ACT I., SCENE I.

_Enter_ OLD FOSTER, ALDERMAN BREWEN, _and two_ _factors_,[32] RICHARD _and_ GEORGE.

O. FOS. This air has a sweet breath, Master Brewen.

BREW. Your partner, sir.

O. FOS. Ay, and in good, I hope: this halcyon gale Plays the lewd wanton with our dancing sails, And makes 'em big[33] with vaporous embryo.[34]

BREW. 'Tis no more yet; but then our fraught is full, When she returns laden with merchandise, And safe deliver'd with our customage.

O. FOS. Such a delivery heaven send us; But time must ripen it. Are our accounts made even?

GEORGE. To the quantity of a penny, if his agree with mine. What's yours, Richard?

RICH. Five hundred sixty pounds. Read the gross sum of your broadcloths.

GEORGE. 68 pieces at B, ss, and l; 57 at l, ss, and o.[35]

RICH. Just: lead nineteen ton.

O. FOS. As evenly we will lay our bosoms As our bottoms, with love as merchandise, And may they both increase t' infinities.

BREW. Especially at home; that golden traffic, love, Is scantier far than gold; and one mine of that More worth than twenty argosies[36] Of the world's richest treasure.

O. FOS. Here you shall dig [_Laying his hand on his breast_], and find your lading.

BREW. Here's your exchange: and, as in love, So we'll participate in merchandise.

O. FOS. The merchant's casualty: We always venture on uncertain odds, Although we bear hope's emblem, the anchor, With us. The wind brought it; let the wind blow 't Away again; should not the sea sometimes Be partner with us, our wealth would swallow us.

BREW. A good resolve: but now I must be bold To touch you with somewhat that concerns you.

O. FOS. I could prevent[37] you: is't not my unthrifty brother?

BREW. Nay, leave out th' adjective (unthrifty); Your brother, sir--'tis he that I would speak of.

O. FOS. He cannot be nam'd without _unthrifty_, sir; 'Tis his proper epithet: would you conceit But what my love has done for him: So oft, so chargeable, and so expensive, You would not urge another addition.

BREW. Nay, sir, you must not stay at quantity, Till he forfeit the name of brother, Which is inseparable: he's now in Ludgate, sir. And part of your treasure lies buried with him.

O. FOS. Ay, by vulgar blemish, but not by any good account: There let him howl; 'tis the best stay he hath; For nothing but a prison can contain him, So boundless is his riot: twice have I rais'd His decayed fortunes to a fair estate; But with as fruitless charity as if I had thrown My safe-landed substance back into the sea; Or dress in pity some corrupted jade, And he should kick me for my courtesy. I am sure you cannot but hear what quicksands He finds out; as dice, cards, pigeon-holes,[38]

And which is more, should I not restrain it, He'd make my state his prodigality.[39]

BREW. All this may be, sir; yet examples daily show To our eyes that prodigals return at last; And the loudest roarer[40] (as our city phrase is) Will speak calm and smooth; you must help with hope, sir: Had I such a brother, I should think That heaven had made him as an instrument For my best charity to work upon: This is a maxim sure, _Some are made poor,_ _That rich men by giving may increase their store._ Nor think, sir, That I do tax your labours and mean myself For to stand idly by; for I have vow'd, If heaven but bless this voyage now abroad, To leave some memorable relic after me, That shall preserve my name alive till doomsday.

O. FOS. Ay, sir, that work is good, and therein could I Join with your good intents; but to relieve A waste-good, a spendthrift----

BREW. O, no more, no more, good sir!

O. FOS. [_To_ RICH.] Sirrah, when saw you my son Robert?

RICH. This morning, sir; he said he would go visit his uncle.

O. FOS. I pay for their meetings, I am sure: that boy Makes prize of all his fingers 'light upon To relieve his unthrifty uncle.

BREW. Does he rob![41] In troth, I commend him. [_Aside._

O. FOS. [_To_ RICH.] 'Tis partly your fault, sirrah; you see't and suffer it.

RICH. Sir, mine's a servant's duty, his a son's; Nor know I better how to express my love Unto yourself, than by loving your son.

