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Eumen. There was a dainty offer too, a rare one.
Mem. Why, she is a woman, is she not?
Eumen. She is so.
Mem. Why, very well; what was she made for then?
Is she not young, and handsom, bred to breed?
Do not men kiss fair women? if they doe,
If lips be not unlawfull ware; Why a Princess
Is got the same way that we get a begger
Or I am cozen'd; and the self-same way
She must be handled e're she get another,
That's rudeness is it not?
2 Capt. To her 'tis held so, & rudeness in that high degree —
Mem. 'Tis reason,
But I will be more punctual; pray what thought she?
Eum. Her thoughts were merciful, but she laught at ye,
Pitying the poorness of your complement,
And so she left ye. Good Sir shape your self
To understand the place, and noble persons
You live with now.
1 Capt. Let not those great deserts
The King hath laid up of ye, and the people,
Be blasted with ill bearing.
Eume. The whole name of souldier then will suffer.
Mem. She's a sweet one,
And good sirs leave your exhortations,
They come untimely to me, I have brains
That beat above your reaches: She's a Princess,
That's all: I have killed a King, that's greater.
Come let's to dinner, if the Wine be good,
You shall perceive strange wisdom in my blood. [Exeunt all but Chilax.
Chil. Well, would thou wert i' the wars again
Old Memnon, there thou wouldst talk toth' purpose,
And the proudest of all these Court Camelions
Would be glad to find it sense too: pla[gu]e of this
Dead peace, this Bastard breeding, lowzie, lazie idleness,
Now we must learn to pipe, and pick our livings
Out of old rotten ends: these twenty five years
I have serv'd my Country, lost my youth and bloud,
Expos'd my life to dangers more than dayes;
Yet let me tell my wants, I know their answers,
The King is bound to right me, they good people
Have but from hand to mouth. Look to your wives
Your young trim wives, your high-day wives, your marchpanes,
For if the souldiers find not recompence,
As yet there's none a hatching; I believe
You men of wares, the men of wars will nick ye,
For starve nor beg they must not; my small means
Are gone in fumo: here to raise a better
Unless it be with lying, or Dog flattering,
At which our Nation's excellent; observing Dog-days,
When this good Lady broyles and would be basted
By that good Lord, or such like moral learnings,
Is here impossible; Well; I will rub among 'em
If any thing for honestie be gotten,
Though't be but bread and cheese I can be satisfied:
If otherwise the wind blow, stiff as I am
Yet I shall learn to shuffle: There's an old Lass
That shall be nameless yet alive, my last hope,
Has often got me my pocket full of crowns.
If all fail – Jack-Dawes, are you alive still?
Then I see the coast clear, when fools and boyes can prosper.
Enter Fool, and Page
Page. Brave Lieutenant.
Fool. Hail to the man of worship.
Chi. You are fine sirs,
Most passing fine at all points.
Fool. As ye see Sir,
Home-bred and handsome, we cut not out our clothes Sir
At half sword as your Taylors doe, and pink 'em
With Pikes and Partizans, we live retir'd Sir
Gentlemen like, and jealous of our honours.
Chi. Very fine Fool, and fine Boy, Peace playes with you,
As the wind playes with Feathers, dances ye,
You grind with all gusts, gallants.
Page. We can bounce Sir,
When you Soldados bend i'th' hams, and frisk too.
Fool. When twenty of your trip-coats turn their tippets,
And your cold sallets without salt or vineger
Be wambling in your stomachs; hemp and hobnails
Will bear no price now, hangings and old harness
Are like to over-run us.
Pa. Whores and hot houses.
Fool. Surgeons and Syringes ring out your sance-bells.
Page. Your Jubile, your Jubile.
Fool.Prob Deum.
How our St. Georges will bestride the Dragons,
The red and ramping Dragons.
Page. Advanc't fool —
Fool. But then the sting i'th' tail boy.
Page.Tanto Melior.
For so much the more danger, the more honour.
Chi. You're very pleasant with our occupation Gent.
Which very like amongst these fierie Serpents
May light upon a Blind-worm of your blood,
A Mother or a Sister.
Fool. Mine's past saddle,
You should be sure of her else: but say Sir Huon,
Now the Drums dubbs, and the sticks turn'd bed-staves,
All the old Foxes hunted to their holes,
The Iron age return'd to Erebus,
And Honorificabilitudinitatibus
Thrust out o'th' Kingdom by the head and shoulders,
What trade do you mean to follow?
Chi. That's a question.
Fool. Yes and a learned question if ye mark it,
Consider and say on.
Chi. Fooling as thou dost, that's the best trade I take it.
Fool. Take it straight then
For fear your fellows be before ye, hark ye Lieutenant
Fooling's the thing, the thing worth all your fightings,
When all's done ye must fool Sir.
Chi. Well, I must then.
Fool. But do you know what fooling is? true fooling,
The circumstances that belong unto it?
For every idle knave that showes his teeth,
Wants and would live, can juggle, tumble, fiddle,
Make a dog face, or can abuse his fellow,
Is not a fool at first dash; you shall find Sir
Strange turnings in this trade; to fool is nothing
As fooling has been, but to fool the fair way,
The new way, as the best men fool their friends,
For all men get by fooling, meerly fooling,
Desert does nothing, valiant, wise, vertuous,
Are things that walk by without bread or breeches.
Chi. I partly credit that.
Fool. Fine wits, fine wits Sir,
There's the young Boy, he does well in his way too,
He could not live else in his Masters absence;
He tyes a Ladyes garters so, so prettily,
Say his hand slip, but say so.
Chi. Why let it slip then.
Fool. 'Tis ten to one the body shall come after,
And he that works deserves his wages.
Chi. That's true.
Fool. He riddles finely to a waiting Gentlewoman,
Expounds dreams like a Prophet, dreams himself too,
And wishes all dreams true; they cry Amen,
And there's a Memorandum: he can sing too
Bawdy enough to please old Ladies: he lies rarely,
Pawns ye a sute of clothes at all points, fully,
Can pick a pocket if ye please, or casket;
Lisps when he lists to catch a Chambermaid,
And calls his Hostess mother, these are things now,
If a man mean to live: to fight and swagger,
Beaten about the Ears with bawling sheepskins,
Cut to the soul for Summer: here an arm lost,
And there a leg; his honourable head
Seal'd up in salves and cereclothes, like a packet,
And so sent over to an Hospital, stand there, charge there,
Swear there, whore there, dead there,
And all this sport for cheese, and chines of dog-flesh,
And mony when two wednesdayes meet together,
Where to be lowzie is a Gentleman,
And he that wears a clean shirt has his shrowd on.
Chi. I'le be your scholar, come if I like fooling.
Fool. You cannot choose but like it, fight you one day
I'le fool another, when your Surgeon's paid,
And all your leaks stopt, see whose slops are heaviest,
I'le have a shilling for a can of wine,
When you shall have two Sergeants for a Counter.
