WIT WITHOUT MONEY. A COMEDY. BY JOHN FLETCHER.

The humour of a Gallant who will not be persuaded to keep his Lands, but chuses to live by his Wits rather.

VALENTINE'S Uncle. Merchant, who has his Mortgage. Mer. When saw you Valentine?

Unc. Not since the horse race,

He's taken up with those that woo the widow.

Mer. How can he live by snatches from such people? He bore a worthy mind.

Unc. Alas, he's sunk,

His means are gone, he wants; and, which is worse,
Takes a delight in doing so.

Mer. That's strange,

Unc. Runs lunatic if you but talk of states;

He can't be brought (now he has spent his own)
To think there is inheritance, or means,

But all a common riches; all men bound
To be his bailiffs.

Mer. This is something dangerous.

Unc. No gentleman, that has estate, to use it
In keeping house or followers: for those ways
He cries against for eating sins, dull surfeits,
Cramming of serving-men, mustering of beggars,
Maintaining hospitals for kites and curs,

Grounding their fat faiths upon old country proverbs, "God bless the founders:" these he would have ventur’d

Into

Into more manly uses, wit and carriage ;

And never thinks of state or means, the ground-works: Holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies, And starve their understandings.

Valentine joins them.

Val. Now to your business, uncle.

Unc. To your state then.

Val. 'Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name't no more, "Tis that I pray against, and heaven has heard me ; I tell you, sir, I am more fearful of it,

(I mean, of thinking of more lands or livings)
Than sickly men are o' travelling o' Sundays,
For being quell'd with carriers; out upon't;
Caveat emptor; let the fool out-sweat it,
That thinks he has got a catch on't.
Unc. This is madness,

To be a wilful beggar.

Val. I am mad then,

And so I mean to be; will that content you?

How bravely now I live! how jocund!

How near the first inheritance! without fears!

How free from title troubles!

Unc. And from means too!

Val. Means

Why, all good men's my means; my wit's my plough; The town's my stock, tavern's my standing-house,

(And all the world know, there's no want:) all gentlemen That love society, love me; all purses

That wit and pleasure opens, are my tenants;

Every man's clothes fit me; the next fair lodging

Is but my next remove; and when I please

To be more eminent, and take the air,

A piece is levied, and a coach prepar'd,

And I go I care not whither: what need state here?
Unc. But say these means were honest, will they last,

sir?

Val. Far longer than your jerkin, and wear fairer.

Your

Your mind's enclos'd, nothing lies open nobly;

Your very thoughts are hinds, that work on nothing
But daily sweat and trouble: were my way
So full of dirt as this ('tis true) I'd shift it.
Are my acquaintance Grasiers? But, sir, know;
No man that I'm allied to in my living,
But makes it equal whether his own use
Or my necessity pull first; nor is this forc'd,
But the meer quality and poisure of goodness,
And do you think I venture nothing equal?
Unc. You pose me, cousin.

Val. What's my knowledge, uncle?

Is't not worth money? what's my understanding?
Travel? reading? wit? all these digested? my daily
Making men, some to speak, that too much flegm
Had froz'n up; some, that spoke too much, to hold
Their peace, and put their tongues to pensions; some
To wear their cloaths, and some to keep'em: these
Are nothing, uncle? besides these ways, to teach
The way of nature, a manly love, community
To all that are deservers, not examining

How much or what's done for them; it is wicked.
Are not these ways as honest, as persecuting
The starv'd inheritance with musty corn,
The very rats were fain to run away from?
Or selling rotten wood by the pound, like spices,
Which gentlemen do after burn by the ounces?
Do not I know your way of feeding beasts
With grains, and windy stuff, to blow up butchers?
Your racking pastures, that have eaten up
As many singing shepherds, and their issues,
As Andaluzia breeds? These are authentic.
I tell you, sir, I would not change way with you;
Unless it were, to sell your state that hour,
And (if 'twere possible) to spend it then too;

For all your beans in Rumnillo: now you know me.for

For The wit of Fletcher is excellent like his serious scenes: but there is something strained and far fetched in both. He is too mistrustful

?

A TRAGEDY. BY

THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

JOHN FLETCHER.102

Three Queens, whose Lords were slain and their bodies denied burial by Creon the cruel King of Thebes, seek redress from Theseus, Duke of Athens, on the day of his marriage with Hippolita, Queen of the Amazons. The first Queen falls down at the feet of Theseus; the second at the feet of Hippolita, his bride; and the third implores the mediation of Emilia, his Sister..

1st. Qu. to Thes. For pity's sake, and true gentility, Hear and respect me.

2d. 2u. to Hip. For your mother's sake,

And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones, Hear and respect me.

3d. Qu. to Emil. Now for the love of him whom Jove hath mark'd

The honour of your bed, and for the sake

Of clear virginity, be advocate

For us and our distresses: this good deed
Shall raze you out of the book of trespasses
All you are set down there.

Thes. Sad lady, rise.

Hip. Stand up.

Emil. No knees to me.

What

trustful of Nature; he always goes a little on one side of her. Shakspeare chose her without a reserve and had riches, power, understanding, and long life, with her, for a dowry.

102 Fletcher is said to have been assisted in this Play by Shakspeare.

What woman I may stead, that is distrest,

Does bind me to her.

Thes. What's your request? Deliver you for all.

1st. Qu. We are three queens, whose sovereigns fell before

The wrath of cruel Creon; who endure

The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,

And pecks of crows, in the foul field of Thebes.
He will not suffer us to burn their bones,

To urn their ashes, nor to take th❜offence
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye
Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds
With stench of our slain lords. Oh pity, duke,
Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd sword
That does good turns to th' world; give us the bones
Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them;
And, of thy boundless goodness, take some note
That for our crowned heads we have no roof,
Save this which is the lion's and the bear's,
And vault to every thing.

Thes. Pray you kneel not.

I was transported with your speech, and suffer'd
Your knees to wrong themselves: I have heard the for-

tunes

Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting,
As wakes my vengeance and revenge for them.

King Capaneus was your lord: the day

That he should marry you, at such a season
As now it is with me, I met your groom;
By Mars's altar, you were that time fair,
Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses,

Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreath
Was then not thrash'd nor blasted: Fortune at you
Dimpled her cheek with smiles: Hercules, our kinsman,
(Then weaker than your eyes) laid by his club;
He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide,

And swore his sinews thaw'd. Oh grief, and time,
Fearful consumers, you will all devour.

1st. Qu. Oh I hope some god,

Some