 | Every Man in his Humour |  |
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]
| Every Man in his Humour | |