Marketing Luxury at the New Exchange: Jonson’s Entertainment
at Britain’s Burse and the Rhetoric of Wonder
Alison V. Scott
Scott, Alison. “Marketing
Luxury at the New Exchange: Jonson’s Entertainment at Britain’s Burse
and the Rhetoric of Wonder". Early Modern Literary Studies 12.2
(September, 2006) 5.1-19 <URL: http://purl.oclc.org/emls/12-2/scotluxu.htm>.
woulde [thus] haue it a publique Banque …Another woulde haue it a lombarde … A thyrd would haue it a store howse for Westminster …A fourth would haue it an Arsenall for decayed Citizens …A fifth would haue it a library …A sixth sorte woulde haue it in studyes, for young return’d trauaylors… A seuenth woulde needes haue it a Tippers office; And many, a fayre front, builte onely to grace the streete, and for noe vse (39-61)Like the theatre, the Exchange is understood in various ways as a fluid space, paradoxically engendered and threatened by the luxurious misuse of goods, money, or time. As a bank, then, it would be usurious, as a lombarde it would deal in stolen goods, as a store for Westminster its hoard of perishable goods would be wasted, and as a mere “fayre front” it would be nothing but an emblem of cupiditas, a high-gloss still-life of vanitas. The final suggestion, that it should be “builte onely to grace the streete” (60) is an escalation of the other seven suggested insubstantial uses for the space, and reflects a general concern about the non-fixed and not-yet-understood purpose of the Exchange, which appears to relate to its presentation as a more luxurious and refined centre than its rivals. Those who perceive it in those purely superficial terms, the Key Keeper thus conjectures, are guilty of being unable to “keepe theyr braynes” (62) from imagining it in excessively wasteful ways: in effect, they are guilty of indulgence, and, like the soldiers of Prudentius’ Psychomachia, their understanding is potentially enfeebled and undone by luxury.
Then, my glassesThe projected indulgence in illusion speaks, of course, about Mammon’s naïve trust in the false perspectives that Subtle has conjured before his eyes. Mammon’s blind enthusiasm for the anticipated alchemical transformation echoes in the Master’s fantastic claims about the mysteries of his goods. The Master’s descriptions of the Exchange’s rarities aim to market them as infinitely superior to the “Trash” on offer at other houses (100); yet, his comparisons arguably create further anxiety by reiterating a commonplace connection of exotic goods with fraud and deception. If the assembled company considered themselves safe from being seduced or even defrauded at the New Exchange, one imagines that such confidence was nervous; not least because the entertainment enacted the tenuousness of the situation by highlighting how ambiguous the sign systems of the space were, thus suggesting the riskiness of investing in the goods it displayed. Jonson purposefully placed his audience in the position of consumers, but more than that, he forced them to play out the process of speculating in a new marketplace full of marvellous objects, challenging them to determine the real nature of the space they stood in, and determine, therefore, the spectacle’s relation to the truth. The right reading of the Burse’s signs provides an opportunity to demonstrate wisdom, good taste, and refinement, but a distorted reading which trusts in illusions (the equivalent of a bad investment) demonstrates the opposite. The entertainment’s ambiguity thus manifested the riskiness of the marketplace or, as David Baker has argued, rehearsed the “economic anxieties” of a “particularly fraught moment, the launch of a financially risky endeavour” (161).
Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse
And multiply the figures as I walk
Naked between my succubae. (2.2.45-8)
Then for Chymicall plate it is not possible to eqvall for, setting the reste, and the gouldsmiths marke aside Ile vphould it better than the autenticall, / Theres the true colour without contradiction The radiant luster that dazleth the eyes of the behowlder, then it exceedes it in lightnes, and a machanicall neatnes of the workemanshipe, but the humblnes of the price disgraseth the valor of the thing. (261-8)The assertion that the fake plate is “better than the autenticall” is problematic on numerous levels; the Master’s elucidation of the distinctions between the authentic and the “Chymicall” plate lays bare issues surrounding actual and perceived value which were central to the commercial ambitions of the Exchange. First, the assertion demonstrates confusion between “real” and “authentic” which should have alerted the audience as to the Master’s unreliability as an assessor of goods. Second, it suggests that genuine goods might be superseded by counterfeits on the basis that they are less costly to acquire, an argument which illuminates the paradox of the Exchange which seeks to make luxury goods readily available to a social elite for whom rarity, difficulty of procurement, and cost are markers of an object’s value. Finally, the assertion demonstrates a fascination with commodities that allure and stupefy on the basis of their superficial appearance; this implies that both authentic and counterfeit goods can appear as marvels, suggesting once more the dangers of speculating in the new marketplace, “the place of show”. In addition to those problems, the Master’s sales pitch for the fake plate is deeply problematic. Unlike genuine plate, the Shop Master explains, the chemical plate doesn’t cause its possessor to live “in perpetuall daunger of theeues” (275-76). That is to say, it doesn’t cause the self-consuming care of real wealth, but allows its owner to appear as if he possessed such wealth. This argument is no less “without contradiction” than the chemical plate itself, for it is at once a warning against and an encouragement to concupiscence: the Master is selling fake plate on the basis that it is more desirable as a purchasable commodity, because it is less costly and therefore less desirable to potential thieves. Similarly, he suggests the superficiality of those who deem that its lower price “disgraseth […its] valor” (267-68), while at the same time celebrating the plate’s capacity to bestow a superficial appearance of wealth on its owner. The argument pivots on a problem with the concept of luxury: on the one hand, the chemical plate is to “a pore innkeeper” the equivalent luxury that real plate is to a wealthy landowner; on the other, however, it loses its “valor” – its luxury status – because it is used to serve food to patrons of lowly social status rather than being reserved for display or for the occasional use of distinguished guests. In effect, once transported from the luxurious surrounds of the Burse, in which it promises to dazzle the eyes that behold it, and into the urbane and vulgar environment of the inn, the fake plate “cannot performe what […it] promise[d]” (Wisdome of the Ancients, 95), precisely because it was not authentic in the first place.
I ame goeing shortlye for Verginnia to discover the Insecta of that countrye, the kind of Flye they haue ther, and so over land for China: to compare him for comoditie, and but see wher paradice stood, and bring of the birdes alive home, perhapes I will call vpon prester Iohn by the waye. if ye will geue me xx for one at my Returne, tis yours ….Like the new world discoverers, customers of the Burse will see “only a fragment” which will permit them to imagine “the rest in the act of appropriation” (Greenblatt, 122); on the basis of that fragment, however, they will have to judge the object’s value, and determine what they are prepared to invest in what they see -- they will have to speculate in a marketplace that, as its proximity to the theatre emphasises, is always potentially deceptive. The Virginian fly that the Master desires to discover and bring back home appears to be a reference to Walter Cope’s cabinet of curiosities which included, “Flies which glow at night in Virginia instead of lights”, and as such, must have represented the kind of curio desired by collectors of “strange objects”. Nevertheless, while such curiosities might have impressed a king who had earnestly sought to procure a flying squirrel from Virginia, it is clear that they held no intrinsic value and, once removed from the context of a collection of strange objects, far less aesthetic and social value too. In “The System of Collecting,” Baudrillard argues that an object can have one of two functions – it can be utilised or possessed. Clearly, the Virginian fly falls into the second category so that, according to Baudrillard’s theory at least, “its destiny is to be collected”. As individual objects, therefore, the fly and other such things are relatively meaningless – they only become “incarnated signs” of knowledge and power when they are part of a larger collection such as Cope’s. As commodities for sale, the Master’s objects can only ever be pieces of an impossible whole -- in some cases, they were literally pieces of Cecil’s real “collection” of exotica – and therefore, as signs, their meaning and significance are disconcertingly fluid and, much like the stocks and shares of the capitalist economy, their value must be likewise. The collection of objects in the China Shop was surely alluring because it was a cabinet of curiosities which was essentially open for the public to view, and from which the curiosities could be bought. On the other hand, the fact that everything was for sale, as Cecil’s sign’s insistence on the fiction that they were not paradoxically suggests, means that the collection of objects was potentially vulgar and derivative, offering only piecemeal and insubstantial spectacles of wonder – Bacon’s “broken knowledge” and the “spice of idolatry” as Busy warns in Bartholemew Fair (1.6.49).
