Chapter XIV: Act II: , Scene I

_+Aurelia+, +Dorcas+._

+Aur.+ Why, we shall have you get in time the turn-
Up of your eyes, speak in the nose, draw sighs
Of an ell long, and rail at discipline.
Would I could hear from Bannswright! Ere I'll be tortur'd
With your preciseness thus, I'll get dry palms
With starching, and put on my smocks myself.

+Dor.+ Surely you may, and air 'em too: there have been
Very devout and holy women that wore
No shift at all.

+Aur.+ Such saints, you mean, as wore
Their congregations, and swarm'd with Christian vermin.
You'll hold clean linen heresy?

+Dor.+ Surely, yes,
Clean linen in a surplice: that and powders
Do bring dry summers, make the sickness rage,
And the enemy prevail. It was reveal'd
To Mistress Scruple and her husband, who
Do verily ascribe the German war
And the late persecutions to curling,
False teeth, and oil of talc.[194]

+Aur.+ Now she is in,
A lecturer will sooner hold his peace
Than she.

+Dor.+ And surely, as Master Scruple says----

+Aur.+ That was her schoolmaster; one that cools a feast
With his long grace, and sooner eats a capon,
Than blesses it.

+Dor.+ And proves it very well,
Out of a book that suffer'd martyrdom[195]
By fire in Cheapside; since amulets and bracelets,
And love-locks, were in use, the price of sprats,
Jerusalem artichokes, and Holland cheese,
Is very much increased: so that the brethren--
Botchers I mean, and such poor zealous saints
As earn five groats a week under a stall,
By singing psalms, and drawing up of holes,
Can't live in their vocation, but are fain
To turn----

+Aur.+ Old breeches.

+Dor.+ Surely, teachers and prophets.

SCENE II.

_Enter +Bannswright+._

+Aur.+ O Master Bannswright, are you come!
My woman
Was in her preaching fit: she only wanted
A table's end.

+Ban.+ Why, what's the matter?

+Aur.+ Never
Poor lady had so much unbred holiness
About her person; I am never dress'd
Without a sermon; but am forc'd to prove
The lawfulness of curling-irons, before
She'll crisp me in a morning. I must show
Text for the fashions of my gowns. She'll ask
Where jewels are commanded? or what lady
I' th' primitive times wore ropes of pearl or rubies?
She will urge councils for her little ruff,
Call'd in Northamptonshire;[196] and her whole service
Is a mere confutation of my clothes.

+Ban.+ Why, madam, I assure you, time hath been,
However she be otherwise, when she had
A good quick wit, and would have made to a lady
A serviceable sinner.

+Aur.+ She can't preserve
The gift, for which I took her; but, as though
She were inspir'd from Ipswich,[197] she will make
The _Acts and Monuments_ in sweetmeats, quinces
Arraign'd and burnt at a stake: all my banquets
Are persecutions; Dioclesian's days
Are brought for entertainment, and we eat martyrs.

+Ban.+ Madam, she is far gone.

+Aur.+ Nay, sir, she is a Puritan at her needle too.

+Ban.+ Indeed!

+Aur.+ She works religious petticoats;[198] for flowers
She'll make church-histories. Her needle doth
So sanctify my cushionets; besides,
My smock-sleeves have such holy embroideries,
And are so learned, that I fear in time
All my apparel will be quoted by
Some pure instructor.[199] Yesterday I went
To see a lady that has a parrot: my woman,
While I was in discourse, converted the fowl;
And now it can speak nought but Knox's works;[200]
So there's a parrot lost.

+Ban.+ Faith, madam, she
Was earnest to come to you. Had I known
Her mistress had so bred her, I would first
Have preferred her to New England.[201]

+Dor.+ Surely, sir,
You promised me, when you did take my money,
To help me to a faithful service, a lady
That would be saved, not one that loves profane,
Unsanctified fashions.

+Aur.+ Fly my sight,
You goody Hofman,[202] and keep your chamber, till
You can provide yourself some cure, or I
Will forthwith excommunicate your zeal,
And make you a silent waiting-woman.

+Ban.+ Mistress Dorcas,
If you'll be usher to that holy, learned woman
That can heal broken shins, scald heads and th' itch,
Your schoolmistress; that can expound, and teaches
To knit in Chaldee, and work Hebrew samplers,
I'll help you back again.

