Chapter VI: Part 6

_2 Gent._ No farther than the Taffaty goes, good Coz.
For the most part, which is indeed the best part
Of the most general inside; marry thus far
I can with boldness speak this one mans character,
And upon honor, pass it for a true one;
He has that strength of manly merit in him,
That it exceeds his Sovereigns power of gracing;
He's faithfully true to valour, that he hates
The man from _Cæsar's_ time, or farther off,
That ever took disgrace unreveng'd:
And if he chance to read his abject story,
He tears his memory out; and holds it virtuous,
Not to let shame have so much life amongst us;
There is not such a curious piece of courage
Amongst mans fellowship, or one so jealous
Of honors loss, or repu[t]ations glory:
There's so much perfect of his growing story.

_1 Gent._ 'Twould make one dote on virtue as you tell it.

_2 Gent._ I have told it to much loss, believe it Coz.

_3 Gent._ How the Duke graces him! what is he brother?

_4 Gent._ Do you not yet know him? a vain-glorious coxcomb,
As proud as he that fell for't:
Set but aside his valour, no virtue,
Which is indeed, not fit for any Courtier;
And we his fellows are as good as he,
Perhaps as capable of favour too,
For one thing or another, if 'twere look'd into:
Give me a man, were I a Sovereign now
Has a good stroke [a]t _Tennis_, and a stiff one,
Can play at _Æquinoctium_ with the Line,
As even, as the thirteenth of _September_,
When day and night lie in a scale together:
Or may I thrive, as I deserve at _Billiards_;
No otherwise at _Chesse_, or at _Primero_:
These are the parts requir'd, why not advanc'd?

_Duke._ Trust me, it was no less than excellent pleasure,
And I'm right glad 'twas thine. How fares our kinsman?
Who can resolve us best?

1 _Gent._ I can my Lord.

_Duke._ There, if I had a pity without bounds,
It might be all bestowed----A man so lost
In the wild ways of passion, that he's sensible
Of nought, but what torments him?

_1 Gent._ True my Lord,
He runs through all the Passions of mankind,
And shifts 'em strangely too: one while in love,
And that so violent, that for want of business,
He'll court the very Prentice of a Laundress,
Though she have kib'd heels: and in's melancholly agen,
He will not brook an Empress though thrice fairer
Than ever _Maud_ was; or higher spirited
Than _Cleopatra_, or your _English_ Countess:
Then on a suddain he's so merry again,
Out-laughs a Waiting-woman before her first Child:
And turning of a hand, so angry--
Has almost beat the Northern fellow blind;
That is for that use only; if that mood hold my Lord,
Had need of a fresh man; I'll undertake,
He shall bruise three a month.

_Duke._ I pity him dearly:
And let it be your charge, with his kind brother
To see his moods observ'd; let every passion
Be fed ev'n to a surfet, which in time
May breed a loathing: let him have enough
Of every object, that his sence is wrapt with;
And being once glutted, then the taste of folly
Will come into his rellish. [_Exit._

_1 Gent._ I shall see
Your charge my Lord, most faith[fully] effected:
And how does noble _Shamount_?

_Sham._ Never ill man
Until I hear of baseness, then I sicken:
I am the healthfull'st man i'th' kingdom else.

_Enter_ Lapet.

_1 Gent._ Be armed then for a fit,
Here comes a fellow
Will make you sick at heart, if baseness do't.

_Sha._ Let me be gone: what is he?

_1 Gent._ Let me tell you first,
It can be but a qualm: pray stay it out Sir,
Come, y'ave born more than this.

_Sha._ Born? never any thing
That was injurious.

_2 Gent._ Ha, I am far from that.

_Sham._ He looks as like a man as I have seen one:
What would you speak of him? speak well I prethee,
Even for humanities cause.

_1 Gent._ You'd have it truth though?

_Sham._ What else Sir? I have no reason to wrong heav'n
To favour nature; let her bear her own shame
If she be faulty.

_1 Gent._ Monstrous faulty there Sir.

_Sham._ I'm ill at ease already.

_1 Gent._ Pray bear up Sir.

_Sham._ I prethee let me take him down with speed then;
Like a wild object that I would not look upon.

_1 Gent._ Then thus: he's one that will endure as much
As can be laid upon him.

_Sham._ That may be noble:
I'm kept too long from his acquaintance.

_1 Gent._ Oh Sir,
Take heed of rash repentance, y'are too forward
To find out virtue where it never setl'd:
Take the particulars first, of what he endures;
_Videlicet_, Bastinadoes by the great.

_Sham._ How!

_1 Gent._ Thumps by the dozen, and your kicks by wholesale.

_Sham._ No more of him.

_1 Gent._ The twinges by the nostril he snuffs up,
And holds it the best remedy for sneezing.

_Sham._ Away.

_1 Gent._ H'as been thrice switch'd from 7 a clock till 9.
Yet with a Cart-Horse stomach, fell to breakfast;
Forgetful of his smart.

_Sham._ Nay, the disgrace on't;
There's no smart but that: base things are felt
More by their shames than hurts, Sir. I know you not.
But that you live an injury to nature:
I'm heartily angry with you.

_Lap._ Pray give your blow or kick, and begone then:
For I ne'er saw you before; and indeed,
Have nothing to say to you, for I know you not.

_Sham._ Why wouldst thou take a blow?

_Lap._ I would not Sir,
Unless 'twere offer'd me; and if from an enemy--
I'd be loth to deny it from a stranger.

_Sham._ What, a blow?
Endure a blow? and shall he live that gives it?

_Lap._ Many a fair year----why not Sir?

_Sham._ Let me wonder!
As full a man to see to, and as perfect--
I prethee live not long--

_Lap._ How?

_Sham._ Let me intreat it:
Thou dost not know what wrong thou dost mankind,
To walk so long here; not to dye betimes.
Let me advise thee, while thou hast to live here,
Ev'n for man's honour sake, take not a blow more.

_Lap._ You should advise them not to strike me then Sir,
For I'll take none I assure you, 'less they are given.

_Sham._ How fain would I preserve mans form from shame
And cannot get it done! however Sir,
I charge thee live not long.

_Lap._ This is worse than beating.

_Sham._ Of what profession art thou, tell me Sir,
Besides a Tailor? for I'll know the truth.

_Lap._ A Tailor? I'm as good a Gentleman--
Can shew my Arms and all.

_Sham._ How black and blew they are!
Is that your manifestation? upon pain
Of pounding thee to dust, assume not wrongfully
The name of Gentleman, because I'm one,
That must not let thee live.

