Lic. It expected

[mute,

More than it understood; for they stand Poor innocent dumb things; they are but wood, [on; yet As is the bench and blocks they were wrought If May-day come, and the sun shine, perhaps [vocal. They'll sing like Memnon's statue, and be 5 Cust. Ha' you any forest news? [5 Cust. The new park in the forest of fools. Tho. None very wild, sir;

Some tame there is, out o' the forest of fools, A new park is making there, to sever

Cuckolds of Antler, from the rascals. Such Whose wives are dead, and have since cast their heads,

Shall remain cuckolds pollard.

Lic. I'll ha' that news.

1 Cust. And I.

2 Cust. And I.

3 Cust. And I. 4 Cust. And I.

5 Cust. And I.

[Penny-boy would invite the master of the office.

Cym. Sir, I desire to be excus'd; and,
madam,

I cannot leave my office the first day.
My cousin Fitton here shall wait upon you,
And emissary Picklock.

P. jun. And Thom. Clericus? Cym. I cannot spare him yet, but he shall follow you, [the office, When they have order'd the rolls. Shut up When you ha' done, till two o'clock.

SCENE III.

Shunfield, Almanack, Madrigal, Clerks.

Shun. By your leave, clerks, Where shall we dine to-day? do you know? the jeerers.

Alm. Where is my fellow Fitton?
Tho. New gone forth.

But with two gentlewomen, call'd the Graces,
Alm. They were ever three in poetry.
Mad. This was truth, sir.

Tho. Sir, master Fitton's there too.
Shun. All the better.

Alm. We may have a jeer, perhaps.
Shun. Yes, you'll drink, doctor,

(If there be any good meat) as much good wine now,

As would lay up a Dutch ambassador. Tho. If he dine there, he's sure to have good meat,

For Lick-finger provides the dinner.

Alm. Who?

The glory o' the kitchen? that holds cookery A trade from Adam, quotes his broths and sallads,

And swears he is not dead yet, but translated In some immortal crust, the paste of almonds? [be a poet,

Mad. The same. He holds no man can That is not a good cook, to know the palates And several tastes o' the time. He draws all arts

Out of the kitchen, but the art of poetry, Which he concludes the same with cockery. Shun. Tut, he maintains more heresies

than that. [pye, He'll draw the magisterium from a minc'dAnd prefer jellies, to your julips, doctor. Alm. I was at an olla-podrida of his making,

Was a brave piece of cookery! at a funeral !
But opening the pot-lid, he made us laugh,
Who had wept all day! and sent us such
a tickling

Into our nostrils, as the funeral feast
Had been a wedding-dinner.

Shun. Gi' him allowance,
[Syren
And that but a moderate, he will make a
Sing i' the kettle, send in an Arion
In a brave broth, and of a wat'ry green,
Just the sea-colour, mounted on the back
Of a grown conger, but in such a posture,
As all the world would take him for a dol-
[tion! but
Mad. He's a rare fellow, without ques-
He holds some paradoxes.

phin.

Alm. I, and pseudodoxes.

Marry, for most, he's orthodox i' the kitchen. Mad. And knows the clergy's taste!

Alm. I, and the laity's! [come too late, Shun. You think not o' your time, we'll If we go not presently.

Mad. Away then.

Shun. Sirs,

Penny-boy sen. Broker, Cymbal. He is startled with Broker's coming back. P. sen. How now? I think I was born under Hercules' star? [me? Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppress Why come you back? where is your charge? Bro. I ha' brought

A gentleman to speak with you.

P. sen. To speak with me?

You know 'tis death for me to speak with any man.

What is he? set me a chair.

Bro. He is the master

Of the great office.

P. sen. What?

Bro. The Staple of News.

[year.

A mighty thing, they talk six thousand a P. sen. Well, bring you six in. Where ha' you left Pecunia?

Bro. Sir, in Apollo, they are scarce set. P. sen. Bring six.

Bro. Here is the gentleman.

P. sen. He must pardon me,

I cannot rise, a diseas'd man.
Cym. By no means, sir,
Respect your health and ease.

[me?

P. sen. It is no pride in me ! But pain, pain: what's your errand, sir, to Broker, return to your charge, be Argusey'd, [He sends Broker back. Awake to the affair you have in hand, Serve in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus. Go on, sir.

Cym. I am come to speak with you. P. sen. 'Tis pain for me to speak, a very death,

Prostitutes all, scatters away in coaches, In footmen's coats, and waiting-women's gowns,

They must have velvet hanches (with a pox) Now taken up, and yet not pay the use; Bate of the use? I am mad with this time's

manners.

[He talks vehemently and aloud. Cym. You said e'en now, it was death for you to speak.

P. sen. I, but an anger, a just anger, (as this is)

Puts life in man. Who can endure to see The fury of men's gullets, and their groins? What fires, what cooks, what kitchens might be spar'd?

[Is mov'd more and more. What stews, ponds, parks, coops, garners, magazines?

