ACT II., SCENE I.
Have-at-all, Slicer, Hearsay having rescued him in a quarrel.
Have. 'Tis destin'd; I'll be valiant: I am sure
I shall be beaten with more credit then
Than now I do escape. Lieutenant, has't
Bethought thyself as yet? Has't any way
To make my sword fetch blood?
Slicer. You never yet
Did kill your man, then?
Have. No.
Hear. Nor get your wench
With child, I warrant?
Have. O sir!
Slicer. You're not quite
Free of the gentry, till y' have marr'd one man
And made another. When one fury hath
Cried quit with t'other, and your lust repair'd
What anger hath destroy'd, the title's yours;
Till then you do but stand for't.
Have. Pox! who'd be
That vile, scorn'd name, that stuffs all court-gate bills?
Lieutenant, thou may'st teach me valour yet.
Slicer. Teach thee! I will inspire thee; man, I'll make
Thy name become a terror; and to say
That Have-at-all is coming shall make room,
As when the bears are in procession.
Hark hither, Frank—[They consult.
Hear. That's good, but—
Slicer. How think'st now?
Hear. Nay, he will pay you large—ly. [Aloud.
Have. Pay, what else?
Hear. Make him believe the citizen's his guest;
The citizen, that he is his.
Slicer. Concluded.
Would you fight fair, or conquer by a spell?
Have. I do not care for witchcraft; I would have
My strength rely merely upon itself.
Slicer. There is a way, though I ne'er show'd it yet
But to one Spaniard, and 'twas wondrous happy.
Have. Think me a second Spaniard, worthy sir.
Slicer. Then listen. The design is by a dinner—
An easy way, you'll say: I'll say, a true.
Hunger may break stone walls, it ne'er hurts men:
Your cleanly feeder is your man of valour.
What makes the peasant grovel in his muck,
Humbling his crooked soul, but that he eats
Bread just in colour like it? Courage ne'er
Vouchsaf'd to dwell a minute where a sullen
Pair of brown loaves darken'd the dirty table;
Shadows of bread, not bread. You never knew
A solemn son of bag-pudding and pottage
Make a commander, or a tripe-eater
Become a tyrant. He's the kingdom's arm
That can feed large and choicely.
Have. If that be
The way, I'll eat myself into courage,
And will devour valour enough quickly.
Slicer. 'Tis not the casual eating of those meats
That doth procure those spirits, but the order
And manner of the meal—the ranking of
The dishes, that does all; else he that hath
The greatest range, would be the hardiest man.
Those goodly juments of the guard would fight
(As they eat beef) after six stone a day;
The spit would nourish great attempts: my lord
Would lead a troop, as well as now a masque;
And force the enemy's sword with as much ease
As his mistress's bodkin: gallants would
Owe valour to their ordinaries, and fight
After a crown meal.
Have. I do conceive
The art is all in all. If that you'll give
A bill of your directions, I'll account
Myself oblig'd unto you for my safety.
Slicer. Take it then thus. All must be soldier-like;
No dish but must present artillery;
Some military instrument in each.
Imprimis, six or seven yards of tripe
Display'd instead o' th' ensign.
Have. Why, you said
Tripe-eaters ne'er made tyrants.
Slicer. Peace, sir: learners
Must be attentive, and believe. Do y' think
We'll eat this? 'Tis but for formality.
Item, a collar of good large fat brawn
Serv'd for a drum, waited upon by two
Fair long black-puddings, lying by for drumsticks.
Item, a well-grown lamprey for a fife;
Next some good curious march-panes[138] made into
The form of trumpets. Then in order shall
Follow the officers: the captain first
Shall be presented in a warlike cock,
Swimming in white broth, as he's wont in blood:
The serjeant-major he may bustle in
The shape of some large turkey: for myself,
Who am lieutenant, I'm content there be
A buzzard only. Let the corporal
Come sweating in a breast of mutton, stuff'd[139]
With pudding, or strut in some aged carp:
Either doth serve, I think. As for perdues,[140]
Some choice sous'd fish brought couchant in a dish
Among some fennel or some other grass,
Shows how they lie i' th' field. The soldier then
May be thus rank'd: the common one, chicken,
Duck, rabbit, pigeon; for the more genteel,
Snipe, woodcock, partridge, pheasant, quail, will serve.
