University of Virginia Library

Act. I.

Scen. I.

Enter None-so-fair, Twattle and Glozy.
Non.
O Glozy! What a crumptious place is here?
Where none can see one play with ones more Dear.
Under each bush kind Sun doth warm;
Here one may kiss, and laugh, and think no harm:
For Countrey Love has neither joyes nor fears,
And Bushes break no Trust, though Walls have ears:

Gloz.
No Missy None-so-fair, they are not of Ontalian mind.
Man hunts not here for man-kind,
Wyer on Hare not man prevails,
Nor are men caught with Pipe like Quails,
No salt is here thrown on their Tails.

Tw.
No Gossip Glozy,
You may here sing Hey down with every Clown,
And none will disclose ye,
As at London, lew'd Town.
Poor Rusticks cannot cheat, nor lye, nor swear;
Incroach on Neighbours spot of ground,
Or put dumb Creature into Pound;
No Covent-Garden Tricks are practis'd here.

None.
Ah! Gammer Twattle, Ah! my poor Lady,
I wish I were no Princes Born:
But some poor Shepheardess Forlorn,
To sleep all day on Mowes of Hay or Corn.
How green's the Grass? how Fine's the Tree?
How luscious is the Black-berry?

Glozy.
But Oh! How sweet's the Company?

Twat.
The Company.—

Non.
That—That; Oh goody Glozy, Oh Gammer Twat.
I'le ne're go home again that's Flat.
Maids are not here do fin'd to Rules
As at your Whoresom Boarding Schools.

Gloz.
How silly is the Show and Pomp,
That's practis'd there by every Romp;
First Mock-Wedding's to be seen,

Twat.
And then with great Din, comes Mock-lying In.
Mistress of School, must be Midwife, Old Fool;
Mammy, and Dad, and Nurse must be had;
And Cradle and Ladle, and Fiddle-come-faddle,
You'd think 'em all Mad.

None.
When Gossips are come, and fill up the Room;
Glass goes about, till Girles crye out, A ha, a, ah ha.

Gloz.
Drink goes down, Midwife, Run, sport's begun, all undone.
Hold her back, or 'twill crack by my fack.

Twat.
Alack, alack,—Caraways, run Jack, Ah, a, a, ha.

Non.
Then she must whine for the Burnt Wine;
Stools, Tools and Fools flye about;
And at last comes out great Baby of Clout:
Then Christning comes, and Sugar Plums,
And Mistress Tipling like old Crony:
Gives dainty words as sweet as hony,
And all to gets poor Childrens Mony.

Gloz.
Each strives to be in Mistress Books,
Though Purse of Parents bleed, Gadzooks.

Twat.
And when e're they do play Truant,
If she'l say she never knew on't,
They do not care one souse, 'gad knows,
How silly Beldams led by th'Nose.

Non.
And then Forsooth we must have Shooes:
Gods, Divels, and Goddesses,
Swayns, Satyrs, and Shepherdesses,
Soust in dull Rime, and serv'd in several Messes,

Gloz.
Yet glittering Scenes, and Golden Dresses,
Won't make amends for doggrel Verses.

Non.
No, not even there where Dance and Song,
Supported by the Mighty, and the Young,
Though practised ne'r so often, ne'r so long,
Though ne'r so much imposed upon the Town,
Their own flat stuffs wrought up to pull them down,
As a great Owl, which on bare stump bawls,
Swell'd with the whooping Musick of his Throat,
Down to the wrath of Larks and Linnets falls.
So boasting Scribblers on their Labours doat;
But all their swelling Hopes and Huffs,
Critick out, like Candle puffs:
And then they smoak, and stinck like Snuffs;
So School-Girls that have in the morn
Been Cock a Hoop, and rul'd the Roast,
E're Noon ev'n like an over-soak'd Toast,
Sinck to the bottom of the Pot of scorn:
These woaful Chances I have lately seen,
And ne'r will go to School agen,
No not to be a Queen.

Twattle.
Oh None-so-fair; sweet Miss!
You need not have run from your good Father, I wis;
For Prince Phillip, or Prince Nicholas, if you had but said the
word, would have marri'd you while one can say what's this?
How say by that?—

Gloz.
—Well rim'd goody Twat.
Not a Prince in the street, but was so loving
He'd a kissed your Elbow to bake in your Oven;
So says ev'ry one that knows thee.