O. FOS. By concealing of his pilferings.

RICH. I dare not call them so; he is my second master, And methinks 'tis far above my limits Either to check or to complain of him.

BREW. Gramercy, Dick, thou mak'st a good construction; [_To_ O. FOS.] And your son Robert a natural nephew's part To relieve his poor uncle.

O. FOS. 'Tis in neither well, sir: for note but the Condition of my estate; I'm lately married To a wealthy widow, from whom my substance Chiefly does arise: she has observed this in her Son-in-law, often complains and grudges at it, And what foul broils such civil discords bring, Few married men are ignorant of.

_Enter_ MISTRESS FOSTER.

Nay, will you see a present proof of it?

MRS FOS. Shall I not live to breathe a quiet hour?

I would I were a beggar with content Rather than thus be thwarted for mine own.

O. FOS. Why, what's the matter, woman?

MRS FOS. I'll rouse 'em up, Though you regard not of my just complaints, Neither in love to me, nor [for] preserving me From other injuries, both which you're tied to By all the rightful laws, heavenly or humane-- But I'll complain, sir, where I will be heard.

O. FOS. Nay, thou'lt be heard too far.

MRS FOS. Nay, sir, I will be heard: Some awkward star threw out's unhappy fire At my conception, and 'twill never quench, While I have heat in me. Would I were cold! There would be bonfires made to warm defame: My death would be a jubilee to some.

O. FOS. Why, sir, how should I minister remedy And know not the cause?

BREW. Mother-o'-pearl![42] Woman, shew your husband the cause.

MRS FOS. Had he been a husband, sir, I had no cause. [So] to complain: I threw down at his feet The subjection of his whole estate: he did not Marry me for love's sake, nor for pity; But love to that I had; he now neglects The love he had before: a prodigal Is suffer'd to lay waste those worldly blessings, Which I enclosed long,[43] intending for good uses.

O. FOS. That's my son.

MRS FOS. Ay, thou know'st it well enough; He's the conduit-pipe That throws it forth into the common shore.

O. FOS. And th' other's my brother.

MRS FOS. You may well shame, As I do grieve the kindred; but I'd make The one a stranger, the other a servant-- No son nor brother; for they deserve neither Of those offices.

O. FOS. Why, did I ever cherish him! have not I threaten'd him With disinheritance for this disorder?

MRS FOS. Why do you not perform it?

O. FOS. The other's in Ludgate.

MRS FOS. No; he's in my house, approving to my face The charitable office of his kind nephew Who with his pilfering purloin'd from me, Has set him at liberty; if this may be suffer'd, I'll have no eyes to see.

O. FOS. Prythee, content thyself, I'll see A present remedy. Sirrah, go call 'em in: This worthy gentleman shall know the cause, And censure for us both with equity.

BREW. Nay, good sir, let not me be so employ'd, For I shall favour one for pity, The other for your love's sake.

_Enter_ ROBERT _and_ STEPHEN FOSTER.

O. FOS. Now, sir, Are all my words with you so light esteem'd, That they can take no hold upon your duty?

ROB. Misconstrue not, I beseech you.

MRS FOS. Nay, he'll approve his good deeds, I warrant you.

O. FOS. And you, sir?

STEPH. Well, sir.

O. FOS. I had thought you had been in Ludgate, sir?

STEPH. Why, you see where I am, sir.

O. FOS. Why, where are you, sir?

STEPH. In debt, sir, in debt.

O. FOS. Indeed, that is a place you hardly can be Removed from; but this is not a place fit For one in debt. How came you out of prison, sirrah?[44]

STEPH. As I went into prison, sirrah--by the keepers.

O. FOS. [_To_ ROB.] This was your work, to let this bandog loose.

ROB. Sir, it was my duty to let my uncle loose.

O. FOS. Your duty did belong to me, and I Did not command it.

ROB. You cannot make a separation, sir, Betwixt the duty that belongs to me And love unto my uncle: as well you may Bid me [to] love my maker, and neglect The creature which he hath bid me [to] love:[45] If man to man join not a love on earth, They love not heaven, nor him that dwells above it; Such is my duty; a strong correlative Unto my uncle--why, he's half yourself.

