A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VIII (4th edition) - Various
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VER. What, talk you to me of living within my bounds? I tell you none
but asses live within their bounds: the silly beasts, if they be put in
a pasture, that is eaten bare to the very earth, and where there is
nothing to be had but thistles, will rather fall soberly to those
thistles and be hunger-starv'd, than they will offer to break their
bounds; whereas the lusty courser, if he be in a barren plot, and spy
better grass in some pasture near adjoining, breaks over hedge and
ditch, and to go, ere he will be pent in, and not have his bellyful.
Peradventure, the horses lately sworn to be stolen,[31] carried that
youthful mind, who, if they had been asses, would have been yet extant.
WILL SUM. Thus, we may see, the longer we live the more we shall learn:
I ne'er thought honesty an ass till this day.
VER. This world is transitory; it was made of nothing, and it must to
nothing: wherefore, if we will do the will of our high Creator, whose
will it is that it pass to nothing, we must help to consume it to
nothing. Gold is more vile than men: men die in thousands and ten
thousands, yea, many times in hundred thousands, in one battle. If then
the best husband has been so liberal of his best handiwork, to what end
should we make much of a glittering excrement, or doubt to spend at a
banquet as many pounds as he spends men at a battle? Methinks I honour
_Geta_, the Roman emperor, for a brave-minded fellow; for he commanded a
banquet to be made him of all meats under the sun, which were served in
after the order of the alphabet, and the clerk of the kitchen, following
the last dish, which was two miles off from the foremost, brought him an
index of their several names. Neither did he pingle, when it was set on
the board, but for the space of three days and three nights never rose
from the table.
WILL SUM. O intolerable lying villain, that was never begotten without
the consent of a whetstone![32]
SUM. Ungracious man, how fondly he argueth!
VER. Tell me, I pray, wherefore was gold laid under our feet in the
veins of the earth, but that we should contemn it, and tread upon it,
and so consequently tread thrift under our feet? It was not known till
the iron age, _donec facinus invasit mortales_, as the poet says; and
the Scythians always detested it. I will prove it that an unthrift, of
any, comes nearest a happy man, in so much as he comes nearest to
beggary. Cicero saith, _summum bonum_ consists in _omnium rerum
vacatione_, that is, the chiefest felicity that may be to rest from all
labours. Now who doth so much _vacare a rebus_, who rests so much, who
hath so little to do as the beggar? who can sing so merry a note, as he
that cannot change a groat?[33] _Cui nil est, nil deest_: he that hath
nothing wants nothing. On the other side, it is said of the carl, _Omnia
habeo, nec quicquam habeo_: I have all things, yet want everything.
_Multi mihi vitio vertunt quia egeo_, saith Marcus Cato in Aulus
Gellius; _at ego illis quia nequeunt egere_: many upbraid me, saith he,
because I am poor; but I upbraid them, because they cannot live if they
be poor.[34] It is a common proverb, _Divesque miserque_, a rich man and
a miserable: _nam natura paucis contenta_, none so contented as the poor
man. Admit that the chiefest happiness were not rest or ease, but
knowledge, as Herillus, Alcidamus, and many of Socrates' followers
affirm; why _paupertas omnes perdocet artes_, poverty instructs a man in
all arts; it makes a man hardy and venturous, and therefore is it called
of the poets _paupertas audax_, valiant poverty. It is not so much
subject to inordinate desires as wealth or prosperity. _Non habet, unde
suum paupertas pascat amorem_;[35] poverty hath not wherewithal to feed
lust. All the poets were beggars; all alchemists and all philosophers
are beggars. _Omnia mea mecum porto_, quoth Bias, when he had nothing
but bread and cheese in a leathern bag, and two or three books in his
bosom. Saint Francis, a holy saint, and never had any money. It is
madness to doat upon muck. That young man of Athens, Aelianus makes
mention of, may be an example to us, who doated so extremely on the
image of Fortune, that when he might not enjoy it, he died for sorrow.
