Chapter XXVI: Act II: Scene I

_A room in_ KNAVESBY’S _house_.

_Enter_ KNAVESBY _and_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY.
KNA. Have you drunk[882] the eggs and muscadine I sent
you?
MIS. KNA. No, they are too fulsome.
KNA. Away! you’re a fool!—How shall I begin to break the
matter to her? [_Aside._]—I do long, wife.
MIS. KNA. Long, sir?
KNA. Long infinitely: sit down; there is a penitential
motion in me, which if thou wilt but second, I shall be
one of the happiest men in Europe.
MIS. KNA. What might that be?
KNA. I had last night one of the strangest dreams;
Methought I was thy confessor, thou mine,
And we reveal’d between us privately
How often we had wrong’d each other’s bed
Since we were married.
MIS. KNA. Came you drunk to bed?
There was a dream, with a witness!
KNA. No, no witness;
I dreamt nobody heard it but we two.
This dream, wife, do I long to put in act;
Let us confess each other; and I vow,
Whatever thou hast done with that sweet corpse
In the way of natural frailty, I protest,
Most freely I will pardon.
MIS. KNA. Go sleep again:
Was there e’er such a motion?
KNA. Nay, sweet woman,
And[883] thou’lt not have me run mad with my desire,
Be persuaded to’t.
MIS. KNA. Well, be it [at] your pleasure.
KNA. But to answer truly.
MIS. KNA. O, most sincerely.
KNA. Begin then; examine me first.
MIS. KNA. Why, I know not what to ask you.
KNA. Let me see: your father was a captain; demand of me
how many dead pays[884] I am to answer for in the
muster-book of wedlock, by the martial fault of
borrowing from my neighbours.
MIS. KNA. Troth, I can ask no such foolish questions.
KNA. Why, then, open confession, I hope, dear wife, will
merit freer pardon: I sinned twice with my laundress;
and last circuit there was at Banbury a she-chamberlain
that had a spice of purity, but at last I prevailed over
her.
MIS. KNA. O, you are an ungracious husband!
KNA. I have made a vow never to ride abroad but in thy
company: O, a little drink makes me clamber like a
monkey! Now, sweet wife, you have been an out-lier too;
which is best feed, in the forest or in the purlieus?
MIS. KNA. A foolish mind of you i' this.
KNA. Nay, sweet love, confess freely; I have given you
the example.
MIS. KNA. Why, you know I went last year to Stourbridge
fair.
KNA. Yes.
MIS. KNA. And being in Cambridge, a handsome scholar,
one of Emmanuel College, fell in love with me.
KNA. O you sweet-breathed monkey!
MIS. KNA. Go hang; you are so boisterous.
KNA. But did this scholar shew thee his chamber?
MIS. KNA. Yes.
KNA. And didst thou like him?
MIS. KNA. Like him? O, he had the most enticingest
straw-coloured beard, a woman with black eyes would have
loved him like jet: he was the finest man, with a formal
wit; and he had a fine dog, that sure was whelped i' the
college, for he understood Latin.
KNA. Pooh waw! this is nothing, till I know what he did
in’s chamber.
MIS. KNA. He burnt wormwood in’t, to kill the fleas i'
the rushes.[885]
KNA. But what did he to thee there?
MIS. KNA. Some five-and-twenty years hence I may
chance tell you: fie upon you; what tricks, what
crotchets are these? have you placed any body behind
the arras to hear my confession? I heard one in
England got a divorce from ’s wife by such a trick:
were I disposed now, I would make you as mad: you
shall see me play the changeling.[886]
KNA. No, no, wife, you shall see me play the changeling:
hadst thou confessed, this other suit I'll now prefer to
thee would have been despatched in a trice.
MIS. KNA. And what’s that, sir?
KNA. Thou wilt wonder at it four-and-twenty years longer
than nine days.
MIS. KNA. I would very fain hear it.
KNA. There is a lord o' the court, upon my credit, a
most dear, honourable friend of mine, that must lie with
thee: do you laugh? ’tis not come to that; you’ll laugh
when you know who ’tis.
MIS. KNA. Are you stark mad?
KNA. On my religion, I have past my word for’t;
’Tis the Lord Beaufort; thou’rt made happy for ever;
The generous and bountiful Lord Beaufort:
You being both so excellent, ’twere pity
If such rare pieces should not be conferr’d
And sampled together.
MIS. KNA. Do you mean seriously?
KNA. As I hope for preferment.
MIS. KNA. And can you lose me thus?
KNA. Lose you? I shall love you the better: why, what’s
the viewing any wardrobe or jewel-house, without a
companion to confer their likings? yet, now I view thee
well, methinks thou art a rare monopoly, and great pity
one man should enjoy thee.
MIS. KNA. This is pretty!
KNA. Let’s divorce ourselves so long, or think I am gone
to th' Indies, or lie with him when I am asleep; for
some Familists[887] of Amsterdam will tell you [it] may
be done with a safe conscience: come, you wanton, what
hurt can this do to you? I protest, nothing so much as
to keep company with an old woman has sore eyes; no more
wrong than I do my beaver when I try it thus; look, this
is all; smooth, and keeps fashion still.
MIS. KNA. You’re one of the basest fellows!
KNA. I look’d for chiding;
I do make this a kind of fortitude
The Romans never dreamt of; and[888] ’twere known,
I should be spoke and writ of when I'm rotten,
For ’tis beyond example.
MIS. KNA. But, I pray, resolve[889] me;
Suppose this done, could you e’er love me after?
KNA. I protest I never thought so well of thee
Till I knew he took a fancy to thee; like one
That has variety of choice meat before him,
Yet has no stomach to’t until he hear
Another praise [it]: hark, my lord is coming!
[_Knocking within._
MIS. KNA. Possible?
KNA. And my preferment comes along with him: be wise,
mind your good; and to confute all reason in the world
which thou canst urge against it, when ’tis done, we
will be married again, wife, which some say is the only
_supersedeas_ about Limehouse to remove cuckoldry.

