I think it fit to stay where our laws do.
Poor petty states may alter upon humour,
Where, if they offend with anger, few do know it,
Because they are obscure; their fame and fortune
Is equal and the same: but they that are
Head of the world, and live in that seen height,
All mankind knows their actions. So we see,
The greater fortune hath the lesser license.
They must not favour, hate, and least be angry;
For what with others is call'd anger, there
Is cruelty and pride. I know Syllanus,
Who spoke before me, a just, valiant man,
A lover of the state, and one that would not,
In such a business, use or grace or hatred;

I know too, well, his manners and his modesty;
Nor do I think his sentence cruel, (for
'Gainst such delinquents what can be too bloody?)|
But that it is abhorring from our state;
Since to a citizen of Rome offending,
Our laws give exile, and not death. Why then
Decrees he that? 'twere vain to think, for fear;
When by the diligence of so worthy a consul,
All is made safe and certain. Is't for punishment?
Why, death's the end of evils, and a rest
Rather than torment: it dissolves all griefs;
And beyond that, is neither care nor joy.
You hear my sentence would not have them die.
How then? set free, and increase Catiline's army?
So will they, being but banish'd. No, grave fathers,
I judge them, first, to have their states confiscate;
Then, that their persons remain prisoners
In the free towns, far off from Rome, and sever'd;
Where they might neither have relation,
Hereafter, to the senate or the people.
Or, if they had, those towns then to be mulcted,
As enemies to the state, that had their guard.
Omnes. 'Tis good, and honourable, Cæsar hath
utter'd.

Cic. Fathers, I see your faces and your eyes
All bent on me, to note, of these two censures,
Which I incline to. Either of them are grave,
And answering the dignity of the speakers,
The greatness of the affair, and both severe.
One urgeth death; and he may well remember
This state hath punish'd wicked citizens so:
The other, bonds, and those perpetual, which
He thinks found out for the more singular plague.
Decree which you shall please: you have a consul,
Not readier to obey, than to defend,
Whatever you shall act for the republic;
And meet with willing shoulders any burden,
Or any fortune, with an even face,

Though it were death; which to a valiant man
Can never happen foul, nor to a consul

Be immature, nor to a wise man wretched.

Syl. Fathers, I spake but as I thought the needs

Of the commonwealth required.

Cato. Excuse it not.

Cic. Cato, speak you your sentence.

Cato. This it is.

You here dispute on kinds of punishment,
And stand consulting what you should decree

'Gainst those of whom you rather should beware:
This mischief is not like those common facts,
Which when they're done, the laws may prosecute;
But this, if you provide not ere it happen,
When it is happen'd, will not wait your judgment.
Good Caius Cæsar here hath very well,
And subtlely discours'd of life and death,
As if he thought those things a pretty fable

That are deliver'd us of hell and furies, Or of the divers ways that ill men go

From good, to filthy, dark, and ugly places:
And therefore he would have these live, and long
too;

But far from Rome, and in the small free towns,
Lest here they might have rescue: as if men
Fit for such acts were only in the city,
And not throughout all Italy; or, that boldness
Could not do more, where it found least resistance!
'Tis a vain counsel, if he think them dangerous:
Which if he do not, but that he alone,

In so great fear of all men, stand unfrighted,
He gives me cause, and you too, more to fear him.
I am plain, fathers. Here you look about
One at another, doubting what to do,
With faces, as you trusted to the gods,
That still have saved you; and they can do it: but
They are not wishings, or base womanish pray'rs,
Can draw their aids; but vigilance, counsel, action;
Which they will be ashamed to forsake.
"Tis sloth they hate, and cowardice. Here you have
The traitors in your houses; yet you stand,
Fearing what to do with them; let them loose,
And send them hence with arms too, that your
mercy

May turn your misery, as soon as 't can!—
O, but they are great men, and have offended
But through ambition; we would spare their honour.
Ay, if themselves had spared it, or their fame,
Or modesty, or either god or man;
Then I would spare them. But as things now stand,
Fathers, to spare these men, were to commit
A greater wickedness than you would revenge.
If there had been but time and place for you
To have repair'd this fault, you should have made it;
It should have been your punishment, to have felt
Your tardy error: but necessity

Now bids me say, let them not live an hour, •
If you mean Rome should live a day. I have done.
Ompes. Cato hath spoken like an oracle.