_Lap._ I have done, I have done Sir.
If there be any harm, beshrew the Herald,
I'm sure I ha' not been so long a Gentleman,
To make this anger: I have nothing no where,
But what I dearly pay for. [_Exit._

_Sham._ Groom begone;
I never was so heart-sick yet of man.

_Enter Lady, the Duke's Sister_, Lapet's _wife_.

_1 Gent._ Here comes a cordial, Sir, from th'other sex,
Able to make a dying face look chearful.

_Sham._ The blessedness of Ladies--.

_Lady._ Y'are well met Sir.

_Sham._ The sight of you has put an evil from me,
Whose breath was able to make virtue sicken.

_Lady._ I'm glad I came so fortunately. What was't Sir?

_Sham._ A thing that takes a blow, lives, and eats after it,
In very good health; you ha' not seen the like, Madam,
A Monster worth your sixpence, lovely worth.

[_1 Gent._] Speak low Sir; by all likely-hoods 'tis her Husband, Lady,
That now bestow'd a visitation on me. Farewel Sir. [_Exit._

_Sham._ Husband? is't possible that he has a wife?
Would any creature have him? 'tis some forc'd match,
If he were not kick'd to th' Church o' th' wedding day,
I'll never come at Court. Can be no otherwise:
Perhaps he was rich, speak mistriss _Lapet_, was't not so?

_Wife._ Nay, that's without all question.

_Sh._ O ho, he would not want kickers enow then;
If you are wise, I much suspect your honesty;
For wisdom never fastens constantly,
But upon merit: if you incline to fool,
You are alike unfit for his society;
Nay, if it were not boldness in the man
That honors you, to advise you, troth his company
Should not be frequent with you.

_Wife._ 'Tis good counsel Sir.

_Sham._ Oh, I am so careful where I reverence,
So just to goodness, and her precious purity,
I'm as equally jealous, and as fearful,
That any undeserved stain might fall
Upon her sanctified whiteness, as of the sin
That comes by wilfulness.

_Wife._ Sir, I love your thoughts,
And honor you for your counsel and your care.

_Sham._ We are your servants.

_Wife._ He's but a Gentleman o'th' chamber; he might have kist me:
Faith, where shall one find less courtesie, than at Court?
Say I have an undeserver to my Husband:
That's ne'er the worse for him: well strange lip'd men,
'Tis but a kiss lost, there'll more come agen. [_Exit._

_Enter the passionate Lord, the Dukes kinsman, makes_
_a congie or two to nothing._

_1 Gent._ Look, who comes here Sir, his love-fit's upon him:
I know it, by that sett smile, and those congies.
How courteous he's to nothing! which indeed,
Is the next kin to woman; only shadow
The elder Sister of the twain, because 'tis seen too.
See how it kisses the fore-finger still;
Which is the last edition, and being come
So near the thumb, every Cobler has got it.

_Sham._ What a ridiculous piece, humanity
Here makes it self!

_1 Gent._ Nay good give leave a little, Sir,
Y'are so precise a manhood--

_Sham._ It afflicts me
When I behold unseemliness in an Image
So near the Godhead, 'tis an injury
To glorious Eternity.

_1 Gent._ Pray use patience, Sir.

_Pas._ I do confess it freely, precious Lady,
And loves suit is so, the longer it hangs
The worse it is; better cut off, sweet Madam;
Oh, that same drawing in your neather Lip there,
Fore-shews no goodness, Lady; make you question on't?
Shame on me, but I love you.

_1 Gent._ Who is't Sir,
You are at all this pains for? may I know her?

_Pas._ For thee thou fairest, yet the falsest woman,
That ever broke man's heart-strings.

_1 Gent._ How? how's this Sir?

_Pas._ What the old trick of Ladies? man's apparel,
Will't ne'er be left amongst you? steal from Court in't?

_1 Gent._ I see the Fit grows stronger.

_Pas._ Pray let's talk a little.

_Sham._ I can endure no more.

_1 Gent._ Good, let's alone a little:
You are so exact a work: love light things somewhat, Sir.

_Sham._ Th'are all but shames.

_1 Gent._ What is't you'd say to me, Sir?

_Pas._ Can you be so forgetful to enquire it Lady?

_1 Gent._ Yes truely, Sir.

_Pas._ The more I admire your flintiness:
What cause have I given you, illustrious Madam,
To play this strange part with me?

_1 Gent._ Cause enough,
Do but look back Sir, into your memory,
Your love to other women, oh lewd man:
'Tas almost kill'd my heart, you see I'm chang'd with it,
I ha' lost the fashion of my Sex with grief on't,
When I have seen you courting of a Dowdie;
Compar'd with me, and kissing your fore-finger
To one o'th' Black-Guards Mistresses: would not this
Crack a poor Ladies heart, that believ'd love,
And waited for the comfort? but 'twas said, Sir,
A Lady of my hair cannot want pittying:
The Countrey's coming up, farewel to you Sir.

_Pas._ Whither intend you, Sir?

_1 Gent._ A long journey, Sir:
The truth is, I'm with child, and goe to travel.

_Pas._ With child? I never got it.

_1 Gent._ I heard you were busie
At the same time, Sir, and was loth to trouble you.

_Pas._ Why, are not you a whore then, excellent Madam?

_1 Gent._ Oh by no means, 'twas done Sir in the state
Of my belief in you, and that quits me;
It lies upon your falshood.

_Pas._ Does it so?
You shall not carry her though Sir, she's my contract.

_Sham._ I prethee, thou four Elements ill brued,
Torment none but thy self; away I say
Thou beast of passion, as the drunkard is
The beast of Wine; dishonor to thy making,
Thou man in fragments.

_Pas._ Hear me, precious Madam.

_Sham._ Kneel for thy wits to Heaven.

_Pas._ Lady, I'll father it,
Who e'er begot it: 'tis the course of greatness.

_Sham._ How virtue groans at this!

_Pas._ I'll raise the Court, but I'll stay your flight.

_Sham._ How wretched is that piece! [_Ex. Pas. Lord._

_1 Gent._ He's the Dukes kinsman, Sir.

_Sham._ That cannot take a passion away, Sir,
Nor cut a Fit, but one poor hour shorter,
He must endure as much as the poorest begger,
That cannot change his money; there's th' equality
In our impartial Essence:
What's the news now?

_Enter a Servant._

_Ser._ Your worthy brother, Sir, 'has left his charge,
And come to see you.

_Enter_ Shamount's _brother, a Soldier_.

