SCENE III.

_Enter +Cypher+, like a Waterman._

+Cyph.+ Pray, which is Master Plotwell?

+Plot.+ I am he, friend; What is your business?

+Cyph.+ Sir, I should speak With young Master Seathrift too.

+Plot.+ Sir, at this time, Although no crab, like you, to swim backward, he is Of your element.

+Cyph.+ Upon the water?

+Plot.+ No, But something that lives in't. If you but stay Till he have slept himself a land-creature, you may Chance see him come ashore here.

+Tim.+ O--my head-- O--Captain--Master Francis--Captain--O----

+Plot.+ That is his voice, sir.

+Sea.+ Death o' my soul! my son!

+Cyph.+ He is in drink, sir, is he?

+Plot.+ Surely, friend, you are a witch;[232] he is so.

+Cyph.+ Then I must tell the news to you: 'tis sad.

+Plot.+ I'll hear't as sadly.

+Cyph.+ Your uncle, sir, and Master Seathrift are Both drown'd, some eight miles below Greenwich.

+Plot.+ Drown'd!

+Cyph.+ They went i' th' tilt-boat, sir, and I was one O' th' oars that rowed him: a coal-ship did o'errun us. I 'scaped by swimming; the two old gentlemen Took hold of one another, and sunk together.

+Bright.+ How some men's prayers are heard! We did invoke The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em.

+Plot.+ It cannot be: such good news, gentlemen, Cannot be true.

+Ware.+ 'Tis very certain, sir. 'Twas talk'd upon th' Exchange.

+Sea.+ We heard it too In Paul's now, as we came.

+Plot.+ There, friend, there is A fare for you. I'm glad you 'scap'd; I had Not known the news so soon else. [_Gives him money._

+Cyph.+ Sir, excuse me.

+Plot.+ Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might Sue me in Chancery.

+Cyph.+ Sir, you show the virtues of an heir.

+Ware.+ Are you rich Warehouse's heir, sir?

+Plot.+ Yes, sir, his transitory pelf, And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth, Is cast on me. Captain, the hour is come, You shall no more drink ale, of which one draught Makes cowards, and spoils valour; nor take off Your moderate quart-glass. I intend to have A musket for you, or glass-cannon, with A most capacious barrel, which we'll charge And discharge with the rich valiant grape Of my uncle's cellar. Every charge shall fire The glass, and burn itself i' th' filling, and look Like a piece going off.

+Quart.+ I shall be glad To give thanks for you, sir, in pottle-draughts, And shall love Scotch coal for this wreck the better, As long as I know fuel.

+Plot.+ Then my poet No longer shall write catches or thin sonnets, Nor preach in verse, as if he were suborn'd By him that wrote the Whip,[233] to pen lean acts, And so to overthrow the stage for want Of salt or wit. Nor shall he need torment Or persecute his Muse; but I will be His god of wine t' inspire him. He shall no more Converse with the five-yard butler who, like thunder, Can turn beer with his voice, and roar it sour; But shall come forth a Sophocles, and write Things for the buskin. Instead of Pegasus, To strike a spring with's hoof, we'll have a steel Which shall but touch a butt, and straight shall flow A purer, higher, wealthier Helicon.

+Sale.+ Frank, thou shalt be my Phœbus. My next poem Shall be thy uncle's tragedy, or the life And death of two rich merchants.

+Plot.+ Gentlemen, And now, i' faith, what think you of the fish?

+Ware.+ Why as we ought, sir, strangely.

+Bright.+ But do you think it is a very fish?

+Sale.+ Yes.

+New.+ 'Tis a man.

+Plot.+ This valiant captain and this man of wit First fox'd him, then transformed him. We will wake him, And tell him the news. Ho, Master Timothy!

+Tim.+ Plague take you, captain!

+Plot.+ What, does your sack work still?

+Tim.+ Where am I?

+Plot.+ Come, y' have slept enough.

+Bright.+ Master Timothy! How, in the name of fresh cod, came you chang'd Into a sea-calf thus?

+New.+ 'Slight, sir, here be Two fishmongers to buy you; bate the price, Now y' are awake, yourself.

+Tim.+ How's this? my hands Transmuted into claws? my feet made flounders? Array'd in fins and scales? Aren't you Asham'd to make me such a monster? Pray, Help to undress me.

+Plot.+ We have rare news for you.

+Tim.+ No letter from the lady, I hope.

+Plot.+ Your father And my grave uncle, sir, are cast away.

+Tim.+ How?

+Plot.+ They by this have made a meal For jacks and salmon: they are drown'd.

+Bright.+ Fall down, And worship sea-coals; for a ship of them Has made you, sir, an heir.

+Plot.+ This fellow here Brings the auspicious news: and these two friends Of ours confirm it.

+Cyph.+ 'Tis too true, sir.

+Tim.+ Well, We are all mortal; but in what wet case Had I been now, if I had gone with him! Within this fortnight I had been converted Into some pike; you might ha' cheapen'd me In Fish Street; I had made an ordinary, Perchance, at the Mermaid.[234] Now could I cry Like any image in a fountain, which Runs lamentations. O my hard misfortune! [_He feigns to weep._

+Sea.+ Fie, sir! good truth, it is not manly in you To weep for such a slight loss as a father.

+Tim.+ I do not cry for that.

+Sea.+ No?

+Tim.+ No, but to think, My mother is not drown'd too.

+Sea.+ I assure you, And that's a shrewd mischance.

+Tim.+ For then might I Ha' gone to th' counting-house, and set at liberty Those harmless angels, which for many years Have been condemn'd to darkness.

