In the age of sacrifices, the truth of religion was not in the greatness and fat of the offerings, but in the devotion and zeal of the sacrifices: else, what could a handful of gums have done in the sight of a hecatomb? Or how might I appear at this altar, except with those affections that no less love the light and witness than they have the conscience of your virtue? If what I offer bear an acceptable odour, and hold the first strength, it is your value of it which remembers where, when, and to whom it was kindled. Otherwise, as the times are, there comes rarely forth that thing so full of authority or example but by assiduity and custom grows less, and loses. This yet safe in your judgement (which is a Sidney’s) is forbidden to speak more, lest it talk or look like one of the ambitious Faces of the time, who, the more they paint, are the less themselves.
If thou beest more, thou art an understander, and then I trust thee. If thou art one that tak’st up, and but a pretender, beware at what hands thou receiv’st thy commodity; for thou wert never more fair in the way to be cozened than in this age in poetry, especially in plays: wherein now the concupiscence of dances and antics so reigneth, as to run away from Nature and be afraid of her is the only point of art that tickles the spectators.
Our scene is London, ’cause we would make known
No country’s mirth is better than our own.
No clime breeds better matter for your whore,
Bawd, squire, impostor, many persons more,
Whose manners, now called humours, feed the stage,
And which have still been subject for the rage
Or spleen of comic writers. Though this pen
Did never aim to grieve, but better men,
Howe’er the age he lives in doth endure
The vices that she breeds, above their cure.
But when the wholesome remedies are sweet,
And in their working, gain and profit meet,
He hopes to find no spirit so much diseased,
But will, with such fair correctives, be pleased;
For here, he doth not fear, who can apply.
If there be any, that will sit so nigh
Unto the stream, to look what it doth run,
They shall find things they’d think, or wish, were done;
They are so natural follies, but so shown,
As even the doers may see, and yet not own.
And you, too,
Will give the cause, forsooth? You will insult
And claim a primacy in the divisions?
You must be chief? As if you only had
The powder to project with? And the work
Were not begun out of equality?
The venture tripartite? All things in common?
Without priority? ’Sdeath, you perpetual curs,
Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly
And heartily and lovingly, as you should,
And lose not the beginning of a term,
Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too,
And take my part, and quit you.
For which, at supper, thou shalt sit in triumph,
And not be styled Doll Common, but Doll Proper,
Doll Singular: the longest cut, at night,
Shall draw thee for his Doll Particular.
Yes, Captain, I would have it for all games.
Sir, against one o’clock, prepare yourself.
Till when you must be fasting; only, take
Three drops of vinegar in at your nose;
Two at your mouth; and one at either ear;
Then bathe your fingers’ ends; and wash your eyes,
To sharpen your five senses; and cry ‘hum’
Thrice; and then ‘buzz’, as often; and then, come.
Methinks I see him entering ordinaries,
Dispensing for the pox; and plaguy houses,
Reaching his dose; walking Moorfields for lepers;
And offering citizens’ wives pomander-bracelets
As his preservative, made of the elixir;
Searching the spittle, to make old bawds young;
And the highways for beggars to make rich.
I see no end of his labours. He will make
Nature ashamed of her long sleep, when art,
Who’s but a stepdame, shall do more than she,
In her best love to mankind, ever could.
If his dream last, he’ll turn the age to gold.
For I do mean
To have a list of wives and concubines
Equal with Solomon, who had the stone
Alike with me; and I will make me a back
With the elixir that shall be as tough
As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night.
I will have all my beds blown up, not stuffed;
Down is too hard. And then mine oval room
Filled with such pictures as Tiberius took
From Elephantis, and dull Aretine
But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses
Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse
And multiply the figures as I walk
Naked between my succubae.
Pray you, sir, stay.
Rather than I’ll be brayed, sir, I’ll believe,
That alchemy is a pretty kind of game,
Somewhat like tricks o’the cards, to cheat a man
With charming.
You’re very right, sir; she is a most rare scholar,
And is gone mad with studying Broughton’s works.
If you but name a word touching the Hebrew,
She falls into her fit, and will discourse
So learnedly of genealogies,
As you would run mad, too, to hear her, sir.
Out, the varlet
That cozened the Apostles! Hence, away,
Flee, Mischief! Had your holy consistory
No name to send me of another sound
Than wicked Ananias?
Good brother, we must bend unto all means
That may give furtherance to the holy cause.
I hate traditions;
I do not trust them—
Peace
They are Popish, all!
I will not peace. I will not—
Ananias.
Please the profane; to grieve the godly; I may not.
She now is set
At dinner in her bed, and she has sent you
From her own private trencher, a dead mouse
And a piece of gingerbread, to be merry withal,
And stay your stomach, lest you faint with fasting;
Yet, if you could hold out till she saw you (she says)
It would be better for you.
Sweet Madame, let me be particular—
Particular, sir? I pray you, know your distance.
Be silent: not a word if he call or knock.
I’ll into mine old shape again, and meet him,
Of Jeremy the butler. I’ the meantime,
Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase
That we can carry i’ the two trunks. I’ll keep him
Off for today, if I cannot longer; and then
At night, I’ll ship you both away to Ratcliffe,
Where we’ll meet tomorrow, and there we’ll share.
Let Mammon’s brass and pewter keep the cellar;
We’ll have another time for that. But, Doll,
Pray thee, go heat a little water, quickly,
Subtle must shave me.
Sir, you were wont to affect mirth and wit—
But here’s no place to talk on’t i’ the street.
Give me but leave to make the best of my fortune,
And only pardon me th’ abuse of your house:
It’s all I beg. I’ll help you to a widow,
In recompense, that you shall gi’ me thanks for,
Will make you seven years younger, and a rich one.
So I will, sir. Gentlemen,
My part a little fell in this last scene,
Yet ’twas decorum. And though I am clean
Got off, from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Doll,
Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all
With whom I traded; yet I put myself
On you, that are my country; and this pelf
Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests
To feast you often, and invite new guests.
