proper, beamy,
Twelue of the second.

P. Ca.
How farr's this from canting?

P. Iv.
Her Grace doth vnderstand ti.

P. Ca.
She can cant, Sr.

Pec.
What be these? Besants?

Pye.
Yes, an't please your Grace.

Pec.
That is our Coat too, as we come from Or.
What line's this?

Pye.
The rich mynes of Potosi.
The Spanish mynes i'the West-Indies.

Pec.
This?

Pye.
The mynes o' Hungary, this of Barbary.

Pec.
But this, this little branch.

Pec.
The Welsh-myne that.

Pec.
I ha' Welsh-blood in me too, blaze, Sir, that Coat.

Pye.
She beares (an't please you) Argent, three leekes vert
In Canton Or, and tassel'd of the first.

P. Ca.
Is not this canting? doe you vnderstand him?

P. Iv.
Not I, but it sounds well, and the whole thing
Is rarely painted, I will haue such a scrowle,
What ere it cost me.

Pec.
VVell, at better leasure,
We'll take a view of it, and so reward you.

P. Iv.
Kisse him, sweet Princesse, and stile him a Cousin.

She kisseth.
Pec.
I will, if you will haue it. Cousin Pyed-mantle.

P. Iv.
I loue all men of vertue, from my Princesse,
Vnto my begger, here, old Canter, on,
On to thy proofe, whom proue you the next Canter?

P. Ca.
The Doctor here, I will proceed with the learned.
VVhen he discourseth of dissection,
Or any point of Anatomy: that hee tells you,
Of Vena caua, and of vena parta,
The Meseraicks, and the Mesenterium.
VVhat does hee else but cant? Or if he runne
To his Iudiciall Astrologie,
And trowle the Trine, the Quartile and the Sextile,
Platicke aspect, and Partile, with his Hyleg
Or Alchochoden, Cuspes, and Horroscope.
Does not he cant? VVho here does vnderstand him?

Alm.
This is no Canter, tho!

P. Ca.
Or when my Muster-Master
Talkes of his Tacticks, and his Rankes, and Files;
His Bringers vp, his Leaders on, and cries,
Faces about to the right hand, the left,
Now, as you were: then tells you of Redoubts,
Of Cats, and Cortines. Doth not he cant?

P. Iv.
Yes, 'faith.

P. Ca.
My Eg-chind Laureat, here, when he comes forth
With Dimeters, and Trimeters, Tetrameters,
Pentameters, Hexameters, Catalecticks,
His Hyper, and his Brachy-Catalecticks,
His Pyrrhichs, Epitrites, and Choriambicks.
What is all this, but canting?

Mad.
A rare fellow!

Shv.
Some begging Scholler!

Fit.
A decay'd Doctor at least!

P. Iv.
Nay, I doe cherish vertue, though in rags.

P. Ca.
And you, Mas Courtier.

P. Iv.
Now he treats of you,
Stand forth to him, faire.

P. Ca.
With all your fly-blowne proiects,
And lookes out of the politicks, your shut-faces,
And reseru'd Questions and Answers that you game with, As
Is't a Cleare businesse? will it mannage well?
My name must not be vs'd else. Here, 'twill dash.
Your businesse has receiu'd a taint, giue off,
I may not prostitute my selfe. Tut, tut,
That little dust I can blow off, at pleasure.
Here's no such mountaine, yet, i'the whole worke!
But a light purse may leuell. I will tyde.
This affayre for you; giue it freight, and passage.
And such mynt-phrase, as 'tis the worst of canting,
By how much it affects the sense, it has not.

Fit.
This is some other then he seemes!

P. Iv.
How like you him?

Fit.
This cannot be a Canter!

P. Iv.
But he is, Sir,
And shall be still, and so shall you be too:
We'll all be Canters. Now, I thinke of it,
A noble Whimsie's come into my braine!
Canters-Colledge, begun to be erected.
I'll build a Colledge, I, and my Pecunia,
And call it Canters Colledge, sounds it well?

Alm.
Excellent!

P. Iv.
And here stands my Father Rector,
And you Professors, you shall all professe
Something, and liue there, with her Grace and me,
Your Founders: I'll endow't with lands, and meanes,
And Lickfinger shall be my Master-Cooke.
What? is he gone?

P. Ca.
And a Professor.

P. Iv.
Yes.

P. Ca.
And read Apicius de reculinaria
To your braue Doxie and you!

P. Iv.
You, Cousin Fitton,
Shall (as a Courtier) read the politicks;
Doctor, Al-manack, hee shall read Astrology,
Shunfield shall read the Military Arts.

