The Persons in the Play

BLAZE*a herald painter*
JOYLESSan old country gentleman
[DOCTOR] Hughball*a doctor of physic
BARBARA*wife to Blaze
MARTHA*wife to Peregrine
LETOY*a fantastic lord
QUAILPIPE*his curate
PEREGRINEson to Joyless
DIANA*wife to Joyless
BYPLAY*a conceited* servant to Letoy
TRUELOCK*a close friend to Letoy
Followers* of the Lord Letoywho are actors in the byplay

The Prologue.

[Enter the PROLOGUE*.]

2PrologueOpinion, which our author cannot court,
        (For the dear daintiness of it) has of late
        From the old way of plays possessed a sort
        Only to run to those that carry state
        In scene magnificent* and language high,
        And clothes worth all the rest, except the action.
        And such are only good, those leaders cry;
        And into that belief draw on a faction
        That must despise all sportive, merry wit,
        Because some such great play had none in it.

        But it is known (peace to their memories!)
        The poets late sublimèd from our age*,
        Who best could understand, and best devise
        Works that must ever live upon the stage,
        Did well approve, and lead this humble way,
        Which we are bound to travel* in tonight;
        And, though it be not traced so well as they
        Discovered it by true Phoebean* light,
        Pardon our just ambition yet that strive
        To keep the weakest branch* o’ th’ stage alive.

        I mean the weakest in their great esteem,
        That count all slight that’s under us or nigh;
        And only those for worthy subjects deem,
        Fetched or reached at (at least) from far or high,
        When low and home-bred subjects have their use,
        As well as those fetched from on high or far;
        And ’tis as hard a labour for the muse
        To move the earth as to dislodge a star.
        See yet those glorious plays; and let their sight
        Your admiration move; these, your delight.[The PROLOGUE exits.]
[Enter] BLAZE [and] JOYLESS.

3Blaze*To me, and to the City, sir, you are welcome,
        And so are all about you: we have long
        Suffered in want* of such fair company.
        But now that time’s calamity* has given way,
        Thanks to high providence, to your kinder visits,
        We are (like half-pined wretches, that have lain
        Long on the planks of sorrow, strictly tied
        To a forced abstinence, from the sight of friends)
        The sweetlier filled with Joyless.

4JoylessAlas, I bring
        Sorrow too much with me to fill one house,
        In the sad number of my family.

5BlazeBe comforted, good sir. My house, which now
        You may be pleased to call your own, is large
        Enough to hold you all; and for your sorrows,
        You came to lose ’em; and I hope the means
        Is readily at hand: the doctor’s coming,
        Who, as by letters I advertised you,
        Is the most promising man to cure your son
        The kingdom yields; it will astonish you
        To hear the marvels he hath done in cures
        Of such distracted ones, as is your son,
        And not so much by bodily physic (no!
        He sends few recipes to th’ apothecaries*)
        As medicine of the mind, which he infuses
        So skilfully, yet by familiar ways,
        That it begets both wonder and delight
        In his observers, while the stupid patient
        Finds health at unawares.

6JoylessYou speak well of him:
        Yet I may fear, my son’s long-grown disease
        Is such he hath not met with.

7BlazeThen I’ll tell you, sir,
        He cured a country gentleman that fell mad
        For spending of his land before he sold it
        (That is: ’twas sold to pay his debts). All went
        That way, for a dead horse*, as one would say!
        He had not money left to buy his dinner
        Upon that whole-sale day. This was a cause
        Might make a gentleman mad, you’ll say; and him
        It did, as mad as landless squire could be;
        This doctor by his art removed his madness,
        And mingled so much wit among his brains
        That, by the over-flowing of it merely,
        He gets and spends five-hundred pound a year now,
        As merrily as any gentleman
        In Derbyshire; I name no man. But this
        Was pretty well, you’ll say.

8JoylessMy son’s disease
        Grows not that way.

9BlazeThere was a lady mad
        (I name no lady) but stark mad she was,
        As any in the country, city, or almost
        In court could be.

10JoylessHow fell she mad?

11BlazeWith study,
        Tedious and painful study. And for what
        Now, can you think?

