EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.

TO THE MOST LEARNED, AND MY HONOURED FRIEND,

MASTER CAMDEN,

CLARENCIEUX.

SIR,-There are, no doubt, a supercilious race in the world,, who will esteem all office, done you in this kind, an injury; so solemn a vice it is with them to use the authority of their ignorance, to the crying down of POETRY, or the professors: but my gratitude must not leave to correct their error; since I am none of those that can suffer the benefits conferred upon my youth to perish with my age. It is a frail memory that reinembers but present things: and, had the favour of the times so conspired with my disposition, as it could have brought forth other, or better, you had had the same proportion, and number of the fruits, the first. Now I pray you to accept this; such wherein neither the confession of my manners shall make you blush; nor of my studies, repent you to have been the instructer: and for the profession of my thankfulness, I am sure it will, with good men, find either praise or excuse. Your true lover,

WELL, an old Gentlemanot eva 192
KNOWELL, his Son. 54482

B146 Sora, the Father's Man

for, a plain Squire

Vai ter Brother

CENE,-LONDON.

OLOGUE.

sad but relayed the stage,
all custoon of tug age.
Orposes pound light at such a cle
As, for it, be in selfcast justly bate ::
To make a chache saddled, to procced
Man, and the shoot up in one o sard and weed,
Past threescore years with three rusty swords
And help of some fe found half-foot words,
Fight over York and ancasters long jars,
And in the tyring house bang wound, to scars.
He rather prays you will us pleas do see
One such to-day, as other plays should be;
Where neither chorus wafts you c'er the seas,

or creaking throne comes down the boys to please:
ramble squib is seen to make afeard
Tatleromen; nor roll'd bullet heard
To soy is founders; nor tempestuous drum
Wanted to tell you when the storm doth come;
Bus diely, and guage, such as men do use,
And person snch as comedy would choose,
When who would her an insge of the times,
And sott with oma filles, not with crimes.
Except we make eas ruch, by loving sit
Cyr ponstax errors, the we know they're ji.
I Au such errors as you all yo eso,
Branching at two, they devs no less
When Nen you burtily do, there's hope Int
Your Shat beres grand modules, 19 like me.

Step. Ay, I know that, sir; I would not have "come else. How does my cousin Edward, uncle? Know. O, well, coz; ll, coz; go in and see, I doubt he scarce stirring yet.

Step. Uncle, afore 1 go. can you tell me. an he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking and hunting; I would fain borrow it.

Know. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?

Step. No, wusse; but I'll praetise against next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.

Know. O, most ridiculous!

Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle : -Why, you know an a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, T not give a rush for him: they are more studie. than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for na. lants company without them; and by gnualid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for very hum drum: hang them, scroyles! there's nothing in them i' the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with none but the archers of insirery, or the cine zens that come a ducking to Islington pendet A fine jest, i' faith! 'Slid, a gateneu mun how him self like a gentlema Incie, I pray you be not angry; I know what have to do, trow, I am no novice.

Know. You e a prodigal, absurd coxcomb, go

to:

Nay, never look at me, 'tis that speak;
Take you will, sir, I'll not fiatter you.
Have you not yet found scous enow to waste

That would I have you do and not to spera
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that hemours you.
I would not have you to trade sach place.
Nor thrust yourself on acieties,
Till men's affections, er your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I, you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it;
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.

I'd have you sober, and contain yourself,
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat;
But moderate your expenses now, at first,
As you may keep the same proportion still:
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy and mere borrow'd thing,
From dead men's dust and bones; and none of
Except you make, or hold it.
[yours,

Enter a Servant

Who comes het

Seru Save you, gentlemen!
Step. Nay, we do not send awch
tility, friend; yet you are welcome and
you mine uncle here a manead
Middlesex land. He bo bat

world, I am bis
master Stephe
cousin dies

So in all 1 common Li Land here,

I have a pret

backy note.

your pleasure.

gere but no, sir

ti they can give gain

tir, Rebis satisfy

good faith,

Whaght so bad, I would talk

so you
may, sir, at

ir, good my saucy comco' mine uncle's ground, I do not stand upon my

. Cole, cousin, will this ne'er be left? Sonoreson, base fellow! a mechanical Servinican! By this cudgel, an 'twere not for shoe, i would

&now. What would you do, you peremptory gull? If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.

at which your friends bay left you, you rust You see the honest man demeans himself

Ge cast away your mover on a buzzard.

