University of Virginia Library

A Trumpet sounded.
Fame entreth, follow'd by the Curious, the Ey'd, the Ear'd, and the Nos'd.
Fame.
Give eare, the worthy, heare what Fame proclaimes.

Eares.
What? what? I'st worth our eares?

Eies.
Or eyes?

Nose.
Or noses?
For we are curious, Fame: indeed, the Curious.

Eies.
We come to spie.

Eares.
And hearken.

Nose.
And smell out.

Fame.
More than you understand, my hot Inquisitors,

Noes.
We cannot tell.

Eies.
It may be.

Eares.
However, goe you on, let us alone.

Eies.
We may spie out, that, which you never mean't.

Nose.
And nose the thing you sent not. First, whence come you?

Fame.
I came from Saturne.

Eares.
Saturne, what is he?

Nose.
Some Protestant I warrant you, a Time-server,
As Fame her selfe is.

Fame.
You are neere the right.
Indeed, he is Time it selfe, and his name Kronos.

Nose.
How! Saturne! Chronos! and the Time it selfe!
You're found: inough. A notable old Pagan!

Eares.
One of their Gods, and eates up his owne children.

Nose.
A Fencer, and do's travell with a sith
Instead of a long-sword.

Eies.
Hath beene oft call'd from it,
To be theit Lord of misrule.

Eares.
As Cincinnatus
Was from the plough, to be Dictator.

Eies.
Yes.
We need no interpreter, on, what of Time?

Fame.
The Time hath sent me with my Trumpe to summon
All sorts of persons worthy, to the view
Of some great spectacle he meanes to night,
T'exhibite; and with all solemnitie.

Nose.
O, we shall have his Saturnalia.

Eies.
His dayes of feast, and libertie agen.

Eares.
Where men might doe, and talke all that they list.

Eies.
Slaves of their lords.

Nose.
The servants of their masters!

Eares.
And subjects of their Soveraigne.

Fame.
Not so lavish.

Eares.
It was a brave time that!

Eies.
This will be better:
I spie it comming, peace. all the impostures,
The prodigies, diseases, and distempers,
The knaveries of the Time, we shall see all now.

Eares.
And heare the passages, and severall humors
Of men, as they are swayd by their affections:
Some grumbling, and some mutining, some scoffing,
Some pleas'd, some pyning, at all these we laughing.

Nose.
I have it here, here, strong, the sweat of it,
And the confusion (which I love) I nose it,
It tickles mee.

Eies.
My foure eies itch for it.

Eares.
And my eares tingle, would it would come forth:
This roome will not receive it.

Nose.
That's the feare.

Enter CHRONO-MASTIX.
Chron.
What? what? my friends, will not this roome receive?

Eies.
That which the Time is presently to shew us.

Chro.
The Time? Lo I the man, that hate the time
That is, that love it not; and (though in ryme,
I here doe speake it) with this whipp you see,
Doe lash the Time, and am myselfe lash-free.

Fame.
Who's this?

Eares.
'Tis Chronomastix, the brave Satyre,

Nose.
The gentleman-like Satyre, cares for no body,
His fore-head rip't with bayes, doe you not know him?

Eies.
Yes Fame must know him, all the Town admires him.

Chro.
If you would see Time quake and shake, but name us,
It is for that, we are both belov'd, and famous.

Eies.
We know, Sir. But the Time's now come about.

Eares.
And promiseth all libertie.

Nose.
Nay licence.

Eies.
We shall doe what we list.

Eares.
Talke what we list.

Nose.
And censure whom we list, and how we list.

Chro.
Then I will looke on Time, and love the same,
And drop my whip: who's this! my Mistris! Fame!
The lady whom I honour, and adore!
What lucke had I not to see her before!
Pardon me, Madam, more than most accurst,
That did not spie your Ladiship at first,
T'have giv'n the stoop, and to salute the skirts
Of her, to whom all Ladies else are flirts!
It is for you, I revell so in rime,
Deare Mistris, not for hope I have the Time
Will grow the better by it. To serve Fame
Is all my end, and get my selfe a name.

