Chapter VI: Act V: , Scene I (2)

STUDIOSO. Flies have their spleen, each silly ant his teens.

PHILOMUSUS. We have the words, they the possession have.

STUDIOSO. We all are equal in our latest grave.

PHILOMUSUS. Soon then, O, soon may we both graved be.

STUDIOSO. Who wishes death doth wrong wise destiny.

PHILOMUSUS. It's wrong to force life-loathing men to breathe.

STUDIOSO. It's sin 'fore doomed day to wish thy death.

PHILOMUSUS. Too late our souls flit to their resting-place.

STUDIOSO. Why, man's whole life is but a breathing space.

PHILOMUSUS. A painful minute seems a tedious year.

STUDIOSO. A constant mind eternal woes will bear.

PHILOMUSUS. When shall our souls their wearied lodge forego?

STUDIOSO. When we have tired misery and woe.

PHILOMUSUS. Soon may then fates this gaol[66]-deliver send us: Small woes vex long, [but] great woes quickly end us. But let's leave this capping of rhymes, Studioso, and follow our late device, that we may maintain our heads in caps, our bellies in provender, and our backs in saddle and bridle. Hitherto we have sought all the honest means we could to live, and now let us dare _aliqua brevibus gyris[67] et carcere dignum_; let us run through all the lewd forms of lime-twig, purloining villanies; let us prove coneycatchers, bawds, or anything, so we may rub out. And first my plot for playing the French doctor--that shall hold; our lodging stands here fitly[68] in Shoe Lane: for, if our comings-in be not the better, London may shortly throw an old shoe after us; and with those shreds of French that we gathered up in our host's house in Paris, we'll gull the world, that hath in estimation foreign physicians: and if any of the hidebound brethren of Cambridge and Oxford, or any of those stigmatic masters of art that abused us in times pass'd, leave their own physicians, and become our patients, we'll alter quite the style of them; for they shall never hereafter write, Your lordship's most bounden, but, Your lordship's most laxative.

STUDIOSO. It shall be so: see what a little vermin poverty altereth a whole milky disposition.

PHILOMUSUS. So then myself straight with revenge I'll sate.[69]

STUDIOSO. Provoked patience grows intemperate.

ACTUS I, SCAENA 5.

_Enter_ RICHARDETTO, JAQUES, _Scholar learning French_.

JAQUES. How now, my little knave? Quelle nouvelle, monsieur?

RICHARDETTO. There's a fellow with a nightcap on his head, an urinal in his hand, would fain speak with Master Theodore.

JAQUES. Parle François, mon petit garçon.

RICHARDETTO.[70] Ici un homme, avec le bonnet de nuit sur la tete, et un urinal en la main, que veut parler avec Maistre Theodore.

JAQUES. Fort bien.

THEODORE. Jaques, a bonne heure.

[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS I., SCAENA 6.

FUROR POETICUS; _and presently after enters_ PHANTASMA.

FUROR POETICUS, _rapt with contemplation_. Why, how now, pedant Phoebus?[71] are you smouching Thaly on her tender lips? There, hoi! peasant, avaunt! Come, pretty short-nosed nymph. O sweet Thalia, I do kiss thy foot. What, Clio? O sweet Clio! Nay, prythee, do not weep, Melpomene. What, Urania, Polyhymnia, and Calliope! let me do reverence to your deities. [PHANTASMA _pulls him by the sleeve_. I am your holy swain that, night and day, Sit for your sakes, rubbing my wrinkled brow, Studying a month for a epithet. Nay, silver Cynthia, do not trouble me; Straight will I thy Endymion's story write, To which thou hastest me on day and night. You light-skirt stars, this is your wonted guise, By gloomy light perk out your doubtful heads; But when Dan[72] Phoebus shows his flashing snout, You are sky-puppies;[73] straight your light is out.

PHANTASMA. So ho, Furor! Nay, prythee, good Furor, in sober sadness--

FUROR. Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo.

PHANTASMA. Nay, sweet Furor,--ipsae te, Tityre, pinus--

FUROR. Ipsi te fontes, ipsa haec arbusta vocarunt. Who's that runs headlong on my quill's sharp point, That, wearied of his life and baser breath, Offers himself to an Iambic verse?

PHANTASMA. Si, quoties peccant homines, sua fulmina mittat Jupiter, exiguo tempore inermis erit.

FUROR. What slimy, bold, presumptuous groom[74] is he, Dares with his rude, audacious, hardy chat Thus sever me from sky-bred[75] contemplation?

PHANTASMA. _Carmina vel coelo possunt deducere lunam_.

FUROR. O Phantasma! what, my individual[76] mate?

PHANTASMA. _O, mihi post nullos, Furor, memorande sodales_!

FUROR. Say, whence comest thou? sent from what deity? From great Apollo or sly Mercury?

PHANTASMA. I come from the little Mercury Ingenioso: for, _Ingenio pollet, cui vim natura negavit_.

FUROR. Ingenioso? He is a pretty inventor of slight prose; But there's no spirit in his grov'lling speech. Hang him, whose verse cannot outbelch the wind, That cannot beard and brave Dan Aeolus; That, when the cloud of his invention breaks, Cannot outcrack the scarecrow thunderbolt. Hang him, I say![77]

PHANTASMA. _Pendo, pependi; tendo, tetendi; pedo, pepedi_. Will it please you, Master Furor, to walk with me? I promise to bring you to a drinking-inn in Cheapside, at the sign of the Nag's Head; for

_Tempore lenta pati fraena docentur equi_.

FUROR. Pass thee before, I'll come incontinent.

PHANTASMA. Nay, faith, Master Furor, let's go together, _quoniam convenimus ambo_.

FUROR. Let us march on unto the house of fame; There, quaffing bowls of Bacchus' blood full nimbly, Indite a-tiptoe strutting poesy. [_They offer the way one to the other_.

PHANTASMA. _Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui plenum? Tu major: tibi me est aequum parere, Menalca_.

ACTUS II., SCAENA 1.

_Enter_ PHILOMUSUS, THEODORE, _his patient, the_
BURGESS, _and his man with his staff_.

