Chapter XXXIX: Act II: Scene I.1167

[_Enter_] KITELY, CASH, DOWNRIGHT.

_Kit._ Thomas, come hither.
There lies a note within upon my desk;
Here take my key: it is no matter neither.—
Where is the boy?

_Cash._ Within, sir, i’ the warehouse.

_Kit._ Let him tell over straight that Spanish gold, 5
And weigh it, with th’ pieces of eight.[1168] Do you
See the delivery of those silver stuffs
To Master Lucar: tell him, if he will,
He shall ha’ the grograns[1169] at the rate I told him,
And I will meet him on the Exchange anon. 10

_Cash._ Good, sir. [_Exit._]

_Kit._ Do you see that fellow, brother Downright?

_Dow._ Ay, what of him?

_Kit._ He is a jewel, brother.
I took him of a child up at my door,
And christ’ned him, gave him mine own name, Thomas: 15
Since bred him at the Hospital;[1170] where proving
A toward imp, I call’d him home, and taught him
So much, as I have made him my cashier,
And giv’n him, who had none, a surname, Cash:
And find him in his place so full of faith, 20
That I durst trust my life into his hands.

_Dow._ So would not I in any bastard’s, brother,
As it is like he is, although I knew
Myself his father. But you said you’d somewhat
To tell me, gentle brother: what is’t, what is’t?

_Kit._ Faith, I am very loath to utter it, 25
As fearing it may hurt your patience;
But that I know your judgment is of strength,
Against the nearness of affection——

_Dow._ What need this circumstance?[1171] Pray you, be direct. 30

_Kit._ I will not say how much I do ascribe
Unto your friendship, nor in what regard
I hold your love; but let my past behaviour,
And usage of your sister, [both][1172] confirm
How well I’ve been affected to your—— 35

_Dow._ You are too tedious; come to the matter, the matter.

_Kit._ Then, without further ceremony, thus.
My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how,
Of late is much declin’d in what he was,
And greatly alter’d in his disposition. 40
When he came first to lodge here in my house,
Ne’er trust me if I were not proud of him:
Methought he bare himself in such a fashion,
So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage,
And what was chief, it show’d not borrowed in him, 45
But all he did became him as his own,
And seem’d as perfect, proper, and possest,
As breath with life, or colour with the blood.
But now, his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and depriv’d of grace, 50
And he himself withal so far fall’n off
From that first place, as scarce no note remains,
To tell men’s judgments where he lately stood.
He’s grown a stranger to all due respect,
Forgetful of his friends; and, not content 55
To stale[1173] himself in all societies,
He makes my house here common as a mart,
A theatre, a public receptacle
For giddy humour, and diseased riot;
And here, as in a tavern or a stews, 60
He and his wild associates spend their hours,
In repetition of lascivious jests,
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night,
Control my servants; and, indeed, what not?

_Dow._ ’Sdeins,[1174] I know not what I should (65) say to him, i’
the whole world! He values me at a crack’d three-farthings, for aught
I see. It will never out o’ the flesh that’s bred i’ the bone. I have
told him enough, one would think, if that would serve; but counsel to
him is as good (70) as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. Well! he
knows what to trust to, for[1175] George: let him spend, and spend,
and domineer, till his heart ache; an he think to be reliev’d by me,
when he is got into one o’ your city pounds, the (75) counters, he
has the wrong sow by the ear, i’ faith; and claps his dish[1176] at
the wrong man’s door. I’ll lay my hand o’ my halfpenny, ere I part
with ’t to fetch him out, I’ll assure him.

_Kit._ Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus. 80

_Dow._ ’Sdeath! he mads me: I could eat my very spur-leathers for
anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do you not speak to him, and
tell him how he disquiets your house?

