| 1 |
 | Satiro-mastix. Or The vntrussing of the Humorous Poet |  |
1
Come bedfellow come, strew apace, strew, strew:
in good troth tis pitty that these flowers must be
trodden vnder feete as they are like to bee anon.
2
Pitty, alacke pretty heart, thou art sorry to see any good
thing fall to the ground: pitty? no more pitty, then to see an
Innocent Mayden-head deliuered vp to the ruffling of her
new-wedded husband. Beauty is made forvse, and hee that
will not vse a sweet soule well, when she is vnder his fingers,
I pray Venus he may neuer kisse a faire and a delicate, soft, red,
plump-lip.
1.
Amen, and that's torment enough.
2.
Pitty? come foole fling them about lustily; flowers neuer
dye a sweeter death, than when they are smoother'd to
death in a Louers bosome, or else paue the high wayes, ouer
which these pretty, simpring, ietting things, call'd brides, must
trippe.
1.
I pray thee tell mee, why doe they vse at weddings to
furnish all places thus, with sweet hearbes and flowers?
2.
One reason is, because tis—ô a most sweet thing
to lye with a man.
I thinke tis a O more more more more sweet to lye
with a woman.
2.
I warrant all men are of thy minde: another reason
is, because they sticke like the scutchions of madame chastity,
on the sable ground, weeping in their stalkes, and wincking
with theyr yellow-sunke eyes, as loath to beholde the
lamentable fall of a Maydenhead: what senceles thing in all
the house, that is not nowe as melancholy, as a new set-vp
Schoolemaster?
1.
Troth I am.
2.
Troth I thinke thou mournst, because th'ast mist thy
turne, I doe by the quiuer of Cupid: you see the torches melt
themselues away in teares: the instruments weare theyr heart
stringes out for sorrow: and the Siluer Ewers weepe most
pittifull Rosewater: fiue or sixe payre of the white innocent
wedding gloues, did in my sight choose rather to be torne in
peeces than to be drawne on; and looke this Rosemary, (a
fatall hearbe) this dead-mans nose-gay, has crept in amongst
these flowers to deckei th'nuisible coarse of the Brides Maydenhead,
when (oh how much do we poore wenches suffer) abouteleuen
or twelue, or one a clock at midnight at furthest,
it descends to purgatory, to giue notice that Cælestine (hey
ho) will neuer come to lead Apes in hell.
1.
I see by thy sighing thou wilt not.
2.
If I had as many Mayden-heads, as I haue hayres on my
head, Ide venture them all rather then to come into so hot a
place; prethy strew thou, for my little armes are weary.
1.
I am sure thy little tongue is not.
2.
No faith that's like a woman bitten wt
fleas, it neuer lyes
stil: fye vpont, what a miserable thing tis to be a noble Bride,
there's such delayes in rising, in fitting gownes, in tyring, in
pinning Rebatoes, in poaking, in dinner, in supper, in Reuels,
& last of all in cursing the poore nodding fidlers, for keeping
Mistris Bride so long vp from sweeter Reuels; that, oh I could
1.
Come th'art an odde wench, hark, harke, musicke? nay
then the Bride's vp.
2.
Is she vp? nay then I see she has been downe: Lord ha
mercy on vs, we women fall and fall still, and when we haue
husbands we play vpon them like Virginall Iackes, they must
ryse and fall to our humours, or else they'l neuer get any good
straines of musicke out of vs; but come now, haue at it for a
mayden-head.
strew.
As they strew, enter Sir Quintilian Shorthose with Peeter Flash and two or three seruingmen, with lights.
Sir quin.
Come knaues, night begins to be like my selfe, an
olde man; day playes the theefe and steales vpon vs; O well
done wenches, well done, well done, you haue couered all
the stony way to church with flowers, tis well, tis well,
ther's an Embleame too, to be made out of these flowers and
stones, but you are honest wenches, in, in, in.
2.
When we come to your yeares, we shal learne what
honesty is, come pew-fellow.
Exeunt.
Sir quin.
Is the musicke come yet? so much to do! Ist
come?
Omnes.
Come sir.
Sir quin.
Haue the merry knaues pul'd their fiddle cases
ouer their instruments eares?
Flash.
As soone as ere they entred our gates, the noyse
went, before they came nere the great Hall, the faint hearted
villiacoes sounded at least thrice.
Sir quin.
Thou shouldst haue reuiu'd them with a Cup of
burnt wine and sugar; sirra, you, horse-keeper, goe, bid them
curry theyr strings: Is my daughter vp yet?
Exit.
Flash.
Vp sir? she was seene vp an houre a goe.
Sir quin.
Shee's an early sturrer, ah sirra.
Flash.
Shee'l be a late sturrer soone at night sir.
Goe too Peeter Flash, you haue a good sodaine
flash of braine, your wittes husky, and no maruaile, for tis like
one of our Comedians beardes, still ith stubble: about your
busines and looke you be nymble to flye from the wine, or
the nymble wine will catch you by the nose.
Flash.
If your wine play with my nose Sir, Ile knocke's
coxcombe.
Sir quin.
Doe Peeter, and weare it for thy labour; Is my
Sonne in Law Sir Walter Terell ready yet?
Omnes.
Ready sir.
Exit another.
Sir Quin.
One of you attend him: Stay Flash, where's the
note of the guestes you haue inuited?
Flash.
Here Sir, Ile pull all your guestes out of my bosome;
the men that will come, I haue crost, but all the Gentlewomen
haue at the tayle of the last letter a pricke, because you
may read them the better.
Sir quint.
My spectacles, lyght, lyght, knaues: Sir Adam
Prickshaft, thou hast crost him, heele come.
Flash.
I had much a doe sir, to draw Sir Adam Prickeshaft
home, because I tolde him twas early, but heele come.
Sir quint.
Iustice Crop, what will he come?
Flash.
He tooke phisicke yesterday sir.
Sir quint.
Oh then Crop cannot come.
Flash.
O Lord yes, sir yes, twas but to make more roome
in his Crop for your good cheare, Crop will come.
Sir quint.
Widdow Mineuer.
Flash.
Shee's prickt you see sir, and will come.
Sir quint.
Sir Uaughan ap Rees, oh hee's crost twise, so, so,
so, then all these Ladyes, that fall downewardes heere, will
come I see, and all these Gentlemen that stand right before
them.
Flash.
All wil come.
Sir quint.
Well sayd, heere, wryte them out agen, and put
the men from the women; and Peeter, when we are at Church
burden will be but light.
Enter sir Adam a light before him.
Sir Adam Prickeshaft
God morrow, god morrow goe, in,
in, in, to the Bridegroome, taste a cup of burnt wine this morning,
twill make you flye the better all the day after.
Sir Adam.
You are an early styrrer Sir Quintilian Shorthose.
Sir qui
I am so, it behoues me at my daughters wedding,
in in, in; fellow put ou: thy torch, and put thy selfe into my
buttery, the torch burnes ill in thy hand, the wine will burne
better in thy belly, in in.
Flash.
Ware there, roome for Sir Adam Prickeshaft: your
Worship—
Exit.
Enter Sir Vaughan and Mistris Mineuer.
Sir quin.
Sir Vaughan and Widdow Mineuer, welcome,
welcome, a thousand times: my lips Mistris Widdow shall bid
you God morrow, in, in, one to the Bridegroome, the other to
the Bride.
Sir Vaughen.
Why then Sir quiontilian Shorthose, I will step
into mistris Bride, and Widdow Mineuer, shall goe vpon
M. Bridegroome.
Mineu.
No pardon, for by my truely Sir Uaughan, Ile
ha no-dealings with any M. Bridegroomes.
Sir quin.
In widdow in, in honest knight in.
Sir Uaug.
I will vsher you mistris widdow.
Flash.
Light there for sir Vaughan; your good Worship—
Sir Vaug.
Drinke that shilling Ma. Peeter Flash, in your
guttes and belly.
Fla.
Ile not drinke it downe sir, but Ile turne it into that
which shall run downe, oh merrily!
Exit Sir Vaughan.
Sir quin.
God morrow to these beauties, and Gentlemen,
that haue Vshered this troope of Ladyes to my daughters
wedding, welcome, welcome all; musick? nay then the bridegroome's
comming, where are these knaues heere?
Flash.
All here sir.
Enter Terill, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Celestine Mineuer, other Ladies and attendants with lights.
Teri.
God morrow Ladies and fayre troopes of gallants,
that haue depos'd the drowzy King of sleep, to Crowne our
traine with your rich presences, I salute you all;
Cris.
God morrow M. Bride-groome, mistris Bride.
Omnes.
God morrow M. Bride groome.
Ter.
Gallants I shal intreate you to prepare,
For Maskes and Reuels to defeate the night,
Our Soueraigne will in person grace our marriage.
Sir quin.
What will the king be heer?
Ter.
Father he will.
Sir quin.
Where be these knaues? More Rose-mary and
gloues, gloues, gloues: choose Gentlemen; Ladyes put on
soft skins vpon the skin of softer hands; so, so: come mistris
Bride take you your place, the olde men first, and then the
Batchelors; Maydes with the Bride, Widdows and wiues together,
the priest's at Church, tis time that we march thether
Ter.
Deare Blunt at our returne from Church, take paines
to step to Horace, for our nuptiall songs; now Father when
you please.
Sir quin.
A greed, set on, come good Sir Vaughan, must we
Sir Vau.
Peeter you goe too fast for Mistris pride: so, gingerly,
gingerly; I muse why Sir Adam Prickeshaft sticks so
short behinde?
Sir quin.
He follows close, not too fast, holde vp knaues,
Thus we lead youth to church, they vs to graues.
Exeunt.
Horrace sitting in a study behinde a Curtaine, a candle by him burning, bookes lying confusedly: to himselfe.
Hor.
To thee whose fore-head swels with Roses,
Whose most haunted bower
Giues life & sent to euery flower,
Whose most adored name incloses,
Things abstruse, deep and diuine,
Whose yellow tresses shine,
Bright as Eoan fire.
O me thy Priest inspire.
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In-in-in golden tunes,
For I to thee and thine immortall name—
In-sacred raptures flowing, flowing, swimming, swimming:
In sacred raptures swimming,
Immortall name, game, dame, tame, lame, lame, lame,
Pux, hath, shame, proclaime, oh—
In Sacred raptures flowing, will proclaime, not—
O me thy Priest inspyre!
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In flowing numbers fild with spright and flame,
Good, good, in flowing numbers fild with spright & flame.
Enter Asinius Bubo.
Asini.
Horace, Horace, my sweet ningle, is alwayes in labour
when I come, the nine Muses be his midwiues I pray
Iupiter:
Ningle.
In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame,
To thee.
Asini.
To me? I pledge thee sweet Ningle, by Bacchus
quaffing boule, I thought th'adst drunke to me.
Hor.
It must haue been in the deuine lycour of Pernassus,
then in which, I know you would scarce haue pledg'd me,
but come sweet roague, sit, sit, sit.
Asini.
Ouer head and eares yfaith? I haue a sacke-full of
newes for thee, thou shalt plague some of them, if God send
vs life and health together.
Hor.
Its no matter, empty thy sacke anon, but come here
first honest roague, come.
Asini.
Ist good, Ist good pure Helicon ha?
Hor.
Dam me ift be not the best that euer came from me,
if I haue any iudgement looke sir, tis an Epithalamium for Sir
Walter Terrels wedding, my braines haue giuen assault to it
but this morning.
Asin.
Then I hope to see them flye out like gun-powder
ere night.
Hor.
Nay good roague marke, for they are the best lynes
that euer I drew.
Asin.
Heer's the best leafe in England, but on, on, Ile but
tune this Pipe.
Hor.
Marke, to thee whose fore-head swels with Roses.
Asin.
O sweet, but will there be no exceptions taken, because
fore-head and swelling comes together?
Hor.
Push, away, away, its proper, besides tis an elegancy
to say the fore head swels.
Asin.
Nay an't be proper, let it stand for Gods loue.
Hor.
Whose most haunted bower,
Giues life and sent to euery flower.
Whose most adored name incloses,
Things abstruse, deep and diuine.
Whose yellow tresses shine,
Asini.
O pure, rich, ther's heate in this, on, on.
Hor.
Bright as Eoan fire,
O me thy Priest inspire!
For I to thee and thine immortall name—marke this.
In flowing numbers fild with spryte and flame.
Asini.
I mary, ther's spryte and flame in this.
Ho.
A pox, a this Tobacco.
Asin.
Wod this case were my last, if I did not marke, nay
all's one, I haue alwayes a consort of Pypes about me, myne
Ingle is all fire and water; I markt, by this Candle (which is
none of Gods Angels) I remember, you started back at sprite
and flame.
Hor.
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame,
To thee Loues mightiest King,
Himen ô Himen does our chaste Muse sing.
Asin.
Ther's musicke in this;
Hor.
Marke now deare Asinius.
Let these virgins quickly see thee,
Leading out the Bride,
Though theyr blushing cheekes they hide,
Yet with kisses will they fee thee,
To vntye theyr Virgin zone,
They grieue to lye alone.
Asini.
So doe I by Venus.
Hor.
Yet with kisses wil they fee thee, my Muse has marcht
(deare roague) no farder yet: but how ist? how ist? nay prethee
good Asinius deale plainly, doe not flatter me, come,
how?—
Asin.
If I haue any iudgement:
Hor.
Nay look you Sir, and then follow a troope of other
rich and labour'd conceipts, oh the end shall be admirable!
but how ist sweet Bubo, how, how?
If I haue any Iudgement, tis the best stuffe that euer
dropt from thee.
Hor.
You ha seene my Acrosticks?
Asi.
Ile put vp my pypes and then Ile see any thing.
Hor.
Th'ast a Coppy of mine Odes to, hast not Bubo?
Asi.
Your odes? O that which you spake by word a mouth
at th'ordinary, when Musco the gull cryed Mew at it:
Hor.
A pox on him poore braineles Rooke: and you remember,
I tolde him his wit lay at pawne with his new Sattin
sute, and both would be lost, for not fetching home by a
day.
Asi.
At which he would faine ha blusht but that his painted
cheekes would not let him.
Hor.
Nay sirra the Palinode, which I meane to stitch to
my Reuels, shall be the best and ingenious peece that euer I
swet for; stay roague, Ile fat thy spleane and make it plumpe
with laughter.
Asi.
Shall I? fayth Ningle, shall I see thy secrets?
Hor.
Puh my friends.
Asi.
But what fardle's that? what fardle's that?
Hor.
Fardle, away, tis my packet; heere lyes intoomb'd
the loues of Knights and Earles, heere tis, heere tis, heere tis,
Sir Walter Terils letter to me, and my answere to him: I no
sooner opened his letter, but there appeared to me three glorious
Angels, whome I adorn'd, as subiectes doe their Soueraignes:
the honest knight Angles for my acquaintance,
with such golden baites—but why doost laugh my good
roague? how is my answere, prethee, how, how?
Asi.
Answere, as God iudge me Ningle, for thy wit thou
mayst answer any Iustice of peace in England I warrant; thou
writ'st in a most goodly big hand too, I like that, & readst as
leageably as some that haue bin sau'd by their neck-verse.
Hor.
But how dost like the Kinghts inditing?
Asi.
If I haue any iudgement; a pox ont, heer's worshipfull
is this knights wit, of what blocke?
Asi.
Why you see; wel, wel, an ordinary Ingenuity, a good
wit for a knight, you know how, before God I am haunted
with some the most pittyfull dry gallants.
Asini.
Troth so I think; good peeces of lantskip, shew best a far off.
Hor.
I, I, I, excellent sumpter horses, carry good cloaths;
but honest roague, come, what news, what newes abroad? I
haue heard a the horses walking a'th top of Paules.
Asi.
Ha ye? why thē Captain Tucca rayles vpon you most
preposterously behinde your backe, did you not heare him?
Ho.
A pox vpon him: by the white & soft hand of Minerua,
Ile make him the most ridiculous: dam me if I bring not's
humorath stage: &—scuruy lymping tongu'd captaine, poor
greasie buffe lerkin, hang him: tis out of his Element to traduce
me: I am too well ranckt Asinius to bee stab'd with his
dudgion wit: sirra, Ile compose an Epigram vpon him, shall
goe thus—
Asi.
Nay I ha more news, ther's Crispinus & his Iorneyman
Poet Demetrius Faninus too, they sweare they'll bring
your life & death vpon'th stagelike a Bricklayer in a play.
