ASO. Where you please, sir; any where, I.

AMO. Come, let us go and taste some light dinner, a dish of sliced caviare, or so; and after, you shall practise an hour at your lodging some few forms that I have recall'd. If you had but so far gathered your spirits to you, as to have taken up a rush when you were out, and wagg'd it thus, or cleansed your teeth with it; or but turn'd aside, and feign'd some business to whisper with your page, till you had recovered yourself, or but found some slight stain in your stocking, or any other pretty invention, so it had been sudden, you might have come off with a most clear and courtly grace.

ASO. A poison of all! I think I was forespoke, I.

AMO. No, I must tell you, you are not audacious enough; you must frequent ordinaries a month more, to initiate yourself: in which time, it will not be amiss, if, in private, you keep good your acquaintance with Crites, or some other of his poor coat; visit his lodging secretly and often; become an earnest suitor to hear some of his labours.

ASO. O Jove! sir, I could never get him to read a line to me.

AMO. You must then wisely mix yourself in rank with such as you know can; and, as your ears do meet with a new phrase, or an acute jest, take it in: a quick nimble memory will lift it away, and, at your next public meal, it is your own.

ASO. But I shall never utter it perfectly, sir.

AMO. No matter, let it come lame. In ordinary talk you shall play it away, as you do your light crowns at primero: it will pa.s.s.

ASO. I shall attempt, sir.

AMO. Do. It is your shifting age for wit, and, I a.s.sure you, men must be prudent. After this you may to court, and there fall in, first with the waiting-woman, then with the lady. Put case they do retain you there, as a fit property, to hire coaches some pair of months, or so; or to read them asleep in afternoons upon some pretty pamphlet, to breathe you; why, it shall in time embolden you to some farther achievement: in the interim, you may fashion yourself to be careless and impudent.

ASO. How if they would have me to make verses? I heard Hedon spoke to for some.

AMO. Why, you must prove the apt.i.tude of your genius; if you find none, you must hearken out a vein, and buy; provided you pay for the silence as for the work, then you may securely call it your own.

ASO. Yes, and I'll give out my acquaintance with all the best writers, to countenance me the more.

AMO. Rather seem not to know them, it is your best. Ay, be wise, that you never so much as mention the name of one, nor remember it mentioned; but if they be offer'd to you in discourse, shake your light head, make between a sad and a smiling face, pity some, rail at all, and commend yourself: 'tis your only safe and unsuspected course. Come, you shall look back upon the court again to-day, and be restored to your colours: I do now partly aim at the cause of your repulse--which was ominous indeed--for as you enter at the door, there is opposed to you the frame of a wolf in the hangings, which, surprising your eye suddenly, gave a false alarm to the heart; and that was it called your blood out of your face, and so routed the whole rank of your spirits: I beseech you labour to forget it. And remember, as I inculcated to you before, for your comfort, Hedon and Anaides. [EXEUNT.]

SCENE II.--ANOTHER APARTMENT IN THE SAME.

ENTER HEDON AND ANAIDES.

HEDON. Heart, was there ever so prosperous an invention thus unluckily perverted and spoiled, by a wh.o.r.eson book-worm, a candle-waster?

ANA. Nay, be not impatient, Hedon.

HED. 'Slight, I would fain know his name.

ANA. Hang him, poor grogan rascal! prithee think not of him: I'll send for him to my lodging, and have him blanketed when thou wilt, man.

HED. Ods so, I would thou couldst. Look, here he comes.

ENTER CRITES, AND WALKS IN A MUSING POSTURE AT THE BACK OF THE STAGE.

Laugh at him, laugh at him; ha, ha, ha.

ANA. Fough! he smells all lamp-oil with studying by candle-light.

HED. How confidently he went by us, and carelessly! Never moved, nor stirred at any thing! Did you observe him?

ANA. Ay, a pox on him, let him go, dormouse: he is in a dream now. He has no other time to sleep, but thus when he walks abroad to take the air.

HED. 'Sprecious, this afflicts me more than all the rest, that we should so particularly direct our hate and contempt against him, and he to carry it thus without wound or pa.s.sion! 'tis insufferable.

ANA. 'Slid, my dear Envy, if thou but say'st the word now, I'll undo him eternally for thee.

HED. How, sweet Anaides?

