This shape’s too cunning for 'em; all the sport was,
The porter would needs know his fortune of me
As I pass’d by him: ’twas such a plunge[924] to me,
I knew not how to bear myself; at last
I did resolve of somewhat, look’d in’s hand,
Then shook my head, bade him make much on’s eyes,
He’d lose his sight clean long before he dies;
And so[925] away went I; he lost the sight of me
quickly:
I told him his fortune truer for nothing than some
Of my complexion that would have cozen’d him of his
money.
This is the place of meeting; where’s this man now
That has took all this care and pains for nothing?
The use of him is at the last cast now,
Shall only bring me to my former face again,
And see me somewhat cleanlier at his cost,
And then farewell, Andrugio; when I’m handsome,
I’m for another straight. I wonder, troth,
That he would miss me thus; I could have took
Many occasions besides this to have left him;
I’m not in want, he need not give me any;
A woman’s will has still enough to spare
To help her friends, and[926] need be. What, not yet?
What will become of me in this shape then?
If I know where to go, I’m no dissembler;
And I’ll not lose my part in woman[927] so
For such a trifle, to forswear myself.
But comes he not indeed?
_Enter_ DONDOLO.
DON. O excellent! by this light here’s one of them! I
thank my stars: I learnt that phrase in the Half-moon
tavern. [_Aside._]—By your leave, good gipsy;
I pray how far off is your company?
AUR. O happiness! this is the merry fellow
My love, signor Lactantio, takes delight in;
I’ll send him away speedily with the news
Of my so strange and fortunate escape,
And he’ll provide my safety at an instant. [_Aside._
My friend, thou serv’st signor Lactantio?
DON. Who, I serve? gipsy, I scorn your motion;[928] and
if the rest of your company give me no better words, I
will hinder 'em the stealing of more pullen[929] than
fifty poulterers were ever worth, and prove a heavier
enemy to all their pig-booties; they shall travel like
Jews, that hate swine’s flesh, and never get a sow by
th’ ear all their lifetime. I serve Lactantio! I scorn
to serve any body; I am more gipsy-minded than so:
though my face look of a Christian colour, if my belly
were ripped up, you shall find my heart as black as any
patch about you. The truth is, I am as arrant a thief as
the proudest of your company; I’ll except none: I am run
away from my master in the state of a fool, and till I
be a perfect knave I never mean to return again.
AUR. I’m ne’er the happier for this fortune now;
It did but mock me. [_Aside._
DON. Here they come, here they come!
_Enter Gipsy Captain with a company of Gipsies, male
and female, carrying booties of hens and
ducks, &c., and singing._
G. CAP. _Come, my dainty doxies,
My dells,[930] my dells most dear;
We have neither house nor land,
Yet never want good cheer._
CHORUS. _We never want good cheer._
G. CAP. _We take no care for candle rents._
SEC. GIP. _We lie._
TH. GIP. _We snort._
G. CAP. _We sport[931] in tents,
Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners.
Our store is never taken
Without pigs, hens, or bacon,
And that’s good meat for sinners:
At makes and fairs me cozen
Poor country folks by dozen;
If one have money, he disburses;
Whilst some tell fortunes, some pick purses;
Rather than be out of use,
We’ll steal garters, hose, or shoes,
Boots, or spurs with gingling rowels,
Shirts or napkins, smocks or towels.
Come live with us, come live with us,
All you that love your eases;
He that’s a gipsy
May be drunk or tipsy
At what hour he pleases._
CHORUS. _We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we scuffle;
We cheat, we drab, we filch, we shuffle._
DON. O sweet! they deserve to be hanged for ravishing of
me.
AUR. What will become of me? if I seem fearful now,
Or offer sudden flight, then I betray myself;
I must do neither. [_Aside._
G. CAP. _Ousabel,[932] camcheteroon, puscatelion,
Hows-drows._
SEC. GIP. _Rumbos stragadelion_
_Alla piskitch in sows-clows._
_Oh, oh!_
DON. _Piskitch in howse-clout!_ I shall never keep a
good tongue in my head till I get this language.
G. CAP. _Umbra fill kevolliden, magro-pye._
DON. He calls her magot-o'-pie.[933]
AUR. I love your language well, but understand it not.
G. CAP. Hah!
AUR. I am but lately turn’d to your profession;
Yet from my youth I ever lov’d it dearly,
But never could attain to’t: steal I can,
It was a thing I ever was brought up to;
My father was a miller, and my mother
A tailor’s widow.
DON. She’s a thief on both sides.
G. CAP. Give me thy hand; thou art no bastard born,
We have not a more true-bred thief amongst us.
GIPSIES. Not any, captain.
DON. I pray, take me into some grace amongst you too;
for though I claim no goodness from my parents to help
me forward into your society, I had two uncles that were
both hanged for robberies, if that will serve your turn,
and a brave cut-purse to my cousin-german: if kindred
will be taken, I am as near akin to a thief as any of
you that had fathers and mothers.
G. CAP. What is it thou requirest, noble cousin?
DON. Cousin? nay, and[934] we be so near akin already,
now we are sober, we shall be sworn brothers when we are
drunk: the naked truth is, sir, I would be made a gipsy
as fast as you could devise.
G. CAP. A gipsy?
DON. Ay, with all the speed you can, sir; the very sight
of those stolen hens eggs me forward horribly.
G. CAP. Here’s dainty ducks too, boy.
DON. I see 'em but too well; I would they were all
rotten roasted and stuffed with onions.
G. CAP. Lov’st thou the common food of Egypt, onions?
DON. Ay, and garlic too; I have smelt out many a knave
by’t; but I could never smell mine own breath yet, and
that’s many a man’s fault; he can smell out a knave in
another sometimes three yards off, yet his nose standing
so nigh his mouth, he can never smell out himself.
G. CAP. A pregnant gipsy!
GIPSIES. A most witty sinner!
G. CAP. Stretch forth thy hand, coz: art thou
fortunate?
DON. How? fortunate? nay, I cannot tell that myself;
wherefore do I come to you but to learn that? I have
sometimes found money[935] in old shoes; but if I had
not stolen more than I have found, I had had but a
scurvy thin-cheeked fortune on’t.
G. CAP. [_taking_ DONDOLO’S _hand_] Here’s a fair
table.[936]
DON. Ay, so has many a man that has given over
housekeeping; a fair table, when there’s neither cloth
nor meat upon’t.
G. CAP. What a brave line of life’s here; look you,
gipsies.
DON. I have known as brave a line end in a halter.
G. CAP. But thou art born to precious fortune.
DON. The devil I am!
G. CAP. _Bette bucketto._
DON. How, to beat bucks?
G. CAP. _Stealee bacono._
DON. O, to steal bacon; that’s the better fortune o’ th’
two indeed.
G. CAP. Thou wilt be shortly captain of the gipsies.
DON. I would you’d make me corporal i’ th’ meantime,
Or standard-bearer to the women’s regiment.
G. CAP. Much may be done for love.
DON. Nay, here’s some money;
I know an office comes not all for love.
[_Feels in his pockets._
A pox of your lime-twigs! you have’t all already.
G. CAP. It lies but here in cash for thine own use,
boy.
DON. Nay, an 't lie there once, I shall hardly come to
the fingering on’t in haste; yet make me an apt scholar,
and I care not: teach me but so much gipsy, to steal as
much more from another, and the devil do you good of
that.
G. CAP. Thou shalt have all thy heart requires:
First, here’s a girl for thy desires;
This doxy fresh, this new-come dell,[937]
Shall lie by thy sweet side and swell.
Get me gipsies brave and tawny,
With cheek full plump and hip full brawny;
Look you prove industrious dealers,
To serve the commonwealth with stealers,
That th’ unhous’d race of fortune-tellers
May never fail to cheat town-dwellers,
Or, to our universal grief,
Leave country fairs without a thief.
This is all you have to do,
Save every hour a filch or two,
Be it money, cloth, or pullen:[938]
When the evening’s brow looks sullen,
Lose no time, for then ’tis precious;
Let your slights[939] be fine, facetious:
Which hoping you’ll observe, to try thee,
With rusty bacon thus I gipsify thee.
[_Rubs his face with bacon._
DON. Do you use to do’t with bacon?
G. CAP. Evermore.
DON. By this light, the rats will take me now for some
hog’s cheek, and eat up my face when I am asleep, I
shall have never a bit left by to-morrow morning; and
lying open mouthed as I use to do, I shall look for all
the world like a mouse-trap baited with bacon.
G. CAP. Why, here’s a face like thine so done,
Only grain’d in by the sun;
And this, and these.
DON. Faith, then, there’s a company of bacon-faces of
you, and I am one now to make up the number: we are a
kind of conscionable people, and[940] 'twere well
thought upon, for to steal bacon, and black our faces
with’t; ’tis like one that commits sin, and writes his
faults in his forehead.
G. CAP. Wit, whither wilt thou?[941]
DON. Marry, to the next pocket I can come at; and if it
be a gentleman’s, I wish a whole quarter’s rent in’t. Is
this my in dock, out nettle?[942] What’s gipsy for her?
G. CAP. Your _doxy_ she.
DON. O, right.—Are you my doxy, sirrah?[943]
AUR. I’ll be thy doxy and thy dell,
With thee I’ll live, for thee I’ll steal;
From fair to fair, from wake to wake,
I’ll ramble still for thy sweet sake.
DON. O, dainty fine doxy! she speaks the language
as familiarly already as if sh’ad been begot of a
canter.[944] I pray, captain, what’s gipsy for the
hind quarter of a woman?
G. CAP. _Nosario._
DON. _Nosario?_ why, what’s gipsy for my nose then?
G. CAP. Why, _arsinio_.
DON. _Arsinio?_ faith, methinks you might have devised a
sweeter word for’t.
_Enter_ AURELIA’S _Father, and Governor_.
G. CAP. Stop, stop! fresh booties,—gentlefolks,
signoroes,
_Calavario_, _fulkadelio_.
SEC. GIP. _La gnambrol a tumbrel._
DON. How? give me one word amongst you, that I may be
doing too.
AUR. Yonder they are again! O guiltiness,
Thou putt’st more trembling fear into a maid
Than the first wedding-night. Take courage, wench,
Thy face cannot betray thee with a blush now.
[_Aside._
FATH. Which way she took her flight, sir, none can
guess,
Or how she ’scap’d.
GOV. Out at some window certainly.
FATH. O, ’tis a bold daring baggage!
GOV. See, good fortune, sir,
The gipsies! they’re the cunning’st people living.
FATH. They cunning? what a confidence have you, sir!
No wise man’s faith was ever set in fortunes.
GOV. You’re the wilfull’st man against all learning
still:
I will be hang’d now, if I hear not news of her
Amongst this company.
FATH. You are a gentleman of the flatt’ring’st hopes
That e’er lost woman yet.
GOV. Come hither, gipsy.
AUR. Luck now, or I’m undone. [_Aside._]—What says my
master?
Bless me with a silver cross,[945]
And I will tell you all your loss.
GOV. Lo you there, sir! all my loss; at first word
too:
There is no cunning in these gipsies now?
FATH. Sure I’ll hear more of this.
GOV. Here’s silver for you. [_Gives money._
AUR. Now attend your fortune’s story:
You lov’d a maid.
GOV. Right.
AUR. She ne’er lov’d you:
You shall find my words are true.
GOV. Mass, I am afraid so.
AUR. You were about
To keep her in, but could not do’t:
Alas the while, she would not stay,
The cough o’ th’ lungs[946] blew her away!
And, which is worse, you’ll be so crost,
You’ll never find the thing that’s lost;
Yet oftentimes your sight will fear her,
She’ll be near you, and yet you ne’er the nearer:
Let her go, and be the gladder;
She’d but shame you, if you had her:
Ten counsellors could never school her;
She is so wild, you could not rule her.
GOV. In troth I’m of thy mind, yet I’d fain find her.
AUR. Soonest then when you least mind her;
But if you mean to take her tripping,
Make but haste, she’s now a-shipping.
GOV. I ever dream’d so much.
FATH. Hie to the key.—
We’ll mar your voyage, you shall brook no sea.
[_Exeunt Father and Governor._
G. CAP. _Cheteroon, high gulleroon._
DON. _Filcheroon, purse-fulleroon_: I can say somewhat
too.
GIPSIES. Excellent gipsy! witty, rare doxy!
DON. I would not change my dell[947] for a dozen
of black bell-wethers.
_Song._
G. CAP. _Our wealth swells high, my boys._
DON. _Our wealth swells high, my boys._
G. CAP. _Let every gipsy
Dance with his doxy,
And then drink, drink for joy._
DON. _Let every gipsy
Dance with his doxy,
And then drink, drink for joy._
CHORUS. _And then drink, drink for joy._
[_Exeunt with a strange wild-fashioned dance to the
hautboys or cornets._
SCENE II.
