works of these two masters. I am not prepared to regard the "Puritan" as much, if anything, below the inferior writings of Ben Jonson the "New Inn," for example — in all that relates to structure, invention, and comic situation. No such comparison can be made with Shakspeare, who, in the very meanest of his acknowledged and unquestioned writings, is so infinitely beyond this performance, as to make any attempt at comparison impertinent. But the very maturity and continued strength, which everywhere exist in Shakspeare, are among the arguments which prompt the belief in unacknowledged works from his pen; since, we can scarcely suppose him to have reached such an exquisite perfection of his powers at a single bound, or to have retained them to the last chapter of a tolerably advanced life, without diminution or decay. But this belongs to the general argument. own. The estimate of Mr. Knight, in regard to the merits of "The Puritan," may well take the place of our He says: "As a comedy of manners, The Puritan' is at once feeble and extravagant. The author can not paint classes, in painting individuals. 'The Puritan' is a misnomer. We have no representation of the formal manners of that class. The family of the Widow of Watling street is meant to be puritanical; but it is difficult to discover wherein they differ from the rest of the world, except in the coarse exhibition of the loose morality of one of their ser | vants, who professes to lie, though he swears not, and is willing to steal, if the crime is called by some gentler name. Yet the comedy is not without spirit and interest. The events are improbable, and some of the intrigues superfluous; but the action seldom lingers; and, if the characters seem unnatural, they are sufficiently defined to enable us to believe that such characters did exist, and might have been copied from the life by the author." Referring to the scene in the house of the gentleman who rescues Pyeboard from the hands of the bailiffs, by becoming accessory to the stratagem of the prisoner, Mr. Knight remarks: "There is, no doubt, considerable truth in this picture; but it is not such truth as we find in Shakspeare; it belongs to the temporary and the personal, not to the permanent and the universal. Such is the characteristic merit of the whole comedy, whatever merit it has." Of this character, Pyeboard, we are told by the Rev. Mr. Dyce, in his valuable edition of Peele's works, that George Pyeboard and George Peele have the same meaning-"peel signifying a board with a long handle, with which bakers put things in and out of the oven.” It would seem, then, that George Peel sat for the portrait of the profligate scholar, to the unknown dramatist. Peele was a man of profligate habits, and has published, in one of his tracts, two stories of his own tricks, which remind us of a couple of the stratagems in "The Puritan." THE PURITAN; OR, THE WIDOW OF WATLING STREET. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sir GODFREY PLUS, brother-in-law to the Widow Plus. Sir OLIVER MUCKHILL, a rich city knight, and suitor Sir JOHN PENNYDUB, a country knight, and suitor to Sir ANDREW TIPSTAFF, a courtier, and suitor to Fran ces. GEORGE PYEBOARD, a scholar. The Sheriff of London. Captain IDLE, a highwayman. PULTOCK, RAVENSHAW, sheriff's servants. DOGSON, a catchpole. Corporal OATH, a vain-glorious fellow. NICHOLAS ST. ANTLINGS, SIMON ST. Mary-Overies, FRAILTY, servants to Lady Plus, PETER SKIRMISH, an old soldier. A Nobleman. A Gentleman Citizen. Lady PLUS, a citizen's widow. FRANCES and MARY, her two daughters. Sir God. Nay, good sister, dear sister, sweet sister, be of good comfort; show yourself a woman now or never. Wid. Oh, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried the sweetest husband that ever lay by woman. Sir God. Nay, give him his due, he was indeed an honest, virtuous, discreet, wise man. He was my brother, as right as right. Wid. O, I shall never forget him, never forget him; he was a man so well given to a woman. Oh! Sir God. Nay, but kind sister, I could weep as much as any woman; but, alas, our tears can not call him again: methinks you are well read, sister, and know that death is as common as Homo, a common name to all men. A man shall be taken when