SUM. No more of this, I hate it to the death.
No such deformer of the soul and sense, As is this swinish damn'd horn drunkenness.
Bacchus, for thou abusest so earth's fruits, Imprison'd live in cellars and in vaults.
Let none commit their counsels unto thee; Thy wrath be fatal to thy dearest friends; Unarmed run upon thy foemen's swords; Never fear any plague, before it fall: Dropsies and watery tympanies haunt thee; Thy lungs with surfeiting be putrified, To cause thee have an odious stinking breath; Slaver and drivel like a child at mouth; Be poor and beggarly in thy old age; Let thine own kinsmen laugh when thou complain'st, And many tears gain nothing but blind scoffs.
This is the guerdon due to drunkenness: Shame, sickness, misery follow excess.
BAC. Now on my honour, Sim Summer, thou art a bad member, a dunce, a mongrel, to discredit so worshipful an art after this order. Thou hast cursed me, and I will bless thee. Never cap of Nipitaty[94] in London come near thy niggardly habitation! I beseech the gods of good fellowship thou may'st fall into a consumption with drinking small beer!
Every day may'st thou eat fish, and let it stick in the midst of thy maw, for want of a cup of wine to swim away in. Venison be _venenum_ to thee: and may that vintner have the plague in his house that sells a drop of claret to kill the poison of it! As many wounds may'st thou have as Caesar had in the senate-house, and get no white wine to wash them with; and to conclude, pine away in melancholy and sorrow, before thou hast the fourth part of a dram of my juice to cheer up thy spirits.
SUM. Hale him away, he barketh like a wolf: It is his drink, not he, that rails on us.
BAC. Nay soft, brother Summer, back with that fool. Here is a snuff in the bottom of the jack, enough[95] to light a man to bed withal: we'll leave no flocks behind us, whatsoever we do.
SUM. Go drag him hence, I say, when I command.
BAC. Since we must needs go, let's go merrily. Farewell, Sir Robert Toss-pot: sing amain _Monsieur Mingo_, whilst I mount up my ass.
[_Here they go out, singing, "Monsieur Mingo," as they came in_.
WILL SUM. Of all the gods, this Bacchus is the ill-favoured'st mis-shapen god that ever I saw. A pox on him! he hath christened me with a new nickname of Sir Robert Toss-pot that will not part from me this twelvemonth. Ned fool's clothes are so perfumed with the beer he poured on me, that there shall not be a Dutchman within twenty miles, but he'll smell out and claim kindred of him. What a beastly thing it is to bottle up all in a man's belly, when a man must set his guts on a gallon-pot last, only to purchase the alehouse title of _boon companion_. "Carouse; pledge me, and you dare! 'Swounds, I'll drink with thee for all that ever thou art worth!" It is even as two men should strive who should run farthest into the sea for a wager. Methinks these are good household terms, "Will it please you to be here, sir? I commend me to you! Shall I be so bold as trouble you? Saving your tale, I drink to you." And if these were put in practice but a year or two in taverns, wine would soon fall from six-and-twenty pound a tun, and be beggar's money--a penny a quart, and take up his inn with waste beer in the alms-tub. I am a sinner as others: I must not say much of this argument. Every one, when he is whole, can give advice to them that are sick. My masters, you that be good fellows, get you into corners, and sup off your provender closely:[96] report hath a blister on her tongue! open taverns are tell-tales. _Non peccat quicunque potest peccasse negare_.
SUM. I'll call my servants to account, said I?
A bad account; worse servants no man hath.
_Quos credis fidos effuge, tutis eris_: The proverb I have prov'd to be too true, _Totidem domi hostes habemus quot servos_.
And that wise caution of Democritus, _Servus necessaria possessio, non autem dulcis_: Nowhere fidelity and labour dwells.
How[97] young heads count to build on had I wist.
Conscience but few respect, all hunt for gain: Except the camel have his provender Hung at his mouth, he will not travel on.
Tyresias to Narcissus promised Much prosperous hap and many golden days, If of his beauty he no knowledge took.
Knowledge breeds pride, pride breedeth discontent: Black discontent, thou urgest to revenge: Revenge opes not her ears to poor men's prayers.
That dolt destruction is she without doubt, That hales her forth and feedeth her with nought.
