Every Man In His Humour

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POEMS. -- Epigrams, The Forrest, Underwoods, published in fols., 1616,
1640; Selections: Execration against Vulcan, and Epigrams, 1640; G. Hor.
Flaccus his art of Poetry, Englished by Ben Jonson, 1640; Leges
Convivialis, fol., 1692. Other minor poems first appeared in Gifford's
edition of Works.

PROSE. -- Timber, or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter, fol., 1641; The
English Grammar, made by Ben Jonson for the benefit of Strangers, fol.,
1640.

Masques and Entertainments were published in the early folios.

WORKS. -- Fol., 1616, vol. 2, 1640 (1631-41); fol., 1692, 1716-19, 1729;
edited by P. Whalley, 7 vols., 1756; by Gifford (with Memoir), 9 vols.,
1816, 1846; re-edited by F. Cunningham, 3 vols., 1871; in 9 vols., 1875;by
Barry Cornwall (with Memoir), 1838; by B. Nicholson (Mermaid Series), with
Introduction by C. H. Herford, 1893, etc.; Nine Plays, 1904; ed. H. C. Hart
(Standard Library), 1906, etc; Plays and Poems, with Introduction by H.
Morley (Universal Library), 1885; Plays (7) and Poems (Newnes), 1905;
Poems, with Memoir by H. Bennett (Carlton Classics), 1907; Masques and
Entertainments, ed. by H. Morley, 1890.

SELECTIONS. -- J. A. Symonds, with Biographical and Critical Essay,
(Canterbury Poets), 1886; Grosart, Brave Translunary Things, 1895; Arber,
Jonson Anthology, 1901; Underwoods, Cambridge University Press, 1905;
Lyrics (Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher), the Chap Books, No. 4, 1906; Songs
(from Plays, Masques, etc.), with earliest known setting, Eragny Press,
1906.

LIFE. -- See Memoirs affixed to Works; J. A. Symonds (English Worthies),
1886; Notes of Ben Jonson Conversations with Drummond of Hawthornden;
Shakespeare Society, 1842; ed. with Introduction and Notes by P. Sidney,
1906; Swinburne, A Study of Ben Jonson, 1889.

CONTENTS

PAGE

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR (Italian Edition).........................1

EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOUR......................................57

CYNTHIA'S REVELS: OR, THE FOUNTAIN OF SELF-LOVE............... 149

THE POETASTER: OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT.............................233

SEJANUS: HIS FALL..............................................308

VOLPONE: OR, THE FOX...........................................400

EPICOENE: OR, THE SILENT WOMAN.................................489

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR (Anglicised Edition)....................559

GLOSSARY........................................................625

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BEN JONSON'S PLAYS

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR*

[footnote] *The earlier version of the comedy is here for the first time
placed at the head of the plays. The later, superior, and more familiar
Anglicised version, follows at the end of the volume.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

LORENZO SENIOR.
PROSPERO.
THORELLO.
GIULIANO.
LORENZO JUNIOR.
STEPHANO.
DOCTOR CLEMENT
BOBADILLA.
BIANCHA.
HESPERIDA.
PETO.
MUSCO.
COB.
MATHEO.
PISO.
TIB.

ACT I

SCENE I. -- ENTER LORENZO DI PAZZI SENIOR, MUSCO.

LOR. SE. Now trust me, here's a goodly day toward.
Musco, call up my son Lorenzo; bid him rise; tell him, I have some business
to employ him in.

MUS. I will, sir, presently.

LOR. SE. But hear you, sirrah; If he be at study disturb him not.

MUS. Very good, sir.
[EXIT MUSCO.

LOR. SE. How happy would I estimate myself,
Could I by any means retire my son,
From one vain course of study he affects!
He is a scholar (if a man may trust
The liberal voice of double-tongued report)
Of dear account, in all our 'Academies'.
Yet this position must not breed in me
A fast opinion that he cannot err.
Myself was once a 'student', and indeed
Fed with the self-same humour he is now,
Dreaming on nought but idle 'Poetry';
But since, Experience hath awaked my spirits,
[ENTER STEPHANO
And reason taught them, how to comprehend
The sovereign use of study. What, cousin Stephano!
What news with you, that you are here so early?

