A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX - Various
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PHILOMUSUS.
What caren they what fame their ashes have,
When once they're coop'd up in the silent grave?
STUDIOSO.
If for fair fame they hope not when they die.
Yet let them fear grave's staining infamy.
PHILOMUSUS.
Their spendthrift heirs will those firebrands quench,
Swaggering full moistly on a tavern's bench.
STUDIOSO.
No shamed sire, for all his glosing heir,
Must long be talk'd of in the empty air.
Believe me, thou that art my second self,
My vexed soul is not disquieted,
For that I miss is gaudy-painted state,
Whereat my fortunes fairly aim'd of late:
For what am I, the mean'st of many mo,
That, earning profit, are repaid with woe.
But this it is that doth my soul torment:
To think so many activable wits,
That might contend with proudest bards[127] of Po,
Sit now immur'd within their private cells,
Drinking a long lank watching candle's smoke,
Spending the marrow of their flow'ring age
In fruitless poring on some worm-eat leaf:
When their deserts shall seem of due to claim
A cheerful crop of fruitful swelling sheaf;
Cockle their harvest is, and weeds their grain,
Contempt their portion, their possession, pain.
Scholars must frame to live at a low sail.
PHILOMUSUS.
Ill-sailing, where there blows no happy gale!
STUDIOSO.
Our ship is ruin'd, all her tackling rent.
PHILOMUSUS.
And all her gaudy furniture is spent.
STUDIOSO.
Tears be the waves whereon her ruins bide.
PHILOMUSUS.
And sighs the winds that waste her broken side.
STUDIOSO.
Mischief the pilot is the ship to steer.
PHILOMUSUS.
And woe the passenger this ship doth bear.
STUDIOSO.
Come, Philomusus, let us break this chat.
PHILOMUSUS.
And break, my heart! O, would I could break that!
STUDIOSO.
Let's learn to act that tragic part we have.
PHILOMUSUS.
Would I were silent actor in my grave!
ACTUS V., SCAENA 1.
PHILOMUSUS _and_ STUDIOSO _become fiddlers: with their concert_.
PHILOMUSUS.
And tune, fellow-fiddlers; Studioso and I are ready.
[_They tune_.
STUDIOSO, _going aside, sayeth_,
Fair fell good Orpheus, that would rather be
King of a molehill than a keisar's slave:
Better it is 'mongst fiddlers to be chief,
Than at [a] player's trencher beg relief.
But is't not strange, this mimic ape should prize
Unhappy scholars at a hireling rate?
Vile world, that lifts them up to high degree,
And treads us down in groveling misery.
England affords those glorious vagabonds,
That carried erst their fardles on their backs,
Coursers to ride on through the gazing streets,
Sweeping[128] it in their glaring satin suits,
And pages to attend their masterships:
With mouthing words that better wits have framed,
They purchase lands, and now esquires are made.[129]
PHILOMUSUS.
Whate'er they seem, being ev'n at the best,
They are but sporting fortune's scornful jest.
STUDIOSO.
So merry fortune's wont from rags to take
Some ragged groom, and him a[130] gallant make.
PHILOMUSUS.
The world and fortune hath play'd on us too long.
STUDIOSO.
Now to the world we fiddle must a song.
PHILOMUSUS.
Our life is a plain-song with cunning penn'd,
Whose highest pitch in lowest base doth end.
But see, our fellows unto play are bent;
If not our minds, let's tune our instrument.
STUDIOSO.
Let's in a private song our cunning try,
Before we sing to stranger company.
[PHILOMUSUS _sings. They tune_.
How can he sing, whose voice is hoarse with care?
How can he play, whose heart-strings broken are?
How can he keep his rest, that ne'er found rest?
How can he keep his time, whom time ne'er bless'd?
Only he can in sorrow bear a part
With untaught hand and with untuned heart.
Fond hearts, farewell, that swallow'd have my youth;
Adieu, vain muses, that have wrought my ruth;
Repent, fond sire, that train'dst thy hapless son
In learning's lore, since bounteous alms are done.
Cease, cease, harsh tongue: untuned music, rest;
Entomb thy sorrows in thy hollow breast.
STUDIOSO.
Thanks, Philomusus, for thy pleasant song.
O, had this world a touch of juster grief,
Hard rocks would weep for want of our relief.
PHILOMUSUS.