THEODORE. [_Puts on his spectacles_.] Monsieur, here are _atomi natantes_, which do make show your worship to be as lecherous as a bull.

BURGESS. Truly, Master Doctor, we are all men.

THEODORE. This vater is intention of heat: are you not perturbed with an ache in your vace[78] or in your occipit? I mean your headpiece. Let me feel the pulse of your little finger.

BURGESS. I'll assure you, Master Theodore, the pulse of my head beats exceedingly; and I think I have disturbed myself by studying the penal statutes.

THEODORE. Tit, tit, your worship takes care of your speeches. _O, Curae leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent_: it is an aphorism in Galen.

BURGESS. And what is the exposition of that?

THEODORE. That your worship must take a gland, _ut emittatur sanguis_: the sign is _fort_ excellent, _fort_ excellent.

BURGESS. Good Master Doctor, use me gently; for, mark you, sir, there is a double consideration to be had of me: first, as I am a public magistrate; secondly, as I am a private butcher; and but for the worshipful credit of the place and office wherein I now stand and live, I would not hazard my worshipful apparel with a suppository or a glister: but for the countenancing of the place, I must go oftener to stool; for, as a great gentleman told me, of good experience, that it was the chief note of a magistrate not to go to the stool without a physician.

THEODORE. Ah, vous êtes un gentilhomme, vraiment.--What, ho, Jaques! Jaques, donnez-vous un fort gentil purgation for Monsieur Burgess.

JAQUES. Votre très-humble serviteur, à votre commandment.

THEODORE. Donnez-vous un gentil purge à Monsieur Burgess.--I have considered of the crasis and syntoma of your disease, and here is un fort gentil purgation per evacuationem excrementorum, as we physicians use to parley.

BURGESS. I hope, Master Doctor, you have a care of the country's officer. I tell you, I durst not have trusted myself with every physician; and yet I am not afraid for myself, but I would not deprive the town of so careful a magistrate.

THEODORE. O Monsieur, I have a singular care of your _valetudo_. It is requisite that the French physicians be learned and careful; your English velvet-cap is malignant and envious.

BURGESS. Here is, Master Doctor, fourpence--your due, and eightpence--my bounty. You shall hear from me, good Master Doctor; farewell, farewell, good Master Doctor.

THEODORE. Adieu, good Monsieur; adieu, good sir Monsieur. _Exit_ BURGESS. Then burst with tears, unhappy graduate; Thy fortunes still wayward and backward been; Nor canst thou thrive by virtue nor by sin.

STUDIOSO. O, how it grieves my vexed soul to see Each painted ass in chair of dignity! And yet we grovel on the ground alone, Running through every trade, yet thrive by none: More we must act in this life's tragedy.

PHILOMUSUS. Sad is the plot, sad the catastrophe.

STUDIOSO. Sighs are the chorus in our tragedy.

PHILOMUSUS. And rented thoughts continual actors be.[79]

STUDIOSO. Woe is the subject, Phil.;[80] earth the loath'd stage Whereon we act this feigned personage; Most like[81] barbarians the spectators be, That sit and laugh at our calamity.

PHILOMUSUS. Bann'd be those hours when, 'mongst the learned throng, By Granta's muddy bank we whilome sung!

STUDIOSO. Bann'd be that hill, which learned wits adore, Where erst we spent our stock and little store!

PHILOMUSUS. Bann'd be those musty mews, where we have spent Our youthful days in paled languishment!

STUDIOSO. Bann'd be those cos'ning arts that wrought our woe, Making us wand'ring pilgrims to and fro.

PHILOMUSUS. And pilgrims must we be without relief; And wheresoe'er we run, there meets us grief.

STUDIOSO. Where'er we toss upon this crabbed stage, Griefs our companion; patience be our page.

PHILOMUSUS. Ah, but this patience is a page of ruth, A tired lackey to our wand'ring youth!

ACTUS II., SCAENA 2.

ACADEMICO, _solus_. Fain would I have a living, if I could tell how to come by it. _Echo_. Buy it. Buy it, fond Echo? why, thou dost greatly mistake it. _Echo_. Stake it. Stake it? what should I stake at this game of simony? _Echo_. Money. What, is the world a game? are livings gotten by paying?[82] _Echo_. Paying. Paying? But say, what's the nearest way to come by a living? _Echo_. Giving. Must his worship's fists be needs then oiled with angels? _Echo_. Angels. Ought his gouty fists then first with gold to be greased? _Echo_. Eased. And is it then such an ease for his ass's back to carry money? _Echo_. Ay. Will, then, this golden ass bestow a vicarage gilded? _Echo_. Gelded. What shall I say to good Sir Raderic, that have no[83] gold here? _Echo_. Cold cheer. I'll make it my lone request, that he would be good to a scholar. _Echo_. Choler. Yea, will he be choleric to hear of an art or a science? _Echo_. Hence. Hence with liberal arts? What, then, will he do with his chancel? _Echo_. Sell. Sell it? and must a simple clerk be fain to compound then? _Echo_. Pounds then. What, if I have no pounds? must then my suit be prorogued? _Echo_. Rogued. Yea? given to a rogue? Shall an ass this vicarage compass? _Echo_. Ass. What is the reason that I should not be as fortunate as he? _Echo_. Ass he. Yet, for all this, with a penniless purse will I trudge to his worship. _Echo_. Words cheap. Well, if he give me good words, it's more than I have from an Echo. _Echo_. Go.

[_Exit_.

ACTUS II, SCAENA 3.

AMORETTO _with an Ovid in his hand_, IMMERITO.

AMORETTO. Take it on the word of a gentleman, thou cannot have it a penny under; think on it, think on it, while I meditate on my fair mistress-- _Nunc sequor imperium, magne Cupido, tuum_. Whate'er become of this dull, threadbare clerk, I must be costly in my mistress' eye: Ladies regard not ragged company. I will with the revenues of my chaffer'd church First buy an ambling hobby for my fair, Whose measur'd pace may teach the world to dance, Proud of his burden, when he 'gins to prance. Then must I buy a jewel for her ear, A kirtle of some hundred crowns or more. With these fair gifts when I accompani'd go, She'll give Jove's breakfast; Sidney terms it so. I am her needle, she is my adamant, She is my fair rose, I her unworthy prick.