Hor.
Bubo they must presse more valiant wits than theyr
own to do it: me ath stage? ha, ha, Ile starte thence poore copper-lace
workmasters, that dare play me: I can bring (& that
they quake at) a prepar'd troope of gallants, who for my sake
shal distaste euery vnsalted line, in their fly-blowne Comedies
Asi.
Nay that's certaine, ile bring 100. gallants of my ranke
Hor.
That same Crispinus is the silliest Dor, and Faninus
the slightest cob-web-lawne peece of a Poet, oh God!
In credulous eares, it is a crowne to me,
That the best iudgements can report me wrong'd.
Asi.
I am one of them that can report it:
Hor.
I thinke but what they are, and am not moou'd.
The other, a strange arrogating puffe,
Both impudent, and arrogant enough.
Asin.
S'lid do not Criticus Reuel in these lynes, ha Ningle
ha?
Knocking.
Hor.
Yes, they're mine owne.
Cris.
Horrace.
Dem.
Flaccus.
Cris.
Horrace, not vp yet;
Hor.
Peace, tread softly, hyde my Papers; who's this so early?
Some of my rookes, some of my guls?
Cris.
Horrace, Flaccus.
Hor.
Who's there? stray, treade softly: Wat Terill on my
life: who's there? my gowne sweete roague, so, come vp,
come in.
Enter Crispinus and Demetrius.
Cris.
God morrow Horrace.
Hor.
O, God saue you gallants.
Cris.
Asinius Bubo well met.
Asin.
Nay I hope so Crispinus, yet I was sicke a quarter
of a yeare a goe of a vehement great tooth-atch: a pox
ont, it bit me vilye, as God fa me la I knew twas you by your
knocking so soone as I saw you; Demetrius Fannius, wil you
take a whiffe this morning? I haue tickling geare now, heer's
that will play with your nose, and a pype of mine owne scowring
too.
Dem.
I, and a Hodgshead too of your owne, but that will
neuer be scowred cleane I feare.
Asin.
I burnt my pype yesternight, and twas neuer vsde
since, if you will tis at your seruice gallants, and Tobacco too,
tis right pudding I can tell you; a Lady or two, tooke a pype
full or two at my hands, and praizde it for the Heauens, shall
Dem.
I thanke you good Asinius for your loue,
I fildome take that Phisicke, tis enough
Hauing so much foole to take him in snuffe.
Hor.
Good Bubo read some booke, and giue vs leaue,—
As.
Leaue haue you deare Ningle, marry for reading any
book Ile take my death vpont (as my Ningle sayes) tis out of
my Elemēt: no faith, euer since I felt one hit me ith teeth that
the greatest Clarkes are not the wisest men, could I abide to
goe to Schoole, I was at As in presenti and left there: yet because
Ile not be counted a worse foole then I am, Ile turne
ouer a new leafe.
Asinius reads and takes Tobacco.
Hor.
To see my fate, that when I dip my pen
In distilde Roses, and doe striue to dreine,
Out of myne Inke all gall; that when I wey
Each sillable I write or speake, because
Mine enemies with sharpe and searching eye:
Looke through & through me, caruing my poore labours
Like an Anotomy: Oh heauens to see,
That when my lines are measur'd out as straight
As euen Paralels, tis strange that still,
Still some imagine they are drawne awry.
The error is not mine, but in theyr eye,
That cannot take proportions.
Cris.
Horrace, Horrace,
To stand within the shot of galling tongues,
Proues not your gilt, for could we write on paper,
Made of these turning leaues of heauen, the cloudes,
Or speake with Angels tongues: yet wise men know,
That some would shake the head, tho Saints should sing,
Some snakes must hisse, because they're borne with stings.
Hor.
Tis true.
Cris.
Doe we not see fooles laugh at heauen' and mocke
If that which you molde faire, vpright and smooth,
Be skewed awry, made crooked, lame and vile,
By racking coments, and calumnious tongues,
So to be bit it rankcles not: for innocence
May with a feather brush off the foulest wrongs.
But when your dastard wit will strike at men
In corners, and in riddles folde the vices
Of your best friends, you must not take to heart,
If they take off all gilding from their pilles,
And onely offer you the bitter Coare.
Hor.
Crispinus.
Cri.
Say that you haue not sworne vnto your Paper,
To blot her white cheekes with her dregs and bottome
Of your friends priuate vices: say you sweare
Your loue and your aleageance to bright vertue
Makes you descend so low, as to put on
The Office of an Executioner,
Onely to strike off the head of sinne,
Where ere you finde it standing,
Say you sweare;
And make damnation parcell of your oath,
That when your lashing iestes make all men bleed;
Yet you whip none. Court, Citty, country, friends,
Foes, all must smart alike; yet Court, nor Citty,
Nor foe, nor friend, dare winch at you; great pitty.
Dem.
If you sweare, dam me Faninus, or Crispinus,
Or to the law (Our kingdomes golden chaine)
To Poets dam me, or to Players dam me,
If I brand you, or you, tax you, scourge you:
I wonder then, that of fiue hundred, foure hundred fiue,
Should all point with their fingers in one instant
At one and the same man?
Hor.
Deare Faninus.
Come, you cannot excuse it.
Hor.
Heare me, I can—
Dem.
You must daube on thicke collours then to hide it.
Cris.
We come like your Phisitions, to purge
Your sicke and daungerous minde of her disease.
Dem.
In troth we doe, out of our loues we come,
And not reuenge, but if you strike vs still,
We must defend our reputations:
Our pens shall like our swords be alwayes sheath'd,
Vnlesse too much prouockt, Horace if then
They draw bloud of you, blame vs not, we are men:
Come, let thy Muse beare vp a smoother sayle,
Tis the easiest and the basest Arte to raile.
Hor.
Deliuer me your hands. I loue you both,
As deare as my owne soule, prooue me, and when
I shall traduce you, make me the scorne of men.
Both.
Enough, we are friends.
Cri.
What reads Asinius?
Asi.
By my troth heer's an excellent comfortable booke,
it's most sweet reading in it.
Dem.
Why, what does it smell of Bubo?
Asi.
Mas it smels of Rose-leaues a little too.
Hor.
Then it must needs be a sweet booke, he would faine
perfume his ignorance.
Asi.
I warrant he had wit in him that pen'd it.
Cris.
Tis good yet a foole will confesse truth.
Asi.
The whoorson made me meete with a hard stile in
two or three places as I went ouer him.
Dem.
I beleeue thee, for they had need to be very lowe &
easie Stiles of wit that thy braines goe ouer.
Enter Blunt and Tucca.
Blun.
Wher's this gallant? Morrow Gentlemen: what's
this deuise done yet Horace?
Gods so, what meane you to let this fellow dog you
into my Chamber?
Blun.
Oh, our honest Captayne, come, prethee let vs
see.
Tuc.
Why you bastards of nine whoores, the Muses, why
doe you walk heere in this gorgeous gailery of gallant inuentions,
with that whooreson poore lyme & hayre-rascall?
why—
Cris.
O peace good rucca, we are all sworne friends,
Tuc.
Sworne, that Iudas yonder that walkes in Rug, will
dub you Knights ath Poste, if you serue vnder his band of
oaths, the copper fact rascal wil for a good supper out sweare
twelue dozen of graund Iuryes.
Blun.
A pox ont, not done yet, and bin about it three
dayes?
Hor.
By Iesu within this houre, saue you Captayne
Tucca.
Tuc.
Dam thee, thou thin bearded Hermaphrodite, dam
thee, Ile saue my selfe for one I warrant thee, is this thy Tub
Diogines?
Hor.
Yes Captaine this is my poore lodging.
Asin.
Morrow Captaine Tucca, will you whiffe this
morning?
Tuc.
Art thou there goates pizzel; no god a mercy Caine
I am for no whiffs I, come hether sheep-skin-weauer, s'foote
thou lookst as though th'adst beg'd out of a Iayle: drawe,
I meane not thy face (for tis not worth drawing) but drawe
neere: this way, martch, follow your commaunder you
scoundrell: So, thou must run of an errand for mee Mephostophiles.
Hor.
To doe you pleasure Captayne I will, but whether
Tuc.
To hell, thou knowst the way, to hell my fire and
brimstone, to hell; dost stare my Sarfens-head at Newgate?
iestes at me.
Hor.
Deare Captaine but one word.
Tuc.
Out bench-whistler out, ile not take thy word for a
dagger Pye: you browne-bread-mouth stinker, ile teach thee
to turne me into Bankes his horse, and to tell gentlemen I am
a Iugler, and can shew trickes.
Hor.
Captaine Tucca, but halfe a word in your eare.
Tuc.
No you staru'd rascal, thou't bite off mine eares then,
you must haue three or foure suites of names, when like a lowsie
Pediculous vermin th'ast but one suite to thy backe: you
must be call'd Asper, and Criticus, and Horace, thy tytle's longer
a reading then the Stile a the big Turkes: Asper, Criticus,
Quintus, Horatius, Flacucs.
Hor.
Captaine I know vpon what euen bases I stand, and
therefore—
Tuc.
Bases? wud the roague were but ready for me.
Blun.
Nay prethee deare Tucca, come you shall shake—
Tuc.
Not hands with great Hunkes there, not hands, but
Ile shake the gull-groper out of his tan'd skinne.
Crisp. & Deme.
For our sake Captaine, nay prethee
holde.
Tuc.
Thou wrongst heere a good honest rascall Crispinus,
and a poore varlet Demetrius Fanninus (bretheren in
thine owne trade of Poetry) thou sayst Crispinus Sattin dublet
is Reauel'd out heere, and that this penurious sneaker is out at
elboes, goe two my good full mouth'd ban-dog, Ile ha thee
friends with both.
Hor.
With all my heart captaine Tucca, and with you too,
Ile laye my handes vnder your feete, to keepe them from
aking.
Omnes.
Can you haue any more?
Tuc.
Saist thou me so, olde Coale come? doo't then; yet tis
no matter neither, Ile haue thee in league first with these two
Crispinus shall giue thee an olde cast Sattin suite, and Demetrius
shall write thee a Scene or two, in one of thy strong
garlicke Comedies; and thou shalt take the guilt of conscience
for't, and sweare tis thine owne olde lad, tis thine owne:
thou neuer yet fels't into the hands of sattin, didst?
Hor.
Neuer Captaine I thanke God.
Tuc.
Goe too, thou shalt now King Gorboduck, thou shalt,
because Ile ha thee damn'd, Ile ha thee all in Sattin: Asper,
Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus, Crispinus shal doo't, thou
shalt doo't, heyre apparant of Helicon, thou shalt doo't.
Asi.
Mine Ingle weare an olde cast Sattin suite?
Tuc.
I wafer-face your Ningle.
Asi.
If he carry the minde of a Gentleman, he'll scorne it
at's heeles.
Tuc.
Mary muffe, my man a ginger-bread, wilt eate any
small coale?
Asi.
No Captaine, wod you should well know it, great
coale shall not fill my bellie.
Tuc.
Scorne it, dost scorne to be arrested at one of his olde
Suites?
Hor.
No Captaine, Ile weare any thing.
Tuc.
I know thou wilt, I know th'art an honest low minded
Pigmey, for I ha seene thy shoulders lapt in a Plaiers old cast
Cloake, like a Slie knaue as thou art: and when thou ranst mad
for the death of Horatio: thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius
the Stager, (that honest Nicodemus) and sentst it home lowsie,
didst not? Responde, didst not?
Blun.
So, so, no more of this, within this houre—
Hor.
If I can sound retreate to my wits, with whome this
leader is in skirmish, Ile end within this houre.
Tuc.
What wut end? wut hang thy selfe now? has he not
writ Finis yet Iacke? what will he bee fifteene weekes about
this Cockatrices egge too? has hee not cackeld yet? not
Blunt.
Not yet, hee sweares hee will within this houre.
Tuc.
His wittes are somewhat hard bound: the Puncke
his Muse has sore labour ere the whoore bee deliuered: the
poore saffron-cheeke Sun-burnt Gipsie wantes Phisicke; giue
the hungrie-face pudding-pye-eater ten Pilles: ten shillings
my faire Angelica, they'l make his Muse as yare as a tumbler.
Blu.
He shall not want for money if heele write.
Tuc.
Goe by Ieronimo, goe by; and heere, drop the ten
shillings into this Bason; doe, drop, when Iacke: hee shall call
me his Mœcenas: besides, Ile dam vp's Ouen-mouth for rayling
at's: So, ist right Iacke? ist sterling? fall off now to the
vauward of yonder foure Stinkers, and aske alowde if wee
shall goe? the Knight shall defray Iacke, the Knight
when it comes to Summa totalis, the Knyght, the
Knight.—
Blu.
Well Gentlemen, we'll leaue you, shall we goe Captaine?
good Horrace make some hast.
Hor.
Ile put on wings.
Asin.
I neuer sawe mine Ingle so dasht in my life before.
Cris.
Yes once Asinius.
Asi.
Mas you say true, hee was dasht worse once going
(in a rainy day) with a speech to'th Tilt-yard, by Gods
lyd has call'd him names, a dog would not put vp, that had any
discreation.
Tuc.
Holde, holde vp thy hand, I ha seene the day thou
didst not scorne to holde vp thy golles: ther's a Souldiers
Spur-royall, twelue pence: Stay, because I know thou canst
not write without quick-siluer; vp agen, this goll agen, I giue
thee double presse-money: Stay, because I know thou hast a
noble head, ile deuide my Crowne, ô royall Porrex, ther's a
come my deare Mandrake, if Skeldring fall not to decay, thou
shalt florish: farewell my sweet Amadis de Gaule, farewell.
Hor.
Deare Captaine.
Tuc.
Come Iacke.
Dem.
Nay Captaine stay, we are of your band.
Tuc.
March faire then:
Cri.
Horace farewell, adue Asinius
Exeunt.
Asi.
Ningle lets goe to some I auerne, and dine together,
for my stomacke rises at this scuruy leather Captaine.
Hor.
No, they haue choakt me with mine owne disgrace,
Which (fooles) ile spit again euen in your face.
Exeunt
Enter Sir Quintilian Shorthose, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Mineuer with seruingmen.
Sir quinti.
Knaues, Varlets, what Lungis, giue me a dozen
of stooles there.
Sir Vau.
Sesu plesse vs all in our fiue sences a peece, what
meane yee sir Kintilian Sorthose to stand so much a dozen
stooles, heere be not preeches inuffe to hyde a dozen stooles,
vnlesse you wisse some of vs preake his sinnes.
Sir quin.
I say sir Vaughan no shinne shal be broken heer:
what lungis, a chayre with a stronge backe, and a soft belli,
great with childe, with a cushion for this reuerend Lady.
Mineu.
God neuer gaue me the grace to be a Lady, yet
I ha beene worshipt in my conscience to my face a thousand
times, I cannot denye sir Vanghan, but that I haue all implements,
belonging to the vocation of a Lady.
Sir Vaughan.
I trust mistris Mineuer you haue all a honest
oman shud haue?
Min.
Yes perdie, as my Coach, and my fan, and a man
loath euery one should see, because they shal not be common,
I am in manner of a Lady in one point.
Sir Vaug.
I pray mistris Mineuers, let vs all see that point for
our better vnderstanding.
Mi.
For I ha some thinges that were fetcht (I am sure) as
farre as some of the Low Countries, and I payde sweetly for
them too, and they tolde me they were good for Ladies.
Sir qui.
And much good do't thy good heart faire widdow
with them.
Min.
I am fayre enough to bee a Widdow, Sir Quintilian.
Sir Uaug.
In my soule and conscience, and well fauoured
enough to be a Lady: heere is sir Kintilian Sorthose, and heere
is sir Adam Prickshaft, a sentleman of a very good braine, and
well headed: you see he shootes his bolt sildome, but when
Adam lets goe, he hits: and heere is sir Vaughan ap Rees, and
I beleeue if God sud take vs all from his mercy, as I hope hee
will not yet; we all three loue you, at the bottome of our bellyes,
and our hearts: and therefore mistris Mineuer, if you
please, you shall be knighted by one of vs, whom you sall desire
to put into your deuice and minde.
Min.
One I must haue sir Vaughan.
Sir quin.
And one of vs thou shalt haue widdow.
Min.
One I must haue, for now euery one seekes to crow
ouer me.
