The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Devil is an Ass, by Ben Jonson.

Yet a word of parting praise must be given to Satan: a small part as far as extent goes, but a splendid example of high comic imagination after the order of Aristophanes, admirably relieved by the low comedy of the asinine Pug and the voluble doggrel by the antiquated Vice.

TEXT

The text here adopted is that of the original edition of 1631. No changes of reading have been made; spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and italics are reproduced. The original pagination is inserted in brackets; the book-holder’s marginal notes are inserted where 1716 and Whalley placed them. In a few instances modern type has been substituted for archaic characters. The spacing of the contracted words has been normalized.

Mere changes of spelling have not been noted in the variants. All changes of form and all suggestive changes of punctuation have been recorded.

[93] Dramatis Personæ 1716, f. G places the women’s names after those of the men.

The Divell is an Aſſe. That is, to day, The name of what you are met for, a new Play. Yet, Grandee’s, would you were not come to grace Our matter, with allowing vs no place. Though you preſume Satan a ſubtill thing, 5 And may haue heard hee’s worne in a thumbe-ring; Doe not on theſe preſumptions, force vs act, In compaſſe of a cheeſe-trencher. This tract Will ne’er admit our vice, becauſe of yours. Anone, who, worſe then you, the fault endures 10 That your ſelues make? when you will thruſt and ſpurne, And knocke vs o’ the elbowes, and bid, turne; As if, when wee had ſpoke, wee muſt be gone, Or, till wee ſpeake, muſt all runne in, to one, Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth? 15 Would wee could ſtand due North; or had no South, If that offend: or were Muſcouy glaſſe, That you might looke our Scenes through as they paſſe. We know not how to affect you. If you’ll come To ſee new Playes, pray you affoord vs roome, 20 And ſhew this, but the ſame face you haue done Your deare delight, the Diuell of Edmunton. Or, if, for want of roome it muſt miſ-carry, ’Twill be but Iuſtice, that your cenſure tarry, Till you giue ſome. And when ſixe times you ha’ ſeen’t, 25 If this Play doe not like, the Diuell is in’t.

Hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c. To earth? and, why to earth, thou foooliſh Spirit? What wold’ſt thou do on earth?

Pvg. For that, great Chiefe! As time ſhal work. I do but ask my mon’th. Which euery petty pui’nee Diuell has; 5 Within that terme, the Court of Hell will heare Some thing, may gaine a longer grant, perhaps.

Sat. For what? the laming a poore Cow, or two? Entring a Sow, to make her caſt her farrow? Or croſſing of a Mercat-womans Mare, 10 Twixt this, and Totnam? theſe were wont to be Your maine atchieuements, Pug, You haue ſome plot, now, Vpon a tonning of Ale, to ſtale the yeſt, Or keepe the churne ſo, that the buttter come not; Spight o’ the houſewiues cord, or her hot ſpit? 15 Or ſome good Ribibe, about Kentiſh Towne, Or Hogſden, you would hang now, for a witch, Becauſe ſhee will not let you play round Robbin: And you’ll goe ſowre the Citizens Creame ’gainſt Sunday? That ſhe may be accus’d for’t, and condemn’d, 20 By a Middleſex Iury, to the ſatisfaction Of their offended friends, the Londiners wiues Whoſe teeth were ſet on edge with it? Fooliſh feind, Stay i’ your place, know your owne ſtrengths, and put not Beyond the ſpheare of your actiuity. 25 You are too dull a Diuell to be truſted [96] Forth in thoſe parts, Pug, vpon any affayre That may concerne our name, on earth. It is not Euery ones worke. The ſtate of Hell muſt care Whom it imployes, in point of reputation, 30 Heere about London. You would make, I thinke An Agent, to be ſent, for Lancaſhire, Proper inough; or ſome parts of Northumberland, So yo’ had good inſtructions, Pug. Pvg. O Chiefe! You doe not know, deare Chiefe, what there is in mee. 35 Proue me but for a fortnight, for a weeke, And lend mee but a Vice, to carry with mee, To practice there-with any play-fellow, And, you will ſee, there will come more vpon’t, Then you’ll imagine, pretious Chiefe.