And know not how to keep in, whes you have done?
O, it is comly this will make you a goleman!
Weil. consin, I see you are e'ex past hope
-23/30 or you are told on't,

C

You ok

Step. Wat you ha' me do?
Know. What would bure you do? I'll tell you,
kinsman

Learn to be wise, and practise bow to thrive;

Modestly tow'rds you, giving no reply
To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion;
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage
As void of wit, as of humanity.
Go, get you in; 'fore heaven, I am ashamed
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

[Exit MASTER STEPHEN. Serv. I pray, sir, is this master Knowell's house" Know. Yes, marry is it, sir.

Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one

master Edward Knowell; do you know any such, Had had more judgment to have made election
sir, I pray you?

Know. I should forget myself else, sir.
Serv. Are you the gentleman? cry you mercy,
sir: I was required by a gentleman in the city, as
I rode out at this end o' the town, to deliver you
this letter, sir.

Know. To me, sir! What do you mean? pray
you remember your court'sy. [Reads.] To his
most selected friend, master Edward Knowell.
What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that
sent it? Nay, pray you be covered.

Serv. One master Wellbred, sir.

Know. Master Wellbred! a young gentleman, is he not?

Serv. The same, sir; master Kitely married his sister; the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. Know. You say very true.-Brainworm !

Brai. Sir.

Enter BRAINWORN.

Know. Make this honest friend drink here: pray
you, go in.

[Exeunt BRAINWORM and Servant.
This letter is directed to my son;
Yet I am Edward Knowell too, and may,
With the safe conscience of good manners, use
The fellow's error to my satisfaction.
Well, I will break it ope, (old men are curious,)
Be it but for the style's sake and the phrase;
To see if both do answer my son's praises,
Who is almost grown the idolater

Of this young Wellbred. What have we here?
What's this?

[Reads.] Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy friends in the Old Jewry? or dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit there? yet, if thou dost, come over, and but see our frippery; change an old shirt for a whole smock with us: do not conceive that antipathy between us and Hogsden, as was between Jews and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his green apricots, evening and morning, on the north-west wall: an I had been his son, I had saved him the labour long since, if taking in all the young wenches that pass by at the back-door, and codling every kernel of the fruit for them, would have served. But, pr'ythee, come over to me quickly, this morning; I have such a present for thee!our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand Signior. One is a rhymer, sir, of your own batch, your own leaven; but doth think him himself poet-major of the town, willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen. The other-I will not venture his description with you, till you come, because I would have you make hither with an appetite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges as unconscionable as any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum.

From the Windmill.

From the Bordello it might come as well,
The Spittle, or Pict-hatch. Is this the man
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,

The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth!

I know not what he may be in the arts,
Nor what in schools; but, surely, for his manners,
I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch;
Worse by possession of such great good gifts,
Being the master of so loose a spirit.
Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ
In such a scurrilous manner to a friend!
Why should he think I tell my apricots,
Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit,
To watch it? Well, my son, I had thought you

Of your companions, than t' have ta'en on trust
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare
No argument or subject from their jest.
But I perceive affection makes a fool
Of any man too much the father.-Brainworm !

Brai. Sir.

Enter BRAINWCRM

Know. Is the fellow gone that brought this
letter?

Brai. Yes, sir, a pretty while since.
Know. And where is your young master?
Brai. In his chamber, sir.

Know. He spake not with the fellow, did he?
Brai. No, sir, he saw him not.

Know. Take you this letter, and deliver it my son; but with no notice that I have opened it, on your life.

Brai. O Lord, sir! that were a jest indeed.

[Exit
Know. I am resolved I will not stop his journey,
Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him; for that
Restrain'd, grows more impatient; and in kind
Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound,
Who ne'er so little from his game withheld,
Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat.
There is a way of winning more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
'He that's compell'd to goodness, may be good,
But 'tis but for that fit; where others, drawn
By softness and example, get a habit.
Then, if they stray, but warn them, and the same
They should for virtue have done, they'll do for
shame.
[Exit.

SCENE II-A Room in KNOWELL's House.
Enter E. KNOWELL, with a letter in his hand, followed by
BRAINWORM.

E. Know. Did he open it, say'st thou?
Brai. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the con-

tents.

E. Know. That scarce contents me. What countenance, prithee, made he in the reading of it? was he angry, or pleased?

Brai. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship.

E. Know. No! how know'st thou then that he did either?

Brai. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he open'd it; which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed.

E. Know. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brain

Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't how dost thou like my leg, Brainworm? Brai. A very good leg, Master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well. Step. Foh! the stockings be good enough, now E. Know. Your turn, coz! do you know what summer is coming on, for the dust: I'll have a pair you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage. of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in the and estimation, to talk of your turn in this comtown. I think my leg would shew in a silk hose-pany, and to me alone, like a tankard-bearer at a Brai. Believe me, Master Stephen, rarely well. Step. In sadness, I think it would: I have a reasonable, good leg.