I Introduction on the Weather
Val. What rough weather! How cold and cruel the heavens! how unfavourable the sun!
Tam. To what does this state of the heavens and the sun point?
Val. That we should not go out of the house.
Tam. But what are we to do in the house?
Val. Study by the lighted hearth, meditate, think on things—a course which might bring profit and sound morals to the mind.
Cast. This is indeed the chief thing to be done, nor ought anything to take precedence of it in a man’s mind. But when a man’s mind is wearied by intentness of application, how then shall he divert himself, especially in such weather as this?
Val. Some recreations of the mind suit some people; others, others. I indeed receive delight and recreation by card games.
Tam. And this kind of weather invites in that direction, so that we hide ourselves in a closely shut room, and guarded on every side from the wind and cold, with a shining hearth, and a table set with charts (i.e. maps).
Val. Alas! we have no charts.
Tam. I mean playing-cards.
Val. I should like that.
Tam. Then we want some money and stones (calculi) for reckoning.
Val. We don’t need stones, if we have some very small coins.
Tam. I have none, except gold and larger silver coins.
Val. Change some for small money. Here, boy, take these coins of one, two, two-and-a-half, and three, stivers and get us tiny coins from the money-changer—single, two, three, farthing-pieces, not bigger money.
Tam. How these coins shine!
Val. Certainly, they are as yet new and unused.
Tam. Let us go to the games-emporium, where we shall find everything ready to hand.
Cast. It is not expedient, for we should have such a number of umpires. We might just as well play in the public street. It would be better to betake ourselves into your room, and invite a few of our friends, especially those likely to put us in good spirits.
Tam. Your chamber is more convenient for this, for in mine, we should be interrupted continually by the mother’s maidservants, who are always seeking some dirty clothes in the women’s chests.
Val. Let us go then into the dining-room.
Tam. So let it be. Let us go! Boy, fetch us here Franciscus Lupianus and Roderick Manricus and Zoilaster.
Val. Stay! By no means let us have Zoilaster, an angry man, given to quarrelling, a noisy calumniator, one who often raises fierce tragedies out of the smallest matters.
Cast. You certainly advise wisely, for if a young man of such views of recreation should mix himself in our company, then there would not be sport but grave strife. Bring, therefore, Rimosulus instead of him.
Val. No, not him, unless you wish whatever we do here, by way of sport, should be made known before sunset throughout the city.
Cast. Is he so good a herald?
Val. Yes, in making things known where no good is done by the knowledge. As to matters of good report, he is more religiously silent than the Eleusinian mysteries.
Tam. Then Lupianus and Manricus alone are to come.
Cast. They are first-rate companions.
Tam. And warn them to bring little coins with them, but whatsoever is of severity and earnestness let them leave at home with the crabbed Philoponus. Let them come, accompanied by jests, wit, and agreeableness.
Lup. Hail! most festive companions!
Tam. What is the meaning of that contraction of your brow? Smooth those wrinkles. Haven’t you been advised to lay down all thoughts of literature in the abode of the Muses?
Lup. Our thoughts on literature are so illiterate that the Muses who are in their abode wouldn’t own them.
Manr. All prosperity!
Val. Prosperity is doubtful, when you are called to the line of battle and to warfare, in which, indeed, kings will be present!
Tam. Be of good cheer! Money-purses, not necks, will be attacked.
Lup. The money-purse often is in place of a neck, and money in place of blood and spirit; as with those Carians, whose contempt of life is the pretext for kings to practise their madness on them.
Manr. I don’t wish to be an actor in, but the spectator of, this play.
Tam. How so?
Manr. Because I am so very unfortunate; I always go away from playing, beaten and despoiled.
Tam. Do you know what dice-players say, in a proverb of theirs? “You should seek your toga where you lost it.”
Manr. True, but there is the danger that, while I seek the lost toga, I shall lose both my tunic and shirt.
Tam. This indeed often happens, but he who risks nothing does not become rich.
Manr. This is the opinion of metal-diggers.
Tam. Also of the Janus in the middle of Antwerp.