Vncle, afore I goe in, can you tell me, an' he haue ere a booke of the sciences of hawking, and hunting? I would faine borrow it.

Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?

NO wusse; but I'll practise against next yeere vncle: I haue bought me a hawke, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lacke nothing but a booke to keepe it by.

Nay, looke you now, you are angrie, vncle: why you know, an'a man haue not skill in the hawking, and hunting-languages now a dayes, I'll not giue a rush for him. They are more studied then the Greeke, or the Latine. He is for no gallants companie without 'hem. And by gads lid I scorne it, I, so I doe, to be a consort for euery hum drum, hang 'hem scroyles, there's nothing in 'hem, i' the world. What doe you talke on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keepe companie with none but the archers of Finsburie? or the citizens, that come a ducking to Islington ponds? A fine iest ifaith! Slid a gentleman mun show himselfe like a gentleman. Vncle, I pray you be not angrie, I know what I haue to doe, I trow, I am no nouice.

SAue you, gentlemen.

Nay, we do' not stand much on our gentilitie, friend; yet, you are wel-come, and I assure you mine vncle, here, is a man of a thousand a yeare, Middlesex land: hee has but one sonne in all the world, I am his next heire (at the common law) master STEPHEN, as simple as I stand here, if my cossen die (as there's hope he will) I haue a prettie liuing o' mine owne too, beside, hard-by here.

In good time, sir.

In good time, sir? why! and in a very good time, sir. You doe not stout, friend, doe you?

Not I, sir.

Not you sir? you were not best, sir; an' you should, here bee them can perceiue it, and that quicky to: goe to. And they can giue it againe soundly to, and neede be.

Why, sir, let this satisfie you: good faith, I had no such intent.

Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talke with you, and that presently.

Good master STEPHEN, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.

And so I would sir, good my fancie companion! an' you were out o' mine vncles ground, I can tell you; though I doe not stand vpon my gentilitie neither in't.

Cossen! cossen! will this nere be left?

Whorson base fellow! a mechanicall seruing-man! By this cudgell, and 't were not for shame, I would—

I should enquire for a gentleman, here, one master EDWARD KNO'WELL: doe you know any such, sir, I pray you?

I should forget my selfe else, sir.

Are you the gentleman? crie you mercie sir: I was requir'd by a gentleman i' the citie, as I rode out at this end o' the towne, to deliuer you this letter, sir.

To me, sir! What doe you meane? pray you remember your court'sie. (To his most selected friend, master EDWARD KNO'WELL.) What might the gentlemans name be, sir, that sent it? nay, pray you be couer'd.

One master WELL-BRED, sir.

Master WELL-BRED! A yong gentleman? is he not?

The same sir, master KITELY married his sister: the rich merchant i' the old Iewrie.

You say very true. BRAINE-WORME,

Sir.

DId he open it, sayest thou?

Yes, o' my word sir, and read the contents.

That scarse contents me. What countenance (pr'y thee) made he, i' the reading of it? was he angrie, or pleas'd?

Nay sir, I saw him not reade it, nor open it, I assure your worship.

No? how know'st thou, then, that he did either?

Marie sir, because he charg'd me, on my life, to tell nobodie, that he open'd it: which, vnlesse hee had done, hee would neuer feare to haue it reueal'd.

That's true: well I thanke thee, BLAYNE-WORME.

O, BRAYNE-WORME, did'st thou not see a fellow here in a what-sha'-call-him doublet! he brought mine vncle a letter e'en now.

Yes, master STEPHEN, what of him?

O, I ha' such a minde to beate him—Where is hee? canst thou tell?

Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master STEPHEN.

Gone? which way? when went he! how long since?

He is rid hence. He tooke horse, at the streete dore.

And, I staid i' the fields! horson scander-bag rogue! Ô that I had but a horse to fetch him backe againe.

Why, you may ha' my mrs. gelding, to saue your longing, sir.

But, I ha' no bootes, that's the spight on't.

Why, a fine wispe of hay, rould hard, master STEPHEN.

No faith, it's no boote to follow him, now: let him eene goe, and hang. 'Pray thee, helpe to trusse me, a little. He dos so vexe me—

You'll be worse vex'd, when you are truss'd, master STEPHEN. Best, keepe vn-brac'd; and walke your selfe, till you be cold: your choller may foundre you else.

By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't: How dost thou like my legge, BRAYNE-WORME?

A very good leg! master STEPHEN! but the woollen stocking do's not commend it so well.

Foh, the stockings be good inough, now summer is comming on, for the dust: Ile haue a paire of silke, again'winter, that I goe to dwell i' the towne. I thinke my legge would shew in a silke-hose.

Beleeue me, master STEPHEN, rarely well,

In sadnesse, I thinke it would: I haue a reasonable good legge.

You haue an excellent good legge, master STEPHEN, but I cannot stay, to praise it longer now, and I am very sorie for't.

Another time wil serue, BRAYNE-WORME. Gramercie for this.

Ha, ha, ha!

Slid, I hope, he laughes not at me, and he doe —

Here was a letter, indeede, to be intercepted by a mans father, and doe him good with him! Hee cannot but thinke most vertuously, both of me, and the sender, sure; that make the carefull Costar'-monger of him in our familiar Epistles. Well, if he read this with patience, Ile be gelt, and troll ballads for Mr. IOHN TRVNDLE, yonder, the rest of my mortalitie. It is true, and likely, my father may haue as much patience as another man; for he takes much physicke: and, oft taking physicke makes a man very patient. But would your packet, master WEL-BRED, had arriu'd at him, in such a minute of his patience; then, we had knowne the end of it, which now is doubtfull, and threatens—What! my wise cossen! Nay, then, Il efurnish our feast with one gull more to'ard the messe. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: O, for a fourth; Fortune, if euer thou'lt vse thine eyes, I intreate thee—

O, now I see, who hee laught at. Hee laught at some-body in that letter. By this good light, and he had laught at me —

How now, coussen STEPHEN, melancholy'?

Yes, a little. I thought, you had laught at me, cossen.

Why, what an' I had cousse, what would you ha' done?

By this light, I would ha' told mine vncle.

Nay, if you wold ha'told your vncle, I did laugh at you, cousse.

Did you, indeede?

Yes, indeede.

Why, then—

What then?

I am satisfied, it is sufficient.

Why, bee so gentle cousse. And, I pray you let me intreate a courtesie of you. I am sent for, this morning, by a friend i' the old Iewrie to come to him; It's but crossing ouer the fields to More-gate: Will you beare me companie? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, cousse.

Sir, that's all one, and't were; you shall command me, twise so farre as More-gate to doe you good, in such a matter. Doe you thinke I would leaue you? I protest—

No, no, you shall not protest, cousse.

By my fackins, but I will, by your leaue; Ile protest more to my friend, then Ile speake off, at this time.

You speake very well, cousse.

Your turne, couss? Doe you know, what you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talke o' your turne i' this companie, and to me, alone, like a tankard-bearer, at a conduit! Fie. A wight, that (hetherto) his euery step hath left the stampe of a great foot behind him, as euery word the fauour of a strong spirit! and he! this man! so grac'd, guilded, or (to vse a more fit metaphore) so tin-foild by nature, as not ten house-wiues pewter (again' a good time) shew's more bright to the world then he! and he (as I said last, so I say againe, and still shall say it) this man! to conceale such reall ornaments as these, and shaddow their glorie, as a Millaners wife do's her wrought stomacher, with a smokie lawne, or a black cypresse? O couss! It cannot be answer'd, goe not about it. DRAKES old ship, at Detford, may sooner circle the world againe. Come, wrong not the qualitie of your desert, with looking downeward, couz; but hold vp your head, so: and let the Idea of what you are, be pourtray'd i' your face, that men may reade i' your physnomie, (Here, within this place, is to be seene the true, rare, and accomplish'd monster, or miracle of nature, which is all one.) What thinke you of this, couss?

Why, I doe thinke of it; and I will be more prowd, and melancholy, and gentleman-like, then I haue beene: I'le ensure you.

Why, that's resolute master STEPHEN! Now, if I can but hold him vp to his height, as it is happily begunne, it will doe well for a suburbe-humor: we may hap haue a match with the citie, and play him for fortie pound. Come, couss.

I'le follow you.

Follow me? you must goe before.

Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you, shew me, good cousin.

I Thinke, this be the house: what, hough?

