ACT I., SCENE I.

Warehouse,Seathrift.

Sea.I promise you 'twill be a most rare plot.Ware.The city, Master Seathrift, never yetBrought forth the like: I would have them that haveFin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.Sea.Mend it! why,'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,[181]Will put us in.Ware.For, since I took him home,Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutifulAs a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim'Gainst revelling companions, be as hardTo be entic'd from home as my door-posts,This reformation may but be his part,And he may act his virtues. I have notForgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir——Sea.You told me, Master Warehouse.Ware.Not the sea,When it devour'd my ships, cost me so muchAs did his vanities. A voyage to the IndiesHas been lost in a night: his daily suitsWere worth more than the stock that set me up;For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,And studied that more than the law. He hadHis loves, too, and his mistresses; was enter'dAmong the philosophical madams;[182]wasAs great with them as their concerners; and, I hear,Kept one of them in pension.Sea.My son tooHath had his errors: I could tell the timeWhen all the wine which I put off by wholesaleHe took again in quarts; and at the dayVintners have paid me with his large scores: butHe is reformed too.Ware.Sir, we now are friendsIn a design.Sea.And hope to be in timeFriends in alliance, sir.Ware.I'll be free;I think well of your son.Sea.Who? Timothy?Believe't, a virtuous boy; and for his sister,A very saint.Ware.Mistake me not, I haveThe like opinion of my nephew, sir;Yet he is young, and so is your son; norDoth the church-book say they are past our fears.Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis goodTo know them well whom we do make our heirs.Sea.It is most true.Ware.Well; and how shall we knowHow they will use their fortune, or what placeWe have in their affection, without trial?Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,Or wear[183]long cloaks. This plot will do't.Sea.'Twill make usFamous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,And take leave of my wife and son.Ware.And I'llCome to you at your garden-house.[184]Within there.

Sea.I promise you 'twill be a most rare plot.

Ware.The city, Master Seathrift, never yetBrought forth the like: I would have them that haveFin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.

Sea.Mend it! why,'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,[181]Will put us in.

Ware.For, since I took him home,Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutifulAs a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim'Gainst revelling companions, be as hardTo be entic'd from home as my door-posts,This reformation may but be his part,And he may act his virtues. I have notForgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir——

Sea.You told me, Master Warehouse.

Ware.Not the sea,When it devour'd my ships, cost me so muchAs did his vanities. A voyage to the IndiesHas been lost in a night: his daily suitsWere worth more than the stock that set me up;For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,And studied that more than the law. He hadHis loves, too, and his mistresses; was enter'dAmong the philosophical madams;[182]wasAs great with them as their concerners; and, I hear,Kept one of them in pension.

Sea.My son tooHath had his errors: I could tell the timeWhen all the wine which I put off by wholesaleHe took again in quarts; and at the dayVintners have paid me with his large scores: butHe is reformed too.

Ware.Sir, we now are friendsIn a design.

Sea.And hope to be in timeFriends in alliance, sir.

Ware.I'll be free;I think well of your son.

Sea.Who? Timothy?Believe't, a virtuous boy; and for his sister,A very saint.

Ware.Mistake me not, I haveThe like opinion of my nephew, sir;Yet he is young, and so is your son; norDoth the church-book say they are past our fears.Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis goodTo know them well whom we do make our heirs.

Sea.It is most true.

Ware.Well; and how shall we knowHow they will use their fortune, or what placeWe have in their affection, without trial?Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,Or wear[183]long cloaks. This plot will do't.

Sea.'Twill make usFamous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,And take leave of my wife and son.

Ware.And I'llCome to you at your garden-house.[184]Within there.

[ExitSeathrift.

EnterCypher.

Ware.Now, Cypher, where's my nephew?Cyph.In the hall,Reading a letter which a footman broughtJust now to him from a lady, sir.Ware.A lady!Cyph.Yes, sir, a lady in distress; for ICould overhear the fellow say she mustSell her coach-horses, and return againTo her needle, if your nephew don't supply herWith money.Ware.This is some honourable sempstress.I am now confirm'd: they say he keeps a lady,And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too lateTo change my project now. Be sure you keepA diary of his actions; strictly markWhat company comes to him; if he stirOut of my house, observe the place he enters:Watch him, till he come out: follow him (disguis'd)To all his haunts.Cyph.He shall not want a spy, sir.But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw notA lattice to your door, and hang a bush out——Ware.I hope he will not make my house a tavern.Cyph.Sir, I am no Sybil's son.Ware.Peace, here he comes.