he's making water. Nay, did not the learned parson, Master Pigman, tell us, e'en now, that all flesh is frail. We are born to die. Man has but a time: with such like deep and profound persuasions? as he is a rare fellow you know, and an excellent reader And, for example (as there are examples abundance) did not Sir Humphrey Bubble die t'other day? There's a lusty widow! Why, she cried not above half an hour. For shame! for shame! Then followed him old Master Fulsome, the usurer: there's a wise widow; why she cried ne'er a whit at all. Wid. O rank not me with those wicked women; I Sheriff's Officers, Keeper of the Marshalsea Prison, had a husband outshined 'em all. Musicians, and Attendants. SCENE,- LONDON. ACT I. SCENE I. A Garden behind the Widow's House. Enter the Widow PLUS, FRANCES, MARY, Sir GODFREY, and EDMOND, all in mourning; EDMOND in a cyprus hat.1 The Widow wringing her hands, and | bursting out into passion, as newly come from the burial of her husband. Wid. Oh, that ever I was born, that ever I was born! 1 In plain terms, a hat with a band of crape around it—a mourning hat. The proper spelling should be, "cypress." Sir God. Ay, that he did, i'faith; he outshined 'em all. Wid. Dost thou stand there and see us all weep; and not once shed a tear for thy father's death? oh, thou ungracious son and heir thou! Edm. Troth, mother, I should not weep, I'm sure ; I am past a child, I hope, to make all my old schoolfellows laugh at me; I should be mocked, so I should; pray, let one of my sisters weep for me, I'll laugh as much for her another time? Wid. O thou past-grace thou! Out of my sight, thou graceless imp! thou grievest me more than the death of thy father. O, thou stubborn only son! Hadst thou such an honest man to thy father-that would deceive all the world to get riches for thee-and canst thou not afford a little salt water? He that so wisely did quite overthrow the right heir of these lands, which now you respect not: up every morning betwixt four and five; so duly at Westminster hall every term time, with all his cards and writings, for thee, thou | Of every groom and waiter, if ever more Edm. Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad he's churched; - for now he's gone, I shall spend in quiet. Mary. I must kneel down, for fashion, too. Frances. Dear mother, pray cease; half your tears | Even in this depth of general sorrow, vow suffice; Never to marry, to sustain such loss, Wid. Dear copy of my husband, let me kiss thee: Sister Away! My dear father! Sir God. Go to, you are fair; you can not smother it; beauty will come to light. Nor are your years so far entered with you, but that you will be sought after, will be sought after, and may very well answer another husband. The world is full of fine gallants; choice enow, sister; for what should we do with all our knights, I pray ?2 but to marry rich widows, wealthy citizens' widows; lusty, fair-browed ladies? Go to, be of good comfort, I say; leave sobbing and weeping. Yet my brother was a kind-hearted man.-I would not have the elf see me now [aside].- Come, pluck up a wo-have filled a three-halfpenny bottle. Alas! a small man's heart! Here stand your daughters, who be well estated, and at maturity will also be inquired after with good husbands: so all these tears shall be soon dried up, and a better world than ever.- What, woman? you must not weep still! he's dead, he's buried-yet I can not choose but weep for him.3 Wid. Marry again! Let me be buried quick, then ! And that same part o' the choir whereon I tread, matter bucks a handkerchief;5 and sometimes the spittle stands too nigh Saint Thomas-a-Waterings.6 Well, I can mourn in good sober sort as well as another; but where I spend one tear for a dead father, I could give twenty kisses for a quick husband. [Exit MARY. Sir God. Well, go thy ways, old Sir Godfrey, and thou may'st be proud on't, thou hast a kind, loving sister-in-law. How constant, how passionate, how full of April the poor soul's eyes are! Well, I would my brother knew on't: he should then know what a kind wife he hath left behind him. Truth, an 'twere not for shame that the neighbors at the next garden should hear me betwixt joy and grief, I should even cry outright. [Exit Sir GonFrey. Edm. So; a fair