A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ix Part 74

COM. SEN. Crave my counsel! Tell me what manner of man he is? Can he entertain a man in his house? Can he hold his velvet cap in one hand, and vail[223] his bonnet with the other? Knows he how to become a scarlet gown? Hath he a pair of fresh posts at his door?[224]

PHA. He's about some hasty state matters. He talks of posts, methinks.

COM. SEN. Can he part a couple of dogs brawling in the street? Why, then, choose him mayor. Upon my credit, he'll prove a wise officer.

PHA. Save you, my lord; I have attended your leisure this hour.

COM. SEN. Fie upon't! What a toil have I had to choose them a mayor yonder? There's a fusty currier will have this man; there's a chandler wipes his nose on his sleeve, and swears it shall not be so; there's a mustard-maker looks as keen as vinegar will have another. O, this many-headed mult.i.tude, 'tis a hard matter to please them!

PHA. Especially where the mult.i.tude is so well-headed. But I pray you, where's Master Memory? Hath he forgotten himself, that he is not here?

COM. SEN. 'Tis high time he were at court. I would he would come.

SCAENA QUARTA.

MEMORY, _an old decrepit man, in a black velvet ca.s.sock,[225]

a taffeta gown furred with white grogram, a white beard, velvet slippers, a watch, staff, &c_. ANAMNESTES, _his page, in a grave satin suit, purple buskins, a garland of bays and rosemary, a gimmal ring[226] with one link hanging, ribbons and threads tied to some of his fingers; in his hand a pair of table-books, &c_.

MEMORY, ANAMNESTES, PHANTASTES, COMMUNIS SENSUS.

MEM. How soon a wise man shall have his wish!

COM. SEN. Memory, the season of your coming is very ripe.

PHA. Had you stayed a little longer, 'twould have been stark rotten.

MEM. I am glad I saved it from the swine. 'Sprecious, I have forgot something. O, my purse, my purse! Why, Anamnestes, Remembrance? that wild boy is always gadding. I remember he was at my heels even now, and now the vile rascal is vanished.

PHA. Is he not here? Why, then in my imagination he's left behind.

Hollo! Anamnestes, Remembrance!

ANA. [_Running in haste_.] Anon, anon, sir; anon, anon, sir; anon, anon, sir; anon, anon, sir.

MEM. Ha, sirrah, what a brawling's here?

ANA. I do but give you an answer with, anon, sir.

MEM. You answer sweetly; I have called you three or four times one after another.

ANA. Sir, I hope I answered you three or four times, one in the neck of another. But if your good worship have lent me any more calls, tell me, and I'll repay them, as I'm a gentleman.

MEM. Leave your tattle. Had you come at first, I had not spent so much breath in vain.

ANA. The truth is, sir, the first time you called I heard you not: the second, I understood you not: the third, I knew not whether it were you or no: the fourth, I could not tell where you were, and that's the reason I answered so suddenly.

MEM. Go, sirrah: run: seek everywhere. I have lost my purse somewhere.

ANA. I go, sir. _Go, sirrah, seek, run; I have lost; bring_! here's a dog's life, with a pox! Shall I be always used like a water-spaniel?

[_Exit_ ANAMNESTES.

COM. SEN. Come, good Master Register, I wonder you be so late now-a-days.

MEM. My good lord, I remember that I knew your grandfather in this your place, and I remember your grandfather's great grandfather's grandfather's father's father; yet in those days I never remember that any of them could say that Register Memory ever broke one minute of his appointment.

COM. SEN. Why, good father, why are you so late now-a-days?

MEM. Thus 'tis; the most customers I remember myself to have, are, as your lordship knows, scholars; and now-a-days the most of them are become critics, bringing me home such paltry things to lay up for them, that I can hardly find them again.

PHA. Jupiter, Jupiter, I had thought these flies had bit none but myself: do critics tickle you, i'faith?

MEM. Very familiarly: for they must know of me, forsooth, how every idle word is written in all the musty moth-eaten ma.n.u.scripts, kept in all the old libraries in every city betwixt England and Peru.

COM. SEN. Indeed, I have noted these times to affect antiquities more than is requisite.

MEM. I remember, in the age of a.s.saracus and Ninus, and about the wars of Thebes and the siege of Troy, there were few things committed to my charge, but those that were well worthy the preserving; but now every trifle must be wrapped up in the volume of eternity. A rich pudding-wife or a cobbler cannot die but I must immortalise his name with an epitaph; a dog cannot p.i.s.s in a n.o.bleman's shoe, but it must be sprinkled into the chronicles; so that I never could remember my treasure more full, and never emptier of honourable and true heroical actions.

PHA. By your leave, Memory, you are not alone troubled; chronologers many of them are so fantastic, as when they bring a captain to the combat, lifting up his revengeful arm to dispart the head of his enemy, they'll hold up his arms so long, till they have bestowed three or four pages in describing the gold hilts of his threatening falchion: so that in my fancy the reader may well wonder his adversary stabs him not, before he strikes. Moreover, they are become most palpable flatterers, always begging at my gates for invention.

COM. SEN. This is a great fault in a chronologer to turn parasite: an absolute historian should be in fear of none;[227] neither should he write anything more than truth for friendship, or less for hate; but keep himself equal and constant in all his discourses. But, for us, we must be contented; for, as our honours increase, so must the burthen of the cares of our offices urge us to wax heavy.

PHA. But not till our backs break; 'slud, there was never any so haunted as I am: this day there comes a sophister to my house, knocks at my door; his errand being asked, forsooth his answer was to borrow a fair suit of conceits out of my wardrobe, to apparel a show he had in hand: and what think you is the plot?

COM. SEN. Nay, I know not, for I am little acquainted with such toys.

PHA. Meanwhile, he's somewhat acquainted with you, for he's bold to bring your person upon the stage.

COM. SEN. What, me? I can't remember that I was ever brought upon the stage before.

PHA. Yes, you, and you, and myself with all my fantastical tricks and humours: but I trow I have fitted him with fooleries: I trust he'll never trouble me again.

COM. SEN. O times! O manners! when boys dare to traduce men in authority; was ever such an attempt heard?

MEM. I remember there was: for, to say the truth, at my last being at Athens--it is now, let me see, about one thousand eight hundred years ago--I was at a comedy of Aristophanes' making.[228] I shall never forget it; the arch-governor of Athens took me by the hand, and placed me; and there, I say, I saw Socrates abused most grossly, himself being then a present spectator: I remember he sat full against me, and did not so much as show the least countenance of discontent.

COM. SEN. In those days it was lawful; but now the abuse of such liberty is insufferable.

PHA. Think what you will of it, I think 'tis done, and I think it is acting by this time: hark, hark; what drumming's yonder! I'll lay my life they are come to present the show I spake of.

COM. SEN. It may be so; stay, we'll see what 'tis.

SCAENA QUINTA.