Who's there? O, master MATTHEW! gi' your worship good morrow.

What! COB! how do'st thou, good COB? do'st thou inhabite here, COB?

I, sir, I and my linage ha' kept a poore house, here, in our dayes.

Thy linage, Monsieur COB, what linage? what linage?

Why sir, an ancient linage, and a princely. Mine ance'trie came from a Kings belly, no worse man: and yet no man neither (by your worships leaue, I did lie in that) but Herring the King of fish (from his belly, I proceed) one o' the Monarchs o' the world, I assure you. The first red herring, that was broil'd in ADAM, and EVE'S kitchin, doe I fetch my pedigree from, by the Harrots bookes. His COB, was my great-great-mighty-great Grand father.

Why mightie? why mightie? I pray thee.

O, it was a mightie while agoe, sir, and a mightie great COB.

How know'st thou that?

How know I? why, I smell his ghost, euer and anon.

Smell a ghost? Ô vnsauoury iest! and the ghost of a herring COB!

I sir, with • auour of your worships nose, Mr. MATHEW, why not the ghost of a herring-cob, as well as the ghost of rasher-bacon?

ROGER BACON, thou wouldst say?

I say rasher-bacon. They were both broyl'd o' the col • s? and a man may smell broyld-meate, I hope? you are a scholler, vpsolue me that, now.

O raw ignorance! COB, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one Captayne BOBADILL, where his lodging is?

O, my guest, sir! you meane.

Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha.

Why doe you laugh, sir? Doe you not meane Captayne BOBADILL?

COB, 'pray thee, aduise thy selfe well: doe not wrong the gentleman, and thy selfe too. I dare bee sworne, hee scornes thy house: hee! He lodge in such a base, obscure place, as thy house! Tut, I know his disposition so well, he would not lye in thy bed, if tho'uldst gi'it him.

I will not giue it him, though, sir. Masse, I thought somewhat was in't, we could not get him to bed, all night! Well, sir, though he lye not o' my bed, he lies o' my bench: an 't please you to goe vp, sir, you shall find him with two cushions vnder his head, and his cloke wrapt about him, as though he had neither wun nor lost, and yet (I warrant) he ne're cast better in his life, then he has done, to night.

Why? was he drunke?

Drunke, sir? you heare not me say so. Perhaps, hee swallow'd a tauerne-token, or some such deuice, sir: I haue nothing to doe withall. I deale with water, and not with wine. Gi'me my tankard there, hough. God b'w'you, sir. It's sixe a clocke: I should ha' carried two turnes, by this. What hough? my stopple? come.

Lye in a water-bearers house! A gentleman of his hauings! Well, I'le tell him my mind.

What TIB, shew this gentleman vp to the Captayne. O, an' my house were the Brasen-head now! faith, it would eene speake, Mo fooles yet. You should ha' some now would take this Mr. MATTHEW to be a gentleman, at the least. His father's an honest man, a worshipfull fishmonger, and so forth; and now dos he creepe, and wriggle into acquaintance with all the braue gallants about the towne, such as my guest is: (Ô, my guest is a fine man) and they flout him invincibly. Hee vseth euery day to a Merchants house (where I serue water) one master KITELY'S, i' the old Iewry; and here's the iest, he is in loue with my masters sister, (mistris BRIDGET) and calls her mistris: and there hee will sit you a whole after-noone some-times, reading o' these same abominable, vile, (a poxe on 'hem, I cannot abide them) rascally verses, poyetrie, poyetrie, and speaking of enterludes, 'twill make a man burst to heare him. And the wenches, they doe so geere, and ti-he at him—well, should they do so much to me, Ild for-sweare them all, by the foot of PHARAOH. There's an oath! How many water-bearers shall you heare sweare such an oath? Ô, I haue a guest (he teaches me) he dos sweare the legiblest, of any man christned: By St. GEORGE, the foot of PHARAOH, the body of me, as I am gentleman, and a souldier: such daintie oathes! and withall, he dos take this same filthy roguish tabacco, the finest, and cleanliest! it would doe a man good to see the fume come forth at 's tonnells! Well, he owes mee fortie shillings (my wife lent him out of her purse, by sixe-pence a time) besides his lodging: I would I had it. I shall ha' it, he saies, the next Action. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill a cat, vp-tailes all, and a louse for the hang-man.

HOstesse, hostesse.

What say you, sir?

A cup o' thy small beere, sweet hostesse.

Sir, there's a gentleman, below, would speake with you.

A gentleman! 'ods so, I am not within.

My husband told him you were, sir.

What a plague—what meant he?

Captaine BOBADILL?

Who's there? (take away the bason, good hostesse) come vp, sir.

He would desire you to come vp, sir. You come into a cleanly house, here.

'Saue you, sir. 'Saue you, Captayne.

Gentle master MATTHEW! Is it you, sir? Please you sit downe.

Thanke you, good Captaine, you may see, I am some-what audacious.

Not so, sir. I was requested to supper, last night, by a sort of gallants, where you were wish'd for, and drunke to, I assure you.

Vouchsafe me, by whom, good Captaine.

Mary, by yong WELL-BRED, and others: Why, hostesse, a stoole here, for this gentleman.

No haste, sir, 'tis very well.

Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarse open my eyes, yet; I was but new risen, as you came: how passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.

I, sir: sit downe, I pray you. Master MATTHEW (in any case) possesse no gentlemen of our acquaintance, with notice of my lodging.

Who? I sir? no.

Not that I need to care who know it, for the Cabbin is conuenient, but in regard I would not be too popular, and generally visited, as some are.

True, Captaine, I conceiue you.

For, doe you see, sir, by the heart of valour, in me, (except it be • o some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily ingag'd, as your selfe, or so) I could not extend thus farre.

O Lord, sir, I resolue so.

I confesse, I loue a cleanely and quiet priuacy, aboue all the tumult, and roare of fortune. What new booke ha' you there? What! Goe by, HIERONYMO!

I, did you euer see it acted? is't not well pend?

Well pend? I would faine see all the Poets, of these times, pen such another play as that was! they'll prate and swagger, and keepe a stir of arte and deuices, when (as I am a gentleman) reade 'hem, they are the most shallow, pittifull, barren fellowes, that liue vpon the face of the earth, againe!

Indeed, here are a number of fine speeches in this booke! O eyes, no eyes, but fountaynes fraught with teares! There's a conceit! fountaines fraught with teares! O life, no life, but liuely forme of death! Another! O world, no world, but masse of publique wrongs! A third! Confus'd and sil'd with murder, and misdeeds! A fourth! O, the Muses! Is't not excellent? Is't not simply the best that euer you heard, Captayne? Ha? How doe you like it?

'Tis good.

Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this?

This, sir? a toy o' mine owne, in my nonage: the infancy of my Muses! But, when will you come and see my studie? good faith, I can shew you some very good things, I haue done of late—That boot becomes your legge, passing well, Captayne, methinkes!

So, so, It's the fashion, gentlemen now vse.

Troth, Captayne, an' now you speake o' the fashion, master WELL- • RED'S elder brother, and I, are fall'n out exceedingly: this other day, I hapned to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I assure you, both for fashion, and worke-man-ship, was most peremptory-beautifull, and gentleman-like! Yet, he condemn'd, and cry'd it downe, for the most pyed, and ridiculous that euer he saw.

Squire DOWNE-RIGHT? the halfe-brother? was't not?

I sir, he.

Hang him, rooke, he! why, he has no more iudgement then a malt-horse. By S. GEORGE, I wonder youl'd loose a thought vpon such an animal: the most peremptory absurd clowne of christendome, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman, and a souldier, I ne're chang'd wordes, with his like. By his discourse, he should eate nothing but hay. He was borne for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle! He ha's not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron, and rustie prouerbes! a good commoditie for some smith, to make hob-nailes of.

I, and he thinks to carry it away with his man-hood still, where he comes. He brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I heare.

How! He the bastinado! how came he by that word, trow?

Nay, indeed, he said cudgell me; I term'd it so, for my more grace.

That may bee: For I was sure, it was none of his word. But, when? when said he so?

Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gallant, a friend of mine told me so.

By the foot of PHARAOH, and 't were my case now, I should send him a chartel, presently. The bastinado! A most proper, and sufficient dependance, warranted by the great CARANZA. Come hither. You shall chartel him. I'll shew you a trick, or two, you shall kill him with, at pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this ayre.

