THO' 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 three-score 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 to-day, 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 afear'd
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 shew 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,

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 have 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 self-same humour he is now, Dreaming on nought 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 judgment,

And reason taught me better to distinguish
The vain from the useful learnings—

Enter Master STEPHEN.

Cousin Stephen!

What news with you, that you are here so early? Step. Nothing, but e'en come to see how you do, uncle.

Kno. That's kindly done, you are welcome, coz. Step. Ay, I know that, sir. I would not ha' come else. How doth my cousin Edward, uncle? Kno. O, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt he be 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.

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

Step. No wosse, but I'll practise against the 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. O, most ridiculous!

Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle. Why, you know, an' a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-adays, I'll not give a rush for 'em. They are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for no gallant's company without them. And by Gad's lid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every hum-drum; hang them scroyls, there's nothing in them in the world. What do you

talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden, 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 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.

Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb: go to ! Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak. Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you. Have 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've done? O, 'tis comely! this will make you a gentleman! Well, cousin, well! I see you are e'en past hope Of all reclaim. Ay, so, now you're told on it, You look another way.

Step. 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,
On 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 have you sober, and contain yourself;
Not, that your sail be bigger than your boat:
But moderate your expences now (at first),
As you may keep the same proportion still.
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy, mere borrowed thing,
From dead men's dust and bones; and none of
yours,

Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?
Enter a Servant.

Serv. Save you, gentlemen.

Step. 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 conthon law) Master Stephen, as simple as I stand here; if my cousin die (as there is hope he will). I have a pretty living o' my own, too, beside, hard by here. Serv. In good time, sir.

Step. In good time, sir! why, and in very good time, sir. You do not flout, friend, do you? Serv. Not I, sir.