_An apartment in the house of the Duchess._
_Enter Duchess, Cardinal, Lords, and_ CELIA.
CAR. That which is merely call’d a will in woman,
I cannot always title it with a virtue.
DUCH. O good sir, spare me!
CAR. Spare yourself, good madam;
Extremest justice is not so severe
To great offenders, as your own forc’d strictness
To beauty, youth, and time; you’ll answer for’t.
DUCH. Sir, settle your own peace; let me make mine.
CAR. But here’s a heart must pity it, when it thinks
on’t;
I find compassion, though the smart be yours.
FIRST LORD. None here but does the like.
SEC. LORD. Believe it, madam,
You have much wrong’d your time.
FIRST LORD. Nay, let your grace
But think upon the barrenness of succession.
SEC. LORD. Nay, more, a vow enforc’d.
DUCH. What, do you all
Forsake me then, and take part with yon man?
Not one friend have I left? do they all fight
Under th’ inglorious banner of his censure,[948]
Serve under his opinion?
CAR. So will all, madam,
Whose judgments can but taste a rightful cause;
I look for more force yet; nay, your own women
Will shortly rise against you, when they know
The war to be so just and honourable
As marriage is; you cannot name that woman
Will not come ready arm’d for such a cause:
Can chastity be any whit impair’d
By that which makes it perfect? answer, madam;
Do you profess constancy, and yet live alone?
How can that hold? you’re constant then to none;
That’s a dead virtue; goodness must have practice,
Or else it ceases; then is woman said
To be love-chaste, knowing but one man’s bed;
A mighty virtue! beside, fruitfulness
Is part of the salvation of your sex;
And the true use of wedlock’s time and space
Is woman’s exercise for faith and grace.
DUCH. O, what have you done, my lord!
CAR. Laid the way plain
To knowledge of yourself and your creation;
Unbound a forcèd vow, that was but knit
By the strange jealousy of your dying lord,
Sinful i’ th’ fastening.
DUCH. All the powers of constancy
Will curse you for this deed!
CAR. You speak in pain, madam,
And so I take your words, like one in sickness
That rails at his best friend: I know a change
Of disposition has a violent working
In all of us; ’tis fit it should have time
And counsel with itself: may you be fruitful, madam,
In all the blessings of an honour’d love!
FIRST LORD. In all your wishes fortunate,—and I
The chief of 'em myself! [_Aside._
CAR. Peace be at your heart, lady!
FIRST LORD. And love, say I. [_Aside._
CAR. We’ll leave good thoughts now to bring in
themselves. [_Exit with Lords._
DUCH. O, there’s no art like a religious cunning,
It carries away all things smooth before it!
How subtlely has his wit dealt with the lords,
To fetch in their persuasions to a business
That stands in need of none, yields of itself,
As most we women do, when we seem farthest.
But little thinks the cardinal he’s requited
After the same proportion of deceit
As he sets down for others.
_Enter Page._[949]
O, here’s the pretty boy he preferr’d to me;
I never saw a meeker, gentler youth,
Yet made for man’s beginning: how unfit
Was that poor fool to be Lactantio’s page!
He would have spoil’d him quite; in one year utterly;
There had been no hope of him.—Come hither, child;
I have forgot thy name.
PAGE. Antonio, madam.
DUCH. Antonio? so thou toldst me. I must chide thee;
Why didst thou weep when thou cam’st first to serve me?
PAGE. At the distrust of mine own merits, madam,
Knowing I was not born to those deserts
To please so great a mistress.
DUCH. 'Las, poor boy,
That’s nothing in thee but thy modest fear,
Which makes amends faster than thou canst err.—
It shall be my care to have him well brought up
As a youth apt for good things.—Celia.
CELIA. Madam?
DUCH. Has he bestow’d his hour to-day for music?
CELIA. Yes, he has, madam.
DUCH. How do you find his voice?
CELIA. A pretty, womanish, faint, sprawling[950]
voice, madam,
But 'twill grow strong in time, if he take care
To keep it when he has it from fond[951] exercises.
DUCH. Give order too the dancing-schoolmaster
Observe an hour with him.
CELIA. It shall be done, lady:
He is well made for dancing; thick i’ th’ chest, madam;
He will turn long and strongly.
DUCH. He shall not be behind a quality
That aptness in him or our cost can purchase;
And see he lose no time.
CELIA. I’ll take that order, madam.
PAGE. Singing and dancing! 'las, my case is worse!
I rather need a midwife and a nurse.
[_Aside, and exit with_ CELIA.
DUCH. Lactantio, my procurer, not return’d yet?
His malice I have fitted with an office
Which he takes pleasure to discharge with rigour.
He comes, and with him my heart’s conqueror;
My pleasing thraldom’s near.
_Enter_ LACTANTIO _with_ ANDRUGIO _and Guard_.
AND. Not know the cause?
LAC. Yes, you shall soon do that now, to the ruin
Of your neck-part, or some nine years’ imprisonment;
You meet with mercy, and[952] you ’scape with that;
Beside your lands all begg’d and seiz’d upon;
That’s admirable favour. Here’s the duchess.
DUCH. O sir, you’re welcome!
LAC. Marry, bless me still
From such a welcome!
DUCH. You are hard to come by,
It seems, sir, by the guilt of your long stay.
AND. My guilt, good madam?
DUCH. Sure y’had much ado
To take him, had you not? speak truth, Lactantio,
And leave all favour; were you not in danger?
LAC. Faith, something near it, madam: he grew
headstrong,
Furious and fierce; but ’tis not my condition[953]
To speak the worst things of mine enemy, madam,
Therein I hold mine honour: but had fury
Burst into all the violent storms that ever
Play’d over anger in tempestuous man,
I would have brought him to your grace’s presence,
Dead or alive.
DUCH. You would not, sir?
AND. What pride
Of pamper’d blood has mounted up[954] this
puck-foist?[955]
If any way, uncounsell’d of my judgment,
My ignorance has stept into some error,
Which I could heartily curse, and so brought on me
Your great displeasure, let me feel my sin
In the full weight of justice, virtuous madam,
And let it wake me throughly: but, chaste lady,
Out of the bounty of your grace, permit not
This perfum’d parcel of curl’d powder’d hair
To cast me in the poor relish of his censure.[956]
DUCH. It shall not need, good sir; we are ourself
Of power sufficient to judge you; ne’er doubt it, sir.
Withdraw, Lactantio; carefully place your guard
I’ the next room.
LAC. You will but fare the worse;
You see your niceness[957] spoils you; you’ll go nigh
now
To feel your sin indeed.
[_Exit_ LACTANTIO _with Guard_.
AND. Hell-mouth be with thee!
Was ever malice seen yet to gape wider
For man’s misfortunes?
DUCH. First, sir, I should think
You could not be so impudent to deny
What your own knowledge proves to you.
AND. That were a sin, madam,
More gross than flattery spent upon a villain.
DUCH. Your own confession dooms you, sir.
AND. Why, madam?
DUCH. Do not you know I made a serious vow
At my lord’s death, never to marry more?
AND. That’s a truth, madam, I’m a witness to.
DUCH. Is’t so, sir? you’ll be taken presently.
This man needs no accuser. Knowing so much,
How durst you then attempt so bold a business
As to solicit me, so strictly settled,
With tempting letters and loose lines of love?
AND. Who? I do’t, madam?
DUCH. Sure the man will shortly
Deny he lives, although he walks and breath[es.]
AND. Better destruction snatch me quick from sight
Of human eyes, than I should sin so boldly!
DUCH. 'Twas well I kept it then from rage or fire,
For my truth’s credit. Look you, sir; read out;
You know the hand and name. [_Gives letter._
AND. [_reads_] _Andrugio!_
DUCH. And if such things be fit, the world shall
judge.
AND. Madam——
DUCH. Pish, that’s not so; it begins otherwise;
Pray, look again, sir; how you’d slight your knowledge!
AND. By all the reputation I late won——
DUCH. Nay, and[958] you dare not read, sir, I am gone.
AND. Read? [_reads_] _Most fair duchess._
DUCH. O, have you found it now?
There’s a sweet flattering phrase for a beginning!
You thought belike that would overcome me.
AND. I, madam?
DUCH. Nay, on, sir; you are slothful.
AND. [_reads_] _The report of your vow shall not fear
me_——
DUCH. No? are you so resolute? ’tis well for you, sir.
AND. [_reads_] _I know you’re but a woman_——
DUCH. Well, what then, sir?
AND. [_reads_] _And what a woman is, a wise man knows._
DUCH. Let him know what he can, he’s glad to get us.
AND. [_reads_] _Perhaps my condition[959] may seem blunt
to you_——
DUCH. Well, we find no fault with your bluntness.
AND. [_reads_] _But no man’s love can be more sharp
set_——
DUCH. Ay, there’s good stuff now!
AND. [_reads_] _And I know desires in both sexes have
skill at that weapon._
DUCH. Weapon?
You begin like a flatterer, and end like a fencer.
Are these fit lines now to be sent to us?
AND. Now, by the honour of a man, his truth, madam,
My name’s abus’d!
DUCH. Fie, fie, deny your hand?
I will not deny mine; here, take it freely, sir,
And with it my true constant heart for ever:
I never disgrac’d man that sought my favour.
AND. What mean you, madam?
DUCH. To requite you, sir;
By courtesy I hold my reputation,
And you shall taste it. Sir, in as plain truth
As the old time walk’d in, when love was simple
And knew no art nor guile, I affect you;
My heart has made her choice; I love you, sir,
Above my vow: the frown that met you first
Wore not the livery of anger, sir,
But of deep policy; I made your enemy
The instrument for all; there you may praise me,
And ’twill not be ill given.
AND. Here’s a strange language!
The constancy of love bless me from learning on’t,
Although ambition would soon teach it others!
[_Aside._
Madam, the service of whole life is yours;
But——
DUCH. Enough! thou’rt mine for ever.—Within, there!
_Re-enter_ LACTANTIO _with Guard_.
LAC. Madam?
DUCH. Lay hands upon him; bear him hence;
See he be kept close prisoner in our palace.—
The time’s not yet ripe for our nuptial solace.
[_Aside, and exit._
LAC. This you could clear yourself!
AND. There’s a voice that wearies me
More than mine own distractions.
LAC. You are innocent!
AND. I’ve not a time idle enough from passion[960]
To give this devil an answer. O, she’s lost!
Curs’d be that love by which a better’s crost!
There my heart’s settl’d. [_Aside._
LAC. How is he disgrac’d,
And I advanc’d in love! faith, he that can
Wish more to his enemy is a spiteful man,
And worthy to be punish’d. [_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_An apartment in the house of the Duchess._
_Enter_ CELIA, _Page,[961] and_ CROTCHET.
CELIA. Sir, I’m of that opinion; being kept hard to’t,
In troth I think he’ll take his prick-song well.
CROT. [_sings_] _G, sol, re, ut_; you guess not right,
i’faith.
Mistress, you’ll find you’re in an error straight.—
Come on, sir, lay the books down.—You shall see now.
PAGE. Would I’d an honest caudle next my heart!
Let who[962] would _sol fa_, I’d give them my part.
In troth methinks I’ve a great longing in me
To bite a piece of the musician’s nose off;
But I’ll rather
Lose my longing than spoil the poor man’s singing:
The very tip will serve my turn, methinks,
If I could get it; that he might well spare,
His nose is of the longest. O, my back! [_Aside._
CROT. You shall hear that.—Rehearse your gamut, boy.
PAGE. Who’d be thus toil’d for love, and want the joy?
[_Aside._
CROT. Why, when![963] begin, sir: I must stay your
leisure?
PAGE. Gamut [_sings_], _a, re, b, me_, &c.
CROT. [_sings_] _Ee la_: aloft! above the clouds, my
boy!
PAGE. It must be a better note than _ela_,[964] sir,
That brings musicians thither; they’re too hasty,
The most part of 'em, to take such a journey,
And must needs fall by th’ way.
CROT. How many cliffs be there?
PAGE. One cliff, sir.
CROT. O intolerable heretic
To voice and music! do you know but one cliff?
PAGE. No more, indeed, I, sir;—and at this time
I know too much of that. [_Aside._
CROT. How many notes be there?
PAGE. Eight, sir.—I fear me I shall find nine shortly,
To my great shame and sorrow. O my stomach! [_Aside._
CROT. Will you repeat your notes then? I must _sol fa_
you;
Why, when,[965] sir?
PAGE. A large, a long,[966] a breve, a semibreve,
A minim, a crotchet, a quaver, a semiquaver.
CROT. O, have you found the way?
PAGE. Never trust me
If I’ve not lost my wind with naming of 'em! [_Aside._
CROT. Come, boy, your mind’s upon some other thing
now;
Set to your song.