STEP. Nothing: but e'en come to see how you do, uncle.

LOR. SE. That's kindly done; you are welcome, cousin.

STEP. Ay, I know that sir, I would not have come else: how doth my
cousin, uncle?

LOR.SE. Oh, well, well, go in and see; I doubt he's scarce stirring yet.

STEP. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me an he have e'er a book of the
sciences of hawking and hunting? I would fain borrow it.

LOR. SE. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?

STEP. No, wusse; but I'll practise against next year; I have bought me a
hawk, and bells and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.

LOR. SE. Oh, most ridiculous.

STEP. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle, why, you know, an a man
have not skill in hawking and hunting now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for
him; he is for no gentleman's company, and (by God's will) I scorn it, ay,
so I do, to be a consort for every 'hum-drum'; hang them 'scroyles',
there's nothing in them in the world, what do you talk on it? a gentleman
must shew himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry, I know
what I have to do, I trow, I am no novice.

LOR. SE. Go to, you are a prodigal, and self-willed fool.
Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak,
Take't as you will, I'll not flatter you.
What? have you not means enow to waste
That which your friends have left you, but you must
Go cast away your money on a Buzzard,
And know not how to keep it when you have done?
Oh, it's brave, this will make you a gentleman,
Well, cousin, well, I see you are e'en past hope
Of all reclaim; ay, so, now you are told on it, you look another way.

STEP. What would you have me do, trow?

LOR. What would I have you do? marry,
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive,
That I would have you do, and not to spend
Your crowns on every one that humours you:
I would not have you to intrude yourself
In every gentleman's society,
Till their affections or your own dessert,
Do worthily invite you to the place.
For he that's so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation vile and cheap.
Let not your carriage and behaviour taste
Of affectation, lest while you pretend
To make a blaze of gentry to the world
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whole property is only to offend.
Cousin, lay by such superficial forms,
And entertain a perfect real substance;
Stand not so much on your gentility,
But moderate your expenses (now at first)
As you may keep the same proportion still:
Bear a low sail. Soft, who's this comes here?

[ENTER A SERVANT.
SER. Gentlemen, God save you.

STEP. Welcome, good friend; we do not stand much upon our gentility, yet I
can assure you mine uncle is a man of a thousand pound land a year; he hath
but one son in the world; I am his next heir, as simple as I stand here, if
my cousin die. I have a fair living of mine own too beside.

SER. In good time, sir.

STEP. In good time, sir! you do not flout me, do you?

SER. Not I, sir.

STEP. An you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too.
Go to; and they can give it again soundly, an need be.

SER. Why, sir, let this satisfy you. Good faith, I had no such intent.

STEP. By God, an I thought you had, sir, I would talk with you.

SER. So you may, sir, and at your pleasure.

STEP. And so I would, sir, an you were out of mine uncle's ground, I can
tell you.

LOR. SE. Why, how now, cousin, will this ne'er be left?

STEP. Whoreson, base fellow, by God's lid, an 'twere not for shame, I would --

LOR. SE. What would you do? you peremptory ass,
An you'll not be quiet, get you hence.
You see, the gentleman contains himself
In modest limits, giving no reply
To your unseason'd rude comparatives;
Yet you'll demean yourself without respect
Either of duty or humanity.
Go, get you in: 'fore God, I am asham'd
[EXIT STEP.
Thou has a kinsman's interest in me.

SER. I pray you, sir, is this 'Pazzi' house?

LOR. SE. Yes, marry is it, sir.

SER. I should enquire for a gentleman here, one Signior Lorenzo di Pazzi;
do you know any such, sir, I pray you?

LOR.SE. Yes, sir; or else I should forget myself.

SER. I cry you mercy, sir, I was requested by a gentleman of Florence
(having some occasion to ride this way) to deliver you this letter.

LOR. SE. To me, sir? What do you mean? I pray you remember your court'sy.
"To his dear and most selected friend, Signior Lorenzo di Pazzi". What
might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? Nay, pray you be covered.

