A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX - Various
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SOM. There rest thyself, and let thy quiet sleep
Restore thy weak imaginations.
SCAENA DUODECIMA.
LINGUA, SOMNUS, VISUS.
LIN. Ha, ha, ha! O, how my spleen is tickled with this sport
The madding Senses make about the woods!
It cheers my soul, and makes my body fat,
To laugh at their mischances: ha, ha, ha, ha!
Heigho, the stitch hath caught me: O, my heart!
Would I had one to hold my sides awhile,
That I might laugh afresh: O, how they run,
And chafe, and swear, and threaten one another!
[SOMNUS _binds her_.
Ay me, out, alas! ay me, help, help, who's this that binds me?
Help, Mendacio! Mendacio, help! Here's one will ravish me.
SOM. Lingua, content yourself, you must be bound.
LIN. What a spite's this? Are my nails pared so near? Can I not scratch
his eyes out? What have I done? What, do you mean to kill me? Murder,
murder, murder!
[_She falls asleep_.
SCAENA DECIMA TERTIA.
GUSTUS, _with a voiding knife[308] in his hand_.
SOMNUS, LINGUA, VISUS.
GUS. Who cries out murder? What, a woman slain!
My Lady Lingua dead? O heavens unjust!
Can you behold this fact, this bloody fact,
And shower not fire upon the murderer?
Ah, peerless Lingua! mistress of heavenly words,
Sweet tongue of eloquence, the life of fame,
Heart's dear enchantress! What disaster, fates,
Hath reft this jewel from our commonwealth?
Gustus, the ruby that adorns the ring,
Lo, here defect, how shalt thou lead thy days,
Wanting the sweet companion of thy life,
But in dark sorrow and dull melancholy?
But stay, who's this? inhuman wretch!
Bloodthirsty miscreant! is this thy handiwork?
To kill a woman, a harmless lady?
Villain, prepare thyself;
Draw, or I'll sheathe my falchion in thy sides.
There, take the guerdon[309] fit for murderers.
[GUSTUS _offers to run at_ SOMNUS, _but being
suddenly charmed, falls asleep_.
SOM. Here's such a stir, I never knew the Senses in such disorder.
LIN. Ha, ha, ha! Mendacio, Mendacio! See how Visus hath broke his
forehead against the oak yonder, ha, ha, ha!
SOM. How now? is not Lingua bound sufficiently? I have more trouble
to make one woman sleep than all the world besides; they are so full
of tattle.
SCAENA DECIMA QUARTA.
SOMNUS, CRAPULA, LINGUA, VISUS, GUSTUS, AUDITUS _pulling_ OLFACTUS
_by the nose, and_ OLFACTUS _wringing_ AUDITUS _by the ears_.
AUD. O, mine ears, mine ears, mine ears!
OLF. O, my nose, my nose, my nose!
CRA. Leave, leave, at length, these base contentions:
Olfactus, let him go.
OLF. Let him first loose my nose.
CRA. Good Auditus, give over.
AUD. I'll have his life that sought to kill me.
SOM. Come, come, I'll end this quarrel; bind them[310], Crapula.
[_They bind them both_.
SCAENA DECIMA QUINTA.
TACTUS, _with the robe in his hand_, SOMNUS,
CRAPULA, LINGUA, GUSTUS, OLFACTUS VISUS, AUDITUS.
TAC. Thanks, Dejanira, for thy kind remembrance,
'Tis a fair shirt: I'll wear it for thy sake.
CRA. Somnus, here's Tactus, worse than all his fellows:
Stay but awhile, and you shall see him rage!
SOM. What will he do? see that he escapes us not.
TAC. 'Tis a good shirt: it fits me passing well:
'Tis very warm indeed: but what's the matter?
Methinks I am somewhat hotter than I was,
My heart beats faster than 'twas wont to do,
My brain's inflam'd, my temples ache extremely; O, O!
O, what a wildfire creeps among my bowels!
Aetna's within my breast, my marrow fries,
And runs about my bones; O my sides! O my sides!
My sides, my reins: my head, my reins, my head!
My heart, my heart: my liver, my liver, O!
I burn, I burn, I burn; O, how I burn
With scorching heat of implacable fire!
I burn extreme with flames insufferable.
SOM. Sure he doth but try how to act Hercules.
TAC. Is it this shirt that boils me thus? O heavens!
It fires me worse, and heats more furiously
Than Jove's dire thunderbolts! O miserable!
