THE

BRITISH DRAMA.

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.

ALTERED FROM

BEN JONSON.

PROLOGUE.

a

Tho' need make many poets, and some such Nor nimble squib is seen, to make afear'd
As art and nature have not bettered much; The gentlewomen; nor rolled bullet heard
Yet ours, for want, hath not so loved the stage, To say, it thunders; nor tempestuous drum
As he dare serve the ill customs of the age, Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come;
Or purchase your delight at such a rate, But deeds, and language, such as men do use,
As, for it, he himself must justly hate :

And persons, such as comedy would choose, To make a child now swaddled, to proceed When she would shew an image of the times, Man, and then shoot up in one beard and weed, And sport with human follies, not with crimes; Past three-score years: or, with three rusty Except we make 'em such, by loving still swords,

Our popular errors, when we know they're ill. And help of some few foot and half-foot words, I mean such errors as you'll all confess, Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars, By laughing at them, they deserve no less : And in the tiring-house bring wounds to scars. Which, when you heartily do, there's hope left He rather prays, you will be pleased to see

then, One such to-day, as other plays should be ; You, that have so graced monsters, may like Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas, Nor creaking throne comes down, the boys to

please;

men.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

ROGER FORMAL, his Clerk. KITELY, a Merchant.

Master MATTHEW, the Town Gull. Captain BOBADIL, a blustering Coward.

Cash, Kitely's Man. KNO'WELL, an old Gentleman.

CoB, a Water-bearer.
Ed. KxO'WELL, his Son.

WOMEN.
BRAIN-WORM, the Father's Man.
Master STEPHEN, a Country Gull.

Dame KITELY.
DOWNRIGHT, a plain Squire.

Mrs BRIDGET, Sister to Kitely. WELL-BRED, his Half Brother,

TIB, Cob's Wife. Justice CLEMENT, un old merry Magistrate.

SCENE,-London. VOL. III.

ACT I.

you

must

a

SCENE I.- A Court-yard before KNO’WELL'S talk oni it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall House.

keep company with none but the archers of Fins

bury! or the citizens, that come a-ducking to Enter KNO'WELL and BRAINWORM.

Islington ponds! A fine jest, i'faith! slid, a genKno. A Goodly day toward ! and a fresh tleman mun shew himself like a gentleman. morning! Brain-worm,

Uncle, I pray you be not angry. I know what I Call

up your young master. Bid him rise, sir. have to do; I trow, I am no novice. Tell him, I have some business to employ him. Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb: go to ! Brain. I will, sir, presently.

Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak. Kno. But hear you, sirrah!

Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you. If he be at his book, disturb him not.

Have you not yet found means enow to waste Brain. Well, sir. (Erit. That, which your friends have left

you,

but Kno. How happy, yet, should I esteem myself, Could I, by any practice, wean the boy

Go cast away your money on a kite, From one vain course of study he affects. And know not how to keep it, when you've done! He is a scholar, if a man may trust

O, 'tis comely! this will make you a gentleman ! The liberal voice of Fame in her report,

Well, cousin, well ! I see you are e'en past hope Of good account in both our universities ;

Of all reclaim. Ay, so, now you're told on it, Either of which have favoured him with graces.

You look another way.
But their indulgence must not spring in me Step. What would you ha' me do!
A fond opinion that he cannot err.

Kno. What would I have you do! I'll tell you, Myself was once a student; and, indeed,

kinsman; Fed with the self-same humour he is now, Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive; Dreaming on nought but idle poetry, .

That would I have you do; and not to spend That fruitless and unprofitable art,

Your coin on every bauble, that you fancy, Good unto none, but least to the professors, On every foolish brain, that humours you. Which, then, I thought the mistress of all know- I would not have you to invade each place, ledge :

Nor thrust yourself on all societies, But since, time and the truth have waked my Till men's affections, or your own desert, judgment,

Should worthily invite you to your rank. And reason taught me better to distinguish He, that is so respectless in his courses, The vain from the useful learnings

Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.

Nor would I you should melt away yourself Enter Master STEPHEN.

In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect Cousin Stephen!

To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 'What news with you, that you are here so carly? A little puff of scorn extinguish it,

Step. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you | And you be left like an unsavoury snuff, do, uncle.

Whose property is only to offend.
Kno. That's kindly done, you are welcome, coz. I'd have you sober, and contain yourself;

Step. Ay, I know that, sir. I would not ha' Not, that your sail be bigger than your boat : come else: How doth my cousin Edward, uncle? But moderate your expences now (at first),

Kno. O, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt he As you may keep the same proportion still. be scarce stirring yet.