_Sham._ Oh the noblest welcome
That ever came from man, meet thy deservings:
Methinks I've all joyes treasure in mine arms now.

_Sold._ You are so fortunate in prevention, brother,
You always leave the answerer barren, Sir,
You comprehend in few words so much worth--

_Sham._ 'Tis all too little for thee: come th'art welcome,
So I include all: take especial knowledge pray,
Of this dear Gentleman, my absolute friend,
That loves a Soldier far above a Mistriss,
Thou excellently faithful to 'em both.
But love to manhood, owns the purer troth. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Shamont's _brother, a Soldier and a Lady,_
_the Dukes Sister_.

_Lady._ There should be in this Gallery--oh th'are here,
Pray sit down, believe me Sir, I'm weary.

_Sold._ It well becomes a Lady to complain a little
Of what she never feels: your walk was short, Madam,
You can be but afraid of weariness;
Which well employs the softness of your Sex,
As for the thing it self, you never came to't.

_La._ You're wond'rously well read in Ladies, Sir.

_Sold._ Shall I think such a creature as you Madam,
Was ever born to feel pain, but in Travel?
There's your full portion,
Besides a little tooth-ach in the breeding,
Which a kind Husband too, takes from you, Madam.

_La._ But where do Ladies, Sir, find such kind Husbands?
Perhaps you have heard
The Rheumatick story of some loving Chandler now,
Or some such melting fellow that you talk
So prodigal of mens kindness: I confess Sir,
Many of those wives are happy, their ambition
Does reach no higher, than to Love and Ignorance,
Which makes an excellent Husband, and a fond one:
Now Sir, your great ones aim at height, and cunning,
And so are oft deceiv'd, yet they must venture it;
For 'tis a Ladies contumely, Sir,
To have a Lord an Ignorant; then the worlds voice
Will deem her for a wanton, e'r she taste on't:
But to deceive a wise man, to whose circumspection,
The world resigns it self, with all his envy;
'Tis less dishonor to us [then] to fall,
Because his believ'd wisdom keeps out all.

_Sold._ Would I were the man, Lady, that should venture
His wisdom to your goodness.

_La._ You might fail
In the return, as many men have done, Sir:
I dare not justifie what is to come of me,
Because I know it not, though I hope virtuously;
Marry what's past, or present, I durst put
Into a good mans hand, which if he take
Upon my word for good, it shall not cozen him.

_Sol._ No, nor hereafter?

_La._ It may hap so too, Sir:
A womans goodness, when she is a wife,
Lies much upon a mans desert, believe it Sir,
If there be fault in her, I'll pawn my life on't,
'Tis first in him, if she were ever good,
That makes one; knowing not a Husband yet,
Or what he may be: I promise no more virtues,
Than I may well perform, for that were cozenage.

_Sol._ Happy were he that had you with all fears,
That's my opinion, Lady.

_Enter_ Shamount _and a servant list'ning_.

_Serv._ What say you now, Sir?
Dare you give confidence to your own eyes?

_Sham._ Not yet I dare not.

_Serv._ No?

_Sham._ Scarce yet, or yet:
Although I see 'tis he. Why can a thing,
That's but my self divided, be so false?

_Serv._ Nay, do but mark how the chair plays hi[s] part too:
How amoro[u]sly 'tis bent.

_Sh[a]m._ Hell take thy bad thoughts,
For they are strange ones. Never take delight
To make a torment worse. Look on 'em heaven,
For that's a brother: send me a fair enemy,
And take him; for a fouler Fiend there breathes not:
I will not sin to think there's ill in her,
But what's of his producing.
Yet goodness, whose inclosure is but flesh,
Holds out oft times but sorrily. But as black Sir,
As ever kindred was: I hate mine own bloud,
Because i[t] is so near thine. Live without honesty,
And mayst thou dye with an unmoist'ned eye,
And no tear follow thee. [_Ex._ Shamont, _Servant_.

_La._ Y'are wond'rous merry Sir; I would your Brother heard you.

_Sold._ Oh my Sister,
I would not out o'th' way, let fall my words Lady,
For the precisest humor.

_Enter passionate Lord._

_Pas._ Yea, so close.

_Sold._ Th'are merry, that's the worst you can report on 'em:
Th'are neither dangerous, nor immodest.

_Pas._ So Sir,
Shall I believe you, think you?

_Sold._ Who's this Lady?

_La._ Oh the Dukes Cosin, he came late from travel, Sir.

_Sold._ Respect belongs to him.

_Pas._ For as I said, Lady,
Th'are merry, that's the worst you can report of 'em:
Th'are neither dangerous, nor immodest.

_Sold._ How's this?

_Pas._ And there I think I left.

_Sold._ Abuses me.

_Pas._ Now to proceed, Lady; perhaps I swore I lov'd you,
If you believe me not, y'are much the wiser.

_Sold._ He speaks still in my person, and derides me.

_Pas._ For I can cog with you.

_La._ You can all do so:
We make no question of mens promptness that way.

_Pas._ And smile, and wave a chair with comely grace too,
Play with our Tastle gently, and do fine things,
That catch a Lady sooner than a virtue.

_Sold._ I never us'd to let man live so long
That wrong'd me.

_Pas._ Talk of Battalions, wooe you in a skirmish;
Divine my mind to you Lady; and being sharp set,
Can court you at Half pike: or name your weapon,
We cannot fail you Lady.

_Enter 1 Gentleman._

_Sold._ Now he dies:
Were all succeeding hopes stor'd up within him.

_1 Gent._ Oh fie, i'th' Court, Sir?

_Sold._ I most dearly thank you; Sir.

_1 Gent._ 'Tis rage ill spent upon a passionate mad man.

_Sold._ That shall not priviledge him for ever, Sir:
A mad man call you him? I have found too much reason
Sound in his injury to me, to believe him so.

_1 Gent._ If ever truth from mans lips may be held
In reputation with you, give this confidence;
And this his Love-fit, which we observe still,
By's flattering and his fineness: at some other time,
He'll go as slovenly as heart can wish.
The love and pity that his Highness shews to him,
Makes every man the more respectful of him:
Has never a passion, but is well provided for,
As this of Love, he is full fed in all
His swinge, as I may tearm it: have but patience,
And ye shall witness somewhat.

_Sold._ Still he mocks me:
Look you, in action, in behaviour, Sir;
Hold still the chair, with a grand mischief to you,
Or I'll let so much strength upon your heart, Sir--

_Pas._ I feel some power has restrain'd me Lady:
If it be sent from Love, say, I obey it,
And ever keep a voice to welcome it.