riddance! My father's laid in dust; his coffin and he is like a whole meat-pie, and the worms will cut him up shortly. Farewell, old dad, farewell! I'll be curbed in no more. I perceive a son and heir may quickly be made a fool, an he will be one; but I'll take another order. Now, she would have me weep for him, forsooth; and why? Because he cozened the right heir, he being a fool, and bestowed those lands on me his eldest son; and therefore I must weep for him: ha! ha! Why, all the world knows, as long as 'twas his pleasure to get me, 'twas his duty to get for me. I know the law on that point: no attorney can gull me. Well, my uncle is an old ass, and an admirable coxcomb. I'll rule the roast myself; I'll be kept under no more; I know what I may do well enough, by my father's copy; the law's in mine own hands now. Nay, now I know my strength, I'll be strong enough for my mother, I warrant you. [Exit. 5 That is, wets. Washings were called "buckings." 6 A pun upon the word hospital, of which 'spital is a contraction. SCENE II.- A Street. Enter PYEBOARD and SKIRMISH. Pye. What's to be done now, old lad of war? Thou that wert wont to be as hot as a turnspit, as nimble as a fencer, and as lousy as a schoolmaster-now thou art put to silence like a sectary.— War sits now like a justice of peace, and does nothing. Where be your muskets, calivers, and hot-shots? In Long-lane, at pawn, at pawn? Now keys are your only guns: key. guns, key-guns, and bawds the gunners your sentinels in peace, and stand ready charged to give warning with hems, hums, and pocky coughs. Only your chambers are licensed to play upon you, and drabs enow to give fire to 'em. who are I Skir. Well, I can not tell, but I am sure it goes wrong with me ; for since the ceasure of the wars, I have spent above a hundred crowns out of purse. have been a soldier any time this forty years; and now I perceive an old soldier and an old courtier have both one destiny, and in the end turn both into hobnails. Pye. Pretty mystery for a beggar, for indeed a hobnail is the true emblem of a beggar's shoe-sole. Skir. I will not say but that war is a bloodsucker, and so; but in my conscience as there is no soldier but has a piece of one, though it be full of holes like a shot ancient1—no matter, 'twill serve to swear by -in my conscience, I think some kind of peace has more hidden oppressions, and violent, heady sins, though looking of a gentle nature, than a professed war. Pye. Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor gentleman and a scholar: I have been matriculated in the university; wore out six gowns there; seen some fools, and some scholars; some of the city, and some of the country; kept order; went bareheaded over the quadrangle; eat my commons with a good stomach, and battled with discretion ;— at last, having done many sleights and tricks to maintain my wit in use as my brain would never endure me to be idle — I was expelled the university, only for stealing a cheese out of Jesus college.2 Skir. Is't possible? Pye. O, there was one Welshman-God forgive him!--pursued it hard, and never left, till I turned my staff toward London; where, when I came, all my friends were pit-holed, gone to graves, as, indeed, there was but a few left before. Then was I turned to my wits; to shift in the world; to tower among sons and heirs, and fools, and gulls, and ladies' eldest sons; to work upon nothing; to feed out of flint; and ever since has my belly been much beholden to my brain.3 But now to return to you, old Skirmish: I say as you say; and, for my part, wish a turbulency in the world; for I have nothing in the world but my wits, and I think they are as mad as they will be: 1 Shot in the sense of cannon. In Henry IV., we have an old-faced ancient." 2 The commentators assume, from the accumulation of college phrases, that the author must have been an academic. I need not remark that phrases in French and Latin are to be picked up just as easily by those who have studied neither language. 