Every Man in His Humour. A Comedy
Jonson, Ben
Every Man in His Humour. A Comedy
Ben Jonson
Every Man in His Humour
A Comedy.
Acted in the yeere 1598.
By the then Lord Chamberlaine his Servants
Iuven.
Haud tamen invideas vati, quem pulpita pascunt.
To the Most Learned, and My Honoured Friend, Mr Camden, Clarentiaux
Sir,
There are, no doubt, a supercilious race in the world, who will esteem all office done you in this kind an injury; so solemn a vice it is with them to use the authority of their ignorance to the crying-down of poetry or the professors. But my gratitude must not leave to correct their error; since I am none of those that can suffer the benefits conferred upon my youth to perish with my age. It is a frail memory that remembers but present things. And had the favour of the times so conspired with my disposition, as it could have brought forth other, or better, you had had the same proportion and number of the fruits, the first. Now, I pray you to accept this, such wherein neither the confession of my manners shall make you blush; nor of my studies, repent you to have been the instructor; and, for the profession of my thankfulness, I am sure it will, with good men, find either praise, or excuse.
Your true lover,
BEN JONSON
The Persons of the Play
Knowell, an old gentleman
Edward Knowell, his son
Brainworm, the father's man
Master Stephen, a country gull
Downright, a plain squire
Wellbred, his half-brother
Justice Clement, an old merry magistrate
Roger Formal, his clerk
Kitely, a merchant
Dame Kitely, his wife
Mistress Bridget, his sister
Master Matthew, the town gull
Cash, Kitely's man
Cob, a waterbearer
Tib, his wife
Captain Bobadil, a Paul's-man
The Scene
London
Prologue
Though need make many Poets, and some such
As art and nature have not bettered much;
Yet ours, for want, hath not so loved the stage,
As he dare serve the ill customs of the age:
Or purchase your delight at such a rate,
As, for it, he himself must justly hate.
To make a child, now swaddled, to proceed
Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed,
Past threescore years: or, with three rusty swords,
And help of some few foot-and-half-foot words,
Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars:
And in the tiring-house bring wounds to scars.
He rather prays you will be pleased to see
One such, today, as other plays should be.
Where neither Chorus wafts you o'er the seas;
Nor creaking throne comes down, the boys to please;
Nor nimble squib is seen, to make afeared
The gentlewomen; nor rolled bullet heard
To say it thunders; nor tempestuous drum
Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come;
But deeds, and language, such as men do use:
And persons, such as Comedy would choose,
When she would show an image of the times,
And sport with human follies, not with crimes.
Except, we make 'em such by loving still
Our popular errors, when we know they're ill.
I mean such errors, as you'll all confess
By laughing at them, they deserve no less:
Which when you heartily do, there's hope left, then,
You, that have so graced monsters, may like men.
Act I
Scene 1
Before Knowell's house
Enter Knowell, Brainworm
KNO.
A goodly day toward! And a fresh morning! Brainworm,
Call up your young master: bid him rise, sir.
Tell him I have some business to employ him.
BRA.
I will, sir, presently.
KNO.
But hear you, sirrah,
If he be at his book, disturb him not.
BRA.
Well, sir.
Exit
KNO.
How happy yet should I esteem myself
Could I, by any practice, wean the boy
From one vain course of study he affects.
He is a scholar, if a man may trust
The liberal voice of fame, in her report
Of good account, in both our universities,
Either of which hath favoured him with graces:
But their indulgence must not spring in me
A fond opinion that he cannot err.
Myself was once a student; and, indeed,
Fed with the selfsame humour he is now,
Dreaming on naught but idle poetry,
That fruitless and unprofitable art,
Good unto none, but least to the professors,
Which then, I thought the mistress of all knowledge:
But since, time, and the truth have waked my judgement,
And reason taught me better to distinguish
The vain from the useful learnings.
Enter Stephen
Cousin Stephen!
What news with you, that you are here so early?
STE. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you do, uncle.
KNO. That's kindly done, you are welcome, coz.
STE. Aye, I know that, sir, I would not ha' come else.
How do my cousin Edward, uncle?
KNO. Oh, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt he be scarce stirring yet.
STE. 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.
KNO. Why, I hope you will not a-hawking now, will you?
STE. No wusse; but I'll practise against next year, uncle: I have bought me a hawk, and a hood and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.
KNO. Oh, most ridiculous.
STE. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle: why you know, an' a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages nowadays, I'll not give a rush for him. They are more studied than the Greek or the Latin. He is for no gallant's company without 'em. And by gad's lid, I scorn it, aye, so I do, to be a consort for every humdrum, hang 'em scroyles, there's nothing in 'em, in the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hoxton, I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury? Or the citizens, that come a-ducking to Islington ponds? A fine jest i' faith! 'Slid, a gentleman mun show himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry, I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no novice.
KNO.
You are a prodigal absurd cockscomb. Go to.
Nay, never look at me, it's I that speak.
Take it as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you.
Ha' you not yet found means enow, to waste
That which your friends have left you, but you must
Go cast away your money on a kite,
And know not how to keep it when you ha' done?
Oh, it's comely! This will make you a gentleman!
Well, cousin, well! I see you are e'en past hope
Of all reclaim. Aye, so, now you are told on it,
You look another way.
STE.
What would you ha' me do?
KNO.
What would I have you do? I'll tell you, kinsman,
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive,
That would I have you do: and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,
And you be left, like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
I'd ha' you sober, and contain yourself;
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat:
But moderate your expenses now, at first,
As you may keep the same proportion still.
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy and mere borrowed thing,
From dead men's dust and bones: and none of yours
Except you make or hold it. Who comes here?
Scene 2
Enter Servant
SER. Save you, gentlemen.
STE. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet you are welcome, and I assure you, mine uncle here is a man of a thousand a year, Middlesex land: he has but one son in all the world, I am his next heir (at the common law) Master Stephen, as simple as I stand here, if my cousin die (as there's hope he will) I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside, hard-by here.
SER.
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