 | Psyche Debauch'd |  |
Woud,
Olippy what stone works here?
Bru.
He that looks so like a despairing lover, is Peter
Whiffle eldest Son of the Countess of Puddle dock, he espoused
the Puissant Landabridas Queen of Sluts, and
hang'd himself because she would not wear fine cloaths, and
have a Gallant.
Woud.
Alas poor Peter, I would not have been so unkind
as Queen Lamberdas.
Bru.
Those two are Polynicky, Nicampoops, two valorous
Princes of Fairy-land; they div'd through Apivel to
Hell, for the love of Piss-kitchin Daughter of King Easiepate,
passed through Fire and Water, without spoiling their
Cloaths or Perriwiggs; and are now good sufficient Housekeepers
in Elizium.—
That's Rablars, the grave French Philosopher, that grew
mad with Writing the second part Tom Thum in Heroick
meetre.
Woud.
Well, he did his indeavour, though he missed his
Province.
Sweet.
Oh Woudha. Woudha. if this Image were in a warm
Bed, I'le be hang'd if I did not fetch life in him, and make
him wagg.
When a house is on fire, the Lame, Sickly, and Lazy,
frisk as if they had a swarm of Hornets about them.—
But Blade with Loves flame scorch'd and shrunk;
Will do much more for charming Punk.
These stones compell'd by Amorous Bruin,
Shall Sing and Caper to some Tuin.
Mark how dull Statue kicks and Winces.
And all for love of Nonesy Princess.
Bruin Sings like a Walloon, and Playes on a Cimball and all the Images move.—
Bru.
Now you shall hear the Images sing in praise of the
most Heroick, and Magnificient Sciences of Wenching, and
Drinking.—A Ditty fit for Sphears, and Quires of Cupid,
when Gods are deaf, and Princes grow stupid.
SONG.
And Teag in hot Isquebagh slobber.
Jocky be doing with Oatcakes and Sowing,
And sup up their brave Bonny clabber.
To be Wise, is to love and be drunk;
For drink, and that same will get you a name,
When your healths and Estates are all sunck.
Let Slaves strive for Honour and Riches,
Let Widgeons debate our Religion and State,
And Matrons be sober as Witches.
And gems deck our faces all over,
Till Palsies, and Cramps, make our eyes shine like Lamps,
For such is the true drunken lover.
A Warlike Dance, and then Exeunt all but None-so-fair, Sweetlips and Woudhamore.
None.
Now Sisters did not I rise with my back upwards
met this what do'e call him?—
Woud.
Ay! what do'e call him indeed? I'le be hang'd if he
does not deal with the Divel—Second me Lippy.—
Sweet.
No, no, the Divel he is n't so good a Scholar, 'Tis
some pitiful juggling Jack-pudding, some strolling Tumbler.
Woud.
When he grows a little weary of you, he'l strip you,
and leave you; nay, say y'are oblig'd to him, for teaching
you a modish Trade, by which you may come to keep your
Coach, if you have any Fortune.—
None.
I won't despair, since the Proverb's on my side,
Fools have Fortune, and Cracks have luck,—I can pretend
to both by vertue of my Education—
Woud.
If his Highness were true and trusty, why should he
hide his Title?
None.
Oh say no more, I tremble all over!
Enter Jeffry
Jeffry.
Madam great Sisters must be packing,
My Master finds some Trenchers lacking.
Nonsy.
How, Royal Sisters grown light finger'd?
Of Princesses was e'r so foul a thing heard;
Richer Goods in house could not be chosen,
Odznigs they cost two groats a dozen.
Woud.
How steal your Trenchers? Traps, marry come up here,
I find we should pay sauce, if we should sup here.
Sweet.
'Tis not gentilely done Faith Sister Nonsy:
Woud.
And if we had you out, i'gad we'd trounce ye.
Minxes cease your idle prittle prattle,
And render back my Goods, and Chattle.
Wond.
Minxes—a ha—let's give her battle.
Sweet.
We'l thump bewitching eyes black and blue,
Put tricks on Daughters of King Andrew.
They fight,—
Enter Bruin.
Jeffry.
Great Master comes with arms a kimboe,
Bru.
Take filching Madams hence to Limbo
Hence, or thy self shalt strait for them go.
Wouda.
Must we that have sent Princess thither, go our selves,
Hear me Justice, if there's any;
Let's not be long without company.
Bru.
Away with them,
Sweet.
As by's own Bull was kill'd Phalaris,
W'are sent to Prison by Will. Harris.
Exeunt Jeffry, Sweetlips, and Woudha.
Bru.
This was an Intrigue of love and state, poor Ladies,
they stole no Trenchers, but I heard Baggages contrive.
And to seduce if they were able,
My Importance comfortable,
Before I'm weary of Bauble.
Nonsy.
To Prison sent for filching Trencher-Plate,
When we had none in house,
Oh too too late;
I do begin to smell a Rat.
Ah wo is me! poor little mouse.
Bru.
Why frowns? my beautious dear,
Thy Forheads muffl'd in black pouts,
Like warlike Steed in Fun'ral clouts.
That did eftsoons both prance and neigh,
And briskly fell to Oats and hay,
As if he promised a fair day.
But strait in black dog'd masters Course,
My dear looks sad as morning Horse.
Nonsy.
Poh you prate, and prate, but you don't love me.
Bru.
Love thee ungrateful Imp! Ah curse on thy jealous
Devour thee without Salt or Mustard.