The earth yields all her fruits together, and why should we not spend
them together? I thank heavens on my knees, that have made me an
unthrift.[36]
SUM. O vanity itself: O wit ill-spent!
So study thousands not to mend their lives,
But to maintain the sin they most affect,
To be hell's advocates 'gainst their own souls.
Ver, since thou giv'st such praise to beggary,
And hast defended it so valiantly,
This be thy penance: thou shalt ne'er appear
Or come abroad, but Lent shall wait on thee:
His scarcity may countervail thy waste.
Riot may flourish, but finds want at last.
Take him away that knoweth no good way,
And lead him the next way to woe and want. [_Exit_ VER.
Thus in the paths of knowledge many stray,
And from the means of life fetch their decay.
WILL SUM. Heigho. Here is a coil indeed to bring beggars to stocks. I
promise you truly I was almost asleep; I thought I had been at a sermon.
Well, for this one night's exhortation, I vow, by God's grace, never to
be good husband while I live. But what is this to the purpose? "Hur come
to Fowl," as the Welshman says, "and hur pay an halfpenny for hur seat,
and hur hear the preacher talg, and hur talg very well, by gis[37]; but
yet a cannot make her laugh: go to a theatre and hear a Queen's Fice,
and he make hur laugh, and laugh hur belly full." So we come hither to
laugh and be merry, and we hear a filthy, beggarly oration in the praise
of beggary. It is a beggarly poet that writ it; and that makes him so
much commend it, because he knows not how to mend himself. Well, rather
than he shall have no employment but lick dishes, I will set him a work
myself, to write in praise of the art of stooping, and how there never
was any famous thresher, porter, brewer, pioneer, or carpenter that had
straight back. Repair to my chamber, poor fellow, when the play is done,
and thou shalt see what I will say to thee.
SUM. Vertumnus, call Solstitium.
VER. Solstitium, come into the court: without, peace there below! make
room for Master Solstitium.
_Enter_ SOLSTITIUM, _like an aged hermit, carrying a pair of
balances, with an hour-glass in either of them--one hour-glass
white, the other black: he is brought in by a number of Shepherds,
playing upon recorders_.[38]
SOL. All hail to Summer, my dread sovereign lord.
SUM. Welcome, Solstitium: thou art one of them,
To whose good husbandry we have referr'd
Part of those small revenues that we have.
What hast thou gain'd us? what hast thou brought in?
SOL. Alas, my lord! what gave you me to keep
But a few day's-eyes[39] in my prime of youth?
And those I have converted to white hairs;
I never lov'd ambitiously to climb,
Or thrust my hand too far into the fire.
To be in heaven, sure, is a bless'd thing;
But Atlas-like to prop heaven on one's back,
Cannot but be more labour than delight.
Such is the state of men in honour plac'd;
They are gold vessels made for servile uses;
High trees that keep the weather from low houses,
But cannot shield the tempest from themselves.
I love to dwell betwixt the hills and dales;
Neither to be so great to be envied,
Nor yet so poor the world should pity me.
_Inter utrumque tene, medio tutissimus ibis_[40].
SUM. What dost thou with those balances thou bear'st?
SOL. In them I weigh the day and night alike:
This white glass is the hour-glass of the day,
This black one the just measure of the night.
One more than other holdeth not a grain;
Both serve time's just proportion to maintain.
SUM. I like thy moderation wondrous well;
And this thy balance-weighing, the white glass
And black, with equal poise and steadfast hand,
A pattern is to princes and great men,
How to weigh all estates indifferently;
The spiritualty and temporalty alike:
Neither to be too prodigal of smiles,
Nor too severe in frowning without cause.
If you be wise, you monarchs of the earth,
Have two such glasses still before your eyes;
Think as you have a white glass running on,
Good days, friends, favour, and all things at beck,
So this white glass run out (as out it will)
The black comes next; your downfall is at hand.
Take this of me, for somewhat I have tried;
A mighty ebb follows a mighty tide.
But say, Solstitium, hadst thou nought besides?
Nought but day's-eyes and fair looks gave I thee?