Sir Vaug.
By Sesu and if I finde any crowing ouer you, & he
were a cocke (come out as farre as in Turkeys country) tis possible
to cut his combe off.
Min.
I muse why sir Adam Prickshaft flyes so farre from
vs.
Sir Adam.
I am in a browne study, my deare, if loue should
bee turned into a beast, what beast hee were fit to bee turned
into.
I thinke Sir Adam an Asse, because of his beating.
Min.
I thinke (sauing your reuerence) Sir Adam a puppy,
for a dog is the most louing creature to a christian that is, vnles
it be a childe.
Sir Ad.
No, I thinke if loue should bee turn'd away, and
goe to serue any beast, it must bee an Ape, and my reason—
Sir Vaugh.
Sir Adam, an Ape? ther's no more reason in an
Ape, than in a very plaine Monkey; for an Ape has no tayle,
but we all know, or tis our duty to know, loue has two tailes;
In my sudsment, if loue be a beast, that beast is a bunce of Reddis;
for a bunce of Reddis is wise meate without Mutton, and
so is loue.
Mi.
Ther's the yawning Captaine (sauing your reuerence
that has such a sore mouth) would one day needes perswade
me, that loue was a Rebato; and his reason was (sauing your
reuerence) that a Rebato was worne out with pinning too often;
and so he said loue was.
Sir Uaugh.
And Master Captaine Tucca sayd wisely too,
loue is a Rebato indeede: a Rebato must be poaked; now
many women weare Rebatoes, and many that weare Rebatoes—
Sir Adam.
Must be poakt.
Sir Vau.
Sir Adam Prickshaft has hit the cloute.
Musicke
Sir qui.
The Musicke speakes to vs, we'll haue a daunce before
dinner.
Enter Sir Walter Terrill, Cælestine, Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, euery one with a Lady.
All.
The King's at hand.
Ter.
Father the King's at hand.
Musicke talke lowder, that thy siluer voice,
May reach my Soueraignes eares.
Sir Uaug.
I pray doe so, Musitions bestir your fingers, that
Sir quin.
His Grace comes, a Hall varlets, where be my
men? blow, blow your colde Trumpets till they sweate; tickle
them till they sound agen.
Blun.
Best goe meete his Grace.
All.
Agreed.
Sir Vaug.
Pray all stand bare, as well men as women: Sir
Adam is best you hide your head for feare your wise braines
take key-colde: on afore Sir Kintilian; Sentlemen fall in before
he Ladyes, in seemely order and fashion; so this is come-eye.
Enter Trumpets sounding, they goe to the doore, and meete the King and his Traine, and whilst the Trumpets sound the King is welcom'd, kisses the Bride, and honors the Bridegroome in dumbe shew.
King.
Nay if your pleasures shrinke at sight of vs,
We shall repent this labour, Mistris Bride
You that for speaking but one word to day,
Must loose your head at night; you that doe stand
Taking your last leaue of virginity;
You that being well begun, must not be Maide:
Winne you the Ladies, I the men will wooe,
Our selfe will leade my blushing Bride with you.
Sir Vaughan.
God blesse your Maiesty, and send you to be
along King William Rufus ouer vs, when he sees his times &
pleasures.
King.
Wee thanke you good Sir Vaughan, wee will take
your meaning not your words.
Sir quint.
Lowde Musicke there.
Sir Vau.
I am glad your Maiesty will take any thing at my
hands; my words I trust in Sesu, are spoken betweene my soule
and body together, and haue neither Felonies nor treasons about
them, I hope.
Kin.
Good words Sir Vaughan, I prethee giue vs leaue.
Good words sir Vaughan? thats by interpertation in
english, you'r best giue good words sir Vaughan: god and his
Ansells blesse me, what ayles his maiestye to be so tedious and
difficult in his right mindes now, I holde my life that file rascall-rymer
Horace hath puzd and puzd aboue a hundred merie
tales and lyce, into his great and princely eares: by god and he
vse it, his being Phœbus priest cannot saue him, if hee were his
Sapline too ide prease vpon his coxcomb: good lord blesse me
out of his maiesties celler: King Williams, I hope tis none offences
to make a supplication to god a mightie for your long
life: for by shesu I haue no meaning in't in all the world, vnles
rascalls be here that will haue your grace take shalke for shees,
and vnlesse Horace has sent lyce to your maiesty.
King.
Horace, what's he sir Vaughan?
Vaugh;
As hard-fauourd a fellow as your maiestie has seene
in a sommers day: he does pen, an't please your grace, toyes
that will not please your grace; tis a Poet, we call them Bardes
in our Countrie, singes ballads and rymes, and I was mightie
sealous, that his Inke which is blacke and full of gall, had brought
my name to your maiestie, and so lifted vp your hye and
princely coller.
King.
I neither know that Horace, nor mine anger,
If as thou saist our highand princely choller
Be vp, wee'l tread it downe with daunces; Ladies
Loose not your men; faire measures must be tread,
When by so faire a dauncer you are lead.
Vaugh.
Mistris Miniuer:
Min.
Perdie sir Vaughan I cannot dance.
Uaugh.
Perdie by this Miniuer cappe, and acording to his
masesties leaue too, you sall be put in among theise Ladies, &
daunce ere long I trest in god, the saking of the seetes.
They daunce a straine, and whilst the others keepe on, the King and Celestine stay.
That turne faire Bride shews you must turne at night,
In that sweet daunce which steales away delight.
Cæ.
Then pleasure is a theife, a fit, a feauer:
Kin.
True, he's the thiefe, but women the receiuer.
Another change; they fall in, the rest goe on.
Kin.
This change sweet Maide, saies you must change your life,
As Virgins doe.
Cæl.
Virgins nere change their life,
She that is wiu'd a maide, is Maide and wife.
Kin.
But she that dyes a Maide;—
Cæl.
Thrice happy then.
Kin.
Leades Apes in hell.
Cæl.
Better leade Apes then men.
At this third change they end, and she meetes the King.
Kin.
Well met.
Cæl.
Tis ouertaken.
Kin.
Why faire sweet?
Cæl.
Women are ouertaken when they meete;
Kin.
Your bloud speakes like a coward.
Cæl.
It were good,
If euery Maiden blush, had such a bloud.
Kin.
A coward bloud, why whom should maidens feare?
Cæ.
Men, were Maides cowards, they'd not come so nere,
My Lord the Measure's done, I pleade my duetie.
Kin.
Onelie my heart takes measure of thy beautie.
Sir quin.
Now by my hose I sweare, that's no deepe oath,
This was a fine sweet earth-quake gentlie moou'd,
By the soft winde of whispring Silkes: come Ladies,
Whose ioynts are made out of the dauncing Orbes,
Come, follow me, walke a colde measure now;
Take euerie one her fan, giue them their places,
And waue the Northerne winde vpon your faces.
Celestine and all the Ladyes doing obeysance to the King, who onely kisses her, Exeunt, Short-hose manning them, the Gallants stand aloofe.
Kin.
Sir Walter Terrill.
Ter.
My confirmed Leige
Ki.
Beautie out of her bountie, thee hath lent,
More then her owne with liberall extent.
Ter.
What meanes my Lord?
Kin.
Thy Bride, thy choice, thy wife,
She that is now thy fadom, thy new world,
That brings thee people, and makes little subiects;
Kneele at thy feete, obay in euerie thing,
So euerie Father is a priuate King.
Ter.
My Lord, her beauty is the poorest part,
Chieflie her vertues did endowe my heart.
Kin.
Doe not back-bite her beauties, they all shine,
Brighter on thee, because the beames are thine,
To thee more faire, to others her two lips
Shew like a parted Moone in thine Eclipse;
That glaunce, which louers mongst themselues deuise,
Walkes as inuisible to others eies:
Giue me thine eare.
Cri.
What meanes the King?
Dem.
Tis a quaint straine.
Ter.
My Lord.
Kin.
Thou darst not Wat.
Ter.
She is too course an obiect for the Court.
Kin.
Thou darst not Wat: let to night be tomorrow,
Ter.
For shee's not yet mine owne.
Thou darst not Watt:
Ter.
My Lord I dare, but—
King.
But I see thou darst not.
Ter.
This night.
King.
Yea, this night, tush thy minde repaires not,
The more thou talk'st of night, the more thou darst not;
Thus farre I tend, I wod but turne this spheare,
Of Ladies eyes, and place it in the Court,
Where thy faire Bride should for the Zodiacke shine,
And euery Lady else sit for a signe.
But all thy thoughts are yellow, thy sweet bloud
Rebels, th'art iealous Wat; thus with proude reuels
To emmulate the masking firmament,
Where Starres dance in the siluer Hall of heauen,
Thy pleasure should be seasoned, and thy bed
Relish thy Bride, But, but thou darst not VVat.
Ter.
My Loord I dare.
Kin.
Speake that agen.
Ter.
I dare.
Kin.
Agen kinde VVat, and then I know thou darst.
Ter.
I dare and will by that ioynt holy oath,
Which she and I swore to the booke of heauen.
This very day when the surueying Sunne,
Riz like a witnes to her faith and mine,
By all the loyalty that subiects owe
To Maiesty, by that, by this, by both,
I sweare to make a double guarded oath,
This night vntainted by the touch of man,
She shall a Virgin come.
Kin.
To Court?
Ter.
To Court.
I know I tooke a woman to my wife,
And I know women to be earthly Moones,
That neuer shine till night, I know they change
Their Orbes (their husbands) and in sickish hearts,
With better Phisicke, sweeter dyet drinkes,
Then home can minister: all this I know
Yet know not all, but giue me leaue O King,
To boast of mine, and saie that I know none;
I haue a woman but not such a one.
Kin.
Why, she's confirmed in thee; I now approoue her,
If constant in thy thoughts who then can mooue her?
Enter Sir Quintilian.
Sir qui.
Wilt please your Highnes take your place within,
The Ladies attend the Table.
Kin.
I goe good Knight; Wat thy oath.
Ter.
My Lord,
My oath's my honour, my honour is my life,
My oath is constant, so I hope my wife.
Exeunt.
Enter Horace in his true attyre, Asinius bearing his Cloake.
Asi.
If you flye out Ningle, heer's your Cloake; I thinke it
raines too.
Ho.
Hide my shoulders in't.
Asi.
Troth so th'adst neede, for now thou art in thy Pee
and Kue; thou hast such a villanous broad backe, that I warrant
th'art able to beare away any mans iestes in England.
Hor.
It's well Sir, I ha strength to beare yours mee thinkes;
fore God you are growne a piece of a Critist, since you fell into
my hands: ah little roague, your wit has pickt vp her crums
prettie and well.
Asi.
Yes faith, I finde my wit a the mending hand Ningle;
troth I doe not thinke but to proceede Poetaster next Commencement,
if I haue my grace perfectlie: euerie one that confer
with me now, stop their nose in merriment and sweare I
smell somewhat of Horace; one calles me Horaces Ape, another
Horaces Beagle, and such Poeticall names it passes. I was
but crie out, fellow thou makst me Conniue too long, & sayes
he sayes hyee, Master Asinius Bubo, you haue eene Horaces
wordes as right as if he had spit them into your mouth.
Hor.
Well, away deare Asinius, deliuer this letter to the
young Gallant Druso, he that fell so strongly in loue with mee
yesternight.
Asin.
It's a sweete Muske-cod, a pure spic'd-gull; by this
feather I pittie his Ingenuities; but hast writ all this since Ningle?
I know thou hast a good running head and thou listest.
Hor.
Foh come, your great belly'd wit must long for euery
thing too; why you Rooke, I haue a set of letters readie starcht
to my hands, which to any fresh suited gallant that but newlie
enters his name into my rowle, I send the next morning, ere
his ten a clocke dreame has rize from him, onelie with claping
my hand to't, that my Nouice shall start, ho and his haire
stand an end, when hee sees the sodaine flash of my writing;
what you prettie Diminitiue roague, we must haue false fiers
to amaze these spangle babies, these true heires of Ma. Iustice
Shallow.
Asi.
I wod alwaies haue thee sawce a foole thus.
Hor.
Away, and, stay: heere be Epigrams vpon Tucca, divulge
these among the gallants; as for Crispinus, that Crispin-asse
and Fannius his Play-dresser; who (to make the
Muses beleeue, their subiects eares were staru'd, and that there
was a dearth of Poesie) cut an Innocent Moore i'th middle, to
serue him in twice; & when he had done, made Poules-worke
of it, as for these Twynnes these Poet-apes:
With mirth to feast our Muse, whilst their owne starue.
Asin.
Well Ningle Ile trudge, but where's the Randeuow?
Hor.
Well thought off, marie at Sir Vaughans lodging
the Welsh knight, I haue compos'd a loue-letter for the gallants
because she does not thinke so soundly of his iame English as
he could wish; I ha gull'd his Knight-ship heere to his face, yet
haue giuen charge to his wincking vnderstanding not to perceiue
it: nay Gods so, away deare Bubo.
Asi.
I am gone.
Exit.
Hor.
The Muses birdes the Bees were hiu'd and fled,
Vs in our cradle, thereby prophecying;
That we to learned eares should sweetly sing,
But to the vulger and adulterate braine,
Should loath to prostitute our Uirgin straine.
No, our sharpe pen shall keep the world in awe,
Horace thy Poesie, wormwood wreathes shall weare,
We hunt not for mens loues but for their feare.
Exit.
Enter Sir Adam and Miniuer.
Min.
O Sir Adam Prickshaft, you are a the bow hand
wide, a long yard I assure you: and as for Suitors, truelie they
all goe downe with me, they haue all one flat answere.
Sir Adam.
All Widdow? not all, let Sir Adam bee your
first man still.
Enter Sir Quintilian.
Sir quin.
Widdow, art stolne from Table? I Sir Adam,
Are you my riuall? well, flye faire y'are best;
The King's exceeding merrie at the banquet,
He makes the Bride blush with his merrie words
That run into her eares; ah he's a wanton,
Yet I dare trust her, had he twentie tongues,
And euerie tongue a Stile of Maiestie.
Now Widdow, let me tell thee in thine eare,
I loue thee Widdow, by this ring; nay weare it.
Mineu.
Ile come in no rings pardie, Ile take no golde.
Harke in thine eare, take me, I am no golde.
Enter Sir Vaughan and Peter Flash.
Sir Vau.
Master Peter Flash, I will grope about Sir Quintilian,
for his terminations touching and considering you.
Flash.
I thanke your Worship, for I haue as good a stomacke
to your Worship as a man could wish.
Sir Uau.
I hope in God a mightie, I shall fill your stomack
Master Peter: What two vpon one Sentlemen; Mistris Miniuer,
much good doo't you Sir Adam.
Sir quin.
Sir Vaughan, haue you din'd well Sir Vaughan?
Sir Vau.
As good seere as would make any hungrie man
(and a were in the vilest prison in the world) eate and hee had
anie stomacke: One word Sir Quintilian in hugger mugger;
heere is a Sentleman of yours, Master Peter Flash, is tesirous
to haue his blew coate pul'd ouer his eares; and—
Flash.
No Sir, my petition runs thus, that your worshippe
would thrust mee out of doores, and that I may follow Sir
Vaughan.
Sir Vau.
I can tell you Master Flash, and you follow mee I
goe verie fast, I thinke in my conscience, I am one of the lightest
knights in England.
Flash.
It's no matter Sir, the Flashes haue euer bin knowne
to be quicke and light enough.
Sir quin.
Sir Vaughan, he shal follow you, he shall dog you
good Sir Vaughan.
Enter Horace walking.
Sir Vau.
Why then Peter Flash I will set my foure markes
a yeare, and a blew coate vpon you.
Fla.
Godamercy to your worship, I hope you shall neuer
repent for me.
Sir Vau.
You beare the face of an honest man, for you blush
passing well Peter, I will quench the flame out of your name,
Peter Flash.
The name's too good for me, I thanke your
worship.
Sir Uau.
Are you come Master Horace, you sent mee the
Coppie of your letters countenance, and I did write and read
it; your wittes truelie haue done verie valliantlie: tis a good
inditements, you ha put in enough for her ha you not?
Hor.
According to my instructions.
Sir Vau.
Tis passing well, I pray Master Horace walke a
little beside your selfe, I will turne vpon you incontinent.
Sir quin.
VVhat Gentleman is this in the Mandilian, a soldyer?
Sir Vau.
