UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES
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SECTION III

THE ENGLISH DRAMA

FROM ITS BEGINNING TO THE PRESENT DAY

GENERAL EDITOR
GEORGE PIERCE BAKER
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN
HARVARD UNIVERSITY
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT

From the original painting at Knole Park

THE KNIGHT OF THE
BURNING PESTLE
AND

A KING AND NO KING

By FRANCIS BEAUMONT

EDITED BY
RAYMOND M. ALDEN
ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE
IN LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY

BOSTON, U. S. A., AND LONDON

D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS
1910

67071
COPYRIGHT, I9IO, BY D. C. HEATH <Sr CO.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 A 33

'Bi'ogtapt)^
^
Francts Beaumont, third son of Sir Francis Beaumont of Grace
Dieu, in Leicestershire, was born in 1584 or 1585, and died March
6, 1616. He was admitted gentleman commoner at Broadgates
Hall (aftenA-ard Pembroke), Oxford, in 1597, and left in 1598
without a degree. On November 3, 1600, he was entered at the
Inner Temple, London. He was married, probably in 1613, to
Ursula, daughter of Henry Isley of Sundridge, Kent, and left two
daughters, one a posthumous child.
Evidently Beaumont early became a friendof Ben Jonson, writing
commendatory verses for Volpone (1607), The Silent Woman
(1609), and Catilire (i6ii). His epistle to Jonson, published in
the 1679 ^"0^° o^ Beaumont and Fletcher's works, as '* Written
before he and Master Fletcher came to London with two of the
precedent comedies, then not finished, which deferred their merry
meetings at the Mermaid," has been thought to date at least as
early as 1607. From about the same time, or possibly a little earlier,
may be dated the association of Beaumont with John Fletcher (1579—
1625).* Tradition relates that the two men lived in the same lodg-
{ ings during the period of their collaboration, and had all things in com-
mon. Beaumont was apparently popular among the wits of the city ;
He\-wood, in verses often quoted from T/ie Hierarchy of Blessed
Angels (1635), spoke of him as being "in the foremost rank of
the rarest wits," yet always known as *' Frank," and Drayton, in
his Epistle of Poets and Poetry, wrote of him as one of his *' dear
companions" and "bosom friends."
Perhaps Beaumont's earliest composition which has survived was
a lecture on Grammar, now in the British Museum (Sloane MS.
1709), evidently written for the amusement of his fellow-students
of the Inner Temple at a Christmas celebration.^ In 1602 his

1 For a biography of John Fletcher, see Beaumont and Fletcher, A. H,

Thomdikc, in the Belles-lettres Series.
2 Sec a description by Edw. Scott, in the Athenaum for Jan 27, 1894.
vi llBiograp!)^

brother, Sir John Beaumont, published The Metamorphosis of To-

baccoy and among the laudatoiy verses contributed to the volume are
some, signed " F. B.," which may be Beaumont's first published
composition ; the author says that his "new-borne Muse assaies her
tender wing." Also in 1602 was published anonymously the poem
Salmacis and HermaphrodituSy which in 1 640 appeared as the lead-
ing poem in PoemSy '* by Francis Beaumont, Gent." This 1640
volume, however, was really made up of verses by many authors,
and the authenticity of the Hermaphroditus is more than doubtful.^
The earliest published play attributed to Beaumont is The Woman
Hater y 1 607, and the period of collaboration with Fletcher seems
either to have begun with this drama or to have followed it imme-
diately.^ Only two other plays in which Beaumont had a share
were published before his death — The Knight of the Burning
Pestle, 161 3, and Cupid'' s Re-venge, 161 5. The Scornful Lady,
161 6, was the earliest play to bear his name on the title-page.
While the date of presentation of many of the plays is uncertain,
there is no good evidence for dating any play in which Beaumont
had a share later than 161 1 ; it is therefore probable that about that
time he retired from active writing for the stage. In 161 3, how-
ever, he wrote a masque for the Lady Elizabeth's marriage, which
was performed by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple and Gray's
Inn. Evidently his reputation as a poet was well established during
his lifetime, and at his death, in 161 6, his body was received into
the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey, close to the graves of
Chaucer and Spenser, — a circumstance commemorated by the
familiar lines on Shakspere, attributed to Basse :
" Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nye
To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont, lye
A nearer Spenser, to make roome
little
For Shakespeare in your threefold, fowerfold Tombe,"
1 See a repjint of the original edition of the poem, with discussion of
the authorship, in vol. j of the Shakspere Society's Papers^ 1847.
2 For a list of the plays attributed wholly or partly to Beaumont, see the
Appendix to the Intro duct ion , pp. xlvii-lviL
 gintroDuction

When Mr. Lowell gave his lectures on the Old

English Dramatists, in 1887, he said of Beaumont and
Fletcher: **They are the double stars of our poetical
firmament, and their beams are so indissolubly mingled
that it is vain to attempt any division of them that shall
assign to each his rightful share." Yet, like other crit-

ics, not being content with this admission, he made his

own suggestion as to the line of distinction:
**When I come upon a picturesque passage in the
joint plays, I am apt to think it Fletcher's: so too where
there is a certain exhilaration and largeness of manner,

and an ardor that charges its words with imagination as

they go, or with an enthusiasm that comes very near it
in its effect."
Beaumont's special quaHties he does not suggest so
clearly. And this is the natural and usual condition; for
Fletcher, writing a number of comedies admittedly with-
out collaboration, gives us ample opportunity to become
acquainted with his Hterary personality, while Beaumont,
who wrote no important drama certainly alone, was
content to merge and blend his genius almost undiscov-
erably with that of his friend.
The title-pages of the various quarto editions of the
upon
plays admittedly furnish no evidence of authorship
which any reliance can be placed. Beaumont, a gentle-
man, doubdess did not care to appear before the public
viii 31ntroUuction

in the socially questionable rols of playwright, and the

first of the plays that bore his name was printed in
1 6 1 6, the year ofhis death. Obviously, then, the name
of Fletcher standing alone is no indication of sole author-
ship ; while the appearance of the name of Beaumont,
may be equally untrust-
in the period after his death,
worthy. Nor, with one or two possible exceptions, can
evidence be drawn from the prologues and epilogues
attached to the published plays. These were frequently
written by persons whose information on the matter of
authorship cannot be trusted; and often enough they
were added by printers, attached to other
artificially

plays than those for which they were written.^

Another possible source of information is the com-
mendatory verses written by friends or admirers of
Beaumont and Fletcher, such as are collected in the folio
editions of their plays, published in 1647 and 1679.
Some of these were written by men almost contempo-
rary with the dramatists, who knew something at any
But
rate of the traditions regarding their individuality.
most of these either show one or the other of
interest in
the authors exclusively, or else admit the impossibility
of distinguishing them. Sir George Lisle spoke of the
two men's fancies as
" so wov'n and knit,
'T was ^
Francis Fletcher, or John Beaumont, writ."
^For instance see the Prologue of Qz of T/ie Knight, which is
nearly identical with the Blackfi-iars prologue of Lyly's Sapho and
Phao.
^ All these commendatory poems are from the collection prefixed
to the folio of 1647. For Lisle's verses see Dyce's edition of Beau-
mont and Fletcher, vol. i, p. xxii.
 ;

31ntroUuction ix

John Webb called them

"two wits in growth
*
So just, as had one soul informed both."

Jasper Maine was even more explicit:

** Whether one did contrive, the other write,

Or one framed the plot, the other did indite;
Whether one found the matter, th' other dress,
Or th' one disposed what th' other did express:
Where'er your parts between yourselves lay, we,
In all thinp which you did, but one thread see;
So evenly drawn out, so gently spun.
That art with nature ne'er did smoother run. . . .

So, though you were thus twisted and combined,

As (in) two bodies to have but one fair mind.
Yet, if we praise you rightly, we must say.
Both join'd, and both did wholly make the play.
For that you could write singly, we may guess
By the divided pieces which the press
Hath severally sent forth; nor were join'd so,
Like some our modern authors made to go
One merely by the help of th' other, who
To purchase fame do come forth one of two
Nor wrote you so, that one's part was to lick
The other into shape; nor did one stick
The other's cold inventions with such wit.
As served, like spice, to make them quick and fit;

Nor, out of mutual want, or emptiness.

Did you conspire to go still twins to the press;
But what, thus join'd, you wrote, might have come forth
As good from each, and stored with the same worth
^
That thus united them."

Two Others of these writers of commendatory verses

refer to a distinction which traditionhad made between
* Dyce, vol. i, p. xxxiv.
' Dyce, vol. i, pp. xxxix-xli.
X 31ntroDuction

the special powers of Beaumont and Fletcher. William

Cartwright, anxious to claim everything for Fletcher,
speaks of him as one whose overflowing genius did ** too
much," and hence submitted his work to Beaumont as

judge, making his friend **the sobriety of his wit.**

Beaumont's business was to bid him write again, be
more dull, and **bate some of thy fire," and, when
this still failed to modify the effulgence of Fletcher's
brilliancy,

"Added his sober sponge, and did contract

Thy plenty to less wit, to make't exact." ^

John Berkenhead mentions the same opinion more

impartially. Some think, he tells us,
'That should the stage embattle all its force,
Fletcher would lead the foot, Beaumont the horse.
But you were both for both not semi-wits, ;

Each piece is wholly two, yet never splits.

Ye 're not two faculties, and one soul still.
He th' understanding, thou the quick free-will;
Not two voices in one song embrace,
as
Fletcher's keen treble, and deep Beaumont's base,
Two full, congenial souls; still both prevail' d;
His muse and thine were quarter'd, not impaled.
Both brought your ingots, both toil'd at the mint,
Beat, melted, sifted, till no dross stuck in 't;
Then in each other's scales weigh' d every grain,
Then smooth 'd and burnish' d, then weigh' d all again;
Stamp' d both your names upon 't at one bold hit,
^
Then, then 't was coin, as well as bullion-wit."

There is one of these eulogists to speak especially for

Beaumont, — John Earle, whose verses are really an
elegy, purporting to have been written shortly after the
' Dycc, vol. I, p. xliii. " Dyce, vol. i, p. xlviii.
 31ncrotiuction xi

death of the dramatist (when, however, Earle was only

about fifteen years old). Philaster and The Maid^s
Tragedy are here treated as peculiarly Beaumont's, as
well as the character of Bessus in A King and No King.
Earle' s praise of Beaumont as a poet reads more warmly
genuine than the average of these commendations:
** Oh, when I read those excellent things of thine,
Such strength, such sweetness, couch' d in every line,

Such life of fancy, such high choice of brain,

Nought of the vulgar wit or borrow' d strain,
Such passion, such expressions meet my eye,
Such wit untainted with obscenity,
And these so unaffectedly exprest,
All in a language purely-flowing drest,
And all so born within thyself, thine own,
So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon,
I grieve not now, that old Menander's vein
^
Is ruin'd, to sur\'ive in thee again."

In 1658 appeared certain other verses bearing on the

** Small Poems
"
subject of the double authorship, in the
of Aston Cokayne, who remonstrated with the pub-
Sir
lishersof Beaumont and Fletcher's plays for not distin-
guishing the authorship more carefully. In some verses
addressed to Charles Cotton he also observed:
" Had Beaumont lived when this edition came
Forth, and beheld his ever living name
Before plays that he never writ, how he
Had frowned and blushed at such impiety?
His own renown no such addition needs
*
To have a fame sprung from another's deeds."

The general tendency of the later seventeenth cen-

^ Dyce, vol. i, p. xxxvi.

* Quoted by Oliphant, Engiische Studien, vol. xiv.
xii 31ntroDuction

tury was to magnify Fletcher's honors and perhaps to

question the greatness of Beaumont's creative genius.
But even if the publishers of the folio of 1 647 had been

disposed to make the distinction which Cokayne de-

manded, it is probable that the necessary evidence vras
already quite beyond reach.
Latter-day criticism has not been content to leave the
problem of this fascinating dual authorship uninvesti-
gated, and has made pretty definite progress in the di-
rection of separating the work of Beaumont from that of
Fletcher. The line which this investigation has taken
was opened up by a paper read by Mr. F. G. Fleay to
the New Shakespeare Society in 1874, ^^^ ^^^ later
pursued by a number of scholars. ^ While these critics
differ widely among themselves as to particular plays and
passages, they show substantial agreement on certain
fundamental matters, and it is unlikdy that subsequent
study can be expected to do more than continue to work
out details according to the same principles.
The starting-point of this effort to discern the work
of Beaumont in the plays written jointly by him and
Fletcher may be briefly summarized as follows. There

• * By Mr. Robert Boyle, in papers published in Englische Studien

between 188 i and 1889, by Mr. E. H. Oliphant in the same re-

view in 1890-1892, and by Mr. G. C. Macaulay in his work on
Francis Beaumont, published in 1883. The authorship of the joint
plays was also briefly discussed by Mr. Swinburne' in the Encyclo-
paedia Britannica, by Mr. A. H. Bullen in the article on Fletcher
in the Dictionary of National Biography, by Professor Ward in his
History of English Dramatic Literature, and by Dr. A. H, Thorn-
dike in his monograph on The Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher
on Shakspere (1901).
 31ntroDuction xiii

are certain well-known characteristics of Fletcher's verse,

the chief of which are the great preponderance of eleven-
syllable linesand the tendency to **stop" his lines at
the end by rhetorical pauses. In the plays generally at-
tributed to him there is Httle evidence of any change
from one form of verse to another, as in the case of
Shakspere ; so that we may fairly assume a stable test
of metrical style. Where a markedly different style ap-
pears, in a play assigned on safe grounds to Beaumont
and Fletcher, it may probably be attributed to Beau-
mont. Moreover, in the tetralogy called Four Plays in
Oney we find the last two of the series to be clearly in
the manner of Fletcher, and the first two ( The Triumph
of Honour and The Triumph of Love) to be in a quite
different style. Mr. Fleay therefore took these two parts
of the series as presumably typical of Beaumont's verse,
and has been generally followed.^
Two other dramas give us similar help. The Woman
Hater y one of the very earliest of the comedies, appears
both from internal and external evidence to be the work
of a single writer, and —
at least with the exception of
a few passages —
bears Httle resemblance to the known
work of Fletcher. Hence it becomes another probable
means toward a test for Beaumont. The Masque of the
Inner Temple is admittedly the work oi Beaumont

^ Mr. Swinburne says of the contrast between The Triumph of

Lo-ve and The Triumph of Death: **Each little play, in the brief
course of its single act, gives proof of the peculiar touch and special
trick of it3 author's hand: the deeper and more delicate passion of

Beaumont, the rapid and ardent activity of Fletcher." (^Britannicaf

article on Beaumont and Fletcher.
)
 —
xiv BIntroDuction

alone; and while it would not be safe to assume that the

style of so exceptional a work is typical of the usual
dramatic style of its author (as is certainly not the case,
for example, in Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess) y yet
the evidence drawn from the masque supports that from
other sources.
The provisional idea of Beaumont's style, thus ob-
tained, is to the effect that he avoided hendecasyllabic
verses, like Shakspere in his early period, but made
large use of run-on verses, like Shakspere in his late
period; also that — in marked contrast to Fletcher — he
made large use of prose for familiar scenes. His less

easily definable literary characteristics will be considered

later.
With this as a starting-point, let us look more closely
at thegroup of plays associated with the names of Beau-
mont and Fletcher. Of these there are seventeen which
may safely be dated, either from external or internal
evidence, before 1616, when Beaumont died.^ We
must add three plays which may plausibly be assigned
to the same period, though on uncertain evidence,
Thierry and Theodoret, Wit at Several Weapons, and
The Faithful Friends. But of the seventeen plays first
referred to, five are generally conceded to be the work

^ The Woman i Prize, The Woman Hater, Four Plays in One,

Love's Cure, Monsieur Thomas, Philaster, The Faithful Shepherdess,
The Maid' s Tragedy, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, The Scorn-
ful Lady, The Coxcomb, A
King and No King, Cupid'' s Re'venge,
The Captain, The Honest Man' s Fortune, Bonduca, Valentinian.
Not included in the list are the Masque of the Inner Temple, known
to be Beaumont's, and The Tivo Noble Kinsmen, published as by
Fletcher and Shakspere.
 3Introt)uctton xv

of Fletcher alone, namely. The Womajt* s Prize y Mon-

sieur Thomasy The Faithful Shepherdess y Bonducay and
Valentinian. There are therefore fifteen plays in which
Beaumont may be thought to have had some part; not
including, for the time being, certain late plays ^ which
have been suspected to be revisions of early work from
his hand.
When we analyze the evidence for the authorship of
these plays, and the opinions of the various critics who
have discussed them, we find that ten are generally ad-
mitted to be at least in part the work of Beaumont,
while it appears that he may have shared in the com-
position of the other five.^ Two facts seem also to stand
out from among the many doubtful speculations: frrst,
that there is no certain evidence for any play of Beau-
mont's having been produced later than i6i i second, ;

that the plays in which his share seems to be most cer-

tain and largest are the best of the series. Of his early
or experimental work we get no very clear view.
What can we now say of the individuality of Beau-
mont as a dramatist and poet, depending for evidence
chiefly on the ten plays in which he admittedly had a part?
While the chronology of the plays is for the most
part among the uncertainties, we find Beaumont begin-
ning his literary career as one of ** the tribe of Ben,"
a disciple of Jonson: and the only comedy of which he
seems to have been the sole author ( The Woman Hater^
is distinctly of the Jonsonian school — a comedy of man-
ners and type-characters, satirical and unromantic. The
same thing is true, less exclusively, of Love^ s Cure.
^ See pp. liv-lvi. ^ Sec pp. xlvii-liv.
 s

xvi 3|ntrot)uction

But while the vein of burlesque satire conspicuous in

this early work remained Beaumont's characteristic pro-
perty, he soon turned to a different type of play.
It seems not improbable that this change took place

under the influence of Shakspere, Beaumont's interest

in whom is abundantly shown in his writings. Very
often this interest, to be sure, takes the form of parody,^
which some have thought to be due to jealousy of the
greater dramatist. This seems improbable; for it would
^ His parodies of Shakspere include the use by Ralph in The
:

Knight of the Burning Pestle (Induction), of Hotspur's speech in

Henry IV-^ the reminiscence of Hamlet in The Woman Hater (ii,
i: "So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear"); of Hamlet

again, probably, in The Scornful Lady (ii, ii " To die, to sleep ") ;
:

perhaps of Romeo and Juliet in The Woman Hater (i, i: " Fair
Tethys hath undone the bars to Phoebus' team," etc.); of
Helena's speech in AW
% Well (ii, i) in The Woman Hater (ii, i:

'* Full eight and twenty several almanacks have been compil'd,"

etc.); perhaps of the farewell of Romeo in Humphrey's farewell in

The Knight of the Burning Pestle (ii, i: "Twenty more good-
nights"); of "Julius Caesar in The Noble Gentleman (v, i: "So
Caesar fell, when in the Capitol").
Serious imitations of Shakspere are found rather more in the
general manner, or the situation of characters, than in particular
passages: in the quizzical reserve of the Scornful Lady, remindful of
Olivia; in the Ophelia-like melancholy of Aspatia in The Maid''
Tragedy ; in the Hamlet-like situation and character of Philaster (see
"
especially i, i: father's spirit; it 's here, O King!
" Yes, with my
etc.); in the comic manner of the " intelligencers " in The Woman
Hater ^ remindful of Dogberry and his watch; in the situation of
Bellario, in Philaster^ suggestive of that of Viola in Tivelfth Nighty
and in many other cases. One may find cited in Mr. Macaulay's
work on Beaumont a number of reminiscences of Shakspere, in the
phrasing of particular passages in Philaster and The Maid's Tragedy.
I am indebted to the same work for the suggestion of several of the
parallels already mentioned; also to Koeppel's ^ellen-Studien.
 iflntrotiuction xvii

have been the height of absurdity for a young gentleman

like Beaumont, still an amateur rather than a professional
playwright, to show anything that could be called
jealousy in connection with the acknowledged master of
the romandc drama, whose career was past its height
when the younger man began to write for the stage.
The fact is, parody is often at its best when the par-
odist is himself of the same temper as the writer with
whom he amuses himself; and just as Shakspere always
showed a self-critical capacity for having a bit of fun
with his own romanticism, so Beaumont daringly en-
joyed taking liberties with the w^ork of the man whom
he made his master. For the poetry of the younger man
shows an unanalyzable but undeniable echo of the style
and the cadences of the elder. There are more reminders
of Twelfth Night than of most ol the other Shaksperean
plays, and it is perhaps more than a coincidence that
it was in the period of this play ( 1 600) that young

Beaumont came up to London to study in the Inner

Temple.
It is the poetic quality in Beaumont's work which
not only is the chief reminder of Shakspere, but which
serves to distinguish it subtly but easily from that of
Fletcher. Mr. Lowell instanced picturesqueness, large-
ness of manner, and imaginative ardor, as the seeming
characteristics of Fletcher's poetry. So far as pictur-
esqueness is concerned, it is probably true; and if by
imaginative ardor we understand a certain hurrying elo-
quence w^hich reminds one at times of Byron, the charac-
terization is also a good one; but ** largeness of manner,"
or full-sounding elevation of the poetic style, often lyr-
 : —
xviii 31ntrotiuction

ical or epic rather than dramatic in its movement,

this is typical of Beaumont. One
need not say that he
was more naturally a poet than his colleague; perhaps
rather he was more consciously so, and in his dramatic
work, particularly in comedy, he did not restrain or
abandon the use of lyrical beauty to the same extent as
Fletcher. The most characteristic poetical passages in
Fletcher's scenes are such as this from The Scornful
Lady (in, i):
" He was a man
I knew but in his evening; ten suns after
Forc'd by a tyrant storm, our beaten bark
Bulg'd under us: in which sad parting blow
He call'd upon his saint, but not for life,
On you, unhappy woman; and whilst all

Sought to preserve their souls, he desp'rately

Embrac'd a wave, crying to all that saw it:
If any live, go to my Fate that forc'd me
To this untimely end, and make her happy."
Or this from Bonduca (i, i)

"Ten struck battles

Isuck'd these honor' d scars from, and all Roman;
Ten years of bitter nights and heavy marches
(When many a frozen storm sung through my cuirass,
And made it doubtful whether that or I
Were the more stubborn metal) have I wrought through,
And all to try these Romans. Ten times a-night
I have swam the rivers, when the stars of Rome
Shot at me as I floated, and the billows
Tumbled their watry ruins on my shoulders.
Charging my battered sides with troops of agues;
And all to try these Romans."
Or this from Thierry and The odor et (iv, i):

" For in the sUent grave, no conversation.

No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,
 '

31ntrotiuction xix

No careful father's counsel; nothing 's heard

Nor nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness: and dare you, woman,
Desire this place?
Ord. 'T is of aU sleeps the sweetest:
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,
And kings from height of all their painted glories
'
Fall like spent exhalations to this centre.

Now in the first two of these passages the verse does

not at all arrest the dramatic movement, but helps on
the story even while indulging the poetic imagination.
In the third passage the effect is more that of lyrical
interruption, yet still with the conversational element
preser\'ed; and the better to preserve it the outbreak is

divided between two speakers. With Beaumont's work

the case is somewhat different. His most typical pass-
ages of poetry are further removed from the dramadc
or conversational. The most familiar and admirable ex-
ample is the well-known description of Bellario (**I
found him sitting by a fountain's side " ) in the first act of
Phiiaster. Of a very different type, but equally char-
acteristic, is the semi-soliloquy of Vitelli in Love's Cure
(ill, iii):

"Can I with rational discourse sometimes

Advance my spirit into heaven, before
'T has shook hands with my body, and yet blindly
Suffer my filthy flesh to master it,

With sight of such fair frail beguiling objects?

When I am absent, easily I resolve
Ne'er more to entertain those strong desires
That triumph o'er me, even to actual sin;
Yet when I meet again those sorcerer's eyes,
Their beams my hardest resolutions thaw,
 :

XX 31ntroDuction

As if that cakes of ice and July met,

And her sighs, powerful as the violent north,
Like a light feather twirl me round about,
And leave me in my own low state again."

Or take the soliloquy of Philaster in the wilderness (an

interesting premonition, by the way, of a well-known
passage in Locks ley Hall )
** Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods
With milk of goats and acorns, and not known
The right of crowns nor the dissembling trains
Of women's looks; but digged myself a cave,
Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed.
Might have been shut together in one shed;
And then had taken me some mountain girl,
Beaten with winds, chaste as the hardened rocks
Whereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bed
With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,
Her neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts
My large coarse issue! This had been a life
^
Free from vexation."

The nature of such characteristic soliloquies as these

can well be represented by examples; but it is not easy
briefly to illustrate the other side of the poetic quality
of Beaumont's verse, which runs through all his dra-
matic work. One must simply say that with him the
verse-scenes are often felt to be first poetry, and second-
arily dialogue; while with Fletcher they are more likely
to be first dialogue, and only secondarily poetry. Fletcher
hurriedly throws in some bit of the picturesque in such
a line as

" Like have sung through these tempests

"
a south wind, I all

{Valentinian, v, ii)

* Philaiter^ iv, ii.

 JlntroDuction xxi

and moves on to action. Beaumont is more likely to

linger; his verse is slower and more static in charac-
ter,more (to borrow the distinction proposed by Mr.
Symonds for epic and dramatic verse) like architecture
than music.
These distinctions are most noticeable in comedy. It
was chiefly in tragedy that Fletcher permitted himself
to use as much of the lyrical element as we have found
in the passages quoted from Bonduca and Thierry and
Theodoret. Like his imitators, the Restorationists, he
made little of the element of romantic beauty in comedy.'
But with Beaumont it was otherwise. He was an Eliza-
bethan in his serious poetic interest in comedy, and it
was only he —
of the two colleagues who was likely —
to introduce into The Coxcomb such a bit of idyllic
poetry as opens the third scene of Act iii:
" Come, pretty soul, we now are near our home,
And whilst our horses are wallc'd down the hill,
Let thou and I walk here over this close!
The footway is more pleasant. 'Tis a time,
My pretty one, not to be wept away.
For every living thing is full of love."

It is a natural consequence of Beaumont's seemingly

* Many possible exceptions to these statements will occur to
admirers of Fletcher ; Mr. Swinburne going so far as to say that
Fletcher is like Shakspere in that " he has no single play
left us

without some touch in it of serious interest, of poetic eloquence or

fancy." (Studies in Prose and Poetry^ p. 67.) It would be difficult
to find these touches, however, in comedies like The JVild Goose
Chase or Rule a Wife and Ha-ve a Wife and where there are salient
,•

passages of romantic poetry, as in Monsieur Thomas (iii, i) or Tht

Elder Brother (ni, v), they may usually be interpreted as quite ger-
mane to the dramatic purpose of the scene.
xxii 31ntrotmction

drama
greater interest in the poetic opportunities of the
that we shallhim more tempted than Fletcher to
find
introduce passionate speeches such as sometimes amount
to rant, or a kind of operatic declamation. In this re-
spect he is allied to the Restoration dramatists in his
conception of tragedy, as his colleague was in respect
to comedy. The speeches of Arbaces in King and A
No King are the most notable example. Yet it is quite
consistent with this tendency toward an exaggerated
elevation of manner in scenes of passion, that Beaumont
should have had a special gift for simple phrasing, which
is indeed one of the notable qualities of his style. The
presence of these two qualities side by side may be illus-
trated from the last scene o^ A King and No King, where
Arbaces, at the moment of greatest tension, in his excess-
ive anxiety to hear the revelation of his birth, prostrates
himself at the feet of Gobrias, and says:
'' I '11 lie and listen here as reverently
As an angel if I breathe too loud,
to ;

Tell me; for I would be as still as night."

Professor Herford has spoken of this quality of Beau-

mont's style as a love of simplicity which ** partly
neutralises" the periodic structure of his verse, and
** in which he is quite unlike Fletcher and almost all the
other dramatists of his time. It is in Beaumont that we
find those brief sentences of unassuming beauty, perfectly
limpid in structure and in thought, daintily inlaid like
pearls in the verse, and breaking up its continuous music
into detached and completed phrases." * Examples of
Review of Mr. Macaulay's work on Beaumont,
' in the Acad-
emy of December 22, 1883.
 3IntroUuction xxiii

these, besides the passage quoted above from The Cox-

comb y are Aspatia's famous line,

" 'T is but a piece of childhood thrown away " ;

Evadne's words after she has murdered the king:

"There is some hidden power in these dead things

That calls my flesh unto 'em: I am cold "
;

and Panthea's cry in the moment of temptation:

** I feel a sin growing upon my blood!
"

This utterly simple method is quite in contrast with

Fletcher's brilliant picturesqueness where he seeks a
heightened effect.^
We are naturally led in the next place to consider
the qualities of Beaumont as a dramatist; but this is of
course the most difficult of all the points for discrimina-
tion, since the elements of plot and structure represent
that joint work which the authorship of particular scenes
does not affect. There is no even approximately certain
test for Beaumont as a dramatic architect. Mr. Macau-

lay, however, gives him a higher place than Fletcher in

this respect, because in the plays known to be Fletcher's
we find scenes often ** loosely put together," '* thrown
in without any sufficient connection with the main
course of the story," and a want of **the artistic earn-
estness which aims steadily at a single end." ^ In this
there is no doubt some truth, and it is Fletcher's irre-
pressible comic boisterousness and gratuitous outpouring
* For examples of which, one may compare the dialogue of Amin-
tcr and Evadne, in The Maid'' % Tragedy^ iv, i, or the dying speech
of Valentinian, in Vahntinian^ v, ii.
^ See Francis Beaumont, pp. 52-54.
 —
xxiv ^Introduction

of brilliant scenes for stage effect, which probably gave

rise to the tradition that Beaumont was a sort of plum-
met hung on his wit, with the chief duty of criticism
and repression. That Beaumont was a more consciously
restrained literary artist than his colleague is what we
should expect from what we have already seen.
But as a dramatic artist the evidence is not all in his
favor. The Beaumont-and-Fletcher play
characteristic
has a conspicuous under-plot, which sometimes (as in
the case of The Coxcomb) takes precedence in interest
over the main plot from which the play is named. The
skill with which this under-plot is intertwined with the

other, so as to secure real unity when all is done, is a

fair test of dramatic skill; and in this respect there is

little evidence of Beaumont's superiority. The two plots

of 7he Woman Hater are but slightly connected; the

short play called The Triumph of Honour has a trivial
under-plot of no dramatic significance; whereas if we
turn to The Scornful Lady and Cupid'' s Revenge, two
plays in which Fletcher apparently had a larger share
than in most of those of the early group, we find in the
former case an unusually good linking of the two plots,
and in the latter no under-plot at all. It is true that in
the two great plays of Philaster and The Maid^ s Tra-
gedy y and also in the most brilliant of the comedies. The
Knight of the Burning Pestle, all of which are very
largely from Beaumont's hand, the dramatic construc-
tion is for the most part masterly; but in Philaster we
must except the Beaumontesque character of Aspatia,
a lovely addition to the play but a dramatic superfluity,
— and it is of course impossible to say how much of his
 3IntroDuction xxv

genius for stagecraft Fletcher contributed to all three

dramas.
Two other considerations lead us to question Beau-
mont's superiority as a dramatist pure and simple. One
has already appeared in his fondness for single passages
of salient poetic beauty, and particularly for those of the
nature of soliloquy. The soliloquies in Beaumont's
scenes are not few, and they are not all due to his inter-
est in the subjective and lyrical elements; not infrequently

they are of the makeshift kind, introduced for the re-

velation of certain necessary steps in the plot.^ Fletcher
seems to have been at least not less successful in reveal-
ing the plot through acdon. The other consideration is
that Fletcher early developed a fondness for the comedy
\
of intrigue', in which an intricate plot is emphasized far
more than character (this being no doubt in good part a
matter of Spanish influence) and such comedy requires
;

no Httle study of structure. Beaumont, on the other /

hand, whom we have found to be first under the influ-
ence of Jonson and then under that of Shakspere, was
primarily-rrrter^sted in certain types of character and
romantic situations, rather than in plot as such.* This \

' For typical examples of Beaumont's soliloquies, see T/ie Woman

Hater I, iii, and iv, ii; Love' s Cure, ii, ii, and iii, i; Philaster, i, i,
^

and II, iv; The Maid'' s Tragedy, ii, i; The Knight of the Burning
Pestle, III, i; The Scornful Lady, v, ii; A King and No King,
in, ii; Cupid's Re'venge, iii, ii; The Coxcomb, i, iv; The Faithful
Friends, in, i. On the other hand, it is only fair to note that the
longest soliloquy in A King and No King (at the opening of iv, ii)
appears to be the work of Fletcher.
^ A good example of this contrast in interest may be found in The
Coxcomb, where the work of the two dramatists is distinguished
with especial clearness.
xxvi 31ntroDuction

fact is further emphasized when we consider his relation

to the elements of the ** heroic romance.'*
This heroic romance, come to be called, was
as it has
the typical product of the art of Beaumont and Fletcher
during the period when Beaumont's work dominated.
It is the special province of another volume in this series
to represent this type of play. ^ Here it is sufficient to
observe that it throws into prominence the qualities
which have been noted as specifically those of Beau-
mont's hand, in contrast to the later work of Fletcher
alone. One of the striking qualities of the heroic romance
is its lofty improbability. The typical characters are an
insanely arrogant king, a hero of blameless character
but of incapacity to stand up against the tyrant, and
maidens betrayed, deserted, or forced to woo for them-
selves. The interest, while it is often in the characters,
is felt to be in them as they move on the stage rather

than in their representative humanity. Their loves and

hates and repentances are not from within, but are im-
posed by a domineering fate. Unplausible tension
of feeling, and equally unplausible change of feeling,
are constantly to be expected. Coleridge has several
outbursts against the king-worship of Beaumont and
Fletcher, based on such scenes as those in which a hero
refuses to take revenge upon a wanton tyrant because of
the sacredness of the monarch's person. But this was
not due to an excessive want of republicanism; it was
one of the dramatic conventions which the heroic ro-
mance required. Without it, the kings of Beaumont and
* Beaumont and Fletcher, containing P/ii/aster and The Maid^t
Tragedy ^ BelUi-Lettres Series, edited by Professor A. H. Thorndike.

I
 s

31ntrotiuction xxvii

Fletcher could not have lived long enough to satisfy the

exigencies of the plot. They had, therefore, to move
under arbitrary laws like those of men on a chess-board,
rather than under the laws of human life; and the same
thing is true of other characters. These qualities of the
heroic play of course belong to both dramatists alike, in
considerable measure; but the evidence leads us to at-
tribute them to Beaumont in larger measure than to
Fletcher. Part of this evidence has already appeared in
what we have seen of the characteristics of Beaumont as
a dramatic poet. It is a striking fact, too, — though one
need not exaggerate its significance, that in the group —
of Four Plays in One both of Beaumont's supposed
contributions ( The Triumph of Honour and The Triumph
of Love) are of the character, not precisely of the heroic
romance, but of the romantic tragi-comedy, which is
very nearly the same thing; ^ Fletcher's contributions,
on the other hand, consisting of a condensed tragedy
and an allegorical morahty. But chiefly it is to be noticed
that Philaster and A
King and No King, the principal
examples of the type in question, are in all probability
largely the work of Beaumont, and certainly are the
plays in which his peculiar powers in the serious drama

^ Of Philaster and A King and No King either term might be

used, the former with reference to characters and situations, the
latter tothe nature of the plot. On the other hand Winter'' A
Tale, which may be called a tragi-comedy, is of course not of the
" heroic " t)'pe. Fletcher was the first to define the term " tragi-
comedy," as a play which " wants deaths yet brings some near
. . .

it'
'
; but although he was applying the term to The Faithful Shep-
herdess (in the Address to the Reader), that play is no more repre-
sentative of the type than it is of Fletcher's usual work.
xxviii ^Introduction

are best shown; while for Fletcher's work one

best
looks either to pure tragedy or to the pure comedy of
intrigue. We may therefore hold Beaumont primarily
responsible for the dramatic defects of the heroic ro-
mances, at the same time giving him credit for realizing
the poetic possibilities of the form.
Although in Philaster there is more of poetry and ro-
mance, j4 King and No King is on the whole the best
representative of its type. Throughout the seventeenth
century it was considered to be one of the greatest
achievements of its authors, both on its serious and its
comic side. Arbaces still stands out as the finest charac-
ter of the impossible type which the heroic play requires;
and if we compare him with the most brilliant repre-
sentative of the same type in the Restoration drama,
Almanzor in The Conquest of Granaday we see how
Beaumont made his hero, if not precisely plausible, at
any rate a genuine character study instead of a brilliant

puppet. A comparison of the two plays brings into pro-

minence also that singular simplicity of style which Beau-
mont united with exaggerated passion and action, in con-
trast with the pure bombast of Dry den. Granted certain
absurd situations, and a number of irresponsibly passion-
ate and yet not disagreeable people, the character studies
in A King and No King are notably skilful. An old
critic in the Quarterly Review well described the emo-
tional interest of this play. **The power of the drama
consists in the eifective manner in which the feelings of
the different persons are brought into play, balanced one
against another, so as to form a sort of network of con-
flicting emotions. Love and anger alternate in the breast
 ^Introduction xxix

of Arbaces; love and grief in that of Panthea; love and

jealousy in Spaconia; love and r«morse in Tigranes. The
play is like a piece of music arranged in four parts, and
performed all at once on different instruments." ^
In recent years this play has been shunned because of
its subject-matter, a dark suspicion having gone about

that it deals with the problem of incest. This was vig-

orously denied by Mr. Swinburne,^ on the ground that
the very basis of the plot is that Arbaces and Panthea are
not brother and sister, though for a time they believe
themselves to be. Professor Ward, replying, tells us
that this is no real defense, since the apparent sin can-
not be hurried off the stage by the revelation of the mis-
taken relationship in the last scene. 3 Both critics seem
to be right. Not only is it technically true that there is

no incest in the drama, but it is not certain that the

authors intended that there should appear to be. As
early as the first scene we get an intimation that there is

something mysterious in the birth or family of Arbaces,

in the fact that the queen-mother repeatedly seeks to
take his life; and in the first scene of the second act the
truth about the plot is broadly hinted in the conversa-
tion of Gobrias and Arane. The observant reader is
therefore prepared for the happy ending. But on the
other hand it is perfectly true that the moral effect of
the story is highly unsatisfactory. The crime is in Arba-
ces' s breast, even though it be unknown to him — —
an impossible one; and our last glimpse of his purpose,

* Siuarterly^ September, 1848, p. 389.

* Studies in Prose and Poetry , p. 83.
^ English Dramatic Literature, revised ed., 1899, vol. 11, p. 677.
XXX 31ntrot)uction

before the denouement y is to the effect that he will yield

to the temptation and go on to all that is bad. To patch
up the situation, then, is not to repair his character;
and the materials for a tragedy have been accumulated,
without the outcome required by the moral law. There
results therefore a dramatic incongruity such as many
readers feel in AlP s Well that Ends Welly a comedy
whose title seems to apologize for the fact that it re-
mains a comedy after so much of tragic import ; and a
moral dissatisfaction such as Coleridge felt with Measure
for Measure y which he called ** a work," be-
hateful ^

cause our feelings of justice are wounded by the happy

conclusion. But this sort of thing, which is exceptional
in Shakspere, is quite of the manner of Beaumont and
Fletcher.
must already have become evident that this failure
It

between the atmospheres of com-

to discriminate nicely
edy and tragedy was one of the elements which made
the plays we are considering influential in the Restora-
tion. The ** tragi-comedy " of the age
of Dryden,
which he defended in his earlier career but later dared
to condemn, shows precisely the incongruity which we
have found in A King and No Ki?igy and we are not
surprised that this play was not only among the most
popular on the Restoration stage, but commanded the
especial admiration of Dryden himself. ^ Philaster was

^ Table Ta/zJ, June 24, 1827.

^ *' The " (Drj'den is speaking of the plays
best of their designs
of both Shakspere and Beaumont and Fletcher), <' the most ap-
proaching to antiquity, and the most conducing to move pity, is the
King and No King.^'' Yet his comment is not all praise. The play
 31ntrot)uction xxxi

no less in favor. ^ Of late it has come to be recognized

that the heroic play of the Restoration to be traced is

back to the condition of the English stage before the

closing of the theatres, and not primarily to influences
emanating from France.^ have been justi-
If, then, we
fied in finding Beaumont's hand dominant in the heroic

'* is of that inferior sort of tragedies which end with a prosperous

event. The taking of this play, among many others, I can-
. . .

not wholly ascribe to the excellency of the action ; for I find it

moving when it is read: 'tis true, the faults of the plot are so evi-
'
dently proved, that they can no longer be denied. ' (Preface to Troi/us
and Cressida.) In the Essay of Dramatic Poesy, Lisideius praises the
same play for its classical use of narration as a means to greater unity
and plausibility: **In that excellent play . . . the whole unravel-
ling of the plot is done by narration in the fifth act, after the man-
ner of the ancients; and it moves great concernment in the audience,
though it be only a relation of what was done many years before."
Dryden's allusion to the faults of the plot of f^^"g ^"'^ ^^o ^'"S ^
as "evidently proved " is doubtless made with reference to Rymer's
Tragedies of the Last Age, published 1678, the year preceding Troi-
lus and Cressida. In that work Rymer analyzed the fable of the
play, finding it lacking in "that good sense which Tragedy re-
'
quires. His chief complaint was that the character of the king was
'

not typically kingly. Panthea also seemed to him lacking in the

qualities of a princess. " One might swear she had a knock in the
cradle; so soft she is at all points, and so silly."
^ In the prefatory Addressr cited by Dr. Child (see the following
note) from the fifth impression of the edition of 1652, it was said:
'
This play so affectionately taken and approved by the Auditors
' . . .

hath received (as appears by the copious vent of four Editions) no

less acceptance with improvement of you likewise the Readers."
2 See the article by Professor C. G. Child, "The Rise of the

Heroic Play," in Mod. Lang. Notes, vol. xix, p. 166; and "The
Relation of the Heroic Play to the Romances of Beaumont and
Fletcher," by Dr.
J.
W. Tupper, in the Publications of the Mod.
Lang. Assoc, vol. xx, p. 584.
xxxii ^IntroDuction

romances, it is clear that it was which led the

his genius
way to the characteristic serious drama of the Restora-
tion, as the genius of Fletcher inspired a great part of its

comedy.^
We now turn to the work of Beaumont in comedy.
Here his individuality is quite as distinct from Fletcher's
as in other regions, and the late comedies written by
which
Fletcher alone differ conspicuously from those in
Beaumont had a large share. While The Woman Hater
is a somewhat crude and by no means representative

piece of Beaumont's work, it struck the two notes

which remained the chief in his comic writings. One
is the note of satiric character-humor, in the fashion of
Jonson's comedy of manners; the other is that of bur-
lesque. As the influence of Jonson grew less, and Beau-
mont's art ripened under the apparent influence of
Shakspere, the second element seems to have outgrown
the first, and his comic to have become predominatingly
serio-comic.2

^ This latter will be treated in the volume on Fletcher of the

Belles-Lettrei Series.
Some critics have objected to the statement, as made for exam-
*

ple by Mr. Macaulay, that of the two colleagues Beaumont alone

makes any considerable use of the burlesque. Professor Herford (in
The Academy for Dec. 22, 1883) instances The Woman^ i Prize by
way of exception. But while this whole play may be regarded in a
sense as a parody of The Taming of the Shreiv^ it is not therefore
a burlesque, and the humor of its characters is generally of the volu-
ble type familiar in Fletcher's work. Only in a few speeches of
Bianca is there a suggestion of the slower, mock-heroic manner
of Beaumont. Again, it has been pointed out that the burlesque
humor of Beaumont is not without its counterpart in the comedy of
his first master, Jonson. This is true, as for example in Bartholo-
 31ntroDuction xxxiii

Like Shakspere, as Mr. Macaulay justly observes,

Beaumont had a singularly clear view of the
of ironies
In serious work the situation in
life. King and NoA
King is a suificiently good example, where we have
a tyrant who can conquer any foe, but cannot master a
passion which he admits to be base; while Panthea
early declares that she could never feel a passion which
she knew be sin, but is herself presently swept along
to
by its tempestuous force. In the comedies the same
attitude appears in the element of the mock-heroic, —
a sense of the littleness of the great and the greatness
of the little, which became the principal source of Beau-
mont's humorous creations.- Not to speak of the great-
est example, represented in the comedy included in the

present volume, one thinks at once of Bessus, who was

given a place by the side of FalstafF in the opinions of
Beaumont's generation, of the chaplain in The Scornful
Lady, the parasite in The Woman Hater, and —
in the
doubtful plays —
of Pompey in Wit at Several Weapons,
Marine in The Noble Gentleman, and Sir Pergamos in
The Faithful Friends. All these are characters of the
same school; and no contrast could be more marked
than that between their solemn strutting and the light-
footed, voluble hilarity of Fletcher's comic characters.
Even when both writers depict the absurdities of drunken
men (as in Act i of The Coxcomb), it is Fletcher who
deals with the more hilarious stage, and apparently Beau-

mt'w Fair, —
a play decidedly later, however, than The Knight of
the Burning Pestle. But here also it is impossible not to distinguish
between the more realistic and less good-natured humor of Jonson
and that of the younger dramatist.
 :

xxxiv 31ntrotJuction

mont to whom the later mood of affected dignity is

turned over. In his solemn-faced humor one may per-

haps see again the influence of Shakspere. The manner
of The Scornful Lady is particularly suggestive of certain
of Shakspere' s characters, as in the Olivia-like self-pos-
session of the Lady, or the would-be literary discourse
of the chaplain:
"Have patience, sir, until our fellow Nicholas be deceased, that
is, asleep : for so the word is taken * To sleep, to die to die, to
: ;

sleep'; a very figure, sir."

One is fain to believe the Dogberry-like justice in the

last act of The Coxcomb also a creation of Beaumont's,
although the great part of the scene is commonly as-
signed to Fletcher:
" Write down, that he being a stander-by (for so you see he is)
doth doubtlessly believe the accused parties, which is himself, to be
guilty."

In another direction, note the reflective humor in the

conversation before the palace at the opening of the
fourth act of Philaster

"There's a rank regiment where the devil carries the colours

and his dam drum-major! now the world and the flesh come behind
with the carriage."

/ Very characteristic of Beaumont, too, is the humor

/'of the common crowd, as in A King and No King
^ (ii, ii), where the shop-keepers and citizens' wives play

an incongruous but wholly delightful part in the triumph

of Arbaces. One may well contrast with these slow-
spoken drolls the ribald boisterousness of the mob of
Fletcher's creation in the last act o'i Philaster. Beau-
 Jlntrotiuction xxxv

mont's fun is of the reserved kind which the populace

itself would not appreciate; it is the quizzical observa-
tion of an aristocrat with a sense of humor for the per-
verse affectations of the lower classes. ,..^

Of all these qualities of Beaumont's comic Mufethe

most brilhant example is Tbe Knight of the Burning
Pestle, Unquestionably his genius dominates the play,
and Fletch£t!_s contributions (which some altogether
question^ appear to have been made wholly to the scenes
representing the romantic inner plot, in and about which
the burlesque and satirical elements are woven. We
may perhaps suppose that this inner plot was one which
had been outHned by the dramatists for some romantic
comedy, perhaps to be called The London Merchant,
the title which is introduced only to be changed at the
demand of the arrogant grocer; and that they decided to
sacrifice it to the more purely humorous purposes which
it would serve after the introduction of the mock knight-
errant. The final result was a kind of three-fold play,
involving at once a typical Elizabethan comedy of love
in middle-class life, a burlesque of knight-errantry and
the romances and plays dealing with it, and a satirical
study of the *' humors" of the contemporary audience.^

* It should perhaps be noted that an anonymous critic, in a

pamphlet published in 1864, finds still another significant aspect of

this comedy. He interprets it as one of the plays used as a vehicle
of personal satire in "the war of the theatres," and believes that
Jonson is depicted in the person of Ralph, Lyly in Merrythought,
Shakspere in Jasper, Chapman in Humphrey, and Marston in
Michael. This interpretation may safely be considered to be more
entertaining than sound. The pamphlet in question, called "Shak-
spere and Jonson: Dramatic versus Wit Combats," was reviewed
by Leonhardt in Englische Studien^ vol. xii, p. 309.
 —
xxxvi ^ JlntroDuction

Each of these elements is developed with an art that

secures the desired end with absolute precision of touch,

and the three are intertwined with an ingenuity for
which only the peculiar conditions of the Elizabethan
stage gave scope.'
The romance of the London merchant, his appren-
tice and is treated for the most part in that
his daughter,
serious poetic spirit which we have seen to be charac-
teristic of Beaumont. Luce is indeed one of the most
vital heroines in the whole group of plays, combining

the youthful innocence of the Beaumontesque heroine

with the somewhat greater sprightliness of Fletcher's
maidens. No prettier bit of romantic outdoor love is

to be found, outside the Forest of Arden, than that of

Jasper and his lady on their way through Waltham
Forest. On the other hand, one finds in the same scene
the exaggerated passion, and the deliberate making-up
of a situation untrue to real life for the sake of dramatic
effectiveness, which we have seen in the heroic ro-
mances. Jasper's sudden inspiration to test the loyalty
of Luce by his sword can be pardoned only on the
ground that it produces precisely the series of conse-
quences necessary for the working-out of the double
plot, or under the suspicion that it may actually have
been meant as a burlesque of certain of the authors' own
serious dramas, where the unfortunate maidens show a
melodramatic tendency to suffer injury through their
lovers' swords. The other scene of greatest intensity
the meeting of the lovers when Jasper lies in the coffin

* See the note on p. 140, regarding the "symbolic stage" and

the ** unlocated scene " in thiscomedy.
 SlntrotJuction / xxxvii

— is equally brilliant as a piece of stagecraft, and comes

much nearer plausibility. Luce's second lover, Hum-
phrey, is the cowardly ninny of the type that figures in
most of the other Beaumont-and-Fletcher plays of the
same period. We may assume that he would have been
fiirther developed as the centre of the under-plot, if the
grocer and the knight had not been introduced as the
chief elements of comic interest.
Some years before this play was written, Jonson had
made use of the device of the Induction in Every Man
Out of His Humour (1599), for the purpose of intro-
ducing comments on the play by persons representing
the author and his friends. Perhaps following this sug-
gestion, Beaumont hit upon the more clever plan of in-
troducing comments by certain stupid members of the
citizen audience; and the great result was the grocer's
wife, his most brilliant comic character. He may have
been pardoned if he fancied that he had excelled his
master in at least this study of contemporary manners;
for there is certainly nothing in Jonson' s work more
absolutely hfelike and at the same time more penetratingly
satiric. There does not seem to be much support for
Mr. Macaulay's notion that this part of the play was
written in revenge for the unfavorable reception lately
given to Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess; — if that were
the main object, Beaumont missed many opportunities
for making it clear; but every dramatist of the period
must often have been both oppressed and amused by
the wrong-headedness of his bourgeois critics. Not all
cared to risk their popularity by showing what they
thought of their audiences; but fonson never hesitated
xxxviii 31ntroDuction

to do so, and here at least Beaumont will have his some-

what better-natured say. A German critic has assumed
from the satiric character of the play that it was written
for a private theatre, where the jests on citizens would
be duly enjoyed; ^ but the internal evidence is clearly
against this, and Burre, the first publisher, told his pa-
tron that **the wide world" had at first ** utterly re-
jected*' the play, **not understanding the privy marke
of ironie about it." This was natural enough; it is far
more surprising that its humor should have proved of
such vital quality for modern readers.
The element of burlesque, in the character of the
grocer-knight, cannot well be separated from that of
satire on the citizen audience; for the point of the former
is found in the popularity not only of the romances of

chivalry but of the contemporary plays appealing to the

same love of sensational adventure. The Red Bull The-
atre seems to have distinguished itself particularly for
these; and Hey wood, in his play of the Four Pren-
tices, had furnished Beaumont the typical butt for his

ridicule. Heywood was too good a writer to have valued

his Prentices highly; he doubtless knew, as Dryden
said of some of his plays, that **they were bad enough
to please," and may have enjoyed Beaumont's burlesque
as heartily as any. It was the clever identification of

the military ardor of the London citizens with their in- I

terest in chivalric adventure, that formed the special
link between Heywood' s play and The Knight of the
Burning Pestle; and Beaumont had been fortunate
^ Leonhardt: Ueber Beaumont und Fletcher'' s Knight of the Burn-
ing Pestle {lis $)•
 JlntroUuction xxxix

enough to light upon the recently published Don fixate

(not yet translated into English), finding in it a sugges-
tion for the illustration of his theme. Perhaps he had
only been told parts of the story; ^ but however much
he may have borrowed from Cervantes, he showed him-
self a master of mock-heroic humor worthy of a place
beside Cervantes as a genial observer of the foibles of
his race.
It is evident that here was a man with a rich sense
of humor and at the same time a serious appreciation of
the poetic. Not only are these qualities not inconsistent,
but in Beaumont's work we can see that the poetry and
the humor are related. It is his very capacity for tense
feeling that makes him so admirable a parodist. That
serious manner which is in contrast with the swift light-
heartedness of Fletcher, produces both the excessive emo-
tions of the tragedies and the quizzical burlesque of the
comedies. A greater fondness for realism would have
added plausibility but taken color from each.
There still remains to be considered a matter which

^ " It is evident that the romance was widely known in England

before Shelton's translation had been issued. As
1607, only
early as
two years after the appearance of the editio princeps at Madrid,
Shelton was at work englishing the original, and two playwrights
had made mention of the famous fight with the windmill Ben . . .

Jonson, learned in contemporary as he was in the older literatures,

was also acquainted with the Knight of the Rueful Countenance,
even if he did put him in the same class with Amadis of Gaul! In
1 6 10, two years before Shelton, we find in Epicoene, Act iv, Scene

i : You must leave to live in your chamber, then a month together

'

upon Amadis de Gauly or Don Quixote^ as you were wont.' " (A.
S. W. Rosenbach, in an article in Mod. Lang. Notes, vol. xvii,
p. 182.)
xl 31ntroUuction

was touched upon in connection with A King mid No

Kifigy but requires separate discussion: the moral tone
of Beaumont's work. It is in this direction that Mr.
Macaulav makes the second chief claim for the superi-
ority of Beaumont over Fletcher; and the evidence for
the claim is in this case clearer than in the question of
dramatic art. We have to notice in the first place that
certain obvious moral defects underlie the whole work
of the two writers. As Schlegel has it, **They found it
more convenient to lower themselves to the taste of the
public than to follow the example of Shakspere, who
elevated the public to himself." ' They picture men as
the victims of passion which cannot be restrained, and
so debase the moral leadership of the will. They con-
trast vice and virtue ostentatiously, it is true, but in the
manner of the melodrama, without honest presentation
of the physiology of character. They are therefore
rightly held to mark a certain decadence in the stand-
ards of the English drama, and to have helped give it
that ethical skew which was maintained and exaggerated
in the revived drama of the Restoration.
When we consider Beaumont separately, it is impos-
sible to acquit him of a good share of these faults. He
certainly shares, if not in a predominating degree, the
moral fatalism which has been spoken of. The common
attitude of his sinners is that expressed by Martius in
The Triumph of Honour:
•' If Heaven will snatch my sword out of my hand,
And put a rattle in it, what can I do?

He that is destined to be odious

In hii old age, must undergo his fate."

' Lectures on Dramatic Art, Bohn ed., p. 468.

 —
31ntroDuction xli

Arbaces, in A King and No Kingy is another striking

example. He repeatedly alludes to his temptation to
unlawful love as a mysterious visitation from heaven, and
one longs for some wholesome Cassius to tell him that
his fault is not in his star, but in himself. The same de-
fect underlies the whole plot of that singular tragedy,
Cupid'' s Revenge, making it dramatically as well as ethic-
ally incongruous : the conception that human destiny is

the product not of character, not of a high inexorable

fate as in the tragedy of the Greeks, but of the foibles
oi some wayward deity — a power not ourselves that
makes for unrighteousness.
If we turn from plot to the more superficial matter of
language, weBeaumont, again, no more ethically
find
scrupulous than his colleague. His plain speaking on
licentious themes is quite as marked as Fletcher's,
perhaps more so. It is as though he would have all out
frankly, and bring the under side of his theme boldly
before the reader; while Fletcher, if less plain of speech,
is more content to leer suggestively, and to seek cover
in double entendre , like his followers of the Restoration.
In The Knight of the Burning Pestle, on the other
hand, Beaumont presented a comedy of love wholly un-
tainted by baseness, and the play is one of very few of
its age which require almost no modification for a mod-
ern audience.
From another standpoint, that of character, Beau-
mont's superiority somewhat clearer. Mr. OHphant
is

speaks of **his ability tocomprehend and set before us

maidenhood in the full charm of its innocence, and sweet-
ness, and purity," adding that Beaumont's good women.
xlii 31ntroDuction

do not talk ** knowingly " like those of Fletcher.'' This

ison the whole true, Beaumont shared the Elizabethan
conception of love as a strange compound of sensual pas-
sion and romantic devotion; but when he wished to
represent it at its best, he was capable of doing so as

Fletcher was not, and as Fletcher's successors were not.^

No dramatist of Shakspere's time, not excluding the
master himself, could give a purer picture of undefiled
— though technically unchaste —
womanhood like that
in The Triumph of Love, or of maidenhood like that in
The Coxcomb. The almost entire absence of such char-
acters in Fletcher's compositions (the nearest to excep-
tions being the matronly honor of Ordella in Thierry
and Theodorety and Lucina in Valentinian^ lead most
critics to assign to Beaumont any which appear in the

joint plays. While the reader of Fletcher is hkely to feel

that he has been contemplating an almost unrelieved
moral desert, the reader of Beaumont has found min- —
gled with much sordidness —
enough characters worthy

* Engltsche Studien, vol. xiv, p. 68.

^In illustration of Beaumont's nobler conception of woman-
hood, one may profitably compare the scene in Valentinian (ii, vi),
where the honor of Lucina is tempted, with that in The Coxcomb
(hi, iii) between Viola and Valerio, It is not that one has any com-
plaint to make of Lucina, but that Beaumont attains a purity and a
dignity peculiarly his own. The finest of all the scenes dealing with
this theme occurs in one of the plays whose authorship is doubtful,
but which, were it not for its date, would seem to show Beaumont's
hand, viz., The Knight of Malta. The last act of this. drama, in
the scene between Miranda and Oriana, contains what Professor
Ward calls the noblest vindication of the moral law in the whole
range of the Elizabethan drama. {English Dramatic Literature^ re-
vised ed., vol, II, p. 689.)
 31ntroUucticin xliii

of his acquaintance to make the atmosphere seem quite

different. He has been with a wTiter who took a more
fundamentally serious view of human life.
So it is Beaumont who gives us the splendid, if some-
what theatrical, picture of Arbaces turned to a realiza-
tion of his own vileness by that of Bessus, a scene in—
which some critics find the only bit of real character
development in the whole group of plays. It is he who
tells us, through the same character, of the

'* method in man's wickedness;

It grows up by degrees."

It is he who presents the study of unreasoning remorse

in Ricardo (in The Coxcomb), And it is he who not
only presents conventional standards of chastity and
honor, but seems really to warm to the beauty of them.
The very plainness of his speech, as has been hinted,
may sometimes be thought to be due to his clear per-
ception of the difference between the clean and the un-
clean; whereas in Fletcher's work we approach more
nearly that condition described in Lamb's account of
"the Comedy of
'
the Last Century," —
a **privation
of moral light, ' or, in more modern parlance, a region
" Where there ain't no Ten Commandments,
And the best is like the worst."

Which is to say, as has already appeared in other con-

nections, that Beaumont's work in comedy is less akin
to the Restoration than that of his friend.
The technique of Beaumont's style, in contrast with
Fletcher's, is a classic example of the law that
" Of the soul the body form doth take."
xiiv 3|ntroDuction

Fletcher's verse, in its rapid, garrulous movement, re-

presenting so closely the conversation of real life, has
long been recognized as one of his most important con-
tributions to the dramatic art of his time. He devised
a vehicle precisely suited to his vivacious manner, one
which made the use of prose in familiar scenes quite
unnecessary; and in all the plays of the group there is

little or no prose certainly his. With Beaumont, the

student of Jonson and Shakspere, the case is quite dif-
ferent. His manner is serious and stately; the verse
gives one perceptibly more time for the utterance of
each syllable than that of Fletcher; and, as Mr. Macau-
lay observes, it shows a strong ** tendency toward the
periodic structure,'* with rounded melody of cadence
** a

in the more rhetorical passages."

^ While he may some-
times (if the usual divisions of the plays between the two
authors are correct) fall into a group of hendecasyllabic
lines which make it difficult to discriminate his hand
from Fletcher's for the moment, he never suggests that
breaking down of the distinction between verse and
prose which has been so often noted in the plays of the
period of decadence, — the fashion that can bring into
the pentameter line such a sentence as —
**Methinks you are infinitely bound to her for her journey."

Beaumont therefore naturally resorts to prose for familiar

comic scenes, and this prose too has a characteristic re-
straint, a want of garrulous looseness. An interesting

contrast between the styles of the two writers may be

found in the conversation of the ** Scornful Lady " at

* Francis Beaumont^ p. 103.

 '

31ntroUuction xiv

the opening of the third act of the play bearing her name,
and that at the opening of the first act. ** My house'*
(says Fletcher's Lady)
** Is no blind street to swagger in; and my favours
Not doting yet on your unknown deserts
So far, that I should make you master of my business.
My with the people
credit yet stands fairer
Than to be tried with swords; and they that come
To do me service, must not think to win me
With hazard of a murder. If your love
Consist in fury, carry it to the camp;
And there, in honour of some common mistress,
Shorten your youth. I pray be better temper' d,
And give me leave awhile, sir."

Says Beaumont's Lady, when in a similar mood:

"A This room was built for honest manners, that
simile, servant !

deliver themselves hastily and plainly, and are gone. Is this a time
or place for exordiums, and similes, and metaphors ? If you have
aught to say, break into it my answers shall very reasonably meet
:

you."

But when she wishes to add solemnity to her refusal,

giving it —
though in comedy —
something of the dignity
of an oath, she instandy falls into verse:
" Believe me, if my wedding-smock were on,
Were the gloves bought and given, the licence come,
Were the rosemary branches dipp'd, and all
The hippocras and cakes eat and drank of:
Were these two arms encompass' d with the hands
Of batchelors, to lead me to the church.
Were my feet in the door, were I, John,' said * —
If John should boast a favor done by me,
'
I would not wed that year.

For further illustration one may refer to the whole of

The Knight of the Burning Pestle, where the distinc-
xlvi 31ntroDuction

tion between the rounded verse — sometimes seriously-

poetic, sometimes mock-heroically rimed — and the

prose is of the uses of the two
as perfect a representation
forms, according to the conservative practice, as can be
found in the Elizabethan drama. If the same thing is not
true of the comic scenes of A
King and No King, it is
partly because the hand of Fletcher seems to have been
in them also, and partly —
perhaps chiefly because —
the text is corrupt in the matter of distinguishing verse
and prose.
If one were to try to summarize in a single sentence
the results of this effort to discriminate the work of the
great collaborators, he might say: Fletcher was probably
more a playwright, more a realist — at least from the
standpoint of style, — more a wit; Beaumont was some-
what more interested in humanity, in poetry, and in
humor. Fletcher showed a genius capable of anticipat-
ing or shaping the trend of English comedy in the later
seventeenth century; Beaumont led the way toward the
later development of the serious drama. Beaumont,
gentleman friend of the great dramatists and players of
the Elizabethan age, sharing with the very greatest of
them a profound sense of beauty and passion, and at
the same time a profound sense of the ironic absurdity
of human pretensions, associated himself with a man
who, while of lesser poetic and lesser ethical sensibil-
ities, and not so devout a student of the masters of his

art, yet wielded a more flexible pen, showed a more

flashing wit, and developed a marvelous genius for

making the most of both the poetic and the popular
possibilities of the stage. So Fletcher gradually took
 31ntroDuction xlvii

work, while his friend re-

the larger part in their joint
laxed his interest in the drama.Had he been dependent
for a living upon his pen, or had hfe begun his work a
few years" earlier, in the more congenial poetic atmo-
sphere of the very opening of the century, he might
have developed his splendid talents more fruitfully.
Since, however, although the younger of the two,
Beaumont appears to have had less of youth and fire
than Fletcher, as well as less eagerness to follow the
new demands of a new age, it was by a kind of dra-
matic fitness that he passed from the earth while the
brilliant career of his colleague was just opening to view.

There follows a brief summary of the knovm facts re-

garding the date of presentation or of publication, together
with an outline of the leading critical opinions regarding
authorship, of the fifteen plays with which there seems to
be good ground for associating the name of Beaumont.
In summarizing the opinions of those critics who have
analyzed the plays in detail, it is impossible to represent
their views adequately. This summary attempts only to
give a general view of the weight of opinion; critical ex-
planations and cautious modifications of opinions must be
omitted. Nor can the references be interpreted negatively:
that is to say, when the name of a particular critic is not
mentioned, it may be due only to the fact that his opinion
on the point in question is not definitely stated, or is of a
character that cannot be briefly summarized.
Cautious students will be skeptical of the effort to dis-
sect these plays with the minuteness that some have at-
tempted. When Mr. Oliphant, for example, tells us that
in Thierry and Theodoret he finds the original work of
xiviii 31ntroUuction

Beaumont in the latter part of one scene, of Beaumont and

Fletcher in the latter part of another, of Beaumont revised
by Massinger in parts of three others, and of Massinger
alone in yet other three, —
when confronted with analysis
like this, one is driven to wonder whether the whole mat-
ter of discriminating authorship will not be open to ridi-
cule, if pursued with such reckless faith in what Mr. J. B.
Mayor has called *< aesthetic intuitivism/' But, as in the
case of the higher criticism of the Old Testament, one
may recognize very divergent and very greatly exaggerated
methods, without denying the utility of the general results j
and where a number of critics have a])proached a group of
plays from independent standpoints, and have reached sub-
stantially consistent results, we may consider these results
to be presumptively trustworthy.
The Woman Hater was published anonymously in quarto
in 1607. The Prologue refers to the author as ** he that
made it," and there is no internal evidence conflicting
with the implied unity of authorship. The large amount
of prose is a strikmg feature. In three or four scenes there
are some traces of the versification of Fletcher, which sug-
gest that the two dramatists were already friends and that
Fletcher may have *< touched up" the play at certain
points. But recent opinion is practically unanimous in at-
tributing it almost wholly to Beaumont. The scenes where
Fletcher' s hand is suggested are 111, i (O, A), v, 2 (A),
V, 5 (O, A), I Boyle suggests a collaborator (not Fletcher)
for III, I, III, 2, V, I, and v, 5.
Four Plays in One was evidently acted in 1608, though
not published until the Folio of 1647. The third and

^ The initials indicate the critics who on the whole support the
suggested authorship of particular scenes, F standing for Fleay, B
for Boyle, O for Oliphant, M for Macaulay, T for Thorndike, and
A for the present editor.
 3IncroDucticn xiix

fourth of the plays, The Triumph of Death and The Tri-

umph of Time, are admittedly Fletcher's. The Induction,
The Triumph of Honour, and The Triumph of Lo^e, are
attributed toBeaumont by general consent save that Oli-
5

phant finds a difference of style between the first and

second of the plays, so marked as to lead him to attribute
only the second to Beaumont. He therefore assigns the
Induction and The Triumph of Honour to Field.
Lo've^ s Cure, first published in the Folio of 1647, is of
doubtful date, but may be safely placed between 1605 and
1609 (Fleay says 1 606-1 608). Boyle and Macaulay at-
tribute this play wholly to Fletcher (\Iacaulay having been
misled by giving it a later date). Oliphant thinks it was
originally the work of Beaumont alone, but later rewritten
by Massinger. All agree that in its present form it shows
the hand of Massinger. Certain scenes largely in prose
may be assigned to Beaumont, by the agreement of all
recent critics save Macaulay and Boyle: 11, i and 2 (O,
A), III, 5 (F, O, A) 5 so also may two or three others,
at least in part iii,
: i (O), (T, O, A), v, 3 (F,
ill, 3
T, O, A). Lazarillo the hungry parasite seems to be
related to the similar character in The Woman Hater.
Philaster was published in 1620 under the names of
Beaumont and Fletcher. It is known to have been acted
before 1610, and 1608 is a date commonly assigned (so
Dyce, Macaulay, and Thorndike). The slightness in
amount of Fletcher's work in this play is obvious to all
critics, and Macaulay goes so far as to attribute it wholly
to Beaumont. In a few scenes, however, the hand of
Fletcher may doubtless be traced: 11, 2 (O, A), 11, 4
(B, O, A), V, 4 (F, B, O, A) and probably in portions
5

of I, 1 (F, O, A) and v, 3 (F, B, O, A).

