University of Virginia Library

Bot. A Door-keeper, sitting with a Box on one side of the Stage.
To him Thrift a Citizen.
Thrift.
Now for a good bargain, What will you take
To let me in to the play?

Bolt.
A shilling Sir.

Thri.
Come, here's a groat, I'le not make many words.
Thou hast just got my trick for all the world,
I alwayes use to ask just twice as much
As a thing's worth: then some pretend to have
Skill in my wares, by bidding of me half.
But when I meet a man of judgement, as
You have done now, they bid as neer to th' price,
As if they knew my mark. Use me, as you
Do hope to have my custome other times.

Bolt.
In troth Sir I can't take it.

Thri.
Should I go
Away, I know you'd call me back again.
I hate this dodging: What's your lowest price?

Bolt.
I told you at first word.

Thri.
What a shilling?
Why, I have known some Aldermen that did
Begin with twelve pense: and for half so much
I saw six motions last Bartholomew. Fair.

Bolt.
When you have seen this play, you'l think it worth
Your money.

Thri.
Well then take this groat in earnest,
If I do like it you shall have the rest.

Bolt.
This is no market or exchange, pray keep
Your acry groat that's thinner then a shadow
To mend your Worships shoes, it is more crackt
Then an old Beaver or a Chambermaid.

Thri.
Well, since you will exact, and stretch your Conscince,
Here's a nine pense and four pense half-peny,
Give me the rest again.

Bolt.
There.

Thri.
Now for this
When I come home I'le go unto my book,
And set a figure to each single Cipher;
I'le cheat a shilling in a peny, and
A pound in twelve pense. When will it begin?

Bolt.
Presently Sir.

Thri.
Thou once didst tell me so
When the first Act was almost done.

Bolt.
Why then
They presently began to make an end.

Enter Spruce, a Courtier.
Spruce.
How oft has't sounded?

Bolt.
Thrice an't please you Sir.

Thri.
Sir, by your powdred hair, and gawdy cloaths
I do presume you are a Courtier.
Pray Sir, if I may be so bold to ask,
And, if you go on Tick here too,
What did it cost you to come in? When you
Do buy of us, you of all Gentlemen
Have still the cheapest penyworths.

Spru.
Are you
A Tradesman?

Thri.
Sir, I am a Citizen,
I alwayes do observe that Courtiers
Know Tradesmen when they are a whole street off,
But not when they are neer.

Spru.
'Tis true, there must
Be a due distance 'twixt the sight and object.
With what variety of wares is your
Shop furnished.

Thri.
Imprimis, with a fair Wife
And Prentice. Item, with Knots and Phansies
Of all fashions, and twenty other toyes.
There is a Courtier Sir that owes to me
Two thousand pound for Garters and for Roses.
Faith Sir, and if you would bring a fashion up,
And hang some Ribboning round about your Hat
As well as in one place, you should finde me
And my Wife thankfull.

Spru.
'Twould be too Pedlar-like.

Enter Spark, an Inns of Court-man.
Spar.
What's there, a Courtier and a Citizen?
Such a conjunction is enough to make
A grand Eclipse. Sure th' one did never see
Th' other before, 'cause they are now so great.

Mr. Spruce.
I am your humble servant.

Spru.
Your Balzack. Mr. Spark. What God hath bless'd
Me with this happinesse, the sight of you?

Spar.
Faith Sir fasting night, and I did chuse
Rather to spend my money at a Play,
Then at the Ordnary: I now esteem
My choice as policy, since 'tis my fortune
To sit neer you: If the Play should prove dull
Your company will satisfie my ears.

Enter Landlord, a Country Gentleman
Landl.
God save you Gentlemen, 'tis my ambition
To occupy a place neer you: there are
None that be worthy of my company
In any room beneath the twelve peny.
I've sate with Judges on the Bench, and frown'd
As sowrely upon things I did not know,
As any Lawyer does on a poor Client:
I have found fault with very good Sermons
In my daies, and now I desire that we
May passe our sentences upon this Play.