Twat.
Well said goody Glozy:
Though the Coif of your heart were dry enough, God wot,
You would not let it be smooth'd, while loves Iron was hot,
When loves strong Charms your smoothing-board invirons,
You laugh to see poor Princes shake their Irons.

Non.
Not Sugar-cakes, nor Ginger-bread,
Me from this Countrey life shall lead:
The live long day about the Fields we saunter,
Sloes, Black-berries, and Hawes we ne'r shall want here.
At night we'l go a Gooding
For Bacon, and Kale, and nappy Ale,
Stout Beef, and figged Pudding.

Gloz.
Ah! but sweet Lady, we want the Ready,—
And we can't fill our Guts, if we buy not,

Twat.

Oh! but Lady None-so-fair, look ye d'e see, Glozy will
make them come, and bring it to us with a why not:

Non.
What ayle Gammor Glozy, I mar'l what a dickens
Don't all the Fields grow full of Hens and Chickens?
Don't Birds grow upon Trees like Pears, what would she desire?
Don't Pyes grow in a little Brick-house close by the Fire?

Twat.
And somtimes Missey we'l iudge a nutting.

Non.
She Sings.
sing and dance.

Gloz.
Very right—Oh sweet None-so-fair!

None-so.
Princes have no such joys as these
When they sit down to Pork and Pease.
What Crowding's this my ears do pull?
Musick is heard.
With which the empty Air is full.

Musick is heard.
Twat.
Oh! Gads-lidikins now I know,
This is May-day in the morning, ho,

Non.
Oh! is it so, then let's go straight away,
For I'le be Lady of May.

exeunt all.
Enter Costard and Redstreak.
Redstr.

O lo? O lo? Costard, who dost thou think is come,
hither—now?—

Costard.

—Who, who, vor the mercies sake.

Redstr.

—Guess Costard, guess.

Costard.

—Gammar Bunch the Carret-Woman.

Redstr.

Noa, noa, noa.

Cost.

Cicely Fountrinckets the Tripe-Wife.

Red.

I shaw waw; who but Princess None sofair our Landlord
King Andrews youugest Daughter—

Cost.
Then have mercy on us, we shall see bad times;
For I believe she's run away from School.

Redst.

Twittle Twattle, what if she be? what have we to do
With state business—perhaps she's run away Incognito with
her Fathers consent—

Cost.

Now she's here, the short and the long on't is, we must
chuse Her Lady of May.—

Red.

Yes by my Fay.—And we'l have a Masque, and
Crouder shall be Pan, and he must sing in resitantivy;

Great Psyche go dress up the silly Rogues,
And then Piper shall be Chorus, and he shall sing:
Now Pan with his fooling has made a fair hand.
Then there must be Symphonie.

Cost.
shan't I be Symphonie, Redstreak?

Red.

Hold thy tongue, Wilt a? Lord to bless us; what rowly
powly, all fellows at Foot-ball? The Symphony; No, Symphony
must be a woundy cranck, short, tall, squat vellow with rusty
Musick; and he must cry like a Bird: and then we must have
An Eccho—

Cost.

Oh! there's an Eccho down at hollow Banck I'le call
it Presently.—

Redstr.

No no, we'l make an Eccho of our own.

Cost.

How? prythee Redstreak how;

Redstr.

Why look thee: One must be Voice, and another
must be Air, and another must be Rock; then voice must talk
Soundly to Air, and beat her against Rock; and Rock must
Beat her back again; and then Air must cry out, and scold
With Voice, and that's Eccho—Let me alone for Plot; If
you will but work up the Sense and Passion, as they say;
Go, and let every Mothers Child about it, and I'le entertain
Princess None-so-fair the while.—Yonder she comes.

exit Costard.
Enter None-so-fair, Twattle and Glozy.
Non.
Gammar Redstreak, I make bold.

Red.
So I am told.
Sweet Princess None-so-fair. Bring in Wickar-chair,
Twattle and Glozy; Cheeks shall be rosy.
For I have good Fuddle,

Twat.
—Mum Ducks in the puddle,

Gloz.
—Gad-speed, Gammar Redstreak. We'l drink, till our heads-ake,

Twat.
—And we'l have some Chat,

Red.
—Marry why not?

