Every Man in His Humour

   SCENE I.

   ENTER MUSCO, DISGUISED LIKE A SOLDIER.

   MUS.  'Sblood, 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 else my profession loses his grace,
   and yet the lie to a man of my coat is as ominous as the Fico, oh,
   sir, it holds for good policy 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 master intends to follow
   his son dry-foot to Florence, this morning: now I, knowing of this
   conspiracy, and the rather to insinuate with my young master, (for
   so must we that are blue waiters, or men of service do, or else
   perhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motley
   you know:) I have got me afore in this disguise, determining here
   to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the midway; if I can but
   get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, any thing so I can stay his
   journey, Rex Regum, I am made for ever, i'faith: well, now must
   I practise to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights; my
   arm here, and my — God's so, young master and his cousin.

   LOR. JU.  So, sir, and how then?

   [ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]

   STEP.  God's foot, I have lost my purse, I think.

   LOR. JU.  How? lost your purse? where? when had you it?

   STEP.  I cannot tell, stay.

   MUS.  'Slid, I am afraid they will know me, would I could get by
   them.

   LOR. JU.  What! have you it?

   STEP.  No, I think I was bewitched, I.

   LOR. JU.  Nay, do not weep, a pox on it, hang it, let it go.

   STEP.  Oh, it's here; nay, an it had been lost, I had not cared but
   for a jet ring Marina sent me.

   LOR. JU.  A jet ring! oh, the poesie, the poesie!

   STEP.  Fine, i'faith: "Though fancy sleep, my love is deep":
   meaning that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.

   LOR. JU.  Most excellent.

   STEP.  And then I sent her another, and my poesie was:
   "The deeper the sweeter, I'll be judged by Saint Peter."

   LOR. JU.  How, by St. Peter?  I do not conceive that.

   STEP.  Marry, St. Peter to make up the metre.

   LOR JU.  Well, you are beholding to that Saint, he help'd you at
   your need; thank him, thank him.

   MUS.  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's 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:
   howe'er, vouchsafe to remember it is my want speaks, not myself:
   this condition agrees not with my spirit.

   LOR. JU.  Where hast thou served?

   MUS.  May it please you, Signior, in all the provinces of Bohemia,
   Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not?  I have been a poor servitor
   by sea and land, any time this xiiij. years, and follow'd 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 America in the galleys thrice, where I was most dangerously shot
   in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maim'd,
   I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted
   marks of my resolution.

   STEP.  How will you sell this rapier, friend?

   MUS.  Faith, Signior, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a
   gentleman, give me what you please.

   STEP.  True, I am a gentleman, I know that; but what though, I pray
   you say, what would you ask?

   MUS.  I assure you the blade may become the side of the best prince
   in Europe.

   LOR. JU.  Ay, with a velvet scabbard.

   STEP.  Nay, an't be mine it shall have a velvet scabbard, that is
   flat, I'd not wear it as 'tis an you would give me an angel.

   MUS.  At your pleasure, Signior, nay, it's a most pure Toledo.

   STEP.  I had rather it were a Spaniard: but tell me, what shall I
   give you for it? an it had a silver hilt —

   LOR. JU.  Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a
   shilling, friend, take thy rapier.

   STEP.  Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so: what, shall
   I go without a rapier?

   LOR. JU.  You may buy one in the city.

   STEP.  Tut, I'll buy this, so I will; tell me your lowest price.

   LOR. JU.  You shall not, I say.

   STEP.  By God's lid, but I will, though I give more than 'tis
   worth.

   LOR. JU.  Come away, you are a fool.

   STEP.  Friend, I'll have it for that word: follow me.

   MUS.  At your service, Signior.

   [EXEUNT.]

   ACT II.  SCENE II.

   ENTER LORENZO SENIOR.

   LOR. SE.  My labouring spirit being late opprest
   With my son's folly, can embrace no rest
   Till it hath plotted by advice and skill,
   How to reduce him from affected will
   To reason's manage; which while I intend,
   My troubled soul begins to apprehend
   A farther secret, and to meditate
   Upon the difference of man's estate:
   Where is decipher'd to true judgment's eye
   A deep, conceal'd, and precious mystery.
   Yet can I not but worthily admire
   At nature's art: who (when she did inspire
   This heat of life) placed Reason (as a king)
   Here in the head, to have the marshalling
   Of our affections: and with sovereignty
   To sway the state of our weak empery.
   But as in divers commonwealths we see,
   The form of government to disagree:
   Even so in man, who searcheth soon shall find
   As much or more variety of mind.
   Some men's affections like a sullen wife,
   Is with her husband reason still at strife.
   Others (like proud arch-traitors that rebel
   Against their sovereign) practise to expel
   Their liege Lord Reason, and not shame to tread
   Upon his holy and anointed head.
   But as that land or nation best doth thrive,
   Which to smooth-fronted peace is most proclive,
   So doth that mind, whose fair affections ranged
   By reason's rules, stand constant and unchanged,
   Else, if the power of reason be not such,
   Why do we attribute to him so much?
   Or why are we obsequious to his law,
   If he want spirit our affects to awe?
   Oh no, I argue weakly, he is strong,
   Albeit my son have done him too much wrong.

   [ENTER MUSCO.]