PAGE. Was ever wench so punish’d? [_Aside._
CROT. [_sings_] _Ut_,—come, begin.
PAGE. [_sings_] _Ut, mi, re, fa, sol, la._
CROT. Keep time, you foolish boy.
[_Here they sing prick-song._[967]
How like you this, madonna?
CELIA. Pretty;
He will do well in time, being kept under.
CROT. I’ll make his ears sore and his knuckles ache
else.
CELIA. And that’s the way to bring a boy to goodness,
sir.
CROT. There’s many now wax’d proper gentlemen
Whom I have nipp’d i’ th’ ear, wench; that’s my
comfort.—
Come, sing me over the last song I taught you;
You’re perfect in that sure; look you keep time well,
Or here I’ll notch your faults up. _Sol, sol_; [_sings_]
begin, boy. [_Song._[968]
CELIA. So, you’ve done well, sir.
Here comes the dancing-master now; you’re discharg’d.
_Enter_ SINQUAPACE.
SINQ. O, signor Crotchet, O!
CROT. A minim rest,
Two cliffs, and a semibreve. In the name
Of alamire,[969] what’s the matter, sir?
SINQ. The horriblest disaster that ever disgraced the
lofty cunning of a dancer.
CROT. [_sings_] _B, fa, b, mi_,—heaven forbid, man!
SINQ. O—O—the most cruel fortune!
CROT. That semiquaver is no friend to you,
That I must tell you; ’tis not for a dancer
To put his voice so hard to’t; every workman
Must use his own tools, sir;—_de, fa, sol_, [_sings_]—
man, dilate
The matter to me.
SINQ. Faith, riding upon my foot-cloth,[970] as I use to
do, coming through a crowd, by chance I let fall my
fiddle.
CROT. [_sings_] _De, sol, re_:—your fiddle, sir?
SINQ. O, that such an instrument should be made to
betray a poor gentleman! nay, which is more lamentable,
whose luck should it be to take up this unfortunate
fiddle but a barber’s prentice, who cried out presently,
according to his nature, _You trim gentleman on
horseback, you’ve lost your fiddle, your worship’s
fiddle!_ seeing me upon my foot-cloth, the mannerly
coxcomb could say no less; but away rid I, sir; put my
horse to a coranto pace,[971] and left my fiddle behind
me.
CROT. [_sings_] _De, la, sol, re._
SINQ. Ay, was’t not a strange fortune? an excellent
treble-viol! by my troth, ’twas my master’s when I was
but a pumper, that is, a puller-on of gentlemen’s pumps.
CROT. [_sings_] _C, c, sol, fa_,—I knew you then, sir.
SINQ. But I make no question but I shall hear on’t
shortly at one broker’s or another; for I know the
barber will scourse[972] it away for some old
cittern.[973]
CROT. [_sings_] _Ela, mi_,—my life for your’s on that,
sir:
I must to my other scholars, my hour calls me away;
I leave you to your practice—_fa, sol, la_ [_sings_]—
fare you well, sir.
SINQ. The lavoltas[974] of a merry heart be with you,
sir [_exit_ CROTCHET]; and a merry heart makes a good
singing-man: a man may love to hear himself talk when he
carries pith in’s mouth.—
Metereza[975] Celia.
CELIA. Signor Sinquapace,
The welcom’st gentleman alive of a dancer!
This is the youth; he can do little yet,
His[976] prick-song very poorly; he is one
Must have it put into him; somewhat dull, sir.
SINQ. As you are all at first; you know ’twas long
Ere you could learn your doubles.
CELIA. Ay, that’s true, sir;
But I can tickle’t now. _Fa, la, la_, &c.
[_Sings and dances._
Lo, you, how like you me now, sir?
SINQ. Marry, pray for the founder, here he stands;
Long may he live to receive quarterages,
Go brave,[977] and pay his mercer wondrous duly,
Ay, and his jealous laundress,
That for the love she bears him starches yellow;[978]
Poor soul! my own flesh knows I wrong her not.
Come, metereza, once more shake your great hips and
your little heels, since you begin to fall in of
yourself, and dance over the end of the coranto[979] I
taught you last night.
CELIA. The tune’s clear out of my head, sir.
SINQ. A pox of my little usher! how long he stays too
with the second part of the former fiddle! Come, I’ll
_sol fa_ it i’ th’ meantime: _Fa, la, la, la_, &c. [_he
sings while_ CELIA _dances_.] Perfectly excellent! I
will make you fit to dance with the best Christian
gentleman in Europe, and keep time with him for his
heart, ere I give you over.
CELIA. Nay, I know I shall do well, sir, and I am
somewhat proud on’t; but ’twas my mother’s fault, when
she danced with the duke of Florence.
SINQ. Why, you will never dance well while you live,
If you be not proud. I know that by myself;
I may teach my heart out, if you’ve not the grace
To follow me.
CELIA. I warrant you for that, sir.
SINQ. Gentlewomen that are good scholars
Will come as near their masters as they can;
I’ve known some lie with 'em for their better
understanding:
I speak not this to draw you on, forsooth;
Use your pleasure; if you come, you’re welcome;
You shall see a fine lodging, a dish of comfits,
Music, and sweet linen.
CELIA. And trust me, sir,
No woman can wish more in this world,
Unless it be ten pound in th’ chamber-window,
Laid ready in good gold against she rises.
SINQ. Those things are got in a morning, wench, with
me.
CELIA. Indeed, I hold the morning the best time of
getting;
So says my sister; she’s a lawyer’s wife, sir,
And should know what belongs to cases best.
A fitter time for this; I must not talk
Too long of women’s matters before boys.
He’s very raw, you must take pains with him,
It is the duchess’ mind it should be so;
She loves him well, I tell you. [_Exit._
SINQ. How, love him?
He’s too little for any woman’s love i’ th’ town
By three handfulls:[980] I wonder of a great woman
Sh’as no more wit, i’faith; one of my pitch
Were somewhat tolerable.
_Enter_ NICHOLAO _with a viol_.
O, are you come?
Who would be thus plagu’d with a dandiprat usher!
How many kicks do you deserve in conscience?
NIC. Your horse is safe, sir.
SINQ. Now I talk’d of kicking,
'Twas well remember’d; is not the foot-cloth stoln yet?
NIC. More by good hap than any cunning, sir. Would any
gentleman but you get a tailor’s son to walk his horse,
in this dear time of black velvet?
SINQ. Troth, thou sayst true; thy care has got thy
pardon;
I’ll venture so no more.—Come, my young scholar,
I’m ready for you now.
PAGE. Alas, 'twill kill me!
I’m even as full of qualms as heart can bear:
How shall I do to hold up? [_Aside._]—Alas, sir,
I can dance nothing but ill-favouredly,
A strain or two of passa-measures galliard![981]
SINQ. Marry, you’re forwarder than I conceiv’d you;
A toward stripling.—Enter him, Nicholao;
For the fool’s bashful, as they’re all at first,
Till they be once well enter’d.
NIC. Passa-measures, sir?
SINQ. Ay, sir, I hope you hear me.—Mark him now, boy.—
[NICHOLAO _dances, while_ SINQUAPACE _plays_.
Ha, well done! excellent boy! dainty, fine
springal![982]
The glory of Dancers’ Hall, if they had any!
And of all professions they’d most need of one,
For room to practise in, yet they have none.
O times! O manners! you have very little:
Why should the leaden-heel’d plumber have his hall,
And the light-footed dancer none at all?
But _fortuna della guerra_[983] things must be;
We’re born to teach in back-houses and nooks,
Garrets sometimes, where’t rains upon our books.—
Come on, sir; are you ready? first, your honour.
PAGE. I’ll wish no foe a greater cross upon her.
[_Aside—then makes a curtsy._
SINQ. Curtsy, heyday! run to him, Nicholao;
By this light, he’ll shame me; he makes curtsy like a
chambermaid.
NIC. Why, what do you mean, page? are you mad? did you
ever see a boy begin a dance and make curtsy like a
wench before?
PAGE. Troth, I was thinking of another thing,
And quite forgot myself; I pray, forgive me, sir.
SINQ. Come, make amends then now with a good leg,
And dance it sprightly. [_Plays, while Page dances._]
What a beastly leg
Has he made there now! it would vex one’s heart out.
Now begin, boy.—O, O, O, O! &c.[984] Open thy knees;
wider, wider, wider, wider: did you ever see a boy dance
clenched up? he needs a pick-lock: out upon thee for an
arrant ass! an arrant ass! I shall lose my credit by
thee; a pestilence on thee!—Here, boy, hold the viol
[_gives the viol to_ NICHOLAO, _who plays when Page
proceeds to dance_]; let me come to him: I shall get
more disgrace by this little monkey now than by all the
ladies that ever I taught.—Come on, sir, now; cast thy
leg out from thee; lift it up aloft, boy: a pox, his
knees are soldered together, they’re sewed together:
canst not stride? O, I could eat thee up, I could eat
thee up, and begin upon thy hinder quarter, thy hinder
quarter! I shall never teach this boy without a screw;
his knees must be opened with a vice, or there’s no good
to be done upon him. Who taught you to dance, boy?
PAGE. It is but little, sir, that I can do.
SINQ. No, I’ll be sworn for you.
PAGE. And that signor Laurentio taught me, sir.
SINQ. Signor Laurentio was an arrant coxcomb,
And fit to teach none but white bakers’ children
To knead their knees together. You can turn above
ground, boy?
PAGE. Not I, sir; my turn’s rather under ground.
SINQ. We’ll see what you can do; I love to try
What’s in my scholars the first hour I teach them.
Shew him a close trick now, Nicholao.
[NICHOLAO _dances while_ SINQUAPACE _plays_.
Ha, dainty stripling!—Come, boy.
PAGE. 'Las, not I, sir;
I’m not for lofty tricks, indeed I am not, sir.
SINQ. How? such another word, down goes your
hose,[985] boy.
PAGE. Alas,’tis time for me to do any thing then!
[_Attempts to dance, and falls down._
SINQ. Heyday, he’s down!—Is this your lofty trick,
boy?
NIC. O master, the boy swoons! he’s dead, I fear me.
SINQ. Dead? I ne’er knew one die with a lofty trick
before.—
Up, sirrah, up!
PAGE. A midwife! run for a midwife!
SINQ. A midwife? by this light, the boy’s with child!
A miracle! some woman is the father.
The world’s turn’d upside down: sure if men breed,
Women must get; one never could do both yet.—
No marvel you danc’d close-knee’d the sinquapace.[986]—
Put up my fiddle, here’s a stranger case.
[_Exit_ SINQUAPACE, _leading out Page_.
NIC. That ’tis, I’ll swear; 'twill make the duchess
wonder:
I fear me 'twill bring dancing out of request,
And hinder our profession for a time.
Your women that are closely got with child
Will put themselves clean out of exercise,
And will not venture now, for fear of meeting
Their shames in a coranto,[987] ’specially
If they be near their time. Well, in my knowledge,
If that should happen, we are sure to lose
Many a good waiting-woman that’s now o’er shoes.
Alas the while! [_Exit._
SCENE II.
_Another apartment in the house of the Duchess._
_Enter Duchess and_ CELIA.
DUCH. Thou tell’st me things are enemies to reason;
I cannot get my faith to entertain 'em,
And I hope never shall.
CELIA. ’Tis too true, madam.
DUCH. I say ’tis false: 'twere better th’hadst been
dumb
Than spoke a truth so unpleasing; thou shalt get
But little praise by’t: he whom we affect
To place his love upon so base a creature!
CELIA. Nay, ugliness itself; you’d say so, madam,
If you but saw her once; a strolling gipsy;
No Christian that is born a hind could love her;
She’s the sun’s masterpiece for tawniness;
Yet have I seen Andrugio’s arms about her,
Perceiv’d his hollow whisperings in her ear,
His joys at meeting her.
DUCH. What joy could that be?
CELIA. Such, madam, I have seldom seen it equall’d;
He kiss’d her with that greediness of affection,
As if her[988] lips had been as red as yours;
I look’d still when he would be black in mouth,
Like boys with eating hedge-berries; nay, more, madam,
He brib’d one of his keepers with ten ducats
To find her out amongst a flight of gipsies.
DUCH. I’ll have that keeper hang’d, and you for
malice;
She cannot be so bad as you report,
Whom he so firmly loves; you’re false in much,
And I will have you tried: go, fetch her to us.
[_Exit_ CELIA.
He cannot be himself, and appear guilty
Of such gross folly; has an eye of judgment,
And that will overlook him. This wench fails
In understanding service; she must home,
Live at her house i’ th’ country; she decays
In beauty and discretion.—
_Re-enter_ CELIA, _with_ AURELIA _disguised as a gipsy_.