Cras. Let it be so decreed.

Sen. We all were fearful.

Syl. And had been base, had not his virtue raised us.

Sen. Go forth, most worthy consul, we'll assist you.

Cæs. I am not yet changed in my sentence,
Cato. No matter.
[fathers.

Enter a Messenger with letters.
What be those?

1 Sen. Letters for Cæsar!
Cato. From whom? let them be read in open
Fathers, they come from the conspirators, [senate.
I crave to have them read, for the republic.
Cæs. Cato, read you it. 'Tis a love-letter,
From your dear sister to me: though you hate me,
Do not discover it.
[Aside to CATO.

Cato. Hold thee, drunkard.-Consul, Go forth, and confidently.

Cas. You'll repent

This rashness, Cicero.

Præ. Cæsar shall repent it.

Cic. Hold, friends!

[The Prætors attempt to seize him.

Præ. He's scarce a friend unto the public. Cic. No violence. Caesar, be safe. [They all rise.]-Lead on.

Where are the public executioners?

Bid them wait on us. On to Spinther's house. Bring Lentulus forth. [He is brought out.]—Here, you, the sad revengers

Of capital crimes against the public, take
This man unto your justice; strangle him.
Len. Thou dost well, consul. 'Twas a cast at
dice,

In fortune's hand, not long since, that thyself Should'st have heard these, or other words as fatal. [Exit LEN. guarded. Cic. Lead on to Quintus Cornificius' house. Bring forth Cethegus. [He is brought out.]-Take him to the due

.Death that he hath deserv'd, and let it be
Said, he was once.

Cet. A beast, or what is worse,

A slave, Cethegus. Let that be the name
For all that's base, hereafter; that would let
This worm pronounce on him, and not have tramp-
His body into-Ha! art thou not moved? [led
Cic. Justice is never angry. Take him hence.
Cet. O, the whore Fortune, and her bawds the
Fates,

That put these tricks on men, which knew the way
To death by a sword! strangle me, I may sleep;
I shall grow angry with the gods else.

Cic. Lead

[Exit, guarded.

To Caius Cæsar, for Statilius. Bring him and rude Gabinius out. [They are brought out.]-Here take them

[up,

To your cold hands, and let them feel death from
Gab. I thank you, you do me a pleasure. [you.
Stat. And me too. [Exe. GAB, and STAT. guarded.
Cato. So, Marcus Tullius, thou may'st now stand
And call it happy Rome, thou being consul.
Great parent of thy country! go, and let
The old men of the city, ere they die,
Kiss thee, the matrons dwell about thy neck,
The youths and maids lay up, 'gainst they are old,
What kind of man thou wert, to tell their nephews,
When, such a year, they read, within our Fasti,
Thy consulship—

Cic. Welcome,

Enter PETREIUS.

Who's this? Petreius!

Welcome, renowned soldier. What's the news? This face can bring no ill with 't unto Rome. How does the worthy consul, my colleague?

Pet. As well as victory can make him, sir. He greets the fathers, and to me hath trusted The sad relation of the civil strife;

For, in such war, the conquest still is black.

Cic. Shall we withdraw into the house of Concord?

Cato. No, happy consul; here let all ears take The benefit of this tale. If he had voice To spread unto the poles, and strike it through The centre to the antipodes, it would ask it.