_Enter_ LORD BEAUFORT.

L. BEAU. Come, are you ready to attend me to the court?
KNA. Yes, my lord.
L. BEAU. Is this fair one your wife?
KNA. At your lordship’s service. I will look up some
writings, and return presently. [_Exit._
MIS. KNA. To see and[890] the base fellow do not leave
’s alone too! [_Aside._
L. BEAU. ’Tis an excellent habit this: where were you
born, sweet?
MIS. KNA. I am a Suffolk woman, my lord.
L. BEAU. Believe it, every country you breathe on is the
sweeter for you: let me see your hand; the case is loath
to part with the jewel [_drawing off her glove_]:
fairest one, I have skill in palmistry.
MIS. KNA. Good my lord, what do you find there?
L. BEAU. In good earnest, I do find written here, all my
good fortune lies in your hand.
MIS. KNA. You’ll keep a very bad house then; you may see
by the smallness of the table.[891]
L. BEAU. Who is your sweetheart?
MIS. KNA. Sweetheart?
L. BEAU. Yes; come, I must sift you to know it.
MIS. KNA. I am a sieve too coarse for your lordship’s
manchet.[892]
L. BEAU. Nay, pray you, tell me; for I see your husband
is an unhandsome fellow.
MIS. KNA. O, my lord, I took him by weight, not fashion;
goldsmiths' wives taught me that way of bargain, and
some ladies swerve not to follow the example.
L. BEAU. But will you not tell me who is your private
friend?
MIS. KNA. Yes, and[890] you’ll tell me who is yours.
L. BEAU. Shall I shew you her?
MIS. KNA. Yes; when will you?
L. BEAU. Instantly: look you, there you may see her.
[_Leading her to a mirror._
MIS. KNA. I'll break the glass, ’tis now worth nothing.
L. BEAU. Why?
MIS. KNA. You have made it a flattering one.
L. BEAU. I have a summer-house for you, a fine place to
flatter solitariness; will you come and lie there?
MIS. KNA. No, my lord.
L. BEAU. Your husband has promised me; will you not?
MIS. KNA. I must wink, I tell you, or say nothing.
L. BEAU. So, I'll kiss you and wink too [_kisses her_];
midnight is Cupid’s holyday.

