That did deny to let her be the mother
Of such most certain blessings; yet for proof,
She did not envy her, that happy her,
That is appointed to them; her quick end
Should make way for her :" which no sooner spoke,
But in a moment this too ready engine
Made such a battery in the choicest castle
That ever Nature made to defend life,
That straight it shook and sunk.

[Act iv., Sc. 2.]

WIT WITHOUT MONEY. A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1639: PRODUCED NOT EARLIER THAN 1614]. BY JOHN FLETCHER

The humour of a Gallant who will not be persuaded to keep his Lands, but chuses to live by his Wits rather.

VALENTINE'S Uncle. MERCHANT, who has his Mortgage. Mer. When saw you Valentine?

Unc. Not since the horse race.

He's taken up with those that woo the widow.

Mer. How can he live by snatches from such people?

He bore a worthy mind.

Unc. Alas, he's sunk,

His means are gone, he wants; and, which is worse,
Takes a delight in doing so.

Mer. That's strange.

Unc. Runs lunatic if you but talk of states;

He can't be brought (now he has spent his own)
To think there is inheritance, or means,

But all a common riches; all men bound

To be his bailiffs.

Mer. This is something dangerous.

Unc. No gentlemen, that has estate, to use it In keeping house or followers: for those ways He cries against for eating sins, dull surfeits, Cramming of serving-men, mustering of beggars, Maintaining hospitals for kites and curs,

Grounding their fat faiths upon old country proverbs,

66

God bless the founders:" these he would have ventur'd

Into more manly uses, wit and carriage;

And never thinks of state or means, the ground-works:
Holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies,
And starve their understandings.1

VALENTINE joins them.

Val. Now to your business, uncle.

Unc. To your state then.

Val. 'Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name't no more,
Tis that I pray against, and heaven has heard me;
I tell you, sir, I am more fearful of it,

(I mean, of thinking of more lands or livings)
Than sickly men are o' travelling o' Sundays,
For being quell'd with carriers; out upon't;
Caveat emptor; let the fool out-sweat it,
That thinks he has got a catch on't.
Unc. This is madness,
To be a wilful beggar.

Val. I am mad then,

And so I mean to be; will that content you?
How bravely now I live! how jocund!

How near the first inheritance! without fears!

How free from title troubles!

Unc. And from means too!

Val. Means

Why, all good men's my means; my wit's my plough;
The town's my stock, tavern's my standing-house,

(And all the world know, there's no want): all gentlemen, That love society, love me; all purses

That wit and pleasure opens, are my tenants;

Every man's clothes fit me; the next fair lodging

Is but my next remove; and when I please

To be more eminent, and take the air,

A piece is levied, and a coach prepar'd,

And I go I care not whither; what need state here?

Unc. But say these means were honest, will they last sir?
Val. Far longer than your jerkin, and wear fairer.

Your mind's enclos'd, nothing lies open nobly;

Your very thoughts are hinds, that work on nothing
But daily sweat and trouble: were my way
So full of dirt as this ('tis true) I'd shift it.
Are my acquaintance Grasiers? But, sir, know;
No man that I'm allied to in my living,
But makes it equal whether his own use

1[Some pages omitted.]

Or my necessity pull first; nor is this forc'd,
But the mere quality and poisure of goodness,
And do you think I venture nothing equal?
Unc. You pose me, cousin.

Val. What's my knowledge, uncle?

Is't not worth money? what's my understanding?
Travel? reading? wit? all these digested? my daily
Making men, some to speak, that too much flegm
Had froz'n up; some that spoke too much, to hold
Their peace, and put their tongues to pensions: some
To wear their cloaths, and some to keep 'em: these
Are nothing, uncle? besides these ways, to teach
The way of nature, a manly love, community
To all that are deservers, not examining

How much or what's done for them; it is wicked.1
Are not these ways as honest, as persecuting
The starv'd inheritance with musty corn,
The very rats were fain to run away from?
Or selling rotten wood by the pound, like spices,
Which gentlemen do after burn by the ounces?
Do not I know your way of feeding beasts
With grains, and windy stuff, to blow up butchers?
Your racking pastures, that have eaten up
As many singing shepherds, and their issues,
As Andaluzia breeds? These are authentic.
I tell you, sir, I would not change way with you;
Unless it were, to sell your state that hour,
And (if 'twere possible) to spend it then too;
For all your beans in Rumnillo: now you know me.

