 | Every Man in his Humour |  |
Act II
Act II, Scene i
[Enter] KITELY, CASH [and] DOWNRIGHTKITELY
There lies a note, within upon my desk;
Here, take my key; it is no matter, neither.
Where is the boy?
CASH
KITELY
And weigh it, with th' pieces of eight. Do you
See the delivery of those silver stuffs,
To Master Lucar. Tell him, if he will,
He shall ha' the grograns, at the rate I told him,
And I will meet him on the Exchange, anon.
CASH
Good, sir.
[Exit]
KITELY
Do you see that fellow, brother Downright?
DOWNRIGHT
Aye, what of him?
KITELY
And christened him, gave him mine own name, Thomas;
Since bred him at the Hospital; where proving
A toward imp, I called him home, and taught him
So much, as I have made him my cashier,
And given him, who had none, a surname, Cash;
And find him in his place so full of faith
That I durst trust my life into his hands.
DOWNRIGHT
As it is like he is--although I knew
Myself his father. But you said y'had somewhat
To tell me, gentle brother: what is't? What is't?
KITELY
As fearing, it may hurt your patience:
But that I know your judgement is of strength,
Against the nearness of affection--
DOWNRIGHT
What need this circumstance? Pray you be direct.
KITELY
Unto your friendship; nor, in what regard
I hold your love; but, let my past behaviour,
And usage of your sister, but confirm
How well I've been affected to your-
DOWNRIGHT
You are too tedious, come to the matter, the matter.
KITELY
My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how,
Of late is much declined in what he was,
And greatly altered in his disposition.
When he came first to lodge here in my house,
Ne'er trust me if I were not proud of him:
Methought he bare himself in such a fashion,
So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage,
And (what was chief) it showed not borrowed in him,
But all he did became him as his own,
And seemed as perfect, proper, and possessed
As breath with life, or colour with the blood.
But, now, his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and deprived of grace,
And he himself withal so far fall'n off
From that first place, as scarce no note remains,
To tell men's judgements where he lately stood.
He's grown a stranger to all due respect,
Forgetful of his friends, and not content
To stale himself in all societies,
He makes my house here common as a mart,
A theatre, a public receptacle
And here (as in a tavern, or a stews)
He and his wild associates spend their hours,
In repetition of lascivious jests;
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night;
Control my servants; and indeed what not?
DOWNRIGHT
'Sdeynes, I know not what I should say to him, i' the whole world! He values me at a cracked three-farthings, for aught I see: it will never out o' the flesh that's bred i' the bone! I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve. But counsel to him is as good as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. Well! He knows what to trust to, 'fore George. Let him spend, and spend, and domineer, till his heart ache; an' he think to be relieved by me, when he is got into one o' your city pounds, the Counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i' faith; and claps his dish at the wrong man's door. I'll lay my hand o' my halfpenny ere I part with't to fetch him out, I'll assure him.
KITELY
Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus.
DOWNRIGHT
'Sdeath, he mads me, I could eat my very spur-leathers, for anger! But why are you so tame? Why do you not speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house?
KITELY
But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it,
(Though but with plain and easy circumstance),
It would both come much better to his sense,
And savour less of stomach, or of passion.
You are his elder brother, and that title
Both gives and warrants you authority;
Which (by your presence seconded) must breed
A kind of duty in him, and regard;
Whereas, if I should intimate the least
It would but add contempt to his neglect,
Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred
That, in the rearing, would come tottering down,
And, in the ruin, bury all our love.
Nay, more than this, brother, if I should speak
He would be ready from his heat of humour,
And overflowing of the vapour in him,
To blow the ears of his familiars
With the false breath of telling what disgraces,
And low disparagements, I had put upon him.
Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,
Make their loose comments upon every word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,
From my flat cap unto my shining shoes;
And, out of their impetuous rioting fant'sies,
And what would that be, think you? Marry, this:
They would give out--because my wife is fair,
Myself but lately married, and my sister
Here sojourning a virgin in my house--
That I were jealous! Nay, as sure as death,
That they would say. And how that I had quarrelled
My brother purposely, thereby to find
An apt pretext to banish them my house.
DOWNRIGHT
Mass, perhaps so: they're like enough to do it.
KITELY
Like one of these penurious quack-salvers,
But set the bills up to mine own disgrace,
And try experiments upon myself;
Lend scorn and envy opportunity
To stab my reputation, and good name-
[Enter] MATTHEW [and] BOBADILL
MATTHEW
I will speak to him--
BOBADILL
Speak to him? Away, by the foot of Pharaoh, you shall not, you shall not do him that grace.
