The Works of Ben Jonson

Meer. Hark, the poor gentleman, how he is tormented!

Fitz. My wife is a whore, I'll kiss her no more: and why?

May'st not thou be a cuckold as well as 1?

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Sir P. Eith. That is the devil speaks and laughs in him.

Meer. Do you think so, sir?

Sir P. Eith. I discharge my conscience.
Fitz. And is not the devil good company? yes,
Ever. How he changes, sir, his voice!
Fitz. And a cuckold is,

Wherever he put his head, with a wannion,
If his horns be forth, the devil's companion.
Look, look, look, else!

Meer. How he foams!

Ever. And swells!

[wis.

[belly?

Lady T. O me, what's that there rises in his
Lady E. A strange thing: hold it down.
Tra. Pit. We cannot, madam.

Sir P. Eith. 'Tis too apparent this!
Fitz. Wittipol, Wittipol!

Enter WITTIPOL, MANLY, and Mrs. FITZDOTTREL.
Wit. How now! what play have we here?
Man. What fine new matters ?

Wit. The cockscomb and the coverlet.
Meer. O strange impudence,

That these should come to face their sin!
Ever. And outface

Justice! they are the parties, sir.

Sir P. Eith. Say, nothing.

Meer. Did you mark, sir, upon their coming in, How he call'd Wittipol?

Ever. And never saw them.

[play awhile.

Sir P. Eith. I warrant you did I: let them Fitz. Buz, buz, buz, buz!

Lady T. 'Las, poor gentleman,

How he is tortured!

[trel!

And poets too: you heard him talk in rhyme, I had forgot to observe it to you, erewhile! Lady T. See, he spits fire!

Sir P. Eith. O no, he plays at figgum;
The devil is the author of wicked figgum.
Man. Why speak you not unto him?
Wit. If I had

All innocence of man to be endanger'd,
And he could save or ruin it, I'd not breathe
A syllable in request, to such a fool
He makes himself.

Fitz. O they whisper, whisper, whisper,
We shall have more of devils a score,
To come to dinner, in me the sinner.

Lady E. Alas, poor gentleman!
Sir P. Eith. Put them asunder;
Keep them one from the other.

Man. Are you phrenetic, sir?

Or what grave dotage moves you to take part
With so much villainy? we are not afraid
Either of law or trial; let us be
Examined what our ends were, what the mears
To work by, and possibility of those means:
Do not conclude against us ere you hear us.
Sir P. Eith. I will not hear you, yet I will
Out of the circumstances.

Man. Will you so, sir?

Sir P. Eith. Yes, they are palpable.

Man. Not as your folly.

[conclude

Sir P. Eith. I will discharge my conscience, To the meridian of justice.

Gilt. You do well, sir.

[and do all,

Let's break his neck in jest, the devil says.
Fitz. Di gratia, signor mio, se havete denari
fatamene parte.

Meer. What! would the devil borrow money?
Fitz. Ouy, ouy, monsieur, un pauvre diable,
diabletin.

Sir P. Eith. It is the devil, by his several languages.

Put me upon it. (I have faith against him.)
They taught me all my tricks. I will tell truth,
And shame the fiend. See here, sir, are my

bellows,

And my false belly, and my mouse, and all
That should have come forth.

Man. Sir, are you not ashamed
Now of your solemn, serious vanity?

Sir P. Eith. I will make honorable amends to
truth.
[still,
Fitz. And so will I. But these are cozeners
And have my land, as plotters, with my wife;
Who, though she be not a witch, is worse, a
whore.
[virtuous,

Man. Sir, you belie her: she is chaste and
And we are honest. I do know no glory
A man should hope, by venting his own follies;
But you'll still be an ass in spite of providence.
Please you go in, sir, and hear truths, then
judge 'em,

And make amends for your late rashness: when You shall but hear the pains, and care was taken Enter SHACKLES, with the things found on the body To save this fool from ruin, his Grace of

of the Cut-purse.

Shack. Where's sir Paul Eitherside?

Sir P. Eith. Here; what's the matter?
Shack. O, such an accident fallen out at New-
gate, sir:

A great piece of the prison is rent down!
The devil has been there, sir, in the body
Of the young cut-purse, was hang'd out this
morning,

[him.
But in new clothes, sir; every one of us know
These things were found in his pocket.
Amb. Those are mine, sir.

