"In pleasing him, claim the precedency can? "Cas. I claim for myself. "And. And so doth the fool. "Nan. 'Tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to school. "First for your dwarf, he's little and witty, "And every thing, as it is little is pretty; "Else why do men say to a creature of my shape, [little ape? "So soon as they see him, it's a pretty "And why a pretty ape? but for pleasing [tashion. "Of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous "Beside, this feat body of mine doth not imitation clave "Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks will have. 'Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter, [after: "Yet, for his brain, it must always come "And though that do feed him, it's a pitiful case, "His body is beholding to such a bad face." [One knocks. Volp. Who's there? my couch; away, look, Nano, see: -In good faith, I am drest Most favourably to-day, it is no matter, 'Tis well enough.] Lady Would-be is setting her dress in order: but the pointing must be altered: -I am drest "Most favourably to-day! It is no matter: ""Tis well enough."She speaks ironically: afterwards she takes her maids to task about her head-dress; and here our learned poet has plainly JUVENAL in view, sat. vi. 491: Si tibi displicuit nasus tuus? Juvenal likewise mentions the counsels called to consult on the lady's dressing, as if her character and soul were concerned in the determination. -Tanquam fame discrimen agatur, Aut anima. So the lady of our poet, "Call'd you to counsel of so frequent dressings. (Nan. More carefully than of your fame or honour.)" Or do they not stand even i' your head? Nan. Now, St. Mark Deliver us! anon, she'll beat her women, Lad. I pray you, view This tire, forsooth are all things apt or no? ashain'd! I, that have preach'd these things so oft Disputed every fitness, every grace, (Nan. More carefully than of your fame Lud. Made you acquainted, what an am- room. This fucus was too coarse too, it's no matter. 3 Volp. The storm comes toward me. Volp. Troubled with noise, I cannot sleep; That a strange fury enter'd, now, my house, Lad Believe me, and I Had the most fearful dream, could I remember't Volp. Out on my fate; I ha' given her How to torment me: she will tell me hers. Volp. O, if you do love me, No more: I sweat, and suffer, at the mention Lud. Alas, good soul! the passion of the Volp. You will not drink, and part? Some English saffron (half a dram would Your sixteen cloves, a Volp. She's in again; Before I feign'd diseases, now I have one. Ay me, I have taken a GRASS-HOPPER by the wing.] We had the same expression before, in the dialogue at the end of the Poetaster. "And like so many screaming grass-hoppers Mr. Upton has the following observation on the place: This was a proverb of the poet Ar- Lad. BURNT SILK, and amber, you have muscadel Good i' th' house And these apply'd with a right scarlet cloth.] Burnt silk, says Mr. Sympson, seems to be an old ingredient; and such perhaps he may think the rest of the composition: but our poet, I believe, in this part of the lady's character, hath shadowed out the likeness of those good wives in his own, and the preceding times, who addicted themselves to the study and profession of physick. Most of these ingredients are taken from some very choice receipts, not then out of vogue, and are the same we meet with in the works of our earliest practitioners. Such were Gilbertus, and John of Gaddesden, author of the Rosa Anglicana. Had I the performances of these writers at hand, I should probably be able to oblige the reader with a more particular prescription: but I must content myself at present, with producing some extracts which occur in Dr. Friend's History of Physick, 2d vol. " Gilbertus then "acquaint us, that burnt silk, especially if it were of a purple colour, was often given by "old nurses in a draught or cordial. Vetulæ provinciales dant purpuram combustam in potu "-similiter pannus tinctus de grano." And the virtues of a right scarlet cloth were held so extraordinary, that Dr. John, by wrapping a patient in scarlet, cured him of the smallpox, without leaving so much as one mark in his face; and he commends it for an excellent method of cure. Capiatur scarletum, et involvatur variolosus totaliter, sicut ego feci, et est bona cura. As old in time as Plato, and as knowing, Says, that your highest female grace is silence'. Lad. Which o' your poets? Petrarch? or Guarini? Ariosto? Aretine ? [it. Than her eternal tongue! nothing can 'scape Lad. Here's Pastor Fido- Volp. Profess obstinate silence; That's now my safest. Lad. All our English writers, I mean such as are happy in th' Italian, Almost as much as from Montaigne : Volp. Alas, my mind's perturb'd. Make use of our philosophy- Lad. And as we find our passions do rebel, Encounter 'em with reason, or divert 'em, By giving scope unto some other humour -The poet As old in time as Plato, and as knowing, Of lesser danger: as, in politic bodies, There's nothing more doth overwhelm the judgment, And clouds the understanding, than too much That stop the organs, and, as Plato says, Volp. Now, the spirit Lad. Come, in faith, I must Visit you more a-days; and make you well: Laugh and be lusty. Volp. My good angel save me. Lad. There was but one sole man in all the world, With whom I e'er could sympathize; and he Would lye you often, three, four hours to gether, [rapt To hear me speak: and be (sometime) so As he would answer me quite from the pur[discourse pose, Like you, and you are like him, just. I'll (And 't be but only, sir, to bring you sleep) How we did spend our time and loves together, For some six years. Volp. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. Lad. For we were coætanei, and brought [rescue me. Vol. Some power, some fate, some fortune up Says that OUR highest female grace is silence.] Here is a slight error in the text, which I correct on the authority of the first folio: our highest, should be read your highest. The poet perhaps is Sophocles, Lad. Where? Mos. Marry, [apprehend him, Where yet, if you make haste, you may Rowing upon the water in a gondola, With the most cunning curtizan of Venice. Lad. Is't true? Mos. Pursue 'em, and believe your eyes: Leave me, to make your gift. I knew, 'twould take. [licence, For lightly, they that use themselves most Are still most jealous. Volp. Mosca, hearty thanks, For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me. Volp. Again, I fear a paroxysm. Row'd they together? Mos. Toward the Rialto. Mos. Sir, your father hath sent word, It will be half an hour ere he come ; at the upper end, There are some books to entertain the time: And I'll take care no man shall come unto [this fellow. Bon. Yes, I will stay there; I do doubt Mos. There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing: you, sir. And, for his father, I can keep him off. Coro. Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore, Resolve upon it: I have so decreed. It must be done. Nor would I move't afore, Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks, That might deny me. Cel. Sir, let me beseech you, Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt My chastity, why, lock me up for ever: Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live, Where I may please your fears, if not your • Have patience, sir, the same's your FATHER, KNOCKS.] We must read, Mr. Upton says, "The same's your father's knock." This knocking you now hear, is your father's. Mosca expected it to be so, but the sequel will shew his mistake. Or it may be an elliptical expression, "The same's your father who knocks." The worse for touching? clothes for being look'd on? [wretch, Why, this 's no more. An old decrepit That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat With others' fingers; only knows to gape, When you do scald his gums; a voice, a shadow; And, what can this man hurt you? Cel. Lord! what spirit Is this hath entred him? Corv. And for your fame, That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it, Cry it on the Piazza! who shall know it? But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow, Whose lips are ' my pocket: save yourself, If you'll procla m't, you may. I know no Should come to know it. [other, Cel. Are heaven, and saints, then, nothing? Will they be blind or stupid? Cory How? Cel. Good sir, Be jealous still, emulate them; and think What hate they burn with toward every sin. Coro. I grant you: if I thought it were a sin, I would not urge you. That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints, This were a sin: but here 'tis contrary, Cel. O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change? [my pride, Volp. Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring Mos. Please you draw near, sir. L'em. Corv. Come on, what You will not be rebellious? by that light- Coro. Thanks, sweet Mosca'. Mos. Freely, unask'd, or unintreated — [love) Mos. (As the true fervent instance of his His own most fair and proper wife; the Only of price in Venice [beauty, Coro. 'Tis well urg'd [preserve you. thank him For his good care and promptness; but for [slave Yield, I am loth-(Death!) I will buy some Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, [sing alive; And at my window hang you forth, deviSome monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters, Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, And burning cor'sives, on this stubborn breast, [do't. Now, by the blood thou hast incens'd, I'll Cel. Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr. [serv'd it: Corv. Be not thus obstinate, I ha' not deThink who it is intreats you. Pr'ythee, sweet; [attires, (Good faith) thou shalt have jewels, gowns, What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him; [suit. Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my This once. No? not? I shall remember this. [my undoing? Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst Mos. Nay, gentle lady, be advis'd. Corr. No, no. She has watch'd her time. God's precious, this is skirvy, 'Tis very skirvy: and you areMos. Nay, good sir. Corv. An errant Locust, by heaven, a Lo ' Corv. Thanks, sweet Mosca.] Here is a line lost, which I have inserted from the old Crocodile, that hast thy tears prepar'd, Cor. Well. Expecting, how thoul't bid'em flow.] These verses should thus be ordered and printed; |