The Maid^ s Tragedy was published anonj-mously in
1619, but had been licensed before October, 1 6 1 1 1 609 is
.
1 3Introt)uction

a safe date, with the possibility of a later. In this play also

Beaumont's work clearly predominates, though Fletcher
is admitted to have written a good part of Acts iv and v.

Specifically we may attribute to Fletcher: iv, i (F, B, O,

M, A), V, I (F, O, M, A), the greater part of v, 2 and 3
(F, B, O, M, A), and perhaps lesser portions of i, 2 (F)
and II, 2 (B, O).
The Knight of the Burning Pestle was published anony-
mously in 1 6 1 3 and has generally been dated 1 6 1 o, owing
,

to a remark in the publisher's preface. Dr. Thorndike,

however, has made it appear probable that it was first pro-
duced in 1607 (see the evidence discussed in the Appen-
dix). For this play there is no such accepted division of
authorship as in the two preceding, largely because so much
of it is in prose; but recent criticism finds the work of
Beaumont predominating here also. Macaulay goes so far
as to call the play altogether Beaumont's. The verse of
Fletcher, however, seems to appear in a number of scenes:
I, I (B, O, A), O, A), II, 2 (B, O, A), and pos-
I, 2 (B,
sibly II, 3 (O), III, I (B, A), and iv, 4 (B, O).
'Thierry and Theodoret was published in 1621, anony-
mously. Its present form is probably a revision by Mas-
singer, and the date of the original play is quite uncertain.
Certain elements of crudeness in the story suggest early
experimenting, and Thorndike would date it as early as
1607. It is also quite uncertain whether Beaumont had
any part in the play. Fleay, Boyle and Bullen find little
or no evidence of his work 5 Ward suggests that he may
have had to do only with the planning of the drama; but
others find traces of his hand in a number of scenes: i, 2
(M), II, I (M), II, 4 (O), III, I and 2 (M, T, O),' and
V, I (M, O). The best evidence for Beaumont is tobe
found in the third act, and in the prose of v, i ; but his
work, if there at all, is overlaid with Massinger' s, and its
 3Introt)uction H

significance is to be found, if at all, in the planning of the

story.
'The Scornful Lady was published1616, as by Beau-
in
mont and Fletcher, and from internal evidenceis dated

before 161 1 (Fleay thinks not later than 1609). Critics

are agreed that Beaumont wrote in large measure the early
part of the play, and Fletcher most of the latter part
To Beaumont may be attributed i, i (F, B, O, M, A),
I, 2 (O, M, A), II, I (O, M, A), V, 2 (F, B, O, M, A),

I, 2 (O, M, A), and perhaps portions of 11, 2 (M, A),

II, 3 (B, M), and iv, i (A). The humorous scenes of

domestic life appear to be his characteristic contribu-
tions.
The Coxcomb was unpubhshed until the Folio of 1647,
but was acted as early as 1 61 2, and Thomdike thinks that

the actor-list indicates a date before March, 1610. Criti-

cism in general attributes to Beaumont the scenes narrating
the romance of Ricardo and Viola, while those giving the
"Coxcomb" story are undoubtedly largely Fletcher's.
Boyle and Oliphant find traces of a third writer as reviser
of the play. Beaumont's scenes appear to be i, 4 (B, O,
M, A), I, 6 (O, M, A), II, 4 (F, B, O, M, A), iii, 3
(B, O, M, A), V, 2 (B, O, M, A) possibly also a part
j

ofv, 3(A).
A King and No King was published in 161 9, but had
been licensed and acted in 161 1 (on St. Stephen's Night,
as appears from the Accounts of the Revels). Here again
we find unquestioned evidence of the predominance of
Beaumont, Fletcher's work being recognized in the last
two acts only. The distinction between the work of the
collaborators is as clearly drawn in this play as in any of
their works, the scenes generally attributed to Fletcher
being iv, i, 2 and 3; v, i and 3. Some difficulty arises,
however, — particularly in iv, 3 and v, 3, —
from the
lii ^Introduction

corrupt state of the old texts In distinguishing verse and

prose; both these scenes, if in prose, would certainly be
attributed to Beaumont. See both the textual and explan-
atory notes below.
Cupid "s Renjenge was published in 1 6 1 5 as by Fletcher,
but is known to have been acted in January, 161 1-1612,
and may have been written still earlier. This play has
doubtless reached us in an altered form, and critics have
traced in it the work of Massinger and Field, as well as
of Beaumont and Fletcher. Beaumont's hand seems to
appear in every act, indicating a sort of collaboration quite
different from that in A King and No King. The scenes
which may be at least in part attributed to him are: i,
I and 3 (B, F, O, M, A), 11, 2 (B, O, M, A), 11, 4.

(F, O, M, A), II, 5 (B, F, O, A), iii, 1 (F, O, M,

A), III, 2 (B, F, O, M, A), IV, 5 (O, A), v, 3 (F,
A) ;
perhaps also i, 4 (F, M), 11, i (B, M), 11, 3 (F,
O, M, A), IV, 1 (O, M, A), IV, 4 (F, A), and v, 4 (B,
F, O).
The Captain was not published until the Folio of 1647,
but was acted in 1612. It is clear that this play is not
wholly Fletcher's, but most critics find little evidence of
Beaumont. Some discover traces of his work in i, 2 (M),
II, 2 (M), IV, 5 (B, O, M), V, 2 (O), v, 4 (O, M), and

V, 5 (M), but these are only possibilities, and the por-

tions attributed to Beaumont show little or nothing of
his characteristic poetic feeling or of his peculiar quality
of humor.
Wit at Server al Weapons was first published in the Folio
of 1647, and its date is quite uncertain; from internal
evidence it may be placed anywhere from 1609 ^o 16 14
or even later. The collaborator of Fletcher in this play is
not easily identified. The hands of Middleton and Rowley
may perhaps be traced, and the problem is too compli-
 3Introi3uctk)n liii

cated to admit of satisfactory results. There is none of

the really characteristic poetry of Beaumont, but the scenes
in which the comic character of Pompey figures are thought
by Macaulay, Oliphant and Thorndike to be Beaumont's.
These are ii, 2 and 3 iv, i v, i and 2. i, 2 may perhaps
j ;

also (as Macaulay thinks) show evidence of Beaumont.

The Honest Man s Fortune was first published in the
Folio of 1647, but was acted in 1613. It is a good ex-
ample of the confusion attending the effort to determine
the authorship of the later plays. The critics find traces
of four different authors} but Boyle is the only one who
claims to recognize the work of Beaumont (in 11, 2 to iv,
2 inclusive). The opening scenes of Act iv admittedly
bear some resemblance to his manner, but Oliphant is
doubtless right in thinking that they are probably the work
of Field or some other imitator. We have now reached a
period when we have no proof that Beaumont was still en-
gaged in dramatic work.
The Faithful Friends, alone of all the plays, was un-
published until the nineteenth century. It Yra.s entered
on the Stationers' Register in 1660, as by Beaumont and
Fletcher (together with A Right Womany "by Beaumont
and Fletcher,'' and Mador King of Britain, "by Beau-
mont"), but was not printed until Weber's edition of
1812. Weber had purchased the manuscript from "Mr.
John Smith of Fumival's Inn, into whose possession it
came from Mr. Theobald, nephew to the editor of Shake-
speare." Ultimately it came into the hands of Dyce, who
reprinted it in his edition with far more accuracy than
Weber had done. The manuscript appears to be a com-
posite (see Dyce's account in vol. iv, p. 199), but in part
at least original
j there is no knowTi reason why the play
should not have been included in either of the Beaumont
and Fletcher folios. That it was not may be regarded as
liv 3Introliuction

presumptive evidence against the alleged authorship, and

modem critics have generally rejected it. Oliphant alone
thinks it to have been originally a Beaumont and Fletcher
play, dating very early, and altered about 1614 by Mas-
singer and Field. (The date of 1614 was proposed by
Fleay on internal evidence of doubtful value. ) If the play
is authentic, it was undoubtedly early and —
as Oliphant
believes —the present form is a revision. Certainly there
is far more suggestion of Beaumont than of Fletcher, and

the verse-tests would indicate his work clearly if the play

were once admitted to be of the Beaumont and Fletcher
group. But while these tests are valid for Beaumont as
distinguished from Fletcher, they are not valid as distin-
guishing him from other dramatists, Nathaniel Field in
particular. There is in The Faithful Friends some decid-
edly good verse in his general style, and there is also some
humor of the characteristically burlesque type (the knight
Sir Pergamos being obviously reminiscent of the Knight
of the Burning Pestle), But both the verse and the archi-
tecture of the play are certainly inferior to Beaumont's
known work, and it is hazardous to decide whether it is a
revision of an early play from his hand, or a late imitation
by a professed imitator.

remains to note that there are some half-dozen plays

It
of uncertain date, in which some critics (notably
later or
Mr. Oliphant) find traces of Beaumont, on the assumption
that he wrote a number of plays early in his career, which
were afterward revised and presented by others. Of the
plays already discussed, Thierry and Theodoret and The
Faithful Friends are possible examples of the same thing.
The others treated by Mr. Oliphant as revisions of early
compositions are: Beggars^ Bush (to be dated somewhere
after 1608), Lo've" s Pilgrimage (after 161 3), The Nice
 3Introt)uction iv

Valour (between 1613 and 1626), The Knight of Malta

(after 161 6), The Lwws of Candy (about 161 9), The Noble
Gentleman (before 1626), and The Fair Maid of the Inn
(before 1626). In most of these cases the hand of Mas-
singer is evident in the extant form of the play, and in
many of them Oliphant also finds evidence of the v^'ork
of Field. But in none of them is there any clear or gen-
erally admitted evidence of Beaumont. When we know
nothing certainly either of original date or of authorship,
the problem is peculiarly complicated; it is a case of two
unknown quantities and only one equation. There is not
a single play which we know to have been written by
Beaumont at an early period but to have been produced
only after having been revised by his successors. On the
other hand, there is no a priori objection to the theory of
such an occurrence.
In Beggars" Bush, The Nice Valour , and The Fair Maid of
the Inn the traces of Beaumont's hand are so slight that they
may perhaps be regarded as imaginary. Lo've" s Pilgrimage
is not a comedy of his early type, but one of intrigue after

the Spanish manner; and there are but four scenes which
suggest his style (iv, i, and v, 2, 4 and 5). For the other
four plays of this group Oliphant' s theory is somewhat
more plausible. The Knight of Malta is particularly puz-
zling. If it could be safely dated within the period of
Beaumont's known work, we might assign to him with
little hesitation the first and the fifth acts (as was done by
Mr. Macaulay, before the evidence for the late date of the
play had been pointed out). They are quite in the vein
not only of his verse but of his poetic idealism. But the
evidence is cumulative that this style was not solely his,
but was caught by some of his successors. 77?^ Lanjjs of
Candy y while a much less interesting play, shows similar
handiwork, though in this case the work of the unknown
ivi 3IntroDuction

collaborator of Fletcher isby Massinger's. The

overlaid
scenes which might be attributed to Beaumont with some
plausibility are ii, i, iii, 3, iv, i and 2, and v, i. The
Noble Gentleman, so far as mere verse-form goes, shows a
larger number of scenes reminiscent of Beaumont than any
of the plays of this group; yet the style could hardly be
claimed as his. The mock-heroic element, and certain
details such as the parody on Julius Ccesar (in v, i), are
indeed quite in his vein. We
find further suggestion,
therefore, of imitators of Beaumont of inferior poetic gifts.
The problem of the relation of the work of Nathaniel
Field to that of Beaumont is of special interest, because
for so many of the later plays his hand has been suggested.
In looking about for a dramatist of the same period, and
of the same theatrical associations, whose style might be
mistaken for that of Beaumont when contrasted with
Fletcher's, the critics hit upon Field. Mr. Oliphant in
particular made him a veritable deus ex machina for doubt-
ful problems of authorship. That Field did engage in
collaborative hack-work there is some evidence, and there
is between his verse and
also a certain negative similarity
Beaumont's. ' But there is little or no evidence in his two
authentic plays that he was capable of producing those
harmonies of verse which, in not a little of the work known

* The good exannple of the

analysis of Field's verse furnishes a
treacherous character of metrical tests. In his fVoman
is a Weather-

cock there are 18.2 per cent of run-on lines; whereas Beaumont's
average is always over 25 per cent. This would seem to furnish a
criterion of distinction but in the later play, Amends for Ladies,
;

Field's percentage rises to 23.2. As we have no other plays wholly

his, it is impossible to say whether this indicates an increasing free-
dom of verse-structure which would presently bring him quite to the
point where Beaumont stood. Other verse-tests show the same
difficulty of distinguishing the two writers.
 31ntroDuction ivii

to be Beaumont's, echo those of Shakspere, or Indeed that

he is entitled to any special distinction as a poet. On the
whole his known verse is stiff and inharmonious. Its like
may be found in many of the doubtful scenes of such
plays as The Honest Man s Fortune, The Noble Gentleman^

and The Faithful Friends, making plausible enough Oli-

phant's use of his name in connection with these plays,
while at the same time one must feel very doubtful as to
the attempts to differentiate the alleged early work of
Beaumont in the same acts and scenes.
 TEXT
The first quarto, 1 6 1 3 ,
gives on the whole an excellent text,
which is here followed with few variations. In 1635 appeared the
second quarto, of which there are two different printings extant,
distinguishable by the fact that in one Beaumont's name appears as
•' Beamount" on the title-page; this printing also contains various

errors not found in the first quarto or in the other 1635 quarto.
Leonhardt distinguished the two 1635 texts as Bi (the <' Beau-
mont" copy) and B2 (the " Beamount"). Here they are called
Qz and (^3, there being no strictly t/iini c^uzrto to forbid such a use
of the abbreviation. The play next appeared in the Folio of 1679
(F), evidently reprinted from Q3. Readings of modern editors
are noted only when of particular interest: chiefly those of Theo-
bald (T), Seward Sympson, in the edition of 1750, and
(S) and
those of Weber (W) and Dyce (D) in their respective editions.
The text of Qi observes the distinction between verse and prose
with a fair degree of accuracy; corrections have been made in this
respect only where obviously necessary. In accordance with the
practice of the Belles-Lettres Series, the spelling of Qi has been
kept, aU variations from its text (except in the case of obvious mis-
prints) being noted at the bottom of each page. All changes in
the text not from another early edition are enclosed in brackets,
as are stage-directions not in Qz. Any new assignment of a
speech is noted in the variants. The punctuation and capitaliza-
tion have been modernized, but the old abbreviations, involving
apostrophes and the like, have been retained. It may be added

that the printing of Qi shows a number of curious repetitions of

words, which are not noted when obviously errors (examples are
" That that " in in, iv, 67, and " truery true " and " faire faire "
in III, ii, 19), but only when (as in v, iii, 16), there is a possibil-
ity of their having been intended.
 THE
KNIGHT OF
the Burning Pcftle.

ludicium fuhtiU^videndis arxihui illud,

Ai librcs dr ^d h^c Mufaram dona voctres:
Bsotum in crdjfo iurares serf ndtum,
Horat.tn EpiHiad OdlAug.

LONDON^
Printed for fTi/fo'B^nrr, and arc to be fold at the
figQc of the Cz^e in Pauies Chuich-y aid.
1^13*
 SOURCES
The story forming the principal or inner plot of this play —
that
of the London apprentice and his master's daughter —
is apparently

original, though the coffin scene may have been suggested by that in
Marston's Antonio and Mellida (pub. 1602). The knight-errantry
of Ralph has been very generally attributed to the influence of Don
ii^ixote, —
an opinion which the publisher tried to forestall (see
Dedicatory Letter) by saying that it was certainly " his elder above
a year." For evidence against this influence see the edition of H. S.
Murch, 1908. Particular scenes which seem to have been suggested
by Don fixate are that in which Ralph takes the inn to be a castle
(11, vi), that in which he declines to pay his bill (iii, ii), and that in
which he releases the prisoners of Barbaroso (in, iv). (See the Ap-
pendix for further details. ) Heywood' s Fowr Prentices ofLondon (acted
probably about 1600, not printed till 1 6 15), while not contributing
anything definite to the plot of this comedy, is obviously alluded to in
the satirical presentation of the ambition of London apprentices and
tradesmen. In particular, one of the Four Prentices is a grocer who
bears the arms of Leonhardt sug-
his craft into battle as a Crusader.
gests a connection between Master Merrythought and the Matthew
Merrygreek of Ralph Roister Doister^ —
a very different person, but
one who ' entereth singing " at the opening of the play, and pro-
poses a concluding song at the end. A resemblance has also been
noted between Merrythought and the singing Valerius of Heywood's
Rape of Lucrece (pub. 1609) but the connection is only
; superficial,
andit is impossible to say which play is the earlier.
 TO HIS MANY
WAIES ENDEERED
friend Maister Robert Keyfar.

Siry this unfortunate child, nxjho in eight daies {as lately

I ha^e learned) ivas begot and borne, soone after, nvas by

his parents (perhaps because hee ivas so unlike his brethren)
exposed to the njuide njoorld, 'who for nvant of judgement,
or not understanding the pri'vy marke of Ironic about it 5

(luhich shelved it ivas no of-spring of any 'vulgar braine)

utterly rejected it : so that for nxjant of acceptance it ivas
e'ven ready to gl-ve up the Ghost,and ivas in danger to
ha've bene smothered in perpetuall obli-uion, ifyou (out of
your direct antipathy to ingratitude) had not bene mo^ved lo
both to relie--ue and cherish it: -xuherein I must needs com'
mend both your judgement, understanding, and singular
lo<ve to nvits. You afternjoards sent it to mee, yet being
good
an infant and somenvhat ragged; I ha^ve fostred it pri-
^vately in my bosome these t-ivo yeares, and nowu to shenv ^5

my Icve returne it to you, clad in good lasting deaths,

<which scarce memory ivill njueare out, and able to speake
for it selfe; and ivithall, as it telleth mee, desirous to try
his fortune in the ivorld, ivhere if yet it be ^welcome,
father, foster-father, nurse and child, all haije their de- *©
sired end. If it bee slighted or traduced, it hopes his father

To . . . Keyiar. In Ql only.
4 2Deuication

ivill beget him a yonger brother, njuho shall re<venge his

quarrelly and challenge the 'world either of fond and

meerely literall interpretation, or illiterate misprision.
Perhaps it ivill be thought to bee of the race of Don 2.5

Quixote : ijoe both may confidently siveare, it is his elder

abonje a yeare-y and therefore may (by <vertue of his birth"
right) challenge the nvall of him. I doubt not but they
ivill meet in their ad'ventures, and I hope the breaking
of one staffe nvill make them friends and perhaps they 30 ,•

nuill combine themsel'ves, and tra'vell through the nvorld

to seeke their ad'ventures. So I commit him to his good
fortune, and my selfe to your lonje.

Your assured friend

W. B.

[7*0 the Readers of this Comedie,

Gentlemen, the world is so nice in these our times, that

for apparrell there is no fashion j for musicke (which is a
rare art, though now slighted) no instrument j for diet,

none but the French kickshoes that are delicate; and for
playes, no invention but that which now runneth an in- 5
vective way, touching some particular person, or else it is

contemned before it is throughly understood. This is all

that I have to say, that the author had no intent to wrong

any one in this comedy, but as a merry passage, here and
there interlaced it with delight, which hee hopes will please 10
all, and be hurtfuU to none.]
To the Readers of this Comedit. Not in Ql.
6 person. Q3, F, persons.
 [THE PROLOGUE.
Where the bee can sucke no honey, shee leaves her

sting behind; and where the beare cannot finde origanum

to heale his griefe, hee blasteth all other leaves with his
breath. We feare it is like to fare so with usj that seeing

you cannot draw from our labours sweete content, you 5

leave behinde you a sower mislike, and with open re-

proach blame our good meanings, because you cannot
reape the wonted mirth. Our intent was at this time to
moove inwa rd deli -htp not outward lig^htnesse, and to
p;

breed (if it might be) '=,f^^ gTn;imp-^ r^^t lonH \r^^^^^]Jl^. 10

knowing it to the wise to be a great pleasure to heare
-rniins^]] mi'x fd w '^^ '^*, as to the foolish to have sport
mingled with rudenesse. They were banished the theater
of Athens, and from Rome hissed, that brought parasites ,

on the stage with apish actions, or fpoles_with uncivill ^5

habits, or courtezans with immodest words. We have en-

deavoured to be as farre from unseemely speeches, to
make your eares glow, as we hope you will be free frorn
unkinde reports, or, mistaking the author's intention (who
never aymed at any one particular in this play) to make 2.0

our cheekes blush. And thus I leave it, and thee to thine
owne censure, to like, or dislike. Vale.]

The Prologue. Not in Ql.

7 meanings, Q}, F, meaning.
 u^

[THE SPEAKERS NAMES.

The Prologue. ^^ [Tim,] A Squire.
^•^M Then a Cittizen^^v C\ [George,] A Dwarfe.
The Cittizen's wife, and Raph A Tapster.

her man, sitting below amidst A Boy that danceth

the Spectators. and singeth.

[Venturewell,] A rich Marchant. An Host.
Jasper his Apprentise. A Barber.

Master Humphry, a friend to [Three Captive]

the Marchant. Knights.
Luce, Marchant's daughter. [Captive Woman.]
Mistresse Merry-thought, Jas- A Captaine.
pers mother. A Sergeant.
Michael, a second sonne of Souldiers.

Mistresse Merri-thought. [Boys.]

Old M. Merry-thought. [Pompiona, daughter of
the King of Moldavia.]
•^^>^

The Speakers'' Names, Not in Qi ; collated with Q3. F reads : Tht

Actors Names.
Three Captive Knights. Early eds. have Two Knights.]
 of t^t

iSnigi^t of ti^e TSumtng ^ejitle

[Induction
Several Gentlemeriy sitting on Stools upon the Stage.
The Citizen y his Wife^ and Ralphs below among the
audience. '\
Enter Prologue.
Prologue.
From all that's neere the Court, from all that's great
Within the compasse of the Cirry-w^l s.
We now have brought our sceane.
Enter Citizen [mounting to the stage"] .

Citizen. Hold your peace, good-man boy.

Pro. What do you meane, sir? 5
Cit. That you have no good meaning. This
seven yeares there hath beene playes at this house,'^-:^
I have observed it, you have still girds at citi-
^^^^

zens; and now you call your play The London

Marchant. Downe with your title, boy! downe 10
with your title!
Pro. Are you a member of the noble Citty ?
 8 ®t)e i^niglit of t^e

Cit. I am.
Pro. And
a free-man?
Cit.Yea, and a grocer. '5

Pr^. So, Grocer, then by your sweet favour,

we intend n o n huoc to the--€tt ty.
Cit. No sir, yes sir; if you were not resolvM
to play the Jacks, what need you study for new
subjects, purposely to abuse your betters ? Why 20
could not you be contented, as well as others,
with The Legend ofWhittingtoriy or The Life and
Death of Sir Thomas Gresham., with the Building
of the Roy all Exchange? or The Story of ^ueene
Elenor^ with the Rearing of London Bridge upon ^5

Wool-sackes ?
Pro. You seeme to bee an jinderstanding
^man : wKatwould you^ Jiave us do, sir?
Cit. Why, present something notably in hon-
_ our of the commons
of the Citty. 3°
^-Pro. Why, what doe you say to The Life and
Death of Fat Drake^ or the Repairing of Fleet-
privies?
Cit. I do not like that, but I will have a citi-
zen, and hee shall be of my owne trade. 35
Pro. Oh, you should have told us your minde
a moneth since; our play is ready to begin now.
Cit. 'Tis all one for that ; I will have a ^jcoz^
cer, and he shall_do._adiiiir.ahle-JLhiags^,.
Pro. What will you have him do ? 40
 — !

IBuming |Besftle

Cit. Marry, I willhave him —

If^i/e (below'). Husband, husband !

Rafe~{below). Peace, mistresse!

TVife. Hold thy peace, Rafe; I know what I
do, I warrant tee. Husband, husband! 45
Cit. What sayst thou, cunny?

Wife. Let him kill a lyon with a pestle, hus-

band ! Let him kill a lyon with a pestle
Cit. So he shall; Il'e have him kill a lyon
with a pestle. 50
Wife. Husband, shall I come up, husband?
Cit. I, cunny. Rafe, helpe your mistresse
this way. Pray, gentlemen, make her a little
roome. I pray you, sir, lend me your hand to
helpe up my wife: I thanke you, sir. So. 55

1^ Wife_ cqM£ilJllLJh£-ila^ ]
. .

Wife. By your leave, gentlemen all, Im'e

something troublesome; Im'e a strager here;^^ j
I was nere at one of these play^*^, ^S ""bpy say^^^'^*
belbreY but I should have seene fane Shore once,
and my husband hath promised me any time this 60
twelve-moneth to carry me to the Bold Beau-
chams., but in truth he did not. I pray you beare
with me
Cit. Boy, let my wife and I have a cupple

43 Raft. F, Ralph (and so generally in Acts i and ii).

45 t^'- Q2, Q3, F, ye.

46 cunny. F, conie (and so frequendy).
52 Rafe. Q2, Ralfe.
64 cupfle. Q2, Q3, F, couple of.
 10 ®t)e i^nigljt of tlje

stooles, and then begin j and let the grocer do 65

rare things.
Pro. But, sir, we have never a boy to play
him f^-^t^^Y '^"^ ^at^ alrg^Hy Tc/VJo^
; fi V^^^
TVife.Husband, husband for God's sake, let !

Rafe play him Beshrew mee if I do not thinke

! 70
hee will goe beyond them all.
Cit. Well remembred, wife. Come up, Rafe.
ire tell you, g^entleme n^ let them but lend.Jiijn
a suit ^^ '•^P[^r^ H^ "^d necessarie s^ HP^ Ky-H^^i
Jjjny ot them all blow winde in the t aile on him^ 75
Il'e be hang'd. \_Raph comts on the stage. '^

Wife. I pray you, youth, let him have a suit

of reparrell. Il'e be sworne, gentlemen, my hus-
band. tels you true: hee will act you sometimes
at our house, that all the neighbours cry out on 80
him hee will fetch you up a couraging part so
:

in the garret, that we are all as feard, I warrant

you, that wee quake againe. Wee'l feare our
children with him; if they bee never so un-ruly,
do but cry, Rafe comes^ Rafe comes., to them, and 85
they'l be as quyet as lambes. Hold up thy head,
Rafe shew the gentlemen what thou canst doe.
:

Speake a huffing part; I warrant you the gentle-

men will accept of it.

Cit.Do, Rafe, do. 90

Raph. By heaven, me thinkes it were an easie
.it/^> leap
 115umingpmle n
To plucke bright honour from the pale-fac*d
moone.
Or dive into the bottome of the sea,
Where never fathame line touch't any ground,
And plucke up drowned honor from the lake of
hell. 95
Cit. How say you, gentlemen ? is it not as I
told you?
Wife. Nay, gentlemen, hee hath playd before,
my husband sayes, Musidorus^ before the war-
dens of our Company. loo
Cit. I, and hee should have played 'Jeronimo
with a shooemaker, for a wager.
Pro. He shall have a suite of apparrelL if he
will go in. '^:v>4^.w4 ^It '^^.^
-f ^^"'^rz cc-v-^
^

Cit. In, Rafe! in, Rafe! and set out the grocery 105
in their kinde, if thou lov'st me. \_Exit Raph.'\

Wife. I warrant our Rafe will looke finely ' "

when hee's drest.

Pro. But what will you have it cal'd ?
Cit.The Groce f^ fTnnnur^ 110
Pro. Me thin ks The Kni^ht^QL, ih£.-Bu&un€-
Pestle were better.
Wife, ire be sworn, husband, that's as good
a name as can be.
Cit. Let it be so. Begin, begin! my wife andus
I wil sit downe.
105 grocery. F, grocers.
12 artie i^nigl^t of tjie

Pro. I pray you do.

Cit. What stately musicke have you? You
have shawmes ? v^-A ; i -» /k^**/»--»^ i-

Pr(7. Shawmes? N6. 120

C/V. No
Im'e a thiefe if my minde did not
?

give me so. Rafe playes a stately part, and he

must needs have shawmes. Il'e be at the charge
of them my selfe, rather then wee'l be without
them. 125
Pro. So you are like to be.
Cit, Why, and so I will be ther's two shil- ;

lings ; let's have the waits of South-warke, they

are as rare fellowes as any are in England and ;

that will fetch them all or'e the water with a 130
vengeance, as if they were mad.
Pro. You shall have them. Will you sit
downe then ?
Cit. I. Come, wife.
Wife. you merry all, gentlemen ; Im'e^boldiss
Sit
to sit amongst you, for mji^esL^^
[Citizen and Wife sit down.~\
Pro.
From all that's neere the Court, from all that's great
Within the compasse of the Citty-walles, .

120, 123 shawmes. Ql, shawnes; F, shawns (shawnes in 1.

119). Possibly the authors meant that there should be some uncer-
tainty as to the pronunciation of this word by the Prologue and the
Citizens. Q2 has shawmes in 119, shawnes in 11. 120, 123 j Q3
1.

has shawnes in 11. 119, 123, and shawns in 1. 120.

We now have brought our sceane. Flye farre from hence
All private taxes, immodest phrases,
all 14°
What ere may but shew like vicious:
For wicked pni^^'h nPVPr fm^ pl^ocnrP hn'ngc^
But honest minds are pleas' d with hon<^ ?it r|iing&

Thus much we do but for Rafe's part

for that :
"^ —
You must answere for your selfe. 145 ^S^
Cit. Take you no care for Rafe; heeU.jiis- ;^
charge himselfe, I warrant you. \_Exit Prologue.']
Wife. Ij faith, gentlemen, Il'e give my word ^ "*:

for Rafe.
140 all. Early eds. omit.
148 I i faith gentltmen. Q I, no punctuation.
14 tC^r l^nig^t of tl)e [Act i.

Actus primi Sccena prima.

\yentureweir s House.'\

Enter Mar chanty and Jasper his prentice,

VenturewelL Sirrah, Il'e make you know you

my prentice,
are
And whom my charitable love redeem'd
Even from the of fortune, gave thee heate
fall

And growth, to be what now thou art, new cast

thee,
Adding the trust of all I have at home.
In forren staples, or upon the sea.
To thy direction, ti'de the good opinions
Both of my selfe and friends to thy endeavours,
So faire were thy beginnings; but with these,
As I remember, you had never charge
To love your maister's daughter, and even then,
When I had found a wealthy husband for her,
I take it, sir, you had not; but how ever,
rie breake the necke of that commission.
And make you know you are but a merchant's
factor.
Jasper. Sir, I do liberally confesse I am yours,
Bound, both by love and duty, to your service;
Prentice. Q3, F, man.
8 my selfe. F, self.
 !

Scene I] llBummg J^f^tU 15

In which my labour hath bene all my profit.

I have not lost in bargaine, nor delighted
To weare your honest gaines upon my backe, 20
Nor have I given a pencT^ to myCbliud'/''^^-
Or lavishly in play consum'd your stocke.
These, and the miseries that do attend them,
I dare with innocence proclaime are strangers
To all my temperate actions. For your daughter, 25
If there be any love to my deservings
Borne by her vertuous selfe, I cannot stop it;

Nor am I able to refraine her wishes.

She's private to her selfe, and best of know-
ledge
Whom she'le make so happy as to sigh for. 30
Besides, I cannot thinke you meane to match
her
Unto a felow of so lame a presence,
One that hath little left of nature in him.
Vent. 'Tis very well, sir, Ican tell your wise-
dome
How all this shall bee cur'd.
Jasp, X^^^ ^^^^ becomes you. 35
Vent. And thus it must be, sir: I heere dis-
charge you
My house and service. Take your liberty
And when I want a sonne I'le send for you.
Exit.

36 must be. D, shall be.

 6 —
1 ®lie !^nigl)t of t Je [act i.

^asp. These be the faire rewards of them that

^ love.
/O you that live infreedome never prove 4©
(The travell of a mind led by desire,
y
,»^' Enter Luce.
^'"^ y Luce, Why, how now,friend, struck with my
[^t^ thunder?
father's
^ '^ yasp, Strucke, and strucke dead, unlesse the
remedy
Be of speede and vertue. I am now.
full
What I expected long, no more your father's. 45
Luce. But mine.
Jasp. But yours, and onely yours I am.
That's all I have to keepe mee from the statute.
Yqu Harp hernngfan^- StJ^^ ^
Luce. O fearejiie_aotj
^ /In be better t]}pn a ^^^^HL^"
this I dar e
y Nor shall his anger nor his offers move me, 50
Were they both equall to a prince's power.
Jasp. You know my rivall?
Luce. Yes, and love him deerly,
Even as I love an ague, or foule weather.
I prethee, Jasper, feare him not.
Jasp. O no,
I do not meane to do him so much kindnesse. 55
But to our owne desires. You know the plot
We both agreed on?
Luce. Yes, and will performe
My part exactly.
 7
!

scLNE II.] llBuming J^e0tU 1

"Jasp, I desire no more.

Fare-well, and keepe my heart; 'tis yours.
Luce. I take it

He must do miracles makes me forsake it. 60

Exeunt. .
'

Citixen. Fye upon am, little infidels ! what a

matter's here now? Well, I'le be hang'd for
some abomination
a halfe-penny, if there be not
knavery Well, let 'em looke toot:
in this play.
^afe must come, and if there be any tricks a 65
brewing, —
Wife. Let 'em brew and bake too, husband,
a God's name; Rafe will find all out, I warrant
you, and they were older then they are. I pray,
my pretty youth, is Rafe ready ? 70
Boy. He will be presently.
Wife. Now
pray you make my commenda-
I

tions unto him, and withall carry him this sticke

of licoras tell him his mistresse sent it him, and
:

bid him bite a peece. 'Xwill open hi s pipes t^e 75

Vjptfpjj^say.^

[Actus primi Sccena secunda.

VentureweW s House. '\

Enter Marchant [/. e. VentureweW^ and Maister

Humfery./ri'^i/ n z*^

Venturewell. Come, sir, shee's yours; upon

my faith, she's yours!
 8

1 W^t i^nig^t of t^e [act i.

You have my hand. For other idle lets

Betweene your hopes and her, thus, with a wind
They are scattered and no more; my wanton
prentice,
That like a bladder blew himselfe with love, 5

I have let him to discover

out, and sent
New maisters yet unknowne.
Humphrey, I thanke you, sir,

Indeed thanke you, sir, and ere I stir.

I
It shall bee knowne, how ever you do deeme,
I am of gentle bloud, and gentle seeme. lo

Fent, O sir, I know it certaine.

Humph. Sir my friend,
Although, as writers say, all things have end,
'And that we call a pudding hath his two,
let it not seeme strange, I pray, to you,

If in this bloudy simile I put 15

[y love, more endlesse then fraile things or gut.

ff^ife. Husband, I prethee, sweete iambs, tell
me one thing, but tell mee truely : — stay, youths,
1 beseech you, till I question my husband.
Cit. What is it,jajo4jLSei_ 20
f^i/e. thou ever see a prettier
Sirrah, didst
-child ? How it behaves it selfe, I warrant yee,
and speakes, and lookes, and pearts up the head ?
I pray you, brother, with your favor, were you
never none of M. Monkester's schollars ? 25
Cit, Chicken, I prethee heartely containe thy
 ! ! 9

scxNx n.] Il5ummg |Se0tU 1

selfe; the childer are pretty childer, but when

Rafe comes, lambe
Wife. I, when Rafe comes, conny! Well,
my youth, you may proceed. 30
Vent. Wei, sir, you know my love, and rest,
I hope,
Assur'd of my consent; get but my daughter's,
And wed her when you please; you must be
bold.
And clap in close unto her. Come, I know
You have language good enough to win a wench. Zl
Wife. A whoreson tyrant! Has ben an old
r<^ic stringer in*s daies, I warrant him.
Humph. I take your gentle offer, and withall
Yeeld love again for love reciprocall.
Vent. What, Luce, within theer!
Enter Luce.
Luce. Cal'd you, sir?
Vent. I did. 4©
Give entertainement to this gentleman;
And see you bee not froward. To her, sir
My presence will but bee an eye-soare to you.
Exit.
Humph. Faire Mistresse Luce, how do you ?
are you well?
Give me your hand; and then, I pray you, tell 45
How doth your little sister, and your brother?
And whether you love me or any other?
 !

20 ^\)t i^nig^t of tlje [act i.

Luce. Sir, these are quickely answered.

Humph. So they are,
Where women are not cruel but how farre ;

Is it now distant from this place we are, in, ^ 50

*^'*^-
Unto that blessed place, your father*s wafreh?
Luce. What makes you thinke of that, sir?
Humph. Even that face.
For, stealing.xabb£ts whilome in that place,
God Cupid, or the keeper, I know not whether.
Unto my cost and charges brought you thither, S5
And there began —
Luce. Your game, sir.

Humph. Let no game,

Or any thing that tendeth to the same.
Bee evermore remembred, thou fair e kille ry /

For whom I sate me downe and brake m y tillerj ^^

fFife. There's a kind gentleman, I warrant
you 60
When you do as much
will me, George ?
for
Luce. Beshrew me, sir, I am sorry for your
losses.
But, as the proverb sales, I cannot cry;
I would you had not seene me.
Humph. A'n^jl.k So would I,
Unlesse you had more'maw to do me good. 65
Luce. Why, cannot this strange passion be
withstood.
Send for a constable, and raise the towne.
50 this place. Q2, Q3, F, the place.
scKNE n.] llBuming ^tMe 21

Humph. O no, my valiant love will batter

downe
Millions of constables, and put to flight
Even that great watch of Mid-summer Day at
night. ^^ •'^•' -''-•„ 70
Luce. Beshrew me, sir, 'twere good I yeelded,
then;
Weake women cannot hope, where valiant men —
Have no resistance.
Humph. Yeeld, then ; I am full
Of pitty, though I say it, and can pull
Out of my pocket, thus, a paire of gloves. <^ 75
Looke, Lucy, looke ! the dog's tooth, nor the
dove's,
Are not so white as these ; and sweete they bee,
And whipt about with silke, as you may see.
If V Qu desire the pric e, sute from your eie
A beame to this place, and you shall espie 80
^^
F. S., which is to say, my sweetest hony,
They cost me three and two pence, or no money. ^ «=>j

Luce. Well, sir, I take them kindly, and I

thanke you.
What would you more ?
Humph. Nothing.
Luce. Why, then, fare-well.
Humph. Nor so, nor so! for, lady, I must
tell, 85
Before we part, for what we met together.
 !

22 tE^Je l^nig^t of t^t [act i.

God me time, and patience, and faire

grant
weather
Luce. Sr^'ke, and declare your minde in
terfiies so briefe.
Humph. I shall. Then first and formost, for
reliefe
I call to you, if that you can affoord it, 9°
I care not at what price, for on my word, it

Shall be repaid againe, althou gh it rost ,jne

More than rie speake of now; for love hath
tost me
In furious blanket like a tennis ball,

Luce. Alas, good gentleman! alas the day!

Humph. I thank you hartely and, as ; I say,
Thus do I still continue without rest,
Fth' morning like a man, at nigh t a b east.

/ Roa ring and bellowing myne owne disqtrtgtr

1 hat much 1 feare, forsaking of my diet
*oo

Will bring me presently to that quandary,

I shall bid all adeiw.
Luce. Now, by S. Mary,
That were great pitty.
Humph. So it were, beshrew me!
Then ease me, lust^J-oicejjnd pitty shew me. 105
Luce. Why, sir, you know my will is nothing
worth,
90 you, if. Qi, you, I if.
Scene II.] 315ummg |3e0tle 23

Without my father's grant. Get his consent,

And then you may with assurance try me.
Humph. The worshipfull your sire will not
deny me;
For I have askt him, and he hath repli'd no :

" Sweete Maister Humfrey, Luce shall be thy

bride."
Luce. Sweete Maister Humfrey, then I am
content.
Humph. And so am I, in truth.

Luce. Yet take me with you :

There another clause must be annext,

is

And this it is: I swore and will performe it; "5

No man shall ever joy me as his wife
But he that stole me hence. If you dare venter,
I am yours; you need not feare, my father loves
you;
If not, farewell for ever.
Humph, Stay, nimph, staie !

I have a double gelding, culored bay, 120

Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind ;

Another for my selfe, though somewhat blind,

Yet true as trusty tree.
Luce. I am satisfied;
And so I give my hand. Our course must lie

Through Waltham Forrest, where I have a

friend 125

108 nvith assurance. Sympson, and many modern eds. read,

with full assurance.
 !

24 ^\)t Migtit of tl^e [Act I.

Will entertaine us. So fare-well, sir Humfrey,

And thinke upon your businesse. £xii Luce,
Humph, Though I die,
I am resolv'd to venter life and lim
For one so yong, so faire, so kind, so trim.
Exit Humfrey.
Xa/> Wife, By my faith and troth, George, and,as.i3o
^v I amvertuous, it is e*ne the kindest yong man
that ever trod on shooe leather. Well, go thy
waies j if thou hast her not, 'tis not thy fault,
'faith.
Citizen, I prethee, mouse, be patient j a shall 135
have her, or Tie make some of 'em smoake
for't. wo^H c^>^ U*" .'

Wife. That's my good lambe, George. Fie,

this stinking tobacco kils [me] ; would there were
none in England Now I pray, gentlemen, what 140
!

good does this stinking tobacco do you ? Nothing,

.1 warrant youj make chimnies a your faces. O
husband, husband now, now, there's Rafe
!

there's Rafe!

136 some of ''em. Qi, some 'em.

139 me. All early eds. read, men. The emendation is Symp-
son's, accepted by D.
141-2 tobacco do . make chimnies. Ql, Tobacco? do you no-
. .

thing. I 'warrant you make chimnies.

Scene m.] IBuvnin^ ^t!$tlt 25

[Actus primi Sccena tertia.]

Ente r Rafe like a zrocer in* 5 shop, with two prentices,

reading Palmer in of England, %^ /\^^t*^C-

Citixen. let Rafe alone

Peace, foole, Harke !

you, Rafe doe not straine your selfe too much

:

at the first. Peace ; begin, Rafe.

Raph [reads'^ Then Palmerin and Trineus,
.

snatching their launces from their dwarfes, and s

clasping their helmets, gallopt amaine after the
gyant, and Palmerin, having gotten a sight of
him, came posting amaine, saying Stay, tray- :

terous thiefe for thou maist not so carry away

!

her, that is worth the greatest lord in the world, 10

and with these words gave him a blow on the

shoulder, that he stroake him besides his ele-
phant ; and Trineus, comming to the knight that
had Agricola behind him, set him soone besides
his horse, with his necke broken in the fall. So 15

that the Princesse, getting out of the thronge,

betweene joy and griefe said All happy knight,
:

the mirror of all such as follow armes now may !

I bee well assured of the love thou bearest me.

— I wonder why the kings doe not raise an 20
army of foureteene or fifteene hundred thousand
men, as big as the army that the Prince of Por-
tigp, brought against Rocicler, & destroy these /
 !

26 tK^e i^nigljt of t\)t [act i.

giants ; they do much hurt to wandring damsels,

that go in quest of their knights. 45
ff^i/e. Faith, husband, and Rafe saies true;
for they say the King of Portugal! cannot sit at
his meate, but the giants & the ettins will come
and snatch it from him.
,
Cit. Hold thy tongue. On, Rafe 3°
** Raph. And certainely those knights are much
to be commended, who, neglecting their posses-
sions, wander with a squire and a dwarfe through
'
the desarts, to relieve poore ladies.
JVife. I, by my faith are they, Rafe Let *em ! 35
say what they will, they are indeed. Our
""-
but they do «ot -the rest.
Raph. There are no such c ourteous and faire
well_ipakeruJcni.ghts in this age. They will call 4°
one "The sonne of a whore," that Palmerin of i
England would have called " Faire sir " and one ;

that Rosicler would have cal'd " Right beauteous

damsell," they will call " Dam'd bitch."
^
Wife, rie be sworne will they, Rafe \ they 4^
J/
/ have cal'd mee so an hundred times about a
\^ scurvy pipe of tobacco.
Raph. Rut wh^t bray? pirif ro ^^lr[be f;ontent to
<?

sitjn his-^op widut flappct of-j^mod-ajid-a blew

aproa-b cfon; him-y^elling Methridatum and Dra- 5°
gons water to visited houses, that might pursue

e
 ! '

Scene m.] WumiM ^t$tit 27 ^^

> J^7 %
feats of armes, and through his noble atchiev-*,^"' "^^
ments procure such a famous history to be writ- *^J^ 1

ten of his heroicke prowesse ? ^_. '

<^

Cit. Well said, Rafe Some more of those 55

!

words, Rafe
ff^i/e. They go finely, by my troth.
Raph. Why should not I, then, pursue this
course, both for thp r red it nf my spl fg^anH^ niir
company ? For amongst all the worthy bookes of 60
atchievements I doe not call to minde that I yet
read of a Gro cer Erraat. I will be the said
.
^"^
knight ! Have you heard of any that hath vVanH*
"dreaun furnished of his squire and dwarfe ? My
elder pr en-tice Tim, shall be my trusty squire, 65
and littl e George my dwarfe. Hence, my blew
aporne ! YetnHZ^SHi^^ram:^e---"»f-«t3r"f0rmer
trade^jjpon jny_shield _§baU be purtfa*4#'$e-bttffl-
ing Pest le, and I wilLJnP ral^d the Knizht'^th
BurningJE!£.siLu. v.
7°

Wife. Nay, I dare sweare thou wilt not for-

get thy old trade; thou wert ever meeke.
Raph. Tim!
Tim. Anon.
Raph. My beloved squire, & George my 75
dwarfe, I charge you that from hence-forth you
never call me by any other name but the Right
Courteous and Valiant Knight of the Burning Pes-
54 of his. F, of, in his. 69 oth. Q3, F, of the.
 ;

28 ^^t J^nigljt of t\)t [Act I.

tje^ and that you never call any female by the

name of a woman or wench, but faire ladie, if 80
/she have her desires, if not, distressed damsell;
/ that you call all forrests and heaths desarts, and

V.all horses palfries.

Wife. This is very fine, faith. Do the gen-
tlemen like Rafe, thinke you, husband? 85
Cit. I, I warrant thee ; the plaiers would give
all the shooes in their shop for him.

Raph. My beloved squire Tim, stand out.

Admit this were a desart, and over it a knight
errant pricking, and I should bid you inquire of 90
his intents: what would you say?
Tim. Sir, my maister sent me to know
/'^whether you are riding?
Raph. No thus Faire sir, the Right Court-
! :

eous and Valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle 95

-r^? commanded me to enquire upon what adventure

you are bound, whether to relieve some dis-

tressed damsels, or otherwise.
Cit. Whoresome blocke-head ! cannot re-
member. 100
TVife. r faith, & Rafe told him on't before
all the gentlemen heard him ; did he not, gen-
tlemen ? Rafe tel him on't ?
did not
George. Right Courteous and Valiant Knight
of the Burning Pestle, here is a distressed dam- 105
sell, to have a halfe-fennyjworth of pepper.

93 ivhether. Q3, F, whither. 98 damsels. F, D, damsel.

sciNz IV.] llBuming ^t&tlt 29

^i/e. That's a good boy See, the little boy !

can hit it by my troth, it's a fine child

; !

Raph. Relieve her with all courteous language.

Now shut up shoppe, no more my prentice, but no
my trusty squire and dwarfe. I must bespeake
my shield and arming-pestle.
\_Exeunt Tim and George."^
Cit. Go thy waies, Rafe ; as Im'e a true
man, thou art the best on 'em all.

Wife. Rafe, Rafe! 115

Raph. What say you, mistresse ?
JVife. I prethee come againe quickly, sweet
Rafe.
Raph. By and by. Exit Rafe.

[Actus Primi Sccena Quarta.

Merry though f s House.~\

Enter Jasper y and his mother Mistresse Merri-thought.

- Mrs. Merrithought. Give thee my blessing ?

No, Il'e ner'e give thee my blessing; Il'e see
thee hang'd first. It shall ner'e bee said I gave
thee my thy father's owne
blessing; th'art
Sonne, of the right bloud of the Merri-thoughts. 5
I may curse the time that er'e I knew thy
father : he hath spent all his owne, and mine
4 th' art. Q3, F, thou art.

5 right bloud. Q3 and F omit right.

 !

)^^j 30 ^^t !^niglbt of t^t [act i.

r^ too, and when I tell him of it, he laughes and

O dances, and sings, and cryes, J merrx^^hearlJwes.
^ kng=^Q' And thou art a wast-thrift^and art run
X'" away from thy maister, that lov'd thee well, and
'r*\ art come to me, and I have laid up a little for
-^ mvyonger sonne Michael, and thou think'st to
^'ezelTthat, but thou shalt never be able to do it.
Come hither, Michael come, Michael, downe
; 15

on thy knees, thou shalt have my blessing.

Enter Michael.
Michael. I pray you, mother, pray to God to
blesse me.
Mrs, Mer. God blesse thee. But Jasper shal
never have my blessing ; he shall be hang*d first, 20
shall hee not, Michael ? How saist thou ?
Mich. Yes forsooth, mother, and grace of
God.
Mrs. Mer. That's a good boy.
-Wife. I, faith, it's a fine spoken child. 25
'Jasper. Mother^th^ugh^youforget a parents
Jove, -—
^- I must preserve the duty of a child.
farriil3t~froTn my maister, nor returne

J o have your stocke maintaine

Ungracio us child e, I warrant him
Wife.
Harke how hee chops logicke with his mother
my idlenesse.
!

Thou hadst best tell her she lyes do tell her :

she lyes!
 ! ! 1

Scene IV.] WUtniXl^ ^tSitlt 3

Cit. If hee were my sonne, I would hang him

up by the heeles, and flea him and salt him, 35
whoore-sonne haltersacke
Jasp. My comming onely is to begge your
love,
Which I must ever, though I never gaine it;
And howsoever you esteeme of me.
There
is no drop of bloud hid in these veines.

Butremember well belongs to you

I
That brought me forth, and would be glad for
you
To rip them all againe, and let it out.
Airs. Mer, I, fajth, I had sorrow enough for
thee, God knowes but Il'e hamper thee well
; 45
enough. Get thee in, thou vagabond! get thee
in, and learne of thy brother Michael.
\Exeunt Jasper and Michael.'\
Merrythought (within).
Nose, nose, jolly red nose.
And who gave thee this jolly red nose ?

~
Mrs. Mer. Harkehusband hee's singing
! my 50
and hoiting; and Im'e faine to^arke ancT care,
and all little enough. Husband Charles ! !

Charles Merithought
Enter old Merithought.
Merrythought.
Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves.
And they gave me this jollv red nose! 55
38 muit e'ver. Q3 and F omit must.
 32 tir^e l^nigl^t of tlje [act i.

Mrs. Mer, If you would consider your state,

you would have little list to sing, I-wisse.
Mer. It should never bee considered while it
were an estate, if I thought it would spoyle my
singing. 60
Rut how wilf thou do, Charles ?
Airs. Mfir.
/ Thou art an old man, anTthOli canst not worke,
/ and thou hast not fortie shillings left, and thou
[ eatest good meat, and drinkest good drinke, and
V^laughest. 65
Mer. And will do .

Mrs. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it,

/ Charles?
i Mer. How ? Why, how
have I done hith-
l
erto, this forty yeares never came into my 70
? I
\ dining roome, but at eleven & six a clocke I
found excellent meat and drinke a'th table; my
clothes were never worne out, but next morning
a taylor brought me a new suit; and jyithout

r-ii^sse. If al lshould faile^it is but alittle straining

:j[^y^.^SlL' extraordinary, & laugh my selfe to

Wife. It's a foolish old man, this, is not he,

George ? 80
Yes, cunny.
Citizen.
f

\ Wife. Give me a peny i'th purse while I

V live, George. \
^•-^ 69 Why hoiu have. Q3 omits hoiu. 70 thh. F, these.
Scene IV.] Bummg ^^e^tle 33
Cit. I, by ladie, cuniiie, hold thee there.
Mer. Well, Charles, you promised to
il/rj. 85
provide for Jasper, and I have laid up for Michael.
I pray you pay Jasper his portion; hee's come
home, and hee shall not consume Michael's
stocke; he saies his maister turnd him away, but
I promise you truly, I thinke he ran away. 90.

Wife. No indeed, Mistresse Merrithought ;

'

though he bee a notable gallowes, yet Il'e as-

sure you his maister did turne him away, even
in this place, 'twas i'faith, within this halfe
houre, about his daughter. My
husband was by. 95
Cit. Hang him, rougue, he serv'd him well
enough: love his maister's daughter! By my
troth, cunnie, if there were a thousand boies,
thou wouldst spoile them all with taking their^
parts. Let his mother alone with him. 100

Wife. I, George, but yet truth is truth.

Mer. Where is Jasper? Hee's welcome how
ever; call him in, hee shall have his portion. Is
he merry?
Enter ^ast/er^a^nd Michael.
'
Mrs. Mer. I, foule cnive him, he is too mer- 105
rie. Jasper! Michael!
Mer. Welcome, Jasper, though thou runst
away welcome, God blesse thee
; 'Tis thy !

mother's minde thou should'st receive thy por-

tion. Thou hast beene abroad, and I hope hast no
 — ! !

34 ^^t !^nigl)t of tlie (act i.

learnM experience enough to governe it. Thou

art of sufficient yeares ; hold thy hand one, two, :

three, foure, five, sixe, seven, eight, nine, there's

ten shillings for thee. Thrust thy selfe into the
world with that, and take some setled course. If 115
fortune crosse thee, thou hast a retiring place:
come hope, to. me, I have twentie shillings left.
JEee a goo4 hlusband; that is, weare ordinary
i clothes, eate the best meate, and drinke the best
/ drinke, bee merrie, and give to the poore, and 120
/ beleeve me, thou hast no end of thy goods.
^^ yasp. Long may you live free from all thought
of ill.
And long have cause to be thus merry still
But, father,
Afer. No more words, Jasper; get thee gone, 125
thou hast my blessing; thy father's spirit upon
thee. Fare-well, Jasper

But yet or ere you part, oh cruell!

Kisse me, kisse me, sweeting, mine owne deere jewell.

So, now begone; no words. £x!f Jasper. 130

Mrs. Mer. So, Michael, now get thee gone
too.
Mich. Yes, forsooth, mother, but Il'e have my
father's blessing first.

-Mrs, Mer. No, Michael, 'tis no matter for 135

113 there' i. Q3, F, there is.

scENx iv] HBuming pe^tU 35
his blessing thou hast my blessing begone.
; ; Il'e
fetch my money & jewels, and follow thee ; Il'e
stay no longer with him, I warrant thee. \_Exit
Michael.'] Truly, Charles, Il'e begone too.
Mer. What, you will not? 140
Mrs. Mer, Yes, indeed will I.

Mer.
Hey ho, fare-well. Nan!
Il'e never trust wench more againe, if I can. '^
^
Mrs. Mer. You shall not thinke, when all
your owne is gone, to spend that I have beene 145
scraping up for Michael.
Mer. Farewell, good wife; I expect it not.
All I havp fp dc^P 'P th'g W^rlA-U-^^a^Kf^^^aaprry
which I shall, if the ground be not taken from
me, and if it be, 150

When earth and seas from me are reft.

The skyes aloft for me are left. Exeunt.

Boy danceth. Musicke. Finis Actus primi.

Wife, 11*6 be sworne hee's a merry old gen-

tleman, for all that. Harke, harke, husband!
Harke! Fiddles, fiddles! Now surely they go 155
finely. They present death for these
say 'tis

fidlers to tune their rebeclSs before the great

Turke's grace, is't not, George? But looke,
looke ! here's a youth dances. Now, good
youth, do a turne a'th toe. Sweet heart, i' faith 160
36 ^\)t J^nigtit of tlie (act i.

He have Rafe come and do. some of his gambols :

hee'l ride thei' w^
mare, gentlemen, 'twould
do your hearts good to see him. I thanke you, ^
kinde youth pray bid Rafe come.
;

Cit. Peace, cunnie. Sirrah, you scurvie boy, 165

bid the plaiers send Rafe, or by Gods
and they do not, IFe teare some of their periwigs
beside their heads. This is all rifFe rafFe.
Scene H.] HBunUUg ^tSitlt 37

V Actus secundi Sccena prima.

^FenturewelPs House. "^

Enter Merchant [/. e. Venturewell'\ and Humphrey.

Venturewell. And how, faith, how goes it now,

son Humphrey ?
Humphrey. Right worshipful!, and my beloved
friend
And father deere, this matters at an end.
Vent. 'Tis well, it should be so : Im'e glad
the girle
Is found so tractable.
Humph. Nay, she must whirle 5

From hence, and you must winkej for so I say,

The storie tels, to morrow before day.
Wife. George, dost thou thinke in thy con-
science now 'twil be a match ? tell me but what
thou thinkst, sweet rogue. Thou seest the poore 10
gentleman, deere heart, how itilnbniir?! find th rnhs,^^
T w^;-ranj^ you, to be at rest Il'e goe move the !

father fort.
Citizen, No, no ; I prethee sit still, hony-
suckle; thou'lt spoile all. If he deny him, Il'e 15
bring halfe a doze good fellows my selfe, & in
the shutting of an evening knock't up, & ther's-
an end. /

fi7 071
 38 ®^f !^nigtit of ttir [act n.

Wife. Il'e busse thee for that, i'faith, boy.

Well, George, well, you have beene a wag in ao

your dales, I warrant you but God forgive you, ;

and I do with all my heart.

Vent. How was it, sonne ? you told me that
to morrow
Before daybreake you must convey her hence.
Humph. I must, I must ; and thus it is agreed : 25
Your daughter rides upon a browne-bay steed,
I on a &Qrj:el^_aihjch_^^Jboughij3£^^ \

Thehonest Jiost of the red roarin^Lion,^ \

^-TTrJVTrtK^ni gi'f-Mai^T^hpWpTyrni may, /
'
Consentjn seemely sort lest, by delay, : 30
The fatalTsisters come and do the office,
And then you'l sing another song.
Vent. Alasse,
Why should you be thus of griefe to me, full

That do as willing as your selfe agree

To any tiling, so it be good and faire ? 35
Then steale her when you will, if such a pleasure
Content you both ; Tie sleepe and never see it.
To make your joyes more full. But tell me why
You may not here performe your marriage ?

Wife. God's blessing a thy soule, old man ! 40

i'faith, thou art loath to part true hearts. I see
a has her, Georg and I'me as glad on't Well,
; !

go thy waies, Humphrey, for a faire spoken man.

41-2 hearts. I see a has her. gi, hearts^ I see^ a ha% her.
 ;

Scene I.] Il5uming |aesftle 39

I beleeve thou hast not thy fellow within the wals
of London; and I should say the suburbes too, I 45
should not lie. Why dost not rejoyce with nie,
George ?

Cit. If I could but see Raph againe, I were

as merry as mine host, ifaith.

Humph. The cause you seeme to aske I thus

declare — 5°
Helpe me, 6 Muses nine ! Your daughter sweare
A foolish oath, the more it was the pitty :

Yet none but my selfe within this citty

Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance ''

Shallmeete him, were he of the noble science; 55

And yet she sweare, and yet why did she sweare?
Truely, I cannot tell, unlesse it were
For her owne ease for sure sometimes an oath,
;

Being sworne thereafter, is like cordiall broth.

And this it was shee swore, never to marry 6o
But such a one whose mighty arme could carry
(As meaning me, for I am such a one)
Her bodily away, through sticke and stone.
Till both of us arrive, at her request.
Some ten miles off, in the wilde Waltham For-
rest. 65
Vent. If this be all, you shall not need to feare
Any deniall in your love proceed :

rie neither follow, nor repent the deed.

46 dost not. Q3, F, do?t not thou. 53 none. D, no one.
59 thereafter. Qi, no piinctuacion.
 tlT^e i^nigbt of t^e [act n.
40

Humph. Good-night, twenty good-nights, &

twenty more.
And 20 more good-nights, — that makes three-
score ! Exeunt. 70

[Actus secundi Sccena secunda.

Walt ham Forest.']

Enter Mis tresse Mery-thought and her son Michael.

Mrs. Merrithought. Come, Michael ; art thou

not weary, boy ?
Michael. No, for-sooth, mother, not I.
Mrs. Mer. Where be we now, child ?
Michael. Indeed, for-sooth, mother, I cannot 5

tell, unlesse we
Mile-End be at : is not all the
world Mile-End, mother?
'^ Mrs. Mer. y^o., Michael, not al the jw orkU
boy ; but I can assur e thee, Mich aelaJVIile-End
is-y]5^^^V rnatter tnere has bene a _Bitch-field> ^o
:

"mychild, herweehe the nau ghty iSpaniels and th e

ETTglish-mcn and the Spaniels ran awa y, Michael,
;

anflKe "'English-men followed: my neighbour

^v Qpxstone wasrhprr/bny^ and kirxLrhem all with---
K;! a birding..peec^. t^^ ^^ ' '-^"•'' '^'^^15

J Michael. Mother, forsooth —

'Mrs. Mer. What saies my white boy ?
Michael. Shall not my father go with us too ? .
 1

Scene u] Bummg ^mlt 4

Mrs. Mer. No, Michael, let thy father go

snicke-up he ; shall never come between a paire *©

of sheets with me againe, while he lives let him ;

stay at home & sing for his supper, boy. Come,

child, sit downe, andshew my boy fineI'le
knacks, indeed. \They sit down ; and she opens a
casket^ Look here, Michael here's a ring, and ; 25
here's a bruch, & here's a bracelet, and here's
two rings more, and here's mony and gold bi'th
eie, my boy.
Michael. Shall I have all this, mother ?
Mrs. Mer. I, Michael, thou shalt have all, 30
Michael.
Citizen. How lik'st thou this, wench ?

Wife. I cannot tell ; I would have Raph,

George ; I'le see no more else indeed-law, & I
pray you let the youths understand so much by 35
word of mouth ; you thiely, I'me
for, I tell

afraid a my boy. Come, come, George, let's be

merry and wise the child's a father-lesse child ; -^
:

and say they should put him into a streight paire

of gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grasse; he 40
would never grow after it.
Enter Raph, Squire, and Dwarfe,
Cit. Here's Raph, here's Raph !

Wife. How do you, Raph ?you are welcome,

Raph, as I may say; it's a good boy, hold up
thy head, and be not afraid; we are thy friends, 45
 ! .

42 tiriie i^niglit of ttje [actu.

Raph ; the gentlemen wilLpraJJ&e-thee^ Raph, if

thou plaist thy, part with^ildacity. Begin, Raph,
a God's name!
Raph. My trusty squire, unlace my helme,
give mee my hat.
Where are we, orwhat desart may this be? 50
George. Mirrour of knight-hood, this is, as I
take itjthe perrilous Vy^ltham, d»wne^^ in whose ,

^Qtteme-staTidy t h e inchant od va4ky

Mrs. Mer. O, Michael, we are betrai'd, we
are betraid! Here be gyants Flie, boy! flie,!
55
toy, flie

Exeut mother & Michael [^dropping the

casket^ .

Raph. Lace on my helme againe. What noise

is this ?

A gentle ladie flying the imbrace

Of some uncurteous knight! I will releive her.
Go, squire, and say, the kn ight th wp^res this
pi, i-

pes tie 60
Jn hono'ur_QLfall Jad[es, sweares revenge
Upon that recreant coward that pursues her;
Go comfort her, and that same gentle squire
That beares her companie.
Squire. I go, brave knight, [^^i/.]
Raph. My trustie dwarfe and friend, reach
me my shield, 65

50 may. Qt, Q3, F, might.

 !

Scene IL] llBummg ^t&tlt 43

And holdit while I sweare first, by my knight-
:

hood,
Then by the soule of Amadis de Gaule, \ ^*^
My famous ancestor; then by my sword, >^^^ ,.

The beauteous Brionella girt about me; ^ ^^t(b(u^^

By this bright burning pestle, of mine honour ^^ ^,<^
The living trophie, and by all respect
Due to distressed damsels, here I vow -
Never to end the quest of this faire lady,
And that forsaken squire, till by my valour
I gaine their liberty
Dwarf. Heaven blesse the knight 75
That thus relieves poore errant gentlewomenj,
"Exeunt,

Wife. I, marrie, Rafe, this has some savour

in't; I would see the proudest of them all offer
to Carrie his bookes after him. But, George, I
will not have him go away so soone; I shall 80
bee sicke if he go away, that I shall call Rafe :

againe, George, call Rafe againe I prethee, '>,;

sweet heart, let him come fight before me, andi^ Y

let's ha some drums, and some trumpets, and ^(^ ^
let hirrrkill all that comes-Heere-him, and thou 85
^

lov'st me, George !

^
Cit. Peace a little, bird hee shall kill them
:

all and they were twentie more on 'em then

there are.
76 Exeunt. Qi, Exit.
84 iome trumpets. Q3 and F omit some.
 44 ^^t t^nigl^t of t^e [act n.

Enter Jasper.
Jasper. Now, Fortune, if thou beest not onely
ill, 90
vO'*" Shew me thy better face, and bring about
^ Thy desperate ;yheele, that I may clime at

^ length,
'
And stand. This is our place of meeting,
Tf Invp hqyp any cnnstanrif^ Ohj^i^^
,
^ Whereo nely wealthy men are counted happ ie ! 95
^^ J How^'sHaTI I please thee, how deserve thy smiles.
When I am onely rich in misery?
My father's blessing and this little coine
Is my inheritance, a strong revenew!
From earth thou art, and to the earth I give thee: 100
There grow and multiply, whilst fresher aire
Breeds me a fresher fortune. — (^Spies the casket.)

