A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 09

by Unknown

ACTUS I, SCAENA 5.

Enter RICHARDETTO, JAQUES, Scholar learning French.

JAQUES.
How now, my little knave? Quelle nouvelle, monsieur?

RICHARDETTO. There's a fellow with a nightcap on his head, an urinal in his hand, would fain speak with Master Theodore.

JAQUES.
Parle François, mon petit garçon.

RICHARDETTO.[70] Ici un homme, avec le bonnet de nuit sur la tete, et un urinal en la main, que veut parler avec Maistre Theodore.

JAQUES.
Fort bien.

THEODORE.
Jaques, a bonne heure.

[Exeunt.

ACTUS I., SCAENA 6.

FUROR POETICUS; and presently after enters PHANTASMA.

FUROR POETICUS, rapt with contemplation.
Why, how now, pedant Phoebus?[71] are you smouching Thaly on her tender
lips? There, hoi! peasant, avaunt! Come, pretty short-nosed nymph. O
sweet Thalia, I do kiss thy foot. What, Clio? O sweet Clio! Nay,
prythee, do not weep, Melpomene. What, Urania, Polyhymnia, and Calliope!
let me do reverence to your deities.
[PHANTASMA pulls him by the sleeve.
I am your holy swain that, night and day,
Sit for your sakes, rubbing my wrinkled brow,
Studying a month for a epithet.
Nay, silver Cynthia, do not trouble me;
Straight will I thy Endymion's story write,
To which thou hastest me on day and night.
You light-skirt stars, this is your wonted guise,
By gloomy light perk out your doubtful heads;
But when Dan[72] Phoebus shows his flashing snout,
You are sky-puppies;[73] straight your light is out.

PHANTASMA.
So ho, Furor!
Nay, prythee, good Furor, in sober sadness—

FUROR.
Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo.

PHANTASMA.
Nay, sweet Furor,—ipsae te, Tityre, pinus—

FUROR.
Ipsi te fontes, ipsa haec arbusta vocarunt.
Who's that runs headlong on my quill's sharp point,
That, wearied of his life and baser breath,
Offers himself to an Iambic verse?

PHANTASMA.
Si, quoties peccant homines, sua fulmina mittat
Jupiter, exiguo tempore inermis erit.

FUROR.
What slimy, bold, presumptuous groom[74] is he,
Dares with his rude, audacious, hardy chat
Thus sever me from sky-bred[75] contemplation?

PHANTASMA. Carmina vel coelo possunt deducere lunam.

FUROR.
O Phantasma! what, my individual[76] mate?

PHANTASMA. O, mihi post nullos, Furor, memorande sodales!

FUROR.
Say, whence comest thou? sent from what deity?
From great Apollo or sly Mercury?

PHANTASMA. I come from the little Mercury Ingenioso: for, Ingenio pollet, cui vim natura negavit.

FUROR.
Ingenioso?
He is a pretty inventor of slight prose;
But there's no spirit in his grov'lling speech.
Hang him, whose verse cannot outbelch the wind,
That cannot beard and brave Dan Aeolus;
That, when the cloud of his invention breaks,
Cannot outcrack the scarecrow thunderbolt.
Hang him, I say![77]

PHANTASMA. Pendo, pependi; tendo, tetendi; pedo, pepedi. Will it please you, Master Furor, to walk with me? I promise to bring you to a drinking-inn in Cheapside, at the sign of the Nag's Head; for

Tempore lenta pati fraena docentur equi.

FUROR.
Pass thee before, I'll come incontinent.

PHANTASMA.
Nay, faith, Master Furor, let's go together, quoniam convenimus ambo.

FUROR.
Let us march on unto the house of fame;
There, quaffing bowls of Bacchus' blood full nimbly,
Indite a-tiptoe strutting poesy.
[They offer the way one to the other.

PHANTASMA. Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui plenum? Tu major: tibi me est aequum parere, Menalca.

ACTUS II., SCAENA 1.

