The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Devil is an Ass, by Ben Jonson.

I haue no ſingular ſeruice of this, now? Nor no ſuperlatiue Maſter? I ſhall wiſh To be in hell againe, at leaſure? Bring, A Vice from thence? That had bin ſuch a ſubtilty, As to bring broad-clothes hither: or tranſport 5 Freſh oranges into Spaine. I finde it, now: My Chiefe was i’ the right. Can any feind Boaſt of a better Vice, then heere by nature, And art, th’are owners of? Hell ne’r owne mee, But I am taken! the fine tract of it 10 Pulls mee along! To heare men ſuch profeſſors Growne in our ſubtleſt Sciences! My firſt Act, now, Shall be, to make this Maſter of mine cuckold: The primitiue worke of darkneſſe, I will practiſe! I will deſerue ſo well of my faire Miſtreſſe, 15 By my diſcoueries, firſt; my counſells after; And keeping counſell, after that: as who, So euer, is one, I’le be another, ſure, I’ll ha’ my ſhare. Most delicate damn’d fleſh! Shee will be! O! that I could ſtay time, now, [116] 20 Midnight will come too faſt vpon mee, I feare, To cut my pleaſure—

M^rs. Fi. Looke at the back-doore, Shee ſends Diuell out. One knocks, ſee who it is.

Pvg. Dainty ſhe-Diuell!

M^rs. Fi. I cannot get this venter of the cloake, Out of my fancie; nor the Gentlemans way, 25 He tooke, which though ’twere ſtrange, yet ’twas handſome, And had a grace withall, beyond the newneſſe. Sure he will thinke mee that dull ſtupid creature, Hee ſaid, and may conclude it; if I finde not Some thought to thanke th’ attemp. He did preſume, 30 By all the carriage of it, on my braine, For anſwer; and will ſweare ’tis very barren, If it can yeeld him no returne. Who is it?

Diuell returnes.

Pvg. Miſtreſſe, it is, but firſt, let me aſſure The excellence, of Miſtreſſes, I am, 35 Although my Maſters man, my Miſstreſſe ſlaue, The ſeruant of her ſecrets, and ſweete turnes, And know, what fitly will conduce to either.

M^rs. Fi. What’s this? I pray you come to your ſelfe and thinke What your part is: to make an anſwer. Tell, 40 Who is it at the doore?

Pvg. The Gentleman, M^rs, Who was at the cloake-charge to ſpeake with you, This morning, who expects onely to take Some ſmall command’ments from you, what you pleaſe, Worthy your forme, hee ſaies, and gentleſt manners. 45

M^rs. Fi. O! you’ll anon proue his hyr’d man, I feare, What has he giu’n you, for this meſſage? Sir, Bid him put off his hopes of ſtraw, and leaue To ſpread his nets, in view, thus. Though they take Maſter Fitz-dottrell, I am no ſuch foule, 50 Nor faire one, tell him, will be had with ſtalking. And wiſh him to for-beare his acting to mee, At the Gentlemans chamber-window in Lincolnes-Inne there, That opens to my gallery: elſe, I ſweare T’acquaint my huſband with his folly, and leaue him 55 To the iuſt rage of his offended iealouſie. Or if your Maſters ſenſe be not ſo quicke To right mee, tell him, I ſhall finde a friend That will repaire mee. Say, I will be quiet. In mine owne houſe? Pray you, in thoſe words giue it him. 60

Pvg. This is ſome foole turn’d!

He goes out.

M^rs. Fi. If he be the Maſter, Now, of that ſtate and wit, which I allow him; Sure, hee will vnderſtand mee: I durſt not Be more direct. For this officious fellow, My husbands new groome, is a ſpie vpon me, 65 I finde already. Yet, if he but tell him This in my words, hee cannot but conceiue [117] Himſelfe both apprehended, and requited. I would not haue him thinke hee met a ſtatue: Or ſpoke to one, not there, though I were ſilent. 70 How now? ha’ you told him?

Pvg. Yes.

