An Inn.

Enter ILFORD, WENTLOE, BARTLEY.

WEN. He's our own, he's our own! Come, let's make use of his wealth, as the sun of ice: melt it, melt it.

ILF. But art sure he will hold his meeting?

WEN. As sure as I am now, and was dead drunk last night.

ILF. Why then so sure will I be arrested by a couple of serjeants, and fall into one of the unlucky cranks about Cheapside, called Counters.

BAR. Withal, I have provided Master Gripe the usurer, who upon the instant will be ready to step in, charge the serjeants to keep thee fast, and that now he will have his five hundred pounds, or thou shalt rot for it.

WEN. When it follows, young Scarborow shall be bound for the one; then take up as much more. We share the one-half, and help him to be drunk with the other.

ILF. Ha, ha, ha!

Enter SCARBOROW.

BAR. Why dost laugh, Frank?

ILF. To see that we and usurers live by the fall of young heirs, as swine by the dropping of acorns. But he's come. Where be these rogues: shall we have no 'tendance here?

SCAR. Good day, gentlemen.

ILF. A thousand good days, my noble bully, and as many good fortunes as there were grasshoppers in Egypt, and that's covered over with good luck. But nouns, pronouns and participles! where be these rogues here? what, shall we have no wine here?

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Anon, anon, sir.

ILF. Anon, goodman rascal, must we stay your leisure? give't us by and by, with a pox to you.

SCAR. O, do not hurt the fellow.

[Exit DRAWER.

ILF. Hurt him! hang him, scrapetrencher, stair-wearer,[381] wine-spiller, metal-clanker, rogue by generation. Why, dost hear, Will? If thou dost not use these grape-spillers as you do their pottle-pots, quoit them down-stairs three or four times at a supper, they'll grow as saucy with you as serjeants, and make bills more unconscionable than tailors.

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Here's the pure and neat grape, gentlemen, I assure you.[382]

ILF. Fill up: what have you brought here, goodman rogue?

DRAW. The pure element of claret, sir.

ILF. Have you so, and did not I call for Rhenish, you mongrel?

[Throws the wine in the DRAWER'S face.

SCAR. Thou need'st no wine; I prythee, be more mild.

ILF. Be mild in a tavern? 'tis treason to the red lattice,[383] enemy to their sign-post, and slave to humour: prythee, let's be mad.

_Sings this.

Then fill our heads with wine
Till every pate be drunk, then piss i'the street,
Jostle all you meet,
And swagger with a punk_—

As thou wilt do now and then: thank me, thy good master, that brought thee to it.

WEN. Nay, he profits well; but the worst is, he will not swear yet.

SCAR. Do not belie me: if there be any good in me, that's the best. Oaths are necessary for nothing; they pass out of a man's mouth, like smoke through a chimney, that files[384] all the way it goes.

WEN. Why then I think tobacco to be a kind of swearing; for it furs our nose pockily.

SCAR. But, come, let's drink ourselves into a stomach afore supper.

ILF. Agreed. I'll begin with a new health. Fill up.

_To them that make land fly,
By wines, whores, and a die:
To them that only thrives
By kissing others' wives:
To them that pay for clothes
With nothing but with oaths:
Care not from whom they get,
So they may be in debt.
This health, my hearts! [Drinks.
But who their tailors pay,
Borrow, and keep their day,
We'll hold him like this glass,
A brainless, empty ass,
And not a mate for us_.
Drink round, my hearts!

WEN. An excellent health.

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Master Ilford, there's a couple of strangers beneath desires to speak with you.

ILF. What beards have they? gentlemenlike-beards, or brokerlike-beards?

DRAW. I am not so well acquainted with the art of face-mending, sir: but they would speak with you.

ILF. I'll go down to them.

