Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. VIII

Fourth Edition

Originally published by Robert Dodsley in the Year 1744.

Now first chronologically arranged, revised and enlarged with the Notes of all the Commentators, and new Notes

By

W. CAREW HAZLITT

1874-1876.

CONTENTS:

Summer's Last Will and Testament The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington The Death of Robert Earl of Huntington Contention between Liberality and Prodigality Grim the Collier of Croydon.

SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.

EDITION.

_A pleasant Comedie, called Summer's last will and Testament. Written by Thomas Nash. Imprinted at London by Simon Stafford, for Water Burre_. 1600. 4to.

[COLLIER'S PREFACE.]

[Thomas Nash, son of William Nash, minister, and Margaret his wife, was baptized at Lowestoft, in Suffolk, in November 1567.[1] He was admitted a scholar at St John's College, Cambridge, on the Lady Margaret's foundation, in 1584, and proceeded B.A. in 1585:] the following is a copy of the Register:--

"Tho. Nashe Coll. Joh. Cantab. A.B. ib. 1585." The place, though not the time, of his birth[2] we have under his own authority, for in his "Lenten Stuff," printed in 1599, he informs us that he was born at Lowestoft; and he leads us to conclude that his family was of some note, by adding that his "father sprang from the Nashes of Herefordshire."[3]

It does not appear that Nash ever proceeded Master of Arts at Cambridge, and most of his biographers agree that he left his college about 1587. It is evident, however, that he had got into disgrace, and probably was expelled; for the author of "England to her three Daughters" in "Polimanteia," 1595, speaking of Harvey and Nash, and the pending quarrel between them, uses these terms: "Cambridge make thy two children friends: _thou hast been unkind to the one to wean him before his time_, and too fond upon the other to keep him so long without preferment: the one is ancient and of much reading; the other is young, but full of wit."[4] The cause of his disgrace is reported to have been the share he took in a piece called "Terminus et non Terminus," not now extant; and it is not denied that his partner in this offence was expelled. Most likely, therefore, Nash suffered the same punishment.

If Nash be the author of "An Almond for a Parrot," of which there is little doubt, although his name is not affixed to it, he travelled in Italy;[5] and we find from another of his pieces that he had been in Ireland. Perhaps he went abroad soon after he abandoned Cambridge, and before he settled in London and became an author. His first appearance in this character seems to have been in 1589, and we believe the earliest date of any tract attributed to him relating to Martin Marprelate is also 1589.[6] He was the first, as has been frequently remarked, to attack this enemy of the Church with the keen missiles of wit and satire, throwing aside the lumbering and unserviceable weapons of scholastic controversy. Having set the example in this respect, he had many followers and imitators, and among them John Lily, the dramatic poet, the author of "Pap with a Hatchet."

In London Nash became acquainted with Robert Greene, and their friendship drew him into a long literary contest with Gabriel Harvey, to which Nash owes much of his reputation. It arose out of the posthumous attack of Harvey upon Robert Greene, of which sufficient mention has been made elsewhere. Nash replied on behalf of his dead companion, and reiterated the charge which had given the original offence to Harvey, viz., that his brother was the son of a ropemaker.[7] One piece was humorously dedicated to Richard Litchfield, a barber of Cambridge, and Harvey answered it under the assumed character of the same barber, in a tract called "The Trimmino of Thomas Nash,"[8] which also contained a woodcut of a man in fetters. This representation referred to the imprisonment of Nash for an offence he gave by writing a play (not now extant) called "The Isle of Dogs," and to this event Francis Meres alludes in his "Palladia Tamia," 1598, in these terms: "As Actaeon was worried of his own hounds, so is Tom Nash of his 'Isle of Dogs.' Dogs were the death of Euripides; but be not disconsolate, gallant young Juvenal; Linus, the son of Apollo, died the same death. Yet God forbid, that so brave a wit should so basely perish!--Thine are but paper dogs; neither is thy banishment like Ovid's eternally to converse with the barbarous _Getes_. Therefore comfort thyself, sweet Tom, with Cicero's glorious return to Rome, and with the council Aeneas gives to his sea-beaten soldiers." Lib. I. Aeneid.

"Pluck up thine heart, and drive from thence both fear and care away:
To think on this may pleasure be, perhaps, another day."

--_Durato, et temet rebus servato secundis_. (fol. 286.)

This was in part verified in the next year, for when Nash published his "Lenten Stuff," he referred with apparent satisfaction to his past troubles in consequence of his "Isle of Dogs."[9]

So much has been said, especially by Mr D'Israeli in his "Quarrels of Authors," on the subject of this dispute between Nash and Harvey, that it is unnecessary to add anything, excepting that it was carried to such a length, and the pamphlets contained so much scurrility, that it was ordered from authority in 1599 that all the tracts on both sides should be seized and suppressed.[10]

As with Greene, so with Nash, an opinion on his moral conduct and general deportment has been too readily formed from the assertions of his opponents; and because Gabriel Harvey, to answer a particular purpose, states, "You may be in one prison to-day and in another to-morrow," it has been taken for granted, that "after his arrival in London, he was often confined in different jails." No doubt, he and his companions Greene, Marlowe, and Peele, led very disorderly lives, and it is singular that all four died prematurely, the oldest of them probably not being forty years of age. It is certain that Nash was not living at the time when the "Return from Parnassus" was produced, which, though not printed until 1606, was written before the end of the reign of Elizabeth: his ashes are there spoken of as at rest, but the mention of him as dead, nearest to the probable date of that event, is to be found in [Fitzgeoffrey's "Affaniae," 1601, where an epitaph upon him is printed. His name also occurs in] an anonymous poem, under the title of "The Ant and the Nightingale, or Father Hubbard's Tales," 1604, where the following stanza is met with--

"Or if in bitterness thou rail like Nash:
Forgive me, honest soul, that term thy phrase
_Railing_; for in thy works thou wert not rash,
Nor didst affect in youth thy private praise.
Thou hadst a strife with that Tergemini;[11]
Thou hurt'dst them not till they had injured thee."[12]

The author of a MS. epitaph, in "Bibl. Sloan," Pl. XXI. A. was not so squeamish in the language he employed--

"Here lies Tom Nash, that notable _railer_,
That in his life ne'er paid shoemaker nor tailor."