ACADEMICO. Is there nobody here will take the pains to geld his mouth? [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. She's Cleopatra, I Mark Antony.

ACADEMICO. No, thou art a mere mark for good wits to shoot at: and in that suit thou wilt make a fine man to dash poor crows out of countenance. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. She is my Moon, I her Endymion.

ACADEMICO. No, she is thy shoulder of mutton, thou her onion: or she may be thy Luna, and thou her lunatic. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. I her Aeneas, she my Dido is.

ACADEMICO. She is thy Io, thou her brazen ass, Or she Dame Phantasy, and thou her gull; She thy Pasiphae, and thou her loving bull.[84] [_Aside_.

ACTUS II, SCAENA 4.

_Enter_ IMMERITO _and_ STERCUTIO, _his father_.

STERCUTIO. Son, is this the gentleman that sells us the living?

IMMERITO. Fie, father! thou must not call it selling: thou must say, Is this the gentleman that must have the _gratuito_?

ACADEMICO. What have we here? old truepenny come to town, to fetch away the living in his old greasy slops? Then, I'll none: the time hath been when such a fellow meddled with nothing but his ploughshare, his spade, and his hobnails; and so to a piece of bread and cheese, and went his way. But now these fellows are grown the only factors for preferment. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. O, is this the grating gentleman? And how many pounds must I pay?

IMMERITO. O, thou must not call them pounds, but thanks. And, hark thou, father; thou must tell of nothing that is done, for I must seem to come clear to it.

ACADEMICO. Not pounds, but thanks? See, whether this simple fellow that hath nothing of a scholar, but that the draper hath blacked him over, hath not gotten the style of the time. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. By my faith, son, look for no more portion.

IMMERITO. Well, father, I will not--upon this condition, that when thou have gotten me the _gratuito_ of the living, thou wilt likewise disburse a little money to the bishop's poser;[85] for there are certain questions I make scruple to be posed in.

ACADEMICO. He means any question in Latin, which he counts a scruple. O. this honest man could never abide this popish tongue of Latin. O, he is as true an Englishman as lives. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. I'll take the gentleman, now he is in a good vein, for he smiles.

AMORETTO. Sweet Ovid, I do honour every page.

ACADEMICO. Good Ovid, that in his lifetime lived with the Getes; and now, after his death, converseth with a barbarian. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. God be at your work, sir. My son told me you were the grating gentleman; I am Stercutio his father, sir, simple as I stand here.

AMORETTO. Fellow, I had rather given thee an hundred pounds than thou shouldst have put me out of my excellent meditation: by the faith of a gentleman, I was wrapp'd in contemplation.

IMMERITO. Sir, you must pardon my father: he wants bringing up.

ACADEMICO. Marry, it seems he hath good bringing up, when he brings up so much money. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. Indeed, sir, you must pardon me; I did not know you were a gentleman of the Temple before.

AMORETTO. Well, I am content in a generous disposition to bear with country education: but, fellow, what's thy name?

STERCUTIO. My name, sir? Stercutio, sir.

AMORETTO. Why then, Stercutio, I would be very willing to be the instrument to my father, that this living might be conferred upon your son: marry, I would have you know that I have been importuned by two or three several lords, my kind cousins, in the behalf of some Cambridge man, and have almost engaged my word. Marry, if I shall see your disposition to be more thankful than other men, I shall be very ready to respect kind-natured men; for, as the Italian proverb speaketh well, _chi ha, havra_.

ACADEMICO. Why, here is a gallant young drover of livings. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. I beseech you, sir, speak English; for that is natural to me and to my son, and all our kindred, to understand but one language.

AMORETTO. Why thus, in plain English, I must be respected with thanks.

ACADEMICO. This is a subtle tractive, when thanks may be felt and seen. [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. And I pray you, sir, what is the lowest thanks that you will take?

ACADEMICO. The very same method that he useth at the buying of an ox. [_Aside_.]

AMORETTO. I must have some odd sprinkling of an hundred pounds; if so, so--I shall think you thankful, and commend your son as a man of good gifts to my father.

ACADEMICO. A sweet world! give an hundred pounds; and this is but counted thankfulness! [_Aside_.]

STERCUTIO. Hark thou, sir; you shall have eighty thanks.

AMORETTO. I tell thee, fellow, I never opened my mouth in this kind so cheap before in my life: I tell thee, few young gentlemen are found that would deal so kindly with thee as I do.

STERCUTIO. Well, sir, because I know my son to be a toward thing, and one that has taken all his learning on his own head, without sending to the university, I am content to give you as many thanks as you ask, so you will promise me to bring it to pass.

AMORETTO. I warrant you for that, if I say it once. Repair you to the place, and stay there. For my father, he is walked abroad to take the benefit of the air: I'll meet him, as he returns, and make way for your suit. Gallant, i'faith.[86]

[_Exeunt_ STERCUTIO _and_ IMMERITO.

ACTUS II., SCAENA 5.

ACADEMICO, AMORETTO.

ACADEMICO. I see, we scholars fish for a living in these shallow fords without a silver hook. Why, would it not gall a man to see a spruce gartered youth of our college, a while ago, be a broker for a living and an old bawd for a benefice? This sweet sir preferred me much kindness when he was of our college, and now I'll try what wind remains in his bladder. God save you, sir.

AMORETTO. By the mass, I fear me, I saw this _genus_ and _species_ in Cambridge before now: I'll take no notice of him now. [_Aside_.] By the faith of a gentleman, this is pretty elegy. Of what age is the day, fellow? Sirrah boy, hath the groom saddled my hunting hobby? Can Robin hunter tell where a hare sits? [_Soliloquising_.

ACADEMICO. See a poor Old friend of yours of S---- College in Cambridge.

