Why sound these trumpets, in the Devilʼs 772name?

To show the King comes.

To show the King comes?

7.4Go hang the 775trumpeters. They mock me boldly,

7.5And every other thing that 776makes me known,

7.6Not telling what I am, but what I seem:

7.7777A king of clouts, a scarecrow, full of cobwebs,

7.8Spiders and 778earwigs, that sets jackdawʼs long tongue

7.9In my bosom 779and upon my head.

7.10And such are all the affections of love

7.11780Swarming in me, without command or reason.

How now, my liege! What, quagmired in 782philosophy,

7.13Bound with loveʼs whipcord, and quite 783robbed of reason?

7.14And Iʼll give you a receipt for this 784presently.

Peace, Lemot. They say the young Lord Dowsecer

7.16Is 786rarely learned, and nothing lunatic

7.17As men suppose,

7.18But 787hateth company and worldly trash.

7.19The judgement and 788the just contempt of them

7.20Have in reason arguments that 789break affection,

7.21As the most sacred poets write, and 790still the roughest wind.

7.22And his rare humour come we now 791to hear.

Yea, but hark you, my liege, Iʼll tell you a better 793humour than that. Here presently will be your fair love, 794Martia, to see his humour, and from thence, fair countess 795Florila and she will go unto Verone's ordinary, where none 796but you and I and Count Moren will be most merry.

Why, Count Moren, I hope, dares not adventure 798into any womanʼs company but his wifeʼs.

Yes, as I will work, my liege, and then let me alone 800to keep him there till his wife comes.

That will be royal sport.

7.27See where all comes. 802Welcome, fair lords and ladies.

My liege, you are welcome to my poor house.

[Presenting Labesha] I pray, my liege, know this gentleman especially. 806He is a gentleman born, I can tell you.

With all my heart. What might I call your name?

Monsieur Labesha, Seigneur de Foulasa.

De Foulasa? An ill-sounding baronry, of my word. But 810to the purpose. Lord Labervele, we are come to see the 811humour of your rare son, which by some means I pray let 812us partake.

Your highness shall too unworthily partake the sight 814which I with grief and tears daily behold, seeing in him 815the end of my poor house.

You know not that, my lord. Your wife is young, 817and he perhaps hereafter may be moved to more society.

Would to God he would, that we might do to 819your crown of France more worthy and more acceptable820 service.

Thanks, good my lord. See where he appears.

7.37Say, Lavel, where is your friend, the young Lord Dowsecer?

I look, my liege, he will be here anon, but then I 826must entreat your majesty and all the rest to stand unseen, 827for he as yet will brook no company.

We will stand close, Lavel, but wherefore bring 829you this apparel, that picture, and that sword?

To put him, by the sight of them, in mind of their 831brave states that use them, or that at the least of the true use 832they should be put unto.

Indeed, the sense doth still stir up the soul, and 834though these objects do not work, yet it is very probable 835in time she may. At least, we shall discern his humour of them.

See where he comes contemplating. Stand close.

Quid ei potest videri magnum in rebus humanis cui aeternitas 839omnis totiusque nota sit mundi magnitudo.

7.44‘What840 can seem strange to him on earthly things

7.45To whom the 841whole course of eternity,

7.46And the round compass of the 842world is known?ʼ

7.47A speech divine, but yet I marvel much

7.48843How it should spring from thee, Mark Cicero,

7.49That sold for 844glory the sweet peace of life,

7.50And made a torment of rich 845natureʼs work,

7.51Wearing thyself by watchful candle-light,

7.52When 846all the smiths and weavers were at rest,

7.53And yet was gallant, 847ere the day bird sung,

7.54To have a troop of clients at thy 848gates,

7.55Armed with religious supplications,

7.56Such as would make 849stern Minos laugh to read.

7.57Look on our lawyersʼ bills: not 850one contains

7.58Virtue or honest drifts, but snares, snares, 851snares.

7.59For acorns now no more are in request;

7.60But when the oakʼs poor 852fruit did nourish men,

7.61Men were like oaks of body, tough, 853and strong.

7.62Men were like giants then, but pygmies now,

7.63854Yet full of villainies as their skin can hold.

How like you this humour, my liege?