SER. Signior Prospero.

LOR. SE. Signior Prospero? A young gentleman of the family of Strozzi, is
he not?

SER. Ay, sir, the same: Signior Thorello, the rich Florentine merchant
married his sister.

[ENTER MUSCO.
LOR. SE. You say very true. -- Musco.

MUS. Sir.

LOR. SE. Make this gentleman drink here.
I pray you go in, sir, an't please you.
[EXEUNT.
Now (without doubt) this letter's to my son.
Well, all is one: I'll be so bold as read it,
Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase;
Both which (I do presume) are excellent,
And greatly varied from the vulgar form,
If Prospero's invention gave them life.
How now! what stuff is here?
"Sir Lorenzo, I muse we cannot see thee at Florence: 'Sblood, I doubt,
Apollo hath got thee to be his Ingle, that thou comest not abroad, to visit
thine old friends: well, take heed of him; he may do somewhat for his
household servants, or so; But for his Retainers, I am sure, I have known
some of them, that have followed him, three, four, five years together,
scorning the world with their bare heels, and at length been glad for a
shift (though no clean shift) to lie a whole winter, in half a sheet
cursing Charles' wain, and the rest of the stars intolerably. But (quis
contra diuos?) well; Sir, sweet villain, come and see me; but spend one
minute in my company, and 'tis enough: I think I have a world of good
jests for thee: oh, sir, I can shew thee two of the most perfect, rare and
absolute true Gulls, that ever thou saw'st, if thou wilt come. 'Sblood,
invent some famous memorable lie, or other, to flap thy Father in the mouth
withal: thou hast been father of a thousand, in thy days, thou could'st be
no Poet else: any scurvy roguish excuse will serve; say thou com'st but to
fetch wool for thine Ink-horn. And then, too, thy Father will say thy wits
are a wool-gathering. But it's no matter; the worse, the better. Any
thing is good enough for the old man. Sir, how if thy Father should see
this now? what would he think of me? Well, (how ever I write to thee) I
reverence him in my soul, for the general good all Florence delivers of
him. Lorenzo, I conjure thee (by what, let me see) by the depth of our
love, by all the strange sights we have seen in our days, (ay, or nights
either,) to come to me to Florence this day. Go to, you shall come, and
let your Muses go spin for once. If thou wilt not, 's hart, what's your
god's name? Apollo? Ay, Apollo. If this melancholy rogue (Lorenzo here)
do not come, grant, that he do turn Fool presently, and never hereafter be
able to make a good jest, or a blank verse, but live in more penury of wit
and invention, than either the Hall-Readle, or Poet Nuntius."
Well, it is the strangest letter that ever I read.
Is this the man, my son so oft hath praised
To be the happiest, and most precious wit
That ever was familiar with Art?
Now, by our Lady's blessed son, I swear,
I rather think him most unfortunate
In the possession of such holy gifts,
Being the master of so loose a spirit.
Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ
With so profane a pen unto his friend?
The modest paper e'en looks pale for grief,
To feel her virgin-check defiled and stained
With such a black and criminal inscription.
Well, I had thought my son could not have strayed
So far from judgment as to mart himself
Thus cheaply in the open trade of scorn
To jeering folly and fantastic 'humour'.
But now I see opinion is a fool,
And hath abused my senses. -- Musco.

[ENTER MUSCO.
MUS. Sir.

LOR. SE. What, is the fellow gone that brought this letter?

MUS. Yes sir, a pretty while since.

LOR. SE. And where's Lorenzo?

MUS. In his chamber, sir.

LOR. SE. He spake not with the fellow, did he?

MUS. No, sir, he saw him not.

LOR. SE. Then, Musco, take this letter, and deliver it unto Lorenzo: but,
sirrah, on your life take you no knowledge I have opened it.

MUS. O Lord, sir, that were a jest indeed.
[EXIT MUS.

LOR. SE. I am resolv'd I will not cross his journey,
Nor will I practise any violent means
To stay the hot and lusty course of youth.
For youth restrained straight grows impatient,
And, in condition, like an eager dog,
Who, ne'er so little from his game withheld,
Turns head and leaps up at his master's throat.
Therefore I'll study, by some milder drift,
To call my son unto a happier shrift.
[EXIT.

