Ben Jonson - The Devil Is an Ass Act 2 Scene 1 lyrics

Meer-craft, Fitz-dottrel, Ingine, Trains, Pug. SIR, Money's a who*e, a Bawd, a Drudge; Fit to run out on Errands: Let her go. Via Pecunia! when she's run and gone, And fled, and dead; then will I fetch her again With Aqua-Vitæ, out of an Old Hogs-head! While there are Lees of Wine, or Dregs of Beer, I'll never want her! Coyn her out of Cobwebs, Dust, but I'll have her! Raise Wooll upon Egg-shells, Sir, and make Gra** grow out o' Marrow-bones, To make her come. (Commend me to your Mistris. [To a Waiter. 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 help him to. Fit. How talks he? Millions? Mer. (I'll give you an account of this to morrow.) [To another. Yes, I will talk no less, and do it too; If they were Myriades: and without the Devil, By direct means, it shall be good in Law. Ing. Sir. Mer. Tell Mr. Woodco*k, I'll not fail to meet him Upon th' Exchange at night. Pray him to have The Writings there, and we'll dispatch it: Sir, You are a Gentleman of a good Presence, A handsom Man, (I have considered you) As a fit Stock to graft Honours upon: I have a Project to make you a Duke now. That you must be one, within so many Months, As I set down, out of true Reason of State, You sha' not avoid it. But you must harken then. Ing. Harken? why Sir, do you doubt his Ears? Alas! You do 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 it you. (I see you ha' Credit, here, And, that you can keep counsel, I'll not question.) He shall but be an undertaker with me, In a most feasible Business. It shall cost him Nothing. Ing. Good, Sir. Mer. Except he please, but's Countenance; (That I will have) t'appear 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 Citizens, Commoners, and Aldermen, To bear the charge, and blow 'em off again, Like so many dead Flyes, 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 Crown and Owners To share that Moiety, and the Recoverers T'enjoy the t'other Moiety for their charge. Ing. Throughout England? Mer. Yes, which will arise To Eighteen Millions, Seven the first year: I have computed all, and made my Survey Unto my Acre: I'll begin at the Pan, Not at the Skirts; as some ha' done, and lost All that they wrought, their Timber-work, their Trench, Their Banks, all born 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 yield a Pound an Acre. We must let cheap, ever at first. But Sir, This looks too large for you, I see. Come hither, We'll have a less. Here's a plain Fellow, you see him, Has his black Bag of Papers there, in Buckram, Wi' not be sold for th' Earldom of Pancridge: Draw, Gi' me out one by chance. Project; four 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! Twelve thousand Pound for Dogs Skins? Mer Yes, but, by my way of dressing, you must know, Sir, And med'cining the Leather, to a height Of improv'd Ware, like your Borachio Of Spain, Sir, I can fetch Nine thousand for't — Ing. Of the Kings Glover? Mer. Yes, how heard you that? Ing. Sir, I do know you can. Mer. Within this Hour: And reserve half my Secret. Pluck another; See if thou hast a happier Hand: I thought so. [He plucks out the 2. Bottle-ale. The very next worse to it! Bottle-ale. Yet, this is Two and twenty thousand? 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 Sum. I'll win it i' my Water, and my Malt, My Furnaces, and hanging o' my Coppers, The tonning, and the subtility o' my Yest; And, then the Earth of my Bottles, which I dig, Turn up, and steep, and work, and neal, my self, To a degree of Porc'lane. You will wonder, At my Proportions, what I will put up In Seven years! for so long time I ask For my Invention. I will save in Cork, In my mere stop'ling, 'bove Three thousand Pound Within that Term: by googing of 'em out Just to the size of my Bottles, and not slicing. There's infinite loss i' that. What hast thou there? O' making Wine of Raisins: this is in hand now, [He draws out another. Raisins. Ing. Is not that strange, Sir, to make Wine of Raisins? Mer. Yes, and as true a Wine as th' Wines of France, Or Spain, or Italy: Look of what Grape My Raisin is, that Wine I'll render perfect, As of the Muscatell Grape, I'll render Muscatell; Of the Canary his; the Claret his; So of all kinds: and bate you of the Prices Of Wine throughout the Kingdom half in half. 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 do the same. 'Tis but more Art, And the Charge less. Take out another. Fit. No, good Sir, Save you the trouble. I'll not look, nor hear Of any, but your first, there: the Drown'd-land: If't will do, as you say. Mer. Sir, there's not Place To gi' you demonstration of these things, They are a little to subtile. 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 bears no Dukes. Keep you the Land, Sir, The greatness of th' Estate shall throw't upon you. If you like better turning it to Money, VVhat 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 petty Principality, In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps, Fancy the Smoak of England, rather? But — Ha' you no private Room, Sir, to draw to, T' enlarge our selves more upon? Fit. O yes, Divel! Mer. These, Sir, are Businesses, ask to be carried With caution, and in Cloud. Fit. I apprehend, They do so, Sir. Divel, which way is your Mistris? Pug. Above, Sir, in her Chamber. Fit. O that's well. Then, this way, good Sir. Mer. I shall follow you; Trains, Gi' me the Bag, and go you presently, Commend my Service to my Lady Tailbush. Tell her I am come from Court this Morning; say, I have got our business mov'd, and well: Intreat her, That she give you the Four-score Angels, and see 'em Dispos'd of to my Council, Sir Poul Eitherside. Sometime, to day, I'll wait 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? keeps he still your Quarter I' the Bermudas? Ing. Yes, Sir, he was writing This morning, very hard. Mer. Be not you known to him, That I am come to Town: I have effected A Business for him, but I would have it take him, Before he thinks for't. Ing. Is it past? Mer. Not yet. 'Tis well o' the way. Ing. O Sir! your Worship takes Infinite pains. Mer. I love Friends, to be active: A sluggish Nature puts off Man, and kind. Ing. And such a Blessing follows it. Mer. I thank My Fate. Pray you let's be private, Sir. Fit. In, here. Mer. Where none may interrupt us. Fit. You hear, Divel, Lock the Street-doors fast, and let no one in (Except they be this Gentlemans Followers) To trouble me. Do you mark? Yo' have heard and seen Something to day; and, by it, you may gather Your Mistris is a Fruit, that's worth the stealing, And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now, Yo' have all your Eyes about you; and let in No Lace-woman; nor Bawd, that brings French -Masks, And Cut-works. See you? Nor old Croans, with Wafers, To convey Letters. Nor no youths, disguis'd Like Country-wives, with Cream, and Marrow-puddings. Much Knavery may be vented in a Pudding, Much bawdy Intelligence: They' are shrewd Siphers. Nor turn the Key to any Neighbours need; Be't but to kindle Fire, or beg a little, Put it out, rather: all out, to an Ash, That they may see no Smoak. 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 Spoon, 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, do so.