No, tho he has a very bad face for a souldier, yet he
has as desperate a wit as euer any Scholler went to cuffes for;
tis a Sentleman Poet, he has made rimes called Thalamimums,
for M. Pridegroome, on vrd widdow.
Sir qui.
Is this he? welcome Sir, your name? pray you walke
not so statelie, but be acquainted with me boldlie; your name
Sir?
Hor.
Quintus, Horacius, Flaccus.
Sir Quint.
Good Master Flappus welcome.
He walkes vp and downe.
Sir Vau.
Mistris Miniuer, one vrde in your corner heere;
I desire you to breake my armes heere, and read this Paper,
you shall feele my mindes and affections in it, at full and at
large.
Mini.
Ile receiue no Loue libels perdy, but by words a
mouth.
Sir Vaughan.
By Sesu tis no libell, for heere is my hand
to it.
Mini.
Ile ha no hand in it Sir Vaughan, Ile not deale
with you.
Sir Uau.
Why then widdow, Ile tell you by word a mouth
my deuices.
Your deuices come not neere my mouth Sir Vaughan
perdy, I was vpon a time in the way to marriage, but now I
am turn'd a tother side, I ha sworne to leade a single and simple
life.
Sir Adam.
She has answer'd you Sir Vaughan.
Sir Vau.
Tis true, but at wrong weapons Sir Adam; will
you be an Asse Mistris Miniuers?
Min.
If I be you shall not ride me.
Sir Uaug.
A simple life! by Sesu tis the life of a foole, a simple
life!
Sir qui.
How now Sir Vaughan?
Sir Uaugh.
My braines has a little fine quawme come vnder
it, and therefore Sir Adam, and Sir Quintilian, and mistris
Miniuer caps God bo'y.
All.
Good Sir Vaughan.
Sir Vaugh.
Master Horace, your inuentions doe her no
good in the Vniuersalities; yet heere is two shillings for your
wittes; nay by Sesu you shall take it if't were more: yonder
bald Adams, is put my nose from his ioynt; but Adam I will be
euen to you: this is my cogitations, I will indite the Ladies &
Miniuer caps to a dinner of Plumbes, and I shall desire you
M. Horace, to speake or raile; you can raile I hope in God a
mighty.
Hor.
You meane to speake bitterlie:
Sir Vaughan.
Right, to spitte bitterly vpon baldnes, or the
thinnes of haire; you sall eate downe Plumbes to sweeten your
mouth, and heere is a good Ansell to defend you: Peter Salamander
follow me.
Flash.
With hue and crie and you will Sir.
Sir Vau.
Come M, Horace, I will goe pull out the Ladies.
Ho.
And Ile set out my wits, Baldnes the Theame?
My words shall flow hye in a siluer streame.
Exeunt.
Enter Tucca brushing off the crumbes.
Tuc.
Wher's my most costly and sumptuous Shorthose?
Is the King risen from table Captaine Tucca?
Tuc.
How? risen? no my noble Quintilian, kings are greater
men then we Knights and Caualliers, and therefore must eate
more then lesser persons; Godamercy good Diues for these
crummes: how now? has not Frier Tucke din'd yet? he falles so
hard to that Oyster-pye yonder.
Sir quin.
Oyster-pye Captaine? ha ha, he loues her, and I
loue her and feare both shall goe without her.
Tuc.
Dost loue her, my finest and first part of the Mirrour
of Knighthood hange her she lookes like a bottle of ale, when
the corke flyes out and the Ale fomes at mouth, shee lookes
my good button-breech like the signe of Capricorne, or like
Tiborne when it is couer'd with snow.
Sir quin.
All's one for that, she has a vizard in a bagge, will
make her looke like an Angell; I wod I had her, vpon condition,
gaue thee this chaine manlie Tucca.
Tuc.
I? saist thou so Friskin? I haue her ath hip for some
causes, I can sound her, she'll come at my becke.
Sir quin.
Wod I could sound her too Noble commaunder.
Tuc.
Thou shalt doo't; that Lady ath Lake is thine Sir Tristram,
lend mee thy chaine, doe, lend it, Ile make her take it
as a token, Ile lincke her vnto thee; and thou shalt weare
her gloue in thy Worshipfull hatte like to a leather brooch;
Sir quin.
Mistrust Captaine no heere tis, giue it her if she'll
take it, or weare it thy selfe, if shee'll take mee, Ile watch him
well enough too.
Tuc.
No more, Ile shoote away yonder Prickshaft, and
then belabour her, and flye you after yonder Cucko: dost heere
me my noble Gold-finch?—
Sir qui.
No more.
Tuc.
How dost thou my smug Belimperia how dost thou?
hands off my little bald Derricke, hands off: harke hether Susanna,
ill of thee?
Min.
Nay, eene as you please Captaine, it shal be at your
choice.
Tuc.
Why well said, my nimble Short-hose.
Sir quin.
I heare her, I heare her.
Tuc.
Art angry father time? art angrie because I tooke
mother-Winter aside? Ile holde my life thou art strucke with
Cupids Birde-bolt, my little prickshaft, art? dost loue that
mother Mumble-crust, dost thou? dost long for that whim-wham?
Sir Ada.
Wod I were as sure to lye with her, as to loue
her.
Tuc.
Haue I found thee my learned Dunce, haue I found
thee? If I might ha my wil, thou shouldst not put thy spoone into
that bumble-broth (for indeede Ide taste her my selfe) no
thou shouldst not; yet if her beautie blinde thee, she's thine, I
can doo't, thou heardst her say eene now, it should bee at my
choice.
Sir Ada.
She did so, worke the match and Ile bestow—
Tuc.
Not a silke point vpon mee, little Adam shee shall
bee thy Eeue, for lesse then an Apple; but send, bee wise,
send her some token, shee's greedie, shee shall take it, doe,
send, thou shalt sticke in her (Prickeshaft) but send.
Sir Adam.
Heer's a purse of golde, thinke you that wil be
accepted?
Tuc.
Goe to, it shall bee accepted, and twere but siluer,
when that Flea-bitten Short-hose steppes hence: vanish
too, and let mee alone with my Grannam in Gutter-Lane
there, and this purse of golde doe, let me alone
Sir quint.
The King, gods Lord, I doe forget the King;
Widdow, thinke on my wordes, I must be gone
To waite his rising, Ile returne anone.
Sir Ad.
Stay Sir Quintilian Ile be a waiter too.
Widdow wee'll trust that Captaine there with
you.
Exeunt.
Tuc.
Now, now, mother Bunch how dost thou? what dost
flowne Queene Gwyniuer? dost wrinckle? what made these
paire of Shittle-cockes heere? what doe they fumble for? Ile
ha none of these Kites fluttering about thy carkas, for thou
shalt bee my West Indyes, and none but trim Tucca shall
discouer thee.
Min.
Discouer me? discouer what thou canst of me.
Tuc.
What I can? thou knowst what I can discouer, but I
will not lay thee open to the world.
Min.
Lay me open to the world?
Tuc.
No I will not my moldie decay'd Charing-crosse, I
will not.
Mi.
Hang thee patch-pannell, I am none a thy Charing-crosse:
I scorne to be Crosse to such a scab as thou makst thy
selfe.
Tuc.
No, tis thou makst me so, my Long Meg a Westminster,
thou breedst a scab, thou—
Min.
I? dam thee filthie Captaine, dam thy selfe.
Tuc.
My little deuill a Dow-gate, Ile dam thee, (thou
knowst my meaning) Ile dam thee vp; my wide mouth at
Bishops-gate.
Min.
Wod I might once come to that damming.
Tuc.
Why thou shalt, my sweet dame Annis a cleere thou
shalt, for Ile drowne my selfe in thee; I, for thy loue, Ile sinke,
I, for thee.
Min.
So thou wilt I warrant, in thy abhominable sinnes;
Lord, Lord, howe many filthy wordes hast thou to answere
for.
Tuc.
Name one Madge-owlet, name one, Ile answer for
none; my words shall be foorth comming at all times, & shall
answer for them selues; my nimble Cat-a-mountaine: they
shall Sislie Bum-trincket, for Ile giue thee none but Sugercandie
not.
Min.
VVhy dost call mee such horrible vngodlie names
then?
Tuc.
Ile name thee no more Mother Red-cap vpon paine
of death, if thou wilt Grimalkin, Maggot-a-pye I will not.
Min.
Wod thou shouldst wel know, I am no Maggot, but
a meere Gentlewoman borne.
Tu.
I know thou art a Gentle, and Ile nibble at thee, thou
shalt be my Cap-a-maintenance, & Ile carrie my naked sword
before thee, my reuerend Ladie Lettice-cap.
Mi.
Thou shalt carry no naked swords before me to fright
me, thou—
Tuc.
Go too let not thy tongue play so hard at hot-cockles;
for, Gammer Gurton, I meane to bee thy needle, I loue thee, I
loue thee, because thy teeth stand like the Arches vnder London
Bridge, for thou't not turne Satyre & bite thy husband;
No, come my little Cub, doe not scorne mee because I goe in
Stag, in Buffe, heer's veluet too; thou seest I am worth thus
much in bare veluet.
Min.
I scorne thee not, not I.
Tuc.
I know thou dost not, thou shat see that I could march
with two or three hundred linkes before me, looke here what?
I could shew golde too, if that would tempt thee, but I will
not make my selfe a Gold-smithes stall I; I scorne to goe
chain'd my Ladie ath Hospitall, I doe; yet I will and must bee
chain'd to thee.
Min.
To mee? why Master Captaine, you know that I
haue my choise of three or foure payre of Knights, and therefore
haue small reason to flye out I know not how in a man
of war.
Tuc.
A man a warre? come thou knowst not what a worshipfull
focation tis to be a Captaines wife: three or four payre
of Knights? why dost heare Ioane-a-bedlam, Ile enter into
is hyde vpon me, thou shalt be Ladified.
Min.
You know I am offered that by halfe a dozen.
Tuc.
Thou shalt little Miniuer, thou shalt, Ile ha this frock
turn'd into a foote-cloth; and thou shalt be carted, drawne
I meane, Coacht, Coacht, thou shalt ryde Iigga-Iogge; a
Hood shall flap vp and downe heere, and this shipskin-cap
shall be put off.
Mini.
Nay perdie, Ile put off my cap for no mans pleasure.
Tuc.
Wut thou be proude little Lucifer? well, thou shalt
goe how thou wilt Maide-marian; come, busse thy little Anthony
now, now, my cleane Cleopatria; so, so, goe thy waies
Alexis secrets, th'ast a breath as sweet as the Rose, that growes
by the Beare-garden, as sweete as the proud'st heade a
Garlicke in England: come, wut march in, to the Gentle
folkes?
Mini.
Nay trulie Captaine you shall be my leader.
Tuc.
I say Mary Ambree, thou shalt march formost,
Because Ile marke how broad th'art in the heeles.
Mini.
Perdie, I will be set ath last for this time.
Tuc.
Why then come, we'll walke arme in arme,
As tho we were leading one another to Newgate.
Enter Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, with papers, laughing.
Cri.
Mine's of a fashion, cut out quite from yours.
Dem.
Mine has the sharpest tooth, yonder he is.
Blu.
Captaine Tucca.
All hold vp papers.
Tuc.
How now? I cannot stand to read supplications now
Cris.
They're bitter Epigrams compos'd on you
By Horace.
Dem.
And disperst amongst the gallants
In seuerall coppies by Asinius Bubo.
By that liue Ecle? read, Lege Legito, read thou lacke.
Blu.
Tucca's growne monstrous, how? rich? that I feare,
He's to be seene for money euery where.
Tuc.
Why true, shall not I get in my debts, nay and the
roague write no better I care not, farewell blacke Iacke farewell.
Cri.
But Captaine heer's a nettle.
Tuc.
Sting me, doe.
Cri.
Tucca's exceeding tall and yet not hye,
He fights with skill, but does most vilye lye.
Tuc.
Right, for heere I lye now, open, open, to make my
aduersarie come on; and then Sir, heere am I in's bosome: nay
and this be the worst, I shal hug the poore honest face-maker,
Ile loue the little Atheist, when he writes after my commendation,
another whip? come yerke me.
Dem.
Tucca will bite, how? growne Satiricall,
No, he bites tables, for he feedes on all.
Tuc.
The whoreson clouen-foote deuill in mans apparell lyes,
There stood aboue forty dishes before me to day,
That I nere toucht, because they were empty.
Min.
I am witnes young Gentlemen to that.
Tuc.
Farewell stinckers, I smel thy meaning Screech-owle,
I doe tho I stop my nose: and Sirra Poet, we'll haue thee vntrust
for this; come, mother Mum-pudding, come.
Exeunt.
Trumpets sound a florish, and then a sennate: Enter King with Calestine, Sir Walter Terrill, Sir Quintilian, Sir Adam, Blunt and other Ladies and attendants: whilst the Trumpets sound the King takes his leaue of the Bride-groome, and Sir Quintilian, and last of the Bride.
Kin.
My song of parting doth this burden beare;
A kisse the Ditty, and I set it heere.
By this faire Bride remember soone at night:
Sir Walter.
Ter.
My Leige Lord, we all attend,
The time and place.
Kin.
Till then my leaue commend.
They bring him to the doore: Enter at another doore Sir Vaughan.
Sir Vau.
Ladies I am to put a verie easie suite vpon you all,
and to desire you to fill your little pellies at a dinner of plums
behinde noone; there be Suckets, and Marmilads, and Marchants,
and other long white plummes that faine would kisse
your delicate and sweet lippes; I indite you all together, and
you especially my Ladie Pride; what doe you saie for your
selles? for I indite you all.
Cæl.
I thanke yon good Sir Vaughan, I will come.
Sir Uau.
Say Sentlewomen will you stand to me too?
All.
We'll sit with you sweet Sir Vaughan.
Sir Uau.
God a mightie plesse your faces, and make your
beauties last, when wee are all dead and rotten:—you all
will come.
1 Lady.
All will come.
Sir Vau.
Pray God that Horace bee in his right wittes to
raile now.
Exit.
Cris.
Come Ladie, you shall be my dauncing guest.
To treade the maze of musicke with the rest.
Dem.
Ile lead you in.
Dicach.
A maze is like a doubt:
Tis easie to goe in, hard to get out.
Blun.
We follow close behinde.
Philoca.
That measure's best.
Now none markes vs, but we marke all the rest.
Exeunt.
Exeunt all sauing Sir Quintilian, Cælestine, and Sir Walter Terrill.
Father, and you my Bride; that name to day,
Wife comes not till to morrow: but omitting
This enterchanging of Languages; let vs thinke
Vpon the King and night, and call our spirits
To a true reckoning; first to Arme our wittes
With compleat steele of Iudgement, and our tongs,
With sound attillery of Phrases: then
Our Bodies must bee motions; moouing first
What we speake: afterwards, our very knees
Must humbly seeme to talke, and sute out speech;
For a true furnisht Cortyer hath such force,
Though his tonge faints, his very legs discourse.
Sir quin.
Sonne Terrill, thou hast drawne his picture right,
For hee's noe full-made Courtier, nor well strung,
That hath not euery ioynt stucke with a tongue.
Daughter, if Ladies say, that is the Bride, that's she,
Gaze thou at none, for all will gaze at thee.
Cæl.
Then, ô my father must I goe? O my husband
Shall I then goe? O my selfe, will I goe?
Sir quin.
You must.
Ter.
You shall.
Cæl.
I will, but giue me leaue,
To say I may not, nor I ought not, say not
Still, I must goe, let me intreate I may not.
Ter.
You must and shall, I made a deede of gift,
And gaue my oath vnto the King, I swore
By thy true constancy.
Cæl.
Then keep that word
To sweare by, O let me be constant still.
Ter.
What shall I cancell faith, and breake my oath?
Cæl.
If breaking constancie thou breakst them both.
Ter.
Thy constancie no euill can pursue.
Cæl.
I may be constant still, and yet not true.
Ter.
As how?
As thus, by violence detain'd,
They may be constant still, that are constrain'd.
Ter.
Constrain'd? that word weighs heauy, yet my oath
Weighes downe that word; the kinges thoughts are at oddes,
They are not euen ballanst in his brest;
The King may play the man with me; nay more,
Kings may vsurpe; my wife's a woman; yet
Tis more then I know yet, that know not her,
If she should prooue mankinde, twere rare, fye, fye,
See how I loose my selfe, amongst my thoughts,
Thinking to finde my selfe; my oath, my oath.