12JoylessFor painting, or new fashions.
        I cannot think for the philosopher’s stone*.

13BlazeNo, ’twas to find a way to love her husband,
        Because she did not, and her friends rebuked her.

14JoylessWas that so hard to find, if she desired it?

15BlazeShe was seven years in search of it and could not,
        Though she consumed his whole estate by it.

16Joyless’Twas he was mad then.

17BlazeNo: he was not born
        With wit enough to lose. But mad was she
        Until this doctor took her into cure,
        And now she lies as lovingly on a flockbed
        With her own knight, as she had done on down
        With many others (but I name no parties).
        Yet this was well, you’ll say.

18JoylessWould all were well!

19BlazeThen, sir, of officers and men of place,*
        Whose senses were so numbed, they understood not
        Bribes from due fees, and fell on praemunires,
        He has cured divers* that can now distinguish,
        And know both when and how to take of both,
        And grow most safely rich by’t. T’other day
        He set the brains of an attorney right,
        That were quite topsy-turvy overturned
        In a pitch o’er the bar*, so that (poor man)
        For many moons he knew not whether he
        Went on his heels or’s head, till he was brought
        To this rare doctor; now he walk’st* again,
        As upright in his calling, as the boldest
        Amongst ’em. This was well, you’ll say.

20Joyless’Tis much.

21BlazeAnd then for horn-mad citizens, my neighbours,
        He cures them by the dozens, and we live
        As gently with our wives as rams with ewes.

22Joyless"We", do you say? Were you one of his patients?

23Blaze   [Aside]*    ’Slid, he has almost catched me!   [To JOYLESS]   No sir, no.
        I name no parties, I! But wish you merry;
        I strain to make you so, and could tell forty
        Notable cures of his to pass the time
        Until he comes.

24JoylessBut pray, has he the art
        To cure a husband’s jealousy?

25BlazeMine, sir, he did.    [Aside]    ’Sfoot! I am catched again.*

26JoylessBut still you name no party! Pray, how long,
        Good Master Blaze, has this so famous doctor,
        Whom you so well set out, been a professor?

27BlazeNever in public, nor endures the name
        Of doctor, though I call him so, but lives
        With an odd lord in town, that looks like no lord.
        My doctor goes more like a lord than he.
Enter DOCTOR [Hughball].*

        O welcome sir! I sent mine own wife for you:
        Ha’ you brought her home again?

28DoctorShe’s in your house,
        With gentlewomen, who seem to lodge here.

29BlazeYes, sir: this gentleman's wife, and his son’s wife:
        They all ail something, but his son (’tis thought)
        Is falling into madness, and is brought
        Up by his careful father to the town here
        To be your patient. Speak with him about it.

30DoctorHow do you find him, sir? Does his disease
        Take him by fits, or is it constantly
        And at all times the same?

31JoylessFor the most part
        It is only inclining still to worse,
        As he grows more in days*. By all the best
        Conjectures we have met with in the country,
        ’Tis found a most deep melancholy.

32DoctorOf what years is he?

33JoylessOf five and twenty, sir.

34DoctorWas it born with him? Is it natural,
        Or accidental? Have you or his mother
        Been so at any time affected?

        Not she unto her grave; nor I, till then,
        Knew what a sadness meant, though since I have
        In my son’s sad condition, and some crosses
        In my late marriage, which at further time
        I may acquaint you with.

36Blaze   [Aside]*   The old man’s jealous
        Of his young wife! I find him by the question
        He put me to erewhile.

37DoctorIs your son married?

38JoylessDivers* years since; for we had hope a wife
        Might have restrained his travelling thoughts, and so
        Have been a means to cure him; but it failed us.

39DoctorWhat has he in his younger years been most
        Addicted to? What study or what practice?

40JoylessYou have now, sir, found the question, which I think
        Will lead you to the ground of his distemper.

41DoctorThat’s the next way to the cure. Come. Quickly, quickly.

42JoylessIn tender years he always loved to read
        Reports of travels* and of voyages;
        And when young boys like him would tire themselves
        With sports and pastimes and restore their spirits
        Again by meat and sleep, he would whole days
        And nights (sometimes by stealth) be on such books
        As might convey his fancy round the world.

