 | Psyche Debauch'd |  |
Scene II.
Enter Nicklas and Phillip.Nick.
What bloody Rogues were these?
And we not run each Mothers Son
Had gone to Little ease.
Phil.
A curse on thick Whoreson with the Painted Rod,
Sure 'twas some Divel, or some God.
Nick.
Prince Phillip, there was never Knight errant famous
without being enchanted; nor Opera notorious without
Gods, and Divels: hast thou observ'd the numerous
Caves and Walks, in your dry White Cheese.—
Phil.
Ay your tickle crack Cheese.
Nick.
In one of those Cheeses was a Knight of Wales
Enchanted Seven years; and through those dangerous wayes
he Travel'd, and destroy'd all the Heathen Knights, that like
little Vermine devour'd the fat of it.—
Phil.
Ah! mischief on the Heathen Knights, and the
Welch Knight too, they tickled the Cheese so between e'm,
that no goodness has been in't ever since.—
Till Nymph distressed, is freed from Tenters.
Enter Woudhamore and Sweetlips.
Woud.
Now luck! Husbands, or somthing to eat, we beseech
thee.
Sweet.
If they won't have us, let's ravish them.—Save
your Princes, still whining after your Pin-box, are there no
more Maids but Maukin?
Some brinded Wolf, Phils Father was, I wot,
On some she Rock, relentess thee he got.
Woud.
My Nickies dam was some rough Bear,
And Tigre fierce was sure his sire,
Oh pity thy despairing Trull.
Sweet.
O let me buss my Phils fair Gull.
Woud.
Cloud not those Lanthorns clipped eyes,
If Nickie frowns poor Woudha. dyes;
such pretty Bees sure should have no sting.
Sweet.
Thou little Princox be more mild,
Oh how it joyed me when it smil'd.
Nick.
Indeed sweet Ladies, you but loose your labour.
Phil.
You may as soon catch a Hare with a Tabar.
Woud.
Is it so? Lippy we are out.—Gad, we must be
more brisk; these Fellows are for the down-right way.—
Sweet.
Courage then, la, la, la, come thou little pouting
Villain, I will order thee for thy dissembl'd cruelty.—
Phil.
Bless us, what's the matter with the Woman; let me
alone.
Sweet.
Dam your pettish frowns. come here's a Guinny.—
Woud.
Since Nonsies devour'd by the Bear, 'tis no inconstancy
to chuse again.—
Nick.
That whim won't pass Madam! we search'd every
cranny of the Beast, and found no sign of her.
Sweet.
If she lives, you have been constant to her too long,
for by the new modish Articles of faithful Love, 'tis no sin,
nor inconstancy, to quit one Mrs. or Gallant, for another; as
often as you will, so you have but one at once. Come, come,
a George will gain the Lad, as well as the Lady—here take
Money.
Nick.
Y'are an insolent audacious hectoring Pugg, and
I'le have you kick'd if you do not leave us presently.—
Sweet.
Come poor Green-sickness Rascals, they do not
know what's good for themselves, let's away with them.
Phill.
Help, help, a Ravishment.—Y'are a brace of
saucy foul Mouth'd, Rampant, Tatterdemalion Princesses,
and.—
Nick.
And so we take our leave,
Phil.
Ay, and so we take our leave.
Exeunt Princes.
Never were Poor Princesses so distressed for Husbands.
Sweet.
Princess. No, there's no Princely Virtue in their
Blood.
Woud.
Dam'em a Prince would no more refuse a handsom
Woman, then a Lyon would hurt a Prince.
Frozen Joy, Slaves let them be hang'd.
Woud.
Hang'd 'gad; and so they shall for killing mother
Redstreak, for all they made the silly People believe, 'twas
the Bear.
Sweet.
Let's give notice to the Officers, and have them
seiz'd; when they are indurance, their tough stomacks will
soon melt.
Woud.
We'l do't,—but stay, here's fresh game, he's right
I'le warrant, I know by Enter Jeffery his leering eye.—
Sweet.
Then he's mine, for I saw him first.
Woud.
Another word like that condemns thee.
Sweet.
If y'are so Tyrannical, I'le stroll alone.
Woud.
Stay, the stripling has something to deliver.
Jeffry.
Queen None-so-fair, (Ladies most splendiferous)
Intreats you both would come, and dine at her house.
And after that great hearts to solace,
She'l show you ev'ry Nook o'th' Pallace.
My Master loveth her most fervent,
I'm Jeffry his man, and your Servant.
Woud.
Oh Fortune! luck our hopes are melted,
Sweet.
Were ever Princesses so jilted:
None-so-fair,
a Queen.—
Woud.
Let's send to Jaylor, er'bad news spread Further,
That surly Princess may be seiz'd for murther.
None-so-fair a Queen.—
Jeffry.
—True I'le assure ye.
Woud.
Come Let's behold her Pomp, and eke Luxury,
And let Heroick love be turn'd to Fury.
To Jaylor we'l send Porter as we go by,
A Queen! A faith we'l tickle her Toby.
Exeunt.
| Psyche Debauch'd | |