The following from Thomas Freeman's Epigrams, 1614, is not out of its place--

OF THOMAS NASH.

"Nash, had Lycambes on earth living been
The time thou wast, his death had been all one;
Had he but mov'd thy tartest Muse to spleen
Unto the fork he had as surely gone:
For why? there lived not that man, I think,
Us'd better or more bitter gall in ink."

It is impossible in the present day to attempt anything like a correct list of the productions of Nash, many of which were unquestionably printed without his name:[13] the titles of and quotations from a great number may be found in the various bibliographical miscellanies, easily accessible. When he began to write cannot be ascertained, but it was most likely soon after his return from the Continent, and the dispute between John Penry and the Bishops seems then to have engaged his pen.[14] There is one considerable pamphlet by him, called "Christ's Tears over Jerusalem," printed in 1593, which, like some of the tracts by Greene, is of a repentant and religious character; and it has been said that, though published with his name, it was not in fact his production. There is no sufficient ground for this supposition, and Nash never subsequently disowned the performance: the address "To the Reader" contains an apology to Gabriel Harvey for the attack upon him, in terms that seem to vouch for their own sincerity. "Nothing (says Nash) is there now so much in my vows as to be at peace with all men, and make submissive amends where I most displeased; not basely fear-blasted, or constraintively overruled, but purely pacificatory: suppliant for reconciliation and pardon do I sue to the principallest of them 'gainst whom I professed utter enmity; even of Master Doctor Harvey I heartily desire the like, whose fame and reputation (through some precedent injurious provocations and fervent excitements of young heads) I rashly assailed: yet now better advised, and of his perfections more confirmedly persuaded, unfeignedly I entreat of the whole world from my pen his worth may receive no impeachment. All acknowledgments of abundant scholarship, courteous, well-governed behaviour, and ripe, experienced judgment do I attribute to him."

We have already seen with what malignity Harvey trampled upon the corpse of Greene, and he received this apology of Nash in a corresponding spirit; for instead of accepting it, in his "New Letter of Notable Contents," 1593, he rejects it with scorn: "Riotous vanity (he replies) was wont to root so deeply that it could hardly be unrooted; and where reckless impudency taketh possession, it useth not very hastily to be dispossessed. What say you to a spring of rankest villainy in February, and a harvest of ripest divinity in May? But what should we hereafter talk any more of paradoxes or impossibilities, when he that penned the most desperate and abominable pamphlet of 'Strange News,' and disgorged his stomach of as poisonous rancour as ever was vomited in print, within few months is won, or charmed, or enchanted, (or what metamorphosis should I term it?) to astonish carnal minds with spiritual meditations," &c. Such a reception of well-intended and eloquently-written amends was enough to make Nash repent even his repentance, as far as Gabriel Harvey was concerned.[15]

Of the popularity of Nash as a writer some notion may be formed from a fact he himself mentions in his "Have with you to Saffron Walden," that between 1592, when his "Pierce Penniless, his Supplication to the Devil" was first printed, and 1596 it "passed through the pikes of at least six impressions." How long his reputation as a satirist survived him may be judged from the fact that in 1640 Taylor the Water Poet published a tract, which had for its second title "Tom Nash, his Ghost (the old Martin queller), newly rouz'd:" and in _Mercurius Anti-pragmaticus_, from Oct. 12 to Oct. 19, 1647, is the following passage: "Perhaps you will be angry now, and when you steal forth disguised, in your next intelligence thunder forth threatenings against me, and be as satirical in your language as ever was your predecessor Nash, who compiled a learned treatise in the praise of a red herring."

Only two plays in which Nash had any concern have come down to us: his "Isle of Dogs," before noticed, was probably never printed, or at all events it is not now known to exist. He wrote alone--

(1.) A pleasant Comedy called "Summer's Last Will and Testament." 1600. 4to.

In conjunction with Marlowe he produced--

(2.) "The Tragedy of Dido, Queen of Carthage," played by the children of her Majesty's chapel. 1594. 4to.

Phillips, in his "Theatrum Poetarum," also assigned to Nash, "See me, and see me not," a comedy, which may be a different play, and not, as has been generally supposed, "Hans Beer Pot;" because, the name of the author, Dawbridgecourt Belchier, being subscribed to the dedication, such a mistake could not easily be made.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

WILL SUMMER. VER. SUMMER. AUTUMN. WINTER. CHRISTMAS, | _Sons to WINTER_. BACKWINTEB. | SOL. SOLSTITIUM. VERTUMNUS. ORION. BACCHUS. HARVEST. SATIRES. NYMPHS. _Three_ CLOWNS. _Three_ MAIDS. HUNTERS. REAPERS. MORRIS DANCERS. BOY _to speak the Epilogue_.

SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.[16]

_Enter_ WILL SUMMER,[17] _in his fool's coat
but half on, coming out_.