SOL. Nothing, my lord, nor aught more did I ask.
SUM. But hadst thou always kept thee in my sight,
Thy good deserts, though silent, would have ask'd.
SOL. Deserts, my lord, of ancient servitors
Are like old sores, which may not be ripp'd up.
Such use these times have got, that none must beg,
But those that have young limbs to lavish fast.
SUM. I grieve no more regard was had of thee:
A little sooner hadst thou spoke to me,
Thou hadst been heard, but now the time is past:
Death waiteth at the door for thee and me.
Let us go measure out our beds in clay;
Nought but good deeds hence shall we bear away.
Be, as thou wert, best steward of my hours,
And so return into thy country bow'rs.
[_Here_, SOLSTITIUM _goes out with his music, as he comes in_.
WILL SUM. Fie, fie, of honesty, fie! Solstitium is an ass, perdy, this
play is a gallimaufry. Fetch me some drink, somebody. What cheer, what
cheer, my hearts? Are not you thirsty with listening to this dry sport?
What have we to do with scales and hour-glasses, except we were bakers
or clock-keepers? I cannot tell how other men are addicted, but it is
against my profession to use any scales but such as we play at with a
bowl, or keep any hours but dinner or supper. It is a pedantical thing
to respect times and seasons: if a man be drinking with good fellows
late, he must come home for fear the gates be shut: when I am in my warm
bed, I must rise to prayers, because the bell rings. I like no such
foolish customs. Actors, bring now a black jack and a rundlet of Rhenish
wine, disputing of the antiquity of red noses: let the Prodigal
Child[41] come in in his doublet and hose all greasy, his shirt hanging
forth, and ne'er a penny in his purse, and talk what a fine thing it is
to walk summerly, or sit whistling under a hedge, and keep hogs. Go
forward, in grace and virtue to proceed, but let us have no more of
these grave matters.
SUM. Vertumnus, will Sol come before us?
VER. Sol, Sol; _ut, re, mi, fa, sol_![42]
Come to church, while the bell toll.
_Enter_ SOLSTITIUM _very richly attired,
with a noise of musicians before him_.
SUM. Ay, marry, here comes majesty in pomp,
Resplendent Sol, chief planet of the heavens!
He is our servant, looks he ne'er so big.
SOL. My liege, what crav'st thou at thy vassal's hands?
SUM. Hypocrisy, how it can change his shape!
How base is pride from his own dunghill put!
How I have rais'd thee, Sol. I list not tell,
Out of the ocean of adversity,
To sit in height of honour's glorious heaven,
To be the eyesore[43] of aspiring eyes:
To give the day her life from thy bright looks,
And let nought thrive upon the face of earth,
From which thou shalt withdraw thy powerful smiles.
What hast thou done, deserving such high grace?
What industry or meritorious toil
Canst thou produce to prove my gift well-placed?
Some service or some profit I expect:
None is promoted but for some respect.
SOL. My lord, what need these terms betwixt us two?
Upbraiding ill-beseems your bounteous mind:
I do you honour for advancing me.
Why, 'tis a credit for your excellence
To have so great a subject as I am:
This is your glory and magnificence,
That, without stooping of your mightiness,
Or taking any whit from your high state,
You can make one as mighty as yourself.
AUT. O arrogance exceeding all belief!
Summer, my lord, this saucy upstart Jack,
That now doth rule the chariot of the sun,
And makes all stars derive their light from him,
Is a most base, insinuating slave,
The sum[44] of parsimony and disdain;
One that will shine on friends and foes alike,
That under brightest smiles hideth black show'rs
Whose envious breath doth dry up springs and lake
And burns the grass, that beasts can get no food.
WIN. No dunghill hath so vile an excrement,
But with his beams he will thenceforth exhale.
The fens and quagmires tithe to him their filth:
Forth purest mines he sucks a gainful dross.
Green ivy-bushes at the vintner's doors
He withers, and devoureth all their sap.
AUT. Lascivious and intemperate he is:
The wrong of Daphne is a well-known tale.