Ware.Now, Cypher, where's my nephew?

Cyph.In the hall,Reading a letter which a footman broughtJust now to him from a lady, sir.

Ware.A lady!

Cyph.Yes, sir, a lady in distress; for ICould overhear the fellow say she mustSell her coach-horses, and return againTo her needle, if your nephew don't supply herWith money.

Ware.This is some honourable sempstress.I am now confirm'd: they say he keeps a lady,And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too lateTo change my project now. Be sure you keepA diary of his actions; strictly markWhat company comes to him; if he stirOut of my house, observe the place he enters:Watch him, till he come out: follow him (disguis'd)To all his haunts.

Cyph.He shall not want a spy, sir.But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw notA lattice to your door, and hang a bush out——

Ware.I hope he will not make my house a tavern.

Cyph.Sir, I am no Sybil's son.

Ware.Peace, here he comes.

EnterPlotwell, in a sad posture.Warehouse,Plotwell,Cypher.

Ware.Good morrow, nephew. How now? sad? how comesThis melancholy?Plot.Can I choose but wearClouds in my face, when I must venture, sir,Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage,And not partake your dangers?Ware.Fie! these fears,Though they become you, nephew, are ominous.When heard you from your father?Plot.Never sinceHe made the escape, sir.Ware.I hear he is in Ireland:Is't true he took your sister with him?Plot.SoHer mistress thinks, sir: one day she left th' Exchange,And has not since been heard of.Ware.And, nephew,How like you your new course; which place prefer you—The Temple or Exchange? Where are, think you,The wealthier mines—in the Indies orWestminster Hall?Plot.Sir, my desires take measureAnd form from yours.Ware.Nay, tell me your mind plainlyI' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher:I do not like quaint figures, they do smellToo much o' th' inns-of-court.Plot.Sir, my obedienceIs ready for all impressions which——Ware.Again!Plot.Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant.Ware.'Tis spoken like my nephew; now I like you,Nor shall I e'er repent the benefitsI have bestow'd; but will forget all errors[ExitCypher.As mere seducements, and will not only beAn uncle, but a father to you; but thenYou must be constant, nephew.Plot.Else I were blindTo my good fortune, sir.Ware.Think, man, how it mayIn time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise theeTo the sword and cap of maintenance.Plot.Yes, and make meSentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback.[Aside.Ware.Have gates and conduits dated from thy year;Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.Plot.Yes,Free of your company.[Aside.Ware.Have the people vailAs low to his trappings, as if he thrice had fin'dFor that good time's employment.Plot.Or as ifHe had his rider's wisdom.[Aside.Ware.Then the worksAnd good deeds of the city to go before thee,Besides a troop of varlets.[185]Plot.Yes, and ITo sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet.[Aside.Ware.How say you? Let's hear that!Plot.I say, sir, ITo sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet.Ware.'Tis right; and be remembered at the Cross.[186]Plot.And then at sessions, sir, and all times else,Master Recorder to save me the trouble,And understand things for me.[Aside.Ware.All this is possible,And in the stars and winds: therefore, dear nephew,You shall pursue this course; and, to enable you,In this half-year that I shall be away,Cypher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish,And other tongues of traffic.Plot.Shall I not learnArithmetic too, sir, and shorthand?Ware.'Tis well-remembered; yes, and navigation.

Ware.Good morrow, nephew. How now? sad? how comesThis melancholy?

Plot.Can I choose but wearClouds in my face, when I must venture, sir,Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage,And not partake your dangers?

Ware.Fie! these fears,Though they become you, nephew, are ominous.When heard you from your father?

Plot.Never sinceHe made the escape, sir.

Ware.I hear he is in Ireland:Is't true he took your sister with him?

