In the opening scene of the play, Stephen, a naive young gentleman from the countryside, asks his uncle, Knowell, if he has any books on falconry, or the training of falcons and other birds of prey. Knowell, who disapproves of falconry just as he disapproves of his own son’s interest in poetry, uses a series of metaphors related to melting and burning when giving advice to his nephew:
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I, you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
Knowell argues that Stephen must not discredit his own social class by allowing himself to “melt away” through some act of “flashing bravery.” Building upon his own use of the word “flashing,” Knowell uses a series of metaphors related to fire. Stephen, he claims, might desire to make a “blaze”—or a big impression—in his introduction to London Society, but he must be careful not to let the scorn of others “extinguish” him. If he fails to follow Knowell’s advice, then Stephen will be left like “an unsavoury snuff” (a pile of ashes) that offends the noses of others. Knowell’s metaphors suggest that trying to “live large” will result in self-destruction.
In a speech suffused with verbal irony, the intelligent and urbane Edward insults his naive cousin Stephen while seemingly complimenting him, using a series of metaphors related to metal to suggest that his cousin is of little value:
A wight that (hitherto) his every step hath left the stamp of a great foot behind him, as every word the savour of a strong spirit! And he! This man! So graced, gilded, or (to use a more fit metaphor) so tin-foiled by nature, as not ten housewives' pewter (again' a good time) shows more bright to the world than he! And he (as I said last, so I say again, and still shall say it)-this man!-to conceal such real ornaments as these, and shadow their glory, as a milliner's wife does her wrought stomacher, with a smoky lawn, or a black cyprus?
First, he praises his cousin with ironic hyperbole, suggesting that he leaves a “great” footprint behind him with every step he takes and that his every word conveys his “strong spirit.” Then, he describes his cousin as “gilded” or covered in an outer layer of gold. This apparent compliment masks an insult, as something that is “gilded” is not truly composed of gold all throughout. However, Edward develops his insult further, suggesting that Stephen is not even gilded but rather “tin-foiled” by nature, substituting gold for a cheaper and less valuable form of metal. Here, the quality of a metal metaphorically represents a person’s own quality and authenticity; Stephen is merely covered in tin-foil, shining less brightly than the polished “pewter” of lower class housewives. Stephen, raised in the countryside, is less clever than his cousin and fails to catch these insults.
Kitely, a London merchant, has become paranoid that his wife is having an affair with another man while he is busy at work. In a soliloquy, he reflects upon his anxieties, using the metaphor of disease to understand his own paranoia:
A new disease? I know not, new or old,
But it may well be called poor mortals' plague:
For, like a pestilence, it doth infect
The houses of the brain. First, it begins
Solely to work upon the fantasy,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air,
As soon corrupts the judgement; and from thence
Sends like contagion to the memory,
Still each to other giving the infection.
Which, as a subtle vapour, spreads itself,
Confusedly, through every sensive part,
Till not a thought or motion in the mind,
Be free from the black poison of suspect.
He identifies his feelings of paranoia as a “new disease,” though he adds that he doesn’t know if it should be categorized as a “new or old” illness, as it is “new” to him but more characteristic of those who are “old.” In a simile, he notes that “like a pestilence,” it afflicts the brain, first working upon “the fantasy” or imagination and filing the mind with “pestiferous” or noxious “air.” The “disease” spreads, first corrupting a person’s sense of “judgment” and then “like contagion” moving to the “memory,” spreading through a person’s mind until all of their thoughts are paranoid. In this soliloquy, Kitely’s disease metaphor suggests that paranoia can become all-consuming, affecting every part of a person’s perspective.
In a soliloquy, Knowell reflects upon what he considers to be the poor conduct and behavior of the younger generation, using two closely related metaphors regarding disease and fabric dye:
Aye, it is like:
When it is gone into the bone already.
No, no: this dye goes deeper than the coat,
Or shirt, or skin. It stains, unto the liver
And heart, in some. And, rather than it should not,
Note what we fathers do! Look how we live!
What mistresses we keep! At what expense,
In our sons' eyes! Where they may handle our gifts,
Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance,
Taste of the same provoking meats with us,
To ruin of our states! Nay, when our own
Portion is fled, to prey on their remainder,
We call them into fellowship of vice!
In his soliloquy, Knowell argues that his son’s generation has been corrupted by poor morals. First, he says that this corruption is like an internal infection that has “gone into the bone already,” a simile that implies that the corruption is deep and will be difficult to remove. Next, he uses a metaphor with similar implications. The corruption, he states, is a “dye” that has saturated “deeper than the coat, / Or shirt, or skin” and now affects the “liver” and the “heart.” In this “dye” metaphor, Knowell imagines that the corruption of the young is not just superficial, at the level of clothing and skin, but rather, has soaked deep into the body. At this point in the play, Knowell is deeply pessimistic regarding the attitudes and values of young people, including his son Edward.
In the concluding scene of the play, the wily Justice Clement untangles the various subplots and confusions that have driven the action of the play, apportioning punishment and reward where he sees fit. He reserves special ire for Matthew, the foolish “town gull,” and Bobadil, the braggart soldier, using a series of metaphors to demean their authenticity:
But, to dispatch away these, you sign o' the Soldier, and picture o' the Poet (but both so false I will not ha' you hanged out at my door till midnight), while we are at supper, you two shall penitently fast it out in my court, without; and, if you will, you may pray there, that we may be so merry within as to forgive, or forget you, when we come out. Here's a third, because we tender your safety, shall watch you, he is provided for the purpose. [To FORMAL] Look to your charge, sir.
Bobadil, Clemens claims, is but the “sign [of] a soldier” rather than a genuine soldier, and Matthew, likewise, is the “picture [of] the Poet” but not a true poet. These metaphors compare the two figures metaphorically to mere images of what they claim to be, claiming that they aren’t even suitable to be hung up on a door.
