PENNYBOY JUNIOR

Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, Land, That is, look on me, and with all thine eyes, Male, Female, yea, Hermaphroditicke eyes, And those bring all your helps, and perspicills, To see me at best advantage, and augment My form as I come forth, for I do feel I will be one, worth looking after, shortly. Now, by and by, that's shortly. He raws forth his watch, and sets it on the Table. it strikes! One, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, deer watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep, and rest; Would thou couldst make the time to do so too: I'll wind thee up no more. The hour is come So long expected! There, there, He throws off his gown drop my wardship, My pupil age, and vassalage together. And Liberty, come throw thy self about me, In a rich suit, cloak, hat, and band, for now I'll sue out no men Livery, but miny own, I stand on my own feet, so much a year, Right, round, and found, the Lord of mine own ground, And (to rhyme to it) threescore thousand Pound! He goes to the door, and looks. Not come? Not yet? Taylor thou art a vermin, Worse then the same thou prosecut'st, and prickest In subtle seam— (Go too, I say no more) Thus to retard my longings: on the day I do write man, to Beatrice thee. One and twenty, S nce the clock struck, complete! and thou wilt feel it Thou foolish Animal ! I could pity him, (And I were not heartily angry with him now) For this one piece of folly he bears about him, To dare to tempt the Fury of and heir, to above two thousand a year; yet hope his custom! Well, M r . Fashioner, theres some must break— A head, for this your breaking. Are you come, Sir, God give your worship joy. What? of your staying? And leaving me to stalk here in my trowses, Like a tame Her'n-sew for you? Why, if you had come Before a quarter, would it so have hurt you, In reputation, to have waited here? That jest Has gained thy pardon, thou hadst lived, condemned To thine own hell else, never to have wrought Stitch more for me, or any Peniboy, I could have hindered thee: but now thou art mine. For one and twenty years, or for three lives, Choose which thou wilt, I'll make thee a Copyholder, He says his suit. And thy first Bill unquestioned. Help me on. Thou shalt be, when I have sealed thee a Lease of my Cum stome. What's that? For what? Pray thee peace, I cannot abide a talking Taylor: let Thom (He's a Barber) by his place relate it, What is't, and Office, Thom ? Before me, thou speakest of a brave business, Thom. I know thee well enough: give him a loaf, Thom — Quiet his mouth, that Oven will be venting else. Proceed— Emissaries? stay, there's a fine new word, Thom ! pray God it signify any thing, what are Emissaries ? Nay, thou wilt speak— Go on then, He gives the Taylor leave to talk. Speak all thou canst: me thinks, the ordinaries Should help them much. I, those Thom — Who is the Chief? which hath preceedencie? What's that? Thom, deer Thom. What may my means do for thee, ask, and have it, I'ld feign be doing some good. It is my birthday. And I'ld do it betimes, I feel a grudging Of bounty, and I would not long lie fallow. I pray thee think, and speak, or wish for something. Thou shalt have it, Thom, If silver, or gold will fetch it; what's the rate? At what is't set i'the Mercat? An't were a hundred, Thom, thou shalt not want it. How now Aesop's Ass! Because I play with Thom, must I needs run Into your rude embraces? stand you still, Sir; Clowns fawnings, are a horses salutations. How dost thou Like my suit, Thom ? Nay, Fashioner, I can do thee a good turn too, be not musty, Though thou hast moulded me, as little Thom says, He draws out his poc kets. (I think thou hast put me in mouldy pockets.) Thy bill will say so. I pray thee tell me, Fashioner, what Authors Thou readest to help thy invention? Italian prints? Or Arras hangings? They are Tailors Libraries. Oh, though thou art a silkworm! And dealest in satins and velvets, and rich plushes, Thou canst not spin all forms out of thy self; They are quite other things: I think this suit Has made me wittier, then I was. What thou reportest, Is but the common calamity, and seen daily; And therefore you have another answering proverb: A broken sleeve keeps the arm back, Do you so? it is wittily said. I wonder, Gentlemen, And men of means will not maintain themselves Fresher in wit, I mean in clothes, to the highest. For he that's out of clothes, is out o'fashion, And