Chapter XLIV: Act III

SCENE I.--_A room in the Windmill Tavern._ WELL-BRED, BOBADILL,
MATTHEW. _Enter_ YOUNG KNOWELL _with_ STEPHEN.

WELL-BRED: Ned Knowell! By my soul, welcome!
(_Lower_) Sirrah, there be the two I writ of. But what
strange piece of silence is this? The sign of the Dumb
Man?

KNOWELL: Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine; he has his
humour, sir.

STEPHEN: My name is Master Stephen, sir; I am
this gentleman's own cousin, sir; I am somewhat melancholy,
but you shall command me.

MATTHEW: Oh, it's your only fine humour, sir. Your
true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit. I am melancholy
myself, divers times, and then I do no more but
take pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a
score or a dozen of fine sonnets at a sitting.

WELL-BRED: Captain Bobadill, why muse you so?

KNOWELL: He is melancholy, too.

BOBADILL: Why, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable
piece of service was performed at the beleaguering
of Strigonium; the first but the best leaguer that ever
I beheld with these eyes. Look you, sir, by St. George,
I was the first man that entered the breach; and had I
not effected it with resolution, I had been slain if I had
had a million of lives. Observe me judicially, sweet sir.
They had planted me three demiculvirins just in the
mouth of the breach, but I, with these single arms, my
poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors, and put 'em
pell-mell to the sword.

[_Enter_ BRAIN-WORM, _who discloses himself apart, to_
KNOWELL _and_ Well-Bred, _and reports that_ OLD
KNOWELL _is awaiting his return at_ JUSTICE
CLEMENT'S _house. Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_At_ KITELY'S. KITELY _has gone to_ JUSTICE CLEMENT'S;
_very anxious about his wife and sister, he has ordered_
CASH _to send him a messenger if_ WELL-BRED _comes home
with any of his boon-companions. Enter to_ CASH,
WELL-BRED, _with the party as in the last scene_.

WELL-BRED: Whither went your master, Thomas,
canst thou tell?

CASH: I know not; to Justice Clement's, I think, sir.

[_Exit._

KNOWELL: Justice Clement! What's he?

WELL-BRED: Why, dost thou not know him? He is a
city magistrate, a justice here, an excellent good lawyer
and a great scholar; but the only mad merry old fellow
in Europe. [_Enter_ CASH.

BOBADILL: Master Kitely's man, pray thee vouchsafe
us the lighting of this match. (CASH _takes match, and
exits_) 'Tis your right, Trinidado. Did you never take
any, Master Stephen?

STEPHEN: No, truly, sir, but I'll learn to take it now,
since you commend it so.

BOBADILL: Sir, I have been in the Indies where this
herb grows; where neither myself nor a dozen gentlemen
more of my knowledge have received the taste of any
other nutriment in the world for the space of one and
twenty weeks, but the fume of this simple only. By Hercules,
I do hold it, and will affirm it, before any prince in
Europe, to be the most sovereign and precious weed that
ever the earth tendered to the use of man.

[COB _has entered meanwhile_.

COB: Mack, I marvel what pleasure they have in taking
this roguish tobacco. It's good for nothing but to
choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers.
And there were no wiser men than I, I'd have it present
whipping, man or woman, that should but deal with a
tobacco pipe.

[BOBADILL _cudgels him. Enter_ CASH, _who drags off the
lamenting_ COB. _While the rest are conversing_,
MATTHEW _and_ BOBADILL _slip out_.

WELL-BRED: Soft, where's Master Matthew? Gone?

BRAIN-WORM: No, sir, they went in here.

WELL-BRED: Oh, let's follow them. Master Matthew
is gone to salute his mistress in verse. We shall have the
happiness to hear some of his poetry now. He never
comes impoverished. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--JUSTICE CLEMENT'S. COB _finds_ KITELY _and reports the
arrival of_ WELL-BRED'S _party_. KITELY _hurries home
in a panic. Enter_ CLEMENT _with_ OLD KNOWELL _and_ FORMAL.

CLEMENT (_to_ COB): How now, sirrah? What make
you here?

COB: A poor neighbour of your worship, come to
crave the peace of your worship; a warrant for one that
has wronged me, sir; an I die within a twelvemonth and
a day, I may swear by the law of the land that he killed
me.

CLEMENT: How, knave? What colour hast thou for
that?

COB: Both black and blue, an't please your worship;
colour enough, I warrant you. [_Baring his arm_.

CLEMENT: How began the quarrel between you?

COB: Marry indeed, an't please your worship, only
because I spake against their vagrant tobacco; for nothing
else.

CLEMENT: Ha! You speak against tobacco. Your
name?

COB: Cob, sir, Oliver Cob.

CLEMENT: Then, Oliver Cob, you shall go to jail.

COB: Oh, I beseech your worship, for heaven's sake,
dear master justice!

CLEMENT: He shall not go; I did but fear the knave.
Formal, give him his warrant. (_Exeunt_ FORMAL _and_
COB) How now, Master Knowell, in dumps? Your
cares are nothing. What! Your son is old enough to
govern himself; let him run his course.