Ben Jonson - The Devil Is an Ass Act 4 Scene 8 lyrics

To them.] Sir Poul, Mere-craft, Ever-ill, Trains, Pitfal, Fitz-dottrel. To them.] Wittipol, Manly, Mistris Fitz-dottrel, Ingine. To them.] Guilt-head, Sledge, Shackles. The Justice comes out wondring, at the rest informing him. This was the notablest Conspiracy, That ere I heard of. Mer. Sir, They had giv'n him Potions, That did enamour him on the counterfeit Lady —— Ever. Just to the time o' delivery o' thee Deed — Mer. And then the witchcraft 'gan' t' appear, for straight He fell into his fit. Ever. Of rage at first, Sir, Which since has so increased. Tay. Good Sir Poul, see him, And punish the Impostors. Pou. Therefore I come, Madam. Eit. Let Mr. Eitherside alone, Madam. Pou. Do you hear? Call in the Constable, I will have him by: H'is the King's Officer! and some Citizens, Of credit! I'll discharge my Conscience clearly. Mer. Yes, Sir, and send for his Wife. Ever. And the two Sorcerers, By any means! Tay. I thought one a true Lady, I should be sworn. So did you, Eitherside? Eit. Yes, by that light, would I might ne'er stir else, Tailbush. Tay. And the other a civil Gentleman. Ever. But, Madam, You know what I told your Ladiship? Tay. I now see it: I was providing of a Banquet for 'em. After I had done instructing o' the Fellow De-vile, the Gentlemans Man. Mer. Who's found a Thief, Madam. And to have rob'd your Usher, Master Ambler. This morning. Tay. How? Mer. I'll tell you more, anon. Fit. Gi' me some Garlick, Garlick, Garlick, Garlick. [He begins his fit. Mer. Hark, the poor Gentleman, how he is tormented! Fit. My Wife is a who*e, I'll kiss her no more: and why? Ma'st not thou be a Cuckold, as well as I? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, &c. Pou. That is the Devil speaks, and laughs in him. [The Justice interprets all. Mer. Do you think so, Sir? Pou. I discharge my Conscience. Fit. And is not the Devil good company? Yes, wis. Ever. How he changes, Sir, his Voice! Fit. And a Cuckold is Where ere he put his Head, with a Wanion, If his Horns be forth, the Devil's companion! Look, look, look, else. Mer. How he foams! Ever. And swels! Tay. O, me! what's that there rises in his Belly! Eit. A strange thing! hold it down. Tra. Pit. We cannot, Madam. Pov. 'Tis too apparent this! Fit. Wittipol, Wittipol. [Wittipol, and Manly, and Mrs. Fitz- dottrel enter. Wit. How now, what play ha' we here: Man. What fine, new matters? Wit. The co*kscomh, and the Coverlet. Mer. O strange impudence! That these should come to face their sin! Ever. And out-face Justice, they are the Parties, Sir. Pov. Say nothing. Mer. Did you mark, Sir, upon their coming in, How he call'd Wittipol? Ever. And never saw 'em. Pov. I warrant you did I, let 'em play a while. Fit. Buz, buz, buz, buz. Tay. 'La** poor Gentleman, How he is tortur'd! Mrs. Fit. Fie Master Fitz-dottrel! What do you mean to counterfeit thus? [His Wife goes to him. Fit. O, O, She comes with a Needle, and thrusts it in, She pulls out that, and she puts in a Pin, And now, and now, I do not know how, nor where, But she pricks me here, and she pricks me there: Oh, oh: Pov. Woman forbear. Wit. What, Sir? Pov. A practice foul For one so fair. Wit. Hath this, then, credit with you? Man. Do you believe in't? Pov. Gentlemen, I'll discharge My Conscience. 'Tis a clear conspiracy! A dark and devillish practice! I detest it! Wit. The Justice sure will prove the merrier Man! Man. This is most strange, Sir! Pou. Come not to confront Authority with impudence: I tell you I do detest it. Here comes the Kings Constable, And with him a right worshipful Commoner; My good Friend, Master Guilt-head! I am glad I can before such witnesses, profess My Conscience, and my Detestation of it. Horrible! most unnatural! abominable! Ever. You do not tumble enough. [They whisper him. Mer. Wallow, gnash: Tay. O, how he is vexed! Pou. 'Tis too manifest. Ever. Give him more Soap to foam with, now lie still. [And give him Soap to act with. Mer. And act a little. Tay. What do's he now, Sir. Pou. Shew The taking of Tabacco, with which the Devil Is so delighted. Fit. Hum! Pou. And calls for Hum. You takers of strong Waters, and Tabacco, Mark this. Fit. Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow, &c. Pou. That's Starch! the Devil's Idol of that colour. He ratifies it, with clapping of his Hands. The proofs are pregnant. Gui. How the Devil can act! Pou. He is the Master of Players! Master Guilt-head, And Poets too! you heard him talk in Rhime! I had forgot to observe it to you, ere while! Tay. See, he spits Fire. Pou. O no he plays at Figgum, The Devil is the Author of wicked Figgum —— [Sir Poul interprets Figgum to be a Juglers Game. Man. Why speak you not unto him? Wit. If I had All innocence of Man to be indanger'd, And he could save, or ruin it: I'ld not breath A syllable in request, to such a Fool, He makes himself. Fit. O they whisper, whisper, whisper. We shall have more of Devils a score, To come to dinner, in me the sinner. Eit. Alas, poor Gentleman! Pou. Put 'em asunder. Keep 'em one from the other. Man. Are you phrentick, Sir? Or what grave dotage moves you to take part With so much villany? we are not afraid Either of Law, or Trial; let us be Examin'd what our ends were, what the means? To work by; and possibility of those means. Do not conclude against us, ere you hear us. Pou. I will not hear you, yet I will conclude Out of the circumstances. Man. Will you so, Sir? Pou. Yes, they are palpable. Man. Not as your folly: Pou. I will discharge my Conscience, and do all To the Meridian of Justice. Gui. You do well, Sir. Fit. Provide me to eat, three or four dishes o' good Meat, I'll feast them, and their trains, a Justice Head and Brains Shall be the first. Pou. The Devil loves not Justice, There you may see. Fit. A Spare-rib o' my Wife, And a who*es Purt'nance! a Guilt-head whole. Pou. Be not you troubled, Sir, the Devil speaks it. Fit. Yes, wis, Knight, sh**e, Poul, Joul, Owle, foul, troul, boul. Pou. Cramb, another of the Devils Games! Mer. Speak, Sir, some Greek, if you can. Is not the Justice A solemn Gamester? Ever. Peace. Fit. Oi moi, cacodaimwn, Kai triscacodaimwn, cai tetraciV, cai pentaciV, Kai dwdecaciV, cai mnriaciV. Pou. He curses In Greek, I think. Ever. Your Spanish, that I taught you. Fit. Quebrémos el ojo de burlas. Ever. How? your rest — Let's break his Neck in jest, the Devil says, Fit. Di grátia, Signòr mio se haúete denári fataméne parte. Mer. What, would the Devil borrow Money? Fit. Ouy, Ouy Monsieur, ùn pàuvre Diable! Diablet in! Pou. It is the Devil, by his several Languages. Sha. Where's Sir Poul Eitherside? [Enter the Keeper of Newgate. Pou. Here, what's the matter? Sha. O! such an accident fal'n out at Newgate, Sir: A great piece of the Prison is rent down! The Devil has been there, Sir, in the body —— Of the young Cut-purse, was hang'd out this morning, But, in new Clothes, Sir, every one of us know him. These things were found in his Pocket. Amb. Those are mine, Sir. Sha. I think he was committed on your charge, Sir. For a new Felony. Amb. Yes. Sha. He's gone, Sir, now, And left us the dead body. But withal, Sir, Such an infernal stink, and steam behind, You cannot see St. Pulchres Steeple, yet. They smel't as far as Ware, as the wind lies, By this time, sure. Fit. Is this upon your credit, Friend? [Fitz-dottrel leaves counterfeiting. Sha. Sir, you may see, and satisfie your self. Fit. Nay, then, 'tis time to leave off counterfeiting. Sir I am not betwitch'd, nor have a Devil: No more than you. I do defie him, I, And did abuse you. These two Gentlemen Put me upon it. (I have faith against him) They taught me all my tricks. I will tell truth, And shame the Fiend. See, here, Sir, are my Bellows, And my false Belly, and my Mouse, and all That should ha' come forth? Man. Sir, are not you asham'd Now of your solemn, serious vanity? Pou. I will make honourable amends to truth. Fit. And so will I. But these are Cozeners still, And ha' my Land, as Plotters, with my Wife: Who, though she be not a Witch, is worse, a who*e. Man. Sir, you belie her. She is chaste, and vertuous, And we are honest. I do know no glory A Man should hope, by venting his own Follies, But you'll still be an Ass in spight of Providence. Please you go in, Sir, and hear truths, then judge 'em, And make amends for your late rashness, when You shall but hear the pains and care was taken, To save this fool from ruine, (his Grace of Drown'd-land.) Fit. My Land is drown'd indeed —— Pou. Peace. Man. And how much His modest and too worthy Wife hath suffer'd By mis-construction from him, you will blush, First, for your own belief, more for his actions! His Land is his: and never, by my Friend, Or by my self, meant to another use, But for her succours, who hath equal right. If any other had worse Counsels in't, (I know I speak to those can apprehend me) Let 'em repent 'em, and be not detected. It is not manly to take joy, or pride In human errors (we do all ill things, They do 'em worst that love 'em, and dwell there, Till the Plague comes.) The few that have the Seeds Of goodness left, will sooner make their way To a true life, by shame than punishment. The E P I L O G U E. T hus the Projector, here is over-thrown; But I have now a Project of mine own, If it may pa**, that no Man would invite The Poet from us, to sup forth to night, If the Play please. If it displeasant be, We do presume, that no Man will: nor we. T H E E N D.