How! illusion?
What, hath the divell coin'd himselfe before me ?
'Tis mettle good, it rings well ; I am waking.
And taking too, I hope. Now, God's deere
blessing 105
Upon his heart that left it here! 'tis mine;
These jpearles Jjtake4ty^wcre- nnt4elt-fo;^-&wine.
Exit.

Wife. I do not like that this unthrifty youth

\ should embecill away the money; the poore

93 itand. D queries, itand secure.

100 to the earth. Q3 and F omit the.
scENx in.] llSuming |9esftle 45
gentlewoman his mother will have a heavy heart "o
for it,God knowes.
Cit. And reason good, sweet heart.
fFi/e. But let him go; Tie tell Raph a^tale
in's eare shall fetch him againe with a''^anioh',
I warrant him, if hee bee above ground; and 115
besides, George, heere are a number of sufficient
gentlemen can witnesse, and my selfe, and your
selfe,an4 the musitians, if we be cal'd in ques-
tion. But here comes Raph, George thou shalt ;

here him speake, as he were an emperail. i»o

[Actus secundi Sccena tertsa.

Waltham Forest.~^

Enter Rafe and Dwarfe,

Raph. Comes not si -quire againe?
George. Right courteous knight,
Your squire doth co e and^^ith him comes the
lady,
^
EnUr Mis fr esse Merr^y thought] and Michael and
/ Squire.

For and the Squire of Damsels, as I take it.

Raph. Madam, if any service or devoire
Of a poore errant knight may right your wrongs, 5

116 are. Q2, Q3, F, be.

120 as. Qi, Q2, an.
 46 tl^\)t l^nigtlt of t\)t [Act n.

Command it ; I am prest to give you succour,

For to that holy end I beare my armour.
Mrs. Merrythought. Alas, sir, I am a poore
gentlewoman, and I have lost my monie in this

'^^Raph. Desart, you would say, lady ; and not

lost
Whilst I have sword and launce. Dry up your
teares.
Which ill befits the beauty of that face,
And tell the storie, if I may request it,
Of your disasterous fortune. 15

Mrs. Mer. Out, alas! I left a thousand

^^^ pound, a thousand pound, e'ne all the monie I had
laid up for this youth, upon the sight of your
J
maistership; you lookt so grim, and, as I may say
it, saving your presence, more like a giant then 20
a mortall man.
Raph. I am as you are, ladie, so are they
•
All mortall. But why weepes this gentle squire ?
Mrs. Mer. Has hee not cause to weepe, doe
you thinke, when he hath lost his inheritance ? 25
Raph. Yong hope of valour, weepe not I am \

here
That will confound thy foe, and paie it deere
Upon his coward head, that dares denie
25 hath hit. Q3, F, has lost.
28 darei. Q^, Q3, F, dare.
Scene IV.] llBuming ^mlt 47
Distressed squires and ladies equitie.
I have but one horse, on which shall ride 3o

This ladie faire behind me, and before

This courteous squire fortune will give us more
:

Upon our next adventure. Fairelie speed

Beside us, squire and dwarfe, to do us need !

Exeunt.
Citizen. Did not
you, Nel, what your 35
I tell
man would doe faith of my bodie,
? By the
wench, for cleane action and good deliverie, they
may all cast their caps at him.
^'^'^-^
fFi/e. And so they may, i'faith ; for I dare
speake it boldly, the twelve companies of Lon- 40-
don cannot match him, timber for timber. Well, _^J
George, and hee be not inveigled by some of
these paltrie plaiers, I ha much marvell but, ;

George, wee ha done our parts, if the boy have

any grace to be thankefull. 4S
Cit. Yes, I warrant thee, duckling.

[Actus secundi Sccena quarta.

Waltham Forest.']

Enter Humphrey and Luce. '

Humphrey. Good Mistress Luce, how ever I

in fault am
30 on. Sympson, and many naodern eds. read, upon.
46 thee. Q2, Q3, F, you.
 ; ;

48 ®^e toigljt of ttie [acth.

For your lame horse, you're welcome unto

Waltham
But which way now to go, or what to sale
I know not truely, till it be broad daie.
Luce. O, feare not, Maister Humphrey ; I am
guide 5
For this place good enough.
Humph. Then up and ride;
Or, if it please you, walke for your repose,
Or sit, or, if you will, go pluckgja.jpse aj2>*^
Either of which shall be mdifferent '

To your good friend and Humphrey, whose con-

sent '^

Is so entangled ever to your will.

As the poore harmelesse horse is to the mill.
Luce. Faith, and you say the word, we'le
e'ne sit downe
And take a nap.
Humph. *Tis better in the towne.
Where we may nap together ;for,-beleeve me, 15

\J Jo sleepe without a'snatch would mickle grieve

me.
Luce. You're merrie, Maister Humphrey.
Humph. So I am,
And have bene ever merrie, from my dam.
Luce. Your nurce had the lesse labour.
Humph. Faith, it may bee,
Unlesse it were by chance I did beray mee. ao
 : ;

sciNE IV.] ll5ummg pmle 49

Enter Jasper.
Jasper. Luce ! deere friend Luce !

Luce. Heere, Jasper.

Jasp. You are mine.
Humph. If it be so, my friend, you use me
fine
What do you thinke I am ? r
Jasp. An arrant noddie.
Humph. A word of obloquie Now, by God's !

bodie,
rie tell thy maister; for I know thee well. 25
Jasp. Nay, and you be so forward for to tell.

Take that, and that ; and tell him, sir, I gave it

And saie I paid you well. \Beats him.~\

Humph. O, sir, I have it.
And do confesse the paiement! Praie be quiet.
Jasp. Go, get you to your night-cap and the
diet, 30
To cure your beaten bones.
Luce. Alas, poor Humphrie,
Get thee some wholsome broth, with sage and
comfrie ;
A of roses and a feather
little oile

To noint thy backe withall.

Humph. When I came hether,
Would I had gone to Paris with John Dorrie. 35
Luce. Fare-well, my pretty nump ; I am verie
sorrie
I cannot beare thee companie.
 ! : !

50 ®|ie i^nig^it of t^t [Act ii.

Humph, Fare-well
The diveFs dam was ne*re so bang'd in hell.
Exeunt, Manet Humphrey.
Wife, This yong Jasper will prove me another
things, a my conscience, and he may be suffered, 40
George. Dost not see, George, how a swaggers,
and flies at the very heads a fokes, as he were
a drago ? Well, if I do not do his lesson for
wronging the poore gentleman, I am no true
woman. His friends that brought him up might 45
have bene better occupied, I wis, then ha taught
him these fegaries: hee's e'ne in the high-way
to the gallows, God blesse him
You're too bitter, conny ; the yong
Citixen.
man may do wel enough for all this. 50
JVife. Come hither, Maister Humfrey has ;

hee hurt you ? now, beshrew his fingers for't

Here, sweet heart, here's some greene ginger for
thee. Now, beshrew my heart, but a has pepper-
nel in's head, as big as a pullets egge ! Alas, 55
sweete lamb, how thy tempels beate Take the !

peace on him, sweete heart, take the peace on

him.
Enter a Boy.
No, no you talke like a foolish woman
Cit. ;
:

rie ha Raph fight with him, and swing him up 60

welfavourdlie. Sirrah boie, come hither. Let
Raph come in and fight with Jasper.
46 ha. Q2, Q3, F, have.
 1!

sciNE v.] Burning pesftU 5

Wife. I, and beate him well ; he's an unhappy

boy.
^^^.^Sir^you must pardon us, the plot of our 65
plaie lies contrarie
; and 'twill hazard the spoil-
ing of our plaie.
Cit. Plot mee no plots Tie ha Raph come
!

out ;rie make your house too hot for you else.
Boy. Why, sir, he shall but if anie thing iali7o
;

jQut- of order, the gentlemen must pardon us.

Cit. Go your waies, good-man boie. Fie hold
him a pennie hee shall have his bellie-fuU of
fighting now. Ho, heere comes Raph no more !

[Actus secundi Sccena quinta.

Walt ham Forest.']

Enter Raphy Mistresse Merri\_thought'], Michael,

Squire f and Dwarfe.
Raph. What knight is that, squire ? aske him
if he keep
The passage, bound by love of ladie faire
Or else but prickant.
Humphrey. Sir, I am no knight.
But a poore gentleman, that this same night /
Had stolne from me, on yonder greene, 5
My lovelie wife, and suffered to be seene
5 on. Sympson, and many modem eds. read, upon.
52 ^\)t i^nigljt of t\)t [act ii.

Yet extant on my shoulders such a greeting,

That whilst I live I shall thinke of that meeting.
fVife, I, Raph, hee beate him unmercifully,
Raph; and thou spar'st him, Raph, I would lo

thou wert hang'd.

Citizen. No more, wife, no more.
Raph. Where is the caitife wretch hath done
this deed?
Lady, your pardon; that I may proceed
Upon the quest of this injurious knight. 15
And thou, faire squire, repute me not the worse,
In leaving the great venture of the purse
And the rich casket, till some better leasure.
Enter Jasper and Luce.
Humph. Here comes the broker hath purloin'd
my treasure.
Raph. Go, squire, and tell him I am here, 20
An errant knight at armes, to crave delivery
Of that faire lady to her owne knight's armes.
If he deny, bid him take choice of ground.
And so defye him.
Tim. From the knight that beares
The Golden Pestle, I defie thee, knight, 45
Unlesse thou make fair restitution

Of that bright lady.

Jasper. Tell the knight that sent thee
Hee is an asse, and I will keepe the wench,
And knocke his head-peece.
 ! !

scENt v.] liBuming pe0tU 53

Raph. Knight, thou art but dead,

If thou recall not thy uncurteous tearmes. 30
JFife. Breake's pate, Raph; breake's pate,
Raph, soundly
Jasp. Come, knight; I am ready for you.
Now your pestel Snatches azvay his pestle,..
Shall try what temper, sir, your morters off.

With that he stood upright in his stirrops, 35

And gave the Knight of the Calve-skinne such
a knocke, ^
That he forsooke his horse a nd dow nehe fenj_^
And then he leaped upon him, and plucking of
his helmet —
Humph. Nay, and my noble knight be downe
so soone.
Though I can scarcely go, I needs must runne. 40
Exit Humphery and Raph,
Wife. Runne, Raph, runne, Raph; runne for
thy life, boy Jasper comes, Jasper comes
! !

"Jasp. Come, Luce, we must have other armes

for you :

Humphery and Golden Pestle, both adiew

Exeunt.
Wife. Sure the divell (God blesse us !) is in 45
this springald Why, George, didst ever see
!

such a fire-drake I am afraid my boie's mis-

?

caried : if he be, though hee were Maister Mery-

29 Knight. F omits.
38 plucking of. Q3, F, plucking off".
 :

54 ^^t ^ni^\)t of t\)t [Act n.

thought's Sonne a thousand times, if there bee

any law in England, I'le make some of them 50
smart for't.

Cit. No, no ; I have found out the matter,

sweete-heart Jasper is inchanted; as sure as we
;

are heere, he is inchanted: he could no more

have stood in Raph's hands then I can stand in 55
my Lord Maior's. I'le have a ring to discover
all inchantments, and Raph shall beate him yet
be no more vext, for it shall be so.

[Actus secundi Sccena sexta.

Before the Bell Inn, WalthamJ]

Enter Raph, Squire, Dwarfe, Mis tr esse Mery-thought,

and Michaell.

Wife, O husband, heere's Raph again ! Stay,

Raph, let mee speake with thee. How dost thou,
Raph ? art thou not shrodly hurt ? the foule
great lungeis laid unmercifully on thee : there 's

•some suger-candy for thee. Proceed; thou shalt 5

have another bout with him.
Citizen. If Raph had him at the fencing-
schoole, if hee did not make a puppy of him,
and drive him up and downe the school, he
should nere come in my shop more. 10

3 shrodly. Q3, F, shrewdly.

 ;

Scene VI.] ii5uming ^m\t 55

Mistress Truely, Maister

Merrythought.
Knight of the Burning am weary.
Pestle, I
Michael. Indeed, law, mother, and I am very
hungry.
Raph. Take comfort, gentle dame, and you,
faire squire 15
For in this desart there must needs be plac't
Many strong castles, held by curteous knights;
And till I bring you safe to one of those,
I sweare by this my Order nere to leave you.
IFife. Well said, Raph! George, Raph was 20
ever comfortable, was he not ?

Cit. Yes, ducke.

Wife. I shall nere forget him, when wee had

lost our child, you know it was straid almost,
alone, to Puddle-wharfe, and the criers were 25
abroad for it, and there it had drown'd it selfe
but for a sculler, P.aph was the most comfort-
ablest to me ^^ Pe3i:e. Mistress£«Ll.SAiefr4»eg~^-Uet
:

itgo rie get yog ano ther as good." Did he not,

;

George, did he not say so ? 30

Cit. Yes, indeed did he, mouse.

Dwarfe, I would we had a mess of pottage,

and a pot of drinke, squire, and were going to
bed!
Squire. Why, we are at Waltham townes 35
end, and that's the Bell Inne.
15 y°^tf<^^^'- Q3> F> your faire. So D.
 :

56 turtle i^nigtjt of tlje [act ii.

Dwarfe. Take courage, valiant knight, dam-

sel, & squire !

I have discovered, not a stones cast off.

An ancient castle, held by the old knight

Of the most holy order of the Bell, 40
Who gives to all knights errant entertaine
There plenty is of food, and all prepar'd
By the white hands of his owne lady deere.
He hath three squires that welcome all his
guests ;

The first hight Chamberlino, who will see 45

Our beds prepar'd, and bring us snowy sheetes.
Where never foote-man stretch'd his butterM
hams ;

The second hight Tapstero, who will see

Our pots full filled, and no froth therein;
The third, a gentle squire, Ostlero hight, 50
Who will our palfries slicke with wisps of straw,
And in the maunger put them oates enough.
And never grease their teeth with candle snufFe.
Wife. That same dwarfe's a pretty boy, but
(he squire's a grout-nole. H - .
'
55
Raph. Knocke at the gates, my squire, with
stately launce.

45 hight. Early eds., high (but not in 1. 48).

Chamberlino. Q2, Chamberlaino ; Q3, F, Chamberlain.
48 Tapstero. Qi, Tastero ; Q2, Q3, F, Tapstro.
55 gfout-nole. Q3, F, grout-nold.
 ;

Scene VI.] llBummg ^tStlt 57

[Tim knocks.']. Enter Tapster,
Tapster. ?Who's
You're there welcome,
gentlemen will you see a roome ?
:

Dwarfe, Right curteous and valiant Knight of

the Burning Pestle, this is the Squire Tapstero. 60
Raph. Fair Squire Tapstero, I a wandring
•'_ ' knight,
Hight of the Burning Pestle, in the quest
Of this faire ladies casket and wrought purse,
Loosing my selfe in this vast wildernesse.
Am to this castle well by fortune brought 65
Where, hearing of the goodly entertaine
Your knight of holy order of the Bell
Gives to all damsels, and all errant knights,

I thought to knocke, and now am bold to enter.

Tap. An't please you see a chamber, you are 70
very welcome. Exeunt.
Wife. George, I would have something done,
and I cannot t£lLwhat..ici&^
Cit. What is it, Nel ? .

Wife. Why, George, shall Raph beate no 75

body againe ? Prethee, sweete-heart, let him.
Cit. So he shall, Nel; and if I joyne with
him, wee'le knocke them all.

.60, 61 Tapstero. Q2, Q3, F, Tapstro.

 !

58 ^ETlje i^nig^t of t\)t [act n.

[Actus secundi Sccena septima.

VenturewelP s House."]

Enter Humphery and Merchant [/. e. Venturewell] .

Wife, O, George, here's Maister Humphery

againe now, that lost Mistresse Luce, and Mis-
tresse Lucie's father. Maister Humphery will do
some-bodies errant, I warrant him.
Humphrey. Father, it's true, in armes I nere
shall claspe her;
'
-.
5
For shee is away by your man Jasper.
stolne
Wife. I thought he would tell him.
Venturewell. Unhappy that I am, to loose
my child
Now beginne to thinke on Jaspers words,
I
Who oft hath urg'd to me thy foolishnesse. lo
Why didst thou let her go ? thou lovst her not.
That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring
her.
Humph. Father, forgive me. Shall I tell you
true ?

Looke on my shoulders, they are blacke and

blew.
Whilst too and fro faire Luce and I were wind-
ing, 15
Hee came and basted me with a hedge binding.
13 8hall I. Q2, Q3, F, I shall.
Scene VIL] llBummg ^t&tlt 59

Fent. Get men and horses straight: we will

be there
Within this houre. You know the place againe ?

Humph. I know the place where he my loines

did swaddle;
rie get six horses, and to each a saddle. 20
Fent. Meane time I'le go talke with Jaspers
father. Exeunt.
Wife. George, what wilt thou laye with mee
now, that Maister Humphery has not Mistresse
Luce yet ? Speake, George, what wilt thou laie
with me ? 25
Citizen. No, Nel warrant thee Jasper is at
; I
Puckeridge with her, by this.
Wife. Nay, George, you must consider Mis-
tresse Lucies feete are tender ; and besides, 'tis
darke ; and, I promise you truely, I doe not see 30
how hee should get out of Waltham forrest with
her yet.
Cit. Nay, cunny, what wilt thou laie with
me, that Raph has her not ytt ?

Wife. I will not lay against Raph, hunny, 35

because I have not spoken with him. But looke,
George, peace heere comes the merry old gen-
!

tleman againe.
6o tC^e l^niglit of t^e [act ii.

[Actus secundi Sccena octava.

Merrythought* s House. '^

Enter Old Merrie-thought.

Merrythought.
When it was growne to darke midnight.
And all were fast asleepe.
In came Margarets grimely ghost.
And stood at Williams leete.

Ihave mony, and meate and drinke before hand, 5

to morrow at noone
till why should I be sad ?
;

Mee thinks I have halfe a dozen joviall spirits

within mee !

I am three merry men, and three merry men!

To what end should any man be sad in this 10
world ? Give me a man that when hee goes to
hanging cries,
Troule the blacke bowle to mee!
and a woeman that will sing a catch in her trav-
el! I I have seene a man come by my dore, with 15
a serious face, in a blacke cloake, without a hat-
band, carrying head as if hee lookt for pinnes
his
in the streete have lookt out of my window
; I

halfe a yeare after, and have spide that man's

head upon London-bridge. 'Tis vile never : 20
trust a tailor that does not sing at his worke;
his mind is of nothing but filching.
 1

Scent Vni] llBummg ^t$t\t 6

PF'i/e. Marke this, George 'tis worth noting. ;

Godfrey my tailor, you know, never sings, and

hee had foureteene yards to make this gowne: 25

and rie be sworne Mistresse Pennistone the

drapers wife had one made with twelve.

Mer.
*
Tis mirth that fils the veines with bloud ,
'More then wine, or sleepe, or food;
Let each mankeep e his heart _ai,ea§e, 30
No man die s of that disease. __
Jl elEat \vo uld hi s body keepe \

From diseases, must not weepe;

~Bui wRoIpygr" TaugEes^ anH^smgs^
Never he his body brings 35
^nto tevers, gouts, or rnumes,
'"

Or lingrtegly ms longs consumes.

Or meets with aches in the bone.
Or catharhes, or griping stone;
_B ut contented lives for^^fir 40
The more he laughes, the more he may.

IVi/e. Looke, George ; how saist thou by this,

George ? is't not a fine old man Now, God's
?

blessing a' thy sweet lips ! When wilt thou be so

merry, George ? Faith, thou art the frowningst 45
little thing when thou art angry, in a countrey.
E^jUr Merchant [/. e. Ventureweir\ .

Cit. Peace, coney ; thou shalt see him taken

47 taken. Q2, Q3, take; F, took.
 !

62 tB^t ^nigljt of tl^e [act n.

downe too, I warrant thee. Here's Luces father

come now.
Mer.
As you came from Walsingham, 50
Fro that holy land.
There met you not with my tru-love
By the way as you came ?
Fenturewell. Oh, Maister Merri-thought, my
daughter's gone !

This mirth becomes you not ; my daughters

gone 55
Mer.
Why, an if she be, what care I ?

Or let her come, or go, or tarry.

Fent. Mocke not my misery. It is your sonne

(Whom I have made my owne when all forsooke
him)
Has stolne my onely joy, my childe away. 60
Mer,
He set her on a milk-white steed,
& him selfe upo a gray;
He never turn'd his face againe.
But he bore her quite away.

Vent. Unworthyof the kindnesse I have shewn 65

To thee and thine ! too late I well perceive
Thou art consenting to my daughters losse.
Mer. Your daughter ! what a stur's here wee
51 that holy. Q2, Q3, F, the holy.
Scene VIH.] llBummg ^t&tlt 63

yer daughter Let her goe, thinke no more on

?

her, but sing lowd. If both my sons were on the 7°

gallows, I would sing,
Downe, down, downe: they fall dovvne.
And arise they never shall.

Fent. Oh, might I behold her once againe,

And she once more embrace her aged sire ! 75
Mer. Fie, how scurvily this goes And she !

once more imbrace her aged sire ? You'l make

a dogge on her, will yee ? She cares much for her
aged sire, I warrant you.

She cares not for her daddy, 80

Nor shee cares not for her mammie.
For she is, she is, she is, she is

My lord of Low-gave' s lassie.

Fent. For this thy scorne I will pursue that

Sonne
Of thine to death. 85
JHer. Do ; and when you ha kild him.
Give him flowers i'now, palmer, give him flowers
i'now;
Give him red, and white, and blew, greene, and yel-
low.
Fent. Il'e fetch my daughter —
Aler. Il'e heare no more a your daughter; it 9°
spoyles my mirth.
74 / I'ehold. W, I but behold.
82 For . ihe is. Q2, Q3, and F omit one
. . she is.

84 that Sonne. Begins next line in Q.

64 tirtie l^nig^t of ttje [act n.

Vent. I say, Il'e fetch my daughter —

Mer,
Was neverman for ladies sake,
Downe, downe.
Tormented as I poore Sir Guy, 95
De derry downe.
For Lucies sake, that lady bright,
Downe, downe.
As ever men beheld with eye,
De derry downe. 100

Vent, ire be reveng'd, by Heaven ! Exeunt.

Musicke. Finis Actus secundi.

Wife. How dost thou like this, George ?

Cit. Why, this is well, coney ; but if Raph

were hot once, thou shouldst see more.
Wife. The fidlers go againe, husband. 105
Cit. Nel but this is scurvy musicke. I
I, ;

gave the whoreson gallowes money, and I thinke

hee has not got mee the waits of South-warke :

if I heare 'em not anan, Il'e twinge him by the

eares. You musicians, play Baloo I no

Wife. No, good George, lets ha Lachrimae!
Cit. Why, this is it, cony.

Wife. Its all the better, George. Now, sweet

lambe, what story is that painted upon the cloth ?
the Confutation of St. Paul? 115

95 poore Sir Guy. (^3 and F omit poore.

109 Vw. Old eds., him. The emendation is D's.
 !

Scene vm] llBummg l^efiftle 65

Cit. No, lambe, that's Raph and Lucrece.

Wife. Raph and Lucrece which Raph ? our
!

Raph ?

Cit. No, moyse ; that was a Tartarian.

Wife, A Tartarian Well, I wood the fidlers
! 120
had done, that wee might see our Raph againe
 :

66 title ^niq^t of tlie [act m.

Actus tertius, Sccena prima.

[Walt ham Forest.'\

Enter Jasper and Luce.

Jasper, Come, my deere deere; though we

have lost our way
We have not lost our selves. Are you not
weary
With this nights wandring, broken from your
rest,
And frighted with the terrour that attends
The darknesse of this wilde un-peopled place?
Luce. No, my best friend; I cannot either feare
Or entertaine a weary thought, whilst you
(The end of all my full desires) stand by me
Let them that loose their hopes, and live to lan-
guish
Amongst the number of forsaken lovers.
Tell the long weary steps, and number time,
Start at a shadow, and shrinke up their bloud,
Whilst I (possest with all content and quiet)
Thus take my prettie love, and thus imbrace him.
Jasp. You have caught me. Luce, so fast,
that, whilst I live,
I shall become your faithfuU prisoner,
I deere deere. Q3, F, dearc. 5 this. Qi, these.
Scene I.] llBuming ^t^tlt 67

And were these chaines for ever. Come, sit

downe
And rest your body, too too delicate
For these disturbances. \_Tbey sit down.~\ So: —
will you sleepe ?
Come, do not be more able then you are; 40

I know you are not skilful! in these watches,

For women are no souldiers: be not nice,
But take it; sleepe, I say.
Luce. I cannot sleepe.
Indeed I cannot, friend.
Jasp. Why, then, wee'l sing,
And try how that will worke upon our sences. *5
Luce. Il'e sing, or say, or any thing but
sleepe.
Jasp. Come, little mer-maid, rob me of my
heart
With that inchanting voyce.
Luce. You mocke me, Jasper.
Song.

Jasp. Tell me, deerest, what is love ?

Luce. 'Tis a lightning from above; 3°

'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, i
\<^ t

'Tis a boy they call Desire; \

'Tis a smile
Doth beguile
Jasp. The poore hearts of men that prove. 35
Tell me more, are women true ? ^ < >-

Luce. "Some love change, and so do you.

 !

68 ®tie J^nig^t of tl^e r lAcnn.

"'
Jasp. Are they and never kind ?
faire '
^

Luce. Yes, when men turne with the winde.

Jasp, Are they frbward ? 40
Luce. Ever toward
Those that love, to love a new.

Jasp, Dissemble it no more; I see the god

Of heavy sleepe lay on his heavy mace
Upon your eye-lids.
Luce. I am very heavy. 45
Jasp. Sleep, sleep; & quiet rest crowne thy
sweet thoughts!
Keepe from her faire bloud, distempers, startings,
Horrors, and fearefull shapes ! let all her dreames
Be joyes, and chast delights, imbraces, wishes,
And such new pleasures as the ravisht soule 50
Gives to the sences ! —
So ; my charmes have
tooke.
Keepe you powers divine, whilst I con-
her,
template
Upon the wealth and beauty of her minde.
^^he ''^-^"Hy ffiirr ^"^ f-onstant^ nnely kinde.
And onely to thee, Jasper. Oh, my joyes 55
Whither will you transport me ? let not fulnesse
Of my poore buried hopes come up together
And over-charge my spirits! I am weake.
Some say (how ever ill) the sea and women
Are govern'd by the moone; both ebbe and flow, 60
Both full of changes; yet to them that know.
 V — ; ^

Scene I] ^uming pesftle 69

And truly jungF,' tHese but opinions are,

And heresies, to bring on pleasing wari;e
Betvveene our tempers, that without these were
Both void of after-love ana present feare 65
Which are the best of Cupid. Oh, thou child
Bred from dispaire, I dare not entertaine thee.
Having a love^ without the faults-af-wofmri.,
And gr^Rf-pr jn, h^r pftf^^rt g ^'^ ds then m en !

Which to make good, and please my selfe the

^
_ stronger, —— 7°
Though certainely I am certalne of her love,
^Il'e jtry hei:* that the_world_an.d. memory
Ma y_ sing to^^fLerjimes h er cofl ^ ^ncie .

Luce! Luce! awake! \_Draws his sword.~^c

Luce. Why do you fright me, friend, <^
With those distempered looks ? what makes your

sword 75
Drawne in your hand ? who hath offended you ?

I prethee, Jasper, sleepe : thou art wilde with

watching.
y(2sp. Come, make your way to heaven, and
bid the world.
With all the villanies that sticke upon it.

Fare-well; you'r for anotner Hfe.

Luce. Oh, Jasper, 80
How have mv tender yeares committed evill,
Especially against the man I love.
Thus to be cropt untimely.?

\
 !

70 XB\)t ^niqfyt of tjie [aci ni.

Jasp. Foolish girle,

Canst thou imagine! I could love his daughter
That flung me from my fortune into nothing, 85
Discharged me his service, shut the doores
Upon my poverty, and scornM rny prayers,
Sending me, like a boat without a mast.
To sinke or swim? Come; by this hand you dye;
I must have life and bloud, to satisfie 9°
Your father's wrongs.
Wife. Away, George, away! raise the watch
at Tudgate, and bring zmi^timuT from the justice
Tor this desperate villaine Now I charge you,
!

gentlemen, see the kings peace kept! my O 95

heart, what a varlet's this, to offer man-slaughter
upon the harmlesse gentlewoman!
Citizen. I warrant thee, sweet heart, wee'l
have him hampered.
Luce. Oh, Jasper, be not cruell '°°

If thou wilt kill me, smile, and do it quickly,

And let not many deaths appeare before me.
I am a woman, made of feare and love,
A weake, weake woman kill not with thy eyes.
;

They shoot me through and through. Strike, I

j^^^ am ready; 105

And dying stil I love thee.

Enfer Merchant [;. e. VentureweW^ , Humphrey y and
his men.
VenturewelL Where abouts?
 ! ! 1

^
Scene I.] 115untmg ^tStlt 7

Jasp. \_aside'j . No more of this ; now to my

selfe again.
Humph. There, there he stands, with sword
like martial knight
Drawne in his hand ; therefore beware the fight, /-^j

You that be wise; for, were good Sir Bevis,

I up
I would not stay his comming, by your leaves.
Vent, Sirrah, restore my daughter
Jasp. Sirrah, no I

Vent. Upon him, then !

Wife. So ; downe with him, downe with him,

downe with him! cut him i'th leg, boies, cut 115
him i'th leg
^They force Luce from Jasper. "^

Vent. Come your waies, minion : Tie provide

a cage
For you, you'r growne so tame. — Horse her
away.
Humphrey. Truly, Ime glad your forces have
the day. Exeunt. Manet Jasper.
Jasp. They are gone, and I am hurt ; my love
is lost, 120
Never to get againe. Oh, me unhappy !

Bleed, bleed, and dye, I cannot. Qh^ jpy folly,

Thou^hast-b^traid me ! Hope, where art thou
fled ?

Tell me, if thou beest any where remaining.

Shall I my love againe ? Oh, no
but see !
125
She will not daine to looke upon her butcher,
 !

72 W\)t i^nigl)t of t\)t [Act III.

Nor is it fit she should; yet I mudt vjnter.

Oh, Chance, or P^ortune, or what ere thou art,
That men adore for powerful!, heare my cry,
And let me loving, live ; or loosing, die ! JExif. 130

fFi/e, Js a gone, George?

Ctt. I, conie.
Wife. Marie, and let him goe, sweet heart.
By the faith a my body, a has put me into such
a fright that I tremble (as they say) as 'twere an 135
aspine leafe. Looke a my little George,
finger,
how it shakes. Now, itruth, every member of
my body is the worse for't.
Cit. Come,hugge in mine armes, sweet mouse;
hee shall not fright thee any more. Alas, mine 140
owne deere heart, how it quivers

[Actus tertius, Sccena secunda.

Before the Bell hirty Waltham. ]
Enter Mistresse Merrithoughty Rafe, Michall, Squire,
Dwarfey Host and a Tapster.
Wife. Oh, Rafe how ! dost thou, Rafe ? How
hast thou slept to night ? has the knight us'd thee
well ?

Citixen. Peace, Nell; let Rafe alone.

Tapster. Maister, the reckoning is not paid. 5

Raph. Right curteous knight, who, for the

order's sake
127 is it ft. F omits it.
 ; ;:

scrNi iL] llBuming ^t&tk 73

Which thou hast tane, hang'st out the holy bell,
As flaming pestle beare about,
I this
We render thankes to your puissant selfe,
Your beauteous lady, and your gentle squires, lo

For thus refreshing of our wearied limbes,

StifFned with hard atchievements in wilde desert.
Tapster. Sir, there is twelv e shillings la43ay.
Raph, Thou merry Squire Tapstero, thankes
to thee
For comforting our soules with double jug 15
And, if adventrous fortune pricke thee forth.
Thou joviall squire, to follow feats
of armes,
Take heed thou tender every ladies cause.
Every true knight, and every damsell faire
But spill the bloud of trecherous Sarazens, 20
And with magicke spels
false inchanters, that
Have done to death full many a noble knight.
Host. Thou valiant Knight of the Burning
Pestle, give eare to me there is twelve shillings
:

to pay, and, as I am a true knight, I will not 25

bate a peny.
Wife. George, I pray thee tell me, must Rafe
pa y twelve shillings now ?
"***** '^
Cit. No, Nell, no; nothing but the old knight
is merrie with Rafe. 30
Wife. Oh, is't nothing else ? Rafe will be as
merry as he.
Raph. Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes
you well
 :

74 tETlie !^nigl)t of t\^t [act m.

But, to requite this liberall curtesie,

If any of your squires will follow armes, 35
Hee shall receive from my heroicke hand
A knight-hood, by the vertue of this pestle.
Host, Faire knight, I thanke you for your
noble offer
Therefore, gentle knight,
Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap
you. 40
Wife. Looke, George did not I tell thee as
!

much ? The knight of the Bel is in earnest.

Raph shall not bee beholding to him; give him
his moneyj George, and let him go snicKii|).
Cit. ' Cap Raph ? no. Hold your hand. Sir 45
Knight of the Bel ; there's your mony have :

you any thing to say to Raph now ? Cap Raph !

Wife, I would you should know it, Raph has

friends that will not suffer him to be capt for ten
times so much, and ten times to the end of that. 50
Now take thy course, Raph.
^
Mrs, Merrithought. Come, Michael thou & ;

I wil go home to thy father; he hath enough

left to keep us a day or two, and we'le set fel-
'^lows abrod to cry our purse & our casket : shal 'iS

we, Michael ?

Michael. I, I pray, mother; intruth my feete

are full of chilblaines with travelling.
55 and our. Q2, Q3, and F omit our.
Scene II] llBummg ]pt&tlt 75

fp^ife. Faith, and those chilblanes are a foule

trouble. Mistresse Merie-thought, when your 60
youth comes home, let him rub all the soles of
his feete, and the heeles, and his ancl-es, with a
mouse skinne, or, if none of your people can
catch a mouse, when hee goes to bed, let him
rowle his feete in the warme embers, and I war- 65

rant you hee shall be well and you may make;

him put his fingers betweene his toes, & smell

to them ; it's very soveraigne for his head, if he
be costive.
Mrs. Men. Maister Knight of the Burning 70
Pestle, my son Michael and I bid you farewel:
I thanke your worship heartily for your kind-
nesse.
Raph. Fare-well, faire lady, and your tender
squire.
If, I do heare
pricking through these desarts, 75

Of any traiterous knight who through his guile

Hath light upon your casket and your purse,
I will despoile him of them, and restore them.
Mrs. Mer. I thanke your worship.
Exit with Michael.
Raph. Dwarfe, beare my shield; squire, ele-
vate my lance; 80
And now fare-well, you Knight of holy Bell.

62 the heeles. Q2, Q3, F, his heeles.

63 your people. Q3 and F omit people.
 76 ®l)e l^nigljt of tlje [act in.

Cit. I, I, Raph, all is paid.

Raph. But yet, before I go, speake, worthy
knight,
If ought you do of sad adventures know,
Where errant knight may through his prowesse
winne 85
Eternall fame, and free some gentle soules
From endlesse bonds of Steele and lingring paine.
*?
Host. Sirrah, go to Nicke the barbor, and
bid him prepare himselfe, as I told you before,
quickely. 90
Tapster. am
gone, sir.
I Exit Tapster.
Host. Sir Knight, this wildernesse afFoordeth
none
But the great venter, where full many a knight
Hath tride his prowesse, and come off with
shame;
And where I would not have you loose your life 95

Against no man, but furious fiend of hell.

Raph. Speake on. Sir Knight tell what he is, ;

and where :

For heere I vow, upon my blazing badge,

Never to l)laze a day in quietnesse.
But bread and water will I onely eate, 100
And the greene hearbe and rocke shall be my
couch,

84 ought. F, oft. 85 knight. Ql, knights.

87 bonds. Q3, F, bounds. 99 blaze. D queries /o« or /»a«.
Scene II.] llBummg ^t^tlt 77

man, or beast, or fiend,

Till I have queld that
That workes such damage to all errant knights.
Host. Not far from hence, neere to a craggy
cliffe

At the north end of this distressed towne, 105

There doth stand a lowly house,
Ruggedly builded, and in it a cave
In which an ougly gyant now doth won,
Ycleped Baiharoso in his hand :
W^o^
He shakes a naked lance of purest Steele ^'^:^ no
With sleeves turn'd up; and him before he
weares
A motley garment, to preserve his cloaths
From bloud of those knights which he massacres,
And ladiey gent: without his dore doth hang
A copper bason, on a prickant speare; 115
At which no sooner gentle knights can knocke,
But the shrill sound fierce Barbaroso heares.
And rushing forth, brings in the errant knight,
And sets him downe in an inchanted chaire;
Then with an engine which he hath prepar'd, 120
With forty teeth, he clawes his courtly crowne;
Next makes him winke, and underneath his
chinne
Hee plants a brazen peece of mighty bord.
And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks;
104 neere to. Q3 and F omit to
1 14 gent. Q2, Q3, F, gentle.
78 ®l)e ^ni^\)t of t\)t [Act m.

Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument 115

With which he snaps his haire ofF, he doth fill
The wretches eares with a most hideous noise.
Thus every knight adventurer he doth trim,
And now no creature dares encounter him.
Raph. In Gods name, I will fight with him.
Kinde sir, 130
Go but before me to this dismall cave.
Where this huge gyant Barbaroso dwels.
And, by that vertue that brave Rosicleere
That damned brood of ougly gyants slew.
And Palmerin Frannarco overthrew, 13S
Idoubt not but to curbe this traitor foule.
And to the divell send his guilty soule.
Host. Brave sprighted knight, thus far I will
performe
This] your request : Pie bring you within
sight
Of this most lothsome place, inhabited 140
By more loathsome man; but dare not stay.
a
For his maine force swoopes all he sees away.
Raph. Saint George, set on before! march,
squire and page ! Exeunt.
Wife. George, dost thinke Raph will con-
found the gyant ? 145
Cit. I hold my cap to a farthing hee does:

130 fight with him. Qi omits ivith.

142 sivoopes. Qi, scopes.
Scene m.] ^XXmin^ ^t^tlt 79

why, Nel, I saw him wrastle with the great

Dutch-man, and hurle him.
IVi/e. Faith, and that Dutch-man was a good-
ly man, if all things were answerable to his big- 150
nesse, and yet they say there was a Scotsh-man
higher then hee, and that they two and a knight
met, and saw one another for nothing. But of
all the sights that ever were in London, sinceX ^
was mnjripfjj^inepjjTrnkeis thf little ^hild that w^^g 155%
so faire g^rowne about the members was the pret- v -^
tiest that and the hermophrodite^_.
;
^' ^»
Cit. Nay, by your leave, Nel, Ninivy was ^
better. ^"'V"^ ""-^
Wife. Ninivie ! O that was the story of Jone 160

and the Wall, was it not, George?

Cit. Yes, lam.

[Actus tertius, Sccena tertia.]

Enter Mis tr esse Merry-thought.

Wife. Looke, George, heere comes Mistresse

Merry-thought againe and I would have Raph
!

come and fight with the giant; I tell you true, I

long to see't.
Citizen. Good Mistresse Merry-thought, be ^
gone, I pray you for my sake; I pray you for- /

151 Scotsh-man. Qz, Scorish-man ; Q3, F, Scottishman.

152 and a knight. S, on a night.
8o ®^r ^niz\)t of tl)r (act m.

beare a little; you shall have audience presently;

I have a little businesse.
fFife. Mistresse Merrythought, if it please
you to refraine your passio a little, til Raph lo

have dispatcht the giant out of the way, we shal

think our selves much bound to you. I thank
you, good Mistresse Merry-thought.
^- Exit Mist[resse'] Merry-thou[ght].
Enter a Boy.
Cit.Boy, come hither. Send away Raph and
this whoresonne giant quickely. iS

Boy. In good faith, sir, we cannot ^you'le j

utterly spoile our play, and make it to be hist;

and it cost money; you will not suffer us to go
on with our plot. I pray, gentlemen, rule him.
Cit. Let him come now and dispatch this, 20
and rie trouble you no more.
Boy. Will you give me your hand of that ?
Wife. Give him thy hand, George, do; and
rie kisse him. I warrant thee the youth meanes
plainely. *S
Boy. rie send him to you presently.
Exit Boy.
Wife. I thanke you, little youth. Feth, the
child hath a sweete breath, George; but I thinke

11 dhpatcht. Qi, dispatch.

12 bound to you. Q3, F, bound to thank you.
19 flot. Q3, F, plots.
 ! ! 1

Scene IV.] HBumiUg ]^t$t\t 8

it bee troubled with the wormes; carduus bene-

dictus and mares milke were the onely thing in 30
the world for't. O, Raph's here, George! God
send thee good lucke, Raph

[Actus tertius, Sccena quarta.

Before a Barber'' s Shop, Waltham.'\
Enter Raph, Hosty Squire and Dwarfe.
Host. Puissant knight, yonder his mansion is.

Lo, where the speare and copper bason are!

Behold that string on which hangs many a tooth, '-
.

Drawne from the gentle jaw of wandrLng

knights
I dare not stay to sound; hee will appeare.
5
Exit Hast.
Raph. O, faint not, heart! Susan, my lady
deere.
The coblers maid in Milke-streete, for whose
sake
I take these armes, O let the thought of thee
Carry thy knight through all adventerous deeds;
And in the honor of thy beauteous selfe
May I destroy this monster Barbaroso!
Knocke, squire, upon the bason, till it breake
With the shrill stroakes, or till the giant speake.
\_Tim knocks. '\ Enter Barbor.
Wife. Oh, George, the giant, the giant ! Now,
Raph, for thy life!
 ! ! !

82 tB\)t !^nigl)t of tlje [act m.

Barber. What fond unknowing wight is this,

that dares
So rudely knocke at Barbarossa's cell,
Where no man comes but leaves his fleece
behind ?

Raph. I, traiterous caitifFe, who am sent by-

fate
To punish all the sad enormities ao
Thou hast committed against ladies gent
And errant knights, traitor to God and men.
Prepare thy selfe; this is the dismall houre
Appointed for thee, to give strickt account
Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies. as
Barber. Foole-hardy knight, full soone thou
shalt aby
This fond reproach: thy body will I bang;
Hee takes downe his pole.

And loe upon that string thy teeth shall hang

Prepare thy selfe, for dead soone shalt thou bee.
Raph. Saint George for me They fight. ! 30
Barber. Gargantua for me
Wife. To him, Raph, to him hold up the !

giant! Set out thy leg before, Raph!

Citixen. Falsifie a blow, Raph, falsifie a blow
the giant lies open on the left side. 35
Wife. Beare't off, beare't of still! there,
boy O, Raphe's almost downe, Raph's
I al-
most downe!
21 gent. Q2, Q3, F, gentle.
scENi IV.] ll5uming |^e0tle 83

Raph. Susan, inspire me ! now have up againe.

Wife. Up, up, up, up, up so, Raph ! ! downe 4°
with him, downe with him, Raph!
Cit. Fetch him ore the hip, boy!
\Ralph knocks down the Barber.~^
Wife. There, boy! kill,J:in, kill, kill, kill,
Raph!
Cit. No, Raph ;
get all out of him first. 45
Raph. Presumptuous man, see to what desper-
ate end
Thy treatchery hath brought thee The just gods, !

Who never prosper those that do despise them,

For all the villanies which thou hast done
To knights and ladies, now have paid thee home 50
By my stifFe arme, a knight adventurous.
But say, vile wretch, before I send thy soule
To sad Avernus (whether it must go).
What captives holdst thou in thy sable cave?
Barber, Go in, and free them all; thou hast
the day. 55
Raph. Go, squire & dwarfe, search in this
dreadfull cave.
And free the wretched prisoners from their
bonds. Exeunt Squire and Dwarfe.
Barber. I crave for mercy, as thou art a
knight.
And scornst to spill the bloud of those that beg.
42 ore. Q3, F, over. 57 Exeunt. Ql, Exit.
84 ®^e !^nigl)t of t^ie Iact m.

Raph. Thou showdst no mercy, nor shalt thou

have any; 60
Prepare thy selfe, for thou shalt surely die.

Enter Squire leading one winkingy with a bason under

his chin.

Squire. Behold, brave knight, heere is one

prisoner.
Whom this wilde man hath used as you see.
TVife. This is the wise word I heard the
first

squire speake. 65
Raph. Speake what thou art, and how thou
hast bene us'd.
That I may give him condigne punishment.
I Knight. I am a knight that tooke my jour-
ney post
North-ward from London and in curteous wise
;

This giant train'd me to his loathsome den, 70

Under pretence of killing of the itch;
And all my body with a powder strew'd.
That smarts and stings; and cut away my
beard.
And my curl'd lockes wherein were ribands tiMe;
And with a water washt my tender eyes, 75
(Whilst up and downe about me still he skipt,)
Whose vertue is, that, till my eyes be wip't
63 ivilde. D, vild.

64 Jirst ivise ivord. Q2, (^3, and F omit first.

67 him. Qz supplies.
70 loathsome den. Q2, Q3, and F omit loathsome.
Scene IV] Bummg ^t^Ult 85

With a dry cloath, for this my foule disgrace,

I shall not dare to looke a dog i'th' face.
IFi/e. Alas, poore knight Relieve him, ! Raph ! 80
releive poore knights whilstyou live.
Raph. My trusty squire, convey him to the
towne.
Where he may finde releife. Adiew, faire knight.
Exit Knight.
Enter Dwarfe^ leading one with a patch ore his nose.
Dwarf. Puisant Knight of the Burning Pestle
hight.
See heere another wretch, whom this foule beast 85
Hath scorcht and scor'd in this inhumaine wise.
Raph. Speake me thy name, and eke thy place
of birth,
And what hath bene thy usage in this cave.
2 Knight. I am a knight. Sir Pocke-hole is my
name.
And by my birth I am a Londoner, 90
Free by my coppy, but my ancestors
Were French-men all and riding hard this way
;

Upon a trotting horse, my bones did ake.

And I, faint knight, to ease my weary limbes.
Light at this cave ; when straight this furious
fiend, 95
With sharpest instrument of purest Steele,
Did cut the gristle of my nose away,
86 icorcht. D, scotch'd.
86 [Acxin.
m^^t ^ni%\)t Of t)t

And in the place this velvet plaisi"or shalt thou

Relieve me, gentle knight, out of h. ^°

^i/e. Good Raph, releive Sir Pockt ^*^'

send him away ; for intruth his breath s-?/? unJer

Raph. Convey him straight after the
knight. s one
Sir Pocke-hole, fare you well.
2 Knight, Kinde sir, good-re.
Exit. Cryes zu[ the
Man. Deliver us ! 65
Woman. Deliver us ! ^u
Wife. Hearke, George, what a woefuU cr)
there is! I thinke some woman lies in there.

Man. Deliver us !

Woman. Deliver us !

Raph. What gastly noise is this ? Speak, Bar-

baroso, no
Or, by this biasing Steele, thy head goes off!
Barber. Prisoners of mine, whom I in diet
keepe.
Send lower downe into the cave.
And in a tub that's heated smoaking hot,
There may they finde them, and deliver them. 115
Raph. Run, squire and dwarfe deliver them ;

with speed. Exeunt Squire a?id Dwarfe.

Wife. But will not Raph kill this giant ? Surely
I am afeard, if hee let him go, he will do as much
hurt as ever he did.
 ISuming ^t$tlt 87

With a dry clo; mouse, neither, if hee could con- 120

I shall not d?
Wife. A\ George, if hee could convert him ;
releive p<nt is not so soone converted as one of
Rap/mry people. There's a pretty tale of a
that had the divel's marke about her, (God 125
When us !) that had a giant to her sonne, that
il'd Lob-lie-by-the-fire ; didst never here it,
EnUfye ?

D'' Squire, leading a man with a glass e of lotion in

his handy and the Dwarfe leading a womany with
Se diet- bread and drinke.

Cit. Peace, Nel, heere comes the prisoners.

Dwarfe. FTere be these pined wretches, man-
full knight, 130
That for these sixe weekes have not seene a
vi^ight.

Raph. Deliver what you are, and how you

came
To this sad cave, and what your usage was.
Man, I am an errant knight that followed
armes.
With speare and shield and in my tender yeares
; 135
I stricken was with Cupids fiery shaft,
And fell in love with this my lady deere.
And stole her from her friends in Turne-bull-
streete,

136 stricken. F, strucken.

 ; :

88 ®l)e l^nigl^t of t\)t [act m.

And bore her up and downe from towne to towne,

Where we did eate and drinke,andmusickeheare, 14°
unhappy towne
Till at the length at this
Wee and comming to this cave,
did arrive,
This beast us caught, and put us in a tub.
Where we this two monthes sweate, and should
have done
Another moneth, if you had not reliev'd us. 145
TVoman. This bread and water hath our diet
bene,
Together with a rib cut from a necke
Of burned mutton hard hath bene our fare
;

Release us from this ougly giants snare !

Man. This hath bene all the food we have

received ^5°

But onely twice a day, for novelty,

He gave a spoonefull of this hearty broth
Puis out a sirringe.
To each of us, through this same slender quill.
Raph. From this infernall monster you shall
go,
That useth knights and gentle ladies so! ^55
Convey them hence Exeunt Man and Woman.
!

Cit. Cony, I can tell thee the gentlemen like

Rafe.
IVife. I, George, I see it well inough. Gtn-
150 all. Q3, F, halfe.
152 this. Q2, Q3, F, his.
153 slender. Q3, F, tender.
Scene IV.] llBummg ^t^tU 89

tlemen, I thanke you all heartily for gracing my 160

man Rafe and ; I promise you you shall see him

oftner.
Barber. Mercy, great knight ! I do recant my
ill.

And henceforth never gentle bloud will spill.

Raph. I give thee mercy ; but yet shalt thou

sweare 165
Upon my burning pestle, to performe
Thy promise utterd.
Barber, I sweare and kisse.

Raph. Depart, then, and amend. —

[^Exit Barber.']
Come, squire and dwarfe, the sunne growes to-
wards his set.
And we have many more adventures yet. »7o
Exeunt.
Cit. Now Rafe is in this humour, I know hee
would ha beaten all the boyes in the house if
they had beene set on him^
PTife. I, George, but it is well as it is : I war-
rantyou the gentlemen do consider what it is to 175

overthrow a gyant. But looke^ George; heere

comes Mistresse Merri-thought, and her sonne
Michael. Now you are welcome, Mistresse
Merri-thought ; now Rafe has done, you may go
on. ij^

X65 shah thou. Q3, F, thou shalt.

 !

90 ®t)e !^nigt)t of t\)t (Act m.

[Actus tertius, Sccena quinta.

Before Merrythought^ s House."]
Enter Mistresse Merri-thought and Michael.
Mistress Merrythought. Micke, my boy —
Michael. I, forsooth, mother.
Mrs. Mer. Be merry, Micke, we are at home
now;, where, I warrant you, you shall finde the
house flung out at the windowes. \_Music within^ s

Harke hey, dogges, hey this is the old world,

! !

i'faith, with my husband. If I get in among 'em,

He play em such a lesson, that they shall have
little list to come scraping hither againe. —
Why, Maister Merrithought ! husband ! Charles lo
Merrithought
Merrythought {ivithiri).

If you will sing, and daunce, and laugh.

And hollow, and laugh againe.
And then cry. There, boys, there! why then.
One, two, three,and foure, 15
We shall be merry within this houre.

Mrs. Mer. Why, Charles, doe you not know

your owne naturall wife ? I say, open the doore,
and turne me out those mangy cornpanions 't-i*- ;

more then time that they were fellow and fellgw ^ o

'

5 at the. Q2, Q3, F, of the.

7 If I get. G3, Ig<^>;F, I '11 get.
7-8 ''em .em. Q3, F, them
. . . . . them. 8 such a. F omits a.
ZO fellonv andfelloiv. Q3, F, fellow.
 1

Scene v.] IBumiXlQ ^tSitlt 9

like with you. You are a gentleman, Charles,

and an old man, and father of two children; and
I my selfe (^though I say it) by my mothers side
neece to a vvorshipfull gentlemap, and a con-
ductor ha has beene three times in His Majesties
;
25

service at Chester, and is now the fourth time,

God blesse him, and his charge, upon his journey.
Mer. ^
,

Go
from my window, love, goe.
from my window, my deere.
Go
The winde and the raine will drive you backe againe, 30
You cannot be lodged heere.
Harke you, Mistresse Merrithought, you that
walke upon adventures, and forsake your hus-
band, because hee sings with never a peny in his
purse; what shall I thinke my selfe the worse? 35
Faith, no, Il'e be merry. You come not heere;
heer's none but lads of mettle, lives of a hundred
yeares, and upwards; care never drunke their
blouds, nor want made 'em warble, " Hey-ho, my
heart is heavy." 4°
Mrs. Mer. Why, M.\ Merrithought, what am
I, that you should laugh me to scorne thus ab-
ruptly ? am
I not your fellow-feeler, as we may
say, in our miseries ? your comforter in health
all

and sickhesse ? have I not brought you children ? 45

are they not like you, Charles ? looke upon thine

25 ^^- Q2, Q3, F, hee. 39 'em. Q3, F, them.

—
92 QT^ie i^nigtjt of ttje [act m.

owne image, hard-hearted man and yet for all

—
!

this
Mer. (within).
Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy.
Begone, my love, my deere! 50
The weather is warme, twill do thee no harme.
Thou canst not be lodged heere. i

Be merry, boyes ! some light musicke, and more

wine !

Wife. He's not in earne st, I h ope, George, 55

is he?

^ffzenT'Whzt if he be, sweet heart ?

Wife. Marie, if hee be, George, He make bold
to tell him heei^-^a^ingrant old man to use his _

bed-fellow so scurvily. 60
Cit. What how does he use her, hunny ?
!

Wife. Marie, come up, sir sauce-box I thinke !

you'l take his part, will you not ? Lord, how hot
you are growne you are a fine man an you had a
!

fine dogge, it becomes you sweetly 65 !

Cit. Nay, prethee, Nell, chide not; for, as I

am an honest man and a true Christian grocer,
I doe not like his doings.
Wife. I cry you mercie, then, George you !

know we are all fraile, and full of infirmities. 70

— Dee heare, M' Merri-thought ? may I crave
a word with you ?
Mer. (within). Strike up lively, lads !

64 you are groivne. Q2, Q3, F, are you growne.

Scene V.] liBummg ^t&tlt 93

^n/e. had not thought, in truth, M"". Merri-

I

thought, that a man of your age and discretion, 75

as I may say, being a gentleman, and therefore
knowne by your gentle conditions, could have
used so little respect to the weaknesse of his
wife; for your wife is your owne flesh, the stafFe
of your age, your yoke-fellow, with whose helpe 80

vou draw through the mire of this transitory

world nay, she's your own ribbe. And againe
;
—
Mer.
I come not hither for thee to teach,
I have no pulpit for thee to preach,
I would thou hadst kist me under the breech, 85
As thou art a lady gay.

ff^ife. Marie, with a vengeance ! I am hartely

sorry for the poore gentlewoman but if I were
—
:

thy wife, i'faith, gray-beard, i'faith

Cit. I prethee, sweet hunny-suckle, be con- 90
tent.
ff^ife. Give me such words that am a gentle-
woman Hang
him, hoary rascall
borne ! Get !

mee some drinke, George, I am almost molten

with fretting now beshrew his knaves heart for
: 95
it!
Mer. Play me a light lavalto. Come, bee frol-
icke, fill the good fellowes wine!
_ Mrs. Mer. Why, M'. Merri-thought, are you
99 Mr. Q3, F, Master.
 94 ^\)t !^nigt)t of t\)t [Act m.

disposed to make me wait here ? You'l open, I loo

hope; Il'e fetch them that shall open else.
Aler. Good woman, if you wil sing, Il'e give
you something; if not —
Song.
You are no love for me, Margret,
Iam no love for you. 105

Come aloft, boyes, aloft!

Afrs. Mer. Now a churles fart in your teeth,
sir! Come, Micke, wee'l not trouble him; a
shall not i'th teeth with his bread and
ding us
he shall not. Come, boy; H'enc
his broth, that
provide for thee, I warrant thee. Wee'l goe to
Maister Venterwels, the merchant Il'e get his :

letter to mine host of the Bell in Waltham;

there Il'e place thee with the tapster: will not
that doe well for thee, Micke? and let me alone 11
for that old cuckoldly knave your father; Il'e
use him in his kinde, I warrant yee. S^ExeuntJ^

Wife. Come, George, wher's the beere?

Cit. Here, love.

^ Wife. This old fornicating fellow will notia

/out of my mind yet. Gentlemen, Il'e begin to
i you all ; and I desire more of your acquaint-
ance, with all my heart. Fill the gentlemen 1

some beere, George.

Finis Actus tertii. Musicke.
104 Margret. F, Marget.
 ;

Scene I.] Il5ummg ^t^tlt 95

Actus quartus, Scgena prima.

Boy daunceth.

Wife, Looke, George, the little boy*s come

againe; mee thinkeshe lookes something like the
Prince of Orange in his long stocking, if hee
had a little harnesse about his necke. George, I
will have him dance Fading: Fading is a fine
jigge, Il'e assure you, gentlemen. Begin, bro-
ther. Now a capers, sweet heart. Now a turne
a'th toe, and then tumble cannot you tumble, !

youth ?
Boy. No, indeed, forsooth.
Wife. Nor eate fire?
Boy. Neither.
Wife. Why, then, I thanke you heartily;

there's two pence to buy you points withall.

Enter Jasper and Boy.
Jasper. There, boy, deliver this; but do it

well.
Hast thou provided m.e foure lusty fellowes,
Able to carry me? and art thou perfect
In all thy businesse?
Boy. Sir, you need not feare
Actui Quartus. D and other modern eds. begin the Act at
line 14. Qi sets 11. 14-15 as prose.
96 ®t)e i^nigtit of t^e (act iv.

I have my lesson here, and cannot misse it:

The men are ready for you, and what else ao

Pertaines to this imployment.

Jasp. There, my boy;
Take it, but buy no land.
Boy. Faith, sir, 'twere rare
To see so yong a purchaser. I flye,

And on my wings carry your destinie. Exit.

Jasp. Go, and be happy ! Now, my latest

hope, *S
Forsake me not, but fling thy anchor out.
And let it hold ! Stand fixt, thou rolling stone,
Till I enjoy my deerest! Heare me, all
You powers, that rule in men, coelestiall ! Exit.

Wife. Go thy wayes; thou art as crooked a 3^

sprigge as ever grew in London. I warrant him

hee'l come to some naughty end or other; for
his lookes say no lesse. Besides, his father (you
know, George) is none of the best; you heard
him take me up like a flirt Gill, and sing baudy 35
songs upon me but ifaith, if I live, George,
;
—
Citizen. Let me alone, sweet-heart I have a :

tricke in my head shall lodge him in the Arches

for one yeare, and make him sing Peccavi^ ere
I leave him and yet hee shall never know who ¥
;

hurt him neither.

Wife. Do, my good George, do!
27 Stand fixt. F, Stand, fix. 35 fiirt Gill. Q3, F, GiU flirt.
Scene I.] ll3ummg J0e0tU 97

Cit. What shall we have Rafe do now, boy ?

Boy. You shall have what you will, sir.
Cit. Why, so, sir; go and fetch me him 45
then, and let the Sophy of Persia come and
christen him a childe.
Boy.Beleeve me, sir, that will not doe so
well; 'tis stale; it has beene had before at the
Red Bull. 50
Wife. George, let Rafe travell over great
hils, & let him be very weary, and come to the
King of Cracovia's house, covered with [black]
velvet; and there let the kings daughter stand
in her window all in beaten gold, combing her 55
golden locks with a combe of ivory; and let
her spy Rafe, and fall in love with him, and
come downe to him, and carry him into her
fathers house; and then let Rafe talke with her.
Cit. Well said, Nell; it shal be so. Boy, 60

let's ha't done quickly.

Boy. Sir, if you will imagine all this to be
done already, you shall heare them talke to-
gether;, but wee^c2.ano.t„pr£S£riLt-,^Jhiausejcpj/ered^
with blacke velvet, anda lady in beaten gold. 65
Cit7 Sir boy, you can, then.
lets ha't as
Boy. Be sides, it will shew ill-fa vouredly to
have^a^^rocers^jjre ntice to co urt a kings da ugh
""""""^ ^~
—^ -.

ter.,

52 very iveary. Q3 and F omit "very. 53 black. Inserted

by S, followed by modern eds. generally, from line 65.
98 ^])t i^nig^t of t^e [act iv.

Cit. Will it so, sir? you are well read in his- 70

tories ! I pray you, what was Sir Dagonet ? was
not he prentice to a grocer in London? Read
the play of the Foure Prentices of London^ where
they tosse their pikes so. I pray you fetch him
in, sir, fetch him in. 75

Boy, It shall be done. Itis not our fault, gen-

tlemen. Exit.
Wife. Now we shall see fine doings, I war-
rant tee, George. O here they come ! how
pretily the King of Cracovia's daughter is drest. 80

[Actus quartus, Sccena secunda.

A Palace in Moldavia. "^

Enter Rafe and the Lady, Squire and Dwarfe.

Citizen. I, Nell, it is the fashion of that coun-

try, I warrant tee.
Lady. Welcome, Sir Knight, unto my father's
court.
King of Moldavia unto me Pompiona,
;

His daughter deere But sure you do not like

! 5

Your entertainment, that will stay with us

No longer but a night.
Raph. Damsell right faire,

I am on many sad adventures bound.

That call me forth into the wildernesse.
8 I am. Q3, F, I'me.
 ;

Scene h] llBummg |aefi?tle 99

Besides, my horses backe is something gal'd, lo
Which will inforce me ride a sober pace.
But many thankes, faire lady, be to you
For using errant knight with curtesie.
Lady, But say, brave knight, what is your
name & birth ?

Raph. My name is Rafe I am an English- ;

man, 15

(As true as Steele, a hearty Englishman,)

And prentice to a grocer in the Strand
By deed indent, of which I have one part :

But Fortune calling me to follow armes.

On me this holy order I did take 20
Of Burning Pestle, which in all mens eyes
I beare, confounding ladies enemies.
Lady. Oft have I heard of your brave coun-
try-men.
And fertill soyle, and store of holesome food
My me of a drinke
father oft will tell 25
In England found, and Nipitato cal'd.
Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts.
Raph. Lady, 'tis true ;
you need not lay your
lips
To better Nipitato than there is.

Lady. And of a wild-fowle he will often

speake, 3°

Which poudred beefe and mustard called is :

17 Strand. Ql, Strond.

 . .

100 ®be ^nigt)t of tlie [Act IV.

For tnere have beene great warres 'twixt us and

you;
But truly, Rafe, it was not long of me.
Tell me then, Rafe, could you contented be
To weare a ladies favour in your shield ?
Raph. I'-afii a kiiiglrt-^IU^JigiausLXiXflerf
And will not weare a^ia¥aiu;-^.af^^ kdies
isTTTirXn t ich ri St and.-f2lse Jjraditio n s
Cit, WellsaydT^Rafe coxwert her if thou
!

canst.
Raph. Besides, I have a lady of my owne
In merry England, for whose vertuous sake
I tooke these armes and Susan is her name,
;

A coblers maid in Milke-street whom I vow ;

Nere to forsake, whilst Jifeand pestle last^

Lady. Happy that cobling dame,"who ere she
be,
That for her owne, deere Rafe, hath gotten thee !

Unhappy I, that nere shall see the day

To see thee more, that bearst my heart away !

Raph. Lady, fare-well ; I needs must take my

leave.
Lady. Hard-harted Rafe, that ladies dost de-
ceive !

"""^^Cit, Harke thee, Rafe : there 's money for

36 religious. D, a religious.
37 ladies. D, lady.
49 needs must. F, must needs.
 ;

Scene n.] WmniXXQ ^t&tit -'^ lOI

thee; give.^soinethin^m-JJi^K4«g-ef~Gi^€<^ia's^<^^
house \ be not beholding to him. 'C,.

Raph. Lady, before I go, I must remember ^^

Your fathers officers, who, truth to tell, 55"* •»

Have beene about me very diligent.

Hold up thy snowy hand, thou princely maid !

TherejiJ:sA'xJx£-pence for your fathers chamber-^'

'"~"
laine, .y^'"^
And another shilling for his cooke, ^'^
For, b) my troth, the goose was rasted well ; 60
And twelve-pence for your fathers horse-keeper,
For nointing my horse backe; and for his butter
There is another shilling. To the maid
That washt my boot-hose there's an English
groat
And two pence to the boy that wipt my boots ; 65
And last, faire lady, there is for your selfe' x -^..

Three pence, to buy you pins at Bumbo fairej-;^"'

Lady. Full many thankes ; and I will keepe ^^
them safe
Till all the heads be off, for thy sake, Rafe.
Raph. Advance, my squire and dwarfe ! I can-
not stay. 70
Lady. Thou kilst my heart in parting thus
away. Exeut.
Wife. I commend Rafe yet, that hee will not *a^
stoope to a Cracovian thci ^^s pr eparer womc nHg^
;
^
i

vinLondon then any are there, I-wis. But heere /"^^

59 And another. Some modem cda. rea3T And there ' s another. ,
102 tE^t ^nigtit of ttie [act iv.

comes Maister Humphrey and his love againe 75

now, George.
Cit. I, cony peace ;
!

[Actus quartus, Sccena tertia.

Ventureweir s House.'\

Enter Mar chant [/. e. Venturewell~\ , Humphrey, Luce

and a Boy.

VenturewelL Go, get you up ; I will not be in-

treated ;

And, gossip mine, H'e keepe you sure hereafter

From gadding out againe with boyes and un-
thrifts :

Come, they are womens teares I know your

—
;

fashion.
Go, sirrah, locke her in, and keepe the key
Safe as you love your life. Exeunt Luce ^ Boy.
Now, my Sonne Humfrey,
You may both rest assured of my love
In and reape your owne desire.
this,
Humphrey. I see this love you speake of,
through your daughter.
Although the hole be little and hereafter ; ]

Will yeeld the like in all I may, or can.

Fitting a Christian and a gentleman.
6 as you love. F omits you love.
Exeunt. Ql, Exit.
 ; ;
:

Scene ml Bummg |Be0tle 103

my good sonne, and

Vent, I do beleeve you,
thanke you
For 'twere an impudence to thinke you flattered.
Hu7nph. It were, indeed ; but shall I tell you
why ? 15

I have beene beaten twice about the lye.

Vent. Well, son, no more of complement.
My daughter
Is yours againe appoint the time, and take her
:

We'le have no stealing for it; I my selfe

And some few of our friends will see you mar-
ried. 20

Humph. I would you would, i'faith, for be it

knowne
I ever was afraid to lie alone.*- -
Vent.Some three dales hence, then.
Humph. Three dales ! let me see
'Tis somewhat of the most; yet I agree,
Because I meane against the appointed day 25
To visite all my friends in new array.
Enter Servant.
gentlewoman without
Servant. Sir; there's a
would speake with your worship.
Vent. What is shee?
Serv. Sir, I askt her not.

