Chapter III: Part 3

_Actvs Qvinti_.

SCENA PRIMA.

_Enter Momford, Furnifall, Tales, Kingcob, Rudesbie, Goosecap,
Foulweather, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred_.

_Mom_. Where is sir _Gyles Goose-cappe_ here?

_Goos_. Here my Lord.

_Mom_. Come forward, Knight; t'is you that the Ladies admire at working, a mine honour.

_Goos_. A little at once my Lorde for idlenes sake.

_Fur_. Sir _Cut_, I say, to her Captaine.

_Penel_. Come good servant let's see what you worke.

_Goos_. Why looke you, Mistris, I am makeing a fine dry sea, full of fish, playing in the bottome, and here ile let in the water so lively, that you shall heare it rore.

_Eug_. Not heare it, sir _Gyles_?

_Goos_. Yes in sooth, Madam, with your eyes.

_Tal_. I, Lady; for when a thing is done so exceedingly to the life, as my Knightly cosen does it, the eye oftentimes takes so strong a heede of it, that it cannot containe it alone, and therefore the eare seemes to take part with it.

_Hip_. That's a verie good reason, my Lord.

_Mom_. What a jest it is, to heare how seriouslie he strives to make his foolish kinsmans answeres wise ones?

_Pene_. What shall this be, servant?

_Goos_. This shall be a great Whale, Mistris, at all his bignesse spouting huge Hils of salt-water afore him, like a little water squirt, but you shall not neede to feare him Mistris, for he shal be silke, and gould, he shall doe you noe harme, and he be nere so lively.

_Pene_. Thanke you, good servant.

_Tal_. Doe not thinke, Lady, but he had neede tell you this a forehand: for, a mine honour, he wrought me the monster _Caucasus_ so lively, that at the first sight I started at it.

_Mom_. The monster _Caucasus_? my Lord, _Caucasus_ is a Mountaine; _Cacus_ you meane.

_Tal_. _Cacus_ indeede, my Lord, crie you mercie.

_Goos_. Heere ile take out your eye, and you wil Mistris.

_Pene_. No by my faith, Servant, t'is better in.

_Goos_. Why, Ladie, Ile but take it out in jest, in earnest.

_Pene_. No, something else there, good servant.

_Goos_. Why then here shall be a Camell, and he shall have hornes, and he shall looke for all the World like a maide without a husband.

_Hip_. O bitter sir _Giles_.

_Ta_. Nay he has a drie wit, Ladie, I can tell ye.

_Pene_. He bobd me there indeed, my Lord.

_Fur_. Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter bob.

_King_. So she maie answere him with hornes indeed.

_Eug_. See what a pretty worke he weares in his boote-hose.

_Hip_. Did you worke them your selfe, sir _Gyles_, or buy them?

_Goos_. I bought am for nothing, Madam, in th'exchange.

_Eug_. Bought am for nothing?

_Tal_. Indeed, Madam, in th'exchange they so honour him for his worke, that they will take nothing for any thing he buies on am; but wheres the rich night-cap you wroght, cosen? if it had not bin too little for you, it was the best peece of worke, that ever I sawe.

_Goos_. Why, my Lord, t'was bigge enough; when I wrought it, for I wore pantables then you knowe.

_Tal_. Indeed the warmer a man keepes his feete the lesse he needs weare uppon his head.

_Eug_. You speake for your kinsman the best that ever I heard, my Lord.

_Goos_. But I beleeve, Madam, my Lord my cosen has not told you all my good parts.

_Ta_. I told him so I warrant you, cosen.

_Hip_. What doe you thinke hee left out sir _Gyles_?

_Goos_. Marry, Madam, I can take _Tobacco_ now, and I have bought glow-wormes to kindle it withall, better then all the burning glasses ith World.

_Eug_. Glowe-wormes, sir _Giles_? will they make it burne?

_Goos_. O good Madam, I feed am with nothing but fire, a purpose, Ile besworne they eat me five Faggots a-weeke in Charcoale.

_Tal_. Nay he has the strangest devices, Ladies, that ever you heard, I warrent ye.

_Fur_. That's a strange device indeed, my Lord.

_Hip_. But your sowing, sir _Gyles_, is a most gentlewoman-like quality, I assure you.

_Pene_. O farr away, for now, servant, you neede never marry, you are both husband, and wife your selfe.

_Goos_. Nay indeed, mistris, I wood faine marry for all that, and ile tell you my reason, if you will.

_Pene_. Let's here it good servant.

_Goos_. Why, Madam, we have a great match at football towards, married men against batchellers, and the married men be all my friends, so I wood faine marry to take the married mens parts in truth.

_Hip_. The best reason for marriage that ever I heard sir _Gyles_.

_Goos_. I pray will you keepe my worke a little, Mistris; I must needes straine a little courtesie in truth. [_Exit Sir Gyles_.

_Hip_. Gods my life, I thought he was a little to blame.

_Rud_. Come, come, you he[a]re not me, dame.

_Pur_. Well said, sir _Cut_: to her now; we shall heare fresh courting.

_Hip_. Alas, sir _Cut_, you are not worth the hearing, every body saies you cannot love, howsoever you talke on't.

_Rud_. Not love, dame? slidd what argument woodst have of my love, tro? lett me looke as redde as Scarlet a fore I see thee, and when thou comst in sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippards holland, I am a _Iewe_ to my Creator.

_Hip_. O excellent!

