CANTER

I do not Like those paper-squibs, good Master. They may undo your store, I mean, of Credit, And fire your Arsenal, if case you do not In time make good those outerworkes, your pockets, And take a Garrison in of some two hundred, To Beatrice these Pioneers off, that carry a Mine Would blow you up, at last. Secure your Casamates, Here Master Picklock, Sir, your man of Law, And learned Att rney, has sent you a Bag of munition. Three hundred pieces. Do, I would have your strengths lined, and perfumed With Gold, as well as Amber. Who, S r . I, Did I not tell you I was bred i'the Mines, Under Sir Bevis Bullion. And Rubies Do grow Like Strawberries. What Office? All is well, But that your man of law me thinks appears not In his endue time. Oh! Here comes Master's worship. HOw do's the Heir, bright Master Peniboy ? Is he awake yet in his One and Twenty? Why, this is better far, then to wear Cypress, Dull smutting gloves, or melancholy blacks, And have a pair of twelve-penny broad ribbons Laid out Like Labels. Who is her Gentleman-usher too. She is The talk o'the time th'aduenture o'the age! All the world are suitors to her. You shall have stall-fed Doctors, cramed Divines Make love to her, and with those studied And perfumed flatteries, as no room can stink More elegant, then where they are. And (by your leave) Good Master's worship, some of your velvet coat Make corpulent curt' ies to her, till they crack for't. Your Sea-captain, Shun field, Gives out hee'll go upon the Cannon for her. Young Master Pied mantle, the fine Herald Professes to deriver her through all ages, From all the Kings, and Queens, that ever were. And you to bear her from all these, it will be— Of honour. Worthy your name. It is and Actium you were built for, Sir, And carry it. A Rogue, A very Canter, I Sir, one that mands Upon the Pad, we should be brother's though: For you are near as wretched as my self, You dare not use your money, and I have none. Sir, I meant You durst not to enjoy it. I owe my happiness to him, qord waiting on his worship, since I brought him , welcome to all young heirs. She is not rigged, Sir, setting forth some Lady, ill cost as much as furnishing a Fleet, she's come at last, The study is opened where she fit in state. She kisses him. and Like a Galley The study is opened where she fit in state. She kisses him. i'the prow. They pass the compliment Prettily well. I see A Money-Bawd, is lightly a Flesh-Bawd, too. By no means, Sir. He speaks modestly, And Like and Uncle, No, I have known a Princess, and a great one, Come forth of a tavern. She must go in, if she came forth: the blessed Pokahontas (as the Historian calls her And great Kings daughters of Virginia ) Hath been in womb of a tavern; and beside, Your nasty Uncle will spoil all your mirth, And be as noisome. No in-faith, Dine in Apollo with Pecuniam, At brave Duke Wadloos, have your friends about you, And make a day on't. He should have spoke of that, Sir, and not you: Two do not do one Office well. So are all they, that do them, to vain ends, And yet you do loose, when you pay you selves. What, a fart for her? Beware how she r sents it. Yes, in Ale. A pretty sweet society! and a grateful! And your self a Fool O'the first rank, and one shall have the leading O'the right-hand file, under this brave Commander. Sir, I say this is A very wholesome exercise, and comely. Like Lepers, showing one another their scabs. Or flies feeding on ulcers. They never lie, Sir, between meals, against supper You may have a Bale or two brought in. Why? by that argument, You all are Canters, you, and you, and you, He speaks to all the Jeerers. All the whole world are Canters, I will prove it In your professions. Al-manach, though they call him Almanac. Nothing, I Sir? I am a wretch, a beggar. She the fortunate. Can want no kindred, we, the poor know none. Look, look, The boy sings the song. how all their eyes Dance i'their heads (observe) scattered with lust! At sighed of their brave Idol ! how they are tickled, With a light air! the bawdy Saraband ! They are a kind of dancing engines all! And set, by nature, thus, to run alone To every found! All things within, without them, Move, but their brain, and that stands still! mere monsters Here, in a chamber, of most subtle feet! And make their legs in tune, passing the streets! These are the gallant spirits o'the age! The miracles o'the time! that can cry up And down men's wits! and set what rate on things Their half-brained fancies please! Now pox vpon'hem. See how solicitously he learns the Jig, As if it were a mystery of his faith! Pox o'your