_Re-enter_ KNAVESBY.

KNA. By this time ’tis concluded.—Will you go, my lord?
L. BEAU. I leave with you my best wishes till I see you.
KNA. This now, if I may borrow our lawyer’s phrase, is
my wife’s _imparlance_; at her next appearance she must
answer your _declaration_.
L. BEAU. You follow it well, sir.
[_Exeunt._ LORD BEAUFORT _and_ KNAVESBY.
MIS. KNA. Did I not know my husband of so base,
Contemptible [a] nature, I should think
'Twere but a trick to try me; but it seems
They’re both in wicked earnest; and methinks
Upon the sudden, I've a great mind to loathe
This scurvy, unhandsome way my lord has ta’en
To compass me; why, ’tis for all the world
As if he should come to steal some apricocks
My husband kept for’s own tooth, and climb up
Upon his head and shoulders: I'll go to him;
He’ll put me into brave[893] clothes and rich jewels;
'Twere a very ill part in me not to go,
His mercer and his goldsmith else might curse me;
And what I'll do there, a' my troth, yet I know not.
Women, though puzzled with these subtle deeds,
May, as i' the spring, pick physic out of weeds.
[_Exit._

SCENE II.

WATER-CAMLET’S _shop_.[894]

WATER-CAMLET, GEORGE, _and_ RALPH _discovered_.

GEO. What is’t you lack,[895] you lack, you lack?
Stuffs for the belly or the back?
Silk-grograns, satins, velvet fine,
The rosy-colour’d carnadine,[896]
Your nutmeg hue, or gingerline,
Cloth-of-tissue or tabine,[897]
That like beaten gold will shine
In your amorous ladies' eyne,[898]
Whilst you their softer silks do twine?
What is’t you lack, you lack, you lack?

_Enter_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.

MIS. W.-CAM. I do lack content, sir, content I lack;
have you or your worshipful master here any content to
sell?
GEO. If content be a stuff to be sold by the yard, you
may have content at home, and never go abroad for’t.
MIS. W.-CAM. Do, cut me three yards; I'll pay for ’em.
GEO. There’s all we have i' the shop; we must know what
you’ll give for ’em first.
W.-CAM.. Why, Rachel, sweet Rachel, my bosom Rachel,
How didst thou get forth? thou wert here, sweet Rac,
Within this hour, even in my very heart.
MIS. W.-CAM. Away! or stay still, I'll away from thee;
One bed shall never hold us both again,
Nor one roof cover us: didst thou bring home—
GEO. What is’t you lack, you lack, you lack?
MIS. W.-CAM. Peace, bandog, bandog! give me leave to
speak,
Or I'll——
GEO. Shall I not follow my trade? I'm bound to’t, and my
master bound to bring me up in’t.
W.-CAM.. Peace, good George; give her anger leave;
Thy mistress will be quiet presently.
MIS. W.-CAM. Quiet! I defy thee and quiet too;
Quiet thy bastards thou hast brought home.
GEO. _and_ RAL. What is’t you lack, you lack? &c.
MIS. W.-CAM. Death, give me an ell![899] has one
bawling cur
Raised up another? two dogs upon me?
And[900] the old bear-ward will not succour me,
I'll stave ’em off myself: give me an ell, I say!
GEO. Give her not an inch, master, she’ll take two ells
if you do.
W.-CAM.. Peace, George and Ralph; no more words, I
charge you:—
And Rachel, sweet wife, be more temperate:
I know your tongue speaks not by the rule
And guidance of your heart, when you proclaim
The pretty children of my virtuous
And noble kinswoman, whom in life you knew
Above my praises' reach, to be my bastards:
This is not well, although your anger did it;
Pray, chide your anger for it.
MIS. W.-CAM. Sir, sir, your gloss
Of kinswoman cannot serve turn; ’tis stale,
And smells too rank: though your shop-wares you
vent[901]
With your deceiving lights,[902] yet your chamber-stuff
Shall not pass so with me; I say, and I'll prove—
GEO. What is’t you lack?