 The entertainment was rediscovered by James Knowles among Public Record Office papers in 1997; it is reprinted in Re-Presenting Ben Jonson: Text, History, Performance, ed. Martin Butler (Basingstoke: Macmillan; New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999). All references to the entertainment are taken from this text. Stephen Orgel speaks of the two exchanges in distinct terms, the Royal Exchange being a “wholesale trading mart” revolving around “high finance” and the New Exchange being a shopping centre for “a well-heeled public” to browse through and purchase material goods, see his introduction to The Key Keeper: A Masque for the Opening of Britain’s Burse, April 19, 1609, ed. James Knowles (Tunbridge Wells: Foundling Press, 2002), vii. The idea that the New Exchange was a rival to the Royal Exchange is commonly expressed in the period; by 1619, according to the author of “Pasquil’s Palinodia and his Progresse to the Taverne, where after the survey of the Seller you are presented with a pleasant pinte of poeticall sherry” (London, 1619), it was evident that Gresham need “take no-care” of the Royal Exchange’s younger sister whose takings had failed to live up to initial expectations, and, indeed to its own professions of grandness in “the erection of that stately front” (8-9). I am grateful to the anonymous readers of this article whose careful advice helped me to restructure and refocus the essay to better effect.
 Regulations for the Burse aimed to restrict stalls to reputable tradesmen, keep noise to a minimum, exclude beggars, ensure the Exchange was kept clean and tidy, and deter crime. See T. N. Brushfield’s appendix to his Britain’s Burse, or The New Exchange (London: Bedford Press, 1903), which details the regulations as listed in State Papers Domestic, James I, 49.5. Algernon Cecil also summarizes the orders in his A Life of Robert Cecil, First Earl of Salisbury (London: John Murray, 1915), 320-21.
 Christopher J. Berry’s book The Idea of Luxury: A Conceptual and Historical Investigation (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1994) considers luxury and concupiscence to be related concepts in the late sixteenth century (98) and argues that what he calls the “de-moralisation” of luxury doesn’t take place until the latter part of the seventeenth century.
 Augustine depicts the opponents of Christianity as living in state of false felicity, believing that it “is a good thing to have imposing houses luxuriously furnished, where lavish banquets can be held, where people can, if they like, spend night and day in debauchery, and eat and drink till they are sick” (1.2.20) and gestures that in worshipping material things, men are prevented from grace (1.2.29), The City of God, ed. David Knowles (Middlesex: Penguin, 1972). Calvin’s Institutes echo a similar warning: “it was well said by Cato: Luxury causes great care, and produces great carelessness as to virtue,” Institutes of Christian Religion, ed. Henry Beveridge, 2 vols (Michigan: Eerdmans, 1979), 3.10.4.
 Arjun Appadurai argues that luxury goods functioned socially and rhetorically in early modern society and so were “incarnated signs” with a “special register of consumption”, The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1986), 38; my thoughts on luxury here are obviously indebted to his work. David J. Baker notes in reference to Appadurai that, “for Jonson and his contemporaries […luxury goods] registered ‘semiotic virtuosity, that is, the capacity to signal fairly complex messages,’ including the ‘specialized knowledge’ that was a ‘prerequisite’ for their appropriate consumption,’ the fashion sense that their elite consumer could display, and the intricacies of status that could be communicated thereby.” See “‘The Allegory of a China Shop’: Jonson’s Entertainment at Britain’s Burse,” English Literary History 72.1 (2005): 159-80, 159.
 Antonio Correr to the Doge and Senate of Venice, 6 May 1609, Calendar of State Papers Venice, Volume Eleven, 1607-1610, ed. H. F. Brown (1904), 269. Janette Dillon observes that the “motto is anomalous and multilayered,” in Theatre, Court and City, 1595-1610: Drama and Social Space in London (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2000), 113.
 Knowles argues that the entertainment is “apparently unironic” in his preface to the text as reprinted in Re-Presenting Ben Jonson, 115.
As Baker observes, though the clientele of London’s china shops are mocked in Epicene, Knowles argues that the praise of consumer culture in the entertainment is not satirical (160). My own argument compliments Baker’s reading of the entertainment as a celebratory frivolity that nevertheless rehearsed “the economic anxieties of a financially risk endeavor” (161), “a piece of both proto-capitalist fantasy and analysis, one in which imagination and interrogation are at work together” (161-62).