Indeed, you haue absolute knowledge i' the mysterie, I haue heard, sir.

Of whom? Of whom ha' you heard it. I beseech you?

Troth, I haue heard it spoken of diuers, that you haue very rare, and vn-in-one-breath-vtter-able skill, sir.

By heauen, no, not I; no skill i' the earth: some small rudiments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I haue profest it more for noblemen, and gentlemens vse, then mine owne practise, I assure you. Hostesse, accommodate vs with another bed-staffe here, quickly: Lend vs another bed-staffe. The woman do's not vnderstand the wordes of Action. Looke you, sir. Exalt not your point aboue this state, at any hand, and let your poynard maintayne your defence, thus: (giue it the gentleman, and leaue vs) so, sir. Come on: O twine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet comely gentleman-like guard. So, indifferent. Hollow your body more sir, thus. Now, stand fast o' your left leg, note your distance, keepe your due proportion of time— Oh, you disorder your point, most irregularly!

How is the bearing of it, now, sir?

O, out of measure ill! A well-experienc'd hand would passe vpon you, at pleasure.

Why, thus sir (make a thrust at me) come in, vpon the answere, controll your point, and make a full carreere, at the body. The best-practis'd gallants of the time, name it the passada: a most desperate thrust, beleeue it!

Well, come, sir.

Why, you doe not manage your weapon with any facilitie, or grace to inuite mee: I haue no spirit to play with you. Your dearth of iudgement renders you tedious.

But one venue, sir.

Venue! Fie. Most grosse denomination, as euer I heard. O, the stoccata, while you liue, sir. Note that. Come, put on your cloke, and wee'll goe to some priuate place, where you are acquainted, some tauerne, or so—and haue a bit— Ile send for one of these Fencers, and hee shall breath you, by my direction; and, then, I will teach you your tricke. You shall kill him with it, at the first, if you please. Why, I will learne you, by the true iudgement of the eye, hand, and foot, to controll any enemies point i' the world. Should your aduersarie confront you with a pistoll, 'twere nothing, by this hand, you should, by the same rule, controll his bullet, in a line: except it were hayle-shot, and spred. What money ha' you about you, Mr. MATTHEW?

Faith, I ha' not past a two shillings, or so.

'Tis some what with the least: but, come. We will haue a bunch of redish, and salt, to tast our wine; and a pipe of t • bacco, to close the orifice of the stomach: and then, wee'll call vpon yong WEL-BRED. Perhaps wee shall meet the CORIDON, his brother, there: and put him to the question.

'Sdeynes, I know not what I should say to him, i' the whole world! He values me, at a crackt three-farthings, for ought I see: It will neuer out o' the flesh that's bred i' the bone! I haue told him inough, one would thinke, if that would serue: But, counsell to him, is as good, as a shoulder of mutton to a sicke horse. Well! he knowes what to trust to, for GEORGE. Let him spend, and spend▪ and domineere, till his heart ake; an' hee thinke to bee relieu'd by me, when he is got into one o'your citie pounds, the Counters, he has the wrong sow by the eare, ifaith: and claps his dish at the wrong mans dore. I'le lay my hand o' my halfe-peny, e're I part with 't, to fetch him out, I'le assure him.

Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you, thus.

'S death, he mads me, I could eate my very spur-lethers, for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why doe not you speake to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house?

I Will speake to him—

Speake to him? away, by the foot of PHARAOH, you shall not, you shall not doe him that grace. The time of day, to you, Gentleman o'the house. Is Mr. WELL-BRED stirring?

How then? what should he doe?

Gentleman of the house, it is to you: is he within, sir?

He came not to his lodging to night sir, I assure you.

Why, doe you heare? you.

The gentleman-citizen hath satisfied mee, Ile talke to no scauenger.

How, scauenger? stay sir, stay?

Nay, brother DOWNE-RIGHT.

'Heart! stand you away, and you loue me.

Ha? scauenger? well, goe to, I say little: but, by this good day (god forgiue me I should sweare) if I put it vp so, say, I am the rankest cow, that euer pist. 'Sdeynes, and I swallow this, Ile ne're draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street againe, while I liue; Ile sit in a barne, with Madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scauenger? 'Heart, and Ile goe neere to fill that huge tumbrell-slop of yours, with somewhat, and I haue good lucke: your GARAGANTVA breech cannot carry it away so.

Oh doe not fret your selfe thus, neuer think • on't.

Perhaps so, sir, take heed some body haue not them by the belly, for walking so late in the euening.

Sister BRIDGET, pray you fetch downe the rose-water aboue in the closet. Sweet heart, will you come in, to breakefast.

What aile you sweet heart, are you not well, speake good MVSSE.

Alas, how it burnes? MVSSE, keepe you warme, good truth it is this new disease! there's a number are troubled withall! for loues sake, sweet heart, come in, out of the aire.

I pray thee, good sweet heart, come in; the aire will doe you harme in, troth.

S'Lid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see myselfe translated thus, from a poore creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lyes, or my present profession looses the grace: and yet the lye to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit, as the Fico. O sir, it holds for good politie euer, to haue that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most deare to vs. So much, for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my yong, drie foot, ouer More-fields, to London, this morning: now I, knowing, of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracie, and to insinuate with my yong master (for so must we that are blew-waiters, and men of hope and seruice doe, or perhaps wee may weare motley at the yeeres end, and who weares motley, you know) haue got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lye in ambuscado, and intercept him, in the mid-way. If I can but get his cloke, his purse, his hat, nay, anything, to cut him off, that is, to stay his iourney, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with Captayne CAESAR, I am made for euer, ifaith. Well, now must I practice to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights, my arme here, and my—yong master! and his cousin, Mr. STEPHEN, as I am true counterfeit man of warre, and no souldier!

So sir, and how then, couss?

'Sfoot, I haue lost my purse, I thinke.

How? lost your purse? where? when had you it?

I cannot tell, stay.

'Slid, I am afeard, they will know mee, would I could get by them.

What? ha' you it?

No, I thinke I was bewitcht, I—

Nay, doe not weepe the losse, hang it, let it goe.

Oh, it's here: no, and it had beene lost, I had not car'd, but for a iet ring mistris MARY sent me.

A iet ring? oh, the poesie, the poesie?

Fine, ifaith! Though fancie sleep, my loue is deepe. Meaning that though I did not fancie her, yet shee loued me dearely.

Most excellent!

How, by St. PETER? I doe not conceiue that!

Mary, St. PETER, to make vp the meeter.

Well, there the Saint was your good patron, hee help't you at your need: thanke him, thanke him.

I cannot take leaue on 'hem, so: I will venture, come what will. Gentlemen, please you change a few crownes, for a very excellent good blade, here? I am a poore gentleman, a souldier, one that (in the better state of my fortunes) scorn'd so meane a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessitie, to haue it so. You seeme to be gentlemen, well affected to martiall men, else I should rather die with silence, then line with shame: how euer, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speakes, not my selfe. This condition agrees not with my spirit—

Where hast thou seru'd?

May it please you, sir, in all the late warres of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? I haue beene a poore seruitor, by sea and land, any time this fourteene yeeres, and follow'd the fortunes of the best Commanders in christendome. I was twice shot at the taking of Alepo, once at the reliefe of Vienna; I haue beene at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatique gulfe, a gentleman-slaue in the galleys, thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maym'd, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scarres, the noted markes of my resolution.

How will you sell this rapier, friend?

Generous sir, I referre it to your owne iudgement; you are a gentleman, giue me what you please.

True, I am a gentleman, I know that friend: but what though? I pray you say, what would you aske?

I assure you, the blade may become the side, or thigh of the best prince, in Europe.

I, with a veluet scabberd, I thinke.

Nay, and 't be mine, it shall haue a veluet scabberd, Couss, that's flat: I'de not weare it as 'tis, and you would giue me an angell.

At your worships pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.

I had rather it were a Spaniard! but tell me, what shall I giue you for it? An' it had a siluer hilt—

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

Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so, and there's another shilling, fellow. I scorne to be out-bidden. What, shall I walke with a cudgell, like Higgin-Bottom? and may haue a rapier, for money?

You may buy one in the citie.

Tut, Ile buy this i'the field, so I will, I haue a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.

My master? nay, faith haue at you: I am flesht now, I haue sped so well. Worshipfull sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poore souldier; I am asham'd of this base course of life (god's my comfort) but extremitie prouokes me to't, what remedie?