WEN. Do; and we'll stay here and drink tobacco.[385]

SCAR. Thus like a fever that doth shake a man
From strength to weakness, I consume myself.
I know this company, their custom vile,
Hated, abhorr'd of good men, yet like a child
By reason's rule, instructed how to know
Evil from good, I to the worser go.
Why do you suffer this, you upper powers,
That I should surfeit in the sin of taste,
Have sense to feel my mischiefs, yet make waste
Of heaven and earth?
Myself will answer, what myself doth ask.
Who once doth cherish sin, begets his shame,
For vice being foster'd once, comes impudence,
Which makes men count sin custom, not offence:
When all like me their reputation blot,
Pursuing evil, while the good's forgot.

Enter ILFORD, led in by a couple of SERJEANTS, and GRIPE the usurer.

SER. Nay, never strive, we can hold you.

ILF. Ay, me, and the devil too,[386] and he fall into your clutches.
Let go your tugging; as I am a gentleman, I'll be your true prisoner.

WEN. How now: what's the matter, Frank?

ILF. I am fallen into the hands of Serjeants: I am arrested.

BAR. How, arrested? a gentleman in our company?

ILF. Put up, put up; for sin's sake put up; let's not all sup in the
Counter to night; let me speak with Master Gripe the creditor.

GRIPE. Well, what say you to me, sir?

ILF. You have arrested me here, Master Gripe.

GRIPE. Not I, sir; the serjeants have.

ILF. But at your suit, Master Gripe: yet hear me, as I am a gentleman.

GRIPE. I rather you could say as you were an honest man, and then I might believe you.

ILF. Yet hear me.

GRIPE. Hear me no hearing; I lent you my money for goodwill.

ILF. And I spent it for mere necessity. I confess I owe you five hundred pound, and I confess I owe not a penny to any man, but he would be glad to ha't [on my word]: my bond you have already, Master Gripe; if you will, now take my word.

GRIPE. Word me no words! officers, look to your prisoner. If you cannot either make me present payment, or put me in security—such as I shall like, too—

ILF. Such as you shall like, too: what say you to this young gentleman? he is the widgeon that we must feed upon. [Aside.]

GRIPE. Who, young Master Scarborow? he's an honest gentleman for aught I know; I ne'er lost a penny by him.

ILF. I would be ashamed any man should say so by me, that I have had dealings withal [Aside]: but, my enforced friends, will't please you but to retire into some small distance, whilst I descend with a few words to these gentlemen, and I'll commit myself into your merciless hands immediately.

SER. Well, sir, we'll wait upon you. [They retire.

ILF. Gentlemen, I am to prefer some conference and especially to you, Master Scarborow: our meeting here for your mirth hath proved to me thus adverse, that in your companies I am arrested. How ill it will stand with the flourish of your reputations, when men of rank and note communicate that I, Frank Ilford, gentleman, whose fortunes may transcend to make ample gratuities future, and heap satisfaction for any present extension of his friends' kindness, was enforced from the Mitre in Bread Street to the Counter in the Poultry. For mine own part, if you shall think it meet, and that it shall accord with the state of gentry to submit myself from the feather-bed in the master's side[387] or the flock-bed in the knight's ward, to the straw-bed in the hole, I shall buckle to my heels, instead of gilt spurs, the armour of patience, and do't.

WEN. Come, come, what a pox need all this! this is mellis flora, the sweetest of the honey: he that was not made to fat cattle, but to feed gentlemen.

BAR. You wear good clothes.

WEN. Are well-descended.

BAR. Keep the best company.

WEN. Should regard your credit.

BAR. Stand not upon't, be bound, be bound.

WEN. Ye are richly married.

BAR. Love not your wife.

WEN. Have store of friends.

BAR. Who shall be your heir?

WEN. The son of some slave.

BAR. Some groom.

WEN. Some horse-keeper.

BAR. Stand not upon't; be bound, be bound.

SCAR. Well, at your importunance,[388] for once I'll stretch my purse;
Who's born to sink, as good this way as worse.