Pet. The straits and needs of Catiline being such, As he must fight with one of the two armies, That then had ne'er inclosed him; it pleased fate To make us the object of his desperate choice, Wherein the danger almost poised the honour: And as he rose, the day grew black with him, And Fate descended nearer to the earth, As if she meant to hide the name of things Under her wings, and make the world her quarry.

At this we roused, lest one small minute's stay
Had left it to be inquired, what Rome was;
And, as we ought, arm'd the confidence
Of our great cause, in form of battle stood;
Whilst Catiline came on, not with the face
Of any man, but of a public ruin.

His countenance was a civil war itself,
And all his host had standing in their looks
The paleness of the death that was to come;
Yet cried they out like vultures, and urged on,
As if they would precipitate our fates.
Nor stay'd we longer for them: but himself
Struck the first stroke; and with it fled a life,
Which cut, it seem'd a narrow neck of land
Had broke between two mighty seas, and either
Flow'd into other; for so did the slaughter;
And whirl'd about, as when two violent tides
Meet, and not yield. The Furies stood on hills,
Circling the place, and trembling to see men
Do more than they; whilst Piety left the field,
Grieved for that side, that in so bad a cause
They knew not what a crime their valour was.
The sun stood still, and was, behind the cloud
The battle made, seen sweating, to drive up
His frighted horse, whom still the noise drove back-
And now had fierce Enyo, like a flame, [ward.
Consumed all it could reach, and then itself,
Had not the fortune of the commonwealth
Come, Pallas-like, to every Roman thought:
Which Catiline seeing, and that now his troops
Cover'd that earth they had fought on, with their
Ambitious of great fame to crown his ill, [trunks,
Collected all his fury, and ran in,

Arm'd with a glory high as his despair,
Into our battie, like a Libyan lion
Upon his hunters, scornful of our weapons,
Careless of wounds, plucking down lives about him,
Till he had circled in himself with death:
Then fell he too, t' embrace it where it lay.
And as in that rebellion 'gainst the gods,
Minerva holding forth Medusa's head,
One of the giant-brethren felt himself
Grow marble at the killing sight, and now
Almost made stone, began to inquire, what flint,
What rock it was, that crept through all his limbs.
And ere he could think more, was that he fear'd;
So Catiline, at the sight of Rome in us,
Became his tomb: yet did his look retain
Some of his fierceness, and his hands still moved,
As if he labour'd yet to grasp the state
With those rebellious parts.

Cato. A brave bad death!

Had this been honest now, and for his country,
As 'twas against it, who had e'er fall'n greater?
Cic. Honour'd Petreius, Rome, not I, must
thank you.

How modestly has he spoken of himself!
Cato. He did the more.

Cio. Thanks to the immortal gods,
Romans, I now am paid for all my labours,
My watchings, and my dangers! here conclude
Your praises, triumphs, honours, and rewards,
Decreed to me: only the memory

Of this glad day, if I may know it live
Within your thoughts, shall much affect my con-
Which I must always study before fame. [science,
Though both be good, the latter yet is worst,
And ever is ill got, without the first.

[Exeunt.

JOHN LITTLEWIT, a Proctor.

ZEAL-OF-THE-LAND BUSY, Suitor to Dame PURE

CRAFT, a Banbury Man.

WINWIFE, his rival, a Gentleman.

TOM QUARLOUS, companion to WINWIFE, a Gamester.

BARTHOLOMEW COKES, an Esquire of Harrow.
HUMPHREY WASPE, his Man.

ADAM OVERDO, a Justice of Peace.

LANTHORN LEATHERHEAD, a Hobby-Horse Seller, (Toyman).

EZECHIEL EDGWORTH, a Cutpurse.
NIGHTINGALE, a Ballad-Singer.
MOONCALF, Tapster to URSULA,

DAN. JORDAN KNOCKEM, a Horse-Courser, and a
Ranger of Turnbull.

Val. Cutting, a Roarer, or Bully.
CAPTAIN WHIT, a Bawd.
TROUBLE-ALL, a Madman.

