SCENE II.-Young KNO'WELL'S Study. Enter EDWARD KNO'WELL and BRAIN-WORM, E. Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou ? Brain. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the contents. E. Kno. That's bad. What countenance, pray thee, made he in the reading of it? Was he angry, or pleased? Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship. E. Kno. No! how know'st thou, then, that he did either? Brain, Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have 'trevealed. E. Kno. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brain[Exit. worm. Enter Master STEPHEN. Step. Oh! Brain-worm, did'st thou not see a fellow here, in a what sha'-call him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e'en now. Brain. Yes, master Stephen, what of him? Step. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat himwhere is he? can'st thou tell? Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master Stephen. Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long since? Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street door. Step. And I staid i' the fields! whoreson, scanderberg rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again! Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's gelding, to save your longing, sir. Step. But I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't. Brain. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, master Stephen. Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; let him c'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss me a little. He does so vex me Brain. You'll be worse vexed, when you are trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold; your choler may founder you else. Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, Brain-worm? Brain. A very good leg, master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well. Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on, for the dust: I will have a pair of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' he do E. Kno. Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted by a man's father! He cannot but think most virtuously both of me and the sender, sure, that make the careful coster-monger of him in our familiar epistles. I wish I knew the end of it, which now is doubtful, and threatens-what! my wise cousin! nay, then, I will furnish our feast with one gull more toward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: O, for a fourth! Fortune! if ever thou❜lt use thine eyes, I entreat thee Step. O, now I see who he laughs at. He laughs at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an' he had laughed at me E. Kno. How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy? Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed at me, cousin. E. Kno. Why, what an' I had, coz, what would you ha' done? cle. Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine un E. Kno. Nay, if you would ha' told your uncle, I did laugh at you, coz. Step. Did you, indeed? E. Kno. Yes, indeed. E. Kno. What then? Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient. pray E. Kno. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent for, this morning, by a friend i' the Old Jewry, to come to him: 'tis but crossing o'er the field to Moor-gate will you bear me company? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, coz. Step. Sir, that's all one, an' 'twere; you shall command me, twice so far as Moor-gate, to do you good, in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I protest— E. Kno. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Step. By my fackins, but I will, by your leave; I will protest more to my friend, than I will speak of at this time. E. Kno. You speak very well, coz. Step. Nay, not so, neither; you shall pardon | ped about him, as though he had neither won me: but I speak to serve my turn. nor lost; and yet, I warrant, he never cast bet- Cob. Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. Perhaps he swallowed a tavern-token, or some such device, sir: I have nothing to do withal. I deal with water, and not with wine. Give me my bucket there, hoa. God be with you, sir, it is six o'clock: I should have carried two turns by this. What hoa! my stopple! come. Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house! A gentleman of his havings ! Well, I will tell him my mind. E. Kno. Your turn, coz! Do you know what you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk of your turn in this company, and to me, alone, like a water-bearer | at a conduit ! fie! a wight, that, hitherto, his | every step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, at every word the savour of a strong spirit; and he! this man, so graced, so gilded, or, as I may say, so tinfoyled by nature! Come, corne, wrong not the quality of your desert, with looking downward, coz; but hold up your head, so; and let the idea of what you are be pourtrayed in your face, that men may read in your Cob. What, Tib! shew this gentleman up to physiognomy, here, within this place, is to be the captain. [Tib shews Master Mat. into the seen the true and accomplished monster, or mi-house.] You should have some now, would take ́racle of nature,' which is all one. What think this Mr Matthew to be gentleman at the least. you of this, coz! His father is an honest man, a worshipful fishmonger, and so forth; and now does he creep, and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave gallants about the town, such as my guest is. O, my guest is a fine man! he does swear the legiblest of any man christened: by St. Georgethe foot of Pharaoh-the body o' me,as I am a gentleman and a soldier; such dainty oaths ! and withall, he does take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! it would do a man good to see the fume come forth out at's tonnels! Well, he owes me forty shillings, my | wife lent him out of her purse by six-pence a time, besides his lodging. I would I had it! I shall ha' it, he says, the next action. Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care 'll kill a cat, up-tails all, and a louse for the hangman! [Exit. Step. Why, I do think of it; and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentleman-like, than I have been, I'll assure you. E. Kno. Why, that's resolute, master Stephen! Now, if I can hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will do well for a suburb-humour: we may hap have a match with the city, and play him for forty pounds. Come, coz. Step. Pll follow you. E. Kno. Follow me; you must go before. SCENE III.-The street before COB's house. Mat. I think this be the house. What, hoa! Enter Cos, from the House. Cob. Who is there? O, Master Matthew! give your worship good morrow. Mat. What, Cob! How dost thou, good Cob? Dost thou inhabit here, Cob? Cob. Ay, sir, I and my lineage ha' kept a poor house here in our days. Mat. Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one Captain Bobadil, where his lodging is? Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mean? Mat. Thy guest! Alas! ha, ha. Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? Do you not mean Captain Bobadil? Mat. Cob, pray thee, advise thyself well: do not wrong the gentleman and thyself too. I dare be sworn he scorns thy house. He! he lodge in such a base, obscure place as thy house! Tut, I know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed, if thou would'st give it him. Cob. I will not give it him, though, sir. Mass, I thought somewhat was in it we could not get him to-bed, all night ! Well, sir, though he lies not on my bed, he lies on my bench. And if it please you to go in, sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak wrap | | SCENE IV.-A Room in Cor's House. BOBADIL, discovered upon a bench. TIB enters to him. Bob. Hostess, hostess! Bob. A cup o' thy small-beer, sweet hostess. Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you. Bob. A gentleman! 'ods so, I'm not within. Bob. Who's there?-Take away the bason, good hostess. Come up, sir. Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. You come into a cleanly house here. Enter Master MATTHEW. last night, by a sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drank to, I assure you. Mat. Vouchsafe me by whom, good captain. Bob. Marry, by young Well-bred, and others. Why, hostess! a stool here for this gentleman. Mat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well. Bob. Body of me! It was so late ere we par- Bob. Ay, sir: sit down. I pray you, Master Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient; but in regard I would not be too popular and generally visited, as some are. such an animal! the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By his discourse, he should eat nothing but bay. He was born for the manger, pannier or packsaddle! He has not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron and rusty proverbs! a good commodity for some smith to make hob nails of. Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still, where he comes. He brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I hear. Bob. How! he the bastinado! how came he by that word, trow? Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it So, for my more grace. Bob. That may be: for I was sure, it was none of his word. But when? when said he so? Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gallant, a friend of mine, told me so. Mat. True, captain, I conceive you. Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' 'twere my Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of case now, I should send him a challenge, prevalour in me, except it be to some peculiar and sently. The bastinado! A most proper, and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily enga-sufficient dependence, warranted by the great ged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend thus far. Mat. O lord, sir, I resolve so. [Pulls out a paper, and reads. Bob. I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult and roar of forWhat new piece ha' you there? Read it. Mat. [Reads.]To thee, the purest object of tune. my sense, The most refined essence Heaven covers, 'Send I these lines, wherein I do commence The happy state of turtle-billing lovers.' Bob. 'Tis good; proceed, proceed. Where's this? Mat. This, sir? a toy o' mine own, in my nonage the infancy of my muses. But, when will you come and see my study? Good faith, I can shew you some very good things, I have done of late-That boot becomes your leg, passing well, captain, methinks. Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge him. I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him with, at pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this air. Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i' the mystery, I have heard, sir. Bob. Of whom? Of whom ha' you heard it, I beseech you? Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of by divers, that you have very rare and un-in onebreath-utterable skill, sir. Bob. By Heaven, no, not I; no skill i' the earth! some small rudiments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have profest it more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practice, I assure you. I'll give you a lesson. Look you, sir. Exalt not your point above this state, at any hand; 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 Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' your distance; keep your due proportion of time the fashion, Master Well-bred's elder brother-Oh, you disorder your point most irregularly! and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other day, I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most peremptory-beautiful, and gentleman-like; yet he condemned, and cried it down, for the most pied and ridiculous that ever he saw. use. Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some private place, where you are acquainted; some tavern or so and have a bit-What money ha' you about you, Master Matthew? Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shillings, or So. Bob. 'Tis somewhat with the least: but come, we will have a bunch of raddishes, and salt, to taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco, to close the orifice of the stomach: and then we will call upon young Wellbred. Perhaps we shall meet the Corydon, his brother, there, and put him to the question. Come along, Master Matthew. [Exeunt. ACT II. [Exit. Kite. Do you see that fellow, brother Downright? Down. Ay, what of him? Kite. He is a jewel, brother. I took him of a child, up, at my door, And christened him; gave him my own name, Since bred him, at the hospital; where proving Down. What need this circumstance? Pray you be direct. Kite. I will not say how much I do ascribe grace, But now his course is so irregular, He makes my house, here, common as a mart, For giddy humour, and diseased riot : Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night, Controul my servants; and, indeed, what not! Down. 'Sdains, I know not what I should say to him in the whole world! he values me at a cracked three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never out of the flesh, that's bred in the bone! I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve. Well! he knows what to trust to, for George. Let him spend and spend, and domineer, till his heart ach; an' he think to be relieved by me, when he is got into one of your city-ponds, the counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i' faith, and claps his dish at a wrong man's door. I'll lay my hand o' my halfpenny, ere I part with it, to fetch him out, I'll assure him. Kite. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you, thus. Down. 'Sdeath, he made me--I could eat my very spur-leathers, for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do not you speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house? Kite. O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, brother; But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it, Down. You are too tedious; come to the mat-You are his elder brother, and that title ter, the matter. Kite. Then, without further ceremony, thus. But all he did became him as his own, Both gives and warrants you authority; Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak, Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all o'er; relled My brother purposely, thereby to find Kite. Brother, they would, believe it: so should I, Enter MATTHEW and BOBADIL. Mat. I will speak to him Bob. Speak to him! Away! by the foot of Pharoah, you shall not; you shall not do him that grace. Kite. What's the matter, sirs? courses. Well, as he brews, so he shall drink, for George again. Yet, he shall hear on it, and that tightly, too, an' I live, in faith. Kite. But, brother, let your reprehension, then, Brother, I pray you, go in, and bear my wife [Exit DowNRIght. Kite. Well, though my troubled spirit's somewhat eased, 'Tis not reposed in that security As I could wish: but, I must be content. Bob. The time of day to you, gentleman of Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve The public weal of chastity unshaken, Kite. He came not to his lodgings to-night, sir, Down. Why, do you hear? you! me. [Exeunt BOBADIL and MATTHEW. Kite. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother; good faith you shall not: I will overrule you. head Beware. Against her single peace? No, no. Down. Ha! scavenger! Well, go to, I say little: but, by this good day, (God forgive me I should swear) if I put up so, say, I am the rankest coward ever lived. 'Sdains, and I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again, while I live; I'll sit in a barn with Madge Howlet, and catch mice first. Sca-rose-water above in the closet. Sweetheart, will venger! Kite. Oh, do not fret yourself thus! never think on it. Down. These are my brother's consorts, these! these are his comrades, his walking mates! he is a gallant, a cavaliero, too, right hangman cut! Let me not live, an' I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole gang of them, one after another, and begin with him first, I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and take these Enter Dame KITELY. Dame. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the you come in to breakfast? Kite. An' she have overheard me now! [Aside. |