_Noctem peccatis et fraudibus objice nubem_.[18] There is no such fine time to play the knave in as the night. I am a goose or a ghost, at least; for what with turmoil of getting my fool's apparel, and care of being perfect, I am sure I have not yet supp'd to-night. Will Summer's ghost I should be, come to present you with "Summer's Last Will and Testament." Be it so; if my cousin Ned will lend me his chain and his fiddle. Other stately-pac'd Prologues use to attire themselves within: I that have a toy in my head more than ordinary, and use to go without money, without garters, without girdle, without hat-band, without points to my hose, without a knife to my dinner, and make so much use of this word without in everything, will here dress me without. Dick Huntley[19] cries, Begin, begin: and all the whole house, For shame, come away; when I had my things but now brought me out of the laundry. God forgive me, I did not see my Lord before! I'll set a good face on it, as though what I had talk'd idly all this while were my part. So it is, _boni viri_, that one fool presents another; and I, a fool by nature and by art, do speak to you in the person of the idiot of our play-maker. He, like a fop and an ass, must be making himself a public laughingstock, and have no thank for his labour; where other Magisterii, whose invention is far more exquisite, are content to sit still and do nothing. I'll show you what a scurvy Prologue he had made me, in an old vein of similitudes: if you be good fellows, give it the hearing, that you may judge of him thereafter.

THE PROLOGUE.

At a solemn feast of the Triumviri in Rome, it was seen and observed that the birds ceased to sing, and sat solitary on the housetops, by reason of the sight of a painted serpent set openly to view. So fares it with us novices, that here betray our imperfections: we, afraid to look on the imaginary serpent of envy, painted in men's affections, have ceased to tune any music of mirth to your ears this twelvemonth, thinking that, as it is the nature of the serpent to hiss, so childhood and ignorance would play the gosling, contemning and condemning what they understood not. Their censures we weigh not, whose senses are not yet unswaddled. The little minutes will be continually striking, though no man regard them: whelps will bark before they can see, and strive to bite before they have teeth. Politianus speaketh of a beast who, while he is cut on the table, drinketh and represents the motions and voices of a living creature. Such like foolish beasts are we who, whilst we are cut, mocked, and flouted at, in every man's common talk, will notwithstanding proceed to shame ourselves to make sport. No man pleaseth all: we seek to please one. Didymus wrote four thousand books, or (as some say) six-thousand, on the art of grammar. Our author hopes it may be as lawful for him to write a thousand lines of as light a subject. Socrates (whom the oracle pronounced the wisest man of Greece) sometimes danced: Scipio and Laslius, by the sea-side, played at peeble-stone: _Semel insanivimus omnes_. Every man cannot with Archimedes make a heaven of brass, or dig gold out of the iron mines of the law. Such odd trifles as mathematicians' experiments be artificial flies to hang in the air by themselves, dancing balls, an egg-shell that shall climb up to the top of a spear, fiery-breathing gores, _poeta noster_ professeth not to make. _Placeat sibi quinque licebit_. What's a fool but his bauble? Deep-reaching wits, here is no deep stream for you to angle in. Moralisers, you that wrest a never-meant meaning out of everything, applying all things to the present time, keep your attention for the common stage; for here are no quips in characters for you to read. Vain glosers, gather what you will; spite, spell backward what thou canst. As the Parthians fight flying away, so will we prate and talk, but stand to nothing that we say.

How say you, my masters? do you not laugh at him for a coxcomb? Why, he hath made a prologue longer than his play: nay, 'tis no play neither, but a show. I'll be sworn the jig of Rowland's godson is a giant in comparison of it. What can be made of Summer's last will and testament! Such another thing as Gyllian of Brentford's[20] will, where she bequeathed a score of farts amongst her friends. Forsooth, because the plague reigns in most places in this latter end of summer,[21] Summer must come in sick; he must call his officers to account, yield his throne to Autumn, make Winter his executor, with tittle-tattle Tom-boy. God give you good night in Watling Street; I care not what you say now, for I play no more than you hear; and some of that you heard too (by your leave) was _extempore_. He were as good have let me had the best part, for I'll be revenged on him to the uttermost, in this person of Will Summer, which I have put on to play the prologue, and mean not to put it off till the play be done. I'll sit as a chorus, and flout the actors and him at the end of every scene. I know they will not interrupt me, for fear of marring of all; but look to your cues, my masters, for I intend to play the knave in cue, and put you besides all your parts, if you take not the better heed. Actors, you rogues, come away; clear your throats, blow your noses, and wipe your mouths ere you enter, that you may take no occasion to spit or to cough, when you are _non plus_. And this I bar, over and besides, that none of you stroke your beards to make action, play with your cod-piece points, or stand fumbling on your buttons, when you know not how to bestow your fingers. Serve God, and act cleanly. A fit of mirth and an old song first, if you will.

_Enter_ SUMMER, _leaning on_ AUTUMN'S _and_ WINTER'S
_shoulders, and attended on with a train of Satyrs and
Wood-nymphs, singing_.[22]

_Fair Summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore, So fair a summer look for never more: All good things vanish less than in a day, Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay. Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year, The earth is hell when thou, leav'st to appear.

What! shall those flowers that deck'd thy garland erst, Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed? O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source, Streams turn to tears your tributary course. Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year, The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.

[The Satyrs and Wood-nymphs go out singing, and leave_
SUMMER _and_ WINTER _and_ AUTUMN _on the stage_.

WILL SUM. A couple of pretty boys, if they would wash their faces, and were well breech'd[23] in an hour or two. The rest of the green men have reasonable voices, good to sing catches or the great _Jowben_ by the fire's side in a winter's evening. But let us hear what Summer can say for himself, why he should not be hiss'd at.

