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Sirrah, go hie you home, and bid your fellows Get all their flails ready again I come.

Hind. I will, sir.

[Exit.
Sord. I'll instantly set all my hinds to thrashing
Of a whole rick of corn, which I will hide.
Under the ground; and with the straw thereof
I'll stuff the outsides of my other mows:
That done, I'll have them empty all my garners,
And in the friendly earth bury my store,
That, when the searchers come, they may suppose
All's spent, and that my fortunes were belied.
And to lend more opinion to my want,
And stop that many-mouthed vulgar dog,
Which else would still be baying at my door,
Each market-day I will be seen to buy

Part of the purest wheat, as for my household;
Where when it comes, it shall increase my heaps:
'Twill yield me treble gain at this dear time,
Promised in this dear book: I have cast all.
Till then I will not sell an ear, I'll hang first.
O, I shall make my prices as I list;

My house and I can feed on peas and barley.
What though a world of wretches starve the

while;

He that will thrive must think no courses vile.

[Exit.

Cor. Now, signior, how approve you this? have the humourists exprest themselves truly or no?

Mit. Yes, if it be well prosecuted, 'tis hitherto happy enough: but methinks Macilente went hence too soon; he might have been made to stay, and speak somewhat in reproof of Sordido's wretchedness now at the last.

Cor. O, no, that had been extremely improper ; besides, he had continued the scene too long with him, as 'twas, being in no more action.

Mit. You may inforce the length as a necessary

reason; but for propriety, the scene would very well have borne it, in my judgment.

Cor. O, worst of both; why, you mistake his humour utterly then.

Mit. How do I mistake it? Is it not Envy? Cor. Yes, but you must understand, signior, he envies him not as he is a villain, a wolf in the commonwealth, but as he is rich and fortunate; for the true condition of envy is, dolor alienæ felicitatis, to have our eyes continually fixed upon another man's prosperity, that is, his chief happiness, and to grieve at that. Whereas, if we make his monstrous and abhorr'd actions our object, the grief we take then comes nearer the nature of hate than envy, as being bred out of a kind of contempt and loathing in ourselves.

Mit. So you'll infer it had been hate, not envy him, to reprehend the humour of Sordido?

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Cor. Right, for what a man truly envies in another, he could always love and cherish in himself; but no man truly reprehends in another, what he loves in himself; therefore reprehension is out of his hate. And this distinction hath he himself made in a speech there, if you marked it, where he says, I envy not this Buffone, but I hate him.

Mit. Stay, sir: I envy not this Buffone, but I hate him. Why might he not as well have hated Sordido as him?

Cor. No, sir, there was subject for his envy in Sordido, his wealth: so was there not in the other. He stood possest of no one eminent gift, but a most odious and fiend-like disposition, that would turn charity itself into hate, much more envy, for the present. Mit. You have satisfied me, sir. O, here comes the fool, and the jester again, methinks.

Cor. Twere pity they should be parted, sir. Mit. What bright-shining gallant's that with them? the knight they went to?

Cor. No, sir, this is one monsieur Fastidious Brisk, otherwise called the fresh Frenchified courtier. Mit. A humourist too?

Cor. As humourous as quicksilver; do but observe him; the scene is the country still, remember.

ACT II. SCENE I.

The Country; before Puntarvolo's House.

Enter FASTIDIOUS BRISK, CINEDO, CARLO BUFFONE, and SOGLIARDO.

Fast. Cinedo, watch when the knight comes,

and give us word.

Cin. I will, sir.

Fast. How lik'st thou my boy, Carlo?

[Exit.

Car. O, well, well. He looks like a colonel of the Pigmies horse, or one of these motions in a great antique clock; he would shew well upon a haberdasher's stall, at a corner shop, rarely.

Fast. 'Sheart, what a damn'd witty rogue's this! How he confounds with his similes!

5

or one of these motions in a great antique clock;] A puppet, in this age, was called a motion: it here means one of those small figures in the face of a large clock, which was moved by the vibration of the pendulum. We have them in clocks of the present day. WHAL.