SONG.

_Thou Deity, swift winged Love,_
_Sometimes below, sometimes above,_
_Little in shape, but great in power,_
_Thou that mak'st a heart thy Tower,_
_And thy loop-holes Ladies eyes,_
_From whence thou strik'st the fond and wise._
_Did all the Shafts in thy fair Quiver_
_Stick fast in my ambitious Liver;_
_Yet thy power would I adore._
_And call upon thee to shoot more,_
_Shoot more, shoot more._

_Enter one like a_ Cupid, _offering to shoot at him_.

_Pas._ I prethee hold though, sweet Celestial boy;
I'm not requited yet with love enough,
For the first Arrow that I have within me;
And if thou be an equal Archer _Cupid_,
Shoot this Lady, and twenty more for me.

_La._ Me Sir?

_1 Gent._ 'Tis nothing but device, fear it not Lady;
You may be as good a Maid after that shaft, Madam,
As e'er your mother was at twelve and a half:
'Tis like the boy that draws it, 'tas no sting yet.

_Cup._ 'Tis like the miserable Maid that draws it--_Aside._
That sees no comfort yet, seeing him so passionate.

_Pas._ Strike me the Duchess of _Valois_ in love with me,
With all the speed thou canst, and two of her Women.

_Cu._ You shall have more. [_Exit._

_Pas._ Tell 'em I tarry for 'em.

_1 Gent._ Who would be angry with that walking trouble now?
That hurts none but it self?

_Sold._ I am better quieted.

_Pas._ I'll have all women-kind struck in time for me
After thirteen once:
I see this _Cupid_ will not let me want,
And let him spend his forty shafts an hour,
They shall be all found from the Dukes Exchequer;
He's come already.

_Enter again the same_ Cupid, _two Brothers, six Women Maskers_,
Cupid's _Bow bent all the way towards them, the first woman
singing and playing, a Priest_.

SONG.

_Oh turn thy bow,_
_Thy power we feel and know,_
_Fair_ Cupid _turn away thy Bow:_
_They be those golden Arrows,_
_Bring Ladies all their sorrows,_
_And till there be more truth in men,_
_Never shoot at Maid agen._

_Pas._ What a felicity of whores are here!
And all my Concubines struck bleeding new:
A man can in his life time make but one woman,
But he may make his fifty Queans a month.

_Cu._ Have you remembred a Priest, honest brothers?

_1 Bro._ Yes Sister, and this is the young Gentleman,
Make you no question of our faithfulness.

_2 Bro._ His growing shame, Sister, provokes our care:

_Priest._ He must be taken in this fit of Love, Gentlemen.

_1 Bro._ What else Sir, he shall do't.

_2 Bro._ Enough.

_1 Bro._ Be chearful wench. [_A dance._ Cupid _leading_.

_Pas._ Now by the stroke of pleasure, a deep oath,
Nimbly hopt Ladies all; what height they bear too!
A story higher than your common statures;
A little man must go up stairs to kiss 'em:
What a great space there is
Betwixt Loves Dining Chamber, and his Garret!
I'll try the utmost height--the Garret stoops methinks;
The rooms are made all bending, I see that,
And not so high as a man takes 'em for.

_Cu._ Now if you'll follow me Sir, I've that power,
To make them follow you.

_Pas._ Are they all shot?

_Cu._ All, all Sir, every mothers daughter of 'em.

_Pas._ Then there's no fear of following; if they be once shot
They'll follow a man to th' devil--As for you, Sir--

[_Ex. with the Lady and the Masquers._

_Sold._ Me Sir?

_1 Gent._ Nay sweet Sir.

_Sold._ A noise, a threatening, did you not hear it Sir?

_1 Gent._ Without regard, Sir, so would I hear you.

_Sold._ This must come to something, never talk of that Sir.
You never saw it otherwise.

_1 Gent._ Nay dear merit--

_Sold._ Me above all men?

_1 Gent._ Troth you wrong your anger.

_Sold._ I will be arm'd, my honourable Letcher.

_1 Gent._ Oh fie sweet Sir.

_Sold._ That devours womens honesties by lumps,
And never chaw'st thy pleasure:

_2 Gent._ What do you mean, Sir?

_Sold._ What does he mean t'ingross all to himself?
There's others love a whore as well as he Sir.

_1 Gent._ Oh, if that be part o' th' fury, we have a City
Is very well provided for that case;
Let him alone with her, Sir, we have Women
Are very charitable to proper men,
And to a Soldier that has all his limbs;
Marry the sick and lame gets not a penny:
Right womens charity, and the Husbands follow't too:
Here comes his Highness Sir.

_Enter Duke and Lords._

_Sold._ I'll walk to cool my self. [_Exit._

_Duke._ Who's that?

_1 Gent._ The brother of _Shamont_.

_Duke._ He's Brother then
To all the Courts love, they that love discreetly,
And place their friendliness upon desert:
As for the rest, that with a double face
Look upon merit much like fortunes visage,
That looks two ways, both to life's calms and storms,
I'll so provide for him, chiefly for him,
He shall not wish their loves, nor dread their envies.
And here comes my _Shamont_.

_Enter_ Shamont.

_Sham._ That Ladies virtues are my only joyes,
And he to offer to lay siege to them?

_Duke. Shamont._

_Sham._ Her goodness is my pride: in all discourses,
As often as I hear rash tongu'd gallants,
Speak rudely of a woman, presently
I give in but her name, and th'are all silent:
Oh who would loose this benefit?

_Duke._ Come hither Sir.

_Sham._ 'Tis like the Gift of Healing, but Diviner;
For that but cures diseases in the body,
This works a cure on Fame, on Reputation:
The noblest piece of Surgery upon earth.

_Duke. Shamont_; he minds me not.

_Sham._ A Brother do't?

_Duke. Shamont_ I say. [_Gives him a touch with his switch._

_Sham._ Ha?
If he be mortal, by this hand he perishes; [_Draws._
Unless it be a stroke from heaven, he dies for't.

_Duke._ Why, how now Sir? 'twas I.

_Sham._ The more's my misery.

_Duke._ Why, what's the matter prethee?

_Sham._ Can you ask it, Sir?
No man else should; stood forty lives before him,
By this I would have op'd my way to him;
It could not be you Sir, excuse him not,
What e'er he be, as y'are dear to honor,
That I may find my peace agen.

_Duke._ Forbear I say,
Upon my love to truth, 'twas none but I.