43DoctorVery good. On.

44JoylessWhen he grew up towards twenty,
        His mind was all on fire to be abroad;
        Nothing but travel still was all his aim;
        There was no voyage or foreign expedition
        Be said to be in hand*, but he made suit*
        To be made one in it. His mother and
        Myself opposed him still in all, and strongly
        Against his will, still held him in*; and won
        Him into marriage, hoping that would call
        In his extravagant thoughts, but all prevailed not,
        Nor stayed him (though at home) from travelling
        So far beyond himself that now, too late,
        I wish he had gone abroad to meet his fate.

45DoctorWell, sir, upon good terms I’ll undertake*
        Your son: let’s see him.

46JoylessYet there’s more: his wife, sir.

47DoctorI’ll undertake her too. Is she mad too?

48BlazeThey’ll ha’ mad children then!

49DoctorHold you your peace.

50JoylessAlas, the danger is they will have none:
        He takes no joy in her; and she no comfort
        In him: for though they have been three years wed,
        They are yet ignorant of the marriage-bed.

51DoctorI shall find her the madder of the two then.

52JoylessIndeed, she’s full of passion*, which she utters
        By the effects, as diversely as several
        Objects reflect upon her wand’ring fancy,
        Sometimes in extreme weepings, and anon
        In vehement laughter; now in sullen silence,
        And presently in loudest exclamations.

53DoctorCome, let me see ’em, sir. I’ll undertake
        Her too. Ha’ you any more? How does your wife?

54JoylessSome other time for her.

55DoctorI’ll undertake
        Her too; and you yourself, sir, by your favour
        And some few yellow spots* which I perceive
        About your temples*, may require some counsel.

56Blaze   [Aside]*   So, he has found him.

57JoylessBut my son, my son, sir?*

58BlazeNow, Bab, what news?

59BarbaraThere’s news too much within,
        For any home-bred Christian understanding.

60JoylessHow does my son?

61BarbaraHe is in travail*, sir.

62JoylessHis fit’s upon him?

63BarbaraYes. Pray, Doctor Hughball,
        Play the man-midwife, and deliver him
        Of his huge tympany of news: of monsters,
        Pygmies*, and giants, apes, and elephants,
        Gryphons and crocodiles, men upon women
        And women upon men, the strangest doings!*
        As far beyond all Christendom* as ’tis to’t.

64DoctorHow, how?

65BarbaraBeyond the moon and stars, I think,
        Or Mount in Cornwall* either.

66Blaze   [Aside]*   How prettily like a fool she talks?
        And she were not mine own wife, I could be
        So taken with her.

67Doctor’Tis most wondrous strange.

68BarbaraHe talks much of the kingdom of Cathaya*,
        Of one Great Khan, and goodman Prester John*,
        (Whate’er they be) and says that Khan’s a clown
        Unto the John he speaks of. And that John
        Dwells up almost at Paradise*. But sure his mind
        Is in a wilderness, for there he says
        Are geese that have two heads apiece*, and hens
        That bear more wool* upon their backs than sheep.

69DoctorO Mandeville! Let's to him. Lead* the way, sir.

70BarbaraAnd men with heads like hounds*.

71DoctorEnough, enough.

72BarbaraYou’ll find enough within, I warrant ye.[DOCTOR, BLAZE and JOYLESS exit.]*
           [Aside to audience]*   And here comes the poor mad gentleman’s wife,
Ent[er] MAR[THA].*

        Almost as mad as he: she haunts me all
        About the house to impart something to me.
        Poor heart, I guess her grief and pity her.
        To keep a maidenhead three years after marriage
        Under wed-lock and key!* Insufferable! Monstrous!
        It turns into a wolf within the flesh,
        Not to be fed with chickens and tame pigeons.
        I could wish maids be warned by’t not to marry
        Before they have wit to lose their maiden-heads
        For fear they match with men whose wits are past it.
        What a sad look, and what a sigh was there!
           [To MARTHA]   Sweet Mistress Joyless, how is’t with you now?

73MarthaWhen I shall know, I’ll tell. Pray tell me first,
        How long have you been married?