_Kit._ O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, brother. 85
But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it
(Though but with plain and easy circumstance),
It would both come much better to his sense,
And savour less of stomach,[1177] or of passion.
You are his elder brother, and that title 90
Both gives and warrants you authority,
Which, by your presence seconded, must breed
A kind of duty in him, and regard;
Whereas, if I should intimate the least,
It would but add contempt to his neglect, 95
Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred,
That in the rearing would come tott’ring down,
And in the ruin bury all our love.
Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak,
He would be ready, from his heat of humour,[1178]
And overflowing of the vapour in him, 101
To blow the ears of his familiars
With the false breath of telling what disgraces
And low disparagements I had put upon him:
Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,[1179] 105
Make their loose comments upon every word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,
From my flat cap[1180] unto my shining shoes;[1180]
And, out of their impetuous rioting phant’sies,
Beget some slander that shall dwell with me. 110
And what would that be, think you? Marry, this:
They would give out, because my wife is fair,
Myself but lately married, and my sister
Here sojourning a virgin in my house,
That I were jealous!—nay, as sure as death, 115
That they would say; and, how that I had quarrell’d
My brother purposely, thereby to find
An apt pretext to banish them my house.

_Dow._ Moss, perhaps so; they’re like enough to do it.

_Kit._ Brother, they would, believe it; so should I, 120
Like one of these penurious quack-salvers,
But set the bills up[1181] to mine own disgrace,
And try experiments upon myself;
Lend scorn and envy opportunity
To stab my reputation and good name—— 125

SCENE II.[1182]

KITELY, DOWNRIGHT. [_Enter_] MATHEW [_struggling with_] BOBADILL.

_Mat._ I will speak to him.

_Bob._ Speak to him! away! By the foot of Pharaoh, you shall not! you
shall not do him that grace.—The time of day to you, gentleman o’
the house. Is master Wellbred stirring?

_Dow._ How then? What should he do? 6

_Bob._ Gentleman of the house, it is to you. Is
he within, sir?

_Kit._ He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, I assure you. 10

_Dow._ Why, do you hear? You!

_Bob._ The gentleman citizen hath satisfied me;
I’ll talk to no scavenger. [_Exeunt_ BOB. _and_ MAT.]

_Dow._ How! scavenger! Stay, sir, stay!

_Kit._ Nay, brother Downright. 15

Dow. ’Heart! stand you away, an you love me.

_Kit._ You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother, good faith
you shall not; I will overrule you.

_Dow._ Ha! scavenger! Well, go to, I say (20) little; but, by this
good day (God forgive me I should swear), if I put it up[1183] so,
say I am the rankest cow that ever pist. ’Sdeins, an I swallow
this, I’ll ne’er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again
while I live; I’ll sit in a (25) barn with madge-howlet, and catch
mice first. Scavenger! heart!—and I’ll go near to fill that huge
tumbrel-slop[1184] of yours with somewhat, an I have good luck: your
Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so. 30

_Kit._ Oh, do not fret yourself thus; never think on ’t.

_Dow._ These are my brother’s consorts, these! These are his
cam’rades, his walking mates! He’s a gallant, a cavaliero too, right
hangman cut! Let me not live, an I could not find in (35) my heart
to swinge the whole ging[1185] of ’em, one after another, and begin
with him first. I am griev’d it should be said he is my brother, and
take these courses. Well, as he brews, so shall he drink, for George,
again. Yet he shall (40) hear on ’t, and that tightly too, an I live,
i’ faith.

_Kit._ But, brother, let your reprehension, then,
Run in an easy current, not o’er high
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft persuading way, 45
Whose powers will work more gently, and compose
Th’ imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim;
More winning than enforcing the consent.

_Dow._ Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you. 49

_Kit._ How now! (_Bell rings._) Oh, the bell rings to breakfast.
Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife company till I come; I’ll
but give order for some despatch of business to my servants. [_Exit_
DOWNRIGHT.]

SCENE III.[1186]

KITELY, [_Enter_] COB.

_Kit._ What, Cob! our maids will have you by the back, i’ faith, for
coming so late this morning.

_Cob._ Perhaps so, sir; take heed somebody have not them by the
belly, for walking so late in the evening. 5
_He passes by with his tankard._

_Kit._ Well; yet my troubled spirit’s somewhat eas’d,
Though not repos’d in that security
As I could wish: but I must be content,
Howe’er I set a face on ’t to the world. 10
Would I had lost this finger at a venture,
So Wellbred had ne’er lodged within my house.
Why ’t cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton gallants and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long. 15
Is’t like that factious beauty will preserve
The public weal of chastity unshaken,
When such strong motives muster and make head[1187]
Against her single peace? No, no: beware.
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat, 20
And spirits of one kind and quality
Come once to parley in the pride of blood,
It is no slow conspiracy that follows.
Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time
Had answer’d their affections,[1188] all the world 25
Should not persuade me but I were a cuckold.
Marry, I hope they ha’ not got that start;
For opportunity hath balk’d ’em yet,
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart. 30
My presence shall be as an iron bar
’Twixt the conspiring motions of desire:
Yea, every look or glance mine eye ejects
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,
When he forgets the limits of prescription. 35

[_Enter_ DAME KITELY.]

