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Enter Master STEPHEN. Cousin Stephen,

What news with you, that you are here so early? Step. Nothing; but e'en come to see how you do,


Kno. That's kindly done: you are welcome, coz. Step. Ay, I know that, sir, I would not ha' come else. How doth my cousin Edward, uncle?

Kno. Oh well, coz; go in and see: I doubt he be scarcely stirring yet.

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

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

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

Kno. Óh! most ridiculous!

Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle. Why, you know, an' a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting .anguages, now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him. They are more studied than the Greek or the Latin. What, do you talk

SCENE I.-4 Court-yard before Kno'well's House. on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep

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company with none but citizens! A fine jest, i'faith! 'Slid! a gentleman mun shew himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you, be not angry. I know what I have to do, I trow; I am no novice.

Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb! go to Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak. Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you. Ha' you not yet found means enow, to waste That which your friends have left you, but you must Go cast away your money on a kite,

And know not how to keep it, when you've done? So, now you're told on it, you look another way.. Step. What would you ha' me do?

Kno. What would I have you do? I'll tell you,


Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have thee do; and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
Who comes here?

Enter a Servant.


Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn al ing friends in the Old Jewry? or dost thou think as su Jews that inhabit there? Leave thy rigant fatuer alone, to number over his green apricots, ever and

Serv. Save you, gentlemen! Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet, you are welcome; and I assure you, mine uncle here is a man of a thousand a-year Mid-morning, o'the north-west wall: an' I had tee's hin dlesex land: he has but one son in all the world; I son, I had saved him the labour long since; if taking am his next heir at the common law, Master Ste- and coddling every kernel of the fruit for 'em avuid in all the young wenches that pass by, at the tea fur. phen, as simple as I stand here; if my cousin die; ha' served. But, pr'ythee, come over to me qichg as there's hope he will. I have a pretty living o' this morning: I have such a present for thee. my own too, beside, hard by here. a rhymer, sir, o'your own batch, your orn leacen; tut Serv. In good time, sir. doth think himself poet-major o'the town; Step. In good time, sir Why? And in very good to be shewn, and worthy to be seen. The omertime, sir. You do not flout, friend, do you? I will not venture his description with you til you come, Serv. Not I, sir. because I would ha' you make hither with an appetite.

Step. Not you, sir! You were not best, sir; an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly, too. Go to! And they can give it again

soundly, too, an' need be.
Sere. Why, sir, let this satisfy you: good faith,

had no such intent.


Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently.

Serv. Good Master Stephen, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.

Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy companion, an' you were out o' my uncle's ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand upon my gentility neither in't.

Kno. Cousin, cousin! will this ne'er be left?

Step. Whoreson, base fellow! A mechanical serving-man! By this cudgel, and 'twere not for shame, I would

Kno. What would you do, you peremptory gull?
If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
You see the honest man demeans himself
Modestly towards you, giving no reply
To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion:
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage
As void of wit as of humanity.

Go, get you in; 'fore heaven! I am asham'd
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me. [Erit STEP.
Serv. I pray you, sir, is this Master Kno'well's


Kno. Yes, marry, is't, sir.

Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one Master Edward Kno'well. Do you know any such, sir, I pray you?

Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.

Serv. Are you the gentleman? 'Cry you mercy, sir, I was required by a gentleman i'the city, as I rode out at this end of the town, to deliver you this letter, sir.

Kno. To me, sir? [Reads.] "To his most selected friend, Master Edward Kno'well." What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it?

Serv. One Master Wellbred, sir.

Kno. Master Wellbred! A young gentleman, is

he not?

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the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges as unconscionable as any Gundhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed From the Burdello, it might come as well! The Spital! Is this the man,


viaticum.-From the Windmil"."

My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,
The choicest brain, the times hath sent us forth?
I know not what he may be in the arts,
Nor what in schools; but, surely, for his manners,
I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch.


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But with no notice that I have open'd it, on your
Brain. Oh, lord! sir, that were a jest, in lee1!
Kno. I am resolv'd I will not stop his journey;
Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,
Restrain'd, grows more impatient.
There is a way of winning more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free:
He, that's compell'd to goodness, may be good;
But 'tis but for that fit; where others, drawn
By softness and example, get a habit,
Then if they stray, but warn 'em; and the same
They would for virtue do, they'll do for shame.


SCENE II.-Young Kno'well's Study. Enter Young KNO'WELL and BRAINWORM. Young K. Did he open it, say'st thou !