_Sham._ Still miserable?

_Duke._ Come, come, what ails you Sir?

_Sham._ Never sate shame cooling so long upon me,
Without a satisfaction in revenge,
And heaven has made it here a sin to wish it.

_Duke._ Hark you Sir!

_Sham._ Oh y'ave undone me.

_Duke._ How?

_Sham._ Cruelly undone me;
I have lost my peace and reputation by you:
Sir, pardon me, I can never love you more. [_Exit._

_Duke._ What language call you this Sirs?

_1 Gent._ Truth my Lord, I've seldom heard a stranger--

_2 Gent._ He is a man of a most curious valour,
Wondrous precise, and punctual in that virtue.

_Duke._ But why to me so punctual? my last thought
Was most intirely fixt on his advancement
Why, I came now to put him in possession
Of his fair fortunes: what a mis-conceiver 'tis!
And from a Gentleman of our Chamber meerly,
Made him Vice-Admiral: I was setled in't.
I love him next to health: call him Gentlemen;
Why would not you, or you, ha' taken as much,
And never murmur'd? [_Exit 1 Gent._

_2 Gent._ Troth, I think we should, my Lord,
And there's a fellow walks about the Court,
Would take a hundred of 'em.

_Duke._ I hate you all for't,
And rather praise his high pitch'd fortitude,
Though in extreams for niceness: now I think on't,
I would I had never done't--Now Sir, where is he?

_Enter 1 Gentleman._

_1 Gent._ His sute is only Sir, to be excus'd.

_Duke._ He shall not be excus'd, I love him dearlier:
Say we intreat him; goe, he must not leave us [_Exit two Gentlemen._
So virtue bless me, I ne'er knew him paralell'd;
Why, he's more precious to me now, than ever.

_Enter two Gentlemen, and_ Shamont.

_2 Gent._ With much fair language w'ave brought him.

_Duke._ Thanks----Where is he?

_2 Gent._ Yonder Sir.

_Duke._ Come forward man.

_Sham._ Pray pardon me, I'm asham'd to be seen Sir.

_Duke._ Was ever such a touchie man heard of?
Prethee come nearer.

_Sham._ More into the light?
Put not such cruelty into your requests my Lord,
First to disgrace me publickly, and then draw me
Into mens eye-sight, with the shame yet hot
Upon my reputation.

_Duke._ What disgrace, Sir?

_Sham._ What?
Such as there can be no forgiveness for,
That I can find in honour.

_Duke._ That's most strange, Sir.

_Sham._ Yet I have search'd my bosom to find one,
And wrestled with my inclination,
But 'twill not be: would you had kill'd me Sir.
With what an ease had I forgiven you then!
But to endure a stroke from any hand
Under a punishing Angel, which is justice,
Honor disclaim that man, for my part chiefly:
Had it been yet the malice of your sword,
Though it had cleft me, 't had been noble to me;
You should have found my thanks paid in a smile
If I had fell unworded; but to shame me,
With the correction that your horse should have,
Were you ten thousand times my royal Lord,
I cannot love you never, nor desire to serve you more.
If your drum call me, I am vowed to valour,
But peace shall never know me yours agen,
Because I've lost mine own, I speak to dye Sir;
Would you were gracious that way to take off shame,
With the same swiftness as you pour it on:
And since it is not in the power of Monarchs
To make a Gentleman, which is a substance
Only begot of merit, they should be careful
Not to destroy the worth of one so rare,
Which neither they can make; nor lost, repair. [_Exit._

_Duke._ Y'ave set a fair light Sir before my judgement,
Which burns with wondrous clearness; I acknowledge it,
And your worth with it: but then Sir, my love,
My love--what gone agen?

_1 Gen._ And full of scorn, my Lord.

_Duke._ That language will undoe the man that keeps it.
Who knows no diff'rence 'twixt contempt and manhood.
Upon your love to goodness, Gentlemen,
Let me not lose him long: how now?

_Enter a Huntsman._

_Hunts._ The game's at height my Lord.

_Duke._ Confound both thee and it: hence break it off;
He hates me brings me news of any pleasure:
I felt not such a conflict since I cou'd;
Distinguish betwixt worthiness and bloud. [_Ex._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter the two Brothers, 1 Gentleman, with those that_
_were the Masquers, and the_ Cupid.

_1 Gent._ I heartily commend your project, Gentlemen,
'Twas wise and virtuous.

_1 Bro._ 'Twas for the safety
Of precious honour Sir, which near bloud binds us to:
He promis'd the poor easie fool there, marriage,
There was a good Maiden-head lost i'th' belief on't,
Beshrew her hasty confidence.

_1 Gent._ Oh no more, Sir,
You make her weep agen; alas poor _Cupid_:
Shall she not shift her self?

_1 Bro._ Oh by no means Sir:
We dare not have her seen yet, all the while
She keeps this shape, 'tis but thought device,
And she may follow him so without suspition,
To see if she can draw all his wild passions,
To one point only, and that's love, the main point:
So far his Highness grants, and gave at first,
Large approbation to the quick conceit,
Which then was quick indeed.

_1 Gent._ You make her blush insooth.

_1 Bro._ I fear 'tis more the flag of shame, than grace Sir.

_1 Gent._ They both give but one kind of colour, Sir:
If it be bashfulness in that kind taken,
It is the same with grace; and there she weeps agen.
In truth y'are too hard, much, much too bitter Sir,
Unless you mean to have her weep her eyes out,
To play a _Cupid_ truly.

_1 Bro._ Come ha' done then:
We should all fear to sin first; for 'tis certain,
When 'tis once lodg'd, though entertain'd in mirth,
It must be wept out, if it e'er come forth.

_1 Gent._ Now 'tis so well, I'll leave you.

_1 Bro._ Faithfully welcome, Sir,
Go _Cupid_ to your charge; he's your own now;
If he want love, none will be blam'd but you.

_Cu._ The strangest marriage, and unfortunat'st Bride
That ever humane memory contain'd;
I cannot be my self for't. [_Exit._

_Enter the Clown._

_Clow._ Oh Gentlemen?

_1 Bro._ How now, Sir, what's the matter?

_Clo._ His melancholly passion is half spent already,
Then comes his angry fit at the very tail on't,
Then comes in my pain, gentlemen; h'as beat me e'en to a
Cullis. I am nothing, right worshipful, but very pap,
And jelly: I have no bones, my body's all one business,
They talk of ribs and chines most freely abroad i'th' world,
Why, I have no such thing; who ever lives to see me dead,
Gentlemen, shall find me all mummie good to fill Gallipots,
And long dildo glasses: I shall not have a bone to throw
At a dog.