Nor stand so much on your gentility, Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me an' Which is an airy, mere borrowed thing, he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking From dead men's dust and bones ; and none of and hunting? I would fain borrow it.

yours, Kno. Why, I hope you will not a hawking Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?

will Step. No wosse, but I'll practise against the

Enter a Servant. next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, Serv. Save you, gentlemen. and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our genbut a book to keep it by.

tility, friend; yet, you are welcome; and I askino. O, most ridiculous !

sure you, mine uncle here is a man of a thousand Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, un. a-year, Middlesex land; he has but one son in all cle. Why, you know, an' a man have not skill the world; I am his next heir (at the common in the hawking and hunting languages now-a- law) Master Stephen, as simple as I stand here; days, I'll not give a rush for 'em. They are if my cousin die (as there is hope he will). I have a more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He pretty living o'my own, too, beside, hard by here. is for no gallant's company without them. And Sero. In good time, sir. by Gad's lid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort Step. In good time, sir! why, and in very for every hum-drum; hang them scroyls, there's good time, sir. You do not flout, friend, do yon? nothing in them in the world. What do you Serv. Not I, sir.

now,

you ?

6

Slep. Not you, sir ! you were not best, sir ;

(The Letter.] an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too: go to. And they can give it

Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou foreagain soundly too, an' need be.

sworn all thy friends i’ the Old Jewry? or dost Sero. Why, sir, let this satisfy you: good faith,

thou think us all Jews that inhabit there? Yet I had no such intent.

if thou dost, come over, and but see our fripS.ep. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk pery; change an old shirt for a whole smock with you, and that presently.

• with us: Do not conceive that antipathy beSero. Good master Stephen, so you may, sir,

'tween us and Hogsden, as was between Jews at your pleasure.

and hog’s-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father alone, Siep. And so I would, sir, good my saucy

to number over his green apricots, evening and companion, an' you were out of my uncle's morning, o' the north-west wall: an' I had been ground, I can tell you ; though I do not stand his son, I had saved him the labour long since; upon my gentility neither, in it.

' if taking in all the young wenches that pass by, kno. Cousin ! cousin! will this ne'er be left? at the back door, and coddling every kernel of

Step. Whoreson, base fellow? a mechanical the fruit for them would have served. But priserving man? By this cudgel, an' 'twere not for thee, come over to me, quickly, this morning : shame, I would

* I have such a present for thee! Our Turkey Kno. What would you do, you peremptory gull ? company never sent the like to the Grand SigIf you cannot be quiet, get you hence.

nior. One is a rhimer, sir, o' your own batch, You see the honest man demeans himself 'your own leven; but doth think himself poetModestly towards you, giving no reply

major o' the town; willing to be shewn, and To your unseasoned, quarrelling, rude fashion: worthy to be seen.-The other, I will not venAnd still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,

ture his description with you till you come, beAs void of wit as of humanity.

cause I would have you make hither with an Go, get you in! 'fore Heaven, I am ashamed appetite. If the worst of them be not worth Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

your journey, draw your bill of charges, as un

[Exit STEPHEN. conscionable as any Guild-hall verdict will give Sero. I pray, sir, is this master Kno'well's it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum. house?

* From the Windmill.' Kno. Yes, marry, is it, sir.

Sera. I should inquire for a gentleman here, From the Burdello, it might come as well; one master Edward Kno'well: do you know any

The Spittal, or Pict-hatch. Is this the man, such, sir, I pray you?

My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.

The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth? Sero. Are you the gentleman? cry your mer

I know not what he may be in the arts; cy, sir : I was required by a gentleman in the city, Nor what in schools : but, surely, for his manners, as I rode out at this end of the town, to deliver I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch: you this letter, sir.

Worse, by possession of such great good gifts, Kno. To me, sir? What do you mean? Pray Being the master of so loose a spirit. you remember your court’sie. [To his most select- Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ ed friend, master EDWARD Kxo’well.) What In such a scurrilous manner to a friend? might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? Why should he think, I tell my apricots ? Nay, pray you be covered.

Or play the llesperian dragon with my fruit, Sri. One master Well-bred, sir.

To watch it? Well, my son, I thought Kno. Master Well-bred! A young gentleman, You'd had more judgment to have made election is be not?

Of your companions, than to have ta'en on trust Sero. The saihe, sir; master Kitely married Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare lus sister: the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. No argument, or subject from their jest. Kno. You say very true. Brain-worm ! But I perceive, affection makes a fool

Of any man, too much the father. Brain-worm,
Enter BRAIN-WORM.