BREW. Believe me, sir, he has answer'd you well.

O. FOS. He has not, worthy sir; But to make void that false construction. Here I disclaim the title of a brother; And by that disclaim hast thou lost thy child's part: Be thou engag'd for any debts of his, In prison rot with him; my goods shall not Purchase such fruitless recompence.

STEPH. Then thou'rt a scurvy father and a filthy brother.

MRS FOS. Ay, ay, sir, your tongue cannot defame his reputation.

STEPH. But yours can; for all the city reports what an abominable scold he has got to his wife.

O. FOS. If e'er I know thou keep'st him company, I'll take my blessing from thee whilst I live, And that which after me should bless thy 'state.

STEPH. And I'll proclaim thy baseness to the world; Ballads I'll make, and make 'em tavern music, To sing thy churlish cruelty.

O. FOS. Tut, tut, these are babbles.[46]

STEPH. Each festival day I'll come unto thy house, And I will piss upon thy threshold.

O. FOS. You must be out of prison first, sir.

STEPH. If e'er I live to see thee sheriff of London, I'll gild thy painted posts[47] _cum privilegio_, And kick thy sergeants.

ROB. Nay, good uncle!

STEPH. Why, I'll beg for thee, boy; I'll break this leg, and bind it up again, To pull out pity from a stony breast, Rather than thou shalt want.

O. FOS. Ay, do; let him sear up his arm, and scarf it up With two yards of rope; counterfeit two villains; Beg under a hedge, and share your bounty:[48] But come not near my house; Nor thou in's company, if thou'lt obey: There's punishment for thee; for thee there's worse: The loss of all that's mine, with my dear curse. [_Exeunt._

_Manent_ STEPHEN _and_ ROBERT.

STEPH. Churl! dog! you churlish rascally miser!

ROB. Nay, good uncle, throw not foul language; This is but heat, sir, and I doubt not but To cool this rage with my obedience: But, uncle, you must not then heap[49] such fuel.

STEPH. Coz, I grieve for thee, that thou hast undergone Thy father's curse for love unto thy uncle.

ROB. Tut! that bond shall ne'er be cancell'd, sir.

STEPH. I pity that, i'faith.

ROB. Let pity then for me turn to yourself: Bethink yourself, sir, of some course that might Befit your estate, and let me guide it.

STEPH. Ha, a course? 'Sfoot! I have't![50] Coz, canst lend me forty shillings? Could I but repair this old decay'd tenement of mine with some new plaister; for, alas, what can a man do in such a case as this?

ROB. Ay, but your course, uncle?

STEPH. Tush! leave that to me, because thou shalt wonder at it: if you should see me in a scarlet gown within the compass of a gold chain, then I hope you'll say that I do keep myself in good compass: then, sir, if the cap of maintenance[51] do march before me, and not a cap be suffer'd to be worn in my presence, pray do not upbraid me with my former poverty. I cannot tell, state and wealth may make a man forget himself; but, I beseech you, do not; there are things in my head that you dream not of; dare you try me, coz?

ROB. Why, forty shillings, uncle, shall not keep back Your fortunes.

STEPH. Why, gramercy, coz. [_Aside._] Now if the dice do run right, this forty shillings may set me up again: to lay't on my back, and so to pawn it, there's ne'er a damn'd broker in the world will give me half the worth on't: no, whilst 'tis in ready cash, that's the surest way: seven is better than eleven; a pox take the bones![52] an they will not favour a man sometimes.

ROB. Look you, uncle, there's forty shillings for you.

STEPH. As many good angels guard thee, as thou hast given me bad ones to seduce me! for these deputy devils damn worse than the old ones. Now, coz, pray listen; listen after my transformation: I will henceforth turn an apostate to prodigality; I will eat cheese and onions, and buy lordships; and will not you think this strange?

ROB. I am glad you're merry, uncle; but this is fix'd Betwixt an uncle and a nephew's love; Though my estate be poor, revenues scant, Whilst I have any left, you shall not want.

STEPH. Why, gramercy! by this hand I'll make thee an alderman, before I die, do but follow my steps. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ WIDOW _and_ CLOWN.

WID. Sirrah, will the churchman come I sent you for?