Plot.SoHer mistress thinks, sir: one day she left th' Exchange,And has not since been heard of.

Ware.And, nephew,How like you your new course; which place prefer you—The Temple or Exchange? Where are, think you,The wealthier mines—in the Indies orWestminster Hall?

Plot.Sir, my desires take measureAnd form from yours.

Ware.Nay, tell me your mind plainlyI' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher:I do not like quaint figures, they do smellToo much o' th' inns-of-court.

Plot.Sir, my obedienceIs ready for all impressions which——

Ware.Again!

Plot.Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant.

Ware.'Tis spoken like my nephew; now I like you,Nor shall I e'er repent the benefitsI have bestow'd; but will forget all errors[ExitCypher.As mere seducements, and will not only beAn uncle, but a father to you; but thenYou must be constant, nephew.

Plot.Else I were blindTo my good fortune, sir.

Ware.Think, man, how it mayIn time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise theeTo the sword and cap of maintenance.

Plot.Yes, and make meSentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback.[Aside.

Ware.Have gates and conduits dated from thy year;Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.

Plot.Yes,Free of your company.[Aside.

Ware.Have the people vailAs low to his trappings, as if he thrice had fin'dFor that good time's employment.

Plot.Or as ifHe had his rider's wisdom.[Aside.

Ware.Then the worksAnd good deeds of the city to go before thee,Besides a troop of varlets.[185]

Plot.Yes, and ITo sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet.[Aside.

Ware.How say you? Let's hear that!

Plot.I say, sir, ITo sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet.

Ware.'Tis right; and be remembered at the Cross.[186]

Plot.And then at sessions, sir, and all times else,Master Recorder to save me the trouble,And understand things for me.[Aside.

Ware.All this is possible,And in the stars and winds: therefore, dear nephew,You shall pursue this course; and, to enable you,In this half-year that I shall be away,Cypher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish,And other tongues of traffic.

Plot.Shall I not learnArithmetic too, sir, and shorthand?

Ware.'Tis well-remembered; yes, and navigation.

EnterCypher.

Cyph.Sir, Master Seathrift says you will lose the tide;The boat stays for you.Ware.Well, nephew, at my return,As I hear of your carriage, you do knowWhat my intentions are; and, for a tokenHow much I trust your reformation,Take this key of my counting-house, and spendDiscreetly in my absence. Farewell. Nay,No tears; I'll be here sooner than you think on't.Cypher, you know what you have to do.Cyph.I warrant you, sir.[ExitWarehouse.Plot.Tears! yes, my melting eyes shall run; but itShall be such tears as shall increase the tideTo carry you from hence.Cyph.Come, Master Plotwell, shall IRead to you this morning?Plot.Read! what? how the priceOf sugar goes; how many pints of olivesGo to a jar; how long wine works at sea;What difference is in gain between fresh herringsAnd herrings red?Cyph.This is fine: ha' youForgot your uncle's charge?Plot.Prythee, what was't?Cyph.To learn the tongues and mathematics.Plot.Troth,If I have tongue enough to say my prayersI' th' phrase o' th' kingdom, I care not: otherwise,I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as willGive a fine relish to my backrag;[187]and for mathematics,I hate to travel by the map; methinks'Tis riding post.Cyph.I knew 'twould come to this.Here be his comrades.[Aside.Plot.What, my Fleet Street friends?[ExitCypher.

Cyph.Sir, Master Seathrift says you will lose the tide;The boat stays for you.

Ware.Well, nephew, at my return,As I hear of your carriage, you do knowWhat my intentions are; and, for a tokenHow much I trust your reformation,Take this key of my counting-house, and spendDiscreetly in my absence. Farewell. Nay,No tears; I'll be here sooner than you think on't.Cypher, you know what you have to do.

Cyph.I warrant you, sir.[ExitWarehouse.

Plot.Tears! yes, my melting eyes shall run; but itShall be such tears as shall increase the tideTo carry you from hence.

Cyph.Come, Master Plotwell, shall IRead to you this morning?

Plot.Read! what? how the priceOf sugar goes; how many pints of olivesGo to a jar; how long wine works at sea;What difference is in gain between fresh herringsAnd herrings red?