[To Kitely]The time of day to you, gentleman o' the house. Is Master Wellbred stirring?
DOWNRIGHT
How then? What should he do?
BOBADILL
[To Kitely]
Gentleman of the house, it is to you: is he within, sir?
KITELY
He came not to his lodging tonight sir, I assure you.
DOWNRIGHT
[To Bobadill]
Why, do you hear? You.
BOBADILL
The gentleman-citizen hath satisfied me, I'll talk to no scavenger.
[Exeunt MATTHEW and BOBADILL]
DOWNRIGHT
How, scavenger? Stay sir, stay.
KITELY
Nay, brother Downright.
[Restrains him from attacking Bobadill]DOWNRIGHT
'Heart! Stand you away, an' you love me.
KITELY
You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother, good faith you shall not: I will overrule you.
DOWNRIGHT
Ha? Scavenger? Well, go to, I say little; but, by this good day (God forgive me I should swear) if I put it up so, say I am the rankest cow that ever pissed. 'Sdeynes, an' I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet Street again, while I live: I'll sit in a barn, with madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger? 'Heart, and I'll go near to fill that huge tumbrel-slop of yours, with somewhat, an' I have good luck: your Gargantua breech cannot carry it away so.
KITELY
Oh do not fret yourself thus, never think on't.
These are my brother's consorts, these! These are his comrades, his walking mates! He's a gallant, a Cavaliero too, right hangman cut! Let me not live, an' I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole gang of 'em, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well, as he brews, so he shall drink, 'fore George, again. Yet, he shall hear on't, and that tightly too, an' I live, i' faith.
KITELY
Run in an easy current, not o'er-high
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft persuading way
Whose powers will work more gently, and compose
Th'imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim:
More winning than enforcing the consent.
DOWNRIGHT
Aye, aye, let me alone for that, I warrant you. Bell rings
KITELY
Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife
Company till I come; I'll but give order
For some dispatch of business to my servants--
[COB passes by with his tankard]
What, Cob? Our maids will have you by the back, i' faith, for coming so late this morning.
COB
Perhaps so, sir; take heed somebody have not them by the belly, for walking so late in the evening.
[Exit]
KITELY
Though not reposed in that security
As I could wish. But I must be content.
Howe'er I set a face on't to the world,
Would I had lost this finger, at a venture,
So Wellbred had ne'er lodged within my house.
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton gallants, and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long.
Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve
The public weal of chastity, unshaken,
When such strong motives muster, and make head
Against her single peace? No, no. Beware,
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat,
And spirits of one kind, and quality,
Come once to parley, in the pride of blood:
It is no slow conspiracy that follows.
Had answered their affections, all the world
Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold.
Marry, I hope, they ha' not got that start:
For opportunity hath balked 'em yet,
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart.
My presence shall be as an iron bar,
'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:
Yea, every look or glance mine eye ejects
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,
When he forgets the limits of prescription.
[Enter DAME KITELY and BRIDGET]
DAME KITELY
Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rosewater above in the closet. [Exit BRIDGET] Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?
KITELY
[Aside]
An' she have overheard me now?
DAME KITELY
I pray thee, good muss, we stay for you.
KITELY
[Aside]
By heaven I would not for a thousand angels!
DAME KITELY
What ail you sweetheart, are you not well? Speak, good muss.
KITELY
Troth, my head aches extremely, on a sudden.
DAME KITELY
[Feeling his forehead]
Oh, the Lord!
KITELY
How now? What?
DAME KITELY
Alas, how it burns! Muss, keep you warm; good truth, it is this new disease! There's a number are troubled withal! For love's sake, sweetheart, come in, out of the air.
KITELY
[Aside]
How simple, and how subtle are her answers! A new disease, and many troubled with it! Why, true: she heard me, all the world to nothing.
DAME KITELY
I pray thee, good sweetheart, come in; the air will do you harm, in troth.
KITELY
[Aside]
I'll come to you presently: 'twill away, I hope.
DAME KITELY
Pray heaven it do.
[Exit DAME KITELY]
KITELY
But it may well be called poor mortals' plague:
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
The houses of the brain. First, it begins
Solely to work upon the fantasy,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air,
As soon corrupts the judgement; and from thence
Sends like contagion to the memory;
Still each to other giving the infection.
Which, as a subtle vapour, spreads itself,
Confusedly, through every sensive part,
Till not a thought or motion in the mind,
Ah, but what misery 's it, to know this?
