SCENE IV.

_Enter_ WIDOW, PLEASANT, CARELESS, WILD, PARSON, JOLLY, WANTON, _and_ SECRET: _the_ FIDDLERS _play as they come in_.

PAR. Master Jolly, I find I am naturally inclined to mirth this day, and methinks my corns ache more than my horns; and to a man that has read Seneca, a cuckold ought to be no grief, especially in this parish, where I see such droves of St Luke's clothing. There's little Secret too, th' allay of waiting-woman, makes me hope she may prove metal of the parson's standard. Find a way to rid me of Wanton, and I'll put in to be chaplain to this merry family: if I did not inveigle formal Secret, you should hang me. I know the trick on't; 'tis but praying to, and preaching of the waiting-woman, then carefully seeing her cushion laid, with her book and leaf turned down, does it, with a few anagrams, acrostics, and her name in the register of my Bible: these charm the soft-souled sinner: then sometimes to read a piece of my sermon, and tell her a Saturday where my text shall be, spells that work more than philtres.

JOLLY. If you can be serious, we'll think of this at leisure. See how they eye Wanton!

CARE. What! consulting, parson? let us be judges betwixt you. D'ye hear, Jack? if he offers ready money, I counsel, as a friend, take it; for, by this light, if you refuse it, your wife will not. D'ye see those gay petticoats?

PAR. Yes, if you mean my wife's.

CARE. You know they're his, and she only wears 'em for his pleasure: and 'tis dangerous to have a wife under another man's petticoats. What if you should find his breeches upon her?

PAR. Are not you married too? take care that yours does not wear the breeches, another kind of danger, but as troublesome as that, or sore eyes; and if she get but a trick of taking as readily as she's persuaded to give, you may find a horn at home. I have seen a cuckold of your complexion; if he had had as much hoof as horn, you might have hunted the beast by his slot.[277]

PLEA. How fine she is! and, by this light, a handsome wench. Master Jolly, I am easier persuaded to be reconciled to your fault than any man's I have seen of this kind: her eyes have more arguments in 'em than a thousand of those that seduce the world; hang me, if those quivers be not full of darts; I could kiss that mouth myself. Is this she my aunt quarrelled with you for?

JOLLY. The same, selfsame: and, by this hand, I was barbarous to her, for your aunt's sake; and had I not 'scaped that mischief of matrimony, by this light, I had never seen her again. But I was resolved not to quit her till I was sure of a wife, for fear of what has followed. Had I been such an ass to have left her upon the airy hopes of a widow's oaths, what a case had I been in now! You see your aunt's provided of a man. Bless him, and send him patience! 'Twould have been fine to have seen me walking, and sighing upon cold hunting, seeking my whore again, or forced to make use of some common mercenary thing, that sells sin and diseases, crimes, penance, and sad repentance together! Here's consolation and satisfaction in Wanton, though a man lose his meal with the widow. And faith, be free--how do you like my girl? Rid thee of her! What does she want now, pray, but a jointure, to satisfy any honest man? Speak your conscience, ladies: don't you think a little repentance hereafter will serve for all the small sins that good-nature can act with such a sinner?

PAR. Pray, sir, remember she's my wife, and be so civil to us both, as to forget these things.

JOLLY. For that, Jack, we'll understand hereafter. 'Tis but a trick of youth, man, and her jest will make us both merry, I warrant thee.

PAR. Pray, sir, no more of your jests, nor your Jack. Remember my coat and calling. This familiarity, both with my wife and myself, is not decent: your clergy with Christian names are scarce held good Christians.

WID. I wonder at nothing so much as Master Jolly's mirth to-day! Where lies his part of the jest? Cosened or refused by all, not a fish that stays in's net.

JOLLY. No; what's this? [JOLLY _hugs_ WANTON.] Show me a fairer in all your streams. Nor is this my single joy, who am pleased to find you may be cosened; rejoice to see you may be brought to lie with a man for a jest. Let me alone to fit you with a trick too.

CARE. Faith, it must be some new trick; for thou art so beaten at the old one, 'twill neither please thee nor her; besides, I mean to teach her that myself.

PLEA. I shall never be perfectly quiet in my mind till I see somebody as angry as myself: yet I have some consolation, when I think on the wise plot that killed the coachman. How the plague, red cross, and halbert has cut their fingers that designed it! their anger will be perfect. Secret says they are coming, and that the Lady Loveall has given 'em the alarm.

_Enter_ SAD _and_ CONSTANT.

WILD. And see where the parties come!--storms and tempests in their minds! their looks are daggers.

PLEA. Servant, what, you're melancholy, and full of wonder! I see you have met the news.

SAD. Yes, madam; we have heard a report that will concern both your judgment and your honour.

PLEA. Alas, sir! we're innocent; 'tis mere predestination.

CON. All weddings, Master Sad, you know, go by chance, like hanging.

PLEA. And, I thank my stars, I have 'scaped hanging. To ha' been his bride had been both.