Sat. What Vice? 40 What kind wouldſt th’ haue it of?

Pvg. Why, any Fraud; Or Couetouſneſſe; or Lady Vanity; Or old Iniquity: I’ll call him hither.

Ini. What is he, calls vpon me, and would ſeeme to lack a Vice? Ere his words be halfe ſpoken, I am with him in a trice; 45 Here, there, and euery where, as the Cat is with the mice: True vetus Iniquitas. Lack’ſt thou Cards, friend, or Dice? I will teach thee cheate, Child, to cog, lye, and ſwagger, And euer and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger: To ſweare by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Iuuentus, 50 In a cloake to thy heele, and a hat like a pent-houſe. Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly, With a Wench that shall feede thee, with cock-ſtones and gelly.

Pvg. Is it not excellent, Chiefe? how nimble he is!

Ini. Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leape 55 From the top of Pauls-ſteeple, to the Standard in Cheepe: And lead thee a daunce, through the ſtreets without faile, Like a needle of Spaine, with a thred at my tayle. We will ſuruay the Suburbs, and make forth our ſallyes, Downe Petticoate-lane, and vp the Smock-allies, 60 To Shoreditch, Whitechappell, and so to Saint Kathernes. To drinke with the Dutch there, and take forth their patternes: From thence, wee will put in at Cuſtome-houſe key there, And ſee, how the Factors, and Prentizes play there, Falſe with their Maſters; and gueld many a full packe, 65 To ſpend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool-ſacke.

Pvg. Braue, braue, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe?

Ini. Nay, boy, I wil bring thee to the Bawds, and the Royſters, At Belins-gate, feaſting with claret-wine, and oyſters, From thence ſhoot the Bridge, childe, to the Cranes i’ the Vintry, 70 And ſee, there the gimblets, how they make their entry! Or, if thou hadſt rather, to the Strand downe to fall, ’Gainſt the Lawyers come dabled from Weſtminſter-hall [97] And marke how they cling, with their clyents together, Like Iuie to Oake; so Veluet to Leather: 75 Ha, boy, I would ſhew thee.

Pvg. Rare, rare!