   MUS.  My master: nay, faith, have at you: I am flesh'd now
   I have sped so well: Gentleman, 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?

   LOR. SE.  I have not for you now.

   MUS.  By the faith I bear unto God, gentleman, it is no ordinary
   custom, but only to preserve manhood.  I protest to you, a man I
   have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.

   LOR. SE.  I pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.

   MUS.  Good Signior: by Jesu, 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 Signior —

   LOR. SE.  Nay, an you be so importunate —

   MUS.  O Lord, 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.  Signior, 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 am a Pagan else: sweet Signior —

   LOR. SE.  Believe me, I am rapt with admiration,
   To think a man of thy exterior presence
   Should (in the constitution of the mind)
   Be so degenerate, infirm, and base.
   Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg?
   To practise 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.
   Nay, there 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 your condition feed on sloth,
   As doth the Scarab on the dung she breeds in,
   Not caring how the temper of your spirits
   Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
   Now, afore God, whate'er he be that should
   Relieve a person of thy quality,
   While you insist in this loose desperate course,
   I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.

   MUS.  Faith, Signior, I would gladly find some other course,
   if so.

   LOR. SE.  Ay, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.

   MUS.  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 wish'd for, (God's my
   comfort) I know what I would say.

   LOR. SE.  What's thy name?

   MUS.  Please you: Portensio.

   LOR. SE.  Portensio?
   Say that a man should entertain thee now,
   Would thou be honest, humble, just, and true?

   MUS.  Signior: by the place and honour of a soldier —

   LOR. SE.  Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths;
   Speak plainly, man: what thinkst thou of my words?

   MUS.  Nothing, Signior, but wish my fortunes were as happy as
   my service should be honest.

   LOR. SE.  Well, follow me, I'll prove thee, if thy deeds
   Will carry a proportion to thy words.

   [EXIT LOR. SE.]

   MUS.  Yes, sir, straight, I'll but garter my hose; oh, that
   my belly were hoop'd now, for I am ready to burst with
   laughing.  'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to
   betray himself thus? now shall I be possest of all his
   determinations, and consequently 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 for ever.  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 by half: well, I'll follow him.  Oh, how I long
   to be employed.

   [EXIT.]

   ACT II.  SCENE III.

   ENTER PROSPERO, BOBADILLA, AND MATHEO.

   MAT.  Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek
   you too.

   PROS.  Oh, I came not there to-night.

   BOB.  Your brother delivered us as much.

   PROS.  Who, Giuliano?

   BOB.  Giuliano.  Signior Prospero, I know not in what kind
   you value me, but let me tell you this: as sure as God, I
   do hold it so much out of mine honour and reputation, if I
   should but cast the least regard upon such a dunghill of
   flesh; I protest to you (as I have a soul to be saved) I
   ne'er saw any gentlemanlike part in him: an there were no
   more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not
   fancy him, by Phoebus.

   MAT.  Troth, nor I, he is of a rustical cut, I know not how:
   he doth not carry himself like a gentleman.

   PROS.  Oh, Signior Matheo, that's a grace peculiar but to a
   few; "quos aequus amavit Jupiter."

   MAT.  I understand you, sir.

   [ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]

   PROS.  No question you do, sir: Lorenzo! now on my soul,
   welcome; how dost thou, sweet rascal? my Genius!  'Sblood,
   I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the better
   while I live for this; my dear villain, now I see there's
   some spirit in thee: Sirrah, these be they two I writ to
   thee of, nay, what a drowsy humour is this now? why dost
   thou not speak?

   LOR. JU.  Oh, you are a fine gallant, you sent me a rare
   letter.

   PROS.  Why, was't not rare?

   LOR. JU.  Yes, I'll be sworn I was ne'er guilty of reading
   the like, match it in all Pliny's familiar Epistles, and
   I'll have my judgment burn'd in the ear for a rogue, make
   much of thy vein, for it is inimitable.  But I marle what
   camel it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtless
   he was no ordinary beast that brought it.

   PROS.  Why?

   LOR. JU.  Why, sayest thou? why, dost thou think that any
   reasonable creature, especially in the morning, (the sober
   time of the day too) would have ta'en my father for me?

   PROS.  'Sblood, you jest, I hope?

   LOR. JU.  Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, is
   to make a jest on't now: but I'll assure you, my father
   had the proving of your copy some hour before I saw it.

   PROS.  What a dull slave was this!  But, sirrah, what
   said he to it, i'faith?

   LOR. JU.  Nay, I know not what he said.  But I have a
   shrewd guess what he thought.

   PRO.  What? what?

   LOR. JU.  Marry, that thou are a damn'd dissolute villain,
   And I some grain or two better, in keeping thee company.

   PROS.  Tut, that thought is like the moon in the last
   quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrah, I pray thee
   be acquainted with my two Zanies here, thou wilt take
   exceeding pleasure in them if thou hear'st them once, but
   what strange piece of silence is this? the sign of the
   dumb man?

   LOR. JU.  Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may
   make our music the fuller, an he please, he hath his
   humour, sir.

   PROS.  Oh, what is't? what is't?

   LOR. JU.  Nay, I'll neither do thy judgment nor his
   folly that wrong, as to prepare thy apprehension: I'll
   leave him to the mercy of the time, if you can take him:
   so.