CLOWN. Yes, mistress, he will come; but pray, resolve me one thing for my long service. What business have you with the churchman? Is it to make your will, or to get you a new husband?

WID. Suppose to make my will, how then?

CLOWN. Then I would desire you to remember me, mistress; I have serv'd you long, and that's the best service to a woman: make a good will, if you mean to die, that it may not be said, _Though most women be long-liv'd, yet they all die with an ill-will._

WID. So, sir; suppose it be for marriage?

CLOWN. Why, then, remember yourself, mistress: take heed how you give away the head; it stands yet upon the shoulders of your widowhood: the loving, embracing ivy has yet the upper place in the house; if you give it to the holly, take heed, there's pricks in holly; or if you fear not the pricks, take heed of the wands; you cannot have the pricks without the wands: you give away the sword, and must defend yourself with the scabbard: these are pretty instructions of a friend; I would be loth to see you cast down, and not well taken up.

WID. Well, sir, well, let not all this trouble you; see, he's come: will you begone?

_Enter_ DOCTOR.[53]

CLOWN. I will first give him a caveat, to use you as kindly as he can. [_To the_ DOCTOR.] If you find my mistress have a mind to this coupling at barley-break, let her not be the last couple to be left in hell.[54]

DOC. I would I knew your meaning, sir.

CLOWN. If she have a mind to a fresh husband or so, use her as well as you can; let her enter into as easy bands as may be.

DOC. Sir, this is none of my traffic; I sell no husbands.

CLOWN. Then you do wrong, sir; for you take money for 'em: what woman can have a husband, but you must have custom for him? and often the ware proves naught too--not worth the impost.

DOC. Your man's pregnant[55] and merry, mistress.

WID. He's saucy, sir. Sirrah, you'll begone?

CLOWN. Nay, at the second hand you'll have a fee too; you sell in the church; and[56] they bring 'em again to your churchyard, you must have tollage: methinks, if a man die whether you will or no, he should be buried whether you would or no.

DOC. Nay, now you wade too far, sir.

WID. You'll begone, sirrah!

CLOWN. Mistress, make him your friend; for he knows what rate good husbands are at; if there hath been a dearth of women of late, you may chance pick out a good prize; but take heed of a clerk.

WID. Will you yet, sir, after your needless trouble? Begone, and bid the maids dress dinner!

CLOWN. Mistress, 'tis fasting day to-day, there's nothing But fish.

WID. Let there be store of that; let bounty Furnish the table, and charity Shall be the voider. What fish is there, sirrah?

CLOWN. Marry, there is salmon, pike, and fresh cod, soles, maids,[57] and plaice.

WID. Bid 'em haste to dress 'em then.

CLOWN. Nay, mistress, I'll help 'em too; the maids shall first dress the pike and the cod, and then [_Aside_] I'll dress the maids in the place you wot on. [_Exit_ CLOWN.

DOC. You sent for me, gentlewoman?

WID. Sir, I did: and to this end: I have some scruples in my conscience; Some doubtful problems which I cannot answer Nor reconcile; I'd have you make them plain.

DOC. This is my duty; pray [you], speak your mind.

WID. And as I speak, I must remember heaven, That gave those blessings which I must relate: Sir, you now behold a wond'rous woman; You only wonder at the epithet; I can approve it good: guess at mine age.

DOC. At the half-way 'twixt thirty and forty.

WID. 'Twas not much amiss; yet nearest to the last. How think you then, is not this a wonder? That a woman lives full seven-and-thirty years Maid to a wife, and wife unto a widow, Now widow'd, and mine own, yet all this while From the extremest verge of my remembrance, Even from my weaning-hour unto this minute, Did never taste what was calamity? I know not yet what grief is, yet have sought An hundred ways for its acquaintance: with me Prosperity hath kept so close a watch, That even those things that I have meant a cross, Have that way turn'd a blessing. Is it not strange?

DOC. Unparallel'd; this gift is singular, And to you alone belonging: you are the moon, For there's but one: all women else are stars, For there are none of like condition. Full oft and many have I heard complain Of discontents, thwarts, and adversities, But a second to yourself I never knew: To groan under the superflux of blessings, To have ever been alien unto sorrow, No trip of fate? Sure, it is wonderful.