+Dor.+ The motion, sure, is good,
And I will ponder of it. [_Exit +Dorcas+._

+Aur.+ From thy zeal,
The frantic ladies' judgments, and Histriomastix,[203]
Deliver me! This was of your preferring;
You must needs help me to another.

+Ban.+ How
Would you desire her qualified? deformed
And crooked? like some ladies who do wear
Their women like black patches, to set them off?

+Aur.+ I need no foil, nor shall I think I'm white
Only between two Moors; or that my nose
Stands wrong, because my woman's doth stand right.

+Ban.+ But you would have her secret, able to keep
Strange sights from th' knowledge of your knight, when you
Are married, madam; of a quick-feigning head?

+Aur.+ You wrong me, Bannswright: she whom I would have
Must to her handsome shape have virtue too.

+Ban.+ Well, madam, I shall fit you. I do know
A choleric lady which, within these three weeks,
Has, for not cutting her corns well, put off
Three women; and is now about to part
With the fourth--just one of your description.
Next change o' th' moon or weather, when her feet
Do ache again, I do believe I shall
Pleasure your ladyship.

+Aur.+ Expect your reward. [_Exit +Bannswright+._

SCENE III.

_Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._

+Tim.+ Lady, let me taste the Elysium of your lips.

+Aur.+ Why, what are you? You will not leap me, sir?
Pray, know your distance.

+Tim.+ What am I, sweet lady?
My father is an alderman's fellow; and I
Hope to be one in time.

+Aur.+ Then, sir, in time
You may be remembered at the quenching of
Fir'd houses, when the bells ring backward,[204] by
Your name upon the buckets.[205]

+Tim.+ Nay, they say
You have a good wit, lady, and I can find it
As soon as another. I in my time have been
O' th' university, and should have been a scholar.

+Aur.+ By the size of your wit, sir, had you kept
To that profession, I can foresee
You would have been a great persecutor of nature
And great consumer of rush candles, with
As small success as if a tortoise should
Day and night practise to run races. Having
Contemplated yourself into ill-looks,
In pity to so much affliction,
You might ha' pass'd for learned; and't may be,
If you had fallen out with the Muses, and
'Scap'd poetry, you might have risen to scarlet.

+Tim.+ Here's a rare lady with all my heart. By this
Light, gentlemen, now have I no more language
Than a dumb parrot. A little more, she'll jeer me
Into a fellow that turns upon his toe
In a steeple, and strikes quarters![206]

+Bright.+ And why should you
Be now so dainty of your lips? Verily,
They are not virgins: they have tasted man.

+Aur.+ And may again; but then I'll be secur'd
For the sweet air o' th' parties. If you
Will bring it me confirm'd under the hands
Of four sufficient ladies, that you are
Clean men, you may chance kiss my woman.

+New.+ Lady,
Our lips are made of the same clay that yours [are,]
And have not been refused.

+Aur.+ 'Tis right, you are
Two inns-of-court men.

+Bright.+ Yes, what then?

+Aur.+ Known Cladders[207]
Through all the town.

+Bright.+ Cladders?

+Aur.+ Yes, catholic lovers,
From country madams to your glover's wife,
Or laundress;[208] will not let poor gentlewomen
Take physic quietly, but disturb their pills
From operation with your untaught visits;
Or, if they be employ'd, contrive small plots
Below stairs with the chambermaid; commend
Her fragrant breath, which five yards off salutes,
At four deflow'rs a rose, at three kills spiders.

+New.+ What dangerous truths these are!

+Aur.+ Ravish a lock
From the yellow waiting-woman; use stratagems
To get her silver whistle, and waylay
Her pewter-knots or bodkin.

+New.+ Pretty, pretty!

+Bright.+ You think you have abus'd us now?

+Aur.+ I'll tell you:
Had I in all the world but forty mark,
And that got by my needle, and making socks,
And were that forty mark mill'd sixpences,
Spur-royals, Harry-groats,[209] or such odd coin
Of husbandry, as in the king's reign now
Would never pass, I would despise you.

+New.+ Lady,
Your wit will make you die a wither'd virgin.