Cyph.This is fine: ha' youForgot your uncle's charge?

Plot.Prythee, what was't?

Cyph.To learn the tongues and mathematics.

Plot.Troth,If I have tongue enough to say my prayersI' th' phrase o' th' kingdom, I care not: otherwise,I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as willGive a fine relish to my backrag;[187]and for mathematics,I hate to travel by the map; methinks'Tis riding post.

Cyph.I knew 'twould come to this.Here be his comrades.[Aside.

Plot.What, my Fleet Street friends?[ExitCypher.

EnterBrightandNewcut.

Bright.Save you, merchant Plotwell!New.Master Plotwell, citizen and merchant, save you!Bright.Is thy uncleGone the wish'd voyage?Plot.Yes, he's gone; and, ifHe die by th' way, hath bequeath'd me but someTwelve hundred pound a year in Kent; some three-Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels, bonds,And desperate debts.New.And dost not thou fall down,And pray to th' winds to sacrifice him toPoor John and mackarel?Bright.Or invoke some rockTo do thee justice?New.Or some compendious cannonTo take him off i' th' middle?Plot.And why, my tender,Soft-hearted friends?Bright.What, to take thee from the Temple,To make thee an old juryman, a Whittington?New.To transform thy plush to penny-stone; and scarletInto a velvet jacket, which hath seenAleppo twice, is known to the great Turk,Hath 'scap'd three shipwrecks to be left off to thee,And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map?Bright.This jacket surely was employed in findingThe north-east passage out, or the same jacketThat Coriat[188]died in.Plot.Very good.New.In OvidThere is not such a metamorphosisAs thou art now. To be turned into a treeOr some handsome beast, is courtly to this.But for thee, Frank, O transmutation!Of satin chang'd to kersey hose I sing.[189]'Slid, his shoes shine too.[190]Bright.They have the Gresham dye.Dost thou not dress thyself by 'em? I can seeMy face in them hither.Plot.Very pleasant, gentlemen.Bright.And faith, for how many years art thou bound?Plot.Do you take me for a 'prentice?New.Why, then, what officeDost thou bear in the parish this year? Let's feel:No batteries[191]in thy head, to signifyTh' art a constable?Bright.No furious jug broke on itIn the king's name?Plot.Did you contrive this sceneBy the way, gentlemen?New.No; but the newsThou shouldst turn tradesman, and this pagan dress,In which if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be damn'dFor an usurer, is comical at the Temple.We were about to bring in such a fellowFor an apostate in our antimasque.Set one to keep the door, provide half-crown rooms,For I'll set bills up of thee. What shall IGive thee for the first day?Bright.Ay, or second?For thou'lt endure twice or thrice coming in.Plot.Well, my conceited Orient friends, bright offspringO' th' female silkworm and tailor male, I deny notBut you look well in your unpaid-for glory;That in these colours you set out the Strand,And adorn Fleet Street; that you may laugh at me,Poor working-day o' th' city, like two festivalsEscap'd out of the Almanac.New.Sirrah Bright,Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate?Bright.I thought all wit had ended at Fleetbridge;But wit that goes o' th' score, that may extend,If't be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside.Plot.Your mercer lives there, does he? I warrant you,He has the patience of a burnt heretic.The very faith that sold to you these silks,And thinks you'll pay for 'em, is strong enoughTo save the infidel part o' th' world or Antichrist.Bright.W' are most mechanically abused.New.Let's tear his jacket off.Bright.A match! take that side.Plot.Hold, hold!Bright.How frail a thing old velvet is! it partsWith as much ease and willingness as two cowards.

Bright.Save you, merchant Plotwell!

New.Master Plotwell, citizen and merchant, save you!

Bright.Is thy uncleGone the wish'd voyage?

Plot.Yes, he's gone; and, ifHe die by th' way, hath bequeath'd me but someTwelve hundred pound a year in Kent; some three-Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels, bonds,And desperate debts.

New.And dost not thou fall down,And pray to th' winds to sacrifice him toPoor John and mackarel?