They bide less pain that bathe in Phlegeton!
Could not the triple kingdom of the world,
Heaven, earth, and hell, destroy great Hercules?
Could not the damned spite[311] of hateful Juno,
Nor the great dangers of my labours kill me?
Am I the mighty son of Jupiter,
And shall this poison'd linen thus consume me?
Shall I be burnt? Villains, fly up to heaven,
Bid Iris muster up a troop of clouds,
And shower down cataracts of rain to cool me;
Or else I'll break her speckled bow in pieces.
Will she not? no, she hates me like her mistress.
Why then descend, you rogues, to the vile deep.
Fetch Neptune hither: charge him bring the sea
To quench these flames, or else the world's fair frame
Will be in greater danger to be burnt,
Than when proud Phaeton rul'd the sun's rich chariot.
SOM. I'll take that care the world shall not be burnt,
If Somnus' cords can hold you. [SOMNUS _binds him_.
TAC. What Vulcan's this that offers to enchain
A greater soldier than the god of war?[312]
SOM. He that each night with bloodless battle conquers
The proudest conqueror that triumphs by wars.
CRA. Now, Somnus, there's but only one remaining,
That was the author of these outrages.
SOM. Who's that? is he under my command?
CRA. Yes, yes, 'tis Appetitus; if you go that way and look about those
thickets, I'll go hither, and search this grove. I doubt not but to
find him.
SOM. Content.
[_Exeunt_ SOMNUS _et_ CRAPULA.
SCAENA DECIMA SEXTA.
APPETITUS IRASCIBILIS _with a willow in his hand, pulled up
by the roots_, SOMNUS, CRAPULA. _The Senses all asleep_.
APP. So now's the time that I would gladly meet
These madding Senses that abus'd me thus;
What, haunt me like an owl? make an ass of me?
No, they shall know I scorn to serve such masters,
As cannot master their affections.
Their injuries have chang'd my nature now;
I'll be no more call'd hungry parasite,
But henceforth answer to the wrathful name
Of Angry Appetite. My choler's up.
Zephyrus, cool me quickly with thy fan,
Or else I'll cut thy cheeks. Why this is brave,
Far better than to fawn at Gustus' table
For a few scraps; no, no such words as these--
By Pluto, stab the villain, kill the slave:
By the infernal hags I'll hough[313] the rogue,
And paunch the rascal that abus'd me thus.
Such words as these fit angry Appetite.
_Enter_ CRAPULA.
CRA. Somnus, Somnus, come hither, come hither quickly, he's here,
he's here!
APP. Ay, marry is he, sirrah, what of that base miscreant Crapula?
CRA. O gentle Appetitus!
APP. You muddy gulch[314], dar'st look me in the face,
While mine eyes sparkle with revengeful fire? [_Beats him_.
CRA. Good Appetitus!
APP. Peace, you fat bawson[315], peace,
Seest not this fatal engine of my wrath?
Villain, I'll maul thee for thine old offences,
And grind thy bones to powder with this pestle!
You, when I had no weapons to defend me,
Could beat me out of doors; but now prepare:
Make thyself ready, for thou shalt not 'scape.
Thus doth the great revengeful Appetite
Upon his fat foe wreak his wrathful spite.
[APPETITUS _heaveth up his club to brain_ CRAPULA; _but_
SOMNUS _in the meantime catcheth him behind, and binds him_.
SOM. Why, how now, Crapula?
CRA. Am I not dead? is not my soul departed?
SOM. No, no, see where he lies,
That would have hurt thee: fear nothing.
[SOMNUS _lays the Senses all in a circle, feet to feet,
and wafts his wand over them_.
So rest you all in silent quietness;
Let nothing wake you, till the power of sleep,
With his sweet dew cooling your brains enflam'd,
Hath rectified the vain and idle thoughts,
Bred by your surfeit and distemperature;
Lo, here the Senses, late outrageous,
All in a round together sleep like friends;
For there's no difference 'twixt the king and clown,
The poor and rich, the beauteous and deform'd,
Wrapp'd in the veil of night and bonds of sleep;
Without whose power and sweet dominion
Our life were hell, and pleasure painfulness.
The sting of envy and the dart of love,
Avarice' talons, and the fire of hate,
Would poison, wound, distract, and soon consume
The heart, the liver, life, and mind of man.
The sturdy mower, that with brawny arms
Wieldeth the crooked scythe, in many a swath
Cutting the flowery pride on velvet plain,
Lies down at night, and in the weird[316] folds
Of his wife's arms forgets his labour past.