+Bright.+ We shall in time, when your most tyrant tongue
Hath made this house a wilderness, and you
As unfrequented as a statesman fallen;
When you shall quarrel with your face and glass,
Till from your pencil you have rais'd new cheeks--
See you beg suitors, write bills o'er your door:
"Here is an ancient lady to be let."

+New.+ You think you are handsome now, and that your eyes
Make star-shooting, and dart.[210]

+Aur.+ 'T may be I do.

+New.+ May I not prosper if I have not seen
A better face in signs or gingerbread.

+Tim.+ Yes, I for twopence oft have bought a better.

+Bright.+ What a sweet, innocent look you have!

+Plot.+ Fie, gentlemen,
Abuse a harmless lady thus! I can't
With patience hear your blasphemies. Make me
Your second, madam.

+Tim.+ And make me your third.

+Aur.+ O prodigy, to hear an image speak!
Why, sir, I took you for a mute i' th' hangings.
I'll tell the faces.

+Tim.+ Gentlemen, do I
Look like one of them Trojans?[211]

+Aur.+ 'tis So; Your Face
Is missing here, sir; pray, step back again,
And fill the number. You, I hope, have more
Truth in you than to filch yourself away,
And leave my room unfurnish'd.

+Plot.+ By this light
She'll send for a constable straight, and apprehend him
For thievery.

+Tim.+ Why, lady, do you think me
Wrought in a loom, some Dutch piece weav'd at Mortlake?[212]

+Aur.+ Surely You Stood So Simply, Like a Man
Penning of recantations, that I suspected
Y' had been a part of the monopoly.
But now I know you have a tongue, and are
A very man, I'll think you only dull,
And pray for better utterance.

+Plot.+ Lady, you make
Rash judgment of him; he was only struck
With admiration of your beauty.

+Tim.+ Truly, and so I was.

+Aur.+ Then you can wonder, sir?

+Plot.+ Yes, when he sees such miracles as you.

+Aur.+ And love me, can't you?

+Tim.+ Love you! By this hand,
I'd love a dog of your sweet looks: I am
Enamour'd of you, lady.

+Aur.+ Ha, ha, ha! now surely
I wonder you wear not a cap: your case
Requires warm things! I'll send you forth a caudle. [_Exit._

+Bright.+ The plague of rotten teeth, wrinkles, loud lungs,
Be with you, madam.

+Tim.+ Had I now pen and ink,
If I were urg'd, I'd fain know whether I
In conscience ought not to set down myself
No wiser than I should be?

+Plot.+ Gentlemen, how like you her wit?

+Tim.+ Wit! I verily
Believe she was begotten by some wit;
And he that has her may beget plays on her.

+New.+ Her wit had need be good, it finds her house.

+Tim.+ Her house! 'tis able to find the court: if she
Be chaste to[213] all this wit, I do not think
But that she might be shown.

+Bright.+ She speaks with salt,
And has a pretty scornfulness, which now
I've seen, I'm satisfied.

+New.+ Come then away to Roseclap's.

+Tim.+ Lead on; let us dine. This lady
Runs in my head still.

_Enter a +Footman+._

+Foot.+ Sir, my lady prays
You would dismiss your company; she has
Some business with you.

+Plot.+ Gentlemen, walk softly; I'll overtake you.

+Bright.+ Newcut, 'slight! her wit
Is come to private meetings!

+New.+ Ay, I thought
She had some other virtues. Well, make haste,
We'll stay without; when thou hast done, inform us
What the rate is: if she be reasonable,
We'll be her customers.

+Plot.+ Y' are merry, sir. [_Exit +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+._

SCENE IV.

_Enter +Aurelia+._

+Plot.+ Nay, sister, you may enter; they are gone.
I did receive your ticket this morning. What!
You look the mine should run still?

+Aur.+ O, you are
A careful brother to put me on a course
That draws the eyes o' th' town upon me, and makes me
Discourse for ordinaries, then leave me in't.
I will put off my ladyship, and return
To Mistress Holland, and to making shirts
And bands again.

+Plot.+ I hope you will not.

+Aur.+ I repent I left th' Exchange.

+Plot.+ Faith, I should laugh
To see you there again, and there serve out
The rest of your indentures, by managing
Your needle well, and making nightcaps by
A chafing-dish in winter mornings, to keep
Your fingers pliant. How rarely 'twould become you
To run over all your shop to passengers
In a fine sale-tune!

