Ben Jonson - The Devil Is an Ass Act 1 Scene 1 lyrics

Devil, Pug, Iniquity. Hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c. To Earth? and why to Earth, thou foolish Spirit? What would'st thou do on Earth? Pug. For that, great Chief! As time shall work. I do but ask my month. Which every petty pui'ny Devil has; Within that term the Court of Hell will hear Something may gain a longer grant, perhaps. Sat. For what? the laming a poor Cow, or two? Entring a Sow, to make her cast her Farrow? Or crossing of a Market-womans Mare, 'Twixt this and Totnam? these were wont to be Your main atchievements, Pug, You have some plot now, Upon a tonning of Ale, to stale the Yest, Or keep the Churn so, that the bu*ter come not, 'Spight o' the Housewives Cord, or her hot Spit? Or some good Ribibe, about Kentish Town, Or Hogsden, you would hang now, for a Witch, Because she will not let you play round Robbin; And you'll go sowre the Citizens Cream 'gainst Sunday? That she may be accus'd for't, and condemn'd, By a Middles** Jury, to the satisfaction Of their offended Friends, the Londoners Wives, Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish Fiend, Stay i' your place, know your own strength, and put not Beyond the Sphere of your Activity. You are too dull a Devil to be trusted Forth in those parts, Pug, upon any affair That may concern our Name on Earth. It is not Every ones work. The State of Hell must care Whom it imploys, in point of Reputation, Here about London. You would make, I think, An Agent to be sent for Lancashire, Proper enough; or some parts of Northumberland, So yo' had good Instructions, Pug. Pug. O Chief! You do not know, dear Chief, what there is in me. Prove me but for a fortnight, for a week, And lend me but a Vice, to carry with me, To practice there with any play-fellow, And you will see, there will come more upon't, Then you'll imagine, precious Chief. Sat. What Vice? What kind wouldst th' have it of? Pug. Why, any Fraud, Or Covetousness, or Lady Vanity, Or old Iniquity: I'll call him hither. Ini. What is he calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice? Ere his words be half spoken, I am with him in a trice; Here, there, and every where, as the Cat is with the Mice: True vetus Iniquitas. Lack'st thou Cards, friend, or Dice? I will teach thee cheat, Child, to cog, lie and swagger, And ever and anon to be drawing forth thy Dagger: To swear by Gogs-nowns, like a lusty Juventus, In a Cloak to thy Heel, and a Hat like a Penthouse. Thy Breeches of three Fingers, and thy Doublet all Belly, With a Wench that shall feed thee, with co*k-Stones and Gelly. Pug. Is it not excellent, Chief? how nimble he is! Ini. Child of Hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leap From the top of Paul's Steeple to the Standard in Cheap: And lead the a daunce through the Streets, without fail, Like a Needle of Spain, with a Thread at my tail. We will survey the Suburbs, and make forth our Sallies, Down Petticoat-lane, and up the Smock-Allies, To Shoreditch, White-Chappel, and so to Saint Katherns. To drink with the Dutch there, and take forth their Pat- terns: From thence, we will put in at Custom-house Key there, And see how the Factors, and Prentices play there, False with their Masters; and gueld many a full Pack, To spend it in Pies, at the Dagger and the Wool-Sack. Pug. Brave, brave, Iniquity! will not this do, Chief? Ini. Nay, boy, I will bring thee to the Bawds, and the Roysters, At Billings-gate, feasting with Claret-wine and Oysters; From thence shoot the Bridge, Child, to the Cranes i' the Vintry, And see there the Gimblets, how they make their entry! Or if thou hadst rather to the Strand down to fall, 'Gainst the Lawyers come dabled from Westminster-Hall, And mark how they cling, with their Clients together, Like Ivy to Oak, so Velvet to Leather: Ha, boy, I would shew thee. Pug. Rare, rare! Dev. Peace, Dotard, And thou more ignorant thing, that so admir'st, Art thou the Spirit thou seem'st? so poor? to chuse This for a Vice, t' advance the Cause of Hell, Now, as Vice stands this present Year? Remember What number it is, Six Hundred and Sixteen. Had it but been Five Hundred, though some Sixty Above; that's Fifty years agone, and Six, (When every Great Man had his Vice stand by him, In his long Coat, shaking his wooden Dagger) I could consent, that then this your grave choice Might have done that, with his Lord Chief, the which Most of his Chamber can do now. But Pug, As the times are, who is it will receive you? What Company will you go to? or whom mix with? Where canst thou carry him, except to Taverns? To mount up on a Joynt-Stool, with a Jews trump, To put down Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens? He ne're will be admitted there, where Vennor comes. He may perchance, in tail of a Sheriffs Dinner, Skip with a Rime o' the Table, from New-nothing, And take his Almain-leap into a Custard, Shall make my Lady Mayoress, and her Sisters, Laugh all their Hoods over their Shoulders. But This is not that will do, they are other things That are receiv'd now upon Earth, for Vices; Stranger and newer: and chang'd every hour. They ride 'em like their Horses off their Legs, And here they come to Hell, whole Legions of 'em, Every week tyr'd. We still strive to breed, And rear 'em up new ones; but they do not stand, When they come there: they turn 'em on our hands. And it is fear'd they have a Stud o' their own Will put down ours. Both our Breed and Trade VVill suddenly decay, if we prevent not. Unless it be a Vice of Quality, Or Fashion now, they take none from us. Car-men Are got into the yellow Starch, and Chimney-sweepers To their Tobacco and Strong-waters, Hum, Meath, and Obarni. VVe must therefore aim At extraordinary subtle ones now, VVhen we do send to keep us up in credit. Not old Iniquities. Get you e'en back, Sir, To making of your Rope of Sand again. You are not for the Manners, nor the Times: They have their Vices there, most like to Vertues; You cannot know 'em apart by any difference: They wear the same Clothes, eat the same Meat, Sleep i' the self-same beds, ride i' those Coaches. Or very like, Four Horses in a Coach, As the best Men and VVomen. Tissue Gowns, Garters and Roses, Fourscore pound a pair, Embroidred Stockings, Cut-work Smocks and Shirts, More certain Marks of Lechery now and Pride, Than e're they were of true Nobility! But, Pug, since you do burn with such desire To do the Commonwealth of Hell some service; I am content, a**uming of a body, You go to earth, and visit Men a day. But you must take a body ready made, Pug, I can create you none: nor shall you form Your self an airy one, but become subject To all impression of the Flesh you take, So far as humane frailty. So, this morning, There is a handsome Cut-purse hang'd at Tyburn, VVhose Spirit departed, you may enter his body: For Clothes, imploy your credit with the Hang-man, Or let our tribe of Brokers furnish you. And look how far your Subtilty can work Thorough those Organs, with that body, spy Amongst Mankind. (you cannot there want Vices, And therefore the less need to carry 'em wi' you) But as you make your soon at nights relation, And we shall find it merits from the State, You shall have both trust from us, and imployment. Pug. Most gracious Chief! Dev. Only thus more I bind you, To serve the first man that you meet; and him I'll shew you now: Observe him. Yon' is he, [He shews Fitz-dottrel to him, coming forth. You shall see first after your clothing. Follow him: But once engag'd, there you must stay and fix; Not shift, until the midnights co*k do crow. Pug. Any Conditions to be gone. Dev. Away, then.