CLERIMONT

Let me hear it. Why, I pay? I think, and above a man too, if the truth were racked out of you. No marvel, if the door be kept shut against your Master, when the entrance is so easy to you—well Sir, you shall go there no more, lest I be feign to seek your voice in my Ladies Rushes, a fortnight hence, Sing, Sir. Boy sings. Why, what should a man do? Nay, if I have thy authority, I'll not leave yet. Come, the other are considerations, when we come to have grey heads, and weak hammes, moist eyes, and shrunk man bers. we think she sleeps: nor, when the doors are shut, should men be inquiring, all is sacred within, then. Is it for us to see their Perrukes put on, their false Teeth, their Complexion, their Eyebrows, their Nails? you see guilders will not work, but enclosed. They must not discover, how little serve, with the help of art, to adorn a great deal. How long did the Canvas hang afore Aldgate? were the people suffered to see the Cities Love, and Charity, while they were rude stone, before they were painted, and burnished? No. No more should Servants approach their Mistress's, but when they are complete, and finished. Well said, my True-wit. Oh prodigy! Why, thou shouldst have relieved her. Not these three days. Shall we go to him this mor ning? he is very melancholic, I hear. Oh, that's his custom when he walks abroad. He can endure no noise, man. No, nor the Broome-men: They stand out stiffly. He cannot endure a Costard-monger, he swoons if he hear one. Or any Hammer-man. A Brazier is not suffered to dwell in the Parish, nor and Armourer. He would have hanged a Pewterers' prentice once up on a Shroue-tuesdayes Riot, for being of that Trade, when the rest were quit. Out of his senses. The Weights of the City have a Pension of him, not to come near that Ward. This Youth practised on him, one night, Like the Bellman; and never left till he had brought him down to the door, with a Longsword: and there left him flourishing with the Air. Oh, in the Queens time, he was wont to go out of Town every Saturday at ten a clock, or on Holy-day-eues. But now, by reason of the sickness, the perpetuity of ring king has made him devise a room, with double walls, and Triple feelings; the windores close shut, and calle'd: and there he lives by Candlelight. He turned away a man last week, for having a pair of new Shoes, that creaked. And this fell low waits on him now, in Tennis-court Socks, or Slippers soled with Wool: and they talk each to other, in a Trunk. See who comes here. HOw now! what all you Sirs? dumb? Yes: why, thou art a stranger, it seems, to his best trick, yet. He has employed a fellow this half year, all over England, to harken him out a dumb woman; be she of any form, or any quality, so she be able to bear children: her silence is Dowry enough, he says. No, but he has herd of one that's lodged in the next street to him, who is exceedingly soft-spoken; thrifty of her speech; that spends but six words a day. And her he's about now, and shall have her. Marry, a Barber, one Cut-berd: and honest fellow, one that tells Dauphine all here. Yes faith. The fellow trims him silently, and has not the knack with his Sheeres, or his fingers: and that continence in a Barber he thinks so emient a virtue, as it has made him chief of his counsel. Y , that they are. Why, right over against the Barbers; in the house, where Sir John Daw lies. Why? Si Amorous La-fool. Heart, he's come, to invite me to Dinner, I hold my life. Boy, marshal him. A way, I beseech you. I'll make him tell us his Pede gree, now; and what meat he has to Dinner; and, who are his Guests; and, the whole course of his Fortune's: with a breath. S'Aue, deer Sir Dauphine, honoured Master Clerimont. Sir Amorous! you have very much honested my Lodging, with your presence. Not so, Sir. How, Sir! wait upon them? did you ever see me car rye Dishes? Oh, that I will, Sir. The doubtfulness of your phrase, believe it, Sir, would breed you a quarrel, once and hour, with the terrible Boys, if you should but keep them fellowship a day. I believe it, Sir; where hold you your Feast? Then, she is Captain Otter? Now, h'is in. Oh, let him breathe, he has not recovered. Did you ever hear such a Wind-fucker, as this? Go. CAnnot I, yet, find out a more compendious method, then by this Trunk, to save my Servants the labour of speech, and mine ears, the discord of sounds? Let me see: all Discourses, but mine own, afflict me, they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome. Is it not possible, that thou shouldst answer me, by Signs, and, I apprehend thee, fell low? speak not, though I question you. You have taken