in the doing, do please done. A lady should, indeed, study her face, when we think she sleeps; nor, when the doors are shut, should men be enquiring; all is sacred within, then. Is it for us to see their perukes put on, their false teeth, their complexion, their eye-brows, their nails? You see gilders will not work, but inclosed. They must not discover how little serves, with the help of art, to adorn a great deal. How long did the canvas hang afore Aldgate? Were the people suffered to see the city's Love and Charity, while they were rude stone, before they were painted and burnish'd? No; no more should servants approach their mistresses, but when they are complete, and finish'd. Cler. Well said, my Truewit. True. And a wise lady will keep a guard always upon the place, that she may do things securely. I once followed a rude fellow into a chamher, where the poor madam, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at her peruke to cover her baldness; and put it on the wrong way. Cler. O prodigy! 3 True. And the unconscionable knave held her in compliment an hour with that reverst face, "How long did the canvas hang before Aldgate? Were the people, &c.] Aldgate, as Stow informs us, began to be taken down in 1606, and was very worthily and famously finished in 1609;" so that the canvas hung before it about two years. The good old annalist's description of the city's Love and Charity," is amusing: "To grace each side of the gate, are set two feminine personages, the one southward appearing to be Peace, with a silver dove upon one hand, and a guilded wreath or garland in the other. On the north side standeth Charity, with a child at her breast, and another led in her hand: implying (as I conceive) that where Peace and love, or Charity, do prosper, and are truly embraced, that city shall be for ever blessed." 3 I once followed a rude fellow into a chamber, where the poor when I still look'd when she should talk from the t'other side. Cler. Why, thou shouldst have relieved her. True. No, faith, I let her alone, as we'll let this argument, if you please, and pass to another. When saw you Dauphine Eugenie ? Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go to him this morning? he is very melancholy, I hear. True. Sick of the uncle, is he? I met that stiff piece of formality, his uncle, yesterday,* with a huge turban of night-caps on his head, buckled over his ears. madam, for haste, snatched at her peruke, and put it on the wrong way.] Improved, as Upton observes, with comic humour, from the following: Quæ male crinita est, custodem in limine ponat, Dictus eram cuidam subito venisse puellæ, Turbida perversas induit illa comas. Ibid. v. 243. 4 I met that stiff piece of formality, his uncle, yesterday, &c.] Theobald, who, at one period of his life, seems to have had an idea of republishing Jonson's works, wrote a few short memorandums, or rather references, on the margin of his folio copy. These fell into the hands of Mr. Whalley, and, subsequently, of Mr. Waldron, who, with his usual frankness communicated them to me. They are utterly insignificant, with the exception of the following N. B. " Libanii Declamatio lepidissima de Moroso, qui cum uxorem loquacem duxisset, se ipsum accusat. Probably Jonson borrowed the character, and marriage, of Morose from this declamation." Theobald must have been furnished with this information by a friend, for, as Whalley observes, it does not appear that he was at all acquainted with the work. His correspondent, however, was right in his conjecture; for not only the name and character of Morose, but several of his shorter speeches are copied, or imitated from Libanius. The declamation in question forms the sixth, of what the Sophist calls his Μελεται Πραγματικαί, and is labelled 66 Δύσκολος γήμας λαλον yurarxas ἑαυτον προσαγγελλει.” Cler. O, that's his custom when he walks abroad. He can endure no noise, man. True. So I have heard. But is the disease so ridiculous in him as it is made? They say he has been upon divers treaties with the fish-wives and orange-women; and articles propounded between them: marry, the chimney-sweepers will not be drawn in. Cler. No, nor the broom-men: they stand out stiffly. He cannot endure a costard-monger, he swoons if he hear one. True. Methinks a smith should be ominous. Cler. Or any hammer-man. A brasier is not suffer'd to dwell in the parish, nor an armourer. He would have hang'd a pewterer's prentice once upon a Shrove-tuesday's riot,' for being of that trade, when the rest were quit. True. A trumpet should fright him terribly, or the hautboys. Cler. Out of his senses. The waights of the city have a pension of him not to come near that ward. This youth practised on him one night like the bell-man; and never left till 5 Methinks a smith should be ominous-Or any hammer-man, &c.] Και μην των γε εργαστηρίων, όσα μεν ακμονα και σφύραν έχει και τύπες, φυγή φεύγω, τα αργυροκοπεία, τα χαλκεία· πολλα ἑτερα. τας δε δια σιγής γιγνομενας ασπαζομαι των τεχνων. και τοι και ζωγράφους είδον ηδη μετ' ώδης γράφοντας· όντως ἡδυ τι τοις πολλοις λαλείν, και κατέχειν ἑαυτες 8 Surartar Liban. Edit. Paris. fol. 1606, p. 302. Jonson's conversion of the (wypapa into "chimney sweepers and broom-men" is humorous. 