_Omnes._ Alas poor vassal; how he goes!

_Clo._ Oh Gentlemen,
I am unjoynted, do but think o' that:
My breast is beat into my maw, that what I eat,
I am fain to take't in all at mouth with spoons;
A lamentable hearing; and 'tis well known, my belly
Is driven into my back.
I earn'd four Crowns a month most dearly Gentlemen,
And one he must have when the fit's upon him,
The Privy-purse allows it, and 'tis thriftiness,
He would break else s[o]me forty pounds in Casements,
And in five hundred years undo the Kingdom:
I have cast it up to a quarrel.

_1 Bro._ There's a fellow kickt about Court, I would
He had his place, brother, but for one fit of his indignation.

_2 Bro._ And suddainly I have thought upon a means for't.

_1 Bro._ I prethee how?

_2 Bro._ 'Tis but preferring, Brother
This stockfish to his service, with a Letter
Of commendations, the same way he wishes it,
And then you win his heart: for o' my knowledge
He has laid wait this half year for a fellow
That will be beaten, and with a safe conscience
We may commend the carriage of this man in't;
Now servants he has kept, lusty tall feeders,
But they have beat him, and turn'd themselves away:
Now one that would endure, is like to stay,
And get good wages of him; and the service too
Is ten times milder, Brother, I would not wish it else.
I see the fellow has a sore crush'd body,
And the more need he has to be kick'd at ease.

_Clow._ I sweet Gentlemen, a kick of ease, send me to such a Master.

_2 Bro._ No more I say, we have one for thee, a soft footed Master,
One that wears wooll in's toes.

_Clow._ Oh Gentlemen, soft garments may you wear,
Soft skins may you wed,
But as plump as pillows, both for white and red.
And now will I reveal a secret to you,
Since you provide for my poor flesh so tenderly,
Has hir'd meer rogues out of his chamber window,
To beat the Soldier, Monsieur _Shamont_'s Brother:

_1 Bro._ That nothing concerns us, Sir.

_Clow._ For no cause, Gentlemen,
Unless it be for wearing Shoulder-points,
With longer taggs than his.

_2 Bro._ Is not that somewhat?
Birlakin Sir, the difference of long taggs,
Has cost many a man's life, and advanc'd other some,
Come follow me.

_Clow._ See what a gull am I:
Oh every man in his profession;
I know a thump now as judiciously,
As the proudest he that walks, I'll except none;
Come to a tagg, how short I fall! I'm gone [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Lapet.

_Lap._ I have been ruminating with my self,
What honor a man loses by a kick:
Why; what's a kick? the fury of a foot,
Whose indignation commonly is stampt
Upon the hinder quarter of a man:
Which is a place very unfit for honor,
The world will confess so much:
Then what disgrace I pray, does th[a]t part surfer
Where honor never comes, I'de fain know that?
This being well forc'd, and urg'd, may have the power
To move most Gallants to take kicks in time,
And spurn out the duelloes out o' th' kingdom,
For they that stand upon their honor most,
When they conceive there is no honor lost,
As by a Table that I have invented
For that purpose alone, shall appear plainly,
Which shews the vanity of all blows at large.
And with what ease they may be took of all sides,
Numbring but twice o'er the Letters patience
From _C. P._ to _E._ I doubt not but in small time
To see a dissolution of all bloud-shed,
If the reform'd _Kick_ do but once get up:
For what a lamentable folly 'tis,
If we observe't, for every little justle,
Which is but the ninth part of a sound thump,
In our meek computation, we must fight forsooth, yes,
If I kill, I'm hang'd; if I be kill'd my self,
I dye for't also: is not this trim wisdom?
Now for the _Con_, a ma[n] may be well beaten,
Yet pass away his fourscore years smooth after:
I had a Father did it, and to my power
I will not be behind him.

_Enter_ Shamont.

_Sham._ Oh well met.

_Lap._ Now a fine _punch_ or two, I look for't duly.

_Sham._ I've been to seek you.

_Lap._ Let me know your Lodging, Sir,
I'll come to you once a day, and use your pleasure, Sir.

_Sham._ I'm made the fittest man for thy society:
I'll live and dye with thee, come shew me a chamber;
There is no house but thine, but only thine,
That's fit to cover me: I've took a blow, sirrah.

_Lap._ I would you had indeed: why, you may see, Sir;
You'll all come to't in time, when my Book's out.

_Sham._ Since I did see thee last, I've took a blow.

_Lap._ Pha Sir, that's nothing: I ha' took forty since.

_Sham._ What? and I charg'd thee thou shouldst not?

_Lap._ I Sir, you might charge your pleasure.
But they would give't me, whether I would or no.

_Sham._ Oh, I walk without my peace, I've no companion now;
Prethee resolve me, for I cannot aske
A man more beaten to experience,
Than thou art in this kind, what manner of blow
Is held the most disgraceful, or distasteful?
For thou dost only censure 'em by the hurt,
Not by the shame they do thee: yet having felt
Abuses of all kinds, thou may'st deliver,
Though't be by chance, the most injurious one.

_Lap._ You put me to't, Sir; but to tell you truth,
They're all as one with me, little exception.

_Sham._ That little may do much, let's have it from you.

_Lap._ With all the speed I may, first then, and foremost,
I hold so reverently of the _Bastinado_, Sir,
That if it were the dearest friend i'th' world,
I'de put it into his hand.

_Sham._ Go too, I'll pass that then.

_Lap._ Y'are the more happy, Sir,
Would I were past it too:
But being accustom'd to't. It is the better carried.

_Sham._ Will you forward?

_Lap._ Then there's your _souce_, your _wherit_ and your _dowst_,
_Tugs_ on the hair, your _bob_ o'th' lips, a whelp on't,
I ne'er could find much difference: Now your _thump_,
A thing deriv'd first from your Hemp-beaters,
Takes a mans wind away, most spitefully:
There's nothing that destroys a Collick like it,
For't leaves no wind i'th' body.

_Sham._ On Sir, on.

_Lap._ Pray give me leave, I'm out of breath with thinking on't.

_Sham._ This is far off yet.

_Lap._ For the _twinge_ by th' nose,
'Tis certainly unsightly, so my [Table] says,
But helps against the head-ach, wond'rous strangely.

_Sham._ Is't possible?

_Lap._ Oh your _crush'd nostrils_ slakes your _opilation_,
And makes your pent powers flush to wholsome sneezes.

