ACT II. SCENE I.

Before the Palace.

Enter Evander, three Courtiers, and Cratilus.

Evan. Executioner!

Crat. My lord.

Evan. How did old Diocles take his death?

Crat. As weeping brides receive their joys at night;^[117] With trembling, yet with patience.

Evan. Why, ’twas well.

26First Court. Nay, I knew my father would do well, my lord,

Whene’er he came to die; I’d that opinion of him,

Which made me the more willing to part from him;

He was not fit to live i’ the world, indeed

Any time these ten years, my lord,

But I would not say so much.

Evan. No! you did not well in’t,

For he that’s all spent is ripe for death at all hours,

And does but trifle time out.

First Court. Troth, my lord,

I would I had known your mind nine years ago.

Evan. Our law is fourscore years, because we judge

Dotage complete then, as unfruitfulness

In women at threescore; marry, if the son

Can, within compass, bring good solid proofs

Of his own father’s weakness, and unfitness

To live, or sway the living, though he want five

Or ten years of his number, that’s not it;

His defect makes him fourscore, and ’tis fit

He dies when he deserves; for every act

Is in effect then, when the cause is ripe.

Second Court. An admirable prince! how rarely he talks!

O that we’d known this, lads! What a time did we endure

In two-penny commons, and in boots twice vamp’d!

First Court. Now we have two pair a week, and yet not thankful;

’Twill be a fine world for them, sirs, that come after us.

Second Court. Ay, and^[118] they knew’t.

First^[119] Court. Peace, let them never know’t.

27Third Court. A pox, there be young heirs will soon smell’t out.

Second Court. ’Twill come to ’em by instinct, man. May your grace

Never be old, you stand so well for youth!

Evan. Why now, methinks, our court looks like a spring,

Sweet, fresh, and fashionable, now the old weeds are gone.

First Court. ’Tis as a court should be:

Gloss and good clothes, my lord, no matter for merit;

And herein your law proves a provident act,^[120]

When men pass not the palsy of their tongues,

Nor colour in their cheeks.

Evan. But women,

By that law, should live long, for they’re ne’er past it.

First Court. It will have heats though, when they see the painting

Go an inch deep i’the wrinkle, and take up

A box more than their gossips: but for men, my lord,

That should be the sole bravery of a palace,

To walk with hollow eyes and long white beards,

As if a prince dwelt in a land of goats;

With clothes as if they sat on^[121] their backs on purpose

To arraign a fashion, and condemn’t to exile;

Their pockets in their sleeves, as if they laid

Their ear to avarice, and heard the devil whisper!

Now ours lie downward, here, close to the flank;

Right spending pockets, as a son’s should be

28That lives i’ the fashion: where^[122] our diseas’d fathers,

Wood^[123] with the sciatica and aches,

Brought up your pan’d hose^[124] first, which ladies laugh’d at,

Giving no reverence to the place lies ruined:

They love a doublet that’s three hours a buttoning,

And sits so close makes a man groan again,

And his soul mutter half a day; yet these are those

That carry sway and worth: prick’d up in clothes,

Why should we fear our rising?

Evan. You but wrong

Our kindness, and your own deserts, to doubt on’t.

Has not our law made you rich before your time?

Our countenance then can make you honourable.

First Court. We’ll spare for no cost, sir, to appear worthy.

Evan. Why, you’re i’the noble way then, for the most

Are but appearers; worth itself is lost,

And bravery^[125] stands for’t.

Enter Creon, Antigona, and Simonides.

First Court. Look, look, who comes here!

I smell death, and another courtier,

Simonides.

29Second Court. Sim!

Sim. Push!^[126] I’m not for you yet,

Your company’s too costly; after the old man’s

Despatch’d, I shall have time to talk with you;

I shall come into the fashion, ye shall see too,

After a day or two; in the mean time,

I am not for your company.

Evan. Old Creon, you have been expected long;

Sure you’re above fourscore.

Sim. Upon my life,

Not four-and-twenty hours, my lord; I search’d

The church-book yesterday. Does your grace think

I’d let my father wrong the law, my lord?

’Twere pity a’ my life then! no, your act

Shall not receive a minute’s wrong by him,

While I live, sir; and he’s so just himself too,

I know he would no[t] offer’t:—here he stands.

Creon. ’Tis just

I die, indeed, my lord; for I confess

I’m troublesome to life now, and the state

Can hope for nothing worthy from me now,

Either in force or counsel; I’ve a’ late

Employ’d myself quite from the world, and he

That once begins to serve his Maker faithfully

Can never serve a worldly prince well after;

’Tis clean another way.