Fame.
Away, I know thee not, wretched Impostor,
Creature of glory, Mountebanke of witte,
Selfe-loving Braggart, Fame doth sound no trumpet
To such vaine, empty fooles: 'Tis Infamy
Thou serv'st, and follow'st, scorne of all the Muses,
Goe revell with thine ignorant admirers,
Let worthy names alone.

Chro.
O, you the Curious,
Breath you to see a passage so injurious,
Done with despight, and carried with such tumor
'Gainst me, that am so much the friend of rumor?
(I would say Fame?) whose Muse hath rid in rapture
On a soft ambling verse to every capture,
From the strong guard, to the weake childe that reades me,
And wonder both of him that loves, or dread's me!
Who with the lash of my immortall pen
Have scourg'd all sorts of vices, and of men!
Am I rewarded, thus? have I, I say,
From Envies selfe torne praise, and bayes away,
With which my glorious front, and word at large,
Triumphs in print at my admirers charge.

Eares.
Rare! how he talkes in verse, just as he writes!

Chro.
When have I walk't the streets, but happy he
That had the finger first to point at mee,
Prentice, or Journeyman! The shop doth know it!
The unletter'd Clarke! major and minor Poet!
The Sempster hath sate still as I pass'd by,
And dropt her needle! Pish-wives staid their cry?
The Boy with buttons, and the Basket wench!
To vent their wares into my workes do trench!
A pudding-wife that would despise the Times,
Hath utter'd frequent pen'worths, through my times,
And, with them, div'd into the Chamber-maid,
And she unto her Lady hath convay'd
The season'd morsels, who hath sent me pensions,
To cherish, and to heighten my inventions.
Well, Fame shall know it yet, I have my faction,
And friends about me, though it please detraction,
To doe me this affront. Come forth that love me,
And now, or never, spight of Fame, approve me.

At this the Mutes come in.
THE ANTIMASQUERS.
Fame.
How now! what's here? Is hell broke loose?

Eies.
You'l see.
That he ha's favourers, Fame, and great ones too.
That unctuous Bounty, is the Bosse of Belinsgate,

Eares.
Who feasts his Muse with claret wine, and oysters,

Nose.
Growes big with Satyre;

Eares.
Goes as long as an Elephant:

Eies.
She labours, and lies in of his inventions,

Nose.
Ha's a male-poem in her belly now,
Big as a colt,

Eares.
That kicks at Time already,

Eies.
And is no sooner foald, but will neigh sulphure:

Fame.
The next?

Eares.
A quondam Justice, that of late
Hath beene discarded out o' the pack o'the peace,
For some lewd levitie he holds in capite,
But constantly loves him. In dayes of yore,
He us'd to give the charge out of his poems,
He carries him about him, in his pocket,
As Philip's Sonne did Homer, in a casket,
And cries, O happy Man, to the wrong party,
Meaning the Poet, where he meant the subject:

Fame.
What are this paire?

Eies.
The ragged rascalls?

Fame.
Yes.

Eies.
Meere rogues, you'ld thinke them rogues, but they are friends,
One is his Printer in disguise, and keepes
His presse in a hollow tree, where to conceale him,
He workes by glow-worme light, the Moone's too open.
The other zealous ragge is the Compositor,
Who in an angle, where the ants inhabite,
(The emblem's of his labours) will sit curl'd
Whole dayes, and nights, and worke his eyes out for him.

Nose.
Strange arguments of love! There is a Schoolemaster
Is turning all his workes too, into Latine,
To pure Satyricke Latine; makes his Boyes
To learne him; calls him the times Juvenal;
Hangs all his Schoole with his sharpe sentences;
And o're the Execution place hath painted
Time whipt, for terror to the Infantery.

Eies.
This Man of warre, i'the rere, He is both Trumpet
And Champion to his Muse.

Eares.
For the whole City.

Nose.
H'as him by roat, recites him at the tables,
Where he doth governe; sweares him into name,
Upon his word, and sword, for the sole youth
Dares make profession of Poetick truth,
Now militant amongst us: To th'incredulous,
That dagger is an article he uses,
To rivet his respect into their pates,
And make them faithful. Fame, you'l find you'ave wrongd him.