_Sham._ I never thought there had been half that virtue
In a wrung nose before.

_Lap._ Oh plenitude, Sir:
Now come we lower to our _modern Kick_,
Which has been mightily in use of late,
Since our young men drank _Coltsfoot_: and I grant you,
'Tis a most scornful wrong, cause the foot plays it;
But mark agen, how we that take't, requite it
With the like scorn, for we receive it backward;
And can there be a worse disgrace retorted?

_Sham._ And is this all?

_Lap._ All but a _Lug by th' ear_,
Or such a trifle.

_Sham._ Happy sufferer,
All this is nothing to the wrong I bear:
I see the worst disgrace, thou never felt'st yet;
It is so far from thee tho[u] canst not think on't;
Nor dare I let thee know, it is so abject.

_Lap._ I would you would though, that I might prepare for't
For I shall ha't at one time or another:
If't be a _thwack_, I make account of that;
There's no new fashion'd swap that e'er came up yet,
But I've the first on 'em, I thank 'em for't.

_Enter the Lady and Servants._

_La._ Hast thou enquir'd?

_1 Serv._ But can hear nothing, Madam.

_Sham._ If there be but so much substance in thee
To make a shelter for a man disgrac'd,
Hide my departure from that glorious woman
That comes with all perfection about her:
So noble, that I dare not be seen of her,
Since shame took hold of me: upon thy life
No mention of me.

_Lap._ I'll cut out my tongue first,
Before I'll loose my life, there's more belongs to't.

_Lad._ See there's a Gentleman, enquire of him.

_2 Ser._ For Monsieur _Shamont_, Madam?

_Lad._ For whom else, Sir?

_1 Serv._ Why, this fellow dares not see him.

_Lad._ How?

_1 Serv. Shamont_, Madam?
His very name's worse than a Feaver to him,
And when he cries, there's nothing stills him sooner;
Madam, your Page of thirteen is too hard for him,
'Twas try'd i'th' wood-yard.

_Lad._ Alas poor grieved Merit!
What is become of him? if he once fail,
Virtue shall find small friendship: farewel then
To Ladies worths, for any hope in men,
He lov'd for goodness, not for Wealth, or Lust,
After the world's foul dotage, he ne'er courted
The body, but the beauty of the mind,
A thing which common courtship never thinks on:
All his affections were so sweet and fair,
There is no hope for fame if he despair.

[_Exit Lady and Serv._

_Enter the Clown. He kicks_ Lapet.

_Lap._ Good morrow to you agen most heartily, Sir,
Cry you mercy, I heard you not, I was somewhat busie.

_Clow._ He takes it as familiarly, as an Ave,
Or precious salutation: I was sick till I had one,
Because I am so us'd to't.

_Lap._ However you deserve, your friends and mine, here
Give you large commendations i'this Letter,
They say you will endure well.

_Clow._ I'de be loath
To prove 'em liers: I've endur'd as much
As mortal pen and ink can set me down for.

_Lap._ Say you me so?

_Clow._ I know and feel it so, Sir,
I have it under Black and White already;
I need no Pen to paint me out.

_Lap._ He fits me,
And hits my wishes pat, pat: I was ne'er
In possibility to be better mann'd,
For he's half lam['d] already, I see't plain,
But take no notice on't, for fear I make
The rascal proud, and dear, to advance his wages;
First, let me grow into particulars with you;
What have you endured of worth? let me hear.

_Clow._ Marry Sir, I'm almost beaten blind.

_Lap._ That's pretty well for a beginning,
But many a Mill-horse has endur'd as much.

_Clow._ Shame o'th' Millers heart for his unkindness then.

_Lap._ Well Sir, what then?

_Clow._ I've been twice thrown down stairs, just before supper.

_Lap._ Puh, so have I, that's nothing.

_Clow._ I but Sir,
Was yours pray before supper?

_Lap._ There thou posest me.

_Clow._ I marry, that's it, 't had been less grief to me,
Had I but fill'd my belly, and then tumbled,
But to be flung down fasting, there's the dolour.

_Lap._ It would have griev'd me, that indeed: proceed Sir.

_Clo._ I have been pluck'd and tugg'd by th' hair o'th' head
About a Gallery, half an Acre long.

_Lap._ Yes, that's a good one, I must needs confess,
A principal good one that, an absolute good one,
I have been trode upon, and spurn'd about,
But never tugg'd by th' hair, I thank my fates.

_Clow._ Oh 'tis a spiteful pain.

_Lap._ Peace, never speak on't,
For putting men in mind on't.

_Clow._ To conclude,
I'm bursten Sir: my belly will hold no meat.

_Lap._ No? that makes amends for all.

_Clow._ Unless 't be puddings,
Or such fast food, any loose thing beguiles me, I'm ne'er the better
for't.

_Lap._ Sheeps-heads will stay with thee?

_Clo._ Yes Sir, or Chaldrons.

_Lap._ Very well sir:
Your bursten fellows must take heed of surfets:
Strange things it seems, you have endur'd;

_Clo._ Too true Sir.

_Lap._ But now the question is, what you will endure
Hereafter in my service?

_Clo._ Anything
That shall be reason Sir, for I'm but froth;
Much like a thing new calv'd, or come more nearer Sir,
Y'ave seen a cluster of Frog-spawns in _April_,
E'en such a starch am I, as weak and tender
As a green woman yet.

_Lap._ Now I know this,
I will be very gently angry with thee,
And kick thee carefully.

_Clow._ Oh I, sweet Sir.

_Lap._ Peace, when thou art offer'd well, lest I begin now.
Your friends and mine have writ here for your truth,
They'll pass their words themselves, and I must meet 'em.

_Clow._ Then have you all: [_Exit._
As for my honesty, there is no fear of that,
For I have ne'er a whole bone about me. [_Exit._

_Musick. Enter the passionate Cosin, rudely, and carelesly apparrell'd,_
_unbrac'd, and untruss'd. The_ Cupid _following_.

_Cup._ Think upon love, which makes all creatures handsome,
Seemly for eye-sight; goe not so diffusedly,
There are great Ladies purpose Sir to visit you.

_Pas._ Grand plagues, shut in my casements, that the breaths
Of their Coach-mares reek not into my nostrils;
Those beasts are but a kind of bawdy fore-runners.

_Cup._ It is not well with you,
When you speak ill of fair Ladies.