Or, knowing it, to want the mind's erection
In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive
(In spite of this black cloud) myself to be,
And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me.
[Exit]
Act II, Scene ii
[Enter] BRAINWORM [disguised as a soldier]BRAINWORM
'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see myself translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace; and yet the lie to a man of my coat is as ominous a fruit as the fico. Oh sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us. So much for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my young, dry foot, over Moorfields to London this morning; now I, knowing of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we that are blue-waiters, and men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motley, you know) have got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the mid-way. If I can but get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, anything, to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, veni, vidi, vici, I may say with Captain Caesar, I am made for ever, i' faith. Well, now must I practice to get the true garb of one of these lance-knights, my arm here, and my
[Enter EDWARD and STEPHEN]--young master! And his cousin, Master Stephen, as I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier!
EDWARD
So sir, and how then, coz?
STEPHEN
[Searching himself]
'Sfoot, I have lost my purse, I think.
EDWARD
How? Lost your purse? Where? When had you it?
STEPHEN
I cannot tell. Stay!
BRAINWORM
'Slid, I am afeared they will know me, would I could get by them.
[Moves aside to conceal himself]EDWARD
What? Ha' you it?
STEPHEN
No, I think I was bewitched, I--
EDWARD
Nay, do not weep the loss, hang it, let it go.
STEPHEN
Oh, it's here: no, an' it had been lost, I had not cared, but for a jet ring Mistress Mary sent me.
EDWARD
A jet ring? Oh, the posy, the posy?
STEPHEN
Fine, i' faith! 'Though fancy sleep, my love is deep.' Meaning that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.
EDWARD
Most excellent!
And then, I sent her another, and my posy was: 'The deeper, the sweeter, I'll be judged by St. Peter.'
EDWARD
How, by St. Peter? I do not conceive that!
STEPHEN
Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre.
EDWARD
Well, there the Saint was your good patron, he helped you at your need: thank him, thank him.
BRAINWORM
[He is come back]
I cannot take leave on 'em, so: I will venture, come what will. Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns for a very excellent good blade, here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, one that (in the better state of my fortunes) scorned so mean a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence, than live with shame; however, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speaks, not myself. This condition agrees not with my spirit--
EDWARD
Where hast thou served?
BRAINWORM
May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? I have been a poor servitor, by sea and land, any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, a gentleman-slave in the galleys, thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maimed, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution.
STEPHEN
How will you sell this rapier, friend?
BRAINWORM
Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgement; you are a gentleman, give me what you please.
STEPHEN
True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend; but what though? I pray you say, what would you ask?
BRAINWORM
I assure you, the blade may become the side or thigh of the best prince in Europe.
EDWARD
Aye, with a velvet scabbard, I think.
STEPHEN
Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat: I'd not wear it as 'tis, an' you would give me an angel.
BRAINWORM
At your worship's pleasure, sir: nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.
STEPHEN
I had rather it were a Spaniard! But tell me, what shall I give you for it? An' it had a silver hilt--
EDWARD
Come, come, you shall not buy it; [To BRAINWORM] hold, there's a shilling fellow, take thy rapier.
STEPHEN
Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so, and there's another shilling, fellow. I scorn to be outbidden. What, shall I walk with a cudgel, like Higginbottom? And may have a rapier, for money?
EDWARD
You may buy one in the city.
STEPHEN
Tut, I'll buy this i' the field, so I will, I have a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.
You shall not buy it, I say.
STEPHEN
By this money, but I will, though I give more than 'tis worth.
EDWARD
Come away, you are a fool.
STEPHEN
Friend, I am a fool, that's granted: but I'll have it, for that word's sake.
[To Brainworm]Follow me, for your money.
BRAINWORM
At your service, sir.
[Exeunt]
Act II, Scene iii
[Enter] KNOWELLKNOWELL
Sent to my son; nor leave t'admire the change
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth,
Within the kingdom, since myself was one.
When I was young, he lived not in the stews,
Durst have conceived a scorn, and uttered it,
On a grey head: age was authority
Against a buffoon; and a man had, then,
A certain reverence paid unto his years,
That had none due unto his life. So much
The sanctity of some prevailed, for others.
But, now, we all are fall'n: youth, from their fear;
And age, from that which bred it, good example.
Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even parents,
That did destroy the hopes in our own children;
Or they not learned our vices in their cradles,
And sucked in our ill customs with their milk.