Ant. O, give not confidence

To all he speaks, my lord, in his own injury.

His preparation only for the next world

30Makes him talk wildly, to his wrong, of this;

He is not lost in judgment.

Sim. She spoils all again. [Aside.

Ant. Deserving any way for state employment.

Sim. Mother——

Ant. His very household laws prescrib’d at home by him

Are able to conform seven Christian kingdoms,

They are so wise and virtuous.

Sim. Mother, I say——

Ant. I know your laws extend not to desert, sir,

But to unnecessary years; and, my lord,

His are not such; though they shew’ white, they’re worthy,

Judicious, able, and religious.

Sim. I’ll help you to a courtier of nineteen, mother.

Ant. Away, unnatural!

Sim. Then I am no fool, I’m sure,

For to be natural at such a time

Were a fool’s part indeed.

Ant. Your grace’s pity, sir,

And ’tis but fit and just.

Creon. The law, my lord,

And that’s the justest way.

Sim. Well said, father, i’ faith!

Thou wert ever juster than my mother still.

Evan. Come hither, sir.

Sim. My lord.

Evan. What are those orders?

Ant. Worth observation, sir,

So please you hear them read.

Sim. The woman speaks she knows not what, my lord.

He make a law, poor man! he bought a table, indeed,

31Only to learn to die by’t, there’s the business, now;

Wherein there are some precepts for a son too,

How he should learn to live, but I ne’er look’d upon’t:

For, when he’s dead, I shall live well enough,

And keep a better table^[127] than that, I trow.

Evan. And is that all, sir?

Sim. All, I vow, my lord;

Save a few running admonitions

Upon cheese-trenchers,^[128] as——

Take heed of whoring, shun it;

’Tis like a cheese too strong of the runnet.

And such calves’ maws of wit and admonition,

Good to catch mice with, but not sons and heirs;

They’re not so easily caught.

Evan. Agent for death!

Crat. Your will, my lord?

Evan. Take hence that pile of years,

Forfeit before^[129] with unprofitable age,

And, with the rest, from the high promontory,

Cast him into the sea.

32Creon. ’Tis noble justice!

[Exit Cratilus with Creon.

Ant. ’Tis cursed tyranny!

Sim. Peace! take heed, mother;

You’ve^[130] but a short time to be cast down yourself;

And let a young courtier do’t, and^[131] you be wise,

In the mean time.

Ant. Hence, slave!

Sim. Well, seven-and-fifty,^[132]

You’ve but three years to scold, then comes your payment.

[Exit Antigona.

First Court. Simonides.

Sim. Push,^[133] I’m^[134] not brave enough to hold you talk yet;

Give a man time; I have a suit a making.

Second Court. We love thy form first; brave clothes will come, man.

Sim. I’ll make ’em come else, with a mischief to ’em,

As other gallants do, that have less left ’em.

[Recorders within.

Evan. Hark! whence those sounds? what’s that?

First Court. Some funeral,

It seems, my lord; and young Cleanthes follows.

Enter a funeral procession; the hearse followed by Cleanthes and Hippolita gaily dressed.^[135]

Evan. Cleanthes!

Second Court. ’Tis, my lord, and in the place

Of a chief mourner too, but strangely habited.

33Evan. Yet suitable to his behaviour; mark it;

He comes all the way smiling, do you observ’t?

I never saw a corse so joyfully follow’d:

Light colours and light cheeks! who should this be?

’Tis a thing worth resolving.

Sim. One, belike,

That doth participate this^[136] our present joy.

Evan. Cleanthes.

Clean. O my lord!

Evan. He laugh’d outright now;

Was ever such a contrariety seen

In natural courses yet, nay, profess’d openly?

First Court. I ha’ known a widow laugh closely, my lord,

Under her handkercher, when t’other part

Of her old face has wept like rain in sunshine;

But all the face to laugh apparently,

Was never seen yet.

Sim. Yes, mine did once.

Clean. ’Tis, of a heavy time, the joyfull’st day

That ever son was born to.

Evan. How can that be?

Clean. I joy to make it plain,—my father’s dead.

Evan. Dead!

Second Court. Old Leonides!

Clean. In his last month dead:

He beguil’d cruel law the sweetliest

That ever age was blest to.——

It grieves me that a tear should fall upon’t,

Being a thing so joyful, but his memory

Will work it out, I see: when his poor heart broke,

I did not [do] so much: but leap’d for joy

So mountingly, I touch’d the stars, methought;

I would not hear of blacks, I was so light,

34But chose a colour orient like my mind;

For blacks are often such dissembling mourners,

There is no credit given to’t; it has lost

All reputation by false sons and widows.