CON. This is not like the promise you made us yesterday.

WID. Why, truly, servant, I scarce know what I do yet. The fright of the plague had so possessed my mind with fear, that I could think and dream of nothing last night but of a tall black man that came and kissed me in my sleep, and slapped his whip in mine ears. 'Twas a saucy ghost, not unlike my coachman that's dead, and accused you of having a hand in his murder, and vowed to haunt me till I was married. I told my niece the dream.

PLEA. Nay, the ghost sighed, and accused Secret and Master Sad of making him away. Confess, faith, had you a hand in that bloody jest?

WID. Fie, servant! Could you be so cruel as to join with my woman against me?

CON. 'Tis well, ladies. Why a pox do you look at me? This was your subtle plot; a pox on your clerk's wit! You said the jest would beget a comedy when 'twas known, and so I believe 'twill.

SAD. Madam, I find you have discovered our design, whose chief end was to prevent this mischief, which I doubt not but you'll both live to repent your share of, before you have done travelling to the Epsoms, Bourbonne,[278] and the Spaws, to cure those travelled diseases these knights-errant have with curiosity sought out for you. 'Tis true, they are mischiefs that dwell in pleasant countries, yet those roses have their thorns; and I doubt not but these gentlemen's wit may sting as well as please sometime; and you may find it harder to satisfy their travelled experience than to have suffered our home-bred ignorance.

CARE. Hark, if he be not fallen into a fit of his cousin! these names of places he has stolen out of her receipt-book: amongst all whose diseases find me any so dangerous, troublesome, or incurable as a fool; a lean, pale, sighing, coughing fool, that's rich and poor both; being born to an estate, without a mind or heart capable to use it; of a nature so miserable, he grudges himself meat; nay, they say, he eats his meals twice: a fellow whose breath smells of yesterday's dinner, and stinks as if he had eat all our suppers over again. I would advise you, Master Sad, to sleep with your mouth open to air it, or get the brewer to tun it. Foh! an empty justice, that stinks of the lees and casks, and belches Littleton and Plowden's cases! Dost thou think any woman, that has wit or honour, would kiss that bung-hole? By this light, his head and belly look as blue and lank as French rabbits or stale poultry! Alas, sir! my lady would have a husband to rejoice with; no green-tailed lecturer, to stand sentry at his bedside, while his nasty soul scours through him, sneaking out at the back-door! These, sir, are diseases which neither the Spaw or Bath can cure: your garters and willow are a more certain remedy.

CON. Well, sir, I find our plot's betrayed, and we have patience left. 'Tis that damned captain has informed.

SAD. Yet 'tis one comfort, madam, that you have missed that man of war, that knight of Finsbury. His dowager, with ale and switches, would ha' bred a ballad.

PLEA. Faith, sir, you see what a difficulty it is in this age for a woman to live honest, though she have a proper man for her husband; therefore, it behoves us to consider whom we choose.

JOLLY. The lady has reason: for, being allowed but one, who would choose such weasels as we see daily married? that are all head and tail, crooked, dirty, sordid vermin, predestined for cuckolds, painted snails, with houses on their backs, and horns as big as Dutch cows! Would any woman marry such? Nay, can any woman be honest that let's such hodmandods crawl o'er her virgin breast and belly, or suffer 'em to leave their slimy paths upon their bodies only for jointures? Out! 'tis mercenary and base! The generous heart has only the laws of nature and kindness in her view, and when she will oblige, Friend is all the ties that Nature seeks; who can both bear and excuse those kind crimes. And, I believe, one as poor as the despised captain and neglected courtier may make a woman as happy in a friendship as Master Sad, who has as many faults as we have debts: one whose father had no more credit with Nature than ours had with Fortune; whose soul wears rags as well as the captain's body.

SAD. Nay, then, I'll laugh; for I perceive y' are angrier than we. Alas! h' has lost both ventures--Wanton and the widow.

JOLLY. Both; and neither so unlucky as to be thy wife. Thy face is hanged with blacks already: we may see the bells toll in thy eyes. A bride and a wedding-shirt, a sexton and a winding-sheet. A scrivener to draw up jointures, a parson to make thy will, man. By this light, he's as chap-fallen as if he had lain under the table all night.

CARE. Faith, Master Sad, he's parlously in the right. Ne'er think of marrying in this dull clime. Wedlock's a trade you'll ne'er go through with. Wives draw bills upon sight, and 'twill not be for your credit to protest them. Rather follow my counsel, and marry _A la Venetiano_, for a night and away; a pistole jointure does it: then, 'tis but repenting in the morning, and leave your woman and the sin both i' th' bed. But if you play the fool, like your friends, and marry in serious earnest, you may repent it too, as they do; but where's the remedy?

[_This is spoken a little aside._

WID. What was't you said, sir? Do you repent?

CARE. By this hand, widow, I don't know: but we have pursued a jest a great way. Parson, are you sure we are married?

PAR. Yes, I warrant you, for their escaping.