Div. Peace, dotard, And thou more ignorant thing, that ſo admir’ſt. Art thou the ſpirit thou ſeem’ſt? ſo poore? to chooſe This, for a Vice, t’aduance the cauſe of Hell, Now? as Vice ſtands this preſent yeere? Remember, 80 What number it is. Six hundred and ſixteene. Had it but beene fiue hundred, though ſome ſixty Aboue; that’s fifty yeeres agone, and ſix, (When euery great man had his Vice ſtand by him, In his long coat, ſhaking his wooden dagger) 85 I could conſent, that, then this your graue choice Might haue done that with his Lord Chiefe, the which Moſt of his chamber can doe now. But Pug, As the times are, who is it, will receiue you? What company will you goe to? or whom mix with? 90 Where canſt thou carry him? except to Tauernes? To mount vp ona joynt-ſtoole, with a Iewes-trumpe, To put downe Cokeley, and that muſt be to Citizens? He ne’re will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes. Hee may perchance, in taile of a Sheriffes dinner, 95 Skip with a rime o’ the Table, from New-nothing, And take his Almaine-leape into a cuſtard, Shall make my Lad Maioreſſe, and her ſiſters, Laugh all their hoods ouer their shoulders. But, This is not that will doe, they are other things 100 That are receiu’d now vpon earth, for Vices; Stranger, and newer: and chang’d euery houre. They ride ’hem like their horſes off their legges, And here they come to Hell, whole legions of ’hem, Euery weeke tyr’d. Wee, ſtill ſtriue to breed, 105 And reare ’hem vp new ones; but they doe not ſtand, When they come there: they turne ’hem on our hands. And it is fear’d they haue a ſtud o’ their owne Will put downe ours. Both our breed, and trade VVill ſuddenly decay, if we preuent not. 110 Vnleſſe it be a Vice of quality, Or faſhion, now, they take none from vs. Car-men Are got into the yellow ſtarch, and Chimney-ſweepers To their tabacco, and ſtrong-waters, Hum, Meath, and Obarni. VVe muſt therefore ayme 115 At extraordinary ſubtill ones, now, When we doe ſend to keepe vs vp in credit. Not old Iniquities. Get you e’ne backe, Sir, To making of your rope of ſand againe. You are not for the manners, nor the times: [98] 120 They haue their Vices, there, moſt like to Vertues; You cannnot know ’hem, apart, by any difference: They weare the ſame clothes, eate the ſame meate, Sleepe i’ the ſelfe-ſame beds, rid i’ thoſe coaches. Or very like, foure horſes in a coach, 125 As the beſt men and women. Tiſſue gownes, Garters and roſes, foureſcore pound a paire, Embroydred ſtockings, cut-worke ſmocks, and ſhirts, More certaine marks of lechery, now, and pride, Then ere they were of true nobility! 130 But Pug, ſince you doe burne with ſuch deſire To doe the Common-wealth of Hell ſome ſeruice; I am content, aſſuming of a body, You goe to earth, and viſit men, a day. But you muſt take a body ready made, Pug, 135 I can create you none: nor ſhall you forme Your ſelfe an aery one, but become ſubiect To all impreſſion of the fleſh, you take, So farre as humane frailty. So, this morning, There is a handſome Cutpurſe hang’d at Tiborne, 140 Whoſe ſpirit departed, you may enter his body: For clothes imploy your credit, with the Hangman, Or let our tribe of Brokers furniſh you. And, looke, how farre your ſubtilty can worke Thorow thoſe organs, with that body, ſpye 145 Amongſt mankind, (you cannot there want vices, And therefore the leſſe need to carry ’hem wi’ you) But as you make your ſoone at nights relation, And we ſhall find, it merits from the State, Your ſhall haue both truſt from vs, and imployment. 150

Pvg. Most gracious Chiefe!

Div. Onely, thus more I bind you, To ſerue the firſt man that you meete; and him I’le ſhew you, now: Obserue him. Yon’ is hee, He ſhewes Fitz-dottrel to him, comming forth. You ſhall ſee, firſt, after your clothing. Follow him: But once engag’d, there you muſt ſtay and fixe; Not ſhift, vntill the midnights cocke doe crow.

Pvg. Any conditions to be gone.

Div. Away, then. 157

[110] SD. Divell] Devil, 1692 || Satan 1716, W || Divell ...] Enter Satan and Pug. G

I, they doe, now, name Bretnor, as before, [97] They talk’d of Greſham, and of Doctor Fore-man, Francklin, and Fiske, and Sauory (he was in too) But there’s not one of theſe, that euer could Yet ſhew a man the Diuell, in true ſort. 5 They haue their chriſtalls, I doe know, and rings, And virgin parchment, and their dead-mens ſculls Their rauens wings, their lights, and pentacles, With characters; I ha’ ſeene all theſe. But— Would I might ſee the Diuell. I would giue 10 A hundred o’ theſe pictures, to ſee him Once out of picture. May I proue a cuckold, (And that’s the one maine mortall thing I feare) If I beginne not, now, to thinke, the Painters Haue onely made him. ’Slight, he would be ſeene, 15 One time or other elſe. He would not let An ancient gentleman, of a good houſe, As moſt are now in England, the Fitz-Dottrel’s Runne wilde, and call vpon him thus in vaine, As I ha’ done this twelue mone’th. If he be not, 20 At all, why, are there Coniurers? If they be not, Why, are there lawes againſt ’hem? The beſt artiſts Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London, Essex, and Kent, I haue had in pay to raiſe him, Theſe fifty weekes, and yet h’appeares not. ’Sdeath, 25 I ſhall ſuſpect, they, can make circles onely Shortly, and know but his hard names. They doe ſay, H’will meet a man (of himſelfe) that has a mind to him. If hee would ſo, I haue a minde and a halfe for him: He ſhould not be long abſent. Pray thee, come 30 I long for thee. An’ I were with child by him, And my wife too; I could not more. Come, yet, He expreſſes a longing to ſee the Diuell Good Beelezebub. Were hee a kinde diuell, And had humanity in him, hee would come, but To ſaue ones longing. I ſhould vſe him well, 35 I ſweare, and with reſpect (would he would try mee) Not, as the Conjurers doe, when they ha’ rais’d him. Get him in bonds, and ſend him poſt, on errands. A thouſand miles, it is prepoſterous, that; And I beleeue, is the true cauſe he comes not. [100] 40 And hee has reaſon. Who would be engag’d, That might liue freely, as he may doe? I ſweare, They are wrong all. The burn’t child dreads the fire. They doe not know to entertaine the Diuell. I would ſo welcome him, obſerue his diet, 45 Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of ’hem, I’ my own houſe; lend him my wiues wrought pillowes: And as I am an honeſt man, I thinke, If he had a minde to her, too; I should grant him, To make our friend-ſhip perfect. So I would not 50 To euery man. If hee but heare me, now? And ſhould come to mee in a braue young ſhape, And take me at my word? ha! Who is this?