+Aur.+ What would you have me do?
D'ye think I'm the Dutch virgin, that could live
By th' scent of flowers?[214] Or that my family
Are descended of cameleons,
And can be kept with air? Is this the way
To get a husband; to be in danger to be
Shut up for house-rent, or to wear a gown
Out a whole fashion, or the same jewels twice?
Shortly my neighbours will commend my clothes
For lasting well, give them strange dates, and cry,
"Since your last gorget and the blazing star."

+Plot.+ Prythee, excuse me, sister, I can now
Rain showers of silver into thy lap again.
My uncle's gone to sea, and has left me
The key to th' golden fleece. Thou shalt be still
A madam, Pen; and to maintain thy honour,
And to new-dub thee, take this. [_Gives her a purse._
But, sister, I
Expected you ere this, out of the throng
Of suitors that frequent you, should have been
Made a true lady--not one in type or show.
I fear you are too scornful, look too high.

+Aur.+ Faith, brother, 'tis no age to be put off
With empty education; few will make jointures
To wit or good parts. I may die a virgin,
When some old widow, which at every cough
Resigns some of her teeth, and every night
Puts off her leg as duly as French hood,
Scarce wears her own nose, hath no eyes but such
As she first bought in Broad Street, and every morning
Is put together like some instrument,
Having full coffers, shall be woo'd, and thought
A youthful bride.

+Plot.+ Why, sister, will you like
A match of my projection? You do know
How ruinous our father's fortunes are.
Before he broke, you know, there was a contract
Between you and young Seathrift. What if I
Make it a wedding?

+Aur.+ Marry a fool, in hope
To be a Lady Mayoress?

+Plot.+ Why, sister, I
Could name good ladies that are fain to find
Wit for themselves and knights too.

+Aur.+ I have heard
Of one, whose husband was so meek, to be
For need her gentleman-usher; and, while she
Made visits above stairs, would patiently
Find himself business at trey-trip[215] i' th' hall.

+Plot.+ He's only city-bred; one month of your
Sharp conversation will refine him; besides,
How long will't be ere your dissembled state
Meet such another offer?

+Aur.+ Well, brother, you shall dispose of my affections.

+Plot.+ Then some time
This afternoon I'll bring him hither: do you
Provide the priest: your dining-room will serve
As well as the church.

+Aur.+ I will expect you. [_Exeunt several ways._

SCENE V.

_Enter +Captain Quartfield+ beating +Roseclap+;
+Salewit+ and +Millicent+ labouring to part them._

+Quart.+ Sirrah, I'll beat you into air.

+Rose.+ Good captain!

+Quart.+ I will, by Hector.

+Rose.+ Murder, murder, help!

+Quart.+ You needy, shifting, cosening, breaking slave.

+Mil.+ Nay, Master Salewit, help to part 'em.

+Sale.+ Captain!

+Quart.+ Ask me for money? dog!

+Rose.+ O, I am kill'd!

+Mil.+ Help, help!

+Sale.+ Nay, captain.

+Quart.+ Men of my coat pay!

+Mil.+ I'll call in neighbours. Murder, murder!

+Quart.+ Rascal,
I'll make you trust, and offer me petitions
To go o' th' score.

+Rose.+ Good: 'tis very good.

+Mil.+ How does thy head, sweetheart?

+Rose.+ Away, be quiet, Millicent.

+Sale.+ Roseclap, you'll never leave this: I did tell you,
Last time the captain beat you, what a lion
He is, being ask'd for reckonings.

+Mil.+ So you did,
Indeed, good Master Salewit; yet you must
Ever be foolish, husband.

+Sale.+ What if we
Do owe you money, sir; is't fit for you
To ask it?

+Rose.+ Well, Sir, There Is Law. I Say
No more, but there is law.

+Quart.+ What law, you cur?
The law of nature, custom, arms, and nations,
Frees men of war from payments.

+Rose.+ Yes, your arms, captain; none else.

+Quart.+ No soldiers ought to pay.

+Sale.+ Nor poets:
All void of money are privileged.

+Mil.+ What would you have?
Captains and poets, Master Salewit says,
Must never pay.

+Sale.+ No, nor be ask'd for money.

+Rose.+ Still, I say, there is law.

