CANDIDO

Oh Gentlemen, so late, you're very welcome, pray fit down. What's that you laugh at, Signiors? Indeed you are good observers, it shows strange. But Gentlemen, I pray neither contemn, Nor yet deride a civil ornament; I could built so much in the round Caps praise, That love this hie roof, I this flat would raise. So all these guests will pardon me, I'll doo't. Thus then in the Caps honour, To every Sex and state, both Nature, Time, The Countries laws, yea and the very Climb Do allot distinct habits, the spruce Courtier Jets up and down in silk: the Warrior Marches in buff, the Clown plods on in grey: But for these upper garments thus I say, The Seaman has his Cap, pared without brim, The Gallants head is feathered, that fits him; The Soldier has his Murren, women would Tires; Beasts have their headpieces, and men would theirs. Each degree has his fashion, it's fit then, One should be laid by for the Citizen, And that's the Cap which you see swells not hie, For Caps are Emblems of humility; It is a Citizens badge, and first was worn By'th Romans; for when any Bondmans turn Came to be made a Freeman: thus 'twas said, He to the Cap was called; that is, was made Of Room a Freeman, but was first close shorn, And so a Citizens hair is still short worn. Of Geometric figures the most rare, And perfectest are the Circle and the square, The City and the School much built upon These figures, for both love proportion. The City Cap is round, the Scholars square. To show that Government and learning are The perfectest limbs i'th body of a State: For without them, all's disproportionate. If the Cap had no honour, this might rear it, The Reverend Father's of the Law do wear it. It's light for Summer, and in cold it sits Close to the scull, a warm house for the wits; It shows the whole face boldly, it's not made As if a man to look on't were afraid, Nor Like a Drapers shop with broad dark shed, For he's no Citizen that hides his head. Flat Caps as proper are to City Gowns, As to Armours Helmets, or to Kings their Crowns. Let then the City Cap by none be scorned, Since with it Princes heads have been adorned. If more the round Caps honour you would know, How would this long Gown with this steeple show? Pray Signior pardon me, 'twas done in jest. O, peace I pray thee, thus far off I stand, I spied the error of my servants, she called for Claret, and you filled out Sack; that cup give me, it's for and old men back, and not for hers. Indeed 'twas but mistaken, ask all these else. Good Lycia reach her that glass of Claret. Here, Mistress Bride, pledge me there. How now? I pray you hold your tongue, my servant there tells me she is not well. How, hang her in her garters? What would you have me do, sir? In any thing that's civil, honest, and joust. I have the very same which my self wore. It will be but some jest, sir. Pray conceit not ill of my wives sudden rising. This young Knight, Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in Physic, and he tells me, the disease called the Mother, hangs on my wife, it is a vehement heaving and beating of the Stomach, and that swelling did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm, that hit his lips, and brake the glass: no harm, it was no harm. The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance. But come, we'll close this brawl up in some dance. Never, believe me, Signior. Well: for she takes you for a very simple fellow. I shall not act it, chide you say, and fret, And grow impatient: I shall never doo't. Were I a Painter, that should live by drawing no thing but Pictures of and angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot doo't. Say I should turn to Ice, and nip her love now it's but in the blood. It will so overchange her heart with grief, That Like a Cannon, when her sighs go off, She in her duty either will recoil, Or break in pieces and so die: her death, By my unkindness might be counted murder. Well, I will try your pills, do you your faithful service, and be ready still at a pinch to help me in this partly, or else I shall be out clean. I'll call her forth now, shall I? Lycia, I pray bid your Mistress to come hither. Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when? Marry wife, I have intent, and (you see) this stripling here, He bears good will and liking to my trade, And means to deal in Linen. I hope to find him honest, pray good wife look that his bed and chamber be made ready. Even so I swear to you a great oath. I will not, go to wife, I will not, Swallow these gudgeons. Then fast, then you may choose. You know at Table What tricks you played, swaggerd, broke glasses! Fie, Fie, fie, fie: and now before my Prentice here You make and ass of me; thou, (what shall I call thee?) O fie, by no means, then she'll call me Cuckold, sirrah, go look to'th shop: how does this show? A cursed Cows milk I would drunk once before, And 'twas so rank in taste, I'll drink no more. Wife, I'll tame you. And so you'll throw me. Reach me (Knaves) a yard. I'll teach you fencing tricks. Yet I would the longer arm, come fallen too't roundly, And spare not me (wife) for I'll lay't on soundly. If over husbands their wives will needs be Master's, We men will have a law to win't at wasters For the breeches. Nor I. What's that? The first blow, wife, shall I? Prompt? A bargain. Strike. Thou winnest the day indeed, give me thy hand, I'll challenge thee no more: my patient breast Played thus the Rebel, only for a jest: Here's the rank rider that breaks Colts, it's he Can tame the mad folks, and cursed wives. My man? my Master, though his head be bore, But he's so courteous, he'll put off his hair. Bear witness else. For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years. What is't you lack, Gentlewoman? Cambricke or Lawns, or fine Hollands? Pray draw near, I can fell you a pennyworth. Cambricke? you shall, the purest thread in Milan. My Worshipful good Servant, view it well, for it's both fine and even. Then this shall fit her, this is for your Ladyship. You'll give no more you say? I cannot take it. It must not fetch it. What would you have, sweet Gentlemen? I will but lay these parcels by—My men are all at Customhouse unloading Wares, if Cambricke you would deal in, there's the best, all Milan cannot sample it. Would, would, would: you Gentlemen are full of Jest. If she be up, she's gone some wares to show, I have above as good wares as below. Now Gentlemen, is't Cambricks? What's that he says, pray 'Gentlemen? The best wares? all are bade, yet wares do good, And Like to Surgeons, let sick Kingdoms blood. Indeed I understand no word he speaks. It may be so, that's likely, true indeed, In every garden, sir, does grow that weed. It's no matter. So dost not me. My Customers do oft for remnants call, These are two remnants now, no lose at all. But let me tell you, were my Servants here, It would would cost more.—Thank you Gentlemen, I use you well, pray know my shop again. These Lawns, sir? A dangerous Voyage, sailing in such Ships. It may be so, good Madam. I pray no more forsooth, it's very well, indeed I love no sweet meats:—Sh'as a breath stinks worse then fifty Polecats. Sir, a word, is she a Lady? A Bawd? Sir, I'll steal hence, and see your Lawns some other time. How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots? no wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots. Here's Ratsbane upon Ratsbane: Master Bots, I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a Soldier, press me not to this service, I am old, and shoot not in such pot-gunnes. To drink healths, is to drink sickness: Gentle men, pray rescue me. I would reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots. The palsy, Signiors, dances in my blood. Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drink. To the old Countess there. With much ado the poison is God down, Though I can scarce get up; never before Drank I a whores health, nor will never more. Your price? No: too deer: thus. Be it so, good Signior, send me going. I'll rather stay, then go so: stop your Bowl. Why, sir? what house I pray? Is't so? thanks, sir: I'm gone. Lawns which I bought, sir, of the Gentleman that keeps the house. Indeed! Me, sir, for what? Must I so? I'll send for Bail. To Bridewell too? Yes, patience: being not mad, they had me once to Bedlam, Now I'm drawn to Bridewell, loving no Whores. Yes, my good Lord. My Lord, what make you here? And I to bear wrong here with patience. So they do say, my Lord, Yet bought I them upon a Gentleman's word, And I magine now, as I thought then, That there be Thieves, but no Thieves Gentlemen. No more then Gold Being cracked which does his estimation hold. I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad? They made me pledge Whores healths, but am I bade, Because I'm with bade people? Marry, my good Prentice, nothing but breathe my wife.