[150] SD. Act. I. om. 1716, f. (as regularly, after Sc. I. of each act.) Act ...] Scene II. The street before Fitzdottrel’s House. Enter Fitzdottrel. G

Sir, your good pardon, that I thus preſume Vpon your priuacy. I am borne a Gentleman, A younger brother; but, in ſome diſgrace, Now, with my friends: and want ſome little meanes, To keepe me vpright, while things be reconcil’d. 5 Pleaſe you, to let my ſeruice be of vſe to you, Sir.

Fit. Seruice? ’fore hell, my heart was at my mouth, Till I had view’d his ſhooes well: for, thoſe roſes Were bigge inough to hide a clouen foote. Hee lookes and ſuruay’s his feet: ouer and ouer. No, friend, my number’s full. I haue one ſeruant, 10 Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broome Vnto the bruſh: for, iuſt so farre, I truſt him. He is my Ward-robe man, my Cater, Cooke, Butler, and Steward; lookes vnto my horſe: And helpes to watch my wife. H’has all the places, 15 That I can thinke on, from the garret downward, E’en to the manger, and the curry-combe.

Pvg. Sir, I ſhall put your worſhip to no charge, More then my meate, and that but very little, I’le ſerue you for your loue.

Fit. Ha? without wages? 20 I’le harken o’ that eare, were I at leaſure. But now, I’m buſie. ’Pr’y the, friend forbeare mee, And’ thou hadſt beene a Diuell, I ſhould ſay [101] Somewhat more to thee. Thou doſt hinder, now, My meditations.

Pvg. Sir, I am a Diuell. 25

Fit. How!

Pvg. A true Diuell, S^r.

Fit. Nay, now, you ly: Vnder your fauour, friend, for, I’ll not quarrell. I look’d o’ your feet, afore, you cannot coozen mee, Your ſhoo’s not clouen, Sir, you are whole hoof’d. He viewes his feete againe. Pvg. Sir, that’s a popular error, deceiues many: 30 But I am that, I tell you.

Fit. What’s your name?

Pvg. My name is Diuell, S^r.

Fit. Sai’ſt thou true.

Pvg. in-deed, S^r.

Fit. ’Slid! there’s ſome omen i’ this! what countryman?

Pvg. Of Derby-ſhire, S^r. about the Peake.

Fit. That Hole Belong’d to your Anceſtors?

Pvg. Yes, Diuells arſe, S^r. 35

Fit. I’ll entertaine him for the name ſake. Ha? And turne away my tother man? and ſaue Foure pound a yeere by that? there’s lucke, and thrift too! The very Diuell may come, heereafter, as well. Friend, I receiue you: but (withall) I acquaint you, 40 Aforehand, if yo’ offend mee, I muſt beat you. It is a kinde of exerciſe, I vſe. And cannot be without.

Pvg. Yes, if I doe not Offend, you can, ſure.

Fit. Faith, Diuell, very hardly: I’ll call you by your ſurname, ’cauſe I loue it. 45

Yonder hee walkes, Sir, I’ll goe lift him for you.