Brain. Yes, o'my word, sir, and read the contents, Young K. That's bad. What countenance, pray thee, made he i'the reading of it? Was he angry or pleased?

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

Young K. No! how know'st thou, then, that he did either?

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

Young K. That's true; well, I thank thee, Brain\Eris.


Enter Master STEPHEN.

Step. Oh, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here in a what-sha'-call-him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter, e'en now.

Brain. Yes, Master Stephen; what of him?
Step. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat him-where

is he? canst thou tell?

Brain. Faith! he is not of that mind: he is gone, Master Stephen.

Step. Gone! Which way? When went he? How long since?

Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street-door.

Step. And I staid i'the fields! Whoreson, Scanderbeg rogue! Oh! that I had but a horse to fetch him back again!

Prain. Why, you may ha' my master's gelding to save your longing, sir.

Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite on't. Brain. Why, a fine whisp of hay, rolled hard, Master Stephen.

Step. No, faith! it's no boot to follow him now; let him e'en go and hang. Pr'ythee, help to truss me a little. He does so vex me

Brain. You'll be worse vexed when you are trussed, Master Stephen; best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold, your choler may founder you else.

Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, Brainworm ? Brain. A very good leg, Master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well.

Step. Foh! the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on, for the dust: I'll have a pair of silk against the winter, that I go to dwell i'the town. I think my leg would shew in a silk hose. Brain. Believe me, Master Stephen, rarely well. Step. In sadness, I think it would; I have a reasonable good leg.

Brain. You have an excellent good leg, Master Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise it longer now; I am very sorry for't. [Exit. Gra

Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm. mercy, for this.


Young K. Ha, ha, ha! Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' he do-Aside.]

Young K. Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted by a man's father! He cannot but think most virtuously both of me and the sender, sure, that make the careful coster-monger of him in our familiar epistles. I wish I knew the end of it, which now is doubtful, and threatens-What, my wise cousin? Nay, then I'll furnish our feast with one gull more toward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three; oh! for a fourth! Fortune, if ever thou'it use thine eyes, I entreat thee-[Aside.]

Step. Oh! now I see who he laughs at. He laughs at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an' he had laughed at me-[Aside.]

Young K. How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy? Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed at me, cousin.

Young K. Why, what an' I had, coz, what would you ha' done?

Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine uncle. Young K. Nay, if you would ha' told your uncle, I did laugh at you, coz.

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Step. Sir, that's all one, an' 'twere; you shall command me twice so far as Moorgate to do you good in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I protest

Young K. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Step. By my fackins! but I will, by your leave; I'll protest more to my friend than I'll speak of at this time.

Young K. You speak very well, coz.

Step. Nay, not so, neither; you shall pardon me. but I speak to serve my turn.

Young K. Your turn, coz! Do you know what you say? A gentleman of your sort, parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk o'your turn i'this com pany, and to me alone, like a water-bearer at a conduit! Come, come, wrong not the quality of your desert with looking downward, coz; but hold up your head so; and let the idea of what you are, be pourtrayed 'your face, that men may read i'your physiognomy,-"here, within this place, is to be seen, the true and accomplished monster," or "miracle of nature," which is all one. What think you of this, coz?

Step. Why, I do think of it; and I will be more proud, and melancholy, and gentleman-like, than I have been, I'll assure you.

Young K. Why, that's resolute, Master Stephen! Now, if I can but hold him up to his height, as it is happily begun, it will do well for a suburb humour: we may hap have a match with the city, and play him for forty pounds. [Aside.] Come, coz. Step. I'll follow you.

Young K. Follow me! you must go before. Step. Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you, shew me, good cousin. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Street before Cob's house.

Enter Master MATTHEW.

Mat. I think this be the house. What, hoa!

Enter COB, from the house. Cob. Who's there? Oh! Master Matthew, gi' your worship good morrow.

Mat. What, Cob! How dost thou, good Cob? Dost thou inhabit here, Cob?

Cob. Ay, sir; I and my lineage ha' kept a poor house here in our days.

Mat. Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one Captain Bobadil, where his lodging is? Cob. Oh my guest, sir, you mean. Mat. Thy guest! alas!-Ha, ha!

Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? do you not mean Captain Bobadil?

Mat. Cob, pray thee, advise thyself well; do not wrong the gentleman and thyself too. I dare be sworn, he scorns thy house. He! he lodge in such a base, obscure place as thy house! Tut! I know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed, if thou'dst gi' it him.