ANA. Marry, half a score of us get him in, one night, and make him p.a.w.n his wit for a supper.

HED. Away, thou hast such unseasonable jests! By this heaven, I wonder at nothing more than our gentlemen ushers, that will suffer a piece of serge or perpetuana to come into the presence: methinks they should, out of their experience, better distinguish the silken disposition of courtiers, than to let such terrible coa.r.s.e rags mix with us, able to fret any smooth or gentle society to the threads with their rubbing devices.

ANA. Unless 'twere Lent, Ember-weeks, or fasting days, when the place is most penuriously empty of all other good outsides. D--n me, if I should adventure on his company once more, without a suit of buff to defend my wit! he does nothing but stab, the slave!

How mischievously he cross'd thy device of the prophecy, there?

and Moria, she comes without her m.u.f.f too, and there my invention was lost.

HED. Well, I am resolved what I'll do.

ANA. What, my good spiritous spark?

HED. Marry, speak all the venom I can of him; and poison his reputation in every place where I come.

ANA. 'Fore G.o.d, most courtly.

HED. And if I chance to be present where any question is made of his sufficiencies, or of any thing he hath done private or public, I'll censure it slightly, and ridiculously.

ANA. At any hand beware of that; so thou may'st draw thine own judgment in suspect. No, I'll instruct thee what thou shalt do, and by a safer means: approve any thing thou hearest of his, to the received opinion of it; but if it be extraordinary, give it from him to some other whom thou more particularly affect'st; that's the way to plague him, and he shall never come to defend himself.

'Slud, I'll give out all he does is dictated from other men, and swear it too, if thou'lt have me, and that I know the time and place where he stole it, though my soul be guilty of no such thing; and that I think, out of my heart, he hates such barren shifts: yet to do thee a pleasure and him a disgrace, I'll d.a.m.n myself, or do any thing.

HED. Gramercy, my dear devil; we'll put it seriously in practice, i'faith. [EXEUNT HEDON AND ANAIDES.]

CRI. [COMING FORWARD.]

Do, good Detraction, do, and I the while Shall shake thy spight off with a careless smile.

Poor piteous gallants! what lean idle slights Their thoughts suggest to flatter their starv'd hopes!

As if I knew not how to entertain These straw-devices; but, of force must yield To the weak stroke of their calumnious tongues.

What should I care what every dor doth buz In credulous ears? It is a crown to me That the best judgments can report me wrong'd; Them liars; and their slanders impudent.

Perhaps, upon the rumour of their speeches, Some grieved friend will whisper to me; Crites, Men speak ill of thee. So they be ill men, If they spake worse, 'twere better: for of such To be dispraised, is the most perfect praise.

What can his censure hurt me, whom the world Hath censured vile before me! If good Chrestus, Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words, They would have moved me, and I should have call'd My thoughts and actions to a strict account Upon the hearing: but when I remember, 'Tis Hedon and Anaides, alas, then I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd.

The one a light voluptuous reveller, The other, a strange arrogating puff, Both impudent, and ignorant enough; That talk as they are wont, not as I merit; Traduce by custom, as most dogs do bark, Do nothing out of judgment, but disease, Speak ill, because they never could speak well.

And who'd be angry with this race of creatures?

What wise physician have we ever seen Moved with a frantic man? the same affects That he doth bear to his sick patient, Should a right mind carry to such as these; And I do count it a most rare revenge, That I can thus, with such a sweet neglect, Pluck from them all the pleasure of their malice; For that's the mark of all their enginous drifts, To wound my patience, howso'er they seem To aim at other objects; which if miss'd, Their envy's like an arrow shot upright, That, in the fall, endangers their own heads.

ENTER ARETE.

ARE. What, Crites! where have you drawn forth the day, You have not visited your jealous friends?

CRI. Where I have seen, most honour'd Arete, The strangest pageant, fashion'd like a court, (At least I dreamt I saw it) so diffused, So painted, pied, and full of rainbow strains; As never yet, either by time, or place, Was made the food to my distasted sense; Nor can my weak imperfect memory Now render half the forms unto my tongue, That were convolved within this thrifty room.

Here stalks me by a proud and spangled sir, That looks three handfuls higher then his foretop; Savours himself alone, is only kind And loving to himself; one that will speak More dark and doubtful than six oracles!