Cler. [coming forward.] How now, Dauphine? how dost thou quit thyself of these females? Daup. 'Slight, they haunt me like fairies, and give me jewels here! I cannot be rid of them! Cler. Oh, you must not tell though. Daup. Mass, forgot that! I was never so assaulted. One loves for virtue and bribes me with this [shows the jewel]; another loves me with caution, and so would possess me; a third brings me a riddle here; and all are jealous, and rail each at other. Cler. A riddle! pray let me see it. [Reads. Sir Dauphine, I chose this way of intimation for privacy. The ladies here, I know, have both hope and purpose to make a collegiate and servant of you. If I might be so honoured as to appear at any end of so noble a work, I would enter into a fame of taking physic to-morrow, and continue it four or five days, or longer for your visitation. MAVIS. By my faith, a subtle one! Daup. You jest. Cler. No drunkards, either with wine or vanity, ever confess'd such stories of themselves. would not give a fly's leg in balance against all I the women's reputations here, if they could be but thought to speak truth; and for the bride, they have made their affidavit against her directly Daup. What! that they have lain with her? Cler. Yes; and tell times and circumstances, with the cause why, and the place where. almost brought them to affirm that they had done I had it to-day. Daup. Not both of them? Cler. Yes, faith; with a sooth or two more I had effected it. They would have set it down under their hands. Daup. Why, they will be our sport, I see, still, whether we will or no. Enter TRUEWIT. divine True. Oh, are you here? Come, Dauphine, go call your uncle presently; I have fitted my and my canonist, dyed their beards and all. The knaves do not know themselves, they are so exalted and altered. Preferment changes any man. Thou shalt keep one door and I another, and then Clerimont in the midst, that he may have no means of escape from their cavilling when they grow hot once again. And then the women, as I have given the bride her instructions, to break in upon him in the l'envoy.2 Oh, 'twill be full and twanging! Away! fetch him. [Exit DAUP. Enter OTTER disguised as a divine, and CUTBEARD as a canon lawyer. Come, master doctor, and master parson, look to your parts now, and discharge them bravely; you are well set forth, perform it as well. If you chance to be out, do not confess it with standing still, or humming, or gaping one at another; but go on, and talk aloud and eagerly: use vehement action, and only remember your terms, and you are safe. Let the matter go where it will: you have many will do so. But at first be very solemn and grave, like your garments, though 1 reformadoes-a Spanish military term, signifying an officer who for some disgrace is deprived of his command, but retains his rank and perhaps his pay.-NARES. The term is applied here to Daw and La-Foole. 2 l'envoy-conclusion. you loose yourselves after, and skip out like a Re-enter DAUPHINE with MOROSE, True. 'Tis true, sir; we'll go to the matter then. Ott. Please you, master doctor. Cut. Please you, good master parson. Ott. I would here the canon law speak first. Cut. It must give place to positive divinity, sir. Mor. Nay, good gentlemen, do not throw me quickly at me, those that are. into circumstances. Let your comforts arrive ing me my peace, if so I shall hope any. I love Be swift in affordnot your disputations or your court tumults. And father, in my education, was wont to advise me, that it be not strange to you, I will tell you: My that I should always collect and contain my mind, not suffering it to flow loosely; that I should look to what things were necessary to the carriage of eschewing the other; in short, that I shoud enmy life, and what not; embracing the one, and dear myself to rest, and avoid turmoil; which that I come not to your public pleadings, or your now is grown to be another nature to me. places of noise: not that I neglect those things that make for the dignity of the commonwealth; pertinences of orators that know not how to be but for the mere avoiding of clamours and imsilent. And for the cause of noise, am I now a suitor to you. You do not know in what a misery I have been exercised this day, what a torrent of evil! my very house turns round with the tumult! I dwell in a windmill: the perpetual i motion is here, and not at Eltham.1 So True. Well, good master doctor, will you break Ott. "Tis no presumption, domine doctor. Cut. Your question is, For how many canses a man may have divortium legitimum, a lawful divorce? First you must understand the nature of the word divorce, à divertendo 3— to the question briefly. Cut. I answer then, the canon law affords divorce but in few cases; and the principal is in the common case, the adulterous case. But there are duodecim impedimenta, twelve impediments, as we call them, all which do not dirimere contractum, but irritum reddere matrimonium, as we say in the canon law, not take away the bond, but cause a nullity therein. 