Vent. Bid her come in. \_Exit Servant.'] 30

Enter Mis tr esse Merry-thought and Michael,

—distress Merrythought. Peace be to your
25 appcinted, Qz, Q3, F, pointed.
104 ^^t iHniglit of ttje [act iv.

worship! I come as a poore suter to you, sir, in

the behalfe of this child.
Fent. Are you not wife to Merrie-thought ?
Mrs. Mer, Yes, truely. Would I had nere 35

seene his eies! ha has undone me and himselfe

and his children; & there he lives at home, &
sings, and hoights, & revels among his drunken
copanions! but, I warrant you, where to get
a peny to put bread in his mouth he knowes 4°
not and therefore,
: if it like your worship, I

would entreate your letter to the honest host of

the Bel in Waltham, that I may place my child
under the protection of his tapster, in some
setled course of life. 4-5

Vent. I'me glad the heavens have heard my

prayers. Thy husband.
When I was ripe in sorrows, laught at me;
Thy Sonne, like an unthankefull wretch, I having
Redeem'd him from his fall and made him mine.
To shew his love againe, first stole my daughter, 50
Then wrong'd this gentleman, and, last of all.
Gave me that griefe had almost brought me
downe
Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand
Releiv'd my sorrows. Go, and weepe as I did,

And be unpittied; for I heere professe 55

An everlasting hate to all thy name.
36 ha. Q3, F, he. 42 ivould. Q2, should.

55 / hetre. F, here I.
 :

scEKEin.] ll5ummg ^mle 105

^^^Mrs. Mer. Will you so, sir? how say you

by that? Come, Micke, let him keepe his winde
to coole his porrage. We'le go to tliy nurce's,
Micke: shee knits silke stockings, boy; and 60
we'le knit too, boy, and bee beholding to none
of them all. Exeunt Michael and mother,
~^ Enter a Boy with a letter.

Boy. Sir, I take it you are the maister of this

house.
Vent. How then, boy? 65
Boy. Then to your selfe, sir, comes this letter.
Vent. From whom, my pretty boy ?
Boy. From him that was your servant, but no
more
Shall thatname ever be, for hee is dead
Griefe of your purchased anger broke his heart. 70
I saw him die, and from his hand receiv'd
This paper, with a charge to bring it hither:
Reade it, and satisfie your selfe in all.
Letter.

Vent. Sir, thathave wronged your love I

I

must confesse in which I have purchast to my

; 75
selfe, besides myne owne undoing, the ill opinion
of my friends. Let not your anger, good sir,
outlive me, but suffer mee to rest in peace with
your forgivenesse \ let my body (if a dying man
may so much prevaile with you) bee brought to 80

59 porrage. Q3, F, pottage. So D.

1 06 tC^e l^nigtit of t^e [act iv.

your daughter, that shee may truely know my

hote flames are now buried, and, withall, receive
a testimony of the zeale I bore her vertue. Fare-
well for ever, and be ever happy Jasper. !

God's hand is great in this: I do forgive him;

Yet I am glad he's quiet, where I hope
He will not bite againe. Boy, bring the body.
And let him have his will, if that be all.
Boy. 'Tis here without, sir.

Vent. So, sir; if you please.

You may conduct it in; I do not feare it.

Humph, rie be your usher, boy ; for, though

I say it.

He ow'd me something once, and well did pay it.

Exeunt.

[Actus quartus, Sccena quarta.

VentureweW s House. "^

Enter Luee alone.

Luce. If there be any punishment inflicted

Upon the miserable, more then yet I feele.
Let it together ceaze me, and at once
Presse downe my soule ! I cannot beare the
paine
Of these delaying tortures. — Thou that art
The end of all, and the sweete rest of all,

81 truely knoiv. Q3 and F omit truely.

 Scene IV] WumiXl^ ^tMt IO7

Come, come, o Death bring me to thy ! peace,

And blot out all the memory I nourish
Both of my father and my cruell friend.
O wretched maide, still living to be wretched, 10

To be a say to Fortune in her changes.

And grow to number times and woes together !

How happy had I bene, if, being borne,

My grave had bene my cradlj^!
\ EnUr Servant.
Servant. \ By your leave,
Yong mistresse, here's a boy hath brought a
coiEn: 15

What a would say, I know not, but your father

Charg'd me to give you notice. Here they
come. [£xif.]

Enter two bearing a coffin, J^Jiper in it.

Luce. For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most

r welcome.
Boy. Faire mistresse, let me-flot adde greater
griefe
'_ To that great store you have already. Jasper *©
(That whilst he liv'd was yours, now dead,
And here enclos'd) commanded me to bring
His body hither, and to crave a teare

7 bring. S, and bring,

9 my father. Q3 and F omit my.
18 hope. Qi, hop't.
21 tuas yours. D queries : was only yours.
 !

1 08 ^^t ^ni^\)t of t^e [Act IV.

From those faire eyes (though he deserv'd not

Pitty),
To decke his funerall; for so he bid me 25

Tell her for whom he di'de.

Luce. He shall have many.
Good friends, depart a little, whilst I take
My leave of this dead man, that once I lov'd.
Exeunt Coffin Carrier & Boy.
Hold yet a little, life ! and then I give thee
To thy first heavenly being. O my friend! 30
Hast thou deceiv'd n>e thus, and got before me ?
I shall not long bee after. But, beleeve me,
Thou wert too cruell, Jasper, gainst thy selfe,
In punishing the fault I could have pardoned,
With so untimely death: thou didst not wrong
me, 35
But ever wert most kind, most true, most loving;
jVnd I the most unkind, most false, most cruell
Didst thou but aske a teare ? Il'e give thee all.
Even all my eies can powre downe, all my sighs,

And all my selfe, before thou goest from me. 40.

There are but sparing rites; but if thy soule

Be yet about this place, and can behold
And see what I prepare to decke thee with,
It shall go up, borne on the wings of peace,
And satisfied. First will 1 sing thy dirge, ,45
Then kisse thy pale lips, and then die my selfe,
And fill one coffin and one grave together.
-24 deser'v'd. Q3, F, deserve. 41 TAere. D, These.
 : !

scxNE IV.] llBuming pe0tle 1

09
Song.
Come, 70U whose loves are dead.
And, whiles I sing,
Weepe, and wring 50
Every hand, and every head
Bind with cipres and sad ewe;
Ribands blacke, and candles blew.
For him that wa s of me n most true!

Come with heavy mourning, 55

And on his grave
Let him have
of sighes and groaning;
Sacrifice
Let him have faire flowers enow'.
White and purple, greene and yellow, "
60
For him that was of men most true!

Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joies,

I lift thee up, and thus I meete with death.
\_She lifts the cloth, and Jasper rises.'\

Jasper. And thus you meete the living

Luce. Save me. Heaven !

Jasp. Nay, do not flie me, faire; I am no

spirit 65
Looke better on me, — do you know me yet ?

Luce. O thou deere shadow of my friend !

Jasp. Deere substance !

I sweare I am no shadow feele my hand. :

It is the same it was; I am your Jasper,

49 ivhiles. F, -whilst. 55 mourning. D, moaning.
no tIPlie f^niglit of t^t [act iv.

Your Jasper that's yet living, and yet loving.

~
Pardon my rash attempt, m^fopljah^ prgpfe
I put in pra ctise of your constanc^u^
}or soone should my sw^ord" have drunke my
bio id,
And set my soule at liberty, then drawne
The least drop from that body for which bold-
:

nesse
Doome me to any thing; if death, I take it,-
And willingly.
Luce. IThis (Beath Fls^give you for it.

So,now I am satisfied : you are no spirit.

But my owne truest^ truest,Jxuejt friend.
Why doe you come thus to mee ?
Jasp. First, to see you ; 8<

Then to con^vey you hence.

"Luce. It cannot bee:
For I am lockt up here, and watcht at all bowers,
That 'tis impossible for me to scape.
Jasp. Nothing more possible. Within this
coffin
Do you convey your selfe: let me alone,
I have the wits of twenty men about me;
Onely I crave the shelter of your closet
A little, and then feare me not. Creepe in.
That they may presently convey you hence.
Feare nothing, deerest love; Il'e be your second;
^Luce lies down in the coffin.^
 1

Scene v] ^urniug pesftle 1 1

Lie close so ^be covers her'\ all goes well yet.

— Boy
:
;

!
\_Enter Boy and Cofin- Carrier.'^
Boy. At hand, sir.

Jasp. Convey away the coffin, and be wary.

Boy. 'Tis done already. \_Exeunt.']

'Jasp. Now must I go conjure. Exit.

Enter Merchant.
Venturewell. Boy, boy !

Boy. Your servant, sir. 95

Vent. Do me this kindnesse, boy ;
(hold, here 's

a crowne):
Before thou bury the body of this fellow,
Carry it to his old merie father, and salute him
From mee, and bid him sing: he hath cause.
Boy. I will, sir.
Vent. And then bring me word what tune he
is in, 100
And have another crowne; but do it truely.
I have fitted hira a bargai-ne^now^wilj^ vex him. _^
Boy. God blesse your worships health, sir !

Vent. Fare- well, boy Exeunt. !

[Actus quartus, Sccena quinta.

Merrythought^ s House. 1^

Enter Maister Merrie-thought.

Wife. Ah, old Merry-thought, art thou there

againe ? Let's here some of thy songs.
97-99 Before . . . cause. Q sets as prose.
 !

112 ®^e ^niq^t of t^ir [act iv.

Merrythought.
Who can sing a merrier noate
Then he that cannot change a groat ?

Not and yet my heart leapes I do

a denier left, : 5
, wonder am, that any man will
yet, as old as I
follow a trade, or serve, that may sing and laugh,
Vand walke the streetes. My wife and both my
sonnes are I know not where; I have nothing
left, nor know I how to come by meate to sup- 10
per; yet am I merry still, for I know I shall finde
it upon the table at sixe a clocke; therefore hang

thought
I would not be a servingman to carry the cloke-bag
still.

Nor would I be a fawleconer the greedy hawlkes to fill; 15

But I would be in a good house, & have a good maister
too.
But I would eat & drink of the best, & no work would
I do.

This it is that keepes life and soule together^

"^Tntrth; this is the philosophers stone that they
""vi^rite so much on, that keepes a man everyong. 20

"-r- E?iter a Boy.

Boy. Sir, they say they know all your mony

is gone, and they will trust you for no more
drinke.
Mer. Will they not ? let am choose ! The
5 denier. Q3, F, dinner. 18 Thii i: is, Q3 and F omit it.
 3

Scene V.] HBuming ]^t^tlt 1

1

best is, I have mirth at home, and neede not 25

send abroad for that 5 let them keepe their
drinke to themselves.
For Jillian of Berry, shee dwels on a hill.

And shee hath good beere and ale to sell.

And of good fellovves she thinks no ill; 3°

And thether will we
go now, now, now.
And thether will wee go now.

And when you have made a little stay.

You need not aske what is to pay.
Bat kisse your hostesse and go your way ; 35
And thither &c.

Enter another Boy.

2 Boy. Sir, I can get no bread for supper.
Mer. Hang bread and supper ! l et's pres eiY^,
our mirth, ai2iji:e.,sliaILneve.Lj££le.Jiujiger, Fie
warrant you. Let's have a catch, boy; follow 4°
me, come. Sing this Catch.
Ho, home!
ho, no body at
Meate, nor drinke, nor money ha wee none.
Fill the pot, Eedy,

Never more need I. 45

Mer. So, boies enough. Follow mee. Let; 's

change our place and we shall laugh afresh.

Exeunt.
31 new, noiv, noiv. Qi, now, now, now, now.
34 aske. Q3, F, know.
4.0-1 catch . . . come. Qi, catchy boy follonv me, come.
41 come. Sing this Catch. Qi, come sing this Catch; Qz,
Q3, F, Come sing this Catch.
 4 :

1 1 tETtie i^niglft t of t^t (act iv.

ff^ife. Let him goe, George; a shall not

have any countenance from us, nor a good word
from any i'th' company, if I may strike stroke 50
in't.

No more a shannot, love. But, Nel,

Citizen
I willhave Raph doe a very notable matter now,
to the eternall honour and glory of all grocers.
Sirrah you there, boy
! Can none of you !
55
heare ?
l_E;ifer Boy.']

Boy. Sir, your pleasure?

X ^
Let Raph come out nn May^H^y in the
C/V.
/ morning, and speake upon a conduit with all
his scarfes about him, and his fethers and his 60
j

vj-ings and his knacks.

Boy. Why, sir, you do not thinke of our
plot what will become of that, then ?
;

Cit. Why, sir, I care not what become on't

rie have him come out, or I'le fetch him out 65
my selfe; J'le have something 4one in honor
o f the^ Citt y besides, he hath bene Tong efre«gfe~—
:

upon adventuTes. Bring him out quickely ; or

if I come in amongst you —
Boy. Well, hee shall come out, but if our 7°
sir,

play miscarry, sir, you are like to pay for't.

Exit Boy.
Cit. Bring him away, then !

49 "or. Q2, Q3, F, not.

68-69 or if I come in. Q2 and Q3 omit in ,• F, for I come.
 ! 5;

Scene V] ^Ummg ^t^tit 1

1

Wife. This will be orave, i' faith George, !

shall not he dance, the mor rice tQQ,^or the

credit of the Strand ? 75
Cit. No, sweete heart, it will bee too much
for the boy. 5 there he is, Nel ! hee's reasonable
well in reparell, but hee has not rings enough.
EnUr Raph,
Raph. London, to thee I do present the
rppTry month oLMsi^J
Let each true subject be content to heare me
what I say : 8o
For from the top of conduit head, as plainely
may appeare,
I will both tell my name to you and wherefore
I came heere.
My name is Raph, by due discent, though not
ignoble I,

Yet far jnfeiioLtp the flocJce-rif-gratious^GFoc^y

And by the common-councell of my fellowes in
the Strand, 85
With guilded staffe, and crossed skarfe, the
May-loxd,here I stand.
Rejoyce, 6 English hearts, rejoice ! rejoice,
lovers deere
Rejoyce, 6 citty, towne, and country rejoyce !

eke every shire !

For now the fragrant flowers do spring and

sprout in seemely sort,
84 flocke. D, stock.
 6 ; ; ;

1 1 W^t i^nig^)t of t\)t [act iv.

The little birds do sit and sing, the lambes do

make fine sport 90
And now the burchin tree doth bud, that maks
the schoole boy cry
The morrice rings, while hobby-horse doth
foote it feateously
The lords and ladies now abroad for their dis-
port and play.
Do kisse sometimes upon the grasse, and some-
times in the hey.
Now butter with
a leafe of sage is good to
purge the bloud; 95
Fly Venus and phlebotomy, for they are neither
good.
Now little fish on tender stone beginne to cast
their bellies.
And sluggish snails, that erst were mute, do
creep out of their shelies.
The rumbling rivers now do warme for little
boies to padlej
The sturdy steede now goes to grasse, and up
they hang his saddle. 100
The heavy hart, the bellowing bucke, the ras-
cal, and the pricket.
Are now among the yeomans pease, and leave
the fearefull thicket.

98 mute. D, mew'd.
loi belloiuing. Q3, F, blowing.
 7

Scene v.] llBummg |B e0tU I 1

And be like them, o you., I say, of this same

noble towne.
And aloft your velvet neads, and slipping of
lift

your gowne.
With bels on legs, and napkins cleane unto
your shoulders tide, 105
With scarfes & garters as you please, & " Hey
for our town " cri'd,
March out, and shew your willing minds, by
twenty and by twenty.
To Hogsdon or to Newington, where ale and
cakes are plenty;
And it nere be said,
let for shame, that we the
youths of London
Lay thrumming of our caps at home, and left
our custome undone. no
Up, then, I say, both vong and old, both man
and maide a Maying,
With drums and guns that bounce alowd, &
mery taber playing !
""^
Which to prolong, God save our King, andX '^P
send his country peace, \ ~-

And roote out treason from the land ! and so, -^

my friends, I cease.

Finis Act 4.
 8

1 1 tK^e liniqfyt of ttie (act v.

Actus 5. Sccena prima.

Enter Marchanty solus.

I will have no great store of com-

Venturewell.
pany wedding a cupple of neighbours and
at the ;

their wives and wee will have a capon in stewed

;

broth, with marrow, and a good peece of beefe

stucke with rose-mary. 5
Enter Jasper , his face mealed,

'Jasper. Forbeare thy paines, fond man ! it is

too late.
Vent. Heaven blesse me ! Jasper?
J asp. I, I am his ghost,
Whom thou hast injur'd for his constant love;
Fond worldly wretch who dost not understand
!

In death that true hearts cannot parted be. 10

First knov\^ thy daughter is quite borne away
On wings of angels, through the liquid aire,
To farre out of thy reach, and never more
Shalt thou behold her face but shee and I :

Will in another world enjoy our loves, 15

Where neither fathers anger, povertie.
Nor any crosse that troubles earthly men.
Shall make us sever our united hearts.
And never shalt thou sit, or be alone
12 of angels. Qz, Q3, F, on angels.
 : 9

Scene I.] Buming ^tSitlt 1

1

In any place, but I will visit thee io

With gastly lookes,and put into thy minde
The great offences wich thou didst to me
When thou art atthy table with thy friends,
Merry in heart, and fild with swelling wine,
Il'e come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, 25
Invisible to all men but thy selfe,
And whisper such a sad tale in thine eare
Shallmake thee let the cuppe fall from thy hand,
And stand as mute and pale as Death it selfe.
Fent. Forgive me, Jasper Oh, what might !

I doe, 30
Tell me, to satisfie thy trobled ghost ?

yasp. There is no meanes too late thou thinkst

;

of this.
Fent. But tell me what were best for me to
doe.
Jasp. Repent thy deede, and satisfie my father,
And beat fond Humphrey out of thy dores. 35
Exit jasper.
Enter Humphrey.
Wife, Looke, George ; his very ghost would
have folkes beaten !

Humphrey. Father, my bride is gone, faire

Mistresse Luce :

My soule's the fount of vengeance, mischiefes

sluce.

32 of thii. Q2, Q3, F, on this.

 ; !

120 tlT^r !^nigt)t of t^e Iact v.

Vent. Hence, foole, out of my sight with thy

fond passion !

Thou hast undone me. \^Beats him.']

Hum. Hold, my father deere !

For Luce thy daughters sake, no peere that had !

Fent. Thy father, foole? There's some blows

more begone
; !

Jasper, I hope thy ghost bee well appeased

To see thy will performd. Now will I go
To satisfie thy father for thy wrongs. Exit.
Hum. What shall I doe ? I have beene beaten
twice.
And Mistresse Luce is gone. Helpe me, device
Since my true-love I nevermore.
is gone,
Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore
But in the darke will weare out my shooe-soles
In passion, in Saint Faith's Church under Paules.
Exit.
Wife. George, call Rafe hither if you love ;

me, call Rafe hither ! I have the bravest thing

for him to do, George prethee call him quickly.
;

Citizen. Rafe why, Rafe, boy

! !

Enter Rafe.
Raph. Heere, sir.

Cit. Come hither, Rafe ; come to thy mis-

tresse, boy.

44 ^h g^°i(- QP-i ^s ghost.

45 w/V//. Q2, Q3, F, rie.
 1

Scene I.] llBuming ^t$tlt 1 2

fp^ife. Rafe, I would have thee call all the 60

youthes together in battle-ray, with drums, and
guns, and flags, and march to i\4ile End in pomp-
ous fashion, and there exhort your souldiers to
be merry and wise, and to keepe their beards
from burning, Rafe ; and then skirmish, and let 65
your flagges flye, and cry, Kill, kill, kill My !

husband shall lend you lirr"je!ttr7"Rafe, and

there's a scarfe ; for the rest, the house shall fur-
nish you, and wee'l pay for't. Doe it bravely,
Rafe ; and thinke before whom you performe, 7°
and what person you represent.
Raph. I warrant you, mistr^sse, if I do it not
for thejhonour of th,e cittyand^the. credit of my
maiitjer,=let me never hope for freedome.
Wife. 'Tis well spoken, ifaith. Go thy wayes 75 !

thou art a sparke indeed.

Cit. Rafe, Rafe, double your files bravely,
Rafe !

Raph. I warrant you, sir. Exit Rafe.

Cit. Let him looke narrowly to his service ; I 80
shall take him else. I was there my selfe a pike-
man once of the day, wench had
in the hottest ;

my feather shot sheere away, the fringe of my

pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken with
a scouring-sticke, and yet I thanke God I am 85
heere. Drum zvithin.

Wife. Harke, George, the drums !

 ! !

1 22 tB\)t l^niglit of tlie iact v.

Cit. Ran, tan, tan, tan ; ran, tan ! O wench,

an thou hadst but scene little Ned of Algate,
drum Ned, how hee made it rore againe, and 90
layd on like a tyrant, and then stroke softly till
the ward came up, and then thundred againe,
and together we go Sa, sa, sa, bounce quoth
! !

the guns ; Courage, my hearts quoth the cap- !

taines ; Saint George quoth the pikemen ; and

! 95
withall here they lay, and there they lay, and yet
for all this I am heere, wench
IVife. Be thankfull for it, George ; for indeed
'tis wonderfull.

[Actus quintus, Sccena secunda.]

Enier Rafe and his Company » with drummes and colours.

Raph. March faire, my

Lieutenant, hearts !

beate the reare up. A^lcient, let your colours

flye! but have a great care of the butchers
/^hookes at White-chappell; they have beene the
\death of many a faire ancient. Open your files,
that I may take a view both of your persons and
munition. Sergeant, call a muster.
Sergeant, A stand William Hamerton, peu-
!

^ tcrer
Hamerton. Here, captaine!
Raph. A corslet, and a Spanish pike; 'tis

well: can you shake it with a terror?

91 stroke. F, struck.
Scene n] WVLmiXlQ ^t&tlt I23-

Ham. hope so, captaine.

I
Raph. Charge upon me. 'TIs with the —
weakest: put more strength, William Hammer- 15

ton, more strength As you were againe

! !
—
Proceed, Sergeant.
"^
Serg. George Greene-goose, poulterer! -

Greengoose. Heere!
Raph. Let me see your peece, neighbour 20
Greene-goose when was she shot in ?
:

Green. And like you, maister captain^J rn ade^

a shot even now, partly to SCourfi Jiei:^.ajniHj2arf]^
for aadadty-.
Raph. It should seeme so certainely, for her 25
breath is yet inflamed; besides, there is a maine
fault in the touch-holQ.^Jt__rjiiiiies^-and_stinketh j r >•

and I tell you moreover, and beleeve it, ten '^ /

'^
such touch-holes would breed the pox in the
arrny^ Gret you a feather, neighbour, get you a 30
feather, sweet oyle,and paper, and your peece
may do well enough yet. Where's your powder?
Green. Heere. "^-v.

Raph. What, in a paper! As I am a souldier \

and a gentleman, it craves a martiall court you 35 \ !

ought to dye for't. Where's your home? an-

swere me to that.
^
Green. An't like you, sir, I was oblivious.
Raph. It likes me not you should bee so; 'tis
22 And. D, An 't. 39 you should. Q2, Q3, F, it should.
 W\^t l^nigl^t of [Act v.
1 24 t^ie

a shame and a scandall to all our neigh- 40

for you,
,
man of worth and estimation,
hours, beeing a
-A^>4*^to leave your home behinde you: I am afraid
'twill breed example. But let me tell you no
more on't. Stand, till I Jview you all. What's
becorne o'th nose of yout flaske ? 45
1 Shinier. Indeed, law, captaine, 'twas blowne
away with powder.
Raph. Put on a new one at the cities charge.
—
Where's the stone of this peece?
2 Soldier. The drummentooke it out to light 50
tobacco. \
Raph. 'Tis a fault, my friend; put it in
againe. You want a nose, —
and you a stone.
Sergeant, take a note on't, for I meane to stoppe
— Remove, and march
^

it in the pay. ! Soft and 5^

faire, gentlemen, soft and faire! double your
files you were faces about! Now, you with
! as !

the sodden face, keepe V

there! Looke to your
match, sirrah, it will be in your fellowes flaske
anone. So; make a crescent now; advance your 60
pikes; stand and give eare! Gentlemen, coun-
trey-men, friends, and my fellow-souldiers, I have 1
, V \ brought you this day from the s hops of sec urity, fl
^^ ^ and the counter s of content, to mea^sure/out In ||
these furious lields honour^by_the^ell, and ,prp\Y-.. 6i
esse by the^pound.^TIet it not, let it not, I

say, bee told hei^after, the, noble issue of this

 5
! '

Scene H] Bumiltg ^ttSiit 1

2

citie fain^jd.; but beare your selves in this faire

action like valiant men, and freemen!
men,
Feare not the face of the enemy, nor the noise 7°
of the guns; for, beleeve me, brethren, the rude
rumbling of a brewers carre is farre more terri-
ble, of which you have a daily experience ; nei-
'

ther let the stinke of powder offend you, since^

a more valiant stinke is nightly with you. To 75
a resolved minde his home is every where: I
speake not this to take away the hope of your
returne; for you shall see (I do not doubt it)
and that very shortly, your loving wives againe,
and your sweet children, whose care doth beare 80
you company in baskets. Remember, then,
whose cause you have in hand, and, like a sort
of true-born£^scayingers, scoure me this famous
realme of enemies. I have no more to say but
this: stand to your tacklings, lads, and shew to 85
the world you can-as well brandish a sword as
shake ana^xon. Saint George, and on, my hearts
^Omnes^. S\ George, S*. George! Exeunt.
Wife. 'Twas well done, Rafe! Il'e send
thee a cold capon a field, and a bottle of March- 90
beere; and, it may be, .cpme my selfe to see
—
^
thee. \/
Cit. Nell, the boy has deceived me much; I
did not thinke it had beene in him. He has per-
72 farre more. Q3 and F orvixx. farre. 93 hai. Q3, F, hath.
 !

""
1 26 ,m)t i^nigtlt of tl)e [act v.

formed such a matter, wench, that, if I live, 95

next yeare Il'e have him captaine of the gally-

foist, or Il'e ^;aiit my will.

~^
[Actus quintus, Sccena tertia.
Merrythought' 5 House, ~\

Enter old Merri-thought.

Merrythought. Yet, I thanke God, I breake

not a rinkle more then I had. Not a stoope,
boyes ? Care, live with cats I defie thee : ! My
heart issound as an oke and though
as ; I want
drinke to wet my whistle, I can sing: 5

Come no more there, boyes, come no more there;

For we shall never, whilst we live, come any more
there.

Enter a Boy, with a Coffin,

Boy, God save you, sir

Mer. It's a brave boy. Canst thou sing ?

Boy. Yes, sir, I can sing; but 'tis not so
necessary at this time.
Mer,
Sing wee, and chaunt it.

Whilst love doth grant it.

Boy. Sir,sir, if you knew what I have brought

you, you would have little list to sing.
 !

Scene ni.i liBummg JBf0tU 127

Mer.
O the Mimon round, full long I have thee sought,
And now I have thee found, & what hast thou here
brought ?

Boy, A coiEn, sir, and your dead son Jasper

in it.

Mer. Dead ? Why, fare-well he ! 20

Thou wast a bonny boy, and I did love thee.
Enter Jasper.
Jasper. Then, I pray you, sir, do so still.

Mer. Jaspers ghost?

Thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soone.
Declare to mee what wondrous things in Pluto's court
are done. 25
. Jasp, By my troth, sir, I nere came there;
tis too hot for me, sir.
Mer. A merry ghost, a very merry ghost
And where is your true-love ? 6 where is yours ?

Jasp. Marie, looke you, sir ! 30

Heaves up the coffin^ \_and Luce comes out.'\

Mer. Ah ! ha ! art thou good at that, ifaith ?

With hey, trixie, terlery-whiskin, the world it runnes

on wheeles:
When theyoung mans up goes the maiden's
heeles.

Mis tr esse Merri-thought and Michael within.

Mistress Merrythought. What, M'. Merri-
l6 long. Qi, long long.
1 28 ^^t i^nigtit of tlie [act v.

thought will you not let's in

! ? what do you 35
thinke shall become of us ?
Mer. What voyce is that that calleth at our
doore ?

Mrs. Mer. You know me well enough ; I am

sure I have not beene such a stranger to you.
Mer.
And some they whistled, and some they sung, 40
Hey, downe, downe!
And some did lowdly say.
Ever Lord Barnet*s home blew
as the

Away, Musgrave, away!

Mrs. Mer. You will not have us starve here, 45"

will you, M": Merri-thought ?

'Jasp. Nay, good sir, be perswaded ; she is my
mother;
If her offences have beene great against you,
Let your owne love remember_she-is y^'TS,
"And so forgTveTier.
Luce. Good M'. Merri-thought, 5°
Let mee entreat you ; I will not be denied.
Mrs. Mer. Why, M^. Merri-thought, will you
be a vext thing still ?
Mer. Woman, I take yotr-te-my-love .againe ;
but you. shall sing before ,y(m_enter j therefore 55
dispatch your song, and so come in.

46 Mr. Q3, F, Master. 50 Mr. Q2, Q3, F, Master.

52 Mr. Q3, F, Master.
 Scene m] DBummg ^m\t 1
29
=^^ Mrs. Mer. Well, you must have your will
when al's done. Micke, what song canst thou
sing, boy ?
Mich. I can sing none, forsooth, but "A ladies 60
daughter of Paris properly."
-^
Mrs. Mer. Song.

It was a ladies daughter y ^c.

[Merrythought admits Mrs. Merrythought and
Michael '\

Mer. Come, you'r welcome home againe.

If such danger be in playing.
And jest must to earnest turne, 65
You shall go no more a maying.

Venturewell (within). Are you within, sir,

Maister Merri-thought ?

'Jasp. It is my maister's voice : good sir, go

hold him in talke, whilst we convey our selves 70
intosome inward roome. \^Exit with Luce.'\

Mer, What are you ? are you merry ? You

must bee very merry, if you enter.
Vent. I am, sir.
Mer. Sing, then !
75
Vent. Nay, good sir, open to me.
Mer. Sing, I say, or by the merry heart, you
come not in !

Vent. Well, sir, Il'e sing.

Fortune y my foe ^ ^c. 80
70 in tulke. Q3 and F omit in.
 ! :

130 tE^^t i^nig^t of t\)t (Act v.

[Merrythought admits Venturewdl.'\

Mer. You are welcome, sir, you are welcome
you see your entertainment pray you bee merry.
;

Fent. O M": Merri-thought, I am come to

aske you
Forgivenesse for the wrongs I offered you.
And your most vertuous sonne they're infin- !

ite ; 85
Yet my contrition shall be more then they.
I do confesse my hardnesse broke his heart,
For which just Heaven hath given me punish-
ment
More then my age can carry ; lis wandring spirit,
Not yet at rest, pursues me -very where, 90
Crying, " I'le haunt thee fo- thy cruelty."
My daughter she is gone, J know not how,
Taken invisible, and whether living
Or in [the] grave, 'tis yet uncertaine to me.
O Maister Merry-thought, these are the weights 95
Will sinke me to my grave forgive me, sir. !

Mer, Why, sir, I do forgive you, and be

merry
And if the wag in's life time plaid the knave,
Can you forgive him too?
Vent. With all my heart, sir.

Mer. Speake it againe, and hartely.

83 Mr. Q2, Q3, F, Master.

94 in the grave. Early eds. omit the.
 :

scxNE m.] llBuming ^m\t 1 3 ^

Fent. I do, sir; 100

Now by my soule I do.

Mer.
With that came out his paramoure,
Shee was ar white as the lillie flower
Hey, troule, trollie, lollie!

E/iUr Luce and Jasper.

With that came out her owne deere knight, 105
He was as true as ever did fight, &c.

Sir, if you will forgive ham, clap their hands to-

gether; there's no more to be said i'th' matter.
Vent. I do, I do.
Cit. do not like this. Peace, boies
I Heareiio !

me, one of you every bodies part is come to an

:

end but Raphes, and hee's left out.

Boy. 'Tis long of your selfe, sir; wee have
nothing to doe with his part.
Cit. Raph, come away! Make [an end] onus
him as you have done of the rest; boies, come !

Wife. Now, good husband, letjiimxome out

and die.
Cit. He shall, Nel. Raph, come away quickely
and die, boy! *^>^
'TwHj^ be very upfi t he should die, sir^
Boy. ^^
upon no oc casion
—
—
and in a comedy too.
"CTFTTake you no care of that, sir boy is not ;

115 an end. Added by Colman, followed by D, and modern

edi. generally.
 ;

132 ®||e mnig^lt of t\)t [Act v.

his part at an end, thinke you, when he's dead ?

Come away, vRaph !

125
En,ter Raphy with a forked arrow through his head.

Raph. When I was mortal!, this my costive

corps
Did lap up figs and raisons in the Strand;
Where sitting, I espi'd a lovely dame.
Whose maister wrought with lingell and with all,
And under ground he vampied many a boote. 130
Straight did her love pricke forth me, tender
sprig.
To follow feats of armes in warlike wise,
Through Waltham desert ; where I did performe
Many atchievements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbaroso, that insulting giant, 135
And all his captives soone set at liberty.
Then Jionour prickt me from my native soile
Into Moi^aviaTlviTere^gain^ti'the^tove'
Of Pompiana, his beloved daughter;
But yet prov'd constant to the blacke-thumM
maide 140
Susan, and skorn'd Pompianaes love
Yet liberall I was, and gave her pinnes,
And money for her father's officers.
I then returned home, and thrust my selfe
In action, and by all men chosen was 145
Lord of the May, where I did flourish it,

146 Lord of the May. Q2, Q3, F, The Lord of May.

 ! :

Scene m.l WntXlin^ ^tfStit 133

With skarfes and rings, and poesie in my hand.

After this action I preferred was,
And chosen citty captaine at Mile-End,
With hat and feather, and with leading stafFe, 150
And train'd my men, and brought them all of
'

cleere,
Save one man that berai'd him with the noise.
But all these things I Raph did undertake
Onely for my beloved Susans sake.
Then comming home, and sitting in my shapv 155
With apron blew, Death came unto my stall

To cheapen aqua-vitae ; but ere I \

Could take the bottle downe, and fill a taste,

Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand.
And sprinkled all my face and body ore, 160
And in an instant vanished away. ^^^,^--
Cit. 'Tis a pretty fiction, i'faith.

Raph. Then tooke I up my bow and shaft in

hand.
And walkt into Moore-fields to coole my selfe
But there grim cruell Death met me againe, 165
And shot this forked arrow through my head;
And now I faint. Therefore be warn'd by me.
My fellowes every one, of forked heads
Fare-well, all you good boics in merry London !

Nere shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meete^yo

159 Death caught. Q2, Death come and caught; Q3, F, Death
came and caught. 164 into. Q2, Q3, F, in.
1 34 ®^e ^ni%^t of t^t [Act v.

And plucke downe houses of iniquitie.

My paine increaseth ; — I shall never more
Hold open, whilst another pumpes both legs,
Nor daube a satten gowne with rotten egs;
Set up a stake, 6 never more I shall! 175
I die! flie, flie, my soule, to Grocers' Hall!
Oh, oh, oh, &c.
Wife. Well said, Raph do your obeysance to !

the gentlemen, and go your waies well said, :

Raph ! Exit Raph, 180

Mer, Me thinkes all we, thus kindly and
unexpectedly reconciled, should not depart with-
out a song.
Fent. A good motion.
Mer. Strike up, then !
ig^

Song.
Better musicke nere was knowne
Then a quire of hearts in one.
Let each other, that hath beene
Troubled with the gall or spleene,
Learne of us to keepe his brow 190
Smoth and plaine as ours are now:
Sing, though before the houre of dying
He shall riseand then be crying.
Hey, ho, nought but mirth
'tis

That keepes the body from the earth! 195

Exeunt omnes,
177 Oh, oh, oh, &c. Ends 1. 176 in Ql.
182 depart. Q2, Q3, F, part.
epilogue.1 llBumins ^mlt 135

Epilogus.

Cit. Come, Nel, shall we go ? the plaies done.

Wife. Nay, by my
George, I have more
faith,
manners then so I'le speake to these gentle-
;

men first. I thanke you all, gentlemen, for your

patience and countenance to Raph, a poore"
fatherlesse child and if I might see you at my
;

house, it should go hard but I would have a

pottle of wine and a pipe of tobacco for you :

for truely I hope you do like the youth, but I

would bee glad to know the truth I referre it ;

to your owne discretions, whether you will

applaud him or no ; for I will winke, and whilst
you shall do what you will. I thanke you with all
my heart. God give you good night Come, !

George.
9 do like. Q3 and F omit do.

FINIS.
 0ott^ to Cl^c i^ntg^t of t^e

For the meaning of single ivords see the Glossary,

Stage History. Nothing is known of the first performances of

The Knight of the Burning Pestle. From the want of contempo-
rary allusions, and the remarks of Burre in the dedicatory epistle, it
has been assumed that it met with little success. It was revived in
1635, the only year in which it was separately reprinted after the
time of the first quarto 5 from the title-pages of these two 1635
quartos it appears that it was acted "by her Majesties Servants at
the Private house in Drury lane." Again on Feb. 28, 1635-6, it
was produced by the Queen's Men at St. James, as appears from
a note in the MSS. of Sir Henry Herbert, quoted in Boswell's
Malone's Shakspere, iii, 238. Weber cited a passage from Brome's
Sparagus Garden (1635), indicating the popularity of the revival
at this period :

" I long to see a play, and above all playes,

Rebecca. The Knight
of the Burning —
what dee' call't ?
Monylacke. The Knight of the Burning Pestle.
Rebecca. 1 I thought of another thing ; but I would
Pestle is it

faine see it. They

say there's a Grocer's boy kills a Gyant in it,
and another little boy that does a Citizens wife the daintielist but I —
would fainc see their best Actor doe me j I would so put him too't;
they should find another thing in handling of mee, i warrant 'em.''_J
In Gerard Langbaine's Account of the English Dramatic Poets
(1691) appears evidence of another revival in the Restoration pe-
riod " This Play was in vogue some years since, it being reviv'd
:

by the King's House, and a new Prologue (instead of the old One in
prose) being spoken by Mrs. Ellen Guin." (p. 210 ; quoted by
Dyce.)
I. Quod . natum. *' But if you should summon that
. .

judgment, subtle in the arts that appeal to the eye, to books and
 L
138 ipoteflf

to these gifts of the Muses (i. e., poetry), you would swear he was
a Boeotian, born in a dull air."
3, 14. fostered . . . two
years. On this, and the later
passage in the epistle bearing on the date of the play, see Appendix.
3, 20. father . . . child. The father is doubtless the au-
thor, the foster-father Master Keysar, who had preserved the manu-
script, the nurse Burre himself, the publisher.
4, To the Readers. This purely formal dedication was sub-
stituted for that by the original publisher, in the later editions.

5. Prologue.
. The Prologue is borrowed bodily, as Dyce
pointed out, from Lyly's Sapho and Phao (1584), and is written in
th£jeuphuistic-*^e. It appeared first in the 1635 quarto, and was
probably never used on the stage. The reference to personal satire
at the close (or mistaking . . . this play) was added to the
original version of the Prologue, and, together with similar allusions
in Burre's letter and the address to the readers, indicates that ^he
com edy had suffered from a popular susp icio n that it w as a_covert-at-
tack^n certain. ondon citizens. Such disclaimers of personal satire
were, however, conventional among the publishers of the period and
are not to be over-emphasized.
5, 2^ ori ganum. The wild marjoram, an herb traditionally
sought by animals THis, and the reference to the bear's breath, are
derived from Pliny. See similarpassages, with the notes, in Lyly's
Euphuei^ ed. Bond, i, 208, and ii, 147.
7, 4- Enter Citizen. He has joined the more pretentious
auditors who purpose to see the play from the stage itself, leaving
his wife and apprentice standing among the " groundlings " in the
pit. (See Appendix on the behavior of citizens at plays.
)

7, 7. this house. Probably Blac kfriars^ as suggested by Pro-

fessor Thorndike. See his discussion of the passage, quoted below
in the Appendix on the date of the play.

7, 9. London Merchant. Dyce and others have called this

an allusion to Ford's London Merchant ^ entered on the Stationers'
Register June 29, 1660, but probably never printed There is no
reason to suppose that it was written before The Knight of the Burn-
ing Pestle. The only reference here is to the play proposed by the
Prologue boy, —
that is, the Jasper-Luce comedy, now altered at
the grocer's request.
7, 10. Downe with your title. The title of the play was
 0ott& 139
often displayed above the stage. In this case it read: " The Lon-
don Merchant."
8, 19. play the Jacks. Play
"
the knave . Cf. Tempest, iv^
' ' ^
i, 198.
8,22. Legend of Whittin^on, etc. The first of these
plays wzs entered on the Stationers' Register in 1604, but has not
been found. The second is Hey wood's If you knoiu not me you knotv
nobody, . . ivtth the building of the Royall Exchange, and ihefa-
.

mous 'victory ofSi^ueen Elizabeth ( 1606). The Story of Queene

Hlenor appears to be Pecle's Chronicle of King Edward the First
(1593)- The Rearing of London Bridge has not been
identified, and may be only a mocking parallel to the sub-title of
Heywood's play.

8, 31. Life and Death of Fat Drake. Unknown.

9, 47- Kill a lyon with a pestle. One of the heroes in
the Four Prentices of London relates that he has slain a lion singly
in the forest 5 this passage has therefore been thought to be one of
the allusions to Heywood's play.
9, 59 Jane Shore. Usually thought to be a reference to
Heywood's Edward IV ',
Fleay thinks to a part of it, extracted
and made into a new play j Dyce to " some drama which is. . .

not extant," bearing the title oijane Shore. In Henslowe's Diary

(January, 1 601-2) is a note of payment for the " booke of Shoare
now newly to be written."

9, 61. Bold Beauchams. Dyce says this play is " repeatedly

noticed by our early writers"; Fleay that it is "attributed to
Heywood by the author of the surreptitious 2 Hudibras, 1663."
10, 91. By heaven, etc. Hotspur's speech in i Henry IV,
I, iii.

11, 99. MusidoruS. A Most Pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus

was printed 1598
in it "enjoyed an extraordinary popularity on
5

the stage and was reprinted a dozen times between 1598 and 1639."
(Schelling : Elizabethan Drama, i, 240.)
II, lOI. Jeronimo. The Spanish Tragedy [l^^g).
11, 105. set out the grocery in their kinde. Repre-
sent the craft fittingly, —
probably an allusion to the livery of the
company.
12, 130. ore the water. The Thames. This indicates that
the play was produced at one of the theatres north of the city, not
in Southwark.
140 jl^otesf

13, 140. private taxes. Slurs on individuals.

14. Venturewell's House. The conventional division and
numbering, and in most cases the place descriptions, of scenes, as
supplied by modern editors, are retained in this edition for conven-
ience of reference; but it should be noted that they are extraneous
additions, often inconsistent with the usage of the Elizabethan
stage, vv^here there was commonly no attempt made to present a
series of ''scenes" each portraying a definite locality. On this
subject see the article by Mr. G. F. Reynolds, "Some Principles
of Elizabethan Staging," Part Two, Modern Philology, iii, 69,
where the writer shows that the Elizabethan drama was largely
written for ** a symbolic rather than a picture stage," with free
use of " the unlocated scene." " Modern editors feel called upon to
give each [scene] its proper setting — a street, a court, a hall, a cor-
ridor — as the fancy strikes them. ... So long as editors continue
to introduce into the old plays their own misleading divisions into
scenes and their own meaningless location of scenes, so long will the
plays seem chaotic and unintelligible " No better illustration of al!

this could be found than the present play. In Act i, the second
scene represents a different group of characters from the first, but

there nothing to indicate that they were expressly localized in

is

two distinct rooms, nor that the fourth scene was expressly local-
ized in a different house. The third scene opens with Raph enter-
ing as a grocer, —
not the same thing as the attempt to represent
him in a grocer'' s shop. In the later acts the point becomes of still
greater importance, when we consider the mingling of incidents
which must be thought to have taken place at several different
points in Waltham Forest, the free change from exteriors to interiors
or the reverse, and the presence in all the scenes of the irrepressible
grocer and his wife. The characters and the action are everything :

they carry their locality with them at pleasure. Hence there is an

imaginative unity quite different from scene unityj and it is signi-
ficant that it was not until the use of elaborate scenery had changed
the principle of stage presentation that the critics began to com-
plain of the want of " unity of place " in the Elizabethan drama.

14, prentice. The numerous double endings in this scene

I.

seem work of Fletcher.

to indicate the
" I5> ^'f- pencion to my bloud. A license to my passions.
16, 47. the statute. Doubtless (as I am informed by Pro-
 0Ott$ 141

fessor E. P. Cheyney) the Statute of Apprentices (5 Elizabethy

chap. '4), passed in 1563, which required all young persons to be
—
apprenticed, imprisoned such as left their masters, etc.
18, 13. pudding hath his two. The old pudding, shaped
somewhat was enclosed either in an intestine or in a
like a sausage,
bag. The allusion to its two ends was proverbial.
18, 25. Monkester's SChollars. Dr. Richard Mulcaster
was Head Master of the Merchant Tailors' School between 15 61
and 1586, and of St. Paul's School between 1596 and 1608. (See
Dictionary of National Biography^ and Thorndike's Influence of
Beaumont and Fletcher on Shakspere, p. 63.) This passage makes
it probable that the play was presented by the Children of Paul's.

21, 70. watch of Mid-summer Day. "A

grand sort of^N.
annual military muster" for the citizens of London, " embodying \
all the companies, for the purpose of forming a regular guard for the I

city during the ensuing year." (Herbert's History of the Twelve

— J
•"'^
Companies of London^ i, 196, quoted by Dyce.) -

21, 81. F. S. Evidently a symbolic price mark.

23, 113. take me with you. Understand me.' '
23, 125. Waltham forest. Another name for the wooded
district known as Epping Forest, which formerly extended almost
to the city of London, on the north. One may see it indicated on
the map of Middlesex in Camden's Britain (translation of 1637),
p. 418.
24, 139. tobacco. On its use at the time see the introduction
to Arber's Reprint of King James's Counterblaste to Tobacco.
25, Palmerin of England. A Spanish romance englished
by Anthony Munday (Stationers' Register, 1 581). The passage read
by Rafe, however, is from Palmerin d'' Oliva, an earlier romance,
translated 1588. See the Appendix below, for the original text!
Palmerin of England is also alluded to in the Wild Goose Chase^ i, i.
Both the Palmerin romances were in the library of Don Quixote
(see Don ^ixote, Part i, chap. 6).
25, 22. Prince of PortigO. A character in The Mirrour
of Princely deedes and Knighthood (1579), a romance from the
Spanish. So also is Rocicler (for Rosicleer cf. in, ii, 133).
5

26, 51. visited houses. Houses visited by the plague, for

which mithridatum and dragon's- water (see Glossary) were reme-
dies.
142 ^Ott$
27, 67. remembrance of my former trade. Probably a
burlesque of the Four Prentices, in which Eustace, the grocer, says :

*' For my good successe I have.

trades sake, if
The Grocers Armes shall in my Ensigne wave "
j

and again :

" Upon this shield I beare the Grocers Armes,

Unto which trade I was enrold and bound."

27, 70. Burning Pestle. On the meaning of " burning,'*

on 43, 70, below.
see note

30, 9. A
merry heart. On this, and the other songs, see
yippendix.
33> 84. by lady. That is, "By our Lady."
33, 105. foul chive him. Evil take him. Perhaps from the
slang use of c/ii-ve for knife.

34, 118. a good husband. Thrifty or saving.

36, 162. ride the wild mare. Play see-saw. Cf. 2 Henry
IF, II, iv, 268.
38, 31. Fatal Sisters. The Fates.
39, 55. noble science. Fencing.
40, 69. twenty more. This farewell may be a parody of the
parting of Romeo and Juliet (^Romeo and Juliet, 11, ii).
40, 6. Mile-End. East of London the scene of musters and ;

mock battles among the militia (see v, i, 63). In Monsieur Thomat

(hi, iii) is cited a ballad called " The Landing of the Spaniards at
Bow, with the Bloody Battle of Mile End," — probably an account
of the same contest alluded to by Mistress Merrythought. Stow is
cited by Weber as saying that in 1599 no less than 30,000 citizens
were trained at Mile-End.
40, 17. white boy. A common term of endearment.
41, 40. knot-grass. It was a superstition that this herb
would arrest growth. Cf. "hindering knot-grass," Midsummer
Night'' s Dream, iii, ii, 329.

43, 67. Amadis de Gaule. The hero of one of the most

popular of the romances.
43, 69. Brionella. Apparently the more romantic name of
Susan the cobbler's maid (iii, iv, 7). Rafe doubtless derived it from
the romance of Palmerin, where it belongs to the daughter of " the
Duke of Saxon " (chap. 27).
 j^ote0 143

43, 70. this bright burning pestle. The character of

Rafe's pestle is somewhat puzzling. Originally he speaks of it (i,

iii,68) merely as to be portrayed upon his shield ; but from later al-
lusions it appears that he takes it with him in solid form, — a view
forwhich the stage-direction at 11, v, 33, seems to be conclusive.
The meaning of " burning " is also uncertain, but is probably to be
understood as burnished, gleaming, hence golden. In 11, v, 44, the
pestle is called "golden," in iii, ii, 8, "flaming," and in in, ii,

98, it appears as a " blazing badge."

(For the use of in " blazing"
this sense, compare "blazing Steele" in in, iv, 1 11.) Dyce sug-
gested that the title of the knight may have been imitated from The
Knight in the Burning Rock, a play known to us only by title. But
Leonhardt is undoubtedly right in tracing it to the " burning sword*"
which appeared in legends of Amadis and other heroes ( Ueber B.
und F.'j K. of the B. P., 1 885). Weber had already traced the
phrase to what he speaks of as " the Knight of the Burning Shield
"
in Don ^ixote, —
apparently an error for " Burning Sword." In
Don i, chap
Sluixote, Part I, is a reference to " the knight of the
burning sword, which, with one thwart blow, cut asunder two fierce
and mighty giants." (Shelton translation, ed. 1901, i, 4.) Again
in Part iii, chap. 4, Don Quixote hopes to find the sword " which
belonged to Amadis, when he called himself ' the knight of the
burning sword,' which was one of the best that ever knight had in
this world ; for besides the virtue that I told, it did also cut like a
razor, and no armour, were it ever so strong or enchanted, could
stand before it." {Ibid., i, 154.) That this stjle of title was fa-
miliar in the Elizabethan age is also indicated by Shakspere's use of
it (cited by Weber) in i Henry IF", in, iii, 30, where Falstaff calls
Bardolph (from his nose) " the Knight of the Burning Lamp."
44, 93-105. meeting . . . blessing. The numerous
double endings here suggest Fletcher's hand.
45, 114, with a wanion. With bad luck to him. Cf.
Pericles, u, i, 17.
45> 3- ^or a-nd. The "for" is merely expletive. Cf. the
clown's song in Hamlet (v, i, 103):
" A pick-axe and a spade, a spade,
For and a shrouding sheet."

4S» 3- Squire of Damsels. Perhaps suggested by Spenser's

'* Squire of Dames," Faerie ^eene, in, vii, 51.
144 il^otrsf

47, 38. cast their caps. In homage.

47, 40. twelve companies. The corporations formed of
various crafts, which made up the corporate organization of the City
of London.
49> 35- Johll Dorrie. An allusion to a popular song, John
Dory (printed in Ravenscroft's Deuteromelia, 1609), the hero of
which was taken prisoner while on his way to present an English
crew as captives to the king of France.
50,56. Take the peace on him. Take the law 5 have him
bound to keep the peace.
51, 71. the gentlemen. Her neighbors among the auditors
on the stage.
53> 35- With that, etc. Jasper imitates the style of Rafe's
favorite romances, possibly quoting some particular tale. The pass-
age might perhaps better be printed as prose.
53, 40. scarcely go. Go, as commonly, means 'walk.
55> ^5- Puddle-wharfe. Often alluded to, and named, ac-
cording to Stow, from " one Puddle " who " kept " it. See Cun-
ningham's Handbook of London, p. 413.
56, 39. Ancient castle. Cf. Don fixate, Part i, chap. 2,
quoted in the Appendix below.
56, 47. buttered hams. The legs of running footmen were
commonly greased.

5^1 53- grease their teeth. A ruse to prevent horses from

eating.

59, 27. Puckeridge. Twenty-five miles north of London,

and thirteen from Waltham, according to Harrison's Description
of England (itinerary of "the waie from Walsingham to Lon-
don)." It is to be seen on the map of Hertfordshire in Camden's
Britain.
60, 20. head upon London-bridge. Displayed after an
execution.
61, 38. aches. Dissyllabic.
63, 78. dog on her. That is of her, — alluding to Venture-
well's use of " sire."

64, no. Baloo was evidently a popular melody. There are a

number of songs with " Baloo " as the refrain, the most familiar
being that known as '*Lady Bothwell's Lamentation," included in
Percy's Reliques.
 , —

^ott& 145

64, III. Lachrymae

was a pavan of circa 1600, for voices,
viol and composed by Dowland
lute, it is found in various music
;

manuscripts, —
for example, in that known as Queen Elizabeth's
Virginal Book.
64, 1 14. painted upon the cloth. One of the arras
hangings of the stage. Cf. the allusion to pictures used to beautify
" dead arras in a public theatre," quoted from Cynthia s Revel:^
page 164, below. It is uncertain what scene is called "the Confu-
tation of St. Paul." The confusion of "the Rape of Lucrece
"
with " Raphand Lucrece" (pronounced R<ifi) is rendered unintcl- j
ligible by the usual modern spelling " Ralph." ^^.^
67, ^3- Take it. Acquiesce. Cf. Hamlet^ 11, ii, 604.
68,44. heavy mace. The traditional emblem of Morpheus.
Cf. Julius Caesar, iv, iii, 268.
68,47. fai re dissyllabic. In the verse of this soliloquy we are
is

again reminded of Fletcher's feminine cadences. - —

69, 65. after-love. Perhaps meaning the love that follows a
misunderstanding.
70, 93. Ludgate. This gate, like Newgate, was used as a
prison and —
we should
as call it — a police station.

71, no. Sir Bevis. Bevis of Hampton, a well-known hero —

of romance.
74, 34. to requite, etc. With this compare Don ^ixote^
Part iii, chap.
3, quoted in the Appendix.
76, 88. Nicke the barbor. Leonhardt notes that the bar-
ber in Don Quixote's town was named Nicholas. The host of the
Bell is evidently related to one whom Don
Quixote encountered,
who " was a great giber, and that he might have an occasion
. . .
*

of laughter, he resolved to feed his humour." (Shelton translation,

ed. 1901, i, 17.)
76, 97. blaze a day. See textual note. Blaze was appar-
ently repeated from the line above.

77, 115. bason, on a prickant speare. The barber's

sign, as it may still be seen in some parts of Europe. The spear is

apparently the pole extending from the shop. Compare the barber's
basin in Don ^ixote, Part iii, chap. 7, which the knight took to
be a part of an enchanted helmet.
78, 125. Palmerin Frannarco. See the extracts from Pal-
mer in {T Oli'va in the Appendix,
 "

146 ^ott&
78, 146. hold my cap to a farthing. Wager my cap
against a farthing.

79> ^49- great Dutchman. Perhaps (as Dyce suggests) a

Dutchman referred to by Stow {^Annales, 1615, p. 694), under
ed.
the year 1 581, who was " in height seven foote and seven inches.

79, 151-153. a Scotshman . . . met. Dyce proposed

the emendation : "a Scotchman and a knight higher than he, and
two met."
that they

79, 158. Ninivy. A popular puppet-show of Jonah and the

Whale.
79. Enter Mistresse Merrythought. A good example
of an " unlocated scene," which has unnecessarily perplexed modern
editors.

81, 3. many a tooth. Drawn by the barber, who was sur-

geon and dentist incidentally, and displayed the teeth as an advert-
isement.
82, 31. Gargantua. The giant of Rabelais's satiric romance
(1535).
84, 61. under his chin. According to the old fashion the
barber's customer held the basin (to catch the lather) under his own
chin.
85> 91- Free by my COppy. The phrase originally alluded
to a copy of the manorial court-roll. may refer to a copy of
Here it

the knight's papers of "denization" or naturalization, or those of

his family.
86, 114. in a tub. The common treatment for venereal dis-
"^
cases.

87, 127.Lob-lie-by-the-fire. Cf. the phrase addressed to

Puck in Midsummer Night' s Dream, ii, i, 16 :
" lob [i. e. lubber]
of spirits."
87, 138. Turnebull-Streete. Properly Tummill Street
,,

y^(Dyce), notorious for disorderly houses.

88, 156. Convey them hence. Compare Don Quixote's
rescue of the prisoners, in Part iii, chap. 8.
94, 106. come aloft, boyes, aloft. *"To come aloft
means to tumble.' (Mason.) The expression is generally found
applied to apes that are taught to vault ; here it is used merely as an
incitement to mirth." (Dyce.)
94, 117. use him in his Icinde. Treat him in his own
manner ; or, according to his nature.
 jl^otes; 147

97, 46. Sophy of Persia. An allusion to the play of The

Tra'vailes of the Three English(1607), in which the
Brothers
brother who has married a niece of the Sophy asks that his child
may be baptized a Christian, and the Sophy himself acts as god-
father.

97, 50. Red Bull. One of the popular playhouses, situated in

St. John Street. From
other allusions it would appear to have been
a special favorite of the citizens, from its sensational performances.

97, 53. King of Cracovia. Probably an allusion to some

now unknown romance.
98, 71. Sir Dagonet. Not a character in Heywood's
Four Prentices, as the passage seems to imply ; it is the name of
the king's fool in the Morte d^ Arthur.
98, 74. toss their pikes. A stage-direction in the Four
Prentices reads, *' They tosse their pikes. " ( Pearson's ed., ii, 203. )
The wood-cut illustrating the 1632 edition of the Four Prentices
shows the prentices tossing their pikes.
98, 4. King of Moldavia. Moldavia was in Roumania. The
Prince of Moldavia was actually in London in 1607 he is alluded ;

to Jonson's Silent Woman (v, i) and in Nichols's Progresus

in
(cited by Thorndike, op. cit. p. 61).
100, 33. long of me. Caused by me ; cf. v, iii, 113.
I05> 7°- your purchas'd anger. The anger earned from
you.
109, 64. And thus you meete the living! This coffin
scene may have been suggested by that in Marston's Antonio and
Mellida (v, i). If The Woman s Prize was written as early as
seems probable, Fletcher had already used a similar device there
(v, iv).
^

HO, 77. This death ... it. He kisses Luce.

HO, 88. feare me not. That is, fear not as to howl shall
manage.
111, 96-103 Dome. . . farewell, boy ! These lines,

printed as prose in the old editions, have been treated as verse by all

the modern editors, but there is room for some uncertainty. If verse,
they must be regarded as Fletcher's.
112, 13. Hang thought ! Thought (as commonly) means
anxiety.
114, 59. upon a conduit. That is, on the conduit-head {Vine
 !

148 jl^otes?

81), one of the cisterns furnishing the water-supply of the city.

See Stephenson's Shakespeare^ s London^ pp. 75, 236.
ii5> 75- credit of the Strand. Compare iv, ii, 17.
115, 79. London, to thee, etc. In septenary' metre, a pop-
ular rhythm of the time. On the " May-lord," and the customs
connected therewith, see Brand's Popular Antiquities (ed. 18 13, i,
212) and Strutt's Sports and Pastimes (ed. Cox, p. 277). Eustace,
one of Hey wood's " Four Prentices," speaks of seeing a " muster-
ing " and celebrating May-day as two privileges denied by a harsh
master,
115, 83. My name, etc. A
parody on the speech of the
Ghost of Andrea, at theopening of The Spanish Tragedy (1599) :
*' My name was Don Andrea, my descent.
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far," etc.
117, 105. bels on legs, etc. The costume of morris-dancers.
117, 106. Hey for our tovrn. This cry appears to have
been a feature of the^morris^.Jn Morley's Madrigals to Four Voices
( 1594) is a ditty (No. xviii) running as follows :

"Hoe who comes here all along with bagpiping and drumming ?
!

tis, I see, the Morris daunce a coming.

Come, Ladies, out come quickly,

and see about, how trim they daunce and trickly.
Hey ho !ther again how the bells they shake
! it

now for our town once more, and take it !"

A similar allusion occurs in No.xi of Weelkes's Madrigals (1597).
Weber another parallel from Butler's Hudibras (Part ii, canto
cited
"
2), where we read of a company of "tall lads
"That merry ditties troll' d and ballads,
Did ride with many a Good-morrow,
Crying, Hey for our toivn^ through the borough."
117, 108. To Hogsdon or to Newington. Beyond
Shoreditch, to the north of London. " Hogsdon " is usually written
Hoxton. Or, the Newington referred to may be that in Surrey, be-
yond Southwark.
120, 52. St. Faith's Church. Under the choir of St.
Paul's Cathedral.
121, 62. Mile End. See note on 11, ii, 6 (page 40),
121, 68. The house shall furnish. That is, the "tiring-
'*
house of the theatre.
 0ott& 149

121, 77. double your files. ** Put two files in one and so
make the ranks smaller." (^Netv English Diet.)
123,35. craves a martiall court. Deserves a courtmartial.
124, 42. leave your home. A pun on the notion of
*' horned" (i. e. cuckolded) citizens.
124, 49. Stone of this peece. That is, the flint for ignit-
ing the powder.
124, 61-87. Gentlemen . . . hearts! All printed as
prose in the old editions. Modern editors generally print lines 75-84
(Tea. . . of enemies) as verse. Dyce suggested that the con-
clusion of the speech was based on the king's oration to his army in
Richard III, v, iii, 115.
126, 97. want my will. Fail to accomplish my wish.
127, 21. Thou thee. This, like 1. 37, p. 128, is a
. . .

line from some unidentified song.

128, 49. your owne love. That is, as her husband (and so
a part of yourself ?)
132. forked arrow through his head. Dyce took this
to be an allusion to " a stage-direction in The True Tragedie of
Richard Duke of York, 1595 Enter Clifford ivounded, ivith an
; ^

arroiv in his necke ' "

and Professor G. P. Baker has re-
(i, xcii),

called the Ttvo Lamentable Tragedies of Yarington (1601), in which

a murdered youth is discovered with a hammer in his head, an ob-
server exclaiming :

" See how the hammer sticketh in his head.

Wherewith this honest youth is done to death."
132, 126. When I was mortall, etc. Another parody
on the speech of the Ghost in The Spanish Tragedy :

" When this eternall substance of my soul

Didlive imprison'd in my wanton flesh," etc.

^33> ^7°- Shrove-Tuesday. A day which the boys of

London felt at liberty to celebrate lawlessly. Dyce quotes Dekker's
Se-ven Deadly Sinnes of London (1606) :
" They presently (like
Prentices upon Shrove-tuesday) take the lawe into their owne hands,
and doe what they list." He showing that the
also cites passages
attacking of disorderly houses was one of the favorite amusements
of the same holiday.
 appentitjc

I. —SOURCES IN PALMERIN D' OLIVA AND

DON QUIXOTE.
The following passages from Palmerin cC Oli'va, the
romance evidently used by Ralph, the apprentice in The
Knight of the Burning Pestle^ are quoted from the edition
of 1637, the earliest in the British Museum Library.
Part I, chap, xxi, is entitled: " How Palmerin and
Ptolome met with a Damosell, who made great mone for
a Casket which two Knights had forcibly taken from her,
and what happened to them."
** Faire Virgin (saide Palmerin,) doo not discomfort
your selfe, but shew me which way they rode that dealt
with you so discourteously. Gentle Knight (quoth she)
if your hap be to restore my losse againe, you doe the
most gracious acte that ever Knight did for a distressed
Damosel. These Traytors to honour tooke this way
. . .

by the Wood, and as yet I am sure they cannot be farre

hence.
**Then Palmerin clasped his Helmet, and taking his
sword and Launce, desired Ptolome to guard the Damo-
sell and follow him, galloping that way which she had

shewed him: and by the time he had rid two miles, he

espyed them he looked for, talking with another Knight
they had met, and they three together were essaying to
open the Casket, unto whom Palmerin cryed, Treacher-
ous villaines, that cannot meete with Ladies on the way,
but must offer them injury, deliver the Casket or ye die."
Chap, li is entitled: "How the Queene of England,
and Agriola her daughter were in danger to be ravished
 appenOiit: 151

by the Giant Franarco, and of the succour they had, by

Trineus, Palmerin, and Ptolome,""
"Then Palmerin clasping on his Helmet, and snatching
his Lance from his Dvvarfe, galloped amaine after the Gi-
ant, not speaking a word to Trineus. . . Trineus having
.

gotten the sight of them, came posting to the Giant, say-

ing Stay trayterous theife, for thou mayest not so carry her
away, that is worthy of the greatest Lord in the world.
With these words they ranne fiercely togither, Trineus giv-
ing the Giant a sore wound on the shoulder, but the prince
received such a mighty stroke from the giant, as he fel from
his horse with his heels upward. Palmerin being not far off,
and doubting least the Prince had bin slain, came in a great
rage to Franarco, saying: Monstrous enemy to manhood,
what maketh thee so saucy to lay violent hands on Ladyes
of such account ? By my sword villaine, I shall make thee
deerely to pay for thy folly.' (In the passage that follows,
^

'"
there is no mention of the '< elephant of Ralph's text.
After the slaying of the giant follows the passage :)
" And Trineus comming to the Knight that had Agriola
behind him, set him soone beside his horse, with his necke
broken in his fall, so that the Princesse getting foorth of
the throng, and seeing her beloved so valiant in prowesse,
betweene joy and griefe, she said: Ah happy Knight, the
myrrour of such as follow Armes, I desire thy high For-
tune may prove, as thou and thy good company may have
victory over these Traytors. Now may I be well assured
of the Love thou bearest me: For which (if we may safely
escape this hard brunt) perswade thy selfe not to passe
"
unrecompenced.

The following are the passages in Don fixate which

seem to have suggested the inn scenes in The Knight of the
Burning Pestle:
152 appntDir
*' Looking about him on every side to see whether he

could discover any castle or sheepfold wherein he might

retire himself for that night, and remedy his wants, he per-
ceived an inn near unto the highway wherein he travelled,
which was as welcome a sight to him as if he had seen a
star that did address him to the porch, if not to the palace,
of his redemption. . . And, forasmuch, as our knight-
.

errant esteemed all which he thought, saw, or imagined,

was done or did really pass in the very same form as he
had read the like in his books, forthwith, as soon as he
espied the vent, he feigned to himself that it was a castle
with four turrets, whereof the pinnacles were of glistering
silver, without omitting the drawbridge, deep fosse, and
other adherents belonging to the like places. And ap-
proaching by little and little to the vent, when he drew
near to it, checking Rozinante with the bridle, he rested
a while to see whether any dwarf would mount on the
battlements to give warning with the sound of a trumpet
how some knight did approach the castle. . And in
. .

this space it befel by chance, that a certain swineherd, as

he gathered together his hogs, blew the horn whereat they
are wont to come together^ and instantly Don Quixote
imagined it was what he desired. . .The innkeeper,
.