The painful mariner and careful smith,
The toiling ploughman, all artificers,
Most humbly yield to my dominion:
Without due rest nothing is durable.
Lo, thus doth Somnus conquer all the world
With his most awful wand, and half the year
Reigns o'er the best and proudest emperors.
Only the nurslings of the Sisters nine
Rebel against me, scorn my great command;
And when dark night from her bedewed[317] wings
Drops sleepy silence to the eyes of all,
They only wake, and with unwearied toil
Labour to find the _Via Lactea_,
That leads to the heaven of immortality;
And by the lofty towering of their minds,
Fledg'd with the feathers of a learned muse,
They raise themselves unto the highest pitch,
Marrying base earth and heaven in a thought.
But thus I punish their rebellion:
Their industry was never yet rewarded:
Better to sleep, than wake and toil for nothing.
[_Exeunt_ SOMNUS _and_ CRAPULA.
SCAENA DECIMA SEPTIMA.
_The five Senses_, LINGUA, APPETITUS, _all asleep
and dreaming_; PHANTASTES, HEURESIS.
AUD. So ho, Rockwood;[318] so ho, Rockwood; Rockwood, your organ: eh,
Chanter, Chanter; by Acteon's head-tire, it's a very deep-mouthed dog,
a most admirable cry of hounds. Look here, again, again: there, there,
there! ah, ware counter![319]
VIS. Do you see the full moon yonder, and not the man in it? why,
methinks 'tis too-too evident: I see his dog very plain, and look you,
just under his tail is a thorn-bush of furze.
GUS. 'Twill make a fine toothpick, that lark's heel there: O, do not
burn it.
PHA. Boy Heuresis, what think'st thou I think, when I think nothing?
HEU. And it please you, sir, I think you are devising how to answer a
man that asks you nothing.
PHA. Well-guessed, boy; but yet thou mistook'st it, for I was thinking
of the constancy of women[320]. [APPETITUS _snores aloud_.] Beware,
sirrah, take heed; I doubt me there's some wild boar lodged hereabout.
How now? methinks these be the Senses; ha? in my conceit the elder
brother of death has kissed them.
TAC. O, O, O, I am stabbed, I am stabbed; hold your hand, O, O, O.
PHA. How now? do they talk in their sleep? are they not awake, Heuresis?
HEU. No, questionless, they be all fast asleep.
GUS. Eat not too many of those apples, they be very flative[321].
OLF. Foh, beat out this dog here; foh, was it you, Appetitus?
AUD. In faith, it was most sweetly-winded, whosoever it was; the warble
is very good, and the horn is excellent.
TAC. Put on, man, put on; keep your head warm, 'tis cold.
PHA. Ha, ha, ha, ha? 'st: Heuresis, stir not, sirrah.
APP. Shut the door, the pot runs over, sirrah. Cook, that will be a
sweet pasty, if you nibble the venison so.
GUS. Say you so? is a marrow-pie the Helena of meats? give me't; if I
play not Paris, hang me. Boy, a clean trencher.
APP. Serve up, serve up; this is a fat rabbit, would I might have the
maidenhead of it: come, give me the fish there; who hath meddled with
these maids, ha?
OLF. Fie, shut your snuffers closer for shame; 'tis the worst smell that
can be.
TAC. O, the cramp, the cramp, the cramp: my leg, my leg!
LIN. I must abroad presently: reach me my best necklace presently.
PHA. Ah, Lingua, are you there?
AUD. Here take this rope, and I'll help the leader close with the second
bell. Fie, fie, there's a goodly peal clean-spoiled.
VIS. I'll lay my life that gentlewoman is painted: well, well, I know
it; mark but her nose: do you not see the complexion crack out? I must
confess 'tis a good picture.
TAC. Ha, ha, ha! fie, I pray you leave, you tickle me so: oh, ha, ha,
ha! take away your hands, I cannot endure; ah, you tickle me, ha, ha,
ha, ha, ha!
VIS. Hai, Rett, Rett, Rett, now, bird, now,--look about that bush, she
trussed her thereabout.--Here she is, ware wing, Cater,[322] ware wing,
avaunt.
LIN. Mum, mum, mum, mum.
PHA. Hist, sirrah, take heed you wake her not.
HEU. I know, sir, she is fast asleep, for her mouth is shut.
LIN. This 'tis to venture upon such uncertainties; to lose so rich a
crown to no end, well, well.
