University of Virginia Library

Scæn. 1.

Enter Page, Celia, and Crotchet.
Cel.
Sir I'm of that opinion, being kept hard to't,
In troth I think he'll take his prick-song well.

Crotch.
G, sol, re ut: you ghess not right y'faith.
Mistress, you'll finde y'are in an error straight:
Come on Sir, lay the Books down; you shall see now.

Page.
Would I'd an honest Caudle next my heart,
Let whose would Sol Fa, I'ld give them my part.
In troth methinks I have a great longing in me
To bite a peece of the Musitians Nose off;
But I'll rather lose my longing, then spoil the poor mans
Singing; the very tip will serve my turn, methinks if I
Could get it, that he might well spare; his Nose is of
The longest—Oh my back.

Crotch.
You shall hear that; rehearse your Gamot Boy:

Page.
Who'ld be thus toild for love, and want the joy?

Crotch.
Why when? begin Sir: I must stay your leisure.

Page.
Gamot, a re, b me, &c.

Crotch.
Ee la: Aloft, above the clouds my Boy.

Page.
It must be a better note then Ela Sir,
That brings Musitians thither; they're too hasty,
The most part of 'em, to take such a journey,
And must needs fall by th'way.

Crotch.
How many Cliffs be there?

Page.
One Cliff Sir.

Crotch.
Oh intolerable heretick
To voice and musick! Do you know but one Cliff?

Page.
No more; indeed I Sir, and at this time,
I know too much of that.

Crotch.
How many Notes be there?

Page.
Eight Sir, I fear me I shall finde nine shortly,
To my great shame and sorrow:—Oh my stomach!

Crotch.
Will you repeat your notes then? I must Sol Fa you, why when Sir?

Page.
A large, a long, a brief, a semibrief, a minom, a crotchet,
A quaver, a semiquaver:

Crotch.
Oh, have you found the way?

Page.
Never trust me
If I have not lost my wind with naming of 'em.

Crotch.
Come Boy, your mindes upon some other thing now:
Set to your Song.

Page.
Was ever Wench so punish'd?

Crotch.
Ut. Come begin.

Page.
Ut mere fa sol la.

Crotch.
Keep time you foolish Boy—(Here they sing Pricksong)
How like you this Madova?

Celia.
Pretty,
He will do well in time being kept under.

Crotch.
I'll make his ears sore, and his knuckles ake else.

Cel.
And that's the way to bring a Boy to goodness Sir.

Crotch.
There's many now waxt proper Gentlemen,
Whom I have nipt i'th'ear Wench, that's my comfort.
Come sing me over the last song I taught you:
Y'are perfect in that sure, look you keep time well,
Or here I'll notch your faults up. Sol, Sol, begin Boy.

Musick, Song.
Cel.
So y'have done well Sir:
Here comes the dancing Master now, y'are discharg'd.

Enter Sinquapace the Dancer.
Sinq.
Oh Seignior Crotchet, Oh.

Crotch.
A minom rest, two cliffs, and a semibrief. In the name
Of Alamire, what's the matter Sir?

Sinq.
The horriblest disaster that ever disgrac'd the lofty cunning of a dancer.

Crotch.
Be fa beme: Heaven forbid man.

Sinq.
Oh—oo—the most cruel Fortune!

Crotch.
That semiquaver is no friend to you,
That I must tell you; 'tis not for a Dancer
To put his voice so hard to't, every workman
Must use his own tools Sir, de fa sol man, dilate
The matter to me.

Sinq.

Faith riding upon my Foot-cloth, as I use
to do, coming through a croud by chance, I let fall
my Fiddle.

Crotch.

De sol re. Your Fiddle Sir?

Sinq.

Oh that such an instrument should be made
to betray a poor Gentleman! nay, which is more
lamentable, whose luck should it be to take up this
unfortunate Fiddle, but a Barbers Prentice, who
cryed out presently, according to his nature; You
trim Gentleman on Horsback, y'have lost your Fiddle,
your worships Fiddle; seeing me upon my Foot-cloth,
the mannerly Cockscomb could say no less.
But away rid I Sir, put my horse to a caranto pace,
and left my Fiddle behinde me:

Crotch.