Non.

—What Crouding's this I hear,
prepare.

Red.

An entertainment which our head Hinds do for you
prepare.

Twat.

she fibs, they do't once a year, whether your at home or
here.

Red.
O dear! 'tis for the nonce by Cocks bones.

Non.
Well, well, be quiet, I say be quiet twice and once.

Enter a Countrey Crouder, followed by a Milk-maid with her Payl dressed up as on May-day.—After them a company of Morris-dancers, a Sylvan, and a Dryad—
Red.
A Masque so please your Worship Madam;
Their Garments should be better, if we had e'm.
Pan come sing, God Pan, Chorus! Oh Symphony! where's
Your rusty Musick; so, so, 'tis well; what are You?

Syl.
I am a Sylvan—

Dry.
And I am a Dryad Dame.

Red.
Come Cheer up.—

Pan
sings.
Chorus.
Chorus.
A Dance of Morris-Dancers, Milk-maid. &c.

Red.

So, so, well done, well done all; Ha, ha, ha, it makes
my heart leap in my Belly for joy—homely Countrey sport,
Now could I weep, for pure hearts ease, to see how
towardly they are; and how my good man Costard looks so
sprunt I warrant ye. Chorus, Symphonie, Pan; stand to your
Fittles, can you be merry sweet Princess? Eccho; where's
Eccho, Rock, Ayr, Voice? Oh dull, dull!

Non.
Fret not thy self sweet Redstreak.

Red.
Oh Lord your Worship,—a pax take ye;
Come, or I'le fetch you in with a Hedge-stake,
For Courtesie you have no Peer.

Nonsy.
Methinks 'tis most serene and clear.

Red.
Serene and clear, that I'le remember I warrant ye:
Then if that you do please to sit,
Old Nick take you, for a Company of lazy patches.
We have more sport to show you yet?
Voice, Ayr, Rock, do'e hear
Hold up your heads, and do't most serene and clear.

Voice sings and beats Ayr against Rock—Rock beats her back again, and makes her cry out like an Eccho.
Song.
Voice.
How do Maids cry, when they lose what they value so dear

Rock.
—What they value so dear,

Ayr.
—O dear!

Voice.
—And then the poor Fellow does sigh like a Lass,

Rock.
—O does sigh like a Lass,

Ayr.
—a Lass.

Voice.
—Beauties like meadows are mow'd, and they pass,

Ayr.
—does are mow'd, and they pass,

Rock.
—They pass.

Voice.
—Then what have they left for to offer at here?

Ayr.
—for to offer at here?

Rock.
—at here.

Chorus
of All.
Dayzy Roots do mar the growth,
And Marjorum is good for Broath.
But Beef 'tis makes us lusty,
I love thee Sue, I'le take my Oath,
Then why art thou so crusty?
Thou shalt have Eggs and Clary.
Faddle Fiddle,
Hey down Diddle.
Faith let's be merry.

Exeunt all the Dancers singing.
Red.

It may be sweet Princes. You like not this Solemn
Musick, Faddle, Fiddle, hey down Diddle,—I value not my
self upon the Wit, but the fitness of the words; for Air and
Melody.

Faddle Fiddle hey down Diddle,
Faith let's be merry.

I have skill though I say't, that shud'nt, as they say for the
Jews Trump-Citizen, and Trump-Marine, I'le turn my back
to none, though some have been bred up many years to't;
I my self chalk'd out the way to the Tune-Maker; I know I
have many Foes, that say I make not what Town, but mum
for that: This Rare Opera is all mine I'le swear; but for
the Dress and Trim, give the Divel his due, I am beholding
to the most Serene and clear Monsieur Stephen, the Kings
Corn-cutter, and so you are all, for he put me upon't.

Now if that you'l walk in to close-up all,
We'l have a most Serene and clear Rank Ball.
Exit Redstreak.

Non.
Oh happy silly life, what sports are here?
Noise without noise, grief without care;
Joys without joyes, and frights without fear.
E'r all the World, me from this life shall hall;
I'l cry, lie down in ground, and kick and sprawl.

Enter Ambition, an Aldermans Wife; Power, Schoolmistress, Plenty an Ale Wife, and Peace a Zealot.
Plen.