WEN. Now speaks my bully like a gentleman of worth.

BAR. Of merit.

WEN. Fit to be regarded.

BAR. That shall command our souls.

WEN. Our swords.

BAR. Ourselves.

ILF. To feed upon you, as Pharaoh's lean kine did upon the fat. [Aside.]

SCAR. Master Gripe, is my bond current for this gentleman?

ILF. Good security, you Egyptian grasshopper, good security.
[Aside.]

GRIPE. And for as much more, kind Master Scarborow,
Provided that men, mortal as we are,
May have—

SCAR. May have security.

GRIPE. Your bond with land conveyed, which may assure me of mine own again.

SCAR. You shall be satisfied, and I'll become your debtor
For full five hundred more than he doth owe you.
This night we sup here; bear us company,
And bring your counsel, scrivener, and the money
With you, where I will make as full assurance
As in the law you'd wish.

GRIPE. I take your word, sir,
And so discharge you of your prisoner.

ILF. Why then let's come
And take up a new room, the infected hath spit in this.
He that hath store of coin wants not a friend;
Thou shalt receive, sweet rogue, and we will spend.

[Aside. Exeunt.

Enter THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. Brother, you see the extremity of want
Enforceth us to question for our own,
The rather that we see, not like a brother,
Our brother keeps from us to spend on other.

THOM. True, he has in his hands our portions—the patrimony which our father gave us, with which he lies fatting himself with sack and sugar[389] in the house, and we are fain to walk with lean purses abroad. Credit must be maintained, which will not be without money; good clothes must be had, which will not be without money; company must be kept, which will not be without money; all which we must have, and from him we will have money.

JOHN. Besides, we have brought our sister to this town,
That she herself, having her own from him,
Might bring herself in court to be preferr'd
Under some noble personage; or else that he,
Whose friends are great in court by his late match,
As he is in nature bound, provide for her.

THOM. And he shall do it, brother, though we have waited at his lodging longer than a tailor's bill on a young knight for an old reckoning, without speaking with him. Here we know he is, and we will call him to parley.

JOHN. Yet let us do't in mild and gentle terms;
Fair words perhaps may sooner draw our own
Than rougher course,[390] by which is mischief grown.

Enter DRAWER.

DRAW. Anon, anon. Look down into the Dolphin[391] there.

THOM. Here comes a drawer, we will question him. Do you hear, my friend? is not Master Scarborow here?

DRAW. Here, sir! what a jest is that! where should he be else? I would have you well know my master hopes to grow rich,[392] before he leave him.

JOHN. How long hath he continued here, since he came hither?

DRAW. Faith, sir, not so long as Noah's flood, yet long enough to have drowned up the livings of three knights, as knights go nowadays—some month, or thereabouts.

JOHN. Time ill-consum'd to ruinate our house;
But what are they that keep him company?

DRAW. Pitch, pitch; but I must not say so; but, for your further satisfaction, did you ever see a young whelp and a lion play together?

JOHN. Yes.

DRAW. Such is Master Scarborow's company.[393] [Within, Oliver! Anon, anon, look down to the Pomegranate[394] there.

THOM. I prythee, say here's them would speak with him.

DRAW. I'll do your message. Anon, anon, there.
[Exit.

JOHN. This fool speaks wiser than he is aware.
Young heirs left in this town, where sin's so rank,
And prodigals gape to grow fat by them,
Are like young whelps thrown in the lions' den,
Who play with them awhile, at length devour them.

Enter SCARBOROW.

SCAR. Who's there would speak with me?

JOHN. Your brothers, who are glad to see you well.

SCAR. Well.

JOHN. 'Tis not your riot, that we hear you use
With such as waste their goods, as tire[395] the world
With a continual spending, nor that you keep
The company of a most leprous rout,
Consumes your body's wealth, infects your name
With such plague sores that, had you reason's eye,
'Twould make you sick to see you visit them—
Hath drawn us, but our wants to crave the due
Our father gave, and yet remains with you.

