SHADOW

I, master, and we are both forsworn, as all such wooden knights be, for we both took and oath (marry it was not corporal) you may see by our cheeks, that we would not fast twenty four hours to amend, and we have tasted no meat since the clock told two dozen. Fasting day. Fasting day too. I, and next day too I had rather be a fool & wear a fat pair of cheeks. Thats not so, we have shifted our selves in no place this three months: marry, we rub out in every corner, but here follows no amendment either of life or of livery. Nay by my troth he is Like me; if his belly be emp tie, his heart is full. 'Tis not for my old Master that I languish. 'Tis not the crabtree faced world neither that makes mine sour Nay by my troth, master, none flourish in these withering times, but Ancient bearer and trumpeters. True, or when the Sun shines at midnight, or women fly, and yet they are light enough. Snudges may well be called Jailers: for if a poor wretch steal but into a debt of ten pound, they lead him straight to execution. And you his brother Vice. Not me; it vexes me no more to see such a picture, then to see and Ass laden with riches, because I know when he can bear no longer, he must leave his burden to some other be ast. It mads not me, I thank the destinies. So is not Shadow: I am out of my wits, to see fat gluttons feed all day long, while I that am lean, fast every day: I am out of my wits, to see our Famag sta fools, turn half a shop of wares into a suit of gay apparel, only to make other Idiots laugh, and wisemen to cry who's the fool now? I am mad, to see Soldiers beg, and cowards brave: I am mad, to see Scholars in the Brokers shop, and Dunces in the Mercers: I am mad, to see men that have no more fashion in them then poor Shadow, yet must leap thrice a day into three order of fashions: I am mad, to see many things, but horn-mad, that my mouth feels nothing. It should be a Chameleon: for he is all in colours. Yes, Like three blue Beans in a blue bladder, rat tle bladder, rattle: your purse is Like my belly, the ones with out money, th'other without meat. Ten master? then defiance to Fortune, & a Fig for famine. Nay, soft master, liberality died long ago: I see some rich beggars are never well, but when they be craving: My ten Ducats are Like my ten fingers, they will not ieo pard a joint for you: I am yours, and these are mine if I partly from them, I shall never have partly of them. Do, master, but take heed of beggary. Exeunt. More then you will win again in a month. It comes to nothing, Sir, for you have lost your wits, and when a men wists are lost, the man is Like twenty pounds worth of Tobacco, which mounts into th'aire, and proves nothing but one thing. I should never make good bacon, because I am not fat. Its happy I have a lean wit: but master, you have none; for when your money slipped away, that went after it, and ever since you have been mad, here com's your brother; borrow a dram of him. Enter Ampedo. If his be not mouldy: for men's wits in these days, A're Like the Cuckoo, bald once a year and that makes Met lay so deer, and fools so good cheap. Theres a rattling salutation. I would be loath, master, to see that day: for he leads the world in a string that goes to hanging. I am a villain, master, if I am not hungry. O rare: what meat's that? I shall never fill my belly with opinions. I shall never have the stomach to doo't. Covetousness and lechery are two devils, they'le tempt a man to wade through deep matters: I'll doo't though good cheer continued ̄ spire my death, for speaking treason against her. O famine, inspire me with thy miserable reasons. I begin, master. Theres no man but loves one oh l these three-beasts, a Horse, a Hound, or a Whore; the Horse by his goodwill, has his head ever in the manger; the Whore with your ill will has her hand ever in your purse; and a hungry Dog eats dirty puddings. The conclusion is plain: For since all men love one of these three monsters, being such terrible eaters, therefore all men love hunger. I can make it no fatter. Hunger is made of Gunpowder. Stand by, lest it blow you up: hunger is made of Gunpowder, or Gunpowder of hunger; for they both eat through stone walls; hunger is a grindstone, it sharpens wit, hunger is fuller of love then Cupid, for it makes a man eat himself; hunger was the first that ever opened a Cooks shop; Cooks the first that ever made sauce; sauce being lickerish, licks up good meat; good meat preserves life: Hunger therefore preserves life. Not so, hunger makes no man mortal: hunger is and excellent Physician: for he dares kill any body: hunger is one of the seven liberal sciences. Music, for shéele make a man leap at a crust: but, as few care for her six sisters, so none love to dance of ter her pipe: Hunger, master, is hungry and covetous, there before the Crusado. Yes one: the dagger in Cyprus had never stabbed out such six penny pipes, but for hunger. My belly and my purse have been twenty times at daggers drawing, with parting the little urchins. Now speak your mind. Only to mark him, & to try what colour air is of. If your wits be not planet strucken, if your brains lie in their right place, you are well enough; for your body is little mended by you fetching fegaries. Or Like Gunpowder a fire, or Like a fool, or Like a young no vice new come to his lands; for all these will show of what hause they come: now sir, you may amplify. 