Every Man out of His Humour Part 21

1 RUST. Stand by, he recovers, give him breath.

SORD. Oh!

5 RUST. Ma.s.s, 'twas well you went the footway, neighbour.

1 RUST. Ay, an I had not cut the halter --

SORD. How! cut the halter! ah me, I am undone, I am undone!

2 RUST. Marry, if you had not been undone, you had been hang'd. I can tell you.

SORD. You thread-bare, horse-bread-eating rascals, if you would needs have been meddling, could you not have untied it, but you must cut it; and in the midst too! ah me!

1 RUST. Out on me, 'tis the caterpillar Sordido! how curst are the poor, that the viper was blest with this good fortune!

2 RUST. Nay, how accurst art thou, that art cause to the curse of the poor?

3 RUST. Ay, and to save so wretched a caitiff?

4 RUST. Curst be thy fingers that loos'd him!

2 RUST. Some desperate fury possess thee, that thou may'st hang thyself too!

5 RUST. Never may'st thou be saved, that saved so d.a.m.n'd a monster!

SORD. What curses breathe these men! how have my deeds Made my looks differ from another man's, That they should thus detest and loath my life!

Out on my wretched humour! it is that Makes me thus monstrous in true humane eyes.

Pardon me, gentle friends, I'll make fair 'mends For my foul errors past, and twenty-fold Restore to all men, what with wrong I robb'd them: My barns and garners shall stand open still To all the poor that come, and my best grain Be made alms-bread, to feed half-famish'd mouths.

Though hitherto amongst you I have lived, Like an unsavoury muck-hill to myself, Yet now my gather'd heaps being spread abroad, Shall turn to better and more fruitful uses.

Bless then this man, curse him no more for the saving My life and soul together. O how deeply The bitter curses of the poor do pierce!

I am by wonder changed; come in with me And witness my repentance: now I prove, No life is blest, that is not graced with love.

[EXIT.

2 RUST. O miracle! see when a man has grace!

3 RUST. Had it not been pity so good a man should have been cast away?

2 RUST. Well, I'll get our clerk put his conversion in the 'Acts and Monuments'.

4 RUST. Do, for I warrant him he's a martyr.

2 RUST. O G.o.d, how he wept, if you mark'd it! did you see how the tears trill'd?

5 RUST. Yes, believe me, like master vicar's bowls upon the green, for all the world.

3 RUST. O neighbour, G.o.d's blessing o' your heart, neighbour, 'twas a good grateful deed.

[EXEUNT.

COR. How now, Mitis! what's that you consider so seriously?

MIT. Troth, that which doth essentially please me, the warping condition of this green and soggy mult.i.tude; but in good faith, signior, your author hath largely outstript my expectation in this scene, I will liberally confess it. For when I saw Sordido so desperately intended, I thought I had had a hand of him, then.

COR. What! you supposed he should have hung himself indeed?

MIT. I did, and had framed my objection to it ready, which may yet be very fitly urged, and with some necessity; for though his purposed violence lost the effect, and extended not to death, yet the intent and horror of the object was more than the nature of a comedy will in any sort admit.

COR. Ay! what think you of Plautus, in his comedy called 'Cistellaria'?

there, where he brings in Alcesimarchus with a drum sword ready to kill himself, and as he is e'en fixing his breast upon it, to be restrained from his resolved outrage, by Silenium and the bawd? Is not his authority of power to give our scene approbation?

MIT. Sir, I have this only evasion left me, to say, I think it be so indeed; your memory is happier than mine: but I wonder, what engine he will use to bring the rest out of their humours!

COR. That will appear anon, never pre-occupy your imagination withal. Let your mind keep company with the scene still, which now removes itself from the country to the court. Here comes Macilente, and signior Brisk freshly suited; lose not yourself, for now the epitasis, or busy part of our subject, is an act.

SCENE III. -- AN APARTMENT AT THE COURT

ENTER MACILENTE, FASTIDIOUS, BOTH IN A NEW SUIT, AND CINEDO, WITH TOBACCO.

FAST. Well, now signior Macilente, you are not only welcome to the court, but also to my mistress's withdrawing chamber -- Boy, get me some tobacco.

I'll but go in, and shew I am here, and come to you presently, sir.

[EXIT.

MACI. What's that he said? by heaven, I mark'd him not: My thoughts and I were of another world.

I was admiring mine own outside here, To think what privilege and palm it bears Here, in the court! be a man ne'er so vile, In wit, in judgment, manners, or what else; If he can purchase but a silken cover, He shall not only pa.s.s, but pa.s.s regarded: Whereas, let him be poor, and meanly clad, Though ne'er so richly parted, you shall have A fellow that knows nothing but his beef, Or how to rince his clammy guts in beer, Will take him by the shoulders, or the throat, And kick him down the stairs. Such is the state Of virtue in bad clothes! -- ha, ha, ha, ha!

That raiment should be in such high request!

How long should I be, ere I should put off To the lord chancellor's tomb, or the shrives' poste?

By heav'n, I think, a thousand, thousand year.

His gravity, his wisdom, and his faith To my dread sovereign, graces that survive him, These I could well endure to reverence, But not his tomb; no more than I'd commend The chapel organ for the gilt without, Or this base-viol, for the varnish'd face.

RE-ENTER FASTIDIOUS.

FAST. I fear I have made you stay somewhat long, sir; but is my tobacco ready, boy?

CIN. Ay, sir.

FAST. Give me; my mistress is upon coming, you shall see her presently, sir. [PUFFS.] You'll say you never accosted a more piercing wit. -- This tobacco is not dried, boy, or else the pipe is defective. -- Oh, your wits of Italy are nothing comparable to her: her brain's a very quiver of jests, and she does dart them abroad with that sweet, loose, and judicial aim, that you would -- here she comes, sir.

[SAVIOLINA LOOKS IN, AND DRAWS BACK AGAIN.

MACI. 'Twas time, his invention had been bogged else.

SAV. [WITHIN.] Give me my fan there.

MACI. How now, monsieur Brisk?

FAST. A kind of affectionate reverence strikes me with a cold s.h.i.+vering, methinks.

MACI. I like such tempers well, as stand before their mistresses with fear and trembling; and before their Maker, like impudent mountains!

FAST. By this hand, I'd spend twenty pound my vaulting horse stood here now, she might see do but one trick.