The cold of woe hath quite untun'd my voice,
And made it too-too hard for list'ning ear:
Time was, in time of my young fortune's spring,
I was a gamesome boy, and learn'd to sing--
But say, fellow-musicians, you know best whither we go: at what door
must we imperiously beg?
JACK FIDDLERS.
Here dwells Sir Raderic and his son. It may be now at this good time of
new year he will be liberal. Let us stand near, and draw.
PHILOMUSUS.
Draw, callest thou it? Indeed, it is the most desperate kind of service
that ever I adventured on.
ACTUS V., SCAENA 2.
_Enter the two_ PAGES.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
My master bids me tell you that he is but newly fallen asleep, and you,
base slaves, must come and disquiet them! What, never a basket of
capons? mass, and if he comes, he'll commit you all.
AMORETTO'S PAGE.
Sirrah Jack, shall you and I play Sir Raderic and Amoretto, and reward
these fiddlers? I'll my Master Amoretto, and give them as much as he
useth.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
And I my old Master Sir Raderic. Fiddlers, play. I'll reward you; faith,
I will.
AMORETTO'S PAGE.
Good faith, this pleaseth my sweet mistress admirably. Cannot you play
_Twitty, twatty, fool_? or, _To be at her, to be at her_?
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
Have you never a song of Master Dowland's making?
AMORETTO'S PAGE.
Or, _Hos ego versiculos feci_, &c. A pox on it! my Master Amoretto
useth it very often: I have forgotten the verse.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
Sir Theon,[131] here are a couple of fellows brought before me, and I
know not how to decide the cause: look in my Christmas-book, who brought
me a present.
AMORETTO'S PAGE.
On New-Year's day, goodman Fool brought you a present; but goodman Clown
brought you none.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
Then the right is on goodman Fool's side.
AMORETTO'S PAGE.
My mistress is so sweet, that all the physicians in the town cannot make
her stink; she never goes to the stool. O, she is a most sweet little
monkey. Please your worship, good father, yonder are some would speak
with you.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
What, have they brought me anything? If they have not, say I take
physic. [SIR RADERIC'S _voice within_.] Forasmuch, fiddlers, as I am of
the peace, I must needs love all weapons and instruments that are for
the peace, among which I account your fiddles, because they can neither
bite nor scratch. Marry, now, finding your fiddles to jar, and knowing
that jarring is a cause of breaking the peace, I am, by the virtue of
my office and place, to commit your quarrelling fiddles to close
prisonment in their cases. [_The fiddlers call within_.] Sha ho!
Richard! Jack!
AMORETTO'S PAGE.
The fool within mars our play without. Fiddlers, set it on my head. I
use to size my music, or go on the score for it: I'll pay it at the
quarter's end.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
Farewell, good Pan! sweet Thamyras,[132] adieu! Dan Orpheus, a thousand
times farewell!
JACK FIDDLERS.
You swore you would pay us for our music.
SIR RADERIC'S PAGE.
For that I'll give Master Recorder's law, and that is this: there is a
double oath--a formal oath and a material oath; a material oath cannot
be broken, the formal oath may be broken. I swore formally. Farewell,
fiddlers.
PHILOMUSUS.
Farewell, good wags, whose wits praiseworth I deem,
Though somewhat waggish; so we all have been.
STUDIOSO.
Faith, fellow-fiddlers, here's no silver found in this place; no, not so
much as the usual Christmas entertainment of musicians, a black jack of
beer and a Christmas pie.
[_They walk aside from their fellows_.
PHILOMUSUS.
Where'er we in the wide world playing be,
Misfortune bears a part, and mars our melody;
Impossible to please with music's strain,
Our heart-strings broke are, ne'er to be tun'd again.
STUDIOSO.
Then let us leave this baser fiddling trade;
For though our purse should mend, our credits fade.
PHILOMUSUS.
Full glad am I to see thy mind's free course.
Declining from this trencher-waiting trade.
Well, may I now disclose in plainer guise
What erst I meant to work in secret wise;
My busy conscience check'd my guilty soul,
For seeking maintenance by base vassalage;
And then suggested to my searching thought
A shepherd's poor, secure, contented life,
On which since then I doated every hour,
And meant this same hour in [a] sadder plight,
To have stol'n from thee in secrecy of night.
STUDIOSO.