_Rud_. Let me burst like a Tode, if a frowne of thy browe has not turned the very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by the heeles for a fortnight to bring it to the right againe.

_Hip_. You shood have hangd longer sir _Cut_: tis not right yet.

_Rud_. Zonnes, bid me cut off the best lymme of my body for thy love, and ile lai't in thy hand to prove it. Doost thinke I am no Christian, have I not a soule to save?

_Hip_. Yes tis to save yet I warrant it, and wilbe while tis a soule if you use this.

_Fur_. Excellent Courtship of all hands, only my Captaines Courtship, is not heard yet. Good Madam give him favour to court you with his voyce.

_Eug_. What shood he Court me withall else, my Lord?

_Mom_. Why, I hope Madam there be other things to Court Ladies withall besides voyces.

_Fur_. I meane with an audible sweete song Madam.

_Eug_. With all my heart my Lord, if I shall bee so much indebted to him.

_Foul_. Nay I will be indebted to your eares Ladie for hearing me sound musicke.

_Fur_. Well done Captaine, prove as it wil now.

_Enter Messenger_.

_Me_. My Lord, Doctor _Versey_ the Physitian is come to see master _Clarence_.

_Mom_. Light, and attend him to him presently.

_Fur_. To Master _Clarence_? what is your friend sicke?

_Mom_. Exceeding sicke.

_Tal_. I am exceeding sorrie.

_King_. Never was sorrow worthier bestowed Then for the ill state of so good a man.

_Pene_. Alas poore Gentleman; good my Lord lets see him.

_Mom_. Thankes gentle Ladie, but my friend is loth To trouble Ladies since he cannot quitt them. With anything he hath that they respect.

_Hip_. Respect, my Lord! I wood hold such a man In more respect then any Emperour: For he cood make me Empresse of my selfe And in mine owne rule comprehend the World.

_Mom_. How now young Dame? what sodainly inspird? This speech hath silver haires, and reverence askes, And sooner shall have duty done of me, Then any pompe in temperall Emperie.

_Hip_. Good Madam get my Lord to let us greet him.

_Eug_. Alas we shall but wrong and trouble him. His Contemplations greet him with most welcome.

_Fur_. I never knew a man of so sweet a temper, So soft and humble, of so high a Spirit.

_Mom_. Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich, Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes The standing lake of Impudence corrupts; Hath nought in all the World, nor nought wood have, To grace him in the prostituted light. But if a man wood consort with a soule Where all mans Sea of gall and bitternes Is quite evaporate with her holy flames, And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence Fosters her own deserts, and life and death Runnes hand in hand before them, all the Skies Cleere, and transparent to her piercing eyes, Then wood my friend be something, but till then A _Cipher_, nothing, or the worst of men.

_Foul_. Sweet Lord, lets goe visit him.

_Enter Goose-cappe_.

_Goos_. Pray, good my Lord, what's that you talke on?

_Mom_. Are you come from your necessarie busines, Sir _Gyles_? we talke of the visiting of my sicke friend _Clarence_.

_Goos_. O good my Lord lets visite him, cause I knowe his brother.

_Hip_. Know his brother, nay then Count doe not denie him.

_Goos_. Pray my Lord whether was eldest, he or his elder brother?

_Mom_. O! the younger brother eldest while you live, sir _Gyles_.

_Goos_. I say so still my Lord, but I am so borne downe with truth, as never any Knight ith world was I thinke.

_Ta_. A man wood thinke he speakes simply now; but indeed it is in the will of the parents, to make which child they will youngest, or eldest: For often we see the youngest inherite, wherein he is eldest.

_Eug_. Your logicall wit my Lord is able to make any thing good.

_Mom_. Well come sweet Lords, and Ladies, let us spend The time till supper-time with some such sights, As my poore house is furnished withall, Pictures, and jewels; of which implements, It may be I have some will please you much.

_Goos_, Sweet Lord, lets see them.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Clarence, and Doctor_.

_Do_. I thinke your disease sir, be rather of the minde then the body.

_Cla_. Be there diseases of the minde _Doctor_?

_Do_. No question sir, even as there be of the body.

_Cla_. And cures for them too?

_Do_. And cures for them too, but not by Physick.

_Cla_. You will have their diseases, greifes? will you not?

_Do_. Yes, oftentimes.

_Cla_. And doe not greifes ever rise out of passions?

_Do_. Evermore.

_Cla_. And doe not passions proceed from corporall distempers?

_Do_. Not the passions of the minde, for the minde many times is sicke, when the bodie is healthfull.

_Cla_. But is not the mindes-sicknes of power to make the body sicke?

_Do_. In time, certaine.

_Cla_. And the bodies ill affections able to infect the mind?

_Do_. No question.

_Cla_. Then if there be such a naturall commerce of Powers betwixt them, that the ill estate of the one offends the other, why shood not the medicines for one cure the other?

_Do_. Yet it will not you see. _Hei mihi quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis_.[44]

_Cla_. Nay then, Doctor, since you cannot make any reasonable Connexion of these two contrarieties the minde, and the body, making both subiect to passion, wherein you confound the substances of both, I must tell you there is no disease of the minde but one, and that is _Ignorance_.

_Do_. Why what is love? is not that a disease of the mind?

