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A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 74

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TOSS. What think you now of Tenacity?

Was he your friend or your foe?

MON. Ah, that wretch Tenacity hath brought me to all this woe.

'Twas he, indeed, that sought to destroy me, In that he would never use or employ[410] me: But, Prodigality, sweet Prodigality, Help to provide some present remedy: Let me not be thus miserably spilt; Ease me of this, and use me as thou wilt.

Yet had I rather live in state bare and thin, Than in this monstrous plight that now I am in: So fatty, so foggy, so out of all measure, That in myself I take no kind of pleasure.



PROD. Why, rise up then quickly, and let us be gone.

MON. Friends, you must help me, I cannot rise alone.

DICER. Come on, my sweet Money, we must have a mean To turn this foggy fat to a finer lean.

MON. The sooner the better.

TOSS. Nay, Money, doubt not, but by sweat or by vomit I warrant thee, boy, shortly thou shalt be rid from it.

PROD. Rid, quotha? if shaving, or boxing, or scouring, Or 'nointing, or sc.r.a.ping, or purging, or blood-letting, Or rubbing, or paring, or chafing, or fretting, Or ought else will rid it, he shall want no ridding. [_Aside_.

Come on, Money, let's be jogging!

_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.

PRODIGALITY, DICER, &c., _to whom enter_ CONSTABLE, _making hue and cry, and_ HOST.[411]

CON. Thieves, neighbours, thieves! come forth, beset the country.

PROD. Hark! list a while, what might this clamour be?

DICER. 'Zwounds, we are undone, Prodigality; The constables come after with hue and cry.

TOSS. O Cerberus, what shall we do?

PROD. Stand back, lie close, and let them pa.s.s by.

[_They retire_.

CON. Thieves, thieves! O vile, O detestable deed!

Thieves, neighbours! come forth, away, abroad with speed.

Where dwell these constables?

HOST. Why? what's the matter, friend, I pray?

CON. Why, thieves, man, I tell thee, come away.

HOST. Thieves, i'faith? Wife! my scull, my jack, my brown bill.

CON. Come away quickly.

HOST. d.i.c.k, Tom, Will, ye wh.o.r.esons, make ye all ready, and haste; But let me hear, how stands the case?

[_Follows_ CONSTABLE.[412]

CON. Marry, sir, here-by. Not far from this place, A plain simple man, riding on his a.s.s, Meaning home to his country in G.o.d's peace to pa.s.s, By certain roisters, most furious and mad, Is spoiled and robbed of all that he had.

And yet not contented, when they had his money, But the villains have also murdered him most cruelly.

HOST. Good G.o.d, for his mercy!

CON. It was my hap to come then present[ly] by him, And found him dead, with twenty wounds upon him.

HOST. But what became of them?

CON. They fled this way.

HOST. Then, neighbour, let us here no longer stay, But hence and lay the country roundabout: They shall be quickly found, I have no doubt.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ VIRTUE _and_ EQUITY, _with other attendants_.

VIR. My lords, you see how far this worldly state perverted is; From good declin'd, inclined still to follow things amiss: You see but very few that make of Virtue any price: You see all sorts with hungry wills run headlong into vice.

EQ. We see it oft, we sorrow much, and heartily lament, That of himself man should not have a better government.

VER. The very beasts that be devoid of reason, dull and dumb, By nature learn to shun those things whereof their hurt may come.

If man were then but as a beast, only by nature taught, He would also by nature learn to shun what things are nought.

But man with reason is endued: he reason hath for stay; Which reason should restrain his will from going much astray.

EQ. Madam, 'tis true: Where reason rules, there is the golden mean.

VER. But most men stoop to stubborn will, Which conquereth reason clean.

EQ. And will again to fancy yields, Which twain be special guides, That train a man to tread ill paths, Where ease and pleasure bides.

VER. No ease, no pleasure, can be good, that is not got with pains.

EQ. That is the cause from Virtue's love Man's fancy still refrains.

VER. And pains, I think, they feel likewise, That unto vice do bend.

EQ. They feel, no doubt: but yet such pains Come not before the end.

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A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 74 summary

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