74Barbara   [Aside]*   Now she is on it.
           [To MARTHA]*   Three years, forsooth.

75MarthaAnd truly so have I;
        We shall agree I see.

76BarbaraIf you’ll be merry.

77MarthaNo woman merrier, now I have met with one
        Of my condition. Three years married, say you? Ha, ha, ha!

78Barbara   [Aside]*   What ails she, trow?

79MarthaThree years married. Ha, ha, ha.

80BarbaraIs that a laughing matter?

81Martha’Tis just my story.
        And you have had no child; that’s still my story. Ha, ha, ha!

82BarbaraNay, I have had two children.

83MarthaAre you sure on’t?
        Or does your husband only tell you so?
        Take heed o’that, for husbands are deceitful.

84BarbaraBut I am o’the surer side: I am sure
        I groaned for mine and bore ’em, when at best
        He but believes he got ’em.

85MarthaYet both he
        And you may be deceived, for now I’ll tell you,
        My husband told me, fac’d me down and stood on’t,
        We had three sons, and all great travellers,
        That one had shook the Great Turk* by the beard.
        I never saw ’em, nor am I such a fool
        To think that children can be got and born,
        Trained* up to men, and then sent out to travel,
        And the poor mother never know nor feel
        Any such matter. There’s a dream indeed!

86BarbaraNow you speak reason, and ’tis nothing but
        Your husband’s madness that would put that dream
        Into you.

87MarthaHe may put dreams into me, but
        He ne’er put child, nor any thing* towards it yet,
        To me to making.   [She] weep[s].*   Something,* sure, belongs
        To such a work; for I am past a child
        Myself to think they are found in parsley beds,
        Strawberry banks or rosemary bushes, though
        I must confess I have sought and searched such places,
        Because I would fain have had one.

88Barbara   [Aside]*   ’Las, poor fool!

89MarthaPray tell me, for I think nobody hears us,
        How came you by your babes? I cannot think
        Your husband got them you.

90Barbara   [Aside]*   Fool, did I say?
        She is a witch, I think.   [To MARTHA]*   Why not my husband?
        Pray can you charge me with another man?*

91MarthaNor with him neither. Be not angry, pray now.
        For were I now to die, I cannot guess
        What a man does in child-getting. I remember
        A wanton maid once lay with me, and kissed
        And clipped, and clapped me strangely, and then wished
        That I had been a man to have got her with child.
        What must I then ha’ done, or (good now, tell me)
        What has your husband done to you?

92Barbara   [Aside]*   Was ever
        Such a poor piece of innocence! Three years married?
           [To MARTHA]*   Does not your husband use to lie with you?

93MarthaYes, he does use to lie with me, but he does not
        Lie with me to use me as he* should, I fear,
        Nor do I know to teach him. Will you tell me?
        I’ll lie with you and practise, if you please.
        Pray take me for a night or two: or take
        My husband and instruct him. But one night.*
        Our country folks will say, you London wives
        Do not lie every night with your own husbands.

94BarbaraYour country folks should have done well to ha’ sent
        Some news by you; but I trust none told you there
        We use to leave our fools to lie with madmen.

95MarthaNay, now again you’re angry.

96BarbaraNo, not I,
        But rather pity your simplicity.
        Come, I’ll take charge and care of you.

97MarthaI thank you.

98BarbaraAnd wage my skill, against my doctor’s art,
        Sooner to ease you of these dangerous fits,
        Than he shall rectify your husband’s wits.[BARBARA exits, followed by MARTHA, who speaks as she leaves.]

99MarthaIndeed, indeed, I thank you.
[Enter] LETOY* [and] BLAZE.*

100LetoyWhy* brought’st thou not mine arms and pedigree
        Home with thee, Blaze, mine honest herald’s painter*?

101BlazeI have not yet, my lord, but all’s in readiness,
        According to the herald’s full directions.

102LetoyBut has he gone to the root*? Has he derived me
        Ex origine, ab antiquo*? Has he fetched me
        Far enough*, Blaze?

103BlazeFull four descents beyond
        The conquest*, my good lord, and finds that one
        Of your French ancestry came in with the Conqueror.

