No More Learning

_Sir Dav. _ Ha! what art thou?
Approach thou like the rugged Bankside bear,
The East-cheap bull, or monster shown in fair,--
Take any shape but that, and I'll confront thee!

_Sir Jol. _ Alas, unhappy man! I am thy friend.

_Sir Dav. _ Thou canst not be my friend, for I defy thee. Sir
Jolly! neighbour! ha! is it you? are you sure it is you? are
you yourself? if you be, give me your hand. Alas-a-day, I ha'
seen the devil.

_Sir Jol. _ The devil, neighbour?

_Sir Dav. _ Ay, ay, there's no help for't; at first I fancied
it was a young white bear's cub dancing in the shadow of my
candle; then it was turned to a pair of blue breeches with
wooden legs on, stamped about the room, as if all the cripples
in town had kept their rendezvous there; when all of a sudden,
it appeared like a leathern serpent, and with a dreadful clap
of thunder flew out of the window.

_Sir Jol. _ Thunder! why, I heard no thunder.

_Sir Dav. _ That may be too; what, were you asleep?

_Sir Jol. _ Asleep, quoth-a? no, no; no sleeping this night for
me, I assure you.

_Sir Dav. _ Well, what's the best news then? How does the man?

_Sir Jol. _ Even as he did before he was born nothing at all;
he's dead.

_Sir Dav. _ Dead! what, quite dead?

_Sir Jol. _ As good as dead, if not quite dead; 'twas a horrid
murder! and then the terror of conscience, neighbour.

_Sir Dav. _ And truly I have a very terrified one, friend,
though I never found I had any conscience at all till now. Pray
whereabout was his death's-wound?

_Sir Jol. _ Just here, just under his left pap, a dreadful gash.

_Sir Dav. _ So very wide?

_Sir Jol. _ Oh, as wide as my hat; you might have seen his
lungs, liver, and heart, as perfectly as if you had been in his
belly.

_Sir Dav. _ Is there no way to have him privately buried, and
conceal this murder? Must I needs be hanged by the neck like a
dog, neighbour? Do I look as if I would be hanged?

_Sir Jol. _ Truly, Sir Davy, I must deal faithfully with you,
you do look a little suspiciously at present; but have you seen
the devil, say you?

_Sir Dav. _ Ay, surely it was the devil, nothing else could have
frighted me so.

_Sir Jol. _ Bless us, and guard us all the angels! what's that?

_Sir Dav. _ "Potestati sempiternæ cujus benevolentiâ servantur
gentes, et cujus misericordiâ"--

[_Kneels, holding up his hands, and muttering as if he prayed. _

_Sir Jol. _ Neighbour, where are you, friend, Sir Davy?

_Sir Dav. _ Ah, whatever you do, be sure to stand close to me:
where, where is it?

_Sir Jol. _ Just, just there, in the shape of a coach and six
horses against the wall.

_Sir Dav. _ Deliver us all! he won't carry me away in that coach
and six, will he?

_Sir Jol. _ Do you see it? [_Exit. _

_Sir Dav. _ See it! plain, plain: dear friend, advise me what
I shall do: Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, do you hear nothing? Sir
Jolly--ha! has he left me alone, Vermin?

_Ver. _ Sir.

_Sir Dav. _ Am I alive? Dost thou know me again? Am I thy
quondam master, Sir Davy Dunce?

_Ver. _ I hope I shall never forget you, sir.

_Sir Dav. _ Didst thou see nothing?

_Ver. _ Yes, sir, methought the house was all a-fire, as it were.

_Sir Dav. _ Didst thou not see how the devils grinned and
gnashed their teeth at me, Vermin?

_Ver. _ Alas, sir, I was afraid one of 'em would have bit off my
nose, as he vanished out of the door.

_Sir Dav. _ Lead me away, I'll go to my wife, I'll die by my
own dear wife. Run away to the Temple, and call Counsellor, my
lawyer; I'll make over my estate presently, I shan't live till
noon; I'll give all I have to my wife. Ha, Vermin!

_Ver. _ Truly, sir, she's a very good lady.

_Sir Dav. _ Ah, much, much too good for me, Vermin; thou canst
not imagine what she has done for me, man; she would break her
heart if I should give any thing away from her, she loves me so
dearly. Yet if I do die, thou shalt have all my old shoes.

_Ver. _ I hope to see you live many a fair day yet though.

_Sir Dav. _ Ah, my wife, my poor wife! lead me to my poor wife.
[_Exeunt. _

[Illustration]


SCENE III. --Lady DUNCE'S _Chamber_.

Lady DUNCE _and_ BEAUGARD _discovered_.