_Cla_. Nothing so: for it springs naturally out of the bloode, nor are we subject to any disease, or sorrowe, whose causes or effects simply and natively concerne the body, that the minde by any meanes partaketh, nor are there any passions in the soule, for where there are no affections, there are no passions: And _Affectus_ your Master _Galen_ refers _parti irascenti_, For _illic est anima sentiens ubi sunt affectus_: Therefore the Rationall Soule cannot be there also.

_Do_. But you know we use to say, my minde gives me this or that, even in those addictions that concerne the body.

_Cla_. We use to say so indeed, and from that use comes the abuse of all knowledge and her practice, for when the object in question only concerns the state of the body; why shood the soule bee sorry or glad for it? if she willingly mixe her selfe, then she is a foole, if of necessity, and against her will, a slave, and so, far from that wisdome and freedome that the Empresse of Reason and an eternall Substance shood comprehend.

_Do_. Divinely spoken, Sir, but verie Paradoxicallie.

_Enter Momford, Tales, Kingcob, Furnif; Rudes, Goos: Foul:
Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolyta, Winnifred_.

_Mom_. Who's there?

[_Fur_.?] I, my Lord.

_Mom_. Bring hether the Key of the gallery, me thought I heard the Doctor, and my friend.

_Fur_. I did so sure.

_Mom_. Peace then a while, my Lord, We will be bold to evesdroppe; For I know My friend is as respective in his Chamber And by himselfe, of any thing he does As in a _Criticke Synods_ curious eyes, Following therein _Pythagoras_ golden rule-- _Maximè omnium teipsum reverere_.

_Cla_. Know you the Countesse _Eugenia_, Sir?

_Do_. Exceeding wel, Sir; she's a good learned scholler.

_Cla_. Then I perceive you know her well indeed.

_Do_. Me thinks you two shood use much conference.

_Cla_. Alas sir, we doe verie seldome meet, For her estate and mine are so unequall, And then her knowledge passeth mine so farre, That I hold much too sacred a respect, Of her high vertues to let mine attend them.

_Do_. Pardon me, Sir, this humblenes cannot flowe Out of your judgment but from passion.

_Cla_. Indeed I doe account that passion The very high perfection of my minde, That is excited by her excellence, And therefore willingly, and gladly feele it. For what was spoken of the most chast Queene Of rich _Pasiaca_ [?] may be said of her. _Moribus Antevenit sortem[45], virtutibus Annos, Sexum animo, morum Nobilitate Genus_.

_Do_. A most excellent _Distick_.

_Mom_. Come, Lords, away, lets not presume too much Of a good nature; not for all I have Wood I have him take knowledge of the wrong I rudely offer him: come then ile shew A few rare jewels to your honour'd eyes; And then present you with a common supper.

_Goos_. Iewells, my Lord? why is not this candlesticke one of your jewells pray?

_Mom_. Yes marry is it, sir _Gyles_, if you will.

_Goos_. Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing but the languages.

_Pene_. The languages servant why the languages?

_Goos_. Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, and that had the languages I am sure.

_Tal_. I thought he had a reason for it Lady.

_Pene_. I, and a reason of the Sunne too, my Lord, for his father wood have bin ashamed on't. [_Exeunt_.

_Do_. Well, master _Clarence_, I perceive your minde Hath so incorparate it selfe with flesh And therein rarified that flesh to spirit, That you have need of no Physitians helpe. But, good Sir, even for holy vertues health And grace of perfect knowledge, doe not make Those ground workes of eternity you lay Meanes to your ruine, and short being here: For the too strict and rationall Course you hold Will eate your body up; and then the World, Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives, Will suffer Diminution: It is now Brought almost to a simple unity, Which is (as you well know) _Simplicior puncto_. And if that point faile once, why, then alas The unity must onely be suppos'd. Let it not faile then, most men else have sold it; Tho you neglect your selfe, uphould it. So with my reverend love I leave you sir. [_Exit_.

_Cla_. Thanks, worthy Doctour, I do amply quite you; I proppe poore vertue, that am propt my selfe, And only by one friend in all the World! For vertues onely sake I use this wile, Which otherwise I wood despise, and scorne. The World should sinke, and all the pompe she hugs Close in her hart, in her ambitious gripe, Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joynt Mou'd with the worth that worldlings love so well Had power to save it from the throate of hell. [_He drawes the curtains, and sits within them_.

_Enter Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolita_.

_Eug_. Come on, faire Ladies, I must make you both Familiar witnesses of the most strange part And full of impudence, that ere I plaide.

_Hip_. What's that, good Madam?

_Eug_. I that have bene so more then maiden-nice To my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeld By his importunate suite to his friends love In looke, or almost thought; will of my selfe, Farre past his expectation or his hope, In action and in person greete his friend, And comfort the poore gentlemans sicke state.

_Pene_. Is this a part of so much Impudence?

_Eug_. No but I feare me it will stretch to more.

_Hip_. Marry, Madam, the more the merrier.

_Eug_. Marrie Madam? what shood I marrie him?

_Hip_. You take the word me thinkes as tho you would, And if there be a thought of such kind heate In your cold bosome, wood to god my breath Might blowe it to the flame of your kind hart.

_Eug_. Gods pretious, Ladie, know ye what you say, Respect you what I am, and what he is, What the whole world wood say, & what great Lords I have refused, and might as yet embrace, And speake you like a friend to wish me him?