CARE. Their escaping! Fool, thou mistakest me; there's no fear of that! But I would fain know if there be no way for me to get out of this noose? no hole to hide a man's head in from this wedlock?

PAR. Not any, but what I presume she'll show you anon.

CARE. Hum! now do I feel all my fears flowing in upon me. Wanton and Mistress Pleasant both grow dangerously handsome. A thousand graces in each I never observed before. Now, just now, when I must not taste, I begin to long for some of their plums.

WID. Is this serious, sir!

CARE. Yes, truly, widow, sadly serious. Is there no way to get three or four mouthfuls of kisses from the parson's wife?

WID. This is sad, sir, upon my wedding-day, to despise me for such a common thing.

SAD. As sad as I could wish. This is a jest makes me laugh.--Common! No, madam, that's too bitter; she's forest only, where the royal chase is as free as fair.

WAN. Were not you a widow to-day?

SAD. Yes, faith, girl, and as foolish a one as ever coach jumbled out of joint.

WAN. Stay, then, till to-morrow, and tell me the difference betwixt us.

SAD. I hope thou'lt prove a she-prophet. Could I live to see thee turn honest wife, and she the wanton widow!

WAN. I cannot but laugh, to see how easy it is to lose or win the opinion of the world. A little custom heals all; or else what's the difference betwixt a married widow and one of us? Can any woman be pure, or worth the serious sighing of a generous heart, that has had above one hand laid upon her? Is there place to write above one lover's name with honour in her heart? 'Tis indeed for one a royal palace; but if it admits of more, an hospital or an inn at best, as well as ours: only off from the road and less frequented.

PLEA. Shrewdly urged.

WAN. And though the sins of my family threw me into want, and made me subject to the treachery of that broken faith, to whose perjury I owe all my crimes, yet still I can distinguish betwixt that folly and this honour, which must tell you: _He or she, that would be thought twice so, was never once a lover._

CON. Parson, thou art fitted! a whore and apothegms! What sport will she make us under a tree with a salad and sayings in the summer!

WILD. Come, Wanton, no fury; you see my aunt's angry.

WAN. So am I, sir, and yet can calmly reason this truth. Married widows, though chaste to the law and custom, yet their second Hymens make that, which was but dyeing in the first husband's bed, a stain in the second's sheets; where all their kindness and repeated embraces want their value, because they're sullied, and have lost their lustre.

SAD. By this light, I'll go to school to Wanton; she has opened my eyes, and I begin to believe I have 'scaped miraculously. By this hand, wench, I was within an inch of being married to this danger; for what can we call these second submissions, but a tolerated lawful mercenariness which though it be a rude and harsh expression, yet your carriage deserves it?

PLEA. Fie, Master Sad! pray leave being witty. I fear 'tis a mortal sin to begin in the fifth act of your days: upon an old subject, too--abusing of widows because they despise you!

WID. Alas, niece! let him alone: he may come in for his share: the parson, that has so oft received 'em, will not refuse him tithes there in charity.

WAN. That or conveniency, interest or importunity, may by your example prevail: but 'tis not fair play, madam, to turn your lover to the common, as you call it, now he's rid lean in your service. Take heed, Master Careless, and warning, Master Sad; you see how fit for the scavenger's team your lady leaves her lovers!

CARE. Such a lecture, before I had married, would ha' made me have considered of this matter. Dost thou hear, Wanton? Let us forgive one another being married, for that folly has made us guilty alike.

WAN. And I would fain know the difference betwixt ours and a wedding crime, which is worst: to let love, youth, and good-humour betray us to a kindness, or to be gravely seduced by some aunt or uncle, without consideration of the disparity of age, birth, or persons, to lie down before a jointure. Ladies, you may flatter yourselves; but the ingenuous part of the world cannot deny but such minds, had they been born where our faults are not only tolerated but protected, would have listened to the same things: interest counsels thereto.

CARE. Parson, what boot betwixt our wives? either come to a price, or draw off your doxy.

PAR. Propose, propose: here will be mirth anon.

SAD. Yes, yes, propose, while I break it to your lady. Madam, you see, here's a proper man to be had, and money to boot. What, dumb?

WAN. No, she's only thinking. Faith, madam, try 'em both to-night, and choose to-morrow.

WILD. Come, no more of this. Aunt, take my word for your husband, that have had more experience of him than all these: 'tis true he will long for these girls, as children do for plums; and when h' has done, make a meal upon cheese. And you must not wonder nor quarrel at what he says in his humour, but judge him by his actions; and when he is in his fit, and raves most, put him into your bed, and fold him close in your arms, aunt: if he does not rise as kind and as good a husband as he that sings psalms best, hang me? Why, you're a fool, aunt: a widow, and dislike a longing bridegroom! I thought you had known better. Do you love a spurred horse rather than a ducker, that neighs and scrapes? I would not say this, but that I know him. Let him not go out of your sight, for he's now in season--a ripe, mature husband. No delays: if you let him hang longer upon hope, his fruit will fall alone.

