How now, my honest rogue? What play shall we have here to-night?
PLAYER.
Sir, you may look upon the title.
PROLOGUE.
What, _Spectrum_ once again? Why, noble Cerberus, nothing but patch-panel stuff, old gallymawfries, and cotton-candle eloquence? Out, you bawling bandog! fox-furred slave! you dried stock-fish, you, out of my sight!
[_Exit the_ PLAYER.
Well, 'tis no matter! I'll sit me down and see it; and, for fault of a better, I'll supply the place of a scurvy prologue.
Spectrum is a looking-glass, indeed, Wherein a man a history may read Of base conceits and damned roguery: The very sink of hell-bred villany.
_Enter a_ JUGGLER.
JUGGLER.
Why, how now, humorous George? What, as melancholy as a mantle-tree?
Will you see any tricks of legerdemain, sleight of hand, cleanly conveyance, or _deceptio visus_? What will you see, gentleman, to drive you out of these dumps.
PROLOGUE.
Out, you soused gurnet, you woolfist! Begone, I say, and bid the players despatch, and come away quickly; and tell their fiery poet that, before I have done with him I'll make him do penance upon a stage in a calf's skin.
JUGGLER.
O Lord, sir, ye are deceived in me, I am no tale-carrier; I am a juggler. I have the superficial skill of all the seven liberal sciences at my fingers' end. I'll show you a trick of the twelves, and turn him over the thumbs with a trice; I'll make him fly swifter than meditation.
I'll show you as many toys as there be minutes in a month, and as many tricks as there be motes in the sun.
PROLOGUE.
Prythee, what tricks canst thou do?
JUGGLER.
Marry, sir, I will show you a trick of cleanly conveyance--_Hei, fortuna furim nunquam credo_--with a cast of clean conveyance. Come aloft, Jack, for thy master's advantage. He's gone, I warrant ye.
[SPECTRUM _is conveyed away, and_ WILY BEGUILED _stands in the place of it_.
PROLOGUE.
Mass, and 'tis well done! Now I see thou canst do something. Hold thee; there is twelvepence for thy labour.
Go to that barm-froth poet, and to him say, He quite hath lost the title of his play; His calf-skin jests from hence are clean exil'd.
Thus once you see, that Wily is beguil'd.
[_Exit the_ JUGGLER.
Now, kind spectators, I dare boldly say, You all are welcome to our author's play: Be still awhile, and, ere we go, We'll make your eyes with laughter flow.
Let Momus' mates judge how they list.
We fear not what they babble; Nor any paltry poet's pen Amongst that rascal rabble.
But time forbids me further speech, My tongue must stop her race; My time is come, I must be dumb, And give the actors place.
[_Exit_.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
GRIPE, _an Usurer_.
PLOD-ALL, _a Farmer_.
SOPHOS, _a Scholar_.
CHURMS, _a Lawyer_.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
FORTUNATUS, _Gripe's son_.
LELIA, _Gripe's daughter_.
_Nurse_.
PETER PLOD-ALL, _Plod-all's son_.
PEG, _Nurse's daughter_.
WILL CRICKET.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
_An Old Man_.
SYLVANUS.
_Clerk_.
WILY BEGUILED.[140]
_Enter_ GRIPE, _solus_.
A heavy purse makes a light heart. O, the consideration of this pouch, this pouch! Why, he that has money has heart's ease, and the world in a string. O, this rich chink and silver coin! it is the consolation of the world. I can sit at home quietly in my chair, and send out my angels by sea and by land, and bid--_Fly, villains, and fetch in ten in the hundred_. Ay, and a better penny too. Let me see: I have but two children in all the world to bestow my goods upon--Fortunatus, my son, and Lelia, my daughter. For my son, he follows the wars, and that which he gets with swaggering he spends in swaggering. But I'll curb him; his allowance, whilst I live, shall be small, and so he shall be sure not to spend much: and if I die, I will leave him a portion that, if he will be a good husband, and follow his father's steps, shall maintain him like a gentleman, and if he will not, let him follow his own humour till he be weary of it, and so let him go. Now for my daughter, she is my only joy, and the staff of my age; and I have bestowed good bringing-up upon her, by'r Lady. Why, she is e'en modesty itself; it does me good to look on her. Now, if I can hearken out some wealthy marriage for her, I have my only desire. Mass, and well-remembered: here's my neighbour Plod-all hard by has but one only son; and let me see--I take it, his lands are better than five thousand pounds. Now, if I can make a match between his son and my daughter, and so join his land and my money together--O, 'twill be a blessed union. Well, I'll in, and get a scrivener: I'll write to him about it presently. But stay, here comes Master Churms the lawyer; I'll desire him to do so much.
_Enter_ CHURMS.
CHURMS.
Good morrow, Master Gripe.
GRIPE.
O, good morrow, Master Churms. What say my two debtors, that I lent two hundred pound to? Will they not pay use and charges of suit?
CHURMS.
Faith, sir, I doubt they are bankrouts: I would you had your principal.
GRIPE.
Nay, I'll have all, or I'll imprison their bodies. But, Master Churms, there is a matter I would fain have you do; but you must be very secret.
CHURMS.
O sir, fear not that; I'll warrant you.
GRIPE.
Why then, this it is: my neighbour Plod-all here by, you know, is a man of very fair land, and he has but one son, upon whom he means to bestow all that he has. Now I would make a match between my daughter Lelia and him. What think you of it?