Ha, my Princess sniv'ling, who has disbused thee, Pydy
tell me, if I have ought can give thee ease; I swear, 'tis thine
now by this Cheese, the Oath of Gods.
Non.
Enough, and if 'tis Truth, tell me thy name, Oh
charming youth!
Bru.
Heavens! Powers! Oh hold!
Non.
Nay, nay, you have sworn.
I must have all the Secrets that are thine.
Bru.
Must I my Secretest Secret then resign?
Non.
Why should you keep your Secret? and yet take mine?
Bru.
Prythee Nonsy ask any thing else?
Non.
No, nothing.
Bru.
The Devil take me if—
Nonsy.
Is this your love? miserable unhappy Princess, perjur'd
dissembling men! before you had me, you swore any
thing.—You use poor Women, as Childrern do Bubbles;
you spare for no water of Sighs, nor black Soap of Oaths,
till you have blown us up with the Reed of your love, and
then you cast us off to break in the wide World.—Ah!
that ever I poor vertuous Lady should live to see this day!
Oh! ho, ho.
Bru.
Well if like a wall-ey'd Hare, you won't see right before
you, but run into the noose, take your ill fortune.—
Non.
Ay let me have it?
Bru.
Shall I speak?
Non.
Ay, ay, I say?
Bru.
Then I shall you say?
Non.
Odslifely kins, ay I say?
Bru.
Consider.—
Non.
I'le be hang'd first, when did a longing Woman
consider.
Non.
What, what, Oh quickly.
Bru.
I am.
Non.
Heart, blood and bones, what are you?
Bru.
Yet be wise,
Nan.
I will not be wise, not hear, nor see, nor speak till
I know.
I am Deval.
Non.
Bless us all—
Bru.
That French Prince of the Padders, that was thought
to be hang'd, I have liv'd ever since in this disguise, because
I would not quite break the kind Ladies hearts, to see me
hang'd twice.
And pawn my pretty Nonesy for the shot.
Exit Bruin, claps on the Bears skin, and flies over the Stage—The Scene chang'd to a Tavern.—
Enter two Drawers.
1.
I come, I come, did you call Sir? ha where's the Gentleman
that pays the reckning; look to the door Harry.
2.
What's the matter.—
1.
A Crack, a Crack; to pay here in the Flower Pot?
2.
Eleven and three pence; a Pox I know her she plies at
the Pagean.
Non.
O gen'rous Youth speak not untruth,
I am a Princess of King Andrews stock in sooth.—
Right Valiant Knights spare my Honour, and do what
you please, but use your Victory with discretion, for Fortunes
Wheel is still turning.—
1.
Knights Honour and Fortune, 'gad she's mad.
2.
Didst find any Honour about her?
1.
No, no Honour.—If women have any such thing, they
hide it so cunningly that none can find it.—Harry, thou
knowest we melted down a Silver Tankard to sodder up
Cisses crack'd Honour; let's swear she stoll it, and clap a
strong House upon her back to keep her warm.
2.
But first let's strip her; come strip, strip.—
1.
Ay, ay, this is she stoll our Silver Tankard; come strip:
Non.
Oh the lovely Prince?
1.
How, the Prince? 'gad she speaks Treason, lock her up
and call the Constable—away.—
Exeunt Drawers.
Oh my dear Prince, why wouldst thou fly hence, and
let thy loving Romp be stripp'd from all her Pomp.
To shark away and leave your love behind:
What ever now is thy design,
I'm sure when Nonsie's dead, he'l whine,
Crost love and grief to make an end 'o,
I'le break my neck out at a Window.
Song.
Dame chance doth smile and frown,
When heels more high then head are sent,
That's upward that was down,
And None-so-fair shall have her Bear,
—Shall have her Bear,
Redstr.
—Shall have her Bear.
Chorus.
And None-so-fair shall have her Bear,
And none shall have the sweet Beast but her.
Woossat will come for, and to chide,
From mischief fly a main,
For all must obey that are ty'd,
Till they are freed again,
Cho.
And None-so-fair &c.
The Song, ended, they Vanish.
Why should I fly dear Dad, and eke
Ghost of Redstreak.
I've nothing stoll upon my Soul,
Else wou'd I n'r might speak.
Wooss.
Dares None-so-fair with eyes of Cat?
Look on Queen hag the dread Woossat,
So Impudent not make a Cursy,
Bend stubborn hams, or 'gad I'le force ye.
Non.
What have I done? dread Witch should seeking Ruin.
Wooss.
Debauch'd my Son, my first begotten Bruin,
Taught envious men to burn my Thatch,
Nail Horse-shoe under hatch.
Nay strove by your enchanting eye,
To be a greater Witch then I.
Nonsy.
If Beauty be fault in me, 'tis Heavn's decree,
I do not paint truly, as you may see;
He took my pretty thing for his Rantidla,
I did not ask him first indeed la.
Wooss.
Dare's Minx to prate to me so proudly?
Thinking to choak my hate with loudy:
No, thou shalt never get whole hence,
But to Prison; Volens, Nolens,
To dye for Treason and Insolence.
Woossat flies away.
Enter Drawers, and Whistles.
1. Draw.
Princess, so hoe Princess!
If you have ought to say dear Crack, be short,
Black Guard won't stay.
Nonsy.
Oh well a day! I must away to Pluto's Court,
Oh State of Greatness variable!
Oh luck of Princess miserable!
| Psyche Debauch'd | |