Who hast brought there?
CELIA. This is she, madam.
DUCH. Youth and whiteness bless me!
It is not possible: he talk’d sensibly
Within this hour; this cannot be: how does he?
I fear me my restraint has made him mad.
CELIA. His health is perfect, madam.
DUCH. You are perfect
In falsehood still; he’s certainly distracted.
Though I’d be loath to foul my words upon her,
She looks so beastly, yet I’ll ask the question:—
Are you beloved, sweet face, of Andrugio?
AUR. Yes, showrly,[989] mistress; he done love me
'Bove all the girls that shine above me:
Full often has he sweetly kiss’d me,
And wept as often when he miss’d me;
Swore he was to marry none
But me alone.
DUCH. Out on thee! marry thee?—away with her;
Clear mine eyes of her;—
A curate that has got his place by simony
Is not half black enough to marry thee.
[_Exit_ AURELIA _with_ CELIA, _who presently returns_.
Surely the man’s far spent; howe’er he carries it,
He’s without question mad; but I ne’er knew
Man bear it better before company.
The love of woman wears so thick a blindness,
It sees no fault, but only man’s unkindness,
And that’s so gross, it may be felt.—Here, Celia,
Take this [_giving signet-ring_]; with speed command
Andrugio to us,
And his guard from him.
CELIA. It shall straight be done, madam. [_Exit._
DUCH. I’ll look into his carriage more judiciously
When I next get him. A wrong done to beauty
Is greater than an injury done to love,
And we’ll less pardon it; for had it been
A creature whose perfection had outshin’d me,
It had been honourable judgment in him,
And to my peace a noble satisfaction;
But as it is, ’tis monstrous above folly.
Look he be mad indeed, and throughly gone,
Or he pays dearly for it; it is not
The ordinary madness of a gentleman
That shall excuse him here; had better lose
His wits eternally than lose my grace:
So strange is the condition of his fall,
He’s safe in nothing but in loss of all.
He comes:
_Enter_ ANDRUGIO _with_ CELIA.
Now by the fruits of all my hopes,
A man that has his wits cannot look better!
It likes[990] me well enough; there’s life in’s eye,
And civil health in’s cheek; he stands with judgment,
And bears his body well. What ails this man?
Sure I durst venture him 'mongst a thousand ladies,
Let 'em shoot all their scoffs, which makes none laugh
But their own waiting-women, and they dare do no
otherwise. [_Aside._
Come nearer, sir:—I pray keep further off,
Now I remember you.
AND. What new trick’s in this now? [_Aside._
DUCH. How long have you been mad, sir?
AND. Mad? a great time, lady;
Since I first knew I should not sin, yet sinn’d;
That’s now some thirty years, byrlady,[991] upwards.
DUCH. This man speaks reason wondrous feelingly,
Enough to teach the rudest soul good manners.
[_Aside._
You cannot be excus’d with lightness now,
Or frantic fits; you’re able to instruct, sir,
And be a light to men. If you have errors,
They be not ignorant in you, but wilful,
And in that state I seize on 'em. Did I
Bring thee acquainted lately with my heart,
And when thou thought’st a storm of anger took thee,
It in a moment clear’d up all to love,
To the abusing of thy spiteful enemy,
That sought to fix his malice upon thee;
And couldst thou so requite me?
AND. How, good madam?
DUCH. To wrong all worth in man, to deal so basely
Upon contempt itself, disdain and loathsomeness;
A thing whose face, through ugliness, frights children,
A straggling gipsy!
AND. See how you may err, madam,
Through wrongful information; by my hopes
Of truth and mercy, there is no such love
Bestow’d upon a creature so unworthy.
DUCH. No! then you cannot fly me.—Fetch her back.
[_Exit_ CELIA.
And though the sight of her displease mine eye
Worse than th’ offensiv’st object earth and nature
Can present to us, yet for truth’s probation
We will endure’t contentfully.
_Re-enter_ CELIA _with_ AURELIA _in her own dress_.
What now?
Art thou return’d without her?
AND. No, madam; this is she my peace dwells in:
If here be either baseness of descent,
Rudeness of manners, or deformity
In face or fashion, I have lost, I’ll yield it;
Tax me severely, madam.
DUCH. [_to_ CELIA] How thou stand’st,
As dumb as the salt-pillar! where’s this gipsy? [CELIA
_points to_ AURELIA.
What, no? I cannot blame thee then for silence;
Now I’m confounded too, and take part with thee.
AUR. Your pardon and your pity, virtuous madam:
[_Kneels._
Cruel restraint, join’d with the power of love,
Taught me that art; in that disguise I ’scap’d
The hardness of my fortunes; you that see
What love’s force is, good madam, pity me!
AND. Your grace has ever been the friend of truth,
And here ’tis set before you. [_Kneels._
DUCH. I confess
I have no wrong at all; she’s younger, fairer;
He has not now dishonour’d me in choice;
I much commend his noble care and judgment:
'Twas a just cross led in by a temptation,
For offering but to part from my dear vow,
And I’ll embrace it cheerfully. [_Aside._]—Rise, both;
[ANDRUGIO _and_ AURELIA _rise_.
The joys of faithful marriage bless your souls!
I will not part you.
AND. Virtue’s crown be yours, madam!
_Enter_ LACTANTIO.
AUR. O, there appears the life of all my wishes!
[_Aside._
Is your grace pleas’d, out of your bounteous goodness
To a poor virgin’s comforts, I shall freely
Enjoy whom my heart loves?
DUCH. Our word is past;
Enjoy without disturbance.
AUR. There, Lactantio,
Spread thy arms open wide, to welcome her
That has wrought all this means to rest in thee.
AND. Death of my joys! how’s this?
LAC. Prithee, away, fond fool; hast no shame in thee?
Thou’rt bold and ignorant, whate’er thou art.
AUR. Whate’er I am? do not you know me then?
LAC. Yes, for some waiting-vessel; but the times
Are chang’d with me, if y’had the grace to know 'em:
I look’d for more respect; I am not spoke withal
After this rate, I tell you; learn hereafter
To know what belongs to me; you shall see
All the court teach you shortly. Farewell, manners.
DUCH. I’ll mark the event of this. [_Aside._
AUR. I have undone myself
Two ways at once; lost a great deal of time,
And now I’m like to lose more. O my fortune!
I was nineteen yesterday, and partly vow’d
To have a child by twenty, if not twain:
To see how maids are cross’d! but I’m plagu’d justly;
And she that makes a fool of her first love,
Let her ne’er look to prosper. [_Aside._—Sir——
[_To_ ANDRUGIO.
AND. O falsehood!
AUR. Have you forgiveness in you? there’s more hope of
me
Than of a maid that never yet offended.
AND. Make me your property?[992]
AUR. I’ll promise you
I’ll never make you worse; and, sir, you know
There are worse things for women to make men.
But, by my hope of children, and all lawful,
I’ll be as true for ever to your bed
As she in thought or deed that never err’d.
AND. I’ll once believe a woman, be’t but to strengthen
Weak faith in other men: I have a love
That covers all thy faults.
_Enter Cardinal and Lords._
CAR. Nephew, prepare thyself
With meekness and thanksgiving to receive
Thy reverend fortune: amongst all the lords,
Her close affection now makes choice of thee.
LAC. Alas, I’m not to learn to know that now!
Where could she make choice here, if I were missing?
'Twould trouble the whole state, and puzzle 'em all,
To find out such another.
CAR. ’Tis high time, madam,
If your grace please, to make election now:
Behold, they’re all assembled.
DUCH. What election?
You speak things strange to me, sir.
CAR. How, good madam?
DUCH. Give me your meaning plainly, like a father;
You’re too religious, sir, to deal in riddles.
CAR. Is there a plainer way than leads to marriage,
madam,
And the man set before you?
DUCH. O blasphèmy
To sanctimonious faith! comes it from you, sir?
An ill example! know you what you speak,
Or who you are? is not my vow in place?
How dare you be so bold, sir? Say a woman
Were tempt with a temptation, must you presently
Take all th’ advantage on’t?
CAR. Is this in earnest, madam?
DUCH. Heaven pardon you! if you do not think so, sir.
You’ve much to answer for: but I will leave you;
Return I humbly now from whence I fell.
All you bless’d powers that register the vows
Of virgins and chaste matrons, look on me
With eyes of mercy, seal forgiveness to me
By signs of inward peace! and to be surer
That I will never fail your good hopes of me,
I bind myself more strictly; all my riches
I’ll speedily commend to holy uses,
This temple[993] unto some religious sanctuary,
Where all my time to come I will allow
For fruitful thoughts; so knit I up my vow.
LAC. This ['t]is to hawk at eagles: pox of pride!
It lays a man i’ th’ mire still, like a jade
That has too many tricks, and ne’er a good one.
I must gape high! I’m in a sweet case now!
I was sure of one, and now I’ve lost her too.
[_Aside._
DUCH. I know, my lord, all that great studious care
Is for your kinsman; he’s provided for
According to his merits.
CAR. How’s that, good madam?
DUCH. Upon the firmness of my faith, it’s true, sir:
_Enter Page[994] in a female dress._
See, here’s the gentlewoman; the match was made
Near forty weeks ago: he knows the time, sir,
Better than I can tell him, and the poor gentlewoman
Better than he;
But being religious, sir, and fearing you,
He durst not own her for his wife till now;
Only contracted with her in man’s apparel,
For the more modesty, because he was bashful,
And never could endure the sight of woman,
For fear that you should see her: this was he
Chose for my love, this page preferr’d to me.
LAC. I’m paid with mine own money. [_Aside._
CAR. Dare hypocrisy,
For fear of vengeance, sit so close to virtue?
Steal’st thou a holy vestment from religion
To clothe forbidden lust with? th’ open villain[995]
Goes before thee to mercy, and his penitency
Is bless’d with a more sweet and quick return.
I utterly disclaim all blood in thee;
I’ll sooner make a parricide my heir
Than such a monster.—O, forgive me, madam!
The apprehension of the wrong to you
Has a sin’s weight at it. I forget all charity
When I but think upon him.
DUCH. Nay, my lord,
At our request, since we are pleas’d to pardon,
And send remission to all former errors,
Which conscionable justice now sets right,
From you we expect patience; has had punishment
Enough in his false hopes; trust me he has, sir;
They have requited his dissembling largely:
And to erect your falling goodness to him,
We’ll begin first ourself; ten thousand ducats
The gentlewoman shall bring out of our treasure
To make her dowry.
CAR. None has the true way
Of overcoming anger with meek virtue,
Like your compassionate grace.
LAC. Curse of this fortune! this ’tis to meddle with
taking stuff, whose belly cannot be confined in a
waistband. [_Aside._]—Pray, what have you done with the
breeches? we shall have need of 'em shortly, and[996] we
get children so fast; they are too good to be cast away.
My son and heir need not scorn to wear what his mother
has left off. I had my fortune told me by a gipsy seven
years ago; she said then I should be the spoil of many a
maid, and at seven years’ end marry a quean for my
labour, which falls out wicked and true.
DUCH. We all have faults; look not so much on his:
Who lives i’ th’ world that never did amiss?—
For you, Aurelia, I commend your choice,
You’ve one after our heart; and though your father
Be not in presence, we’ll assure his voice;
Doubt not his liking, his o’erjoying rather.—
You, sir, embrace your own, ’tis your full due;
No page serves me more that once dwells with you.
O, they that search out man’s intents shall find
There’s more dissemblers than of womankind.[997]
[_Exeunt omnes._
END OF VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN,
46 St. Martin’s Lane.
-----
# 1:
Of the ed. of 1605, I have met with no other copy except that in my own
possession, which formerly belonged to Mr. Heber.
# 2:
_Prodigious_] “That is, _portentous_, so deformed as
to be taken for a _foretoken of evil_.” REED.
# 3:
_torrent_] Old eds. “torment.”
# 4:
_Aligant_] As our early writers commonly spell the
word—i. e. a red wine of Alicant, in the province of
Valencia.
# 5:
_byrlady_] i. e. By our lady.
# 6:
_marginal finger_] i. e. the index (☞) on the margins
of old books, to direct the reader’s attention to
particular passages.
# 7:
_jig-makers_] “i. e. ballad-makers.” REED.
# 8:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 9:
_with a wet finger_] i. e. easily, readily.
# 10:
_clarissimo’s_] i. e. grandee’s.
# 11:
_true house_ ... _no thieves_] _True men_ being a cant
term for honest men—in opposition to _thieves_.
# 12:
_do_] Old eds. “does.”
# 13:
_mandrake_] “The root of it is great and white like
a radish-root, and is divided into two or more
parts, growing sometimes like the legs of a man.”
Blount’s _Glossographia_. REED.—According to the old
superstitious notions, the mandrake possessed an
inferior degree of animal life, &c.