This is no humour; this is but perfect judgement.

Is this a frenzy?

Is this a frenzy? Oh were all men such,

7.67Men were no men but gods, 859this earth a heaven.

[Noticing the sword] See, see, the shameless world,

7.69That dares present her 861mortal enemy

7.70With these gross ensigns of her lenity,

7.71Iron 862and steel, uncharitable stuff,

7.72Good spital-founders, 863enemies to whole skins,

7.73As if there were not ways enough to 864die

7.74By natural and casual accidents,

7.75Diseases, surfeits, brave 865carouses,

7.76Old aqua-vitae, and too base wines,

7.77And thousands 866more. Hence with this art of murder!

7.78But here is goodly 867gear, the soul of man,

7.79For ʼtis his better part. Take away 868this,

7.80And take away their merits and their spirits.

7.81Scarce 869dare they come in any public view

7.82Without this countenance870-giver,

7.83And some dares not come, because they have it, 871too,

7.84For they may sing, in written books they find it.

7.85What is 872it then, the fashion or the cost?

7.86The cost doth match, but yet 873the fashion more,

7.87For let it be but mean, so in the fashion,

7.88874And ʼtis most gentleman-like. Is it so?

7.89Make a hand in the margin875, and burn the book,

7.90A large hose and a codpiece 876makes a man.

7.91A codpiece, nay indeed, but hose must down.

7.92877Well for your gentle forgers of men,

7.93And for you come to 878wrest me into fashion,

7.94Iʼll wear you thus, and sit upon the 879matter.

And so he doth despise our purposes.

Bear with him yet, my lord, he is not 882resolved.

I would not have my friend mock worthy men,

7.98884For the vain pride of some that are not so.

I do not here deride difference of states,

7.100No, not 886in show, but wish that such as want show

7.101Might not be 887scorned with ignorant Turkish pride,

7.102Being pompous in 888apparel and in mind

7.103Nor would I have with imitated shapes

7.104889Men make their native land the land of apes,

7.105Living like 890strangers when they be at home,

7.106And so perhaps bear 891strange hearts to their home;

7.107Nor look a-snuff like a 892piannetʼs tail,

7.108For nothing but their curls and formal locks,

7.109893When, like to cream bowls, all their virtues swim

7.110In their 894set faces, all their in-parts then

7.111Fit to serve peasants or make 895curds for daws.

7.112[Noticing the picture] But what a stock am I thus to neglect

7.113896This figure of manʼs comfort, this rare piece?

Heavens grant that make him more humane, and 898sociable.

Nay, heʼs more humane than all we are.

I fear he will be too sharp to that sweet sex.

She is very fair. I think that she be painted.

7.118An 902if she be, sir, she might ask of me,

7.119‘How many is there of 903our sex that are not?ʼ

7.120ʼTis a sharp question. Marry and I 904think

7.121They have small skill. If they were all of painting,

7.122905ʼTwere safer dealing with them. And indeed.

7.123Were their minds 906strong enough to guide their bodies,

7.124Their beauteous deeds 907should match with their heavenly looks,

7.125ʼTwere necessary 908they should wear them.

7.126An would they vouchsafe it, 909even I

7.127Would joy in their society.

And who would not die with such a man?

But to admire them as our gallants do,

7.130‘Oh, what an 912eye she hath! Oh, dainty hand!

7.131Rare foot and leg!ʼ and leave 913the mind respectless.

7.132This is a plague that, in both men and 914women,

7.133Make such pollution of our earthly being.

7.134Well, I 915will practise yet to court this piece.

Oh, happy man, now have I hope in her.

Methinks I could endure him days and nights.

Well, sir, now thus must I do, sir, ere it come to919women. ‘Now, sirʼ — a plague upon it, ʼtis so ridiculous I can no 920further. What poor ass was it that set this in my way? Now 921if my father should be the man — [Sees Labervele] Godʼs precious coals, ʼtis 922he!

Good son, go forward in this gentle humour.

7.139Observe 924this picture. It presents a maid

7.140Of noble birth and 925excellent of parts,

7.141Whom for our house and honour sake, I wish

7.142926Thou wouldst confess to marry.

To marry father? Why, we shall have children.

Why, thatʼs the end of marriage, and the joy of 929men.