_Dame K._ Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rose-water, above
in the closet.—Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?

_Kit._ An she have overheard me now!——

_Dame Kit._ I pray thee, good muss,[1189] we stay for you. 41

_Kit._ By heaven, I would not for a thousand angels.[1190]

_Dame K._ What ail you, sweet-heart? are you not well? Speak, good
muss. 46

_Kit._ Troth my head aches extremely on a sudden.

_Dame K._ [_putting her hand to his forehead._] O, the Lord!

_Kit._ How now! What? 50

_Dame K._ Alas, how it burns! Muss, keep you warm; good truth it is
this new disease,[1191] there’s a number are troubled withal. For
love’s sake, sweet-heart, come in out of the air.

_Kit._ How simple, and how subtle are her answers! 55
A new disease, and many troubled with it?
Why true; she heard me, all the world to nothing.

_Dame K._ I pray thee, good sweet-heart, come in; the air will do you
harm, in troth.

_Kit._ The air! she has me i’ the wind.[1192]— (60) Sweet-heart,
I’ll come to you presently; ’t will away, I hope.

_Dame K._ Pray Heaven it do. [_Exit._]

_Kit._ A new disease! I know not, new or old,
But it may well be call’d poor mortals’ plague; 65
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
The houses of the brain. First it begins
Solely to work upon the phantasy,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air
As soon corrupts the judgment; and from thence 70
Sends like contagion to the memory:
Still each to other giving the infection,
Which as a subtle vapour spreads itself
Confusedly through every sensive part,
Till not a thought or motion in the mind 75
Be free from the black poison of suspect.[1193]
Ah! but what misery is it to know this?
Or, knowing it, to want the mind’s erection
In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive,
In spite of this black cloud, myself to be, 80
And shake the fever off that thus shakes me.
[_Exit._]

SCENE IV.[1194]

[_Enter_] BRAINWORM [_disguised like a maimed Soldier_.]

_Brai._ ’Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated
thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an
intolerable sort[1195] of lies, or my present profession loses the
grace: and yet the lie, to a man of my coat, is (5) as ominous a
fruit as the fico.[1196] O, sir, it holds for good polity ever, to
have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most
dear to us: so much for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my
old master intends to follow my (10) young master, dry-foot,[1197];
over Moorfields to London, this morning; now, I knowing of this
hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young
master (for so must we that are blue waiters,[1198] and men of hope
and (15) service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the year’s end,
and who wears motley,[1199]—you know), have got me afore in this
disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in
the mid-way. If I can but get his (20) cloak, his purse, and his hat,
nay, any thing to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, _Veni,
vidi, vici_, I may say with Captain Caesar, I am made for ever, i’
faith. Well, now I must practise to get the true garb of one of these
lance-knights, (25) my arm here, and my——[Odso! my] young master,
and his cousin, master Stephen, as I am true counterfeit man of war,
and no soldier! [_Exit._]

[_Enter_ E. KNOWELL _and_ STEPHEN.]

_E. Know._ So, sir! and how then, coz? 30

_Step._ ’Sfoot! I have lost my purse, I think.

_E. Know._ How! lost your purse? Where? When had you it?

_Step._ I cannot tell; stay.

_Brai._ ’Slid, I am afraid they will know me: would I could get by
them! 35

_E. Know._ What, ha’ you it?

_Step._ No; I think I was bewitcht, I——[_Cries._]

_E. Know._ Nay, do not weep the loss: hang it, let it go. 40

_Step._ Oh, it’s here. No, an it had been lost, I had not car’d, but
for a jet ring mistress Mary sent me.

_E. Know._ A jet ring! O the posy, the posy?

_Step._ Fine, i’ faith.— 45
Though Fancy sleep,
My love is deep.
Meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.