   PROS.  Well, Signior Bobadilla, Signior Matheo: I pray
   you know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and
   one that will well deserve your affection, I know not
   your name, Signior, but I shall be glad of any good
   occasion to be more familiar with you.

   STEP.  My name is Signior Stephano, sir, I am this
   gentleman's cousin, sir, his father is mine uncle; sir,
   I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir,
   in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.

   BOB.  Signior, I must tell you this, I am no general
   man, embrace it as a most high favour, for (by the
   host of Egypt) but that I conceive you to be a gentleman
   of some parts, I love few words: you have wit: imagine.

   STEP.  Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.

   MAT.  O Lord, sir, it's your only best humour, sir,
   your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir:
   I am melancholy myself divers times, sir, and then do I
   no more but take your pen and paper presently, and write
   you your half score or your dozen of sonnets at a sitting.

   LOR. JU.  Mass, then he utters them by the gross.

   STEP.  Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure.

   LOR. JU.  I'faith, as well as in measure.

   MAT.  Why, I pray you, Signior, make use of my study,
   it's at your service.

   STEP.  I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant
   you, have you a close stool there?

   MAT.  Faith, sir, I have some papers there, toys of
   mine own doing at idle hours, that you'll say there's
   some sparks of wit in them, when you shall see them.

   PROS.  Would they were kindled once, and a good fire
   made, I might see self-love burn'd for her heresy.

   STEP.  Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?

   LOR. JU.  Oh, ay, excellent.

   PROS.  Signior Bobadilla, why muse you so?

   LOR. JU.  He is melancholy too.

   BOB.  Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable
   piece of service was perform'd to-morrow, being St.
   Mark's day, shall be some ten years.

   LOR. JU.  In what place was that service, I pray you,
   sir?

   BOB.  Why, at the beleaguering of Ghibelletto, where,
   in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen,
   as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach:
   I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best
   leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the
   taking in of Tortosa last year by the Genoways, but that
   (of all other) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit
   that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before
   the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.

   STEP.  So, I had as lief as an angel I could swear as
   well as that gentleman.

   LOR. JU.  Then you were a servitor at both, it seems.

   BOB.  O Lord, sir: by Phaeton, I was the first man that
   entered the breach, and had I not effected it with
   resolution, I had been slain if I had had a million of
   lives.

   LOR. JU.  Indeed, sir?

   STEP.  Nay, an you heard him discourse you would
   say so: how like you him?

   BOB.  I assure you (upon my salvation) 'tis true,
   and yourself shall confess.

   PROS.  You must bring him to the rack first.

   BOB.  Observe me judicially, sweet Signior: they had
   planted me a demi-culverin just in the mouth of the
   breach; now, sir, (as we were to ascend), their master
   gunner (a man of no mean skill and courage, you must
   think,) confronts me with his linstock ready to give
   fire; I spying his intendment, discharged my petronel
   in his bosom, and with this instrument, my poor rapier,
   ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance,
   and put them pell-mell to the sword.

   PROS.  To the sword? to the rapier, Signior.

   LOR. JU.  Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir: but
   did you all this, Signior, without hurting your blade?

   BOB.  Without any impeach on the earth: you shall
   perceive, sir, it is the most fortunate weapon that
   ever rid on a poor gentleman's thigh: shall I tell you,
   sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so:
   tut, I lend no credit to that is reported of them, I
   know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the
   boldlier maintain it.

   STEP.  I marle whether it be a Toledo or no?

   BOB.  A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, Signior.

   STEP.  I have a countryman of his here.

   MAT.  Pray you let's see, sir: yes, faith, it is.

   BOB.  This a Toledo? pish!

   STEP.  Why do you pish, Signior?

   BOB.  A Fleming, by Phoebus!  I'll buy them for a
   guilder a piece, an I'll have a thousand of them.

   LOR. JU.  How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.

   PROS.  Where bought you it, Signior?

   STEP.  Of a scurvy rogue soldier, a pox of God on
   him, he swore it was a Toledo.

   BOB.  A provant rapier, no better.

   MAT.  Mass, I think it be indeed.

   LOR. JU.  Tut, now it's too late to look on it, put it
   up, put it up.

   STEP.  Well, I will not put it up, but by God's foot,
   an ever I meet him —

   PROS.  Oh, it is past remedy now, sir, you must have
   patience.

   STEP.  Whoreson, coney-catching rascal; oh, I could
   eat the very hilts for anger.

   LOR. JU.  A sign you have a good ostrich stomach, cousin.

   STEP.  A stomach? would I had him here, you should see
   an I had a stomach.

   PROS.  It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we go?

   LOR. JU.  A miracle, cousin, look here, look here.

   [ENTER MUSCO.]

   STEP.  Oh, God's lid, by your leave, do you know me, sir?

   MUS.  Ay, sir, I know you by sight.

   STEP.  You sold me a rapier, did you not?

   MUS.  Yes, marry did I, sir.

   STEP.  You said it was a Toledo, ha?

   MUS.  True, I did so.

   STEP.  But it is none.

   MUS.  No, sir, I confess it, it is none.

   STEP.  Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confest it.
   By God's lid, an you had not confest it —

   LOR. JU.  Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.