THE STAGE.

Enter the Stage-keeper.

Stage. Gentlemen, have a little patience, they are e'en upon coming, instantly. He that should begin the play, master Littlewit, the proctor, has a stitch new fallen in his black silk stocking; 'twill be drawn up ere you can tell twenty: he plays one o' the Arches that dwells about the hospital, and he has a very pretty part. But for the whole play, will you have the truth on't?—I am looking, lest the poet hear me, or his man, master Brome, behind the arras-it is like to be a very conceited scurvy one, in plain English. When't comes to the Fair once, you were e'en as good go to Virginia, for anything there is of Smithfield.

He has not hit the humours, be does not know them: he has not conversed with the Bartholomew birds, as they say; he has ne'er a sword and buckler-man in his Fair; nor a little Davy, to take toll o' the bawds there, as in my time; nor

a Kindheart, if any body's teeth should chance to ache in his play; nor a juggler with a well-educated ape, to come over the chain for a king of England, and back again for the prince, and sit still on his arse for the pope and the king of Spain. None of these fine sights! Nor has he the canvas-cut in the night, for a hobby-horse-man to creep into his sheneighbour, and take his leap there. Nothing! No: an some writer that I know had had but the penning o' this matter, he would have made you such a jig-a-jog in the booths, you should have thought an earthquake had been in the Fair! But these master poets, they will have their own absurd courses; they will be informed of nothing, He has (sir reverence) kick'd me three or four times about the tiring-house, I thank him, for but offering to put in with my experience. I'll be judged by you, gentlemen, now, but for one conceit of mine: would not a fine pomp upon the stage have done well, for a property now? and a punk set under upon her head, with her stern upward, and have

X

been soused by my witty young masters o' the Inns of Court? What think you of this for a show, now? he will not hear o' this! I am an ass! I! and yet I kept the stage in master Tarleton's time, I thank my stars. Ho! an that man had lived to have played in Bartholomew Fair, you should have seen him have come in, and have been cozen'd in the cloth-quarter, so finely! and Adams, the rogue, have leaped and capered upon him, and have dealt his vermin about, as though they had cost him nothing! and then a substantial watch to have stolen in upon them, and taken them away, with mistaking words, as the fashion is in the stagepractice.

Enter the Bookholder with a Scrivener.

Book. How now! what rare discourse are you fallen upon, ha? have you found any familiars here, that you are so free! what's the business? Stage. Nothing, but the understanding gentlemen o' the ground here ask'd my judgment.

Book. Your judgment, rascal ! for what? sweeping the stage, or gathering up the broken apples for the bears within? Away, rogue, it's come to a fine degree in these spectacles, when such a youth as you pretend to a judgment. [Exit Stage-Keeper.] -And yet he may, in the most of this matter, i' faith for the author has writ it just to his meridian, and the scale of the grounded judgments here, his play-fellows in wit.-Gentlemen, [comes forward] not for want of a prologue, but by way of a new one, I am sent out to you here, with a scrivener, and certain articles drawn out in haste between our author and you; which if you please to hear, and as they appear reasonable, to approve of; the play will follow presently.-Read, scribe; give me the counterpane.

Scriv. Articles of agreement, indented, between the spectators or hearers, at the Hope on the Bankside in the county of Surry, on the one party; and the author of Bartholomew Fair, in the said place and county, on the other party: the one and thirtieth day of October, 1614, and in the twelfth year of the reign of our sovereign lord. JAMES, by the grace of God, king of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith; and of Scotland the seven and fortieth.

Imprimis. It is covenanted and agreed, by and between the parties aforesaid, and the said specta. tors and hearers, as well the curious and envious, as the favouring and judicious, as also the grounded judgments and understandings, do for themselves severally covenant and agree to remain in the places their money or friends have put them in, with patience, for the space of two hours and an half, and somewhat more. In which time the author promiseth to present them by us, with a new sufficient play, called Bartholomew Fair, merry, and as full of noise, as sport: made to delight all, and to offend none; provided they have either the wit or the honesty to think well of themselves.