Drown'd-land

Fitz. My land is drown'd indeed

Sir P. Eith. Peace.

Man. And how much

His modest and too worthy wife hath suffer'd
By misconstruction from him, you will blush,
First, for your own belief, more for his actions.
His land is his; and never by my friend,
Or by myself, meant to another use,
But for her succors, who hath equal right.
If any other had worse counsels in it,
(I know I speak to those can apprehend me)

Shack. I think he was committed on your Let them repent them, and be not detected.

charge, sir,

For a new felony.

Amb. Yes.

Shack. He's gone, sir, now,

And left us the dead body; but withal, sir,
Such an infernal stink and steam behind,
You cannot see St. Pulchre's steeple yet:
They smell't as far as Ware, as the wind lies,
By this time, sure.

Fitz. [starts up.] Is this upon your credit,
friend?

Shack. Sir, you may see, and satisfy yourself.
Fitz. Nay then, 'tis time to leave off counter-
feiting.

Sir, I am not bewitch'd, nor have a devil,
No more than you; I do defy him, I,

And did abuse you: these two gentlemen

It is not manly to take joy or pride
In human errors: we do all ill things;
They do them worst that love them, and dwell
there,

[seeds
Till the plague comes. The few that have the
Of goodness left, will sooner make their way
To a true life, by shame, than punishment.

[He comes forward for the Epilogue.

Thus the projector here is overthrown;
But I have now a project of mine own,
If it may pass, that no man would invite
The poet from us, to sup forth to-night,
If the play please. If it displeasant be,
We do presume that no man will, nor we.

[Excunt.

THE STAPLE OF NEWS.

PENNYBOY, the Son, the Heir and Suitor. PENNYBOY, the Father, the Canter. PENNYBOY, Richer, the Uncle, the Usurer.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

CYMBAL, Master of the Staple, and Prime Jeerer.
FITTON, Emissary Court, and Jeerer.

ALMANAC, Doctor in Physic, and Jeerer.
SHUNFIELD, Sea Captain, and Jeerer.
MADRIGAL, Poetaster, and Jeerer.

PICKLOCK, Man o' Law, and Emissary Westminster.
PIEDMANTLE, Pursuivant at Arms, and Heraldet.
REGISTER, of the Staple, or Office.

NATHANIEL, First Clerk of the Office.

THOMAS, Barber, Second Clerk of the Office.

BROKER, Secretary, and Gentleman-Usher to PECUNIA.

LICKFINGER, Master-Cook, and Parcel-Poet.
FASHIONER, the Tailor of the times.
LEATHERLEG, Shoemaker.

SCENE, LONDON.

THE INDUCTION.

Enter PROLOGUE.

Pro. For your own sakes, not his

THE STAGE.

Enter Gossip MIRTH, Gossip TATTLE, Gossip ExPECTATION, and Gossip CENSURE, four Gentlewomen, lady-like attired.

Mirth. Come, gossip, be not ashamed. The play is THE STAPLE OF NEWS, and you are the mistress and lady of Tattle, let's have your opinion of it. - Do you hear, gentlemen? what are you, gentleman-usher to the play? Pray you help us to some stools here.

Pro. Where? on the stage, ladies!

Mirth. Yes, on the stage; we are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen. My gossip Tattle here, and gossip Expectation, and my gossip Censure, and I am Mirth, the daughter of Christmas, and spirit of Shrovetide. They say, It's merry when gossips meet; I hope your play will be a merry

one.

Pro. Or you will make it such, ladies. Bring a form here. [A bench is brought in.] But what wis the noblemen think, or the grave wits here, to see you seated on the bench thus?

Mirth. Why, what should they think, but that they had mothers as we had; and those mothers had gossips (if their children were christened) as we are; and such as had a longing to see plays, and sit upon them, as we do, and arraign both them and their poets?

Pro. O, is that your purpose! Why, mistress Mirth and madam Tattle, enjoy your delights freely. Tat. Look your News be new and fresh, master |

Prologue, and untainted; I shall find them else, if they be stale or fly-blown, quickly.

Pro. We ask no favor from you; only we would entreat of madam Expectation

Expect. What, master Prologue?