I haue not for you, now.

By the faith I beare vnto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinarie custome in me, but only to preserue manhood. I protest to you, a man I haue beene, a man I may be, by your sweet bountie.

'Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.

Good sir, by that hand, you may doe the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poore souldier the price of two cannes of beere (a matter of small value) the king of heauen shall pay you, and I shall rest thankfull: sweet worship—

Oh, tender sir, need will haue his course: I was not made to this vile vse! well, the edge of the enemie could not haue abated mee so much: It's hard when a man hath seru'd in his Princes cause, and be thus— Honorable worship, let me deriue a small piece of siluer from you, it shall not bee giuen in the course of time, by this good ground, I was faine to pawne my rapier last night for a poore supper, I had suck'd the hilts long before, I am a pagan else: sweet honor.

Alas sir, where should a man seeke? in the warres, there's no ascent by desert in these dayes, but—and for seruice, would it were as soone purchast, as wisht for (the ayre's my comfort) I know, what I would say—

Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy, as my seruice should be honest.

Yes sir, straight, Ile but garter my hose. Oh that my belly were hoopt now, for I am readie to burst with laughing! neuer was bottle, or bag-pipe fuller. S'lid, was there euer seene a foxe in yeeres to betray himselfe thus? now shall I be possest of all his counsells: and, by that conduit, my yong master. Well, hee is resolu'd to proue my honestie; faith, and I am resolu'd to proue his patience: oh I shall abuse him intollerably. This small piece of seruice, will bring him cleane out of loue with the souldier, for euer. He will neuer come within the signe of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-rest againe. Hee will hate the musters at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world thinke me a bad counterfeit, If I cannot giue him the slip, at an instant: why, this is better then to haue staid his iourney! well, Ile follow him: oh, how I long to bee imployed.

YEs faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seeke you, too.

Oh, I came not there to night.

Your brother deliuered vs as much.

Who? my brother DOWNE-RIGHT?

He. Mr. WELL-BRED, I know not in what kind you hold me, but let me say to you this: as sure as honor, I esteeme it so much out of the sunne-shine of reputation, to through the least beame of reguard, vpon such a—

Sir, I must heare no ill wordes of my brother.

I, protest to you, as I haue a thing to be sau'd about me, I neuer saw any gentleman-like part—

Good Captayne, faces about, to some other discourse.

With your leaue, sir, and there were no more men liuing vpon the face of the earth, I should not fancie him, by S. GEORGE.

Troth, nor I, he is of a rusticall cut, I know not how: he doth not carry himselfe like a gentleman of fashion—

Oh, Mr. MATTHEW, that's a grace peculiar but to a few; quos aquus amauit IVPITER.

I vnderstand you sir.

No question, you doe, or you doe not, sir. NED KNO'WELL! by my soule welcome; how doest thou sweet spirit, my Genius? S'lid I shall loue APOLLO, and the mad Thespian girles the better, while I liue, for this; my deare furie: now, I see there's some loue in thee! Sirra, these bee the two I writ to thee of (nay, what a drowsie humour is this now? why doest thou not speake?)

Why, was't not rare?

Yes, Ile bee sworne, I was ne're guiltie of reading the like; match it in all PLINIE, or SYMMACHVS epistles, and Ile haue my iudgement burn'd in the eare for a rogue: make much of thy vaine, for it is inimitable. But I marle what camell it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtlesse, he was no ordinarie beast, that brought it!

Why?

Why, faiest thou? why doest thou thinke that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning (the sober time of the day too) could haue mis-tane my father for me?

S'lid, you iest, I hope?

Indeed, the best vse wee can turne it too, is to make a iest on't, now: but Ile assure you, my father had the full view o' your flourishing stile, some houre before I saw it.

What a dull slaue was this? But, sirrah, what said hee to it, Ifaith?

Nay, I know not▪ what he said: but I haue a shrewd gesse what hee thought.

What? what?

Mary, that thou art some strange dissolute yong fellow, and I a graine or two better, for keeping thee companie.

Tut, that thought is like the moone in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrha, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hangby's, here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in 'hem if thou hear'st 'hem once goe: my wind-instruments. Ile wind 'hem vp— but what strange piece of silence is this? the signe of the dumbe man?

Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your musique the fuller, and he please, he has his humour, sir.

Oh, what ist? what ist?

Nay, Ile neither doe your iudgement, nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension: Ile leaue him to the mercy o' your search, if you can take him, so.

Well, Captaine BOBADILL, Mr. MATTHEW, pray you know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserue your affection. I know not your name sir, but I shall be glad of any occasion, to render me more familiar to you

My name is Mr. STEPHEN, sir, I am this gentlemans owne cousin, sir, his father is mine vnckle, sir, I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in what soeuer is incident to a gentleman.

Sir, I must tell you this, I am no generall man, but for Mr. WEL-BRED'S sake (you may embrace it, at what height of fauour you please) I doe communicate with you: and conceiue you, to bee a gentleman of some parts, I loue few wordes.

And I fewer, sir. I haue scarce inow, to thanke you.

I, truely, sir, I am mightily giuen to melancholy.

Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir, your true melancholy, breeds your perfect sine wit, sir: I am melancholy my selfe diuers times, sir, and then doe I no more but take pen, and paper presently, and ouerflow you halfe a score, or a dozen of sonnets, at a sitting.

Sure, he vtters them then, by the grosse.)

Truely sir, and I loue such things, out of measure.

I faith, better then in measure, Ile vnder-take.

Why, I pray you, sir, make vse of my studie, it's at your seruice.

I thanke you sir, I shall bee bold, I warrant you; haue you a stoole there, to be melancholy' vpon?

That I haue, sir, and some papers there of mine owne doing, at idle houres, that you'le say there's some sparkes of wit in 'hem, when you see them.

Would the sparkes would kindle once, and become a fire a • ongst 'hem, I might see selfe-loue burn't for her heresie.

Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy inough?

Oh I, excellent!

Captaine BOBADILL: why muse you so?

He is melancholy, too.

Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honorable piece of seruice, was perform'd tomorrow, being St. MARKES day: shall bee some ten yeeres, now?

In what place, Captaine?

Why, at the beleag'ring of Strigonium, where, in lesse then two houres, seuen hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their liues vpon the breach. Ile tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best leagure, that euer I beheld, with these eies, except the taking in of—what doe you call it, last yeere, by the Genowayes, but that (of all other) was the most fatall, and dangerous exploit, that euer I was rang'd in, since I first bore armes before the face of the enemie, as I am a gentleman, & souldier.

'So, I had as liefe, as an angell, I could sweare as well as that gentleman!

Then, you were a seruitor, at both it seemes! at Strigonium? and what doe you call't?

Oh lord, sir? by S. GEORGE, I was the first man, that entred the breach: and, had I not effected it with resolution, I had beene slaine, if I had had a million of liues.

'Twas pittie, you had not ten; a cats, and your owne, ifaith. But, was it possible?

'Pray you, marke this discourse, sir.

So, I doe.)

I assure you (vpon my reputation) 'tis true, and your selfe shall confesse.

Obserue me iudicially, sweet sir, they had planted mee three demi-culuerings, iust in the mouth of the breach; now, sir (as we were to giue on) their master gunner (a man of no meane skill, and marke, you must thinke) confronts me with his linstock, readie to giue fire; I spying his intendment, discharg'd my petrionel in his bosome, and with these single armes, my poore rapier, ranne violently, vpon the Moores, that guarded the ordinance, and put'hem pell-mell to the sword.

To the sword? to the rapier, Captaine?

Oh, it was a good figure obseru'd, sir! but did you all this, Captaine, without hurting your blade.

Without any impeach, o' the earth: you shall perceiue sir. It is the most fortunate weapon, that euer rid on poore gentlemans thigh: shal I tell you, sir? you talke of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so? tut, I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'hem, I know the vertue of mine owne, and therefore I dare, the boldlier, maintaine it.

I mar'le whether it be a Toledo, or no?

A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.

I haue a countriman of his, here.

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

This a Toledo? pish.

Why doe you pish, Captaine?

A Fleming, by heauen, Ile buy them for a guilder, a piece, an' I would haue a thousand of them.

How say you, cousin? I told you thus much?

Where bought you it, Mr. STEPHEN?