1 Here was a puppet-show of great celebrity in our author's time.-GIFFORD. 2. A lawful divorce.' s from turning asunder." Mor. I understood you before. Good sir, avoid your impertinency of translation. Ott. He cannot open this too much, sir, by your favour. Mor. Yet more! True. Oh, you must give the learned men leave, sir.-To your impediments, master doctor. Cut. The first is impedimentum erroris.1 Ott. If you contract yourself to one person, thinking her another. Cut. Then, error fortunæ.3 stay. She'll fly you like one that had the marks upon him. Mor. Ladies, I must crave all your pardonsTrue. Silence, ladies. Mor. For a wrong I have done to your whole sex, in marrying this fair and virtuous gentle woman Cler. Hear him, good ladies. Mor. Being guilty of an infirmity, which, before I conferred with these learned men, thought I might have concealed True. But now being better informed in his conscience by them, he is to declare it, and Ott. If she be a beggar, and you thought her give satisfaction by asking your public forgive rich. Cut. Then, error qualitatis. Ott. If she prove stubborn or headstrong, that you thought obedient. Mor. How! is that, sir, a lawful impediment ? One at once, I pray you, gentlemen. Ott. Ay, ante copulam, but not post copulam,5 sir. Cut. Master parson says right. Nec post nuptiarum benedictionem. It doth indeed but irrita reddere sponsalia, annul the contract; after marriage it is of no obstancy. True. Alas, sir, what a hope are we fallen from by this time! [After poor MOROSE is badgered in this way for some time] EPICOENE rushes in, followed by HAUGHTY, CENTAURE, MAVIS, Mistress OTTER, DAW, and LA-FOOLE. Epi. I will not endure it any longer. Ladies, I beseech you, help me. This is such a wrong as never was offered to poor bride before: upon her marriage-day to have her husband conspire against her, and a couple of mercenary companions to be brought in for form's sake, to persuade a separation! If you had blood or virtue in you, gentlemen, you would not suffer such arwigs about a husband, or scorpions to creep between man and wife. Mor. Oh the variety and changes of my torment! Hau. Let them be cudgell'd out of doors by our grooms. Cen. I'll lend you my footman. Mac. We'll have our men blanket them in the hall. Mrs. Ott. As there was one at our house, madam, for peeping in at the door. Daw. Content, i' faith. ness. Mor. I am no man, ladies. Mor. Utterly unable in nature, by reason of frigidity, to perform the duties, or any the least office of a husband. Epi. No, ladies, you shall not need; I'll take him with all his faults. Mor. Worst of all! Cler. Why then, 'tis no divorce, doctor, if she consent not? Mor. Worse, worse than worst! True. Nay, sir, be not utterly disheartened; we have yet a small relic of hope left, as near as our comfort is blown out. Clerimont, produce your brace of knights. Daw. Pardon us, good Master Clerimont. La-F. You will excuse us, Master Clerimont. Cler. Nay, you must make it good now, knights, there is no remedy; I'll eat no words for you, nor no men: you know you spoke it to True. So should you be too, Jack Daw: what should keep you off? She's but a woman, and in disgrace; he'll be glad on't. Daw. Will he? I thought he would have been angry. Cler. You will despatch, knights; it must be done, i'faith. True. Why, an it must, it shall, sir, they say: they'll ne'er go back.-Do not tempt his patience. [Aside to them. Daw. Is it true indeed, sir? Mor. What is true, gentlemen? what do you assure me? Daw. That we have known your bride, sir- Epi. I am undone! I am undone! Mor. Oh! let me worship and adore you, gentlemen! [Weeps. Epi. I am undone! Mor. Yes, to my hand, I thank these knights. Master parson, let me thank you otherwise. [Gives him money. Cen. And have they confess'd? May. Now out upon them, informers! True. You see what creatures you may bestow your favours on, madams. Hau. I would accept against them as beaten knights, wench, and not good witnesses in law. 1 marks-i.e. of the plague, or some contagious distemper.-WHALLEY. 