See where she is, Oh! Missy y'are a Fine Princess
to run away from your Friends so.—

Pow.

You put your Father, King Andrew into a fine twitter
twatter.

Amb.
I come to fetch you from this life of Beast,
To grand Solemnity of City Feast;
Leave smoaky Cot, and Cake-bread tough,
There's Custards hot, and Fools enough:
Leave Tib and Tom, for good House-holder,
There's Capon fat, and Mutton shoulder.
Leave Eldern whistle, Gut of Cats,
For City Horn-pipe and Waits;
By me ev'n Mrs. Steward you shall sit,
Whose Lilly hand carves every bit.
And tells the price to show housewifely Wit,
Lump shall be carri'd home too in Kerchief Wallet;
Or else it shall go hard infaith la, shall se't,
By me to noble thoughts you shall be brought,
And all the Arts of City Madam taught.
Locket on Arm, Ring on Finger,
Of Bobs too, in each ear a Clinger;
With fingers end, or Diamond Ring to play,
And cry, Oh! Lord when you have nought to say:
Finely to stretch, or show the pouting lip,
I'le teach you when to cry foro'th, or sip;
I'le teach you how to filtch and spend,
Dull Husbands muck on courtly Friend;
Yet with grave mouth to rail at th'other end.
Of this wild Town.—
Leave boars with limbs, more stiff and hard then Oak,
And think of ruling sparks in Camlet Cloak;
Fresh Sweet-hearts every day new love shall swear:
And in all junckets, who but None-so-fair.
Come, come, wed rich retailing Prince; be Great,
Sit finely drest in Shop, serve God, and cheat.

Pow.
I from your silly life do you invite,
I, whose dread Scepter every child does fright;
Presents, and Fasting dayes are my delight.
If None-so-fair will back to School with me,
None of my Girls shall eat so much as she;
And so that I may get the Pence,
With any 'Prentice, Lord, or Footman Prince,
I'le give her leave to run away from thence.

Plenty.
Is this a place for None-so-fair.
As stately Painted Ale-house is fitter farr,
Come, go with me, and keep my splendid Barr.
Princess, thou shalt Govern there,
Luxurious Ale, and double Beer.
Thy heart in precious Brandy thou shalt soak,
In clouds of strong Mundungus smoak;
Hid like a Goddess thou shalt lye,
Till thou art comely, Plump, and fair as I;
With ease, Fat Bub, and Virtuous Luxury.

Peace.
And I, that thy delights may never cease,
Will steel thy soul with an audacious peace.
And lift up every sence,
With zealous Impudence:
When envious People rail, thou shalt reply,
The Saints have suffered still, and so must I.
Let vicious Innocence be all thy care,
Such peace becomes chast wanton None-so-fair.

Nonsy.
Blest are the Rich, and Happy, eke are those
That never saw Lord-Mayors Puppet Shows;
Nor like clean Beasts stood chewing cribs,
Till Coat was burnt from Rump with Squibs,
Ambition ne'r shall stick to my ribs.
Power, in vain you huff and brag;
Since I have given School the bag,
Catch me there again, and cut off my leg.
Plenty has told a tempting tale,
But in the mind I am I'le drink no Ale.
Peace notably has spoak, but pains must loose;
Girls know more now e'r they can tye their shooes.
You have your answers,
And may be gone Sirs.

Plenty.
—How say by that?

Power.
—She knows not what for her self is good:
Therefore let's force her up between Dorsers,
And carry her home in spight of her blood a.
Come Mrs. Minx.

Nonsy.
—I won't goodly stincks,

Amb.
I Faith, but you shall a.

Non.
—I defie you all, a Grandjurie of Furies.
Oh Mrs. Ambition, pity my Condition.

Power.
Oh Power, let me stay but one hour.
Gammar Plenty I'le Saint ye sweet face goody Peace,
Pity my case, Furies, Divels, Plagues; Bastard, help Redstreak.
Help Costard; Oh here's Prince Nicky I Faith He'll lick ye.

Enter Prince Niclas and Amb. Pow. Plent. and Peace run off.
Nick.
Since Queans are gone that came eftsoons to humble ye,
Oh let me now anon hear my last Doom most humbly.

Nons.
The first request I did command,
Was, that you should not hunt me out:
The next request you understand,
Will make you hang your ears, and pout.
My peace you here come for to break,
After my back, why should you sneak?