THOM. Our birthright, good brother; this town craves maintenance; silk stockings must be had, and we would be loth our heritage should be arraigned at the vintner's bar, and so condemned to the vintner's box. Though, while you did keep house, we had some belly timber at your table or so; yet we would have you think we are your brothers, yet no Esaus, to sell our patrimony for porridge.

SCAR. So, so; what hath your coming else?

JOHN. With us our sister joins in our request,
Whom we have brought along with us to London,
To have her portion, wherewith to provide
An honour'd service or an honest bride.

SCAR. So then you two my brothers, and she my sister, come not, as in duty you are bound, to an elder brother out of Yorkshire to see us, but like leeches to suck from us.

JOHN. We come compelled by want to crave our own.

SCAR. Sir, for your own? then thus be satisfied,
Both hers and yours were left in trust with me,
And I will keep it for ye: must you appoint us,
Or what we please to like mix with reproof?
You have been too saucy both, and you shall know
I'll curb you for it: ask why? I'll have it so.

JOHN. We do but crave our own.

SCAR. Your own, sir? what's your own?

THOM. Our portions given us by our father's will.

JOHN. Which here you spend.

THOM. Consume.

JOHN. Ways worse than ill.

SCAR. Ha, ha, ha!

Enter ILFORD.

ILF. Nay, nay, nay, Will: prythee, come away, we have a full gallon of sack stays in the fire for thee. Thou must pledge it to the health of a friend of thine.

SCAR. What dost think these are, Frank?

ILF. Who? They are fiddlers, I think. If they be, I prythee send them into the next room, and let them scrape there, and we'll send to them presently.

SCAR. They are my brothers, Frank, come out of Yorkshire
To the tavern here, to ask their portions:
They call my pleasures riots, my company leprous;
And like a schoolboy they would tutor me.

ILF. O, thou shouldst have done well to have bound them 'prentices when they were young; they would have made a couple of good saucy tailors.

THOM. Tailors?

ILF. Ay, birdlime tailors. Tailors are good men, and in the term-time they wear good clothes. Come, you must learn more manners: as to stand at your brother's back, to shift a trencher neatly, and take a cup of sack and a capon's leg contentedly.

THOM. You are a slave,
That feeds upon my brother like a fly,
Poisoning where thou dost suck.

SCAR. You lie.

JOHN. O (to my grief I speak it), you shall find
There's no more difference in a tavern-haunter
Than is between a spital and a beggar.

THOM. Thou work'st on him like tempests on a ship.

JOHN. And he the worthy traffic that doth sink.

THOM. Thou mak'st his name more loathesome than a grave.

JOHN. Livest like a dog by vomit.

THOM. Die a slave!

[Here they draw, WENTLOE and BARTLEY come in, and the two vintner's boys with clubs. All set upon the two brothers. BUTLER, Scarborow's man, comes in, stands by, sees them fight, takes part with neither.

BUT. Do, fight. I love you all well, because you were my old master's sons, but I'll neither part you, nor be partaker with you. I come to bring my master news; he hath two sons born at a birth in Yorkshire, and I find him together by the ears with his brothers in a tavern in London. Brother and brother at odds, 'tis naught: sure it was not thus in the days of charity. What's this world like to? Faith, just like an innkeeper's chamber-pot, receives all waters, good and bad. It had need of much scouring. My old master kept a good house, and twenty or thirty tall sword-and-buckler men about him, and i'faith his son differs not much, he will have metal too; though he hath not store of cutler's blades, he will have plenty of vintner's pots. His father kept a good house for honest men his tenants, that brought him in part; and his son keeps a bad house with knaves that help to consume all. 'Tis but the change of time; why should any man repine at it? Crickets, good, loving, and lucky worms, were wont to feed, sing, and rejoice in the father's chimney, and now carrion crows build in the son's kitchen. I could be sorry for it, but I am too old to weep. Well then, I will go tell him news of his offspring. [_Exit.