WID. Ay, sir, 'tis wonderful: but is it well? For it is now my chief affliction. I have heard you say, that the child of heaven Shall suffer many tribulations; Nay, kings and princes share them with their subjects: Then I that know not any chastisement, How may I know my part of childhood?[58]

DOC. 'Tis a good doubt; but make it not extreme. 'Tis some affliction that you are afflicted For want of affliction; cherish that: Yet wrest it not to misconstruction; For all your blessings are free gifts from heaven-- Health, wealth, and peace; nor can they turn to curses But by abuse. Pray, let me question you: You lost a husband--was it no grief to you?

WID. It was; but very small. No sooner I Had given it entertainment as a sorrow, But straight it turn'd unto my treble joy: A comfortable revelation prompts me then, That husband (whom in life I held so dear) Had chang'd a frailty to unchanging joys; Methought I saw him stellified in heaven, And singing hallelujahs 'mongst a quire Of white-sainted souls: then again it spake, And said it was a sin for me to grieve At his best good, that I esteemed best: And thus this slender shadow of a grief Vanish'd again.

DOC. All this was happy; nor can you wrest it from A heavenly blessing: do not appoint the rod; Leave still the stroke unto the magistrate: The time is not passed, but you may feel enough.

WID. One taste more I had, although but little, Yet I would aggravate to make the most on't; Thus 'twas: the other day it was my hap, In crossing of the Thames, To drop that wedlock ring from off my finger That once conjoin'd me and my dead husband; It sank; I priz'd it dear--the dearer, 'cause it kept Still in mine eye the memory of my loss; Yet I griev'd [less] the loss; and [I] did joy withal, That I had found a grief: and this is all The sorrow I can boast of.

DOC. This is but small.

WID. Nay, sure I am of this opinion, That had I suffered a draught to be made for it, The bottom would have sent it up again, I am so wondrously fortunate.

DOC. You would not suffer it?

_Enter_ CLOWN.

WID. Not for my whole estate.

CLOWN. O mistress! where are you? I think you are the fortunatest woman that ever breathed on two shoes: the thief is found.

WID. The thief! what thief? I never was so happy to be robbed.

CLOWN. Bring him away, Jug: nay, you shall see the strangest piece of felony discovered that ever you saw, or your great grandmother's grandam before, or after; a pirate, a water-thief.

WID. What's all this?

CLOWN. Bring him away, Jug: yet the villain would not confess a word, till it was found about him.

WID. I think the fellow's mad.

CLOWN. Did you not lose your wedding-ring the other day?

WID. Yes, sir, but I was not robbed of it.

_Enter_ JOAN _with a fish_.

CLOWN. No! well, thank him that brings it home then, and will ask nothing for his pains. You see this salmon?

WID. Yes, what of it?

CLOWN. It cost but sixpence: but had the fisher known the worth of it, 'twould have cost you forty shillings. Is not this your ring?

WID. The very same.

CLOWN. Your maid Joan, examining this salmon, that she bought in the market, found that he had swallowed this gudgeon.

WID. How am I vex'd with blessings! how think you, sir, Is not this above wonder?

DOC. I am amaz'd at it.

WID. First, that this fish should snatch it as a bait; Then that my servant needs must buy that fish 'Mongst such infinities of fish and buyers: What fate is mine that runs all by itself In unhappy happiness? My conscience dreads it. Would thou hadst not swallowed it, or thou not bought it.

CLOWN. Alas! blame not the poor fish, mistress: he, being a phlegmatic creature, took gold for restorative.[59] He took it fair; and he that gets gold, let him eat gold.

WID. Nothing can hinder fate.

DOC. Seek not to cross it, then.

WID. [_To_ JOAN.] About your business! you have not pleased me in this.

JOAN. By my maidenhead! if I had thought you would have ta'en it no kindlier, you should ne'er have been vexed with the sight on't; the garbage should have been the cook's fees at this time. [_Exit_ JOAN.