SCENE II. -- ENTER LORENZO JUNIOR, WITH MUSCO.

MUS. Yes, sir, on my word he opened it, and read the contents.

LOR. JU. It scarce contents me that he did so. But, Musco, didst thou
observe his countenance in the reading of it, whether he were angry or
pleased?

MUS. Why, sir, I saw him not read it.

LOR. JU. No? how knowest thou then that he opened it?

MUS. Marry, sir, because he charg'd me on my life to tell nobody that he
opened it, which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it
revealed.

LOR. JU. That's true: well, Musco, hie thee in again,
Lest thy protracted absence do lend light,
[ENTER STEPHANO.
To dark suspicion: Musco, be assured
I'll not forget this thy respective love.

STEP. Oh, Musco, didst thou not see a fellow here in a what-sha-call-him
doublet; he brought mine uncle a letter even now?

MUS. Yes, sir, what of him?

STEP. Where is he, canst thou tell?

MUS. Why, he is gone.

STEP. Gone? which way? when went he? how long since?

MUS. It's almost half an hour ago since he rode hence.

STEP. Whoreson scanderbag rogue; oh that I had a horse; by God's lid, I'd
fetch him back again, with heave and ho.

MUS. Why, you may have my master's bay gelding, an you will.

STEP. But I have no boots, that's the spite on it.

MUS. Then it's no boot to follow him. Let him go and hang, sir.

STEP. Ay, by my troth; Musco, I pray thee help to truss me a little;
nothing angers me, but I have waited such a while for him all unlac'd and
untrussed yonder; and how to see he is gone the other way.

MUS. Nay, I pray you stand still, sir.

STEP. I will, I will: oh, how it vexes me.

MUS. Tut, never vex yourself with the thought of such a base fellow as he.

STEP. Nay, to see he stood upon points with me too.

MUS. Like enough so; that was because he saw you had so few at your hose.

STEP. What! Hast thou done? Godamercy, good Musco.

MUS. I marle, sir, you wear such ill-favoured coarse stockings, having so
good a leg as you have.

STEP. Foh! the stockings be good enough for this time of the year; but
I'll have a pair of silk, e'er it be long: I think my leg would shew well
in a silk hose.

MUS. Ay, afore God, would it, rarely well.

STEP. In sadness I think it would: I have a reasonable good leg?

MUS. You have an excellent good leg, sir: I pray you pardon me. I have a
little haste in, sir.

STEP. A thousand thanks, good Musco.
[EXIT.
What, I hope he laughs not at me; an he do --

LOR. JU. Here is a style indeed, for a man's senses to leap over, e'er
they come at it: why, it is able to break the shins of any old man's
patience in the world. My father read this with patience? Then will I be
made an Eunuch, and learn to sing Ballads. I do not deny, but my father
may have as much patience as any other man; for he used to take physic, and
oft taking physic makes a man a very patient creature. But, Signior
Prospero, had your swaggering Epistle here arrived in my father's hands at
such an hour of his patience, I mean, when he had taken physic, it is to be
doubted whether I should have read "sweet villain here". But, what? My
wise cousin; Nay then, I'll furnish our feast with one Gull more toward a
mess; he writes to me of two, and here's one, that's three, i'faith. Oh
for a fourth! now, Fortune, or never, Fortune!

STEP. Oh, now I see who he laughed at: he laughed at somebody in that
letter. By this good light, an he had laughed at me, I would have told
mine uncle.

LOR. JU. Cousin Stephano: good morrow, good cousin, how fare you?

STEP. The better for your asking, I will assure you. I have been all
about to seek you. Since I came I saw mine uncle; and i'faith how have you
done this great while? Good Lord, by my troth, I am glad you are well,
cousin.

LOR. JU. And I am as glad of your coming, I protest to you, for I am sent
for by a private gentleman, my most special dear friend, to come to him to
Florence this morning, and you shall go with me, cousin, if it please you,
not else, I will enjoin you no further than stands with your own consent,
and the condition of a friend.