[Act i., Sc. 1.]

The wit of Fletcher is excellent, like his serious scenes; but there is something strained and far fetched in both. He is too mistrustful of Nature; he always gues a little on one side of her. Shakspeare chose her without a reserve: and had riches, power, understanding, and long life, with her, for a dowry.

THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN: A TRAGEDY [PUB LISHED 1634]. BY JOHN FLETCHER.3

Three Queens, whose Lords were slain and their bodies denied burial by Creon the cruel King of Thebes, seek redres from Theseus, Duke of Athens, on the day of his marriage with Hippolita, Queen of the Amazons. The first Queen

[Twelve lines omitted.]

2[Dyce's edition, vol. iv.] Fletcher is said to have been assisted in this Play by Shakspeare.

falls down at the feet of Theseus; the second at the feet of Hippolita, his bride; and the third implores the mediation of Emilia, his Sister.

1st. Qu. to Thes. For pity's sake, and true gentility

Hear and respect me.

2nd. Qu. to Hip. For your mother's sake,

And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones,

Hear and respect me.

3rd. Qu. to Emil. Now for the love of him whom Jove hath

mark'd

The honour of your bed, and for the sake

Of clear virginity, be advocate

For us and our distresses: this good deed

Shall raze you out of the book of trespasses
All you are set down there.

Thes. Sad lady, rise.

Hip. Stand up.

Emil. No knees to me.

What woman I may stead, that is distrest,

Does bind me to her.

Thes. What's your request? Deliver you for all.

1st. Qu. We are three queens, whose sovereigns fell before

The wrath of cruel Creon; who endure

The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,

And pecks of crows, in the foul field of Thebes.

He will not suffer us to burn their bones,

To urn their ashes, nor to take th' offence
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye

Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds

With stench of our slain lords. Oh pity, duke,
Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd sword
That does good turns to th' world; give us the bones
Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them;
And, of thy boundless goodness, take some note
That for our crowned heads we have no roof,
Save this which is the lion's and the bear's,
And vault to every thing.

Thes. Pray you kneel not.

I was transported with your speech, and suffer'd

Your knees to wrong themselves: I have heard the fortunes

Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting,

As wakes my vengeance and revenge for them.

King Capaneus was your lord: the day

That he should marry you, at such a season

As now it is with me, I met your groom;
By Mars's altar, you were that time fair,
Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses,

Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreath
Was then not thrash'd nor blasted: Fortune at you
Dimpled her cheek with smiles: Hercules, our kinsman,
(Then weaker than your eyes) laid by his club;

He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide,

And swore his sinews thaw'd.

Oh grief, and time,

Fearful consumers, you will all devour!

1st. Qu. O, I hope some god,

Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood,
Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth
Our undertaker.

Thes. Oh no knees, none, widow;

Unto the helmeted Bellona use them,
And pray for me your soldier,

Troubled I am.

2nd. Qu. Honour'd Hippolita,

Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain

The scythe-tusk'd boar; that with thy arm as strong
As it is white, wast near to make the male
To thy sex captive, but that this thy lord,
Born to uphold creation in that honour
First Nature stiled it in, shrunk thee into
The bound thou wast o'erflowing, at once subduing
Thy force and thy affection: Soldieress,
That equally canst poize sternness with pity,
Who now I know hast much more power on him
Than ever he had on thee, who ow'st his strength
And his love too; who is a servant for

The tenor of the speech: Dear glass of ladies,
Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch,
Under the shadow of his sword may cool us:
Require him he advance it o'er our heads;
Speak't in a woman's key, like such a woman

As any of us three; weep ere you fail; lend us a knee,
But touch the ground for us no longer time

Than a dove's motion when the head's pluckt off:
Tell him if he i'th' blood-cized field lay swoln,
Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon,
What you would do.

Hip. Poor lady, say no more;

I had as lieve trace this good action with you,
As that whereto I'm going, and never yet