Sir quin.
I sweare another, let me see by what,
By my long stocking, and my narrow skirtes,
Not made to sit vpon, she shall to Court.
I haue a tricke, a charme that shall lay downe
The spirit of lust, and keep thee vndeflowred;
Thy husbands honor sau'd, and the hot King,
Shall haue enough too. Come, a tricke, a charme.
Exit.
Cæl.
God keep thy honour safe, my bloud from harme.
Ter.
Come, my sicke-minded Bride, Ile teach thee how,
To relish health a little: Taste this thought,
That when mine eyes seru'd loues commission,
Vpon thy beauties I did seise on them.
To a Kings vse; cure all thy griefe with this,
That his great seale was grauen vpon this ring,
And that I was but Steward to a King.
Exeunt.
A banquet set out: Enter Sir Vaughan, Horace, Asinius Bubo, Lady Petula, Dicache, Philocalia, Mistris Miniuer and Peter Flash.
Sir Vaugh.
Ladies and Sentlemen, you are almost all welcome,
to this sweet nuncions of Plums.
Dicach.
Almost all Sir Vaughan: why to which of vs are
Sir Uaugh.
My interpretations is that almost all are welcome,
because I indited a brace or two more that is not come,
I am sorrie my Ladie Pride is not among you.
Asi.
Slid, he makes hounds of vs Ningle, a brace quoth a?
Sir Uaug.
Peter Salamanders draw out the pictures of all
the ioynt stooles, & Ladies sit downe vpon their wodden faces.
Flash.
I warrant Sir, Ile giue euerie one of them a good
stoole.
Sir Vau.
Master Horace, Master Horace, when I pray to
God, and desire in hipocritnes that bald Sir Adams were heer,
then, then, then begin to make your railes at the pouertie and
beggerly want of haire.
Hor.
Leaue it to my iudgement.
Sir Vau.
M. Bubo sit there, you and I wil thinke vpon our
ends at the Tables: M. Horace, put your learned bodie into the
midst of these Ladies; so tis no matter to speake graces at nuncions,
because we are all past grace since dinner.
Asini.
Mas I thanke my destinie I am not past grace, for
by this hand full of Carrawaies, I could neuer abide to say
grace.
Dica.
Mistris Miniuer, is not that innocent Gentleman a
kinde of foole?
Min.
Why doe you aske Madam?
Dicach.
Nay for no harme, I aske because I thought you
two had been of acquaintaine.
Min.
I thinke he's within an Inch of a foole.
Dicach.
Madam Philocalia, you sit next that spare Gentleman,
wod you heard what Mistris Miniuer saies of you.
Philo.
Why what saies she Madam Dicache.
Dica.
Nay nothing, but wishes you were married to that
small timber'd gallant.
Philo.
Your wish and mine are twinnes, I wish so too for
Asini.
Yes faith Ladie, Ide make you laugh, my bolts now
and then should be soone shot; by these comfits, weed let all
slide.
Petu.
He takes the sweetest oathes that euer I heard a gallant
of his pitch sweare; by these Comfits, & these Carrawaies,
I warrant it does him good to sweare.
Asin.
Yes faith tis meate and drinke to me.
I am glad Ladie Petula (by this Apple) that they please you.
Sir Vau.
Peter Salamanders wine, I beseech you Master
Asinius Bubo, not to sweare so deeplie, for there comes no
fruite of your oathes; heere Ladies, I put you all into one corners
together, you shall all drinke of one cup.
Asi.
Peter I prethee fill me out too.
Flash.
Ide fling you out too and I might ha my will, a pox
of all fooles.
Sir Vau.
Mistris Miniuers, pray bee lustie, wod Sir Adams
Prickshaft stucke by you.
Hor.
Who, the balde Knight Sir Vaughan?
Sir Vau.
The same M. Horace, he that has but a remnant or
parcell of haire, his crowne is clipt and par'd away; me thinkes
tis an excellent quallitie to bee balde; for and there stucke a
nose and two nyes in his pate, he might weare two faces vnder
one hood.
Asi.
As God saue me la, if I might ha my will, Ide rather
be a balde Gentleman then a hairy; for I am sure the best and
tallest Yeomen in England haue balde heads: me thinkes haire
is a scuruie lowsie commodity.
Hor.
Bubo, heerein you blaze your ignorance.
Sir Vau.
Pray stop and fill your mouthes, and giue M. Horace
all your eares.
Hor.
For if of all the bodies parts, the head
Be the most royall: if discourse, wit, Iudgement,
And all our vnderstanding faculties,
Enacting lawes to sway this humorous world:
This little He of Man: needes must that crowne,
Which stands vpon this supreame head, be faire,
And helde inualuable, and that crowne's the Haire:
The head that wants this honour stands awry,
Js bare in name and in authority.
Sir Uau.
He meanes balde-pates mistris Miniuers.
Hor.
Haire, tis the roabe which curious nature weaues,
To hang vpon the head: and does adorne,
Our bodies in the first houre we are borne:
God does bestow that garment: when we dye,
That (like a soft and silken Canopie)
Is still spred ouer vs; In spight of death
Our hayre growes in our graue, and that alone
Lookes fresh, when all our other beauty's gone.
The excellence of Haire, in this shines cleere,
That the foure Elements take pride to weare
The fashion of it: when Fire most bright does burne,
The flames to golden lockes doe striue to turne;
When her lasciuious armes the Water hurles,
About the shoares wast, her sleeke head she curles:
And rorid cloudes being suckt into the Ayre,
When downe they melt, hangs like fine siluer hayre.
You see the Earth (whose head so oft it shorne)
Frighted to feele her lockes so rudely torne,
Stands with her haire an end, and (thus afraide)
Turnes euery haire to a greene naked blade.
Besides, when (strucke with griefe) we long to dye,
We spoile that most, which most does beautifie,
We rend this Head-tyre off. I thus conclude,
Cullors set cullors out; our eyes iudge right,
Of vice or vertue by their opposite:
So, if faire haire to beauty ad such grace,
Sir Vau.
True M. Horace, for a bald reason, is a reason that
has no haires vpon't, a scuruy scalded reason.
Mi.
By my truely I neuer thought you could ha pickt
such strange things out of haire before.
Asini.
Nay my Ningle can tickle it, when hee comes
too't.
Min.
Troth I shall neuer bee enameld of a bare-headed
man for this, what shift so euer I make.
Sir Vaug.
Then Mistris Miniuer S. Adams Prickshaft must
not hit you; Peter take vp all the cloathes at the table and the
Plums.
Enter Tucca and his boy.
Tuc.
Saue thee my little worshipfull Harper; how doe yee
my little cracknels? how doe ye?
Sir Vau.
Welcome M. Tucca, sit and shoote into your belly
some Suger pellets.
Tuc.
No, Godamercy Cadwallader, how doe you Horace?
Ho.
Thankes good Captaine.
Tu.
Wher's the Sering thou carriest about thee? O haue I
found thee my scowring-sticke; what's my name Bubo?
Asini.
Wod I were hang'd if I can call you any names
but Captaine and Tucca.
Tuc.
No Fye'st, my name's Hamlet reuenge: thou hast
been at Parris garden hast not?
Hor.
Yes Captaine, I ha plaide Zulziman there.
Sir Vau.
Then M. Horace you plaide the part of an honest man.
Tuc.
Death of Hercules, he could neuer play that part well
in's life, no Fulkes you could not: thou call'st Demetrius
Iorneyman Poet, but thou putst vp a Supplication to be
a poore Iorneyman Player, and hadst beene still so, but
that thou couldst not set a good face vpon't: thou hast forgot
how thou amblest (in leather pilch) by a play-wagon, in the
highway, and took'st mad Ieronimoes part, to get seruice among
into the Ile of Dogs, thou turn'dst Ban-dog (villanous Guy) &
euer since bitest, therefore I aske if th'ast been at Parris-garden,
because thou hast such a good mouth; thou baitst well,
read, lege, saue thy selfe and read.
Hor.
Why Captaine these are Epigrams compos'd on you.
Tuc.
Goe not out Farding Candle, goe not out, for trusty
Damboys now the deed is done, Ile pledge this Epigram in
wine, Ile swallow in, I, yes.
Sir Uau.
God blesse vs, will he be drunke with nittigrams
now.
Tuc.
So, now arise sprite ath Buttry; no Herring-bone Ile
not pull thee out, but arise deere Eccho rise, rise deuill or Ile
coniure thee vp.
Min.
Good Master Tucca lets ha no coniuring heere.
Sir Uau.
Vddes bloud you scald gouty Captaine, why
come you to set encombrances heere betweene the Ladies.
Tuc.
Be not so tart my precious Metheglin, be not (my old
whore a Babilon, sit fast.)
Min.
O Iesu if I know where abouts in London Babilon
stands.
Tuc.
Feede and be fat my faire Calipolis, stir not my beauteous
wriggle-tailes, Ile disease none of you, Ile take none of
you vp, but onely this table-man, I must enter him into some
filthy sincke point, I must.
Hor.
Captaine, you doe me wrong thus to disgrace me.
Tuc.
Thou thinkst thou maist be as sawcy with me as my
Buffe Ierkin to sit vpon me, dost?
Ho.
Dam me, if euer I traduc'd your name,
What imputation can you charge me with?
Sir Vau.
Sblud, I, what cōputations can you lay to his sarge?
answer, or by Sefulle canuas your coxcombe Tucky.
Min.
If they draw sweet hearts, let vs shift for our selues.
Tuc.
My noble swaggerer, I wil not fall out with thee, I cannot
Sir Vau.
Cumrade? by Sesu call me Cumrade againe, and
ile Cumrade ye about the sinnes and shoulders; ownds, what
come you to smell out heere? did you not dine and feede horribly
well to day at dinner, but you come to munch heere, and
giue vs winter-plummes? I pray depart, goe marse, marse,
marse out a doores.
Tuc.
Adew Sir Eglamour, adew Lute-stringe, Curtin-rod,
Goose-quill; heere, giue that full-nos'd Skinker, these rimes; &
harke, Ile tagge my Codpeece point with thy legs, spout-pot
Ile empty thee.
Asin.
Dost threaten mee? Gods lid Ile binde thee to the
good forbearing.
Sir Vau.
Will you amble Hobby-horse, will you trot and
amble?
Tuc.
Raw Artichocke I shall sauce thee.
Exit.
Min.
I pray you Master Tucca, will you send me the fiue
pound you borrowed on me; O you cannot heare now, but
Ile make you heare me and feele me too in another place, to
your shame I warrant you, thou shalt not conny-catch mee
for fiue pounds; he tooke it vp Sir Vaughan in your name, hee
swore you sent for it to Mum withall, twas fiue pound in gold,
as white as my kercher.
Sir Vaughan.
Ownds, fiue pound in my name to Mum about
withall.
Min.
I, to Mum withall, but hee playes mum-budget
with me.
Sir Uau.
Peter Salamander, tye vp your great and your
little sword, by Sesu Ile goe sing him while tis hot, Ile beate
fiue pound out of his leather pilch: Master Horace, let your
wittes inhabite in your right places; if I fall sansomely vpon the
Widdow, I haue some cossens Garman at Court, shall beget
you the reuersion of the Master of the Kings Reuels, or else
be his Lord of Mis-rule nowe at Christmas: Come Ladyes,
Exeunt.
Manes Horace and Asinius.
Hor.
How now? what ail'st thou, that thou look'st so
pale?
Asin.
Nay nothing, but I am afraide the Welsh Knight
has giuen me nothing but purging Comfits: this Captaine
stickes pockily in my stomack; read this scroule, he saies they'r
rimes, and bid me giue them you.
Hor.
Rimes 'tis a challenge sent to you.
Asin.
To me?
Hor.
He saies heere you divulg'd my Epigrams.
Asin.
And for that dares he challenge me?
Hor.
You see he dares but dare you answer him?
Asin.
I date answer his challenge, by word of mouth, or
by writing, but I scorne to meete him, I hope he and I are not
Paralels.
Hor.
Deere Bubo, thou shalt answere him; our credites
Lye pawn'd vpon thy resolution,
Thy vallor must redeeme them; charge thy spirits,
To waite more close, and neere thee: if he kill thee,
Ile not suruiue; into one Lottery.
We'll cast our fates; together liue and dye.
Asi.
Content, I owe God a death, and if he will make
mee pay't against my will, Ile say tis hard dealing.
Exeunt
Enter Sir Adam, Tucca, with two pistols by his sides, his boy laden with swords and bucklers.
Tuc.
Did Apolloes Freeze gowne watch man (boy, dost
heare Turkie-cockes tayle haue an eye behinde, least the enemie
assault our Rere-ward) on proceede Father Adam; did
that same tiranicall-tongu'd rag-a-muffin Horace, turne baldpates
out so naked?
Sir Ad.
He did, and whipt them so with nettles, that
Should not man her: the Ladie Petula
Was there, heard all, and tolde me this.
Tuc.
Goe too.
Thy golde was accepted, it was, and she shall bring thee into
her Paradice, she shall small Adam, she shall.
Sir Ada.
But how? but how Capten?
Tuc.
Thus, goe, couer a table with sweet meates, let all the
Gentlewomen, and that same Pasquils-mad-cap (mother Bee
there) nibble, bid them bite: they will come to gobble downe
Plummes; then take vp that paire of Basket hiltes, with my
commission, I meane Crispinus and Fannius; charge one of
them to take vp the Bucklers, against that hayre-monger Horace,
and haue a bout or two, in defence of balde-pates: let
them cracke euerie crowne that has haire on't: goe, let them
lift vp baldenes to the skie, and thou shalt see, twill turne Miniuers
heart quite against the haire.
Sir Ada.
Excellent, why then M. Tucca—
Tuc.
Nay, whir, nymble Prickshaft; whir, away, I goe vpon
life and death, away, flie Scanderbag flie.
Exit.
Enter Asinius Bubo, and Horace aloofe.
Boy.
Arme Captaine, arme, arme, arme, the foe is come
downe.
Tucca offers to shoote.
Asi.
Hold Capten Tucca holde, I am Bubo, & come to answer
any thing you can lay to my charge.
Tuc.
What, dost summon a parlie my little Drum-sticke?
tis too late; thou seest my red flag is hung out, Ile fill thy guts
with thine owne carrion carcas, and then eate them vp insteed
of Sawsages.
Asin.
Vse me how you will; I am resolute, for I ha made
my Will.
Wilt fight Turke-a-ten-pence? wilt fight then?
Asini.
Thou shalt finde Ile fight in a Godly quarrell, if I be
once fir'd.
Tuc.
Thou shalt not want fire, Ile ha thee burnt when thou
wilt, my colde Cornelius: but come: Respice funem; looke,
thou seest; open thy selfe my little Cutlers Shoppe, I challenge
thee thou slender Gentleman, at foure sundrie weapons.
Asi.
Thy challenge was but at one, and Ile answere but
one.
Boy.
Thou shalt answer two, for thou shalt answer me and
my Capten.
Tuc.
Well said Cockrell out-crowe him: art hardy noble
Huon? art Magnanimious? licke-trencher; looke, search least
some lye in ambush; for this man at Armes, has paper in's bellie,
or some friend in a corner, or else hee durst not bee so
cranke.
Boy.
Capten, Capten, Horace stands sneaking heere.
Tuc.
I smelt the foule-fisted Morter-treader, come my
most damnable fastidious rascall, I haue a suite to both of
you.
Asi.
O holde, most pittifull Captaine holde.
Hor.
Holde Capten, tis knowne that Horace is valliant, &
a man of the sword.
Tuc.
A Gentleman or an honest Cittizen, shall not Sit in
your pennie-bench Theaters, with his Squirrell by his side
cracking nuttes; nor sneake into a Tauerne with his Mermaid;
but he shall be Satyr'd, and Epigram'd vpon, and his humour
must run vpo'th Stage: you'll ha Euery Gentleman in's humour,
and Euery Gentleman out on's humour: wee that are
heades of Legions and Bandes, and feare none but these
same shoulder-clappers, shall feare you, you Serpentine
rascall.
Hor.
Honour'd Capten.
Art not famous enough yet my mad Horastratus, for
killing a Player, but thou must eate men aliue? thy friends? Sirra
wilde-man, thy Patrons? thou Anthropophagite, thy
Mecænasses?