Each evening he descends to Thetis' lap,
The while men think he bathes him in the sea.
O, but when he returneth whence he came
Down to the west, then dawns his deity,
Then doubled is the swelling of his looks.
He overloads his car with orient gems,
And reins his fiery horses with rich pearl.
He terms himself the god of poetry,
And setteth wanton songs unto the lute.
WIN. Let him not talk, for he hath words at will,
And wit to make the baldest[45] matter good.
SUM. Bad words, bad wit! O, where dwells faith or truth?
Ill usury my favours reap from thee,
Usurping Sol, the hate of heaven and earth.
SOL. If envy unconfuted may accuse,
Then innocence must uncondemned die.
The name of martyrdom offence hath gain'd
When fury stopp'd a froward judge's ears.
Much I'll not say (much speech much folly shows):
What I have done you gave me leave to do.
The excrements you bred whereon I feed;
To rid the earth of their contagious fumes,
With such gross carriage did I load my beam
I burnt no grass, I dried no springs and lakes;
I suck'd no mines, I wither'd no green boughs,
But when to ripen harvest I was forc'd
To make my rays more fervent than I wont.
For Daphne's wrongs and 'scapes in Thetis' lap,
All gods are subject to the like mishap.
Stars daily fall ('tis use is all in all),
And men account the fall but nature's course.
Vaunting my jewels hasting to the west,
Or rising early from the grey-ey'd morn,
What do I vaunt but your large bountyhood,
And show how liberal a lord I serve?
Music and poetry, my two last crimes,
Are those two exercises of delight,
Wherewith long labours I do weary out.
The dying swan is not forbid to sing:
The waves of Hebrus[46] play'd on Orpheus' strings,
When he (sweet music's trophy) was destroy'd.
And as for poetry, words'[47] eloquence
(Dead Phaeton's three sisters' funeral tears
That by the gods were to Electrum turn'd),
Not flint or rock, of icy cinders flam'd,
Deny the force[48] of silver-falling streams.
Envy enjoyeth poetry's unrest;[49]
In vain I plead; well is to me a fault,
And these my words seem the sleight[50] web of art,
And not to have the taste of sounder truth.
Let none but fools be car'd for of the wise:
Knowledge' own children knowledge most despise.
SUM. Thou know'st too much to know to keep the mean:
He that sees all things oft sees not himself.
The Thames is witness of thy tyranny,
Whose waves thou dost exhaust for winter show'rs.
The naked channel 'plains her of thy spite,
That laid'st her entrails unto open sight.[51]
Unprofitably borne to man and beast,
Which like to Nilus yet doth hide his head,
Some few years since[52] thou lett'st o'erflow these walks,
And in the horse-race headlong ran at race,
While in a cloud thou hidd'st thy burning face.
Where was thy care to rid contagious filth,
When some men wet-shod (with his waters) droop'd?[53]
Others that ate the eels his heat cast up
Sicken'd and died by them impoisoned.
Sleptest, or kept'st thou then Admetus' sheep,
Thou drov'st not back these flowings of the deep?
SOL. The winds, not I, have floods and tides in chase.
Diana, whom our fables call the moon,
Only commandeth o'er the raging main:
She leads his wallowing offspring up and down,
She waning, all streams ebb: in the year
She was eclips'd, when that the Thames was bare.
SUM. A bare conjecture, builded on per-haps.[54]
In laying thus the blame upon the moon,
Thou imitat'st subtle Pythagoras
Who, what he would the people should believe,
The same he wrote with blood upon a glass,
And turn'd it opposite 'gainst the new moon,
Whose beams, reflecting on it with full force,
Show'd all those lines to them that stood behind,
Most plainly writ in circle of the moon:
And then he said: not I, but the new moon,
Fair Cynthia, persuades you this and that.
With like collusion shalt thou now blind me;
But for abusing both the moon and me
Long shalt thou be eclipsed by the moon,
And long in darkness live and see no light--
Away with him, his doom hath no reverse!