+Plot.+ You'd not do Like your penurious father, who was wont To walk his dinner out in Paul's, whilst you Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in sieges, Your meals weigh'd to you.

+New.+ Indeed they say he was A monument of Paul's.

+Tim.+ Yes, he was there As constant as Duke Humphrey.[235] I can show The prints where he sat holes i' th' logs.

+Plot.+ He wore More pavement out with walking than would make A row of new stone-saints, and yet refused To give to th' reparation.[236]

+Bright.+ I've heard He'd make his jack go empty to cosen neighbours.

+Plot.+ Yes, when there was not fire enough to warm A mastich-patch t' apply to his wife's temples, In great extremity of toothache. This is True, Master Timothy, is't not?

+Tim.+ Yes: then linen To us was stranger than to Capuchins. My flesh is of an order with wearing shirts Made of the sacks that brought o'er cochineal, Copperas, and indigo. My sister wears Smocks made of currant-bags.

+Sea.+ I'll not endure it: Let's show ourselves. [_Aside._

+Ware.+ Stay: hear all first. [_Aside._

+New.+ Thy uncle was such another.

+Plot.+ I have heard He still last left th' Exchange; and would commend The wholesomeness o' th' air in Moorfields, when The clock struck three sometimes.

+Plot.+ Surely myself, Cypher, his factor, and an ancient cat Did keep strict diet, had our Spanish fare, Four olives among three. My uncle would Look fat with fasting; I ha' known him surfeit Upon a bunch of raisins, swoon at sight Of a whole joint, and rise an epicure From half an orange. [_They undisguise._

+Ware.+ Gentlemen, 'tis false. Cast off your cloud. D'ye know me, sir?

+Plot.+ My uncle!

+Sea.+ And do you know me, sir?

+Tim.+ My father!

+Ware.+ Nay, We'll open all the plot; reveal yourself.

+Plot.+ Cypher, the waterman!

+Quart.+ Salewit, away! I feel a tempest coming.

[_Exit +Quartfield+ and +Salewit+._

+Ware.+ Are you struck With a torpedo, nephew?

+Sea.+ Ha' you seen too A Gorgon's head, that you stand speechless? or Are you a fish in earnest?

+Bright.+ It begins to thunder.

+New.+ We will make bold to take our leaves.

+Ware.+ What, is your captain fled?

+Sea.+ Nay, gentlemen, forsake your company!

+Bright.+ Sir, we have business. [_Exeunt +Bright+ and +Newcut+._

+Sea.+ Troth, it is not kindly done.

+Ware.+ Now, Master Seathrift, You see what mourners we had had, had we Been wreck'd in earnest. My griev'd nephew here Had made my cellar flow with tears; my wines Had charg'd glass-ordnance; our funerals had been Bewail'd in pottle-draughts.

+Sea.+ And at our graves Your nephew and my son had made a panegyric, And open'd all our virtues.

+Ware.+ Ungrateful monster!

+Sea.+ Unnatural villain!

+Ware.+ Thou enemy to my blood!

+Sea.+ Thou worse than parricide!

+Ware.+ Next my sins, I do repent I am thy uncle.

+Sea.+ And I thy father.

+Ware.+ Death o' my soul! Did I, when first thy father Broke in estate, and then broke from the compter, Where Master Seathrift laid him in the hole For debt, among the ruins of the city And trades like him blown up, take thee from dust, Give thee free education, put thee in My own fair way of traffic--nay, decree To leave thee jewels, land, my whole estate; Pardon'd thy former wildness; and couldst thou sort Thyself with none but idle gallants, captains, And poets, who must plot before they eat, And make each meal a stratagem? Then could none But I be subject of thy impious scoffs? I swoon at sight of meat! I rise a glutton From half an orange! Wretch, forgetful wretch! 'Fore Heaven, I count it treason in my blood That gives thee a relation. But I'll take A full revenge. Make thee my heir! I'll first Adopt a slave brought from some galley; one Which laws do put into the inventory, And men bequeath in wills with stools and brasspots; One who shall first be household-stuff, then my heir; Or, to defeat all thy large aims, I'll marry. Cypher, go, find me Bannswright; he shall straight Provide me a wife: I will not stay to let My resolution cool. Be she a wench That every day puts on her dowry, wears Her fortunes, has no portion, so she be Young, and likely to be fruitful, I'll have her: By all that's good, I will: this afternoon! I will about it straight.

+Sea.+ I follow you. [_Exeunt +Warehouse+, +Cypher+._ And as for you, Tim, mermaid, triton, haddock, The wondrous Indian fish caught near Peru, Who can be of both elements, your sight Will keep you well. Here I do cast thee off, And in thy room pronounce to make thy sister My heir: it would be most unnatural To leave a fish land. 'Las! sir, one of your Bright fins and gills must swim in seas of sack, Spout rich canaries up like whales in maps:[237] I know you'll not endure to see my jack Go empty, nor wear shirts of copperas-bags, Nor fast in Paul's, you! I do hate thee now Worse than a tempest, quicksand, pirate, rock, Or fatal lake, ay, or a privy-seal.[238] Go, let the captain make you drunk, and let Your next change be into some ape--'tis stale To be a fish twice--or some active baboon: And, when you can find money out, betray What wench i' th' room has lost her maidenhead; Can mount to the king, and can do all your feats, If your fine chain and yellow coat come near Th' Exchange, I'll see you. So I leave you. [_Exit +Seathrift+._

+Plot.+ Now, Were there a dext'rous beam and twopence hemp, Never had man such cause to hang himself.

+Tim.+ I have brought myself to a fine pass too. Now Am I fit only to be caught, and put Into a pond to leap carps, or beget A goodly race of pick'rel.