out of fashion, is out of countenance, And out of countenance, is out of Wit. Is not Rogue Haberdasher come? Slave. S this same hat O'the block passant? Do not answer me, I cannot stay for and answer. I do feel The powers of one and twenty, Like a idem Flow in upon me, and perceive and Heir, Can Conjure up all spirits in all circles, Rogue, Rascal, Slave give tradesmen their true names, And they appear to them pr sently. Come cast my cloak about me, I'll go see, This Office Thom, and be trimmed afterwards. I'll put thee in possession, my prime work! Gods so my Spurrier! put hem on boy, quickly, His Spurri er comes in. lost my Spurs with too much speed. Good morning to my Joy, My jolly Peni-boy! The Lord, and the Prince of plenty! I come to see what riches, Thou bearest in thy breeches, The first of thy one and twenty What, do thy pockets jingle? Or shall we need to mingle Our strength both of foot and horses! These fellows look so eager, As if they would beleaguer And Heir in the amid of his forces! I hope they be no S rieants! That hang upon thy margins. This Rogue has the Joule of a Jailer Oh Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter, The young Peny-boy answers in tune. My Linen man, and my Taylor. Thou shouldst have been brought in too, Shoemaker, If the time had been longer, and Thom Barber. How dost thou Like my company, old Canter ? Do I not muster a brave troop? all Bill-men ? Present your Arms, before my Founder here, This is my Founder, this same learned Canter ! He brought me the first news of my father's death, He takes the bills, and puts them up in his pockets. I thank him, and ever since, I call him Founder Worship him, boys, I'll read only the sums. And pass them straight. Gods so, some Ale, and Sugar for my Founder ! Good Bills, sufficient Bills, these Bills may pass. What is't? I'll dispatch them. God a mercy, Come, And solvendum, boys! there, there, and there, &c. He pays all. I look on nothing but Totalis. Would, What says my Founder ? I thank you, I thank you Sirs. Alas! they have had a pitiful hard time on't, A long vacation, from their cozening. Poor Rascals, I do do it out of charity. I would advance their trade again, and have them Haste to be rich, swear, and forswear wealthily, What do you stay for, Sirrah? Your box, why, there's and angel, if my Spurs He gives the Spurrier, to his box. Be not right Rippon. Dost thou want any money Founder ? That is true, I quite forgotten, you Myne-men want no money, Your streets are paved with it: there, the melted silver Runs out Like cream, on cakes of gold. 'Twere brave being there! Come Thom, we'll go to the Office now. News Office, the New Staple ; thou shalt go too, It's here i'the house, on the same floor, Thom. says, Come, Founder, let us trade in Ale, and nutmegs. WHat, are those Desks fit now? set forth the Table, The Carpet and the Chair: where are the News That were examined last? have you filled them up? But those, too, subdivided? This is fine! And beats a brave relation! but what says Mercurius Britannicus to this? You are right, Sir. Why, me thinks Sir, if the honest common people Will be abused, why should not they have their pleasure, In the believing Lies, are made for them; As you i'th' Office, making them your selves? See diverse men's opinions! unto some, The very printing of them, makes them News ; That have not the heart to believe any thing, But what they see in print. Sir, I admire The method of your place; all things within't Are so digested, fitted, and composed, As it shows Wit had married Order. I easily think it. A most polite neat thing! with all the limbs, As sense can taste! You must be a Midwife Sir! Or else the son of a Midwife! (pray you pardon me) Have helped it forth so happily! what News have you? News of this morning? I would feign hear some Fresh, from the forge (as new as day, as they say.) Come nearer, Thom: That's I! True! I am here, Thom! Proceed, I pray thee. Why, you shall see him! Founder, Come in; no Follower, but Companion, I pray thee put him in, Friend. There's and Angel — Thou dost not know, he's a wise old Fellow, Though he seem patched thus, and made up of pieces, Founder, we are in, here, in, i'the Newes-Office! In this days Roll, already! I do muse How you came by us Sir's! My man of Law! He's my Attorney, and Solicitor too! A fine pragmatic! what's his place worth? have you those Clark's Sir. Sir, may I Present one more and carry it, if his parts Or