Hear. Bravely contriv'd!
Slicer. That weapons be not wanting,
We'll have a dozen of bones well-charg'd with marrow
For ordnance, muskets, petronels, petards;
Twelve yards of sausage by, instead of match;
And caveary[141] then prepar'd for wild-fire.
Hear. Rare rogue! how I do love him now, methinks!
Slicer. Next we'll have true fat eatable old pikes,
Then a fresh turbot brought in for a buckler,
With a long spitchcock for the sword adjoin'd.
We'll bring the ancient weapons into play.
Have. Most rare, by heaven!
Slicer. Peaches, apricocks,
And malecotoons,[142] with other choicer plums,
Will serve for large-sized bullets; then a dish
Or two of peas for small ones. I could now
Tell you of pepper in the stead of powder,
But that 'tis not in fashion 'mongst us gallants.
If this might all stand upon drum-heads, 'twould
Work somewhat better.
Have. Will't so? Then we'll have 'em
From every ward i' th' city.
Slicer. No, I'm loth
To put you to such charge. For once a long
Table shall serve the turn; 'tis no great matter.
The main thing's still behind. We must have there
Some fort to scale; a venison-pasty doth it.
You may have other pies instead of outworks:
Some sconces would not be amiss, I think.
When this is all prepar'd, and when we see
The table look like a pitch'd battle, then
We'll give the word, fall to, slash, kill and spoil:
Destruction, rapine, violence! spare none.
Hear. Thou hast forgotten wine, lieutenant—wine.
Slicer. Then to avoid the gross absurdity
Of a dry battle, 'cause there must some blood
Be spill'd (on th' enemies' side, I mean) you may
Have there a rundlet of brisk claret, and
As much of alicant; the same quantity
Of tent would not be wanting—'tis a wine
Most like to blood. Some shall bleed fainter colours,
As sack and white wine. Some that have the itch
(As there are tailors still in every army),
Shall run with Rhenish that hath brimstone in't.
When this is done, fight boldly: write yourself
The tenth or 'leventh worthy—which you please:
Your choice is free.
Have. I'll be the gaming worthy;
My word shall be twice twelve. I think the dice
Ne'er mounted any upon horseback yet.
Slicer. We'll bring your friends and ours to this large dinner:
It works the better, eaten before witness.
Beware you say 'tis yours; confession is
One step to weakness; private conscience is
A theatre to valour. Let's be close:
Old Credulous and his son, and Master Caster,
Shall all be there.
Have. But then they will grow valiant
All at my charge.
Slicer. Ne'er fear't: the unknowing man
Eats only flesh, the understanding, valour:
His ignorance i' th' mystery keeps him coward.
To him 'tis but a meal; to you 'tis virtue.
It shall be kept here.
Have. No fitter place. There is
An old rich clutch-fist knight, Sir Thomas Bitefig,
Invite him too; perhaps I may have luck,
And break his purse yet open for one hundred.
A usurer is somewhat exorable,
When he is full; he ne'er lends money empty.
Slicer. Discreet, and wisely done: I was about
T' have prompted it.
Hear. Stout Master Have-at-all,
Let's be sworn brothers.
Have. Pox! thou fear'st I'll beat thee,
After I've eaten. Dost thou think I'll offer't?
By my next meal, I won't; nay, I do love
My friends howe'er. I do but think how I
Shall bastinado o'er the ordinaries.
Arm'd with my sword, battoon and foot, I'll walk
To give each rank its due. No one shall 'scape,
But he I win of.
Hear. You shall have at least
Some twenty warrants sign'd upon you straight:
The trunk-hose justices will try all means
To bind you to the peace, but that your strength
Shall not be bound by any.
Slicer. Surgeons will
Pray for your health and happiness: you may
Bring them to be your tributaries, if
You but deny to fight awhile.
Have. My teeth
Are on an edge till I do eat. Now will
I cosen all men without opposition:
I feel my strength increase with very thought on't.