Hor.
Captaine, I'm sorry that you lay this wrong.
So close vnto your heart: deare Captaine thinke
I writ cut of hot bloud, which (now) being colde,
I could be pleas'd (to please you) to quaffe downe,
The poyson'd Inke, in which I dipt your name.
Tuc.
Saist thou so, my Palinodicall timester?
Hor.
Hence forth Ile rather breath out Solœcismes
(To doe which Ide as soone speake blasphemie)
Than with my tongue or pen to wound your worth,
Beleeue it noble Capten; it to me
Shall be a Crowne, to crowne your actes with praize,
Out of your hate, your loue Ile stronglie raize.
Tuc.
I know now th'ast a number of these Quiddits to
binde men to'th peace: tis thy fashion to flirt Inke in euerie
mans face; and then to craule into his bosome, and damne thy
selfe to wip't off agen: yet to giue out abroad, that hee was
glad to come to composition with thee: I know Monsieur
Machiauell tis one a thy rules; My long-heel'd Troglodite, I
could make thine eares burne now, by dropping into them, all
those hot oathes, to which, thy selfe gau'st voluntarie fire, (whē
thou wast the man in the Moone) that thou wouldst neuer
squib out any new Salt-peter Iestes against honest Tucca, nor
those Maligo-tasters, his Poetasters; I could Cinocephalus, but
I will not, yet thou knowst thou hast broke those oathes in
print, my excellent infernall.
Ho.
Capten.
Tuc.
Nay I smell what breath is to come from thee, thy
answer is, that there's no faith to be helde with Heritickes &
Infidels, and therfore thou swear'st anie thing: but come lend
mee thy hand, thou and I hence forth will bee Alexander and
and Tucca Theseus; but Ile leaue thee i'th lurch, when thou
mak'st thy voiage into hell: till then, Thine-assuredly.
Hor.
With all my soule deare Capten.
Tuc.
Thou'lt shoote thy quilles at mee, when my terrible
backe's turn'd for all this, wilt not Porcupine? and bring me &
my Heliconistes into thy Dialogues to make vs talke madlie,
wut not Lucian?
Hor.
Capten, if I doe—
Tuc.
Nay and thou dost, hornes of Lucifer, the Parcell-Poets
shall Sue thy wrangling Muse, in the Court of Pernassus,
and neuer leaue hunting her, till she pleade in Forma Pauperi:
but I hope th'ast more grace: come: friendes, clap handes tis a
bargaine; amiable Bubo, thy fist must walke too: so, I loue
thee, now I see th'art a little Hercules, and wilt fight; Ile Sticke
thee now in my companie like a sprig of Rosemary.
Enter Sir Reesap Vaughan and Peter Flash.
Fla.
Draw Sir Rees he's yonder, shall I vpon him?
Sir Vau.
Vpon him? goe too, goe too Peter Salamander;
holde, in Gods name holde; I will kill him to his face, because
I meane he shall answer for it; being an eye-witnes; one vrde
Capten Tucky.
Tuc.
Ile giue thee ten thousand words and thou wilt, my
little Thomas Thomasius.
Sir Uau.
By Sesu, tis best you giue good vrdes too, least I
beate out your tongue, and make your vrde nere to bee taken
more; doe you heare, fiue pounds, fiue pounds Tucky.
Tuc.
Thou shalt ha fiue, and fiue, and fiue and thou wantst
money my Iob.
Sir Vau.
Leaue your fetches and your fegaries, you tough
leather-Ierkins; leaue your quandaries, and trickes, and draw
vpon me y'are best: you conny-catch Widdow Miniuer-caps
run vp and downe in dishonors, and discredites; is't not true,
you winke-a-pipes rascall? is not true?
Tuc.
Right, true, guilty, I remember't now; for when I
spake a good word to the Widdow for thee my young Sampson—
Sir Vau.
For fiue pounds you cheating scab, for 5. pounds,
not for me.
Tuc.
For thee ô Cæsar, for thee I tooke vp fiue pounds in
golde, that lay in her lap, & said Ide giue it thee as a token from
her: I did it but to smell out how she stood affected to thee, to
feele her; I, and I know what she said, I know how I carried away
the golde.
Sir Vau.
By Sesu, I ha not the mercy to fall vpon him now:
M. Tucky, did widdow Miniuers part quietly from her golde,
because you lyed, and said it was for me?
Tuc.
Quietly, in peace, without grumbling; made no noise,
I know how I tempted her, in thy behalfe; my little Trang do.
Sir Vau.
Capten Tucky, I will pay back her 5.l. (vnles you
be damn'd in lyes) & hold you, I pray you pocket vp this; by
the crosse a this sword & dagger, Capten you shall take it.
Tuc.
Dost sweare by daggers? nay then Ile put vp more at
thy hands then this.
Flash.
Is the fray done sir?
Sir Vau.
Done Peter, put vp your smeeter.
Tuc.
Come hether, my soure-fac'd Poet; fling away that
beard-brush Bubo, casheere him and harke: Knight attend:
So, that raw-head and bloudy-bones Sir Adam, has fee'd another
brat (of those nine common wenches) to defend baldnes
and to raile against haire: he'll haue a fling at thee, my
noble Cock-Sparrow.
Sir Vau.
At mee? will hee sling the cudgels of his witte at
mee?
Tuc.
And at thy button-cap too; but come, Ile be your leader
coate away with that flawne, and follow, come:
Exit.
Hor.
Bubo, we follow Captaine.
Sir Ua
Peter, leaue comming behinde me, I pray any longer
for you and I must part Peter.
Flash.
Sounds Sir, I hope you will not serue me so, to turne
me away in this case.
Sir Uau.
Turne you into a fooles coate; I meane I will go
solus, or in solitaries alone; ounds y-are best giue better words,
or Ile turne you away indeed; where is Capten Tucky? come
Horace; get you home Peter.
Flash.
Ile home to your cost, and I can get into the Wine-Seller.
Exit.
Hor.
Remember where to meete mee.
Asin.
Yes Ile meete; Tucca should ha found I dare
meete.
Exit.
Ho.
Dare defend baldnes, which our conquering Muse
Has beaten downe so flat? Well, we will goe,
And see what weapons theyr weake wittes doe bring;
If sharpe, we'll spred a large and nobler wing;
Tucca, heere lyes thy Peace: warre roares agen;
My Swoord shall neuer cutte thee, but my pen.
Exit.
Enter Sir Adam, Crispinus, Fannius, Blunt, Miniuer, Petula, Philocalia and Dicace.
Ladies,
Thankes good Sir Adam.
Sir Ada.
Welcome red-cheekt Ladies,
And welcome comely Widdow; Gentlemen,
Now that our sorry banquet is put by,
From stealing more sweet kisses from your lips
Walke in my garden: Ladyes let your eyes
Shed life into these flowers by their bright beames,
Sit, Sit heere's a large bower, heere all may heare,
Now good Crispinus let your praize begin.
Cris.
I shall winne.
No praise, by praising that, which to depraue,
All tongues are readie, and which none would haue.
Bin.
To prooue that best, by strong and armed reason,
Whose part reason feares to take, cannot but prooue,
Your wit's fine temper, and from these win loue.
Min.
I promise you has almost conuerted me, I pray bring
forward your bald reasons M. Poet.
Cri.
Mistris you giue my Reasons proper names,
For Arguments (like Children) should be like,
The subiect that begets them; I must striue
To crowne Bald heades, therefore must baldlie thriue;
But be it as it can: To what before,
Went arm'd at table, this force bring I more,
If a Bare head (being like a dead-mans scull)
Should beare vp no praise els but this, it sets
Our end before our eyes; should I dispaire,
From giuing Baldnes higher place then haire?
Mini.
Nay perdie, haire has the higher place.
Cri.
The goodliest & most glorious strange-built wonder,
Which that great Architect hath made, is heauen;
For there he keepes his Court, It is his Kingdome,
That's his best Master-piece; yet tis the roofe,
And Seeling of the world: that may be cal'd
The head or crowne of Earth, and yet that's balde,
All creatures in it balde; the louely Sunne,
Has a face sleeke as golde; the full-cheekt Moone,
As bright and smooth as siluer: nothing there
Weares dangling lockes, but sometime blazing Starres,
Whose flaming curles set realmes on fire with warres.
Descend more low; looke through mans fiue-folde sence,
Of all, the Eye, beares greatest eminence;
And yet that's balde, the haires that like a lace,
Like Pent-houses to saue the eyes from stormes.
Sir Adam.
Right, well said.
Cris.
A head and face ore-growne with Shaggie drosse,
O, tis an Orient pearle hid all in Mosse,
But when the head's all naked and vncrown'd,
It is the worlds Globe, euen, smooth and round;
Baldnes is natures But, at which our life,
Shootes her last Arrow: what man euer lead
His age out with a staffe, but had a head
Bare and vncouer'd? hee whose yeares doe rise,
To their full height, yet not balde, is not wise.
The Head is Wisedomes house, Haire but the thatch,
Haire? It's the basest stubble; in scorne of it,
This Prouerbe sprung, he has more haire then wit:
Marke you not in derision how we call,
A head growne thicke with haire, Bush-naturall?
Min.
By your leaue (Master Poet) but that Bush-naturall,
is one a the trimmest, and most intanglingst beautie in a woman.
Cris.
Right, but beleeue this (pardon me most faire)
You would haue much more wit, had you lesse haire:
I could more wearie you to tell the proofes.
(As they passe by) which fight on Baldnes side,
Then were you taskt to number on a head,
The haires: I know not how your thoughts are lead,
On this strong Tower shall my opinion rest,
Heades thicke of haire are good, but balde the best,
Whilst this Paradox is in speaking, Tucca Enters with Sir Vaughan at one doore, and secretly placeth him: then Exit and brings in Horace muffled, placing him: Tucca sits among them.
Tuc.
Th'art within a haire of it, my sweet Wit whether wile
Sir Vaughan steps out.
Sir Uau.
By your fauour Master Tucky, his balde reasons
are wide aboue two hayres, I besees you pardon mee
Ladies, that I thrust in so malepartly among you, for I did
but mych heere, and see how this cruell Poet did handle bald
heades.
Sir Ad.
He gaue them but their due Sir Vaughan; Widdow
did he not?
Mini.
By my faith he made more of a balde head, than
euer I shall be able: he gaue them their due truely.
Sir Uaugh.
Nay vds bloud, their due is to bee a the right
haire as I am, and that was not in his fingers to giue, but
in God a Mighties: Well, I will hyre that humorous and
fantasticall Poet Master Horace, to breake your balde pate
Sir Adam.
Sir Ada.
Breake my balde pate?
Tuc.
Dost heare my worshipfull block-head?
Sir Vaug.
Patience Captaine Tucky, let me absolue him;
I meane he shal pricke, pricke your head or sconce a little with
his goose-quils, for he shal make another Thalimum, or crosse-stickes,
or some Polinoddyes, with a fewe Nappy-grams in
them, that shall lift vp haire, and set it an end, with his learned
and harty commendations.
Hor.
This is excellent, all will come out now.
Dica.
That same Horace me thinkes has the most vngodly
face, by my Fan; it lookes for all the world, like a rotten russet
Apple, when tis bruiz'd: Its better then a spoonefull of Sinamon
water next my heart, for me to heare him speake; hee
soundes it so i'th nose, and talkes and randes for all the
world, like the poore fellow vnder Ludgate: oh fye vpon
him.
Min.
By my troth sweet Ladies, it's Cake and pudding to
me, to see his face make faces, when hee reades his Songs
Hor.
Ile face some of you for this, when you shall not
budge.
Tuc.
Its the stinckingst dung-farmer—foh vpon him.
Sir Uau.
Foh? oundes you make him vrse than olde herring:
foh? by Sesu I thinke he's as tidy, and as tall a Poet as euer
drew out a long verse.
Tuc.
The best verse that euer I knew him hacke out, was
his white necke-verse: noble Ap Rees thou wouldst scorne
to laye thy lippes to his commendations, and thou smeldst
him out as I doe, hee calles thee the burning Knight of the Salamander.
Sir Uaugh.
Right, Peter is my Salamander; what of
him? but Peter is neuer burnt: howe now? so, goe too
now.
Tucca.
And sayes because thou Clipst the Kinges English.
Sir Vaughan.
Oundes mee? that's treason: clip? horrible
treasons, Sesu holde my handes; clip? he baites mouse-trappes
for my life.
Tucca.
Right little Twinckler, right: hee sayes because
thou speak'st no better, thou canst not keepe a good tongue
in thy head.
Sir Vaug.
By God tis the best tongue, I can buy for loue
or money.
Tuc.
He shootes at thee too Adam Bell, and his arrowes
stickes heere; he calles thee bald-pate.
Sir Uaugh.
Oundes make him prooue these intollerabilities.
Tuc.
And askes who shall carry the vineger-bottle? & then
he rimes too't, and sayes Prickshaft: nay Miniuer hee cromples
thy Cap too; and—
Cri.
Come Tucca, come, no more; the man's wel knowne,
thou needst not paint him, whom does he not wrong?
Mary himselfe, the vglie Pope Boniface, pardons himselfe,
and therefore my iudgement is, that presently he bee had
from hence, to his place of execution, and there bee Stab'd,
Stab'd, Stab'd.
He stabs at him.
Hor.
Oh gentlemen, I am slaine, oh slaue art hyr'd to murder
me, to murder me, to murder me?
Ladies.
Oh God!
Sir Vaugh.
Ounds Capten you haue put all Poetrie to the
dint of sword, blow winde about him: Ladies for our Lordes
sake you that haue smocks, teare off peeces to shoote through
his oundes: Is he dead and buried is he? pull his nose, pinch,
rub, rub, rub, rub.
Tu.
If he be not dead, looke heere; I ha the Stab and pippin
for him: if I had kil'd him, I could ha pleas'd the great foole
with an Apple.
Cris.
How now? be well good Horace, heer's no wound;
Y'are slaine by your owne feares; how dost thou man?
Come, put thy heart into his place againe;
Thy out-side's neither peir'st, nor In-side slaine.
Sir Vau.
I am glad M. Horace, to see you walking.
Ho.
Gentlemen, I am blacke and blewe the breadth of a
groate.
Tuc.
Breadth of a groate? there's a teston, hide thy infirmities,
my scuruy Lazarus; doe, hide it, least it prooue a scab in
time: hang thee desperation, hang thee, thou knowst I cannot
be sharpe set against thee: looke, feele (my light-vptailes all)
feele my weapon.
Mi.
O most pittifull as blunt as my great thumbe.
Sir Vau.
By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding.
Tuc.
As blunt as the top of Poules; tis not like thy Aloe,
Cicatrine tongue bitter: no tis no stabber but like thy goodly
and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roare bulchin?
dost roare? th'ast a good rounciuall voice to cry Lanthorne &
Candle-light.
Two vrds Horace about your eares: how chance it
passes, that you bid God boygh to an honest trade of building
Symneys, and laying downe Brickes, for a worse handicraftnes
to make nothing but raises; your Muse leanes vpon nothing
but filthy rotten tailes, such as stand on Poules head,
how chance?
Hor.
Sir Vaughan.
Sir Va.
You lye sir varlet sir villaine, I am sir Salamanders,
ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as
mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice
Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets
agen.
Omnes.
Agree'd, agree'd.
Tuc.
A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him
out, they shall tosse him, holde fast wag-tailes: so, come, in,
take this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost
flampe mad Tamberlaine, dost stampe? thou think'st th'ast
Morter vnder thy feete, dost?
Ladies.
Come, a bandy ho.
Hor.
O holde most sacred beauties.
Sir Vau.
Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speakes.
Ho.
Sir Vaughan, noble Capten, Gentlemen,
Crispinus, deare Demetrius ô redeeme me,
Out of this infamous—by God by Iesu—
Cri.
Nay, sweare not so good Horace, now these Ladies,
Are made your executioners: prepare,
To suffer like a gallant, not a coward;
Ile trie t'vnloose, their hands, impossible.
Nay, womens vengeance are implacable.
Hor.
Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorne?
Tuc.
Ile tell thee why, because th'ast entred Actions of assault
and battery, against a companie of honourable and worshipfull
Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascall, law is one
of the pillers ath land, and if thou beest bound too't (as I hope
Ile tell thee why, because thy sputtering chappes yelpe, that
Arrogance, and impudence, and Ignoraunce, are the essentiall
parts of a Courtier.