Enter BRAIN-WORM.
Brain. Sir.
Kno. Make this honest friend drink here. Brain. Sir.
Pray you go in.

Kno. Is the fellow gone, that brought this letter? (Ereunt BRAIN-WORM and Servant. Brain. Yes, sir, a pretty while since. This letter is directed to my son:

Kno. And where's your young master? Yet I am Edward Kno’well too, and may,

Brain. In his chamber, sir. With the safe conscience of good manners, use

Kno. He spake not with the fellow, did he? The fellow's error to my satisfaction.

Brain. No, sir, he saw him not. Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious)

Kno. Take you this letter, and deliver it to my Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase,

son; To see if both do answer my son's praises,

But with no notice, that I've opened it, on your Who is almost grown the idolater

life. Of this young Well-bred; What have we here? Brain. O lord, sir, that were a jest indeed! What's this?

Kno. I am resolved I will not stop his journey;

a

W

Nor practise any violent means to stay

tell’st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, The unbridled course of youth in him; for that, Brain-worm? Restrained, grows more impatient; and in kind, Brain. A very good leg, master Stephen; but Like to the eager, but the gen'rous greyhound, the woollen stocking does not recommend it so Who, ne'er so little from his game withheld, well. Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat, Slep. Foh, the stockings be good enough now There is a way of winning, more by love, summer is coming on, for the dust : I will have a And urging of the modesty, than fear:

pair of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in Force works on servile natures, not the free. the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk He, that's compelled to goodness, may be good; hose. But, 'tis but for that fit : where others, drawn Brain. Believe me, master Stephen, rarely well. By softness, and example, get a habit.

Step. In sadness, I think it would; I have a Then, if they stray, but warn them; and the same reasonable good leg. They would for virtue do, they'll do for shame. Bruin. You have an excellent good leg, master

(Exeunt. Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise it longer

now; and I am very sorry for't. [Erit. SCENE 11.—Young KNO'WELL's Study. Step. Another time will serve, Brain-worm. Enter EDWARD KNO'well and BRAIN-WORM.

Gra-mercy for this. E. Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou?

Enter Young KNO'WELL. Bruin. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the con- E. Kno. Ha, ha, ha! tents.

Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' E. Kno. That scarce contents me. What coun- he do tenance, pray thee, made he in the reading of it? E. Kno. Here was a letter, indeed, to be inter Was he angry, or pleased ?

cepted by a man's father, and do him good with Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor him! He cannot but think most virtuously both open it, I assure your worship.

of me and the sender, sure, that make the careE. Kno. No! how know'st thou, then, that he ful coster-monger of him in our familiar epistles. did either!

Well, if he read this with patience, I'll be gelt, Brain. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on

and troll ballads for Mr John Trundle yonder, my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, the rest of my mortality. It is true, and likely, unless he had done, he would never fear to have my father may have as much patience as another it revealed.

man; for he takes much physic; and oft taking E. Kno. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brain- physic makes a man very patient. But would

[Erit. your packet, master Wellbred, had arrived at

him in such a minute of his patience; then we Enter Master Stephen.

had known the end of it, which now is doubtful, Step: Oh! Brain-worm, did'st thou not see a and threatens—what? my wise cousin ! nay, fellow here, in a what sha'-call him doublet? He then, I'll furnish our feast with one gull more tobrought mine uncle a letter e'en now.

ward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and Brain. Yes, master Stephen, what of him? here's one, that's three! O, for a fourth! ForStep. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat him - tune! if ever thou’lt use thine eyes, I entreat where is he? can'st thou tell?

thee Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is Step. O, now I see who he laughed at. He gone, master Stephen.

laughed at somebody in that letter. By this good Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how light, an' he had laughed at melong since ?

E. Kno. How now, cousin Stephen, melanBrain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the choly? street door.

Siep. Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed Step. And I staid i' the fields ! whoreson, scan- at me, cousin. derberg rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch E. Kno. Why, what an’I had, coz, what would him back again!

you ha' done? Brain. Why, you may ha' my mistress's geld- Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine uning to save your longing, sir.

cle. Step. But I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't. E. Kno. Nay, if you would ha' told your un.

Bruin. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, cle, I did laugh at you, coz. master Stephen.

Step. Did you, indeed ? Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; E. Kno. Yes, indeed. let him e'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss Step. Why, thenme a little. He does so vex me

E. Kno. What then? Brain. You'll be worse vexed when you are Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient. trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, E. Kno. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I pray and walk yourself till you be cold; your choler you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent may founder you else.

for this morning, by a friend i' the Old Jewry, to Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou come to him : 'tis but crossing o'er the field to

worm.

a

a

: