THE CHARACTERS OF THE PERSONS

ASPER, he is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses. One whom no servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make to be a parasite, either to time, place, or opinion.

MACILENTE, a man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travail'd; who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his merit capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any opposite happiness in another.

PUNTARVOLO, a vain-glorious knight, over-englishing his travels, and wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of compliment; a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in most of his apparel. Of presence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage of his own family.

He deals upon returns, and strange performances, resolving, in despite of public derision, to stick to his own fashion, phrase, and gesture.

CARLO BUFFONE, a public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into deformity.

A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out a supper some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, d.a.m.n him! he came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. A slave that hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up more sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His religion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry.

FASTIDIOUS BRISK, a neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that wears clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his gla.s.s how to salute; speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and tobacco; swears tersely and with variety; cares not what lady's favour he belies, or great man's familiarity: a good property to perfume the boot of a coach. He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own. Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his merchant, only with the gingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.

DELIRO, a good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the common-council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his own wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply holds himself unworthy of her. And, in that hood-wink'd humour, lives more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as true dread of her displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice two-pence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her with villainous-out-of-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike.

FALLACE, Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly upon the courtier, as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face to be dishonest.

SAVIOLINA, a court-lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit, admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk.

SORDIDO, a wretched hob-nailed chuff, whose recreation is reading of almanacks; and felicity, foul weather. One that never pray'd but for a lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest.

FUNGOSO, the son of Sordido, and a student; one that has revelled in his time, and follows the fashion afar off, like a spy. He makes it the whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient means from his wretched father, to put him in the courtiers' cut; at which he earnestly aims, but so unluckily, that he still lights short a suit.

SOGLIARDO, an essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so enamoured of the name of a gentleman, that he will have it, though he buys it. He comes up every term to learn to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is in his kingdom when in company where he may be well laughed at.

SHIFT, a thread-bare shark; one that never was a soldier, yet lives upon lendings. His profession is skeldring and odling, his bank Paul's, and his warehouse Picthatch. Takes up single testons upon oaths, till doomsday.

Falls under executions of three shillings, and enters into five-groat bonds. He way-lays the reports of services, and cons them without book, d.a.m.ning himself he came new from them, when all the while he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay p.a.w.ned in his chamber for rent and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy memory, that he will salute one for an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life before. He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he never did, only to get him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff, squiring a c.o.c.katrice, and making privy searches for imparters.

CLOVE and ORANGE, an inseparable case of c.o.xcombs, city born; the Gemini, or twins of foppery; that like a pair of wooden foils, are fit for nothing but to be practised upon. Being well flattered they'll lend money, and repent when they have done. Their glory is to invite players, and make suppers. And in company of better rank, to avoid the suspect of insufficiency, will inforce their ignorance most desperately, to set upon the understanding of any thing. Orange is the most humorous of the two, (whose small portion of juice being squeezed out,) Clove serves to stick him with commendations.

CORDATUS, the author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the scope and drift of his plot; of a discreet and understanding judgment; and has the place of a moderator.

MITIS, is a person of no action, and therefore we afford him no character.

THE STAGE. After the second sounding.

ENTER CORDATUS, ASPER, AND MITIS.

COR. Nay, my dear Asper.

MIT. Stay your mind.

ASP. Away!

Who is so patient of this impious world, That he can check his spirit, or rein his tongue?

Or who hath such a dead unfeeling sense, That heaven's horrid thunders cannot wake?

To see the earth crack'd with the weight of sin, h.e.l.l gaping under us, and o'er our heads Black, ravenous ruin, with her sail-stretch'd wings, Ready to sink us down, and cover us.

Who can behold such prodigies as these, And have his lips seal'd up? Not I: my soul Was never ground into such oily colours, To flatter vice, and daub iniquity: But, with an armed and resolved hand, I'll strip the ragged follies of the time Naked as at their birth --

COR. Be not too bold.

ASP. You trouble me -- and with a whip of steel, Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs.

I fear no mood stamp'd in a private brow, When I am pleased t'unmask a public vice.