_Enter_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.

W.-CAM. Why, George, I say——
MIS. W.-CAM. Lecher, I say, I'll be divorc’d from
thee;
I'll prove ’em thy bastards, and thou insufficient.
[_Exit._
MAR. What said my angry cousin[903] to you, sir?
That we were bastards?
EDW. I hope she meant not us.
W.-CAM. No, no,
My pretty cousins, she meant George and Ralph;
Rage will speak any thing; but they’re ne’er the worse.
GEO. Yes indeed, forsooth, she spoke to us, but chiefly
to Ralph, because she knows he has but one stone.
RAL. No more of that, if you love me, George; this is
not the way to keep a quiet house.
MAR. Truly, sir, I would not, for more treasure
Than ever I saw yet, be in your house
A cause of discord.
EDW. And do you think I would, sister?
MAR. No indeed, Ned.

_Enter_ FRANKLIN _junior and_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM,
_disguised_.

EDW. Why did you not speak for me with you then, and
said we could not have done so?
W.-CAM.. No more, sweet cousins, now.—Speak, George,
customers approach.
G. CRES. Is the barber prepared?
FRANK. JUN. With ignorance enough to go through with it;
so near I am to him, we must call cousins; would thou
wert as sure to hit the tailor!
G. CRES. If I do not steal away handsomely, let me never
play the tailor again.
GEO. What is’t you lack? &c.
FRANK. JUN. Good satins, sir.
GEO. The best in Europe, sir; here’s a piece worth a
piece every yard of him; the king of Naples wears no
better silk; mark his gloss, he dazzles the eye to look
upon him.
FRANK. JUN. Is he not gummed?[904]
GEO. Gummed! he has neither mouth nor tooth, how can he
be gummed?
FRANK. JUN. Very pretty.
W.-CAM.. An especial good piece of silk; the worm never
spun a finer thread, believe it, sir.
FRANK. JUN. Gascoyn, you have some skill in it.
W.-CAM.. Your tailor, sir?
FRANK. JUN. Yes, sir.
G. CRES. A good piece, sir; but let’s see more choice.
RAL. Tailor, drive thorough; you know your bribes.
G. CRES. Mum: he bestows forty pounds, if I say the
word.
RAL. Strike through; there’s poundage for you then.
FRANK. JUN. Ay, marry, I like this better.—What sayst
thou, Gascoyn?
G. CRES. A good piece indeed, sir.
GEO. The great Turk has worse satin at’s elbow than
this, sir.
FRANK. JUN. The price?
W.-CAM.. Look on the mark, George.
GEO. O, _Souse_ and _P_, by my facks, sir.
W.-CAM.. The best sort then; sixteen a yard, nothing to
be bated.
FRANK. JUN. Fie, sir, fifteen’s too high, yet so.—
How[905] many yards will serve for my suit, sirrah?
G. CRES. Nine yards, you can have no less, sir Andrew.
FRANK. JUN. But I can, sir, if you please to steal less;
I had but eight in my last suit.
G. CRES. You pinch us too near, in faith, sir Andrew.
FRANK. JUN. Yet can you pinch out a false pair of
sleeves to a friezado doublet.
GEO. No, sir; some purses and pin-pillows perhaps: a
tailor pays for his kissing that ways.
FRANK. JUN. Well, sir, eight yards; eight fifteens I
give, and cut it.
W.-CAM.. I cannot, truly, sir.
GEO. My master must be no subsidy-man, sir, if he take
such fifteens.
FRANK. JUN. I am at highest, sir, if you can take money.
W.-CAM.. Well, sir, I'll give you the buying once; I hope
to gain it in your custom: want you nothing else, sir?
FRANK. JUN. Not at this time, sir.
G. CRES. Indeed but you do, sir Andrew; I must needs
deliver my lady’s message to you, she enjoined me by