PHA. Ha, ha, ha! we shall hear anon where she lost her maidenhead: 'st,
boy, my Lord Vicegerent and Master Register are hard by: run quickly;
tell them of this accident, wish them come softly.
[_Exit_ HEURESIS.
LIN. Mendacio, never talk farther, I doubt 'tis past recovery, and my
robe likewise: I shall never have them again. Well, well.
PHA. How? her crown and her robe, never recover them? hum, was it not
said to be left by Mercury, ha? I conjecture here's some knavery,--fast
locked with sleep, in good faith. Was that crown and garment yours,
Lingua?
LIN. Ay, marry were they, and that somebody hath felt, and shall feel
more, if I live.
PHA. O, strange, she answers in her sleep to my question: but how come
the Senses to strive for it?
LIN. Why, I laid it on purpose in their way, that they might fall
together by the ears.
PHA. What a strange thing is this!
SCAENA DECIMA OCTAVA.
_The Senses_, APPETITUS, _and_ LINGUA, _asleep_.
PHANTASTES, COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORIA, ANAMNESTES.
PHA. Hist, my lord: softly, softly! here's the notablest piece of
treason discovered; how say you? Lingua set all the Senses at odds, she
hath confessed it to me in her sleep.
COM. SEN. Is't possible, Master Register? did you ever know any talk in
their sleep.
MEM. I remember, my lord, many have done so very oft; but women are
troubled especially with this talking disease; many of them have I heard
answer in their dreams, and tell what they did all day awake.
ANA. By the same token, there was a wanton maid, that being asked by her
mother what such a one did with her so late one night in such a room,
she presently said that--
MEM. Peace, you vile rake-hell, is such a jest fit for this company? no
more, I say, sirrah.
PHA. My lord, will you believe your own ears? you shall hear her answer
me as directly and truly as may be. Lingua, what did you with the crown
and garments?
LIN. I'll tell thee, Mendacio.
PHA. She thinks Mendacio speaks to her; mark now, mark how truly she
will answer. What say you, madam?
LIN. I say Phantastes is a foolish, transparent gull; a mere fanatic
napson[323], in my imagination not worthy to sit as a judge's assistant.
COM. SEN. Ha, ha, ha! how truly and directly she answers.
PHA. Faw, faw, she dreams now; she knows not what she says. I'll try her
once again. Madam, what remedy can you have for your great losses?
LIN. O, are you come, Acrasia? welcome, welcome! boy, reach a cushion,
sit down, good Acrasia: I am so beholding to you, your potion wrought
exceedingly; the Senses were so mad: did not you see how they raged
about the woods?
COM. SEN. Hum, Acrasia? is Acrasia her confederate? my life, that witch
hath wrought some villainy. [LINGUA _riseth in her sleep, and walketh_.]
How is this? is she asleep? have you seen one walk thus before?
MEM. It is a very common thing; I have seen many sick of the peripatetic
disease.
ANA. By the same token, my lord, I knew one that went abroad in his
sleep, bent his bow, shot at a magpie, killed her, fetched his arrow,
came home, locked the doors, and went to bed again.
COM. SEN. What should be the reason of it?
MEM. I remember Scaliger told me the reason once, as I think thus: the
nerves that carry the moving faculty from the brains to the thighs,
legs, feet, and arms, are wider far than the other nerves; wherefore
they are not so easily stopped with the vapours of sleep, but are night
and day ready to perform what fancy shall command them.
COM. SEN. It may be so. But, Phantastes, inquire more of Acrasia.
PHA. What did you with the potion Acrasia made you?
LIN. Gave it to the Senses, and made them as mad as--well, if I cannot
recover it--let it go. I'll not leave them thus.
[_She lies down again_.
COM. SEN. Boy, awake the Senses there.
ANA. Ho, ho, Auditus, up, up; so ho, Olfactus, have at your nose; up,
Visus, Gustus, Tactus, up: what, can you not feel a pinch? have at you
with a pin.
TAC. O, you stab me, O!
COM. SEN. Tactus, know you how you came hither?
TAC. No, my lord, not I; this I remember,
We supp'd with Gustus, and had wine good store,
Whereof I think I tasted liberally.
Amongst the rest, we drunk a composition
Of a most delicate and pleasant relish,
That made our brains somewhat irregular.
SCAENA DECIMA NONA.
_The Senses awake_, LINGUA _asleep_, COMMUNIS SENSUS, MEMORY,
PHANTASTES, ANAMNESTES, HEURESIS _drawing_ CRAPULA.
