[To them. Pyed-mantle.
[Pyed-mantle brings the
BY your leave, Gentlemen.
Lady
Pecunia her Pedigree.
Fit.
Her Graces Herald.
Alm.
No Herald yet, a Heraldet.
P. jun.
What's that?
P. Ca.
A Canter.
P. jun.
O, thou saidst thou'dst prove us all so!
P. Ca.
Sir, here is one will prove himself so, streight;
So shall the rest, in time.
Pec.
My Pedigree?
I tell you Friend, he must be a good Scholar
Can my Descent: I am of Princely Race,
And as good Blood as any is i' the Mines
Runs through my Veins. I am, every Limb, a Princess!
Dutchess o' Mines was my great Grandmother;
And by the Fathers side, I come from Sol
My Grandfather was Duke of Or, and match'd
In the Blood-Royal of Ophyr.
Pye.
Here's his Coat.
Pec.
I know it, if I hear the Blazon.
Pye.
He bears
In a Field Azure, a Sun proper, beamy,
Twelve of the second,
P. Ca.
How far's this from canting?
P. jun.
Her Grace doth understand it.
P. Ca.
She can cant, Sir.
Pec.
What be these? Bezants?
Pye.
Yes, an't please your Grace.
Pec.
That is our Coat too, as we come from Or.
What Line's this?
Pye.
The rich Mines of Potosi,
The Spanish Mines i' the West-Indies.
Pec.
This?
Pye.
The Mines o' Hungary, this of Barbary.
Pec.
But this, this little Branch?
Pec.
The Welsh Mine, that.
Pec.
I ha' Welsh Blood in me too; blaze, Sir, that Coat.
Pye.
She bears (an't please you) Argent, three Leeks vert,
In Canton Or, and tassel'd of the first.
P. Ca.
Is not this Canting? do you understand him?
P. jun.
Not I; but it sounds well, and the whole thing
Is rarely painted: I will have such a Scroll,
What ere it cost me.
Pec.
Well, at better leasure
We'll take a view of it, and so reward you.
P. jun.
Kiss him, sweet Princess, and stile him a Cousin.
[She kisseth.
Pec.
I will, if you will have it. Cousin Pyed-mantle.
P. jun.
I love all Men of Vertue, from my Princess,
Unto my Begger here, old Canter; on,
On to thy Proof; whom prove you the next Canter?
Pec.
The Doctor here, I will proceed with the Learned.
When he discourseth of Dissection,
Or any Point of Anatomy; that he tells you
Of Vena cava, and of Vena porta,
The Meseraicks, and the Mesenterium:
What does he else but cant? Or if he run
To his Judicial Astrology,
And trowl the Trine, the Quartile, and the Sextile,
Platick Aspect, and Partile, with his Hyleg
Or Alchochoden, Cuspes, and Horoscope;
Does not he cant? Who here does understand him?
Alm.
This is no Canter, though!
P. Ca.
Or when my Muster-master
Talks of his Tacticks, and his Ranks and Files,
His Bringers-up, his Leaders-on, and cries,
Faces about to the Right-hand, the Left,
Now, as you were; then tells you of Redoubts,
Of Cats, and Cortines. Doth not he cant?
P. jnn.
Yes, faith.
P. Ca.
My Egg-chin'd Laureat here, when he comes forth <!-- wrapped under thus (forth -->
With Dimeters, and Trimeters, Tetrameters,
Pentameters, Hexameters, Catalecticks,
His Hyper, and his Brachy-Catalecticks,
His Pyrrhicks, Epitrites, and Choriambicks.
What is all this, but Canting?
Mad.
A rare Fellow!
Shun.
Some begging Scholar!
Fit.
A decay'd Doctor at least!
P. jun.
Nay, I do cherish Vertue, though in Rags.
P. Ca.
And you, Mas Courtier.
P. jun.
Now he treats of you,
Stand forth to him fair.
P. Ca.
With all your fly-blown Projects,
And Looks out of the Politicks, your shut Faces,
And reserv'd Questions and Answers, that you game with; as
Is't a clear Business? Will it manage well?
My Name must not be us'd else. Here 'twill dash.
Your Business has receiv'd a taint, give off,
I may not prostitute my self. Tut, tut,
That little Dust I can blow off at pleasure.
Here's no such Mountain, yet, i' the whole Work!
But a light Purse may level. I will tide
This Affair for you; give it freight, and passage:
And such Mint-phrase, as 'tis the worst of Canting,
By how much it affects the Sense it has not.
Fit.
This is some other than he seems!
P. jun.
How like you him?
Fit.
This cannot be a Canter!
P. jun.
But he is, Sir,
And shall be still, and so shall you be too:
We'll all be Canters. Now I think of it,
A noble Whimsie's come into my Brain!