208 Mrs. Ott. Poor gentlewoman, how she takes it! Hau. Be comforted, Morose, I love you the better for't. Cen. So do I, I protest. Cut. But, gentlemen, you have not known her Daw. Not to-day, master doctor. Cut. Why, then I say, for any act before, the 2 assure you, master Cut. If he cannot prove that, it is ratum conjugium, notwithstanding the premises; and they do no way impedire. And this is my sentence, this I pronounce. Ott. I am of master doctor's resolution too, sir; if you made not that demand ante nuptias. Mor. Oh my heart! wilt thou break? wilt thou break? This is worst of all worst worsts that hell could have devised! Marry a whore, and so much noise! Daup. Come, I see now plain confederacy in this doctor and this parson, to abuse a gentleman. You study his affliction. I pray begone, companions. And, gentlemen, I begin to suspect you for having parts with them.-Sir, will it please you hear me? Mor. Oh, do not talk to me; take not from me the pleasure of dying in silence, nephew. Daup. Sir, I must speak to you. long your poor despised kinsman, and many a I have been hard thought has strengthened you against me: but now it shall appear either I love you or your peace, and prefer them to all the world beside. I will not be long or grievous to you, sir. If I free you of this unhappy match absolutely, and instantly, after all this trouble, and almost in your despair, now Mor. It cannot be. Daup. Sir, that you be never troubled with a murmur of it more, what shall I hope for, or deserve of you? Mor. Oh! what thou wilt, nephew; thou shalt deserve me, and have me. Daup. Shall I have your favour perfect to me, and love hereafter? Mor. That, and anything beside. Make thine own conditions. My whole estate is thine; manage it; I will become thy ward. Daup. Nay, sir, I will not be so unreasonable. Epi. Will Sir Dauphine be mine enemy too? Daup. You know I have been long a suitor to you, uncle, that out of your estate, which is fifteen hundred a year, you would allow me but five hundred during life, and assure the rest upon me after; to which I have often, by myself and friends, tendered you a writing to sign, which you would never consent or incline to. If you please but to effect it now Mor. Thou shalt have it, nephew: I will do it, and more. Daup. If I quit you not presently, and for ever, of this cumber, you shall have power instantly, afore all these, to revoke your act, and I will become whose slave you will give me to for ever. Mor. Where is the writing? I will seal to it, that, or to a blank, and write thine own conditions. Epi. Oh me, most unfortunate, wretched gentle woman! Hau. Will Sir Dauphine do this? Epi. Good sir, have some compassion on me. Mor. Oh, my nephew knows you, belike. Away crocodile! Cen. He does it not sure without good ground. Ott. Yes, sir, in primo gradu.3 Daup. I thank you, good Doctor Cutbeard, and do Daup. Yes, Mistress Epicone. friends of the better half of the garland, by conTrue. Well, Dauphine, you have lurch'd your cealing this part of the plot: but much good do it thee, thou deserv'st it, lad.-And, Clerimont, for thy unexpected bringing these two to confession, La-Foole, you see the gentlewoman that has done wear my part of it freely.-Nay, Sir Daw and Sir you the favours! we are all thankful to you, and so should the womankind here, specially for lying on her, though not with her,-you meant so, am sure. But that we have stuck it upon you today, in your own imagined persons, and so lately, this Amazon, the champion of the sex, should beat you now thriftily, for the common slanders which ladies receive from such cuckoos as you are. You are they that, when no merit or fortune yet lie with their reputations, and make their can make you hope to enjoy their bodies, will fame suffer. Away, you common moths of these, and all ladies' honours! Go, travel to make legs and faces, and come home with some new matter to be laugh'd at; you deserve to live in an air as [Exeunt DAW and LA-FOOLE.]-Madams, you are corrupted as that wherewith you feed rumour. mute upon this new metamorphosis! But here stands she that has vindicated your fames. Take heed of such insectæ hereafter. And let it not teries to this young gentleman: he is almost of trouble you, that you have discovered any mysyears, and will make a good visitant within this take for his secrecy, that can speak so well of his twelvemonth. In the meantime, we'll all undersilence. (Coming forward.)-Spectators, if you is gone in, clap your hands. It may be, that noise like this comedy, rise cheerfully, and nore Morose will cure him, at least please him. 1 'just impediment.' 3 in the first degree.' 4 lurch'd-defeated, disappointed. [Exeunt. 2 error of person. EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. A COMEDY. ACTED IN THE YEAR 1598 BY THE THEN LORD CHAMBERLAIN HIS SERVANTS. THE AUTHOR B. J. London. 