I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab, Should I detect their hateful luxuries: No broker's usurer's, or lawyer's gripe, Were I disposed to say, they are all corrupt.

I fear no courtier's frown, should I applaud The easy flexure of his supple hams.

Tut, these are so innate and popular, That drunken custom would not shame to laugh, In scorn, at him, that should but dare to tax 'em: And yet, not one of these, but knows his works, Knows what d.a.m.nation is, the devil, and h.e.l.l; Yet hourly they persist, grow rank in sin, Puffing their souls away in perjurous air, To cherish their extortion, pride, or l.u.s.ts.

MIT. Forbear, good Asper; be not like your name.

ASP. O, but to such whose faces are all zeal, And, with the words of Hercules, invade Such crimes as these! that will not smell of sin, But seem as they were made of sanct.i.ty!

Religion in their garments, and their hair Cut shorter than their eye-brows! when the conscience Is vaster than the ocean, and devours More wretches than the counters.

MIT. Gentle Asper, Contain our spirits in more stricter bounds, And be not thus transported with the violence Of your strong thoughts.

c.o.x. Unless your breath had power, To melt the world, and mould it new again, It is in vain to spend it in these moods.

ASP. [TURNING TO THE STAGE.]

I not observed this thronged round till now!

Gracious and kind spectators, you are welcome; Apollo and Muses feast your eyes With graceful objects, and may our Minerva Answer your hopes, unto their largest strain!

Yet here mistake me not, judicious friends; I do not this, to beg your patience, Or servilely to fawn on your applause, Like some dry brain, despairing in his merit.

Let me be censured by the austerest brow, Where I want art or judgment, tax me freely.

Let envious censors, with their broadest eyes, Look through and through me, I pursue no favour; Only vouchsafe me your attentions, And I will give you music worth your ears.

O, how I hate the monstrousness of time, Where every servile imitating spirit, Plagued with an itching leprosy of wit, In a mere halting fury, strives to fling His ulcerous body in the Thespian spring, And straight leaps forth a poet! but as lame As Vulcan, or the founder of Cripplegate.

MIT. In faith this humour will come ill to some, You will be thought to be too peremptory.

ASP. This humour? good! and why this humour, Mitis?

Nay, do not turn, but answer.

MIT. Answer, what?

ASP. I will not stir your patience, pardon me, I urged it for some reasons, and the rather To give these ignorant well-spoken days Some taste of their abuse of this word humour.

COR. O, do not let your purpose fall, good Asper; It cannot but arrive most acceptable, Chiefly to such as have the happiness Daily to see how the poor innocent word Is rack'd and tortured.

MIT. Ay, I pray you proceed.

ASP. Ha, what? what is't?

COR. For the abuse of humour.

ASP. O, I crave pardon, I had lost my thoughts.

Why humour, as 'tis 'ens', we thus define it, To be a quality of air, or water, And in itself holds these two properties, Moisture and fluxure: as, for demonstration, Pour water on this floor, 'twill wet and run: Likewise the air, forced through a horn or trumpet, Flows instantly away, and leaves behind A kind of dew; and hence we do conclude, That whatsoe'er hath fluxure and humidity, As wanting power to contain itself, Is humour. So in every human body, The choler, melancholy, phlegm, and blood, By reason that they flow continually In some one part, and are not continent, Receive the name of humours. Now thus far It may, by metaphor, apply itself Unto the general disposition: As when some one peculiar quality Doth so possess a man, that it doth draw All his affects, his spirits, and his powers, In their confluctions, all to run one way, This may be truly said to be a humour But that a rook, by wearing a pyed feather, The cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff, A yard of shoe-tye, or the Switzer's knot On his French garters, should affect a humour!

O, it is more than most ridiculous.

COR. He speaks pure truth; now if an idiot Have but an apish or fantastic strain, It is his humour.

ASP. Well, I will scourge those apes, And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, As large as is the stage whereon we act; Where they shall see the time's deformity Anatomised in every nerve, and sinew, With constant courage, and contempt of fear.