M^rs. Fi. And what ſaies he?

Pvg. Sayes he? That which my ſelf would ſay to you, if I durſt. That you are proude, ſweet Miſtreſſe? and with-all, A little ignorant, to entertaine The good that’s proffer’d; and (by your beauties leaue) 75 Not all ſo wiſe, as ſome true politique wife Would be: who hauing match’d with ſuch a Nupſon (I ſpeake it with my Maſters peace) whoſe face Hath left t’accuſe him, now, for’t doth confeſſe him, What you can make him; will yet (out of ſcruple, 80 And a ſpic’d conſcience) defraud the poore Gentleman, At leaſt delay him in the thing he longs for, And makes it hs whole ſtudy, how to compaſſe, Onely a title. Could but he write Cuckold, He had his ends. For, looke you—

M^rs. Fi. This can be 85 None but my husbands wit.

Pvg. My pretious M^rs.

M. Fi. It creaks his Ingine: The groome neuer durſt Be, elſe, so ſaucy—

Pvg. If it were not clearely, His worſhipfull ambition; and the top of it; The very forked top too: why ſhould hee 90 Keepe you, thus mur’d vp in a back-roome, Miſtreſſe, Allow you ne’r a caſement to the ſtreete, Feare of engendering by the eyes, with gallants, Forbid you paper, pen and inke, like Rats-bane. Search your halfe pint of muſcatell, leſt a letter 95 Be ſuncke i’ the pot: and hold your new-laid egge Againſt the fire, leſt any charme be writ there? Will you make benefit of truth, deare Miſtreſſe, If I doe tell it you: I do’t not often? I am ſet ouer you, imploy’d, indeed, 100 To watch your ſteps, your lookes, your very breathings, And to report them to him. Now, if you Will be a true, right, delicate ſweete Miſtreſſe, Why, wee will make a Cokes of this Wiſe Maſter, We will, my Miſtreſſe, an abſolute fine Cokes, 105 And mock, to ayre, all the deepe diligences Of ſuch a ſolemne, and effectuall Aſſe, An Aſſe to ſo good purpoſe, as wee’ll vſe him. I will contriue it ſo, that you ſhall goe To Playes, to Maſques, to Meetings, and to Feaſts. 110 For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Miſtris, If you neat handſome veſſells, of good ſayle, Put not forth euer, and anon, with your nets Abroad into the world. It is your fiſhing. [118] There, you ſhal chooſe your friends, your ſeruants, Lady, Your ſquires of honour; I’le conuey your letters, 116 Fetch anſwers, doe you all the offices, That can belong to your bloud, and beauty. And, For the variety, at my times, although I am not in due ſymmetrie, the man 120 Of that proportion; or in rule Of phyſicke, of the iuſt complexion: Or of that truth of Picardill, in clothes, To boaſt a ſoueraignty o’re Ladies: yet I know, to do my turnes, ſweet Miſtreſſe. Come, kiſſe—

M^rs. Fi. How now!

Pvg. Deare delicate Miſt. I am your ſlaue, 126 Your little worme, that loues you: your fine Monkey; Your Dogge, your Iacke, your Pug, that longs to be Stil’d, o’ your pleaſures.

M^rs. Fit. Heare you all this? Sir, Pray you, Come from your ſtanding, doe, a little, ſpare 130 Shee thinkes her huſband watches. Your ſelfe, Sir, from your watch, t’applaud your Squire, That ſo well followes your inſtructions!

How now, ſweet heart? what’s the matter?

M^rs. Fi. Good! You are a ſtranger to the plot! you ſet not Your fancy Diuell, here, to tempt your wife, With all the inſolent vnciuill language, Or action, he could vent?

Fit. Did you so, Diuell? 5

M^rs. Fit. Not you? you were not planted i’ your hole to heare him, Vpo’ the ſtayres? or here, behinde the hangings? I doe not know your qualities? he durſt doe it, And you not giue directions?

Fit. You shall ſee, wife, Whether he durſt, or no: and what it was, 10 I did direct.