. . being a man who, by reason of his exceeding fatness,

.

must needs have been of a very peaceable condition; who,

beholding that counterfeit figure, all armed in so unsuitable
armour as were his bridle, lance, target, and corselet, was
very near to have kept the damsels company in the pleasant
shows of his merriment, but fearing in effect the machina
and bulk contrived of so various furnitures, he determined
to speak him fairly; and therefore began to him in this
manner: *If your worship, sir knight, do seek for lodg-
ing, you may chalk yourself a bed (for there is none in
this inn), wherein you shall find all other things in abund-
 appentiir 153
ance. " (Shelton trans., Part i, chap, n; ed. 1901, vol.
i, pp. 10-13.)
*' Don Quixote, who, as we have said, felt himself eased

and cured, would presently depart to seek adventures, it

seeming unto him that all the time which he abode there
was no other than a depriving both of the world and need-
ful people of his favor and assistance. .And, being both
. .

mounted this a-horseback, he called the innkeeper, and

said unto him, with a grave and staid voice Many and : '

great are the favours, sir constable, which I have received

in this your castle, and do remain most obliged to gratify
you for them all the days of my life. And if I may pay
or recompense them by revenging ofyou upon any proud
miscreant that hath done you any wrongs, know that it is
mine office to help the weak, to revenge the wronged, and
to chastise traitors. Call therefore to memory, and if you
find anything of this kind to commend to my correction,
you need but once to say it for I do promise you, by
;

the order of knighthood which I have received, to satisfy

and appay you according to your own desire.'
** The innkeeper answered him again, with like gravity

and staidness, saying, * Sir knight, I shall not need your

assistance when any wrong is done to me for I know very
5

well myself how to take the revenge that I shall think good,
when the injury is offisred. That only which I require is,
that you defray the charges whereat you have been here in
the inn this night, as well for the straw and barley given to
your two horses, as also for both your beds^. * This, then,
'

is an inn ? quoth Don Quixote. * That it is, and an hon-

'

ourable one too,' replied the innkeeper. * Then have I

hitherto lived in an error,' quoth Don Quixote 'for, in ;

very good sooth, I took it till now to be a castle, and

that no mean one neither. But since that it is no castle, but
an inn, that which you may do for the present time is, to
154 appmoij:
forgive me those expenses ; for I cannot do aught against
the custom of knights-errant ; of all which I most cer-
tainly know (without ever having read until this present
anything to the contrary) that they never paid for their
lodging, or other thing, in any inn wheresoever they lay.'
. . All that concerns me nothing,' replied the inn-
. <

keeper. * Pay unto me my due, and leave these tales and

knighthoods apart ; for I care for nothing else but how I

may come by mine own. * Thou art a mad and a '

bad host,' quoth Don Quixote. And, saying so, he

spurred Rozinantej and, flourishing with his javelin, he
issued out of the inn in despite of them all, and, without
looking behind him to see once whether his squire fol-
lowed, he rode a good way off from it." (Part 3, chap,
ill J
vol. i, pp. 147-149.)

II. — THE SONGS IN THE KNIGHT OF THE

BURNING PESTLE.
Always eager to seize every opportunity for effective-
ness in scenic presentation, Beaumont and Fletcher made
abundant use of songs in their plays
j often, like the other

dramatists of the period, adapting something already in

vogue to their purpose, often writing a new song for a new
occasion. In all their work no play is so interesting from
this standpoint as The Knight of the Burning Pestle. It
would be examples of the introduc-
difficult to find better
tion of lyrics for dramatic etfect than theduo of Jasper and
Luce in the wood and the dirge of Luce over Jasper's cof-
fin. But the songs of Merrythought form the chief part of

the lyrical element, being in themselves, as Professor Ward

observes, a veritable ** bacchanalian anthology." Obvi-
ously these scraps of tuneful mirth were chiefly fragments
of femiliar current songs, and many of them have been
 :

appntDir 155
identified. Others have remained unidentified, and some
of them have been original. The following notes in-
may
dicate the sources of all the songs in the play of which any-
thing is known, together with remarks on their musical
setting, their use elsewhere, etc.
1. ** A merry heart lives long-a." (i, iv, 9.)

A line of the same song that Autolycus sang in A Win-

ter' s Tale^ IV, iii, Jog on, jog on, the foot-path
132 :
'*

way." Still another stanza was sung by Silence (a char-

acter not unlike Merry^thought in his fondness for ballad
fragments), in 2 Henry IF, v, iii, 50. The song appeared
in a collection of lyrics called An Antidote against Melan-
choly, in 1 661.
2. " Nose, nose, jolly red nose." (i, iv, 48.)
This refrain appeared in Ravenscroft's collection called
Deuteromelia, 1609, as the conclusion to a song running:
*' Of all the Birds that ever I see.
The Owle is the fayrest in her degree
For all the day long she sits in a tree,
And when the night comes away flies she."

The music is reproduced by Chappell in Old English Popu-

lar Music, Woolbridge ed. (1893), i, 141.
3.
** But yet or ere you part, oh, cruell 1
" (i, iv,

128.)
A part of a song printed in Dowland's Songs and Airs,

1597. The two stanzas, as reprinted by Bullen in

first

Shorter Elizabethan Poems (p. 95), are as follows :

*' Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me

Of my heart, and so leave me ?

Farewell !

<* But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel.

Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel,
"
Farewell !
156 SipvtnW
4. "When it was growne to darke midnight."
(II, viii, I.)
From some version of the familiar Ballad of Fair Mar-
garet and Sweet William, No. 74 in Child's collection.
The standard version runs:
" When day was gone, and night was come.
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of Fair Margaret,
And stood at William's feetc"
(Cambridge ed. of Ballads^ p. 157.)

5.
" am
three merry men." (11, viii, 9.)
I

The music to this song Is printed by Chappell (Wool-

bridge ed., i, 197) from a manuscript commonplace book,
with the words, —
** Three merry men, and three merry men, and three merry men
be we ;

I in the wood, and thou on the ground, and Jack sleeps in the
tree,"

The words are found in Peele"" s Old Wipes'' Tale^ and in

another form in Fletcher's Bloody Brother (iii, ii). Evi-
dently the song was very popular j it is alluded to in Tnvelfih
Night (11, iii, 81) and in other plays of the period. A
catch with a similar refrain appears on p. 100 of Mustek's
Delight on the Cithern^ John Playford, 1660.
6. *'Troule the blacke bowle to mee " (11, viii, !

Apparently a version of a catch published in Ravens-

croft's P/2z«;w^//«,1609:
*' Trole, trole the bowl to me.
And I will trole the same again to thee."

7. " As you came from Walsingham." (11, viii, 50.)

A stanza of one of the versions of the popular Ballad of
Walsingham, found in all the collections. It was set to an
 :

appntuip 157
equally popular tune, known as "Walsingham," which is
reproduced by Chappell (i, 69) from Barley's Book of
Tabliture (1596), with the words:
** As I went to Walsingham,
To the shrine with speed,
Met I a jolly palmer.
In a pilgrim's weed."

8. * Why, an if she be, what care I ? " (11, vlii,

56.)
From a popular songbeginning " Farewel dear love,
since thou wilt needs be gon," sung by Sir Toby —
among the fragments in T^welfth Nighty 11, iii. In Robert
Jones' s First Booke ofSonges and Ayres (1600) it appeared as
No. XII, the last stanza running:
** What shall I doe ? my love is now departed,
Shee is as faire as shee is cruell harted.
She would not be intreated
With praiers oft repeated;
If shee come no more,
Shall I die therefore?
If shee come no more, what care I ?

Faith, let her go, or come, or tarry !

"

9. " He set her on a milk-white steed." (11, viii,

A conventional ballad stanza, hardly to be identified par-

ticularly. In the Ballad of the Knight and Shepherd's
Daughter (No. no
in the Child collection) occurs the
stanza
" He set her on a milk-white steed,
And himselfe upon a gray ;

He hung a bugle about his neck,

And so they rode away."
Weber cites a similar stanza from ** The Douglas Trag-
 "

158 appntuir
edy (Earl Brand)"", as found in The Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border.
10. * Downe, down, downe : they fall downe."
(II, viii, 72.)
From a song which Dyce (see i, xcii) found quoted
*'in a Masque (never printed) presented on Candlemas-
night at Cole-Overton, and written perhaps by Sir T.
Beaumont " :

" Downe, downe it falls,

Downe, and arise, downe, and arise it never shall."

11. "Was never man for ladies sake." (11, viii,

93-)
From the Legend of Sir Guy, found in the old ballad
collections. In Percy's Reliques it appears as follows (vol.
iii, bk. 2) :

*
' Was ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy,
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?"
The same stanza was quoted in The Little French Lanvyer,
II, iii.

12. ** Go from my window, love, goe," and " Be-

gone, begone, my juggy, my puggy." (iii, v, 28 and
49-)
From what was evidently a popular song, which ap-
pears in various forms. In Monsieur Thomas^ in, iii, there
is a different version j also in The Woman s Prize, i, iii.
At the end of Hey wood's Rape of Lucrece the stanza
runs:
"Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billie,
Begone, begone, my deare.

The tune is reproduced by Chappell (i, 146) from the

 appenDir 159

Book of Tabliture (1596) and Robinson's Schoole of Mu-

sicke (1603).
13. "You are no love for me, Margret." (iii, v,

104.)
Probably a fragment of some version of the Ballad of
Margaret and William (see No. 4 above). Professor Child
suggested that it might be a variant of the first lines of
stanza two in the standard version, running:
" I see no harm by you, Margaret,
Nor you see none by me."
14. "Who can sing a merrier noate." (iv, v, 3.)
This song found in Pammelia (i 609), under the title,
is
«* A Round or Catch for ten or eleven voices " :

** Sing wee now merily, our purses be empty,

hey ho, hey ho ;

Let them take care

That list to spare,
For not doe so
I will :

Who can sing so merry a note

As he that cannot change a groat ?
Hey hoe, trolly lolly lo, tro lolly lo."
15. "Ho, ho, no body at home." (iv, v, 42.)
This catch is also found in Pammelia^ No. 85.
16. " Sing wee, and chaunt it." (v, iii, 12.)
From a song in Morley's First Book of Ballets (1600),
the first stanza of which runs:
" Sing wee and chaunt it
While love doth graunt it. Fa la la.
Not long youth lasteth,
And old age hasteth :

Now is best leysure

To take our pleasure. Fa la la."

17. "And some they whistled, and some they

sung." (v, iii, 40.)
A stanza from the Ballad of Little Musgrave and Lady
i6o 2ipptx\r>ix

Barnard, found In all the collections; No. 8i of the Child

collection, Cambridge ed., p. 172.
18. " It was a ladies daughter." (v, iii, 62.)
Dyce identified this from a ballad found in Evans's Old
Ballads (ed. 18 10, i, 135), —
not one of the folk type,
but a ballad broadside dealing with the heroes of the Re-
formation. The first stanza runs:

"It was a lady's daughter,

Of Paris properly,
Her mother her commanded
To mass that she should hie :

O pardon me, dear mother,

Her daughter dear did say.
Unto that filthy idol
I never can obey."

19- "Fortune, my foe." (v, iii, 80.)

One of the most familiar songs of the period, which also
gave the name to a familiar tune. It is constantly alluded
to, e. g., in the Merry Wi^ves of Windsor y Jonson's The
Case is Altered^ Beaumont and Fletcher's The Custom of
the Country znd A Wild Goose Chase ^ Lyly's Maid's Met-
amorphosis ^ etc. Chappell gives the music (ii, 76) from
Corkine's Instruction Book for the Lute (16 10) and other
scources, and the words —
which may or may not be the
original version —
from a broadside called '*A Sweet
Sonnet, wherein the Lover exclaimeth against Fortune'*
etc. Of this the first stanza runs :

*' Fortune my foe, why dost thou frown on me ?

And thy favours never better be ?

will
Wilt thou, I say, for ever breed my pain ?
And wilt thou not restore my joys again ? "
.There remain a large number of unidentified fragments
sung by Merr^-thought '< Hey ho, fare-well, Nan" (i,
:

iv, 142) ; "When earth and seas from me are reft" (i.
 appenoir i6i

and daunce, and laugh

"
iv, 151)} *'If" you will sing,
(hi, V, 12) 5 "I come not hither for thee to teach (iii, "
V, 83) ; *' I would not be a serving-man" (iv, v, 14) ;
*<ForJillian of Berry" (iv,v, 28)} "Come no more there""
(v, iii, 6) 5 O the Mimon round" (v, iii, 16) j
<< Why,
farewell he" (y, iii,20) " Thou
welcome" (v, iii,
5 art

24) ;
" And where is your true-love ?" (v, iii, 29) ;

<< With hey, trixie, terlery-whiskin " (v, iii,

32); "If
such danger be in playing" (v, iii, 64) "She cares not 5

for her daddy" (11, viii, 80) " Give him flowers i' now"
;

(11, viii, 87) "With that came out his paramoure " (v,
j

iii, 102). The last three are mentioned by Child as prob-

able fragments of old ballads the others are for the most
5

part,no doubt, fragments of current song, either senti-

mental or jovial, with perhaps a few extemporizations.
Merr^^thought's repertory also includes the apparently
complete song, <*'Tis mirth that fils the veines with
bloud " (11, viii, 28), and the concluding chorus, " Better
musick nere was knowne " (v, iii, 186). These may have
been written for the play j and being of the same metre,
they may very well have been sung to the same tune. There
seems also no reason to question the originality of the song
of Jasper and Luce in the forest(iii, i, 29), or that of Luce's
dirge (iv, iv, 48), though these are of conventional char-
acter. The former ("Tell me, dearest, what is love")
was used again, with an additional stanza, in The Captain
(II, ii).

IIL — THE BEHAVIOR OF CITIZENS AT

PLAYS.

two plots of The Knight of

Since the link between the
theBurning Pestle is formed by the use made of the cus-
tom which permitted spectators to sit on the stage, the
 :

1 62 appenuir
practice of the Elizabethans in this particular becomes or
special interest. Nowhere else is there so amusing a pic-
ture of the possibilities arising from the custom, or so
brilliant a study of the psychology of the spectator in his
confusion between real and histrionic action ; but every-
where in the literature of the period we find allusions which
throw light on the situation of the citizen and his wife
among the gentlemen spectators on the stage. A number
of these were brought together by J. Payne Collier, in his
English Dramatic Poetry and Annals of the stage (iii, 153-
157). From Parrot's Springes for Woodcocks (161 3), for
example, he quotes the lines :

" When young Rogero goes to see a play,

His pleasure is you place him on the stage,
The better to demonstrate his array,
And how he sits, attended by his page," etc.

From Hutton's Follf s Anatomy (1619)

*' The Globe to-morrow acts a pleasant play :

In hearing it consume the irksome day j

Go, take a pipe of To the crowded stage
:

Must needs be graced with you and your page.

Swear for a place with each controlling fool,
And send your hackney servant for a stool."

And from (Guilpin's ?) Skialetheia (1598 ):

**See you him yonder who sits ore the stage,

With his tobacco-pipe now at his mouth ?

It is Cornelius, that brave gallant youth,

Who is new printed to this fangled age :

He wears a jerkin cudgel'd with gold lace," etc.

In the introduction to Jonson's C)'«//6/V J Revels occurs

a brief but illuminating sketch of the stage audience. The
boy actors are represented as amusing themselves by imi-
tating the young gentlemen of the period.
 appmUijt: 163
" 3 Child. Now, sir, suppose I am one of your genteel
auditors, that am come in, having paid my money at the
door, with much ado, and here I take my place and sit
down. I have my three sorts of tobacco in my pocket,
my light by me, and thus I begin. By this light, I won-
der that any man is so mad, to come to see these
rascally
—
tits play here They do act like so many wrens or pis-
mires— not the fifth part of a good face amongst them
all.— And then their music is abominable able to —
stretch a man's ears worse than ten pillories, and their —
— most lamentable
ditties things, like the pitiful fellows
thatmake them — By poets. this vapour, an 'twere not for
tobacco — — think I the very stench of 'em would poison
me, I should not dare to come in at their gates man —A
were better visit fifteen jails — or a dozen or two of hos-
pitals — than once adventure to come near them. — How
is't ? well ?

*' I Child. Excellent ;

give me my cloak.
" 3 Child. Stay ;
you shall see me do another now, but
a more sober, or better-gather' d gallant j that is, as it may
be thought, some friend, or well-wisher to the house : and
here I enter.
"i What, upon the stage too ?
Child.
"2 Yes and I step forth like one of the chil-
Child. 5

dren, and ask you. Would you have a stool, sir ?

**
3 Child. stool, boy A !

" 2 Child. Ay, sir, if you'll give me sixpence I'll fetch

you one.
<*
3 Child. For what, I pray thee ? what shall I do
with it ?

" 2 Child. O lord, sir will you betray your ignorance

!

so much why throne ? yourself in state on the stage, as

-Jther gentlemen use, sir.
**
3 Child. Away, wag j what, wouldst thou make an
1 64 atpprnDijc

implement of me ?
'
Slid, the boy takes me for a piece of
perspective, I hold my life, some silk curtain, come to
or
hang the stage here! Sir crack, I am none of your fresh
pictures, that use to beautify the decayed dead arras in a
public theatre.
"2 Child. 'Tis a sign, sir, you put not that confi-
dence in your good clothes, and your better face, that a
gentleman should do, sir. But I pray you, sir, let me be
a suitor to you, that you will quit our stage then, and take
a place 5 the play is instantly to begin."
But the locus classicus for this whole subject is Dekker's
Guir s Horn-Book (1609), an entire chapter of which is de-
voted to the subject, *' How a Gallant should behave him-
self in a Play-house." The following are the passages most
interesting to the present purpose:
** Sithence then the place is so free in entertainment, al-
lowing a stoole Farmers sonne as to your
as well to the
Templer: that your Stinkard has the selfe-same libertie to
be there in his Tobacco-Fumes, which your sweet Courtier
hath: and that your Car-man and Tinker claime as strong
a voice in their suffrage, and sit to give judgement on the
plaies life and death, as well as the prowdest Momus
among the tribe of Critick: it is fit that hee, whom the
most tailors bils do make roome for, when he comes,
should not be basely (like a vyoll) casd up in a corner.
"Whether therefore the gatherers of the publique or
private Playhouse stand to receive the afternoones rent,
let our Gallant (having paid it) presently advance him-
selfe up to the Throne of the Stage. I meane not into the
Lords roome (which is now but the Stages Suburbs) No, :

those boxes, by the iniquity of custome, conspiracy of

waiting-women and Gentlemen-Ushers, that there sweat
together, and the covetousnes of Sharers, are contemptibly
thrust into the reare, and much new Satten is there dambd.
 3lppmDiF 165

by being smothred to death in darknesse. But on the very-

Rushes where the Commedy is to daunce, yea, and under
the state of Cambises himselfe must our fethered Estridge,
like a piece of ordnance, be planted valiantly (because
impudently) beating downe the mewes and hisses of the
opposed rascality.
" For do but cast up a reckoning, what large cum-
mings-in are pursd up by sitting on the Stage. First a
conspicuous Eminence is gotten; by which meanes, the
best and most essenciall parts of a Gallant (good cloathes,
a proportionable legge, white hand, the Persian lock, and
a toUerable beard) are perfectly revealed.
<< By sitting on the stage, you have a signd patent to

engrosse the whole commodity of Censure; may lawfully

presume to be a Girder; and stand at the helme to steere
the passage of scaenes; yet no man shall once offer to hin-
der you from obtaining the title of an insolent, over-ween-
ing Coxcombe.
"By sitting you may (without travelling
on the stage,
for it) doore aske whose play it is: and,
at the ver^' next
by that Quest of Inquiry, the law warrants you to avoid
much mistaking: if you know not the author, you may
raile against him and peradventure so behave your selfe,
:

that you may enforce the Author to know you. . . .

** By sitting on the stage, you may (with small cost)

purchase the deere acquaintance of the boyes: have a
good stoole for sixpence at any time know what particu-
:

lar part any of the infants present: get your match lighted,
examine the play-suits lace, and perhaps win wagers upon
laying tis copper, &c. . . .

*< It shall crowne you with rich commendation, to laugh

alowd in the middest of the most serious and saddest scene

of the terriblest Tragedy: and to let that clapper (your
tongue) be tost so high, that all the house may ring of it.
366 appntHiF
^ . For by talking and laughing (like a Plough-man in a
.

Morris) yo-u heap Pelion upon Ossa, glory upon glory. . . .

*' Mary, if either the company, or indisposition of the

Tveather binde you to sit it out, my counsell is then that

you turne plain Ape, take up a rush, and tickle the earnest
eares of your fellow gallants, to make other fooles fall a
laughing: mewe at passionate speeches, blare at merrie,
finde fault with the musicke, whew at the childrens Ac-
tion, whistle at the songs: and above all, curse the sharers,
that whereas the same day you had bestowed forty shillings
on an embrodered Felt and Feather, (scotch-fashion) for
your mistres in the Court, within two houres after, you
encounter with the very same block on the stage, when the
haberdasher swore to you the impression was extant but
"
that morning.

IV, —THE DATE OF THE KNIGHT OF

THE BURNING PESTLE.
While there are numerous allusions in this play which
-furnish some evidence as to the period in which it was

written, there is nothing which definitely determines the

(date. First of
the publisher's dedicatory letter in the
all,

£rst quarto (1613) states that he had <' fostered it pri-

' '
vately ' in his bosom ' ' these two years, and that it was '

the elder of Don S^uixote *' above a year." Since the first
English edition of Don fixate was published in 1 612, it
has been generally held that these two statements indicate
16 1 o -or 1 6 1 1 as the original date of the play. The ' ' two
years" of the first statement, however, seems to allude
not so much to the original writing or production of the
Knighty as to the time when Keysar (the person addressed
in the publisher's letter) rescued it from "perpetual ob-
livion,
'
—
that is, got possession of the manuscript for
'
the purpose of publication. And it is very possible that
the allusion to Don ^ixote had reference to the original
Spanish edition, which was well known in England before
the translation, — the publisher meaning to be understood
that the Knight was so far in existence as to be said to
have been bom, even before 1605. As a matter of fact,
however, the influence of Cer\'antes's story upon the play
is so obvious as to make the original date of the former,

1605, the earliest limit for dating the Knight.

The following are the internal allusions bearing on the
matter of the date.
In the induction are allusions to several plays: the Leg-
end of fVhittington, "Sir Thomas Gresham " (i. e.. If
"
Tou Knozv not Me You Knouu Nobody)^ << Queen Eleanor
(i. e., Edijuard /), "Jane Shore'' (i. e., Ed^ivard lV)y

The Bold Beauchamps^ Mucedorus, and " Jeronimo" (i. e..

The Spanish Tragedy). To this may be added the bur-
lesque of a passage in Shakespeare's Henry IV. Most of
these plays belong to the sixteenth century or to the ver^r
first years of the seventeenth, the latest date of publica-
tion being that of Hey wood's If Tou Kno-zu not M€, etc.,,
1606.
Also in the Induction is an allusion to the theatre in.
which the play is produced, which, if rightly understood,
should be the most definite of all the evidences: <-«This seven
yeares there hath beene playes at this house." On this
passage one cannot do better than quote Professor Thorn-
dike' s note: " Mr. Fleay places the production of the play^
at Whitefriars, because he thinks the play was acted by the
Revels children who were at Whitefriars in 1610. . . .

Later Mr. Greenstreet' s papers showed that Whitefriars

was occupied 1607-10; so in the Chronicle of the Drama,
Mr. Fleay notices this passage and from it concludes that
the play-house in Whitefriars must also have been, occu-
1 68 appen^ijp

pied 1604-7. There is no evidence that it was so occu-

pied. Frequent references to the children show that the

play was produced by a children's company. If by the
Queen's Revels, the seven years can hardly refer to any-
thing except their occupancy of Blackfriars from their or-
ganization of 1600 to 1607. If by the Paul's boys, the
passage again alludes to a period beginning in 1599 and
ending 1606-7. Judging from what we know of the stage
history, the passage cannot refer to any theatre, if spoken
in i6io: if spoken in 1607, it can refer to Blackfriars or
probably to the house occupied by the Paul's boys. " {In-
fluence of B. and F. on Shakspere^ p. 60.)
In I, ii, 25, the grocer's wife asks one of the boy players
'
if he was one of ' * M. Monkester' s schollars. The allusion
'

is evidently to Dr. Richard Mulcaster (see the Notes)y but

would be equally appropriate to any date before 1610 or

even later.
In I, iv, viii, and iv, v, there occur scraps of songs
II,

which are found in Ravenscroft' s Pammelia and Deut-

also
eromelia (1609), But since these were evidently familiar
ditties, there is no reason why they might not have been
quoted before publication in the song-books.
In IV, i, 46 (see the Notes)^ there is an allusion to the
Tra'vailes of the Three English Brothers^ published 1607.
Assuming that such an allusion would be likely to be con-
temporary, Boyle thinks that this fixes the date of the
Knight.
In IV, i, 50, is a reference to the Red Bull playhouse,
which Fleay took to imply a date after April 15, 1609,
on account of a patent of that date to Queen Anne's
players to "exercise publickly as well within their nowe
usual houses called the Redd Bull, Clerkenwell and the
Curtayne in Hallowell," etc. But, as Dr.Thorndike has
pointed out (o/>. cit.y p. 60, note 5), this properly shows
 y

^pntDij: 169

nothing as to the earliest use of the playhouse in ques-

tion.
In IV, i, 73, is a reference to Heywood's Four Prentices
which was not published, so far as is known, until 161 5.

Since Heywood's Preface, however, speaks of the play

as of a kind in fashion " some fifteene or sixteene yeares
agoe," and since it evidently continued to be popular for
a long time, no conclusion can be drawn from this.
In IV, ii, 4, is an allusion to the King of Moldavia.
The Prince of Moldavia (see on this passage in the Notes)
concluded a visit to London in November, 1607. Ob-
viously the memory of him might remain, yet the allusion
tends to confirm the other suggestions of 1607 as the date
of the play.
/ There seems no reason to object to Professor Thorn-
dike's conclusion: <<The evidence, which we have seen
points definitely to 1607, is not contradicted by anything
in the play, and gives us a good many difficulties to ex-
plain if we adopt the usual 1610-11 date." {Op cit.j p.
63.)
 TEXT
The first quarto (1619), while in matters of printing perhaps
inferior to the second, gives the best text,and is here followed with
few variations. It contains one passage of some interest (v, iv, 2-7)
not found in any other early edition. The copy of this quarto in the
British Museum lacks the last three leaves, and that in the Boston
Public Library is really a fragment, stopping with 11, ii, 104, bound
up with the remaining portion of a copy of the second quarto. The
present edition is based on the copy in the Bodleian Library. Qz
(1625) corrects a number of typographical errors inC^i, butisa less
complete and authentic text ; it supplies, one may note, a passage
of two or three lines (hi, i, 148-150) not found in Qi. ^3(1631)
introduces many new blunders, and shows no characteristic of in-
terest, unless it be the substitution of *' Heaven" for " God," and
similar instances of the avoidance of violations of the statute against
profanity. 84(1639), Q5 (1655), and Q6( 166 1) all follow the text
of Q3, as does the Folio of 1679 QS ^^^ Q,^ ^^V be distinguished
5

by the especial wretchedness of their printing, and by the turning

of much verse into prose, — in which they are followed by the
Folio. Q6 occasionally restores the avoided oaths of the three pre-
ceding editions, as if to signalize the new freedom of the Restoration.
Q7 (1676) does this throughout, and in general returns to the text
of Qi, though not following it steadily j it is far the best of the
later quartos, but includes no new readings of interest. All variants
from Qi (except obvious misprints and variations in spelling) are
noted for Q2, Q3, and the Folio of 1679 (^) j ^^^ ^^^ additions to
or alterations of the text not drawn from another early edition are
enclosed in brackets. For other details as to the form of the text,
see the note on the text of Tie Knight of the Burning Pest/e.
A King and no King.
Afted at the Qlohe^^ by his Maie^
f{us Scruants,

WriiccD by Iraneis Beauitnt , and hhn Ftectter,

AT LONDON
Printed for Thmst mtkUf , and arc to bee fold
shil (hoppe at the Eagle and Childe in
 SOURCES
No definite source is known for the plot of this play, although
most of the characters bear historical names. The historical Ar-
baces was a Median prince who warred against Sardanapalus ; his
story was given in the Bibliothecae Historicae of Diodorus Siculus.
Dryden (in the Preface to Troi/us and Cressida) said that the char-
acter of Beaumont's Arbaces was probably derived from that of
Alexander the Great in the story of CEdipus, but there seems to be
no sufficient ground for this. The names of Tigranes, Gobrias, and
Panthea are found in Xenophon's Cyropaedia (Books iii-vi), and
those of Gobrias and Mardonius in Herodotus (Book vii) (both of
which works were translated into English between 1560 and 1584),
but their several relationships are not the same as in the play. Ti-
granes, to be sure, was a Prince of Armenia who effected his own
and his father's release from captivity by his nobility of character,
a situation which may not have been unfruitful for Beaumont and
Fletcher. Again, the character of Panthea —
her beauty and virtue
— seems to be echoed in the Panthea of the play. The situation
in which Araspes {^Cyropaedia, v, i, and vi, 1) boasts of his abil-
ity to control his desires in the presence of the beautiful Panthea,
yet is overcome by them so that he declares he must have
presently
two souls, may have
suggested something for the dramatic irony of
Arbaces's temptation. But the passion of Arbaces for his supposed
sister is more likely to have been suggested (as Thorndike pointed
out, Influence of B. and F. on Shahpere, p. 82) by the story of
Thierry of France, as related in Fauchet's Le'z Antiquitfz et His-
toires Gauloises et Francoises (1599). This was used (probably ear-
lier than Beaumont and Fletcher in Thierry
in the present play) by
and Theodoret, in which tragedy, as in the history, "in order to
prevent incest, the man who is supposed to be no king is shown by
the queen to be a king and her son in 5 A
King and No King, in
order to prevent incest, the man supposed to be a king is shown by
the queen to be no king and not her son." (Thorndike.) The
character of Bessus has been referred to such different prototypes as
Falstaff, Parolles, and Bobadil ; but there is no reason for seeking
any definite source for
it. For its relation to the boastful soldier or
miles gloriosus of the earlier drama, see H. Graf: Der Miles Glori-
osus im Englischen Drama, etc., and other references cited by Dr.
Fliigel in Gayley's English Comedies, p. 189 f.
 TO
THE RIGHT
WORSHIPFULL,
AND WORTHIE
Knight^ Sir Hekrie
NEVILL.
Worthy Sir,

Present^ or rather returne unto your 'vie^w.

I that njchich formerly hath heene recei^ved from
you^ hereby effecting -tv hat you did desire : To
commend the -ucorke in my ^unlearned method^
njjere rather to detract from it^ then to gi-ve it any
luster. It sufficeth it hath your Worships ap-
probation and patronage^ to the commendation
of the Authors, and incouragement of their fur-
ther labours : and thus ^wholly committing my
selfe and it to your Worships dispose I rest, enjer
readie to doe you ser-uice, not onely in the like,
but in HAjhat I may.

Thomas Walkley.
To The Right Worsbipfull . . . Thomas Walkley. Q2, Q3,
^ omit.
 [THE PERSONATED PERSONS.
Arbaces, King of Iberea.
TiGRANES, King of Armenia.
GoBRiAS, Lord Protectour, and father of Arbaces.
Bacurius, another Lord.
Mardonius )
T, y ^ Captaines.
^
Bessus ]

Lygones, father of Spaconia.

Two Gentlemen.
3 Men and a Woman.
Phillip, a servant, and 2 Citizens' Wives.
A Messenger.
A servant to Bacurius.
Two Sword-men.
A Boy.
Arane, the Queene's Mother.
Panthea, her Daughter.
Spaconia, a Lady, daughter of Lygones.
Man DANE, a waiting woman,
and other Attendants. ]

The . . . Persons. Not in gI or QP"

Lygones. F, Ligoces.
 a Mn2 ant) Bo ISfng

[Actus Primi Scena Prima.

The Camp of Arbacesy on the frontiers of Armenia,'^
Enter Mardonius and Bessus.
Mardonius. Bessus, the king has made a fayre
hand on't, has ended the warres at a blow.
Would my sword had a close basket-hilt to hold
wine, and the blade would make knives for we !

shall have nothing but eating and drinking.

^
Bessus. We that are commanders shall doe
well enough.
Mar. Faith, Bessus, such commanders as thou
may I had as live set thee perdue for a pudding
:

yth' darke, as Alexander the Great. lo

Bes. I love these jests exceedingly.
Mar. I thinke thou lov'st them better then
quarrelling, Bessus ; He say so much y'thy be-
halfe and yet thou art valiant enough upon a re-
:

treate; I thinke thou wouldst kill any man that 15

stopt thee, and thou couldst.
Mardonius and Bessus. Qz, Q3, F add two Captaines.
2 has ended. Q2, Q3, F, he haz ended.
9 had as. Q2, had's. 12 them. Q2, (^3, 'em.
14 thou art. Q2, Q3, F, thou'rt.
16 and thou. Q2, Q3, F, if thou.
 !

1 7^ a i^ing anO jl^o !^mg [Act i.

Bes. But was not this a brave combate, Mar-

donius ?

Mar. Why, didst thou see't ?

Bes. You stood with me. 20

Mar. I did so ; but me thought thou winkst
every blowe they strake.
Bes. Well, I beleeve there are better souldiers
then I, that never saw two princes fight in lists.
Mar. By my troth, I thinke so too, Bessus, — ^5

many a thousand but : certenlyall that are worse

then thou have seene as much.
Bes. 'Twas bravely done of our king.
Mar. Yes, if he had not ended the warres.
I am glad thou darst talke of such dangerous 30
businesses.
Bes. To take a prince prisoner in the heart
of his owne countrey in single combate
Mar. See how thy bloud cruddles at this ! I
thinke thou wouldst be contented to be beaten 35
in this passion.
Bes. Shall I tell you trulie ?

Mar. I.

20 ivith me. Q2, Q3, F, wi'me.

22 strake. Q2, Q3, F, strooke.
30 I am. Q2, Q3, F, I'me.
33 o/^"- Q2, Q3.F, of s.
34 cruddles. Q2, crudles Q3, F,;
curdles.

35 ivouldst. Q2, Q3, F, couldst.

36 in this. Q2, Q3, F, i'this.
 7

Scene I] ^ ^inQ aUD j]^ MXl^ 1 7

Bes. could willingly venter for it.

I

Mar. Um
no venter neither, good Bessus. 40
;

Bes. Let me not live, if I doe not thinke it is

a braver peece of service then that Ime so fam'd
for.

Afar. Why, art thou fam'd for any valour ?

Bes. I fam'd ! I, I warrant you. 45

Mar. I am verie heartily glad on't : I have
beene with thee ever since thou cam'st ath' wars,
and this is the first word that ever I heard on't.
Prethee, who fames thee ?
Bes. The Christian world. 50
Mar. 'Tis heathenishly done of them ; in my
conscience, thou deserv'st it not.
Bes. Yes, I ha done good service.
Mar. I doe not know how thou maist waite of
a man in's chamber, or thy agilitie in shifting 55
a trencher but otherwise no service, good Bessus.
;

Bes. You saw me doe the service your selfe.

Mar. Not so hastie, sweet Bessus where :

was it ? is the place vanisht ?

Bes. At Bessus' Desperate Redemption. 60

39 for h. Qz, Q3,F, for't.

40 good. Qi, Q3, F omit.
41 it is. Q2, Q3,t'isj F, 'tis.
45 Ifamd. Q2, (^3, F omit I.
46 lam'verie. Q2, Q3, F, I'me e'ene.
47 ath' ivars. Q2, Q3, F, to'th warres.
48 this is. Qz, Q3, this.
51 them. Q2, ^3, F, 'em.
55 r« shifting. Q3, F, of shifting of.
 1

1 78 3i MxiQ anU jl^o Mn% [Acti.

Mar. Bessus' Desperate Redemption ! wher's

that ?

Bes. There where I redeemd the day the place

;

beares my name.
Mar. Prethee, who christned it ? 65
Bes. The souldier.
Afar. If I were not a very merily disposed
man, what would become of thee ? One that had
but a graine of coller in the whole composition
of his body, would send thee of an arrand to the 70
wormes, for putting thy name upon that field :

did not I beat thee there yth' head a'th troops

with a trunchion, because thou wouldst needs
run away with thy company when we should
charge the enemie? 75
Bes. True; but I did not runne.
Afar. Right, Bessus I beat thee out on't.
:

Bes. But came not I up when the day was

gone, and redeemM all ?
Afar. Thou knowst, and so doe I, thou 80
meanest to flie, and thy feare making thee mis-
take, thou ranst upon the enemie and a hot
;

charge thou gav'st; as. He doe thee right, thou art

furious in running away; and I thinke we owe
thy feare for our victorie. If I were the king, and 85

61 Bessus\ QZy Q3, F, At Bessus.

66 souldier. Q3, F, souldiers. 67 merily. Qi, meerely.
78 came not I. Q3, F, came I not.
8 meanest. Q2, 23> meant' st ; F, meanedst.
Scene I.]
^ l^ltig aUD jJ^O f^mg I
79

were sure thou wouldst mistake alwayes, and

runne away uppon the enemie, thou shouldst be
generall, by this light.
Bes. Youle never leave this till I fall foule.
Mar. No more such words, deare Bessus ; 90
for though I have ever knowne thee a coward,
and therefore durst never strike thee, yet if thou
proceedst, I will allow thee valiant, and beate
thee.
Bes. Come, come, our king's a brave fellow. 95
Mar. He is so, Bessus I wonder how thou
;

com'st to know it. But if thou wert a man of

understanding, I would tell thee he is vain-

glorious, and humble, and angrie, and patient,

and merrie, and dull, and joyfull, and sorrowfull, 100
in extreamities, in an houre. Doe not thinke mee
thy friend for this; for if I car'd who knew it,

thou shouldst not heare it, Bessus. Here hee is,

with the prey in his foote.

Enter Arbaces and TigraneSy with Attendants.
Arbaces. Thy sadnesse, brave Tigranes, takes
away 105

87 the enemie. Q2, Q3, F, th' enemy.

95 Come, come. Q2, Q3, F, come.
97 com'st. Q2, Q3, F, cam'st.
loi extreamities. ^2, Q3, F, extremity.
104 the prey. Q2, Q3, F, his prey.
Enter Arbaces, etc. Q2, Q3, F, Enter &c. Senet Flourish. Enter
Arbaces and Tigranes, two kings, etc.
 ;

1 80 a !^mg anD jl^o Mn% [Act i.

From my full victory: am I become

Of so small fame, that any man should grieve
When I orecome him They that plac't me here
?

Intended it an honour large enough

For the most valiant living; but to dare no
Oppose me single, though he lost the day,
What should afflict you ? you are free as I
To be my prisoner is to be more free
Then you were formerlie and never thinke :

The man I held worthy to combat me 115

Shall be us'd servilly. Thy ransome is,
To take my onely sister to thy wife;
A heavy one, Tigranes for shee is ;

A ladie that the neighbour princes send

Blanks to fetch home. I have beene too unkind 120
To her, Tigranes shee but nine yeere old,
:

I left her, and nere saw her since ; your warres

Have held me long, and taught me, though a
youth.
The way to victorie ; shee was a pretty childe
Then, I was little better; but now fame 125
Cries loudly on her, and my messengers
Make me beleeve shee is a miracle.
Sheele make you shrinke, as I did, with a stroke
But of her eye, Tigranes.
Tigranes. Is it the course of

IIZ free. F, as free. izi yeere. F, years.

129 Is it. Q2, Q3, F, Is't.
 ; ;

Scene I] g Mn% aUD jjiO ^iXlQ I 8 I

Iberia, to use their prisoners thus ? 130

Had Fortune throwne my name above Arbaces,
I should not thus have talkt ; for in Armenia
We hold it base. You should have kept your
temper,
Till you saw home agen, where 'tis the fashion
Perhaps to brag.
Arb. Bee you my witness. Earth, 135
Neede I to brag? Doth not this captive prince
Speake me sufficiently, and all the acts
That I have wrought upon his suffering land ?
Should I then boast? Where lies that foot of
ground
Within his whole realme, that I have not past 140
Fighting and conquering ? Farre then from mee
Be ostentation. I could tell the world
How I have laid his kingdome desolate
By this sole arme, propt by divinity
Stript him out of his glories and have sent ; 145
The pride of all his youth to people graves
And made his virgins languish for their loves j

If I would brag. Should I, that have the power

To teach the neighbour world humility,
Mix with vaine glory ?

Mar. In deede this is none? 150

Jrb. Tigranes, no ; did I but take delight

132 taikt ;for. Q2, Q3, F, talked sir.

151 no. Qz, 23, F,nay.

 ;

1 82 anting anD jpo i^ing iacti.

To stretch my deedes, as others doe, on words,

I could amaze my hearers.
Mar. So you doe.
Arh. But he shall wrong his, and my modesty,
That thinkes me apt to boast : after an act 155
Fit for a god to doe upon his foe,
A little glory in a souldier's mouth
Is well becomming; bee it farre from vaine.
Mar. It's pitty that valour should be thus
drunke.
Arh. I offer you my and you answere, 160
sister;
I doe insult : a lady thatno suit.
Nor treasure, nor thy crowne, could purchase
thee.
But that thou faughtst with mee.
Tigr. Though
this bee worse
Then you spoke before, it strikes not mee
that
But that you thinke to over-grace mee with 165
The marriage of your sister, troubles mee.
I would give worlds for ransomes, were they mine,
Rather then have her.
Arh. See if I insult.
That am the conqueror, and for a ransome
Offer rich treasure to the conquered, 170
Which he refuses, and I beare his scorne!

1^6 god. Qa, Q3, good F, good man.

;

159 7r' 5. Q2, Q3, F, 'Tis. le-ifaug/itst. Qi, faughst.

164 s^oke. Q2, Q3, F, spake, not mee. QZy Q3, F, me not.
 :

Scene I.]
^ ^ixiQ aUD j^O MXl^ 1
83

It cannot be selfe-flattery to say,

The daughters of your country, set by her.
Would see their shame, runne home, and blush
to death
At their owne foulenesse. Yet shee is not faire, 175
Nor beautifull those words expresse
; her not
They say her lookes have something excellent,
That wants a name. Yet were shee odious.
Her birth deserves the empire of the world ;
Sister to such a brother, that hath tane 180
Victorie prisoner, and throughout the earth
Carries her bound, and should hee let her loose,
Shee durst not leave him. Nature did her wrong.
To print continuall conquest on her cheekes.
And make no man worthy for her to take, 185
But meethat am too neare her; and as strangely
Shee did for mee. But you will thinke I brag.
Mar. I doe, He be sworne. Thy valour and
thy passions severd, would have made two ex-
cellent fellowes in their kindes. I know not 190
whether I should be sorry thou art so valiant, or
so passionate : would one of um were away !

Tigr. Doe I refuse her, that I doubt her

worth ?

Were shee as vertuous as shee would bethought,

So perfect that no one of her owne sex 195

178 name. Yet were. Qi, name yet: were.

185 /or Aer. Q2, her for. take. Q3, F, taste.
 ; ;

1 84 ai Mn^ auD il^o i^ing [Act i.

Would finde a want ; had shee so tempting faire,

That shee could wish it off for damning souls
I would pay any ransome, twenty times,
Rather then meet her married in my bed.
Perhaps I have a love, where I have fixt 200
Mine eies,not to bee moov'd, and shee onmee:
I am not fickle.
Jrb. Is that all the cause ?

Thinke you, you can so knit your selfe in love

To any other, that her searching sight
Cannot dissolve it ? So, before you tride, 205
You thought your selfe a match for mee in fight.
Trust mee, Tigranes, shee can doe as much
In peace as I in warre ; sheele conquer too.
You shall see, if you have the power to stand
The force of her swift lookes. If you dislike, 210
He send you home with love, and name your
ransome
Some other way ; but if shee bee your choise,
Shee frees you. To
you must.
Iberia
have learnt a prisoner's sufferance,
Tigr. Sir, I

And will obey. But give mee leave to talke 215

In private with some friends before I goe.
Jrb, Some two await him forth, and see him
safe

196 FTou/d. Q2, Q3, F, Could. So D.

i^jfor. Qi, her. 214 /earnt. Qz, Q3, F, learn'd.
217 two. Q2, 23. F, to.
 .

Scene I] ^ MXIQ aUD ^0 ialHg 1 85

But let him freely send for whom he please,

And none dare to disturbe his conference.
I will not have him know what bondage is, zzo
Till he be free from mee.
Exeunt \jvjo attendants with Tigranei]
This prince, Mardonius,
of wisdome, valour, all the graces
Is full
Man can receive.
Afar. And yet you conquered him ?
Jrb. And yet I conquered him, and could
have don
Hadst thou joynd with him, thogh thy name in
armes 225
Bee great. Must all men that are vertuous
Thinke suddenly to match themselves with mee ?
I conquered him, and bravely did I not ? ;

Bes. And please your majesty, I was afraid

at first. 230
JUar. When wert thou other ?

Jrb. Of what ?

Bes. That you would not have spide your

best advantages; for your majesty in my opinion
lay too high, me thinkes ; under favour, you 235
should have laine thus.
Mar. Like a taylor at a wake.
Bes. And then if 't please your majesty to

224 don. Q2 omits ; Q3, F, done't.

^38 '/'^ 22, Q3, F, if.
1 86 a Mm anD 00 Mm l^" I-

remember, at one time, by my troth, I wisht

my selfe with you. 240
Mar. By my troth, thou wouldst have stunke
um both out oth' lists.

Jrh. What to doe ?

Bes. To put your majesty in mind of an oc-

casion : you and Tigranes falsified a 245
lay thus,
blow at which you, by doing thus,
your leg,
avoided ; but, if you had whipt up your leg thus,
and reacht him on th'eare, you had made the
bloud runne about*s head.
Afar. What contry fence-schoole didst thou 250
learn that at ?

Jrb. Puft ! did I not take him nobly ?

Mar. Why, you did, and you have talkt

enough on't.
Jr/?. Talke enough !
255
Will you confine my words ? By Heaven and
earth,
Iwere much better bee a king of beasts
Then such a people If I had not patience !

Above a god, I should be cald a tyrant

240 ivitkyou. Q2, 23, F, wi'you.

241 ha-ve. Q2, Q3, F, ha'. stunke. Qi, sunke.
249 bloud. Qt., Q3, F, bloud-royall. about'' s. Q2, about

his ; Q3, F, downe his.

250-1 didst .at. Q2, Q3, learn'st that at; F, leam'st thou
. . at.

252 Puft. Q2, Q3, F, Pish. 255 Talke. F, Talkt.

256 IVill. Qi, While. ivords. F, word.
 !

scENi L] a i^ing auD j^ l^ing 1 87

Throughout the world they will offend to death 260

:

Each minute. Let me heare thee speake againe

And thou art earth againe. Why, this is like
Tigranes speech, that needs would say I brag'd.

Bessus, hee said I brag'd.

Bes. Ha, ha, ha!
Jrb. Why dost thou laugh } 265
By all the world, Ime growne ridiculous
To my owne subjects. Tye me to a chaire
And jest at mee ! but I shall make a start,
And punish some, that other will take heede
How they are haughty. Who
will answere mee ? 270
He said I boasted. Speak, Mardonius,
Did I ? He will not answer. my temper O !

I give you thankes above, that taught my heart

Patience ; I can indure his silence. What, will

none
Vouchsafe to give mee answere ? am I growne 275
To such a poore respect ? or doe you meane
To breake my wind ? Speake, speak, some one
of you,
Or else, by Heaven —
—
!

/ Gent. So please your

Arb. Monstrous
I cannot bee heard out ; they cut me off,

267 to a. Q2, Q3, F, in a.

269 other ivtll. (^2, Q3, other may F, others may.
;

275 amivere. Ql, audience. 277 iome. Qi, soone.

 ;

1 88 a Mm ano #0 Mn% [act i.

As if I were too sawcy. I will live 280

In woods, and talke to trees ; they will allow mee
To end what I begin. The meanest subject
Can finde a freedome to discharge his soule
And not I. Now it is a time to speake
I harken.
1 Gent. May it please —
Jrb. meane not you
I ;285
Did not I stop you once ? but I am growne
To [talke but idly :] let another speake.
2 Gent. I hope your majesty —
Jrb. Thou drawl'st thy words,
That I must waite an hower, where other men
Can heare in instants throw your words away
: 290
Quicke, and to purpose; I have told you this.
Bes. An't please your majesty —
Jrb. Wilt thou devoure me? This is such a
rudenes
As yet you never shewed mee, and I want
Power to command too, else Mardonius 295
Would speake at my request. Were you my
king,
I would have answered at your word, Mardonius :

I pray you speake, and truly did I boast ? ;

287 talke but idly. Qi, balke, but I desire; ^2, Q3, F, balke
but I defie. The emendation is by S, and D says he finds it as an
old marginal correction.
288 draivTst. Qi, F, drawest.
292 Ant. ^^2, Q3, F, And. 295 too. Ql, mee.
 : :

sciNE I.J a Mn% anD ^o iAing 1

89

Afar. Truth will offend you.

Jrb. You take all great care
What will offend me, when you dare to utter 300
Such things as these.
Mar. You told Tigranes you had won his land
With that sole arme, propt by divinity
Was not that bragging, and a wrong to us.
That daily venturde lives ?

Jrb. O, that thy name 305

Were great as mine would ! had paid my wealth,
I

It were as great, that I might combate thee!

I would through all the regions habitable
Search thee, and, having found thee, with mv
sword
Drive thee about the world, till I had met 310
Some place that yet man's curiosity
Hath mist of; there, there would I strike thee
dead
Forgotten of mankind, such funerall rites
As beasts would give thee, thou shouldst have.
Bes. The king
Rages extreamely shall wee slinke away ?
:
315
Heele strike us.
2 Gent. Content.
Arb. There I would make you know 'twas
this sole arme.
\ grant, you were my instruments, and did

309 luitk my. Q2, Q3, F, wi'my.

190 31 l^ing anu jl^o Mn% [act i.

As I commanded you; but 'twas this arme 320

Mov'd you like wheeles ; it mov'd you as it

pleas'd.
Whither slip you now ? what, are you too good
To waite on mee ? PufFe I had neede have
!

temper,
That rule such people have nothing left
; I
At my owne choice: I would
I might be private 325 !

Meane men enjoy themselves ; but 'tis our

curse
To have a tumult, that, out of their loves.
Will waite on us whether we will or no.
Will you be gone ? Why, heere they stand like
death ;

My word mooves nothing.

2 Gent. Must we goe ?

Bes. I know not. 330

Jrb. I pray you, leave me, sirs. I'me proud
of this.
That they will be intreated from my sight.
J[Exeunt all but Arbaces and Mardonius."]
— Why, now they leave mee all ! Mardonius !

Mar. Sir?
Arb. Will you leave me quite alone? me
thinks
3^3 P^ff'- Qi omits ; Q3, F, {puffe).
329 Will you be. Q2, Q3, F, Goe get you.
330 ivord moo'ves. Q3, words mooves F, words move. ;

Exeunt J etc. Qi omits.

 ; :

Scene I] ^ |^mg aiXD j^O i^lUg 1 9 I

Civility should teach you more then this, 335

If I were but your friend. Stay heere, and waite.
Mar, Sir, shall I speake ?

Arh. Why, you would now thinke much

To bee denide ; but I can scarce intreat
What would have. Doe, speake.
I

Mar. But will you heare mee out ?

Arh. With me you article, to talke thus. Well, 340
I will heare you out.
Mar, Sir, that I have ever loved you,
My sword hath spoken for me ; that I doe,
If it bee doubted, I dare call an oath,
A great one, to my witnesse ; and were
You not my king, from amongst men I should 345
Have chose you out to love above the rest
Nor can this challenge thanks ; for my own sake
I would have lov'd
should have doted, because I
The most deserving man, for so you are.
Arh, Alas, Mardonius, rise you shall not !

kneele. 350
We all are souldiers, and all venter lives
And where there is no difference in men's
worths,
Who can out-vallew thee ?
Titles are jests.
Mardonius, thou hast lov'd me, and hast wrong;
Thy love is not rewarded but beleeve ; 355

341-9 Sir . are. Old eds. print as prose.

. .

348 (loted. Q2, Q3, done F (and D), done ; it.

 ;

192 a Mn^ anu Jl^o i^ing [act i.

It shall be better : more then friend in armes,

My father, and my good Mardonius
tutor, !

Afar. Sir, you did promise you would heare

me out.
Jrb, And so I
will: speake freely, for from thee
Nothing can come but worthy things and true. 360
Mar. Though you have al this worth, you
hold som qualities that doe eclipse your vertues.
Jrb. Eclipse my vertues ?

Afar. Yes, your passions, which are so mani-

fold, that they appeare even in this : when 1 365
commend you, you hug mee for that truth
when I speak of your faults, you make a start,
and flie the hearing. But —
Jrb. When you commend me ! O that I
should live
To neede such commendations If my deedes 370 !

Blew not my praise themselves above the earth,

I were most wretched. Spare your idle praise :

If thou didst meane to flatter, and shouldst utter

Words in my praise that thou thoughtst impu-
dence.
My deedes should make um modest. When you
praise, 375

367 luhen. Q2, Q3, F, but when, speak of Q2, Q3, F, speak.
.

368 hearing. But. F, hearing but. T proposed, hearing out j

Bond, hearing o't.

371 abo've. Q2, ^3, F, about.

 ;

Scene I.]
^ j^mg auD j^o iaiitg 193

I hug you ! 'tis so false, that, wert thou worthy,

Thou shouldst receive a death, a glorious death,
From me. But thou shalt understand thy lies
For, shouldst thou praise mee into heaven, and
there
Leave me inthron'd, I would despise thee [then] 380
As much as now, which is as much as dust.
Because I see thy envy.
Mar. How
ever you will use me after, yet,
for your owne promise sake, heare me the rest.
Arh. I will and after call unto the windes, 385
;

For they shall lend as large an eare as I

To what you utter. Speake.
Mar. Would you but leave these hasty tem-
pers, which I doe not say take from you all your
worth, but darken um, then you would shine in- 390
deede.
Arh. Well.
Mar. Yet I would have you keepe some pas-
sions, least men should take you for a god, your
vertues are such. 395
Arh. Why, now you flatter.
Mar. I never understood the word. Were
you no king, and free from these wilde moodes,
should I chuse a companion for wit and pleasure,

380 then. Old eds., though. The emendation is T's.

39O^'0« ivould. Q3, F, you will.

398 ivilde. Q2, 23, F omit.

 ; !

194 Si i^ing anD ^o Mn% [acti.

it should bee you, or for honestie to enterchange4oo

my bosome with, it would be you or wisdome ;

to give me counsel, I would pick out you or :

vallor to defend my reputation, still I would find

out you, for you are fit to fight for all the
world, if it could come in question. Now I have 405
spoke. Consider to your selfe, finde out a use ;

if so, then what shall fall to mee is not materiall.

Jrb. Is not materiall ! More then ten such
lives
As mine, Mardonius. It was nobly said ;

Thou hast spoake truth, and boldly, such a truth 410

As might offend another. I have bin
Too passionate, and idle ; thou shalt see
A swift amendment. But I want those parts
You praise me for : I fight for all the world
Give thee a sword, and thou wilt goe as farre 415
Beyond mee, as thou art beyond in yeares
I know thou dar'st, and wilt. It troubles mee
That should use so rough a phrase to thee
I :

Impute it to my folly, what thou wilt.

So thou wilt pardon me. That thou and I 420
Should differ thus !

Afar. Why, 'tis no matter, sir.

Jrb. Faith, but 'tis : but thou dost ever take

400 honestie Qi, honest. 401 // would. Q3,F, it should.

403-04 nvould . you.
. . (^2, Q3 F, should find you out.
422 Uis. Q2, Q3, F, it is.
Scene L] 3 ^ItTg aittl J^O l^ltTg 195

All thingsI do thus patiently; for which

Inever can requite thee but with love,

And that thou shalt bee sure of. Thou and I 4^5
Have not bin merry lately pray thee tell mee :

Where hadst thou that same Jewell in thine eare?

Mar. Why, at the taking of a towne.
Arh. A wench.
Upon my life, a wench, Mardonius,
Gave thee that Jewell. 43°
Mar. Wench they ! respect not mee ; Ime
old and rough, and every limbe about mee, but
that which should, growes stifFer. I'those busi-
nesses I may sweare I am for I pay
truely honest ;

justly for what I take, and would bee glad to be 435

at a certainty.
Arh. Why, doe the wenches incroch upon
thee ?

Mar. I, by this light, doe they.

Arh. Didst thou sit at an old rent with um ?44o
Mar. Yes, faith.

Arh. And doe they improove themselves ?

Mar. I, ten shillings to mee, every new yong

fellow they come acquainted with.
Arh. How canst live on't ? 445
Mar. Why, I thinke I must petition to
you.
Arh. Thou shalt take um up at my price.
427 in thine. Ql, Q3, i'thine.
196 3 !!img anD jl>o !^ing [acti.

[^EnUr two Gentlemen and Bessus.'j

Mar. Your price ?

Arb. I, at the king's price.

Mar. That may be more then I am worth. 450
/ Gent. Is he not merry now ?

2 Gent. I thinke not.

Bes. He is, he
is weele shew our selves.
:

Arb. Bessus, thought you had beene in Iberia

I

by this ; I bad you hast ; Gobrias will want enter-455

tainment for me.
Bes. An't please your majestic, I have a
sute.
Arb. Is't not lowsie, Bessus ? what is't ?

Bes. Iam to carrie a lady with me —

Arb. Then thou hast two sutes. 460
Bes. And if I can preferre her to the ladie
Panthea, your majesties sister, to learne fashions,
as her friends terme it, it will be worth some-
thing to me.
Arb. So many nights lodgings as 'tis thither, 465
wil't not ?

Bes. I know not that, sir; but gold I shall be

sure of.

Enter . . . Bessus. Qi omits.

450 lam. Q2, Q3, F, I'me.
455 y°" hast. Qi, you halfe. 5

457 -^«''- Q2, Q3,F, And.

462 Panthea. Qi, Panthan F, Pentha. 5

466 iviTt. Qi, will. 467 sir. Qi omits.

 7;

scENr I] a laing ant) jl^o faing 1 9

Jrb. Why, thou shalt bid her entertaine her

from mee, so thou wilt resolve me one thing. 470
Bes. If I can.
Jrb. Faith, 'tis a very disputable question
yet I thinke thou canst decide it.

Bes. Your majestic has a good opinion of my

understanding. 475
Jrb. have so good an opinion of
I it : 'tis

whether thou be valiant.

Bes. Some bodie has tradust me to you. Doe
you see this sword, sir ?

Jrb. Yes. 480

Bes. If I doe not make my back-biters eate It

to a knife within this weeke, say I am not valiant.

Enter Messenger.
Mes. Health to your majestic !

^Delivers a letter.^
Jrb, From Gobrias ?

Mes. Yes, sir.

Jrb. How does he ? is he well ?

Mes. In perfect health.

Jrb. Thanke thee for thy good newes. — 485
A trustier servant to his prince there lives not
Then is good Gobrias. \_Reads.']

I Gent. The king starts backe.

Mar. His blood goes backe as fast.
473 y^'- Q2, Q3» F, and yet.
485 Thanke thee. Q2, Q3, F, Take that.
 : ! —
198 31 l^ing anti ^0 Mn^ [act l

2 Gent, And now it comes againe.

Mar. He alters strangely.
The hand of Heaven
y^rb. is on me : be it farre49o
From me to struggle If my ! secret sinnes
Have pul'd this curse upon me, lend me teares
Enough to wash me white, that I may feele
A childlike innocence within my brest
Which once performed, O give me leave to stand 495
As fixt as Constancie her selfe, my eyes
Set here unmov'd, regardlesse of the world,
Though thousand miseries incompasse me
Alar. This is strange! Sir, how doe you?
Jrb. Mardonius, my mother —
Afar. Is shee dead ? 500
Jrb. Alas, shee's not so happie! Thou dost
know
How shee hath laboured, since my father died,
To take by treason hence this loathed life.
That would but be to serve her. I have pardonM,
And pardonM, and by that have made her fit 505
To practise new sinnes, not repent the olde.
Shee now had stir'd a slave to come from thence
And strike me here whom Gobrias, sifting out,
;

Tooke, and condemn'd, and executed there,

The carefulst servant! Heaven, let me but live 510
To pay that man Nature is poore to me,
!

493 Enough. Q^, Q3, I'now ; F, now.

507 had stir'' d. Qi, has hir'd.
 : ;

Scene I.]
^ ^mg aUD j^O l^iXlQ 1 99
That will not let me have as many deathes
As are the times that he hath sav'd my life,
That I might die um over all for him.
Mar. Sir, let her beare her sins on her owne
head. 515
Vex not your selfe.
Jrb. What v^ill the world
Conceive of me ? with what unnaturall sinnes
Will they suppose me laden, when my life
Is sought by her that gave it to the world ?
But yet he writes me comfort here my sister, :
520
He sayes, is growne in beautie and in grace,
In all the innocent vertues that become
A tender spotlesse maide : shee staines her
cheekes
With mourning teares, to purge her mother's ill

And mongst her sacred dew shee mingles prayers, 525

Her pure oblations for my safe returne.
If have lost the dutie of a sonne,
I

If any pompe or vanity of state

Made me forget my naturall offices,
Nay, have not every night
farther, if I 530
Expostulated with my wandring thoughts,
If ought unto my parent they have err'd.
And cald um backe ; doe you direct her arme
Unto this foule dissembling heart of mine
518 laden. Q2, Q3, F, loden. 524 mourning. F, morning.
525 mongst her. Q2, Q3, F, mongst that.
200 a !^ing anD Jl^o i^ing [Act i.

But if I have beene just to her, send out 535

Your power to compasse me, and hold me safe
From searching treason ; I will use no meanes
But prayer: for, rather suffer me to see
From mine own veines issue a deadly floud,
Then wash my danger off with mother's bloud. 540
Mar. I nere saw such sudden extremities.
\_Exeunt.~\

[Actus Primi Scena Secunda.

Another part of the Camp.~\
Enter Tigranes and Spaconia.
Tigranes. Why, wilt thou have me [fly,]
Spaconia ?
What should I do ?

Spaconia. Nay, let me stay alone;

And when you see Armenia againe.
You shall behold a toombe more worth then I:
Some friend, that either loves me, or my cause, 5
Will build me something to distinguish me
From other women many a weeping verse;

He will lay on, and much lament those maides

That place their loves unfortunately high.
As I have done, where they can never reach. 10
But why should you goe to Iberia?

538 prayer. Qi, prayers. 540 danger. Qi, dangers.

I fly. Old eds., die. The accepted reading is Weber's.
5 either lo-ves. Q3, F, ever lov'd.

9 place. F, plac'd. high. Qi, too light.

 ; : ;

scrNEU] ^ i^ing anD jl^o Jaing 201

Tigr. Alas, that thou wilt aske me ! Aske the

man
That rages in a feaver, why hee lies

Distemper'd there, when all the other youths

Are coursing ore the meadowes with their loves : 15
Can I resist it ? am I not a slave
To him that conquer'd me ?

Spa. That conquer'd thee?

Tigranes, he has won but halfe of thee,
Thy bodie ; but thy minde may be as free
As his his will did never combate thine,
; 20
And take it prisoner.
Tigr. But if hee by force
Convey my bodie hence, what helpes it me,
Or thee, to be unwilling ?

Spa. Oh, Tigranes !

I know you are to see a ladie there

To see, and like, I feare perhaps the hope : 25
Of her makes you forget me ere we part.
Be happier then you know to wish ! farewell
Tigr. Spaconia, stay, and heare me what I say.
In short, destruction meete me, that I may
See it, and not avoid it, when I leave 30
To be thy faithfull lover! Part with me
Thou shalt not there are none that know our love
;

And I have given gold unto a captaine

18 of thee, Ql, of. 26 makes. F, make.
33 given. Q2, gin, unto. Qi,Q2, to.
 ;

202 a i^ing anu jlio Mn^ [Acti.

That goes unto Iberia from the king,

That he would place aladie of our land 35
With the king's sister that is ofFer'd me
Thither shall you, and, being once got in,
Perswade her, by what subtile meanes you can,
To be as backward in her love as I.
Spa. Can you imagine that a longing maide, 40
When shee beholds you, can be puld away
With words from loving you ?
Tigr. Dispraise my health,
My honestie, and tell her I am jealous.
Spa. Why, I had rather loose you. Can my
heart
Consent to let my tongue throw out such words? 45
And I, that ever yet spoke what I thought,
Shall find such a thing at
it first to lie !

Tigr. Yet doe thy best.

Enter Bessus.
Bes. What, is your majestic readie ?

Tigr. There is the ladie, captaine. 50

Bes. Sweet ladie, by your leave, I could wish
my selfe more full of courtship for your faire
sake.
no want of that.
Spa. Sir, I shall find
Bes. Lady, you must haste I have received ;
55
new letters from the king, that requires more
35 -would. Q2, Q3, F, will. 54 find. Q2, Q3, F, feele.

56 requires. F, require.
Scene IL] 31 MHS atlH jJiO i^lHg 203

speed then I expected he will follow me sud-

:

denly himselfe and beginnes to call for your

;

majestie alreadie.
Tigr. He shall not doe so long. 60
Bes. Sweet ladie, shall I call you my charge
hereafter ?

Spa. I will not take upon me to governe your

tongue, sir : you shall call me what you please.
[^Exeunt.'\
57 speed. Qa, Q3, F, hast.
60 long. Q2, Lord.

Finis Actus Primi.

 : ;

Actus Secundus Scena Prima.

^Tbf capital of Iberia. An apartment in the Palace.
'\

Enter Gobriasy Bacurius, Arane, Pan thee a [and Man-

dane~\ , Waiting-worn en ^ with Attendance.

Gobrias. My Lord Bacurius, you must have

regard
Unto the queene ; she is your prisoner
'Tis at your perill if shee make escape.
Bacurius. My Lord, I know't ; shee is my
prisoner,
From you committed: yet shee is a woman ; 5
And so I keepe her safe you will not urge me ;

To keep her close. I shall not shame to say

I sorrow for her.
Gob. So doe I, my lord
I sorrow for her, that so little grace
Doth governe her, that shee should stretch her
arme 10
Against her king so little womanhood
;

And naturall goodnesse as to thinke the death

Of her owne sonne.
Arane. Thou know'st the reason why.
Dissembling as thou art, and wilt not speake.
Goh. There is a ladie takes not after you ; 15

and Mandane. Ql omits.

 ;

Scene I.] ^ ^in% aUD ^0 MXIQ 205

Her father is within her; that good man,

Whose teares paid downe his sinnes. Marke how
shee weeps ;

How it does become her

well and if you !