Enter PHILOMUSUS, THEODORE, his patient, the BURGESS, and his man with his staff.

THEODORE. [Puts on his spectacles.] Monsieur, here are atomi natantes, which do make show your worship to be as lecherous as a bull.

BURGESS.
Truly, Master Doctor, we are all men.

THEODORE. This vater is intention of heat: are you not perturbed with an ache in your vace[78] or in your occipit? I mean your headpiece. Let me feel the pulse of your little finger.

BURGESS. I'll assure you, Master Theodore, the pulse of my head beats exceedingly; and I think I have disturbed myself by studying the penal statutes.

THEODORE. Tit, tit, your worship takes care of your speeches. O, Curae leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent: it is an aphorism in Galen.

BURGESS.
And what is the exposition of that?

THEODORE. That your worship must take a gland, ut emittatur sanguis: the sign is fort excellent, fort excellent.

BURGESS. Good Master Doctor, use me gently; for, mark you, sir, there is a double consideration to be had of me: first, as I am a public magistrate; secondly, as I am a private butcher; and but for the worshipful credit of the place and office wherein I now stand and live, I would not hazard my worshipful apparel with a suppository or a glister: but for the countenancing of the place, I must go oftener to stool; for, as a great gentleman told me, of good experience, that it was the chief note of a magistrate not to go to the stool without a physician.

THEODORE. Ah, vous êtes un gentilhomme, vraiment.—What, ho, Jaques! Jaques, donnez-vous un fort gentil purgation for Monsieur Burgess.

JAQUES.
Votre très-humble serviteur, à votre commandment.

THEODORE. Donnez-vous un gentil purge à Monsieur Burgess.—I have considered of the crasis and syntoma of your disease, and here is un fort gentil purgation per evacuationem excrementorum, as we physicians use to parley.

BURGESS. I hope, Master Doctor, you have a care of the country's officer. I tell you, I durst not have trusted myself with every physician; and yet I am not afraid for myself, but I would not deprive the town of so careful a magistrate.

THEODORE. O Monsieur, I have a singular care of your valetudo. It is requisite that the French physicians be learned and careful; your English velvet-cap is malignant and envious.

BURGESS.
Here is, Master Doctor, fourpence—your due, and eightpence—my bounty.
You shall hear from me, good Master Doctor; farewell, farewell, good
Master Doctor.

THEODORE.
Adieu, good Monsieur; adieu, good sir Monsieur. Exit BURGESS.
Then burst with tears, unhappy graduate;
Thy fortunes still wayward and backward been;
Nor canst thou thrive by virtue nor by sin.

STUDIOSO.
O, how it grieves my vexed soul to see
Each painted ass in chair of dignity!
And yet we grovel on the ground alone,
Running through every trade, yet thrive by none:
More we must act in this life's tragedy.

PHILOMUSUS.
Sad is the plot, sad the catastrophe.

STUDIOSO.
Sighs are the chorus in our tragedy.

PHILOMUSUS.
And rented thoughts continual actors be.[79]

STUDIOSO.
Woe is the subject, Phil.;[80] earth the loath'd stage
Whereon we act this feigned personage;
Most like[81] barbarians the spectators be,
That sit and laugh at our calamity.

PHILOMUSUS.
Bann'd be those hours when, 'mongst the learned throng,
By Granta's muddy bank we whilome sung!

STUDIOSO.
Bann'd be that hill, which learned wits adore,
Where erst we spent our stock and little store!

PHILOMUSUS.
Bann'd be those musty mews, where we have spent
Our youthful days in paled languishment!

STUDIOSO.
Bann'd be those cos'ning arts that wrought our woe,
Making us wand'ring pilgrims to and fro.

PHILOMUSUS.
And pilgrims must we be without relief;
And wheresoe'er we run, there meets us grief.

STUDIOSO.
Where'er we toss upon this crabbed stage,
Griefs our companion; patience be our page.