Pro. That your ladyship would expect no more than you understand.

Expect. Sir, I can expect enough.

Pro. I fear, too much, lady; and teach others to do the like.

Expect. I can do that too, if I have cause. Pro. Cry you mercy, you never did wrong, but with just cause. What's this, lady?

Mirth. Curiosity, my lady Censure.

Pro. O, Curiosity! you come to see who wears the new suit to-day; whose clothes are best penn'd, whatever the part be; which actor has the best leg and foot; what king plays without cuffs, and his queen without gloves; who rides post in stockings, and dances in boots.

Cen. Yes, and which amorous prince makes love in drink, or does over-act prodigiously in beaten satin, and having got the trick on't, will be monstrous still, in despite of counsel.

Book-holder. [within.] Mend your lights, gen- Master Prologue, begin.

tlemen.

Enter the TIRE-MEN to mend the lights. Tat. Ah me!

Expect. Who's that?

Pro. Nay, start not, ladies; these carry no fireworks to fright you, but a torch in their hands, to give light to the business. The truth is, there are a set of gamesters within, in travail of a thing called a play, and would fain be deliver'd of it: and they have entreated me to be their man-midwife, the

prologue; for they are like to have a hard labor

on't.

Tat. Then the poet has abused himself, like an ass as he is.

Mirth. No, his actors will abuse him enough, or I am deceived. Yonder he is within (I was in the tiring-house awhile to see the actors drest) rolling himself up and down like a tun in the midst of them, and purges, never did vessel of wort or wine work so! his sweating put me in mind of a good Shroving-dish (and I believe would be taken up for a service of state somewhere, an't were known), a stewed poet! he doth sit like an unbraced drum, with one of his heads beaten out; for that you must note, a poet hath two heads, as a drum has; one for making, the other repeating! and his repeating head is all to pieces; they may gather it up in the tiringhouse; for he hath torn the book in a poetical fury, and put himself to silence in dead sack, which, were there no other vexation, were sufficient to make him | the most miserable emblem of patience.

Cen. The Prologue, peace.

PROLOGUE,

(FOR THE STAGE.)

For your own sakes, not his, he bad me say,
Would you were come to hear, not see a play.
Though we his actors, must provide for those
Who are our guests here, in the way of shows,
The maker hath not so; he'd have you wise,
Much rather by your ears, than by your eyes;
And prays you'll not prejudge his play for vil,
Because you mark it not, and sit not still;
But have a longing to salute, or talk
With such a female, and from her to walk
With your discourse, to what is done, and where,
How, and by whom, in all the town, but here.
Alas! what is it to his scene, to know
How many coaches in Hyde-park did show
Last spring, what fare to-day at Medley's was,
If Dunstan or the Phonix best wine has?

They are things—but yet the stage might stand as well,
If it did neither hear these things, nor tell.
Great noble wits, be good unto yourselves,
And make a difference 'twixt poetic elves,
And poets: all that dabble in the ink,
And defile quills, are not those few can think,
Conceive, express, and steer the souls of men,
As with a rudder, round thus, with their pen.
He must be one that can instruct your youth,
And keep your acme in the state of truth,
Must enterprise this work: mark but his ways,
What flight he makes, how new and then he says,
If that not like you, that he sends to-night,
Tis you have left to judge, not he to write.

PROLOGUE.

(FOR THE COURT.)

A work not smelling of the lamp, to-night,
But fitted for your Majesty's disport,
And writ to the meridian of your court,
We bring; and hope it may produce delight,
The rather being offered as a rite,

To scholars, that can judge, and fair report

The Lodgings of PENNYBOY, jun.

Enter PENNYBOY, jun. and LEATHERLEG with a new pair of boots.

P. jun. [LEATH. pulls on his boots.] Gramercy,
Leatherleg: get me the spurrier,

And thou hast fitted me.
Leath. I'll do it presently.

[Exit.

P. jun. [walks up and down in his gown. waistcoat, and trowses, expecting his tailor.] Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, land, That is, look on me, and with all thine eyes, Male, female, yea, hermaphroditic eyes, And those bring all your helps and perspicils, To see me at best advantage, and augment My form as I come forth; for I do feel I will be one worth looking after shortly; Now, by and by, that's shortly, -[draws forth his watch, and sets it on the table.] It strikes! one, two,

Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, [rest; Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and Would thou couldst make the time to do so too: I'll wind thee up no more. The hour is come So long expected! there, there, drop my wardship, [Throws off his gown.