oath to do it; she commanded me to move you for a new
gown.
FRANK. JUN. Sirrah, I'll break your head, if you motion
it again.
G. CRES. I must endanger myself for my lady, sir: you
know she’s to go to my lady Trenchmore’s wedding; and to
be seen there without a new gown! she’ll have ne’er an
eye to be seen there, for her fingers in ’em: nay, by my
fack, sir, I do not think she’ll go; and then, the cause
known, what a discredit 'twill be to you!
FRANK. JUN. Not a word more, goodman snip-snapper, for
your ears.—What comes this to, sir?
W.-CAM.. Six pound, sir.
FRANK. JUN. There’s your money. [_Gives money._]—Will
you take this, and be gone and about your business
presently?
G. CRES. Troth, sir, I'll see some stuffs for my lady
first; I'll tell her, at least, I did my good will.—A
fair piece of cloth-of-silver, pray you, now.
GEO. Or cloth-of-gold, if you please, sir, as rich as
ever the Sophy wore.
FRANK. JUN. You are the arrantest villain of a tailor
that ever sat cross-legged; what do you think a gown of
this stuff will come to?
G. CRES. Why, say it be forty pound, sir, what’s that to
you? three thousand a-year I hope will maintain it.
FRANK. JUN. It will, sir; very good, you were best be my
overseer: say I be not furnished with money, how then?
G. CRES. A very fine excuse in you! which place of ten
now will you send me for a hundred pound, to bring it
presently?
W.-CAM.. Sir, sir, your tailor persuades you well; ’tis
for your credit and the great content of your lady.
FRANK. JUN. ’Tis for your content, sir, and my charges.—
Never think, goodman false-stitch, to come to the
mercer’s with me again: pray, will you see if my cousin
Sweetball the barber—he’s nearest hand—be furnished, and
bring me word instantly.
G. CRES. I fly, sir. [_Exit._
FRANK. JUN. You may fly, sir, you have clipt somebody’s
wings for it, to piece out your own; an arrant thief you
are!
W.-CAM.. Indeed he speaks honestly and justly, sir.
FRANK. JUN. You expect some gain, sir, there’s your
cause of love.
W.-CAM.. Surely I do a little, sir.
FRANK. JUN. And what might be the price of this?
W.-CAM.. This is thirty a yard; but if you’ll go to
forty, here’s a nonpareil.
FRANK. JUN. So, there’s a matter of forty pound for a
gown-cloth?
W.-CAM.. Thereabouts, sir: why, sir, there are far short
of your means that wear the like.
FRANK. JUN. Do you know my means, sir?
GEO. By overhearing your tailor, sir,—three thousand
a-year; but if you’d have a petticoat for your lady,
here’s a stuff.
FRANK. JUN. Are you another tailor, sirrah? here’s a
knave! what are you?
GEO. You are such another gentleman! but for the stuff,
sir, ’tis _L.SS._ and _K_, for the turn stript[906] a'
purpose; a yard and a quarter broad too, which is the
just depth of a woman’s petticoat.
FRANK. JUN. And why stript for a petticoat?
GEO. Because if they abuse their petticoats, there are
abuses stript; then ’tis taking them up, and they may be
stript and whipt too.[907]
FRANK. JUN. Very ingenious!
GEO. Then it is likewise stript standing, between which
is discovered the open part, which is now called the
placket.[908]
FRANK. JUN. Why, was it ever called otherwise?
GEO. Yes; while the word remained pure in his original,
the Latin tongue, who have no K's, it was called the
_placet_; _a placendo_, a thing or place to please.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM.