PHILOMUSUS.
Ah, but this patience is a page of ruth,
A tired lackey to our wand'ring youth!

ACTUS II., SCAENA 2.

ACADEMICO, solus. Fain would I have a living, if I could tell how to come by it. Echo. Buy it. Buy it, fond Echo? why, thou dost greatly mistake it. Echo. Stake it. Stake it? what should I stake at this game of simony? Echo. Money. What, is the world a game? are livings gotten by paying?[82] Echo. Paying. Paying? But say, what's the nearest way to come by a living? Echo. Giving. Must his worship's fists be needs then oiled with angels? Echo. Angels. Ought his gouty fists then first with gold to be greased? Echo. Eased. And is it then such an ease for his ass's back to carry money? Echo. Ay. Will, then, this golden ass bestow a vicarage gilded? Echo. Gelded. What shall I say to good Sir Raderic, that have no[83] gold here? Echo. Cold cheer. I'll make it my lone request, that he would be good to a scholar. Echo. Choler. Yea, will he be choleric to hear of an art or a science? Echo. Hence. Hence with liberal arts? What, then, will he do with his chancel? Echo. Sell. Sell it? and must a simple clerk be fain to compound then? Echo. Pounds then. What, if I have no pounds? must then my suit be prorogued? Echo. Rogued. Yea? given to a rogue? Shall an ass this vicarage compass? Echo. Ass. What is the reason that I should not be as fortunate as he? Echo. Ass he. Yet, for all this, with a penniless purse will I trudge to his worship. Echo. Words cheap. Well, if he give me good words, it's more than I have from an Echo. Echo. Go.

[Exit.

ACTUS II, SCAENA 3.

AMORETTO with an Ovid in his hand, IMMERITO.

AMORETTO.
Take it on the word of a gentleman, thou cannot have it a penny under;
think on it, think on it, while I meditate on my fair mistress—
Nunc sequor imperium, magne Cupido, tuum.
Whate'er become of this dull, threadbare clerk,
I must be costly in my mistress' eye:
Ladies regard not ragged company.
I will with the revenues of my chaffer'd church
First buy an ambling hobby for my fair,
Whose measur'd pace may teach the world to dance,
Proud of his burden, when he 'gins to prance.
Then must I buy a jewel for her ear,
A kirtle of some hundred crowns or more.
With these fair gifts when I accompani'd go,
She'll give Jove's breakfast; Sidney terms it so.
I am her needle, she is my adamant,
She is my fair rose, I her unworthy prick.

ACADEMICO.
Is there nobody here will take the pains to geld his mouth? [Aside.

AMORETTO.
She's Cleopatra, I Mark Antony.

ACADEMICO. No, thou art a mere mark for good wits to shoot at: and in that suit thou wilt make a fine man to dash poor crows out of countenance. [Aside.

AMORETTO.
She is my Moon, I her Endymion.

ACADEMICO.
No, she is thy shoulder of mutton, thou her onion: or she may be thy
Luna, and thou her lunatic. [Aside.

AMORETTO.
I her Aeneas, she my Dido is.

ACADEMICO.
She is thy Io, thou her brazen ass,
Or she Dame Phantasy, and thou her gull;
She thy Pasiphae, and thou her loving bull.[84]
[Aside.

ACTUS II, SCAENA 4.

Enter IMMERITO and STERCUTIO, his father.

STERCUTIO.
Son, is this the gentleman that sells us the living?

IMMERITO. Fie, father! thou must not call it selling: thou must say, Is this the gentleman that must have the gratuito?

ACADEMICO. What have we here? old truepenny come to town, to fetch away the living in his old greasy slops? Then, I'll none: the time hath been when such a fellow meddled with nothing but his ploughshare, his spade, and his hobnails; and so to a piece of bread and cheese, and went his way. But now these fellows are grown the only factors for preferment. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO.
O, is this the grating gentleman? And how many pounds must I pay?