Thri.
With all my heart. O that I had my Gown!

Spar.
Dare you presume to censure Poetry?
'Tis the Prerogative of the wits in Town,
'Cause you have read perhaps a Statute-Book,
And been High-Constable, do y' think you know
The Laws of Comedy and Tragedy?
Prethee, what kinde of Beast is Helicon?
You may have skill in Horse and Sheep, and yet
Know neither Pegasus, nor Pastorals.
Alas you're ignorant of any stile
But what stands in a hedge; you never heard
Of more then the four humours of the body;
Nor did you ever understand a Plot,
Unlesse that grand one of the Powder-Treason.
You've worn perchance a pair of Spatterdashers,
But scarce e're saw a Buskin; and my Nose,
Tells me your feet did never yet wear Socks.

Spru.
And you too would usurp Apollo's Chair,
As if th' Exchange did ever breed a wit.
Though you can give words soft and smooth, as is
Your Sattin Ribbon, yet your speech is harsh
To the round language of the Theater,
'Cause you sell Phansies, and can cast account,
Do y' think your brain conceives Poetique Numbers?
You cannot tell, if you were ask'd the question,
Whether a Metaphor be flesh or fish;
You may perchance have judgement to discerne
What Puppet dances well, or understand
Which Juglers mouth is best at the Bay-leafe,
But who deserves the Lawrell wreath, you know
No more, then you do know which Land i'th' field
Bears Barley, and which Wheat, which Rye, which Oats.

Spar.
'Cause you will be prodigious, and aim
At Wit, a thing I never heard of, till
I came to th' Temple, prethee inform me,
What part you think essentiall to a Play?
And what in your opinion is stil'd Wit.

Landl.
Why I would have the Fool in every Act,
Be't Comedy, or Tragedy, I 'ave laugh'd
Untill I cry'd again, to see what Faces
The Rogue will make: O it does me good
To see him hold out's Chin hang down his hands,
And twirle his Bawble. There is nere a part
About him but breaks jests. I heard a fellow
Once on this Stage cry, Doodle, Doodle, Dooe,
Beyond compare; I'de give the other shilling
To see him act the Changling once again.

Thri.
And so would I, his part has all the wit,
For none speaks Craps and Quibbles besides him:
I'd rather see him leap, laugh, or cry,
Then hear the gravest Speech in all the Play.
I never saw Rheade peeping through the Curtain,
But ravishing joy enter'd into my heart.

Spar.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! To see how their wits jump,
'Tis hard to tell which is the verier Fool,
The Country Gentleman, or Citizen:
Your judgements are ridiculous and vain
As your Forefathers, whose dull intellect
Did nothing understand but fools and fighting;
'Twill hardly enter into my belief
That ye are of this Age, sure ye are Ghosts.
The Poets now have with their heavenly fire
Purg'd their inventions of those grosser follies,
And with sublime conceits enrich'd the Stage:
Instead of loose lascivious mirth, they bring
Ingenious raptures, which do please, not tickle,
And rather move us to admire, then laugh.
The Motly Coat was banish'd with Trunk Hose,
And since their wits grew sharp, the Swords are sheath'd.

Spru.
Then playing upon words is as much out
Of fashion here, as Pepper is at Court.

Landl.
Well, since there will be nere a fool i'th' Play,
I'le have my money again; the Comedy
Will be as tedious to me, as a Sermon,
And I do fear that I shall fall asleep,
And give my twelve pense to be melancholy.

Spar.
Nay, ne're fear that, for on my word you shall
Have mirth, although there be no Changlings part.

Landl,
Well, I will stay it out, though't only be
That I may view the Ladies, and they me.

Thri.
Sir, was't a Poet, or a Gentleman
That writ this play? The Court, and Inns of Court,
Of late bring-forth more wit, then all the Tavernes,
Which makes me pity Play-Rights; they were poore
Before, even to a Proverb; Now their trade
Must needs go down, when so many set up.
I do not think but I shall shortly see
One Poet sue to keep the door, another
To be prompter, a third to snuff the candles.
Pray Sir, has any Gentleman of late
Beg'd the Monopoly of Comedies?