Cob. I will not give it him, though, sir. Mass: I thought somewhat was in't, we could not get him to bed all night. Well, sir, though he lie not o' my bed, he lies o'my bench. An't please you to go up, sir, you shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak wrapped about him, as though he had neither won nor lost; and yet, I warrant, he ne'er cast better in his life, than he has done tonight.

Mat. Why, was he drunk?

Cob. Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. Perhaps he swallowed a tavern-token, or some such device, sir; I have nothing to do withal. I deal | with water, and not with wine. Gi' me my bucket there, hoa! God b'wi'you, sir, it's six o'clock; I should ha' carried two turns by this. What, hoa! my stopple, come!

Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house! A gentleman of his havings! well, I'll tell him my mind. [Aside.]

Enter TIB.

Cob. What, Tib, shew this gentleman up to the Captain. [TIB shers Master MATTHEW into the house.] You should ha' some now, would take this His Mr. Matthew to be a gentleman at the least. father is an honest man, a worshipful fishmonger, and so forth; and now does he creep and wriggle into acquaintance with all the brave gallants about the town, such as my guest is. Oh! my guest is a fine man! he does swear the legiblest of any man christened: by Saint George-the foot of Pharaoh -the body of me as I am a gentleman and a soldier-such dainty oaths! And, withal, he does take this same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! it would do a man good to see the fume come forth out at's tonnels! Well, he owes me forty shillings, my wife lent him out of her purse by sixpence a time, besides his lodging: I would I had it. I shall ha' it, he says, the next action. Helter-skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat, uptails all, and a louse for the hangman!

SCENE IV.-A Room in Cob's house.


Mat. No, haste, sir; 'tis very well

Capt. B. Body o'me! it was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarcely open my eyes yet; I was but newly risen as you came. How passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell.

.Mat. Faith! some half-hour to seven. New, trust me, you have an exceedingly fine lodging here; very neat and private.

Capt. B. Ay, sir; sit down. I pray you, Master Matthew, in any case, possess no gentlemen of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. Mat. Who, I, sir? No.

Capt. B. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient; but in regard I would not be too popular and generally visited, as some are. Mat. True, Captain; I conceive you.

Capt. B. For, do you see, sir? by the heart of valour in me, except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily en gaged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend thus far. Mat. Oh, lord! sir, I resolve so. Pulls out a paper and reads.]

Capt. B. I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet
privacy, above all the tumult and roar of fortune.
What new piece ha' you there? Read it.
Mat. [Reads.]

"To thee, the purest object of my sense,
The most refined essence hearen covers,
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence

The happy state of turtle-billing lovers." Capt. B. 'Tis good; proceed, proceed. What's this?

Mat. This, sir? a toy o'mine own, in my nonage; the infancy of my muses. But, when will you come and see my study? Good faith! I can show you some very good things I have done of late.--That boot becomes your leg passing well. Captain, methinks.


Capt. B. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now

Mat. Troth, Captain, and now you speak o'the fashion, Master Wellbred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other day I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I

CAPTAIN BOBADIL, discovered upon a bench. Enter assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was


Capt. B. Hostess, hostess!

Tib. What say you, sir?

Capt. B. A cup o'thy small beer, sweet hostess. Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you.

Capt. B. A gentleman! Odso! I am not within.
Tib. My husband told him you were, sir.
Capt. B. What a plague-what meant he?
Mat. [Within.] Captain Bobadil!

Capt. B. Who's there? Take away the basin, good hostess. Come up, sir.

Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. come into a cleanly house here.

Enter Master MATTHEW.



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most peremptory beautiful and gentleman-lise; yet he condemned, and cried it down, for the most pod and ridiculous that ever he saw.

Capt. B. 'Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't not?

Mat. Ay, sir, George Downright.

Capt. B. Hang him, rook! He! Why, be has no more judgment than a malt-horse. By St. George! I wonder you'd lose a thought upon such an animal! The most peremptory, absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By his discourse be should eat nothing but hay. He was born for the manger, pannier, or pack-saddle. He has ne so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old ra and rusty proverbs; a good commodity for LI smith to make hob-nails of.

Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still; where he comes, he brags he will gi’

me the bastinado, as I hear.

Capt. B. How? He, the bastinado? How came he by that word, I trow?

Mat. Nay, indeed, he said, cudgel me; I termed it so, for my more grace.

Capt. B. That may be; for I was sure it was none of his word. But when? when said he so ?

Mat. Faith! yesterday, they say; a young gal lant, a friend of mine, told me so.

Cupt. B. By the foot of Pharaoh! an' 'twere my case now, I should send him a challenge presently. The bastinado! a most proper and sufficient dependence, warranted by the great Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge him. I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him with at pleasure; the first stoccata, if you will, by this air.

Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i'the mystery, I have heard, sir.

Capt. B. Of whom? of whom ha' you heard it, I beseech you?

Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of by divers, that you have very rare and un-in-one-breath-utterable skill, sir.

Capt. B. By heaven! no, not I; no skill i'the earth; some small rudiments i'the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have professed it more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practice, I assure you. I'll give you a lesson. Look you, sir! exalt not your point above this state, at any hand; so, sir, come on! Oh! twine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet, comely, gentleman-like guard. So. indifferent. Hollow your body more, sir, thus. Now, stand fast o'your left leg; note your distance; keep your due proportion of time. Oh! you disorder your point most irregularly! Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some private place, where you are acquainted, some tavern or so-and have a bit-What money ha' you about you, Mr. Matthew?

Mat. Faith! I ha' not past a two shillings, or so. Capt. B. Tis somewhat with the least; but come, we will have a bunch of radishes, and salt, to taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco to close the orifice of the stomach; and then we'll call upon young Wellbred. Perhaps we shall meet the Corydon, his brother, there, and put him to the question. Come along, Mr. Matthew. [Exeunt.


SCENE I-A Warehouse belonging to Kitely.


Kite. Thomas, come hither.

There lies a note within, upon my desk:
Here, take the key-It is no matter, neither.
Where is the boy?

Cash. Within, sir, i'the warehouse.

Kite. Let him tell over straight that Spanish gold,

And weigh it with the pieces of eight. Do you
See the delivery of those silver stuff's
To Mr. Lucar. Tell him, if he will,
He shall ha' the grograns at the rate I told him;
And I will meet him on the Exchange anon.
Cash, Good, sir.


Kite. Do you see that fellow, brother Downright? Down. I, what of him?

Kite. He is a jewel, brother.

I took him of a child, up, at my door,
And christened him: gave him my own name,


Since bred him at the hospital; where proving
A toward imp, I call'd him home, and taught him
So much, as I have made him my cashier;

And find him, in his faith, so full of faith,
That I durst trust my life into his hands.
Down. So would not I, in any bastard's brother,
As it is like he is, although I knew
Myself his father. But you said you'd somewhat
To tell me, gentle brother. What is't! what is't?
Kite. Faith! I am very loath to utter it,
As fearing it may hurt your patience;
But that I know your judgment is of strength
Against the nearness of affection-

Down. What need this circumstance? Pray you,
be direct. Come to the matter, the matter!
Kite. Then, without further ceremony, thus:
My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how,
Of late is much deelin'd in what he was,
And greatly alter'd in his disposition.
When he came first to lodge here in my house,
Ne'er trust me, if I were not proud of him:
But now his course is so irregular,
So loose, affected, and depriv'd of grace;
He makes my house here common as a mart,
A theatre, a public receptacle
For gizidy humour, and diseased riot;
And here, as in a tavern or a stew,
He and his wild associates spend their hours
In repetition of lascivious jests;
Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by night;
Control my servants, and indeed what not.

Down. 'Sdains! I know not what I should say to him i' the whole world! He values me at a cracked three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never out of the flesh that's bred i' the bone! I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve. Well! he knows what to trust to, for George. Let him spend and spend, and domineer, till his heart ache; an' he thinks to be relieved by me, when he is got into one o' your city pounds, the counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i'faith! and claps his dish at a wrong man's door. I'll lay my hand on my halfpenny, ere I part with❜t to fetch him out, I'll assure him.

Kite. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus.

Down. 'Sdeath! he made me-I could eat my very spur-leathers for anger! But, why are you so tame? Why do you not speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house?

hite. Oh! there are divers reasons to dissuade, brother;

But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it,
(Though but with plain and easy circumstance,)
It would both come much better to his sense,
And savour less of stomach or of passion.
You are his elder brother, and that title
Both gives and warrants you authority:
Whereas, if I should intimate the least,
It would but add contempt to his neglect:
Nay, more than this, brother, if I should speak,
He would be ready, from his heat of humour
And overflowing of the vapour in him,
To blow the ears of his familiars
With the false breath of telling what disgraces
And low disparagements I had put on him:
Whilst they, sir, to relieve him in the fable,
Make their loose comments upon ev'ry word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all o'er;
And, out of their impetuous, rioting phant'sies,
Beget some slander that shall dwell with me.
And what would that be, think you? Marry, this:
They would give out, because my wife is fair,
Myself but newly married, and my sister
Here sojourning a virgin in my house,

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