CLOWN. Now do I see the old proverb come to pass--_Give a woman luck, and cast her into the sea_: there's many a man would wish his wife good luck on that condition he might throw her away so. But, mistress, there's one within would speak with you, that vexeth as fast against crosses as you do against good luck.

WID. I know her sure, then; 'tis my gossip Foster. Request her in; here's good company, tell her.

CLOWN. I'll tell her so for my own credit's sake. [_Exit._

WID. Yon shall now see an absolute contrary: Would I had chang'd bosoms with her for a time! 'Twould make me better relish happiness.

_Enter_ MISTRESS FOSTER _and_ CLOWN.

MRS FOS. O friend and gossip, where are you? I am O'erladen with my griefs, and but in your bosom I know not where to ease me.

CLOWN. I had rather Help you to a close-stool, an't please you. [_Aside._

MRS FOS. Ne'er had woman more sinister fate; All ominous stars were in conjunction Even at my birth, and do still attend me.

DOC. This is a perfect contrary indeed.

WID. What ails you, woman?

MRS FOS. Unless seven witches had set spells about me, I could not be so cross'd; never at quiet, Never a happy hour, not a minute's content.

DOC. You hurt yourself most with impatience.

MRS FOS. Ay, ay, physicians 'minister with ease, Although the patient do receive in pain: Would I could think but of one joyful hour!

CLOWN. You have had two husbands to my knowledge; and if you had not one joyful hour between both, I would you were hanged, i' faith. [_Aside._

MRS FOS. Full fourteen years I liv'd a weary maid, Thinking no joy till I had got a husband.

CLOWN. That was a tedious time indeed. [_Aside._

MRS FOS. I had one lov'd me well, and then ere long I grew into my longing peevishness.

CLOWN. There was some pleasure ere you came to that. [_Aside._

MRS FOS. Then all the kindness that he would apply, Nothing could please: soon after it he died.

CLOWN. That could be but little grief. [_Aside._

MRS FOS. Then worldly care did so o'erload my weakness, That I must have a second stay; I chose again, And there begins my griefs to multiply.

WID. It cannot be, friend; your husband's kind.

DOC. A man of fair condition, well-reputed.

CLOWN. But it may be he has not that should please her.

WID. Peace, sirrah! How can your sorrows increase from him?

MRS FOS. How can they but o'erwhelm me? He keeps a son, That makes my state his prodigality; To him a brother, one of the city scandals. The one the hand, the other is the maw; And between both my goods are swallowed up. The full quantity that I brought amongst 'em Is now consum'd to half.

WID. The fire of your spleen wastes it: Good sooth, gossip, I could laugh at thee, and only grieve I have not some cause of sorrow with thee: Prythee, be temperate, and suffer.

DOC. 'Tis good counsel, mistress; receive it so.

WID. Canst thou devise to lay them half on me? And I'll bear 'em willingly.

MRS FOS. Would I could! that I might laugh another while: But you are wise to heed at others' harms; You'll keep you happy in your widowhood.

WID. Not I, in good faith, were I sure marriage Would make me unhappy.

MRS FOS. Try, try, you shall not need to wish; You'll sing another song, and bear a part In my grief's descant, when you're vex'd at heart: Your second choice will differ from the first; So oft as widows marry, they are accurs'd.

CLOWN. Ay, cursed widows are; but if they had all stiff husbands to tame 'em, they'd be quiet enough.

WID. You'll be gone, sir, and see dinner ready.

CLOWN. I care not if I do, mistress, now my stomach's ready; Yet I'll stay a little, an't be but to vex you.

WID. When go you, sirrah?

CLOWN. I will not go yet.

WID. Ha, ha, ha! thou makest me laugh at thee; prythee, stay.

CLOWN. Nay, then, I'll go to vex you. [_Exit_ CLOWN.

MRS FOS. You have a light heart, gossip.

WID. So should you, woman, would you be rul'd by me. Come, we'll dine together; after walk abroad Unto my suburb garden,[60] where, if thou'lt hear, I'll read my heart to thee, and thou from thence Shall learn to vex thy cares with patience. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[31] [This play was first reprinted by Dilke in his "Old English Plays," 1816.]

[32] The word _factor_ is here used in a more limited sense than at present, as Richard and George appear to have been the exclusive servants of the other two.