   STEP.  Nay, I have done, cousin.

   PROS.  Why, you have done like a gentleman, he has
   confest it, what would you more?

   LOR. JU.  Sirrah, how dost thou like him?

   PROS.  Oh, it's a precious good fool, make much on him:
   I can compare him to nothing more happily than a barber's
   virginals; for every one may play upon him.

   MUS.  Gentleman, shall I intreat a word with you?

   LOR. JU.  With all my heart, sir, you have not another
   Toledo to sell, have you?

   MUS.  You are pleasant, your name is Signior Lorenzo,
   as I take it?

   LOR. JU.  You are in the right: 'Sblood, he means to
   catechise me, I think.

   MUS.  No, sir, I leave that to the Curate, I am none of
   that coat.

   LOR. JU.  And yet of as bare a coat; well, say, sir.

   MUS.  Faith, Signior, I am but servant to God Mars
   extraordinary, and indeed (this brass varnish being
   washed off, and three or four other tricks sublated)
   I appear yours in reversion, after the decease of
   your good father, Musco.

   LOR. JU.  Musco, 'sblood, what wind hath blown thee
   hither in this shape?

   MUS.  Your easterly wind, sir, the same that blew
   your father hither.

   LOR. JU.  My father?

   MUS.  Nay, never start, it's true, he is come to town
   of purpose to seek you.

   LOR. JU.  Sirrah Prospero, what shall we do, sirrah?
   my father is come to the city.

   PROS.  Thy father: where is he?

   MUS.  At a gentleman's house yonder by St. Anthony's,
   where he but stays my return; and then —

   PROS.  Who's this?  Musco?

   MUS.  The same, sir.

   PROS.  Why, how com'st thou transmuted thus?

   MUS.  Faith, a device, a device, nay, for the love of God,
   stand not here, gentlemen, house yourselves, and I'll tell
   you all.

   LOR. JU.  But art thou sure he will stay thy return?

   MUS.  Do I live, sir? what a question is that!

   PROS.  Well, we'll prorogue his expectation a little:
   Musco, thou shalt go with us: Come on, gentlemen: nay,
   I pray thee, (good rascal) droop not, 'sheart, an our
   wits be so gouty, that one old plodding brain can outstrip
   us all.  Lord, I beseech thee, may they lie and starve
   in some miserable spittle, where they may never see the
   face of any true spirit again, but be perpetually haunted
   with some church-yard hobgoblin in seculo seculorum.

   MUS.  Amen, Amen.

   [EXEUNT.]

   SCENE I.

   ENTER THORELLO, AND PISO.

   PIS.  He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.

   THO.  Why, what's a clock?

   PIS.  New stricken ten.

   THO.  Hath he the money ready, can you tell?

   PIS.  Yes, sir, Baptista brought it yesternight.

   THO.  Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak.
   [EXIT PISO.]
   Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come,
   Ay, that will be the least: and then 'twill be
   An hour before I can dispatch with him;
   Or very near: well, I will say two hours;
   Two hours? ha! things never dreamt of yet
   May be contrived, ay, and effected too,
   In two hours' absence: well, I will not go.
   Two hours; no, fleering opportunity,
   I will not give your treachery that scope.
   Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd,
   That sets his doors wide open to a thief,
   And shews the felon where his treasure lies?
   Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt
   To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree,
   When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?
   Oh, beauty is a project of some power,
   Chiefly when opportunity attends her:
   She will infuse true motion in a stone,
   Put glowing fire in an icy soul,
   Stuff peasants' bosoms with proud Caesar's spleen,
   Pour rich device into an empty brain:
   Bring youth to folly's gate: there train him in,
   And after all, extenuate his sin.
   Well, I will not go, I am resolved for that.
   Go, carry it again: yet stay: yet do too,
   I will defer it till some other time.

   [ENTER PISO.]

   PIS.  Sir, Signior Platano will meet you there with
   the bond.

   THO.  That's true: by Jesu, I had clean forgot it.
   I must go, what's a clock?

   PIS.  Past ten, sir.

   THO.  'Heart, then will Prospero presently be here too,
   With one or other of his loose consorts.
   I am a Jew if I know what to say,
   What course to take, or which way to resolve.
   My brain (methinks) is like an hour-glass,
   And my imaginations like the sands
   Run dribbling forth to fill the mouth of time,
   Still changed with turning in the ventricle.
   What were I best to do? it shall be so.
   Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy.  Piso.

   PIS.  Sir.

   THO.  Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not.
   Is Cob within?

   PIS.  I think he be, sir.

   THO.  But he'll prate too, there's no talk of him.
   No, there were no course upon the earth to this,
   If I durst trust him; tut, I were secure,
   But there's the question now, if he should prove,
   Rimarum plenus, then, 'sblood, I were rook'd.
   The state that he hath stood in till this present
   Doth promise no such change: what should I fear then?
   Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once.
   Piso, thou mayest deceive me, but I think thou lovest
   me, Piso.

   PIS.  Sir, if a servant's zeal and humble duty may
   be term'd love, you are possest of it.

   THO.  I have a matter to impart to thee, but thou must
   be secret, Piso.