_E. Know._ Most excellent! 50

_Step._ And then I sent her another, and my poesie was,
The deeper the sweeter,
I’ll be judg’d by St. Peter.

_E. Know._ How, by St. Peter? I do not (55) conceive that.

_Step._ Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre.

_E. Know._ Well, there the saint was your good patron, he help’d you
at your need; thank him, thank him. 60

_Re-enter_ BRAINWORM.

_Brai._ I cannot take leave on ’em so; I will venture, come what
will.—Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns for a very excellent
good blade here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, one that, in the
better state of my fortunes, (65) scorn’d so mean a refuge; but now
it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen
well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence,
than live with shame: however, vouchsafe to remember (70) it is my
want speaks, not myself; this condition agrees not with my spirit——

_E. Know._ Where hast thou serv’d?

_Brai._ May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia,
Hungary, Dalmatia, Poland,—where (75) not, sir? I have been a poor
servitor by sea and land any time this fourteen years, and follow’d
the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot
at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief (80) of Vienna; I have
been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, a gentleman-slave
in the galleys, thrice; where I was most dangerously shot in the
head, through both the thighs; and yet, being thus maim’d, I am void
of maintenance, (85) nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of
my resolution.

_Step._ How will you sell this rapier, friend?

_Brai._ Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a
gentleman, give me (90) what you please.

_Step._ True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend; but what though?
I pray you say, what would you ask?

_Brai._ I assure you, the blade may become (95) the side or thigh of
the best prince in Europe.

_E. Know._ Ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think.

_Step._ Nay, an’t be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz,
that’s flat; I’d not wear it, as it is, an you would give me an
angel. 100

_Brai._ At your worship’s pleasure, sir; [STEPHEN _examines the
blade_] nay, ’tis a most pure Toledo.

_Step._ I had rather it were a Spaniard. But tell me, what shall I
give you for it? An it had a silver hilt—— 106

_E. Know._ Come, come, you shall not buy it. Hold, there’s a
shilling, fellow; take thy rapier.

_Step._ Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so; and there’s
another shilling, fellow; I scorn to be out-bidden. What, shall I
walk (111) with a cudgel, like Higginbottom, and may have a rapier
for money!

_E. Know._ You may buy one in the city.

_Step._ Tut! I’ll buy this i’ the field, so I will: I have a mind to
’t, because ’tis a field (116) rapier. Tell me your lowest price.

_E. Know._ You shall not buy it, I say.

_Step._ By this money, but I will, though I give more than ’tis
worth. 120

_E. Know._ Come away, you are a fool.

_Step._ Friend, I am a fool, that’s granted; but I’ll have it, for
that word’s sake. Follow me for your money.

_Brai._ At your service, sir. [_Exeunt._] 125

SCENE V.[1200]

[_Enter_] KNOWELL.

_Know._ I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter
Sent to my son; nor leave t’ admire[1201] the change
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth
Within the kingdom, since myself was one.—
When I was young, he liv’d not in the stews, 5
Durst have conceiv’d a scorn, and utter’d it,
On a gray head; age was authority
Against a buffoon, and a man had then
A certain reverence paid unto his years,
That had none due unto his life: so much 10
The sanctity of some prevail’d for others.
But now we all are fall’n; youth, from their fear,
And age, from that which bred it, good example.
Nay, would ourselves were not the first, e’en parents, 14
That did destroy the hopes in our own children;
Or they not learn’d our vices in their cradles,
And suck’d in our ill customs with their milk!
Ere all their teeth be born, or they can speak,
We make their palates cunning; the first words
We form their tongues with, are licentious jests:
Can it call “whore”? cry “bastard”? O, then, kiss it! 21
A witty child! Can’t swear? The father’s darling!
Give it two plums. Nay, rather than ’t shall learn
No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it!
But this is in the infancy, the days 25
Of the long coat; when it puts on the breeches,
It will put off all this. Ay, it is like,
When it is gone into the bone already!
No, no; this dye goes deeper than the coat,
Or shirt, or skin; it stains into the liver 30
And heart, in some: and, rather than it should not,
Note what we fathers do! Look how we live!
What mistresses we keep! at what expense!
In our sons’ eyes, where they may handle our gifts,
Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance,
Taste of the same provoking meats with us, 36
To ruin of our states! Nay, when our own
Portion is fled, to prey on the remainder,
We call them into fellowship of vice;
Bait ’em with the young chamber-maid, to seal,[1202]
And teach ’em all bad ways to buy affliction. 41
This is one path; but there are millions more,
In which we spoil our own, with leading them.
Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he
That travell’d with my son, before sixteen, 45
To shew him the Venetian courtesans;
Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made,
To my sharp boy, at twelve; repeating still
The rule, _Get money; still, get money, boy;
No matter by what means; money will do 50
More, boy, than my lord’s letter_. Neither have I
Drest snails or mushrooms curiously before him,
Perfum’d my sauces, and taught him how to make ’em;
Preceding still, with my gray gluttony,
At all the ord’naries, and only fear’d 55
His palates should degenerate, not his manners.
These are the trade of fathers now; however,
My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold
None of these household precedents, which are strong
And swift to rape youth to their precipice. 60
But let the house at home be ne’er so clean
Swept, or kept sweet from filth, nay dust and cobwebs,
If he will live abroad with his companions,
In dung and leystals,[1203] it is worth a fear;
Nor is the danger of conversing less 65
Than all that I have mention’d of example.