It is further agreed. that every person here have his or their free-will of censure, to like or dislike at their own charge, the author having now departed with his right: it shall be lawful for any man to judge his sixpen'worth, his twelve-pen'worth, so to his eighteen-pence, two shillings, half a crown, to the value of his place; provided always kis place get not abore his wit. And if he pay for

half a dozen, he may censure for all them too, я0 that he will undertake that they shall be silent. He shall put in for censures here, as they do for lots at the lottery: marry, if he drop but six pence at the door, and will censure a crown's-worth, it is thought there is no conscience or justice in that.

It is also agreed, that every man here exercise his own judgment, and not censure by contagion, or upon trust, from another's voice or face, that site by him, be he never so first in the commission of wit; as also, that he be fixed and settled in his censure that what he approves or not approves to-day, he will do the same to-morrow; and if tomorrow, the next day, and so the next week, if need be and not to be brought about by any that sits on the bench with him, though they indile and arraign plays daily. He that will swear, Jeronimo or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall pass unexcepted at here, as a man whose judgment shows it is constant, and hath stood still these fiveand-twenty or thirty years. Though it be an ignorance it is a virtuous and staid ignorance; and next to truth, a confirmed error does well; such a one the author knows where to find him.

It is further covenanted, concluded, and agreed, That how great soever the expectation be, no per. son here is to expect more than he knows, or better wure than a fair will afford: neither to look back to the sword and buckler age of Smithfield, but content himself with the present. Instead of a little Davy, to take toll o' the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse-courser, with a lecr drunkard, two or three to attend him, in as good equipage as you would wish. And then for Kindheart the tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman with her tapster, to bid you welcome, and a consort of roarers for musick. A wise justice of peace meditant, instead of a juggler with an ape. À civil cutpurse searchant. A sweet singer of new ballads allurant: and as fresh an hypocrite, as ever was broached, rampant. If there be never a servantmonster in the fair, who can help it, he says, nor a nest of antiques ? he is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget tales, tempests, and such like drolleries, to mix his head with other men's heels; let the concupiscence of jigs and dances reign as strong as it will amongst you: yet,if the puppets will please any body, they shall be intreated to come in.

In consideration of which, it is finally agreed, by the aforesaid hearers and spectators, That they neither in themselves conceal, nor suffer by them to be concealed, any state-decypherer, or politic picklock of the scene so solemnly ridiculous, as to search out, who was meant by the gingerbreadwoman, who by the hobby-horse man, who by the costard-monger, nay, who by their wares. Or that will pretend to affirm on his own inspired ignorance, what Mirror of Magistrates is meant by the justice, what great lady by the pig-woman, what concealed statesman by the seller of mousetraps, and so of the rest. But that such person, or persons, so found, be left discovered to the mercy of the author, as a forfeiture to the stage, and your laughter aforesaid. As also such as shall so desperately, or ambitiously play the fool by his place aforesaid, to challenge the author of scurrility, because the language somewhere savours of Smithfield, the booth, and the pigbroth, or of profaneness, because a madman cries, God quit you.

ope!

SCENE I.-A Room in LITTLEWIT'S House.

Enter LITTLEWIT with a license in his hand.

Lit. A pretty conceit, and worth the finding! I have such luck to spin out these fine things still, and, like a silk-worm, out of my self. Here's master Bartholomew Cokes, of Harrow o' the Hill, in the county of Middlesex, esquire, takes forth his license to marry mistress Grace Wellborn, of the said place and county: and when does he take it forth? to-day! the four and twentieth of August! Bartholomew-day! Bartholomew upon Bartholomew! there's the device! who would have marked such a leap-frog chance now! A very - less than ames-ace, on two dice! Well, go thy ways, John Littlewit, proctor John Littlewit: one of the pretty wits of Paul's, the Littlewit of London, so thou art called, and something beside. When a quirk or a quiblin does 'scape thee, and thou dost not watch and apprehend it, and bring it afore the constable of conceit, (there now, I speak quib too,) let them carry thee out o' the archdeacon's court into his kitchen, and make a Jack of thee, instead of a John. There I am again la !—

Enter Mrs. LITTLEWIT.

