A man as free as air or the sun's rays,

As boundless in his function as the heavens,
The male and better part of flesh and blood,
In whom was poured the quintessence of reason,
To wrong the adoration of his Maker

By worshipping a wanton female skirt,
And making Love his idol! fie, dotard, fie!

I am ashamed of this apostacy!

I'll talk with her to hinder his complaints.

Phillis, a word in private ere you go;

I love you, sweet!

Phil. Sour, it may be so.

Frank. Sour and sweet! faith that doth scarce agree.

Phil. Two contraries, and so be we.

Frank. A plague on this courting! Come, we'll make an

end.

Phil. I am sorry for it, since

you seem my friend.

Frank. Ay, but thou canst not weep.

Phil. Then had I a hard heart.

Frank. How say you? Come, brother, now to your

part.

Anth. At your direction? no, this merry glee,
Good brother, sorts not with my melancholy.
Love covets private conference; so my sorrow
Craveth your absence, which I fain would borrow.
Frank. No marvel then we say that Love is blind,
If it still revel in obscurity.

I will depart; I will not hinder love;

I'll wash my hands. Farewell, sweet turtle-dove.

[Going.

Phil. (to Anthony). I'faith your brother is a proper

man.

Frank. What's your will with me?

- Phil. Ev'n what you please.

Frank. Did you not call me back?

Phil. Not to my knowlege.

Frank. No? 'Sblood, somewhat did. Farewell, farewell? · Phil. He is a very, very proper man.

Frank. I am in haste. Pray, urge me not to stay.

· Phil. The man doth doat. Pray God he hits his way.
Frank. 'Fore God! there's not a maid in all this town
-Should sooner win me, but my bus'ness calls me.
Give me thy hand; next time I meet with thee,
Lesser entreaty shall woo my company.

Phil. I'faith! i'faith!

Frank. I'faith, this was the hand, what means my blood? Do I not blush, nor look extremely pale?

Is not my head a-fire, my eyes, nor heart?
Ha! art thou there? I feel thee, Love, i'faith,
By this light. Well, via! farewell, farewell!
Anth. Now he is gone, and we in private talk,
Say, wilt thou grant me love, wilt thou be mine?
For all the interest in my love is thine.

Phil. Your brother Ferdinand hath vow'd as much,
Nay, more: he swears, what man soe'er he be

Presumes to be corrival in his love,

He will revenge it as an injury,

And clothe the thief in basest obloquy.

Anth. Ay, is my brother my competitor?

I'll court my love, and will solicit thee,

Were Ferdinand himself in company.

What say'st thou to my suit?

Phil. Time may do much. What I intend to do,

I mean to pause upon.

Anth. Let it be so.

If that my brother's hinderance be all,

I'll have thy love, tho' by my brother's fall.

[Exit.

[Exit.

Phil. Two brothers drown'd in love! Ay, and the third,

For all his outward habit of neglect,

If I judge rightly, if I did not dream,

Hath dipt his foot, too, in Love's scalding stream.

. Well, let them plead and perish, if they will,

- Cripple, my heart is thine, and shall be still.

[Exit.

J

Re-enter FRANK.

Frank. I am not well, and yet, I am not ill. 37

I am—what am I? not in love, I hope?

In love? let me examine myself. Who should I love? who did I last converse with? with Phillis. Why should I love Phillis? Is she fair? faith, so so. Her forehead is pretty, somewhat resembling the forehead of the sign of the Maidenhead Inn. What's her hair? 'faith, to Bandora-wires there's not the like simile. Is it likely yet that I am in love? What's next? her cheeks, they have a reasonable scarlet, never a dyer's daughter in the town goes beyond her. Well, yet I'm not in love. Nay, she hath a mole in her cheek, too: Venus's mole was not more natural; but what of that? I am Adonis, and will not love. Good Venus, pardon me. Let us descend. Her chin! O, Helen, Helen! where's your dimple, Helen? it was your dimple that bewitched Paris, and without your dimple, I will not love you, Helen. No: yet I am safe. Her hand; let's handle that. I saw her hand, and it was lily-white. I touched her palm, and it was soft and smooth: and then, what then?