Her huſband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgell vpon him.

Pvg. Sweet Miſtreſſe, are you mad?

Fit. You moſt mere Rogue! you open manifeſt Villaine! You Feind apparant you! you declar’d Hel-hound!

Pvg. Good S^r.

Fit. Good Knaue, good Raſcal, and good Traitor. Now, I doe finde you parcel-Diuell, indeed. 15 Vpo’ the point of truſt? I’ your firſt charge? The very day o’ your probation? To tempt your Miſtreſſe? You doe ſee, good wedlocke, How I directed him.

M^rs. Fit. Why, where S^r? were you? [119]

Fit. Nay, there is one blow more, for exerciſe: 20 After a pause. He ſtrikes him againe I told you, I ſhould doe it.

Pvg. Would you had done, Sir.

Fit. O wife, the rareſt man! yet there’s another To put you in mind o’ the laſt, ſuch a braue man, wife! Within, he has his proiects, and do’s vent ’hem, and againe. The gallanteſt! where you tentiginous? ha? 25 Would you be acting of the Incubus? Did her ſilks ruſtling moue you?

Pvg. Gentle Sir.

Fit. Out of my ſight. If thy name were not Diuell, Thou ſhouldſt not ſtay a minute with me. In, Goe, yet ſtay: yet goe too. I am reſolu’d. 30 What I will doe: and you ſhall know’t afore-hand. Soone as the Gentleman is gone, doe you heare? I’ll helpe your liſping. Wife, ſuch a man, wife! Diuell goes out. He has ſuch plots! He will make mee a Duke! No leſſe, by heauen! ſix Mares, to your coach, wife! 35 That’s your proportion! And your coach-man bald! Becauſe he ſhall be bare, inough. Doe not you laugh, We are looking for a place, and all, i’ the map What to be of. Haue faith, be not an Infidell. You know, I am not eaſie to be gull’d. 40 I ſweare, when I haue my millions, elſe. I’ll make Another Dutcheſſe: if you ha’ not faith.

M^rs. Fi. You’ll ha’ too much, I feare, in theſe falſe ſpirits.

Fit. Spirits? O, no such thing! wife! wit, mere wit! This man defies the Diuell, and all his works! 45 He dos’t by Ingine, and deuiſes, hee! He has his winged ploughes, that goe with ſailes, Will plough you forty acres, at once! and mills. Will ſpout you water, ten miles off! All Crowland Is ours, wife; and the fens, from vs, in Norfolke, 50 To the vtmoſt bound of Lincoln-ſhire! we haue view’d it, And meaſur’d it within all; by the ſcale! The richeſt tract of land, Loue, i’ the kingdome! There will be made ſeuenteene, or eighteene millions; Or more, as’t may be handled! wherefore, thinke, 55 Sweet heart, if th’ haſt a fancy to one place, More then another, to be Dutcheſſe of; Now, name it: I will ha’t what ere it coſt, (If’t will be had for money) either here, 59 Or’n France, or Italy.

M^rs. Fi. You ha’ ſtrange phantaſies!

Where are you, Sir?

Fit. I ſee thou haſt no talent [120] This way, wife. Vp to thy gallery; doe, Chuck, Leaue vs to talke of it, who vnderſtand it.

Mer. I thinke we ha’ found a place to fit you, now, Sir. Gloc’ſter.

Fit. O, no, I’ll none!

Mer. Why, S^r?

Fit. Tis fatall. 5

Mer. That you ſay right in. Spenſer, I thinke, the younger, Had his laſt honour thence. But, he was but Earle.

Fit. I know not that, Sir. But Thomas of Woodſtocke, I’m ſure, was Duke, and he was made away, At Calice; as Duke Humphrey was at Bury: 10 And Richard the third, you know what end he came too.

Mer. By m’faith you are cunning i’ the Chronicle, Sir.

Fit. No, I confeſſe I ha’t from the Play-bookes, And thinke they’are more authentique.

Ing. That’s ſure, Sir.