Can no disposition in your selfe

find
To sorrow, yet by gracefulnesse in her 20
Find out the way, and by your reason weepe.
All this shee does for you, and more shee needes.
When for your selfe you will not lose a teare.
Thinke how this want of griefe discredits you
And you will weepe because you cannot weepe. 25
j^ra. You talke to me, as having got a time
Fit for your purpose but you know I know ;

You speake not what you thinke.

Panthea. I would my heart

Were stone, before my softnesse should be urg'd

Against my mother ! A more troubled thought 30
No virgin beares about her : should I excuse
My mother's fault, I should set light a life,
In loosing which a brother and a king
Were taken from me if I seeke to save ;

That life so lov'd, I loose another life, 35

That gave me being, —
I shall loose a mother,
A word of such a sound in a childe's eare
That it strikes reverence through it. iVIay the will

17 paid. Q2, Q3, waide F, weigh'd. ;

31 about her.Q2, (^3, F, about. 32 set. Qi, let.

37 eare. F, ears.
2o6 Si Mn^ anU jl^o Mn% [act ii.

Of Heaven be done, and if one needes must

fall,

Take a poore virgin's life to answere all I 40

j^ra. But Gobrias, let us talke. You know this
fault
Is not in me as in another woman.
[^They walk apart,
"^

Gob. I know it is not.

Jra. Yet you make it so.
Gob. Why, is not all that's past beyond your
helpe ?

Jra. I know it is.

Gob. Nay, should you publish it 45

Before the world, thinke you 'twill be believ'd ?
Jra. I know it would not.
Gob. Nay, should I joine with you,
Should we not both be torne, and yet both die
Uncredited ?
Jra. I thinke we should.
Gob. Why, then,
Take you such violent courses ? As for me, 50
I doe but right in saving of the king
From all your plots.
Jra. The king ?
Gob. I bad you rest
With patience, and a time would come for me
42 ivoman. Q2, Q3, F, mother.
46 'tivill. Q2, Q3, F, t'wood.
Scene L] 3 l^mg HUt) j^O MtXg 20;

To reconcile all to your owne content j

But by this way you take away my power; 55

And what was done unknowne was not by me,
But you your urging being done,
;

I must preserve mine owne but time may bring ;

All this to light, and happily for all.

Ara. Accursed be this over-curious braine, 60

That gave that plot a birth accurst this wombe !

That after did conceive to my disgrace !

Bacurius. My Lord Protector, they say there

are divers letters come from Armenia, that Bes-
sus has done good service, and brought againe a 65
day by his particular valour receiv'd you any :

to that effect ?

Gob. Yes, 'tis most certaine.

Bac, Ime not that the day was
sorrie for't ;

wonne, but that 'twas wonne by him. Wee held 10

him here a coward hee did me wrong once, at :

which I laught, and so did all the world for not ;

I nor any other held him worth my sword.

Enter Bessus and Spaconia.
Bessus. Health to my Lord Protector ! From
the king these letters, and to your grace, madam, 75
these. \_Gives letters.~\

^J you , . , being. Old eds., you, your urghg being ; D,you,

your urging : being. Two syllables have apparently been from
lost
the line.

71 Aee did. Q2, Q3, a did 73 him. Ql, time.

74 Lord. F omits.
2o8 a i^ing auD j^o !^ing (act il

G^^. How does his majestic?

Bes. As well as conquest by his owne means
and his valiant commanders can make him your :

letters will tel you all. 80

Pan. I will doe know
not open mine, till I

My brother's health good captaine, is he well ?

:

Bes. As the rest of us that fought are.

Pan. But howe's that ? is he hurt ?
Bes. Hee's a strange souldier that gets not a 85
knock.
Pan. I doe not aske how strange that soul-
dier is

That gets no hurt, but whether he have one.

Bes. He had divers.
Pan. And is he well againe ? 90
Bes. Well, againe, your grace.
an't please
Why, I was run twice through the bodie, and
shot ith' head with a crosse arrow, and yet am
well againe.
Pan. I doe not care how thou dost: is he
well ? 95
Bes. Not care how I doe ! Let a man, out of
the mightinesse of his spirit, fructifie forraigne
countries with his bloud for the good of his owne,
and thus he shallbe answered ! Why, I may
live to relieve with speare and shield such a 100
ladie as you distressed.
10 1 as you. Qi omits.
 ; :

Scene I.]
^ l^mg HUD ^0 MXIQ 209

Pan. "Why, I will care : I am glad that thou

art well
I prethee, is he so ?

Gob. The king is well, and will be here to-

morrow.
Pan. My prayers are heard. Now I will open
mine. [^^^^j.] 105
Gob. I must ease you of your charge.
Bacurius,
Madam, wonted mercie of the king,
the
That overtakes your faults, has met with this,
And strucke it out he has forgiven you freelie
:

Your owne will is your law; be where you please, no

j^ra. I thanke him.
Gob. You will be readie
To waite upon his majestie to-morrow ?

Jra. I will. \_Exif Arane."]

Bac. Madam, be wise hereafter. I am glad 115
I have lost this office. Exit.
Gob. Good Captaine Bessus, tell us the dis-
course
Betweene Tigranes and our king, and how
We got the victorie.
Pan. I prethee, doe,

102 lam. Q2, Q3, F, I'me.

105 prayer: are. Q3, F, prayer is.

109 strucke. Qz, Q3, strooke.

114 Extt Arane. Ql omits.
1 17-123 Good . . . beate. Prose in Qz, Q3.
118 Betiveene. Q2, Q3, F, betwixt.
210 a Mn^ anD j^o Mn% [act ii.

And if my brother were in any danger, 120

Let not thy make him
tale abide there long,
Before thou bring him off, for all that while
My heart will beate.
Bes. Madam, let what will beate, I must tell

the truth; and thus it was. They fought single 125

in lists, but one to one. As for my own part, I
was dangerouslie hurt but three days before else ;

perhaps wee had beene two to two, I cannot —

tell, some thought wee had; and the occasion of

my hurt was this: the enemie had made trenches 1 30 —

Gob. Captaine, without the manner of your
hurt
Be much materiall to this businesse,
Weele heare it some other time.
Pan. I, I prethee, leave it,

And goe on with my brother.

Bes. I will but 'twould be worth your hear- 135
:

ing. To the lists they came, and single sword

and gauntlet was their fight.
Pan. Alas!
Bes. Without the lists there stood some dozen
captaines of either side mingled, all which were 140
sworne, and one of those was I and 'twas my ;

chance to stand neere a captaine of the enemies*

125 the truth. Q I, truth.
131-134 Captaine . . . brother. Prose in old eds,
142 neere. Q2, Q3, F, next. of the enemie" s. Q2, ^3,
F, oth' enemies.
 ! 1

Scene I.]
^ j^mg aUU j^O MXIQ 2 1

side, called Tiribasus ; valiant they said he was.

Whilst these two kings were stretching them-
selves, this Tiribasus cast something a scornefulli45
looke on me, and askt mee whom I thought would
overcome. I smilde, and told him if hee would
fight with me, he should perceive by the event
of that, whose king would winne. Something hee
answered and a scuffle was like to grow, when 150
;

one Zipetus offered to helpe him I :

—
Pan. All this is of thy selfe I prethee, Bes- :

sus.
Tell something of my brother ; did he nothing ?

Bes. Why, yes ; He tell your grace. They

were not to fight till the word given; which for 155
my owne part, by my troth, I confesse, I was not
to give.
Pan. See, for his owne part
Bac. I feare yet this fellowe's abusd with a
good report. 160
Bes. I, but I —
Pan. Still of himselfe !

Bes. Cride, 'Give the word !

'
when, as some
of them saide, Tigranes was stooping but the ;

word was not given then; yet one Cosroes, of 165

^he enemies part, held up his finger to me, which

146 ivhom. F, who ; so D. 152 prethee. F, pray thee.

156 I confesse. Qi omits. 161 /, but. Q^, Q3, F, But.
164 iaide. Q2, Q3, F, say. 165 yet. Qi, when.
212 a iaing anu jl^o i^ing [act n.

is as much with us marshallists, as, ' I will fight

with you :
I said not a word, nor made signe
—
'

during the combate, but that once done

Pan. He slips ore all the fight 170
—
!

Bes, I cald him to me; ' Cosroes,' said I

Pan. I will heare no more.
Bes. No, no, I lie.

Bac. I dare be sworne thou dost.

Bes. ' Captaine,' said I ; 'twas so. 175
Pan. I tell thee I will heare no further.
Bes. No ? your grace will wish you had.
Pan. I will not wish it. What, is this the
ladie
My brother writes to me to take ?

Bes. An't please your grace, this is shee. — 180

Charge, will you come neerer the princes ?

Pan. Y'are welcome from your countrey; and
this land
Shall shew unto you all the kindnesses
That I can make it. What's your name ?

Spaconia. Thalestris.
Pan. Y'are verie welcome : you have got a
letter 185
To put you to me, that has power enough
175 'tivas so. Qa, Q3, so 'twas ; F, so it was.
180 Ant. Q2, 23, F, And. 181 neerer. Q3, F, ncerc.
182 Tare. Q2, Q3, F, You'r.
183 kindnesses. Q2, Q3, F, kindnesse.
184 Thalestris. Q2, Q3, F, Thalectris.
Scene I.] ^ ^ittg HUD jj^O ^tXlQ 21 3

To place mine enemy here ; then much more

you,
That are so far from being so to me,
That you nere saw me.
Bes. Madam, I dare passe my word for her
truth. 190
Spa. My truth !

Pan. Why, captaine, doe you thinke I am

afraid sheele steale ?

Bes. I cannot tell; servants are slipperie ; but

I dare give my word and for her honestie 195
for her, :

shee came along with me, and many favours shee

did me by the way but, by this light, none but
;

what shee might doe with modestie to a man of

my ranke.
Pan. Why, captaine, here's no body thinkesioo
otherwise.
Bes. Nay, if you should, your grace may
thinke your pleasure ; but I am sure I brought
her from Armenia, and in all that way if ever I
toucht any bare on her above her knee, I pray 205
God may sinke where
I I stand.
Spa. Above my knee ?

Bes. No, you know I did not; and if any man

will say I did, this sword shall answere. Nay, He
defend the reputation of my charge, whilst 1 210

195 Aer honestie. Q2, Q3, F, honestie.

205 en her. Q2, Q3, F, of her.
214 a !^ing anH ^o i^ing [act n.

live. Your grace shall understand I am secret

in these businesses, and know how to defend a
ladies honour.
Spa. I hope your grace knowes him so well
already,
I shall not neede to tell you he's vaine and
foolish. 215
Bes. you may call mee what you please, but
I,

He defend your good name against the world.

And so I take my leave of your grace, and of —
you, my Lord Protector. I am likewise glad to
see your lordship well. aao
Bac. O, Captaine Bessus, I thanke you. I
would speake with you anon.
Bes. When you please, I will attend your
lordship. £xif.
Madam, He take my leave too.
Bac. Exif. 225
Good Bacurius
Pan. !

Gob. Madam, what writes his majesty to you ?

Pan. O my lord.
The kindest words He keep um, whilst
! I live,
Here in my bosome ; there's no art in um ; 230
They lie disordred in this paper, just
As hearty nature speaks um.
Gob. And to mee
He what teares of joy he shed, to heare
writes
How you were growne in every vertuous way ;

234 vertuous. Q2, Q3, F, vertues.

Scene I.]
3 l^iug auU jjio !^mg 215

Andyeilds all thankes to me, for that deare care 235

Which I was bound to have in training you.
There is no princes living that enjoyes
A brother of that worth.
Pan. My lord, no maide
Longs more for any thing, or feeles more heate
And cold within her brest, then I doe now, 240
In hope to see him.
Gob. Yet I wonder much
At thishee writes he brings along with him
:

A husband for you, that same captive prince j

And, if he love you, as he makes a shew.
He will allow you freedome in your choise. 245
Pan. And so he will, my lord, I warrant you j

He will but offer, and give me the power

To take or leave.
Gob. Trust me, were I a ladie,
I could not like that man were bargain'd with
Before I chuse him.
Pan. But I am not built 250
On such wild humors if I find him worthy, ;

He is not lesse because he's offerd.

Spa. 'Tis true, he is not. — Would he would
seem lesse !
—
Gob. I thinke there is no ladie can afFect

238-43 My prince. Prose in Qi, Q2, Q3.

. . .

*39 or. Q2, Q3, F, and.

251 him. Qi, time. 254 there is. Q3, F, there's.
 6

21 a Mn^ anu j^o Mn% Iacth.

Another prince, your brother standing by ; 255

He doth eclipse men's vertues so with his.
Spa. I know a lady may, and more, I feare
Another lady will.
Pan. Would I might see him !

Gob. Why, so you shall. My businesses are

great :

I will attend you when it is his pleasure 260

To see you, madam.
Fan. I thanke you, good my lord.
Gob. You will be ready, madam ?

Pan. Yes. [^Exit Gobrias^ with Attendants.']

Spa. I doe beseech you, madam, send away
Your other women, and receive from me 265
A few sad words, which, set against your joyes.
May make um shine the more.
Pan. Sirs, leave me all.
[^Exeunt women.]
Spa. I kneele a stranger here, to beg a thing
Unfit for me to aske and you to grant:
'Tis such another strange ill-laid request, 270
As if a beggar should intreat a king
To leave his scepter and his throne to him.
And take his rags to wander ore the world,
Hungry and cold.
Pan. That were a strange request.

256 hii.Qi, this. 261 you^ madam. Q2, (^3, F, you.

Exeunt women. Qi omits.
 — ; 7

scrNr I.]
a j^ing auD jpto i^ing 2 1

spa. As ill is mine.

Pan. Then doe not utter it. 275
Spa. Alas ! 'tis of that nature, that it must
Be and granted, or I die
utterd, I, !

I amasham'd to speake it but where life ;

Lies at the stake, I cannot thinke her woman,

That will not [talk] something unreasonably 280
To hazard saving of it. I shall seeme
A strange petitioner, that wish all ill
To them I beg of, ere they give mee ought
Yet so I must. I would you were not faire,
Nor wise, for in your ill consists my good 285 :

If you were foolish, you would heare my prayer;

If foule, you had not power to hinder me,
He would not love you.
Pan. What's the meaning of it ?
Spa. Nay, my request is more without the
bounds
Of reason yet : for 'tis not in the power 290
Of you to doe what I would have you grant.
Pan. Why, then, 'tis idle. Prethee speake it

out.
Spa. Your brother brings a prince into this
land
Of such a noble shape, so sweete a grace.
So fullof worth withall, that every maide 295

280 talk. Old eds., take. The emendation is T's.

292 Prethee. Q2, Q3, F, Pray thee.
 8

21 a ^im anD J^o !^mg [act n.

That lookes upon him gives away her selfe

To him for ever; and for you to have,
He brings him and so mad is my demand,
:

That I desire you not to have this man,

This excellent man, for virhom you needs must
die, 300
If you should misse him. I doe now expect
You should laugh at me.
Pan. Trust me, I could weepe
Rather; for I have found in all thy words
A strange disjointed sorrow.
Spa. 'Tis by me
His owne desire too, that you would not love him. 305
Pan. His owne desire Why, credit me, Tha-
!

lestris,
I am no common wooer if he shall wooe me, :

His worth may be such that I dare not sweare

I will not love him but if he will stay
:

To have me wooe him, I will promise thee 310

He may keepe all his graces to himselfe,
And feare no ravishing from me.
Spa. 'Tis yet
His owne desire; but when he sees your face,
I feare it will not be. Therefore I charge you.
As you have pity, stop those tender eares 315
From his inchanting voice close up those eyes. ;

That you may neither catch a dart from him,

305 too. Qi, Q3, F, so.
 9

scENz I] a i^ing auD jl^o i^ing 2 1

Nor he from you : I charge you, as you hope

To live in quiet ; for when I am dead,
For certaine walke to visit him,
I shall 320
If he breake promise with me for as fast :

As oathes, without a formall ceremony,

Can make me, I am to him.
Pan. Then be fearelesse;
For if he were a thing 'twixt God and man,

I could gaze on him, if I knew it sinne 325

To love him, without passion. Dry your eyes :

I sweare you shall enjoy him still for me;

I will not hinder you. But I perceive

You are not what you seeme rise, rise, Tha- :

lestris.
If your right name be so.
Spa. Indeed, it is not : 330
Spaconia is my name but I desire ;

Not to be knowne to others.

Pan. Why, by me
You shall not I will never doe you wrong;
;

What good I can, I will thinke not my birth :

Or education such, that I should injure 335

A stranger virgin. You are welcome hither.
In company you wish to be commanded;
But when we are alone I shall be ready
To be your servant. Exeunt.

320 ihall. Q3, F, will.

329 Thalestrii. Q2, Q3, Thalcctrii. 332 others. F, other.
 !

220 at Mn^ antj jjio l^ing [Actu.

[Actus Secundi Scena Secunda.

Fields in the neighborhood of the city.'\

Enter three Men and a Woman,

7. Come, come, run, run, runne
2. We shall outgoe her.
J. One were better be hang*d then carry
women out fidling to these shewes.
Woman. Is the king hard by ? 5
7. Youheard hee with the bottles say hee
thought wee should come too late. What abund-
ance of people here is !

Worn. But what had he in those bottles ?

J. I know not. lo
2. Why, inke, good man foole.

J.
Inke, what to doe ?

7. Why the king, looke you, will many times

call for those bottles, and breake his minde to his
friends. 15
Worn. Let's take our places quickly ; we shall
have no roome else.
2. The man told us hee would walke afoote
through the people.
J. I, marry, did he. 20
7. Our shops are well look*t to now.
2. 'Slife, yonder's my master, I thinke.
7. No, *tis not he.

4 iv omen out. Q3, F, out women. 6 %ay. Q2, Q3, F, sayd.

lb (fuicKiy. Qz, ^3, f omit. 21 lookU. 2* > looke.
 ! !

scENi II.] at iiing ant) ^o !ling 221

^/?/^r /2d/5 Citizens^ Wives, and Philip.

1 Citizen Wife. Lord, how fine the fields
s

be! what sweete living 'tis in the countrey 25

2 Wife. I, poor soules, God help
Citizen s

um, they live as contentedly as one of us.

1 Cit. My
husband's cousen would have had
me gone into the countrey last yeere. Wert thou
ever there ? 30
2 Cit. I, poore soules, I was amongst um once.
/ Cit. And what kinde of creatures are they,
for love of God .''

2 Cit. Very good people, God helpe um.

1 Cit. Wilt thou goe with me downe this 35
summer, when I am brought abed .?

2 Cit. Alas, 'tis no place for us

/ Cit. Why, prethee .''

2 Cit. Why, you can have nothing there;

there's no body cries broomes. 40
1 Cit. No .?

2 Cit. No, truly, nor milke.

1 Cit. Nor milke how doe they !
.?

2 Cit. They are faine to milke themselves ith*

countrey. 45
/ Cit. Good Lord But the people there,
! I
thinke, will bee very dutifull to one of us ?

35 ivithme doiune. Q3, F, downe with me.

36 abed. Q2, Q3, F, to bed. 37'm. Q2, Q3, F, it is.

38 prethee. Q2, Q3, F, pray thee.

222 a l^ing anD jl^o !^ing [actii.

2 Cit. I, God knowes, will they ; and yet they

doe not greatly care for our husbands.
I Cit. Doe they not, alas ? in good faith, I 50
cannot blame them, for we doe not greatly care
for them our selves. Philip, I pray, choose us a
place.
Philip. There's the best, forsooth.
I Cit. By your
leave, good people, a little. 55
/. What's the matter ?
Phil. I pray, my friend, doe not thrust my
mistris so; she's with childe.
2. Let her looketo her selfe, then. Has shee
not had thrusting enough yet ? if shee stay 60
shouldring here, shee may hap to goe home with
a cake in her bellie.
J. How now, goodman squitterbreech ! why
doe you leane so on me ?
Phil. Because I will. 65

J. Will you. Sir Sawce-box ?

I Cit. Looke if one have not strucke Philip !

Come hither, Philip ; why did he strike thee ?

Phil. For leaning on him.
I Cit. Why didst thou leane on him ? 70

50 in good. Q2, Q3, F, i'good.

57 pray. Q2, Q3, F, pray you.
61 shouldring. Q2, Q3, showing. hap to goe. Q2, Q3,
F, haps goe.
64 leane so. Q2, Q3, F, leane.
67 Aave not. Q2, ^3, F, ha'not. strucke. Q2, Q3, F, strookc.
Scene II.] ^ ^ix\^ aUD ^0 ^iXlQ 223

Phil. I did not thinke he would have strucke

me.
ICit. As God save me, law, thou'rt as wilde
as abucke there is no quarrel, but thou art at
;

one end or other of it. 75

J. It's at the first end, then, for he will never
stay the last.
I Cit. Well, slipstring, I shall meete with
you.
J. When you will. 80
/ Cit. He give a crowne to meete with you.
J. At a bawdy-house.
/ Cit. I, you are full of your rogery ; but if
I doe meete you it shall cost me a fall.

\_Flourish. Enter one running."^

4. The king, the king, the king, the king !
85
Now, now, now, now !

Enter Arbnces, Tigranes, Mardonius, and others.

All. God preserve your majestic !

Arbaces. I thanke you all. Now are my joyes

at full.
When I behold you safe, my loving subjects.
74 there u. Q2, Q3, F, there's, thou art. Q2, Q3, F, thou'rt.

75 oftt. Q2, Q3, F, on't.

76 he ivill never. Q2, Q3, hee'le nere F, he'l ne'r. ;

78 slipstring. Qi, stripling.

83 you are. Q2, Q3, F, you're.

84 cost. Q2, Q3, cast.
Flourish . . . running. Ql omits.
85 4- QhS-
 ! :

224 31 Mn% anu jl^o i^ing [acth.

By you I grow ; 'tis your united love 90

That lifts me to this height
All the account that I can render you
For all the love you have bestowed on me.
All your expences to maintaine my warre,
word you will imagine
Is but a little :
95
'Tis slender payment yet 'tis such a word ;

As is not to be bought without our blouds :

'Tis peace
Jii. God preserve your majestie !

^rh. Now you may your

live securely in
townes,
Your children round about you ; you may sit 100
Under your vines, and make the miseries
Of other kingdomes a discourse for you,
And lend them sorrowes; for your selves, you may
Safely forget there are such things as teares :

And may you all, whose good thoughts I have

gain'd, 105
Hold me unworthy, when I thinke my life

A sacrifice too great to keepe you thus

In such a calme estate!
JIL God blesse your majestie !

^rh. See, all good people, I have brought the

man,

97 ivithout our. Qz, but with our j Q3, F, but with your.
99 in Q2, Q3, F, i'your.
your. 100 you may. F, may.
105 may you. Q3, F, youmay. 106 when. Q3, F where.
Scene ii.i 3 l^iug auo jl^o f^iHg 225

Whose very name you fear'd, a captive home: no

Behold him ; 'tis Tigranes. In your hearts
Sing songs of gladnesse and deliverance.
1 Cit. Out upon him !

2 Cit. How
he looks!
J Worn. Hang him, hang him, hang him! 115
Mardonius. These are sweete people.
Tigranes, Sir, you doe me wrong,

To render me a scorned spectacle

To common people.
Arh. was farre from me
It
To meane it have ought deservM,
so. If I

My loving subjects, let me beg of you 120

Not to revile this prince, in whom their dwels
All worth of which the nature of a man
Is capable valour beyond compare ;
;

The terror of his name has stretcht it selfe

Where ever there is sunne and yet for you 125:

I fought with him, single, and won him too;

I made his valour stoope, and made that name,
Soar'd to so unbeliev'd a height, to fall

Beneath mine : this, inspir'd with all your loves,

I didperforme, and will for your content 130
Be ever ready for a greater worke.
Ill hearti. Q2, Q3, F, heart.
115 hang him, etc. Q2, Q3, F omit the third hang him.
118 farre. Q2, Q3, F, so farre.
127 made. Q2, Q3, F, brought.
130 ivill. 23, well. 131 worke. Q3, word.
 ! : ; : !

226 at Mn% anU j]io !^ing [Actii.

y///. The Lord blesse your majestic !

Tigr. So, he has made me

Amends now, with a speech in commendation
Of himself; I would not be so vaine-glorious.
j^rb. If there be any thing in which I may 135
Doe good to any creature, here speake out
For I must leave you and it troubles me, :

That my occasions, for the good of you.

Are such as call me from you else, my joy ;

Would be to spend my dayes amongst you all. 140

You shew your loves in these large multitudes
That come to meete me. I will pray for you
Heaven prosper you, that you may know old
yeeres,
And your children's children
live to see
Eate your boards with plenty When there is 145
at !

A want of any thing, let it be knowne

To me, and I will be a father to you
God keepe you all
JII, God blesse your majestie
Flourish. Exeunt kings and their trains.

1. Come, shall we goe ? all's done.

Worn. I, for God's sake; I have not made 3150
fire yet.

2. Away, away ! all's done.

132—4 The . . . vaine-glorious. Prose in old eds.
133 commendation, ^i, commendations.
139 call. Ql, calles. 145 Eate. Q2, Q3, F, Sit.

148 God . majestie. Q2, Q3, F repeat.

. .
 !

Scene II] ^ J^ing 31X1) jJiO MXl^ 22;

J. Content. Farewell, Philip.

I Cit. Away, you haltersack, you
2. Philip will not fight; hee's afraid on's face. 155
Phil. I, marry, am I afraid of my face.

J. Thou wouldst be, Philip, if thou saw'st it

in a glasse; it lookes like a visor.

ExeuTit I, 2y J, and Women,
1 Cit, You'le be hang'd, sirra. Come, Philip,
walke afore us homeward. Did not his majestiei6o
say he had brought us home peaes for our
money ?
2 Cit, Yes, marry, did he.
1 Cit, They are the first I heard on this yeere,
by my some of um. Did he 165
troth: I long'd for
not say we should have some ?
2 Cit. Yes, and so we shall anon, I warrant
you, have every one a pecke brought home to
our houses. \Exeunt.'\

155 2. Qi, /. 158 lookes. Q2, Q3, F, lookes so.

160 afore. F, before, homeivard. Q2, Q3, F, homewards.
161 for our. Q2, Q3, F, for all our.
164 They are. Q2, Q 3, The' are ; F, they're, heard on. F,
heard of.

Finis Actus Secundi.

 ;

Actus Tertii Scena Prima.

[^j^n apartment in the Palace.'\

Enter Arbaces and Gobrius.

Arhaces, My sister take it ill ?

Gobrias. Not very ill

Something unkindly shee doth take it, sir,

To have her husband chosen to her hands.
Jrb. Why, Gobrius, let her I must have her :

know
My will, and not her owne, must governe her.
What, will shee marrie with some slave at
home ?
Gob.O, she is farre from any stubbornnesse;
You much mistake her; and no doubt will like
Where you wil have her but, when you behold
:

her.
You will be loath to part with such a Jewell.
Jrb. To part with her ! why, Gobrius, art thou
mad?
Shee is my sister.
Gob. Sir, I know shee is;
But were pitty to make poore our land,
it

With such a beauty to inrich another.

Arb. Pish! will shee have him?
2 doth. Q2, Q3, F, does. 9 lusl. F, would.
 !

scrNE I.]
a i^ing anti jl^o ^ing 229

Gob. I doe hope she will not. — 15

I thinke shee will, sir.

Jrb. Were shee my father, and my mother

too.
And all the names for which we think folkes
friends.
She should be forest to have him, when I know
'Tis fit : I will not heare her say shee's loth. 20
Gob. Heaven bring my purpose luckily to
passe
You know 'tis just. Sir, sheele not neede con-
straint,
Shee loves you so.
Arb. How does she love me ? speake.
Gob. Shee loves you more then people love
their health.
That live by labour; more then I could love 25

A man me, if he could live

that died for
Againe.
Arb. Shee is not like her mother, then ?

Gob. O, no When
you were in Armenia,
!

I durst not let her know when you were hurt;

For at the first, on every little scratch, 30
She kept her chamber, wept, and would not eate,
Till you were well; and many times the newes

15 / . . . not. Qi omits.
22 Sir, iheeU. Q2, Q3, F, She will.

31 ivould. Q3, F, could.

 :

230 31 Mn^ anD JI^o Mn^ [Acxin.

Was so long comming, that, before we heard.

She was as neare her death as you your health.
Jrb. Alas, poore soule ! but yet shee must be
rul'd 35
I know not how I shall requite her well.
I long to see her have you sent for her,
:

To tell her I am ready?

Gob. Sir, I have.

EnUr I Gent\_leman'\ a?id Tigranes.

I Gentleman. Sir, here's the Armenian

King. 40
Arh. Hee's welcome.
I Gent. And the queene-mother and the prin-
ces waite without.
Arh. Good Gobrius, bring them in.
\_Exit Gobrias.'^
Tigranes, you will thinke you are arriv'd 45
In a strange land, where mothers cast to poyson
Their onely sonnes thinke you you shall be safe ?
:

Tigranes. Too safe I am, sir.

Enter Gobriasy Arane, Pant ha a, Spaconiay Bacurius,

Mardonius and Bessus, [and two Gentlemen.']^
Arane. As low as this I bow to you ; and would
As low as to my grave, to shew a mind 50
Thankefull for all your mercies.

34 as you your. Q3, as your.

39 here's. Q2, Q3, F, here is.

Exit Gobrias. Qi ^3, F

,
omit. 50 as to. Q2, Q3, F, as is.
 ! 1

sciNz L] a i^ing anti JI^o Mn^ 23

^r^. O stand up,

And let me kneele ! the light will be asham'd
To see observance done to me by you.
Jra. You are my king.
j^rb. You are my mother : rise.

As farre be all your faults from your owne soule 55

As from my memory then you shall be !

As white as Innocence her selfe.

Jra. I came

Onely to shew my dutie, and acknowledge

My sorrow for my sinnes longer to stay :

Were but to draw eyes more attentively 60

Upon my shame. That power, that kept you safe
From me, preserve you still Exit.
Jrb. Your owne desires
Shall be your guard.
Pan. Now let me die !

Since have seene my lord the king returne

I
In safety, I have seene all good that life 65
Can shew me I have nere another wish
:

For Heaven to grant nor were it fit I should

;
;

For I am bound to spend my age to come

In giving thankes that this was granted me.
Gob. Why does not your majestic speake ? 70
Jrb. To whom ?

Gob. To the princesse.

59 sorroiv. Q3, F, sorrowes.
63 guard. Q2, Q3, F, guide.
232 at Mng anti JI^o Mn% [Acxm.

Panthea. Alas, sir, I am fearefull ; you doe

looke
On me as if I were some loathed thing.
That you were finding out a way to shunne. 75
Gob. Sir, you should speake to her.
Jrb. Ha!
Pan. I am unworthy, yet not ill
I know

Arm'd, with which innocence here I will kneele.

Till I am one with earth, but I will gaine 80
Some words and kindnesse from you.
Tigr, Will you speake, sir ?
Arb. Speake am I what I was ?
!

What art thou, that dost creepe into my breast.

And dar'st not see my face shew ? forth thy selfe !

I feele a paire of fierie wings displaide 85

Hither, from thence. You shall not tarrie there ;

Up, and be gone ! if thou beest love, be gone !

Or I will teare thee from my wounded flesh.

Pull thy lov'd downe away, and with a quill.
By this right arme drawne from thy wanton wing, 9°
Write to thy laughing mother, in thy bloud.
That you are powers belied, and all your darts
Are to be blowne away by men resolvM,
Like dust. I know thou fear'st my words away : !

81 Tigranes. D reads Gobrias.

86 thence.Q2, Q3, F, hence.
88 flesh Q2, Q3, F, breast.
89 fl quill. 23, F, thy quill.
90 wanton. F, wonted. 91 in thy. Q2, Q3, i'thy.
 :

Scene L] ^ MXl^ ^^^ jl^^ MXtQ 233

Tigr. Oh, miserie ! why should he be so

slow ? 95
There can no falshood come of loving her
Though I have given my faith, shee is a thing
Both to be lov'd and serv'd beyond my faith.
I would he would present me to her quicklie.
Pan. Will you not speake at all ? are you so
farre 100

From Yet, to save my modesty.

kind words ?

That must talke till you answer, doe not stand

As you were dumbe; say something, though it be
Poyson'd with anger that may strike me dead.
Mar. Have you no life at all ? for manhood
sake, 105
Let her not kneele and talke neglected thus :

A tree would find a tongue to answer her,

Did shee but give it such a lov'd respect.
Jrb. You meane this lady ? lift her from the
earth
Why
;

doe you let her kneele so long ? Alas, no —

Madam, your beauty uses to command.
And not to beg what is your sute to me ?
;

It shall be granted ; yet the time is short.

And my affaires are great. But where's my —
sister ?

I bad shee should be brought.

96, 97. Qi has comma after ^er and semi-colon after /a/M.
104 tAat may. (^3, F, that it may.
 ! ! 5

234 Si l^ing anD Jpo Mn% [actih.

Afar. What, is he mad ? 1

1

Jrb. Gobrlas, where is shee ?

Gok Sir ?

j^rb. Where is shee, man ?

Gob. Who, sir ?

^rb. Who ! hast thou forgot ? my sister.

Gob.Your sister, sir?

Jrb. Your sister, sir ? Some one that has a wit,
Answere where is shee ?
;

Gob. Doe you not see her there ?i2o

Jrb. Where?
Gob. There.
Jrb. There ! where ?

Afar. 'Slight, there : are you blinde ?

Jrb. Which doe you meane ? that little one ?

Gob. No, sir.

Jrb. No, sir ! Why doe you mocke me ? I can

see
No other here, but that petitioning ladie.
Gob. That's shee.
Jrb. Away
Gob. Sir, it is she.
Jrb. 'Tis false ! 125
Gob. Is it ?

Jrb. As hell ! by Heaven, as false as hell

119, 120 Some . . . shee? Qi gives this to Gobrias, and the

four following speeches to Arb., Gob., Arb. , Gob.
119 has. Q2, 23, F, hath.
 ; ; ;

Scene l] ^ j^mg attD jj^o i^iHg 235

My sister — is shee dead ? if it be so,

Speake boldly to me, for I am a man.
And dare not quarrell with divinity
But doe not thinke to cosen me with this. 130
I see you all are mute, and stand amas'd,
Fearefull to answere me it is too true :
;

A decreed instant cuts off every life.

For which to mourne is to repine shee died :

A virgin, though, more innocent then sleepe, 135

As cleere as her owne eyes and blessednesse ;

Eternall waites upon her where shee is :

I know shee could not make a wish to change

Her state for new and you
; shall see me beare
My crosses like a man. We all must die 140
And shee hath taught us how.
Gob. Doe not mistake,
And vex your selfe for nothing ; for her death
Is a long life off yet, I hope. 'Tis shee
And if my speech deserve not faith, lay death
Upon me, and my latest words shall force 145
A credit from you.
Jrb. Which, good Gobrius ?

That ladie dost thou meane ?

Gob. That lady, sir :

130 But. Q2, Q3, F, And.

135 virgin, though. Qi has comma after though only; Ql,
Q3, F after -virgin only. deepe. Q2, Q3, F, sheepe.
143 off yet. Qi, of yet; Q2, Q3, F, off.
 !

236 at Mng anU jlio l^ing [actiii.

She is your sister ; and she is your sister

That loves you so ; 'tis she for whom I weepe,
To see you use her thus.
Arb. It cannot be. 150
Tigr. Pish ! this is tedious :

I cannot hold ; I must present my selfe,

And yet the sight of Spaconia my
Touches me, as a sudden thunder-clap
Does one that is about to sinne.
Arh. Away 155
No more of this. Here I pronounce him traytor,
The direct plotter of my death, that names
Or thinkes her for my sister 'tis a lie, :

The most malicious of the world, invented

To mad your king. He that will say so next, 160
Let him draw out sword, and sheath it here ;
his
It is a sinne fully as pardonable.
Shee is no kinne to me, nor shall shee be;
If shee were any, I create her none :

And which of you can question this ? My power 165

Is like the sea, that is to be obey'd.
And not disputed with I have decreed her :

As farre from having part of bloud with me

As the nak'd Indians. Come, and answer me,
He that is boldest now : is that my sister? 170
Mar. O this is fine !

148-50 She thus. Qi

. . . omits.
164 any. Qz, Q3, F, ever.
 ; 7

scENx I] 3t i^ing anU jl^o j^mg 23

Bessus. No, marry, is shee not, an't please

your majestic I never thought shee was j shee's
;

nothing like you.

Jrb. No; 'tis true, shee is not.
Mar. Thou shouldst be hang'dliys
Pan, Sir, I will speake but once. By the same
power
You make my bloud a stranger unto yours.
You may command me dead and so much love ;

A stranger may importune ;

pray you, doe.
If this request appeare too much to grant, igo
Adopt me of some other family
By your unquestion'd word else ; I shall live

Like sinfull Issues that are left in streetes

By their regardlesse mothers, and no name
Will be found for me.
Jrb. I will heare no more. 185 —
Why should there be such musicke in a voice,
And sinne for me to heare it ? All the world
May take delight in this, and 'tis damnation
For me to doe — You
are faire, and wise,
so.
And vertuous, and he is blest
I thinke ; 190
That is so neere you as your brother is
But you are naught to me but a disease,
Continuall torment without hope of ease.
Such an ungodly sicknesse I have got.
That he that undertakes my cure must first 195
172 is shee. Q3, F, she is. 191 your. Q3, F, my.
238 a i^ing anu jlio Mn^ [acthi.

Orethrow divinity, all morall lawes,

And mankinde as unconfinde
leave as beasts,
Allowing them to doe all actions
As freely as they drinke when they desire.
Let me not heare you speake againe ;
yet so aoo
I shall but languish for the want of that,
The having which would kill me. —
No man here
Offer to speake for her; for I consider
As much as you can say. I will not toyle
My body and my mind too rest thou there ;
; 205
Here's one within will labour for you both.
Pan. I would I were past speaking !

Gob. Feare not, madam ;

The king will alter 'tis some sudden change.
:

And you shall see it end some other way.

Pan. Pray God it doe ! 210
Tigr. Though shee to whom I swore be here,
I cannot
Stifle my passion longer ; if my father
Should rise againe, disquieted with this,
And charge me to forbeare, yet it would out. —
Madame, a stranger and a prisoner begs 215
To be bid welcome.
Pan. You are welcome, sir,
I thinke; but if you be not, 'tis past me
To make you so; for I am here a stranger

198 them Q2, Q3, F, 'em. 200 so. Q2, Q3, F, see.
108 change. Q2, Q3, F, rage. Zio God. Q3, F, heaven.
Scene I] £ ^{xiQ aUD j^O ^iXlQ 239
Greater then you; we know from whence you
come;
But I appeare a and by whom
lost thing, 220
Is yet uncertaine;found here in the court,
And onely sufferd to walke up and downe.
As one not worth the owning.
Spa. O, I feare
Tigranes will be caught he lookes, me thinkes.
!

As he would change his eyes with her. Some

helpe 225
There above for me, I hope!
is

Tigr. Why doe you turne away, and weepe

so fast.
And utter things that misbecome your lookes ?

Can you want owning ?

Spa. O, 'tis certaine so !

figr. Acknowledge your selfe mine.

Jrb. How now ?

Tigr. And then 230

See if you want an owner.
j^rb. They are talking !

Tigr. Nations shall owne you for their queene.

Jrh. Tigranes, art not thou my prisoner?
Tigr. I am.
Jrh. And who is this ?

Tigr. Shee is your sister.

Jrb. Shee Is so.

221 in the. Q2, Q3, F, i'th.

 !

240 a i^ing anU jpo i^ing [act m.

Mar. Is shee so againe ? that's well. 235

Arh. And how dare you, then, offer to change
words with her ?

Tigr, Dare doe it ! why, you brought me

hither, sir.

To that intent.
Arh. Perhaps I told you so :

If I it, had you so much follie

had sworne
To credit it ? The least word that shee speakes24o
Is worth a life. Rule your disorderd tongue,
Or I will temper it.

Spa. Blest be that breath !

Tigr. Temper my tongue ! Such incivilities

As these no barbarous people ever knew :

You breake the law of nature, and of nations ; 245

You talke to me were a prisoner
as if I
For theft. My tongue be temperd ? I must
speake.
If thunder checke me, and I will.
Arh. You will
Spa. Alas, my fortune !

'iigr. Doe not feare his frowne.

Deare madam, heare me. 250
Arh. Feare not my frowne ? But that 'twere
base in me
236 honu . . . then. Q3, how then dare you ; F, then how
dare you.
242 that breath. Q3, F, the breath.
245 laiu. Q2, ^3, F, laws.
Scene I.] 2ll^ing aitU jl^o liing 241

To fight with one I know I can orecome,

Againe thou shouldst be conquerd by me.
Mar, *He has one ransome with him already ;

me thinkes 'twere good to fight double, or quit. 255

Arh. Away with him to prison! — Now, sir,

see
If myfrowne be regardlesse. Why delay you ? —
Seize him, Bacurius. —
You shall know my word
Sweepes like a winde, and all it grapples with
Are as the chaffe before it.

T'lgr. Touch me not ! 260

Arh. Helpe there !

Tigr. Away !

1 Gent. It is in vaine to struggle.

2 Gent. You must be forc't.
Bac. Sir, you must pardon us ;

We must obey.
Arh. Why doe you dally there ?

Drag him away by any thing.

Bac. Come, sir.

T^igr. Justice, thou oughtst to give me strength

enough 265
To shake all these off. —
This is tyrannie,
Arbaces, subtiller then the burning bul's.
Or that fam'd tyrant's bed. Thou mightst as well
Search in the depth of winter through the snow

268 tyrant's. Q3, F, Titan's.

269 in the. Q2, ^3, i'the; F, i'th'. depth. ^3, F, deepe.
242 2i Mn^ anu jpo l^ing [act m.

For halfe-starv'd people, to bring home with thee 270

To shew um fire, and send urn backe againe.
As use me thus.
Jrb. Let him be close, Bacurius.
[^Exif Tigranes and Bacurius,'\
Spa. I nere rejoyc'd at any ill to him
But this imprisonment. What shall become
Of me forsaken ?

Gob. You will not let your sister 275

Depart thus discontented from you, sir ?
Jrb. By no meanes, Gobrius I have done her :

wrong,
And made my selfe beleeve much of my selfe
That is not in me. — You did kneele to me.
Whilst I stood stubborne and regardlesse by, 280
And, like a god incensed, gave no eare
To all your prayers. Behold, I kneele to you :

Shew a contempt as large as was my owne,

And I will suffer it ;
yet at the last
Forgive me.
Pan. O, you wrong me more in this 285
Then in your rage you did you mocke me :

now.
Jrb. Never forgive me, then ; which is the
worst
Can happen to mee.
Pan. If you be in earnest,

Exit . . . Bacurius. Qi omits.

 ! ! ; ;

sciNxi] a ^ing ant} jjio Jiing 243

Stand up, and give me but a gentle looke

And two kind words, and I shall be in heaven. 290
Jrb. Rise you, then, to. Here I acknowledge
thee
My hope, the onely Jewell of my life,
The best of sisters, dearer then my breath,
A happinesse as high as I could thinke
And when my actions call thee otherwise, 295
Perdition light upon me
Pan. This is better
Then you had not frown'd it comes to me
if ;

Like mercy at the blocke and when I leave :

To serve you with my life, your curse be with

mee !

Jrb. Then, thus I doe salute thee and againe, 300 ;

To make this knot the stronger. Paradice —

Is there ! — It may be you are still in doubt
This third kisse blots it out. — I wade in sinne,
And foolishly intice my selfe along !
—
Take her away see her a prisoner ; 305
In her owne chamber, closely, Gobrius.
Pan. Alas, sir, why ?
Jrb. I must not stay the answere.

Doe it.

Gob. Good sir

Arb. No more : doe it, I say.

291 to. Here I. Q3,F, to heare. I. •

302 uill. Q2, Q3, F, yet.

244 at ^ing anD j^o J^ing [act m.

Mar. This is better and better.

Pan. Yet heare me speake.
j^rb. I will not heare you speake. 310
Away with her ! Let no man thinke to speake
For such a creature ; for shee is a witch,
A poysoner, and a traytor !

Gob. Madam, this office grieves me.

Pan. Nay, 'tis well ;
The king is pleas'd with it. 315
Jrb. Bessus, goe you along too with her. I will
prove
All this that I have said, if I may live
So long but I am desperately sicke
—
:
;

For shee has given me poyson in a kisse

Shee had it twixt her lips —
and with her eyes 320
Shee witches people. Go without a word.
Exeunt GobriaSy Pantheay Bessus, and Spaconia,
Why should you, that have made me stand in war
Like Fate it selfe, cutting what threds I pleas'd.
Decree such an unworthy end of me
And all my glories ? What am I, alas, 325
That you oppose me ? If my secret thoughts
Have ever harbour'd swellings against you,
They could not hurt you; and it is in you
To give me sorrow, that will render me
Apt to receive your mercy ; rather so, 330

313 poysoner. F, prisoner.

320 it tivixt. Q2, Q3, F, 't betwixt.
 ; !

Scene I] ^ MXIQ aUtl jjiO MXIQ 245

Let it be rather so, then punish me

With such unmanly sinnes. Incest is in me
Dwelling alreadie and it must be holie
— Where
;

That pulles it thence. art, Mardo-

nius ?

JUar. Here, sir.

Jrb. I prethee beare me, if thou canst. 335

Am I not growne a strange weight ?

Mar. As you were.

Jrb. No heavier ?

Mar. No, sir.

Jrb. Why, my legs

Refuse to beare my
Mardonius, bodie. O
Thou hast infield beheld me, when thou know'st
I could have gone, though I could never runne.340
Mar. And so I shall againe.
Jrb. O no, 'tis past
Mar. Pray ye, goe rest your selfe.
Jrb. Wilt thou hereafter, when they talke of
me,
As thou shalt heare nothing but infamie,
Remember some of those things ?

Mar. Yes, I will. 345

Jrb. I prethee doe
For thou shalt never see me so again.
Mar. I warrant ye. Exeunt

342 ye. Q2, 23, F, you-

348 Mar. I .ye. Qz, Q3, F omit
. .
246 at i^ing ant) jpo i^ing [act m.

[Actus Tertii Scena Secunda.

A room in the house of Bess us.
"^

Enter Bessus.
Bessus. They fame I have gotten it
talke of ;

in the warres, and will affoord any man a reason-

able pennyworth. Some will say that they could
be content to have it, but that it is to be atchieved
with danger: but my opinion is otherwise for if :
5

I might stand still in canon proofe, and have

fame fall upon me, I would refuse it. My repu-
tation came principally by thinking to runne
away which no bodie knowes but Mardonius,
;

and I think he conceales it to anger me. Before 10

I went to the warres, I came tothetownea young
fellow without meanes or parts to deserve friends;
and my emptie guts perswaded me to lie, and
abuse people for my meate, which I did, and they
beate me then would I fast two dayes, till my
: 15

hunger cride out on me, ' Raile still Then me !

'

thought 1 had a monstrous stomacke to abuse

themagaine, and did it. In this state I continued
till they hung me up by th'heeles, and beate me

with hasle sticks, as if they would have baked ao

4 It. Qz omits.
18 tbrm. Q2, Q3, F, 'em. In. Ql, Q3, F, I*.

19 l>y tb\ Qz, Q3, b'the.

20 ivitb. (^2, 23, F, wi'.
 !

scENr n.] a ^ing anU jl^o l^ing 247

mee, and have cosen'd some bodie with mee for

venison. After this I rail'd, and eate quietlie; for
the whole kingdome tooke notice of me for a baf-
fel'd whipt fellow, and what I said was remem-
bred in mirth, but never in anger of which I was 25
—
;

glad, I would it were at that passe againe

After this, God cald an ant of mine, that left

two hundred pounds in a cosen's hand for me;
who, taking me to be a gallant young spirit,
rais'd a company for mee with the money, and 30
sent me into Armenia with um. Away I would
have runne from them, but that I could get no
company, and alone I durst not run. I was
never at battle but once, and there I was run-
ning, but Mardonius cudgel'd me yet I got :
35
loose at last, but was so afraid that I saw no
more than my shoulders doe, but fled with my
whole company amongst my enemies, and over-
threw um. Now the report of my valor is come
over before mee, and they say I was a raw young 40
fellow, but now I am improv'd. A plague of
their eloquence, 'twill cost me many a beating:
and Mardonius might helpe he would ;
this to, if
for now they thinke to get honour of me, and
all the men I have abus'd call me freshly 45

27 God. 23, F, heaven. cald. F, calls.

28 pounds. Q2, Q3, F, pound.
41-42 of their. F, on their. 44 of me. Q2, Q3, F, on me.
 —
248 a !^mg anD ^0 !^ing [act m.

to account (worthily, as they call it), by the way

of challenge.
£;!Ur Gent[_leman~\.
Gent [^leman'j Good morrow, Captaine Bessus.
.

Bes. Good morrow, sir.

Gent. I come to speake with you 50
Bes. You are very welcome.
Gent. For one that holds himselfe wronged by
you some three yeers since. Your worth he sayes
is fam'd, and he nothing doubts but you will doe

him right, as beseemes a souldier. 55

Bes. A pox on um, so they crie all.
Gent. And a slight note I have about me for
you, for the deliverie of which you must excuse
me it is an office that friendship calles upon
:

mee to doe, and no way offensive to you, since I 60

desire but right on both sides. \_Gives a ktter.'\
Bes. 'Tis a challenge, sir, is it not ?
Gent. 'Tis an inviting to the field.
Bes. An inviting O
crie you mercie
! What !

a complement he delivers it with he might as 65 !

agreeablie to my nature present mee poyson with

such a speech. Um —
reputation um —
call —
46 to account. Q2, 23, F omit.
hy the ivay. Q2, by way.
51 Tou are. 'Q2, Q3, F, You'r.
54 nothing doubts. Q2, Q3, F, doth nothing doubt.
64 crie you. F, Sir your. 66 agreeablie. F, agreeable.
67-70 um. Q2, Q3, F, um, um, um.
Scene II] ^l i^lUg HUD jJiO MXl^ 249

you to an account — um — forst to this — um —

with my sword — um — like a gentleman — um
— deare to me — um — satisfaction.'Tis verie 70
well, sir; I doe accept it; but he must awaite an
answere weekes.
this thirteene
Gent. Why, sir, he would be glad to wipe ofF
his staine as soone as hee can.
Bes.Sir, upon my credit, I am already ingag'd 75
to two hundred and twelve ; which must have
all

their staines wipt ofF, if that be the word, before

him.
Gent. Sir, you be truly ingaged but to one,
if

he competent time.
shall stay a 80
Bes, Upon my faith, sir, to two hundred and
twelve: and I have a spent bodie, too much
bruis'd in battle, so that I cannot fight, I must be
plaine with you, above three combates a day. All
the kindnesse I can doe him, is to set him reso- 85
lutely in my rowle the two hundred and thir-
teenth man, which is something for, I tell you, ;

I thinke there will be more after him then before

him ; I thinke so. Pray ye commend me to him,
and tell him this. 90
68 an account. Q2, Q3, F, account.
74 can. (^2, Q3, F, could.
75 Bes. Q^i omits, giving the speech to Gentleman.
84 ivith you. Q2, Q3, F omit. 85 doe. Q2, Q3, F, shew.
85-86 resolutely. Q2, Q3, F, resolvedly.
86 hundred. Q2, Q3, hundreth.
89 so. Pray. D conitctMits so pray ^ omittmg I thinke.

89 y<'- Qp-, Q3» F. you-

250 3i Mn% anu jl^o Mn^ [acthi.

I will, sir. Good morrow to you.

Gent. Exif.
Good morrow, good sir. Certenly my
Bes.
safest way were to print my selfe a coward,
with a discoverie how I came by my credit, and
clap it upon every have received above
post. I 95
thirty challenges within this two houres. Marry,
all but the first I put ofF with ingagement ; and, by

good fortune, the first is no madder of fighting then

I ; so that that's refer'd. The place where it must be
ended is foure dayes journey of, and our arbytra- loo
tors are these: he has chosen a gentleman in
travell,and I have a speciall friend with a quar-
terne ague likely to hold him these five yeare, for
mine and when his man comes home, wee are
;

to expect my friend's health. If they would send 105

mee challenges thus thicke, as long as I liv'd, I
would have no other living : I can make seaven
shillings a day o'th paper to the grocers. Yet I
learne nothing by all these but a little skill in

comparing of stiles. I doe finde evidently that no

there some one scrivener in this towne, that
is

has a great hand in writing of challenges, for they

are all of a cut, and sixe of um in a hand and ;

they all end, ' My reputation is deare to me, and

I must require satisfaction.' Who'sethere? more 115
99 refer'' d. Qi, reserv'd. loi these. Ql, there.
102-03 quarterne. Q2, Q3, F, quartaine.
103 likely. Q2. Q3, F, like. fi-ve yeare. Qi, time here,
105 tend. Qi, Q3,F, find.
 — 1

scENx n.] a i^ing auD 0o J^ing 25

paper, I hope. No ; 'tis my lord Bacurius : I

feare all is not well betwixt us.
Enter Bacurius.
Bacurius. Now,Captaine Bessus,! come about
a frivolous matter, caus'd by as idle a report.
You know you were a coward. lao
Bes. Very right.
Bac. And wrong'd me.
Bes. True, my lord.
Bac. But now people will call you valiant,
desertlesly, I thinke ;
yet for their satisfaction, Ins
wil have you fight with me.
Bes. O my good lord, my deepe ingagements —
Bac. Tell not me of your ingagements, Cap-
taine Bessus : it is not to be put off with an excuse.
For my owne part, I am none of the multitude 130
that beleeve your conversion from coward.
Bes. My lord, I seeke not quarrels, and this
belongs not to me ; I am not to maintaine it.

Bac. Who, then, pray ?

Bes. Bessus the coward wrong'd you. 135
Bac. Right.
Bes. And shall Bessus the valiant maintaine
what Bessus the coward did ?

Bac. I prethee leave these cheating trickes. I

sweare thou shalt fight with mee, or thou shake 140
be beate extreamely, and kickt.
Bes. Since you provoke me thus farre, mv lord.
 !

252 ai ^ing anU il^o l^ing [actih.

I will fight with you ; and, by my sword, it shall

cost me twenty pounds but I will have my legge
well a weeke sooner purposely. i45

Bac. Your legge why, what ! ailes your legge ?

He doe a cure on you. Stand up ! \_Kicks him.'\

Bes. My lord, this is not noble in you. I

Bac. What dost thou with such a phrase in

thy mouth? I will kicke thee out of all good 150
words, before I leave thee.
Bes. My lord, I take this as a punishment for
the offence I did when
I was a coward.
Bac. When thou wert ? confesse thy selfe a
coward still, or, by this light. He beate thee into 155
spunge.
Bes. Why, I am one.
Bac. Are you so, sir ? and why doe you weare
a sword, then? Come, unbuckle; quicke
Bes, My lord !
16

Bac. Unbuckle, I say, and give it mee ; or,

as I live, thy head will ake extreamely.
Bes. It is a pretty hilt ; and if your lordship
take an affection to it, with all my heart I pre-
sent it to you, for a new-yeer's gift. 16^

Bac. I thanke you very heartily. Sweete cap-

taine, farewell.
Bes. One word more I : beseech your lord-
ship to render me my knife againe.

144 pounds. Q2, Q3, F, pound.

159 quicke. F omits. l6l I say. Q3, say.

,
 ;

scENr ni] 3i j^ing anD jl^o i^ing 253

Bac. Marry, by all meanes, captaine. Cherish 170

your selfe with it, and eate hard, good captaine ;
we cannot tell whether we shall have any more
such. Adue, deare captaine. Exit.
Bes. I will make better use of this then of
my sword. A
base spirit has this vantage of a 175
brave one; keepes alwayes at a stay,
it no- —
thing brings it downe, not beating. I remember
I promist the king, in a great audience, that I
would make my backbyters eate my sword to a
knife. How to get another sword I know not; 180
nor know any meanes left for me to maintaine
my credit but impudence. Therefore will I out-
sweare him and all his followers, that this is all
is left uneaten of my sword. Exit,

[Actus Tertii Scena Tertia.

An apartment in the PalaceJ\

Enter Mardonius.
Mardonius. He move the king hee
; is most
strangely alter'd : I guesse the cause, I feare,
too right; Heaven has some secret end
in't, and
'tis no question, justly laid upon him.
a scourge,
Hee has followed mee through twenty roomes
182 -will I. Q2, Q3, F, I will.
184. it left. Q2, Q3, F, that's left.
 ! :

254 a Mm anu JI^o Mn% I^" "i-

and ever, when I stay to await his command,

he blushes like a girle, and lookes upon me, as
if modestie kept in his businesse so turnes ;

away from me ; but, if I goe on, hee foUowes

me againe. lo
[^Enter Arbaces.'^

See, here he is. I doe not use this, yet, I know

not how, I cannot chuse but weepe to see him
his very enemies, I thinke, whose wounds have
bred his fame, if they should see him now,
would find teares in their eyes. 15
Arhaces. I cannot utter it. Why should I keepe
A breast to harbour thoughts I dare not speake?
Darknesse is in my bosome, and there lies
A thousand thoughts that cannot brooke the
light.
How wilt thou vex me, when this deede is done? 20
Conscience, that art afraid to let me name it
Mar, How doe you, sir ?
Arb. Why, very well, Mardonius :

How dost thou doe ?

Mar. Better then you, I feare.
Arb. I hope thou art for, to be plaine with
;

thee,
6 aivait. Q3, F, wait.
Enter Arbaces. Ql omits.
15 in their. Q2, Q3, F, i'their.
17 thoughts. Old eds., thoughts.'' 18 liti. F, lie.

21 me. F, 'em. 23 doe. Qi omits.

scxNi III] a !^mg ant> jl^o iaing 255

Thou art in hell else. Secret scorching flames, 25

That farre transcend earthly materiall fiers,
Are crept into me, and there is no cure :

Is not that strange, Mardonius, there's no cure?

Mar. Sir, either I mistake, or there is some-
thing hid
That you would utter to me. 30
Arh. So there is: but yet I cannot doe it.
Mar, Out with it, sir. If it be dangerous, I
shall not shrinke to doe you service. I shal not
esteeme my life a waightier matter then indeed
it is I know 'tis subject to more chances then 35
:

it hath houres; and I were better loose it in my

king's cause then with an ague, or fall, or, sleep-

ing, to a thiefe; as all these are probable enough.
Let me but know what I shal doe for you.
Arh. It will not out. Were you with Gobrius, 40
And bad him give my sister all content
The place affoords, and give her leave to send
And speake to whom shee please ?
Mar. Yes, sir, I was.
Arh. And did you to Bacurius say as much
About Tigranes ?
Mar. Yes.
Arh. That's all my businesse. 45

28 not that. Q3, F, it not.

33 ihall. Q3, F, will. 35 'm. F, it is.

36 hath. 22, Q3, F, has. 37 fall. Q2, Q3, F, a feU.
 ;

256 31 i^ing anU j^o i^ing [act m.

Mar» O, say not so !

You had an answere of all this before :

Besides, I thinke this businesse might be utterd

More careleslie.
Arh. Come, thou shalt have it out. I doe be-
seech thee, 50
By all the love thou hast profest to me.
To see my sister from me.
Mar, Well ; and what ?

Arh. That's all.

Mar, That's strange : shall I say

nothing to her ?
Arh. Not a word :

But, if thou lovest me, find some subtill way 55

To make her understand by signes.
Mar. But what ? what should I make her
understand ?
Arh. O, Mardonius, for that I must be pardon'd.
Mar. You may; but I can onelie see her then.
Arh. 'Tis true. 60
Beare her then ; and, on more advice,
this ring,
Thou shalt speake to her tell her I doe love :

My kindred all ; wilt thou ?

Mar, Is there no more }

Arh. O yes ! And her the best

47 allthh. Q2, Q3, F, this.

57 ijuhatf ivhat. Q2, Q3, F, what, should I. Q3, F, shall I.

61 on. Q3, F, one.

 :

serNE m.] a i^ing mr> 0o iaing 257

Better then any brother loves his sister 65

That's all.

Mar. Me thinkes this

Neede not have beene delivered with such caution.
He doe it.
Jrb. There is more yet wilt thou be faithfuU
:

to me ?

Afar. Sir, if I take upon me to deliver it, 70

After I hear it, He passe through fire to doe it.
Jrb. I love her better then a brother ought.
Dost thou conceive me ?
Mar. I hope I doe not, sir.
Jrb. No ! thou art dull. Kneele downe before
her, 75
And nere rise againe, till shee will love me.
Mar. Why, I thinke shee does.
Jrb. But better then she does ; another way ;

As wives love husbands.

Mar. Why, I thinke there are few wives that 80
love their husbands better then shee does you.
Jrb. Thou wilt not understand me. Is it fit
This should bee utterd plainlie ? Take it, then,
Naked as it is I would desire her love,
:

Lasciviouslie, leudlie, incestuouslie, 85

To doe a sinne that needs must damne us both,
And thee to. Dost thou understand me now ?
67 caution. Q2, Q3, F, a caution,
74 I doe. Q3, F, you do.
258 a f^ing anu il^o Mn^ lAcxin.

Alar, Yes ; there's your ring againe. What

have I done
Dishonestlie in my whole life, name it,

That you should put so base a businesse to me ? 90

Jrb. Didst thou not tell mee thou wouldst
doe it ?

Afar. Yes, if I undertooke it : but if all

My heires were lives, I would not be ingag'd

In such a cause to save my last life,
j^rb, O guilt, how poore and weake a thing
art thou !
95
This man that is my servant, whom my breath
Might blow about the world, might beate me
here,
Having his cause ; whilst I, prest downe with
sinne.
Could not resist him. Deare Mardonius, —
It was a motion misbeseeming man, 100
And I am sorrie for it.

Mar. Pray God you may be so You must !

understand, nothing that you can utter can re-

moove my love and service from my prince. But
otherwise, I thinke I shall not love you more ; for 105
you are sinnefull, and if you doe this crime, you
ought to have no lawes. For, after this, it will bee
95 hoiv. F, ha how. 97 about. F, upon.
98 bis cause. (^3, F, this cause,
99 Deare. Q2, Q3, F, Heare.
lOZ Pray God. Q3, F, Heaven grant.
Scene IE.] ^ |^mg aUU Jl^O ^tXlQ 259
great injustice in you to punish any offendor for
any crime. For my selfe, I find my heart too
bigge ; I feele I have not patience to looke on no
whilst yourunne these forbidden courses. Meanes
I have none but your favour; and I am rather
glad that I shall loose um both together then
keepe um with such conditions. I shall find a
dwelling amongst some people, where, though 115
our garments perhaps be courser, we shall be
richer farre within, and harbor no such vices in
um. God preserve you, and mend you !

Jrb. Mardonius stay, Mardonius

! For, !

though
My present state require nothing but knaves 120
To be about me, such as are prepar'd
For every wicked act, yet who does know
But that my loathed fate may turne about,
And I have use of honest men againe ?

I hope I may : I prethy leave me not. laS

Enier Bess us to them.

Bessus. Where is the king .?

Mar. There.
Bes. An't please your majestic, ther's the
knife.
Jrb. What knife ? 130

118 God. Q3, F, the gods. mend you. Q3, F, mend.

120 require. Q3, F, requires. 1 24 use of. Q3, F, use for,

126 Where ii. Q2, Where's.

 :

26o ai !^ing anU jpo !^ing [act m.

^^j. The sword is eaten.

A/i^r. Away, you the king is serious,
foole !

And cannot now

admit your vanities.
Bes. Vanities I am no honest man if my ene-
!

mies have not brought it to this. What, doe you 135

thinke I lie ?

Jrb. No, no ; 'tis well, Bessus 5 'tis very well

I am glad on't.
Mar, If your enemies brought it to that, your
enemies are cutlers. Come, leave the king. 140
Bes. Why, may not valour approach him ?
Mar. Yes; but he haz affaires. Depart, or I
shall be something unmannerly with you.
Arb. No ; let him stay, Mardonius, let him
stay;
Ihave occasions with him very weightie, 145
And I can spare you now.
Mar. Sir?
Jrb. Why,
I can spare you now.
Bes. Mardonius, give way to the state af-
fayres. 150
Mar. Indeed, you are fitter for his present
purpose. Exit,

134 I am. Q2, Q3, F, I'me.

138 I am. (23» F, I'me. Qi gives the line to Mardonius.
139 to that. Q3, F, to this,
141-43 fVhy . . . you. Q^i omits.
145 occasions. Q3, F, occasion.
149 the. F, these. 151 his. F, this.
scrNx m.] a !^mg anD jl^o !img 261

Arh. Bessus, I should imploy thee : wilt thou

do't ?

Bes. Doe for you ? By this ayre, I will doe

any thing, without exception, be it a good, bad, 155
or indifferent thing.
Arh. Do not sweare.
Bes. By this light, but I will ; any thing what-
soever.
Arh. But I shall name a thing 160
Thy conscience will not suffer thee to doe.
Bes. I would faine heare that thing.
Arh. Why, I would have thee get my sister for
me. —
Thou understand'st me, — in a wicked man-
ner.
Bes. O, you would have a bout with her ? He 165

do't, He do't, i'faith.

Arh. Wilt thou ? dost make no more an't ?

Bes. More ? no. Why, is there any thing else ?

if there be, tell me; it shall be done.

Arh. Hast thou no greater sence of such
a sinne ? 170
Thou art too wicked for my company,
154 Dot for, Q2, Q3, F, Do't for.
160 a thing. Q3, F, the thing.
164 understand'st. Qr, understands.
165 a bout. Qi, Q2, about.
167 dost. Q2, Q3, F, dost thou.
169 tell me. Q3, me ;F omitJ. done. Q2, Q3, F, done too.
262 a ^ing ant) j]io Mng [actih.

Though I have hell within me, and mayst yet

Corrupt me further. Pray thee, answere me,
How doe I shew to thee after this motion ?
Bes. Why, your majestie lookes as well, in my 175
opinion, as ever you did since you were borne.
Jrb. But thou appearest to me, after thy grant,
The ugliest, loathed, detestable thing.
That I have ever met with. Thou hast eyes
Like flames of sulphur, which me thinkes doe
dart 180
Infection on me; and thou hast a mouth
Enough to take me in, where there doe stand
Fower rowes of iron teeth.
Bes. I feele no such thing. But 'tis no matter
how I looke;He doe your businesse as well as 185
they that looke better and when this is dispatcht,
:

ifyou have a minde to your mother, tell me, and

you shall see He set it hard.
Arb, My mother Heaven forgive me, to heare
!

this!
I am inspir'd with horror. Now I hate thee 190
Worse then my sinne, which, if I could come by,
Should suffer death eternall, nere to rise
In any breast againe. Know, I will die
Languishing mad, as I resolve I shall.
Ere I will deale by such an instrument. 195

172 and, F, thou. 80 fiatnei. Q3, F, the flames.

1

185 j»oar. F, my. 190 Nonv. Qi, Qi omit.

Scene IH.] 3 MUQ anD j^O MXIQ ^63

Thou art too sinfull to Imploy in this:

Out of the world, away! \_Bgats him.']