De la sol re.

Sinq.

I, was't not a strange fortune, an excellent
Treble-vial, by my Troth 'twas my Masters, when I
was but a pumper, that is a puller on of Gentlemens
Pumps.

Crotch.

C, c, sol fa: I knew you then Sir.

Sinq.

But I make no question, but I shall hear on't
shortly at one Brokers or another, for I know the
Barber will scourse it away for some old Cittron.

Crotch.
Ela me, my life for yours on that Sir; I must to my other
Schollers, my hour calls me away: I leave you to your
Practise, Fa sol la. Fare you well Sir:

Exit.
Sinq.

The Lavolto's of a merry heart be with
you Sir; and a merry heart makes a good singing
man; a man may love to hear himself talk, when he
carries pith in's mouth—Metereza Celia.

Cel.
Seignior Sinquapace, the welcom'st Gentleman alive of
A Dancer. This is the youth, he can do little yet;
'Tis Pricksong very poorly; he is one
Must have it put into him; somewhat dull Sir.

Sinq.
As you are all at first. You know 'twas long
Ere you could learn your doubles.

Cel.
I that's true Sir,
But I can tickl't now. Fa, la, la, &c.
Lo you, how like you me now Sir?

Sinq.

Marry pray for the Founder, here he stands;
long may he live to receive quartridges, go brave,
and pay his Mercer wondrous duly, I, and his jealous
Laundress, that for the love she bears him
starches yellow, poor Soul; my own flesh knows I
wrong her not. Come Metereza, once more shake
your great hips, and your little heels, since you begin
to fall in of your self, and dance over the end of the
caranto I taught you last night.

Cel.

The tune's clear out of my head Sir.

Sinq.

A Pox of my little Usher, how long he
stayes too with the second part of the former Fiddle!
Come, I'll Sol fa it, i'th'mean time, Fa, la, la, la,
&c. perfectly excellent. I will make you fit to dance
with the best Christian Gentleman in Europe, and
keep time with him for his heart, ere I give you
over.

Cel.
Nay, I know I shall do well Sir, and I am somewhat proud on't,
But 'twas my Mothers fault, when she danced with the Duke of Florence.

Sinq.

Why you'll never dance well, while you
live, if you be not proud. I know that by my self; I
may teach my heart out, if you have not the grace to
follow me.

Cel.
I warrant you for that Sir.

Sinq.
Gentlewomen that are good Schollers
Will come as near their Masters, as they can;

I have known some lye with 'em for their better understanding,

I speak not this to draw you on forsooth;
use your pleasure, if you come y'are welcome,
you shall see a fine lodging, a dish of Comfits,
Musick, and sweet Linnen.

Cel.
And trust me Sir, no woman can wish more in this world,
Unless it be ten pound i'th'Chamber window,
Laid ready in good gold against she rises.

Sinq.
Those things are got in a morning Wench with me.

Cel.
Indeed, I hold the morning the best time of getting;
So says my Sister; she's a Lawyers wife Sir,
And should know what belongs to cases best:
A fitter time for this; I must not talk
Too long of womens matters before Boys.
He's very raw, you must take pains with him,
It is the Dutchess minde it should be so; she loves him
Well I tell you—

Exit.
Sinq.

How, love him? he's too little for any womans
love i'th'Town, by three handfuls: I wonder
of a great woman, sh'as no more wit y'faith; one
of my pitch were somewhat tolerable.
Enter Usher.
Oh are you come! who would be thus plagued with
a Dandiprat Usher! how many kicks do you deserve
in conscience?

Usher.

Your Horse is safe Sir.

Sinq.

Now I talk't of kicking, 'twas well remembred, is not the Footcloth stoln yet?

Usher.

More by good hap then any cunning Sir:
Would any Gentleman but you, get a Tailors son to
walk his Horse, in this dear time of black Velvet?

Sinq.

Troth thou saist true; thy care has got thy
pardon; I'll venture so no more. Come my yong
Scholler, I am ready for you now.

Page.
Alas 'twill kill me,
I'm even as full of qualms as heart can bear:
How shall I do to hold up? Alas Sir
I can dance nothing but ill-favor'dly,
A strain or two of Passa-Measures Galliard.