Fame.
What a confederacie of Folly is here!

They all daunce but Fame, and make the first Antimasque, In which they adore, and carry forth the Satyre, and the Curious come up agen.
Eies.
Now Fame, how like you this?

Eares.
This falls upon you
For your neglect.

Nose.
He scornes you, and defies you,
H'as got a Fame on's owne, as well as a Faction.

Eies.
And these will deifie him, to despite you.

Fame.
I envie not the Αποθεωσις.
'Twill prove but deifying of a Pompion.

Nose.
Well, what is that the Time will now exhibite?

Eies.
What gambols? what devises? what new sports?

Eares.
You promis'd us, we should have any thing.

Nose.
That Time would give us all we could imagine.

Fame.
You might imagine so, I never promis'd it.

Eies.
Pox, then 'tis nothing. I had now a fancie
We might have talk'd o'the King.

Eares.
Or State.

Nose.
Or all the World.

Eies.
Censur'd the Counsell, e're they censure us.

Eares.
We doe it in Pauls.

Nose.
Yes, and in all the tavernes!

Fame.
A comely licence. They that censure those
They ought to reverence, meet they that old curse,
To beg their bread, and feele eternall Winter.
Ther's difference 'twixt liberty, and licence.

Nose.
Why if it be not that, let it be this then
(For since you grant us freedome, we will hold it,)
Let's have the giddy world turn'd the heeles upward,
And sing a rare blacke Sanctus, on his head,
Of all things out of order.

Eies.
No, the Man
I'the Moone daunce a Corranto, his bush
At's backe, a fire; and his dogge piping Lachrimæ

Eares.
Or let's have all the people in an uprore,
None knowing, why, or to what end: and in
The midd'st of all, start up an old mad woman
Preaching of patience.

Nose.
No, no, I'ld ha' this.

Eies.
What?

Fame.
Any thing.

Nose.
That could be monstrous:
Enough, I meane. A Babel of wild humours.

Eares.
And all disputing of all things they know not,

Eies.
And talking of all men they never heard of,

Eares.
And all together by the eares o'the sudden,

Eies.
And, when the matter is at hottest, then
All fall asleepe.

Fame.
Agree among your selves,
And what it is you'ld have, I'le answer you.

Eies.
O, that we shall never doe.

Eares.
No, never agree.

Nose.
Not upon what. Something that is unlawfull.

Eares.
I, or unreasonable.

Eies.
Or impossible.

Nose.
Let't be uncivill enough, you hit us right.

Eares.
And a great noyse.

Eies.
To little, or no purpose.

Nose.
And if there be some mischiefe, 'twill become it.

Eies.
But see, there be no cause, as you will answer it.

Fame.
These are meere Monsters.

Nose.
I, all the better.

Fame.
You doe abuse the Time. These are fit freedomes
For lawlesse Prentices, on a Shrovetuesday,
When they compell the Time to serve their riot.
For drunken Wakes, and strutting Beare-baytings,
That savour only of their owne abuses.

Eies.
Why, if not those, then something to make sport.

Eares.
Wee only hunt for novelty, not truth.

Fame.
I'le fit you, though the Time faintly permit it.

The second Antimasque of Tumblers, and Juglers, brought in by the Cat and fiddle, who make sport with the Curious, and drive them away.
Fame.
Why now they are kindly us'd, like such spectators,
That know not what they would have. Commonly,
The curious are ill natur'd, and like flies,
Seeke Times corrupted parts to blow upon:
But may the sound ones live with fame, and honour,
Free from the molestation of these Insects:
Who being fled, Fame now persues her errand.