That's Madrigall.
P. Ca.
As caruing, and assaulting the cold custard.

P. Iv.
And Horace here, the Art of Poetry.
His Lyricks, and his Madrigalls, fine Songs,
Which we will haue at dinner, steept in claret,
And against supper, sowc't in sacke.

Mad.
In troth
A diuine Whimsey!

Shv.
And a worthy worke,
Fit for a Chronicle!

P. Iv.
Is't not?

Shy.
To all ages.

P. Iv.
And Pyed-mantle, shall giue vs all our Armes,
But Picklocke, what wouldst thou be? Thou canst cant too.

Pic.
In all the languages in Westminster-Hall,
Fleas, Bench, or Chancery. Fee-Farme, Fee-Tayle,
Tennant in dower, At will, For Terme of life,
By Copy of Court Roll, Knights seruice, Homage,
Fealty, Escuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne,
Grand Sergeanty, or Burgage.

P. Iv.
Thou appear'st,
Κατ'εξοχην a Canter. Thou shalt read
All Littletons tenures to me, and indeed
All my Conueyances.

Pic.
And make 'hem too, Sir?
Keepe all your Courts, be Steward o'your lands,
Let all your Leases, keepe your Euidences,
But first, I must procure, and passe your mort-maine
You must haue licence from aboue, Sir.

P. Iv.
Feare not,
Pecunia's friends shall doe it.

P. Ca.
But I shall stop it.
Your worships louing, and obedient father,
Your painefull Steward, and lost Officer!
Here his father discouers himselfe.
Who haue done this, to try how you would vse
Pecunia, when you had her: which since I see,
I will take home the Lady, to my charge,
And these her seruants, and leaue you my Cloak,
To trauell in to Beggers Bush! A Seate,
Is built already, furnish'd too, worth twentie
Of your imagin'd structures, Canters Colledge.

Fit.
'Tis his Father!

Mad.
Hee's aliue, me thinks.

Alm.
I knew he was no Rogue!

P. Ca.
Thou, Prodigall,
Was I so carefull for thee, to procure,
And plot wi' my learn'd Counsell, Master Picklocke,
This noble match for thee; and dost thou prostitute,
Scatter thy Mistresse fauours, throw away
Her bounties, as they were red-burning coales,
Too hot for thee to handle, on such rascalls?
Who are the scumme, and excrements of men?
If thou had'st sought out good, and vertuous persons
Of these professions: I had lou'd thee, and them,
For these shall neuer haue that plea 'gainst me,
Or colour of aduantage, that I hate
Their callings, but their manners and their vices,
A worthy Courtier, is the ornament
Of a Kings Palace, his great Masters honour.
This is a moth, a rascall, a Court-rat,
That gnawes the common-wealth with broking suits,
And eating grieuances! So, a true Souldier,
He is his Countryes strength, his Soueraignes safety,
And to secure his peace, he makes himselfe.
The heyre of danger, nay the subiect of it,
And runnes those vertuous hazards, that this Scarre-crow
Cannot endure to heare of.

Shv.
You are pleasant, Sir.

P. Ca.
With you I dare be! Here is Pyed-mantle,
'Cause he's an Asse, doe not I loue a Herald?
Who is the pure preseruer of descents,
The keeper faire of all Nobility,
Without which all would runne into confusion?
Were he a learned Herald, I would tell him
He can giue Armes, and markes, he cannot honour,
No more then money can make Noble: It may
Giue place, and ranke, but it can giue no Vertue.
And he would thanke me, for this truth. This dog-Leach,
You stile him Doctor, 'cause he can compile
An Almanack; perhaps erect a Scheme
For my great Madams monkey: when 't has ta'ne
A glister, and bewrai'd the Ephemerides.
Doe I despise a learn'd Physician?
In calling him a Quick-Saluer? or blast
The euer-liuing ghirlond, alwaies greene
Of a good Poet? when I say his wreath
Is piec'd and patch'd of dirty withred flowers?
Away, I am impatient of these vlcers,
(That I not call you worse) There is no sore,
Or Plague but you to infect the times. I abhorre
Your very scent. Come, Lady, since my Prodigall
Knew not to entertaine you to your worth,
I'll see if I haue learn'd, how to receiue you,
Hee points him to his patch'd cloake throwne off.
With more respect to you, and your faire traine here.
Farewell my Begger in veluet, for to day,
To morrow you may put on that graue Robe,
And enter your great worke of Canters Colledge,
Your worke and worthy of a Chronicle,

The fourth Intermeane after the fourth Act.