Sword, sword, thou shalt grow fat; and thou, battoon,
Hold out, I prythee: when my labour's done,
I'll plant thee in the Tower-yard, and there,
Water'd with wine, thou shalt revive, and spring
In spite of nature with fresh succulent boughs,
Which shall supply the commonwealth with cudgels.
Thou I first meet after this meal I do
Pronounce unhappy shadow—happy yet
In that thou'lt fall by me. Some men I will
Speak into carcase; some I'll look to death;
Others I'll breathe to dust: none shall hold back
This fatal arm. The Templars shall not dare
T' attempt a rescue; no mild words shall bury
My splitted, spitchcock'd——
Slicer. Oliv'd,[143] hash'd——
Hear. Dri'd, powder'd——
Have. Roasted fury. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Meanwell, Moth.
Mean. If what I speak prove false, then stigmatise me.
Moth.[144] I was not what you mean; depardieu,[145]
You snyb[146] mine old years, sans fail I wene[147] you bin
A jangler[148] and a golierdis.[149]
Mean. I swear
By those two Janus' heads you had of us,
And your own too, as reverend as those,
There is one loves you that you think not on.
Moth. Nad be, none pleasaunce is to me ylaft,[150]
This white top writeeth much my years, i-wis,
My fire yreken is in ashen cold.[151]
I can no whit of dalliance: if I kissen,
These thick stark bristles of mine beard will pricken
Ylike the skin of hound-fish. Sikerly[152]
What wends against the grain is lytherly.[153]
Mean. Methinks y' are strong enough and very lusty,
Fit to get heirs: among your other pieces
Of age and time let one young face be seen
May call you father.
Moth. Wholesome counsel! But
The world is now full tickle[154] sykerly;
'Tis hard to find a damosel unwenned;[155]
They being all coltish and full of ragery,[156]
And full of gergon[157] as is a flecken[158] pie.
Whoso with them maketh that bond anon,
Which men do clyppen[159] spousail or wedlock,
Saint Idiot is his lord, i-wis.
Mean. This is
No tender and wanton thing; she is a staid
And settled widow, one who'll be a nurse
Unto you in your latter days.
Moth. A norice[160]
Some dele ystept in age! So mote[161] I gone,
This goeth aright: how highteth[162] she, say you?
Mean. Mistress Joan Potluck, vintner Potluck's widow.
Moth. Joan Potluck, spinster? Lore me o' thing mere
Alouten: what time 'gan she brendle thus?
Mean. On Thursday morning last.
Moth. Y' blessed Thursday,
Ycleped so from Thor the Saxon's god.
Ah, benedicite! I might soothly sayn,
Mine mouth hath itched all this livelong day;
All night me met[163] eke, that I was at kirk;
My heart gan quapp[164] full oft. Dan Cupido
Sure sent thylke sweven[165] to mine head.
Mean. You shall
Know more, if you'll walk in. [Exit Meanwell.
Moth. Wend you beforne;
Kembeth[166] thyself, and pyketh[167] now thyself;
Sleeketh thyself; make cheer much digne,[168] good Robert:
I do arret thou shalt acquainted bin
With nymphs and fauns, and hamadryades:
And yeke the sisterne nine Pierides
That were transmued into birds, nemp'd[169] pyes
Metamorphoseos wot well what I mean:
I is as jollie now as fish in Seine. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Hearsay, Caster, Shape.
Hear. Can I lie hid nowhere securely from
The throng and press of men? Must every place
Become a theatre, where I seek shelter,
And solitudes become markets, 'cause I'm there?
Good sir, I know your tricks; you would entrap:
This is your snare, not your request.
Shape. Take heed;
He's nois'd about for a deep-searching head.
I'll pawn my life 'tis a trick.
Hear. Leave off these gins,
You do not do it handsomely. You think
Y' have met with fools, I warrant.
Shape. On my life, a spy, a mere informer.
Cas. As I hope
For fortunes, my intentions are most fair.
Shape. A gamester's oath! he hath some reservation.
Hear. Yet did I think you true——
Cas. By all that's good,
You do me wrong, to think that I'd wrong you.
Hear. When I lay agent last in New Atlantis,
I met with, what you now desire, a strange
New way of winning, but yet very sure.