WID. You are merry, sir; but if I had known this humour----

WILD. You'd ha' kissed him first; but, being ignorant, let me make you blush. Come, a kiss, and all's friends. [_She kisses_ CARELESS, _and he kisses her twice_.] How now, sir, again! again!

PLEA. Aunt, look to yourself.

CARE. Um! By this light, sweetheart, and I thank thee. Nay, widow, there's no jesting with these things--[_Kisses her again_]--nay, I am a lion in my love. Aware, puss, if you flatter me, for I shall deceive you.

PAR. Since all are cosened, why should I be troubled at my fortune? Faith, gentlemen, what will you two give for a wife betwixt you?

CON. Faith, they're mischiefs dear bought, though a man get 'em for nothing.

PAR. I'm almost of his mind; and if other people find no more pleasure in a married life than I upon my wedding-day, I'd pass my time in the Piazza with the mountebank, and let him practise upon my teeth, and draw 'em too, ere he persuades the words of matrimony out of my mouth again. Ay, ay, Master Constant, you may laugh, you ha' missed a wife; would I were in your case, the world should see how cheerfully I should bear such an affliction.

CON. Jack, I ha' made my peace at home: and by seeing others shipwrecked, will avoid the danger, and here resolve never to sigh again for any woman: they're weeds grow in every hedge; and transplanting of 'em thus to our beds gives certain trouble, seldom pleasure, never profit.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

PAR. See where the enemy comes! Now, if you be wise, arm, and unite against him as a common foe. He's come from his old lady, designing a reconciliation. The rogue's provident, and would fain have a nest for his age to rest in. Buff and feathers do well in the youth and heat of thirty; but in the winter of old age captain at threescore, lame and lean, may lie with the almanac out of date.

CAPT. The parson's grown witty, and prophesies upon the strength of bridecake. If I guess aright, thou'lt be hanged: for 'tis a truth, I have been endeavouring to make it appear her fears were mistaken in me; but I find the witch more implacable than the devil. The waiting-woman is harder to forgive [for] her part than my lady. Faithful will not be reconciled: the merciless bawd is all fire and sword, no quarter. Bless me from an old waiting-woman's wrath! She'll never forgive me the disappointing her of a promise when I was drunk. Her lady and she are coming, but in such a fury, I would not have the storm find you out in the street: therefore I counsel you to avoid the boys, and take shelter in the next house.

WILD. No, let's home, and with all diligence get our dinner to defend us; and let the porter dispute it at the wicket, till she signs articles of peace.

OMNES. Agreed.

[CARELESS _is kind to the_ WIDOW. _As he goes out_, WILD _and_ PLEASANT _go together_; JOLLY _and the_ PARSON'S _wife go together_.

WILD. See how they pair now! 'Tis not threescore year will part 'em, now he has tasted a kiss or two.

JOLLY. Parson, I'll be your brideman.

PAR. 'Tis well, sir; I shall ha' my time too.

JOLLY. Ay, by this hand. Nay, we'll share fairly.

CAPT. That's but reason, Wanton; and since he grows tame, use him kindly, for my sake.

PAR. Can any of you digest sponge and arsenic?

CAPT. Arsenic! what's that?

PAR. An Italian salad, which I'll dress for you, by Jove, ere I'll walk in my canonical coat lined with horn. Death! if I suffer this, we shall have that damned courtier pluck on his shoes with the parson's musons. Fine, i' faith! none but the small Levite's brow to plant your shoeing-horn seed in? How now?

[_As he is going off, the_ CAPTAIN _stays him_.

CAPT. Prythee, Jack, stay, and say something to the gentlemen by way of epilogue. Thou art a piece of scurvy poet thyself; prythee, oblige the author, and give us a line or two in praise of his play.

PAR. I oblige him! hang him and all his friends, and hurt nobody. Yes, I am likely to speak for him. You see how I ha' been used to-day betwixt you. I shall find a time to be revenged. Let go my cloak; I have a province within of mine own to govern: let me go.

CAPT. Who, thy wife? Faith, stay and give them an opportunity; thy pain will be the sooner over. You see, 'tis a thing resolved betwixt 'em; and now thou'rt satisfied in the matter, be wise and silent; who knows what good she may do thee another time? I dare say, if she had as many souls in her as she had men, she'd bring thee a cure of herself.

PAR. Let me go, or I shall be as troublesome as you are injurious, for all your titles, sir.

CAPT. Lend me your cloak then, to appear more decent; you'd not ha' me present epilogue in buff,[279] whoreson dunce, with a red nose?

PAR. Sir, my business is praying, not epilogues.

CAPT. With that face? By this light, 'tis a scandal to see it flaming so near the altar: thou look'st as if thou'dst cry _Tope_ in the face of the congregation, instead of _Amen_.

PAR. Thou'rt an ass, 'tis proper there; 't has zeal and fervour in't, and burns before the altar like the primitive lamps.

