Re-enter FUNGOSO, with his Tailor.

Fung. What's master Fastidious gone, sister? Fal. Ay, brother. He has a face like a cherubin![Aside. Fung. 'Ods me, what luck's this? I have fetch'd my tailor and all which way went he, sister, can you tell?

Fal. Not I, in good faith-and he has a body like an angel! [Aside.

Fung. How long is't since he went ?

Fal. Why, but e'en now; did you not meet him? -and a tongue able to ravish any woman in the earth. [Aside.

Fung. O, for God's sake-I'll please you for your pains [to his Tailor.]-But e'en now, say you? Come, good sir: 'slid, I had forgot it too: if any body ask for mine uncle Sogliardo, they shall have him at the herald's office yonder, by Paul's.

[Exit with his Tailor.

Fal. Well, I will not altogether despair: I have heard of a citizen's wife has been beloved of a courtier; and why not I? heigh, ho! well, I will into my private chamber, lock the door to me, and think over all his good parts one after another. [Exit.

Mit. Well, I doubt, this last scene will endure some grievous torture.

Cor. How? you fear 'twill be rack'd by some hard construction?

Mit. Do not you?

Cor. No, in good faith: unless mine eyes could light me beyond sense. I see no reason why this should be more liable to the rack than the rest: you'll say, perhaps, the city will not take it well that the merchant is made here to dote so perfectly upon his wife; and she again to be so Fastidiously affected as she is.

Mit. You have utter'd my thought, sir, indeed.

Cor. Why, by that proportion, the court might as well take offence at him we call the courtier, and with much more pretext, by how much the place transcends, and goes before in dignity and virtue: but can you imagine that any noble or true spirit in court, whose sinewy and altogether unaffected graces, very worthily express him a courtier, will make any exception at the opening of such an empty trunk as this Brisk is? or think his own worth impeached, by beholding his motly inside?

Mit. No, sir, I do not.

Cor. No more, assure you, will any grave, wise citizen, or modest matron, take the object of this folly in Deliro and his wife; but rather apply it as the foil to their own virtues. For that were to affirm, that a man writing of Nero, should mean all emperors; or speaking of Machiavel, comprehend all statesmen; or in our Sordido, all farmers; and so of the rest: than which nothing can be uttered more malicious, or absurd. Indeed there are a sort of these narrow-eyed decypherers, I confess, that will extort strange and abstruse meanings out of any subject, be it never so conspicuous and innocently delivered. But to such, where'er they sit concealed, let them know, the author defies them and their writing-tables; and hopes no sound or safe judgment will infect itself with their contagious comments, who, indeed, come here only to pervert and poison the sense of what they hear, and for nought else.

9

9 the author defies them and their writing-tables.] It was customary for the critics of Jonson's time to carry pocket-books (tables) to the theatres, for the purpose of writing down such passages as struck them: to this there are many allusions in our old plays. Thus, in the Malecontent: "I am one that hath seen this play often; I have most of the jests here in my table-book." And, in the Woman Hater: "If there be any lurking among you in corners, with table-books, who have some hopes to find fit matter to feed their malice, let them clasp them up and slink away."

Enter cavalier SHIFT, with two Si quisses (bills) in his hand.

Mit. Stay, what new mute is this, that walks so suspiciously?

Cor. O, marry, this is one, for whose better illustration, we must desire you to presuppose the stage, the middle aisle in Paul's, and that, the west end of it. Mit. So, sir, and what follows?

Cor. Faith, a whole volume of humour, and worthy the unclasping.

Mit. As how? What name do you give him first? Cor. He hath shift of names, sir: some call him Apple-John, some signior Whiffe; marry, his main standing name is cavalier Shift; the rest are but as clean shirts to his natures.

Mit. And what makes he in Paul's now?

Cor. Troth, as you see, for the advancement of a si quis, or two; wherein he has so varied himself, that if any of 'em take, he may hull up and down in the humourous world a little longer.

Mit. It seems then he bears a very changing sail? Cor. O, as the wind, sir: here comes more.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The Middle Aisle of St. Paul's.

Shift [coming forward.]

HIS is rare, I have set up my bills without discovery.1

Enter ORANGE.

Orange. What, signior Whiffe! what fortune has brought you into these west parts?

This is rare, I have set up my bills without discovery,] i. e. his Si quisses, his advertisements. "It appears," says a late commentator on Shakspeare, "from a very rare little piece, that St. Paul's was a place in which bills were posted up." This is the very foppery of black-letter reading. The play before us, which is to be found in every library in the kingdom, and which conveys more information on the subject than can be picked out of all the rarities in the critic's cabinet, is not once noticed! I know that Jonson is no favourite with the idolizers of Shakspeare, who never mention him but to calumniate his name, and I do not therefore address myself to them; but I can assure those unprejudiced readers, who are solicitous to become acquainted with the domestic manners and pursuits of our forefathers, that they will find more to gratify this rational curiosity in the dramas of this great poet, than in all the writers of his age. Jonson was a keen observer, and an accurate describer of the scenes before him: added to which, his idea of the true intent of comedy, and the examples of Aristophanes and Plautus, his principal models, came in aid of his natural bent, and converted what was inclination into duty.

A modern reader, Whalley says, will be surprised, perhaps, to find business of the following description transacted in St. Paul's; but the middle aisle of this church was, in the poet's days, the common resort of bullies, knights of the post, and others of the

Shift. Troth, signior, nothing but your rheum; I have been taking an ounce of tobacco hard by here, with a gentleman, and I am come to spit private in Paul's. 'Save you, sir.

Orange. Adieu, good signior Whiffe.

Enter CLOVE.

[Passes onward.

Clove. Master Apple-John! you are well met : when shall we sup together, and laugh, and be fat with those good wenches, ha?

Shift. Faith, sir, I must now leave you, upon a few humours and occasions; but when you please, sir. Exit.

Clove. Farewell, sweet Apple-John! I wonder there are no more store of gallants here.

Mit. What be these two, signior?

Cor. Marry, a couple, sir, that are mere strangers to the whole scope of our play; only come to walk a turn or two in this scene of Paul's, by chance.

Orange. Save you, good master Clove!
Clove. Sweet master Orange.

Mit. How! Clove and Orange?

Cor. Ay, and they are well met, for 'tis as dry an Orange as ever grew: nothing but salutation, and, O lord, sir! and, It pleases you to say so, sir! one that can laugh at a jest for company with a most plausible and extemporal grace; and some hour after in private ask you what it was. The other monsieur, Clove, is a more spiced youth; he will sit you a whole afternoon

like reputable professions, who carried on their various occupations here with great success: indeed, bargains of all kinds were made here as commonly as on the Exchange, and with as little feeling of impropriety. The reader who wishes for more on the subject, may turn to a very curious passage in Reed's Old Plays, vol. vii. p. 136.