For, if he

spy me, he'll not speak a word, Unless he's thoroughly vext.

[Discovers an old Man, wrapt in a Net.

Fluel. Alas, poor soul !
Cast. A very old man.
Duke. God speed, father.

1 Mad. God speed the plough: thou shalt not speed me.

Pior. We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net.

1 Mad. True; but thou wilt dance in a halter, and I shall not see thee.

Ans. O, do not vex him, pray.
Cast. Are you a fisherman, father?

1 Mad. No, I'm neither fish nor flesh.
Fuel. What do you with that net, then?

Fluel. Yes, monstrous short hair, and abominable long nails.

1 Mad. Ten-penny nails, are they not?
Fluel. Yes, tenpenny nails.

1 Mad. Such nails had my second boy. Kneel down, thou varlet, and ask thy father blessing. Such nails had my middlemost son, and I made him a promoter: and he scraped, and scraped, and scraped, till he got the devil and all; but he scraped thus, and thus, and thus, and it went under his legs; till, at length, a company of kites, taking him for carrion, swept up all, all, all, all, all, all, all !—If you love your lives, look to yourselves! see, see, see, see! the Turk's gallies are fighting with my ships! bounce goes the guns: oh! cry the men: romble, romble go the waters.

Ans. Why how now, sirrah, must I fall to tame you?

1 Mad. Tame me! no: I'll be madder than a roasted cat: see, see! I am burnt with gunpowder! these are our close fights.

1 Mad. Do'st not see, fool! there's a fresh-Alas! there! 'tis sunk,-'tis sunk: I am unsalmon in't. If you step one foot further, you'll done, I am undone! you are the damned pirates be over shoes; for you see I'm over head and have undone me,-you are, by th' Lord! you are! ears in the salt water: and if you fall into this stop 'em ; you are! whirlpool, where I am, you're drown'd! you're a drown'd rat!-I am fishing here for five ships, but I cannot have a good draught; for my net breaks still, and breaks; but I'll break some of your necks, and I catch you in my clutches. Siay, stay, stay, stay, stay: where's the wind, where's the wind, where's the wind, where's the wind? Out, you gulls, you goosecaps, you gudgeon-eaters! Do you look for the wind in the heavens? ha, ha, ha, ha! no, no! Look there, look there, look there! the wind is always at that door. Hark, how it blows ! pooff, pooff, pootf. Omnes. Ha, ha, ha.

1 Mad. Do you laugh at God's creatures? Do you mock old age, you rogues? Is this grey beard and head counterfeit, that you cry ha, ha, ha?Sirrah, art not thou my eldest son?

Pior. Yes, indeed, father.

1 Mad. Then th'art a fool: for my eldest son had a 72 polt foot, crooked legs, a verjuice face, and a 73 pear-colour'd beard; I made him a scholar, and he made himself a fool.-Sirrah! thou there, hold out thy hand.

Duke. My hand? well, here 'tis.

Ans. I'll whip you, if you grow unruly thus. 1 Mad. Whip me! out, you toad! whip me! what justice is this, to whip me because I am a beggar!-Alas! I am a poor man; a very poor man: I am starved, and have had no meat, by this light, ever since the great flood: I am a poor man!

Ans. Well, well, be quiet, and you shall have meat.

1 Mad. Aye, aye, pray do; for, look you, here be my guts: these are my ribs;-you may look through my ribs; see how my guts come out-these are my red guts, my very guts; oh, oh!

Ans. Take him in there. [Old Man is removed.
Omnes. A very piteous sight.

Cast. Father, I see you have a busy charge.
Ans. They must be used like children; pleased
with toys,

1 Mad. Look, look, look, look! has he not And anon whipt for their unruliness. ong nails, and short hair?

I'll shew you now a pair quite different

72 A poll foot,-a polt foot seems to be the same we now call a splay foot. So, in Ben Jonson's Poetaster, A. 4. S. 7.

"What's become of my little punk Venus, and the poult foot stinkard her husband? ha!" Dedication to Euphues:

Ibid. p. 35.

"Vulcan was painted curiously, yet with a polt foote."

"Venus was content to take the black-smith with his powlt foote."

Dekkar's Villainies discovered, 1620, Sign. C.

"New bootes to hide his polt foote."

73 Pear-colour'd beard:-See Note 211 to The Spanish Tragedy, p. 502.

J From him that's gone; he was all words: and
these,

Unless you urge 'em, seldom spend their speech;
But have their tongues. La, you; this hithermost
Fell from the happy quietness of mind,
About a maiden, that he loved, who died:
He followed her to church, being full of tears,
And, as her body went into the ground,
He fell stark-mad. That is a married man,
Was jealous of a fair, but (as some say)
A very virtuous wife; and that spoiled him.

2 Mad. All these are whoremongers, and lay with my wife whore, whore, whore, whore, whore !

Fluel. Observe him.