Dear friend, thou seem'st to wrong my soul too much,
Thinking that Studioso would account
That fortune sour which thou accountest sweet;
Not[133] any life to me can sweeter be,
Than happy swains in plain of Arcady.
PHILOMUSUS.
Why, then, let's both go spend our little store
In the provision of due furniture,
A shepherd's hook, a tar-box, and a scrip:
And haste unto those sheep-adorned hills,
Where if not bless our fortunes, we may bless our wills.
STUDIOSO.
True mirth we may enjoy in thacked stall,
Nor hoping higher rise, nor fearing lower fall.
PHILOMUSUS.
We'll therefore discharge these fiddlers. Fellow-musicians, we are sorry
that it hath been your ill-hap to have had us in your company, that are
nothing but screech-owls and night-ravens, able to mar the purest
melody: and, besides, our company is so ominous that, where we are,
thence liberality is packing. Our resolution is therefore to wish you
well, and to bid you farewell. Come, Studioso, let us haste away,
Returning ne'er to this accursed place.
ACTUS V., SCAENA 3.
_Enter_ INGENIOSO, ACADEMICO.
INGENIOSO.
Faith, Academico, it's the fear of that fellow--I mean, the sign of the
sergeant's head--that makes me to be so hasty to be gone. To be brief,
Academico, writs are out for me to apprehend me for my plays; and now I
am bound for the Isle of Dogs. Furor and Phantasma comes after, removing
the camp as fast they can. Farewell, _mea si quid vota valebunt_.
ACADEMICO.
Faith, Ingenioso, I think the university is a melancholic life; for
there a good fellow cannot sit two hours in his chamber, but he shall be
troubled with the bill of a drawer or a vintner. But the point is, I
know not how to better myself, and so I am fain to take it.
ACTUS V., SCAENA 4.
PHILOMUSUS, STUDIOSO, FUROR, PHANTASMA.
PHILOMUSUS.
Who have we there? Ingenioso and Academico?
STUDIOSO.
The very same; who are those? Furor and Phantasma?
[FUROR _takes a louse off his sleeve_.
FUROR.
And art thou there, six-footed Mercury?
[PHANTASMA, _with his hand in his bosom_.
Are rhymes become such creepers nowadays?
Presumptuous louse, that doth good manners lack,
Daring to creep upon poet Furor's back!
_Multum refert quibuscum vixeris:
Non videmus manticae quod in tergo est_.
PHILOMUSUS.
What, Furor and Phantasma too, our old college fellows? Let us encounter
them all. Ingenioso, Academico, Furor, Phantasma, God save you all.
STUDIOSO.
What, Ingenioso, Academico, Furor, Phantasma, how do you, brave lads?
INGENIOSO.
What, our dear friends Philomusus and Studioso?
ACADEMICO.
What, our old friends Philomusus and Studioso?
FUROR.
What, my supernatural friends?
INGENIOSO.
What news with you in this quarter of the city?
PHILOMUSUS.
We've run[134] through many trades, yet thrive by none,
Poor in content, and only rich in moan.
A shepherd's life, thou know'st I wont t'admire,
Turning a Cambridge apple by the fire:
To live in humble dale we now are bent,
Spending our days in fearless merriment.
STUDIOSO.
We'll teach each tree, ev'n of the hardest kind,
To keep our woful name within their rind:
We'll watch our flock, and yet we'll sleep withal:
We'll tune our sorrows to the water's fall.
The woods and rocks with our shrill songs we'll bless;
Let them prove kind, since men prove pitiless.
But say, whither are you and your company jogging? it seems by your
apparel you are about to wander.
INGENIOSO.
Faith we are fully bent to be lords of misrule in the world's wide
heath: our voyage is to the Isle of Dogs, there where the blatant beast
doth rule and reign, renting the credit of whom it please.
Where serpents' tongues the penmen are to write,
Where cats do wawl by day, dogs by night.
There shall engorged venom be my ink,
My pen a sharper quill of porcupine,
My stained paper this sin-loaden earth.
There will I write in lines shall never die,
Our seared lordings' crying villany.
PHILOMUSUS.
A gentle wit thou hadst, nor is it blame
To turn so tart, for time hath wrong'd the same.
STUDIOSO.
And well thou dost from this fond earth to flit,
Where most men's pens are hired parasites.
ACADEMICO.
Go happily; I wish thee store of gall
Sharply to wound the guilty world withal.