SUM. What pleasure always lasts? no joy endures: Summer I am; I am not what I was; Harvest and age have whiten'd my green head; On Autumn now and Winter I must lean. Needs must he fall, whom none but foes uphold, Thus must the happiest man have his black day. _Omnibus una manet nox, et calcanda semel via lethi_.[24] This month have I lain languishing a-bed, Looking each hour to yield my life and throne; And died I had indeed unto the earth, But that Eliza, England's beauteous Queen, On whom all seasons prosperously attend, Forbad the execution of my fate, Until her joyful progress was expir'd.[25] For her doth Summer live, and linger here, And wisheth long to live to her content: But wishes are not had, when they wish well: I must depart, my death-day is set down; To these two must I leave my wheaten crown. So unto unthrifts rich men leave their lands, Who in an hour consume long labour's gains. True is it that divinest Sidney sung, _0, he is marr'd, that is for others made_. Come near, my friends, for I am near my end. In presence of this honourable train, Who love me, for I patronise their sports, Mean I to make my final testament: But first I'll call my officers to 'count, And of the wealth I gave them to dispose, Know what is left I may know what to give Vertumnus, then, that turn'st the year about, Summon them one by one to answer me. First, Ver, the Spring, unto whose custody I have committed more than to the rest; The choice of all my fragrant meads and flowers, And what delights soe'er nature affords.

VER. I will, my lord. Ver, lusty Ver, by the name of lusty Ver, come into the court! lose a mark in issues.

_Enter_ VER, _with his train, overlaid with suits of
green moss, representing short grass, singing.

The Song.

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king, Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckow, jug, jug, pu--we, to-wit, to-whoo.

The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And hear we aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckow, jug, jug, pu--we, to-wit, to-whoo.

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit; In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckow, jug, jug, pu--we, to-wit, to-whoo. Spring, the sweet spring_.

WILL SUM. By my troth, they have voices as clear as crystal: this is a pratty thing, if it be for nothing but to go a-begging with.

SUM. Believe me, Ver, but thou art pleasant bent; This humour should import a harmless mind. Know'st thou the reason why I sent for thee?

VER. No, faith, nor care not whether I do or no. If you will dance a galliard, so it is: if not--

_Falangtado, Falangtado,
To wear the black and yellow,
Falantado, Falantado,
My mates are gone, I'll follow_.[26]

SUM. Nay, stay awhile, we must confer and talk. Ver, call to mind I am thy sovereign lord, And what thou hast, of me thou hast and hold'st. Unto no other end I sent for thee, But to demand a reckoning at thy hands, How well or ill thou hast employ'd my wealth.

VER. If that be all, we will not disagree: A clean trencher and a napkin you shall have presently.

WILL SUM. The truth is, this fellow hath been a tapster in his days.

VER _goes in, and fetcheth out the hobby-horse[27] and
the morris-dance, who dance about_.

SUM. How now? is this the reckoning we shall have?

WIN. My lord, he doth abuse you; brook it not.

AUT. _Summa totalis_, I fear, will prove him but a fool.

VER. About, about! lively, put your horse to it, rein him harder; jerk him with your wand: sit fast, sit fast, man! fool, hold up your ladle there.

WILL SUM. O brave Hall![28] O, well-said, butcher. Now for the credit of Worcestershire. The finest set of morris-dancers that is between this and Streatham. Marry, methinks there is one of them danceth like a clothier's horse, with a woolpack on his back. You, friend with the hobby-horse, go not too fast, for fear of wearing out my lord's tile-stones with your hobnails.

VER. So, so, so; trot the ring twice over, and away. May it please my lord, this is the grand capital sum; but there are certain parcels behind, as you shall see.

SUM. Nay, nay, no more; for this is all too much.

VER. Content yourself; we'll have variety.

_Here enter three_ CLOWNS _and three_ MAIDS,
_singing this song, dancing:--

Trip and go, heave and hoe,
Up and down, to and fro;
From the town to the grove,
Two and two let us rove.
A maying, a playing:
Love hath no gainsaying;
So merrily trip and go_.

WILL SUM. Beshrew my heart, of a number of ill legs I never saw worse dancers. How bless'd are you, that the wenches of the parish do not see you!

SUM. Presumptuous Ver, uncivil-nurtur'd boy? Think'st I will be derided thus of thee? Is this th'account and reckoning that thou mak'st?

VER. Troth, my lord, to tell you plain, I can give you no other account; _nam quae habui perdidi_; what I had, I spent on good fellows; in these sports you have seen, which are proper to the spring, and others of like sort (as giving wenches green gowns,[29] making garlands for fencers, and tricking up children gay), have I bestowed all my flowery treasure and flower of my youth.

WILL SUM. A small matter. I know one spent in less than a year eight and fifty pounds in mustard, and another that ran in debt, in the space of four or five year, above fourteen thousand pound in lute-strings and grey-paper.[30]

SUM. O monstrous unthrift! who e'er heard the like? The sea's vast throat, in so short tract of time, Devoureth nor consumeth half so much. How well might'st thou have liv'd within thy bounds.

VER. What, talk you to me of living within my bounds? I tell you none but asses live within their bounds: the silly beasts, if they be put in a pasture, that is eaten bare to the very earth, and where there is nothing to be had but thistles, will rather fall soberly to those thistles and be hunger-starv'd, than they will offer to break their bounds; whereas the lusty courser, if he be in a barren plot, and spy better grass in some pasture near adjoining, breaks over hedge and ditch, and to go, ere he will be pent in, and not have his bellyful. Peradventure, the horses lately sworn to be stolen,[31] carried that youthful mind, who, if they had been asses, would have been yet extant.

