Idle.

How now! Who's that? What are you?

Pye.

The same that I should be, captain.

Idle.

George Pyeboard? Honest George? Why cam'st thou in half-fac'd, muffled so?

Pye.

O captain, I thought we should ne'er have laugh'd again, never spent frolick hour again.

Idle.

Why? Why?

Pye.
I coming to prepare thee, and with news
As happy as thy quick delivery,
Was trac'd out by the scent; arrested, captain.

Idle.

Arrested, George?

Pye.

Arrested. Guess, guess,—how many dogs do you think I had upon me?

Idle.

Dogs? I say, I know not.

Pye.

Almost as many as George Stone, the bear^{9 note}

Idle.

How didst thou shake them off then?

Pye.
The time is busy, and calls upon our wits.
Let it suffice,
Here I stand safe, and scap'd by miracle:
Some other hour shall tell thee, when we'll steep
Our eyes in laughter. Captain, my device
Leans to thy happiness; for ere the day
Be spent to the girdle^{1 note}

Idle.

Conjure? 'Sfoot, George, you know, the devil a conjuring I can conjure.

Pye.

The devil a conjuring? Nay, by my fay, I'd not have thee do so much, captain, as the devil a conjuring. Look here; I have brought thee a circle ready character'd and all.

Idle.

'Sfoot, George, art in thy right wits? Dost know what thou say'st? Why dost talk to a captain of conjuring? Didst thou ever hear of a Captain Conjure in thy life? Dost call't a circle? 'Tis too wide a thing, methinks; had it been a lesser circle, then I knew what to have done.

Pye.

Why every fool knows that, captain. Nay then I'll not cog with you, captain: if you'll stay and hang the next sessions, you may.

Idle.

No, by my faith, George. Come, come; let's to conjuring.

Pye.

But if you look to be released, (as my wits have took pain to work it, and all means wrought to further it,) besides, to put crowns in your purse, to make you a man of better hopes; and whereas before you were a captain or poor soldier* ^note, to make you now a commander of rich fools, which is truly the only best purchase peace can allow you, safer than highways, heath, or cony-groves, and yet a far better booty; for your greatest thieves are never hang'd, never hang'd: for why? they're wise, and cheat within doors; and we geld fools of more money^{3 note} in one night, than your false-tail'd gelding^{4 note} will purchase in twelvemonths' running; which confirms the old beldam's saying, He's wisest, that keeps himself warmest; that is, he that robs by a good fire.

Idle.

Well opened i'faith, George; thou hast pull'd that saying out of the husk.

Pye.

Captain Idle, 'tis no time now to delude or delay. The old knight will be here suddenly; I'll perfect you, direct you, tell you the trick on't: 'tis nothing.

Idle.

'Sfoot, George, I know not what to say to't. Conjure? I shall be hang'd ere I conjure.

Pye.

Nay, tell not me of that, captain; you'll ne'er conjure after you're hang'd, I warrant you. Look you, sir; a parlous matter, sure! First to spread

your circle upon the ground, with a little conjuring ceremony, (as I'll have an hackney-man's wand silver'd o'er o'purpose for you;) then arriving in the circle, with a huge word, and a great trample—as for instance—have you never seen a stalking, stamping player, that will raise a tempest with his tongue, and thunder with his heels^{5 note}

Idle.

O yes, yes, yes; often, often.

Pye.

Why be like such a one. For any thing will blear the old knight's eyes; for you must note, that he'll ne'er dare to venture into the room; only perhaps peep fearfully through the key-hole, to see how the play goes forward.

Idle.

Well, I may go about it when I will; but mark the end on't; I shall but shame myself i'faith, George. Speak big words, and stamp and stare, and he look in at key-hole! why the very thought of that would make me laugh outright, and spoil all. Nay I'll tell thee, George; when I apprehend a thing once, I am of such a laxative laughter, that if the devil himself stood by, I should laugh in his face.

Pye.

Puh! that's but the babe of a man^{6 note}

Idle.

'Sfoot, that would be the more to drive me into such an ecstasy, that I should ne'er lin laughing^{7 note}

Pye.

Why then think upon going to hanging.

Idle.

Mass that's well remembered: Now I'll do well, I warrant thee; ne'er fear me now. But how shall I do, George, for boisterous words and horrible names?

Pye.

Puh! any fustian invocations, captain, will serve as well as the best, so you rant them out well: or you may go to a 'pothecary's shop, and take all the words from the boxes.

Idle.