Gifts, (which you will, call'hem) What are your present Clerks habilities? How is he qualified? And this at the West-door, O'th other side, he's my Barber Thom, A pretty Scholar, and a Master of Arts, Was made, or went out Master of Arts in a throng, At the University ; as before, one Christmas, He God into a Masque at Court, by his wit, And the good means of his Cythern, holding up thus For one o'the Music, He's a nimble Fellow! And alike skilled in every liberal Science, As having certain snaps of all, a neat, Quick-vaine, in forging News too. I do love him, And promised him a good turn, and I would do it. Whats your price? the valve? Get in Thom, take possession, I install thee; Here, tell your money; give thee joy, good Thom ; He buys Thom a Clerks place. And let me hear from thee every minute of News, While the New Staple stands, or the Office lasts, Which I do wish, may never be less for thy sake. Keep me fair, Sir, Still i'your Staple, I am here your friend, On the same flooer. How dost thou Like it, Founder ? I should have made shift To have laughed as heartily in my mourners hood, As in this Suit, if it had pleased my father To have been buried, with the Trumpeters: I mean, All noise, that is superfluous! A loving and obedient father of him, I know it: a right, kinde-natur'd man, To die so opportunely. I must needs say, I lost and Officer of him, a good Bailiff, And I shall want him; but all peace be with him, I will not wish him alive, again; not I, For all my Fortune; give your worship joy O'your new place, your Emissary-ship, I'the News Office. Not I. Me? A Cornish Gentlewoman, I do know her, Mistress, Pecuniam doe-all. I'll undertake it, Fear me not, for since I came Of mature age, I have had a certain itch In my right eye, this corner, here, do you see? To do some work, and worthy of a Chronicle. To jeer me, As you were wont, I know you. Sayest thou so, deer Uncle? Welcome my friends then: Here is, Domine Picklock: My man of Law, solicits all my causes. Follows my business, makes, and compounds my quarrels, Between my tenants and me, sows all my strifes, And reaps them too, troubles the country for me, And vexes any neighbour, that I please. Under my hand & seal. Be not angry uncle. Thou didst indeed, for which I thank thee yet, Your Princess, Uncle, is long a coming. Is this Pecuniam ? She kisses Like a mortal creature, Almighty Mad e, I have longed to see you. My passion was clear contrary, and doubtful, He kisses her. I shook for fear, and yet I danced for joy, I had such motions as the Sunbeams make Against a wall, or playing on a water, Or trembling vapour of a boiling pot— I cannot talk, but I can love you, Madame. Are these your Gentlewomen? I love them too. And which is mistress Statute ? Mistress Band They all kiss close, the last stuck to my lips. Soft lips she has, I am sure on't. Mother Mortgage, In low a kiss till she be younger, Statute, He doubles the comple meant to them all. Sweet Mistress Band, and honey, little Wax, We must be better acquainted. A fine well-spoken family. What's thy name? Me thinks my uncle should not needs thee, Who is a crafty Knave, enough, believe it. Art thou her Graces Steward? What, o'the Hall? thou hast a sweeping face, Thy beard is Like a broom. Thou shalt go with us. Uncle, I must have My Princess forth to day. Oh! what else? Do not fear. Come, thou shalt go with us, uncle. We'll have both Sack, and Fiddlers. I will be princely, While I possess my Princess, my Pecuniam. Hard by, at Picklocks lodging. Old Lickfinger's the Cook, here in Ram-Alley. Content in-faith: Our meat shall be brought thither. Simon the King, Will bid us welcome. What's that? I will do it: And have her Arms set up there, with her Titles, Aurelia Claram Pecuniam, the Infanta. And in Apollo. Come (sweet Princess ) go. It's true, But I am loath to loose my courtesies. No more of your sentences, Canter, they are stale, We come for news, remember where you are. I pray thee let my Princess hear some news, Good Master Cymbal. Any, any kind. So it be news, the newest that thou hast, Some news of State, for a Princess. How? News from Room. Is the Emperor dead? These will beget strange turns in Christendom ! Stranger! I have herd of some such thing. Done Spinola made General of the Jesuits! A Priest! They have been thought so long, and rightly too. What potched? His strengths will be unresistable, if this hold! The burning glass, by Moonshine. Ha'you no News against him, on the contrary? Why would not you this, Thom? Peny-boy will have him change sides How, change sides, Thom. 