AMORETTO. Good faith, sir, you must pardon me: I have forgotten you.

ACADEMICO. My name is Academico, sir; one that made an oration for you once on the Queen's day, and a show that you got some credit by.

AMORETTO. It may be so, it may be so; but I have forgotten it. Marry, yet I remember that there was such a fellow that I was beneficial unto in my time. But, howsoever, sir, I have the courtesy of the town for you. I am sorry you did not take me at my father's house; but now I am in exceeding great haste, for I have vowed the death of a hare that we found this morning musing on her meaze.

ACADEMICO. Sir, I am emboldened by that great acquaintance that heretofore I had with you, as likewise it hath pleased you heretofore--

AMORETTO. Look, sirrah, if you see my hobby come hitherward as yet.

ACADEMICO. --to make me some promises, I am to request your good mediation to the worshipful your father in my behalf: and I will dedicate to yourself, in the way of thanks, those days I have to live.

AMORETTO. O good sir, if I had known your mind before; for my father hath already given the induction to a chaplain of his own--to a proper man--I know not of what university he is.

ACADEMICO. Signior Immerito, they say, hath bidden fairest for it.

AMORETTO. I know not his name; but he is a grave, discreet man, I warrant him: indeed, he wants utterance in some measure.

ACADEMICO. Nay, methinks he hath very good utterance for his gravity, for he came hither very grave; but, I think, he will return light enough, when he is rid of the heavy element he carries about him. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. Faith, sir, you must pardon me: it is my ordinary custom to be too studious; my mistress hath told me of it often, and I find it to hurt my ordinary discourse: but say, sweet sir, do ye affect the most gentlemanlike game of hunting?

ACADEMICO. How say you to the crafty gull? he would fain get me abroad to make sport with me in their hunters' terms, which we scholars are not acquainted with. [_Aside_.] Sir, I have loved this kind of sport; but now I begin to hate it, for it hath been my luck always to beat the bush, while another killed the hare.

AMORETTO. Hunters' luck, hunters' luck, sir; but there was a fault in your hounds, that did spend well.

ACADEMICO. Sir, I have had worse luck always at hunting the fox.

AMORETTO. What, sir, do you mean at the unkennelling, untapezing, or earthing of the fox?

ACADEMICO. I mean, earthing, if you term it so;--for I never found yellow earth enough to cover the old fox your father. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. Good faith, sir, there is an excellent skill in blowing for the terriers; it is a word that we hunters use. When the fox is earthed, you must blow one long, two short; the second wind, one long, two short. Now, sir, in blowing, every long containeth seven quavers, one short containeth three quavers.

ACADEMICO. Sir, might I find any favour in my suit, I would wind the horn, wherein your boon[87] deserts should be sounded with so many minims, so many quavers.

AMORETTO. Sweet sir, I would I could confer this or any kindness upon you:--I wonder, the boy comes not away with my hobby. Now, sir, as I was proceeding--when you blow the death of your fox in the field or covert, then must you sound three notes with three winds, and recheat, mark you, sir, upon the same with three winds.

ACADEMICO. I pray you, sir.

AMORETTO. Now, sir, when you come to your stately gate, as you sounded the recheat before, so now you must sound the relief three times.

ACADEMICO. Relief, call you it? it were good, every patron would find the horn. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. O sir, but your relief is your sweetest note: that is, sir, when your hounds hunt after a game unknown; and then you must sound one long and six short; the second wind, two short and one long; the third wind, one long and two short.

ACADEMICO. True, sir, it is a very good trade nowadays to be a villain; I am the hound that hunts after a game unknown, and blows the villain. [_Aside_.]

AMORETTO. Sir, I will bless your ears with a very pretty story: my father, out of his own cost and charges, keeps an open table for all kind of dogs.

ACADEMICO. And he keeps one more by thee. [_Aside_.]

AMORETTO. He hath your greyhound, your mongrel, your mastiff, your levrier, your spaniel, your kennets, terriers, butchers' dogs, bloodhounds, dunghill-dogs, trundle-tails, prick-eared curs, small ladies' puppies, raches,[88] and bastards.

ACADEMICO. What a bawdy knave hath he to his father, that keeps his Rachel, hath his bastards, and lets his sons be plain ladies' puppies to bewray a lady's chamber. [_Aside_.]

AMORETTO. It was my pleasure, two days ago, to take a gallant leash of greyhounds; and into my father's park I went, accompanied with two or three noblemen of my near acquaintance, desiring to show them some of the sport. I caused the keeper to sever the rascal deer from the bucks of the first head. Now, sir, a buck the first year is a fawn, the second year a pricket, the third year a sorel, the fourth year a sore, the fifth a buck of the first head, the sixth year a complete buck; as likewise your hart is the first year a calf, the second year a brocket, the third year a spade, the fourth year a stag, the fifth year a great stag, the sixth year a hart; as likewise the roebuck is the first year a kid, the second year a girl, the third year a hemuse: and these are your special beasts for chase, or, as we huntsmen call it, for venery.

ACADEMICO. If chaste be taken for venery, thou art a more special beast than any in thy father's forest. [_Aside_.] Sir, I am sorry I have been so troublesome to you.

AMORETTO. I know this was the readiest way to chase away the scholar, by getting him into a subject he cannot talk of for his life. [_Aside_.] Sir, I will borrow so much time of you as to finish this my begun story. Now, sir, after much travel we singled a buck; I rode that same time upon a roan gelding, and stood to intercept from the thicket; the buck broke gallantly; my great swift being disadvantaged in his slip was at the first behind; marry, presently coted and outstripped them, when as the hart presently descended to the river, and being in the water, proffered and reproffered, and proffered again: and, at last, he upstarted at the other side of the water, which we call soil of the hart, and there other huntsmen met him with an adauntreley;[89] we followed in hard chase for the space of eight hours; thrice our hounds were at default, and then we cried _A slain_! straight, _So ho_; through good reclaiming my faulty hounds found their game again, and so went through the wood with gallant noise of music, resembling so many _viols de gambo_. At last the hart laid him down, and the hounds seized upon him; he groaned, and wept, and died. In good faith, it made me weep too, to think of Actaeon's fortune, which my Ovid speaks of-- [_He reads Ovid_.

_Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido_.

ACADEMICO. Sir, can you put me in any hope of obtaining my suit?

AMORETTO. In good faith, sir, if I did not love you as my soul, I would not make you acquainted with the mysteries of my art.

ACADEMICO. Nay, I will not die of a discourse yet, if I can choose. [_Exit unperceived_.

AMORETTO. So, sir, when we had rewarded our dogs with the small guts, and the lights, and the blood, the huntsmen hallooed, _So ho! Venué_, a coupler; and so coupled the dogs, and then returned homeward. Another company of hounds, that lay at advantage, had their couples cast off, and we might hear the huntsmen cry, _Horse, decouple, avant_; but straight we heard him cry, _Le amond_, and by that I knew that they had the hare, and on foot; and by and by I might see sore and resore, prick and reprick. What, is he gone! ha, ha, ha, ha! these scholars are the simplest creatures!

ACTUS II., SCAENA 6.

_Enter Amoretto's_ PAGE.

PAGE. I wonder what is become of that Ovid _de arte amandi_.[90] My master, he that for the practice of his discourse is wont to court his hobby abroad and at home, in his chamber makes a set speech to his greyhound, desiring that most fair and amiable dog to grace his company in a stately galliard; and if the dog, seeing him practise his lusty points, as his cross-point back-caper, chance to bewray the room, he presently doft's his cap, most solemnly makes a low leg to his ladyship, taking it for the greatest favour in the world that she would vouchsafe to leave her civet-box or her sweet glove behind her.

[_Enter_ AMORETTO, _reading Ovid_.]

Not a word more. Sir, an't please you, your hobby will meet you at the lane's end.

AMORETTO. What, Jack? i'faith, I cannot but vent unto thee a most witty jest of mine.

PAGE. I hope my master will not break wind. [_Aside_.] Will't please you, sir, to bless mine ears with the discourse of it?

AMORETTO. Good faith, the boy begins to have an elegant smack of my style. Why, then, thus it was, Jack, a scurvy mere Cambridge scholar, I know not how to define him--

PAGE. Nay, master, let me define a mere scholar. I heard a courtier once define a mere scholar to be _animal scabiosum_, that is, a living creature that is troubled with the itch; or, a mere scholar is a creature that can strike fire in the morning at his tinder-box, put on a pair of lined slippers, sit rheuming[91] till dinner, and then go to his meat when the bell rings: one that hath a peculiar gift in a cough, and a licence to spit. Or, if you will have him defined by negatives, he is one that cannot make a good leg; one that cannot eat a mess of broth cleanly; one that cannot ride a horse without spur-galling; one that cannot salute a woman, and look on her directly; one that cannot--

AMORETTO. Enough, Jack; I can stay no longer; I am so great in childbirth with this jest. Sirrah, this predicable, this saucy groom, because, when I was in Cambridge, and lay in a trundlebed under my tutor, I was content, in discreet humility, to give him some place at the table; and because I invited the hungry slave sometimes to my chamber, to the canvassing of a turkey-pie or a piece of venison which my lady grandmother sent me, he thought himself therefore eternally possessed of my love, and came hither to take acquaintance of me; and thought his old familiarity did continue, and would bear him out in a matter of weight. I could not tell how to rid myself better of the troublesome burr than by getting him into the discourse of hunting; and then tormenting him a while with our words of art, the poor scorpion became speechless, and suddenly vanished![92] These clerks are simple fellows, simple fellows. [_He reads Ovid_.]

PAGE. Simple, indeed, they are; for they want your courtly composition of a fool and of a knave. [_Aside_.] Good faith, sir, a most absolute jest; but, methinks, it might have been followed a little further.

AMORETTO. As how, my little knave?

PAGE. Why thus, sir; had you invited him to dinner at your table, and have put the carving of a capon upon him, you should have seen him handle the knife so foolishly, then run through a jury of faces, then wagging his head and showing his teeth in familiarity, venture upon it with the same method that he was wont to untruss an apple-pie, or tyrannise an egg and butter: then would I have applied him all dinner-time with clean trenchers, clean trenchers; and still when he had a good bit of meat, I would have taken it from him by giving him a clean trencher, and so have served him in kindness.

AMORETTO. Well said, subtle Jack; put me in mind, when I return again, that I may make my lady mother laugh at the scholar. I'll to my game; for you, Jack, I would have you employ your time, till my coming, in watching what hour of the day my hawk mutes. [_Exit_.

PAGE. Is not this an excellent office, to be apothecary to his worship's hawk, to sit scouting on the wall how the physic works? And is not my master an absolute villain, that loves his hawk, his hobby, and his greyhound, more than any mortal creature? Do but dispraise a feather of his hawk's train, and he writhes his mouth, and swears (for he can do that only with a good grace) that you are the most shallow-brained fellow that lives. Do but say his horse stales with a good presence, and he's your bondslave. When he returns, I'll tell twenty admirable lies of his hawk; and then I shall be his little rogue and his white villain for a whole week after. Well, let others complain; but I think there is no felicity to the serving of a fool.

ACTUS III., SCAENA 1.

SIR RADERIC, RECORDER, PAGE, SIGNIOR IMMERITO.

SIR RADERIC. Signior Immerito, you remember my caution for the tithes, and my promise for farming my tithes at such a rate?

IMMERITO. Ay, and please your worship, sir.

SIR RADERIC. You must put in security for the performance of it, in such sort as I and Master Recorder shall like of.

IMMERITO. I will, an't please your worship.

SIR RADERIC. And because I will be sure that I have conferred this kindness upon a sufficient man, I have desired Master Recorder to take examination of you.

PAGE. My master, it seems, takes him for a thief; but he hath small reason for it. As for learning, it's plain he never stole any; and for the living, he knows himself how he comes by it; for let him but eat a mess of furmenty this seven year, and yet he shall never be able to recover himself. Alas, poor sheep, that hath fallen into the hands of such a fox! [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. Good Master Recorder, take your place by me, and make trial of his gifts: is the clerk there to record his examination? O, the page shall serve the turn.