Of a souruie rogue souldier (a hundred of lice goe with him) he swore it was a Toledo.

A poore prouant rapier, no better.

Masse, I thinke it be, indeed! now I looke on't, better.

Nay, the longer you looke on't, the worse. Put it vp, put it vp.

Well, I will put it vp, but by—(I ha' forgot the Captaynes oath, I thought to ha' sworne by it) an' ere I meet him—

O, it is past helpe now, sir, you must haue patience.

Horson connie-catching raskall! I could eate the very hilts for anger!

A signe of good digestion! you haue an ostrich stomack, cousin.

A stomack? would I had him here, you should see, an' I had a stomack.

It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we goe?

FAsting dayes? what tell you me of fasting dayes? S'lid, would they were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall bee consum'd with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weekes, and villanous fridayes burnt, in the meane time, and then—

Why, how now COB, what moues thee to this choller? ha?

O, you'll slip your head out of the collar? why, goodman COB, you mistake me.

Nay, I haue my rewme, & I can be angrie as well as another, sir.

Thy rewme, COB? thy humour, thy humour? thou mistak'st.

Humour? mack, I thinke it be so, indeed: what is that humour? some rare thing, I warrant.

Mary, Ile tell thee, COB: It is a gentleman-like monster, bred, in the speciall gallantrie of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly.

How? must it be fed?

Oh I, humour is nothing, if it bee not fed. Didst thou neuer heare that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour.

Ile none on it: Humour, auant, I know you not, be gone. Let who will make hungrie meales for your monster-ship, it shall not bee I. Feed you, quoth he? S'lid, I ha'much adoe, to feed my selfe; especially, on these leane rascally dayes, too; and't had beene any other day, but a fasting day (a plague on them all for mee) by this light, one might haue done the common-wealth good seruice, and haue drown'd them all i' the floud, two or three hundred thousand yeeres agoe. O, I doe stomack them hugely! I haue a maw now, and't were for Sr BEVIS his horse, against 'hem.

I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of loue with fasting-dayes?

Mary that, which will make any man out of loue with 'hem, I thinke: their bad conditions, and you will needs know. First, they are of a Flemmish breed, I am sure on't, for they rauen vp more butter, then all the dayes of the weeke, beside; next, they stinke of fish, and leeke-porridge miserably: thirdly, they'le keepe a man deuoutly hungrie, all day, and at night send him supperlesse to bed.

Indeed, these are faults, COB.

Nay, and this were all, 'twere something, but they are the only knowne enemies, to my generation. A fasting-day, no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to racke, poore cobs they smoke for it, they are made martyrs o'the gridiron, they melt in passion: and your maides too know this, and yet would haue me turne HANNIBAL, and eate my owne fish, and bloud: My princely couz, fear nothing; I haue not the hart to deuoure you, & I might be made as rich as King COPHETVA. O, that I had roome for my teares, I could weepe salt-water enough, now, to preserue the liues of ten thousand of my kin. But, I may curse none but these filthie Almanacles, for an't were not for them, these dayes of persecution would ne're be knowne. Ile bee hang'd, an'some Fish-mongers sonne doe not make of hem; and puts in more fasting-dayes then he should doe, because hee would vtter his fathers dryed stock-fish, and stinking conger.

S'light, peace, thou'lt bee beaten like a stock-fish, else: here is Mr. MATTHEW. Now must I looke out for a messenger to my master.

HA? how many are there, sayest thou?

Mary sir, your brother, master VVELL-BRED—

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

Strangers? let me see, one, two; masse I know not well, there are so many.

How? so many?

I, there's some fiue, or sixe of them, at the most.

Then, I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bride-well, then your worships companie, if I saw any bodie to be kist, vnlesse they would haue kist the post, in the middle of the ware-house; for there I left them all, at their tabacco, with a poxe.

How? were they not gone in, then, e're thou cam'st?

Oh no sir.

Spite of the deuill▪ what doe I stay here, then? COB, follow me.

Nay, soft and faire, I haue egges on the spit; I cannot goe yet, sir. Now am I for some fiue and fiftie reasons hammering, hammering reuenge: oh, for three or foure gallons of vineger, to sharpen my wits. Reuenge, vineger reuenge: vineger, and mustard reuenge: nay, and hee had not lyen in my house, 't would neuer haue grieu'd me, but being my guest, one, that Ile be sworne, my wife ha's lent him her smock off her back, while his one shirt ha's beene at washing; pawn'd her neckerchers for cleane bands for him; sold almost all my platters, to buy him tabacco; and he to turne monster of ingratitude, and strike his lawfull host! well, I hope to raise vp an host of furie for't: here comes Iustice CLEMENT.

WHat's master KITELY gone? ROGER?

I, sir.

'Hart of me! what made him leaue vs so abruptly! How now, sirra? what make you here? what would you haue, ha?

And't please your worship, I am a poore neighbour of your worships—

A poore neighbour of mine? why, speake poore neighbour.

I dwell, sir, at the signe of the water-tankerd, hard by the greene lattice: I haue paid scot, and lot there, any time this eighteene yeeres.

To the greene lattice?

No, sir, to the parish: mary, I haue seldome scap't scot-free, at the lattice.

O, well! what businesse ha's my poore neighbour with me?

And't like your worship, I am come, to craue the peace of your worship.

Of mee knaue? peace of mee, knaue? did I e're hurt thee? or threaten thee? or wrong thee? ha?

No, sir, but your worships warrant, for one that ha's wrong'd me, sir: his armes are at too much libertie, I would faine haue them bound to a treatie of peace, an' my credit could compasse it, with your worship.

Thou goest farre inough about for't, I am sure.

WEll sister, I tell you true: and you'll finde it so, in the end.

Alas brother, what would you haue mee to doe? I cannot helpe it: you see, my brother brings 'hem in, here, they are his friends.

His friends? his fiends. S'lud, they doe nothing but hant him, vp and downe, like a sort of vnluckie sprites, and tempt him to all manner of villanie, that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a little thing would make me play the deuill with some of 'hem; and 'twere not more for your husbands sake, then any thing else, I'ld make the house too hot for the best on hem: they should say, and sweare, hell were broken loose, e're they went hence. But, by gods will, 'tis no bodies fault, but yours: for, an' you had done, as you might haue done, they should haue beene perboyl'd, and bak'd too, euery mothers sonne, e're they should ha' come in, e're a one of 'hem.

God's my life! did you euer heare the like? what a strange man is this! Could I keepe out all them, thinke you? I should put my selfe, against halfe a dozen men? should I? Good faith, you'ld mad the patient'st body in the world, to heare you talke so, without any sense, or reason!

What ayles thy brother? can he not hold his water, at reading of a ballad?

O, no: a rime to him, is worse then cheese, or a bag-pipe. But, marke, you loose the protestation.

Faith, I did it in an humour; I know not how it is: but, please you come neere, sir. This gentleman ha's iudgement, hee knowes how to censure of a—pray you sir, you can iudge.

Not I, sir: vpon my reputation, and, by the foot of PHAROAH.

O, chide your cossen, for swearing.

Not I, so long as he do's not for sweare himselfe.

Master MATTHEW, you abuse the expectation of your deare mistris, and her faire sister: Fie, while you liue, auoid this prolixitie.

I shall, sir: well, In • ipere dulce.

How! Insipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a foole, indeed.

What, doe you take Insipere, in that sense?

You doe not? you? This was your villanie, to gull him with a mo • te.

O, the Benchers phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba.

S'light, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feele and there be any braine in it!

Well, Ile haue him free of the wit-brokers, for hee vtters nothing, but stolne remnants.

A filtching rogue? hang him. And, from the dead? it's worse then sacrilege.

Sister, what ha' you here? verses? pray you, lets see. Who made these verses? they are excellent good!

O, master WEL-BRED, 'tis your disposition to say so, sir. They were good i' the morning, I made 'hem, extempore, this morning.

How? extempore?

I, would I might bee hang'd else: aske Captayne BOBADILE. He saw me write them, at the—(poxe on it) the starre, yonder.

Can he find, in his heart, to curse the starres, so?

Faith, his are euen with him: they ha' curst him ynough alreadie.

Cosen, how doe you like this gentlemans verses?

O, admirable! the best that euer I heard, cousse!

I am vext, I can hold ne're a bone of mee still! Heart, I thinke, they meane to build, and breed here!