What velvets, tissues, scarfs, embroideries, And laces they might lack? They covet things [honour Superfluous still; when it were much more They could want necessary! what need

hath nature

Of silver dishes, or gold chamber-pots?
Of perfum'd napkins, or a numerous family
To see her eat?" poor, and wise, she requires
Meat only; hunger is not ambitious:
Say, that you were the emperor of pleasures,
The great dictator of fashions, for all Europe,
And had the pomp of all the courts, and

kingdoms,

vanisbeth.

[self Laid forth unto the show? to make yourGaz'd and admir'd at? you must go to bed, And take your natural rest: then all this [possest: Your bravery was but shewn; 'twas not While it did boast itself, it was then perishing. Cym. This man has healthful lungs. P. sen. All that excess Appear'd as little yours, as the spectators. It scarce fills up the expectation

Of a few hours, that entertain men's lives. Cym. He has the monopoly of sole speak

ing. Why, good sir? you talk all. [He is angry.

P. sen. Why should I not? Is it not under mine own roof? my ceiling? Cym. But I came here to talk with you. P. sen. Why, an' I will not

Talk with you, sir? you are answer'd; who sent for you?

Cym. Nobody sent for me

P. sen. But you came; why then Go as you came, here's no man holds you; there,

· [Bids him get out of his house. There lies your way, you see the door. Cym. This'strange!

P. sen. 'Tis my civility, when I do not relish

[sir. The party, or his business. Pray you begone, I'll ha' no venture in your shop, the office, Your bark of six, if 'twere sixteen, good sir. Cym. You are a rogue.

[Cymbal rails at him. P. sen. I think I am, sir, truly. Cym. A rascal, and a money-bawd.

P. sen. My sir-names.

Cym. A wretched rascal !

P. sen. You will overflow

[He jeers him.

P. sen. Still you lose your labour.

I am a broken vessel, all runs out:

A shrunk old Dryfat. Fare you well, good

six.

The third INTERMEAN after the third Act. Censure. "A notable tough rascal! this "old Penny-boy! right city-bred!"

Mirth. In Silver-street, the region of "money, a good seat for an usurer.'

Tattle." He has rich ingredients in him, "I warrant you, if they were extracted; a "true receipt to make an alderman, an' he "were well wrought upon, according to "art."

Expectation. "I would fain see an alder

man

in chimia! that is, a treatise of alder"manity truly written."

Censure. "To shew how much it differs "from urbanity."

Mirth. "I, or humanity. Either would "" appear in this Penny-boy, an' he were "rightly distill'd. But how like you the "news? you are gone from that."

Censure. "O, they are monstrous! scur!" vy! and stale! and too exotic! ill "cook'd! and ill dish'd !"

Expectation. "They were as good, yet, as butter could make them!"

Tuttle. "In a word, they were beastly "butter'd! he shall never come o' my "bread more, nor in my mouth, if I can "help it. I have better news from the "bake-house, by ten thousand parts, in a "morning; or the conduits in Westminster! "all the news of Tuttle-street, and both the "Alm'ries! the two Sanctuaries! long and "round Wool-staple! with King's-street, "and Chanon-row to boot."

Mirth.", my gossip Tattle knew what "fine slips grew in Gardener's-lane, who kist "the butcher's wife with the cow's breath; "what matches were made in the Bowling"alley, and what bets were won and lost; "how much grist went to the mill, and "what beside; who conjur'd in Tuttle

fields, and how many, when they never came there; and which boy rode upon "doctor Lamb in the likeness of a roaring "lion, that ran away with him in his teeth, "and has not devour'd him yet."

Tattle. "Why, I had it from my maid "Joan Hearsay; and she had it from a a limb o' the school, she says, a little limb "of nine year old; who told her, the "master left out his conjuring-book one day, and he found it, and so the fable 66 came about. But whether it were true or no, we gossips are bound to believe it, "an't be once out, and a-foot: how should we entertain the time else, or find our"selves in fashionable discourse, for all "companies, if we do not credit all, and "make more of it in the reporting?"

66

Censure. "For my part, I believe it: an' "there were no wiser than I, I would have "ne'er a cunning schoolmaster in England. "I mean, a cunning man a schoolmaster; "that is, a conjurer, or a poet, or that had

any acquaintance with a poet. They "make all their scholars play-boys! Is't "not a fine sight, to see all our children "made interluders? do we pay our money "for this? we send then to learn their "grammar and their Terence, and they "learn their play-books. Well, they talk we "shall have no more parliaments (God bless "us), but an' we have, I hope, Zeal-of-the"land Busy and my gossip Rabby Trouble"truth will start up, and see we shall have "painful good ministers to keep school, and "catechize our youth, and not teach 'em to “speak plays, and act fables of false news, " in this manner, to the supervexation of * town and country, with a wanion.”

SCENE I.

Penny-boyjun. Fitton, Shun-field, Almanack, Madrigal, Canter, Picklock.