 That process is essentially the process of stupore, a “state resulting from the perception of a thing that exceeded the limits of our senses,” a state often induced by meravaglia which Vincenzo Borghino defines as something which pleases and delights in the extreme, see David Summers, Michelangelo and the Language of Art (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1981), 173. I am grateful to Professor A. D. Cousins for drawing my attention to Summers’ work.
 HMC Salisbury, 20.213, as quoted by J. F. Merrit, “The Cecils and Westminster, 1558-1612: The Development of an Urban Power Base,” in Patronage, Culture, and Power: The Early Cecils, 1558-1612, ed. Pauline Croft (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 2002): 231-48, 232.
 On the contradiction between humanist collecting and the “idea of a shop filled with curiosities”, see Paula Findlen’s chapter “Inventing Nature: Commerce, Art, and Science in the Early Modern Cabinet of Curiosities,” Merchants and Marvels: Commerce, Science, and Art in Early Modern Europe, ed. Pamela H. Smith & Paula Findlen (New York: Routledge, 2002): 297-323, 299. Anthony Grafton notes that “Connoisseurship became almost as central a skill of the educated young man as Latin eloquence,” in his chapter on “The New Science and the Traditions of Humanism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Renaissance Humanism, ed. Jill Kraye (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1996): 203-23, 214.
 Lorraine Daston and Katharine Park demonstrate that during the medieval period, wonder was increasingly perceived in terms of disdain and in opposition to knowledge or wisdom. They point specifically to the Quasestiones naturals of Adelard of Bath (fl. 1116-42) and to Roger Bacon’s two expositions of Aristotle’s Metaphysics – both writers associate wonder with ignorance, and Bacon adds to this by connecting wonder with fear. See Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150-1750 (New York: Zone Books, 1998), 109-112. Aristotle saw wonder as the first step on the path to knowledge (Metaphysics, 1.2.982b-983a), but as T. G. Bishop has argued, the theory leaves open the possibility that “in the very transition from wonder to knowledge … the philosopher might meet with disaster,” Shakespeare and the Theatre of Wonder (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1996), 27.
 Bacon’s “Of Masques and Triumphs” gestures toward that process of justification in its recommendation that princes, not ready to give up such “toys”, should at least ensure that they are “graced with elegancy [rather] than daubed with cost,” Francis Bacon: The Major Works, ed. Brian Vickers (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1996), 416.
 On the movement from “contentment with English abundance to foreign superfluity” and thus a dependence on imported luxuries, see Joshua Scodel’s Excess and the Mean in Early Modern English Literature (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2002), 97-8. Scodel notes Drayton’s particular reference to the London merchants “long train’d up in Gayn’s deceitfull schoole” who convince fools to purchase foreign “trash” at great cost, see Poly-Olbion (1612), 16.348-58.
 See Conversations, 567-68, references to the Conversations, and to Jonson’s poetry and prose are taken from Ben Jonson, ed. Ian Donaldson (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1985). David Riggs explains the significance of the impresa in chapter ten of his biography of Jonson, Ben Jonson: A Life (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1989).
 Thomas M. Greene, “Ben Jonson and the Centered Self,” SEL 10.2 (1970): 325-48, 326; see also the epilogue to L. A. Beaurline’s Jonson and Elizabethan Comedy: Essays in Dramatic Rhetoric (San Marino: Huntington Library, 1978).
 The Roman tradition of representing luxury as a transforming principle filtered into the Christian tradition, which we can see in Prudentius’ Psychomachia where luxury emasculates soldiers to a state of self-forgetting (382) epitomised by their binding of manly hair in “gilded turban[s]” and their donning of “flowing robes of silk” on their “enfeebled frames” (364-65), Prudentius, trans. H. J. Thomson (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1949).
 Antonio Correr to the Doge and Senate of Venice, 6 May 1609, Calendar of State Papers Venice, Volume Eleven, 1607-1610, ed. H. F. Brown (1904), 269.
 On the association of luxury and the theatre, see Lactantius, Divine Institutes, 6.21.1 and Augustine, City of God, 1.31. William Prynne specifically warns in Histro-Mastix (1.6.7) that the “consequent or effect of Stage-playes, is luxury, drunkennesse, and excesse: From whence this Argument may be raysed”, ed. Arthur Freeman (New York: Garland, 1974), 508.