Were not the danger great, I'd——
Cas. Do you think
I will betray myself or you, whom I
Esteem above myself? I have as yet
One hundred left, some part of which——
Shape. Faith, sir,
These times require advice: if it should come
Unto the council's ear once, he might be
Sent into other kingdoms, to win up
Money for the relief o' th' state, and so
Be as it were an honest kind of exile.
Cas. If I do e'er discover, may I want
Money to pay my ordinary: may I
At my last stake (when there is nothing else
To lose the game) throw ames-ace[170] thrice together!
I'll give you forty pound in hand——
Hear. I may
Show you the virtue of't, though not the thing:
I love my country very well. Your high
And low men are but trifles;[171] your pois'd dye,
That's ballasted with quicksilver or gold,
Is gross to this——
Shape. Proffer him more, I say. [Aside.
Cas. Here's fifty——
Hear. For the bristle dye, it is
Not worth that hand that guides it: toys fit only
For clerks to win poor costermongers' ware with.
Shape. You do not come on well. [Aside.
Cas. Here's threescore——
Hear. Then
Your hollowed thumb join'd with your wriggled box—
The slur and suchlike are not to be talk'd of;
They're open to the eye. For cards, you may
Without the help of any secret word
Or a false hand, without the cut or shuffle,
Or the pack'd trick, have what you will yourself;
There's none to contradict you.
Cas. If you please
But to instruct me, here is fourscore pound.
Hear. Do you think 'tis money I esteem? I can
Command each term by art as much as will
Furnish a navy. Had you but five pound
Left you in all the world, I'd undertake
Within one fortnight you should see five thousand.
Not that I covet any of your dross,
But that the power of this art may be
More demonstrably evident, leave in
My hands all but some smaller sum to set,
Something to stake at first.
Shape. He'll tell you all,
If you but seem to trust him. [Aside.
Cas. Here I'll lay
Down in your hands all but this little portion,
Which I reserve for a foundation.
Hear. Being y' are confident of me, and I
Presume your lips are sealed up to silence,
Take that, which I did never yet discover:
So help you fortune, me philosophy.
(I must intreat your absence, Master Shape.) [Exit Shape.
I do presume you know the strength and power
That lies in fancy.
Cas. Strange things are done by it.
Hear. It works upon that which is not as yet:
The little Ethiop infant would have been
Black in his cradle,[172] had he not been first
White in the mother's strong imagination.
'Tis thought the hairy child, that's shown about,
Came by the mother's thinking on the picture
Of Saint John Baptist in his camel's coat.
See we not beasts conceive, as they do fancy
The present colours plac'd before their eyes?
We owe pied colts unto the varied horse-cloth,
And the white partridge to the neighbouring snow.
Fancy can save or kill: it hath clos'd up
Wounds,[173] when the balsam could not; and without
The aid of salves, to think hath been a cure.
For witchcraft then, that's all done by the force
Of mere imagination. That which can
Alter the course of nature, I presume,
You'll grant shall bear more rule in petty hazards.
Cas. It must, it must, good sir. I pray, go on.
Hear. Now the strongest fancies still are found to dwell
In the most simple; they being easiest won
To the most firm belief, who understand not
Why[174] 'tis they do believe. If they think 'twill
Be so, it will be so: they do command
And check the course of fortune: they may stop
Thunder, and make it stand, as if arrested
In its mid-journey. If that such a one
Shall think you'll win, you must win: 'tis a due,
That nature pays those men in recompense
Of her deficiency that, whate'er they think,
Shall come to pass. But now the hardest will be
To find out one that's capable of thinking.
Cas. I know you can produce an instrument
To work this your design by: let me owe you
The whole and entire courtesy.
Hear. I've one
Committed to my custody but lately,
The powerfull'st that way I e'er found yet:
He will but think he shall be abus'd in such
A company, and he's abus'd: he will
Imagine only that he shall be cheated,
And he is cheated: all still comes to pass.
He's but one pin above a natural: but——
Cas. We'll purchase him; I'll take up for't. Old Simon
Shall have my farm outright now. What's a piece
Of dirty earth to me? a clod! a turf!