IMMERITO. O, thou must not call them pounds, but thanks. And, hark thou, father; thou must tell of nothing that is done, for I must seem to come clear to it.

ACADEMICO. Not pounds, but thanks? See, whether this simple fellow that hath nothing of a scholar, but that the draper hath blacked him over, hath not gotten the style of the time. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO.
By my faith, son, look for no more portion.

IMMERITO. Well, father, I will not—upon this condition, that when thou have gotten me the gratuito of the living, thou wilt likewise disburse a little money to the bishop's poser;[85] for there are certain questions I make scruple to be posed in.

ACADEMICO. He means any question in Latin, which he counts a scruple. O. this honest man could never abide this popish tongue of Latin. O, he is as true an Englishman as lives. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO.
I'll take the gentleman, now he is in a good vein, for he smiles.

AMORETTO.
Sweet Ovid, I do honour every page.

ACADEMICO. Good Ovid, that in his lifetime lived with the Getes; and now, after his death, converseth with a barbarian. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO.
God be at your work, sir. My son told me you were the grating gentleman;
I am Stercutio his father, sir, simple as I stand here.

AMORETTO.
Fellow, I had rather given thee an hundred pounds than thou shouldst
have put me out of my excellent meditation: by the faith of a gentleman,
I was wrapp'd in contemplation.

IMMERITO.
Sir, you must pardon my father: he wants bringing up.

ACADEMICO. Marry, it seems he hath good bringing up, when he brings up so much money. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO. Indeed, sir, you must pardon me; I did not know you were a gentleman of the Temple before.

AMORETTO. Well, I am content in a generous disposition to bear with country education: but, fellow, what's thy name?

STERCUTIO.
My name, sir? Stercutio, sir.

AMORETTO. Why then, Stercutio, I would be very willing to be the instrument to my father, that this living might be conferred upon your son: marry, I would have you know that I have been importuned by two or three several lords, my kind cousins, in the behalf of some Cambridge man, and have almost engaged my word. Marry, if I shall see your disposition to be more thankful than other men, I shall be very ready to respect kind-natured men; for, as the Italian proverb speaketh well, chi ha, havra.

ACADEMICO.
Why, here is a gallant young drover of livings. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO. I beseech you, sir, speak English; for that is natural to me and to my son, and all our kindred, to understand but one language.

AMORETTO.
Why thus, in plain English, I must be respected with thanks.

ACADEMICO.
This is a subtle tractive, when thanks may be felt and seen. [Aside.]

STERCUTIO.
And I pray you, sir, what is the lowest thanks that you will take?

ACADEMICO.
The very same method that he useth at the buying of an ox. [Aside.]

AMORETTO. I must have some odd sprinkling of an hundred pounds; if so, so—I shall think you thankful, and commend your son as a man of good gifts to my father.

ACADEMICO. A sweet world! give an hundred pounds; and this is but counted thankfulness! [Aside.]

STERCUTIO.
Hark thou, sir; you shall have eighty thanks.

AMORETTO. I tell thee, fellow, I never opened my mouth in this kind so cheap before in my life: I tell thee, few young gentlemen are found that would deal so kindly with thee as I do.

STERCUTIO. Well, sir, because I know my son to be a toward thing, and one that has taken all his learning on his own head, without sending to the university, I am content to give you as many thanks as you ask, so you will promise me to bring it to pass.

AMORETTO. I warrant you for that, if I say it once. Repair you to the place, and stay there. For my father, he is walked abroad to take the benefit of the air: I'll meet him, as he returns, and make way for your suit. Gallant, i'faith.[86]

[Exeunt STERCUTIO and IMMERITO.

ACTUS II., SCAENA 5.

ACADEMICO, AMORETTO.

ACADEMICO. I see, we scholars fish for a living in these shallow fords without a silver hook. Why, would it not gall a man to see a spruce gartered youth of our college, a while ago, be a broker for a living and an old bawd for a benefice? This sweet sir preferred me much kindness when he was of our college, and now I'll try what wind remains in his bladder. God save you, sir.