 The “fayre front” of the building appears to have become the subject of jokes about the Exchange’s lack of profitability only a few years later, as Pasquil’s Palinodia suggests. On temporality and vanity in the still-life, see Simon Schama’s “Perishable Commodities: Dutch Still-Life Painting and ‘the empire of things’,” Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. John Brewer and Roy Porter (London: Routledge, 1993): 478-88.
 Psychomachia, lines 311-22. See also Spenser’s Faerie Queene 2.12 where Verdant undergoes a near-complete transformation into an irascible beast which is conceived as a misspending of the self in “wastfull luxuree” (80.7). References are to A. C. Hamilton’s edition (Harlow, UK: Longman, 2001), see also my forthcoming article, “Toward a Re-evaluation of the Bower of Bliss: The Taxonomy of Luxury in The Faerie Queene, Book Two,” Explorations in Renaissance Culture (2007).
 Historically, that faultline has been understood to occur a century later with the publication of John Mandeville’s The Fable of the Bees, or Private Vice, Public Benefit. This article is part of a larger cultural history of luxury in the late sixteenth- and early seventeenth- centuries that demonstrates that a change in the social, religious, and economic understanding of luxury was already underway at this time. The idea that luxury consumption might be beneficial to the state is advanced, for example, in the tract “Observations touching Trade and Commerce with the Hollandes &c.” (presented to James I in the early seventeenth century and often attributed to Sir Walter Ralegh); it is thus likely that Jonson’s audience would have perceived Cecil’s trade in exotica and the potential for luxury consumption at the Exchange in mixed ways. As Linda Levy Peck observes in her grand historical study of luxury consumption, the emergence of luxury retail shopping begun much earlier in history than has previously been assumed and belongs to the renaissance and not to the eighteenth century. See Consuming Splendor: Society and Culture in Seventeenth-Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 2005), especially 45-61.
 The house of pride is described as a “goodly building, brauely garnished” (1.4.2) and as a “stately Pallace … whose walls were high, but nothing strong, nor thick” (1.4.4); it is full of “goodly galleries … of faire windowes, and delightful bowres”, and, it is topped with “a Diall” which functions as an emblem of its own temporality (1.4.4). See also Quarles’ Emblemes (1635) 2.6 and Wither’s Collection of Emblems: Ancient and Modern (1585) 2.36.
 The Shop Boy’s language makes the goods less wonderful, but in addition, some of the goods he lists, such as the ostrich eggs, were actually already commonplace in early modern collections of curios and relatively widely available to consumers (Daston and Park, 69). Dillon notes that “the Master’s speech undercuts the list-form of the Shop Boy’s harangue, exposing it as vulgar and excessive,” (119) though she does not connect this with the distinction between the goods of the exchange and the trash sold elsewhere.
 Commenting on Craig Muldrew’s argument that credit was largely conceived in terms of trust in the seventeenth century, Baker suggests that when exchange partners did not necessarily know that the person with whom they were dealing was credible, the basis of credit was thrown into question (164). See also Muldrew’s The Economy of Obligation: The Culture of Credit and Social Relations in Early Modern England (New York: St. Martins, 1998), 3.
 Ingvar Bergström, Dutch Still-Life Painting in the Seventeenth Century, trans. Christina Hedström & Gerald Taylor (London: Faber & Faber, 1956), 156. Bergström relates the moralizing power of the Vanitas to that of the emblem, reproducing several emblems reflecting on the ease with which a fool can be parted from his money by nothing more than novelty and curiosity (155, 157). John Manning, The Emblem (London: Reaktion, 2002, 248).
 Bergström notes that the painters of Vanitas paintings were frequently accused of tempting “people to gluttony and an extravagant life” (190).
