Every Man out of His Humour Part 25

PUNT. Who? signior Tripart.i.te, that would give my dog the whiffe?

CAR. Ay, he. They have hired a chamber and all, private, to practise in, for the making of the patoun, the receipt reciprocal, and a number of other mysteries not yet extant. I brought some dozen or twenty gallants this morning to view them, as you'd do a piece of perspective, in at a key-hole; and there we might see Sogliardo sit in a chair, holding his snout up like a sow under an apple-tree, while the other open'd his nostrils with a poking-stick, to give the smoke a more free delivery. They had spit some three or fourscore ounces between 'em, afore we came away.

PUNT. How! spit three or fourscore ounces?

CAR. Ay, and preserv'd it in porrengers, as a barber does his blood, when he opens a vein.

PUNT. Out, pagan! how dost thou open the vein of thy friend?

CAR. Friend! is there any such foolish thing in the world, ha? 'slid I never relished it yet.

PUNT. Thy humour is the more dangerous.

CAR. No, not a whit, signior. Tut, a man must keep time in all; I can oil my tongue when I meet him next, and look with a good sleek forehead; 'twill take away all soil of suspicion, and that's enough: what Lynceus can see my heart? Pish, the t.i.tle of a friend! it's a vain, idle thing, only venerable among fools; you shall not have one that has any opinion of wit affect it.

ENTER DELIRO AND MACILENTE.

DELI. Save you, good sir Puntarvolo.

PUNT. Signior Deliro! welcome.

DELI. Pray you, sir, did you see master Fastidious Brisk? I heard he was to meet your wors.h.i.+p here.

PUNT. You heard no figment, sir; I do expect him at every pulse of my watch.

DELI. In good time, sir.

CAR. There's a fellow now looks like one of the patricians of Sparta; marry, his wit's after ten i' the hundred: a good bloodhound, a close-mouthed dog, he follows the scent well; marry, he's at fault now, methinks.

PUNT. I should wonder at that creature is free from the danger of thy tongue.

CAR. O, I cannot abide these limbs of satin, or rather Satan indeed, that will walk, like the children of darkness, all day in a melancholy shop, with their pockets full of blanks, ready to swallow up as many poor unthrifts as come within the verge.

PUNT. So! and what hast thou for him that is with him, now?

CAR. O, d--n me! immortality! I'll not meddle with him; the pure element of fire, all spirit, extraction.

PUNT. How, Carlo! ha, what is he, man?

CAR. A scholar, Macilente; do you not know him? a rank, raw-boned anatomy, he walks up and down like a charged musket, no man dares encounter him: that's his rest there.

PUNT. His rest! why, has he a forked head?

CAR. Pardon me, that's to be suspended; you are too quick, too apprehensive.

DELI. Troth, now I think on't, I'll defer it till some other time.

MACI. Not by any means, signior, you shall not lose this opportunity, he will be here presently now.

DELI. Yes, faith, Macilente, 'tis best. For, look you, sir, I shall so exceedingly offend my wife in't, that --

MACI. Your wife! now for shame lose these thoughts, and become the master of your own spirits. Should I, if I had a wife, suffer myself to be thus pa.s.sionately carried to and fro with the stream of her humour, and neglect my deepest affairs, to serve her affections? 'Slight, I would geld myself first.

DELI. O, but signior, had you such a wife as mine is, you would --

MACI. Such a wife! Now hate me, sir, if ever I discern'd any wonder in your wife yet, with all the speculation I have: I have seen some that have been thought fairer than she, in my time; and I have seen those, have not been altogether so tall, esteem'd properer women; and I have seen less noses grow upon sweeter faces, that have done very well too, in my judgment. But in good faith, signior, for all this, the gentlewoman is a good, pretty, proud, hard-favour'd thing, marry not so peerlessly to be doted upon, I must confess: nay, be not angry.

DELI. Well, sir, however you please to forget yourself, I have not deserv'd to be thus played upon; but henceforth, pray you forbear my house, for I can but faintly endure the savour of his breath, at my table, that shall thus jade me for my courtesies.

MACI. Nay, then, signior, let me tell you, your wife is no proper woman, and by my life, I suspect her honesty, that's more, which you may likewise suspect, if you please, do you see? I'll urge you to nothing against your appet.i.te, but if you please, you may suspect it.

DELI. Good sir.

[EXIT.

MACI. Good, sir! now horn upon horn pursue thee, thou blind, egregious dotard!

CAR. O, you shall hear him speak like envy. -- Signior Macilente, you saw monsieur Brisk lately: I heard you were with him at court.

MACI. Ay, Buffone, I was with him.

CAR. And how is he respected there? I know you'll deal ingenuously with us; is he made much of amongst the sweeter sort of gallants?

MACI. Faith, ay; his civet and his casting-gla.s.s Have helpt him to a place amongst the rest: And there, his seniors give him good slight looks, After their garb, smile, and salute in French With some new compliment.

CAR. What, is this all?

MACI. Why say, that they should shew the frothy fool Such grace as they pretend comes from the heart, He had a mighty windfall out of doubt!

Why, all their graces are not to do grace To virtue or desert; but to ride both With their gilt spurs quite breathless, from themselves.

'Tis now esteem'd precisianism in wit, And a disease in nature, to be kind Toward desert, to love or seek good names.

Who feeds with a good name? who thrives with loving?

Who can provide feast for his own desires, With serving others? -- ha, ha, ha!

'Tis folly, by our wisest worldlings proved, If not to gain by love, to be beloved.

CAR. How like you him? is't not a good spiteful slave, ha?

PUNT. Shrewd, shrewd.

CAR. D--n me! I could eat his flesh now; divine sweet villain!

MACI. Nay, prithee leave: What's he there?

CAR. Who? this in the starched beard? it's the dull stiff knight Puntarvolo, man; he's to travel now presently: he has a good knotty wit; marry, he carries little on't out of the land with him.

MACI. How then?

CAR. He puts it forth in venture, as he does his money upon the return of a dog and cat.

MACI. Is this he?

CAR. Ay, this is he; a good tough gentleman: he looks like a s.h.i.+eld of brawn at Shrove-tide, out of date, and ready to take his leave; or a dry pole of ling upon Easter-eve, that has furnish'd the table all Lent, as he has done the city this last vacation.