Win, good-morrow, Win; ay, marry, Win, now you look finely indeed, Win! this cap does convince! You'd not have worn it, Win, nor have had it velvet, but a rough country beaver, with a copmat per band, like the coney-skin woman of Budgerow; sweet Win, let me kiss it! And her fine high shoes, like the Spanish lady! Good Win, go a lit tle, I would fain see thee pace, pretty Win; by this fine cap, I could never leave kissing on't.

vil

Mrs. Lit. Come indeed la, you are such a fool still!

Lit. No, but half a one, Win, you are the t'other half: man and wife make one fool, Win. Good! Is there the proctor, or doctor indeed, in the diocese, that ever had the fortune to win him such a Win! There I am again! I do feel conceits coming upon me, more than I am able to turn tongue

to.

A pox o' these pretenders to wit! your Three Cranes, Mitre and Mermaid men! not a corn of true salt, not a grain of right mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places, or so, again the next wit-fall, and pay two-pence in a quart more for their canary than other men. me the man can start up a justice of wit out of six shillings beer, and give the law to all the poets and poet-suckers in town:-because they are the player's gossips! 'Slid! other men have wives as fine as the players, and as well drest. Come hither, Win! [Kisses her.

Enter WINWIFE.

But give

Winw. Why, how now, master Littlewit! measuring of lips, or moulding of kisses? which is it?

I.

:

Lit. Troth, I am a little taken with my Win's dressing here does it not fine, master Winwife? How do you apprehend, sir? she would not have worn this habit. I challenge all Cheapside to shew such another Moor-fields, Pimlico-path, or the Exchange, in a summer evening, with a lace to boot, as this has. Dear Win, let master Winwife kiss you. He comes a wooing to our mother, Win, and may be our father perhaps, Win. There's no harm in him, Win.

Winw. None in the earth, master Littlewit. [Kisses her

Lil. I envy no man my delicates, sir. Winw. Alas, you have the garden where they grow still! A wife here with a strawberry breath, cherry-lips, apricot cheeks, and a soft velvet head,

like a melicotton.

Lit. Good, i'faith! now dulness upon me, that I had not that before him, that I should not light on't as well as he! velvet head!

Winw. But my taste, master Littlewit, tends to fruit of a later kind; the sober matron, your wife's mother.

Lit. Ay, we know you are a suitor, sir; Win and I both wish you well: By this license here, would you had her, that your two names were as fast in it as here are a couple! Win would fain have a fine young father i'law, with a feather; that her mother might hood it and chain it with mistress Overdo. But you do not take the right course, master Winwife.

Winw. No, master Littlewit, why?
Lit. You are not mad enough.

Winw. How! is madness a right course?

Lit. I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You have a friend, one master Quarlous, comes here sometimes.

Winw. Why, he makes no love to her, does he?

Lit. Not a tokenworth that ever I saw, I assure you: but

Winw. What?

Lit. He is the more mad-cap of the two. do not apprehend me.

You

Mrs. Lit. You have a hot coal in your mouth, now, you cannot hold.

Lit. Let me out with it, dear Win.
Mrs. Lit. I'll tell him myself.

Lit. Do, and take all the thanks, and much good do thy pretty heart, Win.

Mrs. Lit. Sir, my mother has had her nativitywater cast lately by the cunning-men in Cow-iane, and they have told her her fortune, and do ensure her, she shall never have happy hour, unless she marry within this sen'night; and when it is, it must be a madman, they say.

Lit. Ay, but it must be a gentleman madman.