_Pas._ Fair mischiefs, give me a nest of Owls and take 'em;
Happy is he, say I, whose window opens
To a brown Bakers chimney, he shall be sure there
To hear the Bird sometimes after twilight:
What a fine thing 'tis methinks to have our garments
Sit loose upon us thus, thus carelesly,
It is more manly, and more mortifying;
For we're so much the readier for our shrouds:
For how ridiculous wer't, to have death come,
And take a fellow, pinn'd up like a Mistriss!
About his neck a Ruff, like a pinch'd Lanthorn,
Which School-boys make in winter; and his doublet
So close and pent, as if he fear'd one prison
Would not be strong enough, to keep his soul in;
But's Tailor makes another:
And trust me; (for I know't when I lov'd _Cupid_,)
He does endure much pain, for the poor praise
Of a neat sitting suit.

_Cup._ One may be handsome, Sir,
And yet not pain'd, nor proud.

_Pas._ There you lie _Cupid_,
As bad as _Mercury_: there is no handsomness,
But has a wash of Pride and Luxury,
And you go there too _Cupid._ Away dissembler,
Thou tak'st the deeds part, which befools us all;
Thy Arrow heads shoot out sinners: hence away,
And after thee I'll send a powerful charm,
Shall banish thee for ever.

_Cup._ Never, never,
I am too sure thine own. [_Exit._

Pas. Sings.

_Hence all you vain Delights,_
_As short as are the nights,_
_Wherein you spend your folly,_
_There's nought in this life sweet,_
_If man were wise to see't_,
_But only melancholly,_
_Oh sweetest melancholly._
_Welcome folded Arms, and fixed Eyes,_
_A sigh that piercing mortifies,_
_A look that's fastened to the ground,_
_A tongue chain'd up without a sound._

_Fountain heads, and pathless Groves,_
_Places which pale passion loves:_
_Moon-light walks, when all the Fowls_
_Are warmly hous'd, save Bats and Owls;_
_A mid-night Bell, a parting groan,_
_These are the sounds we feed upon;_
_Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley,_
_Nothing's so dainty sweet, as lovely melancholly._ [_Exit._

_Enter at another door_ Lapet, _the_ Cupid_'s Brothers_
_watching his coming_.

_1 Bro._ So, so, the Woodcock's ginn'd;
Keep this door fast brother.

_2 Bro._ I'll warrant this.

_1 Bro._ I'll goe incense him instantly;
I know the way to't.

_2 Bro._ Will't not be too soon think you,
And make two fits break into one?

_1 Bro._ Pah, no, no; the tail of his melancholy
Is always the head of his anger, and follows as close,
As the Report follows the powder.

_Lap._ This is the appointed place, and the hour struck,
If I can get security for's truth,
I'll never mind his honesty, poor worm,
I durst lay him by my wife, which is a benefit
Which many Masters ha' not: I shall ha' no Maid
Now got with child, but what I get my self,
And that's no small felicity: in most places
Th'are got by th' Men, and put upon the Masters,
Nor shall I be resisted when I strike,
For he can hardly stand; these are great blessings.

_Pas._ I want my food, deliver me a Varlet. [_Within._

_Lap._ How now, from whence comes that?

_Pas._ I am allow'd a carkass to insult on;
Where's the villain?

_Lap._ He means not me I hope.

_Pas._ My maintenance rascals; my bulk, my exhibition.

_[L]ap._ Bless us all,
What names are these? Would I were gone agen.

_The passionate man enters in fury with a Truncheon._

He Sings.

_A curse upon thee for a slave,_
_Art thou here, and heardst me rave?_
_Fly not sparkles from mine eye,_
_To shew my indignation nigh?_
_Am I not all foam, and fire,_
_With voice as hoarse as a Town-crier?_
_How my back opes and shuts together,_
_With fury, as old mens with weather!_
_Could'st thou not hear my teeth gnash hither?_

_Lap._ No truly, Sir, I thought 't had been a Squirrel,
Shaving a Hazel-nut.

_Pas._ Death, Hell, Fiends, and darkness.
I will thrash thy maungy carkass.

_Lap._ Oh sweet Sir.

_Pas._ There cannot be too many tortures,
Spent upon those louzie Quarters.

_Lap._ Hold, oh. [_Falls down for dead._

_Pas._ Thy bones shall rue, thy bones shall rue.

Sings again.

_Thou nasty, scurvy, mongril Toad,_
_Mischief on thee;_
_Light upon thee,_
_All the plagues_
_That can confound thee_
_Or did ever raign abroad:_
_Better a thousand lives it cost,_
_Than have brave anger spilt or lost._ [_Exit._

_Lap._ May I open mine eyes yet, and safely peep:
I'll try a groon first--oh--Nay then he's gone.
There was no other policy but to dy,
He would ha' made me else. Ribs are you sore?
I was ne'er beaten to a tune before.

_Enter the two Brothers._

_1 Bro. Lapet._

_Lap._ Agen? [_Falls again._

_1 Bro._ Look, look, he's flat agen,
And stretched out like a Coarse, a handful longer
Than he walks, trust me brother. Why _Lapet_
I hold my life we shall not get him speak now:
Monsieur _Lapet_; it must be a privy token,
If any thing fetch him, he's so far gone.
We come to pass our words for your mans truth.

_Lap._ Oh Gentlemen y'are welcome: I have been thrash'd i' faith.

_2 Bro._ How? thrash'd Sir?

_Lap._ Never was Shrove-tuesday Bird
So cudgell'd, Gentlemen.

_1 Bro._ Pray how? by whom Sir?

_Lap._ Nay, that I know not.

_1 Bro._ Not who did this wrong?

_Lap._ Only a thing came like a Walking Song.

_1 Bro._ What beaten with a Song?

_Lap._ Never more tightly, Gentlemen:
Such crotchets happen now and then, methinks
He that endures well, of all waters drinks. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Shamont's _Brother, the Soldier, and 1 Gentleman_.

_Sold._ Yes, yes, this was a Madman, Sir, with you,
A passionate Mad-man.

_1 Gen._ Who would ha' lookt for this, Sir?

_Sold._ And must be priviledg'd: a pox priviledge him:
I was never so dry beaten since I was born,
And by a litter of rogues, meer rogues, the whole twenty
Had not above [nine] elbows amongst 'em all too:
And the most part of those left-handed rascals,
The very vomit, Sir, of Hospitals,
Bridewels, and Spittle-houses; such nasty smellers,
That if they'd been unfurnish'd of Club-Truncheons,
They might have cudgell'd me with their very stinks,
It was so strong, and sturdy: and shall this,
This filthy injury, be set off with madness?