104LetoyJeffrey Letoy, ’twas he from whom the English
        Letoys have our descent; and here have took
        Such footing, that we’ll never out while France
        Is France, and England England,
        And the sea passable to transport a fashion.
        My ancestors and I have been beginners
        Of all new fashions in the court of England
        From before Primo Ricardi Secundi*
        Until this day.

105BlazeI cannot think, my lord,
        They’ll follow you in this though.

106LetoyMark the end*,
        I am without a precedent for my humour*.
        But is it spread and talked of in the town?

107BlazeIt is, my lord, and laughed at by a many.

108[Letoy]*I am more beholding to them than all the rest:
        Their laughter makes me merry; others’ mirth,
        And not mine own it is that feeds me, that
        Battens me as poor men’s cost* does usurers.
        But tell me, Blaze, what say they of me, ha?

109BlazeThey say, my lord, you look more like a pedlar
        Than like a lord, and live more like an emperor.

110LetoyWhy there they ha’ me right. Let others shine
        Abroad in cloth o’bodkin; my broadcloth*
        Pleases mine eye as well, my body better.
        Besides, I’m sure ’tis paid for (to their envy).
        I buy with ready money; and at home here
        With as good meat, as much magnificence,
        As costly pleasures, and as rare delights,
        Can satisfy my appetite and senses,
        As they with all their public shows and braveries.
        They run at ring*, and tilt ’gainst one another;
        I and my men can play a match at football,
        Wrestle a handsome fall, and pitch the bar
        And crack the cudgels*, and a pate sometimes.
        ’Twould do you good to see’t.

111BlazeMore than to feel’t.*

112LetoyThey hunt the deer, the hare, the fox, the otter,
        Polecats or harlots, what they please, whilst I
        And my mad grigs, my men, can run at base,
        And breathe our selves at barley-break and dancing.

113BlazeYes, my lord, i’the country when you are there.

114LetoyAnd now I am here i’th’ city, sir, I hope
        I please myself with more choice home delights,
        Than most men of my rank.

115BlazeI know, my lord,
        Your house in substance is an amphitheatre
        Of exercise and pleasure.

116LetoySir, I have
        For exercises, fencing, dancing, vaulting,
        And for delight, music of all best kinds;
        Stage plays and masques* are nightly my pastimes.
        And all within myself: my own men are
        My music, and my actors; I keep not
        A man or boy but is of quality;
        The worst can sing or play his part o’th’ viols,
        And act his part too in a comedy,
        For which I lay my bravery on their backs;
        And where another lord undoes his followers,
        I maintain mine like lords. And there’s my bravery.
Hautboys. A service, as for dinner, passes over the stage, borne by
many servitors, richly apparelled, doing honour* to LETOY as they pass.

[All exit]

        Now tell me, Blaze, look these like pedlar’s men?

117BlazeRather an emperor’s, my lord.

118LetoyI tell thee,
        These lads can act the emperors’ lives all over,
        And Shakespeare’s chronicled histories*to boot,
        And were that Caesar*, or that English Earl*
        That loved a Play and Player so well, now living,
        I would not be outvied in my delights.

119BlazeMy lord, ’tis well.

120LetoyI love the quality*
        Of playing, I; I love a play with all
        My heart, a good one: and a player that’s*
        A good one too, withal*. As for the Poets,
        No men love them, I think, and therefore
        I write all my plays myself, and make no doubt
        Some of the court* will follow
        Me in that too. Let my fine lords
        Talk o’ their horse-tricks and their jockeys, that
        Can out-talk them. Let the gallants boast
        Their May-games, play-games, and their mistresses;
        I love a play in my plain clothes, I,
        And laugh upon the actors in their brave ones.
Ent[er] QUAILP[IPE].

121Quailpipe*My lord, your dinner stays prepared.

122LetoyWell, well,
        Be you as ready with your grace* as I
        Am for my meat, and all is well.   QUAIL[PIPE exits].*   Blaze, we have rambled
        From the main point this while: it seems by his letter*,
        My doctor's busy at thy house. I know who’s there,
        Beside. Give him this ring. Tell him it wants
        A finger. Farewell, good Blaze.*[LETOY exits.]*

123BlazeTell him it wants a finger! My small wit
        Already finds what finger it must fit.[BLAZE exits.]
Enter DOCTOR, PEREGRINE, [with] a book in his hand, JOYLESS [and] DIANA.