'Twas never in my thought To put thee up against our selves. Come down, Quickly. I ventured not my money Upon those terms: If he may change; why so. I'll would him keep his own side, sure. For that I'll bear the charge: There's two Pieces, They shall be , though he pay for it. Up, Thom: and the Office shall take them. Keep your side, Thom. Know your own side, do not forsake your side, Thom. But how is't done? Whence ha'you this news. A most brave device, To murder their flat bottoms. Is't true? He'll never leave his engines: I would hear now Some curious news. Magic, or Or flying i'the air, I care not what. There's for you, Princess. I mean the spirit. The perpetu all Motion. And what hast thou, Thom ? What, from her tap? I'll go see that, or else I'll send old Canter. He can make that discovery. Let me have all this News, made up, and sealed No, good Register, We'll stand it out here, and observe your Office ; The Office called the house of fame. What News it issues. Let's see't. What's that? What Lickfinger! wilt thou convert the Cannibals, With spit and pan Divinity? Oh, my Uncle's! Is dinner ready, Lickfinger? Oh, not half! Thou shalt pay nothing, But reckon them in i'the bill. There's twenty pieces, Her Grace bestows upon the Office, Thom, He gives 20. pieces, to the Of fice. Doubles it. Write thou that down for News. There's twenty more, If you say so; my Prin cease is a Princess ! And put that too, under the Office Seal. Well, Lickfinger, see that our meat be ready, Thou hast News enough. And Thom: Clericus? Jeer? what's that? Well played, my Poet. Call you this jeering? I can play at this, It's Like a Ball at Tennis. What's that? a Knave ? What sayest thou, Canter ? What News Gentlemen? have you any news for after dinner? me thinks We should not spend our time unprofitably. What say you, Gentlemen? Oh, good words. I would feign hear this, But stay, my Princess comes, provide the while, I'll call for't anon. How fares your Grace ? I hope the fare was good. Oh, how my Princess draws me, with her looks, Peny-boy is courting his Prin cease all the while. And Hales me in, as eddies draw in boats, Or strong Charybdis ships, that sail too near The shelves of Love! The tides of your two eyes! Wind of your breath, are such as suck in all, That do approach you! Your self, who drink my blood up with your beams; As does the Sun, the Sea! Pecuniam shines More in the world then he: and makes it Spring Where e'r she favours! please her but to show Her melting wrists, or bore her ivory hands, She catches still! her smiles they are Love's fetters! Her breasts his apples! her teats Stawberries! Where Cupid (were he present now) would cry Fare well my mother's milk, here's sweeter Nectar! Help me to praise Pecuniam, Gentlemen: She's your Princess, lend your wits, Kiss, kiss them, Princess. She kisses them. Kiss, kiss again, what says my man of war? Again. Well pumped faith old Sailor : kiss him too: Though he be a slug. What says my Poet-sucker ! She kisses Captain Shunfield. He's chewing his Muses cud, I do see by him. What? How does he do his Mistress work? Let's hear And thence you have the name. Good, read it, read it. I, leave your Prologues, say! That Mint the Midwife does well. Good! Or of that Beacons fire, Moonlight: Why, here's the Prodigal prostitutes his Mistress ! Sing, boy, stand here. And a dainty Scholar ! They are all struck with admiration. How do you liked, Sir? What says my Lickfinger ? What say they? I thank you, Gentlewomen, ply them, Lickfinger. Give mother Mortgage, there— Hope of Pernassus ! Thy Ivy shall not wither, nor thy Baize, Thou shalt be had into her Graces Cellar, And there know Sack, and Claret, all December, Thy vein is rich, and we must cherish it. Poets and Bees swarm now adais, but yet There are not those good Taverns, for the one sort, As there are Flowery fields to feed the other. Though Bees be pleased with Due, ask little Wax That brings the honey to her Ladies hive: The Poet must have wine. And he shall have it. BRoker? what Broker? Who's that? my Uncle! Why, my most noble money hath, or shall My Princess, here. She that had you but kept, And treated kindly, would have made you noble, And wise, too: nay, perhaps have done that for you, And Act of Parliament could not, made you honest. The truth is, Uncle, that her Grace dislikes Her entertainment: specially her lodging. Hear you, uncle. I must not hear this of my Princess servants, And in Apollo, in Pecunia's room, Go, get you down the stairs: Home, to your Kennel, As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogs, The Lares of your family; or believe it, The fury of a footman, and a drawer Hangs over you. Down with him, Lickfinger. Play him down, Fiddlers, And drown his noise. Who's this! What's that? Oh, thou saidst thou'dst sprone us all so! Her Grace does understand ti. Not I, but it sounds well, and the whole thing Is rarely painted, I will have such a scroll, What ere it cost me. Kiss him, sweet Princess, and style him a Cousin. She kisses. I love all men of virtue, from my Princess, Unto my beggar, here, old Canter, on, On to thy proof, whom prove you the next Canter ? Yes, in-faith. Nay, I do cherish virtue, though in rags. Now he treats of you, Stand forth to him, fair. How Like you him? But he is, Sir, And shall be still, and so shall you be too: We'll all be Canters. Now, I think of it, A noble Whimsie's come into my brain! Canters-Colledge, begun to be erected. I'll built a College, I, and my Pecuniam, And call it Canters College, sounds it well? And here stands my Father Rector, And you Professors, you shall all profess Something, and live there, with her Grace and me, Your Founders: I'll endow't with lands, and means, And Lickfinger shall be my Master-cook. What? is he gone? Yes. You, Cousin Fitton, Shall (as a Courtier ) read the politics ; Doctor Al-manack, he shall read Astrology, Shunfield shall read the Military Arts. And Horace here, the Art of Poetry. His Lyrics, and his Madrigals, fine Songs, Which we will have at dinner, steeped in claret, And against supper, sowc't in sack. Is't not? And Pyed-mantle, shall give us all our Arms, But Picklock, what wouldst thou be? Thou canst cant too. Thou appearest, in non-Latin alphabet a Canter. Thou shalt read All Littletons tenures to me, and indeed All my Conveyances. Fear not, Pecunia's friends shall do it. No, nor I care to hear none. Would I could here fit still, and slip away The other one and twenty, to have this Forgotten, and the day raced out, expunged, In every Ephemerides, or Almanac. Or if it must be in, that Time and Nature Have decreed; still, let it be a day Of tickling Prodigals, about the gills; Deluding gaping heirs, losing their loves, And their discretions; falling from the favours Of their best friends, and parents; their own Hope's; And entering the society of Canters. How, Thom ? Would! Would! How? this awakes me from my lethargy. Has Picklock then a trust ? You see what case, Your, and my Father's plots have brought me to. Ha'you deserved it? Had you a Trust, then? Where is the deed? hast thou it with thee? Oh, fetch it hither. Knows he what brings? I was a sending my Father, Like and Ass, A penitent Epistle, but I am glad I did not, now. I'll show you my letter! I cannot find Where I have laid it, but I have laid it safe. What thou wilt, So we be safe, and the Trust bear it. What plot ? Sir, your ear to me, though. Not that I see through his perplexed plots, And hidden ends, nor that my parts depend Upon the unwinding this so knotted skean, Do I beseech your patience. Unto me He hath confessed the trust. I thou, false man. Yes, lie: It seems thou canst, and perjure: that is natural! I'll stop your mouth. With truth. As if my testimony were not twenty, Balanced with thine? Why? if thou hast a conscience, That is a thoussnd witnesses. Come forth, Thom, He produ ceth Thom. Speak what thou heardest, the truth, and the whole truth, And nothing but the truth. What said this varlet? And talked of a gratuity to be given, And aid unto the charges of the suit; Which he was to maintain, in his own name, But for my use, he said. I, and more. Or you may be. What was it, Lickfinger ? Sir. The Office is down, how should we? No. This would be brave matter Unto the Jeerers. And wish they may, as I, enjoy Pecuniam. Oh! beauty loves to be more proud then nature, That made you blush. I cannot satisfy My curious eyes, by which alone I'am happy, In my beholding you. And Picklock, he must be a kinsman too. My man of Law will teach us all to win, And keep our own. Old Founder. Who? Thom? Come in Thom : set thy things upon the Board And spread thy clothes, lay all forth in procinctu, And tell's what news? Give me my hat. Put on my Girdle. Rascal, sits my Ruff well? To me, even now, and here, Canst thou deny it?