'Tis their destiny: the Fates do so conspire. So it does, Sir. No more we do not, Sir. Me thinks was horrible. My old Master's soul is Cork and feathers, and being so light does easily mount up. Why, sir, are there other heavens in other countries? Then Shadow must die among knaves; and yet why so? in a bunch of Cards, knaves wait upon the kings. Well, theres nothing impossible: a dog has his day, and so have you. I know a medicine for that malady. Yes, and for Christian creatures, if they be not blind. For anger to see any of Gods Creatures have such filthy faces as these Semsters had that went hence. Indeed, if it be ones destiny to have a filthy face, I know no remedy but to go masked and cry, Woe worth the Fates. Shadows? I defy their kindred. If that desperate Done Dego death hath taken up the Cudgels once, heres never a Fencer in Cyprus dare take my old Master's partly. Bid him thank the destinies for this. Exit I can get none, I can find none: where are you, master? Have I taken you napping? and you too? I see sorrows eyelids are made of a Dormouse skin, they seldom open, or of a misers purse, that's always shut: So ho, master. I can get none Sir, 'tis impossible. No help for my old master. Whither it were led or Latin that haspt down those winking casements, I know not, but I found you both snorting. I sir? do you think this white and read durst have kissed my sweet cheeks, if they had seen a ghost? But, master, if the destinies, or Fortune, or the Fates, or the Fairies have stolen him, never indite them for the Felony: for by this means the charges of a Tomb is saved, and you being his heirs, may do as many rich Executors do, put that money in your purses, and give out he died a beggar. Me thinks, master, it were better to let the memory of him shine in his own virtues (if he had any) than in Ala blaster. He has a Marble heart, that can mangle a face of Alabaster. So we may, and return dolts home, but what shall we learn by travail? Thats a beastly disease: me thinks its better stay king in your own country. Nothing? yes you may see things enough, for what can you see abroad that is not at home? The same Sun calls you up in the morning, and the same man in the Moon lights you to bed at night, our fields are as green as theirs in summer, and their frosts will nip us more in winter: Our birds sing as sweetly & our women are as fair: In other countries you shall have one drink to you, while you kiss your hand, and duck, heel poison you: I confess you shall meet more fools, and asses, and knaves abroad then at home (yet God be thanked we have pretty store of all) but for Punks, we put them down. If I must, the Fates shall be served: I have seen many clowns Courtiers, then why not Shadow? Fortune, I am for thee. Exit. These English occupiers are mad Trojans: let a man pay them never so much, theile give him nothing but the bag. Since my master created me steward over his fifty men, and his one and fifty horse, I have rid over much busi ness, yet never was galled, I thank the destinies: Music? Oh delicate warble: Oh these Courtiers are most sweet trium phant creatures. Seignior, Sir: Monsieur: sweet Seignior; this is the language of y e accomplishment: Oh delicious strings: these heavenly wire-drawers have stretched my master even out at length: yet at length he must wake: master? One word Sir, for the billets, and I vanish. Why sir, I have but ten pound left. I am not Apollo, I cannot reveal. Here was no Princess but my princely self. No in faith, Sir. Upon the best Oats my vnderiteward can buy. They are as all horses are, Caterpillars to the Come mon wealth, they are ever munching: but Sir, for these billets, and these faggots and bavins? No sweet Seignior, but you have bid the King and his Peers to dinner, and he has commanded that no Wood monger fell you a stick of wood, and that no Collyer shall continued sen you of your measure, but must tie up the mouth of their Sacks, least their Coals kindle your choler. He's a gul that would be taught by such gulls. This divice, Sir, will be somewhat a kin to Lady Pride, 'twill ask cost. First, master, fill these bags. Why Sir, here's none in. What shall I do with this ten pound, Sir? I'll go hence, because you send me: but isle go we ping hence, for grief that I must turn villain as many do, and leave you when you are up to the ears in adversity. Exit. Who calls: peeps of Tamasco, féene peeps: I sat 'tis de sweetest apple in de world, 'tis better den de Pomewater, or apple John. I dare not say, as de Irishman my countryman say, taste de goodness of de fruit: No fayt 'tis fairy téere mistress, by Saint Patrick's hand 'tis téere Tamasco apple. I fat, 'tis no less for Tamasco. Oh, 'tis féene Tamasco apple, and shall make you a great teale wise, and make you no fool, and make feene me mory. As Créez save me la, he speaks true: Peeps feene, Would, would, would, she's sped, I warrant. Peace, master, here comes another fool. And dow shall be no more a fool, but sweet face and wise. Did I not clap on a good false Irish face? Yet thats lamentable, that a false face should be come any man. I fear nothing, but that while we strive to make others fools, we shall wear the Coxcombs our selves, Pips fine &c. Exit Shadow. And to strive to be fairer then God made her. Or a rose, if you pull his sweet stalk, heel prick you. Would, would, would, &c. Beware horns. Exit Agrip. weeping. To see what a horn plague follows covetousness and pride. And when we are fat, master, weel do as all glut tons do, laugh and lie down. I'll go to Court in this attire, for apparel is but the shadow of a man, but shadow is the substance of his ap parell. Exit Shadow. Pips fine, fine apples of Tamasco, would, would, would. Pips fine, would, would, would, no not I: not Shadow. Help, help, help. Exit Shadow. Oh, see, see, Oh my two Master's, poor Shadows substances; what shall I do? whose body shall Shadow now follow? The next quarter, not this, when ̄ the sign is in Taurus. 'Tis no wonder to see a man brave, but a wonder how he comes brave. Marry sir, that he is and ass that melts so much money in smoke. Leave us gold enough, and weel make all Countries come visit us. Yes sir: he scorned all Famagusta when he was in his huffing, and now he lies puffing for wind, they say they scorn him. Not of a penny, I have been as true a steward. Shall I buy these spices to day or to morrow Only poor Shadow tells how poor they died. I shall never sadge with y e humour because I cannot lie.