_Hip_. Madam I cast all this, and know your choyse Can cast it quite out of the christall dores Of your Iudiciall eyes: I am but young, And be it said, without all pride I take To be a maid, I am one, and indeed Yet in my mothers wombe to all the wiles Weeud[46] in the loomes of greatnes, and of state: And yet even by that little I have learn'd Out of continuall conference with you, I have cride haruest home of thus much judgment In my greene sowing time, that I cood place The constant sweetnes of good _Clarence_ minde, Fild with his inward wealth and noblenes, (Looke, Madam) here, when others outward trash Shood be contented to come under here.

_Pene_. And so say I uppon my maidenhead.

_Eug_. Tis well said, Ladies, thus we differ then, I to the truth-wife, you to worldly men. And now sweet dames obserue an excellent jest (At least in my poore jesting.) Th'Erle my unckle Will misse me straite, and I know his close drift Is to make me, and his friend _Clarence_ meete By some device or other he hath plotted. Now when he seekes us round about his house And cannot find us, for we may be sure He will not seeke me in his sicke friends Chamber, (I have at all times made his love so strange,) He straight will thinke, I went away displeas'd, Or hartely careles of his hardest suite. And then I know there is no griefe on Earth Will touch his hart so much; which I will suffer, To quite his late good pleasure wrought on me, For ile be sworne in motion, and progresse Of his friends suite, I never in my life Wrastled so much with passion or was mov'd To take his firme love in such jelouse part.

_Hip_. This is most excellent, Madam, and will prove A neecelike, and a noble friends Revenge.

_Eug_. Bould in a good cause; then lets greet his friend.-- Where is this sickely gentleman? at his booke? Now in good truth I wood theis bookes were burnd That rapp men from their friends before their time, How does my uncles friend, no other name I need give him, to whom I give my selfe.

_Cla_. O Madam let me rise that I may kneele, And pay some duty to your soveraigne grace.

_Hip_. Good _Clarence_, doe not worke your selfe disease My Lady comes to ease and comfort you.

_Pene_. And we are handmaides to her to that end.

_Cla_. Ladies, my hart will breake if it be held Within the verge of this presumtuous chaire.

_Eug_. Why, _Clarence_ is your judgement bent to show A common lovers passion? let the World, That lives without a hart, and is but showe, Stand on her empty, and impoisoned forme, I knowe thy kindenesse and have seene thy hart Clest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes, And I am only now to speake and act The rite's due to thy love: oh, I cood weepe A bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state, I cood give passion all her blackest rites And make a thousand vowes to thy deserts. But these are common, knowledge is the bond, The seale, and crowne of our united mindes; And that is rare and constant, and for that, To my late written hand I give thee this. See, heaven, the soule thou gau'st is in this hand. This is the Knot of our eternitie, Which fortune, death, nor hell, shall ever loose.

_Enter Bullaker, Iack, Wil_.

_Ia_. What an unmannerly tricke is this of thy Countesse to give the noble count her uncle the slippe thus?

_Wil_. Vnmannerlie, you villaynes? O that I were worthy to weare a Dagger to any purpose for thy sake?

_Bul_. Why young Gentlemen, utter your anger with your fists.

_Wil_. That cannot be, man, for all fists are shut you know and utter nothing; and besides I doe not thinke my quarrell just for my Ladies protection in this cause, for I protest she does most abhominablie miscarrie her selfe.

_Ia_. Protest, you sawsie Iacke, you! I shood doe my country, and Court-ship good service to beare thy coalts teeth out of thy head, for suffering such a reverend word to passe their guarde; why, the oldest Courtier in the World, man, can doe noe more then protest.

_Bul_. Indeede, Page, if you were in _Fraunce_, you wood be broken upon a wheele for it, there is not the best _Dukes_ sonne in _France_ dares say I protest, till he be one and thirty yeere old at least, for the inheritance of that word is not to be possest before.

_Wil_. Well, I am sorry for my presumtion then, but more sory for my Ladies, marie most sorry for thee good Lord _Momford_, that will make us most of all sory for our selves, if wee doe not fynde her out.

_Ia_. Why, alas, what shood wee doe? all the starres of our heaven see, we seeke her as fast as we can if she be crept into a rush we will seeke her out or burne her.

_Enter Momford_.

_Mom_. Villaines, where are your Ladies? seeke them out. Hence, home ye monsters, and still keepe you there Where levity keepes, in her inconstant Spheare. [_Exeunt Pages_. Away, you pretious villaines! what a plague, Of varried tortures is a womans hart? How like a peacockes taile with different lightes, They differ from themselves; the very ayre Alter the aspen humors of their bloods. Now excellent good, now superexcellent badd: Some excellent good, some? but one of all: Wood any ignorant babie serue her friend Such an uncivill part? Sblood what is learning? An artificiall cobwebbe to catch _flies_, And nourish _Spiders_? cood she cut my throate With her departure, I had byn her calfe, And made a dish at supper for my guests Of her kinde charge; I am beholding to her. Puffe, is there not a feather in this ayre A man may challenge for her? what? a feather? So easie to be seene, so apt to trace, In the weake flight of her unconstant wings? A mote, man, at the most, that with the Sunne, Is onely seene, yet with his radiant eye, We cannot single so from other motes, To say this mote is she. Passion of death, She wrongs me past a death; come, come, my friend Is mine, she not her owne, and theres an end.

_Eug_. Come uncle shall we goe to supper now?

_Mom_. Zounes to supper? what a dorr is this?

_Eug_. Alas what ailes my uncle? Ladies, see.

_Hip_. Is not your Lordshippe well?