WILL SUM. Thus, we may see, the longer we live the more we shall learn: I ne'er thought honesty an ass till this day.

VER. This world is transitory; it was made of nothing, and it must to nothing: wherefore, if we will do the will of our high Creator, whose will it is that it pass to nothing, we must help to consume it to nothing. Gold is more vile than men: men die in thousands and ten thousands, yea, many times in hundred thousands, in one battle. If then the best husband has been so liberal of his best handiwork, to what end should we make much of a glittering excrement, or doubt to spend at a banquet as many pounds as he spends men at a battle? Methinks I honour _Geta_, the Roman emperor, for a brave-minded fellow; for he commanded a banquet to be made him of all meats under the sun, which were served in after the order of the alphabet, and the clerk of the kitchen, following the last dish, which was two miles off from the foremost, brought him an index of their several names. Neither did he pingle, when it was set on the board, but for the space of three days and three nights never rose from the table.

WILL SUM. O intolerable lying villain, that was never begotten without the consent of a whetstone![32]

SUM. Ungracious man, how fondly he argueth!

VER. Tell me, I pray, wherefore was gold laid under our feet in the veins of the earth, but that we should contemn it, and tread upon it, and so consequently tread thrift under our feet? It was not known till the iron age, _donec facinus invasit mortales_, as the poet says; and the Scythians always detested it. I will prove it that an unthrift, of any, comes nearest a happy man, in so much as he comes nearest to beggary. Cicero saith, _summum bonum_ consists in _omnium rerum vacatione_, that is, the chiefest felicity that may be to rest from all labours. Now who doth so much _vacare à rebus_, who rests so much, who hath so little to do as the beggar? who can sing so merry a note, as he that cannot change a groat?[33] _Cui nil est, nil deest_: he that hath nothing wants nothing. On the other side, it is said of the carl, _Omnia habeo, nec quicquam habeo_: I have all things, yet want everything. _Multi mihi vitio vertunt quia egeo_, saith Marcus Cato in Aulus Gellius; _at ego illis quia nequeunt egere_: many upbraid me, saith he, because I am poor; but I upbraid them, because they cannot live if they be poor.[34] It is a common proverb, _Divesque miserque_, a rich man and a miserable: _nam natura paucis contenta_, none so contented as the poor man. Admit that the chiefest happiness were not rest or ease, but knowledge, as Herillus, Alcidamus, and many of Socrates' followers affirm; why _paupertas omnes perdocet artes_, poverty instructs a man in all arts; it makes a man hardy and venturous, and therefore is it called of the poets _paupertas audax_, valiant poverty. It is not so much subject to inordinate desires as wealth or prosperity. _Non habet, unde suum paupertas pascat amorem_;[35] poverty hath not wherewithal to feed lust. All the poets were beggars; all alchemists and all philosophers are beggars. _Omnia mea mecum porto_, quoth Bias, when he had nothing but bread and cheese in a leathern bag, and two or three books in his bosom. Saint Francis, a holy saint, and never had any money. It is madness to doat upon muck. That young man of Athens, Aelianus makes mention of, may be an example to us, who doated so extremely on the image of Fortune, that when he might not enjoy it, he died for sorrow. The earth yields all her fruits together, and why should we not spend them together? I thank heavens on my knees, that have made me an unthrift.[36]

SUM. O vanity itself: O wit ill-spent! So study thousands not to mend their lives, But to maintain the sin they most affect, To be hell's advocates 'gainst their own souls. Ver, since thou giv'st such praise to beggary, And hast defended it so valiantly, This be thy penance: thou shalt ne'er appear Or come abroad, but Lent shall wait on thee: His scarcity may countervail thy waste. Riot may flourish, but finds want at last. Take him away that knoweth no good way, And lead him the next way to woe and want. [_Exit_ VER. Thus in the paths of knowledge many stray, And from the means of life fetch their decay.

WILL SUM. Heigho. Here is a coil indeed to bring beggars to stocks. I promise you truly I was almost asleep; I thought I had been at a sermon. Well, for this one night's exhortation, I vow, by God's grace, never to be good husband while I live. But what is this to the purpose? "Hur come to Fowl," as the Welshman says, "and hur pay an halfpenny for hur seat, and hur hear the preacher talg, and hur talg very well, by gis[37]; but yet a cannot make her laugh: go to a theatre and hear a Queen's Fice, and he make hur laugh, and laugh hur belly full." So we come hither to laugh and be merry, and we hear a filthy, beggarly oration in the praise of beggary. It is a beggarly poet that writ it; and that makes him so much commend it, because he knows not how to mend himself. Well, rather than he shall have no employment but lick dishes, I will set him a work myself, to write in praise of the art of stooping, and how there never was any famous thresher, porter, brewer, pioneer, or carpenter that had straight back. Repair to my chamber, poor fellow, when the play is done, and thou shalt see what I will say to thee.

SUM. Vertumnus, call Solstitium.

VER. Solstitium, come into the court: without, peace there below! make room for Master Solstitium.

_Enter_ SOLSTITIUM, _like an aged hermit, carrying a pair of
balances, with an hour-glass in either of them--one hour-glass
white, the other black: he is brought in by a number of Shepherds,
playing upon recorders_.[38]

SOL. All hail to Summer, my dread sovereign lord.

SUM. Welcome, Solstitium: thou art one of them, To whose good husbandry we have referr'd Part of those small revenues that we have. What hast thou gain'd us? what hast thou brought in?