Sir Vau.
You remember Horace they will puncke, and
pincke, and pumpe you, and they catch you by the coxcombe:
on I pray, one lash, a little more.
Tuc.
Ile tell thee why because thou cryest ptrooh at worshipfull
Cittizens, and cal'st them Flat-caps, Cuckolds, and
banckrupts, and modest and vertuous wiues punckes & cockatrices.
Ile tell thee why, because th'ast arraigned two Poets
against all lawe and conscience; and not content with
that, hast turn'd them amongst a company of horrible blacke
Fyers.
Sir Vau.
The same hand still, it is your owne another day,
M. Horace, admonitions is good meate.
Tuc.
Thou art the true arraign'd Poet, and shouldst haue
been hang'd, but for one of these part-takers, these charitable
Copper-lac'd Christians, that fetcht thee out of Purgatory,
(Players I meane) Theaterians pouch-mouth Stage-walkers;
for this Poet, for this, thou must lye with these foure wenches,
in that blancket, for this—
Hor.
What could I doe, out of a iust reuenge,
But bring them to the Stage? they enuy me
because I holde more worthy company.
Deme.
Good Horace, no; my cheekes doe blush for thine,
As often as thou speakst so, where one true
And nobly-vertuous spirit, for thy best part
Loues thee, I wish one ten, euen from my heart.
I make account I put vp as deepe share
In any good mans loue which thy worth earnes,
As thou thy selfe; we enuy not to see,
Thy friends with Bayes to crowne thy Poesie.
Thy verie heart is made of; know the stalke
On which thy learning growes, and can giue life
To thy (once dying) basenes; yet must we
Dance Antickes on your Paper.
Hor.
Fannius.
Cri.
This makes vs angry, but not enuious,
No, were thy warpt soule, put in a new molde,
Ide weare thee as a Iewell set in golde.
Sir Vau.
And Iewels Master Horace, must be hang'd you
know.
Tuc.
Good Pagans, well said, they haue sowed vp that
broken seame-rent lye of thine, that Demetrius is out at Elbowes,
and Crispinus is falne out with Sattin heere, they haue;
but bloate-herring dost heare?
Hor.
Yes honour'd Captaine, I haue eares at will.
Tuc.
Ist not better be out at Elbowes, then to bee a bondslaue,
and to goe all in Parchment as thou dost?
Horace.
Parchment Captaine? tis Perpetuana I assure
you.
Tuc.
My Perpetuall pantaloone true, but tis waxt ouer;
th'art made out of Wax; thou must answere for this one day;
thy Muse is a hagler, and weares cloathes vpon best-be-trust:
th'art great in some bodies books for this, thou kuowst where;
thou wouldst bee out at Elbowes, and out at heeles too,
but that thou layest about thee with a Bill for this, a
Bill—
Ho.
I confesse Capten, I followed this suite hard.
Tuc.
I know thou didst, and therefore whilst we haue Hiren
heere, speake my little dish-washers, a verdit Pissekitchins.
Omnes.
Blancket.
Sir Vau.
Holde I pray, holde, by Sesu I haue put vpon
my heade, a fine deuice, to make you laugh, tis not
in, but a fine tricke, ha, ha, is iumbling in my braine.
Tuc.
Ile beate out thy braines, my whorson hansome
dwarfe, but ile haue it out of thee.
Omnes.
What is it good Sir Vaughan?
Sir Vau.
To conclude, tis after this manners, because Ma.
Horace is ambition, and does conspire to bee more hye and
tall as God a mightie made him, wee'll carry his terrible, person
to Court, and there before his Masestie Dub, or
what you call it, dip his Muse in some licour, and christen
him, or dye him, into collours of a Poet.
Omnes.
Excellent.
Tuc.
Super Super-excellent Reuellers goe, proceede you
Masters of Arte in kissing these wenches, and in daunces, bring
you the quiuering Bride to Court, in a Maske, come Grumboll,
thou shalt Mum with vs; come, dogge mee skneakes-bill.
Hor.
O thou my Muse!
Sir Vau.
Call vpon God a mighty, and no Muses, your
Muse I warrant is otherwise occupied, there is no dealing
with your Muse now, therefore I pray marse, marse, marse,
oundes your Moose?
Exeunt.
Cri
We shal haue sport to see them; come bright beauties,
The Sunne stoops low, and whispers in our eares,
To hasten on our Maske, let's crowne this night,
With choise composed wreathes of sweet delight.
Exeunt.
Enter Terrill and Cælestine sadly, Sir Quintilian stirring and migling a cup of wine.
Ter.
O Night, that Dyes the Firmament in blacke,
And like a cloth of cloudes dost stretch thy limbes;
Vpon the windy Tenters of the Ayre:
O thou that hang'st vpon the backe of Day,
Without an eye, because thou shouldst not see
A Louers Reuels: nor participate
The Bride-groomes heauen; ô heauen, to me a hell:
I haue a hell in heauen, a blessed cursse;
All other Bride-groomes long for Night, and taxe
The Day of lazie slouth; call Time a Cripple,
And say the houres limpe after him: but I
Wish Night for euer banisht from the skie,
Or that the Day would neuer sleepe: or Time,
Were in a swound; and all his little Houres,
Could neuer lift him vp with their poore powers.
Enter Cælestine.
But backward runnes the course of my delight;
The day hath turn'd his backe, and it is night:
This night will make vs odde; day made vs eeuen,
All else are damb'd in hel, but I in heauen.
Cæ.
Let loose thy oath so shall we still be eeuen.
Ter.
Then am I damb'd in hell, and not in heauen.
Cæl.
Must I then goe? tis easie to say no,
Must is the King himselfe, and I must goe;
Shall I then goe? that word is thine; I shall,
Is thy commaund: I goe because I shall;
Will I then goe? I aske my selfe; ô ill,
King, saies I must; you, I shall; I, I will.
Ter.
Had I not sworne.
Cæl.
Why didst thou sweare?
Ter.
The King
Sat heauy on my resoluion,
Till (out of breath) it panted out an oath.
Cæl.
An oath? why, what's an oath? tis but the smoake,
Of flame & bloud; the blister of the spirit,
Which rizeth from the Steame of rage, the bubble
That shootes vp to the tongue, and scaldes the voice,
(For oathes are burning words) thou swor'st but one,
VVhat Countrimen are they? where doe they dwell,
That speake naught else but oathes?
Ter.
They're men of hell.
An oath? why tis the trafficke of the foule,
Tis law within a man; the seale of faith,
The bond of euery conscience; vnto whom,
VVe set our thoughts like hands: yea, such a one
I swore, and to the King: A King containes
A thousand thousand; when I swore to him,
I swore to them; the very haires that guard
His head, will rise vp like sharpe witnesses
Against my faith and loyalty: his eye
VVould straight condemne me: argue oathes no more,
My oath is high, for to the King I swore.
Enter Sir Quintilian with the cup.
Cæ.
Must I betray my Chastity? So long
Cleane from the treason of rebelling lust;
O husband! O my Father! if poore I.
Must not liue chast, then let me chastly dye.
S. qui.
I, heer's a charme shall keep thee chaste, come, come,
Olde Time hath left vs but an houre to play
Our parts; begin the Sceane, who shall speake first?
Oh, I, I play the King, and Kings speake first;
Daughter stand thou heere, thou Sonne Terrill there,
O thou standst well thou I lean'st against a poast,
(For thou't be posted off I warrant thee:)
The King will hang a horne about thy necke,
And make a poast of thee; you stand well both,
VVe neede no Prologue, the King entring first,
He's a most gracious Prologue: mary then
For the Catastrophe, or Epilogue,
VVill please the hearers well when he steps out;
His mouth is fil'd with words: see where he stands;
He'll make them clap their eyes besides their hands.
But to my part; suppose who enters now,
A King, whose eyes are set in Siluer; one
That blusheth golde, speakes Musicke dancing walkes,
Now gathers neerer takes thee by the hand,
When straight thou thinkst, the very Orbe of heauen,
Mooues round about thy fingers, then he speakes,
Thus—thus—I know not how.
Cæl.
Nor I to answer him.
Sir Quint.
No girle: knowst thou not how to answer him?
VVhy then the field is lost, and he rides home,
Like a great conquerour; not answer him?
Out of thy part alread?y foylde the Sceane?
Disranckt the lynes? disarm'd the action?
Ter.
Yes yes, true chastity is tongu'd so weake,
Tis ouer-come ere it know how to speake.
Sir qui.
Come, come, thou happy close of euery wrong,
Tis thou that canst dissolue the hardest doubt;
Tis time for thee to speake, we are all out.
Daughter, and you the man whom I call Sonne,
I must confesse I made a deede of gift;
To heauen and you, and gaue my childe to both:
VVhen on my blessing I did charme her soule,
In the white circle of true Chastity,
Still to run true, till death: now Sir if not,
She forfeyts my rich blessing, and is Fin'd
VVith an eternall cursse; then I tell you,
She shall dye now, now whilst her soule is true.
Ter.
Dye?
Cæl.
I, I am deaths eccho.
Sir quin.
O my Sonne,
Is threescore ten yeere olde; I weepe and smile
Two kinde of teares: I weepe that she must dye,
I smile that she must dye a Virgin: thus
We ioyfull men mocke teares, and teares mocke vs.
Ter.
What speakes that cup?
Sir quin.
White wine and poison.
Ter.
Oh:
That very name of poison, poisons me;
Thou Winter of a man thou walking graue,
Whose life is like a dying Taper: how
Canst thou define a Louers labouring thoughts?
What Sent hast thou but death? what taste but earth?
The breath that purles from thee, is like the Steame
Of a new-open'd vault: I know thy drift,
Because thou art trauelling to the land of Graues,
Thou couetst company, and hether bringst,
A health of poison to pledge death: a poison
For this sweete spring; this Element is mine,
This is the Ayre I breath; corrupt it not;
This heauen is mine, I bought it with my soule,
Of him that selles a heauen, to buy a soule.
Sir quin.
Well, let her goe; she's thine thou cal'st her thine,
Thy Element, the Ayre thou breath'st; thou knowst
The Ayre thou breath'st is common, make her so:
Perhaps thou't say; none but the King shall weare
Thy night-gowne, she that laps thee warme with loue;
And that Kings are not common: Then to shew,
By consequence he cannot make her so,
Indeede she may promoote her shame and thine,
And with your shames, speake a good word for mine:
The King shining so cleare, and we so dim,
Our darke disgraces will be seene through him.
Imagine her the cup of thy moist life,
Ter.
She dyes: that sentence poisons her: O life!
What slaue would pledge a King in his owne wife?
Cæl.
Welcome, ô poyson phisicke against lust,
Thou holesome medicine to a constant bloud;
Thou rare Apothecary that canst keepe,
My chastity preseru'd, within this boxe;
Of tempting dust, this painted earthen pot,
That stands vpon the stall of the white soule,
To set the shop out like a flatterer,
To draw the customers of Sinne: come, come,
Thou art no poison, but a dyet-drinke,
To moderate my bloud: White-innocent Wine,
Art thou made guilty of my death' oh no,
For thou thy selfe art poison'd, take me hence,
For Innocence, shall murder Innocence.
Drinkes
Ter.
Holde, holde, thou shalt not dye, my Bride, my wife,
O stop that speedy messenger of death;
O let him not run downe that narrow path,
Which leades vnto thy heart; nor carry newes
To thy remoouing soule, that thou must dye.
Cæl.
Tis done already, the Spirituall Court,
Is breaking vp; all Offices discharg'd,
My soule remooues from this weake standing house,
Of fraile mortallity: Deare Father, blesse
Me now and euer: Dearer Man farewell,
I ioyntly take my leaue of thee and life,
Goe, tell the King thou hast a constant wife.
Ter.
I had a constant wife, Ile tell the King;
Vntill the King—what dost thou smile? art thou
A Father?
Sir quin.
Yea smiles on my cheekes arise,
To see how sweetly a true virgin dyes.
Cris.
Sir Walter Terrill, gallants are all ready,
Ter.
All ready.
Dem.
Well said, come, come, wher's the Bride?
Ter.
She's going to forbid the Banes agen.
She'll dye a maide: and see, she keeps her oath.
All the men.
Faire Cælestine!
Ladies.
The Bride!
Ter.
She that was faire,
Whom I cal'd faire and Cælestine.
Omnes.
Dead!
Sir quin.
Dead, sh's deathes Bride, he hath her maidenhead.
Cri.
Sir Walter Terrill.
Omnes.
Tell vs how.
Ter.
All cease,
The subiect that we treate of now is Peace,
If you demaund how: I can tell: if why,
Aske the King that; he was the cause, not I.
Let it suffice, she's dead, she kept her vow,
Aske the King why, and then Ile tell you how:
Nay giue your Reuels life, tho she be gone,
To Court with all your preparation;
Leade on, and leade her on; if any aske
The mistery, say death presents a maske,
Ring peales of Musicke, you are Louers belles,
The losse of one heauen, brings a thousand hels.
Exeunt.
Enter an arm'd Sewer, after him the seruice of a Banquet: the King at another doore meetes them, they Exeunt.
Kin.
Why so, euen thus the Mercury of Heauen,
When a long traine of Angels in a ranke,
Serue the first course, and bow their Christall knees,
Before the Siluer table; where Ioues page
Sweet Ganimed filles Nectar: when the Gods.
Drinke healthes to Kings, they pledge them; none but Kings
Dare pledge the Gods, none but Gods drinke to Kings.
Men of our house are we prepar'd?
Enter Seruants.
Ser.
My Leige,
All waite the presence of the Bride.
Kin.
The Bride?
Yea, euery senceles thing, which she beholdes,
Will looke on her agen her eyes reflection,
Will make the walles all eyes, with her perfection:
Obserue me now, because of Maskes and Reuels,
And many nuptiall ceremonies: Marke,
This I create the Presence heere the State,
Our Kingdomes seate, shall sit in honours Pride,
Like pleasures Queene, there will I place the Bride:
Be gone, be speedy, let me see it done.
Exeunt,
A King in Loue, is Steward to himselfe,
And neuer scornes the office, my selfe buy,
All glances from the Market of her eye.
Soft Musicke, chaire it set vnder a Canopie.
Kin.
Sound Musicke, thou sweet suiter to the ayre,
Now wooe the ayre agen this is the houre,
Writ in the Calender of time, this houre,
Musicke shall spend, the next and next the Bride;
Her tongue will read the Musicke-Lecture: Wat
I loue thee Wat, because thou art not wise;
Thou neuer sawst a thought, poore soule thou thinkst,
The heart and tongue is cut out of one peece,
But th'art deceau'd, the world hath a false light,
Fooles thinke tis day, when wise men know tis night.
Enter Sir Quintilian.
Sir quint.
My Leige they're come a maske of gallants,
Kin.
Now—the spirit of Loue vshers my bloud.
Sir quin.
They come.
The Watch-word in a Maske is the bolde Drum.
Enter Blunt, Crispinus, Demetrius, Philocalia, Petula, Dicache, all maskt, two and two with lights like maskers: Cælestine in a chaire.
Ter.
All pleasures guard my King, I heere present,
My oath vpon the knee of duety: knees
Are made for Kings, they are the subiects Fees.
King.
Wat Terrill th'art ill suited, ill made vp,
In Sable collours, like a night peece dyed,
Com'st thou the Prologue of a Maske in blacke;
Thy body is ill shapt; a Bride-groome too?
Looke how the day is drest in Siluer cloth,
Laide round about with golden Sunne-beames: so
(As white as heauen) should a fresh Bride-groome goe.
What? Cælestine the Bride, in the same taske?
Nay then I see ther's mistery in this maske.
Prethee resolue me Wat?
Ter.
My gracious Lord,
That part is hers, she actes it; onely I
Present the Prologue, she the misterie.
Come Bride, the Sceane of blushing entred first,
Your cheekes are setled now, and past the worst;
Unmasks her
A mistery? oh none plaies heere but death,
This is deaths motion, motionles; speake you,
Flatter no longer; thou her Bride-groome; thou
Her Father speake.
Sir quint.
Dead.
Ter.
Dead.
Kin.
How?
Sir quin.
Poyson'd.
King.
And poyson'd?
What villaine durst blaspheme her beauties, or
Prophane the cleare religion of her eyes.
Ter.
