Enter KNOWELL.
Know.
I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter,
Sent to my son; nor leave t' admire the change
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth
Within the kingdom, since myself was one—-
When I was young, he lived not in the stews
Durst have conceived a scorn, and utter'd it,
On a gray head; age was authority
Against a buffoon, and a man had then
A certain reverence paid unto his years,
That had none due unto his life: so much
The sanctity of some prevail'd for others.
But now we all are fallen; youth, from their fear,
And age, from that which bred it, good example.
Nay, would ourselves were not the first, even parents,
That did destroy the hopes in our own children;
Or they not learn'd our vices in their cradles,
And suck'd in our ill customs with their milk;
Ere all their teeth be born, or they can speak,
We make their palates cunning; the first words
We form their tongues with, are licentious jests:
Can it call whore? cry bastard? O, then, kiss it!
A witty child! can't swear? the father's darling!
Give it two plums. Nay, rather than't shall learn
No bawdy song, the mother herself will teach it!—-
But this is in the infancy, the days
Of the long coat; when it puts on the breeches,
It will put off all this: Ay, it is like,
When it is gone into the bone already!
No, no; this dye goes deeper than the coat,
Or shirt, or skin; it stains into the liver,
And heart, in some; and, rather than it should not,
Note what we fathers do! look how we live!
What mistresses we keep! at what expense,
In our sons' eyes! where they may handle our gifts,
Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance,
Taste of the same provoking meats with us,
To ruin of our states! Nay, when our own
Portion is fled, to prey on the remainder,
We call them into fellowship of vice;
Bait 'em with the young chamber-maid, to seal,
And teach 'em all bad ways to buy affliction.
This is one path: but there are millions more,
In which we spoil our own, with leading them.
Well, I thank heaven, I never yet was he
That travell'd with my son, before sixteen,
To shew him the Venetian courtezans;
Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made,
To my sharp boy, at twelve; repeating still
The rule, Get money; still, get money, boy;
No matter by what means; money will do
More, boy, than my lord's letter. Neither have I
Drest snails or mushrooms curiously before him,
Perfumed my sauces, and taught him how to make them;
Preceding still, with my gray gluttony,
At all the ord'naries, and only fear'd
His palate should degenerate, not his manners.
These are the trade of fathers now; however,
My son, I hope, hath met within my threshold
None of these household precedents, which are strong,
And swift, to rape youth to their precipice.
But let the house at home be ne'er so clean
Swept, or kept sweet from filth, nay dust and cobwebs,
If he will live abrwith his companions,
In dung and leystals, it is worth a fear;
Nor is the danger of conversing less
Than all that I have mention'd of example.
Enter BRAIN WORM, disguised as before.
Brai. My master! nay, faith, have at you; I am flesh'd now, I have
sped so well. [Aside.] Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the
estate of a poor soldier; lam ashamed of this base course of
life,—God's my comfort—but extremity provokes me to't: what
remedy?
Know. I have not for you, now.
Brai. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary
custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man
I have been: a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.
Know. Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied.
Brai. Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part of a kind
gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer,
a matter of small value: the king of heaven shall pay you, and I
shall rest thankful: Sweet worship—
Know. Nay, an you be so importunate
Brai. Oh, tender sir! need will have its course: I was not made to
this vile use. Well, the edge of the enemy could not have abated me
so much: it's hard when a man hath served in his prince's cause,
and be thus. [Weeps.] Honourable worship, let me derive a small
piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of
time. By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night
for a poor supper; I had suck'd the hilts long before, am a pagan
else: Sweet honour—
Know.
Believe me, I am taken with some wonder,
To think a fellow of thy outward presence,
Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind,
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base.
Art thou a man? and sham'st thou not to beg,
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy election.
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman,
Or honest labour; nay, what can I name,
But would become thee better than to beg:
But men of thy condition feed on sloth,
As cloth the beetle on the dung she breeds in;
Nor caring how the metal of your minds
Is eaten with the rust of idleness.
Now, afore me, whate'er he be, that should
Relieve a person of thy quality,
While thou insist'st in this loose desperate course,
I would esteem the sin not thine, but his.
Brai. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so—-
Know.
Ay,
You'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.
Brai. Alas, sir, where should a man seek? in the wars; there's no
ascent by desert in these days; but—and for service, would it
were as soon purchased, as wished for! the air's my comfort.—-
[Sighs.]—-l know what I would say.
Know. What's thy name?
Brai. Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir.
Know. Fitz-Sword!
Say that a man should entertain thee now,
Wouldst thou be honest, humble, just, and true?
Brai. Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier—-
Know. Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths; speak plainly,
man, what think'st thou of my words?
Brai. Nothing, sir, but wish my fortunes were as happy as my
service should be honest.
Know.
Well, follow me; I'll prove thee, if thy deeds
Will carry a proportion to thy words. [Exit.
Brai. Yes, sir, straight; I'll but garter my hose. Oh that my belly
were hoop'd now, for I am ready to burst with laughing! never was
bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years
to betray himself thus! now shall I be possest of all his counsels;
and, by that conduit, my young master. Well, he is resolved to
prove my honesty; faith, and I'm resolved to prove his patience:
Oh, I shall abuse him intolerably. This small piece of service will
bring him clean out of love with the soldier for ever. He will
never come within the sign of it, the sight of a cassock, or a
musket-rest again. He will hate the musters at Mile-end for it, to
his dying day. It's no matter, let the world think me a bad
counterfeit, if I cannot give him the slip at an instant: why, this
is better than to have staid his journey: well, I'll follow him.
Oh, how I long to be employed!
[Exit.
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