CAPT. I cry thee mercy. By this light, he'll make it sacrilege anon to steal his nose! thou'lt entitle the altar to that coal. Was't not kindled _ex voto_? Nay, I will have your cloak.

PAR. Take it; would 'twere Nessus's shirt, for you and your poet's sake.

[_Exit_ PARSON.

CAPT. What, does the rogue wish 'twere made of nettles?[280]

[CAPTAIN _puts on his cloak, and addresses himself to speak the epilogue, and is interrupted by_ LADY LOVEALL, _and_ FAITHFUL _her woman, who, in haste and full of anger, pull him by the cloak_.

LOVE. By your favour, sir, did you see any company pass this way?

CAPT. None but the three brides, and they are gone just before you. Hark! the music will guide you.

[_The music plays._

LOVE. Is it certain, then, they're married?

CAPT. Yes, lady; I saw the church's rites performed.

FAITH. Why does your ladyship lose time in talking with this fellow? don't you know him, madam? 'tis the rascally captain, hid in a black cloak. I know you, sirrah.

LOVE. She has reason; now I mark him better, I should know that false face too. See, Faithful, there are those treacherous eyes still.

CAPT. Alas! you mistake me, madam, I am Epilogue now. The captain's within, and as a friend, I counsel you not to incense the gentlemen against the poet, for he knows all your story, and if you anger him, he'll put it in a play; but if you'll do friendly offices, I'll undertake, instead of your pearl you lost, to help you to the jewel; the Scotch Dictionary will tell you the value of it. Let them go alone, and fret not at their loss. Stay, and take my counsel: it shall be worth three revenges.

LOVE. Well, what is't, sir?

CAPT. They say you have a great power over the parson: if you can prevail with him to express his anger in some satiric comedy (for the knave has wit, and they say his genius lies that way), tell him 'tis expected he should be revenged upon the illiterate courtier that made this play. If you can bring this business about, I may find a way, as Epilogue, to be thankful, though the captain abused you to-day. Think on't: Stephen[281] is as handsome, when the play is done, as Master Wild was in the scene.

LOVE. There's something of reason in what he says. [_Aside._] But, my friend, how shall one believe you? you that were such a rascal to-day in buff, is it to be hoped you can be honest only with putting on a black cloak? Well, I'll venture once again; and if I have any power, he shall sting the malicious rascal, and I think he is fit for such a business. I'm sure he has the worst tongue, and a conscience that neither honour nor truth binds; and therefore 'tis to be believed, if he will rail in public, he may be even with your poet. I will clothe and feed him and his muse this seven years, but I will plague him. Secret tells me, 'twas your poet too that pawned me to-day in the tavern.

CAPT. By my faith, did he; nay, 'twas he that told me of your friendship with Jolly.

LOVE. I wonder the parson has been so long silent; a man of his coat and parts to be beaten with a pen by one that speaks sense by rote, like parrots! one that knows not why sense is sense, but by the sound! one that can scarce read, nay, not his own hand! Well, remember your promise.

CAPT. Leave it to me, he is yours; and if our plot take, you shall have all your shares in the mirth, but not the profit of the play; and the parson more than his tithe, a second day.

LOVE. We will discourse of this some other time. And pray despatch what 'tis you have to say to this noble company, that I may be gone; for those gentlemen will be in such fury if I stay, and think, because we are alone, God knows what.

CAPT. 'Tis no matter what they think; 'tis not them we are to study now, but these guests, to whom pray address yourself civilly, and beg that they would please to become fathers, and give those brides within. What say you, gentlemen, will you lend your hands to join them? The match, you see, is made. If you refuse, Stephen misses the wench, and then you cannot justly blame the poet; for, you know, they say that alone is enough to spoil the play.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: THE REBELLION

[1] [This play was reprinted in 1654, 4^o, but not again till it was included in the "Ancient British Drama," 1810, 3 vols. 8^o, with a curious mixture of old and modern spelling, a series of the most atrocious blunders, and without any attention to the punctuation; in fact, the text of 1810 is almost unintelligible.]

[2] [See further in Walpole's "Anecdotes," edit. 1862, pp. 400-1; but a comedy entitled "Tom Essence," printed in 1677, is there ascribed to his pen.]

[3] [He has commendatory verses to Chamberlain's "Jocabella," 1640, and the same writer's "Swaggering Damsel," printed in that year.]

[4] [Respecting the Ducie family, see Lysons's "Environs of London," first edit., iv. 327; Walpole's "Anecdotes of Painting," edit. 1862, p. 401; and "Inedited Poetical Miscellanies," 1870.]

[5] [A well-known poet and playwright]

[6] [Probably Charles Gerbier, author of "Elogium Heronium," 1651, and other works.]

[7] [The dramatist.]

[8] [It is difficult to appropriate these initials, unless they belong to Robert Wild.]

[9] [The author of "Nocturnal Lucubrations," 1637, the "Swaggering Damsel," 1640, &c.]