PHILOMUSUS.
But say, what shall become of Furor and Phantasma?
INGENIOSO.
These my companions still with me must wend.
ACADEMICO.
Fury and Fancy on good wits attend.
FUROR.
When I arrive within the Isle of Dogs,
Dan Phoebus, I will make thee kiss the pump.
Thy one eye pries in every draper's stall,
Yet never thinks on poet Furor's need.
Furor is lousy, great Furor lousy is;
I'll make thee rue[135] this lousy case, i-wis.
And thou, my sluttish[136] laundress, Cynthia,
Ne'er think'st on Furor's linen, Furor's shirt.
Thou and thy squirting boy Endymion
Lies slav'ring still upon a lawless couch.
Furor will have thee carted through the dirt,
That mak'st great poet Furor want his shirt.
INGENIOSO.
Is not here a trusty[137] dog, that dare bark so boldly at the moon?
PHILOMUSUS.
Exclaiming want, and needy care and cark,
Would make the mildest sprite to bite and bark.
PHANTASMA.
_Canes timidi vehementius latrant_. There are certain burrs in the Isle
of Dogs called, in our English tongue, men of worship; certain briars,
as the Indians call them; as we say, certain lawyers; certain great
lumps of earth, as the Arabians call them; certain grocers, as we term
them. _Quos ego--sed motos praestat componere fluctus_.
INGENIOSO.
We three unto the snarling island haste,
And there our vexed breath in snarling waste.
PHILOMUSUS.
We will be gone unto the downs of Kent,
Sure footing we shall find in humble dale;
Our fleecy flock we'll learn to watch and ward,
In July's heat, and cold of January.
We'll chant our woes upon an oaten reed,
Whiles bleating flock upon their supper feed.
STUDIOSO.
So shall we shun the company of men,
That grows more hateful, as the world grows old.
We'll teach the murm'ring brooks in tears to flow,
And steepy rock to wail our passed woe.
ACADEMICO.
Adieu, you gentle spirits, long adieu;
Your wits I love, and your ill-fortunes rue.
I'll haste me to my Cambridge cell again;
My fortunes cannot wax, but they may wain.
INGENIOSO.
Adieu, good shepherds; happy may you live.
And if hereafter in some secret shade
You shall recount poor scholars' miseries,
Vouchsafe to mention with tear-swelling eyes
Ingenioso's thwarting destinies.
And thou, still happy Academico,
That still may'st rest upon the muses' bed,
Enjoying there a quiet slumbering,
When thou repair'st[138] unto thy Granta's stream,
Wonder at thine own bliss, pity our case,
That still doth tread ill-fortune's endless maze;
Wish them, that are preferment's almoners,
To cherish gentle wits in their green bud;
For had not Cambridge been to me unkind,
I had not turn'd to gall a milky mind.
PHILOMUSUS.
I wish thee of good hap a plenteous store;
Thy wit deserves no less, my love can wish no more.
Farewell, farewell, good Academico;
Ne'er may'st thou taste of our fore-passed woe.
We wish thy fortunes may attain their due.--
Furor and you, Phantasma, both adieu,
ACADEMICO.
Farewell, farewell, farewell; O, long farewell!
The rest my tongue conceals, let sorrow tell.
PHANTASMA.
_Et longum vale, inquit Iola_.
FUROR.
Farewell, my masters; Furor's a masty dog,
Nor can with a smooth glosing farewell cog.
Nought can great Furor do but bark and howl,
And snarl, and grin, and carl, and touse the world,
Like a great swine, by his long, lean-ear'd lugs.
Farewell, musty, dusty, rusty, fusty London;
Thou art not worthy of great Furor's wit,
That cheatest virtue of her due desert,
And suffer'st great Apollo's son to want.
INGENIOSO.
Nay, stay awhile, and help me to content
So many gentle wits' attention,
Who ken the laws of every comic stage,
And wonder that our scene ends discontent.
Ye airy wits subtle,
Since that few scholars' fortunes are content,
Wonder not if our scene ends discontent.
When that your fortunes reach their due content,
Then shall our scene end here in merriment.
PHILOMUSUS.
Perhaps some happy wit with seely[139] hand
Hereafter may record the pastoral
Of the two scholars of Parnassus hill,
And then our scene may end, and have content.
INGENIOSO.