2 Mad. I'll shoot at thee, an' thou'lt give me

none.

3 Mad. Wo't thou?

2 Mad. I'll run a tilt at thee, an' thou'lt give

me none.

3 Mad. Wo't thou? do, an' thou dar'st.
2 Mad. Bounce.

3 Mad. Ob! I am slain !---murder, murder, murder! I am siain; my brains are beaten out. Ans. How now, you villains! bring me whips: I'll whip you.

3 Mud. I am dead! I am slain! ring out the bell, for I am dead.

Duke. How will you do now, sirrah? killed him.

you ha'

2 Mad. I'll answer't at sessions. He was eating of almond-butter, and I longed for't: the child had never been delivered out of my belly, if I had not killed him. I'll answer't at sessions, so my wife may be burnt i'th' hand too.

Ans. Take 'em in both; bury him, for he's dead.

3 Mad. Aye, indeed, I am dead; put me, I pray, into a good pit-hole.

2 Mud. Gaffer shoemaker, you pulled on my wife's pumps, and then crept into her pantofles: lie there, lie there!-This was her tailor; you cut out her loose-bodied gown, and put in a yard more than I allowed her: lie there, by the shoemakers.-O, master doctor, are you here? you gave me a purgation, and then crept into my wife's chamber, to feel her pulses; and you said, and she said, and her maid said, that they went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat: doctor, I'll put you anon into my wife's urinal.---Heigh, come aloft, Jack this was her schoolmaster, and taught her to play upon the virginals; 74 and still his Jacks leapt up, up: you pricked her out nothing but bawdy lessons; but I'll prick you all! fiddlerdoctor-tailor-shoemaker,-shoemaker-fiddler for you too. -doctor-tailor-so!-lie with my wife again,

now!

2 Mad. I'll answer't at sessions.

Enter BELLAFRONT mad.

[Exeunt.

Ans. How now, huswife, whither gad you? Bel. A nutting, forsooth. How do you, gaffer? how do you, gaffer? there's a French curt'sy

Fluel. 'Tis Bellafront.

Pior. Tis the punk, by the lord.
Duke. Father, what's she, I pray?
Ans. As yet I know not:

She came in but this day: talks little idly,
And therefore has the freedom of the house.
Bel. Do not you know me? nor you? nor you?
nor you?

Omnes. No, indeed.

Bel. Then you are an ass,--and you are an ass,---and you are an ass; for I know you.

Ans. Why, what are they? come, tell me, what are they?

Bel. They're fish-wives: will you buy any gudgeons? God's-santy,77 yonder come friars! I know them too how do you, friar?

74 Virginals.-" A virginal,” says Mr Steevens," as I am informed, is a very small kind of spinnet. Queen Elizabeth's virginal-book is yet in being, and many of the lessons in it have proved so difficult, as to baffle our most expert players on the harpsichord." See Note on the Winter's Tale, A. I. §. 2. Blount, in his Glossographia, says, this musical instrument is called virginals, because maids and virgins do most commonly play on them.

75 Flap-dragon-A flap-dragon, says Dr Johnson, Note to the Second Part of Henry IV. A. 2 S. 4. "is some small combustible body, fired at one end, and put afloat in a glass of liquor. It is an act of a toper's dexterity to toss off the glass in such a manner as to prevent the flap-dragon from doing mischief." To swallow a flap-dragon, or a raw egg, were formerly among the cant proverbs among drunkards. Philocothonista, 1635, p. 65.

76 Here's an almond for parrot.-The title of a pamphlet, called, An Almond for a Parrot, or Cuthbert Curry-knaves Almes; B. L. No date is here alluded to.

77 God's-santy-See a Note on The Merchant of Venice, Vol. III. p. 157. edit. 1778. Perhaps, howGod's-santy is only a corruption of God's sanctity, or God's saints. S.

ever,

For I foresaw this storm; yet willingly Put forth to meet it. Oft have I seen a father Bel. Let me see, one, two, three, and four. I'll Washing the wounds of his dear son in tears; begin with the little finger first. Here's a fine A son to curse the sword, that struck his father; band, indeed! I never saw friar have such a dain-Both slain i'the quarrel of your families. ty hand here's a hand for a lady! here's your fortune:

78 We'll run at barlibreak -See Note on The Bird in a Cage, p. 249.

79 Now to you, Friar Tuck.-Friar Tuck is introduced into Heywood's play of Robert of Huntington, Part I, as the Chorus.

Wit. So the first edition. All the rest read wet.

Bel. Pretty soul! a pretty soul is better than
a pretty body. Do not you know my pretty soul?
I know you is not your name Matheo?
Math. Yes, lamb.

Some men have horns given them at their creations.