# 14:
_whiblins_] i. e., perhaps, eunuchs, says Nares,
_Gloss._ in v.
# 15:
_in print_] “Exactly, perfectly.” REED.
# 16:
_Albertus Magnus_] “i. e. de Secretis Mulierum.”
STEEVENS.
# 17:
_Problems_] Old eds. “Emblemes,” which in Dodsley’s
_Old Plays_ is rightly altered to _Problems_. An
absurd book, called _The Problems of Aristotle, with
other Philosophers and Physitions_, &c., was printed
at London, in 1595, 1607, &c.
# 18:
_wide a’ th’ bow-hand_] i. e. your arrow has flown a
good way from the mark, on the left hand (in which the
bow was held).
# 19:
_cut off his beard_] “To cut off the hair of any
person was, in our author’s time, a mark of disgrace,
and esteemed a very great indignity.” REED.
# 20:
_scald hair_] “i. e. scattered or dispersed hair. Mr.
Lambe, in his notes on _Flodden Field_, observes,
that the word _scale_ is used in the North in the
above-mentioned sense.” REED. Nonsense! _scald_ is
scabby—paltry.
# 21:
_brave_] i. e. finely dressed—a quibble.
# 22:
_ingle_] i. e. bosom friend: see note, vol. ii. p.
498.
# 23:
_madcaps_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “old dames.”
# 24:
_one a’ mine aunts_] Ed. 1605, “_one a’_ my naunts.”—
_Aunt_ was a cant term for a prostitute, as in the
present passage, and more frequently (see vol. ii. p.
21, line 1) for a bawd.
# 25:
_welkin_] i. e. sky.
# 26:
_cony-catch_] i. e. cheat, deceive: see note, vol. i.
p. 290.
# 27:
_beg me for a fool_] “Sir William Blackstone, in his
_Commentaries_, vol. i. p. 303, says,—‘By the old
common law there is a writ _de idiota inquirendo_, to
inquire whether a man be an idiot or not; which must
be tried by a jury of twelve men: and if they find him
_purus idiota_, the profits of his lands, and the
custody of his person, may be granted by the king to
some subject who has interest enough to obtain them.’
And he observes, that this power, though of late very
rarely exerted, is still alluded to in common speech
by that usual expression of _begging_ a man for a
fool.” REED.
# 28:
_Benedict_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “Benedick.”
# 29:
_near_] Old eds. “meere.”
# 30:
_Softly!—See, doctor, what_, &c.] So ed. 1605. Other
eds. “_Softly_ sweet _Doctor: what_,” &c.
# 31:
_rust_] Qy. “crust?”
# 32:
_fond_] i. e. foolish.
# 33:
_the midst_] So the excellent ed. of 1605. Other eds.
“_the_ deadst,” which is given in Dodsley’s _Old
Plays_, and which, as Nares (_Gloss._ in v.) remarks,
is “but awkwardly applied to the height or meridian of
feasting, which surely has nothing _dead_ in it.”
Perhaps the misprint arose from the compositor’s eye
having caught the word _death_ in the next line but
two.
# 34:
_alter_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “alterd.”
# 35:
_good knaves_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “God knowes.”
# 36:
_thy_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “the.”
# 37:
_I’d_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “Ile.”
# 38:
_hurts_] Ed. 1605, “hnrts.” Other eds. “haunts.”
# 39:
_goddess in the Cyprian_] So ed. 1605. Other eds.
“gods _in the_ Coprian.”
# 40:
_her_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “it.”
# 41:
_a tavern-token_] “During the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, and from thenceforward to that of Charles
the Second, very little brass or copper money was
coined by authority. For the convenience of trade,
victuallers and other tradesmen, without any
restriction, were therefore permitted to coin small
money, or _tokens_, as they were called, which were
used for change. These _tokens_ were very small
pieces, and, probably, at first coined chiefly by
tavern-keepers; from whence the expression a
_tavern-token_ might have been originally derived.”
REED. “That most of them would travel to the _tavern_,
may be easily supposed, and hence, perhaps, the name.
Their usual value seems to have been a farthing.”
Gifford, note on B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 30.
# 42:
_of all loves_] i. e. for the sake of all love—by all
means.
# 43:
_tempted_] So other eds. First ed. “tempred.”
# 44:
_lay_] i. e. wager.
# 45:
_golls_] A cant term for hands—fists, paws.
# 46:
_Gentlemen, what_, &c., _fine cambrics, fine lawns_]
Is one speech in old eds., with the prefix “_All
Three_.”—_What do you lack?_ was the constant address
of shopkeepers to customers: see note, vol. i. p. 447.
# 47:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 48:
_Pax_] See note, vol. ii. p. 24.
# 49:
_companions_] i. e. fellows.
# 50:
_leese_] i. e. lose.
# 51:
_shrow_] i. e. shrew.
# 52:
_I pledge you_] “The following account of the forms
prescribed in health-drinking in our author’s time, is
taken from _The Irish Hubbub, or the English Hue and
Crie_, by Barnaby Rich, 1623, p. 24. He calls it _The
Ruffingly Order of drinking Healths used by the
Spendalls of this age_. ‘He that beginnes the health
hath his prescribed orders: first uncovering his head,
hee takes a full cup in his hand, and setting his
countenance with a grave aspect, hee craves for
audience: silence being once obtained, hee beginnes to
breath out the name peradventure of some honourable
personage, that is worthy of a better regard, then to
have his name polluted at so unfitting a time amongst
a company of Drunkards: but his health is drunke to,
and he that pledgeth must likewise off with his cap,
kisse his fingers, and bowing himselfe in signe of a
reverent acceptance; when the Leader sees his follower
thus prepared, hee sups up his broath, turnes the
bottom of the cup upward, and in ostentation of his
dexteritie, gives the cup a phillip to make it cry
_Twango_. And thus the first scene is acted. The cup
being newly replenished to the breadth of an haire, he
that is the pledger must now beginne his part, and
thus it goes round throughout the whole company,
provided alwayes, by a canon set downe by the Founder,
there must be three at the least still uncovered, till
the health hath had the full passage: which is no
sooner ended, but another begins againe, and hee
drinkes an Health to his _Lady of little worth_, or
peradventure to his _light-hele’d mistres_.’” REED.
# 53:
_Blurt_] An exclamation of contempt, equal to—a fig
for.
# 54:
_on my thumb-nail_] In Nash’s _Pierce Pennilesse_, a
marginal note explains the words “drinke _super
nagulum_” to be “a deuise of drinking new come out of
Fraunce, which is, after a man hath turnd vp the
bottome of the cup, to drop it on his naile and make a
pearle with that is left, which if it shed and he
cannot make stand on, by reason there’s too much, he
must drinke againe for his penance.” Sig. F. ed. 1595.
# 55:
_wish_] i. e. desire.
# 56:
_meacock_] “i. e. a timorous, dastardly creature.”
REED.
# 57:
_swaddle_] i. e. strap, beat soundly.
# 58:
_goodman Abra’m_] A sort of cant term: Bellafront
applies it to Roger at p. 36.
# 59:
_chafing-dish_] “To heat the poking-irons.” REED.
# 60:
_ready_] i. e. dressed: compare vol. ii. pp. 57, 224,
and notes.
# 61:
_curls her hair_, &c.] This direction perhaps applies
to what Bellafront is to do presently—when Roger holds
the glass and candle for her.
# 62:
_poker_] “This instrument, of which mention is
frequently made in contemporary writers, is sometimes
called _poting stick_, and at others a _poking stick_.
It was used to adjust the plaits of ruffs, which were
then generally worn by the ladies. Stowe says, that
these _poking sticks_ were made of wood or bone until
about the 16th year of Queen Elizabeth, when they
began to be made of steel,” [that they might be used
hot]. REED.
# 63:
_court-cupboard_] A sort of buffet: see note, vol. ii.
p. 506.
# 64:
_goodman Abra’m_] See note, p. 32.
# 65:
_of_] Old eds. “if.”
# 66:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 67:
_Marry muff_] An expression of contempt, which
frequently occurs in our early writers: compare vol.
i. p. 258, and note.
# 68:
_Sings_] “This word has hitherto been printed as part
of the text [“_Sing pretty_,” &c.]; but it is clearly
a stage-direction, referring to the ballad Bellafront
commences.” COLLIER.
# 69:
_fall_] i. e. falling band, which lay flat upon the
dress from the neck.
# 70:
_God’s my pittikins_] A corruption of _God’s my
pity_, an expression which Bellafront afterwards
makes use of in this scene (p. 40). Shakespeare puts
_ods-pittikins_ into the mouth of a lady of very
different character: see _Cymbeline_, act iv. sc. 2.
# 71:
_marmoset_] i. e. monkey.
# 72:
_Exit_] Old eds. “Exit _for a candle_.”
# 73:
_another light angel_] Angel was a gold coin worth
about 10 shillings. Compare Dekker’s _Satiromastix_,
1602, “I markt, by _this Candle, which is none of
God’s Angels_.” Sig. C.
# 74:
_curtal_] i. e. docked horse.
# 75:
_Hippocras_] A beverage composed generally of red
wine, but sometimes of white, with spices and sugar,—
strained through a woollen bag.
# 76:
_teston_] See note, vol. i. p. 258.
# 77:
_manchet_] i. e. a roll of the finest bread.
# 78:
_the canaries_] A quick and lively dance, frequently
mentioned by our early writers: “As to the air
itself, it appears, by the example in the Opera of
_Dioclesian_ [set to music by Purcell, and containing
a dance called the _Canaries_], to be a very sprightly
movement of two reprises or strains, with eight bars
in each,” &c. Hawkins’s _Hist. of Music_, vol. iv. p.
391—cited by Reed.
# 79:
_scorn’t_] Several eds. “I _scorn’t_.”
# 80:
_of all filthy, dry-fisted knights_] “A moist hand is
vulgarly accounted a sign of an amorous constitution.”
REED.
# 81:
_cony_] i. e. rabbit-skin.
# 82:
_sweet Oliver_] “It may be just worth noticing, that
this epithet almost always accompanies the mention of
this gentle rival of the mad Orlando in fame.”
Gifford’s note on B. Jonson’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 98.
# 83:
_set him beneath the salt_] “This refers to the manner
in which our ancestors were seated at their meals.
‘The tables being long,’ says Mr. Whalley, note to
_Cynthia’s Revels_, act ii. sc. 2. [sc. 1.] ‘the salt
[i. e. salt-cellar—of a very large size] was commonly
placed about the middle, and served as a kind of
boundary to the different quality of the guests
invited. Those of distinction were ranked above; the
space below was assigned to the dependents or inferior
relations of the master of the house.’” REED.
# 84:
_to_] So some eds. First ed. “of.”
# 85:
_walks off_] i. e. retires behind.
# 86:
_aloof off_] This expression is twice used by
Middleton in _Michaelmas Term_ (see vol. i. pp. 427,
469), and its repetition here is a slight confirmation
(if any were needed) of the correctness of Henslowe’s
statement: vide p. 3.
# 87:
_signors have_] First two eds. “signior.” Others,
“signiors.” All, “has.”
# 88:
_little_] Spelt in the first two eds. “litle:”
therefore qy. “tilt?”
# 89:
_cony-catch_] See note, p. 16.
# 90:
_mother_] i. e. hysterical passion.
# 91:
_scald_] i. e. paltry: see note, p. 15.
# 92:
_What gentleman_] Here the last editor of Dodsley
inserted a stage-direction, “_Enter Hippolito_,” which
he says is absolutely necessary: but see note, p. 40.
# 93:
_respectively_] i. e. respectfully: compare vol. i. p.
425.
# 94:
_Beseech you_, &c.] Bellafront, I suppose, having
shewn some displeasure at the commendation of
Infelice.
# 95:
_the_] Old eds. “my.”
# 96:
_Hippolito, acquaintance_] Old eds. “Hipolitos
acquaintance.”
# 97:
_Marry muff_] See note, p. 36.
# 98:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 99:
_sirrah_] Often applied to women: compare vol. ii. p.
491.
# 100:
_you soused gurnet_] “An appellation of contempt very
frequently employed in the old comedies.” REED.
# 101:
_shaall_] So spelt in the first two eds., to mark the
prolonged emphasis.
# 102:
_in your waistcoat_] i. e. (as Nares rightly explains
the passage, _Gloss._ in v.) in that alone, without a
gown or upper dress. Low prostitutes were generally so
attired, and were hence called _waistcoateers_.
# 103:
_Bastard wine_] In a note, vol. ii. p. 347, I have
said that bastard was “a sweet _Spanish_ wine:” “That
it was a sweetish wine, there can be no doubt; and
that it came from some of the countries which border
the Mediterranean, appears equally certain,” observes
Henderson; who supposes that it approached to the
muscadel wine in flavour, and was made from a
_bastard_ species of muscadine grape. _Hist. of
Wines_, pp. 290-1.