   PIS.  Sir, for that —

   THO.  Nay, hear me, man; think I esteem thee well,
   To let thee in thus to my private thoughts;
   Piso, it is a thing sits nearer to my crest,
   Than thou art 'ware of; if thou should'st reveal it —

   PIS.  Reveal it, sir?

   THO.  Nay, I do not think thou would'st, but if thou
   should'st —

   PIS.  Sir, then I were a villain:
   Disclaim in me for ever if I do.

   THO.  He will not swear: he has some meaning, sure,
   Else (being urged so much) how should he choose,
   But lend an oath to all this protestation?
   He is no puritan, that I am certain of.
   What should I think of it? urge him again,
   And in some other form: I will do so.
   Well, Piso, thou has sworn not to disclose; ay, you
   did swear?

   PIS.  Not yet, sir, but I will, so please you.

   THO.  Nay, I dare take thy word.
   But if thou wilt swear, do as you think good,
   I am resolved without such circumstance.

   PIS.  By my soul's safety, sir, I here protest,
   My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word
   Deliver'd me in compass of your trust.

   THO.  Enough, enough, these ceremonies need not,
   I know thy faith to be as firm as brass.
   Piso, come hither: nay, we must be close
   In managing these actions: So it is,
   (Now he has sworn I dare the safelier speak;)
   I have of late by divers observations —
   But, whether his oath be lawful, yea, or no? ha!
   I will ask counsel ere I do proceed:
   Piso, it will be now too long to stay,
   We'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow.

   PIS.  At your pleasure, sir.

   THO.  I pray you search the books 'gainst I return
   For the receipts 'twixt me and Platano.

   PIS.  I will, sir.

   THO.  And hear you: if my brother Prospero
   Chance to bring hither any gentlemen
   Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word.

   PIS.  Very well, sir.

   THO.  Forget it not, nor be not you out of the way.

   PIS.  I will not, sir.

   THO.  Or whether he come or no, if any other,
   Stranger or else: fail not to send me word.

   PIS.  Yes, sir.

   THO.  Have care, I pray you, and remember it.

   PIS.  I warrant you, sir.

   THO.  But, Piso, this is not the secret I told thee of.

   PIS.  No, sir, I suppose so.

   THO.  Nay, believe me, it is not.

   PIS.  I do believe you, sir.

   THO.  By heaven it is not, that's enough.
   Marry, I would not thou should'st utter it to any
   creature living,
   Yet I care not.
   Well, I must hence: Piso, conceive thus much,
   No ordinary person could have drawn
   So deep a secret from me; I mean not this,
   But that I have to tell thee: this is nothing, this.
   Piso, remember, silence, buried here:
   No greater hell than to be slave to fear.

   [EXIT THO.]

   PIS.  Piso, remember, silence, buried here:
   When should this flow of passion (trow) take head? ha!
   Faith, I'll dream no longer of this running humour,
   For fear I sink, the violence of the stream
   Already hath transported me so far
   That I can feel no ground at all: but soft,
   [ENTER COB.]
   Oh, it's our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now.

   COB.  Fasting days: what tell you me of your fasting days?
   would they were all on a light fire for me: they say the
   world shall be consumed with fire and brimstone in the
   latter day: but I would we had these ember weeks and these
   villainous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then —

   PIS.  Why, how now, Cob! what moves thee to this choler, ha?

   COB.  Collar, sir? 'swounds, I scorn your collar, I, sir,
   am no collier's horse, sir, never ride me with your collar,
   an you do, I'll shew you a jade's trick.

   PIS.  Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar: why, Cob,
   you mistake me.

   COB.  Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well as
   another, sir.

   PIE.  Thy rheum? thy humour, man, thou mistakest.

   COB.  Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what is
   this humour? it's some rare thing, I warrant.

   PIS.  Marry, I'll tell thee what it is (as 'tis generally
   received in these days): it is a monster bred in a man by
   self-love and affectation, and fed by folly.

   COB.  How? must it be fed?

   PIS.  Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed, why,
   didst thou never hear of that? it's a common phrase,
   "Feed my humour."

   COB.  I'll none on it: humour, avaunt, I know you not,
   be gone.  Let who will make hungry meals for you, it shall
   not be I: Feed you, quoth he? 'sblood, I have much ado to
   feed myself, especially on these lean rascal days too,
   an't had been any other day but a fasting day: a plague on
   them all for me: by this light, one might have done God
   good service and have drown'd them all in the flood two or
   three hundred thousand years ago, oh, I do stomach them
   hugely: I have a maw now, an't were for Sir Bevis's horse.

   PIS.  Nay, but I pray thee, Cob, what makes thee so out of
   love with fasting days?

   COB.  Marry, that that will make any man out of love with
   them, I think: their bad conditions, an you will needs know:
   First, they are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for
   they raven up more butter than all the days of the week
   beside: next, they stink of fish miserably: thirdly, they'll
   keep a man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send him
   supperless to bed.

   PIS.  Indeed, these are faults, Cob.