Oh, how you are deceived. You have but me,

7.146And what 931a trouble am I to your joy!

7.147But, father, if you long to have 932some fruit of me,

7.148See, father, I will creep into this stubborn 933earth

7.149And mix my flesh with it, and they shall breed 934grass

7.150To fat oxen, asses and such-like,

7.151And when they in the 935grass the spring converts

7.152Into beastsʼ nourishment,

7.153Then 936comes the fruit of this my body forth.

7.154Then may you well 937say,

7.155Seeing my race is so profitably increased,

7.156That good fat 938ox and that same large-eared ass

7.157Are my sonʼs sons, that 939calf with a white face

7.158Is his fair daughter, with which, 940when your fields

7.159Are richly filled, then will my race content 941you.

7.160But for the joys of children, tush, ʼtis gone.

7.161Children 942will not deserve, nor parents take it.

7.162Wealth is the only 943father and the child,

7.163And but in wealth no man hath any joy.

Some course, dear son, take for thy honour sake.

Then, father, hereʼs a most excellent corse.

This is some comfort yet.

If you will straight be gone and leave me here,

7.168Iʼll 948stand as quietly as any lamb,

7.169And trouble none of you.

And trouble none of you. An hapless man.

How like you this humour yet, my liege?

As of a holy fury, not a frenzy.

See, see, my liege, he hath seen us sure.

Nay, look how he views Martia and makes 954him fine.

Yea, my liege, and she, as I hope well observed, hath 957uttered many kind conceits of hers.

Well, Iʼll be gone, and when she comes to 959Veroneʼs ordinary, Iʼll have her taken to my custody.

Iʼll stay, my liege, and see the event of this.

Do so, Lemot.

What have I seen? How am I burnt to dust

7.179963With a new sun, and made a novel phoenix!

7.180Is she a 964woman that objects this sight,

7.181Able to work the chaos of the 965world

7.182Into gestion? O divine aspect,

7.183The excellent disposer 966of the mind

7.184Shines in thy beauty, and thou hast not 967changed

7.185My soul to sense, but sense unto my soul,

7.186And I desire 968thy pure society,

7.187But even as angels do to angels fly.

Fly soul and follow him.

I marvel much at my sonʼs sudden strange 971behaviour.

Bear with him yet, my lord, ʼtis but his humour. 973Come. What, shall we go to Veroneʼs ordinary?

Yea, for Godʼs sake, for I am passing hungry.

Yea, come, Monsieur Lemot, will you walk?

What, will you go?

Yea, sweet bird, I have promised so.

Go to, you shall not go and leave me alone.

For one meal, gentle bird. Verone invites us to buy 980some jewels he hath brought of late from Italy. Iʼll buy the 981best and bring it thee, so thou wilt let me go.

Well said, flattering Fabian. But tell me, then, what 983ladies will be there?

Ladies? Why, none.

No ladies use to come to ordinaries, madam.

Go to, bird, tell me now the very truth.

None of mine honour, bird. You never heard that 988ladies came to ordinaries.

Oh, thatʼs because I should not go with you.

Why, ʼtis not fit you should.

Well, hark you, bird, of my word you shall not go, 993unless you will swear to me, you will neither court nor 994kiss a dame in any sort, till you come home again.

Why, I swear I will not.

Go to, by this kiss.

Yea, by this kiss.

Martia, learn by this when you are a wife.

I like the kissing well.

My lord, Iʼll leave you. Your son Dowsecer hath 1001made me melancholy with his humour, and Iʼll go lock 1002myself in my close walk till supper-time.

What, and not dine today?

No, my good head. Come, Martia, you and I will 1005fast together.

With all my heart, madam.

Well, gentlemen, Iʼll go see my son.

Byʼrlady, gentlemen, Iʼll go home to dinner.

Home to dinner? Byʼrlord, but you shall not. You 1010shall go with us to the ordinary, where you shall meet 1011gentlemen of so good carriage and passing complements it 1012will do your heart good to see them. Why, you never saw the

1013best sort of gentlemen if not at ordinaries.

I promise you thatʼs rare, my lord. And, Monsieur 1015Lemot, Iʼll meet you there presently.

Weʼll expect your coming.