Enter the two brothers, THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW, hurt, and SISTER.

SIS. Alas! good brothers, how came this mischance?

THOM. Our portions, our brother hath given us our portions, sister, hath he not?

SIS. He would not be so monstrous, I am sure.

JOHN. Excuse him not; he is more degenerate,
Than greedy vipers that devour their mother,
They eat on her but to preserve themselves,
And he consumes himself, and beggars us.
A tavern is his inn, where amongst slaves
He kills his substance, making pots the graves
To bury that which our forefather's gave.
I ask'd him for our portions, told him that you
Were brought to London, and we were in want;
Humbly we crav'd our own; when his reply
Was, he knew none we had: beg, starve, or die.

SIS. Alas!
What course is left us to live by, then?

THOM. In troth, sister, we two to beg in the fields,
And you to betake yourself to the old trade,
Filling of small cans in the suburbs.

SIS. Shall I be left then like a common road,
That every beast that can but pay his toll
May travel over, and, like to camomile,[396]
Flourish the better being trodden on.

Enter BUTLER, bleeding.

BUT. Well, I will not curse him: he feeds now upon sack and anchovies, with a pox to him: but if he be not fain, before he dies, to eat acorns, let me live with nothing but pollard, and my mouth be made a cucking-stool for every scold to set her tail on.

THOM. How now, butler, what's the meaning of this?

BUT. Your brother means to lame as many as he can, that when he is a beggar himself, he may live with them in the hospital. His wife sent me out of Yorkshire to tell him that God had blessed him with two sons; he bids a plague of them, a vengeance of her, crosses me o'er the pate, and sends me to the surgeon's to seek salve: I looked, at least he should have given me a brace of angels for my pains.

THOM. Thou hast not lost all thy longing; I am sure he hath given thee a cracked crown!

BUT. A plague on his fingers! I cannot tell, he is your brother and my master; I would be loth to prophesy of him; but whosoe'er doth curse his children being infants, ban his wife lying in childbed, and beats his man brings him news of it, they may be born rich, but they shall live slaves, be knaves, and die beggars.

SIS. Did he do so?

BUT. Guess you? he bid a plague of them, a vengeance on her, and sent me to the surgeon's.

SIS. Why then I see there is no hope of him;
Some husbands are respectless of their wives,
During the time that they are issueless;
But none with infants bless'd can nourish hate,
But love the mother for the children's sake.

JOHN. But he that is given over unto sin,
Leproused therewith without, and so within—
O butler, we were issue to one father!

BUT. And he was an honest gentleman.

JOHN. Whose hopes were better than the son he left
Should set so soon unto his house's shame.
He lives in taverns, spending of his wealth,
And here his brothers and distressed sister,
Not having any means to help us with.

THOM. Not a Scots baubee (by this hand) to bless us with.

JOHN. And not content to riot out his own,
But he detains our portions, suffers us
In this strange air, open to every wrack,
Whilst he in riot swims to be in lack.

BUT. The more's the pity.

SIS. I know not what in course to take me to;
Honestly I fain would live, what shall I do?

BUT. Sooth, I'll tell you; your brother hath hurt us; we three will hurt you, and then go all to a 'spital together.

SIS. Jest not at her whose burden is too grievous,
But rather lend a means how to relieve us.

BUT. Well, I do pity you, and the rather because you say you would fain live honest, and want means for it; for I can tell you 'tis as strange here to see a maid fair, poor, and honest, as to see a collier with a clean face. Maids here do live (especially without maintenance) Like mice going to a trap, They nibble long, at last they get a clap. Your father was my good benefactor, and gave me a house whilst I live to put my head in: I would be loth then to see his only daughter, for want of means, turn punk. I have a drift to keep you honest, have you a care to keep yourself so: yet you shall not know of it, for women's tongues are like sieves, they will hold nothing they have power to vent. You two will further me?