Sister, you haue a simple seruant here, that crownes your beautie, with such encomions, and deuises: you may see, what it is to be the mistris of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that euery bleare eye may looke through them, and see him drown'd ouer head, and eares, in the deepe well of desire. Sister KITELY, I maruaile, you get you not a seruant, that can rime, and doe tricks, too.

Oh monster! impudence it selfe! tricks?

Tricks, brother? what tricks?

Nay, speake, I pray you, what tricks?

I, neuer spare any body here: but say, what tricks?

Passion of my heart! doe tricks?

S'light, here's a trick vyed, and reuyed! why, you munkies, you? what a catter-waling doe you keepe? ha's hee not giuen you rimes, and verses, and tricks?

O, the fiend!

Nay, you, lampe of virginitie, that take it in snuffe so! come, and cherish this tame poeticall furie, in your seruant, you'll be begg'd else, shortly, for a concealement: goe to, reward his muse. You cannot giue him lesse then a shilling, in conscience, for the booke, he had it out of, cost him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? Mr. MATTHEW? Captayne? What? all sonnes of silence? no spirit?

Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wusse: this is no tauerne, nor drinking-schole, to vent your exploits in.

How now! whose cow ha's calu'd?

My companions?

Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here. You must haue your Poets, and your potlings, your soldado's, and foolado's, to follow you vp and downe the citie, and here they must come to domineere, and swagger. Sirrha, you, ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home: or (by this steele) Ile cut off your eares, and that, presently.

S'light, stay, let's see what he dare doe: cut off his eares? cut a whetstone. You are an asse, doe you see? touch any man here, and by this hand, Ile runne my rapier to the hilts in you.

Yea, that would I faine see, boy.

O Iesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR!

Helpe, helpe, THOMAS.

Gentlemen, forbeare, I pray you.

Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pinck your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good heauen: Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint GEORGE, Ile not kill him.

Hold, hold, good gentlemen.

You whorson, bragging coystrill:

Come, let's goe: this is one of my brothers ancient humours, this.

I am glad, no body was hurt by his ancient humour.

Why, how now, brother, who en • orst this brawle?

A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for god, nor the deuill! And, they must come here to reade ballads, and rogery, and trash! Ile marre the knot of 'hem ere I sleepe, perhaps: especially BOB, there: he that's all manner of shapes! and Songs, and sonnets, his fellow.

Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentleman of an exceeding faire disposition, and of verie excellent good parts!

One, they call him master KNO'WELL, a handsome yong gentleman, sir.

WHat TIB, TIB, I say.

How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard? O, husband, ist you? what's the newes?

Nay, you haue stonn'd me, I faith! you ha' giu'n me a knock o' the forehead, will stick by me! cuckold? 'Slid, cuckold?

How, the lye? and in my throte too? doe you long to bee stab'd, ha?

Why, you are no souldier, I hope?

O, must you be stab'd by a souldier? Masse, that's true! when was BOBADILL here? your Captayne? that rogue, that foist, that fencing Burgullian? Ile tickle him, ifaith.

Why, what's the matter? trow!

O, he has bast • d me, rarely, sumptiously! but I haue it herein black and white; for his black, and blew: shall pay him. O, the Iustice! the honestest old braue Troian in London! I doe honour the very flea of his dog. A plague on him though, he put me once in a villanous filthy feare; mary, it vanisht away, like the smoke of tabacco: but I was smok't soundly first. I thanke the deuill, and his good angell, my guest. Well, wife, or TIB (which you will) get you in, and lock the doore, I charge you, let no body in to you; wife, no body in, to you: those are my wordes. Not Captayne BOB himselfe, nor the fiend, in his likenesse; you are a woman; you haue flesh and bloud enough in you, to be tempted: therefore, keepe the doore, shut, vpon all commers.

I warrant you, there shall no body enter here, without my consent.

Nor, with your consent, sweet TIB, and so I leaue you.

It's more, then you know, whether you leaue me so.

How?

Why, sweet.

Ifaith, now let thy spirits vse their best faculties. but, at any hand, remember the message, to my brother: for, there's no other meanes, to start him.

I warrant you, sir, feare nothing: I haue a nimble soule ha's wakt all forces of my phant'sie, by this time, and put 'hem in true motion. What you haue possest mee withall, Ile discharge it amply, sir. Make it no question.

Troth, well, howsoeuer: but, it will come excellent, if it take.

Take, man? why, it cannot choose but take, if the circumstances miscarrie not: but, tell me, ingenuously, dost thou affect my sister BRIDGET, as thou pretend'st?

Friend, am I worth beliefe?

Come, doe not protest. In faith, shee is a maid of good ornament, and much modestie: and, except I conceiu'd very worthily of her, thou shouldest not haue her.

Nay, that I am afraid will bee a question yet, whether I shall haue her, or no?

Slid, thou shalt haue her; by this light, thou shalt.

Nay, doe not sweare.

By this hand, thou shalt haue her: Ile goe fetch her, presently. Point, but where to meet, and as I am an honest man, I'll bring her.

Hold, hold, be temperate.

Why, by—what shall I sweare by? thou shalt haue her, as I am—

'Pray thee, be at peace, I am satisfied: and doe beleeue, thou wilt omit no offered occasion, to make my desires compleat.

Thou shalt see, and know, I will not.

Mary, peace be my comfort, where I thought I should haue had little comfort of your worships seruice.

How so?

O, sir! your comming to the citie, your entertainement of me, and your sending me to watch—indeed, all the circumstances either of your charge, or my imployment, are as open to your sonne, as to your selfe!

You should rather aske, where they found me, sir, for, Ile bee sworne I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when (of a suddain) a voice calls, Mr KNO-WEL's man; another cries, souldier: and thus, halfe a dosen of 'hem, till they had cal'd me within a house where I no sooner came, but thy seem'd men, and out flue al their rapiers at my bosome, with some three or foure score oathes to accompanie 'hem, & al to tel me, I was but a dead man, if I did not confesse where you were, and how I was imployed, and about what; which, when they could not get out of me (as I protest, they must ha' dissected, and made an Anatomie o'me, first, and so I told 'hem) the lockt mee vp into a roome i' the top of a high house, whence, by a great miracle (hauing a light heart) I slid downe, by a bottom of pack-thred, into the street, and so scapt. But, sir, thus much I can assure you, for I heard it, while I was lockt vp, there were a great many rich merchants, and braue citizens wiues with 'hem at a feast, and your sonne, Mr. EDWARD, with-drew with one of 'hem, and has pointed to meet her anon, at one COBS house, a water-bearer, that dwells by the wall. Now, there, your worship shall be sure to take him, for there he preyes, and faile he will not.

I sir, there you shall haue him. Yes? Inuisible? Much wench, or much sonne! 'Slight, when hee has staid there, three or foure houres, trauelling with the expectation of wonders, and at length be deliuer'd of aire: ô, the sport, that I should then take, to looke on him, if I durst! But, now, I meane to appeare no more afore him in this shape. I haue another trick, to act, yet. O, that I were so happy, as to light on a nupson, now, of this Iustices nouice. Sir, I make you stay somewhat long.

Not a whit, sir. 'Pray you, what doe you meane? sir?

I was putting vp some papers—

You ha' beene lately in the warres, sir, it seemes.

Mary haue I, sir; to my losse: and expence of all, almosst—

Troth sir, I would be glad to bestow a pottle of wine o'you, if it please you to accept it—

O, sir—

But, to heare the manner of your seruices, and your deuices in the warres, they say they be very strange, and not like those a man reades in the Romane histories, or sees, at Mile-end.

SIr, did your eyes euer tast the like clowne of him, where we were to day, Mr. WEL-BRED's halfe brother? I thinke, the whole earth cannot shew his paralell, by this day-light.

We were now speaking of him: Captayne BOBADIL tells me, he is fall'n foule o'you too.

O, I, sir, he threatned me, with the bastinado.

I, but I thinke, I taught you preuention, this morning, for that— You shall kill him, beyond question: if you be so generously minded.

Indeed, it is a most excellent trick!

O, you doe not giue spirit enough, to our motion, you are too tardie, too heauie! Ô, it must be done like lightning, hay?

Rare Captaine!

Tut, 'tis nothing, and 't be not done in a—punto!

Captaine, did you euer proue your selfe, vpon any of our masters of defence, here?

O, good sir! yes, I hope, he has.