Loud MVSIQUE.
To which the whole Scene opens, where Saturne sitting with Venus is discover'd above, and certaine Votaries comming forth below, which are the Chorus.
Fame.
For you, great King, to whom the Time doth owe
All his respects, and reverence, behold
How Saturne, urged at request of Love,
Prepares the object to the place to night.
Within yond' darknesse, Venus hath found out
That Hecate (as she is Queene of shades)
Keepes certaine glories of the Time obscur'd,
There, for her selfe alone to gaze upon,
As she did once the faire Endimion.
These, Time hath promis'd at Loves suit to free,
As being fitter to adorne the age,
By you restor'd on earth, most like his owne:
And fill this world of beautie here, your Court.
To which his bountie, see, how men prepare
To fit their votes below, and thronging come
With longing passion to enjoy th'effect!
Harke, it is Love begins to Time. Expect.

VENUS.
Beside, that it is done for Love,
It is a worke, great Time, will prove
Thy honour, as mens hopes above.

Saturne.
If Love be pleased, so am I:
For Time could never yet deny
What Love did aske, if Love knew why.

Votaries.
Shee knew, and hath exprest it now.
And so doth every publike vow
That heard her why, and waites thy how.

Saturne.
You shall not long expect: with ease
The things come forth, are borne to pleass:
Looke, have you seene such lights as these?

The Masquers are discovered, and that which obscur'd them, vanisheth.
Votaries.
These, these must sure some wonders bee!

Chorus.
O, what a glory 'tis to see
Mens wishes, Time, and Love agree

A Pause
There SATVRNE and VENVS passe away, and the Masquers descend.
Chorus.
What griefe, or envie had it beene,
That these, and such had not beene seene,
But still obscur'd in shade!
Who are the glories of the Time,
Of youth, and feature too, the prime,
And for the light were made!

Votaries.
1
Their very number, how it takes!
2
What harmony their presence makes!
3
How they inflame the place!

Chorvs.
Now they are neerer seene, and viewd;
For whom could Love have better su'd?
Or Time have done the grace?

Hereto a loud Musique, they march into their figure, and daunce their ENTRY, or first DAVNCE.
After which.
Venus.
The night could not these glories misse,
Good Time, I hope, is ta'ne with this.

Saturne.
If Time were not, I'am sure Love is.
Betweene us it shall be no strife:
For now 'tis Love, gives Time his life.

Votaries.
Let Time then so with Love conspire,
as straight be sent into the court
A little Cupid, arm'd with fire,
Attended by a jocund Sport,
To breed delight, and a desire
of being delighted, in the nobler sort.

Saturne.
The wish is crown'd, as soone as made.

Votaries.
And Cvpid conquers, e're he doth invade.
His victories of lightest trouble prove.
For there is never labour, where is Love.

Then, followes the maine DAVNCE, which done, CVPID, with the SPORT, goes out.
Cupid.
To the Masquers.
Take breath awhile, young Blouds, to bring
Your forces up, whilst we goe sing
Fresh charges, to the Beauties here.

Sport.
Or, if they charge you, doe not feare,
Though they be better arm'd then you:
It is but standing the first view,
And then they yeeld.

Cupid.
Or quit the field.

Sport.
Nay, that they'l never doe.
They'l rather fall upon the place,
Then suffer such disgrace.
You are but Men at best, they say,
And they from those ne're ran away.

Pause.
Cuipid.
To the King.
You, Sir, that are the Lord of Time,
Receive it not as any crime
'Gainst Majesty, that Love and Sport
To night have entred in your Court.

Sport.
Sir, doubt him more of some surprise
Vpon your selfe. He hath his eyes.
You are the noblest object here,
And 'tis for you alone I feare:
For here are Ladyes, that would give
A brave reward, to make Love live
Well, all his life, for such a draught.
And therefore, looke to every shaft,
The Wags a Deacon in his craft.

Pause.
Cupid.
To the Lords.
My Lords, the Honors of the Crowne,
Put off your sowrenesse, doe not frowne,
Bid cares depart, and businesse hence:
A little, for the Time dispence.

Sport.
Trust nothing that the Boy lets fall,
My Lords, he hath plots upon you all.
A Pensioner unto your wives,
To keepe you inuxorious gives,
And so your sense to fascinate,
To make you quit all thought of state,
His amorous questions to debate.
But, heare his Logicke, he will prove
There is no businesse, but to be in love.

