SATAN

Peace, dotard, And thou more ignorant thing, that so admirest. Art thou the spirit thou seemest? so poor? to choose This, for a Vice, advance the cause of Hell, Now? as Vice stands this present year? Remember, What number it is. Six hundred and sixteen. Had it but been five hundred, though some sixty Above; that's fifty years ago, and six, (When every great man had his Vice stand by him, In his long coat, shaking his wooden dagger) I could consent, that, then this your graven choice Might have done that, with his Lord Chief, the which Most of his chamber can do now. But Pug, As the times are, who is it, will receive you? What company will you go to? or whom mix with? Where canst thou carry him? except to Taverns? To mount up on a jointstool, with a Jews -trump, To put down Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens? He never will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes. He may perchance, in tail of a Sheriffs dinner, Skip with a rhyme o'the Table, from New-nothing, And take his Almain -leap into a custard, Shall make my Lad Majoress, and her sisters, Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders. But, This is not that will do, they are other things That are received now upon earth, for Vices; Stranger, and newer: and changed every hour. They ride them Like their horses off their legs, And here they come to Hell, whole legions of'hem, Every week tired. We, still strive to breed, And rear them up new ones; but they do not stand, When they come there: they turn them on our hands. And it is feared they have a stud o'their own Will put down ours. Both our breed, and trade Will suddenly decay, if we prevent not. Unless it be a Vice of quality, Or fashion, now, they take none from us. Carmen Are God into the yellow starch, and Chimney-sweepers To their tobacco, and strong-waters, Hum, Meath, and Obarni. We must therefore aim At extraordinary subtle ones, now, When we do send to keep us up in credit. Not old Iniquities. Get you e'ne back, Sir, To making of your rope of sand again. You are not for the manners, nor the times: They have their Vices, there, most Like to Virtues ; You cannot know them, apart, by any difference: They wear the same clothes, eat the same meat Sleep i'the selfsame beds, ride i'those coaches. Or very Like, four horses in a coach, As the best men and women. Tissue gowns, Garters and roses, fourscore pound a pair, Embroidered stockings, cutwork smocks, and shirts, More certain marks of lechery, now, and pride, Then ere they were of true nobility! But Pug, since you do burn with such desire To do the Commonwealth of Hell some service I am content, assuming of a body, You go to earth, and visit men, a day. But you must take a body ready made, Pug, I can create you none: nor shall you form Your self and aery one, but become subject To all impression of the flesh, you take, So far as humane frailty. So, this morning, There is a handsome Cutpurse hanged at Tiborne, Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body: For clothes employ your credit, with the Hangman, Or let our tribe of Brokers furnish you. And, look, how far your subtlety can work Thorough those organs, with that body, spy Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want vices, And therefore the less needs to carry them wi'you) But as you make your soon at nights relation, And we shall find, it merits from the State, You shall have both trust from us, and employment. Only, thus more I bind you, He shows Fitz-dot trel to him, coming forth. To serve the first man that you meet; and him I'll show you, now: Observe him. You' is he, You shall see, first, after your clothing. Follow him: But once engaged, there you must stay and fix; Not shift, until the midnights cock do crow. Away, then. I, they do, now, name Bretnor, as before, They talked of Gresham, and of Doctor Foreman, Franklin, and Fiske, and Savoury (he was in too) But there's not one of these, that ever could Yet show a man the Devil, in true sort. They have their crystals, I do know, and rings, And virgin parchment, and their dead-men's culls Their ravens wings, their lights, and pentacles, With characters ; I have seen all these. But— Would I might see the Devil. I would give A hundred o'these pictures, to see him Once out of picture. May I prove a cuckold, (And that's the one main mortal thing I fear) If I begin not, now, to think, the Painters Have only made him. God's-light, he would be seen, One time or other else. He would not let And ancient gentleman, of a good house, As most are now in England, the Fitz-dottrel's, Run wild, and call upon him thus in vain, As I have done this twelve mone'th. If he be not, At all, why, are there Conjurers? If they be not, Why, are there laws against them? The best artists Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London, Essex, and