_L. Dunce. _ What think you now of a cold wet march over the
mountains, your men tired, your baggage not come up, but at
night a dirty watery plain to encamp upon, and nothing to
shelter you, but an old leaguer cloak as tattered as your
colours? Is not this much better, now, than lying wet, and
getting the sciatica?

_Beau. _ The hopes of this made all fatigue easy to me; the
thoughts of Clarinda have a thousand times refreshed me in my
solitude. Whene'er I marched, I fancied still it was to my
Clarinda; when I fought, I imagined it was for my Clarinda; but
when I came home, and found Clarinda lost! --How could you think
of wasting but a night in the rank, surfeiting arms of this
foul-feeding monster, this rotten trunk of a man, that lays
claim to you?

_L. Dunce. _ The persuasion of friends, and the authority of
parents.

_Beau. _ And had you no more grace than to be ruled by a father
and mother?

_L. Dunce. _ When you were gone, that should have given me
better counsel, how could I help myself?

_Beau. _ Methinks, then, you might have found out some cleanlier
shift to have thrown away yourself upon than nauseous old age,
and unwholesome deformity.

_L. Dunce. _ What, upon some over-grown, full-fed country fool,
with a horse-face, a great ugly head, and a great fine estate;
one that should have been drained and squeezed, and jolted up
and down the town in hackneys with cheats and hectors, and so
sent home at three o'clock every morning, like a lolling booby,
stinking, with a belly-full of stummed wine,[52] and nothing
in's pockets?

_Beau. _ You might have made a tractable beast of such a one; he
would have been young enough for training.

_L. Dunce. _ Is youth then so gentle, if age be stubborn? Young
men, like springs wrought by a subtle workman, easily ply to
what their wishes press them; but the desire once gone that
kept them down, they soon start straight again, and no sign's
left which way they bent before.

_Sir Jol. _ [_At the door peeping. _] So, so, who says I see
anything now? I see nothing, not I; I don't see, I don't see, I
don't look, not so much as look, not I. [_He enters. _

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav. _ I will have my wife, carry me to my wife, let me go
to my wife, I'll live and die with my wife, let the devil do
his worst; ah, my wife, my wife, my wife!

_L. Dunce. _ [_To_ BEAUGARD. ] Alas! alas! we are ruined! shift
for yourself; counterfeit the dead corpse once more, or
anything.

_Sir Dav. _ Ha! whosoe'er thou art thou canst not eat me! speak
to me, who has done this? Thou canst not say I did it.

_Sir Jol. _ Did it? did what? Here's nobody says you did
anything that I know, neighbour; what's the matter with you?
what ails you? whither do you go? whither do you run? I tell
you here's nobody says a word to you.

_Sir Dav. _ Did you not see the ghost just now?

_Sir Jol. _ Ghost! pr'ythee now, here's no ghost; whither would
you go? I tell you, you shall not stir one foot farther, man;
the devil take me if you do. Ghost! pr'ythee, here's no ghost
at all; a little flesh and blood, indeed, there is, some old,
some young, some alive, some dead, and so forth; but ghost!
pish, here's no ghost.

_Sir Dav. _ But, sir, if I say I did see a ghost, I did see a
ghost, an you go to that; why, sure I know a ghost when I see
one. Ah, my dear, if thou hadst but seen the devil half so
often as I have seen him!

_L. Dunce. _ Alas, Sir Davy! if you ever loved me, come not, oh,
come not near me; I have resolved to waste the short remainder
of my life in penitence, and taste of joys no more.

_Sir Dav. _ Alas, my poor child! But do you think there was no
ghost indeed?

_Sir Jol. _ Ghost! Alas-a-day, what should a ghost do here?

_Sir Dav. _ And is the man dead?

_Sir Jol. _ Dead! ay, ay, stark dead, he's stiff by this time.

_L. Dunce. _ Here you may see the horrid ghastly spectacle,
the sad effects of my too rigid virtue, and your too fierce
resentment--

_Sir Jol. _ Do you see there?

_Sir Dav.
_ Ay, ay, I do see; would I had never seen him; would
he had lain with my wife in every house between Charing Cross
and Aldgate, so this had never happened!

_Sir Jol. _ In truth, and would he had! but we are all mortal,
neighbour, all mortal; to-day we are here, to-morrow gone; like
the shadow that vanisheth, like the grass that withereth, or
like the flower that fadeth; or indeed like anything, or rather
like nothing: but we are all mortal.

_Sir Dav. _ Heigh!

_L. Dunce. _ Down, down that trap-door, it goes into a
bathing-room; for the rest, leave it to my conduct.

[BEAUGARD _descends_.

_Sir Jol. _ 'Tis very unfortunate that you should run yourself
into this _premunire_,[53] Sir Davy.