+Quart.+ Say that again,
And, by Bellona, I will cut thy throat.

+Mil.+ You long to see your brains out.

+Quart.+ Why, you mongrel,
You John-of-all-trades, have we been your guests
Since you first kept a tavern; when you had
The face and impudence to hang a bush
Out to three pints of claret, two of sack,
In all the world?

+Sale.+ After that, when you broke,
Did we here find you out, custom'd your house,
And help'd away your victuals, which had else
Lain mouldy on your hands?

+Rose.+ You did indeed,
And never paid for't. I do not deny,
But you have been my customers these two years;
My jack went not, nor chimney smok'd without you.
I will go farther; your two mouths have been
Two as good eating mouths as need to come
Within my doors; as curious to be pleased,
As if you still had eaten with ready money;
Had still the meats in season; still drank more
Than your ordinary came to.

+Sale.+ And your conscience now
Would have this paid for?

+Rose.+ Surely, so I take it.

+Sale.+ Was ever the like heard?

+Quart.+ 'Tis most unreasonable;
He has a harden'd conscience. Sirrah cheater,
You would be question'd for your reckonings, rogue.

+Rose.+ Do you inform?

+Quart.+ I hear one o' th' sheriffs
Paid for the boiling of a carp a mark.

+Sale.+ Most unheard-of exactions!

+Rose.+ Yet surely, captain,
No man had cheaper reckonings than yourself
And Master Salewit here.

+Quart.+ How cheap?

+Rose.+ I say
No more, good captain; not to pay is cheap,
A man would think.

+Quart.+ Sir, don't you reckon air,
And make it dear to breathe in your house, and put
The nose to charges?

+Rose.+ Right; perfum'd air, captain.

+Quart.+ Is not the standing of the salt an item,
And placing of the bread?

+Rose.+ A new way, captain.

+Quart.+ Is not the folding of your napkins brought
Into the bill?

+Rose.+ Pinch'd napkins, captain, and laid
Like fishes, fowls, or faces.

+Sale.+ Then remember
How you rate salads, Roseclap; one may buy
Gardens as cheap.

+Rose.+ Yes, Master Salewit, salads
Taken from Euclid, made in diagrams,
And to be eaten in figures.

+Quart.+ And we must pay for your inventions, sir?

+Rose.+ Or you are damn'd:
Good captain, you have sworn to pay this twelvemonth.

+Quart.+ Peace! you loud, bawling cur; do you disgrace me
Before these gallants? See if I don't kill you.

SCENE VI.

_Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._

+Bright.+ Save you, Captain Quartfield, and my brave wit,
My man of Helicon. Salute this gentleman,
He is a city wit.

+New.+ A corporation went to the bringing of him forth.

+Quart.+ I embrace him.

+Sale.+ And so do I.

+Tim.+ You are a poet, sir,
And can make verses, I hear?

+Sale.+ Sir, I am
A servant to the Muses.

+Tim.+ I have made
Some speeches, sir, in verse, which have been spoke
By a green Robin Goodfellow from Cheapside conduit,[216]
To my father's company, and mean this afternoon
To make an epithalamium upon my wedding.
A lady fell in love with me this morning:
Ask Master Francis here.

+Plot.+ Heart! you spoil all.
Did not I charge you to be silent?

+Tim.+ That's true;
I had forgot. You are a captain, sir?

+Quart.+ I have seen service, sir.

+Tim.+ Captain, I love
Men of the sword and buff; and if need were,
I can roar too, and hope to swear in time,
Do you see, captain?

+Plot.+ Nay, captain, we have brought you
A gentleman of valour, who has been
In Moorfields often: marry, it has been
To 'squire his sisters, and demolish custards
At Pimlico.[217] [_+Timothy+ walks aside._

+Quart.+ Afore me, Master Plotwell;
I never hop'd to see you in silk again.

+Sale.+ I look'd the next Lord Mayor's day to see you o' th' livery,
Or one o' th' bachelor whifflers.[218]

+Quart.+ What, is your uncle dead?

+Plot.+ He may in time: he's gone
To sea this morning, captain; and I am come
Into your order again. But hark you, captain,
What think you of a fish now?

+Quart.+ Mad wags, mad wags.

+Bright.+ By Heaven, it's true. Here we have brought one with us.

