The Puritain Widow | Page 6

lousy as a
school-master; now thou art put to silence like a Sectary.--War sits now
like a Justice of peace, and does nothing. Where be your Muskets,
Caleiuers and Hotshots? in Long-lane, at Pawn, at Pawn.--Now keys
are your only Guns, Key-guns, Key-guns, and Bawds the Gunners, who
are your Sentinels in peace, and stand ready charg'd to give warning,

with hems, hums, and pockey-coffs; only your Chambers are licenc'st
to play upon you, and Drabs enow to give fire to 'em.
SKIRMISH. Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it goes wrong with me,
for since the cessure of the wars, I have spent above a hundred crowns
out a purse. I have been a soldier any time this forty years, and now I
perceive an old soldier and an old Courtier have both one destiny, and
in the end turn both into hob-nails.
PYE. Pretty mystery for a begger, for indeed a hob-nail is the true
emblem of a begger's shoe-sole.
SKIRMISH. I will not say but that war is a blood-sucker, and so; but,
in my conscience, (as there is no soldier but has a piece of one, though
it be full of holes like a shot Antient; no matter, twill serve to swear by)
in my conscience, I think some kind of Peace has more hidden
oppressions, and violent heady sins, (though looking of a gentle nature)
then a profest war.
PYE. Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor Gentleman, and a
Scholar: I have been matriculated in the University, wore out six
Gowns there, seen some fools, and some Scholars, some of the City,
and some of the Country, kept order, went bare- headed over the
Quadrangle, eat my Commons with a good stomach, and Battled with
Discretion; at last, having done many slights and tricks to maintain my
wit in use (as my brain would never endure me to be idle,) I was expeld
the University, only for stealing a Cheese out of Jesus College.
SKIRMISH. Ist possible?
PYE. Oh! there was one Welshman (God forgive him) pursued it hard;
and never left, till I turned my staff toward London, where when I came,
all my friends were pitt-hold, gone to Graves, (as indeed there was but
a few left before.) Then was I turned to my wits, to shift in the world,
to tower among Sons and Heirs, and Fools, and Gulls, and Lady's eldest
Sons, to work upon nothing, to feed out of Flint, and ever since has my
belly been much beholding to my brain. But, now, to return to you, old
Skirmish: I say as you say, and for my part wish a Turbulency in the
world, for I have nothing to lose but my wits, and I think they are as
mad as they will be: and to strengthen your Argument the more, I say
an honest war is better than a bawdy peace, as touching my profession.
The multiplicity of Scholars, hatcht and nourisht in the idle Calms of
peace, makes 'em like Fishes one devour another; and the community

of Learning has so played upon affections, and thereby almost Religion
is come about to Phantasy, and discredited by being too much spoken
off-in so many and mean mouths, I my self, being a Scholar and a
Graduate, have no other comfort by my learning, but the Affection of
my words, to know how Scholar-like to name what I want, and can call
my self a Begger both in Greek and Latin: and therefore, not to cog
with Peace, I'll not be afraid to say, 'tis a great Breeder, but a barren
Nourisher: a great getter of Children, which mus either be Thieves or
Rich-men, Knaves or Beggers.
SKIRMISH. Well, would I had been born a Knave then, when I was
born a Begger; for if the truth were known, I think I was begot when
my Father had never a penny in his purse.
PYE. Puh, faint not, old Skirmish; let this warrant thee, Facilis
Descensus Averni, 'tis an easy journey to a Knave; thou mayest be a
Knave when thou wilt; and Peace is a good Madam to all other
professions, and an arrant Drab to us, let us handle her accordingly, and
by our wits thrive in despite of her; for since the law lives by quarrels,
the Courtier by smooth God-morrows; and every profession makes it
self greater by imperfections, why not we then by shifts, wiles, and
forgeries? and seeing our brains are our only Patrimonies, let's spend
with judgment, not like a desperate son and heir, but like a sober and
discreet Templar,--one that will never march beyond the bounds of his
allowance. And for our thriving means, thus: I my self will put on the
Deceit of a Fortune-teller.