SCENE III.

HEARSAY, SLICER, _and_ SHAPE _in his Confessor's_ _habit_.

HEAR. Come, my good vulture, speak; what prey? what mirth?

SLICER. What income, my dear holiness? what sport?

SHAPE. Give me the chair: imagine me the knight (When I sit down), and (when I stand) the confessor.

[_As he is thus acting_, MEANWELL _and_ SIR THOMAS _discover themselves above_.

Thus I come in peace to thy soul, good son. _'Tis you must give it, father: I am ill,_ _I'm very ill; fit only now for heaven._ _My soul would fain be flying, were't not for_ _A sin or two that clogs her._ But for a sin Or two that clogs her? Take heed; don't, so near Your last deliverance, play the sophister With heaven. A sin or two! why, I've heard say You're wont to screw your wretched tenants up To th' utmost farthing, and then stand upon The third rent-capon. Then he answers me In the small doleful tune of a country wench Examin'd by th' official for the mischance Of a great belly caught at a Whitson-ale:[227] _I could not help it._ Then it is your custom, When you invite, to think your meat laid out, You write your beef disburs'd, are wont to call For the return of't just as for a debt; _True_. That two chimneys ne'er yet smok'd at once In all your buildings. _All most true._ That you Are wont to keep an untouch'd capon, till Corruption makes it able to walk out And visit the barn-door again. I could Say much more, but I had rather have you Come so much nearer pardon, as t' accuse Yourself by your own mouth.

SLICER. How grave the rogue was!

SHAPE. _I'll do't as strictly as mine enemy._

SIR T. I cannot hold: I'll break in as I am, And take my vengeance whilst my fury's hot. [_Above._

MEAN. Repress it, sir, awhile; h' hath but begun.

[_Above._

SHAPE. Then thus he drawls it out, _I do confess_ _I've been addicted to frugality._ Son, do not mince: pray, call it covetousness. Imprimis, _It hath ever been my custom_ _To ride beyond an inn to save my horse-meat._ Item, _When once I had done so, and found_ _No entertainment, I beguil'd the children_ _Of their parch'd peas: my man being left to that_ _We make the emblem of mortality._ What? Grass, you mean? _Or sweet hay, which you please._

HEAR. Methinks this is truly coming to a reckoning. He doth account for's sins with _Item_ so.

SHAPE. Item, _I've often bought a Cheapside custard,_ _And so refresh'd my soul under my cloak,_ _As I did walk the streets._ Cloaking of sins, Although they be but eating sins, I do Pronounce most dangerous. _I find this so,_ _I'd almost lost mine eyes by't, being justled._

SLICER. O thou rich soul of roguery!

SHAPE. _Moreover,_ _I once sung Psalms with servants, where I lodg'd,_ _And took part with 'em in their lovely reliques;_ _Truly my soul did lust, they were temptations._ What! sing that you might eat? It is the sin O' th' brethren, son; but that their reliques are Whole widows' houses.

HEAR. O thou preaching devil!

SHAPE. Item, _I entered into a chandler's shop,_ _And eat my bread in secret, whilst my man_ _Fed on the wholesome steam of candle-suet_, Item, _which grieves me most, I did make bold_ _With the black puddings of my needy tailor:_ _Satan was strong; they did provoke me much._

SIR T. Wretch that I was, to trust my bosom to One so exactly bad that, if the book Of all men's lives lay open to his view, Would meet no sin unpractis'd by himself. I will rush in. [_Above._

MEAN. Good sir, keep close awhile. [_Above._

SHAPE. I see no tears, no penitential tears. _Alas! I cannot weep, mine eyes are pumice:_ _But alms I hope may yet redeem._ Alms given In a large manner, son. _Won't fifty pounds_ _Wipe off my score?_ If doubled, 't may do something. _Can I be sav'd no cheaper? Take this, then,_ _And pray for me_. With that I thus dismiss'd him. Bless'd son, for now I dare pronounce thee bless'd, Being thou'st pour'd thus out thy soul.--The wolf! The wolf! 'Sfoot, peace, we're in the noose; We are betray'd; yon's Meanwell and the knight! Truly he is as good a man as any I ever yet confess'd--don't look that way-- A very honest, charitable man, Full of sincerity and true devotion.

SIR T. Patience itself would now turn furious. Let's for some officers.

[_Exeunt_ SIR THOMAS _and_ MEANWELL.

SHAPE. Discover'd all! Religion is unlucky to me.

HEAR. Man, Perfidious man! there is no trust in thee!

SLICER. I never lik'd this Meanwell; I did always See treachery writ in's forehead. I well hop'd H' had been in prison with his wench.

SHAPE. Leave railing. Along with me. There is left one way more; The cat may yet perhaps light on all four.[228] [_Exeunt._