Mer. What ſay you (to this then)

He whiſpers him of a place.

Fit. No, a noble houſe. 15 Pretends to that. I will doe no man wrong.

Mer. Then take one propoſition more, and heare it As paſt exception.

Fit. What’s that?

Mer. To be Duke of thoſe lands, you ſhall recouer; take Your title, thence, Sir, Duke of the Drown’d lands, 20 Or Drown’d-land.

Fit. Ha? that laſt has a good ſound! I like it well. The Duke of Drown’d-land?

Ing. Yes; It goes like Groen-land, Sir, if you marke it.

Mer. I, And drawing thus your honour from the worke, You make the reputation of that, greater; 25 And ſtay’t the longer i’ your name.

Fit. ’Tis true. Drown’d-lands will liue in Drown’d-land!

Mer. Yes, when you Ha’ no foote left; as that muſt be, Sir, one day. And, though it tarry in your heyres, some forty, Fifty deſcents, the longer liuer, at laſt, yet, 30 Muſt thruſt ’hem out on’t: if no quirk in law, Or odde Vice o’ their owne not do’it firſt. Wee ſee thoſe changes, daily: the faire lands, That were the Clyents, are the Lawyers, now: And thoſe rich Mannors, there, of good man Taylors, 35 Had once more wood vpon ’hem, then the yard, By which th’ were meaſur’d out for the laſt purchaſe. [121] Nature hath theſe viciſſitudes. Shee makes No man a ſtate of perpetuety, Sir.

Fit. Yo’ are i’ the right. Let’s in then, and conclude. 40 Hee ſpies Diuell. I my ſight, againe? I’ll talke with you, anon.

Svre hee will geld mee, if I stay: or worſe, Pluck out my tongue, one o’ the two. This Foole, There is no truſting of him: and to quit him, Were a contempt againſt my Chiefe, paſt pardon. It was a ſhrewd diſheartning this, at firſt! 5 Who would ha’ thought a woman ſo well harneſs’d, Or rather well-capariſon’d, indeed, That weares ſuch petticoates, and lace to her ſmocks, Broad ſeaming laces (as I ſee ’hem hang there) And garters which are loſt, if ſhee can ſhew ’hem, 10 Could ha’ done this? Hell! why is ſhee ſo braue? It cannot be to pleaſe Duke Dottrel, ſure, Nor the dull pictures, in her gallery, Nor her owne deare reflection, in her glaſſe; Yet that may be: I haue knowne many of ’hem, 15 Beginne their pleaſure, but none end it, there: (That I conſider, as I goe a long with it) They may, for want of better company, Or that they thinke the better, ſpend an houre; Two, three, or foure, diſcourſing with their ſhaddow: 20 But ſure they haue a farther ſpeculation. No woman dreſt with ſo much care, and ſtudy, Doth dreſſe her ſelfe in vaine. I’ll vexe this probleme, A little more, before I leaue it, ſure.

This was a fortune, happy aboue thought, [122] That this ſhould proue thy chamber: which I fear’d Would be my greateſt trouble! this muſt be The very window, and that the roome.

Man. It is. I now remember, I haue often ſeene there 5 A woman, but I neuer mark’d her much.

Wit. Where was your ſoule, friend?

Man. Faith, but now, and then, Awake vnto thoſe obiects.

Wit. You pretend ſo. Let mee not liue, if I am not in loue More with her wit, for this direction, now, 10 Then with her forme, though I ha’ prais’d that prettily, Since I ſaw her, and you, to day. Read thoſe. Hee giues him a paper, wherein is the copy of a Song. They’ll goe vnto the ayre you loue ſo well. Try ’hem vnto the note, may be the muſique Will call her ſooner; light, ſhee’s here. Sing quickly. 15

M^rs. Fit. Either he vnderſtood him not: or elſe, The fellow was not faithfull in deliuery, Of what I bad. And, I am iuſtly pay’d, That might haue made my profit of his ſeruice, But, by miſ-taking, haue drawne on his enuy, 20 And done the worſe defeate vpon my ſelfe. Manly ſings, Pug enters perceiues it. How! Muſique? then he may be there: and is sure.