_Sir Dav. _ Indeed, and so it is.

_Sir Jol. _ For a gentleman, a man in authority, a person in
years, one that used to go to church with his neighbours.

_Sir Dav. _ Every Sunday truly, Sir Jolly.

_Sir Jol. _ Pay scot and lot to the parish.

_Sir Dav. _ Six pounds a year to the very poor, without
abatement or deduction: 'tis very hard if so good a
commonwealth's-man should be brought to ride in a cart at last,
and be hanged in a sunshiny morning to make butchers and suburb
apprentices a holiday; I'll e'en run away.

_Sir Jol. _ Run away! why then your estate will be forfeited;
you'll lose your estate, man.

_Sir Dav. _ Truly you say right, friend; and a man had better be
half-hanged than lose his estate, you know.

_Sir Jol. _ Hanged! no, no, I think there's no great fear
of hanging neither: what, the fellow was but a sort of an
unaccountable fellow, as I heard you say.

_Sir Dav. _ Ay, ay, pox on him, he was a soldierly sort of a
vagabond; he had little or nothing but his sins to live upon:
if I could have had but patience, he would have been hanged
within these two months, and all this mischief saved.

[BEAUGARD _rises up like a ghost at the_
_trap-door, just before_ Sir DAVY.

O Lord! the devil, the devil, the devil! [_Falls upon his face. _

_Sir Jol. _ Why, Sir Davy, Sir Davy, what ails you? what's the
matter with you?

_Sir Dav. _ Let me alone, let me lie still; I will not look up
to see an angel; oh-h-h!

_L. Dunce. _ My dear, why do you do these cruel things to
affright me? Pray rise and speak to me.

_Sir Dav. _ I dare not stir; I saw the ghost again just now.

_L. Dunce. _ Ghost again! what ghost? where?

_Sir Dav. _ Why, there! there!

_Sir Jol. _ Here has been no ghost.

_Sir Dav. _ Why, did you see nothing then?

_L. Dunce. _ See nothing! no, nothing but one another.

_Sir Dav. _ Then I am enchanted, or my end is near at hand,
neighbour; for Heaven's sake, neighbour, advise me what I shall
do to be at rest.

_Sir Jol. _ Do! why, what think you if the body were removed?

_Sir Dav. _ Removed! I'd give a hundred pound the body were out
of my house; may be then the devil would not be so impudent.

_Sir Jol. _ I have discovered a door-place in the wall betwixt
my lady's chamber and one that belongs to me; if you think fit
we'll beat it down, and remove this troublesome lump of earth
to my house.

_Sir Dav. _ But will you be so kind?

_Sir Jol. _ If you think it may by any means be serviceable to
you.

_Sir Dav. _ Truly, if the body were removed, and disposed of
privately, that no more might be heard of the matter--I hope
he'll be as good as his word. [_Aside. _

_Sir Jol. _ Fear nothing, I'll warrant you; but in troth I had
utterly forgot one thing, utterly forgot it.

_Sir Dav. _ What's that?

_Sir Jol. _ Why, it will be absolutely necessary that your lady
stayed with me at my house for one day, till things were better
settled.

_Sir Dav. _ Ah, Sir Jolly! whatever you think fit; anything of
mine that you have a mind to; pray take her, pray take her, you
shall be very welcome. Hear you, my dearest, there is but one
way for us to get rid of this untoward business, and Sir Jolly
has found it out; therefore by all means go along with him, and
be ruled by him; and whatever Sir Jolly would have thee do,
e'en do it: so Heaven prosper ye, good-bye, good-bye, till I
see you again. [_Exit. _

_Sir Jol. _ This is certainly the civilest cuckold in city,
town, or country.

_Beau. _ Is he gone? [_Steps out. _

_L. Dunce. _ Yes, and has left poor me here.

_Beau. _ In troth, madam, 'tis barbarously done of him, to
commit a horrid murder on the body of an innocent poor fellow,
and then leave you to stem the danger of it.

_Sir Jol. _ Odd, an I were as thee, sweetheart, I'd be revenged
on him for it, so I would. Go, get ye together, steal out of
the house as softly as you can, I'll meet ye in the Piazza
presently; go, be sure ye steal out of the house, and don't let
Sir Davy see you. [_Exeunt. _


SCENE IV. --_Entrance Hall in_ Sir DAVY DUNCE'S _House_.

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE.

_Sir Jol. _ Bloody-Bones!

_Enter_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Bloody-B. _ I am here, sir.