[_Enter_ BRAINWORM, _disguised as before_.]

_Brai._ [_Aside._] My master! nay, faith, have at you; I am flesht
now, I have sped so well.— Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect
the estate of a poor soldier; I am asham’d of this base (70) course
of life,—God’s my comfort—but extremity provokes me to ’t: what
remedy?

_Know._ I have not for you, now.

_Brai._ By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary
custom in me, but (75) only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a
man I have been: a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.

_Know._ Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.

_Brai._ Good sir, by that hand, you may do (80) the part of a kind
gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer, a
matter of small value: the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall
rest thankful. Sweet worship——

_Know._ Nay, an you be so importunate—— 85

_Brai._ Oh, tender sir I need will have its course; I was not made
to this vile use. Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated
me so much: it’s hard when a man hath serv’d in his prince’s cause,
and be thus (_Weeps_). (90) Honourable worship, let me derive a small
piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of
time.[1204] By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last
night for a poor supper; I had suck’d the hilts long before, I am a 95
pagan else. Sweet honour——

_Know._ Believe me, I am taken with some wonder,
To think a fellow of thy outward presence,
Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind,
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base. 100
Art thou a man, and sham’st thou not to beg?
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy education ne’er so mean,
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy election. 105
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
Or honest labour; nay, what can I name,
But would become thee better than to beg:
But men of thy condition feed on sloth, 110
As doth the beetle on the dung she breeds in;
Nor caring how the metal of your minds
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
Now, afore me, whate’er he be, that should
Relieve a person of thy quality, 115
While thou insist’st in this loose desperate course,
I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.

_Brai._ Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so——

_Know._ Ay, you’d gladly find it, but you will not seek it. 121

_Brai._ Alas, sir, where should a man seek? In the wars, there’s
no ascent by desert in these days; but——and for service, would
it were as soon purchas’d,[1205] as wisht for! The air’s my 125
comfort.—[_Sighs_]—I know what I would say.

_Know._ What’s thy name?

_Brai._ Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir.

_Know._ Fitz-Sword!
Say that a man should entertain thee now, 130
Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true?

_Brai._ Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier——

_Know._ Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths. Speak plainly,
man, what think’st thou of my words? 135

_Brai._ Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy as my
service should be honest.

_Know._ Well, follow me; I’ll prove thee, if thy deeds
Will carry a proportion to thy words. [_Exit._]

_Brai._ Yes, sir, straight; I’ll but garter (140) my hose. Oh that
my belly were hoopt now, for I am ready to burst with laughing!
never was bottle or hagpipe fuller. ’Slid, was there ever seen a fox
in years to betray himself thus! Now shall I be possest of all his
counsels; (145) and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is
resolv’d to prove[1206] my honesty; faith, and I’m resolv’d to prove
his patience: oh, I shall abuse[1207] him intolerably. This small
piece of service will bring him clean out of love with (150) the
soldier for ever. He will never come within the sign of it, the sight
of a cassock,[1208] or a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters
at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It’s no matter, let the world
think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip[1209] 155
at an instant. Why, this is better than to have staid his journey.
Well, I’ll follow him. Oh, how I long to be employed! [_Exit._]