PAGE. Trial of his gifts! never had any gifts a better trial: why, Immerito's gifts have appeared in as many colours as the rainbow; first, to Master Amoretto, in colour of the satin suit he wears: to my lady, in the similitude of a loose gown: to my master, in the likeness of a silver basin and ewer: to us pages, in the semblance of new suits and points. So Master Amoretto plays the gull in a piece of a parsonage; my master adorns his cupboard with a piece of a parsonage; my mistress, upon good days, puts on a piece of a parsonage; and we pages play at blowpoint for a piece of a parsonage: I think here's trial enough for one man's gifts. [_Aside_.

RECORDER. Forasmuch as nature hath done her part in making you a handsome likely man--

PAGE. He is a handsome young man indeed, and hath a proper gelded parsonage.[93] [_Aside_.

RECORDER. In the next place, some art is requisite for the perfection of nature: for the trial whereof, at the request of my worshipful friend, I will in some sort propound questions fit to be resolved by one of your profession. Say, what is a person that was never at the university?

IMMERITO. A person that was never in the university is a living creature that can eat a tithe-pig.

RECORDER. Very well answered; but you should have added--and must be officious to his patron. Write down that answer to show his learning in logic.

SIR RADERIC. Yea, boy, write that down. Very learnedly, in good faith. I pray now, let me ask you one question that I remember: whether is the masculine gender or the feminine more worthy?

IMMERITO. The feminine, sir.

SIR RADERIC. The right answer, the right answer. In good faith, I have been of that mind always. Write, boy, that to show he is a grammarian.

PAGE. No marvel my master be against the grammar; for he hath always made false Latin in the genders. [_Aside_.

RECORDER. What university are you of?

IMMERITO. Of none.

SIR RADERIC. He tells truth; to tell truth is an excellent virtue. Boy, make two heads, one for his learning, another for his virtues; and refer this to the head of his virtues, not of his learning.

PAGE. What, half a mess of good qualities referred to an ass' head? [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. Now, Master Recorder, if it please you, I will examine him in an author that will sound him to the depth--a book of astronomy, otherwise called an almanac.

RECORDER. Very good, Sir Raderic; it were to be wished that there were no other book of humanity, then there would not be such busy, state-frying fellows as are nowadays. Proceed, good sir.

SIR RADERIC. What is the dominical letter?

IMMERITO. C, sir, and please your worship.

SIR RADERIC. A very good answer, a very good answer, the very answer of the book. Write down that, and refer it to his skill in philosophy.

PAGE. C the dominical letter? It is true: Craft and Cunning do so domineer; yet, rather C and D are dominical letters, that is, crafty duncery. [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. How many days hath September?

IMMERITO. April, June, and November, February hath twenty-eight alone; and all the rest hath thirty and one.

SIR RADERIC. Very learnedly, in good faith, he hath also a smack in poetry. Write down that, boy, to show his learning in poetry. How many miles from Waltham to London?

IMMERITO. Twelve, sir.

SIR RADERIC, How many from Newmarket to Grantham?

IMMERITO. Ten, sir.

PAGE. Without doubt, he hath been some carrier's horse. [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. How call you him that is cunning in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and the cypher?

IMMERITO. A good arithmetician.

SIR RADERIC. Write down that answer of his, to show his learning in arithmetic.

PAGE. He must needs be a good arithmetician, that counted money so lately. [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. When is the new moon?

IMMERITO. The last quarter the fifth day, at two of the clock and thirty-eight minutes in the morning.

SIR RADERIC. Write that down. How call you him that is weatherwise?

IMMERITO. A good astronomer.

SIR RADERIC. Sirrah boy, write him down for a good astronomer.

PAGE. Ass colit ass-tra. [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. What day of the month lights the Queen's day on?

IMMERITO. The seventeenth of November.[94]

SIR RADERIC. Boy, refer this to his virtues, and write him down a good subject.

PAGE. Faith, he were an excellent subject for two or three good wits: he would make a fine ass for an ape to ride upon. [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. And these shall suffice for the parts of his learning. Now it remains to try whether you be a man of good utterance, that is, whether you can ask for the strayed heifer with the white face, as also chide the boys in the belfry, and bid the sexton whip out the dogs. Let me hear your voice.

IMMERITO. If any man or woman--

SIR RADERIC. That's too high.

IMMERITO. If any man or woman--

SIR RADERIC. That's too low.

IMMERITO. If any man or woman can tell any tidings of a horse with four feet, two ears, that did stray about the seventh hour, three minutes in the forenoon the fifth day--

PAGE. A book of[95] a horse, just as it were the eclipse of the moon. [_Aside_.

SIR RADERIC. Boy, write him down for a good utterance. Master Recorder, I think he hath been examined sufficiently.

RECORDER. Ay, Sir Raderic, 'tis so; we have tried him very throughly.

PAGE. Ay, we have taken an inventory of his good parts, and prized them accordingly.

SIR RADERIC. Signior Immerito, forasmuch as we have made a double trial of thee--the one of your learning, the other of your erudition--it is expedient also, in the next place, to give you a few exhortations, considering the greatest clerks are not the wisest men. This is therefore, first, to exhort you to abstain from controversies; secondly, not to gird at men of worship, such as myself, but to use yourself discreetly; thirdly, not to speak when any man or woman coughs--do so, and in so doing, I will persevere to be your worshipful friend and loving patron.

IMMERITO. I thank your worship, you have been the deficient cause of my preferment.

SIR RADERIC. Lead Immerito into my son, and let him despatch him; and remember--my tithes to be reserved, paying twelvepence a year. I am going to Moorfields to speak with an unthrift I should meet at the Middle-Temple about a purchase; when you have done, follow us.

[_Exeunt_ IMMERITO _and the_ PAGE.

ACTUS III., SCAENA 2.

SIR RADERIC _and_ RECORDER.

