 | The Vnfortunate Mother |  |
3 Scene.
Enter Polemici, Vittorio, A Lady and Beneventi.Fid.
Here's Vittoria,
And brave Polemici, that are return'd
With the triumphing Notho.
Bon.
I embrace yee;
Y'are welcome home to peace,
Salute.
Vit.
We thanke your Lord-ship.
Ben.
'Tis downe right complement; we Souldiers
Are sparing of our words my Lord: blowes chiefly
Are our discourse.
Pole.
We Courtiers Beneventi
Can talke, but seldome fight.
Bon.
That hit you home.
To Beneventi.
Ben.
How dare you offer to salute the Ladies,
Before y'have shifted shirts? sure your Campe Laundresse
Never perfum'd your linnen.
Pole.
Had you bin
There Beneventi, 'twould have made your linnen
Soone want perfuming.
Card.
Souldiers doe not use
To Beneventi.
Other perfumes than match and Gun-powder.
Ben.
Were you converted into it Cardente,
You'ld sweeten their Buffe-jerkins.
Lady.
Were I Gun-powder
I'ld blow you up.
Pole.
You take your servants part.
Ben.
You serve a Lady! Ladies should serve you
For your good service to the Duke and State:
Oh the mens heads that you cut off, Polemici!
Pole.
The Maiden-heads you purchast in our absence!
Many a Suburbe agent is inricht by't;
Though to the losse of your owne state and conscience:
Ingeniously confesse your chiefe imployment.
Ben.
We feigne our selves as vertuous as the Duke,
And are as chast at Court as wither'd Eunuches:
But when we are at liberty abroad,
Ease and high feeding cannot hold out long:
Doe piddle now and then with Suttlers wives;
And are content in praise their tann'd complexions
For most rich beauties: whilst we Courtiers
Ravish delights from lipps that tast of Nectar,
And thinke our selves in Heaven.
Pole.
Whilst we Souldiers
After a tedious march, are forst to make
The earth our bed without a Pillow, sheets,
Or silver warming-pan; start from our sleepe
At every sound the ayres light motion makes,
Thinking it an alarme: Returne from sight
Smear'd o're with blood and sweat, and savourly
Take the refreshment of a troubled water;
Whose muddy streames our Horses would scarce tast
But for necessity: fast till our guts
Contract themselves so close they will scarce hold
The full digestion of one Larke.
Ben.
Good Captaine
No more of this discourse; it mortifies me:
But now the Wars are ended, you'l turne Courtier!
'Tis quickly learnt.
Pole.
You have instructed me,
Dissemble first an imitation
Of the Dukes vertues; feed high, and be lazie;
Next leacherous: is't not so?
Ben.
A great proficient,
You'l quickly take Degrees.
Pole.
In the last Schoole
We shall out-strip you Courtiers; for observe
If any one of you should rivall us,
And dare to intercept our pleasures, we
Can beate you Beneventi, marke me, beate you;
And sure the Duke would give us pensions for it,
To keepe your Goat-ships honest.
Lady.
Witty Souldier,
He fits you at all weapons.
Ben.
Yours, the tongue;
Hee'ld hit you otherwise.
Bon.
Peace thus playes with war,
And makes it pastime.
| The Vnfortunate Mother | |