I will tell you, sir. Vpon my first comming to the citie, after my long trauaile, for knowledge (in that mysterie only) there came three, of foure of 'hem to me, at a gentlemans house, where it was my chance to be resident, at that time, to intreat my presence at their scholes, and withall so much importun'd me, that (I protest to you as I am a gentleman) I was asham'd of their rude demeanor, out of all measure: well, I told 'hem, that to come to a publike schoole, they should pardon me, it was opposite (in diameter) to my humour, but, if so they would giue their attendance at my lodging, I protested to doe them what right or fauour I could, as I was a gentleman, and so forth.

So, sir, then you tried their skill?

Alas, soone tried! you shall heare sir. Within two or three daies after , they came; and, by honestie; faire sir, beleeue mee, I grac't them exceedingly, shew'd them some two or three tricks of preuention, haue purchas'd 'hem, since, a credit, to admiration! they canot denie this: and yet now, they hate mee, and why? because I am excellent, and for no other vile reason on earth.

Nay, for a more instance of their preposterous natures, but note, sir. They haue assaulted me some three, foure, fiue, sixe of them together, as I haue walkt alone, in diuers skirts i' the towne, as Turne-bull, White-chappell, Shore-ditch, which were then my quarters, and since vpon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my ordinarie: where I haue driuen them afore me, the whole length of a street, in the open view of all our gallants, pittying to hurt them, beleeue me. Yet, all this lenitie will not ore-come their spleene: they will be doing with the pismier, raysing a hill, a man may spurne abroad, with his foot, at pleasure. By my selfe, I could haue slaine them all, but I delight not in murder. I am loth to beare any other then this bastinado for 'hem: yet, I hold it good politie, not to goe disarm'd, for though I bee skilfull, I may bee oppress'd with multitudes.

I, beleeue me, may you sir: and (in my conceit) our whole nation should sustaine the losse by it, if it were so.

Alas, no: what's a peculiar man, to a nation? not seene.

O, but your skill, sir!

Indeed, that might be some losse; but, who respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of priuate, and vnder seale; I am a gentleman, and liue here obscure, and to my selfe: but, were I knowne to her Maiestie, and the Lords (obserue mee) I would vnder-take (vpon this poore head, and life) for the publique benefit of the state, not only to spare the intire lines of her subiects in generall, but to saue the one halfe, nay, three parts of her yeerely charge, in holding warre, and against what enemie soeuer. And, how would I doe it, thinke you?

Nay, I know not, nor can I conceiue.

Why thus, sir. I would select nineteene, more, to my selfe, throughout the land; gentlemen they should bee of good spirit, strong, and able constitution, i would choose them by an instinct, a character, that I haue: and I would teach these nineteene, the speciall rules, as your Punto, your Reuerso, your Stoccata, your Imbroccata, your Passada, your Montanto: till they could all play very neare, or altogether as well as my selfe. This done, say the enemie were fortie thousand strong, we twentie would come into the field, the tenth of March, or thereabouts; and wee would challenge twentie of the enemie; they could not, in their honour, refuse vs, well, wee would kill them: challenge twentie more, kill them; twentie more, kill them; twentie more, kill them too; and thus, would wee kill, euery man, his twentie a day, that's twentie score; twentie score, that's two hundreth; two hundreth a day, fiue dayes a thousand; fortie thousand; fortie times fiue, fiue times fortie, two hundreth dayes kills them all vp, by computation. And this, will I venture my poore gentleman-like carcasse, to performe (prouided, there bee no treason practis'd vpon vs) by faire, and discreet manhood, that is, ciuilly by the sword.

Tut, neuer misse thrust, vpon my reputation with you.

I would not stand in DOWNE-RIGHTS state, then, an' you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London.

Why, sir, you mistake me! if he were here now, by this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him! let this gentleman doe his mind: but, I will bastinado him (by the bright sunne) where-euer I meet him.

Faith, and Ile haue a • ling at him, at my distance.

Gods so', looke, where he is: yonder he goes.

What peeuish luck haue I, I cannot meet with these bragging raskalls?

It's not he? is it?

Yes faith, it is he?

Ile be hang'd, then, if that were he.

Sir, keepe your hanging good, for some greater matter, for I assure you, that was he.

Vpon my reputation, it was hee.

Had I thought it had beene he, he must not haue gone so: but I can hardly be induc'd, to beleeue, it was he, yet.

That I thinke, sir. But see, he is come againe!

O, PHAROAHS foot, haue I found you? Come, draw, to your tooles: draw, gipsie, or Ile thresh you.

Gentleman of valour, I doe beleeue in thee, heare me—

Draw your weapon, then.

Tall man, I neuer thought on it, till now (body of me) I had a warrant of the peace, serued on me, euen now, as I came along, by a water-bearer; this gentleman saw it, Mr. MATTHEW.

'Sdeath, you will not draw, then?

Hold, hold, vnder thy fauour, forbeare.

Prate againe, as you like this, you whoreson foist, you. You'le controll the point, you? Your consort is gone? had he staid, he had shar'd with you, sir.

Well, gentlemen, beare witnesse, I was bound to the peace, by this good day.

No faith, it's an ill day, Captaine, neuer reckon it other: but, say you were bound to the peace, the law allowes you, to defend your selfe: that'll proue but a poore excuse.

I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction, in faire sort. I neuer sustain'd the like disgrace (by heauen) sure I was strooke with a plannet thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon.

I, like inough, I haue heard of many that haue beene beaten vnder a plannet: goe, get you to a surgean. 'Slid, an' these be your tricks, your passada's, and your mountanto's, Ile none of them. O, manners! that this age should bring forth such creatures! that Nature should bee at leisure to make hem! Come, cousse.

Masse, Ile ha' this cloke.

Gods will, 'tis DOWNE-RIGHT'S.

Nay, it's mine now, another might haue tane vp, aswell as I: Ile weare it, so I will.

How, an' he see it? hee'll challenge it, assure your selfe.

I, but he shall not ha' it; Ile say, I bought it.

Take heed, you buy it not, too deare, cousse.

No harme done, brother, I warrant you: since there is no harme done. Anger costs a man nothing: and a tall man is neuer his owne man, till he be angrie. To keepe his valure in obscuritie, is to keepe himselfe, as it were, in a cloke-bag. What's a musitian, vnlesse he play? what's a tall man, vnlesse he fight? For, indeed, all this, my wise brother stands vpon, absolutely: and, that made me fall in with him, so resolutely.

I, but what harme might haue come of it, brother?

Might, sister? so, might the good warme clothes, your husband weares, be poyson'd, for any thing he knowes: or the wholesome wine he drunke, euen now, at the table—

Beshrew your heart-bloud, brother WELL-BRED, now; for putting such a toy into his head.

Is a fit simile, a toy? will he be poyson'd with a simile? Brother KITELY, what a strange, and idle imagination is this? For shame, bee wiser. O' my soule, there's no such matter.

Mr. KITELY, my master, Iustice CLEMENT, salutes you; and desires to speake with you, with all possible speed.

No time, but now? when, I thinke, I am sicke? very sicke! well, I will wait vpon his worship. THOMAS, COB, I must seeke them out, and set 'hem sentinells, till I returne. THOMAS, COB, THOMAS.

This is perfectly rare, BRAYNE-WORME! but how got'st thou this apparell of the Iustices man?

Mary sir, my proper fine pen-man, would needs bestow the grist o'me, at the wind-mil, to hear some martial discourse; where so I marshal'd him, that I made him drunke, with admiration! &, because, too much hear was the cause of his distemper, I stript him starke naked, as he lay along asleepe, and borrowed his sute, to deliuer this counterfeit message in, leauing a rustie armor, and an old browne bill to watch him, till my returne: which shall be, when I ha' pawn'd his apparell, and spent the better part o' the money, perhaps.

Well, thou art a successefull merry knaue, BRAYNE-WORME, his absence will be a good subiect for more mirth. I pray thee, returne to thy yong master, and will him to meet me, and my sister BRIDGET, at the tower instantly: for, here, tell him, the house is so stor'd with iealousie, there is no roome for loue, to stand vpright in. We must get our fortunes committed to some larger prison, say; and, then the tower, I know no better aire: nor where the libertie of the house may doe vs more present seruice. Away.

Hee's euer calling for COB! I wonder, how hee imployes COB, so!