_Sir Jol. _ Go you and Fourbin to my house presently; bid
Monsieur Fourbin remember that all things be ordered according
to my directions. Tell my maids, too, I am coming home in a
trice; bid 'em get the great chamber, and the banquet I spoke
for, ready presently. And, d'ye hear, carry the minstrels with
ye too, for I am resolved to rejoice this morning. Let me
see--Sir Davy!

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav. _ Ay, neighbour, 'tis I; is the business done? I
cannot be satisfied till I am sure: have you removed the body?
is it gone?

_Sir Jol. _ Yes, yes, my servants conveyed it out of the house
just now. Well, Sir Davy, a good morning to you: I wish you
your health, with all my heart, Sir Davy; the first thing you
do, though, I'd have you say your prayers by all means, if you
can.

_Sir Dav. _ If I can possibly, I will.

_Sir Jol. _ Well, good-bye. [_Exit. _

_Sir Dav. _ Well, good-bye heartily, good neighbour. --Vermin,
Vermin!

_Enter_ VERMIN.

_Ver. _ Did your honour call?

_Sir Dav. _ Go run, run presently over the square, and call the
constable presently; tell him here's murder committed, and
that I must speak with him instantly. I'll e'en carry him to
my neighbour's, that he may find the dead body there, and so
let my neighbour be very fairly hanged in my stead; ha! a very
good jest, as I hope to live, ha, ha, ha! --hey, what's that?

_Watchmen. _ [_Within. _] Almost four o'clock, and a dark cloudy
morning; good-morrow, my masters all, good-morrow!

_Enter_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Const. _ How's this, a door open! Come in, gentlemen. --Ah, Sir
Davy, your honour's humble servant; I and my watch, going my
morning-rounds, and finding your door open, made bold to enter,
to see there were no danger. Your worship will excuse our care;
a good morning to you, sir.

_Sir Dav. _ Oh, Master Constable, I'm glad you're here; I sent
my man just now to call you. I have sad news to tell you,
Master Constable.

_Const. _ I am sorry for that, sir; sad news!

_Sir Dav. _ Oh, ay, sad news, very sad news truly: here has been
murder committed.

_Const. _ Murder! if that's all, we are your humble servants,
sir, we'll bid you good-morrow: murder's nothing at this time
o' night in Covent-garden.

_Sir Dav. _ Oh, but this is a horrid, bloody murder, done under
my nose; I cannot but take notice of it; though I am sorry to
tell you the authors of it, very sorry truly.

_Const. _ Was it committed here near hand?

_Sir Dav. _ Oh, at the very next door; a sad murder indeed.
After they had done, they carried the body privately into my
neighbour Sir Jolly's house here; I am sorry to tell it you,
Master Constable, for I am afraid it will look but scurvily on
his side; though I am a justice o' peace, gentlemen, and am
bound by my oath to take notice of it; I can't help it.

_1st Watch. _ I never liked that Sir Jolly.

_Const. _ He threatened me t'other day for carrying a little,
dirty, draggle-tailed whore to Bridewell, and said she was his
cousin. Sir, if your worship thinks fit, we'll go search his
house.

_Sir Dav. _ Oh, by all means, gentlemen, it must be so; justice
must have its course; the king's liege subjects must not be
destroyed. --Vermin, carry Master Constable and his dragons into
the cellar, and make 'em drink; I'll but step into my study,
put on my face of authority, and call upon ye instantly.

_Watchmen. _ We thank your honour. [_Exeunt. _

[Illustration]


SCENE V. --_A Room in_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE'S _House_. _A banquet set out. _

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE, BEAUGARD, _and_
Lady DUNCE.

_Sir Jol. _ So, are ye come? I am glad on't; odd, you're
welcome, very welcome, odd, ye are; here's a small banquet,
but I hope 'twill please you; sit ye down, sit ye down both
together; nay, both together: a pox o' him that parts ye, I say!

_Beau. _ Sir Jolly, this might be an entertainment for Antony
and Cleopatra, were they living.

_Sir Jol. _ Pish! a pox of Antony and Cleopatra, they are dead
and rotten long ago; come, come, time's but short, time's but
short, and must be made the best use of; for

Youth's a flower that soon does fade,
And life is but a span;
Man was for the woman made,
And woman made for man.

Why, now we can be bold, and make merry, and frisk and be
brisk, rejoice, and make a noise, and--odd, I am pleased,
mightily pleased, odd, I am.

_L. Dunce. _ Really, Sir Jolly, you are more a philosopher than
I thought you were.

_Sir Jol. _ Philosopher, madam! yes, madam, I have read books
in my times; odd, Aristotle, in some things, had very pretty
notions, he was an understanding fellow. Why don't ye eat? odd,
an ye don't eat--here, child, here's some ringoes,[54] help,
help your neighbour a little; odd, they are very good, very
comfortable, very cordial.

_Beau.