Troth, and you say true, George; there's strange words enough to raise a hundred quack-salvers, though they be ne'er so poor when they begin. But here lies the fear on't: how, if in this false conjuration a true devil should pop up indeed?

Pye.

A true devil, captain? why there was ne'er such a one. Nay 'faith he that has this place, is as false a knave as our last church-warden.

Idle.

Then he's false enough o' conscience, i'faith, George.

Prisoners cry within.]

Good gentlemen over the way, send your relief: Good gentlemen over the way,—good, sir Godfrey!

Pye.

He's come, he's come.

Nich.

Master, that's my kinsman yonder in the buff-jerkin. Kinsman, that's my master yonder i'the taffaty hat. Pray salute him entirely.

Sir God.

Now my friend.

Pye.

May I partake your name, sir?

Edm.

My name is master Edmond.

Pye.

Master Edmond? Are you not a Welshman, sir?

Edm.

A Welshman? why?

Pye.

Because master is your Christian name, and Edmond your sir-name.

Edm.

O no: I have more names at home: master Edmond Plus is my full name at length.

Pye.

O, cry you mercy, sir.

Idle. [Aside to Sir Godfrey.]

I understand that you are my kinsman's good master; and in regard of that, the best of my skill is at your service. But had you fortun'd a mere stranger, and made no means to me by acquaintance, I should have utterly denied to have been the man; both by reason of the act of parliament against conjurers and witches^{8 note}

I would not have my art vulgar, trite, and common.

Sir God.

I much commend your care there, good captain conjurer; and that I will be sure to have it private enough, you shall do't in my sister's house; mine own house I may call it, for both our charges therein are proportion'd.

Idle.

Very good, sir. What may I call your loss, sir?

Sir God.

O you may call it a great loss, a grievous loss, sir; as goodly a chain of gold, though I say it, that wore it—How say'st thou, Nicholas?

Nich.

O 'twas as delicious a chain of gold, kinsman, you know—

Sir God.

You know? Did you know't, captain?

Idle.

Trust a fool with secrets!—Sir, he may say, I know. His meaning is, because my art is such, that by it I may gather a knowledge of all things.

Sir God.

Ay, very true.

Idle.

A pox of all fools! The excuse stuck upon my tongue like ship-pitch upon a mariner's gown, not to come off in haste [Aside]. By'r lady, knight, to lose such a fair chain of gold, were a foul loss. Well, I can put you in this good comfort on't: if it be between heaven and earth, knight, I'll have it for you.

Sir God.

A wonderful conjurer! O ay, 'tis between heaven and earth, I warrant you; it cannot go out of the realm: I know 'tis somewhere above the earth^{9 note};—

Idle.

Ay, nigher the earth than thou wot'st on.

Sir God.

For first, my chain was rich, and no rich thing shall enter into heaven, you know.

Nich.

And as for the devil, master, he has no need on't; for you know he has a great chain of his own.

Sir God.

Thou say'st true, Nicholas, but he has put off that now; that lies by him.

Idle.

'Faith, knight, in few words, I presume so much upon the power of my art, that I could warrant your chain again.

Sir God.

O dainty captain!

Idle.

Marry, it will cost me much sweat; I were better go to sixteen hot-houses^{1 note}.

Sir God.

Ay, good man, I warrant thee.

Idle.

Beside great vexation of kidney and liver.

Nich.

O, 'twill tickle you hereabouts, cousin; because you have not been us'd to't.

Sir God.

No? have you not been us'd to't, captain?

Idle.

Plague of all fools still! [Aside] Indeed, knight, I have not us'd it a good while, and therefore 'twill strain me so much the more, you know.

Sir God.

O, it will, it will.

Idle.

What plunges he puts me to? Were not this knight a fool, I had been twice spoil'd now. That captain's worse than accurs'd that has an ass to his kinsman. 'Sfoot, I fear he will drivel it out, before I come to't.—Now, sir, to come to the point indeed: You see I stick here in the jaw of the Marshalsea, and cannot do't.

Sir God.

Tut, tut, I know thy meaning: thou would'st say thou'rt a prisoner: I tell thee thou'rt none.

Idle.
How, none? why is not this the Marshalsea?

Sir God.
Wilt hear me speak? I heard of thy rare conjuring;
My chain was lost; I sweat for thy release,
As thou shalt do the like at home for me:—
Keeper. Enter Keeper.

Keep.

Sir.

Sir God.

Speak, is not this man free?

Keep.