distinction! As if a Scholar were no Gentleman. With these, to write Like a Gentleman, will in time Become, all one, as to write Like and Ass, These Gentlemen ? these Rascals! I am sick Of indignation at them. Why sighs you S r ? because he's at rest? A Madrigal on Sack! A Canter. Sir, here is one will prove himself so, straight, So shall the rest, in time. How far's this from canting? She can cant, S . Is not this canting? do you understand him? The Doctor here, I will proceed with the learned. When he discourseth of dissection, Or any point of Anatomy: that he tells you, Of Venam cava, and of venam portam, The Meseraicks, and the Mesenterium. What does he else but cant ? Or if he run To his Judicial Astrology, And trowle the Trine, the Quartile and the Sextile, Platicke aspect, and Partile, with his Hyleg Or Alchochoden, Cuspes, and Horroscope. Does not he cant ? Who here does understand him? Or when my Mustermaster Talks of his Tactics, and his Ranks, and Files ; His Bringers up, his Leaders on, and cries, Faces about to the right hand, the left, Now, as you were: then tells you of Redoubts, Of Cats, and Cortines. Does not he cant ? My Eg-chind Laureate, here, when he comes forth With Dimeters, and Trimeters, Tetrameters, Pentameters, Hexameters, Catalecticks, His Hyper, and his Brachy-Catalecticks, His Pyrrhichs, Epitrites, and Choriambicks. What is all this, but canting ? And you, Mass Courtier. With all your flyblown projects, And looks out of the politics, your shut-faces, And reserved Questions, and Answers that you game with, As Is't a Clear business ? will it manage well ? My name must not be used else. Here, it'll dash. Your business has received a taint, give off, I may not prostitute my self. Tut, tut, That little dust I can blow off, at pleasure. Here's no such mountain, yet, i'the whole work! But a light purse may level. I will tied This affair for you; give it freight, and passage. And such mynt-phrase, as it's the worst of canting, By how much it affects the sense, it has not. And a Professor. And read Apicius de reculinaria To your brave Doxy, and you! That's Ma drigall. As carving, and assaulting the cold custard. But I shall stop it. Your worships loving, and obedient father, Your painful Steward, and lost Officer ! Here his fa there disco vers him self. Who have done this, to try how you would use Pecuniam, when you had her: which since I see, I will take home the Lady, to my charge, And these her servants, and leave you my Cloak, To travel in to Beggars Bush! A Seat, Is built already, furnished too, worth twenty Of your imagined structures, Canters College. Thou, Prodigal, Was I so careful for thee, to procure, And plot with my learned counsel, Master Picklock, This noble match for thee, and dost thou prostitute, Scatter thy Mistress favours, throw away Her bounties, as they were red-burning coals, Too hight for thee to handle, on such rascals? Who are the scum, and excrements of men? If thou hadst sought out good, and virtuous persons Of these professions: I'had loved thee, and them. For these shall never have that plea against me, Or colour of advantage, that I hate Their callings, but their manners, and their vices. A worthy Courtier, is the ornament Of a Kings Palace, his great Master's honour. This is a moth, a rascal, a Court-rat, That gnaws the commonwealth with broking suits, And eating grievances! So, a true Soldier, He is his Countries strength, his Sovereigns safety, And to secure his peace, he makes himself. The heir of danger, nay the subject of it, And runs those virtuous hazards, that this Scarecrow Cannot endure to hear of. With you I dare be! Here is Pyed-mantle, Because he's and Ass, do not I love a Herald? Who is the pure preserver of descents, The keeper fair of all Nobility, Without which all would run into confusion? Were he a learned Herald, I would tell him He can give Arms, and marks, he cannot honour, No more then money can make Noble: It may Give place, and rank, but it can give no Virtue. And he would thank me, for this truth. This dog-Leach, You style him Doctor, because he can compile And Almanac ; perhaps erect a Scheme For my great Madame monkey: when it has taken A glister, and bewrayed the Ephemerides. Do I despise a learned Physician? In calling him a Quacksalver ? or blast The everliving ghirl and, always green Of a good Poet ? when I say his wreathe Is pieced and patched of dirty withered flowers? Away, I am impatient of these ulcers, (That I not call you worse) There is no soar, Or Plague but you to infect the times. I abhor Your very scent. Come, Lady, since my