Bright.Or invoke some rockTo do thee justice?

New.Or some compendious cannonTo take him off i' th' middle?

Plot.And why, my tender,Soft-hearted friends?

Bright.What, to take thee from the Temple,To make thee an old juryman, a Whittington?

New.To transform thy plush to penny-stone; and scarletInto a velvet jacket, which hath seenAleppo twice, is known to the great Turk,Hath 'scap'd three shipwrecks to be left off to thee,And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map?

Bright.This jacket surely was employed in findingThe north-east passage out, or the same jacketThat Coriat[188]died in.

Plot.Very good.

New.In OvidThere is not such a metamorphosisAs thou art now. To be turned into a treeOr some handsome beast, is courtly to this.But for thee, Frank, O transmutation!Of satin chang'd to kersey hose I sing.[189]'Slid, his shoes shine too.[190]

Bright.They have the Gresham dye.Dost thou not dress thyself by 'em? I can seeMy face in them hither.

Plot.Very pleasant, gentlemen.

Bright.And faith, for how many years art thou bound?

Plot.Do you take me for a 'prentice?

New.Why, then, what officeDost thou bear in the parish this year? Let's feel:No batteries[191]in thy head, to signifyTh' art a constable?

Bright.No furious jug broke on itIn the king's name?

Plot.Did you contrive this sceneBy the way, gentlemen?

New.No; but the newsThou shouldst turn tradesman, and this pagan dress,In which if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be damn'dFor an usurer, is comical at the Temple.We were about to bring in such a fellowFor an apostate in our antimasque.Set one to keep the door, provide half-crown rooms,For I'll set bills up of thee. What shall IGive thee for the first day?

Bright.Ay, or second?For thou'lt endure twice or thrice coming in.

Plot.Well, my conceited Orient friends, bright offspringO' th' female silkworm and tailor male, I deny notBut you look well in your unpaid-for glory;That in these colours you set out the Strand,And adorn Fleet Street; that you may laugh at me,Poor working-day o' th' city, like two festivalsEscap'd out of the Almanac.

New.Sirrah Bright,Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate?

Bright.I thought all wit had ended at Fleetbridge;But wit that goes o' th' score, that may extend,If't be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside.

Plot.Your mercer lives there, does he? I warrant you,He has the patience of a burnt heretic.The very faith that sold to you these silks,And thinks you'll pay for 'em, is strong enoughTo save the infidel part o' th' world or Antichrist.

Bright.W' are most mechanically abused.

New.Let's tear his jacket off.

Bright.A match! take that side.

Plot.Hold, hold!

Bright.How frail a thing old velvet is! it partsWith as much ease and willingness as two cowards.

[They tear off his jacket.

New.The tend'rest weed that ever fell asunder.Plot.Ha' you your wits? What mean you?Bright.Go, put onOne of thy Temple suits, and accompany us,Or else thy dimity breeches will be mortal.Plot.You will not strip me, will you?New.By thy visible ears, we will.Bright.By this two-handed beaver, which is so thinAnd light, a butterfly's wings put to't would make itA Mercury's flying hat, and soar aloft.Plot.But do you know, to how much dangerYou tempt me? Should my uncle know I comeWithin the air of Fleet Street——New.Will you makeYourself fit for a coach again, and comeAlong with us?Plot.Well, my two resolute friends,You shall prevail. But whither now are yourLewd motions bent?New.We'll dine at Roseclap's: thereWe shall meet Captain Quartfield and his poet;They shall show us another fish.Bright.But, by the way, we have agreed to seeA lady, you mechanic.Plot.What lady?New.Hast not thou heard of the new-sprung lady?Bright.OneThat keeps her coachman, footboy, woman, and spendsA thousand pounds a year by wit.Plot.How? wit!New.That is her patrimony, sir. 'Tis thoughtThe fortune she is born to will not buyA bunch of turnips.Plot.She is no gamester, is she? Nor carries false dice?Bright.No, but has a tongue,Were't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buyAll young heirs near him.Plot.But does no man know from whence she came?Bright.As for her birth, she mayChoose her own pedigree: it is unknownWhether she be descended of some ditchOr duchess.New.She's the wonder of the courtAnd talk o' th' town.Plot.Her name?New.Aurelia.Plot.I've heard of her. They say she does fight duels,And answers challenges in wit.Bright.She has been thrice in the field.Plot.I' th' field?New.Yes, in Spring Garden;Has conquer'd, with no second but her woman,A Puritan, and has return'd with prizes.Plot.And no drum beat before her?New.No, nor coloursFlourish'd. She has made a vow never to marry,'Till she be won by stratagem.Plot.I long to see her.Bright.I' th' name of Guildhall, who comes here?