I'll build a Colledge, I and my Pecunia,
And call it Canters Colledge: sounds it well?
[Canters Colledge begun to be erected.
Alm.
Excellent!
P. jun.
And here stands my Father Rector,
And you Professors, you shall all profess
Something, and live there, with her Grace and me,
Your Founders: I'll endow't with Lands and Means,
And Lickfinger shall be my Master-Cook.
What, is he gone?
P. Ca.
And a Professor.
P. jun.
Yes.
P. Ca.
And read Apicius de re Culinaria
To your brave Doxy and you!
P. jun.
You, Cousin Fitton,
Shall (as a Courtier) read the Politicks;
Doctor Almanack he shall read Astrology;
Shunfield shall read the Military Arts.
P. Ca.
As carving, and assaulting the cold Custard.
[That's Mad-drigal.
P. jun.
And Horace here the Art of Poetry.
His Lyricks, and his Madrigals, fine Songs,
Which we will have at Dinner, steept in Clarret,
And against Supper, sous'd in Sack.
Mad.
In troth,
A divine Whimsie!
Shun.
And a worthy Work,
Fit for a Chronicle!
P. jun.
Is't not?
Shun.
To all Ages.
P. jun.
And Pied-mantle shall give us all our Arms:
But Picklock, what wouldst thou be? Thou canst cant too.
Pic.
In all the Languages in Westminster-hall,
Pleas, Bench, or Chancery. Fee-farm, Fee-Tail,
Tenant in Dower, at Will, for Term of Life,
By Copy of Court-Roll, Knights Service, Homage,
Fealty, Escuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne,
Grand Sergeanty, or Burgage.
P. jun.
Thou appear'st,
a Canter. Thou shalt read
All Littleton's Tenures to me, and indeed
All my Conveyances.
Pic.
And make 'em too, Sir?
Keep all your Courts, be Steward o' your Lands,
Let all your Leases, keep your Evidences:
But first, I must procure and pass your Mort-main,
You must have Licence from above, Sir.
P. jun.
Fear not,
Pecunia's Friends shall do it.
P. Ca.
But I shall stop it.
[Here his Father discovers himself.
Your Worships loving and obedient Father,
Your painful Steward, and lost Officer!
Who have done this, to try how you would use
Pecunia, when you had her: which since I see,
I will take home the Lady to my Charge,
And these her Servants, and leave you my Cloke,
To travel in to Beggers Bush! A Seat
Is built already, furnisht too, worth twenty
Of your imagin'd Structures, Canters Colledge.
Fit.
'Tis his Father!
Mad.
He's alive, methinks.
Alm.
I knew he was no Rogue!
P. Ca.
Thou, Prodigal,
Was I so careful for thee, to procure
And plot wi' my learn'd Counsel, Master Picklock,
This Noble Match for thee? and dost thou prostitute,
Scatter thy Mistris Favours, throw away
Her Bounties, as they were red-burning Coals,
Too hot for thee to handle, on such Rascals,
Who are the Sc*m and Excrements of Men?
If thou hadst sought out good and vertuous Persons
Of these Professions, I had lov'd thee, and them:
For these shall never have that Plea 'gainst me,
Or colour of advantage, that I hate
Their Callings, but their Manners and their Vices.
A worthy Courtier is the Ornament
Of a Kings Palace, his great Masters Honour.
This is a Moth, a Rascal, a Court-Rat,
That gnaws the Common-wealth with broking Suits,
And eating Grievances! So, a true Soldier,
He is his Countries Strength, his Sovereigns Safety,
And to secure his Peace, he makes himself
The Heir of Danger, nay the Subject of it,
And runs those vertuous Hazards that this Scare-crow
Cannot endure to hear of.
Shun.
You are pleasant, Sir.
P. Ca.
With you I dare be! Here is Pied-mantle,
'Cause he's an Ass, do not I love a Herald?
Who is the pure Preserver of Descents,
The keeper fair of all Nobility,
Without which all would run into Confusion?
Were he a learned Herald, I would tell him
He can give Arms and Marks, he cannot Honour,
No more than Money can make Noble: It may
Give Place, and Rank, but it can give no Vertue:
And he would thank me for this Truth. This Dog-leach,
You stile him Doctor, 'cause he can compile
An Almanack, perhaps erect a Scheme
For my great Madams Monkey, when't has ta'ne
A Glister, and bewray'd the Ephemerides.
Do I despise a learn'd Physician,
In calling him a Quacksalver, or blast
The ever-living Ghirlond, always green
Of a good Poet? When I say his Wreath
Is piec'd and patch'd of dirty wither'd Flowers?
