SCENE I.-The Old Jewry. A Hall in KITELY'S House.
Cash. Within, sir, in the warehouse.
Cash. Good, sir. [Exit.
Kit. Do you see that fellow, brother Downright?
Dow. Ay, what of him?
Kit. He is a jewel, brother.
Dow. 'Sdeins, I know not what I should say to him, in the whole world! He values me at a crack'd three-farthings, for aught I see. It will never out of the flesh that's bred in the bone. I have told him enough, one would think, if that would serve; but counsel to him is as good as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. Well! he knows what to trust to, for George: let him spend, and spend, and domineer, till his heart ake; an he think to be relieved by me, when he is got into one O' your city pounds, the counters, he has the wrong sow by the ear, i'faith; and claps his dish at the wrong man's door: I'll lay my hand on my halfpenny, ere I part with it to fetch him out, I'll assure him.'
Kit. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you thus.
Dow. 'Sdeath! he mads me; I could eat my very spur leathers for anger! But, why are you so tame? why do you not speak to him, and tell him how he disquiets your house?
Dow. Mass, perhaps so; they're like enough to do it.
Mat. I will speak to him.
Bob. Speak to him! away! By the foot of Pharaoh, you shall not! you shall not do him that grace.--The time of day to you, gentleman O' the house. Is master Wellbred stirring?
Dow. How then? what should he do?
Bob. Gentleman of the house, it is to you: is he within, sir?
Kit. He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, I assure you.
Dow. Why, do you hear? you!
Dow. How! scavenger! stay, sir, stay!
Kit. Nay, brother Downright.
Dow. 'Heart! stand you away, an you love me.
Kit. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother, good faith you shall not; I will overrule you.
Dow. Ha! scavenger! well, go to, I say little: but, by this good day (God forgive me I should swear), if I put it up so, say I am the rankest cow that ever pist. 'Sdeins, an I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-street again while I live; I'll sit in a barn with madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger! heart!--and I'll go near to fill that huge tumbrel-slop of yours with somewhat, an I have good luck: your Garagantua breech cannot carry it away so.
Kit. Oh, do not fret yourself thus: never think on't.
Dow. These are my brother's consorts, these! these are his camerades, his walking mates! he's a gallant, it. cavaliero too, right hangman cut! Let me not live, an I could not find in my heart to swinge the whole gang of 'em, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses: Well, as he brews, so shall he drink, for George, again. Yet he shall hear on't, and that tightly too, an I live, i'faith.
Dow. Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you.
Dame K. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rose-water,
Kit. An she have overheard me now!---
Dame K. I pray thee, good muss, we stay for you.
Kit. By heaven, I would not for a thousand angels.
Dame K. What ail you, sweet-heart? are you not well? speak, good muss.
Kit. Troth my head akes extremely on a sudden.
Dame K. [putting her hand to his forehead.] O, the Lord!
Kit. How now! What?
Dame K. Alas, how it burns! Muss, keep you warm; good truth it is this new disease. there's a number are troubled withal. For love's sake, sweetheart, come in, out of the air.
Dame K. I pray thee, good sweet-heart, come in; the air will do you harm, in troth.
Kit. The air! she has me in the wind.--Sweet-heart, I'll come to you presently; 'twill away, I hope.
Dame K. Pray Heaven it do. [Exit.
Brai. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated thus, from a poor creature to a creator; for now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace: and yet the lie, to a man of my coat, is as ominous a fruit as the fico. O, sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us: so much for my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old master intends to follow my young master, dry-foot, over Moorfields to London, this morning; now, I knowing of this hunting-match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we that are blue waiters, and men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may wear motley at the year's end, and who wears motley, you know), have got me afore in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, and intercept him in the mid-way. If I can but get his cloke, his purse, and his hat, nay, any thing to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with captain Caesar, I am made for ever, i'faith. Well, now I must practise to get the true garb of one of these lance-knights, my arm here, and my--Odso! my young master, and his cousin, master Stephen, as I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier!
Enter E. KNOWELL and STEPHEN.
E. Know. So, sir! and how then, coz?
Step. 'Sfoot! I have lost my purse, I think.