STEP. Why, cousin, you shall command me an 'twere twice so far as
Florence, to do you good; what, do you think I will not go with you? I
protest --

LOR. JU. Nay, nay, you shall not protest

STEP. By God, but I will, sir, by your leave I'll protest more to my
friend than I'll speak of at this time.

LOR. JU. You speak very well, sir.

STEP. Nay, not so neither, but I speak to serve my turn.

LOR. JU. Your turn? why, cousin, a gentleman of so fair sort as you are,
of so true carriage, so special good parts; of so dear and choice
estimation; one whose lowest condition bears the stamp of a great spirit;
nay more, a man so graced, gilded, or rather, to use a more fit metaphor,
tinfoiled by nature; not that you have a leaden constitution, coz, although
perhaps a little inclining to that temper, and so the more apt to melt with
pity, when you fall into the fire of rage, but for your lustre only, which
reflects as bright to the world as an old ale-wife's pewter again a good
time; and will you now, with nice modesty, hide such real ornaments as
these, and shadow their glory as a milliner's wife doth her wrought
stomacher, with a smoky lawn or a black cyprus? Come, come; for shame do
not wrong the quality of your dessert in so poor a kind; but let the idea
of what you are be portrayed in your aspect, that men may read in your
looks: "Here within this place is to be seen the most admirable, rare, and
accomplished work of nature!" Cousin, what think you of this?

STEP. Marry, I do think of it, and I will be more melancholy and
gentlemanlike than I have been, I do ensure you.

LOR. JU. Why, this is well: now if I can but hold up this humour in him,
as it is begun, Catso for Florence, match him an she can. Come, cousin.

STEP. I'll follow you.

LOR. JU. Follow me! you must go before!

STEP. Must I? nay, then I pray you shew me, good cousin.
[EXEUNT.

SCENE III. -- ENTER SIGNIOR MATHEO, TO HIM COB.

MAT. I think this be the house: what ho!

COB. Who's there? oh, Signior Matheo. God give you good morrow, sir.

MAT. What? Cob? how doest thou, good Cob? does thou inhabit here, Cob?

COB. Ay, sir, I and my lineage have kept a poor house in our days.

MAT. Thy lineage, Monsieur Cob! what lineage, what lineage?

COB. Why, sir, an ancient lineage, and a princely: mine ancestry came
from a king's loins, no worse man; and yet no man neither but 'Herring' the
king of fish, one of the monarchs of the world, I assure you. I do fetch
my pedigree and name from the first red herring that was eaten in Adam and
Eve's kitchen: his 'Cob' was my great, great, mighty great grandfather.

MAT. Why mighty? why mighty?

COB. Oh, it's a mighty while ago, sir, and it was a mighty great Cob.

MAT. How knowest thou that?

COB. How know I? why, his ghost comes to me every night.

MAT. Oh, unsavoury jest: the ghost of a herring Cob.

COB. Ay, why not the ghost of a herring Cob, as well as the ghost of
Rashero Bacono, they were both broiled on the coals? you are a scholar,
upsolve me that now.

MAT. Oh, rude ignorance! Cob, canst thou shew me of a gentleman, one
Signior Bobadilla, where his lodging is?

COB. Oh, my guest, sir, you mean?

MAT. Thy guest, alas! ha, ha.

COB. Why do you laugh, sir? do you not mean Signior Bobadilla?

MAT. Cob, I pray thee advise thyself well: do not wrong the gentleman,
and thyself too. I dare be sworn he scorns thy house; he! he lodge in
such a base obscure place as thy house? Tut, I know his disposition so
well, he would not lie in thy bed if thou'dst give it him.

COB. I will not give it him. Mass, I thought somewhat was in it, we could
not get him to bed all night. Well sir, though he lie not on my bed, he
lies on my bench, an't please you to go up, sir, you shall find him with
two cushions under his head, and his cloak wrapt about him, as though he
had neither won nor lost, and yet I warrant he ne'er cast better in his
life than he hath done to-night.

MAT. Why, was he drunk?