Now I would have men know what I resemble,

A truth, indeed; ’tis joy clad like a joy,

Which is more honest than a cunning grief,

That’s only fac’d with sables for a show,

But gawdy-hearted. When I saw death come

So ready to deceive you, sir,—forgive me,

I could not choose but be entirely merry,

And yet to see now!—of a sudden,

Naming but death, I shew myself a mortal,

That’s never constant to one passion long.

I wonder whence that tear came, when I smil’d

In the production on’t! sorrow’s a thief,

That can, when joy looks on, steal forth a grief.

But, gracious leave, my lord; when I’ve^[137] perform’d

My last poor duty to my father’s bones,

I shall return your servant.

Evan. Well, perform it;

The law is satisfied; they can but die:

And by his death, Cleanthes, you gain well,

A rich and fair revenue.

[Flourish. Exeunt Duke, Courtiers, &c.

Sim. I would I had e’en

Another father, condition^[138] he did the like.

Clean. I have past it bravely now; how blest was I

To have the duke in sight!^[139] now ’tis confirm’d,

35Past fear or doubts confirm’d: on, on, I say,

Him^[140] that brought me to man, I bring to clay.

[Exit funeral procession, followed by Cleanthes and Hippolita.

Sim. I’m rapt now in a contemplation,

Even at the very sight of yonder hearse;

I do but think what a fine thing ’tis now

To live, and follow some seven uncles thus,

As many cousin-germans, and such people,

That will leave legacies; a pox! I’d see ’em hang’d else,

Ere I’d follow one of them, and^[141] they could find the way.

Now I’ve enough to begin to be horrible covetous.

Enter Butler, Tailor, Bailiff,^[142] Cook, Coachman, and Footman.

But. We come to know your worship’s pleasure, sir,

Having long serv’d your father, how your good will

Stands towards our entertainment.

Sim. Not a jot, i’faith:

My father wore cheap garments, he might do’t;

I shall have all my clothes come home to-morrow;

They will eat up all you, and^[143] there were more of you, sirs.

To keep you six at livery, and still munching!

Tail. Why, I’m a tailor; you’ve most need of me, sir.

36Sim. Thou mad’st my father’s clothes, that I confess;

But what son and heir will have his father’s tailor,

Unless he have a mind to be well laugh’d at?

Thou’st been so used to wide long-side things, that when

I come to truss, I shall have the waist of my doublet

Lie upon my buttocks, a sweet sight!

But. I a butler.

Sim. There’s least need of thee, fellow; I shall ne’er drink at home, I shall be so drunk abroad.

But. But a cup of small beer will do well next morning, sir.

Sim. I grant you; but what need I keep so big a knave for a cup of small beer?

Cook. Butler, you have your answer. Marry, sir, a cook I know your mastership cannot be without.

Sim. The more ass art thou to think so; for what should I do with a mountebank, no drink in my house?—the banishing the butler might have been a warning for thee, unless thou meanest to choke me.

Cook. I’ the mean time you have chok’d me, methinks.

Bail. These are superfluous vanities, indeed,

And so accounted of in these days, sir;

But then, your bailiff to receive your rents——

Sim. I prithee, hold thy tongue, fellow; I shall take a course to spend ’em faster than thou canst reckon ’em; ’tis not the rents must serve my turn, unless I mean to be laughed at; if a man should be seen out of slash-me, let him ne’er look to be a right gallant. But, sirrah, with whom is your business?

Coach. Your good mastership.

37Sim. You have stood, silent all this while, like men

That know their strengths: i’these days, none of you

Can want employment; you can win me wagers,

Footman, in running races.

Foot. I dare boast it, sir.

Sim. And when my bets are all come in, and store,

Then, coachman, you can hurry me to my whore.

Coach. I’ll firk ’em into foam else.

Sim. Speaks brave matter:

And I’ll firk some too, or’t shall cost hot water.

[Exeunt Simonides, Coachman, and Footman.

Cook. Why, here’s an age to make a cook a ruffian,

And scald the devil indeed! do strange mad things,

Make mutton-pasties of dog’s flesh,

Bake snakes for lamprey-pies, and cats for conies.

But. Come, will you be ruled by a butler’s advice once? for we must make up our fortunes somewhere now, as the case stands: let’s e’en, therefore, go seek out widows of nine and fifty, and^[144] we can, that’s within a year of their deaths, and so we shall be sure to be quickly rid of ’em; for a year’s enough of conscience to be troubled with a wife, for any man living.

Cook. Oracle butler! oracle butler! he puts down all the doctors a’ the name.^[145] [Exeunt.

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