E. Know. How! lost your purse? where? when had you it?
Step. I cannot tell; stay.
Brai. 'Slid, I am afraid they will know me: would I could get by
E. Know. What, have you it?
Step. No; I think I was bewitched, I-- [Cries.
E. Know. Nay, do not weep the loss: hang it, let it go.
Step. Oh, it's here: No, an it had been lost, I had not cared, but for a jet ring mistress Mary sent me.
E. Know. A jet ring! O the poesie, the poesie?
Step. Fine, i'faith.
Though Fancy sleep,
Meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.
E. Know. Most excellent!
Step. And then I sent her another, and my poesie was,
The deeper the sweeter,
E. Know. How, by St. Peter? I do not conceive that.
Step. Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre.
E. Know. Well, there the saint was your good patron, he help'd you at your need; thank him, thank him.
Brai. I cannot take leave on 'em so; I will venture, come what will. [Comes forward.] Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns for a very excellent blade here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, one that, in the better state of my fortunes, scorned so mean a refuge; but now it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence, than live with shame: however, vouchsafe to remember it is my want speaks, not myself; this condition agrees not with my spirit--
E. Know. Where hast thou served?
Brai. May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia, Hungary, Dalmatia, Poland, where not, sir? I have been a poor servitor by sea and land any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice, shot at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, a gentleman-slave in the gallies, thrice; where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs; and yet, being thus maimed, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution.
Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend?
Brai. Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a gentleman, give me what you please.
Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend; but what though! I pray you say, what would you ask?
Brai. I assure you, the blade may become the side or thigh of the best prince in Europe.
E. Know. Ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think.
Step. Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a velvet scapbard, coz, that's flat; I'd not wear it, as it is, an you would give me an angel,
Brai. At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.
Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard. But tell me, what shall I give you for it? An it had a silver hilt
E. Know. Come, come, you shall not buy it: hold, there's a shilling, fellow; take thy rapier.
Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so; and there's another shilling, fellow; I scorn to be out-bidden. What, shall I walk with a cudgel, like Higginbottom, and may have a rapier for money.
E. Know. You may buy one in the city.
Step. Tut! I'll buy this i' the field, so I will: I have a mind to't, because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.
E. Know. You shall not buy it, I. say.
Step. By this money, but I will, though I give more than 'tis worth.
E. Know. Come away, you are a fool.
Step. Friend, I am a fool, that's granted; but I'll have it, for that word's sake. Follow me for your money.
Brai. At your service, sir.
SCENE III.---Another Part of Moorfields.
Brai. My master! nay, faith, have at you; I am flesh'd now, I have sped so well. [Aside.] Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor soldier; lam ashamed of this base course of life,--God's my comfort--but extremity provokes me to't: what remedy?
Know. I have not for you, now.
Brai. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been: a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.
Know. Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.
Brai. Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer, a matter of small value: the king of heaven shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful: Sweet worship--
Know. Nay, an you be so importunate
Brai. Oh, tender sir! need will have its course: I was not made to this vile use. Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me so much: it's hard when a man hath served in his prince's cause, and be thus. [Weeps.] Honourable worship, let me derive a small piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of time. By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night for a poor supper; I had suck'd the hilts long before, am a pagan else: Sweet honour--
Brai. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so---
Brai. Alas, sir, where should a man seek? in the wars; there's no ascent by desert in these days; but--and for service, would it were as soon purchased, as wished for! the air's my comfort.--- [Sighs.]---l know what I would say.
Know. What's thy name?
Brai. Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir.
Brai. Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier---
Know. Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths; speak plainly, man, what think'st thou of my words?
Brai. Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy as my service should be honest.
Brai. Yes, sir, straight; I'll but garter my hose. Oh that my belly were hoop'd now, for I am ready to burst with laughing! never was bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus! now shall I be possest of all his counsels; and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is resolved to prove my honesty; faith, and I'm resolved to prove his patience: Oh, I shall abuse him intolerably. This small piece of service will bring him clean out of love with the soldier for ever. He will never come within the sign of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-rest again. He will hate the musters at Mile-end for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the world think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip at an instant: why, this is better than to have staid his journey: well, I'll follow him. Oh, how I long to be employed!