+New.+ Rich Seathrift's son: he'll make a rare sea-monster.

+Quart.+ And shall's be merry, i' faith?

+Bright.+ Salewit shall make a song upon him.

+New.+ And Roseclap's boy shall sing it.

+Sale.+ We have the properties of the last fish.[219]

+Quart.+ And if I
At dinner do not give him sea enough,
And afterwards, if I and Salewit do not
Show him much better than he that shows the Tombs,
Let me be turned into a sword-fish myself.

+Plot.+ A natural change for a captain! How now, Roseclap,
Pensive, and cursing the long vacation?
Thou look'st as if thou mean'st to break shortly.

+Rose.+ Ask the captain why I am sad?

+Quart.+ Faith, gentlemen,
I disciplin'd him for his rudeness.

+Plot.+ Why, these
Are judgments, Roseclap, for dear reckonings.

+Tim.+ Art thou the half-crown fellow of the house?

+Rose.+ Sir, I do keep the ordinary.

+Tim.+ Let's have wine enough;
I mean to drink a health to a lady.

+Plot.+ Still
Will you betray your fortune? One of them
Will go and tell her who you are, and spoil
The marriage.

+Tim.+ No; peace! Gentlemen, if you'll
Go in, we'll follow.

+Rose.+ Please you enter, dinner
Shall straight be set upon the board.

+Bright.+ We'll expect you. Come, gentlemen.

[_Exeunt +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Salewit+, +Quartfield+,
and +Roseclap+._

+Tim.+ But, Master Francis, was that
The business, why she call'd you back?

+Plot.+ Believe it;
Your mother's smock shin'd at your birth, or else
You wear some charm about you.

+Tim.+ Not I, truly.

+Plot.+ It cannot be she should so strangely doat
Upon you else. 'Slight! had you stay'd, I think
She would have woo'd you herself.

+Tim.+ Now I remember,
One read my fortune once, and told my father,
That I should match a lady.

+Plot.+ How things fall out!

+Tim.+ And did she ask you who I was?

+Plot.+ I told her you were a young knight.

+Tim.+ Good.

+Plot.+ Scarce come to th' years of your discretion yet.

+Tim.+ Good still.

+Plot.+ And that a great man
Did mean to beg you[220]----for his daughter.

+Tim.+ Most rare: this afternoon's the time.

+Plot.+ Faith, she
Looks you should use a little courtship first;
That done, let me alone to have the priest
In readiness.

+Tim.+ But were I not best ask my friends' consent?

+Plot.+ How! Friends' consent? that's fit
For none but farmers' sons and milkmaids. You shall not
Debase your judgment. She takes you for a wit,
And you shall match her like one.

+Tim.+ Then I will.

+Plot.+ But no more words to th' gallants.

+Tim.+ Do you think I am a sieve, and cannot hold?

_Enter +Roseclap+._

+Rose.+ Gentlemen, the company are sat.

+Tim.+ It shall be yours.

+Plot.+ Nay, sir, your fortune claims precedency. [_Exeunt._

SCENE VII.

_+Warehouse+, +Seathrift+, +Cypher+._

+Ware.+ Fetch'd abroad by two gallants, say you?

+Cyph.+ Yes, sir,
As soon as you were gone: he only stay'd
To put on other clothes.

+Sea.+ You say, my son went with 'em too?

+Cyph.+ Yes, sir.

+Ware.+ And whither went they?

+Cyph.+ I follow'd 'em to Roseclap's ordinary.

+Ware.+ And there you left 'em?

+Cyph.+ Yes, sir, just before
I saw some captains enter.

+Sea.+ Well, I give
My son for lost, undone past hope.

+Ware.+ There is
No more but this; we'll thither straight: you, Cypher,
Have your instructions.

+Cyph.+ Sir, let me alone
To make the story doleful.

+Ware.+ Go, make you ready then. [_Exit +Cypher+._
Now, Master Seathrift, you may see what these
Young men would do, left to themselves.

+Sea.+ My son shall know he has a sister.