SOL. Alas, my lord! what gave you me to keep But a few day's-eyes[39] in my prime of youth? And those I have converted to white hairs; I never lov'd ambitiously to climb, Or thrust my hand too far into the fire. To be in heaven, sure, is a bless'd thing; But Atlas-like to prop heaven on one's back, Cannot but be more labour than delight. Such is the state of men in honour plac'd; They are gold vessels made for servile uses; High trees that keep the weather from low houses, But cannot shield the tempest from themselves. I love to dwell betwixt the hills and dales; Neither to be so great to be envied, Nor yet so poor the world should pity me. _Inter utrumque tene, medio tutissimus ibis_[40].

SUM. What dost thou with those balances thou bear'st?

SOL. In them I weigh the day and night alike: This white glass is the hour-glass of the day, This black one the just measure of the night. One more than other holdeth not a grain; Both serve time's just proportion to maintain.

SUM. I like thy moderation wondrous well; And this thy balance-weighing, the white glass And black, with equal poise and steadfast hand, A pattern is to princes and great men, How to weigh all estates indifferently; The spiritualty and temporalty alike: Neither to be too prodigal of smiles, Nor too severe in frowning without cause. If you be wise, you monarchs of the earth, Have two such glasses still before your eyes; Think as you have a white glass running on, Good days, friends, favour, and all things at beck, So this white glass run out (as out it will) The black comes next; your downfall is at hand. Take this of me, for somewhat I have tried; A mighty ebb follows a mighty tide. But say, Solstitium, hadst thou nought besides? Nought but day's-eyes and fair looks gave I thee?

SOL. Nothing, my lord, nor aught more did I ask.

SUM. But hadst thou always kept thee in my sight, Thy good deserts, though silent, would have ask'd.

SOL. Deserts, my lord, of ancient servitors Are like old sores, which may not be ripp'd up. Such use these times have got, that none must beg, But those that have young limbs to lavish fast.

SUM. I grieve no more regard was had of thee: A little sooner hadst thou spoke to me, Thou hadst been heard, but now the time is past: Death waiteth at the door for thee and me. Let us go measure out our beds in clay; Nought but good deeds hence shall we bear away. Be, as thou wert, best steward of my hours, And so return into thy country bow'rs.

[_Here_, SOLSTITIUM _goes out with his music, as he comes in_.

WILL SUM. Fie, fie, of honesty, fie! Solstitium is an ass, perdy, this play is a gallimaufry. Fetch me some drink, somebody. What cheer, what cheer, my hearts? Are not you thirsty with listening to this dry sport? What have we to do with scales and hour-glasses, except we were bakers or clock-keepers? I cannot tell how other men are addicted, but it is against my profession to use any scales but such as we play at with a bowl, or keep any hours but dinner or supper. It is a pedantical thing to respect times and seasons: if a man be drinking with good fellows late, he must come home for fear the gates be shut: when I am in my warm bed, I must rise to prayers, because the bell rings. I like no such foolish customs. Actors, bring now a black jack and a rundlet of Rhenish wine, disputing of the antiquity of red noses: let the Prodigal Child[41] come in in his doublet and hose all greasy, his shirt hanging forth, and ne'er a penny in his purse, and talk what a fine thing it is to walk summerly, or sit whistling under a hedge, and keep hogs. Go forward, in grace and virtue to proceed, but let us have no more of these grave matters.

SUM. Vertumnus, will Sol come before us?

VER. Sol, Sol; _ut, re, mi, fa, sol_![42] Come to church, while the bell toll.

_Enter_ SOLSTITIUM _very richly attired,
with a noise of musicians before him_.

SUM. Ay, marry, here comes majesty in pomp, Resplendent Sol, chief planet of the heavens! He is our servant, looks he ne'er so big.

SOL. My liege, what crav'st thou at thy vassal's hands?

SUM. Hypocrisy, how it can change his shape! How base is pride from his own dunghill put! How I have rais'd thee, Sol. I list not tell, Out of the ocean of adversity, To sit in height of honour's glorious heaven, To be the eyesore[43] of aspiring eyes: To give the day her life from thy bright looks, And let nought thrive upon the face of earth, From which thou shalt withdraw thy powerful smiles. What hast thou done, deserving such high grace? What industry or meritorious toil Canst thou produce to prove my gift well-placed? Some service or some profit I expect: None is promoted but for some respect.

SOL. My lord, what need these terms betwixt us two? Upbraiding ill-beseems your bounteous mind: I do you honour for advancing me. Why, 'tis a credit for your excellence To have so great a subject as I am: This is your glory and magnificence, That, without stooping of your mightiness, Or taking any whit from your high state, You can make one as mighty as yourself.

AUT. O arrogance exceeding all belief! Summer, my lord, this saucy upstart Jack, That now doth rule the chariot of the sun, And makes all stars derive their light from him, Is a most base, insinuating slave, The sum[44] of parsimony and disdain; One that will shine on friends and foes alike, That under brightest smiles hideth black show'rs Whose envious breath doth dry up springs and lake And burns the grass, that beasts can get no food.

WIN. No dunghill hath so vile an excrement, But with his beams he will thenceforth exhale. The fens and quagmires tithe to him their filth: Forth purest mines he sucks a gainful dross. Green ivy-bushes at the vintner's doors He withers, and devoureth all their sap.

AUT. Lascivious and intemperate he is: The wrong of Daphne is a well-known tale. Each evening he descends to Thetis' lap, The while men think he bathes him in the sea. O, but when he returneth whence he came Down to the west, then dawns his deity, Then doubled is the swelling of his looks. He overloads his car with orient gems, And reins his fiery horses with rich pearl. He terms himself the god of poetry, And setteth wanton songs unto the lute.