SOL. What is eclips'd will one day shine again:
Though winter frowns, the spring will ease my pain.
Time from the brow doth wipe out every stain.
[_Exit_ SOL.
WILL SUM. I think the sun is not so long in passing through the twelve
signs, as the son of a fool hath been disputing here about _had I
wist_.[55] Out of doubt, the poet is bribed of some that have a mess of
cream to eat, before my lord go to bed yet, to hold him half the night
with raff-raff of the rumming of Elinor.[56] If I can tell what it
means, pray God I may never get breakfast more, when I am hungry. Troth,
I am of opinion he is one of those hieroglyphical writers, that by the
figures of beasts, plants, and of stones, express the mind, as we do in
A B C; or one that writes under hair, as I have heard of a certain
notary, Histiaesus,[57] who, following Darius in the Persian wars, and
desirous to disclose some secrets of import to his friend Aristagoras,
that dwelt afar off, found out this means. He had a servant, that had
been long sick of a pain in his eyes, whom, under pretence of curing his
malady, he shaved from one side of his head to the other, and with a
soft pencil wrote upon his scalp (as on parchment) the discourse of his
business, the fellow all the while imagining his master had done nothing
but 'noint his head with a feather. After this he kept him secretly in
his tent, till his hair was somewhat grown, and then willed him to go to
Aristagoras into the country, and bid him shave him as he had done, and
he should have perfect remedy. He did so, Aristagoras shaved him with
his own hands, read his friend's letter, and when he had done, washed it
out, that no man should perceive it else, and sent him home to buy him a
nightcap. If I wist there were any such knavery, or Peter Bales's
brachygraphy,[58] under Sol's bushy hair, I would have a barber, my host
of the Murrion's Head, to be his interpreter, who would whet his razor
on his Richmond cap, and give him the terrible cut like himself, but he
would come as near as a quart pot to the construction of it. To be
sententious, not superfluous, Sol should have been beholding to the
barber, and not to the beard-master.[59] Is it pride that is shadowed
under this two-legg'd sun, that never came nearer heaven than Dubber's
hill? That pride is not my sin, Sloven's Hall, where I was born, be my
record. As for covetousness, intemperance, and exaction, I meet with
nothing in a whole year but a cup of wine for such vices to be
conversant in. _Pergite porro_, my good children,[60] and multiply the
sins of your absurdities, till you come to the full measure of the grand
hiss, and you shall hear how we shall purge rheum with censuring your
imperfections.
SUM. Vertumnus, call Orion.
VER. Orion, Urion, Arion; My lord thou must look upon. Orion, gentleman
dog-keeper, huntsman, come into the court: look you bring all hounds and
no bandogs. Peace there, that we may hear their horns blow.
_Enter_ ORION _like a hunter, with a horn about his neck, all
his men after the same sort hallooing and blowing their horns_.
ORION. Sirrah, was't thou that call'd us from our game?
How durst thou (being but a petty god)
Disturb me in the entrance of my sports?
SUM. 'Twas I, Orion, caus'd thee to be call'd.
ORION. 'Tis I, dread lord, that humbly will obey.
SUM. How happ'st thou left'st the heavens to hunt below?
As I remember thou wert Hyrieus'[61] son,
Whom of a huntsman Jove chose for a star,
And thou art call'd the Dog-star, art thou not?
AUT. Please it, your honour, heaven's circumference
Is not enough for him to hunt and range,
But with those venom-breathed curs he leads,
He comes to chase health from our earthly bounds.
Each one of those foul-mouthed, mangy dogs
Governs a day (no dog but hath his day):[62]
And all the days by them so governed
The dog-days hight; infectious fosterers
Of meteors from carrion that arise,
And putrified bodies of dead men,
Are they engender'd to that ugly shape,
Being nought else but [ill-]preserv'd corruption.
'Tis these that, in the entrance of their reign,
The plague and dangerous agues have brought in.
They arre[63] and bark at night against the moon,
For fetching in fresh tides to cleanse the streets,
They vomit flames and blast the ripen'd fruits:
They are death's messengers unto all those
That sicken, while their malice beareth sway.