P. jun.

COME
OME, gentlemen, let's breathe

from healths a while. This Lick-finger has made us a good dinner, For our Pecunia: what shall's do with ourselves,

While the women water, and the fidlers eat?
Fit. Let's jeer a little.
P. jun. What's that?
Shun. Expect, sir.

[then at you.

Alm. We first begin with ourselves, and Shun. A game we use.

Mad. We jeer all kind of persons We meet withal, of any rank or quality, And if we cannot jeer them, we jeer ourselves. [grateful!

P. Ca. A pretty sweet society, and
Pic. Pray let's see some.

Shun. Have at you then, lawyer.
They say, there was one of your coat in
Beth'lem lately.
[there.

Alm. I wonder all his clients were not
Mad. They were the madder sort.
Pic. Except, sir, one

Like you, and he made verses.

Fit. Madrigal,

A jeer.

Mad. I know.

We call'd him a COAT-CARD,

O'the right-hand file, under this brave com mander.

P. jun. What say'st thou, Canter?
P. Ca. Sir, I say, this is

A very wholesome exercise, and comely;
Like fepers shewing one another their scabs,
Or flies feeding on ulcers.

P. jun. What news, gentlemen?
Ha' you any news for after dinner? methinks
We should not spend our tine unprofitably.
P. Ca. They never lie, sir, between
meals; 'gainst supper

You may have a bale or two brought in.
Fit. This Canter

Is an old envious knave!
Alm. A very rascal.

Fit. I ha' mark'd him all this meal, he has
done nothing

But mock, with scurvy faces, all we said. Alm. A supercilious rogue! he looks as if He were the patrico

Mad. Or arch-priest o' Canters. [rascal, Shun. He's some primate metropolitan Our shot-clog makes so much of him. Alm. The law,

And he does govern him.

P. sen. What say you, gentlemen?
Fit. We say, we wonder not, your inan o'
[it comes,

law

Thou art for the vain oracle of the bottle. The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus. Thence flows thy muse's spring, from that hard hoof.

Seduced poet, I do say to thee, [tains A boiler, range, and dresser were the founOf all the knowledge in the universe. And they're the kitchens, where the mastercook[know him, (Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou Till thou hast serv'd soine years in that deep school, [arts, That's both the nurse and mother of the And hear'st him read, interpret, and demon

strate!)

A master-cook! why, he's the man o'men,
For a professor! he designs, he draws,
He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies,
Makes citadels of curious fowl and fish,
Some he dry-dishes, some motes round with
broths;

Mounts marrow-bones, cuts fifty angled custards,

Rears bulwark pies, and for his outer works, He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust;

2 And teacheth all the tacticks, at one dinner: What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in; The whole art military. Then he knows The influence of the stars upon his meats, And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, And so to fit his relishes and sauces.

He has nature in a pot, 'bove all the chymists, Or airy brethren of the Rosie-cross.

He is an architect, an engineer,

A soldier, a physician, a philosopher,
A general mathematician.

Mad. It is granted.

Pic. And that you may not doubt him for a poet

Alm. This fury shews, if there were nothing else!

And 'tis divine! I shall for ever hereafter Admire the wisdom of a cook!

[Penny boy is courting his princess all the while.

Ban. And we, sir!

P. jun. O, how my princess draws me with her looks,

And hales me in, as eddies draw in boats, Or strong Charybdis ships, that sail too near The shelves of love! The tides of your tw

eyes!

Wind of your breath, are such as suck in all That do approach you!

Pec. Who hath chang'd my servant? P. jun. Yourself, who drink my blood up with your beams,

As doth the sun the sea! Pecunia shines More in the world than he; and makes it spring [show Where-e'er she favours! please her but to Her melting wrists, or bare her ivory hands, She catches still! her smiles they are love's fetters!

Her breasts his apples! her teats straw, berries!

[cry, Where Cupid (were he present now) would Farewell my mother's milk, here's sweeter

nectar!

Help me to praise Pecunia, gentlemen:
She is your princess, lend your wits.
Fit. A lady

The graces taught to move!

Alm. The hours did nurse.

[They all begin the encomium of Pecunia. Fit. Whose lips are the instructions of all lovers!

Alm. Her eyes their lights, and rivals to the stars!

Fit. A voice, as if that harmony still spake! Alm. And polish’d skin, whiter than Venus' foot?

Fit. Young Hebe's neck, or Juno's arms! Alm. A hair, [sweet Large as the morning's, and her breath as As meadows after rain, and but new mown! Fit. Leda might yield unto her for a face ! Alm. Hermione for breasts!

Fit. Flora for cheeks!

Alm. And Helen for a mouth!
P. jun. Kiss, kiss 'em, princess.

[She kisseth them. Fit. The pearl doth strive in whiteness

with her neck.

Alm. But loseth by it: here the snow thaws snow;

One frost resolves another!
Fit. O, she has

A front too slippery to be look'd upon!'

Fit. O, she has

the expression in Horace :

Urit me Glycera nitor

Splendentis Pario marmore purius,

Et cultus nimium lubricus aspici.

L. 1. Od. 19.

beauty