WIN. Let him not talk, for he hath words at will, And wit to make the baldest[45] matter good.

SUM. Bad words, bad wit! O, where dwells faith or truth? Ill usury my favours reap from thee, Usurping Sol, the hate of heaven and earth.

SOL. If envy unconfuted may accuse, Then innocence must uncondemned die. The name of martyrdom offence hath gain'd When fury stopp'd a froward judge's ears. Much I'll not say (much speech much folly shows): What I have done you gave me leave to do. The excrements you bred whereon I feed; To rid the earth of their contagious fumes, With such gross carriage did I load my beam I burnt no grass, I dried no springs and lakes; I suck'd no mines, I wither'd no green boughs, But when to ripen harvest I was forc'd To make my rays more fervent than I wont. For Daphne's wrongs and 'scapes in Thetis' lap, All gods are subject to the like mishap. Stars daily fall ('tis use is all in all), And men account the fall but nature's course. Vaunting my jewels hasting to the west, Or rising early from the grey-ey'd morn, What do I vaunt but your large bountyhood, And show how liberal a lord I serve? Music and poetry, my two last crimes, Are those two exercises of delight, Wherewith long labours I do weary out. The dying swan is not forbid to sing: The waves of Hebrus[46] play'd on Orpheus' strings, When he (sweet music's trophy) was destroy'd. And as for poetry, words'[47] eloquence (Dead Phaeton's three sisters' funeral tears That by the gods were to Electrum turn'd), Not flint or rock, of icy cinders flam'd, Deny the force[48] of silver-falling streams. Envy enjoyeth poetry's unrest;[49] In vain I plead; well is to me a fault, And these my words seem the sleight[50] web of art, And not to have the taste of sounder truth. Let none but fools be car'd for of the wise: Knowledge' own children knowledge most despise.

SUM. Thou know'st too much to know to keep the mean: He that sees all things oft sees not himself. The Thames is witness of thy tyranny, Whose waves thou dost exhaust for winter show'rs. The naked channel 'plains her of thy spite, That laid'st her entrails unto open sight.[51] Unprofitably borne to man and beast, Which like to Nilus yet doth hide his head, Some few years since[52] thou lett'st o'erflow these walks, And in the horse-race headlong ran at race, While in a cloud thou hidd'st thy burning face. Where was thy care to rid contagious filth, When some men wet-shod (with his waters) droop'd?[53] Others that ate the eels his heat cast up Sicken'd and died by them impoisoned. Sleptest, or kept'st thou then Admetus' sheep, Thou drov'st not back these flowings of the deep?

SOL. The winds, not I, have floods and tides in chase. Diana, whom our fables call the moon, Only commandeth o'er the raging main: She leads his wallowing offspring up and down, She waning, all streams ebb: in the year She was eclips'd, when that the Thames was bare.

SUM. A bare conjecture, builded on per-haps.[54] In laying thus the blame upon the moon, Thou imitat'st subtle Pythagoras Who, what he would the people should believe, The same he wrote with blood upon a glass, And turn'd it opposite 'gainst the new moon, Whose beams, reflecting on it with full force, Show'd all those lines to them that stood behind, Most plainly writ in circle of the moon: And then he said: not I, but the new moon, Fair Cynthia, persuades you this and that. With like collusion shalt thou now blind me; But for abusing both the moon and me Long shalt thou be eclipsed by the moon, And long in darkness live and see no light-- Away with him, his doom hath no reverse!

SOL. What is eclips'd will one day shine again: Though winter frowns, the spring will ease my pain. Time from the brow doth wipe out every stain. [_Exit_ SOL.

WILL SUM. I think the sun is not so long in passing through the twelve signs, as the son of a fool hath been disputing here about _had I wist_.[55] Out of doubt, the poet is bribed of some that have a mess of cream to eat, before my lord go to bed yet, to hold him half the night with raff-raff of the rumming of Elinor.[56] If I can tell what it means, pray God I may never get breakfast more, when I am hungry. Troth, I am of opinion he is one of those hieroglyphical writers, that by the figures of beasts, plants, and of stones, express the mind, as we do in A B C; or one that writes under hair, as I have heard of a certain notary, Histiaesus,[57] who, following Darius in the Persian wars, and desirous to disclose some secrets of import to his friend Aristagoras, that dwelt afar off, found out this means. He had a servant, that had been long sick of a pain in his eyes, whom, under pretence of curing his malady, he shaved from one side of his head to the other, and with a soft pencil wrote upon his scalp (as on parchment) the discourse of his business, the fellow all the while imagining his master had done nothing but 'noint his head with a feather. After this he kept him secretly in his tent, till his hair was somewhat grown, and then willed him to go to Aristagoras into the country, and bid him shave him as he had done, and he should have perfect remedy. He did so, Aristagoras shaved him with his own hands, read his friend's letter, and when he had done, washed it out, that no man should perceive it else, and sent him home to buy him a nightcap. If I wist there were any such knavery, or Peter Bales's brachygraphy,[58] under Sol's bushy hair, I would have a barber, my host of the Murrion's Head, to be his interpreter, who would whet his razor on his Richmond cap, and give him the terrible cut like himself, but he would come as near as a quart pot to the construction of it. To be sententious, not superfluous, Sol should have been beholding to the barber, and not to the beard-master.[59] Is it pride that is shadowed under this two-legg'd sun, that never came nearer heaven than Dubber's hill? That pride is not my sin, Sloven's Hall, where I was born, be my record. As for covetousness, intemperance, and exaction, I meet with nothing in a whole year but a cup of wine for such vices to be conversant in. _Pergite porro_, my good children,[60] and multiply the sins of your absurdities, till you come to the full measure of the grand hiss, and you shall hear how we shall purge rheum with censuring your imperfections.