Hear. Because I see your freer nature's such
As doth deserve supplies, I'll do my best
To win him o'er awhile into your service.
Cas. If I should strive to pay you thanks, I should
But undervalue this great courtesy.
Sir, give me leave to think and worship. Stay:
First, will I beggar all the gentlemen
That do keep terms; then build with what I win.
Next, I'll undo all gaming citizens,
And purchase upon that. The foreman shall
Want of his wonted opportunities;
Old Thomas shall keep home, I warrant him.
I will ascend to the groom-porters next,
Fly higher games, and make my mincing knights
Walk musing in their knotty freeze abroad;
For they shall have no home. There shall not be
That pleasure but I'll balk: I'll run o'er Nature;
And when I've ransack'd her, I'll weary art:
My means, I'm sure, will reach it. Let me see,
'Twill yearly be—by heaven, I know not what——
Hear. Ne'er think to sum it, 'tis impossible:
You shall ne'er know what angels, pieces, pounds,
Those names of want and beggary, mean: your tongue
Shall utter nought but millions; you shall measure,
Not count your moneys; your revenues shall
Be proud and insolent, and unruly;
They shall increase above your conquer'd spendings,
In spite of their excess. Your care shall be
Only to tame your riches, and to make them
Grow sober and obedient to your use.
Cas. I'll send some forty thousand unto Paul's;
Build a cathedral next in Banbury;[175]
Give organs to each parish in the kingdom;
And so root out th' unmusical elect.
I'll pay all soldiers, whom their captains won't;
Raise a new hospital for those maim'd people
That have been hurt in gaming: then build up
All colleges that ruin hath demolish'd,
Or interruption left unperfect.
Hear. 'Twill
Never be done, I think, unless you do it.
Provide the wealthiest gamesters: there's but one
That can do us wrong—discovery.
You have no enemy but frailty.
Cas. Night
And silence are loud names compar'd with me.
Hear. I see the tide of fortune rolling in
Without resistance. Go, be close and happy. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Andrew, Meanwell.
And. Upon my conscience, now he cheated me;
I could have never lost it else so strangely.
Mean. What is a paltry cloak to a man of worth?
It barr'd men only o' th' sight of your body;
Your handsomeness will now appear the better.
And. He was as like our Master Shape as could be;
But that he had a patch upon his cheek
And a black beard, I should have sworn 'twere he:
It was somebody in his clothes, I'm sure.
Mean. Some cunning cheater, upon my life, won
His cloak and suit too!
And. There it is for certain,
Pyes take him! doth he play for cloaks still? Surely
He hath a fly only to win good clothes.
Enter Shape.
Shape. The pox and plague take all ill-fortune! this
The second time that he hath cheated me;
My very best suit that I had!
And. How now!
What, lost your cloak and suit? A jest, I vow;
I vow, a pretty jest. 'Odsnigs, I guess'd so;
I saw him have it on: it made him look as like you,
As like you—'tis a rogue, a mere decoy. [Aside.
Shape. A rogue, a mere decoy! and yet like
me?
And. Nay, hold, I mean he is a rogue, when that
He hath his own clothes on. D' y' think that I
Would call him so when he is in your suit?
Shape. No more of that, good Andrew, as you love me;
Keep in your wit.
And. Speak, tutor, do I use
To quarrel? Speak, good tutor.
Mean. That wit, Andrew,
Of yours will be th' undoing of you, if
You use't no better.
And. Faith, I thought I might
Have broke a witty jest upon him, being
I've lost my cloak.
Mean. True; but he has lost his too,
And then you know that is not lawful wit.
Enter Hearsay.
Hear. Here's Master Credulous and old Sir Thomas;
They have some business with you.
Mean. Bring 'em in.
Shape. My business lies not here, sirs, fare you well.
[Exit Shape.
And. For God's sake, don't you tell old Sim on't, now.
SCENE V.
To them Sir Thomas Bitefig, Credulous.
Mean. God save you, good Sir Thomas.
Sir T. Save you, sir.
Mean. Your welcome, Master Credulous.
Cre. Come hither:
Whither do you steal now? What! Where's your cloak?
And. Going to foils e'en now, I put it off.