[10] [Thomas Jordan, the well-known poet and pageant-writer.]

[11] [John Gough, author of the "Strange Discovery," 1640.]

[12] [Possibly Edward Benlowes.]

[13] [The author of these wretched lines was the well-known pageant-writer.]

[14] [The writer of these lines does not seem to be otherwise known.]

[15] [This writer is not otherwise known.]

[16] [Editor of "A. B. D." printed (with old copy) _commandy the all_.]

[17] [Evadne alludes, of course, to the old nurse.]

[18] [The editor of the "A. B. D." printed _atticke_.]

[19] [Probably an intentional corruption (with old copy).]

[20] [Former edit., _confess_.]

[21] [_Her._--Old copy and "A. B. D."]

[22] [Former edit., _their_.]

[23] [He alludes to the helmets or casquets of Fulgentio, Alerzo, and Pandolpho, plumed with ostrich feathers.]

[24] [He evidently leaves the stage, yet his _Exit_ is not marked.]

[25] [Former edit., _our_.]

[26] [Former edit., _Assended_.]

[27] [Former edit., prints this passage thus--

"See, how he strugles, as if some visions Had assum'd a shape fuller of horrour Than his troubled thoughts."]

[28] [Former edit., _strangling_.]

[29] [_i.e., Cum suis._]

[30] [_Slick_ is not obsolete in the sense of smooth, _clean_; it appears to be identical with _sleek_, and in the present place carries the meaning of softness.]

[31] [_i.e._, Medoro, the character so called in the "Orlando Furioso." Trotter has just called Giovanno _Orlando_, which was, by the way, a common name for any mad-brained person, and often occurs in poems and plays.]

[32] [Shaken me by the nape of the neck; from _nudder_, the nape.]

[33] [The pin of the wheel by which Antonio was to be executed. Aurelia pretends to desire to tread it herself.]

[34] [St. James.]

[35] [_i.e._, The customary garb.]

[36] [_i.e._, An astrologer and a physician.]

[37] [Former edition, _vorke_.]

[38] [This gibberish is left much as it stands in the old copy.]

[39] [The editor of 1810 printed deliberately _sweet must seat me easie_.]

[40] [Old copy has _as plain--'tis true_.]

[41] [Here used, apparently, in the sense of something of no value, and from the context it may be surmised that _vermin_ is intended.]

[42] [Old copy, _a resurrection_.]

[43] [_i.e._, Vermin.]

[44] [Former edit., _flower_.]

[45] [He quotes a passage from the "First Part of Hieronimo," 1605.]

[46] [Former edit., _And_.]

[47] [_i.e._, The left remnant of thy days.]

[48] [Former edit., _unto_.]

[49] ["This strange jumble (which it seems was acted with applause) may be taken as the most singular specimen extant of the serious mock-heroic. There is nothing in "The Tailors" itself so ludicrous as the serious parts in which the tailors appear. Nevertheless there are a few happy passages in the play."--_MS. note in a copy of the former edit._]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: LUST'S DOMINION or THE LACIVIOUS QUEEN.

[50] "History of English Dram. Poetry," iii. p. 97.

[51] The curtain in front of the old theatres divided in the middle, and was drawn to the sides; but it may save further explanation to add here that, "beside the principal curtain, they sometimes used others as substitutes for scenes."--_Malone._

[52] [Former edit., _sick, heavy, and_.]

[53] [Old copy, _I'll lay there away_.]

[54] [The Moor pretends that he meant to refer to the dead King.]

[55] [Edits., _That seeing_.]

[56] [Old copy, _Here_.]

[57] [The edits., give this speech to Balthazar, but he was not present when the arrangement with the friars was concluded.]

[58] [Bowing.]

[59] In the original this speech is given to Alvero; but it is evidently an error, as he does not enter till some time after.

[60] In the original it runs, _This music was prepar'd thine ears_. An omission was evident. I trust the right reading is restored.--_Dilke._

[61]

"And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw."

--"King John," act v. sc. 7.

[62] In the original this is given to Alvero, but evidently in error.

[63] _i.e._, Unchaste.

[64] Muskets.

[65] "The mark at which an arrow is shot, which used to be painted white."--_Johnson._

[66] [An abbreviated form of _God's sonties_, which again is a corruption, though of what is rather doubtful; probably, however, of _God's saints_.]

[67] [Edits., _See_.]

[68] [Hamstring me.]

[69] _Under show of shrift_, or, in other words, as coming to hear me confess.

[70] Thirty masses on the same account.

[71] Despatch.

[72] Strut.

[73] [Edits., give these words to Eleazar.]

[74] With force, vigour, energy, vehemence.

[75] In the original the remainder of this play is jumbled together in strange confusion.

[76] [Edits., _rowls_.]

[77] [Nemesis.]

[78] [Old copies, _they_.]

[79] For that piece of mockery.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: ANDROMANA or THE MERCHANT'S WIFE

[80] [It is, however, printed in the "Ancient British Drama," 1810, and it formed part of the original edition of Dodsley, 1744.]