 Cecil was renowned as a collector of china goods, among other luxury objects. Susan Bracken notes that Cecil owned “a large number of objects designated [in inventories] by the term ‘chyna’, the majority at Salisbury House”, “Robert Cecil as Art Collector,” Patronage, Culture and Power: The Early Cecils, 1558-1612 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002): 121-37, 131; and James Knowles notes that that the inventory for Hatfield House in 1612 included 65 porcelain pieces, “Cecil’s Shopping Centre,” Times Literary Supplement 7 February 1997: 14-15, 15. King James had been so desirous of Theobalds that Cecil was obliged to gift it to him. On the allurement of Theobalds and the politics of Cecil’s space see James M. Sutton, Materialising Space at an Early Modern Prodigy House. The Cecils at Theobalds (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004).
 Wilson refers to the china shop as “the place of show” in his letter to Cecil, reprinted from Hatfield MSS 195/100 in Historical Manuscripts Commission, Salisbury, 1609-12 (London, 1970), 21.37.
 See Antonio Correr to the Doge and Senate of Venice, 6 May 1609, Calendar of State Papers Venice, Volume Eleven, 1607-1610, ed. H. F. Brown (1904), 269.
 “Jonson’s Early Entertainments: New Information from Hatfield House,” Renaissance Drama n.s. 1 (1968): 153-66, 158.
 The characterisation of Mammon in The Alchemist obviously exploits the idea that luxury goods are both desirable and ridiculous, but Busy’s “conversion” in Bartholemew Fair, from puritanical preacher (3.2.34-43) against the fair’s vanities (3.2.82) to a “beholder” of their delights (5.5.104) encapsulates the paradox most effectively. References are to The Alchemist and Other Plays, ed. Gordon Campbell (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1995.
 My argument here is influenced by Ian Munro’s reading of the profusion of mirrors in Heywood’s pageant Londons Mirror (1637), which he sees as enacting the “impossibility of capturing the city in one frame,” The Figure of the Crowd in Early Modern London: The City and its Double (London: Palgrave, 2005), 73.
 Jean Howard examines “the concept of genre as a way to think about how texts both bear the mark of the larger culture in which they were produced and also participate in broader forms of social struggle and transformation” in “Competing Ideologies of Commerce in Thomas Heywood’s If You Know Not Me You Know Nobody, Part II,” The Culture of Capital: Property, Cities, and Knowledge in Early Modern England, ed. Henry S. Turner (New York: Routledge, 2002), esp. 163-65.
 At lines 88-92, the Shop Master encourages the audience to “Examine but some parcel <s> of the particulars, and runne over the rest, vpon the full speede of your eye.”
 As Bacon elucidates in The New Organon (Book 1.70), knowledge of signs and an explanation of the causes of things removes the marvel and makes them appear less incredible, essentially purging the idols from the understanding and advancing, therefore, the discovery of truth. Marjorie Swann notes that “in early modern England, wonder was aroused by things so strange that they defied rational understanding” and substantiates her argument with reference to Greenblatt’s observations that the object that arouses wonder “is so new that for a moment at least, it is alone, unsystematized, an utterly detached object of rapt attention” Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World (Chicago: Univ. Chicago Press, 1992), 20. Majorie Swann, Curiosities and Texts: The Culture of Collecting in Early Modern England (Philadelphia: Univ. Pennsylvania Press, 2001), 25.
 Daston and Park note that contemporary catalogues and treatises on cabinets of curiosity, which often included recommendations on how to behave when examining such cabinets, warned potential visitors to be careful not to admire things that weren’t particularly rare because they would make themselves look ridiculous (266).
 Greenblatt examines Albertus Magnus’ Commentary on the Metaphysics of Aristotle, which speaks of wonder as a state of not yet knowing, impelling the movement of finding out (81).
 Greenblatt reads Columbus’ rhetorical “production of wonder”, as the “evocation of an aesthetic response in the service of a legitimation process” (74); Jonson seems to evoke that response in order to serve Cecil’s legitimising end while at the same time pointing to the problem of authenticity and thus creating anxiety about that process of legitimation.
 Barbara M. Benedict argues that curiosity is often satirized as fraudulent and that fraud is “located in the virtuosi’s habit of inventing value …satires suggest that the pursuit of things interferes with the pursuit of knowledge”, Curiosity: A Cultural History of Early Modern Inquiry (Chicago: Univ. Chicago Press, 2001), 51-2.
 See “To My Bookseller” (Donaldson, 222-23).
