The divell is an asse a comedie acted in the yeare 1616, by His Majesties servants / the author, Ben. Iohnson.

Act. II. Scene. I.

Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. Traines. Pug.

SIr, money's a whore, a bawd, a drudge; Fit to runne out on errands: Let her goe. Via pecunia! when she's runne and gone, And fled and dead; then will I fetch her, againe, With Aqua-vitae, out of an old Hogs-head! While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beere, I'll never want her! Coine her out of cobwebs, Dust, but I'll have her! Raise wooll upon egge-shells, Sir, and make grasse grow out o'marro-bones. To make her come. (Commend me to your Mistresse, Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready, And it is done) I would but see the creature (Of flesh, and blood) the man, the Prince, indeed, That could imploy so many millions As I would helpe him to.

Fit.

How, talks he? millions?

Mer.

(I'll give you an account of this to morrow.) Yes, I will take no lesse, and doe it too; If they were Myriades: and without the Divell, By direct meanes, it shall be good in law.

Ing.

Sir.

Mer.

Tell Mr. Wood-cock, I'll not faile to meet him Upon th'Exchange at night. Pray him to have The writings there, and wee'll dispatch it: Sir, You are a Gentleman of a good presence, A handsome man (I have considered you)

As a fit stocke to graft honours upon: I have a Project to make you a Duke, now. That you must be one, within so many moneths, And I set down, out of true reason of state, You sha' not avoid it. But you must harken, then.

Ing.

Harken? why Sir, doe you doubt his eares? Alas! You doe not know Master Fitz-dottrel.

Fit.

He do's not know me indeed. I thank you, Ingine, For rectifying him.

Mer.

Good! Why, Ingine, then I'll tell you. (I see you ha' credit, here, And, that you can keepe counsell, I'll not question.) He shall but be an undertaker with me, In a most feasible bus'nesse. It shall cost him Nothing.

Ing.

Good, Sir.

Mer.

Except he please, but's count'nance; (That I will have) t'appeare in't, to great men, For which I'll make him one. He shall not draw A string of's purse. I'll drive his pattent for him. We'll take in Cit'zens, Commoners, and Aldermen, To beare the charge, and blow 'hem off againe, Like so many dead flies, when 'tis carried. The thing is for recovery of drown'd Land, Whereof the Crown's to have a moiety, If it be owner; Else, the Crowne and Owners To share that moiety: and the recoverers T'enjoy the tother moiety, for their charge.

Ing.

Throughout England?

Mer.

Yes, which will arise To eighteene millions, seven the first yeere: I have computed all, and made my survay Unto an acre, I'll beginne at the Pan, Not, at the skirts: as some ha' done, and lost, All that they wrought, their timber-worke, their trench, Their bankes all borne away, or else fill'd up By the next winter. Tut, they never went The way. I'll have it all.

Ing.

A Gallant tract Of land it is!

Mer.

'Twill yeeld a pound an acre. We must let cheape, ever, at first. But Sir, This lookes too large for you, I see. Come hither, We'll have a lesse. Here's a plaine fellow, you see him, Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram, Wi'not be sould for th'Earldome of Pancridge: Draw, Gi'me out one, by chance▪ Project; foure dogs skins? Twelve thousand pound! the very worst, at first.

Fit.

Pray you let's see't Sir.

Mer.

'Tis a toy, a trifle!

Fit.

Trifle! 12. thousand pound for dogs-skins?

Mer.

Yes, But, by way of dressing, you must know, Sir, And med'cining the leather, to a height Of improv'd ware, like your Borachio Of Spaine, Sir. I can fetch nine thousand for't—

Ing.

Of the Kings glover?

Mer.

Yes, how heard you that?

Ing.

Sir, I doe know you can.

Mer.

Within this houre

And reserve halfe my secret. Pluck another; See if thou hast a happier hand: I thought so. The very next worse to it! Bottle-ale. Yet, this is two and twenty thousand! Pr'y thee Pull out another, two or three.

Fit.

Good, stay, friend, By bottle-ale, two and twenty thousand pound?

Mer.