# 104:
_poulter’s_] i. e. poulterer’s.
# 105:
_one_] He means Hippolito: _woodcock_ was a cant term
for a foolish fellow.
# 106:
_I_] So several eds. Not in first ed.
# 107:
_proper_] i. e. personable.
# 108:
_have_] Old eds. “has.”
# 109:
_Back_] Old eds. “Black.”
# 110:
_ador’d her eyes_] “In a pamphlet attributed to Robert
Greene, called _Theeves falling out Truemen come by
their goods_, printed in 1615, and probably earlier,
there is a story entitled ‘The Conversion of an
English Curtezan,’ which, in some points, bears a
resemblance to a main incident in this play. Her
conversion is wrought by a young man who visits her as
in ‘the way of her trade:’ at his request she takes
him into a dark loft, under pretence that he cannot
bear to commit ‘the act of sin’ in the light; but
still the day peeps in through a hole in the roof: on
his complaining that it was not quite dark, she
replies, that ‘none but God could see them.’ Hence he
takes occasion to read her a lecture very similar to
that of Hippolito in Dekker. ‘Oh! thou art made
beautiful, fair, and well formed, and wilt thou then
by thy filthy lust make thy body, which if thou be
honest is the temple of God, the habitation of the
Devil?’ In one place he says,—‘But suppose while thou
art young thou art favoured of thy companions; when
thou waxest old, and that thy beauty is faded, then
thou shalt be loathed and despised even of them that
professed most love unto thee.’ After she has been
thoroughly reformed, he marries her.” COLLIER.
# 111:
_O yes_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see notes, vol. i.
p. 424, vol. ii. pp. 7, 307.
# 112:
_mete_] i. e. measure, embrace.
# 113:
_luxurious_] i. e. lascivious.
# 114:
_I_] So ed. 1605. Not in other eds.
# 115:
_dagger’d arms_] See note, vol. ii. p. 99.
# 116:
_What, has he left his weapon here behind him, And
gone forgetful? O fit instrument_] Ed. 1605 has only
“_His weapon left heere? O fit instrument._”
# 117:
_split my heart upon_] Ed. 1605, “cleaue my bosome
on.”
# 118:
_Not speak to me? not bid farewell? a scorn?_] Ed.
1605, “_Not speake to me! not looke! not_ bid
farewell!”
# 119:
_walking by_] It must be remembered that the shops in
London (and of London only our authors thought) were
formerly “open” (see stage-direction, vol. ii. p.
453), and resembled booths or stalls at a fair.
# 120:
_what you lack_] See note, p. 24.
# 121:
_squall_] This word, which seems to be equivalent to
wench, is by no means common: Middleton uses it
several times (see, for instance, vol. i. p. 431); and
its occurrence here is another proof (see note, p. 40)
that he was concerned in the composition of the
present drama.
# 122:
_chaldrons_] Or _chaudrons_—i. e. particular entrails.
# 123:
_cracked in the ring_] See note, vol. ii. p. 253.
# 124:
_malicholly_] A corruption of _melancholy_.
# 125:
—_when I touch her lip
I shall not feel his kisses_]
“Imitated by Shakespeare in _Othello_, act iii. sc. 3.
‘I slept the next night well, was free and merry;
_I found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips_.’”
REED.
If there be any imitation in the case, I believe it to
be on the part of Dekker or Middleton. Malone
ultimately assigned the production of _Othello_ to
1604, having ascertained (on what evidence we know
not) that it was acted in that year: but if it be
imitated in the present passage, it must have been
produced at an earlier period: see p. 3.
# 126:
_falling-bands_] Or _falls_: see note, p. 37.
# 127:
_napery_] i. e. linen.
# 128:
_the posts of his gate are a-painting too_] “i. e. he
will soon be sheriff. At the door of that officer
large posts, on which it was customary to stick
proclamations, were always set up.” STEEVENS.
# 129:
_Prentices within_] Old eds. here and afterwards,
“_Omnes._”
# 130:
_flat-cap_] The citizens of London, both masters and
journeymen, continued to wear flat round caps long
after they had ceased to be fashionable, and were
hence in derision termed _flat-caps_.
# 131:
_here’s_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “here.”
# 132:
_likes_] i. e. pleases.
# 133:
_to call coz_] This passage, and what Fustigo says to
the same purpose, p. 15, seem to confirm my remark on
the word _cousin_, vol. i. p. 499.
# 134:
_ningle_] i. e. bosom friend: see note, vol. ii. p.
498.—So ed. 1605. Other eds. “mingle.”
# 135:
_gules_] i. e. red—an heraldic term.
# 136:
_wish_] i. e. desire.
# 137:
_Peize_] i. e. weigh.
# 138:
_on_] So ed. 1635. Other eds. “an.”
# 139:
_carpets_] i. e. table-covers: see note, vol. i. p.
385.
# 140:
_cruzadoes_] “A cruzado is a Portuguese coin, struck
under Alphonsus V. about the year 1457, at the time
when Pope Calixtus sent thither a bull for a croisade
against the infidels. It had its name from a cross
which it bears on one side, the arms of Portugal being
on the other. The value of it is 40 French sols, or
upwards of 2_s._ 10_d._ sterling.” REED. It varied in
value at different times.
# 141:
_conster_] i. e. construe.
# 142:
_carpet knights_] On these words Reed has a note of
formidable length, and very little to the purpose.
_Carpet knights_ (repeatedly mentioned with great
contempt by our early writers) were knights dubbed on
a carpet, not on the field of battle,—on occasion of
public festivities, not after a victory. See Gifford’s
note on Massinger’s _Works_, vol. iii. p. 47. ed.
1813.
# 143:
_I am with child_] i. e. I long greatly.
# 144:
_covert barn_] See note, vol. i. p. 370.
# 145:
_hippocras_] See note, p. 38.
# 146:
_loose gown_] The common dress of courtesans: see
note, vol. i. p. 431.
# 147:
_felt_] i. e. hat.
# 148:
_properest_] i. e. handsomest.
# 149:
_hose_] i. e. breeches.
# 150:
_And_] i. e. if.
# 151:
_blurt_] See note, p. 30.
# 152:
_made_] Old eds. “make.”
# 153:
_cockatrice_] A cant term for a harlot: so in _The
Family of Love_, vol. ii. p. 148, “Love, _subaudi_
lust”—another parallelism which shews the hand of
Middleton in the present play: see notes, pp. 40, 55.
# 154:
_cony-catching_] See note, p. 16.
# 155:
_fist_]—or, as several eds. have, _foist_—i. e. stink.
# 156:
_Pio._] Old eds. “_Omnes_:” but Castruchio is the next
speaker; and Bellafront, it should seem, has no share
in the present speech.
# 157:
_wet finger_] See note, p. 10.
# 158:
_God be wi’ thee_] Old eds. “God buy thee,” and “God
bwith thee.”
# 159:
_Ostend_] “The siege of this place is frequently
alluded to in our ancient writers. It was taken by the
Marquis of Spinola on the 8th of September, 1604,
after it had held out three years and ten weeks. See
‘_A True History of the memorable Siege of_ OSTEND,
_and what passed on either side from the beginning of
the Siege unto the yielding up of the town_.’ 4to.
1604.” REED.
# 160:
_fond_] i. e. foolish.
# 161:
_parson_] So old eds.—to mark how the servant was to
pronounce the word.
# 162:
_potato-pies_] Potatoes were formerly esteemed a
strong provocative: see the long and _instructive_
note of Collins (i. e. Steevens) appended to _Troilus
and Cressida_—Malone’s _Shakespeare_ (by Boswell),
vol. viii. p. 450.
# 163:
_from_] Old eds. “for.”
# 164:
_male varlet_] “So in _Troilus and Cressida_, act v.
sc. 1: ‘Thou art thought to be Achilles’ _male
varlet_.’” REED.
# 165:
_Fata_, &c.] From Seneca,—_Œdipus_, 882.
# 166:
_meditation’s spotless wings_] “So in _Hamlet_, act i.
sc. 1.
‘Haste, let me know it; that I, with _wings_ as swift
As _meditation_,’” &c. REED.
# 167:
_fellow_] Old eds. “fellowes.”
# 168:
_turn Turk again_] “To turn _Turk_ seems to have been
a cant phrase for departing from the rules of
chastity.” REED.
# 169:
_Though_] So some eds. First ed. “The.”
# 170:
_knaves_, &c.] See note, vol. i. p. 436.
# 171:
_half witches_] “One of the distinguishing qualities
of a witch is supposed to have been hair on her chin.”
REED.
# 172:
_codpiece_, &c.] The custom of sticking pins in this
part of the male dress is often mentioned by our early
writers.
# 173:
_Poh_] “The name is _Poh_, as it is generally printed
in the edition of 1604, and as is evident from the way
in which Fustigo plays upon it at the end of the
scene. It has hitherto been misprinted _Poli_.”
COLLIER.—In the first ed. of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_,
“_Puff_.”
# 174:
_sound pistols_] “I suppose Fustigo means the Spanish
coin _pistoles_.” STEEVENS. What else could he mean?
see Todd’s Johnson’s _Dict._ in v. _pistol_.
# 175:
_cheaters do at a rifling_] Minsheu, in his _Guide
into the Tongues_, explains _rifling_ to be “a kinde
of game, where he that in casting doth throw most on
the dice, takes up all that is laid down:” see note on
Webster’s _Works_, vol. iii. p. 246, where I have
shewn that our old writers used _rifle_ in the sense
of _raffle_.
# 176:
_mazer_] i. e. head.
# 177:
_a_] So some eds. Not in first ed.
# 178:
_tall_] i. e. valiant.
# 179:
_legs_] “i. e. bows.” REED.
# 180:
_Comedy of Errors_] An allusion, probably, to
Shakespeare’s play of that name.
# 181:
_Enter Candido_] There appears to be an inconsistency
here, which cannot be remedied by any division of the
play into acts. Candido has just returned from the
senate-house; yet since he left home (see p. 64) it
should seem, from the intermediate scenes, that a
night had elapsed.
# 182:
_play my master’s prize_] A quibble.—In the art of
fencing there were three degrees,—a _Master’s_, a
Provost’s, and a Scholar’s, for each of which _a prize
was played_ publicly.
# 183:
_Poh_] See note, p. 81.
# 184:
_what you lack_] See note, p. 24.
# 185:
_Be cover’d_] i. e. put on your cap.
# 186:
_welted gown_] “Barret, in his _Alvearie_, voce
_gard_, explains the word as synonymous with _purfle_,
or _welt_. A _welted gown_ is therefore one ornamented
with purfles or fringe. They are often mentioned in
ancient writers.” REED.
# 187:
_the shop_] See note, p. 54.
# 188:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 189:
_Exit Sec. Prentice_, &c.] Old eds. have no
stage-direction here: qy. ought Candido to go out for
the piece?
# 190:
_clubs, clubs_] Was the cry to call forth the London
prentices when any fray arose.
# 191:
_agen_] The old spelling of _again_, and necessary
here for the rhyme.
# 192:
_phrase_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “praise.”
# 193:
_sister’s_] In Dodsley’s _Old Plays_, “silver.”
# 194:
_far_] So several eds. First ed. “for.”
# 195:
_conster_] See note, p. 64.
# 196:
_Janivere_] i. e. January.
# 197:
_sent_] So several eds. First ed. “send.”
# 198:
_bands_] So ed. 1605. Other eds. “bonds.”
# 199:
_mad Greeks_] He alludes to the common expression, “as
mad as a Greek:” see Gifford’s excellent note on B.
Jonson’s _Works_, vol. iii. p. 261.
# 200:
_painted cloth_] Is explained by Reed, in a note on
this passage, to mean tapestry-hangings; but it was
something more common and less expensive, viz. cloth
or canvass painted in oil with a variety of devices,
and verses interspersed: see Nares’s _Gloss._ in v.
# 201:
_With a wet finger_] See note, p. 10.
# 202:
_cheese-trenchers_] See note, vol. i. p. 31.
# 203:
_Tame_] Qy. “True?“
# 204:
_And_] i. e. if.
# 205:
_Duke_] So some eds. First ed. “Cast.”
# 206:
_work_] So several eds. First ed. “workes.”
# 207:
_Cas., Flu., &c._] Old eds. “_Omnes._”
# 208:
_Is’t so_, &c.] So several eds. First ed.
“_Ist_ euen _so, not maried till the afternoone_ you
say.”
# 209:
_resolve_] i. e. satisfy—consent.
# 210:
_to steal mutton_] “i. e. to steal a wench. _Mutton_,
in the language of the times, signified a _fille de
joie_.” REED.