_Pene_. Good, speake my Lord.

_Mom_. A sweete plague on you all, ye witty rogues; Have you no pitty in your villanous jests, But runne a man quite from his fifteene witts?

_Hip_. Will not your Lordship see your friend, and Neece.

_Mom_. Wood I might sinke if I shame not to see her Tush t'was a passion of pure jealousie, Ile make her now amends with Adoration. Goddesse of learning, and of constancy, Of friendshippe, and of everie other vertue.

_Eug_. Come, come you have abus'de me now, I know, And now you plaister me with flatteries.

_Pene_. My Lord, the contract is knit fast betwixt them.

_Mom_. Now all heavens quire of Angels sing Amen, And blesse theis true borne nuptials with their blisse; And Neece tho you have cosind me in this, Ile uncle you yet in an other thing, And quite deceive your expectation. For where you thinke you have contracted harts With a poore gentleman, he is sole heire To all my Earledome, which to you and yours I freely and for ever here bequeath. Call forth the Lords, sweet Ladies; let them see This sodaine, and most welcome Noveltie; But cry you mercy, Neece, perhaps your modesty Will not have them partake this sodaine match.

_Eug_. O uncle, thinke you so? I hope I made My choyce with too much Judgment to take shame Of any forme I shall performe it with.

_Mom_. Said like my Neece, and worthy of my friend.

_Enter Furnifall, Tal: King: Goos: Rud: Foul: Ia: Will, Bullaker_.

_Mom_. My Lords, take witnes of an absolute wonder, A marriage made for vertue, onely vertue: My friend, and my deere Neece are man and wife.

_Fur_. A wonder of mine honour, and withall A worthy presedent for all the World; Heaven blesse you for it, Lady, and your choyce.

_Ambo_. Thankes, my good Lord.

_Ta_. An Accident that will make pollicie blush, And all the Complements of wealth and state, In the succesfull and unnumbred Race That shall flow from it, fild with fame and grace.

_Ki_. So may it speed deere Countesse, worthy _Clarence_.

_Ambo_. Thankes, good sir _Cuthberd_.

_Fur_. Captaine be not dismaid, Ile marrie thee, For while we live, thou shalt my consort be.

_Foul_. By _France_ my Lord, I am not griev'd a whit, Since _Clarence_ hath her; he hath bin in _Fraunce_, And therefore merits her if she were better.

_Mom_. Then, Knights, ile knit your happie nuptial knots. I know the Ladies minds better then you; Tho my rare Neece hath chose for vertue only, Yet some more wise then some, they chuse for both, Vertue and wealth.

_Eug_. Nay, uncle, then I plead This goes with my choise, _Some more wise then some_, For onely vertues choise is truest wisedome.

_Mom_. Take wealth, and vertue both amongst you then, They love ye, Knights, extreamely; and Sir _Cut_: I give the chast _Hippolita_ to you; Sir _Gyles_, this Ladie--

_Pen_. Nay, stay there, my Lord. I have not yet prov'd all his Knightly parts I heare he is an excellent Poet too.

_Tal_. That I forgot sweet Lady; good sir _Gyles_, Have you no sonnet of your penne about ye?

_Goos_. Yes, that I have I hope, my Lord, my Cosen.

_Fur_. Why, this is passing fit.

_Goos_. I'de be loth to goe without paper about me against my Mistris, hold my worke againe; a man knows not what neede he shall have perhaps.

_Mom_. Well remembred a mine honour sir _Gyles_.

_Goos_. Pray read my Lord, I made this sonnet of my Mistris.

_Rud_. Nay reade thy selfe, man.

_Goos_. No intruth, sir _Cut_: I cannot reade mine owne hand.

_Mom_. Well I will reade it. _Three things there be which thou shouldst only crave, Thou Pomroy or thou apple of mine eye; Three things there be which thou shouldst long to have And for which three each modest dame wood crie; Three things there be that shood thine anger swage, An English mastife and a fine French page_.

_Rud_. Sblood, Asse, theres but two things, thou shamst thy selfe.

_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. thats _Poetica licentia_, the verse wood have bin too long, and I had put in the third. Slight, you are no Poet I perceive.

_Pene_. Tis excellent, servant.

_Mom_. Keepe it Lady then, And take the onely Knight of mortall men.

_Goos_. Thanke you, good my Lord, as much as tho you had given me twenty shillings in truth; now I may take the married mens parts at football.

_Mom_. All comforts crowne you all; and you, Captaine, For merry forme sake let the willowe crowne: A wreath of willow bring us hither straite.

_Fur_. Not for a world shood that have bin forgot Captaine it is the fashion, take this Crowne.

_Foul_. With all my hart, my Lord, and thanke you too; I will thanke any man that gives me crownes.

_Mom_. Now will we consecrate our ready supper To honourd _Hymen_ as his nuptiall rite; In forme whereof first daunce, faire Lords and Ladies, And after sing, so we will sing, and daunce, And to the skies our vertuous joyes advance.

_The Measure_.

Now to the song and doe this garland grace.

_Canto.

Willowe, willowe, willowe,
our Captaine goes downe:
Willowe, willowe, willowe,
his vallor doth crowne.
The rest with Rosemary we grace;
O Hymen let thy light
With richest rayes guild every face,
and feast harts with delight.
Willowe, willowe, willowe,
we chaunt to the skies;
And with blacke, and yellowe,
give courtship the prize_.

FINIS.