+Ware.+ And my nephew
That once he had an uncle. To leave land
Unto an unthrift, is to build on sand. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[194] "_Talc_, in natural history, is a shining, squamous, fissile species of stone, easily separable into thin, transparent scales or leaves."--Chambers's "Dictionary." It was anciently found only in Spain, but since, in several parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa. "Some chemists," says the same writer, "and other empirics, have held that talc might be used for many important purposes, and pretend to draw from it that precious oil so much boasted of by the ancients, particularly the Arabs, called _oil of talc_, which is supposed a wonderful cosmetic, and preserver of the complexion; but the truth is, the word _talc_, among them, signified no more than an equal disposition of the humours, which keeps the body in good temperament and perfect health. Now, as nothing contributes more than health to the preserving of beauty, this has given occasion to the chemists to search this _oil of talc_, which is to maintain the body in this disposition, and to engage the ladies to be at the expense of the search."

["_Talc_ is a cheap kind of mineral, which this county (Sussex) plentifully affords, though not so fine as that which is fetched from Venice. It is white and transparent like crystal, full of strekes or veins, which prettily scatter themselves. Being calcined, and variously prepared, it maketh a curious _white-wash_, which some justify lawful, because clearing, not changing, the complexion."--Fuller's "Worthies," quoted by Gifford (Ben Jonson, iv. 94).]

[195] This was Prynne's celebrated work, entitled, "Histriomastix," &c., which was, by the sentence of the Star Chamber, ordered to be burnt.

[196] The county in which the celebrated Robert Browne (who may be esteemed the head of the Puritans) was beneficed, and afterwards died in gaol, at a very advanced age.

[197] Alluding to the second publication for which Prynne was prosecuted, and sentenced to lose the remainder of his ears. It was entitled, "News from Ipswich, and the Divine Tragedy, recording God's fearful Judgments against Sabbath-Breakers. 4º, 1636." [He published it under the name of Matthew White.]

[198] It appears to have been the custom at this time to work religious and other stories in different parts of the dress then worn. In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Custom of the Country," ii. 3, [Dyce's edit. iv. 422,] Rutilio says--

"Having a mistress, sure you should not be
Without _a neat historical shirt_."

[199] [This passage is quoted in the editions of Beaumont and Fletcher, to illustrate a passage in the "Custom of the Country," (see below) but it is questionable, perhaps, whether the allusions here are to be taken quite seriously.]

[200] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 300.]

[201] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 316.]

[202] [An allusion which I cannot explain. It has no connection with Chettle's play.]

[203] Prynne's book, mentioned before.

[204] [See a note in Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," ii. 153.]

[205] [A curious little illustration of contemporary civic usages.]

[206] Alluding to an automaton, like those at St Dunstan's, Fleet Street. See notes on Shakespeare's "King Richard III.," edit. 1778, p. 113, vol. vii.--_Steevens._

[207] [Nares, in his "Glossary," 1859, in _v._, seems to say that this is the only passage where this phrase occurs. Fortunately it is explained for us. But its origin is obscure.]

[208] [The name given to the women who attended on the chambers in the inns-of-court. It is not obsolete.]

[209] In the third year of James I., rose-_rials_ (or _royals_) of gold were coined at 30s. apiece, and _spur-rials_ at 15s. each. For _Harry-groats_, see note to "The Antiquary," _post_.

[210] So Chapman, in his "Hymn to Hymen," at the end of the "Masque of the Middle Temple and Lincoln's Inn," 1613--

"Let such glances fly,
As make stars shoot to imitate her eye."

--_Collier._

[211] [Probably the arras in the room represented some scene in the siege of Troy.]

[212] The art of weaving tapestry was brought into England by William Sheldon, Esq., about the end of the reign of Henry VIII. (See Dugdale's "Warwickshire," p. 584.) In the time of James I., a manufacture of tapestry was set up at Mortlake, in Surrey, and soon arrived at a high degree of excellence. King James gave £2000 towards the undertaking; and Sir Francis Crane erected the house to execute the design in. Francis Cleyn painted for the workmen, and to such a pitch of perfection had the art been carried, that Archbishop Williams paid for the four seasons, worked, I suppose, for hangings, £2500.--(Walpole's "Anecdotes," ii. 21-128.) _Mortlake tapestry_ continued long in repute, and is mentioned in Oldham's Satire in imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal--

"Here some rare piece
Of Rubens or Vandyke presented is:
There a rich suit of _Mortlack tapestry_,
A bed of damask or embroidery."

[213] [_i.e._, Added to.]