Now King I enter, now the Sceane is mine,
My tongue is tipt with poison; know who speakes,
And looke into my thoughts; I blush not King,
To call thee Tyrant: death hath set my face,
And made my bloud bolde; heare me spirits of men,
And place your eares vpon your hearts; the day
(The fellow to this night) saw her and me,
Shake hands together: for the booke of heauen,
Made vs eternall friends: thus, Man and Wife,
This man of men (the King) what are not kings?
Was my chiefe guest, my royall guest, his Grace
Grac'd all the Table, and did well become
The vpper end, where sate my Bride: in briefe,
He tainted her chaste eares; she yet vnknowne,
His breath was treason, tho his words were none.
Treason to her and me, he dar'd me then,
(Vnder the couert of a flattering smile,)
To bring her where she is, not as she is,
Aliue for lust, not dead for (Chastity:
The resolution of my soule, out-dar'd,)
I swore and taxt my faith with a sad oath;
When she was liuing, but now dead, she's thine.
Kin.
Doe not confound me quite; for mine owne guilt,
Speakes more within me then thy tongue containes;
Thy sorrow is my shame: yet heerein springs,
Ioy out of sorrow, boldnes ont of shame;
For I by this haue found, once in my life,
A faithfull subiect, thou a constant wife.
Cæl.
A constant wife.
Kin.
Am I confounded twice?
Blasted with wonder.
Ter.
O delude we not.
Thou art too true to liue agen, too faire
To be my Cælestine, too constant farre
To be a woman.
Cæl.
Not to be thy wife,
But first I pleade my duetie, and salute
The world agen.
Sir quin.
My King, my Sonne, know all,
I am an Actor in this misterie,
And beare the chiefest part. The Father I,
Twas I that ministred to her chaste bloud,
A true somniferous potion, which did steale
Her thoughts to sleepe, and flattered her with death:
I cal'd it a quick poison'd drug, to trie
The Bride-groomes loue, and the Brides constancie.
He in the passion of his loue did fight,
A combat with affection; so did both,
She for the poison stroue, he for his oath:
Thus like a happie Father, I haue won,
A constant Daughter, and a louing Sonne.
Kin.
Mirrour of Maidens, wonder of thy name,
I giue thee that art giuen, pure, chaste, the same
Heere Wat: I would not part (for the worlds pride)
Cri.
My Leige, to wed a Comicall euent,
To presupposed tragicke Argument:
Vouchsafe to exercise your eyes, and see
A humorous dreadfull Poet take degree.
Kin.
Dreadfull in his proportion or his pen?
Cris.
In both, he calles himselfe the whip of men.
Kin.
If a cleare merrit stand vpon his praise,
Reach him a Poets Crowne (the honour'd Bayes)
But if he claime it, wanting right thereto,
(As many bastard Sonnes of Poesie doe)
Race downe his vsurpation to the ground.
True Poets are with Arte and Nature Crown'd.
But in what molde so ere this man bee cast;
We make him thine Crispinus, wit and iudgement,
Shine in thy numbers, and thy soule I know,
Will not goe arm'd in passion gainst thy foe:
Therefore be thou our selfe; whilst our selfe sit,
But as spectator of this Sceane of wit.
Cri.
Thankes royall Lord, for these high honors done,
To me vnworthie, my mindes brightest fires
Shall all consume themselues, in purest flame,
On the Alter of your deare eternall name.
Kin.
Not vnder vs, but next vs take thy Seate,
“Arts nourished by Kings make Kings more great,
Vse thy Authority.
Cris.
Demetrius.
Call in that selfe-creating Horace, bring
Him and his shaddow foorth.
Dem.
Both shall appeare,
“No black-eyed star must stickein vertues Spheare.
Enter Sir Vaughan.
Sir Ua.
Ounds did you see him, I pray let all his Masesties
to smell him out.
Dem.
Smell whom?
Sir Vaugh.
Whom? the Composer, the Prince of Poets, Horace,
Horace, he's departed: in Gods name and the Kinges I
sarge you to ring it out from all our eares, for Horaces bodie is
departed: Master hue and crie shall—God blesse King
Williams, I crie you mercy and aske forgiuenes, for mine
eyes did not finde in their hearts to looke vppon your Maiestie.
Kin.
What news with thee Sir Vaughan?
Sir Vau.
Newes? God tis as vrse newes as I can desire to
bring about mee: our vnhansome-fac'd Poet does play at
bo-peepes with your Grace, and cryes all-hidde as boyes
doe.
Officers.
Stand by, roome there, backe, roome for the Poet.
Sir Va.
He's reprehended and taken, by Sesu I reioyce very
neere as much as if I had discouer'd a New-found Land, or
the North and East Indies.
Enter Tucca, his boy after him with two pictures vnder his cloake, and a wreath of nettles: Horace and Bubo pul'd in by th'hornes bound both like Satyres, Sir Adam following, Mistris Miniuer with him, wearing Tuccaes chaine.
Tuc.
So, tug, tug, pull the mad Bull in by'th hornes: So,
baite one at that stake my place-mouth yelpers, and one at
that stake Gurnets-head.
King.
What busie fellow's this?
Tuc.
Saue thee, my most gracious King a Harts saue thee,
all hats and caps are thine, and therefore I vaile: for but to thee
great Sultane Soliman, I scorne to be thus put off or to deliuer vp
Kin.
Sir Vaughan, what's this iolly Captaines name?
Sir Va.
Has a very sufficient name, and is a man has don
God and his Country as good and as hot Seruice (in conquering
this vile Monster-Poet) as euer did S. George his horsebacke
about the Dragon.
Tuc.
I sweate for't, but Tawsoone, holde thy tongue Mondu,
if thou't praise mee, doo't behinde my backe: I am my
weighty Soueraigne one of thy graines, thy valliant vassaile;
aske not what I am, but read, turne ouer, vnclaspe thy Chronicles:
there thou shalt finde Buffe-Ierkin; there read my
points of war; I am one a thy Mandilian-Leaders; one that
enters into thy royall bands for thee; Pantilius Tucca; one
of thy Kingdomes chiefest quarrellers; one a thy most faithfull
—fy—fy—fy—
Sir Vau.
Drunkerds I holde my life.
Tuc.
No whirligig, one of his faithfull fighters; thy drawer
ô royall Tamor Cham.
Sir Vau.
Goe too, I pray Captaine Tucca, giue vs all leaue
to doe our busines before the King.
Tuc.
With all my heart, shi, shi, shi shake that Beare-whelp
when thou wut.
Sir Vau.
Horace and Bubo, pray send an answere into his
Masesties eares, why you goe thus in Ouids Morter-Morphesis
and strange fashions of apparrell.
Tuc.
Cur why?
Asini.
My Lords, I was drawne into this beastly suite by
head and shoulders onely for loue I bare to my Ningle.
Tuc.
Speake Ningle, thy mouth's next, belch out, belch,
why—
Hor.
I did it to retyre me from the world;
And turne my Muse into a Timonist,
Loathing the general Leprozie of Sinne,
Which like a plague runs through the soules of men:
Tu.
But to bite euery Motley-head vice by'th nose, you
did it Ningle to play the Bug-beare Satyre, & make a Campe
royall of fashion-mongers quake at your paper Bullets; you
Nastie Tortois, you and your Itchy Poetry breake out like
Christmas, but once a yeare, and then you keepe a Reuelling,
& Araigning, & a Scratching of mens faces, as tho you were
Tyber the long-tail'd Prince of Rattes, doe you?
Cri.
Horace.
Sir Vaughan.
Silence, pray let all vrdes be strangled, or held
fast betweene your teeth.
Cri.
Vnder controule of my dread Soueraigne,
We are thy Iudges; thou that didst Arraigne,
Art now prepar'd for condemnation;
Should I but bid thy Muse stand to the Barre,
Thy selfe against her wouldst giue euidence:
For flat rebellion gainst the Sacred lawes,
Of diuine Poesie: heerein most she mist,
Thy pride and scorne made her turne Saterist,
And not her loue to vertue (as thou Preachest)
Or should we minister strong pilles to thee:
What lumpes of hard and indigested stuffe,
Of bitter Satirisme, of Arrogance,
Of Selfe-loue, of Detraction, of a blacke
And stinging Insolence should we fetch vp?
But none of these, we giue thee what's more fit,
With stinging nettles Crowne his stinging wit.
Tuc.
Wel said my Poeticall huckster, now he's in thy handling
rate him, doe rate him well.
Hor.
O I beseech your Maiesty, rather then thus to be netted,
Ile ha my Satyres coate pull'd ouer mine eares, and bee
turn'd out a the nine Muses Seruice.
Asin.
And I too, let mee be put to my shiftes with myne
Ningle.
By Sesu so you shall M. Bubo; flea off this hairie
skin M. Horace, so, so, so, vntrusse, vntrusse.
Tuc.
His Poeticall wreath my dapper puncke-fetcher.
Hor.
Ooh—
Tu.
Nay your oohs, nor your Callin-oes cannot serue your
turne; your tongue you know is full of blisters with rayling,
your face full of pockey-holes and pimples, with your fierie
inuentions: and therefore to preserue your head from
aking, this Biggin is yours,—nay by Sesu you shall
bee a Poet, though not Lawrefyed, yet Nettlefyed,
so:
Tuc.
Sirra stincker, thou'rt but vntruss'd now, I owe
thee a whipping still, and Ile pay it: I haue layde roddes
in Pisse and Vineger for thee: It shall not bee the
Whipping o'th Satyre, nor the Whipping of the blinde-Beare,
but of a counterfeit Iugler, that steales the name of
Horace.
Kin.
How? counterfeit? does hee vsurpe that name?
Sir Vau.
Yes indeede ant please your Grace, he does sup
vp that abhominable name.
Tuc.
Hee does O King Cambises, hee does: thou hast
no part of Horace in thee but's name, and his damnable
vices: thou hast such a terrible mouth, that thy beard's
afraide to peepe out: but, looke heere you staring Leuiathan,
heere's the sweete visage of Horace; looke perboylde-face,
looke; Horace had a trim long-beard, and a
reasonable good face for a Poet, (as faces goe now-a-dayes)
Horace did not skrue and wriggle himselfe into great
Mens famyliarity, (impudentlie) as thou doost: nor weare
the Badge of Gentlemens company, as thou doost thy
Taffetie sleeues tackt too onely with some pointes of profit:
No, Horace had not his face puncht full of Oylet-holes,
like the couer of a warming-pan: Horace lou'd Poets well,
and gaue Coxcombes to none but fooles; but thou lou'st
a goodly Corpulent Gentleman, and not so leane a hollow-cheekt
Scrag as thou art: No, heere's thee Coppy of
thy countenance, by this will I learne to make a number of
villanous faces more, and to looke scuruily vpon'th world, as
thou dost.
Cri.
Sir Vaughan will you minister their oath?
Sir Uau.
Master Asinius Bubo, you shall sweare as little
as you can, one oath shall damme vp your Innocent
mouth.
Cris.
Any oath Sir, Ile sweare any thing.
Sir Ua.
You shall sweare by Phœbus (who is your Poets
good Lord and Master,) that heere-after you will not hyre
Horace, to giue you poesies for rings, or hand-kerchers, or
kniues which you vnderstand not, nor to write your Loueletters;
which you (in turning of a hand) set your markes vpon,
as your owne: nor you shall not carry Lattin Poets about
you, till you can write and read English at most; and lastlye
that you shall not call Horace your Ningle.
Cris.
By Phœbus I sweare all this, and as many oathes as
you will, so I may trudge.
Sir Vau.
Trudge then, pay your legs for Fees, and bee dissarg'd.
Tuc.
Tprooth—runne Red-cap, ware hornes there.
Exit Asi.
Sir Va.
Now Master Horace, you must be a more horrible
swearer, for your oath must be (like your wittes) of many collours;
and like a Brokers booke of many parcels.
Tuc.
Read, read; th'inuentory of his oath.
Hor.
Ile sweare till my haire stands vpan end, to bee rid of
thisting, oh this sting.
Sir Vau.
Tis not your sting of conscience, is it?
Tuc.
Vpon him: Inprimis.
Sir Uaugh.
Jnprimis, you shall sweare by Phœbus and the
selfe, if you thought any. Man, Ooman or Silde, could write
Playes and Rimes, as well-fauour'd ones as your selfe.
Tuc.
Well sayd, hast brought him toth gallowes already?
Sir Vaugh.
You shall sweare not to bumbast out a new
Play, with the olde lynings of Iestes, stolne from the Temples
Reuels.
Tuc.
To him olde Tango.
Sir Ua.
Moreouer, you shall not sit in a Gallery, when
your Comedies and Enterludes haue entred their Actions,
and there make vile and bad faces at euerie lyne, to make
Sentlemen haue an eye to you, and to make Players afraide to
take your part.
Tuc.
Thou shalt be my Ningle for this.
Sir Vau.
Besides, you must forsweare to venter on the stage,
when your Play is ended, and to exchange curtezies, and
complements with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make
all the house rise vp in Armes, and to cry that's Horace, that's
he, that's he, that's he, that pennes and purges Humours and
diseases.
Tuc.
There boy, agen.
Sir Vau.
Secondly, when you bid all your friends to the
marriage of a poore couple, that is to say: your Wits and
necessities, alias dictus, to the rifling of your Muse: alias, your
Muses vp-sitting: alias a Poets Whitson.-Ale; you shall sweare
that within three dayes after, you shall not abroad, in
Booke-binders shops, brag that your Uize-royes or Tributorie-Kings,
haue done homage to you, or paide quarterage.
Tuc.
Ile busse thy head Holofernes.
Sir Vaugh.
Moreouer and Inprimis, when a Knight or
in and out to his Company, and giues you money for
Gods sake; I trust in Sesu, you will sweare (tooth and
nayle) not to make scalde and wry-mouth Iestes vpon his
Knight-hood, will you not?
Hor.
I neuer did it by Parnassus.
Tuc.
Wut sweare by Parnassus and lye too, Doctor Doddipol?
Sir Va.
Thirdly, and last of all sauing one, when your
Playes are misse-likt at Court, you shall not crye Mew
like a Pusse-cat, and say you are glad you write out of the
Courtiers Element.
Tuc.
Let the Element alone, tis out a thy reach.
Sir Vau.
In brieflynes, when you Sup in Tauernes, amongst
your betters, you shall sweare not to dippe your
Manners in too much sawce, nor at Table to fling Epigrams,
Embleames, or Play-speeches about you (lyke
Hayle-stones) to keepe you out of the terrible daunger of
the Shot, vpon payne to sit at the vpper ende of the
Table, a'th left hand of Carlo Buffon: sweare all this, by Apollo
and the eight or nine Muses.
Hor.
By Apollo, Helicon, the Muses (who march three
and three in a rancke) and by all that belongs to Pernassus,
I sweare all this.
Tuc.
Beare witnes.
Cris.
That fearefull wreath, this honour is your due,
All Poets shall be Poet-Apes but you;
Thankes (Learnings true Mecœnas, Poesies king)
Thankes for that gracious eare, which you haue lent,
To this most tedious, most rude argument.
Kin.
Our spirits haue well been feasted; he whose pen
Drawes both corrupt, and cleare bloud from all men:
When his owne fides are strucke, blowes, blowes, doe craue.
Tuc.
Kings-truce, my noble Hearbe-a-grace; my Princely
sweet-William, a boone—Stay first, Ist a match or no
match, Lady Furniuall Ist?
Sir Ad. & Sir quint.
A match?
Mini.
I, a match, since he hath hit the Mistris so often i'th
fore-game, we'll eene play out a rubbers.
Sir Ada.
Take her for me.
Sir quin.
Take her for thy selfe, not for me.
Sir Uau.
Play out your rubbers in Gods name, by Sesu Ile
neuer boule more in your Alley, Iddow.
Sir Quint.
My Chaine.
Sir Adam.
My Purse.
Tuc.
Ile Chaine thee presently, and giue thee ten pound
and a purse: a boone my Leige:—daunce ô my delicate
Rufus, at my wedding with this reuerend Antiquary; ist done?
wut thou?
Kin.
Ile giue thee Kingly honour: Night and Sleepe,
With silken Ribands would tye vp our eyes,
But Mistris Bride, one measure shall be led,
In scorne of Mid-nights hast, and then to bed.
Exeunt.
| Satiro-mastix. Or The vntrussing of the Humorous Poet | |