P. sen. And then remember meat for my two dogs:

Fat flaps of mutton, kidneys, rumps of veal, Good plenteous scraps; my maid shall eat the

relics.

Lick. When you and your dogs have dined! a sweet reversion.

P. sen. Who's here? my courtier, and my little doctor?

My muster-master? And what plover's that
They have brought to pull?

Bro. I know not, some green plover.

I'll find him out.

Enter FITTON, ALMANAC, SHUNFIELD, and MADRIGAL.

P. sen. Do, for I know the rest:

They are the jeerers, mocking, flouting Jacks. Fit. How now, old Moneybawd! We are

come

P. sen. To jeer me,

As you were wont; I know you.

Alm. No, to give thee

Some good security, and see Pecunia.

P. sen. What is't?

Fit. Ourselves.

Alm. We'll be one bound for another.

Fit. This noble doctor here.

Alm. This worthy courtier.

Fit. This man of war, he was our muster-master. Alm. But a sea-captain now, brave captain Shunfield. [P. sen. holds up his nose. Shun. You snuff the air now, has the scent displeased you?

Fit. Thou need'st not fear him, man, his credit is sound.

Alm. And season'd too, since he took salt at

sea.

P. sen. I do not love pickled security; Would I had one good fresh man in for all: For truth is, you three stink.

Shun. You are a rogue.

P. sen. I think I am; but I will lend no money On that security, captain.

Alm. Here's a gentleman,

A fresh-man in the world, one master Madrigal. Fit. Of an untainted credit; what say you to [Exit Madrigal with Broker. Shun. He's gone, methinks; where is he?Madrigal!

him?

P. sen. He has an odd singing name: is he an heir?

Fit. An heir to a fair fortune.

Alm. And full hopes :

A dainty scholar, and a pretty poet!

P. sen. You have said enough. I have no money, gentlemen,

An he go to't in rhyme once, not a penny.

[He snuffs again.

Shun. Why, he's of years, though he have

little beard.

P. sen. His beard has time to grow: I have

no money.

Let him still dabble in poetry. No Pecunia
Is to be seen.

Alm. Come, thou lov'st to be costive
Still in thy courtesy ; but I have a pill,
A golden pill, to purge away this melancholy.
Shun. 'Tis nothing but his keeping of the
house here,

With his two drowsy dogs.

Fit. A drench of sack

At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet,
Would cure him.

Lick. Nothing but a young heir in whitebroth;

I know his diet better than the doctor.

Shun. What, Lickfinger, mine old host of Ram alley!

4

You have some market here.

Alm. Some dosser of fish Or fowl, to fetch off.

Fit. An odd bargain of venison
To drive.

P. sen. Will you go in, knave?
Lick. I must needs,

You see who drives me, gentlemen.

Alm. Not the Devil.

[P. sen. thrusts him in.

Fit. He may in time, he is his agent now.

P. sen. You are all cogging Jacks, a covey of wits,

The jeerers, that still call together at meals,
Or rather an aiery; for you are birds of prey,
And fly at all; nothing's too big or high for you;
And are so truly fear'd, but not beloved
One of another, as no one dares break
Company from the rest, lest they should fall.
Upon him absent.

mine old host of Ram-alley.] This alley, which leads from Fleet-street into the Temple, was in Jonson's time principally inhabited by cooks, and victuallers. Thus, in the old drama of that name,

"What, though Ram-alley stinks with cooks and ale," &c. 5 Alm. O! the only oracle

That ever peep'd or spake out of a doublet!] The allusion is to the heathen priests, who were Eyyaspiuuto, or had the art of keeping their voice within, as if the demon spoke in their belly. There is an allusion to this in the prophet Isaiah; "And when they shall say unto you, seek unto them who have familiar spirits, and unto wizards that peep, and that mutter." viii. 19. WHAL.

Instead of peep, Lowth has speak inwardly.

Alm. O, the only oracle

That ever peep'd or spake out of a doublet!" Shun. How the rogue stinks! worse than a fishmonger's sleeves."

Fit. Or currier's hands.

Shun. And such a parboil'd visage!

Fit. His face looks like a dyer's apron, just. Alm. A sodden head, and his whole brain a posset-curd.

P. sen. Ay, now you jeer, jeer on; I have no money.

Alm. I wonder what religion he is of.

Fit. No certain species sure: a kind of mule, That's half an ethnic, half a Christian!

P. sen. I have no money, gentlemen.
Shun. This stock,

He has no sense of any virtue, honour,
Gentry, or merit.

P. sen. You say very right,

My meritorious captain, as I take it,

Merit will keep no house, nor pay no house-rent. Will mistress Merit go to market, think you, Set on the pot, or feed the family?

Will gentry clear with the butcher, or the baker,

Fetch in a pheasant, or a brace of partridges, From good-wife poulter, for my lady's supper? Fit. See this pure rogue!

P. sen. This rogue has money though; My worshipful brave courtier has no money; No, nor my valiant captain.

Shun. Hang you, rascal.

P.sen. Nor you, my learned doctor. I loved you

worse than a fishmonger's sleeves.] This reproach is of no modern date. The reader remembers the spiteful reflection on Horace, whose father is supposed by some to have been a dealer in fish; Quoties ego vidi patrem tuum brachio se emungentem?

While you did hold wives,

your practice, and kill tripe

And kept you to your urinal; but since your thumbs

Have greased the Ephemerides, casting figures,
And turning over for your candle-rents,
And your twelve houses in the zodiac,
With your almutens, alma-cantaras,
Troth you shall cant alone for Pennyboy.
Shun. I told you what we should find him, a
mere bawd.

Fit. A rogue, a cheater.

P. sen. What you please, gentlemen:

I am of that humble nature and condition, Never to mind your worships, or take notice Of what you throw away thus. I keep house here,

Like a lame cobler, never out of doors,

With my two dogs, my friends; and, as you say,
Drive a quick pretty trade, still. I get money:
And as for titles, be they rogue or rascal,
Or what your worships fancy, let them pass,
As transitory things; they are mine to-day,
And yours to-morrow.

Alm. Hang thee, dog!

Shun. Thou cur!

P. sen. You see how I do blush, and am
ashamed

Of these large attributes! yet you have no money.
Alm. Well, wolf, hyena, you old pocky rascal,
You will have the hernia fall down again
Into your scrotum, and I shall be sent for:
I will remember then, that, and your fistula
I cured you of.

In ano,

P. sen. Thank your dog-leech craft!

They were wholesome piles afore you meddled with them.

Alm. What an ungrateful wretch is this!