the Ring, off from the street door, as I bade you? answer me not, by speech, but by silence; unless, At the brea ches, still the fellow makes legs, or signs it be otherwise (—) very good. And, you have fastened on a thick quilt, or flock bed, on the outside of the door; that if they knock with their Daggers, or with Brickbats, they can make no noise? but with your leg, your answer, unless it be otherwise (—) very good. This is not, only, fit modesty in a Sir vant, but good state, and discretion in a Master. And you have been with Cutberd, the Barber, to have him come to me? (—) good. And, he will come presently? answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise: if it be otherwise, shake your head, or shrug (—) so. Your Italian, and Spaniard, are wise in these! and it is a frugal, and comely gravity. How long will it be, ere Cut beard come? stay, if and hour, hold up your whole hand; if half and hour, two fingers; if a quarter, one; (—) good: half a quarter? it's well. And have you given him a Key, to come in without knocking? (—) good. And, is the Lock oiled, and the Hinges, to day? (—) good. And the Quilting of the stairs no where worn out, and bore (—) very good. I see, by much doctrine, and impulsion, it may be effected: stand by. The Turk, in this divine discipline, is admirable, excee ding all the Potentates of the Earth; still waited on by Mutes; and all his Commands so executed; yea, even in the War (as I have herd) and in his Marches, most of his Charges, and directions, given by Signs, and with silence: and exquisite art! and I am heartily ashamed, and angry often times, that the Princes of Christendom, should suffer a Bar barian, to transcend them in so high a point of felicity. I will practice it, hereafter. How now? o! o! what Villain? what Prodigy of Mankind is that? look. O! One winds a Horn without. Again. cut his throat, cut his throat: what Murderer, Hellhound, Devil can this be? They dis suade her, privately. Oh, by no means, she may not refuse— to stay at home, if you love your reputation: God's-light, you are invited thither of purpose to be seen, and laughed at by the Lady of the College, and her shadows. This Trumpeter hath pro climb you. He will suspect us, talk aloud. pray, Mistress Epicoene, let's see your Verses; we have Sir John Daw's leave: do not conceal your Servants merit, and your own glories. I, Is't not? That again, I pray Sir John. Peace. How it chimes, and cries tinke in the close, divinely! No, I think it's Plutarch. They are very graven Authors. He must needs, living among the Wits, and Bram ueries too. What do you think of the Poets, Sir John? I think so. What a sackful of their names he has God! Was not the Character right, of him? Yes, and Syntagma. I, both the Corpusses, I knew them: they were very corpulent Authors. I wonder that he is not called to the Helm, and made a Councillor! Nay, but in Ordinary! to say truth, the State wants such. I muse, a Mistress can be so silent to the dotes of such a Servant. What else? No, 'twere pity he should. A Knight live by his Verses? he did not make them to that end, I hope. I, he professed himself; but Sir John Daw has more caution: hee'll not hinder his own rising in the state so much! do you think he will? Your Verses, good Sir John, and no Poems. A Madrigal of Procreation, you mistake. See, here's Tru-wit again! WHere hast thou been, in the name of madness! thus accoutered with thy Horn? I would you had placed this benefit somewhere else. Slight you have done the most inconsiderate, rash, weak thing, that ever man did to his friend. Would my lips had been soldered, when I spoke on't. Slight, what moved you to be thus impertinent? Thus it's, when a man will be ignorantly officious; do services, and not know his why: I wonder what curtain ous itch possessed you! you never did absurder partly in your life, nor a greater trespass to friendship, to humanity. I know it, would it had not. Wilt thou ascribe that to merit, now, was mere fortune? Away thou strange instifier of thy self, to be wiser then thou Wertenberg, by the event. Master Tru-wit, Lady, a friend of ours. Faith, and you had come sooner, you should have seen, and herd her well celebrated in Sir John Daw's Ma drigalls. Left they should forget? What! do you say so, Sir John? Gone afore, with Sir Dauphine, I warrant to the place. Tut, hee'll swallow it Like Cream: he's better read in Jure Civili, then to esteem any thing a disgrace is offered him from a Mistress. No, Sir, do not take it so to heart: she do's not re fuse you, but a little neglect you. Good faith, Tru-wit, you were too blame to put it into his head, that