Simplicity and plainness, you I love!
Hence, double diligence, thou mean'st deceit: Those that now serpent-like creep on the ground, And seem to eat the dust, they crouch so low-- If they be disappointed of their prey, Most traitorously will trace their nails and sting.
Yea, such as, like[98] the lapwing, build their nests In a man's dung, come up by drudgery, Will be the first that, like that foolish bird, Will follow him with yelling and false cries.
Well[99] sung a shepherd, that now sleeps in skies,[100]
"Dumb swans do love, and not vain chattering pies."
In mountains, poets say, Echo is hid, For her deformity and monstrous shape: Those mountains are the houses of great lords, Where Stentor, with his hundred voices, sounds A hundred trumps at once with rumour fill'd.
A woman they imagine her to be, Because that sex keep nothing close they hear; And that's the reason magic writers frame[101]
There are more witches women, than of men; For women generally, for the most part, Of secrets more desirous are than men[102], Which having got, they have no power to hold.
In these times had Echo's first fathers liv'd, No woman, but a man, she had been feign'd (Though women yet will want no news to prate); For men (mean men), the scum and dross of all, Will talk and babble of they know not what, Upbraid, deprave, and taunt they care not whom.
Surmises pass for sound approved truths; Familiarity and conference, That were the sinews of societies, Are now for underminings only us'd; And novel wits, that love none but themselves, Think wisdom's height as falsehood slyly couch'd, Seeking each other to o'erthrow his mate.
O friendship! thy old temple is defac'd: Embracing envy,[103] guileful courtesy, Hath overgrown fraud-wanting honesty.
Examples live but in the idle schools: Sinon bears all the sway in princes' courts.
Sickness, be thou my soul's physician; Bring the apothecary Death with thee.
In earth is hell, hell true[104] felicity, Compared with this world, the den of wolves!
AUT. My lord, you are too passionate without cause.
WIN. Grieve not for that which cannot be recall'd.
Is it your servant's carelessness you 'plain?
Tully by one of his own slaves was slain.
The husbandman close in his bosom nurs'd A subtle snake, that after wrought his bane.
AUT. _Servos fideles liberalitas facit_; Where on the contrary, _servitutem_-- Those that attend upon illiberal lords, Whose covetise yields nought else but fair looks, Even of those fair looks make their gainful use.
For, as in Ireland and in Denmark both, Witches for gold will sell a man a wind[105]
Which, in the corner of a napkin wrapp'd, Shall blow him safe unto what coast he will; So make ill-servants sale of their lord's wind Which, wrapp'd up in a piece of parchment, Blows many a knave forth danger of the law.
SUM. Enough of this: let me go make my will.
Ah! it is made, although I hold my peace: These two will share betwixt them what I have.
The surest way to get my will perform'd Is to make my executor my heir; And he, if all be given him, and none else, Unfallibly will see it well-perform'd.
Lions will feed though none bid them go to.
Ill-grows the tree affordeth ne'er a graft: Had I some issue to sit on my throne, My grief would die, death should not hear me groan; But when, perforce, these must enjoy my wealth, Which thank me not, but enter't as a prey, Bequeath'd it is not, but clean cast away.
Autumn, be thou successor to my seat: Hold, take my crown:--look, how he grasps for it!
Thou shalt not have it yet--but hold it, too; Why should I keep what needs I must forego?
WIN. Then, duty laid aside, you do me wrong.
I am more worthy of it far than he: He hath no skill nor courage for to rule.
A weatherbeaten, bankrupt ass it is That scatters and consumeth all he hath: Each one do pluck from him without control.
He is not hot nor cold; a silly soul, That fain would please each part[106], if so he might.
He and the Spring are scholars' favourites: What scholars are, what thriftless kind of men, Yourself be judge; and judge of him by them.
When Cerberus was headlong drawn from hell, He voided a black poison from his mouth, Call'd _Aconitum_, whereof ink was made: That ink, with reeds first laid on dried barks, Serv'd me awhile to make rude works withal, Till Hermes, secretary to the gods, Or Hermes Trismegistus, as some will, Weary with graving in blind characters And figures of familiar beasts and plants, Invented letters to write lies withal.
In them he penn'd the fables of the gods, The giants' war, and thousand tales besides.
