ACT II. SCENE I.-A warehouse belonging to KITELY. Enter KITELY, CASH, and DowNRIGHT, Kite. THOMAS, come hither. There lies a note within, upon my desk; Here, take my key Where is the boy? -It is no matter, neither. Cash. Within, sir, in the warehouse. And weigh it, with the pieces of eight. Do you [Exit. Kite. Do you see that fellow, brother Downright? Down. Ay, what of him? Kite. He is a jewel, brother.——— I took him of a child, up, at my door, And christened him; gave him my own name, Since bred him, at the hospital; where proving Down. So would not I in any bastard's, brother, Down. What need this circumstance? Pray you Kite. I will not say how much I do ascribe But now his course is so irregular, So loose, affected, and deprived of grace, He makes my house, here, common as a mart, For giddy humour, and diseased riot : Controul my servants; and, indeed, what not! Down. 'Sdains, I know not what I should say to him in the whole world! he values me at a cracked three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never out of the flesh, that's bred in the bone! I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve. Well! he knows what to trust to, for George. Let him spend and spend, and domineer, till his heart ach; an' he think to be relieved by me, when he is got into one of your city-ponds, the counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i' faith, and claps his dish at a wrong man's door. I'll lay my hand o' my halfpenny, ere I part with it, to fetch him out, I'll assure him. Kite. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you, thus. Down. 'Sdeath, he made me--I could eat my very spur-leathers, for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do not you speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house? Kite. O, there are divers reasons to dissuade, But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it, Down. You are too tedious; come to the mat- You are his elder brother, and that title ter, the matter. Kite. Then, without further ceremony, thus. But all he did became him as his own, Both gives and warrants you authority; Nay, more than this, brother; if I should speak, Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all o'er; My brother purposely, thereby to find Kite. Brother, they would, believe it: so should I, Enter MATTHEW and BOBADIL. Mat. I will speak to him— Bob. Speak to him! Away! by the foot of Pharoah, you shall not; you shall not do him that grace. Kite. What's the matter, sirs? courses. Well, as he brews, so he shall drink, for George again. Yet, he shall hear on it, and that tightly, too, an' I live, in faith. Kite. But, brother, let your reprehension, then, Brother, I pray you, go in, and bear my wife [Exit DOWNRIght. Kite. Well, though my troubled spirit's somewhat eased, 'Tis not reposed in that security As I could wish: but, I must be content. Bob. The time of day to you, gentleman of Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve the house. Is Mr Well-bred stirring? Down. How, then? what should he do? Bob. Gentleman of the house, it is you: is he within, sir? Kite. He came not to his lodgings to-night, sir, Down. Why, do you hear? you! me. [Exeunt BOBADIL and MATTHEW. Kite. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother; good faith you shall not: I will overrule you. Down. Ha! scavenger! Well, go to, I say little: but, by this good day, (God forgive me I should swear) if I put up so, say, I am the rankest coward ever lived. 'Sdains, and I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again, while I live; I'll sit in a barn with Madge Howlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger! Kite. Oh, do not fret yourself thus! never think on it. Down. These are my brother's consorts, these! these are his comrades, his walking mates! he is a gallant, a cavaliero, too, right hangman_cut!. Let me not live, an' I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole gang of them, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and take these The public weal of chastity unshaken, head Beware. Against her single peace? No, no. [Exit Dame. Kite. A new disease! I know not new or old, As soon corrupts the judgment, and from thence SCENE II-Moorfields. [Exit. Enter BRAINWORM, disguised like a Soldier. Brain. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated thus. Now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace; and yet the lie to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit as the Fico. O, sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us. So much for my borrowed shape.Well, the truth is, my old master intends to follow my young, dry-foot, over Moorfields to London this morning now I, knowing of this hunting match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we, that are blue-waiters, and men of hope and service do), have got me afore in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscade, and intercept him in the mid-way. If I can but get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, any thing to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey-Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with captain Cæsar; I am made for ever, i'faith. Well, now must I practise to get the true garb of one of those lance-knights, my arm here, and my -Young master! and his cousin, Master Stephen, VOL. II. as I am a true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier ! [Retires. Enter ED. KNO'WELL and Master STEPHEN. E. Kno. So, sir, and how then, coz? Step. S'foot, I have lost my purse, I think. E. Kno. How! lost your purse! Where?— When had you it? Step. I cannot tell: stay. Brain. 'Slid, I am afraid they will know me! Would I could get by them! E. Kno. What! ha' you it? Step. No, I think I was bewitched, I E. Kno. Nay, do not weep the loss; hang it, let it go. Step. Oh, 'tis here-No, an' it had been lost, I had not cared, but for a jet ring Miss Mary sent me. E. Kno. A jet ring! oh, the poesy, the poesy ! Step. Fine, i'faith! Though fancy sleep, my love is deep; meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly. E. Kno. Most excellent! Step. And, then, I sent her another, and my poesy was: The deeper the sweeter, I'll be judged by St Peter.' E. Kno. How by St Peter? I do not conceive that. Step. Marry, St Peter, to take up the metre. E. Kno. Well, there the saint was your good patron; he helped you at your need: thank him, thank him. Brain. I cannot take leave of them so; I will venture, come what will. Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns, for a very excellent good blade, here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, that, in the better state of my fortunes, scorned so mean a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be, gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence than live with shame: however, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speaks, not myself. This condition agrees not with my spirit. E. Kno. Where hast thou served? Brain. May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia, Poland; where not, sir? I have been a poor servitor by sea and land, any time these fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic Gulf; a gentleman-slave in the galleys thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet being thus maimed, I am void of maintenance; nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution. Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend? Brain. Generous sir, I refer it to your own B judgment; you are a gentleman, give me what | you please. Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend: but what though? I pray you say, what would you ask? Brain. I assure you the blade may become the side, or thigh, of the best prince in Europe. E. Kno. Aye, with a velvet scabbard. Step. Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat: I would not wear it as 'tis, an' you would give me an angel. Brain. At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo. Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard; but tell me, what shall I give you for it? An' it had a silver hilt E. Kno. Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a shilling, fellow; take the rapier. Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so; and there's another shilling, fellow, I scorn to be outbidden. What, shall I walk with a cudgel, like a higginbottom, and may have a rapier for money? E. Kno. You may buy one in the city. Step. Tut, I'll buy this i' the field, so I will; I have a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price. 1 E. Kno. You shall not buy it, I say. Step. By this money but I will, though I give more than 'tis worth. E. Kno. Come away, you are a fool. Step. Friend, I am a fool, that's granted: but I'll have it for that word's sake. Follow me for your money. Brain. At your service, sir. Enter KNO'well. [Exeunt. Kno. I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter, Sent to my son; nor leave to admire the change Of manners, aud the breeding of our youth Within the kingdom, since myself was one. When I was young, he lived not in the stews, Durst have conceived a scorn, and uttered it, On a grey head: age was authority Against a buffoon; and a man had then A certain reverence paid unto his years, That had none due unto his life. But now we are fallen; youth from their fear, And age from that, which bred it, good example. Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even parents, That did destroy the hopes in our own children; The first words We form their tongues with, are licentious jests. Can it call whore? Cry bastard? O, then kiss it, A witty child! Can't swear? The father's darling! Give it two plums. Nay, rather than it shall learn No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it! But this is in the infancy; When it puts on the breeches, Note what we fathers do; look how we live; These are the trades of fathers now. However, And swift, to rape youth to their precipice. Enter BRAIN-WORM. Brain. My master! nay, faith, have at you; I am fleshed now, I have sped so well; though I must attack you in a different way. Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the state of a poor soldier! I am ashamed of this base course of life, (God's my comfort) but extremity provokes me to't: what remedy? Kno. I have not for you. Brain. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty. Kno. Prithee, good friend, be satisfied. Brain. Good sir, by that hand you may do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer, a matter of small value; the King of Heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful: sweet worship Kno. Nay, an' you be so importunateBrain. Õh, tender sir, need will have his course! I was not made to this vile use! Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me so much. [He weeps.] It's hard, when a man hath served in his prince's cause, to be thushonourable worship, let me derive a small piece of silver from you; it shall not be given in the course of time. By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper; I had sucked the hilts long before, I am a pagan else: sweet honour ! Kno. Believe me, I am taken with some won. der, To think a fellow of thy outward presence, Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind, Either the wars might still supply thy wants, Brain. Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier Kno. Nay, nay, I like not those affected oaths! Speak plainly, man: what think'st thou of my words? Brain. Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy, as my service should be honest. Kno. Well, follow me; I will prove thee, if thy deeds will carry a proportion to thy words. [Exit. Brain. Yes, sir, straight: I will but garter my hose. Oh! that my belly were hooped now, for I am ready to burst with laughing! Never was a bottle or bag-pipe fuller. S'lid! was there ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus? Now I shall be possessed of all his counsels! and by that conduct my young master. Well, he is resolved to prove my honesty; faith, and I am resolved to prove his patience. Oh, I shall abuse him intolerably! This small piece of service will bring him clean out of love with the soldier for ever. He will never come within the sight of a red coat, or a musket-rest again. It's no matter; Brain. Alas! sir, where should a man seek let the world think me a bad counterfeit, if I canin the wars there's no ascent by desert in these not give him the slip at an instant. Why, this days, but-and for service, would it were as soon is better than to have staid his journey! Well, purchased as wished for! (the air's my comfort) II will follow him. Oh, how I long to be em Kno. Aye, you would gladly find it, but you will not seek it. know what I would say Kno. What's thy name? Brain. Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir, Kno. Fitz-Sword, Say that a man should entertain thee now, Would'st thou be honest, humble, just, and true? ployed! With change of voice, these scars, and many an oath, I'll follow son and sire, and serve them both. [Exit. SCENE I.-Stocks-Market. АСТ III, know not how: he doth not BOBADIL. Mat. YES, faith, sir! we were at your lodging to seek you too. Well. Oh, I came not there to-night. Bob. Your brother delivered us as much. Well. Who? My brother, Down-right? Bob. He. Mr Well-bred, I know not in what kind you hold me; but let me say to you this: as sure as honour, I esteem it so much out of the sunshine of reputation, to throw the least beam of regard upon such a Well. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother. Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be saved about me, I never saw any gentleman-like part Well. Good captain, [fuces about.] to some other discourse. Bob. With your leave, sir, an' there were no more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St George. Mat. Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut, I Well. Oh, Master Matthew, that is a grace pe culiar but to a few, quos æquus amavit Jupiter. Mat. I understand you, sir. Enter Young KNO'WELL and STEPHEN. Well. No question you do, or you do not, sir. Ned! By my soul, welcome! How dost thou, sweet spirit, my genius? 'Slid, I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the better while I live for this, my dear fury. Now I see there's some love in thee! Sirrah, these be the two I writ to thee of. Nay, what a drowsy humour is this now! Why dost thou not speak? E. Kno. Oh, you are a fine gallant; you sent me a rare letter. Well. Why, was it not rare? E. Kno. Yes, I'll be sworn; I was never guilty of reading the like. Match it in all Pliny's epistles, and I'll have my judgment burned in the ear for a rogue: make much of thy vein, for it is inimitable. But I marvel what camel it was that had the carriage of it, for, doubtless, he was no ordinary beast that brought it. |