is, egressio, when a man er melancholico evadit fanaticus. Mor. Shall I have a lecture read upon me alive? Daw. But he may be but phreneticus yet, mistress; and phrenetis is only delirium, or so. Epi Ay, that is for the disease, servant; but what is this to the cure? We are sure enough of the disease. Mor. Let me go. True. Why, we'll entreat her to hold her peace, sir. Mor. O no, labour not to stop her. She is like a conduit-pipe,' that will gush out with more force when she opens again. Hau. I'll tell you, Morose, you must talk divinity to him altogether, or moral philosophy. La-F. Ay, and there's an excellent book of moral philosophy, madam, of Reynard the Fox, and all the beasts, called Doni's Philosophy. Cen. There is indeed, sir Amorous La-Foole. 4 She is like a conduit-pipe, &c.] This is improved from Libanius: ὥσπερ γαρ δι τις κρουνες επισχοντες, ειτ' αφέλοντες το κωλυον, σφοδροτέραν ειργασαντο την φοραν έτως εγω μικρον ανατείλας την φωνην μειζόν επισπασάμην το pesopov. Ibid. p. 111. 5 There's an excellent book, &c.] There was a very old collection of Oriental apologues, called Calilah u Duninah, (better known as the Fables of Pilpay,) which was translated about the middle of the 11th century, out of the Persian or Arabic into Greek, by Simeon Seth: it was afterwards turned into Latin, and subsequently into Italian, by one Doni. This last was rendered into English by sir Thomas North, 1605, under the title of Doni's Moral Philosophy: and to this sir Amorous alludes, though he ignorantly confounds it with the popular history of Reynard the Fox. We have Now the good fortune to possess a very complete and elegant translation of this curious work from the original language, by sir William Jones. La-F. I have read it, my lady Centaure, all over, to my cousin here. Mrs. Ott. Ay, and 'tis a very good book as any is, of the moderns. Daw. Tut, he must have Seneca read to him, and Plutarch, and the ancients; the moderns are not for this disease. Cler. Why, you discommended them too, today, sir John. Daw. Ay, in some cases: but in these they are best, and Aristotle's ethics. Mav. Say you so, sir John? I think you are deceived; you took it upon trust. Hau. Where's Trusty, my woman? I'll end this difference. I prithee, Otter, call her. Her father and mother were both mad, when they put her to me. Mor. I think so.-Nay, gentlemen, I am tame. This is but an exercise, I know, a marriage ceremony, which I must endure. Hau. And one of them, I know not which, was cured with the Sick Man's Salve,' and the other with Green's Groat's-worth of Wit." 6 One was cured with the Sick Man's Salve,] This was a devo. tional tract, written by Thomas Becou, an old calvinistical divine, and published about 1591. From the quaintness of its title, (which yet was not uncommon,) or some other cause, it was a frequent subject of ridicule with the wits of those days. The repentant Quicksilver, in Eastward Hoe, could "speak it all without book;" as could many others. The Sick Man's Salve is in the list of suspected books found in the library of lord Cohham; which, if it does nothing else, will, at least, prove that our old dramatists were not apt to be turned out of their way by an anachronism more or less. In this catalogue, the Bible is, with some humour, set down as a book of heresie." First Part of Sir John Oldcastle. A. IV. S. 2. 66 7 And the other with Green's Grout's-worth of Wit.] This was one of the last works of this popular writer; and was published after his death, under the title of Robert Greenes Groat's-worth of witte, True. A very cheap cure, madam. Enter TRUSTY. Hau. Ay, 'tis very feasible. Mrs. Ott. My lady call'd for you, mistress Trusty you must decide a controversy. Hau. Ŏ, Trusty, which was it you said, your father, or your mother, that was cured with the Sick Man's Salve? Trus. My mother, madam, with the Salve. True. Then it was the sick woman's salve? Trus. And my father with the Groat's-worth of Wit. But there was other means used: we had a preacher that would preach folk asleep still; and so they were prescribed to go to church, by an old woman that was their physician, thrice a week Epi. To sleep? Trus. Yes, forsooth: and every night they read themselves asleep on those books. Epi. Good faith, it stands with great reason. I would I knew where to procure those books. Mor. Oh! La-F. I can help you with one of them, mistress Morose, the Groat's-worth of Wit. Epi. But I shall disfurnish you, sir Amorous: can you spare it? bought with a million of repentance. To judge from some of the titles of his numerous works, Greene must have experienced many checks of conscience in his profligate career: He has the Repentance, the Last Vision, the Farewell to Folie, &c. &c. His "witte" was, indeed, dearly bought, for Greene served a hard taskmaster. Health, credit, and excellent talents were miserably prostituted to purchase nothing but beggary, contempt, and an early grave. His contrition, however, was very bitter; and his last moments, it is just to hope, were neither unprofitable to himself nor others. 1 La-F. O yes, for a week, or so; I'll read it myself to him. Epi. No, I must do that, sir; that must be my office. Mor. Oh, oh! Epi. Sure he would do well enough, if he could sleep. Mor. No, I should do well enough, if you could sleep. Have I no friend that will make her drunk, or give her a little laudanum, or opium ? 8 True. Why, sir, she talks ten times worse in her sleep. Mor. How ! Cler. Do you not know that, sir? never ceases all night. True. And snores like a porpoise. Mor. O redeem me, fate; redeem me, fate! For how many causes may a man be divorced, nephew? Daup. I know not, truly, sir. True. Some divine must resolve you in that sir, or canon-lawyer. Mor. I will not rest, I will not think of any other hope or comfort, till I know. Cler. Alas, poor man! [Exit with Dauphine. True. You'll make him mad indeed, ladies, if you pursue this. Hau. No, we'll let him breathe now, a quarter of an hour, or so. Cler. By my faith, a large truce! Hau. Is that his keeper, that is gone with him? Daw. It is his nephew, madam. • Have I no friend that will make her drunk, &c.] From Libanius: εκ σιν ἡ γυνη μοι μεθυσος· τετο γαρ εςι το δεινον ; ει γαρ μεθυσεν, εκαθευδεν ει δε εκαθευδεν, ίσως εσιγα. Ibid., 308. La-F. Sir Dauphine Eugenie. Cen. He looks like a very pitiful knight—— Daw. As can be. This marriage has put him out of all. La-F. He has not a penny in his purse, madam. Daw. He is ready to cry all this day. La-F. A very shark; he set me in the nick t'other night at Primero. True. How these swabbers talk! Cler. Ay, Otter's wine has swell'd their humours above a spring-tide. Hau. Good Morose, let's go in again. I like your couches exceeding well; we'll go lie and talk there. [Exeunt Hau. Cen. Mav. Trus. La-Foole, and Daw. Epi. [following them.] I wait on you, madam. True. [stopping her.] 'Slight, I will have them as silent as signs, and their post too, ere I have done. Do you hear, lady-bride? I pray thee now, as thou art a noble wench, continue this discourse of Dauphine within; but praise him exceedingly: magnify him with all the height of affection thou canst; I have some purpose in't :-and but beat off these two rooks, Jack Daw and his fellow, with any discontentment, hither, and I'll honour thee for ever. Epi. I was about it here. It angered me to the soul, to hear them begin to talk so malepert. True. Pray thee perform it, and thou winn'st me an idolater to thee everlasting. Epi. Will you go in and hear me do't? True. No, I'll stay here. Drive them out of your company, 'tis all I ask; which cannot be any way better done, than by extolling Dauphine, whom they have so slighted. Epi. I warrant you; you shall expect one of them presently. [Exit. |