HEU. My lord, here's a fat rascal was lurking in a bush very
suspiciously: his name, he says, is Crapula.
COM. SEN. Sirrah, speak quickly what you know of these troubles.
CRA. Nothing, my lord, but that the Senses were mad, and that Somnus, at
my request, laid them asleep, in hope to recover them.
COM. SEN. Why then, 'tis too evident Acrasia, at Lingua's request,
bewitched the Senses: wake her quickly, Heuresis.
LIN. Heigho, out alas, ah me, where am I? how came I here?
where am I? ah!
COM. SEN. Lingua, look not so strangely upon the matter; you have
confessed in your sleep, that with a crown and a robe you have disturbed
the Senses, using a crafty help to enrage them: can you deny it?
LIN. Ah me, most miserable wretch! I beseech your lordship forgive me.
COM. SEN. No, no, 'tis a fault unpardonable.
[_He consults with_ MEMORY.
PHA. In my conceit, Lingua, you should seal up your lips when you go to
bed, these feminine tongues be so glib.
COM. SEN. Visus, Tactus, and the rest, our former sentence concerning
you we confirm as irrevocable, and establish the crown to you, Visus,
and the robe to you, Tactus; but as for you, Lingua--
LIN. Let me have mine own, howsoever you determine, I beseech you.
COM. SEN. That may not be: your goods are fallen into our hands; my
sentence cannot be recalled: you may see, those that seek what is not
theirs, oftentimes lose what's their own: therefore, Lingua, granting
you your life, I commit you to close prison in Gustus's house, and
charge you, Gustus, to keep her under the custody of two strong doors,
and every day, till she come to eighty years of age, see she be
well-guarded with thirty tall watchmen, without whose licence she shall
by no means wag abroad. Nevertheless, use her ladylike, according to her
estate.
PHA. I pray you, my lord, add this to the judgment--that, whensoever
she obtaineth licence to walk abroad, in token the tongue was the cause
of her offence, let her wear a velvet hood, made just in the fashion of
a great tongue. In my conceit, 'tis a very pretty emblem of a woman.
TAC. My lord, she hath a wild boy to her page, a chief agent in this
treason: his name's Mendacio.
COM. SEN. Ha! well, I will inflict this punishment on him for this time:
let him be soundly whipped, and ever after, though he shall strengthen
his speeches with the sinews of truth, yet none shall believe him.
PHA. In my imagination, my lord, the day is dead to the great toe, and
in my conceit it grows dark, by which I conjecture it will be cold; and
therefore, in my fancy and opinion, 'tis best to repair to our lodgings.
[_Exeunt omnes, praeter_ ANAMNESTES _et_ APPETITUS.
SCAENA VIGESSIMA.
ANAMNESTES, APPETITUS, _asleep in a corner_.
ANA. What's this? a fellow whispering so closely with the earth? so ho,
so ho, Appetitus? faith, now I think Morpheus himself hath been here.
Up, with a pox to you; up, you lusk[324]? I have such news to tell thee,
sirrah: all the Senses are well, and Lingua is proved guilty: up, up,
up; I never knew him so fast asleep in my life. [APPETITUS _snorts_.]
Nay, then, have at you afresh. [_Jogs him_.
APP. Jog me once again, and I'll throw this whole mess of pottage into
your face; cannot one stand quiet at the dresser for you.
ANA. Ha, ha, ha! I think 'tis impossible for him to sleep longer than
he dreams of his victuals. What, Appetitus, up quickly: quickly up,
Appetitus, quickly, sirrah. [_Jogs him_.
APP. I'll come presently; but I hope you'll stay till they be roasted:
will you eat them raw?
ANA. Roasted? ha, ha, ha, ha! up, up, up, away!
APP. Reach the sauce quickly; here's no sugar: whaw, whaw, O, O, O!
ANA. What, never wake? [_Jogs him_.] Wilt never be? Then I must try
another way, I see.
EPILOGUE
Judicious friends, it is so late at night,
I cannot waken hungry Appetite:
Then since the close upon his rising stands,
Let me obtain this at your courteous hands;
Try, if this friendly opportunity
Of your good-will and gracious plaudite,
With the thrice-welcome murmur it shall keep,
Can beg this prisoner from the bands of sleep.
[_Upon the plaudite_ APPETITUS _awakes, and runs in after_ ANAMNESTES.