FRANK. JUN. Better and worse still.— Now, sir, you come
in haste; what says my cousin?
G. CRES. Protest, sir, he’s half angry, that either you
should think him unfurnished, or not furnished for your
use; there’s a hundred pound ready for you: he desires
you to pardon his coming; his folks are busy, and his
wife trimming a gentleman; but at your first approach
the money wants but telling.
FRANK. JUN. He would not trust you with it—I con him
thanks[909]—for that he knows what trade you are of.—
Well, sir, pray, cut him patterns; he may in the
meantime know my lady’s liking: let your man take the
pieces whole, with the lowest prices, and walk with me
to my cousin’s.
W.-CAM.. With all my heart, sir.—Ralph, your cloak, and
go with the gentleman: look you give good measure.
G. CRES. Look you carry a good yard with you.
RAL. The best i' the shop, sir; yet we have none bad.—
You’ll have the stuff for the petticoat too?
FRANK. JUN. No, sir, the gown only.
G. CRES. By all means, sir: not the petticoat? that were
holy-day upon working-day, i’faith.
FRANK. JUN. You are so forward for a knave,[910] sir!
G. CRES. ’Tis for your credit and my lady’s both I do
it, sir.
FRANK. JUN. Your man is trusty, sir?
W.-CAM.. O sir, we keep none but those we dare trust,
sir.—Ralph, have a care of light gold.
RAL. I warrant you, sir, I'll take none.
FRANK. JUN. Come, sirrah.—Fare you well, sir.
W.-CAM.. Pray, know my shop another time, sir.
FRANK. JUN. That I shall, sir, from all the shops i' the
town; ’tis the Lamb in Lombard Street.
[_Exent_ FRANKLIN _jun._, G. CRESSINGHAM,
_and_ RALPH _carrying the stuffs and a
yard-measure_.
GEO. A good morning’s work, sir; if this custom would
but last long, you might shut up your shop and live
privately.
W.-CAM.. O George, but here’s a grief that takes away all
the gains and joy of all my thrift.
GEO. What’s that, sir?
W.-CAM.. Thy mistress, George; her frowardness sours all
my comfort.
GEO. Alas, sir, they are but squibs and crackers,
they’ll soon die; you know her flashes of old.
W.-CAM.. But they fly so near me, that they burn me,
George;
They are as ill as muskets charg’d with bullets.
GEO. She has discharged herself now, sir; you need not
fear her.
W.-CAM.. No man can love without his affliction, George.
GEO. As you cannot without my mistress.
W.-CAM.. Right, right;[911] there’s harmony in discords:
this lamp of love, while any oil is left, can never be
extinct; it may, like a snuff, wink and seem to die, but
up he will again and shew his head: I cannot be quiet,
George, without my wife at home.
GEO. And when she’s at home you’re never quiet, I'm
sure; a fine life you have on’t! Well, sir, I'll do my
best to find her, and bring her back, if I can.
W.-CAM.. Do, honest George; at Knavesby’s house, that
varlet’s—
There is her haunt and harbour—who enforces
A kinsman on her, and [she] calls him cousin.
Restore her, George, to ease this heart that’s vext,
The best new suit that e’er thou wor’st is next.
GEO. I thank you aforehand, sir. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A room in_ SWEETBALL’S _house_.

_Enter_ FRANKLIN _jun. and_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM
_disguised as before_, RALPH _carrying the stuffs and
a yard-measure_, SWEETBALL, _and Boy_.

SWEET. Were it of greater moment than you speak of,
noble sir, I hope you think me sufficient, and it shall
be effectually performed.
FRANK. JUN. I could wish your wife did not know it, coz;
women’s tongues are not always tuneable; I may many ways
requite it.
SWEET. Believe me, she shall not, sir; which will be the
hardest thing of all.
FRANK. JUN. Pray you, despatch him then.
SWEET. With the celerity a man tells gold to him.
FRANK. JUN. He hits a good comparison. [_Aside._]—Give
my waste-good your stuffs, and go with my cousin, sir;
he’ll presently despatch you.
RAL. Yes, sir. [_Gives stuffs to_ G. CRESSINGHAM.
SWEET. Come with me, youth, I am ready for you in my
more private chamber.
[_Exeunt._ SWEETBALL _and_ RALPH.
FRANK. JUN. Sirrah, go you shew your lady the stuffs,
and let her choose her colour; away, you know whither.—
Boy, prithee, lend me a brush i' the meantime.—Do you
tarry all day now?
G. CRES. That I will, sir, and all night too, ere I come
again. [_Exit with the stuffs._
BOY. Here’s a brush, sir. [_Gives brush._
FRANK. JUN. A good child.
SWEET. [_within_] What, Toby!
BOY. Anon, sir.
SWEET. [_within_] Why, when,[912] goodman picklock?
BOY. I must attend my master, sir.—I come.
FRANK. JUN. Do, pretty lad. [_Exit Boy._]—So, take water
at Cole-Harbour:[913]
An easy mercer, and an innocent[914] barber!
[_Exit with the brush._

SCENE IV.