Pvg. O! Is it ſo? Is there the enter-view? Haue I drawne to you, at laſt, my cunning Lady? The Diuell is an Aſſe! fool’d off! and beaten! 25 Nay, made an inſtrument! and could not ſent it! Well, ſince yo’ haue ſhowne the malice of a woman, No leſſe then her true wit, and learning, Miſtreſſe, I’ll try, if little Pug haue the malignity To recompence it, and ſo ſaue his danger. 30 ’Tis not the paine, but the diſcredite of it, The Diuell ſhould not keepe a body intire.

Wit. Away, fall backe, ſhe comes.

Man. I’ll leaue you, Sir, The Maſter of my chamber. I haue buſineſſe.

Wit. M^rs!

M^rs. Fi. You make me paint, S^r.

Wit. The’are faire colours, 35 Lady, and naturall! I did receiue Some commands from you, lately, gentle Lady, [123] This Scene is acted at two windo’s as out of two contiguous buildings. But ſo perplex’d, and wrap’d in the deliuery, As I may feare t’haue miſ-interpreted: But muſt make ſuit ſtill, to be neere your grace. 40

M^rs. Fi. Who is there with you, S^r?

Wit. None, but my ſelfe. It falls out. Lady, to be a deare friends lodging. Wherein there’s ſome conſpiracy of fortune With your poore ſeruants bleſ affections.

M^rs. Fi. Who was it ſung?

Wit. He, Lady, but hee’s gone, 45 Vpon my entreaty of him, ſeeing you Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him, If he were here. He is too much a gentleman.

M^rs. Fi. Sir, if you iudge me by this ſimple action, And by the outward habite, and complexion 50 Of eaſineſſe, it hath, to your deſigne; You may with Iuſtice, ſay, I am a woman: And a ſtrange woman. But when you ſhall pleaſe, To bring but that concurrence of my fortune, To memory, which to day your ſelfe did vrge: 55 It may beget ſome fauour like excuſe, Though none like reaſon.

Wit. No, my tune-full Miſtreſſe? Then, ſurely, Loue hath none: nor Beauty any; Nor Nature violenced, in both theſe: With all whoſe gentle tongues you ſpeake, at once. 60 I thought I had inough remou’d, already, That ſcruple from your breſt, and left yo’ all reaſon; When, through my mornings perſpectiue I ſhewd you A man ſo aboue excuſe, as he is the cauſe, Why any thing is to be done vpon him: 65 And nothing call’d an iniury, miſ-plac’d. I’rather, now had hope, to ſhew you how Loue By his acceſſes, growes more naturall: And, what was done, this morning, with ſuch force Was but deuis’d to ſerue the preſent, then. 70 That ſince Loue hath the honour to approach He grows more familiar in his Court-ſhip. Theſe ſiſter-ſwelling breſts; and touch this ſoft, And roſie hand; hee hath the skill to draw Their Nectar forth, with kiſſing; and could make More wanton ſalts, from this braue promontory, 75 Downe to this valley, then the nimble Roe; playes with her paps, kiſſeth her hands, &c. Could play the hopping Sparrow, ’bout theſe nets; And ſporting Squirell in theſe criſped groues; Bury himſelfe in euery Silke-wormes kell, Is here vnrauell’d; runne into the ſnare, 80 Which euery hayre is, caſt into a curle, To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himselfe In milke, and roſes, here, and dry him, there; Warme his cold hands, to play with this ſmooth, round, [124] And well torn’d chin, as with the Billyard ball; 85 Rowle on theſe lips, the banks of loue, and there At once both plant, and gather kiſſes. Lady, Shall I, with what I haue made to day here, call All ſenſe to wonder, and all faith to ſigne The myſteries reuealed in your forme? 90 And will Loue pardon mee the blasphemy I vtter’d, when I ſaid, a glaſſe could ſpeake This beauty, or that fooles had power to iudge it?