SIR RADERIC. Hark you, Master Recorder: I have fleshed my prodigal boy notably, notably, in letting him deal for this living; that hath done him much good, much good, I assure you.

RECORDER. You do well, Sir Raderic, to bestow your living upon such an one as will be content to share, and on Sunday to say nothing; whereas your proud university princox thinks he is a man of such merit the world cannot sufficiently endow him with preferment. An unthankful viper, an unthankful viper, that will sting the man that revived him. Why, is't not strange to see a ragged clerk Some stamel weaver or some butcher's son, That scrubb'd a-late within a sleeveless gown, When the commencement, like a morris-dance, Hath put a bell or two about his legs, Created him a sweet clean gentleman; How then he 'gins to follow fashions: He, whose thin sire dwells in a smoky roof, Must take tobacco, and must wear a lock; His thirsty dad drinks in a wooden bowl, But his sweet self is serv'd in silver plate. His hungry sire will scrape you twenty legs For one good Christmas meal on New-Year's day, But his maw must be capon-cramm'd each day; He must ere long be triple-beneficed, Else with his tongue he'll thunderbolt the world, And shake each peasant by his deaf man's ear. But, had the world no wiser men than I, We'd pen the prating parrots in a cage. A chair, a candle, and a tinder-box, A thacked[96] chamber and a ragged gown, Should be their lands and whole possessions; Knights, lords, and lawyers should be lodg'd and dwell Within those over-stately heaps of stone, Which doating sires in old age did erect. Well, it were to be wished, that never a scholar in England might have above forty pound a year.

SIR RADERIC. Faith, Master Recorder, if it went by wishing, there should never an one of them all have above twenty a year--a good stipend, a good stipend, Master Recorder. I in the meantime, howsoever I hate them all deadly, yet I am fain to give them good words. O, they are pestilent fellows, they speak nothing but bodkins, and piss vinegar. Well, do what I can in outward kindness to them, yet they do nothing but bewray my house: as there was one that made a couple of knavish verses on my country chimney, now in the time of my sojourning here at London; and it was thus-- Sir Raderic keeps no chimney cavalier, That takes tobacco above once a year. And another made a couple of verses on my daughter, that learns to play on the _viol-de-gambo_-- Her _viol-de-gambo_ is her best content; For 'twixt her legs she holds her instrument. Very knavish, very knavish, if you look into it, Master Recorder. Nay, they have played many a knavish trick beside with me. Well, 'tis a shame, indeed, there should be any such privilege for proud beggars as Cambridge and Oxford are. But let them go; and if ever they light in my hands, if I do not plague them, let me never return home again to see my wife's waiting-maid!

RECORDER. This scorn of knights is too egregious: But how should these young colts prove amblers, When the old, heavy, galled jades do trot? There shall you see a puny boy start up, And make a theme against common lawyers; Then the old, unwieldy camels 'gin to dance, This fiddling boy playing a fit of mirth; The greybeards scrub, and laugh, and cry, _Good, good! To them again, boy; scourge the barbarians_. But we may give the losers leave to talk; We have the coin, then tell them laugh for me. Yet knights and lawyers hope to see the day, When we may share here their possessions, And make indentures of their chaffer'd skins, Dice of their bones to throw in merriment.

SIR RADERIC. O, good faith, Master Recorder, if I could see that day once?

RECORDER. Well, remember another day what I say: scholars are pryed into of late, and are found to be busy fellows, disturbers of the peace. I'll say no more; guess at my meaning. I smell a rat.

SIR RADERIC. I hope at length England will be wise enough, I hope so, i'faith; then an old knight may have his wench in a corner without any satires or epigrams. But the day is far spent, Master Recorder; and I fear by this time the unthrift is arrived at the place appointed in Moorfields. Let us hasten to him. [_He looks on his watch_.

RECORDER. Indeed, this day's subject transported us too late: [but] I think we shall not come much too late.

[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS III., SCAENA 3.

_Enter_ AMORETTO, _and his Page_, IMMERITO _booted_.

AMORETTO. Master Immerito, deliver this letter to the poser in my father's name. Marry, withal some sprinkling, some sprinkling; _verbum sapienti sat est_. Farewell, Master Immerito.

IMMERITO. I thank your worship most heartily.

PAGE. Is it not a shame to see this old dunce learning his induction at these years? But let him go, I lose nothing by him; for I'll be sworn, but for the booty of selling the parsonage, I should have gone in mine old clothes this Christmas. A dunce, I see, is a neighbour-like brute beast: a man may live by him. [_Aside_.

[_AMORETTO seems to make verse_.

AMORETTO. A pox on it, my muse is not so witty as she was wont to be: ---- _Her nose is like_ ---- not yet; plague on these mathematics! they have spoiled my brain in making a verse.

PAGE. Hang me, if he hath any more mathematics than will serve to count the clock, or tell the meridian hour by rumbling of his paunch. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. _Her nose is like_ ----

PAGE. A cobbler's shoeing-horn.

AMORETTO. _Her nose is like a beauteous maribone_. [_Aside_.

PAGE. Marry, a sweet snotty mistress! [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. Faith, I do not like it yet. Ass as I was, to read a piece of Aristotle in Greek yesternight; it hath put me out of my English vein quite.

PAGE. O monstrous lie! let me be a point-trusser, while I live, if he understands any tongue but English. [_Aside_.

AMORETTO. Sirrah boy, remember me when I come in Paul's Churchyard to buy a Ronsard and [a] Dubartas in French, and Aretine in Italian; and our hardest writers in Spanish; they will sharpen my wits gallantly. I do relish these tongues in some sort. O, now I do remember, I hear a report of a poet newly come out in Hebrew; it is a pretty harsh tongue, and telleth[97] a gentleman traveller: but come, let's haste after my father; the fields are fitter to heavenly meditations. [_Exit_.

