 | The Pilgrimage to Parnassus |  |
Act V
Philomusus. Studioso.Studioso
Howe sourelie sweete is meltinge venerie:
It yealdeth honie, but it straighte doth stinge.
Ile nere hereafter counsell chaster thoughtes
To trauell through this lande of Poetrie.
Here are entisinge Pandars, subtile baudes,
Heare them whilest a lasciuious tale they tell,
Theile make thee fitt in Shorditche for to dwell.
Here had wee nighe made shipwracke of our youthe
And nipte the blossomes of our buddinge springe.
Yet are wee scaped frome Poetries faire baites
And sett our footinge in Philosophie.
Philomusus
Noe soure reforminge enimye of arte
Coulde doe delightfull poetrie more wronge
Than thy vnwarie sliperie tongue hath done.
Are these the thankes thou giuest for her mirthe
Wherewith shee did make shorte thy pilgrims waye,
Made monthes seeme minutes spente in her faire soile?
O doe not wronge this musicke of the soule,
The fairest childe that ere the soule broughte foorthe,
Which none contemne but some rude foggie squires
That knowe not to esteeme of witt or arte.
Noe Epitaphe adorne his baser hearse
That in his life time cares not for a verse.
Nor thinke Catullus, Ouid, Martiall
Doe teache a chaste minde lewder luxuries.
Indeede if leachers reade a wantome clause
It tickles vp each lustfull impure vaine,
But who reades poets with a chaster minde
Shall nere infected be by poesie.
An honest man that nere did stande in sheete
Take this from mee, a well disposed minde
Shall noe Potato rootes in poetes finde.
Studioso
I doe not whet my tongue gainste poetrie,
Yet maye youe giue a looser leaue to talke.
Longe haue wee loitred idle in [t]his lande,
Her ioyes made us vnmindfull of our waie,
Our feet are growne too tender and unapte
To trauell in the roughe Philosophie.
Nowe cheare thy selfe in this laborious facte,
Nor like a sluggarde fainte in the laste acte.
Philomusus
Indeede the pleasure poetrie did yelde
Made further harshnes to philosophie;
Yet hauinge skilfull Aristotle our guide
I hope wee soone shall end our pilgrimage.
Enter Ingenioso.
A plague on youe, Iauel, Tollet, Tarteret, they haue
poysned mee with there breathes.
Why how nowe Ingenioso, shewing Philosophie a
faire paire of heeles?
Studioso
Why, whit[h]er nowe in a chafe Ingenioso?
Ingenioso
What, Philomusus and Studioso: well met ould
schoolefelowes. I haue beene guiltie of mispending some
time in Philosophie, and nowe growinge wiser I begin to
forsake this cuntrie as faste as I can, and can youe blame
mee? Whie I haue bene almoste stifled with the breath of
three Barbarians, Tollet, Iauel, Tarterett. They stande
fearfullie gapinge, and euerye one of them a fustie moulie
worde in his mouthe thats able to breede a plague in a pure
aire: they breede suche an ayre as is wonte to proceede from
an euaporatinge dunghill in a summers daye. But what doe
youe twoo here, in this griggie barbarous cuntrie?
Philomusus
Wee pilgrims are vnto Parnassus hill,
At Hellicon wee meane to drinke our fill.
Ingenioso
What, goe soe farr to fetche water, goe to Parnassus
to conuerse with ragged innocentes? If youe be wise, and
meane to liue, come not there. Parnassus is out of siluer
pitifullie, pitifullie. I talked with a frende of mine, that latelie
gaue his horse a bottell of haye at the bottome of the hill,
who toulde mee, that Apollo had sente to Pluto to borowe
hee met com̄ing downe from the hill a companie of ragged
vicars and forlorne schoolemaisters, who as the[y] walked
scrached there vnthriftie elbowes, and often putt there
handes into there vnpeopled pocketes, that had not beene
possessed with faces this manie a day. There one stoode
digginge for golde in a standishe; another looking for cockpence
in the bottome of a pue: the third towling for siluer in
a belfree: but they were neuer soe happie as Esopes cocke to
finde a precious stone: nay they coulde scarse get enoughe
to apparell there heade in an vnlined hatt, there bodie in a
frize Ierkin, and there feet in clouted paire of shoes. Come
not there, seeke for pouertie noe further, its too farr to goe to
Parnassus to fetche repentance.
Philomusus
Thoughe I foreknowe that doultes possess the goulde,
Yet my intended pilgrimage Ile houlde.
Studioso
Within Parnassus dwells all sweet contente,
Nor care I for those excrementes of earthe.
Ingenioso
Call youe gold and siluer the excrementes of earth?
If those be excrementes, I am the cleanest man vpon the
earth, for I seldome sweate goulde.
Philomusus
Yes they are excrementes, and henc a man that
wantes money is caled a cleane gentleman.
Ingenioso
If that be to be cleane, then the water of Hellicon
will quicklie make youe cleane: it is an excellent good
thinge, to make a man impecunious.
Studioso
Come, shall wee haue youre companie on the waye?
