Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it:
But I do hate him, as I hate the devil,
Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism.
O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd cur,
That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him.
A slave, that to your face will, serpent-like,
Creep on the ground, as he would eat the dust,
And to your back will turn the tail, and sting
More deadly than a scorpion: stay, who's this?
Now, for my soul, another minion

Of the old lady Chance's! I'll observe him.

Enter SORDIDO with an almanack in his hand.

Sord. O rare! good, good, good, good, good!
I thank my stars,' I thank my stars for it.
Mac. Said I not true? doth not his passion
speak

Out of my divination? O my senses,
Why lose you not your powers, and become.
Dull'd, if not deaded, with this spectacle?
I know him, it is Sordido, the farmer,

A boor, and brother to that swine was here.
[Aside.
Sord. Excellent, excellent, excellent! as I
would wish, as I would wish.

9 I thank my stars, &c.] The folio edition of this play varies so little from the quarto, that I have not always thought it necessary to call the reader's attention to the very few unimportant changes made in the present text. Not to defraud Jonson of his due praise, however, it is proper to observe, that in this, as in the preceding play, he has omitted or softened many of the profane ejaculations which deformed the first copies. To shock or nauseate the reader, by bringing back what the author, upon better consideration, flung out of his text, though unfortunately not without example, is yet a species of gratuitous mischief, for which simple stupidity scarcely forms an adequate

excuse.

Mac. See how the strumpet fortune tickles him, And makes him swoon with laughter, O, O, O! Sord. Ha, ha, ha! I will not sow my grounds this year. Let me see, what harvest shall we have? June, July?

Mac. What, is't a prognostication raps him so? Sord. The 20, 21, 22 days, rain and wind. O good, good! the 23, and 24, rain and some wind, good! the 25, rain, good still! 26, 27, 28, wind and some rain; would it had been rain and some wind! well, 'tis good, when it can be no better. 29, inclining to rain: inclining to rain! that's not so good now: 30, and 31, wind and no rain: no rain! 'slid, stay; this is worse and worse: What says he of saint Swithin's? turn back, look, saint Swithin's: no rain!

Mac. O, here's a precious, dirty, damned rogue, That fats himself with expectation

Of rotten weather, and unseason'd hours;
And he is rich for it, an elder brother!

His barns are full, his ricks and mows well trod, His garners crack with store! O, 'tis well; ha, ha, ha!

A plague consume thee, and thy house! [Aside. Sord. O, here, St. Swithin's, the 15 day, variable weather, for the most part rain, good! for the most part rain: why, it should rain forty days after, now, more or less, it was a rule held, afore I was able to hold a plough, and yet here are two days no rain; ha! it makes me muse. We'll see how the next month begins, if that be better. August 1, 2, 3, and 4, days, rainy and blustering; this is well now: 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, rainy, with some thunder; Ay marry, this is excellent; the other was false printed sure: e 10 and 11, great store of rain; O good, good, good, good, good! the 12, 13, and 14 days, rain; good still: 15, and

16, rain; good still: 17 and 18, rain, good still;
19 and 20, good still, good still, good still, good
still, good still! 21, some rain; some rain! well,
we must be patient, and attend the heavens'
pleasure, would it were more though: the 22,
23, great tempests of rain, thunder and lightning.
O good again, past expectation good!
I thank my blessed angel; never, never
Laid I [a] penny better out' than this,

To purchase this dear book: not dear for price,
And yet of me as dearly prized as life,
Since in it is contain'd the very life,

Blood, strength, and sinews of my happiness.
Blest be the hour wherein I bought this book;
His studies happy that composed the book,
And the man fortunate that sold the book!
Sleep with this charm, and be as true to me,
As I am joy'd and confident in thee. [Puts it up.

Laid I [a] penny out, &c.] We must not be surprised at the confidence which Sordido reposes in his almanack, as persons in his station of life are to be found, even now, superstitiously attentive to its predictions. The ancient almanacks too, possessed higher claims to respect, than those of our days, since besides certain assurance of the downfall of the Pope, and every potentate with whom we might happen to be at war, circumstances common to both, they contained lists of the days favourable for buying and selling :-matters of high import to the Sordidos of all ages. What appears somewhat extraordinary, is the cheapness of this miraculous information: Sordido purchases it at a penny, and that this was not below the stated price, appears from other authorities. Thus Beaumont and Fletcher: Why all physicians,

66

"And penny almanacks allow," &c. The Chances.

And Massinger,

66

Stargaze! sure,

"I have a penny almanack about me,

"Inscribed to you, as to his patroness,

"In his name publish'd." Voi. IV. p. 37.

Enter a Hind, and gives SORDIDO a paper to read.

Mac. Ha, ha, ha!

Is not this good? Is it not pleasing this?
Ha, ha, ha! God pardon me! ha, ha!
Is't possible that such a spacious villain
Should live, and not be plagued? or lies he hid
Within the wrinkled bosom of the world,

Where Heaven cannot see him? S'blood! methinks 'Tis rare, and strange, that he should breathe and walk,

Feed with digestion, sleep, enjoy his health,
And, like a boisterous whale swallowing the poor,
Still swim in wealth and pleasure! is't not strange?
Unless his house and skin were thunder-proof,
I wonder at it! Methinks, now, the hectic,
Gout, leprosy, or some such loath'd disease,
Might light upon him; or that fire from heaven
Might fall upon his barns; or mice and rats.
Eat up his grain; or else that it might rot
Within the hoary ricks, even as it stands:
Methinks this might be well; and after all
The devil might come and fetch him. Ay, 'tis true!
Meantime he surfeits in prosperity,

And thou, in envy of him, gnaw'st thyself:
Peace, fool, get hence, and tell thy vexed spirit,
Wealth in this age will scarcely look on merit.
[Rises and exit.
Sord. Who brought this same, sirrah?
Hind. Marry, sir, one of the justices men; he
says 'tis a precept, and all their hands be at it.
Sord. Ay, and the prints of them stick in my flesh,
Deeper than in their letters: they have sent me
Pills wrapt in paper here, that, should I take them,
Would poison all the sweetness of my book,
And turn my honey into hemlock-juice.
But I am wiser than to serve their precepts,

Or follow their prescriptions. Here's a device, To charge me bring my grain unto the markets: Ay, much!" when I have neither barn nor garner, Nor earth to hide it in, I'll bring 't; till then, Each corn I send shall be as big as Paul's.

O, but (say some) the poor are like to starve. Why, let 'em starve, what's that to me? are bees Bound to keep life in drones and idle moths? no: Why such are these that term themselves the

poor,

Only because they would be pitied,
But are indeed a sort of lazy beggars,
Licentious rogues, and sturdy vagabonds,
Bred by the sloth of a fat plenteous year,
Like snakes in heat of summer, out of dung;
And this is all that these cheap times are good for:
Whereas a wholesome and penurious dearth
Purges the soil of such vile excrements,

And kills the vipers up.'

Hind. O, but master,

Take heed they hear you not.

Sord. Why so?

Hind. They will exclaim against you.

Sord. Ay, their exclaims

Move me as much, as thy breath moves a moun

tain.

Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud myself,

To sit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leap, Knocking my head against my roof, with joy To see how plump my bags are, and my barus.

2

Ay, much!] i. e. by no means; not at all. See vol. I. p. 117.

3 And kills the vipers up.] See vol. I. p. 122.

4 Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home &c.] Taken from Horace, but heightened and improved:

Populus mi sibilat, at mihi plaudo

Ipse domi.