AMORETTO. By the mass, I fear me, I saw this genus and species in Cambridge before now: I'll take no notice of him now. [Aside.] By the faith of a gentleman, this is pretty elegy. Of what age is the day, fellow? Sirrah boy, hath the groom saddled my hunting hobby? Can Robin hunter tell where a hare sits? [Soliloquising.

ACADEMICO.
See a poor Old friend of yours of S—— College in Cambridge.

AMORETTO.
Good faith, sir, you must pardon me: I have forgotten you.

ACADEMICO.
My name is Academico, sir; one that made an oration for you once on the
Queen's day, and a show that you got some credit by.

AMORETTO. It may be so, it may be so; but I have forgotten it. Marry, yet I remember that there was such a fellow that I was beneficial unto in my time. But, howsoever, sir, I have the courtesy of the town for you. I am sorry you did not take me at my father's house; but now I am in exceeding great haste, for I have vowed the death of a hare that we found this morning musing on her meaze.

ACADEMICO. Sir, I am emboldened by that great acquaintance that heretofore I had with you, as likewise it hath pleased you heretofore—

AMORETTO.
Look, sirrah, if you see my hobby come hitherward as yet.

ACADEMICO. —to make me some promises, I am to request your good mediation to the worshipful your father in my behalf: and I will dedicate to yourself, in the way of thanks, those days I have to live.

AMORETTO. O good sir, if I had known your mind before; for my father hath already given the induction to a chaplain of his own—to a proper man—I know not of what university he is.

ACADEMICO.
Signior Immerito, they say, hath bidden fairest for it.

AMORETTO. I know not his name; but he is a grave, discreet man, I warrant him: indeed, he wants utterance in some measure.

ACADEMICO. Nay, methinks he hath very good utterance for his gravity, for he came hither very grave; but, I think, he will return light enough, when he is rid of the heavy element he carries about him. [Aside.

AMORETTO. Faith, sir, you must pardon me: it is my ordinary custom to be too studious; my mistress hath told me of it often, and I find it to hurt my ordinary discourse: but say, sweet sir, do ye affect the most gentlemanlike game of hunting?

ACADEMICO. How say you to the crafty gull? he would fain get me abroad to make sport with me in their hunters' terms, which we scholars are not acquainted with. [Aside.] Sir, I have loved this kind of sport; but now I begin to hate it, for it hath been my luck always to beat the bush, while another killed the hare.

AMORETTO. Hunters' luck, hunters' luck, sir; but there was a fault in your hounds, that did spend well.

ACADEMICO.
Sir, I have had worse luck always at hunting the fox.

AMORETTO. What, sir, do you mean at the unkennelling, untapezing, or earthing of the fox?

ACADEMICO. I mean, earthing, if you term it so;—for I never found yellow earth enough to cover the old fox your father. [Aside.

AMORETTO. Good faith, sir, there is an excellent skill in blowing for the terriers; it is a word that we hunters use. When the fox is earthed, you must blow one long, two short; the second wind, one long, two short. Now, sir, in blowing, every long containeth seven quavers, one short containeth three quavers.

ACADEMICO. Sir, might I find any favour in my suit, I would wind the horn, wherein your boon[87] deserts should be sounded with so many minims, so many quavers.

AMORETTO. Sweet sir, I would I could confer this or any kindness upon you:—I wonder, the boy comes not away with my hobby. Now, sir, as I was proceeding—when you blow the death of your fox in the field or covert, then must you sound three notes with three winds, and recheat, mark you, sir, upon the same with three winds.

ACADEMICO.
I pray you, sir.

AMORETTO. Now, sir, when you come to your stately gate, as you sounded the recheat before, so now you must sound the relief three times.

ACADEMICO. Relief, call you it? it were good, every patron would find the horn. [Aside.