6 Upon a Shrove-tuesday's riot, &c.] The turbulent and disorderly conduct of the apprentices on Shrove-tuesday, which, in Jonson's time, was a day of general festivity for them, is noticed by most of our old writers. Thus Decker, in the Seven deadly sins of London: "They presently, like prentises upon Shrove-tuesday, take the law into their hands, and do what they list."-Quit, as Whalley observes, means discharged from work, and should not, as in his edition, have been altered to quiet. he had brought him down to the door with a long sword; and there left him flourishing with the air. Page. Why, sir, he hath chosen a street to lie in, so narrow at both ends, that it will receive no coaches, nor carts, nor any of these common noises and therefore we that love him, devise to bring him in such as we may, now and then, for his exercise, to breathe him. He would grow resty else in his ease: his virtue would rust without action. I entreated a bearward, one day, to come down with the dogs of some four parishes that way, and I thank him he did; and cried his games under master Morose's window: till he was sent crying away, with his head made a most bleeding spectacle to the multitude. And, another time, a fencer marching to his prize, had his drum most tragically run through, for taking that street in his way at my request. True. A good wag! How does he for the bells? Cler. O, in the Queen's time,' he was wont to go out of town every Saturday at ten o'clock, or on holy day eves. But now, by reason of the sickness, the perpetuity of ringing has made him devise a room, with double walls and treble ceilings; the windows close shut and caulk'd: and there he lives by candle-light. He turn'd away a man, last week, for having a pair of new shoes that creak'd. And this fellow waits on him now in tennis-court socks, or slippers soled with wool: and they talk each to other in a trunk. See, who comes here! 70, in the Queen's time, &c.] This seems to be an indirect satire on the growing laxity of attendance on public worship. Elizabeth was very strict in this matter. *But now, by reason of the sickness,] See p. 344. And they talk each to other in a trunk.] i. e. a tube. Enter sir DAUPHINE EUGENIE. Daup. How now! what ail you, sirs? dumb? True. Struck into stone, almost, I am here, with. tales o' thine uncle. There was never such a prodigy heard of. Daup. I would you would once lose this subject, my masters, for my sake. They are such as you are, that have brought me into that pre-. dicament I am with him. True. How is that? Daup. Marry, that he will disinherit me; no more. He thinks, I and my company are authors of all the ridiculous Acts and Monuments are told of him." True. 'Slid, I would be the author of more to vex him; that purpose deserves it: it gives thee law of plaguing him. I'll tell thee what I would do. I would make a false almanack, get it printed; and then have him drawn out on a coronation day to the Tower-wharf, and kill him with the noise of the ordnance. Disinherit thee! "There are a people, (says Montaigne,) where no one speaks to the king, except his wife and children, but through a trunk.” All our old writers have the word in this sense. 9 He thinks I, and my company, are authors of all the ridicu lous Acts and Monuments are told of him.] Perhaps here, Upton says, but doubtless in a former play, (Vol. II. p. 119,) "he hints at Fox's book." Jonson was at this period a Catholic, and might therefore, perhaps, think himself justified in indulging a little spleen against the man whom the professors of that religion justly considered as the most formidable of their opponents:-but this is conjecture. "The audience," Upton continues, "by these descriptions of Morose, are well prepared for him when he makes his entrance: and as we love to know something of a man before we get into his company, so the poet has taken pains to bring us acquainted with his prineipal characters, before they make their appearance in person." |