Nick.
—Cows that do fill our Guts can't long be hid,
Though Mice run into holes, none see,
When they have eat our Bread and Cheese,
And stinck most basely when they'r dead.
Sweet Cow you hide your Teats in vain,
Though your full Udder fills anothers pan,
Give me some stroakings to ease my pain.

Non.
Prince Nick buckle of girdle turn,
For Milk of mine you ne'r shall churn
(Without's my skin, but minds within;
Though you my hand may find, you cannot reach my mind.

Nick.
Will You on you take just such blame,
As Ciss did lay upon her Dame;
Make faults to punnish them. Oh fie for shame!
If Dame should give her Fish to fry,
She must give Butter by and by.
Let Ciss without Butter do what she can,
If she no Butter has, she burns the Pan:
Butter to save, she does Dame offend,
Who gave her Butter then to no end.
Cisses unbutter'd things may get her kicks,
For all her Maggots and her drop-nos'd tricks.
Butter can't err, Ciss out o'th'way may turn:
Though Ciss may fret, yet Butter cannot burn.

Non.
Butter good Dames have still allow'd enough,
But Maids turn Butter into Kitchin-stuff:
So when they saw their Butter thrown away,
They put their Butter under lock and key.

Nick.
—If Dames Engine by Ciss must govern'd be,
And Butter spent—For what a Devil serves she?
Must Maids dry Chops be butter'd, they'l ne'r keep touch,
Though they are ayl'd with Butter ne'r so much.
Oh None-so-fair! sweet Dame I am your man,
My heart's unbutter'd burning in your Pan,
Without some Butter, it can never move:
Oh Butter it with Butter of your love.

Non.
Against your self sweet Prince y'have said too much,
I'le keep my Butter since you can't keep touch.
Go somewhere else, and make your greazy puns,
I love no butter'd Fish, nor butter'd buns.

Nick.
—Butter, Oh sweet Butter; ease my hissing smart,
And Butter None-so-fairs unbutter'd heart.

Enter Prince Phillip.
Nick.
Prince Phillip, here that mighty lout,
Gad then 'tis time to look about.

Non.
Oh you sneaking Prince, what would you have had?

Phil.
Oh thou little Devil! I love thee like mad:
And chill take thee at a venture hab nab.

Nick.
Fierce love full soon must die I think,
And vanish like abortive slinck.

Phil.
My love's zoo bomination strong,
That 'twill hold buckle and thong;
And if dozn't get thee vurder aveel,
shat zee' can strick vyre with my steel.

Nick.
—Gods—

Phil.
—Gods—and Devils!
Thee talk'st of Courage, if th'hast any,
Here be the Cudgels, let's have a veny.

Nick.
I don't care much if I have one touch.

They play Cudgels.
Non.
—Princess, hold for all your Squablin,
Cannot purchase my Tantablin.

Phil.
Adzboars Prince Nick, cham yours.
If None-zo-vair zay do't, chill buss thy root.

Nick.
—Prince Phillip for fair Trollop,
Whose voice might bear of whelp beguile a,
Or Bread and Butter beg from Child a.
I'm thine—

Non.
—The next command of mine, in brief
Is after me no more to sniff.
Princess farewell, without or and if.

Nick.
—So sad are the commands that you do give,
That without meat or drink I cannot live.

Phil.
Your mind that upon our veirce wrath prevails,
Can when you please, make hot or cool your nails.

exit None-so-fair.
Enter Woudhamore and Sweet-lips.
Phil.
But Zee, Zee, laud to bless us, if here been't hur
Zusturs now—Come Prince Nick, let's budge.

Sweet.
Great Princess, whither d'ye sneak from this place?

Woud.
To None-so-fair, their Calf with a white face.

Sweet.

I wonder what Princely virtues you can see in her
i'faggs.

Can she make Butter, and Cheese, and Egs?

Woud.
She's a Bastard, some Village Hind got her under a
Hedge, when our Royal Mother was overtaken at a Wake.
Love us Princess, here's your true beauty.

Phil.
There's your Anchovies.

Woud.
Here's a Cherubimical Face, mark how my Eyes roll.
Here's a Languishing look, Ah!—

Phil.
Odzboars my Stomach begins to wamble at her.