Ere all their teeth be born, or they can speak,
We make their palates cunning! The first words
We form their tongues with, are licentious jests!
Can it call "whore"? Cry "bastard"? Oh, then, kiss it,
A witty child! Can't swear? The father's darling!
Give it two plums. Nay, rather than't shall learn
No bawdy song, the mother'herself will teach it!
But this is in the infancy, the days
Of the long coat: when it puts on the breeches,
It will put off all this. Aye, it is like:
When it is gone into the bone already.
No, no: this dye goes deeper than the coat,
Or shirt, or skin. It stains, unto the liver
And heart, in some. And rather than it should not,
Note what we fathers do! Look how we live!
What mistresses we keep! At what expense,
In our sons' eyes! Where they may handle our gifts,
Taste of the same provoking meats with us,
To ruin of our states! Nay, when our own
Portion is fled, to prey on their remainder,
We call them into fellowship of vice!
Bait 'em with the young chambermaid, to seal!
And teach 'em all bad ways, to buy affection!
This is one path! But there are millions more,
In which we spoil our own with leading them.
Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he,
That travelled with my son, before sixteen,
To show him the Venetian courtesans.
Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made
To my sharp boy, at twelve: repeating still
The rule, 'Get money'; still, 'Get money, boy;
No matter by what means; money will do
More, boy, than my Lord's letter'. Neither have I
Dressed snails or mushrooms curiously before him,
Perfumed my sauces, and taught him to make 'em;
Preceding still, with my grey gluttony,
At all the ordinaries; and only feared
His palate should degenerate, not his manners.
These are the trade of fathers, now! However
My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold
None of these household precedents; which are strong
And swift to rape youth to their precipice.
But, let the house at home be ne'er so clean--
Swept, or kept sweet from filth; nay, dust, and cobwebs--
If he will live abroad, with his companions,
In dung, and leystalls; it is worth a fear.
Nor is the danger of conversing less
Than all that I have mentioned of example.
[Enter BRAINWORM, still disguised]
BRAINWORM
[Aside]
My master? Nay, faith, have at you: I am fleshed now, I have sped so well.
[To Knowell]Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor soldier; I am ashamed of this base course of life (God's my comfort) but extremity provokes me to't, what remedy?
KNOWELL
I have not for you, now.
BRAINWORM
By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.
KNOWELL
'Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.
BRAINWORM
Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer (a matter of small value); the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful; sweet worship--
Nay, an' you be so importunate--
BRAINWORM
Oh, tender sir, need will have his course: I was not made to this vile use! Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me so much. It's hard when a man hath served in his Prince's cause, and be thus-- He weeps Honourable worship, let me derive a small piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of time, by this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper, I had sucked the hilts long before, I am a pagan else: sweet honour.
KNOWELL
To think a fellow of thy outward presence
Should (in the frame and fashion of his mind)
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base!
Art thou a man? And sham'st thou not to beg?
To practice such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy election.
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
Or honest labour: nay, what can I name,
But would become thee better than to beg?
But men of thy condition feed on sloth,
As doth the beetle, on the dung she breeds in,
Not caring how the metal of your minds
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
Now, afore me, whate'er he be that should
Relieve a person of thy quality,
While thou insist's in this loose desperate course,
I would esteem the sin, not thine, but his.
BRAINWORM
Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so--
KNOWELL
Aye, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.
BRAINWORM
Alas, sir, where should a man seek? In the wars, there's no ascent by desert in these days, but--and for service, would it were as soon purchased, as wished for (the air's my comfort). I know what I would say--
KNOWELL
What's thy name?
BRAINWORM
Please you, Fitz-sword, sir.
KNOWELL
Say that a man should entertain thee now,
Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true?
BRAINWORM
Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier--
KNOWELL
Speak plainly man: what thinkst thou of my words?
BRAINWORM
Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy, as my service should be honest.
Will carry a proportion to thy words.
BRAINWORM
Yes sir, straight, I'll but garter my hose.
[Exit KNOWELL]Oh that my belly were hooped now, for I am ready to burst with laughing! Never was bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus? Now shall I be possessed of all his counsels; and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is resolved to prove my honesty; faith, and I am resolved to prove his patience: oh, I shall abuse him intolerably. This small piece of service will bring him clean out of love with the soldier, forever. He will never come within the sign of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters at Mile End for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world think me a bad counterfeit if I cannot give him the slip, at an instant; why, this is better than to have stayed his journey! Well, I'll follow him: oh, how I long to be employed.
[Exit]
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