Ingenioso
What, I trauell to Parnassus? Why I haue burnt my
bookes, splitted my pen, rent my papers, and curste the
I, after manie years studie, hauinge almoste brought
my braine into a consumption, looking still, when I shoulde
meete with some good Mæcenas, that liberallie would rewarde
my desertes, I fed soe long vpon hope, till I had
almoste starued. Why, our emptie handed sattine sutes doe
make more accounte of some foggie faulkner, than of a
wittie scholler, had rather rewarde a man for setting of a
hayre, than a man of wit for making of a poeme. Eache long
eared ass rides on his trappinges and thinkes it sufficiente to
giue a scholler a maiesticke nodd with his rude nodle. Goe
to Parnassus? Alas, Apollo is banckroute, there is nothing
but siluer wordes & golden phrases for a man; his followers
wante the goulde, while tapsters, ostlers, carters, and coblers
haue a fominge pauch, a belchinge bagg that serues for a
cheare of est[ate] for regina pecunia. Seest thou not my
hoste Iohns of the Crowne, who latelie liued like a moule .6.
Sr, now is mounted vpon a horse of twentie marke, and
thinkes the earth too base to beare the waighte of his refined
bodie? Why, woulde it not greeue a man of a good spirit to
see Hobson finde more money in the tayles of 12 Iades, than
a scholler in 200 bookes? Why, Newman the cobler will
leaue large legacies to his haires, while the posteritie of
humanissimi auditores and esse posse videatur must be faine to
be kept by the parishe. Turne home againe, vnless youe
meane to be vacui viatores, and to curse youre wittless
heades in youre oulde age for takinge themselues to no
better trades in there youthe.
Studioso
Cease to mispende more of thy id[l]e breathe
Effecting to diuert vs from our waye.
I knowe that schollers com̄onlie be poore
And that the dull worlde there good partes neglecte.
A schollers coate is plaine, lowlie his gate:
Contente consists not in the highest degree.
Philomusus
I thinke not worse of faire Parnassus hill
For that it wantes that sommers golden clay,
Though it wantes coyne it wantes not true contente,
True solace, or true hartie merrimente.
If thou will weende with vs plucke up thy feete,
If not, farewell till next time wee doe meete.
Ingenioso
Farewell, and take heede I take youe not napping
twentie yeares henc in a viccars seate, asking for the white
cowe with the blacke foote, or els interpretinge Pueriles
Confabulationes to a companie of seauen yeare olde apes.
Farewell Ingenioso, and take heede I finde not a
ballet or a pamphlet of thy makinge.
Studioso
Come Philomusus, chearfullie lets warke:
Our toiling day will haue a night to rest
Where wee shall thinke with ioy on labors past.
Leade on a pace, Parnassus is at hande,
Nowe wee haue almost paste this wearie lande.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Dromo, drawing a clowne in with a rope.
Clowne
What now, thrust a man into the com̄on wealth,
whether hee will or noe? What the deuill should I doe here?
Dromo
Why, what an ass art thou? Dost thou not knowe a
playe cannot be without a clowne? Clownes haue bene
thrust into playes by head & shoulders, euer since Kempe
could make a scuruey face, and therfore reason thou
shouldst be drawne in with a cart rope.
Clowne
But what must I doe nowe?
Dromo
Why if thou canst but drawe thy mouth awrye, laye
thy legg ouer thy staffe, sawe a peece of cheese asunder with
thy dagger, lape vp drinke on the earth, I warrant thee,
theile laughe mightilie. Well, Ile turne thee loose to them,
ether saie somwhat for they selfe, or hang & be non plus.
Exit.
This is fine y faith: nowe, when they haue noe bodie
to leaue on the stage, the[y] bringe mee vp, & which is
worse, tell mee not what I shoulde saye. Gentles, I dare saie
youe looke for a fitt of mirthe, Ile therfore present vnto you
a proper newe loue letter of mine to the tune of Put on the
smock a mundaye, which in the heate of my charitie I pende,
and thus it begins:
O my louely Nigra, pittie the paine of my liuer: that litell
gallowes Cupid hath latelie prickt mee in the breech with
his great pin, and almoste kilde mee thy woodcocke with
his birdbolte. Thou hast a prettie furrowed forheade, a fine
leacherous eye, me thinkes I see the bawde Venus keeping a
bawdie house in thy lookes, Cupid standing like a Pandar at
the doore of thy lipps.—How like you maisters, has anie
yonge man a desire to copie this, that he may haue formā
epistolæ conscribendæ? Now if I could but make a fine
scuruey face I were a kinge. O nature, why didest thou giue
mee soe good a looke?
[Re-enter Dromo, with Philomusus and Studioso.]
Dromo
Giue vs a voyder here for the foole. Sirra you muste
Clowne
Why, shall I not whistle out my whistle? Then farewell
gentle auditors, & the next time you see mee Ile make
you better sporte.
[Exeunt Dromo and Clowne.]
Philomusus
Nowe endes the trauell of on[e] tedious daye.
In .4. years haue wee paste this wearie waye.
Nowe are wee at the foote of this steepe hill
Where straght our tired feet shall rest there fill.
Studioso
Seest thou how yonder laurell shadie groue
Is greene in spite of frostie Boreas,
Scorninge his roughe blastes and vngentle breath
That makes all trees mourne in a mossye ragg?
Nere let the pilgrims to this laurell mounte
Fainte or retire in this theire pilgrimage
Through the misleading of some amorous boye,
Some swearinge vnthrifte, or some blockishe dolte,
Or throughe the counsell of some wilie knaue.
Nowe let us boldlie rushe amonge theese trees
And heare the Muses tunefull harmonie.
Philomusus
Let vulgar wittes admire the com̄on songes,
Ile lie with Phœbus by the Muses springes
And scorne eache earthlie Gullio of this age.
Studioso
Haste hither all good wittes with winged speede
Where youre faire browes shall haue a laureat meede,
And youe that loue the Muses deitie
Giue our extemporall showe the Plaudite.
| The Pilgrimage to Parnassus | |