New.The tend'rest weed that ever fell asunder.

Plot.Ha' you your wits? What mean you?

Bright.Go, put onOne of thy Temple suits, and accompany us,Or else thy dimity breeches will be mortal.

Plot.You will not strip me, will you?

New.By thy visible ears, we will.

Bright.By this two-handed beaver, which is so thinAnd light, a butterfly's wings put to't would make itA Mercury's flying hat, and soar aloft.

Plot.But do you know, to how much dangerYou tempt me? Should my uncle know I comeWithin the air of Fleet Street——

New.Will you makeYourself fit for a coach again, and comeAlong with us?

Plot.Well, my two resolute friends,You shall prevail. But whither now are yourLewd motions bent?

New.We'll dine at Roseclap's: thereWe shall meet Captain Quartfield and his poet;They shall show us another fish.

Bright.But, by the way, we have agreed to seeA lady, you mechanic.

Plot.What lady?

New.Hast not thou heard of the new-sprung lady?

Bright.OneThat keeps her coachman, footboy, woman, and spendsA thousand pounds a year by wit.

Plot.How? wit!

New.That is her patrimony, sir. 'Tis thoughtThe fortune she is born to will not buyA bunch of turnips.

Plot.She is no gamester, is she? Nor carries false dice?

Bright.No, but has a tongue,Were't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buyAll young heirs near him.

Plot.But does no man know from whence she came?

Bright.As for her birth, she mayChoose her own pedigree: it is unknownWhether she be descended of some ditchOr duchess.

New.She's the wonder of the courtAnd talk o' th' town.

Plot.Her name?

New.Aurelia.

Plot.I've heard of her. They say she does fight duels,And answers challenges in wit.

Bright.She has been thrice in the field.

Plot.I' th' field?

New.Yes, in Spring Garden;Has conquer'd, with no second but her woman,A Puritan, and has return'd with prizes.

Plot.And no drum beat before her?

New.No, nor coloursFlourish'd. She has made a vow never to marry,'Till she be won by stratagem.

Plot.I long to see her.

Bright.I' th' name of Guildhall, who comes here?

EnterTimothy.