Yes, at his pleasure, sir, the fees discharg'd.

Sir God.

Go, go; I'll discharge them, I.

Keep.

I thank your worship.

Idle.

Now, trust me, you're a dear knight. Kindness unexpected! O, there's nothing to a free gentleman. I will conjure for you, sir, till froth come through my buff-jerkin.

Sir God.

Nay, then thou shalt not pass with so little a bounty; for at the first sight of my chain again, forty fine angels shall appear unto thee.

Idle.

'Twill be a glorious show, i'faith, knight; a very fine show. But are all these of your own house? Are you sure of that, sir?

Sir God.

Ay, ay;—no, no. What's he yonder talking with my wild nephew? Pray heaven he give him good counsel.

Idle.

Who, he? He's a rare friend of mine, an admirable fellow, knight; the finest fortune-teller.

Sir God.

O! 'tis he indeed, that came to my lady sister, and foretold the loss of my chain: I am not angry with him now, for I see 'twas my fortune to lose it. By your leave, master fortune-teller, I had a glimpse of you at home, at my sister's the widow's; there you prophecy'd of the loss of a chain: simply, though I stand here^{2 note}, I was he that lost it.

Pye.

Was it you, sir?

Edm.

O' my troth, nuncle, he's the rarest fellow; has told me my fortune so right! I find it so right to my nature.

Sir God.

What is't! God send it a good one.

Edm.

O, 'tis a passing good one, nuncle; for he says I shall prove such an excellent gamester in my time, that I shall spend all faster than my father got it.

Sir God.

There's a fortune indeed.

Edm.

Nay, it hits my humour so pat.

Sir God.

Ay, that will be the end on't. Will the curse of the beggar prevail so much, that the son shall consume that foolishly which the father got craftily? Ay, ay, ay; 'twill, 'twill, 'twill.

Pye.

Stay, stay, stay.

Idle.

Turn over, George.

Pye.

June—July—Here, July; that's this month; Sunday thirteen, yesterday fourteen, to-day fifteen.

Idle.

Look quickly for the fifteenth day. If within the compass of these two days there would be some boisterous storm or other, it would be the best; I'd defer him off 'till then. Some tempest, an it be thy will.

Pye.

Here's the fifteenth day. [reads] Hot and fair^{3 note}.

Idle.

Puh! would it had been hot and foul.

Pye.

The sixteenth day; that's to morrow: [reads] The morning for the most part fair and pleasant &lblank;

Idle.

No luck.

Pye.

But about high-noon, lightning and thunder.

Idle.

Lightning and thunder? admirable! best of all! I'll conjure to-morrow just at high-noon, George.

Pye.

Happen but true to-morrow, almanack, and I'll give thee leave to lie all the year after.

Idle.

Sir, I must crave your patience, to bestow this day upon me, that I may furnish myself strongly. I sent a spirit into Lancashire t'other day, to fetch back a knave drover, and I look for his return this evening. To-morrow morning my friend here and I will come and breakfast with you.

Sir God.

O, you shall be most welcome.

Idle.

And about noon, without fail, I purpose to conjure.

Sir God.

Mid-noon will be a fine time for you.

Edm.

Conjuring? Do you mean to conjure at our house to-morrow, sir?

Idle.

Marry do I, sir; 'tis my intent, young gentleman.

Edm.

By my troth, I'll love you while I live for't. O rare! Nicholas, we shall have conjuring to-morrow.

Nich.

Puh! ay, I could ha' told you of that.

Idle.

La, he could have told him of that! fool, coxcomb, could you?

Edm.

Do you hear me, sir? I desire more acquaintance on you. You shall earn some money of me, now I know you can conjure:—but can you fetch any that is lost?

Idle.

O, any thing that's lost.

Edm.

Why look you, sir, I tell it you as a friend and a conjurer. I should marry a'pothecary's daughter, and 'twas told me, she lost her maiden-head at Stony-Stratford: now if you'll do but so much as conjure for't, and make all whole again—

Idle.

That I will, sir.

Edm.

By my troth I thank you, la.

Idle.

A little merry with your sister's son, sir.

Sir God.

O, a simple young man, very simple. Come captain, and you, sir; we'll e'en part with a gallon of wine till to-morrow breakfast.

Pye. Idle.

Troth, agreed, sir.

Nich.

Kinsman—scholar.

Pye.

Why now thou art a good knave; worth a hundred Brownists^{4 note}

Nich.

Am I indeed, la? I thank you heartily, la.