PAGE. My masters, I could wish your presence at an admirable jest: why presently this great linguist my master will march through Paul's Churchyard, come to a bookbinder's shop, and with a big Italian look and a Spanish face ask for these books in Spanish and Italian; then, turning (through his ignorance) the wrong end of the book upward, use action on this unknown tongue after this sort: First, look on the title, and wrinkle his brow; next make as though he read the first page, and bite 's lip;[98] then with his nail score the margent, as though there were some notable conceit; and, lastly, when he thinks he hath gulled the standers-by sufficiently, throws the book away in a rage, swearing that he could never find books of a true print since he was last in Joadna;[99] inquire after the next mart, and so departs. And so must I; for by this time his contemplation is arrived at his mistress's nose end; he is as glad as if he had taken Ostend.[100] By this time he begins to spit, and cry, Boy, carry my cloak: and now I go to attend on his worship.

[_Exit_.

ACTUS III., SCAENA 4.

_Enter_ INGENIOSO, FUROR, PHANTASMA.

INGENIOSO. Come, lads; this wine whets your resolution in our design: it's a needy world with subtle spirits; and there's a gentlemanlike kind of begging, that may beseem poets in this age.

FUROR. Now by the wing of nimble Mercury, By my Thalia's silver-sounding harp, By that celestial fire within my brain, That gives a living genius to my lines, Howe'er my dulled intellectual Capers less nimbly than it did afore; Yet will I play a hunts-up to my muse, And make her mount from out her sluggish nest. As high as is the highest sphere in heaven. Awake, you paltry trulls of Helicon, Or, by this light, I'll swagger with you straight: You grandsire Phoebus, with your lovely eye, The firmament's eternal vagabond, The heaven's promoter, that doth peep and pry Into the acts of mortal tennis-balls, Inspire me straight with some rare delicies,[101] Or I'll dismount thee from thy radiant coach, And make thee poor[102] Cutchy here on earth.

PHANTASMA. _Currus auriga paterni_.

INGENIOSO. Nay, prythee, good Furor, do not rove in rhymes before thy time; thou hast a very terrible, roaring muse, nothing but squibs and fine jerks: quiet thyself a while, and hear thy charge.

PHANTASMA. _Huc ades, haec animo concipe dicta tuo_.

INGENIOSO. Let us on to our device, our plot, our project. That old Sir Raderic, that new printed compendium of all iniquity, that hath not aired his country chimney once in three winters; he that loves to live in an old corner here at London, and affect an old wench in a nook; one that loves to live in a narrow room, that he may with more facility in the dark light upon his wife's waiting-maid; one that loves alike a short sermon and a long play; one that goes to a play, to a whore, to his bed, in circle: good for nothing in the world but to sweat nightcaps and foul fair lawn shirts, feed a few foggy servingmen, and prefer dunces to livings--this old Sir Raderic, Furor, it shall be thy task to cudgel with thy thick, thwart terms; marry, at the first, give him some sugarcandy terms,[103] and then, if he will not untie purse-strings of his liberality, sting him with terms laid in aquafortis and gunpowder.

FUROR. _In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas_. The servile current of my sliding verse Gentle shall run into his thick-skinn'd ears; Where it shall dwell like a magnifico, Command his slimy sprite to honour me For my high, tiptoe, strutting poesy: But if his stars hath favour'd him so ill, As to debar him by his dunghill thoughts, Justly to esteem my verses' lowting pitch, If his earth-rooting snout shall 'gin to scorn My verse that giveth immortality; Then _Bella per Emathios_--

PHANTASMA. _Furor arma ministrat_.

FUROR. I'll shake his heart upon my verses' point, Rip out his guts with riving poniard, Quarter his credit with a bloody quill.

PHANTASMA. _Calami, atramentum, charta, libelli, Sunt semper studiis arma parata tuis_.

INGENIOSO. Enough, Furor, we know thou art a nimble swaggerer with a goose-quill. Now for you, Phantasma: leave trussing your points, and listen.

PHANTASMA. _Omne tulit punctum_--

INGENIOSO. Mark you, Amoretto, Sir Raderic's son, to him shall thy piping poetry and sugar-ends of verses be directed: he is one that will draw out his pocket-glass thrice in a walk; one that dreams in a night of nothing but musk and civet, and talks of nothing all day long but his hawk, his hound, and his mistress; one that more admires the good wrinkle of a boot, the curious crinkling of a silk-stocking, than all the wit in the world; one that loves no scholar but him whose tired ears can endure half a day together his fly-blown sonnets of his mistress, and her loving, pretty creatures, her monkey and her puppy.[104] It shall be thy task, Phantasma, to cut this gull's throat with fair terms; and, if he hold fast for all thy juggling rhetoric, fall at defiance with him and the poking-stick he wears.

PHANTASMA. _Simul extulit ensem_.

INGENIOSO. Come, brave imps,[105] gather up your spirits, and let us march on, like adventurous knights, and discharge a hundred poetical spirits upon them.

PHANTASMA. _Est deus in nobis: agitante calescimus illo_.

[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS III., SCAENA 5.

_Enter_ PHILOMUSUS, STUDIOSO.

STUDIOSO. Well, Philomusus, we never 'scaped so fair a scouring: why, yonder are pursuivants out for the French doctor, and a lodging bespoken for him and his man in Newgate. It was a terrible fear that made us cast our hair.

PHILOMUSUS. And canst thou sport at our calamities, And count'st us happy to 'scape prisonment? Why, the wide world, that blesseth some with weal,[106] Is to our chained thoughts a darksome jail.

STUDIOSO. Nay, prythee, friend, these wonted terms forego; He doubles grief, that comments on a woe.

PHILOMUSUS. Why do fond men term it impiety To send a wearisome, sad, grudging ghost Unto his home, his long-long, lasting home? Or let them make our life less grievous be, Or suffer us to end our misery.

STUDIOSO. O no; the sentinel his watch must keep, Until his lord do licence him to sleep.

PHILOMUSUS. It's time to sleep within our hollow graves, And rest us in the darksome womb of earth: Dead things are grav'd, our[107] bodies are no less Pin'd and forlorn, like ghostly carcases.

STUDIOSO. Not long this tap of loathed life can run; Soon cometh death, and then our woe is done: Meantime, good Philomusus, be content; Let's spend our days in hopeful merriment.