1616. TO THE MOST LEARNED, AND MY HONOURED FRIEND, CLARENCIEUX. SIR,-There are, no doubt, a supercilious race in the world, who will esteem all office, done you in this kind, an injury; so solemn a vice it is with them to use the authority of their ignorance, to the crying down of POETRY, or the professors: but my gratitude must not leave to correct their error; since I am none of those that can suffer the benefits conferred upon my youth to perish with my age. It is a frail memory that remembers but present things: and, had the favour of the times so conspired with my disposition, as it KNOWELL, an old Gentleman. GEORGE DOWNRIGHT, a plain Squire. CAPTAIN BOBADILL, a Paul's Man, Dramatis Personæ. 1a Paul's Man, i.e. a frequenter of the middle aisle of St. Paul's Cathedral, the common resort of cast captains, sharpers, gulls, and gossipers of every description.GIFFORD. MASTER MATHEW, the Town Gull. THOMAS CASH, Kitely's Cashier. OLIVER COB, a Water-bearer. BEN JONSON. JUSTICE CLEMENT, an old merry Magistrate. DAME KITELY, Kitely's Wife. MISTRESS BRIDGET, his Sister. TIB, Cob's Wife. SCENE-London. Servants, &c. PROLOGUE.1 Though need make many poets, and some such This prologue makes a manly appeal to the good sense of the people, and touches with spirit as well as humour on the defects and absurdities of the old stage. Lyly, Kyd, and above all, the ruder dramatizers of our ancient chronicles, are evidently pointed at. 'Squibs,' battles, flights over sea and land, in choruses, 'drums, trumpets,' creaking thrones,' and all the woful machinery of a poor stage, have been the merry burden of many a prologue and epilogue, from the first dawning of a good taste under Shakespeare.-GIFFORD. He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard then, You, that have so grac'd monsters, may like men. Call up your young master: bid him rise, sir. If he be at his book, disturb him not. [Exit. Know. How happy yet should I esteem myself, He is a scholar, if a man may trust The liberal voice of fame in her report, But since, time and the truth have waked my And reason taught me better to distinguish Enter MASTER STEPHEN. What news with you, that you are here so early? Know. That's kindly done; you are welcome, COZ. Step. Ay, I know that, sir; I would not have come else. How does my cousin Edward, uncle? Know. Oh, well, coz; go in and see; I doubt he be scarce stirring yet. Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking and hunting? I would fain borrow it. Know. Why, I hope you will not a-hawking now, will you? Step. No, wusse; but I'll practise against next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by. Know. Oh, most ridiculous! Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle. Why, you know an a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him: they are more studied than the Greek or the Latin. A fine jest, i' faith! 'Slid, a gentleman mun show himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry; I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no novice. Know. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb, Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak; must Go cast away your money on a buzzard, done? Oh, it is comely! this will make you a gentleman! Step. What would you ha' me do? Know. What would I have you do? I'll tell Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive; yours, Except you make, or hold it. Enter a Servant. Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet you are welcome: and I assure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand a year, Middlesex land. He has but one son in all the world; I am his next heir, at the common law, Master Stephen, as simple as I stand here, if my cousin die, as there's hope he will: I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside, hard by here. Serv. In good time, sir. Step. In good time, sir! Why, and in very good lant's company without them; and by gadslid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every humdrum: hang them, scroyles! there's nothing in them i' the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury,2 or the citizens that come a-ducking to Islington ponds! 1 scroyles-scrofulous, scabby fellows.-GIFFORD. Perhaps from Fr. escrouelles, scrofula. 2archers of Finsbury.-In 1498, all the gardens about and beyond the lordship of Finsbury were destroyed, and of them were made a plain field to shoot in. People of fashion probably mixed but little in these parties.GIFFORD. Step. Not you, sir! You were best not, sir; an quickly too; go to: and they can give it again you should, here be them can perceive it, and that soundly too, an need be. Serv. Why, sir, let this satisfy you; good faith, I had no such intent. Step. Sir, an I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently. Serv. Good Master Stephen, so you may, sir, at your pleasure. 1 flashing bravery-extravagant gaiety of apparelGIFFORD. |