Away, I am impatient of these Ulcers,
(That I not call you worse.) There is no Sore
Or Plague but you to infect the Times. I abhor
Your very Scent. Come, Lady, since my Prodigal
Knew not to entertain you to your worth,
I'll see if I have learn'd how to receive you
With more respect to you, and your fair Train here.
Farewel, my Begger in Velvet, for to day;
To morrow you may put on that grave Robe,
[He points him to his patch'd Cloke thrown off.
And enter your great Work of Canters Colledge,
Your Work, and worthy of a Chronicle.
The fourth Intermean after the fourth Act.
Tattle. W HY, this was the worst of all, the Cata-
strophe!
Cen.
The Matter began to be good but now; and he has
spoil'd it all with his Begger there!
Mirth.
A beggerly Jack it is, I warrant him, and a kin
to the Poet.
Tat.
Like enough, for he had the chiefest Part in his Play,
if you mark it.
Exp.
Absurdity on him, for a huge over-grown Play-
maker! Why should he make him live agen, when they and
we all thought him dead? If he had left him to his Rags,
there had been an end of him.
Tat.
I, but set a Beggar on Horse-back, he'll never lin till
he be a gallop.
Cen.
The young Heir grew a fine Gentleman in this last
Act.
Exp.
So he did, Gossip, and kept the best Company.
Cen.
And feasted 'em, and his Mistris.
Tat.
And shew'd her to 'em all! was not jealous!
Mirth. But very communicative, and liberal, and began
to be magnificent, if the Churl his Father would have let
him alone.
Cen.
It was spitefully done o' the Poet, to make the Chuff
take him off in his height, when he was going to do all his
brave Deeds!
Exp.
To found an Academy!
Tat.
Erect a Colledge!
Exp.
Plant his Professors, and water his Lectures!
Mirth. With Wine, Gossips, as he meant to do; and then
to defraud his Purposes?
Exp.
Kill the Hopes of so many towardly young Spirits?
Tat.
As the Doctors?
Cen.
And the Courtiers! I protest, I was in love with
Master Fitton: He did wear all he had, from the Hat-band
to the Shoe-tie, so politically, and would stoop, and leer!
Mirth. And lie so in wait for a piece of Wit, like aMouse-trap!
Exp.
Indeed Gossip, so would the little Doctor; all his
Behaviour was meer Glister! O' my Conscience, he would
make any Parties Physick i' the World work, with his Di-
scourse.
Mirth.
I wonder they would suffer it, a foolish, old, for-
nicating Father, to ravish away his Son's Mistris.
Cen.
And all her Women at once, as he did!
Tat.
I would ha' flown in his Gipsies Face, i' faith.
Mirth.
It was a plain piece of political Incest, and wor-
thy to be brought afore the High-Commission of Wit. Sup-
pose we were to censure him, you are the youngest Voice, Gos-
sip Tattle, begin.
Tattle.
Marry, I would ha' the old Coney-catcher co-
zen'd of all he has, i' the young Heirs Defence, by his Lear-
ned Counsel, Mr. Picklock!
Cen.
I would rather the Courtier had found out some
Trick to beg him for his Estate!
Exp.
Or the Captain had Courage enough to beat him!
Cen.
Or the fine Madrigal-man, in Ryme, to have run
him out o' the Country, like an Irish Rat.
Tat.
No, I would have Master Pyed-mantle, her Gra-
ces Herald, to pluck down his Hatchments, reverse hisCoat-Armour, and nullifie him for no Gentleman.
Exp.
Nay, then let Master Doctor dissect him, have him
open'd, and his Tripes translated to Lickfinger, to make aProbation-dish of.
Cen. Tat.
Agreed! agreed!
Mirth.
Faith, I would have him flat disinherited, by a
Decree of Court, bound to make Restitution of the Lady
Pecunia, and the Use of her Body to his Son.
Exp.
And her Train to the Gentlemen.
Cen.
And both the Poet, and himself, to ask them all
forgiveness!
Tat.
And us too.
Cen.
In two large Sheets of Paper ———
Exp.
Or to stand in a Skin of Parchment, (which theCourt please.)
Cen.
And those fill'd with News!
Mirth. And dedicated to the sustaining of the Staple!
Exp.
Which their Poet hath let fall, most abruptly.
Mirth. Bankruptly, indeed.
Cen.
You say wittily, Gossip; and therefore let a Pro-
test go out against him.
Mirth.
A Mournival of Protests, or a Gleek at least.
Exp.
In all our Names.
Cen.
For a decay'd Wit ——
Exp.
Broken ——
Tat.
Non-solvent ——
Cen.
And for ever forfeit ——
Mirth.
To scorn of Mirth!
Cen.
Censure!
Exp.
Expectation!
Tat.
Subsign'd, Tattle. Stay, they come again.