Bes. What doe you meane, sir?

Jrb. Hung round with curses, take thy feare-

full flight

Into the desarts; where, 'mongst all the mon-

sters, ^00

If thou findst one so beastly as thy selfe,

Thou shalt be held as innocent.
Bes. Good sir —
Arb. If there were no such instruments as
thou,
We kings could never act such wicked deeds.
^°5
Seeke out a man that mockes divinitie,
That breakes each precept both of God's and
man's.
And nature's too, and does it without lust,
Meerely because it is a law, and good.
And live with him for him thou canst not spoile.
;

Away, I say E^ii Bessus.

—
!

I will not doe this sinne. ^^o

He presse it here, till it doe breake my breast.

Itheaves to get out; but thou art a sinne,
And, spight of torture, I wil keep thee in.

Finis Actus Tertii.

197 Beau him. Added by Weber.

zo6 God'i and mans. F, God and man.
 Actus Quarti Sc^na Prima.
[y^ room in the house of Go^rias.']

Enter Gobrius, Panthaa, Spaconia.

Gobrias. Have you written, madam ?

Panthea. Yes, good Gobrias.

Gob, And
with a kindnesse, and such winning
words
As may provoke him at one instant feele
His double fault, your wrong, and his own rash-
nesse ?

Pan. I have sent words enough, if words may

winne him
From his displeasure and such ; words, I hope.
As shall gaine much upon his goodnesse, Go-
brius.
Yet fearing, since th'are many, and a woman's,
A poore beliefe may follow, I have woven
As many truthes within um to speake for me.
That, he be but gracious and receive um
if —
Gob. Good ladie, be not fearfull ; if he should
not
Give you your present end in this, beleeve it.
You shall feele (if your vertue can induce you
9 since. F omits. th'are. Q2, Q3, F, they are.

13 if' Q2»Q3»F. though.

 : ;

scxNxL] a ^ing anD jpo !aing 265

To labour out this tempest, which I know

Is but a poore proofe against your patience)
All those contents your spirit will arrive at,
Newer and sweeter to you. Yourroyall brother,
When he shall once collect himselfe, and see 20
How farre he has beene asunder from him-
selfe,
What meere stranger to his golden temper.
a
Must, from those rootes of vertue, never dying.
Though somewhat stopt with humour, shoote
againe
Into a thousand glories, bearing his faire branches 25
Hie as our hopes can look at, straight as justice,
Loden with ripe contents. He loves you dearely
Iknow it, and I hope I neede not further
Winne you to understand it.
Pan, I believe it

Howsoever, I am sure I love him dearely ; 30

So dearely, that if any thing I write
For my inlarging, should beget his anger.
Heaven be a witnesse with mee, and my faith,
I had rather live intomb'd here.
Gob. You shall not feele a worse stroke then
your griefe ; 35
I am sorrie 'tis so sharpe. I kisse your hand,

16 out. Q2, Q3,F, on' t (with comma).

30 Hoivsoe'ver. Q2, 23, F, But howsoever.
35-38 Tou brother. Prose in Ql.
. . .
 ;

266 a !^ing anu il^o l^tng [activ.

And this night will deliver this true storie

With this hand your brother.
to Exit.
Pan. Peace goe with you !

You are a good man. —

My Spaconia,
Why are you ever sad thus ?

Spaconia. O deere ladie ! 40

Pan. Prethee, discover not a way to sadnesse
Neerer then I have in me. Our two sorrowes
Worke like two eager hawkes, who shall get
highest.
How shall I lessen thine ? for mine, I feare,
Is easier knowne than cur'd.
Spa. Heaven comfort both, 45
And give yours happy ends, how ever I

Fall in my stubborne fortunes.

Pan. This but teaches
How to be more familiar with our sorrowes,
That are too much our masters. Good Spaconia,
How shall I doe you service ?
Spa. Noblest ladie, 50
You make me more a slave still to your good-
nesse.
And onely live to purchase thankes to pay you
For that is all the businesse of my life now.
I will be bold, since you will have it so.
To aske a noble favour of you. 55
Pan. Speake it 'tis yours ; for from so sweet
;

a virtue
46 yours. Q3,F, you.
 ;

Scene!.] 3 Mug attU j^O i^lttg 267

No ill demand has issue.

Spa. Then, ever vertuous, let me beg your
will
In helping me to see the Prince Tigranes,
With whom I am equall prisoner, if no more. 60
Pan. Reserve me to a greater end, Spaconia
Bacurius cannot want so much good manners
As to denie your gentle visitation,
Though you came only with your owne com-
mand.
Spa. I know they will denie me, gracious
madam, 65

Being a stranger, and so little fam'd.

So utter emptie of those excellencies
That tame authority. But in you, sweete ladie.
All these are naturall, beside a power
Deriv'd immediat from your royal brother, 7°

Whose least word in you may command the

kingdome.
Pan. More then my word, Spaconia, you shall
Carrie,
For feare it faile you.
Spa. Dare you trust a token ?

Madam, I feare Ime growne too bold a beggar.

60 no. Q2, Q3, F, not.

68 tame. Ql, have.
72 luord. Qi, words.
74 Ime. Q2, Q3, F, I am.
 . !

268 a !^ins mr> jl^o i^tng [activ.

Pan, You are a pretty one; and, trust me,

ladie,
It joyes me doe a good to you.
I shall

Though to my never shall be happie.

selfe I
Here, take this ring, and from me as a token
Deliver it; I thinke they will not stay you.
So, all your owne desires goe with you, ladie.
Spa. And sweete peace to your grace!
Pan. Pray God I finde it
Exeunt.

[Actus Quarti Scena Secunda.]

Enur Tigranes \in prison^
Tigranes. Foole that I am ! I have undone
my selfe.
And with mine owne hand turn'd my fortune
round.
That was a faire one I have childishly
:

Plaied with my hope so long, till I have broke it.

And now too late I mourne for't. O Spaconia,

Thou hast found an even way to thy revenge
now!
Why didst thou follow me, like a faint shadow,
To wither my desires ? But, wretched foole,
Why did I plant thee twixt the sunne and me,

8 1 God. Q3, F, Heaven. in prison. Qi omits.

2 mine. Q2, Q3, F, my. turned. Qi, turne.
 5

Scene IL] ^ §^mg aUU j^O MXt^ 269

To make me freeze thus ? why did I preferre

her 10
To the faire princes ? O thou foole, thou foole,
Thou family of fooles, live like a slave still,

And in thee beare thine owne hell and thy tor-

ment !

Thou hast deserv'd it. Couldst thou find no

ladie,
But shee that has thy hopes, to put her to, 15
And hazard all thy peace ? none to abuse
But shee that lov'd thee ever, poore Spaconia ?

And so much lov'd thee, that in honestie

And honour thou art bound to meete her ver-
tues !

Shee that forgot the greatnesse of her griefes 20

And miseries, that must follow such mad pas-
sions,
Endlesse and wilde as woman's: shee that for
thee
And with thee lost her libertie, her name.
And countrey ! You have paid me, equall Hea-
vens,
And sent my owne rod to correct me with, 45
A woman! For inconstancie He suffer
14 it. Q3, F omit. 20 griefes. Q2, Q3, F, griefe.
22 zcoman^s. Q2, Q3, F, women.
23 /ost. Q2, Q3, F, left.
24 me, equal!. Q2, Q3, me equall.
 !

270 a ^in% anu jl^o l^ing [activ.

Lay it on, Justice, till my soule melt in me,

For my unmanly, beastly, sudden doting

Upon a new face, after all my oathes.
Many and strange ones. 3®
I feele my olde fire flame againe, and burne
So strong and violent, that, should I see her
Againe, the griefe and that would kill me.
Enter Bacurius and Spaconia.
Bacurtus. Ladie,
Your token I acknowledge; you may passe;
There is the king.
Spaconia, I thanke your lordship for it. 35
Exit Bacurius.
Tigr. Shee comes, shee comes! Shame hide
me ever from her
Would I were buried, or so farre remov'd.
Light might not find me out ! I dare not see her.
Spa. Nay, never hide your selfe ; for, were you
hid
Where earth hides all her riches, nere her center, 40
My wrongs, without more day, would light me
to you.
I must speake ere I die. Were all your great-
nesse
Doubled upon you, y'are a perjur'd man.
And onely mighty in the wickednesse

33 Ladie. Qi includes in Tigranes's speech.

39 /or. Q2,Q3, F, or. ^^ the. Q2, 23, F, your.
 ! :

Scene H] 3 ^ixiQ aUU j^O MXl^ ^7 ^

Of wronging women. Thou art false, false

prince 45
I live to poore Spaconia lives
see it ;

To tell thee thou art false, and then no more :

Shee lives to tell thee thou art more unconstant

Then all ill women ever were together ;

Thy faith as firme as raging overflowes, 50

That no banke can command; and as lasting
As boyes' gay bubbles, blowne in the aire and
broken
The wind is fixt, to thee ; and sooner shall
The beaten marriner with his shrill whistle
Calme the loude murmurs of the troubled maine, 55
And strike it smooth againe, then thy soule fall

To have peace in love with any. Thou art all

That all good men must hate; and if thy storie
Shall tell succeeding ages what thou wert,
O let it spare me in it, lest true lovers, 60
In pitty of my wrongs, burne they blacke legend.
And with their curses shake thy sleeping ashes !

Tigr. Oh oh ! !

Spa. The Destinies, I hope, have pointed out

Our ends alike, that thou maist die for love, 65
Though not for me for, this assure thy selfe.
;

The princesse hates thee deadly, and will sooner

50 Q3, F, is firm.
ai firme. 51 and. Ql, Q3, F omit.
52 Q3, in th'ayre F, i'th'Air.
in the aire. ;

55 murmur:. Q2, Q3, F, murmure.

61 ivrongs. F, wrong. 64 Spa. Qi omits.
 ! :

272 a l^ing anD il^o Mng [activ.

Be wonne to marrie with a bull, and safer,

Then such a beast as thou art. I have strucke,—
I feare, too deepe ; beshrow me for't Sir, ! — 70
This sorrow workes me, like a cunning friend-
ship.
Into the same piece with it. —
Hee's asham'd
—
:

Alas, I have beene too rugged Deare my lord,

!

I am sorrie I have spoken any thing.

Indeed I am, that may adde more restraint 75
To that too much you have. Good sir, be pleas'd
To thinke it was a fault of love, not malice,
And doe as I will doe, —
forgive it, prince
I doe, and can forgive the greatest sinnes
To me you can repent of. Pray, believe me. 80
Tigr. O my Spaconia ! O thou vertuous
woman
Spa. No more ; the king, sir.

Enter Arbaces, Bacurius, and Mardonius.

Arhaces. Have you beene carefull of our noble
prisoner,
That he want nothing fitting for his greatnesse?
Bac. I hope his grace will quit me for my care,
sir. %s
Arh. 'Tis well. — Royall Tigranes, health !

69 strucke. Q2, Q3, strooke.

70 beshroiv. Q3, beshrew. 72 Hee^s. Q2, Q3, F, 'Tis.
80 believe me. Q2, Q3, F, beleeve.
82 No more. Q3, Nay more j F, Nay, more.
scxNE 11] 3t i^ing anD j^o iiJing 273
T/^r. More then the stricktnesse of this place
can give, sir,
I offer backe againe to great Arbaces.
Jrb. We
thanke you, worthy prince; and pray
excuse us;
We have not seene you since your being here. 90
I hope your noble usage has beene equall

With your owne person your imprisonment,

:

If it be any, I dare say, is easie,

And shall not outlast two dayes,
Tigr. I thanke you :

My usage here has beene the same it was, 95

Worthy a rovall conquerour. For my restraint,
It came unkindly, because much unlookt for;
But I must beare it.

Jrb. What lady is that, Bacurius ?

Bac. One of the princesse' women, sir.

Jrb. I feard it.

Why comes shee hether ?

Bac. To speake with the Prince Tigranes. 100

Jrb. From whom, Bacurius?

Bac. From the princesse, sir.

Jrb. I knew I had seene her.

Mardonius. His fit beginnes to take him now
againe. 'Tis a strange feaver, and 'twill shake

98 lady h. Q2, Q3, F, ladle's, 102 kntiv. Qi, know.

103-106. Qi prints a verse ending with all ; Qz, Q3, F, verses
ending feare and fo^ly-
274 ai l^ing anu jl^ !^ing (activ.

us all anone, Would he were well cur'd

I feare. 105
of this raging folly Give me the warres, where
!

men are mad, and may talke what they list, and
held the bravest fellowes ; this pelting, pratling
peace is good for nothing; drinking's a vertue
to it. no
Jrb. I see there's truth in no man, nor obe-
dience,
But for his owne ends. Why did you let her in ?
Bac. Itwas your owne command to barre none
from him :

Beside, the princesse sent her ring, sir, for my

warrant.
Arb, A token to Tigranes, did she not ? 115
Sirra, tell truth.
Bac, I do not use to lye, sir ;
'Tis no way I eate or live by ; and I thinke
This is no token, sir.

Mar. This combat has undone him if he :

had beene well beaten, he had beene temperate. 120

I shal never see him hansome againe, till he have
a horseman's stafFe poakt through his shoulders,
or an arme broke with a bullet.
Jrb, I am trifled with.
Bac, Sir ? 1*5
108 pratling. Q2, Q3, F, prating.
11^ Beside. F, Besides. 116 Sirra. Qa, Qs, F, Sir.
122 poakt. QZy Q3, yoakt J
F, yok'd.
123 broke. F, brolcen.
 ;

sciNE II.]
a MxiQ auD jl^o i^ing 275
Jrh. I know it, as I know thee to be false.
Afar. Now the clap comes.
Bac. You never knew me so, sir, I dare
speake it

And durst a worse man tell me, though my

better —
Afar. 'Tis well said, by my soule. 130
/^rb. Sirra, you answere as you had no life.

Bac. That I feare, sir, to loose nobly.

j^rb. once againe
I say, sir, —
Bac. You may say, sir, what you please.
Afar. Would I might doe so I
135
Jrb. I will, sir; and say openly.
This woman carries letters by my life, :

I know woman does it.

she carries letters; this
Afar. Would
Bessus were here, to take her
aside and search her he would quickly tell you !
140
what she carried, sir.

Jrb. I have found it out ; this woman carries

letters.
Afar. If this hold, 'twill be an ill world for
bauds, chambermaids, and post-boyes. I thanke

God I have none but his letters pattents, things 145

of his owne inditing.
Jrb. Prince, this cunning cannot doe it.

134 Jay please. Q2, Q3, F, say what you please, sir.
. . .

135 fVould .so! Q2, Q3, F include in Bacurius's speech.

. .

145 God. Q3, F, heaven. 147 doe it. Qz, Q3, F, do't.
 !

276 a i^ing anu Jlo !^ing [activ.

Tigr. Doe what, sir ? I reach you not.

Jrb. It shall not serve your turne, prince.
Tigr. Serve my turne, sir ? 150
Jrb. I, sir, it shall not serve your turne.
Tigr, Be plainer, good sir.

Arb. This woman shall carry no more letters

backe to your love, Panthaea ; by Heaven, she
shall not ; I say she shall not 155
Mar. This would make a saint sweare like a
and a souldier like Termogant.
souldier,
Tigr.This beates me more. King, then the
blowes you gave me.
Jrb. Take um away both, and together let um 160
be prisoners, stricktly and closely kept or, sirra, ;

your life shall answere it and let no bodie speake ;

with um hereafter.
Tigr. Well, I am subject to you, and must
endure these passions. 165
Spa. This is the imprisonment I have lookt
for alwayes.
And the deare place I would chuse.
Exit Bacurius with Tigranes and Spaconia.
Mar. Sir, have you done well now ?

148 Doe. Qi omits.

157 and . Termogant. Q2, Q3, F omit.
. .

160 let um. Q2, Q3, F, let them.

161 he prisoners. Q2, Q3, F, prisoners bee.
166 Spa. Q2., Q3, F omit. 167 deare. F, dearer.
168 ^ave . noiv? F, you have done well now.
. .
Scene H] ^ f^iug attU Jl^O MXt^ IJJ

Jrb. Dare you reprove it ?

Mar. No. 170

Jrb. You must
be crossing me.
Mar. I have no letters, sir, to anger you.
But a dry sonnet of my corporal's
To an old sadler's wife and that He burne, sir.
;

'Tis like to prove a fine age for the ignorant. 175

Arb. How darest thou so often forfeit thy life ?
Thou knowest 'tis in my power to take it.

Mar. Yes, and I know you wonnot ; or if

you doe, youle misse it quicklie.

Jrb. Why?
Mar, Who shall tell you of these
childish follies, 180

When I am dead who shall ? put to his power

To draw those vertues out of a floud of humours.
Where they are drownd, and make um shine
againe ?
No, cut my head ofF;
Then you may talke, and be beleeved, and grow
worse, 185

And have your too selfe-glorious temper rott

Into a dead sleepe, and the kingdome with
you,
174 Sadler's. Q2, Q3, F, sutler's.

180 these. Q2, this. 183 fVhere. Q2, Q3, F, When.

184 off. Qi adds, doe, kill me. 185 ivorst. Qi omits.
186 rrAt. S, D, and modern eds. generally, read rock'd.
187 dead. F, deep.
 ; ;;

278 a l^ing anO ^0 Mn^ i^^ ^^

Till forraigne swords be in your throates, and

slaughter
Be every where about you, like your flatterers.
Doe, kill me. 190
Jrb. Prethee be tamer, good Mardonius.
Thou knowst I love thee; nay, I honour thee;
Beleeve it, good old souldier, Iam all thine
But I am rackt cleane from my selfe, beare —
with me
Woot thou beare with me, good Mardonius ? 195
Enter Gobrius.
Mar. There comes a good man ; love him
too ; hee's temperate ;

You may live to have need of such a vertue

Rage is not still in fashion.
Jrb. Welcome, good Gobrius.
Gobrias. My service, and this letter to your
grace. [Gives letter. ~\ zoo
Arh. From whom ?
Gob. From the rich mine of vertue and all

beautie,
Your mournefull sister.
Arb. She is in prison, Gobrius, is shee not ?

Gob. She is, sir, till your pleasure doe enlarge

her, 205
Which on my knees I beg. O, *tis not fit

193 all. Q2, Q3, F omit. 195 good. Q2, Q3, F, my.
a02 all beautie. Q3, F, beautie. 205 doe. Q2, Q3, F, to.
 !

Scene H.] 3 MU^ aUD 00 MUQ 279

That all the sweetnesse of the world in one,

The youth and vertue that would tame wilde

tygers,
And wilder people, that have knowne no man-
ners,
Should live thus cloysterd up. For your love's
saice 210
(If there be any in that noble heart)
To her a wretched ladie, and forlorne.
Or for her love to you, which is as much
As nature and obedience ever gave,
Have pittie on her beauties !
215
Jrb. Prethee stand up. 'Tis true, she is too
faire.
And all these commendations but her owne,
Would thou hadst never so commended her,
Or I nere liv'd to have heard it, Gobrius !

If thou but knew'st the wrong her beautie does

her, no
Thou wouldst, in pittie of her, be a lyar.
Thy ignorance has drawne me, wretched man,
Whether my selfe nor thou canst well tell. O
my fate
I thinke shee loves me, but I feare another
Is deeper in her heart : how think'st thou, Go-
brius ? 215

208 tame. Ql, have. 216 Trethee. Q2, Q3, F, Prayc thcc.
220 knenu it.Qi, knew of; F, know'st.
 ; : ;

28o a i^ing anu jjio l^ing [Activ.

G(?^. I doe beseech your grace, beleeve it not

For let me perish if it be not false.
Good sir, reade her letter. [^JrSa^es reads.']

Mar. This love, or what a div^ell it is I know-

not, begets more mischiefe then a wake. I had 230
rather be well beaten, starv'd, or lowsie, then live
within the aire on't. He that had seene this brave
fellow charge through a grove of pykes but t'other
day, and looke upon him now, will nere beleeve
his eyes againe. If he continue thus but two dales 235
more, a taylor may beat him with one hand tyed
behind him.
Jrb. Alas, she would be at libertie.
And there be thousand reasons, Gobrius,
That will denie it 240
Which if she knew, she would contentedly
Be where she is, and blesse her vertue for it,
And me, though she were closer she would,
:

Gobrius
Good man, indeed she would.
Gob. Then, good sir, for her satisfaction, 245
Send and with reason make her know
for her,
Why she must live thus from you.
Jrb. I will. Goe, bring her to me. Exeunt.

229 it is. Qi, is it.

239 thousand. F, a thousand.
240 That . it. Q2,
. .
Q3, F, Thousands that will dcny't.
242 vertue. Q3, F, vertues.
 ; 1

Scene III.] ^ ^{n^ aUD j^O i^tltg 28

[Actus Quarti Scena Tertia.

j4 room in the house of Bessus.~\

Enter Bessus and two Szvord-Men, and a Boy.

Y'are verie welcome, both
Bessus. Some !
—
boy
stooles there,
And reach a table. Gentlemen oth'sword.—
Pray sit, without more complement. Be gone, —
childe.
I have beene curious in the searching of you.
Because I understood you wise and valiant per-
sons.
1st Sword-man. We
understand our selves, sir.
Bes. Nay, gentlemen, and my deare friends
oth'sword.
No complement, I pray but to the cause ;

I hang upon, which, in few, is my honour.

2nd Sword-man. You cannot hang too much,
sir, for your honour.

But to your cause be wise, and speake truth.

:

Bes. My first doubt is, my beating by my

prince.
1st Sw. Stay there a little, sir ; doe you doubt
a beating ?

Or have you had a beating by your prince ?

I F omits.
there. 5 understood. Q2, Q3, F, understand.
7 my. Q3, F omit. 8 and 11 cause. D reads case.
II be wise. Q2, Q3, F begin Bessus's speech here.
 ;

282 a i^ing mr> j^o ^ing [Activ.

Bes. Gentlemen ath'sword, my prince has

beaten me. 15

2nd Sw. Brother, what thinke you of this case ?

Sw. If he have beaten him, the case is cleare.
jst
2nd Sw.
If he have beaten him, I grant the case.
But how ? we cannot be too subtill in this businesse.
I say, but how?
Bes. Even with his royall hand. 20
1st Sw. Was it a blow of love or indignation ?

Bes.'Twas twentie blowes of indignation,

gentlemen,
Besides two blowes ath'face.
2nd Sw. Those blowes oth'face have made a
new cause on't;
The rest were but an honourable rudenesse. 25
1st Sw. Two blowes ath'face, and given by a
worse man,
I must confesse, aswe sword-men say, had turn'd
The businesse: marke me, brother, by a worse
man
But being by had they beene ten.
his prince,
And those ten drawne ten teeth, beside the hazard 3°
Of his nose for ever, all these had beene but
favours.
This is my flat opinion, which Tie die in.
17 Aa've.Q2, Q3, F, has. 18 Ac. Q2, Q3, a.
24 bloives. Q2, two blowes. 25 honourable. Q3, F, horrible.
26-37 Tnvo .captaine. Prose in old eds.
. .

27 as ive. Q3, F, as the. 30 ten teeth. Q3, F, teeth.

31 these. Q2, Q3, F, this.
 ; ;

Scene m.] 3 MXIQ attD J^O l^mg 283

2nd Sw. The king may doe much, captaine,

beleeve it

For had hee crackt your scull through, like a bottle,

Or broke a rib or two with tossing of you, 35
Yet you had lost no honour. This is strange.
You may imagin, but this is truth now, captaine.
Bes. I will be glad to imbrace it, gentlemen.
But how farre may he strike me?
1st Sw. There's another,
A new cause rising from the time, and distance, 40
In which I will deliver my opinion.
He may strike, beate, or cause to be beaten
For these man
are naturall to :

Your prince, I say, may beate you, so farre forth

As his dominion reacheth that's for the distance ; ; 45
The time, ten mile a dav, I take it.

2nd Sw. Brother, you erre ; 'tis iifteene mile a

day;
His stage is ten, his beatings are iifteene.
Bes. 'Tis a the longest, but we subjects must —
1st Sw. Be subject to it : you are wise and
vertuous. 5°

34 hee crackt. Q2, Q3, a crackt.

35 tossing. Ql, crossing.

38 gentlemen. Qi, gentleman.
39 There'' s. F, There is.
40 cause. D, case. 42-46 He . . . it. Prose in old eds.
46-47 mile. F, miles. 49 a the. F, the.
50-53 Be . . . sivord. Qi gives line 50 to Bessus, 51-53 to
1st Sword-man.
 :

284 a ^ing anD jlio i^ing [act iv.

5^j.Obedience ever makes that noble useon't,

To which I dedicate my beaten bodie.
I must trouble you a little further, gentlemen oth*
sword.
2nd Sw. No trouble at all to us, sir, if we may
Profit your understanding we are bound :
55
By vertue of our calling, to utter our opinions
Shortly and discreetly.
Bes. My sorest businesse is, I have beene kickt.
2nd Sw. How farre, sir ?
Bes. Not to flatter my selfe in it, all over : my 60
sword forst, but not lost ; for discreetely I ren-
derd it, to save that imputation.
1st Sw. It shewed discretion, the best part of
valour.
2nd Sw. Brother, this is a pretty case ;
pray
ponder on't
Our friend here has beene kickt.
1st Sw. He has so, brother. 65
2nd Sw. Sorely, he sayes. Now, had he set
downe here
Upon the meere kicke, it had beene cowardly.
1stSw. I thinke it had beene cowardly indeed.
2nd Sw. But our friend has redeem'd it, in
delivering
61 forst . . . /os(. D, followed by other modern cds., reads /ojr,
but not fore' d.
64 caie. F, cause. 66 set. ^i, sit

67 it had. Q2, Q3, F, 't had.

 ; ! : ;

Scene HI.] ^i ^ixiQ HUD j^O i^lltg 285

His sword without compulsion and that man ; 70

That tooke it of him, I pronounce a weake one,

And his kicks nullities :

He should have kickt him after the deliverie.

Which is the confirmation of a coward.
1st Sw. Brother, I take it you mistake the
question 75
For say that I were kickt.
2nd Sw. I must not say so

Nor I must not heare it spoke by th'tongue of

man :

You kickt, deare brother ? you are merrie.

1stSw. But put the case I were kickt.

2n6i Sw. Let them put it.
That are things wearie of their lives, and know not 80
Honour put the case you were kickt
I

1st Sw. I doe not say I was kickt.

2nd Sw. Nor no silly creature that weares his
head
Without a case, his soule in a skinne coat
You kickt, deare brother !
85
Bes. Nay, gentlemen, let us doe that we shall
doe.
Truly and honestly ! good sirs, to th'question.

73 He. Qx, Q3, A. deli'verie. F, delivering.

77 th'tongue. Q2, Q3, F, the tongue.

78 you are. Q2, Q3, F, you'r.
79-85 Let . brother. Prose in old eds.
. .

81 the. Qi omits. '^d that. Q3, F, what.

87 iirs, Qi, sir. th'question. Q2, Q3, F, the question.

 ;

286 at f^ing anD j^o Mn^ [act iv.

1st Sw. Why, then, I say, suppose your boy

kickt, captaine.
2nd Sw. The boy may be suppos'd, hee's lyable
But kicke my brother ?
1st Sw. A foolish, forward zeale, sir, in my
friend.
But to theboy suppose the boy were kickt.
:

Bes. doe suppose it.

I
1st Sw. Has your boy a sword ?
Bes. Surely, no I pray, suppose a sword too.
;

1st Sw. I doe suppose it. You grant your bov

was kickt, then.
2n6i Sw. By no meanes, captaine ; let it be
supposed still ;

This word ' grant makes not for us. '

1st Sw. I say this must be granted.

2nd Sw. This must be granted, brother?
1st Sw. I, this must be granted. ]

2nd Sw. Still the must ?

1st Sw. I say this must be granted.
2nd Sw. Give me the must again Brother, !

you palter.
1st Sw. I will not heare you, waspe !

2nd Sw. Brother, ^

I say, you palter the must three times together

: !

I weare as sharpe Steele as another man,

89 Aee's. Qi, Q3, F, is.

90 But . brother. Q^.Q3» Fomit.
. . 97 This. Q2, Q3,F, the.
loi the. Q2, Q3, F, this. 103 Give me. F, I, give me.
scENL m.] a i^ing anO jl^o !^mg 287

And my foxe bites as deepe : musted, my deare

brother ?

But to the cause againe.

Bes.Nay, looke you, gentlemen — no
2nd Sw. In a word, I ha done.
1st Sw. A tall man, but untemperate ; 'tis

great pittie.
Once more, suppose the boy kickt.
2nd Sw. Forward.
1st Sw. And, being throughly kickt, laughes
at the kicke. 115
2nd Sw. So much for us ;
proceede.
1st Sw. And in this beaten scorne, as I may
call it.

Delivers up his weapon ; where lies the error ?

Bes. It lies ith'beating, sir ; I found it foure

dayes since.
2nd Sw. The error, and a sore one, as I take it, lio

Lies in the thing kicking.

Bes. I understand that well ; 'tis sore indeed, sir.

1st Sw. That is according to the man that

did it.

2nd Sw. There springs a new branch : whose

was the foote ?
Bes. A lord's. 125

108 musted. Qi, musled. 1 09 caua. D, case.

112 untemperatt. F, intemperate.
115 kicke. Qz, Q3, F, kicker. 122 sore. F, so,
iz^ foote. Qi, foole. 125 A. Ql, Ah.
 ; ; ;

288 a Mn% anD jlio Mn^ [act iv.

1stSw. The cause is mightie but, had it ;

beene two lords,

And both had kickt you, if you laught, 'tis cleere.
Bes. I did laugh but how will that helpe me,
;

gentlemen ?
2nd Sw. Yes, it shall helpe you, if you laught
alowd.
Bes. As lowd as a kickt man could laugh, I
laught, sir. 130
1st Sw. My reason now : the valiant man is

knowne
By suffering and contemning you have ;

Enough of both, and you are valiant.

2ndSw. If he be sure he has beene kickt enough
For that brave sufferance you speake of, brother, 135
Consists not in a beating, and away.
But in a cudgeld bodie, from eighteene
To eight and thirtie ; in a head rebuk't
With pots of all size, daggers, stooles, and bed-
staves :

This shewes a valiant man. 140

Bes. Then I am valiant, as valiant as the
proudest
For these are all familiar things to me
Familiar as my sleepe, or want of money ;
All my whole bodi's but one bruize with beating :

I thinke I have beene cudgeld with all nations, 145

And almost all religions.

I26fa«i«. D, case. 127 /aw^^r. F, laugh. 139 i/j^^-frf. F, degrees.
 ;

Scene III.] ^ MXIQ HUD 00 MXl^ 289

2nd Sw. Imbrace him, brother : this man is

valiant
I know it by my selfe, hee's valiant.

1st Sw. Captaine, thou art a valiant gentle-

man;
To abide upon't, a very valiant man. 150
Bes. My equall friends ath' sword, I must
request
Your hands to this.
2nd Sw. 'Tis fit it should be.
Bes. Boy,
Get me some wine, and pen and inke within.
Am I cleare, gentlemen ?

1st Sw. when the world has taken notice

Sir,
what we have done, 155
Make much of yourbodie for He pawne my Steele, ;

Men will be coyer of their legs hereafter.

Bes. I must request you goe along, and testifie

To the lord Bacurius, whose foot has strucke me.

How you finde my cause. 160
2nd Sw. We will ; and tell that lord he must
be rul'd.
Or there be those abroad will rule his lordship.
Exeunt.
150 abide upont. Q2, Q3, F, bide upon.
153 me. Qi, Q2, ^3 omit.
155 ivhen. Qz, Q3, F omit.
158-160 / . .cause. Prose
. in Qi.
160 cause. D, case.
162 be. F, are.
 ; ;

290 <i J^ing anu 0o i^ing [activ.

[Actus Quarti Scena Quarta.

j^n apartment in the Palace.^

Enter Arbaces at one doore, Gobrias and Panthcea

at another.
Gobrias. Sir, her's the princesse.
Arbaces. Leave us then, alone
For the maine cause of her imprisonment
Must not be heard by any but her selfe.
\^Exit Gobrias.']

You welcome, sister and I would to God

are ;

I could so bid you by another name !

If you above love not such sinnes as these.

Circle my heart with thoughts as cold as snow.
To quench these rising flames that harbour here.
Panthea. Sir, does it please you I should speake ?
Arb. Please me ?

I, more then all the art of musicke can ;

Thy speech doth please me, for it ever sounds

As thou brought'st joyfull, unexpected newes :

And yet it is not fit thou shouldst be heard

I prethee thinke so.
Pan. Be it so ; I will.

4 You are. Q2, Q3, F, You'r. / . . . God. Q3, I would

to heaven ; F, would to heaven,
9 should. Q2, Q3, shall. 11 doth. Qi, does.
12 brought^ St. Ql, broughts.
14 prethee. Q2, Q3, F, pray thee.
 !

Scene IV] ^ |^ing aitD 00 MXIQ 29 1

I am the first that ever had a wrong 15

So farre from being fit to have redresse
That 'twas unfit to heare it : I will backe
To prison, rather then disquiet you,
And waite till it be fit.

Jrb, No, doe not goe

For heare thee with a serious thought
I will ; 20
I have collected all that's man about me
Together strongly, and I am resolvd
To heare thee largely : but I doe beseech thee,
Doe not come neerer me, for there is
to
Something in that that will undoe us both. 25
Pan. Alas, sir, am I venom ?

Jrb. Yes, to me ;

Though of thy selfe I thinke thee to be in

As equall a degree of heate or cold
As Nature can make yet, as unsound men ;

Convert the sweetest and the nourishingst meates 30

Into diseases, so shall I, distemperd.
Doe thee I prethee draw no neerer to me.
:

Pan. Sir, this is that I would I am of late :

Shut from the world and ; why it should be thus

Is all I wish to know.
Jrb. Why, credit me, 35
Panthaea, credit me that am thy brother,
15 I am. 23, F, I. Am
28 ^s . .degree. Q3, equall a degree
. ; F, equal degree.
iz prethee. Q2, Q3, F, pray thee.
 ; ;

292 at MrxQ antj jpo l^ing [act iv.

Thy loving brother, that there is a cause

Sufficient, yet unfit for thee to knowe.
That might undoe thee everlastingly,
Onely to heare. Wilt thou but credit this ? 40
By Heaven, 'tis thou canst.
true ; beleeve it if

Pan. Children and fooles are ever credulous,

And I am both, I thinke, for I beleeve.
If you dissemble, be on your head it !

lie backe unto my prison. Yet me thinkes 45

I might be kept in some place where you are
For in my selfe I finde I know not what —
To call it, but it is a great desire
To see you often.
Jrb. Fie, you come in a step ; what doe you
meane ? 50
Deare doe not so Alas, Panthaea,
sister, !

Where I am would you be? why, that's the cause

You are imprisond, that you may not be
Where I am.
Pan. Then I must endure it, sir.
God keepe you !
55
Arb. Nay, you shall heare the cause in short,
Panthaea
And, when thou hearst it, thou wilt blush for me.
And hang thy head downe like a violet
Full of the morning's dew. There is a way
To gaine thy freedome; but 'tis such a one 60

37 that there. Q3, and there. 55 God. Q3, F, Heaven.

 : ;

Scene iv] ^ i^mg auO j^o ^ixiQ 293

As puts thee in worse bondage, and I know

Thou wouldst encounter fire, and make a proofe
Whether the gods have care of innocence,
Rather then follow it. Know I have lost
The onely difference betwixt man and beast, 65

My reason.
Pan. Heaven forbid !

Jrb. Nay, It is gone ;

And I am without a bound

left as farre

As the wild ocean, that obeyes the windes;

Each suddaine passion throwes me as it lists,
And overwhelmes all that oppose my will. 70
I have beheld thee with a lustfull eye
My heart is set on wickednesse, to act
Such sinnes with thee as I have beene afraid
To thinke of. If thou dar'st consent to this,
(Which, I beseech thee, doe not) thou maist gaine 75
Thy libertie, and yeeld me a content
If not, thy dwelling must be darke and close,
Where I may never see thee for God knowes, :

That layd this punishment upon my pride.

Thy sight at some time will enforce my mad-
nesse 80
To make a start eene to thy ravishing.
Now spit upon me, and call all reproaches
63 innocence. Qi, innocents.
64 Knoiu I. Q3,F, Know that I.

66 it Q3, F, 'tis.
is. 69 as. Q3, F, where.
78 God. Q3, F, heaven. 81 eene. Qi, eye.
 ; ;

294 21 i^ing anD j]io i^ing [act iv.

Thou canst devise together, and at once

Hurle um against me; for I am a sicknesse
As killing as the plague, ready to seize thee. 85
Pan, Farre be it from me to revile the king !

But it is true that I should rather chuse

To search out death, that else would search out
me,
And in a grave sleepe with my Innocence,
Then welcome such a sinne. It is my fate 90
To these crosse accidents I was ordaind.
And must have patience ; and but that my eyes
Have more of woman in um then my heart,
I would not weepe. Peace enter you againe !

Jrb, Farewell ; and, good Panthaea, pray for

me, 95
(Thy prayers are pure,) that I may finde a death,
How ever soone, before my passions grow
That they forget what I desire is sinne
For thether they are tending. If that happen,
Then I shall force thee, though thou wert a
virgin 100
By vow to Heaven, and
heape shall pull a
Of strange, yet uninvented sins upon me.
Pan. Sir, I will pray for you ; yet vou shall
know
It is a sullen fate that governes us :

For I could wish as heartilie as you 105

87 should. Q2, Q3, F, shall. io2 sim. Q3, F, sinne.

 :

Scene IV.] ^ f^ing aUD ^0 i^iltS 295

I were no sister to you I should then ;

Imbrace your lawfull love sooner then health.

Jrb. Couldst thou affect me, then ?
Pan. So perfectly
That, as it is, I nere shall sway my heart
To like another.
Jrb. Then I curse my birth. no
Must this be added to my miseries.
That thou art willing too ? is there no stop
To our full happinesse but these meere sounds,
Brother and Sister ?
Pan. There is nothing else
But these, alas will seperate us more
!
115
Then twentie worlds betwixt us.
Jrb. I have liv'd
To conquer men, and now am overthrowne
Onely by words, Brother and Sister. Where
Have those words dwelling? I will finde um
out.
And utterly destroy them; but they are 120
Not to be grasp't : let um be men or beasts.
And I will cut um from the earth ; or townes.
And I will rase um, and then blow um up :

Let um be seas, and I will drinke them off,

And yet have unquencht fire left in my breast ; 125
Let um be any thing but meerely voice.

Ill step. Qi, steppe. 120 tAem. Qz, Q3, F, 'em.

124 t/iem off. Q2, 23, F, 'em off.
 ; ;

296 at i^ing anu jlio Mn% [act iv.

Ptf;z. But 'tis not in the power of any force

Or pollicie to conquer them.
Jrb. Panthaea,
What shall wee doe shall we stand firmely here,
?

And gaze our eyes out ?

Pan. Would I could doe so 130 !

But I shall weepe out mine.

Jrb. Accursed man !

Thou boughtst thy reason at too deare a rate

For thou hast all thy actions bounded in
With curious rules, when everie beast is free.
What is there that acknowledges a kindred, 135
But wretched man? Who ever saw the bull
Fearefully leave the heifer that he likt.
Because they had one dam ?

Pan. Sir, I disturbe you.

And my selfe too ; 'twere better I were gone.
Jrb. I will not be so foolish as I was 140
Stay, we will love just as becomes our birthes.
No otherwise : brothers and sisters may
Walke hand in hand together so ; will we.
Come nearer : is there any hurt in this ?

Pan. I hope not.

Jrb. Faith, there's none at all :
145
And tell me truly now, is there not one
You love above me?
Pan. No, by Heaven.
140 I . . . -was. Ql includes in Panthea's speech.
144 in this. Q2, i'this. 145 there's. Q2, Q3, F, there is.
Scene IV.] ^ |^mg attti jjio i^iug 297

yfr^. Why, yet

You sent unto Tigranes, sister.
Pan. True,
But for another : for the truth —
Jrb. No more :

He credit thee; I know thou canst not lie; 150

Thou art all truth.
Pan. But is there nothing else
That we may doe, but onely walke ? Me thinkes
Brothers and sisters lawfully may kisse.
Arb. And may, Panthaea so will we
so they ; ;

And kisse againe toowe were scrupulous

:
155
And foolish, but we will be so no more.
Pan. If you have any mercy, let me goe
To prison, to my death, to any thing :

I feele a sinne growing upon my bloud,

Worse then all these, — hotter, I feare, then
yours. 160
Jrb. That is impossible: what should we doe ?

Pan. Flie, God's sake.

sir, for
Jrb. So we must ; away !

Sin growes upon us more by this delay.

\_Exeunt several to ays.
"j

Finis Actus ^arti.

147 Why, yet. Ql, Yet,

155 scrupulous. Q
3, F, too scrupulous.
160 I feare. Q3,Fomit. 162 GocTs. Q 3, F, heavens.
 —

Actus Quinti Scjesa Prima.

[Before the Palace.']

Enter Mardonius and Ligones,

Mardonius, Sir, the king has scene your com-
mission, and beleeves it; and freely,by this war-
rant, gives you leave to visit Prince Tigranes,
your noble master.
Lygones. I thanke his grace, and kisse his 5

hands.
Mar. But is the maine of all your businesse
ended in this ?

Lyg. I have another, but a worse : I am

asham*d: it Is a businesse 10
Mar. You [seem] and a a worthie person,
stranger I am sure you are you may imploymee, :

if you please, without your purse such offices ;

should ever be their owne rewards.

Lyg. I am bound to your noblenesse. 15
Mar. I may have neede of you, and then this
curtesie.
If it be any, is not ill bestowed.
But may I civilly desire the rest ?

I shall not be a hurter, if no helper.

3 leave. Q2, Q3, F, power. 6 hands. Q2, Q3, F, hand.
II seem. Old eds., serve. D's emendation.
13 offices. Qi, officers.
Scene I] ^ ^ixi^ aUD jJ^O l^lUg 299

Zy^. Sir, you shall know I have lost a foolish

daughter, 20
And with her all my patience ;
pilferd away
By a meane captaine of your king's.
Mar. Stay there, sir :

If he have reacht the noble worth of captaine.

He may well claime a worthy gentlewoman.
Though shee were yours and noble. 25
Lyg, I grant all that too. But this wretched
fellow
Reaches no further then the emptie name
That serves to feede him were he valiant, :

Or had but in him any noble nature,

That might hereafter promise him a good man, 30

My cares were something lighter, and my grave

A span yet from me.
Mar. I confesse such fellowes

Be in all royall campes, and have, and must be.

To make the sinne of coward more detested
In the meane souldier, that with such a foyle 35

Sets off much valour. By description,

I should now guesse him to you; it was Bessus,
I dare almost with confidence pronounce it.

Lyg. 'Tis such a scurvy name as Bessus ; and

now
I thinke 'tis hee.

28 he. Q2, Q3, a. 31 tomething. Q2, Q3, F, so much.

34 coiuard. Qi, a coward. 36 off. Ql, of.
 ;

300 a Mn% anU j]^o Mm [^" v.

il/^r. Captaine, doe you call him ? 40

Beleeve me, sir, you have a miserie
Too mighty for your age a pox upon him: 1

For that must be the end of all his service.

Your daughter was not mad, sir ?
Lyg. No ; would shee had beene !

The fault had had more credit. I would doe

something. 45
Mar. I would faine counsel! you, but to what
I know not.
Hee*s so below a beating, that the women
Find him not worthy of their distaves and ;

To hang him were to cast away a rope.

Hee's such an ayrie, thin, unbodied coward, 50
That no revenge can catch him.
He tell you, sir, and tell you truth ; this rascall
Feares neither God nor man ; has beene so beaten,
Sufferance has made him wanscote; he has had.
Since hee was first a slave, 55
At least three hundred daggers set in his head,
As little boyes doe new knives in hot meat;
Ther's not a rib in's bodie, a my conscience,
That has not beene thrice broken with drie
beating
And now his sides looke like to wicker targets, 60
Everie way bended :

53 Aas. F, he has. 55 iee. Q2, Q3, a.

56 in his. Q2, Q3, F, in's. 60 like to. gSj F, like two.

Scene I.] ^ MXIQ 3^0 ^0 MXl^ 3OI

Children will shortly take him for a wall,

And set their stone-bowes in his forhead. Hee
Is of so low a sence, I cannot in
A weeke imagine what should be done to him. 65
Lyg. Sure, I have committed some great sinne,
That this strange fellow should be made my rod:
I would see him but I shall have no patience.
;

Afar. 'Tis no great matter, if you have not.

If a laming of him, or such a toy, may doe you 70
pleasure, sir, he has it for you and He helpe you
;

to him 'tis no newes to him to have a leg broke,

:

or a shoulder out, with being turnd ath'stones

like a tanzie. Draw not your sword, if you love
it ; for of my conscience his head will breake it 75 :

we use him ith'warres like a ramme, to shake a

wall withall. Here comes the verie person of
him; doe as you shall find your temper I must ;

leave you; but if you doe not breake him like a

bisket, you are much too blame, sir. Exif. 80

EnUr Bessus and \jhe\ Sword-men.

Lyg. Is your name Bessus ?

Bessus. Men call me Captaine Bessus.

Lyg. Then, Captaine Bessus, you are a ranke
rascall, without more exordiums, a durty, frozen

63 Hee. Qi omits, 64 loiv. Qi, Q3, F, bace.

65 ihould. Q2, Q3, F, shall. 67 strange. Q3, F omit.
70 laming. D conjectures lamming.
72 broke. F, broken. 75 of. Q2, Q3, F, on.
 :: —
302 a l^ing anD jlio !^ing [act v.

slave ! and, with the favour of your friends here, 85

I will beate you.
2nd Sword-man, Pray, use your pleasure, sir -,

you seem to be a gentleman.

Lyg. Thus, Captaine Bessus, thus I

Thus twinge your nose, thus kicke you, and thus

tread you. 9°
Bes. I doe beseech you, yeeld your cause, sir,

quickly.
Lyg. Indeed, I should have told you that first.

Bes. I take it so.

1st Sword-man. Captaine, a should, indeed ; he
is mistaken.
Lyg. Sir, you shall have it quickly, and more
beating 95
You have stolne away a lady, Captaine Coward,
And such a one \Beats him.']
Bes. Hold, I beseech you, hold, sir !

I never yet stole any living thing

That had a tooth about it.
Lyg. Sir, I know you dare lie.

Bes. With none but summer-whores, upon my

life, sir 100
My meanes and manners never could attempt
Above a hedge or hey-cocke.
90 kicke you. Q2, ^3, F, kicke. and thus. Q3, F, thus.
92 you. F omits. 94 a should. F, he should.
97 Beates him. Qi omits. 99 Sir. Q3, F omit.
100 With sir. Qi includes in Lygones's speech.
. . .
Scene I.] £ ^ixiQ aUtl J^O ^iXl^ 303

Lyg. Sirra, that quits not me. Where is this

ladie ?

Doe that you doe not use to doe, tell truth,

Or, by my hand, He beate your captaine's braines
out, 105
Wash um, and put um in againe, that will I.
Bes. There was a ladie, sir, I must confesse,
Once in my charge; the Prince Tigranes gave her
To my guard, for her safetie. How I usd her,
She may her selfe report ; shee's with the prince
now: no
I did but waite upon her like a groome,
Which she will testifie, I am sure; if not,
My braines are at your service when you please,
sir.

And glad I have um for you.

Lyg. This is most likely. Sir, I aske your par-
don, 115
And am was so intemperate.
sorrie I
Bes. Well, I can aske no more. You would
thinke it strange now to have me beat you at
first sight.

Lyg. Indeed I would but I know your good- 120 ;

nes can forget twentie beatings you must for- :

give me.

104 to doe. Q3, not to doe.

106 againe /. D, againe that will.
. . .

117 would. Q3, F, will. 118 now. F, not.

 ;

304 a Mn^ anD jl^o J^ing (act v.

Bes. Yes ; ther's my hand. Goe where you

will, I shall thinke you a valiant fellow, for all

this. 125
Lyg. My daughter is a whore
I feele it now too sencible ;
yet I will see her;
Discharge my selfe of being father to her,
And then backe to my.countrie, and there die.
Farewell, captaine. Exit.
Bes. Farewell, sir, farewell ; 130
Commend me gentlewoman, I pray.
to the
1st Sw. How now, captaine ? beare up, man.
Bes. Gentleman ath'sword, your hands once
more I have beene kickt againe but the foolish
: ;

fellow is penitent, has ask't me mercy, and my 135

honor's safe.
2nd Sw. We
knew that, or the foolish fellow
had better a kick't his grandsire.
Bes. Confirme, confirme, I pray.
1st Sw. There be our hands againe. 140
2n6i Sw. Now let him come.
And say he was not sorry, and he sleepes for it.
Bes. Alas, good, ignorant old man let him goe, !

let him goe ; these courses will undue him.

Exeunt.
128 of being. Q3, F, from being.
133-36 Gentlemen . safe. Verse . . in Qi, (^2, Q3, the lines
ending with have, penitent, and safe.
136 honoris. Q2, honour. 138 a. Q2, Q3, F, have.
141-42 Now . . .
Q2, Q3, F give
it. to ist Sword-man.
142 he . . . he. Q2, Q3, a a.. . .
 :

Scene II.] 3 filing HuD 00 Mn^ 305

[Actus Quinti Scena Secunda.

J Prison.^

Enter Ligones and Bacurius.

Bacurius. My lord, your authoritie
is good,

and I am glad it consent would

is so ; for my
never hinder you from seeing your owne king
I am a minister, but not a governour of this
state. Yonder is your king ; lie leave you.
Exit.
Enter Tigranes and Spaconia.
Lygones. There he is

Indeed, and with him my disloyall childe.

Tigranes. I doe perceive my fault so much,
that yet
Me thinkes thou shouldst not have forgiven me.
Lyg. Health to your majestie !

Tigr. What, good Ligones I

Welcome ; what businesse brought thee hether ?

Lyg. Severall businesses.
My public businesse will appeare by this ;

\_Gives a paper."]
I have a message to deliver, which,
If please you so to authorise, is
it

An embassage from the Armenian state

Unto Arbaces for your libertie.
The offer's there set downe; please you to read it.

16 Armenian. Q2, Armenia.

 !

3o6 a f^ing anu il^o liing iactv.

Tigr. There Is no alteration happened since

I came thence ?
Lyg. None, sir ; all is as it was. 20
Tigr. And all our friends are well ?

Lyg. All verie well. \_Tigranes reads.

'^

Spaconia. Though I have done nothing but

what was good,
I dare not see my father :it was fault

Enough not to acquaint him with that good.

Lyg. Madam, I should have scene you. 25
Spa. O good sir, forgive me !

Lyg. Forgive you, why I am no kin

? to you,
am I ?

Spa. Should it be measur'd by my meane

deserts.
Indeed you are not.
Lyg. Thou couldst prate unhappily
Ere thou couldst goe ; would thou couldst doe as
well 30
And how does your custome hold out here ?

Spa. Sir?
Lyg. Are you in private still, or how ?

Spa. What doe you meane ?

Lyg. Doe you take money ? are you come to 35

sell sinne yet perhaps I can helpe you to liberall
?

clients : or has not the king cast you off yet ?

Oh,thou vild creature, whose best commendation
38 'vild. F, vile, commendation. Q2, Q3, commendations.
 :

Scene II.] 3i l^lHg aUU Jl^O MXIQ 307

is, that thou art a young whore ! I would thy

mother had liv'd to see this ; or, rather, would 40
I had dyed ere I had scene it ! Why didst not
make me acquainted when thou wert first re-
solv'd to be a whore ? I would have seene thy
hot lust satisfied more privately I would have :

kept a dancer, and a whole consort of musitions 45

in my owne house, onely to fiddle thee.
Spa. Sir, I was never whore.
Lyg. U thou couldst not say so much for thy
selfe, thou shouldst be carted.
Tigr, Ligones, I have read it, and I like it ; 50
You shall deliver it.

Lyg. Well, sir, I will

But have private busines with you.
I

Tigr. Speake, what is't ?

Lyg. How has my age deserved so ill of you,
That you can picke no strumpets in the land,
But out of my breed ?
Tigr. Strumpets, good Ligones ? 55
Lyg. Yes and I wish to have you know, I
;

scorne
To get a whore for any prince alive;

40 ivould. Q3, F, that.

43-46 I . thee. Q2, Q3
. . print as verse, the lines ending
with satisfied, dancer, musitions, thee.
50 Hike. Qi, like.
54 in the. Q2, Q3, i'the ; F, i'th'.

57 '^ly- Q2, my-

 ;

3o8 Si lining anti 0o !limg Iactv.

And yet scorne will not helpe, me thinkes : my

daughter
Might havebeenespar'd; there were enough be-
side.
Tigr. May not prosper, but shee's innocent 60
I
As morning me and, I dare sweare.
light, for !

For all the world.

Lyg. Why
is she with you, then ?

Can she waite on you better then your men ?

Has she a gift In plucking ofF your stockings ?
Can she make cawdles well, or cut your cornes ? 65
Why doe you keepe her with you ? For your
queene
I knowe you doe contemne her ; so should I
And every subject else thinke much at It.
Tigr. Let um thinke much; but 'tis more firme
then earth
Thou seest thy queene there. 70
Lyg. Then have I made a faire hand I cald :

her whore If I shall speake now as her father,

!

I cannot chuse but greatly rejoyce that she shall

be a queene ; but if I should speake to you as a
statesman, she were more fit to be your whore. 75

59 enough. Q3, F, enow, beside, Qz, Q3, F, besides.

63 men. Q2, Q3, F, man.
66 your. Q2, Q3, F, a.
71-75 TAen .ivAore. Verse in Qi, Q2, Q3, the
. . lines
ending with luhore, ckuse^ if., Jit^ ivhore.
74 should. Q2, Q3 , F, shaU.
 ; ;

Scene n] ^ fliiug aUD 00 MXl^ 309

Tigr. Get you about your businesse to Ar-

baces;
Now you talke idlie.
Lyg. Yes, sir, I will goe.
And she shall be a queene ? she had more wit
Then her old father, when she ranne away
Shall shee be queene ? now, by my troth, 'tis fine. 80
He dance out of all measure at her wedding;
Shall I not, sir ?

Tigr. Yes, marrie, shalt thou.

Lyg. He make these withered kexes beare my
bodie
Two houres together above ground.
Tigr. Nay, goe,
My businesse requires haste.
Lyg. Good God preserve you !
85
You are an excellent king.
Spa. Farewell, good father.
Lyg. Farewell, sweete, vertuous daughter.
I never was so joyfull in my life.
That I remember shall shee be a queene ?
:

Now I perceive a man may weepe for joy 90

I had thought they had lied that said so. Exit.
Tigr. Come, my deare love.
Spa. But you may see another,
May alter that againe.

80 queene. Qi, a queene. 85 God. Q3, F, heaven.

88 in my life. Q3 , F, in all my life.
310 a lining anti jl^o ^ing [act v.

Tigr. Urge it no more :

Ihave made up a new strong constancie,

Not to be shooke with eyes. I know I have 95
The passions of a man ; but if I meete
With any subject that should hold my eyes
More firmely then is fit, He thinke of thee,
And runne away from it let that suffice. :

Exeunt.

[Actus Quinti Scena Tertia.

A room in the house of Bacurius.'\

Enter Bacurius and a Servant.

Bacurius. Three gentlemen without, to speake
with me ?

Servant. Yes, sir.

Bac. Let them come in.

Enter Bessus and \the'\ Sword-men.

Serv. They are enterd, sir, already.
Bac. Now, fellowes, your busines ? Are these
the gentlemen ?

Bessus. My lord, I have made bold to bring

these gentlemen.
My friends ath'sword, along with me.
Bac, I am
Afraid youle fight, then.
8-16 My . . . laming. Prose in old eds.
 ;

Scene m] ^ MXIQ aUU 00 MXl^ 3 1 I

Bes. My good lord, I will not ; lo

Your lordship is mistaken ; feare not, lord.

Bac. Sir, I am sorrie for't.
Bes. I can aske no more in honor. Gentlemen,
You heare my lord is sorrie.
Bac. Not that I have
Beaten you, but beaten one that will be
beaten 15
One whose dull bodie will require a laming,
As surfeits doe the diet, spring and fall.

Now, to your sword-men :

What come they for, good Captaine Stockfish ?

Bes. seemes your lordship has forgot my
It
name. 20
Bac. No, nor your nature neither; though
they are things fitter, I confesse, for any thing
then my remembrance, or anie honest man's.
What shall these billets doe ? be pilde up in my
woodyard ? 25
Bes. Your lordship holds your mirth still; God
continue it!

But, for these gentlemen, they come —

II mistaken. F, much mistaken.
13 can aske. Q2, Q3, F, aske.
16 a laming. Qi, launcing. D, followed by later eds. generally,
reads a lamming.
22 confesse. Q2, Q3, F, must confesse.
26-30 Tour coivard. Prose in old
. . . eds.
26 God. Q3, F, heaven.
 ;

312 ai i^ing auD ipo Mn^ [act v.

5^r. To sweare
You are a coward : spare your booke ; I doe be-
leeve it.

Bes. Your lordship still drawes wide ; they

come to vouch,
Under their valiant hands, I am no coward. 30
Bac. That would be a shew, indeed, worth
seeing. Sirra, be wise,and take money for this
motion; travell with it and where the name of ;

Bessus has beene knowne, or a good coward stir-

ring, 'twill yeeld more then a tilting. This will 35
prove more beneficiall to you, if you be thriftie,
then your captaineship, and more naturall. Men
of most valiant hands, is this true ?
2nd Sw. It is so, most renowned.
Bac, 'Tis somewhat strange.
1st Sw. Lord, it is strange, yet true. 40
Wee have examined, from your lordship's foote
there
To man's head, the nature of the beatings
this
And we doe find his honour is come off
Cleane and sufficient this, as our swords shall
:

helpe us !

Bac. You are much bound to your bilbow- 45

men ; I am glad you are straight againe, captaine.
'Twere good you would thinke some way to grati-
40 ist Siv. Qi, 2nd Sw.
40-44 Lord us. Prose
. . . in old eds.

47 thinke. F, think on.

 3

Scene HI.] ^ Mtl^ aUD jJiO MXIQ 3 1

fie them : they have undergone a labour for you,

Bessus, would have puzzeld Hercules with all his

valour. 50
2nd Sw. Your lordship must understand we
are no men ath'law, that take pay for our opin-
ions it is sufficient wee have cleer'd our friend.
;

Bac. Yet here is something due, which I, as

toucht
In conscience, will discharge. Captaine, He pay 55
This rent for you.
Bes. Spare your selfe, my good lord ;
My brave friends aime at nothing but the vertue.
Bac, That's but a cold discharge, sir, for their
paines.
2nd Sw. O lord my good lord ! !

Bac. Be not so modest I will give you some- ;

thing. 60
Bes. They shall dine with your lordship ; that's
sufficient.
Bac. Something in hand the while. Ye rogues,
ye apple-squiers,
Doe you come hether, with your botled valour,
Your windie frothe, to limit out my beatings ?
\_Kicks them.l^
54 here. Q2, Q3, F, there.
54-57 Tet . vertue. Prose in old eds.
. .

58 their. Q2, Q3, F, the.

62-64 Something heatings. Prose in old eds.
. . ,

6z Te .. ye. Qi, Q3, F, You

. you.. , .

64 ivindie. Qi, windie.

 !

314 Si Mug anti jl^o Mn% [act v.

jst Sw. I doe beseech your lordship !

65
2nd Sw. O, good lord !

Bac. 'Sfoote, what a beavie of beaten slaves are

here ?

Get me a cudgell, sirra, and a tough one.

\_Exii Servant.~\

2nd Sw. More of your foot, I doe beseech

your lordship
Bac, You shall, you shall, dog, and your fel-

low beagle. 70
1st Sw. A this side, good my lord.
Bac. OfF with your swords ; for if you' hurt
my foote.
He have you fleade, you rascals !

1stSw. Mine's off, my lord.

2nd Sw. I beseech your lordship, stay a little ;

my strap's 75
Tied to my codpiece point: now, when you please.
\_They take off their swords. ~\

Bac. Captaine, these are your valiant friends !

you long for a little too ?

Bes. I am verie well, I humbly thanke your
lordship.
Bac, What's that in your pocket hurts my toe,
you mungrell ? 80
67-68 ^Sfoote . . . one. Prose in old eds.
67 beavie. Ql, many. Bond reads meiny.
72-89 Off . . . foote-bals. Prose in old eds.
80 hurti my toe. Qi, slave, my key ; Q2, slave, my toe.
 ! 5
Scene HI.] £ i^ing aUU j^O i^ltTg 31

Thy buttocks cannot be so hard ; out with*t

quicklie.
2nd Sw. Here 'tis, sir; \_Takes out a pistol.l^
A small piece of artillerie, that a gentleman,
A deare friend of your lordship's, sent me with
To get it mended, sir ; for, if you marke, 85
The nose is somewhat loose.
Bac. A friend of mine, you rascall
Iwas never wearier of doing nothing
Then kicking these two foote-bals.
\_Enter Servant.
~\

Servant, Here's a good cudgell, sir. 9®

Bac. comes too
It late ; I am wearie. Prethee
doe thou beate um.
2nd Sw. My lord, this is foule play, i'faith, to
put
A fresh man upon us ; men are but men, sir.

Bac. That your bones.

jest shall save Up 95
with your rotten regiment, and be gone ! I had
rather thresh, then be bound to kicke these
raskals till they cride ' Hold '
! Bessus, you may

81 ivitA't. Qz, Q3, with it. 88 nothing. F, anything.

Enter Servant. Qi omits ; Q2 adds, Will Adkinson.
90 Here's. F, Here is. 91 I am. Q2, Q3, F, I'me.
92 um. Q2, Q3, F, them.
93-94 My . sir.
. Prose in old eds.
.

94 sir. Qi omits.
95-96 Up with. Qz, 23, F, Captaine, rally up.

98 Hold. Q2, Q3, F, Ho.

 6 ; :

31 a i^ing anU Jpo l^ing (Act v.

put your hand to them now, and then you are

quit.Farewell. As you like this, pray visit mee loo
againe ; 'twill keep me in good breath. Exit.
2nd Sw. 'Has a divellish hard foote ; I never
felt the like.
1st Sw. Nor I, and yet Ime sure I ha felt a
hundred. 105
2nd Sw. If he kicke thus ith' dog-daies, he
will be drie-founderd. What cure now, captaine,
besides oyle of bayes ?

Why, well enough, I warrant you.

Bes. You
can goe ?
2nd Sw. Yes, God be thanked ; but I feel a
shrewd ach "°
Sure he has sprang my huckle-bone.
1st Sw. I ha lost a haunch.
Bes. A little butter, friend, a little butter 5
Butter and parselie is a soveraigne matter
Probatum est.
2nd Sw. Captaine, we must request 115

Your hand now to our honours.

Bes. Yes, marrie, shall ye ;

lOI breath. Q3, F, health.

104 Ime. Q2, Q3, F, I am. ha. Q2, QS? F> have,
106 he he. Q2, Q3, a
. . . ... a.

109 goef Old eds., goe. lio God Q3, F, heaven.

1 10-120 Tes . . murderers. Prose in old eds.
Ill he has. Q2, Q3, F, has.
114 is a. F, and a. 1 16 hand. Qi, hands.
 7

scrNE IV.] at Mn^ anD JI^o I^ing 3 1

And then let all the world come ; we are valiant

To our selves, and there's an end.
isi Sw. Nay, then we must
Be valiant. O my ribbes !

2nd Siv. O my small guts !

A plague upon these sharpe-toe'd shooes ! they are

murderers. Exeunt, izo

[Actus Quinti Scena Quarta.]

Enter Arbaces^ with his sword drawne,

Arhaces. It is resolv'd. I bore it whilst I could ;

Ican no more. Hell, open all thy gates,

And I will thorough them If they be shut, !

He batter um, but I will find the place

Where the most damn'd have dwelling j ere I
end, 5
Amongst them all they shall not have a sinne
But I may call it mine I must beginne :

With murder of my friend, and so goe on

To an incestuous ravishing, and end
My life and sinnes with a forbidden blow lo
Upon my selfe.
Enter Mardonius,
Mardonius, What tragedie is nere ?

That hand was never wont to draw a sword,

But it cride " dead " to something.
I bore. F, bare. 2-7 Hell . . . mine Q2, Q3, F omit.
9 ^"^ QSj F> ^^3t
 8

31 ;a Mn^ anD jl^o iUing [Act v.

j^rb, Mardonius,
Have you bid Gobrius come ?

Afar. How doe you, sir ?

Jrb. Well, is he comming ?

Afar, Why, sir, are you thus ? 15

Why does your hand proclaime a lawlesse warre
Against your selfe ?
Jrb. Thou answerest me one question with
another.
Is Gobrius comming ?

Mar, Sir, he is.

Jrb. 'Tis well.

I can forbeare your questions, then be gone. ao
Afar. Sir, I have markt — ;

Jrb. Marke lesse ; it troubles you and me.

Afar. You are more variable then you were.
Jrb. It may be so.
Afar. To-day no hermit could be humblier
Then you were to us all.

Jrb. And what of this .? ^5

Afar. And now you take new rage into your
eies.
As you would looke us all out of the land.
Jrb. doe confesse it ; will that satisfie
I ?

I prethee get thee gone.

Afar. Sir, I will speake.

16 lioes . . . hand. F, do your hands.

 9

Scene IV] 3 Mtl^ aUU j^O i^lltg 31

Jrb. Will ye ?

Alar. It is my dutie. 30
you will kill your selfe.
I feare I am a subject,
And you shall doe me wrong in't : 'tis my cause,
And I may speake.
Jrb. Thou art not train'd in sinne.
It seemes,Mardonius. Kill my selfe? By Heaven,
I will not doe it yet and when I will, ;
35
He tell thee then I shall be such a creature
:

That thou wilt give me leave without a word.

There is a method in man's wickednesse ;
It growes up by degrees I am not come ;

So high as killing of my selfe there are 40 ;

A hundred thousand sinnes 'twixt me and it.

Which I must doe. I shall come toot at last;
But, take my oath, not now. Be satisfied.
And get thee hence.
Afar. I am sorrie 'tis so ill.

Jrb. Be sorrie, then. 45

True sorrow is alone ;
grieve by thy selfe.
Afar. I pray you let mee see your sword put
up.
Before I goe ; He leave you then.
Jrb. \_sheathing his sword^. Why, so.
What folly is this in thee ? Is it now
As apt to mischiefe as it was before ? 50

36 tell thee : then. Old eds., tell thee then :

42 I shall. Q3, F, and I shall. 48 so. Qi, Q3, F, so?

 !

320 a i^ing anD j^o Mn% [Act v.