After each nation got these toys in use[107]
There grew up certain drunken parasites, Term'd poets, which, for a meal's meat or two.
Would promise monarchs immortality.
They vomited in verse all that they knew; Feign'd causes and beginnings of the world; Fetch'd pedigrees of mountains and of floods From men and women whom the gods transform'd.
If any town or city they pass'd by Had in compassion (thinking them madmen) Forborne to whip them, or imprison them, That city was not built by human hands; 'Twas rais'd by music, like Megara walls: Apollo, poets' patron, founded it, Because they found one fitting favour there.
Musaeus, Linus, Homer, Orpheus, Were of this trade, and thereby won their fame.
WILL SUM. _Fama malum, quo non [aliud] velocius ullum_[108].
WIN. Next them a company of ragged knaves, Sun-bathing beggars, lazy hedge-creepers, Sleeping face upwards in the fields all night, Dream'd strange devices of the sun and moon; And they, like gipsies, wandering up and down, Told fortunes, juggled, nicknam'd all the stars, And were of idiots term'd philosophers.
Such was Pythagoras the silencer; Prometheus, Thales, Milesius, Who would all things of water should be made: Anaximander, Anaxamines, That positively said the air was God: Zenocrates, that said there were eight gods; And Cratoniates and Alcmaeon too, Who thought the sun and moon and stars were gods.
The poorer sort of them, that could get nought, Profess'd, like beggarly Franciscan friars, And the strict order of the Capuchins, A voluntary, wretched poverty, Contempt of gold, thin fare, and lying hard.
Yet he that was most vehement in these, Diogenes, the cynic and the dog, Was taken coining money in his cell.
WILL SUM. What an old ass was that. Methinks he should have coined carrot-roots rather; for, as for money, he had no use for['t], except it were to melt, and solder up holes in his tub withal.
WIN. It were a whole Olympiad's work to tell How many devilish, _ergo_, armed arts, Sprung all as vices of this idleness: For even as soldiers not employ'd in wars, But living loosely in a quiet state-- Not having wherewithal to maintain pride, Nay, scarce to find their bellies any food-- Nought but walk melancholy, and devise, How they may cozen merchants, fleece young heirs, Creep into favour by betraying men, Rob churches, beg waste toys, court city dames, Who shall undo their husbands for their sakes; The baser rabble how to cheat and steal, And yet be free from penalty of death:[109]
So these word-warriors, lazy star-gazers, Us'd to no labour but to louse themselves, Had their heads fill'd with cozening fantasies.
They plotted how to make their poverty Better esteem'd of than high sovereignty.
They thought how they might plant a heaven on earth, Whereof they would be principal low-gods;[110]
That heaven they called Contemplation: As much to say as a most pleasant sloth, Which better I cannot compare than this, That if a fellow, licensed to beg, Should all his lifetime go from fair to fair And buy gape-seed, having no business else.
That contemplation, like an aged weed, Engender'd thousand sects, and all those sects Were but as these times, cunning shrouded rogues.
Grammarians some, and wherein differ they From beggars that profess the pedlar's French?[111]
The poets next, slovenly, tatter'd slaves, That wander and sell ballads in the streets.
Historiographers others there be, And they, like lazars, lie[112] by the highway-side, That for a penny or a halfpenny Will call each knave a good-fac'd gentleman, Give honour unto tinkers for good ale, Prefer a cobbler 'fore the black prince far, If he bestow but blacking on their shoes: And as it is the spittle-houses' guise Over their gate to write their founders' names, Or on the outside of their walls at least, In hope by their example others mov'd Will be more bountiful and liberal; So in the forefront of their chronicles, Or _peroratione operis_, They learning's benefactors reckon up, Who built this college, who gave that free school, What king or queen advanced scholars most, And in their times what writers flourished.
Rich men and magistrates, whilst yet they live, They flatter palpably, in hope of gain.
Smooth-tongued orators, the fourth in place-- Lawyers our commonwealth entitles them-- Mere swash-bucklers and ruffianly mates, That will for twelvepence make a doughty fray, Set men for straws together by the ears.
Sky-measuring mathematicians, Gold-breathing alchemists also we have, Both which are subtle-witted humourists, That get their meals by telling miracles, Which they have seen in travelling the skies.