[81] [Edits., _hangs_.]

[82] [Old copy, _quait_.]

[83] [Edits., _my son_.]

[84] [Edits., _And_.]

[85] [Edits., _There to try it with him_.]

[86] [Old copy, _at first_.]

[87] [Edits., _were_.]

[88] [Edits., _now_.]

[89] [Edits., _word or two_, which seems to be a redundancy, both in the metre and sense.]

[90] [Edits., _not to_.]

[91] [Edits., _and could_.]

[92] [Edits., _And shew_.]

[93] [Edit. 1810 prints _Consequently distate_.]

[94] _Mischievously_ or _wickedly_. So in "All's Well that Ends Well," act iv. sc. 5--

"A shrewd knave and an _unhappy_."

See also Mr Steevens's note on "Henry VIII.," act i. sc. 4.

[95] A tragedy by Sir John Denham, acted at Blank Friars, and printed in folio, 1642.

[96] [A very common phrase, in the sense of _accorded_, _agreed_.]

[97] [_i.e._, No skill in physiognomy.]

[98] [Edits., _so much_.]

[99] [Edits., _fright_.]

[100] [Edits., _I must confess, had I_.]

[101] [Edits., _Friends here, been_.]

[102] [Edits., _I wish that he might live, my lords_.]

[103] [Edits., _the_.]

[104] [Edits., _upon_.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: LADY ALIMONY

[105] [The author of a curious satire on the female sex, printed in 1616. See Hazlitt, in _v._]

[106] [Ingenuously.]

[107] [Notwithstanding the explanation found in Nares and Halliwell, it appears to me that this term is here, at least, intended in the sense of _bully_ or _ruffian_, especially when we compare the next speech of the Messenger.]

[108] [Literally, an inferior kind of hawk, but here used to signify a coward, a poor creature.]

[109] [This term, borrowed from the old romance so called, is frequently employed in the sense of an adventurer or knight-errant.]

[110] [This word seems here to signify an infinitessimal quantity, a cypher, a nonentity, in which sense it is apparently unglossed.]

[111] [Figgaries.]

[112] [Query, a page who walks behind a lady in the street. Compare Halliwell in _v._]

[113] [Sheldrake, or shieldrake.]

[114] [A play on the similarity of sound between _meddler_ and _medlar_.]

[115] [Tobacco. Old copy, _mundungo's_.]

[116] [Old copy, _her_.]

[117] [Old copy, _him_.]

[118] [Old copy, _Ciens_.]

[119] [Old copy, _with_.]

[120] [Old copy, _century_.]

[121] [An equivoque may be intended.]

[122] [Old copy, _Apozems_. Perhaps the boy means _pozzets_.]

[123] [Old copy, _masquerellas_.]

[124] [Capricious, fanciful.]

[125] [Old copy, _breath'd_.]

[126] [Old copy, _not my sad fate t' observe_.]

[127] [Old copy, _Gothsemay_.]

[128] [Moustachoes.]

[129] [Loose, scattered.]

[130] [Sporter, if indeed it is not to be taken in an obscene sense, as suggested by one of the interpretations in Nares.]

[131] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 301.]

[132] [Trifling.]

[133] [Of course a play on the similarity between _folio_ and _foolio_.]

[134] [Old copy, _small to_.]

[135] [Old copy, _all that was all_.]

[136] [See Nares, arts, _lave-eared_, and _loave-ears_.]

[137] [Old copy, _hair_. See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," p. 392.]

[138] [Literally, to lie on the ground, like game; but it is here used in the sense _to lie_.]

[139] [This passage seems to corroborate the explanation already given of this word.]

[140] [Old copy, _Nor_.]

[141] [Old copy, _that endeared_.]

[142] [Leopard.]

[143] [More usually spelt _carricks_.]

[144] [Successful.]

[145] [The two Citizens appear to retire only, while the events occupying the two next scenes take place, after which they come forward again.]

[146] [Attempt, enterprise.]

[147] [A not unusual form of Algiers.]

[148] [_i.e._, Is that thy cue.]

[149] [Old copy, _land prisado_. See Dyce's Middleton, iii. 532.]

[150] [Old copy, _Elose_.]

[151] [Old copy, _out a_.]

[152] [This song is not noticed in Mr Halliwell's "Early Naval Ballads," 1841.]

[153] [Staunch.]

[154] [In 1641 appeared a tract entitled "The Brothers of the Blade answerable to the Sisters of the Scabbard," &c., but the phrase was, no doubt, older.]

[155] [Old copy, _yet_.]

[156] [An allusion to the well-known practice of chalking up scores at taverns. See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, p. 386.]

[157] [Housewife. Perhaps it had already, however, become in vogue in a contemptuous sense.]

[158] [An obvious imitation of Shakespeare's Dogberry.]