My pupillage and vassalage together.
And, Liberty, come throw thyself about me,
In a rich suit, cloke, hat, and band, for now
I'll sue out no man's livery, but mine own;
I stand on my own feet, so much a year,
Right round and sound, the lord of mine own
ground.
[pound!
And (to rhyme to it) threescore thousand
Not come? not yet? - [Goes to the door and looks.]
Tailor, thou art a vermin, [prick'st
Worse than the same thou prosecut'st, and
In subtle seam- - Go to, I say no more
Thus to retard my longings, on the day

I do write man, to beat thee! One and twenty Since the clock struck, complete! and thou wilt feel it,

Thou foolish animal! I could pity him,
An I were not heartily angry with him now,
For this one piece of folly he bears about him,
To dare to tempt the fury of an heir
T to above two thousand a year, yet hope his
[break-
Well, master Fashioner, there's some must
A head, for this your breaking.

custom !

Enter FASHIONER..

Are you come, sir Fash. God give your worship joy! P. jun. What! of your staying,

P. jun. Thy jest

Has gain'd thy pardon, thou hadst lived condemn'd

'To thine own hell else, never to have wrought Stitch more for me, or any Pennyboy,

I could have hinder'd thee: but now thou art mine.

For one and twenty years, or for three lives, Choose which thou wilt, I'll make thee a copyholder,

And thy first bill unquestion'd. Help me on. Fash. Presently, sir: [says his suit.] I am bound unto your worship.

P. jun. Thou shalt be, when I have seal'd thee a lease of my custom.

Fash. Your worship's barber is without.
P. jun. Who? Tom! -

Come in, Tom.

Here in the house, almost on the same floor,
Where all the news of all sorts shall be brought,
And there be examined, and then register'd,
And so be issued under the seal of the office,
As Staple News; no other news be current.
P. jun. Fore me, thou speak'st of a brave
business, Tom.

Fash. Nay, if you knew the brain that hatch'd it, sir

P. Jun. I know thee well enough: give him a loaf, Tom;

Quiet his mouth, that oven will be venting else. Proceed

Tho. He tells you true, sir; master Cymbal Is master of the office, he projected it,

He lies here, in the house; and the great rooms
He has taken for the office, and set up
His desks and classes, tables and his shelves.
Fash. He is my customer, and a wit, sir, too.
But he has brave wits under him

Tho. Yes, four emissaries.

Tho. Or half a wit, some of them are half-wits, Two to a wit, there are a set of them. Then master Ambler, emissary Paul's,

| A fine-paced gentleman, as you shall see walk
The middle aisle and then my froy Hans Buz,
A Dutchman; he is emissary Exchange.
Fash. I had thought master Burst, the mer-
Tho. No,
[chant, had had it.

He has a rupture, he has sprung a leak.
Emissary Westminster's undisposed of yet;
Then the examiner, register, and two clerks,
They manage all at home, and sort, and file,
And seal the news, and issue them.

[ity

P. jun. Tom, dear Tom, What may my means do for thee? ask and have I'd fain be doing some good: it is my birthday. And I would do it betimes, I feel a grudging Of bounty, and I would not long lie fallow.

I pray thee think and speak, or wish for something.

Tho. I would I had but one of the clerks In this News-office.

[places

P. jun. Thou shalt have it, Tom, If silver or gold will fetch it; what's the rate? At what is it set in the market?

Tho. Fifty pound, sir.

P. jun. An'twere a hundred, Tom, thou shalt not want it.

Fash. O noble master!

[Leaps and embraces him. P. jun. How now, Esop's ass! Because I play with Tom, must I needs run Into your rude embraces ? stand you still, sir; Clowns' fawnings are a horse's salutations. How dost thou like my suit, Tom?

Tho. Master Fashioner

Has hit your measures, sir, he has moulded you,
And made you, as they say.

Fash. No, no, not I,
I am an ass, old Esop's ass.

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The Works of Ben Jonson, 2. sējums