Yes, Sir, it's cast to penny-hal'penny-farthing, O'the back-side, there you may see it, read, I will not bate a Harrington o'the summe. I'll winne it i'my water, and my malt, My furnaces, and hanging o'my coppers, The tonning, and subtilty o'my yest; And, then the earth of my bottles, which I dig, Turne up, and steepe, and worke, and neale, my selfe, To a degree of Proc'lane. You will wonder, At my proportions, what I will put up In seven yeeres! for so long time, I aske For my invention. I will save in corke, In my mere stop'ling, 'bove three thousand pound, Within that terme: by googing of 'hem out Just to the size of my bottles, and not flieing. There's infinite losse i'that. What hast thou there? O'making wine of raisins: this is in hand, now,

Ing.

Is not that strange, Sir, to make wine of raisins?

Mer.

Yes, and as true wine, as th'wines of France, Or Spaine, or Italy, Looke of what grape My raisin is, that wine I'll render perfect, As of the muscatell grape, I'll render muscatell; Of Canary, his; the Claret, his; So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices, Of wine, throughout the kingdome, halfe in halfe.

Ing.

But, how, Sir, if you raise the other commodity, Raisins?

Mer.

Why, then I'll make it out of black-berries: And it shall doe the same. 'Tis but more art, And the charge lesse. Take out another.

Fit.

No, good Sir. Save you the trouble, I'll not looke, nor heare Of any, but your first, there; the Drown'd-land: If't will doe, as you say.

Mer.

Sir, there's not place, To gi'you demonstration of these things. They are a little to subtle. But, I could shew you Such a necessity in't, as you must be But what you please: against the receiv'd heresie, That England beares no Dukes. Keepe you the land, Sir, The greatnesse of th'estate shall throw't upon you. If you like better turning it to money, What may not you, Sir, purchase with that wealth? Say, you should part with two o'your millions, To be the thing you would, who would not do't? As I protest, I will, out of my divident, Lay, for some pretty principality,

In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps, Fancy the smoake of England, rather? But— Ha'you no private roome, Sir, to draw to, T'enlarge our selves more upon.

Fit.

O yes, Divell!

Mer.

These, Sir, are bus'nesses, aske to be carried With caution▪ and in cloud.

Fit.

I apprehend, They doe so, Sir, Divell, which way is your Mistresse?

Pug.

Above, Sir, in her chamber.

Fit.

O that's well. Then this way good, Sir.

Mer.

I shall follow you; Traines, Gi'me the bag, and goe you presently, Commend my service to my Lady Tail-bush. Tell her I am come from Court this morning; say, I'have got our bus'nesse mov'd, and well: Intreat her, That she give you the foure-score Angels, and see 'hem Dispos'd of to my Councel, Sir Poul Eitherside. Sometime, to day, I'll waite upon her Ladiship, With the relation.

Ing.

Sir, of what dispatch, He is! Do you mark?

Mer.

Ingine, when did you see My cousin Ever-ill? keepes he still your quarter? I'the Bermudas?

Ing.

Yes, Sir, he was writing This morning, very hard.

Mer.

Be not you knowne to him, That I am come to Towne: I have effected A businesse for him, but I would have it take him, Before he thinks for't.

Ing.

It is past?

Mer.

Not yet. 'Tis well o'the way.

Ing.

O Sir! your worship takes Infinite paines.

Mer.

I love Friends, to be active: A sluggish nature puts off man, and kinde.

Ing.

And such a blessing followes it.

Mer.

I thanke My fate. Pray you let's be private, Sir?

Fit.

In, here.

Mer.

Where none may interrupt us.

Fit.

You heare, Divell, Lock the street-doores fast, and let no one in (Except they be this Gentlemans followers) To trouble me. Doe you marke? Yo'have hard and seene Something, to day; and, by it, you may gather Your Mistresse is a fruite, that's worth the stealing And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now, Yo'have all your eies about you; and let in No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-masques, And cut-works. See you? Nor old croanes, with wafers, To convey letters. Nor no youths, disguis'd Like country-wives, with creame, and marrow-puddings. Much knavery may be vented in a pudding, Much baudy intelligence: They'are shrewd ciphers. Nor turne the key to any neighbours need; Be't but to kindle fire, or begg a little, Put it out, rather: all out, to an ashe, That they may see no smoke. Or water, spill it: Knock o'the empty tubs, that by the sound, They may be forbid entry. Say, we are robb'd, If any come to borrow a spoone, or so.

I wi'not have good fortune, or gods blessing Let in, while I am busie.

Pug.

I'll take care, Sir, They sha'not trouble you, if they would.

Fit.

Well doe so.

Notes

• To a waiter.
• To another.
• He pluckes out the 2. Bottle-ale.
• Hee drawes out an other Raisines.