ORION. A tedious discourse built on no ground.
A silly fancy, Autumn, hast thou told,
Which no philosophy doth warrantise,
No old-received poetry confirms.
I will not grace thee by refuting thee;
Yet in a jest (since thou rail'st so 'gainst dogs)
I'll speak a word or two in their defence.
That creature's best that comes most near to men;
That dogs of all come nearest, thus I prove:
First, they excel us in all outward sense,
Which no one of experience will deny:
They hear, they smell, they see better than we.
To come to speech, they have it questionless,
Although we understand them not so well.
They bark as good old Saxon as may be,
And that in more variety than we.
For they have one voice when they are in chase:
Another when they wrangle for their meat:
Another when we beat them out of doors.
That they have reason, this I will allege;
They choose those things that are most fit for them,
And shun the contrary all that they may.[64]
They know what is for their own diet best,
And seek about for't very carefully.
At sight of any whip they run away,
As runs a thief from noise of hue and cry.
Nor live they on the sweat of others' brows,
But have their trades to get their living with--
Hunting and coneycatching, two fine arts.
Yea, there be of them, as there be of men,
Of every occupation more or less:
Some carriers, and they fetch; some watermen,
And they will dive and swim when you bid them;
Some butchers, and they worry sheep by night;
Some cooks, and they do nothing but turn spits.
Chrysippus holds dogs are logicians,
In that, by study and by canvassing,
They can distinguish 'twixt three several things:
As when he cometh where three broad ways meet,
And of those three hath stay'd at two of them,
By which he guesseth that the game went not,
Without more pause he runneth on the third;
Which, as Chrysippus saith, insinuates
As if he reason'd thus within himself:
Either he went this, that, or yonder way,
But neither that nor yonder, therefore this.
But whether they logicians be or no,
Cynics they are, for they will snarl and bite;
Right courtiers to flatter and to fawn;
Valiant to set upon the[ir] enemies;
Most faithful and most constant to their friends.
Nay, they are wise, as Homer witnesseth
Who, talking of Ulysses' coming home,
Saith all his household but Argus his dog
Had quite forgot him: ay, his deep insight[65]
Nor Pallas' art in altering his shape,
Nor his base weeds, nor absence twenty years,
Could go beyond or any way delude.
That dogs physicians are, thus I infer;
They are ne'er sick, but they know their disease,
And find out means to ease them of their grief;
Special good surgeons to cure dangerous wounds:
For, stricken with a stake into the flesh,
This policy they use to get it out:
They trail one of their feet upon the ground,
And gnaw the flesh about where the wound is
Till it be clean drawn out: and then, because
Ulcers and sores kept foul are hardly cur'd,
They lick and purify it with their tongue,
And well observe Hippocrates' old rule,
The only medicine for the foot is rest:
For if they have the least hurt in their feet,
They bear them up and look they be not stirr'd.
When humours rise, they eat a sovereign herb,
Whereby what cloys their stomachs they cast up;
And as some writers of experience tell,
They were the first invented vomiting.
Sham'st thou not, Autumn, unadvisedly
To slander such rare creatures as they be?
SUM. We call'd thee not, Orion, to this end,
To tell a story of dogs' qualities.
With all thy hunting how are we enrich'd?
What tribute pay'st thou us for thy high place?
ORION. What tribute should I pay you out of nought?
Hunters do hunt for pleasure, not for gain.
While dog-days last, the harvest safely thrives;
The sun burns hot to finish up fruits' growth;
There is no blood-letting to make men weak.
Physicians in their Cataposia
Or little Elinctoria,
Masticatorum, and Cataplasmata:
Their gargarisms, clysters, and pitch'd-cloths,
Their perfumes, syrups, and their triacles,
Refrain to poison the sick patients,
And dare not minister, till I be out.
Then none will bathe, and so are fewer drown'd.
All lust is perilsome, therefore less us'd!
In brief, the year without me cannot stand.
Summer, I am thy staff and thy right hand.