Sinq.
Marry y'are forwarder then I conceiv'd you,
A toward Stripling; enter him Nicholao,
For the fool's bashful, as they are all at first
Till they be once well entred.

Usher.
Passa-Measures Sir?

Sinq.
I Sir, I hope you hear me; mark him now Boy. (Dance.)

Ha well done, exc'llent Boys—Dainty fine Springals;
The glory of Dancers Hall, if they had any;
And of all Professions, they had most need of one
For room to practise in, yet they have none.
O times! O manners! you have very little.
Why should the leaden-heel'd Plumber have his Hall,
And the light-footed Dancer none at all?
But Fortune de la guardo, things must be:
W're born to teach in Back-houses and Nooks,
Garrets sometimes, where't rains upon our Books.
Come on Sir, are you ready? first your honor.

Page.
I'll wish no fo, a greater cross upon her.

Sinq.

Curtsey, heiday! Run to him Nicholao,
by this light he will shame me; he makes curtsey
like a Chamber-maid.

Usher.

Why what do you mean Page! are you
mad? did you ever see a Boy begin a Dance, and
make curtsey like a Wench before?

Page.
Troth I was thinking of another thing;
And quite forgot my self, I pray forgive me Sir.

Sinq.

Come make amends then now with a good
leg, and dance it sprightly: What a beastly leg has
he made there now, 'twould vex ones heart out:
Now begin Boy, Oh, oh, oh, oh, &c. open thy
Knees, wider, wider, wider, wider; did you ever see
a Boy dance clencht up, he needs a pick-lock; out
upon thee for an arrant Ass, an arrant Ass, I shall
lose my credit by thee, a pest'lence on thee. Here
Boy hold the Vial, let me come to him, I shall get
more disgrace by this little Monkey now, then by all
the Ladies that ever I taught. Come on Sir now;
cast thy leg out from thee, lift it up aloft Boy; a
Pox, his knees are soader'd together, they're sow'd
together; canst not stride? Oh I could eat thee up,
I could eat thee up, and begin upon thy hinder quarter,
thy hinder quarter: I shall never teach this Boy
without a skrew, his knees must be opened with a
Vice, or there's no good to be done upon him—
Who taught you to dance Boy?

Page.
It is but little Sir that I can do.

Sinq.
No; I'll be sworn for you.

Page.
And that Seignior Laurentio taught me Sir:

Sinq.
Seignior Laurentio was an arrant Cockscomb,
And fit to teach none but White-bakers children
To knead their knees together. You can turn above ground Boy?

Page.
Not I Sir; my turns rather under-ground.

Sinq.
We'll see what you can do, I love to try
What's in my Schollers, the first hour I teach them:
Shew him a close trick now Nicholao.
Ha, dainty Stripling! come Boy.

Page.
'Lass not I Sir,
I am not for lofty tricks, indeed I am not Sir:

Sinq.
How; such another word, down goes your Hose Boy.

Page.
Alas 'tis time for me to do any thing then.

Sinq.
Heyday he's down; is this your lofty trick Boy?

Usher.
O Master, the Boy swoons; he's dead I fear me.

Sinq.
Dead! I nev'r knew one die with a lofty trick before.
Up Sirrah, up.

Page.
A Midwife, run for a Midwife.

Sinq.
A Midwife! By this light the Boy's with childe.
A miracle! Some Woman is the Father.
The World's turn'd upside down, sure if Men breed,
Women must get, one never could do both yet.
No marv'l you danc'd close-knee'd the Sinquapace:
Put up my Fiddle, here's a stranger case—

Exeunt Sinquapace and Page.
Usher.
That 'tis I'll swear; 'twill make the Dutchess wonder.
I fear me 'twill bring dancing out of request,
And hinder our profession for a time:
Your Women that are closely got with childe,
Will put themselves clean out of exercise,
And will not venture now for fear of meeting
Their shames in a Caranto, specially
If they be near their time: Well in my knowledge,
If that should happen, we are sure to lose
Many a good Waiting-woman, that's now over shooes.
Alas the while—

Exit.