Wit. To him, good Ingine, raiſe him vp by degrees, Gently, and hold him there too, you can doe it. Shew your ſelfe now, a Mathematicall broker.

Ing. I’ll warrant you for halfe a piece.

Wit. ’Tis done, S^r. 5

Man. Is’t poſſible there ſhould be ſuch a man?

Wit. You ſhall be your owne witneſſe, I’ll not labour To tempt you paſt your faith.

Man. And is his wife So very handſome, ſay you?

Wit. I ha’ not ſeene her, Since I came home from trauell: and they ſay, 10 Shee is not alter’d. Then, before I went, I ſaw her once; but ſo, as ſhee hath ſtuck Still i’ my view, no obiect hath remou’d her.

Man. ’Tis a faire gueſt, Friend, beauty: and once lodg’d [102] Deepe in the eyes, ſhee hardly leaues the Inne. 15 How do’s he keepe her?

Wit. Very braue. Howeuer, Himselfe be fordide, hee is ſenſuall that way. In euery dreſſing, hee do’s ſtudy her.

Man. And furniſh forth himselfe ſo from the Brokers?

Wit. Yes, that’s a hyr’d ſuite, hee now has one, 20 To ſee the Diuell is an Aſſe, to day, in: (This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him) He dares not miſſe a new Play, or a Feaſt, What rate ſoeuer clothes be at; and thinkes Himſelfe ſtill new, in other mens old.

Man. But ſtay, 25 Do’s he loue meat ſo?

Wit. Faith he do’s not hate it. But that’s not it. His belly and his palate Would be compounded with for reaſon. Mary, A wit he has, of that ſtrange credit with him, ’Gainſt all mankinde; as it doth make him doe 30 Iuſt what it liſt: it rauiſhes him forth, Whither it pleaſe, to any aſſembly’or place, And would conclude him ruin’d, ſhould hee ſcape One publike meeting, out of the beliefe He has of his owne great, and Catholike ſtrengths, 35 In arguing, and diſcourſe. It takes, I ſee: H’has got the cloak vpon him.

Ingine hath won Fitzdottrel, to ’ſay on the cloake.

Fit. A faire garment, By my faith, Ingine!

Ing. It was neuer made, Sir, For three ſcore pound, I aſſure you: ’Twill yeeld thirty. The pluſh, Sir, coſt three pound, ten ſhillings a yard! 40 And then the lace, and veluet.

Fit. I ſhall, Ingine, Be look’d at, pretitly, in it! Art thou ſure The Play is play’d to day?

Ing. O here’s the bill, S^r. Hee giues him the Play-bill. I’, had forgot to gi’t you.

Fit. Ha? the Diuell! I will not loſe you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you, 45 The Gallant is ſo furious in his folly? So mad vpon the matter, that hee’ll part With’s cloake vpo’ theſe termes?

Ing. Truſt not your Ingine, Breake me to pieces elſe, as you would doe A rotten Crane, or an old ruſty Iacke, 50 That has not one true wheele in him. Doe but talke with him.

Fit. I ſhall doe that, to ſatisfie you, Ingine, And my ſelfe too. With your leaue, Gentlemen. Hee turnes to Wittipol. Which of you is it, is ſo meere Idolater To my wiues beauty, and ſo very prodigall 55 Vnto my patience, that, for the ſhort parlee? Of one ſwift houres quarter, with my wife, He will depart with (let mee ſee) this cloake here The price of folly? Sir, are you the man?

Wit. I am that vent’rer, Sir.

Fit. Good time! your name 60 Is Witty-pol?

Wit. The ſame, S^r.

Fit. And ’tis told me, [103] Yo’ haue trauell’d lately?

Wit. That I haue, S^r.

Fit. Truly, Your trauells may haue alter’d your complexion; But ſure, your wit ſtood ſtill.

Wit. It may well be, Sir. All heads ha’ not like growth.

Fit. The good mans grauity, 65 That left you land, your father, neuer taught you Theſe pleaſant matches?

Wit. No, nor can his mirth, With whom I make ’hem, put me off.