COB. Drunk, sir? you hear not me say so; perhaps he swallow'd a tavern
token, or some such device, sir; I have nothing to do withal: I deal with
water and not with wine. Give me my tankard there, ho! God be with you,
sir; it's six o'clock: I should have carried two turns by this, what ho!
my stopple, come.

MAT. Lie in a water-bearer's house, a gentleman of his note? Well, I'll
tell him my mind.
[EXIT.

COB. What, Tib, shew this gentleman up to Signior Bobadilla: oh, an my
house were the Brazen head now, faith it would e'en cry moe fools yet: you
should have some now, would take him to be a gentleman at least; alas, God
help the simple, his father's an honest man, a good fishmonger, and so
forth: and now doth he creep and wriggle into acquaintance with all the
brave gallants and they flout him invincibly. He useth every day to a
merchant's house, (where I serve water) one M. Thorello's; and here's the
jest, he is in love with my master's sister, and calls her mistress: and
there he sits a whole afternoon sometimes, reading of these same
abominable, vile, (a pox on them, I cannot abide them!) rascally verses,
Poetry, poetry, and speaking of 'Interludes', 'twill make a man burst to
hear him: and the wenches, they do so jeer and tihe at him; well, should
they do as much to me, I'd forswear them all, by the life of Pharaoh,
there's an oath: how many water-bearers shall you hear swear such an oath?
oh, I have a guest, (he teacheth me) he doth swear the best of any man
christened. By Phoebus, By the life of Pharaoh, By the body of me, As I am
gentleman, and a soldier: such dainty oaths; and withal he doth take this
same filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest; it would do a man
good to see the fume come forth at his nostrils: well, he owes me forty
shillings, (my wife lent him out of her purse; by sixpence a time,) besides
his lodging; I would I had it: I shall have it, he saith, next Action.
Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care will kill a cat, up-tails all, and a pox
on the hangman.
[EXIT.

[BOBADILLA DISCOVERS HIMSELF; ON A BENCH; TO HIM TIB.

BOB. Hostess, hostess.

TIB. What say you, sir?

BOB. A cup of your small beer, sweet hostess.

TIB. Sir, there's a gentleman below would speak with you.

BOB. A gentleman? (God's so) I am not within.

TIB. My husband told him you were, sir.

BOB. What a plague! what meant he?

MAT. Signior Bobadilla.
[MATHEO WITHIN.

BOB. Who's there? (take away the bason, good hostess) come up, sir.

TIB. He would desire you to come up, sir; you come into a cleanly house here.

MAT. God save you, sir, God save you.

[ENTER MATHEO.

BOB. Signior Matheo, is't you, sir? please you sit down.

MAT. I thank you, good Signior, you may see I am somewhat audacious.

BOB. Not so, Signior, I was requested to supper yesternight by a sort of
gallants, where you were wished for, and drunk to, I assure you.

MAT. Vouchsafe me by whom, good Signior.

BOB. Marry, by Signior Prospero, and others; why, hostess, a stool here
for this gentleman.

MAT. No haste, sir, it is very well.

BOB. Body of me, it was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce
open mine eyes yet; I was but new risen as you came; how passes the day
abroad, sir? you can tell.

MAT. Faith, some half hour to seven: now trust me, you have an exceeding
fine lodging here, very neat, and private.

BOB. Ay, sir, sit down. I pray you, Signior Matheo, in any case possess
no gentlemen of your acquaintance with notice of my lodging.

MAT. Who? I, sir? no.

BOB. Not that I need to care who know it, but in regard I would not be so
popular and general as some be.

MAT. True, Signior, I conceive you.

BOB. For do you see, sir, by the heart of myself, (except it be to some
peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as
yourself, or so,) I could not extend thus far.

MAT. O Lord, sir! I resolve so.

BOB. What new book have you there? What? 'Go by Hieronymo'.

MAT. Ay, did you ever see it acted? is't not well penned?

BOB. Well penned: I would fain see all the Poets of our time pen such
another play as that was; they'll prate and swagger, and keep a stir of art
and devices, when (by God's so) they are the most shallow, pitiful fellows
that live upon the face of the earth again.

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