124DoctorSir, I applaud your noble disposition,
        And even adore the spirit of travel in you,
        And purpose to wait on it through the world,
        In which I shall but tread again the steps
        I heretofore have gone.

125PeregrineAll the world o’er
        Ha’ you been already?

126DoctorOver and under too.

127PeregrineIn the Antipodes?

128DoctorYes, through and through:
        No isle nor angle in that nether world,
        But I have made discovery of. Pray, sir, sit.
           [Aside to JOYLESS]   And, sir, be you attentive: I will warrant
        His speedy cure without the help of Gallen,
        Hippocrates, Avicen, or Dioscorides.*

129DianaA rare man! Husband, truly I like his person
        As well as his rare skill.

130JoylessInto your chamber!
        I do not like your liking of men’s persons.

131DoctorNay, lady, you may stay. Hear and admire,
        If you so please, but make no interruptions.

132Joyless   [Aside to DIANA]   And let no looser words, or wandering look
        Bewray an intimation of the slight
        Regard you bear your husband, lest I send you
        Upon a further pilgrimage than he
        Feigns to convey my son.

133DianaOh, jealousy!

134DoctorDo you think, sir, to th’ Antipodes such a journey?

135PeregrineI think there’s none beyond it; and that Mandeville,
        Whose excellent work this is, was th’ only man
        That e’er came near it.

136DoctorMandeville went far.

137PeregrineBeyond all English legs that I can read of.

138DoctorWhat think you, sir, of Drake*, our famous countryman?

139PeregrineDrake was a didapper* to Mandeville.
        Candish, and Hawkins, Frobisher*, all our voyagers
        Went short of Mandeville. But had he reached
        To this place here—yes, here—this wilderness,
        And seen the trees of the Sun and Moon, that speak,
        And told King Alexander of his death,* he then
        Had left a passage ope for travellers,
        That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts,
        Dragons and serpents, elephants, white and blue,
        Unicorns, and lions of many colours,
        And monsters more as numberless as nameless.

140DoctorStay there.

141PeregrineRead here else*. Can you read?
        Is it not true?

142DoctorNo truer than I ha’ seen’t.

143DianaHa’ you been there, sir? Ha’ you seen those trees?

144DoctorAnd talked with ’em, and tasted of their fruit.

145PeregrineRead here again then: it is written here,
        That you may live four or five hundred year.

146DianaBrought you none of that fruit home with you, sir?

147JoylessYou would have some of’t would you, to have hope
        T’outlive your husband by’t.

148DianaI’d* ha’t for you,
        In hope you might out-live your jealousy.

149DoctorYour patience both, I pray: I know the grief
        You both do labour with, and how to cure it.

150JoylessWould I had given you half my land ’twere done.*

151DianaWould I had given him half my love* to settle
        The t’other half free from encumbrances
        Upon my husband.

152DoctorDo not think it strange, sir:
        I’ll make your eyes witnesses of more
        Than I relate, if you’ll but travel with me.
        You hear me not deny that all is true
        That Mandeville delivers of his travels,
        Yet I myself may be as well believed.

153PeregrineSince you speak reverently of him, say on.

154DoctorOf Europe I’ll not speak, ’tis too near home:
        Who’s not familiar with the Spanish garb,
        Th’ Italian shrug, French cringe,and German hug?*
        Nor will I trouble you with my observations
        Fetched from Arabia, Paphlagonia*,
        Mesopotamia*, Mauritania*,
        Syria, Thessalia*, Persia, India,
        All still is too near home, though I have touched
        The clouds upon the Pyrenean mountains*,
        And been on Paphos isle*, where I have kissed
        The image of bright Venus. All is still
        Too near home to be boasted.

155Diana   [Aside]*   That I like
        Well in him too, he will not boast of kissing
        A woman too near home.