Mean. To tell you truth, he hath lost it at doublets.
Cre. With what a lie you'd flap me in the mouth!
Thou hast the readiest invention
To put off anything: thou hadst it from
Thy mother, I'll be sworn: 't ne'er came from me.
Mean. Peace, as you love yourself: if that the knight
Should once perceive that he were given to gaming,
'Twould make him break the match off presently.
Cre. Sir Thomas, here's my son; he may be yours,
If you please to accept him.
And. Father, don't
Give me away for this: try me once more.
Sir T. I like his person well enough, if that
You'll make him an estate convenient.
Mean. He hath more in him, sir, than he can show.
He hath one fault: he's something covetous.
Sir T. Marry, a very commendable fault.
Cre. He is descended of no great high blood:
He hath a house, although he came of none.
His grandfather was a good livery-man,
Paid scot and lot, old Timothy Credulous
My father—though I say it, that should not.
Sir T. I don't regard this thing that you call blood;
'Tis a mere name, a sound.
Mean. Your worship speaks
Just like yourself: methinks he's noble
That's truly rich. Men may talk much of lines,
Of arms, of blood, of race, of pedigree:
Houses, descents and families; they are
But empty noise, God knows; the idle breath
Of that puff nothing, honour; formal words,
Fit for the tongues of men that ne'er knew yet
What stem, what gentry, nay, what virtue lies
In great revenues.
Sir T. Well and pithy said!
You may work on my daughter, and prevail
For that young stripling. 'Tis a foolish wench,
An unexperienc'd girl; she'd like to have been
Caught by Sir Robert Littleworth's son, if that
I had not banish'd him my house; a youth
Honest enough, I think, but that he's poor;
Born to more name than fortune.
Cre. He is safe
For ever wooing. I have laid his father
Out of harm's way; there's picking meat for him,
And God knows where he's gone: he hath not been
Seen this long while; he's, sure, turn'd vagabond;
No sight of him since the arrest of his father.
Andrew, address yourself to good Sir Thomas.
And. 'Slid, father, you're the strangest man—I won't.
Cre. As God shall mend me, thou'rt the proudest thing——
Thou can'st not compliment, but in caparisons.
And. What's that to you? I'd fain say something yet,
But that I can't, my losses do so vex me.
Cre. Come, think not on't, my boy; I'll furnish thee.
And. Sir, though——
Cre. Nay, to't, I say: help him, sir, help him.
And. Sir, though without my cloak at this time—
To-morrow I shall have one—give me leave
Barely to say I am your servant, sir——
In hose and doublet.
Cre. I'll do what you told me.
Hear. Take heed: if that you do't, he'll guess you're given
To idle spendings, and so cross the match.
I will invite him as to myself.
Cre. Do so.
Hear. Sir Thomas, if you'll please so far to grace us,
As be a guest to-morrow here, we shall
Study hereafter to deserve the favour.
Sir T. Although I do not use to eat at ordinaries;
Yet to accept your courtesy, good friends,
I'll break my wonted custom.
Hear. You shall have it
With a free heart.
Sir T. If I thought otherwise,
I do assure you, I'd not venture hither. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[137] i.e., Prize [or acquisition.]—Collier.
[138] March-pane was a confection made of pistachio nuts, almonds, sugar, &c., formerly in high esteem, and a constant article in the deserts of our ancestors. See the notes of Dr Gray, Mr Hawkins, and Mr Steevens, to "Romeo and Juliet," act i. sc. 5.
[139] This is called a St Stephen's pudding: it used formerly to be provided at St John's College, Cambridge, uniformly on St Stephen's day.—Pegge.
[140] See [Suckling's Works, by Hazlitt, ii. 33.]
[141] Or, caveare. Giles Fletcher, in his "Russe Commonwealth," 1591, p. 11, says: "In Russia they have divers kinds of fish, very good and delicate: as the Bellouga or Bellougina, of four or five elnes long; the Ostrina or Sturgeon, but not so thicke nor long. These four kinds of fish breed in the Volgha, and are catched in great plenty, and served thence into the whole realme for a great food. Of the roes of these foure kinds, they make very great store of Icary, or caveary."
The introduction of these foreign delicacies is ridiculed by several writers of the times; as Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," act iii. sc. 1: "Come; let us go and taste some light dinner, a dish of sliced caviare, or so."
And in Marston's "What you Will," act ii. sc. 1—
"A man can scarce put on a tuckt-up cap,
A button'd frizado sute; scarce eate good meate,
Anchovies, caviare, but hee's satired,
And term'd phantasticall."
[142] The malacoton is one of the late peaches. So in Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair"—
"A soft velvet head like a mellicotton."
—Steevens.
[143] Olived is a term of cookery. In Murrell's "New Book of Cookery," [1630,] is a receipt to make an olive-pie to be eaten hot. Olives are collops of any meat.—Steevens.
[144] Cartwright has fetched most of his antiquated terms from Chaucer. I have therefore given the explanation of them from Mr Tyrwhitt's excellent glossary on that author.
[145] [For God's sake.]
[146] Snub, reprove.—T.
[147] Think, suppose.—T.
[148] A prater.—T.
[149] Fr. Goliardus, or Goliardensis, Lat. "This jovial sect seems to have been so called from Golias, the [representative] name of a man of wit, toward the end of the 12th century, [under which pass] "Apocalypsis Goliæ" and other pieces, in burlesque Latin rhymes, some of which have been falsely attributed to Walter Mapes. In several authors of the 13th century, quoted by Du Cange, the Goliardi are classed with the joculatores or buffones."—T. [See "Poems of Walter Mapes," edit. Wright, p. ix. et seq.]
[150] Left.—T.
[151] So in Chaucer's "Reve's Prologue," v. 3880—
"Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken."
On this last line Mr Tyrwhitt observes: "There is so great a resemblance between this line and the following in 'Gray's Elegy,' [edit. Mitford, i. 106]—
"Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires,"
that I should certainly have considered the latter as an imitation, if Mr Gray himself had not referred us to the 169 (170) sonnet of Petrarch, as his original 'Ch'i veggio nel pensier,' &c.
[152] Surely.—T.
[153] Very ill.—T.
[154] Uncertain.—T.
[155] Unspotted.—T.
[156] Wantonness.—T.
[157] Jargon, chattering.—T.
[158] Spotted.—T.
[159] Call, name.—T.
[160] A nurse.—T.
[161] [Might.]
[162] Is she called.—T.
[163] Dreamed.—T.
[164] Tremble or quake.—T.
[165] Dream.—T.
[166] Combeth.—T.
[167] Pick as a hawk does his feathers.—T.
[168] Worthy.—T.
[169] Named.—T.
[170] ["Both aces, the lowest throw upon the dice."—Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," 1868.]
[171] High men and low men are false dice. See Florio's "Dictionary," 1598, v. Pise. These terms so very oft occur in our ancient dramatic writers, that to quote examples would be endless.
[172] The epithet black does not agree with Sir Kenelm Digby's "Discourse touching the Cure of Wounds by the Power of Sympathy," 4th edition, 1664, p. 104: "I told her sundry stories upon this subject; as that of the Queen of Ethiopia, who was delivered of a white boy; which was attributed to a picture of the Blessed Virgin, which she had always near the tester of her bed, whereunto she bore great devotion. I urged another, of a woman who was brought to bed of a child all hairy, because of a portrait of St John the Baptist in the wilderness, where he wore a coat of camel's hair."
Perhaps the original reading is the true one, and the corruption lies in the former line. I would read—
"It works upon that which is not as yet:
The little Ethiop infant would have been
Black in his cradle, had he not been first
White in the mother's strong imagination."
The compositor's eye might have caught had not from the following line—a very common accident. Without this emendation we have too much of not and had not in the course of three verses.—Steevens's note (altered.) [Cartwright and Digby probably derived the story of the Ethiop mother and her white offspring from a common source; but Digby's work was not published till several years after Cartwright's death.]
[173] See Sir Kenelm Digby's "Discourse," p. 6.
[174] [Old copy, who. Mr Collier's correction.]
[175] From Bishop Corbet's "Iter Boreale," this town appears to have been inhabited chiefly by Puritans. Mr Dodd, mentioned in act iv. sc. 3, was minister there.