 As Richard Dutton notes, Jonson perceived that the “profit” of poetry was the promotion of “knowledge”, by which he meant, “not an accumulation of information […but] the faculty of discrimination itself, ‘the trying faculty’ as he calls it in ‘To the Reader in Ordinary’ prefacing Catiline, where it distinguishes men from lesser beings,” Ben Jonson: Authority, Critcism, (London: Macmillan, 1998), 137.
 See Knowles, Entertainment at Britain’s Burse, 145, and Baker, 174.
 The Wisedome of the Ancients (New York: Da Capo Press, 1968).
 The theme of wealth inducing a burdensome fear of loss was commonplace, see for example, Alciato’s emblem on avarice which uses Tantalus to demonstrate that greedy men are unable to enjoy what they have, and the Faerie Queene, 2.7.25 where “self-consuming care” guards Mammon’s treasure.
 Marjorie Swann, “Refashioning Society in Ben Jonson’s Epicoene,” 309.
 See Orgel’s introduction to The Key Keeper, xii.
 Valerius Terminus, Works of Francis Bacon, ed. J. Spedding et al. (London: Longman, 1857-1959), 3.218.
 See Lorraine Daston and Katharine Park’s comprehensive history of wonder, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150-1750, 1998), 13. William Schupbach outlines contemporary arguments surrounding cabinets of curiosities in “Some Cabinets of Curiosity in European Academic Institutions,” in The Origins of Museums: the Cabinet of Curiosities in Sixteenth and Seventeenth- Century Europe , ed. Oliver Impey and Arthur MacGregor, 177-78. Marjorie Swann observes that “in early modern England, wonder was aroused by things so strange that they defied rational understanding”, Curiosities and Texts, 25.
 Spenser’s house of pride is thus amazing and disarming but also inherently fraudulent, appearing to the onlooker who perceives it via the senses as something other than what it truly is, Faerie Queene, 1.4.4-5.
 Such “cabinets” were in fact usually entire rooms given over to the display of marvelous objects. Upon his visit to see the curiosity cabinet of Walter Cope, for instance, Thomas Platter recounted being “led into an apartment, stuffed with queer foreign objects in every corner”, Thomas Platter’s Travels in England, trans. Clare Williams (London: Jonathan Cape, 1937), 171.
 As Diana Parikian has noted, the wunderkammer was intended to be “a microcosm of the three kingdoms of nature (animal, vegetable, and mineral) and also a summary of human knowledge, a combination of naturalia and artificalia which could be gathered together in one collection of objects to demonstrate how all matter fitted together in the cosmology,” From Wunderkammer to Museum (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1984), 4.
 On the association of bubbles with the idea of vanitas see Manning, 144.
 As Steven Mullaney has observed, the theatre was also imagined in terms of indulgence or incontinence, particularly because it erased boundaries between reality and play and because it represented a space in which moral and physical decay could thrive, The Place of the Stage: License, Play, and Power in Renaissance England (Michigan: Univ. of Michigan Press, 1988), 49-50.
 Thomas Platter’s Travels in England, 172
 James expressed the desire for a flying squirrel according to a letter written by the Earl of Southampton to the Earl of Salisbury, see Swann, Curiosities and Texts, 23.
 The Cultures of Collecting: From Elvis to Antiques – Why Do We Collect Things?, ed. John Elsner and Roger Cardinal (Melbourne: Melbourne Univ. Press, 1994): 7-24, 8.
 Benedict notes that collectors “symbolically possess transcendent knowledge” (17); Paula Findlen suggests that a collection “was one means by which a prince or a merchant might proclaim his ability to command the world” Merchants and Marvels, 300. On the necessary copiousness of collections of curiosities and the early modern drive toward increasingly larger and more spectacular collections, see Daston and Park, 273-6.
 Pasquil’s Palinodia speculates that the Exchange was not as successful as expected in part because it its design withdrew shops “out of sight” and kept them within the building (8-9). Linda Levy Peck notes, however, that leases on the upper and interior shops were much higher than those for the lower and exterior shops, indicating that the New Exchange redesigned the retail experience and took the public sphere so that “[S]hopping was at once private and seductive, and public and on display” [51-2].
 The familiar example is of course To Penshurst which his fashioned in opposition to the “proud, ambitious heaps” that one might associate with the fair fronted Burse.