Tim.By your leave, gentlemen.Plot.Master Timothy!Welcome from the new world. I look'd you shouldHa' past through half the signs in heaven by this,And ha' convers'd with the dolphins. What! not goneTo sea with your father?Tim.No, faith, I do not loveTo go to sea; it makes one lousy, lays himIn wooden sheets, and lands him a preservativeAgainst the plague: besides, my mother wasAfraid to venture me.Plot.Believe't, she's wiseNot to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark,Where you had sail'd within three inches ofBecoming a Jonas. Besides the tossing, to haveAll the fierce blust'ring faces in the mapSwell more tempestuously upon you thanLawyers preferr'd or trumpeters. And whitherWere you bound now?Tim.I only came to haveYour judgment of my suit.Plot.Surely the tailorHas done his part.Tim.And my mother has done hers;For she has paid for't. I never durst be seenBefore my father out of duretta[192]and serge:But if he catch me in such paltry stuffs,To make me look like one that lets out money,Let him say, "Timothy was born a fool."Before he went, he made me do what he list;Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. WhatAre these two? Gentlemen?Plot.You see they wearTheir heraldry.Tim.But I mean, can they roar,Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress?I mean forthwith to get a mistress?Plot.ButHow comes this, Master Timothy? you did notRise such a gallant this morning.Tim.All's one for that.My mother lost her maidenhead that IMight come first into the world; and, by God's lid,I'll bear myself like the elder brother, I.D'you think, I'll all days of my life frequentSaint Antlins, like my sister? Gentlemen,I covet your acquaintance.Bright.Your servant, sir.New.I shall be proud to know you.Tim.Sir, my knowledgeIs not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune;Some hundred thousand pound, if once my fatherHeld up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass.What are you? inns-of-court men?New.The catechismWere false, should we deny it.Tim.I shall shortlyBe one myself; I learn to dance already,And wear short cloaks. I mean in your next masqueTo have a part: I shall take most extremely.Bright.You will inflame the ladies, sir: they'll strive,Who shall most privately convey jewelsInto your hand.New.This is an excellent fellow.Who is't?Plot.Rich Seathrift's son, that's gone to seaThis morning with my uncle.Bright.Is this heWhose sister thou shouldst marry? The wench that bringsTen thousand pound?Plot.My uncle would fain have me [marry her];But I have cast her off.Bright.Why?Plot.Faith, she's handsome,And had a good wit; but her schoolmistressHas made her a rank Puritan.New.Let's take himAlong with us, and Captain Quartfield shall show him.Plot.'Twill be an excellent comedy; and afterwardsI have a project on him.Tim.Gentlemen,Shall we dine at an ordinary? YouShall enter me among the wits.Plot.Sir, IWill but shift clothes, then we'll associate you,But first you shall with us, and see a ladyRich as your father's chests and odd holes,[193]andFresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'dOut of her alabaster.Tim.Lead on:I long to see a lady, and to salute her.[Exeunt.

Tim.By your leave, gentlemen.

Plot.Master Timothy!Welcome from the new world. I look'd you shouldHa' past through half the signs in heaven by this,And ha' convers'd with the dolphins. What! not goneTo sea with your father?

Tim.No, faith, I do not loveTo go to sea; it makes one lousy, lays himIn wooden sheets, and lands him a preservativeAgainst the plague: besides, my mother wasAfraid to venture me.

Plot.Believe't, she's wiseNot to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark,Where you had sail'd within three inches ofBecoming a Jonas. Besides the tossing, to haveAll the fierce blust'ring faces in the mapSwell more tempestuously upon you thanLawyers preferr'd or trumpeters. And whitherWere you bound now?

Tim.I only came to haveYour judgment of my suit.

Plot.Surely the tailorHas done his part.

Tim.And my mother has done hers;For she has paid for't. I never durst be seenBefore my father out of duretta[192]and serge:But if he catch me in such paltry stuffs,To make me look like one that lets out money,Let him say, "Timothy was born a fool."Before he went, he made me do what he list;Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. WhatAre these two? Gentlemen?

Plot.You see they wearTheir heraldry.

Tim.But I mean, can they roar,Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress?I mean forthwith to get a mistress?

Plot.ButHow comes this, Master Timothy? you did notRise such a gallant this morning.

Tim.All's one for that.My mother lost her maidenhead that IMight come first into the world; and, by God's lid,I'll bear myself like the elder brother, I.D'you think, I'll all days of my life frequentSaint Antlins, like my sister? Gentlemen,I covet your acquaintance.

Bright.Your servant, sir.

New.I shall be proud to know you.

Tim.Sir, my knowledgeIs not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune;Some hundred thousand pound, if once my fatherHeld up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass.What are you? inns-of-court men?

New.The catechismWere false, should we deny it.

Tim.I shall shortlyBe one myself; I learn to dance already,And wear short cloaks. I mean in your next masqueTo have a part: I shall take most extremely.

Bright.You will inflame the ladies, sir: they'll strive,Who shall most privately convey jewelsInto your hand.

New.This is an excellent fellow.Who is't?

Plot.Rich Seathrift's son, that's gone to seaThis morning with my uncle.

Bright.Is this heWhose sister thou shouldst marry? The wench that bringsTen thousand pound?

Plot.My uncle would fain have me [marry her];But I have cast her off.

Bright.Why?

Plot.Faith, she's handsome,And had a good wit; but her schoolmistressHas made her a rank Puritan.

New.Let's take himAlong with us, and Captain Quartfield shall show him.