Can I not reach it, thinkest thou ? These are

toyes
For children and not men.
to be pleas'd with,
Now I am you thinke: I would the booke
safe,
Of Fate were here my sword is not so sure
;

But I should get it out, and mangle that, 55

That all the Destinies should quite forget
Their fixt decrees, and hast to make us new
Farre other fortunes ; mine could not be worse.
Wilt thou now leave me?
Mar. God put into your bosome temperate
thoughts 60
He leave you, though I feare. Exif.
Jrb. Goe thou art honest. ;

Why should the hastie errors of my youth

Be so unpardonable, to draw a sinne
Helplesse upon me?
Enter Gobrius.
Gobrias. There is the king;
Now it is ripe.
Arb. Draw neere, thou guiltie man, 65
That author of the loathedst crime
art the
Five ages have brought forth, and heare me
speake :

Curses incurable, and all the evils

51 thinkest. Q2, Q3, F, think'st.

58 Farre. Qa, Q3, F, For.

60 God. ^3, F, Heaven. temperate. Ql, temporall.
6a errors, F, error. 68 incurable. Q3, F, more incurable.
Scene IV.] ^ MXl^ aUU 00 i^lHg 321

Man's bodie or his spirit can receive

Be with thee!
Gob. Why, sir, doe you curse me thus ? 7°

Jrb. Why doe I curse thee ? If there be a.

man
Subtill in curses, that exceedes the rest,
His worst wish on thee ! Thou hast broke my
hart.
Gob. How, sir ? Have I preserv'd you, from
a childe.
From all the arrowes malice or ambition 75
Could shoot at you, and have
pay ? I this for

Jrb. 'Tis true thou didst preserve me, and in

that
Were crueller then hardned murderers
Of infants and their mothers. Thou didst save
me
Onely thou hadst studdied out a way
till 8o

How me cunningly thy selfe

to destroy :

This was a curious way of torturing.

Gob. What doe you meane ?
Jrb. Thou know'st the evils thou hast done
to me.
Dost thou remember all those witching letters ^5
Thou sent'st unto me to Armenia,
Fild with the praise of my beloved sister.
Where thou extol'st her beautie ? What had I
76 pay. F, my pay.
 ;

322 ^ j^ing ano jlio l^ing [act v.

To doe with that What could her beautie be

?

To me? And thou didst write how well shee

lov'd me; 9°
Doest thou remember this ? so that I doated
Something before I saw her.
Gob. This is true.
Jrb. Is it ? And when I was returnd, thou
knowst
Thou didst pursue it, till thou wound'st me in
To such a strange and unbeleev'd affection 95
As good men cannot thinke on.
Gob, This I grant:
I thinke I was the cause.
Jrb. Wert thou? Nay, more,
I thinke thou meantst it.

Gob. Sir, I hate a lie :

As I love God and honestie, I did

It was my meaning.
Jrb. Be thine owne sad judge ;
loo
A further condemnation will not need :

Prepare thy selfe to die.

Gob. Why, sir, to die ?

Jrb. Why wouldst thou live ? Was ever yet

offender
So impudent, that had a thought of mercy

93 And. Qi, And I. 94-95 '" To. Qi, F, into,

98 a lie. F, to lie.
99 God. Q3, F, heaven. 103 wouldst. Q3, F, shouldst.
Scene IV.] ^ l^iug 31X0 J^O J^iltg 323

After confession of a crime like this ? 105

Get out I cannot, where thou hurl'st me in ;

But I can take revenge that's all the sweetnesse
j

Left for me.

Gob. Now is the time. — Heare me but
speake.
Jrb. No; yet I will be farre more mercifull
Then thou wert to me thou didst steale into me, no
;

And never gavest me warning. So much time

As I give thee now had prevented [me]
For ever. Notwithstanding all thy sinnes,
If thou hast hope that there is yet a prayer
To save thee, turne, and speake it to thy selfe. 115
Gob. Sir, you shall know your sinnes before
you doe um:
If you kill me —
Jrb. I will not stay, then.
Gob. Know
You kill your father.
Jrb. How ?

Gob. You kill your father.

Jrb. My father ? Though I know it for a lie
Made out of feare to save thy stained life, 120
The verie reverence of the word comes crosse
me.
And ties mine arme downe.
111 gavest. Q2, Q3, F, gav'st.
112 me. Old eds., thee. The emendation is T's.
115 it to. Q2, it. t/iy. Qi, your.

119 knoiv it. Q2, Q3, F, know't.

 ! : !

324 ai i^ing anu j^o Mn^ [Act v.

G^^. I will tell you that

Shall heighten you againe. I am thy father;
I charge thee heare me.
Jrb. If it should be so,
As 'tis most false, and that I should be found "5
A bastard issue, the dispised fruite
Of lawlesse lust, I should no more admire
Allmy wilde passions. But another truth
Shall be wrung from
thee. If I could come by
The of paine, it should be powr'd on thee, 130
spirit
Till thou allowest thy selfe more full of lies
Then he that teaches thee.
EnUr Arane.
Arane. Turne thee about
I come to speake to thee, thou wicked man :

Heare me, thou tyrant

Arh. I will turne to thee
Heare me, thou strumpet have blotted out
! I 135
The name of mother, as thou hast thy shame.
Ara. My shame Thou hast lesse shame then
?

any thing.
Why dost thou keepe my daughter in a prison \

Why dost thou call her sister, and doe this ?

Arh. Cease,thou strange impudence, and

answere quickly !
140

If thou contemn'st me, this will aske an answere,

And have it.
140 Ceaie, thou. F, Cease thy.
141 contemn it. ^2, 23, F, contcmnest.
 S

Scene IV] ^ MXl^ SnU Jl^O MXl^ 32

Ara. Helpe me, gentle Gobrius !

Arh. Guilt dare not helpe guilt; though they

grow together
In doing ill, punishment
yet at the
They sever, and each the noyse of other.
flies 145
Thinke not of helpe; answere !

Ara. I will to what ; ?

Arh. To
such a thing as, if it be a truth,
Thinke what a creature thou hast made thy selfe,
That didst not shame to doe what I must blush
Onely to aske thee. Tell me who I am, 150
Whose Sonne I am, without all circumstance.
Be thou as hastie as my sword will be
If thou refusest.
Ara. Why, you are his sonne.
Arb, His Sonne ? Sweare, sweare, thou worse
then woman damn'd !

Ara. By all that's good, you are.

Arh. Then art thou all 155
That ever was knowne bad. Now is the cause
Of all my strange misfortunes come to light.
What reverence expects thou from a childe
To bring forth which thou hast offended Heaven,
Thy husband, and the land ? Adulterous witch, 160
I know now why thou wouldst have poyson'd
me:
I was thy lust which thou wouldst have forgot.

158 expects. F, expectest.

 ;

326 a Mn% anD jl^o Mn^ [Act v.

Thou wicked mother of my sinnes and me,

Shew me the way to the inheritance
I have by thee, which is a spacious world 165
Of impious acts, that I may soone possesse it!
Plagues rott thee, as thou liv'st and such diseases
!

As use to pay lust, recompence thy deed !

Gob. You doe not know why you curse thus.

Jrb. Too well.
You are a paire of vipers, and behold 170
The serpent you have got ! There is no beast
But, if he knew it, has a pedigree
As brave as mine, for they have more discents,
And I am every way as beastly got.
As farre without the compasse of a law, 175
As they.
Jra. You spend your rage and words in vaine,
And raile upon a guesse. Heare us a little.
Jrb. No, I will never heare, but talke away
My breath, and die.
Gob. Why, but you are no bastard.
Jrb. How's that ?

jfra. Nor childe of mine.

j^rb. Still you goe on 180
In wonders to me.
. Gob. Pray you, be more patient
I may bring comfort to you.

163 T/iou. Qx, Qj, F, Then.

175 a law. F, law. 181 Pray you. Qi, Pray.
Scene IV.] ^ ^iUQ attO Jl^O f^lUg 327

jfrb, I will kneele,

And heare with the obedience of a childe.
Good father, speake I doe acknowledge you,
:

So you bring comfort. 185

Goh. First, know our last king, your supposed
father.
Was olde and feeble when he marryed her,
And almost all the land, as shee, past hope
Of issue from him.
j^rb. Therefore shee tooke leave
To play the whoore, because the king was old : 190
Is this the comfort ?

Jra. What will you find out

To give me satisfaction, when you find
How you have injur'd me? Let fire consume
mee
If ever I were whore !

Gob. Forbeare these starts.

Or I will you wedded to despaire,
leave 195
As you are now. If you can find a temper.
My breath shall be a pleasant westerne wind.
That cooles and blastes not.
Jrb. Bring it out, good father.
He and listen here as reverentlie
lie

As to an angell if I breathe too loude,

; 200
Tell me; for I would be as still as night.

188 at shee. F, thought she was.

194 zuhore. F, a whore.
328 a ^im anu JI^o Mn% [act v.

Gob, Our king, I say, was old, and this our

queene
Desired to bring an heire ; but yet her husband
Shee thought was past it ; and to be dishonest
I thinke shee would not if shee would have :

beene, *°5

The truth is, shee was watcht so narrowlie,

And had so slender opportunitie,
Shee hardly could have beene. But yet her cun-
ning
Found out this way ; shee fain'd her selfe with
child
And postes were sent in haste throughout the
land, ^^^

And God was humbly thankt in every church,

That so had blest the queen; and prayers were
made
For her safe going and deliverie.
Shee fain'd now to grow bigger, and perceiv'd
This hope of issue made her feard, and brought 215
A farre more large respect from everie man.
And saw her power increase, and was resolv'd,
Since shee believ'd shee could not have't in-
deede.
At least shee would be thought to have a child.

207 opportunitie. Q2, Q3, F, opportunities.

211 God . . . thankt. Q3, F, humble thankes was given.
212 That . . . queen. Q3, F omit.
 ;

sctNE IV.] a ^ixiQ ana jpo i^ing 329

^r^. Doe I not heare it well ? Nay, I will
make 220
No noise at but pray you to the point,
all ;

Quicke as you can.

Gob. Now when the time was full
Shee should be brought abed, I had a sonne
Borne, which was you. This the queene hearing
of,
Mov'd me to let her have you, and such reasons 225
Shee shewed me, as shee knew would tie
My secresie shee sware you should be king
:

And, you
to be short, I did deliver
Unto and pretended you were dead.
her,
And in mine owne house kept a funerall, 230
And had an emptie coffin put in earth.
That night the queene fain'd hastilie to labour.
And, by a paire of women of her owne.
Which shee had charm'd, shee made the world
believe
Shee was deliver'd of you. You grew up 235
As the king's sonne, till you were sixe yeere
olde;
Then did the king die, and did leave to me
Protection of the realme ; and, contrarie
To his owne expectation, left this queene

222 ^icke. F, Quickly. 223 aied. Q2, Q3, F, to bed.

227 STvare. Q2, Q3, F, swore.
232 the. Q2, Q3, F, this. 236 yeere. F, yeares.
 — ; ;

330 a l^ing anD Jl^o Mn% iactv.

Truly with childe indeed of the fair princesse 240

Panthaea. Then shee could have torne her heire,
And me, yet durst not speake
did, alone to
In publike ; knew shee should be found
for shee
A traytor, and her talke would have beene
thought
Madnesse, or any thing rather then truth. ^45

This was the onely cause why shee did seeke

To poyson you, and I to keepe you safe
And reason why I sought to kindle
this the
Some sparke of love in you to faire Panthaea,
That shee might get part of her right agen. 250
Jrh. And have you made an end now ? is this
all?
If not, I will be still till I am aged,
Till all my heires are silver.
Gob, This is all.

Jrb. And is it true, say you too, Maddam ?

Ara. Yes,
God knowes it is most true. *55

Arh, Panthaea, then, is not my sister?

Goh, No.
Arh. But can you prove this ?
Gob, If you will give consent
Else who dare go about it ?

244 Q2, Q3, F, tale.

talke.

249 Q2, Q3, F, sparkes.

iparke. 254 too. Qi omits.
255 God. Q3, F, Heaven. 258 dart.Q2, Q3, F, dares.
 !

Scene IV.l ^ l^mg HltD j^O Mtl^ 331

j^rh. Give consent ?

Why, have them all that know it rackt,
I will
To get this from um All that waites without 260 !

Come in what ere you be, come in, and be

!

Partakers of my joy !

Enf [^r] Mar ^donius^ Bessus, and others.,

O, you are welcome !

Mardonius, the best newes! Nay, draw no

neerer :

They all shall heare it I am found no king

:

Mar. Is that so good newes ?

Arh. Yes, the happiest newes 265
That ere was heard.
Mar. Indeed 'twere well for you
If you might be a little lesse obey'd.
Arh, One call the queene.
Mar. Why, she is there.
Arh. The queene,
Mardonius ! Panthaea is the queene.
And I am plaine Arbaces. Goe, some one ! 270
She Is Gobrius' house. \Exit ist Gentleman.']
in
Since I saw you
There are a thousand things deliverd to me
You little dreame of.

Mar. So it should seeme. My lord,

What furi's this ?

260 waites. F, wait.

268 One. Qi, On (with comma).
 ;; ;

332 31 Mn^ anD jl^o Mn^ [Act v.

Gob. Beleeve me, 'tis no fury

All that he sayes is truth.
Mar. 'Tis verie strange. 275
j^rb. Why doe you keepe your hats off, gen-
tlemen ?
Is it to me ? I sweare, it must not be
Nay, trust me, in good faith, it must not be.
I cannot now command you, but I pray you.
For the respect you bare me when you tooke 280
Me for your king, each man clap on his hat
At my desire.
Afar. will We
but you are not found
;

So meane a man but that you may be cover'd

As well as we, may you not ?
Jrb. O, not here :

You may, but not I, for here is my father 285

In presence.
Mar. Where ?
Jrb. Why, there ! O, the whole storie
Would be a wildernesse to loose thy selfe
For ever ! — O, pardon me, deare father,
For all the and unreverent words
idle
That I have spoke in idle moodes to you. 290
I am Arbaces we all fellow-subjects
;

Nor is the queene Panthaea now my sister.

277 I siveare. Qi, In good faith.

278 Nay . ../>«. Q I omits.

282 but. Qz, Q3, F omit.
 !

scxNB IV.] a i^ing anU jjio i^ins 333

Bessus. Why, if you remember, fellow-sub-

ject Arbaces, I tolde you once she was not your
sister; I, and she look't nothing like you. 295
Jrb. I thinke you did, good Captaine Bessus.
Bes. Here will arise another question now
amongst the swordmen, whether I be to call
him to account for beating me, now he's proved
no king 300

Enter Ligones.
Mar. Sir, here's Ligones, the agent for the
Armenian state.
Jrb. Where is he ? I know your businesse,
good Ligones.
Lygones. We
must have our king againe, and
will.
Arh. I knew that was your businesse. You
shall have 305
Your king againe, and have him so againe
As never king was had. Goe, one of you.
And bid Bacurius bring Tigranes hither.
And bring the ladie with him that Panthaea,
The queen Panthaea, sent me word this morning 310
Was brave Tigranes' mistresse.
\_Exit 2nd Gentleman. '\

Lyg. 'Tis Spaconia.

295 /, and. Qi, I say. 299 his. Q2, Q3, F, he is.

302 state. Qi, King.
311 Exit Gentleman. So D; Q2, Q3, F, Exit two GenL
. . .
 — !

334 3 i^ing anO JI^o i^ing iactv.

^r^. I, I, Spaconia.
Lyg. She is my daughter.
Arb. Shee is so ; I could now tell any thing
I never heard. Your king shall goe so home
As never man went.
Mar. Shall he goe on's head? 3'5
Arb. He shall have chariots easier then ayre,
That I will have invented; and nere thinke
He shall pay any ransome. And thy selfe,
That art the messenger, shall ride before him
On a horse cut out of an entire diamond, 3*o

That shall be made to goe with golden wheeles,

I know not how yet.
Lyg. Why, I shall be made
For ever! They belied this king with us,
And sayd he was unkind.
Arb. And then thy daughter, —
She shall have some strange thing wele have the ;

kingdome 3*5

Sold utterly, and put into a toy

Which she shall weare about her carelesly,
Somewhere or other.
Enter Pan\jhea\.
See the vertuous queene
Behold the humblest subject that you have
Kneele here before you.
318 He. Q2, A; Q3, An; F, One.
319 shall. F, shalt. 325 thing. Qi, thinke.
 ;

Scene IV] ^ ^iXXQ 3^1) JJ^O MXl^ 335

Panthea. Why kneele you to me 330
That am your vassall ?

Jrb. Grant me one request.

Pan. Alas, what can I grant you ? What I can
I will.
Jrb. That you will please to marry me,
If I can prove it lawful!.
Pan. Is that all?
More would draw this
willingly then I ayre. 335
Jrb. He kisse this hand m earnest.
\_Enter 2nd Gentleman.
~\

2nd Gentleman. Sir, Tigranes

Is comming, though he made it strange at first

To see the princesse any more —

Jrb, The queene,
Thou meanest.
Enter Tig [ranes^ and Spa ^conia'^ .

O my Tigranes, pardon me
—
!

Tread on my necke, I freely offer it 340

And, if thou beest so given, take revenge,
For I have injur'dthee.
Tigranes. No, I forgive.
And rejoice more that you have found repent-
ance.
Then I my libertie.

336 2nd Gentleman. Qi gives the speech to Mardonius j D

proposed Bacurius (see line 308).
337 at first, (^i omits.
 !

33^ 3i i^ing anU i^o l^mg iactv.

y/r^. Maist thou be happie

In thy faire choice
thou art temperate.
! for 345
You owe no ransome to the state. Know that
I have a thousand joyes to tell you of,
Which yet I dare not utter, till I pay
My thankes to Heaven for um. Will you goe
With me and helpe me ? Pray you doe.
Tig. I will. 350
Arb, Take, then, your faire one with you ; and
you, queene
Of goodnesse and of us, O give me leave
To take your arme in mine. Come, every one
That takes delight in goodnesse, helpe to sing
Loude thankes for me, that I am prov'd no
king [Exeunt.'] 355

346 state. Know that. Ql, state, itnoiv that (with semicolon) j

Q2, F, same except for semicolon.

351 you^ queene. Qi, Q2, Q3, your queene.

FINI^.
 0om to a Mns and 0o Mng
For the meaning of single words see the Glossary.

Stage History. The earliest known performance of King ^

and No King is that recorded in the accounts of the Court Revels
for December 26, 161 1 " On St. Stivenes night A play called A
:

King and no King," by "the Kings players " (Cunningham's

Accounts of the Re-vels, Shakespeare Society Publications, p. 211).
To the same effect is a note found in a legal paper concerning an
action of Sir William Davenant against Thomas Betterton, 1662,
that A Ktng and No King was *< allowed to be acted in 1 61 1 and ,

the same to be printed " (see Malone's Variorum Shakespeare ed. ,

by Boswell, iii, 263). The title-page of the first quarto (1619)

refers to its presentation at the Globe, and that of the second quarto
(1625) to its presentation at Blackfriars. On January 10, 1636, it
was played before the king and queen at Hampton Court. Pepys, in
his diary, mentions having seen it on March 14 and September 26,
1661. The title-page of the seventh quarto (1676) refers to its
presentation at the Theatre Royal, and Genest {Some Account of the
English Stage, i, 403) records a performance at the same theatre
in 1683, when Betterton took the part of Arbaces and Mrs. Barry
that of Panthea. Genest also includes Panthea in the list of charac-
ters played by Nell Gwynn. Langbaine, in his Account of the Eng-
lish Dramatic Poets (iSgi), lists A
King and No King as * a Tragi- '

comedy, which, notwithstanding its Errors discover' d by Mr. Ry-

mer in his Criticisms, has always been acted with applause, and has
lately been reviv'd on our present Theatre with so great success, that
we may justly say with Horace,

Haec placuit semel, haec decies repetita placebit" (p. 210).

Genest notes performances at Drury Lane on April 14, 1705, at

Lincoln's Inn Fields on March 26, 1724 ("not acted twenty
years" previously), and at Covent Garden on January 14, 1788.
338 0ott&
Under the mentioned date he remarks
last ' * The play was not
:

acted a second time —

it was once very popular," and adds a note

drawn from Davies's Dramatic Miscellany, to the effect that

*' Garrick intended to have revived this play he designed to have ;

acted Arbaces himself and gave Bessus to Woodward. They both

appeared to be much pleased with their characters, the other parts
were distributed to advantage, and the play was in some respects
altered and improved —
but it was observed, that at every reading
of it in the green-room, Garrick's pleasure suffered a visible dim-
inution —
at length he fairly gave up his design, and the parts were
withdrawn from the actors. " (Genest, vi, 490.)
174, 19. Mandane. This character appears only in the stage-
directions at the opening of Act 11, where her name is omitted by
Dyce and Bond. The latter suggests, noting that the name occurs
also in the Cyropaedia, that " it survives here as the remnant of
some insignificant part struck out before publication."

177, 54. waite of. Wait on.

I79» ^9- ^3,11 foule. Grow angry with you.
180, 120. Blanks home. Apparently meaning,
. . . as
Weber suggested, that the princes desire to see her so m.uch that
they " send blank bonds to Arbaces to be filled up with whatever
conditions he shall please to insert."
184, 197. Wish
it off, etc. Wish her beauty absent, lest it

be the cause of damning souls.

187, 277. breake my wind. Exhaust my breath.
19I) 337- thinke much. Take it ill.
^93» 37^- 'wert . worthy.
. . The dramatic convention of
the king's hesitation (shown again in in, i, 250) to raise his hand
is the converse of the formal scruples of Amintor,
against an inferior,
in The Mai d\
Tragedy, to take revenge upon the king. Compare
also the rule forbidding a gentleman to fight with a coward, which
brings about the turn in the fortunes of Bessus (iii, ii). The
character of Mardonius, as depicted in this scene and later, was very
likely the prototype for that of Ventidius, in Dryden's All for
Love, where Antony is the passion-swept ruler.
194, 406. finde . . . use. Profit by it.

194, 413. want those parts. Lack those qualities.

195, 443. ten . . mee. Apparently: they charge me
. ten
shillmgs more.
 iPotr0 339
196, 455. want entertainment. Fail to be in readiness to
receive me (see Glossary).

197, 482. to a knife. Until it is as short as a knife.

^99> 533- ^06 you direct. For Arbaces's habit of thus ad-
dressing the gods, compare in, i, 322, and iv, iv, 6.

205, 17. paid . . . sinnes. Paid the forfeit of his sins ; were
sufficient to balance them. (Weber.)
215, 249. that . . . with. One who had been bargained
with.
215, 250. chuse is subjunctive should choose. :

216.267. Sirs. An address used for women in attendance, aa

well as for men.
219, 327. for me. So far as I am concerned.
220. Scene ii. This wholly English scene suggests that the
Oriental setting of the serious part of the play merely conventional.
is

232, 91. laughing mother. Venus; called ridem by the

Latin poets.
236, 161. sheath it here. That is, in my heart.
238, 205. body My there. Bond for the first time . . . ex-
plained this by adding the stage-direction :
*' Sinking into his chair
of state." His note reads: *' Addressed to his body. The . . .

* one within is
' his mind, which is so betossed as to be doing
double 'labouring.' " Rather, perhaps, his passion, which is so
stirring him as to "labor " for both body and mind.

238, 217. past me. Out of my power.

239, 225. change her. Give his eyes for . . . her.
241.268. fam'd tyrant. Procrustes. The bull is of course
that of Phalaris.
244, 322. Why, etc. Compare i, i, 533, above.
245, 333- it . be. That power must be.
. .

245, 34°- I . gone. At least I was able to walk.

. .

246, 19. hung heeles. The old punishment for recre-

. . .

ant knights. Dyce cites The Faerie S^ueene, vi, vii, 27, where the
word ** baffled " occurs in the same connection.
250, 108. to the grocers. Throughout the literature of
this periodgrocers and pastry-cooks are represented as buying old
manuscripts and books, in order to use the paper still an expensive —
material — in their shops.
340 jl^otesf

252, 169. my
knife. It was probably attached to the belt of
the sword given to Bacurius.
253, 1-254, ^5- . . . He
eyes. This and many later
speeches of Mardonius are often printed as verse, and they frequently
suggest a rhythmical intention ; but it is impossible to make regular
verse out of them (note especially lines 102-118). Yet to use prose
for such serious passages would be contrary to the general practice of
Beaumont of Fletcher). Such lines as 97-1 10 might be
{^a fortiori

thought to have been put in prose form in order to emphasize the

characteristic bluntness of Mardonius j but the whole situation makes
it probable that the original text has been corrupted. Bond's note
here is interesting "In spite of the vigorous protest of the Editori
:

of 1778, we follow Theobald in printing this and nearly all the fol-
lowing speeches of Mardonius as verse. ... In defence of the weak-
ness that the lines, as thus arranged, too often present, both in this
and the first scene, we may urge the probable aim of the playwrights
at increased fluidity and, perhaps, their disregard, in writing dra-
matic poetry, of the effect of the lines to the eye. Light endings,
awkward enjambements, and superfluous syllables may be glided over
in delivery so as to leave but slight impression of irregularity, and to
relieve by a nearer approach to a prose cadence the harmony and
sonority of more regular passages." In theory this is reasonable
enough, but if Beaumont and Fletcher liked such bad blank verse as
the passages in question make, why did they not write it oftener }

254, II. doe . . this. Am not accustomed to do this.

.

262, 191. come by. Get hold of.

264. Scene i. In this scene, apparently, we find first in the
play the verse of Fletcher. To him are generally attributed also the
two following scenes, though there is room for some uncertainty
in both cases. The question depends in part upon the intention as
to prose or verse in the doubtful passages just considered 5 thus, if the
speeches of Mardonius in scene ii were originally prose, Fletcher's
authorship of them would be suspected.
265, 17. poore . . . patience. A slight test compared with
the capacity of your patience. Poore is dissyllabic.

269, 15. put her to. Place her with.

272,71. like . , . friendship. Even as close friends become
alike. (Bond.)
 ;

0ott& 341

stiU be held to be
274, 107. and held. And
278 194 rackt selfe. Made whoUy beside myself.
. . .

270' "17. but her OWne. [Are] only what she deserves.
a con-
281 Scene iii. 'n this scene the early editions printed

siderable amount of prose , but

although the verse is often broken and
practically throughout the scene,
and
irregular, it seems to extend
the hand of Fletcher. Certainly
has generally been thought to show
verse than Beaumont's, yet the
remarkably free
it is more like his
Aside from form the char-
use of enjambement is not Fletcherian.
acter of the burlesque humor in
the scene is decidedly in the manner
ot
traditionally regarded as the creator
of Beaumont, who has been
by the state of the text
Bessus. We
are again perplexed, therefore,
sort of collaboration from that
and there are suggestions of a different
plays The sword-
commonly found in the Beaumont-Fletcher
needy bullies who
men were '' professors of the science of arms 5

undertook to assist the timorous, to ascertam for them the au- —

settle according to the laws of the
thentic grounds of a quarrel, to
it

duello, etc., — and whose language was a jargon derived trom

(Dyce.)
Caranza and other writers of that description."
you. Solicitous in seekmg you out.
281 4 curious . . .

his regular stage tor a

283', 48. Stage is ten. Apparently:
further in giving a beatmg.
iourney is ten miles, but he can go
285, 84. Without . . . coat. Both head and body unpro-
tected ; exposed to attack. „ ,,T-. .

thirtie. Bond suggests: '' Dur-

,

288,137. eighteene . . •

offences are most commonly resented.

ing those twent>' years when
289 150. To abide upon't. Depend upon it ; or, as Dyce
i, 11, 242.
suggested,
" my abiding opinion is." Cf fVintcr's Tale,
280 152.Your hands. Your signatures.
Scene iv. With this fourth scene we return to the
290.
assured verse of Beaumont.
That is, by ordeal.
293, 62. make a proofe. ^

generally thought to be Fletcher s

298. Scene i. This scene is ;

see the note on iv, 1 (p. 253 ).

but on the prose speeches of Mardonius
used of a blow that does
000, ?9. drie beating. Properly
fist 5 but the prefix seems
not draw blood,— given with stick or
sometimes to be used in a vaguely intensive sense.
300,61. Everie way bended. With small facets at differ-

ent angles. (Bond.)

342 jl^otefif

302, 91. yeeld your cause. Explain your quarrel.

303, 106. that will I. If Dyce's emendation, "that will,"
be accepted, the meaning is: Put other brains in that will tell truth.
305. Scene ii. The authorship of this short scene is difficult

to fix with assurance, and there is again some confusion between verse
and prose. Most critics assign the scene as a whole to Beaumont,
but Fleay takes it to be Fletcher's, and the number of feminine end-
ings suggests at least some cooperation on his part.

308, 68. thinke much. See note on 191, 337.

310, Scene iii. On the authorship of this scene compare
the note on iv, iii (page 281). The verse here is certainly not
Beaumont's.
311, 17 surfeits . . . diet. As the ills due to over-eating
require a period of dieting.
312, 29. drawes wide. Misunderstands.
316, 107. drie-founderd. See note on 300, 59.
316, 114. soveraigne matter. Excellent thing (for it).
.
317. Scene iv. This scene is generally attributed to Beaumont
alone. Some of the verse, particularly in the long speeches of Gobrias,
is too clumsy for his proper style, and again suggests corruption of the
text.

319? 39- growes . . . degrees. Theobald referred this

passage to Juvenal Nemo repente
:
*' fuit turpissimus."

324, 128. another truth. A

different truth.

332, 287. wildernesse to. Understand in which,

33S» 337. made it strange. Scrupled.
 Tie place of publication is London unless otherwise indicated

I. TEXTS
A. COLLECTIVE EDITIONS OF BEAUMONT AND
FLETCHER
1647. Comedies and Tragedies Written by Francis Beau-
mont AND John Fletcher, Gentlemen. Never printed before,
And now published by the authours originall copies ... for Hum-
phrey Robinson and for Humphrey Moseley. [This, the first
. . .

Folio, contains neither The Knight of the Burning Pestle nor A

King and No King.'\
1679. Fifty Comedies and Tragedies. Written by Francis
Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen. All in one volume. Pub-
lished by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being
added . . . for John Martyn, Henry Herringman, Richard Marriot.
[This, the second Folio,contains all the plays of the first, and
eighteen others.]
171 1. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher in Seven
Volumes. for Jacob Tonson.
. . .

1750. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. Collated with

all the former editions and corrected. With notes critical and explana-

tory. By the late Mr. Theobald, Mr. Seward and Mr. Symp- . . .

son. 10 vols.

1778. The Dramatick Works of Beaumont and Fletcher.

[Edited by George Colman.] 10 vols.
181 1. The Dramatic Works of Ben Jonson and Beaumont
and Fletcher. The latter from the text and with the notes
. . .

of G. Colman. 4 vols.
1812. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. ... by
Henry Weber, Esq. Edinburgh. 14 vols.
344 115ibUosraplj^

1839. ^"^ Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. With an

George Darley. 2 vols. [The text is that of the
introduction by
edition of 18 12.]
1843-6. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher ... by
the Rev. Alexander Dyce. 1 1 vols.

1852. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher ... by the

Rev. Alexander Dyce. Boston. 2 vols.
1862-6. The Works OF Beaumont AND Fletcher. With an
introduction by George Darley. A new edition. 2 vols.
1904-. The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletch-
er. Variorum edition. [Edited by A. H. BuUen. Vol. i contains
A King and No King, edited by R. Warwick Bond.]
1905-8. The Works of Francis Beaumont and John
Fletcher. Edited by Arnold Glover. Cambridge. 6 vols. [Vol. i
contains A King and No King.'\

B. SELECTIONS
1768. Select Plays OF Beaumont and Fletcher. Glasgow.
2 vols.
1808. Beaumont's und Fletcher's Dramatische Werke,
herausgegeben von K. L. Kannegiesser. Berlin. 2 vols.
1808, 1813, etc. Specimens or English Dramatic Poets
who lived about the time of Shakespeare with notes. By Charles
:

Lamb.
181 1. The Modern British Drama. [Edited by Sir Walter
Scott.] 5 vols. [Vol. I contains A King and No King.'\
1 81 9. Specimens OF the British Poets. Thomas Camp-
. . .

bell. 7 vols.
1834. Beauties of Beaumont and Fletcher. By H. Guil-
ford. Birmingham.
1855. Beaumont and Fletcher; or, The finest scenes, lyr-

ics, and other beauties . . with opinions of distinguished critics,

.

notes . and a general introductory preface. By Leigh Hunt.

. .

1865. Contemporains DE Shakespeare. Beaumont et Fletcher,

traduits par Ernest Lafond. Paris. [This contains four plays, but
neither The Knight of the Burning Pestle nor King and No A
King.^
 Bibliograpl^^ 345
1870. The Best Works of British Dramatists, carefully
selected ... by J. S. Kelde. [Contains The Knight of the Burn-
ing Pestle and A
King and No King.'\
1885. BuRLESSUE Plays and Poems [edited by Henry Mor-
ley]. Uni'versal Library. [Contains The Knight of the Burning
Pestle.^
1887. The Best Plays of the Old Dramatists Beaumont :

AND Fletcher. Edited by J. St. Loe Strachey. 2 vols. Mermaid

Series. [Vol. i contains The Knight of the Burning Pestle, vol. ii

A King and No King.'\

1887. The Plays of Beaumont and Fletcher (Selections).
Introduction by J. S. Fletcher. The Canterbury Poets. [Contains
extracts from The Knight of the Burning Pestle and A King and
No King.^
1890. Famous Elizabethan Plays, expurgated and adapted
for modern readers by H. M. Fitzgibbon. [Contains The Knight
of the Burning Pestle. "^

C. SEPARATE PLAYS
The Knight of the Burning Pestle

1613. The Knight of the Burning Pestle. . . . Printed for

Walter Burre, and are to be sold at the signe of the Crane in Paules

Churchyard.
1635. The Knight of the Burning Pestle. Full of Mirth
and Delight. Written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher,
Gent. As it is now Acted by Her Majesties Servants at the Private
house in Drury lane. Printed by N. O. for I. S. [This quarto
. . .

is called Q^za by Leonhardt, ^2 by Murch and in the present edi-

tion.]
1635. The Knight of the Burning Pestle. Full of Mirth
and Delight. Written by Francis Beamount and John Fletcher,
Gent. Printed by N. O. for I. S. [This is called Qzb by
. . .

Leonhardt, (^3 by Murch and in the present edition.]

1898. The Knight of the Burning Pestle. Edited by F.
W. Moorman. The Temple Dramatists.
1908. The Knight of the Burning Pestle. Edited with
34^ llBibliograpiip

Introduction, Notes, and Glossary, by H. S. Murch. Yale Studies

in English. New York.

A King and No King

1619. A King and no King. Acted at the Globe, by his

Majesties Servants. Written by Francis Beamount and JohnFlecher.
At London. Printed for Thomas Walkley, and are to bee sold at his
shoppe at the Eagle and Childe in Brittans-Bursse.
1625. A King and no King. Acted at the Blacke-Fryars, by
his Majesties Servants. And now the second time Printed, accord-
ing to the true Copie. Written by Francis Beamount and John
Flecher. London. Printed for Thomas Walkley, etc.
1 63 1. A King and no King. Acted at the Blacke-Fryars, by
his Majesties Servants.And now the third time Printed, according
to the true Copie. Written by Francis Beamont & John Fletcher,
Gent. . London. Printed by A. M. for Richard Hawkins, and
. .

are to bee sold at his Shop in Chancerie Lane, neere Serjeants

Inne.
1639. "^ King and no King. And now the fourth
. . .

time printed, according to the true Copie. Written by Francis Beau-

mont & John Fletcher, Gent. . Printed by E. G. for William
. .

Leake.
1655. A King and no King. . And now
. . the fifth time
Printed, according to the true Copie. Written by Francis Beaumont
& John Fletcher, Gent. ... for William Leak.
1661. A King and no King. . . . And now the fourth
time Printed, according to the true Copie. Written, etc. . . .

London, Printed in the Year 166 1.

1676. A King and no King, As it is now Acted at the Theatre
Royal, by His Majesties Servants. Written by Francis Beaumont
and John Fletcher, Gent. London. Printed by Andr. Clark, for
William and John Leake, etc.
1785. Ethelwolf, ODER DER KoNiG KEiN KoNiG. Nebst vorlau-
figen Anmerkungen Beaumont und Fletcher und das altera
iiber
Englische Theater iiberhaupt. Dessau und Leipzig. [A translation,
with alterations of names of characters and some other details.]
 llBibliograpl)^ 347

II. WORKS BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL

The list includes monographs, essays, and books dealing chiefly or
incidentally ivith the life or 'writings of Beaumont, as ivell as those
de'voted especially to the plays in this 'volume. See also the memoirs
and critical matter in the editions of texts included in the preceding
lists.

1664. A Short Discourse on the English Stage; the pre-

fatory essay to Lo've' s Kingdom, by Richard Flecknoe. Reprinted
in Critical Essays of the I'jth Century, ed. J. E. Spingarn, Oxford,
1908, ii, 91.
1668. An Essay of Dramatic Poesy, by John Dryden. Re-
printed in Essays of John Dryden, ed. W. P. Ker, Oxford,
1900, i, 80.
1678. The Tragedies of the Last Age, considered and
examined by the practice of the ancients, and by the com-
mon SENSE OF ALL AGES, by Thomas Rymer. [The critique of The
Maid" s Tragedy is reprinted in Spingarn' s Critical Essays of the
I'jth Century, ii, 189.]
1679. Preface TO Troilus and Cressid a, by John Dryden.
[For a brief critique of A
King and No King, see Ker's edition,
i, 212, 218.]
69 1. An Account of the English Dramatic Poets,
1 by
Gerard Langbaine. Reedited as The Lives of the Poets, by
Charles Gildon, 1698; The Companion to the Playhouse, by
David Baker, 1764 ; Biographia Dramatica, by Isaac Reed,
1782, and by Stephen Jones, 18 12. pp. 203-218.
I753" The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ire-
land, by Theophilus Cibber and Robert Shiels.
1797. Comments on the Plays of Beaumont and
Fletcher, by J. Monck Mason.
181 1. Ueber Dramatische Kunst und Literatur, by
Adolph Wilhelm Schlegel. Heidelberg. Translated by John Black
as Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature, Philadelphia,
1833.
1 8 14. Explanations and Emendations of some Passages
 J

348 315ibliograpl)^

IN THE Text of Shakespeare and of Beaumont and Fletcher,

by Martinus Scriblerus [pseud.). Edinburgh.
1 82 1. Lectures ON the Dramatic Literature of the Age
OF Elizabeth, by William Hazlitt. pp. 86-101.
1 83 1. Beitrage zu einer genauern Vergleichung Shak-
speare's MIT Beaumont und Fletcher, by Franz Horn. Shak-
speare's Schauspiele, v, 34-72. Leipzig.
1832. Some Account of the English Stage, from the
Restoration to 1830, by J. Genest. 10 vols. [For The Knight
of the Burning Pestle, see i, 348; for A
King and No King, i,
385, 403 ; ii, 321 iii, 145 vi, 490.]
; ;

1836. Notes on Beaumont and Fletcher, by S. T. Cole-

ridge. In Literary Remains of S.T. Coleridge, ed. H. N. Coleridge,
ii, 289-322. Also in the Complete Works of S. T. Coleridge, ed.
W. G. T. Shedd, New York, 1853, iv, 199-220; ^nd in Lectures
and Notes on Shakspere and Other English Poets, by S. T. Cole-
ridge, ed. T, Ashe, 1883, pp. 395-407, 425-451.
1837. Lives of the Most Eminent Literary and Scientific
Men of Great Britain ; Dramatists, by Robert Bell and S. A.
Dunham.
1839. Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the
15TH, I 6th, and 17TH Centuries, by Henry Hallam. iii, 337-

351-
1840. Review of Darley's Edition, Eraser'' s MagazinCy
xxii, 189. [Also reviewed in American Whig Re-vieiv, 1846, iv,
68, 131.
1 84 1. Beaumont and Fletcher and their Contempo-
raries [by William Spaulding]. Edinburgh Re-vieiv, Ixxiii, 209.
1844. Imagination and Fancy, by Leigh Hunt. pp. 184-
194.
1846. Wit and Humour, by Leigh Hunt. pp. 158-179.
[These pages consist largely of the reproduction of the *' swordsmen "
scenes from A
King and No King.'\
1847. Review of Dyce's Edition, Edinburgh Re-vieiv, Ixxxvi,
42. [Also reviewed in LittelPs Living Age, xiv, 385.]
1847. Salmacis and Hermaphroditus not by Francis
Beaumont ; the edition of 1602, by Dramaticus (pseud.).
Shakespeare Society'' s Papers, iii, 94.
 515ibliograpl)p 349
1848. Review of Dyce's and Darley's Editions, S^uarurly
Re'vieiv, Ixxxiii, 377.
1850. Beaumont and Fletcher, by William B. Donne,
Eraser's Maga%ine^ 321. Reprinted in Essays on the Drama
xli,

and on Popular Amusements^ 1 85 8.

1853. Beaumont and Fletcher, by L. Herrig, Archi'v fur
das Studium der neueren Sprachen^ xii, 137.
1858. Cyclop>5;dia of English Literature, ed. William and
Robert Chambers, i, 218. Revised edition, 1901, i, 468.
1864. CoNTEMPORAINS ET SuCCESSEURS DE ShAKESPEARE, by
Alfred Mezieres. Paris, pp. 21-211.
1869. The Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, byE. P.
Whipple. Boston, pp. 157-177.
1871. On the Comic Writers of England ; iii, Beaumont
AND Fletcher, by Charles Cowden Clarke, Gentleman s Maga-
zine, n. s., vii, 27.
1874* Fletcher and Beaumont (^anon.)j Temple Bar, xlii,
460.
1874. On Metrical Tests as applied to Dramatic Poetry,
by F. G. Fleay. Part ii, Fletcher, Beaumont, Massinger.
Neiv Shakespeare Society's Transactions, p. 5 1. Also in Fleay's
Shakspere Manual, lSj6, pp. 151-174.
1875. A History of English Dramatic Literature to
the Death of Queen Anne, by A. W. Ward. 2 vols, ii, 155—
248. [For revised edition, see under 1899. j
1876. Beaumont and Fletcher [anon.), National S^uarterly
Re-vie^v, xxxiii, 302,
1879. History of English Dramatic Poetry, etc., by J.
P, Collier. New edition. 3 vols.
1 88 1-7. Beaumont, Fletcher, and Massinger, by Robert
Boyle, Engliscke Studien, v, 74; vii, 66 ; viii, 395 ix, 209 ; x,
383. [For The Knight of the Burning Pestle and A King and No
King, see V, 77, 80; vii, 85, 86.]
1883. Francis Beaumont a Critical Study, by G. C.
:

Macaulay. Reviewed in The Academy (C. H. Herford), Dec. 22,

1883; in The Athenaeum, Feb. 2, 1884; in The Spectator, Aug.
2, 1884.
1884. Chapters in the History of English Literature
350 Bibliograpli^

FROM 1509 TO THE ClOSE OF THE ELIZABETHAN PeRIOD, by Ellen

Crofts, pp. 258-283.
1885. Francis Beaumont, by A. B. Grosart, in Dictionary of
National Biography^ iv, 54.
1885. Ueber Beaumont und Fletcher's Knight of the
Burning Pestle, by B. Leonhardt. Programm von Annaberg,
no. 499. Reviewed (Max Koch) in Englische Studien^ ix, 361,
and further discussed by Leonhardt, ibid., xii, 307.
1885. On the Chronology of the Plays of Fletcher and
Massinger, by F. G. Fleay, Englische Studien, ix, 12. [The sub-
stance of this paper is embodied in Fleay's Chronicle of the English
Drama; see under 1891.]
1886. Beaumont, Fletcher, and Massinger, by Robert
Boyle. Neiv Shakespeare Society Transactions, pp. 579-628. [A
summary of papers in Englische Studien, noted supra.'\
1886. Geschichte des Dramas, by J. L. Klein. 13 vols.

Leipzig.
1886. Some Ethical Aspects of Later Elizabethan Tra-
gedy, by J. Rose Colby. Dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann
Arbor, U.S.A., pp. 23-37.
1886. Textual Notes to Beaumont and Fletcher, by
W. H. Browne, Modern Language Notes, i, 11.
1887. Beaumont and Fletcher, by A. C. Swinburne, in
Encyclopedia Britannica, 9th ed. Reprinted (with slight changes)
and Poetry, 1894.
in Studies in Prose
1887. A History of Elizabethan Literature, by George
Saintsbury. pp. 254-266.
1889. Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning
Pestle, by R. Boyle, Englische Studten, xiii, 156. [A note on
the date of the play.]
1890. A Bibliography of Beaumont and Fletcher, by
Alfred C. Potter. Bibliographical Contributions of Har-vard Uni-
•versity Library, no. 39. Cambridge, U.S.A.

1890. Report of Papers by L. M. Griffiths, on "The

Nobleness of King and No King," and " The First Authentic
A
Performance of A King and No King," Academy, June 14, 1890,
p. 413-
1890-92. The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, by E.
 llSibliograpl)^ 351
F. Oliphant J EngliscAe Studien, xiv, 53 ; xv, 321 ; xvi, 1 80. [For TAe
Knight of the Burning Pestle and A
King and No King, see xiv,
88, 91; xvi, 198.]
1 89 1. A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama,
byF. G. Fleay. 2 vols, i, 164-229,
1892. The Old English Dramatists, by James Russell Low-
ell. Boston, pp. IOO-H2.
1892. The Livery Companies of the City of London,
by W. C. Hazlitt.
1893. Die Englischen Dramatiker vor, neben, und nach
Shakespeare, by A. F. von Schack. Stuttgart.
1893. Old English Popular Music, by W. Chappell, revised
byH. E. Wooldridge. [A revision of works by Chappell, originally
published 1838-40 and 1855-59. Contains some of the songs
quoted in The Knight of the Burning Pest/e. See notes above, pp.
155-160.]
1893. Spanische Quellen der Dramatischen Litteratur,
besonders Englands zu Shakespeares Zeit, by Leo Bahlsen,
Zeitschrift fur "vergleichende Litteraturgesc hie hte. Neue Folge, vi,
151, Berlin,
1894. An Unknown Work of Francis Beaumont, by Ed-
ward Scott, Athenaum, no. 3457, p. 115. [A description of
Sloane MS. 1709, containing a lecture " on Grammar," by Beau-
mont.]
1894. The Jacobean Poets, by Edmund Gosse. pp. 68-88.
1895. Quellen-Studien zu den Dramen Ben Jonson's,
John Marston's, und Beaumont und Fletcher's, by Emil Koep-
pel. Munchener Beitr'dge, Leipzig. For The Knight of the Burning
Pestle and A
King and No King, see pp. 41-46.
1895. English Writers, by Henry Morley and W. Hall
Griffin. II vols,, 1887-95. ^'> 243-^77> 379-384-
1896— 1903. Die Text-varianten von Beaumont's und
Fletcher's Philaster, etc., by B. Leonhardt, AngUa, xix, 34,
509; XX, 421 xxiii, 14; xxiv, 311
5 xxvi, 313.
; [For The
Knight of the Burning Pestle and A King and No King, see xix,
509, and xxvi, 313.]
1896. The Old Dramatists: Conjectural Readings, by
K. Deighton. pp. 30-88.
352 llBibliograpl^^

1896. The History of the Valorous and Witty Knight-

Errant Don Quixote of the Mancha, by Cervantes; translated
by Thomas Shelton (1612-20). Tudor Translations. [See the
Introduction, by Fitzmaurice-Kelly.]
J.
1896. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson, by
Charles Eliot Norton. Har'vard Studies and Notes in Philology and
Literature, v, 19.
1898. Don Quixote, Sancho Panza, und Dulcine in der
englischen Litteratur, by E. Koeppel, Archiv fiir das Studium
der neueren Sprachen, ci, 87,
1899. A History of Dramatic Literature to the Death
OF Queen Anne, by A. W. Ward. New and revised edition. 3
vols, ii, 643-764.
1 901. The Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher on
Shakspere, by a. H. Thorndike. Worcester, Mass. [For The
Knight of the Burning Pestle and A
King and No King, see pp.
59-63, 81-83, 109-130.]
1902. The Curious-Impertinent in English Dramatic
Literature before Shelton's Translation of Don Quixote,
by A. S. W. Rosenbach, Modern Language Notes, xvii, 179.
1903. A History of English Poetry, by W. J. Courthope.
5 vols., 1895-1905. iv, 304-348.
1903. On Seeing an Elizabethan Play, with some par-
ticular discourse of The Knight of the Burning Pestle. Book
of the Play as presented by the English Club of Stanford University.
San Francisco.
1904. English Literature an Illustrated Record, by
:

Richard Garnett and Edmund Gosse. 4 vols, ii, 321-327.

1904. The Rise of the Heroic Play, byC. G. Child, Mod-
ern Language Notes, xix, 166. Baltimore.
1905. John Webster, by E. E. StoU. Cambridge, U.S.A.
[Contains a discussion of the influence of Beaumont and Fletcher
on Webster. ]
1905. John Fletcher a Study in Dramatic Method, by
:

O. L. Hatcher, Chicago. [Chapter i is on ** Problems of Author-

ship in the Beaumont and Fletcher Plays."]
1905. The Relation of the Heroic Play to the Romances
OF Beaumont and Fletcher, by J. W. Tupper. Publications of
the Modern Language Association, n. s. xiii, 584. Baltimore.
,
 llBibliograpl)^ 353
1905. Spanish Influence on English Literature, by M. A.
S. Hume.
1906. The Maid's Tragedy and Philaster, edited by A. H.
Thorndike. Belles-Lettre: Series. Boston. [The Introduction dis-
cusses the romances of Beaumont and Fletcher.]
1906. Die Aufnahme des Don Quijote in die englische
LiTTERATUR, by Gustav Becker Palastra, xiii. Berlin. [An ex-
pansion of a dissertation published 1902, under the same tide. For
The Knight of the Burning Pestle, see pp. 72-77.]
1908. Tragedy, by A. H. Thorndike. Boston, pp. 203-211.
1908. Elizabethan Drama, 1558-1642, by Felix E. Schcl-
ling. Boston, i, 206-8, 523-6, 595-7, 600-2; ii, 183, 197,
213, 220-3, 417, 422.
1908. The Children of the Chapel at Blackfriars, 1597-
1603, by Charles W. Wallace. Lincoln, Nebraska. [Contains an
account of the practice of seating spectators on the stage.]
1908. Die Moral des Beaumont-Fletcherschen Dramas,
by Phil. Aronstein, Anglia^ xxxi, 141.
 dPlojSjsarr

able, strong. K. B. P. iii, i, bate, deduct. K. B. P. in, ii,

20. 26.
abused, maligned. K. N. K. battle-ray, battle array. K.
11, i, 159. B. p. V, i, 61.
aby, atone for. K. B. P. ili, beagle, hound. K. N. K. v,
iv, 26. iii, 70.
admirable, wonderful. K. bed-staff, a stick used about a
B. p. Ind., 39. bed, perhaps like a slat. (See
admire, wonder at. K. N. K. N. E. D.) K. N. K. IV,
V, iv, 127. i", 139-
advice, consideration. K.N.K. beholding, under obligation.
in, iii, 61. K. B. P. Ill, ii, 43 ; IV, ii,
amendment, improvement. 53; i», 61.
K. N. K. I, i,4I3• beray, befoul. K. B, P. 11, iv,
ancient, standard-bearer, en- 20; V, iii, 152.
sign. K. B. P. V, ii, 2, 5. bcshrew, curse (a mild oath).
apple-squiers, pimps. K. K.B.P. Ind.^-jo^K.N.K.
N. K. V, iii, 62. IV, ii, 70.
Arches, a consistory court of besides, off of, by the side of.
the Archbishop of Canterbury, K. B. P. I, iii, 12.
held at the church of St. bezell, squander. K. B. P. i,
Mary-le-Bow. K. B. P. iv, iv, 14.

\38. bilbow-men, sword-men. K.

article, make a contract, bar- N. K. v, iii, 45.
gain. K. N. K. I, i, 340. birding-peece, fowling-piece,
await, attend. K. N. K. i, i, gun used with bird-shot. K.
217. B. P. II, ii, 15.
bord, circumference. K.B.P.
baffled, disgraced. K. N. K. m, ii, 123.
in, ii, 23. bounce, bang. AT. B. P. iv,
baste, thrash. K. B. P. n,vii, V, 112; V, i, 93.
16.
 ^Io00ar^ 355
brave, fine. K. B. P. v, i, 54; comfortable, comforting. K.
K. N. K. V, iv, 173. B. p. II, vi, 21.
busse, kiss. K. B. P. 11, i, 19. COmfrie, Symphytum officinale^
a plant used in healing
cap, arrest. K. B. P. iii, ii, wounds. K. B. P, II, iv,

40, 45-
carduus benedictus, ex- conditions, manners, charac-
tract of Blessed Thistle. (Cf. ter. AT. B. P. Ill, V, 77.
Much Adoy III, iv, 73.) K. conductor, carrier; '<an as-
B. P. in, 29.
iii, sistant to acommissary of mili-
Carke, be anxious. K. B. p. I, tary stores, to conduct depots
iv, 51. or magazines from one place
carted, carried through the to another." (Quoted from
streets for public exposure Crabb,inN. E. D.) K. B.P.
(the common punishment of Ill, V, 24.

bawds). K. N. K. v, ii, 49. consort, company, band. K.

cast, form. K. B. P. i, i, 4. N. K. V, ii, 45.
scheme. K. N. K. iii, i, 46. cordial, reviving. AT. B. P.
catch, around: "a short com- II, i, 59.

position for three or more corps, body. K. B. P. v, iii,

voices, which sing the same 126.
melody, the second singer be- cosen, cheat. K.N.K. iii,i,
ginning the first line as the first 130; ii, 21.
goes on to the second line," COUraging, stirring, heroic.
etc. (N. E. D.) K. B.P.u,
K. B. P. Ind., 81.
viii, 14 IV, v, 40.
; courtship, courtly manners.
Cawdle, a warm gruel, sweet- K. N. K. I, ii, 52.
ened and spiced. K.N.K. v, crosse, thwart, oppose. K.
ii, 65. N. K. IV, ii, 171. As adj.,
circumstance, details. K. opposing, IV, iv, 91.
N. K. V, iv, 151. crosse-arrow, arrow from a
clap in, strike in, move de- cross-bow. K. iV. AT. 11, 93. i,

cisively. K. B. P. I, ii, 34. cruddle, curdle. K. N. K. i,

codpiece, a bagged appendage ', 34-
to the front of hose or breeches. CUnnie, cony (a term of en-
K. N. K. V, iii, 76. dearment). AT. B. P., passim.
COller, choler, wrath. K. N. K. curious, ingenious. K. N. K.
I, i, 69. II, i, 60. painstaking, iv, iii,
356 ^losffifar^

4. elaborate, iv, iv, 134} v, expect, await. K. N. K. in,

iv, 82. ii, 105.
extremities, extremes (of
deliver, relate. K. N. K v, passion). K.N, AT. i, i, 1 01,
iv, 272. ^ 541-
denier, farthing (a French coin,
one twelfth of a sou). K. B. P. factor, agent. K. B. P. i, i,

IV, V, 5. 15-
devoire, endeavor. K.B. P. fading, a dance named from
n, iii, 4. the refrain of a popular song.
distemperd, disordered, wild. K. B. P. IV, i, 5.
K. B. P. in, i,
75 j K. N. K. faire, beauty. K. N. K. i, i,

IV, iv, 31. 196.

dragon's water, probably the fall, ('!'.) happen. K. N. K. iv,
juice of the dragon-tree (^dra- ii, 56 ;
(n.) a bout (in wrest-
cana draco) or a plant of sim- ling). II, ii, 84.
ilar name. K. B. P. i, iii, falsify, make a feint. K. N. K.
50. I, i, 245.
drum, drummer. K. B. P. v, feare, frighten. K. B. P. Ind.,
i, 90. 83.
fearefully, in fear. K. N. K.
embecill, embezzle. K. B. P. IV, iv, 137.
II, 109.
ii, feateously, elegantly, nimbly.
emperal, emperor. K. B. P. K. B. P. IV, V, 92.
II, ii, 120. fegaries, pranks (vagaries).
enlarge, free (from prison). K. B. P. II, iv, 47.
K. N. K. IV, i, 32 ; ii, 205. fidling, acting idly. K. N. K.
entertaine(«.)> same as en- n, ii, 4.
tertainment {q. v.). K. fire-drake, fiery dragon; used
B. P. II, vi, 41, 66. of a kind of firework ; figur-
entertainment, reception, one fond of fighting.
atively,
provision made. K. B. P. v, K. B. P. II, v, 47.
82; K. N. K. I, i, 455.
iii, flappet, little shelf or hanging
equall, just. K. N. K. iv, ii, board. K. B. P. i, iii, 49.
24; iii, 151. equable, iv, iv, fieade, flayed. K. N. K. v,
28.
dttins, etens, giants. K. B, P. flirt-Gill, a woman of loose
I, iii, 28. behavior. K.B. P. iv, i, 35.
 ^Io00ar^ 357
fond, foolish K.B.P. in,iv, heighten, exalt, elate. K.N.
i6, 17; V, i, 6, 40. K. V, iv, 123.
foule, ugly. K. N. K. II, i, hight, is called. K. B. P. 11,

287. vi, 45-

foulenesse, ugliness. K. N. hobby-horse, a performer in
K. I, i, 175. the morris-dance, about whose
fox, sword. K. N. K. iv, iii, waist was fastened " a figure of
108. ahorse, made of wicker-work,
or other light material, who
gally-foist, state-barge; espe- executed various antics in imi-
cially that of the Lord Mayor tation of the movements of a
of London. K. B. P. v, ii, 96. spirited horse." (N. E. D.)
gallowes, rascal. K.B.P. i, K. B. P. IV, v, 92.
iv, 92. hoiting, rioting. K. B. P. i,

gaskins, breeches or hose. K. iv, 51.

B. P. n, ii, 40. huffing, bold, swaggering. K.
gent, noble. K. B. P. iii, ii, B. P. Ind., 88.
114.
girds, jests. K. B. P. Ind., 8. I, ay, yes. passim.
goods, virtues, graces. K. B. K. B. .. .,
lie, vain. ..,

P. in, i, 69. K. N. K. I, i, 412; II.

gossip, a general term of fe- 292.

male relationship or acquaint- indent, indentured. K. B. P.
ance. K. B. P, IV, iii, 2. IV, ii, 18.

gracefulnesse, excellence. ingrant, ignorant, rascally. K.

K. N. K. II, i, 20. B. P. Ill, V, 59.
grout-nole, blockhead. K. inlarge, see enlarge.
B. P. II, vi, 55. inveigle, seduce. K. B.P. 11,
iii, 42.
haltersacke, rascal, gallows- issues, offspring. K. N. K.
bird. K. B. P. I, iv, 36 K. Ill, i, 183. ;

N. K. II, ii, 154. I-wis, surely (for yiv is). K.

hamper, beat. K. B. P. i, iv, B. P. IV, ii, 74, etc.
45 ;
"i» >, 99-
harnesse, armor. K.B.P. iv, joy, enjoy. K.B.P. i,ii, 116.
i, 4.
hearty, strengthening. K. B. kexes, dry stalks (figuratively,
P. Ill, iv, 152. legs). K. N. K. v, ii, 83.
358 ^lo00ar^

kickshoes, kickshaws, fan- a justice. AT. B. P. m, i,

tastical trifles, especially of 93-.

cookery. K. B. P. To the morrice, morris, a favorite
Readers^ 4. dance in costume. K. B. P.
knacks, trinkets. K. B. P. iv, IV, v, 74.
V, 61. motion, proposition. K. N. K.
Ill, iii, 174; puppet-show, v,
lavalto, a lively dance. K. B. J", 33-
P. Ill, V, 97.
laye, wager. K. B. P. 11, vii, nice, fastidious. K. B. P. To
22. the Readers^ i j scrupulous,
leading-staffe, truncheon. HI, i, 22.
K. B. P. V, iii, 150. nipitato, a strong liquor. K.
let, hindrance. K. B. P. i, ii, 2. B. P. IV, ii, 26.
lingell, shoemaker's waxed noddie, simpleton. K. B. P.
thread. K. B. P. v, iii, 129. II, iv, 23.

list, desire. K. B. P. v, iii, nump, blockhead. K. B. P.

15- II, iv, 36.
long of, on account of. K. B.
P- IV, ii, 33. observance, respect. K, N.
lungies, louts. K. B. P. n, vi, K. Ill, i, 53.
4- occasions, circumstances (re-
quiring action). K. N. K. 11,
maine, essence. K. N. K. v, i, ii, 138.
7. over-grace, unduly favor. K.
maw, appetite, inclination. K. N. K. I, i, 165.
B. P. I, ii, 65
meane, low-born, interior. K. palter, trifle, use trickery. K.
N. K. I, i, 326; V, i,
35; N. K. IV, iii, 103.
V, iv, 283. passion, feeling, emotion. K.
misbeseeming, unbecoming. B. P. Ill, iii, 10 ; V, i, 40.
K. N. K. Ill, iii, 100. sorrow, v, i, 52. enthusiasm,
misprision, misunderstanding. K. N. K. I, i, 36.
K. B. P. Dedication^ 24. peccavi, I have sinned. K. B.
mithridatum, a compounded P. IV, i, 39.
antidote against poison. K. B. pelting, paltry. AT. N. K. iv,
P. I, iii, 50. ii, 108.
mittimus, a warrant issued by peppernel, a lump or swelling
 aio00ar^ 359
(apparentiy ; the word is not prest, ready. K. B. P. 11, iii, 6.
known elsewhere). K. B. P. prickant, riding, traveling. AT.
II, iv, 54. B. P. II, V, 3. pointing up,
perdue, in ambush, or as a sen- III, ii, 115.
tinel in a hazardous position. pricket, buck (two years old).
K. N. K. I, i, 9. K. B. P. IV, V, loi.
pined, tortured. K. B. P. iii, pricking, riding. K. B. P. i,
iv, 130. iii, 90.
pitch-field, pitched battle. K. properer, better looking. K.
B. P. II, ii, 10. B. P. IV, ii, 73.
plainely, honestly. K. B. P. put-to, exert. K. N. K. iv, ii,

III, iii, 25.

points, lace with tags, used to
fasten the clothes, and often for quell, slay. K. B. P. in, ii,

gratuities or gambling stakes. 102.

K. B. P. IV, 14- quit, absolve, clear. K. N. K.
pompous, splendid. K. B. P. IV, ii, 85.
V, i, 62.
poesie, nosegay. K. B. P.rascal, deer (young or inferior).
v,
iii, 147. K. B. P. IV, V, loi.
post («•), messenger. K. N. reach, comprehend. K. N. K.
K. V, iv, 210. [adv.) with IV, ii, 148.
post-horses, K. B. P. ni,iv, rebeck, a three-stringed instru-
68. ment, like a fiddle. K. B. P.
pottage, broth. K. B. P. 11, I, 157.
iv,

Ti, 32. refer, postpone. K.N. K. m,

pottle, tankard (properly, of ii, 99.

two quarts measure). K. B. reparell, \

fittings, apparel. K.
P. Epilogue^ 8 B. P. Ind., 74; IV, v, 78.
preferre, recommend (for serv- restraint, confinement, im-
ice). K. N. K. I, i, 461 ;
prisonment. K. N. K. IV, ii,

IV, ii, 10. 75, 96.

preferred, advanced, promoted.
K. B. P. v, iii, 148. sad, serious. K. B. P. iii, ii,

present, immediate. K.B.P. 84.

I, iv, 156. say (n.), example, means of
presently, at once. K. B. P. experiment. K. B. P. iv, iv,

IV, iv, 89. 1 1.

360 ^lo00ar^

scored, cut. K. B. P. iii, iv, staples, markets. K. B. P. i,

86. i, 6.

second, helper. K. B. P. iv, stay, standstill, fixed state. K.

iv, 90- N. K. 176.
Ill, ii,

secret, discreet, initiated into. still, always. K. B. P. Ind.,%',

K. N. K. 11, i, 211. K. N. K. IV, ii, 198.
shawm, a reed instrument, like Stomacke, appetite, desire (cf.
an oboe or bassoon. K. B. P. maw above). K. N. K. in,
Ind.^ 1 19-123. ii, 17.
shrodly, shrewdly, severely. Stone-bowe, weapon like a
K. B. P. II, vi, 3. cross-bow, for shooting stones.
shutting (n.), close. K. B. P. K. N. K. v, i, 63.
II, i, 17. Stoope, stoup, flagon (hence
slicke (f.), make smooth. K. the contents). K. B. P. v,
B.P. 51. II, vi, iii, 2.

'Slight, an oath (By this light, Strand, an important business

or, God's light). K. N. K. street, leading from London to
III, i, 121. Westminster. K. B. P. iv, ii,

slip-string, prodigal, rascal. 17; V, 85.

K. N. K. II, ii,78. Stringer, rake. K. B. P. i, ii,

snatch, snack, luncheon. K. 37.

B. P. II, iv, 16. sufficient, competent. K. B.
Snicke-up, gallows-rope, P. II. ii, 116.
hence, hang (in the cant swaddle, beat. K. B. P. 11,
phrase "go snick-up"). K. vii, 19.
B. P. II, ii, 20 ; III, ii, 44.
sodden, soaked, bloated. K. tacklings, weapons. K.B. P.
B. P. V, ii, 58. V, ii,85.
Sophy, for suji (title of the tall, admirable, brave. K. N.
Persian king). K. B. P. iv, K. IV, iii, 112.
i, 46. tanzie, a cake flavored with
sort, company. K. B. P. v, ii, the herb tansy. K. N. K. v,
82. ', 74.
sparke, sprightly person, Tartarian, thief (slang). K.
** blade." K. B. P. v, i, B. P. II, viii, 119.
46. tender, cherish. K.B. P. iii,

springald, youth. K. B. P. ii, 18.

II, V, 46. Termogant, Termagant, tra-
 ^Io0sfar^ 361
ditionally a Saracen deity, re- vild, vile. K. N. K. v, ii, 38.
presented as excessively violent.
K. N. K. IV, ii, 157. wanscote, oak timber (used for
think, purpose. K. N. K. 11, wainscoting). K. N. K. v, i,

i, 12. 54-
thrum, tap, play with. K. B. waits, members of a band of
P. IV, V, no. musicians. K.B. P. Ind.^ 128.
tiller, handle of a cross-bow, or want, lack. K. N. K. i, i,
the bow itself. K. B. P. i, ii, 196, 413; ii, 54-
59- ward, guard. K. B. P. v, i,

tilting, tournament. K. N. K. 92.

V, iii, 35. warren, rabbit pre- rve. K. B.
trained, allured. K.B.P. m, P. I, ii, 51.
iv, 70. whoreson, ba d-like, con-
trencher, platter. K. N. K. i, temptible. K. . P. I, ii, 36;
i, 56. iv, 36; II, ^ , 107.
troule, troll, pass. K. B. P. 11, without, unlf .0. K. N. K. II,

viii, 13. i, 131-

won, dwell. K. B. P. HI, ii,

unhappy, mischievous. K. B. 108.

P. II, iv, 63.
unhappily, mischievously. K. yclepe^..^lled. K. B. P. m,
N. K. V, ii, 29. ii, 109.
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