Meantime, if there be any spiteful ghost,
That smiles to see poor scholars' miseries,
Cold is his charity, his wit too dull:
We scorn his censure, he's a jeering gull.
But whatsoe'er refined sprites there be,
That deeply groan at our calamity:
Whose breath is turn'd to sighs, whose eyes are wet,
To see bright arts bent to their latest set;
Whence never they again their heads shall rear,
To bless our art-disgracing hemisphere,
Let them. |
|
FUROR. |
Let them. | all give us a plaudite.
|
PHANTASMA. |
Let them.
ACADEMICO. |
And none but them. |
|
PHILOMUSUS. | give us a plaudite.
And none but them. |
|
STUDIOSO. |
And none but them. |
FINIS.
WILY BEGUILED.
_EDITION.
A Pleasant Comedie, called Wily Begvilde. The Chiefe Actors be these:
A poore scholler, a rich Foole, and a Knaue at a shifte. At London,
Printed by H.L. for Clement Knight, and are to be solde at his Shop,
in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Holy Lambe_. 1606. 4to.
[There were later editions in 1623, 1635, and 1638, all in 4to. That of
1606 is the most correct.
Hawkins, who included this piece in his collection, observes: "_Wily
Beguiled_ is a regular and very pleasing Comedy; and if it were
judiciously adapted to the manners of the times, would make no
contemptible appearance on the modern stage."]
SPECTRUM, THE PROLOGUE.
What, ho! where are these paltry players? still poring in their papers,
and never perfect? For shame, come forth; your audience stay so long,
their eyes wax dim with expectation.
_Enter one of the_ PLAYERS.
How now, my honest rogue? What play shall we have here to-night?
PLAYER.
Sir, you may look upon the title.
PROLOGUE.
What, _Spectrum_ once again? Why, noble Cerberus, nothing but patch-panel
stuff, old gallymawfries, and cotton-candle eloquence? Out, you bawling
bandog! fox-furred slave! you dried stock-fish, you, out of my sight!
[_Exit the_ PLAYER.
Well, 'tis no matter! I'll sit me down and see it; and, for fault of a
better, I'll supply the place of a scurvy prologue.
Spectrum is a looking-glass, indeed,
Wherein a man a history may read
Of base conceits and damned roguery:
The very sink of hell-bred villany.
_Enter a_ JUGGLER.
JUGGLER.
Why, how now, humorous George? What, as melancholy as a mantle-tree?
Will you see any tricks of legerdemain, sleight of hand, cleanly
conveyance, or _deceptio visus_? What will you see, gentleman, to drive
you out of these dumps.
PROLOGUE.
Out, you soused gurnet, you woolfist! Begone, I say, and bid the players
despatch, and come away quickly; and tell their fiery poet that, before
I have done with him I'll make him do penance upon a stage in a calf's
skin.
JUGGLER.
O Lord, sir, ye are deceived in me, I am no tale-carrier; I am a
juggler. I have the superficial skill of all the seven liberal sciences
at my fingers' end. I'll show you a trick of the twelves, and turn him
over the thumbs with a trice; I'll make him fly swifter than meditation.
I'll show you as many toys as there be minutes in a month, and as many
tricks as there be motes in the sun.
PROLOGUE.
Prythee, what tricks canst thou do?
JUGGLER.
Marry, sir, I will show you a trick of cleanly conveyance--_Hei, fortuna
furim nunquam credo_--with a cast of clean conveyance. Come aloft, Jack,
for thy master's advantage. He's gone, I warrant ye.
[SPECTRUM _is conveyed away, and_ WILY BEGUILED
_stands in the place of it_.
PROLOGUE.
Mass, and 'tis well done! Now I see thou canst do something. Hold thee;
there is twelvepence for thy labour.
Go to that barm-froth poet, and to him say,
He quite hath lost the title of his play;
His calf-skin jests from hence are clean exil'd.
Thus once you see, that Wily is beguil'd.
[_Exit the_ JUGGLER.
Now, kind spectators, I dare boldly say,
You all are welcome to our author's play:
Be still awhile, and, ere we go,
We'll make your eyes with laughter flow.
Let Momus' mates judge how they list.
We fear not what they babble;
Nor any paltry poet's pen
Amongst that rascal rabble.
But time forbids me further speech,
My tongue must stop her race;
My time is come, I must be dumb,
And give the actors place.
