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Let him tell over, straight, that Spanish gold, And weigh it, with the pieces of eight. Do you See the delivery of those silver stuffs, To M r . LUCAR. Tell him, if he will, He shall have the grogran's, at the rate I told him, And I will meet him, on the Exchange , anon. Do you see that fellow, brother DOWNRIGHT? He is a jewel, brother. I took him of a child, up, at my door, And christened him, gave him mine own name, THOMAS, Since bred him at the Hospital; where proving A towards imp, I called him home, and taught him So much, as I have made him my Cashier, And given him, who had none, a surname, CASH: And find him, in his place so full of faith, That, I durst trust my life into his hands. Faith, I am very loath, to utter it, As fearing, it may hurt your patience: But, that I know, your judgement is of strength, Against the nearness of affection— I will not say, how much I do ascribe Unto your friendship; nor, in what regard I hold your love: but, let my passed behaviour, And usage of your sister, but confirm How well I'aue been affected to your— Then (without further ceremony) thus. My brother WELLBRED, sir, (I know not how) Of late, is much declined in what he was, And greatly altered in his disposition. When he came first to lodge here in my house, Never trust me, if I were not proud of him: Me thought he bore himself in such a fashion, So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage, And (what was chief) it showed not borrowed in him, But all he did, became him as his own, And seemed as perfect, proper, and possessed As breath, with life, or colour, with the blood. But, now, his course is so irregular, So lose, affected, and deprived of grace, And he himself withal so far fallen off From that first place, as scarce no note remains, To tell men's judgements where he lately stood. He's grown a stranger to all endue respect, Forgetful of his friends, and not content To stale himself in all societies, He makes my house here common, as a Mars , A Theater , a public receptacle For giddy humour, and diseased riot; And here (as in a tavern, or a stews) He, and his wild associates, spend their hours, In repetition of lascivious jests, Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night, Control my servants: and indeed what not? Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you, thus. Oh, there are diverse reasons to dissuade, brother. But, would your self vouchsafe to travail in it, (Though but with plain, and easy circumstance) It would, both come much better to his sense, And savour less of stomach, or of passion. You are his elder brother, and that title Both gives, and warrants you authority; Which (by your presence seconded) must breed A kind of duty in him, and regard Whereas, if I should intimate the least, It would but add contempt, to his neglect, Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred That, in the rearing, would come tottering down, And, in the ruin, bury all our love. Nay, more then this, brother, if I should speak He would be ready from his heat of humour, And overflowing of the vapour, in him, To blow the ears of his familiars, With the false breath, of telling, what disgraces, And low disparadgments, I had put upon him. While they, sir, to relieve him, in the fable, Make their lose comments, upon every word, Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over, From my flat cap, unto my shining shoes: And, out of their impetuous rioting fantasies, Beget some slander, that shall dwell with me. And what would that be, think you? marry, this. They would give out (because my wife is fair, My self but lately married, and my sister Here sojourning a virgin in my house) That I were jealous! nay, as sure as death, That they would say. And how that I had quarreled My brother purposely, thereby to find And apt pretext, to banish them my house. Brother, they would, believe it: so should I (Like one of these penurious quack-salvers) But set the bills up, to mine own disgrace, And try experiments upon my self: Lend scorn and envy, opportunity, To stab my reputation, and good name— I Will speak to him— He came not to his lodging to night sir, I assure you. Nay, brother DOWNRIGHT. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother, Good faith you shall not: I will overrule you. O do not fret your self thus, never think on't. But, brother, let your reprehension (then) Run in and easy current, not overhigh Carried with rashness, or devouring choler; But rather use the soft persuading way, Whose powers will work more gently, and compose Th'imperfect thoughts you labour to reclaim: More winning, then enforcing the consent. How now? o, the bell rings to breakfast. Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife Company, till I come; I'll but give order Forsome dispatch of business, to my servants— WHat, COB? our maids will have you by the back (I'faith) For coming so late this morning. Well, yet my troubled spirit's somewhat eased, Though not reposed in that security, As I could wish: But, I must be content. How ever I set a face on't to the world, Would I had lost this finger, at a venture, So WELLBRED had never lodged within my house. Why't cannot be, where there is such resort Of wanton gallants, and young revellers, That any woman should be honest long. I'st Like, that factious beauty will preserve The public weal of chastity, unshaken, When such strong motives muster, and make head Against her single peace? no, no. Beware, When mutual appetite does meet to treat, And spirits of one kind, and quality, Come once to parlee, in the pride of bluod: It is no slow conspiracy, that follows. Well (to be plain) if I but thought, the time Had answered their affections: all the world Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold. Marry, I hope, they have not God that start: For opportunity hath balked them yet, And shall do still, while I have eyes, and ears To attend the impositions of my heart. My presence shall be as and iron bar, betwixt the conspiring motions of desire: Yea, every look, or glance, mine eye ejects, Shall check occasion, as one does his slave, When he forgets the limits of prescription. Has he the money ready, can you tell? Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak, my cloak. Stay, let me see, and hour, to go and come; I, that will be the least: and then it'll be And hour, before I can dispatch with him; Or very near: well, I will say two hours. Two hours? would? things, never dreamed of yet, May be contrived, I, and effected too, In two hours absence: well, I will not go. Two hours; no, fleering opportunity, I will not give your subtlety that scope. Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed That sets his doors wide open to a thief, And shows the felon, where his treasure lies? Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt To the taste fruit of beauty's golden tree, When leaden sleep seals up the Dragons eyes? I will not go. Business, go by, for once. No beauty, no; you are of too good caract, To be left so, without a guard, or open! Your lustre too'll inflame, at any distance, Draw courtship to you, as a jet does straws, Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice, Nay, make a porter leap you, with his burden! You must be then kept up, close, and well-watched, For, give you opportunity, no quicksand Devours, or swallows swifter! He that lends His wife (if she be fair) or time, or place; Compels her to be false. I will not go. The dangers are to many. And, then, the dressing Is a most main attractive! Our great heads, Within the city, never were in safety, Since our wives wore these little caps: I'll change them, I'll change them, straight, in mine. Mine shall no more Uvea e three-piled acorns, to make my horns ache. Nor, will I go. I am resolved for that. Carry'in my cloak again. Yet, stay. Yet, do too. I will defer going, on all occasions. I thank you, heartily, THOMAS; give me your hand: With all my heart, good THOMAS. I have, THOMAS, A secret to impart, unto you—but When once you have it, I must seal your lips up: (So far, I tell you, THOMAS.) Nay, hear me, out. Think, I esteem you, THOMAS, When, I will let you in, thus, to my private. It is a thing fits, nearer, to my crest, Then thou art beware of, THOMAS. If thou shouldst Reveal it, but— Nay, I do not think thou wouldst; but if thou shouldst: 'Twere a great weakness. Thou wilt not do't, then? He will not swear, he has some reservation, Some concealed purpose, and close meaning sure: Else (being urged so much) how should he choose, But lend and oath to all this protestation? His no precisian, that I am certain of. Nor rigid Roman -catholic. Hee'll play, At Fails , and Ticktack , I have herd him swear. What should I think of it? urge him again, And by some other way? I will do so. Well, THOMAS; thou hast sworn not to disclose; Yes, you did swear? No, THOMAS, I dare take thy word. But; if thou wilt swear, do, as thou thinkest good; I am resolved without it; at thy pleasure. It's too much, these ceremonies needs not, I know thy faith to be as firm as rock. THOMAS, come hither, near: we cannot be Too private, in this business. So it is, (Now, he ha sworn, I dare the safelier venture) I have of late, by diverse observations— (But, whither his oath can bind him, yea, or no', Being not taken lawfully? would? say you? I will ask counsel, ere I do proceed:) THOMAS, it will be now too long to stay, I'll spy some fitter time soon, or to morrow. I will think. And, THOMAS, I pray you search the books against my return, For the receipts betwixt me, and TRAPS. And, hear you, if your mistress brother, WELLBRED, Chance to bring hither any gentlemen, Ere I come back; let one straight bring me word. To the Exchange; do you hear? Or here in Colman -street, to Justice CLEMENTS. Forget it not, nor be not out of the way. I pray you have a care on't. Or whither he come, or no, if any other, Stranger, or else, fail not to send me word. Be't your special business Now, to remember it. But, THOMAS, this is not the secret, THOMAS, I told you of. Believe me, it is not. By heaven, it is not, that's enough. But, THOMAS, I would not, you should utter it, do you see? To any creature living, yet, I care not. Well, I must hence. THOMAS, conceive thus much. It was a trial of you, when I meant So deep a secret to you, I mean not this, But that I have to tell you, this is nothing, this. But, THOMAS, keep this from my wife, I charge you, Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here. No greater hell, then to be slave to fear. Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man? How? so many? A swarm, a swarm, Spite of the devil, how they sting my head With forked stings, thus wide, and large! But, COB, How long hast thou been coming hither, COB? Didst thou come running? Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste! Bane to my Fortune's: what meant I to marry? I, that before was ranked in such content, My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace, Being free master of mine own free thoughts, And now become a slave? What? never sighs, Be of good cheer, man: for thou art a cuckold, It's done, it's done! nay, when such flowing store, Plenty it self, falls in my wives lap, The Cornucopiae will be mine, I know. But, COB, What entertainment had they? I am sure My sister, and my wife, would bid them welcome! would? No: their lips were sealed with kisses, and the voice Drowned in a flood of joy, at their arrival, Had lost her motion, state, and faculty. COB, which of them was't, that first kissed my wife? (My sister, I should say) my wife, alas, I fear not her: would? who was it, sayest thou? O I, good COB: I pray thee, heartily. How? were they not gone in, then, ever thou camest? Spite of the devil what do I stay here, then? COB, follow me. And she have overheard me now? By heaven I would not for a thousand angels. Troth my head akes extremely, on a sudden. How now? what? How simple, and how subtle are her answers? A new disease, and many troubled with it! Why, true: she herd me, all the world to nothing. The air! she has me in the wind! sweet heart! I'll come to you presently: it will away, I hope. A new disease? I know not, new, or old, But it may well be called poor mortals plague: For, Like a pestilence, it does 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 vapor, spreads it self, Confusedly, through every sensive partly, Till not a thought, or motion, in the mind, Be free from the black poison of suspect. Ah, but what miserie' is it, to know this? Or, knowing it, to want the minds erection, In such extremes? Well, I will once more strive, (In spite of this black cloud) myself to be, And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh, to see myself translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create and intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession looses the grace: and yet the lie to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit, as the Fico. Oh sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inward lie is most deer to us. So much, for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my young, dry foot, over More-fields , 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 blew-waiters, and men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the years end, and who wears motley, you know) have God me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado , and in tercept him, in the midway. If I can but get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, anything, to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, Veni, vidi, vici , I may say with Captain Caesar, I am made for ever, i'faith. Well, now must I practice to get the true garb of one of these Lance-knights , my arm here, and my—young master! and his cousin, M r . STEPHEN, as I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier! That's true! fool on me! I had clean forgotten it, I must go. What's a clock? Heart, then will WELLBRED presently be here, too, With one, or other of his lose consorts. I am a knave, if I know what to say, What course to take, or which way to resolve. My brain (me thinks) is Like and hourglasse, Wherein, my imaginations run, Like sands, Filling up time; but then are turned, and turned: So, that I know not what to stay upon, And less, to put in act. It shall be so. Nay, I dare built upon his secrecy, He knows not to deceive me. THOMAS? Yet now, I have bethought me, too, I will not. THOMAS, is COB within? But hee'll prate too, there's no speech of him. No, there were no man of the earth to THOMAS, If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt. But, should he have a chink in him, I were gone, Lost in my fame for ever: talk for th'Exchange. The manner he hath stood with, till this present, Does promise no such change! what should I fear then? Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune, once. THOMAS—you may deceive me, but, I hope— Your love, to me, is more— Why, how now, brother, who en orst this brawl? Oh, that was some love of yours, sister! Her love, by heaven! my wives minion! Fair disposition? excellent good parts? Death, these phrases are intolerable! Good parts? how should she know his parts? His parts? Well, well, well, well, well, well! It is too plain, too clear: THOMAS, come hither. What, are they gone? Are any of the gallants within! Art thou sure of it? What gentleman was that they praised so, THOMAS? I, I thought so: my mind gave me as much. I'll die, but they have hid him in the house, Somewhere; I'll go and search: go with me, THOMAS. Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a master. WHat TIB, TIB, I say. Now, God forbid: Oh me. Now, I remember, My wife drunk to me, last; and changed the cup: And bade me wear this cursed suit to day. See, if heaven suffer murder vndiscour'd! I feel me ill; give me some mithridate , Some mithridate and oil, good sister, fetch me; Oh, I am sick at heart! I burn, I burn. If you will save my life, go, fetch it me. Am I not sick? how am I, then, not poisoned? Am I not poisoned? how am I, then, so sick? No time, but now? when, I think, I am sick? very sick! well, I will wait upon his worship. THOMAS, COB, I must seek them out, and set them sentinels, till I return. THOMAS, COB, THOMAS. Come hither, THOMAS. Now, my secret's ripe, And thou shalt have it; lay to both thine ears. Hark, what I say to thee. I must go forth, THOMAS. Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch, Note every gallant, and observe him well, That enters in my absence, to thy mistress: If she would show him rooms, the jest is stale, Follow them, THOMAS, or else hang on him, And let him not go after; mark their looks; Note, if she offer but to see his band, Or any other amorous toy, about him; But praise his leg; or foot; or if she say, The day is hight, and bid him feel her hand, How hight it is; o, that's a monstrous thing! Note me all this, good THOMAS, mark their sighs, And, if they do but whisper, break them off: I'll bear thee out in it. Wilt thou do this? Wilt thou be true, my THOMAS? Why, I believe thee: where is COB, now? COB? What villainy is this? called out on a false message? This was some plot! I was not sent for. BRIDGET, Where's your sister? How! is my wife gone forth? whither for gods sake? Abroad with THOMAS? o, that villain dors me. He hath discovered all unto my wife! Beast that I was, to trust him: whither, I pray you, went she? Whither, good brother? I will, I will: to COBS house? does she hant COBS? She's gone a'purpose, now, to cuckold me, With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favour, Hath told her all. Out on thy more then strumpets impudence! Stealest thou thus to thy haunts? and, have I taken Thy bawd, and thee, and thy companion, This horie-beaded lecher, this old goat, Close at your villainy, and wouldst thou excuse it, With this stale harlots jest, accusing me? Oh, old incontinent, dost not thou shame, When all thy powers in chastity is spent, To have a mind so hight? and to entice, And feed enticements of a lustful woman? Defy me, strumpet? ask thy pandar, here, Can be deny it? or that wicked older? Tut, tut, tut: never speak. Thy guilty conscience will discover thee. Well, goodwife BA'D, COBS wife; and you, That make your husband such a hoddie-doddie; And you, young apple-squire; and old ouckold-maker; He ha'you every one before a Justice: Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go. Come, will you go? Oh, COB, art thou come? I have been abused, And in thy house. Never was man so, wronged! Marry, young lust in old; and old in young, here: Thy wife's their bawd, here have I taken them. Yes, I'll show cause before the Justice, COB: Come, let her go with me. A bitter quean. Come, wee'll have you tamed. WEll, of all my disguises, yet, now am I most Like my self: being in this Sergeants gown. A man of my present profession, never counterfeits, till he lays hold upon a debtor, and says, he rests him, for then he brings him to all manner of unrest. A kind of little kings we are, bearing the diminutive of a mace, made Like a young artichoke, that always carries pepper and salt, in it self. Well, I know not what danger I undergo, by this exploit, pray heaven, I come well of. After two, sir. I found her there, sir. Marry, that did my brother WELLBRED. Gone with my sister, sir, I know not whither. How! my sister olne away? Sir, thus they go from me, kiss me, sweet heart. See, what a drove of horns fly, in the air, Winged with my dens, and my credulous breath! Watch them, suspicious eyes, watch, where they fallen. See, see! on hends, that think th'haue none at all! Oh, what a plenteous world of this, will come! When air reins horns, all m y be sure of same. I have learned so much verse out of a jealous men partly, in a play. See, what a drove of horns fly, in the air, Winged with my dens, and my credulous breath! Watch them, suspicious eyes, watch, where they fallen. See, see! on hends, that think th'haue none at all! Oh, what a plenteous world of this, will come! When air reins horns, all m y be sure of same.