SUM. Vertumnus, call Orion.

VER. Orion, Urion, Arion; My lord thou must look upon. Orion, gentleman dog-keeper, huntsman, come into the court: look you bring all hounds and no bandogs. Peace there, that we may hear their horns blow.

_Enter_ ORION _like a hunter, with a horn about his neck, all
his men after the same sort hallooing and blowing their horns_.

ORION. Sirrah, was't thou that call'd us from our game? How durst thou (being but a petty god) Disturb me in the entrance of my sports?

SUM. 'Twas I, Orion, caus'd thee to be call'd.

ORION. 'Tis I, dread lord, that humbly will obey.

SUM. How happ'st thou left'st the heavens to hunt below? As I remember thou wert Hyrieus'[61] son, Whom of a huntsman Jove chose for a star, And thou art call'd the Dog-star, art thou not?

AUT. Please it, your honour, heaven's circumference Is not enough for him to hunt and range, But with those venom-breathed curs he leads, He comes to chase health from our earthly bounds. Each one of those foul-mouthed, mangy dogs Governs a day (no dog but hath his day):[62] And all the days by them so governed The dog-days hight; infectious fosterers Of meteors from carrion that arise, And putrified bodies of dead men, Are they engender'd to that ugly shape, Being nought else but [ill-]preserv'd corruption. 'Tis these that, in the entrance of their reign, The plague and dangerous agues have brought in. They arre[63] and bark at night against the moon, For fetching in fresh tides to cleanse the streets, They vomit flames and blast the ripen'd fruits: They are death's messengers unto all those That sicken, while their malice beareth sway.

ORION. A tedious discourse built on no ground. A silly fancy, Autumn, hast thou told, Which no philosophy doth warrantise, No old-received poetry confirms. I will not grace thee by refuting thee; Yet in a jest (since thou rail'st so 'gainst dogs) I'll speak a word or two in their defence. That creature's best that comes most near to men; That dogs of all come nearest, thus I prove: First, they excel us in all outward sense, Which no one of experience will deny: They hear, they smell, they see better than we. To come to speech, they have it questionless, Although we understand them not so well. They bark as good old Saxon as may be, And that in more variety than we. For they have one voice when they are in chase: Another when they wrangle for their meat: Another when we beat them out of doors. That they have reason, this I will allege; They choose those things that are most fit for them, And shun the contrary all that they may.[64] They know what is for their own diet best, And seek about for't very carefully. At sight of any whip they run away, As runs a thief from noise of hue and cry. Nor live they on the sweat of others' brows, But have their trades to get their living with-- Hunting and coneycatching, two fine arts. Yea, there be of them, as there be of men, Of every occupation more or less: Some carriers, and they fetch; some watermen, And they will dive and swim when you bid them; Some butchers, and they worry sheep by night; Some cooks, and they do nothing but turn spits. Chrysippus holds dogs are logicians, In that, by study and by canvassing, They can distinguish 'twixt three several things: As when he cometh where three broad ways meet, And of those three hath stay'd at two of them, By which he guesseth that the game went not, Without more pause he runneth on the third; Which, as Chrysippus saith, insinuates As if he reason'd thus within himself: Either he went this, that, or yonder way, But neither that nor yonder, therefore this. But whether they logicians be or no, Cynics they are, for they will snarl and bite; Right courtiers to flatter and to fawn; Valiant to set upon the[ir] enemies; Most faithful and most constant to their friends. Nay, they are wise, as Homer witnesseth Who, talking of Ulysses' coming home, Saith all his household but Argus his dog Had quite forgot him: ay, his deep insight[65] Nor Pallas' art in altering his shape, Nor his base weeds, nor absence twenty years, Could go beyond or any way delude. That dogs physicians are, thus I infer; They are ne'er sick, but they know their disease, And find out means to ease them of their grief; Special good surgeons to cure dangerous wounds: For, stricken with a stake into the flesh, This policy they use to get it out: They trail one of their feet upon the ground, And gnaw the flesh about where the wound is Till it be clean drawn out: and then, because Ulcers and sores kept foul are hardly cur'd, They lick and purify it with their tongue, And well observe Hippocrates' old rule, The only medicine for the foot is rest: For if they have the least hurt in their feet, They bear them up and look they be not stirr'd. When humours rise, they eat a sovereign herb, Whereby what cloys their stomachs they cast up; And as some writers of experience tell, They were the first invented vomiting. Sham'st thou not, Autumn, unadvisedly To slander such rare creatures as they be?

SUM. We call'd thee not, Orion, to this end, To tell a story of dogs' qualities. With all thy hunting how are we enrich'd? What tribute pay'st thou us for thy high place?

ORION. What tribute should I pay you out of nought? Hunters do hunt for pleasure, not for gain. While dog-days last, the harvest safely thrives; The sun burns hot to finish up fruits' growth; There is no blood-letting to make men weak. Physicians in their Cataposia Or little Elinctoria, Masticatorum, and Cataplasmata: Their gargarisms, clysters, and pitch'd-cloths, Their perfumes, syrups, and their triacles, Refrain to poison the sick patients, And dare not minister, till I be out. Then none will bathe, and so are fewer drown'd. All lust is perilsome, therefore less us'd! In brief, the year without me cannot stand. Summer, I am thy staff and thy right hand.