she do's refuse him. It had been and excellent happy condition for the company, if you could have drawn him to it. As a Dog, if I were as you, Sir John. It's well done: he begins already to be angry with his teeth. Nay, you must walk alone, if you be right melan colic, Sir John. Was there ever such a two yards of Knighthood, measured out by Time, to be sold to laughter? Let's follow him: but first, let's go to Dauphine, he's hovering about the House, to hear what news. But, he may take the other end of the Lane. And his charge left behind him, which is a very good sign, Dauphine. How the Slave does Latin it! Be shrew his heart that will not, I pronounce. For Gods sake, let's effect it: it will be and excellent Comedy of affliction, so many several noises. Oh, but they'll rise earlier then ordinary, to a Feast. Who knows the House? Nor I. No: for Gods sake, what is he? For Gods love! we should miss this, if we should not go. Alas, what a tyranny, is this poor fellow mar ryed too. I, that was he, Lady. Why, what do you think of me, Sir John! ask Sir Dauphine. I assure you, Sir John, she did. Yes, for look you Sir, this was the injury to you. La-fool intended this Feast to honour her Bridal day, and made you the property to invite the College Ladies, and promise to bring her: and then at the time, she should have appeared (as his friend) to have given you the dor. Where as now, Sir Dauphine has brought her to a feeling of it, with this kind of satisfaction, that you shall bring all the Ladies to the place where she is, and be very jovial; and there she will have a Dinner, which shall be in your name: and so dis appoint La-fool, to make you good again, and (as it were) a savour i'the man. About it then presently, Tru-wit is gone before to confront the Coaches, and to acquaint you with so much, if he meet you. Join with him, and it's well. See, here comes your Antagonist, but take you no notice, but be we rye jovial. Will you speak so kindly to Sir John Daw, that has done you such and affront? Why Sir, his Mistress is married to day, to Sir Dau phines Uncle, your Cosens Neighbour, and he has diver ted all the Ladies, and all your company thither, to frustrate your provision, and stick a disgrace upon you. He was here, now, to have enticed us away from you too: but we told him his own, I think. I thought he would not hear it out, but 'twould take him. The smell of the Venison, going through the Street, will invite one noise of Fiddlers, or other. Faith, there is hope, they have intelligence of all Feasts. There's good correspondence betwixt them, and the London -Cooks. It's twenty to one but we have them. I, if we can hold up the aemulation betwixt Fool and Daw, and never bring them to expostulate. See! Sir Amorous has his Towel on already. He enters Like a Sewer Have you persuaded your Cossen? But you must carry it privately, without any noise, and take no notice by any means— And your self too, Captain Otter. That you shall do, Captain Otter. I, she must hear argument. Did not Pasiphae, who was a Queen, love a Bull? and was not Calisto, the Mother of Arcas, turned into a Bear, and made a Star, Mistress Ʋ r sula, i'the Heavens? Make haste, good Sir Amorous. Sir, there's and Angel for your self, and a brace of Angels for your cold. Muse not at this manage of my bounty, It is fit, we should thank Fortune, double to Nature, for a nigh benefit she confers upon us; beside, it is your imper fection, but my solace. The Parson speaks, as having a cold. No, they are Hair, Rosin, and Guts. I can give you the Receipt. Play, I say. Would this had lasted a little longer. I have not read of the Like, in the Chronicles of the Land. He may presume it, I think. And she carries it up bravely. And how so berly Dauphine labours to satisfy him, that it was none of his plot! But where are your Collegiates? Me thinks, the Lady Haughty looks well to day, for all my dispraise of her in the morning. I think, I shall come about to thee again, Tru-wit. Oh, you shall have some women, when they laugh, you would think they brayed, it is so rude, and— He says true to you, Dauphine. Oh, but a man must beware of force. But all women are not to be taken always. Out on thee. Wee'll keep you at home, believe it, in the Stable, and you be such a Stallion. Why, Captain, what Service? what Service? Well held at the Bear. At the head. You take no notice of the business I hope. Sfoot, if you take not your drink, they'll think you are discontented with some thing: you'll betray all, if you take the least notice. Speak to him of her. But you must drink, and be jovial, Oh, now the Trumpets have waked him, we