Plot.'Twill be an excellent comedy; and afterwardsI have a project on him.

Tim.Gentlemen,Shall we dine at an ordinary? YouShall enter me among the wits.

Plot.Sir, IWill but shift clothes, then we'll associate you,But first you shall with us, and see a ladyRich as your father's chests and odd holes,[193]andFresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'dOut of her alabaster.

Tim.Lead on:I long to see a lady, and to salute her.[Exeunt.

FOOTNOTES:[180]In the year 1755, a gentleman of great eminence in his profession made a few alterations in this play, and presented it to the governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Corner, who obtained a representation of it at Drury Lane for the benefit of that charity. It was at the same time printed in 8o, under the title of "The Schemers; or, The City-Match."Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it, told me.—Reed.[181]The merchant-tailor here alluded to was John Stowe, author of the "Chronicles of England," who was of that company, and a tailor by profession.[182]See Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman."—Pegge.[183]All the editions readtheir.[184]See extract from Stubbes, quoted in note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage" [ix., 538.][185][An allusion to the Lord Mayor's Show, into which were generally introduced symbolical representations of the civic virtues.][186]At St Paul's Cross, where [the Lord Mayor heard his inauguration sermon.][187]This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in Germany, as appears from Heywood's "Philo-cothonista," 1635, p. 48. It is there mentioned along with Rhenish.Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says: "Next we came to Baccarach, a walled town on the right hand, having many towers, subject to the Prince Elector Palatine,famous for the goodness of its wine, as is also Rhincow, a town not far from Mentz."—Reed.[188]See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 227.][189][A sort of playful parody on the exordium to Ovid's "Metamorphoses."][190]The citizens of Charles I.'s time, and earlier, were as famous for the brightness of their shoes as some particular professions at present. In "Every Man in his Humour," act ii. sc. 1, Kitely says—"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 capunto my shining shoes."[191][Bruises or contusions occasioned by assaults.][192][Probably some strong, coarse sort of substance like corduroy.][193][Apparently this word means the secret pigeon-holes in a desk or secretary.]

[180]In the year 1755, a gentleman of great eminence in his profession made a few alterations in this play, and presented it to the governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Corner, who obtained a representation of it at Drury Lane for the benefit of that charity. It was at the same time printed in 8o, under the title of "The Schemers; or, The City-Match."Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it, told me.—Reed.

Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it, told me.—Reed.

[181]The merchant-tailor here alluded to was John Stowe, author of the "Chronicles of England," who was of that company, and a tailor by profession.

[182]See Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman."—Pegge.

[183]All the editions readtheir.

[184]See extract from Stubbes, quoted in note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage" [ix., 538.]

[185][An allusion to the Lord Mayor's Show, into which were generally introduced symbolical representations of the civic virtues.]

[186]At St Paul's Cross, where [the Lord Mayor heard his inauguration sermon.]

[187]This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in Germany, as appears from Heywood's "Philo-cothonista," 1635, p. 48. It is there mentioned along with Rhenish.Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says: "Next we came to Baccarach, a walled town on the right hand, having many towers, subject to the Prince Elector Palatine,famous for the goodness of its wine, as is also Rhincow, a town not far from Mentz."—Reed.

[187]This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in Germany, as appears from Heywood's "Philo-cothonista," 1635, p. 48. It is there mentioned along with Rhenish.

Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says: "Next we came to Baccarach, a walled town on the right hand, having many towers, subject to the Prince Elector Palatine,famous for the goodness of its wine, as is also Rhincow, a town not far from Mentz."—Reed.

[188]See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 227.]

[189][A sort of playful parody on the exordium to Ovid's "Metamorphoses."]

[190]The citizens of Charles I.'s time, and earlier, were as famous for the brightness of their shoes as some particular professions at present. In "Every Man in his Humour," act ii. sc. 1, Kitely says—"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 capunto my shining shoes."

"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 capunto my shining shoes."

[191][Bruises or contusions occasioned by assaults.]

[192][Probably some strong, coarse sort of substance like corduroy.]

[193][Apparently this word means the secret pigeon-holes in a desk or secretary.]

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