Woud.
Here's a foot like a Fairy, and a leg like a Lapwing.

Phil.

Look Prince Nick, chil wager a Groat there's zomething
at the end of thick leg,—there's your Anchovies.

Sweet.

Here's your white Hounds Tooth.

Woud.

Here's your Illustrious Persian Hawk-Nose.

Sweet.

Here, here, here's your generous wide Nostrils,
you may see my Brains work through e'm when I'm in passion.

Phil.

Con yo Whistle and Dance Barnaby?

Both.

Ay, ay.—

Phil.

Con yo zing a new Ditty?

Both.
SONG.

Phil.

Oh Prince Nick, ch'ad lever ha one o'th theze
then a Cow, o' Ten groats.—Con ye milk a dreelegg'd

Stool? live vive Months upon the droppings of your Nose?
and lye with no body but your own Husbands?

Both.

Ay, ay, any thing for Husbands.

Phil.

Then give me your hands,—good buy to ye
with all my heart—

Exit. Phillip.

Woud.
Oh! Villanous Clown, I think we are abus'd.

Sweet.
Were ever Ladies bright so us'd?
Surely there's more of honour in Prince Nicklas.

Woud.
He looks like a Gentleman, sure he'l tickle us.

Nick.
Sweet lips, and wou'd hamor you each, and both,
May keep your Princely wind to cool hot broth.
You know your Cheer, and may go chew your Cuds,
For I'le have None-so-fair, or lye ith' Suds,
This is my dire resolve, witness ye Gods.
Exit Nicklas.

Sweet.
Rot her beauty, while the case is thus,
No Crouder e'r will Fiddle us.

Woud.
Each day she can command a several King,
As if the Gods, to do more had nothing.
But to make Kings for her,
Oh laud, Oh lack, Oh dear.
With strayning I am almost burst, hey ho;
What shall we do for all our Cake is doe,

Sweet.
Well I will straight complain to Mother Worset.
And she shall Snuff a Candle in her Posset;
Brick Wall her Temple does Inviron,
Back-door too is fenc'd with spikes of Iron.
Oh! Mother Wossat, you that can
By Cirlces dark, and deep, trappan,
The heart of any Jill or Jan.
Oh! help us to debauch this Jade,
Or her coy tricks will marr thy Trade.

Woud.
No Citizen will pawn his Cloak;
No Country Squire will love one stroak,
And how can then thy Chimny smoak?
Nay, if things go on so odly,
All the Gallants will turn godly.
And then for Bub thou maist go choak.

Sweet.
Rowse mightily Woossat, Mantle done,
Thy hagship Venge, or Credits gone,
Make hast, and let's know off, or on.

Horrid Musick heard in the Air.
Woud.
Ha! what powerful Melody appears?
And snacthes thus our ears?

Woossat appears in a Charriot drawn by two Brooms.
Sweet.
The Charriot of the Goddess comes,
Drawn by a Brace of well grown Brooms.

Woossat
sings.
Fair Damzels I have heard you prate,
You shall have Husbands soon or late.
I am as mad as any Dog to find,
Y'have had so little good of humane kind,
But there's the more behind.
I will so order Nonsey's Princely louts,
You shall be satisfi'd and leave your pouts:
With Nonsey now is Daddy dear
And hand in hand th'are gone to wishing Chair,
Good fortune for to hear.
That Rogue will very civil prove to me,
For Witch and Juggler never disagree:
To you and me so kind he'l prove,
That when you feel his love,
You'l give half piece to buy him fring'd glove.
Woossat ascends.

Sweet.
Great Beldam, me thy hagship thank,
And now methinks I in wondrous Cranck.

Woud.
While young we'l to loves Altar bow;
And when w'are old be ev'n as thou.

Enter King Andrew, None-so-fair, Twattle, Glozy, and Attendants.
K.

Non.
Cheer up Sisters, why should you look so gloomy?
What er'the wishing chair shall say:
The King, and That I will obey,
Else may this liquor ne'r go through me.

K. And.
Come let's not on each other stare,
But hye us to the wishing chair:
That will set all right in a minuit,
Or else I think the Devil's in it.
So swimmingly we'l carry matters,
All pristine Poets that come after's.
To sing Heroick love and slaughters,
shall write of King and his three Daughters.

Exeunt.