And at all caracts.' That you are the wife
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soul,
Instead of salt, to keep it sweet; I think,
Will ask no witnesses to prove. The cold
Sheets that you lie in, with the watching candle,
That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,
Pieces and quarters, half and whole nights sometimes,
The devil-given elfin squire, your husband,
Doth leave you, quitting here his proper circle,
For a much worse, in the walks of Lincoln's-inn,
Under the elms, t' expect the fiend in vain there,
Will confess for you.

Fitz. I did look for this jeer.

Wit. And what a daughter of darkness he does make you,

Lock'd up from all society, or object;

Your eye not let to look upon a face,

Under a conjurer's, or some mould for one,
Hollow and lean like his, but by great means,

As I now make; your own too sensible sufferings,
Without the extraordinary aids

Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, lady.
For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice,
I work by no false arts, medicines, or charms
To be said forward and backward.

Fitz. No, I except

Wit. Sir, I shall ease you.

Fitz. Mum.

[He offers to discloke him.

Wit. Nor have I ends, lady,

Upon you, more than this: to tell you how Love,

1 And at all caracts,] i. e. to the nicest point, to the minutest circumstance. Caracts, as Whalley has somewhere before observed, are the weights by which gold and precious stones are weighed and valued.

Instead of salt to keep it sweet.] See vol. iv. p. 447.

Beauty's good angel, he that waits upon her
At all occasions, and, no less than Fortune,
Helps the adventurous, in me makes that proffer,
Which never fair one was so fond to lose,

Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedom.
On the first sight I loved you, since which time,
Though I have travell'd, I have been in travail
More for this second blessing of your eyes,
Which now I've purchased, than for all aims else.
Think of it, lady, be your mind as active
As is your beauty view your object well,
Examine both my fashion and my years;
Things that are like, are soon familiar:
And nature joys still in equality.

Let not the sign of the husband fright you, lady;
But ere your spring be gone, enjoy it. Flowers,
Though fair, are oft but of one morning; think,
All beauty doth not last until the autumn :
You grow old while I tell you this; and such
As cannot use the present, are not wise.

3

If Love and Fortune will take care of us,
Why should our will be wanting? This is all.
What do you answer, lady?

Fitz. Now the sport comes.

Let him still wait, wait, wait; while the watch goes, And the time runs, wife!

Wit. How! not any word?

Nay, then I taste a trick in't.-Worthy lady,
I cannot be so false to my own thoughts
Of your presumed goodness, to conceive

3 You grow old while I tell you this.]

Fugit hora: hoc quod loquor, inde est. Pers. Sat. 5.

WHAL.

To be so near, and yet miss, is unlucky: is not the expression rather from Horace?

This, as your rudeness, which I see's imposed.
Yet, since your cautelous jailor here stands by you,
And you are denied the liberty of the house,
Let me take warrant, lady, from your silence,
Which ever is interpreted consent,

which shall be

To make your answer for you;
To as good purpose as I can imagine,
And what I think you'd speak.

Fitz. No, no, no, no.
Wit. I shall resume, sir.

Man. Sir, what do you mean?

Wit. One interruption more, sir, and you go
Into your hose and doublet, nothing saves you:
And therefore hearken. This is for
This is for your wife.
Man. You must play fair, sir.

Wit. Stand for me, good friend.

[Sets MANLY in his place, and speaks for the lady.

4 Yet, since your cautelous jailor.] Our old writers seem to have included in this word not only the sense of wariness, but also of something artful and insidious, ingrafted upon it. In many instances, I will not say in all, it is clearly distinguished from cautious. Thus Knolles, "The Turke began to shrinke from that he had before promised, by cautelous expositions of his meaning." Hist. of the Turks, p. 904.

Now I am on this subject, I will take the opportunity" of protesting against a singular practice" of the late editor of Beaumont and Fletcher, very injurious to the reputation of those writers. Whenever this gentleman is at a loss for the precise meaning of a word, he sets down the first which occurs to him, and observes that "its vague import is owing to the general laxity of language which prevailed in those times." It is not a little presumptuous in a foreigner who, like Mr. Weber, grubs all his knowledge of English out of glossaries and indexes, to call in question the proficiency of such writers as Beaumont, Fletcher, and others, the politest scholars, and best informed men of their time, in their own language. The fact is, (and I mention it for the sake of far other critics than Mr. Weber,) that they were in possession of a more precise and copious vocabulary than ourselves, and that they had a most profound and critical knowledge of every part of it. The difficulty which Mr. Weber finds in ascertaining their meaning, originates in his ignorance of the English tongue.

Troth, sir, 'tis more than true that you have utter'd
Of my unequal and so sordid match here,
With all the circumstances of my bondage.
I have a husband, and a two-legg'd one,
But such a moonling, as no wit of man,
Or roses can redeem from being an ass.5
He's grown too much the story of men's mouths,
To scape his lading: should I make't my study,
And lay all ways, yea, call mankind to help
To take his burden off; why, this one act
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,
And at a price, proclaims his asinine nature
So loud, as I am weary of my title to him.
But, sir, you seem a gentleman of virtue,
No less than blood; and one that every way
Looks as he were of too good quality,
To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her.
Since you have paid thus dear, sir, for a visit,
And made such venture on your wit and charge
Merely to see me, or at most, to speak to me,
I were too stupid, or, what's worse, ingrate
Not to return your venture. Think but how

5 But such a moonling, as no wit of man,

Or roses can redeem from being an ass.] Here is an allusion to the metamorphosis of Lucian into an ass; who being brought into the theatre to shew tricks, recovered his human shape, by eating some roses which he found there. See the conclusion of the treatise, Lucius, sive Asinus. I am afraid that many of the audience, in our author's days, were not apprised of these allusions. WHAL. It might be so and yet I suspect that, generally speaking, the audience then had more literature than the dramatic writers themselves now possess. The age was credulous, but not uninformed, at least in classical matters. Other requisites than ignorance and impudence were then required in dramatic writers; and, indeed, with a solitary exception or two, all of them had received an university education.

Moonling, which occurs in this line, is a pretty expression for a fool or lunatic, which should not have been suffered to grow obsolete.

I may with safety do it, I shall trust

My love and honour to you, and presume
You'll ever husband both, against this husband;
Who, if we chance to change his liberal ears
To other ensigns, and with labour make
A new beast of him, as he shall deserve,
Cannot complain he is unkindly dealt with.
This day he is to go to a new play, sir,
From whence no fear, no, nor authority,
Scarcely the king's command, sir, will restrain him,
Now you have fitted him with a stage-garment,
For the mere name's sake, were there nothing else;
And many more such journeys he will make;
Which, if they now, or any time hereafter,
Offer us opportunity, you hear, sir,

Who'll be as glad and forward to embrace,
Meet, and enjoy it cheerfully, as you.

[Shifts to his own place again.

I humbly thank you, lady—
Fitz. Keep your ground, sir.

Wit. Will you be lighten'd?
Fitz. Mum.

Wit. And but I am,

you

By the said contract, thus to take my leave of
At this so envious distance, I had taught
Our lips ere this, to seal the happy mixture
Made of our souls: but we must both now yield
To the necessity. Do not think yet, lady,

But I can kiss, and touch, and laugh, and whisper,
And do those crowning courtships too, for which
Day, and the public, have allow'd no name;
But now, my bargain binds me. 'Twere rude injury
To impórtune more, or urge a noble nature,
To what of its own bounty it is prone to :
Else I should speak- -But, lady, I love so well,

to change his liberal ears

To other ensigns,] i. e. to horns, the insignia of a cuckold.