NOTE.--In a letter to the _Athenaeum_ of June 9, 1883, Mr. Fleay suggests that _Sir Giles Goosecap_ is the work of George Chapman. "It was produced by the Children of the Chapel, and must therefore date between 1599 and 1601. The only other plays known to have been represented by the Chapel Children are Lyly's _Love's Metamorphosis_ and the three _Comical Satires_ of Ben Jonson. The present play bears palpable marks of Jonson's influence.... The author, then, must have been a stage writer at the end of the sixteenth century, probably a friend of Jonson's, and not surviving 1636. The only known playwrights who fulfil the time conditions are Marston, Middleton, and Chapman. Internal evidence, to say nothing of Jonson's enmity, is conclusive against Marston and Middleton. Chapman, on the other hand, fulfils the conditions required. He was Jonson's intimate friend, and died in 1634. In 1598 he was writing plays for Henslow at the Rose Theatre; on July 17, 1599, his connexion with the Admiral's Company there performing ceased; and his next appearance in stage history is as a writer for the Children of Her Majesty's Revels, the very company that succeeded, and was, indeed, founded on that of the Children of the Chapel at Blackfriars. If Chapman was not writing for the Chapel boys from 1599 to 1601, we do not know what he was doing at all. The external evidence, then, clearly points to Chapman. The internal is still more decisive. To say nothing of metrical evidence, which seems just now out of fashion, probably on account of the manner in which it has been handled, can there be any doubt of the authorship of such lines as these:--

'According to my master Plato's mind,' &c.--iii. II.

And for the lower comedy, act iv., sc. 1, in which Momford makes Eugenia dictate a letter to Clarence, should be compared with the _Gentleman Usher_, iii. 1, and _Monsieur d'Olive_, iv. 1. These are clearly all from one mould." I, like Mr. Fleay, had been struck by the resemblance to Chapman's style in parts of _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; but it seems to me that the likeness is stronger in the serious than in the comic scenes. If Chapman was the author, it is curious that his name did not appear on the title-page of the second edition. The reference to the Maréchal de Biron's visit, iii. 1, proves conclusively that the play cannot have been written earlier than the autumn of 1601.

INTRODUCTION TO _DOCTOR DODYPOLL_.

After reading the passages from "Dr. Dodypoll" in Lamb's "Extracts from the Garrick Plays," many students must have felt a desire to have the play in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew already. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astounding inequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, between Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift of expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold with a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of Lassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is brought too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, the serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken English, is a desperate bore. Soon the stage is crowded with figures, and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the plot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. The elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the doctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been previously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained the affections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no great dexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The reader jumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couple cleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making Earl Cassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with her father, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's story of Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The third scene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of the enchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from "Midsummer Night's Dream," and in single lines of other scenes we catch Shakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest in the scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives to pierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for an instant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions. The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. And what shall be said of that exquisite description of the cameo in ii. 1?

"_Flores_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes
The image of that Goddesse and her sonne,
Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love;
See, naturally wrought out of the stone
(Besides the perfect shape of every limme,
Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire)
A waving mantle of celestiall blew
Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.

_Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords)
How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone
As if they needed not the helpe of Art."

Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless?

As to the authorship of "Dr. Dodypoll" I am unable to form a conjecture. We learn from Henslowe's Diary that a play called the "French Doctor" was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece with "Dr. Dodypoll." Steevens states that the present play was composed before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song on p. 102, "What thing is love"? is found in William Drummond's MS. extracts from Peele's "Hunting of Cupid" (apud Dyce's Peele).[48]

The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.

_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_.

LONDON Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, dwelling in Long Lane. 1600.

The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.

_Actus Prima_.

_A Curtaine drawne, Earle_ Lassingbergh _is discovered
(like a Painter) painting_ Lucilia, _who sits working
on a piece of Cushion worke_.

_Lassinberge_.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayes Reveal'st the variant colours of the world, Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'st The glorious parts of faire _Lucilia_: Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares, And fix them there as an eternall light For Lovers to adore and wonder at: And this (long since) the high Gods would have done, But that they could not bring it back againe When they had lost so great divinitie.

_Lu_. You paint your flattering words, [Lord] _Lassinbergh_, Making a curious pensill of your tongue; And that faire artificiall hand of yours Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie Then here to worke on Antickes and on me. Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle) Are glad to be a mercinary Painter.

_Lass_. A Painter, faire _Luci[li]a_? Why, the world With all her beautie was by painting made. Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres, The firmamentall ground of it all blew: Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes, The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth: Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,-- How much is natures painting honour'd there? Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore, Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne, Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles: Looke on that little world, the twofold man, Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still, And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin. I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts, The severall colours of the Elements, Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie In making all things by their colours knowne. And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine, In all things she hath made is a meere Painter.

[_She kisses her hand_.

[_Lu_.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill, Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given (With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art, Of which my beauties can deserve no part.

_Lass_. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst Thy severall parts, if I uniting all Had figur'd there the true _Lucilia_, Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine Art And devout people would from farre repaire, Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice, Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves. Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold, Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye; Here, underneath this little Rosie bush, Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it; Here _Cupid_ (hanging downe his wings) doth sit, Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes: Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand, Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper'st, Least ravisht I should dote on mine own worke Or Envy-burning eyes should malice it.

_Lu_. No more, my Lord; see, here comes _Haunce_ our man.

_Enter Haunce_.