3 An ingenious commentator, determined on proving this play to have been written by Shakspeare, might adduce these passages to show his history. "Pit-holed" might be a quibble upon a favorite part of the theatre as well as a burial-place. and to strengthen your argument the more, I say that an honest war is better than a bawdy peace. As touching my profession: the multiplicity of scholars, hatched and nourished in the idle calms of peace, makes 'em like fishes, one devour another; and the community of learning has so played upon affections, that thereby almost religion is come about to phantasy, and discredited by being too much spoken of in so many and mean mouths. I myself, being a scholar and a graduate, have no other comfort by my learning but the affection of my words; to know how, scholar-like, to name what I want, and can call myself a beggar both in Greek and Latin. And, there'tis a great breeder, but a bad nourisher; a great getfore, not to cog with peace, I'll not be afraid to say, ter of children, which must either be thieves or rich men, knaves or beggars. Skir. Well, would I had been born a knave, then, when I was born a beggar! for, if the truth was known, I think I was begot when my father had never a penny in his purse. Pye. Puh! faint not, old Skirmish; let this warrant thee: facilis descensus Averni-'tis an easy journey to a knave; thou may'st be a knave when thou wilt; and an arrant drab to us. Let us handle her accordand peace is a good madam to all other professions, ingly, and, by our wits, thrive in despite of her; for, since the lawyer lives by quarrels, the courtier by smooth good-morrows, and every profession makes itself greater by imperfections: why not we, then, by shifts, wiles, and forgeries? And, seeing our brains are the only patrimonies, let's spend with judgment; not like a desperate son and heir, but like a sober and discreet templar one that will never march beyond the bounds of his allowance. And, for our thriving means, thus: I myself will put on the deceit of a for tune-teller. Skir. A fortune-teller? Very proper. Pye. Let me alone; I'll instruct you, and teach you to deceive all eyes but the devil's. Skir. O, ay; for I would not deceive him, an I could choose, of all others. Pye. Fear not, I warrant you. And so, by these means, we shall help one another to patients: as the condition of the age affords creatures enow for cunning to work upon. Skir. O wondrous! new fools and fresh asses. [Suddenly. Skir. What now, in the name of conjuring? Pye. My memory greets me happily with an admiof late I saw weeping in her garden for the death of rable subject to graze upon. The lady-widow, who her husband: sure she's but a waterish soul, and half of late I saw weeping in her garden for the death of her husband: sure she's but a waterish soul, and half well managed may do good upon her : it stands firın ; on't by this time is dropped out of her eyes. Device my first practice shall be there. Skir. You have my voice, George. Pye. She's a gray gull to her brother, a fool to her only son, and an ape to her youngest daughter. I overheard them severally, and from their words I'll derive my device; and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shalt be my second in all sleights. Skir. Ne'er doubt me, George Pyeboard; only, you must teach me to conjure. Pye. Puh! I'll perfect thee, Peter. IDLE, pinioned, and attended by a Guard of Sheriff's | above twelvescore off on him: I warrant, if the wind Officers, passes over the Stage. How now? what's he? Skir. O George! this sight kills me! 'Tis my sworn brother, Captain Idle! Pye. Captain Idle? Skir. Apprehended for some felonious act or other. He has started out; has made a night on't; lacked silver; I can not but commend his resolution; he would not pawn his buff jerkin: I would either some of us were employed, or might pitch our tents at usurers' doors, to kill the slaves as they peep out at the wicket. Pye. Indeed, they are our ancient enemies: they keep our money in their hands, and make us to be hanged for robbing of 'em. But come, let's follow after to the prison, and know the nature of his of fence; and what we can stead him in, he shall be sure of it and I'll uphold it still, that a charitable knave is better than a soothing1 puritan. SCENE III.