Kenned, I have had in pay to raise him, These fifty weeks, and yet h'appeares not. God's-death, I shall suspect, they, can make circles only Shortly, and know but his hard names. They do say, H'will meet a man (of himself) that has a mind to him. If he would so, I have a mind and a half for him: He should not be long absent. Pray thee, come I long for thee. And I were with child by him, And my wife, too; I could not more. Come, yet, He express ses a longing to see the Devil. Good Beelezebub. Were he a kind devil, And had humanity in him, he would come, but To save ones longing. I should use him well, I swear, and with respect (would he would try me) Not, as the Conjurers do, when they have raised him. Get him in bonds, and send him post, on errands. A thousand miles, it is preposterous, that: And I believe, is the true cause he comes not. And he has reason. Who would be engaged, That might live freely, as he may do? I swear, They are wrong all. The burnt child dreads the fire. They do not know to entertain the Devil. I would so welcome him, observe his diet, Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of hem, In my own house; lend him my wives wrought pillows: And as I am and honest man, I think, If he had a mind to her, too; I should grant him, To make our friendship perfect. So I would not To every man. If he but hear me, now? And should come to me in a brave young shape, And take me at my word? would! Who is this? SIR, your good pardon, that I thus presume Upon your privacy. I am born a Gentleman, A younger brother; but, in some disgrace, Now, with my friends: and want some little means, To keep me upright, while things be reconciled. Please you, to let my service be of use to you, Sir. Impudent fiend, Stop thy lewd mouth. The great Devil en ters, and up braids him with all his days work. Dost thou not shame and tremble To lay thine own dull damned defects upon And innocent case, there? Why thou heavy slave! The spirit, that did possess that fresh before Put more true life, in a finger, and a thumb, Then thou in the whole Mass. Yet thou rebell'st And murmurest? What one proffer hast thou made, Wicked enough, this day, that might be called Worthy thine own, much less the name that sent thee? First, thou didst help thy self into a beating Promptly, and with to endangered'st too thy tongue: A Devil, and could not keep a body entire One day! That, for our credit. And to vindicate it, Hinderd'st (for ought thou knowest) a deed of darkness: Which was and act of that egregious folly, As no one, to'ard the Devil, could have thought on. This for your acting! but for suffering! why Thou hast been cheated on, with a false beard, And a turned cloak. Faith, would your predecessor The Cutpurse, think you, have been so? Out upon thee, The hurt th'hast done, to let men know their strength, And that the'are able to outdo a devil Put in a body, will for ever be A scar upon our Name! whom hast thou dealt with, Woman or man, this day, but have outgone thee Some way, and most have proved the better fiends? Yet, you would be employed? Yes, hell shall make you Provincial of the heaters ! or Bawd-ledger, For this side of the town! No doubt you'll render A rare account of things. Bane of your itch, And scratching for employment. I'll have brimstone To all lay it sure, and fire to sing your nails off, But, that I would not such a damned dishonour Stick on our state, as that the devil were hanged; And could not save a body, that he took From Tyborn, but it must come thither again: Iniquity takes him on his back. You should even ride. But, up away with him— For what? the laming a poor Cow, or two? Entering a Sow, to make her cast her farrow? Or crossing of a Mercat woman's Mare, betwixt this and Totnam ? these were wont to be Your main achievements, Pug, you have some plot, now, Upon a running of Ale, to stale the yeast, Or keep the churn so, that the butter come not; Spite of the housewives cord, or her hight spit? Or some good Ribibe, about Kentish Town, Or Hogsden, you would hang now, for a witch, Because she will not let you play round Robin: And you'll go sour the Cittiens Cream against Sunday? That she may be accused for't, and condemned, By a Middlesex Jury, to the satisfaction Of their offended friends, the Londoners wives Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish fiend, Stay i'your place, know your own strengths, and put not Beyond the sphere of your activity. You are too dull a Devil to be trusted Forth in those parts, Pug, upon any affair That may concern our name, on earth. It is not Every ones work. The state of Hell must care Whom it employs, in point of reputation, Here about London. You would make, think And Agent, to be sent, for Lancashire, Proper enough; or some parts of Northumberland, So you had good instructions, Pug. What Vice ? What kind wouldst th'haue it of?