shall have his company. The more to blame you, Captain. Where's Daw, and La-fool? Is't not on, Captain? I am glad we are rid of him. What a neighing Hobbyhorse is this! Why, you discommended them too, to day, Sir John Do you not know that, Sir? never ceases all night. Alas, poor man. By my faith, a large Truce. I, Otters Wine has swelled their humours above a Springtide. No, I'll stay here. Driven them out of your come pany, it's all I ask: which cannot be any way better done, then by extolling Dauphine, whom they have so slighted. What a cast of Kastrils are these, to hawk after Ladies, thus? He will be mad, when we will tell him. Here he comes. Oh Sir, you are welcome. And asked, if thou Wertenberg thine Uncle's keeper? Before God, I'll be his witness; thou shalt have it, Dauphine: thou shalt be his Fool for ever, if thou dost not. He puts him up a gain, and then came forth. What hast thou done? His left wing, for a Jack Daw. I pray thee, let me be in at the other a little. No, but I could hit of somethings that thou wilt miss, and thou wilt say are good ones. Yes, but this fears the bravest: the other a whini ling daftard, Jack Daw: but La-fool, a brave heroic coward! and is afraid in a great look, and a stout accent. I Like him rarely. Shall I make a motion? Shall I go fetch the Ladies to the Catastrophe? They have forgotten their Rapiers! And yours, Sir Amorous? What a consent there is, in the handles? For Man slaughter, Sir, as being accessary. Why, Dauphine took them from the mad man. Very Like, Sir. Would I knew how to make you so, Gentlemen: Not I, in troth Lady, I am no Scrivener. He has it in the Haft of a Knife, I believe! Like a Surgean! How, Maps of persons! Away! he has not found our her Latitude, I hope. Faith, now we are in private, let's wanton it a little, and talk waggishly. Sir John, I am telling Sir Amorous here, that you two govern the Ladies, where ever you come. you carry the Feminine Gender afore you. Nay, I believe that they do, withal—But, that you are the prime-men in their affections, and direct all their actions— Well, agree on't together Knights; for between you, you divide the Kingdom, or Commonwealth of Ladies affections: I see it, and can perceive a little how they ob serve you, and fear you, indeed. You could tell strange Stories, my Master's, if you would, I know. And these Ladies with you, Knights? Do you hear, Sir John, you shall tell me but one thing truly, as you love me. You lay in the same house with the Bride, here? And what humour is she of? is she coming, and open, free? Come, you have both had favours from her? I know, and have herd so much. Tut, she is married, now; and you cannot hurt her with any report, and therefore speak plainly: how many times, i'faith? which of you led first? Would? Dost thou i'faith, Amorous? Why, I commend you Lads. Little knows Done Bride groom of this. Nor shall he, for me. Speak softly: here comes his Nephew, with the La die Haughty. Hee'll get the Ladies from you, Sirs, if you look not to him in time. How now, Dauphine? how dost thou quit thy self of these Females? He reads the Paper. A Riddle? pray let me see't? Sir Dauphine, I chosen this way of intimation for privacy. The Ladies here, I know, have both hope, and purpose, to make a Collegiate and Servant of you. If I might be so honoured, as to appear at any end of so noble a Work, I would enter into a fame of taking Physic to morrow, and continue you it four or five days, or longer, for your visitation. Mavis. By my faith, a subtle one! Call you this a Riddle? What's their plain dealing, trow? We lack him for somewhat else too: his Knights reformados are wound up as high, and insolent, as ever they were. Yes, and tell times, and circumstances, with the cause why, and the place where. I had almost brought them to affirm that they had done it, to day. Yes faith: with a sooth or two more I had effected it. They would have set it down under their hands. Now it grows warm. Before he speaks. Hear him, good Ladies. Why, then it's no Divorce, Doctor, if she consent not? Nay, you must make it good now, Knights, there is no remedy, I'll eat no words for you, nor no men: you know you spoke it to me? You will dispatch, Knights, it must be done, i'faith. Nay, you must be plain, Knights, as you were to me. A Boy. No Drunkards, either with Wine or Vanity, ever confessed such Stories of themselves. I would not give a Flies leg, in balance against all the women's reputations here, if they could be but thought to speak truth: and, for the Bride, they have made their affidavit against her direct lie— Oh, you must not tell, though. A battle, a battle.