   COB.  Nay, an this were all, 'twere something, but they
   are the only known enemies to my generation.  A fasting
   day no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to rack, poor
   Cobs, they smoke for it, they melt in passion, and your
   maids too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal,
   and eat my own fish and blood: my princely coz,
   [PULLS OUT A RED HERRING.] fear nothing;
   I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be made
   as rich as Golias: oh, that I had room for my tears, I
   could weep salt water enough now to preserve the lives
   of ten thousand of my kin: but I may curse none but
   these filthy Almanacks, for an 'twere not for them, these
   days of persecution would ne'er be known.  I'll be hang'd
   an some fishmonger's son do not make on them, and puts in
   more fasting days than he should do, because he would
   utter his father's dried stockfish.

   PIS.  'Soul, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a stockfish
   else: here is Signior Matheo.

   [ENTER MATHEO, PROSPERO, LORENZO JUNIOR, BOBADILLA,
   STEPHANO, MUSCO.]

   Now must I look out for a messenger to my master.

   [EXEUNT COB AND PISO.]

   ACT III.  SCENE II.

   PROS.  Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, and
   exceedingly well carried.

   LOR. JU.  Ay, and our ignorance maintain'd it as well,
   did it not?

   PROS.  Yes, faith, but was't possible thou should'st not
   know him?

   LOR. JU.  'Fore God, not I, an I might have been join'd
   patten with one of the nine worthies for knowing him.
   'Sblood, man, he had so writhen himself into the habit of
   one of your poor Disparview's here, your decayed, ruinous,
   worm-eaten gentlemen of the round: such as have vowed to
   sit on the skirts of the city, let your Provost and his
   half dozen of halberdiers do what they can; and have
   translated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fine
   easy amble, and made it run as smooth off the tongue as a
   shove-groat shilling, into the likeness of one of these
   lean Pirgo's, had he moulded himself so perfectly, observing
   every trick of their action, as varying the accent: swearing
   with an emphasis.  Indeed, all with so special and exquisite
   a grace, that (hadst thou seen him) thou would'st have sworn
   he might have been the Tamberlane, or the Agamemnon on the
   rout.

   PROS.  Why, Musco, who would have thought thou hadst been
   such a gallant?

   LOR. JU.  I cannot tell, but (unless a man had juggled
   begging all his life time, and been a weaver of phrases
   from his infancy, for the apparelling of it) I think
   the world cannot produce his rival.

   PROS.  Where got'st thou this coat, I marle?

   MUS.  Faith, sir, I had it of one of the devil's near
   kinsmen, a broker.

   PROS.  That cannot be, if the proverb hold, a crafty
   knave needs no broker.

   MUS.  True, sir, but I need a broker, ergo, no crafty
   knave.

   PROS.  Well put off, well put off.

   LOR. JU.  Tut, he has more of these shifts.

   MUS.  And yet where I have one, the broker has ten, sir.

   [ENTER PIS.]

   PIS.  Francisco, Martino, ne'er a one to be found now:
   what a spite's this?

   PROS.  How now, Piso? is my brother within?

   PIS.  No, sir, my master went forth e'en now, but Signior
   Giuliano is within.  Cob, what, Cob!  Is he gone too?

   PROS.  Whither went thy master?  Piso, canst thou tell?

   PIS.  I know not, to Doctor Clement's, I think, sir.  Cob.

   [EXIT PIS.]

   LOR. JU.  Doctor Clement, what's he?  I have heard much
   speech of him.

   PROS.  Why, dost thou not know him? he is the Gonfaloniere
   of the state here, an excellent rare civilian, and a great
   scholar, but the only mad merry old fellow in Europe: I
   shewed him you the other day.

   LOR. JU.  Oh, I remember him now; Good faith, and he hath
   a very strange presence, methinks, it shews as if he stood
   out of the rank from other men. I have heard many of his
   jests in Padua; they say he will commit a man for taking
   the wall of his horse.

   PROS.  Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or any
   thing indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.

   PIS.  Gaspar, Martino, Cob: 'Sheart, where should they be,
   trow?

   [ENTER PISO.]

   BOB.  Signior Thorello's man, I pray thee vouchsafe
   us the lighting of this match.

   PIS.  A pox on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe?
   Francisco, Cob.

   [EXIT.]

   BOB.  Body of me: here's the remainder of seven pound,
   since yesterday was sevennight.  It's your right Trinidado:
   did you never take any, signior?

   STEP.  No, truly, sir; but I'll learn to take it now, since
   you commend it so.

   BOB.  Signior, believe me (upon my relation) for what I
   tell you, the world shall not improve.  I have been in the
   Indies, (where this herb grows) where neither myself nor a
   dozen gentlemen more (of my knowledge) have received the
   taste of any other nutriment in the world, for the space
   of one and twenty weeks, but tobacco only.  Therefore it
   cannot be but 'tis most divine.  Further, take it in the
   nature, in the true kind, so, it makes an antidote, that had
   you taken the most deadly poisonous simple in all Florence it
   should expel it, and clarify you with as much ease as I speak.
   And for your green wound, your Balsamum, and your — are all
   mere gulleries, and trash to it, especially your Trinidado:
   your Nicotian is good too: I could say what I know of the
   virtue of it, for the exposing of rheums, raw humours,
   crudities, obstructions, with a thousand of this kind; but I
   profess myself no quack-salver.  Only thus much; by Hercules,
   I do hold it, and will affirm it (before any Prince in
   Europe) to be the most sovereign and precious herb that ever
   the earth tendered to the use of man.

   LOR. JU.  Oh, this speech would have done rare in an
   apothecary's mouth.