Fit. You are Reſolu’d then?

Wit. Yes, S^r.

Fit. Beauty is the Saint, You’ll ſacrifice your ſelfe, into the ſhirt too? 70

Wit. So I may ſtill cloth, and keepe warme your wiſdome?

Fit. You lade me S^r!

Wit. I know what you wil beare, S^r.

Fit. Well, to the point. ’Tis only, Sir, you ſay, To ſpeake vnto my wife?

Wit. Only, to ſpeake to her.

Fit. And in my preſence?

Wit. In your very preſence. 75

Fit. And in my hearing?

Wit. In your hearing: ſo, You interrupt vs not.

Fit. For the ſhort ſpace You doe demand, the fourth part of an houre, I thinke I ſhall, with ſome conuenient ſtudy, And this good helpe to boot, bring my ſelfe to’t. 80 Hee ſhrugs himſelfe vp in the cloake. Wit. I aske no more.

Fit. Pleaſe you, walk to’ard my houſe, Speake what you liſt; that time is yours: My right I haue departed with. But, not beyond, A minute, or a ſecond, looke for. Length, And drawing out, ma’aduance much, to theſe matches. 85 And I except all kiſſing. Kiſſes are Silent petitions ſtill with willing Louers.

Wit. Louers? How falls that o’ your phantſie?

Fit. Sir. I doe know ſomewhat. I forbid all lip-worke.

Wit. I am not eager at forbidden dainties. 90 Who couets vnfit things, denies him ſelfe.

Fit. You ſay well, Sir, ’Twas prettily ſaid, that ſame, He do’s, indeed. I’ll haue no touches, therefore, Nor takings by the armes, nor tender circles Caſt ’bout the waſt, but all be done at diſtance. 95 Loue is brought vp with thoſe ſoft migniard handlings; His pulſe lies in his palme: and I defend All melting ioynts, and fingers, (that’s my bargaine) I doe defend ’hem, any thing like action. But talke, Sir, what you will. Vſe all the Tropes 100 And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you: And much good do your Rhetoriques heart. You are welcome, Sir. Ingine, God b’w’you.

Wit. Sir, I muſt condition To haue this Gentleman by, a witneſſe.

Fit. Well, I am content, ſo he be ſilent.

Man. Yes, S r. 105

Fit. Come Diuell, I’ll make you roome, ſtreight. But I’ll ſhew you Firſt, to your Miſtreſſe, who’s no common one, You muſt conceiue, that brings this game to ſee her. [104] I hope thou’ſt brought me good lucke.

Pvg. I ſhall do’t. Sir.

[177] SD. Act. ...] Enter, behind, Engine, with a cloke on his arm, Wittipol, and Manly. G

1641 =	Pamphlet folio of 1641.
1692 =	The Third Folio, 1692.
1716 =	Edition of 1716 (17).
W =	Whalley’s edition, 1756.
G =	Gifford’s edition, 1816.
SD. =	Stage directions at the beginning of a scene.
SN. =	Side note, or book-holder’s note.
om. =	omitted.
ret. =	retained.
f. =	and all later editions.
G§ =	a regular change. After a single citation only exceptions are noted. See Introduction, page xvi.

Satan.	The great diuell.[93]
Pvg.	The leſſe diuell.
Iniqvity.	The Vice.
Fitz-dottrell.	A Squire of Norfolk.
Miſtreſſe Frances.	His wife. 5
Meere-craft.	The Proiector.
Everill.	His champion.
Wittipol.	A young Gallant.
Manly.	His friend.
Ingine.	A Broaker. 10
Traines.	The Proiectors man.
Gvilt-head.	A Gold-ſmith.
Plvtarchvs.	His ſonne.
Sir Povle Either-side.	A Lawyer, and Iuſtice.
Lady Either-side.	His wife. 15
Lady Taile-bvsh.	The Lady Proiectreſſe.
Pit-fall.	Her woman.
Ambler.	Her Gentlemanvſher.
Sledge.	A Smith, the conſtable.
Shackles.	Keeper of Newgate. 20