[159] [The island of Bermuda was formerly supposed to be enchanted, and was sometimes called by the sailors the Isle of Devils. This is a curious passage: the writer had perhaps in his recollection the speech of Ariel in the "Tempest," act i. sc. 2. The old copy has _Barmondes_. See Hunter's "New Illustrations of Shakespeare," i. 149.]

[160] [Without weapons.]

[161] [Old copy, _Sought_.]

[162] [Old copy, _mine_.]

[163] [Mares.]

[164] [The names of rooms in the tavern.]

[165] [Perhaps a portion of the garden reserved for lady-guests.]

[166] [Light skirt. Compare Halliwell in _v._]

[167] [An indelicate equivoque.]

[168] [Probably the same as _demaynes_, possessions. See Halliwell in _v._]

[169] [Entertainment.]

[170] [The Spring Garden.]

[171] [Dispersed.]

[172] [_i.e._, To the life.]

[173] [Cowardice.]

[174] [A word formed from _staniel_, a base kind of hawk, and thence used figuratively as a term of contempt.]

[175] [Nares quotes this passage only for the word; compare Halliwell, _v._ Stichall.]

[176] [Wiseacre.]

[177] [Alimony.]

[178] [_i.e._, More calf.]

[179] [A play is intended on the words _Seville_ and _civil_.]

[180] [Property.]

[181] [Perhaps we should read _lo, infinitely_ as spoken aside, and possibly the author wrote _infinite lie_.]

[182] [An adaptation of the often-quoted _Amantium irA|_, &c.]

[183] [Old copy, _adventurers_.]

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES: THE PARSON'S WEDDING

[184] "Sidney Papers," vi. 373.--_Gilchrist._

[185] No. 8383.

[186] Carew's Poems, [edit. Hazlitt, pp. 103-4.]

[187] "Life of Lord Clarendon," p. 116.

[188] P. 41, edit. 1719. The stanza which relates particularly to his authorship is the following:--

"But who says he was not A man of much plot May repent the false accusation; Having plotted and penn'd Six plays, to attend The Farce of his negotiation."

--_Collier._

[189] Query; Lysons says 1684.--_Gilchrist._

[190] [Both these plays were printed in 12^o, 1641, with verses prefixed by H. Bennet, afterwards the celebrated Earl of Arlington, Robert Waring, and William Cartwright.]

[191] An account of Sir W. Killigrew will be found in Restituta, ii. 130. The three first of his plays here mentioned were published together in 8^o in 1664 or 1665, for the title-pages bear both these dates. Pandora was "not approved upon the stage as a tragedy," and therefore the author turned it into a comedy, and Waller wrote some lines upon the change.--_Collier._

[192] A play called The Imperial Tragedy has also been assigned to him upon no adequate authority.--_Collier._

[193] This play was originally represented wholly by women. See Wright's "Historia Histrionica," 1690, _post_, and Grainger's "Hist. Engl." iv. On this occasion a Prologue and Epilogue were spoken by Mrs Marshall (of whom see "Memoires de Grammont," p. 202, edit. 4^o. Strawberry Hill), which are printed in "Covent Garden Drollery," 1672, p. 3.--_Gilchrist._

[194] _i.e._, The game. _Quarry_ is a term both of hunting and falconry. The allusion here is to the former. _Quarrie_ (as referring to the latter), according to Latham's explanation, "is taken for the fowle which is flowne at, and slaine at any time, especially when young hawks are flowne thereunto."

[195] So in "Every Man in his Humour," act iii. sc. 1--

"Good captain _faces about_."

And in Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," act v.--

"Cutting Morecraft _faces about_."

And again, in "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," Ralph, exercising his men, says--

"Double your files: as you were; _faces about_."

[196] The exclamation of a highwayman on stopping a passenger, as many examples would prove. It is only noticed now for the sake of mentioning an ingenious turn given to it in Middleton's "Phoenix," 1607, where one of the characters justifies robbery by observing, "As long as drunkenness is a vice, _stand_ is a virtue."--_Collier._

[197] [The folio reads _Paxat_.]

[198] [? By the side of.]

[199] [The Parson is describing the Captain as a recruiting officer.]

[200] A _galley foist_ was the name of a pleasure-boat, or one used on particular days for pomp and state. The Lord Mayor's and Companies' barges were sometimes formerly called "The City Galley Foists." See Wood's "South-East View of the City and part of Southwark, as it appeared about the year 1599."

[201] [Common. See Nares, edit. 1859, in _v._] This epithet of contempt is of frequent occurrence: _provand_, as all the commentators on "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 1, agree, means _provision_. In Massinger's "Maid of Honour," act i. sc. 1, we meet with it applied to a sword, and Mr. Gifford explains it to mean there _plain, unornamented_, such a sword as the troops were provided with....--_Collier._

[202] A _fox_ was formerly a cant word for a sword. So in Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," act ii. sc. 6: "What would you have, sister, of a fellow that knows nothing but a basket-hilt and an _old fox_ in't?" Again, in "Philaster," by Beaumont and Fletcher,