[33] So Titania, in "A Midsummer Night's Dream"--

"We have laugh'd to see the sails conceive, And grow _big-bellied_ with the wanton wind."

[34] [Old copy and Dilke, _envy_.]

[35] These are, I believe, the private marks of the merchants to denote the value of their goods, a sort of cipher known only to themselves. They may, however, allude to the marks affixed to the different packages in which the pieces were contained.

[36] _Argosies_ [were ships chiefly used for commercial purposes, but also occasionally employed in what was known at Venice as the mercantile marine. They were of large size. The origin of the word is doubtful; but it probably comes from _Argo_, the name of the vessel which sailed, according to tradition, in the Argonautic cruise.] Gremio, in the "Taming of the Shrew," talks of an _argosy_ which he would settle on Bianca, and then tauntingly asks--

"What, have I chok'd you with an _argosy_?"

[37] [Anticipate.]

[38] _Pigeon-holes_ seems to have been the game which is sometimes called _trow-madame_, or _trol-my-dames_. See Steevens's note on "The Winter's Tale," act iv. sc. 2; and in Farmer's note on the same passage, the reader will find a description of the manner of playing it. [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 325.]

[39] [This expression is repeated lower down, or it might have been supposed that a word was wanting to complete the sense. As it is, the meaning can be easily guessed at.]

[40] _Roarer_ was the common cant word for the swaggering drunkard of our poet's age. Its occurrence is sufficiently common. So in Dekker's play, "If it be not a Good Play, the Devil's in it"--

"Those bloody thoughts will damn you into hell.

SOU. Do you think so? What becomes of our _roaring boys_ then, _that stab healths one to another_?"

[41] [A play may be intended on _rob_ and _Robert_.]

[42] This seems a cant expression, as Brewen several times uses it.

[43] [Old copy and Dilke, _long enclosed_.]

[44] [In the old copy and Dilke this speech is printed as prose. The old copy reads _that's--can hardly_.]

[45] Our poet here evidently alludes to a passage in the First Epistle to St John, chap. iii. ver. 10.

[46] _i.e._, Idle tales.

[47] It appears to have been the custom for the sheriff to have a post set up at his door as an indication of his office. So in the "Twelfth Night" of Shakespeare, Malvolio says of Cesario, "He'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post." See notes on act i. sc. 5, where the passage in the text has been quoted by Steevens.

[48] Our poet alludes here to the methods which are still frequently practised amongst beggars, of making artificial sores. The reader will find many of these mentioned by Prigg in act ii. sc. 1 of the "Beggar's Bush" of Beaumont and Fletcher. In the quarto this speech is in horrible metre; and the same may be observed of nearly the whole remainder of this scene, and until the clown quits the stage in the next.

[49] [Old copy and Dilke, _heap on_.]

[50] "'Sfoot I hate," [_i.e._, _ha't_] is the reading of the 4o.

[51] Caps of maintenance are said to be carried in state on occasions of great solemnity before the mayors of several cities in England. Stephen had before imagined himself arrayed with the gown and chain of an alderman; he is now describing his consequence as the future Lord Mayor of London.

[52] The dice.

[53] It is to be remembered that the doctor here introduced is a _divine_, and not a physician.

[54] [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii., 293-5.]

[55] [Full of wit] So in "Hamlet"--

"How _pregnant_ sometimes his replies are."

[56] [If.]

[57] [Thornbacks.]

[58] Our poet alludes here to a passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews, chap. xii. vers. 7 and 8.

[59] Gold was formerly used in medicine, and many imaginary virtues ascribed to it.

[60] These _suburb gardens_ and _garden-houses_ are constantly mentioned by the writers of that age. An extract from Stubbs's "Anatomy of Abuses," 1585 (quoted by Mr Gifford in a note on "The Bondman"), will afford the reader some information: "In the suberbes of the citie, they [the women] have _gardens_ either paled or walled round about very high, with their harbours and bowers fit for the purpose; and lest they might be espied in these open places, they have their _banqueting houses_, with galleries, turrets, and what not, therein sumptuously erected, wherein they may, and doubtless do, many of them, play the filthy persons."