JOHN. In anything, good honest Butler.

THOM. If't be to take a purse, I'll be one.

BUT. Perhaps thou speakest righter than thou art aware of. Well, as chance is, I have received my wages; there is forty shillings for you, I'll set you in a lodging, and till you hear from us, let that provide for you: we'll first to the surgeon's.

To keep you honest, and to keep you brave,
For once an honest man will turn a knave.

[Exeunt.

Enter SCARBOROW, having a boy carrying a torch with him: ILFORD, WENTLOE, and BARTLEY.

SCAR. Boy, bear the torch fair: now am I armed to fight with a windmill, and to take the wall of an emperor; much drink, no money: a heavy head and a light pair of heels.

WEN. O, stand, man.

SCAR. I were an excellent creature to make a punk of; I should down with the least touch of a knave's finger. Thou hast made a good night of this: what hast won, Frank?

ILF. A matter of nothing, some hundred pounds.

SCAR. This is the hell of all gamesters. I think, when they are at play, the board eats up the money; for if there be five hundred pound lost, there's never but a hundred pounds won. Boy, take the wall of any man: and yet by light such deeds of darkness may not be.

[Put out the torch.

WEN. What dost mean by that, Will?

SCAR. To save charge, and walk like a fury with a firebrand in my hand: every one goes by the light, and we'll go by the smoke.

Enter LORD FALCONBRIDGE.

SCAR. Boy, keep the wall: I will not budge[397] for any man, by these thumbs; and the paring of the nails shall stick in thy teeth. Not for a world.

LORD. Who's this? young Scarborow?

SCAR. The man that the mare rid on.

LORD. Is this the reverence that you owe to me.

SCAR. You should have brought me up better.

LORD. That vice should thus transform man to a beast!

SCAR. Go to, your name's lord; I'll talk with you, when you're out of debt and have better clothes.

LORD. I pity thee even with my very soul.

SCAR. Pity i' thy throat! I can drink muscadine and eggs, and mulled sack; do you hear? you put a piece of turned stuff upon me, but I will—

LORD. What will you do, sir?

SCAR. Piss in thy way, and that's no slander.

LORD. Your sober blood will teach you otherwise.

Enter SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

SIR WIL. My honoured lord, you're happily well-met.

LORD. Ill met to see your nephew in this case,
More like a brute beast than a gentleman.

SIR WIL. Fie, nephew! shame you not thus to transform yourself?

SCAR. Can your nose smell a torch?

ILF. Be not so wild; it is thine uncle Scarborow.

SCAR. Why then 'tis the more likely 'tis my father's brother.

SIR WIL. Shame to our name to make thyself a beast,
Thy body worthy born, and thy youth's breast
Till'd in due time for better discipline.

LORD. Thyself new-married to a noble house,
Rich in possessions and posterity,
Which should call home thy unstay'd affections.

SIR WIL. Where thou mak'st havoc.

LORD. Riot, spoil, and waste.

SIR WIL. Of what thy father left.

LORD. And livest disgraced.

SCAR. I'll send you shorter to heaven than you came to the earth. Do you catechise? do you catechise? [He draws, and strikes at them.

ILF. Hold, hold! do you draw upon your uncle?

SCAR. Pox of that lord!
We'll meet at th'Mitre, where we'll sup down sorrow,
We are drunk to-night, and so we'll be to-morrow.

[Exeunt.

LORD. Why, now I see: what I heard of, I believed not,
Your kinsman lives—

SIR WIL. Like to a swine.

LORD. A perfect Epythite,[398] he feeds on draff,
And wallows in the mire, to make men laugh:
I pity him.

SIR WIL. No pity's fit for him.

LORD. Yet we'll advise him.

SIR WIL. He is my kinsman.

LORD. Being in the pit, where many do fall in,
We will both comfort him and counsel him.

[Exeunt.