156DoctorThese things in me
        Are poor: they sound in a far traveller’s ear
        Like the reports of those that beggingly
        Have put out , on returns from Edinburgh,
        Paris, or Venice, or perhaps Madrid,
        Whither a milliner may with half a nose*
        Smell out his way; and is not near so difficult,
        As for some man in debt, and unprotected*,
        To walk from Charing Cross to th’ old Exchange*.
        No, I will pitch no nearer than th’ Antipodes,
        That which is farthest distant, foot to foot*
        Against our region.

157DianaWhat with their heels upwards?
        Bless us! How ’scape they breaking o’ their necks?

158DoctorThey walk upon firm earth, as we do here,
        And have the firmament over their heads,
        As we have here.

159DianaAnd yet just under us!
        Where is hell then? If they whose feet are towards us
        At the lower part of the world have heaven too
        Beyond their heads, where’s hell?

160JoylessYou may find that
        Without inquiry. Cease your idle questions.

161DianaSure hell’s above ground then in jealous husbands.

162PeregrineWhat people, sir, (I pray proceed) what people
        Are they of the Antipodes? Are they not such
        As Mandeville writes of, without heads or necks,
        Having their eyes placed on their shoulders, and
        Their mouths amidst their breasts?*

163DianaAy, so indeed;
        Though heels go upwards an* their feet should slip,
        They have no necks to break.

164DoctorSilence, sweet Lady.
        Pray give the gentleman leave to understand me.
        The people through the whole world of Antipodes,
        In outward feature, language, and religion,
        Resemble those to whom they are supposite:
        They under Spain appear like Spaniards,
        Under France, French men, under England, English,
        To the exterior show: but in their manners,
        Their carriage and condition of life,
        Extremely contrary. To come close to you:
        What part o’ th’ world’s Antipodes shall I now
        Decipher to you, or would you travel to?

165PeregrineThe furthest off.

166DoctorThat is the Antipodes of England.
        The people there are contrary to us.
        As thus: here (heaven be praised!) the magistrates
        Govern the people; there the people rule
        The magistrates.

167DianaThere’s precious bribing then.

168JoylessYou’ll hold your peace.

169DoctorNay, lady, ’tis by nature,
        Here generally men govern the women.

170JoylessI would they could else!

171DianaYou will hold your peace.

172DoctorBut there the women over-rule the men.
        If some men fail here in their power*, some women
        Slip their holds there. As parents here and masters
        Command, there they obey the child and servant*.

173DianaBut pray, sir, is’t by nature or by art
        That wives o’ersway their husbands there?

174DoctorBy nature.

175DianaThen art’s above nature, as they are under us.

176DoctorIn brief, sir, all
        Degrees of people, both in sex and quality,
        Deport themselves in life and conversation
        Quite contrary to us.

177DianaWhy then the women
        Do get the men with child, and put the poor fools
        To grievous pain, I warrant you, in bearing.

178JoylessInto your chamber! Get you in, I charge you.

179DoctorBy no means, as you tender your son’s good.
        No, lady, no: that were to make men women,
        And women men. But there the maids do woo
        The bachelors and, ’tis most probable,
        The wives lie uppermost.

180DianaThat is a trim
        Upside-down Antipodian trick indeed.

181DoctorAnd then at christenings and gossips’ feasts*,
        A woman is not seen, the men do all
        The tittle-tattle duties, while the women
        Hunt, hawk and take their pleasure.

182PeregrineHa’ they good game, I pray, sir?

        But by the contraries to ours, for where
        We hawk at pheasant, partridge, mallard, heron,
        With goshawk, tercel, falcon, laneret,
        Our hawks become their game, our game their hawks,
        And so the like in hunting. There the deer
        Pursue the hounds, and (which you may think strange)
        I ha’ seen one sheep worry a dozen foxes.
        By moonshine, in a morning before day,
        They hunt train-scents with oxen, and plough with dogs.

184Peregrine   [Laughs]   Hugh, hugh, hugh!*

185DianaAre not their swans all black* and ravens white?

186DoctorYes, indeed are they; and their parrots teach
        Their mistresses to talk.

187DianaThat’s very strange.