_Another room in_ SWEETBALL’S _house_.

_Enter_ SWEETBALL, RALPH, _and Boy_.

SWEET. So, friend; I'll now despatch you presently.—
Boy, reach me my dismembering instrument, and let my
cauterizer[915] be ready; and, hark you, snip-snap——
BOY. Ay, sir.
SWEET. See if my _luxinium_,[916] my fomentation, be
provided first; and get my rollers, bolsters,[917] and
pledgets armed. [_Exit Boy._
RAL. Nay, good sir, despatch my business first; I should
not stay from my shop.
SWEET. You must have a little patience, sir, when you
are a patient: if _præputium_ be not too much perished,
you shall lose but little by it, believe my art for
that.
RAL. What’s that, sir?
SWEET. Marry, if there be exulceration between
_præputium_ and _glans_, by my faith, the whole _penis_
may be endangered as far as _os pubis_.
RAL. What’s this you talk on, sir?
SWEET. If they be gangrened once, _testiculi_, _vesica_,
and all may run to mortification.
RAL. What a pox does this barber talk on?
SWEET. O fie, youth! _pox_ is no word of art; _morbus
Gallicus_, or _Neapolitanus_, had been well: come,
friend, you must not be nice; open your griefs freely to
me.
RAL. Why, sir, I open my grief to you, I want my money.
SWEET. Take you no care for that; your worthy cousin has
given me part in hand, and the rest I know he will upon
your recovery, and I dare take his word.
RAL. ’Sdeath, where’s my ware?
SWEET. Ware! that was well; the word is cleanly, though
not artful; your ware it is that I must see.
RAL. My tabine[918] and cloth-of-tissue!
SWEET. You will neither have tissue nor issue, if you
linger in your malady; better a member cut off than
endanger the whole microcosm.
RAL. Barber, you are not mad?
SWEET. I do begin to fear you are subject to
_subeth_,[919] unkindly sleeps, which have bred
oppilations in your brain; take heed, the _symptoma_
will follow, and this may come to frenzy: begin with the
first cause, which is the pain of your member.
RAL. Do you see my yard, barber?
[_Holding up yard-measure._
SWEET. Now you come to the purpose; ’tis that I must see
indeed.
RAL. You shall feel it, sir: death, give me my fifty
pounds or my ware again, or I'll measure out your
anatomy by the yard!
SWEET. Boy, my cauterizing iron red hot!

_Re-enter Boy with the iron._

BOY. ’Tis here, sir.
SWEET. If you go further, I take my dismembering knife.
RAL. Where’s the knight, your cousin? the thief and the
tailor, with my cloth-of-gold and tissue?
BOY. The gentleman that sent away his man with the
stuffs is gone a pretty while since; he has carried away
our new brush.
SWEET. O that brush hurts my heart’s side! Cheated,
cheated! he told me that your _virga_ had a burning
fever.
RAL. Pox on your _virga_, barber!
SWEET. And that you would be bashful, and ashamed to
shew your head.
RAL. I shall so hereafter; but here it is, you see, yet,
my head, my hair, and my wit; and here are my heels that
I must shew to my master, if the cheaters be not found:
and, barber, provide thee plasters, I will break thy
head with every basin under the pole. [_Exit._
SWEET. Cool the _luxinium_,[920] and quench the
cauterizer;
I'm partly out of my wits, and partly mad;
My razor’s at my heart: these storms will make
My sweet-balls stink, my harmless basins shake.
[_Exeunt._