# 211:
_He took bread and salt_] i. e. he swore: bread and
salt, according to ancient custom, were eaten by those
who took oaths.
# 212:
_slights_] i. e. artifices.
# 213:
_prevent_] i. e. anticipate.
# 214:
_disguise_] So several eds. First ed. “disguisde.”
# 215:
_frighted_] So several eds. First ed. “fraighted.”
# 216:
_pray_] So several eds. First ed. “I _pray_”—but qy.
ought we to read,
MAT. No words, Fluello, for’t stands us upon.
FLU. O sir, I pray, let that be your lesson!
# 217:
_Enter a Sweeper_] Old eds. have, “_Enter_ Towne like
_a sweeper_,” and prefix “Towne” to his speeches,—and
so in Dodsley’s _Old Plays_! Towne was the name of the
actor who played this part: there were two performers
so called,—John and Thomas Towne: see Collier’s _Hist.
of Engl. Dram. Poet._, vol. i. pp. 318, 351.
# 218:
_there’s no ho with them_] “i. e. there are no bounds
or restraints with them.” REED.—They are not to be
restrained by a call, or _ho!_ The expression is
common.
# 219:
_blocks_] i. e. hats—a not unfrequent sense of the
word: properly, the moulds on which the crowns of hats
were formed.
# 220:
_countryman_] So several eds. First ed. “countrymen.”
# 221:
_Opens a door_, &c.] Old eds. have, “_Discouers an old
man wrapt in a net_,” but prefix “_First Madman_” to
his speeches. That he comes out, and is not merely
shewn in his cell, is evident from what Anselmo
afterwards says to the servant,—“Take him in there.”
# 222:
_ears_] So ed. 1635. Other eds. “ear.”
# 223:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 224:
_a polt foot_] “Seems to be the same we now call _a
splay foot_.” REED. Rather, a club-foot.
# 225:
_pear-coloured_] i. e. red.
# 226:
_promoter_] i. e. informer.
# 227:
_go_] Old eds. “goes.”
# 228:
_pantofles_] A sort of slippers.
# 229:
_come aloft, Jack_] The exclamation of a master to an
ape that had been taught to tumble and play tricks.
# 230:
_virginals; and still his jacks_, &c.] The virginals
was an instrument of the spinnet kind: for a correct
description of it, see Nares’s _Gloss._ in v.—In a
note on the Second Part of this drama Steevens cites
from Bacon, “In a _virginal_ as soon as ever the
_jack_ falleth and toucheth the string, the sound
ceaseth.”
# 231:
_flap-dragon_] See note, vol. i. p. 66.
# 232:
_an almond for parrot_] “The title of a pamphlet [by
Nash], called, '_An Almond for a Parrot, or Cuthbert
Curry-knaves Almes_.' B. L., no date, is here alluded
to.” REED.—There is no such allusion. The expression,
“an almond for parrot,” is old (it occurs in Skelton),
and by no means uncommon. See my note on Webster’s
_Works_, vol. iii. p. 122.
# 233:
_a rope for parrot_] Another proverbial expression.
Taylor, the water-poet, has an epigram beginning,
“Why doth the Parrat cry a Rope, a Rope?
Because hee’s cag’d in prison out of hope.”
_Epigrams_, p. 265—_Workes_, 1630.
# 234:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 235:
_in but_] So several eds. First ed. “but in.”
# 236:
_God’s-santy_] “See a note on _The Merchant of
Venice_, vol. iii. p. 157, edit. 1778, [where Steevens
says, ‘Perhaps it was once customary to swear by the
_santé_, i. e. _health_, of the Supreme Being,’ &c.]
Perhaps, however, _God’s-santy_ is only a corruption
of _God’s sanctity_, or _God’s saints_.“ STEEVENS.
# 237:
_barley-break_] Or the _last couple in hell_,—was a
game played by six people, three of each sex, who were
coupled by lot: see Gifford’s description of it,—note
on Massinger’s _Works_, vol. i. p. 104, ed. 1813.
# 238:
_little friar_] i. e., of course, Infelice:—in
Dodsley’s _Old Plays_, “_little_ finger!”
# 239:
_friar Tuck_] The famous chaplain of Robin Hood.
# 240:
_table_] A quibble. _Table_ meant the palm of the
hand.
# 241:
_I have a hand_, &c.] Given in old eds. as a
continuation of Hippolito’s speech.
# 242:
_content_] First two eds. “consent” in both lines.
Other eds. “consent” in first line and “content” in
second.
# 243:
_mutton_] See note, p. 102.
# 244:
_O brave Arthur of Bradley_] “An allusion to the old
ballad of that name, which is printed in 'An antidote
against melancholy, made up in pills, 1661.'”—REED.
# 245:
_cony-catch’d_] See note, p. 16.
# 246:
_’found_] i. e. confound.
# 247:
_golls_] See note, p. 23.
# 248:
_was my_] So several eds. First ed. “_was_ yet _my_.”
# 249:
_skill_] i. e. reason.
# 250:
_See, my lord_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see note,
p. 52.
# 251:
_wasters_] i. e. cudgels.
# 252:
_I am no larke ... doe not dare me_] To _dare larks_ meant to catch larks
by _terrifying_ them with a hawk, a mirror, &c.
# 253:
_Friscobaldo_] Ought, properly, to be written
_Frescobaldo_; but I have not altered the orthography
of the old ed., because Matheo says to him, “I’ll
_frisco_ you,” act iv. sc. 1; and when Lodovico
(forgetting to address him by his assumed name of
Pacheco) calls him “Friscobaldo,” he replies,
“_Frisking_ again?” act iv. sc. 2.
# 254:
_ningle_] See note, vol. ii. p. 498.
# 255:
_running heads_] Opposite these words is a
stage-direction in old ed. “_Exchange Walke_”—meaning,
I presume, that they were to walk up and down while
they talked.
# 256:
_Ast., Ber., &c._] Old ed. here and afterwards,
“_Omnes_.“
# 257:
_costermongers_] “Sellers of apples.” REED.
# 258:
_saint Patrick, &c._] Saint Patrick’s Purgatory was
a cavern in the southern part of the county of
Donegall, much frequented by pilgrims: see a long
note concerning it, by Reed, on Heywood’s _Four
P’s_,—Dodsley’s _Old Plays_, vol. i. p. 59, last
ed.; also the prefatory matter to _Owain Miles_, in
a very interesting volume, containing that and other
pieces of early poetry, edited by Mr. W. B. D. D.
Turnbull and Mr. D. Laing, Edinb. 1837.
# 259:
_footmen to noblemen and others_] When this play was
written many English “noblemen and others” had Irish
running footmen in their service. So in _Cupid’s
Whirligig_, ed. 1616, “Come, thou hast such a running
wit, ’tis like _an Yrish foote boy_,” sig. E 3; in
Brathwait’s _Strappado for the Diuell_, 1615,
“For see those thin breech _Irish lackies_ runne,” p.
191;
and in Dekker’s _English Villanies six several times
prest to death by the printers_, &c., 1632, “The
Deuils _foote-man_ was very nimble of his heeles, for
_no wild Irish-man could outrunne him_, sig. B 4. It
appears (see note on _A Fair Quarrel_, act iv. sc. 4)
that these Irish footmen used to carry “darts” in
their hands.
# 260:
_Dunkirks_] i. e. privateers of Dunkirk. So Shirley,—
“was ta’en at sea by _Dunkirks_,”—_Works_, vol. ii. p.
428.
# 261:
_bona-robas_] See note, vol. i. p. 258.
# 262:
_swabbers_] i. e. sweepers.
# 263:
_table-book_] i. e. memorandum-book.
# 264:
_if they be not yellow_, &c.] Lodovico means—it is
time for you to be jealous: “Since Citizens wiues
fitted their husbands with _yellow hose_, is not
within the memory of man.” Dekker’s _Owles Almanacke_,
1618, p. 7. The word “yellows” was frequently used for
jealousy.
# 265:
_The face I would not look on_] See p. 54.
# 266:
_have no ho_] See note, p. 106.
# 267:
_O sir_, &c.] This speech seems to have been intended
for verse, and is most probably corrupted.
# 268:
_eat snakes_] A supposed receipt for restoring youth.
# 269:
_He that_, &c.] “The turn of this is the same with
Iago’s definition of a deserving woman: ‘She that was
ever fair, and never proud,’ &c. The matter is
superior.” LAMB, _Spec. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 65.
# 270:
_those_] Old ed. “these.”
# 271:
_sucket_] i. e. sweetmeat, preserve.
# 272:
_defy_] i. e. renounce.
# 273:
_quail-pipe_] Used by fowlers to allure quails.
# 274:
_the pelican does it_] “The young pelican is fabled to
suck the mother’s blood.” REED.
# 275:
_to wear blue_] “The habit of servants at the time.”
REED.
# 276:
_Lodovico, Carolo, and Astolfo_] Ought not Beraldo to
be of the party (see p. 138)? but his name is not
prefixed to any of the speeches in this scene.
# 277:
_caps_] See note, p. 58.
# 278:
_bucklers without pikes_] “The ancient _bucklers_ had
a prominent _spike_, and sometimes a _pistol_ in the
centre of them.” STEEVENS.
# 279:
_pair of organs_] i. e. an organ: compare vol. ii. p.
346, and note.
# 280:
_First Guest_] Old ed. “Lod.”
# 281:
_felt_] i. e. hat
# 282:
_block_] i. e. mould: see note, p. 107.
# 283:
_'bove_] Old ed. “loue”—and so in Dodsley’s _Old
Plays_!
# 284:
_Jets_] i. e. struts.
# 285:
_murrion_] “A head-piece, or cap of steel.” REED.
# 286:
_for when any bondman’s turn_, &c.] Here Reed has a
_learned_ note on “the ceremony of manumission,” (from
Kennet’s _Roman Antiq._), which I think it unnecessary
to reprint.
# 287:
_out_] Old ed. “on’t.”
# 288:
_this steeple_] “Of such hats P. Stubbes speaks in his
celebrated work, the _Anatomie of Abuses_, 1585.
‘Sometimes they use them sharp on the croune, pearking
up like the spere or shaft of a steeple, standing a
quarter of a yarde above the crowne of their heads,
some more, some less, as please the phantasies of
their unconstant mindes.’” REED.
# 289:
_Can._] Old ed. “Long.” Dodsley gives the exclamation
to “Car.”
# 290:
_thus_] Qy. “though?”
# 291:
_the mother_] See note, p. 41.
# 292:
_rosemary_] Used at funerals: see note, vol. i. p.
231.
# 293:
_wry mouth ... like a plaice_] “So in Nash’s _Lenten
Stuff_, 1599: ‘None won the day in this but the
herring, whom all their clamorous suffrages saluted
with Vive le Roy, God save the King, God save the
King, save only the _playse_ and the butt, that made
_wry mouths at him_, and for their mocking have _wry
mouths_ ever since.’” REED. The wry mouth of the
plaice was a favourite allusion with our old writers.
# 294:
_catso_] See note, vol. i. p. 296.
# 295:
_roaring boys_] See note on _A Fair Quarrel_, act ii.
sc. 2, in this vol.
# 296:
_bizle_] “Or, as it is sometimes spelt, _bezzle_. He
means to say, When shall I have an opportunity to
drink to excess?” REED.
# 297:
_sort_] i. e. set, company.
# 298:
_And fed upon thee_, &c.] Old ed.
“And fed upon thee: good Mat. (if you please) so base
as
Scorne to spread wing amongst these.”
Mr. Collier, in a note on the last ed. of Dodsley’s
_Old Plays_, first made the alteration which I have
adopted: as Bellafront, he observes, here uses the
contraction _Mat_, so her husband presently calls her
_Front_.
# 299:
_and_] i. e. if.
# 300:
_jail_] Old ed. “Jayle.”—Qy. “javel?” i. e. worthless
fellow.
# 301:
_vild_] i. e. vile: compare vol. ii. p. 393, note.
# 302:
_fond_] i. e. foolish.
# 303:
_blue coat_] See note, p. 146.
# 304:
_Come_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see note, p. 52.
# 305:
_fly_] Old ed. “flyes.”
# 306:
_Weave thy nets_] Another imperfect couplet.
# 307:
_cony-catch_] See note, p. 16.
# 308:
_muttonmonger_] i. e. whoremonger: see note, p. 102.
# 309:
_percullis_] i. e. portcullis.
# 310:
_what do ye lack_] See note, p. 24.
# 311:
_drunk_] “i. e. _disguised_ in liquor.” COLLIER.
# 312:
_bud_] Old ed. “blood.”
# 313:
_overcharge_] Old ed. “ouerchange.”
# 314:
_Lod._ _Luke, I pray_, &c.] Lodovico repeats in scorn
the gentle language used by Candido.