_Haunce_. We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes. Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my Mistresse _Lucilia_, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints no pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie. But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers: A, the finest wench.

Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise,
And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes.

_Enter_ Cornelia _sola, looking upon the picture of_
Alberdure _in a little Jewell, and singing. Enter the
Doctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her_.

THE SONG.

_What thing is love? for sure I am it is a thing,
It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a prettie, prettie thing;
It is a fire, it is a cole, whose flame creeps in at every hoale;
And as my wits do best devise
Loves dwelling is in Ladies eies_.

_Haunce_. O rare wench!

_Cor_. Faire Prince, thy picture is not here imprest With such perfection as within my brest.

_Mar_. Soft, maister Doctor.

_Doct_. _Cornelia_, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is too sawcie by garr. Foole, holde off hand, foole; let de Doctor speake.

_Han_. Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jewes Trump.

_Doct_. Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you. Me pray you not to say no.

_Cor_. Maister Doctor, I think you do not love me; I am sure you shall not marry me, And (in good sadnes) I must needs say no.

_Mar_. What say you to this, maister Doctor. Mistresse, let me speake. That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter: and I do live or die upon your _Monasi[la]ble_, I or no.

_Doct_. By gar if you will see de _Marshan_ hang himselfe, say no: a good shasse by garr.

_Han_. A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman.

_Mar_. Mistresse, Ile bring you from _Arabia_, _Turckie_, and _India_, where the Sunne doth rise, Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, To beautifie you more then all the paintings Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes.

_Doct_. You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding. Me vit one, two, tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by garr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foure yere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who shall toush your fine hand? ô shall, ô sweete, by garr.

_Mar_. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinals in the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie ever at hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship.

_Doct_. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee live againe for sav'a de law.

_Han_. A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre.

_Doct_. Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire.

_Cor_. You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary.

_Doct_. Know? what you know? You no see your selfe, by garr me see you; me speake vatt me see; you no point speake so:

_Han_. Peace, Doctor, I vise you. Do not court in my maisters hearing, you were best.

_Enter Flores_.

_Flo_. Where are these wooers heere? poore sillie men, Highly deceiv'd to gape for marriage heere Onely for gaine: I have another reache More high then their base spirits can aspire: Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide, That hath alreadie promist me a drug Whose vertue shall effect my whole desires.

_Doct_. O _Monsieur Flores_, mee be your worships servant; mee lay my hand under your Lordships foote by my trot.

_Flo_. O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, And you, _Albertus_, it doth please me much To see you vowed rivalls thus agree.

_Doct_. Agree? by my trot sheele not have him.

_Ma_. You finde not that in your urins, M. Doctor.

_Doct_. _Mounsieur Flores_, come hedder, pray.

_Flo_. What sayes maister Doctor? have you remembred me?

_Doct_. I, by garr: heere be de powdra, you give de halfe at once.

_Flo_. But are you sure it will worke the effect?

_Doct_. Me be sure? by garr she no sooner drinke but shee hang your neck about; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse your lippe, by garr.

_Flo_. What, wilt thou eate me, Doctor?

_Doct_. By garr, mee must shew you de vertue by plaine demonstration.

_Flo_. Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no?

_Doct_. By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kisse my sweete mistresse.

_Flo_. Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speake; is't best in wine or no?

_Doct_. O, good Lort! in vyne: vat else I pray you? you give de vench to loove vatra? be garre me be ashame of you.

_Flo_. Well, thankes, gentle Doctor. And now (my friends) I looke to day for strangers of great state, And must crave libertie to provide for them. Painter, goe leave your worke, and you, _Lucilia_, Keepe you (I charge you) in your chamber close. [_Exeunt Cass. and Lucilia_. _Haunce_, see that all things be in order set Both for our Musicke and our large Carowse, That (after our best countrie fashion) I may give entertainment to the Prince.

_Han_. One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune.

_Flo_. Out of tune, villaine? which way?

_Han_. Drunke (sir), ant please you?

_Flo_. Ist night with him alreadie?--Well, get other Musicke.

_Han_. So we had need in truth, sir.
[_Exit Hans_.

_Doct_. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [_Exit_.

_Mar_. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [_Exit_.

_Flo_. _Albertus_, welcome.--And now, _Cornelia_, Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe. Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love In which we have been partiall towards thee (Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts) Receive this vertuous powder at my hands, And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine) Give it unto the Prince in his carowse. I meane no villanie heerein to him But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup. We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes; Why should we, then, shun any meanes we can To raise us to our auncient states againe? Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'st To have thy imperfections helpt by love.

_Corn_. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanes Forbidden by the lawes of God and men? Can that love prosper which is not begun By the direction of some heavenly fate?

_Flo_. I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet; I must provide for mine, and still preferre (Above all these) the honour of my house: Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge.

_Cor_. If you will have it so I must consent.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Alberdure, Hyanthe, Leander and Moth_.

_Alber_. My deere _Hyanthe_, my content, my life, Let no new fancie change thee from my love; And for my rivall (whom I must not wrong, Because he is my father and my Prince) Give thou him honour but give me thy love. O that my rivall bound me not in dutie To favour him, then could I tell _Hyanthe_ That he alreadie (with importun'd suite) Hath to the _Brunswick_ Dutchesse vow'd himselfe, That his desires are carelesse and his thoughts Too fickle and imperious for love: But I am silent, dutie ties my tongue.