-her hand did then bewitch me. I shall be in love now out of hand. In love! shall I, that ever yet have profaned Love, now · fall to worship him? Shall I, that have jested at lovers' sighs, now raise whirlwinds? shall I, that have flouted ah! mes once a quarter, now practise ah! mes every minute? Shall I defy hatbands, and tread garters and shoe-strings under my feet? shall I fall to falling-bands, and be a ruff-an no longer? must; I am now liege-man to Cupid, and have read all these informations in his book of Statutes, the first chapter, page .millesimo-nono: Therefore, hat-band, avaunt! ruff, regard yourself! garters, adieu! shoe-strings

I

so and so!

I am a

[Exit.

poor enamorate, and enforced, with the poet, to say,
Love o'ercomes all, and I that love obey.

ACT II. SCENE I.

FLOWER'S House. Enter FLOWER.

Flow. Now, afore God! a very good conceit !
But too much sleep hath overtaken me,
The night hath play'd the swift-foot runaway:
A good conceit, a very good conceit.

· What, Fiddle! arise, Fiddle! Fiddle, I say!

Enter FIDDLE.

Fid. Here's a fiddling, indeed! I think your tongue be made of nothing but fiddle-strings. I hope the fiddle must have some rest, as well as the fiddle-stick. Well, Crowd, what say you to Fiddle now?

Flow. Fiddle, it is a very good conceit.

Fid. It is, indeed, master.

Flow. What dost thou mean?

Fid. To go to bed again, sir.

Flow. No, Fiddle, that were no good conceit, Fiddle.

Fid. What a fiddling do you keep? are you not ashamed to make such music? I hope, sir, you will christen me anew shortly; for you have so worn this name, that ne'er a wench in all the town but will scorn to dance after my fiddle.

Flow. Well, Fiddle, thou art an honest fellow.

Fid. That's more than you know, master.

Flow. I'll swear for thee, Fiddle.

Fid. You'll be damned then, master.

Flow. I love thee, Fiddle.

Fid. I had rather your daughter lov'd me.

Flow. "Tis a rare conceit, i'faith.

Fid. I hold with you, master, if my young mistress would like so well of my music, that she would dance after nobody's instrument but mine.

Flow. No, Fiddle, that were no good conceit.

.

Fid. A shame on you! I thought you would not hear on that side.

Flow. Fiddle, thou told'st me Master Goulding was in love with my daughter.

Fid. True, master; therein you say

you say well.

Flow. And he entreats me to meet him at the Star, in Cheap, to talk concerning the match.

Fid. True, still, master.

Flow. And I have sent for my neighbour, Master Berry, to bear me company.

Fid. True, all this is most natural truth.

Flow. And now, Fiddle, I am going on my way.

Fid. Nay, that's a lie that hath marred all. conceit so tired you could tell truth no longer?

Flow. Why, Fiddle, are we not going?

Was your

Fid. No, indeed, sir, we are not; we stand still: your conceit failed in that.

Flow. 'Fore God, 'tis true; I am not ready yet. What's he?

Enter BOBBINGTON.

Bob. By your leave, sir: I would crave a word in secret, sir. Flow. At your pleasure. Here's none but my man, Fiddle. Fid. Ay, sir, master Fiddle is my name. Sir Lawrence Lyre was my father.

Bob. Sir, this is my business. My name is Racket; I have a ship of my own upon the River.

Flow. By your leave, sir; Captain Racket is your name. Bob. Some call me so, indeed, sir.

Flow. It is a good conceit; I pray proceed.

Bob. Sir, I am now bound to sea, and wanting some money

for the better furnishing of my wants.

Flow. Oh, you would borrow money of me.

Bob. That's my suit, indeed.

Flow. That's no good conceit.

Bob. Nay, hear me, sir. If you will supply me with ten