Tatle.

Why? This was the worst of all! the Catastrophe!

Cen.

The matter began to be good, but now: and he has spoyl'd it
all, with his Begger there!

Mirt.

A beggerly Iacke it is, I warrant him, and a kin to the
Poet.

Tat.

Like enough, for hee bad the chiefest part in his play, if you
marke it.

Exp.

Absurdity on him, for a huge ouergrowne Play-maker! why
should he make him liue againe, when they, and we all thought him dead?
If he had left him to his ragges, there had beene an end of him.

Tat.

I, but set a beggar on horse-backe, hee'll neuer linne till hee be
a gallop.

Cen.

The young heyre grew a fine Gentleman, in this last Act!

Exp.

So he did, Gossip: and kept the best company.

Cen.

And feasted 'hem, and his Mistresse!

Tat.

And shew'd her to 'hem all! was not iealous!

Mirth.

But very communicatiue, and liberall, and beganne to be
magnificent, if the churle his father would haue let him alone.

Cen.

It was spitefully done o' the Poet, to make the Chuffe take him
off in his heighth, when he was going to doe all his braue deedes!

Exp.

To found an Academy!

Tat.

Erect a Colledge!

Exp.

Plant his Professors, and water his Lectures.

Mirth.

With wine, gossips, as he meant to doe, and then to defraud
his purposes?

Exp.

Kill the hopes of so many towardly young spirits?

Tat.

As the Doctors?

Cen.

And the Courtiers! I protest, I was in loue with Master
Fitton. He did weare all he had, from the hat-band, to the shooe-tye, so
politically, and would stoop, and leere?

Mirth.

And lie so, in waite for a piece of wit, like a Mouse-trap?

Exp.

Indeed Gossip, so would the little Doctor, all his behauiour was
meere glister! O' my conscience, hee would make any parties physicke
i' the world worke, with his discourse.

Mir.

I wonder they would suffer it, a foolish old fornicating Father,
to ranish away his sonnes Mistresse.

Cen.

And all her women, at once, as hee did!

Tat.

I would ha' flyen in his gypsies faces i' faith.

Mirth.

It was a plaine piece of politicall incest, and worthy to be
brought afore the high Commission of wit. Suppose we were to censure
him, you are the youngest voyce, Gossip Tatle, beginne.

Tatle.

Mary, I would ha' the old conicatcher coozen'd of all he
has, i'the young heyres defence, by his learn'd Counsell, Mr Picklocke!

Censvre.

I would rather the Courtier had found out some tricke
to begge him, from his estate!

Exp.

Or the Captaine had courage enough to beat him.

Cen.

Or the fine Madrigall-man, in rime, to haue runne him out o'
the Countrey, like an Irish rat.

Tat.

No, I would haue Master Pyed-mantle, her Graces Herald,
to pluck downe his hatchments, reuerse his coat-armour, and nullifie
him for no Gentleman.

Exp.

Nay, then let Master Doctor dissect him, haue him open'd, and
his tripes translated to Lickfinger, to make a probation dish of.

Cen., Tat.

Agreed! Agreed!

Mirth.

Faith I would haue him flat disinherited, by a decree of
Court, bound to make restitution of the Lady Pecunia, and the vse of her
body to his sonne.

Exp.

And her traine, to the Gentlemen.

Cen.

And both the Poet, and himselfe, to aske them all forgiuenesse!

Tat.

And vs too.

Cen.

In two large sheetes of paper—

Exp.

Or to stand in a skin of parchment, (which the Court please)

Cen.

And those fill'd with newes!

Mirth.

And dedicated to the sustaining of the Staple!

Exp.

Which their Poet hath let fall, most abruptly?

Mirth.

Banckruptly, indeede!

Cen.

You say wittily, Gossip, and therefore let a protest goe out against
him.

Mir.

A mourniuall of protests; or a gleeke at least!

Exp.

In all our names:

Cen.

For a decay'd wit—

Exp.

Broken—

Tat.

Non-soluent—

Censvre.

And, for euer, forfet—

Mirth.

To scorne, of Mirth?

Cen.

Censure!

Exp.

Expectation!

Tat.

Subsign'd. Tatle, Stay, they come againe.