   [ENTER PISO AND COB.]

   PIS.  Ay; close by Saint Anthony's: Doctor Clement's.

   COB.  Oh, oh.

   BOB.  Where's the match I gave thee?

   PIS.  'Sblood, would his match, and he, and pipe, and
   all, were at Sancto Domingo.

   [EXIT.]

   COB.  By God's deins, I marle what pleasure or felicity
   they have in taking this roguish tobacco; it's good for
   nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke
   and embers: there were four died out of one house last
   week with taking of it, and two more the bell went for
   yesternight, one of them (they say) will ne'er escape it,
   he voided a bushel of soot yesterday, upward and downward.
   By the stocks, an there were no wiser men than I, I'd
   have it present death, man or woman, that should but deal
   with a tobacco pipe; why, it will stifle them all in the
   end as many as use it; it's little better than rat's-bane.

   [EXIT PISO.]

   ALL.  Oh, good Signior; hold, hold.

   BOB.  You base cullion, you.

   PIS.  Sir, here's your match; come, thou must needs be
   talking too.

   COB.  Nay, he will not meddle with his match, I warrant
   you; well, it shall be a dear beating, an I live.

   BOB.  Do you prate?

   LOR. JU.  Nay, good Signior, will you regard the humour
   of a fool?  Away, knave.

   PROS.  Piso, get him away.

   [EXIT PISO AND COB.]

   BOB.  A whoreson filthy slave, a turd, an excrement.
   Body of Caesar, but that I scorn to let forth so mean a
   spirit, I'd have stabb'd him to the earth.

   PROS.  Marry, God forbid, sir.

   BOB.  By this fair heaven, I would have done it.

   STEP.  Oh, he swears admirably; (by this fair heaven!)
   Body of Caesar: I shall never do it, sure (upon my salvation).
   No, I have not the right grace.

   MAT.  Signior, will you any?  By this air, the most divine
   tobacco as ever I drunk.

   LOR. JU.  I thank you, sir.

   STEP.  Oh, this gentleman doth it rarely too, but nothing
   like the other.  By this air, as I am a gentleman: By Phoebus.

   [EXIT BOB. AND MAT.]

   MUS.  Master, glance, glance: Signior Prospero.

   STEP.  As I have a soul to be saved, I do protest —

   PROS.  That you are a fool.

   LOR. JU.  Cousin, will you any tobacco?

   STEP.  Ay, sir: upon my salvation.

   LOR. JU.  How now, cousin?

   STEP.  I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no soldier indeed.

   PROS.  No, Signior, as I remember, you served on a great horse,
   last general muster.

   STEP.  Ay, sir, that's true, cousin, may I swear as I am a
   soldier, by that?

   LOR. JU.  Oh yes, that you may.

   STEP.  Then as I am a gentleman, and a soldier, it is divine
   tobacco.

   PROS.  But soft, where's Signior Matheo? gone?

   MUS.  No, sir, they went in here.

   PROS.  Oh, let's follow them: Signior Matheo is gone to
   salute his mistress, sirrah, now thou shalt hear some of
   his verses, for he never comes hither without some shreds
   of poetry: Come, Signior Stephano.  Musco.

   STEP.  Musco? where?  Is this Musco?

   LOR. JU.  Ay; but peace, cousin, no words of it at any hand.

   STEP.  Not I, by this fair heaven, as I have a soul to be
   saved, by Phoebus.

   PROS.  Oh rare! your cousin's discourse is simply suited,
   all in oaths.

   LOR. JU.  Ay, he lacks nothing but a little light stuff,
   to draw them out withal, and he were rarely fitted to the
   time.

   [EXEUNT.]

   ACT III.  SCENE III.

   ENTER THORELLO WITH COB.

   THO.  Ha, how many are there, sayest thou?

   COB.  Marry, sir, your brother, Signior Prospero.

   THO.  Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?

   COB.  Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass, I know not well,
   there's so many.

   THO.  How? so many?

   COB.  Ay, there's some five or six of them at the most.

   THO.  A swarm, a swarm?
   Spite of the devil, how they sting my heart!
   How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?

   COB.  But a little while, sir.

   THO.  Didst thou come running?

   COB.  No, sir.

   THO.  Tut, then I am familiar with thy haste.
   Ban to my fortunes: what meant I to marry?
   I that before was rank'd in such content,
   My mind attired in smooth silken peace,
   Being free master of mine own free thoughts,
   And now become a slave? what, never sigh,
   Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold,
   'Tis done, 'tis done: nay, when such flowing store,
   Plenty itself falls in my wife's lap,
   The Cornucopiae will be mine, I know.  But, Cob,
   What entertainment had they?  I am sure
   My sister and my wife would bid them welcome, ha?

   COB.  Like enough: yet I heard not a word of welcome.

   THO.  No, their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voice
   Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival,
   Had lost her motion, state, and faculty.
   Cob, which of them was't that first kiss'd my wife?
   (My sister, I should say,) my wife, alas,
   I fear not her: ha? who was it, say'st thou?

   COB.  By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?

   THO.  Oh ay, good Cob: I pray thee.

   COB.  God's my judge, I saw nobody to be kiss'd, unless
   they would have kiss'd the post in the middle of the
   warehouse; for there I left them all, at their tobacco,
   with a pox.