_Hya_. Why? thinks my joy, my princely _Alderbure_, _Hyanthes_ faith stands on so weake a ground, That it will fall or bend with everie winde? No stormes or lingring miseries shall shake it, Much lesse vaine titles of commaunding love.

_Moth_. Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthlie purgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting and groaning in his sleepe, with "O, _Hyanthe_! my deare _Hyanthe_! And then hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewell by the eare.

_Alber_. Away, you wag.--And tell me now, my love, What is the cause Earle _Cassimere_ (your father) Hath been so long importunate with me To visit _Flores_ the brave Jeweller?

_Hyan_. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord, That he thinkes he doth honour every man Whom he acquaints with his perfections. Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfe To grace and sooth his great conceit of him; For everie jesture, everie word he speakes, Seemes to my father admirablie good.

_Lean_. Indeed, my Lord, his high conceipt of him Is more then any man alive deserves. He thinkes the Jeweller made all of Jewels, Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit, Faire spoken and well furnisht with good parts, Yet not so peerleslie to be admir'd.

_Enter Cassimere_.

_Cass_. Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure you You shall beholde so excellent a man, For his behaviour, for his sweete discourse, His sight in Musick and in heavenlie Arts, Besides the cunning judgement of his eie In the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes, That you will sorrow you have staide so long.

_Alber_. Alas, whie would not then your lordships favor Hasten me sooner? for I long to see him On your judiciall commendation.

_Cass_. Come, lets away then: go you in, _Hyanthe_, And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence See him (I pray) with honour entertain'd.

[_Exeunt_.

_Hya_. I will, my Lord.

_Leand_. I will accompanie your Ladiship, If you vouchsafe it.

_Hya_. Come, good _Leander_.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Constantine, Katherine, Ite,
Vandercleeve, with others_.

_Const_. Lord _Vandercleeve_, go Lord Ambassadour From us to the renowmed Duke of _Saxon_, And know his highnesse reason and intent Whie being (of late) with such importunate suite Betroth'd to our faire sister _Dowager_ Of this our Dukedome, he doth now protract The time he urged with such speede of late His honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate.

_Kath_. But, good my Lord, temper your Ambassie With such respective termes to my renowme That I be cleer'd of all immodest haste To have our promist nuptials consummate; For his affects (perhaps) follow the season, Hot with the summer then, now colde with winter: And Dames (though nere so forward in desire) Must suffer men to blowe the nuptiall fire.

_Vander_. Madam, your name (in urging his intent) Shall not be usd, but your right princely brothers; Who, knowing it may breede in vulgar braines (That shall give note to this protraction) Unjust suspition of your sacred vertues, And other reasons touching the estate Of both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth mee To be resolv'd of his integritie.

_Const_. To that end go, my honourable Lord, Commend me and my sister to his love (If you perceive not he neglects our owne) And bring his princelie resolution.

_Kat_. Commend not me by any meanes, my lord, Unlesse your speedie graunted audience And kind entreatie make it requisite, For honour rules my nuptiall appetite.

[_Exeunt_.

_Finis Actus Primi_.

_Actus Secundus_.

_Enter Haunce, Lassingbergh and others following,
serving in a Bancket_.

_Han_. Come, sir, it is not your painting alone makes your absolute man; ther's as fine a hand to be requir'd in carrying a dish, and as sweete arte to be shew'd in't as in any maister peece whatsoever; better then as you painted the Doctor eene now with his nose in an Urinall.

_Lass_. Be quiet, sir, or ile paint you by and by eating my maisters comfets. [_Exit_.

_Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Alberdure, Cornelia, and Moth.

Flor_. Prince _Alberdure_, my great desire to aunswere The greatnes of your birth and high deserts With entertainment fitting to your state Makes althings seem too humble for your presence.

_Alber_. Courteous S. _Flores_, your kinde welcome is Worthy the presence of the greatest Prince, And I am bound to good Earle _Cassimeere_ For honouring me with your desierd acquaintance.

_Cass_. Wilt please you therefore to draw neere, my lord?

_Flo_. Wilt please your grace to sit?

_Alber_. No, good S. _Flores_; I am heere admiring The cunning strangenes of your antick worke: For though the generall tract of it be rough Yet is it sprinckled with rare flowers of Art. See what a livelie piercing eye is here; Marke the conveiance of this lovelie hand; Where are the other parts of this rare cheeke? Is it not pittie that they should be hid?

_Flo_. More pittie 'tis (my lord) that such rare art Should be obscur'd by needie povertie; Hee's but a simple man kept in my house.

_Alber_. Come, sirra, you are a practitioner, Lets have your judgement here.

_Han_. Will you have a stoole, sir?

_Moth_. I, and I thanke you too, sir.

_Flo_. Hath this young Gentleman such skill in drawing?

_Alber_. Many great maisters thinke him (for his yeares) Exceeding cunning.

_Cass_. Now, sir, what thinke you?

_Moth_. My Lord, I thinke more Art is shaddowed heere Then any man in _Germanie_ can shew Except Earle _Lassingbergh_; and (in my conceipt) This work was never wrought without his hand.

_Flo_. Earle _Lassingbergh_! Aye me, my jealous thoughts Suspect a mischiefe which I must prevent. _Haunce_, call _Lucilia_ and the Painter strait, Bid them come both t'attend us at our feast.-- Is not your Grace yet wearie of this object? Ile shew your Lordship things more woorth the sight Both for their substance and their curious Art.

_Alber_. Thankes, good sir _Flores_.