 | The Jealous Lovers |  |
SCEN. IIII.
Asotus, Ballio, Bomolochus, Chærilus, Thrasymachus, Hyperbolus. Simo in angulis.Asot.
Come forth my Rascalls: Let the thriving Lord
Confine his family unto half a man
I cleept a—Page. Our honour be attended
With men of arts and arms. Captains and Poets
Shall with the Bilbow blade and Gray goose quill
Grace our Retinue—And when we grow surly,
Valour and wit fall prostrate at our frown;
Crouch imps of Mars, and frogs of Helicon.
Sim.
How they adore him! and the perilous wagge
Becomes his state: To see what wealth can do,
To those that have the blessing how to spend it!
Ball.
Your blessing was the wealth: the art of spending
He had from me.
Sim.
Once more I give thee thanks.
Thras.
Who dares offend thee, Lord of fortitude,
And not pay homage to thy potent toe,
Shall be a morsell for the dogs.
Asot.
Stoutly deliver'd,
My brave Thrasymachus—Thou for this shalt feed.
I will not suffer valour to grow lean,
And march like famine. I have seen an army
Of such a meagre troop, such thin-chapt starvelings,
Their barking stomacks hardly could refrain
From swallowing up the foe, ere they had slain him.
Hyper.
If thou command our service, we will die
Dull earth with crimson, till the teares of orphanes,
Widows and mothers wash it white again:
Wee'le strow thy walks with legs, and arms, and thighes,
And pay thee tribute thousand heads a day,
Fresh bleeding from the trunck: and panting hearts
Not dead shall leap in thy victorious paw.
Asot.
Then say thou too to Hunger—Friend adieu!
39
See'um both arm'd in scarlet cap-a-pea,
Strike top-sail, men of warre.
Ball.
We must divide:
We that serve great men have no other shifts
To thrive our selves but guelding our Lords guifts.
Sim.
Now I am rich indeed, this is true treasure.
Asot.
Ha! has Melpomene ta'ne cold of late,
That you are silent, my Parnassian beagles?
Is Clio dumbe? or has Apollos Jewes-trump
By sad disaster lost her melodious tongue?
Chær.
Your praise all tongues desire to speak: but some,
Nay all I fear, for want of art grow dumbe:
The harp of Orpheus blushes for to sing,
And sweet Amphions voice hath crack't a string.
Asot.
A witty solecisme reward the errour! harp and sing, voice and string.
Bom.
Give me a breath of thunder, let me speak
Sonorous accents, till their clamours break
Rocks with the noise obstreperous. I will warble
Such bounsing notes shall cleave obdurate marble
Upon mount Caucasus heavens knocking head,
Boreas shall blow my trumpet, till I spread
Thy fame, grand Patron of the thrice three sisters,
Till envies eares shall heare it and have blisters.
Asot.
O rare close, a high sublime conceit!
For this I'le sheath thee in a new serge scabbard
Blade of the fount Pegasean.
Sim.
What an honour
Will our bloud come to!—I have satisfied
For all the Orphanes, Widows, and what others
My sacred hunger hath devour'd.
Asot.
Ballio
Blesse him with twentie drachmes—yet forbeare:
Money may spoyl his Poetry. Give's some wine,
Here is a whetstone both for wit and valour.
A health to all my beads-men of the sword.
Thr. Hyp.
This will ingage the men of arms to fight.
Asot.
This to the Muses, and their threed-bare tribe.
Char. Bom.
Thou dost ingage the learned troops to write.
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Go sonnes of Mars, with young Apollos brood,
And usher in my Venus: wine hath warm'd
My bloud, and wak'd it to an itch of sporting.
(Exeunt Bom. Hyp. Chær. Thr. for to fetch in Phr. Asot, the while is putting on his armour.
Ball.
Some twentie ages hence 'twill be a question
Which of the two the world will reverence more:
You for a thriving father, or Asotus
So liberall a sonne.
Sim.
Good, Ballio, good:
But which will they preferre?
Ball.
They cannot, Sir,
But most admire your fist, which grip'd so much
That made his hand so open.
Sim.
Gracious starres,
How blest shall I be twentie ages hence!
Some twentie ages hence.
Ball.
You shall be call'd
A doting Coxcombe twentie ages hence.
| The Jealous Lovers | |