[214] The following seems to be the story here alluded to: "But the strangest I have met with in this kinde, is the historie of Eve Fleigen, out of the _Dutch_ translated into English, and printed at London, Anno 1611: who being borne at Meurs, is said to have taken no kinde of sustenance by the space of fourteen yeeres together; that is, from the yeere of her age twenty-two to thirty-six, and from the yeere of our Lord, 1597 to 1611; and this we have confirmed by the testimony of the magistrate of the towne of Meurs, as also by the minister, who made tryall of her in his house thirteene days together, by all the meanes he could devise, but could detect no imposture. Over the picture of this maiden, set in the front of the Dutch copie, stand these Latin verses--

'Meursæ hæc quem cernis decies ter sexque peregit
Annos, bis septem prorsus non vescitur annis
Nec potat, sic sola sedet, sic pallida vitam
Ducit, et _exigui se oblectat floribus horti_."

Thus rendred in the English copie--

"This maid of Meurs thirty-six yeares spent,
Fourteene of which she tooke no nourishment:
Thus pale and wan shee sits, sad and alone,
_A garden's all shee loves to looke upon_."

--Hakewill's "Apologie," fol. 1635, p. 440.

In Davenant's "News from Plymouth," act i. sc. 1, the same person is mentioned--

"How? Do you think I bring you tidings of
The Maid of Brabant, that liv'd by her smell;
That din'd on a rose, and supp'd on a tulip?"

[The narrative of Eve Fleigen, above referred to, is appended to an excessively rare tract of eight 4º leaves, printed in 1611, and noticed in Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, p. 277.]

[215] Or, as it was more frequently written, _tray-trip_. This game is mentioned very frequently in our ancient writers, but it is by no means clear what the nature of it was. Mr Steevens considers it as a _game at cards_; and Mr Tyrwhitt, as a _game at tables_. In opposition to both, Mr Hawkins was of opinion that it was the same play which is now called "Scotch Hop," the amusement at present of the lower class of young people. In support of this idea, the above passage was quoted by that gentleman. See notes on "Twelfth Night," act ii. sc. 5.

The truth of Mr Tyrwhitt's conjecture will be established by the following extract from "Machiavell's Dogge," 1617, 4º, sig. B.

"But leaving cardes, lett's goe to dice a while,
To passage, _trei-trippe_, hazarde, or mum-chance,
But subtill mates will simple mindes beguile,
And blinde their eyes with many a blinking glaunce.

"Oh cogges and stoppes, and such like devilish trickes,
Full many a purse of golde and silver pickes.

"And therefore, first for hazard, hee that list,
And passeth not, puts many to a blancke;
And _trippe without a treye_ makes hard, I wist,
To sitte and mourne among the sleepers ranke.

And for mum-chance howe'er the chance doe fall,
You must be mum for fear of marring all."

[See also "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, ii. 340.]

[216] Alluding to the quaint speeches anciently delivered by fantastic characters during pageants and processions, such as that of the Lord Mayor, those at the entry of foreign princes, &c. The speakers were usually placed on _conduits_, _market crosses_, and other elevated situations.--_Steevens._

[217] [According to some, a person who kept a tavern at or near Hoxton, but according to others, a place in that neighbourhood remarkable for selling ale. This is a doubtful matter. The ales of Pimlico, near London, are still famous.] See "Pimlyco, or Runne Red cap, 'tis a mad world at Hogsden," 1609. [As only one copy of it is known, it might be rather difficult to _see_ it.]

[218] [See Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," in _v._ A _whiffler_ was originally a player on a _whiffle_ or fife in a procession, and hence was a name applied to the boys who walked (generally with flags) in the procession on Lord Mayor's Day.]

_Bachelors whifflers_ should properly be _young men_ free of the company. They attend on the Lord Mayor's Day, and are supposed to be out of their apprenticeships the preceding year. They are considered by the company they belong to pretty nearly in the same point of view as a gentleman considers the upper servants he keeps _out of livery_.--_N._

In some companies, I am well informed, the children are named _The Whiflers_.--_Reed_ (note altered).

[219] See note p. 248 to this play.

[220] [A piece of wit on the part of Plotwell, who meant slyly to insinuate that Timothy was fit to be begged for a fool, a custom which was once common, and does not require explanation.]