THE MISERIES OF ENFORCED MARRIAGE.
_EDITIONS_.
(1.) _The Miseries of Inforst Mariage. As it is now playd by his
Maiesties Servants. Qui alios (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins.
London. Printed for George Vincent, and are to be sold at his shop
in Woodstreete_. 1607, 4to.
(2.) _The Miseries of Inforst Marriage. Playd by his Maiesties
Seruantes. Qui Alios, (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London
Printed for George Vincent, and are to be sold at his Shoppe in
Woodstreete_. 1611. 4to.
(3.) _The Miseries of Inforst Marriage. Playd by his Maiesties Servants.
Qui alios (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London, Printed by Aug.
Mathewes for Richard Thrale, and are to bee sold at his Shop at Pauls
gate, next to Cheape-side_. 1629. 4to.
(4.) _The Miseries of Inforst Marriage. Playd by his Majesties Servants.
Qui alios (seipsum) docet. By George Wilkins. London, Printed by I.N.
for Richard Thrale, and are to be sold at his Shop at Pauls gate; next
to Cheape-side_. M.DC.XXXVII. 4to.
INTRODUCTION.
George Wilkins, like many other minor poets of his time, has had no
memorials concerning him transmitted to us. He wrote no play alone,
except that which is here reprinted; but he joined with John Day and
William Rowley in "The Travels of the Three English Brothers, Sir
Thomas, Sir Anthony, and Sir Robert Shirley," an historical play,
printed in 4to, 1607[325]. He was also the author of "Three Miseries
of Barbary: Plague, Famine, Civill warre." [1603.] 4to. B.L.[326]
[There was a second writer of both these names, probably a son,
who published in 1608 a prose novel, founded on the play of
"Pericles."[327]]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE[328].
SIR FRANCIS ILFORD.
WENTLOE.
BARTLEY.
WILLIAM SCARBOROW.
THOMAS SCARBOROW, | _his brothers_
JOHN SCARBOROW, |
SIR JOHN HARCOP.
LORD FALCONBRIDGE.
SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.
DOCTOR BAXTER.
GRIPE, _the usurer_.
_Butler_.
_Clown_.
_Secretary_.
_Steward_.
_Page_.
_Children_.
CLARE, _daughter to Sir John Harcop_.
KATHERINE, _wife to William Scarborow_.
_Sister to William Scarborow_.
THE MISERIES OF ENFORCED MARRIAGE[329].
_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS ILFORD, WENTLOE, _and_ BARTLEY.
BAR. But Frank, Frank, now we are come to the house, what shall we make
to be our business?
ILF. Tut, let us be impudent enough, and good enough.
WEN. We have no acquaintance here, but young Scarborow.
ILF. How no acquaintance? Angels guard me from thy company. I tell thee,
Wentloe, thou art not worthy to wear gilt spurs[330], clean linen, nor
good clothes.
WEN. Why, for God's sake?
ILF. By this hand, thou art not a man fit to table at an ordinary, keep
knights company to bawdy-houses, nor beggar thy tailor.
WEN. Why, then, I am free from cheaters, clear from the pox, and escape
curses.
ILF. Why, dost thou think there is any Christians in the world?
WEN. Ay, and Jews too, brokers, puritans, and sergeants.
ILF. Or dost thou mean to beg after charity, that goes in a cold suit
already, that thou talkest thou hast no acquaintance here? I tell thee,
Wentloe, thou canst not live on this side of the world, feed well, drink
tobacco[331], and be honoured into the presence, but thou must be
acquainted with all sorts of men; ay, and so far in too, till they
desire to be more acquainted with thee.
BAR. True, and then you shall be accounted a gallant of good credit.
_Enter_ CLOWN.
ILF. But stay, here is a scrape-trencher arrived:
How now, blue-bottle,[332] are you of the house?
CLOWN. I have heard of many black-jacks, sir, but never of a
blue-bottle.
ILF. Well, sir, are you of the house?
CLOWN. No, sir, I am twenty yards without, and the house stands
without me.
BAR. Prythee, tell's who owes[333] this building?
CLOWN. He that dwells in it, sir.
ILF. Who dwells in it, then?
CLOWN. He that owes it.
ILF. What's his name?
CLOWN. I was none of his god-father.
ILF. Does Master Scarborow lie here?
CLOWN. I'll give you a rhyme for that, sir--
Sick men may lie, and dead men in their graves.
Few else do lie abed at noon, but drunkards, punks, and knaves.