AMORETTO. O sir, but your relief is your sweetest note: that is, sir, when your hounds hunt after a game unknown; and then you must sound one long and six short; the second wind, two short and one long; the third wind, one long and two short.

ACADEMICO. True, sir, it is a very good trade nowadays to be a villain; I am the hound that hunts after a game unknown, and blows the villain. [Aside.]

AMORETTO. Sir, I will bless your ears with a very pretty story: my father, out of his own cost and charges, keeps an open table for all kind of dogs.

ACADEMICO.
And he keeps one more by thee. [Aside.]

AMORETTO. He hath your greyhound, your mongrel, your mastiff, your levrier, your spaniel, your kennets, terriers, butchers' dogs, bloodhounds, dunghill-dogs, trundle-tails, prick-eared curs, small ladies' puppies, raches,[88] and bastards.

ACADEMICO. What a bawdy knave hath he to his father, that keeps his Rachel, hath his bastards, and lets his sons be plain ladies' puppies to bewray a lady's chamber. [Aside.]

AMORETTO. It was my pleasure, two days ago, to take a gallant leash of greyhounds; and into my father's park I went, accompanied with two or three noblemen of my near acquaintance, desiring to show them some of the sport. I caused the keeper to sever the rascal deer from the bucks of the first head. Now, sir, a buck the first year is a fawn, the second year a pricket, the third year a sorel, the fourth year a sore, the fifth a buck of the first head, the sixth year a complete buck; as likewise your hart is the first year a calf, the second year a brocket, the third year a spade, the fourth year a stag, the fifth year a great stag, the sixth year a hart; as likewise the roebuck is the first year a kid, the second year a girl, the third year a hemuse: and these are your special beasts for chase, or, as we huntsmen call it, for venery.

ACADEMICO. If chaste be taken for venery, thou art a more special beast than any in thy father's forest. [Aside.] Sir, I am sorry I have been so troublesome to you.

AMORETTO. I know this was the readiest way to chase away the scholar, by getting him into a subject he cannot talk of for his life. [Aside.] Sir, I will borrow so much time of you as to finish this my begun story. Now, sir, after much travel we singled a buck; I rode that same time upon a roan gelding, and stood to intercept from the thicket; the buck broke gallantly; my great swift being disadvantaged in his slip was at the first behind; marry, presently coted and outstripped them, when as the hart presently descended to the river, and being in the water, proffered and reproffered, and proffered again: and, at last, he upstarted at the other side of the water, which we call soil of the hart, and there other huntsmen met him with an adauntreley;[89] we followed in hard chase for the space of eight hours; thrice our hounds were at default, and then we cried A slain! straight, So ho; through good reclaiming my faulty hounds found their game again, and so went through the wood with gallant noise of music, resembling so many viols de gambo. At last the hart laid him down, and the hounds seized upon him; he groaned, and wept, and died. In good faith, it made me weep too, to think of Actaeon's fortune, which my Ovid speaks of— [He reads Ovid.

Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido.

ACADEMICO.
Sir, can you put me in any hope of obtaining my suit?

AMORETTO. In good faith, sir, if I did not love you as my soul, I would not make you acquainted with the mysteries of my art.

ACADEMICO. Nay, I will not die of a discourse yet, if I can choose. [Exit unperceived.

AMORETTO. So, sir, when we had rewarded our dogs with the small guts, and the lights, and the blood, the huntsmen hallooed, So ho! Venué, a coupler; and so coupled the dogs, and then returned homeward. Another company of hounds, that lay at advantage, had their couples cast off, and we might hear the huntsmen cry, Horse, decouple, avant; but straight we heard him cry, Le amond, and by that I knew that they had the hare, and on foot; and by and by I might see sore and resore, prick and reprick. What, is he gone! ha, ha, ha, ha! these scholars are the simplest creatures!

ACTUS II., SCAENA 6.

Enter Amoretto's PAGE.