Spar.
No: But of late the Poets having drown'd
Their brains in Sack, are grown so dull and lazy,
That they may be the subjects of a Play,
Rather then the Authors: They have left to invoke
Thalia now, and only call on Drawers:
They quite neglect Apollo's Sacred Reed
Which warbles forth Diviner Harmony,
And use alone the dumb Tobacco-pipe.
Now lest the Stage should only entertain
The Auditors with cold meats, (which are grown
Mouldy and stale, as was the Usurers Pye
Which came to the Table 'bove an hundred times,
Untill at last it crept away it self.)
Some of our Tribe, neither fot gain, nor fame,
But out of free and well-meant charity,
Devote their vacant minutes to the Muses,
Preferring them before Balcony Ladies,
And other fonder vanities of this Age.

Thri.
Courtiers, I think, have little else to do;
So to be idle, is in them a vertue:
But I do fear that writing Playes, will make
Our Inns of Court-men Truants in the Law.
Shortly they will be Ovid-like, who could
Not chuse but put Indentures into Verse.
E're I am Sheriff, I warrant we shall have
Master-Recorder rhime upon the Bench.

Landl.
It was a Comedy, they say, that first
Did make the Lawyer call'd, an Ignoramus.

Spar.
To put on Lock or Buskin on our feet
Is not our study, but recreation,
When we are tir'd with reading Littleton,
Penning a Scene does more refresh our brain
Then Sack, or Hide-Park ayr, Poetry is
The sawce that makes severer meats digest,
And turns rude Barbarism into delight.

Thri.
Sir, I have heard 'um say, that Poets may
Write without Ink rather then Wine.

Landl.
And I
Have heard that 'tis as hard to make a Play
Without Canary, as it is to make
A Cheese without Runnet: Tobacco leafs
Do more inspire, then all the leafs of books.

Thri.
How then does Sack injure our Poers Brains?

Spru.
Still are you muffled up in ignorance;
Do you not know too much excesse may turn
The greatest Antidote to deadly poyson?

Spar.
Loud Musique sounds.

Landl.
Now it chimes
All in, to the Play, the Peals were rung before.

Pro.
Must alwayes I a Hearer only be?

He being out, is laught at, by Spark. Thrift. Spruce. Landl.
Pro.
Pox take the Prompter,

Exit.
Enter another to speak the Prologue.
Pro.
Must alwayes I a Hearer only be?
Mayn't a Spectator write a Comedy?

He being out, looks in his hat, at which an Actor plac't in the Pit, laughs.
Pro.
Let him that laughs speak the Prologue for me.
Exit.
The Actor in the Pit laughs again, saying:
Faith Gentlemen, I'le leave your company,
Since none will do the Author Justice, I
Will something vent, though't be ex tempore.

Exit.
Spar.
I do not think but some poor Hackney Poet
Has hir'd the Players to be out upon
Suspition, that they are abus'd i'th' Prologue.

Spru.
Perhaps our presence daunteth them, let us
Retire into some private room, for fear
The third man should be out.

Spar.
A match.

Exeunt Spru. Spar.
Landl.
I'le follow them, though't be into a Box.
Though they did sit thus open on the Stage
To shew their Cloak and Sute, yet I did think
At last they would take sanctuary 'mongst
The Ladies, lest some Creditor should spy them.
'Tis better looking o're a Ladies head,
Or through a Lettice-window, then a grate.
Exit. Land.

Thri.
And I will hasten to the money Box,
And take my shilling out again, for now
I have considered that it is too much;
I'le go to th' Bull, or Fortune, and there see
A Play for two pense, with a Jig to boot.

Exit.
Enter the Actor that was in the Pit.
Actor.
If I too should be out, this answer take,
I do not now so much repeat, as make.