Indeed, sister, to aske how hee imploies COB, is a necessarie question for you, that are his wife, and a thing not very easie for you to be satisfied in us: but this Ile assure you, COBS wife is an excellent bawd, sister, and, often-times, your husband hants her house, mary, to what end, I cannot altogether accuse him, imagine you what you thinke conuenient. But, I haue knowne, faire hides haue foule hearts, E're now, sister.

Neuer said you truer then that, brother, so much I can tell you for your learning. THOMAS, fetch your cloke, and goe with me, Ile after him presently: I would to fortune, I could take him there, ifaith. Il'd returne him his owne, I warrant him.

So, let hem goe: this may make sport anon. Now, my faire sister in-law, that you knew, but how happie a thing it were to be faire, and beautifull?

That touches not me, brother.

That's true; that's euen the fault of it: for indeede, beautie stands a woman in no stead, vnlesse it procure her touching. But, sister, whether it touch you, or no, it touches your beauties; and, I am sure, they will abide the touch; an' they doe not, a plague of all ceruse, say I: and, it touches mee to in part, though not in the — Well, there's a deare and respected friend of mine, sister, stands very strongly, and worthily affected toward you, and hath vow'd to inflame whole bone-fires of zeale, at his heart, in honor of your perfections. I haue alreadie engag'd my promise to bring you, where you shall heare him confirme much more. NED KNO'WELL is the man, sister. There's no exception against the partie. You are ripe for a husband; and a minutes losse to such an occasion, is a great trespasse in a wise beautie. What say you, sister? On my soule hee loues you. Will you giue him the meeting?

Faith, I had very little confidence in mine owne constancie, brother, if I durst not meet a man: but this motion of yours, sauours of an old knight-aduenturers seruant, a little too much, me thinkes.

What's that, sister?

Mary, of the squire.

No matter if it did, I would be such an one for my friend, but see! who is return'd to hinder vs?

I Wonder, Captayne, what they will say of my going away? ha?

Why, what should they say? but as of a discreet gentleman? quick, warie, respectfull of natures faire lineaments: and that's all?

Why, so! but what can they say of your beating?

A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a kind of grosse batterie vs'd, laid on strongly, borne most paciently: and that's all.

I, but, would any man haue offered it in Venice? as you say?

Tut, I assure you, no: you shall haue there your Nobilis, your Gentelezza, come in brauely vpon your reuerse, stand you close, stand you firme, stand you faire, saue your retricato with his left legge, come to the assalto with the right, thrust with braue steele, defie your base wood! But, wherefore doe I awake this remembrance? I was fascinated, by IVPITER: fascinated: but I will be vn-witch'd, and reueng'd, by law.

Doe you heare? ist not best to get a warrant, and haue him arrested, and brought before Iustice CLEMENT?

It were not amisse, would we had it.

Why, here comes his man, let's speake to him.

Agreed, doe you speake.

Saue you, sir.

With all my heart, sir?

Sir, there is one DOWNE-RIGHT, hath abus'd this gentleman, and my selfe, and we determine to make our amends by law; now, if you would doe vs the fauour, to procure a warrant, to bring him afore your master, you shall bee well considered, I assure you, sir.

Sir, you know my seruice is my liuing, such fauours as these, gotten of my master, is his only preferment, and therefore, you must consider me, as I may make benefit of my place.

How is that? sir.

Faith sir, the thing is extraordinarie, and the gentleman may be, of great accompt: yet, bee what hee will, if you will lay mee downe a brace of angells, in my hand, you shall haue it, otherwise not.

How shall we doe, Captayne? he askes a brace of angells, you haue no monie?

Not a crosse, by fortune.

Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two pence, left of my two shillings in the morning for wine, and redish: let's find him some pawne.

Pawne? we haue none to the value of his demand.

O, yes. I'll pawne this iewell in my eare, and you may pawne your silke stockings, and pull vp your bootes, they will ne're be mist: It must be done, now.

Well, an' there be no remedie: Ile step aside, and pull 'hem off.

Doe you heare, sir? wee haue no store of monie at this time, but you shall haue good pawnes: looke you, sir, this iewell, and that gentlemans silke stockings, because we would haue it dispatcht, e're we went to our chambers.

I am content, sir; I will get you the warrant presently, what's his name, say you? DOWNE-RIGHT?

I, I, GEORGE DOWNE-RIGHT.

What manner of man is he?

A tall bigge man, sir; hee goes in a cloke, most commonly, of silke russet, laid about with russet lace.

'Tis very good, sir.

Here sir, here's my iewell?

And, here, are stockings.

Well, gentlemen, Ile procure you this warrant presently, but, who will you haue to serue it?

That's true, Captaine: that must be consider'd.

Bodie o' me, I know not! 'tis seruice of danger?

Why, you were best get one o' the varlets o' the citie, a serieant. Ile appoint you one, if you please.

Will you, sir? why, we can wish no better.

Wee'll leaue it to you, sir.

This is rare! now, will I goe pawne this cloke of the Iustice's mans, at the brokers, for a varlets sute, and be the varlet my selfe; and get either more pawnes, or more mouie of DOWNE-RIGHT, for the arrest.

WEll, of all my disguises, yet, now am I most like my selfe: being in this Serjeants gowne. A man of my present profession, neuer counterfeits, till hee layes hold vpon a debter, and sayes, he rests him, for then hee brings him to all manner of vnrest. A kinde of little kings wee are, bearing the diminutiue of a mace, made like a yong artichocke, that alwayes carries pepper and salt, in it selfe. Well, I know not what danger I vnder-goe, by this exploit, pray heauen, I come well of.

See, I thinke, yonder is the varlet, by his gowne.

Let's goe, in quest of him.

'Saue you, friend, are not you here, by appointment of Iustice CLEMENTS man.

Yes, an't please you, sir: he told me two gentlemen had will'd him to procure a warrant from his master (which I haue about me) to be seru'd on one DOWNE-RIGHT.

It is honestly done of you both; and see, where the partie comes, you must arrest: serue it vpon him, quickly, afore hee bee aware—

Beare backe, master MATTHEW.

Master DOWNE-RIGHT, I arrest you, i'the queenes name, and must carry you afore a Iustice, by vertue of this warrant.

Mee, friend? I am no DOWNE-RIGHT, I. I am master STEPHEN, you doe not well, to arrest me, I tell you, truely: I am in nobodies bonds, nor bookes, I, would you should know it. A plague on you heartily, for making mee thus afraid afore my time.

Why, now are you deceiued, gentlemen?

He weares such a cloke, and that deceiued vs: But see, here a comes, indeed! this is he, officer.

Why how now, signior gull! are you turn'd filtcher of late? come, deliuer my cloke.

Master DOVVNE-RIGHT, I haue a warrant I must serue vpon you, procur'd by these two gentlemen.

These gentlemen? these rascals?

Keepe the peace, I charge you, in her Maiesties name.

I obey thee. What must I doe, officer?

Goe before, master Iustice CLEMENT, to answere what they can obiect against you, sir. I will vse you kindly, sir.

Come, let's before, and make the Iustice, Captaine—

The varlet's a tall man! afore heauen!

Gull, you'll gi' me my cloke?

Sir, I bought it, and I'le keepe it.

You will.

I, that I will.

Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him.

Master STEPHEN, I must arrest you.

Arrest mee, I scorne it. There, take your cloke, I'le none ou't.

Nay, that shall not serue your turne, now, sir. Officer, I'le goe with thee, to the Iustices: bring him along.

Why, is not here your cloke? what would you haue?

I'le ha'you answere it, sir.

Sir, I'le take your word; and this gentlemans, too: for his apparance.

I'le ha' no words taken. Bring him along.

Sir, I may choose, to doe that: I may take bayle.

'Tis true, you may take baile, and choose; at another time: but you shall not, now, varlet. Bring him along, or I'le swinge you.

Sir, I pitty the gentlemans case. Here's your money againe.

'Sdeynes, tell not me of my money, bring him away, I say.

I warrant you he will goe with you of himselfe, sir.

Yet more adoe?

I haue made a faire mash on't.

Must I goe?

I know no remedie, master STEPHEN.

Come along, afore mee, here. I doe not loue your hanging looke behind.

Why, sir. I hope you cannot hang mee for it. Can hee, fellow?

I thinke not, sir. It is but a whipping matter, sure!

Why, then, let him doe his worst, I am resolute.