   THO.  How? were they not gone in then ere thou cam'st?

   COB.  Oh no, sir.

   THO.  Spite of the devil, what do I stay here then?
   Cob, follow me.

   [EXIT THO.]

   COB.  Nay, soft and fair, I have eggs on the spit; I cannot
   go yet sir: now am I for some divers reasons hammering,
   hammering revenge: oh, for three or four gallons of vinegar,
   to sharpen my wits: Revenge, vinegar revenge, russet revenge;
   nay, an he had not lien in my house, 'twould never have
   grieved me; but being my guest, one that I'll be sworn my
   wife has lent him her smock off her back, while his own shirt
   has been at washing: pawned her neckerchers for clean bands
   for him: sold almost all my platters to buy him tobacco;
   and yet to see an ingratitude wretch strike his host;
   well, I hope to raise up an host of furies for't: here
   comes M. Doctor.

   [ENTER DOCTOR CLEMENT, LORENZO SENIOR, PETO.]

   CLEM.  What's Signior Thorello gone?

   PET.  Ay, sir.

   CLEM.  Heart of me, what made him leave us so abruptly?
   How now, sirrah; what make you here? what would you
   have, ha?

   COB.  An't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of
   your worship's.

   CLEM.  A neighbour of mine, knave?

   COB.  Ay, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, hard by
   the Green Lattice: I have paid scot and lot there any
   time this eighteen years.

   CLEM.  What, at the Green Lattice?

   COB.  No sir: to the parish: marry, I have seldom scaped
   scot-free at the Lattice.

   CLEM.  So: but what business hath my neighbour?

   COB.  An't like your worship, I am come to crave the
   peace of your worship.

   CLEM.  Of me, knave? peace of me, knave? did I e'er
   hurt thee? did I ever threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?

   COB.  No, God's my comfort, I mean your worship's warrant,
   for one that hath wrong'd me, sir: his arms are at too much
   liberty, I would fain have them bound to a treaty of peace,
   an I could by any means compass it.

   LOR.  Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him?

   COB.  No, sir; but I go in danger of my death every hour by
   his means; an I die within a twelve-month and a day, I may
   swear, by the laws of the land, that he kill'd me.

   CLEM.  How? how, knave? swear he kill'd thee? what pretext?
   what colour hast thou for that?

   COB.  Marry, sir, both black and blue, colour enough, I
   warrant you, I have it here to shew your worship.

   CLEM.  What is he that gave you this, sirrah?

   COB.  A gentleman in the city, sir.

   CLEM.  A gentleman? what call you him?

   COB.  Signior Bobadilla.

   CLEM.  Good: But wherefore did he beat you, sirrah?
   how began the quarrel 'twixt you? ha: speak truly,
   knave, I advise you.

   COB.  Marry, sir, because I spake against their vagrant
   tobacco, as I came by them: for nothing else.

   CLEM.  Ha, you speak against tobacco?  Peto, his name.

   PET.  What's your name, sirrah?

   COB.  Oliver Cob, sir, set Oliver Cob, sir.

   CLEM.  Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail.

   PET.  Oliver Cob, master Doctor says you shall go to the jail.

   COB.  Oh, I beseech your worship, for God's love, dear master
   Doctor.

   CLEM.  Nay, God's precious! an such drunken knaves as you are
   come to dispute of tobacco once, I have done: away with him.

   COB.  Oh, good master Doctor, sweet gentleman.

   LOR. SE.  Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good; master
   Doctor, let me intreat, sir.

   CLEM.  What? a tankard-bearer, a thread-bare rascal, a beggar,
   a slave that never drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in
   his life, and he to deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb so
   generally received in the courts of princes, the chambers of
   nobles, the bowers of sweet ladies, the cabins of soldiers:
   Peto, away with him, by God's passion, I say, go to.

   COB.  Dear master Doctor.

   LOR. SE.  Alas, poor Oliver.

   CLEM.  Peto: ay: and make him a warrant, he shall not go,
   I but fear the knave.

   COB.  O divine Doctor, thanks, noble Doctor, most dainty
   Doctor, delicious Doctor.

   [EXEUNT PETO WITH COB.]

   CLEM.  Signior Lorenzo: God's pity, man,
   Be merry, be merry, leave these dumps.

   LOR. SE.  Troth, would I could, sir: but enforced mirth
   (In my weak judgment) has no happy birth.
   The mind, being once a prisoner unto cares,
   The more it dreams on joy, the worse it fares.
   A smiling look is to a heavy soul
   As a gilt bias to a leaden bowl,
   Which (in itself) appears most vile, being spent
   To no true use; but only for ostent.

   CLEM.  Nay, but, good Signior, hear me a word, hear me a word,
   your cares are nothing; they are like my cap, soon put on,
   and as soon put off.  What? your son is old enough to govern
   himself; let him run his course, it's the only way to make
   him a staid man: if he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a
   drunkard, or a licentious liver, then you had reason: you had
   reason to take care: but being none of these, God's passion,
   an I had twice so many cares as you have, I'd drown them all
   in a cup of sack: come, come, I muse your parcel of a soldier
   returns not all this while.

   [EXEUNT.]