Prodigal Knew not to entertain you to your worth, I'll see if I have learned, how to receive you, He points him to his patched cloak thrown off. With more respect to you, and your fair train here. Farewell my Beggar in velvet, for to day, To morrow you may put on that graven Robe, And enter your great work of Canters College, Your work and worthy of a Chronicle, But what conference? What oaths, and vows preceded? You'old cozen both, then? your Confederate, too? Then on you, Rascal? Before a Son? Forehead of steel, and mouth of brass! hath impu dence Polished so gross a lie, and darest thou vent it? Engine, composed of all mixed metals! hence, I will not change a syllab, with thee, more, Till I may meet thee, at a Bar in Court, Before thy Judges. His Son en treats him. I will not hear thee. It is enough. Your ears are in my pocket, Knave, go shake them, The little while you have them. I have you in a purse-net, Good Master Picklock, with your worming brain, And wriggling ingine-head of maintenance, Which I shall see you hold with, very shortly. A fine round head, when those two lug's are off, To trundle through a Pillory. You are sure You herd him speak this? Do, do, my gowned Vulture, Crop in Reversion: I shall see you coyted Over the Bar, as Bargemen do their billets. 'Twas good fortune! To cheat the Cheater, was no cheat, but justice, Put off your rags, and be your self again, This Act of piety, and good affection, Hath partly reconciled me to you. How, Lickfinger ? Now, heaven forbid. I, If so the subject Were not so wretched. In-faith, Like enough The vicious still are swift to show their nature's. I'll thither too, but with another aim, If all succeed well, and my simples take. WHere are the prisoners? Oh, mighty, Intolerable fines, and mulcts impo'sd! (Of which I come to warn you) forfeitures Of whole estates, if they be known, and taken! Peace, Picklock, your Guessed, that Stentor, hath infected you, Whom I have safe enough in a wooden collar. If the Spectators will join theirs, we thanke'hem. Yes, and sent hither to restore your wits: If your short madness, be not more then anger, Conceived for your lose! which I return you. See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and Wax, Without your Broker, come to abide with you And vindicate the Prodigal, from stealing Away the Lady. Nay, Pecuniam her self, Is come to free him fairly, and discharge All ties, but those of Love, unto her person, To use her Like a friend, not Like a slave, Or Like and Idol. Superstition Does violate the Deity it worships: No less then scorn does. And believe it, brother The use of things is all, and not the Store ; Surfeit, and fullness, have killed more then famine. The Sparrow, with his little plumage, flies, While the proud Peacock, ouer-charg worser with pens, Is feign to sweep the ground, with his grown train, And load of feathers. Oh, fie! and Alley, and a Cooks-shop, gross, The Canter takes him a side, and per swades him, IT will savour, Sir, most rankly of them both. Let your meat rather follow you, to a tavern. Why, that's the end of wealth! thrust riches outward, And remain beggars within: contemplate nothing But the vile sordid things of time, place, money, And let the noble, and the precious go, Virtue and honesty; hang them; poor thin membranes Of honour; who respects them? Oh, the Fates! How hath all joust, true reputation fallen, Fitton hath been cour ting the wai ting-women, this while, and is jeered by them. Since money, this base money begin to have any! Your Father's, you may say, indeed, not mine. He's a hard hearted Gentleman! I am sorry To see his rigid resolution! That any man should so put off affection, And humane nature, to destroy his own! And triumph in a victory so cruel! He's fallen out with me, for being yours, And calls me Knave, and Traitors to his Trust, Says he will have me thrown over the Bar — No vows, no promises: too much protestation Makes that suspected oft, we would persuade. Show me a defiance! Peny-boy runs out to fetch his letter. If I can now commit Father, and Son, And make my profits out of both. Commence A suit with the old man, for his whole state, And go to Law with the Sons credit, undo Both, both with their own money, it were a piece Worthy my nightcap, and the Gown I wear, A Picklocks name in Law. Where are you Sir? What do you do so long? See! The difference betwixt the covetous, and the prodigal! "The Covetous man never has money! and "The Prodigal will have none shortly! I say't is nobly done, to cherish Shopkeepers, And pay their Bills, without examining thus. How!) Would!)