# 315:
_why, when_] A frequent expression of impatience. See
note, vol. i. p. 360.
# 316:
_First P._] Old ed. “Luke”—which is the First
Prentice’s name: see p. 150.
# 317:
_Then fast, then you may choose_] Old ed. makes this
the first line of Candido’s speech; and so in
Dodsley’s _Old Plays_!
# 318:
_shop_] See note, p. 54.
# 319:
_a prize_] See note, p. 86.
# 320:
_wasters_] i. e. “cudgels.” REED.—See, at p. 125, the
passage quoted from Harington’s _Epigrams_.
# 321:
_Shall I_] “After ‘shall I’ in the old copy is
inserted ‘_Prompt?_’ meaning that Lodovico is to
prompt him.” COLLIER.
# 322:
_on_] Old ed. “vpon.”
# 323:
_wives_] A word seems to have dropt out: qy.
“_Can tame mad folks, and curst wives easily?_”
# 324:
_no longer_] Here, it should seem, Lodovico takes off
the false hair which was part of his disguise.
# 325:
_You’ve_, &c.] Must stand as a line by itself, because
it forms a couplet with the two next speeches.
# 326:
_ring him_] “To prevent swine from doing mischief, it
is usual to put rings through their nostrils.” REED.
# 327:
_These lines_, &c.] “Probably, to amend the grammar,
we ought to read,
‘These lines are ev’n the arrows Love lets fly,
The very ink dropt out of Venus’ eye.’” COLLIER.
No: I believe the author wrote the couplet as given in
the text.
# 328:
_parlous_] A corruption of _perilous_—i. e.
dangerously shrewd.
# 329:
_shackatory_] “i. e. hound. So in _The Wandering Jew_,
sig. F; ‘—for Time, though he be an old man, is an
excellent footman: no _shackatory_ comes neere him, if
hee once get the start, hee’s gone, and you gone
too.’” REED.
# 330:
_run_, &c.] See note, vol. i. p. 390.
# 331:
_ourselves_] Old ed. “your _selues_.”
# 332:
_kern_] i. e., properly, an Irish foot-soldier—a low,
savage fellow; “the very drosse and scum of the
countrey,” says B. Riche, ... “that live by robbing
and spoyling the poor countreyman:” (vide Boswell’s
note on _Macbeth_—Malone’s _Shakespeare_, vol. xi. p.
16.) So too Bryan afterwards talks of going to steal
cows again in Ireland, p. 177.
# 333:
_shag-hair’d_] “Shakespeare bestows the same epithet
on a kern of Ireland, in the Second Part of _King
Henry VI._ [act iii. sc. 1].” REED.
# 334:
_shall not thy disgrace_] Old ed. “shall thy
disgrace;” but see Infelice’s repetition of the
passage in the next page.
# 335:
_lubrican_] Compare Drayton;
“By the Mandrake’s dreadfull groanes,
By the _Lubrican’s_ sad moanes,” &c.
_Nimphidia_ (appended to _Battaile of Agincourt_,
&c.), p. 127, ed. 1627.
# 336:
_hooks_] Old ed. “Hawkes,” which in Dodsley’s _Old
Plays_ is carefully modernised to “hawks!”
# 337:
_Two-wooes_] A play on the word which expresses the
note of the owl;
“Then nightly sings the staring owl,
_To-who_,
Tu-whit, _to-who_, a merry note,” &c.
Shakespeare’s _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, act v. sc.
2.
# 338:
_Irish dart_] An allusion to the darts carried by the
Irish running footmen: see note on _A Fair Quarrel_,
act iv. sc. 4.
# 339:
_thus_] Old ed. “this.”
# 340:
_bulk_] “i. e. body.” REED.
# 341:
_a country where no venom prospers_] Saint Patrick,
according to the legend, having purged Ireland from
all venomous creatures: see Shirley’s _St. Patrick for
Ireland_, act v. sc. 3—_Works_, vol. iv.
# 342:
_give_] Old eds. “to _giue_.”
# 343:
_Fond_] i. e. foolish.
# 344:
_stuft a pair of breeches_] See note, vol. ii. p. 111.
# 345:
_then_] Qy. “them?”
# 346:
_Plymouth cloak_] “‘That is,’ says Ray, in his
_Proverbs_, 1742, p. 238, ‘a _cane_, a _staff_;
whereof this is the occasion. Many a man of good
extraction, coming home from far voyages, may chance
to land here, and, being out of sorts, is unable for
the present time and place to recruit himself with
clothes. Here (if not friendly provided) they make the
next wood their draper’s shop, where a staff cut out
serves them for a covering. For we use when we walk in
_cuerpo_ to carry a staff in our hands, but none when
in a cloak.’” REED.
# 347:
_hose_] i. e. breeches.
# 348:
_split all_] See note, vol. ii. p. 518.
# 349:
_Mirror of Knighthood_] The name of a celebrated
romance, translated from the Spanish.
# 350:
_shells_] A cant term for money: see note, vol. ii. p.
543.
# 351:
_agen_] The old spelling of _again_, and necessary
here for the rhyme.—This is an imperfect couplet
(compare p. 52, and note), for the preceding speech of
Matheo is certainly prose.
# 352:
_An old_, &c.] Makes part of Lodovico’s speech in old
ed.]
# 353:
_sort_] i. e. set, company.
# 354:
_keep a door_] i. e. be a bawd.
# 355:
_Frenchman_] Old. ed. “Frenchmen.”
# 356:
_muttons_] See note, p. 102.
# 357:
_Sirrah_] See note, vol. ii. p. 491.
# 358:
_What is’t you lack_] See note, p. 24.
# 359:
_Car._] Old ed. “Lod. and _Car._”
# 360:
_She nibbled_, &c. ... _which I know_] Old ed. by
mistake assigns this to Lodovico.
# 361:
_garden-house_] See note, vol. i. p. 162.
# 362:
_bolt_] “i. e. sift.” REED.
# 363:
_warden-tree_] i. e. “pear-tree.” REED.
# 364:
_the_] Old ed. “de.”
# 365:
_agen_] See note, p. 182.
# 366:
_brave_] “i. e. fine, gaudily dressed.” REED.
# 367:
_a wild Cataian of forty such_] “i. e. forty such
shallow knights, &c. would go to the composition of a
_dexterous thief_. See a note on _The Merry Wives of
Windsor_, [‘I will not believe such a _Cataian_,’ &c.,
act ii. sc. 1.]” REED. A _Cataian_ came to signify a
sharper, because the people of _Cataia_ (China) were
famous for their thieving.
# 368:
_catso_] See note, vol. i. p. 296.
# 369:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 146.
# 370:
_Than_] Old. ed. “That.”
# 371:
_gallant_] i. e. in fine clothes.
# 372:
_bin_] i. e. been—a form which frequently occurs, and
which is here necessary for the rhyme.
# 373:
_Yes, thou hast_, &c.] An imperfect couplet: see note,
p. 52.
# 374:
_bard cater-tray_] Properly, _barred_, &c., a sort of
false dice, frequently mentioned by our early
writers.—“The following passage from _The Art of
Juggling, or Legerdemaine_, by S. R. 4to. 1612, sig. c
4, will sufficiently explain the terms above used:
'First you must know a langret, which is a die that
simple men have seldom heard of, but often seene to
their cost; and this is a well-favoured die, and
seemeth good and square, yet it is forged longer upon
_the cater and trea_ than any other way: and therefore
it is called a langret. Such be also call’d _bard
cater treas_, because commonly the longer end will of
his owne sway drawe downewards, and turne up to the
eie sice sincke deuce or ace. The principal use of
them is at Novum, for so longe a paire of _bard cater
treas_ be walking on the bourd, so long can ye not
cast five nor nine, unles it be by great chance, that
the roughnes of the table, or some other stoppe, force
them to stay, and run against their kinde: for without
_cater or trea_ ye know that five or nine can never
come.” REED.
# 375:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 146.
# 376:
_roaring boy_] See note on _A Fair Quarrel_, act ii.
sc. 2, in this vol.
# 377:
_footcloth_] i. e. long housing.
# 378:
_muttonmonger_] i. e. whoremonger: see note, p. 102.
# 379:
_good fellow_] A cant term for a thief.
# 380:
_hangers_] See note, vol. ii. p. 227.
# 381:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 146.
# 382:
_a cob_] “A herring is called _a cob_. See Nash’s
_Lenten Stuff_. [See Gifford’s note on B. Jonson’s
_Works_, vol. i. p. 28.] There is, however, a quibble
here, for I think a _cob_ in Ireland signifies a coin
or piece of money.” REED. See also Todd’s Johnson’s
_Dict._ in v.
# 383:
_a’ t’other_] Old ed. “_a’_ the _tother_.”
# 384:
_footcloth nags_] i. e. nags with long housings.
# 385:
_must I choke_] He means, perhaps,—why do you not give
me drink?
# 386:
_bombasted_] “i. e. stuffed out.” REED.
# 387:
_marks_] A mark was 13_s._ 4_d._
# 388:
_clapdish_] See note, vol. ii. p. 169.
# 389:
_blue coats_] See note, p. 146.
# 390:
_purchase_] “Was anciently a cant word for stolen
goods.” REED.
# 391:
_this_] i. e., I suppose, his sword.
# 392:
_old Cole_] Qy. Is this an allusion to the well-known
song of _Old King Cole_? but I recollect no mention of
it so early as Middleton’s time.
# 393:
_touch_] See note, vol. i. p. 344.
# 394:
——_concubine
To an English king_] “_Arlotta_ (from whence the word
_harlot_ is fancifully derived) was not the
concubine of an English monarch, but mistress to
Robert, one of the dukes of Normandy, and father to
William the Conqueror.” STEEVENS.
# 395:
_than_] Is frequently used for _then_ by our old
poets, to suit the rhyme.
# 396:
_blue coat_] See note, p. 146.
# 397:
_Sforza_] “A name taken by Lodovico, perhaps, for the
occasion,” says the last editor of Dodsley’s _Old
Plays_; but it is evident that he was called (like the
hero of Massinger’s _Duke of Milan_) Lodovico Sforza.
# 398:
_pursenet_] “A net, of which the mouth is drawn
together by a string.” REED.
# 399:
_agen_] See note, p. 182.
# 400:
_muster-book_] Old ed. “master-booke.”]
# 401:
_consort_] i. e. band of musicians.
# 402:
_pair of virginals_, &c.] See note, p. 112. _A pair of
virginals_ (like _a pair of organs_, see note, p. 147)
meant a single instrument.
# 403:
_drink healths, tobacco_, &c.] “To _drink_ tobacco was
a common phrase for smoking it.” REED.
# 404:
_galley-foist_] See note, vol. ii. p. 531.
# 405:
_stewed prunes_] A dish very common in brothels: see
Steevens’s elaborate note on _First Part of Henry
IV._, act iii. sc. 3—Malone’s _Shakespeare_ (by
Boswell), vol. xvi. p. 345.
# 406:
_Here’s ordnance able to sack a city_] “So Falstaff,
on the same occasion, in the _First Part of Henry
IV._, says, ‘there’s that will _sack a city_.’”
STEEVENS.
# 407:
_Peter-sameene_] One of the several disguises under
which the word _Pedro-Ximenes_ is found in our early
writers. “The Pedro-Ximenes ... receives its name from
a grape which is said to have been imported from the
banks of the Rhine by an individual called _Pedro
Simon_ (corrupted to Ximen, or Ximenes), and is one of
the richest and most delicate of the Malaga wines,
resembling very much the malmsey of Paxarete.”
Henderson’s _Hist. of Anc. and Mod. Wines_, p. 193.
# 408:
_Charnico_] Or _Charneco_.—“Shakspeare and other
dramatic writers mention a wine called _Charneco_....
According to Mr. Steevens, the appellation is derived
from a village near Lisbon. There are, in fact, two
villages in that neighbourhood, which take the name of
_Charneca_; the one situated about a league and a half
above the town of Lisbon, the other near the coast,
between Collares and Carcavellos. We shall, therefore,
probably not err much, if we refer the wine in
question to the last-mentioned territory.” _Ibid._ p.
306.
# 409:
_Leatica_] Old ed. “Ziattica”—a misprint for
_Leatica_, a not uncommon form (see _Philocothonista_,
1635, p. 48) of the word “_Aleatico_, or red
muscadine, which is produced in the highest perfection
at Montepulciano, between Sienna and the Papal state;
at Monte Catini, &c. ... and of which the name in some
measure expresses the rich quality (it is obviously
derived from ἡλιαζω, _soli expono_); has a brilliant
purple colour, and a luscious aromatic flavour,” &c.
_Ibid._ p. 237.
# 410:
_towards_] i. e. in a state of preparation, at hand.