Cupid.
The words of Sport, my Lords, and course.
Pause.
Your Ladyes yet, will not thinke worse
To the Ladies.
Of Love for this: they shall command
My Bow, my Quiver, and my Hand.

Sport.
What, here to stand
and kill the Flies?
Alas, thy service they despise.
One Beauty here, hath in her eyes,
More shafts then from thy bow o're flew,
Or that poore quiver knew.
These Dames,
They need not Love's, they have Natures flames.

Cupid.
I see the Beauty, that you so report.

Sport.
Cupid, you must not point in Court,
Where live so many of a sort.
Of Harmony these learn'd their speech,
The Graces did them footing teach,
And, at the old Idalian bralls,
They daunc'd your Mother downe. Shee calls.

Cupid.
Arme, arme then all.

Sport.
Young blouds come on,
And charge: Let every man take one.

Cupid.
And try his fate.

Sport.
These are faire warres.
And will be carried without scarres.

Cupid.
A joyning, but of feet, and hands.
Is all the Time, and Love commands.

Sport.
Or if you doe their gloves off-strip.
Or taste the Nectar of the lip:
See, so you temper your desires,
For kisses, that yee sucke not fires.

The REVELS follow, which ended, the Chorvs appeare agen, and Diana descends to Hippolitus, the whole Scene being chang'd to a Wood, out of which he comes.
Chorus.
The Courtly strife is done, it should appeare,
Betweene the Youths, and Beauties of the yeare,
Wee hope that now these lights will know their spheare,
And strive hereafter to shine ever here:
Like brightest Planets, still to move
In th'eye of Time, and orbes of Love.

Diana.
Hippolitus, Hippolitus.

Hippolitus.
Diana?

Diana.
Shee.
Be ready you, or Cephalus,
To waite on me.

Hippolitus.
Wee ever be.

Diana.
Your Goddesse hath beene wrong'd to night,
By Loves report unto the Time.

Hippolitus.
The injury, it selfe will right,
Which only Fame hath made a crime.
For Time is wise,
And hath his eares as perfect as his eyes.

Saturne.
Who's that descends? Diana?

Votaries.
Yes.

Venus.
By like her troope shee hath begun to misse.

Saturne.
Let's meet, and question what her errand is.

Hippolitus.
Shee will prevent thee, Saturne, not t'incense
Her-selfe unto thee, rather to complaine
That thou and Venus both should so abuse
The name of Dian, as to entertaine
A thought, that she had purpose to defraud
The Time, of any glories that were his:
To doe Time honour rather, and applaud
His worth, hath beene her study.

Diana.
And it is.
I call'd these Youth's forth; In their bloud, and prime
(Out of the honour, than I bore their parts)
To make them fitter so to serve the Time
By labour, riding, and those ancient arts,
That first enabled men unto the warres,
And furnish'd Heaven with so many Starres:

Hippolitvs.
As Perseus, Castor, Pollux, and the rest,
Who were of Hunters first, of Men the best;
Whose shades doe yet remaine within yond' groves,
Themselves there sporting with their nobler loves:

Diana.
And so may these doe, if the Time give leave.

Saturne.
Chast Dians purpose we doe now conceive,
And yeeld thereto.

Venvs.
And so doth Love.

Votaries.
All Votes doe in one circle move.

Chorvs.
Turne Hunters then,
agen.
Hunting, it is the noblest exercise,
Makes men laborious, active, wise,
Brings health, and doth the spirits delight,
It help's the hearing, and the sight:
It teacheth arts that never slip
The memory, good horsmanship,
Search, sharpnesse, courage, and defence,
And chaseth all ill habits thence.
Turne Hunters then,
agen,
But not of men.
Follow his ample;
And just example,
That hates all chace of malice, and of bloud:
And studies only wayes of good,
To keepe soft Peace in breath.
Man should not hunt Mankind to death,
But strike the enemies of Man;
Kill vices if you can:
They are your wildest beasts.
And when they thickest fall, you make the Gods true feasts.