There is an allusion to these figures in the Ordinary:
"For my good toothless countess, let us try
"To win that old emerit thing, that like
"An image in a German clock, doth move,

"Not walk; I mean that rotten antiquary."

Car. Better with similes than smiles: and whither were you riding now, signior?

Fast. Who, I? What a silly jest's that! Whither should I ride but to the court?

Car. O, pardon me, sir, twenty places more; your hot-house, or your whore-house

Fast. By the virtue of my soul, this knight dwells in Elisium here.

Car. He's gone now, I thought he would fly out presently. These be our nimble-spirited catsos,' that have their evasions at pleasure, will run over a bog like your wild Irish; no sooner started, but they'll leap from one thing to another, like a squirrel, heigh! dance and do tricks in their discourse, from fire to water, from water to air, from air to earth, as if their tongues did but e'en lick the four elements over, and away. Fast. Sirrah, Carlo, thou never saw'st my gray hobby yet, didst thou?

Car. No; have you such a one?

Fast. The best in Europe, my good villain, thou❜lt say when thou seest him.

Car. But when shall I see him?

Fast. There was a nobleman in the court offered me a hundred pound for him, by this light:

your hot-house, or your whore-house.] An unusual fit of reserve has visited the quarto, which omits the last word; little, however, is gained by it, on the score of decorum, for, as Jonson observes in his epigrams, the terms were nonima."

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7 These be our nimble-spirited catsos, &c.] Carlo applies this opprobrious term to the travelled and affected coxcombs of the day, whose vapid follies he ridicules with great pleasantry. With respect to the word itself, on which the commentators on our old plays dilate with a gravity truly laughable, it is a petty oath, a cant exclamation, generally expressive, among the Italian populace, who have it constantly in their mouth, of defiance, or contempt. Jonson points his satire at the use of it, which was very prevalent when he wrote.

a fine little fiery slave, he runs like a-oh, excellent, excellent !-with the very sound of the spur.

Car. How! the sound of the spur?

Fast. O, it's your only humour now extant, sir; a good gingle, a good gingle.

Cor. How! the sound of the spur?

Fast. O, it's your only humour now extant, sir; a good gingle, a good gingle. There has been a great deal written on this "humour," but very little to the purpose. Whalley observes that the gallants of this age had small rings (Theobald and others say, bells) fixed to their spurs, which made a noise when they rode or walked. But they had neither the one nor the other; the gingling was produced by the large loose rowels then worn, which were commonly of silver, and which every motion of the foot set in play. Thus Shirley: "I perceive 'tis an ad"vantage for a man to wear spurs; the rowel of knighthood does so gingle in the ear of their understanding." Love in a Maze. We may learn something of the offensive nature of this fashion from a passage in Chapman's Monsieur d'Olive: "You 66 may hear them (the gallants) half a mile ere they come at 66 you-sixe or seaven make a perfect morrice-daunce; they "need no bells, their spurs serve their turne." A. III. But a yet more convincing proof of it may be found in some of our parish records. It is well known that our cathedrals (and above all, St. Paul's) were, in Jonson's time, frequented by people of all descriptions, who, with a levity scarcely credible, walked up and down the aisles, and transacted business of every kind, during divine service. To expel them was not possible; such, however, was the noise occasioned by the incessant gingling of their spur-rowels, that it was found expedient to punish those who approached the body of the church, thus indecently equipped, by a small fine, under the name of spur-money, the exaction of which was committed to the beadles and singingboys, who seem to have exerted their authority with sufficient vigour, and sometimes even to the neglect of their more important duties. About the time when this play was written, I find the following "Presentment to the Visitor, 1598: Wee think "it a very necessarye thinge that every quoirister sholde "bringe with him to church a Testament, in Englishe, and "torne to every chapter, as it is daily read, or som other good "and godly prayer-booke, rather than spend their tyme in "talk and hunting after spurr-money, whereon they set their "whole mindes, and do often abuse dyvers if they do not 66 bestowe somewhat on them."

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