PAGE. I wonder what is become of that Ovid de arte amandi.[90] My master, he that for the practice of his discourse is wont to court his hobby abroad and at home, in his chamber makes a set speech to his greyhound, desiring that most fair and amiable dog to grace his company in a stately galliard; and if the dog, seeing him practise his lusty points, as his cross-point back-caper, chance to bewray the room, he presently doft's his cap, most solemnly makes a low leg to his ladyship, taking it for the greatest favour in the world that she would vouchsafe to leave her civet-box or her sweet glove behind her.

[Enter AMORETTO, reading Ovid.]

Not a word more. Sir, an't please you, your hobby will meet you at the lane's end.

AMORETTO. What, Jack? i'faith, I cannot but vent unto thee a most witty jest of mine.

PAGE. I hope my master will not break wind. [Aside.] Will't please you, sir, to bless mine ears with the discourse of it?

AMORETTO. Good faith, the boy begins to have an elegant smack of my style. Why, then, thus it was, Jack, a scurvy mere Cambridge scholar, I know not how to define him—

PAGE. Nay, master, let me define a mere scholar. I heard a courtier once define a mere scholar to be animal scabiosum, that is, a living creature that is troubled with the itch; or, a mere scholar is a creature that can strike fire in the morning at his tinder-box, put on a pair of lined slippers, sit rheuming[91] till dinner, and then go to his meat when the bell rings: one that hath a peculiar gift in a cough, and a licence to spit. Or, if you will have him defined by negatives, he is one that cannot make a good leg; one that cannot eat a mess of broth cleanly; one that cannot ride a horse without spur-galling; one that cannot salute a woman, and look on her directly; one that cannot—

AMORETTO. Enough, Jack; I can stay no longer; I am so great in childbirth with this jest. Sirrah, this predicable, this saucy groom, because, when I was in Cambridge, and lay in a trundlebed under my tutor, I was content, in discreet humility, to give him some place at the table; and because I invited the hungry slave sometimes to my chamber, to the canvassing of a turkey-pie or a piece of venison which my lady grandmother sent me, he thought himself therefore eternally possessed of my love, and came hither to take acquaintance of me; and thought his old familiarity did continue, and would bear him out in a matter of weight. I could not tell how to rid myself better of the troublesome burr than by getting him into the discourse of hunting; and then tormenting him a while with our words of art, the poor scorpion became speechless, and suddenly vanished![92] These clerks are simple fellows, simple fellows. [He reads Ovid.]

PAGE. Simple, indeed, they are; for they want your courtly composition of a fool and of a knave. [Aside.] Good faith, sir, a most absolute jest; but, methinks, it might have been followed a little further.

AMORETTO.
As how, my little knave?

PAGE. Why thus, sir; had you invited him to dinner at your table, and have put the carving of a capon upon him, you should have seen him handle the knife so foolishly, then run through a jury of faces, then wagging his head and showing his teeth in familiarity, venture upon it with the same method that he was wont to untruss an apple-pie, or tyrannise an egg and butter: then would I have applied him all dinner-time with clean trenchers, clean trenchers; and still when he had a good bit of meat, I would have taken it from him by giving him a clean trencher, and so have served him in kindness.

AMORETTO. Well said, subtle Jack; put me in mind, when I return again, that I may make my lady mother laugh at the scholar. I'll to my game; for you, Jack, I would have you employ your time, till my coming, in watching what hour of the day my hawk mutes. [Exit.

PAGE. Is not this an excellent office, to be apothecary to his worship's hawk, to sit scouting on the wall how the physic works? And is not my master an absolute villain, that loves his hawk, his hobby, and his greyhound, more than any mortal creature? Do but dispraise a feather of his hawk's train, and he writhes his mouth, and swears (for he can do that only with a good grace) that you are the most shallow-brained fellow that lives. Do but say his horse stales with a good presence, and he's your bondslave. When he returns, I'll tell twenty admirable lies of his hawk; and then I shall be his little rogue and his white villain for a whole week after. Well, let others complain; but I think there is no felicity to the serving of a fool.