[_Exit_.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
GRIPE, _an Usurer_.
PLOD-ALL, _a Farmer_.
SOPHOS, _a Scholar_.
CHURMS, _a Lawyer_.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
FORTUNATUS, _Gripe's son_.
LELIA, _Gripe's daughter_.
_Nurse_.
PETER PLOD-ALL, _Plod-all's son_.
PEG, _Nurse's daughter_.
WILL CRICKET.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
_An Old Man_.
SYLVANUS.
_Clerk_.
WILY BEGUILED.[140]
_Enter_ GRIPE, _solus_.
A heavy purse makes a light heart. O, the consideration of this pouch,
this pouch! Why, he that has money has heart's ease, and the world in a
string. O, this rich chink and silver coin! it is the consolation of the
world. I can sit at home quietly in my chair, and send out my angels by
sea and by land, and bid--_Fly, villains, and fetch in ten in the
hundred_. Ay, and a better penny too. Let me see: I have but two
children in all the world to bestow my goods upon--Fortunatus, my son,
and Lelia, my daughter. For my son, he follows the wars, and that which
he gets with swaggering he spends in swaggering. But I'll curb him; his
allowance, whilst I live, shall be small, and so he shall be sure not to
spend much: and if I die, I will leave him a portion that, if he will be
a good husband, and follow his father's steps, shall maintain him like a
gentleman, and if he will not, let him follow his own humour till he be
weary of it, and so let him go. Now for my daughter, she is my only joy,
and the staff of my age; and I have bestowed good bringing-up upon her,
by'r Lady. Why, she is e'en modesty itself; it does me good to look on
her. Now, if I can hearken out some wealthy marriage for her, I have my
only desire. Mass, and well-remembered: here's my neighbour Plod-all
hard by has but one only son; and let me see--I take it, his lands are
better than five thousand pounds. Now, if I can make a match between his
son and my daughter, and so join his land and my money together--O,
'twill be a blessed union. Well, I'll in, and get a scrivener: I'll
write to him about it presently. But stay, here comes Master Churms the
lawyer; I'll desire him to do so much.
_Enter_ CHURMS.
CHURMS.
Good morrow, Master Gripe.
GRIPE.
O, good morrow, Master Churms. What say my two debtors, that I lent two
hundred pound to? Will they not pay use and charges of suit?
CHURMS.
Faith, sir, I doubt they are bankrouts: I would you had your principal.
GRIPE.
Nay, I'll have all, or I'll imprison their bodies. But, Master Churms,
there is a matter I would fain have you do; but you must be very secret.
CHURMS.
O sir, fear not that; I'll warrant you.
GRIPE.
Why then, this it is: my neighbour Plod-all here by, you know, is a man
of very fair land, and he has but one son, upon whom he means to bestow
all that he has. Now I would make a match between my daughter Lelia and
him. What think you of it?
CHURMS.
Marry, I think 'twould be a good match. But the young man has had very
simple bringing-up.
GRIPE.
Tush! what care I for that? so he have lands and living enough, my
daughter has bringing up will serve them both. Now I would have you to
write me a letter to goodman Plod-all concerning this matter, and I'll
please you for your pains.
CHURMS.
I'll warrant you, sir; I'll do it artificially.
GRIPE.
Do, good Master Churms; but be very secret. I have some business this
morning, and therefore I'll leave you a while; and if you will come to
dinner to me anon, you shall be very heartily welcome.
CHURMS.
Thanks, good sir; I'll trouble you. [_Exit_ GRIPE.] Now 'twere a good
jest, if I could cosen the old churl of his daughter, and get the wench
for myself. Zounds, I am as proper a man as Peter Plod-all: and though
his father be as good a man as mine, yet far-fetched and dear-bought is
good for ladies; and, I am sure, I have been as far as Cales[141] to
fetch that I have. I have been at Cambridge, a scholar; at Cales, a
soldier; and now in the country a lawyer; and the next degree shall be a
coneycatcher: for I'll go near to cosen old father share-penny[142] of
his daughter; I'll cast about, I'll warrant him: I'll go dine with him,
and write him his letter; and then I'll go seek out my kind companion
Robin Goodfellow: and, betwixt us, we'll make her yield to anything.
We'll ha' the common law o' the one hand, and the civil law o' the
other: we'll toss Lelia like a tennis-ball. [_Exit_.