If I be one of those-why, so! it's better To take a common wench, and make her good, mut-Than one that simpers, and, at first, will scarce Be tempted forth over the threshold door; Yet, in one se'ennight, zounds, turns arrant whore. Come, wench, thou shalt be mine; give me thy golls, 83

Bel. Baa! lamb, there you lie; for I am ton. Look, fine man! he was mad for me once, and I was mad for him once; and he was mad for her once and were you never mad? yes, I warrant. I had a fine jewel once, a very fine jewel! and that naughty man stole it away from me: a very fine jewel

Duke. What jewel, pretty maid? Bel. Maid! nay, that's a lie. O, 'twas a very rich jewel, called a maidenhead; and had not you it, leerer?

Math. Out, you mad ass! away.

Duke. Had he thy maidenhead? he shall make thee amends, and marry thee.

Bel. Shall he? 82 O brave Arthur of Bradly, then!

Duke. And, if he bear the mind of a gentleman, I know he will.

We'll talk of legs hereafter.-See, my lord!
God give us joy!

Omnes. God give you joy!

Enter CANDIDO's Wife and GEORGE. George. Come, mistress, we are in bedlam now: mass! and see, we come in pudding-time; for here's the duke.

Wife. My husband, good my lord!

Duke. Have I thy husband?

Cast. It's Candido, my lord; he's here among the lunatics.-Father Anselmo, pray fetch him forth. [Exit ANSELMO.]—This mad woman is his

Math, I think I rifled her of some such paul-wife; and, though she were not with child, yet try jewel.

Duke. Did you? then marry her; you see the wrong

Has led her spirits into a lunacy.

Math. How! marry her, my lord? 'sfoot, marry a mad woman! let a man get the tamest wife he can come by, she'll be mad enough afterwards, do what he can.

Duke. Nay, then, Father Anselmo here shall
do his best,

To bring her to her wits. And will you, then?
Math. I cannot tell; I may chuse.

Duke. Nay, then, law shall compel: I tell you,
sir,

So much her hard fate moves me, you should not breathe

Under this air, unless you married her.

Math. Well, then, when her wits stand in their right place, I'll marry her.

Bel. I thank your grace. Matheo, thou art

mine.

I am not mad; but put on this disguise
Only for you, my lord; for you can tell
Much wonder of me: but you are gone, farewell!
Matheo, thou did'st first turn my soul black;
Now make it white again. I do protest,
I'm pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia's breast.
Hip. I durst be sworn, Matheo, she's indeed.
Math. Coney-catcht! gulled!-Must I sail in
your fly-boat,

Because I helped to rear your main-mast first?
Plague found you for't! 'Tis well

The cuckold's stamp goes current in all nations;

did she long, most spitefully, to have her husband mad; and because she would be sure he should turu Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem.— Yonder he comes.

Are you mad?

Enter CANDIDO with ANSELMO.
Duke. Come hither, signior.
Cand. You are not mad?
Duke. Why, I know that.
Cand. Then you may know I am not mad, that
know

You are not mad, and that you are the duke.
None is mad here, but one.—How do you, wife?
What do you long for, now?-pardon, my lord;
She had lost her child's nose else. I did cut out
Pennyworths of lawn; the lawn was yet mine

own:

81 I am mutton-See Note 69, p. 552.

82 O brave Arthur of Brailly.-An allusion to the old Ballad of that name.

$3 Give me thy golls.-See Note to The Mayor of Quinborough.

Such heavy weight, that you should loath it.
Cand. Loath it!

Duke. For he, whose breast is tender, blood so
cool,

That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool.
What comfort do you find in being so calm?
Cand. That which green wounds receive from
sovereign balm.

Patience, my lord! Why, 'tis the soul of peace:
Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven;
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer;
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit:
The first true gentleman, that ever breathed.
The stock of patience, then, cannot be poor;
All it desires it has; what monarch more?
It is the greatest enemy to law

That can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs,
And so chains up lawyers' and womens' tongues.
'Tis the perpetual prisoner's liberty,

His walks, and orchards: 'tis the bond-slave's freedom;

EDITIONS.

(1.) The Honest Whore, with the Humours of the Patient Man and the Longing Wife. Thomas Dekkar. London, Printed by V. S. for John Hodgets, and are to be solde at his Shop in Paule's Church-yard, 1604, 4to.

(2.) The Honest Whore, with the Humours of the Patient Man and the Longing Wife. Thomas Dekkar. London. Printed by Nicholas Okes for Robert Basse, and are to be sold at his Shop under St Butolphes Church, 1615, 4to.

(S.) The Honest Whore, with the Humours of the Patient Man and the Longing Wife. Thomas Dekkar. London. Printed by Nicholas Okes for Robert Basse, and are to be sold at his Shop under St Butolphes Church, 1616, 4to.

(4.) The Honest Whore, with the Humours of the Patient Man and the Longing Wife. Written by Thomas Dekkar. As it hath beene acted by her Majestie's Servants, with great applause. London. Printed by N. Okes, and are to be sold by Richard Collins, at his Shop under St Martin's Church, ncere Ludgate, 1635, 4to.