· A Street. stood right, a man might smell him from the top of Newgate to the leads of Ludgate. Corp. Sirrah, thou hollow book of wax-candle7 not. Corp. I swear by the Nich. Hold, hold, good Corporal Oath; for if you swear once, we shall fall down in a swoon presently. Corp. I must and will swear, you quivering coxcombs! My captain is imprisoned, and by Vulcan's leather cod-piece point Nich. O, Simon, what an oath was there! Frail. If he should chance to break it, the poor man's breeches would fall down about his heels; for Venus allows but one point to his hose.8 Corp. With these, my bully-feet, I will thump ope the prison-doors, and brain the keeper with the begging-box, but I'll set my honest, sweet Captain Idle at liberty. Nich. How, Captain Idle? my old aunt's son, my [Exeunt. dear kinsman, in Cappadochio? Enter NICHOLAS ST. ANTLINGS,2 SIMON ST. MARYOVERIES,3 and FRAILTY, in black, scurvy MourningCoats, and Books at their Girdles, as coming from Church. To them Corporal Oath. Nich. What, Corporal Oath! I am sorry we have met with you; next our hearts, you are the man that we are forbidden to keep company withal. We must not swear, I can tell you, and you have the name for swearing. Sim. Ay, Corporal Oath, I would you would do so much as forsake us ; we can not abide you; we must not be seen in your company. Frail. There is none of us, I can tell you, but shall be soundly whipped for swearing. Corp. Why, how now? we three4 puritanical scrapeshoes-flesh o' Good Fridays! a hand. All. Oh! [Shakes them by the hand. Corp. Why, Nicholas Saint Antlings, Simon Saint Mary-Overies, has the de'il possessed you, that you swear no better? You half-christened catomites, you ungodmothered varlets !5 does the first lesson teach you to be proud, and the second to be coxcombs-proud coxcombs not once to do duty to a man of mark? Frail. A man of mark, quoth'a? I do not think he can show a beggar's noble.6 Corp. A corporal, a commander, one of spirit, that is able to blow you up all dry with your books at your girdles. Nich. We are not taught to believe that, sir, for we know the breath of man is weak. [OATH breathes on FRAILTY. Corp. Ay, thou church-peeling, thou holy-paring, religious-outside, thou! If thou hadst any grace in thee, thou wouldst visit him, relieve him, swear to get him out. Nich. Assure you, corporal, indeed, la! 'tis the first time I heard on't. Corp. Why, do't now, then, marmozet. Bring forth thy yearly wages : let not a commander perish. Sim. But if he be one of the wicked, he shall perish. Nich. Well, corporal, I'll e'en along with you, to visit my kinsman: if I can do him any good, I will; but I have nothing for him. Simon Saint Mary-Overies and Frailty, pray make a lie for me to the knight my master, old Sir Godfrey. Corp. A lie? may you lie, then? Frail. O, ay, we may lie, but we must not swear. Sim. True, we may lie with our neighbor's wife, but we must not swear we did so. Corp. O, an excellent tag of religion! Nich. O, Simon, I have thought upon a sound excuse; it will go current. Say that I am gone to a fast.9 Sim. To a fast? Very good. Nich. Ay, to a fast; say, with Master Fullbelly, the minister. Sim. Master Fullbelly? An honest man: he feeds the flock well, for he's an excellent feeder. [Exeunt OATH and NICHOLAS. Frail. O, ay; I have seen him eat a whole pig, and afterward fall to the pettitoes. [Exeunt SIMON and FRAILTY. SCENE IV.—A Room in the Marshalsea Prison. Frail. Foh! you lie, Nicholas ! for here's one strong Enter IDLE; to him afterward PYEBOARD and SKIRenough. Blow us up, quoth'a! he may well blow me 1 Quere: sobbing? 2, 3 The names of well-known churches. 4 So in Tweifth Night: "Did you ever see the picture of We three?" A common sign in the time of Shakspeare, &c., consisting of two men in fools' coats. The spectator, or inquirer concerning its meaning, was supposed to make the third.-STEEVENS. 5 The puritans objected to the practice of having godfathers and godmothers in baptism.-PERCY. 6 A quibble between mark, an ancient coin, and mark, a sign of distinction; and between noble, a coin, and noble, the opposite of beggar. MISH. Pye. [within]. Pray turn the key. 7 I suppose alluding to the rolls of wax-candle coiled up in the form of a book-PERCY. 8 Points were the metal hooks by which the breeches and waistcoat were anciently held together. A similar pleasantry occurs in Henry IV., thus: "Their points being broken, Down fell their hose." 9 A fast-a gaol—a lock-up-fast-enough. |