188DoctorThey keep their cats in cages
        From mice that would devour them else; and birds
        Teach ’em to whistle and cry "Beware the rats, Puss".
        But these are frivolous nothings. I have known
        Great ladies ride great horses, run at tilt,
        At ring, races, and hunting matches, while
        Their lords at home have painted, pawned their plate
        And jewels to feast their honourable servants,
        And there the merchants’ wives do deal abroad
        Beyond seas, while their husbands cuckold them
        At home.

189DianaThen there are cuckolds too, it seems,
        As well as here.

190JoylessThen you conclude here are.

191DianaBy hearsay, sir, I am not wise enough
        To speak it on my knowledge yet.

192JoylessNot yet!

193DoctorPatience, good sir.

194Peregrine   [Laughs]   Hugh, hugh, hugh!

195DoctorWhat, do you laugh that there is cuckold-making
        In the Antipodes? I tell you, sir,
        It is not so abhorred here as ’tis held
        In reputation there: all your old men
        Do marry girls, and old women boys,
        As generation were to be maintained
        Only by cuckold-making.


197DoctorPray, your patience.
        There’s no such honest men there in their world,
        As are their lawyers: they give away
        Their practice, and t’enable ’em to do so,
        Being all handicrafts, or labouring men,
        They work (poor hearts, full hard) in the vacations
        To give their law for nothing in the term times.
        No fees are taken, which makes their divines,
        Being generally covetous, the greatest wranglers
        In lawsuits of a kingdom. You have not there
        A gentleman in debt, though citizens
        Haunt them with cap in hand to take their wares
        On credit.

198DianaWhat fine sport would that be here now!

199DoctorAll wit and mirth and good society
        Is there among the hirelings, clowns and tradesmen,
        And all their poets are puritans.

200DianaHa' they poets?

201DoctorAnd players too. But they are all the soberest
        Precisest people* picked out of a nation.

202DianaI never saw a play.

203DoctorLady, you shall.

204JoylessShe shall not.

205DoctorShe must, if you can hope for any cure.
        Be governed, sir: your jealousy will grow
        A worse disease than your son’s madness else.
        You are content I take the course I told you of
        To cure the gentleman?

206JoylessI must be, sir.

207DoctorSay, Master Peregrine, will you travel now
        With me to the Antipodes, or has not
        The journey wearied you in the description?

208PeregrineNo, I could hear you a whole fortnight, but
        Let’s lose no time. Pray talk on as we pass.
A bowl on the table.*

209DoctorFirst, sir, a health to auspicate our travels,
        And we’ll away.
[Doctor offers bowl of wine to PEREGRINE]

210PeregrineGi’ me’t.   Ent[er] BLA[ZE]*   What’s he? One sent
        I fear, from my dead mother to make stop
        Of our intended voyage.*

211DoctorNo sir: drink.

212Blaze   [Aside to DOCTOR]*   My lord, sir, understands the course you’re in,
        By your letters, he tells me; and bad me gi’ you
        This ring, which wants a finger here, he says.

213PeregrineWe’ll not be stayed?*

214DoctorNo, sir, he brings me word
        The mariner calls away; the wind and tide
        Are fair, and they are ready to weigh anchor,
        Hoist sails, and only stay for us. Pray drink, sir.

215PeregrineA health then to the willing winds and seas
        And all that steer towards th’ Antipodes.
[He drinks the wine]*

216JoylessHe has not drunk so deep a draught this twelvemonth.

217Doctor’Tis a deep draught indeed; and now ’tis down,*
        And carries him down to the Antipodes?*
        I mean but in a dream.*

218JoylessAlas, I fear!
        See, he begins to sink.

219DoctorTrust to my skill*.
        Pray take an arm, and see him in his cabin.
        Good lady, save my ring that’s fallen there.

220DianaIn sooth, a marvellous neat and costly one!

221Blaze   [Aside]*   So, so, the ring has found a finger.

222DoctorCome sir, aboard, aboard, aboard, aboard*.[DOCTOR and JOYLESS exit with PEREGRINE,
while DIANA follows at a distance.]

223BlazeTo bed, to bed, to bed!* I know your voyage,
        And my dear lord’s dear plot I understand,
        Whose ring hath past here by your sleight of hand.*[BLAZE exits.]*

Edited by Richard Cave